getting pounded by the pavement

lately around the city i've been noticing young, harried looking people dressed to the nines in the godawful humidity, lugging bags and portfolios, changing into or out of comfy shoes on street corners, all with a certain look on their faces—a mix of sheer terror, disbelief and anticipation.

and oh, it takes me right back.

ten years ago this very month i was doing the First Job Shuffle. once a week, or sometimes two or three times a week, i'd make my trek into the city for interviews. back then, believe it or not, Amtrak was still somewhat affordable, so i'd take the local train to Philly, hop on a cushy Amtrak train, and disembark at Penn Station with a stomach tied in knots.

it's so ridiculously scary, figuring out how the hell to start your career. especially at age twenty-two, when you've just spent the previous two decades being told where to go and what to do and how to do it and when to get it done. the sudden freedom of post-college life was, at least for me, a little debilitating.

it was so long ago i can barely remember all the places i interviewed. my first was at a publication called Glass Digest—yes, it was a real magazine and yes, it was all about glass—and i was offered an EA job pretty much on the spot. thank god i turned it down. i also interviewed at Cat Fancy or Dog Fancy—i really can't remember—and Weekly Reader (that required Amtrak-ing it up to Stamford, CT, what an adventure) and US before it went weekly and a magazine for lovers of the Mercedes-Benz.

that probably sounds awesome to recent grads—every place i sent my resume seemed to call to set up an interview. but let me tell you, it was exhausting. and i was utterly and completely lost.

one specific, vivid memory popped into my head earlier today. i was in the city for one interview or another—actually, possibly two interviews that day—and i was wearing a mint green suit. you read that correctly: mint green. think of the barfiest shade of green you can imagine and then kick it up a notch. that was my suit. purchased specifically for my job-hunting bonanza at a Kohl's-like store in Pennsylvania. (god, do kids even wear suits to interviews anymore? did they ever? was i that much a freak of nature?)

anyway, of course i was wearing pantyhose—it was July in the city, why wouldn't i?—and sensible pumps. probably from Naturalizer or Hush Puppy. probably a shade bone or taupe—sassy. i didn't know my way around the subways so well at that point and god knows i couldn't afford cabs. so i did a lot of walking from Penn Station to wherever my interviews were, usually on Fifth or Madison or Lexington, somewhere in the 50s.

that particular day, the mint-green-suit day, i remember walking up Fifth Avenue and feeling a wetness at my heels. i was just leaving a big fancy building, the location of some publishing company, and i glanced down to see what was up.

my heels—both of them—were a bloody mess. i'm talking a four or five inch radius of bright red, staining my nude pantyhose. i'd never seen anything so ridiculous. or disgusting. i had sort of felt the blisters building earlier but had no idea they'd exploded in such a gory fashion.

i stared down, horrified, and remember feeling—so very acutely—that i was so new. i was a clueless, overgrown, totally naive child and the whole world could see it, courtesy of my bloody heels.

no idea what i did after that. probably ran into a Duane Reade for band-aids and a new pair of hose. actually—and i'm not sure if it was that day or another one—i remember spending a good amount of time, either in between interviews or waiting for my Amtrak train, huddled in one of the lobby areas of the Marriott Marquis in Times Square. i sat by a bank of pay phones (i wouldn't have a cell for another two of three years—imagine that, kids) and called my best friend and college cohort, Kerri. we gabbed and laughed and commiserated for as long as my calling card would allow, and it was the most at ease i'd felt since graduating.

it all worked out OK in the end, of course. in August of 1999, just as i was about to accept an unpaid internship at Boston Magazine, i was offered a job as the reader mail assistant at Seventeen, and the rest is history.

i know the kids have it harder today. they're not only battling each other for a precious few jobs, they're battling all the tons and tons of people who've been laid off in the last year. must be a jungle out there.

for those reasons (and reasons directly related to the mint-green-suit fiasco) i am extremely glad that rite of passage is behind me.

mb

something old, something new, something borrowed, something on youtube

wow. it's a slow-ish workday so i was just poking around on nymag.com and came upon their posting of the ubiquitous "Forever" wedding dance video that exploded last week. if you're reading this, it means you know how to work the internet, which means there's no way you haven't seen that video. but just in case here you go.

i first saw the clip on the Today show last Friday while i was at the gym. it made me smile, mostly because i applaud any and all wedding originality. by the time you're my age (and, presumably, older than my age) you've been to dozens of weddings. it's only the truly special ones that stand out in your mind weeks, months, years later. otherwise they all sort of jumble together into one big blurry memory of un-mic-ed vows, pasta bars and bouquet tosses set to a cacophonous soundtrack of "Canon in D" and "Last Dance."

so, anyway, even though i rolled my eyes and groaned when Matt Lauer announced that the bridal party from the Minnesota wedding would be on the show the next morning to recreate the dance (hold on a sec while i pound my head into this wall here), i was happy for the couple for doing things their way and finding themselves in the middle of a—so far, anyway—warm and fuzzy media storm.

it was that same morning that New York Magazine posted the clip on their site, and the comments quickly rolled in. they're still rolling in, actually. and while more than half of them are happy, appreciative, positive remarks, there are quite a few that are particularly biting, mean and outright ridiculous. someone, for example, commented on the couple's obvious lack of understanding about the gravity of marriage. someone else said they stole the idea of dancing down the aisle from West African tribes. other people criticized the lack of creativity on the couple's part, citing the "Baby Got Back" couple from a couple years ago.

i have to say: reading those comments made me think that people, in general, sort of suck.

yes, it's the beauty of free speech and part of the wonder of the internet—people get to comment on anything and everything and many of them are jerks and/or write things just to rile people up.

still.

maybe i'm miffed because i had an idea for my own wedding recently, one that didn't exactly start with the "Forever" video but definitely got a boost from it. it's one of those things that my bridesmaids are into but the groom is very wary of (because, you know, he's a guy and genetically has a lower threshold for making a total ass out of himself—weird) and so it'll either take time and persuasion to make it happen, or it'll be an idea that gets crossed off the list because marriage is all about compromise, right?

anyway, my whole reason for wanting to follow through with said creative idea (which i'm keeping secret just in case it does come to fruition) is because i think marriages are highly personal and unique—no two are the same, not everything works for everyone, and no one should judge another's because there's no "right" way to be married. i think the same is true of weddings. there should be no judgment of a couple's choices about how they get married. if you're invited, whether it's in a barn or on a beach or at a bar or in the freaking Sistine Chapel—just go, be happy for the couple, have fun and get on with your life. let the bride and groom express their love and devotion and promise to be each other's partner forever however they want. traditional down to the wording on the response card? lovely. eloping to city hall in your jeans? brilliant. dancing down the aisle to "Brick House"? go for it.

i guess if i do wind up going through with my idea, there's a chance someone i know will post it on YouTube. (if the Today show calls, i am not picking up. mark my words.) and maybe the same lovely readers at nymag.com will have similar caustic comments about my wedding and marriage. and i'll feel sorry for them, because clearly they can't recognize joy and happiness even when it's dancing right in front of their faces.

mb

new place, same pinstripes

it's been a really hectic two weeks, i'm having one crapbag of a day and i've been thinking lately that i should write about more substantive things here, stuff that affects my life regularly, but i'm not quite that brave yet so, for right now, since i need a little cheering up, i'm going to write about my first trip to the new Yankee Stadium, which happened last Sunday.

for father’s day, i bought my dad (and me) tickets to Old Timers Day. i refused to go to the Stadium with anyone but my dad the first time—it’s just something i wanted to share with him. i bought the tickets back in like February or March and July 19 seemed so friggin' far away but you know how life goes—just like that, the day finally arrived. and it was a beauty. clear sky, lots of sun but no humidity. i have suffered through some rainy, some freezing and some rainy and freezing games—as well as some during which i thought i might melt into a puddle and get mixed up with the spilt beer and peanut shells under the seats—so i was especially thrilled with our good weather luck.

my dad took the NJ Transit train in from Trenton early Sunday morning and i found him at Penn Station (we have a routine: he arrives, calls me on my cell, describes his surroundings and i track him down like a scent hound) and we got on a Bronx-bound subway. ("how do you know we're on the right train?" he asked me. "um, because i've lived here for 10 years, dad.")

it was a quick ride and when we first got off at 161st Street, things looked the same. there were no new signs in the station, the walls and ground weren’t any less grimy and trudging up the steps amidst the throngs of fans felt like it always did. but then, above ground, it was a whole new world.

namely: a big, gleaming, ivory structure—a stark contrast to the gray-net-encased old stadium across the street—and, i have to admit, it gave me goosebumps. it was not unlike walking into the Magic Kingdom and spotting Cinderella Castle in the distance, or standing below Spaceship Earth at Epcot (you expected anything other than Disney analogies?).

it was weird to see a big HardRock Café façade right there near the main entrance. it seemed, to me, incongruous. (and, actually, a lot like Disney World.) but i overlooked that. whatever.

the ticket turnstiles are interesting in that you scan your own tickets (hmm, another Disney similarity), whereby rendering pretty much useless the old guys who man the ‘stiles. they’re still there, though, and crotchety as ever.

the Great Hall—what you’re standing in once you push through the turnstile—is really, really impressive. it’s like two or three stories high, there are huge banners hanging with images of Yankee icons and it’s befittingly grand for such a hallowed place (yeah, yeah, i know the place across the street is actually hallowed, blah blah blah—ghosts move).

the funny thing is that once you get “inside” the park—meaning, where you can glimpse the field—it feels a lot like the old stadium. or, rather, the field doesn’t look much different. so it’s not that breathtaking experience of seeing the Yankee diamond for the first time ever.

what does take one’s breath away is the ginormous high-def screen in center field. like you have no idea how clear this picture is. they put Don Zimmer’s face up on the screen during Old Timers’ introductions and i counted exactly how many wrinkles he acquired since i last saw him, that’s how clear it is.

which reminds me—our seats were in what is called the Grandstand now (in plain-speak: upper deck) on the first base side. i sat in similar seats in the old stadium and, while i would sit pretty much anywhere for a Yankee game, i always felt like i

was really far away up there. not at the new place. we were maybe 12 rows down from the last-last row and i felt like i was only one level up. my dad said it had something to do with how they structured the sections or how they arranged the seating or something—whatever they did, it works.

other things of note:

• it’s awesome to be able to see the field no matter where you are on the concourse. where the old stadium was dark and cavernous between seating entryways, this place is wide open, which makes standing on line for a beer or peanuts a much less anxious experience.

• the ladies rooms are lovely. yes, i said it, lovely. clean, free of unpleasant smells, no lines, paper toilet seat covers in each stall. major, major upgrade.

• there are uniformed workers stationed throughout the stadium holding signs that say “may i help you?” they look like total tools, but they are pretty helpful and non-rude. my dad pointed out that there seemed to be a real effort in the new place to be fan-friendly. (which is the least they can do considering you can buy a house right now for less than it costs to take a family of four to a Yankee game. )

• garlic fries. they sell garlic fries at Yankee Stadium! you have no idea how obsessed i’ve been with garlic fries since Michael and i had them at a SF Giants game at Pac Bell in 2004. it was my first experience with one of the most brilliant creations ever, and i nearly lost my mind when i noticed a woman on the concourse carrying a paper tray of them on Sunday. they were even better this time, presumably because i was in my own ballpark rooting for my own team. (head’s up: they’re totally worth indulging in, but you will definitely be, ahem, reminded of the indulgence for a day or two afterward—as will the people who come within a foot of you.)

my complaints are few, but i do have them.

• whether it was just our section, or because it was a Sunday in July, or because that’s just how things are now, i don’t know, but there seemed a distinct and noticeable lack of passion among the fans. at one point, when Joba had two outs and two strikes on the current batter, i had an urge to stand up and clap but actually thought, “no, you’ll block the people behind you.” then i wanted to slap myself—hello, it’s a ballgame! not the opera! [a guy and a girl arrived in the third or fourth inning and sat in the seats next to me. they did not acknowledge the actual game at all. not even once. seriously, amazing things were happening on the field and they just kept chattering away, so inanely i wanted to throw my beer on them. why not just go to a bar? why pay $75 a pop to spend $10 a beer to NOT watch a baseball game? uggggh.] anyway, i was the only one in my section—and the surrounding sections—who got up to dance when “Cotton-Eyed Joe” came on in the eighth inning. after about 45 seconds of flailing about i felt like a total idiot so i sat down. that bummed me out.

• the stadium definitely reads corporate, from the fancy steakhouse and Tommy Bahama’s to the sleek, glass-enclosed suites and Delta Sky Bar. it’s very slick and buttoned up. that sort of sucks.

but, look. the bottom line is: i’m a Yankee fan, i’ll always be a Yankee fan, and going to games is always a thrilling experience for me, whether it’s in a magical dump like the old place or a gleaming Disney-fied building like the new place. the game last Sunday was a total blast, they actually won for us, we got to see Moose and Mo pitch (one in the game that didn't count, one in the game that did), and i’ll be able to tell my kids someday, “your grandpa and i made our first visit to this stadium together...”

and i love that, almost as much as i love garlic fries.

mb

away we go (and by 'we' i mean my brain and me)

One week ago I saw Away We Go, a little movie you may have heard of, or maybe not. Maya Rudolph stars, along with my pal John Krasinski. It was also co-written by Dave Eggers, so I figured it would be up my alley. And it was.

But…it also derailed me a little.

The movie is essentially about a couple who are expecting a baby and who have no idea where to live. They take a bit of an odyssey around the country, visiting various friends and family, searching for the ideal spot to raise a family.

The message was essentially: home is where the heart is. There is no perfect location or situation or setting. There is no formula for figuring out what to do or where to live. Just go with what feels right and the rest will get sorted out.

I wish I was that carefree. I wish I had that much faith in the universe. Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I believe I’m truly lighthearted, even a free spirit. But somewhere during the second half of the movie I slipped into pensive mode, and on the walk home I was pestering Michael with Big Life Questions: where do you think we should live? When do you think we should have a baby? How will we do all of this?

(Perhaps this is why men resist chick flicks whenever humanly possible.)

Truth is, I’d already been fretting about where to live even before the movie got in my head. I’d been having visions—not the creepy or prescient type, just the kind that crop up from time to time when a gal’s got her head in the clouds eighty percent of the time. The visions involved a house—not huge, but not cramped. Comfortable. Cozy. It was in a place that looked a lot like the Bay Area.

The town was beautiful, vivid, clean and peaceful. But full of life, too. Just a calmer kind of life than I’m currently used to. The only part of the house I could really see in my vision was an office: whitewashed furniture, framed black and white photos on the walls, overstuffed bookcases, green and blue pillows on a comfy loveseat. The focal point was a big desk, with a vintage chair—one of those slatted oak chairs with wheels that make me think of an old newspaper office—and a laptop. It was a room for me, a place where I went daily to write, partly to make a living, partly just for myself.

Not sure where the vision came from or why it popped into my head. But it made me happy. And confused. Wasn’t I just gushing about my love of New York not too long ago? How I don’t want to leave? So why am I fantasizing about California now? Why is that where I picture myself finally freelance writing for a living, where I envision a content and peaceful life?

Many times in my life I’ve considered moving west. Usually immediately after I’ve visited, or at other times when I feel the need to run. This time? Not quite sure. Maybe my soul is craving a kind of peace I’m not feeling at the moment. Maybe it’s the Northern California-like weather we’ve been having back east. Maybe I’m just itching for an adventure.

Whatever the case, it has me contemplating the notions that 1) you can’t have it all and 2) there are never any perfect scenarios. Breaking news, I know, but nevertheless I find it all very frustrating. California—albeit flat broke at present—is, to me, God’s country. It’s another planet. A better planet. I am pretty absolutely positive I could be happy there. All it lacks are my friends and most of my family, people I’m fairly sure I can't live without.

But again: why am I even thinking about this? It makes me wonder if I’m just the kind of person who will never be content, who can never just fully enjoy where she is in life, who always thinks there is something more amazing she could be doing with her time.

This mental state is probably the reason I was firing so many questions at my always-patient fiancé after the movie. I was hoping he had the answers. Poor guy. Enduring a low-budget chick flick should have been more than enough.

mb

so happy together

a few selects from our hilarious and memorable engagement photo shoot.

mb