Meet the Neighbors
Meet Neighbor #10
and Neighbors #11 & 12.
and Neighbors #11 & 12.
October 29, 2003
October 28, 2003
Do you live in America's most fun city?
Yes!
Yes?
Though I love the Mini-Apple, I found it a little hard to believe that Minneapolis could top the Big Apple. Moreover, so did Omaha, Nebraska and Greensboro, North Carolina. So I checked out Cranium's source. And I took a poll.
What's most important to you when looking for the best place to live?
Nice weather 24%
Arts and culture 5%
Outdoor activities 6%
Low cost of living 22%
Slow pace 4%
Entertainment and dining 5%
Low taxes 6%
Low crime rate 29%
total responses to this question: 73,575 <-- (that last one was me)
Nice weather? Low cost of living? Low crime rate? Well, this is Money magazine after all.
Maybe they took it from an old poll, but I didn't see Minneapolis-St. Paul on the list. Though, I've heard it somewhere before--that after NYC, the Twin Cities spends more on arts & culture per capita than any other city. Tax me all you want; that's music to my ears.
Yes?
Though I love the Mini-Apple, I found it a little hard to believe that Minneapolis could top the Big Apple. Moreover, so did Omaha, Nebraska and Greensboro, North Carolina. So I checked out Cranium's source. And I took a poll.
What's most important to you when looking for the best place to live?
Nice weather 24%
Arts and culture 5%
Outdoor activities 6%
Low cost of living 22%
Slow pace 4%
Entertainment and dining 5%
Low taxes 6%
Low crime rate 29%
total responses to this question: 73,575 <-- (that last one was me)
Nice weather? Low cost of living? Low crime rate? Well, this is Money magazine after all.
Maybe they took it from an old poll, but I didn't see Minneapolis-St. Paul on the list. Though, I've heard it somewhere before--that after NYC, the Twin Cities spends more on arts & culture per capita than any other city. Tax me all you want; that's music to my ears.
October 23, 2003
office life
Meetings
Monday, 12-2 p.m. - birthday lunch*
Tuesday, 12-2:30 p.m. - meeting
Wednesday, 9-11 a.m. - meeting
Wednesday, 2:30-4:30 p.m. - meeting (though usually lasts until 5)
Thursday, 1:30-4:30 p.m. - meeting
Doodling observed in meetings
maze-like patterns in page corners
blackened in o's, d's, b's, p's & q's
lots of question marks
Total hours spent in meetings this week: ten hours.
This is a 1/4 of a complete American work week.
And $149.04 worth of work.
This is a lot of meetings.
*not officially a meeting, but attendance required for this designated noontime of fun
Monday, 12-2 p.m. - birthday lunch*
Tuesday, 12-2:30 p.m. - meeting
Wednesday, 9-11 a.m. - meeting
Wednesday, 2:30-4:30 p.m. - meeting (though usually lasts until 5)
Thursday, 1:30-4:30 p.m. - meeting
Doodling observed in meetings
maze-like patterns in page corners
blackened in o's, d's, b's, p's & q's
lots of question marks
Total hours spent in meetings this week: ten hours.
This is a 1/4 of a complete American work week.
And $149.04 worth of work.
This is a lot of meetings.
*not officially a meeting, but attendance required for this designated noontime of fun
October 20, 2003
to the ire of Louis Vuitton
A friend asked if I'd pick up a Louis Vuitton bag from Canal Street for her. Yeah, sure, okay. Brown bag with the gold initials, right?
I'm staying right in Chinatown, two blocks from Canal Street. It's a shopping orgy on an early Saturday morning. I drift from food vendor to food vendor, wondering what my stomach can handle this early, pre-coffee. Hot dog, no. Pretzel, no. Chinese congee soup with rice, mmm. Yes, thank you.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman quickly shove what I suspect is a Louis bag into a plain, black trash bag. I walk up, look around the booth, and see no Louis bag. I ask if she sells them. She tosses a thin, plastic photo album with xeroxed drawings of various bag styles and dimensions. I point to a large shoulder bag. "How much?"
"45 dollar."
Much more than I expected. I point to a medium-sized one. "And this?"
"35 dollar."
Let's try it this way. "What's the cheapest bag?" knowing I only have $29 in cash after the train and cab fare the night before.
She points to the smallest bag, a cute, thin shoulder bag for $25. After feeling around the large, black garbage bag hooked to the side of the counter, she reveals the bag from the drawing.
I hand her the money and go on my way. Shoving my way through Canal Street, I see more and more Louis bags. Two small Asian women on the sidewalk are squawking to a small crowd, "Good deal on bag, look! Is a expensive, but we sell for cheap!" Their bags are hidden in large, black garbage bags as well, and the potential buyers are pushing their way to get a closer look.
"How much?" the women demand.
"$45 dollar. $35 dollar. $25 dollar." I'm happy to note the price was the same for the one I bought.
I focus the lens on my camera. One of the ladies spots me, glaring at me as she steps out of my viewfinder. I snap quickly, shrug my shoulders in apology. In a cloud of naivete, I hadn't realized these are illegal knock-offs, thought they just hadn't had a chance to properly display them.
Further down Canal Street, a vendor quickly yanks down his metal gate, the Louis bags vanish behind the paneled metal. Someone in the crowd hoots, "Cops. There must be cops around. Oh yeah, honey, that's what those gates are for!"
A few steps away, vendors quickly cover their flat boxes of shiny watches. Folks are looking around for the spotted threat in uniform. Two Asian women, selling black market CDs and DVDs from carts on wheels, quickly cover their ware with a black cloth and take off running, wheels squeaking, their Nikes pounding pavement.
Everywhere, women are carrying different versions of these Louis bags. I wondered what the allure is, buying knock-off bags, shoes, belts, all monogrammed with LV. To add, the bags are quite ugly, something my grandmother would carry if her big, white plastic purse ever needed replacing. Maybe it's like being in a secret club. The women who buy them, they can spot each other on the street, wink and say "Hey-hey we got a good deal, huh?"
I'm staying right in Chinatown, two blocks from Canal Street. It's a shopping orgy on an early Saturday morning. I drift from food vendor to food vendor, wondering what my stomach can handle this early, pre-coffee. Hot dog, no. Pretzel, no. Chinese congee soup with rice, mmm. Yes, thank you.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman quickly shove what I suspect is a Louis bag into a plain, black trash bag. I walk up, look around the booth, and see no Louis bag. I ask if she sells them. She tosses a thin, plastic photo album with xeroxed drawings of various bag styles and dimensions. I point to a large shoulder bag. "How much?"
"45 dollar."
Much more than I expected. I point to a medium-sized one. "And this?"
"35 dollar."
Let's try it this way. "What's the cheapest bag?" knowing I only have $29 in cash after the train and cab fare the night before.
She points to the smallest bag, a cute, thin shoulder bag for $25. After feeling around the large, black garbage bag hooked to the side of the counter, she reveals the bag from the drawing.
I hand her the money and go on my way. Shoving my way through Canal Street, I see more and more Louis bags. Two small Asian women on the sidewalk are squawking to a small crowd, "Good deal on bag, look! Is a expensive, but we sell for cheap!" Their bags are hidden in large, black garbage bags as well, and the potential buyers are pushing their way to get a closer look.
"How much?" the women demand.
"$45 dollar. $35 dollar. $25 dollar." I'm happy to note the price was the same for the one I bought.
I focus the lens on my camera. One of the ladies spots me, glaring at me as she steps out of my viewfinder. I snap quickly, shrug my shoulders in apology. In a cloud of naivete, I hadn't realized these are illegal knock-offs, thought they just hadn't had a chance to properly display them.
Further down Canal Street, a vendor quickly yanks down his metal gate, the Louis bags vanish behind the paneled metal. Someone in the crowd hoots, "Cops. There must be cops around. Oh yeah, honey, that's what those gates are for!"
A few steps away, vendors quickly cover their flat boxes of shiny watches. Folks are looking around for the spotted threat in uniform. Two Asian women, selling black market CDs and DVDs from carts on wheels, quickly cover their ware with a black cloth and take off running, wheels squeaking, their Nikes pounding pavement.
Everywhere, women are carrying different versions of these Louis bags. I wondered what the allure is, buying knock-off bags, shoes, belts, all monogrammed with LV. To add, the bags are quite ugly, something my grandmother would carry if her big, white plastic purse ever needed replacing. Maybe it's like being in a secret club. The women who buy them, they can spot each other on the street, wink and say "Hey-hey we got a good deal, huh?"
October 19, 2003
er, forgot to hit publish on that last post
A short update: It's drizzling outside. I drank too much coffee but have been writing quite a bit, which is good. Went to see "Matt & Ben," a play about the Good Will boys, played by a short Indian woman and a tall Caucasion woman. I laughed hard and plenty. Lots of time spent walking, eating, spending, sighing wistfully.
October 17, 2003
$3 americanos
This weekend, I'm taking a vacation from my "vacation."
A week with the parental units was challenging. Why aren't I married yet. Why don't I, instead of renting, buy a house. Why haven't I bought a car. How much have I saved for retirement?
I hadn't even gotten my luggage into the van yet.
"You are 30 years old now-"
"WHA? I'M TWO-WENTY. SIX. DAD."
But, I ate well. I slept well. I bought a label maker from Wal-Mart. All in all, a fairly decent trip. However, I know this marks a turning point. The older I'll get, the harder the questions will be to dodge, and the more childish I'll behave.
So I might as well act on my childish fantasies while I'm still, ahem, 30. I'm flying to NYC this weekend and spending money that will never see an IRA account. I'm going to eat out for every meal and buy $3 americanos. I'll spend too much on a hotel, rack up high interest on my plastic, and overpay for a cute pair of shoes.
I'll purge myself from the guilt of spending by telling myself this is for the well-being of my mental health.
A week with the parental units was challenging. Why aren't I married yet. Why don't I, instead of renting, buy a house. Why haven't I bought a car. How much have I saved for retirement?
I hadn't even gotten my luggage into the van yet.
"You are 30 years old now-"
"WHA? I'M TWO-WENTY. SIX. DAD."
But, I ate well. I slept well. I bought a label maker from Wal-Mart. All in all, a fairly decent trip. However, I know this marks a turning point. The older I'll get, the harder the questions will be to dodge, and the more childish I'll behave.
So I might as well act on my childish fantasies while I'm still, ahem, 30. I'm flying to NYC this weekend and spending money that will never see an IRA account. I'm going to eat out for every meal and buy $3 americanos. I'll spend too much on a hotel, rack up high interest on my plastic, and overpay for a cute pair of shoes.
I'll purge myself from the guilt of spending by telling myself this is for the well-being of my mental health.
October 16, 2003
a slice of southern pie
Last year at a Piggly Wiggly in Columbia, S.C., the checkout lady exclaimed after hearing the woman's accent in front of me, "Why, you ah a Yankeh!"
Last week during my cab ride to the Atlanta airport, the driver said quickly, "Now up ahead, we'll pass by the spot where General Sherman first began the march that destroyed Atlanta" as if it happened last week. Needing no encouragement from me, he offered an impromptu tour of historic Civil War sites.
Some say Southerners haven't forgotten the Civil War. While I don't believe the general population thinks about Sherman's March to the Sea while eating their morning cornflakes, I'd agree that the Civil War is brought up with more frequency below the Mason-Dixon line.
In fact, the only time I hear "Yankees" spoken up north is during baseball season. Yet, it's always accompanied with a Rebel yell. Hm.
Last week during my cab ride to the Atlanta airport, the driver said quickly, "Now up ahead, we'll pass by the spot where General Sherman first began the march that destroyed Atlanta" as if it happened last week. Needing no encouragement from me, he offered an impromptu tour of historic Civil War sites.
Some say Southerners haven't forgotten the Civil War. While I don't believe the general population thinks about Sherman's March to the Sea while eating their morning cornflakes, I'd agree that the Civil War is brought up with more frequency below the Mason-Dixon line.
In fact, the only time I hear "Yankees" spoken up north is during baseball season. Yet, it's always accompanied with a Rebel yell. Hm.
October 04, 2003
meet neighbor #9
I accosted neighbor #9 by the ATM machines in the IDS Tower. He was with a friend (neighbor #10, coming soon). When I told him the survey was for no particular reason, he said "cool" and answered the questions while swinging his Target bag with his hand still in his pocket.
Read the rest here.
[footnote: This Meet the Neighbors post was prompted by the kind words of Kristin and Joe.
As some of you know, I hope to conduct this short survey while I'm in Georgia and South Carolina next week. I thought it might be fun to start a "Meet the Neighbors" for other cities, asking folks to conduct this survey (or their own version) of "Meet the Neighbors" in their hometown. Anyone willing to partipate?
Read the rest here.
[footnote: This Meet the Neighbors post was prompted by the kind words of Kristin and Joe.
As some of you know, I hope to conduct this short survey while I'm in Georgia and South Carolina next week. I thought it might be fun to start a "Meet the Neighbors" for other cities, asking folks to conduct this survey (or their own version) of "Meet the Neighbors" in their hometown. Anyone willing to partipate?
October 02, 2003
omigosh, like, you're NOT a morning person?
tell-tale signs that mornings don't agree with you
1. your alarm clock is set at least twenty minutes fast
2. people ask if you have a cold, but that raspy, gravelly sound coming out of your mouth is just your morning voice
3. someone points out to you that your shirt tag is flapping up from under your chin
4. you get eye-strain from rolling your eyes at the nasally voices on the bus as you're going to work
5. and you wished you had remembered to replace the batteries in your discman
6. you don't order drinks that end in "o". you take it black, in shots, or intravenously
7. you don't make weekend plans for anything before noon
8. it takes at least half an hour before your eyes and the rest of your face to swell down to its normal size
1. your alarm clock is set at least twenty minutes fast
2. people ask if you have a cold, but that raspy, gravelly sound coming out of your mouth is just your morning voice
3. someone points out to you that your shirt tag is flapping up from under your chin
4. you get eye-strain from rolling your eyes at the nasally voices on the bus as you're going to work
5. and you wished you had remembered to replace the batteries in your discman
6. you don't order drinks that end in "o". you take it black, in shots, or intravenously
7. you don't make weekend plans for anything before noon
8. it takes at least half an hour before your eyes and the rest of your face to swell down to its normal size
