How Do You Like New York???

'Cause getting your dreams

It's strange, but it seems

A little, well, complicated

I know that two blog posts this close together may come as a bit of a shock, but I wrote this one first and then realized it was kind of a downer for a Christmas post. So I thought I’d give you all a happier update first. Here you have a second post for December, squeezing in just before the year turns over.

Naturally, having been in NYC for four months, people have been wondering how much I love and adore it and never want to leave (I know it's not intended, but I feel a guilt trip packed into these questions). To help explain how I actually feel about this city, I have included a show-and-tell illustration. In celebration of having survived the city thus far and as an early Christmas present to myself, I bought the following at the NYPL book shop:

Of course, this is a riff off of the ever-popular “I <3 NY” that is emblazoned on sweatshirts, key chains, and tote bags at every souvenir stand. The subtitle, if it is too small to see, reads “I feel relatively neutral about New York.” It pretty well sums up my current stance towards the city.

Ok, yes, yes. It is a great place to visit. It is very exciting and bustling. There are lots of things to do and see. It has good food. But as a place to live, it is overwhelming, expensive, and the bustle is not necessarily enjoyable for someone with “high sensitivity.” (I did all sorts of reading this summer on introversion, so now I have tons of fancy vocabulary to explain why I shut down after bumping into the tenth tourist of the day and hearing yet another hip hop song bleeding through someone’s earbuds on the subway.)

I have realized that the Facebook-status version of my life is super rosy and leads everyone to the conclusion that I’m totally at ease in the city. This is probably because the following status updates did not make the cut:

“Having yet another grocery-store meltdown due to the standard 50% markup. NO I will NOT spend $6 on Cheerios!!!”

“Did I get any homework done today, you ask? No. It took me all day to wash my clothes because I’ve been dreading the trip to the laundromat and finally had to go because everything I own was dirty.”

“There is a rat on the tracks. How did a rat get on these tracks? This is an elevated subway stop! NOWHERE IS SAFE!!!”

“What was I thinking, going to school kitty-corner to the Empire State Building? Everyone who lives in NYC knows to avoid Midtown like the plague.”

“That moment you know you’ve chosen the wrong subway car, yet again: ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s showtime!’”

“Thought about going out tonight. Decided I’d hide inside instead. I have too much reading to do, anyway.”

“Wanted to go ice skating in Bryant Park. Until that guy got shot for having a nice coat.”

“No, I don’t want to buy a bus tour/bike tour/carriage tour/ticket to the Empire State Building. I’m just walkin’ to school; please don’t stand in my path.”

“Tourists: GO AWAY. Or at least learn how to walk on a sidewalk.”

So, the goal is to enjoy my time away and strategize a fresh, new plan of attack for when I return. Because I agree with you all – the city has a lot to offer. I have wanted to go to NYC for a long time. Let’s be honest, since I started reading the Babysitters’ Club and decided I should be Stacey. And then since I became obsessed with Broadway musicals and NYC became my Mecca. And come on, Norah Ephron makes New York seem like the most magical place in the world, second only to Paris.

I just need to get over the hurdle of how expensive everything is and the fact that the first semester of my PhD was exhausting. Neither the expense nor the exhaustion is likely to go away, but I’ll grow accustomed to it. Game plan upon my return is to finally make up my mind about what musical I want to see first and just GO ALREADY.

And really, feeling “relatively neutral” means that I don’t hate living in NYC. I am making friends, discovering great places to eat, and taking advantage of some of what the city has to offer such as Jazz in Central Park and opportunities to see Orlando Bloom onstage. I found a great church with great people and awesome musicians to sing with. There are some major perks to living in the City of all cities. Friends from all walks of life come to visit, academic resources are in abundance, and each season brings something new to see and do.

It’s just that the transition has been difficult, but that was to be expected. And get ready for this: I miss the Midwest. Gasp! But it’s true, nostalgia gets me every time. I miss shopping at my familiar grocery stores, being able to see a movie for five bucks at the theatre down the road from my house, babysitting Julia and Ruthie, Gus and Bess, and the Williamson kids, cooking in a kitchen that was thrice the size of my current one, and spending time with my friends from Wheaton College and Church of the Resurrection.

And you know what, darnit? I desperately miss singing every Thursday. Like, good, solid, sight-reading-and-building-technique, blending-your-voice-with-fifty-others kind of singing. There’s a shout-out, Resurrection Chancel Choir. Sigh.

To everything there is a season.

Merry Christmas to all!

Our success is guaranteed!

Christmas will be thrilling!
Yes, Christmas will exceed
Our finest dreams

In preparing to leave NYC for Christmas break, I dearly wanted to get as much work as possible done so that I could really and truly take a good break. I had already bought my flight before learning when the first half of my first-year exam would take place, but since it was to be an “email back in 8 hours” type of test, I knew I could take it from Oregon. The semester officially ran through the calendar until December 23, but there was no way I was going to fly on Christmas Eve.

The original wrapping-up goal, then, was to fly to Boise on Tuesday, spend the following day sequestered at my sister’s house studying, and take the final on Thursday, finishing my semester just a few days after leaving the city behind me.

And then Professor Sorkin gave us until Dec. 25 to turn in our 20-page historiographical reviews. Sigh. I knew then that my plan to finish early was doomed.

Because here’s the thing. Regardless of what I tell myself about when I need to get things done, I simply cannot abide by my own, false deadlines. I consistently work right up until things are due, and this semester has been no exception. As much as I appreciate the grace that was extended with that late deadline, I so wanted him to light a fire by saying it was due earlier.

Anyway, I still lied to myself and set a goal to finish that paper before my flight. As the time drew nearer, my goal shifted to finishing a draft before the flight. Then just to finish the books before the end of Monday so I could return them to the library. And finally, the goal that I could manage was the only one with an external authority telling me it had to be met: I finished the books that were going to be due before I would get back from break.

So, packing up the remaining books along with all my exam notes, I dragged extra weight with me onto the flight and set a new goal of getting the paper turned in before Christmas. So hey, I reached my goal! I guess it was silly to think I could finish the first semester of my PhD earlier, but I am pleased to say that I turned the paper in a whole 24 hours before the end-date of the semester, and a full three days before Prof. Sorkin’s deadline.

In addition, I got word back that I passed the exam, so they won’t bar me from returning for classes at the end of January! Merry Christmas to me!

Now that I am officially on break, I have done the following:

Shopped at Walmart (hey, don’t judge me. I happen to like purchasing my shampoo on the cheap, and I’ve been overpaying for everything for four months now).

Bought groceries for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and just lots of groceries.

Watched Muppet Christmas Carol and part of Elf.

Drove around in Connie’s stick shift. I only killed the engine once. Cut me some slack, it’s been four months since I’ve driven anything at all.

Babysat Macy. In fact, currently babysitting Macy as I type. This consists of me listening to make sure she’s still sleeping and not crying. Check.

Watched a few eps of Doctor Who, since I’m still a couple seasons behind (Dear Steven Moffat: not all Americans shoot guns. And Hugh Bonneville makes a great pirate. And I’m still not convinced about Matt Smith. Horrid hair and kinda spastic.)

Drank lots of coffee. Not only is there a Dutch Bros in town (be still, my caffeinated heart), Connie has an espresso machine. So happy.

Watched Psych the Musical. Yes, this exists. It was glorious.

Ate Mexican food.

It has been a good break thus far.

Fame! I'm gonna live forever

I simply gotta march, my heart's a drummer
Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade

I had high hopes of making this post in before November came and confirmed this as a monthly blog, but maybe that's the best that I'm capable of at this point. Oh reading lists and research responsibilities.

So, if you're on Facebook, you may have seen some strange posts a few weeks ago regarding media fame and a certain cutest baby in the world. Ok, so I'm biased about my little niece Macy June, but I have verifiable sources that have agreed with me that she is adorable. Those sources are located on the vast interwebs. Yes, my niece went viral, so here is the story, all gathered in one place. Caveat: I make no promises about additional content on these websites.

Eddie (brother-mine) and Robin (my sister-in-law) have been taking pictures with little Macy, who has the most expressive face I've ever seen on a one-month-old. Basically, Ed started mimicking Macy's faces and snapping pics on his iPhone, posting them on Facebook for the family. Then he put them on his reddit account. He woke up the next morning to find that his post had gotten enough clicks and comments to make the front page of Reddit (exhibit a. Since I think that link takes you to the comments instead of to the pictures, here's what he posted.)

Next, Buzzfeed wrote an article about the Reddit fame. Believe me, I learned a lot about the world wide web over the past few weeks. Websites I had never heard of were showing pictures of my niece to people in Tokyo. Thus exhibit b. Also front-page stuff.

The local news wrote up a little article on the viral trend. See exhibit c.

Then Huffington Post caught the Macy-wave. Click for exhibit d.

In the meantime, I posted about it on my Facebook page. Sure, I may be considered a millennial, but the internet still blows my mind. A friend who has never met anyone in my family commented that she had been showing the pictures to her sister via Twitter earlier that day. This is crazy. But I figured it would be fifteen minutes of fame and done. I mean, how long does something remain viral in an online world where there will always be a new cat picture to look at? In fact, going viral sounds like a terrible condition to have. So sorry, little Macy.

But her fame continued to spread. Good Morning America contacted my brother to ask if they could use the pictures. Eddie gave us a heads up. I sat around thinking, man, for once I wish I had a TV. Then it hit me: I live in the city where this is filmed... So I went to the filming to be a part of the outdoor 'studio' audience. There is little else in the world that will get me on the N/Q train by 6am and standing in a crowd in Times Square for two hours as the sun rises and the rainclouds threaten. Man, from 2500 miles away this baby has me wrapped around her little finger. Unfortunately, Macy's pictures didn't show up. But you can see my head in the crowd if you so desire - behind Guy Fieri in this rather inane clip about his TV show. Also behind a group of ladies in denim with pink fringe. It was an interesting crowd.

I went the next day with no luck. I had a friend coming the following day, so I didn't go back. Naturally, third time would have been the charm. Apparently Macy's pics were shown on the weekend edition, but GMA is lame (there, I said it!) and I can't find a clip anywhere, so we'll have to take the internet chatter at its word.

Meanwhile in another part of the kingdom, the locals got wind of a famous baby in their midst and came to Eddie and Robin's house with a video camera. Besides the three now-famous relatives, my sister Connie's be-flip-flopped feet feature in this interview. To shorten matters just a little, this video is from a local Idaho news station but is presented on CNN, because yes, at 1-month old, my niece also made the front page of the CNN website. For being cute. This is confirmation, people.

Then Fox News paid them to drive 300 miles to a news studio and put them up in a hotel to conduct this interview at 6:30 in the morning. I mean, the news people did recall that these are new parents, right? Props to E and R for talking to a national audience that early in the morning.

Then Diane Sawyer showed the pics on ABC News. Yes, you clicked on the correct link. Macy features directly after Pope Francis. Whaaaaat? Oh, and before a drunk Koala. That's the news, folks.

Then Ellen Degeneres hopped on the Macy-train. I can't tell if she actually aired the pics or if they only made it to her website, but come on. They made it to her website.

So, with appearances on Pinterest, The Blaze, and, oh yes, that Twitter  sighting mentioned above, this baby girl has had more fame than I think I'll ever have. And I, too, have only met her on screen. And with that, I leave you with a pic from yesterday's Macy-Auntie K chat session. This baby is super techy. And adorable.

Hey Look, It's School-Related!

With a dreamy, far-off look 

and her nose stuck in a book...

It's finally time for something regarding my scholarly endeavors. Because, as you know, I moved to New York to study. So, besides reading a lot of medieval history and Jewish history in the past few weeks, I’ve also been looking towards my first-year paper. Here are some thoughts.

At Wheaton, my group of study partners and friends, known in various circles as the history girls or the blonde triumvirate (Katherine, Gillian, and I), had a running joke about our studies. When working on a particular historical figure, we would talk about it in terms of dates at the library. Turning in our research papers and returning the related library books marked the end of the relationship, and we were usually fairly glad to break up with whomever we had spent those Friday nights reading and analyzing. It's still a toss-up whether my worst date was Cotton Mather or Karl Barth.

However, I find myself in unknown territory as I consider rekindling an old relationship with the Abbé Henri Grégoire. You may know that I studied this fascinating French priest for the final paper of my MA. If you don't, the short version is that he was a supporter of the French Revolution who did not give up his faith but tried to harmonize religion and revolution. As I quipped in one paper, the most fascinating thing about him is that he made it through the Revolution with his religion and his person intact. He lost neither his faith nor his head, which is saying something for that time and place.

And now I'm considering asking him to go steady. I find myself in tension between needing to specialize as a PhD student and wanting to generalize in order to be prepared for a teaching career. In the end, however, one obvious fact is that I need to choose my topic of research for my first-year paper.

It's time for me to begin delving into archives and bulking up on my secondary literature, but that means choosing a trajectory. Do I stay in familiar waters or begin something completely unknown? I should take steps towards becoming an expert in something specific, but do I want my MA to have set the course for the rest of my studies? The biggest question remains: do my feelings for Grégoire run deep enough to sustain what could possibly be a five-to-seven year relationship? Am I going to be that person at conferences who relates absolutely everything that anyone says to Grégoire? (Yes, this happens. Heaven forbid.)

Thankfully, my urgency was tamed a bit when I spoke with my research seminar professor about this question. She suggested that I do a little of each: continue to study Grégoire, but start by contextualizing him in more detail. She suggested I start off by looking through some of those thousands of French revolutionary pamphlets at the NYPL to get a sense of the discussion on religion. In other words, stay in familiar waters, but become more familiar with their depths.

Thus I spent Friday carefully turning pages that were over 200 years old. I love being an historian.

Walking in the City

Come with me, walk with me

Walking in my city

Una passeggiata, you and I 

I had a lot of time for pondering during my road trip across the country. Somewhere along the way, probably after being pulled over by a very kind state trooper in South Dakota who let me off with a warning, I began to analyze my tendency to speed. It’s in my blood, quite honestly – the Wheelers are known for having lead feet. But I still wanted to parse out the specifics.

My uncle Gene, having married into this crazy family, has mentioned before that the motto seems to be ‘pass just one more car.’ (Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard him say this, or if I’m only recollecting my aunt Carol quoting him, so take it with a grain of salt. Wheelers also have a tendency to improve upon quotations. No offense meant, Aunt Carol.) 

Regardless of the origination of this quippy phrase, the truth resonates. Somehow, it just feels more comfortable to be out in front with a span of open road ahead and all the traffic behind. Elbow room, even for our cars, isn’t that the American Way?

For me, it seems almost a game of strategy. I feel like a master at tactical maneuvers if I can manage to get around the guy who’s traveling slowly in the left lane before getting trapped behind him when the traffic in the right lane catches up.

So what does this have to do with walking in NYC? Well, without my car, I need an outlet for all my latent tactical skills. Bobbing and weaving around the tourists along with the businessfolk is very satisfying. It’s also good practice, walking with purpose. From a safety standpoint, it can only help for me to look like I know what I’m doing.

Of course, until that glorious day when I can pop out of the subway and have an innate sense of which direction I am facing, this will continue to result in wrong turns. As it happens, looking like I know what I'm doing and actually knowing what I'm doing are two different things. The signs at each exit that tell me which cross street I’ll be popping out onto don’t seem to help. Even the ones that say “NE corner” mean little-to-nothing in my mind. I squint at them and try to think of what meaning they are attempting to convey, and then I give up. Reading maps has never been my forte, much to my mother’s dismay.

It would be of great benefit if I would sit down with my smart phone and figure out how to make it show me the map relative to which direction I am pointed. But until I do that, I continue to wing it. The result, which has been at least a daily occurrence, is that I bluster off in the wrong direction for a block or so until I realize that the street numbers are going the wrong way, or the Empire State Building is actually *behind* me, not in front. Flushed and frustrated, I zip back around and arrive at my destination a few minutes later than expected. It’s all a part of the game, and this tactician will just have to get better at it.

The Saga of Packing

We’ll pack up all our junk and fly so far away

Devote ourselves to projects that sell

The process of packing is always horrendous. You’d think I would find a way to get out of the annual habit, but here I am, another year, another move (another suitcase in another hall?). This will be my first move with a moving van – wish me luck…

Packing makes me hate having things. For this brief period, I wish I could live an ascetic life. Late-night, chaotic packing makes me say desperate and near-blasphemous things to the empty air, such as “Would it be so bad if I just never baked anything again? I wouldn’t even need this box of cookie sheets and muffin tins, in that case.” Don’t worry, a small voice of reason still exists in my head.

Speaking of talking to myself, I knew that I reached a point of desperation in my packing when my self-talk started using outdated nicknames. Pull it together, Katie Lou. Do the Next Thing. Stop dawdling. By the end of that day, my personal preference for Katrina had at least negotiated a compromise, and my interjections were addressed to K (my solution to navigating the process of switching to my full name during college. For the record, Katie is in limited use, only for those who’ve been pre-approved).

Of course, packing and moving things to storage didn’t have to be so terrible. I could have sought help. I had many offers of help. But it was tough to know how to let others help me. I personally had to handle everything as it went into boxes, because I was sorting what should go to NYC, what should go to Goodwill, and whether anything should go back to Oregon on my road trip to be stored in my parents’ garage. I did take an impressive load to Goodwill for donation, but we won't talk about how much of it was originally Goodwill purchases.

Organizing as I packed made the process take even longer, and then I dawdled further by cleaning the house in spurts as I went. Had I focused on the packing, I might have had enough done to take loads to storage at a reasonable time of day. As it was, I did unload one carful with the help of friends, whom I recruited in a sneaky way by having them over for a game night/goodbye party and casually mentioning that my car was full of boxes… The next big load, however, happened at midnight, so I was on my own for that, hoping all the while that I wasn’t waking up the friends who lived above.

The last day of packing was supposed to be Saturday. In an ideal world, Sunday afternoon would have been devoted to cleaning and touching up paint. When I got back from church and jumped back into the fray, I soon realized that the remainder would take me too long on my own. I had small but awkward furniture to deal with and those boxes of final items that just don’t fit well together. I had also run out of packing tape, so everything was a jumble. My goal became simply to get things over to storage, where I could sort it out on Monday before hitting the road. But I could see that I would not have time to load and unload what would be two trips and also finish my cleaning. So I broke down and made my panicked phone calls.

Laura Schmidt, bless her forever, heeded my call. She deserves a special recognition for giving me exactly what I needed to get through that last day on Brittany Court. After recognizing the desperation in my voice, she dropped everything and came to my rescue. I met her at the door in full ISTJ catastrophe mode, promptly bursting into tears. Her response was perfect – she gave me a hug, stepped back, and asked if I was hydrated. I whimpered out “um, well, I *sniff* don’t know.” “When did you last drink water?” she clarified. Since the answer was “at church this morning,” she made me stop and take a drink and then got down to business. That’s the way to do it. Offer comfort and then get practical. This pulled me out of what was threatening to become the depths of despair. I called my landlord to set up a later time for the walk through, and then Laura and I both drove our cars over to storage. After unloading, she came back with me, helped load up a few last things, and whisked away the empty, unwanted boxes.

I finished the cleaning under the watchful eyes of my landlady, who came over early to give the new tenant a second look at the kitchen, which was still being cleaned by yours truly. However, the diligence paid off, and the full security deposit was refunded. Bidding farewell to the house, I managed to catch the last few minutes of Amy Heck’s goodbye party before calling it a night.

Those final, jumbled bits somehow made more sense on Monday morning, and I was able to leave my boxes in an organized pile. The packing saga will continue on Saturday as those boxes and my odd collection of furniture go into a moving van and across six states to my new home.

New York Public Library

For the civilized world accepts as unforgivable sin
Any talking out loud with any librarian
Such as Marian - Madam Librarian

 

One of the upshots of visiting the campus in February is that I learned a thing or two about what to expect as far as research resources that the CUNY website will not tell you. Though I cannot verify all of this information, this is a cobbling together of what I know from the mouth of current students, faculty, and maybe just a hint of Wikipedia.

Once upon a time, the CUNY Graduate Center was located in Aeolian Hall, a building next to Bryant Park and thus looking at the New York Public Library from across 42nd street. Because of this, CUNY did not put much effort into compiling a high-quality research library. The ease of access to NYPL's resources made it unnecessary. The school has since moved, and therefore has its own library, but that library is not much to speak of. 

Because of this history (and this is where hearsay enters the story and I cannot be blamed if this turns out to be apocryphal), the Graduate Center students have a special privilege to apply for a library card that allows access to otherwise non-circulating materials at NYPL. I also heard that we can apply for study carrels at the public library, which would be amazing. The Graduate Center, for all its strengths, does not seem to boast of much study space. Considering I will probably have the world's smallest apartment, I may find myself craving study space as I never have before. 

In honor of this possibly inaccurate but interesting story, I paid homage to the midtown Manhattan location of NYPL while on my visit. I might be hanging out with this guy pretty often:

... so long as these* don't kill me first:

*Sycamores/Plane Trees. I didn't know I was allergic until experiencing a massive sneezing fit accompanied by streaming eyes in London as I walked through Holland park to get to Holy Trinity Brompton for church. Oh... maybe that's why they prayed for healing of someone's hayfever during the service. Hm. Three years later and I may have just realized that I was missing a prophetic word thanks to my unfamiliarity with certain British-English vocabulary...