Hello dear readers.
I am home sick today with some sort of stomach flu or food poisoning. I am not happy about this as I am not a fan of dehydration-induced delirium.
The good news is that D, growing every more spectacular by the minute, gave me an Ali G DVD to watch today as well as Sandman Volume 1, which was apparently my Christmas gift and which he forced upon me because of my sickness.
Little does he know that I am recording a song for him, even though I am delirious! Ha! That will show him! He too will be happy!!!
Nevertheless...
Pre-food poisoning, D and I had intended to see Blade 3 but because we are in the beginning and because the butterflies are fierce, we missed the movie and ended up going to a really late dinner, after which we watched "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle." Damn was it good. It was surprisingly intelligent and one of the funniest movies I've ever seen. You should all see it. Really. All I need to say is Neil Patrick Harris. Now you want to see it, right?
The point of this entry is that prior to my leaving Boston, I went to the Boston Independent Film Festival with my friends S and T. We saw a documentary entitled "I Like Killing Flies,' which was about a diner in New York City called Shopsin's. Shopsin's is this crazy place run by an equally crazy/curmudgeonly man who looks a bit like Jerry Garcia, who when not cooking everything himself is prone to entertaining and philosophical monologues . There are rules to get into his restaurant - such as no parties of four or more - and there are like 47 million things on the menu.
We talked about the movie afterwards, and while I wasn't impressed with the filmmaking itself, I was impressed by its subject matter - Shopsin and his restaurant are really unique characters, and interesting slices of life. Ah, New York! Its inhabitants are quirky and wonderful. I remember thinking "I'd like to at the very least walk by that place and check it out." Not that I ever thought I would, because would I even remember? And if so, would I be able to find it?
Last night we were walking to dinner at this noodle place - the probable cause of my stomach issues - and we walked right by Shopsin's. Shopsin's is only one block from D's apartment, which is only a few blocks from work. Weird!
I said "Oh my god - is that THE Shopsin's?"
D said "Yeah, it used to be around the corner," which confirmed that it was THE Shopsin's because the documentary was about how Shopsin was forced to move to a new location around the corner from his original location.
"WOW. Have you ever been in there?"
"No, it looks kind of sketchy. Like dirty. I dunno. It just doesn't look good."
I was mortified. To me, it's a place with infinite charm and 4217 different kinds of pancakes. It's a character. It is larger than life. I said "The dude who runs it is a nut. He's awesome."
D hadn't seen nor heard of the documentary, so when I told him what I knew he became intrigued and said we should go there some time.
But I don't want to, because I am afraid Shopsin won't let me in because he doesn't like my hair.
We looked in the window, and I felt sort of sad. I don't know why. I guess its sort of like growing up - in my mind, because of the movie, it was this magical place where all sorts of bizarre things are constantly occurring and where ideas are had and laughter is constant and where food becomes philosopy. It was closed when we walked by, and from the outside it looked ordinary. Regular. Normal. Like any other diner with only 4 kinds of pancakes.
Why is it so often disappointing when things become real?
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Last Tofu In Paris - Addendum
In the comments section from The Last Tofu in Paris post yesterday, M wondered why I hadn't made mention of DH's encounter with JG.
Some background information:
During my freshman and sophomore years of college, I lived in the dorm with N.
During those same years, M lived with H.
During those same years, N had a friend JG who would appear every now and then and would call our room. JG annoyed me. There were many things about her that bothered me - but the two most annoying things about her were her voice and the way every single boy would fall in love with her instantly for no apparent reason. She was so transparent to women - her high pitched squeal, her contrived stare and batting eyelashes, her body language. But men? They were rabid. JG would call the room, and I swear she would flirt with me over the phone.
She would screech "Hi-eee Leah!!! How are you doing, silly-head?"
I am not making that up. She called me silly-head. Who does that? And more importantly, why are all men infatuarted with someone who does that?
After sophomore year, I subletted an apartment from JG, which was the very same apartment in which I lived with DH.
As junior year approached, N (my roommate) and M decided to move off-campus into a house. There was talk of who would live in the house, and when I found out that they were going to live with JG, I thought "No, not me, I can't live with her. I would just die. Or, I'd have to kill her."
So N (my roommate) and M moved in with JG, DH, and another friend of theirs, while I moved in with H (M's roommate).
Confusing.
All you need to know is that M lived with JG for some reason that must have made sense to M at the time.
M had (has) issues with JG, to the point where she had nightmares about her.
M was shocked and horrified to hear that DH had recently run into JG in the airport in Philly, which is where M used to live!!! She said "OH MY GOD - it is possible that I could have run into JG!" She wanted to know exactly what had happened, and sympathized with DH.
She said "I wonder what I would have done if I'd run into her."
Which of course provided us with endless giggly material.
So, for the first time ever on My Mundane Life In Song, I am thrilled to present a guest writer! This is M's version of what would have happened had I run into JG in the airport, but some of it is just her projecting, such as when I nearly declare "WENCH!" I probably wouldn't do that, but M has been known to do that in response to JG.
I am proud to present:
JG (written by M!)
Picture it. You're in an airport, happily chatting with your friend about the vacation you are about to start when you hear it. "LEEEEEEE-ahhhhhhhh!" . Your eyes widen in shock and your head snaps up. You haven't heard that sound in years, that high pitched first syllable followed by the long sighing second syllable, but you recognize it instantly. Could it be? It couldn't. Could it? The hairs on the back of your neck are prickling as you slowly turn your head. It is! It's J from college!
She's bearing down on you with her wide mouth stretched into a smile. She's grinning at you like as though she's found her long-lost friend, and she's making those squeaking cutesy noises you remember so well. "Leah! Hiii-eeeee!!! How are you?" Women are giving her horrified looks and dogs are fleeing the supersonic squeaking, but she leaves a trail of dazed men with hopeful smiles in her wake.
You back away as your eyes dart back and forth, searching, searching for an escape. Suddenly, you remember that your friend has yet to develop an immunity against her evil, magical wiles. You throw yourself between your friend and J, screaming, "Save yourself! It's too late for me! Run! RUN!!!!" There can be no disobeying the terror in your voice, and he flees. You are alone.
She has arrived. "LEEE-ahhhhh! It's been so long!" She begins to babble on and on about her new job, her new house, her new boyfriend.
You are trapped. All you can do is feign interest in her life and pray that your friend doesn't come back until she's gone. Your eyes are watering from the effort of holding back the screams of, "WENCH! WENCH!" until you can't take it anymore. You shake your head, as if waking from a dream, and say, "Listen, J, it's been great talking to you and all, but I have to go, because I really can't stand you and
couldn't care less about your life."
She gives you a shocked, wounded look, and you take the opportunity to run for the food court. You're free! The remaining minutes before your flight are spent relishing the lack of J in your life. Ahhh.
When your row number is called, you get on the plane and find your seat: 34A. Guess who's sitting in 34B.
Awkward.
Some background information:
During my freshman and sophomore years of college, I lived in the dorm with N.
During those same years, M lived with H.
During those same years, N had a friend JG who would appear every now and then and would call our room. JG annoyed me. There were many things about her that bothered me - but the two most annoying things about her were her voice and the way every single boy would fall in love with her instantly for no apparent reason. She was so transparent to women - her high pitched squeal, her contrived stare and batting eyelashes, her body language. But men? They were rabid. JG would call the room, and I swear she would flirt with me over the phone.
She would screech "Hi-eee Leah!!! How are you doing, silly-head?"
I am not making that up. She called me silly-head. Who does that? And more importantly, why are all men infatuarted with someone who does that?
After sophomore year, I subletted an apartment from JG, which was the very same apartment in which I lived with DH.
As junior year approached, N (my roommate) and M decided to move off-campus into a house. There was talk of who would live in the house, and when I found out that they were going to live with JG, I thought "No, not me, I can't live with her. I would just die. Or, I'd have to kill her."
So N (my roommate) and M moved in with JG, DH, and another friend of theirs, while I moved in with H (M's roommate).
Confusing.
All you need to know is that M lived with JG for some reason that must have made sense to M at the time.
M had (has) issues with JG, to the point where she had nightmares about her.
M was shocked and horrified to hear that DH had recently run into JG in the airport in Philly, which is where M used to live!!! She said "OH MY GOD - it is possible that I could have run into JG!" She wanted to know exactly what had happened, and sympathized with DH.
She said "I wonder what I would have done if I'd run into her."
Which of course provided us with endless giggly material.
So, for the first time ever on My Mundane Life In Song, I am thrilled to present a guest writer! This is M's version of what would have happened had I run into JG in the airport, but some of it is just her projecting, such as when I nearly declare "WENCH!" I probably wouldn't do that, but M has been known to do that in response to JG.
I am proud to present:
JG (written by M!)
Picture it. You're in an airport, happily chatting with your friend about the vacation you are about to start when you hear it. "LEEEEEEE-ahhhhhhhh!" . Your eyes widen in shock and your head snaps up. You haven't heard that sound in years, that high pitched first syllable followed by the long sighing second syllable, but you recognize it instantly. Could it be? It couldn't. Could it? The hairs on the back of your neck are prickling as you slowly turn your head. It is! It's J from college!
She's bearing down on you with her wide mouth stretched into a smile. She's grinning at you like as though she's found her long-lost friend, and she's making those squeaking cutesy noises you remember so well. "Leah! Hiii-eeeee!!! How are you?" Women are giving her horrified looks and dogs are fleeing the supersonic squeaking, but she leaves a trail of dazed men with hopeful smiles in her wake.
You back away as your eyes dart back and forth, searching, searching for an escape. Suddenly, you remember that your friend has yet to develop an immunity against her evil, magical wiles. You throw yourself between your friend and J, screaming, "Save yourself! It's too late for me! Run! RUN!!!!" There can be no disobeying the terror in your voice, and he flees. You are alone.
She has arrived. "LEEE-ahhhhh! It's been so long!" She begins to babble on and on about her new job, her new house, her new boyfriend.
You are trapped. All you can do is feign interest in her life and pray that your friend doesn't come back until she's gone. Your eyes are watering from the effort of holding back the screams of, "WENCH! WENCH!" until you can't take it anymore. You shake your head, as if waking from a dream, and say, "Listen, J, it's been great talking to you and all, but I have to go, because I really can't stand you and
couldn't care less about your life."
She gives you a shocked, wounded look, and you take the opportunity to run for the food court. You're free! The remaining minutes before your flight are spent relishing the lack of J in your life. Ahhh.
When your row number is called, you get on the plane and find your seat: 34A. Guess who's sitting in 34B.
Awkward.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
The Last Tofu in Paris (or, Where Is My Mind?)
I went out for dinner last night with my friend DH who was visiting NY from Portland, Oregon.
It's weird, because DH wasn't really my friend in college, despite the fact that he was friends with many of my friends and despite the fact that, as some of you may remember, I lived with him.
I think DH and I are friends now because we grew up to be the same person, which is cool but also bad because we connect because of some of our more self-absorbed and self-righteous traits.
DH and I ate at a vegetarian restaurant in the East Village, which was absolutely delicious and at which DH ordered a dish called "Last Tofu in Paris," which will probably make me smile for the rest of time.
DH is brilliant and prone to novel ideas and appealing monologue.
Listening to him speak reminds me of how smart I no longer am. I can't keep up. I couldn't monologue if my life depended on it. I don't have as much to say as I used to, which is probably because I don't know as much as I used to.
I used to know things about hunter gatherers and integrals and organic chemistry and could tell you why certain people no longer have the ability to comprehend nouns. I don't know any of this anymore. I'm not even certain that college happened because I took nothing from it.
Things are really dumbing down. I'm not happy about it.
After dinner with DH last night, I was contemplating my ever-growing stupidity and was thinking about how my mind is changing. I'm no longer book smart. I can't remember things. I used to know lyrics to every song ever, and I can still sing "I Can't Fight This Feeling" from start to finish without thinking about it, but I haven't remembered any lyrics in, like, the last 10 years. I can't recall details. The only thing about which I have any degree of expertise is pop culture. I can tell you all about Britney's shopping habits. But I can't soliloquize. I don't believe in anything that strongly anymore nor would I have the confidence or words to describe it if I did. I am becoming more and more right brained as I get older.
I went home and started a new project, which involved my writing and then, gasp, drawing a comic. When I was a little kid - well, not little - middle-school-and-early-high-school-ish - I used to write all sorts of stories and illustrate them for my friends. You can think of them as a late-80's / early-90's blog. I used to do this without even thinking - like it just happened, and was satisfactory, and people loved them. I also used to write stories for my friends. Vast works of fiction that just sort of happened.
Not anymore, kids!
Sitting there on my bed with pen in hand, agonizing over the first panel - should they be walking? Are they holding hands? Should there be a city scape in the background? If so, are the buildings realistic looking? Cartoon-y like them? Are they in silhouette? Is he wearing a hoodie? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I even asking these questions? I can't draw anymore!!!!
Ridiculous.
I feel totally ineffective. I am going to draw the comic even though I have no idea what I am doing. I think this is a good opportunity to be creative and to challenge myself. I just hope I don't feel even less effective than I do right now when all is said and done.
I guess I just wish I could be like DH, and wish I had tons of new and exciting ideas and things to say, and drawings to draw, and causes to champion, and ways to improve society.
I feel so stupid.
Ergh.
And then, like, if my mind has deteriorated this much since college, in only 6.5 years!!!, how boring will I be in another 30 years?
I can't even think about this. I could cry. Or maybe I feel like I could cry because its 1:15 and I am starving to death and can't go to lunch for another half hour.
It's weird, because DH wasn't really my friend in college, despite the fact that he was friends with many of my friends and despite the fact that, as some of you may remember, I lived with him.
I think DH and I are friends now because we grew up to be the same person, which is cool but also bad because we connect because of some of our more self-absorbed and self-righteous traits.
DH and I ate at a vegetarian restaurant in the East Village, which was absolutely delicious and at which DH ordered a dish called "Last Tofu in Paris," which will probably make me smile for the rest of time.
DH is brilliant and prone to novel ideas and appealing monologue.
Listening to him speak reminds me of how smart I no longer am. I can't keep up. I couldn't monologue if my life depended on it. I don't have as much to say as I used to, which is probably because I don't know as much as I used to.
I used to know things about hunter gatherers and integrals and organic chemistry and could tell you why certain people no longer have the ability to comprehend nouns. I don't know any of this anymore. I'm not even certain that college happened because I took nothing from it.
Things are really dumbing down. I'm not happy about it.
After dinner with DH last night, I was contemplating my ever-growing stupidity and was thinking about how my mind is changing. I'm no longer book smart. I can't remember things. I used to know lyrics to every song ever, and I can still sing "I Can't Fight This Feeling" from start to finish without thinking about it, but I haven't remembered any lyrics in, like, the last 10 years. I can't recall details. The only thing about which I have any degree of expertise is pop culture. I can tell you all about Britney's shopping habits. But I can't soliloquize. I don't believe in anything that strongly anymore nor would I have the confidence or words to describe it if I did. I am becoming more and more right brained as I get older.
I went home and started a new project, which involved my writing and then, gasp, drawing a comic. When I was a little kid - well, not little - middle-school-and-early-high-school-ish - I used to write all sorts of stories and illustrate them for my friends. You can think of them as a late-80's / early-90's blog. I used to do this without even thinking - like it just happened, and was satisfactory, and people loved them. I also used to write stories for my friends. Vast works of fiction that just sort of happened.
Not anymore, kids!
Sitting there on my bed with pen in hand, agonizing over the first panel - should they be walking? Are they holding hands? Should there be a city scape in the background? If so, are the buildings realistic looking? Cartoon-y like them? Are they in silhouette? Is he wearing a hoodie? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I even asking these questions? I can't draw anymore!!!!
Ridiculous.
I feel totally ineffective. I am going to draw the comic even though I have no idea what I am doing. I think this is a good opportunity to be creative and to challenge myself. I just hope I don't feel even less effective than I do right now when all is said and done.
I guess I just wish I could be like DH, and wish I had tons of new and exciting ideas and things to say, and drawings to draw, and causes to champion, and ways to improve society.
I feel so stupid.
Ergh.
And then, like, if my mind has deteriorated this much since college, in only 6.5 years!!!, how boring will I be in another 30 years?
I can't even think about this. I could cry. Or maybe I feel like I could cry because its 1:15 and I am starving to death and can't go to lunch for another half hour.
Pretty Woman
Over the Christmas break, I managed to get to Boston for one day and one day only, and had the great pleasure of spending an evening at my former residence on Hall Street. I was fortunate enough to have the extremely trippy experience of sleeping in my old room but in a different bed. Weird. Weird to hear the same old Tuesday morning trash-pick up sounds.
Anyway.
I hung out with A and J and it was lovely. Because I was both physically and emotionally drained, I requested that we stay in like the old days, order Chinese from Dragon Garden (scallion pancakes = divine), and drink wine. J suggested that we watch a movie. Luckily A is armed with an arsenal of girly movies such as Pretty Woman.
Now. I've seen Pretty Woman many, many times, but not recently. I know what happens. I know the plot. I know the ending. I know it's all happy and rosey and has Richard Gere climbing out the top of a limousine and conquering his fear of heights and commitment for Julia and her adorable smile. I know this.
Nevertheless, during this most recent viewing, I was very worried about Julia Roberts. I kept thinking "Don't go back to him! He is going to HURT YOU! He is vile because he is a man! He cannot be trusted! He is only using you! He is going to DEMOLISH YOUR HEART!"
Funny how age and baggage can jade you to the point of causing you to reexperience happy things in an unpleasant way. It sort of cracked me up, but also made me sad, because I can't believe how out of hand my skepticism has become.
"It must have been love, but its over noooowwwwww.... it must have been good, but I lost it somehowww.... "
Sigh.
Anyway.
I hung out with A and J and it was lovely. Because I was both physically and emotionally drained, I requested that we stay in like the old days, order Chinese from Dragon Garden (scallion pancakes = divine), and drink wine. J suggested that we watch a movie. Luckily A is armed with an arsenal of girly movies such as Pretty Woman.
Now. I've seen Pretty Woman many, many times, but not recently. I know what happens. I know the plot. I know the ending. I know it's all happy and rosey and has Richard Gere climbing out the top of a limousine and conquering his fear of heights and commitment for Julia and her adorable smile. I know this.
Nevertheless, during this most recent viewing, I was very worried about Julia Roberts. I kept thinking "Don't go back to him! He is going to HURT YOU! He is vile because he is a man! He cannot be trusted! He is only using you! He is going to DEMOLISH YOUR HEART!"
Funny how age and baggage can jade you to the point of causing you to reexperience happy things in an unpleasant way. It sort of cracked me up, but also made me sad, because I can't believe how out of hand my skepticism has become.
"It must have been love, but its over noooowwwwww.... it must have been good, but I lost it somehowww.... "
Sigh.
Monday, January 03, 2005
Parents' Visit to NYC - Take 2
(Note: this entry is LONG and is mainly for me, but feel free to read as much as you can about my family's visit to NYC!)
My parents and siblings had planned on spending a couple of days with me in NYC, assuming, of course, the weather held out and everything would go smoothly. I don't know why parents are so obsessed and fearful of weather. "Yes, we are very excited about coming to NY, but you never know - there could be a blizzard, in which case we will not. We'll just have to see."
They are planning to come for my birthday, but only, of course, if it is not snowing. And they are worried now. They are adorable.
We arrived on Wednesday after a noneventful trip in the Camry. My father kept saying "We're going to hit traffic. It's going to be terrible," and I kept saying "No, Dad, there's really not going to be any, because we're not going to be in the city, and we're going to be hitting Brooklyn at around 4, and nobody's working, and plus nobody in New York has a car, I really wouldn't worry." Still he insisted. The traffic was going to be cataclysmic! What would we do? Woe is us! Of course there was no traffic.
He had directions printed out, and handed them to my sister in the backseat because she is the only one who is trustworthy with directions. She read him the directions, and still he asked to see them and said things like "Are you sure?" to which Sister responded "Dad, I KNOW HOW TO READ NUMBERS!!!! AHHHHHH!"
When we got to Brooklyn we were all starving and irritable, so we snacked on the rations my mother brought, which were enough food to feed like 43 people for a week. She called me on Tuesday from the supermarket and asked "What do you kids eat?" because she wanted to provide food, and I was like "Ma, really, don't worry, there is food in NY" but her motherly instincts would allow her to be nothing less than prepared for war. She is lovely because she bought a gallon of milk and then soy milk for my brother. She also brought cheese curls and Tostitos and both mild and medium salsas. And Oatmeal. And bananas, which were a big hit.
We chilled out for a while and then it was time for dinner! Brother wasn't feeling particularly well, so we decided to have some comfort food, but the comfort food place was closed! Which is weird, because its called Anytime, but is not, apparently, opened at any time. Anytime is across from Sea, which is a horribly trendy and delicious Thai restaurant that is bizarrely enough reasonably priced. My parents, for the first time ever, ate Thai food! And they liked it!!! Breakthrough!
On Thursday morning I asked my father to take me to the post office, because I had a piece of certified mail there that had been waiting for me for months. I never went because I wasn't sure where the post office was, nor was I available during the hours it was open. He was cool with it, but kept saying "Do you know where the post office is?" I knew where it was because I'd consulted a map, but when we got to where I thought it was things ceased being a grid and I was confused. I apologized, and said "All we have to do is swing back around and take that other street" which became my father saying "Do you really know what you're doing? We should ask for directions." "Dad, its right back there." "No, we should ask someone if they know where the post office is." "It's RIGHT THERE. Just go down this street." "No, I'm pulling over and asking." "Dad, nobody is going to know where the post office is!" He asked a bunch of people, none of whom knew where the post office was. I'd nearly convinced him to drive when someone knocked on the window (someone we'd asked a few moments back for the location of the post office) and said "The post office- its right there - I can see it!"
Yep. It was a few blocks behind us, exactly where I thought it was. My father said "Yeah, why don't you just get out and walk. I'll just wait here." So I did. And then waited in the post office for 30 minutes only to find that the piece of mail had been sent back, and that the post office had never sent the final notification. I tried to be mad, but I was beat down by other things, mainly being made to feel clueless.
We then went to the Museum of Natural History, which is my favoritest place in the world and which is very well lit. (Ironically, in the very same exhibit that I praised as "well laid out" that was misheard as "well lit" by M some years back, my brother said "this exhibit has the worst layout ever.") We'd originally planned on going to the new MOMA, but I decided at the last minute that the MOMA is not parent-friendly and that it would be better to check it out at some point with my siblings when the parents were not present. The family adored the museum.
Afterwards, we were slated to check out the tree in Rockefeller Center but everyone was too tired. I didn't care, as I've seen it before. We decided to go to dinner, which, of course, was a major project. I said "There's an awesome Italian restaurant in Union Square that I went to with M and A. We should go there." My father was skeptical - I still don't know if he was concerned about the cost or my ability to discern quality dining from poor dining, which is ridiculous as my father thinks Pizzeria Uno is fine dining. He just wasn't into it, and wanted to go back to Little Italy, which is not my favorite place.
I said "Look, I don't want to go to Little Italy. We did that last time you were here and don't you want to do something different?"
God forbid.
My father said, in the lobby of the museum, "I am going to ask some people where there's a restaurant," just NOT UNDERSTANDING THE POINT OF NY!!! I swear. I was mortified. MORTIFIED.
"Please, Dad, DON'T."
Don't embarrass me. I don't want to be 13 again. I don't want someone to say "Sir, there are 5 million restaurants within a five minute walk from here. Just walk. Your daughter must be an idiot if she doesn't realize that."
I said "Here's what we will do - we are going to walk the length of Columbus Ave. from this stop to the next stop, and if we don't find a cool restaurant to eat at, we will go to Little Italy."
My father cannot handle spontaneity. My mother, on the other hand, when in New York becomes spontaneous and unafraid and marvelled by the world. She is amazing here. I love having her around.
We found a cool restaurant that wasn't approved of by my father, so he started asking people. Some guy on the street who my father determined was completely trustworthy recommended a place 5 blocks down. My father told me where it was, and I humored him and said we'd go, and all the way up he kept saying "Do you know where you're going?" Steaming. Steaming the whole way.
The place sucked, and we ended up at the original place, which was exquisite.
Heh.
On the way out of the subway station in Williamsburg my parents lagged behind. Sister and I walked on ahead, outside of the station, and then heard my mother calling after us "Wait..." "What?" "Wait..."
No idea.
So we walked back in, and turned out my father had found a Metro card on the subway and was testing it to see if there was any money left on it. He was standing in a sea of tossed Metro cards. I nearly cried. "Dad, there's NO MONEY on it. People just toss them!" but he insisted on checking them. When I told Boyfriend about this, he thought it was nice because he is nonjudgmental and gives people the benefit of the doubt and said "It's cute - your father was trying to find a Metro card for you!" and I was like "You must be on crack if you think he was going to give it to me. He was trying to find free rides for the next time he and my mother are here."
Again, mortified.
On Friday morning we tried to have comfort food again, but Anytime was still not open. We ended up at Relish. It was a Friday afternoon, and my father said "I want breakfast. Why don't they have breakfast? Where is the breakfast menu? I want a breakfast menu." He actually got up to demand a breakfast menu, but I talked him down by saying "Dad, it's LUNCH. It's not the weekend. There are eggs on this menu. That's the best you're going to do." "Well, they should have a breakfast menu." "No, because its lunch, and there are breakfast items on this menu."
The waitress came over and said "What can I get for you?" and my father said "Well, I'd like some breakfast and what are you going to do about it?"
She said "Sir, there are egg dishes on the menu" and my father sighed dramatically and ordered scrambled eggs.
Yes, yell at the waitress to get breakfast.
Yes.
Yes. This is how to treat people. This is how to get spit in your food.
I was so embarrassed. I seriously felt like a teenager, when you feel like your parents are designed exclusively to embarrass you and when you pretend like you don't know them. I kept thinking "I can never eat here again."
It was a nice visit, but overdosing on family can really mess you up. The stress level increases as you are made to feel more and more like a child by your parents, who are the only people who can do this to you.
The lovely thing, though, is that my mother made me feel like a grownup. It's the first time I've entertained my entire family - had them stay over, provided for them, etc. - and my mother was so proud. She always says how she misses having us little, playing with us, but how these times are just as valuable to her in a different way. I think its like that for all of us, and its nice to be able to take care of her and feed her and be an adult with her.
As stressful as it all was, I miss them already.
I hope we can do this every year.
My parents and siblings had planned on spending a couple of days with me in NYC, assuming, of course, the weather held out and everything would go smoothly. I don't know why parents are so obsessed and fearful of weather. "Yes, we are very excited about coming to NY, but you never know - there could be a blizzard, in which case we will not. We'll just have to see."
They are planning to come for my birthday, but only, of course, if it is not snowing. And they are worried now. They are adorable.
We arrived on Wednesday after a noneventful trip in the Camry. My father kept saying "We're going to hit traffic. It's going to be terrible," and I kept saying "No, Dad, there's really not going to be any, because we're not going to be in the city, and we're going to be hitting Brooklyn at around 4, and nobody's working, and plus nobody in New York has a car, I really wouldn't worry." Still he insisted. The traffic was going to be cataclysmic! What would we do? Woe is us! Of course there was no traffic.
He had directions printed out, and handed them to my sister in the backseat because she is the only one who is trustworthy with directions. She read him the directions, and still he asked to see them and said things like "Are you sure?" to which Sister responded "Dad, I KNOW HOW TO READ NUMBERS!!!! AHHHHHH!"
When we got to Brooklyn we were all starving and irritable, so we snacked on the rations my mother brought, which were enough food to feed like 43 people for a week. She called me on Tuesday from the supermarket and asked "What do you kids eat?" because she wanted to provide food, and I was like "Ma, really, don't worry, there is food in NY" but her motherly instincts would allow her to be nothing less than prepared for war. She is lovely because she bought a gallon of milk and then soy milk for my brother. She also brought cheese curls and Tostitos and both mild and medium salsas. And Oatmeal. And bananas, which were a big hit.
We chilled out for a while and then it was time for dinner! Brother wasn't feeling particularly well, so we decided to have some comfort food, but the comfort food place was closed! Which is weird, because its called Anytime, but is not, apparently, opened at any time. Anytime is across from Sea, which is a horribly trendy and delicious Thai restaurant that is bizarrely enough reasonably priced. My parents, for the first time ever, ate Thai food! And they liked it!!! Breakthrough!
On Thursday morning I asked my father to take me to the post office, because I had a piece of certified mail there that had been waiting for me for months. I never went because I wasn't sure where the post office was, nor was I available during the hours it was open. He was cool with it, but kept saying "Do you know where the post office is?" I knew where it was because I'd consulted a map, but when we got to where I thought it was things ceased being a grid and I was confused. I apologized, and said "All we have to do is swing back around and take that other street" which became my father saying "Do you really know what you're doing? We should ask for directions." "Dad, its right back there." "No, we should ask someone if they know where the post office is." "It's RIGHT THERE. Just go down this street." "No, I'm pulling over and asking." "Dad, nobody is going to know where the post office is!" He asked a bunch of people, none of whom knew where the post office was. I'd nearly convinced him to drive when someone knocked on the window (someone we'd asked a few moments back for the location of the post office) and said "The post office- its right there - I can see it!"
Yep. It was a few blocks behind us, exactly where I thought it was. My father said "Yeah, why don't you just get out and walk. I'll just wait here." So I did. And then waited in the post office for 30 minutes only to find that the piece of mail had been sent back, and that the post office had never sent the final notification. I tried to be mad, but I was beat down by other things, mainly being made to feel clueless.
We then went to the Museum of Natural History, which is my favoritest place in the world and which is very well lit. (Ironically, in the very same exhibit that I praised as "well laid out" that was misheard as "well lit" by M some years back, my brother said "this exhibit has the worst layout ever.") We'd originally planned on going to the new MOMA, but I decided at the last minute that the MOMA is not parent-friendly and that it would be better to check it out at some point with my siblings when the parents were not present. The family adored the museum.
Afterwards, we were slated to check out the tree in Rockefeller Center but everyone was too tired. I didn't care, as I've seen it before. We decided to go to dinner, which, of course, was a major project. I said "There's an awesome Italian restaurant in Union Square that I went to with M and A. We should go there." My father was skeptical - I still don't know if he was concerned about the cost or my ability to discern quality dining from poor dining, which is ridiculous as my father thinks Pizzeria Uno is fine dining. He just wasn't into it, and wanted to go back to Little Italy, which is not my favorite place.
I said "Look, I don't want to go to Little Italy. We did that last time you were here and don't you want to do something different?"
God forbid.
My father said, in the lobby of the museum, "I am going to ask some people where there's a restaurant," just NOT UNDERSTANDING THE POINT OF NY!!! I swear. I was mortified. MORTIFIED.
"Please, Dad, DON'T."
Don't embarrass me. I don't want to be 13 again. I don't want someone to say "Sir, there are 5 million restaurants within a five minute walk from here. Just walk. Your daughter must be an idiot if she doesn't realize that."
I said "Here's what we will do - we are going to walk the length of Columbus Ave. from this stop to the next stop, and if we don't find a cool restaurant to eat at, we will go to Little Italy."
My father cannot handle spontaneity. My mother, on the other hand, when in New York becomes spontaneous and unafraid and marvelled by the world. She is amazing here. I love having her around.
We found a cool restaurant that wasn't approved of by my father, so he started asking people. Some guy on the street who my father determined was completely trustworthy recommended a place 5 blocks down. My father told me where it was, and I humored him and said we'd go, and all the way up he kept saying "Do you know where you're going?" Steaming. Steaming the whole way.
The place sucked, and we ended up at the original place, which was exquisite.
Heh.
On the way out of the subway station in Williamsburg my parents lagged behind. Sister and I walked on ahead, outside of the station, and then heard my mother calling after us "Wait..." "What?" "Wait..."
No idea.
So we walked back in, and turned out my father had found a Metro card on the subway and was testing it to see if there was any money left on it. He was standing in a sea of tossed Metro cards. I nearly cried. "Dad, there's NO MONEY on it. People just toss them!" but he insisted on checking them. When I told Boyfriend about this, he thought it was nice because he is nonjudgmental and gives people the benefit of the doubt and said "It's cute - your father was trying to find a Metro card for you!" and I was like "You must be on crack if you think he was going to give it to me. He was trying to find free rides for the next time he and my mother are here."
Again, mortified.
On Friday morning we tried to have comfort food again, but Anytime was still not open. We ended up at Relish. It was a Friday afternoon, and my father said "I want breakfast. Why don't they have breakfast? Where is the breakfast menu? I want a breakfast menu." He actually got up to demand a breakfast menu, but I talked him down by saying "Dad, it's LUNCH. It's not the weekend. There are eggs on this menu. That's the best you're going to do." "Well, they should have a breakfast menu." "No, because its lunch, and there are breakfast items on this menu."
The waitress came over and said "What can I get for you?" and my father said "Well, I'd like some breakfast and what are you going to do about it?"
She said "Sir, there are egg dishes on the menu" and my father sighed dramatically and ordered scrambled eggs.
Yes, yell at the waitress to get breakfast.
Yes.
Yes. This is how to treat people. This is how to get spit in your food.
I was so embarrassed. I seriously felt like a teenager, when you feel like your parents are designed exclusively to embarrass you and when you pretend like you don't know them. I kept thinking "I can never eat here again."
It was a nice visit, but overdosing on family can really mess you up. The stress level increases as you are made to feel more and more like a child by your parents, who are the only people who can do this to you.
The lovely thing, though, is that my mother made me feel like a grownup. It's the first time I've entertained my entire family - had them stay over, provided for them, etc. - and my mother was so proud. She always says how she misses having us little, playing with us, but how these times are just as valuable to her in a different way. I think its like that for all of us, and its nice to be able to take care of her and feed her and be an adult with her.
As stressful as it all was, I miss them already.
I hope we can do this every year.
Back in General
It's amazing how you can completely forget what you do for a living after being away from it for less than two weeks.
Apparently I do science, but I can't do it today.
I'd assumed today would be a wasted day, but I didn't realize just how ineffective I'd be. It's odd, because I was really looking forward to returning to work (normalcy) until it actually happened. Oh well.
I am dead tired. The holidays were hectic. Lots of family. I cried in two days the same amount of tears I've cried over the past three years. I realized that I cry when I see other people crying, especially children. I didn't get to see enough people in Boston, but was thrilled to be able to spend time with my former roommates and two of my spectacular girlfriends from college, one who has a wonderful husband and the other who has an equally wonderful fiance. I nearly killed my father in NYC, because he has the wonderful talent of being able to make me feel like I am 5 years old and incompetent and embarrassed by him no matter what age I am. New Year's Eve ended up being amazing, the best result of which is that I have, gasp, a boyfriend! Who I really like! Who feeds Roommate's cat because he knows how much it annoys me. Sigh.
I'll write more detailed stories later, but I just wanted to blog because I am going through withdrawal. Work wouldn't be work without writing my blog. Then again, it's not like I'm capable of doing work today.
Oh well.
More to come...
Apparently I do science, but I can't do it today.
I'd assumed today would be a wasted day, but I didn't realize just how ineffective I'd be. It's odd, because I was really looking forward to returning to work (normalcy) until it actually happened. Oh well.
I am dead tired. The holidays were hectic. Lots of family. I cried in two days the same amount of tears I've cried over the past three years. I realized that I cry when I see other people crying, especially children. I didn't get to see enough people in Boston, but was thrilled to be able to spend time with my former roommates and two of my spectacular girlfriends from college, one who has a wonderful husband and the other who has an equally wonderful fiance. I nearly killed my father in NYC, because he has the wonderful talent of being able to make me feel like I am 5 years old and incompetent and embarrassed by him no matter what age I am. New Year's Eve ended up being amazing, the best result of which is that I have, gasp, a boyfriend! Who I really like! Who feeds Roommate's cat because he knows how much it annoys me. Sigh.
I'll write more detailed stories later, but I just wanted to blog because I am going through withdrawal. Work wouldn't be work without writing my blog. Then again, it's not like I'm capable of doing work today.
Oh well.
More to come...
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