Fuck the picket fence, I want a spice cabinet

Today I said to the mother of the kids I babysit for:

"I am so jealous of your spice cupboard. I know that sounds silly, but I feel like college students always just have salt and pepper, maybe some paprika or garlic salt. But grown ups always have such stocked spice cabinets. I feel like having so many spices is such a real person thing."

Happy 4th of July

I went to Coney Island today to witness the hot dog eating competition (not the human-versus-elephant one, just the regular ol' human-versus-human one!) I also attended a lovely bbq, watched the fireworks, and dined on gelato. But the real unbelievable, amazing, absolute best surprise moment of my day occurred as I walked down St. Marks on my way home at about 8pm.

I left Josh's to go home, change, and meet Sara near the West Side Highway so we could see the fireworks. On the way home, as I walked down 2nd, I noticed a glowing light coming from the top of St. Marks. There is no other way to describe it. The street literally glowed yellow. Stunned, and excited that I had my camera with me (I've got to start carrying that thing with me at ALL TIMES), I scampered down the street, almost getting hit by more than a few taxis on my way. But it was worth it, because as I approached Astor, this is what I saw:

I mean, the fireworks were great and all, but seriously...only Mother Nature can provide this kind of spectacle. Happy 4th of July.

I do things sometimes

A bit of self-promotion to prove that I don't just fill my days sitting on babies (not that there is anything wrong with hanging out with 3 year olds who ask deep, soul searching questions such as, "What is dirt?")

I'm interning at Time Out Kids for the summer. It is a dream job. So far I've written this and that. I should have some more web clips coming up and maybe even a small something in the September print issue.

I also somehow ended up with one of my photos from Borough Market published in a guide of London, made by Flickr (hover your mouse over the "Borough Market" tab to see my lil' thumbnail.) I haven't really done a lot of research into the publication, but it seems Flickr publishes "Schmap" guides of different cities and uses photos published on the site to illustrate them. I got an email a while ago saying one of mine was one of many that were chosen, and it recently went live. It's actually one of my least favorite from the market, but still, exciting that my Flickr account is getting some exposure I suppose. Even if the only real exposure comes from me posting about it here.

On Blackberry Addiction

Got dinner at the adorable Penelope Cafe last night with an old friend from high school. We talked about many things, including how she started running marathons to get her mind off an ex (I mean, I usually grab a pint of the most unhealthy ice cream I can find when I have boy troubles, but to each her own). We eventually found ourselves at a lull in conversation, whereupon we both whipped out our Blackberry's and exclaimed in shock that we hadn't become BBM friends yet. I then realized I am my biggest nightmare:

Me: Ugh, I promised I wouldn't become one of those people who have their Blackberry's like an extension of their hand, attached to them at all times. But of course now I am. I carry it and wave it around and am never without it--I find myself clutching it in the subway. I'm not going to get any reception in the subway! What the fuck am I doing with it in the subway?!

Ali: Brickbreaker. Duh.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is 2009. Welcome. Generation Robot up next. Be afraid.

Repeat After Me: Fiction Still Matters

Tonight I went to a reading by Rachel DeWoskin, my former (and future! YAY!) professor and embarrassingly obvious girl crush, for her new book Repeat After Me. Judging from the short excerpts she read aloud and the delightful time I had reading her memoir, Foreign Babes in Beijing, I'm going to really enjoy her first novel.

What seems most relevant to point out on this lil' blog is the fact that she wrote a novel. Yep, in an age where my peers cry that fiction is dying and my school starts a blog because newspapers aren't being read and the whole freaking world has pronounced print dead dead dead (ILY! RIP! I'm not even going to link any of the PRINT IS DEAD articles because god they're boring at this point aren't they?!) it seems shocking that someone got it together to write a whole freaking book from her imagination. And they're printed on real pages! And while Rachel says she drew a lot of the novel from her own ex-pat experiences in China (good fiction is, after all, writing what you know), the novel is a novel. It is fiction. There are no links to follow, no embedded videos to watch, no viral stories spreading quickly. Nope, it's a book that you have to read from cover to cover. It doesn't direct you anywhere else except perhaps inside your own head to ponder what it all means. It focuses on "the acquisition of language" because that is something Rachel explained fascinates her. What I mean to say is: it's not like reading Jezebel in the morning. AND I'M GLAD. Not because I don't like and appreciate Jezebel. But because I think we, as a generation, are facing a major problem. And I think the way to fix it might be writing good fiction.

I don't think Josh was wrong when he wrote about fiction falling by the wayside, and I think that problem comes from a combination of growing up and exposing ourselves to too much technology. I will address both of those issues in a post that I'm very excited to write but simply have no time to do tonight. But stay tuned! I will say now, though, that I think it is very fair to call this situation a problem. There is a reason fiction exists. However important it is to educate ourselves about current events, the news, our political climate, etc. (and it is, it's very important--not that my favorite Gawker guilty pleasure can exactly be called "educating myself" but you know, not everything online is educational...LOL maybe nothing online is educational?) it is equally, if not MORE, important to encourage imagination. Fiction forces us to examine our souls. It gets you going inside your own head like nothing else. I would argue that fiction is absolutely necessary for our survival as complex individuals.

I'm going to keep exploring these issues because I think they're important, possibly part of the most important conversation I hear my generation having (New Media vs. Everything Else and How It Can All Survive Together, Maybe, Please?). But right now I have to go to bed because I plan on waking up at 7am to get to the Alice + Olivia sample sale before work. Because that's where my priorities lie. And fuck you for judging me, because I know you are–but you know what? Sometimes a really gorgeous party dress can inspire the imagination. So sample sales are important, too!

Staten Island fucks up my gaydar

We're talking in all caps because Skyler is in Madrid and I miss her and we were excited to finally catch each other on Skype. I sound like an asshole because I am an asshole (some days). The rest is self-explanatory, yeah?

PS!

As a post-script to my previous post, I have to add that a lot of those ramblings just come from my head. What I mean is, sometimes I feel as though I write these long things explicitly stating I'M OKAY, and then I get a few friends who diligently read this blog (thank you, and I'm sorry that there hasn't been content in forever, but that is changing, I hope) calling me up and saying, "Oh my it sounds like you were doing just awful and here we were this whole time thinking you were fine!" And that's the thing. I am fine. I was fine. I was never not fine.

But what was that whole self-obsessed ramble you just posted, Vanessa, you might ask. Ah, that. Well that's what goes on in my head. I exaggerate both the actual problems (don't we all?) and my reactions to them, and when I write it all down I sound like I'm headed for the looney bin, or Alcohol Anonymous at the very least. Wrong to both, fair readers! I'm sane (I think). And I don't drink that much, even when I'm saying, "Oh and then I was drinking too much." (Seriously Mom. Seriously.) It's just how I process the world, and myself, and in turn how I churn it all back out again.

But for realsies, I really am fine now, but I know I always was. I am fortunate and I am responsible and I'm doing well. Friends, Mom, and future employers alike, rest easy.

And on that note, time for me to rest easy. My bed is calling me. Goodnight!