What I've Learned in New York

I feel the shame of not having updated this in 10 days and I originally wanted to just talk about Brooklyn but decided that I was in a "list" mood.  Here is a list of things that I have learned (so far) in/about New York and Brooklyn.

- California wine is hard to come by.  And you only notice if you're from California.
- You need to have a good walking look and a good subway look.  Both involve making yourself look like you're deep in thought, a lot of concentrating on the ground, and basically pretending like you're pissed off.  I imagine myself mad at my sister.  It works pretty well.
- New York humor is very to-the-point, a little harsh, and very sarcastic.  Don't be afraid of being slightly racist and/or throwing out some stereotypes.  For this I will never understand how Berkeley people could like New York.  Maybe that's why none of them live here.
- Learn your neighborhood personalities.  I work three blocks from TriBeCa (translated from New York-ese to "triangle below Canal") but it's a different world to those of us in the Financial District.  Some nights, when I'm working at Corsino in the meatpacking district, I get to deal with a lot of yuppies wearing their "everyday clothes" that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.  Once again: different neighborhood.
- Californians say "liquor store" for any type of small store selling random food and drink items that doesn't quite qualify as a market.  New Yorkers say "bodega."
- You may not buy wine or liquor in a market.  Go to a bodega or liquor store or deli.
- You need a deli near you to survive.  What else do you do when you want a tall can to go with your poor, young Brooklynite dinner at 1am?
- Dunkin' Donuts is an acceptable breakfast/coffee alternative.  It doesn't matter how much money you make.  When I mentioned that we have them in California but that nobody goes to them I widened a lot of eyes.  I was promptly excused from work to go buy a donut from there.  When I said I don't drink coffee I feel like I just told them Santa Claus isn't real.  Don't ask me what happened when I let slip that I had never tried Red Mango.  It started out with a coworker saying he lived in a building with a Red Mango.  I asked, "Like, a huge red mango in the lobby or something?" Truth.
- Believe everything you hear on the news about the weather.
- There are no stars in New York.  Really.  Look up.  No stars. Ok...maybe about 5 on really clear nights when the humidity doesn't trap the fumes of New York life and make you feel like you're being steamed alive.
- McDonald's coffee and orange juice is also acceptable.  That doesn't mean I'm ever going to go there, though.
- When asking a question, there is no concept of time.  Ask the first person you see otherwise you will never get an answer and spend too much time looking for someone who seems worthy of being asked your question.
- You must be fearless.  It's true.  Trust me.
- You must also know that at some point you will probably be mugged.  The good thing is that a lot of people are mugged and hardly any of them are shot! Stop cringing, mum.
- I am a "bridge and tunnel" New Yorker...meaning I live outside of Manhattan and take a bridge or tunnel to get in and out of the city.  If someone ever calls you this then they probably shouldn't be your friend because they're too snooty.
- "WASPy" = "preppy."  It stands for something like "White Anglo-Saxon Protestant."
- Cuban food is your Mexican food alternative...even though they're practically the same thing.
- You don't need to wear tennis shoes everywhere you go.  Yeah, you're going to walk a lot more than you imagined, but you don't have to geek yourself out to do it.  I'm secretly happy I never thought tennis shoes were fashionable and therefore never wear them unless I'm going for a run.  Or playing tennis, I guess.
- New Jersey is "Jersey."
- You had better be comfortable cussing.  My mum's insistence on me having "the mouth of a construction worker" has made me fit in better at my job.  And I work in a law firm.  Imagine how construction workers must talk.  I know because we represent them.
- The best advice I received was to buy an unlimited monthly MetroCard (useful for the subways and buses).
- Girls have to play very hard to get.  Being a California girl makes you a bit "hunted."  Or "tested."  We're described as much nicer than east coast girls, easy-going, and overly friendly.  This can be really good or really bad.
- No matter what they say, you can trust New Yorkers.
- The only mean people on the subways are people who don't live in New York.
- Carry cash.  Food vendors and restaurants are practically scared of credit/debit cards.
- Keep up-to-date with your MTA schedule (Metropolitan Transit Authority- aka the subway).  A 15-minute ride on the subway could turn into a 40-minute one if you don't know which subway lines are under construction.
- Explore the city.  Don't stop exploring.  Ever.  Go to different neighborhoods and boroughs for some variety.  If you are one of those people that despise Manhattan and never leave Brooklyn then what are you really here for?  What type of person are you?

This is just a small list of things that I've noticed since moving here.  It's hard to believe that I've already been here for over five weeks.  As I think of more things to add to this list then I'll post them.  I'll also post a bit more regularly now that I'm settling into my new schedule.  I work from 9:30am-5:30pm, Monday through Friday, at a law firm in the Financial District about a block and a half away from the World Trade Center.  Or, rather, the building and new memorial that opens in September on the 10th anniversary of 9/11.  I am one of two legal assistants for a litigation attorney who is more than excited to teach me everything I'll ever need to know about the law.  The other legal assistant, Christine, is a comedian.  I obviously have a lot of fun at work.  About 3-4 nights a week I work at Corsino, a California/Italian-esque type restaurant in the meatpacking district.  I'm a hostess there so I basically just stand there and look pretty while I run the restaurant.  I didn't need the job but I was kind of pushed into it and since I love working in restaurants I don't mind too much.  It lets me explore more and be around people my age.

Anyway...that's the uber-quick update on my life for those of you I forgot to tell.  Expect another update in a day or two with pictures of Brooklyn!  Don't get too excited!

The Head & The Heart

I think what makes me so interesting to other people is that I usually make decisions with my heart.

If you look back on all of the crazy, spur-of-the-moment decisions I have made, the majority of them have been a head-vs-heart battle where my heart has come out victorious.  Let's face it...if I paid more attention to my head then I probably would never have traveled so much.  It just doesn't make sense.  I've been asked why I don't invest my money and why I don't use my savings to get ahead on paying off my loans.  I've been stared at like I'm some hairy, spiny creature - let's think "Metamorphosis", people! - when I informed someone that I was definitely traveling alone and that I preferred it that way.

"But what are you going to do in the car?"
"I figured I would drive in it."
"Yeah, but aren't you going to get lonely?"
"I think it'll be good time to get lost in my mind."

I don't really have a problem with making decisions this way.  I've made the small decisions of skipping class to hop over to North Beach for the best margherita pizza on the west coast with an equally-crazy friend or of denouncing sleep to jump in the Lafayette reservoir at midnight surrounded only by cloud-covered stars and whatever small creatures roam the Lamorinda hills in the dark.  I'll admit to taking a trip because of some romantic notion for someone that has been on my mind even though I know nothing will come of it except for a glass of pinot and some good conversation.

In 2008 I refused to go to Spain for an entire year because I knew it would make me despise the US too much and would probably turn me into one of those people who has spent so much time abroad that he or she not only lives in the US but whose mind is lost in another world...I mean, we have all met North Berkeley people, right?

Sometimes you can just know that your heart is slapping you on the back of your head. I was prepared to study abroad in Mexico City upon my return from Madrid but, on the very last day, I hesitatingly called my parents and told them that I wasn't going.  I knew that my dad and I thought of traveling differently when I told him, "Because I know that if I go to Mexico then I won't come back."  He couldn't understand my thought process with this decision because I obviously had never been to Mexico.  Well...sometimes when your heart aches you listen to it.

This is probably why I have felt not so "at home" here in New York...or, at least, why I haven't yet.  When I started my trip I didn't have too much in mind on how I wanted it to turn out.  All I wanted - getting down to the simplest explanation - was to find where home was.  When people asked where my last stop was going to be I had no answer.  It even started to get annoying.  Did I need to know an exact location?  Then what is the point in wandering?  What is the point in taking my time and getting lost?  What would happen if I was happier in Oklahoma than in North Carolina?  I was trying to follow wherever my heart was leading me because I didn't want to do the "logical" thing.  I wanted to do what was so purely and simply right for me.  I wanted to be where my heart ached.  I no longer wanted to sit on my bed and feel my chest weep for another place in the world.  I wanted to be in that world where I was supposed to be.

New York was not my dream.  You hear of millions of people breaking away from their hometowns to run off to "The Big Apple" where, if you work hard enough, your dreams will come true and you'll be enormously successful and you can do something new every day and be living the true "city life." Some people were born to live in New York and make sure that they do whatever it takes to get here.  Some people try for years and never show up and then spend the rest of their life regretting the fact that they didn't try harder.

Maybe I'm stealing someone's dream.

It gives me a horrible feeling in my stomach to know that I ended up in New York on a whim and have had incredible luck since arriving.  Yesterday was exactly two months since I had set out on my journey and I already had an apartment with three great girls, more friends than time in the day, and the exact job I wanted from before I even showed up in this city.  But I never dreamed of any of this.  This is not where I thought I'd end up when I started my trip saying, "I'll know I'm home when I get there."

Maybe I feel that because I sided with my head and not my heart that my trip kind of failed.  It's turned out to have led me into an excellent place in terms of an apartment and what I want to do with my career but it certainly did not feel like home when I pulled up.  I think I know where my heart would have chosen if I had not consulted my head...

But in the end I - for the first time in making a big decision - used my head and decided that it would be more beneficial for my career if I ended up in New York.  If I had gone where my heart fell in love then I could've still had a good career but it would've stalled.  Here I can move it up to a better vantage point before fleeing again.  That's how my head thought.

I'll enjoy my time here.  I'm going to learn more than I ever thought.  I'm going to see places that I never imagined I'd go to.  I'll make friends with people that I wouldn't have met otherwise.  This is going to be great so I expect to not see a single email or receive any call from anyone trying to give me a pep talk and encourage me that this is where I want to be.  I know where I want to be.  I'm in New York for my head - which is great - but my journey is not over.  I'm not home yet.  I guess this will just be a trip that happens to be longer than the two months I had originally planned.  I'm still on the journey.  I'll get home.

Slowing Down

I was sitting on my bed, looking out my window, listening to the gospel and R&B music bouncing off the cement walls whose origination is indeterminate, and I realized that I have nothing to do.  Nothing at all.

Then I felt around the side of my bed for my Klean Kanteen wannabe water bottle to help ward off the perpetual sticky feeling humidity on the east coast gives you and realized that it was in its place.  My water bottle was in the exact spot it was supposed to be.  My fan has found the perfect home between my door and my chocolate-colored, Ikea Malm full-sized bed so that it circulates the air perfectly...and when what we'll consider a "breeze" (let's face it, this is New York, I don't want to know where that wind is coming from) comes through my window the room stays about ten degrees cooler than it is outside.  Then I thought, "Gosh, I should change the sheets on my bed."  Then, because I get my slightly-OCD, slippery-slope cleaning habits from my neat-freak mother, I decided it was about time to take out the trash that's in the opposite corner of the room from where I am.  It's currently under the ironing board that needs to be relocated to my closet.

And what did I think?

I really live here.

I have crap I need to worry about now.  Domestic duties.  I need to bust out some housewife skills.

My home is really starting to feel like *gasp!* a home.

I've wandered various neighborhoods in Brooklyn and Manhattan.  I've done my laundry a couple times.  Last night we had a dinner party where I actually had friends to call and invite over.  Ok, ok...a lot of them were SMC people but - hey! - they're friends that live here.  I've been on a couple dates and learned what is socially acceptable when you're on one in New York.  I've spent significant time trying to perfect my subway stare to ward off the creepers that always happen to sit across from you and drill their gaze into your face.  I know that late in the afternoon on Saturdays I'll be listening to prayers and closing hymns from the Baptist church around the corner.  After that I get to turn my iTunes off and listen to the music from an apartment nearby.  A minute ago the music changed to funk music which perfectly fits our neighborhood.  The only thing more perfect would be if they were playing Beyonce because her songs seem to be anthems for the part of Bed-Stuy (which is a neighborhood in Brooklyn - clarified for my lovely Californians) that we live in.  If you stand on the corner during the afternoon then you'll notice about 90% of the cars that drive by are blasting one of her singles.

The "job situation" that everyone keeps asking me about with such trepidation that one would think someone died is still open but I try to keep some structure in my life by waking up early, making sure to cook most of my meals, clean dishes when the sink is full, and other random things that make people feel useful and that their day has not been wasted.  I maneuver through the city to different interviews and know when it's useless to take the subway because walking will get you there faster.  I know which markets to go to and how to get there - the bus to downtown Brooklyn for Trader Joe's, the subway to Union Square for Whole Foods, the subway to a little Puerto Rico area for the best Mexican market, or I can always walk to the deli or Key Market down the street for small things (only when it's light out, of course, since our neighborhood doesn't necessarily make a lonely, white-looking girl feel overly safe at night).

This is the first day since April that I have had nothing to do all day long.  Well, more or less...my SMC friend, Alex Branch, was visiting so we went to hipster town (Williamsburg - another part of Brooklyn known for how it is inhabited solely by 20- and 30-something year olds that just walked out of Urban Outfitters catalogs) for some takeout brunch and people-watched on someone's steps while we ate our Polish breakfast sandwich and blintzes.  But that doesn't really count.  We even drove so that definitely doesn't count as a "real" day in NYC.  Not many people own cars here.

But I have shit to do.  I need to make my bed!  Or, rather, I'll just sit here and look at it because it's 8:15pm...no use in making it when I'm going to mess it up in a couple hours anyway, right?

My life is starting to build itself again.  I feel as if I've been running for miles and the last couple weeks I was at that stage where you are slowing down to a walking pace.  Now, I'm walking and convincing myself to start running again.  Let's go!  Let's get this show on the road!  Or, even better: Let's get this life on the road!

It's 8:30pm now and I have nothing to do except for these domestic duties that I mentioned.  And who wants to do those at this point on a Saturday?  I'm going to keep sitting here and listening to the free funk music  while I ignore my chores.

Disease On a Silver Platter

Ever since I was infected by the cancer of wanderlust, I knew that the biggest contributor to its tumorous growth was my mum.  She feeds this terminal disease in the same way she fed her three children during the years we ran amuck through the neighborhood and other local, harmless cities surrounding our California hill-billy town: with a simple but delicious touch.  There was no escaping the moment your muscles softened reflexively as you opened the door of your car after 45 minutes in traffic and heard whispers of latin music and smelled small drifts of food that you could not decipher but didn’t really care to anyway.  There was inevitably the “home” smell of garlic and onion being briefly sauteed and your first stop once in the door and removed from the outside world was the kitchen.

My mum is brilliant in the kitchen.  She’s one of those mothers that can make a finger-licking meal out of absolutely nothing.  She is also a very practiced fertilizer of discovery.  While she may not have traveled extensively while growing up, she perfected her craft when I was very young by deciding she was going to learn Spanish and was then slightly nudged into this affliction of the soul when my dad sent her to Guatemala for a Spanish-immersion program.  After that, part of her was lost into this other world that seems to linger over everyone’s head, taunting them and poking at them, but the minute someone replies to this hazy mist he or she is sucked in to the vacuum.  It is the most wanted but most easily avoided terminal disease.  My mum chose not to avoid it and travels as effortlessly and happily as she cooks.  There certainly is a pleasure in both and she accepts her whims of wandering as she does a plate of lobster-based prawn risotto - with ease and excitement.  Readiness and anticipation.

Maybe I breathed her air for too long or when I kissed her goodbye I contracted these germs.  Maybe she slipped something in to my bloated plate of steaming chile verde that was masked by the musty smell of tortillas she always stored in the handmade basket.  Whatever it was, I obtained a lot of it and she kept feeding it to me - feeding me the elixir of travel and discovery and significantly contributing to my acquiescence of being this way.

When I was 16 she thought it was a great idea to send me to Spain to learn Spanish and be admitted to European society by way of madrileños.  When I was 18 she told me that I should do something for myself with all of the money I had saved and was not surprised in the slightest when I bought one ticket to Rome.  Around her, I had no choice but to study abroad...it was a way of life.  If I had considered not studying in another country I...well, that just doesn’t happen between us.  She took me to Mexico as a college graduation present and we spat on the opinions that it was too dangerous for us.  We are already planning our World Cup 2014 extravaganza because who wouldn’t want to sit on the beach all day and watch soccer every night?

Even though we both will eventually die having lost a life-long battle with wanderlust, we share the ways in which we cope.  She admits maybe being a bit too cautious and I admit that I am probably a bit too trusting.  In Mexico, she often chose where we were going and I would do the navigating.  We both have our strengths and weaknesses and we admit that they will lead to the demise of our souls.  Our coping mechanisms are the most interesting part of our travels, though.  I collect small cards depicting art galleries or local musicians’ shows from every city and town I visit.  She keeps ticket stubs or menus.  But if there is one thing that I have stolen from her, it is the “here’s to” list.

She has poisoned me over and over with this passion, this madness, that has turned into a way of life for me.  Her slow, delicate dropping of this seed and pinch of spices morphed into whatever I made it.  The “here’s to” list is probably the one thing that she deliberately placed on my plate and told me to eat without the blindfold.  Simply put, she told me about it, suggested I do it, so I did.  I started doing it after my stint at university in Madrid and have done it after every trip since then.  The end of a trip doesn’t seem the same without it.

It’s simple.  After you let your trip settle, you compile a list of all of the best parts of your journey.  You don’t really need to talk about how you saw such-and-such monument and the castle of whatever.  You want to mention the small parts.  The parts where you really were living your discovery.  The parts you are actually going to remember vividly.

So this is, in part, a tribute to my dear mama.  It is me admitting that I have a serious disease and accepting the fact that she gave it to me as comfort food for years.  In a way, this is also me admitting that a big part of my journey is over and another is starting.  I’m stuck in limbo but it seems like a good place for the moment.  

Without further ado...

Here’s to:

-  Jo’s fabulously random cartwheels on the street and beach in San Diego.

-  The Mission’s banana-blackberry pancakes and mimosas.

-  The mountains made of pebbles which then morph into a sand desert between San Diego and Yuma, AZ.

-  Getting stuck with the “Creative Workshop” people at a Chinese restaurant.

-  Cody, the tourist information officer, that I saw every day in a different booth in a different part of the town.

-  Playing a game of “Where’s Waldo?” with postcards because they’re harder to find than you think.

-  Being greeted with a bottle of vodka, a bottle of orange juice, and being told, “You don’t need a cup,” by my host’s friend in Albuquerque.

-  Red and green sauce slathered all over enchiladas at El Patio in Albuquerque.
-  Tent Rocks and the hike that has given me my summer tan line.

-  Indian outposts.

-  The gas station somewhere between Albuquerque and Amarillo, TX, and feeling like I was in a horror film.

-  The couch that ate me in OKC.

-  The Spanish feast in Little Rock.

-  Stopping on the Mississippi for lunch and being able to watch the turtles under my feet.

-  Trying to determine whether “sippy cups” were allowed on street cars in New Orleans.

-  Using frozen fruit as ice.

-  Getting stuck under a bridge on the freeway and jammed between two trucks during a hail storm while leaving New Orleans.

-  Being ditched in the middle of the country.

-  Ordering all of the same food as Jon everywhere we went.

-  Waiting for the rain to stop and then going swimming even though it was overcast in Birmingham.

-  Jon and Beau singing “Bringing Me Down” on the couch.

-  Not really being a big fan of the couch in Birmingham.

-  Flaming belly dancers.

-  The man that asked my and Beau’s opinion on wine and then bought ours for us before we could pay for it (we should’ve bought two bottles!).

-  The lightning storm on my drive back to Birmingham after trying to escape.

-  Getting trapped talking to people about electrons and the collective unconscious in Asheville, NC.

-  Carrot cake pancakes in Asheville, NC.

-  Being too freaked out in Virginia to get out of the car.

-  Being surprised at the carpool lane in DC because I hadn’t seen one for over three weeks.

-  The pimp couch.

-  Being assigned an Alabama U-haul.

-  Opening the U-haul to unload it and the lady that drove by and yelled at us: “This only started happening after Obama was elected.”

New home!

In the midst of interviews at law firms and restaurants/bars, we finally moved!  I have a bed!  And a room!  I can slam the door in someone's face and tell them that they aren't allowed in my space!  I officially live in New York.

Yesterday I was talking to my dad about life changes and where ours are headed.  We were both laughing about the fact that if someone had told us on July 1st, 2010, where we would be in a year, we would both think the idea was preposterous.  Hell...if you had told me two months ago that I would be living in New York I'd probably give you my best quizzical look and ask "What went wrong?"

It is something that I need to keep reminding myself, though.  Life doesn't always turn out how you plan it. What is that saying?  "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans"...?

Anyway, this is not going to be a very emotionally-inquisitive post.  This post is making its appearance because now we have a cute, quirky, very Brooklyn apartment.  This appearance is because I have a real home.  It took awhile but I feel comfortable.  This is a good thing and I feel more good things are coming towards me.  I'm standing on the train tracks in the field behind our neighborhood in Elk Grove, eating sour candy with Keith, listening to the soothing sound of the horn which inevitably makes me feel comfortable, feeling the iron start to vibrate, and deciding when we're going to get off the tracks to make way for the haul to pass at its slow, rumbling pace.

So, my trip started out in a bitty Versa and finally ended in this:

A 17' U-haul.

Notice the state on the side of the truck?  I can't believe it is what we were assigned.  I felt like God slapped me in the face when I saw it.

Ann and I starting packing up the truck while Sarah and Eleni went to go sign the lease and get the keys from the broker.  Ann's friend, Tara, came over and eventually Heather (who is everybody's friend, I can't tell who knows who and how but I guess it doesn't matter) joined in on the moving "fun."  Ann lived in the basement of the previous place and probably had the heaviest furniture but we remained badass and by about 3:30pm we were finishing with everything.

Ann, Heather, and Tara went to grab Vietnamese sandwiches while Sarah and I started cleaning...Eleni had already left for the new apartment since we were waiting for the Ikea people to deliver my life.

Finally we drove to the new apartment!  I had never seen it...

Outside.

Living room with our huge windows and exposed brick.

Pretty kitchen for yummy cooking.

Our never-ending hallway.  I couldn't get all of it in the picture because it curves around.

We had to return the truck by 6pm and were running late so moving turned into us just unloading everything onto the street.  The Ikea men finally showed up and ended up helping us with the heaviest pieces of furniture.  At one point, two of the girls were desperately trying to move an armoire and one of the men walked up and picked it up in both of his arms and hauled it up the stairs and into our apartment.  I regret not taking a picture of that.

Eleni, Sarah, and I returned the truck with a $20 bribe because we didn't fill the tank up...sometimes it pays to be a girl.  We then walked over to Blue Angel Wines where my cousin, Amaris, was working.  She gave us a delightful discount on two bottles and then we we stopped at a Spanish food restaurant to get take-out for Sarah.  A quick jump on the subway got us back to our new place.  Eleni and I had pizza ordered and went to go pick it up.  The six of us all found whatever space we could in the now cluttered and battlefield-looking living room and scarfed down multiple pieces of pizza while drinking wine and the "beer of the hipsters" - PBR.

Obviously the next thing any normal person does is go up to the roof.  The complex is only four stories so we all grabbed our wine and bounded up the stairs.

Eleni celebrating our quirky roof.

What we were condemned to look at.

We spent a little over an hour up there and met some of our young neighbors who happen to have a mini garden on the roof.  I already weaseled my way into joining that project.  Tomatoes, zucchini, basil...I know of a few hungry girls that will be eating well.

I was too excited to just sleep on my mattress so Eleni and I, now overly happy from wine, decided to be Ikea partners and construct my bed.  After about an hour I was jumping on it and dreading putting sheets on (my least favorite chore).  The minute those purple sheets were on I realized that I wanted the yellow ones...alas, the day had been too long on too little food and too little sleep.  I stripped off my clothes as quickly as possible and collapsed on my bed until 11am the next day.

Yesterday consisted of an unusual TWO cups of maté to fully wake up and a 1.5-mile walk to Marshall's and Target for an iron, shelves, and a few other necessities.  By the time I got back it was already the evening.  After sending out a couple résumés and making a phone call to a crazy Alabaman, Eleni determined that she "really needed an alcoholic slushie."  We ventured one block over to sit in the beach-y, retro "One Last Shag" bar and sat on their patio drinking blended margaritas and deciding they needed to be stronger...

Apparently we then decided indian food with wine on the roof was equivalent to bliss so we needed to carry out this mission.  We were joined by our other roommates, two friends, and eventually our first couchsurfer (from Canada, complete with his funny accent).  We originally had decided on no couchsurfers until we got settled but by this point none of us really cared enough.  He slept in the midst of our train wreck living room on our blue velvet couch which I have appropriately dubbed "The Pimp Couch."

Now, I still have mounds of clothes to iron.  I need a desk and a nightstand.  I also need to swiffer my floor since I'm a clean freak about floors.  I have way too much research to do for the Living Tongues Institute.  But I'm also sitting in the local hipster, Berkeley-esque cafe that is across the street since there's wifi here and ours hasn't been hooked up yet.  Needless to say, our apartment seems like it's full of recovering crack addicts because we're all internet whores.  And since I don't work, well, I'll get to my chores eventually.