Purrrr.

Since it's 10 degrees in the office today, I ran across the street to Duane Reade (which provides the worst customer service of any drug store ever) for soup and tea.

A picture of a cat, especially a colorpoint one, always suckers me. Reminds me of my sweet Calder, a cat who actually likes hot tea! I just think it's his Asian heritage. From what I can tell, he's part Burmese.

Anyhow, I suppose this is my vote for
Perfectly Pear White Tea.

BTW, thanks to the kind man who caught my hat after the wind whipped it off my precious little head.

Feels Like -2 Degrees Farenheit.

There still a dusting of snow atop the buildings in Murray Hill this morning.

It is actually about 10 degrees in the office.

Quick! A Model's Been Robbed!!

Eva? Better than Amanda? I don't think so. America's Next Top Model really screwed up this one. Look at those blue eyes? How many people are born natural blondes like that? Hmpf. I'm sorry. Eva's just not going to make it.

The Great T-Mob Daily Forecast.

Sent to me via text message today.

Leo: Sometimes you have to hit the bottom before you can begin an upward ascent.

My question now is, just how many times do you have to hit bottom before you begin upward? Tell me that! 'Cause I seem to go there a lot and I'm not moving up.

Mendy's.

6 California Rolls

+ 1 Diet Coke

= $7.93

I'm still hungry.

Jonesin'.

Five times in the last 19 hours somebody has Googled "Toccara Jones" and thus visited "Amy In New York." But I have hits all over my blog because of metasearches on her name throughout the past few weeks. What gives? Why the interest? And are you mysterious investigators offended or entertained by her placement on my "Brushes With Fame" list?

(sigh)

Well, I dog sat for Trooper this weekend, watched TV and DVD's and ate the most delightful cheese Danish from Hot & Crusty on Broadway & 87th. Trooper was a good, lazy Labrador. There were no accidents on the elevator or in the hall.

Today, I am still overwhelmed by New York. I am dismayed at this Bernard Kerick hoo-hah. Americans will never be safe the way we're made to think we are safe. It's amazing anything in this world works at all. People are lazy in their jobs, incomplete with their efforts and irresponsible much of the time. The rest of us spend too much of our time making sure all of our, and everyone else's, ducks are in a row. And that's just so we can function in our own little part of the world, nevermind adding anything to it.

I work hard. I like to be busy. I like to use my brain. I like to make things better. There are a few jobs in which I'm interested. But I feel deterred by the others to which I've applied before. An HR person really doesn't know me. They see a resume that's "unfocused." I am, rather, a super-smart woman who's struggled to find a path that challenges me. I am ethical, and I have struggled to find an employer who is as much (despite my history in the Christian music industry). Working smart and ethically has caused me more problems with employers than not. I can't remember the last time I was forced out of a job for not doing my job. I always do my job. It tends to be for not kissing the boss's ass appropriately or not shutting off my level of experience or knowledge about who I am and what I accomplish. And I am hardly that obnoxious know-it-all kid from class who raises her hand for every question. They just see it in my eyes, these threatened bosses. They see that I don't believe their hype, especially when the hype is covering up lies.

Regardless, I can do many things. But unless the path between those things makes sense to some highly educated HR associate, I won't get hired. And we all know "highly educated" does not equal "wise," or "experienced," or "intuitive." Or "smart."

The question now is, how do I move on from this? How do I make sense of the this-n-that called my resume? How do I explain a leap from published journalist to band manager to graphic designer? From concert producer to retail associate? From executive assistant to window dresser? I've done extremely well at them all, so I don't even see why it matters...

A Plus.

Well, that was all I needed. Just add a "+" and everything's working fine! Now I can txt message all the kids in town.

Sorry, T-Mob, to have assumed you were communist and keeping me from txt msging to another service provider.

SCRAM.

A friend called me on the phone today to cheer me up. I thought it was curious that he referred to my "sunny disposition."

My big brother always called me "Oscar," as in "The Grouch," when I was growing up.

My dad had a stroke yesterday and is in the hospital.

The Low Down.

Alright. Here's what's happened. I'm gonna say it just once, and don't go asking a bunch of questions about it, Blog. I'm tired of it. And it's still going on.

Tavern owner called and "evicted" me on that Saturday.

On Monday he called and reiterated I had to be out by the 1st or he was "calling the cops on me."

On Tuesday (Nov. 30), I took off of work to pack and get my crap together and move to Olga's apartment. At 4:15-ish p.m., I got home to find Tavern owner illegally changing my door locks. "[Tavern owner]," I said, "Is there anyone home?"

"Nope."

"You know legally, you're not allowed to do that."

I walked straight to my room, locked the door and called 911.

I was anxious, I went across the street to sit outside the laundry. So then they did indeed lock me out.

Oh, did the police have a field day with him. They told him he was an idiot for about 10 minutes and made him give me the keys. And if he bothered me at all, they were hauling him off to jail. Nobody in the apartment had to be moved out anytime soon, they said. So leave us alone. He lied up and down about this and about that. Whatever, they said, stay away.

The roommates came home. [Tavern owner] told his cousin she had to be out by the next day. Hmm... Well, we wanted to file a police report, so about 9 p.m. we called them back over to the place. They wouldn't file a report. But he stole our lock that we paid for, we said. They went and hauled him out of the Tavern again. He didn't have the lock, the locksmith took it. But the police finally understood he had changed both door locks (one would've done it, you know, he's and idiot), and he had more keys. They got me the other keys. Then they lambasted [Tavern owner] again for telling anybody they had to be out right away. Remember that conversation we had earlier today?? [Tavern owner] said he was relinquishing the lease tomorrow. Well, give us the building key, too. Stay away. You have no reason to be in this building, right? Right. Okay.

I moved all my stuff upstairs to Dean's living room.

December 1 was quiet.

December 2, there were rumours of landlord throwing everybody out of the building. See [Tavern owner] had been lying about everyone and everything. Landlord doesn't know anything. Dean called me at work and said I'd have to move on to another friend's place. He didn't want to get thrown out, just in case.

So, I was waiting to be driven over to Manhattan, and was visiting one of the former roommates when [Tavern owner] came into the building. He was with the landlord, but we didn't know that. 911... and a bazillion policemen were outside the building in about ten seconds. Wow. They hauled him and the landlord out to the street. They were on the roof, something to do with the satellite dish my roommate supposedly stole. She doesn't have satellite TV. Nonetheless, not like [Tavern owner] informed landlord that he had been banned from the building by the police.

Blah, blah, blah, two policemen brought landlord up. He's an idiot, too, just in a different way. They informed him of how tired they were of coming out because of noise complaints. Landlord said it's just the girl complaining. Police said, actually complaints have tapered off in recent months, but were still a nuisance. They were obviously impressed by my knowledge of the law and my legal rights as a tenant in New York City. Yeah, it's more than 45 dB in my bedroom at night, I studied sound engineering, thank you, stupid landlord.

Landlord said [Tavern owner] was now not relinquishing the lease and he has a right to be in the apartment. Lie. But he obviously told [Tavern owner] he could.

So, now [Tavern owner] has been trying to get into the apartment. The second roommate left and left her keys in the apartment. The third roommate is still there, now afraid to leave her possessions, and therefore unable to apartment hunt. I guess last night [Tavern owner] and his mistress brought the police up to the door because it was his apartment and he had a right to live there right now. They said, no, you don't, get eviction papers, like you should have from the start. Third roommate doesn't answer the door or the telephone for anything, so she overheard all the lies. But the police protected her, somewhat, again this time.

At about 3:00 in the morning, she said [Tavern owner] shut off her electricity.

Hang Ten, New Yorkas!

I called my good friend Juan from The Mars Group in Orange County, CA last week. There was an interview with a visual merchandiser from Rip Curl on a job postings site. I saw it early this year and only recently thought to ask Juan if he knew the guy.

Well, the guy called me up yesterday to chat and say he has left Rip Curl for a design position at Smith Optic.

Now he's referred me directly to his old boss as Rip Curl.

Thus is my endless battle with being the wrong place.

This blog could end up syndicated from Carlsbad! How perfect would that be?

Hi-O-Silver!!

Only an Aussie would have an alarm clock that plays the "William Tell Overture."

Olga's the best for taking me in this week. So, I shan't complain. At least I got a laugh when I woke up this morning.

Dees Sleaze!

Late Saturday morning, I made a couple calls to let some friends know I had moved back onto Manhattan, to a temporary situation, and was now getting some sleep.

Stephen, my friend of some 12 years, phoned me back a bit later.

"Oh, I meant to call and check on you again. I'm glad you're safe and back on The Island. We'll have to meet up next week. I'm actually in Kentucky right now golfing with Rick Dees."

"WHAT!?" I exclaimed. "Rick Dees!? I love Rick Dees!"

"Really," he stated. Stephen knows me well enough that this oddity amidst my celebrity heroes should be really no surprise. "You wanna talk to him?"

"Oh my gosh!"

"Hang on..."

(rustle, rustle, mumble, mumble...)

"Hi, Amy! This is Rick Dees coming to you from the Dees property in Central Kentucky," he said in full radio voice. "How are you?"

"What!? Oh my gosh!"

"It's a brisk 42 Dees degrees here this afternoon."

"Oh my gosh! Are you kidding me?" I giggled.

"I have family in Kentucky. Where are you exactly?" I asked.

"Oh, where's your family?" he asked me.

"Owensboro and Lexington."

"Well, we've got quite a few acres and 7 restored old homes here in Danville."

"That's close!" I said. "I have to tell you, when I was a little girl I would tape your show while I went to Sunday school, 'cause I had to hear as much of it as possible when I got back!"

"Well, Amy, that makes it all worthwhile. I'm glad you've enjoyed it. I've heard a lot of great things about you, Amy, and I guess I'm hoping next year will be better than this one."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, let's hope. But this is good start already!"

"I've been hanging out with your friends here, and well," he continued, "I think they're going to turn the music industry upside down."

"Yes! Yes they are! Are you going to help them!?"

"I just opened my wallet and said, 'Take whatever you're going to need.'"

"Oh, that's great!" I exclaimed. "I'm so glad you're helping. That's so cool!"

"Well, they're good people. I'm glad to be involved."

"You can go back to your golf game," I said in disbelief he has just talked to me for this long. What a nice guy!

"Good to talk to you, Amy!"

"Thanks! You can put Stephen back on."

And so there it was. A conversation with one of the most influential celebrities of my life. Seriously, I've loved music all my life. The "Weekly Top 40" was such a highlight of my weekend from... well, ever since I can remember! I'd have never thought Rick Dees would be talking to me on the telephone one day! I'm sure I sounded like a goofy little school girl.

I called all my friends to tell them about it.

Zut Alors!

I've been reading a book about France called Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong. I've never been there, but I like France. Or the idea of France. So at lunchtime, I thought the Quiche Lorraine from the cafe across the street looked like a good idea.

WRONG! Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! I am drawn to the worst food in Manhattan in like rat to a subway tunnel.

Really, I just want to cry today. I want to cry and curl up in my bed under all the covers and make all this crap go away. Instead, I'll just bang my head on this desk and wrap myself in this fleece-y teal shawl.

Break Time!

The City has broken my will.

I am exhausted.

The fabulous Dean has moved me into his apartment upstairs with Dave and Christine. I'm on the spare bed in the middle living room until I move my necessities over to my friend Olga's in Manhattan. It'll be just a few days.

Perhaps I'll feel like retelling the tale next week.

Tomorrow I can catch up on my other Thanksgiving holiday events.

Saturday Night.

In order to forget my sorrows, I went to The SpongeBob Movie.

It was great if for no other line than this: "You don't need a license to drive a sandwich!"

Sandwiches are always funny.

Friday Night to Saturday Afternoon. Less Than 24-Hours.

Why do people have to mess with my life? If it weren't for people, things would be so much better.

I was home alone Friday evening. One roomie on vacation. One hanging out with her little sister. And I was happy as a stylish clam, watching "What Not To Wear" when my leaseholder/the Tavern owner came to my door.

"Did you call me?" he asked me with his cell phone in hand.

"Uh, nope. Didn't call you." I said, wondering why caller ID wouldn't have told him that already.

"Okay."

He walked upstairs to the second apartment, whose lease he does not hold.

I knew somebody was up there because I'd heard some squeaky floorboards at the back. Oh, I fail to mention, Friday is now Karaoke night at the Tavern. It was loud. Bad and loud.

Tavern owner proceeded to beat down the upstairs neighbor's door. He was hollering and swearing for at least ten minutes. Why I didn't call 911, I don't know. Why Dean didn't call 911, I don't know.

Tavern owner left. I called Dean.

"What the hell was that!?"

"I called his house and left a message to tell his bartenders to turn it down."

"Oooohhhh," I thought aloud. Hence the cell phone in his hands. His wife called him on his cell from their house.

"Why didn't I call 911?" he asked.

"If he sets foot inside this hallway, I will," I said.

"If I turn up dead, will you tell everyone?"

"Yes," I said, "I will avenge your death."

So, I went back to my show, now ten minutes to being over. Thinking I'd want to go to bed by say, 3:00 a.m., I called 311 myself and filed an ANONYMOUS noise complaint. "Make a note," I added, "That the bar owner has been intimidating everyone in this building for complaining tonight. He nearly tore my neighbor's door off it's hinges."

Fifteen minutes later, two police officers show up at my door with the Tavern owner in tow.

I called Dean.

"Why would the police bring to my door the man who's just scared the crap out of me?"

"Oh, God. I'm coming out. Hang on."

We calmed down over the next hour or so, telling stories about our best brushes with fame and where I could get my haircut in the city. (Two people you want on your side in New York: a sassy gay man who takes no crap and knows how to help a girl look good, and a born & bred Queens girl who just takes no crap.)

At about 2:45 a.m. I called in another anonymous noise complaint. My calls were only a fraction on the complaints phoned in that night.

The next day, my roommate (Tavern owner's cousin) took me down to a shopping area in Queens where there's an Old Navy, Marshalls, Conway, Best Buy, Toys 'R' Us, etc. She went outside while I stood in line to pay for my stuff.

She came back in. "[Tavern owner] wants me to tell you to be out of the apartment by the 1st. I told him to be a man and tell you himself. I'm tired of this bullshit. I'm moving out, too."

My phone rang. I didn't answer. Message, no surprise.

Wow. He legally can't do this, and I'd love to make his life hell. But that would involve making my life hell, too. This is actually doing me a BIG favor, thanks to the police department.

Civil complaints have been filed. Health code violations have been filed against the Tavern via the Department of Health. Tavern owner's entire family has been informed of his idiocy via my roommate (thus far, sans the info on the mistresses). There's just one roommate returning from Nashville today. And my heart is broken knowing she really ought to pack up immediately and live ANYwhere else, but she probably won't.

I'm outta there tomorrow.

Thanksgiving Day.

Doug & Robin invited me for dinner. Her parents flew in from Oklahoma City, her brother from Nashville. Also invited was her friend Sarah from MTV, and Doug's classmate Tom and Tom's boyfriend Tony. And me.

I walked to Western Beef (love their mascot - a cowboy hat wearin' cactus!) around 1:00 and picked up supplies for my hors d'oeuvers. It was so sunny and beautiful. But, when I walked out, it was raining and freezing! Surely I hadn't been shopping for that long...

So I dried out by the oven as the turkey roasted. My BLT dip was a smash. (Oh, it does taste like a BLT!) As was the Chocolate Chip Cheese dip, but we were getting too full by the time that hit the table.

Robin did a marvelous job on the turkey! And Tony's broiled pears with Marsala were fabulous, too. We rolled ourselves back out to the living room and chattered until 10:30 p.m.

And when I arrived home, the Tavern was closed!

Tuesday.

It's good to have friends who are good, respected people. They can get people to be your friend!Armand called his acquaintance at Atlantic Records named Don. Armand called me. Donnie called me, and asked me to dinner!

It was a bit strange, like a blind date that you had to set up for yourself.

So, Don asked me my favorite thing to eat.

"Mexican!"

"Oh, I'm in love. There's a place near Grand Central if you want to eat Mexican."

Already I've forgotten the name of the place. But the tamales were great. We had a fun time. We walked over to the Virgin Megastore so he could pick up an MxPx DVD. (I hate MxPx after they tried to bail on my concert festival in Florida. You're the headliners, hello? We're finding you a flight in you have to fly the plane yourselves, you little neo-punk Christian brats, and the cost is coming out of your retainer.)

So, anyway, looks like I may have found a new buddy with whom to play racing games at ESPN Zone. I'm all Indy Car. He's all NASCAR. I think I'll beat his arse to the finish line. Watch for the appropriate headline.

New York Can Break The Will Of A Cat.

A man sat on the corner of 47th & 7th, right smack in the middle of Times Square. And with him were this sweet cat (sleeping in a cat bed at the time) and this terrier. They're all gussied up in sweaters and bows.

I stopped in my tracks, not just because of my affection for animals, but by the fact this cat, a cat mind you, was completely unaffected by the busiest tourist location in all of America.

"Why don't they run away?" I asked.

"Because they love it!" the man replied.

It was hard to determine if he was homeless and pimping his pets or vice versa.

I offered a tip for their photograph and was dismayed as he scooped the cat right out of her bed and sat her up in a pose. But she went right back after I snapped the shot. Again she closed her eyes, and again women "Oooo'd and "Aaahh'd" as they walked by.

Quite adorable.

Only in New York.

Yeah, Me2.

Totally bummed I didn't know the U2 thing was happening until it was over. They could've driven by my office at least!

Bye-Bye, Murphy Car Nissan.

Well, my car is sold. It was sold two weeks ago and nobody told me. I would've felt like an idiot if I had gotten that job at Rcktwn. "Oh, sorry, I have no transport. Nevermind!"

Nevertheless, despite all the issues that earned her the name "Murphy," she was a good car. She was my first car, purchased in 1997. A 4-door Nissan Sentra XE. Charcoal Grey. Excellent speakers. A feature I never even thought to examine when I made the purchase. What a much enjoyed bonus!

We went from Tennessee to San Francisco to Anaheim and back again, and all kinds of places in between. Not the kind of girl to always sit around and wait for life to come to me, I drove off to Napa, Sausalito (a favorite place!), Redding, Sacramento, Modesto, San Bernadino, Chico, San Diego, Encinitas, West Hollywood, Long Beach, and some other random places whose names I've forgotten.

Oh, I remember the time I was living back in Indianpolis and we hit black ice on an overpass in December. Thought we weren't going to make it. Thought we were skating off the bridge. Thought we were going to plow into a brand new pickup truck by the median. But you pulled through, Murph. And that time I was driving back to Nashville from visiting family in Kentucky and that tractor-trailer had dropped a tire in the middle of the lane. Thought we were going to flip over, Murphy. But we made it with just some sratches on your belly.

You've had your problems, like the oil leak since 2002, but you've been great, dear ol' car. Paint oxidizing, right rear window replaced with Plexiglas (thanks, Jim!), front driver's side fender crushed from that time that guy was dissing me and I was freaking out and I hit the gas instead of the break and drove into the library parking garage wall.

She started out with 90,000 miles and this past summer we passed the 200,000 mile mark. She'll be missed.

When I Smash The Jukebox And Stuff The Bartender Inside Of It And Then Plea "Insanity," Will You Vouch For Me?

Noise Complaint filed last night at 1:15 a.m. (C1-1-142360363 ticket closed by Triborough at 2:12 a.m. as non-crime corrected.)

I went downstairs after I phoned 311, just to see if maybe the police were going to come by, or maybe I'd just wrap the belt of my robe around the bartender's neck. Well, before either thing happened, my dear ol' lease-holder/the Tavern owner ran out the door of the Tavern. I dunno why. But, I was appalled. This the man who guaranteed me his dumb little bartenders would be informed to keep the music "low" Sunday through Thursday nights. At 1:30 in the morning, on a Monday, to see his skilly little arse coming out the door of the Tavern, knowing full well how loud the music was... Oh, I don't know what kept me from tackling him and leaving his body in the middle of Broadway.

Photoless.

I have, since last week, been unable to figure out how to post my sad little Sony Ericsson mobile phone/digital camera photos to my blog via Buzznet. I did it before with no problem. Now, I can't seem to locate the little "blog this" button on their site. I've e-mailed them, but not heard anything back. Maybe it's all in my head. I'm sure the button is just right there, somewhere that I've not been looking.

BTW...

I didn't get that job at Rcktwn. They may want to hire more support staff in the near future.

[insert bells & whistles]

Thank you to my 1000th visitor, a direct hit at 6:15 this morning!

Why you all find this so interesting, I dunno. But it keeps me entertained!

On It Goes.

Noise Complaint filed last night at 10:30 p.m. (C-1-141985937 ticket closed by Precinct 114 at 11:08 as non-crime corrected.)

Getting better.

Doh.

Noise Complaint filed last night at 11:50 p.m. (C1-1-141827540 ticket closed at 12:37 a.m. as "music unfound.")

Darned jukeboxes with their playing only after quarters are inserted and their stopping when the police come by.

Did you ever see that Twilight Zone with the slot machine that chased that guy around saying "Franklin!" (ching-ching) "Franklin!"? Anyway, I'm starting to have a similar dream about a jukebox... Oh, wait! That's not a dream!!

The NYC Public Advocate's Office is NOT Kidding Me.

Okay. So this dude at the P.A.'s office calls me regarding a letter I sent to their office. The letter resembled this. And he leaves me a voicemail message telling me my best course of action is basically the action I've already been taking! "Call 311, the complaint goes to your precinct, the precinct follows up..." yada, yada, yada... DIDN'T I JUST EXPLAIN TO YOU HOW THAT'S NOT WORKING!? It's been two months of this, the phone calls aren't working, dude!! That's why I've got you! Now how are you going to fix this?

I swear, this place is making me crazy.

Department of Amy's Sleeping Protection.

The New York Department of Environmental Protection sent me a letter following up on one of my noise complaints about the Tavern. They will come and measure the dB level of the jukebox from my bedroom. Funny thing though, the Tavern is now rather inconsistent with its jukebox playing. Though with earplugs in, I was still awakened by it last night. I wonder if the DEP will come by at about 2:00 in the morning to do this? Also, the jukebox might not be that loud while standing in my room, but with my head on the pillow which rests on my mattress which rests on the floor... well, I can name you the song that's playing downstairs! How do they measure that? I hope they have an "annoying bass levels that travel through solid objects" meter.

Is This A Switchfoot Blog, Or What?

Switchfoot will appear on the Late Late Show w/ guest host D.L. Hughley tonight.

Spent!

Dear, Blog, I didn't write yesterday. I'm sorry.

New York is so much trouble. I supported you, New York, from the very beginning! But now I am convinced that, in general, you are mean and selfish. Your landlords are inconsiderate and ungrateful. The heat is not on in October when it is cold, but it is on after November 1 regardless of the temperature. Putting on my make-up in the lav this morning, I was sweating as much as if I were doing aerobics simultaneously. The heat is uncontrollable, so I open the window to cool the place off, but without a breeze, an open window just lets in some bugs.

So I imagine, well someday, in Manhattan, I will have my own apartment, much nicer. But then I realize, to have a studio apartment to myself, I must likely make upwards of $50,000. For some, fifty grand is an entry-level wage. For me, I have given up on even an upper-level wage that equals as much. Besides, someday I must begin again paying off my loans from the big scam called "college."

Just as we bought in too quickly to the cell phone and therefore cannot find reasonable rates AND good service, we have bought in too deeply into New York City. Therefore, the landlord reigns. The Metro card fare goes up and the train is unreliable. Two sleeves of Saltines in the city cost twice as much as four sleeves cost in the suburbs on Long Island.

Dear Watson, I believe we are the victims of "hype."

Samoas.

Why did the Girl Scouts change the name of those wonderful carmel/coconutty/chocolatey cookies to "Caramel deLites"?

If You're Into That Sort Of Thing.

"Topic Drift" is an odd and very funny blog. There's a link over there on the right. Just don't forget me once you get there!

Dave.

My neighbor upstairs Dave walked to the train with me this morning. And we rode together until I had to catch the "6" at Lexington Ave. I hadn't seen him since he got back from tour. I don't know if he was on tour with the regular group or somebody else. Nonetheless, he was saying the tour wasn't exactly what he'd hoped or expected it to be (which was "relaxing"). The artists had taught master classes and worked with school aged musicians all along the way. And in the end, he found it quite rewarding, because what is the purpose of any kind of success if it's without "giving back" to the world?

I thought it was a curious conversation to suddenly arise between me and this practical stranger.

He also said he was on Conan O'Brien with Josh Groban last night, and Josh had to sing perfectly live. That Ashlee Simpson SNL debacle has got everybody singing live these days.

Uh Oh.

I saw something on Monday that made my heart sink.

A job. A job in Nashville. A job in Nashville at the one place I had secretly hoped would have a job for me. But it never seemed like it would happen. So I continued with my plan to go to New York and pursue display and design. Here I am. And that place has a job in Nashville!

Rocketown is a youth club. I've heard it best described as if the YMCA were starting up today, Rocketown would be the model. There's a few music venues, a coffeeshop and a skatepark. I volunteered in the Sixth Avenue Skatepark skateshop for about a year and a half, since the club opened in January of 2002. I'm a poser. I can't skate. But I admire the amazing kids who do it at Sixth Avenue.

To be honest, I got involved in Rocketown for two reasons. The first reason being that I'm not particularly interested in having kids of my own, but I like kids and think they need good adult guidance, sometimes from people other than their parents. The second reason being I was skeptical. I didn't think the youth club plan was going to fly. I thought it'd be the usual fare of Christians wanting to be relevant to modern day youth culture but going about it in all the wrong ways. I was shocked by my disbelief in the vision. I was ashamed at myself. And then I was drawn towards the opportunity because I knew I couldn't shoot it down as it failed unless I was the differing factor. I knew how I thought the thing should work, and I knew I couldn't place blame if I didn't get involved.

Things started off a bit rocky. And there was a changing of the guard, so to speak. It started getting better. The bands that played at Rcktwn got cooler. The volunteers and mentors were pretty cool. They were making a difference. It was confirmed when a post-high school age girl at work overheard me talking about the club. She said she knew somebody there and they'd really helped her younger sister out while she was pregnant. This was not the type of girl to suffer foolish Christians gladly. I realized the staff and volunteers and Rocketown were actually doing what they'd set out to do, guide youth. Not by preaching at them, not by requiring religious commitments of them, not by asking them to be who they are not. They were guiding youth by being there for them and influencing their lives by being the kinds of people those kids would want to grow up to be.

I've made some calls. A resume and letter are on all the right desks. Now it's time to wait.

Oh, I Almost Fergot!!

This morning I was distracted because my "N" Train had to stop in the middle of the tunnel to wait for another train to pass an emergency exam. I think it got an "A" but we still had to wait awhile and I was extra late to work.

Anyways, I was going to say, New York has many different aromas. Sometimes it smells like a dog. Sometimes it smells a bit trashy. Last night it smelled like snow. But, this morning, Queens smelled like Ramen Noodles. The chicken flavored kind.

You buy the scents of New York now. But I don't think they carry scents that occur off of Manhattan.

Purple America.

County-by-county breakdown of how we voted. Blue for all democrat, red for all republican, shades of purple for the rest of us. See the original thing here:

http://www.princeton.edu/~rvdb/JAVA/election2004/

Raf.

So I only had a $20 bill this morning. A bit much for just a $1 coffee.

"Hi Raf! Can you break a 20?" I ask.

"Of, course, Amy." And he takes the bill and pretends to chop it up.

"Funny guy," I say as he gets my coffee ready.

"You only like funny guy," he replies and hands me my change.

"Yep."

"Have a good day, love," he says.

"Thanks, good day," I say.

An Oasis.

One stop beyond the Queens Target store (a regular haunt of mine), I discovered the Queens Center shopping mall. Macy's, J.C. Penney, Pacific Sunwear, Express, Gap, McDonald's, all the mallish things a heart desires.

>

And on my way in, I saw a job opportunity?

>

>

Indeed! Indeed! For right inside the mall door was a very nice looking young man at a table that said, "Now hiring: Urban Outfitters." Oh goody, goody!! Unfortunately, he said they already had a visual manager for this particular store. But don't fear, there are 30 other locations in the area, fill out an application.

>

The application was like the 3rd degree of my literary and shopping habits. Surely I passed. I am literary and shopperary.

>

I would LOVE to get out of my temporary cubicle town and return to dressing windows and championing an army of mannequins. I will accept broken fingernails and bruised shins in exchange for not sitting on my behind at the computer all day.

Extreme Makeover.

Fixing up the Times Square subway station.

Yikes.

Oh, yeah, it's the real front page of UK's Daily Mirror.

Now I Know Why!

Yeah, it's all clear to me now. I talked to my friend Bill, another one of my phenomenally talented friends, last night. He told me I could move in next door to their house in Athens, GA and rent a nice 3-bedroom for about, well, for about the price of my one, noisy room. Maybe that's why I'm not feeling so good today. R.E.M. would be my neighbors, too. I'm really only a big fan of the Monster album, but still, it's the principle of the thing, isn't it? And that really adorable Chris from Atlanta isn't married yet either. Always the wrong place at the wrong time, aren't we now?

Even Toffifay Doesn't Make It Better.

My stomach is upset today.

Could be food from the street vendor. Could be the coffee. Could be that I found a beige & chocolate brown cat hair on my sweater. (I miss you, Calder, schmoupy, my kitty-cat!)

Some things I've noticed about New York:

• There is no "ladies first" in New York.
• That pretty Vitamin Water always tastes like watered down Kool-Aid.
• Restaurants always try to frou-frou things up. (Green Beans Almondine really shouldn't taste like garlic. And why can't I get a plain old sandwich of something? Anything? No crusty, chewy fancy bread or thick, gooey fancy cheese.)
• Produce is really bad here. REEAALLLLY bad.
• People think New Yorker's are always at a high-pace, but they don't get on & off trains efficiently, and I've yet to meet a grocery/convenience store/drug store cashier who doesn't move slower than a snail.
• Almost everything is really inconvenient.
• Every cappuccino I've purchased has actually been a latte. And don't get me started on the mocha that started out with powdered hot chocolate mix.
• Places you see on TV that looked really cool before you got here, are actually pretty dumpy and disorganized in person.
• Macy's Herald Square is poorly merchandised, messy and difficult to maneuver through. (But the windows DO look nice!)
• Come to think of it, every store is poorly merchandised, messy and difficult to maneuver through, except on the Upper East Side.
• Central heating and air conditioning is unheard of in New York.

I'm sure I'll think of more. Perhaps it's all just bothering me extra today, since everyone's telling me the terrorists are going to bring bombs into the subway system. Would I die for this?

New Yorker's React to Bush's Election.

From the Metro, Thursday, November 4, 2004:

MANHATTAN The re-election of President Bush has saddened some New Yorkers and worried others about new terrorist attacks.

"By us voting Bush back in, it says to the rest of the world that we’re okay with the U.S. killing more than 100,000 Iraqis," said Ed Hale, 31, who spent part of the afternoon sulking with two friends in Madison Square Park. "By all accounts, I’m in complete shock. I haven’t been able to answer the phone and have cancelled all meetings and appointments. I’m sitting in the park instead of working."

Hale, who recently moved from Florida and now lives in Midtown, said he now expects the worst. "There will be retribution," referring to the potential of new terrorist attacks. "I’m freaked out."

Joanna Velez said she fears another attack is already in the works. "I bet you [al Qaida] is setting something up right now to attack us," said Velez. "I’m really worried." The 25-year-old Lower East Side resident said she is also concerned with job creation, or lack thereof. "I just wish I had the ability to adjust the outcome of the election," she said. "It’s bad news for our economy."

"I’m very bitter about it," said John Jiler, a writer from Lower Manhattan. "From now on when people notice that their rivers are foul, the economy is in the toilet and young men are dying, they have no one to blame but themselves. I’ve never been more depressed about the state of this country," he said.

Meanwhile, a Democrat who voted for Bush because he was the "best man for the job," said an offensive stance on terrorism remains the best way to thwart another attack on American soil. "The terrorists will try again, so we have to get going after them," said Kevin Glennon, of Staten Island. "It’s obvious Bush does a better job on terrorism than Kerry would have."

JOSHUA RHETT MILLER josh.miller@metro.us

All's Quiet In The East.

The Tavern woke me up with loud music at 1:30, 2:30 and 3:20 this morning. But the last time I checked my cell phone for election results was 2:30. So I didn't know what the outcome was still this morning. But unlike the polls last evening, which were bubbling with laughter, the trains this morning were silent.

New Yorkers are afraid. I mean truly afraid of what the next four years could bring to them, still a major target for terrorism. Unless you come here, and live everyday, you don't really realize how much New Yorkers have moved on with their lives since 9/11, and how much it is still part of daily life. There are advertisements and announcements on the trains: "If you see something, say something... Be suspicious of anything unattended... tell a police officer, an MTA employee, or call the anti-terrorism hotline."

Actually, I just now remembered how I as was walking to the Switchfoot concert on Friday, just from the train station a few blocks down from the Manhattan Center, there was a barrage of emergency vehicles going downtown from every direction. And helicopters sorting above. Everyone was curiously looking up, some were stopping in their tracks. I almost called my roommate to see if there was anything on the TV that I should know about. But, I figured if I needed to know anything, I would know very shortly and I continued on. It was creepy.

Oh, For Pete's Sake.

Of goblins and gospels
Evangelical Christians have decided that instead of boycotting Halloween, they're going to take advantage it -- by slipping Bible verses into kids' candy bags.

This is the sort of thing that makes me really embarrassed to say I'm a Christian. And I hate how often I feel compelled to say I'm embarrassed. It's not the Christianity that embarrasses me, it's the modern day Christians.

This article from Salon.com this weekend is a prime example of why so often I feel this way. If you have to proselytize by dropping cartoon booklets into trick-or-treaters' candy bags, then maybe you're not whole heartedly sold on what you say you believe. And maybe you don't even understand why you believe it. Handing out tracks is quite possibly the most passive way of introducing another human being to anything. Why don't you just talk about it? Why don't you just live it? Let your everyday life be your introduction to Christ-centered living.

Men and women spend so much time trying to master the art of attraction. The consensus has generally been, that mystery is what draws one sex to the other. It's that je ne sais quoi, that spark, that unknown whatever that makes a person come over to talk to you to learn more. And yet, to draw people to Christianity, the soul-saving, life-changing whole reason for being, we just throw it all out there. The stupid jargon. The morality tale-telling computer-generated vegetables. Christians even steal intellectual property in the name of "winning one over for Christ." (i.e., a wavy red and white Coca-Cola logo that actually says "Jesus Christ.") But I digress.

I phoned my big brother to check in on Sunday night. Your little sis is still alive and well in New York! And I was so excited to tell him about the mob of costumed children running the main thoroughfare in Queens. From early afternoon until about dinner time, the storefronts and restaurants were just bombarded by trick-or-treating princesses, monsters, and all of pop culture's favorite cartoon characters. He was tickled to hear I had fearless climbed aboard the "N" train with an adorable little 2 & 1/2 year-old devil earlier in the day. "New York kids take their Halloween seriously," he enthused. "That's good to hear. Middle America is so damn scared of it, they wanna take all the fun out of it and have Fall Festivals and crap."

By the time I was in high school, the "Fall Festival" was a full on, mass market trend. I can't say I ever encouraged the belief in all things scary and devilish. I'm close to 30 and I still hate to watch scary movies. Maybe I just feel that it's ironic, because the church youth group leader who's espousing the evils of Halloween has oft been proven to be the same guy who's cheating on his wife. Really, all I want are more free Slow Pokes and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and fewer Smarties and Jaw Breakers. The more houses I trick-or-treat, the higher the percentage of good stuff I'm likely to get.

There are few goody two shoes who are goody-goodier than I have been all my life. I've just always been that way. And so I find it odd within myself that I don't identify at all with fundamentalist Christianity. Maybe I fear God. Maybe I'm a big chicken. Maybe I try and employ Christ's directives within myself before I go telling anyone else he's going to hell. It's that beautiful struggle that hopefully entices someone out of their dark, miserable struggle to recognize that of God within himself. And when you realize that God is within, and without, and a safety, and a light, Halloween doesn't really seem all that threatening.

34th & Park Ave.

Lunch hour.

I don't find the city to be quite so frantic people think it is. This photo is from about 12:30 p.m. today. Maybe I'm just lucky to be in this part of town. (Which is Murray Hill... I think.)

The Coffee Cart Guy.

His name is Rafi. But his friends call him Raf.

What Happens When People You Know Become Celebrities.

Well, I trucked over to the Manhattan Center about 8 o'clock on Friday night. I was quite hungry by the time I arrived, so I bought a pretzel from a street vendor. It was HUGE. Quite a large pretzel. So I walked up the entry line and the security peeps halted me in my tracks.

"Gonna have to finish that before you come in."

"Ohf...mvf...kay," I choked out. "When...doefs...Sfwich...foot...goef...on?"

"Nine-thirty. You can wash that down by then," he smirked back at me.

"Are you Ron?" I asked.

"How do you know him?" he asked.

"I don't. Talked to him on the phone today briefly. I used to work for the band's label in Nashville."

"Do you need some water to go with that pretzel?"

And so then and there, I met Zeus, the band's bus driver.

The bus drivers are, by far, some of the most interesting roadies you can meet. And I'd like to befriend anyone with the name Zeus. I don't know, it just sounds like the phrase, "Let me call my friend Zeus," might be handy one day.

He ended up walking me backstage. (Thanks anyway, $22 ticket.) And then it got weird.

He walked me onto one bus, where drummer Chad Butler was hanging out. Chad never remembers. And that's okay. I didn't really need to go say "Hi." I was just stuck with Zeus, who felt the need to tour me around. I must have been believable as a friend/former co-worker of the band. (Bands, be glad I use my powers for good and not evil.) Anyway, it was completely awkward, "Hi, Chad, you probably don't remember me..."

Yeah, he didn't and he awkwardly brushed me off the bus.

So we went to the next bus and I met Ron, the road manager. He seemed a bit high strung for a road manager, but nice enough. And Jerome was there. Yes, Jerome who I met the first time probably when I was about 19 and a writer for Syndicate magazine. He and a guy named Jyro fronted the bands Mortal and Fold Zandura in the '90's. So we chit-chatted and watched a bit of a Chevy Chase movie. Then Zeus and I took our leave.

Once the show began, we stood stage right and watched. Hence these "behind-the-scenes" photos below.

Just Jonathan.

Jerome, Jon, Tim.

Zeus left me. Then Ron kicked me out and told me to go get my passes. I rathered watching from the audience-view anyway. I was impressed. The band was good. I've probably seem them tank more shows than actually nail them, so I was relieved and excited to see their progress as performers. It took a lot of work on the behalf of my former label boss to get this band is good shape. Talent is important, but working hard is more so. The hall was nearly sold out. I thought that was excellent for New York City on a Friday night.

Afterward, I had to wait around with the other Aftershow Pass holders. Finally, when Switchfoot came out, everyone passed me by, but Jon, who smiled and said, "Hey, how ya' doin'?" and shook my hand. I said, "Good! Go talk to everyone and we'll catch up at the end."

Jerome and I chatted. He pained my heart by talking about his residence in Southern California with a view of the ocean. I miss California a lot. I still think I'd like to end up there again, eventually.

When Jon came back around, I asked about his new nephew Peter, who was born shortly after I moved from Nashville. We had an entire conversation, then he said, "Oh my gosh, I totally didn't even realize who you were." Some thoughts should remain inside of your head, I thought. But I suppose I was relieved that his countenance changed to a more familiar one as we finished our chat. There's a Switchfoot endorsed web 'zine in the works, and it looks like I'll be involved in that. (Stay tuned!)

I was quite depressed as I meandered back to the train station and on home. But I realized, as of late, I see them on TV regularly, and listen to their records all the time. I, on the other hand, make an appearance in their lives only occasionally now. It still hurt. And I'll kick their arses if it happens again.

As for Zeus, maybe he'll call when he's back in New York driving Snoop Dogg around.

Waiting... Hey, The Train Is Coming!

Sunday, noonish.

Waiting For The Train Some More.

Saturday afternoon.

Waiting For The Train.

Friday night.

A Note From Sarah.

I e-mailed David and Sarah. They are two lovely people I have known for years, and each from before they met and married! Sarah and I are close in age. She has 3 little adorable ones now and is a wonderful musical artist. Talking with her always helps me find some clarity and solace. We both torment ourselves with our own endless thoughts, I suspect. I don't talk with her enough.

Sarah wrote:

>with regards to this:

Amy wrote:
>> It became alarmingly clear to me not long after
>> I moved, that we humans spend our lives trying to
>> make ourselves bigger and more important, more
>> successful or whatever. I arrived in what is
>> supposedly the biggest, bestest most exciting place
>> in the world and immediately felt lost and small and
>> like I had no idea how one would climb out of the
>> enormity of a place like this to be recognized as
>> anything more than an ant. I supposed many people
>> in places like this are lonely. And then I supposed
>> that many people who come to places like this in
>> order to become a "big deal" are lonely. And then I
>> supposed that God is always trying to make us
>> smaller, and that we always just have it wrong
>> when we are self-directed. So I had a moment of
>> "Ah, foiled again." But, God knows every ant. Even
>> if there were none smaller than me (physically or
>> figuratively), He would still know me. : )

Sarah wrote:
>you need to start writing all of this down. i can write myself
>into a kind of clarity sometimes, and it looks like you do that
>too. i needed to read here in nashville, with three kids. GOD
>KNOWS EVERY ANT. believe it. you are more precious than ants.
>and sparrows. you bright light. enjoy this adventure and know
>that we are here for all the adventures.
>sarah

Kevin, The Homeless Guy

Thanks to my friend Kevin, for all the referrals to my new blog. What do you call avid blog readers? Blog writers are "bloggers." Blog readers are whats??

Note to those referred readers: I didn't expect Kevin to write a post about my site already. I feel like my blog is hardly up to par. I am actually writing it a bit in reverse right now. But I'll catch up, and I hope you will stop by again sometime and I promise the house will be in better order.

Amy Shoots. Amy Scores.

Bought my ticket to Switchfoot yesterday afterwork. Here's a good New Yorker tip: The Irving Plaza box office sells TicketMaster tickets without the service charge! I saved a third of my ticket cost.

And a sweet woman at the band's management office, hooked me up with a backstage pass. So now I can hand deliver some good wishes to the boys.

Not Stalking.

Switchfoot will be at the Hammerstein Ballroom tomorrow night. Let's go.

And The Beat Goes On.

I acquired a fan in an attempt to drown out the jukebox with white noise. I then purchased a CD player with headphones in order to do the same. My roommate gave me earplugs. But none of these are sufficient to fight the music emanating from the Tavern.

Last night, I phoned 311 at 12:27 a.m. (C-1-1-138607352 ticket closed by Unit NYPD at 6:02:00 as non-crime corrected.) Bar closes when??

Thank you, Target brand pain reliever with sleep aid. You win.

My Best Friends.

When I moved here last month, I made some trades. Primarily, friends for opportunity. (Whatever that is. Contentment? Financial gain? Career? Better shopping?) I miss them. And I don't hear from them a lot. Of course, since college, I've lived in the East San Francisco Bay, CA; Anaheim, CA; Indianapolis, IN; Nashville, TN; and now here. My friends are scattered, not to mention the ones who live in places they've moved to on their own or I've met through a variety of circumstances other than being where I live. They are in Portland, OR; Athens, GA; Wilmington, DE; Toronto, ONT; San Diego, CA; Denver, CO; Lexington, KY; Buffalo, NY; Springfield, MO; England, Germany and other places I forget.

My newest friend, though, and the one I see every Monday through Friday, is the coffee cart guy outside my office building. I don't even know his name. But he greets me now with a smile, even if I'm two or so back on the line. As soon as I reach the window: "Medium, half & half, no sugar... because you're sweet enough already ..., yes?" I smile and nod if I'm sleepy, or verbally agree if I'm more awake. We discuss the weather and my noisy apartment building. Then its off with "Have a good day!" There are more customers waiting.

Divine Intervention.

Heaven intercedes just when you think you're done for.

My friends Steve & Sara called me on Friday to see if I wanted to dog sit Saturday night.

I had almost booked a hotel room for the weekend, just so I could get some real sleep.

So instead, I moved in with Trooper on the UWS and watched TV on the couch, played on the computer, walked around the corner to get a manicure. To top it off, my favorite movie Roman Holiday was on TV this afternoon. You can't beat a lazy day with Gregory Peck. And then I took a nap.

What's Going On Here?

Last night was the worst of all. I phoned the police at 2:15 a.m. (C1-1-137168736). I phoned the bar, where again the drunk bartender was on duty. He laughed at me, said he couldn't help me, and said there was no music playing in the bar. My roommate was up at the same time. She had phoned the police at approximately 1:30 a.m. I again phoned the police at 3:05 a.m. (C1-1-137168840). Both of these tickets were closed at 8:29:17 as "no violation."

Of course there was no violation! I had been awake until almost 4 a.m. when the bar closes for the night. I was awake again and on my way to work by the time the precinct responded to the complaints.

Times Square

Who doesn't like Times Square?

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

I phoned the bar at 12:45 a.m. and again no one answered. I then phoned the police. (C1-1-136782955 ticket closed at 2:58:31 by SGT as non-crime corrected.)

No Rest For The Weary.

I phoned the bar at approximately 2:00 a.m. this morning and no one answered. I suspect Caller I.D. (After the verbal attack on Monday, I was not inclined to, nor should I have to, personally enter the bar to make my request.) I then phoned the police. (I didn't write down the complaint number on this one.)

Sleeping? We Don't Need No Stinking Sleeping.

The sound levels from live bands and/or the jukebox at the Tavern on the bottom floor of my building make it impossible to sleep through the night in my apartment. This being the case, I have not slept through the night since I moved in on October 2. The lack of rest is making me less and less coherent at my temp job, a job which requires good grammar, copyediting and proofing skills. I am also interviewing for permanent positions, and I am increasingly frustrated by my sleepiness and irritability because I fear they will affect my chances of being hired.

I have attempted to deal directly with the associates at the Tavern regarding their failure to maintain New York City Department of Environmental Protection Noise Codes. They have blatantly refused to comply. I have also called my police precinct directly, only to be told by the person on the phone that I was the idiot who moved in above a bar, so of course I would hear loud music. I was also told by the precinct that there were no codes requiring the bar to turn down music or stop live bands at any particular time. I already knew this wasn't the case.

Last night, I phoned the on-duty bartender after 12:00 a.m. and he did not turn down the jukebox. I then walked down to the bar where the drunk bartender pretended to turn down the jukebox and then either he or a patron verbally assaulted me as I left the store. I then phoned the police. (C1-1-136076396 ticket closed at 3:15:16 by Unit EFJK as non-crime corrected.)

And You Don't Stop.

My friend Robin is a freelance producer. She rocks. She moved here from Nashville with her husband, my longtime friend Doug, in August. He's in grad school at NYU, and a real smarty smart when it comes to government and public policy. Anyway, Robin is a production manager for the VH1 Hip Hop Honors which was taped today. She invited me to be one of her production assistants in the press room.

My senior year of college, I produced a concert festival in Kissimmee, FL. But I've never spent much time working with television. It's a lot of hurry-up-and-wait. The show seems like it'll be pretty good. Ice-T didn't come up to the press room, unfortunately, and I just love him on Law & Order! I wish I'd arrived better prepared, I would have gotten my picture with DJ Kool Herc or something. 'Cause he's seriously responsible for the rise of Hip Hop music. Even though I don't listen to it much myself, I have to have respect for influence and talent.

The day was long, the press room assistants hit it off well and we had a fun time. But overall, there's not much that's exciting to tell! I was almost on camera with the Beasty Boys. I think that about sums it up.

The Damnwells.

I just had to go out and do something that might resemble fun in Manhattan. I've been cooped up pretty well at my friends' apartments, not having a lot of money to blow on fun things and goings out.

So I went to the Bowery Ballroom last night to see Tift Merritt. Not that I think I'm a big fan, but her name is familiar from Nashville. Jay Joyce, a producer/songwriter/guitarist extraordinare I worked for had written some songs with her, and I had to call her once to get the publishing info. Now that I think of it, I don't think she ever called me back. Well, I wasn't real excited with her show, and I left a couple songs in. But one of the opening bands was called The Damnwells. And they rocked pretty hard. Highly recommended. I would buy their record for my big brother, whose the most critical of connoisseurs of middle American rock 'n' roll.

Here's what Rolling Stone had to say:

Based in Brooklyn, the Damnwells are about as far from the Midwest as they can be, yet their emotional pop-rock is sonically rustbelt -- where the husks of empty factories look almost pretty in the fading light. With spare Americana instrumentation added here and there to an organic guitar-bass-drums sound, the Damnwells brood in the no longer-imaginary place where Pete Yorn, the Goo Goo Dolls and drummer Steven Terry's old band, Whiskeytown, all hang out. Bastards of the Beat opens with a propulsive, sloppy barroom rocker with a vocal hook that's pure drunken Westerberg. Later the Damnwells steer toward Replacements-worthy goose-bump pop with singer-songwriter frontman Alex Dezen sounding delicately wounded and utterly real throughout. Throbbing psychedelic guitar opens "Sleepsinging" -- a haunting indictment of music business sharks, "Electric Harmony" sets a Beatlesque melody to a wistful waltz, and the dark "Star/Fool" out-pretties Petty's "Last Dance With Mary Jane" with plenty of dramatic white space and the chilling repeated threat/promise "I'm coming back for you."
TODD SPENCER
(April 5, 2004)

Meant To Live.

Switchfoot are my friends. They will be on Letterman tonight. I couldn't get tickets to the show. I couldn't find a way to get hold of Jon. They don't know I'm here!!

The band and I met over the telephone right after I graduated from college in Nashville in 1997. They were talking about a management situation with the artist manager for whom I worked. (I'm glad they didn't go with him.) I moved to Northern California shortly thereafter and the record label I was working with hosted a concert tour for which they opened. The sound guys treated the band quite badly. I nearly offered to take over the sound board myself. I've run sound for Sixpence None the Richer! Anyway, it's standard, at least in the Christian market, for a tour's opening acts to get lesser sound quality than the headliner. I guess couldn't have helped them with that.

Nevertheless, we'd finally met in person and when I moved to So. Cal., I phoned them up. I spent a day off of work wandering the San Diego Zoo and then went to the Foreman's house nearby where Jon played me a demo of "Amy's Song." (It showed up on their second album.) I ate dinner with the fam. And Jon and I went swing dancing at a Cherry Poppin' Daddies concert at Belmont Park. Lots of fun!

Not too long after that I moved back to Indiana. They toured with my friends Five Iron Frenzy and I drove near and far to see all my pals. In fact, we started getting a real kick out of my showing up at a new, random place to say "HI!" I interviewed Jon and wrote a story for 7ball Magazine about A New Way To Be Human and then went back to Nashville again when I worked for their record label. (I wonder if they think I'm a stalker...) In fact, while I was at that label, I went out with a nice young man who I'd met in California though he lived in Nashville. He said he'd not asked me out before because so-and-so said I was dating somebody from the band Switchfoot.

I panicked.

I told my boss I was panicked. And he laughed.

I e-mailed Jon and apologized and said, though I didn't mind the rumor, I hadn't started it. He was cool about it. I don't think he'd even heard it. He was about to marry my friend Sarah's younger sister Emily, and what kind of girl would I be to let that stuff get around!?

So Much More Than Me.

This title here, from a song off Goo Goo Dolls' Gutterflower album, grows more appropriate to me everyday. The line just struck me as I was reading Johnny's lyric. Yeah, the world is so much more than me. (Though I'm sure Mr. Rzeznik had his own, very different, story behind this lyric.) Coming to peace with the fact there is something more than me is the only way I've been able to survive with any sanity. Some would maybe call this the "peace that passes understanding," because it's hard to explain - or understand - when you have none. The hard luck, relationship struggles, personal disasters, community trauma, they can take something away from us. Swift like a sudden summer storm, these things of life weaken us. They steal our confidence. We lose all hope. We suddenly don't know what has happened to ourselves. We are gone.

And still something happens to reignite us. I believe it is God who has a hand in our life. Whether He set the world a go once before we were formed and has left it alone since, or He continues to watch over us, I don't know sometimes. Either way, the world is His. The world is bigger than me. We are all connected because we are all making sense of our humanness. It's all we know. We are all we know.

Famous.

My sister-in-law took to calling me "Famous" awhile ago. It's short for "Famous Amos," and probably also for the fact that I seem to run into celebrities a lot, not including work-related situations.

So, let's keep track. I've put a "Brushes With Fame" list on my sidebar over there on the right.

The First Day.

Dad dropped me off at the airport this morning before he went to work. It was then that I realized my flight was booked for September 9. Maybe I'm excited to get going with my "new life," as everyone calls it, in New York. The nice lady at the ATA counter fixed me up for an additional $50. That's the price of not wanting to admit my own stupidity. And now I'm here, with the pouring down remnants of a hurricane, to see what's up with life in The Big City.