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Anais Vionet Nov 2022
It’s Tuesday morning. I’d thought, until Leeza corrected me, that Thanksgiving was today.
“Thanksgiving always falls on Thursday, dorkus,” Leeza said Sunday, at breakfast (extirpating my hopes). “Besides, notice we haven’t been cooking?” She added.
“Good point.” I chuckled disappointedly.

Later, Lisa, Leeza and I had just got back from the pool where we saw John Krasinski and Emily Blunt. Leeza told me that Paramount studios has a condo, somewhere - on the 29th floor - where celebs stay (When you don’t know where something is, it’s on the mysterious 29th floor). Peter missed it. He didn’t join us because it’s a saltwater pool and it stings his warm but delicate, deep brown eyes.

I wondered what Peter was doing - push-ups on the balcony or something probably. Who knew he exercised so much? There’s a whole state-of-the-art gym but he likes exercising outdoors. I checked and yeah, there he was, on the balcony in the 46° wind, doing curls or something with elastic bands.

I sipped on some of Karen’s (Lisa & Leeza’s mom) nummy cinnamon-apple-cider and watched him for a few delicious minutes. Peter really is kind of fire, I decided. Then I popped my head out, “Come shower, Lisa wants to go out,” I announced. He just nodded and began packing up. I ran for my room to shower first (we share a shower).
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Extirpate: “to destroy completely,”

Slang..
dorkus = clueless *****
fire = hot, exciting, greater than normal great
Anais Vionet Nov 2022
Last night, Lisa, Peter, Leeza and I were in her father’s 50th floor study watching New York City. It’s a corner room with glass walls from floor to ceiling. He likes to watch the city himself and has a small, 5 seat sectional couch facing the view.

The left wall window looks across Hell’s Kitchen to exactly where Sully Sullenberger crash landed flight 1549 in the Hudson river (it was 3:31 pm and no one was home). The right window overlooks Central Park and Upper Manhattan. Lincoln Center, almost dead center of the corner, looks like part of a toy train-set.

The view is a wheeling, ever changing and mesmerizing panorama. Well lit ships, barges and boats move glacially against the ink black Hudson. Jets in expressway-like holding patterns (Newark Liberty, and Teterboro airports left window - LaGuardia, right window) blink, like waving angels, helicopters buzz below like insects and the traffic, far, far below, forms a living chain of red and white lights which can erupt with nugatory hues of police blue at any moment.

While we watch, we’re playing a game of “Would you rather.” It’s a game of situational trade-offs, like “Would you rather listen to the same 10 songs forever or have to watch the same 5 movies forever? Of course, most people say the movies - because they last longer and there would be fewer repeats.

We take turns asking these critical questions - pausing, occasionally, to point out things below.  
“Would you rather be in a crowded elevator with a bunch of noisy high school students or pinned in with a bunch of judgemental, middle aged men? The girls chose the students, even though high schoolers can be mean. Peter chose to be with the men.
“Would you rather find your true love or a suitcase with 5 million dollars?” We all chose love.
“Would you rather hike or camp?” Both were unpopular if they involved going to the bathroom outside - which creeps the girls out.
“Would you rather give up your computers or your pets (forever)?” THAT was a stressful one.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Nugatory: “of little or no consequence”

My movies: Clueless, Rushmore, Moonstruck, Shakespeare in love, Dr. Zhivago
Anais Vionet Nov 2022
We’re on-high - in Lisa’s (parent’s) 50th floor penthouse in Manhattan. The sky outside is a cloudless, blinding powder-blue, infinite and reflective as liquid. A TV news helicopter flew by under her window a few minutes ago.

If you don’t feel God-like looking down on the world from her living room, then you’re probably an atheist. Peter was with us and as we stood, looking out on Central Park and NYC from her balcony, he was suitably impressed by it all - from the chopper ride in from New Haven to the opulent digs.

Peter’s a poor (he exists on a meager stipend) doctoral student from Malibu, California. He grew up simply, in a rustic, one floor, three-bedroom cabin that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. He never had a smart-phone or cable TV growing up and only got glacially slow Internet in high school. He says he really lived in the ocean. His most prized possession is his 70s “Bing Bonzer” surfboard that stands, like a priceless, Egyptian relic in his dorm room.

We got a vibe switch when we came inside and 2Pac’s “Hit ‘Em up” was absolutely airhorning from the stereo system. “Westside, Westside, Westside,” Lisa and I joined in the chorus and clumsy-danced by reflex. Leeza, Lisa’s younger sister, saw us and ran over for a group hug with Lisa and me.

Lisa’s little sister’s 13 now and boy, is she a new-teenager. Her long, deep-red hair, which now has fluorescent blue ends, is tied-up in a ponytail revealing a buzz-undercut. Leeza had just gotten home from school and had already changed from her school uniform to ripped jean shorts, white socks and a black, 2Pac sweatshirt - which her mom reported she wears every single day. When her mom manages to launder that, Leeza rotates to a Jets hoodie - although she’s never watched a football game in her life.

“I’ve got a worried mind,” I confessed to Peter, later, as we were scrunched together, me half on his lap in an easy chair. He gave me a consoling hug.
Our grades came out earlier today and I got an A- in Physics 3. I crumbed in the face of classical mechanics. Is an A- who I am? Yeah, I guess so, and I’ll have to give myself an “F” for dealing with it. I suppose I’m acknowledgeably challenged.
“Can you appeal it?” Peter asked, he was trying to be supportive, but he knows that’s a ridiculous notion.
“It’s a male professor,” I said, “maybe I could send him a voice message and cry,” I updog.
“That would be HOT,” Peter said, in a dream-like whisper.
“Uhgh,” I groaned, “It’s emotional manipulation, it’s NOT ******,” I explained, creeped out.
I haven’t talked to my parents yet. They’re in Poland and don’t know my life is over.

“You deserve to embrace your awesomeness, stand up for who you are and reject the status quo.” Peter offered, “I dare you,” he finished, unable to keep a straight face. “But seriously, you’ll fix it after the break,” he offers in hope.
“Yeah,” I say, somewhat unconvinced, “I know.”
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Crucible: a situation that forces someone to change.

slang..
updog = when you supply your part of an ongoing joke
Anais Vionet Nov 2022
Midterms are over
I’m coming up for air
now that they’re done
I’ll admit I was scared
- that physics three -
was nearly the death of me.

What comes next?
The Manhattan express
for November recess
some November excess
with Lisa, my BFF princess,
my doughty, NYC adventuress,
I’m blessed, she’s the best.
Ooo! and some turducken bliss,
much needed rest and time to de-stress
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Doughty: “brave, strong, and determined.”

A Turducken is a dish consisting of a deboned chicken stuffed into a deboned duck, further stuffed into a deboned turkey.
Maria Shabalin Feb 2022
These streets are awake
The lights offer a path to follow
Look up and not down to see
The treetops and brims of sky
Look out to see the painted houses
Of brick and melted yellow
Nowhere to be seen is order
The chaos is what makes it
Beyond words, beyond eyes.
It houses nostalgia of youth
It fears and celebrates death.
This city is mine but not for long
How I'll miss its descendants
Its language of old
The battered, the beaten
All the untold
Brooklyn. My city, my home. I hated you for so long- only because I could not find the strength to find the beauty within me. Brooklyn, you're alright;)
Anais Vionet Jan 2022
I woke up very early this morning, restless and bothered, itchy for the day to happen. As dawn broke orange, the city was revealed. I’ll never get tired of watching that. The snow was gone but a gloss over the city streets indicated ice. I scanned the landscape for movement - for life - like a predator.

Lisa and I are headed back to school today, at 11am, by air, which our parents feel is the best way to avoid our old, holiday nemesis omicron (doesn’t that make us sound like secret agents?).

Once everyone was finally up, Lisa and I got our busy-on, doing the last load of laundry and final packing. Lisa, packs a suitcase, by throwing clothes in without bothering to fold them, while I meticulously fold and roll my clothes, like a marine headed for deployment.

As Lisa and I worked, Leeza (12) was lying on Lisa’s bed, on her back with her head hanging over the edge - watching us pack upside down. Her red hair looked like a thrown plate of spaghetti.

Leeza was talk, talk, talking and gnawing on a toasted bagel at the same time. “How do you feel about going back to school?” she asked us. “OH, feelings!” I gasped, “A free therapy session!” “No, really,” she said, grown serious and rolling right side up.

Leeza is cute as a button and vulnerable - I could almost feel her anxiety. As the youngest sibling I’d been left behind too - you don’t want the holiday to end and your big sister to leave - it’s a singularly lonesome feeling. I wanted to grab her, like a puppy, wrestle her and tell her I love her and I’d miss her - like my sister used to do with me. I decided that as soon as we were done packing, I would.

“My GOD,” Lisa said to Leeza, “will you PLEASE shut up! I have to think.” Leeza blushed and shrugged “I’m just making conversation, grump-face, you’ve packed a million times before haven’t you?” “Does counting to 10 make ****** premeditated?” Lisa asked the ceiling.

Suddenly, Lisa dropped the blouse she’d been holding and pounced on Leeza, tickling her as she squealed with delight. In a second they’d become a ball of flailing arms, legs, hair and playful noise. I slunk out of the room to give them their sister’s goodbye.

Besides, I smelled bacon.
BLT’s word of the day challenge: Gloss: to glow or shine, to skip over details
Anais Vionet Dec 2021
I’m spending the Christmas holiday with Lisa and her family in NYC.

My parents are finishing 2021 in Africa, with “Doctors Without Borders.” “Step” (my step father) is a heart surgeon and my mom is an anesthesiologist, so they’re a traveling, self contained, double-dutch, operating theater. Yep, now that they’ve shuffled-off the dead weight of their children - they can finally have some FUN.

Here, in NYC we’re back in restrictive spaces as we face-down Omicron this holiday - but I still feel free. Our course work’s been dumb, but now we’ve escaped the strangling, slavery of tedious days - forget hours of reading, fact-sheets, writing essays, and solving chemistry equations - we’ve got 25 days of Christmas vacation!

Lisa’s having a sleepover tonight, friends Will and Karen are coming up (Lisa lives on the 50th floor, they live on the 46th) and we have every distraction known to man.

Tonight was supposed to be the building (220) Christmas party - a formal wear Christmas ball - with a live orchestra - but now (thanks Omicron) it’s an elevator party - we’ll go up to the 70th floor, pick up goodie bags and dinners then return yo-yo like, to Lisa’s.

We can escape our interior habitat to a large balcony where it’s windy and 34 degrees. The sky is a clear black, like an inverted cup of coffee and the stars look French. The city lights dazzle like a billion stars surrounding the black hole of Central Park.

Lisa’s dad is explaining to Karen (10), in some detail, how his shiny,  deluxe, outdoor barbeque - with it’s lid open like a radar dish, can detect reindeer and send updates to his phone in real-time - but Karen looks skeptical.

I hope you all have a wonderful, safe, Christmas and that the reindeer find you wherever you are.
Merry Christmas!
Anais Vionet Nov 2021
Have you ever lived in a tall building? Dawn strikes suddenly and irradiates these glass-walled, high-rise rooms. Lisa showed me how quickly the thick windows - if you press your face against them - go from cold to warm in the morning's stark glare.

On the streets below, beneath the horizon, darkness remains
as if there were, briefly, two worlds separate but side by side -
one, a night place and the other bleached in fierce sunbeams.

The rooms have no curtains, just motorized shades that go up and down as needed - but in reality, they’re always up. Central Park is the only thing across the street and we’re so high up (50th floor) no one can see in. It’s odd, dressing in uncurtained, glass lined rooms or bathing in curtain-less bathrooms - there’s a titillating freedom to it.

I find myself imagining that we’re angels floating in the clouds,
looking down upon man and his creations - but then I’m reminded,
by vertigo or by digging a charger out of my luggage, that I’m just
a mortal, sporting a temporary visa to this high-rise heaven.
.
.
*ps
In proofing this before posting it, I had to smirk at how,
of all the qualities of high-rise life, I wrote about the
curtain-less feature and I wonder if that paints me either
a perv or a *****. I even debated deleting it, but *shrug
New York reminds me of Shenzhen China
Samantha Wesley Oct 2021
The boy with the curly black hair from room 1402 zippered his dark puffer jacket as he pushed the door open. The air outside was chilly, the temperature flirting with the goosebumps on his neck. He ran his right hand through his curls as he walked with intention toward the intersection, looking both ways before crossing Spruce Street. Behind him glowed multicolored lights provided by the LED setup of his fellow neighbors on floor 14.
The Financial District was always calm at night, and that’s what he loved most about it. He smiled to himself as he roamed the streets, reminiscing on the promising outcomes of nights past. As he made his way toward Stone Street, he shed the skin of Zachary Taylor and slithered into Jackson Jones. Becoming Jackson was Zach’s favorite part of his nightly routine. Jackson had a winning smile and charming personality. He had money to throw away and designer clothes. Jackson didn’t have a mother in a mental institution or a father who had ended his own life. Jackson had two sisters and a brother, and they all vacationed in the South of France. Jackson had a Summer home in Florence and a Winter lodge in the Swiss Alps.
His mantra was interrupted by a blurry figure crossing his path. A beautiful girl with light brown hair and doe eyes glanced at him for a second before blushing and continuing on her way. This would be his prey for the night.
“Hey, my friends and I are going to Mad Dogs for a tower and some guacamole, want to join?”
This simple invitation always made women feel at ease and intrigued, instead of suspicious and threatened. Zachary knew that she would join him to eat, and after a few drinks he would look at his phone and tell her that his friends had cancelled, but that he was having such a good time with her and didn’t want the night to end. He would beckon her to come see the amazing view of the Brooklyn Bridge from his dorm room and she would happily oblige.
Walking into the front lobby of 1 Pace Plaza, Zachary nodded at the security guards who returned a smirk and a subtle shake of their heads. He lived for these small exchanges, these small stamps of reluctant approval from the men who went along with his routine every night.
Towards the beginning of his freshman year, they used to stop him and make him sign each guest in with a photo ID, but they grew to appreciate his craftiness and simply let him escort a new woman into the building every night.
The girl next to him gave a small wave to the security guards and a smile. Pete, the security guard who usually high fived Zachary as he walked the girls out of the building, had a peculiar look on his face. Zachary assumed it was due to the wave his date had given them. Usually the girls he brought in avoided eye contact with the guards and followed him to his room. This girl seemed different.
Tara, she had said her name was, lived “somewhere downtown” but hadn’t specified a location, and Zachary hadn’t pressed her. After all, he didn’t need to know where she lived, or even her last name. She was just his partner for this Thursday night, or rather, she was Jackson’s partner for the night.
He had told her that he was a New York native, which couldn’t have been further from his true upbringing in Miami. He couldn’t quite remember where she said she was from, but that didn’t bother him. It was always easier when there was no emotional attachment.
Tara walked confidently toward the elevators, and Zachary wondered if she had been to the building before. Maybe she was friends with a student, or had a previous rendezvous with another tenant of the dorm tower. Either way, he didn’t want to know.
The elevator was heavy with tension, and Zach wondered if the pressure would cause the doors to pop open while rising.
A ding signaled their arrival at the 14th floor, and Zach again morphed into Jackson, opening the door for Tara, ever the gentleman. Her eyes widened as she saw the glowing lights from the city below. “Wow, this view really is romantic. How did you say you got this room again?”
Zach shifted his weight between his feet. He caught himself and steadied his nerves.
“It’s my friend’s place, I’m just watching it for him while he’s gone.” Jackson answered coolly. She nodded, seeming satisfied with his answer. Zach chuckled internally at her admiration of the view, knowing she would never see the room again after this night.
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