Posted February 16th, 2003 by Michelle

Today started with a drive from Napa, down to Caneros, through Sonoma Valley to the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco. It rained on the way, but the city was warm and sunny. Sailboats on the Marina, folks out in flocks on the streets. Of course, today was the anti-war rally, and I was so filled with longing that I couldn’t even bear to see the gathered crowds. Instead, my stepmom and I did some shopping, picked up my step brother and headed to my dad’s concert at the Bohemian Club.

The club itself, at least, their San Francisco building, is elegant beyond description. I’m too looped on the German Riesling to describe the building or the club but I’ll do it as soon as sobriety permits. Suffice to say that I got to witness some great music sandwiched between a half brother and a step brother, neither of whom need such qualifications. Followed by an amazing dinner and lovely words with said brothers. Now, off to bed for another twelve hours sleep. Things could be worse.

Posted February 15th, 2003 by Michelle

I tried to post a blog earlier today and Mr. Dell here in Napa wouldn’t let me do it. But so far, that was the only downer of the day.

It is gorgeous here, even though it is currently pouring down rain. Hovering around sixty degrees… light sweater weather… the sun peeking out occasionally and the breeze sweet and soft. Lovely. I spent last night with my dad and Carole and one of their neighbors, an unlikely foursome on Valentine’s Eve. The only place we could get in was Brix, here in the valley, and even then we “had” to sit and have martinis during the hour before our meal Wetalked politics, but my stomach didn’t turn, and I hardly gave a thought to the heartbreak I suffered two years ago on that day.

Today dawned cloudy and warm, well, comparatively warm to frigid New York, and we spent the day running errands and shopping. I spent the day thinking. It’s really important to get away from home every now and then. Important to release yourself from your life so you have time and perspective to think about what you need to do. Oh, and to sleep. I slept thirteen hours last night. If only I could ruminate on my problems for a full thirteen hours. Alas, I might toss myself off the Golden Gate if I did that, so… maybe only an hour or two. Today I sat on my dad and Carole’s porch, overlooking the Rutherford Bench, and watched two hawks circle the underpaid immigrant workers pruning the vines below. Still, it was peaceful, and the only two things I figured out in that hour of staring and drooling was that 1) I need to get out of credit card debt and B) I need a laptop computer. Neither of these were revelations, and nor are they in the order of importance, but really now. Not having a laptop means not being able to write 75% of the time that I need/want to. It’s just foolish and detrimental to my life. Credit card debt, well, that is a fact of life, and mine is only $5000, but it ties me to home, ties me to subsistence job, hangs over my head every time I think of running off to Africa for a couple of months to EMT some people back to health.

So that’s the only clarity so far. My dad bought me a kitchen apron. The night before I left, I found a hat my mom had gotten for me- a blue one with ears, exactly what I’d asked for during the first deep freeze. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am loved by my entire family. I know they are good people. I know that I am talented, and that I try to be good myself. You would think that just with this knowledge, I’d feel at least partially actualized.

I will free myself from the traps I have created. I will raze the walls that I have raised. I will do exactly what I want to do, create the life I need. I just haven’t figured out the first step.

Posted February 12th, 2003 by Michelle

My brother Ian has a blog (xtcian.net) which he has been writing for a few years now, and in it he updates how Celexa is affecting his life. Beyond that, it is brillantly written. Ian’s writing reminds me of Beethoven. Both knock me over- surprise me, take my breath, break my heart. And every now and then, I have to wonder if I, too, should be medicated, like several of my brothers. But I really don’t think so. I really think my feelings of unhappiness are situational, not chemical. I know when I’ve been happy, what it takes, what I need to do. That seems to be the problem now- I am fiercely devoted to the idea of having four careers, and yet, right now, I have none of them.

I think what I really need is a nap, and a trip to California.

Posted February 11th, 2003 by Michelle

My life is not what I want it to be.

There is a theory of thought that if you try your hardest to accomplish something, that if you put all of your energy into it, the universe will respond by helping you reach your goal. I sat on the subway tonight, leaving yet another birthday party for yet another beloved, and cried. I cried because my life is not what I want it to be. I feel I do not belong in this city, at this job, in this life. I feel pathetic, useless, filling my time with nothingness. Again choosing a man who does not want to choose me. For the first time in my life, I wondered if I really wanted to be an actor. I’ve not auditioned well in quite some time. If this is the ultimate, what I really want, why aren’t I trying my hardest? Why isn’t all of my energy there? Am I absolutely full of shit? I’m not scared of success, I’m not really scared of anything. I don’t want to spend whole days waiting in the cold for two minutes of a bored man’s time. And that is what it takes. So do I not have what it takes? Does it really matter if you are an actor unless you are an actor in New York? On the subway tonight, as tears hit my book, I wondered if I should go to school to be a nurse or physician’s assitant. Doctors Without Borders has no use for EMT’s or paramedics, but they take nurses and PA’s. But neither of those are emergency medicine.

I want to plan a trip away. I have no idea what I want, or where to go from here. I suppose that is the problem. I am treading water, barely keeping afloat, and can’t decide which way to swim.

A few nights ago, I left work and walked to the subway. It is bitter again in New York, and the streets and sidewalks are sheets of ice. I turned into the Union Square kiosk and three people were bounding down the stairs before me. Just as I got a sick feeling in my stomach, watching the last guy’s feet on the ice, he fell, and fell hard. He didn’t slide all the way down, but hit his head and his back and his legs all at once. A few people asked him if he was okay as I gingerly worked my way down. When I reached the bottom, I found him leaning against the wall, holding his face, saying, “Oh, shit, oh… shit”. I said, “Are you okay?” and he mumbled behind his hands that I should go away. I put my hand on his arm, looking at his filthy fingernails, and thought that he was either homeless or just really dirty. I said, “Did you hit your head? I’m an EMT, I can help you.” He drew his hands away and looked at me, and said, “I’m fine. Thankyou. Really, I’m fine.”

He was obviously embarassed, and people have to give permission to be helped, so I walked away. As I went down the steps for the Brooklyn Q, he called out thanks one more time from across the subway station.

And this just makes me think… it was such a small event, took three minutes of my life… but it reminds me that I could actually be DOING SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE. Take five minutes and go to the Doctors Without Borders website. Click on the “Top Ten Most Underreported Humanitarian Stories of 2002” (http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/publications/reports/2002/top10_2002.html) and you will see what there is to be done. In many of those stories there are accounts of aid people being shot and murdered. Which frightens me. But I feel like if I stay here, live this life, go to work, serve people steaks which I would probably not eat under gunpoint… I feel like my only alternative is to go mad.

Posted February 8th, 2003 by Michelle

I’ve been urged to write more, but my life is not what it was a year ago. My life was interesting enough to write about every day, and now, unless all I want to be is one of the most successful servers in New York, my life is common. It is exactly what I feared it would be, when I was dragging my heels at coming back and returning to my old job. I’ve voiced my need for adventure to a few friends at work, and they look at me agape: “You’ve been home for four months!” Yes, home, in a apartment that I love but which makes me work extra shifts every week, just to pay for my roof. Last year, this time, I was training to be an EMT, working for the Red Cross, anything but the self-absorbed boob I am right now.

So what can I do about it? Well. First and foremost, I hope to be chosen to volunteer for the Central Park EMS. The EMS in the Park is its own beast, entirely volunteer, and appealing because I would get to help everyone from homeless people to top athletes. There is an orientation meeting later this month, and all I can do is hope that they want a girl with limited experience but endless enthusiasm.

What else can I do? Ride my bike from Chesapeake Bay to Manhattan to raise money for AIDS research and services. I am a former AIDSRider. I rode from New York to Boston last year for the Northeast AIDSRide, but Palotta Teamworks, the sponsor, has since folded. The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Community Center, or The Center, has taken over, putting together their own AIDSRide. They had to, because government funding and private donations do not cover the AIDS services they provide. And, as you can imagine, New York is a hub for this disease and these services are essential. They have also always been free. So even though I have to raise $3500, almost double of what I had to raise last year, I signed up at the very first orientation meeting.

But what do I do today? Yesterday we had a beautiful snowstorm, and the streets and sidewalks are still layered in white. I’m planning on hitting Ozzie’s for a cup of joe, and then walking over to the Farmer’s Market at Grand Army Plaza. And daydreaming about my new bike, the one I can’t quite afford, but the one that will sail me up and down the hundred hills between Chesapeake Bay and home. Last year I rode my old Trek hybrid, which was lovely (and heavy) when my mom helped me buy it in 1995, but which decided to stop changing gears on particularly steep hills on my century ride (100 miles) during the AIDSRide.

I intend for my new bike to have wings.

Posted January 31st, 2003 by Michelle

So I was going to go on a rant about being single in New York, but really, even though I’ve been dating since I was a zygote I’ve also always, really, been single, so why is New York so different? In the end, it’s not really.

Tonight I went to a suprise birthday party for a very good friend at work. I absolutely rejoiced in seeing so many people I love loving each other. Arms slung around, hands on smalls of backs, so very wonderful. And thinking about my lover, who in the end is… well, I don’t know, it’s not simple. There is a man I know and love, in my own way, and in that knowing I struggle in the undefined. There are a thousand things keeping us apart and very simple things pulling me to his apartment once or twice a week. It can’t be and yet it is, and most of the time it is terrific. Once in a great while it makes me terribly sad but for the most part it is, well, lovely. It’s not often that I meet a man smarter than me, and even if he isn’t smarter, he knows things that I don’t, and that, folks, is sexy. He is hot and cold and sweet and distant and delicious and frustrating. So you see why I’m still there.

But I digress. I left the party, reluctantly, untying the ballons that had been wrapped around my pigtails all night. I walked to the subway at Union Square and ambled down to my beloved Q train. I am in the middle of a passionate love affair with a train. My sweet Q, who delivers me from Park Slope to Union Square in five stops, fifteen minutes, who sails over the Manhattan Bridge, who skips all the boring streets and leads me to my second home. I have a great love for Union Square as well. My job near there has made all of the difference since moving to New York. It supported me through one of the worst breakups in the history books, helped my pass my EMT class, gave me beautiful people to love, the people I saw tonight. It was also a place of gathering after 9/11. I love it.

So I’m down in the subway with about 150 other late night New Yorkers, all of us yearning for our beloved Q. I can’t pull out my book because I’m still too lost in the party, so instead I wrap my arms around one of the pillars supporting the network of concrete and wait. And then I start my favorite subway game: rat-watching. Sometimes you’ll see a whole family down there. I waited for at least fifteen minutes before spying a lone rat, a smaller one, dashing around the innards of the subway rails. Finally, in the distance, I see my lover, my speed demon, rushing towards me, “Q” all ablaze, and I actually say aloud, “sweetness, you’ve come”. And then whisper to the rat, “Shoo, fool…”

And then I get on the trail, fall into “Kavalier and Clay”, and find my way home.

A warning to you all: these will be my blogs when I have Newcastle swimming in my blood.

Posted January 27th, 2003 by Michelle

Last night I went to bed at 10PM, so I could be relatively fresh when I got up at 5AM. There was an Equity call for a Broadway revival of Fiddler on the Roof, and the unwritten rules dictate a brutal day. Surprisingly, I fell asleep immediately, only to wake at 11PM when my new upstairs neighbors decided to have BAND PRACTICE. Drums, guitars, bad singing, the works. I prayed for it to end, not wanting to be the scroogy neighbor who disallows fun, but by !2:30 AM I had had enough. I grabbed my broom, climbed up the ladder to my loft, and pounded on the ceiling. The music stopped.

I climbed into bed, and thrashed around for a full three hours more before falling asleep near 4 AM. At 5, the alarm went off, and I was out and in the bitter, bitter cold by 5:30. The Q took me to Union Square, where I hopped onto the R one stop to 23rd. I skidded across Broadway, still in full dark, and wound my way to Chelsea Studios. 6 AM, and there was already a line. I plopped down and started swapping stories about bad community theatre productions of Fiddler. Mine topped them all- having my brother as a romantic lead, in a barn, with planes flying overhead, and a woman having a heart attack in the audience. (She lived.)

At 7 we were all kicked out into the cold, because our numbers created a fire hazard, and we stood shivering as the sun graced the very tops of the buildings. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so cold. Half an hour later we were herded up to the 7th floor, where we re-formed our line, waiting to get slots. At 9 AM, they called us one by one, and I got an early afternoon slot that would leave me time to get to work. I left the studio, went out to breakfast and to my gym to shower and slather on makeup. Back in the early afternoon, I waited in yet another line for my two whole minutes that could make or break my future. When it was finally my turn, I sang one of my mom’s songs, but it had been over a year since I had gone on a theatrical audition. The accompanist was fair, and the auditioner looked down at my resume for all but the final two seconds of my song, which sadly, was when my cool deserted me, and the money notes weren’t all that money.

Alas, I just need to get back in the saddle.

Now, I’m home in Park Slope, Brooklyn, freezing and sleepy, dreaming about a tax return large enough to finace a new road bike and a trip to Italy…

Posted January 24th, 2003 by Michelle

No relief in sight. I think it is going to be freezing in this city for a long, long time.

I worked today. Every person who came in the door had that shocked look that comes from living in arctic weather. The block and a half between the subway stop and the door of my job, which lately is my second home, is enough to freeze my face to the point of pain. And the first thing I did upon arrival at work was fall down the winding staircase that connects the locker room to the kitchen. Amazing. I landed on my ankle, which is currently elevated and iced. Yeesh. That’s the kind of foolish thing that I do when I haven’t had enough rest.

I’ve worked at this restaurant for almost two years now. This time two years ago I was in Kansas City, visiting my then-boyfriend, having just interviewed at the restaurant the day before I left on vacation. At the time I had jobs at three other unfortunate establishments, including a stint at a SoHo bistro that just about ate my soul. Not to mention the “rocker” East Village we-never-close-and-we-all-do-coke diner. And then my current job and I found each other, and it is such a beautiful match that it concerns me. It’s the only part of my life where I am very successful, and it’s the only thing I don’t want to do forever. Writing, singing, acting, medicine- all great challenges. Hospitality? Service? Somehow these skills were bred into me and, scarily enough, I even enjoy it. As far as my restaurant goes, believe the hype. It’s an incredible place to eat. Terrific food, terrific service, not ridiculously expensive. Never in my life have I held a job for two years. And yes, I did run away this past summer, but October found me back in “stripes” (our uniform) and describing our Filet Mignon of Tuna.

Truth be told, I was terrified of returning. I spent several days literally bawling my eyes out, just thinking about it. I was living in the woods, far away from the world of restaurants and theatres and I knew if I went back, I would have an incredibly hard time leaving again. I am way too comfortable, make just enough money, and am just good enough at it that I fear I will not leave in time. Also, it is so terribly time-consuming, and exhausting, and leaves me with so little time to write. And all my fears are realized. I’m entirely caught up in it again, working extra shifts to afford my apartment, not having touched the book I’m writing in weeks.

My life is what I make it, though. I can only blame myself for the choices I have made.

Monday morning I am going to an EPA call for Fiddler on the Roof. I haven’t auditioned for anything theatrical since I returned to the city but I am really excited about this one. That is, I’m excited because I’ll be singing one of my mother’s songs, which is terrific, but I am dreading the actual day. Every man, woman and child who is Equity will be fighting to be heard, so I am planning on getting to the audition in the wee hours of the early morning just to get a two-minute slot. Ridiculous. And only very rarely is anyone actually cast from these huge open calls. But it’s what you have to do. And I love the show, and besides not looking remotely Jewish I’m perfect for it. I’m also waiting to hear back from several emergency medicine centers who just might want to give me a part-time EMT job. This could be a really good week.

Posted January 23rd, 2003 by Michelle

I understand that it’s January in New York, but in my opinion, this weather is ridiculous. Not to talk about the weather, but when it is so cold that it affects every waking (and many sleeping) moment of your life, you can’t help but think about it, talk about it, dream of May.

Last year on May 11th, my brother Sean’s birthday, about twenty of us met in Sheep’s Meadow in Central Park. We threw frisbees and ate Doritos and got sunburned. I was two weeks away from my EMT finals, had my requisite crush on an unavailable tattooed man, and was looking forward to a long, hot summer. But a month later, I got my first job as an EMT, as the medic on a trek for National Geographic. We started in Glacier National Park, and while the days could sometimes be warm, for the most part it was really, really cold. I slept in what was supposed to be a zero degeee bag, but every night for two months I slipped on long underwear, pants, a sweater, jacket, hat AND gloves before burrowing into my sleeping bag. By the time I got back to New York, the last warm day was gone and it was immediately the cool side of fall.

I am looking forward to summer. I want it to be so hot that my forearms sweat when I’m sitting reading a book. I want it to be so hot that I yet again swear I won’t make it another summer without chopping off all of my hair. I want it to be so hot that everyone avoids the sunny side of the street.

As it is, I’ll have to find a few more blankets before I climb up to my loft to sleep tonight.

Beyond the weather… I’m struggling right now, trying to find a balance in my life between what I want to do and what I need to do. A very smart man recently told me to ask for what I want, but my question is, ask who? So. This is what I want. I want to make my living singing and writing. I want to go to yoga five times a week. I want to work as an EMT. I want to have enough money to travel. And I want the King of Men to knock on my door.

And for a heat wave to warm up my city.