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| Thursday, March 31, 2005 |
| A Better Name |
I am far too tired to write anything of substance at the moment, but I need a better name for my blog. But like I mentioned in the last post, how do I find something that encapsulates my love of the Sox, music, writing, NYC, beer, etc?
So I open this up to those of you who take a few moments to read: any suggestions? I'm not very good at being witty, but some of you are, so throw 'em at me!
~ FINY |
posted by FINY @ Thursday, March 31, 2005   |
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| A 19th Century Sex Colony and the OC |
Back in the 19th century there was a free love colony in upstate New York called the Oneida Colony. The people in this colony believed that heaven and hell did not exist in the afterlife but that we were all actually living in heaven already. And towards this end, they decided that marriage did not need to be one man and one woman and basically they lived in a community where everyone slept with everyone else and lived a happy and freewheelin' lifestyle.
There is only one woman on earth who could know all of the historic details about such a colony, and through the use of intense context and knowledge of world events and pop culture could relate that 19th century colony to the hit Fox show The OC. And that woman is Sarah Vowell.
Vowell, the author of such wonderful books as Take The Canoli and The Partly Cloudy Patriot, read from her new book on assassins and tourism (I can't remember the title now of course) at the NYPL. It was the best $10 I ever spent. Vowell is intelligent and funny, self-deprecating in a very dry way, and probably one of the most intelligent women I've had the opportunity to hear speak. And she's not intelligent in a snooty way. It's in that self-conscious, I-am-such-a-dork way.
I've probably never related to an author the way I relate to Vowell. And because she writes in such an engaging way, and in the personal narrative style, that I can operate under the assumption that I actually KNOW this woman. I don't just want to be like her (and of course I do ... I'm a writer, what writer doesn't want to be big enough that they can pack a very large room at the New York Public Library?) I want to be her friend. I want to be the one driving her around to various historic sites since she can't drive. Does this sound crazy and psychotic? You betcha!
But it's more than that really. It was such a high to sit in that room tonight and know I was surrounded by a couple hundred like-minded people. To be reminded by the shared laughter around me at Vowell's obscure jokes that not all of America is ruled by the television. That we're not all dead from the neck up. It renewed my faith in this city and in this country. That the superficial, only-care-about-wearing-this-seasons-designer-clothes-and-going-to-the-right-parties people are not all that are out there.
Granted it also made me want to die in a way. I want nothing more in my life than to be a writer. That's why I started this blog in the first place. To keep my writing skills sharp. But really, they're not sharp. This blog is completely without a focus as is my writing life in general. Which is why I envy Vowell so much. She's combined her loves, history, dorkdome, writing, and made a life out of it. How can I combine my intense love of the written word, with my passion for the Boston Red Sox, my hunger for any and all live music, an my lifelong relationship with academia, and make a life out of it? I can hear my mother now: Do what Sarah did, writer about what you love! But if I can't even focus on one theme here, I have little hope of doing it in my other writings.
So for now I will marvel at Vowell's huge vocabulary, her talent at pulling obscure facts out of the air, and her ability to keep an audience thoroughly engaged and wanting more.
Well, that and dreaming about how I could start the Oneida colony back up again ... |
| posted by FINY @ Thursday, March 31, 2005 |
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| Wednesday, March 30, 2005 |
| The Scarlet B |
We were sitting on the platform of the Hoboken Path station when I saw it. The familiar red B emblazoned on a grayish-blue cap. As recognizable as the Scarlet Letter. The mark of a well-worn Red Sox fan.
I didn't approach him immediately. Sitting with two friends, abandoning them to talk to a stranger would have been in poor taste. But when he sat down on the train there was no stopping me.
"Nice hat."
He looked confused for a moment before tipping his cap in my direction and breaking into a huge smile.
"After twenty years in New York I still expect more "Boston sucks" comments than "Go Sox" even after last year."
We were kindreds immediately. Regardless of the twenty year age difference we both had suffered with the Sox, not only at home in New England, but here behind the pinstripped curtain.
For the twenty minute ride to the World Trade Center stop we did nothing but talk Sox. How his 13-year-old Yankee fan nephew has a long standing bet with him that whoever's team finishes ahead at the end of each season makes the loser wear their teams hat at the family New Years Eve party and that this year was the first time in the kid's life that he had to wear a Sox hat. We talked about the euphoria. About what a hack CHB is. About how the 4-man rotation we're starting the year with scares us. We never exchanged names. We didn't need to. We're Sox fans and that's all that we needed.
We left each other with a smile and a handshake. As I stepped off the train he said "Enjoy the season". And I know I will, and I know he will. Win, lose, or draw, the Sox season is about to start and that's always fun to watch. |
| posted by FINY @ Wednesday, March 30, 2005 |
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| Monday, March 28, 2005 |
| You Can Never Go Home |
They say you can never go home. I don’t know who first said it, I don’t know who it was in reference to, but whoever it was was right. I’ve known that since I first left for college. Once you move out of your parents home, it’s never quite the same when you’re back. You forget that while you are gone, life goes on without you. “Home” is not a static thing, it continues to grow and change, regardless of your presence elsewhere. Curtains are hung, hair is cut, technology is bought. Parents and siblings have a life together that you no longer completely share in. It’s an inevitable truth of growing up. One that, at times, I find very hard to deal with.
My family has always been a very strong unit in my life. My mother is my best friend, my father, while we have very little in common, is one of the most wonderful men in the world, and my brother and I, after a strained relationship while we were growing up, are now closer than I am to some of my friends. So it’s hard, when I come home to visit, to remember that I am not longer a part of the every day life that goes on here. I am happy and proud of what I have accomplished in the last six years that I have not belonged to this household, but it’s a tough reality to face when you realize that you are non-essential. And this is not to say that I think I am completely inconsequential. I know that they all miss me every day just as I miss them. But they can function without me as much as I can function without them as well.
So when the tears started to flow on Friday night as I walked into what used to be my room, I was surprised that I could still get so emotional over something that had been such a blatant truth. But as I saw that the floral print wallpaper had been replaced by a tan base paper and a black border, the black bedspread that had replaced my light green one, the hockey trophies that had replaced my books, and the tears immediately started running down my face.
I no longer have a room in my childhood home. I am back to sleeping in a single bed in a room that used to be my brothers. I am a guest in the house that will always be home in my heart. And somehow that’s left me more heartbroken than when I left home in the first place. |
| posted by FINY @ Monday, March 28, 2005 |
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| Tuesday, March 15, 2005 |
| White Welsh Rappers |
So I went to see a show last night at the Mercury Lounge. The British crew once again dragged me along and I am SO glad they did because damn was it funny. The group is called Goldie Lookin' Chain and they're a group of white rappers from Newport, South Wales. And let me tell you there is nothing more amusing than 8 white guys, with thick accents rapping WEird Al style while jumping around in track suits and big ass gold jewelry.
Just for your amusement, the lyrics to their most popular song:
"Guns Don't Kill People, Rappers Do"
[Intro]
Guns dont kill people rappers do,
Ask any politican and they'll tell you its true,
Its a fact music makes you violent,
Like Michael Jackson telling little Timmy to be silent,
You don't believe me? Heres my hype,
Offer me the record and i'll show you the type,
Of criminal this rap shit is breedin,
Its a fact that MC Hammer left me bleedin,
Vanilla Ice made my mother say 'Fuck',
If I stuck with UB40 then I woulda been in luck,
But I didn't I got it wrong,
Cypress fucking hill to me to make a fucking bong,
So I started, I bought another tape,
That bad boy vibe made my cock and balls ache,
So remember kids from the head double tap,
Guns don't kill people its just rap!
[Chorus]
Guns don't kill people rappers do
So do the police
Woo Woo Woo
Guns don't kill people rappers do,
I seen it in a documentary on BBC2,
Shot to death outside Hyper Value,
Guns blazin like Michael Cain in Zulu,
Guns with sadistic are sometimes misleading,
The type of criminal that rap is breedin,
Shot in the chest? No wonder you stopped breathin,
2 for the base over, are you receivin?
Remember rap tracks in '87
Scott the Rock's up ni Hip-Hop heaven,
Biggie and Tupac R.I.P,
Even Jam Master Jays in the cemetary.
[chorus]
Guns don't kill people rappers do,
I'm a fucking rapper and I might kill you,
As a rapper I'm teachin you a lesson,
AK47 to Smith-and-Weston
Just say no, just like Zappo
Bullet proof vest, to guns and ammo,
Hip-hop gangster trippin,
Even Eminems into pistol whippin,
Its like cluedo murder one,
P-Diddy, J'lo in a nightclub with a gun,
Heard snoop dog now wants to bust a cap,
Guns dont kill people its just rap
One, Two yo face my shoe,
My name is Mike Balls and I'm comin through,
Gun crimes, stabbin, and burglarisation,
Its on a rise all across the nation,
The safety's off and the pistol is aimed,
Yardies and the Mafia always get blamed,
Politicians are shamed, and they haven't got a clue,
Rap is more deadly than fucking Kung-Fu
[Chorus]
Guns dont kill people rappers do,
From Bristol Zoo to B&Q,
I wanna rap, I wanna rhyme
Heard it in a song now im into gun crime,
Its a sign of the times like Prince changin his name,
Gotta have a shooter to be in the rap game,
Like Michael Ryan about to snap,
Guns dont kill people its just rap!
[Chorus]
[Outro] |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, March 15, 2005 |
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| Sunday, March 13, 2005 |
| RIP Linda Coutu |
I just got the word that my cousin, Linda Coutu, finally succumbed to her battle with cancer. Linda is actually the sister of my cousin's husband, but when you grow up in Rhode Island, with every family member only minutes away, distinctions such as how far you are removed in the bloodlines just doesn't matter.
Linda was in her late 50s, with a husband Peter and a daughter Jamie, who is my age. She was a wonderful woman, and she's going to be missed, and I feel badly that I can't make it up there for the funeral. We've all seen this coming, but what hits me the hardest is not especially her passing, but what this must be doing to Jamie.
My mother is my best friend in the world. I haven't lived less than a hundred miles away from her in something like 7 years, but we still speak on the phone every day and I miss her immensely at all times. I absolutely can not imagine what it would be like to lose her. Just the thought of it, knowing that one day it is inevitable, makes me cry. I literally can not even comprehend what Jamie must be going through. To lose a loved one is an enormous loss, for that loss to be your mother ... there just aren't words.
I know Jamie and Peter will never read this, but my thoughts and prayers are with them now. Linda is happier wherever she is, free of the pain she's been wracked with for years. Your pain is just beginning. But we're all here for you. Always.
Love,
FINY |
| posted by FINY @ Sunday, March 13, 2005 |
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| A Weekend to Myself |
In the last couple of weeks I have been woefully neglecting myself. I'd been pulled into The Welshman's world, going out every night with the British crew (who I adore, don't get me wrong) but it had been a long time since I was without them.
This weekend was/is fantastic. On Friday night I met up with everyone at Pat Obrien's. We drank cheap beer, played beer pong (I kicked ASS by the way. It's always amusing seeing the looks on guys faces when a girl beats the living hell out of them at a "frat boy" game.) and I ended up crashing at my friend R's apartment. R has been a friend since high school, and he and his fiance A live on the upper east side. We got up the next morning, had breakfast together and just hung around for a while, and it was just really great to catch up with them. Hear about the wedding plans, talk about old friends. It'd been easily a month since we'd done that and it felt a lot like coming home in a way.
I got back to Brooklyn at around noon. MM and MG were in the process of reporting our landlord to the city. That's right, we're without heat. AGAIN. And all of the numbers he'd given us had been disconnected. So we all got together with our neighbors upstairs and now have the city investigating him. This is a last resort move as we had wanted to keep things as civil as possible with him, but this is the 6th time this winter that our heat has gone off, and by law he is required to fix it. So we'll see how THAT goes.
Anyway, so last night I went to see my friend, Sara Wendt play a show at the Living Room down on Ludlow Street. Sara is supremely talented and as always played a great set. All my former coworkers were there, It was just so much fun. We hopped to another bar afterwards and then I met up with my childhood friend JH at yet ANOTHER bar. We all had a wonderful time, and now I have an entire Sunday planned all for me.
I'm going into the office, I have some errands to run, and a TON of stuff to do around the house. I'm just happy today. And content. I lost sight of the fact that I have my own life for a while. But I'm back now. And I couldn't be happier about it. |
| posted by FINY @ Sunday, March 13, 2005 |
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| Friday, March 11, 2005 |
| Worlds Are Going to Collide Over 25 Cent Beers |
The list of attendees for tonight's booze fest:
* at least three coworkers
* one former coworker
* three people from the British crowd
* three work friends of the British crowd
* one person I used to date
* one high school friend
* one high school friend's fiancé
And what, may you ask, is bringing all of these weird little portions of my life together? Why, cheap beer of course. Pat O'Briens, on 88th Street and Second Avenue has a special, every Friday, from 6:30 - 7:30 when all beer is 25 cents. There's a beer pong table and everything. How did i not know about this sooner!!!
Anyway, so tonight will be interesting. J and I just broke things off last night, it was completely mutual which was great. But with the grooup of people that are coming tonight so many people know so many different stories that this has the potential to get interesting.
But it will be fun. And very drunken I am sure. We're actually starting out at a bar here in the Flatiron District for some Margaritas for a new coworker and then making our way up there. Maybe I'll post when I get home. I know more than a few readers enjoyed my previous drunken post. Though I don't even think anyone reads this thing anymore ... :)
I did do a bit of prevention work this morning. Or should I say, I skipped a step in my shower routine to prevent myself from getting drunk and hooking up with someone. I didn't shave my legs, so clearly I can do nothing but go home alone tonight. At least I know myself well enough to know that when I say I am giving up on men, I never really do, and that action must be taken to prevent myself from straying from the path.
That's right, I'm a lush AND I have no self-control. Ahhh the life of a twenty-something in New York.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Friday, March 11, 2005 |
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| Tuesday, March 08, 2005 |
| The Emotional Rollercoaster |
It's still going. The ups and downs. Which I guess is understandable considering the speed in which everything happened. I just can't stop thinking about it. Thinking that I never should have gone there, never should have gotten so drunk that it seemed like a good idea.
My mother is sending me a copy of "the rules". She's doing it as a joke. But it has to make me wonder, is that what I am supposed to be doing? Am I supposed to be playing hard to get, not making myself so emotionally available? I can't DO that shit. I wear my heart on my sleeve. If I want to do something, see someone, I'm going to.
And I hate that I am letting this rule my life right now. There's so much going on right now, work is killing me, I have family members who are all stressed out, and the Red Sox are playing in Spring Training, and yet all I can think about is this.
And now I've got MM and her boyfriend in the same room acting all sweet.
I've got to get the hell out of here.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, March 08, 2005 |
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| Happy New Day |
There are two things I do before getting on the subway every morning. I buy my large coffee, light and sweet, from my coffee cart guy, and I buy my New York Post from the little old man who sells them right next to the station. The little old man who sells me my Post always has it ready and waiting when I walk up, at times even making sure to save the last copy for me. And every morning, without fail, after giving him my quarter he says (in a very thick accent, of origin unknown) "Happy New Day".
Most days I smile, wish him a good day, and make my way down the subway. This morning, for various reasons, that comment really hit me. In the past couple of weeks I haven't been posting at all. I've been completely consumed by the kind of drama that only the men in my life can provide.
But walking into the subway today my newspaper man's words rang true. It's a new day. A new start. And as fucking cliche as that is it's the idea I am going to hang on to right now. A month ago I had no idea these two men would walk into my life, and now I am walking out of the situation with some great new friends (The Welshman's friends have sort of enveloped me at this point) and there's nothing bad about meeting new people. So who knows what comes next. It's a new day, and I'm ready for it. |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, March 08, 2005 |
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