Nerve: It's Personal

A fair few months ago, I joined Nerve Personals online- mostly out of curiosity and because I thought perhaps I could write a funny article out of my experience. Well, it hasn't been all that exciting but there are a few things I've found interesting.

One of my favourite things each week is the newsletter I receive from Nerve telling me about all the hot new guys whom have signed up and meet my criteria (ie: male, living in New York, between the ages of 24 and 30 and into girls- tough I know but I had to draw the line somewhere). I always find the newsletter humorous for three reasons.

1. Headlines. When you join Nerve, you have to think of a headline for yourself. It is a random and rather difficult thing to do to be honest so I can't really begrudge people for being a bit unclever or intriguing with it, but when you pick something like: "Hit me a line if you wanna have fun ;)", you are just asking for a girl never to look at your profile. Today I received another classic : "Total jerk seeks trophy girlfriend"

creepystalker is a 28 year old man from New York, New York, United States. "I love the city and I'm looking for someone to explore it with."

Sounds great creepystalker, why don't I give you my address and telephone number?

2. Pictures. They usually fall into three categories, the self-taken picture in the bathroom mirror, the random "look how much fun I am having out with my friends" picture and the exotic location picture, to show how cultured and interesting you are. I admit, my pictures are of me in exotic places. And if your pictures are of somewhere interesting, the more likely I am to click on you.

3. Random People You Know. It has happened more than once that I received a newsletter containing the profile of someone I knew. The first time, it was a fellow blogger whom I didn't even know was on the prowl (or straight). I won't divulge who, but it came as quite a funny surprise. I immediately clicked on his profile to check it out. I was reminded the next day, when I logged in to see who had viewed me, that the people I look at can see me as well. Blogger Boy had clicked back on my profile. We've never discussed the occurrence, sometimes you just don't want other bloggers knowing that much about you. Today the Random Person I Know ended up in my inbox again. This time it was the ex-boyfriend of an ex-friend. She was unceremoniously cut out of the picture of himself he chose to put up:
"He said here, take some of this, it'll show you where you're at."

Hardtraveling is a 24 year old man from Huntington Station, New York, United States. "Hello, I've been accepted into a grad program at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, so I'm only looking for new friends/hang outs and to date casually. I should be in Flagstaff by th ..."

This time, I knew that he could see me if I clicked on his profile but I was so curious I had to do it anyway. I never liked this guy, he was always a bit of an embarrassing, inappropriate jerk, but his profile wasn't all that bad. It actually contained some of the key things I look for, like sense of adventure, easy-going and likes to travel, but it did have one laugh out loud anomaly. He was looking for women or lesbian couple for a short term relationship. Two words buddy, GOOD LUCK.

So the online dating thing has been mildly interesting. I got two virtual "winks" from people, one of whom I thought I could quite fancy but never followed up on, and one email from someone seeking a conversation about something I put in my profile. I feel a bit bad, but I never emailed the guy back. He just wasn't my type. I wasn't attracted to him and he had one of those profiles where he was trying to make himself sound incredibly brilliant but actually just ended up sounding like a pompous asshole ("I've played in front of thousands at Carnegie Hall" yada yada. Does Carnegie Hall even hold thousands?). I have never actually gotten up the guts to email anyone or "wink" back but maybe one day, if I receive a really good email. I never say never.

A Hipster Turns 25: Happy Birthday Matt

I know this is coming 13 days after the fact, but sometimes I forget that I normally blog things like this.

June 10th

To celebrate his 25th birthday, Matt organised a group field-trip around lower Manhattan. First stop, was the Pussycat Lounge to see Billy's band perform.

Birthday Boy Matt at Pussycat Lounge

The only other time I've seen Billy's band, Band of York, was at their first ever performance in Billy and Matt's flat. Since then, they've really come together really nicely and their songs have tightened to become infectious, rock, dance tracks. The show was really fun and I'm glad I didn't give up on going after it took me an hour and two trips through Brooklyn to find it.

Greg, Billy and Laura chilling like hipster glitterati at Fat Baby

Next up, Fat Baby on the Lower East Side. The Lower East side is one of my favourite areas in Manhattan to hang out. It's about a 5 block square radius full of bars, from the trendy to the divey, and cool shops selling vintage clothing. Fat Baby is an odd place. In the early night, it's full of hipsters and the dj spins Interpol and Travis, but then later in the night it turns a bit Bridge and Tunnel with more popular tunes spun.

Matt and Michele

Our crew safely secured a position in the balcony and started our own private dance party.

Laura and I

The night ended at somewhere around 1:30am as I left the group standing on the corner and I tottered back to my car in my heels and black ballerina skirt. It was a very fun night and I wasn't even drinking. I decided to play the evening stone cold and I still had a good time.

"If there's anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now."

Dear Men Who Fancy Me,

You have my number. Use it.

Thank you,
Jennifer

One thing I am afraid of with keeping this site, is that people I meet may read it and be turned off. That includes men and potential employers. All you have to do is google my name and you get nearly everything you need to know about me. With everyone from little kids to my grandparents using the internet, it's just all too easy not to hire me because I cursed in a blog entry or go out with me because I posted an unflattering picture of myself. This may just be me being paranoid. I guess what I mean to say to the men who don't call me and ask me out on a proper date is, do. What's the worst that could happen? I'm really rather lovely. And even if it doesn't work out, we can still be friends.

A Note on My Interviews of Late

I went on two interviews Wednesday. They couldn't have been more different. For the first one, I was back at the Met trying to convince them to give me a job. The position was something that would have been perfect had it been full time, included benefits and started sooner than September. It was for a research assistant to a curator in the European Sculpture and Decorative Arts department. If there is one thing I know how to do, it's research. The HR person seemed enthusiastic and said she would call me for a follow up interview in August. Unfortunately, it's only June.

The next one was a bit ridiculous and definitely insulting. It was for an art consultant trainee in a company that arranges art for corporations. Art consultant is definitely something I'd be interested in doing. Doing it for this place, however, I don't think so. The offices are in the basement of a dingy building on Broadway in SoHo. When I walked into the "gallery", there were framed prints littering the walls and a table set up in the middle of the small room where a girl was busy writing. I went to the front desk, in the back of the room, and told the receptionist that I was here for an interview. The receptionist, dressed in jeans and a tank top, directed me to a side table where there was an application to fill out and a sheet of paper for the slide exam. "Excuse me, a slide exam?" "Yup, the pictures are in that folder on the table." At this point I nearly walked out but then I thought, I should just take a look at the pictures. Anyway, I could always use some interview practice.

I quickly filled out the few artists I knew, with the exception of one they were all modern and that is most definitely not my specialty, and handed it back to the receptionist. I waited in the gallery while my paper was marked and then was called in the back for the interview. I sat down with a girl who must have been the second in command, she was no older than me and dressed in a men's button down and jeans cut off at the knees, and the owner. I was told I got half right, 10 out of 20. "Not very good" the owner said. "Fuck you" I said in my head. The owner then grilled me on where I live and how long it would take to commute there and why I was interested in the position. He told me that I would need to sign a contract that said I couldn't sell art to corporations for a year after I quit, which seeing as this is a trainee position seemed quite unfair and not really something I'd be willing to do. I didn't tell him that though. Somewhere in there I mentioned that I'd like to move to the city and he said "This is a very low paying position for the city. After taxes, it is only about 18-20,000. How do you expect to live on that?" You tell me buddy! When it was all through, I was asked to come in for a follow up interview on Friday, today.
"How are you with math? There is a math exam on Friday" said Mr. Congeniality.
"Well, I'm an art history major (the international phrase for poor at math), but I'm ok."
"Good, see you then."
That's what you think. I wrote them an email yesterday saying that I didn't think this position was for me and thanks anyway.

Monday, I have an interview with a modern art and antiques gallery in midtown. It is for a manager position and I really want it. Like REALLY want it. The job description is perfect for me and the real seal on the deal is that it requires international travel. Any and all interview tips would be much appreciated.

Who knew that finding a job in the arts in NYC would be so hard?

Update: I almost forgot to mention what I did after that last wretched interview.
When it was all over, I still had about four hours before I needed to meet Laura at Joe's Pub on Astor place to see Alec Ounsworth. I was walking slowly back to my car along E. Houston when I passed by NoLita House, a pub. The sign out front made me backtrack. 3 dollar Miller Lights and World Cup Soccer. "Could I? Should I?" I asked myself. "Yes, I bloody well think I will." And for the remainder of the afternoon I drank two beers, ate a beautiful hamburger (yes you heard correctly) with onion rings and watched The Netherlands and Argentina play a scoreless game. It was brilliant. World Cup Soccer, best excuse to get drunk at a bar by yourself EVER.

USA USA!

I sent out an email yesterday to all my NYC friends, asking if anyone wanted to watch the World Cup today. Alas, only 3 responded with a maybe so I called in my backup, whom I didn't want to bother. He was in Times Square with his cronies and invited me along. It ended up to be a grand decision to go. Not only did I get sufficiently drunk in the middle of the afternoon and have a ton of fun watching the USA/Italy game, I also met a guy. He's nice. He went to Cornell (I won't hold it against him) and lives in the city. That's all.

He Doesn't Read This Site Anyway

The Player is in town this week. Actually, he's been here for two weeks but I didn't hear that directly from him, I gleaned it from overheard bits of conversation. I was only allotted a day and a half.

Being with The Player is like being with Robbie Williams. Or what it must be like at least. He's funny, clever, passionate and you always want to be around him but the thing is, you can't have him. No matter how pretty you look, no matter how quick your banter, or how intriguing your questions, he's never going to be yours. He makes you confused. You don't know whether you just want to be his friend or to have him shag you senseless- maybe both. All you can possibly hope for is that he will initiate a little make-out session before the night is through.

I returned to my lonely bed the last night out with him frustrated and annoyed. Annoyed at myself for spending all that time primping, preening, waxing and plucking all for naught and annoyed at him for being something he just can't be. Irrational but true. The honest truth of the matter is this though, I'd rather be The Player's friend then nothing at all because he is funny, clever, passionate, kind and fun to be around. Who in their right mind would want to lose that kind of company? The effort now is to accept the things I cannot change and be content to hang out with him whenever he breezes through my life and thankful for the time we had to do so.

So yesterday morning, I drove home after the Ecuador/Costa Rica game, trying to make it in time for the England match, in a bit of a numb funk. On the other side of the road, waiting in the same bridge traffic I was, sat a cute guy wearing an Ecuador shirt. I smiled at him and nodded my head to acknowledge the spectacular win and he took a double look at me before a huge smile washed over his face. I drove away grinning, maybe I'll be alright afterall.

Everything is Illuminated

As you all already know, from May 28th until June 6th I was in Cumming, Georgia visiting my Uncle Rob as he recovers from open-heart surgery. Visiting Georgia was like visiting another country. A country where you are unaccustomed to the rhythms of life and find it difficult to understand the language. I hadn’t expected such a change. Atlanta is suppose to be a burgeoning city, with the nation’s largest airport and an art museum set to become the first in America to do an exhibition exchange with the Lourve, and yet it feels like a place still struggling to catch up. It seems industry may want to move forward, but the people certainly do not.

For some reason I thought that, southerners were meant to be hospitable. Well on a day-to-day basis, I found this lacking. Cars refuse to let you in on the thruways, no one uses a turn signal and worst of all, the tolerance of other cultures is almost non-existent and quite disconcerting. Whereas in New York I feel that we tend to let people be, the slightest ripple in the fabric of someone’s normal life in Georgia causes a…. kafuffle. I am observant enough to realize that the people who tend to play music loudly in their cars, or sing aloud while listening to their walkmans on the subway are of a certain race, but it doesn’t annoy me. I simply think they are living their life a bit more out loud than I am. I hope that makes sense. I am not a Zen master or anything but, I do believe in not letting others affect your life adversely and accepting people as they are. I live in New York, outside of one of the biggest cities in the world, and when I flip on the local news, I don’t see half as many hate crimes and violent murders has I saw on the Georgia news.

My Uncle lives in a town about an hour outside of Atlanta that perhaps a few years ago would have been considered rural. Now, the only thing rural about it are the few remaining small farms littering the side of the two lane roads that lead to new housing developments and over-sized grocery stores. The small roadways running through the over-populated suburbs lead to infuriating congestion at all times of the day- somehow, the city’s roadways have failed to keep up with the million new townhouses being built.

So, Sunday evening I was picked up at the airport by my cousin, my uncle (sitting in the back because he can’t get in front of the airbag- he calls it the special person’s seat) and my uncle’s new wife, Kathleen. I am especially attached to the old wife, so I was happy to see that the new one was warm and welcoming and got out of the car and gave me a big hug. We drove back to their new house in one of those new housing developments and they laughed when they saw my large eyes gaze over the landscape. They thought I’d be surprised by the location. I assured them, I was used to things being different.


The day after I arrived was Memorial Day in America, so like any good blooded Americans we celebrated with a barbecue, beer and bocceball. Before we got to the bocce, however, there was croquet. A game Tara and I find thoroughly irritating, mostly because of our inability to play well.



My uncle has two large, hyper dogs. They have a special pen outside to run around in because otherwise they would tear up the lawn. My uncle said that he once came home and found a large azalea bush in one of their mouths.


That's Taz, he got into the ranch dip that we left out on the table and hid in his cage.


My days in Georgia were mostly spent relaxing, drinking, watching movies and talking about old times. It was nice and relaxing, just what I needed. My cousin Tara stayed with us for a few days and for a special outting, we went to the World Market- a huge grocery store with food from around the world and fresh produce. There's Tara above with the tanks for live fish.


That's Murphy. I spent a lot of time hanging with the dogs.




Another field trip we went on was to the town of Helen. Nestled in the Appalachain Mountains, Helen is a touristy Bavarian style village. I remember it fondly from when I went down there years ago. Either my idea of a nice vacation spot has changed, or the town has. Last time we were there, my family (Grandma, mom, everyone) rode those tubes you see down the river. That was monstrously amusing, especially with Grandma getting marooned on every rock.



I like this picture. Something is SO wrong about a confederate flag mounted on a German style building. As you may well guess, people of colour in this area are far and few between.


That's Kathleen strolling through town. On the way there we got lost in the mountains. I stopped in a little mountain store to ask directions and the guy gave me a map to find our way back. We were lost on Blood Mountain.


I flew home on the 6th, just in time to have some dinner with Deb and Jason in Astoria before heading over to the Mercury Lounge to see my new favourite band, The Gaskets. The boy were great that night. I told Ross (the one on the right) that I loved them and he said "no, we love you!" Joy.



Over all it was a really good trip. I haven't seen my uncle in ages and we had some enlightening conversations. So often in my family we look back at this past time, when I was little and everyone still lived on LI, with rose coloured glasses. But I am older now. I have found my own way in which to live my life and I realise that not everything was how I thought it was. There were times during my trip where I was angry, frustrated, hurt and just plain sad to hear about the past. I often think that perhaps ignorance is bliss but I am finding peace with knowing some facts that I hadn't before instead of exasperation at being kept in the dark. Hopefully it will be better now that everything is illuminated.