Hey! Remember when I updated this thing?

For weeks I was thinking of things to post and never posting them. Now I've pretty much given up. I have, however, returned to poetry writing. I think I've finally figured out what triggers my poetry instinct: stress.

Work is stressful! Oh right--Work! I have a job. Oprah.com hired me about two months ago as the editorial assistant. We really got going in the last week or two, and it's been tough. Lots of lessons to learn and relearn. I can feel it consuming me a bit, but as my mother says, "This too shall pass." It's already starting too. I'm working on a poem about it. Maybe I'll remember to post it. I'm also working on a series about the City. Maybe I'll post that. For now, this:

I realize that I only know this City in the summer. Finally, when the snow melted and the people that are New York came out from hibernation, it felt like my City again. It's good to be back.

Oh right. I live in Jersey now. Meant to say so...

Phone Lessons

I have a new phone. It kind of drives me nuts because it doesn't always answer calls, and I have to press send at least three times before it will attempt to deliver a text, and I'm afraid to use it without the charger and an outlet handy. But it does have one feature I like, and today that feature taught me a lesson.

When I'm typing, the phone guesses what I want to say. The more I use it, the better it knows me. It starts to guess at phrases I use more often. Sometimes the phone will suggest something I didn't mean to say, but it works, so I say it (not the best idea as a rule, but useful on occasion). Today while I fretted over a less-than-successful plan, I started to send a text saying something about the plan not working, like "I think I'll just give up this table" and once I had gotten to "I think I'll just give up" the phone suggested "on" and then "life." As I rejected each in turn, I considered sending something similarly dramatic and pessimistic as a sort of pathetic joke. But the phone gets to know you through what you type. So the next time I went to type "I think I'll just give (her a cake, my resume to the editor, peace a chance?)" I'd see the suggestion "up on life" instead, and is that really the kind of thing I want to teach my phone?

I keep hearing it and reading it in interviews at work: if you think negative things, you reinforce them. "Neurons that fire together wire together," one expert said. Keep thinking "I think I'll just give up on life" every time a plan falls through, and you're already on your way through a downward spiral.

And anyway, the plan wasn't a failure. Two other girls showed up and it was fun catching up, commiserating, and contemplating our new lives. Certainly not lives we'd want to give up on any time soon.

All the world's a movie set part 2!

I got to watch SJP do a scene! They had all these lights set up on a street and props and cranes and crew and I just stood there and watched! I tried to take a picture, but my phone's being stubborn. They say they'll be out of here by 9:30. It's nearly 11 and the whirring persists. Who cares! I wish they'd stay!

All the world's a movie set

And I can't sleep through it!

I woke up early this morning to a loud, mechanical whirring sound outside my window. I couldn't figure out what it could be, and unfortunately, I didn't do a very good job of sleeping through the sound.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed (and a very restless slumber) I found that the sound was coming from a giant trailer. A Haddad-- the movie-makers' choice in roving metal houses. One door said "Lucy" and the other "Desi." A quirky Hollywood convention, I thought. No, it didn't take long for me to figure out that they were shooting a movie outside my bedroom. Figuring out that "Lucy" and "Desi" are movie code for "bathrooms," now, that took me all day. I was sure those were the lead couple's trailers, especially since David and I saw people head in there reading scripts.

Naturally, I got ready super quickly, just in case they asked me to take the lead role before work. They didn't.

So it turns out they're shooting I Don't Know How She Does It starring Sarah Jessica Parker and Pierce Brosnan right here in Brooklyn today. It's a pretty exciting thing to have a whole movie taking place downstairs. I'm tempted to keep a vigil on my fire escape to see if anything neat happens, but I know all I'll see are trailers. And bathroom-goers. I did catch a glimpse of an adorable little blonde girl coming out of hair and makeup earlier. Who knows? Maybe SJ will have to P. (Though I'm sure her trailer has a private W.C.) It's fun having a little event to follow, like having the circus in town. I'm going to miss it when the trailers leave. Well, not the whirring noise.

You know, Hollywood, they may call this the city that never sleeps, but it's not because we don't want to.

Wishes

I've always been good with wishes and prayers. Nearly everything I've asked for has come true in one way or another. When I forgot to do my pre-algebra homework, I'd hope for a quick fix, and sure enough the teacher would take the long way around  while I scribbled down enough answers to pass. I'd pray for some way out of a class I didn't like, and ta-da, the school held a surprise special event. In fact, I can only think of one wish that never came true, and I can only suppose that some other good-wisher spent the better part of my childhood wishing it wouldn't snow in Tampa. But wishes are a tricky thing. You have to be awfully careful how you do it.

I was watching my new Friends DVDs before I moved back up to the City, and all I could think was, "Boy I hope my life in New York can be like that." What I meant was that I wanted a few close friends who popped by at all hours. What I got was my own personal Ugly Naked Guy. Showering. In the window across from my kitchen.

Thanks, Universe. It's good to know you're still half-listening.

A word to the wise:
A shaded pane may mind your shame
but frosted glass won't hide your...ahem, girth.

Riding in a Taxi on the Bridge Again

These windows made bright in the dark, cold night
Appear to me like diamonds set in coal.

Distinctly Unglamorous Beginnings

Day 1

And I did not ride the elevator with Cathie Black or David Carey or Anne Hathaway. I did not meet Gayle King. I did not hug Oprah.

I didn't expect to, either. But I did expect to finish a full day of work. Maybe even get my hands inky.

All in all, it was kind of anticlimactic. I walked up to this remarkable, important building thrilled, and left it a little disappointed -- five hours earlier than expected.

Still, everyone was so kind. The old editorial intern is still there, and they hadn't gotten my computer running, so there wasn't anything for me to do but read the intern manual. I didn't even sign any paperwork! So I went home. Oh well.

I think it'll all get grooving when the other interns show up and the old editorial intern leaves. I'm keeping my hopes high.

Goodnight!