Photojournalistic Lunchtime Sprawls

The Week and my Neighborhood in Review.

From Hearts Everywhere

Art Studio Window. 36th Street.


Traffic cops in waiting near the Post office. 33rd Street.


9th Avenue and 34th Street looking East.


9th Avenue Urban Rainbow.


A sewing machine store in the heart of the Fashion District. 36th Street.


My phone. 8th Avenue.

I Am A Writer.



I never called myself a writer. I never thought I was good enough – clearly limiting myself only by my own battle with perfectionism. I pursued 12-year career in advertising where writing was the PS – rather not the body – of my life.

Finally, they fired me and I found myself in a moment of mental liberation. I was forced into a crossroads of low risk and nothing to lose. With fear eliminated from the equation, I took a chance.

I decided that yes I was going to define myself as a writer. Like I am a mother, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend. I am a writer.

I started speaking when I was 9 months old, which was a relief for my mom who was never very keen on the baby stage. I skipped the babbling and baby talk and went straight to Russian cynical observer.

I like to tell stories, write narratives and write countless lines of description. Yet I do not consider myself incredibly imaginative. I am astute and analytical. I appreciate the background as much as the foreground. I want everything to be explained scientifically and proven to me. I doubt so much that sometimes I over tell a story. (And then sometimes I do it again.)

In hindsight (or is it not in hindsight if it was a good thing?), the journalism major made sense. I wasn’t ready to concoct my own stories because I hadn’t lived them yet. I spent the first part of my life commenting without evidence. Nowadays my rants have been substantiated by life.

So what makes a good writer?

Everyone has their yardstick. For me, I’d like to take a reader on an experience, if only momentarily, into a world I create for them. I’d like to engage them and leave a touch – an emotional reaction, introspection, realization.

A good writer paints vivid pictures with words, creates complex and realistic characters with values, conflicts, vulnerability. A good writer gives rise to towns and builds houses. A good writer will successfully let you see out of someone else’s eyes, wear someone else’s shoes, be in someone’s else’s head, and be a fly on every wall. And he will use very few cliché’s in transporting us to this alternate reality.

A good writer will make judgments and assumptions. He will scrutinize and analyze and philosophize. A good writer will understand how to tap into the nerve that makes us cry and laugh and empathize. A good writer is a transcriber of human nature, of life.

Unlike a doctor or a lawyer, a writer doesn’t require a formal degree to make it legit. You are a writer if you write. But deeming yourself a writer and sustaining yourself as a writer were on two different plains.

I had safely landed on one and needed to build a bridge to cross over onto the other.

People tell me that I am a good writer, that I have a way with words. I’ve even heard that my writing is poetic. (Ironic since I don’t really read or write poetry.) My definition came from somewhere else. I realized I was a writer because if I'm not writing it down all the time, it comes spilling out of me.

I am a writer because I am a thinker.

I’ve always been a thinker; and have never found the off switch. I get by on very little sleep and usually am in a state of perpetual go. Writing grounds me. It gives me a place where I can be as loud and as ambitious as I want to be.

I often strive for perfection – and sometimes get beautiful. Occasionally I get ‘good enough.’ Often I get just one little nugget out of four pages. But I gain sanity. I gain clarity. I clear the clutter out of my head and onto the paper. I release it from the jail of my mind and create space for more.

Techy Took the Human out of Human Resources




Human Resources is a lovely discipline occupied by thousands of wonderfully insightful intelligent people. Formally, the field is referred to as Industrial/Organizational Psychology (or the name on your degree). The science behind Human Resources aims to make organizations more productive while ensuring productive and healthy lives for its workers. Translation: workers happy, company thrives. They even used to call it PERSONnel!

But then the HR folks wanted a part of the technological revolution and they upgraded themselves in a big way. A marriage formed between HR + IT and it formed a whole new world (HRIS). But somehow the technology tornado swept through and sucked the Human out of Human Resources.

The HR departments are no longer filled with "people people." Instead, the pressure to keep up with the Technology Jonses has forced traditional HR folks into bits and bytes decoders.

Back in the day … and by back in the day, I mean back in the day when I first graduated college (1996), I was still thinking about the quality of paper upon which I printed my resume. I wore a navy suit with pantyhose and pumps. I carried a leather portfolio and sent a handwritten thank you note.

Today our job hunt begins and ends with the computer; it is our porthole into the market. We log on to let the world know that we’re looking. We have to be our own email marketers and drive our own viral campaigns. We network online, we apply online, we click to send our saved resumes and the upload yet another cover letter. We always email to follow up. We summarize decades of experience with a maximum number of characters and we send it out into the online abyss.

I worked at a recruitment advertising agency for 7 years so you figure I’d be able to navigate some sort of back end armed with the inside scoop. Wrong. Turns out I don’t have the formula any more than anyone else does.

Most large companies have applicant tracking systems (ATS), which are databases designed to hold and process the millions of resumes. When you are applying to a job online or via email, your resume is automatically going into this database. Often you may be applying to a position that isn’t even available; the company just wants to build a “pipeline” of candidates.

When the company is ready to hire someone, the first order of business is to have the HR folks search through this ATS. The hiring manager provides the HR person with cryptic keywords and then they go into the massive database, laden with millions of our career histories and conducts a keyword search. Code given, code entered, resumes served.

If you know the correct code that will yield your resume, hurray for you. The rest of us better figure out the code. The current economy means companies can get the best bang for their buck; employees come cheap. It’s the simple principle of supply and demand.

When I worked for the recruitment advertising agency, my clients often wanted me to advertise hard-to-fill jobs on very obscure Websites. One client was seeking a highly specialized nurse. The position was so distinct – there was only 18 known practitioners in the country. I thought a better approach would be to call the 18 nurses and give them a personal pitch. The client preferred to psychologically guess which Websites they might be visiting. In this instance, technology brainwashed (and trumped) the human.

The online job-hunting marketplace has gotten so overwhelming, they created a search engine to further simplify the process. Or so you think. These one-stop shops (like Indeed and Simply Hired) let you enter a title and a location and voila – jobs at a click. But how many of these jobs are legit?

It’s often the same job on different sites. The job boards have gotten very nepotistic and have created relationships and partnerships all over the place. When a company advertises on one site, they get a dozen others as a bonus. What this means for a job hunter is same job, different www.

Oh the online forms! Some of the big sites like Monster and CareerBuilder let you store your resume and apply to jobs with a click. Many of the large companies mandate you fill out their own profiles on their company’s career page. Fun!

You cruise around the Fortune 500 Online world filling out forms ad nauseam. Hours of virtual paperwork to earn some space on a database. You spend countless clicks inputting your life into online boxes. You indicate your gender, your nationality, if you’re a veteran. Have you ever been convicted of a crime? Have you ever worked here before? Sometimes the experience will lend itself to a little “pre-screen” interaction where they give you a series of questions and you click off some buttons answering what they want to see. You customize a cover letter with their words.

I feel ahead of the game. The older generation is at a disadvantage in this technologically dominated new job-hunting universe. It is not enough to maintain expertise in your profession of choice; you also have to be proficient in navigating the Web 2.0 and Social Media world. Without it, you might not stand a fighting chance.

But for the thousands of those currently unemployed, they should use the technology rather than compete with the technology. Candidates have to be louder than the technology. They have to integrate a little human back into the mix.

If you find yourself enthralled in a slightly older school of job hunting, you may find yourself busting out the suit, pumps and folios and doing the headhunter dance. That scenario usually plays itself out like so:

You find a job online and apply for it, often unknowing that you’re really applying to a headhunter. Said headhunter will call you and ask you a series of questions and then hopefully deem you worthy of an in-person interview. When you come in for your in-person, you use your tiniest handwriting to fill out a 10-page archaic paper application. This is the exact same content you filled in when you sent in the “application” online. You wait to be called and then get escorted into a cubicle conference room. There you make small talk and answer the same questions the headhunter asked you over the phone. This time they write it down. They put it in a file with your name on it. They tell you all about their unparalleled opportunities. They direct you to complete the online application at home. The say they’ll be in touch. Sometimes they are.

… And that’s what happens when you add the human element.


HeartsEverywhere: Obama-ized

Go here and make your own "Obamicon" — your image in a style inspired by Shepard Fairey's iconic poster.

Take your picture with a webcam or upload a photo, choose your own message, and submit to the gallery.

Photojournalistic Lunchtime Sprawls: Execution

My new work neighborhood has lots of lights and 'eye candy.' Here are some images from my lunchtime walk about...









Oscar Nominations 2009




The 81st Academy Awards nominations were announced today at the Academy's Samuel Goldwyn Theatre, and boy is this year going to be exciting!

Hugh Jackman will be hosting the show, which will honor outstanding film achievements from 2008.

The Academy is keeping its presenters a secret until the day of the show, which will take place on Sunday, February 22 on ABC. But in the meantime, here are this years nominations. Who will you be rooting for?

BEST ACTOR IN A LEADING ROLE
Richard Jenkins - The Visitor
Frank Langella - Frost/Nixon
Sean Penn - Milk
Brad Pitt - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Mickey Rourke - The Wrestler

BEST ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
Josh Brolin - Milk
Robert Downey Jr. - Tropic Thunder
Philip Seymour Hoffman - Doubt
Heath Ledger - The Dark Knight
Michael Shannon - Revolutionary Road

BEST ACTRESS IN A LEADING ROLE
Anne Hathaway - Rachel Getting Married
Angelina Jolie - Changeling
Melissa Leo - Frozen River
Meryl Streep - Doubt
Kate Winslet - The Reader


BEST ACTRESS IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
Amy Adams - Doubt
Penelope Cruz - Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Viola Davis - Doubt
Taraji P. Henson - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Marisa Tomei - The Wrestler

BEST DIRECTOR
David Fincher - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Ron Howard - Frost/Nixon
Gus Van Sant - Milk
Stephen Daldry - The Reader
Danny Boyle - Slumdog Millionaire

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
Frozen
Happy-Go-Lucky
In Bruges
Milk
Wall-E

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
Eric Roth - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
John Patrick Shanley - Doubt
Peter Morgan - Frost/Nixon
David Hare - The Reader
Simon Beaufoy - Slumdog Millionaire

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE FILM
Bolt
Kung Fu Panda
Wall-E

BEST MOTION PICTURE OF THE YEAR
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Frost/Nixon
Milk
The Reader
Slumdog Millionaire


Inauguration from Times Square

What a day to start my Photojournalistic Lunchtime Sprawls!

Here are some images from history in the making - once again - in New York's Times Square.


A flag, the world, Taxis, OBAMA.


YES WE CAN!


Heading Downtown. We have a new President!


Signs of the Times Square.


ABC News and Obama.


A Cardboard Obama on Broadway.


Obama Inspires Love.


Obama and Sirens.


Pride in Times Square.


Tears of Joy.


Peace. Obama Style.

Photojournalistic Lunchtime Sprawls:
The Idea



Creative minds often struggle in a corporate 9-5 set up. Unless these folks [READ: ME] have a creative outlet, insanity, resentment, frustration and all that other good stuff may set in. In my new job I am trying to proactively avoid any sort of such breakdown.

So I had an idea:

I always take my lunchtime walks – get air, stretch the legs, purge myself of stale office air.


PLUS


I finally bought a much-needed
(and upgraded) camera. [READ: Permanent lunch partner.]

EQUALS

I’ll snap my insanity away mid-day through Midtown Manhattan. My strange neighborhood – smack between Penn Station and Port Authority. I’ve got a lovely mélange of the remaining sex shops, hat stores, wacko beauty-meets-porn shops, and Macy’s on 34th Street. Photojournalistic Lunchtime Sprawls by Me. I like it.

I’ve always loved photography. My father developed my black and white baby pictures in our bathtub in Russia. I won a photo contest in high school and I spent a summer at UCLA taking photography classes. It’s always been a part of my life. I often see the world with a frame around it. I try to let the shots find me more than me find them. If it’s worth remembering, it makes itself known.

With the advent of digital photography, everyone has acquired the power to become a historian, creating an organic scrapbook documenting their life. No longer is the camera only brought out for graduations, weddings, vacations, holidays. Today we are armed with cameras in any basic mobile devise. The corner drugstore sells disposable cameras of all types: film, digital and video. It’s both easy and accessible for any person to capture their life on film.

Having a camera all the time reminds you that every day is special. Any day could be a day that changes your life. I bring my camera to the playground, the grocery store, a garage sale.

And now, to lunch.

A Gift From Me to My Ears




I use my headphones every day. Walking around the city, on the subway, and now that I'm back to cubicle living - I use them during work.
Given their omnipresent role in my life - I decided that the white default ear plugs that never really fit inside my ears needed to go.

My only research was trying them once before ... and I loved them. So, I splurged for the
Bose. I love the ear cushiness and the fantastic sound. But now that they're a true possession, I realize the wonderful bonus that comes with this new member to my technological family is ... drum roll please ... the black leather case! It's fantabulous enough to hold my iPod and the fancy 'phones and it sort of justifies the price.

Star Wars - Well, Not Really



I enjoy many movie genres and diverse forms of the written word, but somehow I have a mental block when it comes to science fiction or fantasy. It just does not compute. I've got Science Fiction Frigidity. If you can't prove it to me, I have a hard time believing it. (Science Fiction and Religion sort of sit in similar skeptical segments in my head.) If it's too fantastical, too unbelievable, I just can't connect.

But when my 5-year-old son became OBSESSED with STAR WARS, I tried to give it a chance. My life had daily doses of Star Wars. My son became Annakin or Obi Wan; he had virtual battles on the Death Star or the Millenium Falcon as my living room became Naboo or Mustafar. We took a road trip to see a Star Wars Exhibit in Philadelphia; we own all 6 movies; we have Darth Vader and Captain Cody costumes; 2 different lightsabers and 2 Wii games, one of which has lightsaber adapters.







But I still have not watched the 6 movies start to finish.

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook. It's hilarious and reminded me of myself; assume the story is based on only how I see it. I guess it reminded me that My Reality does not always equate with Actual Reality.


This girl had never seen a Star Wars movie from start to finish. When asked if she wanted to watch the complete original trilogy, she said that she would, but that she already knew what happens. This guy took out his voice recorder and asked her for her version of the plot. Then he created some very basic animation in Final Cut to go along with her narration.

Job well done!


Art Heart


Mary was mixing paint for her students and while squeezing some magenta into yellow - created a HEART. Thanks Mary Mary!

No One

This morning this song came on my iPod. Then on my way to work I stopped at the deli to get coffee and heard this song again. Finally, I got to work and started listening to music through Jango and the song came on again. Three times in one day makes it BLOGERIFIC.

No One by Alicia Keys:




Dear Mr. Very Fat Man on the E Train



This morning walking to the subway I felt like I was walking through a shaken snow globe. Powdery flakes were blanketing and softening Manhattan’s Upper East Side. It looked like a black and white photograph speckled with yellow taxis. I took a mental snapshot and decided to take my time getting to work, not letting myself get worked up in the rush hour madness.

The first train I took was crowded but fine. But when I transferred to the E train, my brain was stamped with a much yuckier image than previously described urban landscape. I went from Pretty mental image to Very Ugly on my underground cross-town jaunt.

I’d like to formerly thank the Very Fat Man on the E train.

Dear Mr. Very Fat Man on the E Train:

Thank you for taking up 3 seats instead of one; I’m glad you were able to stretch out in comfort. I was able to burn a few extra calories by standing and heck, who doesn’t want to physically bond with your fellow riders? Thank you also for the cacophony of sounds you were producing as you slumbered in front of your subway audience. The snoring orchestra that went on for 6 stops was louder than my iPod would go and what a treat. Thank you, additionally, for the profound sneeze you made when you woke up for that brief second. I’m glad that I was far enough away to avoid the nasal explosion, although the pregnant woman standing in front of you probably wished she was wearing surgical scrubs for protection. Finally, thank you for that surprising kick out you did with your enormous work boots. Usually the kick out wakes people up – but alas, you delved deeper into subway dreams.

Thanks for the memories, Mr. Very Fat Man.

Love,
Me.

Coffee Drip Heart


Mountain Creek, NJ

Week 1, Day 5 of new job: the office went tubing. But first we had a very long meeting. My coffee dripped and I looked down to see the shape. Life reminded me that it was listening, watching ... and maybe even on my side.

Mommy Versus Nanny



My six-year-old and I get in our daily morning debates before school. This rainy Monday in late Fall was no exception. I tell him to wear the raincoat.

“Zipper it,” I say. “I don’t want your t-shirt to get wet.”


“I can’t,” he whines and I get on my knees to attempt the zipper. The silver zipper puller thingy falls off.


“Ooh – can I have it?” he cheers. And I struggle to no avail. So we go with his bottom button holding the bottom of the jacket and his right hand clutching the top together.


“Put your hood on,” I plead.


“I like the rain,” he protests and has a skip to his step, despite my frustration. I carry my heavy umbrella over him (the corners dripping on me). I shift hands when my arm goes numb carrying the oversized beast over both of us.


“Are your feet getting wet?” I keep asking.


“No!” he repeats. “Why? Are yours?” he asks. He has always been considerate like that.


“Yes!” I grunt back. "They’re soaked together with my jeans from the knee down.
"

As we approach school we see Tommy, a nice boy. Another “duplicate mailing” in the parents’ directory – with one address on Central Park West and the other one a prominent Tribeca loft.

So Tommy is walking akin to his grossly overweight nanny. She is carrying the Cadillac of umbrellas and is comfortably dry as Tommy lingers – feet swishing and t-shirt half saturated in freezing rain.


“Tommy doesn’t have to zip his jacket,” Jacob quickly points out.

To which I quickly reply, "Well, that’s the difference between a nanny and a mommy.”

2008 in the Medicine Cabinet



A medicine cabinet is our open book. Accessible to any bathroom visitor, we present a historical medical scrapbook of our lives behind a hinged mirror door. It’s a treasure chest screaming to be explored; secret revelations waiting to be discovered.

I recently opened my medicine cabinet to realize it was over flooding. It came as a shock to me since I’m not a big pill popper and would rather cough for a month then take Musinex. But I stood face to face with a representational diorama of the year that was; the year that filled this white mirrored cabinet on 97th Street with all sorts of bizarre unexpected things.

I see the Baby Mederma. I went for 11 months after my thyroid surgery before putting anything on the scar on my neck. My doctor told me not to so I didn't. But last week my father’s young wife gave me a half-used tube of Baby Mederma.

“It works the same as the regular one,” she said. “Use it on your scar. It really works.”

“Why do you have it?” I asked. I didn’t remember my three-year-old half brother having a scar.

“I scratched Alex’s penis during a diaper change when he was a baby,” she explained. “I was so nervous that it would leave a permanent scar on his penis, I Mederma-ed him every day for a year. I don’t need it anymore.”

I shrugged and took the cream and now use my half-brother’s penis scar cream on my neck.

There are no less than four different anti-itch creams from the time I had 29 mosquito bites in Maine. My arm had two bites really close together and they got swelled up to the size of half a lemon. Surprisingly, and slightly out of character, I wasn’t concerned. That is, until I struck up a conversation with the big guy behind the counter of the touristy shop in Bar Harbor. He had a look of ‘oh shit’ on his face and started to panic in an uncomfortable way. He directed me to the local hospital. I chose to go the pharmacy and Blueberry beer route.

My broken knee left me with many souvenirs. In the cabinet sits three types of bandages. The closet also holds the crutches, ridiculously uncomfortable knee brace, and MRI scans. Who would have thought I would have so many reminders from the time I was walking home from work and some woman fell on me and broke my knee? I knew one day I’d look back at the whole incident and laugh. At the very least, it makes for great storytelling.

I laugh when I see this archaic tar-like salve called Ichtamohl. Scientifically it’s sulfonated shale oil and medically used for skin ailments and as a “drawing salve.” My grandfather told me to use it to help the infection in my ingrown toenail. Didn’t work. So on the fourth day of my new job, I had to have lunchtime toenail surgery.

They accumulate – these life souvenirs that live in our medicine cabinets; tokens collected along the journey. These tubes follow us around, cabinet to cabinet and often we never return to claim their services. We just move them around, constantly rearranging them Jenga-style in our cabinets. Life reminders we hold onto just in case…

2008 was a constant reminder to slow down somehow – to take care of my health. It reminded me to squeeze every molecule of happiness out of every day. The worries I wasted so much energy on never came to fruition. Instead I had a whole new set of surprises. I know it will not always be what I planned. It’s not always going to make sense. And even at the darkest times – I try to remember that this too shall pass and tomorrow is another chance to do it again.

This year has shown me Life in its very essence – raw, emotional, unpredictable, painful, ironic, euphoric Life. 2008 also gave me the gift of time and freedom.

So for 2009 ... I want to let it go more – not take it all so seriously. I want to stop fearing failure. I want to dream more since it’s free entertainment. I want to let go of perfection. I want to worry less. I want to hit pause on happy.

2009 – Come what may.

(As for the medicine cabinet – lets hope that we can shuffle the black tar and ace bandages under the sink and create some breathing room. Simplicity. Calm.)