Rabbit Rabbit #1: A Rabbit Grows in Brooklyn
11/1/2022
First of all, happy birthday to Toni Collette: cinema’s best, brightest, and the foundation of my entire personality in 2020. More on her – and the Australian film canon as a whole – at some point in the coming months.
Welcome to Rabbit Rabbit, the world’s first newsletter. I cannot believe I thought of it! We definitely need more 20-something creatives living in major cultural hubs to do this. Our voices need to be heard.
The backstory: Apparently, as a baby, I scrunched up my nose a lot so my parents nicknamed me Bunny K. Rabbit and it stuck. Although, it has since been shortened to the likes of Bunny, Rabby, Bun-Bun, etc. I was born on the first of August, one of the twelve days in a year when one is supposed to say, “Rabbit Rabbit” to prophesize four weeks of good luck. If you haven't said it yet, hurry!!!
I was too lazy (see: intimidated) to start my newsletter until after I moved to New York City because I… needed a change of scenery? I literally don’t know. But I moved into a two-bedroom apartment in Bushwick just over a month ago, and it feels as though both nothing and everything have happened. I’ll find myself awake at night, surveying my time here so far, thinking, Wait, what have I even done everyday? Was it nothing all along?
For the first two weeks, the answer was: Call National Grid six million times.
Guess what? Moving here doesn’t come with an instructional manual and it’s sooo bogus. I had no hot water or cooking gas for the first two weeks and it wasn’t my fault. I followed Daniel, the Verizon technician who installed my WiFi, around my building for half an hour before he had to tell me to “take it easy” and that he “does this multiple times a day”. Now, a month and a half in, my days are more like this: I work at an East Village chai shop, I meet a friend for dinner, I read (a.k.a. selfishly think about writing), I clean, I clean, I clean. I rest.
It often worries me that I thrive on routine because that’s what children do. I am 22 and thus NOT a child. I want to act/write/do comedy and also be someone’s assistant because I am highly adept at making reservations. These building blocks of a career in entertainment do not necessitate a routine, but rather flexibility, stamina, and buckets of energy. You know, the recipe for the twenty-something hustle. That I am ready for! I make conscious choices to feel good every single day. I get eight, sometimes nine, hours of sleep every night. I don’t drink often. I’ve managed to avoid any sort of dependence on caffeine. But I can’t tell which of these choices are preventing me from having more of a Good Time.
My instinct to many social activities is to say no, an anxiety-based habit I am working on. I am someone who enjoys an above-average amount of alone time because I focus more without the distraction of other people. But other people are also the best invention ever. For example, my friend Jessica and I recently spent a Sunday afternoon in Williamsburg, and it was the giddiest I’d felt in awhile. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year and impulse-bought matching rings. At one point we said, “shoe markeeet” in the same monotone voice at the same time upon entering a local shoe store and promptly died of laughter. I later thought, so this is why they tell you to seek friends that make you feel good about yourself.
I guess what I’m saying is I would like to cultivate more of a balance between work, play, and maintenance of a fully-functional self. To say “yes” to an evening out and then daydream the opposite decision (e.g. showering and staying in and watching Girls with my roommate) is no fun. There are so many decisions to be made, e.g. sweet or savory breakfast. Turns out, you can just have both! Pancake with a side of one egg. I need to remember that there are more days than just this one, and some will inevitably be better or more productive than others.
I don’t know how long it will take to call New York home. I’ve taken the on-paper steps, like finding “my” grocery store/dentist/salon/eyebrow waxing place. But when the word “home” comes to mind, I still see my parents’ house in Massachusetts. My dogs and steep driveway are there and also all of my friends’ parents’ houses.
Living here demands endurance. For example, I did standup last night (brag) even though I was nervous/tired/hungry, but ended up having fun. Some guy a few acts after me called back to me as “the chai girl,” which was embarrassing yet affirming. I exist, I am memorable, and sometimes I am a very funny bunny.
