I am not cut out to be an entrepreneur.
A couple of weeks ago, I realized that I could make money by waiting in the Shakespeare-in-the-Park line for people who had to work. Since I am, at the moment, living literally a block away from Central Park, this week seemed perfect.
Not so much.
After advertising on Craig's List, I found a woman who wanted the tickets on Monday. So I went. It seemed like the responsible choice would be to go early, like 7ish. Since I had previously waited in the line starting at 8, going at 7 seemed perfect.
Not so much.
The line was long. Crazy long. 450 people in front of me at 7 in the morning (the tickets are given out at 1 PM). Needless to say I didn't get a ticket. And therefore did not get my $100 fee for sitting in the line. A day wasted. To my mind, it was pointless. Way too early to get there in order to be sure of a ticket. I was done.
Not so much.
Undaunted, the woman who wanted my tickets wrote to beg for another try on Thursday. Me, being a total sap, agreed to do it. I knew it would be even busier by Thursday, but I figured that I could get up early, just that one morning. Of course it would be easy to get tickets if I made it to the line by 5 AM!
Not so much.
This morning, after a night of inconveniently-timed insomnia, I leaped out of bed at 4:30 and walked the darkened streets into Central Park. Because you know what's not a good time to be wandering around Central Park by yourself? 5 AM. Fortunately, New York is full of lunatics, all of whom were in the Park that morning. I approached the line, only to see the vague, murmuring shapes of about 200 people moving about in the pre-dawn light. Yes, there were 200 people in line by 5 AM. Time to take comfort in the shared insanity and to hope that our insanity would yield tickets!
Not so much.
I settled down for the long wait. For once, I figured I was in a good position. Totally in the zone that always gets the tickets. Just had to pull the blanket over my head (pre-dawn Central Park seems to be full of mosquitoes -- who knew?) and wait it out.
Not so much.
At 7 AM, the line guy showed up. Instead of doing his usual "this is is the cut-off for definite tickets" spiel, he gave a new speech. For today, of all the days of the summer, was the corporate day. The day in which the entire spirit of free theater for the masses is subsumed by the greed of the corporate sponsor. In other words, there were virtually no tickets for the huddled masses. They were all going to those who paid for the privilege. Free theater?
Not so much.
I thought about leaving. It looked bad for my ticket chances, after all. But I had promised to try to get tickets for this woman! And I am way too true to my word for my own good. I would stick it out and hope for tickets.
Not so much.
Tired of just lying there being tired, I decided to check my e-mail (yay for the technology!). Upon opening said e-mail, I noticed a message. From my ticket buyer. Sent last night. Seems that gmail chose not to update at that time... And the gist of the message? She didn't need the tickets after all. And she hoped that my day would be better for it.
Not so much.
Choices. Do I stay and try to sell the tickets to someone else? Do I give up and accept my loss of sleep? Do I wait for tickets and then keep them for myself, despite having already seen this play twice? The befuddled pondering of but a moment brought about the answer. Was Shakespeare worth anymore of my time?
Not so much.
As I walked out of the now-daylit Park, I saw the forms of the many people hurrying in the direction of the ticket line. More fools who, like me, thought they had a chance.
Not so much.
Some people make the entrepreneur thing work.
Me? Not so much.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Twitter controls the universe. Be afraid.
My weekend is turning surreal. A few hours ago, I tweeted this:
"Life really needs to get on the ball and give me what I want. Because right now, not so much."
Since I had no particular 4th of July plans, I went to the ticket lottery for Hair. The lottery tickets are given out 2 hours before the show and are only $25 for incredible seats. So, they tend to be popular. And I never, ever win lotteries.
Except yesterday I did. And the show was great, just as good as it had been in Central Park last summer. Plus, we made it on to the stage for the audience-participation dance number this time! Cheesy maybe, but totally awesome (when else am I going to be on a Broadway stage?).
When my activities were done, I came back to my current housesitting/couch-surfing situation. I'm in an incredible studio apartment for the next week and a half. Right in the "best" part of the Upper West Side. Literally across the street from the Natural History Museum. One block from Central Park... The comfortable affluence of this neighborhood is amazing to me. Sucks that I only get to stay for a short time, but still.
And then today. I decided this morning to strike out entrepreneurially and advertised that I would wait for Shakespeare tickets in Central Park for money. Already have a possible taker for tomorrow...
But it's the e-mails from friends that are the surreal part.
First I get an e-mail from a friend asking if I would house-sit for her in the second week of August. Which could very well be the single best week for me to need housing all summer. Then, about an hour later, another friend wrote to ask if she could possibly pay me to live in her house and organize life stuff.Not sure if I can actually do any of this, but at the rate my luck is suddenly going, I should be offered a dream job by Monday afternoon!
All of this followed my twitter about how life had to get around to helping me out for a change. Does Twitter control the universe?
"Life really needs to get on the ball and give me what I want. Because right now, not so much."
Since I had no particular 4th of July plans, I went to the ticket lottery for Hair. The lottery tickets are given out 2 hours before the show and are only $25 for incredible seats. So, they tend to be popular. And I never, ever win lotteries.
Except yesterday I did. And the show was great, just as good as it had been in Central Park last summer. Plus, we made it on to the stage for the audience-participation dance number this time! Cheesy maybe, but totally awesome (when else am I going to be on a Broadway stage?).
When my activities were done, I came back to my current housesitting/couch-surfing situation. I'm in an incredible studio apartment for the next week and a half. Right in the "best" part of the Upper West Side. Literally across the street from the Natural History Museum. One block from Central Park... The comfortable affluence of this neighborhood is amazing to me. Sucks that I only get to stay for a short time, but still.
And then today. I decided this morning to strike out entrepreneurially and advertised that I would wait for Shakespeare tickets in Central Park for money. Already have a possible taker for tomorrow...
But it's the e-mails from friends that are the surreal part.
First I get an e-mail from a friend asking if I would house-sit for her in the second week of August. Which could very well be the single best week for me to need housing all summer. Then, about an hour later, another friend wrote to ask if she could possibly pay me to live in her house and organize life stuff.Not sure if I can actually do any of this, but at the rate my luck is suddenly going, I should be offered a dream job by Monday afternoon!
All of this followed my twitter about how life had to get around to helping me out for a change. Does Twitter control the universe?
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
A Cautionary Tale
Tonight:
1 glass of wine = I love wine!
2 glasses of wine = I want to fall in love!
3 glasses of wine = I love everyone!
4 glasses of wine = I love my bed!
5 glasses of wine = Where's my bed?
6 glasses of wine = I love my bed and the person in it... Wait who is that? Is this my bed?
7 glasses of wine = I don't care, it's my bed now.
8 glasses of wine = I love my bed, but why does it need to spin?
Tomorrow:
1 glass of wine = I love wine!
2 glasses of wine = I want to drink wine again soon!
3 glasses of wine = I love a good night out!
4 glasses of wine = I love my bed -- I think I'll stay in it for awhile longer.
5 glasses of wine = Where's my aspirin?
6 glasses of wine = This is not my bed! And who the hell are you???
7 glasses of wine = I don't care, I'm staying in this bed. Forever.
8 glasses of wine = I hate my bed. And why is it still spinning?
1 glass of wine = I love wine!
2 glasses of wine = I want to fall in love!
3 glasses of wine = I love everyone!
4 glasses of wine = I love my bed!
5 glasses of wine = Where's my bed?
6 glasses of wine = I love my bed and the person in it... Wait who is that? Is this my bed?
7 glasses of wine = I don't care, it's my bed now.
8 glasses of wine = I love my bed, but why does it need to spin?
Tomorrow:
1 glass of wine = I love wine!
2 glasses of wine = I want to drink wine again soon!
3 glasses of wine = I love a good night out!
4 glasses of wine = I love my bed -- I think I'll stay in it for awhile longer.
5 glasses of wine = Where's my aspirin?
6 glasses of wine = This is not my bed! And who the hell are you???
7 glasses of wine = I don't care, I'm staying in this bed. Forever.
8 glasses of wine = I hate my bed. And why is it still spinning?
Monday, June 8, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Not the best way to start the day
As I moved into my friend's apartment yesterday, I noticed a sign by the elevator. According to this little sign, the water in the building would be turned off today between the hours of 9 AM and 1 PM. The pipes needed fixing or something. Annoying, yes, but understandable. I made plans to get up by 8:30 in order to squeeze in a shower while I could.
They shut the water off at 8:35.
I was in the shower. Covered with soap. Shampoo in my hair. Had to rinse with 2 partially-filled 1/2 liter bottle of water and some melted ice cubes.
Now my skin itches.
This does not seem like the best start to my new residence.
They shut the water off at 8:35.
I was in the shower. Covered with soap. Shampoo in my hair. Had to rinse with 2 partially-filled 1/2 liter bottle of water and some melted ice cubes.
Now my skin itches.
This does not seem like the best start to my new residence.
Monday, June 1, 2009
We should all stay put. Forever.
The move was about as good as can be expected. Which is not to say that it didn't suck. It did. It just didn't suck as much as it could have.
My day began at 7 AM, when my phone rang. My phone is not supposed to ring at 7 AM. Ever. 7 AM is sleeping time. Not phone call time. Anyway, the evil 7 AM wake-up call was from the moving company. The way-too-chipper voice on the line informed me that they'd had a cancellation and would now be arriving at some point between 8:30 and 9. Instead of between 10 and 2.
Needless to say, I bounded (actually, staggered) out of bed. After blocking my roommate's attempts to get in the shower before me (she was only starting a new job today -- so not important!), I frantically ran around the apartment packing up the last few things. I didn't actually manage to tape the boxes shut before the movers arrived. But I had a lot of other boxes to keep them occupied, so it was OK.
Then they moved stuff. And I kind of sat around awkwardly and watched. It's amazing how fast an apartment can be emptied when three men are doing the work.
After about 45 minutes, the head mover guy told me they were done and that I should meet them at the storage place. As I had thought that my moving price included a ride to the storage facility, the apparent need to get a cab was a little annoying, but whatever.
I got a cab. I arrived at the address. I spent about 5 minutes looking for the storage facility all over the place before I realized it was the big building with no signs. And I mean NO signs. Not even at the desk inside. I only realized it was the right place when I saw a box with the company logo on the desk.
The storage rental went as swimmingly as such things go. And the movers actually arrived, thereby denying my paranoid fantasies about everything I own disappearing, never to be seen again. And it all fit in the storage unit! Granted, if I ever try to take anything out of the storage unit, it'll be kind of like the end of a Jenga game.
I then walked back to my soon-to-be-former apartment. It was two miles, but I figured a) it was a nice day, b) I had some time, and c) there are NO cabs in East Harlem anyway.
Back at the apartment, I had to move my summer stuff over to my friend's place and then sweep out the mounds (literally, mounds) of dust that had accumulated under my furniture. Before I could do this, however, the new tenant's mother showed up. Because who can move in to a new home without mommy's help? Or something.
The upside of this arrival was that I didn't have to clean, as mommy dearest came prepared to wage war on all vermin that might harm her precious young one. So I spent my time hauling far too much stuff to the next building and my temporary home. I need all this crap why exactly???
Then it was done. And only after 7 hours! But at least I am moved.
For now.
My day began at 7 AM, when my phone rang. My phone is not supposed to ring at 7 AM. Ever. 7 AM is sleeping time. Not phone call time. Anyway, the evil 7 AM wake-up call was from the moving company. The way-too-chipper voice on the line informed me that they'd had a cancellation and would now be arriving at some point between 8:30 and 9. Instead of between 10 and 2.
Needless to say, I bounded (actually, staggered) out of bed. After blocking my roommate's attempts to get in the shower before me (she was only starting a new job today -- so not important!), I frantically ran around the apartment packing up the last few things. I didn't actually manage to tape the boxes shut before the movers arrived. But I had a lot of other boxes to keep them occupied, so it was OK.
Then they moved stuff. And I kind of sat around awkwardly and watched. It's amazing how fast an apartment can be emptied when three men are doing the work.
After about 45 minutes, the head mover guy told me they were done and that I should meet them at the storage place. As I had thought that my moving price included a ride to the storage facility, the apparent need to get a cab was a little annoying, but whatever.
I got a cab. I arrived at the address. I spent about 5 minutes looking for the storage facility all over the place before I realized it was the big building with no signs. And I mean NO signs. Not even at the desk inside. I only realized it was the right place when I saw a box with the company logo on the desk.
The storage rental went as swimmingly as such things go. And the movers actually arrived, thereby denying my paranoid fantasies about everything I own disappearing, never to be seen again. And it all fit in the storage unit! Granted, if I ever try to take anything out of the storage unit, it'll be kind of like the end of a Jenga game.
I then walked back to my soon-to-be-former apartment. It was two miles, but I figured a) it was a nice day, b) I had some time, and c) there are NO cabs in East Harlem anyway.
Back at the apartment, I had to move my summer stuff over to my friend's place and then sweep out the mounds (literally, mounds) of dust that had accumulated under my furniture. Before I could do this, however, the new tenant's mother showed up. Because who can move in to a new home without mommy's help? Or something.
The upside of this arrival was that I didn't have to clean, as mommy dearest came prepared to wage war on all vermin that might harm her precious young one. So I spent my time hauling far too much stuff to the next building and my temporary home. I need all this crap why exactly???
Then it was done. And only after 7 hours! But at least I am moved.
For now.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Ode to a Casualty of the Move
Wow, the end of an era.
Today, after 6 years, I finally took down my "Free Ballard" bumper sticker. Also today, Archie McPhee's, that wonderfully insane store wherein I purchased the bumper sticker, moved its location from Ballard to Wallingford.
I've had it hanging on my bedroom door ever since I moved to New York City in the fall of 2003. For all that time, it's been there, reminding me of Archie McPhee's all the way back in Ballard. For all that time, I've had the pleasure of trying to explain the sticker's meaning to the foolish New Yorkers who just don't understand. For all that time, it's brought a smile to my face, knowing that I was helping to fight the silly fight.
Unfortunately, I now must leave this apartment, so the "Free Ballard" sticker came down. But I can at least take solace in the fact that I gave up the fight for a liberated Ballard on the same day that Archie McPhee fled for new environs.
Sorry Ballard!
Today, after 6 years, I finally took down my "Free Ballard" bumper sticker. Also today, Archie McPhee's, that wonderfully insane store wherein I purchased the bumper sticker, moved its location from Ballard to Wallingford.
I've had it hanging on my bedroom door ever since I moved to New York City in the fall of 2003. For all that time, it's been there, reminding me of Archie McPhee's all the way back in Ballard. For all that time, I've had the pleasure of trying to explain the sticker's meaning to the foolish New Yorkers who just don't understand. For all that time, it's brought a smile to my face, knowing that I was helping to fight the silly fight.
Unfortunately, I now must leave this apartment, so the "Free Ballard" sticker came down. But I can at least take solace in the fact that I gave up the fight for a liberated Ballard on the same day that Archie McPhee fled for new environs.
Sorry Ballard!
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