shine on
This past week I got news. It was news of the bad sort; a call in the middle of the afternoon from a college friend that never called, a voicemail that seemed urgent and unusual. At work and unable to talk on the phone, I emailed back, “Everything okay?” though I somehow already knew it wasn’t.
I soon learned the worst. An old college friend had passed away abruptly in a bizarre accident. He was 23, full of life, talent and love for the world. Nick Wieme was his name. From his hometown of Pipestone, Minnesota, Nick moved to Moorhead to attend MSUM in Fall 2007. I met him during my rounds as a resident assistant and could never forget him, his voice, his laugh, his jokes, his films.
Nick was a treasure. He was a comedian to the core and every moment in his presence was entertainment. He once invited me to a party to play Settlers of Catan, which quickly showcased his competitive nature in the most hilarious way. His ability to bring out the best in others was extraordinary, and his immense following of friends a testament to his ingenuity and admiration.
I cannot express how much Nick will be missed by those lucky enough to know him, but I can say it is a great sorrow. His 23 years undoubtedly brought tremendous happiness to those he met, and many, many, many laughs. He accomplished so much in so little time, and I imagine he is still making people laugh in a higher place.
There has never been a better time for me to say, life is unexpected, and can be unexpectedly short — and to those you see every day or hardly at all, keep sight of those you love and care.
For Nick Wieme, shine on —
Listening to some tunes on a train ride back from a tiring day at work, my shuffle landed on James Taylor and I sort of melted in relaxation. Sure, James has a place in hearts everywhere — and it felt nice to listen at that moment, because he really takes me back to being really young. My parents used to play his music around the house, and I’ll always remember after dinner when James, John (Denver) or Kenny G would come out until bedtime.
A few good ones —
how the weekend was won
I‘ve got a big issue in my room — or rather, a little one: My room is really little, like 96 square feet little. I’ve been grappling with space issues since I switched over in April from my previous, equally tiny room, but now that things are beginning to accumulate (as things do), my room and I are feelin’ it.
I first laid down the must-have’s: a full size bed, basically my only requirement, ensuring more square footage of my room is devoted to sleeping than anything else. Since my closet is kind of a conundrum of a wacky protruding cube in the corner, that does nothing but squelch every plan of rearranging ANYTHING (it previously had a flush door on it — a door — as if there were space to swing it open. DREAMS!), I am left with little floor space. That leaves a laughable area to house a dresser, a desk and storage for all my tchotchke.
I’ve been sitting on things for a while now, also, reading lots of interior blogs. It appears that this is a really common problem in the city, where space is a premium and spatial Tetris is a sport, because hardly anyone has enough room to live normal. If there is a space glorifying contraption that can be dreamed, pasted together from IKEA units, or built with one’s two hands, there is a Brooklynite, somewhere, doing it. You better believe they’re blogging the crap out of it, too.
Enter this dream I had on Friday night, where I realized that my Saturday was a giant void of avoiding doing laundry, and I desperately needed to make something besides noodles and sauce. I’ve been seeing these ledges pop up all over blogs, and thought it would make a nice project if I could find all the pieces. I was pretty sure I couldn’t, so just shrugged it off and decided to head to the hardware store anyway.
It’s a little terrifying to plan to build something 8 feet long when you are 5 feet tall. Also, buying 8 feet of anything in Brooklyn is pretty risky, what with transportation options (trains and feet) and also, being 5 feet tall. Oh, the days of driving to Menards, Lowes and Home Depot, you were so glorious and I took you for GRANTED! Luckily Yelp directed me to a hardware store right around the corner (that I had overlooked somehow, despite being jacked up with larger-than-life inflatable Santas and an insurmountable clutter of doodads plastering every window).
To explain the hardware store situation, I need to back up a moment. When I was in college, I had the most ah-mazing tool shop instructor named Ken. Ken was the definition of clockwork and a walking glossary of information. He could tell you every grit of sandpaper, every strength of glue, even identify the forest a piece of wood came from. This man could cast bronze in his sleep and teach a baby how to operate a bandsaw. He tediously whittled elaborate toys for each of his grandchildren every Christmas out of rare and delicate woods. He was awesome. The best thing about Ken was that I could bring him a crazy sketch of mine and he would always know how to decipher it, tell me that it wasn’t feasible, then help me completely rewrite my plan to adhere to real-world, gravity-abiding principles. When I would make something 18 times my size and 12 times my weight, Ken would help me install it, and when I had a question about construction, log furniture (his true passion) or cruises (his other pastime), I could count on Ken for an answer.
So when I walked into Mayday Hardware yesterday, I was expecting a Ken. Then reality met me at the door in the form of Harry, a plump, shiny man of my height, whose bald head was capped with a fuzzy Santa hat, and whose voice was sandpaper incarnate. I told Harry I was looking for wood, and we zigzagged to the back of the store. I grazed the selection and specified what sizes I needed, trying to explain my project whilst Harry tinkered with the lumber. My explanation yielded confusion, so I tore out a clumsy sketch I’d doodled on my way out the door for this specific reason. Harry glanced, chuckled, and said to me in sheer honesty, “Look, I got no idea about this stuff. This is my drinking money job.” If there was ever a “Jenny, I don’t think we’re in College anymore” moment, Harry had just affirmed it.
After a complete explanation of how he worked behind a computer in an office during the week, how he got all of his Christmas shopping done online, how he wouldn’t even think about participating in Black Friday sales, and how he didn’t think what I was making would look good, Harry handed me the can of white paint I’d requested, but in the wrong finish. I’d had to improvise on the sizes of boards because the store didn’t carry 1×4’s, and in order to appear confident in Harry’s eyes about what I was making, I actually faked confidence. Harry’s approval was important, because this was his drinking money job, and he’d insinuated that what I was about to build would fail.
Then, after carrying a stack of 1x2s several blocks like a pole vaulter, up to the third floor, laying them in my work area (a 3 foot wide space on my bedroom floor), I got to work. But not before I borrowed a drill from the downstairs neighbor by means of a text conversation where he told me he was out of town for the day, but gave me strict orders and permission to climb down the fire escape and through his kitchen window to get the drill from his closet (“top shelf, in the [150 pound] tool box, below the [85 pound] blue duffle bag”)* (which I did, in true Mission Impossible fashion). (This sounds bad, I know.)
Lots of tinkering, measuring, reassuring, drilling, drill batteries dying immediately, locating another drill, painting, screwing, eyeballing, waiting, and a little installation help from my roommates led to…
Yes, these. My happy 8′ long wall ledges that make me — and my room — so, so happy.
A quick shout out to Harry for filling me with doubt, and my gut instincts for proving that I could make this work.
Also, total cost for both (not including paint): $18. Beats the crap out of these tiny shelves I was considering…
Feels so good to build something.
*On any other day, I would never have done this. But I meant business, and my neighbor is a friendly Texan.
swim good
This is Sarah — I went to college with Sarah, back when we were all a little younger, but her voice just as stunning. I first heard this Frank Ocean cover a few days ago, and when I listened to the real Frank Ocean today, Sarah was still on my mind. She has a real talent for music, and she writes, sings, plays and accompanies with a sweet smoothness. Her original work is chillingly beautiful, and her covers of Rihanna, Kanye, and Taio Cruz are spot on lovely.
I haven’t seen or spoken with Sarah since she left Moorhead many years back, but I have a few thoughts from the time I spent around her. Sarah is completely devoted to music, and in days when venues were in basements of startup independent coffee shops, in the backs of bowling alleys, or in lounges of dormitories, she was there with her keyboard and her voice. She could charm an audience of one or twenty or fifty to a hundred, it didn’t matter, it was apparent that she just loved performing; and she did it so gently, so calmly, so warmly.
Come February I will see Sarah in Brooklyn when the band she’s touring with, WHY? comes to Williamsburg Music Hall. You can catch more of Sarah on her website, where you can download her sweet grooves, or her tumblr, where you hear more of her recordings (and see how much fun she’s having touring Europe).
Happiness is a day of wherever your feet take you, wrapped in solace and a sunset over the East River.
approximatelyes.com 