I started a new blog and feel like I have been neglecting this one.
The new one isn't for the world. It's more of a memory exercise for me as my overstimulated brain seems unable to retain information anymore. It occurred to me on Sunday night, as I was watching Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, that I don't remember specifics about movies anymore. Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance is part of a trilogy that started with Oldboy, which I loved. I cannot remember, however, specifics about Oldboy. Something about a man in prison. Was he framed? He gets out and seeks vengeance and ends up almost sleeping with his daughter. Why? What? I don't know! I can't remember! I know I liked it, but I don't know why I liked it and I don't really know what it was about.
I watch too many movies. I don't have time to allow things to settle and incorporate into my neurons. I go from one stimulus to another and nothing sticks.
The new blog is movie reviews. It will most likely also involve book and art and theater reviews, if I ever have time to read a book or look at art or afford theater again. This new blog is for me so when I think "Wait - what happened in 'Twelve and Holding?'" I can go back and read a summary of the plot and also what I thought about the movie immediately after seeing it.
I'm excited about the new blog. I think it will improve my writing and force me to consolidate my thoughts.
But I feel a little bad, because I am afraid I might neglect this blog. This blog is an emotional dump. I don't think things through. I just write. It's bare and honest. The new blog requires being organized and thoughtful and therefore requires actual time, time that will be taken away from this blog and other side projects like looking for Mediterranean cruises and investigating vegetarian diets that somehow don't involve sugar.
I'm sure its acceptable to have two blogs.
It is, right?
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Caught
I went to a follow-up doctor's appointment this morning and it became apparent that they were not going to weigh me.
Because I've not been eating cookies and have changed by dietary habits in the past two weeks, I was curious to know if, perchance, I'd lost (or gained) any weight. Not that I'm trying to lose weight (although I should be; weight loss, however, is not the goal of this particular diet), but you understand. Curiosity.
After the nurse left, I decided that certainly I would be waiting for a long time and would therefore have enough time to weigh myself on the fancy (and accurate) doctor's-office-scale! For some reason, however, I felt really guilty about it. Like I was doing something terribly wrong.
I jumped on the scale and determined that I don't weigh 100 pounds. I dropped the big thing down to 50 and was trying to figure out what exactly I weigh when the doctor busted in on me.
I jumped from the scale as though I'd been caught stealing pills.
I was like "Oh... well... I was just weighing... I was curious... you know..." She said nothing.
I don't know what I weigh. I should have weighed myself after she left the room but I was so embarrassed.
And I don't really understand why.
Because I've not been eating cookies and have changed by dietary habits in the past two weeks, I was curious to know if, perchance, I'd lost (or gained) any weight. Not that I'm trying to lose weight (although I should be; weight loss, however, is not the goal of this particular diet), but you understand. Curiosity.
After the nurse left, I decided that certainly I would be waiting for a long time and would therefore have enough time to weigh myself on the fancy (and accurate) doctor's-office-scale! For some reason, however, I felt really guilty about it. Like I was doing something terribly wrong.
I jumped on the scale and determined that I don't weigh 100 pounds. I dropped the big thing down to 50 and was trying to figure out what exactly I weigh when the doctor busted in on me.
I jumped from the scale as though I'd been caught stealing pills.
I was like "Oh... well... I was just weighing... I was curious... you know..." She said nothing.
I don't know what I weigh. I should have weighed myself after she left the room but I was so embarrassed.
And I don't really understand why.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
What's The Deal With Quick Sand?
Last night I said "This memory foam is like f-ing quicksand!"
I hate the memory foam. We have memory foam so D's back won't hurt, but my back hurts because of the memory foam. The thing is that I'd rather have a hurting back than hear D complain about how much his back hurts. This being said, I shall complain now because this is my blog and I can complain if I want to.
I hate it hate it hate it hate it. I wake up feeling like I've run 50 miles. Last night I slept with a stuffed animal under my back so that my back wouldn't curve into the foam. In the past I could tolerate the memory foam because I could go back to my nice, normal mattress and undo the damage done by the foam. But now there is no relief. I cannot wait to get to the hotel on Friday and sleep on a normal mattress.
The point of all this is - what's the deal with quick sand? Does it really exist? If so, where? And what is it? And do people really sink into it? Do people die? If so, do they just disappear? Bizarre. I must investigate this afternoon. D said that he doesn't believe in quick sand. I'm not sure that I do either.
I hate the memory foam. We have memory foam so D's back won't hurt, but my back hurts because of the memory foam. The thing is that I'd rather have a hurting back than hear D complain about how much his back hurts. This being said, I shall complain now because this is my blog and I can complain if I want to.
I hate it hate it hate it hate it. I wake up feeling like I've run 50 miles. Last night I slept with a stuffed animal under my back so that my back wouldn't curve into the foam. In the past I could tolerate the memory foam because I could go back to my nice, normal mattress and undo the damage done by the foam. But now there is no relief. I cannot wait to get to the hotel on Friday and sleep on a normal mattress.
The point of all this is - what's the deal with quick sand? Does it really exist? If so, where? And what is it? And do people really sink into it? Do people die? If so, do they just disappear? Bizarre. I must investigate this afternoon. D said that he doesn't believe in quick sand. I'm not sure that I do either.
Monday, May 22, 2006
The Weekend In Review (alternate title: I Blew It With The Emperor)
1. Delicious Thai food and conversation with NR, who was happy to go to sleep on the couch early. Please keep your fingers crossed for her (and me) that she gets the job.
2. The Parents arriving in record time. They left MA shortly after 7am and arrived at 10:30. I put on clothes and made them a giant breakfast that we had nowhere to eat.
3. The Faith Healer with Mother. We gawked at Ralph Fiennes and enjoyed the play even though others have not. Mother lost her glasses but I found them after crawling around rather unglamorously after the play's conclusion. A good argument for not getting dressed up for the theater.
4. Ralph Fiennes allegedly signing autographs post-play. Mother was so very disappointed that we missed him, as she is a huge fan who checks his website often. We think we saw the back of his head, and remarked that he did not seem tall.
5. Meeting, ahem, THE EMPEROR, Ian McDiarmid, who was also (amazing) in the play. I was the biggest dweeb of all time. Did I maintain enough composure to have my picture taken with him? Of course not. I fumbled with my camera, begging Mother to take our photo, which I guess was asking too much. "But it's the emperor!" I kept saying. "Who? What's wrong with you?" Did I come up with something clever to say to him? Nope. Did I manage to remember even one good Emperor quote? Hell no. Did I pretend to shock him with evil Dark Side like projections from my fingers? Negative. Did I nervously shake his hand and say "The play... was... amazing... you were great..."? Oh yes. He thanked me and went on his way. Lame, I am.
6. Walking through crowds and the 9th Avenue International Food Festival (formerly believed to be The Hell's Kitchen Flea Market). I was disappointed in the lack of finger puppets (although they did have marionettes). I was a model of discipline and did not purchase a deep fried oreo. I did, however, sample bizarrely flavored kettlecorn. Mother shared a disturbing insight and we frantically talked through it before D and Father caught up with us after visiting Grant's Tomb and other uptown landmarks.
7. Barely making it to the roof. "It's worth it," I kept saying as they gasped walking slowly up the stairs. Father took a zillion photos of the view. I took a zillion photos of him taking photos, of D eating a mozzarippa, of my favorite building and the city looking like a facade.
8. Father napping. We chatted. Brother arrived and said "So you live on Sesame Street?"
9. Sarcastic and wonderfully silly waiter at dinner. Gnocchi melting in my mouth - yes! Brother's old friend with newly fabulous hair. Smiling. Laughing. Open window.
10. Cab to Bench Buddy's Farewell Party taking forever.
11. Bench Buddy's Farewall Party being too cold or too crowded, or for me, too trendy and too hurtful. Confrontation with VB. I almost slapped her. I hate apologizing for things that shouldn't matter to humor people (aka diffuse drama). I hate everyone.
12. Vowing to never hang out with coworkers ever. again.
13. Succombing in my own pet peeve - not saying good-bye - so as to avoid more drama and peer pressure from and by coworkers. Not caring. I walked away really upset, wanting to leave New York foreverandeverandever and whatiswrongwithpeoplehere, but felt better when Brother cared. People not-from-New-York make New York acceptable.
14. Brunch at restaurant with pink menus. Best french toast of all time - and berries! Mother flirting with gay waiter. This is new and adorable.
15. Talk of family trip - cruise? Meditteranean? Picky, nervous, not wanting to see things that aren't familiar such as Turkey. I convinced them that we should rent a villa. It's fun to fantasize, and even more fun to become the parent. Yes, I will look into it.
16. More street fair. Hell's Kitchen Flea Market. Almost a rain storm on us but HAH we made it inside just in time!
17. Strangers with Candy, a nap, brownies for some, good-byes.
18. Relief, decompression, sadness, alone again, missing the family, LBF, NR. Cleaning, laundry, photos, Sicilian villas, no bed and breakfasts in Northampton, Memoirs of a Geisha.
19. Too much guacamole on the burrito. Too much stress about western MA. But finally a hotel! A vacation! A spa nearby and I will buy myself a massage (and haircut?) because dear god I think I need one if only once ever because the memory foam is killing me. Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance finished. No talking about it. Pretending to sleep.
20. Memoirs of a Geisha finished and not hated. 2am. Still not tired. Wanting someone to talk to. Wanting someone to notice. Wanting someone to ask. Remembering when we paid attention. Demanding attention and feeling better until the morning.
Summer hours begin this week! Only three more days and then The Berkshires and museums and not much else because apparently nothing happens in western MA until July. But this means more time to do nothing but read books and look at green things and eat and maybe, just maybe, breadsticks from Spaghetti Freddy's.
2. The Parents arriving in record time. They left MA shortly after 7am and arrived at 10:30. I put on clothes and made them a giant breakfast that we had nowhere to eat.
3. The Faith Healer with Mother. We gawked at Ralph Fiennes and enjoyed the play even though others have not. Mother lost her glasses but I found them after crawling around rather unglamorously after the play's conclusion. A good argument for not getting dressed up for the theater.
4. Ralph Fiennes allegedly signing autographs post-play. Mother was so very disappointed that we missed him, as she is a huge fan who checks his website often. We think we saw the back of his head, and remarked that he did not seem tall.
5. Meeting, ahem, THE EMPEROR, Ian McDiarmid, who was also (amazing) in the play. I was the biggest dweeb of all time. Did I maintain enough composure to have my picture taken with him? Of course not. I fumbled with my camera, begging Mother to take our photo, which I guess was asking too much. "But it's the emperor!" I kept saying. "Who? What's wrong with you?" Did I come up with something clever to say to him? Nope. Did I manage to remember even one good Emperor quote? Hell no. Did I pretend to shock him with evil Dark Side like projections from my fingers? Negative. Did I nervously shake his hand and say "The play... was... amazing... you were great..."? Oh yes. He thanked me and went on his way. Lame, I am.
6. Walking through crowds and the 9th Avenue International Food Festival (formerly believed to be The Hell's Kitchen Flea Market). I was disappointed in the lack of finger puppets (although they did have marionettes). I was a model of discipline and did not purchase a deep fried oreo. I did, however, sample bizarrely flavored kettlecorn. Mother shared a disturbing insight and we frantically talked through it before D and Father caught up with us after visiting Grant's Tomb and other uptown landmarks.
7. Barely making it to the roof. "It's worth it," I kept saying as they gasped walking slowly up the stairs. Father took a zillion photos of the view. I took a zillion photos of him taking photos, of D eating a mozzarippa, of my favorite building and the city looking like a facade.
8. Father napping. We chatted. Brother arrived and said "So you live on Sesame Street?"
9. Sarcastic and wonderfully silly waiter at dinner. Gnocchi melting in my mouth - yes! Brother's old friend with newly fabulous hair. Smiling. Laughing. Open window.
10. Cab to Bench Buddy's Farewell Party taking forever.
11. Bench Buddy's Farewall Party being too cold or too crowded, or for me, too trendy and too hurtful. Confrontation with VB. I almost slapped her. I hate apologizing for things that shouldn't matter to humor people (aka diffuse drama). I hate everyone.
12. Vowing to never hang out with coworkers ever. again.
13. Succombing in my own pet peeve - not saying good-bye - so as to avoid more drama and peer pressure from and by coworkers. Not caring. I walked away really upset, wanting to leave New York foreverandeverandever and whatiswrongwithpeoplehere, but felt better when Brother cared. People not-from-New-York make New York acceptable.
14. Brunch at restaurant with pink menus. Best french toast of all time - and berries! Mother flirting with gay waiter. This is new and adorable.
15. Talk of family trip - cruise? Meditteranean? Picky, nervous, not wanting to see things that aren't familiar such as Turkey. I convinced them that we should rent a villa. It's fun to fantasize, and even more fun to become the parent. Yes, I will look into it.
16. More street fair. Hell's Kitchen Flea Market. Almost a rain storm on us but HAH we made it inside just in time!
17. Strangers with Candy, a nap, brownies for some, good-byes.
18. Relief, decompression, sadness, alone again, missing the family, LBF, NR. Cleaning, laundry, photos, Sicilian villas, no bed and breakfasts in Northampton, Memoirs of a Geisha.
19. Too much guacamole on the burrito. Too much stress about western MA. But finally a hotel! A vacation! A spa nearby and I will buy myself a massage (and haircut?) because dear god I think I need one if only once ever because the memory foam is killing me. Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance finished. No talking about it. Pretending to sleep.
20. Memoirs of a Geisha finished and not hated. 2am. Still not tired. Wanting someone to talk to. Wanting someone to notice. Wanting someone to ask. Remembering when we paid attention. Demanding attention and feeling better until the morning.
Summer hours begin this week! Only three more days and then The Berkshires and museums and not much else because apparently nothing happens in western MA until July. But this means more time to do nothing but read books and look at green things and eat and maybe, just maybe, breadsticks from Spaghetti Freddy's.
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