Wednesday, December 19, 2012
two at a time
Thee blocks later, you're at Union Square. "This was... great," he says. "Yeah, it was great!" A brief hug. If someone across the street were to catch only a few seconds, it could be mistaken for two strangers brushing past one another in front of a Walgreens. The escalator down to the subway's working properly, but you still descend two at a time.
Friday, November 30, 2012
inconclusive
Of course, not everything's the same. I started to write a "concluding paragraph," but then stopped and deleted it, and turned in the paper without one. Some four years out of college, the idea of tying an overly broad, adjective-laden bow on a paper -- even an innocuous three-pager for a six-week class -- seemed completely ludicrous, so much so that it made me wonder how I churned those silly little conclusions out week after week for so many years without degenerating into some kind of automaton and then into dust.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
filters
Related: when you scroll through your friend's News Feed (or the roster of people he follows on Instagram or Twitter), and you consider briefly that he views "the world" through a filter that is so vastly different from your own.
Monday, October 1, 2012
strange behaviors
2) I'll be working on my laptop in a cafe and I'll come across a mention of Wyoming in something I'm reading and get really distracted by the fact that "there is a state named Wyoming": I'll just stare at the word "Wyoming" for like 90 seconds and wonder how it's possible that ANYTHING -- let alone a STATE -- could be named that. It just seems so implausible! I'll Google "Wyoming" just to confirm that it really is a place that exists. Then, finally, I'll type "Wyoming" in the Post-It Note I keep open on my desktop, for no reason other than to give the appearance that this four minute detour resulted in something tangible.
3) This is a brother-specific one, but I'll do this thing where I'll accidentally refer to a place by the wrong name in an e-mail or text to my brother (I'll call the "Meatball Shop" the "Meatball Hut," for example), and he'll make a point of correcting me. From then on, for the rest of time (foreverrrrrr!!!), whenever the "Meatball Shop" comes up in our conversations (this example is getting weird, but hopefully you're following), I'll always intentionally call it the "Meatball Hut" (to his great irritation).
4) I'll be eating a sandwich at a deli and note that it tastes especially bland. I can barely even distinguish between the different elements of the sandwich! But instead of assessing that perhaps this deli just makes awful sandwiches, I will instead worry that something might be "wrong" with my taste buds. I will leap out of my chair, buy a bag of Doritos, tear it open and immediately eat like ten, solely to make sure I can still "taste properly."
Thursday, September 13, 2012
ways to spice up your life
2) The superintendent in my building calls me "Jay" instead of "Josh." I have no idea if he knows that my name is "Josh" and just calls me "Jay" as, I dunno, a shortened version... or if he just misheard me the first time I told him my name. Anyway, I pass him in the lobby quite often, and he always says "Hey Jay," and it's this little jolt of excitement (?) in my day to be called by this alternate moniker. "Oh, right," I always think, "I'm Jay to him." (So yeah, I guess my "tip" here is: introduce yourself with a slightly modified name to a periphery character in your life!)
3) I used to play this "game" with my friend Andrew. Basically, I'd scroll through the contacts list on my phone and then Andrew would yell (yell!) "stop" after a few seconds. I would then have to text whomever I had landed on, no matter if it was my friend's dad, my high school tennis coach, etc. Of course, like 97% of the time we wouldn't actually go through with sending the text (also, we only played this rollicking game like once) but it's still fun to consider what you would text the person (would you come up with something viable to text them or you would play it off as a "mistake"??). (Hmm, maybe the takeaway of this third item is that you probably don't want to rely on me to organize your next Game Night.)
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
the jennifer westfeldt story
Monday, August 6, 2012
Scarlett Fever!
Some exciting news! About two years ago, when I was blogging for NYMag.com at night and had my days free, I started writing a play. I finished it in December of 2010 and staged a "reading" in my apartment: my friends Marissa and Liz and my brother Sam read the six parts between the three of them, while I twitched nervously and tore through a bag of Sour Patch Kids. After a revision, I brought it to my director/producer friend Ashley, who came on board as director. Two more readings (with real actors this time) and nearly a year and a half later, the play is finally debuting! In the New York Fringe Festival! I am so so soooo excited, and - if you're in/near the NYC area - would be thrilled if you'd come see it!
It's called Scarlett Fever. It's about a girl named Gracie who has just graduated from college and moved to New York. She also happens to be a Scarlett Johansson superfan. Meanwhile, her best friend Joey, who works for a fashion magazine, is consumed with his crush on the barista at their local coffee shop. Gracie meets a mysterious, charming guy at a party, and events unfold from there. Still, two years later, I'm not the greatest at describing it, but, yeah, it's a very fast-paced, pop culture-y comedy, basically.
There are five performances at the SoHo Playhouse on August 14, 17, 23, 24 and 25. You can buy tickets now at scarlettfevershow.com. Also, I've been blogging about the show for a few weeks now on scarlettfevershow.tumblr.com.
Would be grrrreat to see you there! If you do make it, be sure to come up and say hi after! I'll be the guy wearing all black twitching nervously and covertly popping Sour Patch Kids in the back.
Monday, July 30, 2012
goodnight from Phoenix
"Now select everything on the left and drag it into the box on the right."
"Onto the white space or anywhere in the box?"
"Anywhere in the box is great."
We had been going back-and-forth like this, Tim R. walking me through a somewhat complicated series of maneuvers to rectify a "domain-related problem" I was having with one of my websites.
I dragged the files into the box on the right and a notification came up on my screen informing me that the transfer would take about ten minutes.
"It's... uh... going," I said. Though we had been on the phone for some 90 minutes at this point, the "conversation" had been comprised exclusively of troubleshooting and instructions and hold music. I wondered what would happen now. Would he say something like "so, uh, I'm just gonna put you on hold for 10 minutes while we wait..."? Would we both just remain silent on the line? Would we confess dark, deep secrets to one another in this odd, "no consequences" long-distance circumstance?
But Tim R. just started rambling. He asked me if I had heard about a new project Google was working on to create a cell phone battery that could survive for months without needing to be charged. He mentioned a password-keeping app he uses to store all of his passwords (his Facebook password has 64 digits, he told me). He told me about some super high-speed internet connection they're testing in Kansas City (I didn't really follow this last one, but strategically employed some "aah"s and "coool"s).
"You really have a lot of technology factoids," I said. "I guess it probably helps you keep up with, uh, your work."
"Yeah," he said. "It also provides me with things to talk about when I'm on the phone with customers!"
I surprised myself by laughing loudly, authentically, at this.
When we arrived at our next 10 minute wait a bit later, the nature of his soliloquies changed. He told me that he'd recently taught himself how to make websites, and had created about 35. ("Wow, I'm impressed.") He asked me if I'd ever played Counter-Strike. ("Uhhhh, I don't think so," I said. And then I lied, "Maybe once.")
"Pull up Google on your browser," he said, in the way you might nag your best friend in the office. "... Now Google the word 'tilt.'"
"Wow, that's so great," I said, even though I had seen this "trick" a few months ago. "Are there more?"
"Yeah. This one's kind of nerdy though. Google 'recursion.'"
After two hours and 36 minutes, it was time for the call to come to an end.
"What time is it there?" he said. "I can't believe I didn't ask where you were calling from this whole time."
I realized I had offered very little about myself during our marathon phone call. The most "revealing" I had been was probably my assessment that I "love a good acronym," or maybe when I inexplicably offered that the Google Doodles are "very neat."
"It's 1:13 am," I said. "I'm in New York."
"Well, goodnight from Phoenix," he said.
The next day, I had to call the Help Line again. The issue Tim R. had been helping me with had not been resolved.
"Hello, this is Kasey...," a cheery voice announced. "I have to let you know that this call might be recorded for training purposes."
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
black jackets
My mom was in town from Boston, and my brother had suggested we stop by the installation before dinner. When I arrived, the two of them were already inside, examining a large-scale photograph of the back of Anna Wintour's head. The lights were dim. A mix of tourists and SoHo-y types milled about. There were three employees dressed in all black handing out posters of the Elle Fanning, Sarah Jessica Parker and Vanessa Paradis prints.
"Well, this is weird," I said.
We walked around the exhibit and lingered in front of the portraits of the more famous celebrities (Kanye, Uma, Dunst). "Interesting." "Wow." "I like this one." Perhaps it was that the same jacket was featured in every photograph, but it didn't take long for all of them to start to blend together.
About 15 minutes later, the three of us independently shifted toward the exit. My mom was only in town for two nights. I had met her at her hotel earlier that day for lunch. The previous night we had gone to an event for which I'd had to wear a suit. Now, we were off to dinner in Tribeca. In, a few nice meals, out.
We walked out of the exhibit and my brother noted that it would be closing at the end of the week.
"So it was just open for a few weeks? What was the point?"
Sam said something about how it was just a fun, short-term attraction and that it was good for the Chanel brand, but I was busy imagining a line-up of my friends all wearing the same black jacket, wondering why I always feel more distant from loved ones when they're visiting me in New York than when we're in different states, and wishing we were heading to eat in our upstairs TV room in Boston rather than a New York restaurant with an unpronounceable name.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
a bowl of macaroons
The man and I reached the elevator at about the same time. The woman was inside, holding the door open. He popped a macaroon in his mouth.
"What are you eating?" she asked him as the door closed.
"A macaroon."
"... And you didn't get me one?"
"No. Sorry."
I felt like I was observing a real-life version of what I'd imagine an episode of "Whitney" is like.
"So you thought you'd get yourself some snacks while I've just been standing here waiting in the elevator? You didn't think to yourself, you know, 'Maybe she'd want one...'?"
We were now at my floor. I got off the elevator... and, to my surprise, so did the man.
"What are you doing?" the woman asked.
"I'm going to go back down to get you a macaroon."
As the door closed she wailed, "I don't even want one now!" I gave the man a parting look, and he shrugged in my direction, as if I was implicitly on his side. I looked down and then turned and walked to my apartment.
A bowl of macaroons likely instigated a tense few minutes of silent co-existing, a fumbling apology, a somewhat stilted brunch the next morning. Of course, if the macaroons hadn't been there, it would have been something else: a vague text message read aloud, a misplaced mug, an inadvertent laugh.
Yesterday I got on the elevator with the same woman; I hadn't seen her since the macaroons night. She was texting on her phone, but she looked up when I pressed the button for my floor. We locked eyes. She looked almost frightened, as though she recognized me from a recurring bad dream that she never wakes up from soon enough.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
cherish that antipasto
If I'm blithely sliding my fingers atop my iPhone screen in public, 70 percent of the time I'm just scrolling through old text message conversations. Either it's because I'm on the subway and forgot to bring a book with me or, more commonly, because I'm just trying to avoid making eye contact with humans.
Almost always, I end up scrolling to this text message I received from an unknown northern New Jersey phone number in November. It never ceases to fascinate me. Cherish that antipasto...
I have come up with a whole backstory here. It was sent a few days before Thanksgiving, so I'm thinking that this girl -- her name is Natalie, I feel -- hosts an annual pre-Thanksgiving dinner for her best friends from high school, who live in different parts of the country now (they all just graduated from college) but reunite in NJ for the holidays. She'd always had a thing for this guy Vince. They were never really great friends, but Vince comes to Natalie's yearly dinner because one of his friends dates Natalie's best friend. For the November 2010 dinner, Natalie labored over an elaborate antipasto platter, which everyone -- especially Vince -- made a point of complimenting.
She'd been waiting a whole year to see Vince and make that antipasto all over again. Vince wrote on her Facebook wall on her birthday in March: "hbd lady! can't wait til november. been dreaming about that antipasto," and Natalie immediately both "liked" the post and commented "lol you will not be disappointed!!" (she immediately questioned if unveiled enthusiasm was the right move there).
November 2011 finally rolls around. Natalie spends hours getting ready for the dinner. Her best friend has just gotten engaged to Vince's friend, which only makes her more anxious about seeing Vince ("we could, like, go on double dates," her best friend screeches, making Natalie's stomach turn). At the dinner, though, Vince is... distant. He sits on the opposite side of the table from Natalie. She thinks she overhears him mention a girl named Madison? When he leaves, he gives Natalie a pat on the shoulder instead of a hug. "Wait," she says. "Let me put the leftover antipasto in a Tupperware for you." She doesn't know what else to do.
She spends the entire next day debating whether or not to text him. "just make it abt the antipasto, that's safe," her friend Vicki gchats her. "also, i think he got a new phone so u'll need to get the # from fb..." Natalie goes to his Facebook profile, instinctively clicking through the pictures she's clicked through so many times before. Finally, she decides to go for it and text him. She has nothing to lose.
Of course, she entered his number incorrectly into her phone -- I got the text instead of "Vince." She spent a few days holding her breath every time she got a text message, hoping it might be him. Maybe he'll suggest stopping by my place again while he's still home for Thanksgiving? But she never heard back. I'm hoping Natalie decides not to have her pre-Thanksgiving dinner this fall; a hopeful antipasto platter and a hopeless one are so often one in the same.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
julia's party
"Kaylee, you just got invited to Julia's party." Kaylee paused briefly and then resumed twirling. "It's on Thursday at Battery Park so you're going to have to miss gymnastics." The older daughter looked up from her Sidekick, suddenly interested. Kaylee frowned.
The mom typed a response to the e-mail: "Kaylee will be there! She already has a present picked out for Julia!"
These same conversations happened 15 years ago, and they'll still be happening 15 years from now. The details may differ -- a tattered Roald Dahl book becomes a shiny Sidekick, a Power Rangers paper invite is now a mass e-mail -- but the tired smiles, the preoccupation with scheduling and planning, the pulling on t-shirts -- none of that changes.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
sketchy
About a month after I moved in to my apartment last year, I noticed this doodle drawn in my hallway about six inches to the left of my door.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
invariably, the following
Monday, April 16, 2012
a little paint
Thursday, April 5, 2012
the understudy
Monday, March 26, 2012
situations in which people are almost always disingenuous
Friday, March 16, 2012
"about your cousin"
I guess this behavior is a sort of corollary of the "when you concentrate on not thinking about something, it becomes all you can think about" phenomenon, except instead of remaining an in-your-own-head annoyance, this kind results in your groan-sighing when you get a text the next morning that says: "drinks was really fun! and thanks so much for agreeing to help out my cousin, i'm just gonna give him your e-mail and he'll be in touch!!!"
Thursday, February 23, 2012
a brief clause
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
you and marvin
You're hanging out with your good friend Nate and his friend, whom you've met a few times maybe, at Nate's apartment. You're on cordial, perfectly fine terms with this friend of Nate's (let's call him Marvin), but there is no way you'd ever hang out with him without Nate; whenever you and Marvin see each other, you overdo the niceties (while thinking to yourself something like: "There's no way Nate could be closer with this chump than he is with me... right?").
You come back from the bathroom and a song you can't stand is playing from the plugged-in iPod and you shout theatrically, "Really, Nate? This song?! You would play this garbage! Chaaaaange it!"
Marvin leaps to attention. "Oh, this is actually my iPod," he says. "I just put this on..." And you immediately start gushing nonsense: "Ohhhh, I didn't, ummmm... realize! I was just... this song's totally fine. I like it, actually! You know, me and Nate, we... you know?"
"I mean, I can change it... no problem," Marvin says.
"No, it's great, really," you say, sitting down and taking out your phone.
There are a few moments of silent shifting before Nate clears his throat and asks if anyone wants more wine.