Haitian Evangelical

During a winter week that brought single digit temperatures to my city, I felt a tiny bit of island warmth emanating from this Haitian church. I love the blue tiles, and I think it is so interesting that when they converted the brownstone apartment into a church, they added wooden inserts to the main-floor windows to give them that ubiquitous gothic arch that characterizes a building as a church. (Click to enlarge the photo) But the arches are all but hidden by the thick metal grates. I also think that the weathered, plain cross is interesting, and I wonder if it is that way on purpose.

Well, happy Sunday! I will try to post more later... but I've got a busy day ahead.

One Reason I'm Single

Last weekend Dali suggested that I ought to go out after work on Friday. She'd read about this Meetup group called something like Brainiac Singles of New York, and they were going to meet at the MoMA at 6 on Friday night and take advantage of the free admission. She's more proactive than I am about finding things to do around town, and ventures out frequently to try new things and meet new people. So I decided to go, because why not? It couldn't hurt to meet some new people, smart ones at that, and do something I love (walk around an art museum).

So me and two of my other coworkers walked over there after work last Friday evening to try and find the Meetup group. We get out of work after 6 though, so we were late, and while we were milling around in the lobby trying to spot a group that resembled "Brainiacs," I suddenly saw two friends from church. I said hi and introduced them to my coworkers, and we chatted for a moment. When I mentioned that I was there to try and find a Meetup group, all of a sudden this guy who was walking by stopped and said, "Hey! Are you here for the Meetup group? Where is it?" We tried to be friendly, and he introduced himself as Jason, and asked if he could tag along with us. The Brainiacs were no where to be found--they must have already gone in, so we decided to just go in too and make the most of it.

It was nice wandering around the MoMA, because it had been a while since my last time there, and I didn't realize how starved I was for some art. My coworkers and I had a fun time taking in the new exhibitions and talking about our experiences studying art in college. Jason was a good sport and wandered around with us, and I admit he was really nice, but... He stuck to me like glue, which is already a little annoying, and then he said he had never been to a museum before in his life. "What are some good museums to go to in New York?" he asked me, rendering me speechless. I hate to sound like a snob, but how can you live in New York and never have been to a museum? How can you live to your mid-20s or whatever he was, and not go to a museum? So I tried to explain art to him, but that's a little impossible when you're starting from scratch. He didn't get it, either, so that was frustrating. But somehow he kept wanting to talk to me, and at the end of the night as me and my friends parted ways, Jason asked if any of us wanted to get some food, but we all said no--we had to get home. So he was like, "Okay, let me give you my number. Call me the next time you go to a museum." And because I don't know how to say no, I pulled out my phone and he spelled his first and last name for me, and he entered my number in his phone too.

He called me two days later, and left a message, but it was all muffled, so I deleted it. And I didn't call back. Is that mean? I didn't feel any attraction at all, was mildly annoyed by him actually, and am very selfish with my time. I'm not going to go out with someone just because I don't want to be mean, or because they are nice and I feel sorry for them because they've never been to a museum before.

I thought that was the end of it, but then he called me again today. This time I could hear the message clearly, and it said, "Hi, this is Peter. Give me a call back when you get a chance! (muffled sound)" I've been replaying it and replaying it, and am starting to wonder if I'm the crazy one, but I'm positive that when we were at the museum he said his name was Jason. The voice is the same. The muffled sound at the end sounds to me like he is starting to say, "I mean..." but E thinks it sounds like "See ya."

Either way, the question is: Why do I always attract weirdos?!

It's About Time

The last time I saw one of these, I was in Europe. I love it! It's the perfect solution to the problem of vast ugly parking lots. Tiny cars means more people can park in the backlot at Crook's, next to Weaver Street, or in the parking lot of Carrburritos. Or on any street in New York.

Can You See Him?

Sometimes I walk to Columbus Circle after work and catch the train home there. Sometimes when I do this, I pass the Ziegfeld Theater, which tends to play host to a lot of movie premieres. This time it was The Pink Panther II. Because a blizzard was going on at the time (my camera doesn't capture snowfall very well, but trust me--it was blizzardly weather), there were plastic tents covering the entire sidewalk in front of the theater and only a few gawkers trying to peer in, instead of the usual throng. I arrived just in time to barely make out the figure of a person with white hair making his way down the line, shaking hands, pausing for photographs, and so I'm going to just say it was Steve Martin. The plastic made it hard to tell, but it probably was him.

I Forgot to Say

Yesterday I forgot to write that when I came home from my outing with Marcus, I noticed crime scene tape all around the apartment right across the street from mine. The glass from the first floor windows was shattered all over the sidewalks, and the rooms gaped black. I asked Trini, walking his doll of a pitbull, what had happened. "There was a fire," he said. In the few hours that I was gone, a fire had gutted the first floor apartments of the building across the street from mine! Crazy. Actually, the crazy thing is that there isn't a shred of information about it in the news, so I don't know anything else. Maybe now my neighbors will stop smoking in the stairwell.

An Eventful Day

I was determined to get a lot accomplished today, so as soon as I woke up I got busy. I went to the post office to send and receive some packages (you'll get it in time for your birthday, Kaitlin!) and then I went back home and cleaned my room. It was sunny and warm outside (warm=40s) so I decided to go out church-hunting with my camera. There are so many churches that I see randomly during the week when I don't have my camera with me, so I try to remember to go back and capture them. But it wasn't the greatest day for church photography. Some of the ones I wanted the most were blocked by big trucks, or had the wrong sort of lighting. Also, there were a lot of people out today, because of the nice weather, and I feel self-conscious taking pictures of buildings with people watching me. Oh well--it was still a nice ramble. I like to wander around, no matter where I live. Today in my morning wandering, I actually ran into my friend Tamara, near Morningside Park. I asked her about her current dating project, and she said that it's going really well. Her goal was to meet a lot of people, and open her mind about dating a little bit, and she's accomplishing that, for sure.

After Tamara and I parted ways, I continued my wandering. The thing about being a white girl in Harlem is that you attract a lot of attention from guys. I'm not saying anything bad about Harlem guys, but they have a very vocal way of showing admiration for women, which sometimes shocks me, just because it is so different from the way I was raised. As I wandered around Harlem, in noon-time broad daylight, I had at least ten "Hey Sexy!"s, three guys making hissing sounds after me, five guys tell me I was beautiful, one "Mommie!" (that's what the Latino guys say, for some reason). It was crazy! I hadn't brushed my hair, I was in baggy old clothes, and I wasn't showing any skin except my hands and face, and yet I seemed to be some kind of man magnet. One brazen man even came up to me as I was taking a picture and introduced himself. His name is Bobby, and he asked me to take a picture of him, so I did, and am publishing it here on my own little wall of shame, for all to see. He was nice, but please! Not to be rude, but--he's missing a front tooth! He started telling me about his life, and asked if I was married. I lied and said I had a boyfriend to deter him, but he still asked for my number. I said I wasn't comfortable with that, and he was nice enough, said he respected that, and shook my hand. I hurried up and took my church picture and got away, but wasn't even all the way down the block before I got another catcall. What is with these men????? Now, to make my parents feel better, I must say that I have never felt unsafe in my neighborhood. I don't wander the streets at night, just in broad daylight, and I think I've just come to the conclusion that in order to survive in Harlem, the men have to be assertive, and they are raised in a very vocal, effusive culture. So I just accept it, consider it a compliment of sorts, try to be polite but not overly friendly, and hurry along my way. In this case, I hurried home and hid for a while!

Later I ventured out and went over to the east side to run some errands. On my way back, I hopped on the the C train at 86th Street, sat down, looked at the guy next to me, and it was my friend Marcus! It's so crazy that in such a huge city I randomly ran into two friends in one day. Marcus was on his way to meet the missionaries, so I tagged along. The missionaries have to teach a certain amount of lessons each week, and if they don't find enough investigators they meet with members, so Marcus and I filled in as pseudo-investigators and we had a nice scriptural discussion and chat. The thing I love about Marcus is that his fridge is stocked with all kinds of delicious cheese! During our chat, we started talking about churches, and I mentioned I'd never been to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, which is the largest cathedral in New York (maybe even the world? I need to check that fact...) So after the elders left, Marcus and I headed over to see it, because it is just a few blocks from his house. It was AMAZING! I've seen the outside before, but this was the first time I'd been inside. Marcus took a ton of pictures, so I'll share them later in the week... What amazed me was the size (you could fit the Statue of Liberty in the transept), the vivid colors of the stained glass, and the amazing woodcarving on the chancel, choir screen, and some of the altars. But there was also outstanding stone carving, ironwork, and tapestries. It was gorgeous, dark, mysterious, and a little creepy all at once. Such enormous structures with such an abundance of artwork built in always amaze me.

After wandering around in the church for about an hour, Marcus and I walked through Morningside Park and then I headed home. I was invited to a couple of Groundhog Day parties, but I decided instead to just stay in and hibernate a little after such a busy day. So I'm trying to crochet now, but my hand is hurting for some reason. Typing doesn't really help, but I can't just sit around and do nothing. Anyway... that was my day.

Not Quite Harlem, But...

My church of the day (and sorry it's so late) is actually in Washington Heights, not Harlem, but I really love it. It opened in 1930 as the Loew's 175th Street Palace Theater, for movies and vaudeville. I was trying to think of the architectural style, so I looked on Wikipedia, which says that this building has been called both "Cambodian Neo-Classical" and "Byzantine-Romanesque-Indo-Hindu-Sino- Moorish-Persian-Eclectic-Rococo-Deco" !!! It is humongous, and apparently very ornate on the inside as well, which to me is a reflection and culmination of the roaring, extravagant 1920s. In the 1960s the theater was saved from demolition by becoming the Christ United Church, run by the famous Reverend Ike, who apparently dresses in furs and bling and drives Rolls-Royces. All I know is that the building is amazing looking, and has a sign on the outside that says something like "Come on in, or smile as you pass." And they still host performances by music groups and orchestras, to pay the bills, no doubt. I'll have to go take a look at the inside of it one of these days.

Harlem History

Did you know that over 130 years ago, Harlem was covered in lush farmland, and was the scene of a fierce battle in the Revolutionary War? George Washington might have been walking around right where I live! I hope he can't see how the place looks these days.

Down In the Underground

I have sort of a second job now. Well, maybe it's more of a fourth or fifth job! (I work hard for the money.) It's kind of a job within a job. So I work in a jewelry and watch store, and they have a service department that does repairs and stuff on watches and jewelry. It used to be closed on Saturdays, but now its open, and I've been asked to man the place one Saturday a month to give M a weekend off. Working Saturday is fine, and I would be at work anyway, but today is my first day over here in the service department, and I'm kind of nervous because I have never helped any customers with watch or jewelry repairs before. I think I know the basics, but... I'm still nervous. I had to learn how to enter and post the sales on the computer, and it seems pretty straightforward, but I haven't really been tested yet.

David the watchmaker is here with me--it's just us down here. But he is an older Russian guy, and not very talkative at all. We are connected to the main store, but I can't leave my post to go associate with them, because I have to be here if a customer comes in. And I can't do my regular job, because I'm not allowed to have watches and jewelry laying around down here for security reasons. So there's really not much to do except sit and wait for customers to come in. But it's Saturday in midtown, and the old hours are still on the door, so there are no people coming in. Which is fine with me. I've been facebooking and blogging with no shame at all.

I can people-watch, because I'm right near the subway, and have a big glass window. This is nice, because my regular desk is in a basement with no windows. Glamorous, I know. On the one hand I have half-million dollar watches coming through my hands, but on the other hand I have a basement desk that gets coated in blackish soot if I don't dust it every day. Hey, I'm just happy to have a job! The other perq down here is the i-pod player. I can listen to my own music!

Right across the way is a bodega with candy, magazines, and other random things. A neon sign in the window taunts me with the current amount of the New York Mega Millions lottery: $50 million. And the guy at the register in there is staring at me. Sometimes if I'm desperate I'll go buy candy from him, but it's a big rip-off. A dollar for a candy bar! I could spend that dollar on a lottery ticket and win the jackpot, but I never buy a ticket.

The door is broken, so it doesn't close all the way, and a cold winter breeze is coming in. Good thing I wore a wool sweater! Sigh... I think one of the salespeople from upstairs is going to bring me a piece of pizza later for lunch. That's what I have to look forward to. I think it's going to be a long day.

Rosebuds

For those of you who follow the nuances of my blogroll over there in the sidebar, you will notice that I have added the blog of Kelly and Ivan. They are The Rosebuds, a band I fell in love with about six years ago, on my first date with Matt. We had gone out to dinner in Raleigh, and as we were walking down a random sidewalk, we passed a disheveled bearded guy on the corner, holding a red plastic cup. Matt greeted him as if he were an old friend, and as it turns out, he was. I still don't know why he happened to be there, but Matt asked him what was happening in Raleigh that night, and Trent told us that this pretty good band called the Rosebuds was playing at The Basement. After dinner, things were going well, so we headed over there to check out the show. The Basement was a dive, and the first place I'd ever been that required an ID check at the door. It was full of a mixture of impossibly hip and unattractively intoxicated people all rocking out to a sound I'd never heard before but loved instinctively. I fell in love that night, and I fell in love with The Rosebuds. Over the years, Matt and I would go to almost every one of their shows that came along. Our relationship played out in venues like Kings and Cat's Cradle, in the car with the stereo blasting, or at home with the record player and the promotional vinyl records I scooped up at shows; the band's sound was the soundtrack of our life together. But I'm getting sidetracked.

One of the things I love about The Rosebuds is that Ivan and Kelly are just normal kids from Raleigh. Before and after their shows they would come out into the crowd, and hang out with their friends, and I'd feel like I was a part of something really cool. Kelly would man the T-shirt and sticker table over in the corner, and one time as I pondered which EP I wanted to buy, she complimented my earrings. Even though they dressed like Eastern Europeans, Ivan and Kelly were real, people I would like to know. Even now, I know that they are friends of one of my friends on Facebook, and I am so tempted to send friend requests! And that's what made me suddenly write about them today. Is it strange to feel like you can be friends with someone you've never talked to? Is it wrong to want to be part of that "cool" world of rock and roll?

Well, the relationship ended, but the music persists, and I still enjoy The Rosebuds, though these days its more of the darker Night of the Furies, rather than the innocent Makeout. And it's funny because soon after Matt and I broke up, I heard a rumor that The Rosebuds were splitting up. It was eery--like their music was actually connected to our relationship and couldn't continue without us. However, despite the rumors, The Rosebuds released an album last year, and just played shows together in Chapel Hill and New York City. Hopefully they will keep going strong, and just get bigger and better. I would wish that for any friends of mine.

Rainy Days and Mondays

Today was definitely a Monday. But other than that, Happy Asian Lunar New Year, as they called it on NPR this morning. Work wasn't so bad, until the end, and then I just wanted to go run away and hide under a red Chinese umbrella or five. I hate it when I do stupid things at work. I'm not that dumb! I think I just daydream too much, and rush, and don't pay enough attention when I should be paying the most attention. And the mistakes that I make always turn out to be the worst ones. Uggg.

Depends on Your Definition

Ha! I just had to write another post today, because in my last entry I said that I felt like it was going to be a very good day. And, I suppose it has been a good day, but church was pretty crazy!

Everything was going fine at first. Sacrament meeting was great, and after that was over, Sunday School started without a hitch. We were in the middle of the lesson when all of a sudden an older woman in the back row collapsed and began having an epileptic seizure. It was frightening, but the people around her rushed immediately to her assistance and luckily one of them is a trained nurse. Several people called 911, and as we waited for paramedics to arrive, everyone sat quietly, trying not to stare at what was happening, but unable to ignore the situation. Our teacher was one of the men assisting the woman, so class had come to a standstill. As soon as the bishop saw that everything was under control, and that the woman was not dying, I suppose he wanted to divert everyone's attention, so he went up to the front of the room and started making an announcement about a ward trip being planned for the summer--a trip to the Hill Cumorah Pageant. He began describing the elaborate costumes, the artistry of the choreography and how charming the camping facilities are there, and the moment just became even more bizarre. We tried to politely listen, but the woman's seizure continued in the back, the paramedics were storming in, and nobody knew where to look or what sort of facial expression to have. A few minutes later our teacher wisely escorted us to another classroom, which we should have done long before, and our lesson continued where it had left off.

After all the commotion of Sunday School I was anticipating that the third hour of church, Relief Society, would be relaxed and soothing. The lesson was supposed to be on the topic of unity, which turned out to be ironic. My ward is comprised of people from all backgrounds and levels of learning. Some women have only been members of the church for a few weeks, others have come their whole lives, and others have been members but have only recently come back to church after years of inactivity. Unity is a good topic for us to discuss, because such a disparate group can only learn and succeed if they are unified in some way, with a common purpose. Today that common purpose was just to get everyone on the right page at the same time, so we could finish the lesson. After we had read and discussed a few sections of the lesson, I was asked to read a scripture, but as soon as I began to read it I heard a loud voice saying "Excuse me! Wait until we ALL get there!" One woman was very frustrated that when the teacher asked people to read scriptures they were doing it promptly, without waiting until everyone in the room had turned to that page and could read along. I was not offended, but just waited for a few more seconds as the woman found the right page. (Meanwhile, it was dawning on me that although the lesson was supposed to be about unity, all of the scriptures the teacher was giving us to read were about repentance, another thing that struck me as ironic.) A few minutes later, the topic of discussion turned to scripture study and prayer and one lady made a comment about how you can tell God all the things that you can't tell your friends. Another woman countered that with an impassioned statement saying that in our ward you can tell your friends anything and they won't judge you. A short debate ensued, the teacher regained control, and the lesson moved onward. However, the first lady was again complaining that the teacher was going too fast and not letting everyone have a chance to speak. The teacher apologized, and asked that woman if she would read the following passage from the lesson:

"A second principle to guide our progress to become one is to be humble. Pride is the great enemy of unity. You have seen and felt its terrible effects. Just days ago I watched as two people—good people—began with a mild disagreement. It started as a discussion of what was true but became a contest about who was right. Voices become gradually louder. Faces became a little more flushed. Instead of talking about the issue, people began talking about themselves, giving evidence why their view, given their great ability and background, was more likely to be right. You would have felt alarm as I did. We have seen the life-destroying effects of such tragic conflict. You and I know people who left the fellowship of the Saints over injured pride."

It was purely coincidental that we had come to this part of the lesson, but the woman must have felt it was aimed directly at her because when she finished reading, she immediately apologized to the teacher and the whole class for having been loud and disruptive. It was quite awkward, but the good news is that my ward is full of wonderfully kind, friendly, and forgiving women and though they are often loud and opinionated, none of them hold grudges or anything like that. Once the strange meeting ended, everyone lingered together for a while to talk, hug, catch up on news of each other, meet new people, etc. I guess despite the chaotic lesson, we are better at the principle of unity than we might think, thank goodness! And if it had not been for a unified response to the tragic experience in Sunday School, things could have been completely crazy. I'm happy that my fellow ward-members are so quick to help out, quick to speak out, and equally quick to forgive one another and just love.

A Good Day

For those of you who may wonder why I put pictures of random Harlem churches on my blog... it's just something I like to do every Sunday for no particular reason. Sunday=church, plus there are a billion churches in Harlem and they endlessly fascinate me, so there you go. It's my blog--I can do what I want. Isn't there something charming about this one? Do you know that the corner bricks, that are larger than the rest and sort of protruding, are called quoins? That's your architectural terminology lesson of the day.

On my blog, I can talk about myself as much as I want to. I'm feeling much better, by the way! The antibiotics have successfully killed the enemy bacteria that were infecting my sinuses, and the war is almost completely won. All that remains is a gravelly cough. I'm delighted to be healthy again! So I'm taking advantage of all my new-found energy and catching up on stuff like laundry and cleaning. Because the other great news is that the washer and dryer on my floor have been working great. They used to be out of order constantly, but so far so good, and it's so nice not to have to schlep to the laundromat on a 20 degree day. I'm very happy. And I'm happy that I can go to church today--last week I was all but bedridden. So you see, it's going to be a very good day.

Saturday Morning in January

A gray January Saturday morning in Harlem isn't the prettiest sight. The empty lot across the street from my building is still covered in a blanket of white snow, but the snow everywhere else has been reduced to chunks of black compacted ice that fills the gutters but blends in perfectly with the concrete. There is litter everywhere. I could spend every day picking it up, and it would make no difference. So I've become like every other denizen of this neighborhood, just ignoring it, or looking at it abstractly. There is nothing green anywhere. Only gray and the artificial colors of shop signs.

This morning I woke up and went outside to wander around a little bit. I got quarters at the laundromat, for future laundry purposes, and stopped at the drugstore for something. The grayness of my surrounding streetscape lulled me into a gray mood, which was interrupted only by a big guy who suddenly yelled at me, "Watch your back! Watch your back!" I looked up and narrowly avoided an oncoming car. The streets are a dangerous place, and just as wild as the jungle. I'm in awe of them and the mysteries they keep. For example, what night storm caused this urban tumbleweed to become lodged atop this fence?

My New Favorite Movie

Drugs

The instructions included with my antibiotic tell me that I may experience weakness of my Achilles tendon. Duly noted, although I don't think I'll be running any time soon. I'm also supposed to avoid orange juice and multivitamins with iron and zinc. Drugs are so complicated. Anyway, I know I've been complaining a lot lately, but I think I'm slowly getting better. There is still an alarming amount of mucus, but at least my cheekbones don't hurt anymore. (Big smile.)

There Ought To Be a Holiday

I believe that inauguration day should be a national holiday, especially when a brand new president is sworn in. We should have all been able to be at home with our television on, watching the crowds in Washington, hearing Aretha sing, and listening to the words of our new president. Luckily, my boss loves Obama, so when it was time for the swearing in, she let everyone gather around the biggest screen available and watch the proceedings. Unfortunately, everyone in the world was trying to stream the inauguration online, so the visuals didn't really work, but with the radio giving us live clear signal, we didn't miss a thing. I thought it was wonderful. I'm not a Republican hater, or a Democrat lover. I tend to walk a middle ground--I just love my nation. And I don't think anyone who loves this country could help but be moved by the sincere words spoken by Mr. Obama today. It was a momentous occasion, for many reasons, and it was so great to be able to live it in the moment it happened instead of have to wait and catch it later on the news. Yes, I would have rather been watching in my living room, in pajamas, or out in Times Square with the crazies, rather than at work, but it was still great.

On the way home, I found myself in a subway car plastered with Pepsi ads. I didn't realize they were for Pepsi at first, though--it just seemed like a continuation of the day's theme. I was just going to insert a picture of one of the ads, but this was the only thing I could find, so if you watch this, imagine being in a subway car with these colorful images bombarding you from all sides.