New York And Hurricane Sandy, Part One: We Wait

“No bread. We don’t have any bread. No buns, no biscuits, no bread!” the manager of Key Foods was shouting to a group of unlucky customers on Astoria’s 30th Ave. Lines at the grocery store were invading the produce aisles, while queues at Duane Reade wrapped toward the rear of the building.

Such Sunday hubbub could only mean one thing: It’s hurricane time.

New York is an odd place to inhabit when one of these gales unexpectedly blows through the East Coast. Our fluidity of the city is interrupted by a new excitement. The 8.5 million people of NYC spastically shop for supplies, grab last minute “hurricane survival kits,” and then, quite suddenly, disappear.

Never will you feel more like the apocalypse occurred—and you were infuriatingly left behind—than when you’re standing in front of a shining, glistening, completely empty Time Square. It’s an eerie sensation to see one center of the universe so vacant of human life. 

But people love storms too. That same energy New York grasps on a daily basis is bundled into a shared excitement that spreads faster than the flu in February. News anchors become superstars, meteorologists become gods, and we common folk? Those of us not living under a rock quickly ban together against what might as well be dubbed the “impending doom.”

As I ran down Steinway to pick up two more bottles of wine before the liquor store closed, I saw a few old women jumping up and down in the street about their “sleepover,” a rolling office chair fly down the sidewalk and smack into an SUV, as well as a group of guys who wanted to know if me and my roommate would attend their “hurricane party of the century.”

I think it’s safe to say we take ourselves seriously in times of distress… but not that seriously. And that's probably best.

If Hurricane Sandy’s current trajectory pans out, storm force winds are expected to occur around lunchtime tomorrow in the New York City area. Already the subway, busses, and other forms of public transportation have been shut down and evacuations of “Zone A” ordered. The majority of businesses (including Wall Street) are closed for tomorrow, and schools were cancelled early this morning.

So what will the supposed “Frankenstorm” inflict? Maybe Hurricane Sandy will bring a whole lot of nothing… or maybe the worst weather to have swept this area in decades will stubbornly commence.

Either way, I’m staying (safely) in the city. And I’m a little excited to see what tomorrow will bring. Let's hope I don’t eat my words...

Be careful out there kiddos. 

So You Want A Birthday Post, Grace?

It's my little sister's birthday. 

And she, in jest, asked for a blog post. 

"im not begging but like if you need to inform your blogger followers then feel free to do so," she stated on my Facebook wall. 

BAM. 

Inform them I shall. 

First, let us celebrate G-race (pronounced gee-race in sister talk) by showing off this gem from 2006. Believe it or not, this photo has lingered on Facebook all these years. It's also one of the oldest digital pictures we have together. 

Aren't you glad you asked for a post, Gracie? 

Alright, alright... 

I'll add few more favorable (and ridiculous) pictures too.

Happy Birthday little sis!

When we were just tourist in NY. (2008)

 Who says we don't look alike? Grace's 16th birthday. (2009)

Oh, those girls. (2012)

Something is weird about this. (2012)

To reiterate... we were tourist in NY. (2008)

Downtown Richmond with the Spicer clan. (2007)

Oh, the beginning of jumping pictures. (2009)

 We get really excited in our family. (2010)

With Kathryn on Tour. (2011)

Such a doll. Halloween? Spirit week in high school? You decide. (2010)

The classic college kid pic. (2012)

With both sisters, at Passport Camp. (2008) 

 Easter at Uncle and Aunt's place. (2009)

 When you were just visiting CNU, G-race. (2008)

 Kathryn's graduation from CNU. (2012)

I mean... I have to throw one more in there. 
We look about the same ;)

High school graduation. (2006)

Um, "That's Mine"

We were sitting at an elevated table toward the western side of Bryant Park, a few quiet blocks over from Times Square.

Ivy and I wore casual clothes and discussed casual topics, because on Sunday, one can afford the time to be casual.

A random rainstorm had cleared the park of its many weekend inhabitants, but the decidedly stubborn sun had just made its second appearance of the day. We relaxed amongst the rays of lucky light, taking in a quintessential New York autumn afternoon.

“What are you doing the 20th?” Ivy asked. Her belongings were scattered on our green metal table; she fidgeted with her phone.

“I donno,” I said. “Let me look.” I reached for my own mobile, and flipped open an omnipresent force in my life: the iCal. Meanwhile, my bag rested an arms length away, propped in another chair.

In the midst of our weekend planning, a slow moving woman passed near our table. She wasn’t old, but probably older than us, wearing orange flips-flops and a blue hoodie. I might have pegged her as homeless, but then it’s truly impossible to tell at times.

Either way, she slowly (very slowly) walked over to the chair where my bag lay. Immediately my senses were heightened, and I considered what this woman was contemplating. Was she about to say something? People talk to you all the time in parks. But no… she tilted her head a tiny bit, and slowly grasped the top of my bag.

It was almost as if she were asking permission. 

“May I…?” her eyes questioned.

No. You may not.

“That’s mine,” I replied matter-of-factly. Then I angled my head to match her own and snatched the bag away from her hands. She gave a subtle nod, and then looked calculatingly at my friend.

Things seemed as if they were about to get a whole lot less casual.

Ivy had a moral dilemma: If she reached for her items sitting on the table, it would obviously be an offensive gesture and the woman’s prerogative was not yet solidified. Maybe she was confused? Ivy stared at the woman, but didn’t make any moves to relocate her phone, credit card, keys, etc.

Then BAM. 

The woman’s hand jutted forth at a pace much faster than her previous attempt in grabbing my backpack. Her fingers stretched across the table, clutching for Ivy’s possessions.

“JESUS CHRI--!!” Ivy yelped, scrambling toward her coveted items. She scooped up everything in one quick move, and then glared at the woman.

Nope. Not casual.

In the midst of their scuffle, a Louis Vuitton wallet had flown from the woman’s sleeve and landed unceremoniously on the table. Our uninvited visitor suddenly forgot about future spoils, and reclaimed what was hers. 

(Although, let’s be honest… that wallet wasn't hers.)

And now it was awkward. She stared at us, particularly at Ivy, as if waiting for something to happen. I had not a dollar on me, or even a piece of gum. Only my computer, empty wallet, cell phone, and personal space were hers for the taking.

“We don’t have anything,”

I said, not with anger but with certainty. Ivy looked at me with the “I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening” face, her eyes bulging out of their sockets.

The woman accepted our words with another subtle nod. She and I? We had come to a mutual understanding: Neither of us had much.

So she walked away.

While of course I had sympathy for this odd woman, I was also struck by the sheer irony of nearly being robbed. And of all places! After every possible dangerous spot I’ve inhabited, freaking Times Square is always the worst! (That’s your lesson for the day, folks.)

“It's so funny to almost get robbed in broad daylight at the speed of a snail,” Ivy said as she stuffed her items away.

We laughed and laughed at the sheer oddity of it all.

But then, this is New York. Everything is slightly ironic, a wee bit contrite, and certainly absurd. Yet even here, sometimes all we need are a few words from a stranger to ensure that we’re still alive.

So I wish I’d said a little something more.

[Editor’s note: Despite my conflicting inner thoughts, this "attempted robbery" was pretty awesomely hilarious. If only you could have seen our stunned faces... ]

10 Best Quotes About New York City

Ah, New York. The city of all cities—a playground for the rich, famous, and utterly destitute.

In honor of our mighty urban epicenter, here’s a list of some choice New York City quotes by the literary geniuses who’ve previously inhabited these very streets. They too have tasted that ubiquitous juxtaposition of complete satisfaction and constant unrest… which, by the way, just so happens to keep this city thrilling.

***

“And New York is the most beautiful city in the world? It is not far from it. No urban night is like the night there... Squares after squares of flame, set up and cut into the aether. Here is our poetry, for we have pulled down the stars to our will.”

-- Ezra Pound

“One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years.”

-- Tom Wolfe

“When you leave New York, you are astonished at how clean the rest of the world is. Clean is not enough.”

-- Fran Lebowitz

“There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter — the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something.

...Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion. ”

-- E.B. White, Here Is New York

“The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and beauty in the world.”

--

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

“I look out the window and I see the lights and the skyline and the people on the street rushing around looking for action, love, and the world’s greatest chocolate chip cookie, and my heart does a little dance.” 

-- Nora Ephron

“There is something in the New York air that makes sleep useless.”

-- Simone De Beauvoi

“New York walking isn’t exercise: it’s a continually showing make-your-own movie.” 

-- Roy Blount Jr.  

“New York is an ugly city, a dirty city. Its climate is a scandal. Its politics are used to frighten children. Its traffic is madness. Its competition is murderous. But there is one thing about it - once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no other place is good enough.”

-- John Steinbeck

"I can't believe it now, that the city opened before us like some land of dreams, but it did."

-- Mary Cantwell, Manhattan, When I Was Young

---

Developing Obsession

No words needed... 'cept these lyrics. 



Mumford & Sons performing "Below My Feet" on a recent SNL. 

September's Rooftop Slumber

It was completely quiet.

The heavy door slammed behind me and blocked out a slew of intrusive noises -- some comforting, like the clatter of dinner plates; some irritating, like the wailing of an uncontrollable infant.

But up here? All I could hear was the soft sound of moving air.

The wind tousled my hair into knots as I looked over the ledge, down, down, down onto 6^th Street. How happy I was to be perched up high, rather than sitting on the over-exposed front stoop. Typically I wouldn’t mind the chance for random conversation with eclectic passersby of the East Village, but today I couldn’t bring myself to keep up with arbitrary conversation.

I was tired.

The afternoon at work had been hectic, and I’d barely escaped in time to pick up supplies from Whole Foods. A group of us were making dinner that night and if I was in charge, then it better be half-decent, no? 

So I purchased two bags worth of pita bread, olive oil, tomatoes, etc., and carried the Italian-themed smorgasbord eight avenues to the east and nine blocks to the south.

Despite my ambitious load of groceries, the walk was pleasant, considering I’d watched most of the day perish from the inside of an office building (as I’m sure you did too). Still, when I finally placed the brown paper bags down, my hands screamed in their displeasure.

Whoops.

As I dug around inside the oh-so trusty purse for Band-Aids, another thought occurred to me: After all that rushing, fast walking, and overall hustle – I was quite early. Too early.

In fact, no one was home.

Whoops x2.

Subsequently, I pretended to be “locked out of my apartment” so some gent would buzz me through the downstairs door. While I still wouldn’t have a key to my friends’ place, I did know there was always available rooftop access.  

And in that instant, sunset was all I wanted.

And maybe also some of that hummus I’d just purchased.

(But that’s beside the point.)

Thus, there I was.

Sitting on the roof. Taking in that expectant moment when hurried night is about to overtake retreating day. During quiet twilights like this one, I can never determine if I’m despondent or excited; apprehensive or self-aware; completely overwhelmed or perfectly content.  

I decided, quite contrarily, I was impossibly all of the above. Then I placed my jacket over my legs and slept peacefully, if only for a moment or so.

[Editor's Note: The rest of the evening was also immensely enjoyable.] 

When It's The Perfect Temperature Outside

Fall is in the air… and I think I’m a tiny bit excited about this fact.

The change in seasons means a few things: apple picking, pumpkin beer, blanket-covered mornings, and scarf-wearing nights.  Summer is my favorite season by far, but autumn is a close second because of countless nostalgic moments – and, of course, that crisp, dry leaves smell that can be captured even by the likes of New York City.

I can also eat hot food again in my apartment.

Without melting.

Woo.

Still, it's hard to believe I've already walked amongst the streets of midtown and spotted little carts with aromatic chestnuts roasting. The early darkness and sudden drop in temperature occurred almost over night, with Labor Day as the official (and literal) “adieu” to summer’s hazy months. These switches in seasons almost always trigger self-awareness in my writing, so below are the oh-so brilliant thoughts that occupied my mind on the train ride home this afternoon:

One: This is the first time I’ve not gone back to school in 15 years. 

I decided this realization is bittersweet.

Two: I never received my diploma in the mail, though I was 

promised I would by July.

Three: Therefore, maybe I did not graduate? 

I decided this realization is concerning.  

Four: This led to another conclusion: Maybe I should go back to school? Maybe I’m meant to be a student my entire life, in the comforting classrooms that offer intellectual observation and perpetual academic discourse with enthusiastic peers (ah… sigh). 

Five: But then again, maybe not.  

And do you know why I think "maybe not?"

DEBT.

Anyway, happy fall! Here are some random end-of-summer pics:

Parks at night. 

 PBR that’s just right.

Bus trips home.

 DC alone.

 Sisters on the road…

 With a broken car that should be towed.

 Parts of campus still undiscovered, 

 Hash browns, "smothered and covered."

 Fuel for the last leg of our journey,

And a sister that’s really quite nerdy. 

That Moment When Less Leads To More

So here we are again.

I’m starring at another job application, an unsigned roommate contract, and an email informing me of my impending student loan start date. There's a four letter explicative I would like to insert right about…(here).

This month’s goals are daunting, and all the while summer is slowly slipping away into that unstoppable, seasonal darkness. The days are less likely to reach their climatic noon, or stretch so delicately into evening. It’s only September and I feel that approaching winter dread – or is it subtle excitement? I can’t tell which anymore; maybe these perceptions simply arrive as an inseparable pair.

Back to that job application: “First name, last name.”
With each keystroke I’m reminded of my temporary position.

No, I think cruelly. Not one temporary position–you should be reminded of them all. Four months here, six months there. How pleasant it must be to have a salary, my mind says. To have benefits, to have footing – dare you dream to have some clout! Oh don’t you long for these nuisances? Or at least… they would be nuisances for you.

I click off of MediaBistro or Journalism Jobs or whatever the hell website I’ve dragged up from the depths of the internet. Enough of that for now. I sip water out of a glass fashioned from an old jelly jar. How is it so damn stuffy in this apartment when autumn has already robbed us of late evenings and 9 o’clock sunsets?

I stare off into space for a minute. Then I allow myself to ask the dangerous question that's never truly examined: What am I doing?

Sure, I know what I’m doing today, tomorrow, this weekend and probably the next. But now I sit in silence and blink hard; hard enough to stop a flood of possible tears. Breathing in three times, I acknowledge the moment of weakness for what it is: I’m overwhelmed by possibility – choosing wrong, choosing right, choosing anything for any sphere of my life. Making a choice toward one particular direction or another has paralyzed me into an apathetic numbness.

So here we are again.

Jobless, penniless, tireless, listless – less less less!

Ah ha.
But wait?
I am not less.
 We, my friends, are not less.

The mere mention of the world less strikes up a rejuvenation in me that spurs the antonym more. And then I remember…it hits like a ton of bricks!... I am faultlessly hungry for more.

THAT is what I’m doing. And the question isn’t even “what am I doing” but how, and why, and for what reason. Do I have a worthy reason? If not, then best to jump ship now before sinking into some unexplored doom.

But the reasons, too, come flooding back to me. I don’t want a salary, or benefits. I don’t need footing, or clout. If I did, I never would have moved to New York to be that tirelessly cliché writer-type who works for ten bucks an hour and eats eggs like they’re going out of style.

No, no, no… My mentality was momentarily smothered by desires that will never fulfill what I truly long for, which is, most easily described as a voice, a story, and possibly (if I’m so lucky) an impact.

What am I doing? I’m living. What am I doing? I’m writing. What am I doing? I’m trying and failing, and succeeding and flourishing, and attempting to do all of the above over and over again until there’s not an ounce of me left I haven’t given to this story.

My story.
Your story.
Our story.

So let me write these stories... because I can.

[Editor’s Note: A big thanks to all those in the past couple of weeks who have been retweeting, reposting, and responding to my HuffPost articles and the blog. It really means the world to me that you spend precious minutes reading my work. So thank you, thank you, thank you one thousand time over].