What I’m doing is just telling you guys that despite the fact that I’ve been averaging about one or two posts a week, I’m going to get better. I’m going to get into regularly writing again.
As with most transition periods in life, this one has left me tired and headachey and unable to do anything productive but sleep at the end of the day. But that’s all going to change once I get it together. Once I learn exactly what time I need to leave work to catch the 6:29 train that gets me back home at 7:50, instead of the 7:05 train, that gets me home at 8:45. Once I realize waking up at 6 a.m. is not grounds for ending it all. Now that I’m working part of the week from home, and part of the week in NYC.
I’m already getting used to this new life.
Even better, I really like my new job. Writing online is completely different than newspaper writing, but I think I just might be getting the hang of it, much like I’m getting the hang of crossing the wide expanse of train station to get to my platform without bumping into the 5 trillion other commuters racing this way and that, because that kind of clumsiness is so not New York.
In two weeks we close on the house we’re buying in New Haven. I’ve been hesitant to write much about this because I worried that somehow, some way, something could go wrong and I’d end up feeling stupid. Also, talking to real estate agents and loan processors and lawyers all the time doesn’t much inspire me to sit down and do a bunch of creative writing.
But we’re nearing the end of the process, and more important than the paperwork, the facts and figures, is the house, our house, yet another factor bringing this tiring transition period to a close. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even have a vegetable garden this summer and I assure you, once that happens, well, you won’t be able to get me to shut up.
Ok, don’t worry, this isn’t going to become a celebrity-sighting blog or anything (I mean, hopefully my own life will continue to prove somewhat more interesting than the lives of the stars) but yesterday I saw Clinton from TLC’s “What Not To Wear” in Grand Central. He was wearing a turquoise sweater.
I know Bobby’s totally got me beat on this, but I’d like to get to the point where I’m sort of used to seeing celebrities in the city every now and then. You know, to the point where I don’t have to send a text message to everyone I know about how “I just saw Clinton from ‘What Not to Wear’ in Grand Central.” Where, instead, I’m like, “Yeah, I just ran into J-Lo. It was fun and all, but I was really anxious to just get on the train and read my book…”
I didn’t write much last week, but it wasn’t because I was bored or didn’t have anything to say. I didn’t write much because, happily, I was working and didn’t have any time.
Working because, you know, I have a job. A job!
Last week was my first as a writer for findingDulcinea.com, a site that covers news, provides web guides for everything from health to travel destinations as well as features about tons of different people, places and other subjects.
I’m writing for the Behind the Headlines section, which means I find interesting news stories, opinion pieces and background information, and put it all together in one neat package on the site.
The cool thing about writing for a website, besides, you know, being employed, is that I can tell you all about it from time to time here on my blog. I’ll write some post about some story I wrote and you’ll be like, “Huh, it seems like she’s just promoting that website she works for,” and yeah, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing.
My office is in New York City and since I’m still learning the ropes I’m commuting every day, although soon I’ll be splitting my time between going to the office and working from home.
Despite the fact that the train ride to and from Grand Central takes up three hours and, to be honest, I’m kind of exhausted, I still love going into the city. I love the rush of people in the train station every morning and every night and I even love stupid things like the fact that I pass two Starbucks on my ten block walk from the train station to the office.
And I can’t really complain about the long hours. I spent the last year and a half as a slacker freelance writer and making my own hours meant getting up in the morning was never exactly hard. Because when you make your own hours, you can start at 10 a.m. sometimes - 9 at the earliest.
Now that my first week’s over I think I’ll be getting into the swing of things and learning how to balance my schedule. That means I’ll be writing a lot more about everything going on in our lives, like our upcoming move, and the recent snow and various other adventures here in Connecticut. Soon, who knows, maybe I’ll be blogging from the train, just another working person on their way home. I mean, chances are, I’ll be sleeping or reading a mystery novel, but you get the point. There are, once again, so many things to write about.
From: Fred Rotondaro
To: Cara McDonough, Vinnie Rotondaro, Kathy Rotondaro, Justin McDonough, Frannie Kelley
Date: Thu, Feb 21, 2008 at 9:39 AM
Subject: Dad in the pet doctor’s office
Unable sadly to bring a fecal sample despite running after Lucy with a container and a spoon in the snow last night.
Yelling, “Shit, damn it shit. Dog damn dog.”
Now. Sitting amidst the pee from the other little doggies in the place.
I could be in DC in a bookstore. Having a young red wine at Sesto. But instead I am with the doggie everyone loves.
My brother, Vinnie, has been doing a lot of research regarding our family history recently. It turns out that my father’s father never officially became an American citizen when he immigrated here at the age of 11, which means he never renounced his Italian citizenship and that means that his Italian citizenship, figuratively speaking, travelled through his line of blood to us. There’s a big long process you’ve got to go through - and Vinnie is doing all the work - but the point is that we could potentially have dual citizenship if we wanted to, and we both think this would be great.
Figuring out how to go about this has been difficult and Vinnie’s put a lot of time into the whole thing. While there have been several complications and frustrations, one of the cool things about trying to get this done has been how much he has learned about our family’s history in Italy.
My paternal grandfather’s family lived in a town called Roggiano Gravina in the Calabria region of southern Italy, and my brother has been sending me and my family information about the area and our family’s presence there since he started his research.
Today he sent me two YouTube videos depicting life in Roggiano Gravina. The first is a seven-minute long video taken from a car as it makes its way through the town’s winding streets, past historic looking buildings, while a slow Italian pop song plays in the background. He headed his email with the subject line: “This is where we’re from.”
The second video, which was recorded at a party in the southern Italian town, he sent shortly after the first, and the second video’s purpose, I suppose, is to remind us that not only do we come from a place of great beauty and culture, but that we are descended from a people who live life to the fullest.
Vinnie introduced the second clip with the subtle comment, “There is also this:”
I haven’t been writing too much lately because there hasn’t been that much going on to write about, or, truthfully, there’s been plenty going on, but I’m not so deluded as to think you want to hear all about the mortgage proceedings we’re going through in order to purchase a house. Or my job search. Ot how it’s been pretty cold out.
But, as I do like to try and keep this blog at least somewhat in tune with my life, I thought I’d write a brief update in the form of a few of the recent highlights:
Heading into New York City for an interview and walking back to Grand Central in the softly falling snow, hands buried deep in my pockets, enjoying the company of thousands of strangers on the sidewalks.
Taking note of the one-month-til-we-move-into-our-house mark on Valentine’s Day.
Watching Cecilia gallop through the melted, wet sludge in the backyard, tongue hanging out of her mouth, in great appreciation of this New England winter, like she’d just won a trip to Disney World.
Drinking hot tea and wearing slippers.
Sleeping in.
Hearing all about J’s lab adventures when he gets home from work, my personal favorite being stories about he and his labmates taking afternoon espresso breaks, because of course they have an espresso machine down the hall, which makes me insanely jealous.
Complaining about sharing a small bed in J’s old childhood room, which means the person sleeping nearest the wall has to climb over the person sleeping on the other side when they get up in the morning, but at the same time stopping to laugh and realizing these will be great stories to look back upon someday, which we will look back on especially fondly from the comfort of a bigger bed.
The other day I was walking around downtown New Haven and decided to stop in Starbucks because, well, I’d just toured the Yale Center for British Art and I deserved it.
Since I was in search of something to keep me warm and not necessarily a caffeine boost I decided to try something new and asked the friendly barista what the Caramel Apple Spice was like, was it like hot apple cider? And he replied that yeah, it was something like that.
I ordered one in the spirit of trying something new and because when you are jobless and you live in your husband’s childhood room and it is about 2 degrees outside, you sometimes need a little boost.
It turns out that the Caramel Apple Spice was nothing like hot apple cider, at least not any hot apple cider I would have been allowed to taste in my youth, apple cider that aspires to some semblance of nutrition, apple cider that does not rot your teeth in one sitting.
And perhaps because I don’t often allow myself sugary coffee drinks (more because they set my stomach afire than because I’m some kind of saint), my reaction was amplified.
This Starbucks version was more like apple juice with added sugar with whipped cream on top and caramel drizzled on top of that. And naturally, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. And I can’t stop thinking about it. And I’m never allowed to have it again.
No matter how many new entertainment options this great world has to offer, there are a few movies, television shows, books, albums and other miscellaneous items I always go back to when I’m feeling down or annoyed or bored, or I just want to experience something familiar.
I always tell myself I should branch out and try something new when I find myself listening to a song or watching an episode for the 12,000th time, but then I realize that there’s nothing wrong with finding comfort in something - especially if it’s something really good.
So here are a few of my favorites, the ones that never let me down.
“The Office” - Now, don’t get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the American version of the TV show - in fact, I love the American version - but I’m talking about the British one. I think my good friend Dan originally told me about this work of comic genius and J and I eventually rented and watched all the episodes. I’ve written about this before, so I’ll try not to go off the deep end here, but instead provide a few reasons why I love “The Office” so much. There are only 12 episodes in all, plus a Christmas special that wraps everything up at the end so you feel like you’ve just watched a movie in several increments, rather than a weekly show. This, I think, is part of the series’ charm - that it ends when it should end so you aren’t dealing with years of unresolved romances, character developments and the same jokes over and over like you are when you watch most sitcoms. The storyline and characters are very similar to the American version (in some respects nearly identical) since the American version was based on the British show and the same team produces it. The boss in the British series, David Brent, played by Ricky Gervais, is, if you can believe it, a much more awkward character than Steve Carell’s character in the American version, but the payoff of getting all uncomfortable watching him get into one unbelievable situation after another is getting to experience one of the most hilarious and touching shows I’ve ever seen. I’ve watched “The Office” so many times that even the sound of the BBC music that plays at the beginning of the DVD is enough to put me in a happy mood.
“The Ricky Gervais Show” podcast - After my positive (obsessive) experience with “The Office” I naturally wanted to check out more of what Ricky Gervais had done and so started listening to “The Ricky Gervais Show,” which was my first experience listening to podcasts. The show’s format is really pretty simple: Ricky Gervais and Steve Merchant (who co-created “The Office,” and “Extras”) sit around talking with their old radio producer, Karl Pilkington, who Gervais often refers to as a “shaved chimp.” The best part of the show is when the other two brutally make fun of Pilkington for his (as they put it) “idiotic theories.” The show is incredibly funny, but there’s more to it than that. I can listen to those three discussing the same things over and over again. It’s always a welcome break on a long car ride to turn off the news and put on one of those podcasts, no matter how many times I’ve listened. I can’t quite figure it out. I mean, I like listening to episodes of “This American Life” and “The Splendid Table,” too, but never more than once. Maybe it’s the witty, unrehearsed banter, or the anticipation of my favorite parts, but whatever it is, I’ll never be bored in the car again. Well, not for a few years, at least. You can download “The Ricky Gervais Show” on iTunes.
“Lost in Translation” - It could be the flashy Tokyo scenery or the fact that I like Bill Murray so much. Or that I’m never sure exactly what this movie is about, or that it seems to be about something different with every viewing, but I can watch “Lost in Translation” any time and am hooked from the moment it begins until the credits roll. I watched it again today, in fact, because I had a couple hours to spare and wanted to lay on the couch all wrapped up in a blanket and relax with something I know and love. And I did absolutely love it, just like I do every time.
“The Catcher in the Rye” - I read J.D. Salinger’s well-known novel when I was a teenager because I figured it was a teenager thing to do. But unlike most teenager rites of passage, like buying “cool” clothes at the thrift store (a phase I sincerely hope I’ve grown out of for good) and reading Kerouac’s “On the Road” (which I found cocky and annoying), I not only loved every word of “The Catcher in the Rye,” I read it again, about a year after I’d done so the first time, and then about a year after that…Holden Caulfield never growing a tiresome character…his complaints about life never growing trite or immature, but simply endearing the character to me more. I’ve never felt too old to read that book, and so I re-read it again, and again. In fact, it’s been some time since I’ve pulled out “The Catcher in the Rye” and it might just be the perfect time to do just that.
“Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” by Wilco - I try to make a point of not religiously reading Pitchfork music reviews because the sometimes-snobby, hipster review site can make you feel like you don’t know anything about music. Or that even if you love an album, you should actually hate it, and here’s why…But Pitchford awarded “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” a 10.0 rating - their highest score - so I’ll just let them do the talking on this one. And if you’d like to form your own opinion, you can check out the “Records” page on the Wilco site where you can listen to previews of some of their songs. Click on “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” and check out “Jesus, etc.” Then go buy the album, if you haven’t already.
“Arrested Development” - I haven’t quite gotten to the stage where I can consider this amazing comedy series one of the television shows I have watched over and over again, but I’m on my way. The first time J and I saw this show, starring Jason Bateman, one Sunday night several years ago, we stopped what we were doing because it just seemed so…different…and so incredibly funny. Unfortunately the show was cancelled because not all Americans felt the way we did about it, but I know many people who can’t get enough of the show, and for good reason, so if you’re looking for a new series to rent during this writers’ strike, I highly recommend this one. Michael Cera playing Bateman’s on-screen son, George Michael, is reason enough to watch every single episode.
I made a decision this weekend that I wouldn’t spend the coming week sitting at home over-checking the job boards and my email to see if I could make any progress in my job hunt. I decided that nothing was ever going to move forward if I sat around the house feeling annoyed about the whole thing and that I might as well get out and enjoy my new life here in New Haven while I had the free time. Kind of like that saying “a watched pot never boils,” you know? I totally do that, by the way. Watch the pot.
So yesterday I decided to put my newly adopted attitude to work, and as it was Monday and most of the museums were closed, I opted for pure entertainment and went to see an early afternoon showing of “27 Dresses.” I chose that movie because, first of all, I knew J wouldn’t be upset that he missed it. And because I was in the mood for an easy-to-watch romantic comedy that wouldn’t bum me out. I mean, I’m really anxious to see “Atonement,” too, but I read that book and know what happens and I don’t need that kind of drama that early in the week.
I rarely go to the movies by myself - I’ve done it maybe twice - but that’s not because I don’t want to. On the contrary, I think going to the movies by oneself is one of the premier human experiences, and I’m only exaggerating a little bit. First, you get to choose whatever movie you want and no one complains which is nice because - and I’m just saying - had I chosen “27 dresses” when me and a certain other person were going to the movies, my suggestion may have been met with something along the lines of, “Um, seriously? Are you serious?”
You also get to arrive at the movie theater whenever you want and you can get your own bag of popcorn that you don’t have to share with anybody, with anybody at all, and then there is perhaps my favorite thing about going to the movies by yourself - no one asks you what you thought of the movie when it’s over. I realize this is a completely legitimate question to ask once you’ve seen a movie with another person, but I’ve never liked the associated pressure. Maybe I’m just slow when it comes to film watching but it usually takes me that night and well into the next day before I’m prepared to make any intelligent remarks about the movie I just saw. I’m never ready seconds after the credits have rolled. The only time I wanted to talk about a movie right after it ended was when I saw “The Blair Witch Project” in college and we all headed to a bar afterwards to talk about how unbelievably scary it was and to remind ourselves that it totally was not real - it was fiction - while having several calming beers.
Anyway, when I got to the movie theater yesterday afternoon it was like all my favorite going-to-the-movies-alone dreams had come true times ten. The theater was big and clean and nearly empty and everyone working there just seemed really happy that there was anyone going to see a movie that afternoon at all, and therefore were cheerful and full of jokes and really lingered over telling me to “enjoy the movie,” like, you know, they very sincerely meant it.
The thing is, it’s not that I dislike going to the movies with people, not at all. Especially J who is the perfect movie date. We generally agree on what we want to go see, and we both like to get there in time for the previews because if you don’t, it’s not really worth it. We like to order popcorn and share a soda and we tend to get sick of the popcorn at about the same time since we plowed through so much of it before the staff even dimmed the lights.
But I’ve got to say, when I settled down in my seat, which was located in the perfect viewing location, not too close to or far away from the screen, and I looked at the mere three or so other viewers who’d ventured out that afternoon, and I relaxed with my popcorn, ready to like or dislike this movie that no one was going to ask me about when it was over (I liked it a lot), I really did feel that I was doing something special with my day. That seeing this romantic comedy was somehow so superior to sitting at home waiting for a job to come along, and that, surely, I would be rewarded somehow for my mildly adventurous nature. That if the employers should come calling, they’d be directed to my voicemail and they’d realize that I do have important things to do with my time and that maybe, just maybe, I’d get back to them when I had a free moment.
