Crow Dawg

Happy Birthday Brother Dude

2008-05-10T19:07:00.004-04:00

Happy Birthday to my older (truth) and wiser (questionable) Brother.

Don't worry, Josh, riding a fixed gear totally shaves off a few years and will keep the ladies from realizing you're pushin' thirty.

Love ya.

Good News Comes Little By Little

2008-05-04T00:20:00.003-04:00

It's been a long couple of weeks, school is wrapping up, I'm packing up, and the social obligations seem to be piling up. So, that's my excuse for just leaving you with this bit of good news from the ever tedious, frustrating and sodden world of the IDSA:

Attorney General Richard Blumenthal today announced that his antitrust investigation has uncovered serious flaws in the Infectious Diseases Society of America's (IDSA) process for writing its 2006 Lyme disease guidelines and the IDSA has agreed to reassess them with the assistance of an outside arbiter.
The IDSA guidelines have sweeping and significant impacts on Lyme disease medical care. They are commonly applied by insurance companies in restricting coverage for long-term antibiotic treatment or other medical care and also strongly influence physician treatment decisions.

Insurance companies have denied coverage for long-term antibiotic treatment relying on these guidelines as justification. The guidelines are also widely cited for conclusions that chronic Lyme disease is nonexistent.

"This agreement vindicates my investigation -- finding undisclosed financial interests and forcing a reassessment of IDSA guidelines," Blumenthal said. "My office uncovered undisclosed financial interests held by several of the most powerful IDSA panelists. The IDSA's guideline panel improperly ignored or minimized consideration of alternative medical opinion and evidence regarding chronic Lyme disease, potentially raising serious questions about whether the recommendations reflected all relevant science.

"The IDSA's Lyme guideline process lacked important procedural safeguards requiring complete reevaluation of the 2006 Lyme disease guidelines -- in effect a comprehensive reassessment through a new panel. The new panel will accept and analyze all evidence, including divergent opinion. An independent neutral ombudsman -- expert in medical ethics and conflicts of interest, selected by both the IDSA and my office -- will assess the new panel for conflicts of interests and ensure its integrity."

Full article here.

Summer of Roses

2008-03-28T12:13:00.001-04:00

For my 15th birthday, maybe my 16th, Jesse gave me a book titled "Go West Young F*cked Up Chick," it wasn't wrapped and he handed it over with the statement he'd purchased it from the 70% off rack at Barns & Nobel. This might have been around the time he was making money by taping rocks, so I forgave the cheapness of the gift. I only read a chapter two as the dirty, sexy and optimistic images of Los Angeles did nothing for me at the time - my blinders were set towards the East Coast not Southern California. Regardless, the title has always stuck with me and seems to run through my head every time I board a westward bound airplane. It came back again, ringing and clear, when a short while ago a far fetched plan was hatched to spend the summer months in Portland. The impetus was, and is, an internship that will hopefully give me a good sense of the publishing industry (the third in the quartet of possible jobs this Master's will help me with. The others being Teaching, Agenting, and Writing enough to sustain a standard of living). The idea started to gain momentum when I came to find that some of my favorite people would also be in the beautiful North West, some of which I hadn't spent any real time with in ages.

It's always been a dream to be able to live bi-coastally. Or with one foot in the city and one in country, or woods, or mountains or beach. I've been in New York for approaching on a year, and I've grown awfully fond of this place - it affords me a lot of the big city luxuries that Boston didn't, and is more accessible than Los Angeles, but over all the pace is more my speed than any other city I've lived in. But I'd be lying if there wasn't something about that Pacific Northwest that always seems to call me back. I watch Ax Men with a powerful sense of deja vu for the color green and that crisp, clean smell that outsiders say smells like mold and I say smells like wonderful.

I think it's going to be an interesting experiment, a bit of a leap of faith, and to be honest it makes me nervous. But without a little compulsive behavior now and then life might just start to be a drag. My expectations for what the whole summer might bring are nebulous and easy going. They swing on a day by day basis with the emphasis on just enjoying the time I will be spending there, the sun, the food, and the good company.

A Decade of Roboticism.

2008-02-10T13:01:00.000-04:00

It's been 10 years since I earned my bionic wings.
Happy birthday Robo-Spine.

Thoughts on he Month of Lurv, with a dash of omphaloskepsis.

2008-02-07T00:26:00.001-04:00

"Flowers flying cross the room
Vases smashed against the floor
Said 'I'd rather be alone
Take your chocolates and go home'"
-DBT

What does getting dumped, falling down a flight of stairs, being in the hospital, and nearly getting arrested all have in common? They all happened on Valentine's day. So, needless to say I've always been a little wary of the holiday above and beyond the usual loneliness that can accompany it.

I usually discourage the Valentine's day presents, from gentlemen callers or otherwise, as I'd rather get a gift of the just-because variety than because the giver feels obligated. The Valentine's Day of my sophomore year of college, however, was one of the more memorable of 'love oriented' gifts I'd ever received. After thoroughly advertising my distaste for the day to anyone in earshot, I came home to find a hunting knife on my bed with a note, written in red paint on a torn piece of cardboard, that read: "V-day can be brutal. Arm yourself." Maybe it's the McCue in me, but that's my kind of romance.

But for those stuck on what to get that certain someone for Valentine's day, and those that end up with a gift that elicits a lack luster response, you've only Chaucer to blame. Although St. Valentine (all eleven of them) date back to over 200 AD, the first association of V-Day as a day for lovers wasn't made until 1382, when our buddy Chaucer made mention of the exchange of love notes in his poem Parlement of Foules. Asshole.

The best story I'd ever heard of St. Valentine was that he was a scorned man who cut out his own heart and then gifted it to his lover. Unfortunately I can't find any evidence of this story, and I think I might have made it up. Regardless, I like it better than the current story of the jailed priest who continued to marry couples in secret. Because what's a better way to say I Love You than with cold cold spite.

But in moderate seriousness, I like to consider myself an a-typical gal with typical sensibilities, and as much as that statement might reek with pomposity to some, it holds true to my innate girly desires for The Ring, The Wedding and the Happy Ever After. One year, probably around the age of six, my mom substituted my birthday cake for a wedding cake, which has staved off any serious premature itchings to get my Big Day, but maybe not so much that innate desire to find that buddy you couple up with on the playground. But despite that want, I have a bit of an allergy to the L word. Never been good at saying it, never been good at receiving it. I know my fear of the L word comes from the anticipated danger that it will be taken back. Takesies Backsies, if you will. But after saying those three little words the last thing I assume most boys want to hear is a puzzled and inquisitive "Fo' Reals?" So perhaps the aversion comes from the knowledge of my own tendency to second guess, and not the implication of the word at all, and what I'm looking for is just someone to answer me back: "Psh. Fo' Reals, girl."

Sleep.

2008-01-31T20:55:00.000-04:00

Insomnia is back in full swing round these parts! Help a reformed night owl out.

I've always had moderate trouble with sleeping, especially in the last two years. Lots of bad dreams, burst of energy right before sleep, the inability to fall asleep etc. etc. etc. And recently I've been doing my hardest and what feels like my most regenerative sleeping between 6 and 9 am, which usually means I've over slept and have to scramble to get out the door. I've implemented a new rule to not eat after 8pm, when it's possible, so as not to have Ebenezer Scrooge-esq fits of dreams due to a bad spot of cheese, and I try not to nap, but these don't seem to be helping.

I'm not a fan of sleeping pills or other sedatives, and a few fool proof methods just aren't physically an option, but it's clear I need to start getting more than four hours a night.

I've taken up an old practice I used when I was a kid, which is listening to classical music all night. I streamed some piano music last night that seemed to help, but I was still up and down more than I should be. This practice started when I was thirteen or fourteen, I remember seeing a special on PBS about how certain passive activities stimulated brain growth without strain, one of these was the simple act of listening to classical music. So, when I found out I was going to have back surgery as a freshman in high school I knew that my dreams of attending Juilliard and becoming a famous dancer were probably out and I was going to have to start relying on the brain to be the money maker (I was fourteen, odd logic abounded). So, night after night I'd turn on Eugene's classical station and conk out, hoping to wake up just a little smarter.

I don't know if it actually did anything, but it created a restful sleep that I'm now, ten years later, trying to recapture.

Teachin'

2008-01-09T18:36:00.000-04:00

Some unseasonably warm weather is blowing through New York, moving the beautiful and jobless of Williamsburg to lay around McCarren park like lizards sucking up the sun all afternoon. Yesterday was my last real day without any scheduled events (although pre-school work is already piling up) as classes start in a week and a half, and I took advantage of the beautiful weather with a long walk around town and some contemplative time in the park. At 65 degrees it felt like the first day of spring, minus the color green I've been painfully missing, and has cruelly reminded me how much more winter there is left. It can be rough, this cold thing. And I have a tendency to hibernate, which can be lonely and probably not all that healthy if done for too long, but is something I've gotten quite used to.

Today Ana and I taught our last class at Wadleigh High. It's been an interesting four months, this whole high school teaching endeavor, and not a job I would rule out in the penniless post grad school days. The class is always filled with crazy energy that, even when I feel like I am not in the mood to talk (loudly) about dialogue tags, verbiage and writer's intention for 48 minutes, I always leave the class in a better mood. I'm glad for the fact that I've been able to jump into a high school class at my age, seeing as it hasn't been all that many years since I was in same situation as the students, relatively. Six years isn't all that much in the grand scheme of things, and I can still remember what motivated me to be a total pain in the ass to my high school teachers, which I can use now to try and side step those pitfalls. I've also come to find that the simple fact I'm not terribly older than them, but have enough distance in age to still be seen as a mentor, means I've got a real leg up.

Today's class was small, seven kids as opposed to the usual 20 to 25, due to a field trip that took most of the class away to see The Great Debaters. But, despite missing some of my favorite characters, it was a solid class. At the end everyone seemed to linger despite the bell, I got hassled a little for not have the know how to work one of the kids Sidekicks when giving her my email, and I was pulled aside by a few of the kids for hugs and thanks yous. It's left the rest of the day ripe with The Good Feeling.

It's left me with a lot of thoughts about the teacher vs. writer conundrum. Can you teach and still be invested in your writing, and all that. We'll see. We'll see.

2008: Year of the Urban Cowgirl

2008-01-02T20:33:00.000-04:00

Happy New Year!

Despite my red eye flight that landed the morning of New Years Eve, and my general reluctance to leave Oregon, New Years was very enjoyable.

It began when one of my nearest and dearest friends, Meghan, who had come to visit from Los Angeles, and I went to dinner at Gitane, this lovely little SoHo Moroccan place. I'd eaten there once before when my mom and brother visited during the summer, but for New Years this little gem went all out covering the entire ceiling in red helium balloons equipped with string that hung about eye level when sitting down to eat. The tiny restaurant was just as delicious as the last time I visited, hitting the spot with a salmon tartar sandwich with wasabi mayo.

After dinner we headed in the, dreaded, general direction of Central Park via the vague directions of a friend of a friend's party, and ended up at a terribly touristy bar while we waited for the exact address. At about 11pm we were notified from the friend of the friend's friend that all the blocks surrounding the party were barricaded by cops directing the wide eyed foot traffic craning to see a glimpse of the ball drop. We were told that they were given the hassle and only allowed through when they could produce their e-vite on their iPhone (hey Apple, commercial much?) We'd entered into the evening with no expectations on where we would be when the clock rolled over to 12:00am, so we debated whether or not fighting the residual Time Square crowds would be worth it. After a brief discussion it dawned on us we were smack dab in the middle of a Yankee themed bar, and agreed that despite go-with-the-flow attitude we'd adopted for the evening, this was most definitely not an acceptable place to spend our count down.

After Meghan paid for our "business meeting" Jameson's on the company card, we headed out to give a go at reasoning with the NYPD. The first officer we met told us to lie to his co-workers and just tell them we lived mid block and needed to get home, but at the second barricade we came to fessed up we were headed to a social engagement. Meghan tossed out the born and raised on the east coast card, which was promptly followed by the promise of an arranged marriage to one of the younger officers by the older, squad leader we were talking too. After a polite decline, we were escorted through the subsequent three or four barricades by a very nice officer (I believe his name was Joe) and to the door step of the apartment we'd been looking for with 15 minutes to spare before New Years. Ironically, once we'd walked freely past the throngs of caged tourists, we were denied entry into the party. Fair enough, but when you throw a party on New Years Eve, and use the internet to advertise, trying to supervise your guest list will obviously ruin your night, as it clearly seemed to on this occasion. Anyway, we wondered out to the west side of Central Park South at about 11:55 and were promptly welcomed by another group of police officers, headed by an the excitable young officer Estives. They asked if we'd like to ring in 2008 with them, we obliged, Estives counted down for us and my first few minutes of 2008 were spent getting joyus hugs by the NYPD. Soon after duty called and they had to begin their sweep down the street towards Times Square, and Meghan and I strolled up the street to watch the fireworks in the park before catching a train back to Brooklyn.

Back in Brooklyn we settled in for the rest of the evening at a friend's bar, took control of the music, which ended in a few rousing Queen songs, and had a great time in what Meghan and I call "holding court." At Gitane we'd picked up what we'd mistakenly assumed were match books, but instead turned out to be match book shaped note pads. With one of these we began to make a list of Rules for the evening, which began with the tried and true "No Sugary Drinks," and "No Stupid hats/glasses, we can act retarded, we just can't look it." Eventually the book started to make its rounds and was filled with a slew of hilarious and confusing rules others thought were apropos of the evening. Unfortunately, the book was left at the bar but among the rules that stuck in my head a few were: "No rap music," "Don't bogart the 'J' broseph," "Must show all taco meat," and "By and large, Smithies are bi and large." Funny stuff.

I hope that the tone set by the evening carries over into the new year and it proves to be more organized and filled with forward momentum than the last. I hope to keep doing all the things that have made me pretty stoked about life over the past few months, and add to that list as well. I hope to wallow less and, in one of the better pieces of advice I've gotten this year: "Embrace your shit, Brie."

Back To New York

2007-12-21T16:51:00.000-04:00

(December 30th)
In the airport, waiting for my red eye back to New York, and I'm tired. For the most part I couldn't have asked for a more enjoyable vacation and for the first time in, I believe, the entirety of times I have been flying to and leaving Oregon, I don't want to leave. The first week of vacation was spent in Portland enjoying the clean air and good smells. Exploring a city I know, but have always been regrettably unfamiliar with. Shutting down P.F. Chang's (you know, like ya do). Cooking a lot, eating a lot of wonderful food. Working on the remainder of school work I've been waiting to get at now that the semester is over, and generally taking a little break. For Christmas I went down to The Euge to see the family and had one of those Christmas's we've always seemed to be famous for for their eccentric, counter traditional, nature. I remember as a kid when, after presents were opened Christmas Eve, we'd round up by the tree and watch Army of Darkness, and in an equally odd vein this year our tree was made of a light stand, wooden spoons, string lights and a lot of scotch tape. For dinner Mom killed it with a 3 lbs tenderloin and some spot on bernaise sauce, and for four days it just felt really good to be there. Of course time was too short to ever feel like I got in enough time with everyone I wanted to see, but the few nights it did happen were solid and helped fuel the wacky, growing idea of spending the summer in Oregon instead of New York.

Time to board.

Airport Notes

2007-12-14T19:29:00.000-04:00

At JFK waiting for my flight to Portland and it's a bad scene. There is a man sitting a yard away from me who seems to be arguing with his wife, telling her that he was forced to hang up on his mother in law because he was about to go through the metal detector. The wife doesn't seem to find this a viable excuse. A group of kids in front of me from Walla Walla, or at least that's what their sweat shirts say, keep saying "hella" and stuffing their fat little faces with four dollar slices of Famiglia pizza. One of them in screaming at her cell phone, presumably speaking with her mother, that she wants her bed made with crispy sheets when she gets home. And babies. Babies everywhere. And they're all crying.

On the bright side I attended a holiday party for work last night and, after a company sponsored round of gift raffling, walked away the new owner of a Blue Ray disk player and a 32" flat screen TV.

Perhaps the screaming babies are making up for my outstanding luck.

Time to board, and off to Oregon. Fresh air here I come.

Breakfast ride with Channing

2007-12-01T13:54:00.000-04:00

I took a bike ride this morning in the wonderfully inhospitable temperature of 23 degrees. It's a beautifully clear day with mild winds full of that crisp, good feeling. For the most part the constant body motion of the bike kept me warm, but once I hit the crest of the W'burg bridge, the winds that whip off the East River nearly made me a little too friendly with the bridge's guard rail. The decline of the bridge into Manhattan, while a nice respite for the lungs, increased the wind factor and hurt like a sonofabitch.

Once on the other side I took the bike path down to the Brooklyn Bridge but hesitated going over it as I'm still unfamiliar with how to get home through Brooklyn form there. I met a nice lady on her early morning jog who wanted to know if it was safe to run over the bridge into Williamsburg, as she'd never done it before. Funny stuff. Her name was Channing and my bike promptly became her namesake.

I retraced my rout back, stopping for a moment in Corlears Hook Park to watch a little rugby and take a few out of focus pictures.

Despite the cold, and forgetting to bringing a very necessary handkerchief with me, it felt great. "Wintery Mix" permitting, I'll try for it again tomorrow.

Although I don't really have the time to take the ride, or the time to write about it, it's been good to allow myself a little break from The Routine. School - Home Work - Sleep - School - Home Work - Work Work - Sleep - Lather Rinse Repeat. I often forget how necessary putting myself in a little physical duress is, the lack of which leads to getting bogged down a lot of mental garbage. I don't have a whole lot of inner jock in me, but the competition gene runs through me sumthin' fierce (Re: see Risk incident of 2006), and I do a lot of personal nagging when I start to feel like I'm giving up. Self peer pressure, if you will. My brother once told me not to be afraid of my own sweat but to be desirous of it even, which has been a good motivator not only in terms of being a nice little nugget of older sibling wisdom... but also also a kick in the competitive little sister ribs to do it better. (Sorry Josh, it's true. This is why I always win at wrestling.) The only downside to his logic is that I can't fucking sweat when it's 23 degrees outside!

My Search History

2007-11-10T13:20:00.001-04:00

It dawned on me today, as I was typing "Violence in Omaha" into my search bar for stats that I might weave into a story I am currently working on, that to take an look at my computer's search history - without explanation - is frightening. Scrolling down the list of one liners I've entered over the past few months gave me a good laugh. Though most of the research on a number of the topics haven't yet made it into any finished work, I guarantee I had a good, morally upstanding, reason for each of these searches. Riiiiight.

So, without explanation, I give you my recent search history:

1990 All American Cities
Aqua Dots
Bad Poetry
Bed Bugs
Black Irish
Borya Plant Genus
Carhart Utilikilt
Citizenship Test
Cluster
Concentration Camps
Chocolate Man NYC
Curveting
Ellsbury Taco
Etymology of Oregon
Fairy Tale Money When She Speaks
Feltching
Gerber
Grimaldi
Hermetically Sealed
How Is The LSAT Scored
I'm On Fire
Keystone Beer
JetBlue Cats
Las Vegas Snowboarding
Map of USA
Map of Vermont
Map of Anywhere
Münchhausen Syndrome
Mot Juste
MTA Death
National Airport
Noose
OJ Simpson Book
OMSI Life Science Labratory
Oysters
Phynol
New Jersey Man Sex With Dead Woman
Rick Fox
Rider Strong
The High Line
Tibet Tongue Greeting
Titties on Tootsies
Train Mountain
Venustraphobia

Oh man.

2007-10-25T23:33:00.000-04:00

It's game two of the World Series but despite the excitement that comes from watching the Red Sox stomp the Colorado expansion team 13-1 last night, it's a little lonely being a Boston fan in New York. It's nice to get the regular stream of text messages from out of town loved ones who are watching from different states and time zones, but the excitement is a little lacking when my usual '07 post season companion isn't around to spend 4 hours on the couch with, watching the game and eating ourselves sick with take out. This could be seen as, perhaps, a pedestrian metaphor for things as of late. A lot of exciting things are happening right now, to follow through with this terrible analogy it feels somewhat like I am in the World Series of my education: I'm learning more than I have in, well, ever (stolen base!). I'm teaching at Wadleigh High School, a public school in Harlem (sacrifice fly to left field!). I'm writing and turning out content on a daily basis (home run!). But there's nobody to really share my excitement with, just like right now, while I am sitting in my living room with a bowl of quinoa and a cup of green tea, I feel like an idiot every time I find myself yelling at the television. This is no ones fault, and due mostly to the fact that I am busy as shit and the first thing to take a back seat is the kind of social life I was used to swimming in in Los Angeles and Boston. This is no fault of my friends either, but more of an overflowing need to spill about my good fortune to someone in person. They're all wonderful people, the close ones just all happen to be far away (yeah, stick that in your Meta-Emo Pipe and smoke it).

In Person. That's the clincher.

I miss being part of a pack, which has left me thinking a lot about that vague, sloppy high school time in Eugene - that invincible time when we owned everything and moved together like wolves. I miss apartments where you just show up. I miss not having to ask where we're going. I miss hopping the fence up by where Pre Fontain died to sit on the ledge that over looks I-5 at 3am with Jesse. I miss that solitary walk home in the rain. I miss just knowing who is going to be there - wherever "there" is. Everyone wants to feel like they belong somewhere, and while I know I am extremely lucky and have a lot of people around the country that are pulling for me, it comes back to the clincher. In Person.

But enough.

It's the bottom of the 7th, 2-1 Boston.

Bike'd!

2007-10-09T11:25:00.000-04:00

It's taken nearly four months of living in New York, but I'm finally the owner of a zippy little used bike who is yet to be named (though I am sure it will be something waspy and fabulous).

After some last minute seat adjusting (thanks for all the free allan wrenches, Ikea!) I took my inaugural run at the Williamsburg Bridge this morning. The past few days have been unfortunately hot, but the heat broke this morning and my ride was under beautiful slate skies that were, and still are, threatening rain. The day is eerily reminiscent to an Oregon morning, the kind that makes me home sick, but also happy that I still find joy in what others would consider gloom and doom weather.

The ride itself was wonderful. I ran into a little confusion getting onto the bridge as the north bound walkway was closed, and I'd only ever walked from Manhattan to Brooklyn on the bridge and never in the reverse direction. But after a few loops I figured it out. It's hard to live a sedentary life in this city, but even despite the amount of walking I put in on a regular basis, I'm not as fit as I've been in the past and was wheezing a little when I hit the crest of the bridge. I have confidence that taking these kinds of morning runs on a more regular basis will put me in the kind of shape that doesn't have me coasting down the other side sounding like an old man sucking the last drags of his oxygen tank.

Now, back in beautiful Bushwick, it's all coffee, bagels and writing until I am scuttled off to class tonight.

Today reeks with The Good Feeling.

I Like It When You Smile.

2007-09-17T00:29:00.000-04:00

Had a little moment on the subway the other day. After another fairly intense day of schooling and some construction on the 1,2,3 trains that looked like it was going to push my rush hour commute from the upper west side to Brooklyn to a little over an hour, a very nice looking young man on the subway smiled at me. And the nice part was that he had the confidence to maintain eye contact long enough for me to smile back. It was nice and, at least from where I was observing the situation, healthily removed from the normally sexually charged, if not rather smarmy interactions that I've started to become used to dealing with our wonderful system of rails.

Speaking of men, it's been a bit of a shock to the system the frequency I've been talked to, and subsequently asked out, by total strangers lately. The Bike shop in Bushwick, the bookstore, buying toilet paper in the grocery store, etc. And these are all legitimate male attempts, I'm not counting the psst psst pssts from construction workers or that bi-weekly I'm getting called Shorty or Mommy. Granted, it's not something I'm interested in right now, or even really have the time or energy for, but I'm not going to lie... a little ego stroking has been nice. Who knows, I could always start cashing in on the free dinners when the money starts to get tight and I get bored of pasta. I kid, I kid. Kind of.

This weekend I attended my first Columbia writing party, which was thankfully in Brooklyn and within biking distance. I am still sans having a bike of my own, which will hopefully be fixed soon, but luckily I've befriend folks who have them in abundance. The weather here has started to hint at fall and besides a few rain drops early on, it was a beautiful night. I was happy that my fears that social events of this caliber would be early evenings of scrabble, or 18th century Mad Libs were dispelled, but the whole event was well socially lubricated and I had the pleasure of meeting some good people.

The rain picked up again for our ride home and were cause for, mixed with a few drinks and my only second attempt on a fixed gear bike, a few near collisions with the curb. But I was asleep before the sun came up and happy to notice that the feeling that Yes, I actually live here, is starting to stick around in longer bursts.

Back in the Academic Saddle.

2007-09-09T00:21:00.000-04:00

It's here. It feels great.

I moved into the new apartment about a week ago, out of the stranger's* air conditioned futon room and into my own little Bushwick hovel with an awesome lady named Kate. I was telling people I lived in "East Williamsburg" for about 3 days, which is a completely real estate agent invented area, but now I'm owning the fact it's Bushwick. The neighborhood is oddly reminiscent of Echo Park, though mostly Puerto Rican. Lots of families, folks sitting outside their shallow store fronts (most notably a man who sits daily on the cement in his swim trucks with his water hose and pair of pet turtles), and early eager church goers who attend the booming and emphatic church services across the street.

School has just closed it's first week and is proving to be as intense and wonderful as I hoped. I'm reading roughly three books a week and writing like it's as necessary as taking in oxygen. I've met a few amazing people and have started, albeit just my new friend Anna and I, a Brooklyn contingent of Columbia Writing students. Our ultimate goal is to lure our worthy peers out to our neck of the woods and away from the upper west side. Maybe I've been conditioned by the two hour cross town bus rides I used to take in Los Angeles, but the commute isn't as scary as it sounds, I promise.

I'm still riding out the last waves of some intense impostor syndrome I picked up during orientation, but finally having some friends who are invested in the same interest as myself is insanely refreshing and is giving me a much better sense of where my writing lays in the grand scheme of things.

It's good to be back in it.

(*the strangers apartment actually turned out to be a very friendly, comfortable place to stay with really good people and some amazing cats)

A Place To Lay My Head

2007-08-15T10:09:00.001-04:00

No sleeping in the park for me! I've found a place to call home come September, as well as a two week sublet for the remainder of August. However, the stress of rigorously looking for an apartment for the past three weeks has left me with one hell of a cold. Body aches, sore throat, headache, the works! I called on the aid of Nyquil to get me through the night.

Next time I will take only a child's sized dose.

I think I passed out around 10:30pm while trying to watch and episode of season four of The Wire on my computer, only to wake up a few hours (or maybe a few minutes) later, stumble to the bathroom and trip over nearly everything between my bed and the toilet. Then there was the journey getting back to the bed, which I woke up in this morning with my head where my feet should be, and a few memories of crazy dreams I'm hoping were only dreams. Upon fully gaining consciousness I checked my phone for any possible Robo Calls I might have made, nothing except the memory of telling Vanessa I'd return her call and never did. My text message folders were mysteriously emptied; meaning some kind of delusional phone use took place, which warranted a preemptive apology to the usual victim of the majority of my text messages. I was assured that I hadn't sent anything, but am still wary.

Oh, sweet sweet over the counter drugs.

So tonight, despite the congestion and death-warmed-over feeling, I will haul my stuff to trendy tredy Bedford Ave for two weeks on a stranger’s air mattress, then another move to a much more down to earth neighborhood where I can finally start to put down some roots.

Viva La Starting Over!

Homelessness!

2007-08-12T17:52:00.000-04:00

Despite the limited readership I have going here, I figured it wouldn't hurt to lay out my dilemma.

I'm in a sublet situation who's end date is rapidly approaching (next Friday at the latest), and would like to implore anyone who knows a friend of a friend of a cousin of an ex girlfriend's dog walker who needs a roommate. I'm looking to stick around Brooklyn as it is where 99.9% of my friends call home, but a nice fat loan means I've got a respectable amount of cash for rent.

The past few weeks of Craigslisting has left me with a migraine. Accounts of those horror stories to come, I'm sure.

So hey, know someone? Give 'em my email.

Brie.Bouslaugh@gmail.com

Thanks Mom Didn't Have An Abortion, Or My Birthday Wouldn't Be Today!

2007-08-10T10:56:00.000-04:00

My Twenty Fourth Year, in haiku.

August 2006:
One year in Cali
Ashley and Cian get hitched
I just used "Cali"?

September 2006:
Internet research.
WebMD is for suckers,
More like: FearMD

October 2006:
Life changes so fast.
Space aged chairs and vitamins
But still no answer.

Novemebr 2006:
Is this what it's like
To be a trucker's wife? Oh.
My house is too big.

December 2006:
Florida is hot.
Reuniting feels real good,
Albeit short lived.

Janurary 2007:
George Costanza says:
"Brie, you're the voice of my dreams."
Is that weird? Thought so.

February 2007:
I'm moving next month.
L.A. is over for me.
Tying up loose ends.

March 2007:
My stuff in boxes.
Last bus ride across L.A.
Flat Rate Movers, move.

April 2007:
In Connecticut.
Forgotten what rain feels like.
Bike rides on the beach.

May 2007:
Work with high schoolers.
"Would you like butter on that?"
At home: Sleep walking.

June 2007:
How do you haiku
The hardest month of your life?
I guess you just don't.

July 2007:
New York: hot pea soup.
Makes me slow down, work it out.
Thunder and good people.

August 2007:
Another wedding.
Back to Academia,
World looks right side up.

Ok ok. So there is a reason I didn't go into poetry.

But on a more verbose note, I've always liked having the late summer birthday. Sure, it made me the youngest in my class, and I never got to bring cupcakes into school for it... but I've always felt that fresh new day feeling I suppose many feel on New Years Eve. Having spent nearly all but the past two years on the school year/harvesting schedule, my August birthday is like the last step on the diving board before jumping into the new cycle of things. I'm hoping it is a mind set I can ride into the approaching school year.

But more importantly, more immediately, I have a birthday evening to attend. Tonight's plans include the possible ingestion of red meat and whiskey. I'll know how it turns out tomorrow.

Yeti: A Love Story

2007-08-01T17:28:00.000-04:00

Two years ago a beautiful story of love was immortalized on film by Eric Gosslin and Adam Deyoe, who extended the pleasure to "act" in such a spectacular feat of cinema to the majority of their close friends, myself included. It was initially screened in Los Angeles to mixed reviews. Any negativity mainly coming from parents, the easily offended, the weak stomached, and squares.

After some wheeling and dealing the film was taken under the wing of Lloyd Kaufman and picked up for distribution by Troma Team Video. The same company that brought us such favorites like The Toxic Avenger, Tromeo and Juliet, and Poultrygeist.

So, in a little feat of self and friend promotion, I give you the trailer to this gem. A little sneak peek at the 60 minutes that has most definitely ruined a lot of peoples chances at holding office or working with small children.

Six Weeks Down.

2007-07-30T11:10:00.001-04:00

It's been a month and a half since New York livin' began. Six crazy weeks, but after a lot of ups and about triple the downs, I think I am finally starting to hit my stride here.

The day before I left Connecticut I got a call from Jesse in Chicago, but opted to not pick up as the stress of moving had me in no mood to chat and I neglected my voice mail until a few hours later. I've known Jesse since I was a freshman at South Eugene High School, and in the past 10 years have only heard this tone in his voice a few times. I called him back to find out that an old friend from Eugene, Davey, had been in a car accident with his family and killed. Death isn't something I've had to process much in my life, my grandma Maddie being the first and most impacting, and then a few acquaintances who've all been killed in ways that seem to happen more like bad dreams than real events. But despite my fortunately limited experience with death, my knee jerk reaction to get angry has been a constant in all occasions. Because, despite the cliche, it's not fair. Call me a cynical non-believer, but by and large I don't buy into the "things happen for a reason" propaganda. Hey, if it works for you, then by all means more power to ya. I don't think it's a foolish thing to tell yourself, but in the same way I find it impossible to suspend my disbelief that there is a higher order who has created some kind of plan for me, I can't wrap my brain around the idea that I am on some predestined track. Stupid selfish mortal! Yeah, maybe. But if I didn't think that I was in complete control over my momentum in life, what's the point of putting down the snicker doodles and getting off the couch. Davey didn't die for a reason. He died because a douche bag in a hurry ran a red light. And that's just not fair.

When anything that can even remotely fall in the category of "bad things" happen, the little clean up crew in my head automatically goes into "what next" mode. Something bad happened, what's the next step, where do we go from here, how do we fix this. Unfortunately, with death there isn't really anywhere to go, which, for me, makes it one of the more difficult things to process.

Finding out about Davey was the kick off to a string of other life altering low moments that started to lay themselves out over the next month. Some of the life essentials, Health, Relationships, and Money all hit major speed bumps and left my intangible quality of life at an all time low.

What next?
Where do we go from here?

It's been a long down swing, and waiting for that pendulum to start ascending back on up again has been - I'm not ashamed to say - a serious test of will to not pick up my toys and go home. But life soldiers on and after six weeks of struggling to keep my head above water I started to get the good feeling again. Although nothing has changed in any of the aforementioned list, it feels like the upswing has begun again. I've done what I can to surround myself with good people who keep me laughing and thinking, and are good at keeping me pretty stoked about life. Rebuilding the strong social support system I'm used to has been a tough, but it'll happen.

So enough of this emo crap. The Mom and the Brother Dude are in town, which is always a good time and a good way to recharge the batteries. A detailed account of our exploits in New York to come...

A Waterfall of Coincidence.

2007-07-01T17:06:00.000-04:00

There have been three constants in my life recently, none of which I would ever imagine to be connected to one another: Watching Battle Star Galactica, preparing to attend Columbia University, and standing by (as either a help or a hindrance) and witnessing Scott deal with his ever present and ever frustrating Lyme Disease.

Then some how they seemed to all come together. Below is a video of Mary McDonnell, a lead from the geeky Si-Fi show I enjoy, making the inaugural address as spokes person for LDA the at the opening of the new Columbia University Chronic Lyme Disease Center.

Watching Scott go through the courses of this disease, namely over the past year or so, has generated a lot of thoughts and feelings I can't seem quite able to find the where-with-all to get out, to put down on paper or on the keyboard. They'll come out someday, but until then I can't encourage you enough to watch this video. Mary McDonnell is a beautiful speaker and for those who are unfamiliar or virtually unaware of what kind of ordeal Chronic Lyme Disease can be, she gives a pretty clear picture in only 10 minutes of video.

I Made It!

2007-06-17T13:15:00.000-04:00

Rolled in late afternoon to a storming New York. The heat that had been vicious that morning was slain by the some spectacular rips of thunder and lightening and some steamy rain.

It feels good to be here.

I'm Movin' On Up To The East Side - Or - It's Time Get Clothes With Intentional Holes, I'm Moving to Brooklyn

2007-06-12T23:56:00.001-04:00

In Los Angeles it's hard to escape Hollywood, even when you're not in Hollywood. It seeps into people without notice, some people love it and some do their best to rally against it, but before you know it, you can divide your friends into two groups: the ones with their own personal business cards and the ones without. I am aware this is an unavoidable unpleasantry of living in either of America's largest cities and although I'm usually one of the first in line to bitch about the grotesqueness of "professional networking" and everything that goes along with it (i.e. "the schmooze" "the small talk" "the fake laugh at dumb joke")... there is something to be said about the reverse, more organic practice of social networking. People helping people.

Got a little does of this recently, ending in place to lay my head for the summer in Greenpoint thanks to a friend of a friend of the Brother Dude, and a job that'll have me spending my days down and around the NYU area. I'll be on the look out for a more permanent place sometime in August, but it seems like a good place with good people, and I am happy to finally be making the move. The relentless summer heat has begun, rolling in that sticky humidity that you can taste when you breathe. I love it. It screams BBQs and night walks, sleeping with the windows open and cold showers three times a day. The gradual daily increase in temperature also means one other exciting things: that they will eventually decrease, and I'll start to pull jackets and scarves out of the closet. I'm once again in the land of distinctive and palpable seasons and I am thrilled. Despite the ease and regularity of 70 degree days in Los Angeles, that heavy dose of vitamin D isn't necessarily all it's cracked up to be. I had trouble keeping track of time. I was off the academic schedule that I'd been following for most of my life and my memories of the first year I spent in Southern California seem to all run together in my head as one long long summer. So, despite the biting cold that takes your breath away and the rain puddles you end up ruining your new shoes in, I'm ready to have my seasonal clock back.

So this Saturday I am throwing as much as it takes to start living like a turtle again into the trunk of a friends car and setting up for the next chapter. New Jack City.

Act Your Age! - Or - Why I Could Work As A Decoy On "To Catch A Predator"

2007-05-22T00:41:00.000-04:00

It's funny how people talk to you when they've miss judged your age by at least 7 years. Maybe it's a clear sign I need to get a haircut or some new clothes, but I've been getting mistaken for a 16 year old quite frequently these days. So, out of a good dose of boredom and a general inherent glee I get from watching people take their false assumptions and run, I've stopped correcting these folks when they grin idiotically while talking about how college is great and that I should "definitely look into Greek life."

I've stopped trying to politely drop hints about my real age and just started playing along. Get a little doe-eyed and start adding an upward inflection to the end of your sentences and you'll be getting free bike parts (the one you bought with your very own money, from your very first real job), or an extra pump of cherry syrup in your coke (because you must feel like such a big girl to be out at a restaurant without your mom) before you know it.

Today I got a talk about how Hpnotiq was the top shelf liquor choice of minors, as well as the perils of getting student housing and how "girls get evil" after high school.

I take it as a good omen of things to come, that I'll have the luxury to age as gracefully as my mother, but boy does it ever make me feel bad for (wait for it...) "kids these days." Teenagers are people too, you know. For the same reason's it's a bad idea to talk down to the men and women of the service industry - for fear of a wad of snot in your food, perhaps we should reconsider how we talk to the self conscious, awkward boys and girls of the current teen generation - at the very least as a precaution so as not to get a big wet snot wad in our future.

But hey, at least no one is asking me to buy them beer.