Adventures in Footwear (The humid, soggy weather edition)

First and foremost, I have to apologize profusely for not posting in such a long time. I started my new job almost three weeks ago, and I’ve hit the ground running, which I actually love. The downside to it is that I haven’t been able to muster up the energy to spend more time in front of the computer when I get home. It’s not a great excuse, I know. But I hope the few readers that remain will forgive me, and I’ll make more of an effort in the future – I promise.

Over the past few weeks I’ve frequently been asked by the folks back home what autumn is like in New England. The sad reality is that I can’t tell you anything about it…because it hasn’t happened yet. I can’t begin to tell you how sad this makes me, because I’ve been carrying around this picture-perfect image of fall in New Haven for months now. I pictured myself walking under a shower of crimson and golden leaves, handing out candy to little ghosts and goblins on a crisp Halloween night, and fulfilling all my Martha Stewart fantasies by pulling a fresh-baked pie from the oven, stuffed with the apples I picked myself from the orchards of Connecticut (Alice Waters would be so proud). And while I have gone apple picking in Connecticut, I did it on a mild, sunny, 73 degree day – not the sort of day I would ever complain about, but it certainly didn’t fit my image of crisp New England weather.

And so it seems that Todd and I's global warming tour of the world has continued here in New England, where today it is 76 degrees, humid, and rainy, when it should be crisp, clear, and well…fall like. Normally on a Friday a rainy or misty day isn’t such a big deal, since I can pull on a pair of jeans and more water-resistant shoes and be good to go. Unfortunately, one glaring downside to my new job is the dress code – no jeans on Friday (or ever, for that matter), and most people wear suits every single day. Needless to say when I get my first paycheck (which only comes once a month… another, albeit minor downside), I’ll be out buying more suits. But I digress. Since I can’t wear jeans today, and the air is warm and thick, I decide I’ll wear a skirt, and being my mother’s daughter, I’ve decided what shoes I want to wear first, and then I construct an outfit around them. The shoes of choice today were my red leather Steve Madden moccasin flats – a blessed relief after a week running around New Haven and Manhattan in pointy-toe boots and pumps. Plus, since they’re leather, they’ll be good to wear in the light mist, right?

Needless to say, my flats probably would have been just fine if in fact I had been walking through a light mist. Instead, the heavens decided to open – 1 minute after I stepped out our office building to run an errand on my lunch break. Since I only had three blocks to go at this point, I decided to keep walking and hope it would lighten up. It didn’t – until I reached one of the large Gothic churches that dot New Haven. Just as I walked past the church doors, a man stepped out, and began cheerfully singing “Zip a dee doo dah.” Not being a song you hear everyday, I glanced at him, and right as he got to the line “plenty of sunshine heading my way,” it stopped raining. Literally. I think to myself, “Well, if that isn’t a direct connection to God, I don’t know what is.” I continue walking behind him until I reach my destination, and the sun does indeed poke through the clouds.

After picking up what I need, I step back outside and am relieved to find that the break in the rain is still there. I begin to walk quickly back to the office, and just as I round the corner next to the church, the heavens break once again, and it pours in the sort of fierce sheets I haven’t seen since Austria. Zip a dee doo dah my ass. I don’t know whether I should take this as a personal f-you from God, or just that I’m that Care Bear who always has a rain cloud hanging over his head. At this point, my shoes are already damp, but by the time I get back to the office they are soaked through and a completely different shade of red – burgundy, almost. Once I sit back at my desk I look down and think, “Did I cut myself?” because a blotch of red is now creeping up from my shoe. I pull my shoe off and gasp, because my entire foot is covered in red dye. I pull my left foot out and see it’s fared no better.

I go into the women’s restroom (whose mere four stalls are shared by all the women on my large floor), and try to scrub the dye off with a paper towel. It’s at this point that two of my co-workers walk into the bathroom and discover me rubbing at a foot that looks like someone’s supply of fake blood has exploded all over it. Perfect. Oh, and I did mention that I’m humming Zip a Dee Doo Dah when they come in, because now the song is stuck in my head and I can’t get it out? I look like a bloody sociopath, scrubbing with a fervor that would make Lady MacBeth proud, AND I’m a walking Disney ride. Nice. I try to laugh it off and explain it to them, but I think to them I will forever be THAT girl. On top of all of this, the dye isn’t coming off. At all. Todd’s promised he’ll only make fun of me for one week, which is nice…I guess. Until then, I’ll just have to stick to closed-toed shoes – or strut my horror film feet around the block, whistling a merry tune. I’ll let you know which I decide.

What Constitutes the Constitution State

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never been the best at Revolutionary War history. Sure, I remember the significance of the Boston Tea Party, and that Paul Revere is more than just a song by the Beastie Boys. But when thinking back on our nation’s founding, I sure as hell wouldn’t have picked Connecticut as the ‘Constitution State.’ Pennsylvania, perhaps, or even Massachusetts, but Connecticut? No way. But indeed, every Connecticut license plate proudly proclaims that this is the Constitution State, while Massachusetts is merely ‘The Spirit of America.’ If the Boston Tea Party is the seminal Colonial moment in Massachusetts, that must mean that the spirit of America is disguising ourselves as the people we’ve been oppressing and then blaming our actions on them. Nice.

So, in a very Carrie Bradshaw-esque way, I’ve been asking myself just what are some of the things that define Connecticut. And oh, what a long, strange trip it’s been. Here are a few of the highlights and observations from the past two weeks:

1) Tonight we’re going to party like it’s 1899. When it comes to alcohol, Connecticut is a damn strange state. Not only can you not purchase alcohol on Sundays (unless you go to a proper bar), you can’t purchase it after 9:00pm Monday- Saturday. Grocery stores go into lockdown at 9:01pm, putting the alcohol behind bars. And don’t even think of trying to purchase wine at a grocery store – they aren’t allowed to sell it. Major chains like Stop ‘n Shop can sell beer but no wine or liquor, and smaller chains like Trader Joe’s don’t even have a liquor license, so there’s no Two Buck Chuck to be found anywhere in this great state. If you do wish to purchase wine or liquor, you have to visit a ‘package store,’ an innocuous-sounding euphemism for a liquor store. Honestly, for the first couple of weeks I was here I thought that people in Connecticut just liked to ship goods regularly, and that Bud Light was the proud sponsor of their packaging needs. Yes, that’s right – I went to Berkeley, ladies and gentleman.

2) But the wind does great things for my pores. Connecticut is one of the growing number of states who have made it illegal to drive without a hands-free set for your cell phone. I understand the rationale for a hands-free law, but anyone who’s ever used one knows that trying to find your phone, plug the set in and answer a call before it goes to voicemail, all while driving a car, is actually more dangerous than just picking up the damn phone the old-fashioned way. I guess you could put your ear piece in and plug the set into your phone every time before you drive just in case you get a call, but frankly it’s a little too 1-800 Dentist for me, and not exactly comfortable. And while you can receive a heavy fine for using your phone without a hands-free while driving, it is perfectly legal to ride a motorcycle without a helmet – and EVERYONE does it. I guess one could argue that by not wearing a helmet you’re causing the most harm to yourself rather than others, but honestly it’s about the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. Even our landlord does it.

3) Dude, where’s my car? Unlike in the Bay Area, where failure to move your car for street sweeping results in a $30 fine, in the fair town of New Haven they will straight up tow your car. On street sweeping days it’s like Christmas morning for the tow truck companies, as they gleefully bound down the street and pick up the cars of any poor schmuck who forgot which day of the week to park on different sides of the street. Between the two sides of our street (which get swept on the 2nd and 4th Tuesday on one side, and the 2nd and 4th Wednesday on the other), you have four opportunities per month to have your car taken away – and returned for a mere $90 fee.

4) Radio Free Connecticut. New Haven is just far enough from NYC and Boston to have no good radio stations. And I mean NO good radio stations, particularly alternative music. I feel like I’m in some musical time warp, and nothing that came out after 1987 is played. Ever wonder what happened to John Tesh after Entertainment Tonight and his Yanni impersonation phase? He hosts a radio show in Connecticut. That’s right. It’s me and John Tesh, out in the middle of this musical dead zone. I’m going to need all of your help in finding and hearing new music. Please help.

5) Proud Hooker Mom. I will say that the folks of New Haven have a sense of humor. All throughout town you’ll see Volvos and station wagons adorned with bumper stickers that say, “PROUD HOOKER MOM,” with small lettering beneath saying ‘Douglas Hooker School.’

6) I'm sorry, we don't have pizza, just apizza. Pizza in New Haven is called 'Apizza,' as in 'Amato's Apizza,' and 'Modern Apizza.' Locals have told me that the name comes from the New England accent, with people coming in to order 'a pizza,' but they often joined the two words together. Voila! You have apizza, and the abolishment of the word pizzeria forever.

In spite of these strange things, Connecticut does seem like a nice place to live. I guess if Katie Couric calls Connecticut home, it’s good enough for me. The leaves should start to change soon, and given just how densely wooded (and often rural) Connecticut can be, it should be a pretty amazing sight. I’m not ashamed to say that I’m going apple picking this coming weekend, and I’m damn excited. Wild person that I am, I may even get a pumpkin. I know, I know, contain yourself.

This post brought to you by the letter 'O'

As most of you know, it has been a lifelong dream of mine to one day work for or simply be involved with the Henson Company and/or the Sesame Workshop (which produces Sesame Street). However, with Disney’s requisition of the ‘Muppet Show’ characters a few years ago – which is why you see Miss Piggy promoting Pizza Hut and Kermit the Frog doing Ford commercials – it seemed like the magical world created by Jim Henson was slowly deteriorating. But just yesterday I got an incredible opportunity to visit the Sesame Workshop, and see that the magic and creativity of the Muppet characters is still alive and well.

This entire opportunity is due to the fact that Todd’s mom Linda seems to know just about everyone on the planet – no joke. You can play ‘Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon’ with her and she’s connected (in six degrees or less) to everyone from John F. Kennedy to Jason Bateman. It’s a testament to her warm and caring personality that she’s built relationships with so many people through the years, and it’s because of her that I had lunch with another Kristin – who just so happens to work in the toy department of the Sesame Workshop.

It’s hard to describe the feelings that began to run through me Wednesday as I prepared to go to the Sesame Workshop on Thursday. It’s always been firmly rooted in the ‘dreams’ section of my life and psyche, and so when confronted with the reality that I was actually going to go there and meet someone (which is huge in and of itself because it’s a bit of an employment fortress – e.g. once people get a job with Sesame Workshop, they seldom leave), slight panic ensued. Actually, panic perhaps isn’t the right word. More like all my Type-A quirks decide to rear their ugly head, and I became the dreaded Overthinker.

It all started innocently enough. On Wednesday I sent an email to Kristin confirming our lunch meeting, and asked for the address of the building and any protocols I need to be aware of to enter. It wasn’t until I sent the email that I realized I had, in short, sent her an email that said, “Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?” All I needed were some smiling kids in bellbottoms standing beside Mr. Hooper and the effect would have been complete. Nice. Slapping my hand against my forehead, I start wondering how often she gets that line on a daily basis. All I can do from that point is hope that she didn’t notice or care.

As Wednesday night rolls on, I try to decide what I should wear for my meeting with Kristin. Since it isn’t a job interview, a suit doesn’t feel appropriate. On the other hand, neither do jeans. However, the folks at Sesame Workshop seem like a fairly creative and artistic bunch, so maybe a more casual dress code is in order, and I shouldn’t overdress. I finally decide on a well-tailored, green empire waist blouse that Todd says only slightly reminds him of Kermit the Frog, as well as a pair of crisp white slacks -- hoping to strike the right blend of office appropriate and effortless style. I go to put the pants on (which I have not worn in several months) and start to get nervous. This is the first – and only – time in my life that I have been unhappy about losing weight. Because of the extensive walking we did while in Europe, I dropped a few pounds, which was the source of much jubilation and dancing around in my underwear. However, I realized that now only one pair of pants still fits me properly – the suit pants I have been wearing in interviews, which six months ago I could barely fit into.

Normally losing weight gives one the perfect excuse to go out and buy new clothes…except I have that whole unemployed problem. Looks like I’ll have to make do for a while longer and try to get creative. As fate would have it, in our move cross-country I felt the need to shed myself of most things I do not regularly wear. This meant I donated all but three of my belts – two of which are casual at best, and more appropriate for a rock concert than a lunch meeting. I try using my remaining belt to cinch the white pants up, only to find in doing so I have recreated the much maligned ‘hammer pant.’ The whiteness of the pants also seems to evoke a certain Don Johnson, ‘Miami Vice’ look that I am not too sure I want to resurrect – even if this is a more ‘creative’ office. Ultimately I tell myself “Screw it,” try to stop this over-thinking nonsense, and hope she merely thinks the pants are my version of fall’s wide-leg trouser.

Upon arriving in Manhattan on Thursday, I am reminded of one of the many reasons I love New York. It’s a beautiful day with no humidity, and I can walk the 25 blocks from Grand Central Station to the Sesame Workshop quite comfortably. And when I arrive at the Sesame Workshop, it is everything I imagined it would be – colorful, lively, and even a little furry. With its mounds of toys, large play areas, and even a few ‘rides,’ I imagine that for the children of the staff of the Sesame Workshop it is nothing short of paradise. Even the wall sconces are done in the shapes of Bert, Ernie, Big Bird, Grover, and Elmo. Kristin is a friendly and delightful person, and we had a wonderful time talking over lunch and then touring the workshop, which even though it doesn’t house the film studio (which is in Queens), is pretty darn cool nonetheless. I found my inner three year-old fulfilled. And while I’m not looking to make a two-hour commute (each way) to NYC now, it’s nice to know that I have finally met someone from the Sesame Workshop and finally have experienced a slice of my dream.

Don't Call it a Comeback

I've been debating about whether or not to continue my blog here in Connecticut, wondering if there would be enough 'material' about the change for a decent blog. I guess I never thought moving across the country was such a big thing....until I did it. Plus, when I told people on the West Coast that I was moving from California to Connecticut, it often illicited the sort of wide-eyed stare one might expect to receive if you told someone you were relocating to the Arctic tundra.

Perhaps leaving the mild weather of California for Connecticut is tantamount to moving to the Arctic. Add to this the fact that many people couldn't place Connecticut on a US map with any certainty, and if they could they would say, "Isn't it that funny little state by New York? What the hell are you doing there?," and I started thinking that maybe there is something worthwhile to blog about during this new adventure in our lives.

I've been in New Haven for just about one week now, and most of my time has been spent unpacking, getting the apartment somewhat situated, and literally spending seven hours in job interviews -- for only TWO jobs. I have another four-hour interview tomorrow. I may devote a post to the interview process, but in short, despite being very lengthy, the interviews seem to have gone well so far. I'm hoping to be in a position and working by October 1, which due to background checks and red tape is probably the earliest I can be working.

I'm not good at being unemployed. I know, I know, when you're working all you can think is, "God I would love to have some time off to relax." Well, I'm relaxed. The reality is that with the limited funds of unemployment, you can't go out and have a wild time every day. Instead, I spend most of my days going for walks around New Haven, reading, taking care of errands (like having to deal with changing banks, trying to get estimates on the damage done to my car in cross-country transit), and generally trying to avoid cabin fever. It's not terrible, but I am ready to start contributing something to the world instead of sitting on my ass watching marathons of "Top Chef."

We've made some friends here, but it's also a bit like dating...I'm afraid to call too often and smother them. I don't know the right time to wait to call and see if they want to hang out again. Long story short, I'm excited to get settled into a job, make some more friends, get out of the house, and start feeling like I am living a 'normal' life. And though I am a little embarrassed to admit it, I'm looking forward to blogging again. Through the blog in Vienna I realized that I have always had a kind of voiceover running through my head, commentating on life. I never vocalized it before, but now that I have, I find it hard to stop. It's one of my favorite creative outlets in my life so....here's hoping this new blog doesn't entirely stink. Love to you all!