Sunday, April 30, 2006
Gallery walk
Here is Travis blogging my copy of New York Magazine featuring our favorite borough. We, however, are having a Manhattan moment as we have just stumbled onto a hot gallery opening graced by that icon of college indie pop, Michael Stipe. That's right, I squeezed past him on the 6th floor where we had just left the debut of Christy Bush's "Soundtrack to Nothing" photography exhibit at Bespoke Gallery. The audio track accompanying the photographs of fans at Interpol, The Others, Elefant and The Secret Machines shows was written for the exhibit by Sam Fog of Interpol and Dagon James in collaboration with Stipe and other music biz luminaries. So I'm sure Stipe wasn't the only star there, just the only one so easily recognizable. I wonder how I can get a soundtrack to my food photography...
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Marcello as Nixon
My friend Marcello atop the brooklyn warehouse where we work
"follow me people, i am not crook"
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
Monday, April 17, 2006
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Friday, April 14, 2006
temp job #2
Thursday. A dreaded reception gig. Everyone was really nice and it was pretty easy. Good news: I'm assisting on Monday and Tuesday! I can't wait.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Ken, if you liked the post about my brother, you'll love this one about my job!
The world of temping, part two: The pee test. Yes, dear devoted readers, what you are about to see is my pee. Turn away now, if you are faint of heart. The temp agency gave me a form to take to the testing facility. Note the specimen bottle seals on the bottom of the form:
Am I getting a job as a driver of a car, boat or plane? Will I be around small children or animals? Performing medical procedures? Balancing on a tight rope, swinging from a trapeze or juggling flaming objects? Ok, how about operating a forklift, using a welding tool or even a sharp knife? The answer to all of the above is NO. I will be updating Excel spreadsheets. That's it. For 3 or 4 days. Me and some spreadsheets. Thank god they will know that I am not a pot smoker, coke snorter, pill popper or heroin user. Can you imagine how fucked up their spreadsheets might end up?
So I took the form and walked down Lexington until I got to the fancy testing place:
I had to sit in the waiting room for about 20 minutes drinking water. Eric, the nice gentleman waiting to handle my pee, was patient and jovial. In the waiting room, he told another guest not to worry about his upcoming blood test, and then said, "I'm new." The guest asked how long he'd been doing this and Eric answered, "What time is it?" and laughed heartily. Diagnostic humor.
When you are being screened for drugs, there is a ritual that must be observed. You must remove all outer garments. You must remove everything from your pockets (including my cell phone - too bad for all of you.) You must lock the contents of your pockets in a padded box and take the key with you into the bathroom. Eric watches you go into the bathroom with your plastic cup, upon which he has drawn a black line to indicate how much urine you must provide. Once inside you are instructed to urinate, and come out without flushing. If you accidentally flush, you fail the test. There is no sink in the bathroom. You pee, zip up and come out. Eric then instructs you to hand him the cup, pours a portion into a specimen bottle and hands it back to you. "Dump this in the toilet, flush and then you can wash your hands." I follow his orders carefully as I do not want to fail.
Once we are finished Eric gracefully allows me to photograph the final product:
After the photo op, Eric seals the bottle into a plastic bag with my form and tosses it into what I assume is an "out" bin. My part is over, now it's in their hands.
But wait, the best part: The corporation that wants me to be clean and sober for my 4 day office job is, (drum roll..........) the owner of a major tobacco company! Yea, temping!
Am I getting a job as a driver of a car, boat or plane? Will I be around small children or animals? Performing medical procedures? Balancing on a tight rope, swinging from a trapeze or juggling flaming objects? Ok, how about operating a forklift, using a welding tool or even a sharp knife? The answer to all of the above is NO. I will be updating Excel spreadsheets. That's it. For 3 or 4 days. Me and some spreadsheets. Thank god they will know that I am not a pot smoker, coke snorter, pill popper or heroin user. Can you imagine how fucked up their spreadsheets might end up?
So I took the form and walked down Lexington until I got to the fancy testing place:
I had to sit in the waiting room for about 20 minutes drinking water. Eric, the nice gentleman waiting to handle my pee, was patient and jovial. In the waiting room, he told another guest not to worry about his upcoming blood test, and then said, "I'm new." The guest asked how long he'd been doing this and Eric answered, "What time is it?" and laughed heartily. Diagnostic humor.
When you are being screened for drugs, there is a ritual that must be observed. You must remove all outer garments. You must remove everything from your pockets (including my cell phone - too bad for all of you.) You must lock the contents of your pockets in a padded box and take the key with you into the bathroom. Eric watches you go into the bathroom with your plastic cup, upon which he has drawn a black line to indicate how much urine you must provide. Once inside you are instructed to urinate, and come out without flushing. If you accidentally flush, you fail the test. There is no sink in the bathroom. You pee, zip up and come out. Eric then instructs you to hand him the cup, pours a portion into a specimen bottle and hands it back to you. "Dump this in the toilet, flush and then you can wash your hands." I follow his orders carefully as I do not want to fail.
Once we are finished Eric gracefully allows me to photograph the final product:
After the photo op, Eric seals the bottle into a plastic bag with my form and tosses it into what I assume is an "out" bin. My part is over, now it's in their hands.
But wait, the best part: The corporation that wants me to be clean and sober for my 4 day office job is, (drum roll..........) the owner of a major tobacco company! Yea, temping!
Monday, April 10, 2006
On the road of life...
there are potholes and pitstops. And there are people who chose a different path, like my brother, Emile. His mother met my father the same day we met each other. I would say that was a fateful day, although the influences on my life have faded into memory at this point. When my dad announced that he would be marrying the mother of Emile, I whined that I didn't want a brother. (I was only nine years old, and used to having my parents to myself.) I have a picture of Emile and myself on their wedding day, and I look as though I don't mind so much that I have someone to goof around with. We spent summers together and then 6th grade in Kansas City. We had skateboards, listened to ELO, watched the Dukes of Hazzard (secretly, because my stepmother thought it was too violent,) played D&D (you go 10, 20, 30 feet, and you come to a door...,) did chores for poker chips and got our first dog, who we named Bolt.
After sixth grade I moved to Washington, DC to live with my mom for three years. My parents have both been into transcendental meditation (TM) since I was born. While I lived in DC, my mom took part in a project where the meditators attempted to measure the effects of large groups of people meditating together on a regular basis on crime levels in the city. They even set up a school called the Age of Enlightenment school, which I attended for a year and a half. Meanwhile, Emile also went to a TM school where he lived with my dad and stepmother in Fairfield, Iowa. When we lived together again in Pennsylvania, Emile didn't want anyone at our school to know that our family was different in any way. He continued to meditate but we were far away from the community he had known in Iowa. We went to a private school, had a pool, got drunk for the first time together on the warm beer Emile had hidden in his closet and gin pilfered from our parents' dusty liquor supply (and replaced with tap water.) We had lots of good times, and sadly, plenty of bad times as our parents' marriage deteriorated. The object of much of my stepmother's anger, I was often running from the house in tears. Once, Emile held his mother back while I made my escape. He was always steady and fair minded, although I remember how when he was angry he would stomp around and clench his jaw and growl if you tried to tease him. He liked to joke around and have fun and he was the sweetest brother. He loved to tickle and torment our sisters, Eva and Tarah, who were little kids when we were in high school. Our family finally divided during my last year in high school. My dad and I moved into an apartment and eventually my stepmother moved herself and the kids back to Fairfield. Emile went back to the TM school there and graduated from the college, a meditator thru and thru.
For the last few years (or more?) Emile has been in a TM program in which he spends most of his time meditating, studying the Vedas, and living simply, like a monk. Although I have seen my dad and sisters every year or so, my path has not intersected Emile's in a long time. This year, he was able to go to India where he got to meet pundits (Hindu scholars,) meditate in an ashram and see an amazing country. My dad forwarded on some photos and I had to laugh. My brother, the monk! Still wearing silly glasses, but now with a lot more hair!
After sixth grade I moved to Washington, DC to live with my mom for three years. My parents have both been into transcendental meditation (TM) since I was born. While I lived in DC, my mom took part in a project where the meditators attempted to measure the effects of large groups of people meditating together on a regular basis on crime levels in the city. They even set up a school called the Age of Enlightenment school, which I attended for a year and a half. Meanwhile, Emile also went to a TM school where he lived with my dad and stepmother in Fairfield, Iowa. When we lived together again in Pennsylvania, Emile didn't want anyone at our school to know that our family was different in any way. He continued to meditate but we were far away from the community he had known in Iowa. We went to a private school, had a pool, got drunk for the first time together on the warm beer Emile had hidden in his closet and gin pilfered from our parents' dusty liquor supply (and replaced with tap water.) We had lots of good times, and sadly, plenty of bad times as our parents' marriage deteriorated. The object of much of my stepmother's anger, I was often running from the house in tears. Once, Emile held his mother back while I made my escape. He was always steady and fair minded, although I remember how when he was angry he would stomp around and clench his jaw and growl if you tried to tease him. He liked to joke around and have fun and he was the sweetest brother. He loved to tickle and torment our sisters, Eva and Tarah, who were little kids when we were in high school. Our family finally divided during my last year in high school. My dad and I moved into an apartment and eventually my stepmother moved herself and the kids back to Fairfield. Emile went back to the TM school there and graduated from the college, a meditator thru and thru.
For the last few years (or more?) Emile has been in a TM program in which he spends most of his time meditating, studying the Vedas, and living simply, like a monk. Although I have seen my dad and sisters every year or so, my path has not intersected Emile's in a long time. This year, he was able to go to India where he got to meet pundits (Hindu scholars,) meditate in an ashram and see an amazing country. My dad forwarded on some photos and I had to laugh. My brother, the monk! Still wearing silly glasses, but now with a lot more hair!
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Friday, April 07, 2006
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
My first temp job
Look. Look at the chair and desk. See where Melissa types. Type melissa, type. Do you know what a cubicle is? Can you see yourself there for many, many years? Type faster, melissa, faster.
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