This is where I am. Solo bike rides in 30 degree weather just for the view.

This is a monologue I wrote about what I do/did at night.  Pretty regularly.  It’s in reference to the “Middle of the Night” episode of This American Life.  It’s pretty self-involved… as most monologues should be.

Certain names have been changed.  Hope no one is offended.

The night begins with coffee.  It is a ritual that I started years ago, back in undergrad.  Back then, we hardly slept.  About one hour after dinner, when I finally worked up the strength to be productive, there was a ritual that surrounded myself and the coffee pot in my room:

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Finally travelling again, boys and girls. This time I’m travelling via bus to the home of Will Hunting, illicit tea disposal, and horrendous accents (I’m vowing to annunciate my Rs every time I say “haRboR” or “my boy’s wicked smaRt).
More pics to come. For now, after a putrid departure from Chinatown, I’ll leave you urbanites with a pic of the zooming leaves from my window.

But Kermit and LCD Soundsystem raise some good points.  Gentrification, being poor for the first time, moving to a city that is somehow safe, political and police-oriented disillusionment… but oh, how we still love you.

And for more Kermit action, here’s a site made by someone with this absolutely brilliant idea: “Soon after the death of Jim Henson, Sad Kermit spiraled downward into a life of addiction, romance, and pain.  The songs and videos on this webpage shed light on Sad Kermit’s descent into his dark, hurting world.”

Sad Kermit

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I’d moved into a new apartment.  It’s a proper den of idiocy near the Lorimer stop on the L train.  A converted warehouse where I reside on the top floor with two roommates.  We have roof access and we’re steadily doing our part to up the awesome factor.  Incidentally, this also entails upping the amount of wine we drink while looking at Manhattan from our spectacular view.  Enjoy the video tour (and more) after the jump.  Continue Reading »

It’s true.  It’s been twelve long years and, for some strange reason, I still skate.  I’ve broken my wrists and ankles multiple times, gotten a few concussions, been ticketed far too many times to count, and had to deal with condescending security guards and police more times than my ego will let me remember.

But even at age twenty-five, something compels me to go out and throw my body around.  I’m coming out of a period where I actively tried to resist skating so that I could concentrate on my studies (grad school), but I now have a modicum of free time.  Again, I find myself drawn to skating.  Somehow, going out and exploring the city I live in while attempting to change the way I view everyday structures (as obstacles, not as objects) still has some sort of hold over me. Continue Reading »

Well.  It’s been a while.  I’m not dead, nor is my computer – though I’m considering which death would be more tragic.  I have only one explanation for not actively letting you all know what’s going on: in the words of my friend, Anna, “Oops.”

That’s not to say I haven’t been busy.  In the past three months I’ve moved to a new apartment, doubled the amount of freelancing I’m doing, taken on more responsibility at HeaveMedia, completed a massive Capstone project (resulting in my graduating from graduate school), gone to Las Vegas, gotten punched in the face in a bar in Midtown Manhattan, gotten a new bike, thrown numerous barbecues, interviewed a band in Boy George’s old apartment, gone home to Chicago twice, saw David Bowie cooking eggs, and gotten my tan on an obscene number of times on my new roof.

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