Alexa's Prologue

I always knew my roots would never grow deep in New York. It was like a boyfriend you dated for one swift summer, always aware that it wouldn’t be permanent because it was too dangerous and had no intentions of treating you the way you deserved to be treated. I liked the way people’s eyes burst when I said the words “New York.” It was the thing to do in your early 20s, the big, bad city. Everything up until my first day there told me so, and they never gave any bad advice on Sex and the City, right?

Like so many other fevered, underdeveloped dreams-turned-realities of life in New York City, mine began with a waitressing stint and a full-time internship. The internship, at a weekly newspaper in Queens, eventually transformed into a reporting job, devolving quickly into the polar plunge that was my welcome into the working world. Every task went unthanked, and nights and weekends were abandoned to attend an advertiser’s event at the sacrifice of true journalism. Stories that had the potential to bother an advertiser (i.e. anything revealing the seedy underbelly of major redevelopment projects, including those forcing businesses and long-term residents to relocate). Under the thumb of a ruthless mother and son publishing team, the tenured Editor-in-Chief bowed to their every whim. The phrase “what can I do?” will probably be engraved on this woman’s tombstone.

A string of bad luck throughout my formative years taught me to believe one, everlasting truth -- everything, even the worst experience/job/relationship imaginable, is worth it if you make it through having learned something. It means it wasn’t a waste.

While I survived with a newly formed sense of professional reality, I resigned in a mild-worded email. That doesn’t mean I didn’t hallucinate about the ultimate resignation letter.

“Dear Mrs. and Junior Employer,

I thank you greatly for the opportunity to work here over the past year and some odd months. It truly has been a lesson in humility, degradation and above all else, a blaring introduction into the professional world. Without your mistreatment, I truly wouldn’t know what it is to be an adult in 21st century America, and for that, I am forever indebted.

As a bright-eyed, albeit naive, 22-year-old, I didn’t know that the vast majority of those in power achieved their status because of greed. You didn’t battle your way to the top in a string of morally sound ventures. You crushed every tiny soul under your bloated vision of wealth and glory.

To quote a former co-worker who shall remain anonymous at the behest of retaining his position, “If you showed your employees a tenth of an iota of an ounce of the compassion you think you do, then you might have a chance at being the great humanitarian you think you are.” While many of your employees struggled to pay hospital bills, student loans and college tuitions, you dressed your infant son in a fur-lined sweater and purchased a million dollar penthouse overlooking the Manhattan skyline. You took advantage of people’s desperate situations during a desperate time. A French monarch did the same thing in the 18th century, and it didn’t turn out so well.

It doesn’t matter how many galas you throw, dressed in multicolored fur like the Cruella de Vil that you are, or how many times you use the word “fabulous” to describe everything from the underpaid staff who organize your events to the luxury automobile(s) you so generously slip under company expenses. You once “accidentally” referred to readers as “customers,” adjusting your mistake only after it had been pointed out to you. You would rather sell people the stories you and your advertisers want them to read than give people the real news. If a meaningful story makes its way past four layers of scrutiny, only then is it shoved to the back of the book. Poor people and minorities can’t pay for prime space, I guess.

Remember when you made the editor change the cover because there was someone of an ethnic minority on it?

Remember when you sent me to an event that wasn’t even happening, twice in one week?

I’d insert the Youtube link for Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way,” but figured it wasn’t worth inconveniencing one of your five assistants to help you open it. Basically, loving you is definitely not the right thing to do.

Hugs and Kisses,
Alexa

P.S. I know exactly how long it takes the art department to airbrush your neck.

I became a writer because I wanted to tell people’s untold stories, those of people who otherwise might not have a voice. Instead, my passion was tooled to help the wealthy become even wealthier.

So I left, choosing to preserve my principals over my paycheck. I owed the world more than well-written advertisements for expensive Catholic schools and home furnishings. Thankfully, with Alex expressing similar disinterest towards continuing a life in New York, the idea for the American Weirdness project came together seamlessly. We packed our earthly goods, said goodbye to some of the greatest co-workers/friends we had ever met and let our wanderlust take hold. We were born to run.

This post, and subsequently most of this blog, is dedicated to anyone who refuses to settle and anyone who grants themselves the experience of discovery.

Alex's Prologue

“We’ve got to get out while we’re young,

Because tramps like us, baby, we were born to run…”

-         Bruce Springsteen, “Born To Run”

In the past 26 years, my life so far has been a series of unexpected turns, chance encounters, and more than a few surprising detours. A stroke of good luck here, a minor decision having major consequences there, all of them brought me to where I am today. I also know I can say right now, without fear of contradiction, that Alexa’s life has followed a similarly varied path. Our idea of ditching our lives in New York City for a cross-country roadtrip should not be such a surprise for either of us.

It certainly didn’t faze our parents, who were all surprisingly enthusiastic and supportive, offering only the most practical of concerns and questions. Our closest friends, though they were saddened to hear that we were leaving, gave us nothing but encouragement, well-wishes, and even a few ideas. Our nearest and dearest mentors all said the same thing:

“This is the perfect time for you two to do this!”

From the moment Alexa and I started talking about our future as heads of a family unit, we happily agreed that we did not want to raise children in New York City. Neither of us wanted to be that poor sap, desperately attempting to calm our screaming toddler on the train, mouthing “sorry” to all the nearby straphangers shooting a collective death stare. We agreed we would be ready to relocate elsewhere, wherever that may be, within “three to five years.” Seemed like a fair estimate. After all, we both had steady full-time jobs and were getting established in our respective fields.

As soon as we thought we knew what our long-term plans would be, the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan. “Three to five years” rapidly evaporated into “when our lease is up next August” after several misadventures, including Alexa suffering an attempted carjacking in front of our own building in Long Island City. A mere two months later, right around the corner from our place, someone broke into our car, leaving behind our copies of Marquee Moon by Television and Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange but swiping my DVD  of Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator and a laptop charger. Whoever the thief was, the shithead at least had good taste in movies. (And I certainly hope they have been able to keep their laptop charged!)

Maybe it's also worth mentioning that in both instances, the authorities offered no help. Because - for some reason - Alexa didn't stick around long enough after her would-be assailant made a grab for her door handle, thus not seeing a weapon or hearing the man issue a verbal threat, the cops said the best they could do was record an incident of "attempted harassment." Not "attempted assault," not "attempted vehicular theft," not "scaring the shit out of a 23-year-old whose previous news beat included covering violent crimes." Attempted harassment. In the case of the theft, the cops didn't even show up in response to our call. While it can't be proven directly, we both suspected these half-assed responses were part of an initiative to keep crime stats in an "up and coming neighborhood" down. (We pay taxes for this?)

We cut our timetable even shorter when we both hit critical mass at our jobs. For me, it was a shortage of teaching opportunities for both paid and volunteer gigs, coupled with the soul-crushing drudgery of being chained to a cubicle from 9 to 5, answering the same stupid questions from the same stupid people through increasingly clenched teeth, and hoping no one decided to give me a shove on a cramped subway platform either to or from the office because I had made the mistake of being in their way.

For Alexa, it was even worse, with her job at a weekly publication in Queens wearing her down mentally, emotionally, and physically. Her situation at the paper in question could serve as the impetus for either a droll observational sitcom or a work of sheer terror, and one that I think may best be saved for her own words, of which she has many. (I’m serious – buy her a Jameson and ginger ale and just sit back!)

In short, we had both come out to New York City to pursue THE DREAM, because we had grown up thinking it was the only place to go if we wanted to make it big, like many people our age. In our short time in the professional world, we both received a good deal of maltreatment and abuse within it. For us, THE DREAM morphed, to crib from Wilfred Owen, into THE GREAT LIE, a world where our superiors regarded us as replaceable ants who should be grateful for the opportunity to even have a job, what with the economy being what it is, quit our bitching, keep our heads down, and hope we weren’t arbitrarily laid off. We concluded that in the universe where our corporate “greed is good” overlords were in charge, in order to get ahead, to get recognition, or simply to get that big break, one merely needed to abandon their principles.

Of course, we were having none of that. 

Us and our silly principles.

Though our experiences were different, we both ultimately shared the same grievance. At best, all we were doing was earning more money for our already wealthy bosses, without either of us ever seeing an extra penny in our paychecks. At worst, everything we did in the course of a week did nothing to better the lives of people in need. Witnessing people who have been dealt a shitty hand in life from the start, from my time working for the city’s 311 hotline to Alexa’s work at the newspaper, seeing the dramatic disparity in the quality of life where we lived brought out a strong urge in both of us to do something meaningful, something profound.

But what?

After considering several options, including trips to other parts of the world, we decided that we would go everywhere (yes, even Alaska), see as much of this country as we can, and then write about our experiences. Every part of the United States has its own unique history, cuisine, and culture. Each town, which from the outset is just part of a massive constellation of dots on a map, has its own story to tell. We want to document and share those stories with our readers. 

At the present time, our nation has become increasingly divided. Forgive my soap-boxing, but the "us vs. them" mentality that dominates our culture has become more destructive, sowing seeds of hatred rather than simply agreeing to differ on one's political viewpoints. One of my dearest coworkers at my boring office job was a hard-nosed Republican, and while we disagreed on a lot of policy issues, we could still ultimately agree that GoodFellas is one of the best movies ever made, and most importantly, he was a terrific friend. (We also shared a common disdain for Michael Bloomberg, and neither of us voted for Obama - Alexa and I both voted for Green Party candidate Jill Stein.)

As cheesy as it may sound, hopefully with our trip we can learn more about one another, recognizing our similarities while at the same time celebrating our differences.

Next stop: Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia!

Our Blogspot page will feature unedited content, more pictures, and extra entries. Additionally, I will be posting weekly updates on Woman Around Town, an entertainment website based out of NYC and DC, run by author Charlene Giannetti and publisher Debra Toppeta, that I have written for since 2010. My working title for the weekly column on WAT is The Scenic Route, with Alex & Alexa. A slightly different version of the above entry will be available soon on the site.