Date: 2.25.06
Genre: Musical-esque
Description:
It's been a long time since I've wrote a song. My intention with My Mundane Life In Song was to have a song blog. The only text would be related to the songs, and everything I thought blog-worthy would be in song form.
Needless to say that didn't happen, and since the selling of my beloved keyboard (yet another reason to resent NYC - darn you rents and space constraints!), I've been less inclined to record. My piano is out of tune, the audio I get with my internal mic is atrocious, and piano alone isn't very appealing when the artist sucks at arranging.
On top of this, I have been feeling, well, mundane lately. Nothing exciting has been happening. When I first moved here there were zany things happening on a daily basis. Now that I am settled (in NYC and with life in general), I feel like I have little to say, little inspiration. I must admit that I secretly hope for bad moods to help me with ideas.
As you well know, my one-track mind has lately been devoted to age.
Hence the song.
Notes: piano is so. out. of. tune. I think this is due to the fluctuation in temperature in the apartment. Second, I think this song would be much better on guitar (hint hint hint!). Third, this song is actually a re-make of a song I wrote for my ill-fated musical. The original version is a more up-tempo bickering scene between a boy and a girl in a vintage clothing store. Fourth, I love the bridge oh-so-much-more than the rest of the song. I may actually take the bridge and make a separate song out of it.
Lyrics:
All girls reach an age when they start to compare
The size of their ass and the greys in their hair
To girls who are younger than them
To girls who remind them of when
Time didn't matter and the fellas came callin'
When ultra low rise didn't make them start ballin'
Those were the days
I could have my way
The clock is ticking, I can't relax
Options are scarce, I'm afraid that's a fact
I cringe when I ponder short hair
I know I need an adult coat to wear
The era of Converse must draw to a close
It's not terribly mature to postpone
Growing up
I hate it but
The thoughts of karaoke that once danced in my head
Have been replaced by baby shoes
And closet space
And stackable washers and dryers
And mortgage rates
And pots and pans
And plans
And indie bands
There are so many red shoes to buy
There are so many restaurants to try
There are so many nights left to cry
I'll keep my hair long even when its
Crazy white wires that are prone to fits
I'll go to shows 'til I'm 85
I'll wear Chucks for the rest of my life
Changing careers, having a husband and offspring
If these things all happen they will be frightening
But I won't crumble
Because the 30's are fun!
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
Cornichons
Prior to my complete and utter meltdown last night, D and I went to Artisinal for fondue, fondue, and more fondue. When we told the waiter that we wanted fondue for dinnner, he seemed perplexed. "It's usually an appetizer." He suggested we order two different ones, which seemed a good idea. After he left, D and I looked around the restaurant (which, incidentally, was obscenely loud) to see how big the fondue would be, and were surprised to see that not many people were eating fondue.
"How could you come here and not eat fondue?" we each wondered aloud.
We ordered the fondue with fingerling potatos, crudite, and apples. It is ordinarily served with a bread basket/person, which we, of course, didn't know when we ordered.
Our two fondues and multiple plates of dipping options did not fit on the table, but we did not care, because WOW! I preferred the Muenster special fondue while D preferred the Artisanal Blend.
The crudite was amazing - perfectly sized pieces of broccoil, red and yellow bell pepper chips, fancy carrots, and best of all, cornichons! Are cornichons not the best thing ever? I could eat 1000 of them in one sitting. We both ignored the cauliflower.
We then rushed to the 6 train to head downtown to see Measure for Pleasure, which was D's birthday gift to me, at The Public Theater. Of course the 6 didn't come forever, so we ended up running into the theater with about 30 seconds until showtime which explains why I think Philip Seymour Hoffman probably saw me. I didn't have time to gawk.
I knew little about the play aside from D's mentioning it offhandedly last week, when I responded with "That could be cool," and that one of the actors from The Pillowman had a prominent role.
It was, basically, a modern play written in the style of Shakespeare that takes place back then but is ripe with modern tendencies, such as "Talk to the fan." There were women dressed as men, men dressed as women, unknown parentage, etc. My only complaint was that it did not shy away from sentimentality.
Wayne Knight was in it. It was weird to be seated three feet away from Newman. His body is looking weird these days - he is no longer skinny (someone said he had gastric bypass surgery that did not take?) but his legs are.
Michael Stuhlbarg, the actor from The Pillowman , was amazing.
We rushed home to see the end of skating, just in time to see Sasha Cohen (not to be confused with Sasha Baron Cohen of Ali G) fall on her ass twice. I have to admit that I was perversely pleased as she is not my favorite. I was hopeful for the other American skaters, because they have better attitudes.
I spent the remainder of the night freaking out about being 30. Tears, angst, distress, and disgust prevented me from getting to sleep until 5:00 am. I even, gasped, wrote down thoughts with a pen! I haven't done that in three years or more. I am hoping to find some lyrics buried somewhere in the incoherent 4:00 am hysteria. I can barely function today. I am going to have to drink some Red Bull to make it through the party tonight. I will also have to nap, which I will do shortly, because I am 30 and am an old lady and need my sleep!
Until Monday...
"How could you come here and not eat fondue?" we each wondered aloud.
We ordered the fondue with fingerling potatos, crudite, and apples. It is ordinarily served with a bread basket/person, which we, of course, didn't know when we ordered.
Our two fondues and multiple plates of dipping options did not fit on the table, but we did not care, because WOW! I preferred the Muenster special fondue while D preferred the Artisanal Blend.
The crudite was amazing - perfectly sized pieces of broccoil, red and yellow bell pepper chips, fancy carrots, and best of all, cornichons! Are cornichons not the best thing ever? I could eat 1000 of them in one sitting. We both ignored the cauliflower.
We then rushed to the 6 train to head downtown to see Measure for Pleasure, which was D's birthday gift to me, at The Public Theater. Of course the 6 didn't come forever, so we ended up running into the theater with about 30 seconds until showtime which explains why I think Philip Seymour Hoffman probably saw me. I didn't have time to gawk.
I knew little about the play aside from D's mentioning it offhandedly last week, when I responded with "That could be cool," and that one of the actors from The Pillowman had a prominent role.
It was, basically, a modern play written in the style of Shakespeare that takes place back then but is ripe with modern tendencies, such as "Talk to the fan." There were women dressed as men, men dressed as women, unknown parentage, etc. My only complaint was that it did not shy away from sentimentality.
Wayne Knight was in it. It was weird to be seated three feet away from Newman. His body is looking weird these days - he is no longer skinny (someone said he had gastric bypass surgery that did not take?) but his legs are.
Michael Stuhlbarg, the actor from The Pillowman , was amazing.
We rushed home to see the end of skating, just in time to see Sasha Cohen (not to be confused with Sasha Baron Cohen of Ali G) fall on her ass twice. I have to admit that I was perversely pleased as she is not my favorite. I was hopeful for the other American skaters, because they have better attitudes.
I spent the remainder of the night freaking out about being 30. Tears, angst, distress, and disgust prevented me from getting to sleep until 5:00 am. I even, gasped, wrote down thoughts with a pen! I haven't done that in three years or more. I am hoping to find some lyrics buried somewhere in the incoherent 4:00 am hysteria. I can barely function today. I am going to have to drink some Red Bull to make it through the party tonight. I will also have to nap, which I will do shortly, because I am 30 and am an old lady and need my sleep!
Until Monday...
My Very Own Postage
I have discovered the purchase-your-own stamp of any value machine at the post office. Bliss, folks.
You walk up to the machine, put your reasonably sized package on its scale, press some buttons and voila! A sticker stamp shoots out at you that you have paid for with your credit card.
I am going to become a package-mailing fiend!
You walk up to the machine, put your reasonably sized package on its scale, press some buttons and voila! A sticker stamp shoots out at you that you have paid for with your credit card.
I am going to become a package-mailing fiend!
Conventions
I like to play this game with The Javitz Center.
Since I live mere blocks away from the popular convention center, I am priveleged to see conventioners en route to and from whatever convention is being held. In my mind I play "Guess the Convention!" and try to deduce people's professions/interests based on their outfits, demeanors, group behavior, etc.
"International Ninja convention!"
"Pastry Chefs Of the World!"
"Human Resources." (That one comes up a lot)
"Sororities of the South!"
Etc.
Today, however, I knew about the convention before even seeing the Fanboys and Fanchicks walking boisterously to The Javitz Center. This weekend is the giant, exciting, zowie New York Comic Convention! I wanted to stop the conventioners and say "Are those graphic novels in your giant briefcase?"
I was also, of course, fantasizing that I would see Kevin Smith outside of my building.
Oops. I mean, I was fantasizing that Kevin Smith would see me outside of my building.
Since I live mere blocks away from the popular convention center, I am priveleged to see conventioners en route to and from whatever convention is being held. In my mind I play "Guess the Convention!" and try to deduce people's professions/interests based on their outfits, demeanors, group behavior, etc.
"International Ninja convention!"
"Pastry Chefs Of the World!"
"Human Resources." (That one comes up a lot)
"Sororities of the South!"
Etc.
Today, however, I knew about the convention before even seeing the Fanboys and Fanchicks walking boisterously to The Javitz Center. This weekend is the giant, exciting, zowie New York Comic Convention! I wanted to stop the conventioners and say "Are those graphic novels in your giant briefcase?"
I was also, of course, fantasizing that I would see Kevin Smith outside of my building.
Oops. I mean, I was fantasizing that Kevin Smith would see me outside of my building.
Now It Feels Different
I think I saw Philip Seymour Hoffman last night.
From now on, whenever I have a celebrity sighting or possible celebrity sighting, instead of saying "I saw so-and-so" I will say "So-and-so saw me last night!"
As in "Philip Seymour Hoffman saw me last night!"
Or "Philip Seymour Hoffman had a Leah Lar sighting last night! She seemed so much shorter in person! She was with some really tall guy! She seemed in a rush and therefore unapproachable."
Heh.
I'm really tired today.
From now on, whenever I have a celebrity sighting or possible celebrity sighting, instead of saying "I saw so-and-so" I will say "So-and-so saw me last night!"
As in "Philip Seymour Hoffman saw me last night!"
Or "Philip Seymour Hoffman had a Leah Lar sighting last night! She seemed so much shorter in person! She was with some really tall guy! She seemed in a rush and therefore unapproachable."
Heh.
I'm really tired today.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
It Doesn't Feel Any Different....
... yet.
My Mother called to say "HAPPY BIRTHDAY HONEY! You are now...30!" as she cutely does every year. She calls after the exact time I was born - which was 3:32 pm - to wish me a happy birthday.
I swear she gasped before saying "30."
I wonder if this makes The Parents feel old. Now, when asked if they have children and if so, what are their ages, they will have to say "Our oldest is 30..." and they will be met with looks of horror. The answer to the dreaded next question, "Oooo! Do you have any grandchildren?" will be met with even more horror.
I think 30 hurts because I now officially feel like I might be running out of time. I am running out of time to write my musical, to play open mics (I am too old for this now, I think), to finish a screenplay, to find a new career, to switch into said career, to procreate, to figure myself and everything else out.
Panic.
It's not society anymore. It's not "How DARE society tell me where I should be in my life? If I don't want to married, I shouldn't have to be! How DARE society judge me?"
Now it's "Hmm.... I probably should want to be somewhere in my life, and I think I know where that might be, and since I am not there, I should probably be taking steps to be there. But what are those steps? Wasn't moving from Boston to NYC the big step? Wasn't everything supposed to make sense after I moved?"
I am listening to Everyone's Favorite Physicist's radio show being broadcast from CA, and it is making me weepy. He is an amazing friend and is playing some songs as a birthday tribute (although he did say, on the air, "Wow, it must suck to turn 30"). He's playing Long, Long, Long by The Beatles right now, which I covered in my mid-20's. Hearing all of these songs played together makes me think I've at least figured some things out, such as my taste in music.
Not to mention that I've made some amazing friends along the way. I guess I'm accomplished in that aspect of my life. It's nice that someone can know you well enough to play an hour of music that you love.
Thanks, KC. Thanks for paying attention and for remembering things about me. You rock.
Of course this makes me sad, though, because I miss everyone. I especially miss everyone in MA - thank you for remembering my birthday and for e-cards and cute voicemails and for letting me know that you remember me at all.
I'm having a birthday party tomorrow. I am excited, but it doesn't feel like those delicious times in Somerville when planning a birthday party was fun and easy and exciting because I had my sidekick LBF for support. It doesn't feel the same because I didn't know where to meet for drinks before karaoke because I don't have a favorite bar in the East Village. It doesn't feel the same because the people at the party will be people I know fairly well instead of favorite friends.
Sigh.
On that note, I must leave. D, like last year, has planned a mysterious night for us out on the town. I am excited, because D always comes up with fun things for us to do. I don't know anything about what we're doing, other than it involves a ticket, a seat, and it begins at 8:00 and is not near my apartment.
Until tomorrow...
My Mother called to say "HAPPY BIRTHDAY HONEY! You are now...30!" as she cutely does every year. She calls after the exact time I was born - which was 3:32 pm - to wish me a happy birthday.
I swear she gasped before saying "30."
I wonder if this makes The Parents feel old. Now, when asked if they have children and if so, what are their ages, they will have to say "Our oldest is 30..." and they will be met with looks of horror. The answer to the dreaded next question, "Oooo! Do you have any grandchildren?" will be met with even more horror.
I think 30 hurts because I now officially feel like I might be running out of time. I am running out of time to write my musical, to play open mics (I am too old for this now, I think), to finish a screenplay, to find a new career, to switch into said career, to procreate, to figure myself and everything else out.
Panic.
It's not society anymore. It's not "How DARE society tell me where I should be in my life? If I don't want to married, I shouldn't have to be! How DARE society judge me?"
Now it's "Hmm.... I probably should want to be somewhere in my life, and I think I know where that might be, and since I am not there, I should probably be taking steps to be there. But what are those steps? Wasn't moving from Boston to NYC the big step? Wasn't everything supposed to make sense after I moved?"
I am listening to Everyone's Favorite Physicist's radio show being broadcast from CA, and it is making me weepy. He is an amazing friend and is playing some songs as a birthday tribute (although he did say, on the air, "Wow, it must suck to turn 30"). He's playing Long, Long, Long by The Beatles right now, which I covered in my mid-20's. Hearing all of these songs played together makes me think I've at least figured some things out, such as my taste in music.
Not to mention that I've made some amazing friends along the way. I guess I'm accomplished in that aspect of my life. It's nice that someone can know you well enough to play an hour of music that you love.
Thanks, KC. Thanks for paying attention and for remembering things about me. You rock.
Of course this makes me sad, though, because I miss everyone. I especially miss everyone in MA - thank you for remembering my birthday and for e-cards and cute voicemails and for letting me know that you remember me at all.
I'm having a birthday party tomorrow. I am excited, but it doesn't feel like those delicious times in Somerville when planning a birthday party was fun and easy and exciting because I had my sidekick LBF for support. It doesn't feel the same because I didn't know where to meet for drinks before karaoke because I don't have a favorite bar in the East Village. It doesn't feel the same because the people at the party will be people I know fairly well instead of favorite friends.
Sigh.
On that note, I must leave. D, like last year, has planned a mysterious night for us out on the town. I am excited, because D always comes up with fun things for us to do. I don't know anything about what we're doing, other than it involves a ticket, a seat, and it begins at 8:00 and is not near my apartment.
Until tomorrow...
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Edith Frost at Joe's Pub (Alternate Title: All Praise the Adult Rock Show)
I went to see Edith Frost last night at Joe's Pub. D and I made table reservations which involved a $12 per person food/drink minimum, but who cares? We got to sit!
Joe's Pub is awesome. The lighting is amazing, the seats are couches made of velvet, the sound is exquisite. When the opening band was setting up, it was completely and therefore eerily silent.
I ordered a glass of wine and D ordered a raspberry cosmpolitan and ginger ale.
The opening band was torture. I don't understand the choosing of opening bands. On the one hand, I imagine artists want to choose a band that will appeal to the audience, so, in theory, the opening band should be similar to the band you have paid to see. On the other hand, I imagine artists don't want direct competition for their type of music that could result in the audience actually preferring the opening band over the artist they have paid to see. This could be bad.
But why why why tour with a band that sucks!?
Once the torture was over, Edith came out and melted my heart. First of all, she looks like an Edith (or, as D said, she has "the best old lady name"). Second of all, she has the same unruly haircut that I am currently rocking. Third of all, she is not glamorous and therefore adorable. Fourth of all, she was AMAZING. Her voice is crisp and perfect and sweet and pained and wonderful. It was one of the best performances I've ever seen.
What was interesting was that she was accompanied by the members of the opening band minus the lead singer, and they were great too! I kept wondering if the lead singer was cross, hearing his band sound so much better with Edith.
Contributing to the show's enjoyment was, of course, the sitting down on luscious couches, along with being able to see, being able to relax, being served.
And, in customary New York form, when the bill was presented to us we were mortified to see that each of D's two ginger ales cost $5!!! $5 for a little glass of ginger ale!!! Who do these people think they are? We weren't terribly upset since the tickets were only $12, which was a steal.
After the show, I bought a CD from Edith and didn't know what to say. I just said "Thank you," instead of explaining to her how her show was amazing and how I wish I wrote her songs and how she is an inspiration for people like me who are a bit older and who try to write music that sounds like hers.
Sigh. The show made both D and I so happy.
I think I may end up missing New York.
Joe's Pub is awesome. The lighting is amazing, the seats are couches made of velvet, the sound is exquisite. When the opening band was setting up, it was completely and therefore eerily silent.
I ordered a glass of wine and D ordered a raspberry cosmpolitan and ginger ale.
The opening band was torture. I don't understand the choosing of opening bands. On the one hand, I imagine artists want to choose a band that will appeal to the audience, so, in theory, the opening band should be similar to the band you have paid to see. On the other hand, I imagine artists don't want direct competition for their type of music that could result in the audience actually preferring the opening band over the artist they have paid to see. This could be bad.
But why why why tour with a band that sucks!?
Once the torture was over, Edith came out and melted my heart. First of all, she looks like an Edith (or, as D said, she has "the best old lady name"). Second of all, she has the same unruly haircut that I am currently rocking. Third of all, she is not glamorous and therefore adorable. Fourth of all, she was AMAZING. Her voice is crisp and perfect and sweet and pained and wonderful. It was one of the best performances I've ever seen.
What was interesting was that she was accompanied by the members of the opening band minus the lead singer, and they were great too! I kept wondering if the lead singer was cross, hearing his band sound so much better with Edith.
Contributing to the show's enjoyment was, of course, the sitting down on luscious couches, along with being able to see, being able to relax, being served.
And, in customary New York form, when the bill was presented to us we were mortified to see that each of D's two ginger ales cost $5!!! $5 for a little glass of ginger ale!!! Who do these people think they are? We weren't terribly upset since the tickets were only $12, which was a steal.
After the show, I bought a CD from Edith and didn't know what to say. I just said "Thank you," instead of explaining to her how her show was amazing and how I wish I wrote her songs and how she is an inspiration for people like me who are a bit older and who try to write music that sounds like hers.
Sigh. The show made both D and I so happy.
I think I may end up missing New York.
Time
I feel like time is an entirely different commodity to me than it is to other people. I have so little time that I am very particular about how my time, when it is available, is spent.
It is hard to explain this to people who have nothing but time on their hands. I get extremely anxious when I feel like my time is being wasted (killed - how can people have time to kill? and then how can they kill it?) or when its allocation is being dictated by others.
I enjoy relaxing, and I try to set aside a certain amount of time each week to be in my apartment, either reading a book (lately magazines) or watching a movie. This being said, I have had two unopened Netflix movies sitting on top of my TV for the last two weeks. How have I not had two hours in the last two weeks? I've also had an unopened New Yorker for two weeks.
On top of this, I haven't had time to make phone calls. I haven't had time to blog. I haven't had time to consider the future, which is up for grabs right now. I haven't had time to blog much or find new music, while others around me have little to do.
I also like to be busy, and lately have been trying to do as much as possible in the city. I don't mind not having time as long as my time is being spent doing wonderful things.
I guess I don't have a very strong sense of obligation anymore. Being removed from everything I used to value has made me selfish. I like being in control of my own life, and value having a boyfriend whose time philosophy overlaps with my own. He does, however, have a stronger sense of obligation than I do, even to my own family. But he also has the ability to engage in obligatory activities and then remove himself from them completely while they are going on. For example, when visiting his family he is able to just leave for hours on end and think nothing of it. He has been known to go bowling by himself, or for long runs, or just walk away in the middle of a conversation to read a book.
When I am visiting my family, that's what I am doing and that will be my focus. I don't feel right about being with someone and then being like "Um, hey, I know I never see you, but I'm going to stop this conversation and read the newspaper." Other people seem to think this is fine. I know that I am the weird one. When I visit with people, and when visited by people, I want to be engaged and get caught up and have conversations and experiences and not kill time.
Granted, reading a book or going for a walk are not time-killing activites. But they are substitute activities. If I could do anything I wanted to be doing right now, would I be reading this book? Would I be watching this DVD? Would I be taking this nap? No. I am only doing these things because they are the only things available to me right now.
When planning for my birthday visit, my Mother said "I don't mind not doing anything," when I suggested different things we might do, like visit the cathedral, take the tram, go to the MOMA, etc.
I said "Well, I do mind."
And then I realized that people think about time differently. I guess I want to maximize each unit of time, whereas others just want the time and don't necessarily need to do anything with it.
I don't know. I guess I am selfish and crazy, but I'd rather be selfish and crazy and absorbing the world than letting it pass me by.
It is hard to explain this to people who have nothing but time on their hands. I get extremely anxious when I feel like my time is being wasted (killed - how can people have time to kill? and then how can they kill it?) or when its allocation is being dictated by others.
I enjoy relaxing, and I try to set aside a certain amount of time each week to be in my apartment, either reading a book (lately magazines) or watching a movie. This being said, I have had two unopened Netflix movies sitting on top of my TV for the last two weeks. How have I not had two hours in the last two weeks? I've also had an unopened New Yorker for two weeks.
On top of this, I haven't had time to make phone calls. I haven't had time to blog. I haven't had time to consider the future, which is up for grabs right now. I haven't had time to blog much or find new music, while others around me have little to do.
I also like to be busy, and lately have been trying to do as much as possible in the city. I don't mind not having time as long as my time is being spent doing wonderful things.
I guess I don't have a very strong sense of obligation anymore. Being removed from everything I used to value has made me selfish. I like being in control of my own life, and value having a boyfriend whose time philosophy overlaps with my own. He does, however, have a stronger sense of obligation than I do, even to my own family. But he also has the ability to engage in obligatory activities and then remove himself from them completely while they are going on. For example, when visiting his family he is able to just leave for hours on end and think nothing of it. He has been known to go bowling by himself, or for long runs, or just walk away in the middle of a conversation to read a book.
When I am visiting my family, that's what I am doing and that will be my focus. I don't feel right about being with someone and then being like "Um, hey, I know I never see you, but I'm going to stop this conversation and read the newspaper." Other people seem to think this is fine. I know that I am the weird one. When I visit with people, and when visited by people, I want to be engaged and get caught up and have conversations and experiences and not kill time.
Granted, reading a book or going for a walk are not time-killing activites. But they are substitute activities. If I could do anything I wanted to be doing right now, would I be reading this book? Would I be watching this DVD? Would I be taking this nap? No. I am only doing these things because they are the only things available to me right now.
When planning for my birthday visit, my Mother said "I don't mind not doing anything," when I suggested different things we might do, like visit the cathedral, take the tram, go to the MOMA, etc.
I said "Well, I do mind."
And then I realized that people think about time differently. I guess I want to maximize each unit of time, whereas others just want the time and don't necessarily need to do anything with it.
I don't know. I guess I am selfish and crazy, but I'd rather be selfish and crazy and absorbing the world than letting it pass me by.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Pillow Fight
Before leaving for NJ to celebrate my birthday with The Family this weekend, I went to Union Square to scope out an alleged Pillow Fight that was scheduled to occur.
I didn't participate because I wanted to test run the new camera outside in the world, and the results were satisfactory. I also didn't participate because of, well, glasses. People with glasses were not allowed to play. Which is fine with me, because I don't think a giant pillow fight with strangers is worth a broken pair of glasses.
The era of digital photography has created this bizarre phenomenon wherein rather than participate in events, people will, instead, make an event out of photographing the event. For example - instead of marching in the Halloween parade this year, I chose, instead, to stand on the sidelines to get good photos, along with everyone else who lives in NYC and has a blog. There were far more photographers than fighters at the Pillow Fight, making it impossible for me to get close enough to actually take pictures of the pillow fighting.
This being said, I could see a lot of the fighting and the feathers covering Union Square (it looked like it was snowing feathers!).
I think the Pillow Fight was most exciting for people who happened to be in Union Square and who came upon the fight accidentally. They were just giddy!, calling their friends on their cell phones saying "Dude, there's a PILLOW FIGHT in Union Square! Awesome!"
So here are some photos of pillows and feathers from Saturday afternoon. Enjoy!
I didn't participate because I wanted to test run the new camera outside in the world, and the results were satisfactory. I also didn't participate because of, well, glasses. People with glasses were not allowed to play. Which is fine with me, because I don't think a giant pillow fight with strangers is worth a broken pair of glasses.
The era of digital photography has created this bizarre phenomenon wherein rather than participate in events, people will, instead, make an event out of photographing the event. For example - instead of marching in the Halloween parade this year, I chose, instead, to stand on the sidelines to get good photos, along with everyone else who lives in NYC and has a blog. There were far more photographers than fighters at the Pillow Fight, making it impossible for me to get close enough to actually take pictures of the pillow fighting.
This being said, I could see a lot of the fighting and the feathers covering Union Square (it looked like it was snowing feathers!).
I think the Pillow Fight was most exciting for people who happened to be in Union Square and who came upon the fight accidentally. They were just giddy!, calling their friends on their cell phones saying "Dude, there's a PILLOW FIGHT in Union Square! Awesome!"
So here are some photos of pillows and feathers from Saturday afternoon. Enjoy!
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