Infatuation

Clearly the updating from home has been harder than I thought. Sorry… It´s been hectic, to say the least. But you know how I feel about the holidays and the Christmas nostalgia is starting to kick in so I guess it´s time to write.

Since Christmas is all about getting together with family and friends I deem it appropriate that we talk about love. So I´m completely infatuated--the type of love that´s kind of sickening. The one people ask you “what´s gotten into you?!” and you just kind of smile with a glee in your eyes and respond, “well, I´m in love.” That sounds so gay. But it´s true. So, who is this mystery person? No man. No woman either. I´m completely straight if you must know (and so is Lady Gaga in case you were wondering).

My love is no other than this god forsaken place I call home.

Were you expecting something more exciting? Well keep reading and you´ll understand why this place makes lovin so easy. (Yes, lovin).

You all know that I think “Colombia is the BEST place in the world.” (Quote me on that one). This is when people start rolling their eyes… yeah yeah Colombia is cool, whatever. No. It´s awesome. And why you haven´t been here is beyond me.

But more so than the country, which is already pretty fabulous, it´s its people. I don´t want to write a tear jerker here or anything like that, but it´s impossible to explain why this place is so amazing without talking about the people. Colombians are great.

First of all, we don´t need sleep (this has been proven these past six days with a total of around 20 hours of sleep). Not sleeping is pretty fabulous because there´s no chance of boredom when one´s up and about every minute of the day. Also, when you don´t sleep you start getting a little crazy. (I know this to be true since MJ decided to take it upon herself to experiment with this theory and pulled two all-nighters in a row. She was somewhat delusional, constantly saying some Asian guy named Yuki was following her). So everyone here is somewhat off. In a good way though. Trust me, it´s good for you to go crazy once in a while. New friendships tend to develop when one´s not completely sane. Or lucid.

So, Colombians. We like to party. That sounds terribly superficial. But, truth be told I´ve created the biggest connections with people at parties. There´s no inhibitions at parties and you discover another side to people during these situations. Well, that, plus the good music, the dressing up and the going crazy (in a different sense) is always fun. And when it comes to partying, Colombians are pretty good at it. But that and sanity, or lack off, is just one part of this love.

My infatuation with this place has to do primarily with the closeness between the people--between my friends and me. There´s just too much trust between all of us. Take my best guy friends for example whom I have known since 5th grade. They saw us go through the duck tits era. (Duck tits: direct Spanish translation. Picture boobs in the shape of ducks). Yes. We all went through that stage and they saw it. Any closer and you guys would be growing duck tits yourself.

Ladies, we suffered together through the duck tits era, so connection is stronger than anything. Isn´t it?

They know too much about me… could potentially be used against me. I can think of that one time when you all saw me pee my pants out of laughter (perhaps I´ll tell this story on a later post).

Oh, beautiful confidence.

For those who are not in Bogota right now… I miss you. For those who are in Bogota… let me sleep.

Merry Christmas fools!

Quick Departure

Friends, avid readers, avid friends, readers who think they´re friends, friends who think they know how to read and you….

I just wanted to let you know that the next post you read will probably be written from Bogota City! That´s right, tomorrow I´m going home. Semester is technically over (minus one terribly procrastinated paper that´s still pending) and it´s time I go back. Back to the Spanish-speaking, real-meat eaters, overall disasters who I call friends. And family of drinkers, as I mentioned in an earlier post. Back to the good, the bad and the drunkenness. Too much? Sorry, Colombia gets me excited.

I suggest that you keep reading the blog because Bogota+theabovementioneddisasters will absolutely deliver good material for posts. I promise.

Good night (and good luck).

Actually,

Disregard the last post. I may have won a battle against technology at last. Believe it or not, yours truly is the proud winner of an 8GB iPod courtesy of a raffle from the NYU Computer Center. After an entire year of iPod-less living I now have two. That´s right, TWO. I gave me an iPod nano as a gift for Thanksgiving. All the work this semester, you know taking three classes, and having class three days a week, and the fact that I had to see my last iPod fall flat face in a pool and drown, earned me my gift… right?

So apparently I entered this raffle (don´t remember when or how) and yesterday I got an email saying I was the winner. I reclaimed my price this morning. A post-it on top of the iPod read: “The winner of this iPod is Laura Steiner.” WINNER. Not the owner or even the champion, but the WINNER. Oh, how I love that word. Actually, why don´t you go ahead and call me winner next time you see me.

So I now have two iPods, but really I only need one. So, if you´re looking for an 8GB iPod touch call me up. I´ll give you a good deal.

Bye Loosers!

I never win

Technology and I have a love-hate relationship. We always battle. I always lose.

For the past two and a half years I have had the worst laptop ever known to mankind. It´s huge, slow (that´s an understatement) and the keyboard is in Spanish. How many times have I used the letter Ñ in the past year? Once. This once.

Thankfully Robi decided to really embrace the Christmas spirit this year and bought me a new Mac. Thanks Robs!

For two whole days your daughter oozed coolness.

But then my blackberry died—(R.I.P. my loyal addiction)—so I´ve been waking up alone (my blackberry slept in my hand) and my right thumb has been gaining weight.

If you think I´m sad for my loss, you should have seen my friends´ faces when I told them I wouldn´t have a blackberry until February. It was as if I had told them I was going to live without a limb for the next three months.

“What Lau?!” they said. Their faces were stun with confusion. “But how will we communicate with you?” You know where I live and face-to-face interaction never hurt anyone. Of course that was my “I´m strong, I don´t need a blackberry” attitude. Really, on the inside I was crying like a child. One who´s favorite doll fell on the street on a rainy day and got squashed by a cab. (True story. It took me 16 years to be able to share it with anyone.)

So I decide I needed a phone, any phone. The cheapest one at AT&T was an old-school black Nokia. You know, one of those that were popular back in the day. Say, circa late 1990´s when the first cell phones came out, Y2K became a household name and the world was possibly coming to an end. Why do you think I was praying so much in 99?

Anyway, back to my new Nokia.

Circa 1990´s Nokia, my ass. This phone has color screen and you can access the internet. Most importantly, you can play Snake on it. Beat that.

So I´m happy, but God forbid Chloe let´s this one slide. She had to post this New York Times article in my facebook wall.

Not cool Tins. There I was thinking I was so cool and unique, when really, once again technology slapped me in my face.

Bingo

This was my last story for my journalism class. I think the subject really defines one of the many aspects of the downtown scene. Thought I share it with you...

Every Monday night, The Bowery Poetry Club is packed with hipsters, foreigners with heavy accents and students. They come together on this trendy block to indulge in an exciting game of… Bingo.

The crowd is lured into Bingo Night by hosts Murray Hill, one of the top names in the downtown comedy showbiz, and famous Big Apple drag queen Linda Simpson. They keep the audience entertained by telling jokes that get raunchier by the minute.

To start off the night, Hill compares his oval shape pen holder to a pickle. Then to a butt plug. And finally to a pickle look-alike penis.

Bingo players laugh hysterically.

Forget about the stereotypes. This game of chance isn’t just popular among senior citizens at Florida retirement homes or charity fund-raisers. Bingo is the cool thing to do these days in the Manhattan neighborhood of Noho.

“I’m proud of the mixed audiences we get and that people mingle over bingo boards,” said Hill. “The energy is always great, and no matter who you are, everyone needs a good laugh.”

The event at 308 Bowery is creating a network of regulars like Dana Sacco.

“I like the energy,” said Sacco a medical resident who graduated from NYU. “I like that everyone gets excited and no one really cares too much about the prize. They care about hanging out together.”

Sacco won her first prize last Monday night—a round mirror with a picture of the Last Supper that radiates multi-coloured lights when plugged in. Other kitschy prizes included a battery-operated wooden parrot that repeats everything you say, a Hannah Montana puzzle, a light saber and four free drinks.

Those drinks, however, came with a challenge. The winner had to stand naked on stage with only one prop to cover any part of his body—a tiny plate. Once the challenge was completed, the brave player got the free drinks.

The crowd went wild.

An unexpected twist to a regular Bingo game. The only thing that remains the same at Bingo Night is the way it is played. Your fate is based on a card that displays a total of 25 numbers, arranged horizontally and vertically over five columns. The word BINGO is on the top corresponding to each row. The host calls out numbers at random and if the player finds that number on the card, it must be crossed out. Once an entire row, in either direction, has been covered the player must yell “BINGO!” The card is checked by the host to prove accuracy. If it turns out not to be accurate the round continues.

Bingo in the U.S. has become increasingly popular especially in the online gaming community. Websites such as www.bingozone.com, and www.playlivebingo.com host Bingo competitions as well. However, none are as lively or as unexpected as Bingo at The Bowery Poetry Club.

“I came in not knowing anything,” said Daniel Lloyd, 23, who was there to celebrate a friend’s birthday and was happy to win the light saber. “Expectations were exceeded. I loved it!”

New prizes are showcased every week. But there is one prize that never changes. The final prize given out each Monday night is the money that has been collected from selling the $2 Bingo cards. It usually adds up to more than $100. To win, you must cover every single number on your Bingo card.

Monday Bingo Night runs from 7:30 to 10 p.m. Alcohol runs steady all night. By the third round of the game voices yelling out “Bingo!” slowly become more confident. The crowd gets increasingly excited as the jokes become more vulgar. Apparently a male dolphin ejaculates at 75 mph, according to Murray Hill.

Next prize? A small toy dolphin.

“I loved it and I’m definitely going to bring people over,” said Katie Parrish, 20, originally from Melbourne Australia. Parrish, who moved to Brooklyn two months ago, was one of the few players who came to Bingo night by herself. By the end of the night, Parrish had made friends with a French guy sitting beside her. Bingo!

Setting the Record Straight

I have been clearly lying to you. This blog is not about things going on below 14th street, this blog is about me. About things that happen to me, about things I think and things I care about.

This blog started out as an assignment for my journalism class. It was a requirement to have some sort of theme tying the posts together. I thought reporting about downtown Manhattan would be a good idea. After all, if there´s anywhere in the world that you can find a good story it´s below 14th street. And considering my readers are mostly my friends (you better be reading this) I figured downtown provides stories that suffice all of YOUR interests. How thoughtful of me.

But class is over and the truth is that I do not want to stop blogging. But also I find that focusing only on one area limits my options. So I have decided that, although I´m keeping the same name, the stories are going to by about anything.

Most of the posts will still focus in this area of Manhattan because…well, because I live here. And because downtown Manhattan is inspiring. But if you see other themes don´t be surprised.

To start this new blogging phase I thought I would link you to another blog I have written for this semester--- http://www.idontlikemondays.us/blog.html. The blog is part of an online fashion boutique that carries new designers and has AWESOME clothes. Most of the posts are about alternative cultural events. It´s different and I think it´s cool. You should seriously check it out.

........

Hm, weird post.

Let´s go back in time

As a 21-year-old student originally from Colombia, I thought for sure it was too late to ever experience the political energy that took place in the U.S. during the ‘60s. But then I discovered Yippie Café, a coffee shop that makes me feel like I didn’t completely miss that determinative decade after all.

Stepping through the dented metal front door of this hangout at 9 Bleecker St. is like going into a time machine. I can sit on vintage leather couches with a couple of gray-haired coffee drinkers, reading magazines that date back to 1977, humming along to the Beatles and Paul Simon songs that fill the air.

The prices on the menu feel like a throwback to an earlier time too. A cup of free-trade, organic Guatemalan coffee costs 75 cents. It’s also possible to get just about any tea combination you can think of for $1.75. The chai and cinnamon tea blend won me over. And the bagel -- with the exact amount of cream cheese I had asked for and no more -- was delicious. Also, a pretty good deal considering I only paid $2.50 for the bagel.

You can also find butter croissants for $1.50 and mouth-watering blueberry muffins for $2. However, for those looking to stay off carbs and caffeine, the options are varied too. Natural juices, promoted as “high health” drinks, are very popular. You can create your own blend of apple, lemon, ginger, beet, carrot or spinach juice. Sizes vary between 8ounces for $3 and 16ounces for $5.

Not surprisingly, these bargains are attracting a new clientele -- college students who come to Yippie Café looking for low prices, free Wifi good music – and a great alternative to the usual Starbucks and Think Coffee.

This 36-year-old hangout only became a café in 2007, according to café management. Before that, it was a meeting place for yippies, members of the politically-driven Youth International Movement which was established in 1967. Yippies were active in the anti-war movement and supported the legalization of marijuana. There is still an 8-foot cannabis leaf painting that decorates one of the coffee shop’s walls.

Today, activism has given way to reminiscing. Yippies come not just for the food but for conversation with old friends. Eavesdrop on the older customers, and you’ll hear phrases like “the great ´60s,” “a time when New York was affordable” and “the great minds who stepped into this place.”

“It´s hard to get a bunch of yippies out of this place,” said self-proclaimed New York yippie, Paul DeRienzo.

Tucked in this quiet residential block, Yippie Cafe has remained unscathed by the area's transformation into a trendy, new neighborhood of 2009 prices and scrawny hipsters plugged into their iPods. But when I step through those dented metal front doors, I am confident when I say this: I would have enjoyed living in the 1960´s. Perhaps, even being a Yippie.

My Thanksgiving

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, a holiday I do not celebrate, I´ve decided to honor you with a feast. A feast of my ranting thoughts that is (as horrendously corny as that sounds) because the same way I do not celebrate this holiday (call me a Grinch, today I´m being one) I am in no mood to cook.

According to Wikipedia, “The first Thanksgiving feast lasted three days providing enough food for 53 pilgrims and 90 Indians."

Three days of feasting and enough food for 143 people--that´s a party in my book. Plus 90 of the attending guests were semi-naked, so things may or may not have gotten wild. So how did we go from party to family reunion? Way to kill what could have been an awesome holiday.

It would still be fun however, if you have a family of drinkers. Thanksgiving with my family, would consist of an alcohol-loaded night, cracking jokes (most content is not adequate to be published in this blog) and dancing to our old school anthem-- Daddy Cool. Aguardiente, a liquorish-based Colombian drink, would have been rolling around the table if it were up to my uncle to decide. I personally would have preferred some gin and tonic. Point is turkey and gravy would not have been the main part of night.

But since my family does not celebrate Thanksgiving and I´m feeling bitter today I´m going to ignore what could be a great night chez Vo. However, since I am taking the time to write this and tomorrow is not only about the food but also about giving thanks, I guess I should name a lucky few-- my mom, my dad, my roommie, blah blah. My landlord who fixed the leak after maybe the 100th time we threaten to break our lease; Remy, our mouse, for finally moving into our neighbors´ apartment and leaving us alone. I guess I should double thank the restaurant downstairs of my apartment building for 1. Always making sure my room smells like garlic and 2. Keeping their doors open late enough that I can go to bed at 1 a.m. on a Monday and still listen to people´s conversations downstairs. Thank you all!

Yes you guessed it, at the moment I´m sitting alone in my apartment. I´m bored out of my mind. Chlo left me (LEFT ME!) to go see her bf in Montreal and it´s raining outside and Caro, my friend who´s coming to visit, is stuck in traffic and I´m starving. No I do not want turkey or gravy or mash potatoes. Sleeping pills, however, are more than welcome.

On that note, Happy Holidays!

Art tells a story...?

I just got back from Terence Koh´s art show in Tompkins Square Park. I´m still deciding what my reaction is towards the exhibit. I guess I just find it hard to give a significant value to art when the idea behind it is so conceptual. Koh dressed people in white fabrics and completely covered their faces with white paint and their hair with white baby powder. It was a procession that began in Tompkins Square and made its way through Avenue B until 13th street where they walked west until a bar called Phoenix.

The show was basically a line of walking ghosts who didn´t speak or make eye contact with other people. A lot of spectators began in the park and a few others joined the procession as we walked by. After the show when my friend interviewed the artist I realized that the whole procession was in memory of the riots that occurred in Tompkins Square in 1991. City officials forced 200 homeless people out of the park. Knowing this definitely legitimized the entire art show. Being in a park at 7 p.m. with random people, following a crowd of people dressed in white suddenly made more sense. Kind off.

Below are a few pictures of the show…

If you want to know more about the artist and his future shows visit his website: http://www.asianpunkboy.com

Not South of the Border

When a Mexican tells me she has found the best taco eatery in Manhattan, I believe her. MJ, my Mexican friend was the one who told me about Pinche Taqueria, “a genuine Mexican eatery in the Big Apple,” she said. Enough said. Mexican cuisine is at the top of my book. Guacamole is my ultimate weakness, I like all things spicy and beans (pronounced beanzz) is my favorite word.

On Tuesday afternoon, after a morning of mouth-watering thoughts about Mexican food, I made my way down to 277 Mott St. Besides the construction site, Pinche Taqueria is hard to miss. It´s the only locale in the block that has Christmas lights hanging on its façade all year long.

In it´s rustic exterior there is a sign advertising Pinche Taqueria as the winner of the 2008 Citysearch Editors Pick of Cheap Eats. By this point I was sold.

As soon as I walked inside I liked it. Decoration is minimal in comparison to other Mexican restaurants in the city. It makes it unique. The squalid corridor with red walls and wooden tables and chairs give it a cozy feel. Mexican rancheras are playing in the background and occasional champeta beats—a variation of the popular reggaeton— seem to excite the customers. The staff is made up of one waiter, one cook, a delivery boy and the cashier who takes your order too.

After a hard process of elimination I ordered the Rolled Tacos, one steak and one chicken. I was surprised at how fast the food was prepared considering all orders are made on the spot. Nothing is pre-made. Ten minutes after my order I was savoring the corn tortilla, topped with lettuces, sour cream, cheese, and, oh, my one and only guacamole. Both tacos were delicious, but I would recommend ordering the steak one. My Rolled Tacos and coke were a total of $9. A pretty good deal. The best part was definitely the spicy tomato sauce (made from real tomatoes. I don´t mean ketchup). My tongue still burns from how much sauce I put in the tacos. Heart burn here we go.

My only disappointment was how much lettuce was in the plate. Less salad, more tacos and cheese and we´ll all be happy.

When I first go to the eatery at 2 p.m. there was only one customer in the restaurant. When I left 35 minutes later there were a total of 17 people. A couple of students and an older crowd filled the locale. Surprisingly, none of the customers were speaking Spanish. Pinche Taqueria seems to satisfy the pallet of locale New Yorkers, a tough crowd I would say.

For the non meat eaters and weight watchers Pinche Taqueria offers fish and vegetarian tacos as well as salads. For the drinkers, there´s an entire fridge full of Mexican beers. It also offers a breakfast menu every day of the week from noon to 4 p.m. Huevos rancheros with a side order of Chilaquiles for me, please.

I don´t think you´ll find better MEXICAN food (not the Americanized version of it) in the city with these prices. Seriously, don´t miss out on going to Pinche Taqueria, wey.

A Famous Midriff

I write posts about things below 14th street in Manhattan because:

#1 I love downtown Manhattan and the stories you find are never ending and almost always entertaining.

#2 I´m too lazy to go uptown (i.e. why hop on a subway or, worse, pay a cab ride when Magnolia´s Cupcakes and 16 Handles are downtown?)

#3 If I´m lazy about going uptown, what makes you think I would go to a different borough?

#4 I HATE MIDTOWN.

There is something about midtown Manhattan that makes me cringe. In terms of structure, midtown follows the grid system. However, it is perhaps the most disorganized area in the island. It´s always packed with people that I don´t understand if they live there, if they work there or if they´re visiting.

Midtown is like the midriff that no one wants to show. Uptown would be the pretty face that people want to see and downtown, well downtown, is where all the action would be happening. Midtown lacks the glamour of uptown Manhattan and the coolness of the downtown area. It doesn´t really have a set personality. And in Manhattan, I´m sorry, personality is a must.

Times Square, a signature area of midtown Manhattan, has personality. But Times Square has the propensity of giving someone a heart attack if not visited with caution.

I understand Times Square is pretty much the New York you see in movies and lights flashing 24/7 and Hershey´s Kisses the size of my apartment buildings can be mesmerizing. But when you are living in New York, a picturesque, quiet block in the West Village with one light post at the end of the street and normal size houses sounds so much more attracting.

With Vovo, my grandmother, visiting this past week, we couldn´t skip a Broadway trip. We went to see In the Heights (obviously--latins and latins and latins and Inwood Heights) in the rainiest day of the week. Picture me walking through Times Square with an umbrella that kept flipping over, carrying my huge purse, my heavy camera which I couldn´t even use because of the rain and my grandmothers´ shopping bags. Plenty of them.

Vovo couldn´t have been happier-- “So much life! So many lights! This right here is why I like coming to NY!” Jeez, thanks Vo. Meanwhile, I was hyperventilating. Between the men selling bells that say I (heart) NY (the bell doesn´t work), the one selling little representations of the Statue of Liberty (most of them are missing the torch) and hundreds of people walking with colorful plastic ponchos (never wear a poncho it makes you look ridiculous) I was close to losing it.

Then something happened.

As Vo and I waited for the light stop to change a black limousine stopped right in front of us. Dressed in a blue dress, with beautiful diamond earrings, out comes Judith Dench from the limousine. The light changed and people crossed the street. I remained stupefied. What the hell was Judith Dench doing in the middle of Times Square at 10 p.m on a rainy Friday? She stood in a corner with her friends smoking and pointing towards the blinding lights and I could read her lips saying “yes, this is just marvelous.” Let it be known that she could have either be referring to the light of the sign promoting Chicago or the yellow and red neon lights of McDonalds. Finally, some people recognized her and without shame were blatantly starring at her.

Drenched from head to toe I was just laughing on the inside about the entire scene. Judith Dench or not, I still hate midtown.

Mary Kate Olsen's twin: Funnyman Jon Lang

Jon Lang, 31, is everything you would expect from a stand-up comedian: cynical, nonchalant and naturally hilarious.

He recently scored his first steady gig as the host of “Recess” a free comedy show that takes place every Monday night at the B Bar on Bowery. Despite having a tremendous intrigue in politics, Lang doesn´t concern himself too much with political themes when his up on stage. This is certainly a breath of fresh air from the politically charged stand-ups that are so popular these days. Lang stirs away from controversial subjects and rather uses his own life experience as inspiration for his skits.

Lang was born and raised in Syracuse, NY. He failed first grade, had his first drink at the age of 12 and hosted wild parties in his parents´ basement. Lang still managed to get the jeep--the best car out of his eight siblings. He wasn´t spoiled, he was just the funny one in the family and his parents were his biggest fans. Since a young age Lang knew he wanted to pursue comedy and thought a degree in film would help him fulfill his dream. However, after getting his film degree at Florida State University, he quickly realized that he wasn´t meant to be behind the scenes. He wanted to be up on stage making people laugh.

He packed his bags and moved to New York to become a stand-up comedian. He settled in Park Slope in Brooklyn where he lives with his girlfriend of five years. But pursuing comedy turned out to be harder than Lang thought. He had to find a job that would help pay the bills. He found one working as a secretary for a pharmaceutical company. He claims to be the only male under 50 years old working this job. Seemingly a sad story, but Lang is an optimistic. His job story is just another source for comedy.

Lang´s passion for comedy is eminent. Despite the few set back Lang hopes to maybe one day be a guest in “The Late Show with David Letterman” and make some money doing stand-up. But for now he´ll settle with making six people laugh on Monday night. Six being the number of people he needs to put up a show.

Why did you start doing stand-up?
That day I graduated from film school I got dumped by my girlfriend, figured out that she was like cheating on me with this loser dude and all this came to me and I was just like “you know what, I want to talk about it.” The place we were hanging out had an open mic and shit so I did a stand-up. But I didn´t call it stand-up. I was just like, “You know what? My girlfriend stopped wearing a bra.” And I had all these other things going through my head and it ended up being pretty funny.

How did you ex-girlfriend take this?
She sued me. What I said was pretty much, you know, as bad as anything that TMZ or Perez Hilton would come up with, kind of raunchy, kind of rude. It felt good at the time. But it turns out that her parents donated a lot of money to Florida State. So the head of the program calls me in, and I thought he was calling me in to tell me “Hey man, I thought you were hilarious.” And he brings me into his office and tells me, “You´re going to need to apologize.” I made good, I apologized.

Describe your worst stand-up moment.
I did an open mic which was pretty much rappers and I was a white comedian in the middle of this. It was totally out of my element. I felt like I was Eminem in like, “8 Mile”. Some people were laughing, some people were smoking pot, and some people were heckling me in, like, the weirdest way. Every time I told a joke, instead of laughing they would literally go “laugh, laugh, laugh” and it was throwing me off so much. And so I just totally got off the script and won them over -- which was like the best thing that could have ever happened.

What´s your audience usually like?
You know, you should talk to me in four years when I have an audience. I wish I could say it was like hot Asian girls, but it´s not.

Speaking of hot Asian girls, tell me about your name. Jon Lang. That sounds kind of Asian.
It´s Polish. It Langowski. I had to cut my name at the border, but my real name is Jonathan Langowski. My middle name is Ling, so it´s Ling Lang. No, that´s a joke. I´m making a joke.

Does humor run in your family? Funny parents?
My mom was convinced that I was supposed to be a twin because when I was born I had enough umbilical cord to sustain another life. She honestly thinks I ate my twin. I am the youngest of seven kids. There´s two on my mom´s side, five on my dad´s side. They came together like in “Full House”. I was like the Olsen twins, I was the cute one and I ate Mary Kate. I was Ashley.

So is this duo your comedic inspiration, or do you turn to comedians for material?
I rely mostly on experiences and things in my life like my family, my job and my friends. Think of “Superbad.” I appreciate the bonding because I feel like that when you´re awkward and strange your guy friends are the closest thing you got for a relationship-- without it being sexual. You open up the world to these guys. You love each other. You´re accepting. That´s where I get my inspiration.

If you weren´t doing comedy, you´d be…?
I think I would be a monk. The fact is, I have a sense of humor so I´d probably stick with that. If I didn´t have my tongue, then I´d probably be a monk. Stand-up comedy, director/writer, movie star--and if none of those work then I´ll sit Indian style, find enlightenment and I´ll be empty in the inside and I´ll join the cosmos.

Shop Shop Shop

I just bought some great earrings at an awesome fashion market. It was last Saturday afternoon, when I was cruising around the LES (Lower East Side for all you non-New Yorkers).

The Market NYC is at 268 Mulberry St (between Houston and Prince streets). There are several vendors selling vintage clothing, jewelry and other accessories. For those not keen on buying hand-me-downs, there are also several stands with new merchandise that I am sure you would be the first to wear.

The prices are not outrageous. And, you can always bargain them down. Thankfully, I went with my grandmother who´s the almighty bargaining genius. She got me some pretty good deals—a DFV black suede jacket for $15 and silver earring with little turquoise stones for $10.

There was so much to see. Stands are placed one after the other and it feels like the merchandise is never ending. We were there two hours, which is a long time, especially when you are with my grandmother who can't make up her mind of whether to buy the blue and black scarf with white thread or the blue and black scarf with red thread. This requires patience.

If you go to the market make sure you don´t miss the stand with the great leather purses located in the back of the room. Purses are made with 100% Italian leather and there's a variety of color. Most of them are clutches with an innovative design that will allow your hands to be free. Clutches may be fashonable but they can be a drag.

The best part of the market is undoubtedly the jewelry stands. Designers from everywhere in the world, including Turkey, Brazil and Peru show of their designs. Studio DuArte owned by Cristina Duarte Veronese offers simple cut pieces bathed in 18 karat gold and other silver pieces. Sehnaz Ozden, owner of Heart of Rubies, offers a variety of vintage jewelry pieces that I nearly had a heart attack when I saw. Huge stones of different colors and designs are cut in the most interesting ways to present rings that are truly one of a kind. There are many other jewelry designers that you definitely shouldn´t miss.

The market is up every Saturday and Sunday usually with the same designers. The merchandise is different every weekend so if you see something, buy it! Next weekend it will probably be gone.

NYU is cool afterall

I dare to say I might have found NYU´s best kept gem. The perfect mix between history, coolness, New Yorkness and most of all, uniqueness, is located on the third floor of Bobst, NYU´s library, at the Fales Special Collection. The collection, donated to NYU in 1957 by DeCoursey Fales in honor of his father, Haliburton Fales, contains around 200,000 volumes and manuscripts in its majority raw footage and original materials. My journalism class and I had the chance to tour Downtown Collection. Post-modern art material from the 19th and 20th century from downtown Manhattan was shown to us by Marvin Taylor, the collections curator.

“I was a punk kid…obviously,” Marvin said. Somewhat sarcastic, somewhat self-centered, overall very passionate about the collection, that he described as his baby. Wearing black converse to work, his graying goatee and openly dissing The Beatles (that was a first time for me), Marvin was as unique as the collection he was presenting. His alternative vibe and his I-don’t-care-what-anyone-thinks-about-me attitude hold true to what I deem definitive of NYU: a bunch of people trying to be different and stand out one way or another. Hey, I play my Latin card as often as I can.

In the Downtown collection, Punk New York was personalized with Patti Smith´s personal journal as display. AIDS New York was epitomized by David Wojnarowicz´s photographs of his HIV infected partner in his death bed. Was it gory? Absolutely. But Marvin saw it as art, and somehow he managed to convince me that it was artistic. Wojnarowicz´s “Magic Box” containing the most interesting artifacts thought to have inspired his art, including a monkey´s skull dyed in blue paint were a good example of experimental art New York. Marvin held the skull up as one would hold up the cure for a terminal disease, proudly and unsure of what it means to have access to it. He´s gleaming eyes really surprised me; who knew that working in a library could be so entertaining?

No News

New York is the kind of city where you´ll find anything from alternative art to the biggest piles of trash, to underwear on the floor, to salsa music and occasional raves, to mice and squatters and leaks, to dead plants and beautiful roses, to gourmet food and soy milk gone bad, etc. (Wow. I just described my apartment for you. Minus the squatters that is). Yet try finding a newsy, interesting story to write about for your journalism class due the next day. Perhaps it´s partly my own fault for choosing the wrong beat (not for leaving homework for the very last minute).

Noho, the area NOrth of HOuston, is too residential and high-end boutique clerks’ don´t usually want to talk to third year journalism undergraduate student.

The interviewing of NoHo locals usually goes like this:

“Hi. Umm, I´m Laura Steiner. I am an NYU journalism student and I am writing a story for my class. The story will be posted in my blog. I was wondering if here is any chance I could ask you a couple questions?”

“Your name is LAUDER?!” No, my name is not Lauder and thank you for pointing that out. I was hoping you wouldn´t notice that I have a raspy voice which has an awkward loud volume. And after that speech I just gave you the only thing you´re going to ask is if my name is Lauder? Really? Then the whole conversation usually turns into a debate between the locals (excluding me) of whether my name is really Lora or Laurrrrrá for those who show-off how well they can role their r´s. This is when I decide to leave, sans story that is.

Sure, there´s news here and there, like The Bowery Poetry Club & Cafe undergoing renovations or the Noho Star, a signature restaurant in the area, finally putting away their popular ice cream cart now that winter is here. If you like poetry and ice cream, I´m deeply sorry.

My beat also includes Little Italy, which at this point should really be called—closetoextinctionusedtobeacharminglittleItalianneighborhood. Little Italy has been gentrified, so as not to say swallowed up, by Asian immigrants and is rapidly disappearing from the downtown map. Italian restaurants, which kept the area alive, are going out of business. Italian waiters, whom are in its majority evidently from New Jersey, try hard to pass as Italians to lure in more customers. But that Jersey accent is hard to hide. It´s not seenoreena! It´s signorina. And for me its principessa, please.

So restaurants are dying and Italians have moved to other parts of the city, primarily to the Bronx and Brooklyn. Big deal, you can Wikipedia that, I don´t need to write a story about it.

And it hit me

Apologies to all of those who were expecting another light-hearted post. There will be more to come. On a more serious note, I´ve come to realize that in order to truly be able to write about New York City, one must not forget 9/11…

I remember seeing Mr. Hickey, my seventh grade Social Studies teacher in my school back in Colombia, starring at the black cloud of smoke displayed on the TV screen. It was 9:59 a.m. and the South Tower of the World Trade Center had just collapsed. It would be 29minutes before its twin would follow suit. Mr. Hickey shook his head in disbelief.

Mr. Hickey breathed New York through his pores; he was uptight, fast-paced and somewhat neurotic. No one was ever late to his class and no one ever spoke out of turn. A great teacher, Mr. Hickey also had that sarcastic sense of humor so definitive of New Yorkers. Self-degradation and mockery became common in our class as we became closer to him. Tall and skinny as he was, his piercing blue eyes nonetheless suggested a strong sense of authority.

On September 11, however, Mr. Hickey sat defenselessly in his chair, his eyes filled up with tears. His face of sadness and confusion shocked me. “Sit wherever you want and do whatever you want,” he told us as we stepped into his class. It was right then when I understood the calamity that had just struck the island of Manhattan.

I came to New York a couple of times after 9/11 and walked around Ground Zero with my mother as she tried to explain to me how devastating these terrorist attacks had been. While at a rational level I understood that this had been a tragedy, I was unable to connect emotionally. That intimate pain I had felt when I saw Mr. Hickey choking up in his own tears did not happen during my mom´s description while at my visits to ground zero, and not even when watching TV reruns of the towers collapsing.

Last Wednesday this changed. I again felt the hollowness and almost tangible sadness that I felt back in 7th grade.

My journalism class and I visited the Tribute WTC Center located 120 Liberty Street. We took a self-guided audio tour which included detailed explanations of what happened that day by survivors and people who risked their lives to save others. One such person was the tour´s narrator, who had worked in the rescue team. His son, a firefighter too, died in the attacks. The narrator said that he felt lucky for he was one of the few people who found his loved one´s body and was able to bury him. The idea that burying your son is considered lucky gives me chills. His voice was heavy and painful, as the voice you would expect someone who had undergone so much tragedy in life.

After the audio-tour, we all walked back in silence to the main area of the WTC where we saw items that were recovered at the debris as well as a display of the chronology of all the events from 9/11—The World Trade Center, The Pentagon and the United 93 flight that fell in Pennsylvania. There was also information on the 1993 bomb at the World Trade Center which killed seven people.

After the exhibit we visited a room where the walls were covered with pictures of people who lost their lives in 9/11. People were smiling, wearing Mexican hats celebrating birthdays, on the beach running around in swimsuits. Putting faces on people who passed away certainly made the experience different, perhaps sadder, perhaps just more vivid.

Afterwards we met with Tracy Gazzani, who told us about the loss of her only son, Terry, on 9/11. She hopes that through her experiences she would be able to help others who also lost loved ones in these tragic days. Gazzani was at times painfully honest, saying that as times goes by the pain gets different but the sense of loss doesn´t get any better.

I think this rings true for about every New Yorker who lived through 9/11.

My Halloween

Halloween is not my favorite holiday. I am not creative, I can´t do arts and crafts and I really don´t like face paint. It makes my face itch. This Halloween, however, my second one in New York, I decided to change my attitude. I vowed to make a creative costume, agreed to cut and paste if necessary, and maybe put on face paint as long as it wasn´t that horrendous white one that makes you look like a sick ghost.

Party #1 was held on October 30th at my friend´s apartment below 14th street. Not sure what costume to wear I turned to my roommate Chloe for help. She´s the creative mind in the apartment. I am just the messy one.

“Let´s go as duo!” she yelled euphorically when I told her I had decided to attend the party. Yes Chlo, we´ll be the perfect duo, you´re 5”1 I´m 5”7, you don´t speak Spanish, my English proficiency is debatable at times, you´re Jewish and I believe Jesus is the son of God. Match made in heaven.

Idea # 1 for a costume was John Lennon and Yoko Ono. For those who don´t know me I have a strange resemblance to Lennon. I think it might be my nose. This idea was creative enough and easy to make. The best part? A 1990´s jean jacket straight out of my father´s closet. I am aware Lennon didn´t make it to the 90s, but if he had he would have absolutely worn Robi´s jacket. Despite the initial excitement we felt, we needed something wittier.

Onto idea #2—let´s be each other! That one went quickly down the drain after we decided that wearing wigs is almost, if not as bad, as face paint.

After being in Screaming Mimi´s for over an hour in search of inspiration and inside three different Halloween stores which all had practically the same costumes we ventured into a West Village sex shop. Not that we found anything there but I thought this would help explain how desperate we were for a costume. That and the fact that my dad is probably scrubbing his eyes to make sure he read this right. Yes dad, sex shop.

Idea #3—Passion Pit! Chlo and I recently went to a Passion Pit concert that left us ecstatic about life. We thought we would honor the band and dress up as them. As the band name to be precise. I would go as a passion fruit and Chlo would go as the fruit´s pit--Passion Pit.

We drew, we cut, we pasted, I ruined Chlo´s shirt with super glue, we folded paper to make the pit 3D and I even pasted candy over my passion fruit seed´s. Pomegranate gummies in case you were wondering. We pasted signs in our backs that read Passion Pit if by any chance people didn´t get our costume. Off we went to the party feeling like the wittiest people to have ever walked the planet.

Big surprise. The guests consisted of people wearing sexy Disney character costumes, a few equally sexy animals and a lot of confused faces as we stepped through the door in our Passion Pit suits. We´ll just turn around so they can read our signs, we thought. Their response? “What the hell is Passion Pit?” My heart broke after those words were pronounced. Needless to say, our costume was an utter failure that night.

October 31st, the real Halloween day came and after many different ideas I finally decided to dress up as Girl Scout. Lame? Yes. But Halloween is a night to bring out the horrific and I personally can´t think of anything more terrifying than the idea of me being a Girl Scout. I hate the outdoors and the outdoors hates me, I have never baked a batch of cookies and the idea of sisterhood and civic awareness are almost as foreign to me as Passion Pit was to my friends from the night before. Scary Halloween Costume? Checked.

In case you were wondering Chlo went as Free Willy. She crafted it all by herself and it was a great success. She was, however, the annoying girl at the party who kept hitting everyone with her back fin.

Let´s Start from the Bottom

“I would like to welcome you to the Immigrant New York Tour!” Curious people, many of which fit the first word of the tour´s title, including yours truly, enthusiastically gathered at City Hall Park in the intersection of Broadway and Chambers Street beside a woman holding the sign that reads Big Onion Tours. After collecting the $15 fee, $12 for students and seniors, the tour begins at 2 p.m. sharp. The newlywed couple from Mexico jokes about the big onion taking over the big apple on account of the city´s foul smells. It´s because of the summer heat, they say. Probably the same heat that would keep the Dutch above Wall St. in their summer homes during the 18th century.

The five women from Madison, Wisconsin, who have travelled together every summer since they graduated from high school 45 years ago seem to be in awe as the tour-guide explains that the Irish, who lived in small tenements in the Lower East Side during the 19th century, would share a single bathroom among 50 people. The man with the heavy British accent and his Asian wife stop to take a picture in front of The Eldridge Synagogue. Built by a Catholic German Architect it is currently part of Chinatown. A few blocks north we approach the cramped and fully decorative streets of Little Italy. Although it is no longer a functioning immigrant neighborhood, city officials have aimed at preserving its Italian essence. After two hours walking, the tour comes to an end at Mulberry Street where the 82nd annual feast of San Gennaro is taking place. Held in honor of the famous saint it offers a variety of international foods to satisfy the preferences of all those immigrants and curious New Yorkers on the tour. Having had enough with the variety, I dive in straight for the Colombian food stand.