If its my birthday, don't I get to determine how its celebrated? Or do I have to appease others? Do I make demands? Do I make compromises?
I feel like your birthday, especially a big one, is the one day a year on which you are allowed to be a diva, to say "This is what we're doing, everyone, and you have no choice!"
Am I wrong? Do I try to please everyone, or do I create a good situation for me?
I'm so selfish. But you only turn, ahem, 30 once.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Happeeeee
I am home sick from work today, but not because I am super sick (still feeling slightly under the weather, but not dramatic enough to stay home). I am home sick today because I was sick yesterday and worked like a maniac in anticipation of being sick today, therefore getting all of my work done. Which means I would have nothing to do at work today other than stare at my computer and work on side projects, which I would prefer to do from the flannel sheets of my bed.
It is a good idea for me to take a day off, though, as I've been sick-ish for the past week and haven't had time to recuperate. I wouldn't be feeling at all bad now if I'd taken a real sick day last week to recover. I have no guilt.
I should, of course, be sleeping, but the idea of side projects is to enticing. I did a first run through my taxes. NY state taxes are far more annoying than MA state taxes, which are straightforward. I've been doing my taxes online for the past few years (well, not last year, as they were complicated with the move etc.), and its torture because the program calculates your refund as you go through the forms, so you start off thinking "Holy god the state is giving me back $1500!" to "I can't believe they are charging me MORE FREAKING MONEY TO LIVE IN THIS UNAFFORDABLE CITY THOSE BASTARDS!"
More importantly...
I was the happiest I have been in ages last night! D and I went to see "The Pajama Game." Well, D was dragged and I went voluntarily to watch my favorite musical ever.
My love for "The Pajama Game" began in college, when my friends and I went to see the university's production for a mere $5. We went to see everything back then (because everything was $5 for students) and didn't have high expectations. Needless to say we were enamored, and I have been obsessed ever since.
D and I went to a wedding a few months back, and we were seated at a table with an older gentleman who actually writes musical theater. We got to talking about musical theater, singing songs, etc., when I mentioned my love for "The Pajama Game." It is his favorite too! After singing some duets he said "Did you know that there is going to be a revival?" "GET OUT!" "Starring Harry Connick Jr?" "NO!" "Soon?" "DO NOT TOY WITH ME, SIR!"
This is the conversation that precipitated the week-long debate/fight between D and I about my meeting Harry Connick Jr. at a bar and how D would just give up and let me date Harry. I was like "But wouldn't you fight for me?" "No." "If you went out with Kirsten Dunst I would totally try to convince you otherwise! I would try to win you back!"
Of course, convincing D not to date Kirsten Dunst would probably easier, as she is skanky and not terribly talented.
Whereas Harry... meow.
My obsession with Harry predates my obsession with "The Pajama Game." Ever since I bought his album at the beginning of high school...
Things to love about Harry: 1. His voice - it will melt you. 2. His piano playing - retarded. He's been performing since he was 5 years old. 3. His songs - delicious. 4. He's wholesome and not sketchy. 5. His New Orleans accent. 6. His, ahem, looks.
When Harry started acting, I was a spaz. I watched "Memphis Belle" 3000 times.
I never got to see Harry live. I could never find someone to go with, and tickets were always expensive as he tends to appeal to an older, more sophisticated, fur-wearing set. I always regretted not seeing him. I so wanted to see him play piano. Nothing would make me happier.
Lately I've fallen out of love with him, because as you get older you fall out of love with things.
I want to fall back in love with things.
So the tickets went on sale for "The Pajama Game," and they were way too expensive. The least expensive tickets were like $85, and those sold out, which meant I'd be spending $111 to see it.
Initially I thought that was too much money, but as more and more time went by, I got more and more upset about not getting to see Harry. I compulsively checked Craigslist for a spare ticket, thought about what shoes could be purchased with $111 but handling and service charge, and decided that I would just go alone, because it was worth $120 to me, especially since I am turning, ahem, 30 years old.
But then! A miracle! When I first moved here I joined an online service that sells discounted theater tickets!
And they sent me an email! For discounted PJG tickets! For only $60!
I called D immediately, out of breath, and said "Ohmygoddiscountpajamagametickets!" And then "You have to come with me! For my birthday! PLEASE! It would mean so much! I will buy them! You have to come with me! You have to witness me this happy!'
I counted the seconds since the moment of ticket purchase, and last night was the night.
Now. You would think, given how high my expectations were for this, that they would not be met. I could only be met with disappointment.
HELL NO! It was BETTER than I could even dream of.
I think that it was actually the best musical I've ever seen.
Not just because of Harry. Because of everything. Everyone in it was amazing. Michael McKeon was in it and he was hilarious, playing a part he was born to play. The timing was exquisite, it was funny, colorful, creative. The set was adorable. There were giant buttons framing the entire thing, and a pajama conveyor-belt thing at the top of the stage (like the doors in Monsters Inc.). The singing was awesome.
And Harry... oh, Harry.
During the Hernando's Hideaway scene, they added a part where Harry, thank you thank you thank you thank you, PLAYED THE PIANO! Gasp! D said "Now you can say that you saw him play the piano!" D said this when Harry was jokingly playing single notes, but then he burst into an all-out musical number and he rocked the piano harder than I have ever seen anyone rock it live. Oh my god.
I kept thinking "If I had to die at any point up until now, I would like to die right now, because I am truly happy."
At the end, when the cast bowed after the pajama fashion show (and yes, Harry was shirtless! the vapors!), I stood up because a standing ovation was deserved. Everyone in the crowd loved it. It was just pure pajama fun.
The only bad thing was that I had to, well, relieve myself about 10 minutes through Act I. This is the problem with knowing a musical - you know there are no good times to leave because you know how much you love everything. I didn't know if musicals are like the ballet and they won't let you back in once you've left. So I held it. For an hour. Torture.
I knew when Act I was going to end, so I bolted just as soon as the lights were about to go out.
When I returned, I asked one of the ushers what the protocol was. We got to chatting, and another usher came over to elucidate the rules. He said "You're too polite." He then asked the girl usher what she thought, and she said that she was loving it. "I know," I said. "How long were you holding it?" she asked. "Since the second song... but I didn't want to miss my favorite song." "Which is your favorite?" "'There Once Was a Man.'" "Yes!" she said. The male usher then said "I used to hate that number." "No!" we said. "Seriously. It was terrible up until a week ago." "NO!" "Yes! Harry was so stiff. He was just standing there. It was awful."
I'd noticed that Harry was a bit uncomfortable with the dancing so I said "Oh, I thought he did just fine in that number. But he was a little rigid for the swingdancing at the company picnic."
We chatted a bit more, and then I sat down.
Then I thought "Whoa! That guy sort of broke through the 4th wall with that comment... talking about Harry like that instead of the character of Sid... there must be some rule against giving the audience that sort of secret information about the production..." and then "Wait - who was that guy? Clearly he is involved in the rehearsals... what if he goes back to Harry and tells him that some girl thought his dancing was rigid? I will feel terrible!" and then "But he will be talking to Harry about ME! AHHHHHHH!!!!"
D actually liked it. He didn't love it, because he will never love the theater, but he liked it. He laughed a lot and gasped when Harry started going nuts on the piano. He emailed me this morning and recapped that he "had fun at the show." He said he liked it much better than "Spamalot." He is learning! I have to figure out a way to get him addicted.
I bought a Pajama Game magnet because the t-shirt was $30! The soundtrack isn't out yet, but needless to say I will be compulsively checking Amazon for it and then buying it as soon as it is available.
It was perfect.
Well, not quite. The one and only thing that could have made it better is if Harry had been playing the piano, ahem, shirtless.
It is a good idea for me to take a day off, though, as I've been sick-ish for the past week and haven't had time to recuperate. I wouldn't be feeling at all bad now if I'd taken a real sick day last week to recover. I have no guilt.
I should, of course, be sleeping, but the idea of side projects is to enticing. I did a first run through my taxes. NY state taxes are far more annoying than MA state taxes, which are straightforward. I've been doing my taxes online for the past few years (well, not last year, as they were complicated with the move etc.), and its torture because the program calculates your refund as you go through the forms, so you start off thinking "Holy god the state is giving me back $1500!" to "I can't believe they are charging me MORE FREAKING MONEY TO LIVE IN THIS UNAFFORDABLE CITY THOSE BASTARDS!"
More importantly...
I was the happiest I have been in ages last night! D and I went to see "The Pajama Game." Well, D was dragged and I went voluntarily to watch my favorite musical ever.
My love for "The Pajama Game" began in college, when my friends and I went to see the university's production for a mere $5. We went to see everything back then (because everything was $5 for students) and didn't have high expectations. Needless to say we were enamored, and I have been obsessed ever since.
D and I went to a wedding a few months back, and we were seated at a table with an older gentleman who actually writes musical theater. We got to talking about musical theater, singing songs, etc., when I mentioned my love for "The Pajama Game." It is his favorite too! After singing some duets he said "Did you know that there is going to be a revival?" "GET OUT!" "Starring Harry Connick Jr?" "NO!" "Soon?" "DO NOT TOY WITH ME, SIR!"
This is the conversation that precipitated the week-long debate/fight between D and I about my meeting Harry Connick Jr. at a bar and how D would just give up and let me date Harry. I was like "But wouldn't you fight for me?" "No." "If you went out with Kirsten Dunst I would totally try to convince you otherwise! I would try to win you back!"
Of course, convincing D not to date Kirsten Dunst would probably easier, as she is skanky and not terribly talented.
Whereas Harry... meow.
My obsession with Harry predates my obsession with "The Pajama Game." Ever since I bought his album at the beginning of high school...
Things to love about Harry: 1. His voice - it will melt you. 2. His piano playing - retarded. He's been performing since he was 5 years old. 3. His songs - delicious. 4. He's wholesome and not sketchy. 5. His New Orleans accent. 6. His, ahem, looks.
When Harry started acting, I was a spaz. I watched "Memphis Belle" 3000 times.
I never got to see Harry live. I could never find someone to go with, and tickets were always expensive as he tends to appeal to an older, more sophisticated, fur-wearing set. I always regretted not seeing him. I so wanted to see him play piano. Nothing would make me happier.
Lately I've fallen out of love with him, because as you get older you fall out of love with things.
I want to fall back in love with things.
So the tickets went on sale for "The Pajama Game," and they were way too expensive. The least expensive tickets were like $85, and those sold out, which meant I'd be spending $111 to see it.
Initially I thought that was too much money, but as more and more time went by, I got more and more upset about not getting to see Harry. I compulsively checked Craigslist for a spare ticket, thought about what shoes could be purchased with $111 but handling and service charge, and decided that I would just go alone, because it was worth $120 to me, especially since I am turning, ahem, 30 years old.
But then! A miracle! When I first moved here I joined an online service that sells discounted theater tickets!
And they sent me an email! For discounted PJG tickets! For only $60!
I called D immediately, out of breath, and said "Ohmygoddiscountpajamagametickets!" And then "You have to come with me! For my birthday! PLEASE! It would mean so much! I will buy them! You have to come with me! You have to witness me this happy!'
I counted the seconds since the moment of ticket purchase, and last night was the night.
Now. You would think, given how high my expectations were for this, that they would not be met. I could only be met with disappointment.
HELL NO! It was BETTER than I could even dream of.
I think that it was actually the best musical I've ever seen.
Not just because of Harry. Because of everything. Everyone in it was amazing. Michael McKeon was in it and he was hilarious, playing a part he was born to play. The timing was exquisite, it was funny, colorful, creative. The set was adorable. There were giant buttons framing the entire thing, and a pajama conveyor-belt thing at the top of the stage (like the doors in Monsters Inc.). The singing was awesome.
And Harry... oh, Harry.
During the Hernando's Hideaway scene, they added a part where Harry, thank you thank you thank you thank you, PLAYED THE PIANO! Gasp! D said "Now you can say that you saw him play the piano!" D said this when Harry was jokingly playing single notes, but then he burst into an all-out musical number and he rocked the piano harder than I have ever seen anyone rock it live. Oh my god.
I kept thinking "If I had to die at any point up until now, I would like to die right now, because I am truly happy."
At the end, when the cast bowed after the pajama fashion show (and yes, Harry was shirtless! the vapors!), I stood up because a standing ovation was deserved. Everyone in the crowd loved it. It was just pure pajama fun.
The only bad thing was that I had to, well, relieve myself about 10 minutes through Act I. This is the problem with knowing a musical - you know there are no good times to leave because you know how much you love everything. I didn't know if musicals are like the ballet and they won't let you back in once you've left. So I held it. For an hour. Torture.
I knew when Act I was going to end, so I bolted just as soon as the lights were about to go out.
When I returned, I asked one of the ushers what the protocol was. We got to chatting, and another usher came over to elucidate the rules. He said "You're too polite." He then asked the girl usher what she thought, and she said that she was loving it. "I know," I said. "How long were you holding it?" she asked. "Since the second song... but I didn't want to miss my favorite song." "Which is your favorite?" "'There Once Was a Man.'" "Yes!" she said. The male usher then said "I used to hate that number." "No!" we said. "Seriously. It was terrible up until a week ago." "NO!" "Yes! Harry was so stiff. He was just standing there. It was awful."
I'd noticed that Harry was a bit uncomfortable with the dancing so I said "Oh, I thought he did just fine in that number. But he was a little rigid for the swingdancing at the company picnic."
We chatted a bit more, and then I sat down.
Then I thought "Whoa! That guy sort of broke through the 4th wall with that comment... talking about Harry like that instead of the character of Sid... there must be some rule against giving the audience that sort of secret information about the production..." and then "Wait - who was that guy? Clearly he is involved in the rehearsals... what if he goes back to Harry and tells him that some girl thought his dancing was rigid? I will feel terrible!" and then "But he will be talking to Harry about ME! AHHHHHHH!!!!"
D actually liked it. He didn't love it, because he will never love the theater, but he liked it. He laughed a lot and gasped when Harry started going nuts on the piano. He emailed me this morning and recapped that he "had fun at the show." He said he liked it much better than "Spamalot." He is learning! I have to figure out a way to get him addicted.
I bought a Pajama Game magnet because the t-shirt was $30! The soundtrack isn't out yet, but needless to say I will be compulsively checking Amazon for it and then buying it as soon as it is available.
It was perfect.
Well, not quite. The one and only thing that could have made it better is if Harry had been playing the piano, ahem, shirtless.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
9:37
Regardless of what time I get up in the morning and what time I leave my apartment, I get into work at 9:37 am.
I am without a watch these days (and forever, because I have decided that I don't need a watch, and now that I am trying to be a minimalist, since I do not need a watch, I will not have a watch) so run into work every day thinking I am really late, but its always 9:37 when I walk into my bay.
Always. If I get up any time between 8:00 and 8:35, I get to work at 9:37. I get to work at 8:59 on Tuesdays because I have a meeting at 9:00, but Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I start my day at 9:37.
I am without a watch these days (and forever, because I have decided that I don't need a watch, and now that I am trying to be a minimalist, since I do not need a watch, I will not have a watch) so run into work every day thinking I am really late, but its always 9:37 when I walk into my bay.
Always. If I get up any time between 8:00 and 8:35, I get to work at 9:37. I get to work at 8:59 on Tuesdays because I have a meeting at 9:00, but Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I start my day at 9:37.
Another One Bites the Dust
M and her husband A came to visit NYC (well, I guess they came to visit ME!) this past weekend. They arrived on Friday evening, the night of M's very important birthday. M and A hadn't seen The New Apartment (which is not so new anymore - I have been living there for 9 months!) and were quite taken with it, which made me happy, since most people say things like "This is so small!" or "How do you live like this?" or, in the case of The Parents, "Why don't you have napkins?" They appreciated the size and the decoration and it meant oh so much. We celebrated the last couple of hours of M's birthday with brownies (thanks to D, god of the baked goods, although some may argue that making brownies does not make one a god, but I would disagree) and different flavors of ice cream and whipped cream and hot fudge and raspberries. We watched some old Star Trek episodes to have something to make fun of, and stayed up late despite 3/4 of the people in the apartment being, ahem, over 30.
On Saturday we threw together breakfast. This was the first time I'd had more than two people trying to eat an actual meal in my apartment and it wasn't terrible, although it was a tight squeeze in the kitchen. A and I then spent far too long conducting detailed experiments with my new camera, comparing lenses and bodies on the computer and then on the TV. I think the conclusion on that day was that it is my computer that is the problem, but the photos still seem fuzzy on my computer at work. But not on the TV. I have no idea.
Eventually satisfied with our results, the three of us headed up to the MOMA to see some of the permanent collection and a mediocre new photography exhibit. We then "shopped" at the MOMA Design Store, where I, as usual, spent a large percetage of the time fantasizing about being rich and therefore being able to have things like cool salt and pepper shakers and toasters.
We met up with D at Eatery, which was crowded and not giving tables to losers without reservations (us). We decided to walk south on 9th Avenue to a decent Mexican restaurant D and I had been to ages ago. We found it (although I didn't think it was the same one) and were pleased to see that it was not crowded.
I said "This feels like being in Buenos Aires!" D, M, A and I spent an entire week going to meals together when we were in Argentina. We hadn't seen each other since, and I got nostalgic.
M said "Complete with good looking waiter..."
"YES!" I said, trying to stifle my drooling.
M and I have nearly complete divergence in taste with regards to what makes a man hot. There is little to no overlap. But the host at the restaurant... dear god... he was Buenos Aires level good-looking, if not moreso. We kept staring at him and I gave up trying to be subtle. I wished to fix him up with my gay friend, who, incidentally, I am so happy to have in my life because today (today is his birthday!, but he, curse him, is not yet 30) he noticed that my hair looked fabulous, which it does, because I spent like half an hour working on it this morning because lately I've been feeling hideous.
On top of having amazingly goodlooking waitstaff and not actually being the restaurant we thought that it was, it had the best burrito ever. How happy am I? Obscenely happy. I can't wait to go back and inhale another burrito.
M, A and I then saw The Producers, which was lovely. The seats were way up there and I started rocking the headache that resulted from one margerita, but it was fun anyway. I can't wait to re-watch the season of Curb Your Enthusiasm in which Larry David stars in The Producers. It will be meaningful in addition to funny this time around.
We watched a bit of Saturday Night Live after D came back. Despite its being actually funny, we, in true 30 and almost-30-year-old style, went to bed before 1 am. (I can't believe that I live in NYC and go to bed this early! When I used to hang out here before living here, I went to bed at like 5 or 6 am every night!)
M and A went to church on Sunday morning while D and I spent some time working on a video project we've been considering. The four of us had brunch at a diner on 34th Street. D then headed off to do D things, A went to B & H to buy filters, while M and I went to Macy's. M found the jeans she's been looking for, rode the wooden escalator, and marvelled at the giant that is Macy's.
A met us just as we began looking at shoes, which was unfortunate since the agreement was that we would stop looking at shoes when A arrived, as A, for some bizarre and inexplicable reason, does not enjoy looking at shoes. We decided to go up to the wedding registry department to look at china (not that anyone is fantasizing about wedding registries, mind you) and then to the furniture department. The three of us fell onto this red couch and M and A said "We love this couch!" and decided that, since the price was right, there was a chance that they could buy it for their grown up house that they own! A claimed that delivery was $5 to $6, so they took a fabric sample and may one day have that couch alongside the lamp they bought in NYC!
Back at my apartment we had snacks and said our farewells. I was sad to see them go because I do not plan to go back to MA any time soon, as I may be moving back there soon enough. Hopefully they will have a chance to visit one or two more times before I am no longer a New Yorker.
Sniff.
On Saturday we threw together breakfast. This was the first time I'd had more than two people trying to eat an actual meal in my apartment and it wasn't terrible, although it was a tight squeeze in the kitchen. A and I then spent far too long conducting detailed experiments with my new camera, comparing lenses and bodies on the computer and then on the TV. I think the conclusion on that day was that it is my computer that is the problem, but the photos still seem fuzzy on my computer at work. But not on the TV. I have no idea.
Eventually satisfied with our results, the three of us headed up to the MOMA to see some of the permanent collection and a mediocre new photography exhibit. We then "shopped" at the MOMA Design Store, where I, as usual, spent a large percetage of the time fantasizing about being rich and therefore being able to have things like cool salt and pepper shakers and toasters.
We met up with D at Eatery, which was crowded and not giving tables to losers without reservations (us). We decided to walk south on 9th Avenue to a decent Mexican restaurant D and I had been to ages ago. We found it (although I didn't think it was the same one) and were pleased to see that it was not crowded.
I said "This feels like being in Buenos Aires!" D, M, A and I spent an entire week going to meals together when we were in Argentina. We hadn't seen each other since, and I got nostalgic.
M said "Complete with good looking waiter..."
"YES!" I said, trying to stifle my drooling.
M and I have nearly complete divergence in taste with regards to what makes a man hot. There is little to no overlap. But the host at the restaurant... dear god... he was Buenos Aires level good-looking, if not moreso. We kept staring at him and I gave up trying to be subtle. I wished to fix him up with my gay friend, who, incidentally, I am so happy to have in my life because today (today is his birthday!, but he, curse him, is not yet 30) he noticed that my hair looked fabulous, which it does, because I spent like half an hour working on it this morning because lately I've been feeling hideous.
On top of having amazingly goodlooking waitstaff and not actually being the restaurant we thought that it was, it had the best burrito ever. How happy am I? Obscenely happy. I can't wait to go back and inhale another burrito.
M, A and I then saw The Producers, which was lovely. The seats were way up there and I started rocking the headache that resulted from one margerita, but it was fun anyway. I can't wait to re-watch the season of Curb Your Enthusiasm in which Larry David stars in The Producers. It will be meaningful in addition to funny this time around.
We watched a bit of Saturday Night Live after D came back. Despite its being actually funny, we, in true 30 and almost-30-year-old style, went to bed before 1 am. (I can't believe that I live in NYC and go to bed this early! When I used to hang out here before living here, I went to bed at like 5 or 6 am every night!)
M and A went to church on Sunday morning while D and I spent some time working on a video project we've been considering. The four of us had brunch at a diner on 34th Street. D then headed off to do D things, A went to B & H to buy filters, while M and I went to Macy's. M found the jeans she's been looking for, rode the wooden escalator, and marvelled at the giant that is Macy's.
A met us just as we began looking at shoes, which was unfortunate since the agreement was that we would stop looking at shoes when A arrived, as A, for some bizarre and inexplicable reason, does not enjoy looking at shoes. We decided to go up to the wedding registry department to look at china (not that anyone is fantasizing about wedding registries, mind you) and then to the furniture department. The three of us fell onto this red couch and M and A said "We love this couch!" and decided that, since the price was right, there was a chance that they could buy it for their grown up house that they own! A claimed that delivery was $5 to $6, so they took a fabric sample and may one day have that couch alongside the lamp they bought in NYC!
Back at my apartment we had snacks and said our farewells. I was sad to see them go because I do not plan to go back to MA any time soon, as I may be moving back there soon enough. Hopefully they will have a chance to visit one or two more times before I am no longer a New Yorker.
Sniff.
Evolution of Cute
I am at work today, though I shouldn't be. I had a bunch of experiments to tend to today that couldn't be neglected. I am trying, though, to get everything done today so that I can not come in tomorrow if I am still feeling bad.
---
I got home last night at about 6:00 and started to watch March of the Penguins and kept falling asleep.
This is mainly due to my being sick, but is partially due to March of the Penguins being extremely boring. Everyone loved this movie and I don't understand why. I liked it, but it was just ok. Nothing special. Why the enthusiasm? Anyone? Anyone?
There were cool things, things I didn't know about penguins, things that are difficult to believe, as in "Wow, penguins are nuts." I am a fan of the animal documentary, so I appreciated it on that level, but am glad that I didn't pay $10.75 to see it.
I kept thinking, while I was conscious, about the evolution of "cute." I understand why we are preprogrammed to think that human babies are cute. But why do we also gush over other baby things? Those baby penguins were so cute I couldn't handle it. And why are we programmed to think that little furry things are especially cute? Maybe so we know that they are harmless and don't attack them? But wouldn't primitive humans rather dine on harmless, little, easy-to-capture fuzzy things than gigantic, meatier, things that could kill them? Maybe its an instinct to protect us from killing baby things and then being attacked by the baby things ferocious parents. Or, maybe primitive man didn't hunt things that could kill primitive man so there wouldn't have to be a bias towards the harmless. It's just an interesting phenomenon... why humans want to touch furry things... and why we want domesticated animals. Ew.
---
I'm feeling a bit better today than I was yesterday, but I can't remember if I mailed back March of the Penguins or not. I swear it was in my bag, but I have no recollection of dropping it into the mailbox. Did I? Would I have been coherent enough this morning to remember? This is crucial as I want another movie by the weekend, but if I didn't mail it I may be too late. I definitely won't remember to look for it tonight when I get home from the theater, so hopefully I was with it enough this morning to mail it but not with it enough to remember that I mailed it.
---
On top of not remembering if I mailed the DVD, I felt like it took me three hours to walk to work this morning. You know when you're feeling sick your sense of time is weird? My walk from the train to work is about 5 minutes, but it felt like eternity.
---
While I was walking, I was pondering my changing taste in music again, and wondering why this happens to people. I always thought I'd be immune to a change in musical taste, that I'd be into hip hop and indie rock type stuff forever. As time goes by, I tend towards more sedate music. I'm still listening to new things constantly, but what I would have liked even a year ago seems too abrasive for me now. I don't have the ability to find good hip hop, because it is harder to find and there is less of it and because most of it is average. It requires patience, which is something else I am losing over time. I am afraid that I may one day say "Can you TURN THAT NOISE DOWN!?"
---
This makes me nervous, because what if I stagnate? What if I reach an age where I stop listening to new music, and I just listen to everything I listened to whenever I stopped caring about newness in my life? This happened with dance music... I am forever frozen wanting to dance to the songs I danced to from 1997 - 2002, with the occasional early 90's rap tune thrown in there.
I think this happens to people... like parents, for example, do not buy CDs. They may have bought CDs of things they once had on tapes or records, but its not like parents are reading Spin magazine.
---
Then again, my parents didn't have things like Pitchfork (not that I read Pitchfork, but I'm just using it as an example) to keep them aware of music. It was harder for people to find out about new things. Music didn't get around so easily, so instantly, so quickly, and there was probably less of it. Maybe this means that our generation won't stagnate musically, and that we'll constantly be aware of what's going on.
We may just not like they way it sounds, though, because our tastes are apparently genetically programmed to change over time.
---
I think I am going to take some Dayquil, and then I am to celebrate PW's birthday with a long lunch.
---
I got home last night at about 6:00 and started to watch March of the Penguins and kept falling asleep.
This is mainly due to my being sick, but is partially due to March of the Penguins being extremely boring. Everyone loved this movie and I don't understand why. I liked it, but it was just ok. Nothing special. Why the enthusiasm? Anyone? Anyone?
There were cool things, things I didn't know about penguins, things that are difficult to believe, as in "Wow, penguins are nuts." I am a fan of the animal documentary, so I appreciated it on that level, but am glad that I didn't pay $10.75 to see it.
I kept thinking, while I was conscious, about the evolution of "cute." I understand why we are preprogrammed to think that human babies are cute. But why do we also gush over other baby things? Those baby penguins were so cute I couldn't handle it. And why are we programmed to think that little furry things are especially cute? Maybe so we know that they are harmless and don't attack them? But wouldn't primitive humans rather dine on harmless, little, easy-to-capture fuzzy things than gigantic, meatier, things that could kill them? Maybe its an instinct to protect us from killing baby things and then being attacked by the baby things ferocious parents. Or, maybe primitive man didn't hunt things that could kill primitive man so there wouldn't have to be a bias towards the harmless. It's just an interesting phenomenon... why humans want to touch furry things... and why we want domesticated animals. Ew.
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I'm feeling a bit better today than I was yesterday, but I can't remember if I mailed back March of the Penguins or not. I swear it was in my bag, but I have no recollection of dropping it into the mailbox. Did I? Would I have been coherent enough this morning to remember? This is crucial as I want another movie by the weekend, but if I didn't mail it I may be too late. I definitely won't remember to look for it tonight when I get home from the theater, so hopefully I was with it enough this morning to mail it but not with it enough to remember that I mailed it.
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On top of not remembering if I mailed the DVD, I felt like it took me three hours to walk to work this morning. You know when you're feeling sick your sense of time is weird? My walk from the train to work is about 5 minutes, but it felt like eternity.
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While I was walking, I was pondering my changing taste in music again, and wondering why this happens to people. I always thought I'd be immune to a change in musical taste, that I'd be into hip hop and indie rock type stuff forever. As time goes by, I tend towards more sedate music. I'm still listening to new things constantly, but what I would have liked even a year ago seems too abrasive for me now. I don't have the ability to find good hip hop, because it is harder to find and there is less of it and because most of it is average. It requires patience, which is something else I am losing over time. I am afraid that I may one day say "Can you TURN THAT NOISE DOWN!?"
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This makes me nervous, because what if I stagnate? What if I reach an age where I stop listening to new music, and I just listen to everything I listened to whenever I stopped caring about newness in my life? This happened with dance music... I am forever frozen wanting to dance to the songs I danced to from 1997 - 2002, with the occasional early 90's rap tune thrown in there.
I think this happens to people... like parents, for example, do not buy CDs. They may have bought CDs of things they once had on tapes or records, but its not like parents are reading Spin magazine.
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Then again, my parents didn't have things like Pitchfork (not that I read Pitchfork, but I'm just using it as an example) to keep them aware of music. It was harder for people to find out about new things. Music didn't get around so easily, so instantly, so quickly, and there was probably less of it. Maybe this means that our generation won't stagnate musically, and that we'll constantly be aware of what's going on.
We may just not like they way it sounds, though, because our tastes are apparently genetically programmed to change over time.
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I think I am going to take some Dayquil, and then I am to celebrate PW's birthday with a long lunch.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Innate
I finally saw a show at the Bowery Ballroom last night. After spending some quality time catching up and consuming perishables, D and I arrived just in time to hear Death Vessel. I have been listening to this album non-stop since I bought it in December. It's in my top 10 already. He was amazing - he performed solo and had the entire audience captivated. During Low's set, I signed the Death Vessel mailing list and was all awkward because I didn't want to start gushing.
I was dangerously close to being like "I am so affected by your music" or "You have no idea how many times I have listened to your CD" or "I don't really understand how I existed prior to hearing your music" and "Your music was already a part of me before I heard it! It's, like, innately there."
Instead, I snuck up and scribbled my name and email address on the list and made sure not to make eye contact, because I may have melted.
His Name Is Alive was next. I had mixed feelings about this portion of the show. D is a huge fan and has seen them numerous times, but admitted that he didn't like all of the shows because their musical direction changes so often and so dramatically. I have decided that His Name Is Alive is an awesome live band. I liked them live far better than in recordings.
Throughout their set, I started obsessing over getting a hair cut. I need one, desperately, and prior to last night hadn't thought much beyond "I should really find somewhere to get a cheap haircut." Last night was the pivotal moment when I could think of nothing else.
I kept thinking "My hair is too freaking long" and "I have the worst haircut here" and "Where do all these hipsters get their hair done?" and "How do they afford these haircuts?" and "Why does their hair do what they want it to?" and "My head is so heavy with this hair!" I was so depressed. I wanted to bury my head in ugly shame. I then became obsessed with having my hair colored, and thought about that instead of listening to music. I looked at every girl and her hair style and color, trying to figure out what to do and how to finance it. I had grandiose ideas!
Every now and then I'd realize I wasn't listening, and would try to think about something other than the sweet moment tomorrow when I would call Aveda and hear that their haircuts are inexpensive.
My body also started rebelling during His Name Is Alive. My lower back started aching, my feet were killing, and my shoulders and upper back were in immense pain because I was leaning over the balcony in this weird position. I kept shifting back and forth, trying to get comfortable, but couldn't. I wanted to sit on the floor, or on a couch, or offer the guys at the sound board $100 to let me sit with them.
When Low came on, I was exhausted and in extreme discomfort. So was D. His legs and back always hurt when he stands for extended periods of time. Prior to last night, I never had a difficult time standing for hours. I think it may be because we stood for hours on Thursday. Although I don't think it works like that.
This is the first time I've seen Low, which is a travesty. I really should have seen them before this, when I was younger and could stay up late. By midnight I was exhausted and couldn't hear the music over my catatonia. D and I went downstairs and sat on the couch, and within three seconds I feel asleep on his shoulder.
This being said, Low is awesome. Not the best band to see while tired, but still awesome. I think Low is a band best seen from a seat. There really need to be adult rock shows.
My body is still killing and I am sick (I have been on the verge of getting sick for about a week and I think its officially happening, so I am going to go home now and crawl into bed, enjoy its softness and watch some penguins. Awww yeah.
Until tomorrow...
I was dangerously close to being like "I am so affected by your music" or "You have no idea how many times I have listened to your CD" or "I don't really understand how I existed prior to hearing your music" and "Your music was already a part of me before I heard it! It's, like, innately there."
Instead, I snuck up and scribbled my name and email address on the list and made sure not to make eye contact, because I may have melted.
His Name Is Alive was next. I had mixed feelings about this portion of the show. D is a huge fan and has seen them numerous times, but admitted that he didn't like all of the shows because their musical direction changes so often and so dramatically. I have decided that His Name Is Alive is an awesome live band. I liked them live far better than in recordings.
Throughout their set, I started obsessing over getting a hair cut. I need one, desperately, and prior to last night hadn't thought much beyond "I should really find somewhere to get a cheap haircut." Last night was the pivotal moment when I could think of nothing else.
I kept thinking "My hair is too freaking long" and "I have the worst haircut here" and "Where do all these hipsters get their hair done?" and "How do they afford these haircuts?" and "Why does their hair do what they want it to?" and "My head is so heavy with this hair!" I was so depressed. I wanted to bury my head in ugly shame. I then became obsessed with having my hair colored, and thought about that instead of listening to music. I looked at every girl and her hair style and color, trying to figure out what to do and how to finance it. I had grandiose ideas!
Every now and then I'd realize I wasn't listening, and would try to think about something other than the sweet moment tomorrow when I would call Aveda and hear that their haircuts are inexpensive.
My body also started rebelling during His Name Is Alive. My lower back started aching, my feet were killing, and my shoulders and upper back were in immense pain because I was leaning over the balcony in this weird position. I kept shifting back and forth, trying to get comfortable, but couldn't. I wanted to sit on the floor, or on a couch, or offer the guys at the sound board $100 to let me sit with them.
When Low came on, I was exhausted and in extreme discomfort. So was D. His legs and back always hurt when he stands for extended periods of time. Prior to last night, I never had a difficult time standing for hours. I think it may be because we stood for hours on Thursday. Although I don't think it works like that.
This is the first time I've seen Low, which is a travesty. I really should have seen them before this, when I was younger and could stay up late. By midnight I was exhausted and couldn't hear the music over my catatonia. D and I went downstairs and sat on the couch, and within three seconds I feel asleep on his shoulder.
This being said, Low is awesome. Not the best band to see while tired, but still awesome. I think Low is a band best seen from a seat. There really need to be adult rock shows.
My body is still killing and I am sick (I have been on the verge of getting sick for about a week and I think its officially happening, so I am going to go home now and crawl into bed, enjoy its softness and watch some penguins. Awww yeah.
Until tomorrow...
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