Self-Aggrandizement: Jess Archives

Four
Filed June 20, 2010 11:23 PM.

A bit more than four years back, I got a message on Friendster (a Facebook predecessor that was both cooler and far less cool, all at once) from a girl named Jess. The message was long and rambling and said that she didn't really write this sort of email (as cliche as she knew that sounded), but that I kept showing up on her home page as part of the 'singles near you' feature, and that she had Googled me up and found my website, etc., etc.

Ah, I thought. A crazy girl.

So I deleted the message.

Then, a few hours later, I got another message. This Jess girl had shared the first message with her younger sister who had said that you absolutely couldn't just send that kind of thing to someone you hadn't met, because they would think you were totally insane. So, to prove she wasn't nuts, she then proceeded to essentially do a deep reading of her own first email, explaining jokes, etc., in a message even longer than the first.

Due to apparent technological ineptitude, she sent this second message three times.

By now, I was intrigued.

So, after much back and forth, exactly four years ago today, we met for drinks at Russian Samovar.

I was smitten. After that date, I was the one sending long messages (or, as previously discussed, faxes). And, long story short, Jessica Gold Newman is now sitting next to me as I write this on laptop on a flight back from Portland, Maine, where we celebrated our four year date-iversary, with huge amounts of foodie eats (a win for me), equally large amounts of terrifying vintage stuff and antiques (a win for her), and some time at the beach getting our first sun of the season (a win for both of us, though somewhat reduced for me, as she tans and I [after a solid twelve months locked indoors] hop straight to medium-well done]).

To which I say, god bless the internets. All my love to Jess, and looking forward to another four and four and forty and forty.

Just the Fax
Filed June 8, 2010 3:05 PM.

In the wake of yesterday's post about the magic (to me, at least) of the fax machine, Jess reminded me that, early in our courtship, we actually flirted by fax.

Below, a cover page I made up for the Newman / Gold Paint-by-Numbers Gallery, an inside joke I can no longer recall nor explain:

And then, a good illustration of why we ended up together. Inexplicably, Jess apprended this to one of her counter-faxes, with the caption "I couldn't leave this out. I just love a good mugshot."

Print 2.jpg

Whitney Houston
Filed October 2, 2009 6:37 PM.

One night a couple of years ago, Jess and I were in the Rite Aid across the street from our home, buying shampoo or toilet paper. Somewhere along the way, I lost Jess. She wasn't with me at the register, so I retraced my steps, back into the bowels of the store, where I found her, transfixed, staring at a row of giant dolls on the top shelf. Each was nearly three feet tall, and totally terrifying.

Which is how we bought Whitney Houston. She came wearing a mini-skirt and halter, though Jess, worried about the moral implications of that outfit, quickly added tights and an old children's sweater. We tried to style Whitney's hair, too, though it remained largely matted to her perforated scalp. Her head was oddly shaped, and her sleep eyes permanently lolled half-closed.

We took her with us, once, on a weekend trip to Jess' parents' house, as we didn't want to leave her alone. On the way back home, I dropped off Jess at our apartment, and headed to return the car, before remembering that, while I'd dropped off our bags with Jess, Whitney remained seated in the back.

So I tucked Whitney sideways under my arm, and started walking home. A few blocks in, a van full of cops flagged me down from across the street. From a distance, I suspect it looked like I was kidnapping a small - though oddly stiff and imobile - child.

"What's that under your arm?", one of the cops asked me.

"Oh this? It's a doll." Then, by way of explanation, "it's my girlfriend's."

"That thing is your girlfriend?", he asked, incredulously.

"No," I laughed. "It belongs to my girlfriend."

He eyed Whitney suspiciously.

"Scares the fuck out of me."

I agreed. She scared the fuck out of me too.

Whitney was doubly scary at night. Parked on our couch, I'd pass her when I headed to the bathroom. Each time, I'd jump at the sight of her - sitting, watching.

We thought about getting rid of Whitney. But Jess and I were certain she'd come back and kill us in our sleep. So we put her at the top of our hall closet, tucked behind an array of bags and boxes.

We came across her again just recently, while packing up some of our summer clothing, preparing to swap it with the winter wear we'd been keeping in storage.

And it occurred to us that a year or two of confinement might similarly have raised Whitney's wrath. So we took her down. We laid her comfortably on a bench in our bedroom, which made a perfectly-sized bed. And we tucked her in carefully with a small spare blanket.

Fortunately, she's mostly out of my line of sight. But every so often, I see her there, and I freeze. She's as terrifying as ever. Which is the main reason we're keeping her comfortable. And keeping her close by.

One Year
Filed September 7, 2009 9:52 AM.

After we had been dating for a couple of months, Jess turned to me one morning and said out of the blue, "it's nice to have a friend."

It is. A year ago, I said yes and she said yes and we got married, and it was the best thing I've ever done.

So today is our one year anniversary. Though, to be frank, the whole anniversary thing always seems a bit odd to me, because our first date was on a June 20th a few years before we got hitched, and shouldn't that time count for something, too?

Anyway, I think we love each other even more now than we did a year ago. Or, at least, we're better at loving each other, having faced together another year's happinesses and disasters, big and small, knowing that much more of each other's heart and mind. We're an even stronger team. And, to a possibly sickening degree, we still just like to be with each other all the time.

As is apparently traditional, we froze the top of our wedding cake a year ago. I put it in the refrigerator on Saturday, to thaw out in time for our having a few anniversary bites today. Jess has pointed out that this is basically the scene from Mother where Debbie Reynolds serves Albert Brooks three-year-old frozen cheese. And also that, by now, the cake has doubtless taken on the flavors of the spinach and gelato and chicken nuggets stored adjacent for the past year. All of which likely makes it totally inedible.

But, still, we'll have a few bites, and it will be terrible, and we'll laugh and have a wonderful time. It's nice to have friend.

Picture This
Filed April 16, 2009 9:30 AM.

Jess hates being photographed.

But when one of her clients, Brooklyn-based designer Hayden-Harnett, asked her to pose for an advertising series they were doing, she couldn't say no.

Her main complaint about the result: the dress, shoes, and jacket were all just a bit too large. Apparently 'small' is a relative measure.

6 Months
Filed March 8, 2009 11:22 AM.

Nicknames Jess regularly calls me:

Jorshie
Joshula
Yoshington

Things Jess has woken me up to say at 4:00 in the morning, before falling back to sleep:

"Time to make the donuts!"
"You smell like a ferret."
"Let's do drinks."

Jess
Filed January 4, 2009 1:37 PM.

just said I always write about productivity and that it's boring. So, while I had started a different blog entry about momentum and how what I do in the first five minutes of my work-day determines what happens for the entire day, I'm scrapping that and posting this instead.

Like a Goldfish
Filed October 22, 2008 4:23 PM.

This weekend, Jess and I headed out to the Brooklyn Flea, a large and quirky crafts fair and flea market in Fort Greene.

Jess is in her element at such places - she has strong taste, obsessively tracks style trends, and can somehow spot the single gem buried in a table of piled crap. She'll pick up a necklace for $20 one week, and the next we'll be in Henri Bendel, seeing the same thing on sale for $2000.

My own flea market duties, on the other hand, don't really involve item selection. Instead, I'm left with bargaining down the prices of purchases, vetoing anything ill-fitting or overly terrifying, and - most importantly - navigating.

The layout of the Brooklyn Flea, much like nearly every other flea market (and perhaps the minds of most of the vendors), is a convoluted mess. So it's my job to make sure our wandering path nonetheless takes us past all of the stalls.

This weekend, however, I slacked off on that navigation duty, following Jess rather than directing her at each turn.

Jess stopped, for example, at a large booth full of earrings, and exclaimed that this guy actually had really great stuff.

To which I replied that I knew he did. Mainly because Jess had purchased a pair of earrings from him about ten minutes earlier.

And it occurred to me then that perhaps my directing us was robbing Jess of a large percentage of the fun. Left to her own devices, any flea market would seem several times as large; given even a few minutes in between, she could apparently return to the same stalls again and again, each time excited to rifle through them as though for the first time.

Go Shorty
Filed October 6, 2008 4:56 PM.

Whenever she sings "Happy Birthday", Jess belts it in a deep, operatic baritone, replete with furrowed brow and sweeping hand gestures.

It's just one of her many distinctive singing styles, which range from quiet improvised lyrics about how she's feeling ("Jessie is hungry and needs more sleep...") hummed under her breath while typing emails, to an approach that could probably best be described as 'bellowing', and which tends to occur either in the shower or very close to my ear (the latter invariably sending her into fits of nearly tearful laughter).

Jess frequently accuses me of being obsessed with her, which is pretty much true. Since we've started dating, I've become perhaps the world's premier Jessmologist, and I'd be happy to pen out daily, extended, painfully earnest blog entries about her and her singing and how wonderful she is.

I will, however, spare you. Instead, I'll only share that the morning I really fell in love with Jess, after we'd been dating for a couple of months, was when she turned to me and said, "it's nice to have a friend."

And she was totally right. So, to Jess, my best friend and singing instructor, happy birthday wishes and all my love.

xxx

Mr. & Mrs. Newman
Filed September 7, 2008 11:03 PM.

[Via Keith]

It's On
Filed September 7, 2008 7:39 AM.

Next post will be as a married man.

Try This Instead
Filed September 2, 2008 11:41 PM.

Five days until our wedding, and the details are falling into place.

But, while I'm increasingly sure the wedding will be really excellent, I'm also increasingly sure that, if Jess and I had to do it again, we'd take a rather different tack.

Because, excellent or not, it will still be a wedding. And all our guests will have doubtless attended at least a couple of other weddings in the past.

So, the alternate plan:

Buy a case of vodka, a boombox, and a Lexus SUV. Find a cliff. Gather friends, family, vodka, and boombox below the cliff.

Then watch while someone drives the SUV off the cliff.

Far less work, far more memorable, and just about the same amount of money spent either way.

T Minus 10 Days
Filed August 27, 2008 1:02 PM.

Down to the final wedding prep details.

The many final wedding prep details.

Home Stretch
Filed August 18, 2008 1:57 PM.

I realized this morning that I'm now t-minus 20 days to getting married.

Which, on the one hand, is totally thrilling.

And, on the other, is absolutely terrifying.

Fortunately, I'm still exceedingly excited about the marriage part. It's the wedding that has me worried. While all the major details are figured out, all the main moving parts in place, there are still more odds and ends to deal with than I can count. Seating arrangements, gift baskets for out-of-town guests, writing and printing programs, following up with every vendor we've previously locked down to make sure they're still happily locked.

And, of course, things are crazier than ever (though, finally and fortunately, in a very good way) with Cyan and with Jess' consulting company.

This weekend, as we were picking up our wedding bands, the jeweler (who's long since become a friend of ours) offered some good advice: just do what you can until you make it to the top of the aisle, and then wash your hands of the details and pretend you're a guest.

And, also, drink a lot of vodka.

Music & Lyrics
Filed August 4, 2008 1:43 PM.

Among her many other talents, Jess has a savant-like ability to remember every single lyric to essentially every single song, ever.

Some obscure early-nineties dance hit will come on the radio, and she'll sing along - not just with the choruses, but with the verses, too, word for word.

I, conversely, don't know the lyrics to anything. Even songs I've heard hundreds of times. Sometimes, when I'm driving for example, I'll actually listen to the words, and am shocked to discover the song is about something totally different than what I thought. But unless I really, really pay attention, the lyrics just seem to wash over me.

Over the years, I've spoken with a handful of musician friends, who say the same thing; they can hum the tunes, but don't seem to retain any of the words. It's as though we're processing the songs in a totally different way, with a totally different part of our brains.

It makes me wonder if the lyrics people, then, hear the music in a completely different way, too, if the melodies and harmonies I pick apart gloss together into a cascade of pleasant but undifferentiated sound.

I'm not really sure. But I do, at least, know it's one more area where Jess' and my strengths complement each other. Put us behind the mic at an evening of karaoke, and she'll be faking the melody, I'll be mumbling my way through words I'm more or less making up. Yet we sound, if not good, then certainly passable. Which, at least if the audience is drunk, is probably good enough.

Down to Business
Filed June 27, 2008 2:30 PM.

When I first met Jess, she was serving as the head of marketing and de facto COO of Liz Lange Maternity, a high end fashion brand. She had been there for nearly seven years, from when the company was still pretty much brand new, by the time it was acquired last November by a large private equity fund.

So, she took that company transition as a chance to step out herself, and start looking for other opportunities.

Pretty quickly, it became clear she was talking to basically two categories of companies: large ones, where they were eager to hire her, but where she was less eager to actually work; and small ones (with annual sales under, say, $5m), who were also eager to hire her, and with whom Jess was excited to work, except for their inability to actually pay a salary.

From the beginning, I suggested that she consider launching a consulting firm, the idea being that there were a lot of those little, sub-$5m companies that had bootstrapped their way to success, but had started topping out, and desperately needed strategic, marketing, financial and operational assistance.

Jess, however, was against the idea, mainly on the grounds that she was convinced she'd never find any companies willing to actually hire her as a consultant.

But, it turns out, she didn't need to, because companies started finding her.

By now, JG & Co. (at the moment, the '& Co.' being me) has signed on a slew of clients, including great brands like Lucy Sykes (WASPy-cute kids clothing), Lauren Moffatt (a quirky contemporary clothing line), and Hayden-Harnett (bags, etc.).

More companies keep popping out of the woodwork, too, and so Jess is now trying to figure out how many she can handle, and if she needs a real '& Co.' that ideally includes people who (unlike me) have at least some vague idea about the business of fashion.

Still, I couldn't be prouder of her. I know, first-hand, how hard and stressful and nerve-wracking it is to get a company off the ground, and have been constantly impressed by seeing her handle it all with grace and aplomb.

I always wanted a sugar-mamma.

Susurrus
Filed May 25, 2008 11:41 AM.

I'm a talker. So it should be little surprise that, even while sleeping, I continue to jabber away.

According to Jess, however, my intelligible words are few and far between. Deep asleep one night this week, for example, I apparently slapped my chest twice, thrust my arm into the air, and shouted, "halfway!" But, even then, a few minutes later, another chest slap and arm thrust was followed by "spreak!", a phrase for which I have no real explanation.

More frequently, it seems, I just mumble.

"Hapatapapatapa...," I'll say.

Recently, Jess has taken to playing along.

"Oh, really, hapatapapata?" she'll ask, to which I invariably respond, "mmmhmmmm."

While I'm not much of a somnolent conversationalist - my entire set of answers limited to shades of "mmmhmmm" - I'm apparently still relatively expressive. I have a contented "mmmhmmm", for example, and another when I'm annoyed to have her bothering me mid-oration.

It's apparently a family trait, as my grandmother used to drive herself to tears of laughter through similar nonsensical exchanges with my mother, when my mother was a girl. And whenever I share a room with my brother David, he keeps me up through the night with buzz-saw snoring punctuated with long, mumbled chains of semi-words.

Which makes me think I'm probably less than a joy myself. Still, as Jess continues her long-held traditions of both stealing all the covers, and kicking me, hard, while asleep, I'm calling it even on calling it a night.

Fleas
Filed April 14, 2008 11:42 AM.

It was only thanks to inclement weather that I yesterday avoided attending the new Brooklyn Flea Market.

Jess, who has an impeccable eye for all things fashion and furniture, and can quickly pick out gems hidden in long racks of crap, loves flea markets, thrift and vintage stores.

I, on the other hand, try as a general rule to avoid places that reek of mothballs and armpit. Walking down scented aisles, I can't help but think that whomever each vintage dress previously belonged to is probably now long since dead, and quite possibly from some terrible skin-borne affliction transmissible by their old clothing.

So, in short, I'm not a huge fan. But, in my best attempt at being a good fiance, I come along. It's an effort only partially appreciated by Jess, who (correctly) accuses me of hovering over her the entire time. Not, as she thinks, because I'm trying to get her to leave, but instead because I'm trying to gain some safe harbor from proximity to the only person in the place for whose hygeine habits I can personally vouch.

Still, odds are good, once the weather warms, we'll be Brooklyn bound after all. I just hope that, in the weeks between, I'll find some good leads on a cheap Hazmat suit.

Do I
Filed February 17, 2008 10:57 AM.

The problem with getting engaged is that you then have to get married.

I don't mean be married, which I'm actually quite excited about. I mean get married. As in, have a wedding.

Here in New York, it appears that a large percentage of women come in to the wedding process having spent countless years pre-planning their dream events, locking down all the details, except for the final, apparently least important one: the groom.

Jess, however, is the exact opposite: she (inexplicably) likes me, but doesn't much give a damn about the rest. So, immediately post-engagement (back in November), we were starting from scratch. We Googled up and contacted venues then about a fall '08 wedding, and were repeatedly told we were already far behind the ball.

Admittedly, we didn't cope with that too well; for a while, we just ignored the whole wedding thing completely, sliding further behind. But after answering 'when's the big day?' questions vaguely and evasively one too many times, a few weeks back, we decided to re-kick off the search in earnest.

With Zipcar wheels, we travelled the far reaches of Westchester, hit quirky venues in the outer boroughs (there's a farm in Queens? Who knew?) and tried to find fun spots in Manhattan where an evening's event might come in at less than our combined salaries.

Yesterday, among the seven or so options to which we trekked, we found the first where we'd actually be happy to tie the knot - Mark Twain's old estate, up in Westchester, now owned by Zagat's top-rated caterer. Amazingly, the place is right in the middle, cost-wise, and there are still a few September dates available.

So, come tomorrow, we're placing a 7-day 'courtesy hold' on one of those dates. And while we'll still keep looking at a few other contenders over the course of the week, odds are pretty good that will stay our final choice.

As Twain himself explained, "love seems the swiftest, but it is the slowest of all growths. No man or woman really knows what perfect love is until they have been married a quarter of a century." His house, then, seems an auspicious spot to marry, with the hopes of proving him right.

True Love
Filed February 14, 2008 9:25 PM.

V-Day%20Card%201.jpg

V-Day%20Card%202.jpg

Setting it Straight
Filed December 17, 2007 3:44 PM.

I was waiting in line to buy lunch today, when the movie Old School came on TV, just in time for me to catch this scene:

Frank: I told my wife I wouldn't drink tonight. Besides, I got a big day tomorrow. You guys have a great time.

College Student: A big day? Doing what?

Frank: Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time.

Which, I think, is a totally unfair portrayal of real relationships. Because in my case, it was actually Sunday rather than Saturday, and The Container Store and West Elm rather than Home Depot and BB&B.

Digitally Official
Filed November 28, 2007 5:26 PM.

Several people have pointed out that my 'dating' category should no longer be too useful.

But, like a middle-aged armchair quarterback regaling the genius plays he pulled off back in high school, I may yet have some dating blog entries left to share.

I don't think Jess will mind, as she staunchly maintains none of my ploys would ever work on her. To which I say, nice ring.

Regardless, as Jess certainly will be the subject of countless future entries, as of today, she gets a category all her own. In the world of blogging, that's about as good as long-term commitment gets.

Four Filed June 20, 2010 11:23 PM.

Just the Fax Filed June 8, 2010 3:05 PM.

Whitney Houston Filed October 2, 2009 6:37 PM.

One Year Filed September 7, 2009 9:52 AM.

Picture This Filed April 16, 2009 9:30 AM.

6 Months Filed March 8, 2009 11:22 AM.

Jess Filed January 4, 2009 1:37 PM.

Like a Goldfish Filed October 22, 2008 4:23 PM.

Go Shorty Filed October 6, 2008 4:56 PM.

Mr. & Mrs. Newman Filed September 7, 2008 11:03 PM.

It's On Filed September 7, 2008 7:39 AM.

Try This Instead Filed September 2, 2008 11:41 PM.

T Minus 10 Days Filed August 27, 2008 1:02 PM.

Home Stretch Filed August 18, 2008 1:57 PM.

Music & Lyrics Filed August 4, 2008 1:43 PM.

Down to Business Filed June 27, 2008 2:30 PM.

Susurrus Filed May 25, 2008 11:41 AM.

Fleas Filed April 14, 2008 11:42 AM.

Do I Filed February 17, 2008 10:57 AM.

True Love Filed February 14, 2008 9:25 PM.

Setting it Straight Filed December 17, 2007 3:44 PM.

Digitally Official Filed November 28, 2007 5:26 PM.