two wheels, one borough, and a little time.

i tend to believe you are what you choose.

i was walking down 7th ave today after work, somewhere between 26th and 23rd and found myself looking around and thinking "this is good."

if you've ever walked down 7th ave between 26th and 23rd, you'll know it takes a special sort of determination to choose to have a moment of clarity in this certain stretch of the city (unless FITers and Chipotle = enlightenment for you; not so for me). so, yeah, it's not a particularly lovely part of the city. no, scratch that: it's overwhelmingly unspectacular.

nevertheless, here i am ... 4pm ... unshowered ... overclothed ... stickyhumidfacesweathot ... thinking "this is good."

i've found my life has taken a drastic change for the better since i decided to start choosing to feel good about it. and there's something weirdly empowering and awesome about that.

a month ago i left the Apartment of Doom and relocated to an old italian neighborhood in brooklyn. i bought a bike last weekend. i have a kitchen again. i have a farmers market. and a coffee shop.

yesterday i was buying a subway card and the guy next to me asked "are you visiting the city?"** and i think i looked up at him incredulously, frowning, and said "psht no i LIVE here." it was a weird moment of pride and camaraderie that six months ago i would have told you i'd never, EVER give this city the satisfaction of coaxing out of me.

but now, after a few months and a whole lot of brooklyn, i am perfectly content.

**dude, let's not assume this reflects poorly on my metrocard-buying skills. i do that shit like a pro, son. i think he was just taken aback by my offer to give him the buck he needed to buy a card. take the girl outta washington but ....

dirty grout and all

i'm sure at one point the grout on my kitchen floor was white. there is some, scant, evidence that this was once the case: if you get down on your knees near the garbage can (though oh god please don't) and dust away the scum of a thousand years you might catch a glimpse of white. everywhere else, though, is jet black.

since moving here in august, this kitchen has been my particular bane. i adore a kitchen. my old kitchen was (i now realize) a special kind of amazing. i lived in it. i cooked, every day, in it. it always smelled good. it was shiny.

so you're thinking, katie, yeah your new kitchen sounds gross; clean it up. well, herein lies the problem: the scum is now beyond me. bigger than me. i've surrendered.

on my flight back to nyc after christmas, i think in an attempt to not cry into the seatback in front of me, i hatched an elaborate scheme to scrub, clean, sanitize the apartment. i come from a particularly obsessive tribe of cleaners: dirt and grime our mortal enemies. we vacuum often, we sanitize things, we don't like piles, we attack bad smells, we bleach, we organize.

when i landed, sleep deprived and homesick, my first move was to go to the drugstore and stock my artillery: rubber gloves, bleach, three sizes of scrub brushes. this is how i deal with stress.

so i started in the kitchen, scrubbing the stovetop, cleaning the inside of the microwave, wiping down the cabinets. then came the floor. i have a very narrow kitchen, so i didn't have the chance, nor a reason, to see under the cabinets prior to this moment.

let me tell you, friends, there is a special breed of scum that grows in new york city that our dear, dear pacific northwest, even with all of its moss and mold and wet, will never, ever, EVER compete with. i think it's probably a given that after 250 years on a tiny island with 8 million people, some shit is bound to accumulate.

i get down on my knees on my kitchen floor and find that there is no longer a 90 degree angle between floor and wall, but rather a gentle slope of grime and grit from floor to cupboard bottom. i breathe, i grab brush, i go to work. after about two hours of scrubbing, it remains. it is impenetrable. i scrub, i douse with god awful chemicals, i mop, i repeat. and still, the scum.

disheartened, i have retreated. i have no further plan of attack. it is a mess i cannot conquer. and so, i continue to avoid my kitchen. heartbreak.

this is one battle in several that have seemed insurmountable since arriving in this city five months ago. it's impossible to conquer everyone else's dirt and bad habits and crappy attitudes, so you just retreat. i think this passivity is something that most people here praise: you give up the comforts and the little things to just LIVE in the GREATEST city in the WORLD. or something to that effect. i have yet to discover the rewards of this sacrifice. instead i've found it to be mostly numbing and claustrophobic.

This is water

This morning I woke up at 10 a.m. to a soundtrack of Top 40 R&B slow jams, courtesy of a guy sitting outside my window in his car, drinking a 40 ... windows rolled down, no regard for those of us trying to enjoy a slow Sunday morning. After two hours (I'm not kidding), he walked across the street and peed on the apartment building across from mine. When I left my apartment at 1:00, he was still there; though the soundtrack had changed from Rhianna to some sort of Mexican polka.

Sometime during this whole debacle, I collected myself enough to sit down and read the NYT online ... only to discover that David Foster Wallace committed suicide on Friday.

I think this is as good a time as any to break this out: 2005 Kenyon University Commencement Speech. My mantra for the past several years. Ringing especially true these days of new and rude and dirty and uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

This is water. This is water. This is water.

R.I.P. D.F.W.

Never too early to talk about yule logs.

Those who know me well know the fervor with which I celebrate Christmas. It is the apex of my year. In fact, just the other day, I was thinking "Wow, summer is almost over. It's almost Christmastime!" That's right, in my mental calendar fall is not fall, but rather the prelude to "Christmastime."

I'm not too proud to admit that one of the main reasons I'm excited about living in New York this next year is being there for the month of December. The Christmas decorations, the Rockefeller Christmas pomp and circumstance, the department store windows, the lights on the Empire State Building, the Rockettes, the general feel of the holiday hustle on a scale larger than I've ever seen before. This is a town that does Christmas.

So, imagine my surprise, nay goddamned falling-out-of-chair-with-excitement-ness , when I read this:

The campus Tree-Lighting Ceremony is a relatively new tradition at Columbia, inaugurated in 1998. It celebrates the illumination of the medium-sized trees lining College Walk in front of Kent and Hamilton Halls on the east end and Dodge and Journalism Halls on the west, just before finals week in early December. The lights remain on until February 28. Students meet at the sun-dial for free hot chocolate, performances by various a cappella groups, and speeches by the university president and a guest.

Immediately following the College Walk festivities is one of Columbia's older holiday traditions, the lighting of the Yule Log. The ceremony dates to a period prior to the Revolutionary War, but lapsed before being revived by University President Nicholas Murray Butler in the early 20th century. A troop of students dressed in Continental Army soldiers carry the eponymous log from the sun-dial to the lounge of John Jay Hall, where it is lit amid the singing of seasonal carols.[7] The ceremony includes readings of A Visit From St. Nicholas' by Clement Clarke Moore (Columbia College class of 1798) and Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus by Francis Pharcellus Church (Class of 1859).

The more I learn about Columbia, the deeper in love I fall.

Things I Have Accomplished In the Last 48 Hours; Or, Get Me Off This Crazy Train Called Moving Across the Country

The following things happened between yesterday morning and right this second, giving me official cause to tell this move to "bring it, sucka" because I am knocking shit out of the proverbial park.

1. I have a place to live in New York City. Repeat: I have a place to live in New York City. I had to somewhat let go of my ideal Upper West Side quaint studio scenario in a move that is, in the end, totally, mind-blowingly convenient. I'll be four blocks from school, a ten minute walk from the Fairway, and a few blocks from the 1 line which runs from the top to the bottom of Manhattan. Fully furnished. Sigh. And Olive will have a playmate! Deposit sent. Lease in the mail.

2. I have initiated email introductions with two of my new roommates. A teacher, a poly sci grad student and me. Quite the serendipitous combo?

3. Student loans are finalized. Repeat: student loans are finalized!!! Yes!!! And in an odd turn of events, I think I'll actually be acquiring less debt than I would had I stayed in Seattle and done the full-time MPA program at UW. I mean, there are many reasons why that would have been a disastrous choice regardless, but whatever, conscience cleared.

4. "Cat Business" ... I'm lumping this into one because holy hell moving across the country with a cat is an ordeal. But, Olive officially has a vet visit in which I will pay a doctor $80 to look at my cat for five minutes and give me some sort of State-approved certificate that says she's healthy and can travel on a plane. I also managed to track down the Jet Blue-approved pet carrier at Mud Bay and am picking it up after work today. Also, there will be cat valium. Which hopefully doubles as people valium.

5. Discovering that my Columbia ID gets me into most every museum in the city for free. While one R. Matthews pointed out that the museums are all mostly "by donation" anyway, what jerk actually has ever demanded a ticket without paying? I don't have the balls. And now, I don't have to!

6. I have a plane ticket. I have a plane ticket. I have a plane ticket. On August 22nd, 2008 at 11:59 p.m. I will leave the Pacific Northwest from whence* I entered: Portland, Oregon. What? Your mind is blown in the fluidity of that Circle of Life connection I just made there? I think I just gagged.

7. Lost most, if not all, humility. I'M GOING TO NEW YORK CITY IN 23 DAYS! YEAAAAAAAYYYYYYY! Humility be damned!

Siiiigh.

*I know this is technically redundant, but "I will leave the Pacific Northwest whence I entered it" just doesn't sound right so bite me.

Home and Heartbreak: 120 Hours in Cowlitz County

Hopes were high for this week.

I had five days away from work and plans to spend the 4th of July in my hometown, where I've spent nearly every 4th in my 25 years. I've been hard on my hometown in the past. There are drugs, abandoned industries, poverty, the persistently declining graduation rate of my high school ... all cyclical. The truth is, though, having been away for some seven years, I can now say that the 18 years I spent there, nestled in the sort of idyllic middle-class, blue-collar neighborhood where everyone knows everyone in every well-kept Dutch Colonial on every tree-lined block, well, they're the kind of 18 years I plan to give to my future herd of little nerds.

And the 4th of July, well, the 4th of July is when my hometown gets all gussied up. The population swells as all of the Cowlitz Countians flock to Lake Sacajawea in the center of town to wait an hour in line for elephant ears and buy tatty kitsch at the flea market and watch burly loggers run with chainsaws at the lumberjack competition. People stake out their spots on the lake bank early in the morning for the night's fireworks show ... which every other year seems to suffer from some sort of technical malfunction (which we all willingly forget every year). As a kid, you went to the lake to catch up with friends during summer break. You convinced your 6th grade boyfriend to buy you a glow stick and an ice cream cone and let you hold his hand during the fireworks' Grand Finale. In college, it became the event for which everyone gathered back in town from their respective college campuses, to see the people they haven't seen in months, years. Even at 24, the nostalgia far outweighs my angst at the preponderance of "Speak English or Get Out of My Country" bumper stickers.

So in some sort of ironic twist of whatever, on Day One of my annual Go 4th Nostalgia Fest, I managed to get myself dumped by my high school boyfriend. Thud.

As I get ready for my year in the nation's biggest metropolis, I've been grappling with these ideas of home and belonging and such as, like. Do I really want to be on the East Coast? Am I crazy to abandon my Pacific Northwest, which I will argue with anyone is one of the most stunning places on Earth? Am I a big BIG city girl? I like to think the answers to those questions are no, yes, no, but that's another story altogether. Back to my broken heart.

As I was sitting on my parents' couch ruminating over the fact that I was just text dumped by the long-time apple of my eye, I realized that the place no longer felt like home. I wanted nothing more than to be back in Seattle. I wanted my kitchen, I wanted my market, I wanted to walk up to Kerry Park and watch the ferries cross the bay or sit on the patio at Linda's and bullshit with friends, new and old. Yeah I've been hard on Seattle at times too (too corporate, too fratty, not Portland, etc. etc.) but those are only on my bad days.

Seattle is the place where, over the past seven years, I've grown into my own. I like my Seattle life, my Seattle self, immensely. And I'm just coming to realize, as I box up my apartment, that I'm going to miss both, immensely, this year.

My hometown is my hometown, but Seattle, well, Seattle is now home. I'm going to miss her. Talk about heartbreak.

I need company

So there are a couple of things I am currently, desperately, physical-pain-in-gut missing at the moment. 50% of that couple-of-things, well, I am too coy to blab on about on my blog (though you know I'd love to shout it out). The other 50% of that couple-of-things is my cat. Last night it was raining (it is taking a marked effort on my part to not focus all of my energy right now on hating this horrible, horrible prolonged winter, fyi) and after a long day at work, a longer than usual workout, and a confusing (to the brink of tears) discussion with the financial aid dept at TC, all I really wanted to do was sit on the couch, pop in my "John Adams" dvds (nerd) and not think about life. Once I accomplished this, however, I realized what I really wanted to do was sit on the couch, pop in my "John Adams" dvds and not think about life ... while cuddling with my cat. I miss her desperately. I miss having a weird little personality around to contend with. You should never underestimate the impact of a fuzzy ball of fluff and purrs on your happiness.

It also does not help the situation (warning: most selfish statement of all up ahead) that she is currently living with her sister and happy as a clam. And at the end of August, I'm going to take her to New York so she can be a lonely apartment cat again. Am I the worst mother ever? Perhaps.

Me? Sad sack.

Officially a student again...

That's right, I officially have a schedule for fall semester, and I couldn't be more excited. Let's just put the nerdy right out there. I'm taking:

Education & Public Policy; Political Policy Analysis in Education; Social & Political History of American Education Reform; Probability & Statistical Inference; and (hopefully) the Federal Policy Institute

I say "hopefully" on FPI because it appears to be quite legendary at TC:

Rated by TC students as “a course that changed my career,” the Federal Policy Institute examines historical and current debates over federal educational policy-making through an intensive week-long institute in Washington, DC linked with preparatory and follow-up sessions at Teachers College. While in Washington, participants will meet with leading policy makers from the legislative and executive branches of government, along with prominent representatives from key professional, advocacy, think tank, and member organizations. Upon return from Washington, students will prepare a policy analysis and present mock testimony on an educational policy topic germane to their interests.

Not only that, the course is taught by Sharon Lynn Kagan, who is Big Deal, A when it comes to Early Education Policy. I swoon.

Hey Manhattan, you ready for this?

Because it's 41 degrees and pouring and the first afternoon of Spring Break here at the Law School and it's deserted and I'm so completely hungry and lacking for good things to eat and people are sending me tom cruise videos and ruining my day, I've decided to start a countdown! An official(ish) countdown! It is 99% certain that this fall I will be packing up my closet, my cat and my le creusets and embarking on the classic "West Coast Girl Hits Manhattan" journey.

We'll ignore the fact that Columbia has been slightly shit about telling me anything other than, "Hey! You're accepted! Come visit us in May! Get Vaccinated!" and instead put to use my fabulous deduction skills to guesstimate (yes, that's a technical term, asshole) that I will be arriving on the Isle of Manhattan on or around the 29th of August. Yeah yeah, so it's technically only for a year at this point, but still, let me have fun with it. I'm kind of wishing I had a big steamer trunk, just for the effect, but that's another issue. Blah blah yeah yeah, here's the countdown:

158 DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!

please

I've been single for what, three weeks now? I'm already dreading it.

Guy walks into bar. Feels need to put hands on me. I give "Get le fuck off" look. He goes. Comes back. While apologizing for touching me, touches me again. Manages to go touch all of my friends soon after.

I get out of the cab in front of my house. Drunk dudes yelling "Hey baby wanna come with us? Baby come with us yeah"

And the worst part is, I'm pretty sure they have the potential to get even douchier in new york. that special kind of brooklyn douchey on top of your traditional, popped collar douchebag. Oi.

I'ma go eat some thin mints and get my hope back.

the one pool where i'd happily drown

ah new york was a whirlwind. it was a beautiful weekend. seventy degrees and perfect. i walked my feet to complete disrepair. they hurt in every way imaginable. everytime i go to new york i do so with the hope that she'll sweep me off my feet. that something in me will wake and i will have no choice but to new york or perish. she is a great city. things happen there. people and taxis and art and money and food and clothes and ahhhh. but there's something foreboding about her. this constant feeling that if you turn the wrong corner, she'll swallow you alive. but you love her all the same. i'm listening to lcd soundsystem right now and the singer just said "new york's the greatest if you get someone to pay your rent." and i laughed. not much on earth rivals a stroll through the west village in the sunshine with a few cupcakes. adam is convinced the city won't survive the next few years. i like to think that's not true, but also think that probably adds to the eerie feeling. it's hard to be an "american" and not feel completely protective of new york. it is the most american place on earth. and not in a flag-waving post-9/11 god bless sort of way. people work so hard. you can feel the blood and sweat all over. it's exhilarating and exhausting in every second. i came home to seventy-five degrees and perfect. and my dahlias are blooming. it's a different world here. not better. just different. (i'll try and hassle adam into getting me some of the pictures he took.)

it's a hell of a town ...

found a message on my phone from adam this morning asking if i wanted to meet up with half of his london crew in new york this weekend. as if he needed to ask. unfortunately, we picked a bad weekend for a cheap getaway. what the hell is going on in new york this weekend? it took us all day to find an available hotel. but it's found! deal is done! nyc + me = tomorrow night! last time i was in new york it was a little bit of a whirlwind and i never really got my bearings. that happens when i don't get to walk my way around a new place. it was also february and ass cold. so i never made it north of the met. oh but this time harlem, this time columbia, i'll drop by. it's supposed to be sunny and 60s all weekend. hallelujah. nothing else is really on the agenda. i'm thinking some flea markets and some soho and some moma. and a nice sunshiny stroll through the park. also secretly want to go to the public library. ahhh. come on new york. second date? let's give it a shot.