best of New York City (Jan 2010)

Almost immediately after watching the ball drop in Times Square, I took a long weekend with a chunk of friends and headed over to New York City. We stared up at the mile-high buildings; wove through crowds of sightseers at tourist spots; found a hidden bar at the top of a hotel next to the Empire State Building; and re-connected with a group so lively it made me miss college all over again ... (though not "college things" like the after-effects of a particularly effective "all-you-can-eat/drink" deal from our friend Brendan...)



Roommates at the Ameritania Hotel, Molly, Ellen, Amy and I walked through Central Park on a particularly freezing morning. We found a little hill of stone above Wollman Skating Rink with an amazing view of the lower East side. Even though traveling through NYC in January isn't ideal if you don't like a face frozen beyond expression, it's awesome for avoiding giant groups of tourists and smells that bubble up from the underground sewer system.





A favorite day: Grimaldi's for pizza; Jacques Torres for wicked hot cocoa; and a walk back to Manhattan across the Brooklyn Bridge. Molly and Ellen hadn't been here before, and I think I noticed them click with the city during this walk.



Walking back to our hotel from the Columbus Circle area, the Christmas lights in the trees offset the light snow. Eric and Margit looked especially lovely that night.



I finally got to see the Bethesda Fountain - this is a detail of the sculpture at the top, and one of my favorite photos from the trip.



Here's my favorite little sister in front of my favorite cupcakes (Buttercup Bakery). It was an added bonus to spend some time with Anna and her professor parents, leading the St. Olaf art trip to Manhattan. Ellen and I took Anna on a particularly exhausting trek to the library to see the original Winnie the Pooh... totally worth it.



Molly and I spent some time on the Met steps with a pretzel from a cart; these little birdies scattered near us to grab crumbs and extra sun rays.





My love, my light, Ellen Roth indulged my childhood love for Matt Lauer and the Today Show by waking up at 6:30, walking a few blocks, and standing in sleet to catch a few glimpses of the crew. We were even on TV for a few milliseconds!





The friend celebration to end all celebrations (by 10PM... I think?)





The last few hours in NYC were spent at the Top of the Rock and in the surrounding area. A tiny little New Years ball... and a spectacular view of a cold, sunny city and one of its landmark structures.

Even almost a year later, I still crave more of the city. In two trips, I know I've barely found everything.

best of 2010 (to come...)

This is how I rung in 2010: blowing the rhythm of "Party in the USA" as the clock switched over.



My friend Rachel took this photo, along with QUITE a few others, during our friends' masquerade-mask-themed party. There's nothing we love more than whipping out some nice duds, creating a theme, and carrying it out full-force (especially with champagne/wine/PBR in hand).

This is how I will ring in 2011:



Not scaling the oil derrick, but in a snowy Casper, without the usual cohorts. I used to soak up New Years in my hometown as a time to connect with a few high school friends - but they have since (mostly) scattered, married, moved to Scotland, moved to Missouri. Weather in Wyoming is as temperamental and insane as Minnesota; this morning I woke to a phone call from United Airlines, notifying me of my canceled flight. It bummed me out, sure. I had plans at a few houses, and was especially looking forward to getting to know a new group of folks as the ball dropped. As it was, I enjoyed today (mostly snowbound inside), but I know I will need to get out and hopefully ski tomorrow (even in below-zero temps).

So, in lieu of a huge celebration tomorrow and tomorrow night, I think I'll chip away at some photos (/memories) collected during 2010 here at home, between shoveling and shoving leftover Christmas cookies in my mouth. Starting with last year's celebration, at a warm house of lovely friends, the year was actually pretty fantastic.



(thanks to Rachel Carlin for the first photo; Amy Sonnichsen for the third)

first-timer (January 2007)

It has been almost four years since my first night in New York City. I remember hustling into a cramped taxi cab and hurdling half an hour to our apartments. As I wrestled my suitcase across the curb and looked up, I remember never feeling more overwhelmed. Since I had just flown from Wyoming through Minneapolis to NYC, I went from one drastic landscape to the complete opposite. Everywhere I looked, buildings and sidewalks. Our apartment, on 54th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenue, was situated in a pretty active area of midtown.

That first night, our walk included "getting to know the neighborhood." A quick glance at our maps and some words of guidance from our professors helped us discover we were merely blocks from Rockefeller Center, Times Square, and 5th Avenue. In hindsight, we covered the territory that night -- but I think in our excitement, we didn't realize it. When we came upon 5th Avenue, the clouds were low and off-set the lights so incredibly, it was as if we fell into a Manhattan film scene. I remember seeing some leftover store fronts from the holidays, and Christmas lights in windows, and not quite believing I was finally in this city.

Over the month, we discovered more and less beauty in and around the city, but even so, New York was then solidified as a place I would have to re-visit over and over again. So far, I've made it back once, though I've barely scratched the surface.

vintage snow (ca. 1990?)

I am younger each year at the first snow.
When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am
in love again and very young and I believe everything. - Anne Sexton, 1958

This photo, via my best friend from home Erin (the one in the middle, with her hat tied around her face), instantly evokes the simple joys of winter as a kid. Icicle as snack, hanging out in warm clothes (and not caring if they matched), and prepping for some yard-skiing: nothing says "winter in 1990" more-so. My brother, the little pumpkin-faced kid on the far right, has since quadrupled in size. Erin is on the west coast, and while we don't talk regularly, when we do it's as if we haven't missed a day. My childhood partner in crime, Erin and I roamed our neighborhood creeks and streets, pranked our siblings, and shared so many meals at our respective families' houses it seemed natural to set another place at the table. In high school, Erin was my carpool buddy and ski season teammate - we shared after-school snacks of pickles and pudding before practice, marathons of trashy movies and junk food, and teen magazine-fests. I think about those days often - even just yesterday, after hearing of Leslie Nielsen's death. "Airplane" was our consistent pick for movie night at her aunt and uncle's house in Saratoga.

Going home always provokes the past. My bedroom is still intact, almost like a time-capsule of my adolescent/teenage years. I love sifting through piles of old pictures and remembering smells, the light, other people present, what I was wearing. I'm thankful for developed camera film. There is nothing like sitting down with a closetful of photos from the 1990s.

travel season (October 2008, 2009, 2010...)

I have developed a dependent relationship with my Garmin. I hear her voice more than anyone's, it seems. The little GPS device I stick to my windshield guides me through two months of navigating various rental cars on highways, parkways, interstates, exits, on-ramps, stoplights, missed exits, construction, traffic jams...

The magic of my job is its perpetual shift in the task at hand. It isn't always like this, but in the thick of it, it's hard to remember what life is like without an airplane ride every week. For September and October, I become more familiar with hotel rooms and car rentals than with my own apartment and dented Honda; texts and Facebook conversations help me feebly attempt to sustain relationships with real people. I stare at my work Google calendar impulsively, as I prefer to know exactly when I must arrive to a college fair/high school visit/interview with student and attempt to time it just so. Thankfully, Garmin Lady gets me there on time. And to think this is my third travel season, and only my first year with her? How did I survive before?

constant replay (September 2007)

It's that season again. Cider has returned.

This evening, I woke up from my post-work cat nap with a strong desire for Goodbye Blue Monday Coffeehouse. All I wanted was a blue ceramic mug of cider, my laptop (with the motivation to actually write!), and something calm and familiar playing on the overhead speakers. I arrived and set up my laptop at one of the Formica tables near the espresso machine and counter, facing the doorway: my favorite place to watch the Blue Monday clientele shuffle through the entryway.

The above photo was snapped by my friend Molly in the fall of our senior year in college. I used to come here quite a bit (a lot with her, actually) under the guise of "studying." Usually, "studying" at Blue Monday meant sitting with books open but ignored, coffee in hand, and a laughing conversation about something funny this weekend or a quiet one-on-one chat about something deeper. I'm wearing the same sweatshirt right now, actually, but have a far less contemplative expression -- possibly because I can't help but be incredibly distracted by the conversations I can overhear right now. I'm sitting between two tables of college students, presumably studying. One table chirps loudly about Saturday practices and their mesa de conversacion; the other chats about the college search and how Boulder is a SWEET town. That table could be high schoolers, actually, but who can tell the difference these days? (PS. They are definitely high schoolers... they're talking about the ACT and complaining about their 30 and 32 scores. Oh, kids).

The point is, I still come to this place for the same comfort as I did two or even six years ago. It's more than just a coffeehouse. It's a social hub; a place for people to meet their friends at 6AM; to get a smoothie midday while strolling Division Street; or come in and sit (even loudly), with a group of friends under the front of productivity. Every bit of this place has been thought out and cultivated by its founders and owners -- but sitting here, you don't necessarily realize it. It's just natural that there are multicolored Formica tables, unique lamps, a cozily saggy couch, and random artwork hanging from the walls. It's part of the landscape of this place, and its owners are fiercely protective of its authenticity. Rightly so.

This place has served as more than just a vehicle for my coffee addiction. It was where my parents and I sat one last time before they moved me into my first-year residence hall, the first year of college. My dad told me the story of his tattoo as a rite of passage (and that story deserves its own post, at some point). Blue Monday is where I always came when my friends and I escaped the Hill for an afternoon on the town. It's where I sat, sipping a latte, when I first dreamed up my senior art show. My dad, who loves coffee more than me, always brought us to Blue Monday five times daily for a scone and large coffee when my parents visited (including his "large, dark, to go" order at 9PM). I was here when I got a phone call from a close friend, where, to my shock, out flooded his true feelings for me -- all the while pacing back and forth repeatedly, since it was snowing outside, until my friend/co-barista Laura made me sit down and process. When I faced graduation without any job prospects at my alma mater, I turned to Blue Monday for employment, promising my boss at least six months and my relentless dedication to all things Blue Monday and all things coffee. While I worked here full-time, I became part of a family so mismatched but complete, I actually survived months of uncertainty while living in a fungus-infested basement. When the area around my apartment flooded badly this past weekend (worse than the previous post ever could have foreshadowed), I couldn't simply cross the bridge to my coffee and it felt too strange.

This place is run unlike any business I've seen, down to the last detail when a new menu item is added or new piece of equipment introduced. The bosses/owners/managers keep it this way by investing themselves into it. In turn, they also became sort of mentors to me, offering anything from Catherine's thoughts on online dating to Dan's advice on how to remove fungus from carpet. Dan has a fantastic love of music, expressed without filter or hesitation, and uncanny ability to predict the next big bands (he predicted Yeasayer MONTHS before they exploded). Catherine, in her calm, even-keeled way, asks about life updates and offers glimpses of their kids' latest antics.

They have become part of my morning routine, a few minutes in my mornings there to jump-start my day. Now, as I'm a "barista emerita," I enjoy meeting the newbies and watching them become more comfortable with the rhythm of this place. It isn't for everyone, in terms of employment. But, Dan and Catherine seem to find a pretty incredible mix of people to trust with this place. And for what it's worth, I'm grateful to them for letting me in.

Back to this table, at this moment: ZachAttack working to close behind the counter, my mug cooling since I finished my cider an hour ago, and the satisfaction that I finally calmed my day enough to sit, listen, type, and sip.

season change (today, 2010)

I have bad news... for me, at least.

Somehow, my computer reloaded its iPhoto or something and my thousands of pictures over the last year or so are missing. Completely MIA. I talk about it in this way because it happened a week ago, and part of me clings to this tiny glimmer of hope that it isn't all erased. It is heartbreaking, in a way. In times like these, I wish I knew more about computers. Maybe all I need to do is simply hit some combination of "control + squiggly icon + fn"? Probably not. I don't even know the terminology...

I thought about this page twice today. This could mean a few things: 1. it has been forever since I posted anything of substance, which is embarrassing when you consider its name; 2. I thought about it in the way you remember an old friend who you knew so well for a short amount of time before he disappeared: fond but fleeting good memories; or 2. fall is approaching (well, here, as of this minute actually), which means winter follows. I always write more in the winter. Here's hoping.

Speaking of fall, as I write this, I hear rhythmic breeze against my window and I can't wait to see what awaits me when I leave for work tomorrow. Leaves are undoubtedly blowing from their stems and scattering in a matted mess across the cobblestones, along with the ceaseless rain. Fall in Minnesota always brings a monsoon season of sorts, but I haven't seen flooding like this in quite some time. Today, as I saw the river water rise hourly, I was reminded of the way catastrophe (or at least, impeding doom) can bring together communities. A few hours ago, in the dark, I leaned against my railing and watched the above scene as the sky was dark and the water even higher. Townspeople, high school kids, and college students walked across the bridge, stopping with frequency to take pictures. One brave student, along with his friend, propped up a tripod and rolled up his jeans to wade in the water. He didn't get far -- at this point, the water is coming in waves over the stone wall. The strobe-light effect of so many camera flashes made me realize how big a deal this must be. The riverside bar, Froggy's, was sandbagged at 4PM today and that probably didn't last until now. Sadly, tonight is Thursday night karaoke at Frog's. The painful irony.

It is also painfully ironic that after three solid days of travel (including two consecutive 5:40am flights followed by some harrowing hydroplane driving), I am still awake. Adrenaline keeps me awake on nights like this, but from what? I'm not sure. Fall travel season causes me to wake up in the middle of the night and stare into the darkness, wondering what I forgot to arrange for a flight, car rental, high school visit, college fair, interview... the list grows. Even as I wrote this, I logged onto my work email and wrote myself a reminder email for a call I need to make in the morning. Is this symptomatic of a workaholic, or just the excitement of this season of work? I will come to the realization as soon as it's over for another year.

However monotonous, cold, and damp the transition into the colder months in Minnesota may be, I appreciate the side-effect of coziness. I love summer for wonderful, lively days outside, but in more ways than one, this raw cold weather makes me feel alive.