I am currently in Brooklyn. I did not just step off a plane into the warm Florida sun. I will not be able to go to Orlando until late tomorrow afternoon. This change of plans requires my taking a vacation day on Monday.
I am on the verge of a meltdown, because not only did I receive potentially bad/annoying news today, spend approximately four hours in the airport, spend two hours in transit to and from the airport, not really eat (I am starving to death but my mood has rendered me incapable of making a decision on if/what to eat), but I am pissed because I want to use my vacation days to visit *my* family.
I have used 1.5 precious vacation days for this, and I am not happy. I'm not blaming anyone or anything. I'm merely responding rather intensely to my first moment of homesickness since I left MA.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Easter
Easter is apparently this weekend.
People keep asking me "What are you doing this weekend?"
"Going to FL."
"To celebrate Easter?"
"No, to meet my future in-laws," who I hope will not be celebrating Easter as I did not pack my Easter bonnet, nor did I pack anything that I would feel comfortable wearing in a church. I also forgot to pack dyes with which to make Easter eggs because I also forgot to buy the dye. Drat. I bet my future nieces-in-law would have liked to dye eggs, but probably not as much as I'd have liked it.
Easter nostalgia is fierce right now. Competing in the neighborhood egg hunt (I will never forget this - we were running around hunting for eggs and I found this hideous egg that was dyed a light green and had on it a big black dot; the neighborhood posse ridiculed me for having found the mutant egg, until we were informed that the finder of said egg would be the proud recipient of a kite! and then I was much resented), looking forward to charming pink dresses and little white gloves and little white hats, colorful baskets full of candy and other goodness, dying millions of eggs over at Aunty Peggy and Uncle Tommy's house, running around like a lunatic in my grandparents' fenced-in backyard in Roslindale hoping to find the plastic egg with the dollar bill. Sigh.
At any rate, in celebration of Easter, please enjoy reading Fellowship of the Peeps.
Until next time....
People keep asking me "What are you doing this weekend?"
"Going to FL."
"To celebrate Easter?"
"No, to meet my future in-laws," who I hope will not be celebrating Easter as I did not pack my Easter bonnet, nor did I pack anything that I would feel comfortable wearing in a church. I also forgot to pack dyes with which to make Easter eggs because I also forgot to buy the dye. Drat. I bet my future nieces-in-law would have liked to dye eggs, but probably not as much as I'd have liked it.
Easter nostalgia is fierce right now. Competing in the neighborhood egg hunt (I will never forget this - we were running around hunting for eggs and I found this hideous egg that was dyed a light green and had on it a big black dot; the neighborhood posse ridiculed me for having found the mutant egg, until we were informed that the finder of said egg would be the proud recipient of a kite! and then I was much resented), looking forward to charming pink dresses and little white gloves and little white hats, colorful baskets full of candy and other goodness, dying millions of eggs over at Aunty Peggy and Uncle Tommy's house, running around like a lunatic in my grandparents' fenced-in backyard in Roslindale hoping to find the plastic egg with the dollar bill. Sigh.
At any rate, in celebration of Easter, please enjoy reading Fellowship of the Peeps.
Until next time....
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Anemia
My brain is torturing me right now because it has decided to play, on repeat, Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven Is A Place on Earth."
No, I have no theory regarding this song's being triggered by my traitorous neurons.
Bench Buddy said "Wouldn't you rather have 'Heaven isn't too far aw... ay.. ay ...ayyy....' in your head?"
Yes, Bench Buddy, I would, but that is not how it works!!!
Instead I have "Oooh baby do you know what that's worth? Ooooh heaven is a place on earth!" on replay.
I feel weird today. I am attributing the appearance of this song to yet another symptom of whatever weird neural phenomenon I am suffering from. Since Sunday night, my hands and face have been tingly at night. They are not numb. They are Pins and Needles. Today is the first day during which my hands and face have been tingling during the day. Concurrent with the tingling is the inability to type accurately and inability to access words. When my face is feeling numb my brain goes numb as well, and I can't think of basic words to express myself. Nor can I really have a coherent thought, because every other thought is something like "Man, I could totally pass out RIGHT NOW while my boss is talking to me - that would be dramatic!" or "It's weird how my hands go from being in severe pain to having no sensation at all - if my face wasn't numb I'd be psyched about having carpal tunnel so as not to have to work for the next couple of weeks!" or "Having pins and needles in your cheeks is just plain bizarre."
I am wondering if there is more or less hypochondriasis in the world now that self-diagnosis is rendered so easy by the internet.
A majority of my day today was spent searching for things like "hands tngingl" and "fadil numbnss" and "tremos extremeits" and "lightehadedness."
Neuropathy? Low blood pressure? MS? Hormonal issues?
My vote, for now, is near-onset of the flu. Or maybe something anemia-like. Or psychosomatic pre-meeting-the-parents syndrome.
I love the word anemia.
This sort of thing is all very new to me. Normally I am nonresponsive to health-related issues, but having a numb face, I think, is cause for internet investigation.
Bizarrely enough, I had a minor argument with D last night about health issues before he knew about my numb face and hands. I've been trying not to be too much of a nag about his health, but I am definitely allowed to be a bit of a nag. He finally saw a doctor yesterday - my diagnosis was right, although the doctor he saw has advised that he get a second opinion and apparently mine does not count - which precipitated a conversation, finally, regarding his health. I said something like "People have been telling me that men just don't go to see doctors." He said "Look, I just think its a double standard." "Why?" "Because, like with you, you NEVER go to a doctor. You're awful about it." I said "That's because there's nothing wrong with me. You know if I had another kidney stone or I was fainting at work I'd get myself to a hospital in a second."
Or, M would have to call me on the phone and force me to go to the doctor's by saying "EAR INFECTIONS ARE NOT CURED BY SLEEP!"
Right.
"When the night falls down, I wait for you and you come around..."
I must go now, as I have to engage in one of my favorite activies - PACKING!!!
No, I have no theory regarding this song's being triggered by my traitorous neurons.
Bench Buddy said "Wouldn't you rather have 'Heaven isn't too far aw... ay.. ay ...ayyy....' in your head?"
Yes, Bench Buddy, I would, but that is not how it works!!!
Instead I have "Oooh baby do you know what that's worth? Ooooh heaven is a place on earth!" on replay.
I feel weird today. I am attributing the appearance of this song to yet another symptom of whatever weird neural phenomenon I am suffering from. Since Sunday night, my hands and face have been tingly at night. They are not numb. They are Pins and Needles. Today is the first day during which my hands and face have been tingling during the day. Concurrent with the tingling is the inability to type accurately and inability to access words. When my face is feeling numb my brain goes numb as well, and I can't think of basic words to express myself. Nor can I really have a coherent thought, because every other thought is something like "Man, I could totally pass out RIGHT NOW while my boss is talking to me - that would be dramatic!" or "It's weird how my hands go from being in severe pain to having no sensation at all - if my face wasn't numb I'd be psyched about having carpal tunnel so as not to have to work for the next couple of weeks!" or "Having pins and needles in your cheeks is just plain bizarre."
I am wondering if there is more or less hypochondriasis in the world now that self-diagnosis is rendered so easy by the internet.
A majority of my day today was spent searching for things like "hands tngingl" and "fadil numbnss" and "tremos extremeits" and "lightehadedness."
Neuropathy? Low blood pressure? MS? Hormonal issues?
My vote, for now, is near-onset of the flu. Or maybe something anemia-like. Or psychosomatic pre-meeting-the-parents syndrome.
I love the word anemia.
This sort of thing is all very new to me. Normally I am nonresponsive to health-related issues, but having a numb face, I think, is cause for internet investigation.
Bizarrely enough, I had a minor argument with D last night about health issues before he knew about my numb face and hands. I've been trying not to be too much of a nag about his health, but I am definitely allowed to be a bit of a nag. He finally saw a doctor yesterday - my diagnosis was right, although the doctor he saw has advised that he get a second opinion and apparently mine does not count - which precipitated a conversation, finally, regarding his health. I said something like "People have been telling me that men just don't go to see doctors." He said "Look, I just think its a double standard." "Why?" "Because, like with you, you NEVER go to a doctor. You're awful about it." I said "That's because there's nothing wrong with me. You know if I had another kidney stone or I was fainting at work I'd get myself to a hospital in a second."
Or, M would have to call me on the phone and force me to go to the doctor's by saying "EAR INFECTIONS ARE NOT CURED BY SLEEP!"
Right.
"When the night falls down, I wait for you and you come around..."
I must go now, as I have to engage in one of my favorite activies - PACKING!!!
Banksy
Click on this!
This appears on the following lists:
1. Things I Wish I Thought Of
2. Person I Wish I Was Instead Of Myself
3. Person Who Most Likely Did Not Un-Do His Personal Wackiness
Is this national news?
This made me so happy when I found about it yesterday afternoon.
This appears on the following lists:
1. Things I Wish I Thought Of
2. Person I Wish I Was Instead Of Myself
3. Person Who Most Likely Did Not Un-Do His Personal Wackiness
Is this national news?
This made me so happy when I found about it yesterday afternoon.
Monday, March 21, 2005
I Heart Campbell Scott
The weekend was good. It was the first weekend in a long time without visitors, without obligation, with just me and D.
On Friday night we went to the Whitney, which is basically free on Friday evenings. It's "Pay What You Want," so D and his friend M payed $1 each, and I paid $2, because I felt bad. I don't know why I felt bad. I apparently felt like I should pay 2x what everyone else was paying, just because I am me.
The museum is amazing. So much to see, but not as overwhelming as the MOMA. We saw everything, although I didn't get to be as obsessively staring as I'd have liked. Of course I can't remember anything I saw, aside from the Tim Hawkinson exhibit which was the best art exhibit I've ever seen.
http://www.whitney.org/exhibition/feat_hawk.shtml
His work focuses on his awareness of the human body. It's unique and bizarre and inexplicably creepy. Everyone in the exhibit was blissed out and happy, staring with their mouths open at moving sculptures and strange representations of form. It made me feel like a kid. If you get the opportunity, please see it. You will not be disappointed.
We were starving after the Whitney and found ourselves in a rare pocket of NYC where there was nowhere to eat. Well, there were places to eat, but I was craving onion rings and M was craving "pub grub," so our scope was narrow. This being said, the Upper East Side is a barren wasteland devoid of character and entertainment, so there was seriously nowhere to eat.
During our travels, we came upon this, the most unfortunate store window I have ever seen:
I have no idea what this place is doing in New York City. None, folks.
We ended up passing a diner, and I said "Dammit, we're eating there! I am going to turn into a lunatic if we wait another minute!"
D said "OH! That reminds me - there's an awesome diner around the corner - it's the best - you're going to love it... although, with our luck, it will have shut down." Chuckles. I was actually half expecting it to be on fire at that very moment, but it was, of course, only shut down.
We went back to the original diner where we came up with innovative and potentially lucrative business ideas that would take advantage of rich people, and where I ordered the worst omelette I have ever had. It had spinach and broccoli and American cheese mixed in the exact combination that made the omelette completely tasteless. Weird.
On Saturday I attended a bonus class in which Campbell Scott's film Off the Map was screened. I was slightly peeved by having to get up at 8:00 am on a Saturday to see it, but clung to the slight hope that Campbell Scott, who I love for no apparent reason, would be at the class. The film was darling - it was sweet, subtle, had depth of character. It's one of those movies that makes you root for everyone in it.
And yes, Campbell Scott was there! I half expected him to be smarmy and slick, because he always plays smarmy and slick. I was delighted to learn that he is spastic and lively and down-to-earth and brilliant and obscenely good looking and that he wears glasses, which, as you know, makes me love someone even more. When the question and answer session began, I kept wanting to ask "What are the chances of you coming home with me and my boyfriend?" since D is apparently also in love with him.
The Q and A was awesome. I learned many things, and actually came up with a good band name in the process.
After the movie I headed back to Brooklyn to eat and to just be. I hadn't been in my apartment for a while, and wanted to make sure Roommate was all set for our housewarming party, which I decided not to host but instead to attend. All was good. I did things like read mail and play piano (bliss!) and record rough cuts of things I know I'll forget because I know I won't touch the piano for another month.
I then went back to D's, who had made quiche. We then went to Caroline's in Times Square (we had to walk about 8 blocks through Times Square and I thought D was going to shoot someone - its interesting how Times Square changes once you live in New York - instead of being something to gawk at, it becomes something to navigate as efficiently as possible so as not to grow homicidal towards tourists) to see Mitch Hedberg, who is the funniest man alive.
Here he is: (awful picture)
Like the last time I saw him, about 50% of the audience didn't get it. Mitch Hedberg jokes about the mundane, the innocent, the quirky things that get you through your days. I encourage you to listen to his stuff. He's not political, sexual, or even aware. He's a grown up stoner who observes the inane and turns it into the funniest thing you've ever heard.
D was dying. He couldn't stop laughing. Everyone's Favorite Physicist said something like "Liking Mitch Hedberg Is A Litmus Test For Cool," and D passed. Our friend R and J were also dying, so success! Yeah!!! My friends are cool!
We headed back to Brooklyn again to attend Roommate's party. It's bizarre attending a party at your own house. When I got there my room was being used as a dressing room by the band who was playing. I carried my pocketbook around with me throughout the entire night as though I was at someone else's house.
The party was cool - very New York. My apartment has never looked better. There were many hipster and scenester people there. The vibe was serious. The people were beautiful. The music was provided by a DJ. It was cute to see turntables in my kitchen, and cuter to see a drum set in the living room.
My friend LL turned up (she was the only one I invited outside of D, R, and Bench Buddy) eventually, but we didn't last long. I knew this party would go until 6 am-ish, so I went back into the city and slept. Lots.
Yesterday was the first relaxing day I've had in ages. I slept in. D made crepes with bananas and strawberries and chocolate. We tried to listen to a Bach cantata at a church, but the church website was misleading and there was no Bach to be heard. The church was gorgeous, though, so it wasn't a total loss. Because D becomes more and more perfect each day, he said, "Well, this gives us more time to shop for shoes!" We walked down 8th St. in the rain and looked at millions of shoes but bought none. When we got back to his apartment, we read. I haven't read in so long. I started and finished "Sandman: Endless Nights" and felt profoundly sad about the stories but profoundly giddy about having had time to read. We ate dinner and then spent the night doing a jigsaw puzzle and being silly and being thrilled about having time to do a jigsaw puzzle.
As of this moment I am starting to feel sick, but don't care because I am still riding the happiness from the weekend.
This being said, I should stop typing and should be catatonic so as to get better.
Word.
On Friday night we went to the Whitney, which is basically free on Friday evenings. It's "Pay What You Want," so D and his friend M payed $1 each, and I paid $2, because I felt bad. I don't know why I felt bad. I apparently felt like I should pay 2x what everyone else was paying, just because I am me.
The museum is amazing. So much to see, but not as overwhelming as the MOMA. We saw everything, although I didn't get to be as obsessively staring as I'd have liked. Of course I can't remember anything I saw, aside from the Tim Hawkinson exhibit which was the best art exhibit I've ever seen.
http://www.whitney.org/exhibition/feat_hawk.shtml
His work focuses on his awareness of the human body. It's unique and bizarre and inexplicably creepy. Everyone in the exhibit was blissed out and happy, staring with their mouths open at moving sculptures and strange representations of form. It made me feel like a kid. If you get the opportunity, please see it. You will not be disappointed.
We were starving after the Whitney and found ourselves in a rare pocket of NYC where there was nowhere to eat. Well, there were places to eat, but I was craving onion rings and M was craving "pub grub," so our scope was narrow. This being said, the Upper East Side is a barren wasteland devoid of character and entertainment, so there was seriously nowhere to eat.
During our travels, we came upon this, the most unfortunate store window I have ever seen:
I have no idea what this place is doing in New York City. None, folks.
We ended up passing a diner, and I said "Dammit, we're eating there! I am going to turn into a lunatic if we wait another minute!"
D said "OH! That reminds me - there's an awesome diner around the corner - it's the best - you're going to love it... although, with our luck, it will have shut down." Chuckles. I was actually half expecting it to be on fire at that very moment, but it was, of course, only shut down.
We went back to the original diner where we came up with innovative and potentially lucrative business ideas that would take advantage of rich people, and where I ordered the worst omelette I have ever had. It had spinach and broccoli and American cheese mixed in the exact combination that made the omelette completely tasteless. Weird.
On Saturday I attended a bonus class in which Campbell Scott's film Off the Map was screened. I was slightly peeved by having to get up at 8:00 am on a Saturday to see it, but clung to the slight hope that Campbell Scott, who I love for no apparent reason, would be at the class. The film was darling - it was sweet, subtle, had depth of character. It's one of those movies that makes you root for everyone in it.
And yes, Campbell Scott was there! I half expected him to be smarmy and slick, because he always plays smarmy and slick. I was delighted to learn that he is spastic and lively and down-to-earth and brilliant and obscenely good looking and that he wears glasses, which, as you know, makes me love someone even more. When the question and answer session began, I kept wanting to ask "What are the chances of you coming home with me and my boyfriend?" since D is apparently also in love with him.
The Q and A was awesome. I learned many things, and actually came up with a good band name in the process.
After the movie I headed back to Brooklyn to eat and to just be. I hadn't been in my apartment for a while, and wanted to make sure Roommate was all set for our housewarming party, which I decided not to host but instead to attend. All was good. I did things like read mail and play piano (bliss!) and record rough cuts of things I know I'll forget because I know I won't touch the piano for another month.
I then went back to D's, who had made quiche. We then went to Caroline's in Times Square (we had to walk about 8 blocks through Times Square and I thought D was going to shoot someone - its interesting how Times Square changes once you live in New York - instead of being something to gawk at, it becomes something to navigate as efficiently as possible so as not to grow homicidal towards tourists) to see Mitch Hedberg, who is the funniest man alive.
Here he is: (awful picture)
Like the last time I saw him, about 50% of the audience didn't get it. Mitch Hedberg jokes about the mundane, the innocent, the quirky things that get you through your days. I encourage you to listen to his stuff. He's not political, sexual, or even aware. He's a grown up stoner who observes the inane and turns it into the funniest thing you've ever heard.
D was dying. He couldn't stop laughing. Everyone's Favorite Physicist said something like "Liking Mitch Hedberg Is A Litmus Test For Cool," and D passed. Our friend R and J were also dying, so success! Yeah!!! My friends are cool!
We headed back to Brooklyn again to attend Roommate's party. It's bizarre attending a party at your own house. When I got there my room was being used as a dressing room by the band who was playing. I carried my pocketbook around with me throughout the entire night as though I was at someone else's house.
The party was cool - very New York. My apartment has never looked better. There were many hipster and scenester people there. The vibe was serious. The people were beautiful. The music was provided by a DJ. It was cute to see turntables in my kitchen, and cuter to see a drum set in the living room.
My friend LL turned up (she was the only one I invited outside of D, R, and Bench Buddy) eventually, but we didn't last long. I knew this party would go until 6 am-ish, so I went back into the city and slept. Lots.
Yesterday was the first relaxing day I've had in ages. I slept in. D made crepes with bananas and strawberries and chocolate. We tried to listen to a Bach cantata at a church, but the church website was misleading and there was no Bach to be heard. The church was gorgeous, though, so it wasn't a total loss. Because D becomes more and more perfect each day, he said, "Well, this gives us more time to shop for shoes!" We walked down 8th St. in the rain and looked at millions of shoes but bought none. When we got back to his apartment, we read. I haven't read in so long. I started and finished "Sandman: Endless Nights" and felt profoundly sad about the stories but profoundly giddy about having had time to read. We ate dinner and then spent the night doing a jigsaw puzzle and being silly and being thrilled about having time to do a jigsaw puzzle.
As of this moment I am starting to feel sick, but don't care because I am still riding the happiness from the weekend.
This being said, I should stop typing and should be catatonic so as to get better.
Word.
Simplify Your Life For Success!
Because I am an adult with a short attention span (which unnerves me, since as a child I had the ability to focus on things indefinitely which allowed me to get good grades; if I ever went back to school now it would be a disaster!), I can't read newspapers. Nor can I read the news online. Unless its in short attention span form, such as in publications like am New York.
I just read today's edition of am New York. Well, not really. I read the gossip page, my horoscope, and perused the am Careers section. In her article entitled "Simplify Your Life For Success," Karen Salmonsohn points out that 80% of your results come from only 20% of your activity, so its not so much what you SHOULD be doing as it is what you should NOT be doing. Instead of doing, un-do!
She suggests making an "Un-Do List," which includes the following:
1. Undo unimportant meetings
2. Undo unclear assignments
3. Undo energy sapping people (yes!) and
4. Undo personal wackiness
OK. I agree with 1, 2, and 3. This is fairly intuitive. It pains me that people might have to see these things in published list form to consider them. Number 3 especially. This is a good philosophy for life in general. Yes, Karen, yes!
But.
Wtf is "undo personal wackiness?" Never, Karen, never!
Isn't "personal wackiness" the key to success? If we didn't have personal wackiness, we'd be a bunch of worker drones and that would not be productive. Everyone would be so bored and boring that nothing creative or interesting would ever be accomplished.
Oh, wait, right, that's actually how it is. "Personality" and "personal wackiness" aren't rewarded. We can't be individuals. We can't have ideas. We can't do things differenly and chaotically.
I hate Karen and Karen's world.
Personally, I'd be more productive if people in the workplace would indulge their "personal wackiness." A disorganized and wacky work machine, in my opinion, would encourage me to get more done because it would be more exciting, unpredictable, and ZANY!
I don't even know where I'm going with this.
I guess I just enjoyed seeing the word "wackiness" printed in a newspaper.
Heh.
I just read today's edition of am New York. Well, not really. I read the gossip page, my horoscope, and perused the am Careers section. In her article entitled "Simplify Your Life For Success," Karen Salmonsohn points out that 80% of your results come from only 20% of your activity, so its not so much what you SHOULD be doing as it is what you should NOT be doing. Instead of doing, un-do!
She suggests making an "Un-Do List," which includes the following:
1. Undo unimportant meetings
2. Undo unclear assignments
3. Undo energy sapping people (yes!) and
4. Undo personal wackiness
OK. I agree with 1, 2, and 3. This is fairly intuitive. It pains me that people might have to see these things in published list form to consider them. Number 3 especially. This is a good philosophy for life in general. Yes, Karen, yes!
But.
Wtf is "undo personal wackiness?" Never, Karen, never!
Isn't "personal wackiness" the key to success? If we didn't have personal wackiness, we'd be a bunch of worker drones and that would not be productive. Everyone would be so bored and boring that nothing creative or interesting would ever be accomplished.
Oh, wait, right, that's actually how it is. "Personality" and "personal wackiness" aren't rewarded. We can't be individuals. We can't have ideas. We can't do things differenly and chaotically.
I hate Karen and Karen's world.
Personally, I'd be more productive if people in the workplace would indulge their "personal wackiness." A disorganized and wacky work machine, in my opinion, would encourage me to get more done because it would be more exciting, unpredictable, and ZANY!
I don't even know where I'm going with this.
I guess I just enjoyed seeing the word "wackiness" printed in a newspaper.
Heh.
Best Weekend Ever
The weekend was fantastic. I will write more later, when I can also upload photos.
In the meantime, I am laughing at this:
"You know they call corn on the cob, corn on the cob, but that's how it comes out of the ground, man. They should call that corn, they should call every other version corn off the cob. It's not like if you cut off my arm you would call it Mitch. Then reattach it and call me Mitch-all-together..."
- Mitch Hedberg (funniest man alive)
In the meantime, I am laughing at this:
"You know they call corn on the cob, corn on the cob, but that's how it comes out of the ground, man. They should call that corn, they should call every other version corn off the cob. It's not like if you cut off my arm you would call it Mitch. Then reattach it and call me Mitch-all-together..."
- Mitch Hedberg (funniest man alive)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
