So there has been a bit of silence over here in my little blog space as of late. Admittedly I have not been doing my part in carving out blogging time, but I also embarked on a little journey out west and I have been catching up a bit since my return. No I wasn't in search of gold, but rather fufilling my bridesmaidel duties in a Salt Lake City wedding. 2010 may be the year of the Tiger, but for me it just may have to be dubbed "The Year of Weddings." I have seven which I will be called to attend, and I hope to make it to all, but that remains to be seen.
Where was Jürgen you might ask? Well he was not with me, no sir he got to fly the skies to Argentina! Buenos Aires to be precise, where he got to stay in this swanky hotel, eat steak and dance upon the same soil from which my favorite grapes are grown! What's up with that?
Actually, his reasons for travel were purely professional (although he got to experience a fair amount of fun as well!), because Jürg booked himself a commercial! Can I get a what-what?? He auditioned in New York, for an Irish Celluar company commercial which filmed in South America. If you wish to spend time making sense of that, be my guest.
It did get me thinking about how funny and wildly unpredictable life can be from time to time, espically if you choose a profession in the arts. One minute you can be serving burgers and fries at a tourist packed, time square restaurant, and the next minute you are a working actor in Buenos Aires. Well, in Jürgens case anyway. It also reminded me of the array of various "jobs" I have had over the years in an attempt to cobble together a living. So let's bring back the blogging with a little sharing, shall we?
-I had my first "real job" when I was 16, where I worked at a small flower shop in Louisville, KY. I was too short to see over the counter, and was often left alone to my own devices. The job was relativley harmless except for two incidents which are worth mentioning:
1) I had literally just received my drivers liscense and on my first day of work they sent me out to make a delivery that involved me taking the expressway-a system I was unfamilliar with at the time- and I ended up somewhere way outside of the city limits, at night with no idea where I was. This also happened to be before the time when we really relied on cell phones (I feel old!), and "car phone" that I did have was totally dead. Hours later I made my way home and dissolved into a puddle of tears in my kitchen, because I never was able to deliver the flowers and the arangement and been tossed all over the back of my car. The next morning my mom and I went to a more established flower shop and had them re-do the entire thing and she drove me to the rightful recipients who were very understanding.
2) The owner of the shop was my friends mom, and while she was a lovely, fun, artsitic woman she really had no business being the owner of a business. Oftentimes there were no records of how much a given item cost, which meant during the times I was left to my own devices I was forced to make up the price of things. Not being well versed in the expenses of horticulture I inevitably charged a very lucky lady a mere seven dollars for a beautiful hanging fern. For the record it should have been around twenty-five.
The little flower shop closed a few years later. I'm just sayin'
-During college I spent a summer working as an intern for the Lookingglass Theatre Company, which paid me nothing, but I did get to work as the assistant to David Schwimmer for a week, which involved videotaping a workshop he ran and getting him coffee. He was very nice and very humble. However Lookingglass then proceeded to hire me off and on as a "door watcher" (I prefered the title "securty guard but what can you do) where I made a great hourly wage to sit at the front desk while performances were happing in their rehearsal space and make sure no riff-raff strolled in and made off with the office equipment. As if my tiny self could have done anything about it, but I took their money anyway. It was awesome.
- I have only onced worked in a restaurant, as a host, at a Tapas restauarant one summer in Chicago. I ate a ton of queso de cabra and very quickly decided I never wanted to work in restaurants again, for the mere fact that I found it rather torturous to watch other people enjoying their food and I had to starve.
-The job to have while attending Theatre School was to be hired as an usher when rental productions would use our space. It was great pay for maybe 15 minutes of mindless work, after which you could enjoy the show, or engage in epic battles with your flashlight. Juvenile, but fantastic.
-I have been babysitting since I was twelve, and still do every now and then. The first child I ever babysat is now an adult and on her way to being a huge star, however there is also one baby who I have sat for at least five times and still have yet to meet. Her name is Macy and she goes to sleep at 7pm, and never wakes. She is a gift from above.
-Once I was hired through my agency to work at the NeoCon trade show at the Merchandise Mart in Chicago. It's a huge event focusing on office furniture, and my job was to pass out pins and candy to passerby's and encourage them to find their "style ID" on the 8th floor. Why you need to know your style when it comes to cubicles I will never know. It was so horrible that I hid in stairways and behind model kitchen units, in an attempt to keep my sanity. Never again.
-Being hired to perform at the Chicago Auto Show is much less annoying. I sang "Let the Sunshine In" with a group of incredibly talented Chicago actors, for the launch of a new line of KIA cars. We each wore a different solid colored crewneck sweater from Lands End, and threw our hands in the air with great abandon. In a word: queer. In another word: amazing.
-For two years I worked as a receptionist at a commercial photography studio that threw incredible parties and didn't mind if I drank alcohol while working. A privledge I never took full advantage of.
-One day while working at the aformentioned phtography studio, the producer asked to see my hands, which apparently are photograph worthy and whisked me upstairs to feature my digits in a cataloge. This gave me the courage to call up the print department in my agency to see if I could be seen as a parts model. My agent said "its a very quick decision and is usually a no, but I will see you." Luckily, he said yes, and every now and then I literally make money from my hands.
-After I graduated college I spent a couple years working as the front desk manager of a spa, which once I left I swore I would never revisit customer service ever again. Well "never say never" apparently, because once I decided to move to NYC I contacted the New York branch, and five minutes later I was rehired. Lesson learned: its a good thing to keep the bridges you build intact.
-Finally, this is without a doubt the best job I have ever had (aside from special theatre gigs) only involved twenty minutes of actual work, but was oh so very cool to be a part of.
Have you had any special/scary/random/interesting jobs you have had to do to make ends meet?
Showing posts with label Argentina. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Argentina. Show all posts
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Sunday, December 20, 2009
A girl and her Wine
Yesterday marked the first official snowfall of the holiday season here in Ol' NY. I witnessed its coming: from the tease of flurries on my face as I walked to the train on my way to work, to the full on falling of flakes as I emerged from underground, and the whirlwind of white that greeted me as I exited work. I really do love snow when it first falls and begins to stick. It's so pure. It glistens like flecks of glitter in the moonlight and everything looks clean, white, simple.
To me, a snowy Saturday night is a perfect excuse to crack open a bottle of wine and wrap yourself in a blanket After much debating with myself (while trying to stay warm at work), I decided I would pay a visit to the wine outlet by my house (how convenient!) and treat myself to a bottle of warm red goodness. This would be categorized as an unnecessary expenditure, but I have been working hard with only sporadic days off, and I deserved a little holiday cheer. Plus I have recently discovered the joys of Argentinian wines, particularly Malbec's. I grabbed a bottle with my friend Brittany a few weeks ago and was blown away by its complexity, especially since it only cost $7.99! Usually I find wines at the price to be a bit one note, that hit you hard in the mouth when you first take a sip and then quickly die therafter. Don't get me wrong, I will still drink them, and happily, but I like my wines to give me a little something to think about.
Jürgen and I have heard from several sources that Argentinean wines are one of the "best bets" in the wine world today. Not only because they are producing some great tasting vinos down south, but you get a lot of bang for your buck, as a great majority of them can be found for twenty dollars or less. This is music to my wine loving ears, because with a rent payment looming and holiday shopping, any extra change is scarce. I have now committed myself to trying many varietals from various vineyards. I shall report back. This will be very. hard. work.
Back to the story at hand....I braved my way through the growing blanket of snow on the yet unplowed streets of Queens and headed to the liquor store, conveniently located right off of the train. Once inside I perused the Argentinian section, was was pretty impressive, and settled on a bottle of Auka, a Malbec from 2007 with a price tag of only $9.99. The frightful weather outside wasn't going to get me down, I was armed with a bottle of wine, and plans for a rockin' solo Saturday night (Jürg was at work). So, with the snow falling vigorously on my back, I trudged along home.
Once inside, I slipped off my snow-caked boots (red UGG's, not appropriate snow weather boots FYI), changed into some sweats and dried the snow off my hair. I fed the kitties, pulled the bottle from the bag and began to settle into my Saturday night. I was met with only one small problem: where was my wine key? I began to search in the natural places: the kitchen all purpose drawer, the utensil caddy, under the bathroom sink, you know, the usual. It was nowhere to be found. I was utterly confounded when it hit me-Jürgen had it. He is required to have one at his new job, and has been taking ours to work with him. What was I to do?!?!
I plopped myself down at the kitchen table and mulled over my options: I could either forgo the wine drinking for the evening, and save the bottle for another day. Or I could suit back up and head outside to battle Old Man Winter once again in search for a wine opener.
(Apparently I also had a third option, which would have been to take a knife and jam the cork down into the wine, but this didn't occur to me, because after all, I am a lady.)
Well, nothing gets between a girl and her wine, so it was back into the trenches for me. I decided to turn right outside my doorway first, as I recalled a small convenience store of sorts not too far down the road, which could help me in my quest. The snow was still falling and drifts were beginning to form, but I bounced over them and walked through the streets, as no one was driving. I must have looked like a little bounding sleeping bag in my ankle length down coat, but I am telling you, this coat is my winter savior, and makes battles like these possible. I asked the man behind the counter if he sold any wine openers. No dice. I held back the urge to tell the man he needs to re-think his inventory.
The only option now was to head back to the original point of purchase: the wine outlet. It's a little over five minute walk, which is made much more difficult when you have to walk into the blustery snow. Those little fluffy flakes I waxed poetic about a few paragraphs ago, well they are little bastards that stung my face with each step. I tried to cover my face with my hands, but my gloves were now wet with ice and made my lips burn. There were a few times I opted to walk backwards, letting my back take the brunt, which slowed me down considerably. I saw another woman doing the same, and I couldn't help but chuckle and maybe start to cry at the same time. It always amazes me how harsh weather brings people together. No matter what walk of life you come from, when you are out braving the elements with others you are suddenly all on the same page. I recalled times in Chicago, when huge gusts of wind would almost knock down and entire train platform of people, and you would literally hear a collective scream from the crowd. Weather doesn't discriminate.
Like a hawk searching for prey, I was determined to have my wine, and when I walked through the outlet doors I was a woman on a mission. I opted for a wing corkscrew, as opposed to a waiters cork screw. I have never been particularly proficient with that tool (many a cork has seen it's demise by me and my wine key), and headed back out, one final time. The walk home was, for some reason, much easier. The weight of the wine opener in my left pocket encouraged me with each step, and I took the time to notice the snow once again, apologizing for cursing at it earlier. By the time I reached my apartment a small mogul had formed and you couldn't even see the front step, but a kind man opened the door for me and I stomped the snow off my boots as I walked up the stairs.
Back inside the comforts of my home once again, I made a beeline for the kitchen, where my bottle stood proud and ready to be consumed. I called home to regale my mom with stories of my journey as I began to pull out my cork, but another cog had formed in the wheel: my brand new cork screw began to crap put on me and get itself stuck.
This battle was getting ugly.
It only cost me a few bucks, and certainly wasn't the definition of fine craftsmanship, but it seemed sturdy enough. However I would twist the coil through the cork and about halfway through it would give up, for no reason other than it wanted to smite me and keep me from enjoying my night. I started to twist, then push the arms, allowing the cork to move up a few centimeters, and when I would try to twist again it would only push it back down into the neck of the bottle. The vicious cycle continued, and I even called the situation a "disaster" to my mom, who was on the phone listening to my struggles. Breathing heavily, I looked at the bottle, cork half in, with a pathetic excuse for a corkscrew sticking out of the top, and I began to wimper at the thought of having to wave a white flag and admit defeat. I couldn't push the cork in, and the coil was too far into the neck of the bottle to break to the cork in half. finally I pushed the two wimpy arms back down, gripped the entire opener in my hands, steadied the bottle between my knees, and began to slowly, methodically pull the cork out. I moved my hands lightly from side to side, while pulling up at the same time, and magically I bagan to feel the pesky cork give way and eventually eject itself from the neck with a loud "POP!"
Eureka! Victory at last! Wine would be mine! I breathed a sigh of relief as I poured the beautiful deep purple juice into my glass. I cuddled up on my chair, with a glass in one hand, a remote in the other, and partook in the joys of Iron Chef America and a snowy Saturday night. The wine was tasty, no comparison to the wine I shared with Brittany, but still all the more sweet after such a hard fought battle.
I'll say it again: Nothing gets between a girl and her wine.
To me, a snowy Saturday night is a perfect excuse to crack open a bottle of wine and wrap yourself in a blanket After much debating with myself (while trying to stay warm at work), I decided I would pay a visit to the wine outlet by my house (how convenient!) and treat myself to a bottle of warm red goodness. This would be categorized as an unnecessary expenditure, but I have been working hard with only sporadic days off, and I deserved a little holiday cheer. Plus I have recently discovered the joys of Argentinian wines, particularly Malbec's. I grabbed a bottle with my friend Brittany a few weeks ago and was blown away by its complexity, especially since it only cost $7.99! Usually I find wines at the price to be a bit one note, that hit you hard in the mouth when you first take a sip and then quickly die therafter. Don't get me wrong, I will still drink them, and happily, but I like my wines to give me a little something to think about.
Jürgen and I have heard from several sources that Argentinean wines are one of the "best bets" in the wine world today. Not only because they are producing some great tasting vinos down south, but you get a lot of bang for your buck, as a great majority of them can be found for twenty dollars or less. This is music to my wine loving ears, because with a rent payment looming and holiday shopping, any extra change is scarce. I have now committed myself to trying many varietals from various vineyards. I shall report back. This will be very. hard. work.
Back to the story at hand....I braved my way through the growing blanket of snow on the yet unplowed streets of Queens and headed to the liquor store, conveniently located right off of the train. Once inside I perused the Argentinian section, was was pretty impressive, and settled on a bottle of Auka, a Malbec from 2007 with a price tag of only $9.99. The frightful weather outside wasn't going to get me down, I was armed with a bottle of wine, and plans for a rockin' solo Saturday night (Jürg was at work). So, with the snow falling vigorously on my back, I trudged along home.
Once inside, I slipped off my snow-caked boots (red UGG's, not appropriate snow weather boots FYI), changed into some sweats and dried the snow off my hair. I fed the kitties, pulled the bottle from the bag and began to settle into my Saturday night. I was met with only one small problem: where was my wine key? I began to search in the natural places: the kitchen all purpose drawer, the utensil caddy, under the bathroom sink, you know, the usual. It was nowhere to be found. I was utterly confounded when it hit me-Jürgen had it. He is required to have one at his new job, and has been taking ours to work with him. What was I to do?!?!
I plopped myself down at the kitchen table and mulled over my options: I could either forgo the wine drinking for the evening, and save the bottle for another day. Or I could suit back up and head outside to battle Old Man Winter once again in search for a wine opener.
(Apparently I also had a third option, which would have been to take a knife and jam the cork down into the wine, but this didn't occur to me, because after all, I am a lady.)
Well, nothing gets between a girl and her wine, so it was back into the trenches for me. I decided to turn right outside my doorway first, as I recalled a small convenience store of sorts not too far down the road, which could help me in my quest. The snow was still falling and drifts were beginning to form, but I bounced over them and walked through the streets, as no one was driving. I must have looked like a little bounding sleeping bag in my ankle length down coat, but I am telling you, this coat is my winter savior, and makes battles like these possible. I asked the man behind the counter if he sold any wine openers. No dice. I held back the urge to tell the man he needs to re-think his inventory.
The only option now was to head back to the original point of purchase: the wine outlet. It's a little over five minute walk, which is made much more difficult when you have to walk into the blustery snow. Those little fluffy flakes I waxed poetic about a few paragraphs ago, well they are little bastards that stung my face with each step. I tried to cover my face with my hands, but my gloves were now wet with ice and made my lips burn. There were a few times I opted to walk backwards, letting my back take the brunt, which slowed me down considerably. I saw another woman doing the same, and I couldn't help but chuckle and maybe start to cry at the same time. It always amazes me how harsh weather brings people together. No matter what walk of life you come from, when you are out braving the elements with others you are suddenly all on the same page. I recalled times in Chicago, when huge gusts of wind would almost knock down and entire train platform of people, and you would literally hear a collective scream from the crowd. Weather doesn't discriminate.
Like a hawk searching for prey, I was determined to have my wine, and when I walked through the outlet doors I was a woman on a mission. I opted for a wing corkscrew, as opposed to a waiters cork screw. I have never been particularly proficient with that tool (many a cork has seen it's demise by me and my wine key), and headed back out, one final time. The walk home was, for some reason, much easier. The weight of the wine opener in my left pocket encouraged me with each step, and I took the time to notice the snow once again, apologizing for cursing at it earlier. By the time I reached my apartment a small mogul had formed and you couldn't even see the front step, but a kind man opened the door for me and I stomped the snow off my boots as I walked up the stairs.
Back inside the comforts of my home once again, I made a beeline for the kitchen, where my bottle stood proud and ready to be consumed. I called home to regale my mom with stories of my journey as I began to pull out my cork, but another cog had formed in the wheel: my brand new cork screw began to crap put on me and get itself stuck.
This battle was getting ugly.
It only cost me a few bucks, and certainly wasn't the definition of fine craftsmanship, but it seemed sturdy enough. However I would twist the coil through the cork and about halfway through it would give up, for no reason other than it wanted to smite me and keep me from enjoying my night. I started to twist, then push the arms, allowing the cork to move up a few centimeters, and when I would try to twist again it would only push it back down into the neck of the bottle. The vicious cycle continued, and I even called the situation a "disaster" to my mom, who was on the phone listening to my struggles. Breathing heavily, I looked at the bottle, cork half in, with a pathetic excuse for a corkscrew sticking out of the top, and I began to wimper at the thought of having to wave a white flag and admit defeat. I couldn't push the cork in, and the coil was too far into the neck of the bottle to break to the cork in half. finally I pushed the two wimpy arms back down, gripped the entire opener in my hands, steadied the bottle between my knees, and began to slowly, methodically pull the cork out. I moved my hands lightly from side to side, while pulling up at the same time, and magically I bagan to feel the pesky cork give way and eventually eject itself from the neck with a loud "POP!"
Eureka! Victory at last! Wine would be mine! I breathed a sigh of relief as I poured the beautiful deep purple juice into my glass. I cuddled up on my chair, with a glass in one hand, a remote in the other, and partook in the joys of Iron Chef America and a snowy Saturday night. The wine was tasty, no comparison to the wine I shared with Brittany, but still all the more sweet after such a hard fought battle.
I'll say it again: Nothing gets between a girl and her wine.
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