Change of perspective

Tonight is my last night in the apartment across the street from the "Seinfeld restaurant." The funny thing is, when I first moved in, every time I saw the restaurant, I'd think, "OMG, there's the 'Seinfeld restaurant.'" Now, when I watch Seinfeld and I see the restaurant sign, I think, "OMG, there's the restaurant I live across from."

Mr. Wednesday has left the building :(

Wednesday has moved to Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut. He was supposed to go to Japan with Okia, so I guess New Haven isn't so bad. Plus, he's going to come live with me after two months!

Okia didn't realize that Weds needed some shots and a test that has to be done six months after the shots before the Japanese authorities will let him in. I offered to take him for that time, but it turns out, one of my roommates for the summer is allergic to cats. So, after appealing to the entire J-school, and getting no commitments, she sent Weds home with a friend of hers who happened to be visiting from Yale at the time when all this unraveled.

So, Weds has gone from one Ivy to another and, when I move out of my summer apartment and into my own place afterwards, God-willing, he'll be my roommate until January. After which, he will head off for new adventures in Tokyo.

Big foot

I went to a shoe store today, in an effort to eradicate all traces of savings from my bank account. Now, before I proceed any further, I must inform you that my feet are slightly larger than average – not abnormally so, but they’re not dainty by any means – and I have been called such names as Big Foot in the past (thanks, Jags, for scarring me for life!)

So I was browsing through the selection of shoes, trying to decide between the slippers with the black beads and the ones with the tan beads, when a voice to my left drew my attention. Holding up a horror in neon green, the woman demanded, “Who with size nine feet would wear neon green shoes?” (yes yes, my name is Inihtar, and I wear size nine shoes.)

Her companion, clearly trying to make up for her lack of diplomacy, responded, “Why? People with size nine feet can’t wear neon green shoes?”

The first woman, obviously unwilling to give up on her argument, answered: “Well, if you have such huge feet, you shouldn’t be drawing attention to them.”

Now, I was following along in this conversation, chuckling to myself, until the realization hit me that I was part of the group she was berating. Startled, I attempted to make up by sending a potent glare in her direction – not that I wear neon green shoes, but I would like the opportunity to do so without being the object of contempt of some loud-mouthed female who is clearly unaware of the tribulations of having large feet – but she was blissfully unaware that she had ruffled any feathers in the number nine section.

As she trotted off to one of the smaller sizes, I sighed to myself. After all, I am a trained journalist and I can’t get worked up over criticism of my shoe size. So instead, I found a better way to drown my foot problems – I went and bought myself a pair of shoes in size 8.5.

The past few days. . .

The past few days have been busy and fun-filled, and I've been basking in the fun and relaxation too much to blog. But my faithful reader has informed me of my need to blog so here I am.

Nev arrived in New York predictably late the night before my graduation :P After the ceremonies of the day -- the morning all-school commencement, followed by the journalism school ceremony and presentation of diplomas, and a reception on the lawn outside the J-school, Nev and I found ourselves at Pastis for my graduation dinner. That was the first of many face-stuffing sessions (well, second, actually -- Nev, Okia and I went to the Lime Tree for Thai food for an impromptu lunch earlier).

The next day saw us standing in line, bright and early, to board the Liberty and Ellis Islands ferry, to pay a visit to Lady Lib. We'd planned a harbour cruise aboard the Ms. New York after LL, but our visit to the two islands ended up taking most of the day, and we stumbled back home exhausted. A brief rest and we headed to Basta Pasta for dinner, followed by drinks somewhere (can't remember where :S).

Friday, it was off to Crepes on Columbus for a scrumptious brekkie. We'd had plans to make up our missed cruise and visit the Guggenheim, but nature had different plans. It started pouring, so deciding that we were not troopers enough to brave the weather, we decided against it. When it let up a bit, we decided instead to go shopping, and took ourselves off to 34th Street. It started pouring again, but this time, we marched into the rain and headed to St. James Theater to get tickets for The Producers that night. Then off to Ollies for a late lunch, and back home.

After a thoroughly enjoyable performance of The Producers, we left the theater, cooing, "Bleuuuuumm," and singing "Bialystock and Bloom." We decided we were adventurous enough to trek downtown to have pizza at Lombardis, America's first pizza place. After predictably getting lost (were you not wondering why there were no such adventures earlier?!?! Perhaps my sense of direction is improving somewhat) we rushed in five minutes to closing time and persuaded them -- successfully -- to feed us. It was totally worth the fiasco -- Nev proclaimed it the best pizza he'd ever eaten. We stumbled back home and fell asleep.

The next day saw me frantically packing so I could use Nev's muscles to put my excess stuff in storage. We finished packing, and huffing and puffing, pushing and shoving, finally managed to get it all down to the storage place and into my unit. That done, we headed off to Swish for some shabu shabu, then rushed home, freshened up and headed off to Ilajna's leaving do.

Planned to go to the Whisky Bar afterwards, but towards the end, we were both falling asleep on our feet, so, after a sad farewell (albeit temporary :)) to Ilajna, we went home.

Next day saw us at Balthazar's for brunch. Went back home after that, again in the pouring rain, packed up, and took ourselves off to the airport -- again, predictably late. But Nev managed to make his flight, and I headed back home, ready to crash.

An exhausting few days, but totally fun and totally worth it -- even though Nev left bemoaning the fact that he felt underwhelmed by this trip because he didn't get to do everything on his list -- geez, some people! After all, eating is a large part of New York life, isn't it? And naive and demanding Southerners need to learn that.

Some grad pictures. . .

A grad shot (note the two giant toothbrushes in the middle. . . the dental school, of course!)

Me, Danny and Okia


New York, New York. . .

Sorry the captions are a little off. . .I'm not sure how to fix them.

I've graduated!!!

As of today, I'm officially Inihtar, BA, MS. Well, not officially. . . because I did kind of fail one class -- haha, just kidding. Not officially, because the "BA, MS" follows my real name, not Inihtar, silly! That's all!!

I am, as Caveboy puts it, a "young graduate" -- the second time round!

So, J-school is done, and I'm ready to conquer the real world with my A+ journalism skills that my $40,000 master's degree has equipped me with. Now, if I end up at a piddly little newspaper in some equally piddly litte town, I will have a few choice words for the folks at Columbia J-school.

But anyway, I now have 12 days to take in the sights of NYC before my internship starts, and before I have to start paying back good ol' Access Group. Watch out, NYC. . .here comes Ini!!

(I'm sure a more introspective, and possibly nostalgic, post will follow at some point. But right now, I'm just happy to be done).

A little family on my window-sill

Everyday for the past couple of months, I've woken up to the sound of pigeons cooing outside my window. They make quite a racket. . . at least two of them, flying up and down, alighting on the air conditioner, making enough noise to wake the dead. One day wondering why they kept coming back, I peered down under my air conditioner . . . to find that they had made themselves quite at home there -- they'd built themselves a tidy little nest.

But over the past two days, the sounds have changed. I've been hearing higher pitched chirping in addition to the huskier cooing, and the chirps are even more constant and insistent. At first I thought it was just other birds flying around, and alighting outside my window for some sort of bird conference. But I lifted the blind this morning and peered out to see . . . little baby pigeons in the nest chirping away.

Trying to teach our little feline something about other species, I picked him up, took him to the window and pointed to the nest. "Look, Weds, tiny little birdies!" But, although he has been fascinated by the sounds and stands staring at my air conditioner for hours, he didn't realize that the sounds were coming from OUTSIDE. He looked up and down and all around -- everywhere but down where the birds were. . . until I put him down, when he resumed staring at the AC in undisguised fascination. Sigh!

Anyway, it's quieted down now. The parents are away finding food. Looks like I'm baby-sitting:)

Loss. . . and healing

Have you ever really sat down and come to the realization that life really is what you make of it? Not in the cliched, off-the-cuff way that people say it to make you feel better about things. . . but in a serious, eureka kind of way.

I've found that many times, when something you've had slips away from you, it's because you were so afraid to believe that you actually had it and are so filled with fear that you are going to lose it, that you either cling too tightly to it, or don't hold on to it tightly enough. You are either afraid to claim it because of the loss you are convinced will inevitably follow, or you do take it and worry so much that you are going to lose it than you end up creating a situation where do lose it.

And when that loss finally comes, it's almost a relief, because the anxiety and the waiting for the inevitable is finally over, and you can get on with the business of dealing with it -- of telling yourself that you were never meant to have it in the first place and you always knew you were going to lose it, and you were right, and now you can move on.

But even with loss, life goes on, doesn't it? You pick up the pieces, and you trudge on, and you learn to live life without that all-important thing/person. And that's the thing about humans. . . that we do move on, we do get used to what seems even the most un-get-used-to-able things, and we are healed by time. We might occasionally feel a little tug at the mention of a name or a circumstance that brings back a poignant memory, but at the end of the day, we can get used to anything. . . and we can even learn to be happy with something that one day we thought we could never settle for, or be happy without something we thought we could never live without.

Cheesy and sappy as this is, these extracts from this poem by Veronica Shofffstall do make some sense, so don't look down your nose at me (Caveboy and Nev -- I can almost see the rolling eyes)!!

After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and eyes ahead . . .
And you learn to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have have a way of falling down in mid-flight. . .
And you learn that you really can endure
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
with every goodbye you learn..

What am I?

Have you ever wondered what a person with black hair is called? A person with blond hair is a blonde/blond, a person with brown hair is a brunette (well, a woman with brown hair is, anyway. . . what IS a man with brown hair called? Can't very well call a man something that ends with "ette"). And a person with red hair is a red head. So what is a person with black hair called? A blackhead? A noirette? I refuse to be lumped into the same category as brunettes. If they all get their own name, I demand one too!!