I keep having these moments where I oscillate between “I’m absolutely in control and can manage this” optimism, and “I’m going to drown in a sea of people where no one knows my name” panic.  This second thought harkens back to the OhMyGodIHaveNoPlan post which I originally wrote two days in to the move, but which still clings, and occasionally takes hold over the back of my mind.

I think it all boils down to money, and the fact it’s much easier to face a 9 month unpaid internship where there is a definite end in sight and things cost 1/3 that of New York prices, than it is to face an indefinitely long future of uncertainty in a really expensive city. I think it also scares me that I see people who live here fall into a pattern of making money, but forgetting why they moved here in the first place. I don’t really want to work a 9-5 right now, or ever, but I see the appeal/necessity of having a steady pay check.

So when the fear takes hold, you have to cope. And that is what I did this weekend. Cope, cope, cope.

FRIDAY,

I temped all day, “Good Afternoon, blankity-blank business. Mr. Blank-blank? Just one moment.” and that sucked. (Remember when I said I don’t want to get stuck in a 9-5? That’s why.) But I was getting paid, so it was ok for a day. Then it was off to see two shows: a play reading of Puddy Tat at The Lark Play Development Center (where Anna worked before she came to ATL!) and then to see Lusia Struss (an amazing actress who was in the Humana Festival at ATL!) in the Neo-Futurist’s 2-minute-play fest “Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind”.

Going to see theatre with friends is a great coping method!

SATURDAY,

the fear hit when I stepped outside of my apartment and the door locked behind me, and then I realized I didn’t have my keys and all my roommates were in Connecticut for the weekend (AHH!). It took a tense half hour to figure out how to break in with found materials  after briefly considering sacrificing a netflix CD to the angry lock-gods, I ripped the cover off a telephone book and used it like a credit card, which worked well enough), by which time I was sweaty and gross and freaked out, and thus decided to take a walk through the entire north/south length of Central Park.

Parks are a great coping method!

I gave up the idea of walking through the actual park after 45 minutes, when I realized that due to the winding paths I had only traveled twenty blocks north and had another 30 to go. (Central Park is huge). But I eventually made it, and met up with Jon, Moy, and Steve to go out for Jon’s birthday, which was great coping, and fun besides!

Birthdays are a great coping method!

SUNDAY,

I briefly freaked out when I realized how much money I’d spent this weekend, so I resolved to spend the day being productive at home writing music. I pretty much did this all day. Writing music is a great coping method!

Ed came home around 6, and about 9 or so we decided to go out for a drink at Grassroots, a cheap dive.

Cheap drinks are a ok-probably-not-the-best-but-it-will-work coping method!  

Then that night, just for kicks, I began to play Final Fantasy XI, which is the only one of the FF series to be put into a MMORPG (Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game) format. Yes, that is correct. I retreated, albeit briefly, to my tried and true coping method of playing video games. And by briefly, I mean I was up until 9 am. Then went to sleep for four hours. Then played for 10 more. 

Video Games are a worse-than-crack-cause-crack-can’t-last-for-ten-straight-hours coping method.   

Bad David. Very Bad David. 

But now I’m back to normal. Yesterday I wrote music, walked through Prospect Park, visited the Brooklyn Library, read a book, went to the grocery, emailed friends, and had a generally productive day. Today, I’ve been I-called-the-temp-ageny- and-they-haven’t-called-me-back-so-I-wrote-a-blog-post productive. 

Being productive is the best coping method!

New York is full of some crazy people. And crazy situations. And a combination of the two. Walking around with everyone in the hustle-bustle you might not realize it, but when you take a minute to stop, or when you go below ground to share in the intimate isolation provided by the train (read: subway), the crazy that people try so hard to ignore here starts to bubble out of control. Check it out:

1) I had a conversation with a woman named Blanche while waiting for a train where she essentially told me that she “screwed up” – ran away from her sister’s house, got drunk, disappeared for four days, and was now about to make amends (all while beginning to cry). It was a profound experience, and I’ll probably never see her again.

2) I saw a guy tell a homeless woman that she smelled and should move to a different train, then proceeded to watch said homeless woman go off on the guy for 15 minutes about Jesus and Heaven while breaking into worship songs like “Soon and very soon” before giving up a moving on to a different car.

3) While #2 was happening, a disheveled guy came in asking for money, then realized he couldn’t compete with the crazy going on in that car, so he moved on to another car and I was spared telling him that I don’t have any change.

4) Heard a teenager tell her friends that “I’m not gonna get stoned, I just want to get high!” at a voice level so high that the entire train car knew.

5) Watched a guy scream angry lyrics at the car floor while listening to his headphones a full blast, then look around to see if anyone had noticed, then do it again.

6) Watched a very put together older business man listen to his iPod so loud that everyone could hear The Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony” blaring from his ear buds, all the while appearing very serious.

7) Watched people try to hide behind their newsweek/paper/book as if it were some protection from the rest of the crazy going on in the subway. 

8 ) Seen people go around wearing medical masks in fear of the pig-sick (swine flu).

9) Watched a man straight out of an August Wilson play, complete with wide brimmed hat and near-toothless grin, talk to his friends about music, and what the blues meant. This was actually cooler than it was crazy come to think about it.

10) (Perhaps a personal favorite) Day 2 in the city, gone out with a roommate who, having drank to much, puked all over the station and train car on the way home, and passed out on my shoulder. At each stop, new people would sit down near us, smell the distinctively parmesan odor brought about by a combination of partially digested 2 hour old pizza and 3 or 4 pitchers of AmberBock, look around for the source, find it in chunks on the floor, and look to me as if I could be of some assistance. I would respond by waving my hand flat under my chin as if to say, “He’s not having such a great night,” thenthey would nod in understanding, as if to say “we’ve all been there before,” and move further down the train. But the best part would have to be when a visiting actor from ATL walked straight through the puke-age, realized what he’d done, and then realized who I was, and had a brief but congenial conversation with me before getting off at his stop, two stations down the line.    

The list goes on…

I’ve seen more characters in the past week, than in my entire time in Louisville. They weren’t even this crazy in London. Welcome to the land of misfit toys!

Today is our one week Anniversary. I was starting to think that maybe you had forgotten, but then I encountered such a set of fortuitous circumstances that I knew it had to be you.

— — —

Seriously, today has been a ridiculous day.

I woke up this morning with the intention of hitting the pavement in Manhattan to see if there were any temp agencies that could use my expert skills. I was already into my dark socks and khaki pants, dressed to impress and all that, when I was emailed by my first client (did I tell you I’ve started a web design business?) with a quick freelance graphic design gig, making some certificates for the graduating members of his choir. So, committed as I am to selling my soul to corporate America, I dropped all intention of heading into the city, and instead picked up the project, which would pay better and be more fun than a job as a paper pusher anyway.

So after a few hours I was wrapping things up, when my roommate, Jay, comes home early from work. It’d been a rough day. Then he checked his email to discover that, after already putting money down on the apartment he’s planning to move to when the lease is up in June, one of his future roommate had bailed because of financial reasons. “That sucks” I told him, and then joked “Do you need a roommate?”.

Which how I find myself planning to go to view my new nicer, cheaper, better, conveniently-located-two-blocks-up-the-street apartment with him and the realtor at 4:30 today.  

— — —

Damn, New York. You’re a quick lover. But I like your sense of humor.

-db

So what is the best advice I can give anyone moving to New York City?

Walk.

Walk! Walk! Walk Everywhere! Yesterday was amazing. I met up with Jon, Steve, Nancy, and Moy for a full day on the town. My feet are still tired.

Here’s the highlights:

Shake Shack! The line for food was 45 minutes long, but it was a great way to spend the early afternoon. Great burgers! Great shakes! Great big New York prices! What more could a Kentucky boy want?!

Shake Shack at Madison Square Park.

We walked down Broadway to see a temporary market.

Meat smoked on the street!

Then it was hot and we were tired.

 

Pink Berry Yogurt and $1 slice pizza. A winning combination!

Taking a break at Thomkins Square Park. We dog-watched at the run for an hour!

After the full day out, we took a little break and then saw our friend Donell’s one man show, Sign o’ the Times at The Duplex, yesterday evening. It was great! I’ll have more soon, but for now I’m out.

I woke up this morning in my New York City apartment. 

Wow. 

The last three days have been an epic journey. Here’s a recap:

Monday, we packed. After realizing that a 24′ Budget truck was too big to drive in the city, we reevaluated and decided on an 18′, which at the time still seemed huge. Of course, like Christmas trees, boxes seem to magically grow when you put them in enclosed spaces such as moving vans, so by the time we had gotten through packing for 5 of our 10 person caravan, worry began to set in. Items were ditched left and right. I forwent a vacuum, microwave, bed frame, anything that might help us fit into our quickly shrinking life pod. Mark’s packing skills are magical though, and slowly but surely things began to look up. [Here's a quick shout-out to Mark and Aaron, who didn't need to help us but did out of the greatness of their hearts! You guys rock!] After a quick break for goodbyes at Freddies around 10, we reconvened  and worked well into the morning (2 am? 3am?) before we called it quits for the day and I drove home to sleep upon a bare mattress with a single blanket. Oh, the life of an apprentice.

After a good three hours of sleep, I awoke to take care of several last minute details, which ended up taking a good three hours. Even so, we were able to get a relatively early start out of Louisville, hitting I-64 at 10:30.

Nancy, Moy, Matt, and Dalto stand beside our budget truck, packed beyond the edge of what seemed possible.

A brief stop in Lexington allowed me to drop off the Explorer at Dad’s and then we headed towards D.C. in Dozer, my now-former-roommate’s beat up Maxima, held together with duct tape and love.

It rained all day, and the drive took 11-12 hours, but we finally made it to Chris’ house, our stop for the night. After being greeted with the welcoming gestures of pizza and beer, another unloading session ensued for both Chris and Anne, who are spending the summer in D.C. and then it was another short night before we hit the road again, this time at 5:30 am.

And then we were in New York. At which point it occurred to me that OhMyGodIHaveNoPlan!!! Only a two-month sublet was between me and a cardboard box on skid row. Simultaneously, I realized that OhMyGodI’mLivingInNewYorkNow!!! I was about to embark on the most exciting journey of my life. The two thoughts did a pretty good job not only of obliterating each other, but everything else in my head, and as I stared at the empire state building all I could say was “Ahh, I’m scared.” Pure poetry.

Nancy was there to reassure me that everything would be fine, and I eventually returned to the realm of rational thought. Soon we were at her apartment in Harlem, where we met her roommate, unloaded her things, and moved on to the next place in what would become a pattern for the entire day. Lila was next, then Jon, Me, Moy, [then a brief adventure which involved locking ourselves out of the cab of the moving van, and our first trip to a storage unit to reserve space], Dalto, our second trip trip to the storage units, a trip back to Nancy’s, and finally Steve’s place. 

It was then back to my apartment, where I met Jay, a former apprentice and one of my new roommates, who took me out to eat at tasty tacos, and showed me around the neighborhood. It’s a beautiful place, and I can’t wait to go explore it further, which in fact is what I’m about to do right now!

I was in the car with Matt today, coming back from getting his bike tuned up by Vic (possibly the friendliest bike enthusiast/repairman I have ever met), when we passed a gaggle of old women in derby hats. He observed that going to the race track is so funny because the rich, white, southern families spend their time chatting while looking on at other people handling their horses. 

To a large degree, he’s right. It’s odd that the city of Louisville holds a two week party for a two minute race. It’s odd that super wide brimmed hats and gorgeous dresses have become synonymous with horses running in a circle on the first Saturday in May. It’s odd that such an activity could have millions of dollars of investments behind it.

But I grew up in Kentucky. And have called Kentucky home for the entirety of my life. And for Kentuckians like myself, Derby is more than a silly race. It’s the one time a year that Kentucky gets to celebrate it’s cultural heritage, mint juleps, parties, hats, and all.  And then there’s that song, you know, that song that was played at the end of every UK basketball game as I walked out of Rupp Arena for as long as I can remember, that song that I watched my Dad sing into the television full voice as a young child, that song that I belted out in the Berkshires when a friend and I discovered our mutual Kentucky connection, that song that they had to revise the lyrics to because the original version became outdated and racist, but which has transcended it’s origins to become a song of love for the place you grew up, that song from Stephen Foster about My Old Kentucky Home:

The sun shines bright in My Old Kentucky home,
‘Tis summer, and people are gay;
The corn-top’s ripe and the meadow’s in the bloom
While the birds make music all the day.

The young folks roll on the little cabin floor
All merry, all happy and bright;
By ‘n’ by hard times comes a knocking at the door
Then My Old Kentucky Home, good night!

Weep no more my lady
Oh! weep no more today!
We will sing one song
For My Old Kentucky Home
For My Old Kentucky Home, far away.

Maybe it’s silly. But when I sing that song today with my right hand over my heart, I’ll be saying goodbye.

I’ve spent the last week either hanging out with fellow apprentices and interns here in Louisville, or spending hours creating my new website (which by the way is now officially up and compatible with most modern browsers. If you haven’t seen it already, you can check out here: David Michael Brown). Anything to keep from packing, but that time has come.

Like most good things, the apprenticeship went by fast. But the end is swiftly approaching, and I signed up for a swift kick in the butt when I agreed to move to New York a day after this whole shebang ended. It’s a good move in the long term, but it does mean that I have to immediately come to terms with the fact that I have too much shit. I get one (maybe two) car loads of stuff to store back in Lexington before everything else either gets thrown away or packed into a Budget truck with the possessions of 9 other people.

There’s something to be said for cleaning out the closet though. That’s probably the reason it’s become a metaphor for so much more than garments, and why moving, while fantastically difficult, is great. I’m leaving behind a bed, posters, knick-knacks, clothes, tables, chairs… and I’m moving into a sublet where I’ll probably still be cramped. But I’m moving to a city that from a living perspective is incredibly roomy. And if my quarters ever start to feel tight, at least they have some great parks!

I’m excited. You only get to move to New York for the first time, once.