Hot Child in the City

It's been so humid in the citay that one could cut the proverbial air with a proverbial knife. So I've been dealing with hizzeat by being as cool as I possibly can. It all started with 'ritas and aps on the west side with J-Dawg my bestest bud from HS, and we followed it up with hip-hopping on the lower east, former home of the squalid tenements and sweatshops of our immigrant ancestors, where we hit hotspots Pianos, Schiller's, and some French place that was so authentic, it even had its own Tabac.

Unfortunately, the combination of vin blanc, more plebian booze, and horrifying weather ensured that I had a headache and nausea and was out of commish for the nextish day. Nonetheless I rode out with dad and bro (and clutching stomach to hold on to its contents) to the hottest of suburban destinations, north-central jersey, to chill at the uber-greasy truck stop Pal's Cabin with a renowned architect and grandpa. Then on to Newark, to surprise mom with a pick-up-- she was coming, coming, back back from Cali Cali.
But then the apocolypse, in guise of a torrential thunder and lighting storm, arrived, grounding my mom in Hartford of all places (no offense, M. Twist), and sending eddies of rainwater into the baggage claim area at Newark (or Liberty for you hopeless patriots). So we turned 'round. But the food in the airport was gone, and things looked pretty grim. Lesson for today's world: bring luna bars, agua, and reading material wherever you go.

Saturday night we kicked it in the 10040 with J-dawg and Yo It's... Sunday was Columbus Circle/hell's kitch with a cameo from Twist, and I got new running shoes. They were not Nikes (fuck Nike).

Oh, and the weather finally de-humidified and is dry and delightful. And Entourage made me squirm (booo, Eric).

So that's my keepin' it cool narrative. The end.

roaches killed today: 2
good apartments snatched up this weekend while I was dallying: 2 (but it's cool, yo)
delicious brunches I enjoyed in the 'heights with free muffins, soy cheese omelette option and fresh squeezed Oj- but absolutely no line whatsoever:-1
Number of responses when you google my name and john tierney's together: 1

Where should I live?

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a slightly disgruntled former teach.

Oh, procrasturbating

AGW is going through a crisis of inaction. After a delightful weekend in Brewster, tha cape, with MommaVoz and a hot immigrant bitch, she came back to the sweltering city with her subconscious determined not. to. work. That's not good when you're ostensibly a self-motivated freelancer. But it's not like I've been sitting doing nothing. I've been tooling around with what was once a "long piece of fiction" but has as of today crossed the 20,000 word mark and become a novel-in-progress. This is nothing new for me. I have several novels-in-progress that are very much not in progress, but this one has made it pretty far, and I'm hoping to do something with it, even if that means just sending it around to my friends, Earl of Rochester style.

Or publishing it in its entirety HERE, on AGW, first.

J/K mah peoples. I would never subject me or you to that.

So on the subject for which this blog was originally created, I wrote a letter to the editor responding to John Tierney the prick, who was in turn responding to a brilliant story in the WSJ. The gist of my letter, which won't be published because it was too long, was: test scores prove that kids can learn regardless of environment. But environment determines whether or not kids will pursue education. So public schools need more, not less money. And why white assholes in suits like tierney don't get that is because they're self-satisfied bigots.

**********

That aside, I've been reading up a storm, one of the reasons I think I've been inspired to write so much. Here are my (parenthetical) instantaneous reviews:

Fun Books (or as snobs would say, "Summer Reading")

Academy X (about my Alma Mater) by Andrew Trees
The Devil Wears Prada (boring and poorly written but it hooks ya) by Lauren Weisberger
Circle of Friends (seriously made me feel like I was back in Ireland, ohmigod soooooo good) by Maeve Binchy

Depressing books (or as snobs would say, "Real Books.")

In Cold Blood (siiiick, as my brother would say) by Truman Capote
Wide Sargasso Sea (also siiick, Jane Eyre in Reverse and modernist), by Jean Rhys
The Unbearable Lightness of Being (A lot of references to sex and shit for a book with "lightness" in the title. But the style of the translation is haunting and sticks with you.) by some Czech dude. Milan Kundera. word. Thanks, pasty.

Aight, that' s all folken. Til tomorrow, or the next time I'm bored/procrastinating.

La cucaracha

Ahh, new york. There's nothing like it. Among the critters we've gotten friendly with up here is the old fashioned roach (no, not that kind of roach, shook) , thanks to the heat and general creakiness of the building. Fortunately, ours are fairly tiny, not like the massive waterbugs from hell that used to crawl out of the drains in Harvard's oldest and most respected "House" dormitories.
I don't know why I'm writing about these fellas (and how I've gotten super at tracking them down, killing them, and smokin' em out) except to gross out any jappy readers out there. Because if you're not shaking your manicure in disgust and saying "Ewww!' and then turning on those heels and guiltily coming back for more, I'm not satisfied.

Also, note to moms: There aren't that many, okay?

Item 2:

So the story I've been working on for my little family magazine that could is about finding the perfect nanny. After interviewing an intense number of intense mothers, I started thinking about my own students and how that aggressive parental zeal was lacking in their lives. After all, working class parents don't have time or money to do the kinds of insane things the bourgeoise and or wealthy do for their kids-- but ironically (and this is why I hate capitalism) their kids need it more. Without tutoring, and nannies, and college counselors, rich kids would still be bright and literate and set up for success.

Item 3:
This is the foundation I want to start to rectify the imbalance described above:

_________

You are invited to a benefit for...
The Nest is Never Empty Foundation

Pairing empty nest manhattan parents with public high school students in the Bronx to give them:

• cultural excursions, to museums, films, and parks
• Tutoring-- to sign these kids up with tutors, literacy coaches, Kaplan, regents prep people, or what have you...
• College counseling-- from finding four-year schools, to helping with applications, to haggling for financial aid...
• Mentoring-- to check up on students' homework, social lives and emotional lives.

_________________________

Now in no way would these empty-nest boomers be replacement parents. Rather, they would use their formidable system-beating skills to help guide the families of students who weren't picked for specialized high schools, prep-for-prep, or other life-changing alternatives as young kids, but who could aim just a little higher if they had the right guide. Getting these kids into SUNYs instead of CUNYS, for instance, would be a huge accomplishment. And the insane energy so many NY parents devote to their kids would go somewhere useful, instead of to refilling their Xanax prescription or retiring to play golf.

Now, George Soros, are you reading this? Sponsor me!

Washington Heights = Paradise

Birds, not bandits, lurk outside my home...

Okay, so last night I kept my hard-working boyfriend awake for half an hour with a dash of insane paranoia about someone being outside our window, and I'm sorry, but I'm not far from wrong.
Because this morning, after he unbedgrudginingly trotted off to work, I woke up again (weak, and weary) to an insistent tap-tap-tapping at that very window--blearily, I assumed it was either a pigeon, squirrel, or rapist (from the night's Plutonian shore), and glared at it from across the room. But then I noticed its bright hue, stumbled for my glasses, and lo and behold, 'twas a blue jay. And it was still rapping, very authoritatively, at our window. Because we're so near the park (Ft. Tryon park, that is), we get all sorts of winged critters-- blue jays, non-pigeony doves, starlings and gorgeous red cardinals.

Quoth the Blue Jay: Nevermore!

Okay, you're thinking, she's lost it! She used to blog about do-rag sporting, Cam' ron loving teenagers and psychotic school administrators, and now she's blathering about BIRDS. What has happened to our snarky, spunky, angry fellow-ette? The answer is... summer has happened, bitches, and if you're so desperate for sordid tales, go buy a Zane novel and don't bother me. I like hangin' out with the birdies.

In other news:

-Fellow-ette partied this weekend with the ultra-orthodox yehudim and engaged in a spirited, weekend-long discussion/debate with swvl about the relative cultishness of various "cults" from hasidim to Jews for Jesus to the moonies.

-We feted briefly with a group of wealthy new york tweens, a group just as exclusive and closed-minded as the above.

-We bought crocs and oh how we love em.

-Speaking of footgear, Fellow-ette is starting to run again and needs new sneakers: advice?

-Fellow-ette got accepted into NYU's Draper program, a cool, part-time master's program that she is currently debating attending. Thoughts?

-France lost the world cup which sucks (though the Italians are dishy), Entourage last night was actually funny and Vince is maturing, and oh, yeah, the world is going to shit. And that is why I'm not touching current events with a ten foot blog-pole.

/Over and out.

Tick-Tock

Ten minutes 'till the second interview of my newly-discovered journalism career (this is the one rescheduled after mucho phone tag on Weds). I have figured out how to get my wireless headset thingamagig working with a cordless phone (but not my ghetto-ass cell), and despite its awesomeness, I still have a hard time mastering a professional voice on the phone. My homies M. Twist, Shook and Swvl are all my inspiration for their excellent reporting skills and their "business voices"-- tho no one beats M. Twist's grown up voice-- and I aim to reach their level.

Anyhooch, it's funny trying to be all assured and businesslike when I have not reported a story in over three years, and even when I did, I was on the student beat because my lack of a serious tone enabled students to trust and spill their guts to me, while administrators were a wall I could never crack.
But perhaps my disarming humility is a plus ; )

But it's all good. For as Shook says, "our bylines are spreading up and down the northeast corridor like kudzu." So mazel tov, and shabbat shalom. Tonight I'm going to an Oneg Shabbat with some seriously religious cousins of my main squeeze, and I promised him I would refrain from making any "God is dead" type comments until we got home.

Real Time... the life of a journo

I'm in the midst of the part of the features-writing process I hate the most; the call and call-back stage. After a week of playing phone tag with his PR rep, I had all but given up on ever making contact with my interview subject. But just as I, clad in spandex and ready to hit the gym, was preparing to make one more futile call before i did so, she called me back of her own volition.

"So he can do the interview today," said the PR rep, "but I have to go to a funeral."
"Sorry," I muttered.
"So here's his cell-phone number."
"Okay," said I, "do you have his assistant's number in case I need to reach her."
"As I said," she said dutifully giving me the 310-number I requested, "I'd be happy to do the go-between today but I have a FUNERAL." (I wondered if she'd heard my sorry from before. )
"Okay, I said, then I'll call his assistant and call him."
"She's not in her office,' she replied. "It's in LA.'
"Oh. Then I'll call him." (Now feeling like the pea-sized amateur I am.)

So before calling the cellphone number given to me, I put together the nifty recording sytem I'd blown 100 bucks on last week. I connected the phone to a pair of headphones, a digital recorder, and a recorder-phone-headphone connector, and voila!

...Except absolutely none of it worked. I think it might be because I dropped my phone in the toilet (again) a few weeks back... when you live in a studio where the bathroom door is the only door you can actually close, it's bound to happen folks.

Hopefully I'll get to do the interview the ole' fashioned way, with a phone cradled lovingly in my shoulder blade and fingers flying across the proverbial keyboard. But only time will tell. More deeets to come later.

*************************

Meanwhile, readers, I hope your holiday was as nice as mine. I attended two hip indie rock concerts, one inside at night, one oustide during the sweltering afternoon. I went for a swim, had a yummy barbecue dinner (thanks, pops), spent some time overlookin' the hudson, watched a nest of baby birds, and spent some time with yo it's... and swvl wandering Ft. Washington avenue, where we observed four different sets of fireworks in varying locales from our hilltop position. Then, urchin-like, we perched outside someone's building and ate us some muffins. Word. Happy fucking independence day.