Canonical
Kleiner’s First Law: When the hors d’oeuvres are passing, take two.
Kleiner’s Second Law: There is a time when panic is the appropriate response.
– Eugene Kleiner, Founder, Fairchild Semiconductor & Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers.
What the Hell(s Kitchen)
When I moved into my apartment, some three years ago and change, I really liked Hell’s Kitchen. I had already lived in the neighborhood for several years, and was moving just two blocks down and a half block to the east.
But that small distance was a big change. It put me on the corner of 8th Ave, less than ten blocks up from the heart of darkness: Times Square.
Which was bad. And with each passing year, got worse. The area gentrified. More and more tourists poured down my block.
By now, on my way to work, I have to elbow through crowds of gawkers from fly-over states. (A family of ten standing motionless in the middle of the sidewalk as the father points: “look, Martha, it’s a tall buildin’!”)
During ‘christmas season’ (September through February), I have to divert my commute entirely – five blocks up, five blocks back down – just to avoid the enthralled-to-standstill Rockefeller Center crowds. (“Look, Martha, it’s a tall tree!”)
Jess arrived long after the neighborhood’s grit had been largely polished away, never lived closer to 9th Ave to see that there really are (or, at least, were) restaurants and shops nearby aside from the Olive Garden and the Phantom of Broadway Gift Shop (“We have good price I [HEART] NY shirt!”).
So, not surprisingly, she hated it from the get-go. Not our apartment itself, which we both really like. But, in short, pretty much everything within a ten block radius of our front door.
And, increasingly, so do I. So, post-wedding, we’ll be kicking off an apartment search.
It’s a terrible, terrible time to do so. Sales prices are on the verge of ‘readjustment’, yet rental prices are fast on the climb.
Still, for the sake of our sanity, we’re not sure we really have a choice.
As for specifics – like neighborhood – we’re not yet entirely sure. Maybe downtown. Or uptown. In short, pretty much anywhere but where we are right now.
They say Time Square’s the core of the Big Apple; by now, we’re both pretty sure it’s the pits.
Music & Lyrics
Among her many other talents, Jess has a savant-like ability to remember every single lyric to essentially every single song, ever.
Some obscure early-nineties dance hit will come on the radio, and she’ll sing along – not just with the choruses, but with the verses, too, word for word.
I, conversely, don’t know the lyrics to anything. Even songs I’ve heard hundreds of times. Sometimes, when I’m driving for example, I’ll actually listen to the words, and am shocked to discover the song is about something totally different than what I thought. But unless I really, really pay attention, the lyrics just seem to wash over me.
Over the years, I’ve spoken with a handful of musician friends, who say the same thing; they can hum the tunes, but don’t seem to retain any of the words. It’s as though we’re processing the songs in a totally different way, with a totally different part of our brains.
It makes me wonder if the lyrics people, then, hear the music in a completely different way, too, if the melodies and harmonies I pick apart gloss together into a cascade of pleasant but undifferentiated sound.
I’m not really sure. But I do, at least, know it’s one more area where Jess’ and my strengths complement each other. Put us behind the mic at an evening of karaoke, and she’ll be faking the melody, I’ll be mumbling my way through words I’m more or less making up. Yet we sound, if not good, then certainly passable. Which, at least if the audience is drunk, is probably good enough.