Two Weeks and Counting

I've officially been a school free adult for two weeks now and what do I have to show for it?

Well, my work keeps paying me. That's something.

I typed up a scene for my new play and successfully changed all the character's names.

Next week I'm going on a cruise to the Caribbean with my best friends.

I suppose this is adulthood. Life just keeps rolling along, each day passing and being forgotten. Part of it is releaving. No deadlines to worry about. No silly writing assignments meant to stretch my brain. No unsolicited brain stretching of any kind. Lots of reading for pleasure. Lots of sitting home in my pajamas because I don't want to take the bus into the sitting. Lots of free time to let my brain wander over the problems of any of the plays I've ever written (On which note, I think I finally solved a massive problem in a play I wrote four years ago. Now, I'm deciding if the play is worth rewriting at all).

I suppose this is a really long winded way of saying that my life is pretty boring at the moment.

The First Day of the rest of my Life

I turned in my master's thesis on Wednesday. Printed it out, bound it together and mailed it to Scotland. I'm longer a student. Everything I've known for the last twenty years of my life is no more.

It is the most liberating feeling ever.

Despite that I know I'll go back for a doctorate eventually - the most stressful moments of my masters degree are the ones that motivate me towards the PhD - but I can't leave NYC to do it - I feel like a person, in the most complete sense of personhood. If anyone understands that.

I feel free to write whatever I want. I feel some how more... there's not a word for it. I feel like in situations where before I thought I'd be dismissed as a young student trying to find herself, now they might take me serious. Now I'm ready to let them take me seriously. I'm ready to stand up and tell them that I do have something to offer them and that no they will not find a better candidate. I'm the woman for the job. I've seen my friends all around me being real people, being trusted - they've done away with those little girl smiles that get them in doors - now they look that man straight in the face and tell them what's what, without blinking and then they go for it. I'm ready to do that too.

I'm ready to call literary directors and ask if I can take them to lunch and pitch them my play. Ask them what they can do for me, where they think I should point my career's compass. And then I'll do it. Gone are the days when I thought my plays would be swept off their feet and on to Broadway. I'm not usually that naive, but I can dream. Bring on the cold calls and the short lunches. Bring it.

This is the first day of the rest of my life. I'm going grab it and squeeze every piece of it until I have all I want.

America's Best Idea

Last night I had the great pleasure of going to the launch party for the Ken Burns PBS documentary 'The National Parks'. A family friend was interviewed for the documentary because he is a John Muir scholar, a man very instrumental in he creation of the National parks.

A year ago I would not be one to wax poetic about America, but I completely agree with the film's tag line. The single thing that's sets America's wilderness apart of from Europe is the rawness of our wilderness. As absurd as that may sound its the truth. The American wilderness is absolutely wild. So much of the European landscape has been shaped by the hands of people for millenia. In Scotland - my main point of reference - there is only one small section of ancient woodland that has remained, for the most part untouched by man. But here, on our western continent, the new world, so much - pieces the size of European countries - has never been changed and shaped by man. Yes, people have lived with the land, but they never farmed it en mass, tearing down forests, clearing stones, re-routing water. We have swathes of land that are almost as pristine as when the Europeans - and my forebears - imposed themselves on this new world. I am completely in favour of keeping them that way.

Scotland is a beautiful place. Everyone asks and its true. But can you imagine a landscape that has born the brunt of human endeavor for thousands and thousands of year. And I've studied the country. They've been reshaping that land since there were people in Scotland.

But looking past all the rhetoric and politics, the clips from the documentary made me cry a little bit. So if I have the time to watch the full shebang, I know I'll bawl my eyes out.

In other news on that evening, Assistant Secretary Strickland was there to make a speech. Ahead of the performance he was mingling with the crowd, and I thought I recognized him, but couldn't place it (like always) so I just eyed flirted with him. *giggle giggle*

Things I Miss

So I've started to miss a few things about Scotland.

1) My friends
2) Beer, Ale, Lager. There really are some things Americans can't do
3) Thursday night dancing and hot chocolate in Kilau

This list will be slow to populate, but its a start.

Everyday occurances

Two people are walking down the street towards each other. Straight at each other. In the US they both step to the right and avoid any unnecessary eye contact. In the UK they both step to the left and avoid smacking over sized noses.

But what if an innocent American finds herself walking down a Scottish street and runs into this conundrum. They both follow their natural instincts and nose smack into eyes and the street is covered in various kinds of goo. Soon the American learns and starts stepping left. Stepping left naturally.
Then that American moves home, but still stepping left. Resulting in more eye contact than the average New Yorker is used to having to negotiate. The young American is scared and confused. Will she every go back to normal and naturally step right? There's so much riding on this innocuous habit. Not to mention how this might impact her political leanings.

Death to Soundscapes

Death to soundscapes echoing through marble halls
Force in you ear plugs
Death to sound waves bouncing off marble walls
Send down the thugs

Death to the designers who think they are hip
Pull out the rugs
Death to the dressers who give lots of lip
Release the big bugs

Death to the little black dress
Choke on the drugs
Death to assistants for causing this mess

The Final Straw

I feel like I've been fairly patient about the incursion that is fashion week. Really they are only another group of people trying to pay their rent while feeding their own egos and depricating the rest of us. Wouldn't we all love a job like that?

But now they've gone too far.

They're actually holding a fashion show INSIDE the library. Anger, rage. And because of it I can't get into my study room. When an industry that feeds off the low self esteem of others interferes in the culture building academic pursuits of others THAT'S JUST WRONG.

I'm trying to write a masters thesis here people. Get out of my way. Normally I'd just step over the velvet rope and go along my merry way. Velvet ropes only stop the people who see them as an impedement. They're just a game. However, they had a NYPD officer stationed at the hallway. You know, to keep out the academic riff-raff in their funny tweed coats with elbow patches and horn rim glasses. Not that it matters that the models are ON A DIFFERENT FLOOR. And that we really don't give a crap about the whole affair.

Now the show has started and their weird new age soundscape is echoing through the whole building.

Maybe they'll write my chapter on 'performance', they seem so good at acting up.

I'm pretty sure I just walked past Vera Wang. Looking lovely in a green embroidered jacket.

You heard it here first

Fashion week officially commences today and there is much flurry about Bryant Park. What's on the runways? No idea. They'd never let me in even if I bought a ticket. What is every one who is attending fashion week and staying off the runway wearing? Little black dresses. Knee to midthigh length. Kind of flowy. Flowy black sweaters. Medium chunky to chainy necklaces. Black sunglasses. And black ankle boots. All of them in ankle boots. All. And of course their entrance passes.

So notify the press: ankle boots are in.

TeddyCare

After watching President Obama's beautiful, moving speech I propose that the new system be called TeddyCare.

Naming aside, Obama clearly laid out exactly what he wants the health care reform to do and exactly how he wants to achieve them. No bullshit. He just put it all out there. I appreciated how many times he said that anyone's current health care would not change. I think its absolutely ridiculous that so many opponents honestly believe that this plan will completely rupture the current health care coverage of all the Americans who are fortunate enough to have health care.

As a new un-covered American, facing an extremely uncertain future. I have no health care and no job. In the depth of my heart I'm scared. But personal feelings aside, I'm completely in favor of the health care plan. Let's do it. Pass this bill people. I'd love to see it go even further to be honest. Let's aim for a system like Canada or Great Britain. I've experienced both of them on a first hand basis and they've great. Sure their are a few hoops that seem unnecessary to jump, but you'll find that anywhere. And this is America people, we're the greatest country on earth, we can make these systems better than anyone else.

I won't rant on about the other things I really wish they'd add to the bill. And I understand that the liberals are making concessions in order to pass this. And I see this as the first step in a long journey. But let's start this journey tonight. Yes we can.

Fashion Weak NYC

This week in Bryant Park the Spring 2010 fashion collection premieres on the runway. I am currently finishing my thesis at the main NYC Public research library at - can you guess - Bryant Park.

While I love that I live in a city that's chic enough to host a fashion week I do truely prefer to read about it online rather than walk through it every day.

Number of models spotted: 2
Number of times I feel like a furry footed hobbit: 2
Number of catcalls I get in Bushwick in 10 minutes: 6
Number of catcalls I get in Bryant Park in 10 minutes: 0
How often I feel inadequate: always

There are some things Bushwick can't get you, for everything else there's anorexia.

Falling in Love

Wandering around New York City I'm falling in love all over again. It's like waking up in the morning next to your husband who you've been cheating on for a year and then realizing that you're actually truly in love with him. And you haven't only been cheating on him, you've been cheating on yourself.

The other thing I am only just now noticing about the city: NYC is so fucking hip. I probably didn't notice before because I was from LA - which despite my protests is pretty hip - so it all felt like normal. But after returning for a little tiny city, which is not particularly hip, its like seeing NYC through the eyes of all those people who move here from the Midwest with their eyes full of dreams, their hearts full of hope and their heads full of naivety.

Independence

There's something so essentially independent about being in control of you transportation. Not having my own way of getting around makes me feel like a child again, it makes me feel like I'm being forced into a role of inferiority. This is how I feel in places like LA or Aberdeen. Not that I can't drive, but when you don't have a car you're stuck. Trapped in your location until someone decides they'll transport you. Its condescending. Not always. It does depend on the person. There is a certain wonderful person with a car in Aberdeen. She never made me feel like a small fumbling child when she gave me a lift. So thank you my friend.

The only thing that makes this feeling worse, exponentially worse, is guys saying they want to "take care of you". I hate it. Because really that's code for "I'm going to give you what I want you to have" rather than " can I help you get what you want?". Then they never actually help you with things that would be useful, like lifting heavy boxes.

What makes NYC different? What gives me that ultimate feeling of being completely in charge of my life? The subway. That's the first one. And endless mode of transportation that puts me in charge. And cabs. The fact that I'm paying them takes away the feeling of being hauled around by a begrudged parent. If I wasn't in the backseat and handing them cash at the end of the ride the cabbie would be hunger and homeless (or doing something else, but let me dream).

Secondly, men here don't take care of you. I can get myself home at night, they don't feel the need to pay for a cab. They don't want to force me into a trip to ikea for furniture which I can't afford. But they will carry my filing cabinet up the stairs without being asking. It makes a big difference. You don't have to stroke their egos to get them to help you, they just do it and gracefully take your unending thanks.



That's what makes me feel independent. And I love it. Makes me feel like the adult my father just realized I am.

Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

Things I learned…

...in Scotland

Patience: Everything took about three times long to do in Scotland and after a while there's nothing you can do about it. So take a deep breath and inspect your hair for split ends while whatever it is you're waiting for becomes ready for you. No mind that what your waiting for is the bank teller to stop inspecting their split ends.

Lots of people still live in very old-fashioned ways. I'm shocked to admit it, but the idea of not having a cell phone or something like that didn't seem to be an option. Mind you I don't have an ipod, but a cell phone? What would I do without it?

Some people have no problem with their own racism and don't feel like it's a problem to be so. I'm not completely naïve, I know that people are still racist, but I'm also so shocked to meet people who are so upfront about it. I always thought racists would keep it to themselves and only vent around the people they know agreed. But I suppose if you're racist, you're not really about being PC or sensitive to the feelings of others. America really is seen as some mythic strange new world by many people. Although they might feel similarly about America as I feel about Belize – not much, but it seems exotic – it's strange to experience the perceptions foreign nationals have about your own country. I also was in this strange and happy position, where if I didn't open my mouth people assumed I was Scottish and had no problem ranting about the problems of America directly in front of my. And I mean ranting, like seriously, things that could be extremely offensive if said in front of the wrong person. It was nice to experience such an uncensored view of people's emotions.

…about myself in Scotland:

Perhaps not by New York standards or LA standards, but compared to the rest of the world. I'm spoiled. And I mean spoiled in every sense of the word. My parents would hide 'spoiled' under the façade of 'privileged' or 'lucky'. While I didn't think I was privileged or lucky enough to get a new sports car on my sixteenth birthday. I did get a car while in high school. But I bought the 80's beast myself. Not that I paid for the insurance. Mind you even in a less obvious way. There were also fresh fruits and vegetables around, and meals were interested and varied. But I didn't realize there was another option. I didn't realize some people couldn't afford to eat the fun things I ate. I've never not been able to pay my heating bill. Mind you my last place was a bitch to heat and I preferred to wear a sweater and socks, but we were able to turn the heat on.

I'm interesting: I didn't believe it, but some people actually find me interesting to talk to and to listen to. People think I know stuff and am funny and value my opinion. Not to say that people in the US don't think I'm interesting. I just thought I was closer to normal on the scale of interesting, but man, there are some people out there who are not interesting. Not to downplay the importance of farm techniques or the best gear for go through round abouts at top speed, but honestly?

Despite the fact that I'm a dyed in the wool liberal, I now completely understand why people on the other side are in favour of smaller governments. There are some things the British government does that I think are absolutely ridiculous, like years car inspections to make sure it's in working order. Or the National Health Service's decision to not tell anyone the sex of their unborn child, in case they get it wrong and you sue them. I'm sure one case spoiled it for every new mother.

Just as a side note: I realize this post is rather narcisstic and mean and petty to a lot of people. That's not what I meant. These are things I learned while I was in Scotland, that does not mean these are ABOUT the Scottish people. Somethings I was just ready to learn at that time of my life and probably would have learned them in Scotland or where ever I was at the time. All the people I became friends with in Scotland are incredible people. I plan on being friends with them for the rest of my life. Being in Scotland simply exposed me to many, many things and people that I would never have exposure to had I not gone to Scotland. And I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything in the world.

A Place of My Own

When I first moved to Bushwick two years ago and told my friend who at the time did not live in or know much of New York thought I was kidding. It is the kind of joke I would make. Bushwick, is almost lewd. With the right tone of voice it's fairly easy to make it sound dirty. Better yet I didn't know anyone else who lived out there, so I could spin the neighbourhood however I wanted to.

'Bushwick, the place where the grass grows freely' (nudge nudge)

'Bushwick, home of many neatly trimmed shrubs' (wink, wink)

'Bushwick, where the Vikings went to shave' (say no more, say no more. No really, don't say that)

Okay, I probably wouldn't have made that last comment until I went to Scotland and learned that towns in Britain ending -wick, -wich, etc where settled by Vikings. Mind you, the joke in this whole thing is that this unbelieving friend now lives in Bushwick. Who has the last laugh now.

Two years later and I've moved back. Onto a more residential street, but I can still use the same Laundromat – they still have me in their computer – and I can still get coffee and the only trendy coffee shop in the area – and they still remember my face, but they never really got my name. The interesting part is they weren't really sure how long I'd been gone, not that I thought they would. How can you expect to know you haven't seen a customer for 14 months. After a while it all goes blurry. But they were shocked I had been gone for long and that I was back. Somethings don't change.

And something's do. Bushwick is probably now officially an artsy ghetto. Step 2 of gentrification. Which is too bad, and I hate to contribute, but I can't afford other places. The whole area reminds me of Venice beach from my childhood, except minus the crack and the AK-47's. And I'm not kidding about those.

The local grocery store has changed. When I first moved two years ago the only things in the store that looked familiar enough to eat where the cereal and the canned soup and even the soup was touch and go. But slowly the management smelled the winds of change (no my Bushwick friend, that's not a reference to anything) and granola appeared on the shelves. And dried fruit. Obvious signs that new-age yoga-class-attending people had moved into the area. Slowly this shelf expanding to two shelves, three shelves, an entire section, half an aisle. That's when I left. Now I wonder the aisles and recognize food in all of them. Mind you I still don't think I'd buy the fruit. But they have organic milk and expensive bottled water. The mysterious South American fruits have not disappeared, they are still there and that's relieving. The longer time residents still need to eat the foods they have been cooking for years. I will never deny anyone access to their native foods. It is the aisles and aisles of rice – different bags from each country in South America – whose loss I celebrate. And the endless bags of beans. How many different brands of pinto beans does one store really need to stock?

Yes, many will paint me the ruthless, white, bourgeoisie invader all copper hair and blue woad face paint bearing down at them Mel Gibson style, that is just as much a Hollywood mock up of me as it is of William Wallace. My daily life would tire easily without the confrontation of foreign fruit – and no I don't mean European Gays – in the grocery store or cat calls in a cornucopia of Spanish dialects. And while I don't entirely miss being the only white girl, or gringa, or shiksa, buying two-ply at the bodega, after a year in Scotland I just want to kiss the cluster-fuck of cultures.

Observations from the Outside

Despite my own New Yorker-ness, I'm probably still a bit of an outsider. And now I feel like a little but of an outside-America-er.

So I was thinking recently, the difference between the self-proclaimed Upper middle class and the self-proclaimed Lower middle class:

The UMC go to university and major in something they love, rack up lots of debt in the process and then get out and have no idea what kind of career they actually want, but yet still manage to go to yoga and pay rent. The LMC goes to university a major's in something that guarantee's them a job, racks up lots of debt, finishes university and get that's guaranteed job and pays off their debt and their rent and avoids yoga like the plague.

Thus Far

"Today is Tuesday." I was told once by my improv coach, and strangely it's become one of those sayings I live by. It does mean a lot more than the lexical understanding of those three words. Its hard to live by mantra you can only use once a week. So despite the fact that today actually IS Tuesday. It means, that everyday is special and unique and that something excite can happen, you just have to find that thing that's worth improvising a scene about. It's Tuesday, an ordinary day, but something has to make it worth putting in front of an audience. For me thus far today, on this ordinary Tuesday in NYC in August, nothing as of yet is worth making a scene about. But its early in the day.

I've now been back in NYC for a grand total of four days. Woot!! And things are slowly shaping up. I don't have an apartment and I'm not going to find a job for a while. I still have a dissertation to finish, but that gets more done everyday and I have a desk and a key card at the NYC public library. It makes me feel all professional. Its absolutely incredible seeing all my friends and there are still more to see. Generally, I just can't wait.

An Homage to Aberdeen

Which should not be confused with me calling Aberdeen my home. Its not anymore. I'm back in the US of A. And now, a photo essay of the view from my room.

SEPTEMBER

EARLY FALL

LATE FALL

DEAD OF WINTER

APRIL

MIDSUMMER

Instead of Being Productive

Rather than being productive and like editing my dissertation. I figured I'd post some pictures of my trip to the Netherlands. Sorry to disappoint, I was not in Amsterdam and did not partake in the activities that are famous partaken of in Amsterdam. I was out in the country. But there is a windmill.

This is the view from the front walk of the house I was staying at. As you can tell the only thing in the picture is a field of wheat and some trees in the background. And yes, that is in fact actually a field of wheat. Do not be mistaken my friend, somewhere in the world they have to grow the wheat that makes your bread. Here's some of it. A great big old field of wheat.

And the house I was staying in:

No, just kidding. This is actually a house at an open air museum. The house is made of peat bricks. People don't actually live in them anymore. Its kind of picturesque from the outside, but the inside is small, dark with room for the goats and full of spiders. OMG there were so many spiders all over Holland I couldn't escape them. I think that's what I'm most proud about from this trip, the fact that I didn't have a panic attack from all the spiders and have to be sent home early. Because man were there a lot of spiders.

This is the house I actually stayed in, which was described lovingly as either VillaVillaCoola from Pippi or the Burrow from Harry Potter. I couldn't quite understand what they were saying on the first day, because I wasn't yet used to the accent, but later I was more comfortable listen and understanding my host family. Although I think either of the two places apply, but on more thought I'm pretty sure she was referring to Harry Potter.

And as promised, a windmill. Isn't it pretty?

A Conversation with my Father

Me: I'm going to a funeral tomorrow.
Father: Oh, for who?
Me: Stanley Robertson, the major storytelling guy of Scotland?
Father: The one you interviewed?
Me: No, hadn't got to him yet.
Father: That's too bad.
Me: I guess.
Father: Network!
Me: What?
Father: Everyone in Scottish storytelling will be there. Take a notebook, write down their names. Network. Introduce yourself. Make the people you know introduce you to everyone else.
Me: What? Network? At a funeral? Is that even allow.
Father: Network!!