Phillip Retuta's Blog

The Life and Times of a Filipino-American

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COVID-19 and Boredom.

Feeling trapped?

Day 66 of self-isolation.

I’ll admit, the past few days have had this weird, somewhat disheartening feeling of stasis. It’s not that I’m feeling depressed, but rather I’m just existing and living each day, going through the motions. However, I don’t feel lost. Unlike some people stuck in quarantine, I know what day it is: “The Masked Singer” and “What We Do in the Shadows” are on Wednesdays (but there are no episodes of “The Simpsons”), “Top Chef” is on Thursdays, “Love It Or List It” tends to run marathons on Saturdays. It’s become a pathetic routine.

Yes, I’m bored as hell — so much so that I’ve been doing work-work on days I’m off the clock, just because I need something to do. Yes, I’m not getting paid or being put back on full-time with the hours I’m putting in, but I’ve run out of projects that I could accomplish with the money that I have. I’ve applied to new jobs just in case work falls through, disastrously (because, admittedly, the scariest thing about this pandemic is the uncertainty of the future). I’m waiting on friends to help me with content for some video ideas, but I’ve learned not to hold my breath. I could cook and bake, but I’m trying to watch what I eat as well as trying to save money during this furlough.

Boredom, I feel, has finally gotten the best of me — and a lot of it stems from a lack of funds. There are so many projects I want to do — shoot film, build something out of wood, finish my garden, bake something new, shoot dog photos — but everything requires money: materials, ingredients, supplies, a dog. I’ve found that I can’t pursue new projects when I have to decide rent and bills are more important than the things that make me happy. With so many survival needs happening at the end of this month (shelter, food, utilities), I’m trying to save every single fucking penny — knowing full well that I don’t have enough to cover everything. I mentioned before that the end of May would be scary, and now it’s the end of May and I feel it. It’s not entirely that financial anxiety, but a feeling of listlessness and un-inspiration.

I’m trying to remedy this by sketching, by rearranging my existing plants, exercising, and by cleaning a whole fucking lot. In between my forced 20-hour work week and while waiting for client approval on work that’s a week earlier than the proposed deadlines, I’ve found myself taking 30 minute to 1 hour naps throughout the day. Being unconscious, I feel, just helps pass the time.

Of course, I feel a sense of loneliness — which I have a love-hate relationship with. I’m enjoying the time to myself, but on the other hand it’d be nice to see somebody. I feel so far-removed, distance-wise, from everybody, and it’d be a pleasure for someone to knock on my door and say hello. Again, this self-isolation wouldn’t be so bad if I had something new to do… and I’d have something new to do if I had a disposable income again.

I’m in no means a religious man, but I’m praying things get back to quasi-normal again sooner than later: to be inspired, to be comfortable financially again, for friends to come over without fear or anxiety. I’m praying that whatever indifference and lethargy that I’m feeling now doesn’t turn into complete dread.

I just need a free, creative thing to do (well, other than writing). Till then, I’ll just keep on smiling and waiting and watching TV.

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The Shitlist.

Every single day, I log onto the New York State unemployment website, and every day I see that green check mark simply patronizing me. You’d think the color green has some positive connotation to it — like a green light or Oscar the Grouch or money, but I’ve grown to dislike it — like broccoli. It’s been a month since I’ve filed for partial unemployment, and I’ve heard absolutely nothing from the labor department. The submission page that I keep getting redirected to said they’d call in 72 hours, but 730 hours later, I’m still waiting and trying to get ahold of them.

After getting partially furloughed, I received my first paycheck for being reduced to a part-time employee; I figured I’d get half the amount from my bi-monthly base salary and my initial calculations of how to survive with half a paycheck would work out, but nope. I literally broke down and cried at the unexpectedly smaller amount than I originally calculated. How could I live like that? How could I live like that in New York? My second paycheck just came a few days ago, and it was a sizable chunk that would only cover just half my monthly rent. Still, with June coming up, I don’t think I can pay my rent and my bills on what I’ve been making; I’m already burning through my savings, and I’m really hoping I don’t have to borrow money from my parents in California. I don’t want to be that person, that type of stereotypical NYC millennial who asks their parents for money to live here.

With the recent passing of Jerry Stiller, I’m reminded of his role as Frank Costanza in Seinfeld. I’m reminded of that Festivus episode, where there was an airing of grievances. Since this pandemic started, I thought about it rationally and listed the things, situations, and people that — by all accounts and with a sense of lucidity and reason — have been unfair.

Behold, my Shitlist:

The New York State Department of Labor
It goes without question that this financial anxiety stems from the COVID-19 epidemic, but it’d be nice to get some clarity. I know I’m not alone, much less not as worse off as others, but a little government transparency would be cool. Filling out the forms and not hearing anything back is a lot like being ghosted on a dating app: you think everything is fine with a girl after chatting online for a bit, but suddenly she disappears and stops responding to your messages. You don’t want to seem desperate, but unfortunately your parents and friends are nagging the shit out of you to get back on the dating scene — except, it’s not your parents and friends, but your landlord and bill collectors, and instead of the dating scene it’s the ability to eat and have running electricity at the same time.

WTF, Department of Labor?

Optimum Cable/Internet
On my third day from working from home, my internet and cable went out. I tried “chatting” with my provider, Optimum, knowing full well it’s a bot and the company makes a huge effort to prevent you from talking to an actual fucking human. I started swearing at the apparent bot, and they gave me a vague response: they couldn’t fix the problem, but it’s very likely that the modem most likely burnt out. Of course, the only option was to replace the modem and cable box in a physical store. The problem is, with the early stages of the pandemic, the nearest stores were closed and the only one open was in Gravesend — about 6 miles away, with no direct trains or bus routes. Mind you, I am working from home, so the internet was kind of necessary; you can’t work remotely if the remote suddenly smells faintly like burnt pet hair and won’t turn on. I had to Uber to the store — fully decked in a mask and gloves, with hand sanitizer spewing from my pores — Uber back, and take a thorough shower afterwards. The trip was a $60, three-hour affair, akin to a bad booty call you didn’t want to go to in the first place. Luckily, they replaced the cable modem for free, but — considering this happened before the full lockdown of non-essential services in NYC — you’d think they’d just send a technician out. I just remember the long (and socially-distanced) line at the store, angry people coming in with even angrier people coming out.

WTF, Optimum?

TForce Final Mile Shipping
It’s been one of those first-world aspirations to have a fully WiFi-connected, Smart home, like a tech geek who has no social skills or the motivation to get up and turn on a light switch. I was on the Google Store website one day and saw that they had their Google Nests on sale for 50% off. I figured it’d be a nice birthday present to myself, and I could use a Google Nest as an outdoor speaker for when I have people over in my backyard. If they don’t like the music, they can just yell into the robot to change it. Early in April, I placed the order and got a receipt saying that it would arrive the next day, shipped through a no-name company called TForce. The next day rolled around with no package, and I assumed there’d be a delay due to COVID-19. Two weeks pass, and I get an electronic notice saying that the address was wrong and the package couldn’t be delivered. I talked to someone at the Google Store and confirmed my address was indeed correct and that I’m home (because literally everybody is fucking home now), and they asked me to wait for a few days. I was patient and waited a week, checking the tracking number on TForce’s website; it stated that I should expect my package on April 29th, past my birthday. May 4th rolls around and no package, so I contact Google again. The next day, they used Fedex (which I am in no means a fan of) to deliver a replacement package. Even today, as I log onto the TForce tracking site, the original package is supposed to be delivered by May 18th (today is the 20th). I checked the Yelp reviews on TForce, and they’re abysmal; there are too many 1-star reviews of them not delivering packages on time, drivers stealing stuff, and the company simply losing boxes. Apparently Google and IKEA use them for same-day shipping, but you have to ask yourself: isn’t assembling IKEA furniture frustrating enough, without your package disappearing?

WTF, TForce?

Erie, Pennsylvania and Citibank
At the very beginning of this pandemic and the subsequent lockdown, someone in Erie, Pennsylvania maxed out my Citibank credit card. In the course of two weeks, they went to various Country Farms gas stations and withdrew money. I never heard of Country Farms, but now I loathe them; if I’m ever on a road trip, I will go out of my way to avoid this podunk-sounding gas station (and Erie, Pennsylvania, if I can help it). They even used my credit card number to buy a huge meal at a Sonic Drive Thru. Like how many slushes can you fucking buy in one meal? It wasn’t until I had my scheduled monthly payment that I noticed these transactions, and Citibank never alerted me of these fraudulent charges 430 miles and two states away. I assume the bank assumed I moved there or something, or I had taken a two week Spring Break to the Midwest (seriously?). It took about 3 weeks and several phone calls to ultimately get my money back, though I’m still fighting with Citibank to get the interest charges revoked.

WTF, Erie, Pennsylvania and Citibank?

Domino’s Pizza
Sometimes you have to treat yourself, and the best way to treat yourself is with a cheap, shitty pizza from a big chain. When you live in one of the food capitals of the US, you don’t always want a fancy, overpriced pizza made with organic ingredients, locally-sourced cheese, and artisanal pepperoni — you just want trash (I guess I’m part raccoon). Since my local Papa John’s got torn down to create a condo (typical) and Pizza Hut has since been fazed out of this city, I decided to go with Domino’s. The first time I ordered Domino’s early in this pandemic, they called back saying they only have 1 driver and would be able to deliver my pizza in 5 hours. They gladly cancelled my order and refunded me, making me believe that these guys were okay. Two weeks later, feeling down after getting furloughed, I order from them again. This time, I order at 4 in the afternoon because I assumed it would be a busy night for them if I ordered later. I check their website’s pizza tracker, and some guy named Fasad was stated to be on his way to deliver my food. One hour passes with no food, but fine; I felt that maybe he’s delivering to a lot of customers. Two hours pass with no pizza, and suddenly the online tracker says it’s delivered. I call the Domino’s store, only to be redirected to an automated customer service machine. I call about 20 times, trying to reach an actual person, but nothing. At this point, I try to order another pizza on Seamless, but the second pizza joint cancelled my order after 15 minutes (but refunded me), and the third one took 2 hours for it to get delivered. Fed up with my quest for garbage pizza, I email corporate customer service on Domino’s website, saying that my food was never delivered and I want a full refund (they instead offered me “10 free Domino’s points,” but I said, “Fuck it. Ya burnt, Domino’s”). The next day, I get a phone call from some random number. It was hard to hear what he was saying (it was as if he was outside or driving), but he seemed cordial at first. When I ask who this is, he says “THE PIZZA WAS PERFECT” and proceeds to hang up. I assume it was the general manager of the Domino’s branch (*ahem* 328 Myrtle Ave, Brooklyn) who probably got in trouble with Big Corporate Domino’s Pizza. Ultimately, I got my money back from the bank, but I had to wait two weeks for the charge to show up on my statements before I could even file a claim.

WTF, Domino’s Pizza?

So what is the takeaway of all of this? With everything going on, there are societal shit-stains out there willing to take advantage of a dire situation, and we rely too much on goddamn technology (I understand that I have a Google Nest, but it’s for playing music and, actually, setting timers to save electricity). Thieves are thieves and the government is as daft as ever, but when we use technology as a way of convenience over innovation, the pathways to scumbaggery open up. People are dying, people are depressed and bored and lonely as hell, people are going through a financial crisis — assholes and an entitled air of laziness and convenience should not make the situation worse. In times of this pandemic, don’t be an asshole, don’t steal, don’t brush off other people’s problems; large entities need to stop relying on automation just because it’s easier and cost-effective than paying a human; respect one another and communicate!

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Throwback Thursday: Music That Inspired Me To Move To New York.

This is a photo from June 2008, when I wanted to move to NYC. The caption reads, “Ate three fortune cookies leftover from a Chinese restaurant. Considering my search for a job and my desire to eventually move to New York, these fortunes are awfully succinct. They’re cryptic, yes, but we’ll see…”

I couldn’t sleep a few days ago. I was lying on my bed, sifting through my personal thoughts, and I fell into a rabbit hole of music that inspired me to move to New York City.

I remember, back before I graduated and was living in Urbana-Champaign, of the new music I’d listened to. I remember going into Postal Service, a record shop on Green Street, and buying particular CDs of indie artists I’d discover on MTV2. I remember, after graduating and returning home, of all the bands I’d blog about on my old (and fairly popular) music blog. I remember going to Chicago to see all the bands that were finally getting the spotlight they deserve. Most of all, I remember how all this music made me dream to move to New York.

I wanted to live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn (I did). I wanted to experience the hip and cool culture of artists and musicians (I did — before that lifestyle got phased out/priced out by everyone else wanting the same thing). I wanted to meet some of these bands and buy them a beer (I did, for some). Many years later, I now reflect that I achieved that foolish, Bohemian dream of being cool and artistic and binging on Parliament cigarettes and cheap-ass beer.

Here are some of the native New York bands that, in my youth as an undergrad and a recent grad in Illinois, would want me to make a life-altering decision to move to one of the greatest cities in the world, to shape my future as a creative and moderately successful adult:

The Strokes
I recall watching this video when it premiered on MTV2. They were careless, carefree, and cool — like a bunch of drunks. They epitomized the NYC indie scene and were constant fodder for my music blog that made fun of hipsters. I loved (and still love) them.

Interpol
Another essential NYC indie band. I’ve seen them at several festivals in Chicago, and their first album (an encapsulation of New York) was always played when my old friend Jeff (who I created a comic character and subsequent blog about) and me would hang out in Urbana-Champaign.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs
I saw this “Buzzworthy” video late one night in undergrad. I loved the song, and I love the video — so much so, that I made a still of Karen O crying as my computer background. Everything about “Maps” was so raw and beautiful, and I became a fan of theirs for years to come. I even remember buying Fever to Tell at Postal Service and when I moved back home, going to several of their shows at Chicago’s Metro and Vic Theater. When I eventually moved to NYC, I’d still catch some of their shows — of course, they got even bigger, and I had to pay a little bit more to see them.

TV on the Radio
TVOTR have always been so cool and had a sound I never heard before. They were definitely Williamsburg mainstays, and I recall meeting lead singer Tunde Adebimpe at a bar when I first moved to New York.

The Walkmen
When I heard their song “We’ve Been Had” in a car commercial, I had to find out who these guys were. Plus, their refined sense of collared shirts and sweaters inspired my own style back in the day: a preppy hipster who enjoys a glass of whiskey (and I admit, I still am).

The French Kicks
In a similar vein to The Walkmen. I remember seeing this video late one night in undergrad, when I should have been writing an English paper. After graduation, I saw them perform at Schuba’s Tavern in Chicago.

Asobi Seksu
They introduced me to the shoegaze sound. The video for “Thursday” inspired some stop-motion work from me, and each time I hear this song, I get nostalgic — as if running through the city. I saw them live at the Highland in Urbana-Champaign with The Appleseed Cast, and after their set I gave lead singer Yuki Chikudate a cigarette.

stellastarr*
When they debuted this video, I went to Postal Service to pick up their album. Their New Wave-y sound introduced me to actual New Wave. As far as I can tell they never amounted to much after their first album, but “My Coco” and “Jenny” were on repeat while walking on campus.

Elefant
Another garage rock band from NYC. It was such an underrated album in comparison to The Strokes or The Bravery. Even today, when I hear “Misfit” or “Now That I Miss Her,” I’m reminded of those dumb aspirations to become a famous artist/designer in NYC.

The Secret Machines
Their music always pumped me up before going out in Urbana-Champaign or Chicago. “First Wave Intact” had an energy, the kind that prepared me for something — something ambitious.

School of Seven Bells
Another project by the late Benjamin Curtis of Secret Machine fame, their dreamy music always made me feel good. After watching this video as a kid in Chicago, there was this magical yearning of riding in a cab throughout New York City. And now I’ve ridden in a cab throughout NYC; it’s not as magical anymore.

The Rapture
I remember seeing this video on MTV2 and absolutely loving it. The post-punk visuals and catchy sounds were what made me think what it’s like to live in Brooklyn. And it’s true, circa 2009.

LCD Soundsystem
Like The Strokes, Interpol, TVOTR, and the YYYs, LCD Soundsystem is the definition of the New York music scene in the mid to late 2000’s. His song, “All My Friends,” was my anthem as a young adult, and the music video for “Someone Great” is what I envisioned living in Brooklyn was like: bodegas, comfortable squalor, and rooftop parties (and yeah, I threw my share of rooftop parties when I first moved to New York). His album, Sound of Silver, is everything I had hoped for and had lived through when I came to NYC. If anything, listening to James Murphy definitely prepared me to live in this city and molded my love of electronic and electroclash music.

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The Bureaucracy of the Unemployment Loop.

Day 41 of self-isolation.

As of writing this post, 26 million Americans have filed for unemployment. And like many Americans, I was furloughed three weeks ago.

About 90% of my office was furloughed, but luckily myself and a very small handful of us were temporarily relegated from full-time to part-time employees (others were completely furloughed or laid off). I don’t blame my job at all for their decision, since there are so many companies and businesses experiencing the same fucking thing. Still, having my salary cut in half is financially devastating (especially living in New York), and we were encouraged to file for partial unemployment.

I applied last Monday on the web, and was taken to a “Submission Confirmed” page. Cool, right? I even received a confirmation email that I’ll get a call from the unemployment office in 72 hours. It’s been one week, and I have not gotten one phone call. What’s worse, a few days after applying, the New York State Department of Labor sent a followup email stating that I need to answer more questions or my application will get rejected. They provided a link in the email, but each time I click it, it just leads me to the same “Submission Confirmed” page I received when I first applied:

A loop of futility and financial sadness.

Every single fucking day, I login to the Department of Labor website, only to automatically get redirected to that goddamn “Submission Confirmed” page. I can only imagine the majority of people in New York are experiencing the same or similar difficulties.

Fortunately, I have enough money saved to pay for my May rent and utilities. It’s the end of that month that’s giving me some financial anxiety. Despite being partially furloughed, I calculated that it would take 3 part-time paychecks (equivalent to 6 weeks worth of work) just to barely pay my rent — not including bills or necessities like food. New York City is a wonderful place, but it’s so expensive to live here. Covid-19 has crippled this city in terms of hospitalizations, subsequent deaths, and the economy. And with the flood of millions of people applying for unemployment, the government and the technology it relies on are overwhelmed. It really wouldn’t surprise me that after all of this has passed, only self-made millionaires who already entered this pandemic as wealthy will remain in this city — surrounded, not by small businesses or restaurants, but by Chase Banks, Starbucks, and nearly-empty condos.

So here I am, stuck in the bureaucracy of an unemployment loop, financially uncertain of what’s going to happen tomorrow. Since I’m the only active designer in my office (aside from the senior creative director), I’m hoping I’ll get reinstated full-time again and still work from home. I’m really hoping they’ll be a statewide rent-freeze, and my bills can go on a temporary forbearance. Till then, I’ll keep on clicking that email link, hoping the government will approve my application, and thinking I can survive another day.

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COVID-19 and a Birthday Retrospective.

Day 39 of self-isolation.

Today is my 37th birthday, and I must admit that the current situation of social distancing and self-quarantine gives me some emotional reprieve — especially on this day.

Let me preface that I’m an INFJ.

Outwardly, I may appear as a very social person, but inside my own head, I like being alone and truly dislike having attention drawn onto me. I’ve noticed when I make something I’m proud of and seeking attention, no one cares — but when I’m being myself, I feel unwanted attention is brought onto me. For instance, when I’m in a social situation (particularly one where I have no control over the environment and not hosting), I remain withdrawn and quiet in order to not draw criticism or judgement. My friends like to tease me a lot, and if I talk I get made fun of; if I’m quiet, people wonder what’s wrong. It’s a dumb situation, and hence — as a sensitive guy — I like being alone.

By nature, despite whatever anyone fucking says, I’m a very shy individual. I’ve grown up very withdrawn, attached to my parents’ side at the parties they go to. Throughout elementary school to undergrad, I was always a quiet, introspective student (it wasn’t until grad school and living in New York that I started to break out of my shell). Even today, in group chats, I merely observe the conversations and chime in when personally needed or addressed. It’s these social situations that make me feel awkward, and I reflect to who I was in the past. I use social media (and very much this blog) to give a glimpse of who I am — although I just use Facebook now for animal memes and cute pet photos.

I feel slightly uncomfortable when people sing “Happy Birthday,” and my own emotional baggage makes me feel like I don’t deserve anything nice, much less a day or a few hours devoted to me. Certainly, I’m guilty of giving the special treatment to others on their own birthdays, but my personal psychological characterization thinks “why would I deserve this? Nothing about me merits anything.” I’m a kind, creative guy who gives more than he takes, for sure, but everyone has their internalized flaws. It’s definitely all about self-confidence, something everyone knows I’m somewhat lacking.

So how do I tolerate my own birthday when friends decide to celebrate it? The answer is alcohol; I allow my inhibitions and self-loathing to drown in a glass of whiskey. I’m not much of a drinker, per se, but I will have a drink or two in most social situations. I won’t drink when I’m alone, but at a party, hand me something on the rocks or a glass of wine. Substance escapism is indeed a way to relieve whatever dumb anxieties I have.

And that leads me to today, where everyone is forced to stay away from each other, and I don’t have to physically be anywhere with anyone. By the time this is posted, I’ll be in the middle of a Zoom party with friends near and far celebrating my birthday. I appreciate the sentiment of my friends wanting to get together, and I’m grateful that technology and the social etiquette of our current situation can allow me to remain silent or even momentarily step away; I won’t have to solely carry a conversation, and there are enough tiny little screens that people might not notice if I disappear for a second or two. This year’s birthday, I feel, will be a great one. My primary concern, though, is that it’s going to be a roast, and I’ve told a few people I have a few apprehensions. Even if they’re going to be entertained at my expense, I have enough emotional fortitude to tolerate it (it’ll help that I’ll have a bourbon with me). I love my friends, but my mild social anxiety and my overall disposition of “not being good enough” tends to make me strive for creative isolation — to be alone in self-reflection and improve my artistic skills and imaginative ideas.

Despite this pandemic and my personal (albeit flawed) rationales, being 37 doesn’t feel too different from when I was 36 or even when I was 25. There are a lot of goals I still want to accomplish, and even at this age, I feel I’m not at the level I want to be: I want to have a better job and not have to worry about money; I want to have a wife and kids and a stable home. I want the worries I have about the people I care about to resolve themselves, and in turn make me feel so less co-dependent. I still have a lot to work on myself. Thankfully, I think my coping and emotional skills have come a long way from even last year, and I’m ready to give rational advice and emotional support to anyone who needs it. I’ve lost a lot of weight, too, and I’m making better lifestyle choices, with a goal to be at a reasonable weight by the end of spring.

Who the fuck knows what is going to happen within the next year, when I turn 38 and when things in our world are hopefully better. Nevertheless, I can look back at this post, on the edge of this apocalypse, and see who a younger Phillip Retuta was.