magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

As always, I meant to be writing over the last month. I had the first couple days of the year composed in my head. Other entries and notes of entries handwritten on scraps of paper, the backs of crossword puzzles, receipts, in sketchbooks. But once again it just sort of got away from me and I figured that the best solution was to look back, point out a few things that I'd like to record for posterity or that would make good stories or that might shed some light on where I find myself now, and then do my best to get back in the habit of writing daily.

---

When last we spoke, Garth was in town for New Year's. He stuck around for a few more days, and he and Chris and I went out for drinks each night. Chris was constantly pushing the hard sell about moving here. 'You hate Chicago. You've got nothing going on there, except a job that you don't really like that gives you darkroom access, but you could probably find that here. What's stopping you?' I'm much more into the soft sell, he's got to move because it's his decision to do so, but would love to see him move out here. The year that the three of us lived at 438 in Providence was one of the best living arrangements that I've had, and hanging out together again is the closest that I've felt to having that elusive social circle I've been longing for but am too introverted to build on my own or insinuate myself into.

He half-joked that when he does finally move to New York he might have to stay in my back room (the one that is supposed to be my studio) for a couple of months until he found somewhere more permanent to live. Sonali called me half way through the month to tell me the same thing. She's seriously thinking about moving to New York for a year when she finishes her Master's this spring.

That same day, the 19th, I tried to call Er!n to wish her a happy birthday, to find that her cell phone number is no longer in service. I don't think that we've talked in six months. She was upstate over the summer, but presumably has been back in the city since September. It's not that I've ever been great about keeping in touch (with the exception of that short period about ten years ago in which I would respond to most emails with half an hour of receiving them and had almost daily correspondences going with four or five different people) but I feel as if I've been particularly bad recently.

Bret was in town last weekend to help Amanda move from Astoria to the Upper West Side. She was planning on staying in her apartment for the length of time she was in grad school, but wasn't on a lease and her landlord wanted to give the place to her grand-daughter. We went out late on Sunday, dinner at Punjabi Deli around midnight (as not much else was open) and drinks at a bar on St Mark's. We were supposed to meet back up on Monday morning, but apparently Bret's truck got towed overnight and then Amanda locked herself out of her new place on her first day there.

---

Earlier in the weekend, the Idiotarod, the event that marks my anniversary of moving to NYC. And this year I almost managed to participate. I had mentioned it at some point over the last few months to Marie.D, who was freelancing at Jack Morton as an assistant coordinator on the museum, and both she and her roommate Leslie were totally into it. Chris was also willing to run (but not put much effort into it before the race because he was busy finishing his work to submit to the RISD NYC Biennial, to which my kneejerk reaction was to be upset, but I realised that I was really just jealous because I haven't made any art in the last two years). And rounding out the team, originally Sarah, who bailed a few days beforehand, to be replaced by either Marie and Leslie's friend Erin, or Dan.

We had a simple costume theme, UPS Delivery people: brown clothes, a cart full of boxes, 'But our logo sould say "UPS Yours"' Chris suggested. Marie and Leslie found a cart. I bought rope and cheap carabiners at Home Depot.

The morning of I got a message that the starting point had been changed from an art space in Williamsburg to Fort Greene park in downtown Brooklyn. I called Marie who had been planning on walking the cart across the Williamsburg Bridge, to be told that our cart had been stolen.

Marie, Leslie, and I met up in Brooklyn, and kept our eyes open for another cart, but mainly were there to watch the start of the race. The first year they ran the race was my very first weekend in New York, and each year so far I've come a little closer to running. Looks like next year is going to be the year.

---

And as I approached the two year mark of living in New York, seeing as how that is longer than I've lived in all but two or three (Providence and Sharon, Northfield depending on how you count) of the dozen or so towns I've lived in, that I should finally give up my Connecticut driver's license.

The process of getting a New York State driver's license is very simple, but requires that you show your social security card. My card may very well be somewhere amongst my boxes of papers and books that I have in New York. It might be somewhere in my mom's house. Or it might have truly been lost somewhere along the way. Whatever the case, I wasn't going to be able to put my hands on it, and needed to get a replacement. Which is also a relatively simple process, aside from the wait, the SSA does not seem to pride itself on speed of operation.

But I did the paperwork, waited in line for an hour and a half, spent three minutes at the window, and on Monday got my replacement card in the mail. And Tuesday morning, looking over at the opened envelope with the social security card sticking out of it laying on the edge of my couch (okay, one of my two futon mattresses folded up into the vague shape of a couch) I figured I should go and get the ball rolling on my new license.

Took the A down to 34th, the license center is right off of the station exit. Walked up to the counter. 'Can I help you?'

'Yes, I'd like to transfer an out of state license.'

'Do you have your passport and social security card?'

'Umm, actually, you know what? I came down here because I looked over at my new replacement cart, which I got solely for this purpose, and then I left it at home. I'll be back. Could I take one of the forms that I need to fill out with me?' I turned around and took the A back to 207th. Grabbed the card. And got back on the A downtown. Two hours into the whole deal, most of it sitting on the train, I'm back at the license office, now there's a line at the check-in desk.

When I get to the front of the line I get a signature card and am sent to another line across the room. Take an eye test. I was a little worried about this part since I've had these glasses forever and feel like I can't see a thing with them, but it was a simple one line of capital letters, about an inch tall from ten feet or so away. Had my photo taken. Was given a number and had to wait again.

Twenty minutes later, at another desk, I hand over all my paperwork and IDs. Pay my $42.50 and am on my way, my new license to arrive in my mailbox within the next two weeks, and I'm now a card-carrying New York State resident.

---

The weekend before last, unable to get ahold of any of my Idiotarod team members for the meeting that we had tentatively scheduled, I took advantage of the springlike weather to finally go exploring Inwood Hill Park. A few days earlier I had looked at my back window as I was putting on my shoes to head out of the house and said to myself, 'I can't believe that I've lived here for over a year and I still haven't set foot in that park.' It's one of the first things that I tell people about when I'm describing why it's cool to live up here. 'I've got woods right behind my house.' I should have been out there monthly, at least. It was overdue.

So I entered through a gate on Payson, the street behind my house, and walked up a trail that led to the ridge overlooking my roof. Further up. Around. Past some kids off the train, smoking pot or crack. Down a hill covered in broken bottles. It may be the woods, but it's clearly still in the city. Across a path. Down a run-off ditch. Around the salt marsh. Back up towards the highway on a trail that was closed for renovations but had people on it anyway, I wasn't the only one to ignore the sign. Higher up, to a spot overlooking the Hudson and the Palisades. Deeper into the woods. An odd paved plateau with the broken concrete supports of what was once a number of benches. At sunset. And in the dar, back down again, around, and out at another gate on Payson, a little further down.

I took lots of photos. It was a nice day.

---

For the first couple weeks of the year things remained busy at work and my fears that I would no longer be needed after the Bank of America work went away appeared to be unfounded. I was working on projects for Volvo, IBM, Toyota, a few random drug companies, the NYU Department of Journalism. Still billing 40+ hours a week.

There was talk about attaching me officially to Chris.W, with the title of 'assistant designer'. Still freelance, and to my mind, not really a change in the way that things had been working for a while on the bank projects. But management seemed to think that it counted as a promotion, and it involved raising my hourly rate (which is something that should have happened a year ago anyway). I told them that I had to think about it. I wasn't sure how permanent Chris's position was post-bank, I'm looking into grad school, there's the possibility of continued bank work outside of Jack Morton. But ultimately, on Chris's advice ('You can't really think about the next six months, when you're freelance, you just have to decide based on what it means for right now.'), I accepted. As it happens, even with the raise, I still feel like they're taking advantage of me. But it seemed like a start in the right direction.

For the last six months or so, my email signature has listed my title as 'freelance design monkey', which I thought summed things up pretty well. Given the job description of what an assistant designer is supposed to do, I still feel that it sums things up pretty well. Last week, after who knows how many emails she had seen, Marybeth, who's running things at Jack Morton Design as we're now called, makes a conscious acknowledgment of what my email says and tells me, in her best corporate voice, that I have to change it.

The next morning I was at the SSA office for an hour and a half. I was headed into the office eventually, but hadn't yet received any details about the project I was booked on, something for MasterCard, and didn't feel that I was in a hurry. On the way out my phone rings. It's Daphne, who handles scheduling at work, 'I don't know what your schedule is like today, but there are some more changes on the Volvo graphics.'

'Well, I know I'm supposed to be working on MasterCard at some point.'

'Actually, that's been pushed back.'

'Then I guess I'm free for the Volvo changes. I'm headed in right now.'

'So you'll be here in the next hour or so?'

'More like fifteen minutes.'

She calls again ten minutes later. 'Someone else is working on the Volvo thing. So you don't have to rush in.'

'What do you mean someone else is working on it? I've worked on those graphics up until now, the most recent version is on my machine. I'm on 39th Street, I'll be there in three minutes.'

'I don't know what to tell you.'

'And the MasterCard thing is not happening. What am I supposed to work on?' So I was already fuming when I walked in the door. And of course John hadn't stated work on the Volvo graphics, wouldn't even start for another hour when he came to me looking for the files, but there was no regaining control of it.

And then Marybeth calls me into her office. 'So, about this signature. Have you changed it?'

'I had already shut my computer down when you came up to me last night. I haven't had the chance yet today. But I haven't sent out any email. I understand what the issue is, it is the corporate email, and is not the most professional thing for clients and such to see.'

'Your're an assistant designer now. Are you sure you're ready for that level of responsibility?'

'I'm a freelance assistant designer. And I've still got some pretty big issues with the way that this company treats its freelancers.'

'Then we should sit down and talk about them. Putting something like that in your email signature is not a way to deal with it. I'm sure that it's nothing that I haven't heard, and I'm trying to make changes in the way that things work, but they do have to be talked about.'

'Okay. We should set up a time to sit down and have an official talk about it.'

I didn't have much to work on for the rest of last week. I didn't come in on Thursday. I did on Friday but do anything I could bill for. As the weekend approached I wasn't booked on anything for this week. And had made the decision that unless I was booked on something I wasn't coming in. That I was done begging for crumbs. Two years of that is enough.

On Monday afternoon I got a call from Emmett. 'So this isn't exactly the best news, but I thought I should give you a heads up. We're going to be moving your computer back to the freelance island. With all the graphics people coming over we're pretty tightly packed, as you know, and Greg is coming on staff and so needs a real desk. And since you're not really booked on anything right now, your desk is less of a priority.'

'That's bullshit. I've been there pretty much full-time for the last two years. And you're just taking my desk away? It's not even a desk, it's just a table. But it's mine.'

'I'm sorry. But I'll completely defend the decision to bring Greg on staff. I know that it might seem a little odd since things are slow right now, but we've been trying to get him on staff for a while.'

'I don't have a problem with that. He's freelanced three and a half years. he deserves it. It's not like when Jen was brought on staff. She started in the same position that I did, six months after I did, and we were doing mostly the same sorts of work.'

'Well, I don't know as much about that, since I wasn't involved in those decisions, but I think it had something to do with the fact that she had a theatre background, and so knew about drafting and working with shops and stuff. I know that you have an architecture background, but it's not as formal..'

'What? I have a professional architecture degree. Not formal? I have a fucking professional Bachelors of Architecture in addition to my BFA. It doesn't get much more formal.'

'Umm. Well. I didn't know that. I thought that you had studied architecture, but it wasn't really what your background was.'

'And now you're taking my desk away. You know that next week is my two year anniversary of working there? I just got this so-called promotion. People kept telling me that I didn't have to worry about the end of bank work. It's all just bullshit lip-service. I'm not really sure that I ever want to work for Jack Morton again.'

On Monday night I opened up one of the 1.5L bottles of wine that was left over from my party. Didn't exactly drink myself stupid. But I definitely needed to take an edge off.

---

Didn't do much productive with the last week. My apartment continued to get progressively messier. Didn't make any real progress on my grad school application. Didn't eat terribly well. Didn't make any new friends or find any new jobs or go on any walks. Just a period of settling to cap off the year's first chapter.