Lucy

New Job

Today I officially became a script supervisor. Which basically means that I'll be scribbling in a script a lot, and will have to use a stopwatch for the first time in my life. It made me feel like I was doing something athletic. And these coming three weeks will be nothing short of a marathon; today I had two coffees and a coke and scribbled for fourteen hours. Only the director was allowed a five minute nap.

Some things don't change

1967 on Wall Street by Larry Fink

Also Steve Jobs died yesterday. I don't think I've ever had one person's name cover my entire facebook feed. It seemed like facebook itself was in mourning. The next day there seemed more room for criticism of the billionaire who didn't donate to charities. (Occupy!) Sometimes grief turns into indifference faster than NY cops can grab their pepper spray on liberty square.

Occupy Wall Street

Because you couldn't really get around it, and I'm not one to miss out on public expression of discontent, hope of a fair democracy and a need for a revolution. Also every once in a while I like to be part of a big group of people. Maybe it's a biological thing, I don't know.
The protesters were not allowed to use loudspeakers, so they communicated in a sort of echo. The person with something to say, sometimes one of the 'leaders' (Even though they kept declaring that there were no leaders) and sometimes one of the random protesters, would say it, and the people around them would repeat it loudly for the people around them. It was touching to see people who all had iphones in their hands constantly, for twitter, film and texting, had figured out a way to communicate messages to a huge amount of people in such a simple and primitive way. Some of the signs up in the air were straight out non sense ('Hitler's bankers!'), and discussions with the people that held them were mostly useless (I asked why bankers were nazi's according to him, and the man said they were worse than nazi's, because all millionaires were Jews. On a side note; he had about three teeth left in his mouth.) and there was an overall lack of humor on them which was disappointing. Politics are in constant need of a good pun. At least a nice alliteration. But the amount of generosity people showed and the interest and overall togetherness was moving. Something was happening-even though what exactly wasn't always clear. Not yet a 'movement,' but definitely in motion. Everyone was using cameras and filming everything that was happening just in case something was about to become history. And who knows. Today a group of five thousand people tried to occupy the Brooklyn bridge. The police started arresting people almost immediately. At the Manhattan side, the police stood in front of the entrance so no one could enter. Someone had put a camera in a plastic bag, and attached it to twenty colorful balloons. They held it by three separate strings so they could control where the balloons went, moving across the crowd.

My street

A conversation today:
Man: Gucci bag?
Me: Oh, I'm ok, I live here.
Man: Oh yeah?
Me: Yup.
Man: What about a boyfriend? You need a boyfriend?

Also, when guys blast rap out of their cars, bobbing their head with the beat, driving past, this makes me happy.

Irony

is when you call a blog 'before I forget' and you think of a great thing you want to write about, and then the next day when you sit behind your computer and you forget what it was.

Irene

Is it strange that part of me is jealous of all the people New York? It's like all your friends are off to war, and you have to stay put and read about it in the newspaper. They come home and have been through something together. It might be a trauma, but still.
I imagine everyone sitting in their cosy homes, playing endless games of monopoly and finishing bottles of whiskey and gin. I could've read War and Peace in its entirety, while outside trees and houses soared by, and streets filled up with water.

Poster

Things in Italy I forget when I'm not there

How to say things like, Can I have, please, and my name is, in Italian.
Views that look like posters or set pieces.
The preference Italians have for gold, strappy shoes and sitting in stools in front of their house.
The taste of different kinds of ham.
The amount of wine it is possible to consume in one day.
That old Italian women sometimes look a lot like old Italian men. (One of them was exactly Christopher Walken)
The amount it work it must be to clean a house with so many useless antique trinkets.
Saltless bread.

Berlin

I saw a concrete apartment flat painted in pastel colors, as if someone had used it as a pallet.
A performance artist I met said: Sometimes when we do a performance, me and my friend just talk shit. Sometimes we don't even talk. He just puts his hand on my face.
I spent a couple of nights at a bar called 'The Times.' It was barely decorated, it had just opened, but there was a dance basement with couches and a disco ball.
I saw a fake ancient gigantic phallus in a museum. A woman was staring at it as if it was a tombstone.
I sat on a bench with two friends at seven in the morning and a strange man offered us breakfast. Then he asked if we had any weed.

Things that happened

My mother organized a surprise party for my father's sixtieth birthday. He didn't understand why he had to hang around in museums and strange cafe's for hours before returning home.
I was asked to be a guardian.
I didn't get my passport in time for my flight.
I got drunk several times, some of which I don't even remember it happening.
I saw 'The Trip' and 'Pina' the last one in 3D. Which didn't annoy me for a change.

Rain

Today I contemplated for a good while about a flattering rain coat and what that would look like. In Holland it rains 70 percent of the time. Even in July. I'm surprised there aren't more stores selling different options of rain gear, that doesn't make you look like a six year old.

Depressed

Yesterday I didn't want to do anything but sleep.
I've been waiting for my visa for a month. There is a chance I have to wait another month. But maybe not.
I miss New York. I didn't know I could miss a place this much, I'm also not sure why. I'm homesick, but the other way around. Then again homesickness is also not the most rational thing.

Fathers

Yesterday was the cremation of a friend's father.
The master of ceremonies had obviously not been a friend, or known the deceased. He kept saying things like: Now we'll be listening to some personal stories and touching music. All music was classical, and indeed touching. We wondered what he would've said if someone chose to play techno at their cremation.
There was also a man there that looked a lot like a gnome, including white beard, small glasses, a pipe, and a beret.
I felt bad for my friend; she had to shake hundred people's hands, most of whom she didn't know. At least she saw the humor of her father having befriended a gnome look a like. It didn't surprise her one bit.

Headache

Yesterday I saw Terrence Malick's new movie tree of life. We sat on the second row and about halfway through the movie I got a migraine. There were some beautiful shots of the big bang, lava streams, ocean creatures, and even a dinosaur, but most of these things made me want to vomit. In the end it was a movie about loss; of a childhood, innocence and a brother. After the movie we ran into a friend but I could barely speak. I'm not sure if it was only the headache, or also the existential questions raised by the movie. (Who are we, what are we doing here, is god watching us, where do you go when you die, etc.)
Then we got an asian hot dog. That helped.

MFA

I have it. Or at least a piece of paper stating I will receive my official diploma in the mail shortly.
Times I cried: 2.5 (once during my classmate/friend's speech, another time because my first year writing teacher hugged me. The half is because I sort of stayed teary eyed after the 4 glasses of champagne.)
Glasses of champagne: 4 at reception, 2 (pink) at dinner.
Shot of Bourbon: 0.5 (Shared with Dara)
Songs we danced to: 23 (A guess. More than half Motown.)
Times I hugged people: 7 (Rough estimate)
Gifts: 8 (60's costume jewelry pieces. Mad men inspired. My mother knows me too well.)
Fights: 1 (Girl who skipped the bathroom line to do coke with her friend. Unacceptable.)
Hours of sleep: 6

Last night's topics

Things I spoke about with my three classmates two nights before we are graduating:
Whether or not friendship is conditional. (I argued against, someone else pro)
Whether or not someone should sleep with the person they are in love with even though they are still with someone else, or whether they should break up first. (Again, opinions differed)
Oysters. Just that they are very tasty.
Jobs. We decided to start our own airline. Imagine air. There would be no planes, but I would be putting the tags on the luggage.
The fact that hair gets greasy when pregnant. (I did not know this)
Jealousy. And how to act rationally at all times. (Impossible)

Heartbreak Hotel

A woman in China tried to jump out of the window after her fiance called off the wedding. Luckily a hotel worker saved her by holding her by her throat. What looks like suffocation is really an act of heroism. I sincerely hope she makes the right decision and marries this man in uniform instead. Their engagement story will be a lot more exciting than her first one. Love and death in a hotel room, it's like a poem. I hope she too realizes; romance never died. It rises from the ashes every day without us noticing.

Nailpolish

In New York, even the color of nail polish can be a trend. Last winter it was dark colors. Dark purple. Dark blue. This spring it's grey and what I would refer to as hospital green.

Worrying

My sister is mad at me.
She is the only follower of this blog.

Missing

My cousin. Still.

Lunch

Today I had lunch with a famous performance artist. She lived in a huge loft, sparsely decorated with only the best design furniture, all in white, green, purple and wood. She ran around saying she never cooked here, which was obvious by the way she tried to throw ravioli into a pan of boiling water. She had all the food set up on the beautiful kitchen counter as if it was an installation in itself. She told us a lot of Montenegro men jokes, which are apparently a popular brand of jokes. (Why do Montenegro men all have mustaches? To look like their mothers)
She continued to tell us about how she needed a bunker for 2012, because the planets would align and all would go downhill, and that she had seen a beautiful apartment which cost 22 million, just to see what 22 million looked like. She also had Dr. Linda from Santa Fe prepare her daily meals, which she brought to the house and put in the fridge for her. For lunch we had some of dr. Linda's raw peas, because 'you can't cook those.' They were, I have to say, delicious. She refused to have more than one piece of ravioli, because she was on a diet, meanwhile we had to eat full plates and top it off with a crab cake. Then we went on talking about how Bjork only likes to live in places where it's 62 percent humidity, and her bedroom is permanently filled with steam.
She also had a really funny story about people making a documentary about her life and the time when they went to Serbia and a man came running towards her: 'I am your cousin and I've been waiting for years for you to come. Can I have 4000 dollars?' Apparently he had lost all his money playing cards. His house was empty, except for his father two beds and empty bottles of vodka. She ran away from him, the camera crew behind her. 'I had to run from this man for my life.' Apparently everyone in Serbia has her last name.
The most impressive thing about he loft was her walk in closet filled with Givenchi jewelery, and black clothes. Including the very special Givenchi shoes she had worn for the oscars. (I only liked the bathrooms at the oscars. Nicole Kidman was pushing up her breasts. It was great.)
But the thing she was most excited about of all (even more excited than about her house in the country, 'everything is better in the country,' and about her assistant who recently became famous) was this special clothing hanger for bags. She was so enthusiastic about it and the container shop in general (That's my favorite store! And the Hema of course.) I almost wanted to buy one for myself. Then I realized I didn't have enough purses to hang on it, and definitely not enough Givenchi purses.

My cousin

Today my cousin has been missing for four days. Yesterday they found his bike near the Warmoesstraat. He left after a drink at a restaurant and never reached his house.
When I was little I always said I wanted to marry him when I was older.

Overheard today

Two guys with baggy pants and big headphones.
"No, son, that shit is crazy."
"It's faggot, pedophile, animal lover, mannequin lover. That's the first time I've seen that shit in my life. I mean that's an inanimate object and shit."
True story.
Meanwhile Egypt is in complete chaos. The army has pulled out to attack it's own people.

Nico

These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to.

Max Fish

It's one of the first bars I went to and liked when I moved to New York.
After the 2008 election I went there to have a drink. There were only people there who didn't care. A drunk man explained to me that it didn't make any difference who won elections. Then he ordered another whiskey. It was sad, being there on a night when everyone else was celebrating, disillusioning. Like being awake when everyone else is sleeping. Or knowing a secret no one else knows. Perhaps in the end of the day it doesn't make a difference at all, who is ruling your country, despite our own hopeful ideals.
The last time I was in Max Fish it was packed. There was an opening of an art show. It had just been announced that they would close down the end of February and one of the bartenders told me they would paint the entire place black before they left. It made me sad to think about a world without this bar. Even though I didn't go there that often, and even though in the end it probably won't make that much of a difference. I would just go to a different bar. So would all those other people. We would all just migrate to the next best thing.
The same drunk man sat on the corner of the bar drinking, again, a whiskey. I wondered if he cared. And where he would go from here. If he would just sit there as they covered the walls in black paint. If perhaps they would mistake him for one of the stools, and paint him black with everything else. With his glass of whiskey still in his hand.