Saturday, June 26, 2004
“The next day I ran in the other direction and in the darkness surprised myself by entering the flower district when the trucks were unloading their fragrant cargoes of orchids and lilies and roses. It was like running along the wrist of a beautiful woman who had anointed her veins with cologne. I had smelled many New Yorks but never the one governed by the sweet monarchy of a thousand slain gardens. At its best, New York was a city of accidental epiphanies and I vowed that I would open myself to many such moments as I made my way around the city that summer.” Prince of Tides, Pat Conroy, page 159
One of the loveliest things about my job so far is its location. Only four blocks and a leisurely walk from Penn, it is nestled in the flower district surrounded by wholesale flower shops. By the time I get there, the trucks are long gone and the flowers are neatly bundled and many dispersed throughout the city. But the plants play musical chairs throughout the day as the storeowners rotate them in and out of their stores so each one gets some sun. Each time I walk by, I am surrounded by a different feature flower. I walk through a corridor of palms, fronds swaying in hot city breezes, “Rent-A-Plant” signs hanging off their rough trunks. Sometimes there are hibiscus trees, hot pink flowers like forbidden fruit drooping off the branches. For two days running there were sunflowers in the morning, looking like they were snipped from Italian countryside that very morning, the air around them somehow brighter as they stood proudly looking sunward in their brown paper capes. Some roses, all various shades of reds and pinks and peaches gathered together. The air smells better when I turn into my street. Although…who rents plants??
And it helps that I’m not being sent out for sandwiches, snack bars, and special drinks. The boss has a great sense of humor, and I think I’m mostly being paid to be an audience and keep him company. Other than that, I’m learning a ton about magazine publishing. I’m not sure that publishing or consulting will be what I end up being interested in, but I do like the idea of being paid to think and come up with interesting, outside-the-box solutions. (Box jokes! Poor Box is still in the shop, but she should be home soon.) It’s nice to be praised for asking good questions and understanding things quickly, but I think he’s mostly being nice.
I wish I could write like Pat Conroy. I read Prince of Tides a few times a year and it’s always, ALWAYS great. And I always laugh out loud, and cry, and try to find someone to read parts out loud with. For those of you who haven’t read it, do! I may read it again, now that I’ve flipped through it to find that quote.
Brightski, I’m posting your pics tonight.
I’m sick, everyone is partying but I can’t, and no one cares because everyone’s taking care of Care. In the good news side of the column, this means that I’m also getting harassed less and can safely sit in bed for hours at a time resting. Blame’s going to Brightski, although every friend of mine had it, and the real issue is that Tuesday night I said, “Haha! Everyone got sick but me this time! I rule!” Clearly my own damn fault.
A point to show how well the boss knows me already: one of the women in the office, very nice lady, comes up and tells me that if I need any help finding restaurants in the area, she’d be happy to point me to good lunch places. Brian says, “Sure, but can you find anyplace that’ll let her eat constantly all day?” Oh well. Better for the metabolism, that.
I had worked out for a full week every day before the disease, and now I don’t even want to be sitting up. Booooo.
Going to go find some Ramen or other appropriate “food.” I KNOW I’m sick when I stop being hungry!!!!
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One of the loveliest things about my job so far is its location. Only four blocks and a leisurely walk from Penn, it is nestled in the flower district surrounded by wholesale flower shops. By the time I get there, the trucks are long gone and the flowers are neatly bundled and many dispersed throughout the city. But the plants play musical chairs throughout the day as the storeowners rotate them in and out of their stores so each one gets some sun. Each time I walk by, I am surrounded by a different feature flower. I walk through a corridor of palms, fronds swaying in hot city breezes, “Rent-A-Plant” signs hanging off their rough trunks. Sometimes there are hibiscus trees, hot pink flowers like forbidden fruit drooping off the branches. For two days running there were sunflowers in the morning, looking like they were snipped from Italian countryside that very morning, the air around them somehow brighter as they stood proudly looking sunward in their brown paper capes. Some roses, all various shades of reds and pinks and peaches gathered together. The air smells better when I turn into my street. Although…who rents plants??
And it helps that I’m not being sent out for sandwiches, snack bars, and special drinks. The boss has a great sense of humor, and I think I’m mostly being paid to be an audience and keep him company. Other than that, I’m learning a ton about magazine publishing. I’m not sure that publishing or consulting will be what I end up being interested in, but I do like the idea of being paid to think and come up with interesting, outside-the-box solutions. (Box jokes! Poor Box is still in the shop, but she should be home soon.) It’s nice to be praised for asking good questions and understanding things quickly, but I think he’s mostly being nice.
I wish I could write like Pat Conroy. I read Prince of Tides a few times a year and it’s always, ALWAYS great. And I always laugh out loud, and cry, and try to find someone to read parts out loud with. For those of you who haven’t read it, do! I may read it again, now that I’ve flipped through it to find that quote.
Brightski, I’m posting your pics tonight.
I’m sick, everyone is partying but I can’t, and no one cares because everyone’s taking care of Care. In the good news side of the column, this means that I’m also getting harassed less and can safely sit in bed for hours at a time resting. Blame’s going to Brightski, although every friend of mine had it, and the real issue is that Tuesday night I said, “Haha! Everyone got sick but me this time! I rule!” Clearly my own damn fault.
A point to show how well the boss knows me already: one of the women in the office, very nice lady, comes up and tells me that if I need any help finding restaurants in the area, she’d be happy to point me to good lunch places. Brian says, “Sure, but can you find anyplace that’ll let her eat constantly all day?” Oh well. Better for the metabolism, that.
I had worked out for a full week every day before the disease, and now I don’t even want to be sitting up. Booooo.
Going to go find some Ramen or other appropriate “food.” I KNOW I’m sick when I stop being hungry!!!!
