On Hiatus

The Strike is over.

The good news is that we all get three free days on our unlimited ride Metro cards!

The bad news is that I still have to pack when I get home from work tonight after my sluggish commute on the PATH train.

D and I will be driving up to MA tonight, hopefully without too much strike-related antagonism in the form of obscene traffic out of the city. I am looking forward to some time off, but, as usual, there are millions of things planned. Visits, meals, exhibits, travelling, etc. I want to make sure that we have plenty of time to sit and watch DVD's and Curb Your Enthusiasm episodes. I'd also like to read a bit, sleep late, feel no pressure to do anything.

I don't want to plan.

Mother asked if we were going to church, if so what mass, and did we mind opening presents on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas morning?

I said "I haven't even thought about these things. Can we talk about it when I get home?"

All I can think about right now is what I might want to wear on New Year's Eve and what I might want to bring for CD's in the car tonight. Christmas Eve isn't for two whole days! I can't think about it right now.

All I can think about is effectively getting to MA and starting my vacation.

Anyway, I'm off until the 3rd (2006!!!), so My Mundane Life In Song is on hiatus until the new year.

Have great holidays, enjoy your celebrations, and try to relax.

Until the new year...

Merry Christmas from My Mundane Life In Song

Title: New York at Christmas (Epic Version)



Title: New York at Christmas (Concise Version)



Genre: Christmas Carol
Date: 12.21.05

Description:

I got some good submissions for Christmas carols but, as usual, I didn't have time to write a song, let alone record one.

After getting home last night after a long, annoying commute, during which I decided to sing songs by The Shins at the top of my lungs to combat all of the zillion confused commuters in Midtown, I met with disdain the task ahead of me - packing for my week and a half off for the holidays in MA.

Devoted readers all know that packing is my most loathed activity, especially after battling tourists and commuters alike. I can't even explain to you the chaos that is Midtown around the holidays. I live in Midtown and getting home after a long day's work is torture. And I can't even explain to you the chaos that is me trying to figure out outfits and makeup and jewelry and shoes for over a week in the winter.

I began to pack and then, as is customary, began to devise clever ways to procrastinate. I finished reading my book for book club, swiffered the hell out of my apartment, did the dishes, perused a photography book I've been meaning to look at, and then thought "Wait! I should write a song about the PATH train!"

I've been taking the PATH to and from work during The Strike. It is so very slow. It's so slow that sometimes I don't even realize that it has stopped, since the difference between movement and being stopped is barely noticeable. I've been torn, because walking to the PATH from my apartment, waiting in line to take the PATH, taking the PATH, and then walking from the PATH to work actually takes longer than walking to work from my apartment. But I'd rather have twenty minutes of walking broken up with ten minutes on the PATH than 40 minutes of straight walking, which would be really boring and really cold.

I am grateful for the PATH. I'd be much more irritable about The Strike were it not for this option. I am very, very lucky.

My intention was to write an Ode to the PATH, praising its existence.

It became, instead, an epic Christmas carol. A medley!

First things first, there's a line that says something about my not knowing that the PATH existed. This is not true. I knew about the PATH. I just didn't know, until recently, that it went into Midtown.

Second, this is all one take. I wanted to procrastinate, but I didn't want to lose hours of valuable time during which I could be staring at clothes on my bed trying desperately to figure out what I might want to wear on New Year's Eve. Things therefore get a bit messy towards the end, but I only had an hour and a half to write the lyrics, write the music, record it, mix it, upload it, etc. So patience! This is some really bad singing, and messy piano playing.

Third, this is a medley.

Fourth, this is really long. I've posted two versions - The Epic Version and The Concise Version, which is comprised only of the end of the song, which is the part I like best.

Fifth, I think this song is a good representation of my Love/Hate relationship with New York City.

Sixth, I don't even know why I was packing last night since we're not leaving until late tonight to avoid The Strike related traffic out of the city. I think the plan is to leave at 9:00 or so. I could have just focused on the song and done a better recording.

Seventh, I probably wouldn't have sat down at the piano at all unless I was trying desperately to procrastinate, so I guess it doesn't matter.

Eighth, I didn't finish packing. What am I supposed to wear on New Year's Eve!?!?


Lyrics:

It's mayhem in Midtown this time of year
All the tourists walking with their noses in the air
Christmas in New York is a lovely thing
As long as you're not a native you'll find it amazing

But not this year
The tourists can't go Christmas shopping
The Union doesn't want them to see the tree
In Rockefeller Center, they won't be able to go ice skating
Trapped in their hotel rooms
They're missing everything

I am pro-labor
I empathize
But it's hard to be patient when it's this cold outside
Negotiations aren't going well
Because Toussaint is a diva
He's asking for too much
He's breaking the law
We're all in agreement that the workers should see the surplus
But this is ridiculous

It's even worse in Midtown
I know it's hard hard to believe
There's even more confusion
You should see Penn Station

But I don't care
Cuz the city gave me a gift
It is called the PATH train
I didn't know it even existed
Thank you, New Jersey
Thank you, Mass Transit
Thank you Moishe for kicking us out
Cuz it would really suck to walk across the Williamsburg Bridge
It would really suck to commute with the hipsters
Merry Christmas...

Who has annoying tourists
New York has annoying tourists
Where will shopping make you throw a fit
New York shopping makes you throw a fit

Must be New York, must be New York, must be New York at Christmas

Who's got a mass transit strike
New York has a mass transit strike
Who has the most commuters on bikes
New York has the most commuters on bikes

Must be New York, must be New York, must be New York at Christmas

Who has Radio City
New York has Radio City
Who has the best Christmas tree
New York has the best Christmas tree

Must be New York, must be New York, must be New York at Christmas

Man.

There was some famous guy at lunch today and we can't figure out what he's from!

Infuriating. Old guy - sort of like reddish skin, white hair, biggish nose. Definitely not a huge celebrity. Maybe a character actor.

I am tortured.

Some Thoughts on The Strike

Admittedly, I was much more excited about The Strike last time. This is because the original strike was slated to occur on a Friday, which meant only one day of weird commuting and then a relaxed weekend during which nothing could be done. Movie watching, cooking, piano playing, phone calls, etc. The Strike's occurring during the week is no good. It's no good because now there will be many days of weird commuting, coupled with not being able to go home if I stay at D's. Ugh.

This is not the end of the world because I am heading to MA on Thursday. Thus, if The Strike goes on for 11 days like last time, I will not be majorly affected.

In addition, for each day of The Strike, we get a free day on our monthly unlimited ride Metro Card, which rules!

This is bad timing for me, selfishly, as our department holiday lunch is scheduled for today. Normally they have it a restaurant that is close by, but this year they chose to have it somewhere that's not within walking distance, so now we all have to walk for 30 minutes in the cold to get there.

It's actually not freezing cold. I bundled up today for my walk to work - sweater, hoodie, scarf, hat, above-the-knee socks. I wasn't cold at all. In fact, I removed my hat for a portion of the commute and didn't wear gloves at all.

I ended up not walking all the way, though, as the police presence throughout midtown was a bit much to handle. They were re-directing traffic, causing pedestrian pile-up. I decided to take the PATH from 33rd to Christopher Street and walk to work from there.

I think I like the strike.

People were definitely being cute, talking to one another, making jokes. The business people were chill about not being at work on time. And the best thing? Little kids going to school! I never get to see little kids en route to school but because the school start time was delayed by two hours, I got to see them! YAY!

There is also that sense of cred we all feel for having been involved with this. There's something interesting - the novelty, the "How did you get to work?" conversations you have with people you never talk to, having a shared panic with your entire city.

People in the city have been comparing the feeling to that of a snow day.

It's sort of exciting.

Working together, carpooling with strangers, exchanging knowing glances with others who have painful feet.

It's awesome.

OK. That is all.

More later.

STRIKE

Now the transit workers ARE on strike and I am not pleased.

D wasn't being the optimal boyfriend yesterday so I did not hang out with him last night in favor of being alone at my apartment, and now I am far away from work and have to walk. Snap. It's apparently 22 degrees outside and feels like 10 degrees outside and I have at least an hour walk ahead of me. Sweet!

There are no cabs in sight.

I may try to take the PATH, but I have no idea how to do that.

OK.

More later...

Seat-Stealer

I had a Curb Your Enthusiasm moment last night while waiting for Inside the Actor’s Studio to begin taping.

I wish, wish, wish I’d been able to channel Larry David a bit better. I tried, I really tried. I tried to be assertive on behalf of the people who were the victims of completely absurd human behavior but I had to stop because I was afraid that I was going to punch The Blonde Girl in the face, or at the very least pull her pony tail really hard from behind her.

Picture it:

James Lipton says “You may all leave. Just take a bracelet and make sure that you come back at 9:30 when the taping will begin.”

People take bracelets and leave. Presumably they will be coming back. What sort of person wouldn’t come back?

The show was sold out, packed to capacity. People had been waiting in line, hoping for last minute tickets, that sort of thing. People were rabid for this event. A lot of people couldn’t find seats during the initial seating. It’s General Admission with reserved seats for guests, but there weren’t even enough seats for the guests.

Here is the original conformation of people sitting in my row (the top row) and the row in front of me (the bottom row). My group is navy blue:



As soon as people got up to leave, The Blonde Girl from the Light Blue Group started asking us what we thought would happen. Would it really start at 9:30? How long would it go? Would it be rude to leave early? She has a job and has to work in the morning! Poor thing!

The next thing I know, The Blone Girl and her two lackeys move their things and just steal the seats of the people who were sitting in front of us, so now it looks like this:



Meanwhile, three members of our group left to get food as they’d been waiting for hours and wouldn’t, now, be able to eat dinner afterwards since afterwards would be, like, midnight or later. Three of us stayed behind to watch over the seats.

Then this happened:



The Red Couple, very nice people, returned to find their seats stolen. Rather than cause a scene, they make a move for the two seats remaining between us and the Purple Trio, who have now taken the seats that The Light Blue Group abandoned. I wasn’t mad at the Purple Trio, however, because the Light Blue Group gave up their seats to steal the seats of the Red Couple.

I said “Oh, I’m sorry. Those seats are saved.”

“But these people stole our seats!”

“I know, and they suck.”

The Blonde Girl rolled her eyes. She said “Why don’t you just sit next to us?” rather bitchily. So the Red Couple sat down next to the Light Blue Group.

All was fine until the yellow group returned!



“You guys are in our seats!” they said.

The Red Couple said “We’re sorry. We know. We have nowhere to sit because they stole our seats!”

“Well, we want them back!” said The Yellow Group.

They looked at the Light Blue Group, and the Light Blue Group refused to move. “Look, I was told that we could move seats,” said The Blonde Girl. A lie.

“No she wasn’t,” I said.

“Look, we just want our seats back,” said the leader of The Yellow Group.

“But those people stole our seats!” The Blonde Girl complained. “They just took our seats!” she said, pointing to The Purple Trio who hadn’t stolen her seats. They hadn’t stolen her seats because they saw her give up her seats to steal seats of another. She was trying to play it off, blame those people, but she never offered to get out of the seats she’d stolen by reclaiming her old seats.

She’d moved because she wanted to sneak out early because, woe is her, she has a job and has to work the following day.

“Well, you took our seats and you need to move,” said The Yellow Group leader.

“But those people took our seats!” she yelled.

“No, they didn’t,” I said. “You are the first one who stole seats and now nobody has a seat and it’s your fault.”

“What? What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with you people? Like you expect to like get the same subway seat every morning when you commute? Like its your seat? You people are ridiculous!” she said.

“We’re not leaving until you give us our seats back,” said the yellow leader.

“She stole all these seats,” I said again.

She finally backed down and she and her lackeys moved to the middle of the row.



Now she was in the middle, unable to sneak out effectively. Mwa ha ha!!!

She was throwing a fit for like the next 20 minutes, pissed that the people wanted their seats back, trying to blame the people who moved into her seat after she gave hers up. She said things like "Everyone here is so ridiculous. I don't know what their problem is. Why do they have to be so mean? What's wrong with them?" She was all in huff. I said to The Yellow Group “I’m glad you guys didn’t back down. She sucks. She totally just stole your seats.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to back down.”

Then, of course, it happened again. The Green People came back and wanted their seats.



The Blonde Girl threw another fit, turned around to The Purple Trio, and said “They started this! They stole our seats so we had to move here! JUST SIT SOMEWHERE ELSE!!”

Lies. All lies!!

“No, you’re in our seats.”

This went back and forth for like ten minutes, and finally the leader of The Green People got an usher who ordered her to move!

Did she!? NO! She WOULD NOT! And what happened when she did not move? Nothing, because The Green People (not the leader) backed down and said “We can just sit somewhere else.”

NO!

They left.

The Blonde Girl got away with it.

I hate her.

She lied, and worse, blamed other people for what she did. You can’t blame the people who took your seats after they saw you take someone else’s! What is wrong with her?

It is perfectly appropriate, once the show has begun or even shortly before it is about to begin, to move forward if there are empty seats. Everyone does that.

This situation, granted, is morally ambiguous. Without a concrete decree of what will happen to the seats, I suppose its a free-for-all.

But I feel like the right thing to do is not steal someone else's seat until you are certain that the person is not coming back.

Maybe it’s not so bad that she took the seats. Maybe it’s more her attitude about taking the seats. Clearly she knew stealing the seats was wrong, which is why she turned around and blamed the people who allegedly stole her seat and pinned the whole situation on them, the Seat-Stealers!

I could have killed this girl.

I wanted to be Larry David and just say what was on my mind, how she was being absurd.

Although, I guess in this situation Larry David would have sided with the Seat-Stealer, because really, why would a seat be yours if you’re not sitting in it?

I crave order.

And I hate entitlement. It is one of my biggest pet peeve. I kept wanting to yell "Who do you think you are!?!?" and then "I hate your ponytail!"

I hate this girl’s attitude. I hate that she lied. “I was told that we could move seats.” No you weren’t! I hate that she tried to pawn it off on people who were uninvolved. And I hate that nobody put her in her place, which is why she, and people like her, will continue to feel entitled.

All she had to say was “I’m sorry, I was hoping you weren’t coming back” and I wouldn’t have wanted to throttle her.

But no. She's allowed to do whatever she wants and gets mad at people who get in her way.

I felt violent. D said "This situation is so stressful."

I said "I think I want to beat that girl up."

"You're going to have to get in line."

D's friend said "Too bad you finished your Skittles because we could have thrown them at her head all night."

That would have been good.

I know this is the worst story ever, but I'm still wound up about it and may want to feel insane about it again in a year, at which point the diagrams will be helpful.

Meta

I went to a taping of Inside the Actor’s Studio last night.

The guest was Dave Chappelle.

I would tell you to stop being jealous, but you really should be jealous so I won’t stop you.

In preparation for the show, D suggested we rent the entire second season and watch it on Saturday night. Damn that show is funny.

I tried not to get too excited because I knew that there was a slight chance that Dave Chappelle would not show up. My heart would have been broken had that happened, so I distanced myself from the experience and pretended like it wasn’t happening at all.

We arrived at about 6:30 for the 7:00 taping.

At 7:30 the show still had not begun. James Lipton came out and gushed, saying “You are in for a treat tonight but there are problems with Dave Chappelle’s flight. He took a personal flight from Ohio just to do the show, we are very appreciative, but they had to stop to refuel. In the meantime, watch this..” They then aired the first episode of Chappelle’s Show after James Lipton said “This show is going to be our holiday gift to you.”

At 8:00, I went to the bathroom and overheard people saying that Dave Chappelle's plane hadn’t even landed yet, and that the taping would most likely begin at 10:00. Rumor had it that James Lipton would come out and make an announcement indicating what we should do.

When I returned to my seat, it was announced that they would be giving out bracelets and that we could leave, but we were to return to our seats by 9:30 for the taping.

I think D and I watched the entire first two seasons of Chappelle's Show in less than 24 hours.

At 9:30 things began, with tests for audio levels and audience camera shots.

When James Lipton emerged, he first said “Never have I loved an audience more than I love you,” because of our patience given that we’d all been there for three hours and would be there for at least another three and then “You are in for a wonderful show, you lucky bastards.”

HAH!

OK. Here are my thoughts about this experience:

1. I have new respect for Inside the Actor’s Studio. It was really an amazing interview, comprehensive, I know so much about Dave Chappelle and have a more complete appreciation for his comedy.

2. James Lipton = awesome. His interview skills are amazing. I now understand why celebrities flock to his show. He’s actually really funny and charming. He is very good at what he does. When he asked Chappelle to get up and dance, Chappelle said he would only if James Lipton would, and you know what? James Lipton actually got up and did a little ballet! It was adorable!

3. The importance of family – Dave Chappelle was talking about his initial experiences as a standup comedian, which began when he was only 14 years old, and how he told his mother that he was doing it and told her not to come. She showed up anyway, along with his brother and his grandmother. I think supportive family environments really encourage this sort of desire to entertain. Some people entertain to get attention, I think others entertain because they’ve received attention and have confidence. I really envy that sense of security.

4. Dave Chappelle is really funny. Like really, really funny. I saw him do standup a million years ago – I think in 1996 or something at The Comedy Connection – and he was funny, but he’s more chill now or something and for some reason that’s funnier to me.

5. Dave Chappelle was candid and honest. He spoke of his time in Africa and what led up to it, he spoke of his father’s death, he spoke of his experiences in Hollywood and warned people against certain things in the industry. He really put himself out there, and for this I respect him.

6. The fact that James Lipton loves Chappelle’s Show is pretty much the best thing ever.

7. The fact that James Lipton asked to “speak with” Clayton Bigsby, the black white supremacist, was the funniest thing ever.

8. James Lipton asked some really interesting questions. He knows everything about people and can therefore challenge them.

9. Most meta thing I think I’ve ever experienced – watching a clip of the skit on Chappelle’s Show where they spoof Dave Chappelle being on Inside the Actor’s Studio on a screen at Inside the Actor’s Studio while Dave Chappelle is on Inside the Actor’s Studio. Weird, man. James Lipton said “Who is that guy who plays me?” and Dave Chappelle said “That’s so-and-so, who was the dad in ‘War Games.’”

10. I really liked seeing someone from our generation up there.

We actually ended up leaving early because it was 1:30 before they even got into the question and answer session, and it probably would have gone another two hours and unfortunately I am an old lady who had to work the following morning.

I love doing things like this that are things that can only happen in New York City.

YEAH!

Submissive

I met D on Saturday morning to go to some galleries on the Upper East Side. These galleries are the heavy-hitters, the ones that show well-established artists, the rich ones. The ones in which there are not any people like us.

As you know, I am insecure about my lack of knowledge about art. I’m getting up to speed. I can recognize artists and I know what I like, but I’m not obsessive-compulsive about following “the scene” or remembering every piece I’ve ever seen. I just don’t like art that much and there’s nothing wrong with that, right? But sometimes I feel like there is, because art is “cool” and “smart” and D is all over it, and I know it doesn’t make him better than me, but sometimes I feel like he is.

I guess I deem anyone with an obsessive, excessive, and complete expert knowledge of anything better than me.

I don’t operate like this. I consume as much as I deem fit. I don’t know everything about anything, nor do I feel compelled to. There’s too much information out there for me to even think myself capable of absorbing all of it, so I pick and choose.

D, ever OCD about things like this, has to know everything about everything. He reads every newspaper, every magazine, every free periodical on the street. He knows about TV shows even though he doesn’t watch TV. He knows every obscure band, every obscure director, every obscure artist. He’s seen every movie, read every book that anyone has ever said is worth reading, etc.

This, of course, makes me feel stupid. It is hard to just accept that we are different sorts of people, and perhaps D admires my ability to be relaxed about consuming the world around me and wishes that he could relax enough to read fiction.

I like art enough, though, to look at it every now and then. I probably look at more of it than I can tolerate because D loves art and I want to spend time with him and be easygoing about his obsession.

D had made a list of galleries he wanted to check out. We found ourselves at a gallery that showcases Chinese art. When we got there, The Gallerist was thrilled to see us, because apparently his gallery doesn’t get a lot of traffic. He wanted to know how we’d heard of the gallery. He was appreciative of our looking at his collection and therefore wanted to talk to us.

The Gallerist was an older gentleman, very polished and very posh. He was probably in his mid-50’s, wearing a tweed jacket. You know the sort, and you are thrilled if you are a lover of stereotypes because this man was the quintessential white, rich, tweed-wearing gallerist with greying facial hair and ambiguous accent despite most likely being American. He should have been smoking a pipe.

He said “So, what brings you here? What kind of painting are you into?”

D said “Blah blah blah wah wah wah.” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“And you?” said the gallerist, looking to a blank-faced me for information.

I didn’t know what to say. I have no favorites. I disliked everything in his gallery that I’d seen up until that point. I had nothing educated to say. I didn’t want to sound stupid. I was on the spot. I didn’t want to say “I’m not really that into painting” so I instead said “Oh, I’m just with him,” and then stumbled over it, realizing that was a stupid thing to say, so then added “I’m actually more into photography.”

“I’m *just* with him, she says. Good for you!” he said to D.

Right.

The gallery was nice. It was more of an old apartment, with carpets and a very warm feeling. We walked to the back of the gallery where there were couches, a dog, and more paintings, paintings I actually liked. I gasped when I saw one of them.

I sat down while D and The Gallerist talked art. I flipped through some of the gallery’s catalogues, eavesdropped and interjected every now and then when they were talking about science or cheap labor abroad. They mostly spoke of painting and the renaissance that’s going on in China right now and how The Gallerist wants in on it. D said "Did you see such and such exhibit at such and such gallery?" and The Gallerist hadn't even heard of it. D said "Oh, yes, I saw so-and-so's work at such-and-such museum in insert city here" and then "His work reminds me of so-and-so's piece from blah blah blah." D said "You might like such-and-such." They talked about the importance of Cy Twombly, whose work I dug at the Philadelphia Art Museum, but about whom I have no opinion because I’ve only seen that and haven’t read about him nor obsessively sought out his work everywhere I’ve ever been. And not that I could articulate an opinion if I even had one. My opinion would have sounded like “The stuff I saw in Philly was cool. Sort of violent and raw. I took a lot of photos of them, actually. Yeah. Cool. But I didn’t like what we saw of his today for no real reason. Just not my taste.”

I knew D was having a great time so I didn’t push him to leave. I sat there in my own little world, feeling stupid and inferior and uninvolved, a feeling I often experience around D. The Gallerist got a call on his cell phone and accepted it, which afforded D and I the segue to escape.

As we were saying our good-byes, the Gallerist said “Well, it was a pleasure meeting the both of you. You are both lovely.” To D he said “You are a very lucky man.”

How nice, I thought.

“When I asked her what she was doing here, she said ‘I’m *just* with him.’ You’ve got a good one. Submissive. That’s how it should be.”

D = nervous laughter. “Not this one,” D said.

“No, really, that’s telling. I’m *just* with him. That’s how it ought to be. In China, they know how it’s done. Women there are submissive. It should still be like that here. Women just aren’t like that anymore, not in this day and age. You got really lucky. This is how it should be. You’re a lucky man.”

Dear god.

I didn’t say anything, of course, further reinforcing his notion of my submission.

He then wanted to know how long we’d been together, how we’d met, etc.

As we were leaving, The Gallerist kindly gave me a catalogue of the gallery’s photography collection which was actually pretty awesome. He was a nice guy, friendly, genuinely interested in us but…

But yeah.

When we left, D said “I had so much fun!”

“That’s good,” I said.

“I love talking with rich people. He was so interesting.”

True.

“That was so fun!” he said, thrilled.

“Yes,” I said, thrilled for him but, of course, mortified.

Pause.

D said “Do you think he was serious about all that submissive stuff?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

“He was probably just kidding.”

“I would hope so, but I don’t think he was. He’s into Chinese art, he’s into the culture, why wouldn’t he be into submissive women? Isn’t that the stereotype? Why would he say something like that to complete strangers unless he was serious?”

“Well, that stereotype is true.”

I was upset. I’ve never been referred to as “submissive.”

I think I was upset, though, because it rang true to me at that moment. I’d spent the morning being dragged around to art galleries to make D happy. That’s not submissive. That is just nice. It’s a compromise. It’s not submission.

Listening to your boyfriend talk art for half an hour while you just sit there in silence waiting for him to finish? Is that submissive? No, again, it’s nice. It’s polite.

But, was it incorrect for The Gallerist to assume, based on my statement and the behavior that followed it, that I was submissive? No. I don’t think he was at fault at all, and that is why I said nothing.

Was he wrong for saying it out loud? Yes. He should have said nothing. He doesn’t know either of us. Was he wrong for thinking it? No. Was he wrong to be jealous of D for having a girlfriend who will follow him around on journeys that make her feel insecure? No. Is D lucky for a million other reasons? Yes. Should D have pointed those out? I wish.

The following day, D said to his friend “We had this really fun experience
yesterday at this gallery on the Upper East Side.” He told her about the gallery and how chatty and interesting The Gallerist had been and how it is so fascinating to talk to rich people. I’m happy for D. I know he loves this sort of thing and that makes me happy and it makes me happy to be a part of these things with him. His friend then asked me what I thought, and I said “The art was ok but The Gallerist was a prick because he told me I was submissive to D because I follow him around to galleries, which I do, but not because I am submissive.”

Ouch.

“Sorry,” I said to D, for bursting his bubble and for ending the conversation so abruptly, but I never told him that it bothered me because it didn’t seem to bother him, and I wonder if that makes me submissive.

Wrap

I can't believe I just spent $30 on things with which to contain and then wrap Christmas presents. Ridiculous.

I am also distressed because, despite our agreeing not to get one another Christmas presents, I bought D a shirt at Filene's Basement.

One of the reasons I made the decree to not buy gifts is because buying presents for D is a challege. He is very particular. He is very obsessive compulsive about anything he allows in his apartment, on his body, into his brain, etc. He wears only a certain brand of socks. Boxers must only have certain patterns. Nothing can go on his wall unless it is chosen by him and him only. He will not humor the gift giver. He will not accept the gift, or he will accept it and then sell it on EBay. D, despite being a minimalist, is also a consumer, and thus has millions of books and magazine subscriptions and CDs and basically already has everything he needs. And because he is a minimalist, he will only allow into his life what he needs.

Hence the stress of buying him a gift.

I bought him a couple silly things just so he would have presents to open on Christmas. Nothing major. Just a book of puzzles which he will have no good reason to refuse and a DVD that he will find funny and can then sell on EBay if he wants. He will get a kick out of it and I didn't spend much, so when he gets rid of it my feelings will not be hurt.

Why did I buy him a shirt tonight? I have no idea. I really shouldn't have. I did most of my shopping this year on the internet but left a few items to buy in the real world. As I was shopping tonight, I remembered how much I love to shop for gifts for people. I love it. It's so much fun to think of what will make other people happy!

Now. D is absurdly particular about what he wears. He will only spend a certain amount of money on a shirt and above that he will say "Ridiculous!" even though the prices are not ridiculous. The shirts have to be of a certain style and only certain patterns are acceptable. The neckline has to be just so and the length has to be long enough to tuck in but short enough to wear out.

I found the perfect shirt for him. I thought "D will go nuts over this!" It looks like all his other shirts, which is why he will love it. It is a D Shirt. End of story.

I was wrapping it just now and I thought "Wait a second..." and then it occurred to me that there is a very likely possibility that D already has this shirt. I just don't know. Did I think it was perfect for him because I've seen it on him before?

I am the worst girlfriend ever.

It's problematic because all of his shirts are similar. They all have wacky patterns that invovle blue and they are all button-down. I didn't dare buy him an argyle sweater that would have looked so cute on him.

Now I am all stressed out because how lame would it be for me to give him a shirt that he already has? And also, what are the odds?

I do know that D hasn't bought a new shirt (well, a new button-down) in the year that we've been dating, so odds are he doesn't have it. Then again, maybe Filene's Basement carries fashions from a year ago. Then again, this shirt is French Connection and is marked $78 so there is no way that he bought it for regular price. Is it possible The Basement would have the exact same shirts for a year?

I now have to find a way to sneak into his apartment and look in his closet to see if he has the shirt.

The good news is that he wears his clothes in a rotation, so he'll probably get through the entire rotation once before I give him the shirt on Christmas.

I think it would be better, though, for me to just look through his clothes and double check. Yeah. I am the worst girlfriend ever, but not really, because oftentimes he'll be like "I've never seen you wear that before!" and I'm like "Umm... I've worn this about 40 times in the last year."

Ugh. This is what I get for violating the No Presents Decree.

Arts and Crafts

Bench Buddy is doing arts and crafts at his bench. He is using paste and velcro. His boss is already away for the holidays. I am jealous.

More Movie Reviews

I went to see Syriana last night.

Despite its being a total guy movie (in this case, "guy movie" does not refer to an action movie with violence, explosives, strip bars, etc., but instead refers to a movie in which all of the zillion characters except one are men - vile, corrupt, self-absorbed, greedy, destructive men who are involved in all sorts of greedy intrigue), I think it was good.

It was challenging. I left the movie and immediately said "Wow, I feel dumb."

The movie was challenging because of the many characters, their relationships to one another, all morally ambiguous, the many settings, and the lack of a true protagonist. Everything was complicated, confusing, not what it seemed, etc.

I enjoyed it anyway, even though I literally had no idea what was going on most of the time.

D had saved a review from The New Yorker that read something like "This is the rare type of movie that assumes too much intelligence from its audience." It also used words like "confusing." I guess if The New Yorker was confused I shouldn't feel so bad.

And of course George Clooney is my hero.

***

After watching Syriana, I read for a bit and then watched Murderball which I thoroughly enjoyed. It was interesting and answered a lot of questions. I now feel very attached to the people in that movie.

***

Too many crazy men, though.

I need to watch, like, Beaches or Little Women or something.

Not really.

Such a double standard.

Is there a mainstream movie that people actually saw and respect that involves only women?

I am trying to think of some...

And I can't.

Hmph.

Strike

The MTA is not on strike today.

That's not entirely true - apparently the drivers of two private bus lines in Queens are on strike, with more strikes to come if the contract isn't deemed satisfactory by the union.

This is good news. I am glad, for the workers and for the commuters, that the strike didn't come to fruition.

This being said, a small part of me was secretly hoping that there would be a strike. Not because that would be the right solution to the problem, because the problem shouldn't even be there to begin with, but because it would have been interesting.

I could have had the "I was living in NYC for the 2005 MTA strike!" story.

In addition, this sort of chaos can often foster a weird sense of community. I must admit that I was slightly excited about feeling one with my fellow New Yorkers in our time of need and inability to get anywhere!

I was also looking forward to seeing people rollerskating to work on the ice, although that wouldn't have happened given that it's 50 degrees out right now.

I was looking forward to being stranded. I was looking forward to a quiet day at work. I was looking forward to the controversy.

I'm happy, though. The people who work for the MTA have very difficult, annoying jobs and deserve raises and deserve to see some of the surplus in their paychecks. This is good for the city as a whole, but not for me and my selfish agenda.

Random Thoughts About Seeing a Movie On Your Anniversary

1. Probably not the best idea.

2. Definitely not the best idea if the movie is 3 hours long and there are 20 minutes of previews in addition to an hour of waiting in line prior to its start thus preventing you from doing anything else that night.

3. Not terribly romantic. We should have seen “Pride and Prejudice.”

4. We’d said “But we’ll have plenty of time to talk and hang out before the movie and it will be like a date!” but we’d forgotten that given the chaos of opening night, one of us would have to stay behind and save seats while the other would have to wait in long lines for food. Between the waiting for food and the paranoid going to the bathroom before the 3.5 hour movie madness began, I think we spent about 10 minutes talking.

5. It’s not good when one of the people thought they saw “the best movie of all time” and the other thought it was ok but lied and said “It was SO AWESOME!” so as not to hurt the feelings of the really excited person. I know I am very critical so I may not be the most reliable source for a review, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't the best movie of all time. Although D said, cutely, "It was the best movie I've ever seen! But I guess I say that about every movie right after I've seen it..."

6. It’s also not good when you get back from the movie at 11:15 and one person asks you to upload photos you took for them of things they want to sell on EBay while that person brushes their teeth and then gets into bed and goes to sleep while you read “Bel Canto” until 1 am on your anniversary. Not that I can blame him. It was late and he didn't get much sleep the night before. I was tired too, but not so tired that I didn't want to smile and say "Wow! We made it one year and that makes me happy!" to him. Oh well.

So yes, I recommend “King Kong” but I do not recommend going to the movies on your anniversary if you would like your anniversary to be meaningful and involve anything sweet. I will say, however, that D surprised me by having purchased tickets to “Spamalot” for some time in January!!!! Woooo! I am very surprised by and happy about that! Yay!

So one year has passed, and probably the only anniversary I’ll ever celebrate has happened without event. Oh well. I’ll stop being a girl about it and get on with year 2.

Until tomorrow….

Good Things About King Kong

1. Special effects – dear god. A-MAZ-ING. I think the best I’ve ever seen. I seriously though Naomi Watts was about to be eaten by a dinosaur.

2. Naomi Watts.

3. Act II – absurdly entertaining, frightening, edge-of-your-seat exciting. It’s the best adventure movie I’ve ever seen. I was seriously freaking out.

4. The love story – beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

5. Adrian Brody shirtless. On him I have such a crush.

6. Dinosaurs!!!! Dinosaur stampedes! Dinosaur fights! Dinosaur special effects! Awesome!

7. Old New York.

8. Did I mention Naomi Watts? She was extraordinary.

9. Act I was very endearing, quite funny, and adorable.

10. Epic, ambitious, and good flow.

Bad Things about King Kong (Note: MANY SPOILERS!)

1. The dialogue at times.

2. The complete and utter preposterousness of every single thing that happens in the movie. Seriously. Every single thing, from character interaction to animal behavior to decisions made to things that happened etc. I knew that it was going to take a lot of disbelief suspension to deal with an island inhabited by very big things, a woman falling in love with one of them, etc.

3. Many Many Preposterous Things about “King Kong:”

a. Jack Black, a movie producer, just happens to have a mysterious map to a mysterious island – it is not explained why or how he has it

b. The Jack Black character is a producer at all – no way. Nobody would have given him money to do anything

c. The Jack Black character, despite having his movie cancelled, manages to convince an entire crew as well as movie studio employees to go with him to a deserted island.

d. Naomi Watts consents to going away on a boat with him 5 minutes after meeting him.

e. Adrian Brody doesn’t run off that boat immediately.

f. Adrian Brody is CUT – there was no money around to be eating and also he was a nerdy playwright.

g. Despite the fact that they changed course to not go to the island, they end up there anyway at random! (D said this was because the island has some sort of magical pull, but that’s even more ridiculous!)

h. Despite the island’s being really small, none of the animals really avoid each other and know of each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

i. The island is small enough that within a few hours of landing Adrian Brody is able to find Naomi Watts.

j. Adrian Brody went after Naomi Watts at all.

k. Despite the fact that the boat almost sank and they had to empty all of the furniture etc. to get it to float, the crew is then able to sail a 30 foot gorilla to New York City.

l. Did I mention that it’s all too coincidental that the boat captain is a person who goes around collecting wild animals so happens to have a ton of chloroform aboard the ship to sedate a 30 foot gorilla?

m. Did I also mention that it’s absurd that the Captain, who was actually pretty awesome, consented to do anything for Jack Black at all? Why wouldn’t he just turn around immediately when he found out that Jack Black wanted to go to Skull Island?

n. The Captain and his crew are able to kill a zillion huge bugs in about five seconds and seriously, they all disappeared and there were a zillion of them.

o. Then there’s the whole “There’s a mysterious island where dinosaurs still exist and there are big huge versions of animals that exist in the discovered world, such as huge bats, crickets, and, well, gorillas.”

p. And then there’s the whole thing where the film crew gets to the island, immediately encounters human skeletons that have been impaled, torn limb from limb in some sort of sacrificial ritual, and they do not immediately turn around! They stay there! Nobody would just stay there! At the very least they would go back to the ship and discuss staying. They then see that there’s a weird aboriginal tribe there, and they don’t leave! Jack Black offers one of them a candy bar! Never never never would this happen!!!

q. There are so many more but I am just going to stop for now.

(Note: I realized going into this that it would be absurd. I knew the general premise. Giant gorilla on an island, girl falls in love with giant gorilla, giant gorilla somehow gets back to New York City and climbs Empire State Building and beats chest. I could have dealt with that. It was more the human behavior that annoyed me – like this would never happen because at so many points the story should have just ended.)

4. The movie seemed long to me. It really did. It felt like three hours. I think it was because it could have been three separate movies. Act I: Thestory of a sad girl and a sketchy movie producer whose paths cross in down-and-out New York City. The adventure begins! Act II: On the island our heroes encounter a bizarre land! Act III: After escaping the bizarre land, our heroes have to come to terms with things back in New York City. I really loved Act II. It was amazing. The movie is worth seeing just for this. I also liked Act I a lot, but it got a bit tedious at times. Act III did nothing for me.

5. There was a kid on the crew who was reading “Heart of Darkness.” Must you be this obvious? Was this perhaps in the original? I don’t know. I really need to see the one from the 30’s or whenever it was.

6. The tribe.

7. Many giant bugs, but that’s just personal. I thought I was going to have nightmares all night. As loyal readers know, my recurring nightmare that I’ve been having since age 6-ish is that dinosaurs are going to eat my family. I also have these dreams where I am convinced that there are giant spiders on my ceiling that are about to eat me, or that there are giant roaches in my bed, and I will be convinced I am awake. I think it’s a weird thing that happens as you’re about to fall asleep. I end up jumping out of bed and then run out of my room thinking that this is actually happening. Yeah. So I don’t do well with the bugs, but I guess I can’t hold this against the movie.

I wonder if people felt like this about the original. They were like “Huh, weird, a New Yorker falls in love with a giant gorilla from a mysterious island. But man does that giant claymation gorilla look awesome atop the Empire State Building!”

My overall opinion: it was good, entertaining, fun, impressive. Should you see it? Yes. Should you expect to be seeing the best movie you’ve ever seen? No.

Thunder and Lightening

20 Things From My Few Days in Boston:

1. Beautiful sunset in CT = Only good thing in CT



2. Papa Gino’s

3. Untouched snow on The Parents’ lawn







4. “Miguel” looking at The Parents’ House while Mother, D, and I sat in the
kitchen trying not to listen to what he was saying about The Parents’ House
was awkwardly wonderful

5. Father lighting a fire in the fireplace was even more blissful given that he
keeps the heat in the house at approximately 62 degrees

6. Threat of snow for Friday gave me an ulcer as I found myself screaming “But
you have an SUV!!! You can drive through one inch of snow!!!”











7. Lunch with LBF and PE ruled except for the lack of risotto cakes on the menu

8. Snow accumulation on body while walking to the Central Square T stop,
carrying luggage with a pile of snow on it, dodging the lightening while
being battered by hurricane-force winds, was the worst storm experience I’ve
ever had and I actually cried



9. Seeing D shovel The Former Roommates’ driveway while wearing galoshes =
adorable

10. Burrito from Anna’s!

11. Christmas carols!!!! (someone walked from Arlington for 50 minutes on iced-
over sidewalks just to partake)

12. Good news – babies and visa’s! – and hugs from friends

13. “Curb Your Enthusiasm” episodes On Demand at Sister’s apartment

14. Sinking into Sister’s new couch

15. Cheese fondue

16. Memory Lane

17. Sister’s Band = Rock Stars (damn are they good!)

18. Sister’s Boyfriend’s friends making out on couch next to D as D and I tried
to sleep on an air mattress at 5 in the morning… ewwww…. So glad to no
longer be 23 years old

19. Breakfast burrito

20. Exhaustion

Dating

I went to dinner last night with three girls from my photography class.

As we were doing the “Get to Know You Outside of Class” thing, it emerged that one of the girls works in the computer department of a major pharmaceutical company, one girl is a mechanical engineer, and one girl is a realtor with a science background who is going back to school for Genetic Counseling. Weird.

Equally weird was the portion of the dinner, after much wine was consumed, during which we discussed boys. Turns out, bizarrely, that I was the only one at dinner who has a significant other!

What are the odds? I suppose it is not odd that ¾ of awesome women in NYC are single, considering how difficult it is to meet people here. It’s bizarre because I was the ¼ who has a boyfriend. I’m so used to being the only single one! I’ve spent so much of my life single or in relationships that allowed me to behave, for all intents and purposes, like a single person.

Weird.

I didn’t know how to handle it. I was actually jealous of their singleness for many reasons. I listed, without humoring anyone, the many virtues of being single in the city. There are so many. I said “You can do whatever you want! You can go wherever you want! You get to be selfish! You don’t have to consider anyone but yourself!”

Of course there are millions of awesome things about dating as well, but we didn’t talk about those.

I did, however, say stupid things like “It will happen for you. I have the worst dating history of anyone I know – I suck at it – I hate it – I loved being single – I never thought I’d meet someone who wasn’t a complete ass and without even trying I met someone who rocks.”

How did this happen?

I offered to set people up. I said “I know some boys, but please don’t think I am recommending that you date. Dating is the worst thing ever.”

Things have changed so much in the last year.

I think I might be a grown-up.

This is more than a year anniversary with a boy. This is a year anniversary of being a more functional human being, and for that I am proud of myself, and for that I will celebrate.

Vegetables

I am a picky vegetarian.

At dinner last night, I ordered “Assorted vegetables sautéed in garlic and olive oil served with jasmine rice.”

Because I am a picky vegetarian, this sort of menu item worries me. I only like certain vegetables, so I’m generally paranoid when the vegetable content is vague. My worst nightmare is that the assorted vegetables will be tomatoes, cauliflower, eggplant, and mushrooms, which aren’t even vegetables. I hate mushrooms above all else, mainly because they strike me as being a bit meat-esque. I don’t even like to push them to the side because they leave mushroom residue over everything they touch. I hate them.

My fantasy assorted vegetables include asparagus, spinach, broccoli, yellow squash and zucchini.

You can imagine my elation when the assorted vegetables arrived and were asparagus, spinach, broccoli, yellow squash and zucchini. Also included were cauliflower (ewww), carrots (not my favorite) and string beans (acceptable).

I was psyched! I cleaned my plate.

One Whole Year

My one year anniversary with D is tomorrow.

I am rewriting the entry from this afternoon because we have decided to see King Kong.

I agreed to this because D is ridiculously sweet (why is it that I sometimes forget?) and said "It's symbolic of our relationship because talking about movies is what brought us together in the first place."

"Yes!" I said. "We can commemorate dates Minus 1 and Minus 2 by going to the movies!"

"Yes, and really, what represents us as a couple more than watching movies?"

"True."

"We could do something romantic like go ice skating, but we don't ice skate."

"Again - true. I love this plan."

I just bought tickets for King Kong opening night and I must admit that I am very, very, very excited.

One whole year! I am so happy.

On Hiatus

Hello Readers,

I am heading up to MA for the rest of the week and through the weekend to shop at outlets, see family, see friends, eat burritos, sing Christmas carols, see new houses, possibly bowl!, and hear Sister play some music. It is going to be awshummmm.

Until next week....

Sincerely,

Leah Lar

p.s. I got two great submissions for the Christmas Carol contest but did not receive them in enough time to work on them last weekend. Which means I will work on them next week and weekend. So if you have an idea, send it my way!

Assumed Incompetence

I went for a physical a few weeks ago.

The doctor said "Why don't we do bloodwork? Just to make sure everything is ok, make sure you're not deficient in anything since you're a vegetarian."

Cool.

In New York, you do not have bloodwork at the place that is demanding the bloodwork. You have to go to a "collection facility," at your convenience, have them send it to a lab, and then have the lab send it to your doctor.

I procrastinated, of course, because, well, getting blood taken isn't pleasant and because getting to a place that will draw blood isn't convenient. Transit time to the closest facility is an hour, plus unpredictable amount of waiting, so it wasn't something I could do unless I had a big block of time during work or if I got up early enough before work.

In the meantime, I went to another doctor's appointment. Dr. #2 needed bloodwork but for something different entirely and therefore ordered a set of different tests.

Sweet! I was very satisfied that I'd procrastinated and promptly went to have blood drawn after the second appointment.

I knew it would be complicated. I knew that the people at the facility would be unable to comprehend that the results had to be sent to two different doctors.

The woman behind the desk said that it wouldn't be a problem and had me fill out the form. After filling out the form, I went back to the desk and said "Perhaps I should fill out two forms?"

"Oh, yes, good idea."

The forms were filled out, a ton of blood was taken, and over a week later I hadn't heard from either doctor.

I called Dr. #2 and they said "No, we've gotten nothing. We should have gotten it by now if you did this last Monday."

I called The Lab, and they said "Oh, we faxed it to Dr. #2 at this fax number."

The fax number, of course, was the fax number for Dr. #1.

"Oh, no, that's the wrong fax number. That's my primary care."

"Oh, well, we didn't have a fax number for Dr. #2 so we just sent it there."

Of course. Instead of calling me and asking me for the fax number, they faxed the results to an arbitrary doctor.

It then occurred to me that perhaps Dr. #1 didn't receive what she was supposed to receive, since she got the tests for Dr. #2.

I called Dr. #1's office and, of course, they'd received nothing.

Of course.

Because people are incompetent.

This is not complicated.

I went in, had blood taken, and the results of tests are supposed to be sent to doctors.

But neither doctor would have gotten anything had I not called.

I mention this because I knew it would happen this way.

And I hate that I knew, because it only reinforces my negativity about the world and people.

This being said, I had a very nice experience yesterday involving people.

I haven't eaten at one of my favorite lunch spots in quite some time because a scene played out there about a month ago and I was terribly distraught.

I was paranoid about going back. The embarrassment didn't go away. "They won't remember," he said. "I think they will," I said.

I finally went back yesterday, because, dammit, I wanted a sandwich!

I walked in, ordered my sandwich, and when I got to the cash register, The Manager said "Oh! I thought you were never coming back!"

I said "I was terribly embarrassed."

The Manager explained himself. I said "Look, I'm on your side. I've been on your side the whole time. I understand."

"Well, I'm glad you're back. Really. I'm happy you came back."

This reinforced/confirmed my paranoia, but my paranoia didn't matter because The Manager was nice to me.

I don't know what my point is.

I guess the moral of the story is that it is best to assume the worst, because you will then be prepared for incompetence and pleasantly surprised when things turn out nicely.

Candid Camera

The snow season has begun.

I awoke this morning, giddy, hoping to see the predicted 3 - 5 inches of snow draped over the city. There was, of course, nothing. It snowed a bit, but not enough to cause more than an inch accumulation on non-street surfaces.

I dined with my friend DC last night, a friend I haven't seen nor spoken with in three years. It always makes me happy when people find me. I'm the sort of person who, years later, will think "What ever happened to so-and-so?" I will then compose an awkward email, inquiring as to the status of their life, unsure of whether they want to hear from me, consistently fearful of being cyber-rejected.

"Remember me? I was the girl you dumped because I wanted something serious even though I didn't actually want something serious. How are you? Want to get a drink some time?"

DC had initiated an awkward email relationship. Things were eventually sorted out and we are now, apparently, friends again.

We had dinner at this cute Italian place in Union Square that gives you free bruschetta! We split a bottle of wine over some shocking news from DC, even though I'd capped my consumption at one glass given the flu I can't quite shake.

Seated behind us were a bunch of girlish girls. They were wearing patterned sweaters and weighing the pros and cons of stackable vs. floor washers and dryers based on towel-loading capacity. One girl exclaimed rather loudly "Look at the snow!"

The entire restaurant turned around in response. I looked out the window. I didn't see any snow.

"Sorry," I said. "I was just looking out the window to see the snow, since that girl just said something about snow."

"Yeah, I heard it," said DC.

"Huh."

A short time later, she said "It's really coming down now!" The other girls murmered in agreement.

I looked again, and still didn't see any snow.

"That girl seems really alarmed about the snow," I said.

About half an hour later she said "I'm sorry, guys, but its really getting bad out there. I better go. It's going to start accumulating soon!"

The other girls nodded in understanding, as the girl frantically gathered her belongings together and ran out.

I looked out the window again. Still no snow. "Dude, I don't know what that girl is talking about. I don't think its snowing."

"It's not," he said.

"Well, maybe because they're sitting at a different angle from the window..."

"It's not snowing."

"No, well, if I tilt my head this way... I think it is," I said, but no matter how you looked at it, it was not snowing enough to be frantic. "I think its doing the thing where its snowing sideways, and that's why we can't see it."

"Horizontal snow effect."

"Yeah, you know, like if we were out there we'd see it but we can't see it from here because against the buildings it camouflage and that, combined with the glare from the window makes it impossible to see. Right. No. It's not snowing."

"It's not snowing."

"Then what is her deal? Maybe we're on Candid Camera! It's some psychology experiment in group behavior and persuasion! They want to see if that girl will convince people that its snowing outside even though its not! It's one of those paranoia studies!"

"Uh huh."

"No, I think its snowing. Seriously. Like its just an angle that we can't see from here."

"It's not."

"When I talk to my parents (I had to call my parents post-dinner to coordinate a pick-up in MA tomorrow for my visit!) they are going to say 'Are you getting snow there?' and I will say 'Well, it depends who you ask.'"

"You will say 'Define snow.'"

"Heh. I think its snowing, though. They said it was going to snow."

"But its not."

When we exited the restaurant half an hour later, it was snowing. Minimally. A bit. Not even flurries. People just get nuts about snow.

The good news is that this sort of thing is good practice. A few years back I slipped on a patch of ice outside my apartment in Somerville, cartoon-slipping-on-a-banana-peel style, feet over head, landing on back, etc. I landed on my back, hit my face on the pavement, broke my glasses, and had a small cut on my face. I tried to get up, but because I was still on the patch of ice, I fell again, exactly the same way.

My body ached all week, and ruined me for the rest of time, as I am now convinced that I will meet my death while walking in the city during icy, snowy times.

This small snowfall allows me to identify potentially treacherous areas throughout the walking portion of my commute. Like last year, the walk from the subway to work is fine. Nothing sketchy.

Midtown, however, is another story. It is going to be a bad scene. I will have to be very alert and cautious when walking to and from my apartment.

Because I was being super aware this morning and staring at the ground, I averted stepping on a frozen mouse. Ewwww.... that has to be an omen for something.

The second snow, and not nearly as dramatic as promised. Oh well.

Sleep

I love sleep.

If I had my way, I'd sleep every day until noon.

Back in my youth, I would regularly sleep past noon on the weekends.

Adults would say "You're so lazy!"

They would also say "You're not going to be able to do that when you get older."

"No! I will always sleep late! No matter how much responsibility I have! I will produce and then raise children who also sleep late!"

"No, you won't physically be able to sleep late. It gets harder as you get older. You'll be up at 6am whether you like it or not."

"Whatever. That will never happen to me."

Hah.

These days I can, on occasion, sleep until 11 am.

But now, instead of wasting my weekends sleeping all day, I waste my weekends trying to sleep all day and being annoyed that I can't sleep.

This was of importance this weekend, as I am sick with a slight flu. The beginning of the flu was Thursday, so the crucial period coincided with the weekend. I thought "No problem! I will kick this flu's ass by sleeping all weekend!"

No such luck. Despite a late night at the company party on Friday (where, incidentally, there was no drama), I was up at 9:00 on Saturday morning. I got a coveted 8 hours on Saturday night, but it was frustrating since I went to bed at midnight and was then up at 8:00 on Sunday morning!

D said "But you got 8 hours!"

"No! The point of going to bed at midnight was to be able to get twelve hours."

I guess I'm getting old. I feared this. I wasn't entirely sure, but now that I have this crucial data point it's confirmed.

Netflix Sadness

D and I went through our NetFlix queue last night, and realized that most of our chosen movies are movies he wants to see or wants me to see.

There were a lot of "Well, I feel like I should see this, but do I really want to?" on my part.

We decided that the best thing to do would be to have two separate NetFlix accounts.

I don't know if I can afford NetFlix on my own.

I am sad, because I love NetFlix. I love them even more now that they have candy-cane patterned stickers and cute little snowflakes on the envelopes for the holidays. I love them for their fast turnover, their user-friendly website, their enabling me to see movies I'd never have otherwise seen.

I don't love, however, how they make me boring. D and I are both obsessive, list-making and list-checking-off-of personalities. NetFlix neutralizes us at times, and we have gone to far fewer movies now that NetFlix is in our lives.

I don't want to live like this. If I didn't have NetFlix, I'd probably rent a movie once a month. D is more of a compulsive renter, so this is more his thing. I'd rather read books and go to the movies and work on music.

I think I may downgrade to the 1 DVD-at-a-time membership, which is only $10 a month. If I watched one movie a week it would make it worth it, and I can definitely find time to watch one movie a week.

This will allow me to embark upon Project Watch Every Movie Musical Ever Made. I will only watch movies I really want to see instead of watching movies because they are there. I will be a new, productive person!

The only problem with this is that I will never see D.

But we'll figure it out.

Shared NetFlix account, precursor to domestic partnership, it's been real, but it's just not working out for me.

Ding Dong Ding Dong

Christmas bells are ringing!

Someone please make it stop.

Christmas Carol Contest

As per Nithya's suggestion, I am thinking about writing a Christmas carol!

I have an idea for lyrics, but here's a better idea: A My Mundane Life in Song Christmas Carol Contest!

You write the lyrics, I'll write the music and post it on the blog.

Here's the deal:

1. Write a Christmas Carol - no more than three verses. It can be of your own design, or it could be a parody, set to the tune of a pre-existing Christmas carol.

2. Post the lyrics on the blog by 3:00 this afternoon. Of, if you want it to be a surprise to the readers, you can email the me the lyrics.

3. I'll pick one and record it this weekend.

4. And if there are a bunch, I'll record a bunch.

Yeah!

I'm not going to get too excited because I doubt that any of you will have time to write a Christmas carol in the next few hours. If there are no entries, maybe we can have the contest again next week when there is more time. And if there are no entries then, then I will win and record my own song.

Awesome.

It Has Begun

I love Christmas carols.

I really do.

But listening to them non-stop? All day? For the next 24 days!??!?!

No.

I can't do it.

I do like, however, when random people walk by and start doing their renditions of Wham's Last Christmas.

I said "Hey! You know what we should do? For the purpose of morale? Have an interdepartmental Christmas Carol Challenge!!!"

I know, I know, not everyone celebrates Christmas. But everyone celebrates Wham, right?

We just listened to someone who sounds like Whitney Houston (I think it was Whitney Houston) doing Do You Hear What I Hear. There was a Bryan Adams Christmas carol today with the worst lyrics I've ever heard. I think Bing Crosby is singing right now.

Christmas carols have been all day.

Consequently there has been discussion of things like snow and and the Holiday Party (which is tomorrow!) and Christmas specials. Someone said "I think the Burl Ives snowman looks Asian."

I can't take another month of this.

I Can't Believe I've Become That Girl

I had food poisoning last night which resulted in my not sleeping well which resulted in my having weird, distressing dreams when I actually did manage to get a few moments' sleep.

During one of these moments I had a dream that there was a large meeting at work, except that it was more like a high school assembly. Tons of people. Tons of chaos. Nobody paying attention. Etc.

The assembly was being given by B, an upperlevel type with whom I never interact. He's someone I know only because he is outspoken at meetings and seems very smart and therefore worthy of my neurons.

B said "D, it is time now!"

D resisted. He was sitting in the row in front of me. He was blushing and distressed and I could tell he didn't want to do whatever B had planned for him.

"Now. You have to."

The New Girl, who was seated next to D, turned around and put a hideous ring on one of my fingers. Hideous, I tell you. It was flat and square and big and had a bunch of flat, small diamonds in it. She said "I picked it out just for you."

"D is proposing to you!" B said, upon which all of my coworkers and people I knew from high school and college turned around and looked at me. They stared. They smiled. Everybody was thrilled, except for D.

He giggled uncomfortably, and tried to smile, but couldn't.

I started weeping uncontrollably. I was so upset. I was upset because he didn't just ask me. I was upset because he didn't pick out the ring. I was upset because the ring was horrific. I was upset because everyone was staring at me. I was upset because he was upset.

"Yes, yes, yes" I said anyway, as D tried to smile but couldn't.

It was awful.

I woke up and felt very unsettled. "D," I said, "I just had the most awful nightmare! I dreamt that B forced us to get engaged in front of the entire company and that The New Girl picked out this awful ring for me and it was just so very terrible!"

"Huh," he said, and I was upset because he said nothing.

Can I get a "Wierd!" or "Why would be dreaming about B?" or "It's not that terrible, is it?"

This all stemmed from my blushing at group meeting yesterday. Everyone turned around to look at me when The Big Boss commended something I'd done, which prompted my blushing. I hate being looked at, paid attention to, noticed at all. My blushing then prompted another upper level type to say, loudly, "LOOK AT YOU! YOU'RE BLUSHING! WHY ARE YOU BLUSHING?" which, of course, made me blush further.

Last night, I went to D's friend's show at the Pussy Cat Lounge, which is, yes, a strip club. They didn't play in the strip club. They played in the completely separate lounge above it. Prior to the show, we went out for dinner with D's friend's girlfriend T, who rules. She rules because she is smart, honest, and has no filter.

At one point she said "So, you guys have been together for a year? Why don't you live together? Start saving money? Living together is awesome! It really helps the relationship, changes the dynamic..."

Dead silence.

A-W-K-W-A-R-D.

"Oh! I think I left my umbrella at your house!" T declared. D ran back to get it, and T said "Did I say something I shouldn't have? Have you guys been talking about it?"

"No, not at all."

"Why not?"

"Because he's not sure."

"If he wants to live together? What - are you too neat or something?"

"No, he's the one who's too neat. No, that's not it. He's just not sure... well,
he's not sure about me."

"Well, that's ridiculous. You have to tell him he's sure. You have to make him
your bitch." How I adore T.

"That's not how I am," I said. "I want us to come to the same conclusions at the same time, and if he waits too long, I'd rather walk than force him into something he doesn't want."

We piled into a cab after D retrieved the umbrella, and T began saying things like "You know how I was talking about NY being a lone bone city? (because she'd been
talking about how men can't get dates in NYC earlier that night and how women, no matter how vile, can without fail) It's true. After men hit 31, they can't get a date. Women, they can get dates, no problem. Every woman is always thinking about at least 5 guys in her life she could sleep with. Not that she would sleep with these guys, but she could! I mean, once you hit 31, you're so set in your ways, no woman would put up with you! And then you'll want a relationship, and you'll be alone forever. And you'll be thinking about the ones who did put up with your shit. I mean, if you find someone, its just stupid to be worried."

She went on and on about how the first year of any relationship is the hardest and how its unrealistic to think that everything will be perfect. I laughed and laughed. D said nothing.

I hoped for some sort of follow-up from D. At the very least "T was nuts in the
cab" or "What was she talking about?" or even a little anger, like "What did you say
to her?"

Nothing.

Of course.

Hence the dream.

Another contributor - right before we went to bed, we were talking about D spending time with my parents next week. He will be in MA for job training and I am going to
meet him at my parents' house on Wednesday night. He said "Don't worry. If you
want to come on Thursday morning, I can totally hang with your parents."

"Oh, you don't have to. I don't mind coming."

"No, seriously, you don't have to. I have plenty of things I need to talk about with your parents."

!!!!

"Maybe now I can see those videos from when you were little, and see pictures of you from middle school! Mwa ha ha!!!!"

Sigh.

Hence the dream.

I can't believe I've become That Girl.

Until tomorrow...

Dude

I saw Constantine last night and it didn't completely suck. It was, actually, quite good.

As we were watching it, I realized that, in some ways, D reminds me of Keanu. There's something Keanu-esque about his features.

I said "You know, you remind me of Keanu Reeves."

He seemed somewhat offended.

"I hope I remind you of the good things."

I suppose reminding someone of Keanu Reeves isn't necessarily a good thing, depending on what they're referring to.

If I had said "You remind me of Brad Pitt," I don't think he'd have taken offense because Brad Pitt's overwhelming trait is obscene good looks (second only to his amazing abs). "You remind me of Brad Pitt" = "You are freaking SO HOT I CANNOT HANDLE IT."

Keanu Reeves' overwhelming traits, however, include things like: constant bewildered look, inability to act, inability to smile, inability to chew gum convincingly according to my friend MS from college, inability to sit at a desk convincingly, stoic, rigid, ambiguously gay, dull, etc.

"No! I mean you're cute! Like Keanu Reeves! You're even cuter!!! I mean, Keanu is HOT."

"Do you think he's mixed?"

"I think he's Lithuanian."

He's not Lithuanian. He was born in Lebanon. I guess I got the two confused because last time I thought about Keanu Reeves' stats was in 8th grade when I was obsessed with Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, but back then we fought over Bill because he was cute and blonde and because that sort of thing appeals to middle-schoolers. Keanu is an acquired taste. Keanu is pretty, and you don’t understand pretty when you’re 12.

Anyway.

I just looked it up and it turns out that Keanu is 1/4 Chinese, 1/4 Hawaiian, 1/2 English, and is a Canadian citizen.

So I was right in thinking that D reminds me of Keanu. So there.

Keanu. Such an enigma. He is in two of my favorite movies - The Matrix and Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. But he was also in some of the worst movies I've ever seen - Chain Reaction, Johnny Mnemonic, A Walk In the Clouds.

This is why I assumed Constantine would suck, but I had to see it anyway because, well, Keanu is cute.

Sad Day

Mr. Miyagi is dead.

Gas Station Incident - Part II (aka I Really Need Renter's Insurance)

My street corner is cursed. As you may or may not recall, I live above a gas station that released sodium bicarbonate or whatever it is in a false alarm fire over the summer, which resulted in my entire apartment and all of my possessions being coated with a white dust. In addition, my street corner, at 10th Avenue and 36th Street, was the sight of a deadly hit and run accident involving a bus about a month ago. On top of this, D and I were forced to call 311 a few weeks ago when the gas station became the site of a spontaneous hip hop party at 5am on a Saturday morning.

Yesterday morning, D and I awoke from a dead sleep when we heard screech, BANG!, screech, BANG, BLOWWWW!!!!!

We looked at each other, shocked. D bolted from bed, looked out my bedroom window, then ran to the living room and yelled "Oh my god we have to get out of here the gas station is on fire oh my god we should get out of here!"

"What?" I said, groggy. "Really?"

I put on my sneakers and ran to the window while putting on my coat.

I couldn't tell if the gas station was on fire because the white stuff was everywhere again. "Oh, I'm sure they've got it under control... like last time," I said.

"Ummm..."

I took my sneakers off, changed from pajamas to clothes just in case we couldn't come back for a while, grabbed the wallet and keys and phone and scarf and of course camera, and headed out of the apartment.

When we got to the stairwell, we had a better view of what had happened.

A cab driving down 10th Avenue had apparently driven out of control into a stationary cab in the gas station, crashed into it, and caused that car and the pump that it was at to ignite!!! Bizarrely, there was a blue SUV on the corner of 36th Street that was completely demolished.

Instead of leaving the scene, D and I stood in the stairwell trying to figure out who hit who, how Physics could have possibly led to this result, watching the firemen arrive and put the fires out, wondering if there were any bodies, etc.

Meanwhile, various neighbors congregated, just like last time, only this time they were in pajamas! How cute!

D and I eventually decided to go outside and talk to people, to see if anyone knew what had happened.

The eyewitness consensus was that an older woman driving the SUV (PA plates) was going down 10th Avenue THE WRONG WAY, and that the taxi had to swerve to get out of her way. She hit him anyway, causing him to launch into the gas station, hit the other car, and then, bang blow FIRE!

Fucking nuts.

Here are some photos:













Some thoughts about this:

1. The sound. It is not natural for humans to hear that sort of thing. It was so scary. I almost had a heart attack.

2. Being a spectator. D said "I now understand why spectators get injured in these sorts of situations." Rather than run away due to the prospect of being blown up with the gas station, we stood there discussing what was going on, trying to figure it out, etc.

3. Not knowing. We kept wondering "Where are the cabbies? Are they ok? Who hit who? How is this even possible?"

4. D. I love this boy. Had he not been there, I'd been insane. It was comforting to experience this with him, to be calm because of him, to have someone to share this sort of thing with.

5. My fire escape. There's been recent talk of putting my air conditioner on the fire escape, because having it in the window is causing a draft and given that the heat is never on in here, it's a problem. It is illegal to put things on fire escapes, but yesterday I realized that the most likely source of a fire would be this stupid gas station and my fire escape, should I escape onto it, is above the gas station. Clearly nobody will be using that fire escape. I'm not going to put the air conditioner out there, but I'd be more inclined to after yesterday's experience.

When we'd had enough time staring at the firemen, we came back upstairs, adrenaline rushing, and drew billiards-style diagrams on paper towels trying to figure out how that side of the woman's car had been destroyed if she'd hit the taxi driver in a head on collision, and how, then, that side of the back of his car was ruined. How did she hit the back of his car if she was driving down the wrong side of the road? No idea.

We calmed down, I took a shower while D tried to contact the New York Times to see if they were interested in the photos. I was fairly convinced that I had the only photo of the flames given that all of the news crews arrived only after the firemen had dealt with the situation. He found a tip-line email address. I quickly downloaded my photos, sent the one of the flames to The Times, and then ran out of the apartment as I was late for a doctor's appointment.

When we got outside, there were two news crews. I said "I wonder if I should tell them I have the photo." I decided to, as I felt very much like the photojournalist I aspire to be. I said "Hey, I have a photo of the fire." They said "Send it to us!" They then started asking us questions and said "Can we interview you?"

"Hell no," I said, but of course D consented.

He was so cute as an eyewitness in his scarf and winter coat, answering questions and explaining how the smoke looked like a blizzard and how things could have been much, much worse had things occurred slightly differently.

The interviewer said the story would air after football.

Fortuitously, D got an antenna for his TV last week, so we would actually be able to see the story! We decided to reconvene "after football" to see if my photos and D's interview made the local news.

As the day progressed, we realized that neither of us had any idea when "after football" was.

I called some boys I know in the city but they did not answer. I called Father and he said "You know better than to ask me questions about sports." D called a friend who also had no idea. D ended up asking a Best Buy Employee when football was on and got a definitive answer.

We went back to his apartment and sat glued to the TV. I watched "Smallville" episodes while checking back obsessively to various stations airing football, saying things like "THIS HAS BEEN THE LONGEST FOUR MINUTES OF ALL TIME!"

The first game ended after what seemed like 10 hours and the NBC News began, and HEADLINED WITH MY PHOTO!!!! AHHHH!!!!!!! "OH MY GOD THAT WAS MY PHOTO!" I said, nearly doing cartwheels on D's couch.

The story was good. It was about how this could have "been catastrophic for residents of this apartment complex on 36th Street." There was a shot of my apartment complex, with my stills interspersed. And then D's interview! It was awesome. D's body temperature rose about 15 degrees while watching himself on TV. Excitement! We were freaking out. We taped it. I called The Parents. The only problem is that they said that D took the photos. Of course. But whatever. I don't care! My photos were on TV!!! My babies! ON TV!!!!

The second story, which aired on ABC Eyewitness News, was more informative but featured less of us. We did learn, however, that the driver of the stationary cab that was hit and that ultimately went up in flames was inside the BP getting a coffee when his car was hit. Had he been at the pump he'd surely be dead. THANK GOD. It also had footage of the pump, which actually had gone caught on fire as well. It featured an interview with a neighbor who said something like "You never know what's going on at this corner, but it's always something!"

I think this was worth missing Thanksgiving in MA for.

Awesome!

Aimee Mann Again

E was kind enough to invite me to see Aimee Mann as part of the Wall Street Rising free concert series this weekend.

E was even more kind and got there super early, thus securing us awesome seats.



This was the best Aimee show I've ever seen. She was very much on, very in tune with the audience, the performance was fabulous, the selection of songs perfect.



Now.

You may be noticing a couple of weird things about the first photo I posted in this entry.

Weird thing #1: Aimee Mann is looking a bit Whitney Houston-esque. You would be correct in thinking this. Aimee - not looking so hot. She's either got a drug problem (I don't think so - she seemed fine at the show), an illness, or issues with the consumption of food. I am worried. Whatever the cause, it didn't affect the awesomeness of the show.

Aimee Mann: Skeleton Style (she actually appeared much thinner than this in real life)


Weird thing #2: Johnny Damon plays lead guitar for Aimee Mann!!!!





Dear god he looked Just. Like. Him.

The whole evening was like a movie. Three hours prior to my leaving, I got the news about The Sandwich.

It was, of course, The Sandwich who got me into Aimee Mann in the first place. I'd listened to her intermittently, here and there, but hadn't really fell in love until The Sandwich put "Save Me" on one of the first mix CD's he made for me.

I was broken at the time, for different reasons than I am now, and that is how and why The Sandwich was able to have such an effect.

The lyrics:

You look like... a perfect fit,
For a girl in need... of a tourniquet.
But can you save me?
Come on and save me...
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone.

'Cause I can tell... you know what it's like.
A long farewell... of the hunger strike.
But can you save me?
Come on and save me...
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone.

You struck me dumb, Like radium
Like Peter Pan, or Superman,
You have come... to save me.
Come on and save me...
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone,
Except the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone,
But the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone.

I've seen Aimee a number of times, and never had I heard her play "Save Me." I've heard her do "Voices Carry," but never "Save Me." I figured there was no chance of her doing it, but I was wrong.

In my own personal episode of 90210, during which my friend E and I attend an Aimee Aimee show at the Peach Pit and are struck by her thinness (maybe its the Very Special Anorexia Episode?), I would cry to myself while singing along with "Save Me." There would be a montage of episodes past, highlighting moments such as when The Sandwich and I met, the first time we talked all night and I told him why I was broken and how I cried because I hadn't told anyone else before, the time when The Sandwich said "Don't ever let me break you... physically or otherwise..." one night before anything had ever happened between us as he accidentally tumbled on me (I swear it was an accident) in my bed after listening to music until 4 am on a school night, his hands in my ass pockets under the blanket as the sun rose, The First Kiss, The First BreakUp, The 9/11 Mistake, his flying home early to see me and my meeting him at the airport, the pool on the roof in Miami, my hand making contact with his face and his saying "You should really do that more often... I deserve so much worse," scenes of the hardest laughter and heaviest tears imagineable, his showing up at my apartment at 6:00 am before I left for St. Louis and my seeing him for the last time when neither of us knew it was the last time, some more sweet scenes to make it easier on the audience but which to pick? There were as many sweet moments as there were scathing ones. For every time I said "This isn't fucking fair! FIGURE YOUR SHIT OUT AND DO SOMETHING!" I said "I can't imagine life without you. It's all worth it, I know it is." For every time he cried there were a million times when he said something funny, funniest, for me and only for me. There would be scenes of this world we created that consisted only of the two of us and had nothing to do with the rest of the world. The real world. If we'd let the real world in, we wouldn't have lasted more than one night.

Two escapists = disaster. We always talked about running away. He talked about it more than I did, but he was more of a wimp than I was.

I guess I really did run away. After all was said and done, I ran away from it all.

Crazy.

I should have done it sooner.

Although, in his own way, he was running away by being with me in the first place.

So yeah. Aimee Mann. Devastating but cathartic.

And with that, have yourselves Happy Thanksgivings.