In the elevator yesterday a man, about my age, told me his daughter always has the Weather Channel on. Being somewhat of a weather freak I could relate and told him I always have a tab on my computer on weather.com, and refresh it whenever I remember. He didn’t know what a computer tab was or what I meant by refreshing. I felt so___I’m not exactly sure what but something. I’m glad I didn’t confess that I often have two or three tabs set to different cities.
I wrote this post while undergoing a crisis about leaving. I love New York. I love my life. It’s the 65% increase in costs since 9/11 I don’t love. For much less money I could have a much easier life and come back to visit every several months. I know I’m making the only right choice for me, but it’s so hard.
People who say color overpowers Manhattan abodes must not live in the city, or love to live in a world of grays and grime. Having a colorful apartment somewhat makes up for only having 600 square feet and for living a vertical life.
Color makes me happy. When I first moved here, a decade ago, I went color crazy. Color wasn’t as in then, and people would talk about my apartment as if it were something special. Now it’s tired as I am.
I’m tired of forever trying to make a better me. Doesn’t there come a time in life when you’re totally satisfied? With the color on your walls? With the person that you are? Or aren’t?I’m trying to move forward by moving but I’m a New Yorker. As much as I want to leave and know that I have made the right decision a part of me feels that I’m giving.
EB White said if you come to New York prepare to be lucky. I never had to come to New York. I was always here and I was lucky most of the time.
30 years ago this past week I began a six week temp job. Thirteen years later I left the industry. 39 years ago this past week I first really noticed Noah.
October was always my lucky month.
Now it’s a month shrouded in personal tragedy. I try to work past that and remember all the good stuff that happened in October.
Lucia and I met at that temp job. Myrna was her supervisor and somebody–she needs to pick a name–became mine after the great layoff in March. Somehow the four of us became the Blenderbusters. We’re meeting tomorrow for the first time in I don’t know how many years. This is something that should and does make me happy.
I used to write stories about our adventures and all the time we would spend thinking about what we wanted to do. I never tried to publish the stories but people would read “Pia’s girls stories.” Ethnically and racially we were the perfect NY blend–Lucia is of Puerto Rican descent, Myrna is Black, Somebody is half Greek/half German–the basic ethnic composition of Astoria where she grew up. I’m Russian Jewish and half Irish Catholic by birth.
I have few true regrets but a big one is not trying to get the stories published. My workshop teachers were always trying to get me to, and it was as a friendlier publishing world. I was young and photogenic….The stories were a mix of funny and pathos.
Who but Lucia would look at the audience at the Ziegfeld–we were late and had to seat in the front row–for a new Woody Allen movie and say:
We could make signs saying that we can’t afford personal ads and hold them up here. Look at all the straight men.
I played on that one and made it into a great personal essa, but I had no desire to be published. Writing was something I did for fun. To be published would have taken the fun out of it. It wasn’t really fear of rejection. Rejection from a magazine is so impersonal–while I didn’t try, somebody once submitted for me. I wasn’t insulted, saddened or anything by the rejection. I did think the little handwritten note asking me to submit again was cool. More recently I have gotten great rejections from Salon and The Times It’s weird that cynical as I am I find them “almost acceptances.”
I find blogging scarier. There’s interaction involved. What if nobody reads my post? What if my sitemeter comes up empty? What if everything is a Google search or thanks to the unknown person who paid BE for me seemingly forever–all BE hits?
I always feel sorry for the people who come to my blog through Google. Unless they were looking for Courting, this isn’t what they wanted.
What is this blog anyway?
I began to enter a contest to be paid 80K to blog for a year, and was stymied by the first question
Why should you get paid to blog for a year?
Here is your chance to make your case. Tell us why you think you should be paid to blog professionally for an entire year. Heartwarming stories are good.
It was the heartwarming stories that got me stuck. Shouldn’t somebody with a truly heartbreaking or heartwarming story win it?
I’m a New Yorker. By definition we’re caustic–see any Seinfeld I can take the saddest events of my life and make them sound earnest but matter of fact. I don’t do heartwarming.
I’m neurotic and have neurobiological problems but would die before asking for sympathy. I was raised, and continued as an adult to think of other people first. I do understand that is at odds with what people think a New Yorker is, and does confuse people about me.
I’m more into writing edgy fiction than heartwarming stories. Of course I want to be paid to blog if there are no strings attached.
I cant get into pay per post and all that. They all seem like pyramid schemes to me. My father probably taught me about Ponzi when I was ten.
Blogging’s changed so much in the three years I have been doing it. I wrote about my stats as I wanted it on record. For the record I had no frigging idea what I was doing. I just wrote and people came. Now people begin blogs just for links. People give away books and other things. People would send me forms to fill out that would turn out to be “guest posts.” Only instead of guest posting on a subject of my choice they would tell me what to write, how many lines there should be and how many links. That’s not blogging, that’s something I want nothing to do with. When I would refuse they would de-link me.
Can a disenchanted blogger actually enter this contest?
Where other people see opportunities I see too many colors.
Could I write a heartwarming application essay? Could I pimp myself?
Will they raise the money to pay the blogger?
Shouldn’t the winner be a person who truly rose through adversity?
How do you define adversity? How do you define rising through adversity?
Does anybody who asks all these questions deserve to win anything?