Still a bit jet-lagged, but back from Hawaii! I haven't gone through all my photos yet, but a few thoughts:
1. Hawaii doesn't have ebola, NYC does – Hawaii 1, NYC 0.
2. Hawaii has as many churches as beaches.
3. Honolulu has a LOT of Japanese tourists.
4. Spam is not meant to be eaten every day.
- Pete Seeger, 'My Dirty Stream (the Hudson River Song)
I've been heading upstate nearly every weekend for the past couple months. It started last spring and has continued more and more frequently as time went on.
I'm officially hooked! As a born and bred New Yorker, "The Country" was something that took me a while to appreciate. When I was seven and visited an uncle in Middletown, it was drowsy carsickness. In high school it was the boondocks. In college it was hunters and God-fearing people that ate instant potatoes, or else batshit hippies in tie-dyed shirts who never showered and lived in the past. Isn't it weird how the same things can be so different to one person depending on what phase of your life you're in?
I don't know what to call this phase of my life since, like most people, it won't make sense to me until years later. Maybe like, the "something's changing but I don't know for what end or how to get there" phase. I quit my full time job and took my career into my own hands – but for how long? And what's next? It's not possible for me to worry about it right now. I'm not married and although in a committed relationship do not plan for marriage or for kids – but is that sustainable? I physically can't think about it now, I'm busy looking at this frog on this lily pad. It could be the meditation, or the ayahuasca, or the various disappointments or humiliations suffered in every other aspect of normal social life, but I hit a point where I realized I could take all of these and sort of shelve them while I go look at woodpeckers for an hour and by the time the woodpeckers go to bed, nothing else really seems to matter anymore.
One thing I can't get over, as a city mouse, is just how soft everything looks. In my head, I completely understand that if I ran into a wooded area I would get scratched left and right by twigs, maybe stung by some kinds of unfriendly insects, or impaled on a split branch. But when I just look at trees they look soft and fluffy and comfortable. It's a completely different visual experience than living in a city where everything is made of brick and concrete and steel, and what you see feels impossible to compromise with. You work around them. In the country, you can walk slowly and the leaves won't bite. Someone should study this.
Three days ago, on Thursday, I took Ayahuasca in a group with nine strangers and a shaman.
I had heard more and more about it in the press – Marie Claire, the NY Times – but I always assumed it was something that would I wouldn't come across. I had already gone to Peru and other parts of South America, and was clueless that it even existed. I certainly wasn't going to go back down to South America to trip, and I was OK with that. Then, a friend who was doing his own personal journey throughout the continent emailed that he did it, and loved it, and I got the very first twinge of envy.
My biggest weakness is envy. I am constantly afraid of missing out on something, and it has led me to some reckless and impulsive decisions. But that envy can also be helpful, because it builds and drives me to focus, something that is usually fairly difficult for me, so that when the opportunity arises I'm ready to jump on it. When that same friend returned home and texted me last week that he knew a shaman visiting who had some open spots, I was ready.
I felt a little nervous when I received The Diet email, which forbade meat, any dairy or other animal products, fruit, caffeine, salt, sugar, or anything preserved. It also forbade alcohol and sex. The point, the email explained, is to experience this ascetic deprivation in order to prepare you to commune with The Plant Teacher. I did my best (with a couple of slip ups) for the days leading up to it, feeling buzzier and more alert than I have in months. I was hungry all the time, but it was easy to keep my ultimate goal in mind.
I felt slightly more regret, walking into a small, hot apartment in a faraway (by New York standards) neighborhood, and while meeting the shaman and his wife, who looked like what an inexperienced casting agent would cast as hippie-types. I felt even more when I realized that every other person in the group was a man. They were all ages and types, the only common theme being their open, easy friendliness. But I still wondered what I had got myself into.
The shaman walked us through what felt like a long, boring botany class. His wife saged us individually as we prepared to drink the small shot glasses. The first was like a strong, medicinal Chinese tea. The second was what I imagine eating silica gel would be like. (When I drank it, I turned to my friend and said "It's like drinking silica gel!" and he laughed at me and asked how I knew what silica gel tastes like.) It felt like someone had stuck an industrial strength vacuum tube inside of my mouth, and I was grateful for the glass of water the shaman's wife provided us with.
I was told it takes about an hour to kick in, but if I had to estimate it was less than fifteen minutes before I got sick. I felt an incredible heaviness on my chest and the uncontrollable urge to throw up. I tried to breathe deeply and meditate but I couldn't overcome it, so I grabbed my bucket (we were asked to bring our own puke buckets!) and I threw up. I remember being surprised how much you could throw up when you've fasted for ten hours. I wondered if this was a mistake – I didn't feel cleansed, I just felt nauseous, achey and sick, as if I had food poisoning.
There was a fan in the room, and the low click-click-click as it oscillated started to do something to my vision. When I closed my eyes, I saw a glowing, grid-like net that jerked along with the fan's sound. Things began animating out of the grid, which quickly escalated to the most visual experience of my life – scenes upon scenes seemed to be happening all over the insides of my eyelids, which had suddenly become like an infinite iMax screen. Animals, violence, laughter, families. I felt like someone was pulling my eyelids shut when I tried to open them, and I felt the first sense of The Other: "LOOK AT ALL OF THIS!" it seemed to be shouting. "Do you see??"
I want to be able to explain it better but I don't think it's possible. I will say there were definitely three distinct phases: The first was the visions. Not to be hyperbolic, but I felt as if I saw millions of visions. There was so much to see, and none of it was scary at all – I felt an incredible sense of calmness, and more curiosity and fascination, with what I was seeing. I saw a lot of hands. The hands spoke in a type of sign language, and I understood them all. I scratched my shoulder at one point, and the hands pointed at my shoulder. It felt like I was being shouted at by millions of voices. They were so excited I was there and were all desperate to show me things.
Then, out of this cacophony came the sense of another being, an important one. It felt like a woman. I didn't see her, or hear her voice, but I felt her, and I heard her. "Do you want me to show you something?" she seemed to ask, over and over again.
At first I was nervous. I opened my eyes, and I saw the room I was in, and the visions stopped. She didn't like this, and before long, this method stopped working. I saw the visions whether my eyes were opened or closed. Finally I gave in, and she began showing me the things, many things that I don't even feel comfortable talking about yet.
This began the second phase, where I regressed into a whiny baby. I had had questions prepared to meditate on: "What should I do with my life? What's next for me?" but in the actual moment, where she was there to answer me, all of my questions seemed so silly. The questions got simpler. "Who am I?" I whined. "What comes after life?" I asked and asked and asked, more questions than I even knew I had, and she answered. I asked what my spirit animal was, and she laughed at me. I asked what color my aura was, she showed me. It was purple.
This Q&A session was intermittently interrupted by a particular vision she would show me to make her points. At one point I had had enough. It was too much. I wasn't ready for all of this, I couldn't process it. I felt like I had been there for days, I was exhausted, and I had to work the next day. I opened my eyes and saw the room, came back to reality, and checked my phone. Forty minutes had passed, and ayahuasca usually lasts 4-8 hours. I was in it. It was too late.
When I ran out of questions, she and everyone else continued to show me things. I understand now why they call it the Plant Teacher. It felt as if I was being taught by millions of souls desperate to show me something. They were competing with each other, but I could understand all of them at the same time. I wasn't me anymore. I tried to take notes and she blurred out my writing and then my pens ran out of ink.
The third phase was the quietest. I suppose it would be the come-down, but I was still learning. The visions had subsided, but I still felt the presence of the Others. They were all still talking to me, comforting me, embracing me. We're all in this together, they seemed to say. You are not alone.
It was, without a doubt, the hardest, most powerful, and most meaningful night of my life. I slept three hours that night and woke up feeling like how a sick person who was suddenly cured must feel the first morning. I felt healed and new and perfect. Something had happened to me, and I did not ever want to go through that again.
It's only been three days now, but that's worn off. I want to learn more.
I saw an article in Gothamist this morning about a guy who robbed (for the second time in his life!) a Stride Rite store in New Jersey. I hadn't realized Stride Rite still exists. When I was a kid growing up in suburbia, Stride Rite was the strip-mall children's shoestore of choice that my mother would haul me to whenever I needed fancy patent-leather shoes. I remember how every single time back then, I had to put my foot in the little metal foot-measuring thing, and then being surprised as a teen when my feet stopped growing and I didn't need to anymore.
I had an American Girl doll then, too. Samantha Parkington. I once read she was discontinued, and thoughtlessly regretted not still having her to put up on eBay. I was reminded again recently when a friend sent me a Gawker article about the tourist-trap store in the city, which kind of surprised me, because it was another of those things I just assumed went the way of Popples and Skip-it and other things from my childhood that don't exist anymore. This is Samantha:
She's from the turn of the century, and the "stock" version of her came with a little velvet hat, a doll-sized locket, a coin purse, a handkerchief, and a copy of her first book. I had to pick her because she was the closest looking doll to me (brown hair; back then there were only three options, and none of them Asian. Now there are a zillion).
Each girl, from different historical periods in time, came with a series of books about her adventures, and along with that, somewhat historically accurate-ish accessories you could buy. I never got any accessories – the doll herself took months of wheedling and soul-destroying piano practicing to get for one Christmas/birthday gift – but that's where the real racket is, sort of like iTunes for the iPod. Actually I'm incredibly jealous that I didn't think of this, it's a great merchandising idea and I love history.
I read all the books, but I think I played with the doll for a couple months and forgot about her.
That's the funny thing about nostalgia. Something that wasn't even really a big deal at the time can dig its way into your psyche and hang on, forgotten about, until something pulls on it and opens a floodgate of memories. I remember the surprise when my mother let me open my gift on Christmas Eve, and feeling sort of disturbed by the laxness of her rules about holiday gift opening. I remember being disappointed by the plasticky smell of the doll, and how itchy her velvet hat was. Her shoes were cheap and hard to squeeze onto her weird doll feet, and I felt tricked and dismayed, but had to pretend to be ecstatic because I knew how difficult it was for my parents to save the money for the stupid doll. It was one of the first times in my life I remember realizing that just because you want something, doesn't guarantee it'll live up to your expectations when you get it. And if other people are involved, sometimes you have to swallow your disappointment and move on.
I did continue reading all the books, though. Nobody can really ruin your imagination for you, and there were some good educational lessons in them about tolerance and change and loss. Looking back, I'm thankful even for the disillusionment. It probably helped me in coping with other, more adult-level disappointments later on.
With this crazy neverending polar vortex end-of-the-world weatherpocalypse, the absolute worst thing imaginable happened to me: I got sick.
I never catch colds. Until recently, I haven't been full-blown sick for over TWO YEARS. Closer to two and a half. I get very short-lasting and debilitating fevers once in awhile, what with the hypertension and all, but usually these are less than 24-hours. This time, I was laid up a week and still have a bit of a cough.
I am a huge baby when I get sick, like many, but luckily have been able to hide out at home and avoid embarrassing myself out in public like the last time I was sick when I caught some deathly bronchial infection from my niece, who was a baby then. She's a toddler now, for frame of time reference.
To survive, I made pots and pots of soup, which lasted me weeks because the feverish kind of sick I was always makes me lose my appetite. One of my favorites is this monster-vitamin-fest Korean soup that's both super easy and convenient. Cooking with Korean ingredients is a cinch because everything's either dried or frozen fresh and basically lasts forever. I mean, I don't really know how long things are going to last in the freezer, and I eat them usually when I'm sick, and I never get sick! So I'm still alive. Who are you going to believe?
MY MEDICINE SOUP STOCK
This may seem like a lot of ingredients, but for most of them, once you have them in your freezer/cupboards, you're set for years. It takes less than an hour and you can make smaller batches so they don't go bad when you get sick of it and have to order a cheeseburger on seamless.
2-4 quarts water
Dried anchovies (similar to these on amazon, they freeze and last forever)
Dried kombu/kelp seaweed (the hard square ones you get in ramen)
Dried shiitake mushrooms
Dried Korean seaweed (similar to this on koamart, I think you can use wakame too)
Soup soy sauce (on koamart – maybe regular can be used, but use way less)
Sesame oil
Garlic
Ginger
1. Start boiling the water. Take a handful the mushrooms and the squiggly seaweed each, and throw them in a bowl to soak. The squiggly seaweed doubles in size, but the mushrooms stay about their wrinkly selves.
2. Throw a few of the squares of kombu into the water, and a few of the anchovies. Because I'm squeamish, I pull off the heads and take out the little black guts part thats attached to them, so only the bodies go in, but I don't think that part's necessary.
3. By the time the water's boiling, the mushrooms and squiggly seaweed should be rehydrated. Dump their soaking water and throw them in the pot. Add sliced garlic and ginger (I hate ginger so I only put a couple slices, but it's supposed to be amazing for your immune system.)
4. Leave the soup for about 20-30 minutes at a medium boil, then add the soy and sesame oil. Also start to sea salt for taste. Should be pretty good by now.
You can eat it at this point, but I like to fish out the kombu and anchovies and add things like frozen rice cakes (the little round ones), whisked eggs, tofu, rice or noodles. You can also add any kinds of hot sauce and turn it into something else – kimchi soup, tofu soup, anything. Or you could make it completely vegan and leave out the anchovies/egg and it still tastes amazing.
I'd been on the fence about Her for a few reasons, the main one being that when testing the plot against the one sentence summary (man falls in love with his operating system), it honestly sounded not interesting to me as a premise, and also kind of ridiculous and cheap. The concept of how we "love"/depend on our technology too much has been debated to death and I was bored of that conversation. Or, so I thought!
If you haven't seen it, I would even recommend not watching the trailer or even listening to anyone else talk about it. I managed to avoid it through a combination of being sick and homebound for awhile, and went in with medium- to low expectations. I mainly went to kill a night, and also because there are certain directors (Coen bros, Tarantino, Wes Anderson) where you kind of force yourself to go as a creative and then are pleasantly surprised. I'd been disappointed by Where the Wild Things Are, his last big film, and was prepared for a torturously slow, overly wrought film with forced poignant silences and a lot of wistful gazing off into space.
To be fair, for some people this film might have felt like it had all those things, but I was completely blown away. Especially knowing that Spike Jonze wrote the entire script. I used to have a pretty illogical dislike of Jonze (WHY does he spell his name like that? And why was he so dismissive to Sofia Coppola in Lost in Translation?? Why was Where the Wild Things Are so boring???)
But Jonze pulled a fast one on us, and made the first really deeply philosophical film I've seen in long, long time on the most universal questions of the world: What is life? What is love? When you love someone, why is it so hard to give, and when you need love, why is it so hard to get? Why are we so destructive?
Obviously I spent most of the movie crying, but it also was surprisingly funny. And it wasn't just the writing, the whole thing worked together beautifully for me. The story, which I assumed would be trite and overdone, was nuanced and compelling and fascinating for me to wonder what would happen next. The future-ish setting felt very restrained, and the art direction of the sets, the colors, the framing, I loved everything. I loved the camera work and editing, which is something that only nerdy wannabe filmmakers/critics say, but I'd felt especially moved by the camera work in Breaking Bad recently and have started paying more attention to that kind of thing. I'm bummed Joaquin didn't get an Oscar nom.
Anyway, that's a lot to say about a movie, I have even more but am restraining myself. I'm glad I forced myself to go out and see it, and even though I'm in a completely unrelated industry, that kind of attention to detail and plain old hard work that can create something which transcends "work" into something else, is something I need to be reminded of every day.
