And So it Goes

A lot happened, and I could explain my thought processes, my debates of changing this from "New York Jakey" to my old one called "Jakey Stays Put", originally titled when my dream of attending school in Tampa, Florida was thwarted and I ended up attending school in Wisconsin, a whole 'nother canof worms. But, y'know what? I'm not going to write anything deep. I'm just going to say what is going on.

I moved back home last week. My mom and Aunt Jen drove me from Brooklyn to Minneapolis. I spent the entire time in the back seat, like an eight-year-old. It was representative of my life in many ways.



Over the 4th of July I returned to Stout to reunite with college friends. Like usual, I tried to not focus on "If I stayed" and just tried to be present, but we could have played a drinking game to "Had I stayed" and we all would have had alcohol poisoning. My brother drove me the 70 miles, which was very nice of him, and after spending the previous two and a half days in a car, I now feel that the Minneapolis-to-Menomonie trip is a piece of cake.

That Saturday, I had a tearful reunion with the original star of The UW, Betsy Ross!



For those of you who were not viewers of Season One of The UW, Betsy Ross and I were best friends when I was a freshman as a result of her dating my roommate, Whitey, for five seconds. Along with her roommate, Tina, the three of us were inseparable. But then Betsy got a boyfriend, and I needed a new posse, and while I still held her fondly in my heart, we didn't hang out as much anymore. We further drifted apart because Betsy does not use Facebook, MySpace, AIM, or text messaging, and maintaining our friendship required writing her notes on stationery. Nevertheless, she saw me and Jess walking around Menomonie on a "nature walk" (I called it this because we had left our cell phones at home), and she actually sent me a text message asking if I was in town! It was a delight to reunite with her.

That Saturday in the college town, a boy came to the house and he had a definite "boy bander" name. I managed to act like an adult when he was in our presence, but the minute he left I started hyperventilating like a sixth-grader at a Backstreet Boys concert in 1998. It was not my proudest moment. Then I added him on Facebook and he didn't add me back for FIVE WHOLE DAYS. I have now come up with the term "Facebook Anxiety", when you add someone and you await their pending request with great anguish.

The next afternoon, my friend Jess and I rode our bikes to the bar and I inexplicably brought along my toy wrestling belt.




Believe it or not, we weren't the only oddballs in the group, as other people at the bar were wearing wigs and oversize hats. One of them, a girl from North Dakota, came up to us to inform us that I was "pretty small to be the heavyweight champion."



In true Wisconsin fashion, I ordered a mug of Leinenkugel's (the only beer I like) and felt very manly, but then Jess and I ordered double drinks called "Pretty in Pink", which threw that whole feeling. We invited our good friend Mo Pang to come with us. She slept over that night and was sent home from her shift at Applebee's earllier in the day after she kept bringing food to the wrong table.




Menom was a blast, but all good things must come to an end, and I returned back to my melancholy existence in Minneapolis, preparing to job-hunt like a grown-up.

Returning to Minneapolis, I did end up getting a job. It is in North Minneapolis and is at Walgreens. No, it's not the most glamorous or lucrative, but you gotta do what you gotta do. Am I still depressed? Sure. Am I still sneaking vodka in Propel bottles in my room? Not every night. It may not be okay now, but I feel that sooner than later, it will be.

Good-bye

Good-bye New York

Good-bye 2 train
Good-bye loud iPods
Good-bye subway preachers
Good-bye subway beggars
Good-bye subway singers

Good-bye Brooklyn Bridge
Good-bye random languages
Good-bye sweaty tourists
Good-bye cranky people from outer boroughs

Good-bye Manhattan
Good-bye three dollar hot dogs
Good-bye fifty dollar nights at the club
Good-bye speed-walkers
Good-bye chihuahuas

Good-bye Flatbush
Good-bye P.S. 269
Good-bye energetic children
Good-bye Key Food
Good-bye Derby Liquors
You'll miss me the most

Good-bye Brooklyn College
Good-bye red tape
Good-bye confusion
Good-bye hypersomnia

Good-bye car alarms
Good-bye one-night stands
Good-bye parades
Good-bye police sirens

Good-bye victory
But good-bye defeat
In the end
It'll all be okay

What I've Learned

*Be present. Whether you are at [redacted] High School, partying it up in small-town Wisconsin, or ostensibly living your dream in New York City, it will not last. And you will miss it.

*You can blame your mother for all your unhappiness, but it's not gonna change anything.

But seriously, I'm still pissed.

*You can beat depression on your own, but it sucks. Be honest with yourself and others.

*While it is important to value the opinions of friends, family, and insensitive but well-meaning pop music superstars you meet on the way, in the end your opinion of yourself is most important.

*It's not a race.

When It Rains It Pours

*I had visitors for a week. It was about three days too long as the entire time they fought with each other. One walked too fast, one constantly berated my appearance. Le sigh.

*I spilled Mike's Hard Lemonade on my laptop. It is currently at the computer hospital, and I have no guarantees. I feel like a mother whose child is in a coma.

*I am moving back home in three weeks. If I survive a two-day road trip with my mother I will let you know.

*It's gonna be okay. I think. Life is a journey, and mine has just temporarily gone off the road.

The Present is a Present

I have been doing this thing lately while I try hard to be present, like Rhonda and Iyanla would say on Starting Over. I first really started doing this last month when I visited my former digs at Stout -- just trying to not do the "what if" and the "woulda coulda shoulda" but just recognizing where I am in that moment.

Now that there's a 90% chance that I will not be staying in New York, I am doing that here, too. For the past two days I have walked the Brooklyn Bridge. When the weather is beautiful in New York, I feel there is no excuse not to walk one of the bridges. Today I walked from Brooklyn into Manhattan and even took out my iPod, hearing all of the various foreign languages and rolling my eyes when a crabby lady yelled "BIKE LANE!" to people in her way. I am all about etiquette, but it's a crowded beautiful afternoon on a Saturday. People have to walk in the bike lane, lady, and half the bridge doesn't speak English and the other half is like me and could really give two shits.

I walked around the city today and took AWFUL pictures of random things, and can't wait to post them. I am not a good photographer and have never fancied myself one. I am all about the candids, people. A sailor on the bridge said hello to me and I was not mad. Fleet Week has turned me into even more of a 13-year-old girl than I usually am.

I rode the 2 train back home. I cannot describe the 2 train other than to say that God's people are on it. There's a feeling of community and humanity that I feel seeing all of the families on that train.

Viral Vendredi

THE EMMY WIN 20 YEARS IN THE MAKING



FROM THE 1999 DAYTIME EMMYS

New York

During the five seconds that I was a student at Brooklyn College, I had to write an essay comparing New York to something. I felt like sharing.

Jacob xxxxxx
English 2

Someday New York Will Notice Me
If life is an incredibly abstract version of high school, New York would be the most popular girl at the table in the center of the cafeteria, and we are all the needy wallflowers hoping that she‘ll notice us. Unfortunately, New York, being the social butterfly that she is, does not have enough time and patience for everybody, and it is up to ourselves to be acknowledged.
In New York, it is quite easy to feel like "just a number" (eight million to be exact). There are few places on the planet full of more activity. With the exception of Times Square, people walk as if they are being chased in a horror film. Subway stations are full of businessmen speed-walking in elegant suits and young women going clickety-clack in their heels while staring at their out-of-service cell phones. Streets are filled with more horns than an orchestra. For the pedestrians, crosswalk signs are coincidental.
On crowded sidewalks and subways in New York, people do not apologize after bumping into you or stepping on your shoe. They abstain from apologizing not necessarily out of rudeness, but because it is the result of the environment. They will likely step on at least two more people today. New York separates itself from other places because, being a city of destination, it is a goal-oriented city of doers and dreamers. When you are trotting idly on the sidewalk, you are literally in the way of someone's dream -- and if you dare to be here without one of your own, that's your fault.
While New York is glad you are in her presence and making an addition to what would be her entourage, she does not look out for you. This is not because she is callous, but because it is an impossible task. New York does not have the time to care if you are lonely or out of place. You are not the only lost pedestrian who got off the subway at the wrong time and ended up in Hell’s Kitchen en route to Times Square. You are not the only newcomer wondering why it is impossible to find a 12-pack of soda in lieu of two or three liter bottles -- nor are you the only newcomer who is still learning to call it “soda”, since your colloquialism of “pop” sounds more like a hard drug than a soft beverage. Most importantly, you are not the only dreamer who decided that New York would fix everything if you moved here to attain your financial and personal successes, but upon arrival realized you left your spine somewhere along the way.
But before the city is to be dismissed as one that ignores the plight of its citizens, I have noticed that it has its small moments of comfort. There has been the woman who called me “sweetheart” when I opened the door for her at Duane Reade. There has been the fellow nightclubber who apologized with a terse but sincere “Sorry, bro” after the only way to get through the place was to physically lift me a few inches off the ground and set me back into place. After a little more than 30 days in the city, I am already able to jokingly refer to places as “my home away from home”, such as the Laundromat down the road (they get mad when I turn on The People’s Court, but they’re nice enough and always help when my quarters get stuck), the pizza place that serves the finest I will ever have, and perhaps most fondly, there is the liquor store down the street, owned by a kind man of Asian descent whose ten-year-old son occasionally helps him out. Only in New York does a ten-year-old boy not only inform you of a declined debit card, he does it in a way that suggests this is nothing new for him.
New York is a place of natural congregation, from the foreign-born shop owner who dreams of prosperity to the Montana girl who dreams of stardom. Should one find the fortitude to go after such goals, this is the place to attain them. It is by no means easy to get noticed by New York, as she is impatient, busy and restless. But should we have the confidence to stand up for ourselves and attempt to catch her eye, we will find that she is also vibrant and giving -- and for those of us brave and bold enough to sit at New York’s table, she’s a friend indeed.