Most of the subways in New York are rather new and have a blue color scheme. Every once in a while though, one can find an old train, like this one that I took to Columbus Circle. I love the old orange seats.
January 31, 2011
7 FebJanuary 30, 2011
7 Feb
I had a coupon for American Apparel that was about to expire, so I had to use it. I went to the store and browsed around, not really finding anything I liked. Then, I saw these big, floppy hats. I put one on and looked in the mirror. I loved it! I’m not a hat person, but something about this big floppy hat made me so happy. I immediately bought it and asked the salesperson to kindly remove the tag for me, so I could wear it home. I felt so darn fashionable. I headed out into the street with a new stylish strut from the confidence this big, floppy hat was giving me. Then, I started to realize (or maybe it was all paranoia) but people were doing double-takes at my hat, and not in a good way. I started looking up and down the fashionable New York streets only to find that my hat was different than any hat anyone else was wearing. I tried to keep my chin up. When I walked into my apartment, Travis looked up from the couch and started laughing. I officially felt silly. I had spent all this money on a hat I loved, only to feel like a big ol’ weirdo. I still wear my big, floppy hat because I like it, but people still look at me strange. I’m starting not to mind. After all, somehow those big ear flap hats are all the rage, and I think those look stupid. I guess fashion is all just following what people are doing right now. It seems so silly.
January 29, 2011
31 Jan
We went ice skating at Bryant Park. The iphone doesn’t handle motions picture very well, hence the creepy blacked out portions of my face.
January 28, 2011
29 Jan
This was the end of a looong day. One of the craziest days I’ve had in recent memory. Up was down, black was white. Travis and I went to a place in Midtown ordered a pitcher of beer and some not-for-beginners food. I got the deep-fried Buffalo chicken sandwich with fries. For dessert, a cookie with ice cream and whipped cream on top.
I decided to celebrate my new-found employment by taking the day easy. First things first though, I had a barista interview that day to cancel. After sending off the interview cancellation, I realize that there is a voicemail on my phone. It is from one of the women who works at the place that just hired me. She apologized profusely and said that her father (the CEO of the company, currently on business in Korea) doesn’t want to fill the position they offered me until June. I was furious! I had already canceled an interview. My hopes for a brighter tomorrow had been dashed. Now I had to frantically e-mail the barista job and ask them if they would still meet with me. I ran down to the bagel store to grab some breakfast before getting ready for my interview. When I get back to the building, my key doesn’t work. Inexplicably at that. I stand there in the freezing cold, jiggling my key in complete confusion. Am I using the wrong key? What the hell is happening here? I buzz apartments in the building, finally finding someone to buzz me in. My keys work on the rest of the doors, just not that all-important first one. I get to my apartment and break down in tears, but I can’t cry! I have an interview! I get myself together, get ready, and head out. I get down to the coffeeshop, still in a frantic state of mind. The manager at the coffeeshop doesn’t interview me FOR AN HOUR! Just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean I can be treated like that. Finally he sits down and straight-out offers me the job for $7/hour. That’s not even minimum wage in New York. What are tips like? Horrible. He doesn’t even give me a chance to turn him down, he says to come in on Tuesday to train. He gets up to walk away, then turns around and says, “Oh, what’s your name?” What the heck? He didn’t even know who I was? When I finally leave, I realize there is a missed call from the temp agency on my phone. When I finally get a hold of my recruiter he tells me that he had a job for me, but he had to find someone else to take it since I didn’t answer my phone. AAAHHHH!!!! I head home. Again, my key doesn’t work, and this time, no one in the building will buzz me up. I don’t have the super’s number since I’m technically not on the lease. I call Travis all upset. He makes a couple calls, and an old man shows up to let me in. When I get inside my apartment, I call Travis back. I tell him how horrible my day has been. “Deep breaths. It’s okay. More opportunities will come along. I’ll head home in an hour or so, we can do whatever you want tonight. Just relax. It’s okay.” I know this is cheesy, but life can sometimes feel like a roller coaster, but Travis is my seat restraint. I sit down to drink a beer, knit and watch some Law and Order. I almost instantly get a phonecall from this strange foreign doctor who wants me to come in on Sunday to interview with him. I agree and quickly look him up on the internet. There are a slew of reviews that say that he is arrogant, condescending, an asshole. Just what I need, another crazy doctor making me hate my weekday life! An hour later, Travis comes home, again he is calming me down, saying everything will be okay. I’m still upset about my day, but we head out for dinner. As I’m putting my coat on, my phone rings. It’s the guy from the Real Estate company that had hired me the day before. He apologized PROFUSELY for the confusion, but told me that his sister (who had called me that morning) was mistaken and thinking about another position. The position I had been hired for was definitely available and being offered to me. “I don’t want to commit to this to have it taken away from me again,” I say sternly into the phone. “I promise you that will not happen. I’m so sorry for the confusion.” So I took the job. I tell Travis and he laughs, “I’ve never been hired, let go, and re-hired for a job within one day.”
“I don’t know if I’m skeptical or happy about this,” I say.
“You’re happy, okay. You have the job. You are happy.”
So, I guess I’m happy.
January 27, 2011
29 Jan
This is City Hall, looking lovely and pristine after the recent snowfall. I love the way this city looks after it snows. Unfortunately, it quickly turns brown, slushy, and gross. Oh well, city life. I was down in this area for a job interview. It went really well, and I was actually offered the job, told to start Monday. It seems like a great place, and they offered me good things. Before the celebrating starts, read about the 28th…
January 26, 2011
27 Jan
On this snowy Wednesday night, I decided to go to church. I stopped regularly going to church when I was around 15. I was raised in the Lutheran church, and my family was always heavily involved in church activities. However, when I became a teenager, it no longer fit into my life and into my beliefs. In times of confusion in my life, I find myself going back. It started in Seattle when I realized I lived so close to a Lutheran church. In the five years I lived in Seattle, I probably attended this church five or six times. It was comforting to say those same prayers and sing those same hymns I knew as a child. Everyone is always kind and welcoming, and they give you free coffee if you stay the whole time. I also particularly liked the pastor at the church who was rather liberal. She spoke out against war abroad, about protecting the environment , about equal rights for everyone despite sexual orientation. I enjoyed hearing a group of religious people embracing the bible as a text meant to be continuously re-interpreted and re-examined in order to deal with modern issues in a responsible way. This church visit was not as successful. I was one of only four people who showed up for the weekday night service, and I was the only one for a good long while. There were no songs, and the pastor went on and on about loving God. It fell flat for me. I know that is the first commandment. But it feels like too great an abstraction. I’m supposed to sit around and focus on loving a being that I can neither comprehend nor believe to be truly there. When it comes to religion, I try to just be good. To do good in this world and appreciate the wonderful life I have. I believe that in basking in the glow of a beautiful moment or by helping out a stranger, I am honoring the “Creator” more than sitting in a musky church focusing on love. That is what I seek in religion, finding peace and happiness with what I have. Unfortunately this church is not the place for me to do that.
January 25, 2011
26 Jan
I went to a University of Washington event in Midtown. I walked by a jewelry store, glanced inside, and saw this. What the heck?
January 24, 2011
26 Jan
If this statue of Mr. Bryant in Bryant Park could talk, he would be saying how damn cold he is. I had another interview with the temp agency and met up with Travis and his friends for lunch. Before I left my apartment in the morning, I checked the weather. 6 degrees. 6! What got me was the “Feels like” which was -1. Man, oh, man. I ordered a really puffy winter coat from Amazon on Sunday, and I cannot wait for it to get here.
Fourth Street
24 JanNow that the website Dicey Weather is completely defunct and no longer on the internet, I am posting some of my articles here, just in the name of having it all in one place. This article was written collaboratively with my co-editor Danguole.
Growing up in Reno, memories of Fourth Street mainly consist of the first time seeing a real-life hooker and being told to not go there after dark. To be fair, there will always be areas of that long strip that are acceptable. Sundance Books is kind of adjacent, and Jack In The Box isn’t so bad as long as you stick to the drive-thru and under no circumstances leave your car.
In 2010 though, Reno has drastically changed. It is no longer the town that only has gambling and quick marriages/divorces. It is an evolving town that is America’s Adventure Place and now officially Far From Expected. So the Dicey Weather staff decided to take the Reno tourism board up on their claim and put one of Reno’s most notorious streets to the test. We all knew what we expected from Fourth Street (one of our editors brought a small vial of pepper spray), but we were also ready to be surprised by the bars and restaurants we visited. What is truly amazing is that this is only a sampler of the locales on Fourth Street to visit. We will most definitely be winding our way down that street again sometime in the near future.
4th Street Bistro
3065 West Fourth Street
Reno, NV 89523-8808
http://www.4thstbistro.com
In a twist of irony, Reno’s best (arguably–we agree) burger is served at a quaint, classy-yet-laid-back joint, way on the west side of Fourth Street, where the customers seem to consist almost entirely of couples and groups of girlfriends. The menu is eclectic, contemporary, and innovative, and everything we’ve had a chance to try is absolutely delicious. On this particular venture, we went for said burger (the turkey-and-smoked-gouda version) and fries, as well as organic brown rice pasta with roasted cauliflower, piquillo peppers, pine nuts, capers and parmesan ($20). The folks behind the food are also environmentally and socially conscious; much of the offerings and all of the meat products are local, organic and sustainable. The wine list is extensive, as is the cocktail menu, but the beer selection is much more limited, although carefully selected. Single boys, you really don’t have to wait for a date; you really are missing out on that burger. Grab your bros and go. It’s a great way to start your journey down Fourth.
Gold ‘n Silver Inn
790 West Fourth St.
Reno, NV 89503
http://www.goldnsilverreno.com
If cheap stick-to-your-ribs fare is more your speed, or if you meander around Fourth Street long enough to get hungry again for some “Frrrrench toooaaast” a la Nicky in the 40-Year Old Virgin, there’s no better spot than Gold ‘n Silver, a true Reno classic and landmark for over 50 years. Most of us have frequented it since at least high school, back when you’d still reek of smoke after every visit. Everything on the menu is available 24 hours a day, from breakfast to sandwiches and burgers to old-fashioned diner entrees. We ended our night here and stuck to water (lots of it) along with fries ($2.45), mozzarella sticks ($6.85), jalapeno poppers ($6.85) and nachos ($7.95). Although the veggie club sandwich ($8.75) is quite good, generally none of Gold ‘n Silver’s food is outstanding. But, it’s not about that here; it’s about being there for you and your drunken hooligan friends, no questions asked, 24/7, for over 50 years.
Davidson’s Distillery
275 East Fourth St.
http://www.myspace.com/davidsonsdistillery
Biker bar. That’s what we said. Biker bar. If you need a bit more description, here’s the painted picture. We walk up to the bar with murals of motorcycle brands on the brick walls and a couple of Harleys leaning on their kickstands like it’s nobody’s business in the parking lot. Once we walk inside, a wall of cigarette smoke slaps us awake. To the left, a stripper pole, to the right, a mediocre live band playing the blues. The pool tables were being held hostage by a gruff-looking group of older men, one holding a tiny chihuahua in the crook of his arm. The bartender was short with us, and her breasts were spilling out her top. There was a very poor beer selection, mostly worthless domestics such as Budweiser and Coors. There is only one decent beer on tap, which we all decide to order, but none of us finish because the beer tastes more like stale cigarettes than hops. We dance a bit to the music with a couple of the other patrons, but ultimately decide to leave. It wasn’t such a bad place, but it wasn’t our cup of beer.
The Lincoln Lounge
303 East Fourth St.
Reno, NV 89512
http://www.lincolnlounge.com
The Lincoln Lounge is arguably the most posh bar on Fourth Street. It follows all the rules of a fun, trendy bar. Dimly lit, somewhat rustic, wide and delicious beer selection, low music, historical motif themed through an artsy décor. They feature a mug club, which dares its patrons to try all of the beers they offer, a room with shuffleboard, and an outdoor patio which we hear is lovely in the summer. Unfortunately we were there when it was in the negatives outdoors. But we were more than happy to snuggle up with one another on the ultra-comfortable couches nestled in a dark corner. The crowd was unexpected. It seemed to be made up of mostly college students of the Greek variety fresh out on the town with their freshly horizontal IDs. It was still a good place to sit back with a good beer and have a conversation.
Abby’s Highway 40
424 West Fourth St.
Reno, NV
From the outside, Abby’s seems to be the perfect dive bar. Tucked away in a brick building with neon lights advertising the PBR on tap within, this bar is irresistible. The first couple of times we visited was on weeknights when there were a few people perched up at the bar, a lonely girl gazing into the bountiful jukebox, and a couple of young friends playing a game of pool. We sat at the bar, talking to the amiable bartender, sipping on some strong whiskey gins, watching the Fall Classic games on the big screens. There was an adjacent room curtained off, but we didn’t ask questions. It was an ideal belly-up-to-the-bar situation; so much so that we decided to come back on a Friday night. Much to our surprise, the curtain had been pulled back to reveal a stage and a modest dance floor. A local band blasted cover songs, and a rather large crowd for such a small venue danced their hearts out. The only complaint lodged by our group of editors was that when our designated driver kindly asked the bartender for a cup of water, he gave her a bottle and charged her $3. He had been so courteous on the weeknights, but the weekend rush had apparently turned him sour.
Alturas Bar & Nightclub
1044 West Fourth St.
Reno, NV 89512
(775) 324-5050
This only looks like a classic drink-away-your-sorrows biker bar. Its walls and ceiling are covered with cheeky posters and t-shirts, there’s a pool table, darts, and at least a couple decent beers on tap. And no one seems unhappy, from the quiet lady focusing on her video poker game to the super sweet bartender who sings and dances along to the jukebox and doesn’t at all seem to mind changing your Abe Lincoln to quarters or assembling a set of non-screwy darts for you. It’s definitely a smokers’ bar; if you have an issue with that, take it up with the taxidermied deer head watching over the bar, the one with the cigarette hanging out of its mouth and a cross around its neck.
Dilligas Saloon
1303 West Fourth St.
Reno, NV 89512
http://www.dilligassaloon.com
Okay. We will admit it. We were major league fooled here. Two girls cruising Fourth Street, trying to find the spots with delicious beer and a bit of character, we were naïve enough to look up at a sign saying “Saloon” and think, “Awesome, classic country Reno-style!” We walked right up to the door to see a sign advertising “Couples night” with a picture of a couple dancing. It’s a dancing place! Fantastic! Wrong. We walked straight into a swingers bar. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But it definitely was not what we were expecting when we happily knocked upon that door. We were quickly pulled inside by a very kind and understanding woman in bondage lingerie. She was signing up two young men and said she would help us in a second. We looked around to see porn on the television and people in costumes tucked into a dark corner. Our host returned to us, saw our faces and realized what was happening. She kindly explained to us exactly what kind of place we had wandered into. She told us single women were free, but she would need to sign us up for a membership. The young men she had just signed up offered to buy us drinks, which was tempting. We said thank you, but no and headed out, never to think of the word “saloon” with such naivety again.
Fat Daddyz
2061 E Fourth St
Reno, NV 89512
http://www.myspace.com/fatdaddyzrenonv
So, yeah, there are rows and rows of X-rated photos of female rear-ends and boobs to greet patrons. In fact, boobs comprise some element of most of Fat Daddyz’s “pieces of flair,” so to speak. We expected a biker bar, but with the decor, the loud party music (Limp Bizkit, and then that one song about shots), and the other patrons being a friendly bunch celebrating someone’s 21st, it felt more like a college hangout–the kind with lots of testosterone. That’s why we also expected to be uncomfortable, but although we left rather quickly, we found the bartender (perhaps the owner?) and the patrons very cordial–maybe even… sweet. The beer selection isn’t the best if you’re into something more substantial than Coronas, but the special that night was $1 Jell-O shots. We got some–to go.
Concert Etiquette
24 JanNow that the website Dicey Weather is completely defunct and no longer on the internet, I am posting some of my articles here, just in the name of having it all in one place.
Lessons from a Dylan Show Survivor
Shows seem to these days be things of my past. I used to go see bands a couple of times a month. However, in my old age, I only make it out to see live music once every couple of months, and when I go to a concert I am amazed by the lack of concert etiquette that used to exist. I end up feeling like an old lady hollering sentences that begin, “Back in my day…” But you know what, it isn’t even that I am old and not cool anymore. I recently ventured to Berkeley to see Bob Dylan in concert and couldn’t believe the things that were going on around me. I lived to tell the tale, but also to share what to me seems to be common sense about the things you do and don’t do at a concert.
1. Don’t Sit
The concert we went to was at the Greek Amphitheatre on the UC Berkeley campus. In the theme of antiquity, the theatre boasted elevated stone seats rising from all sides and a general admission area, commonly known by nicknames such as “the pit” or “the dancefloor” or “standing room.” None of these terms imply sitting. Hence my shock when my friend and I realized that the two women behind us had taken it upon themselves to sit on the floor before the concert started. There are seats designed for that very purpose within the venue and when you sit in a standing room only area, you take up more room than your ticket allots, and you run the risk of tripping someone or getting trampled. If you can’t stand at a concert, suck it up and sit in the nosebleeds. A concert is often a communal experience, and the theme throughout these tips focuses on enjoying a concert while not raping the experience for your neighbors.
2. Don’t Shove
Concert migrations are normal and natural. Anybody who has moved up at a concert knows that when you scope the crowd ahead of you, there is often a slight hint of a path guiding you forward, spaces in the crowd that seem open and waiting for you. It is perfectly acceptable to gently move your way through these paths to a free space, always with an obligatory “Excuse Me” or “Coming Through” and that gentle tap on the shoulder to let people know that you are on the move. Just don’t be rude about it. At the Bob Dylan concert, the aforementioned women who were sitting stood up quickly as soon as the lights shifted and the concert began. One of the women was trying to move ahead of me and this other gentleman, but there wasn’t any room for her. Most people would have just stayed put. Instead this woman stuck her arm between me and the young gentleman and yelled “I have to be up closer” to us and shoved us aside so she could be ahead of us.
3. Use Height Responsibly
This woman was shorter than me, so although her approach was rude, I accepted it. However she proceeded to reach back to where she was standing, grab someone’s hand and pull them up also in front of me. This man also yelled “Is it okay if I stand with my lady?” I politely said “No, you are much taller than me.” But that wasn’t the answer he was looking for so he ignored it and shoved his way through. He was a good foot taller than me and double my width. This rule is very grey, because tall people shouldn’t be penalized for their extra inches. They should be allowed to enjoy concerts as well. But there is a responsibility that goes along with that, like not forcing your way in front of someone who is vertically limited.
4. Pay Attention and Blow Up
Once the happy couple was in front of me, the woman (likely in her late fifties) turned around, facing away from the Bob Dylan she just so had to be closer to and proceeded to suck face with the rude man. No one wants to see that. A simple peck on the lips will do. You came to see a concert, not to make out with your aged significant other. In between the spit swap, they also pulled out a joint. I was young and high once in my life, and concerts are definitely a prime place to be smoking. However not everyone in the concert wants a buzz. Most people at concerts take a hit, point their faces skyward creating plumes of smoke emerging from varying areas of the crowd like the industrial sectors of Detroit. Again it’s the responsible way to smoke. This couple was blowing smoke everywhere onto their neighbors. At one point a young fellow standing next to them got so fed up that he moved away. My friend and I shifted into the space that he had vacated. We were fools.
5. No One Paid to Hear You
The worst part was once we were ahead of this couple we were subject to the rude man’s singing for the rest of the concert. Not only was he squealing the lyric to every song, he did it a nauseating second before Bob Dylan would sing it, like a reverse echo. Again, buddy, there are times for this. During the encore, everyone raucously sang along to “Like a Rolling Stone” which was a fantastic, communal understanding. But other than the required concert group sing-alongs, singing should be reserved. The worst part about this man’s singing was the timing, reciting lyrics before Bob Dylan got the chance, almost as if he wanted to prove to everyone unfortunate enough to be around him that yes, he knew the lyrics. No one cares.
6. Shut up and Dance
Most of the songs Bob Dylan played were upbeat, jazzy numbers which caused a great sway of the crowd as everyone danced around. I myself was still cold, so had my arms crossed in front of me and was swaying my hip slightly. After a particularly fun song, the man grabbed my arm. Startled, I turned to see what he wanted. “You need to knock it off!” I giggled nervously since surely he must be joking. He wasn’t. “You just elbowed me in the stomach and shoved me two feet!” he proceded to yell at me. “I was hardly dancing. I don’t think that could be true,” I explained to him. He continued yelling at me, saying that I needed to calm down. This man had been persistently ruining my experience and was now asking me to not even sway my hips. At this moment, I felt rather low. Until, “Hey man! Leave the girl alone.” I looked up to see my knight in shining hipster clothes. Rude man: “Stay out of this! She shoved me.” My knight: “She was dancing. This is a concert. If you can’t handle dancing, go back to the old man section.” My knight grabbed my hand and pulled me forward to stand with him and his friends who were all dancing, smoking and blowing up.
The moral of my Dylan story is that when you go to a concert, it is not a private performance. You are one in a crowd of many. So don’t piss off the people around you, and if you see someone like me in trouble, help them out. If the entire crowd is having a good time, it is always a more memorable experience. And, hey, if you are reading this my knight-in-shining-hipster, I owe you a beer sometime.
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