It hit me today, how lucky I really am. I'm listening to my roommate and other friend drone on about their jobs, how they seem to put in long, hard hours without seeing tremendous financial reward (granted, they each make a lot more than I do, and I know will be super successful someday) but the point is the here and now: I don't stress TOO much about my job, have a hell of a time, and make decent money. My roommate was actually wondering where the last 5 months of his life went because he's been working so much. I'm happy to say that isn't the case for me.
I pitch ideas at work for marketing campaigns, creative, "catchy" slogans and promotions that my bosses and our clients seem to like. It's a small company so I'm able to throw things out and I feel very "free" as opposed to chained down by some "corporate machine" larger than I. Love my bosses. Love my co-worker. The hours are reasonable, the pay is great - especially when I expense things. I also am able to make commissions. Socially, sure, I could be with someone. But I'm not. And I'm happy. While washing the dishes today, I thought, "Joey, be happy in this moment that you are truly single and free, because it won't be like this forever," and I also kept thinking about the minute I start to date someone, how I'll have to fork over mad cash to buy her things, and that's not appealing to me. Of course, for the right one it's okay--but for all the others, not so much.
How do we ever know who "the one" is? My very good friend recently broke off an engagement and ended a 9 year relationship. That couple was my "go-to" couple for love, happiness, and monogamy. Oh well. My friend is handling the issue very maturely.
The dude in my elevator last week said, "Man, I was watching this documentary where they take these little baby pigs and bash them into walls to kill them. Really disturbed me!" It would disturb me, too - cruelty to animals is something I don't like to think about and/or see. I was refreshed by the very straight way he told it; didn't preface it or follow it up with anything. It was genuine thought, something that was irking him and he just wanted to tell it to some other human being. I really enjoyed that. Not the part about the pigs, of course. You get the point.
My roommate may move to Denver. He is excited about it; I know this from his subtle mentions of it. He's not an outwardly emotional person, rather sort of an awkward person when situations get really emotional. I wonder how it will be when we say our goodbyes - truthfully, though, I love the kid and he's been an amazingly wonderful roommate. I will miss him. I know he'll miss me, too, and New York, and his family, but I wonder what's really going through his mind. He wouldn't be the one to say, "You know, man, I'm really gonna miss it here, kind of worried." He's just bring up 'Denver' every now and then as his way of saying, "I'm moving there, you fill in the blanks" Naturally, I did (or attempted to) fill in the blanks.
Bence is expecting me for the wedding in Hungary - I am also supposedly singing. I can't wait. Just one more reason that I life is just so amazing; I have a good friend, probably one of my best friends, actually (even though we've hung out for an accumulated 2 weeks in our lives) who lives over there. I cherish our friendship; I cherish all of my friendships, whether you're over an ocean, right here in this great city, or in the heart of it all.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Personal Expansions and Recessions
Everybody's talking about the damn economy. It seems like you can't open a newspaper without seeing words like, "credit crunch," "weak economy" or "recession;" a conversation with a co-worker, friend, or acquaintance seems to always, inevitably, point toward the economic recession in which we are currently living.
Lately, I've been thinking and reflecting on economic expansions and recessions, and how, in my own personal experience, they have no relationship to "self" expansions and recessions. Those who know me best have heard me drone on and on about 2008; my face lights up, I smile, and just have to say, "It was the greatest year of my life!" Ironically, 2008 was a terrible year for the economy; America's investment banks crumbled, the stock market tanked, and people lost millions. Our country entered into a 1930s, Great Depression-like glum that still has no subsided. Yet, the year for me was phenomenal from start to finish; it was a year where I really found my place at work and took charge, learned more about myself and those around me, and was just in great spirits in general. Hell, I was practically walking on air on Monday, September 15; a day Wall Street called "Ugly Monday" as Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy.
I'm still in a personal "expansion" although America, and the world, remains in an economic "recession." However, there were times when the situation was reversed; people were making a killing in the market, families took lavish vacations, hired nannies, earned bonuses, and felt more secure. That time was not so long ago; the late 1990s and into the 2000s were generally viewed as prosperous economic times for this country. In 1999, I had a few personal "recessions" while the country thrived. The land of milk and honey meant little to me as a shy, awkward 8th grader with an f'ed up tan, whiteheads, and practically friendless.
Later, in 2003, I don't know if our economy was "expanding" per se, but I sure as hell was as a person. It was my first year in college, and the year was utterly blissful. In 2006, on the other hand, while some firms "expanded" at record rates (ironically enough, Merrill Lynch reported record profits in '06) I was going through a bit of a personal "downturn," experiencing definite personal recession.
land of milk and honey.
Lately, I've been thinking and reflecting on economic expansions and recessions, and how, in my own personal experience, they have no relationship to "self" expansions and recessions. Those who know me best have heard me drone on and on about 2008; my face lights up, I smile, and just have to say, "It was the greatest year of my life!" Ironically, 2008 was a terrible year for the economy; America's investment banks crumbled, the stock market tanked, and people lost millions. Our country entered into a 1930s, Great Depression-like glum that still has no subsided. Yet, the year for me was phenomenal from start to finish; it was a year where I really found my place at work and took charge, learned more about myself and those around me, and was just in great spirits in general. Hell, I was practically walking on air on Monday, September 15; a day Wall Street called "Ugly Monday" as Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy.
I'm still in a personal "expansion" although America, and the world, remains in an economic "recession." However, there were times when the situation was reversed; people were making a killing in the market, families took lavish vacations, hired nannies, earned bonuses, and felt more secure. That time was not so long ago; the late 1990s and into the 2000s were generally viewed as prosperous economic times for this country. In 1999, I had a few personal "recessions" while the country thrived. The land of milk and honey meant little to me as a shy, awkward 8th grader with an f'ed up tan, whiteheads, and practically friendless.
Later, in 2003, I don't know if our economy was "expanding" per se, but I sure as hell was as a person. It was my first year in college, and the year was utterly blissful. In 2006, on the other hand, while some firms "expanded" at record rates (ironically enough, Merrill Lynch reported record profits in '06) I was going through a bit of a personal "downturn," experiencing definite personal recession.
land of milk and honey.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
DELETE IMMEDIATELY
One day after talking with my boss, I went back to my desk and decided I needed to vent. Instead of discussing it with anyone I began, foolishly, writing an E-mail to my co-worker: "He's ticked about something again; I can't tell what because he's so passive aggressive. It's not good to hold it all in; I think one day he's going to walk through that door and machete massacre all of us." As if this isn't bad enough, I titled the E-mail "DELETE IMMEDIATELY." Now at that time, I was sending my boss about 20 E-mails a day, so naturally, when I type in the first letter of his name, Outlook mail enters the whole address in the line. So, in one quick, reflexive motion, I typed the first letter of his name, his E-mail address was entered, and I clicked 'SEND' not even thinking twice. Instantly realizing what I had done, I shot up from my chair, in a panic. It was a few minutes shy of our 11 o'clock meeting, and I was praying that either the E-mail didn't send or I could somehow intercept it. I went into his office as he's beginning to prepare for the arrival of our client; I'm scanning the room furiously for his BlackBerry. Suddenly, I hear a vibrating coming from under the desk. He slides his chair back, and I notice his BlackBerry is clipped to his belt. He takes it and says, "Joey, looks like I just got an E-mail from you."
Sunday, March 15, 2009
"No Service, No Tip" Becomes "No Tip, No Service" -- A Williamsburg Story
Last Friday night began like many Fridays nights past; meeting friends for happy hour drinks at around 7, and not making any concrete plans but rather waiting to see where the night would go from there. The next thing we knew, my friend and I had left the west side bar, hopped on the L to Brooklyn w/2 girls we'd met, and wound up outside an old warehouse for a true Williamsburg dance party.
Now I don't claim to know everything about Brooklyn's Williamsburg neighborhood, but here is what I do know: it's a quaint, relatively safe neighborhood a few stops into Brooklyn off the L. It's pretty chill, but trendy and thus feels pretentious at times; this area is also know for it's relatively high concentration of hipsters. We pay the $3 coat check, get our hand stamped, and enter into a dark and hazy space with loud house music blaring and silhouetted figures in clumps everywhere. The smell of weed lingered in the air; occasionally orange embers from cigarettes illuminated people's faces. The party seemed to attract a niche audience, a certain, "underground" crowd-I wouldn't have known about it if not for my free-spirited, "Brooklyn socialite" friend-a girl who I only describe as a socialite insofar as she know what's happening in Brooklyn at all times.
As I'm ordering a beer, I'm told the bar is cash-only. I put down $4 (no tip) for a Budweiser, but find I'm out of cash and with no ATMs in sight (I'd even asked the bouncer; no one knew where the nearest one was), I could either forget it or just ask my friend to borrow some cash. Maybe I should have done the former, but I inevitably asked to borrow $4 more and set it down this time in front of a female bartender. At first glance, this chick definitely fit the aloof hipster profile: wool cap, very alternative clothing, smoking a cigarette, and all the while staring at me with a stoic, almost disapproving, glance. As she set the beer down, she counted the money, and put her hand on the Bud. "You need to tip," she said. I looked at her first in disbelief, and then in wonderment, realizing never before in my life had any server said anything like this. Waiters, cabbies, delivery guys-you name it, we've all come in contact with hundreds-no one ever refuses service if you don't tip. The first thing that came to my mind, and then almost immediately to my lips, was, "are you serious? That's really unprofessional." She glared back at me, and said quite nastily, "does this look like a professional place to you? If you don't tip you're not getting the beer." She snatched the beer from me, and muttered something like, "if you try me, I'll get you kicked out of here." I was pissed at this point, and really did want another beer, so I asked my friend for another single. I called Polly Sunshine back, set the money down, and she almost tossed the beer at me, saying nothing and then walked away. I said, very sarcastically, "YOU'RE WELCOME!!" and then the male bartender said, "Fuck you! Don't give her attitude!" or something like that.
As a former server, I completely understand the importance of tipping and almost ALWAYS tip bartenders. For some reason that night, I didn't feel like tipping; maybe it was the coat check, maybe I was salty about not being able to use credit/debit, Ultimately, for better or worse, it is the choice of the patron, and I chose not to.
Now I don't claim to know everything about Brooklyn's Williamsburg neighborhood, but here is what I do know: it's a quaint, relatively safe neighborhood a few stops into Brooklyn off the L. It's pretty chill, but trendy and thus feels pretentious at times; this area is also know for it's relatively high concentration of hipsters. We pay the $3 coat check, get our hand stamped, and enter into a dark and hazy space with loud house music blaring and silhouetted figures in clumps everywhere. The smell of weed lingered in the air; occasionally orange embers from cigarettes illuminated people's faces. The party seemed to attract a niche audience, a certain, "underground" crowd-I wouldn't have known about it if not for my free-spirited, "Brooklyn socialite" friend-a girl who I only describe as a socialite insofar as she know what's happening in Brooklyn at all times.
As I'm ordering a beer, I'm told the bar is cash-only. I put down $4 (no tip) for a Budweiser, but find I'm out of cash and with no ATMs in sight (I'd even asked the bouncer; no one knew where the nearest one was), I could either forget it or just ask my friend to borrow some cash. Maybe I should have done the former, but I inevitably asked to borrow $4 more and set it down this time in front of a female bartender. At first glance, this chick definitely fit the aloof hipster profile: wool cap, very alternative clothing, smoking a cigarette, and all the while staring at me with a stoic, almost disapproving, glance. As she set the beer down, she counted the money, and put her hand on the Bud. "You need to tip," she said. I looked at her first in disbelief, and then in wonderment, realizing never before in my life had any server said anything like this. Waiters, cabbies, delivery guys-you name it, we've all come in contact with hundreds-no one ever refuses service if you don't tip. The first thing that came to my mind, and then almost immediately to my lips, was, "are you serious? That's really unprofessional." She glared back at me, and said quite nastily, "does this look like a professional place to you? If you don't tip you're not getting the beer." She snatched the beer from me, and muttered something like, "if you try me, I'll get you kicked out of here." I was pissed at this point, and really did want another beer, so I asked my friend for another single. I called Polly Sunshine back, set the money down, and she almost tossed the beer at me, saying nothing and then walked away. I said, very sarcastically, "YOU'RE WELCOME!!" and then the male bartender said, "Fuck you! Don't give her attitude!" or something like that.
As a former server, I completely understand the importance of tipping and almost ALWAYS tip bartenders. For some reason that night, I didn't feel like tipping; maybe it was the coat check, maybe I was salty about not being able to use credit/debit, Ultimately, for better or worse, it is the choice of the patron, and I chose not to.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
What comes to mind when we hear the word, "Titanic?" Might be a large oceanliner; maybe a giant iceberg, or even a collosal sea disaster. For most of us that came of age in the 1990s, instead of any shipwreck imagery, "Titanic" might actually evoke images of Celine Dion, a wrinkled old woman, or a hand in a fogged-up car window. Personally, I'll always remember how Richie Rich's butler Cadbury palyed the arrogant douchebag shipbuilder, and how Billy Zane--last seen as on of Biff's bully entourage in "Back to the Future"--was now the main antagonist in "Titanic" (besides the iceberg itself, I suppose).
The word "Titanic," and the event itself, have a whole new meaning for my generation. We, as shy little middle school boys, took our then girlfriends to see the film, watching as tears streamed down their faces and tried hard not to well up ourselves (or maybe that was just me); the sappy music, Kate Winslet's bare breast and bare ass, and the ever-cheesy "I'm flying" or "I'm the king of the world!" (both uttered in the same, cliched, front-of-the-ship spot); these things are how we remember "Titanic;" a tragic sea disaster wrapped up in an aura of love, passion, and a ubiquitous array of deep emotion. Like it or not, the movie is the top-grossing motion picture of all time.
I began to wonder how a real-life Titanic survivor would perceive the film; If I were one, I might be a bit offended. Regardless of whether or not you, or I, or anyone liked the film, there's no denying the film oozed love and romance; dare I say it's the "go-to" movie when my generation talks about movies with love as the central theme. But would a real survivor, having been there, having seen the ship overtaken by the seeinngly calm North Atlantic waters, having watched his or her mother, brother, or father die as the doomed ship tilted up, up, up, and then cracked in half? In the same way one cannot imagine what went through the heads of those who lept to their death from the top floors of the World Trade Center, one cannot imagine what the real sinking of the Titanic was like.
Now I know that love stories, especially with the right mix of music, sex, and on-screen chemistry, sell, and in the case of "Titanic," REALLY sell. I just think about it and wonder if the afformentioned mix truly tells the tale of the ship, it's people, and it's tragedy. Of course, James Cameron portrayed that mix through his two main protagonists - and through a very clever love story - but what if, in about 60 or so years, they made a movie about 9/11, or about Katrina, or some other tragedy, and stuck a few random teen heartthrobs in there, added a topless scene, created a catchy score, and then released it to the public? I'm not sure I'd go for that. I didn't witness 9/11 or Katrina live, but I lived through it. That said, a bleeding romance interwoven into a plot whose core IS tragedy-real, human tragedy- is, in my opinion, not the best way to bring to life an event of such magnitude.
The word "Titanic," and the event itself, have a whole new meaning for my generation. We, as shy little middle school boys, took our then girlfriends to see the film, watching as tears streamed down their faces and tried hard not to well up ourselves (or maybe that was just me); the sappy music, Kate Winslet's bare breast and bare ass, and the ever-cheesy "I'm flying" or "I'm the king of the world!" (both uttered in the same, cliched, front-of-the-ship spot); these things are how we remember "Titanic;" a tragic sea disaster wrapped up in an aura of love, passion, and a ubiquitous array of deep emotion. Like it or not, the movie is the top-grossing motion picture of all time.
I began to wonder how a real-life Titanic survivor would perceive the film; If I were one, I might be a bit offended. Regardless of whether or not you, or I, or anyone liked the film, there's no denying the film oozed love and romance; dare I say it's the "go-to" movie when my generation talks about movies with love as the central theme. But would a real survivor, having been there, having seen the ship overtaken by the seeinngly calm North Atlantic waters, having watched his or her mother, brother, or father die as the doomed ship tilted up, up, up, and then cracked in half? In the same way one cannot imagine what went through the heads of those who lept to their death from the top floors of the World Trade Center, one cannot imagine what the real sinking of the Titanic was like.
Now I know that love stories, especially with the right mix of music, sex, and on-screen chemistry, sell, and in the case of "Titanic," REALLY sell. I just think about it and wonder if the afformentioned mix truly tells the tale of the ship, it's people, and it's tragedy. Of course, James Cameron portrayed that mix through his two main protagonists - and through a very clever love story - but what if, in about 60 or so years, they made a movie about 9/11, or about Katrina, or some other tragedy, and stuck a few random teen heartthrobs in there, added a topless scene, created a catchy score, and then released it to the public? I'm not sure I'd go for that. I didn't witness 9/11 or Katrina live, but I lived through it. That said, a bleeding romance interwoven into a plot whose core IS tragedy-real, human tragedy- is, in my opinion, not the best way to bring to life an event of such magnitude.
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