30.

I suppose I should change the domain name of this blog now.

If you told me at 20 where I'd end up at 30, I would have had to sit down and compose myself.

10 years. 10 years of firsts and lasts. Tears and disappointments. Triumphs and laughter. Births and deaths.

I lost 2 of my 4 grandparents when I was in my 20's. But I also welcomed 2 nephews, 1 niece, and 3 second cousins into the family.

I changed jobs 3 times. I moved twice. I got promoted twice.

I went to Paris and London. Then I went back to London. I've been to numerous places in the US, and have lived in 5 different states and a District.

I had 3 relationships end in my 20s...with the last one being the most difficult, emotional, gut-wrenching experience of my life thus far.

I've made bad choices, I've drank too much, I've stayed out too late. I've picked fights, I've been meek and timid, I've been strong and determined.

I've gone back to mass .. then stopped. Then started going again. I've prayed for numerous things. God has answered my prayers in interesting ways, in great ways, and in disappointing ways.

And, most importantly, I have built the most amazing network of friends and family in the known Universe. Throughout all of this, you were all there. You celebrated the good times and supported me during the bad times. I am a better person for knowing each and every one of you, and your spirit is what keeps me going when I need it the most. Even the ones I don't talk to anymore .. or the ones whose friendships did not end on the greatest terms. You all have taught me important life lessons that I'll never forget.

If my 20-year-old self could talk to my now-30-year-old self, she'd probably ask if there was anything she should do differently.

And I'd say no. No there isn't.

A Death in the Family, and Annoying Hipsters

They really, really annoyed me tonight.

On Tuesday evenings I get out of work ... *just* as some of the most annoying hipsters make their way to my Bedford L train stop. These are the super-loud, gray skinny-jean-clad, hammered-on-a-weeknight, beer-at-the-East-River-Boardwalk kind of hipsters. Many of them are from out of town, and the ones that aren't don't live in the neighborhood. Needless to say, it makes my walk home less than pleasant, especially since I am stone-cold sober and yearning for nothing but my couch.

Now, don't get me wrong, I've had my fair share of inebriation on a weeknight (I work in the news business, after all! Bar outings on off-hours are a rite of passage). But tonight...I just...wasn't in the mood.

This past week, I got one of those phone calls you *think* you can prepare for, but once it rolls around, you're never really ready for it. My grandfather - my mom's dad, who was my last surviving grandparent - died suddenly from a one-two punch of pneumonia and weak vascular system. He was the grandpa who was the World War Two hero, who won a Bronze Star, yet never talked about it. He was the grandpa who taught me the guitar and always put my first name in quotes on my birthday and Christmas cards. He was the guy who was a dapper dresser well into his 90s, and worked two jobs to provide for his family. Sadly, he was also the hard-headed Italian who didn't believe that women should get much of an education (with all of the great things about my grandfather that I remember fondly, it's important not to forget the flaws, either).

So, as I passed the skinny revelry of the hipster crowd, I wondered what Pasquale Guidice would think about all of this. He did, after all, grow up in my neighborhood, and still remembered all the distinctive landmarks nearly 100 years later. But a lot has changed in a century.

Father Cook, a family friend who delivered the sermon during my grandpa's funeral, was in awe of his service to his country at a young age, and proudly called him a member of the "Greatest Generation." Father Cook mentioned that my grandfather was relatively modest about his service, and spent his Postwar years working hard, preserving his integrity and realizing that he was a part of a larger community - the "greater good." Part of my impatience with the hipster crowd is just that - I'm not sure many of them would do what my grandfather's generation did. I'm not sure they'd voluntarily sign up for military service, as the world was crumbling around them. I doubt that many of them would be modest about what they *have* accomplished, and would keep their complaints about the hard times in perspective. But then again...would I? Do I? Is it a symptom of my generation? Do we *expect* too much? Do we take things for granted?

And, most importantly, do we forget that integrity and honesty are the two most important traits to uphold? Do we lose sight of the "greater good?"

In my more cynical moments, I tend to think so. I've met a handful people over the years, hipster and otherwise, who are shallow. Devoid of honor. Selfish. Manipulative. Hurtful. And yes, even amoral. I'm not perfect by any means, but there are a lot of marginal people out there in the world.

But, then again, there are those people who have hearts of gold. Ones who always check up on others. Ones who are always thinking about others. Ones who reached out to folks they didn't even know after Sandy. People who are just trying to work hard and provide for their families.

Will we ever be the next "Greatest Generation?" Honestly...probably not. But if we just stick to the important stuff, we might be a close second.

Rest peacefully and soundly, Poppi. And hipsters...just, walk a little faster, will ya?

Austerity Measures

"Money's a real pain in the ass." -David Nath, circa 2010

///

I was pretty lucky to not have to worry about money growing up.  Even in college, when tuition was ridiculous and everyone was talking about work-study and FAFSA forms, I got off scott-free. I still feel a little embarrassed that it was relatively easy for me, and I remember silently telling some of my friends who asked me about how to fill out student loan forms that, "erm....I'm actually...not on financial aid."

Well, as many things do in life, it caught up to me.

When I moved to New York in 2008, I don't think I ever had a grasp of how expensive things can be. Especially in Manhattan, where the average rent is now hovering around 3,200 dollars per month. Only hedgefund managers or celebrities can afford certain neighborhoods in Tribeca these days. And the food? As great as it is, a lesser person would faint at the sight of a normal lunch bill in Midtown.

So, like many other New Yorkers, I learned my lesson and moved to an outer borough. I was done living in a shoebox and hyperventilating whenever the check came. I needed a sudden jolt of reality. And more space. Oh, yeah, and Dave. :)

But...I was still running into some major financial issues, and living essentially paycheck to paycheck. It seemed to me as if it happened "all of a sudden," but once I crunched the numbers, I realized just how lean my wallet had become. More embarrassingly, the reason my situation didn't seem as dire in Manhattan was because I was still charging many of my purchases on my parents' joint American Express card. Clothes, yoga classes, cabs and other "luxuries" went on it, and at the time I wasn't too ashamed about it. But eventually, in an attempt to legitimize myself as an actual, self-sufficient twenty-something, I let my card expire and have now been living completely unassisted for about a year and a half. All the same stuff, all on my own dime. Add in rent, plus evenings out, plus clothes, plus yoga and S Factor .. and something had to give.

Ok, ok, I know what you're thinking: "I totally don't feel sorry for you! You had it really great for such a long time and shouldn't be complaining! You're almost as bad as the rest of those privileged 20-somethings you criticize all the time!"

And you know what? You're absolutely right.

This is something that's been long overdue for me for a number of reasons: one, I'm not that organized, two, sometimes I deny the existence of my problems and think they'll just "go away" on their own, and three, I was educated badly with regards to finances.

Did anyone who wasn't an Economics or Finance major in college ever take an entry-level course that actually made sense? Of course not. Chances are, you took Macroeconomics and studied the supply and demand of some made-up widget company, then applied those principles to the GDP of Europe...or the US...or China .. or... whatever. There was no class on "how to balance your checkbook" or, "how you piss away money every month if you have credit card debt." Since my parents are also not the most organized people in the world (runs in the family...except for my brother, who's so organized he must be an adopted mutant), they never really taught me much about it until I opened up my own checking account at the West Hartford Bank of America in 2006. And even then, I'm sorry to say, I didn't know much about credit cards and debt. The only thing I knew was to keep my "credit score" low. But even that was an abstract hypothetical I pledged would never happen to me.

So now, with the help of two VERY organized people, I have this thing called a "budget." And, supposedly, if I stick to it, I can obliterate my credit card debt in several months. But I got to stick to it.

That's right, fellow 20-somethings. This is a really, really important point for all of us: we gotta stick to it. If we want to reach our 30s with any shred of integrity or self-control, in finances, careers, or just...life.. we can't give up or give in. If we keep at it, we'll be better equipped to handle the real big-ticket items, like marriage and kids and buying property and all that. Those privileged 20-somethings living on trust funds, rent-free in the same outer borough I call home? It'll catch up to them eventually. 

Just as long as I keep crunching the numbers, they should add up.

Piazza Folklore, Father's Day Edition

I feel sorry for those people who feel embarrassed by members of their family.

Remember how I said Baby Boomers were responsible for many of our current societal flaws? Well, that's mainly true...but much like the Twist, hippie twirls, acid trips, wife-swapping, and the Hustle, Baby Boomers can also inject a whole lotta fun into the world.

Case in point: parenting strategies. I'm sure previous generations had "kooky," "zany" or "off-the-wall" antics performed by adults, but only the Baby Boomers were able to take it into the mainstream. Stories about my grandmother were legendary, but stories about my mom's past, present and future? Let's just say I have enough material for an anthology.

There was a time in my angst-riddled teenage years where I found Mom's spontaneous singing and dancing...and Dad's oddball sayings and mannerisms embarrassing. But as I have meandered through my 20s, these moments remind me of a relatively happy childhood where I completely understand why I am the way that I am.


In honor of Father's Day, and of Baby Boomer parents everywhere, I give you John Piazza's Greatest Hits (or, the hits I can remember at least).


Potent Quotables:


"Joy, there's only one lesson you gotta remember. No one likes crazy people."
-circa 1999


"Listen. If it's not chocolate, it's not dessert. I'm not going to Pinkberry."
-circa 2009, after telling Dad Pinkberry didn't make a chocolate flavor


Dad: I don't understand Yanni's popularity.
Mom: Well I heard somewhere some fans of his like...thinks he has the power to heal. They listen to his music and are cured of diseases and stuff.
Dad: Oh, great. It's nice to know God has come back in the form of a bad piano player.


"Oooh. Flounder!"
-Repeatedly mimicking a kid in some Mrs. Dash commercial, circa 2002


Anecdotes:


Circa 1994: The Piazzas take a trip to California to visit the West Coast relatives. At San Francisco International Airport, Dad tries to find the rental car drop-off area. After driving once....twice...THREE TIMES around the ENTIRE TERMINAL, things get desperate:


Mom: John, we're miles from Hertz!
Dad: Shhhh hold on! I think I found it.


(sharp right turn)


Dad: Look! There's someone! I should tell him I'm a Preferred Customer because then we get the discount.


(speeds up to about 50 miles per hour, slows down within 5 feet of random airport worker - NOT Hertz worker - at a parking lot gate)


Mom: Is this Hertz?
Dad: Yes, Marilyn! One second.


(pulls over to random employee)


Dad: Excuse me? Excuse me? I have a car! I'M PREFERRED!


Circa January 1997: The Piazzas are on the USAir (or, "Useless Air") flight from LaGuardia Airport to Piedmont Triad International Airport. Upon boarding, Mom realizes the four of us aren't sitting together.


Mom: John, you didn't book these seats together?
Dad: (pause). No...
Mom: You booked last-minute, didn't you?
Dad: No...not really. I did this on purpose.
Mom: Oh, really? And why is that?
Dad: Well...this way....we all have an aisle seat. We'll all be more comfortable!

March 2005, on I-95 near Cape Canaveral, Florida

Me: Did we just pass another Denny's?

Dad: Yeah. We did! There's been a Denny's at every exit since Jacksonville.

Me: Wow.

Dad: Yeah. People here sure like their Denny's. Is it the sun? Or is it Florida?

June 2005 in Fort Lauderdale, Florida

(After the first tropical storm of the season. Dad knocks on the door to my apartment.)

Me: (opens door) Hey Dad!

Dad: (leaning on doorframe, drenched, with 30 MPH winds and rain behind him). I want you to remember this moment...and remember that I loved you enough to fly through a Monsoon to help you with the drive back home.


Circa 2009, at the Piazza Manhattan digs.


Mom (to me): Honey, do you want to see a movie tomorrow?
Me: Yeah! Maybe the new one with Robert DeNiro? A 7 o'clock show?
Mom: John, you wanna join us here?
Dad (staring at the TV): I have my show at 9 tomorrow. Gotta be home for Moonlight.

Circa 2010, at same apartment.

Dad: Joy! I wanna play you something.
Me: Yeah?
Dad (sits down at piano, plays lounge-ified version of "Take Five"): Pretty good, huh?
Me: Um, yeah! You're timing is a little off and too loungey..
Dad: What? I'm great! I'm getting better. I've really hit a breakthrough. I could take this on the road. "Traveling businessman!" (snaps fingers).

Great album covers in R&B history

This post is long, long overdue, mainly because I think about this topic often.

One of the plights of our generation and the consequences of instant information is that the concept of the "album cover" doesn't really exist. Back in the Baby Boomer days of LP vinyl, the cover was a big part of the musical experience. An album cover could tell a story, convey a meaning, or simply show off an artist's talent, sexual desires or physique. I would argue that it's one of few yet important things our parents' generation has given us that we have made worse (but, my friends, that is another post for another time).

Since I have been collecting records, I've come to appreciate a well done album cover. Of course, you have your classics (The White Album, Abbey Road, Dark Side of the Moon, The Stranger, Songs in the Key of Life, etc.), but sometimes the obscure and the obscene resonate the most. It's a crapshoot as to whether the songs on the offbeat covers are superior (even though, in most cases, they're not). But I think they are just as worthy in a collection than the obvious choices. After fanning through my own collection, records or otherwise, I've compiled a little list of my own favorites from my favorite genre, 1960's and 1970's R&B. What's the point of all of this? That, again, is another post for another time. :)

Veiled Sexuality, i.e. "Hey Baby, I Got What You Need"

Barry White's 1973 masterpiece leaves certain things to the imagination, but not much. His intention is pretty clear in this one - despite the fact he's oribiting space. This is the album containing White's epic 8-minute version of "Never, Never Gonna Give You Up." The best part about the long version? If you listen closely, at the very end of the track, someone in the studio screams, "whoo!" - as if the song is so powerful and so sexy, there's no recourse but to let it all out. Orgasmic? You betcha.

Let's also not forget Tom Brock, White's protege whose "There's Nothing in This World That Can Stop Me From Loving You" flew undetected in the mid-1970s...that is, until Jay-Z used a sample for "Girls, Girls, Girls:"

You can tell these guys had similar approaches with their look, their sound, and...their, erm, whoopee.

Overt Sexuality, i.e., Blame the Sexual Revolution

There's one pretty dated, pretty disturbing and pretty consistent theme to the album covers above and the ones below: women as objects. Whereas the ones above portray women as things a man has to "woo," 'impress" or "catch," the below ones treat women as prey. To our credit, women were able to parlay this objectification into equal rights, somewhat equal pay and a generation-long conversation about breaking down traditional gender roles. But if these album covers proved to be the fallout...well...at least we know how we got from this to "Girls Gone Wild."

The largest offenders? The Ohio Players. I've never bought one of their records due to principle, and I'm not quite sure I ever will. Let me show you what I mean:

I think you guys get the idea.

It makes me wonder: what was the real impetus behind these album covers? History would have us believe it was one more defiant act promoting sexual liberation, but if I had to pick the brain of any one of the Ohio Players, I bet they would tell me, "because they were hot, and we wanted to sell a lot of records." According to album cover folklore, the model in the "Honey" cover actually got STUCK TO THE FLOOR during the photo shoot.

Although, before you people write me off as some angry post-Steinem neo-feminist, these don't necessarily make me want to cover them up a-la Two Virgins. If you forget one second about the present, the future, the band's true intent or the fact that people were frequenting places like Plato's Retreat, I have a sneaking suspicion these women would say they agreed to it because it made them feel empowered and sexy....as if their mere presence could stop a man in his tracks and drive him wild with desire. It's much like the euphoric, invincible feeling professional strippers say they achieve when dancing (or so I've heard).

Plays on Words

This was a trend first discovered by my friend Elaine, and since then I've found a couple examples myself. It's a clever way to sell albums, and the covers themselves are so dated, they're laughable.

The Symbolic

Like that famous Dan Brown novel, when something might seem simple or commonplace on the surface, chances are it might represent something entirely different. Such is the case, I argue, with some R&B album covers. As complex as the St. Sulpice or the New Testament, one wonders what could possibly be the message behind Earth, Wind and Fire's succession of symbolic and cosmic covers:

ADDED BONUS: Inside/liner notes of I am:

Someone on an R&B message board theorized that the band was part of some Black Egyptian freemasonic order. Maybe so....but if their lyrics for "Spirit" is any indication, they were pretty big hippies: "Many years has passed and a day still we walk/in a path that leads to the light/shining down on this great beyond/thoughts ignite us, let love unite us."

Look at me!

And what kind of collection would be complete without those artists that put themselves in sexy, funny, or different settings? Isaac Hayes, I'm talking to you:

And while we're on the subject...Parliament Funkadelic, you have some 'splainin' to do:

Well, there you have it. A wonderfully hot, awesomely irreverent and fabulously colorful collection of funk and R&B album covers that never fail to put a smile on my face. The next time you stare at that little box on your iPod that's supposed to show you the album cover for a certain song, at least you'll be able to appreciate how much better it would look as an LP.

Year One

365 days ago, my life changed.



Yeah, I know. That sounds really melodramatic. But, it's true. Exactly one year ago, September 28th, I packed up my boxy, red Volvo and, with two friends in the backseat, drove the 2 and a half hours from West Hartford, Connecticut to New York City. I knew when I was doing it that it would me a major and permanent life change, and I knew I would never actively seek out Connecticut as a "place to live" again. Living in Hartford taught me a lot about myself, but living in New York is making me reexamine myself. I want to be the best I can possibly be, whereas in Hartford I was coasting along and expecting any self-realization to come easy and quickly. As a fellow 20-something, it's tough to know the difference between the two, but, in the past 12 months, I think I've figured it out (to some extent at least).


So, here's what I've learned, what I've observed, and what I still need to work on. Hopefully you'll either, laugh, cry, nod in agreement, or scream, "WOW! Thank you for saying that! I totally agree!"


The Dream:

According to those who know me the best (parents, brother, best friends), I was never a "country girl," despite growing up in the southeast. I rejected a lot of aspects about living in North Carolina, mainly because the roots my family had in the New York area were just ... better. Thrilling. Exciting. Sexy. Always changing and never stagnant. One time, when I was in high school, I was trying to get to a cast party held at our theater teacher's house. She lived in Lewisville, North Carolina, the middle of nowhere, off of a long country road that wasn't really labeled too well. I had the directions in my hand (this was before GPS, iPhones, Google, etc), and was listening to my favorite Jamiroquai CD when I got abysmally lost. Like, not just "took a wrong turn" - I ended up in a different county. Once I saw that "Welcome to Davie County" sign, I called the house.



"Hey Joy!" One of my friends/fellow cast members answered.


"Hey, so I'm lost. I can't find the friggin' street sign! There are no streetlights! I think I ended up in Davie County...."


A pause.



"Umm...hold on. Here's Mrs. Lawson." As the phone changed hands, I heard my friend (let's call her "Lorey," because she was, in fact, Lorey in the show) say, "Joy got lost guys! She says she can't find the street sign!"


Another girl (we'll call her, Dancer 1) then says, "Joy can't do country roads I guess!"



Then "Lorey" says, "actually, Joy can't do country anything!"


I heard this story retold when I finally got there. I laughed pretty hard, then nodded in agreement.


The Reality:

It took me until September 28, 2008 to make the "dream" a "reality." I put that in quotes because there were times where moving to New York wasn't my Ultimate Dream. For instance, when I lived in New York for three months in 2005, I hated it. I had little to no friends in town, and (rightfully so) missed Joe, who was doing an internship in Boston that summer. But, then again, I was only there for three months, and I never anticipated having to "work" at it. Because, let's face it, if you have a goal, why would you need to work to make it right? Doesn't it just happen automatically? Well, in my world, I thought so, but after graduating and living in a fairly marginal city for two years, all those old feelings I had ever since I was 4 started to creep up again.


I had a feeling I really bored people around that time. It was all I was talking about for at least three months. I would lament about my current situation to anyone that would listen, over the phone, gchat, or any other means of communication. I would often begin sentences with, "when I move to New York, I'm going to shop at one of those specialty grocery stores instead of a big supermarket, and the clerk is going to know me on a first name basis and we're going to have this great relationship where he says, 'hey Joy! The usual this morning?' then I would say, 'Yeah Vinnie! Add some proscuitto to that, too!'"


As I look back on this time in my life, I am realizing two really important things: One, I am extremely impatient. That is, more than likely, a product of my chosen field and my bona fide, 20-something, short attention span. Secondly, for whatever the reason, I have this tendency to build up walls and control everything around me. In other words, I am a hopeless perfectionist. So whenever I would have romantic thoughts about my life and about living in New York, I knew I would have to will them to come true. Yes, I, Joy Piazza, am tempting fate, God and destiny by HAVING REALLY LARGE CAJONES AND DOING IT MYSELF! HA!


Oops. Someone forgot to tell me about how messy things can be.


I wasn't expecting the dissolve of contact from some people I left behind. I didn't bank on the feelings of "now what?" I was suddenly confronting after I sold that red Volvo. And I certainly didn't expect the loneliness.


Because perfectionists don't get lonely, right?


It's tough when you are forced to look at youself in the mirror and accept who you are. I never got a chance to do that before, because there was always a part of me attached to someone, or something, or some "dream" I needed to attain.


And in a loud, annoying, crowded city of eight million people, I think I'm getting a little closer. Whatever is waiting out there for me - whether it's an Executive Producer job, a brownstone on the Upper East Side, or a split level in Great Neck, I think I'll be ready. It might take me a while, and I might have to be (gasp!) patient...but when my "destiny" comes along, I think I'll know it. Do I have things to work on? Sure. I'm in my 20s. What the hell do I know?


But, then again, the best anyone can do is to take a deep breath, pack up the car, and drive.

The Rumor is true! The Party is back!

Yes, I know. How very "20-something" of me to leave a blog dormant for nearly a year, only to come back to it again thanks to a spark of creativity and a moment of unoccupied time! As I chalk this one up to "short attention span," "bad hours at work" (see upcoming post) and "OMG, I live in New York!" feelings, I do, interestingly enough, have a lot to say. Stay Tuned.


(PS: If anyone from Winston-Salem can pinpoint what popular local nightclub used the title of this post as a billboard slogan, you get a cookie from me!)