I have another question for you, dear readers.
Is it completely irrational to feel unsettled about your significant other spending time with his/her ex?
I feel that it is irrational, but only slightly.
Is it normal not to want to meet your significant other's former lovers? I can't believe I just wrote "lovers." I am a dork.
Ah, to be secure. It's hard to explain these sorts of issues to someone who is completely secure.
I feel like I'd be thinking, the entire time, "You slept with my boyfriend!" and "I wonder what they were like together" and "She's way hotter than me" and "Why is he looking at her like that?" and "What are they saying to each other?" and "They seem to share something that we don't have!" and "Damn, she is infinitely cooler than me."
Secure people would think "What a nice girl" and "I'd like to be her friend" and "Isn't it nice that my boyfriend has such a hot friend who he's not interested in at all, even though they used to sleep together constantly, because he loves me!"
Right.
How do you just become secure? What needs to happen? What snaps that allows you to be like "Nothing can jeopardize this"?
I don't know. I don't know why I'm uncomfortable with the idea. I guess its because I've had many sordid encounters with various ex-es and I don't trust ex-es one bit.
Why, if you are a person with millions of friends, must you keep your ex around?
In my experience, people keep their ex-es around for one of three reasons:
1. source of comfort
2. source of self esteem
3. as a backup
If you're in a good relationship, why have your ex be a presence?
Unless you dated a million years ago. Fresh ex-es are scary.
Unless the ex was substantial. Then again, if the ex is super meaningful then you're tied together forever, which also makes me nervous, and is another reason the ex should not be in your life.
Unless the ex is insubstantial. Then again, if the ex is insubstantial, then the ex should not be in your life if it is a cause of stress to your significant other. What's the point?
I suppose you are supposed to trust the judgment of your significant other to know what is and is not a good idea for the relationship.
D said "I don't care if you hang out with Former Favorite-Ex-Boyfriend" and I was like "It's not a good idea." He didn't understand why. I said "Because, Former- Favorite-Ex-Boyfriend and I had something really special, whatever it was, and when I talk to him I am reminded of it and it's not good for the relationship I am in now. This relationship is more important to me than having dinner with Former-Favorite-Ex-Boyfriend." D's like "But I don't care if you do" and I had to say "But I do and you have to just accept it."
D said "But it's important to me that I show my support to Ex-Girlfriend" and I wanted to be like "Doesn't she have other people to get support from?"
Why is this so important?
Blah. I am an irrational loser.
What do you think?
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Legs
Does anyone know why people cross their legs while sitting?
Is this something that's been socialized or does it provide some sort of biological function?
D argues that it's biological. I think its social. He said "But I cross my legs when I am by myself." I said "But why?"
He said nothing.
Anyone? Anyone?
Is this something that's been socialized or does it provide some sort of biological function?
D argues that it's biological. I think its social. He said "But I cross my legs when I am by myself." I said "But why?"
He said nothing.
Anyone? Anyone?
Monday, May 16, 2005
Sheets
I nearly broke my back this morning dropping off 20 pounds of laundry for someone else to do for me.
All I need now is a small dog to put in my bag and the transformation to New Yorker will be complete.
More to come when my brain has resumed normal functionality.
All I need now is a small dog to put in my bag and the transformation to New Yorker will be complete.
More to come when my brain has resumed normal functionality.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Dogs
Why must people in NYC bring their dogs to work and then bring their dogs in the elevator, thus causing all of the people to be squished up against the sides of the elevators, while the dog runs around freely?
Why?
Why?
The Kid From Third Rock From the Sun....
... got hot.
I went to see Mysterious Skin last night.
It was difficult but good.
Prostitution on film is never easy. I was thinking, though, that there's this whole element of people who are into this sort of thing and I have no idea who they are or how they know about their options.
In movies, people always seem to just "know" who is a prostitute. And they're like "Hey, you, I'll pay $50." Like how do they know? Is it really just writing on bathroom walls? Is there some signal I don't know about it?
Nevertheless, Joseph Gordon-Levitt is beautiful. The movie was challenging. It dealt with a horrific subject matter in a non-melodramatic and interesting way. It was understated and sentimental without being cheesy.
I don't know if you should see it. It drains you. It hurts. It's lovely.
I am going to get my hair cut now so I can look cute for N's first wedding this weekend!
I went to see Mysterious Skin last night.
It was difficult but good.
Prostitution on film is never easy. I was thinking, though, that there's this whole element of people who are into this sort of thing and I have no idea who they are or how they know about their options.
In movies, people always seem to just "know" who is a prostitute. And they're like "Hey, you, I'll pay $50." Like how do they know? Is it really just writing on bathroom walls? Is there some signal I don't know about it?
Nevertheless, Joseph Gordon-Levitt is beautiful. The movie was challenging. It dealt with a horrific subject matter in a non-melodramatic and interesting way. It was understated and sentimental without being cheesy.
I don't know if you should see it. It drains you. It hurts. It's lovely.
I am going to get my hair cut now so I can look cute for N's first wedding this weekend!
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
There Are No....
... hipsters in my building!
In fact, there are no hipsters anywhere near my building.
My area is very old timey.
There are ancient, charming people who I imagine have many stories living in my building.
I love New York again.
In fact, there are no hipsters anywhere near my building.
My area is very old timey.
There are ancient, charming people who I imagine have many stories living in my building.
I love New York again.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Monday, May 09, 2005
I Now Live in Manhattan Part 3 - The Aftermath
3. The Aftermath
I actually feel quite settled.
I need many things, but all of the essentials are taken care of. Tonight I will go to Pier 1 to return the oversized silverware tray and will buy plates and bowls and glasses. I need a kitchen table and chairs and perhaps a love seat. I need a kitchen cart and a colander and a toaster oven. I need a more aesthetically pleasing alarm clock. I need tupperware. I need reasonable groceries.
I woke up early yesterday because I was excited. I made lists and unpacked shoes while D unpacked books and videos and CDs. His goal is to eliminate boxes. Whatever he wants is fine with me as long as progress is being made.
I took my first shower in the new apartment yesterday. It was an adventure. At first it wouldn't get hot, then it was too hot, then it was freezing. The shower curtain, which is too small, kept smothering me because I'd opened the bathroom window for a cross draft. This left me with about a millimeter of width in which to shower. Another good thing about being small is that you can take showers in ridiculously tight spaces. Although, I did drop the soap this morning and it was not easy to pick up, but I did not have to step outside of the shower to do so.
D and I went to Home Depot and bought shelving and brackets and other goodies.
We then went for breakfast at this adorable place on 9th and 35th that serves breakfastallday and had a special involving scrambled eggs with cream cheese and scallions! Yes!
We then headed out to Brooklyn to see the Basquiat show at the Brooklyn Museum. I was very tired and the show was overwhelming. Any Basquiat painting or drawing in a group of other work is a superstar. An entire show of Basquiat is a bit much to handle, especially when you're tired. You could look at one of his paintings for five hours. It's hard to digest 100 of them in an hour and a half.
After Basquiat, we headed back into the city where we went to Bed, Bath and Beyond and bought more fabulous things such as a curtain and curtain rod for my bedroom, bathroom shelves, and hooks for the kitchen. I went to The Container Store afterwards, my new favorite place on the planet, and bought a reasonably sized silverware tray and some other space saving miracles.
After our errands, we saw Kingdom of Heaven at the 34th Street Theater, which is a 5 minute walk from my new apartment. Orlando Bloom. Yes. I said "If Orlando Bloom played Anakin Skywalker the world would be a better place." It was surprisingly good. I had no desire to see it but D, a fan of all movies epic, really wanted to. It is weird to me that back-in-the-day, kings would just fight battles with the troops, and seemingly without extra protection. I wish W had to do that. If he did, I imagine things would be very different.
Back at the apartment, we put up shelves and hooks and I cleaned the floor with the new wet-jet-whatever-thing (not Swiffer - I forget what it is) I bought at Home Depot.
We finished watching Star Wars while eating Mint Chocolate Cookie and then went to bed.
Phew.
Busy. But feeling settled, which is not a feeling I've felt since moving to NYC.
Tonight we will put up more shelves and organize books on them. If ambitious, we will hang things on the wall. If not, we will watch episodes of The Muppet Show on DVD.
Regardless, we will have fun in the new apartment because it is an awesome apartment. And it is all mine.
Mwa ha ha!!!!!
I actually feel quite settled.
I need many things, but all of the essentials are taken care of. Tonight I will go to Pier 1 to return the oversized silverware tray and will buy plates and bowls and glasses. I need a kitchen table and chairs and perhaps a love seat. I need a kitchen cart and a colander and a toaster oven. I need a more aesthetically pleasing alarm clock. I need tupperware. I need reasonable groceries.
I woke up early yesterday because I was excited. I made lists and unpacked shoes while D unpacked books and videos and CDs. His goal is to eliminate boxes. Whatever he wants is fine with me as long as progress is being made.
I took my first shower in the new apartment yesterday. It was an adventure. At first it wouldn't get hot, then it was too hot, then it was freezing. The shower curtain, which is too small, kept smothering me because I'd opened the bathroom window for a cross draft. This left me with about a millimeter of width in which to shower. Another good thing about being small is that you can take showers in ridiculously tight spaces. Although, I did drop the soap this morning and it was not easy to pick up, but I did not have to step outside of the shower to do so.
D and I went to Home Depot and bought shelving and brackets and other goodies.
We then went for breakfast at this adorable place on 9th and 35th that serves breakfastallday and had a special involving scrambled eggs with cream cheese and scallions! Yes!
We then headed out to Brooklyn to see the Basquiat show at the Brooklyn Museum. I was very tired and the show was overwhelming. Any Basquiat painting or drawing in a group of other work is a superstar. An entire show of Basquiat is a bit much to handle, especially when you're tired. You could look at one of his paintings for five hours. It's hard to digest 100 of them in an hour and a half.
After Basquiat, we headed back into the city where we went to Bed, Bath and Beyond and bought more fabulous things such as a curtain and curtain rod for my bedroom, bathroom shelves, and hooks for the kitchen. I went to The Container Store afterwards, my new favorite place on the planet, and bought a reasonably sized silverware tray and some other space saving miracles.
After our errands, we saw Kingdom of Heaven at the 34th Street Theater, which is a 5 minute walk from my new apartment. Orlando Bloom. Yes. I said "If Orlando Bloom played Anakin Skywalker the world would be a better place." It was surprisingly good. I had no desire to see it but D, a fan of all movies epic, really wanted to. It is weird to me that back-in-the-day, kings would just fight battles with the troops, and seemingly without extra protection. I wish W had to do that. If he did, I imagine things would be very different.
Back at the apartment, we put up shelves and hooks and I cleaned the floor with the new wet-jet-whatever-thing (not Swiffer - I forget what it is) I bought at Home Depot.
We finished watching Star Wars while eating Mint Chocolate Cookie and then went to bed.
Phew.
Busy. But feeling settled, which is not a feeling I've felt since moving to NYC.
Tonight we will put up more shelves and organize books on them. If ambitious, we will hang things on the wall. If not, we will watch episodes of The Muppet Show on DVD.
Regardless, we will have fun in the new apartment because it is an awesome apartment. And it is all mine.
Mwa ha ha!!!!!
I Now Live in Manhattan Part 2 - The Unpacking
Just got off the phone with worst health-insurance provider on the planet. In addition to the potential $850 I found I may owe for the kidney stone surgery I didn't have, I may owe even more money because they are claiming I have a pre-existing condition and that I was uninsured prior to having this particular insurance.
Obviously I was insured. Obviously I will be able to prove this, since I was insured.
It's just annoying since things need not be this difficult. And costly. I hate my health insurance. I hate health insurance in general. I hate that I have to pay all sorts of deductibles and for all sorts of procedures that were once covered by my monthly premiums.
Nevertheless....
2. The Unpacking
While I was meeting the piano movers, D stayed behind to hold down the fort and to do adorable things like unpack the kitchen boxes and move around the remaining boxes so as to clear an appropriate trajectory for the piano.
He couldn't put the bed together because the bed suffered a freight elevator-related injury. The frame was stacked against the wall, so that when the elevator went between floors it basically hit the wall, and, at times, got pulled up and nearly smooshed between the elevator and wall. I can't quite understand why the superintendent said "Grab your bed" instead of saying "Let me stop the elevator for a second while you grab your bed." I grabbed the pieces of the frame that I could and nearly broke my arm in the process. Luckily the frame (and my arm) didn't break. We both came away with cuts and bruises, and a piece of the frame got pulled off of the wood and all of the screws went missing.
D and I went to the hardware store to buy screws, a drill bit and sand paper. We then grabbed a late lunch and headed back to the new apartment, where D did things like sand down the bathroom and where I made the following discoveries:
1. Free internet! YES! I don't know the owner of the wireless connection I am using, but they are my new favorite person on the planet.
2. My clothes all fit in my closet!
3. My apartment has expanded in size with the addition of "stuff."
4. My stove is too small for the baking sheets I own.
5. My new silverware tray is too big for the drawer.
6. The Brita was too tall for anywhere in the refrigerator, although that was remedied by moving the refrigerator across the kitchen in order to remove a shelf.
7. My former kitchen shelves look perfect as an entertainment center.
8. My toilet is really low and my bathroom sink is really high.
9. My shower curtain is too short.
10. I am a much better packer than I give myself credit for.
When we got home, I did fun things like organize my clothes by color in the new closet. D, who slipped back into perfect-boyfriend-mode, sandpapered the bathroom and swept and unpacked boxes. Together we hooked up the TV and DVD player and VCR and stereo and Ipod.
Putting the bed together proved more difficult than we'd imagined. The preexisting holes in the frame were apparently drilled arbitrarily, which may or may not explain why my bed squeaks if you look at it too long.
Amidst the bed reassembly I realized I was completely and utterly exhausted. I couldn't function. My body was aching and I just completely shut down. As soon as we got the bed together, which took about an hour, I hastily threw sheets on it and we meant to take a nap.
D then went back to work on the bathroom while I dealt more with clothes and bedroom-related tasks. He left to do whatever D does when he is alone and I stayed behind and unpacked and organized kitchen things, bathroom things, bedding, and more clothes.
I then went to buy groceries which, in typical NY form, proved challenging. There seems to be only one market within a 5 block radius, and they don't have things like fruit. They don't have any cereal I like. They only have meat-flavored sauce. They do, however, have Ben and Jerry's Mint Chocolate Cookie ice cream, which I suppose is all that matters.
On my way home M called and left a message asking about the move, in which she said "You're probably asleep." I laughed because I really wanted to be asleep.
I got home and made myself a peanut butter sandwich which I promptly ate while sitting on the floor. I talked with my parents and was psyched that my mother received her flowers and candy while on the phone with me! Woo hoo!!!!
D came back and we unpacked a bit more, inflated the air mattress, grabbed some throw pillows and watched as much of Attack of the Clones as we could before passing out. The last thing I remember is "I killed them all!"
Obviously I was insured. Obviously I will be able to prove this, since I was insured.
It's just annoying since things need not be this difficult. And costly. I hate my health insurance. I hate health insurance in general. I hate that I have to pay all sorts of deductibles and for all sorts of procedures that were once covered by my monthly premiums.
Nevertheless....
2. The Unpacking
While I was meeting the piano movers, D stayed behind to hold down the fort and to do adorable things like unpack the kitchen boxes and move around the remaining boxes so as to clear an appropriate trajectory for the piano.
He couldn't put the bed together because the bed suffered a freight elevator-related injury. The frame was stacked against the wall, so that when the elevator went between floors it basically hit the wall, and, at times, got pulled up and nearly smooshed between the elevator and wall. I can't quite understand why the superintendent said "Grab your bed" instead of saying "Let me stop the elevator for a second while you grab your bed." I grabbed the pieces of the frame that I could and nearly broke my arm in the process. Luckily the frame (and my arm) didn't break. We both came away with cuts and bruises, and a piece of the frame got pulled off of the wood and all of the screws went missing.
D and I went to the hardware store to buy screws, a drill bit and sand paper. We then grabbed a late lunch and headed back to the new apartment, where D did things like sand down the bathroom and where I made the following discoveries:
1. Free internet! YES! I don't know the owner of the wireless connection I am using, but they are my new favorite person on the planet.
2. My clothes all fit in my closet!
3. My apartment has expanded in size with the addition of "stuff."
4. My stove is too small for the baking sheets I own.
5. My new silverware tray is too big for the drawer.
6. The Brita was too tall for anywhere in the refrigerator, although that was remedied by moving the refrigerator across the kitchen in order to remove a shelf.
7. My former kitchen shelves look perfect as an entertainment center.
8. My toilet is really low and my bathroom sink is really high.
9. My shower curtain is too short.
10. I am a much better packer than I give myself credit for.
When we got home, I did fun things like organize my clothes by color in the new closet. D, who slipped back into perfect-boyfriend-mode, sandpapered the bathroom and swept and unpacked boxes. Together we hooked up the TV and DVD player and VCR and stereo and Ipod.
Putting the bed together proved more difficult than we'd imagined. The preexisting holes in the frame were apparently drilled arbitrarily, which may or may not explain why my bed squeaks if you look at it too long.
Amidst the bed reassembly I realized I was completely and utterly exhausted. I couldn't function. My body was aching and I just completely shut down. As soon as we got the bed together, which took about an hour, I hastily threw sheets on it and we meant to take a nap.
D then went back to work on the bathroom while I dealt more with clothes and bedroom-related tasks. He left to do whatever D does when he is alone and I stayed behind and unpacked and organized kitchen things, bathroom things, bedding, and more clothes.
I then went to buy groceries which, in typical NY form, proved challenging. There seems to be only one market within a 5 block radius, and they don't have things like fruit. They don't have any cereal I like. They only have meat-flavored sauce. They do, however, have Ben and Jerry's Mint Chocolate Cookie ice cream, which I suppose is all that matters.
On my way home M called and left a message asking about the move, in which she said "You're probably asleep." I laughed because I really wanted to be asleep.
I got home and made myself a peanut butter sandwich which I promptly ate while sitting on the floor. I talked with my parents and was psyched that my mother received her flowers and candy while on the phone with me! Woo hoo!!!!
D came back and we unpacked a bit more, inflated the air mattress, grabbed some throw pillows and watched as much of Attack of the Clones as we could before passing out. The last thing I remember is "I killed them all!"
Random Aside
My new lab notebook's number is the zip code of the town I grew up in!
Will the insanity ever cease?
Will the insanity ever cease?
I Now Live in Manhattan Part 1 - The Move
Madness.
My commute into work this morning was 25 mintues. Only 25 minutes! I took my sweet time. Looked around. Looked futilely for a potential spot at which to buy groceries.
I shall divide this post into three segments:
1. The Move
2. The Unpacking
3. The Aftermath
1. The Move
At 7:45 am on Saturday, D arrived, focused, to take the bed apart. I began dragging things to the freight elevator. At 7:55, the movers I'd hired via Craigslist arrived. They proceeded to get lost in the building, as everyone does, and then appeared, ready for action. These men were the pinnacle of efficiency. Each would carry, no joke, 5 huge boxes of books at once. They couldn't even see what they were doing, yet they carried these boxes without drama. At about 8:10 Bench Buddy arrived, and I was like "Dude, we're practically DONE."
Two trips down the freight elevator and the truck was loaded. I think this entire process took 45 minutes. The superintendant was actually friendly, and informed me that we'd have been kicked out of the building at the end of July anyway. They are going to turn it into condos - gut out the inside and build an atrium so that all of the units will have windows on two sides, build a pool, a gym on each floor. They are also going to build 4 more luxury highrises on the waterfront. I am glad I got out of there before I was (a) kicked out and (b) part of this horrid redevelopment.
These movers were INSANE. They packed my stuff in the truck in the most efficient, organized manner. They compacted it to what seemed to be 1/10 the original volume. I thought "Huh, apparently I don't have any stuff."
We piled into the truck - D and I in the front with Bench Buddy between us, and the two movers in the back. We hit traffic. Lots of it. D was a stress case and I was worried about the dudes in the back, but soon we were at the new apartment. There was the part where my key to the building no longer fit in the lock and where I had a panic and started buzzing all of the apartments in the hopes that someone would let us in. Luckily the super was home (she is the most adorable little old lady you have ever met) and rushed me new key to the recently fixed lock in which most people's keys no longer worked. Within 45 minutes the truck was empty.
Two hours total. Two hours total, with a traffic jam! These movers reaffirmed my faith in the human race. They could have dragged the move out since they were being paid by the hour, but they didn't. They did a wonderful, efficient, stress-free job. I think I carried maybe a total of 15 boxes. D and Bench Buddy were very helpful as well.
It was awesome.
I was convinced, given how smoothly it went, that something would happen with the piano. "It won't fit. They will drop it. They will put it in the truck and drive off with it. It's going to be a disaster." I've been having such a string of bad luck as of late, so I knew something would go wrong.
I went back to Williamsburg and ran an errand, picked up Last Bagel from The Bagel Store, and walked back to The Loft. As soon as I walked in, I got a call on my cell from the piano movers who were stuck in the stairwell because they'd taken the wrong elevator. Immaculate timing. Five minutes later the piano was outside the building after being transported in the passenger elevator.
They said "We didn't have lunch. We want a bagel." I rode with them in the truck - sitting between them on the truck bed which was made of plywood - and went back to the Bagel Store. We ate the bagels in the truck and then headed into the city. Our plan was foiled by "No Trucks on the Williamsburg Bridge," so we had to take the Manhattan Bridge.
Our plan was further foiled by a flea market that was most likely not the Hell's Kitchen Flea Market.
When we got to the new apartment, one of the mover's said "You want us to get it through this door?" when he saw the entrace to my apartment. I'd measured the doorway, but I hadn't accounted for the fact that the door doesn't open all the way due to a weird wall angle in the kitchen. I scrambled for the tape measure and said "Umm... I really think it will fit." He said "Well, I guess we'll bring it up and see what happens."
Of course. Of course!
I said "Hypothetically, let's just, like, pretend for a second. If it didn't fit, what would happen?"
They laughed.
These guys were great. They were hilarious and unique and told me all sorts of stories about piano moving and carried my piano up the stairs in about half an hour. There were grunts and screams and scrambling, but they got it in there and helped me decide where to put it. And also presented to me my next creative project, which I will begin as soon as things settle down in the new apartment.
And then it was finished, and D and I were left alone in the new apartment.
My commute into work this morning was 25 mintues. Only 25 minutes! I took my sweet time. Looked around. Looked futilely for a potential spot at which to buy groceries.
I shall divide this post into three segments:
1. The Move
2. The Unpacking
3. The Aftermath
1. The Move
At 7:45 am on Saturday, D arrived, focused, to take the bed apart. I began dragging things to the freight elevator. At 7:55, the movers I'd hired via Craigslist arrived. They proceeded to get lost in the building, as everyone does, and then appeared, ready for action. These men were the pinnacle of efficiency. Each would carry, no joke, 5 huge boxes of books at once. They couldn't even see what they were doing, yet they carried these boxes without drama. At about 8:10 Bench Buddy arrived, and I was like "Dude, we're practically DONE."
Two trips down the freight elevator and the truck was loaded. I think this entire process took 45 minutes. The superintendant was actually friendly, and informed me that we'd have been kicked out of the building at the end of July anyway. They are going to turn it into condos - gut out the inside and build an atrium so that all of the units will have windows on two sides, build a pool, a gym on each floor. They are also going to build 4 more luxury highrises on the waterfront. I am glad I got out of there before I was (a) kicked out and (b) part of this horrid redevelopment.
These movers were INSANE. They packed my stuff in the truck in the most efficient, organized manner. They compacted it to what seemed to be 1/10 the original volume. I thought "Huh, apparently I don't have any stuff."
We piled into the truck - D and I in the front with Bench Buddy between us, and the two movers in the back. We hit traffic. Lots of it. D was a stress case and I was worried about the dudes in the back, but soon we were at the new apartment. There was the part where my key to the building no longer fit in the lock and where I had a panic and started buzzing all of the apartments in the hopes that someone would let us in. Luckily the super was home (she is the most adorable little old lady you have ever met) and rushed me new key to the recently fixed lock in which most people's keys no longer worked. Within 45 minutes the truck was empty.
Two hours total. Two hours total, with a traffic jam! These movers reaffirmed my faith in the human race. They could have dragged the move out since they were being paid by the hour, but they didn't. They did a wonderful, efficient, stress-free job. I think I carried maybe a total of 15 boxes. D and Bench Buddy were very helpful as well.
It was awesome.
I was convinced, given how smoothly it went, that something would happen with the piano. "It won't fit. They will drop it. They will put it in the truck and drive off with it. It's going to be a disaster." I've been having such a string of bad luck as of late, so I knew something would go wrong.
I went back to Williamsburg and ran an errand, picked up Last Bagel from The Bagel Store, and walked back to The Loft. As soon as I walked in, I got a call on my cell from the piano movers who were stuck in the stairwell because they'd taken the wrong elevator. Immaculate timing. Five minutes later the piano was outside the building after being transported in the passenger elevator.
They said "We didn't have lunch. We want a bagel." I rode with them in the truck - sitting between them on the truck bed which was made of plywood - and went back to the Bagel Store. We ate the bagels in the truck and then headed into the city. Our plan was foiled by "No Trucks on the Williamsburg Bridge," so we had to take the Manhattan Bridge.
Our plan was further foiled by a flea market that was most likely not the Hell's Kitchen Flea Market.
When we got to the new apartment, one of the mover's said "You want us to get it through this door?" when he saw the entrace to my apartment. I'd measured the doorway, but I hadn't accounted for the fact that the door doesn't open all the way due to a weird wall angle in the kitchen. I scrambled for the tape measure and said "Umm... I really think it will fit." He said "Well, I guess we'll bring it up and see what happens."
Of course. Of course!
I said "Hypothetically, let's just, like, pretend for a second. If it didn't fit, what would happen?"
They laughed.
These guys were great. They were hilarious and unique and told me all sorts of stories about piano moving and carried my piano up the stairs in about half an hour. There were grunts and screams and scrambling, but they got it in there and helped me decide where to put it. And also presented to me my next creative project, which I will begin as soon as things settle down in the new apartment.
And then it was finished, and D and I were left alone in the new apartment.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Smooth
I am posting this from my new apartment, wherein I am hooked up to a mystery neighbor's internet connection!
Life is good, folks.
Good good good.
The move went as smooth as it possibly could have.
D was a rockstar boyfriend.
I feel like this place is supposed to be my apartment.
I am not at all unpacked. Did some cleaning, put together the bed with much strife, basically assembled the bedroom, went grocery shopping for staples and realized that local "market" does not have staples such as any sort of cereal that I find edible, watched Star Wars Episode II with D, went to bed and couldn't sleep due to thinking about unpacked boxes and city sounds (note to self: purchase white noise maker) and things to do. So many things to do.
But I am in my new apartment, living alone, in Manhattan.
I'll write more later when there isn't much to do.
One thing, though. My apartment, thankfully, falls into the category of "Apartments That Seem Bigger With Stuff In Them."
YES.
You must all visit.
Life is good, folks.
Good good good.
The move went as smooth as it possibly could have.
D was a rockstar boyfriend.
I feel like this place is supposed to be my apartment.
I am not at all unpacked. Did some cleaning, put together the bed with much strife, basically assembled the bedroom, went grocery shopping for staples and realized that local "market" does not have staples such as any sort of cereal that I find edible, watched Star Wars Episode II with D, went to bed and couldn't sleep due to thinking about unpacked boxes and city sounds (note to self: purchase white noise maker) and things to do. So many things to do.
But I am in my new apartment, living alone, in Manhattan.
I'll write more later when there isn't much to do.
One thing, though. My apartment, thankfully, falls into the category of "Apartments That Seem Bigger With Stuff In Them."
YES.
You must all visit.
Friday, May 06, 2005
What Did People Do Before the Internet?
I'll tell you what they DIDN'T do. They most certainly DID NOT sell their lava lamp via Craigslist. No sir!
I just sold my lava lamp for $15, and while the people were here buying it, I convinced them to buy my pink lamp for $10 and Roommate's Papasan chair for $20. And they want my red IKEA cabinet and will pick it up on Sunday!
Good thing we're all mad at D and are not hanging out with him tonight, because if we were, we'd be $25 poorer and begging strangers to buy our stuff on Craigslist!
I just sold my lava lamp for $15, and while the people were here buying it, I convinced them to buy my pink lamp for $10 and Roommate's Papasan chair for $20. And they want my red IKEA cabinet and will pick it up on Sunday!
Good thing we're all mad at D and are not hanging out with him tonight, because if we were, we'd be $25 poorer and begging strangers to buy our stuff on Craigslist!
All I Needed....
... last night was a decent meal and a good night's sleep.
I got neither.
A bunch of us went out for drinks at the Fat Black Pussy Cat for Cinco De Mayo. Given my stress level as of late, one might say that I drank a bit too much. I won't apologize. I deserved it!
I could have had more to drink, but D exclaimed "I want to go" so I said "Ummm... ok? I guess?"
We left and D said "What do you want for dinner?" Oh, the things I wanted for dinner! I haven't been eating right/enough lately what with stress and the desire to consume all of the food in my apartment so as not to have to throw away or transport it. This has made for weird meals such as cereal with a side of Cheez-Its, and far too many peanut butter sandwiches on slightly bad bread with slightly bad peanut butter. Tonight? Waffles!
Anyway, I said "How about pizza? Or Thai? Or Indian!!! Or ITALIAN! I want raviolis!" Starving, folks, because, again, haven't had much time for lunches these days and dinners have been abominations. D said "Well, actually, I was hoping to not have to buy anything. You know."
OK. "How about an omelette?" he said, to which I said "No, I had an omelette for lunch," because I'd had an omelette for lunch because my body was crumbling and when you order an omelette you get all sorts of nourishment - protein, carbs, pickles on the side.
"What about crepes?" I suggested, since he's been dying to try his new crepe pan from Reading Terminal Market. He found that agreeable until I said "But can we not do chocolate ones? I need real sustenance." He said "Well, what would you put in them?" I said "Spinach? Vegetables? Cheese!" He said "I don't have any vegetables and I don't really want to buy them. Buying vegetables would be like eating out."
"Ummmm. OK."
The subject was dropped and when we left he started heading towards the supermarket, and I was like "Where are we going?" and he was like "To get vegetables?" and I was like "No! We can come up with something!" I knew he didn't want to do it, and who am I to suggest my boyfriend do something he doesn't want to do?
I said "I really want raviolis" and D said "Oh! I have cheese tortellini!"
YES!
We got back to his place and he started making the tortellini. Shortly thereafter, the room began to spin. Shortly after that, I was lying on D's bed thinking "This must be what vertigo is like - how awful!" when D said "So remember how I was telling you that the last time I ate these it was the worst meal of my life? I still haven't decided if it was the sauce or the tortellini."
I said "D, I think I'm just going to get a bagel or something" and he was like "No! I promise it won't be bad this time."
Heh.
Worst thing ever. Definitely the tortellini. I would side against room temperature cheese on any given day, especially cheese that claims to be ricotta but clearly is not. Vile. I had three of them and gave up and ended up not eating dinner.
Not good. Not good at all. I am very, very, very hungry right now.
I thought "Well, at least not eating dinner might help me to sleep, right? I'll just pass out! It will be lovely!" D's mother called, he ate, and I did fall asleep! Bliss!
Until D said "LEAH! There was this other thing I wanted to tell you... wah wah wah wah wah wah..." No idea what he said because I'd passed out, and because all I could hear was "I realize you haven't had a good night's sleep in at least a week, and I see you sleeping right there, so I thought I'd wake you up and tell you something inconsequential!"
So that was that. About 5 minutes later (and, folks, be made aware that this is all happening at around 9:45) D was curled up beside me passed out himself, snoring. And I was wide awake because he'd woken me up, and I was becoming increasingly cross with the snoring. And I was cross because he'd refused to set the alarm, because he said "Dude, we're going to get SO MUCH SLEEP. There's no way I'm not going to wake up." Uh-huh. Right. If I don't get into work at 8:00 my piano is not going to be moved, if my piano is even going to be moved. Ergh. The snoring. The hunger.
All irrational. All totally and completely irrational.
I got up and realized that I was in prison. I kept thinking "I am neither sleeping nor eating nor packing. This is not good."
I don't know how couples can live in a studio. No idea. I kept thinking "I wish there was somewhere else for me to go! Where am I supposed to go? I am wide awake and am freaking out and he's dead asleep and peaceful."
My stress level as of late is through the roof. Lots going on and feeling like I am all alone in the world. I thought "Shit, if there was another room, I'd call some friends who actually want to talk to me right now, unlike my boyfriend who has passed out and is preventing me from sleeping and eating" or "I could watch TV in another room if there was another room!" or "I could go through D's books and read one of them, except I can't because I can't turn on the light in this studio because he is asleep!"
I wish I'd been coherent enough to think "Ah ha! D is asleep! I can LEAVE and either get a meal or go home and pack and then sleep there!" But no. I was all emo and stressed and wanting desperately to sleep.
I did think "If I went back to Brooklyn now, I could be in bed by 11:30 but I'd
have to get up at 6:45 in order to get into work by 8:00. If I stay here, maybe
I'll fall asleep a bit later but I'll be able to get up later because I am 5 minutes from work."
Ah, the rational ways of insomniacs. These seemed like legitimate arguments at 10:00.
I decided to pretend that D's bathroom was the living room, so I hooked up the space heater, put it on the toilet bowl, turned it on, sat on the tiled floor and started to make phone calls. RR was out celebrating Cinco de Mayo, so I thought "Who is of great comfort to me? Who can I say 'Dude, I'm drunk and tired and stressed' to and will not be like 'Dude, stop worrying!'?" M!
I called M and she gave me good advice. She said "What you need to do is imagine someone - or yourself - writing the number 100 on a chalk board and then imagine them looking at it and then slowly erasing it. Then, repeat but with 99. It has to be boring. It's a variant on counting sheep."
GENIUS.
I spoke with her for a bit and then said "M, thanks for the advice. I shall try this right now!" By then I think it was probably 10:30.
I went back to bed and was hoping for D to be awake and for him to ask me how I was doing but no. Dead asleep.
I crawled onto his bed and closed my eyes and pictured a chalk board.
OK.
I knew what to do.
I am walking up to the chalk board and I am going to write the number 100.
Except that instead of writing on the chalk board, I pulled out a cup of a banana pudding from a brown bag and ate it.
Shit.
Try again. Think chalk. Only this time, I approached the chalk board and ate Pad Thai.
NO!
Think think think. Concentrate.
Write on the chalk board. Don't think about food.
Numbers.
Boring numbers.
Good yummy garlic bread!
NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I decided that this method wasn't useful to me since it required so much concentration to just even think about numbers that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep. I was curious as to whether I could think of 100 items of food, but realized that was just a guarantee to be awake forever.
Crap.
Hours passed and sleep did not come. I was doing the typical insomniac manuever of "If I fall asleep right now, I'll get 7 hours! That's totally enough! I mean, I haven't gotten more than 4 hours in forever, so 7 will seem like tons compared to that! And then I'll go in and work with radioactivity at the crack of dawn and then stay up all night tomorrow night packing and then get up at 6 on Saturday and I'll be fucking fine fine fine!" Except this was all conjecture, since D doesn't believe in clocks. Every now and then I'd turn on my cell phone just to see what time it was. It was always discouraging, especially given that I could have conceivably gone to bed at 9:30 and gotten 10 hours of sleep if someone didn't feel compelled to wake me up.
At around 12:30 I thought "OK, 7 hours. I can get 7 hours. This needs to work. It's been about an hour and a half since the chalk board thing and maybe its about time we give this another try!"
I decided that the best way to do it would be to think of someone else at the chalk board, and it would be someone who wasn't starving to death and someone who hasn't lost 5 pounds this week.
My delirious mind conjured up the chalk board, and a man approached. "He's going to write 100, I just know it!" I thought. And he did! And then he turned around and revealed himself to be Colin Farrell.
Meeeeowwwww! Colin Farrell, hottttt. Oh yes, Colin Farrell, write 99! Just don't face me again because I can't think about numbers when you are in the room. How can I think about chalk at a time like this, when you keep looking at me coyly?
Oh, my post-drunk mind. WHY!?!??!?!
I thought "This is fucking ridiculous. Why Colin Farrell? Where did he come from? OK. Think of someone who looks really bland. Someone really boring. Right. Someone who will make you tired just thinking about them!"
Thom Yorke. Yes. Thom Yorke will put me to sleep. His droopy eyes will convince me that I am tired! His lethargic ways. Yes.
It worked, and I was almost falling asleep. I think I remember him getting to 92, looking all sullen and taxed. Perfect representation of how I was feeling. Perhaps this is the key to the chalk board game. Pick someone to go to the board who suits your mood.
But, of course, I woke up again.
I think, though, that I got about 4 hours.
And I am psyched that I woke up at about 5:00 and realized that there was no way in fuck D was going to get up at 7:30 on his own, so I set my cell phone.
Thankfully, because did he get up? No.
He said "How did you sleep?" and I said "Not at all" and he said nothing. And then he started singing some stupid song and I wanted to sing a song about how irrational it is to be jealous of people who sleep and how insomniacs must want to kill people who have gotten 9 hours of sleep and who have enough energy to sing stupid songs at 7:30 am.
But I didn't, because I have no energy. Because I haven't slept. Or eaten. And I have lots of work to do. And might be having a piano moved. And definitely have to pack for hours tonight. And then have to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.
It will all be over tomorrow.
I will have sheets on my bed in my new apartment and a towel over my bedroom window and I will sleep like the dead.
Incidentally, I had the following waking dream last night while trying to sleep:
I was at a show and it turned out that Eugene Mirman was headlining. There was some sort of drama with getting tickets, but somehow we had them. At the end of the show, Eugene Mirman came up to me and was like "Hey - I know you! Thanks for coming! How do I know you?" In the dream I was hot for Eugene Mirman and was all flustered by his talking to me. I was like "Well, I went to school in western MA. I think you did, too?" He was like "Yeah, but you look familiar. I feel like I know you." I said "Well, yeah, funny, I was actually in a talent show with you. Ummm. Not that I have any talent, but yeah. I think that's how you know me." He was like "Oh! YEAH! I remember. You were good. You were cute." I got all awkward, mainly because D was standing right behind me and I wanted to be like "Oh, please, you shouldn't... but please... go on...." Minutes later, after he had gone on and was telling me that I had a good voice etc., his girlfriend, a gorgeous and tall model-type appeared. I thought "Further evidence that funny men who aren't particularly hot get really hot chicks" and "Shit, of COURSE he has a girlfriend." I was nice, and said "What do you do?" and then she started to sing. Amazing voice. She said "I'm an opera singer." And I felt like shit. She said "What do you do?" and I said "Nothing."
I got neither.
A bunch of us went out for drinks at the Fat Black Pussy Cat for Cinco De Mayo. Given my stress level as of late, one might say that I drank a bit too much. I won't apologize. I deserved it!
I could have had more to drink, but D exclaimed "I want to go" so I said "Ummm... ok? I guess?"
We left and D said "What do you want for dinner?" Oh, the things I wanted for dinner! I haven't been eating right/enough lately what with stress and the desire to consume all of the food in my apartment so as not to have to throw away or transport it. This has made for weird meals such as cereal with a side of Cheez-Its, and far too many peanut butter sandwiches on slightly bad bread with slightly bad peanut butter. Tonight? Waffles!
Anyway, I said "How about pizza? Or Thai? Or Indian!!! Or ITALIAN! I want raviolis!" Starving, folks, because, again, haven't had much time for lunches these days and dinners have been abominations. D said "Well, actually, I was hoping to not have to buy anything. You know."
OK. "How about an omelette?" he said, to which I said "No, I had an omelette for lunch," because I'd had an omelette for lunch because my body was crumbling and when you order an omelette you get all sorts of nourishment - protein, carbs, pickles on the side.
"What about crepes?" I suggested, since he's been dying to try his new crepe pan from Reading Terminal Market. He found that agreeable until I said "But can we not do chocolate ones? I need real sustenance." He said "Well, what would you put in them?" I said "Spinach? Vegetables? Cheese!" He said "I don't have any vegetables and I don't really want to buy them. Buying vegetables would be like eating out."
"Ummmm. OK."
The subject was dropped and when we left he started heading towards the supermarket, and I was like "Where are we going?" and he was like "To get vegetables?" and I was like "No! We can come up with something!" I knew he didn't want to do it, and who am I to suggest my boyfriend do something he doesn't want to do?
I said "I really want raviolis" and D said "Oh! I have cheese tortellini!"
YES!
We got back to his place and he started making the tortellini. Shortly thereafter, the room began to spin. Shortly after that, I was lying on D's bed thinking "This must be what vertigo is like - how awful!" when D said "So remember how I was telling you that the last time I ate these it was the worst meal of my life? I still haven't decided if it was the sauce or the tortellini."
I said "D, I think I'm just going to get a bagel or something" and he was like "No! I promise it won't be bad this time."
Heh.
Worst thing ever. Definitely the tortellini. I would side against room temperature cheese on any given day, especially cheese that claims to be ricotta but clearly is not. Vile. I had three of them and gave up and ended up not eating dinner.
Not good. Not good at all. I am very, very, very hungry right now.
I thought "Well, at least not eating dinner might help me to sleep, right? I'll just pass out! It will be lovely!" D's mother called, he ate, and I did fall asleep! Bliss!
Until D said "LEAH! There was this other thing I wanted to tell you... wah wah wah wah wah wah..." No idea what he said because I'd passed out, and because all I could hear was "I realize you haven't had a good night's sleep in at least a week, and I see you sleeping right there, so I thought I'd wake you up and tell you something inconsequential!"
So that was that. About 5 minutes later (and, folks, be made aware that this is all happening at around 9:45) D was curled up beside me passed out himself, snoring. And I was wide awake because he'd woken me up, and I was becoming increasingly cross with the snoring. And I was cross because he'd refused to set the alarm, because he said "Dude, we're going to get SO MUCH SLEEP. There's no way I'm not going to wake up." Uh-huh. Right. If I don't get into work at 8:00 my piano is not going to be moved, if my piano is even going to be moved. Ergh. The snoring. The hunger.
All irrational. All totally and completely irrational.
I got up and realized that I was in prison. I kept thinking "I am neither sleeping nor eating nor packing. This is not good."
I don't know how couples can live in a studio. No idea. I kept thinking "I wish there was somewhere else for me to go! Where am I supposed to go? I am wide awake and am freaking out and he's dead asleep and peaceful."
My stress level as of late is through the roof. Lots going on and feeling like I am all alone in the world. I thought "Shit, if there was another room, I'd call some friends who actually want to talk to me right now, unlike my boyfriend who has passed out and is preventing me from sleeping and eating" or "I could watch TV in another room if there was another room!" or "I could go through D's books and read one of them, except I can't because I can't turn on the light in this studio because he is asleep!"
I wish I'd been coherent enough to think "Ah ha! D is asleep! I can LEAVE and either get a meal or go home and pack and then sleep there!" But no. I was all emo and stressed and wanting desperately to sleep.
I did think "If I went back to Brooklyn now, I could be in bed by 11:30 but I'd
have to get up at 6:45 in order to get into work by 8:00. If I stay here, maybe
I'll fall asleep a bit later but I'll be able to get up later because I am 5 minutes from work."
Ah, the rational ways of insomniacs. These seemed like legitimate arguments at 10:00.
I decided to pretend that D's bathroom was the living room, so I hooked up the space heater, put it on the toilet bowl, turned it on, sat on the tiled floor and started to make phone calls. RR was out celebrating Cinco de Mayo, so I thought "Who is of great comfort to me? Who can I say 'Dude, I'm drunk and tired and stressed' to and will not be like 'Dude, stop worrying!'?" M!
I called M and she gave me good advice. She said "What you need to do is imagine someone - or yourself - writing the number 100 on a chalk board and then imagine them looking at it and then slowly erasing it. Then, repeat but with 99. It has to be boring. It's a variant on counting sheep."
GENIUS.
I spoke with her for a bit and then said "M, thanks for the advice. I shall try this right now!" By then I think it was probably 10:30.
I went back to bed and was hoping for D to be awake and for him to ask me how I was doing but no. Dead asleep.
I crawled onto his bed and closed my eyes and pictured a chalk board.
OK.
I knew what to do.
I am walking up to the chalk board and I am going to write the number 100.
Except that instead of writing on the chalk board, I pulled out a cup of a banana pudding from a brown bag and ate it.
Shit.
Try again. Think chalk. Only this time, I approached the chalk board and ate Pad Thai.
NO!
Think think think. Concentrate.
Write on the chalk board. Don't think about food.
Numbers.
Boring numbers.
Good yummy garlic bread!
NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I decided that this method wasn't useful to me since it required so much concentration to just even think about numbers that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep. I was curious as to whether I could think of 100 items of food, but realized that was just a guarantee to be awake forever.
Crap.
Hours passed and sleep did not come. I was doing the typical insomniac manuever of "If I fall asleep right now, I'll get 7 hours! That's totally enough! I mean, I haven't gotten more than 4 hours in forever, so 7 will seem like tons compared to that! And then I'll go in and work with radioactivity at the crack of dawn and then stay up all night tomorrow night packing and then get up at 6 on Saturday and I'll be fucking fine fine fine!" Except this was all conjecture, since D doesn't believe in clocks. Every now and then I'd turn on my cell phone just to see what time it was. It was always discouraging, especially given that I could have conceivably gone to bed at 9:30 and gotten 10 hours of sleep if someone didn't feel compelled to wake me up.
At around 12:30 I thought "OK, 7 hours. I can get 7 hours. This needs to work. It's been about an hour and a half since the chalk board thing and maybe its about time we give this another try!"
I decided that the best way to do it would be to think of someone else at the chalk board, and it would be someone who wasn't starving to death and someone who hasn't lost 5 pounds this week.
My delirious mind conjured up the chalk board, and a man approached. "He's going to write 100, I just know it!" I thought. And he did! And then he turned around and revealed himself to be Colin Farrell.
Meeeeowwwww! Colin Farrell, hottttt. Oh yes, Colin Farrell, write 99! Just don't face me again because I can't think about numbers when you are in the room. How can I think about chalk at a time like this, when you keep looking at me coyly?
Oh, my post-drunk mind. WHY!?!??!?!
I thought "This is fucking ridiculous. Why Colin Farrell? Where did he come from? OK. Think of someone who looks really bland. Someone really boring. Right. Someone who will make you tired just thinking about them!"
Thom Yorke. Yes. Thom Yorke will put me to sleep. His droopy eyes will convince me that I am tired! His lethargic ways. Yes.
It worked, and I was almost falling asleep. I think I remember him getting to 92, looking all sullen and taxed. Perfect representation of how I was feeling. Perhaps this is the key to the chalk board game. Pick someone to go to the board who suits your mood.
But, of course, I woke up again.
I think, though, that I got about 4 hours.
And I am psyched that I woke up at about 5:00 and realized that there was no way in fuck D was going to get up at 7:30 on his own, so I set my cell phone.
Thankfully, because did he get up? No.
He said "How did you sleep?" and I said "Not at all" and he said nothing. And then he started singing some stupid song and I wanted to sing a song about how irrational it is to be jealous of people who sleep and how insomniacs must want to kill people who have gotten 9 hours of sleep and who have enough energy to sing stupid songs at 7:30 am.
But I didn't, because I have no energy. Because I haven't slept. Or eaten. And I have lots of work to do. And might be having a piano moved. And definitely have to pack for hours tonight. And then have to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.
It will all be over tomorrow.
I will have sheets on my bed in my new apartment and a towel over my bedroom window and I will sleep like the dead.
Incidentally, I had the following waking dream last night while trying to sleep:
I was at a show and it turned out that Eugene Mirman was headlining. There was some sort of drama with getting tickets, but somehow we had them. At the end of the show, Eugene Mirman came up to me and was like "Hey - I know you! Thanks for coming! How do I know you?" In the dream I was hot for Eugene Mirman and was all flustered by his talking to me. I was like "Well, I went to school in western MA. I think you did, too?" He was like "Yeah, but you look familiar. I feel like I know you." I said "Well, yeah, funny, I was actually in a talent show with you. Ummm. Not that I have any talent, but yeah. I think that's how you know me." He was like "Oh! YEAH! I remember. You were good. You were cute." I got all awkward, mainly because D was standing right behind me and I wanted to be like "Oh, please, you shouldn't... but please... go on...." Minutes later, after he had gone on and was telling me that I had a good voice etc., his girlfriend, a gorgeous and tall model-type appeared. I thought "Further evidence that funny men who aren't particularly hot get really hot chicks" and "Shit, of COURSE he has a girlfriend." I was nice, and said "What do you do?" and then she started to sing. Amazing voice. She said "I'm an opera singer." And I felt like shit. She said "What do you do?" and I said "Nothing."
Thursday, May 05, 2005
The Last Time
Knowing that you're doing something for the last time is really sad.
Seeing someone that you know you're seeing for the last time is even more sad.
Most of the time, you don't know that what you're doing is the last time you'll do it. Or, you don't know that the conversation you're having with someone is the last time you'll ever speak to them. Or, you're somewhere and you don't think to think "This is the last time I'll ever be here."
That's sad too, but at least you get to be happy and normal during those last times.
Ignorance is bliss.
I am thinking about the last time I saw The Sandwich Who Shall Not Be Named and I am thinking "Man, if I had known that would be the last time things would have been so different." There are things that are huge parts of your life that just disappear without your having had a say.
I guess knowing things are going to disappear suggests a certain amount of power over a situation. That doesn't, however, make things easier.
Most of the last time things I am doing this week aren't enough to make me sad. This morning I thought "This is the last time I'll ever take a shower in The Loft!" and then thought "Huh. Interesting."
Last night I said "Wait! D! This is the last time we're ever going to be sleeping in The Loft together!" He had no response to its being the last time. I was like "But D, this is the location of the first time! This is where it all began! You were the first person I met in NY who set foot in The Loft! You were here riding Roommate's bike around the loft during my second week here! This is where you put up the post-it note on my wall that said 'Kiss D' after Bench Buddy's party! This is where you first said 'I love you!'" He then said "Huh. I guess it just hasn't hit me."
I have to admit that I don't have much sentimental attachment to The Loft. I always knew it was temporary. But I am attached to the little things that happened there, such as the previously mentioned post-it note. Things like RR coming down for the karaoke party, my entire family being able to stay with me at the same time, Roommate's Cat, D and I giggling and getting-to-know-each-other on the couch on New Year's Eve, M's suggestions for shelf systems, bitching to N and RR all night long while it snowed outside, LBF and I creeping around while an unwanted Canadian slept in my bed, cooking dinner with PW, talking to Sister all morning about how weird death is, wondering if DirectTV interfered with my cell phone reception, drinking wine in the early days with Roommate when New York was new and things were overwhelming.
Things are still overwhelming. I haven't settled in at all. The new apartment will be a good opportunity to feel settled and feel like myself. I haven't felt like myself since I moved here. This is most likely because there hasn't been time. Hopefully having a new apartment in the city and having time to myself will remind me of why I've chosen this.
Anyway, melodrama aside, I took the L to work this morning for the last time. No more L! Life is good. I basically skipped to the subway, waving to all of the places I'll miss but that can be visited. Ah, Asian/Organic supermarket with the sesame sticks, I will miss you but I will be back! Ah, adorable boutique with the fabulous clothes I cannot afford, you will torture me no more! Ah, Relish! We will meet again! Oh, Anytime, I wish you would deliver to Manhattan. Sigh.
So I walked down the stairs of the L and nearly burst into tears, because I'd forgotten about my favorite subway musicians! I listened and tried to hold it together. They are the cutest things ever - older white gentleman who wears a black winter hat and black jacket and plays violin and looks Italian but is probably Russian playing with an adorable little (Mexican?) man with a pot belly who plays classical guitar and who never stops smiling. They play together a few times a week at the Bedford Ave. stop and they are amazing. They love what they do and dance and nod as the riders walk by. I would pay all sorts of money to see them non-subway-style. They are happiness.
I wrote down their names. I wanted to buy their CDs to commemorate The Last Time but the train came and I didn't want to interrupt them.
I almost wish I hadn't seen them, because then I could think back to the last time I saw them and be nostalgic instead of dramatic.
Sigh.
Now I'm sad about potato knishes at Pita Power. When was my last one? I don't know!
Seeing someone that you know you're seeing for the last time is even more sad.
Most of the time, you don't know that what you're doing is the last time you'll do it. Or, you don't know that the conversation you're having with someone is the last time you'll ever speak to them. Or, you're somewhere and you don't think to think "This is the last time I'll ever be here."
That's sad too, but at least you get to be happy and normal during those last times.
Ignorance is bliss.
I am thinking about the last time I saw The Sandwich Who Shall Not Be Named and I am thinking "Man, if I had known that would be the last time things would have been so different." There are things that are huge parts of your life that just disappear without your having had a say.
I guess knowing things are going to disappear suggests a certain amount of power over a situation. That doesn't, however, make things easier.
Most of the last time things I am doing this week aren't enough to make me sad. This morning I thought "This is the last time I'll ever take a shower in The Loft!" and then thought "Huh. Interesting."
Last night I said "Wait! D! This is the last time we're ever going to be sleeping in The Loft together!" He had no response to its being the last time. I was like "But D, this is the location of the first time! This is where it all began! You were the first person I met in NY who set foot in The Loft! You were here riding Roommate's bike around the loft during my second week here! This is where you put up the post-it note on my wall that said 'Kiss D' after Bench Buddy's party! This is where you first said 'I love you!'" He then said "Huh. I guess it just hasn't hit me."
I have to admit that I don't have much sentimental attachment to The Loft. I always knew it was temporary. But I am attached to the little things that happened there, such as the previously mentioned post-it note. Things like RR coming down for the karaoke party, my entire family being able to stay with me at the same time, Roommate's Cat, D and I giggling and getting-to-know-each-other on the couch on New Year's Eve, M's suggestions for shelf systems, bitching to N and RR all night long while it snowed outside, LBF and I creeping around while an unwanted Canadian slept in my bed, cooking dinner with PW, talking to Sister all morning about how weird death is, wondering if DirectTV interfered with my cell phone reception, drinking wine in the early days with Roommate when New York was new and things were overwhelming.
Things are still overwhelming. I haven't settled in at all. The new apartment will be a good opportunity to feel settled and feel like myself. I haven't felt like myself since I moved here. This is most likely because there hasn't been time. Hopefully having a new apartment in the city and having time to myself will remind me of why I've chosen this.
Anyway, melodrama aside, I took the L to work this morning for the last time. No more L! Life is good. I basically skipped to the subway, waving to all of the places I'll miss but that can be visited. Ah, Asian/Organic supermarket with the sesame sticks, I will miss you but I will be back! Ah, adorable boutique with the fabulous clothes I cannot afford, you will torture me no more! Ah, Relish! We will meet again! Oh, Anytime, I wish you would deliver to Manhattan. Sigh.
So I walked down the stairs of the L and nearly burst into tears, because I'd forgotten about my favorite subway musicians! I listened and tried to hold it together. They are the cutest things ever - older white gentleman who wears a black winter hat and black jacket and plays violin and looks Italian but is probably Russian playing with an adorable little (Mexican?) man with a pot belly who plays classical guitar and who never stops smiling. They play together a few times a week at the Bedford Ave. stop and they are amazing. They love what they do and dance and nod as the riders walk by. I would pay all sorts of money to see them non-subway-style. They are happiness.
I wrote down their names. I wanted to buy their CDs to commemorate The Last Time but the train came and I didn't want to interrupt them.
I almost wish I hadn't seen them, because then I could think back to the last time I saw them and be nostalgic instead of dramatic.
Sigh.
Now I'm sad about potato knishes at Pita Power. When was my last one? I don't know!
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Today
I....
1. ...am thinking "It's good to be small because nobody ever asks you to help them move!"
2. ...am thrilled to have seen a mid-40's man walking down the street carrying a bag in his right hand and shaving his head with his left hand. Seriously. Walking at a completely normal rate whilst shaving his head with an electric razor.
3. ...am wondering "What do normal people do when told by a doctor 'You have cancer'?" Am betting they don't think "Huh."
4. ...am officially feeling like a grown-up for the first time in my life because I considered my response to #3 realistically for the first time in my life. Have decided that the sudden realization of mortality is a part of adulthood.
5. ...am glad that I don't have to realistically consider my response to the question posed in #3 but
6. ...am wondering, if I did have to respond to the statement in #3, how to change the response from "Huh" to "I know exactly what I will do with my last moments" or "I know exactly who I will spend my last moments with" or "I will kick the ass of cancer because I have so much to live for!"
7. ...am getting psyched about NetFlix and can't wait to construct an elaborate spreadsheet detailing all of the movies I need to see.
8. ...am wishing for a world without deductibles, because in a world without deductibles, I could have cable for a year instead.
9. ...am wondering why everyone in the world wants to buy my bookshelves but nobody wants my fabulous pink lampshade from Miami.
10. ...am wondering how I am working, well, how I am even awake, given that I am the most tired I've ever been in my life.
11. ...am thinking about Martin Short, who was in class last night. Am thinking about his philosophy of success, and think that I might employ the Martin-Short-Method of life assessment. It involves a report card. I think its a great idea, but my grades-to-be are already scaring me. Am thinking Martin Short would be a good writer of a self-help book.
12. ...am thinking that it is INSANE that another person at work has exactly what D had a few months back. Am wishing I was a member of the CDC and could track this virus or bacteria to the source and STOP IT! Am paranoid that this suggests that I could, ahem, contract it. Am thrilled by the fact that someone has indicated that "other people have reported similar symptoms." Outbreak! It could be a freak coincidence, but really. How exciting.
13. ...am hungry.
14. ...am procrastinating lunch for some reason.
15. ...am wondering what to rename "MyMundaneLifeInSong.com" given that I have sold my keyboard to afford moving the piano, which means that there will be no music! Well, there could be music, and then an internet cafe to post music. Any ideas? MyMundaneLifeInBlog? I don't know. Brain... has... ceased... functioning....
16. ...am annoyed by feeling that I have been reduced to a person who only packs, coordinates moves, and gets medical tests. I feel boring. I feel like I haven't had fun in ages. I feel like I am only dates and times and phone calls and confirmations and planning. I want to just go to a movie. Or see the Basquiat show. Or walk around aimlessly instead of in search of CD envelopes.
17. ...am mystified as to how Best Buy has sold out of CD envelopes! I have converted to a new system for CD storage that I am excited about (although not as excited as I was yesterday after D said last night when he said "I don't like the way it looks. I am going to make my own," which made me feel like I am without taste and also without function and made me feel like I wanted to cry) but that requires CD envelopes. I don't like the paper ones. Makes me nervous. Scratches. No good! I want the cloth-y ones. You know the kind. Anyway, I did a pilot of this system last Tuesday on my way to class - bought one container, bought one set of envelopes (I toyed with buying many envelopes but thought "Well, what if I hate it? Plus, they have about 50 BOXES OF ENVELOPES, so I can just come back whenever and buy tons of them"), went home on Wednesday and decided "Yes! This is good for now." I ordered more boxes online (because Best Buy had only one in stock) and then went back for envelopes on Sunday. There were NONE! Seriosly, there were TONS OF THEM on Tuesday. I bought three boxes of rainbow ones (hideous, but literally all they had) and decided to go back last night after the restocking I was convinced would occur. Again, NONE. Weird.
18. ...am certain there is a counterpart of me out there in NYC who had the exact same "Eureeka!" moment about his CD's as I did at the exact same moment, and went back on Saturday and bought 5000 CD envelopes. I don't know if I should hate him or love him. I think love.
19. ...am now really hungry and am going to go to lunch.
20. ...am sad I couldn't think of 20 things. Boring boring boring moving-doctor's-appointment-robot. Awful.
1. ...am thinking "It's good to be small because nobody ever asks you to help them move!"
2. ...am thrilled to have seen a mid-40's man walking down the street carrying a bag in his right hand and shaving his head with his left hand. Seriously. Walking at a completely normal rate whilst shaving his head with an electric razor.
3. ...am wondering "What do normal people do when told by a doctor 'You have cancer'?" Am betting they don't think "Huh."
4. ...am officially feeling like a grown-up for the first time in my life because I considered my response to #3 realistically for the first time in my life. Have decided that the sudden realization of mortality is a part of adulthood.
5. ...am glad that I don't have to realistically consider my response to the question posed in #3 but
6. ...am wondering, if I did have to respond to the statement in #3, how to change the response from "Huh" to "I know exactly what I will do with my last moments" or "I know exactly who I will spend my last moments with" or "I will kick the ass of cancer because I have so much to live for!"
7. ...am getting psyched about NetFlix and can't wait to construct an elaborate spreadsheet detailing all of the movies I need to see.
8. ...am wishing for a world without deductibles, because in a world without deductibles, I could have cable for a year instead.
9. ...am wondering why everyone in the world wants to buy my bookshelves but nobody wants my fabulous pink lampshade from Miami.
10. ...am wondering how I am working, well, how I am even awake, given that I am the most tired I've ever been in my life.
11. ...am thinking about Martin Short, who was in class last night. Am thinking about his philosophy of success, and think that I might employ the Martin-Short-Method of life assessment. It involves a report card. I think its a great idea, but my grades-to-be are already scaring me. Am thinking Martin Short would be a good writer of a self-help book.
12. ...am thinking that it is INSANE that another person at work has exactly what D had a few months back. Am wishing I was a member of the CDC and could track this virus or bacteria to the source and STOP IT! Am paranoid that this suggests that I could, ahem, contract it. Am thrilled by the fact that someone has indicated that "other people have reported similar symptoms." Outbreak! It could be a freak coincidence, but really. How exciting.
13. ...am hungry.
14. ...am procrastinating lunch for some reason.
15. ...am wondering what to rename "MyMundaneLifeInSong.com" given that I have sold my keyboard to afford moving the piano, which means that there will be no music! Well, there could be music, and then an internet cafe to post music. Any ideas? MyMundaneLifeInBlog? I don't know. Brain... has... ceased... functioning....
16. ...am annoyed by feeling that I have been reduced to a person who only packs, coordinates moves, and gets medical tests. I feel boring. I feel like I haven't had fun in ages. I feel like I am only dates and times and phone calls and confirmations and planning. I want to just go to a movie. Or see the Basquiat show. Or walk around aimlessly instead of in search of CD envelopes.
17. ...am mystified as to how Best Buy has sold out of CD envelopes! I have converted to a new system for CD storage that I am excited about (although not as excited as I was yesterday after D said last night when he said "I don't like the way it looks. I am going to make my own," which made me feel like I am without taste and also without function and made me feel like I wanted to cry) but that requires CD envelopes. I don't like the paper ones. Makes me nervous. Scratches. No good! I want the cloth-y ones. You know the kind. Anyway, I did a pilot of this system last Tuesday on my way to class - bought one container, bought one set of envelopes (I toyed with buying many envelopes but thought "Well, what if I hate it? Plus, they have about 50 BOXES OF ENVELOPES, so I can just come back whenever and buy tons of them"), went home on Wednesday and decided "Yes! This is good for now." I ordered more boxes online (because Best Buy had only one in stock) and then went back for envelopes on Sunday. There were NONE! Seriosly, there were TONS OF THEM on Tuesday. I bought three boxes of rainbow ones (hideous, but literally all they had) and decided to go back last night after the restocking I was convinced would occur. Again, NONE. Weird.
18. ...am certain there is a counterpart of me out there in NYC who had the exact same "Eureeka!" moment about his CD's as I did at the exact same moment, and went back on Saturday and bought 5000 CD envelopes. I don't know if I should hate him or love him. I think love.
19. ...am now really hungry and am going to go to lunch.
20. ...am sad I couldn't think of 20 things. Boring boring boring moving-doctor's-appointment-robot. Awful.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Pots On!
I am so tired.
I haven't had a good night's sleep in ages.
This is of particular concern as I will be starting to move at 8am on Saturday and up all night Friday packing for said move. I will be out on Thursday night consuming much-needed drinks for R's birthday. Tomorrow night - packing! And hopefully selling some stuff that I posted on Craigslist. Tonight - class, and possibly Bed, Bath, and Beyond, because suddenly I am concerned about things like curtains and colanders.
If I pull this off I will be amazed.
All sorts of drama with movers and piano movers and freight elevaotors and work and shelves and measurements and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am very tired today because I went to see Eugene Mirman and some other comics at Pianos last night for their recording of a CD/DVD for Comedy Central.
Yes, folks, Eugene Mirman. You read that right!
Some of you are thinking "Eugene Mirman... that sounds familiar... how do I know...."
YES! It is the VERY SAME EUGENE MIRMAN who was featured in the very same Orgy of Talents as Leah Lar way back in the day!
Yes, folks, picture it: the debut and demise of The Orchard Hillbillies. You might forget Eugene Mirman because you were too busy revelling in the Fleetwood-Mac-like-drama that plagued the Hillbillies backstage. Or, you may have been too busy singing along with "Ridin' on the City of New Orleee-ans...."
Or, you might remember Eugene Mirman because he was DAMN FUNNY.
He still is DAMN FUNNY. He has a bizarre sense of humor, which makes me damn happy. He has a weekly show in NYC. Awshummmm.
The show allegedly started at 8:00, and did not start until 9:00. It went until 11:30, and because I am old, I could not function. And of course we had to stop for Breadsticks at Domino's on the way home. And then had to hang out, because we hadn't seen each other since Friday!, which, as D said, really isn't that long, but it feels like forever.
I said "It's because we've gotten used to sharing our lives, so when we don't, it feels weird. And weirdness feels like eternity."
The show was great, though, and I have decided that all jobs should be like stand-up comedy.
For example, when I get into work in the morning, I should bring a beer with me into the lab. Then, as the day goes on, someone should just hand me beers when I am at the bench. Well, not beer for me, because I don't like beer. Maybe a glass of wine, and when I mess up an experiment, I'll shrug my shoulders and say "Man, this is a tough crowd" and pound the glass.
And, if someone is doing something stupid, I should be able to heckle them. I could say things like "YOU SUCK!" and throw a Kim Wipe at the guy in the next bay. That's the best I could do, because I suck at heckling because I think its mean. It would still be fun.
And when I mess up an experiment, I could just blame the fact that its "new material" that I haven't tried before, and everyone would laugh instead of getting all stressed out.
Yes.
As stressful as standup comedy must be, it has its perks.
OK. I'm off to Bed, Bath, and Beyond!!! which actually sounds somewhat sci-fi if you say it dramatically. Watch out, world, I am going to have my very own garlic press in an hour!!!
I haven't had a good night's sleep in ages.
This is of particular concern as I will be starting to move at 8am on Saturday and up all night Friday packing for said move. I will be out on Thursday night consuming much-needed drinks for R's birthday. Tomorrow night - packing! And hopefully selling some stuff that I posted on Craigslist. Tonight - class, and possibly Bed, Bath, and Beyond, because suddenly I am concerned about things like curtains and colanders.
If I pull this off I will be amazed.
All sorts of drama with movers and piano movers and freight elevaotors and work and shelves and measurements and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am very tired today because I went to see Eugene Mirman and some other comics at Pianos last night for their recording of a CD/DVD for Comedy Central.
Yes, folks, Eugene Mirman. You read that right!
Some of you are thinking "Eugene Mirman... that sounds familiar... how do I know...."
YES! It is the VERY SAME EUGENE MIRMAN who was featured in the very same Orgy of Talents as Leah Lar way back in the day!
Yes, folks, picture it: the debut and demise of The Orchard Hillbillies. You might forget Eugene Mirman because you were too busy revelling in the Fleetwood-Mac-like-drama that plagued the Hillbillies backstage. Or, you may have been too busy singing along with "Ridin' on the City of New Orleee-ans...."
Or, you might remember Eugene Mirman because he was DAMN FUNNY.
He still is DAMN FUNNY. He has a bizarre sense of humor, which makes me damn happy. He has a weekly show in NYC. Awshummmm.
The show allegedly started at 8:00, and did not start until 9:00. It went until 11:30, and because I am old, I could not function. And of course we had to stop for Breadsticks at Domino's on the way home. And then had to hang out, because we hadn't seen each other since Friday!, which, as D said, really isn't that long, but it feels like forever.
I said "It's because we've gotten used to sharing our lives, so when we don't, it feels weird. And weirdness feels like eternity."
The show was great, though, and I have decided that all jobs should be like stand-up comedy.
For example, when I get into work in the morning, I should bring a beer with me into the lab. Then, as the day goes on, someone should just hand me beers when I am at the bench. Well, not beer for me, because I don't like beer. Maybe a glass of wine, and when I mess up an experiment, I'll shrug my shoulders and say "Man, this is a tough crowd" and pound the glass.
And, if someone is doing something stupid, I should be able to heckle them. I could say things like "YOU SUCK!" and throw a Kim Wipe at the guy in the next bay. That's the best I could do, because I suck at heckling because I think its mean. It would still be fun.
And when I mess up an experiment, I could just blame the fact that its "new material" that I haven't tried before, and everyone would laugh instead of getting all stressed out.
Yes.
As stressful as standup comedy must be, it has its perks.
OK. I'm off to Bed, Bath, and Beyond!!! which actually sounds somewhat sci-fi if you say it dramatically. Watch out, world, I am going to have my very own garlic press in an hour!!!
Monday, May 02, 2005
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Bye-bye, Loft
Roommate is on the phone, talking really loudly.
I am exhausted. I need sleep.
Instead I am up and blogging, because, well, she's loud.
Really, really, loud.
But you know what?
This is the last time, ever, that this will be a problem, because this is my Last Weekend In the Loft!
I am not feeling at all sentimental. I think its because I never settled in here, because I knew it was temporary.
I spent yesterday packing, and, again, felt nothing. When I moved out of Hall Street, every time I put something in a box I wanted to break down and weep. Everything had a memory attached to it, everything belonged there. I have no attachment to this place whatsoever. I think I've always felt like a poser here. Hopefully I'll feel like me in the new apartment.
And here, for your viewing pleasure, is the new apartment!!!!
I am very excited. Stressed, but excited. I don't have enough boxes. I am disorganized. I haven't sold everything. I haven't changed my address on things. I haven't cancelled cable. I haven't put up shelves. I don't have anything for anyone to sit on in the new place. I don't have anything, really. Sigh. Much to do.
I have, however, sold my keyboard for cash! I have hired two guys to help unload the truck. I have secured a truck although that means nothing. I have secured piano movers although I don't know when we're going to move the piano because the superintendent of my building will not call me back to tell me if/when I can use the freight elevator.
It's going to be fine, and soon I will be able to start feeling comfortable in NYC!
I am exhausted. I need sleep.
Instead I am up and blogging, because, well, she's loud.
Really, really, loud.
But you know what?
This is the last time, ever, that this will be a problem, because this is my Last Weekend In the Loft!
I am not feeling at all sentimental. I think its because I never settled in here, because I knew it was temporary.
I spent yesterday packing, and, again, felt nothing. When I moved out of Hall Street, every time I put something in a box I wanted to break down and weep. Everything had a memory attached to it, everything belonged there. I have no attachment to this place whatsoever. I think I've always felt like a poser here. Hopefully I'll feel like me in the new apartment.
And here, for your viewing pleasure, is the new apartment!!!!
I am very excited. Stressed, but excited. I don't have enough boxes. I am disorganized. I haven't sold everything. I haven't changed my address on things. I haven't cancelled cable. I haven't put up shelves. I don't have anything for anyone to sit on in the new place. I don't have anything, really. Sigh. Much to do.
I have, however, sold my keyboard for cash! I have hired two guys to help unload the truck. I have secured a truck although that means nothing. I have secured piano movers although I don't know when we're going to move the piano because the superintendent of my building will not call me back to tell me if/when I can use the freight elevator.
It's going to be fine, and soon I will be able to start feeling comfortable in NYC!
Last Time In The Loo - Day 3
On our last day in The Loo, we spent a great portion of the early afternoon trying to decide what to do in The Loo.
Brother, who actually lives in Edwardsville, IL, is not overly familiar with the city. After hours of debate, we decided to go to The City Museumt prior to checking out the Wash U MFA gallery show.
First, though, Brother suggested that we have some authentic midwestern pizza at Imo's! Brother had described the pizza to us. For whatever reason, pizza in the midwest is made with Provel cheese instead of mozzarella. Rumor has it that this is because Provel cheese is made in IL or St. Louis or something. Sister, who worked at Panera bread (originally St. Louis Bread Co. - yes! I am SUCH a fan) said that she told customers that Provel is a combination of Provolone and American cheese, which actually sounds good, just not as a pizza topping. Brother kept saying "Look I'm not taking you there because it's going to be a good meal. It's just that you have to try it."
We got there and Father found a coupon for a free 2-liter bottle of Pepsi with a purchase of a pizza, so instead of my getting a small Pepsi, I was handed a 2-liter bottle. Yeah.
The pizza:
It was cut in squares and was edible. I'd never eat it again, unless I was utterly and completely starving, which I was when we ate this. It tasted like a microwave pizza. Namely, Celeste. Ewwww.
On our way into the city, Father said "We have to stop at the arch!" I've been to St. Louis four times and have never actually stopped at the Arch. I have millions of photos of it from afar, but never actually walked up to it. People resisted this idea, but thankfully father insisted.
Photo Credit: Sister
The Arch, The Gateway To The West, is spectacular. When you stand directly underneath it, it looks like its shaking and you feel dizzy.
People from the east call it The Asshole Of The East, which I think is funny. But now that I've seen it up close, I don't think its as funny. Apparently you can take a ride in the Arch, which is not something I ever want to do.
We headed into the city and parked near the City Museum, because there is a ton of parking in St. Louis. This is because there are very few people in St. Louis. When we got into the City Museum, we realized that not only is it quite expensive (Brother had only ever been at night - it is open until 1 am - when it is cheaper) but that it was populated by millions of children. The prices changed at 5:00, so we decided to not go and to perhaps come back at 5:00. I felt bad because my friend G was supposed to join us. I called him and said "Dude, there are a million kids. This is not a good idea. We may be back later."
It was about 3:00 at that point, so we had two hours to kill. We walked over to the MFA exhibit, which was actually in the middle of being taken down. Snap.
Ummmm.
We asked the kid who was taking it down "Are there any other good galleries around here?" He said "Blah blah blah gallery is around the corner."
"What are they showing?" I asked.
"Landscapes."
Snap.
Brother had no idea what to do. We stood in the lobby of the gallery for about 20 minutes just looking at Brother really hard, hoping that he'd have an idea. He kept saying "There's really nothing to do!" He suggested, after a while, that we head to Delmar, where there are nice shops. Brother and I hung out there during my last visit when we went to The Tivoli Theater to see "The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra," the best movie of all time. There are cute shops. It's scene-y. I said "Maybe I can buy stuff for my new apartment there!" Yay!
Only one problem - Brother didn't know where we were in relation to Delmar. We finally found two dudes on the street and asked them "How do we get to the Tivoli?" They said "That way." Turns out we were on Delmar. Sweet!
We drove down Delmar for about 20 minutes, getting the not-so-scenic tour of whatever part of St. Louis we were in. St. Louis is different from other cities because it doesn't seem to be a walking city. You can drive for an hour and not see a single person or a single business. You'll see nothing but abandoned and scary looking warehouses and then bam! Beautiful residences.
Delmar just ended amidst the beautiful residences. We looped back around, perplexed, and just headed back in the direction we came from. By then it was getting late, and Brother said "Look, even if we figure this out, we're going to get there and have to turn around to go to the City Museum."
We scrapped the plan and went back to the City Museum. When we got there, there were still a million kids. Brother said "The City Museum is effective birth control."
We debated for an eternity - should we go in? Should The Parents go in? What package should we get? Is this going to be at all fun with a million kids in there? Sister desperately wanted to go in, so we finally, after much much much debate, decided to go in. I didn't call G because I was afraid that the plan could change at any second, or that the City Museum would crumble just because that was the sort of luck we were having that day.
So! The City Museum is the best place ever. There was a chance I would hate it, but I ended up liking it. I didn't take many pictures because, well, its all caves and tight spaces and climbing through ceilings through steel/wire tubing and crawling through tunnels under the museum. It would have been easier had I not had my camera at all.
It's in this huge building where they've erected caves and scaffolds and 8-story slides (see above). Sister described it as being "very Terry Gilliam," which it was. There was a lot of climbing and darkness and getting lost and desperately searching for more slides. The kids in the museum were nuts. Little bodies can sneak through any crevice. The museum is basically just a huge playground and its yours for the taking. There are signs everywhere saying that the museum is not responsible for injuries. I imagine there are many.
There was also an outside portion of the museum, but we didn't play there because it was a little cold out and also it was more money. Plus, I think I'd have had a heart attack.
We all had bruises and soreness after our adventure. But it was worth it. Fun in St. Louis! YAY!
We went for dinner and then headed back to Edwardsville, where we hung out with Brother's roommate's for a bit and then spent time discussing my relationship insecurities. I have the best siblings of all time, and am lucky to know so many people who support me.
I headed back on Sunday and had amazing flight luck! We got to the airport a little before we'd planned. My flight had been delayed already, so I would miss the connecting flight in O'Hare and most likely be stranded for a while. The standby earlier flight was already booked, but because I got there so early, they were able to put me on a direct flight on another airline that got me to Laguardia 2 hours before the original flight!
YES!
I had to undergo the complete bag check, which is always demoralizing because I am such a terrible packer. After checking my bag, the dude said "Miss! You look like you're in fashion... could you please tell these women that my glasses are in style?" This guy was about 60 years old and had old-school brown plastic scientist glasses. I was like "Oh, yes, those are TOTALLY coming back in." "See? TOLD YOU!" he said to the ladies, and then turned to me and said "Miss, you've made my day" and I said "No, you have made MY day." Because he really did make my day. I love cute, little things with cute, new people. Awshummmm.
My last trip to St. Louis was amazing. Being with my entire family was lovely. I can't wait to do it again. And I can't wait to see Brother again, because when I next see him, he will be back on the east coast for good! YEAH!
Brother, who actually lives in Edwardsville, IL, is not overly familiar with the city. After hours of debate, we decided to go to The City Museumt prior to checking out the Wash U MFA gallery show.
First, though, Brother suggested that we have some authentic midwestern pizza at Imo's! Brother had described the pizza to us. For whatever reason, pizza in the midwest is made with Provel cheese instead of mozzarella. Rumor has it that this is because Provel cheese is made in IL or St. Louis or something. Sister, who worked at Panera bread (originally St. Louis Bread Co. - yes! I am SUCH a fan) said that she told customers that Provel is a combination of Provolone and American cheese, which actually sounds good, just not as a pizza topping. Brother kept saying "Look I'm not taking you there because it's going to be a good meal. It's just that you have to try it."
We got there and Father found a coupon for a free 2-liter bottle of Pepsi with a purchase of a pizza, so instead of my getting a small Pepsi, I was handed a 2-liter bottle. Yeah.
The pizza:
It was cut in squares and was edible. I'd never eat it again, unless I was utterly and completely starving, which I was when we ate this. It tasted like a microwave pizza. Namely, Celeste. Ewwww.
On our way into the city, Father said "We have to stop at the arch!" I've been to St. Louis four times and have never actually stopped at the Arch. I have millions of photos of it from afar, but never actually walked up to it. People resisted this idea, but thankfully father insisted.
Photo Credit: Sister
The Arch, The Gateway To The West, is spectacular. When you stand directly underneath it, it looks like its shaking and you feel dizzy.
People from the east call it The Asshole Of The East, which I think is funny. But now that I've seen it up close, I don't think its as funny. Apparently you can take a ride in the Arch, which is not something I ever want to do.
We headed into the city and parked near the City Museum, because there is a ton of parking in St. Louis. This is because there are very few people in St. Louis. When we got into the City Museum, we realized that not only is it quite expensive (Brother had only ever been at night - it is open until 1 am - when it is cheaper) but that it was populated by millions of children. The prices changed at 5:00, so we decided to not go and to perhaps come back at 5:00. I felt bad because my friend G was supposed to join us. I called him and said "Dude, there are a million kids. This is not a good idea. We may be back later."
It was about 3:00 at that point, so we had two hours to kill. We walked over to the MFA exhibit, which was actually in the middle of being taken down. Snap.
Ummmm.
We asked the kid who was taking it down "Are there any other good galleries around here?" He said "Blah blah blah gallery is around the corner."
"What are they showing?" I asked.
"Landscapes."
Snap.
Brother had no idea what to do. We stood in the lobby of the gallery for about 20 minutes just looking at Brother really hard, hoping that he'd have an idea. He kept saying "There's really nothing to do!" He suggested, after a while, that we head to Delmar, where there are nice shops. Brother and I hung out there during my last visit when we went to The Tivoli Theater to see "The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra," the best movie of all time. There are cute shops. It's scene-y. I said "Maybe I can buy stuff for my new apartment there!" Yay!
Only one problem - Brother didn't know where we were in relation to Delmar. We finally found two dudes on the street and asked them "How do we get to the Tivoli?" They said "That way." Turns out we were on Delmar. Sweet!
We drove down Delmar for about 20 minutes, getting the not-so-scenic tour of whatever part of St. Louis we were in. St. Louis is different from other cities because it doesn't seem to be a walking city. You can drive for an hour and not see a single person or a single business. You'll see nothing but abandoned and scary looking warehouses and then bam! Beautiful residences.
Delmar just ended amidst the beautiful residences. We looped back around, perplexed, and just headed back in the direction we came from. By then it was getting late, and Brother said "Look, even if we figure this out, we're going to get there and have to turn around to go to the City Museum."
We scrapped the plan and went back to the City Museum. When we got there, there were still a million kids. Brother said "The City Museum is effective birth control."
We debated for an eternity - should we go in? Should The Parents go in? What package should we get? Is this going to be at all fun with a million kids in there? Sister desperately wanted to go in, so we finally, after much much much debate, decided to go in. I didn't call G because I was afraid that the plan could change at any second, or that the City Museum would crumble just because that was the sort of luck we were having that day.
So! The City Museum is the best place ever. There was a chance I would hate it, but I ended up liking it. I didn't take many pictures because, well, its all caves and tight spaces and climbing through ceilings through steel/wire tubing and crawling through tunnels under the museum. It would have been easier had I not had my camera at all.
It's in this huge building where they've erected caves and scaffolds and 8-story slides (see above). Sister described it as being "very Terry Gilliam," which it was. There was a lot of climbing and darkness and getting lost and desperately searching for more slides. The kids in the museum were nuts. Little bodies can sneak through any crevice. The museum is basically just a huge playground and its yours for the taking. There are signs everywhere saying that the museum is not responsible for injuries. I imagine there are many.
There was also an outside portion of the museum, but we didn't play there because it was a little cold out and also it was more money. Plus, I think I'd have had a heart attack.
We all had bruises and soreness after our adventure. But it was worth it. Fun in St. Louis! YAY!
We went for dinner and then headed back to Edwardsville, where we hung out with Brother's roommate's for a bit and then spent time discussing my relationship insecurities. I have the best siblings of all time, and am lucky to know so many people who support me.
I headed back on Sunday and had amazing flight luck! We got to the airport a little before we'd planned. My flight had been delayed already, so I would miss the connecting flight in O'Hare and most likely be stranded for a while. The standby earlier flight was already booked, but because I got there so early, they were able to put me on a direct flight on another airline that got me to Laguardia 2 hours before the original flight!
YES!
I had to undergo the complete bag check, which is always demoralizing because I am such a terrible packer. After checking my bag, the dude said "Miss! You look like you're in fashion... could you please tell these women that my glasses are in style?" This guy was about 60 years old and had old-school brown plastic scientist glasses. I was like "Oh, yes, those are TOTALLY coming back in." "See? TOLD YOU!" he said to the ladies, and then turned to me and said "Miss, you've made my day" and I said "No, you have made MY day." Because he really did make my day. I love cute, little things with cute, new people. Awshummmm.
My last trip to St. Louis was amazing. Being with my entire family was lovely. I can't wait to do it again. And I can't wait to see Brother again, because when I next see him, he will be back on the east coast for good! YEAH!
A Very Boston Cab Ride
I went to a party on Saturday night during which occurred much Boston-bashing. What was said was mostly true, but it was said with venom and judgment and without sensitivity to my MA-upbringing.
I had much to say on the subjects at hand, but drunkenness prevented me from actually saying anything and caused me to literally just walk away.
D's tiredness prevented us from staying at the party as late as I'd have liked. D biked to the party after a show he attended, so he said "I'll race you to Williamsburg."
I waited for a cab for what seemed like an eternity and was thrilled when a van cab pulled up in front of me and said "I'm only going to Williamsburg!"
Sweet!
I jumped in and immediately knew it was going to be a Boston-like cab ride. In New York, cab drivers either talk on their cell phones or ignore you. If they do pay even the slightest of attention to you, they give you dirty looks that suggest "How DARE YOU have the audacity to ride in my cab?" In Boston I expected an interesting conversation (and the gathering of a good story) in a cab. In NY, I'm always scrambling to think of who I can call on my cell phone so as to not feel awkward for 20 minutes while being ignored.
For example, there was the time I got into a cab hysterically crying in Cambridge and received a wonderful, fatherly pep talk from the cab driver that actually made me feel better.
And there were discussions of evolution or religion or politics.
And life story exhanges.
Here - nothing. Well, I shouldn't say that. Maybe there's conversation 20% of the time.
Anyway, I got into the van and the dude was adorable. "How are you tonight, miss?" and "Are you going home or to a party?" and "What a night!"
About a minute into the drive, I received a drunk tag from former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. This was expected because former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was in the city and there was minor effort put into a meeting for drinks or meeting at the party. Former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was DRUNK. Obviously. Slurring, incoherent, not-making-much-sense. Ah! The old days!
When I finally got off the phone with him, the taxi driver was like "So, was that your ex?"
Heh. I briefly explained what was going on and gave a minor version of our history.
The cab driver proceeded to give me a pep talk about it! He said "This reminds me of my ex-girlfriend. She calls, but only when there's a problem. She'll say 'My husband is driving me crazy!'" but that's the only time I hear from her." I thought "Actually, that reminds me of me."
Amidst the pep talk, former-favorite-ex-boyfriend called again and I said "He's calling AGAIN!" "You're not going to answer it?" "No, I really don't want to." "But you should." "I don't think I should."
By this time, we were in front of my building and I'd already paid him.
He said "I really think you should call him. He probably just wants to talk to someone who knows him. I mean, you guys dated on and off for 5 years! Sometimes you just want to hear the voice of someone who knows you well."
"I don't know. I just don't think its a good idea."
"But why is he thinking of YOU when he's drinking? Why is it you? You should think about that."
"I really don't think this is a big deal."
"But really, he could call anyone. But he wants to talk to and see you."
"Yes, but neither of those things are a good idea."
Traffic appeared and the cab driver pulled over to continue his talk.
"You should give him a chance. See, sometimes, when things are bad, you want to talk to someone who knows you. As you get older, its harder and harder to be friends with girls. You know, just friends. You date, but you don't make new friends, and you don't have a lot of women who know you. I bet he just needs to talk to someone who knows him. I think he wants to talk to you because you guys used to be close. Come on, give the guy a chance. Call him back."
"Oh. Well, maybe I'll call him tomorrow when we're both sober."
"I feel bad for him. He probably just feels lonely."
"No, well, I just think he's drunk."
I wished him a good night and smiled as I got out of the cab.
How sweet.
It's funny, but I felt like, well, the cab driver exactly explained why it is that I sometimes call former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. I don't think he was right about the reasons for former-favorite-ex-boyfriend's calling me, but it felt nice to have someone understand what can motivate a good drunk tag.
I actually won the race but D got to my building's door before I did because I was sitting in the cab outside my building for 5 minutes receiving unsolicited advice from a very Boston cab driver in NYC.
I had much to say on the subjects at hand, but drunkenness prevented me from actually saying anything and caused me to literally just walk away.
D's tiredness prevented us from staying at the party as late as I'd have liked. D biked to the party after a show he attended, so he said "I'll race you to Williamsburg."
I waited for a cab for what seemed like an eternity and was thrilled when a van cab pulled up in front of me and said "I'm only going to Williamsburg!"
Sweet!
I jumped in and immediately knew it was going to be a Boston-like cab ride. In New York, cab drivers either talk on their cell phones or ignore you. If they do pay even the slightest of attention to you, they give you dirty looks that suggest "How DARE YOU have the audacity to ride in my cab?" In Boston I expected an interesting conversation (and the gathering of a good story) in a cab. In NY, I'm always scrambling to think of who I can call on my cell phone so as to not feel awkward for 20 minutes while being ignored.
For example, there was the time I got into a cab hysterically crying in Cambridge and received a wonderful, fatherly pep talk from the cab driver that actually made me feel better.
And there were discussions of evolution or religion or politics.
And life story exhanges.
Here - nothing. Well, I shouldn't say that. Maybe there's conversation 20% of the time.
Anyway, I got into the van and the dude was adorable. "How are you tonight, miss?" and "Are you going home or to a party?" and "What a night!"
About a minute into the drive, I received a drunk tag from former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. This was expected because former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was in the city and there was minor effort put into a meeting for drinks or meeting at the party. Former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was DRUNK. Obviously. Slurring, incoherent, not-making-much-sense. Ah! The old days!
When I finally got off the phone with him, the taxi driver was like "So, was that your ex?"
Heh. I briefly explained what was going on and gave a minor version of our history.
The cab driver proceeded to give me a pep talk about it! He said "This reminds me of my ex-girlfriend. She calls, but only when there's a problem. She'll say 'My husband is driving me crazy!'" but that's the only time I hear from her." I thought "Actually, that reminds me of me."
Amidst the pep talk, former-favorite-ex-boyfriend called again and I said "He's calling AGAIN!" "You're not going to answer it?" "No, I really don't want to." "But you should." "I don't think I should."
By this time, we were in front of my building and I'd already paid him.
He said "I really think you should call him. He probably just wants to talk to someone who knows him. I mean, you guys dated on and off for 5 years! Sometimes you just want to hear the voice of someone who knows you well."
"I don't know. I just don't think its a good idea."
"But why is he thinking of YOU when he's drinking? Why is it you? You should think about that."
"I really don't think this is a big deal."
"But really, he could call anyone. But he wants to talk to and see you."
"Yes, but neither of those things are a good idea."
Traffic appeared and the cab driver pulled over to continue his talk.
"You should give him a chance. See, sometimes, when things are bad, you want to talk to someone who knows you. As you get older, its harder and harder to be friends with girls. You know, just friends. You date, but you don't make new friends, and you don't have a lot of women who know you. I bet he just needs to talk to someone who knows him. I think he wants to talk to you because you guys used to be close. Come on, give the guy a chance. Call him back."
"Oh. Well, maybe I'll call him tomorrow when we're both sober."
"I feel bad for him. He probably just feels lonely."
"No, well, I just think he's drunk."
I wished him a good night and smiled as I got out of the cab.
How sweet.
It's funny, but I felt like, well, the cab driver exactly explained why it is that I sometimes call former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. I don't think he was right about the reasons for former-favorite-ex-boyfriend's calling me, but it felt nice to have someone understand what can motivate a good drunk tag.
I actually won the race but D got to my building's door before I did because I was sitting in the cab outside my building for 5 minutes receiving unsolicited advice from a very Boston cab driver in NYC.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Last Time In The Loo - Day 2
Our second day started off slowly, with Sister and I rather sluggishly getting ready while Brother ran some last-minute day-of-show errands.
We eventually met up with The Parents for lunch. We ate at a small coffee shop in Edwardsville, where my Father, like the last time we were all together, threw a minor fit about the menu. He refused to understand why he couldn't have a breakfast sandwich for lunch, and basically bullied our waitress into making one for him.
I don't even want to think about how much spit my father has ingested while eating out.
Our waitress was friendly and adorable. I couldn't quite place her accent. I was semi-certain, though, that she was Amish, based on my extensive experience with the Amish reality show last year. I finally asked her, and turns out that she's Swedish, and that her accent is basically midwestern Swedish, which is why it was hard to place. Brother asked her what she thinks of Edwardsville, and she said "I never knew racism until I moved here."
Yes.
Father was itching to get out of there - his patience for the chatty waitress growing obviously thin. I was embarrassed. At what age do you cease being embarrassed by your parents? At what age do you stop feeling 5 years old? At what age do their judgmental statements such as "You're new apartment couldn't possibly be 350 square feet. That's impossible. No, it just can't be" stop making you feel like a failure?
We left shortly after eating freshly baked wads of chocolate chip cookie and quickly learned why Father was so eager to dismiss actual conversation with an actual friendly person. He wanted to show us 1000 photos from The Parents' recent trip to France.
There were literally ONE THOUSAND PHOTOS.
I'm not kidding.
There were 1000 photos.
I believe this is when the stir craziness began.
The Parents soon left and Brother, Sister and I chilled for a while. Sister helped me with my unmanageable and ridiculous hair in preparation for Brother's big show. We were soon picked up by The Parents, and departed for the airport, where we would be picking up Brother's Girlfriend, AM.
AM's flight had been delayed, so we were uncertain as to when she'd be arriving. Regardless, Father, thinking he was above the law, said "I am just going to park in passenger pickup. Nobody can stop me." I said "Dad, but there are people whose passengers are actually here, and AM's flight is, at the earliest, getting here in half an hour." "I don't care." "Dad, you can't just stay here because you want to."
But he did. For a while. Until this vicious security person asked him to move. He became very cross with her, drove around, and parked again. This time she allowed him to stay for about 5 minutes, then asked him to move. On the third attempt, she said "Sir, drive around until your passenger gets here" and then rolled her eyes. I was proud of her, but Father was cross.
Heh.
We finally picked up AM and decided to grab something to eat prior to Brother's show. Brother had said "There's nowhere to eat around the show - you should probably just grab something at the airport." Refusing to believe that there would be nowhere to eat in a city, we opted to drive around looking for a place to eat.
Right. A place to eat in St. Louis. SILLY US! We literally drove around for an hour and there was nothing. I'm lying. There was one restaurant and it had, like, a three hour wait because it was the only restaurant in a 5-mile radius. Sister and I, at one point, decided to scope out a sketchy bar outside of which stood three flannel-wearing middle-aged men who literally spat a few times before saying to us "Hey ladies." Ewwww. The third place we found had nothing less than $30 a plate. We ended up at a sports bar sort of place with a confused waitress whose cleavage was, well, yeah. There was lots of it. And meat in the ravioli. Ewwwww. Worse meal of all time, but the "cook" was so enthusiastic that we kept lying and saying "Oh, uh, yes, its fine."
Weird city. It's like a city without the benefits of a city. More on this topic on Last Time In the Loo - Day 3. I know you can't wait!!!
When we finally arrived at the show it was packed. Yay Brother! The gallery was in a renovated police station, so it had a lot of character and a jail cell in which Sister and I did an extensive photo shoot. I was thrilled because my friend G, who lives in St. Louis and who I haven't seen in ages, came to the show with his wife K.
Brother's show was amazing. I couldn't believe how much work he'd generated. His prints focus on themes of racism and masculinity, two themes he will also deal with in his soon-to-be-published graphic novel! He sold three prints at the show. People were very impressed. I am so proud of him. And so thrilled that his time in Edwardsville is almost over. He has much to look forward to, but also much to say farewell to.
We stayed for about three hours, and by the end were exhausted. We made a brief appearance at a party in the city given by one of the ceramics students. We felt old and left about ten minutes after we arrived and had eaten all of the breadsticks they were serving.
Sister and I stayed in the hotel with The Parents that night so that Brother and AM could have some time alone and so that we could avoid the evil air mattress.
And so concluded Day 2 in the midwest.
We eventually met up with The Parents for lunch. We ate at a small coffee shop in Edwardsville, where my Father, like the last time we were all together, threw a minor fit about the menu. He refused to understand why he couldn't have a breakfast sandwich for lunch, and basically bullied our waitress into making one for him.
I don't even want to think about how much spit my father has ingested while eating out.
Our waitress was friendly and adorable. I couldn't quite place her accent. I was semi-certain, though, that she was Amish, based on my extensive experience with the Amish reality show last year. I finally asked her, and turns out that she's Swedish, and that her accent is basically midwestern Swedish, which is why it was hard to place. Brother asked her what she thinks of Edwardsville, and she said "I never knew racism until I moved here."
Yes.
Father was itching to get out of there - his patience for the chatty waitress growing obviously thin. I was embarrassed. At what age do you cease being embarrassed by your parents? At what age do you stop feeling 5 years old? At what age do their judgmental statements such as "You're new apartment couldn't possibly be 350 square feet. That's impossible. No, it just can't be" stop making you feel like a failure?
We left shortly after eating freshly baked wads of chocolate chip cookie and quickly learned why Father was so eager to dismiss actual conversation with an actual friendly person. He wanted to show us 1000 photos from The Parents' recent trip to France.
There were literally ONE THOUSAND PHOTOS.
I'm not kidding.
There were 1000 photos.
I believe this is when the stir craziness began.
The Parents soon left and Brother, Sister and I chilled for a while. Sister helped me with my unmanageable and ridiculous hair in preparation for Brother's big show. We were soon picked up by The Parents, and departed for the airport, where we would be picking up Brother's Girlfriend, AM.
AM's flight had been delayed, so we were uncertain as to when she'd be arriving. Regardless, Father, thinking he was above the law, said "I am just going to park in passenger pickup. Nobody can stop me." I said "Dad, but there are people whose passengers are actually here, and AM's flight is, at the earliest, getting here in half an hour." "I don't care." "Dad, you can't just stay here because you want to."
But he did. For a while. Until this vicious security person asked him to move. He became very cross with her, drove around, and parked again. This time she allowed him to stay for about 5 minutes, then asked him to move. On the third attempt, she said "Sir, drive around until your passenger gets here" and then rolled her eyes. I was proud of her, but Father was cross.
Heh.
We finally picked up AM and decided to grab something to eat prior to Brother's show. Brother had said "There's nowhere to eat around the show - you should probably just grab something at the airport." Refusing to believe that there would be nowhere to eat in a city, we opted to drive around looking for a place to eat.
Right. A place to eat in St. Louis. SILLY US! We literally drove around for an hour and there was nothing. I'm lying. There was one restaurant and it had, like, a three hour wait because it was the only restaurant in a 5-mile radius. Sister and I, at one point, decided to scope out a sketchy bar outside of which stood three flannel-wearing middle-aged men who literally spat a few times before saying to us "Hey ladies." Ewwww. The third place we found had nothing less than $30 a plate. We ended up at a sports bar sort of place with a confused waitress whose cleavage was, well, yeah. There was lots of it. And meat in the ravioli. Ewwwww. Worse meal of all time, but the "cook" was so enthusiastic that we kept lying and saying "Oh, uh, yes, its fine."
Weird city. It's like a city without the benefits of a city. More on this topic on Last Time In the Loo - Day 3. I know you can't wait!!!
When we finally arrived at the show it was packed. Yay Brother! The gallery was in a renovated police station, so it had a lot of character and a jail cell in which Sister and I did an extensive photo shoot. I was thrilled because my friend G, who lives in St. Louis and who I haven't seen in ages, came to the show with his wife K.
Brother's show was amazing. I couldn't believe how much work he'd generated. His prints focus on themes of racism and masculinity, two themes he will also deal with in his soon-to-be-published graphic novel! He sold three prints at the show. People were very impressed. I am so proud of him. And so thrilled that his time in Edwardsville is almost over. He has much to look forward to, but also much to say farewell to.
We stayed for about three hours, and by the end were exhausted. We made a brief appearance at a party in the city given by one of the ceramics students. We felt old and left about ten minutes after we arrived and had eaten all of the breadsticks they were serving.
Sister and I stayed in the hotel with The Parents that night so that Brother and AM could have some time alone and so that we could avoid the evil air mattress.
And so concluded Day 2 in the midwest.
Save The Green Planet
I saw this insane Korean movie last night at the Film Forum called Save the Green Planet.
I don't know if I should recommend this movie. I really enjoyed it but am not sure why, and felt as though I'd taken a physical, emotional, and pyschological beating after watching it.
Some words to describe it:
sentimental
hilarious
violent
bizarre
traumatic
graphic
beautiful
disturbing
deep
insane
crazy
gorgeous
tragic
funny
innovative
There is really no protagonist in this movie. All of the characters, at one point or another, are portrayed as awful. You have, though, sympathy for all of these characters at one point or another.
This movie is completely nuts. But in a good way that I can't articulate at all.
I'm not going to write about the plot (well, here's the basic premise: crazy, blue-collar dude is convinced that the CEO of a major company is an alien and takes it upon himself to kidnap him in order to save the earth). Better that you just read the website and see how insane this all is.
And then go see this movie if you can, because its marvelous.
I don't know if I should recommend this movie. I really enjoyed it but am not sure why, and felt as though I'd taken a physical, emotional, and pyschological beating after watching it.
Some words to describe it:
sentimental
hilarious
violent
bizarre
traumatic
graphic
beautiful
disturbing
deep
insane
crazy
gorgeous
tragic
funny
innovative
There is really no protagonist in this movie. All of the characters, at one point or another, are portrayed as awful. You have, though, sympathy for all of these characters at one point or another.
This movie is completely nuts. But in a good way that I can't articulate at all.
I'm not going to write about the plot (well, here's the basic premise: crazy, blue-collar dude is convinced that the CEO of a major company is an alien and takes it upon himself to kidnap him in order to save the earth). Better that you just read the website and see how insane this all is.
And then go see this movie if you can, because its marvelous.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Desperate Housewives
I did get almost 8 hours of sleep last night, and consequently had all sorts of lavish dreams involving things like sliding down a three-story slide of folding chairs erected by my friend A's husband, who owned a mall that specialized in dealing art and tuxedos.
I also had a dream in which some bratty 8-year old girl sat on my glasses, broke them, and then refused to be held responsible. I said "Look, kid, you broke these. I can't see a damn thing and they cost a lot of money. You have to pay for them." She said "Look, its your fault" and kept blaming me. I kept saying things like "Kids today!"
But, the reason I am blogging at all about this is because I had one of those dreams in which I was being played by someone else! I love when that happens. In this particular dream, I'd attended a high school reunion of sorts in my actual elementary school gym in a previous dream that night in which I was being played by myself. In this dream, I received a note from a "secret admirer" from the reunion. He refused to identify himself, and said that I'd receive another note at my place of business. I was very excited, trying to think of who it might be. At any rate, I was seated at my desk - apparently I had a desk job that involved an office and large desk with pictures of my children on it - and am handed a letter by my assistant. I knew immediately what the letter was, and winked coyly at my assistant.
This dream was cinematographically rich, and also in black and white. I opened the letter and started reading it. I was so involved that I didn't realize that this grey ash substance was falling from the inside of the letter. I was giggling - apparently I was excited about who it was from. My assistant came in and smiled at me, and asked who it was. I said "Oh, its from..." and then, close up on my assisant who said "OH! MY! GOD!!!!!! CLOSE THE LETTER!" and then a shot from the outside of my office - like picture from a row of cubicles - with a swift zoom-in of my horrified face when I realized what it was.
I screamed.
But mainly because I realized, during this close-up, that I was being played by the man-looking woman from Desperate Housewives.
Wtf? The horror.
Anyway, the ash-looking stuff, which in my dream-mind was originally some sort of weird mold, turned out to be an anthrax outbreak that ended up wiping out my entire office. Because in dreams you can see anthrax.
But really I am more concerned with why I was being played by Felicity Huffman.
I also had a dream in which some bratty 8-year old girl sat on my glasses, broke them, and then refused to be held responsible. I said "Look, kid, you broke these. I can't see a damn thing and they cost a lot of money. You have to pay for them." She said "Look, its your fault" and kept blaming me. I kept saying things like "Kids today!"
But, the reason I am blogging at all about this is because I had one of those dreams in which I was being played by someone else! I love when that happens. In this particular dream, I'd attended a high school reunion of sorts in my actual elementary school gym in a previous dream that night in which I was being played by myself. In this dream, I received a note from a "secret admirer" from the reunion. He refused to identify himself, and said that I'd receive another note at my place of business. I was very excited, trying to think of who it might be. At any rate, I was seated at my desk - apparently I had a desk job that involved an office and large desk with pictures of my children on it - and am handed a letter by my assistant. I knew immediately what the letter was, and winked coyly at my assistant.
This dream was cinematographically rich, and also in black and white. I opened the letter and started reading it. I was so involved that I didn't realize that this grey ash substance was falling from the inside of the letter. I was giggling - apparently I was excited about who it was from. My assistant came in and smiled at me, and asked who it was. I said "Oh, its from..." and then, close up on my assisant who said "OH! MY! GOD!!!!!! CLOSE THE LETTER!" and then a shot from the outside of my office - like picture from a row of cubicles - with a swift zoom-in of my horrified face when I realized what it was.
I screamed.
But mainly because I realized, during this close-up, that I was being played by the man-looking woman from Desperate Housewives.
Wtf? The horror.
Anyway, the ash-looking stuff, which in my dream-mind was originally some sort of weird mold, turned out to be an anthrax outbreak that ended up wiping out my entire office. Because in dreams you can see anthrax.
But really I am more concerned with why I was being played by Felicity Huffman.
"If You Think You're Enlightened, Spend a Week With Your Parents"
That's a quote from someone that was quoted by the filmmaker who visited my class last night.
We viewed an elegant documentary called "Tell Them Who You Are." It was about cinematographer Haskell Wexler. I had no idea who he was, but that made no difference. The documentary was made by his son, Mark, who painted an accurate (sometimes negative) portrait of his father as a cinematographer, as a political activist, as a man, and most importantly, as a father.
There was a moment in the film that will stay with me forever. I've never seen an entire audience weep during a documentary. It was a powerful, real moment, and you should all see this movie just to see this scene.
After seeing this movie, you are left contemplating the relationship between fathers and sons, especially sons from a generation in which fathers were discouraged from being emotionally intimate with their children. It was difficult to watch at times, especially when Mark, and accomplished filmmaker, was being criticized by his father, a more experienced and somewhat tyrannical cinematographer. During these moments, Mark would basically become a 5-year old.
It's interesting to see this on film. I think many of us experience this when around our parents. I know I do, and I have touched upon this in the blog. If you don't experience this with your parents and have no idea what I'm talking about, you should see this movie.
When asked about this during class, Mark explained that even the most stable and put-together of people basically "become a wreck" after spending a week with their parents. He said that he either had to make this documentary or go to therapy, and he thought that making the movie would be the cheaper alternative.
He also said that many people, immediately after seeing this movie, say things like "I haven't spoken to my father in 10 years and I am going to call him right now."
In addition to delving into the nature of father and son and discussing Wexler's career as a cinematographer and director (there's a fabulous interview with Michael Douglas, also the son of a celebrity, during which he says that working with Wexler on "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" was the worst experience of his career), the film also investigates the nature of documentary - if you can really capture reality. Are people really being themselves when a camera is on them? How much is setup? How much is acting? Haskell Wexler claims that, after a day or so, unless someone is a professional actor, they will forget about the camera, which actually becomes evident during the unfolding of this documentary.
Overall, it is a sweet but difficult look at the relationship between a father and a son, albeit one under unique pressures of celebrity and politics.
I strongly recommend it. At the very least, rent it in 6 months.
We viewed an elegant documentary called "Tell Them Who You Are." It was about cinematographer Haskell Wexler. I had no idea who he was, but that made no difference. The documentary was made by his son, Mark, who painted an accurate (sometimes negative) portrait of his father as a cinematographer, as a political activist, as a man, and most importantly, as a father.
There was a moment in the film that will stay with me forever. I've never seen an entire audience weep during a documentary. It was a powerful, real moment, and you should all see this movie just to see this scene.
After seeing this movie, you are left contemplating the relationship between fathers and sons, especially sons from a generation in which fathers were discouraged from being emotionally intimate with their children. It was difficult to watch at times, especially when Mark, and accomplished filmmaker, was being criticized by his father, a more experienced and somewhat tyrannical cinematographer. During these moments, Mark would basically become a 5-year old.
It's interesting to see this on film. I think many of us experience this when around our parents. I know I do, and I have touched upon this in the blog. If you don't experience this with your parents and have no idea what I'm talking about, you should see this movie.
When asked about this during class, Mark explained that even the most stable and put-together of people basically "become a wreck" after spending a week with their parents. He said that he either had to make this documentary or go to therapy, and he thought that making the movie would be the cheaper alternative.
He also said that many people, immediately after seeing this movie, say things like "I haven't spoken to my father in 10 years and I am going to call him right now."
In addition to delving into the nature of father and son and discussing Wexler's career as a cinematographer and director (there's a fabulous interview with Michael Douglas, also the son of a celebrity, during which he says that working with Wexler on "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" was the worst experience of his career), the film also investigates the nature of documentary - if you can really capture reality. Are people really being themselves when a camera is on them? How much is setup? How much is acting? Haskell Wexler claims that, after a day or so, unless someone is a professional actor, they will forget about the camera, which actually becomes evident during the unfolding of this documentary.
Overall, it is a sweet but difficult look at the relationship between a father and a son, albeit one under unique pressures of celebrity and politics.
I strongly recommend it. At the very least, rent it in 6 months.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
I'm Miles Away
I didn't sleep much last night.
When I was actually fortunate enough to be granted sleep, I had the following two dreams:
1. I was in my bedroom in my apartment. My bed was littered with all sorts of things - this dream was very realistic. In fact, it wasn't very dreamlike at all. I suppose its just stress from not spending much time in my apartment at all. On my bed was my computer, and attached to it was my camera. As soon as I saw the camera, I remembered that I'd just seen Tiffani-Amber Thiessen at a bar! I was so excited, and immediately grabbed my camera to prove that I'd seen her. I found Roommate and said "Roommate, I saw Tiffani-Amber Thiessen tonight at a bar!" Roommate refused to believe me. She was like "NO WAY you saw Tiffani-Amber Thiessen." This was very funny, because based on the way we were acting, it was as though Tiffani-Amber Thiessen was some sort of major celebrity. Roommate wouldn't believe me, no matter what I said. I was like "Dude, I swear I saw her. She had long blonde hair, though, and I think she might have fake boobs. And she is super hot. Like way hotter than when she was on 90210." "Yeah, whatever." I scanned my camera, looking for the photos I'd supposedly taken of Tiffani-Amber Thiessen. I finally found them. They were very sultry. Suggestive. Very much focused on her breasts. When I went to show Roommate, however, the photos had disappeared and Roommate looked at me condescendingly. That was the whole dream.
(Sidenote 1: Tiffany and Amber are redundant.)
(Sidenote 2: I have no idea where this dream come from. None.)
(Sidenote 3: I don't, consciously, think that Tiffani-Amber Thiessen is hot. I have no idea why I insisted so strongly that she is super hot.)
2. Brother and I had been offered jobs working on the Muppet Show! We were very excited and couldn't contain ourselves as we walked through the streets of NY to start our new jobs. When we got to "the studio," it was no longer NY and was, like, the MGM Muppets ride. It was an outdoor Disney-esque Muppet pavilion. We were semi-disappointed. Our future boss appeared from a very tall Disney-ized skyscraper and said "So, you know what you'll be doing, right?" I actually had no idea what we'd be doing, but I knew we'd each be paid $80,000 a year to do it. Hence the excitement. And, well, the Muppet Show! "Actually, we don't know" said Brother. Our boss then handed us each a broom and said "Your responsibility is to keep the grounds neat every day. You will sweep out here, and will also maintain the entire stairwell of Muppets Headquarters (which is in the skyscraper)." Hmmm. I hadn't realized that our position was janitorial. It suddenly made sense to me that this was the job I had at the Muppet Show. It seemed too good to be true, given that I had zero qualifications to work there. I was perplexed about Brother, though, as clearly he has talent and would be a great asset to the creative forces behind the show. The boss said "Is this not acceptable?" I asked to talk to Brother in private, and said to him "Aren't we above this?" He said "No, I'll take what I can get." I said "But Brother, you're soooooo talented. Why would you settle for this?" "I'll take what I can get." "Do you think there's an opportunity for upward mobility?" "No, but I don't care." I said "I am going to call M and ask her what she thinks" and then thought better of it, because I knew she would say "Leah! THE MUPPETS! SWEEP THE DAMN STAIRS!" Then I woke up.
(Sidenote 4: This is clearly a dream about selling out. I don't know if I think I am a sellout or I worry that Brother will have to take some sort of job that doesn't fully utilize his creative genius in order to make ends meet. I'm sure its the latter. I'm just not sure why I was involved.)
(Sidenote 5: Seriously, I'd do anything for $80,000 a year. I don't know what I was thinking.)
I really need some sleep. Lots. My goal is 10 hours tonight. Will it happen? Probably not, but I'm aiming high, because then 8 hours (blissful 8 hours of sleep!) will seem like a compromise but will, in fact, be awshummmmmm.
When I was actually fortunate enough to be granted sleep, I had the following two dreams:
1. I was in my bedroom in my apartment. My bed was littered with all sorts of things - this dream was very realistic. In fact, it wasn't very dreamlike at all. I suppose its just stress from not spending much time in my apartment at all. On my bed was my computer, and attached to it was my camera. As soon as I saw the camera, I remembered that I'd just seen Tiffani-Amber Thiessen at a bar! I was so excited, and immediately grabbed my camera to prove that I'd seen her. I found Roommate and said "Roommate, I saw Tiffani-Amber Thiessen tonight at a bar!" Roommate refused to believe me. She was like "NO WAY you saw Tiffani-Amber Thiessen." This was very funny, because based on the way we were acting, it was as though Tiffani-Amber Thiessen was some sort of major celebrity. Roommate wouldn't believe me, no matter what I said. I was like "Dude, I swear I saw her. She had long blonde hair, though, and I think she might have fake boobs. And she is super hot. Like way hotter than when she was on 90210." "Yeah, whatever." I scanned my camera, looking for the photos I'd supposedly taken of Tiffani-Amber Thiessen. I finally found them. They were very sultry. Suggestive. Very much focused on her breasts. When I went to show Roommate, however, the photos had disappeared and Roommate looked at me condescendingly. That was the whole dream.
(Sidenote 1: Tiffany and Amber are redundant.)
(Sidenote 2: I have no idea where this dream come from. None.)
(Sidenote 3: I don't, consciously, think that Tiffani-Amber Thiessen is hot. I have no idea why I insisted so strongly that she is super hot.)
2. Brother and I had been offered jobs working on the Muppet Show! We were very excited and couldn't contain ourselves as we walked through the streets of NY to start our new jobs. When we got to "the studio," it was no longer NY and was, like, the MGM Muppets ride. It was an outdoor Disney-esque Muppet pavilion. We were semi-disappointed. Our future boss appeared from a very tall Disney-ized skyscraper and said "So, you know what you'll be doing, right?" I actually had no idea what we'd be doing, but I knew we'd each be paid $80,000 a year to do it. Hence the excitement. And, well, the Muppet Show! "Actually, we don't know" said Brother. Our boss then handed us each a broom and said "Your responsibility is to keep the grounds neat every day. You will sweep out here, and will also maintain the entire stairwell of Muppets Headquarters (which is in the skyscraper)." Hmmm. I hadn't realized that our position was janitorial. It suddenly made sense to me that this was the job I had at the Muppet Show. It seemed too good to be true, given that I had zero qualifications to work there. I was perplexed about Brother, though, as clearly he has talent and would be a great asset to the creative forces behind the show. The boss said "Is this not acceptable?" I asked to talk to Brother in private, and said to him "Aren't we above this?" He said "No, I'll take what I can get." I said "But Brother, you're soooooo talented. Why would you settle for this?" "I'll take what I can get." "Do you think there's an opportunity for upward mobility?" "No, but I don't care." I said "I am going to call M and ask her what she thinks" and then thought better of it, because I knew she would say "Leah! THE MUPPETS! SWEEP THE DAMN STAIRS!" Then I woke up.
(Sidenote 4: This is clearly a dream about selling out. I don't know if I think I am a sellout or I worry that Brother will have to take some sort of job that doesn't fully utilize his creative genius in order to make ends meet. I'm sure its the latter. I'm just not sure why I was involved.)
(Sidenote 5: Seriously, I'd do anything for $80,000 a year. I don't know what I was thinking.)
I really need some sleep. Lots. My goal is 10 hours tonight. Will it happen? Probably not, but I'm aiming high, because then 8 hours (blissful 8 hours of sleep!) will seem like a compromise but will, in fact, be awshummmmmm.
Because It Was Nothing Like We'd Ever Dreamt
Just got back from The Shins at Webster Hall.
Sigh.
The Shins are a prime example of bands who look nothing in person like they look in your mind.
This is an acceptable phenomenon when it comes to The Shins, though, because they put on a damn good show. I think it is, at the very least, in the top 10.
The show was fun. Typically, however, I shall now complain about the fact that nobody in NYC dances at shows. The Shins put on a fun show. I expected people to be bouncing around, bobbing their heads at the very least. But no. Everyone in NYC is too cool to dance. Damn you, hipsters and indie kids! Dancing is cool!
Man. I danced and I had on a coat, was carrying a heavy bag, had a camera around my neck in order to take 40 blurry photos and a movie without sound of my favorite Shins song, and was suffering from some sort of food poisoning that both R and I contracted from our dinner.
But the indie kids? Too cool to dance.
Hmph.
Regardless, a great show. The boy can sing. The set was crisp. The execution was flawless and the songs varied enough from the albums to maintain interest for the entire show. Exciting news: they are recording a new album this year. From the new songs they played, it promises to be good.
Blah. I still feel food poisoned. I love the awkwardness prior to the realization that everyone has food poisoning. On the way to the show, I kept thinking "Man, I am either about to have an alien baby or something from dinner does not want to stay down" but I didn't want to tell anyone that I wanted desperately to run to the show. I don't know why there is shame in inability to digest things. I waited in line for like 20 minutes when we got there and when I finally met up with R he said "Man, my stomach isn't feeling so great" and I was like "Mine too!" and we both heaved huge sighs of relief. Luckily I am paranoid about this sort of thing and carry the world's best over-the-counter pink tablet - "Yay! Pepto Bismol!" - which eased the poisoning until about 20 minutes before the show's ending. After the show R and I compared notes and realized we both started to feel ill at the same moment. He said "I started to feel a little sketchy when you bumped into that girl when we were crossing the street" and I was like "That's why I bumped into that girl when we were crossing the street!"
D, who ate with us, is fine. Hmmmm. This food poisoning must only affect Italian stomachs.
Regardless, the show was amazing and I am home now, thankfully.
And, in other exciting news, I learned tonight that Monday is recycling day for NYC when I passed about 12 million empty boxes strewn about the streets whilst walking through the city. I am hoping that these empty boxes are also magic and will pack themselves. Doubtful, but please, allow me to enjoy my fantasies. At the very least, if I am in a panic and need more boxes for the move, I know where to find them. I guess I can find them anywhere I want. Woo hoo!
OK. I am going to read mail now. Joy.
Sigh.
The Shins are a prime example of bands who look nothing in person like they look in your mind.
This is an acceptable phenomenon when it comes to The Shins, though, because they put on a damn good show. I think it is, at the very least, in the top 10.
The show was fun. Typically, however, I shall now complain about the fact that nobody in NYC dances at shows. The Shins put on a fun show. I expected people to be bouncing around, bobbing their heads at the very least. But no. Everyone in NYC is too cool to dance. Damn you, hipsters and indie kids! Dancing is cool!
Man. I danced and I had on a coat, was carrying a heavy bag, had a camera around my neck in order to take 40 blurry photos and a movie without sound of my favorite Shins song, and was suffering from some sort of food poisoning that both R and I contracted from our dinner.
But the indie kids? Too cool to dance.
Hmph.
Regardless, a great show. The boy can sing. The set was crisp. The execution was flawless and the songs varied enough from the albums to maintain interest for the entire show. Exciting news: they are recording a new album this year. From the new songs they played, it promises to be good.
Blah. I still feel food poisoned. I love the awkwardness prior to the realization that everyone has food poisoning. On the way to the show, I kept thinking "Man, I am either about to have an alien baby or something from dinner does not want to stay down" but I didn't want to tell anyone that I wanted desperately to run to the show. I don't know why there is shame in inability to digest things. I waited in line for like 20 minutes when we got there and when I finally met up with R he said "Man, my stomach isn't feeling so great" and I was like "Mine too!" and we both heaved huge sighs of relief. Luckily I am paranoid about this sort of thing and carry the world's best over-the-counter pink tablet - "Yay! Pepto Bismol!" - which eased the poisoning until about 20 minutes before the show's ending. After the show R and I compared notes and realized we both started to feel ill at the same moment. He said "I started to feel a little sketchy when you bumped into that girl when we were crossing the street" and I was like "That's why I bumped into that girl when we were crossing the street!"
D, who ate with us, is fine. Hmmmm. This food poisoning must only affect Italian stomachs.
Regardless, the show was amazing and I am home now, thankfully.
And, in other exciting news, I learned tonight that Monday is recycling day for NYC when I passed about 12 million empty boxes strewn about the streets whilst walking through the city. I am hoping that these empty boxes are also magic and will pack themselves. Doubtful, but please, allow me to enjoy my fantasies. At the very least, if I am in a panic and need more boxes for the move, I know where to find them. I guess I can find them anywhere I want. Woo hoo!
OK. I am going to read mail now. Joy.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Last Time In The Loo - Day 1
The trip began rather uneventfully, with small flights from Laguardia to Dulles, and then Dulles to Lambert. The planes were the sort that granted me my very own aisle, which is always exciting but also slightly frightening, when people are required to move around so as to weight balance the plane. Here are some photos from my layover at Dulles:
I arrived in St. Louis 45 minutes sooner than expected, which meant that I got there well before the rest of my family. They were scheduled to arrive and then go to Enterprise Rent-A-Car to pick up Father's sweet deal of a rental. He somehow managed to rent the car for only $18 a day, which was the only reason he rented a car at all.
I spoke with Father the night before, and he said "Southwest Airlines is nowhere near the rest of the airport, so we'll have to take a shuttle to the rent-a-car place." He then said "Meet us at the Enterprise Rent-A-Car" and then said something about a shuttle, which I thought applied only to him because he was taking Southwest, the black sheep of the St. Louis airport. I walked to the Enterprise Rent-A-Car and waited for over an hour. During this hour, I spoke to Sister who said things like "We're on the shuttle!" and "We're just outside!" and "Where are you? We don't see you!" I said "I'm sitting at the Enterprise Rent-A-Car terminal" and Father got on and rather crossly said "Did you take the shuttle?"
Ah.
Apparently I too was supposed to take a shuttle to the actual Enterprise lot and not go to the Enterprise in the airport. Silly me. My family was in a mad panic. I jumped a shuttle and was there in about 3 minutes. It had taken them forever, because, again, they took Southwest which apparently has its own airport. But seriously. If someone told you to meet them at the car rental place after you got off a plane, would you not meet them at the car rental place at the airport? I didn't think this was so ridiculous, but Father did.
I don't know. I was perturbed and moody, but all was remedied when I saw my family. Yay!
We piled into the red jeep and made our way to Edwardsville, IL, where we met up with Brother at his house. It was lovely to be intact as a family for the first time since Christmas.
Shortly after our arrival, we piled back into the jeep and drove to the SIUE campus, where we attended BB's show. BB is not only Brother's roommate, but his hetero life partner. They've known each other since the glory days of UMass, and have lived and worked together for the entirety of their printmaking times at SIUE.
BB's show was amazing. His paintings are technically remarkable, but I prefer his prints. Visceral. Empty. Fabulous.
Upon our departure from the show, I forced Brother and Sister to do rural things such as frolic in grass and blow dandelions at each other and at the camera. I am fortunate that my siblings don't mind this sort of thing. I am thrilled with the adorable photos I took of them playing in the midwest.
After the show, we headed to The Pasta House for dinner. Southern Illinois Italian food. We were ravenously hungry so it seemed like the best meal we'd ever had. There was amazing thunder and lightening when we left, the kind that accompanies torrential downpours and the kind where you know the lightening struck two feet away from you because the thunder is instant. People in the midwest take this for granted because it happens all the time. I loved it. It was beautiful.
After dinner, The Parents headed to the only hotel in Edwardsville while Brother, Sister and I went back to Brother's apartment. Sister and I were exhausted from travelling, so we demanded that Brother rent us a movie. He rented Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, which I'd been dying to see. Jude Law. 'Nuff said.
(Side note: One of my brother's roommates is Vietnamese. We'd originally hoped not to have to rent a movie, so I began perusing his videos and couldn't help but notice that he owned an alarming amount of Tom Cruise movies. I said "K, I couldn't help but notice that you have a lot of movies starring Tom Cruise. What's the deal?" He said "Asian men really love Tom Cruise. And Jude Law. They're both so good looking. Something about the facial structure, I guess." Who knew? I hate Tom Cruise. I guess its nice to know there's a whole set of men out there who love him.)
We were exhausted and couldn't quite conjure up the mental capacity to get rid of the closed captions, which insisted on being there no matter what we did. It was infuriating.
BB came home and assisted in our getting rid of the captioning, but by then Sister had fallen asleep in a chair and had started to sleep talk. Additionally, I just couldn't get into the movie. I felt a little bad about it. I imagine had I not just seen Sin City that I'd have been thoroughly impressed.
We retired to Brother's bedroom, where Sister and I would sleep on an air mattress. Brother inflated the mattress. It sounded like it was leaking. I said "Is it supposed to do that?" He said "Oh, no, there's a part missing." He found the part in BB's room (BB had been using it since his mother was in town for his show) and reinflated the mattress.
About two hours later, Sister woke me from a dead sleep by screaming "LEAH! MY BACK! It's ON. THE. FLOOR!!!! Is yours?" I woke up, startled, and said "Yeah, actually, it is."
The air mattress had mostly deflated while we were asleep, and we found ourselves on the floor. It is amazing to me that this didn't wake me up. I was truly exhausted.
Sister said "Well, hopefully that won't happen again, since its like the middle of the night."
I said "Wait, how do you know its the middle of the night?" since there were no clocks anywhere.
She said "Because we've been asleep forever."
"But how do you have any idea how long we've been asleep for? I don't think its the middle of the night."
Brother looked and said "It's only 11:30."
Shit.
Hoping that it wouldn't leak again, we immediately fell back asleep, only to be awoken, again, by our backs on the hardwood floor.
This time Sister said "Sorry," and automatically reinflated the mattress.
This happened a series of times, during which the three of us would utter nonsensical delirium-induced half asleep thoughts such as "It appears that this is happening every two hours" and "That's what you get for lending your stuff to people!" and "What an asshole!" and "I bet the missing part is in BB's room - why the f..."
In spite of all of this, I think we slept for over 12 hours.
Bliss.
I arrived in St. Louis 45 minutes sooner than expected, which meant that I got there well before the rest of my family. They were scheduled to arrive and then go to Enterprise Rent-A-Car to pick up Father's sweet deal of a rental. He somehow managed to rent the car for only $18 a day, which was the only reason he rented a car at all.
I spoke with Father the night before, and he said "Southwest Airlines is nowhere near the rest of the airport, so we'll have to take a shuttle to the rent-a-car place." He then said "Meet us at the Enterprise Rent-A-Car" and then said something about a shuttle, which I thought applied only to him because he was taking Southwest, the black sheep of the St. Louis airport. I walked to the Enterprise Rent-A-Car and waited for over an hour. During this hour, I spoke to Sister who said things like "We're on the shuttle!" and "We're just outside!" and "Where are you? We don't see you!" I said "I'm sitting at the Enterprise Rent-A-Car terminal" and Father got on and rather crossly said "Did you take the shuttle?"
Ah.
Apparently I too was supposed to take a shuttle to the actual Enterprise lot and not go to the Enterprise in the airport. Silly me. My family was in a mad panic. I jumped a shuttle and was there in about 3 minutes. It had taken them forever, because, again, they took Southwest which apparently has its own airport. But seriously. If someone told you to meet them at the car rental place after you got off a plane, would you not meet them at the car rental place at the airport? I didn't think this was so ridiculous, but Father did.
I don't know. I was perturbed and moody, but all was remedied when I saw my family. Yay!
We piled into the red jeep and made our way to Edwardsville, IL, where we met up with Brother at his house. It was lovely to be intact as a family for the first time since Christmas.
Shortly after our arrival, we piled back into the jeep and drove to the SIUE campus, where we attended BB's show. BB is not only Brother's roommate, but his hetero life partner. They've known each other since the glory days of UMass, and have lived and worked together for the entirety of their printmaking times at SIUE.
BB's show was amazing. His paintings are technically remarkable, but I prefer his prints. Visceral. Empty. Fabulous.
Upon our departure from the show, I forced Brother and Sister to do rural things such as frolic in grass and blow dandelions at each other and at the camera. I am fortunate that my siblings don't mind this sort of thing. I am thrilled with the adorable photos I took of them playing in the midwest.
After the show, we headed to The Pasta House for dinner. Southern Illinois Italian food. We were ravenously hungry so it seemed like the best meal we'd ever had. There was amazing thunder and lightening when we left, the kind that accompanies torrential downpours and the kind where you know the lightening struck two feet away from you because the thunder is instant. People in the midwest take this for granted because it happens all the time. I loved it. It was beautiful.
After dinner, The Parents headed to the only hotel in Edwardsville while Brother, Sister and I went back to Brother's apartment. Sister and I were exhausted from travelling, so we demanded that Brother rent us a movie. He rented Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, which I'd been dying to see. Jude Law. 'Nuff said.
(Side note: One of my brother's roommates is Vietnamese. We'd originally hoped not to have to rent a movie, so I began perusing his videos and couldn't help but notice that he owned an alarming amount of Tom Cruise movies. I said "K, I couldn't help but notice that you have a lot of movies starring Tom Cruise. What's the deal?" He said "Asian men really love Tom Cruise. And Jude Law. They're both so good looking. Something about the facial structure, I guess." Who knew? I hate Tom Cruise. I guess its nice to know there's a whole set of men out there who love him.)
We were exhausted and couldn't quite conjure up the mental capacity to get rid of the closed captions, which insisted on being there no matter what we did. It was infuriating.
BB came home and assisted in our getting rid of the captioning, but by then Sister had fallen asleep in a chair and had started to sleep talk. Additionally, I just couldn't get into the movie. I felt a little bad about it. I imagine had I not just seen Sin City that I'd have been thoroughly impressed.
We retired to Brother's bedroom, where Sister and I would sleep on an air mattress. Brother inflated the mattress. It sounded like it was leaking. I said "Is it supposed to do that?" He said "Oh, no, there's a part missing." He found the part in BB's room (BB had been using it since his mother was in town for his show) and reinflated the mattress.
About two hours later, Sister woke me from a dead sleep by screaming "LEAH! MY BACK! It's ON. THE. FLOOR!!!! Is yours?" I woke up, startled, and said "Yeah, actually, it is."
The air mattress had mostly deflated while we were asleep, and we found ourselves on the floor. It is amazing to me that this didn't wake me up. I was truly exhausted.
Sister said "Well, hopefully that won't happen again, since its like the middle of the night."
I said "Wait, how do you know its the middle of the night?" since there were no clocks anywhere.
She said "Because we've been asleep forever."
"But how do you have any idea how long we've been asleep for? I don't think its the middle of the night."
Brother looked and said "It's only 11:30."
Shit.
Hoping that it wouldn't leak again, we immediately fell back asleep, only to be awoken, again, by our backs on the hardwood floor.
This time Sister said "Sorry," and automatically reinflated the mattress.
This happened a series of times, during which the three of us would utter nonsensical delirium-induced half asleep thoughts such as "It appears that this is happening every two hours" and "That's what you get for lending your stuff to people!" and "What an asshole!" and "I bet the missing part is in BB's room - why the f..."
In spite of all of this, I think we slept for over 12 hours.
Bliss.
Back From The Loo
I am back from The Loo with keys in hand to a new apartment. The lease has been signed. I am still suspicious of how devoid of drama this has been. I am expecting something awful to happen. Darn conditioning. It seems, however, that all is well and that I can start moving things in as soon as I feel so inclined.
Crazy.
Lots going on.
I have to start thinking about what needs to be bought and what needs to be sold and how I can convince D to spend his free time putting up curtain rods and building fabulous systems of shelving. Hopefully these sorts of projects will appeal to his nesting instincts, which, as of late, have been nonapparent.
He said "I have a power drill. I hope you realize how great my power drill is. If not, my power drill is going to seek out more grateful walls."
Yes. Lots of projects and irksome organizational activities such as packing and selling things I love and possibly subletting my room and transporting boxes magically and changing addresses and arranging for electricity and various other nonsense I have no interest in doing but will consume my life for the next few weeks.
That was grammatically atrocious. Please forgive me. Lots on my mind.
I will write about my St. Louis adventure (or, non-adventure, since it was St. Louis) when I have time to upload some photos.
In the meantime, I am off to see The Shins at Webster Hall tonight.
Yeah!
Crazy.
Lots going on.
I have to start thinking about what needs to be bought and what needs to be sold and how I can convince D to spend his free time putting up curtain rods and building fabulous systems of shelving. Hopefully these sorts of projects will appeal to his nesting instincts, which, as of late, have been nonapparent.
He said "I have a power drill. I hope you realize how great my power drill is. If not, my power drill is going to seek out more grateful walls."
Yes. Lots of projects and irksome organizational activities such as packing and selling things I love and possibly subletting my room and transporting boxes magically and changing addresses and arranging for electricity and various other nonsense I have no interest in doing but will consume my life for the next few weeks.
That was grammatically atrocious. Please forgive me. Lots on my mind.
I will write about my St. Louis adventure (or, non-adventure, since it was St. Louis) when I have time to upload some photos.
In the meantime, I am off to see The Shins at Webster Hall tonight.
Yeah!
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Things
Man. I feel like I've been out of touch. Cabin fever. General confusion.
Some things:
1. Apparently I have a thing for men with shaved legs. Who knew?
2. I am signing a lease for an apartment on Monday, assuming I can procure some gigantic certified checks this afternoon. I am excited/nervous/panicking/relieved. I need to measure things, buy things, sell things, pack things. I feel like I just finished unpacking. I can't believe I am collecting boxes again. I can't believe that I will be living somewhere else, on my own, in Manhattan, in one month's time. Details forthcoming.
3. I am heading to St. Louis tomorrow. I am going to my brother's thesis exhibition opening. I'm sure a far-too-long photo essay will be awaiting you next week on My Mundane Life In Song.
4. I got tickets for Star Wars Episode III! I could not get tickets for the midnight showing at the best theater in New York, so I will be seeing it, instead, on the night of 5/19 at the best theater in New York. I will not listen to or read anything on 5/19, and will pretend that I, with my hair fashioned like Princess Leia, am seeing it before anyone else.
5. I am starving. My body is still a mess from prep-for-non-surgery, so I should go eat. And sign over my first-born for this apartment. And scramble to finish everything at work so I can leave tomorrow feeling as though I accomplished something in the last two weeks.
Until Monday...
Some things:
1. Apparently I have a thing for men with shaved legs. Who knew?
2. I am signing a lease for an apartment on Monday, assuming I can procure some gigantic certified checks this afternoon. I am excited/nervous/panicking/relieved. I need to measure things, buy things, sell things, pack things. I feel like I just finished unpacking. I can't believe I am collecting boxes again. I can't believe that I will be living somewhere else, on my own, in Manhattan, in one month's time. Details forthcoming.
3. I am heading to St. Louis tomorrow. I am going to my brother's thesis exhibition opening. I'm sure a far-too-long photo essay will be awaiting you next week on My Mundane Life In Song.
4. I got tickets for Star Wars Episode III! I could not get tickets for the midnight showing at the best theater in New York, so I will be seeing it, instead, on the night of 5/19 at the best theater in New York. I will not listen to or read anything on 5/19, and will pretend that I, with my hair fashioned like Princess Leia, am seeing it before anyone else.
5. I am starving. My body is still a mess from prep-for-non-surgery, so I should go eat. And sign over my first-born for this apartment. And scramble to finish everything at work so I can leave tomorrow feeling as though I accomplished something in the last two weeks.
Until Monday...
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Celebrity Sighting!
Ah, New York.
In celebration of stonelessness and my potentially-awesome-apartment find yesterday, D and I went on a date. A friend of D's had recommended a vegetarian-friendly Mexican Place around St. Mark's and 2nd. We headed down there, but there was no such restaurant to be found.
I wasn't concerned. I was just happy to actually be happy. I was happy to be holding my boyfriend's hand while not being paranoid about his thoughts. Things seem ok again. Things seem normal. Things are back on track.
We meandered up and down St. Mark's looking for a place to eat. I think we were between 2nd and 3rd when we passed a large SUV with an open window.
After we passed it, D said "Was that who I think it was?"
"YES!" I exclaimed, giddy with excitement.
It was Russell Simmons !!!!
Giddy.
I was giddy for two reasons:
1. Russell Simmons! This was a great celebrity sighting because Russell Simmons is not only a celebrity, but is someone who commands respect. Russell Simmons has changed the face of the planet. He has had impact. And he is a good man.
2. It was an absurd celebrity sighting. I imagine hip hop related sightings always are. We were literally just walking down the street and Russell Simmons is sitting in the backseat of an armored SUV, looking out at the people on the sidewalk. Turns out one of his lackeys was going back and forth between the car window and this take-out restaurant, bringing food to him. The lackey would hand it to him through the window, and then Russell Simmons would eat it with the window open.
D said "Do you want to walk by again?" Of course I did. I tried to smile at him, to make eye contact, but Russell Simmons was far too involved with his falafel or burrito or whatever it was.
D said "You should ask him what he's eating."
I really wanted to know what Russell Simmons was doing downtown. What interest could he possibly have in that area?
I said "D, let's get in a cab and stalk Russell Simmons. I really want to see where he's going." I fantasized about following him. And then, his SUV would actually be some sort of Batmobile-like-vehicle that would sense its being followed and would launch missiles at us that had little LL Cool J's on them.
Yes.
Instead of following Russell Simmons, we found a little Italian restaurant and had a nice dinner.
And then we made a Snow Speeder out of Legos.
And felt completely normal.
In celebration of stonelessness and my potentially-awesome-apartment find yesterday, D and I went on a date. A friend of D's had recommended a vegetarian-friendly Mexican Place around St. Mark's and 2nd. We headed down there, but there was no such restaurant to be found.
I wasn't concerned. I was just happy to actually be happy. I was happy to be holding my boyfriend's hand while not being paranoid about his thoughts. Things seem ok again. Things seem normal. Things are back on track.
We meandered up and down St. Mark's looking for a place to eat. I think we were between 2nd and 3rd when we passed a large SUV with an open window.
After we passed it, D said "Was that who I think it was?"
"YES!" I exclaimed, giddy with excitement.
It was Russell Simmons !!!!
Giddy.
I was giddy for two reasons:
1. Russell Simmons! This was a great celebrity sighting because Russell Simmons is not only a celebrity, but is someone who commands respect. Russell Simmons has changed the face of the planet. He has had impact. And he is a good man.
2. It was an absurd celebrity sighting. I imagine hip hop related sightings always are. We were literally just walking down the street and Russell Simmons is sitting in the backseat of an armored SUV, looking out at the people on the sidewalk. Turns out one of his lackeys was going back and forth between the car window and this take-out restaurant, bringing food to him. The lackey would hand it to him through the window, and then Russell Simmons would eat it with the window open.
D said "Do you want to walk by again?" Of course I did. I tried to smile at him, to make eye contact, but Russell Simmons was far too involved with his falafel or burrito or whatever it was.
D said "You should ask him what he's eating."
I really wanted to know what Russell Simmons was doing downtown. What interest could he possibly have in that area?
I said "D, let's get in a cab and stalk Russell Simmons. I really want to see where he's going." I fantasized about following him. And then, his SUV would actually be some sort of Batmobile-like-vehicle that would sense its being followed and would launch missiles at us that had little LL Cool J's on them.
Yes.
Instead of following Russell Simmons, we found a little Italian restaurant and had a nice dinner.
And then we made a Snow Speeder out of Legos.
And felt completely normal.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Stone Has Passed
Tee hee.
I went in this morning for "the procedure" and there was no stone to be found!
I am freaking ecstatic.
My friend M had been saying "What is this procedure? You make it sound as though they're going to hit you with a mallet."
When I arrived at the office, I was handed a pamphlet that explained "the machine," and was then told by the anesthesiologist that he'd give you a narcotic with 10x the potency of morphine because essentially "the machine" beats your kidney 3600 times with electroconvulsive pulses. But, literally, it involves beating. And one can expect to piss blood due to kidney bleeding in response to the beating. And bruising up and down one's side. Fabulous.
I asked the anesthesiologist "What, exactly, does anesthesia do?" and he was like "We don't really know... it makes your forget." Then "Maybe something with calcium channels. Nobody really knows."
I'd suspected that the stone had passed or was, at the very least, in a very comfortable spot, because I hadn't felt anything for over 24 hours. This didn't stop me from preparing for the procedure, which caused me to lose about 3 pounds yesterday. Glamorous.
I kept saying "Look, it might not be there. Let's just not give me any anesthesia until we're sure."
They're not entirely sure, but the obstruction, if its there, is minimal, so its either passed or painlessly on its way out.
Sweet sweet sweet. So much better than gravel and bruising.
I am in such a good mood. It's a beautiful day and my kidneys are intact. And I get to eat, which is making me far too happy.
YAY!
I went in this morning for "the procedure" and there was no stone to be found!
I am freaking ecstatic.
My friend M had been saying "What is this procedure? You make it sound as though they're going to hit you with a mallet."
When I arrived at the office, I was handed a pamphlet that explained "the machine," and was then told by the anesthesiologist that he'd give you a narcotic with 10x the potency of morphine because essentially "the machine" beats your kidney 3600 times with electroconvulsive pulses. But, literally, it involves beating. And one can expect to piss blood due to kidney bleeding in response to the beating. And bruising up and down one's side. Fabulous.
I asked the anesthesiologist "What, exactly, does anesthesia do?" and he was like "We don't really know... it makes your forget." Then "Maybe something with calcium channels. Nobody really knows."
I'd suspected that the stone had passed or was, at the very least, in a very comfortable spot, because I hadn't felt anything for over 24 hours. This didn't stop me from preparing for the procedure, which caused me to lose about 3 pounds yesterday. Glamorous.
I kept saying "Look, it might not be there. Let's just not give me any anesthesia until we're sure."
They're not entirely sure, but the obstruction, if its there, is minimal, so its either passed or painlessly on its way out.
Sweet sweet sweet. So much better than gravel and bruising.
I am in such a good mood. It's a beautiful day and my kidneys are intact. And I get to eat, which is making me far too happy.
YAY!
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