We are the 99%

I am impressed.

You see, back in high school and college I was quite the activist.

Most of my friends knew not to bring McDonald’s anywhere near me unless they were up for hearing a twenty minute-long rant about the destruction of our world’s Rainforests and the hypocrisy of the fast food industry. I can count on two hands the number of times things almost got physical when talking about the 2004 election between John Kerry & George W. Bush, and I definitely didn’t make very many friends when I made a list of 100 things that “W” had done to destroy our country, typed them up - a fact to each 8x11 page - and posted them all over campus. Handed them out in the dining hall, left them in dormitory mailboxes, plastered them on known republican's room doors. I cared. I cared A LOT. I probably cared too much in hindsight. 
In 2008 you could find me on any given day either campaigning, canvassing and just generally pressing for the election of Barack Obama.

Then something changed. Barack got elected, and life seemed like it would finally shift for those of us riding the lower tiers on the ladder of success.

And then it didn’t.

Then it slowed. Then it stopped. Then it waned and then it just caved in completely.

Our economy collapsed; starting a career became nearly impossible, paying down debts became a joke and the red tape we watched our new hero coming up against was, to say the least, disheartening.

So I stopped caring. I stopped banging my head against the wall and carrying a banner that no one seemed to care about.

I stopped reading the news - except for the local stories and happenings - I changed my homepage from cnn.com to “stumbleupon”. I stopped paying support fees and donations to the dozens of organizations that I felt a soft spot for. In my eyes, we weren’t voting -  we were playing video games (and by video games, I mean Angry Birds), updating our twitter statuses, and checking into the local Starbucks on Facebook - we had our noses in the sand. (And by sand, I mean iPhone. RIP Steve Jobs). But nothing was getting accomplished. This microwaved, pop-tarted and high-speed dependant generation of mine had no ambition, no bandwagon to pull, no motivation, no gumption! Or so it seemed...

And then we took over Wall Street.

News anchors and journalists are reporting that over 3,000 people have attended the Occupy Wall Street protests in New York City alone. Hundreds more have filtered up to Boston and out to Los Angeles. We are not backing down...well, they are not backing down.

Just like the talking heads on TV and the heads of Wall Street, I thought this would be a passing trend, a cutesy way for unemployed twenty-somethings to be a part of something hip, something TMZ worthy. But they aren’t leaving. In fact, they’re growing more permanent. Joining forces with unions all over the city and today organizing a march, up 5th avenue, to visit the homes of some of the wealthiest New Yorkers. The marchers plan to stop by and say hello to power players like billionaire Rupert Murdoch, JP Morgan Chase CEO Jamie Dimon and oil tycoon David Koch, among others.

It isn’t a passing moment, it wasn’t a whim, these people mean business - and “these people” are my people. I’m impressed, and now that my concussion has healed, I’m ready to get back in the ring and throw a few punches.

Just let me update Twitter and check-in on Facebook first..

MIND, BODY, NYC.

There used to be a natural movement in New York City.

A pedestrian rhythm.

Everyone walking to the same beat.

Following the same unspoken, never written, rules.

Only in Times Square did the chaos and uncertainty of map-ridden tourists force you to slow down, re-direct, dart and pivot.

Now - everyone's heads are down. Phone in hand. Texts in motion.

Not looking. Not watching. Not present.

Let's pick our heads up. Walk upright and be mindful of the world around us.

I can't hear the beat of New York anymore and the silence is deafening.

As a high-schooler, more than a decade ago, I felt on top of the world walking around New York City. Feeling a sense of belonging, as if I had just heard about the coolest, newest, hippest club in town - and not only did I have the address - but I was given the password to the VIP room.

I would pound the city streets like a pro at just 16 years old - bobbing and weaving. I was a part of something greater - something alive. 

I once likened coming back to NYC after some time in Los Angeles as "being awakened by a defibrillator after my heart had stopped" As if once I had put my feet down on the city sidewalk, someone from the Heavens yelled "Clear!" and I could breathe again. 

And yet slowly but surely I feel that energy slipping away. New Yorkers are silent, motionless, deadened. We are sleeping while we walk. Not looking up to notice that a barrage of Duane Reades, Chase Banks, Starbucks' and Ricky's beauty stores have taken over our city. What was once a haven for the creative, unique and obscure intellectual - seems now bland, uniform, and boring. 

I long for the days when New Yorkers ignored the crazy drag queen/clown walking beside them by choice, rather than missing it because they were too busy winning that last level of Angry Birds.

I am missing the New York where culture and individuality reigned supreme. Where coffee-shop baristas knew your name, and people who owned vintage clothing shops wore those threads when they were popular the first time around.

But then again…

I don't miss the smell. 

I don't miss the garbage. 

And I don't miss the porno shops.

I will never miss the honking. I do miss the fleeting few Guiliani years when the streets were quiet. 

I like a safe Central Park. I feel good walking home at night. 

I want to use my credit card, instead of quarters at a meter – that’s nice. 

And yet still, I don't want to bump into one more person because they are texting and walking. 

Put your phone away.

The email can wait.

Look up.

Breathe.

It's nice up here. 

I promise. 

In the Beginning...

   The thing that I remember about being a kid, is that I don't remember it at all. Or at least never feeling like one.  That smallness, youth, innocence, endless questioning and wonder that other people are always writing about in memoirs and autobiographies....
...When was that? Or was it at all? I felt as if somehow, I was born, and instantly I knew everything about the world!...(I was absolved of this delusion by the time I was about 9)...
But I "knew" how things worked, why they did - or if I didn't know exactly...I just made it up, and...there, that was the truth! It took way too much to impress me as a little kid. Nothing phased me, I had seen it all before I'd said goodbye to pooping in my Pampers.


   I do remember, that while growing up, I didn't dream of being a nurse or a school teacher, or a secretary, or anything even moderately normal for a young girl in the 1980's. No, no.  At the ripe old age of 5, when people asked me "Katie, now what do you want to be when you grow up?" I very confidently and plainly stated, without a blink in my eye,  "I'm going to be the first woman president of the United States". Then when adults would laugh, pinch my cheek and reply "Well good for you!" at my apparently obvious cuteness and naivete - I was always confused and frankly, a little annoyed, that they clearly did not understand just how serious I was.


I learned about irony much later on...

You see, I was born as the last child of five, to actor Laurence Luckinbill; the youngest child of three to entertainer Lucie Arnaz and the only granddaughter to Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz - they did some acting too. 

When my older brother Joe was born, (now the 4th boy from my father, and 2nd from my mother) my mom contacted Katharine Hepburn to alert her that, had she had a girl instead, she would have named her Katharine, with an A, in her honor. Ms. Hepburn lovingly replied on her personal  stationary that perhaps it was best to "let Joseph Henry do his stuff" as "the position of women was still in a perilous state!"
Just 2 years and 11 days later, after hours waiting and watching the Ms. Hepburn in The African Queen, my mother got her wish. To this next announcement Ms. Hepburn replied, "Poor girl, that 'A'. Well, at least it will teach her to fight!"


Perhaps she knew something I didn't...because, truer words were never spoken. 

Here I Go

For many years people in my life have told me to write. 
Family, friends, strangers (seriously, strangers. No, seriously) Many, many times I have sat down at my desk, pen in hand, or fingers ready to tap tap tap those keys, creative juices flowing, and then....nothin'. It's was like every time I wanted to write, I instantly got terrible memory loss and forgot every detail of my life. Like nothing had ever happened to me. 


Well for anyone who knows me...even a little bit, this is clearly not the case (more on that later)


So about a year ago, I sat down in the blistering summer heat, in an apartment in Washington Heights with a few creative-genius friends and brainstormed about a show - a cabaret - that I wanted to put together. I was single at the time, and dating (A LOT) and let's just say, I had a few anecdotes. Well the show was created, it went off without a hitch, a huge success, a major triumph in my career and professional life.(Thank you Lilli Wosk & Robby Sandler. Michael Alden! Lucie Arnaz, David Friedman, Ron Abel, Ben Luckinbill, Sidney Myer, Sam Lazzara & David Ostrem!) But then...I met someone, I stopped dating, and so many of the stories I had once remembered so clearly were starting to fade...becoming distant blacked out memories of a time long since past. All in all, this effect was probably best for my self worth and sanity...but for my creative writing...a complete disaster. 


What would I possibly write about if not the ill-effects of online dating on my digestion and self-esteem?! What would I do without perpetual nights alone and confused about why boy number 6 or, 36, said he would call and DIDN'T!?! How would I ever find creative fire again!? What was I supposed to write about??! Being happy and in love??? Gross. Vomit. Puke in my hands. Who wants to read that?


But then...a lightbulb. 


Ding! (or whatever sound a light coming on would make if we could hear them...anyway...)


I am more than my dating history.
I am more than just a face on OK Cupid. 
I am Katharine Desiree Luckinbill. Goddammit. 
I have the mouth of a sailor and the observational skills of an FBI agent. 
I (might) know shit! 
I have seen shit!!


And I wanna write it all down. 


Starting now.