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.
Friday, December 02, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
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 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.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
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...
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...
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Sunday, November 27, 2005
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!
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!
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