Tuesday night I went to the screening of The Wackness. Although I can say nothing for the morality of the film, Olivia Thirlby is a very talented actress, and she even signed Seventeen's Body Peace Treaty. (BTW- You'd better sign this, too! We're trying to get 1,000,000 signatures!)
The discouraging part about Thursday was an interview I had to do at noon. 12 p.m. That was exactly the time slot occupied by the highlight of my week, the thing getting me through the past three days of friend withdrawls. The band, The Afters, was coming in for a meet-and-greet and performing two songs. I did not want to miss that music, but since meet-and-greets are optional while interviews are not, I knew I had to make a silent sacrifice.
So when 11:30 rolled around, I was out in the 212 percent humidity, walking toward Park Avenue. My yellow umbrella kept hitting into store windows as I dodged pedestrians, and I could feel shin splints creeping up on me as I practically sprinted the 10 blocks to the hotel. "Not happy; missing The Afters; going to be late," were the extremely positive thoughts going through my head as I tried to avoid the pooling sludge at the crosswalks. The lining of the vintage Anna Sui dress I purchased in Brooklyn last weekend was coming too close for comfort between my sweating thighs. "This had better be one good interview," I grumbled inaudibly, and thankfully it was!
The best part was that as I scanned back into Hearst's seventeenth floor, The Afters were just emerging from the conference room. I set my stuff at my cubicle and stole a peek in the band's direction. The musicians began to file out on the other side of the filing cabinet from my desk, and maybe they saw me looking bereft, but whatever the case, one of them stopped and asked, "What's your name?" "Meredith," I said thankfully while shaking his hand. "I hate that I wasn't here," I added. "I had to be somewhere... else. I love you guys!" (Once again, ever the reserved. Hah.) "Oh! We saw the Matt Wertz poster on your desk," he said as another Matt, the band's guitarist, introduced himself to me - apparently Matt Wertz is a common bond. "Here, since you love us, take this!" And with that, I think it was Marc, the drummer, handed me a copy of their CD! Yay! So maybe being completely obsessed with Matt Wertz DID pay off after all!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Home, Sweet Home
Friday was the day I decided I want to stay here. It was the first day of the best of both worlds. My roommate from home and her cousin had flown in the night before to visit for a few days, so I was enjoying a little piece of home in my new-found surroundings. But what really led to my decision? Well, a little thing called a meet-and-greet. Matt Wertz, one of my favorite singers, showed up at our office to personally perform the single from his upcoming CD, "Under Summer Sun." When Julie told me he was on Friday's itinerary, I almost started crying. Yes, I lost all sense of decorum. No one else had a clue who this Wertz guy was, but I was on cloud nine. As soon as he waltzed into the conference room, my hand was in the air to make a request. "Marianne" or "Carolina," please. He chose the first and then played two others. I couldn't wipe the dopey grin from my face as he sat and strummed his guitar. I had butterflies the rest of the day. Check out his private concert from Seventeen's YouTube page:
But despite my being starstruck, I had so much fun with my two house guests, Ashley and Kevin. We explored Central Park (more like, got separated and couldn't find each other, resulting in more exploration than originally planned); we shopped till we dropped; and we went to the Museum of Modern Art. That's an interesting story, right there. All three of us have been in an entire year of art history courses, so we felt generally knowledgeable being able to recognize many of the masterpieces displayed there. Such as when we saw the wax statue of a man reclining on a museum bench. We knew it had to be a Duane Hanson piece because of the nature of the setting. Hanson cast his figures from live models and preferred to make sculptures of people who would not normally be represented in a gallery but are instantly familiar, such as the overweight, unattractive or badly dressed, like these found in the Modern Art Gallery:
So we figured a man uncouthly sprawled across the gallery's seating area was a shoe-in for the recognizable artist. "Go poke him," Kevin ordered me after we saw the statue twitch. I was not fooled. Of course the statue would be motorized. It was just the artist's confusion tactic, to leave you unsure of what you had seen. But, no, I was not going to lower myself to the level of having to physically examine the experiment.
It's a good thing, too, because Hanson's statue suddenly morphed into a living, breathing, large burly man who decided he'd had a long enough nap and got up and left the gallery. We didn't take the time to see where he went. We were too busy sheepishly shuffling our way out, embarrassed that we originally thought he was made of wax. And to top it off, there was no way he didn't hear us. No way. Embarrassing moment #453. Congratulations!
But despite my being starstruck, I had so much fun with my two house guests, Ashley and Kevin. We explored Central Park (more like, got separated and couldn't find each other, resulting in more exploration than originally planned); we shopped till we dropped; and we went to the Museum of Modern Art. That's an interesting story, right there. All three of us have been in an entire year of art history courses, so we felt generally knowledgeable being able to recognize many of the masterpieces displayed there. Such as when we saw the wax statue of a man reclining on a museum bench. We knew it had to be a Duane Hanson piece because of the nature of the setting. Hanson cast his figures from live models and preferred to make sculptures of people who would not normally be represented in a gallery but are instantly familiar, such as the overweight, unattractive or badly dressed, like these found in the Modern Art Gallery:
So we figured a man uncouthly sprawled across the gallery's seating area was a shoe-in for the recognizable artist. "Go poke him," Kevin ordered me after we saw the statue twitch. I was not fooled. Of course the statue would be motorized. It was just the artist's confusion tactic, to leave you unsure of what you had seen. But, no, I was not going to lower myself to the level of having to physically examine the experiment.
It's a good thing, too, because Hanson's statue suddenly morphed into a living, breathing, large burly man who decided he'd had a long enough nap and got up and left the gallery. We didn't take the time to see where he went. We were too busy sheepishly shuffling our way out, embarrassed that we originally thought he was made of wax. And to top it off, there was no way he didn't hear us. No way. Embarrassing moment #453. Congratulations!
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Just call me... what you will.
Just call me the office cow.
Miraculously, sitting in a cubicle all day has increased my metabolism significantly, to the point that I am constantly scavenging the kitchen for free-for-all food. Yesterday, for instance, when the fashion interns caused a stampede toward the freebie table for their closet rejects, I was busy picking at left-over sandwiches and cake from our editor in chief's birthday party. Hmm. Somehow that image makes me resemble the bag lady I saw picking through Broadway's trash at 2 a.m.
Speaking of street sightings, I am almost positive I saw Luke Wilson on the way to work this morning. Although I wasn't wearing my glasses, I could tell he was wearing his, sunglasses actually, paired nicely with a green and white track suit. In his hand was a cup of coffee, no doubt Starbucks since there is a franchise on every corner (also green and white). My eyes could have been deceiving me, or maybe I just had Legally Blonde on the brain (I'm still trying to get cheap tickets to the musical), but I'm going to believe it was he. Here's a pic of him in a different track suit, so it's not too hard to believe:
Finally 6 p.m. clicked over and the Hearst girls and I headed for the Hudson to a welcome party for all unpaid employees magazines like to call interns. I know I wasn't hallucinating, but I'm pretty sure I saw Rob Schneider pass me within a two inch radius, right on the corner of 58th and 8th next to that falafel stand I've been eying hungrily. The guy I saw looked just like this, wearing a hat and everything:
All of this was probably caused by left-over delirium from Monday morning. I'm trying to take advantage of all the training the company gives us and go to all the meet-and-greet lunches with the Hearst execs, so last week when Julie sent me an invite to an intern breakfast hosted by "two higher ups," of course I RSVP'd "yes!" The only problem was, come Sunday night, I couldn't remember which morning this week it would take place. "It's Monday the 16th; I know it," I told myself while setting my alarm for 7:30. "I distinctly recall seeing a 1 and a 6 on my calendar. The 16th." So when I showed up all alone to the office Monday morning, it was a surprise to see not the 16th, but the NINETEENTH typed into Thursday's itinerary. Whoops. Apparently you should just call me dyslexic.
Miraculously, sitting in a cubicle all day has increased my metabolism significantly, to the point that I am constantly scavenging the kitchen for free-for-all food. Yesterday, for instance, when the fashion interns caused a stampede toward the freebie table for their closet rejects, I was busy picking at left-over sandwiches and cake from our editor in chief's birthday party. Hmm. Somehow that image makes me resemble the bag lady I saw picking through Broadway's trash at 2 a.m.
Speaking of street sightings, I am almost positive I saw Luke Wilson on the way to work this morning. Although I wasn't wearing my glasses, I could tell he was wearing his, sunglasses actually, paired nicely with a green and white track suit. In his hand was a cup of coffee, no doubt Starbucks since there is a franchise on every corner (also green and white). My eyes could have been deceiving me, or maybe I just had Legally Blonde on the brain (I'm still trying to get cheap tickets to the musical), but I'm going to believe it was he. Here's a pic of him in a different track suit, so it's not too hard to believe:
Finally 6 p.m. clicked over and the Hearst girls and I headed for the Hudson to a welcome party for all unpaid employees magazines like to call interns. I know I wasn't hallucinating, but I'm pretty sure I saw Rob Schneider pass me within a two inch radius, right on the corner of 58th and 8th next to that falafel stand I've been eying hungrily. The guy I saw looked just like this, wearing a hat and everything:
All of this was probably caused by left-over delirium from Monday morning. I'm trying to take advantage of all the training the company gives us and go to all the meet-and-greet lunches with the Hearst execs, so last week when Julie sent me an invite to an intern breakfast hosted by "two higher ups," of course I RSVP'd "yes!" The only problem was, come Sunday night, I couldn't remember which morning this week it would take place. "It's Monday the 16th; I know it," I told myself while setting my alarm for 7:30. "I distinctly recall seeing a 1 and a 6 on my calendar. The 16th." So when I showed up all alone to the office Monday morning, it was a surprise to see not the 16th, but the NINETEENTH typed into Thursday's itinerary. Whoops. Apparently you should just call me dyslexic.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Tomorrow's a new day: Week #3!
First of all, happy father's day! I wish my dad were here to run around town with me. I'm blessed to have parents who share the same interests as I have, so I know we'd have fun patronizing all the art museums! Daddy, I miss you!
But here's a semi-brief version of the past week:
Wednesday, a very nice, but hungover camera man, Frank, and I traversed around Union and Times squares to interview civilians for Seventeen.com's "Street Style" feature. I was instructed to accost stylish people and ask them fashion questions about their wardrobe. Apparently all the fashionable people thought I was technically going to accost them, because they avoided us like the plague. So what ended up happening was that Frank and I combed the streets for anyone not camera-shy, which gave us a wide assortment of... not very stylish people, most of whom where on vacation from Texas (it was crazy, like a Texan pandemic!) And I apologize profusely to the man on 7th Ave. whom I think I accidentally marked up with my uncapped Bic pen!
Thursday Julie and I went to the Spirit showroom to check out the newest in Halloween fashions. This was not the highlight of my week, since I normally have nothing to do with the holiday, but I did get some fresh air!
I'm not a superstitious person, but I think I might have taken a heckling spirit home with me, judging by the weirdness of the next day... Friday the 13th.
I woke up at 8:15, which is not detrimentally late, but everything took me 10x as long to accomplish. I kept looking at the clock in disbelief! 9:37 finally rolled around and I knew it was time to run out the door. Still-partially-frozen blueberry crepe in hand, I started to leave just when the breakfast filling took it upon itself to catapult down my brand new jacket and white tank top. But no time for Tide! I was off to the subway. Each morning I take the local line to 59th Street. But Friday morning, once past 79th Street, the local decided to go express on me, therefore skipping three stops and ending up in Times Square, almost 20 blocks south of Hearst. This had never happened to me before. I wasn't even aware subways could suddenly switch from one line to another. It felt like I was on the Magic School Bus, a ride that always goes awry. Luckily there was no Ms. Frizzle.
Saturday consisted of more exploring... and getting caught in the rain! But don't let the language fool you; it was not romantic in any way. I had slipped into Zabar's, the market featured in You've Got Mail, and walked out with my sushi and cheesecake and no umbrella into a full-fledged summer downpour, but not the five minute kind. With the subway construction, it was 16 blocks to the next stop, so I decided to hail a cab. It could have really frustrated me, but standing soaking wet on the corner of Broadway and 81st was somehow refreshing. My shoes dried out in front of the air conditioner while I sat devouring my dinner, propped up in front of the TV in nice dry clothes. What an evening!
This morning I went to church and met Hope's wonderful friends Lindsay and Mick over lunch at the Gramercy Cafe.
And guess what! Just four days til Ashley and Kev come to visit!!!! And I want to give a shout out: Laura, love you! I can't believe you read this! :) Haha!
But here's a semi-brief version of the past week:
Wednesday, a very nice, but hungover camera man, Frank, and I traversed around Union and Times squares to interview civilians for Seventeen.com's "Street Style" feature. I was instructed to accost stylish people and ask them fashion questions about their wardrobe. Apparently all the fashionable people thought I was technically going to accost them, because they avoided us like the plague. So what ended up happening was that Frank and I combed the streets for anyone not camera-shy, which gave us a wide assortment of... not very stylish people, most of whom where on vacation from Texas (it was crazy, like a Texan pandemic!) And I apologize profusely to the man on 7th Ave. whom I think I accidentally marked up with my uncapped Bic pen!
Thursday Julie and I went to the Spirit showroom to check out the newest in Halloween fashions. This was not the highlight of my week, since I normally have nothing to do with the holiday, but I did get some fresh air!
I'm not a superstitious person, but I think I might have taken a heckling spirit home with me, judging by the weirdness of the next day... Friday the 13th.
I woke up at 8:15, which is not detrimentally late, but everything took me 10x as long to accomplish. I kept looking at the clock in disbelief! 9:37 finally rolled around and I knew it was time to run out the door. Still-partially-frozen blueberry crepe in hand, I started to leave just when the breakfast filling took it upon itself to catapult down my brand new jacket and white tank top. But no time for Tide! I was off to the subway. Each morning I take the local line to 59th Street. But Friday morning, once past 79th Street, the local decided to go express on me, therefore skipping three stops and ending up in Times Square, almost 20 blocks south of Hearst. This had never happened to me before. I wasn't even aware subways could suddenly switch from one line to another. It felt like I was on the Magic School Bus, a ride that always goes awry. Luckily there was no Ms. Frizzle.
Saturday consisted of more exploring... and getting caught in the rain! But don't let the language fool you; it was not romantic in any way. I had slipped into Zabar's, the market featured in You've Got Mail, and walked out with my sushi and cheesecake and no umbrella into a full-fledged summer downpour, but not the five minute kind. With the subway construction, it was 16 blocks to the next stop, so I decided to hail a cab. It could have really frustrated me, but standing soaking wet on the corner of Broadway and 81st was somehow refreshing. My shoes dried out in front of the air conditioner while I sat devouring my dinner, propped up in front of the TV in nice dry clothes. What an evening!
This morning I went to church and met Hope's wonderful friends Lindsay and Mick over lunch at the Gramercy Cafe.
And guess what! Just four days til Ashley and Kev come to visit!!!! And I want to give a shout out: Laura, love you! I can't believe you read this! :) Haha!
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
My life as an errand boy
I am convinced inanimate objects are out to make me look a fool.
This morning, I got to the bottom of four flights of stairs before realizing I'd left my lunch in the freezer. I subsequently returned to collect it, but how did my shrimp thai rice repay me? By flicking itself all over my work station as if making mud pies.
Here was the progression:
1. Upon removing said rice plate from the microwave, it proceeded to wet itself all over the office kitchen counter, necessitating two more buffer plates as a diaper.
2. But apparently it needed to leak some more, because it provided a repeat performance once I strolled the four paper plates to my personal desk.
3. Then, completely eschewing all decorum, rice jumped from my fork onto the "f" key, whence I carried out damage control with my last available napkin.
4. But, oh no, playtime was not over. It had to test its limits, and when I looked up, a second stray grain of rice had somehow made its way to the computer screen, igniting a red flush across my embarrassed cheeks. By this point it was so late in the afternoon that I was the only staff member eating, and I didn't want to draw anymore attention to my heaping pile of caloric intake. But alas, it had other ideas.
5. Thinking I had silenced the devil, I went about responding to wayward e-mail messages and enjoying a few quiet minutes surfing the Web. With one last scrape of my plate, I tossed it into my cubicle's trash can, glad the whole power struggle versus my lunch was over. But then my hand brushed past my neck. What!? There, a third piece of rice had escaped unsupervised! And it had been hiding in the crook of my collar bone for the past 15 minutes. How humiliating! How many a fashionista had shot a sorry sigh my way, unbeknownst to me?
I guess I should have caught on yesterday after the elevators' conniving attack on my reputation. Whoever created the device should be prosecuted as a terrorist. Not only are elevators incubators of social discomfort (ie. the whole "I have on new underwear" routine), but as happened to me, they can point out all your insecurities and poke fun at you in front of your peers.
At Hearst, in order to rise any higher than the 28th floor, you must use the 29th as a cross platform for the rest of the tower. So on yesterday's errand, I descended to the 16th floor to pick up a DVD, went back up to the 29th, crossed out and over to the other hallway, delivered said disc up to the 41st, dropped back down to 29, out and over to the first hallway, and returned to home base on the 17th. Did I mention that my ears pop with each elevator excursion?
Oh! And the elevators must have been in cahoots with the entryways to each floor. Since we are on such tight lock-down, you are assigned an ID card which allows access only to your floor of employment. So to gain entrance into the camp of any sister station, you must hail the hall phone to contact your employee of choice.
What I still can't seem to figure out is the instructional process one must follow to render these phones functional. After pushing the 4-digit code, the person on the other line was left calling, "Hello?" with seemingly no response from me. What they didn't know was that I was futilely but forcefully returning each salutation, echoing in the corridor but making no connection across the phone lines. I resorted to scuttling through closing doors, sneaking in behind some unsuspecting native of that particular office.
And I didn't even get a tip. :)
This morning, I got to the bottom of four flights of stairs before realizing I'd left my lunch in the freezer. I subsequently returned to collect it, but how did my shrimp thai rice repay me? By flicking itself all over my work station as if making mud pies.
Here was the progression:
1. Upon removing said rice plate from the microwave, it proceeded to wet itself all over the office kitchen counter, necessitating two more buffer plates as a diaper.
2. But apparently it needed to leak some more, because it provided a repeat performance once I strolled the four paper plates to my personal desk.
3. Then, completely eschewing all decorum, rice jumped from my fork onto the "f" key, whence I carried out damage control with my last available napkin.
4. But, oh no, playtime was not over. It had to test its limits, and when I looked up, a second stray grain of rice had somehow made its way to the computer screen, igniting a red flush across my embarrassed cheeks. By this point it was so late in the afternoon that I was the only staff member eating, and I didn't want to draw anymore attention to my heaping pile of caloric intake. But alas, it had other ideas.
5. Thinking I had silenced the devil, I went about responding to wayward e-mail messages and enjoying a few quiet minutes surfing the Web. With one last scrape of my plate, I tossed it into my cubicle's trash can, glad the whole power struggle versus my lunch was over. But then my hand brushed past my neck. What!? There, a third piece of rice had escaped unsupervised! And it had been hiding in the crook of my collar bone for the past 15 minutes. How humiliating! How many a fashionista had shot a sorry sigh my way, unbeknownst to me?
I guess I should have caught on yesterday after the elevators' conniving attack on my reputation. Whoever created the device should be prosecuted as a terrorist. Not only are elevators incubators of social discomfort (ie. the whole "I have on new underwear" routine), but as happened to me, they can point out all your insecurities and poke fun at you in front of your peers.
At Hearst, in order to rise any higher than the 28th floor, you must use the 29th as a cross platform for the rest of the tower. So on yesterday's errand, I descended to the 16th floor to pick up a DVD, went back up to the 29th, crossed out and over to the other hallway, delivered said disc up to the 41st, dropped back down to 29, out and over to the first hallway, and returned to home base on the 17th. Did I mention that my ears pop with each elevator excursion?
Oh! And the elevators must have been in cahoots with the entryways to each floor. Since we are on such tight lock-down, you are assigned an ID card which allows access only to your floor of employment. So to gain entrance into the camp of any sister station, you must hail the hall phone to contact your employee of choice.
What I still can't seem to figure out is the instructional process one must follow to render these phones functional. After pushing the 4-digit code, the person on the other line was left calling, "Hello?" with seemingly no response from me. What they didn't know was that I was futilely but forcefully returning each salutation, echoing in the corridor but making no connection across the phone lines. I resorted to scuttling through closing doors, sneaking in behind some unsuspecting native of that particular office.
And I didn't even get a tip. :)
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Weekend Update
It's amazing to me that a city of over 19 million people can still feel lonely at times. But I'm so thankful for the connections I've made, and all things considered, this weekend has been full of friends and food (too much food, actually; this could end up being a syndicated blog for the Food Network if I'm not careful).
Friday, our wonderful Web editor took everyone in the department out to Serafina, an Italian restaurant right next to the Sean John offices. We kept watching for Diddy to exit into the three Escalades waiting out front, but to no avail.
Finally at 6:15 after tearing myself from my computer under Julie's prompting, I headed to the Union Square area to meet my friend Hope at a meeting for her church. It was so refreshing to be in the company of people counteracting the "striving" nature of this place.
Then Hope, her roommate, Cheryl, and I all boarded the train to their house in Queens for dinner and a movie. It was like a breath of fresh air. THERE WERE TREES! AND LITTLE SIDEWALKS! People plant flowers in their yards. What a concept. A yard. Once there, Cheryl convinced me to order Pad Thai from their neighborhood restaurant with shredded papaya substituted for the typical noodles. I'm glad to report I'm getting braver. I mean, I may never have that opportunity again, so what could a little papaya hurt?
Saturday morning, after crashing on Hope's futon, my roommate Katie and I made an outing through the weekend street market at Union Square and walked up and down 5th Ave. But the best part was once again, the food! We spotted a quaint cupcake shop called The Cupcake Cafe which is connected to a very You've-Got-Mail-esque children's book store. So fun. But why is it that the only pictures I've taken in New York have been of food?
And to top it off, Saturday night's dinner has to have been one of the most spiritual culinary experiences I've ever had thanks to Amy Ruth's Soul Food and Southern Cuisine. Hope and two of her friends took me to the edge of Harlem to prove that food can feed the soul, and feed you for the next two days! We took pics there, too, to document the spread, but they are not yet in my possession. Just trust me, the food was legendary.
I went to Hope's church, C3 Manhattan, this morning and really enjoyed it. Tonight I may be joining my newly-acquired acquaintances at some kind of SNL thing? Not sure of the details yet, but I'm eager to experience whatever I can while I'm here. Eight weeks is going to fly by.
Friday, our wonderful Web editor took everyone in the department out to Serafina, an Italian restaurant right next to the Sean John offices. We kept watching for Diddy to exit into the three Escalades waiting out front, but to no avail.
Finally at 6:15 after tearing myself from my computer under Julie's prompting, I headed to the Union Square area to meet my friend Hope at a meeting for her church. It was so refreshing to be in the company of people counteracting the "striving" nature of this place.
Then Hope, her roommate, Cheryl, and I all boarded the train to their house in Queens for dinner and a movie. It was like a breath of fresh air. THERE WERE TREES! AND LITTLE SIDEWALKS! People plant flowers in their yards. What a concept. A yard. Once there, Cheryl convinced me to order Pad Thai from their neighborhood restaurant with shredded papaya substituted for the typical noodles. I'm glad to report I'm getting braver. I mean, I may never have that opportunity again, so what could a little papaya hurt?
Saturday morning, after crashing on Hope's futon, my roommate Katie and I made an outing through the weekend street market at Union Square and walked up and down 5th Ave. But the best part was once again, the food! We spotted a quaint cupcake shop called The Cupcake Cafe which is connected to a very You've-Got-Mail-esque children's book store. So fun. But why is it that the only pictures I've taken in New York have been of food?
And to top it off, Saturday night's dinner has to have been one of the most spiritual culinary experiences I've ever had thanks to Amy Ruth's Soul Food and Southern Cuisine. Hope and two of her friends took me to the edge of Harlem to prove that food can feed the soul, and feed you for the next two days! We took pics there, too, to document the spread, but they are not yet in my possession. Just trust me, the food was legendary.
I went to Hope's church, C3 Manhattan, this morning and really enjoyed it. Tonight I may be joining my newly-acquired acquaintances at some kind of SNL thing? Not sure of the details yet, but I'm eager to experience whatever I can while I'm here. Eight weeks is going to fly by.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
"Celebrity looks good on you."
That's what I would have said today to the singer who stopped by the office for an informal interview... if I had been able to take any concentration off keeping my hands from shaking.
That's right. When Teddy Geiger met us in the north conference room, the circulation in my hands was non-existent and my leg crossed at the knee kept kicking uncontrollably.
I never considered myself starstruck, but that's probably because I don't have much of a track record with the rich and famous. But fortunately I was composed enough to throw in an educated question and remember his publicist's name.
Ever since he was one of very few males to make it to the cover of Seventeen, he's been an office celebrity. Fulfilling my duties as social management groupie, I've already read at least 15 comments wanting him to grace the cover again.
But even with the little blip of excitement he offered, the highlight of the day was meeting my cousin Anna. A Texas native, we joked about southerners attempting to communicate up north. Introducing me to a new subway train, she escorted me to Times Square where we ate really good brick oven pizza at Bella Vita and then trudged our already full tummies a few blocks to Roxy Delicatessen for the best cheesecake I've ever put in my mouth. We opted for the safe route and ordered cherry, but one selection on the menu inspired too much curiosity in my palate: "toffee heath bar crunch cheesecake." I'll have to go back, but the half-piece I consumed was a meal in itself.
Anna was wonderful fun, and I'm so glad to have a family member here, even though I'd never lain eyes on her before 6 p.m. today!
That's right. When Teddy Geiger met us in the north conference room, the circulation in my hands was non-existent and my leg crossed at the knee kept kicking uncontrollably.
I never considered myself starstruck, but that's probably because I don't have much of a track record with the rich and famous. But fortunately I was composed enough to throw in an educated question and remember his publicist's name.
Ever since he was one of very few males to make it to the cover of Seventeen, he's been an office celebrity. Fulfilling my duties as social management groupie, I've already read at least 15 comments wanting him to grace the cover again.
But even with the little blip of excitement he offered, the highlight of the day was meeting my cousin Anna. A Texas native, we joked about southerners attempting to communicate up north. Introducing me to a new subway train, she escorted me to Times Square where we ate really good brick oven pizza at Bella Vita and then trudged our already full tummies a few blocks to Roxy Delicatessen for the best cheesecake I've ever put in my mouth. We opted for the safe route and ordered cherry, but one selection on the menu inspired too much curiosity in my palate: "toffee heath bar crunch cheesecake." I'll have to go back, but the half-piece I consumed was a meal in itself.
Anna was wonderful fun, and I'm so glad to have a family member here, even though I'd never lain eyes on her before 6 p.m. today!
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
An Elle Woods moment...
I want to talk about eyebrow maintenance.
But before you close this window, aghast at the alacrity with which I've been consumed by a materialistic, pre-teen culture, wait. This morning while performing the daily ritual of make-up application, I had an epiphany. New experiences are like eyebrow grooming. In order for them to look manicured, you brush them backward then forward; you pluck them; you can coat them in a clear gel with a purpose akin to hairspray; none of which are pleasant processes, but the result is much less lumberjack-esque than its predecessor.
So each time I get on the wrong train or backtrack on an avenue, I'll consider it my grooming.
Today was more toe-dipping into the world of social networking as I skimmed Seventeen's MySpace page for girls eligible to be our "Friend of the Month." Here's the current month's winner:
So I was assigned to choose energetic girls with good style. "You're making some girl's dream come true," my editor told me. And after reading the readers' comments on the MySpace page about how much they love the magazine and how much they'd love to be featured, I'm starting to believe her. So many girls place so much trust and get so much affirmation from Seventeen. I never realized the responsibility it possesses.
Web is the perfect place for me because I love having contact with the readers on the site. In a strange way, I feel a part of their lives.
But before you close this window, aghast at the alacrity with which I've been consumed by a materialistic, pre-teen culture, wait. This morning while performing the daily ritual of make-up application, I had an epiphany. New experiences are like eyebrow grooming. In order for them to look manicured, you brush them backward then forward; you pluck them; you can coat them in a clear gel with a purpose akin to hairspray; none of which are pleasant processes, but the result is much less lumberjack-esque than its predecessor.
So each time I get on the wrong train or backtrack on an avenue, I'll consider it my grooming.
Today was more toe-dipping into the world of social networking as I skimmed Seventeen's MySpace page for girls eligible to be our "Friend of the Month." Here's the current month's winner:
So I was assigned to choose energetic girls with good style. "You're making some girl's dream come true," my editor told me. And after reading the readers' comments on the MySpace page about how much they love the magazine and how much they'd love to be featured, I'm starting to believe her. So many girls place so much trust and get so much affirmation from Seventeen. I never realized the responsibility it possesses.
Web is the perfect place for me because I love having contact with the readers on the site. In a strange way, I feel a part of their lives.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Social must become second nature.
"I dislike feeling at home when I am abroad." - George Bernard Shaw
He must have been a glutton for punishment because I can't imagine forsaking the desire to feel comfortable in a new environment.
Something came over me today on my way home, and the fiendish confusion convinced me it was geographically correct to take the "A" train farther downtown instead of the "1" back uptown, much to my dismay. How did that happen? Because I have yet to find my niche.
But considering it's Day #2, I think I'll get the hang of it soon. Today I learned how to work a new digital recorder, which to me, someone electronically-challenged, was a great personal victory. I transcribed two interviews.
Four hours later, with fingers much more adept at pressing the pause button, I learned the ropes of social network managing, which I guess could be considered my job title.
Tomorrow I'll field some messages, sort through friend requests and get to draft my first blog. The magazine is wanting to up its Web presence, and yours truly will be contributing to accomplish that goal, hopefully!! Check it out on www.seventeen.com and www.myspace.com/seventeen_magazine!
He must have been a glutton for punishment because I can't imagine forsaking the desire to feel comfortable in a new environment.
Something came over me today on my way home, and the fiendish confusion convinced me it was geographically correct to take the "A" train farther downtown instead of the "1" back uptown, much to my dismay. How did that happen? Because I have yet to find my niche.
But considering it's Day #2, I think I'll get the hang of it soon. Today I learned how to work a new digital recorder, which to me, someone electronically-challenged, was a great personal victory. I transcribed two interviews.
Four hours later, with fingers much more adept at pressing the pause button, I learned the ropes of social network managing, which I guess could be considered my job title.
Tomorrow I'll field some messages, sort through friend requests and get to draft my first blog. The magazine is wanting to up its Web presence, and yours truly will be contributing to accomplish that goal, hopefully!! Check it out on www.seventeen.com and www.myspace.com/seventeen_magazine!
Monday, June 2, 2008
The New School, Day #1
Did your mother take pictures to document major milestones of your life, like the first day of school? I have distinct memories of Mom with her camera in the front yard on my first day as a second grader.
Today was the first day of a different kind of learning experience: Internship Day #1. And someone did take my picture, but not my mother. The already overworked woman at Tishman Speyer quickly snapped my mugshot at 10 a.m. with a line of other eager interns snaking behind me in desperate need of IDs.
Unlike that little second grader I used to be carrying a backpack, today I stood at the 110th Street subway stop tightly clutching my purse as I waited for the local. Instead of a sack lunch, I scooped up the largest piece of pizza I've ever seen and headed to Central Park, $3 lighter. And instead of a teacher letter to take home to my parents, I returned to the dorm with a stack of training manuals.
After four hours of content management systems tutoring, I still don't have a full grasp of what I'll be asked to perform while serving Seventeen. But luckily, I don't think it'll be the school of hard knocks. The editors were amiable and open to my questions. The two other Web interns are amazing. The building is gorgeous. I can't wait to take it all in. Ready to start Day #2!
This is my new classroom:
(we're on the 17th floor; how cute.)
photo by Michael Ficeto for businessweek.com
Today was the first day of a different kind of learning experience: Internship Day #1. And someone did take my picture, but not my mother. The already overworked woman at Tishman Speyer quickly snapped my mugshot at 10 a.m. with a line of other eager interns snaking behind me in desperate need of IDs.
Unlike that little second grader I used to be carrying a backpack, today I stood at the 110th Street subway stop tightly clutching my purse as I waited for the local. Instead of a sack lunch, I scooped up the largest piece of pizza I've ever seen and headed to Central Park, $3 lighter. And instead of a teacher letter to take home to my parents, I returned to the dorm with a stack of training manuals.
After four hours of content management systems tutoring, I still don't have a full grasp of what I'll be asked to perform while serving Seventeen. But luckily, I don't think it'll be the school of hard knocks. The editors were amiable and open to my questions. The two other Web interns are amazing. The building is gorgeous. I can't wait to take it all in. Ready to start Day #2!
This is my new classroom:
(we're on the 17th floor; how cute.)
photo by Michael Ficeto for businessweek.com
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