10 Items from Today

Stuff that's on my mind right now:

1. It is cool when parking is not allowed around your building because Paramount is filming a movie there.

2. It is not cool when there is grafitti in your neighborhood that says "Fuck You, Bush-haters!"

3. It is also not cool when you get stuck in the elevator when you are already running late for work. As those of you who have visited my apartment building know, the elevator situation is, for lack of a better word, treacherous. For those of you who don't know, basically its an old, rickety elevator that opens and closes really fast, and will basically close on you if you're in its way. I only live on the third floor, so there's really no reason for me to take the elevator, other than pure laziness about walking and also about taking my keys out to get from the stairwell into the apartment complex. This morning I got into the elevator without a problem and took it
down to the first floor. It started to open. It opened about three inches and then stopped. I stood there for a moment, waiting, but nothing happened. I pressed the "open" button and nothing happened. I pressed the "close" button and still nothing happened. I pressed all the buttons and still nothing. I tried to pry the door open and it wouldn't budge. I pressed more buttons. Kicked the door. Kicked the inside of the elevator. Nothing. Nothing other than panic. I thought "Well, I could try to squeeze out, but I probably won't make it, because it's only three inches and my body width is more than that. Plus, I will have to empty out the contents of my bag to squeeze it through." I thought more about squeezing, and decided it was a decent option. Then I thought "But what if I get stuck? Or worse, what if I get stuck and then the elevator decides to move? I would actually die if that happens, because I know that this elevator has no concern for the people who are in its way." Then I thought "Well, I could press the alarm, but then what if I could have squeezed through? Whoever rescues me will think I am a tool for having them rescue me when I could have very easily escaped." Then I thought "I should just squeeze - I think I can make it - what's the worse that will happen? I'll get a little elevator crud on my fabulous pink coat or die. No big deal." So I threw my bag out through the crack and barely squeezed through. Barely squeezed through to the point that when I was out my body shot across the hallway because I was stuck. Luckily nobody was there to see this. But, as Roommate points out, there are cameras everywhere in our building so somebody is going to watch this and be very entertained.

4. So, the moral of the story is, another good thing about being small is being able to squeeze through stuck elevator doors without too much trauma. This is just about the only thing that is good about B cups. Word.

5. The other thing that's bizarre is just elevators in general. And then getting stuck in them. And how scary it is. And how people don't know what to do when people are stuck in a box that's going nowhere. My boss was just telling me about this time when he was stuck in an elevator for an hour and a half by himself with his samples on ice. He was stuck between floors, and people eventually came to rescue him but they were dumbfounded as to how to get him out of the box. It's really bizarre when you think about it. Like are you freaking out because you're claustrophobic or because you can't get where you're going or because you're helpless or because you're stuck? Being literally stuck (rather than metaphorically) is a terrible, terrible thing.

6. Last night on the train I made eye contact with this fella who was wearing headphones. He glanced down at my bag. I was confused. Then I looked down and realized he was looking at my Kerry/Edwards button. I looked back at him, and we both sighed. I very dramatically removed the button. He nodded in concession. When I got off the train, I dramatically stomped my feet and threw the button into the trash on Bedford.

7. Also last night I made a friend! I am thrilled. The boy on whom I have a friendship crush from my class, E, said "We should hang out some time." We exchanged numbers. I intend to make E my new movie buddy, as he is a film student at Columbia.

8. Speaking of class, last night we talked about American Splendor. There's this girl in the class who, when we were reading Fantastic Four said, in reference to The Thing, "Why doesn't he just get over things?" (this should be said in a thick, thick, thick New Jersey accent) This was distressing, because really, how and why would you ever get over being The Thing? It ain't easy to look like that and to be viewed and feared as a monster by the world. It is completely appropriate for Ben Grimm to experience angst regarding being turned into The Thing. Last night the conversation turned to Harvey Pekar, who I adore, because in millions of ways I identify with him (as I indentify with The Thing). We were drawing parallels between Harvey and The Thing, and the same girl said "I guess I just feel the same way - like why doesn't he just get over things and just go to therapy?" I got all upset and yelled "Dude, the book is his therapy!" The professor was like "Yes, yes!" Yes! I bring this up, though, because the girl said "I think people read or watch movies for two different reasons - total escapism or to identify with characters. I'm an escapist." Nothing wrong with that. But. Why is she so disgruntled when things are honest or have depth? And why do I identify with all of these tragic and sad characters? It is most likely a fact that this girl listens to Jessica Simpson and not emo pop. It was really everything I could do to be like "Dude, I have a blog that is basically my own American Splendor." The whole thing with Harvey Pekar (and you know this is you've seen the movie) is that he is a clerk by day in a dead end job who writes his comics to feel like he's doing something meaningful, to create art, to justify his stupid job that leaves him time to pursue other intellectual and creative endeavors. American Splendor is autobiography, but it's autobiography of the mundane. It's everyman. It's average. It's the search for recognition in your normal average boring life. It's rich in metaphors and struggle, it's emotional and charged, but still manages to be real. Lovely and real. Man's battle against a uneventful weekend. Love it. I actually wrote a song two weeks ago that I need to work on this weekend, about why it sucks when people say they'll call and then don't. While I was recording it I took a break from it to read American Splendor, and encountered a story in which Harvey Pekar rants for about 6 pages about the same phenomenon. He did it in words and pictures, I did it in words and music. Whenever I get that song up here I'll copy over the excerpt. The man is a genius, and its genius that he's finally acknowledged.

9. What would be awesome would be a course entitled "Blog as Literature" where you read people's blogs and analyze them and try to understand the deeper meaning.

10. Am trying to plan my weekend but have no idea what's going on because most people don't compulsively plan like I do. I want to see everyone, do everything, but can't plan because who knows what everyone is doing? They don't, because they don't compulsively plan.