The Strike is over.
The good news is that we all get three free days on our unlimited ride Metro cards!
The bad news is that I still have to pack when I get home from work tonight after my sluggish commute on the PATH train.
D and I will be driving up to MA tonight, hopefully without too much strike-related antagonism in the form of obscene traffic out of the city. I am looking forward to some time off, but, as usual, there are millions of things planned. Visits, meals, exhibits, travelling, etc. I want to make sure that we have plenty of time to sit and watch DVD's and Curb Your Enthusiasm episodes. I'd also like to read a bit, sleep late, feel no pressure to do anything.
I don't want to plan.
Mother asked if we were going to church, if so what mass, and did we mind opening presents on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas morning?
I said "I haven't even thought about these things. Can we talk about it when I get home?"
All I can think about right now is what I might want to wear on New Year's Eve and what I might want to bring for CD's in the car tonight. Christmas Eve isn't for two whole days! I can't think about it right now.
All I can think about is effectively getting to MA and starting my vacation.
Anyway, I'm off until the 3rd (2006!!!), so My Mundane Life In Song is on hiatus until the new year.
Have great holidays, enjoy your celebrations, and try to relax.
Until the new year...
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Merry Christmas from My Mundane Life In Song
Title: New York at Christmas (Epic Version)
Title: New York at Christmas (Concise Version)
Genre: Christmas Carol
Date: 12.21.05
Description:
I got some good submissions for Christmas carols but, as usual, I didn't have time to write a song, let alone record one.
After getting home last night after a long, annoying commute, during which I decided to sing songs by The Shins at the top of my lungs to combat all of the zillion confused commuters in Midtown, I met with disdain the task ahead of me - packing for my week and a half off for the holidays in MA.
Devoted readers all know that packing is my most loathed activity, especially after battling tourists and commuters alike. I can't even explain to you the chaos that is Midtown around the holidays. I live in Midtown and getting home after a long day's work is torture. And I can't even explain to you the chaos that is me trying to figure out outfits and makeup and jewelry and shoes for over a week in the winter.
I began to pack and then, as is customary, began to devise clever ways to procrastinate. I finished reading my book for book club, swiffered the hell out of my apartment, did the dishes, perused a photography book I've been meaning to look at, and then thought "Wait! I should write a song about the PATH train!"
I've been taking the PATH to and from work during The Strike. It is so very slow. It's so slow that sometimes I don't even realize that it has stopped, since the difference between movement and being stopped is barely noticeable. I've been torn, because walking to the PATH from my apartment, waiting in line to take the PATH, taking the PATH, and then walking from the PATH to work actually takes longer than walking to work from my apartment. But I'd rather have twenty minutes of walking broken up with ten minutes on the PATH than 40 minutes of straight walking, which would be really boring and really cold.
I am grateful for the PATH. I'd be much more irritable about The Strike were it not for this option. I am very, very lucky.
My intention was to write an Ode to the PATH, praising its existence.
It became, instead, an epic Christmas carol. A medley!
First things first, there's a line that says something about my not knowing that the PATH existed. This is not true. I knew about the PATH. I just didn't know, until recently, that it went into Midtown.
Second, this is all one take. I wanted to procrastinate, but I didn't want to lose hours of valuable time during which I could be staring at clothes on my bed trying desperately to figure out what I might want to wear on New Year's Eve. Things therefore get a bit messy towards the end, but I only had an hour and a half to write the lyrics, write the music, record it, mix it, upload it, etc. So patience! This is some really bad singing, and messy piano playing.
Third, this is a medley.
Fourth, this is really long. I've posted two versions - The Epic Version and The Concise Version, which is comprised only of the end of the song, which is the part I like best.
Fifth, I think this song is a good representation of my Love/Hate relationship with New York City.
Sixth, I don't even know why I was packing last night since we're not leaving until late tonight to avoid The Strike related traffic out of the city. I think the plan is to leave at 9:00 or so. I could have just focused on the song and done a better recording.
Seventh, I probably wouldn't have sat down at the piano at all unless I was trying desperately to procrastinate, so I guess it doesn't matter.
Eighth, I didn't finish packing. What am I supposed to wear on New Year's Eve!?!?
Lyrics:
It's mayhem in Midtown this time of year
All the tourists walking with their noses in the air
Christmas in New York is a lovely thing
As long as you're not a native you'll find it amazing
But not this year
The tourists can't go Christmas shopping
The Union doesn't want them to see the tree
In Rockefeller Center, they won't be able to go ice skating
Trapped in their hotel rooms
They're missing everything
I am pro-labor
I empathize
But it's hard to be patient when it's this cold outside
Negotiations aren't going well
Because Toussaint is a diva
He's asking for too much
He's breaking the law
We're all in agreement that the workers should see the surplus
But this is ridiculous
It's even worse in Midtown
I know it's hard hard to believe
There's even more confusion
You should see Penn Station
But I don't care
Cuz the city gave me a gift
It is called the PATH train
I didn't know it even existed
Thank you, New Jersey
Thank you, Mass Transit
Thank you Moishe for kicking us out
Cuz it would really suck to walk across the Williamsburg Bridge
It would really suck to commute with the hipsters
Merry Christmas...
Who has annoying tourists
New York has annoying tourists
Where will shopping make you throw a fit
New York shopping makes you throw a fit
Must be New York, must be New York, must be New York at Christmas
Who's got a mass transit strike
New York has a mass transit strike
Who has the most commuters on bikes
New York has the most commuters on bikes
Must be New York, must be New York, must be New York at Christmas
Who has Radio City
New York has Radio City
Who has the best Christmas tree
New York has the best Christmas tree
Must be New York, must be New York, must be New York at Christmas
Title: New York at Christmas (Concise Version)
Genre: Christmas Carol
Date: 12.21.05
Description:
I got some good submissions for Christmas carols but, as usual, I didn't have time to write a song, let alone record one.
After getting home last night after a long, annoying commute, during which I decided to sing songs by The Shins at the top of my lungs to combat all of the zillion confused commuters in Midtown, I met with disdain the task ahead of me - packing for my week and a half off for the holidays in MA.
Devoted readers all know that packing is my most loathed activity, especially after battling tourists and commuters alike. I can't even explain to you the chaos that is Midtown around the holidays. I live in Midtown and getting home after a long day's work is torture. And I can't even explain to you the chaos that is me trying to figure out outfits and makeup and jewelry and shoes for over a week in the winter.
I began to pack and then, as is customary, began to devise clever ways to procrastinate. I finished reading my book for book club, swiffered the hell out of my apartment, did the dishes, perused a photography book I've been meaning to look at, and then thought "Wait! I should write a song about the PATH train!"
I've been taking the PATH to and from work during The Strike. It is so very slow. It's so slow that sometimes I don't even realize that it has stopped, since the difference between movement and being stopped is barely noticeable. I've been torn, because walking to the PATH from my apartment, waiting in line to take the PATH, taking the PATH, and then walking from the PATH to work actually takes longer than walking to work from my apartment. But I'd rather have twenty minutes of walking broken up with ten minutes on the PATH than 40 minutes of straight walking, which would be really boring and really cold.
I am grateful for the PATH. I'd be much more irritable about The Strike were it not for this option. I am very, very lucky.
My intention was to write an Ode to the PATH, praising its existence.
It became, instead, an epic Christmas carol. A medley!
First things first, there's a line that says something about my not knowing that the PATH existed. This is not true. I knew about the PATH. I just didn't know, until recently, that it went into Midtown.
Second, this is all one take. I wanted to procrastinate, but I didn't want to lose hours of valuable time during which I could be staring at clothes on my bed trying desperately to figure out what I might want to wear on New Year's Eve. Things therefore get a bit messy towards the end, but I only had an hour and a half to write the lyrics, write the music, record it, mix it, upload it, etc. So patience! This is some really bad singing, and messy piano playing.
Third, this is a medley.
Fourth, this is really long. I've posted two versions - The Epic Version and The Concise Version, which is comprised only of the end of the song, which is the part I like best.
Fifth, I think this song is a good representation of my Love/Hate relationship with New York City.
Sixth, I don't even know why I was packing last night since we're not leaving until late tonight to avoid The Strike related traffic out of the city. I think the plan is to leave at 9:00 or so. I could have just focused on the song and done a better recording.
Seventh, I probably wouldn't have sat down at the piano at all unless I was trying desperately to procrastinate, so I guess it doesn't matter.
Eighth, I didn't finish packing. What am I supposed to wear on New Year's Eve!?!?
Lyrics:
It's mayhem in Midtown this time of year
All the tourists walking with their noses in the air
Christmas in New York is a lovely thing
As long as you're not a native you'll find it amazing
But not this year
The tourists can't go Christmas shopping
The Union doesn't want them to see the tree
In Rockefeller Center, they won't be able to go ice skating
Trapped in their hotel rooms
They're missing everything
I am pro-labor
I empathize
But it's hard to be patient when it's this cold outside
Negotiations aren't going well
Because Toussaint is a diva
He's asking for too much
He's breaking the law
We're all in agreement that the workers should see the surplus
But this is ridiculous
It's even worse in Midtown
I know it's hard hard to believe
There's even more confusion
You should see Penn Station
But I don't care
Cuz the city gave me a gift
It is called the PATH train
I didn't know it even existed
Thank you, New Jersey
Thank you, Mass Transit
Thank you Moishe for kicking us out
Cuz it would really suck to walk across the Williamsburg Bridge
It would really suck to commute with the hipsters
Merry Christmas...
Who has annoying tourists
New York has annoying tourists
Where will shopping make you throw a fit
New York shopping makes you throw a fit
Must be New York, must be New York, must be New York at Christmas
Who's got a mass transit strike
New York has a mass transit strike
Who has the most commuters on bikes
New York has the most commuters on bikes
Must be New York, must be New York, must be New York at Christmas
Who has Radio City
New York has Radio City
Who has the best Christmas tree
New York has the best Christmas tree
Must be New York, must be New York, must be New York at Christmas
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Some Thoughts on The Strike
Admittedly, I was much more excited about The Strike last time. This is because the original strike was slated to occur on a Friday, which meant only one day of weird commuting and then a relaxed weekend during which nothing could be done. Movie watching, cooking, piano playing, phone calls, etc. The Strike's occurring during the week is no good. It's no good because now there will be many days of weird commuting, coupled with not being able to go home if I stay at D's. Ugh.
This is not the end of the world because I am heading to MA on Thursday. Thus, if The Strike goes on for 11 days like last time, I will not be majorly affected.
In addition, for each day of The Strike, we get a free day on our monthly unlimited ride Metro Card, which rules!
This is bad timing for me, selfishly, as our department holiday lunch is scheduled for today. Normally they have it a restaurant that is close by, but this year they chose to have it somewhere that's not within walking distance, so now we all have to walk for 30 minutes in the cold to get there.
It's actually not freezing cold. I bundled up today for my walk to work - sweater, hoodie, scarf, hat, above-the-knee socks. I wasn't cold at all. In fact, I removed my hat for a portion of the commute and didn't wear gloves at all.
I ended up not walking all the way, though, as the police presence throughout midtown was a bit much to handle. They were re-directing traffic, causing pedestrian pile-up. I decided to take the PATH from 33rd to Christopher Street and walk to work from there.
I think I like the strike.
People were definitely being cute, talking to one another, making jokes. The business people were chill about not being at work on time. And the best thing? Little kids going to school! I never get to see little kids en route to school but because the school start time was delayed by two hours, I got to see them! YAY!
There is also that sense of cred we all feel for having been involved with this. There's something interesting - the novelty, the "How did you get to work?" conversations you have with people you never talk to, having a shared panic with your entire city.
People in the city have been comparing the feeling to that of a snow day.
It's sort of exciting.
Working together, carpooling with strangers, exchanging knowing glances with others who have painful feet.
It's awesome.
OK. That is all.
More later.
This is not the end of the world because I am heading to MA on Thursday. Thus, if The Strike goes on for 11 days like last time, I will not be majorly affected.
In addition, for each day of The Strike, we get a free day on our monthly unlimited ride Metro Card, which rules!
This is bad timing for me, selfishly, as our department holiday lunch is scheduled for today. Normally they have it a restaurant that is close by, but this year they chose to have it somewhere that's not within walking distance, so now we all have to walk for 30 minutes in the cold to get there.
It's actually not freezing cold. I bundled up today for my walk to work - sweater, hoodie, scarf, hat, above-the-knee socks. I wasn't cold at all. In fact, I removed my hat for a portion of the commute and didn't wear gloves at all.
I ended up not walking all the way, though, as the police presence throughout midtown was a bit much to handle. They were re-directing traffic, causing pedestrian pile-up. I decided to take the PATH from 33rd to Christopher Street and walk to work from there.
I think I like the strike.
People were definitely being cute, talking to one another, making jokes. The business people were chill about not being at work on time. And the best thing? Little kids going to school! I never get to see little kids en route to school but because the school start time was delayed by two hours, I got to see them! YAY!
There is also that sense of cred we all feel for having been involved with this. There's something interesting - the novelty, the "How did you get to work?" conversations you have with people you never talk to, having a shared panic with your entire city.
People in the city have been comparing the feeling to that of a snow day.
It's sort of exciting.
Working together, carpooling with strangers, exchanging knowing glances with others who have painful feet.
It's awesome.
OK. That is all.
More later.
STRIKE
Now the transit workers ARE on strike and I am not pleased.
D wasn't being the optimal boyfriend yesterday so I did not hang out with him last night in favor of being alone at my apartment, and now I am far away from work and have to walk. Snap. It's apparently 22 degrees outside and feels like 10 degrees outside and I have at least an hour walk ahead of me. Sweet!
There are no cabs in sight.
I may try to take the PATH, but I have no idea how to do that.
OK.
More later...
D wasn't being the optimal boyfriend yesterday so I did not hang out with him last night in favor of being alone at my apartment, and now I am far away from work and have to walk. Snap. It's apparently 22 degrees outside and feels like 10 degrees outside and I have at least an hour walk ahead of me. Sweet!
There are no cabs in sight.
I may try to take the PATH, but I have no idea how to do that.
OK.
More later...
Monday, December 19, 2005
Seat-Stealer
I had a Curb Your Enthusiasm moment last night while waiting for Inside the Actor’s Studio to begin taping.
I wish, wish, wish I’d been able to channel Larry David a bit better. I tried, I really tried. I tried to be assertive on behalf of the people who were the victims of completely absurd human behavior but I had to stop because I was afraid that I was going to punch The Blonde Girl in the face, or at the very least pull her pony tail really hard from behind her.
Picture it:
James Lipton says “You may all leave. Just take a bracelet and make sure that you come back at 9:30 when the taping will begin.”
People take bracelets and leave. Presumably they will be coming back. What sort of person wouldn’t come back?
The show was sold out, packed to capacity. People had been waiting in line, hoping for last minute tickets, that sort of thing. People were rabid for this event. A lot of people couldn’t find seats during the initial seating. It’s General Admission with reserved seats for guests, but there weren’t even enough seats for the guests.
Here is the original conformation of people sitting in my row (the top row) and the row in front of me (the bottom row). My group is navy blue:
As soon as people got up to leave, The Blonde Girl from the Light Blue Group started asking us what we thought would happen. Would it really start at 9:30? How long would it go? Would it be rude to leave early? She has a job and has to work in the morning! Poor thing!
The next thing I know, The Blone Girl and her two lackeys move their things and just steal the seats of the people who were sitting in front of us, so now it looks like this:
Meanwhile, three members of our group left to get food as they’d been waiting for hours and wouldn’t, now, be able to eat dinner afterwards since afterwards would be, like, midnight or later. Three of us stayed behind to watch over the seats.
Then this happened:
The Red Couple, very nice people, returned to find their seats stolen. Rather than cause a scene, they make a move for the two seats remaining between us and the Purple Trio, who have now taken the seats that The Light Blue Group abandoned. I wasn’t mad at the Purple Trio, however, because the Light Blue Group gave up their seats to steal the seats of the Red Couple.
I said “Oh, I’m sorry. Those seats are saved.”
“But these people stole our seats!”
“I know, and they suck.”
The Blonde Girl rolled her eyes. She said “Why don’t you just sit next to us?” rather bitchily. So the Red Couple sat down next to the Light Blue Group.
All was fine until the yellow group returned!
“You guys are in our seats!” they said.
The Red Couple said “We’re sorry. We know. We have nowhere to sit because they stole our seats!”
“Well, we want them back!” said The Yellow Group.
They looked at the Light Blue Group, and the Light Blue Group refused to move. “Look, I was told that we could move seats,” said The Blonde Girl. A lie.
“No she wasn’t,” I said.
“Look, we just want our seats back,” said the leader of The Yellow Group.
“But those people stole our seats!” The Blonde Girl complained. “They just took our seats!” she said, pointing to The Purple Trio who hadn’t stolen her seats. They hadn’t stolen her seats because they saw her give up her seats to steal seats of another. She was trying to play it off, blame those people, but she never offered to get out of the seats she’d stolen by reclaiming her old seats.
She’d moved because she wanted to sneak out early because, woe is her, she has a job and has to work the following day.
“Well, you took our seats and you need to move,” said The Yellow Group leader.
“But those people took our seats!” she yelled.
“No, they didn’t,” I said. “You are the first one who stole seats and now nobody has a seat and it’s your fault.”
“What? What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with you people? Like you expect to like get the same subway seat every morning when you commute? Like its your seat? You people are ridiculous!” she said.
“We’re not leaving until you give us our seats back,” said the yellow leader.
“She stole all these seats,” I said again.
She finally backed down and she and her lackeys moved to the middle of the row.
Now she was in the middle, unable to sneak out effectively. Mwa ha ha!!!
She was throwing a fit for like the next 20 minutes, pissed that the people wanted their seats back, trying to blame the people who moved into her seat after she gave hers up. She said things like "Everyone here is so ridiculous. I don't know what their problem is. Why do they have to be so mean? What's wrong with them?" She was all in huff. I said to The Yellow Group “I’m glad you guys didn’t back down. She sucks. She totally just stole your seats.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to back down.”
Then, of course, it happened again. The Green People came back and wanted their seats.
The Blonde Girl threw another fit, turned around to The Purple Trio, and said “They started this! They stole our seats so we had to move here! JUST SIT SOMEWHERE ELSE!!”
Lies. All lies!!
“No, you’re in our seats.”
This went back and forth for like ten minutes, and finally the leader of The Green People got an usher who ordered her to move!
Did she!? NO! She WOULD NOT! And what happened when she did not move? Nothing, because The Green People (not the leader) backed down and said “We can just sit somewhere else.”
NO!
They left.
The Blonde Girl got away with it.
I hate her.
She lied, and worse, blamed other people for what she did. You can’t blame the people who took your seats after they saw you take someone else’s! What is wrong with her?
It is perfectly appropriate, once the show has begun or even shortly before it is about to begin, to move forward if there are empty seats. Everyone does that.
This situation, granted, is morally ambiguous. Without a concrete decree of what will happen to the seats, I suppose its a free-for-all.
But I feel like the right thing to do is not steal someone else's seat until you are certain that the person is not coming back.
Maybe it’s not so bad that she took the seats. Maybe it’s more her attitude about taking the seats. Clearly she knew stealing the seats was wrong, which is why she turned around and blamed the people who allegedly stole her seat and pinned the whole situation on them, the Seat-Stealers!
I could have killed this girl.
I wanted to be Larry David and just say what was on my mind, how she was being absurd.
Although, I guess in this situation Larry David would have sided with the Seat-Stealer, because really, why would a seat be yours if you’re not sitting in it?
I crave order.
And I hate entitlement. It is one of my biggest pet peeve. I kept wanting to yell "Who do you think you are!?!?" and then "I hate your ponytail!"
I hate this girl’s attitude. I hate that she lied. “I was told that we could move seats.” No you weren’t! I hate that she tried to pawn it off on people who were uninvolved. And I hate that nobody put her in her place, which is why she, and people like her, will continue to feel entitled.
All she had to say was “I’m sorry, I was hoping you weren’t coming back” and I wouldn’t have wanted to throttle her.
But no. She's allowed to do whatever she wants and gets mad at people who get in her way.
I felt violent. D said "This situation is so stressful."
I said "I think I want to beat that girl up."
"You're going to have to get in line."
D's friend said "Too bad you finished your Skittles because we could have thrown them at her head all night."
That would have been good.
I know this is the worst story ever, but I'm still wound up about it and may want to feel insane about it again in a year, at which point the diagrams will be helpful.
I wish, wish, wish I’d been able to channel Larry David a bit better. I tried, I really tried. I tried to be assertive on behalf of the people who were the victims of completely absurd human behavior but I had to stop because I was afraid that I was going to punch The Blonde Girl in the face, or at the very least pull her pony tail really hard from behind her.
Picture it:
James Lipton says “You may all leave. Just take a bracelet and make sure that you come back at 9:30 when the taping will begin.”
People take bracelets and leave. Presumably they will be coming back. What sort of person wouldn’t come back?
The show was sold out, packed to capacity. People had been waiting in line, hoping for last minute tickets, that sort of thing. People were rabid for this event. A lot of people couldn’t find seats during the initial seating. It’s General Admission with reserved seats for guests, but there weren’t even enough seats for the guests.
Here is the original conformation of people sitting in my row (the top row) and the row in front of me (the bottom row). My group is navy blue:
As soon as people got up to leave, The Blonde Girl from the Light Blue Group started asking us what we thought would happen. Would it really start at 9:30? How long would it go? Would it be rude to leave early? She has a job and has to work in the morning! Poor thing!
The next thing I know, The Blone Girl and her two lackeys move their things and just steal the seats of the people who were sitting in front of us, so now it looks like this:
Meanwhile, three members of our group left to get food as they’d been waiting for hours and wouldn’t, now, be able to eat dinner afterwards since afterwards would be, like, midnight or later. Three of us stayed behind to watch over the seats.
Then this happened:
The Red Couple, very nice people, returned to find their seats stolen. Rather than cause a scene, they make a move for the two seats remaining between us and the Purple Trio, who have now taken the seats that The Light Blue Group abandoned. I wasn’t mad at the Purple Trio, however, because the Light Blue Group gave up their seats to steal the seats of the Red Couple.
I said “Oh, I’m sorry. Those seats are saved.”
“But these people stole our seats!”
“I know, and they suck.”
The Blonde Girl rolled her eyes. She said “Why don’t you just sit next to us?” rather bitchily. So the Red Couple sat down next to the Light Blue Group.
All was fine until the yellow group returned!
“You guys are in our seats!” they said.
The Red Couple said “We’re sorry. We know. We have nowhere to sit because they stole our seats!”
“Well, we want them back!” said The Yellow Group.
They looked at the Light Blue Group, and the Light Blue Group refused to move. “Look, I was told that we could move seats,” said The Blonde Girl. A lie.
“No she wasn’t,” I said.
“Look, we just want our seats back,” said the leader of The Yellow Group.
“But those people stole our seats!” The Blonde Girl complained. “They just took our seats!” she said, pointing to The Purple Trio who hadn’t stolen her seats. They hadn’t stolen her seats because they saw her give up her seats to steal seats of another. She was trying to play it off, blame those people, but she never offered to get out of the seats she’d stolen by reclaiming her old seats.
She’d moved because she wanted to sneak out early because, woe is her, she has a job and has to work the following day.
“Well, you took our seats and you need to move,” said The Yellow Group leader.
“But those people took our seats!” she yelled.
“No, they didn’t,” I said. “You are the first one who stole seats and now nobody has a seat and it’s your fault.”
“What? What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with you people? Like you expect to like get the same subway seat every morning when you commute? Like its your seat? You people are ridiculous!” she said.
“We’re not leaving until you give us our seats back,” said the yellow leader.
“She stole all these seats,” I said again.
She finally backed down and she and her lackeys moved to the middle of the row.
Now she was in the middle, unable to sneak out effectively. Mwa ha ha!!!
She was throwing a fit for like the next 20 minutes, pissed that the people wanted their seats back, trying to blame the people who moved into her seat after she gave hers up. She said things like "Everyone here is so ridiculous. I don't know what their problem is. Why do they have to be so mean? What's wrong with them?" She was all in huff. I said to The Yellow Group “I’m glad you guys didn’t back down. She sucks. She totally just stole your seats.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to back down.”
Then, of course, it happened again. The Green People came back and wanted their seats.
The Blonde Girl threw another fit, turned around to The Purple Trio, and said “They started this! They stole our seats so we had to move here! JUST SIT SOMEWHERE ELSE!!”
Lies. All lies!!
“No, you’re in our seats.”
This went back and forth for like ten minutes, and finally the leader of The Green People got an usher who ordered her to move!
Did she!? NO! She WOULD NOT! And what happened when she did not move? Nothing, because The Green People (not the leader) backed down and said “We can just sit somewhere else.”
NO!
They left.
The Blonde Girl got away with it.
I hate her.
She lied, and worse, blamed other people for what she did. You can’t blame the people who took your seats after they saw you take someone else’s! What is wrong with her?
It is perfectly appropriate, once the show has begun or even shortly before it is about to begin, to move forward if there are empty seats. Everyone does that.
This situation, granted, is morally ambiguous. Without a concrete decree of what will happen to the seats, I suppose its a free-for-all.
But I feel like the right thing to do is not steal someone else's seat until you are certain that the person is not coming back.
Maybe it’s not so bad that she took the seats. Maybe it’s more her attitude about taking the seats. Clearly she knew stealing the seats was wrong, which is why she turned around and blamed the people who allegedly stole her seat and pinned the whole situation on them, the Seat-Stealers!
I could have killed this girl.
I wanted to be Larry David and just say what was on my mind, how she was being absurd.
Although, I guess in this situation Larry David would have sided with the Seat-Stealer, because really, why would a seat be yours if you’re not sitting in it?
I crave order.
And I hate entitlement. It is one of my biggest pet peeve. I kept wanting to yell "Who do you think you are!?!?" and then "I hate your ponytail!"
I hate this girl’s attitude. I hate that she lied. “I was told that we could move seats.” No you weren’t! I hate that she tried to pawn it off on people who were uninvolved. And I hate that nobody put her in her place, which is why she, and people like her, will continue to feel entitled.
All she had to say was “I’m sorry, I was hoping you weren’t coming back” and I wouldn’t have wanted to throttle her.
But no. She's allowed to do whatever she wants and gets mad at people who get in her way.
I felt violent. D said "This situation is so stressful."
I said "I think I want to beat that girl up."
"You're going to have to get in line."
D's friend said "Too bad you finished your Skittles because we could have thrown them at her head all night."
That would have been good.
I know this is the worst story ever, but I'm still wound up about it and may want to feel insane about it again in a year, at which point the diagrams will be helpful.
Meta
I went to a taping of Inside the Actor’s Studio last night.
The guest was Dave Chappelle.
I would tell you to stop being jealous, but you really should be jealous so I won’t stop you.
In preparation for the show, D suggested we rent the entire second season and watch it on Saturday night. Damn that show is funny.
I tried not to get too excited because I knew that there was a slight chance that Dave Chappelle would not show up. My heart would have been broken had that happened, so I distanced myself from the experience and pretended like it wasn’t happening at all.
We arrived at about 6:30 for the 7:00 taping.
At 7:30 the show still had not begun. James Lipton came out and gushed, saying “You are in for a treat tonight but there are problems with Dave Chappelle’s flight. He took a personal flight from Ohio just to do the show, we are very appreciative, but they had to stop to refuel. In the meantime, watch this..” They then aired the first episode of Chappelle’s Show after James Lipton said “This show is going to be our holiday gift to you.”
At 8:00, I went to the bathroom and overheard people saying that Dave Chappelle's plane hadn’t even landed yet, and that the taping would most likely begin at 10:00. Rumor had it that James Lipton would come out and make an announcement indicating what we should do.
When I returned to my seat, it was announced that they would be giving out bracelets and that we could leave, but we were to return to our seats by 9:30 for the taping.
I think D and I watched the entire first two seasons of Chappelle's Show in less than 24 hours.
At 9:30 things began, with tests for audio levels and audience camera shots.
When James Lipton emerged, he first said “Never have I loved an audience more than I love you,” because of our patience given that we’d all been there for three hours and would be there for at least another three and then “You are in for a wonderful show, you lucky bastards.”
HAH!
OK. Here are my thoughts about this experience:
1. I have new respect for Inside the Actor’s Studio. It was really an amazing interview, comprehensive, I know so much about Dave Chappelle and have a more complete appreciation for his comedy.
2. James Lipton = awesome. His interview skills are amazing. I now understand why celebrities flock to his show. He’s actually really funny and charming. He is very good at what he does. When he asked Chappelle to get up and dance, Chappelle said he would only if James Lipton would, and you know what? James Lipton actually got up and did a little ballet! It was adorable!
3. The importance of family – Dave Chappelle was talking about his initial experiences as a standup comedian, which began when he was only 14 years old, and how he told his mother that he was doing it and told her not to come. She showed up anyway, along with his brother and his grandmother. I think supportive family environments really encourage this sort of desire to entertain. Some people entertain to get attention, I think others entertain because they’ve received attention and have confidence. I really envy that sense of security.
4. Dave Chappelle is really funny. Like really, really funny. I saw him do standup a million years ago – I think in 1996 or something at The Comedy Connection – and he was funny, but he’s more chill now or something and for some reason that’s funnier to me.
5. Dave Chappelle was candid and honest. He spoke of his time in Africa and what led up to it, he spoke of his father’s death, he spoke of his experiences in Hollywood and warned people against certain things in the industry. He really put himself out there, and for this I respect him.
6. The fact that James Lipton loves Chappelle’s Show is pretty much the best thing ever.
7. The fact that James Lipton asked to “speak with” Clayton Bigsby, the black white supremacist, was the funniest thing ever.
8. James Lipton asked some really interesting questions. He knows everything about people and can therefore challenge them.
9. Most meta thing I think I’ve ever experienced – watching a clip of the skit on Chappelle’s Show where they spoof Dave Chappelle being on Inside the Actor’s Studio on a screen at Inside the Actor’s Studio while Dave Chappelle is on Inside the Actor’s Studio. Weird, man. James Lipton said “Who is that guy who plays me?” and Dave Chappelle said “That’s so-and-so, who was the dad in ‘War Games.’”
10. I really liked seeing someone from our generation up there.
We actually ended up leaving early because it was 1:30 before they even got into the question and answer session, and it probably would have gone another two hours and unfortunately I am an old lady who had to work the following morning.
I love doing things like this that are things that can only happen in New York City.
YEAH!
The guest was Dave Chappelle.
I would tell you to stop being jealous, but you really should be jealous so I won’t stop you.
In preparation for the show, D suggested we rent the entire second season and watch it on Saturday night. Damn that show is funny.
I tried not to get too excited because I knew that there was a slight chance that Dave Chappelle would not show up. My heart would have been broken had that happened, so I distanced myself from the experience and pretended like it wasn’t happening at all.
We arrived at about 6:30 for the 7:00 taping.
At 7:30 the show still had not begun. James Lipton came out and gushed, saying “You are in for a treat tonight but there are problems with Dave Chappelle’s flight. He took a personal flight from Ohio just to do the show, we are very appreciative, but they had to stop to refuel. In the meantime, watch this..” They then aired the first episode of Chappelle’s Show after James Lipton said “This show is going to be our holiday gift to you.”
At 8:00, I went to the bathroom and overheard people saying that Dave Chappelle's plane hadn’t even landed yet, and that the taping would most likely begin at 10:00. Rumor had it that James Lipton would come out and make an announcement indicating what we should do.
When I returned to my seat, it was announced that they would be giving out bracelets and that we could leave, but we were to return to our seats by 9:30 for the taping.
I think D and I watched the entire first two seasons of Chappelle's Show in less than 24 hours.
At 9:30 things began, with tests for audio levels and audience camera shots.
When James Lipton emerged, he first said “Never have I loved an audience more than I love you,” because of our patience given that we’d all been there for three hours and would be there for at least another three and then “You are in for a wonderful show, you lucky bastards.”
HAH!
OK. Here are my thoughts about this experience:
1. I have new respect for Inside the Actor’s Studio. It was really an amazing interview, comprehensive, I know so much about Dave Chappelle and have a more complete appreciation for his comedy.
2. James Lipton = awesome. His interview skills are amazing. I now understand why celebrities flock to his show. He’s actually really funny and charming. He is very good at what he does. When he asked Chappelle to get up and dance, Chappelle said he would only if James Lipton would, and you know what? James Lipton actually got up and did a little ballet! It was adorable!
3. The importance of family – Dave Chappelle was talking about his initial experiences as a standup comedian, which began when he was only 14 years old, and how he told his mother that he was doing it and told her not to come. She showed up anyway, along with his brother and his grandmother. I think supportive family environments really encourage this sort of desire to entertain. Some people entertain to get attention, I think others entertain because they’ve received attention and have confidence. I really envy that sense of security.
4. Dave Chappelle is really funny. Like really, really funny. I saw him do standup a million years ago – I think in 1996 or something at The Comedy Connection – and he was funny, but he’s more chill now or something and for some reason that’s funnier to me.
5. Dave Chappelle was candid and honest. He spoke of his time in Africa and what led up to it, he spoke of his father’s death, he spoke of his experiences in Hollywood and warned people against certain things in the industry. He really put himself out there, and for this I respect him.
6. The fact that James Lipton loves Chappelle’s Show is pretty much the best thing ever.
7. The fact that James Lipton asked to “speak with” Clayton Bigsby, the black white supremacist, was the funniest thing ever.
8. James Lipton asked some really interesting questions. He knows everything about people and can therefore challenge them.
9. Most meta thing I think I’ve ever experienced – watching a clip of the skit on Chappelle’s Show where they spoof Dave Chappelle being on Inside the Actor’s Studio on a screen at Inside the Actor’s Studio while Dave Chappelle is on Inside the Actor’s Studio. Weird, man. James Lipton said “Who is that guy who plays me?” and Dave Chappelle said “That’s so-and-so, who was the dad in ‘War Games.’”
10. I really liked seeing someone from our generation up there.
We actually ended up leaving early because it was 1:30 before they even got into the question and answer session, and it probably would have gone another two hours and unfortunately I am an old lady who had to work the following morning.
I love doing things like this that are things that can only happen in New York City.
YEAH!
Submissive
I met D on Saturday morning to go to some galleries on the Upper East Side. These galleries are the heavy-hitters, the ones that show well-established artists, the rich ones. The ones in which there are not any people like us.
As you know, I am insecure about my lack of knowledge about art. I’m getting up to speed. I can recognize artists and I know what I like, but I’m not obsessive-compulsive about following “the scene” or remembering every piece I’ve ever seen. I just don’t like art that much and there’s nothing wrong with that, right? But sometimes I feel like there is, because art is “cool” and “smart” and D is all over it, and I know it doesn’t make him better than me, but sometimes I feel like he is.
I guess I deem anyone with an obsessive, excessive, and complete expert knowledge of anything better than me.
I don’t operate like this. I consume as much as I deem fit. I don’t know everything about anything, nor do I feel compelled to. There’s too much information out there for me to even think myself capable of absorbing all of it, so I pick and choose.
D, ever OCD about things like this, has to know everything about everything. He reads every newspaper, every magazine, every free periodical on the street. He knows about TV shows even though he doesn’t watch TV. He knows every obscure band, every obscure director, every obscure artist. He’s seen every movie, read every book that anyone has ever said is worth reading, etc.
This, of course, makes me feel stupid. It is hard to just accept that we are different sorts of people, and perhaps D admires my ability to be relaxed about consuming the world around me and wishes that he could relax enough to read fiction.
I like art enough, though, to look at it every now and then. I probably look at more of it than I can tolerate because D loves art and I want to spend time with him and be easygoing about his obsession.
D had made a list of galleries he wanted to check out. We found ourselves at a gallery that showcases Chinese art. When we got there, The Gallerist was thrilled to see us, because apparently his gallery doesn’t get a lot of traffic. He wanted to know how we’d heard of the gallery. He was appreciative of our looking at his collection and therefore wanted to talk to us.
The Gallerist was an older gentleman, very polished and very posh. He was probably in his mid-50’s, wearing a tweed jacket. You know the sort, and you are thrilled if you are a lover of stereotypes because this man was the quintessential white, rich, tweed-wearing gallerist with greying facial hair and ambiguous accent despite most likely being American. He should have been smoking a pipe.
He said “So, what brings you here? What kind of painting are you into?”
D said “Blah blah blah wah wah wah.” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“And you?” said the gallerist, looking to a blank-faced me for information.
I didn’t know what to say. I have no favorites. I disliked everything in his gallery that I’d seen up until that point. I had nothing educated to say. I didn’t want to sound stupid. I was on the spot. I didn’t want to say “I’m not really that into painting” so I instead said “Oh, I’m just with him,” and then stumbled over it, realizing that was a stupid thing to say, so then added “I’m actually more into photography.”
“I’m *just* with him, she says. Good for you!” he said to D.
Right.
The gallery was nice. It was more of an old apartment, with carpets and a very warm feeling. We walked to the back of the gallery where there were couches, a dog, and more paintings, paintings I actually liked. I gasped when I saw one of them.
I sat down while D and The Gallerist talked art. I flipped through some of the gallery’s catalogues, eavesdropped and interjected every now and then when they were talking about science or cheap labor abroad. They mostly spoke of painting and the renaissance that’s going on in China right now and how The Gallerist wants in on it. D said "Did you see such and such exhibit at such and such gallery?" and The Gallerist hadn't even heard of it. D said "Oh, yes, I saw so-and-so's work at such-and-such museum in insert city here" and then "His work reminds me of so-and-so's piece from blah blah blah." D said "You might like such-and-such." They talked about the importance of Cy Twombly, whose work I dug at the Philadelphia Art Museum, but about whom I have no opinion because I’ve only seen that and haven’t read about him nor obsessively sought out his work everywhere I’ve ever been. And not that I could articulate an opinion if I even had one. My opinion would have sounded like “The stuff I saw in Philly was cool. Sort of violent and raw. I took a lot of photos of them, actually. Yeah. Cool. But I didn’t like what we saw of his today for no real reason. Just not my taste.”
I knew D was having a great time so I didn’t push him to leave. I sat there in my own little world, feeling stupid and inferior and uninvolved, a feeling I often experience around D. The Gallerist got a call on his cell phone and accepted it, which afforded D and I the segue to escape.
As we were saying our good-byes, the Gallerist said “Well, it was a pleasure meeting the both of you. You are both lovely.” To D he said “You are a very lucky man.”
How nice, I thought.
“When I asked her what she was doing here, she said ‘I’m *just* with him.’ You’ve got a good one. Submissive. That’s how it should be.”
D = nervous laughter. “Not this one,” D said.
“No, really, that’s telling. I’m *just* with him. That’s how it ought to be. In China, they know how it’s done. Women there are submissive. It should still be like that here. Women just aren’t like that anymore, not in this day and age. You got really lucky. This is how it should be. You’re a lucky man.”
Dear god.
I didn’t say anything, of course, further reinforcing his notion of my submission.
He then wanted to know how long we’d been together, how we’d met, etc.
As we were leaving, The Gallerist kindly gave me a catalogue of the gallery’s photography collection which was actually pretty awesome. He was a nice guy, friendly, genuinely interested in us but…
But yeah.
When we left, D said “I had so much fun!”
“That’s good,” I said.
“I love talking with rich people. He was so interesting.”
True.
“That was so fun!” he said, thrilled.
“Yes,” I said, thrilled for him but, of course, mortified.
Pause.
D said “Do you think he was serious about all that submissive stuff?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.”
“He was probably just kidding.”
“I would hope so, but I don’t think he was. He’s into Chinese art, he’s into the culture, why wouldn’t he be into submissive women? Isn’t that the stereotype? Why would he say something like that to complete strangers unless he was serious?”
“Well, that stereotype is true.”
I was upset. I’ve never been referred to as “submissive.”
I think I was upset, though, because it rang true to me at that moment. I’d spent the morning being dragged around to art galleries to make D happy. That’s not submissive. That is just nice. It’s a compromise. It’s not submission.
Listening to your boyfriend talk art for half an hour while you just sit there in silence waiting for him to finish? Is that submissive? No, again, it’s nice. It’s polite.
But, was it incorrect for The Gallerist to assume, based on my statement and the behavior that followed it, that I was submissive? No. I don’t think he was at fault at all, and that is why I said nothing.
Was he wrong for saying it out loud? Yes. He should have said nothing. He doesn’t know either of us. Was he wrong for thinking it? No. Was he wrong to be jealous of D for having a girlfriend who will follow him around on journeys that make her feel insecure? No. Is D lucky for a million other reasons? Yes. Should D have pointed those out? I wish.
The following day, D said to his friend “We had this really fun experience
yesterday at this gallery on the Upper East Side.” He told her about the gallery and how chatty and interesting The Gallerist had been and how it is so fascinating to talk to rich people. I’m happy for D. I know he loves this sort of thing and that makes me happy and it makes me happy to be a part of these things with him. His friend then asked me what I thought, and I said “The art was ok but The Gallerist was a prick because he told me I was submissive to D because I follow him around to galleries, which I do, but not because I am submissive.”
Ouch.
“Sorry,” I said to D, for bursting his bubble and for ending the conversation so abruptly, but I never told him that it bothered me because it didn’t seem to bother him, and I wonder if that makes me submissive.
As you know, I am insecure about my lack of knowledge about art. I’m getting up to speed. I can recognize artists and I know what I like, but I’m not obsessive-compulsive about following “the scene” or remembering every piece I’ve ever seen. I just don’t like art that much and there’s nothing wrong with that, right? But sometimes I feel like there is, because art is “cool” and “smart” and D is all over it, and I know it doesn’t make him better than me, but sometimes I feel like he is.
I guess I deem anyone with an obsessive, excessive, and complete expert knowledge of anything better than me.
I don’t operate like this. I consume as much as I deem fit. I don’t know everything about anything, nor do I feel compelled to. There’s too much information out there for me to even think myself capable of absorbing all of it, so I pick and choose.
D, ever OCD about things like this, has to know everything about everything. He reads every newspaper, every magazine, every free periodical on the street. He knows about TV shows even though he doesn’t watch TV. He knows every obscure band, every obscure director, every obscure artist. He’s seen every movie, read every book that anyone has ever said is worth reading, etc.
This, of course, makes me feel stupid. It is hard to just accept that we are different sorts of people, and perhaps D admires my ability to be relaxed about consuming the world around me and wishes that he could relax enough to read fiction.
I like art enough, though, to look at it every now and then. I probably look at more of it than I can tolerate because D loves art and I want to spend time with him and be easygoing about his obsession.
D had made a list of galleries he wanted to check out. We found ourselves at a gallery that showcases Chinese art. When we got there, The Gallerist was thrilled to see us, because apparently his gallery doesn’t get a lot of traffic. He wanted to know how we’d heard of the gallery. He was appreciative of our looking at his collection and therefore wanted to talk to us.
The Gallerist was an older gentleman, very polished and very posh. He was probably in his mid-50’s, wearing a tweed jacket. You know the sort, and you are thrilled if you are a lover of stereotypes because this man was the quintessential white, rich, tweed-wearing gallerist with greying facial hair and ambiguous accent despite most likely being American. He should have been smoking a pipe.
He said “So, what brings you here? What kind of painting are you into?”
D said “Blah blah blah wah wah wah.” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“And you?” said the gallerist, looking to a blank-faced me for information.
I didn’t know what to say. I have no favorites. I disliked everything in his gallery that I’d seen up until that point. I had nothing educated to say. I didn’t want to sound stupid. I was on the spot. I didn’t want to say “I’m not really that into painting” so I instead said “Oh, I’m just with him,” and then stumbled over it, realizing that was a stupid thing to say, so then added “I’m actually more into photography.”
“I’m *just* with him, she says. Good for you!” he said to D.
Right.
The gallery was nice. It was more of an old apartment, with carpets and a very warm feeling. We walked to the back of the gallery where there were couches, a dog, and more paintings, paintings I actually liked. I gasped when I saw one of them.
I sat down while D and The Gallerist talked art. I flipped through some of the gallery’s catalogues, eavesdropped and interjected every now and then when they were talking about science or cheap labor abroad. They mostly spoke of painting and the renaissance that’s going on in China right now and how The Gallerist wants in on it. D said "Did you see such and such exhibit at such and such gallery?" and The Gallerist hadn't even heard of it. D said "Oh, yes, I saw so-and-so's work at such-and-such museum in insert city here" and then "His work reminds me of so-and-so's piece from blah blah blah." D said "You might like such-and-such." They talked about the importance of Cy Twombly, whose work I dug at the Philadelphia Art Museum, but about whom I have no opinion because I’ve only seen that and haven’t read about him nor obsessively sought out his work everywhere I’ve ever been. And not that I could articulate an opinion if I even had one. My opinion would have sounded like “The stuff I saw in Philly was cool. Sort of violent and raw. I took a lot of photos of them, actually. Yeah. Cool. But I didn’t like what we saw of his today for no real reason. Just not my taste.”
I knew D was having a great time so I didn’t push him to leave. I sat there in my own little world, feeling stupid and inferior and uninvolved, a feeling I often experience around D. The Gallerist got a call on his cell phone and accepted it, which afforded D and I the segue to escape.
As we were saying our good-byes, the Gallerist said “Well, it was a pleasure meeting the both of you. You are both lovely.” To D he said “You are a very lucky man.”
How nice, I thought.
“When I asked her what she was doing here, she said ‘I’m *just* with him.’ You’ve got a good one. Submissive. That’s how it should be.”
D = nervous laughter. “Not this one,” D said.
“No, really, that’s telling. I’m *just* with him. That’s how it ought to be. In China, they know how it’s done. Women there are submissive. It should still be like that here. Women just aren’t like that anymore, not in this day and age. You got really lucky. This is how it should be. You’re a lucky man.”
Dear god.
I didn’t say anything, of course, further reinforcing his notion of my submission.
He then wanted to know how long we’d been together, how we’d met, etc.
As we were leaving, The Gallerist kindly gave me a catalogue of the gallery’s photography collection which was actually pretty awesome. He was a nice guy, friendly, genuinely interested in us but…
But yeah.
When we left, D said “I had so much fun!”
“That’s good,” I said.
“I love talking with rich people. He was so interesting.”
True.
“That was so fun!” he said, thrilled.
“Yes,” I said, thrilled for him but, of course, mortified.
Pause.
D said “Do you think he was serious about all that submissive stuff?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.”
“He was probably just kidding.”
“I would hope so, but I don’t think he was. He’s into Chinese art, he’s into the culture, why wouldn’t he be into submissive women? Isn’t that the stereotype? Why would he say something like that to complete strangers unless he was serious?”
“Well, that stereotype is true.”
I was upset. I’ve never been referred to as “submissive.”
I think I was upset, though, because it rang true to me at that moment. I’d spent the morning being dragged around to art galleries to make D happy. That’s not submissive. That is just nice. It’s a compromise. It’s not submission.
Listening to your boyfriend talk art for half an hour while you just sit there in silence waiting for him to finish? Is that submissive? No, again, it’s nice. It’s polite.
But, was it incorrect for The Gallerist to assume, based on my statement and the behavior that followed it, that I was submissive? No. I don’t think he was at fault at all, and that is why I said nothing.
Was he wrong for saying it out loud? Yes. He should have said nothing. He doesn’t know either of us. Was he wrong for thinking it? No. Was he wrong to be jealous of D for having a girlfriend who will follow him around on journeys that make her feel insecure? No. Is D lucky for a million other reasons? Yes. Should D have pointed those out? I wish.
The following day, D said to his friend “We had this really fun experience
yesterday at this gallery on the Upper East Side.” He told her about the gallery and how chatty and interesting The Gallerist had been and how it is so fascinating to talk to rich people. I’m happy for D. I know he loves this sort of thing and that makes me happy and it makes me happy to be a part of these things with him. His friend then asked me what I thought, and I said “The art was ok but The Gallerist was a prick because he told me I was submissive to D because I follow him around to galleries, which I do, but not because I am submissive.”
Ouch.
“Sorry,” I said to D, for bursting his bubble and for ending the conversation so abruptly, but I never told him that it bothered me because it didn’t seem to bother him, and I wonder if that makes me submissive.
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