Posted June 16th, 2003 by Michelle

It’s hard to write a blog while singing along to Nickel Creek, but I’ll give it my best shot. Another double at work yesterday, but I managed to talk to my Dad anyway who was out buying furniture for their new house in the desert of California. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s in California. But a belated and public Happy Father’s Day to my one and only father. I often wonder the percentage of people who actually enjoy days like yesterday- how many fathers are miserable on Father’s Day versus how may get loving phone calls or better yet, actual visits from their children.

I’m off to register for my French refresher course, and then to the first Braking the Cycle event. Free beer at the Brooklyn Brewery, and a first chance to meet the other riders. And my bike had ANOTHER flat. Yeesh.

Posted June 14th, 2003 by Michelle

I’m exhausted, so this will be unusually and thankfully short, but my brother Ian just wrote a blog about Animal Farm being read on the BBC. And how it is a perfect allegory for what is happening in this country. Remember the commandments the Snowball wrote, was it on the wall of the barn? And how each day, it seemed, the list got shorter and shorter… and the heartbreaking horse, whose name I cannot remember. He wasn’t smart enough to think for himself, but he thought if he just worked really, really hard, everything would be okay in the end? He didn’t know that Snowball was good and Napoleaon bad- he couldn’t differentiate, but as soon as he got too old to work, Napoleon sells him to be slaughtered for glue. His last scene, when he is loaded on the truck, and finally realizes what is happening to him… god, it haunts me still. He’s kicking at the walls of the truck, walls that in him prime could never had held him, but he is too worn from building the mill… and off he goes… ugh.

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

Man, I’ve got to say it, and I’m sorry if such language offends the like of my Dad, but FUCK GEORGE BUSH. Fuck him. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of sitting around and whining about this dorkweed in office. What exactly are we going to do? Are there really so few of us, are we really so wishy-washy that we cannot organize? Bush obviously stole the last election, but we are also to blame because we allowed it to get close. I believe we can actually change minds. If I sat my Aunt Donna down, my sweet Great-Aunt who truly believed that Saddam had WMD’s and that Bush was just defending us… I believe that if I sat her down with statistics and facts, maybe I could change her mind. What if all of us did that with one person. Would it really be hopeless?

I cannot write more. I’ve been out dancing to Brazilian music, a rare night of fun, and I have a double tomorrow. But I refuse to whine. Please, please let us mobilize before that stupid ignorant clown and his entire circus complete destroy our country. I am willing. I am all ears.

I want to change one person’s mind. Just one.

Posted June 12th, 2003 by Michelle

I’d just like to say that I’ve made a discovery. You know those Tofutti Cuties? Well, if you don’t, you are missing out. They are a prerequisite to any Williams freezer. They are these little ice cream bars, but without any animal fat, with ice cream made from tofu. And, like, they are so small that you can seriously eat two or three and not feel too guilty. Or four. Anyway, I’ve made a discovery, and it’s called Soy Delicious Lil’ Dreamers. Now obviously much has been stolen- sickly cute name, size, etc., but the thing with the Cuties is they don’t freeze very well. That is, they don’t stay very hard in the freezer, so you end up kinda eating the goop off the paper. The Lil’ Dreamers hold up quite nicely. I can’t say that I’ve actually made the switch, but I’ll tell ya that right now there is no battle in my freezer. The Dreamers are lined up and waiting for me.

So another amazing yoga class tonight… particularly because spring has come to New York only in the form of humidity. Overcast and wet. In the class, there was one lonely air conditioner doing its best in the back of the room, far far away from me. At one point, I came out of Downward Dog and into Warrior Two (I’ll spare you the Sanskrit names) and the rivulet of sweat down my back found its way to my toes. There is something simply primal and empowering about sweating that much. After class, Ms. B., her lady friend Meg and I had some tofu and beer at Sammy’s Noodles on 6th Ave, and just as I got to the train to go home the real storm hit.

I take the train home at night, even when I have my bike, because the bridges are no place for a single girl as soon as the sun goes down. The 2 train stops only a few blocks from my house, but Ma Nature decided to unleash all the heaviness of the day in a stunning downpour. My three-minute ride from the train to home left me so soaked that I was gasping from the shock of it- and trying to see through the rain flowing down my face. And now I’m home, with a cup of tea and a Lil’ Dreamer. Not such a bad day.

Posted June 11th, 2003 by Michelle

Walking back to my apartment tonight I saw into the apartment below mine. I looked at that apartment, but passed it up because the ceilings were low and it didn’t have the little window alcove that mine does. It does have these huge pocket windows that open fully so it almost feels like you are living outside. It also affords a full view of the apartment. This is what I saw: rumpled bed on right wall (just like mine), one chair near window (right where mine is), and an Ikea computer desk with a desktop computer (exactly where mine is), and man sitting at rolling computer chair (where I sit now, directly above my neighbor). He also has NPR blasting out of his stereo systerm (which I do NOT have). So alike, and so extraordinarily different. First of all, he doesn’t have two bikes and a huge kitty cage in his apartment. Secondly, I’ve heard him and his girlfriend doing the, as they say, nasty, in the shower (the duct vents in the bathrooms alert each of us to the other’s business. I don’t sing in the bathroom so much anymore). I’ve never done the nasty in this apartment, and certainly not with a partner in the shower. So yes, alike, but also, plus, different.

I rode to New Jersey again today, 40 miles, but this time with my very very good friend Ms. B. It was a terrific ride, and oddly, not too difficult. It actually was easier than the last time, which is good news. I was home by 2, and puttered, napped, stared out the window at the three-minute thunderstorm which was the only manifestation of the weather man’s predicted all-day storm. I was hoping to talk Ian into dining with me but alas, his tummy is still keeping him home. So I decided to explore Park Slope, since it quite suddenly was a sunny, beautiful afternoon.

I ate at a new little dive on 5th Avenue, which lured me by being entirely open to the outside, and also by having a portobello avocado burger on the menu. As soon as I sat down, a family sat next to me- mom, daughter, friend, and son. The kids were wired, and the mom apologized, and an hour later she and I were talking about our lives and our families. She is an event producer at a major New York magazine, and after we had been talking for about five minutes, no lie, she offered me a job. At her magazine. Her opening line was, “So you write, do you?” It was all very exciting until she told me that it would be full time except one weekend in September when she would need me to work double time as that was a weekend filled with the 50 events I’d be helping her plan. What weekend? September 19th to the 21st. My heart sank as I told her about the AIDSRide.

But we had a lovely visit, and her son latched on to me and insisted on showing me his little toys. We exchanged numbers and I told her that if I could help her with anything else to give me a call. Sigh.

After dinner I walked over to Ian’s where I threw myself on the couch and watched cable for two hours. Going over there feels like going to a grown-up’s place. Feels like being at home, meaning a home with parents. And a couch and TV, and space for a couch and TV, and for there to be many feet between one lying on a couch and where the TV is. I dragged myself away, knowing I would stay until the wee hours if I left the TV on, and walked home.

The night, outside, is fluid, luscious, wet, dark. I very badly wanted to open my mouth and let the night in. I wanted the walk back home to take an hour rather than ten minutes. It is so beautiful, so quiet over there, peaceful and alive at the same time. And then I crossed Flatbush, where I can(t) actually afford to live (versus the true Park Slope) and immediately the mood shifts. My block is beautiful, and certainly gentrified, but the undercurrent of crime and underworld still exists. There are drugs being sold, deals being made right under my nose and while I cannot see it, I know it is there.

I’m torn between wanting to live in Africa and work with my hands, and wanting to live in a big, beautiful brownstone and write all day. Guess which one I can actually make happen.

Posted June 10th, 2003 by Michelle

I’m cleaning my house which always leaves my mind to clear out as well. There are things that won’t leave me right now, things from my past that hover in the back of my mind, brought forward with great clarity if the smallest thing calls them. Right now I’m thinking about when my brother Sean got his laptop stolen. We were all living in Los Angeles, Ian, Sean, and I, and my mom was in town. Sean and my mom were loading something into my apartment late at night, even though I wasn’t there, and one of the loads was too heavy. So Sean put his army-issue backpack on the ground as he carried up a load. My mom asked him if he should leave it there, and he said it would be fine.

Minutes later, Sean came down, and his bag had disappeared. He saw, just down the block, a black-skinned man on a bike pumping madly away, Sean’s bag on his back. Sean screamed and took off after the man, running like hell on a knee badly in need of surgery. The man got away. My mom says that Sean stopped and howled. That howl, even though I didn’t hear it, haunts me. That my brother was so injured. This loss came in the same year as the disintegration of his marriage, and one of his worst financial years as well. I think of my brother at the end of the dark block, hands on his throbbing knee, watching all of the writing he’d done in years pedal away into the darkness.

I’m left to wonder what kind of person would steal that bag. And I rest just slightly more easy, knowing that my brother now sleeps next to his new fiancée, just a few feet away from the newest Mac laptop on the market. It’s just too easy to think back in Los Angeles, to think, what if we hadn’t left, what if we were still so far away from New York. Maybe I’m still back there, howling in the darkness, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now.

Posted June 10th, 2003 by Michelle

I tell you what, something very strange just happened. I wrote a bunch of stuff, hit what I thought was the return button, and everything disappeared. What a lesson in impermanence.

It is 2PM in the afternoon. I’ve been up for two hours, and have accomplished little more than a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. I just worked a “quad”- two doubles in a row- and I am spent. And I have to jump in the shower, jump on my bike and get back to work. I slept at the restaurant, on a banquet, between the shifts. You may be asking yourself, why on earth would I do such a thing to myself? And I tell you, regardless of how much I work, I currently have $52.23 in my bank account. Such is my financial life.

The National Guard is gone from the Union Square subway stop. How is it that the powers that be have suddenly decided that we don’t need them anymore? How did they decide in the first place? Do they really think that just because we’ve stopped bombing the shit out of Iraq that suddenly we are no longer creating hate and anger? I just don’t get it. I also can’t describe the feeling of walking past twenty Guardsmen with automatic rifles on my way to the Q train. I always have my bike, and they part like a sea when I make my way down the platform. These kids are younger than me by ten years, and each of them holds a weapon that could kill every person on my subway.

I don’t want to give up on my country. I don’t want to lose hope and run away. But it seems as though that is exactly what I am doing. I look out my window at this 74-degree day, the sun warming the leaves that now block my view of the apartments across the street. And I can’t help but think about… well, so many things. The other day, someone told me that I was the kind of person who needed to stay, to fight, to try to do something about our government. But I feel like I cannot be fully convicted in this fight without a true sense of perspective. And I don’t believe I can achieve this perspective without living somewhere that is antithetical to the U.S. I also, on a selfish note, would rather move to Africa for two years than stay in my current economic trap. I have no life. I am only a server who is too poor to do much but work and think.

I’ve had new thoughts on my birthday. I want books or classes on organic farming. I want help paying my $410 tuition for my French class. I want yoga. I want any clothes that wick. I want new eyeballs. I want books. Oh, yeah, and a wireless cyclocomputer. And a trip to California. And a pony. Yes, yes, I know, it’s ugly to say I want I want I want, but this may be the last birthday I have for two years where I’ll want something other than bug spray. It may well be my last birthday in America for two years. I want a party with rooms full of laughter… ten thousand tons of ice cream…

Posted June 5th, 2003 by Michelle

It’s useless for me to figure out why I’m so damn exhausted when I’ve just had three days off, but I can’t help wondering. I feel as though I haven’t had a full night of sleep in weeks. To top it off, my cell phone disappeared from my bag on the subway tonight. I was nodding off a litte, and had my book out, and my big zippered pouch was opened, which is where my phone lives. I don’t know how it happened but it did, and I got home with that sick feeling that something was wrong. It was.

I cannot not have a cell phone. It is the only number anyone has, including my agent, my Peace Corps recruiter, and my Dad, for god’s sake, and I cannot be unreachable. I am loving my double negatives. Anyway, I got right back on the train to drop a precious $130 on a new phone- the cheapest one they had- and came back home to program it. It is uglier, heavier, and larger. My old phone has been with me since my first week in New York, and I must have dropped it twenty times without it even noticing. Now I have this big, ugly, red thing that cost me two weeks of groceries. But what’s a girl to do.

I have to work in the morning. And then hopefully go to bed by about eight tomorrow night.

Posted June 4th, 2003 by Michelle

Here I am writing twice in the same day. But I have big news: my recruiter just called and said that he had been speaking with the placement office in D.C. He was telling a woman there about me, and she said that I didn’t have to show proof for my French class but that it would be a good idea to go ahead and do a refresher. She also said that the program in September looked fine, but that it was a really basic assignment, no different than what they had been doing in that area since the 60’s. However, she suggested another program, one with only a couple of slots, still in French-speaking Africa but rather than working with a farming community, I would be working with women’s groups, teaching them about nutrition, organic farming, soil conservation, and forestry. He said, “I don’t want to pressure you, but this sounded so perfect, and I just thought I’d let you know-” and I cut him off and said, “Yes, yes, a resounding yes!” So he said that I was officially nominated for this position. I wouldn’t leave until the 9th of December, which is longer than I’d like to wait, but this seems too wonderful to pass up.

All that is left is the health exam. The forms will not be mailed to me for a couple of weeks, so I need to sit back and relax on the whole process as it is mostly out of my hands now. When the forms come, I’ll have my dentist and doctor fill them out and then it will truly be no longer up to me. I’ll mail the forms and wait to be officially “invited”. But it looks pretty good, and they know where they want me. I need to find a way to see “The Return of the King” before I go. That’s all I will want for Christmas.

Posted June 4th, 2003 by Michelle

Well. It has certainly been a full twenty-four hours. Suffice to say that I left my house at noon yesterday, and only just got home. And that I lost a few articles of worth on the way (haven’t seen my watch in several hours).

It started at the huge government office at Houston and Varrick. I had been to the Peace Corps office only once before, where the security checkpoint in the front of the building kept me for about five minutes to discuss why there were metal clips in my shoes, why I carried an Allen wrench, and various other bike-related inquiries. This time I was without my bike gear, and one of the security guys said, “I recognize you. You can go,” (after I had already been through the metal machine and swiped all over by a detector). So I made my way upstairs and only waited for about thirty seconds before my recruiter, a big, balding, sweet man, led me straight to the fingerpriting machine. I joked about never having done this before. He said, “Well, that’s good. When people come in and say ‘I have to do this again?’ I’m always a little worried.” After that we sat in a room and chatted. He asked me many good questions, but some of them were difficult to answer. He asked me about the last time I had a conflict with someone, and what I did to resolve it. I sat there for about two minutes trying to think of a conflict I’d had recently and couldn’t come up with one. So I talked about maintaining my friendship with one of my good friends, about how we had gone through some difficult times in our friendship but that now all was well. He asked me if my family was supportive, what I thought my biggest challenge would be, if there was anyone in particular that would be difficult to leave. As we were nearing the end, I asked him how long the whole process would take. He looked at me and said, “Ask anyone here. I don’t usually do this, I usually wait until after a second meeting to nominate anyone, but I think you are ready, and I am going to nominate you now.” Which was great. I had told him that I wanted to do something agricultural/environmental, rather than AIDS-related or medical, because anywhere I go I will be an AIDS activist and a medic. I can do these things while also working with farmers or in forests. He agreed that that was a great idea, and he pulled out a huge book that listed, in very general terms, the types of jobs coming up, where they would be, and when they would begin. There happened to be an agricultural/forestry job, starting in October in French-speaking Africa. Perfect. I can leave in October, since the AIDSRide is in September, I speak some French, and I want to go to Africa.

He said he was calling the office in D.C. and that I should check back with him tomorrow to find out if I have to be enrolled in a refresher French course before I can be officially nominated. I’ve already done the homework on that. There is a class starting in three weeks that would be over in August. If he can nominate me, the next step is the health exam and backround check, both which could be completed quickly. And as soon as I’ve sent them the health exam forms, I could be invited. Crazy, right? I mostly just want to know. I just want to know if I’m going so I can plan the next few months accordingly.

After my meeting, I met Hayley at a new Mexican restaurant on 6th Ave. We had our first margarita at about 3 PM, and, well, the rest is a ridiculously fun blur. I do recall making it McSorley’s where we met all sorts of people. There was a TV crew filming the reactions of smokers to the smoking ban, which created a hot debate throughout the bar. We started talking to an Australian guy who had only been here for a couple of weeks, and he ended up going to Ryan’s Irish Pub with us. Hayley and I tend to make a lot of new friends when we go out, and this night was no exception.

Anyway, I’m feeling it a bit this morning, and the dreary weather is not helping at all. But it is a glorious day off, and I hope to make the most of it. Or perhaps I’ll just go back to bed.

Posted June 1st, 2003 by Michelle

So it needs to be pointed out that although the weather might make you think it is February, it is actually the 1st of June. And for those of you folks who haven’t been on the ride my entire life, that means one thing, and one thing only: Birthday Month. That’s right, only twenty-five more shopping days until the climax, June 26th, the day I turn 31 years old.

I also need to point out that I thought I’d have kids by 30, and also that I once said that anyone over 18 was dead. And really, who I am is definitely dead when I think of who I was at fourteen. Fourteen year old me would not have liked thirty year old me. And I can’t say that if I met fourteen year old me now that I would like her very much. I’m just not sure.

Anyway, back to my birthday. In years past, it was a week of celebration, and then weeks, and finally just a whole month. My last birthday was actually rather subdued, only one dinner party two days after the Northeast AIDSRide. No festivities, no silliness. (Other than the night before my birthday at McSorley’s in the East Village, but we don’t need to talk about that.) This year, well, I like to think I’ve grown up a bit, like to think that I don’t need to self-promote to the degree that I have in years past. But I just might be in Africa this time next year, so why not do it up. I don’t have any major plans yet, other than having just bought a ticket to California leaving right after my birthday, but I’m sure things will pop up.

As for what I want for my birthday, which is always an issue to discuss in a family the size of mine, that I’m not clear on either. What I do know is that I don’t want stuff. I hope to be packing my life sooner than later, if not for the Peace Corps then for something else, so stuff that I will have to pack will not serve me well. On the other hand, books are good. A wireless cyclocomputer for my road bike would be good. A day at Magic Mountain would be good. The best thing? Laser surgery for my eyeballs. I haven’t quite been able to talk myself into going to the hospital to start the egg donation thing because frankly I’m terrified. I hate needles and I hate pain and you have to give yourself a shot ten days in a row. And then get a nice big needle stuck into your ovaries to suck out your eggs. Do you see my hesitation?

Anyway. I’m just getting home from work, and guess what I do tomorrow!?!? Work a double!!! Huzzah!!! I’ve never known anyone to work so much and yet be so broke. I’m not just broke, I’m broken. But at least when I work I don’t spend gobs of money.

My mom is back in town, briefly, and right after work she took me to see WInged Migration and Saving Neno. I think it was Neno. Nemo? Finding? Saving? Meno? I dunno. Both of them, in their own way, made me cry like a baby.