Monthly Archives: March 2012

Young Man Went West #38: HNL to OAK, SFO to JFK

And so it’s official: we have tickets.

We bought our first set of tickets–Hawaii to California–a couple weeks ago one lazy morning from my kitchen table. That wasn’t a hard decision; we needed tickets to California for my cousin Jen’s wedding anyway, so we knew we had to jump on the cheapest ones we could find. Buying one-ways gave us the ability to back out of our New York plans and return to Hawaii after the wedding.

Not that we thought we would.

6 June 2012: Honolulu International Airport –> Oakland International Airport

The more daunting decision came later. After trying to plan out what we’d need to do when we got to New York, it became apparent that everything hinged on our arrival date. We couldn’t set anything into motion until we settle that date first. So, while studying (read: eating lunch near our books and laptops) at one of Jenn’s favorite restaurants, town, Jenn started browsing the Internet for tickets from the Bay Area to New York. Much to our surprise, we found some for under $200 each. Great deal, right? We had to jump on it.

As we were filling out the plethora of information forms needed to fly through the air, it slowly dawned on us: this is it. This is the start of the Big Move. Our one-ways to California allowed us to chicken out of those plans, but buying this second set of tickets meant there was no turning back. . . without paying cancellation fees. A second before hitting “Purchase,” I paused. We looked at each other and attempted to contemplate the gravity of the decision, but laughed it off and I clicked the button.

20 June 2012: San Francisco International Airport –> John F. Kennedy International Airport

Now that the date is set, we can start contacting landlords about apartments, employers about job prospects, and friends about meeting up (and crashing on couches). Now that the date is set, we can also start planning what to do and who to see in the Bay Area for those two weeks. Now that the date is set, we can actually count down how long we have left on this island to say goodbye.

We’re ready for this move. Are you?

Aloha, New York.

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Young Man Went West #37: I’d Have Gone Anyway, a guest post by Jennifer Bautista

Since I was too lazy to come up with another post, I asked (read: begged) my girlfriend to do a guest post. It turned out much better than anything I could have thrown together this week. – AR

My obsession with New York began when I was twelve – that awkward age at which you first start to consciously define yourself. I blame this obsession on all the Law and Order I used to watch as a child. As someone who grew up in Hawaii, I felt unique knowing so much about such a vast, distant city (all the way on the East Coast!). Most of my classmates had never been there, much less had the ability to rattle off random details about it, such as the No Right Turn On Red rule or the fact that New Yorkers say “standing on line” instead of “standing in line.” For years I carried a map of Manhattan in my pocket, memorized the street names on my free time, and even designated a dream apartment (820 Fifth Avenue). Much to the shock of my family and friends, this obsession did not take me to New York for college; instead, I ended up spending my four years in Portland, which only confirmed my suspicions that I really needed to move to the City at some point in my life.

Like any typical recent college graduate, I had been encouraged to either enter the workforce as a useful member of society (apparently I had just been taking up space before) or to immediately continue on to graduate school. Uninterested in starting a professional career and burnt out from school for the time being, I spent a month in Southeast Asia instead. I road tripped up-and-down the U.S. west coast.  I played tour guide to two of my best friends who visited me in Hawaii. These temporary activities distracted me from the lack of specific future plans I had for the upcoming year. Besides living back home in Hawaii and applying to both the Fulbright Scholarship to teach English in Korea and to grad schools in New York to study urban planning, I had no idea what to do with myself. I reluctantly applied to jobs for which I felt overqualified, while feeling extremely nostalgic for my college friends, Portland coffeeshops, and that general feeling of productivity that I felt at Reed.

Bored and nearly broke, I hatched a plan: join OkCupid, that free dating site that was so popular in Portland, and go on a string of first dates. Lots of free meals and cheap entertainment to pass the time – what a perfect way to try new restaurants! Since I had just created a restaurant blog a few weeks ago, trying new restaurants around Hawaii had become one of my new favorite hobbies. It wasn’t until later that I noticed how much my string-of-first-dates plan seemed to be taken straight out of a bad romantic comedy.

My plan began to unfold smoothly. I was having fun creating my profile and taking the personality quizzes the site uses to match you to potential dates. I described myself in the most pretentious way possible by immediately discussing my senior thesis about the perpetuation of inequalities in the public school system, and I made sure to only upload photos in which my face was covered by a hat and my body hidden under modest attire. I figured this would be the most efficient way to avoid spending a first date with someone who was a complete imbecile and would waste my night with non-intellectually-entertaining conversation, or someone who only cared about looks and would just make me feel uncomfortable the entire night.

Since online dating sites lay out everything about each user in front of you, they allow you to be superficially picky about every little aspect about a person. Thus, I immediately ruled out any non-Atheist/Agnostic, anyone who was not college-educated, who was under the age of 21 or over 28, and who was over 5’7”. I had been on the site for only a couple of days, and my inbox was already full of messages from the typical idiots and creeps I had so painstakingly tried to avoid. So much for my plan to sit back and let my filtering method magically bring only desirable potential dates. Not all messages came from idiots or creeps; some actually seemed quite promising. I even responded to a few, one of which came from a Berkeley grad who, according to OkCupid, was an 86% match for me.

The message was brief, but from those two sentences it was clear that “Berkeley” had taken the time to read my entire profile, as he referred to four things that were the keys to my heart (or at least to a first date): social constructions, trying new restaurants, foreign films, and my thesis. Even more exciting, he made it clear that he was interested in meeting up for dinner.

Who was this guy? I looked at his profile and recalled why I had initially written him off while previously browsing it. Although the depiction of himself was appealing (he was obviously smart, honest, and had a sense of humor), one glaring thing stuck out and had led to my immediate dismissal of him: he was too tall for me. He was 5’9”, a whole two inches taller than my height limit allowed.

But our messaging was going so well! I convinced myself that it was only a date – why was I so picky about his height for a one night event anyway?

After a few more online exchanges, I eagerly sent him a list of restaurant options (as well as links to their menus) for our date, and we made plans to meet the very next evening. Operation String of First Dates – ready for takeoff!

We met at Formaggio’s, a wine bar and restaurant in Kapahulu. I was glad he had chosen this restaurant because I was familiar with the area and had a friend who bartended there; if the date went poorly I had some escape options up my sleeve. I was pretty confident; I’d been on first dates before and, while they almost never turned into anything serious, they’d usually been pleasant because I enjoy attracting people for short periods of time, and I always get a free meal out of them. I expected tonight to be no different.

I arrived at the restaurant at exactly 8 pm and spotted a man in a white button-up shirt sitting at a table facing the door near the entrance. He certainly looked like the guy from the photos but was cuter in real life. Just to make sure, I asked, “Anthony?” It was him! Yup, he’s much cuter in real life. He stood up, shook my hand and hugged me awkwardly. Great, now everyone in the restaurant knows we’re on a first date.

Conversation flowed smoothly. It helped that we already knew basic facts about each other; now we could actually dig deeper. A lot deeper. In fact, we stayed at Formaggio’s for over three hours, discussing his road trip, my aspiration to study urban planning, our hero Anthony Bourdain, love for New York, shared interest in photography, and eerily coinciding plans to teach English in Korea. His English teaching plans were more up in the air as he hadn’t begun the EPIK application yet, whereas I had turned in my Fulbright application a few weeks ago. Apparently I felt so comfortable with him that, by the time our entrées arrived, I confessed to him that I had applied to teach English in Korea mainly because I wanted to live abroad, not because I was interested in teaching.

I was enjoying the date too much. He was a good listener, made me laugh, didn’t just blindly agree with every eccentric opinion I decided to divulge, and had that rare ability to laugh at himself. I knew even before we agreed that we were too full for dessert that I didn’t want this to be my last date with him.

I was certain he felt the same way until something happened that really made me question whether or not my life had somehow turned into a romantic comedy. When Anthony tried to pay for our check, our waiter solemnly returned and informed him that his card had been declined. Anthony tried another card, but apparently plastic just wasn’t working for him that night. He found some cash in his wallet which covered about half of our meal but had to ask me to help pay for the rest.

Just my luck. I try to date for the free meals and end up paying for my own on the very first one. I was so amused by the irony of my situation that I couldn’t have cared less about paying (trust me, $40 for a three-hour dinner with this guy was completely worth it), and my only fear was that he felt too embarrassed to ask me out to another date.

When I got home after our short post-dinner stroll, during which I gleefully decided that he didn’t seem too tall for me after all, I told myself I’d give him four days to contact me again; if he doesn’t, then I’d go back onto the site and reluctantly continue my string of first dates. Much to my relief, about half an hour after we said good night to each other, he called to ask me out for a second date later that week.

Operation String of First Dates had been officially terminated.

Five and a half months later, Anthony and I returned to Formaggio’s for the first time to celebrate Valentine’s Day, which we celebrated on the 16th because being a repulsively mushy couple on the actual day would have been too cheesy for us. Although we were sitting at almost the exact same spot as on our first date, we were both in a completely different place than when we had first met in September. It’s hard to believe that only a little while ago we had once been complete strangers and were now almost inseparable.

It had already been over two months since we decided to move to New York together. In December, around the time grad school applications were due, I finally admitted to myself what I didn’t want to believe: I was using grad school as an excuse to move to New York. Knowing Anthony wanted to move to New York with me if I got into grad school, I asked him if he’d come with me even if I wasn’t a student there. Apparently New York had really worked its way into his heart during his road trip, because, without any hesitation, he said yes.

In June we’ll be moving to New York, not because I’m heading off to grad school, but because, for the first time, I am finally doing everything I can to fulfill my dream, and the 5’9” guy I love is coming with me.

You can find more of Jenn’s writing at her own blog: self-indulging in hawaii

Jennifer Bautista, guest writer

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Young Man Went West #36: Not If, But When

Relocating to my new apartment was a lot quicker than I thought it would be. I packed only a few bags last Wednesday night and–by Thursday afternoon–was completely moved into my new place. I had prepared for a slow, week-long process, but my girlfriend, two cousins, and a close friend each helped me pack everything into three separate cars and haul it over. I managed to vacuum my former room and relinquish my old key before sundown.

If you can describe a person by the company they keep, I must be freaking awesome. Finding people to help you move is stereotypically a difficult task, so I felt quite fortunate to have four people each show up with a car to help me that day. Thank you, Jenn, Ellis, Brad, and Mick. You all make me look good.

Though I still have random bags and boxes strewn about my new empty living room, I’m more or less settled in. My DVD collection is already shelved and alphabetized on a shelf next to my TV. Priorities, right? I was supposed to share the place with three other people, but now it’s only two–a brother and sister–and they’re both pretty cool. I’ve already had more conversations with them than I did in total with my last roommate. It helps that one of them is my coworker; we always have something to talk about. I am more than confident that this living situation will last until June, when our lease ends and they both move back to Florida.

In about four months, I will have to move again. That got me thinking, why not make that move our big move to New York?

Jenn came to that same query on her own. One day, while discussing my new place, she asked, “Why did you choose September as the month we’d move to New York?” Possibly an unrelated question, but I knew we were on the same page. The main reason I chose September was because I moved to Hawaii on September 16, 2009, and I wanted to make three full years. That’s it. I like round numbers.

The more I thought about moving sooner, the more it made sense. So, as follows, here is a list of the PROS and CONS of leaving for New York in June, rather than September (don’t judge, you know you love lists!):

PRO I wouldn’t have to find some place to live for three months in Hawaii. Since my lease is up at the end of June, I would have to either find a place to rent month-to-month (difficult) or crash at somebody’s place (completely inconvenient).

CON I’d have less time to save up for the move. I saved up $500 a month for the roadtrip, so I know it’s a tangible goal. Leaving early would mean less time to save, however. . .

PRO I’m already flying to the mainland for my cousin’s wedding in June. I might as well stay, then take off for New York from there. It would save me one or two flights, which could have very well taken three months to save up for in the first place.

CON I’d have to leave my Hawaii friends and family sooner than I’d planned. 

PRO I’d get to start making New York friends sooner than I’d planned.

CON I’m not looking forward to East Coast humidity. I’ve been there before. It wasn’t pleasant.

PRO At the start of summer, students will be vacating apartments. Perfect time for me to slip in.

PRO At the start of summer, restaurants will be hiring more. That will make it even easier to transfer to the Times Square Bubba Gump’s.

PRO I can spend some leisurely time in California before heading off to New York. I will have the proper time to show Jenn around my neck of the woods and not have to squeeze in Bay Area sight-seeing before and after the wedding.

PRO WE WILL BE IN NEW YORK SOONER! (That one came straight from Jenn.)

. . .

You may have noticed I ran out of CONS. The final count is seven For, three Against. Lists don’t lie, so I guess you can expect Young Man Went East by summertime.

This is the view from my new back lanai (patio). Jenn and I both think it looks like Southeast Asia.

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