equivocality

thoughtful things

I’ve always believed the best gifts are things we would want but wouldn’t buy ourselves cause we couldn’t justify the purchase (regardless of how much it costs), or something handmade by the giver. Good gifts also happen just because, not necessarily due to a birthday or holiday. Lisa says this ideal makes me an intimidating gift-giver. John used to call me a professional consumer, cause I have a tendency to purchase what I want without hesitation, which I imagine makes me even harder to shop for.

Recently, people have been giving me awesome things for absolutely no reason at all, and each gift is thoughtful, practical, and just my taste. It must be really hard to find presents that will make me happy, but that just makes them all the more special when they do.

These were in my mailbox one night. The event was actually a strip-spelling competition, and Shawn won “best stripper”, the reward being the CD of cat purring. The other guy won the “best speller” award and got the book. They had to follow him out of the cafe and ask him for it, cause it was totally meant for me obviously. Shawn has said I’m a cat for as long as I’ve known him.

I had tea with Heather in a cafe last winter, and we had a conversation about design and how satisfying it felt to hold these mini teacups. Somehow, she remembered and found them and bought me a set. They’re mouth-blown so each one is unique, and insulated by double-wall borosilicate glass.

Lisa got me this book safe, made out of an edition of Ernest Hemingway’s Selected Letters, for secrets big and small. The choice of what book to use in making a book safe is very important, as it has to blend in with a library collection, but also not be so recent or interesting as to make someone picking it up.

It has little magnets embedded in the frame and cover to make sure it stays closed even when stored vertical. This little detail was what swayed her decision to go with this particular crafter, and something you learn is very important if you ever try to keep your stash hidden from…uhhh…cats.

clever people and grocers, they weigh everything

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It’s been hard to write, though not from a lack of inspiration. Far from it; it seems like there’s a smile or tear hidden in every little detail of an Autumn day. The problem is I don’t have the time. I don’t reflect on an emotional rush until I have a chance to write by a window in the dark, and those opportunities are getting more and more rare.

That means I’m getting better at putting my feelings on hold, though no better at figuring out whether that kind of distraction is a good idea. I imagine it’ll all catch up to me at some point, and I’ll find out soon enough.

It’s a sure sign that the Cipralex is out of my system. I’ve decided that being able to feel is better than being numb, even if that means not knowing which way things are going to go. Right now, I’m just appreciative of frugal forms of happiness again, my latest discovery being the feeling of a healthy lather rinsing clean from your hair.

Maybe my time away did me some good. I lost a week, but I’m feeling recharged. I’ve been productive. I’ve been social. I’ve even been exercising.

Now I’m ready to begin again.

Escape from New York, part 2

Check out my short film about being Trapped in NYC.

I walk towards Penn Station, after being unceremoniously dumped along with several other confused passengers at Grand Central by shuttle. While it’s hard to get a sense of how long it’ll take, the grid gives me the courage to continue on foot instead of waiting for a transferring shuttle.

I carry screenshots of a map on my phone, which I soon discover is a poor substitute for an actual map when navigating New York. The roads occasionally run in strange directions or skip numbers, and it’s enough to throw off my orientation.

Still, the city feels smaller than I thought. So many stories happen here, told in movies and novels and songs, that I’ve always expected it to be a size relative to the dreams people have. This is what F. Scott Fitzgerald must have felt when he climbed the Empire State Building¹, saw the limits of the city for the first time from within, and was left “with the awful realization that New York was a city after all and not a universe”.

I passed through here many years ago when I was too young to be scared of what could go wrong, and too much in love to care anyway. That journey — on my way to Jersey by bus — was far longer than this one through Toronto by plane. I survived then, that’s how I know I’ll survive this, no matter what happens.

Read the rest of this entry »

The tallest man-made structure in the world at the time, a record it would hold for 23 years. [↩]

Escape from New York

Three days and two nights. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Meet Mike at the corner of 31st Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan after the business part of his trip was finished. Get out of the country, connect with a good friend, return with some nice memories. That was the plan, but I never caught my plane home.

A day before Hurricane Sandy landed, all flights at LaGuardia were cancelled, a theme that would continue two more times until the airline rescheduled my return for Saturday, almost a week longer than I had originally planned to stay (and that’s if it’s not cancelled again). Mike made it home to London, Liz and I weren’t so lucky.

They were expecting 6–9 feet of water, and we got 14. The president has declared a state of emergency. All mass transit is shut down. The railroad tunnels are flooded. All airports are closed. School is out for the whole week. The New York Stock Exchange has been closed for two days straight, something that hasn’t happened since 1888. More than 2.5 million are without power. The death toll is over 100 and counting.

Luckily, I have a place to stay. Aside from a brief loss of power, a longer loss of internet access, and a few leaks from the ceiling, we’re sitting pretty with running water, heat, and a flushable toilet. It’s a luxury compared to what others are going through at the shelters, and I consider myself fortunate compared to those in New Jersey who’ve lost their homes, their pets, their possessions, and their lives.

The strange part is that I’ve never met the couple who own this Brooklyn apartment. Liz and Mike found them through Roomorama, and they left before the storm hit, leaving Liz with the main bedroom and Mike with the guest room. They’ve been generous enough to let me stay during this extenuating circumstance, although the fact that they rented out the guest room to someone else two days ago means I’ve been relegated to a nook and mattress on the floor. At least it’s cozy, and there’s a spare mattress.

Still, I wasn’t prepared for this. I’m running out of money, medication, and morale. The only things I brought were a change of clothes, a camera, and an iPad. The worst part is the wait. Not having a computer to be productive, and now a week of cancelled plans. Not having my cats¹ or my guitar. Not knowing when I’ll get out of here. Just waiting in a city I hardly know, with no way to get around. I can’t be proactive; all I can do is be patient.

To keep abreast of the ever-changing situation, I’ve been watching 24 hour news coverage, hanging on the words of Mayor Bloomberg at his live press conferences for any sign that I may make it out of here.

I came to New York, expecting to return home recharged, refreshed, and ready to take on the world. The world decided I wasn’t ready yet.

I left them six days of food, but they go through that in three days when I’m away. A major crisis was averted when Aaron found a spare key to my house, and was able to take care of them. The only other person with a spare key was Pat, and he just happened to be leaving for Cancun on the morning I found out my trip was cancelled. [↩]

tagged with #travel / filed under Daily Life

Matteo Carcassi: Study in A Minor (Etude No.7)

While studying this Carcassi étude — and analyzing as many version as possible in aid of that — I realized that classical music is like wine. They’re both based on a central theme or taste, and it’s the subtle differences between the interpretation of each performer or wine maker that make them unique and interesting. That’s why you need to listen to a lot classical music (or drink a lot of wine) to develop a palate. I bet two different musicians (or even the same musician at two different points in their career) playing the same piece would sound the same to some people for the same reason that two different merlots would taste the same to others.

This is supposed to be played allegro, but I’ve yet to hear a version above 105 bpm that didn’t feel rushed to me, so I prefer to play it andante¹. Luckily, I enjoy classical music, and I can tell the time I’ve invested in developing that foundation translates over to non-classical songs, not only in the extra finger precision but in practicing techniques too.

I’m still using electric strings², which I’ve had on longer than any other set, cause I love how crisp and brassy the tone is throughout the range. For a piece like this where the melody switches between bass and treble, that becomes really important.

Also cause I’m not good enough to play it that quickly yet. [↩]
XL Chromes, warm/mellow, flat-wound, extra light gauge. [↩]