D and I got Less Than Zero from Netflix last week.
D put it in the queue because he decided, a few weeks ago, that he thought Bret Easton Ellis was a good writer because American Psycho , the movie, is so very awesome.
He read Less Than Zero, and when he finished, handed it to me and said "Do you want to read it?"
"Should I?"
"Well..."
"I guess I should, since it's in the queue."
"Yeah, I guess you should."
"Was it good?"
"Well..."
I decided that I'd read half of it, given its very short length, and would decide at that point if I would continue.
D and I had a fight on the night that I started reading it, which resulted in my accidentally read more than half of it as I tried to distract myself from my mood and his snoring.
I had to continue on. After all, the book is short and not much of a time or emotional commitment.
I finished it in a day, and decided that I hated it.
I hated the characters, the story, the lack of plot, the coincidences, the style, the blah. It did nothing for me.
D said "Should we watch the movie?"
We decided that we would, if only to determine what character Robert Downey Jr. was playing. We both admitted that we'd been under the impression that he was the main character, but after reading the book were both convinced he'd be playing Julian.
Turned out Robert Downey Jr. played Julian in the adaptation.
OK.
So the movie was infinitely worse than the book. It was an abomination. Worst. Movie. Ever.
Why?
Because it was a terrible adaptation of a book that I thought I'd hated.
As I watched the movie, I realized that I didn't hate the book at all.
I felt so betrayed by the adaptation. I kept yelling "Did anyone involved in this movie even read the book!?!?!" "They are missing the whole fucking point!" "If James Spader and Robert Downey Jr. don't make out right now, I am going to throw something through your TV!" "Where is the bisexuality?" "Andrew McCarthey is fucking RIDICULOUS! He's not even doing drugs! What book did these people read for the love of god this is the worst movie I have ever seen!"
D said "Where is the ennui?" "This isn't jaded at all!" "Can you explain why Jamie Gertz ever had a career?"
I said "They need to remake this movie."
It was then that I realized that, despite not liking the book, the book is good. The book is damn good. It's the vibe and the theme and the culture. Seeing that culture betrayed drove me insane. It made me laugh. It disgusted me. Reading the book is torture, and I think that's the point.
I don't know what the point of this entry is.
Oh - right - I think I mentioned in a previous entry that reading Less Than Zero made me feel dirty and I would like to retract that statement.
Watching Less Than Zero made me feel dirty.
The book, in contrast, is amazing.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Friday, September 09, 2005
A-D-U-L-T Spelling Bee
On Wednesday night D and I attended and participated in an adult spelling bee!
I've been psyched about this for months. I basically made D go, and said "You are going to be in this spelling bee, and you are going to win!"
I went with the intention of drinking and laughing lots, and taking photos. I'd envisioned it taking place in the club where the horrid open mics occurred (it was at the same center near Central Park West), with hundreds of people, and a lottery determining who got to enter the spelling bee.
D and I hadn't had time to practice our drunk spelling beforehand, so en route to the spelling bee we spelled everything we spoke about.
When we arrived, we were slightly shocked to see that the spelling bee would be held in a very tiny conference room, and that there only about 20 people involved.
This, of course, meant that I had to be in the spelling bee.
Horror of horrors. My fear of public speaking/performance is more of a fear of public anything. And if a microphone is involved, forget it! The setup for this was a small stage on which was only a microphone. Luckily we didn't have to sit on the stage. We were all seated in the audience, drinks in hand, and would be called up when it was our turn.
There were two different types of rounds - the first was just words picked from the official spelling bee list. The second, and far more fun, was a roll-the-dice round, where the number you rolled determined the word category from which you'd have to spell a word. The categories were alcohol, things that are uncomfortable, band names, characters from mythology, and former child stars.
I did pretty well for a while. I got "sandpaper duvet" and "luau" and "gwar" and "streptococcus." I can't believe I got "streptococcus" correct. I feel like sober me would have tripped all over it, but drunk me spelled it with the utmost of confidence.
The beauty of this spelling bee was that you weren't out until you got two incorrect. D faltered early as he was unable to spell "Bonaduce" in "Danny Bonaduce."
When one girl had to spell "Hennessey" and jokingly asked for it to be used in a sentence, I said "Or, how about a hip hop lyric instead?" and a bunch of people, myself included, busted out with Digital Underground's "Humpty Dance." Best spelling bee of all time, folks.
Another girl had to spell "Snoop Doggy Dogg," and spelled it incorrectly. She spelled the final "Dogg" with only one "g." It was funny, given that earlier on I'd been joking about my inability to spell in public, and how my first word would most likely be "dog" and how I'd spell it "D-O-double-G." Heh. The MC was all "Dude, haven't you ever heard any of his songs? He always spells his name in them."
The MC's brother participated in the spelling bee and was hilarious. Seriously. This guy was the ultimate in comic relief. He got up and rolled "Former Child Stars" and got "Mayim Bialik." He said "If I don't spell that right in this place I'm going to get killed," which was funny given that the spelling bee was being held in a Jewish Cultural Center. He had no idea how to spell it, but we decided that if he could reenact the opening credits, complete with singing of the theme song and doing the Blossom dance, he could stay in. He unfortunately didn't do the dance very well, so got eliminated. Luckily, there were two girls there who could do the dance, so we were very entertained.
When it was down to five people remaining, we had to stand on the stage.
I had one wrong at this point. I'd misspelled "meticulosity" because, thinking of my friend Kris' made-up word "awesomenocity," I misspelled it as "M-E-T-I-C-U-L-O-C-I-T-Y." When the MC gave me the word, I said "You totally made that up! It's meticulousness!" Everyone agreed with me, but whatever. It is, however, a word. I just looked it up.
The second word I went out on I can't even remember, because I, and everyone else in there, had never heard of it. Never! I had him repeat it like 10 times and had him use it in a sentence and give me the definition and still nothing. No idea. Out. I think the MC had it in for me. I could have spelled any other word in the whole bee. Damn, son.
The finalists were D and this older woman who was an amazing speller.
D, drunker than I've ever seen him, spelled amazingly!
He was also doing The D Show, and I think it psyched the lady out. He was rolling around on the stage and being nuts. The crowd loved him.
When the lady got her first word wrong, D ran to the side of the stage and gave me a huge kiss, Rocky-style. It was awesome.
And then D won!!!
We had an awesome time, even though winning didn't actually involve a prize. I made a new friend, and D and I hung out with the MC, his funny brother, and the bartender afterwards. We got to drink the remaining wine, and had some cool conversations. Hopefully we'll see these people again. And hopefully there will be more spelling bees!!!
I've been psyched about this for months. I basically made D go, and said "You are going to be in this spelling bee, and you are going to win!"
I went with the intention of drinking and laughing lots, and taking photos. I'd envisioned it taking place in the club where the horrid open mics occurred (it was at the same center near Central Park West), with hundreds of people, and a lottery determining who got to enter the spelling bee.
D and I hadn't had time to practice our drunk spelling beforehand, so en route to the spelling bee we spelled everything we spoke about.
When we arrived, we were slightly shocked to see that the spelling bee would be held in a very tiny conference room, and that there only about 20 people involved.
This, of course, meant that I had to be in the spelling bee.
Horror of horrors. My fear of public speaking/performance is more of a fear of public anything. And if a microphone is involved, forget it! The setup for this was a small stage on which was only a microphone. Luckily we didn't have to sit on the stage. We were all seated in the audience, drinks in hand, and would be called up when it was our turn.
There were two different types of rounds - the first was just words picked from the official spelling bee list. The second, and far more fun, was a roll-the-dice round, where the number you rolled determined the word category from which you'd have to spell a word. The categories were alcohol, things that are uncomfortable, band names, characters from mythology, and former child stars.
I did pretty well for a while. I got "sandpaper duvet" and "luau" and "gwar" and "streptococcus." I can't believe I got "streptococcus" correct. I feel like sober me would have tripped all over it, but drunk me spelled it with the utmost of confidence.
The beauty of this spelling bee was that you weren't out until you got two incorrect. D faltered early as he was unable to spell "Bonaduce" in "Danny Bonaduce."
When one girl had to spell "Hennessey" and jokingly asked for it to be used in a sentence, I said "Or, how about a hip hop lyric instead?" and a bunch of people, myself included, busted out with Digital Underground's "Humpty Dance." Best spelling bee of all time, folks.
Another girl had to spell "Snoop Doggy Dogg," and spelled it incorrectly. She spelled the final "Dogg" with only one "g." It was funny, given that earlier on I'd been joking about my inability to spell in public, and how my first word would most likely be "dog" and how I'd spell it "D-O-double-G." Heh. The MC was all "Dude, haven't you ever heard any of his songs? He always spells his name in them."
The MC's brother participated in the spelling bee and was hilarious. Seriously. This guy was the ultimate in comic relief. He got up and rolled "Former Child Stars" and got "Mayim Bialik." He said "If I don't spell that right in this place I'm going to get killed," which was funny given that the spelling bee was being held in a Jewish Cultural Center. He had no idea how to spell it, but we decided that if he could reenact the opening credits, complete with singing of the theme song and doing the Blossom dance, he could stay in. He unfortunately didn't do the dance very well, so got eliminated. Luckily, there were two girls there who could do the dance, so we were very entertained.
When it was down to five people remaining, we had to stand on the stage.
I had one wrong at this point. I'd misspelled "meticulosity" because, thinking of my friend Kris' made-up word "awesomenocity," I misspelled it as "M-E-T-I-C-U-L-O-C-I-T-Y." When the MC gave me the word, I said "You totally made that up! It's meticulousness!" Everyone agreed with me, but whatever. It is, however, a word. I just looked it up.
The second word I went out on I can't even remember, because I, and everyone else in there, had never heard of it. Never! I had him repeat it like 10 times and had him use it in a sentence and give me the definition and still nothing. No idea. Out. I think the MC had it in for me. I could have spelled any other word in the whole bee. Damn, son.
The finalists were D and this older woman who was an amazing speller.
D, drunker than I've ever seen him, spelled amazingly!
He was also doing The D Show, and I think it psyched the lady out. He was rolling around on the stage and being nuts. The crowd loved him.
When the lady got her first word wrong, D ran to the side of the stage and gave me a huge kiss, Rocky-style. It was awesome.
And then D won!!!
We had an awesome time, even though winning didn't actually involve a prize. I made a new friend, and D and I hung out with the MC, his funny brother, and the bartender afterwards. We got to drink the remaining wine, and had some cool conversations. Hopefully we'll see these people again. And hopefully there will be more spelling bees!!!
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Florida... Again
I went to Florida this weekend.
We departed on Friday morning, thus having an extra day off! My boss said "No, no, I'm cool with this..." when I asked him to sign the paperwork for the vacation day, so it ended up being a free day off! Woo hoo!!!
The flights went as planned. We connected in Atlanta and were in Orlando by 1pm. We picked up the rental car and headed straight for the beach.
We were met by torrential downpours. Rainy season. Drat. Who knew?
We grabbed lunch at a diner right near the beach, where we were told "Don't even try to go to the beach. It's gon' rain for in en hourrr', fer an hourrr." The waitstaff were overly friendly. D said "Why do you think they're so friendly? What do they want from us?" I said "I think they're just friendly. Scary, huh?"
We decided to ignore their warnings and headed to the beach.
There were a few people there.
D frolicked in the ocean while I attempted to sleep.
While attempting to sleep, I overheard a girl near me say the following:
"You know, well, they called me into HR." When asked why she continued "Well, you know, you know how when you're at work you touch people on the butt? Yeah, well, you know how it is. So I go in there and I'm like 'Look, the person who you should be talking to is not me, it's that girl. I mean, you know, the one who has a problem with this. She is the one with the issues. You know. She's a mess.'"
I got some decent sleep.
I also took some photos, including this one which was, I swear, an accident.
I sat on the beach for a while, not swimming because it was actually quite cold out. D came out of the water right before it started to pour. We leisurely walked back to the car (is there anything better than being in a rain storm while wearing a bathing suit?) and headed to his folks' house.
They were happy to see D. We freshened up post-beach, chatted with the parents for a bit, and then headed out for a date. I'd said "Dude, I really want to find the cheesiest restaurant possible and eat at it. You know. People in costumes, animatronics, ultimate tourist trap type of place. I want drinks with cute names and a dinner show." We unfortunately missed the pirate dinner show and all other dinner shows because we didn't make a plan, so we drove around randomly looking for something after D's parents said "All of the restaurants around here are cheesy."
What they did not tell us was that all of the restaurants around there were bad. Bad bad bad. We ended up at a Mexican restaurant with the worst food imagineable. It was a quiet date. D seemed a little moody. He is different around his family. I tried to be light and happy, but I am different around his family as well. Feeling invisible will do that to a person.
We headed back to his parents' house, where they were waiting up for us to make sure we got into the garage ok with the code. They talked for a bit, while I remained quiet because of sangria and invisibility. I also really wanted a cold glass of water, but D's parents are adorable in that both of them have teeth that are hypersensitive to cold. They keep their Brita at room temperature, and there is literally no ice in the house. At all. His father even goes so far as to microwave apple juice that's been stored in the refrigerator prior to his drinking it.
The following morning we got a late start - D got up well before me and disappeared. I felt awkward and didn't want to just appear, so stayed in bed. He got coerced into doing yardwork. I was slightly cross because there was all of this urgency to "get to the beach before the rain - get UP - HURRY UP!" when he returned after the initial disappearing, and then I waited around for a couple of hours. This delay, however, gave me time to watch the news.
I hadn't seen any live footage of the hurricane up until that point. I'd read plenty and listened to the radio, but I hadn't seen a moving image since I do not have TV.
I cried a bit and compiled the statistics and became annoyed and distressed and angry and devastated and decided, instead, to read the paper.
D, finished with yardwork, organized a cooler of goodies for us and we hit the road about half an hour later.
And, of course, we hit torrential downpours on our way to the beach.
We went to the beach anyway, and again, nobody on it. Bliss! It was sunny by the time we arrived. I applied sunscreen and lied down in just enough time for it to start raining. It only rained for a few seconds. I feel asleep.
And then I woke up. And fell asleep again. And then it rained. And I fell asleep as it was raining. And then I woke up and D was gone and I thought "What if he never comes back? I am fucked," and then fell asleep while cold rain droplets hit my burning skin.
Bliss, folks, bliss.
D woke me up eventually and said "Come frolick!" I rain into the ocean, which was warmer than the air. Heaven! The waves were intense, and every time one hit the beach, I could feel the sand under my toes being dragged away by the current and I felt like I was floating and would fall and then be sucked under.
I frolicked for about three seconds before I decided that the current was freaking me out and that the waves being taller than me was unsettling, so I ran onto the beach and wrote "Leah Lar Hearts D" with my toes. D added "4-EVER" and then it, of course, started to pour, erasing out artwork.
We quickly gathered up the food and camera and glasses and ran to the car.
We were soaked. We decided to find a movie theater. We found one, but the movie times were not good. D wanted to eat at Steak and Shake, where the service was bad but the salad dressing was delicious.
We headed back to D's parents' house, where D engaged in further yardwork while I watched the news for about three minutes, thought better of it, and instead watched Alive on The History Channel.
D returned and instantly fell asleep on the living room floor. I decided that I too would take a nap, so went to our room and fell asleep within two seconds.
Naps galore, folks. Does life get any better?
D's mother made manicotti for dinner. We ate and drank champagne and I said little other than "This is so good."
After dinner, we played cards with the parents. D's father cheated. I knew he was cheating and tried to explain this, but neither D nor I are assertive enough. His father wasn't doing it on purpose. He didn't know. He hasn't enough experience with cards. He slaughtered all of us, but he cheated! I love his father, though, so I'll let it go.
D wanted to play scrabble, but I wanted to read. My goals for the trip were Beach, Books, and Naps. I needed some Book time, and needed some time away from The D Show.
Plus, I imagine D's mother wanted some time alone with her son.
The following day, I read more in the morning because D, again, disappeared.
We then went to a pizza buffet. All-you-can-eat pizza, breadsticks, salad, and dessert for $3.99!!!!
We headed back to his parents' house. D mowed the lawn while I sat with his parents, reading, while they said nothing as they read the newspaper.
I finished Atonement by Ian McKewen and started Less than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis.
Finishing a good book, like Atonement, is like amazing sex. The buildup is blissful, you want it to go on forever, and when it does end, YEAH! And then the exhaustion sets in.
Terrible books like Less Than Zero just make you feel dirty.
When D returned from mowing the lawn, The D Show was on again and his parents perked up, got chatty, put out food.
We socialized for a bit and were then off to the airport.
We got on an earlier flight than that scheduled, and this one was direct! We had lofty expectations for all of our bonus time in NYC, but of course we ended up just falling asleep.
On Monday I saw Century of the Self Parts 1 and 2, which were both letdowns. This was good, though, because now there is no pressure to see parts 3 and 4.
After the movie, we walked around the city and enjoyed the lack of people. If New York was always as barren as it was on Labor Day, I'd be a much happier person. We walked around the Bowery in search of a floor lamp for D's grownup apartment, did some other shopping, took a nap, read, went out on a date for dinner, and then watched Kontroll back at my apartment. I think I liked it but I feel stupid because I don't think I get it.
And that, folks, was the Long Weekend.
Wish I could say that I still feel rested and unwound. Oh well. Hopefully sleep will be had this weekend.
We departed on Friday morning, thus having an extra day off! My boss said "No, no, I'm cool with this..." when I asked him to sign the paperwork for the vacation day, so it ended up being a free day off! Woo hoo!!!
The flights went as planned. We connected in Atlanta and were in Orlando by 1pm. We picked up the rental car and headed straight for the beach.
We were met by torrential downpours. Rainy season. Drat. Who knew?
We grabbed lunch at a diner right near the beach, where we were told "Don't even try to go to the beach. It's gon' rain for in en hourrr', fer an hourrr." The waitstaff were overly friendly. D said "Why do you think they're so friendly? What do they want from us?" I said "I think they're just friendly. Scary, huh?"
We decided to ignore their warnings and headed to the beach.
There were a few people there.
D frolicked in the ocean while I attempted to sleep.
While attempting to sleep, I overheard a girl near me say the following:
"You know, well, they called me into HR." When asked why she continued "Well, you know, you know how when you're at work you touch people on the butt? Yeah, well, you know how it is. So I go in there and I'm like 'Look, the person who you should be talking to is not me, it's that girl. I mean, you know, the one who has a problem with this. She is the one with the issues. You know. She's a mess.'"
I got some decent sleep.
I also took some photos, including this one which was, I swear, an accident.
I sat on the beach for a while, not swimming because it was actually quite cold out. D came out of the water right before it started to pour. We leisurely walked back to the car (is there anything better than being in a rain storm while wearing a bathing suit?) and headed to his folks' house.
They were happy to see D. We freshened up post-beach, chatted with the parents for a bit, and then headed out for a date. I'd said "Dude, I really want to find the cheesiest restaurant possible and eat at it. You know. People in costumes, animatronics, ultimate tourist trap type of place. I want drinks with cute names and a dinner show." We unfortunately missed the pirate dinner show and all other dinner shows because we didn't make a plan, so we drove around randomly looking for something after D's parents said "All of the restaurants around here are cheesy."
What they did not tell us was that all of the restaurants around there were bad. Bad bad bad. We ended up at a Mexican restaurant with the worst food imagineable. It was a quiet date. D seemed a little moody. He is different around his family. I tried to be light and happy, but I am different around his family as well. Feeling invisible will do that to a person.
We headed back to his parents' house, where they were waiting up for us to make sure we got into the garage ok with the code. They talked for a bit, while I remained quiet because of sangria and invisibility. I also really wanted a cold glass of water, but D's parents are adorable in that both of them have teeth that are hypersensitive to cold. They keep their Brita at room temperature, and there is literally no ice in the house. At all. His father even goes so far as to microwave apple juice that's been stored in the refrigerator prior to his drinking it.
The following morning we got a late start - D got up well before me and disappeared. I felt awkward and didn't want to just appear, so stayed in bed. He got coerced into doing yardwork. I was slightly cross because there was all of this urgency to "get to the beach before the rain - get UP - HURRY UP!" when he returned after the initial disappearing, and then I waited around for a couple of hours. This delay, however, gave me time to watch the news.
I hadn't seen any live footage of the hurricane up until that point. I'd read plenty and listened to the radio, but I hadn't seen a moving image since I do not have TV.
I cried a bit and compiled the statistics and became annoyed and distressed and angry and devastated and decided, instead, to read the paper.
D, finished with yardwork, organized a cooler of goodies for us and we hit the road about half an hour later.
And, of course, we hit torrential downpours on our way to the beach.
We went to the beach anyway, and again, nobody on it. Bliss! It was sunny by the time we arrived. I applied sunscreen and lied down in just enough time for it to start raining. It only rained for a few seconds. I feel asleep.
And then I woke up. And fell asleep again. And then it rained. And I fell asleep as it was raining. And then I woke up and D was gone and I thought "What if he never comes back? I am fucked," and then fell asleep while cold rain droplets hit my burning skin.
Bliss, folks, bliss.
D woke me up eventually and said "Come frolick!" I rain into the ocean, which was warmer than the air. Heaven! The waves were intense, and every time one hit the beach, I could feel the sand under my toes being dragged away by the current and I felt like I was floating and would fall and then be sucked under.
I frolicked for about three seconds before I decided that the current was freaking me out and that the waves being taller than me was unsettling, so I ran onto the beach and wrote "Leah Lar Hearts D" with my toes. D added "4-EVER" and then it, of course, started to pour, erasing out artwork.
We quickly gathered up the food and camera and glasses and ran to the car.
We were soaked. We decided to find a movie theater. We found one, but the movie times were not good. D wanted to eat at Steak and Shake, where the service was bad but the salad dressing was delicious.
We headed back to D's parents' house, where D engaged in further yardwork while I watched the news for about three minutes, thought better of it, and instead watched Alive on The History Channel.
D returned and instantly fell asleep on the living room floor. I decided that I too would take a nap, so went to our room and fell asleep within two seconds.
Naps galore, folks. Does life get any better?
D's mother made manicotti for dinner. We ate and drank champagne and I said little other than "This is so good."
After dinner, we played cards with the parents. D's father cheated. I knew he was cheating and tried to explain this, but neither D nor I are assertive enough. His father wasn't doing it on purpose. He didn't know. He hasn't enough experience with cards. He slaughtered all of us, but he cheated! I love his father, though, so I'll let it go.
D wanted to play scrabble, but I wanted to read. My goals for the trip were Beach, Books, and Naps. I needed some Book time, and needed some time away from The D Show.
Plus, I imagine D's mother wanted some time alone with her son.
The following day, I read more in the morning because D, again, disappeared.
We then went to a pizza buffet. All-you-can-eat pizza, breadsticks, salad, and dessert for $3.99!!!!
We headed back to his parents' house. D mowed the lawn while I sat with his parents, reading, while they said nothing as they read the newspaper.
I finished Atonement by Ian McKewen and started Less than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis.
Finishing a good book, like Atonement, is like amazing sex. The buildup is blissful, you want it to go on forever, and when it does end, YEAH! And then the exhaustion sets in.
Terrible books like Less Than Zero just make you feel dirty.
When D returned from mowing the lawn, The D Show was on again and his parents perked up, got chatty, put out food.
We socialized for a bit and were then off to the airport.
We got on an earlier flight than that scheduled, and this one was direct! We had lofty expectations for all of our bonus time in NYC, but of course we ended up just falling asleep.
On Monday I saw Century of the Self Parts 1 and 2, which were both letdowns. This was good, though, because now there is no pressure to see parts 3 and 4.
After the movie, we walked around the city and enjoyed the lack of people. If New York was always as barren as it was on Labor Day, I'd be a much happier person. We walked around the Bowery in search of a floor lamp for D's grownup apartment, did some other shopping, took a nap, read, went out on a date for dinner, and then watched Kontroll back at my apartment. I think I liked it but I feel stupid because I don't think I get it.
And that, folks, was the Long Weekend.
Wish I could say that I still feel rested and unwound. Oh well. Hopefully sleep will be had this weekend.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Serious
I went on a nearly blind friend date with N last night.
She really wanted to see The Constant Gardener. I had no desire to see it, but since I think that City of God is one of the best movies I've ever seen, I figured I'd give it a shot. Plus, the reviews were in and the reviews were good.
While we were in line I said "You know, yet another reason why Loew's 34th Street is such a great theater, in addition to their having real food and being the cheapest theater in the city and being around the corner from my apartment, is the fact that the previews start 10 minutes prior to the movie start time on moviefone, so getting to a movie early is actually rewarded!" I didn't mention the long list of reasons why Loew's 34th Street sucks, which includes the reliably unruly crowds and the fact the bathroom is on a separate floor from the theater and is, without fail, grotesque.
N said "My friends all think I am a nerd because I like the previews. The previews are my favorite part!"
"I know," I said, realizing that N and I might actually become friends.
OK.
So.
The Constant Gardener. Intense. Artful. Ralph Fiennes in a t-shirt - the second best thing ever. The romance was believable and adorable. The conspiracy got boring after a while.
I'd recommend it because its beautiful to look at, but its more of a rental. And be prepared to suffer from motion sickness - the camera work is brilliant - I'd compare it to more of a series of gorgeous still art photography, so it jumps around a lot. But man is it gorgeous. It's organic and grainy and lush and wonderful.
Ralph Fiennes. He is always so. Serious. The man never smiles. I want Ralph Fiennes to be in, like, 45 Year Old Virgin next year. I want to see him laugh!
So, back to the point of this entry.
The point is: the previews, in this care, were the best part because they showed a preview for Brokeback Mountain and I'm not kidding when I say that I gasped a few times while watching it.
Can you think of anything better than Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger being involved in a secret gay love affair as cowboys?!?!?!
Gasp. I practically burst into tears just watching the preview.
I cannot wait for this movie. I seriously can't wait. I can't. I love Jake Gyllenhaal much more than I should given that he is like 14.
I also love tragic men. Ralph Fiennes was very tragic in The Constant Gardener and I enjoyed it. I think male tears work so well on screen because women would probably like to see more of male tears in real life.
Well, maybe not. I guess nobody wants to see more tears. Tears suck.
But. Jake Gyllenhaal crying? It's like I'm in middle school all over again watching Dead Poets Society and all of my friends and I fall in love with Ethan Hawke because he flips out at the end because Robert Sean Leonard has killed himself.
I can't wait!!!!
She really wanted to see The Constant Gardener. I had no desire to see it, but since I think that City of God is one of the best movies I've ever seen, I figured I'd give it a shot. Plus, the reviews were in and the reviews were good.
While we were in line I said "You know, yet another reason why Loew's 34th Street is such a great theater, in addition to their having real food and being the cheapest theater in the city and being around the corner from my apartment, is the fact that the previews start 10 minutes prior to the movie start time on moviefone, so getting to a movie early is actually rewarded!" I didn't mention the long list of reasons why Loew's 34th Street sucks, which includes the reliably unruly crowds and the fact the bathroom is on a separate floor from the theater and is, without fail, grotesque.
N said "My friends all think I am a nerd because I like the previews. The previews are my favorite part!"
"I know," I said, realizing that N and I might actually become friends.
OK.
So.
The Constant Gardener. Intense. Artful. Ralph Fiennes in a t-shirt - the second best thing ever. The romance was believable and adorable. The conspiracy got boring after a while.
I'd recommend it because its beautiful to look at, but its more of a rental. And be prepared to suffer from motion sickness - the camera work is brilliant - I'd compare it to more of a series of gorgeous still art photography, so it jumps around a lot. But man is it gorgeous. It's organic and grainy and lush and wonderful.
Ralph Fiennes. He is always so. Serious. The man never smiles. I want Ralph Fiennes to be in, like, 45 Year Old Virgin next year. I want to see him laugh!
So, back to the point of this entry.
The point is: the previews, in this care, were the best part because they showed a preview for Brokeback Mountain and I'm not kidding when I say that I gasped a few times while watching it.
Can you think of anything better than Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger being involved in a secret gay love affair as cowboys?!?!?!
Gasp. I practically burst into tears just watching the preview.
I cannot wait for this movie. I seriously can't wait. I can't. I love Jake Gyllenhaal much more than I should given that he is like 14.
I also love tragic men. Ralph Fiennes was very tragic in The Constant Gardener and I enjoyed it. I think male tears work so well on screen because women would probably like to see more of male tears in real life.
Well, maybe not. I guess nobody wants to see more tears. Tears suck.
But. Jake Gyllenhaal crying? It's like I'm in middle school all over again watching Dead Poets Society and all of my friends and I fall in love with Ethan Hawke because he flips out at the end because Robert Sean Leonard has killed himself.
I can't wait!!!!
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Strong Teeth
I went to the dentist this morning.
What better way to ease back into life after being away, relaxed, for a long weekend? How I love being welcomed back into Normal Life by bloody gloves in your face and the Steve Martin remake of Cheaper By the Dozen!
My dentist shows movies in the waiting room, and then while you're having your teeth cleaned, they show that same movie without sound.
I am ashamed to admit that I was starting to get into Cheaper by the Dozen in the waiting room, and was annoyed when I didn't know what was going on whilst having my mouth excavated. Bizarre, no? Bizarre that I couldn't really tell what was going on without the sound. I'd imagined it to be far more predictable. There was something with Hillary Duff, in a towel, being mortified after stepping out of the shower only to find that the high school football team was in her house. I have no idea.
At any rate, while I was having my teeth cleaned, I was thinking about two things:
1. My original NYC Dentist Experience. I found out today that those bastards didn't send my x-rays to the new dentist. Bastards!!!
2. How in the future going to the dentist will be like something out of Star Wars, with a cute robot dentist that is programmed to say things like "Fabulous lack of plaque!" and "This isn't the worst thing ever, you know" and will then list all of the more torturous things you could be doing prior to work on a Tuesday. This will be helpful in avoiding the awkwardness of staring into your hygenist's pretty eyes and being observed by a human being while you choke on your own spit.
Could the dentist suck any more?
The hygenist with pretty eyes said "Your face is going to get really wet but don't worry. I'll wipe it for you." She wasn't kidding! I'd never experienced having water shot up my nose during a dentist appointment. As if it wasn't already bad enough!
When the dentist came in to look things over, she said "Did you ever have braces?" "No." "You have remarkably straight teeth!" Awww, shucks. I finally admitted that I'd had a retainer. I try so desperately to block out those years.
She then said "Your teeth are so strong. You have solid teeth. Good for you."
Do people have non-solid teeth?
She said "But don't let that stop you from taking care of them. Sometimes people with teeth like yours stop taking care of things. You still have to floss, and brush well."
What?
First of all, how do people with solid teeth know that their teeth are unusual? Is this unusual? Solid teeth? What? And second of all, why would that prevent one from brushing one's teeth well? Do solid teeth imply some sort of immunity? Am I gifted in having solid teeth?
I don't know.
I do love the sensation of smooth, polished teeth.
I do, however, hate dentists.
But I hate the thought of a root canal more, so I force myself to go.
OK. This dentist talk is boring.
I'll write more later.
What better way to ease back into life after being away, relaxed, for a long weekend? How I love being welcomed back into Normal Life by bloody gloves in your face and the Steve Martin remake of Cheaper By the Dozen!
My dentist shows movies in the waiting room, and then while you're having your teeth cleaned, they show that same movie without sound.
I am ashamed to admit that I was starting to get into Cheaper by the Dozen in the waiting room, and was annoyed when I didn't know what was going on whilst having my mouth excavated. Bizarre, no? Bizarre that I couldn't really tell what was going on without the sound. I'd imagined it to be far more predictable. There was something with Hillary Duff, in a towel, being mortified after stepping out of the shower only to find that the high school football team was in her house. I have no idea.
At any rate, while I was having my teeth cleaned, I was thinking about two things:
1. My original NYC Dentist Experience. I found out today that those bastards didn't send my x-rays to the new dentist. Bastards!!!
2. How in the future going to the dentist will be like something out of Star Wars, with a cute robot dentist that is programmed to say things like "Fabulous lack of plaque!" and "This isn't the worst thing ever, you know" and will then list all of the more torturous things you could be doing prior to work on a Tuesday. This will be helpful in avoiding the awkwardness of staring into your hygenist's pretty eyes and being observed by a human being while you choke on your own spit.
Could the dentist suck any more?
The hygenist with pretty eyes said "Your face is going to get really wet but don't worry. I'll wipe it for you." She wasn't kidding! I'd never experienced having water shot up my nose during a dentist appointment. As if it wasn't already bad enough!
When the dentist came in to look things over, she said "Did you ever have braces?" "No." "You have remarkably straight teeth!" Awww, shucks. I finally admitted that I'd had a retainer. I try so desperately to block out those years.
She then said "Your teeth are so strong. You have solid teeth. Good for you."
Do people have non-solid teeth?
She said "But don't let that stop you from taking care of them. Sometimes people with teeth like yours stop taking care of things. You still have to floss, and brush well."
What?
First of all, how do people with solid teeth know that their teeth are unusual? Is this unusual? Solid teeth? What? And second of all, why would that prevent one from brushing one's teeth well? Do solid teeth imply some sort of immunity? Am I gifted in having solid teeth?
I don't know.
I do love the sensation of smooth, polished teeth.
I do, however, hate dentists.
But I hate the thought of a root canal more, so I force myself to go.
OK. This dentist talk is boring.
I'll write more later.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Foiled Again... and again... and then again
I wanted to go to the movies last night.
There's a documentary on William Eggelston playing at the theater around the corner. It opened last night, and the director was going to be there for discussion after the first two showings. I went to the theater the night before to buy tickets because purchasing them online cost at extra $1 per ticket which seemed assinine given I could save $2 by walking for one minute, and was told that the 6:20 showing was already sold out but that there were still tickets to the 8:20 available. I said "Can I buy them now?" to which they responded with "Day of show only."
D was sick that night, so we talked briefly about the possibility of going. He said "Well, I think I'll probably feel better tomorrow so I'll probably want to ride. But maybe not."
Cool.
I emailed him yesterday morning and said "Are you going to ride? Should I get you a ticket?" I checked online to verify that the 8:20 hadn't sold out, and it had not.
I hadn't heard from him by 1:30. I checked again to make sure there were still tickets. There were. As I walked by the theater at lunch, I thought "I should just get two tickets. Worst case scenario I have an extra ticket and I can sell it because there will probably be people standing by."
I didn't get the tickets. I don't know why. I think it's the nerdiness I feel about planning ahead, being cautious, worrying about such things.
At 3:00 he wrote back and said he'd like to go. I went online and, of course, sold out.
Fuck.
No director present when I will see this movie, if I see this movie because its playing for a little over a week and I have plans most nights.
I decided that, instead, I'd go to see The Baxter. Originally I'd intended to see both The Baxter and the Eggleston documentary. I'd mentioned to D that I might see The Baxter and just meet him at the Eggleston documentary when I'd thought there were tickets.
There was more "Maybe I'll ride" or "Maybe I'll paint" or "Maybe I'll go for a run" or "Maybe we will go on a date!"
At around 4:30 I realized that I'd finished my work for the day, so I totally had time to see The Baxter. I called D to see if he wanted to join me and if he didn't, if he wanted to do something after his ride/run/painting.
He said "Are you done? Why don't we go see Century of the Self at 5:45 instead?"
"YES! BRILLIANT!" I said, because I've been wanting to see Century of the Self for a really long time and its been oh-so-challenging. It's a four-part documentary on Freud. Parts 1 and 2 show at 5:25 and 10:05, whereas parts 3 and 4 show at 7:45, which is manageable. But - you can't see 3 and 4 without having seen 1 and 2, but seeing 1 and 2 is nearly impossible.
I was psyched, because this was like the first time ever I'd gotten out of work in enough time to see it! YAY!
We left work at about 5:15 and started walking to the theater. D was like "Do you mind if I stop home and freshen up?" He changed and meandered and ate some chewy Chips Ahoy while I watched people walking by, hoping that they'd steal the company-logo-bag I'd left on the street. Fascinating. As we walked to the theater, I began to panic because it was 5:45 and we still had about another 5 minutes' walk remaining.
We got to the window and I was like "Motherfuckerfuckitwasatfucking5:25!!!"
Now. I knew this. I knew it was earlier than 5:45, because 5:45 seems manageable. I can, in theory, get out of work by 5:00. Going to a 5:25 movie requires getting
out before 5:00, which is difficult.
I was like "I can't believe I didn't see the Eggleston documentary OR The Baxter OR Century of the Self."
D is not to blame. Not at all. I can only blame myself for not sticking to my original plan, which was to see both the Eggleston documentary and The Baxter by myself. By involving someone else, I effectively didn't get to do any of the things I wanted to do. I also knew the movie was at 5:25. I knew it, because I am anal and know things like that. But I doubted myself, and I shouldn't have.
D was like "Let's see something else!" and suggested just walking around the city to various theaters to see what was playing. It was 100 degrees last night and I didn't want to walk around anymore and I had raging PMS and didn't want to not see any other movies I really wanted to see. I was like "Can't we just call? Please!?!?" I finally convinced him to look in the paper.
He said "Let's see Pretty Persuasion!" This is last on my list (top of his), but it was on the list so I was like "Cool, yeah!"
We saw the movie.
My review:
Pretty Persuasion = Least Subtle Movie of All Time
D said "I feel dirty."
"Me too!" I said, but apparently we said this for different reasons.
I have this history of viscerally loathing movies that other people love. I hate them so very much and it is therefore completely out of the realm of possibility that other people could like them. It's not possible. It is obvious that the movie is bad and there is no way anyone could ever find something redeeming about it.
This is how I felt about 25th Hour. After the movie, PD was like "What did you think?" and I was like "I think it goes without saying." "Yeah." "Like I had no idea a movie could be that bad." "What? Oh. Um. I really liked it."
Awkward.
This was how it went last night as well. D said "Do you want to find someone with a ticket stub?" (Long story - I save ticket stubs for movies for some yet-to-be-determined movie-ticket-stub future project; I don't like going to the Sunshine because D insists on buying tickets from the machine which gives receipts instead of tickets and also charges you like 4 times for one transaction).
I said "No way, man, I just want to forget that this ever happened."
"Me too."
"Man. I think that could be on the list of the top 10 worst films I've ever seen!"
"What? You didn't like it?"
Awkward.
He tried to convince me that it had some redeeming qualities but the only good thing about it was a certain scene with Ron Livingston.
I can't be convinced to like something that I hated. With 25th Hour, I didn't completely hate it. When PD, MS and I talked about it, I came around a bit and didn't hate it as much by the time we'd finished talking.
But man. Pretty Persuasion. I felt a little bad because I was nothing but raging negativity and D really liked it, so we just stopped talking about it.
I won't write a review of it because I might be wrong about this one. Hard to tell. You should just see it for yourself if you have any interest because there must be good things that I, for whatever reason, cannot see.
I think it's because I've seen it all before, but better.
OK. Must work a bit. More later.
There's a documentary on William Eggelston playing at the theater around the corner. It opened last night, and the director was going to be there for discussion after the first two showings. I went to the theater the night before to buy tickets because purchasing them online cost at extra $1 per ticket which seemed assinine given I could save $2 by walking for one minute, and was told that the 6:20 showing was already sold out but that there were still tickets to the 8:20 available. I said "Can I buy them now?" to which they responded with "Day of show only."
D was sick that night, so we talked briefly about the possibility of going. He said "Well, I think I'll probably feel better tomorrow so I'll probably want to ride. But maybe not."
Cool.
I emailed him yesterday morning and said "Are you going to ride? Should I get you a ticket?" I checked online to verify that the 8:20 hadn't sold out, and it had not.
I hadn't heard from him by 1:30. I checked again to make sure there were still tickets. There were. As I walked by the theater at lunch, I thought "I should just get two tickets. Worst case scenario I have an extra ticket and I can sell it because there will probably be people standing by."
I didn't get the tickets. I don't know why. I think it's the nerdiness I feel about planning ahead, being cautious, worrying about such things.
At 3:00 he wrote back and said he'd like to go. I went online and, of course, sold out.
Fuck.
No director present when I will see this movie, if I see this movie because its playing for a little over a week and I have plans most nights.
I decided that, instead, I'd go to see The Baxter. Originally I'd intended to see both The Baxter and the Eggleston documentary. I'd mentioned to D that I might see The Baxter and just meet him at the Eggleston documentary when I'd thought there were tickets.
There was more "Maybe I'll ride" or "Maybe I'll paint" or "Maybe I'll go for a run" or "Maybe we will go on a date!"
At around 4:30 I realized that I'd finished my work for the day, so I totally had time to see The Baxter. I called D to see if he wanted to join me and if he didn't, if he wanted to do something after his ride/run/painting.
He said "Are you done? Why don't we go see Century of the Self at 5:45 instead?"
"YES! BRILLIANT!" I said, because I've been wanting to see Century of the Self for a really long time and its been oh-so-challenging. It's a four-part documentary on Freud. Parts 1 and 2 show at 5:25 and 10:05, whereas parts 3 and 4 show at 7:45, which is manageable. But - you can't see 3 and 4 without having seen 1 and 2, but seeing 1 and 2 is nearly impossible.
I was psyched, because this was like the first time ever I'd gotten out of work in enough time to see it! YAY!
We left work at about 5:15 and started walking to the theater. D was like "Do you mind if I stop home and freshen up?" He changed and meandered and ate some chewy Chips Ahoy while I watched people walking by, hoping that they'd steal the company-logo-bag I'd left on the street. Fascinating. As we walked to the theater, I began to panic because it was 5:45 and we still had about another 5 minutes' walk remaining.
We got to the window and I was like "Motherfuckerfuckitwasatfucking5:25!!!"
Now. I knew this. I knew it was earlier than 5:45, because 5:45 seems manageable. I can, in theory, get out of work by 5:00. Going to a 5:25 movie requires getting
out before 5:00, which is difficult.
I was like "I can't believe I didn't see the Eggleston documentary OR The Baxter OR Century of the Self."
D is not to blame. Not at all. I can only blame myself for not sticking to my original plan, which was to see both the Eggleston documentary and The Baxter by myself. By involving someone else, I effectively didn't get to do any of the things I wanted to do. I also knew the movie was at 5:25. I knew it, because I am anal and know things like that. But I doubted myself, and I shouldn't have.
D was like "Let's see something else!" and suggested just walking around the city to various theaters to see what was playing. It was 100 degrees last night and I didn't want to walk around anymore and I had raging PMS and didn't want to not see any other movies I really wanted to see. I was like "Can't we just call? Please!?!?" I finally convinced him to look in the paper.
He said "Let's see Pretty Persuasion!" This is last on my list (top of his), but it was on the list so I was like "Cool, yeah!"
We saw the movie.
My review:
Pretty Persuasion = Least Subtle Movie of All Time
D said "I feel dirty."
"Me too!" I said, but apparently we said this for different reasons.
I have this history of viscerally loathing movies that other people love. I hate them so very much and it is therefore completely out of the realm of possibility that other people could like them. It's not possible. It is obvious that the movie is bad and there is no way anyone could ever find something redeeming about it.
This is how I felt about 25th Hour. After the movie, PD was like "What did you think?" and I was like "I think it goes without saying." "Yeah." "Like I had no idea a movie could be that bad." "What? Oh. Um. I really liked it."
Awkward.
This was how it went last night as well. D said "Do you want to find someone with a ticket stub?" (Long story - I save ticket stubs for movies for some yet-to-be-determined movie-ticket-stub future project; I don't like going to the Sunshine because D insists on buying tickets from the machine which gives receipts instead of tickets and also charges you like 4 times for one transaction).
I said "No way, man, I just want to forget that this ever happened."
"Me too."
"Man. I think that could be on the list of the top 10 worst films I've ever seen!"
"What? You didn't like it?"
Awkward.
He tried to convince me that it had some redeeming qualities but the only good thing about it was a certain scene with Ron Livingston.
I can't be convinced to like something that I hated. With 25th Hour, I didn't completely hate it. When PD, MS and I talked about it, I came around a bit and didn't hate it as much by the time we'd finished talking.
But man. Pretty Persuasion. I felt a little bad because I was nothing but raging negativity and D really liked it, so we just stopped talking about it.
I won't write a review of it because I might be wrong about this one. Hard to tell. You should just see it for yourself if you have any interest because there must be good things that I, for whatever reason, cannot see.
I think it's because I've seen it all before, but better.
OK. Must work a bit. More later.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Life Out of Balance - Part 2
There was a lot to digest last night. A weird night. Weird. Am feeling a bit old, a bit ineffective, a bit insecure, a bit mortal. I'll write more on this later. Nevertheless...
In my attempt to blaze through Netflixes prior to leaving for Orlando, I decided to watch The Sea Inside. Not the best movie to watch when one is feeling bizarre, but man. Javier Bardem. I completely forgot that he wasn't a 60-year-old quadripalegic, which is pretty hard given that he's one of the most beautiful people to have ever graced the planet. Good movie.
The plan was to then go to D's to watch Koyaanisqatsi, which we decided would be really really amazing or trite. My vote leaned towards pretentious, but I said I'd give it a chance.
First of all, the opening song. OK. Do I like Philip Glass? I can't decide. It depends on my mood. I can't get the goddamn song out of my head. Male voices chanting Koyaanisqatsi really lowly, really slowly, really monotonously. I can't get them to stop!!! It's infuriating.
Second of all, it is possible that I've seen it before! This boy I knew shortly after graduating college, who I did not kiss although I really wanted to, took me to see a Philip Glass scored film at the Wang Center. I was dragged, but I'd have done anything to spend time with him. All I remembered was the Philip Glass music and people moving around really frenetically in a city. Weird.
Third of all, the reason that I didn't remember having seen it was because I had terrible violent food poisoning during my viewing it! Crazy! I kept saying "I think I have seen this but its so foggy because I had food poisoning... I was so delirious... and I kept having to run out... and this might actually be why I hold slight animosity towards Philip Glass for no reason at all!"
Therefore, Koyaanisqatsi is to blame for D's food poisoning.
In my attempt to blaze through Netflixes prior to leaving for Orlando, I decided to watch The Sea Inside. Not the best movie to watch when one is feeling bizarre, but man. Javier Bardem. I completely forgot that he wasn't a 60-year-old quadripalegic, which is pretty hard given that he's one of the most beautiful people to have ever graced the planet. Good movie.
The plan was to then go to D's to watch Koyaanisqatsi, which we decided would be really really amazing or trite. My vote leaned towards pretentious, but I said I'd give it a chance.
First of all, the opening song. OK. Do I like Philip Glass? I can't decide. It depends on my mood. I can't get the goddamn song out of my head. Male voices chanting Koyaanisqatsi really lowly, really slowly, really monotonously. I can't get them to stop!!! It's infuriating.
Second of all, it is possible that I've seen it before! This boy I knew shortly after graduating college, who I did not kiss although I really wanted to, took me to see a Philip Glass scored film at the Wang Center. I was dragged, but I'd have done anything to spend time with him. All I remembered was the Philip Glass music and people moving around really frenetically in a city. Weird.
Third of all, the reason that I didn't remember having seen it was because I had terrible violent food poisoning during my viewing it! Crazy! I kept saying "I think I have seen this but its so foggy because I had food poisoning... I was so delirious... and I kept having to run out... and this might actually be why I hold slight animosity towards Philip Glass for no reason at all!"
Therefore, Koyaanisqatsi is to blame for D's food poisoning.
Palm Pilot
I am trying to sell my palm pilot on Craigslist.
Yes, folks, I have a palm pilot.
And no, I don't ever use it. I used it in Boston - in Boston I had a social life to manage. In New York City, where I know few people and where people tend not to make plans in advance, the palm pilot is useless. It would come in handy, however, to keep track of all of the goings-on in NYC - shows, exhibits, openings, etc., but I have no time to look at it. Ever.
In Boston I also used it for things like lists - lists of things I wanted to buy (ah! I long for the days when there was extra money to manage and when I could make lists of stereo components I eventually wanted to own, CD's I wanted to purchase, etc.), trips I wanted to take, phone calls that needed to be returned, boys I'd kissed...
Yes, folks, I kept a list, in my palm pilot, of all the boys I've ever kissed.
I am a sentimental idiot. They all mean something to me, for varied reasons. I always liked to be "Oh my god I totally forgot about so-and-so that was such a cute time!" or "Oh my god I totally forgot about so-and-so thank god because that was weird and awful." But I am a sentimental fool for the good and the bad.
Or I am a dork. Yeah. I am a dork.
I digress...
I also used it for the backlog of songs that needed to be recorded, and what had already been recorded and what remained to recorded. I had a few addresses in there. I never bothered to sync it with a computer. I never bought a memory card for it. I never put photos on it. I never tried to beam something through thin air from someone else's palm to my own.
Basically, my palm pilot was a giant post-it note.
And now I want to sell it.
On Saturday I decided to delete all of the information it contained prior to selling it. I turned it on and thought "Well, I should look one last time at the list of boys, because hopefully the list is now complete."
The list, and everything else, was gone. I guess it had decharged or whatever and everything is gone. Tragic. Now I'll never know how many boys I've kissed!
The palm pilot is now on Craigslist, and I got one response from a guy who wants me to ship it to him and another from a guy who offered me less than I want. I'll take less just to get rid of it. I responded to him and am now anxiously awaiting his response. This is like dating - will he write back? When? I can't wait! He hasn't written back and its been over an hour. Man. I want to be rid of the palm pilot. And what's with the guy who wants me to ship it? No way. That defeats the point of Craigslist. If I was going to ship it I'd have put it on EBay. Craigslist should involve no effort by me, especially my waiting in line at a post office.
I am feeling a little guilty because the palm pilot was a gift. My parents gave it to me for Christmas. But I never use it! Plus, do they have to know? They'll never know. Father would be proud. Right. I have to keep telling myself that.
So wish my luck. I've had good luck with Craigslist. Hopefully I'll be rid of the palm pilot by week's end, and I'll have money to put towards the list of things that I will now never be able to buy!
Yes, folks, I have a palm pilot.
And no, I don't ever use it. I used it in Boston - in Boston I had a social life to manage. In New York City, where I know few people and where people tend not to make plans in advance, the palm pilot is useless. It would come in handy, however, to keep track of all of the goings-on in NYC - shows, exhibits, openings, etc., but I have no time to look at it. Ever.
In Boston I also used it for things like lists - lists of things I wanted to buy (ah! I long for the days when there was extra money to manage and when I could make lists of stereo components I eventually wanted to own, CD's I wanted to purchase, etc.), trips I wanted to take, phone calls that needed to be returned, boys I'd kissed...
Yes, folks, I kept a list, in my palm pilot, of all the boys I've ever kissed.
I am a sentimental idiot. They all mean something to me, for varied reasons. I always liked to be "Oh my god I totally forgot about so-and-so that was such a cute time!" or "Oh my god I totally forgot about so-and-so thank god because that was weird and awful." But I am a sentimental fool for the good and the bad.
Or I am a dork. Yeah. I am a dork.
I digress...
I also used it for the backlog of songs that needed to be recorded, and what had already been recorded and what remained to recorded. I had a few addresses in there. I never bothered to sync it with a computer. I never bought a memory card for it. I never put photos on it. I never tried to beam something through thin air from someone else's palm to my own.
Basically, my palm pilot was a giant post-it note.
And now I want to sell it.
On Saturday I decided to delete all of the information it contained prior to selling it. I turned it on and thought "Well, I should look one last time at the list of boys, because hopefully the list is now complete."
The list, and everything else, was gone. I guess it had decharged or whatever and everything is gone. Tragic. Now I'll never know how many boys I've kissed!
The palm pilot is now on Craigslist, and I got one response from a guy who wants me to ship it to him and another from a guy who offered me less than I want. I'll take less just to get rid of it. I responded to him and am now anxiously awaiting his response. This is like dating - will he write back? When? I can't wait! He hasn't written back and its been over an hour. Man. I want to be rid of the palm pilot. And what's with the guy who wants me to ship it? No way. That defeats the point of Craigslist. If I was going to ship it I'd have put it on EBay. Craigslist should involve no effort by me, especially my waiting in line at a post office.
I am feeling a little guilty because the palm pilot was a gift. My parents gave it to me for Christmas. But I never use it! Plus, do they have to know? They'll never know. Father would be proud. Right. I have to keep telling myself that.
So wish my luck. I've had good luck with Craigslist. Hopefully I'll be rid of the palm pilot by week's end, and I'll have money to put towards the list of things that I will now never be able to buy!
Life Out of Balance - Part 1
It amazes me that D can still remain cute when sick.
D was very ill last night. The current theory is food poisoning. My feeling is that a tomato left at room temperature for a little less than a week in a very hot apartment is the likely culprit. He blames "weird cheeses put in an omelette."
Either way, it was a rough night.
I am consumed with feelings of both sympathy and helplessness. I realize that there is nothing I can do. I just want him to be better. I don't want him to suffer. Ever. I can't stand it.
I am fairly convinced that I should never, ever have children.
I woke up at about 5am after having gone to sleep at about 1am, and remained awake listening to D sigh loudly while he tossed and turned and fidgeted and moaned and said "Is it hot in here? I'm hot" and then two minutes later "I'm freezing. Where are the blankets?" Awful. I couldn't sleep at all. He was suffering and I couldn't get that, as well as other things, off my mind.
I am dead tired.
I am wondering if D is ok. I think I will stop by after lunch to see how he is doing. I asked him if he wanted me to (he was so delirious) and he was all smiley and "Yes, I would like you to take care of me." In the same situation, I'd have said "No, don't worry about it" even though I meant "Yes, please, I need you. And bring apple sauce with you!"
I also can't help thinking "I wish I were sick." Some deranged part of my psyche is hoping that D has a one day flu and that I will catch it. Why? Because I want to stay home. I want to sleep late. I want to watch movies and not feel guilty about it and not feel that I am wasting time. Yes, I realize that being sick is terrible. I never get sick. Ever. I never miss work for something like a cold or flu or infection. I miss work for things like kidney stones and minor surgeries. I never have allergies or transient flus. I had an ear infection earlier in the year, and I may have missed like half a day.
I had food poisoning earlier in the year. It was bad. It was when D and I were first dating. I'd spent the night at his house - it was maybe the fourth or fifth time ever - and I was mortified, embarrassed, pale, pouting. I stayed home from work that day, and you know what? It was awesome! Granted, I couldn't eat and my bowels were ripping themselves to shreds, but I got to do the dishes! And I watched TV! And read blogs! And made a mix CD for D! And I slept. Lots.
So yeah. I'm tired and worried and lame today. It's weird because I am used to D being around and he's not and that makes me sad. Lame lame lame.
I also don't have much work to do, which makes things worse. Plenty of time for my mind to wander and think things like "What if it isn't the flu? What if there's something wrong with him again? What if it's like last time?"
My stomach churns just thinking about last time.
I am such a zombie right now.
I should work a bit.
More later.
D was very ill last night. The current theory is food poisoning. My feeling is that a tomato left at room temperature for a little less than a week in a very hot apartment is the likely culprit. He blames "weird cheeses put in an omelette."
Either way, it was a rough night.
I am consumed with feelings of both sympathy and helplessness. I realize that there is nothing I can do. I just want him to be better. I don't want him to suffer. Ever. I can't stand it.
I am fairly convinced that I should never, ever have children.
I woke up at about 5am after having gone to sleep at about 1am, and remained awake listening to D sigh loudly while he tossed and turned and fidgeted and moaned and said "Is it hot in here? I'm hot" and then two minutes later "I'm freezing. Where are the blankets?" Awful. I couldn't sleep at all. He was suffering and I couldn't get that, as well as other things, off my mind.
I am dead tired.
I am wondering if D is ok. I think I will stop by after lunch to see how he is doing. I asked him if he wanted me to (he was so delirious) and he was all smiley and "Yes, I would like you to take care of me." In the same situation, I'd have said "No, don't worry about it" even though I meant "Yes, please, I need you. And bring apple sauce with you!"
I also can't help thinking "I wish I were sick." Some deranged part of my psyche is hoping that D has a one day flu and that I will catch it. Why? Because I want to stay home. I want to sleep late. I want to watch movies and not feel guilty about it and not feel that I am wasting time. Yes, I realize that being sick is terrible. I never get sick. Ever. I never miss work for something like a cold or flu or infection. I miss work for things like kidney stones and minor surgeries. I never have allergies or transient flus. I had an ear infection earlier in the year, and I may have missed like half a day.
I had food poisoning earlier in the year. It was bad. It was when D and I were first dating. I'd spent the night at his house - it was maybe the fourth or fifth time ever - and I was mortified, embarrassed, pale, pouting. I stayed home from work that day, and you know what? It was awesome! Granted, I couldn't eat and my bowels were ripping themselves to shreds, but I got to do the dishes! And I watched TV! And read blogs! And made a mix CD for D! And I slept. Lots.
So yeah. I'm tired and worried and lame today. It's weird because I am used to D being around and he's not and that makes me sad. Lame lame lame.
I also don't have much work to do, which makes things worse. Plenty of time for my mind to wander and think things like "What if it isn't the flu? What if there's something wrong with him again? What if it's like last time?"
My stomach churns just thinking about last time.
I am such a zombie right now.
I should work a bit.
More later.
Monday, August 29, 2005
A Weekend in New York - How Novel!
The weekend was lovely.
On Friday night, I left work early to meet my friends JV and L who were in town from Boston. L ultimately had to show me her engagement ring because I did not see it, despite the fact that she was basically thrusting it in my face! How very exciting - they'd chosen not to call me to inform me of the engagement because they thought it would be cuter to surprise me when I noticed the ring. Of course I didn't notice, which is predictable. I am thrilled for JV and L. I am voting for a theme wedding at Sturbridge Village, but I have a feeling my vote doesn't really count.
JV and L were in town to see JV's friend M's musical, which was showing as part of the NYC Fringe Festival, a two-week-long theater festival of off-off-off Broadway plays. I liked it more than I expected to. The musical definitely has potential - M wrote the story, lyrics, and dialogue, but it was apparent that he'd lost creative control. It must be so difficult to completely surrender one's vision to a director. I was disappointed by the lead - apparently the lead was in Alias (which I've never seen) and was therefore not entirely comfortable singing or with being on stage. Disappointing. I didn't believe anything about him. It's hard to get wrapped up in something with a drippy protagonist. The remainder of the cast, however, was exceptional. It was much better than I expected, and hopefully, with better staging, this musical will go somewhere. Congrats M!
Afterwards we headed to Rissoteria, where we had, of course, risotto, and pizza! I've been to Rissoteria a million times but it had never occurred to me to have pizza. It was very, very, very good. We then met up with D at his apartment and had some drinks, and finally headed out for desserts.
******************
On Saturday I met up with my friends JW and BS from college, who were also in town to see M's musical. We met on Bleeker and had brunch, caught up (I haven't seen JW in nearly two years!), reminisced, longed for the college days.
******************
After brunch I walked through a street fair on Bleeker, where I bought a new satchel to replace Decaying Satchel. I've had Decaying Satchel since like 1998. It's a mess, but for some reason I am extremely attached to it. I've been trying to replace it for over a year and just haven't found anything better.
I found a black one on Saturday that I didn't think was better, but for $14 on the street can you really go wrong?
I picked it up, posed with it and thought "This could do... this is doable..." I decided to buy it, but upon closer inspection realized that there was a blemish on the front. If I were a more assertive person, I'd have said "Look, this is imperfect... what if I give you $10 for it instead of $14?" but instead I said:
Me: Hey, look, there's something on this.
Woman: Oh, that's just from sticker.
Me: Yes, well, I don't know. Umm... you don't have another one somewhere, do you?
Woman: No.
Me: Oh, well, yeah. See, I want this but there's this stuff on it.
Woman: Oh, that's just from the sticker. See? (scrapes it a bit, nothing happens)
Me: Oh, yeah, that's too bad. I'm not sure I want it if its got the sticker.
Woman: You can just take it off with water.
Me: Oh. Well, I'm not sure that will work. (because water never removes the gooey sticker residue from things, as much as you'd like it to)
Woman: No, water. Just use water.
Me: (silence, confused look, waiting for her to say "Just take it for $10")
Woman: You can just use water.
Me: I don't think water will work, actually.
Woman: It will.
Me: It's sticky, though.
Woman: Want me try to take it off? I have water.
Me: Go nuts.
Woman: (puts Poland Springs onto a tissue and starts scrubbing and nothing, of course, happens, other than small little pieces of tissue being stuck to the bag)
Me: Yeah, see?
Woman: I meant oil. You use oil to get off.
Me: Oil?
Woman: You know, oil.
Me: Right. (lying)
Woman: I mean alcohol. Use alcohol. You know. Rubbing alcohol.
Oil, the opposite of water. Yes. And alcohol, right.
I bought the bag for $14 because I was getting nowhere.
The bag is miraculous. It's like Mary Poppins' bag. It's the same size as Decaying Satchel but holds 10x the amount of stuff. YES! I am thrilled, and am experiencing zero remorse about the retirement of Decaying Satchel.
******************
I then headed uptown to the MOMA, where I walked around and took pictures and tried very hard to remember the names of artists and paintings and sculptures that I like. I was there mainly to see the Lee Friendlander exhibit, which was amazing. It was so amazing that I ended up buying the book.
My original intention was to head down to the HOWL Festival in the East Village after the MOMA, but instead I went back to my apartment because the Lee Friendlander book weighed about 30 pounds.
Photos of MOMA Outing forthcoming...
******************
I went back to my apartment where I downloaded some photos, did some music-related projects, cooked a lavish dinner, and actually relaxed!
I then met D to see Brothers Grimm, which you should not see.
It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't good either. It was basically a two hour shout out to fairy tales. It was more in the Style of Terry Gilliam than a Terry Gilliam movie. It was nice visually, but otherwise completely flat. And it didn't make a lot of sense, but I guess that's not the point.
In addition, the French characters all had French accents, the Italian character had an Italian accent, and the German characters were all...British.
Such a pet peeve of mine.
******************
On Sunday D and I went to D's friend's house on Long Island. She and her husband have a huge house that's nicely decorated. They have a cottage in their back yard. And a pool. I said "D, let's be rich!" The purpose for the visit was swimming, but it was overcast and not terribly warm, so the pool wasn't swimmable. It didn't matter, because we sat around and ate and chatted and I enjoyed the sounds of birds and insects. I forget how comforting that can be. It was so nice to be barefoot walking on grass!
D's friend's husband works in television, and on one of their shelves were many Emmy Awards. I didn't even ask if I could touch one. Instead I just picked one up and started delivering a speech, thanking my mother for all of her support and encouragement when nobody else believed in me.
A note on Emmy's: They are huge. I am wondering if everyone who's ever received an Emmy is a giant. Seriously. They are humongous. Not as heavy as I'd anticipated, but definitely taller. D wanted to take my picture with it, but I thought that was a little excessive. Not that giving a speech in someone's house isn't excessive, but you have to draw the line somewhere! I said "No, D, no, really, don't bother" but now I really regret it. I'm sure we'll be back, at which point I will have hundreds of photos taken of my acceptance speech.
******************
Upon returning from Long Island (and after a really bizarre nap - you know the kind -when you don't even realize you've fallen asleep and then suddenly someone is tapping your shoulder saying "We're at Penn Station" and you don't believe them because you just left Long Island! and then you walk up the stairs but your whole leg is asleep and you don't get reoriented for another two hours or so), we went to D's apartment and set it up in Furniture Conformation 2, which might end up being the winner. This new arrangement, while not as aesthetically pleasing as Furniture Conformation 1, has the advantage of the Bed-In-Nook concept, which is awesome for sleeping.
******************
We hung out there for a bit, and then headed to this adorable little bar called Cooper 35 for E's non-surprise surprise birthday party!
Despite being on detox, D and I fell prey to the 4 mixed drinks for $12 ticket scheme and actually ended up drinking way more than that! Yum. There was all sorts of food and new people. E has nice friends - people I'd actually like to see again! I think this could be my best Experience with Strangers in New York thus far. It seems that they were mostly film students or significant others of film students. And then there was French Roommate. And some other people. All lovely. When we arrived, I was like "Wait! How will we know who's here for the party? I don't know any of E's friends!" but they were nice and welcoming and it was like we were all old friends.
We had much fun.
******************
And now its Monday and I am tired, because detox did not occur.
I have little planned for the week, though, and D and I are headed to Orlando on Friday to force ourselves not to do anything on Labor Day. Spending time with parents and beaches guarantees relaxation. We are going to scramble to watch all of our Netflixes tonight so we can get three new ones for the trip. We will watch movies and swim in the ocean and eat well and read lots of books and there will be no Labor.
It's going to be awshummmmm.
On Friday night, I left work early to meet my friends JV and L who were in town from Boston. L ultimately had to show me her engagement ring because I did not see it, despite the fact that she was basically thrusting it in my face! How very exciting - they'd chosen not to call me to inform me of the engagement because they thought it would be cuter to surprise me when I noticed the ring. Of course I didn't notice, which is predictable. I am thrilled for JV and L. I am voting for a theme wedding at Sturbridge Village, but I have a feeling my vote doesn't really count.
JV and L were in town to see JV's friend M's musical, which was showing as part of the NYC Fringe Festival, a two-week-long theater festival of off-off-off Broadway plays. I liked it more than I expected to. The musical definitely has potential - M wrote the story, lyrics, and dialogue, but it was apparent that he'd lost creative control. It must be so difficult to completely surrender one's vision to a director. I was disappointed by the lead - apparently the lead was in Alias (which I've never seen) and was therefore not entirely comfortable singing or with being on stage. Disappointing. I didn't believe anything about him. It's hard to get wrapped up in something with a drippy protagonist. The remainder of the cast, however, was exceptional. It was much better than I expected, and hopefully, with better staging, this musical will go somewhere. Congrats M!
Afterwards we headed to Rissoteria, where we had, of course, risotto, and pizza! I've been to Rissoteria a million times but it had never occurred to me to have pizza. It was very, very, very good. We then met up with D at his apartment and had some drinks, and finally headed out for desserts.
******************
On Saturday I met up with my friends JW and BS from college, who were also in town to see M's musical. We met on Bleeker and had brunch, caught up (I haven't seen JW in nearly two years!), reminisced, longed for the college days.
******************
After brunch I walked through a street fair on Bleeker, where I bought a new satchel to replace Decaying Satchel. I've had Decaying Satchel since like 1998. It's a mess, but for some reason I am extremely attached to it. I've been trying to replace it for over a year and just haven't found anything better.
I found a black one on Saturday that I didn't think was better, but for $14 on the street can you really go wrong?
I picked it up, posed with it and thought "This could do... this is doable..." I decided to buy it, but upon closer inspection realized that there was a blemish on the front. If I were a more assertive person, I'd have said "Look, this is imperfect... what if I give you $10 for it instead of $14?" but instead I said:
Me: Hey, look, there's something on this.
Woman: Oh, that's just from sticker.
Me: Yes, well, I don't know. Umm... you don't have another one somewhere, do you?
Woman: No.
Me: Oh, well, yeah. See, I want this but there's this stuff on it.
Woman: Oh, that's just from the sticker. See? (scrapes it a bit, nothing happens)
Me: Oh, yeah, that's too bad. I'm not sure I want it if its got the sticker.
Woman: You can just take it off with water.
Me: Oh. Well, I'm not sure that will work. (because water never removes the gooey sticker residue from things, as much as you'd like it to)
Woman: No, water. Just use water.
Me: (silence, confused look, waiting for her to say "Just take it for $10")
Woman: You can just use water.
Me: I don't think water will work, actually.
Woman: It will.
Me: It's sticky, though.
Woman: Want me try to take it off? I have water.
Me: Go nuts.
Woman: (puts Poland Springs onto a tissue and starts scrubbing and nothing, of course, happens, other than small little pieces of tissue being stuck to the bag)
Me: Yeah, see?
Woman: I meant oil. You use oil to get off.
Me: Oil?
Woman: You know, oil.
Me: Right. (lying)
Woman: I mean alcohol. Use alcohol. You know. Rubbing alcohol.
Oil, the opposite of water. Yes. And alcohol, right.
I bought the bag for $14 because I was getting nowhere.
The bag is miraculous. It's like Mary Poppins' bag. It's the same size as Decaying Satchel but holds 10x the amount of stuff. YES! I am thrilled, and am experiencing zero remorse about the retirement of Decaying Satchel.
******************
I then headed uptown to the MOMA, where I walked around and took pictures and tried very hard to remember the names of artists and paintings and sculptures that I like. I was there mainly to see the Lee Friendlander exhibit, which was amazing. It was so amazing that I ended up buying the book.
My original intention was to head down to the HOWL Festival in the East Village after the MOMA, but instead I went back to my apartment because the Lee Friendlander book weighed about 30 pounds.
Photos of MOMA Outing forthcoming...
******************
I went back to my apartment where I downloaded some photos, did some music-related projects, cooked a lavish dinner, and actually relaxed!
I then met D to see Brothers Grimm, which you should not see.
It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't good either. It was basically a two hour shout out to fairy tales. It was more in the Style of Terry Gilliam than a Terry Gilliam movie. It was nice visually, but otherwise completely flat. And it didn't make a lot of sense, but I guess that's not the point.
In addition, the French characters all had French accents, the Italian character had an Italian accent, and the German characters were all...British.
Such a pet peeve of mine.
******************
On Sunday D and I went to D's friend's house on Long Island. She and her husband have a huge house that's nicely decorated. They have a cottage in their back yard. And a pool. I said "D, let's be rich!" The purpose for the visit was swimming, but it was overcast and not terribly warm, so the pool wasn't swimmable. It didn't matter, because we sat around and ate and chatted and I enjoyed the sounds of birds and insects. I forget how comforting that can be. It was so nice to be barefoot walking on grass!
D's friend's husband works in television, and on one of their shelves were many Emmy Awards. I didn't even ask if I could touch one. Instead I just picked one up and started delivering a speech, thanking my mother for all of her support and encouragement when nobody else believed in me.
A note on Emmy's: They are huge. I am wondering if everyone who's ever received an Emmy is a giant. Seriously. They are humongous. Not as heavy as I'd anticipated, but definitely taller. D wanted to take my picture with it, but I thought that was a little excessive. Not that giving a speech in someone's house isn't excessive, but you have to draw the line somewhere! I said "No, D, no, really, don't bother" but now I really regret it. I'm sure we'll be back, at which point I will have hundreds of photos taken of my acceptance speech.
******************
Upon returning from Long Island (and after a really bizarre nap - you know the kind -when you don't even realize you've fallen asleep and then suddenly someone is tapping your shoulder saying "We're at Penn Station" and you don't believe them because you just left Long Island! and then you walk up the stairs but your whole leg is asleep and you don't get reoriented for another two hours or so), we went to D's apartment and set it up in Furniture Conformation 2, which might end up being the winner. This new arrangement, while not as aesthetically pleasing as Furniture Conformation 1, has the advantage of the Bed-In-Nook concept, which is awesome for sleeping.
******************
We hung out there for a bit, and then headed to this adorable little bar called Cooper 35 for E's non-surprise surprise birthday party!
Despite being on detox, D and I fell prey to the 4 mixed drinks for $12 ticket scheme and actually ended up drinking way more than that! Yum. There was all sorts of food and new people. E has nice friends - people I'd actually like to see again! I think this could be my best Experience with Strangers in New York thus far. It seems that they were mostly film students or significant others of film students. And then there was French Roommate. And some other people. All lovely. When we arrived, I was like "Wait! How will we know who's here for the party? I don't know any of E's friends!" but they were nice and welcoming and it was like we were all old friends.
We had much fun.
******************
And now its Monday and I am tired, because detox did not occur.
I have little planned for the week, though, and D and I are headed to Orlando on Friday to force ourselves not to do anything on Labor Day. Spending time with parents and beaches guarantees relaxation. We are going to scramble to watch all of our Netflixes tonight so we can get three new ones for the trip. We will watch movies and swim in the ocean and eat well and read lots of books and there will be no Labor.
It's going to be awshummmmm.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
People You Were Never Meant to See Again
There are certain people in your life who you know only briefly, and who you will never see again.
You get an email one day, and you think "Well, that's that. Fuck him. Yeah. Right. I totally don't care. Not one bit. What a dick. Whatever. Fuck him. He's an idiot anyway, who doesn't know a good thing when its right in front of him. Asshole. He's such a mess and will always be. I couldn't care less, but still. Why am I sad about this when I always knew this was temporary? I knew it was going to end. But still."
People come and go, and with some people, you don't care. But every now and then you feel that last sentiment - it's not despair or actual sadness, it's more like disappointment.
I saw one of these people last night, one of these people I shouldn't have ever seen again. One of these people who, in my mind, has become fiction. He's a story, a song, a sadness. I don't feel sad about him, or us, but I feel sad about that time in my life. I feel sad not to have a specific feeling anymore. I feel sad because I know how things turned out.
It was weird, because this person was secret in my life when I knew him. He didn't know any of my friends, I knew none of his, it was this little side project that I enjoyed for a while and told virtually nobody about. I didn't tell anyone how I really felt. I said "Yeah, there's this guy whatever its something to do." But that's not how I felt. I felt "Dear god this guy is so awesome and I can't comprehend at all why he is hanging out with me and I know there is no chance so whatever but this is fun anyway." I introduced him to my friends last night and it was awkward, because I realized that I donn't know (or maybe I just don't remember) much about him other than what and where his tatoo is and how much I enjoyed hiding in his room spying on his neighbors in Somerville.
We didn't last long - I think I saw him a total of six times - and I haven't really thought of him since I received that email over a year and a half ago.
I hadn't realized, until last night, however, what a profound impact this person had on my life, on my personality, on who I am now. I had no idea.
I think this is the source of sadness. It's the intangibles. I now listen to and love certain bands because he said "I think you might like this..." This boy had a profound influence over my musical taste. He made my mind explode. My songs are a certain way because I listened to his songs. I am aware of things I wasn't aware of until I met him. Like the fact that I can apparently date and be cute with and about someone I've just met. I guess these things mean something in the longterm, even though they mean nothing at the time.
I listened to his CD over and over when I met him. We talked about collaborating. I knew we never would.
Last night I saw him play and I couldn't stop thinking "I shouldn't be here. I'm not supposed to know him anymore. He's not supposed to actually exist. He's an awkward memory. A regret. He's a neuron I no longer want."
Coupled with the weirdness was this sense of serenity. It was so very lovely. I felt like I got to experience something I wasn't supposed to get to experience. It was one of those things - you know, the things you wanted to do with someone but never got to because things ended too soon. The trips you were planning! The furniture you'd buy! The kids' names! I'd never seen him play until last night in my new life in New York City, where he now lives as well.
I don't know him at all, but I know that hearing him play last night meant something to me. I don't really know what. I guess maybe it was closure. Or acknowledgment. Or just really good, beautiful music.
You get an email one day, and you think "Well, that's that. Fuck him. Yeah. Right. I totally don't care. Not one bit. What a dick. Whatever. Fuck him. He's an idiot anyway, who doesn't know a good thing when its right in front of him. Asshole. He's such a mess and will always be. I couldn't care less, but still. Why am I sad about this when I always knew this was temporary? I knew it was going to end. But still."
People come and go, and with some people, you don't care. But every now and then you feel that last sentiment - it's not despair or actual sadness, it's more like disappointment.
I saw one of these people last night, one of these people I shouldn't have ever seen again. One of these people who, in my mind, has become fiction. He's a story, a song, a sadness. I don't feel sad about him, or us, but I feel sad about that time in my life. I feel sad not to have a specific feeling anymore. I feel sad because I know how things turned out.
It was weird, because this person was secret in my life when I knew him. He didn't know any of my friends, I knew none of his, it was this little side project that I enjoyed for a while and told virtually nobody about. I didn't tell anyone how I really felt. I said "Yeah, there's this guy whatever its something to do." But that's not how I felt. I felt "Dear god this guy is so awesome and I can't comprehend at all why he is hanging out with me and I know there is no chance so whatever but this is fun anyway." I introduced him to my friends last night and it was awkward, because I realized that I donn't know (or maybe I just don't remember) much about him other than what and where his tatoo is and how much I enjoyed hiding in his room spying on his neighbors in Somerville.
We didn't last long - I think I saw him a total of six times - and I haven't really thought of him since I received that email over a year and a half ago.
I hadn't realized, until last night, however, what a profound impact this person had on my life, on my personality, on who I am now. I had no idea.
I think this is the source of sadness. It's the intangibles. I now listen to and love certain bands because he said "I think you might like this..." This boy had a profound influence over my musical taste. He made my mind explode. My songs are a certain way because I listened to his songs. I am aware of things I wasn't aware of until I met him. Like the fact that I can apparently date and be cute with and about someone I've just met. I guess these things mean something in the longterm, even though they mean nothing at the time.
I listened to his CD over and over when I met him. We talked about collaborating. I knew we never would.
Last night I saw him play and I couldn't stop thinking "I shouldn't be here. I'm not supposed to know him anymore. He's not supposed to actually exist. He's an awkward memory. A regret. He's a neuron I no longer want."
Coupled with the weirdness was this sense of serenity. It was so very lovely. I felt like I got to experience something I wasn't supposed to get to experience. It was one of those things - you know, the things you wanted to do with someone but never got to because things ended too soon. The trips you were planning! The furniture you'd buy! The kids' names! I'd never seen him play until last night in my new life in New York City, where he now lives as well.
I don't know him at all, but I know that hearing him play last night meant something to me. I don't really know what. I guess maybe it was closure. Or acknowledgment. Or just really good, beautiful music.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
High Maintenance
D bought a new, grown-up couch. He is very cute when excited about these sorts of things. He said "I am suddenly aware of my aging... now that I have a couch."
His apartment is small, and there are a limited number of conformations in which the furniture can be. He arranged the furniture into Scheme 1 and declared "We will try this for a week and see what we think."
The new conformation involves sleeping against a wall, underneath two bikes and alongside the area where his paintings are stored.
We hung out for a bit last night, talked, caught up, and then started to fall asleep. I closed my eyes and rolled over. About five minutes later I opened my eyes and yelled "Dear god holy shit that is the scariest thing ever you have to move this RIGHT NOW!" because I found my head right next to a painting of George Bush's head. This is a giant painting with a bunch of public figures, and the Dubya face is slightly bigger than an actual human head.
"It's not that its a bad painting but... I just don't want to... I can't sleep next to Dubya! It's awful to open your eyes and see... well, see HIM!"
D was all put it out and huffy and "Fine" and moved the painting to behind the new couch.
I am high maintenance.
His apartment is small, and there are a limited number of conformations in which the furniture can be. He arranged the furniture into Scheme 1 and declared "We will try this for a week and see what we think."
The new conformation involves sleeping against a wall, underneath two bikes and alongside the area where his paintings are stored.
We hung out for a bit last night, talked, caught up, and then started to fall asleep. I closed my eyes and rolled over. About five minutes later I opened my eyes and yelled "Dear god holy shit that is the scariest thing ever you have to move this RIGHT NOW!" because I found my head right next to a painting of George Bush's head. This is a giant painting with a bunch of public figures, and the Dubya face is slightly bigger than an actual human head.
"It's not that its a bad painting but... I just don't want to... I can't sleep next to Dubya! It's awful to open your eyes and see... well, see HIM!"
D was all put it out and huffy and "Fine" and moved the painting to behind the new couch.
I am high maintenance.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Gridlock
While I was in Medway this weekend, I ended up playing Checkers with Sister's Boyfriend SS while Sister engaged in a heated Battleship competition with D.
I'd originally hoped we'd play Connect Four, but when I opened the box and also found a Checker Board, I was tempted. I said "SS, would you prefer Checkers or Connect Four?"
He thought long and hard, and finally said "Checkers."
I was excited but concerned, as I haven't played Checkers in nearly two decades.
We set up the board and started to play. It was uneventful for a while. No close calls, no jumps, no suspense, nothing.
We played for about 10 minutes, and then it happened: GRIDLOCK.
I played Checkers a lot as a kid and this never happened. I've never even heard of this happening. It makes sense, but man. Bizarre! Basically, we moved all the pieces in the perfect order such that my three rows shifted one row forward and SS' three rows shifted one forward and the game ended.
There was nowhere to go. Nobody jumped anyone. We were just stuck. It's as though we'd set up the board wrong, or the board had been missing two rows.
I am trying to figure out if this means that we are both really good, that we are both really bad, or that we think alike.
I am also trying to figure out why this doesn't happen more often.
Bizarre, though.
In other news, The Temp has started and I am fairly certain I know him from somewhere. He looks and seems really familiar. He also said that I seem familiar to him. I think we must have just seen each other on the T or something (he spent the same 7 years in Boston that I did). Maybe we commuted at similar times for a few years. I don't know. It's driving me a bit crazy, though.
The weekend was good, although I am exhausted, as usual.
I went to see 40 Year Old Virgin on Friday night, and it was awesome. It was nearly perfect. It was sweet and funny and I was so pleased by the reverence the film showed for its lead character. Rather than poke fun of him and his lack of experience, they made him into a completely believable and sympathetic hero. You almost rooted for him not to lose his virginity. Freaking adorable. You must all see it immediately.
The night was not without its drama. One of the reasons I moved away from Boston was to escape drama. I wanted to be completely in control of my life, my decisions, and to surround myself with sane, grounded, drama-free relationships. I experienced my first moment of drama on Friday night and it did not feel good. I don't like when I am made to feel bad for being a good person and for doing the right thing, for not being psychic, for being mature and grownup and inclusive.
The drama made me feel dirty during the movie. Additionally, before the movie even began, the iniator of said drama thrust a $20 bill in D's face and forcefully demanded "Get me a large popcorn and a diet coke." D said "OK" and ran off to purchase a large popcorn and diet coke despite the fact that he'd purposefully bought food beforehand so as not to have to wait in line at a movie concession stand on a crowded Friday night.
Who does that? First of all, get your own damn popcorn! I can understand if he'd said "I'm getting a popcorn" and then the bill was handed to him. Second of all, if you are really so put out by getting your own damn popcorn, say "Hey, would you mind getting me a popcorn? Thanks!" instead of throwing money at someone and forcing them to. Third of all, if you are there with a friend of yours, force him to get it instead of someone else's boyfriend.
Weird power maneuver. I said nothing until the following day, when I said "D, do you think its a little rude of someone to force someone to get them popcorn when they are completely capable of getting it themselves?" and he said "That's just how it is." I said "Well, I don't think that's cool. Why can't she just ask you nicely?" "That's how she is. It's easier to just get the popcorn than say something about it." Understandable, given the high drama quotient of this individual. I guess I want D to be treated nicely and appreciated. Not that getting someone a popcorn is such a big deal, but man. Say "Please" and "Thank you." I would never say "D, get me a popcorn!" and if I ever did, I would want him to be like "Excuse me?" and then I could say "Oh, sorry, would you mind? I'm really tired and I don't feel like waiting in line." Except that I would never do that, because I'd wait in line for my own popcorn no matter what unless someone was already going. This conversation snowballed into D thinking that I was mad at him for getting the popcorn, that I was uncomfortable with his relationship with her, that he has to do something different, etc. I said "No, I think I am uncomfortable with this person's very existence. Like if a male friend of yours had done that, I'd still be like 'Dude, rude!' and if she had done it to the friend she brought, I'd have been like 'Dude, rude!'" I also said "I just don't get her. I don't like how she is with you when I am around, and I don't like how she is to me when you are around. She can't deal with us together, you know? This would be like my being at a movie with like you, A and her boyfriend M, and then turning to A's boyfriend and declaring 'Get me a popcorn!' Isn't that weird?" He realized it was and said he understood and we have decided that we will never hang out all together again.
He said "But you should totally hang out with her separately still," and I said "Dude, why would I want to hang out with someone who indirectly antagonizes me when you are around? What kind of friend is that?" Drama. Don't need it. Unfortunate evening. Oh well.
Should I play nice? If she won't, why should I? I think what got to me most is her failure to play nice with people who aren't even D and I. This is messy, and I don't want the drama. I probably wouldn't have been upset about the popcorn if I wasn't already seething about the previous 7th grade lunchroom behavior I had to suffer.
After 40 Year Old Virgin we went for drinks and I wanted to strangle people. I had one glass of wine and was drunk, thank god. We left and packed and didn't get enough sleep before departing for Boston.
The bus ride took less than three hours, and we headed to Somerville for a burrito! We then walked to Hall Street, where we lounged and engaged in the rare pleasure of watching TV. We then headed to Harvard Square, where we shopped and frolicked and where I felt like I missed things. We met up with a bunch of people for dinner at Cambridge One, then headed to Finale for desserts, where we obsessed about old candy from the 80's. We then sought out said candy at CVS. We sat outside because the weather was perfect and because it was quiet and there was grass to sit on, and because I don't have these things anymore. We then had more drinks outside. I laughed too much about things I'd completely forgotten and enjoyed hearing Brother's honesty about his summer.
On Sunday we had breakfast at Rosebud and then headed to Medway for Brother's going-away party. It was overwhelming and crazy. Coming home from afar is not easy. It was nice to see everyone, but all I wanted to do was hide in the cool basement with Sister, SS, LBF, and D. I wanted to play Candyland and have an uninterrupted conversation. I wanted to relax and not say the same things over and over. "New York is good," "I think things are going well between us?," "Buenos Aires was awesome," "Yes, my apartment is as small as my father claims it is but you don't need 1200 square feet to live stop making fun of my apartment because at least I don't have 40 zillion knicknacks that require 1000 square feet for themselves there are other ways to live why can't you just be happy for me?!?"
It wasn't that bad. It was just a prime example of the feeling-14-again-phenomenon and I don't like it. Not one bit. I don't like people laughing at my apartment. I feel like I should then start laughing at how long it takes them to mow their lawns or something. I'm exaggerating. I was just in a bad mood because Mother made copies of a photo of "the family" and in it was the five of us and our three significant others, which made me feel like I couldn't breathe because all I could think about was 3 sets of this photograph on people's refrigerators with D's head cut out or and one with D's head replaced with a cutout of Christian Bale's face. Mother said "Please, don't worry, this is just now. You're happy now. This doesn't need to be up forever, honey" but this was after her speech about how happy she is that we've all found amazing significant others and that we're all together for Brother's special day and that we're all finally so happy! Ah, the pressure.
I had a good time, though. It was nice to see everyone.
We got in at about 2am last night and despite sleeping on the train and getting a good five hours' sleep here, I am still fried. Too much getting up early and getting to sleep too late.
I will, however, be doing nothing tomorrow night! Yeah! Watch out, Duane Reade and Gristedes. I am going to run errands! HAH! It's been ages since I purchased groceries.
I am going to buy eggs! And milk! And I may even buy vegetables! Whoa. Take it easy.
Until tomorrow...
I'd originally hoped we'd play Connect Four, but when I opened the box and also found a Checker Board, I was tempted. I said "SS, would you prefer Checkers or Connect Four?"
He thought long and hard, and finally said "Checkers."
I was excited but concerned, as I haven't played Checkers in nearly two decades.
We set up the board and started to play. It was uneventful for a while. No close calls, no jumps, no suspense, nothing.
We played for about 10 minutes, and then it happened: GRIDLOCK.
I played Checkers a lot as a kid and this never happened. I've never even heard of this happening. It makes sense, but man. Bizarre! Basically, we moved all the pieces in the perfect order such that my three rows shifted one row forward and SS' three rows shifted one forward and the game ended.
There was nowhere to go. Nobody jumped anyone. We were just stuck. It's as though we'd set up the board wrong, or the board had been missing two rows.
I am trying to figure out if this means that we are both really good, that we are both really bad, or that we think alike.
I am also trying to figure out why this doesn't happen more often.
Bizarre, though.
In other news, The Temp has started and I am fairly certain I know him from somewhere. He looks and seems really familiar. He also said that I seem familiar to him. I think we must have just seen each other on the T or something (he spent the same 7 years in Boston that I did). Maybe we commuted at similar times for a few years. I don't know. It's driving me a bit crazy, though.
The weekend was good, although I am exhausted, as usual.
I went to see 40 Year Old Virgin on Friday night, and it was awesome. It was nearly perfect. It was sweet and funny and I was so pleased by the reverence the film showed for its lead character. Rather than poke fun of him and his lack of experience, they made him into a completely believable and sympathetic hero. You almost rooted for him not to lose his virginity. Freaking adorable. You must all see it immediately.
The night was not without its drama. One of the reasons I moved away from Boston was to escape drama. I wanted to be completely in control of my life, my decisions, and to surround myself with sane, grounded, drama-free relationships. I experienced my first moment of drama on Friday night and it did not feel good. I don't like when I am made to feel bad for being a good person and for doing the right thing, for not being psychic, for being mature and grownup and inclusive.
The drama made me feel dirty during the movie. Additionally, before the movie even began, the iniator of said drama thrust a $20 bill in D's face and forcefully demanded "Get me a large popcorn and a diet coke." D said "OK" and ran off to purchase a large popcorn and diet coke despite the fact that he'd purposefully bought food beforehand so as not to have to wait in line at a movie concession stand on a crowded Friday night.
Who does that? First of all, get your own damn popcorn! I can understand if he'd said "I'm getting a popcorn" and then the bill was handed to him. Second of all, if you are really so put out by getting your own damn popcorn, say "Hey, would you mind getting me a popcorn? Thanks!" instead of throwing money at someone and forcing them to. Third of all, if you are there with a friend of yours, force him to get it instead of someone else's boyfriend.
Weird power maneuver. I said nothing until the following day, when I said "D, do you think its a little rude of someone to force someone to get them popcorn when they are completely capable of getting it themselves?" and he said "That's just how it is." I said "Well, I don't think that's cool. Why can't she just ask you nicely?" "That's how she is. It's easier to just get the popcorn than say something about it." Understandable, given the high drama quotient of this individual. I guess I want D to be treated nicely and appreciated. Not that getting someone a popcorn is such a big deal, but man. Say "Please" and "Thank you." I would never say "D, get me a popcorn!" and if I ever did, I would want him to be like "Excuse me?" and then I could say "Oh, sorry, would you mind? I'm really tired and I don't feel like waiting in line." Except that I would never do that, because I'd wait in line for my own popcorn no matter what unless someone was already going. This conversation snowballed into D thinking that I was mad at him for getting the popcorn, that I was uncomfortable with his relationship with her, that he has to do something different, etc. I said "No, I think I am uncomfortable with this person's very existence. Like if a male friend of yours had done that, I'd still be like 'Dude, rude!' and if she had done it to the friend she brought, I'd have been like 'Dude, rude!'" I also said "I just don't get her. I don't like how she is with you when I am around, and I don't like how she is to me when you are around. She can't deal with us together, you know? This would be like my being at a movie with like you, A and her boyfriend M, and then turning to A's boyfriend and declaring 'Get me a popcorn!' Isn't that weird?" He realized it was and said he understood and we have decided that we will never hang out all together again.
He said "But you should totally hang out with her separately still," and I said "Dude, why would I want to hang out with someone who indirectly antagonizes me when you are around? What kind of friend is that?" Drama. Don't need it. Unfortunate evening. Oh well.
Should I play nice? If she won't, why should I? I think what got to me most is her failure to play nice with people who aren't even D and I. This is messy, and I don't want the drama. I probably wouldn't have been upset about the popcorn if I wasn't already seething about the previous 7th grade lunchroom behavior I had to suffer.
After 40 Year Old Virgin we went for drinks and I wanted to strangle people. I had one glass of wine and was drunk, thank god. We left and packed and didn't get enough sleep before departing for Boston.
The bus ride took less than three hours, and we headed to Somerville for a burrito! We then walked to Hall Street, where we lounged and engaged in the rare pleasure of watching TV. We then headed to Harvard Square, where we shopped and frolicked and where I felt like I missed things. We met up with a bunch of people for dinner at Cambridge One, then headed to Finale for desserts, where we obsessed about old candy from the 80's. We then sought out said candy at CVS. We sat outside because the weather was perfect and because it was quiet and there was grass to sit on, and because I don't have these things anymore. We then had more drinks outside. I laughed too much about things I'd completely forgotten and enjoyed hearing Brother's honesty about his summer.
On Sunday we had breakfast at Rosebud and then headed to Medway for Brother's going-away party. It was overwhelming and crazy. Coming home from afar is not easy. It was nice to see everyone, but all I wanted to do was hide in the cool basement with Sister, SS, LBF, and D. I wanted to play Candyland and have an uninterrupted conversation. I wanted to relax and not say the same things over and over. "New York is good," "I think things are going well between us?," "Buenos Aires was awesome," "Yes, my apartment is as small as my father claims it is but you don't need 1200 square feet to live stop making fun of my apartment because at least I don't have 40 zillion knicknacks that require 1000 square feet for themselves there are other ways to live why can't you just be happy for me?!?"
It wasn't that bad. It was just a prime example of the feeling-14-again-phenomenon and I don't like it. Not one bit. I don't like people laughing at my apartment. I feel like I should then start laughing at how long it takes them to mow their lawns or something. I'm exaggerating. I was just in a bad mood because Mother made copies of a photo of "the family" and in it was the five of us and our three significant others, which made me feel like I couldn't breathe because all I could think about was 3 sets of this photograph on people's refrigerators with D's head cut out or and one with D's head replaced with a cutout of Christian Bale's face. Mother said "Please, don't worry, this is just now. You're happy now. This doesn't need to be up forever, honey" but this was after her speech about how happy she is that we've all found amazing significant others and that we're all together for Brother's special day and that we're all finally so happy! Ah, the pressure.
I had a good time, though. It was nice to see everyone.
We got in at about 2am last night and despite sleeping on the train and getting a good five hours' sleep here, I am still fried. Too much getting up early and getting to sleep too late.
I will, however, be doing nothing tomorrow night! Yeah! Watch out, Duane Reade and Gristedes. I am going to run errands! HAH! It's been ages since I purchased groceries.
I am going to buy eggs! And milk! And I may even buy vegetables! Whoa. Take it easy.
Until tomorrow...
Friday, August 19, 2005
Cops Are Different in Buenos Aires
OK. Actually, this is the last post about the trip to Buenos Aires.
And, for your reading enjoyment, we have a guest writer... Mo!
I was foggy about this story since I was tired and emo when it happened. After visiting P's parents' fabulous house, P's mother was quite considerate and called a car service to pick us up.
This is what happened:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Cops Are Different in Buenos Aires"
an Essay by Mo
We had to go through a set of tolls in order to get on the highway,
and there was a broken-down car in line and another car was sort of
swerving around. Our driver made a "tsk" sound as he maneuvered around
the broken-down car and the swerver, but we made it onto the highway
without incident.
On the highway, we found ourselves following a cop car. Sure, the cop
car was driving kind of slowly for a highway, but that did not seem a
good reason for our cab driver to start tailgating and flashing his
lights. Let me repeat: The cab driver started tailgating and flashing
his lights at a cop. A very painful hush fell over the cab as we
Americans began to pray that we were not about to be tossed into a
South American jail.
The cop pulled over,we pulled behind him, and the cab driver got out
of the car. That's when the panicked whispering began. "What the hell
is he doing?" we said to each other. "Did he just pull over a cop?"
Meanwhile, the cab driver and cop held a very calm conversation that,
to our surprise, did not in any way involve the cop throwing the
cabbie up against the car and cuffing him. So that was a good sign
right there.
After a few minutes, the cop returned to his car and drove merrily
away. The cabbie returned to our car and started up the engine. After
a bit of a stunned silence, D, our heroic Spanish speaker, asked the
driver what just happened. There was some explaining in Spanish, and
then D turned around to us and said, "Oh! He just wanted to get the
cop's attention so that he could report that driver back at the
tollbooth who was swerving. He looked like a drunk driver. I guess
that here, it's OK to get a cop's attention by flashing your lights at
him."
"D," I said, "Tell him that in America, flashing your lights at the
cops evokes a very different response."
And, for your reading enjoyment, we have a guest writer... Mo!
I was foggy about this story since I was tired and emo when it happened. After visiting P's parents' fabulous house, P's mother was quite considerate and called a car service to pick us up.
This is what happened:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Cops Are Different in Buenos Aires"
an Essay by Mo
We had to go through a set of tolls in order to get on the highway,
and there was a broken-down car in line and another car was sort of
swerving around. Our driver made a "tsk" sound as he maneuvered around
the broken-down car and the swerver, but we made it onto the highway
without incident.
On the highway, we found ourselves following a cop car. Sure, the cop
car was driving kind of slowly for a highway, but that did not seem a
good reason for our cab driver to start tailgating and flashing his
lights. Let me repeat: The cab driver started tailgating and flashing
his lights at a cop. A very painful hush fell over the cab as we
Americans began to pray that we were not about to be tossed into a
South American jail.
The cop pulled over,we pulled behind him, and the cab driver got out
of the car. That's when the panicked whispering began. "What the hell
is he doing?" we said to each other. "Did he just pull over a cop?"
Meanwhile, the cab driver and cop held a very calm conversation that,
to our surprise, did not in any way involve the cop throwing the
cabbie up against the car and cuffing him. So that was a good sign
right there.
After a few minutes, the cop returned to his car and drove merrily
away. The cabbie returned to our car and started up the engine. After
a bit of a stunned silence, D, our heroic Spanish speaker, asked the
driver what just happened. There was some explaining in Spanish, and
then D turned around to us and said, "Oh! He just wanted to get the
cop's attention so that he could report that driver back at the
tollbooth who was swerving. He looked like a drunk driver. I guess
that here, it's OK to get a cop's attention by flashing your lights at
him."
"D," I said, "Tell him that in America, flashing your lights at the
cops evokes a very different response."
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Been Caught Cheatin'
When I looked up briefly while eating a slice of white pizza at lunch today, I saw... gasp... my NYC hairdresser!
I quickly looked down, worried about being seen.
She meandered around the pizza place for a few minutes, chatted with someone, and then noticed me.
"Shit," I thought.
She walked over and screeched "You put streaks in your hair?"
"Well, yeah, um, you know, I went to Argentina and it was only $10 so I thought 'Why not?'"
"Yeah, why not," she said.
"Yeah. Well. You look cute," I said, referring to her adorable dress.
"Thanks. How are things with your boyfriend?"
"Oh, good, thanks, better, yeah, our parents met this weekend."
"And things are still good?"
"Amazingly."
She touched my hair. "You got a hair cut too," she said, unamused.
"Yeah, well, again, it was only $10 and... how's your apartment?"
"Good, good, I'm getting it together. Your hair is shorter," she smiled a bit.
"Yeah, the front was getting kind of out of control and I asked for a straight haircut and now I can't wear it curly which is weird, you know? Can't have it both ways, right?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"OK, well, good to see you!" and she walked away.
Caught red-handed with the new haircut. I hope she didn't feel betrayed.
The irony is that I won't go to her again anyway. I had the Buenos Aires excuse this time, but what will I say next time? As much as I love her haircuts and conversation, things have gotten too expensive. I have to save money for things like trips and martinis. Can't be dropping $100 every time I get my hair cut. No way.
She never said it looked good, and I am having one of the best hair days ever.
Oh well.
I quickly looked down, worried about being seen.
She meandered around the pizza place for a few minutes, chatted with someone, and then noticed me.
"Shit," I thought.
She walked over and screeched "You put streaks in your hair?"
"Well, yeah, um, you know, I went to Argentina and it was only $10 so I thought 'Why not?'"
"Yeah, why not," she said.
"Yeah. Well. You look cute," I said, referring to her adorable dress.
"Thanks. How are things with your boyfriend?"
"Oh, good, thanks, better, yeah, our parents met this weekend."
"And things are still good?"
"Amazingly."
She touched my hair. "You got a hair cut too," she said, unamused.
"Yeah, well, again, it was only $10 and... how's your apartment?"
"Good, good, I'm getting it together. Your hair is shorter," she smiled a bit.
"Yeah, the front was getting kind of out of control and I asked for a straight haircut and now I can't wear it curly which is weird, you know? Can't have it both ways, right?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"OK, well, good to see you!" and she walked away.
Caught red-handed with the new haircut. I hope she didn't feel betrayed.
The irony is that I won't go to her again anyway. I had the Buenos Aires excuse this time, but what will I say next time? As much as I love her haircuts and conversation, things have gotten too expensive. I have to save money for things like trips and martinis. Can't be dropping $100 every time I get my hair cut. No way.
She never said it looked good, and I am having one of the best hair days ever.
Oh well.
Freaky
There is news breaking all over the blogosphere that somebody was murdered this morning outside of Moby's Teany in the Lower East Side.
Sad.
And freaky.
Why is this more freaky than your average NYC murder? Because (a) as of right now data suggest that it was random and (b) it happened in broad daylight and (c) it may or may not involve Moby.
People are dropping like flies down there from random murders and bad batches of heroine. I myself will be dining down there this evening, enjoying vegetarian food that has nothing at all to do with Moby.
Crazy, crazy city.
Sad.
And freaky.
Why is this more freaky than your average NYC murder? Because (a) as of right now data suggest that it was random and (b) it happened in broad daylight and (c) it may or may not involve Moby.
People are dropping like flies down there from random murders and bad batches of heroine. I myself will be dining down there this evening, enjoying vegetarian food that has nothing at all to do with Moby.
Crazy, crazy city.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Nice Weekend That Shouldn't Have Been Nice - Part 3
We parted from D's parents, not quite relieved. D said "I won't be relaxed until I have your father's car back at your parents' house."
I said "I won't be relaxed until we are on the train back to NYC."
"Don't worry," he said. He was right - I was worried about time, but realistically we had plenty of time to drive back, grab a quick bite to eat, pack, and leave again in two hours. Plenty of time!
We stopped quickly at the Rosewood, one of my favorite spots in all the world. It's less than a mile from my parents' house. It's this nautical themed restaurant not-on-the-coast that has amazing ice cream and apparently amazing seafood that people go nuts for. I customarily get a grilled cheese and the best onion rings on the planet. I'd been craving them all weekend and every attempt to eat them had been foiled up until this point, so I decided it was worth the time risk to hopefully get some onion rings.
We pulled up frantically. I asked the girl how long it would take for onion rings, a grilled cheese, and two ice creams, and she said "Five minutes!" YES!
I devoured a watermelon sherbet cone during those five minutes. We jumped back into the car and drove back to my parents' house. When we arrived, Father said "Did you guys call about getting on the train?" "No," we both said. "Well, maybe you should. You know. Just so we don't drive all the way there in the rain and then you can't get on the train."
"I don't think we have anything to worry about," D said.
"Well, I you should call," Father said.
"You know, there's really no reason not to call," I said to D.
He called.
And, of course, the train was sold out.
Stranded.
And the MVP of the weekend is... Father!
We spent the night sleeping on the basement floor, since Brother and his girlfriend AM were sleeping in his room. Before we went to sleep, we played Battleship and I was filled with nostalgia for Former Boyfriends with whom I hid in the basement in years past. I miss the days of being 18 and rabid, unable to help myself and finding any way to find time alone with Boy and to escape the family. Whatever Boyfriend would be banished to the basement and I'd be "sleeping" upstairs in my bedroom. I'd sneak down to the basement after my parents had gone to sleep and I'd creep back into my bed before they awoke. We'd hide in the basement, the lights dimly glowing, having those all night conversations that we thought were oh-so-deep in college and I'd think things like "Is he my soulmate?" and "There's nothing that matters in this world beyond this basement" and "This is so beautiful."
I had these sorts of feelings with D as we laughed on our pile of comforters and vintage Return of the Jedi bedding in my parents' basement. Except this time I was thinking things like "I don't believe in a soulmate" and "The world beyond this basement is ugly and antagonistic" and "He is so beautiful."
We slept surprisingly well and woke up happy and with back pain. We had a nice breakfast with my Mother, hopped on the train and headed back to NYC.
It makes me sad that I am no longer impressed by the view of the city skyline from the train. When I was visiting Certain Someone last summer, every time I saw it I was filled with excitement and couldn't think anything other than "I must live here!"
We got off the train and headed back to my apartment, where I read mail, quickly unpacked and then repacked for the night. We headed to a furniture store where D intended to buy a couch. I'd made a to-scale floorplan of his apartment prior to our leaving for the weekend, along with to-scale little pieces of furniture that we cut out and arranged to see if the two-seat or three-seat couch would be optimal in his extremely small studio. (Incidentally, Mother played with this to-scale floor plan toy and said "You realize your father did this exact thing when we moved into this house, right?" I have so become my parents and there is no use resisting!) He'd decided on the three-seat, but on our way to the furniture store he started doubting himself and decided to go for the two-seat, which they no longer had in stock.
Drat!
Suffering from an intense nacho craving, I said that I'd like something involving nachos prior to our seeing Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man. We had a nice date at a cheesy Mexican place on Broadway. You know the one - with the giant neon Mexican hat. Yeah. That one. Awesome.
There were a million people in line at the Angelika (weird for a Monday night - is everyone seeing Broken Flowers?) so we decided to sit down early instead of dropping off D's suit at his apartment.
Weird movie. I don't know what to think. I thought it was a bit judgmental. Whereas White Diamond was a love letter, this movie used the character of Timothy Treadwill to bring up issues at the expense of the deceased. It felt weird to me that people in the theater were laughing at him. It was cut so that would happen, and that made me feel uneasy. I feel like Timothy Treadwill's sexuality played a big part in the movie, and that wasn't necessary. I don't know. It was interesting, and it's definitely on my mind, so I guess that means it was a good movie. But don't run out and see it. Rent it if you are curious.
And now I am back at work and trying to enjoy being sedentary until next weekend, when I go to MA again.
Until tomorrow...
I said "I won't be relaxed until we are on the train back to NYC."
"Don't worry," he said. He was right - I was worried about time, but realistically we had plenty of time to drive back, grab a quick bite to eat, pack, and leave again in two hours. Plenty of time!
We stopped quickly at the Rosewood, one of my favorite spots in all the world. It's less than a mile from my parents' house. It's this nautical themed restaurant not-on-the-coast that has amazing ice cream and apparently amazing seafood that people go nuts for. I customarily get a grilled cheese and the best onion rings on the planet. I'd been craving them all weekend and every attempt to eat them had been foiled up until this point, so I decided it was worth the time risk to hopefully get some onion rings.
We pulled up frantically. I asked the girl how long it would take for onion rings, a grilled cheese, and two ice creams, and she said "Five minutes!" YES!
I devoured a watermelon sherbet cone during those five minutes. We jumped back into the car and drove back to my parents' house. When we arrived, Father said "Did you guys call about getting on the train?" "No," we both said. "Well, maybe you should. You know. Just so we don't drive all the way there in the rain and then you can't get on the train."
"I don't think we have anything to worry about," D said.
"Well, I you should call," Father said.
"You know, there's really no reason not to call," I said to D.
He called.
And, of course, the train was sold out.
Stranded.
And the MVP of the weekend is... Father!
We spent the night sleeping on the basement floor, since Brother and his girlfriend AM were sleeping in his room. Before we went to sleep, we played Battleship and I was filled with nostalgia for Former Boyfriends with whom I hid in the basement in years past. I miss the days of being 18 and rabid, unable to help myself and finding any way to find time alone with Boy and to escape the family. Whatever Boyfriend would be banished to the basement and I'd be "sleeping" upstairs in my bedroom. I'd sneak down to the basement after my parents had gone to sleep and I'd creep back into my bed before they awoke. We'd hide in the basement, the lights dimly glowing, having those all night conversations that we thought were oh-so-deep in college and I'd think things like "Is he my soulmate?" and "There's nothing that matters in this world beyond this basement" and "This is so beautiful."
I had these sorts of feelings with D as we laughed on our pile of comforters and vintage Return of the Jedi bedding in my parents' basement. Except this time I was thinking things like "I don't believe in a soulmate" and "The world beyond this basement is ugly and antagonistic" and "He is so beautiful."
We slept surprisingly well and woke up happy and with back pain. We had a nice breakfast with my Mother, hopped on the train and headed back to NYC.
It makes me sad that I am no longer impressed by the view of the city skyline from the train. When I was visiting Certain Someone last summer, every time I saw it I was filled with excitement and couldn't think anything other than "I must live here!"
We got off the train and headed back to my apartment, where I read mail, quickly unpacked and then repacked for the night. We headed to a furniture store where D intended to buy a couch. I'd made a to-scale floorplan of his apartment prior to our leaving for the weekend, along with to-scale little pieces of furniture that we cut out and arranged to see if the two-seat or three-seat couch would be optimal in his extremely small studio. (Incidentally, Mother played with this to-scale floor plan toy and said "You realize your father did this exact thing when we moved into this house, right?" I have so become my parents and there is no use resisting!) He'd decided on the three-seat, but on our way to the furniture store he started doubting himself and decided to go for the two-seat, which they no longer had in stock.
Drat!
Suffering from an intense nacho craving, I said that I'd like something involving nachos prior to our seeing Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man. We had a nice date at a cheesy Mexican place on Broadway. You know the one - with the giant neon Mexican hat. Yeah. That one. Awesome.
There were a million people in line at the Angelika (weird for a Monday night - is everyone seeing Broken Flowers?) so we decided to sit down early instead of dropping off D's suit at his apartment.
Weird movie. I don't know what to think. I thought it was a bit judgmental. Whereas White Diamond was a love letter, this movie used the character of Timothy Treadwill to bring up issues at the expense of the deceased. It felt weird to me that people in the theater were laughing at him. It was cut so that would happen, and that made me feel uneasy. I feel like Timothy Treadwill's sexuality played a big part in the movie, and that wasn't necessary. I don't know. It was interesting, and it's definitely on my mind, so I guess that means it was a good movie. But don't run out and see it. Rent it if you are curious.
And now I am back at work and trying to enjoy being sedentary until next weekend, when I go to MA again.
Until tomorrow...
Nice Weekend That Shouldn't Have Been Nice - Part 2
D and I walked to the only restaurant that is walking distance from my parent's house for breakfast on Sunday. While we were there, the power went out. We had been getting anxious about the Parent Summit prior to this, but ohmygod! "Oh my god," I said. "It's going to be 12,000 degrees in my parents' house. This is going to be suck! Now it will be psychologically AND physically uncomfortable!" It was 12,000 degrees in MA on Sunday morning. I was beginning to panic. D called his parents, and nonchalantly asked if they had power. They did.
"But what if there's no power in Boston!?" I yelled. "What if this is statewide? What are going to do?!?!"
"What if this is the entire Northeast!?!?" D asked.
"Oh, well, that would be awesome!"
"Yeah! The trains wouldn't run!"
"Wait - the trains are electric?"
"I think so."
"Awesome! So there will be no Amtrak trains which means we can't possibly get back to NYC, which means days off! WOO HOO!!!!"
And then "But wait. Does that mean the T won't be running? Wait! What will we do with your parents if the T ISN'T RUNNING!?!??!"
I called Sister to verify that Boston did, indeed, have power. They did. Relief.
D called his friend in NYC to verify that NYC didn't have power. Unfortunately, they did. Drat.
We walked back to my parents' house, sweating, since we'd been sitting in the absence of air conditioning and fan during breakfast.
When we got there, we were greeted by the pleasant sound of a vacuum cleaner.
Thank god.
Mother was freaking out, of course, vacuuming like a lunatic. While she vacuumed, I started to reduce clutter by putting things in neat, little piles. This was a technique utilized by Mother when we were little. She would say "So and so is coming over tonight. If you don't move your stuff and get it out of here, I am going to move it for you." She would put things in piles - we wouldn't be able to find anything. The piles would sometimes remain in the common areas, or would be moved to bedrooms behind closed doors. Either way, you could never find anything because she would just move it.
As I started to put things in piles, I realized that apparently my mother no longer subscribes to the anti-clutter policy. Man. She had so much stuff lying around! Perhaps she just hates non-self clutter. I don't know. I started moving her stuff around and said "Do you want me to move this stuff to your room?" and she was like "No, its fine."
It's hilarious, actually, that I live my life as a homage to my Mother, who no longer exists in the form I remember. I can't stand clutter and I blame her. If I have one piece of mail lying around I go nuts.
Since she wouldn't let me remove the clutter, I condensed it. She had her like nail-kit out in the living room - you know, nail files, other weird nail-related devices that are mysterious to me because I don't do my nails with such flare. I said "Ma, do you want to move this?" and she was like "No, why?"
So now it is I who am anal! I don't know. I just thought "It's weird to have your nail file just, like, out when your daughter's boyfriend's parents are over, isn't it?"
I said "Well, look, I'll just put this over here on the couch and when you go up to your room you can just bring it up with you."
Verbatim. I said verbatim what she used to say to us.
Absurd.
I assumed the vacuum activities so she could calm down, all the while trying to understand how my Mother went from an organized, anal, obsessed-with-cleanliness person to this. The house was a mess, and I was slightly concerned, but moreso with the change in my folks. They don't even have food in the house anymore. I imagine this is some sort of side effect from wanting-to-move.
I cleaned, put things in piles, drank 40 glasses of water, had nervous fits, and couldn't unlock the door when the doorbell rang.
They walked in and exchanged introductions.
While my Mother talked to various aunts about her doll collections (who knew they had this in common?) and with D's Mother about his not eating enough vegetables, Father showed software to D's Father and they exchanged business cards and were both thrilled to learn that they were both PE's! Wow! I showed the aunts and D's Mother some photos. I had, on a whim, brought two photo albums - one with photos from Buenos Aires and another with a random collection of photos I've taken during the last six months, complete with photos from my trip to Orlando.
D's Mother was happy to see photos I'd taken of her granddaughters, and I was peeved to learn that D had not sent the photos to her or to his brother. I had been slightly distressed that they never commented on them or thanked me for them. I have to admit that the photos are good - so I was surprised that they had nothing to say. Well, they had nothing to say because they'd never seen them. Hmph.
The Aunts and D's Mother loved the photos of the grandchildren, and thought my photography was good. Sweet!
Then came the awkward but necessary portion of the visit when my parents volunteer me to play piano for the guests!
This always reminds me of period pieces in which visitors arrive and the eldest daughter, who is shy and spinsterly but who plays lovely piano, has to sit down and play piano while the women gossip and the men smoke and talk business. Of course she is then noticed by the young gentleman visitor who is in town tidying up his deceased grandmother's estate or something.
Nevertheless... throughout history, this has been me, and throughout history I have resisted and thrown fits because I, as you all know, can't play piano in front of people. I can't really do anything in front of people. Insecure, nervous, worried.
I said "I'd love to, but I have no sheet music here," which was actually the truth.
My Mother said "No! Play 'Lullaby!' I heard you playing it this morning and it was lovely." Yes, I'd been playing it but I don't actually know it. I was just improvising when I noticed that D had fallen asleep while listening to me play. You can't improvise in front of two sets of parents and three aunts when you have heart-attack-inducing-fear-of-public-anything.
"What about Chopin's 'Etude'?" D's eldest aunt said, and then she hummed a bit.
"I don't know... I knew it once... but I haven't played it in years and there is no sheet music here."
I said I'd see what I could find, and voila! The only sheet music I had remaining at my parents' house was Chopin's "Etude." What are the odds?
I played it. I shook the whole time and butchered it. I don't think the audience noticed. I think D was proud.
Surreal, I tell you. Surreal.
We headed into Boston after our parents exchanged enthusiastic farewells, where we ate a late lunch at Fire and Ice. We were joined by Sister (so nice to see her!) and then walked around the Harvard campus, where D's Mother and Aunts took pictures with the statue of John Harvard. We headed into the city via the Red Line and walked through the Common and Public Gardens. We then headed to the Esplanade to walk along the river but ended up running to the T because it was pouring. The temperature had dropped about 20 degrees since the morning and the family wanted to "see Boston" but what do you do in one hour in annoying weather? I had no idea. I kept saying "What do you want to do?" and they were like "We don't know. We've never been here." I said "You really need, like, a day." D's father kept saying "They just want to take pictures" which is why I decided on the Common because - The State House! Cheers! Pretty flowers! The Hatch! I said "You really should come back and walk the Freedom Trail. That would be nice."
Yeah. I think they hated Boston. But its not my fault, because how can you see a city in two hours on a gross day? Not my fault!
"But what if there's no power in Boston!?" I yelled. "What if this is statewide? What are going to do?!?!"
"What if this is the entire Northeast!?!?" D asked.
"Oh, well, that would be awesome!"
"Yeah! The trains wouldn't run!"
"Wait - the trains are electric?"
"I think so."
"Awesome! So there will be no Amtrak trains which means we can't possibly get back to NYC, which means days off! WOO HOO!!!!"
And then "But wait. Does that mean the T won't be running? Wait! What will we do with your parents if the T ISN'T RUNNING!?!??!"
I called Sister to verify that Boston did, indeed, have power. They did. Relief.
D called his friend in NYC to verify that NYC didn't have power. Unfortunately, they did. Drat.
We walked back to my parents' house, sweating, since we'd been sitting in the absence of air conditioning and fan during breakfast.
When we got there, we were greeted by the pleasant sound of a vacuum cleaner.
Thank god.
Mother was freaking out, of course, vacuuming like a lunatic. While she vacuumed, I started to reduce clutter by putting things in neat, little piles. This was a technique utilized by Mother when we were little. She would say "So and so is coming over tonight. If you don't move your stuff and get it out of here, I am going to move it for you." She would put things in piles - we wouldn't be able to find anything. The piles would sometimes remain in the common areas, or would be moved to bedrooms behind closed doors. Either way, you could never find anything because she would just move it.
As I started to put things in piles, I realized that apparently my mother no longer subscribes to the anti-clutter policy. Man. She had so much stuff lying around! Perhaps she just hates non-self clutter. I don't know. I started moving her stuff around and said "Do you want me to move this stuff to your room?" and she was like "No, its fine."
It's hilarious, actually, that I live my life as a homage to my Mother, who no longer exists in the form I remember. I can't stand clutter and I blame her. If I have one piece of mail lying around I go nuts.
Since she wouldn't let me remove the clutter, I condensed it. She had her like nail-kit out in the living room - you know, nail files, other weird nail-related devices that are mysterious to me because I don't do my nails with such flare. I said "Ma, do you want to move this?" and she was like "No, why?"
So now it is I who am anal! I don't know. I just thought "It's weird to have your nail file just, like, out when your daughter's boyfriend's parents are over, isn't it?"
I said "Well, look, I'll just put this over here on the couch and when you go up to your room you can just bring it up with you."
Verbatim. I said verbatim what she used to say to us.
Absurd.
I assumed the vacuum activities so she could calm down, all the while trying to understand how my Mother went from an organized, anal, obsessed-with-cleanliness person to this. The house was a mess, and I was slightly concerned, but moreso with the change in my folks. They don't even have food in the house anymore. I imagine this is some sort of side effect from wanting-to-move.
I cleaned, put things in piles, drank 40 glasses of water, had nervous fits, and couldn't unlock the door when the doorbell rang.
They walked in and exchanged introductions.
While my Mother talked to various aunts about her doll collections (who knew they had this in common?) and with D's Mother about his not eating enough vegetables, Father showed software to D's Father and they exchanged business cards and were both thrilled to learn that they were both PE's! Wow! I showed the aunts and D's Mother some photos. I had, on a whim, brought two photo albums - one with photos from Buenos Aires and another with a random collection of photos I've taken during the last six months, complete with photos from my trip to Orlando.
D's Mother was happy to see photos I'd taken of her granddaughters, and I was peeved to learn that D had not sent the photos to her or to his brother. I had been slightly distressed that they never commented on them or thanked me for them. I have to admit that the photos are good - so I was surprised that they had nothing to say. Well, they had nothing to say because they'd never seen them. Hmph.
The Aunts and D's Mother loved the photos of the grandchildren, and thought my photography was good. Sweet!
Then came the awkward but necessary portion of the visit when my parents volunteer me to play piano for the guests!
This always reminds me of period pieces in which visitors arrive and the eldest daughter, who is shy and spinsterly but who plays lovely piano, has to sit down and play piano while the women gossip and the men smoke and talk business. Of course she is then noticed by the young gentleman visitor who is in town tidying up his deceased grandmother's estate or something.
Nevertheless... throughout history, this has been me, and throughout history I have resisted and thrown fits because I, as you all know, can't play piano in front of people. I can't really do anything in front of people. Insecure, nervous, worried.
I said "I'd love to, but I have no sheet music here," which was actually the truth.
My Mother said "No! Play 'Lullaby!' I heard you playing it this morning and it was lovely." Yes, I'd been playing it but I don't actually know it. I was just improvising when I noticed that D had fallen asleep while listening to me play. You can't improvise in front of two sets of parents and three aunts when you have heart-attack-inducing-fear-of-public-anything.
"What about Chopin's 'Etude'?" D's eldest aunt said, and then she hummed a bit.
"I don't know... I knew it once... but I haven't played it in years and there is no sheet music here."
I said I'd see what I could find, and voila! The only sheet music I had remaining at my parents' house was Chopin's "Etude." What are the odds?
I played it. I shook the whole time and butchered it. I don't think the audience noticed. I think D was proud.
Surreal, I tell you. Surreal.
We headed into Boston after our parents exchanged enthusiastic farewells, where we ate a late lunch at Fire and Ice. We were joined by Sister (so nice to see her!) and then walked around the Harvard campus, where D's Mother and Aunts took pictures with the statue of John Harvard. We headed into the city via the Red Line and walked through the Common and Public Gardens. We then headed to the Esplanade to walk along the river but ended up running to the T because it was pouring. The temperature had dropped about 20 degrees since the morning and the family wanted to "see Boston" but what do you do in one hour in annoying weather? I had no idea. I kept saying "What do you want to do?" and they were like "We don't know. We've never been here." I said "You really need, like, a day." D's father kept saying "They just want to take pictures" which is why I decided on the Common because - The State House! Cheers! Pretty flowers! The Hatch! I said "You really should come back and walk the Freedom Trail. That would be nice."
Yeah. I think they hated Boston. But its not my fault, because how can you see a city in two hours on a gross day? Not my fault!
Nice Weekend That Shouldn't Have Been Nice - Part 1
I had to make an unexpected trip to MA this weekend.
D and I headed up on Friday night, hoping to engage in some fabulous meteor gazing in my parents' backyard. Our plan was foiled by blocked skies, but we were still able to enjoy the country air and silence. I miss crickets. I really need to find a white noise radio thing that sounds like crickets, with the occasional lawn mower at around 8:30am that plays only on Sundays.
We borrowed my father's car on Saturday morning and headed down to RI, where we attended a memorial service. It was nice to see D's family, and it was even more nice to see D be human. D is perfectly put together, never flustered, never bothered, never compromised. I shouldn't say that it was nice to see him sad, but it was nice, for me, to feel like we have something in common. It was nice to experience this sort of thing together. It made me feel close to him when his voice cracked, and it made me feel like I mattered to him when he held my hand tightly.
After the service, D's mother said "We were thinking of going into Boston tomorrow. We were thinking you could show us around. We were thinking of stopping in Medway first to see your parents."
Whoa.
I had many thoughts about this in the following order:
1. They want to meet my parents? It's too soon!
2. Why do they want to meet my parents!?
3. I don't feel like this is the right time! It's too soon!
4. That's so freaking serious!
5. Aren't parents supposed to meet when things are serious?
6. Don't parents meet after some sort of engagement?
7. Wait - they want to meet MY parents?
8. Why do they want to meet MY parents?
9. Wait! Maybe they want to meet my parents because they actually like me and want to know my family!
10. Wait! This is a sign of acceptance, isn't it? Like they are admitting that I am dating their son and that perhaps I am a permanent fixture!
11. Wait! This is wicked awesome!
12. Wow! I am so moved that they want to meet my parents! This is actually really sweet of them!
13. Although slightly bizarre because they just declared that they are dropping by my parents' house.
14. This is great! I can't believe they want to meet my parents!
15. Now. How am I going to tell my mother, who cannot be at all spontaneous and who freaks out about the idea of anyone at all, even D, coming by the house, that D's parents and three aunts are coming over tomorrow?
After many secret meetings at the after-service-reception, we came up with an overly complicated plan for them to meet us in Medway after they went to church, after my parents had returned from church, after which they would follow us, by car, to Harvard Square to see Harvard, which they were really excited about. As D's father said "It's not so much that they want to experience Boston, they just want to take pictures. They want to say 'Look! Here I am at Harvard!' or 'This is me with the State House in the back of the photo.'"
When I called my mother and said "We are all going to Boston tomorrow! You should come!" she immediately responded with "NO!"
It wasn't planned and therefore it cannot occur. Plus, it involves the city. Ewww.
I then said "Oh, well, in that case, well, um, D's parents would like to, umm... well, see, they'd like to drop by the house to meet you."
"They want to meet us? Why?"
I tried to brush it off as extremely casual and mostly a drop-by (which is what it was - it was more of an organizational tactic than something dramatic and full of pressure), and said "Yeah, no food or anything. They're just going to stop by for a few minutes."
My mother, of course, got nervous. I said "I'll call you later" and then did just that on our way back from RI.
I said "Look, ma, I know this is sort of strange and unexpected and you don't need to freak out and this really means a lot to me and realistically there's never going to be an opportunity for you to meet them again and I really think its a nice thing that they want to meet you so nobody is going to worry about this."
She was, predictably, worried about the state of the house. She hadn't vacuumed! The sink is a mess! There's stuff everywhere! M and AM's stuff is all over the place! She doesn't want them to think that the house is a mess!
What entertained me was the extent to which D was worried. After I came to the realization that they wanted to meet my parents because they now acknowledge my existence, I couldn't be anything but blissful about it.
D, however, was nervous! This was new too. I kept asking him what he was nervous about. I kept saying "They're going to like each other. Our parents are exactly the same people! My mom is adorable, your mother is adorable. Yeah, Father is weird but you know, they're both engineers. They'll probably start calling each other on the phone and will eventually become best friends and then we'll feel weird about that." I decided, after watching him be nervous, that what was worrying him was being exposed. D values his privacy, values his mystery, and now my parents would know his parents. Too much information. Too invasive. This could, gasp, led to his being understood.
We grabbed dinner with my parents on Saturday night and retreated to my brother's room after the sad day. We discussed the plan for the following day and discussed ways to minimize parent-related stress. We decided that instead of rushing through the Boston photo tour, we'd take the 10:00pm train from 128 that would have us back in NYC by 2am. We had tickets for the 6:55pm train. I said "D, we should probably call just to make sure we can use the 6:55 tickets on the 10:00 train." "I'm sure we can." "I'm sure we can, too, but we should call just to make sure we get a spot." "It's a 10:00 train. It's not going to be sold out." "Yeah, but maybe we should just call. You know. Just to make sure. I just want to, you know, know that we have a way home." "Don't worry about it," he said.
Because D is chill and composed and because things work out for him, I trusted him and didn't worry.
We fell asleep instantly, drained from the day's activities.
D and I headed up on Friday night, hoping to engage in some fabulous meteor gazing in my parents' backyard. Our plan was foiled by blocked skies, but we were still able to enjoy the country air and silence. I miss crickets. I really need to find a white noise radio thing that sounds like crickets, with the occasional lawn mower at around 8:30am that plays only on Sundays.
We borrowed my father's car on Saturday morning and headed down to RI, where we attended a memorial service. It was nice to see D's family, and it was even more nice to see D be human. D is perfectly put together, never flustered, never bothered, never compromised. I shouldn't say that it was nice to see him sad, but it was nice, for me, to feel like we have something in common. It was nice to experience this sort of thing together. It made me feel close to him when his voice cracked, and it made me feel like I mattered to him when he held my hand tightly.
After the service, D's mother said "We were thinking of going into Boston tomorrow. We were thinking you could show us around. We were thinking of stopping in Medway first to see your parents."
Whoa.
I had many thoughts about this in the following order:
1. They want to meet my parents? It's too soon!
2. Why do they want to meet my parents!?
3. I don't feel like this is the right time! It's too soon!
4. That's so freaking serious!
5. Aren't parents supposed to meet when things are serious?
6. Don't parents meet after some sort of engagement?
7. Wait - they want to meet MY parents?
8. Why do they want to meet MY parents?
9. Wait! Maybe they want to meet my parents because they actually like me and want to know my family!
10. Wait! This is a sign of acceptance, isn't it? Like they are admitting that I am dating their son and that perhaps I am a permanent fixture!
11. Wait! This is wicked awesome!
12. Wow! I am so moved that they want to meet my parents! This is actually really sweet of them!
13. Although slightly bizarre because they just declared that they are dropping by my parents' house.
14. This is great! I can't believe they want to meet my parents!
15. Now. How am I going to tell my mother, who cannot be at all spontaneous and who freaks out about the idea of anyone at all, even D, coming by the house, that D's parents and three aunts are coming over tomorrow?
After many secret meetings at the after-service-reception, we came up with an overly complicated plan for them to meet us in Medway after they went to church, after my parents had returned from church, after which they would follow us, by car, to Harvard Square to see Harvard, which they were really excited about. As D's father said "It's not so much that they want to experience Boston, they just want to take pictures. They want to say 'Look! Here I am at Harvard!' or 'This is me with the State House in the back of the photo.'"
When I called my mother and said "We are all going to Boston tomorrow! You should come!" she immediately responded with "NO!"
It wasn't planned and therefore it cannot occur. Plus, it involves the city. Ewww.
I then said "Oh, well, in that case, well, um, D's parents would like to, umm... well, see, they'd like to drop by the house to meet you."
"They want to meet us? Why?"
I tried to brush it off as extremely casual and mostly a drop-by (which is what it was - it was more of an organizational tactic than something dramatic and full of pressure), and said "Yeah, no food or anything. They're just going to stop by for a few minutes."
My mother, of course, got nervous. I said "I'll call you later" and then did just that on our way back from RI.
I said "Look, ma, I know this is sort of strange and unexpected and you don't need to freak out and this really means a lot to me and realistically there's never going to be an opportunity for you to meet them again and I really think its a nice thing that they want to meet you so nobody is going to worry about this."
She was, predictably, worried about the state of the house. She hadn't vacuumed! The sink is a mess! There's stuff everywhere! M and AM's stuff is all over the place! She doesn't want them to think that the house is a mess!
What entertained me was the extent to which D was worried. After I came to the realization that they wanted to meet my parents because they now acknowledge my existence, I couldn't be anything but blissful about it.
D, however, was nervous! This was new too. I kept asking him what he was nervous about. I kept saying "They're going to like each other. Our parents are exactly the same people! My mom is adorable, your mother is adorable. Yeah, Father is weird but you know, they're both engineers. They'll probably start calling each other on the phone and will eventually become best friends and then we'll feel weird about that." I decided, after watching him be nervous, that what was worrying him was being exposed. D values his privacy, values his mystery, and now my parents would know his parents. Too much information. Too invasive. This could, gasp, led to his being understood.
We grabbed dinner with my parents on Saturday night and retreated to my brother's room after the sad day. We discussed the plan for the following day and discussed ways to minimize parent-related stress. We decided that instead of rushing through the Boston photo tour, we'd take the 10:00pm train from 128 that would have us back in NYC by 2am. We had tickets for the 6:55pm train. I said "D, we should probably call just to make sure we can use the 6:55 tickets on the 10:00 train." "I'm sure we can." "I'm sure we can, too, but we should call just to make sure we get a spot." "It's a 10:00 train. It's not going to be sold out." "Yeah, but maybe we should just call. You know. Just to make sure. I just want to, you know, know that we have a way home." "Don't worry about it," he said.
Because D is chill and composed and because things work out for him, I trusted him and didn't worry.
We fell asleep instantly, drained from the day's activities.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Engaged
Hope you didn't get too excited. It is not I who am engaged!
Far from it, actually.
This girl in the bay across from mine got engaged whilst on her camping vacation earlier this week.
She returned, giddy, with a huge rock and a perma-smile. She claims she cried for an hour when he asked her.
I, for some reason, nearly cried when she told me.
I am emo today. Real emo.
As soon as I got the opportunity, I said "Congratulations!" and then wondered what, exactly, I was congratulating her for.
I've been thinking about it, and I think what I meant to say was "Congratulations on finding someone who likes you enough to spend the rest of his life with you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who doesn't think your emotions are stupid!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who has emotions!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who respects you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who will put up with you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who likes you enough to stick with you through good and bad!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who can handle you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who actually wants to handle you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who makes you cry because you are happy and not because you are sad because you feel like he doesn't like you all that much sometimes."
Man. I said "Bench buddy, why does someone's getting engaged make me feel emo?"
He said "That's surprising. It doesn't seem like you since you're not really into the institution."
"I know, that's why I'm asking for you opinion. I don't get it."
He said "I think its hard-wired. I think that's just how girls are. You know how girls get when their friends get engaged. They just get crazy. That's just how girls are."
That's just how girls are.
I wish someone would explain this to boys.
D, apparently, is still mad at me for being uncomfortable about his ex-girlfriends. I said, recently, after defining "ex girlfriend" and making him tell me who they are and what the circumstances were and forcing him to just give me personal information, "Look, I don't mind if you hang out with them, and in turn, you can't mind that it makes me uncomfortable" but he refuses to allow me to be uncomfortable. Because he doesn't agree with it. He thinks its stupid to feel that way, and therefore so am I. He says "You don't trust me" and "It's ridiculous to be insecure" and "I am not going to cheat on you" and "Stop acting like you know stuff about how people are because your circumstances are just unusual."
I just want to scream "Some people are just like this! A lot of girls are like this! I am not abnormal!!!"
That's just how girls are.
That's just how I am and he won't accept it.
Emo, kids, emo.
D is allowed to be emo right now. I am being patient and supportive and there for him but it's not easy. He refuses to ask for help and gets overwhelmed and the result is consuming negativity about and frustration with everything. He is allowed to feel negative. He is not allowed, however, to ruin us because of things that have nothing to do with us. I won't let him. I am trying to be positive and patient and understanding, but it hurts.
It hurts when I feel that we could end and he wouldn't care, and that makes me think that maybe it should end. But I don't want it to.
EMO!!!! I hate being emo.
D hates that I am emo.
But I think its weirder not to be.
Far from it, actually.
This girl in the bay across from mine got engaged whilst on her camping vacation earlier this week.
She returned, giddy, with a huge rock and a perma-smile. She claims she cried for an hour when he asked her.
I, for some reason, nearly cried when she told me.
I am emo today. Real emo.
As soon as I got the opportunity, I said "Congratulations!" and then wondered what, exactly, I was congratulating her for.
I've been thinking about it, and I think what I meant to say was "Congratulations on finding someone who likes you enough to spend the rest of his life with you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who doesn't think your emotions are stupid!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who has emotions!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who respects you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who will put up with you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who likes you enough to stick with you through good and bad!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who can handle you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who actually wants to handle you!" or "Congratulations on finding someone who makes you cry because you are happy and not because you are sad because you feel like he doesn't like you all that much sometimes."
Man. I said "Bench buddy, why does someone's getting engaged make me feel emo?"
He said "That's surprising. It doesn't seem like you since you're not really into the institution."
"I know, that's why I'm asking for you opinion. I don't get it."
He said "I think its hard-wired. I think that's just how girls are. You know how girls get when their friends get engaged. They just get crazy. That's just how girls are."
That's just how girls are.
I wish someone would explain this to boys.
D, apparently, is still mad at me for being uncomfortable about his ex-girlfriends. I said, recently, after defining "ex girlfriend" and making him tell me who they are and what the circumstances were and forcing him to just give me personal information, "Look, I don't mind if you hang out with them, and in turn, you can't mind that it makes me uncomfortable" but he refuses to allow me to be uncomfortable. Because he doesn't agree with it. He thinks its stupid to feel that way, and therefore so am I. He says "You don't trust me" and "It's ridiculous to be insecure" and "I am not going to cheat on you" and "Stop acting like you know stuff about how people are because your circumstances are just unusual."
I just want to scream "Some people are just like this! A lot of girls are like this! I am not abnormal!!!"
That's just how girls are.
That's just how I am and he won't accept it.
Emo, kids, emo.
D is allowed to be emo right now. I am being patient and supportive and there for him but it's not easy. He refuses to ask for help and gets overwhelmed and the result is consuming negativity about and frustration with everything. He is allowed to feel negative. He is not allowed, however, to ruin us because of things that have nothing to do with us. I won't let him. I am trying to be positive and patient and understanding, but it hurts.
It hurts when I feel that we could end and he wouldn't care, and that makes me think that maybe it should end. But I don't want it to.
EMO!!!! I hate being emo.
D hates that I am emo.
But I think its weirder not to be.
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