(no subject)
well, i just got back from my writing class and it was pretty much the most intimidating thing that's happened to me in a long time. I'm not sure how I got accepted into a master writing class, but, well... carpe diem.
I mean, I do not work for Marie Claire or Publisher's Weekly or Glamor or have a masters in writing from Columbia, nor have I ever had my own column or been published in the New York Times. I'm just... me.
And to make matters worse, we have the worst first assignment ever.
A Humiliation Piece.
I have been a person who has prided herself on the fact that I have NEVER BEEN EMBARASSED A DAY IN MY LIFE. I think it is a strength, really, to take each dumb incident and laugh at it and forget it.
UNTIL NOW.
I'm fucked.
I mean, I never farted loudly in public or said something dumb in front of a large crowd of people. My vagina has never acted up infront of anyone and I pretty much don't care about what boys think of me. In fact, I pretty much don't mind making an ass out of myself, well, anywhere.
I just spent the last hour commute (the D train SUCKED!) thinking about not emBARrassing things, but huMILiating things.
I'm the nerd on the D train that thinks about the origin of the word humiliate...
which is essentially to humanize.
I guess.
...
And since the course is NYC writing-centric (although the teacher just got back from LA where she met two editors for the NEW LA Times weekly Sunday magazine who are launching in February and seeking new, fresh writers - OF COURSE) I thought my story should be as well and I thought maybe I should write about that day i was walking to the subway (about 8 steps from my stoop) on my way to work at this exclusive, expensive, new york lanmark restaurant in my heels with my bag and my midtown work costume about to put my ipod headphones in my ear when a middle aged black man who was walking down the street with a woman turned to me and said, "Hey Girl, Park Avenue is a long way from here" and it was probably the most "humiliating" thing a stranger has ever said to me.
It upset me because this man couldn't see everything I prided myself on being - open-minded, liberal, not into labels, humble, proud, an explorer - he saw me as white. And I am white. But rarely are white people the minority. Here I am. I am the only blonde I've seen north of 123rd street.
I know I live in a neighborhood that's changing over. I know people aren't always happy about that. I know I'm different. I know I can symbolize bad things for the amazing community harlem has. But this man doesn't know what I think - about how I want to learn and be involved in a community that has horbored some of the most powerful, talented amazing african americans this country has bred.
And even if I told him he might just think I was some other white girl tryin' to be black.
What I really wanted to say to him though was, thank God. I feel much more comfortable here than I do on Park Avenue!
But I dunno, I think the story is heavy and it's not a story really, it's just a thought.
Until... a couple days later I was walking around midtown post-work in the same type of costume with a couple of my girl friends. We were walkin by the corner of 5th avenue and 42nd when a slightly crazy black man started following us, came up next to us and said, "I am lookin' for a nice, white, RICH girl to take me on a date tonight!" and I burst out laughing. Immediately I turned to him and said, "well then, you are lookin' in the wrong place, my friend!" and I laughed. And he laughed too. I hope he at least got a date that night, because I sure as hell did not get rich.
And then I got home and thought about how I could just tell the story of how i never recognize famous people and that guy from My Big Fat Greek Wedding came into Cat and Fiddle in LA and I had a whole conversation with him where I thought he was someone else (someone else not famous)... or how I could talk about Jon and the time he called me "pathetic needy and desperate" and I got so hurt I turned off completely... until now-ish.
But then I thought about a title for that first piece: Just Because I Wear Nine West Doesn't Mean I Don't Love Kanye West
and that made me laugh. Because hell, we might as well slap labels over everything. It sure is a lot easier than being compassionate.
I mean, I do not work for Marie Claire or Publisher's Weekly or Glamor or have a masters in writing from Columbia, nor have I ever had my own column or been published in the New York Times. I'm just... me.
And to make matters worse, we have the worst first assignment ever.
A Humiliation Piece.
I have been a person who has prided herself on the fact that I have NEVER BEEN EMBARASSED A DAY IN MY LIFE. I think it is a strength, really, to take each dumb incident and laugh at it and forget it.
UNTIL NOW.
I'm fucked.
I mean, I never farted loudly in public or said something dumb in front of a large crowd of people. My vagina has never acted up infront of anyone and I pretty much don't care about what boys think of me. In fact, I pretty much don't mind making an ass out of myself, well, anywhere.
I just spent the last hour commute (the D train SUCKED!) thinking about not emBARrassing things, but huMILiating things.
I'm the nerd on the D train that thinks about the origin of the word humiliate...
which is essentially to humanize.
I guess.
...
And since the course is NYC writing-centric (although the teacher just got back from LA where she met two editors for the NEW LA Times weekly Sunday magazine who are launching in February and seeking new, fresh writers - OF COURSE) I thought my story should be as well and I thought maybe I should write about that day i was walking to the subway (about 8 steps from my stoop) on my way to work at this exclusive, expensive, new york lanmark restaurant in my heels with my bag and my midtown work costume about to put my ipod headphones in my ear when a middle aged black man who was walking down the street with a woman turned to me and said, "Hey Girl, Park Avenue is a long way from here" and it was probably the most "humiliating" thing a stranger has ever said to me.
It upset me because this man couldn't see everything I prided myself on being - open-minded, liberal, not into labels, humble, proud, an explorer - he saw me as white. And I am white. But rarely are white people the minority. Here I am. I am the only blonde I've seen north of 123rd street.
I know I live in a neighborhood that's changing over. I know people aren't always happy about that. I know I'm different. I know I can symbolize bad things for the amazing community harlem has. But this man doesn't know what I think - about how I want to learn and be involved in a community that has horbored some of the most powerful, talented amazing african americans this country has bred.
And even if I told him he might just think I was some other white girl tryin' to be black.
What I really wanted to say to him though was, thank God. I feel much more comfortable here than I do on Park Avenue!
But I dunno, I think the story is heavy and it's not a story really, it's just a thought.
Until... a couple days later I was walking around midtown post-work in the same type of costume with a couple of my girl friends. We were walkin by the corner of 5th avenue and 42nd when a slightly crazy black man started following us, came up next to us and said, "I am lookin' for a nice, white, RICH girl to take me on a date tonight!" and I burst out laughing. Immediately I turned to him and said, "well then, you are lookin' in the wrong place, my friend!" and I laughed. And he laughed too. I hope he at least got a date that night, because I sure as hell did not get rich.
And then I got home and thought about how I could just tell the story of how i never recognize famous people and that guy from My Big Fat Greek Wedding came into Cat and Fiddle in LA and I had a whole conversation with him where I thought he was someone else (someone else not famous)... or how I could talk about Jon and the time he called me "pathetic needy and desperate" and I got so hurt I turned off completely... until now-ish.
But then I thought about a title for that first piece: Just Because I Wear Nine West Doesn't Mean I Don't Love Kanye West
and that made me laugh. Because hell, we might as well slap labels over everything. It sure is a lot easier than being compassionate.