Just an update on this morning's post:
The sky has shifted. In a big way. The sun broke through and blue sky made it's way into Seattle. And then the fog rolled in. And now it's sunny and raining. And there's a rainbow. Talk about bringing in some color.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Monochrome
There's an Ani DiFranco song that starts out like this:
The sky is grey, the sand is grey, and the ocean is grey...
That's the view from my window. Well, not quite. There's no sand. There's no ocean. But there's endless sky. And it's all grey. There's plenty of water. Grey grey grey. The city's glass skyscrapers reflect all of it. There are splashes of green on the tree-lined streets, and down on the docks there are cargo containers of blue and red. But the overwhelming color here, the overwhelming feeling, is grey. Which isn't even a color, not really. I mean, sure, technically, it's a color. Color is "the quality of an object or substance with respect to light reflected by the object". And there's plenty of light sifting through the cloud cover. Not so much as to require sunglasses, but enough so that my rose-tinted shades take the squint outta my eyes. But the light that's being reflected here, by the buildings and the water and the tar-black roads, is as bland a light as one can imagine. There's no depth to it, no imagination. It's flat. It's sterile. It's dull. And as an object, I am soaking it up. I am reflecting this dullness back to the world. Or that's how it feels anyway. That's how I feel. Grey.
And it's only September. Holy shit. This is gonna be a loooooooooooong winter.
I had dinner with Zoe last night. Zo has survived 12 winters in this town, and she's managing just fine. She's been taking classes at a hot yoga studio (not straight Bikram, for you yoga enthusiasts out there). Hot yoga is pretty much what it sounds like: a yoga class held in a hot room, generally about 100 degrees. I've had a number of friends rave about this type of practice, though I've been too timid to try. I mean, yoga is challenging enough without having sweat pouring into my eyes within the first two minutes. But I'm told it can be uplifting, revitalizing, detoxifying, soothing (afterwards). And, obviously, it gets rid of any chill you might walk into the room with. Which is a constant state of being for me during the Seattle winters. It doesn't often get below freezing here, but the never-ending drizzle, the overwhelming dampness seeps into my bones and hangs there like a wet blanket. So, I'm thinking that maybe I'll tag along with Zoe and get over my timidity of the sweaty downward dog. Because if I can find a way to warm my body, perhaps that warmth will filter into the rest of me. And then I can reflect something other than grey.
The sky is grey, the sand is grey, and the ocean is grey...
That's the view from my window. Well, not quite. There's no sand. There's no ocean. But there's endless sky. And it's all grey. There's plenty of water. Grey grey grey. The city's glass skyscrapers reflect all of it. There are splashes of green on the tree-lined streets, and down on the docks there are cargo containers of blue and red. But the overwhelming color here, the overwhelming feeling, is grey. Which isn't even a color, not really. I mean, sure, technically, it's a color. Color is "the quality of an object or substance with respect to light reflected by the object". And there's plenty of light sifting through the cloud cover. Not so much as to require sunglasses, but enough so that my rose-tinted shades take the squint outta my eyes. But the light that's being reflected here, by the buildings and the water and the tar-black roads, is as bland a light as one can imagine. There's no depth to it, no imagination. It's flat. It's sterile. It's dull. And as an object, I am soaking it up. I am reflecting this dullness back to the world. Or that's how it feels anyway. That's how I feel. Grey.
And it's only September. Holy shit. This is gonna be a loooooooooooong winter.
I had dinner with Zoe last night. Zo has survived 12 winters in this town, and she's managing just fine. She's been taking classes at a hot yoga studio (not straight Bikram, for you yoga enthusiasts out there). Hot yoga is pretty much what it sounds like: a yoga class held in a hot room, generally about 100 degrees. I've had a number of friends rave about this type of practice, though I've been too timid to try. I mean, yoga is challenging enough without having sweat pouring into my eyes within the first two minutes. But I'm told it can be uplifting, revitalizing, detoxifying, soothing (afterwards). And, obviously, it gets rid of any chill you might walk into the room with. Which is a constant state of being for me during the Seattle winters. It doesn't often get below freezing here, but the never-ending drizzle, the overwhelming dampness seeps into my bones and hangs there like a wet blanket. So, I'm thinking that maybe I'll tag along with Zoe and get over my timidity of the sweaty downward dog. Because if I can find a way to warm my body, perhaps that warmth will filter into the rest of me. And then I can reflect something other than grey.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
A deeee-luxe apartment in the sky
We're movin' on up, indeed.
First off, in order to appreciate my latest home, it's best to appreciate my home of the past year, lovingly known as Maui East. (Maui East was thus named due to a trip to Maui Maui that I took with my Columbia classmates and Alex shortly before we graduated. The week in Maui, after 3 years of high-intensity work and drama and lack of sleep, was like heaven on earth. Absolute peace. And beauty. And love. In a desire to carry that feeling into our day-to-day east coast lives, our humble Jersey City dwelling was named Maui East.) Maui East consisted of the top three floors of a brownstone in a lovely section of Jersey City. Really, Maui East was made up of the 5 people who resided there, more so than the place itself. The people were a perfect match. Absolute peace. And beauty. And love. It was wonderful to share my morning tea with Huling, with whom I would swap life advice and literature. And how I loved to come home to find Charlotte smoking her Camels on our front stoop. And Liz's morning vocal warmups soothed me into consciousness each day. The 5 of us co-habitated without any drama or ill-feeling or noise complaints. The house was big enough, and our schedules mixed enough, that we could go days without seeing anyone else who lived there, but it was always a happy occasion when our paths crossed. Honestly, it was the perfect living situation for me, after living through the hell of My Year in Las Vegas. I needed people. I needed creative people. I needed intellectual people. I hit the jackpot. The people of Maui East were exactly what I needed.
The place itself, well....
The place itself was a fixer-upper, in every sense of the term. The attic room that Alex & I moved into was known as "The Junk Room" until we took it over. Old graffiti on the walls (from the house's former life as a drug den, operated, we assume, by Pepe, since Pepe's name was prominent on the walls), peeling paint, holes in the plaster, a hardwood floor that splintered if you sneezed on it, a "closet" that had been used as wood storage until we moved all the wood out, windows replaced by cardboard (which were later replaced by old windows which we closed tight with duct tape, magical duct tape), a bathtub which always seemed dirty no matter how hard I scrubbed, bathroom ceiling tiles which threatened to collapse on our heads at any moment (and which did, in fact, collapse on our heads when Alex & I tried to "fix" the ceiling with duct tape, and upon us rained chewed-up ceiling materials and grey-fur nests made by some kind of critters who's poop pellets also rained down on our heads, soooooooo icky nasty disgustingly GROSS)...well, you get the picture. In the winter, we froze. In the summer, we melted. The place we called home during our year in Jersey City was far from what we'd call "deluxe".
And so, you can imagine why, in Alex's 3-day apartment hunt to Seattle in late July, he decided that he wanted to embrace the high life a bit. Seattle's rents have gone up quite a bit since we moved away 7 years ago, but compared to New York, everything is a bargain. We had some rather specific parameters set in our housing search: walk-ability (while it's easy to get around Seattle by car, I much prefer to walk--or bike--everywhere, no matter the time of day or night); an office for Alex (after a year of combined bedroom-office living, there was no debating this); a view (since Alex works from home, and works about 16 hours a day during .football/basketball season, the man deserves at least a glimpse of the world outside). That's it, as far as our demands went. But it was surprisingly difficult to find such a place. However, it was found. And how. It shouldn't be surprising that Alex would walk into the place that we are now calling "home" and decide that it was perfect. Honestly, it looks like a casino suite: floor-to-ceiling windows looking south at the city skyline (we're on the 11th floor, which is the highest floor I've ever lived on); artwork with a theme (in this case, 1929 Golden Sable Champagne ads, featuring a curvaceous woman in a black gown); tiled walk-in shower stalls (no bathtub, tho, which I suppose I can live with); remote-control gas fire. This place is beautiful, no doubt about it. And while I rarely admit to casinos having any kind of class or taste, the suites at casinos are often both classy and tasteful. The only thing that differs dramatically between this place and, say, a suite at The Wynn (other than the full kitchen, that is, which casino suites NEVER have) is the plant life. This place came furnished, and along with the furniture came plants. Which I am expected to keep alive. Yikes. I like plants, really I do, I love having them in my home. I've just never been able to keep a plant alive. We'll see how this goes.
So, here we are in our newest home. We'll be here until after the Superbowl, at least, and then see where we go. Chances are, our next place won't be quite as "suite". But I have a feeling that, after living in luxury for some time, I will be adding things to my list of "apartment must haves". Like a balcony. A building with a gym and a roof deck. Floor-to-ceiling windows. And, oh yes, an apartment in the sky. I never need to go below the 11th floor again. Sweet.
First off, in order to appreciate my latest home, it's best to appreciate my home of the past year, lovingly known as Maui East. (Maui East was thus named due to a trip to Maui Maui that I took with my Columbia classmates and Alex shortly before we graduated. The week in Maui, after 3 years of high-intensity work and drama and lack of sleep, was like heaven on earth. Absolute peace. And beauty. And love. In a desire to carry that feeling into our day-to-day east coast lives, our humble Jersey City dwelling was named Maui East.) Maui East consisted of the top three floors of a brownstone in a lovely section of Jersey City. Really, Maui East was made up of the 5 people who resided there, more so than the place itself. The people were a perfect match. Absolute peace. And beauty. And love. It was wonderful to share my morning tea with Huling, with whom I would swap life advice and literature. And how I loved to come home to find Charlotte smoking her Camels on our front stoop. And Liz's morning vocal warmups soothed me into consciousness each day. The 5 of us co-habitated without any drama or ill-feeling or noise complaints. The house was big enough, and our schedules mixed enough, that we could go days without seeing anyone else who lived there, but it was always a happy occasion when our paths crossed. Honestly, it was the perfect living situation for me, after living through the hell of My Year in Las Vegas. I needed people. I needed creative people. I needed intellectual people. I hit the jackpot. The people of Maui East were exactly what I needed.
The place itself, well....
The place itself was a fixer-upper, in every sense of the term. The attic room that Alex & I moved into was known as "The Junk Room" until we took it over. Old graffiti on the walls (from the house's former life as a drug den, operated, we assume, by Pepe, since Pepe's name was prominent on the walls), peeling paint, holes in the plaster, a hardwood floor that splintered if you sneezed on it, a "closet" that had been used as wood storage until we moved all the wood out, windows replaced by cardboard (which were later replaced by old windows which we closed tight with duct tape, magical duct tape), a bathtub which always seemed dirty no matter how hard I scrubbed, bathroom ceiling tiles which threatened to collapse on our heads at any moment (and which did, in fact, collapse on our heads when Alex & I tried to "fix" the ceiling with duct tape, and upon us rained chewed-up ceiling materials and grey-fur nests made by some kind of critters who's poop pellets also rained down on our heads, soooooooo icky nasty disgustingly GROSS)...well, you get the picture. In the winter, we froze. In the summer, we melted. The place we called home during our year in Jersey City was far from what we'd call "deluxe".
And so, you can imagine why, in Alex's 3-day apartment hunt to Seattle in late July, he decided that he wanted to embrace the high life a bit. Seattle's rents have gone up quite a bit since we moved away 7 years ago, but compared to New York, everything is a bargain. We had some rather specific parameters set in our housing search: walk-ability (while it's easy to get around Seattle by car, I much prefer to walk--or bike--everywhere, no matter the time of day or night); an office for Alex (after a year of combined bedroom-office living, there was no debating this); a view (since Alex works from home, and works about 16 hours a day during .football/basketball season, the man deserves at least a glimpse of the world outside). That's it, as far as our demands went. But it was surprisingly difficult to find such a place. However, it was found. And how. It shouldn't be surprising that Alex would walk into the place that we are now calling "home" and decide that it was perfect. Honestly, it looks like a casino suite: floor-to-ceiling windows looking south at the city skyline (we're on the 11th floor, which is the highest floor I've ever lived on); artwork with a theme (in this case, 1929 Golden Sable Champagne ads, featuring a curvaceous woman in a black gown); tiled walk-in shower stalls (no bathtub, tho, which I suppose I can live with); remote-control gas fire. This place is beautiful, no doubt about it. And while I rarely admit to casinos having any kind of class or taste, the suites at casinos are often both classy and tasteful. The only thing that differs dramatically between this place and, say, a suite at The Wynn (other than the full kitchen, that is, which casino suites NEVER have) is the plant life. This place came furnished, and along with the furniture came plants. Which I am expected to keep alive. Yikes. I like plants, really I do, I love having them in my home. I've just never been able to keep a plant alive. We'll see how this goes.
So, here we are in our newest home. We'll be here until after the Superbowl, at least, and then see where we go. Chances are, our next place won't be quite as "suite". But I have a feeling that, after living in luxury for some time, I will be adding things to my list of "apartment must haves". Like a balcony. A building with a gym and a roof deck. Floor-to-ceiling windows. And, oh yes, an apartment in the sky. I never need to go below the 11th floor again. Sweet.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
And so, it begins.
The rain, that is. As we wound our way through the Cascade mountains, the sky descended on us and the raindrops fell. By the time we made it to Seattle, we were treated to some sun, but the sky was still collapsing, to the point where there were no mountains to be seen in the distance. That's the hardest part of the Seattle weather for me: the disappearing sky. Sure, I know, there's always sky above me. But the cloud-cover comes to rest so low, it eliminates the whole view. The entire Olympic mountain range, so stunning and RIGHT THERE on a clear day, is hidden behind endless grey, sinking fog. On a clear day, you can see forever (cue Barbra Striesand). Mount Rainier is an overwhelming presence in the southern sky, the snowy Olympics to the west, the Cascades to the east. There is so much depth and texture in the world that I just want to swallow it whole. But when the grey comes, depth disappears. The wide-open sky becomes a low-lying ceiling. The expansive views become monochromatic walls. Even the tops of the buildings are shrouded in grey! There's a claustrophobic feel to this city during the winter months. And I know this. And I am prepared for this.
But it's not supposed to happen NOW!! Labor Day weekend is still summer! But it's been grey drizzle for me. Ugh.
Which is not to say that I'm not happy to be here. On the contrary, I'm giddy! I don't feel like I've actually moved here, that's too much to comprehend. I feel like I'm in a semi-sleep state, just sort of floating along until I fully arrive. In the less-than-2 days that we've been here, I've unpacked a bag or two in our week-long sublet on Capitol Hill. Then Alex and I went to our fabulous soon-to-be-apartment in Belltown (right near the Space Needle, which is Alex's favorite Seattle building, silly man that he is) and met with our new landlords and got the tour of the apartment (nice), the fitness room (perk) and the roof-deck (holy wow, the view). Then back to the Hill, where we were treated to a homemade dinner of Danish Pancake Balls (known in Denmark as "Aebleskiver", which is pronounced without the L or the R sounds) by our temporary downstairs neighbor, Daniel, and his lovely lady, Alison. Yesterday we were served a yummy veggie casserole dinner at the West Seattle home of my BFF Angela and her hubby, David, where they shared some Louis CK with us, and we introduced them to the wonders of Antione Dodson. (YouTube can answer that question for you if you don't know who I'm speaking of). I'll be spending today with my dear friend Caroline, perhaps sitting in the steam room at the day spa, or drinking a hot beverage at one of Seattle's many many many coffee shops. Tonite, maybe some Thai food (it's plentiful in the town), who knows. Like I said, I don't really feel like I'm here. I mean, physically, yeah, I'm here. I can tell by the way my hair looks (whatever moisture lives in the Seattle air, my hair likes it). I can tell by how friendly the cabbie's are. I can tell by all the recycling bins on the streets. Yep, I'm in Seattle alright. But do I actually live here? That I can't say. It's all too new. Sure, I know my way around, I know some good people, I know where to find at least 3 Trader Joe's and 2 Whole Foods and my favorite co-op. I know I don't need to wear makeup or high heels, and I know that sarcasm is entirely misunderstood here, as is verbal directness. I know how to live here; I just don't feel like I do, in fact, live here. Yet. It will help to move into our actual place (Friday!!) and unpack the car (which made the 3000 mile journey with no problem, such a good Buick) and introduce She-ra to her next place of residence (she, too, made it here in excellent condition and seems to be very much at peace with things). But really, it's gonna take some time for this city to feel like The Place Where I Live. It's gonna take some "doing stuff", you know what I mean? Getting some work, getting cast in a show or 4, having places to be and people to see and a schedule, oh how I'm looking forward to having a schedule of sorts. And these things will take time, I know. I feel a little lost, a little out to sea. And that will fade with time, I know. I have to be patient and try to enjoy the journey. Which I have every intention of doing.
I just wish the grey would hold off for awhile. Let me have just a little time before winter sets in, please! SHOW ME THE MOUNTAINS!!
But it's not supposed to happen NOW!! Labor Day weekend is still summer! But it's been grey drizzle for me. Ugh.
Which is not to say that I'm not happy to be here. On the contrary, I'm giddy! I don't feel like I've actually moved here, that's too much to comprehend. I feel like I'm in a semi-sleep state, just sort of floating along until I fully arrive. In the less-than-2 days that we've been here, I've unpacked a bag or two in our week-long sublet on Capitol Hill. Then Alex and I went to our fabulous soon-to-be-apartment in Belltown (right near the Space Needle, which is Alex's favorite Seattle building, silly man that he is) and met with our new landlords and got the tour of the apartment (nice), the fitness room (perk) and the roof-deck (holy wow, the view). Then back to the Hill, where we were treated to a homemade dinner of Danish Pancake Balls (known in Denmark as "Aebleskiver", which is pronounced without the L or the R sounds) by our temporary downstairs neighbor, Daniel, and his lovely lady, Alison. Yesterday we were served a yummy veggie casserole dinner at the West Seattle home of my BFF Angela and her hubby, David, where they shared some Louis CK with us, and we introduced them to the wonders of Antione Dodson. (YouTube can answer that question for you if you don't know who I'm speaking of). I'll be spending today with my dear friend Caroline, perhaps sitting in the steam room at the day spa, or drinking a hot beverage at one of Seattle's many many many coffee shops. Tonite, maybe some Thai food (it's plentiful in the town), who knows. Like I said, I don't really feel like I'm here. I mean, physically, yeah, I'm here. I can tell by the way my hair looks (whatever moisture lives in the Seattle air, my hair likes it). I can tell by how friendly the cabbie's are. I can tell by all the recycling bins on the streets. Yep, I'm in Seattle alright. But do I actually live here? That I can't say. It's all too new. Sure, I know my way around, I know some good people, I know where to find at least 3 Trader Joe's and 2 Whole Foods and my favorite co-op. I know I don't need to wear makeup or high heels, and I know that sarcasm is entirely misunderstood here, as is verbal directness. I know how to live here; I just don't feel like I do, in fact, live here. Yet. It will help to move into our actual place (Friday!!) and unpack the car (which made the 3000 mile journey with no problem, such a good Buick) and introduce She-ra to her next place of residence (she, too, made it here in excellent condition and seems to be very much at peace with things). But really, it's gonna take some time for this city to feel like The Place Where I Live. It's gonna take some "doing stuff", you know what I mean? Getting some work, getting cast in a show or 4, having places to be and people to see and a schedule, oh how I'm looking forward to having a schedule of sorts. And these things will take time, I know. I feel a little lost, a little out to sea. And that will fade with time, I know. I have to be patient and try to enjoy the journey. Which I have every intention of doing.
I just wish the grey would hold off for awhile. Let me have just a little time before winter sets in, please! SHOW ME THE MOUNTAINS!!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
On my way....
...back to where I used to be.
Seattle. A city I haven't called home in more than 7 years. And yet, it's never stopped feeling like home. Hell, I never got rid of my Seattle cell number! And of course, New York is HOME home, it's where my family is, it's where I grew up (well, I grew up in Jersey, but New York was where I starting to figure out who I was), it's a city whose rhythms make perfect sense to me. But New York is not where my heart is these days. In truth, I've been pining for Seattle for some time. When I knew it was time to leave Vegas and the question was, "Where to?", it was always a question of "New York or Seattle?" And the answer was New York, for some very clear reasons, which mostly boiled down to my need to be quite certain that New York was or was not where I am meant to be at this stage of my life. Because I had no doubt that Seattle was calling me, I had no doubt that Seattle felt like the easier choice. But easy has always frightened me. I am afraid of the what-ifs. What if I went to Seattle and wondered if I had given up on New York? What if I went to Seattle and felt that I had settled? What if I went to Seattle out of fear rather than self-knowledge? And so, the answer was New York. And this past year in New York has been full of wonderful, full of stunning, full of awe-inspiring. I love my New York people, I love my New York theatre, I love my New York energy. I saw a dozen operas at the Met, lots of Broadway and off-Broadway theatre, made some fun little films, performed in some challenging & rewarding roles, reconnected with friends old and new, had dinners with my parents, seltzers with my brothers & sister-in-law, card games with my aunt, bike rides with my cousins, ice cream with my housemates. And oh, the place I called home for a year, wondrous Maui East, living with Alex and 3 friends who were exactly the people I needed to be surrounded by after my year of relative isolation in the desert...My year back in New York has been wonderful in so many ways. And yet, it highlighted the many things I want in my life that I wasn't finding. And while it's been heartbreaking to consider putting 3000 miles between me and the city of my youth, it's been a relief to decide to return to the city of my adulthood.
And so, I return. Me and Alex and She-ra have been journeying across the country for the past 5 days, and we'll arrive in Seattle tomorrow. And I'm excited. And I'm scared. But mostly, I'm excited. I have a better sense of what I'm getting into in Seattle than I did with Vegas, but it's still an adventure. I have great hopes for this next chapter in my life, and I know that there will be many struggles in the months ahead, as I try to re-establish myself in a city and a theatrical community that I said goodbye to long ago. But I welcome the struggle. Like I said, I've always been afraid of easy.
Here we go!!
Seattle. A city I haven't called home in more than 7 years. And yet, it's never stopped feeling like home. Hell, I never got rid of my Seattle cell number! And of course, New York is HOME home, it's where my family is, it's where I grew up (well, I grew up in Jersey, but New York was where I starting to figure out who I was), it's a city whose rhythms make perfect sense to me. But New York is not where my heart is these days. In truth, I've been pining for Seattle for some time. When I knew it was time to leave Vegas and the question was, "Where to?", it was always a question of "New York or Seattle?" And the answer was New York, for some very clear reasons, which mostly boiled down to my need to be quite certain that New York was or was not where I am meant to be at this stage of my life. Because I had no doubt that Seattle was calling me, I had no doubt that Seattle felt like the easier choice. But easy has always frightened me. I am afraid of the what-ifs. What if I went to Seattle and wondered if I had given up on New York? What if I went to Seattle and felt that I had settled? What if I went to Seattle out of fear rather than self-knowledge? And so, the answer was New York. And this past year in New York has been full of wonderful, full of stunning, full of awe-inspiring. I love my New York people, I love my New York theatre, I love my New York energy. I saw a dozen operas at the Met, lots of Broadway and off-Broadway theatre, made some fun little films, performed in some challenging & rewarding roles, reconnected with friends old and new, had dinners with my parents, seltzers with my brothers & sister-in-law, card games with my aunt, bike rides with my cousins, ice cream with my housemates. And oh, the place I called home for a year, wondrous Maui East, living with Alex and 3 friends who were exactly the people I needed to be surrounded by after my year of relative isolation in the desert...My year back in New York has been wonderful in so many ways. And yet, it highlighted the many things I want in my life that I wasn't finding. And while it's been heartbreaking to consider putting 3000 miles between me and the city of my youth, it's been a relief to decide to return to the city of my adulthood.
And so, I return. Me and Alex and She-ra have been journeying across the country for the past 5 days, and we'll arrive in Seattle tomorrow. And I'm excited. And I'm scared. But mostly, I'm excited. I have a better sense of what I'm getting into in Seattle than I did with Vegas, but it's still an adventure. I have great hopes for this next chapter in my life, and I know that there will be many struggles in the months ahead, as I try to re-establish myself in a city and a theatrical community that I said goodbye to long ago. But I welcome the struggle. Like I said, I've always been afraid of easy.
Here we go!!
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