Christian Slater

I was home sick from work today.

This finally afforded me time to watch "Pump Up the Volume," which Netflix sent a few weeks ago.

I think I've mentioned this before, but I was much in love with Christian Slater back in the day. I think I saw "Gleaming the Cube" 4 million times. And, as I mentioned in a song, I unsuccessfully launched a search involving hundreds of people to find a very specific "Gleaming the Cube" poster.

Anyway, I never saw "Pump Up the Volume." I know what you're thinking - how could any self-respecting Christian Slater fan not have seen "Pump Up the Volume?"

The answer is: conservative parents.

I think I was nearly grounded for throwing a fit about not being allowed to see "Pump Up the Volume" because, dear readers, it was Rated R.

All of my girlfriends were going to see it and they didn't love him nearly as much as I did! I was livid. My parents were insane about things Rated R. "Not until you're 17," they would say, and I knew that even when I was 17 they would be distressed about my seeing boobs onscreen. When "Pump Up the Volume" came out, I too was conservative and too conservative to consider lying to my parents and sneaking into the movie.

So I never saw it until today!

And oh my god. I still love Christian Slater. Not Christian Slater now, but Christian Slater then. Dear god. I think I would have combusted if I'd seen it in 1990.

I am thinking that D has slightly Christian-Slater-like hair. Awwww yeah.

OK. This is boring because I am delirious. Hopefully I will be coherent tomorrow. Until then... Christian Slater. Yum.

Umbrella

What makes a good umbrella good?

Or, why is my umbrella the only one, in a sea of umbrellas, that inverts every three seconds!??!?!?!?

Conspiracy

The weekend is over and I am thrilled.

I had fun this weekend, but the plot also thickens.

Bad things that have happened recently:

1. No hot water in apartment.

2. No heat in apartment.

3. Cockroach infestation in apartment (traps are not working! will have to involve super; this is not only gross but makes me feel gross - I run a tight, clean ship in that apartment and I can't comprehend why these roaches are torturing me! D blames renovations in the building but I can't help but take it personally).

4. IPod battery in the process of dying.

5. Eye-piece protector on digital camera vanished and cannot be replaced unless I want to pay $150, which is freaking absurd.

6. Bird crapped all over fabulous pink coat. I was supposed to meet D at the 8th Avenue stop on the blue line to go to some galleries. We decided to meet underground as the weather looked ominous. I was at 34th Street, about to get on the train when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and she said "Ma'am, I don't know if anyone's told you this, but a bird shit all over your pink coat." Oh my god! Ma'am?!?! Oh my god... the PINK COAT! I quickly ran into the Tick Tock Diner, where I assessed the situation, which was bad bad bad. It was BROWN, all over my coat, and in three places! I ripped the coat off and went home. I had to make the snap decision that salvaging the coat was more important than meeting D on time. I don't have enough money to be replacing a coat, and I am too attached to that coat to just give up on it. I called D and left him a message, fully knowing he'd never get it since he was underground. I ran home, freezing since I didn't want to wear the coat. I cleaned it off with a combination of water, Tide, and hand soap, all the while throwing shit-filled paper towels into the toilet bowl.

7. Toilet bowl overflowed due to bird shit-filled paper towels.

8. As I was leaving the apartment, running, to meet D, I noticed that bird shit was also all over my pants. D was not underground when I got there. I figured he'd given up and just left after I was 45 minutes late. I decided, on a whim, to go outside to see if he'd left a message, and I ran into him as he was getting my messages. This was actually a good thing, because had I gone out any other exit I would have checked my messages, there wouldn't have been a message from him since he was literally in the process of checking his messages, and I'd have gone home, thinking he was mad. So this was a good thing.

9. Got caught in a rain storm on Saturday night while waiting in line for half an hour.

10. Watch stopped. Not because of battery - battery is new-ish, so I think watch is no longer for this world.

11. Credit card(s) didn't work at the movie ticket kiosk, which means that I'll probably have to contest the charges on all the cards because you know when machines tell you they don't work they are actually taking your money. Seven times.

12. Change explosion from bag due to mystery hole. So embarrassing. Still have no idea from where change fountain originated. Luckily E was there to pick up stray quarters and dimes and to prevent my having a total meltdown.

This being said, some good things this weekend:

1. New glasses - a big hit!

2. Winterized!!! Although - this should go in the first list - only have one of favorite pink mittens, which is suspicious given that I packed them to move. Why would I have packed only one? As of right now I have only a spring coat and fingerless gloves, which is not ideal given the weather.

3. PhotoPlus Expo (free!!!) at Javitz Center - shock to confidence but very exciting nonetheless, mainly because I got to indulge my desire to attend a conference at the Javitz Center and learned that the food court at the Javitz Center is extreme. It was overwhelming and stressful and since I don't have my own real camera yet, it was fairly pointless. I did, however, sign up for the ICP's mailing list.



4. Galleries - saw some lame stuff but also some good and/or freaky stuff and got to hold D's hand, which made me happy because I haven't seen that much of him lately. He tried to cheer me up about the Pink Coat Calamity, and I said "Dude, you have to just let me be upset about this for five minutes," and within five minutes of silence I was fine.

5. Pumpkins! And tango in Chelsea Market!!





6. Dinner party!!!

7. Demetri Martin!!! I got in trouble for taking this photo. I wasn't even using the flash (obviously). Demetri Martin is clearly and mostly influenced by Mitch Hedberg, so his show caused much happiness. I guess they're calling his brand of humor "observational." I'd never heard of him because I guess having heard of him requires a TV - he writes for Conan. He's doing a month-long residency at the Village Theater. I laughed so hard I almost passed out because I couldn't breathe correctly.



Here is a gratuitous photo of Jonathan Safran-Foer from Barnes and Noble last week. I meant to write lots about this last week but didn't get to upload the photos until last night.



There is a backlash against this boy and it troubles me. I have been thinking a lot about the backlash phenomenon as of late. If you thought something was good, why does what's happened since discolor what once pleased you? Everything is Illuminated is a good book. End of story. People liked it when it came out. Are people annoyed that he's successful? Are people annoyed by his demeanor? Even still, does this mean the book is bad? No.

It's like this with music too. VB said, as a possible conversation topic to deflect tension, "We could just talk about how much we all think Weezer sucks!" I said "I don't think Weezer sucks." Bench Buddy said "So I guess you're just ignoring the last two albums?" "Yes, I liked the first one." "But doesn't the recent crap ruin it for you?" "No, because the first album is good." We then discussed Death Cab for Cutie, and I was like "Look, yeah, they sold out, and that's weak, but that doesn't mean the first couple albums are now void. I loved them. I listened to them all the time. I still think they're good."

Same thing with Liz Phair. I don't know what is up with her right now and I am disappointed in and by her, but I still listen to the first three albums in heavy rotation.

Incidentally, Anne Patchett was there for the reading and said something about Jonathan Safran-Foer dating another author. Does anyone know who he's dating?

8. Saw Mirrormask.

9. Took pictures. It's been too long. Class has discouraged me. But I actually my homework this weekend (some of it, not all). This is "High Key #3."



10. Finally told D that I've been less-than-satisfied with NYC and he said all the right things, which surprised me in such a lovely way and made me happier.

So that's that.

The heat is on in the apartment (finally!), the coat has been dropped off for dry cleaning, I might go home to ease the homesickness and nostalgia and trick myself into thinking things are cozy because its fall - I will walk on rugs and sit near the fire and hear silence outside at 3am, I am looking forward to a party in my old house and to being able to be in someone else's house without feeling claustrophobic, I will become a person who doesn't need a watch and will just accept that my camera is unsightly, I will talk to my super tonight about roaches and will take a personal day when someone shows up to spray my apartment, I will make plans in NYC and will have things to look forward to and will pursue further education and then fabulous new business idea and change life and make loads of money and have job satisfaction and then I won't have to worry about money or the uncertain future.

Right.

OK!

With that, I should work. Mondays are so difficult.

Nano

While I find the new IPod Nano a bit gratuitous and a bit offensive (I don't know why - I'm probably just jealous because my IPod keeps misbehaving and I predict that I will soon be without IPod), I must admit that it is pretty damn cute.

What's even cuter, you ask?

A man's IPod Nano being held, protected, in a baby sock on the subway today.

I laughed out loud.

Bullies

I am thinking about:

- being socially bullied
- walking into preexisting situations
- people who use guilt to get what they want
- people who change depending on who they're around
- worrying about the feelings of people who I couldn't care less about, not because
I'm worried about their feelings, but because I'm worried about how their
feelings will affect my life

I am thinking that I miss a ton of people - sane, good, sweet, non-drama-welcoming people.

I Am Such a New Yorker

I was thinking about my blog the other day, and I thought "You know, I haven't had any wacky New York stories lately." I then wondered "Is that because things have gotten less wacky?" and then thought about it and decided "No, things are exactly the same as they've always been, it's just that I am used to them now."

I think I have become a New Yorker.

This thesis was confirmed last night after work.

I went to see the saddest movie of all time at the Film Forum. B said "Do you want to go see Mouchette? It will make us feel better about our lives."

I opted to go since I had nothing else planned and because I didn't particularly want to go directly home on such a beautiful night, even if my laundry was waiting to be picked up.

When we got there, B was shocked to find herself without cash at a cash-only theater. I told her I'd get her and that she could just pay me back. Film Forum has awesome popcorn, so we decided to split a small popcorn and each get our own drinks.

The popcorn and two drinks came out to $9.05.

I said "Hey, B, do you have a nickel?" I figured the least she could do was find a nickel for me since I was paying. I had a nickel, but didn't feel like rummaging through my belongings to find it.

She handed me a quarter.

Confused, I took it anyway, thankful for her contribution.

I handed the girl at the cash register $20.25.

She looked at me in horror.

"I don't want that from you."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't need twenty-five cents from you."

"Oh really?" I said without missing a beat. "What makes you think I need ninety-five cents from you?"

"Ugh," she groaned.

I stared her down. I was in consumer-bitch mode. Who is she to tell me what I can and cannot use to pay for things?

Nothing was happening, so I found a nickel and gave it to her.

On our way into the theater I said "B, I really want to fight that girl. Who does she think she is? What is her problem? Why can't I pay for something with a quarter? What the f is wrong with people at The Film Forum? 'Oh, I work at a snotty independent movie theater that shows old depressing movies and therefore I get to tell everyone what to do.'"

(Note: I love The Film Forum. I just hate this girl).

Anyway, the point of this story is not to point out further evidence regarding how people who work at stores and theaters and dentist offices and restaurants in New York City suck beyond all comprehension, but to point out how I said something equally stupid and equally bitchy to someone who gave me attitude.

I never would have done that as a Bostonian.

This means that the transformation into New Yorker may be nearly complete!

When I got home after the movie, wanting to kill myself after enduring Mouchette, I was greeted by three cockroaches (one in the living room, one on the cabinet, and one in the sink) and the revelation that there was still no hot water in my apartment. I cursed at and killed the roaches - two grownups and a baby, ate dinner, gathered some clothes, said farewell to the mountain of dishes that couldn't be washed and the roaches that would begin their nightly orgy as soon as I shut the light, and headed back down to D's to take a much-needed shower.

Ah, New York. How I love it so!

Who Shot Who?

Oh. My. God.

It's just been announced that this year's holiday party will be at the Copacabana!!!

It is insane that we know this given that it is only October 19th.

It is also insane because this means that I will have to have Barry Manilow in my head for a very, very, very long time.

Any time anyone makes reference to the company party I will have to break out in both song and dance.

I am very excited about the holiday party this year because (a) it's at the Copa, Copacabana... which is (b) the hottest spot right around the corner from my apartment! It is also exciting because (c) we are allowed to bring dates this year! which doesn't apply to me directly, but will mean that there will be opportunities to meet the significant others of coworkers! weee! and (d) it's on a Friday, which means that people will actually come this year and that (e) we can stay out all night, either at the Copa or somewhere else, without ruining the following day's work like last year.

I went to the Copa's website and it's awesomely cheesy because they actually have Barry's "Copacabana" playing, midi-style.

Yes.

I can't wait.

PJ's

Am I alone in thinking that pajamas rule?

Is there nothing better than coming home from work on a chilly winter night and putting on your pajamas?

I had to defend the virtues of pajamas last night and it confused me, because I really don't think that pajamas warrant a debate.

Potato

It's a perfect day. I spent an hour walking around the city this afternoon - through SoHo and then Chinatown - to get lenses for my new glasses. It's gorgeous outside. It's supposed to be even more beautiful tomorrow.

While I was wandering around the city, I couldn't stop thinking about Cape Cod Potato Chips.

Weird. I haven't had those since, like, middle school. I couldn't find them anywhere. I nearly went insane.

I must have been craving salty.

It was a girl's birthday at work today, and someone sent her a giant chocolate chip cookie. You know the kind - it substitutes for a cake and has frosting. Yum.

As we inhaled the cookie, this guy from another department said "Does anyone here bake their own chocolate chip cookies?"

Nobody answered.

"Well, you know what makes them better? Adding 3x the amount of salt that is called for in the recipe."

Nobody responded.

I thought to myself "Oh my god... I bet that's his family's secret ingredient for the best chocolate chip cookies ever and he's just told all of us!"

And then "Wait - there's salt in chocolate chip cookies? What?"

Yeah. I've never baked chocolate chip cookies or cookies of any kind that weren't already in the form of a tube or sheet.

So now you all know - add 3x the amount of salt that is called for in your chocolate chip cookie recipe and you will be amazed! And you have My Mundane Life In Song to thank for it!

Let me know if you try it and if it makes them 3x as good.

Therapy

I am so ashamed.

Prior to my viewing of Capote this weekend, I saw a preview for a movie called Prime. It's written by the same guy who wrote Boiler Room, which I liked if only because of the hip hop-heavy soundtrack.

The movie stars Meryl Streep, who I irrationally resent because my freshman year boyfriend forced me to watch Bridges of Madison County because Meryl Streep was supposed to be Italian. This excited him greatly as he was, in reality, Italian, and was enamored with all things Italian, including, apparently, fake Italians. I hated every minute of it mainly because Meryl Streep annoyed me so very much (although I should mention that I caught a bit of it when I still had TV and cried like a baby - this is apparently one of those movies that actually gets better with age - I think I get it more now - as opposed to the sort of movie that gets worse with age such as The Black Cauldron, which I saw recently and which broke my heart as I loved it as a kid and now realize it sort of sucks).

Back to the lecture at hand...

The movie features Meryl Streep as a therapist. Uma Thurman is her patient. My guess is that Uma plays a divorcee who's getting back into the dating scene. Meryl Streep encourages her to pursue a fling with a man who is much younger than her (how much do we love that Uma is playing the older woman?) who, surprise!, turns out to be Meryl Streep's son.

Now.

I have three thoughts about this:

1. Best movie idea ever! Why didn't I think of this? and

2. Best movie idea ever. I can't believe this hasn't already been done! and

3. I can't believe I am excited about a cheesy romantic comedy starring Meryl Streep.

Seriously. This movie is going to suck so hard but the premise and the preview are so funny! Plus, it involves therapy! Awesome!

I also saw a preview last night before Serenity that is of interest... yes, folks, yet another Jake Gylenhaal movie to feel guilty about. In this one, our hero plays a soldier in Iraq. It sort of reminded me of Three Kings. Looks cool. I can't wait.

Speaking of which, this is cute:

Donald Rumsfeld is giving the president his daily briefing. He concludes by saying: "Yesterday, 3 Brazilian soldiers were killed."

"OH NO!" the president exclaims, "that's terrible!"

His staff sits stunned at this display of emotion, nervously watching as the president sits, head in hands.

Finally, the president looks up and asks, "How many is a brazillion?"

Heh. That made me laugh yesterday.

OK. I'm off to get lenses for yet another pair of new glasses.

Until tomorrow...

Maybe It's the Nose

When I saw The Boss this morning, he said "Leah Lar, I was flipping through the channels yesterday and 'Pretty Woman' was on, and you know? You look just like Julia Roberts!"

"No I don't," I said.

"No, you really do. You don't think so?"

"No, I really don't."

"Guys, don't you think she does?" he asked Bench Buddy and Newest Guy.

"Well, maybe if you had different hair..."

"Or were taller..."

"Really?" said Boss.

Finally we all said "Well, maybe. Yeah. Sort of!" so as not to hurt his feelings.

I am so very flattered, because as we all know I love Julia. I still wanted to fight him about it, because I obviously look nothing like Julia Roberts. Nothing! I couldn't look less like Julia Roberts. He's wrong, but he was so cute and pleased with himself that we all had to let it go.

This being said, I have a cousin who I think looks like Julia Roberts (nobody else thinks that she does), so I guess that there's a chance that I may look a bit like Julia Roberts. Maybe in the nose.

Or maybe not at all.

Women Are Organic, Men Are Robots

The weekend thus far....

1. a fatal hit and run involving a bus just outside my apartment

2. "Firefly" = awesome! thanks, Banalities

3. a friend being used

4. THE SUN!!!!

5. a sad breakup

6. an engagement of which I approve - I am the first to have seen the ring! yay!

7. hit on by not one but two waitresses?

8. a new friend

9. "we should do this more often." there are so many things i should do more often.

10. lack-of-cab epidemic still in full force. why aren't there any cabs lately?

i love blogging after rum. makes me feel like less of an old-ish lady.

talk to you on monday!

Faith

Sister came to visit this weekend.

After gorging ourselves at Kate's Joint on Sunday night, we headed to Williamsburg to engage in the long weekend ritual of Sid and Buddy Karaoke at Galapagos.

We vowed to get there early this time, so as to actually get to perform karaoke.

I went on early, committing a karoake faux pas by performing a song I've performed at Sid and Buddy in the past. Whatever. I was nervous.

Members of Sister's entourage performed intermittently.

And then... D! I was nervous for him. It's that phenomenon of being a stage mother - so excited that your loved one is on stage, but terrified that something terrible will happen. D makes up for in enthusiasm what he lacks in pitch.

Sid put on D's song, but it wasn't the right song! D said "This isn't the song."

Sid fumbled and, a minute later, put on the correct song. Except it was the wrong song again! The same wrong song. It was "I Saw Him Standing There," the Tiffany version. D later said "I wanted 'I Think We're Alone Now,' the Tiffany version. Where did he get that?" Someone had actually seen D right down "I Saw Him Standing There," but there was no arguing with him.

"That's not it!" he said from the stage.

"That's what you put," Sid said.

"No, it's not," D said.

Sid said "No, no, stay there..." as D began to leave the stage. "We're going to do karaoke roulette!"

What!?

"I'm going to pick a song and you have to do it."

Oh my god! Random-oke!!!

The crowd waited, tense, wondering what it would be. "Please let him know it, please let him know it, please let him know it..." I chanted in my head.

Oh. He knew it. I knew it. Everyone knew it.

I couldn't help myself. I jumped onto the stage, along with a member of Sister's entourage who helped himself to the inflatable guitar, and started moving my ass back and forth, as did D and Sister's friend, to the introduction of...

"Faith" by George Michael!

This was mostly a tribute to LBF, but man was it fun. I'd never have picked it for myself, but having it picked for me... delicious!

I think that there should be a karaoke that is entirely roulette.

Later that night, two insane guys got up there and tried to do "How Do U Want It" by 2Pac. I knew it was going to be a disaster. Sid stopped them a minute into it and said "You guys need to stop. We're doing roulette" and made them do The Beastie Boys instead.

It was awshummmmm.

Raincoat....

... or snowsuit?

We're pretty sure it was just snowing.

Madness.

2Pac

My Ipod is in rough shape, folks.

While it was still semi-functional yesterday, I was able to listen to but not choose songs. This was achieved by starting at the first song, and then scrolling through, one-at-a-time, in alphabetical order by artist until I happened upon something listenable.

It all started with 2Pac. I'd forgotten I'd even had 2Pac's Greatest Hits on my Ipod! I wasn't in the mood for hip hop prior to photography class, so I scrolled through to 311. 311!!!! Hah!

Then I encountered things like Aimee Mann and American Analog Set, and such hipster darlings that I no longer enjoy like The Arcade Fire and Architecture in Helsinki.

Most bizarre, though, is that apparently all classical musician's names begin with A! I had to scroll through all of Chopin's Preludes and Impromptus because they were performed by someone whose name begins with A. And then Vivaldi's violin concertos. And then the entirety of Prokofiev's Cinderalla.

The Ipod no longer functions at all. I am dying to go home to see if it will charge, but I am not going home tonight because I have been emotionally blackmailed into seeing a movie that I don't really want to see because some people are masters of guilt.

Damn you, guilt masters! You prevent me from going home on a rainy night when I haven't been home in ages! You prevent me from curling up under a blanket and watching a movie and eating in and saving money and charging my Ipod and doing my photography homework!

Yeah. The rain makes me completely insane.

Possessive

I am a person who is possessive about ideas.

Possessive may not be the right word. It might be that I am just shy about my own ideas. I don't want them out there. I only want them to be available to special people, and, in most cases, a special person.

I'm not possessive about everything. I obviously have a blog and put a million ideas out there into the world every day. Personal things, words, that sort of thing. I don't, however, put ideas for screenplays or photo projects or whatever out there, because I may actually do them and I'd rather just have them be finished when people find out about them. Like the blog... I told people "Yeah, I'm doing this thing" and was then excited when I started it and all of the songs were there, complete. It ruled.

I didn't realize that I was possessive about ideas until I found myself with someone who felt compelled to broadcast my ideas to others. It is because he is proud and excited, and that's awesome. It makes me love him more, but I feel, though, that my ideas are mine, and that, if I would like others to know about them, I will choose to tell them and then do just that.

This causes tension. I don't know how to explain myself. I don't know how to explain this pet peeve without sounding like a paranoid loser.

I realized I had this pet peeve when we were standing around one day and he said "Hey, what do you think of this idea?" and started telling this random guy about this quick pillowtalk comment I'd made about how digital sheet music could be a cool thing. It was a conversation I didn't want to have. I didn't want to defend my idea. I hadn't thought it through enough to present it to the world. I wasn't ready. It was mine and it should be under my control.

The only time I said something to him about this was when he said, to a complete stranger, "Leah Lar has an awesome idea for a documentary!" and then started to tell her about it. "Tell her more about it!" he said to me. "No, really, I don't want to." "But it's awesome!" "Well, no, I'm not ready to talk about it." I didn't want to talk about it because this person is in the film industry. I didn't want to talk about it because it was none of her business. I didn't want to talk about it because it was an idea I'd had that I'd told only the person closest to me because that's what you do, right? It's part of intimacy. I don't go around telling everyone everything. I don't tell the same things to every person. You have different sorts of relationships with people.

Last night we were tipsy and listening to 80's music and pretending that we were in middle school. It was silly and wonderful. After we'd finished pretending, I said "You know what there should be? There should be a lip synch contest at work! What ever happened to lip synching? People were all over that in the 80's!" I went on and on about how it would work, and what the categories would be. I said "And it would be, like, you'd have to do it as a group! A boss and his/her employee. You and your boss would definitely win for best hair. And most elusive. And cutest."

"We used to do things like this all the time," he said, "when we were smaller."

"We should totally do it."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"We could do it in the conference room."

"No," I said. "We should wait until we move to the new facility. There's supposedly going to be an auditorium there. We could have it in there! It could be like our inaugural event!"

I wasn't even serious about it. It was something that seemed adorable at the time, but can you imagine? A lip synch contest at work?

I got an email from him this morning that said "I talked to NH about the lip synch contest. She said she's going to see what she can do."

Wtf?

First of all: My idea! If I want to pursue it, I'll pursue it.

Second of all: If the lip synch contest happens and is a success, everyone will think that it was NH's idea or, worse, his.

Third of all: Privacy!

I guess I'm just possessive of relationships and ideas and specificity.

If I want everyone to know about an idea I've had, I'll tell everyone. Things said within the confines of a relationship should not go beyond that.

Am I shy or insane?

I don't know.

My guess is that he would think me insane, which is why I can't say "Could you stop telling everyone about the things I say to you in private?"

It's also a throwback to the old days when my parents would force me to play piano in front of other people. It puts you on the spot. It's very uncomfortable. "Tell the nice people about your idea, honey!"

"If I wanted to tell them, I'd have told them, honey."

I blame the weather. The weather is making me insane!

Right. That's it.

Broke

I am having one of those days - the sort of day that convinces you that there's a conspiracy against you, or the sort that convinces you that you have super powers to destroy everything in your path!

It all started this morning when I tried to listen to my IPod, which, apparently, has broken again! This time it is without reason. I listened to it on Friday and it was fine, and today - the main button doesn't work, which means I can listen to music only if I want to listen to it in alphabetical order. I suspected something like this would happen, because I'd noticed this weekend that the time had reset itself.

Drat.

When I arrived at work, I tried to print out my experiments for the day and, of course, the printer didn't work.

I wrote everything out by hand and decided to just do my best.

Once I'd written out my experiment, I went to the -80 freezer to get my samples and, of course, it wouldn't open. This was due to a combination of the seal's being broken and there being an obscene accumulation of ice. I asked a stronger person for help. He was able to open it but not without his body flying across the room.

I finally had the experiment and the samples, but when I went to read the plate, of course, a glitch in the software prevented me from analyzing the data. Two hours later I figured out the problem.

Ridiculous.

I don't even want to know what's going to happen later.

I hate rainy Tuesdays that feel like Mondays.

Wall

I met my neighbor the other night!!!

I have been sharing walls with this man since May, and I'd seen him only once in passing.

I've fantastized about him - I've wondered what he does for a living, what hours he keeps, what he thinks about the sounds coming from my apartment. I've wondered if he purposefully avoids me because he hates me due to my constantly listening to music or playing piano or talking loudly in my bedroom which, for all I know, could keep him up because maybe his bedroom is right alongside mine and he's trying to sleep at 9pm because he works a bizarre shift at his mystery job.

As I was leaving my apartment the other night at around 9pm to go to D's to watch the Netflix DVD that ultimately wouldn't play, I bumped right into him!

We stared at each other.

My first response was panic. I thought "Oh my god, he's going to KILL ME!" because obviously he hates me because I am loud and he has been working out his evil plan to kill me as soon as he found out who I was!!!

He stared at me, I stared at him, and finally, enthusiastically, he blurted out "DO YOU LIVE HERE?!"

"Yes?" I said, timid.

"OH MY GOD! FINALLY! WE'VE BEEN NEIGHBORS LIKE FOREVER AND I'VE BEEN DYING TO MEET YOU!!!!"

B is a 40-ish fellow who works in fashion. He is extremely excited about everything. He asked me what I did for a living. I said "I'm a scientist" and he said "I love that."

He unlocked his door, and I took a peak inside his apartment. D and I are constantly trying to figure out the layout of the apartment next to mine. Clearly it would have to be nothing like mine, but we couldn't decide if it was microscopic or huge.

I looked around him as he said "You know, I had a friends visiting from Rhode Island the other day and they kept saying how small my apartment is, but I just love living here! I mean, I have two bedrooms..."

"You have two bedrooms?" I asked. Eureeka! I only have one bedroom, how dare he have two?

"Well, they are small," he said, "And your apartment - I saw when they were renovated it. I would kill for your floors."

"They are quite fabulous," I said, trying to see into his apartment. I couldn't, because he has a very long hallway that cuts to the left so you can't see a damn thing from the doorway.

He said "Well, I work for Isaac Mizrahi," he said, "You must have heard of him."

"Oh yes," I said, unimpressed.

"It's been a pleasure living near you," he said. "I hope I don't make too much noise," he said.

"Oh, no, I never hear you. I wasn't even sure that anyone lived here!"

"Well, I'm usually quiet. I sometimes have friends over. Hopefully we're not too loud. The models, you know, it can be crazy."

"Models?"

"Yes, models."

"Oh. I'm taking a photography class. Maybe when we have to do portraits you can hook me up with some models."

"Well, there are some in here right now! Do you want to meet them?"

Models! Yes! I was in!

He invited me in, and I couldn't contain my excitement. I met my neighbor! I was going to get to see the mystery apartment! I was going to meet models!!!!

His apartment looks nothing like mine. At all. It's not renovated, and the layout is strange. His "bedrooms" are both microscopic. It is his living room that is behind my bedroom, and his bedroom is adjacent to mine. Which is weird, but whatever. Things I didn't need to know.

But best of all... his shower is in the kitchen!!!

He was apologetic about that. Not only is it in the kitchen, but it is elevated in the kitchen, so it just hangs there next to the stove! You have to climb a stool to get into it! Insane!

We gushed about our apartments and renovations and models, and I said that I had to get going. He wants to eat lunch or drink wine at some point.

I am just satisfied knowing what lies beyond my walls.

Thrilled, folks.

And with that, have a good loooooooong weekend!

Weird

You know what's weird?

That I have found myself walking behind not one, not two, but three separate people in the past three days that have been smoking cigars on the street.

I mention this because the downstream smoke from a cigar is horrid.

***

You know what else is weird?

I saw a guy the other day who looked just like Master P. I was so convinced it was him, until I remembered that Master P. is really tall, and this guy was only like 5'10''.

On the way to work this morning, after walking behind a dude smoking a cigar, I saw a guy who looked just like Mystikal! It wasn't him, though.

I haven't seen any rappers since moving to NYC.

D saw Redman once from his apartment window. I was jealous.

***

You know what's even more weird?

D was insecure for the first time ever yesterday and it made me really sad, but also, in some weird and deranged way, it made me feel good to know that he thinks about things.

***

You know what else is weird?

I just got really outbid on something on EBay and I am devastated.

Why am I devastated? It's not like I needed that adorable pick laptop bag!

But I did really want it for $4.95.

***

Also weird was this dream I had last night, in which D and I moved into this immense house that was fully furnished. We were not allowed to bring anything into the apartment other than clothes. I complained to the landlord "I can't live under these conditions! I want my own furniture! I want to hang things on the wall! This furniture is absurd!"

D wasn't as distressed.

The house was part of an apartment complex that was basically loft space in a converted barn (yes, a barn) and for some reason the entire apartment would tilt once an hour. I can't even explain it. Something to do with the reindeer that were being kept in the only portion of the barn that remained a barn.

The landlord said "You'll get used to it."

"No, I won't!" I yelled. "Nor will I get used to sleeping in a twin bed!"

"You can push them together," she said.

"But we have two beds outside in the truck. You mean to tell me we can't bring either of them in here?" I asked.

"No, sorry."

"But what about D's memory foam?"

"He'll get used to it."

"We are collectors of art!" I lied. "We have an extensive collection that we would like to hang."

"You can't."

"D, we're minimalists! We can't live like this! We can't live in this clutter!!! There's no empty space!!!!"

"But its so big," he said, in awe.

"Who cares? It's like being a prisoner!"

I walked down to the apartments on the first floor. A lavish party was being hosted in one of them. I let myself in and saw that this apartment was furnished way cooler than ours. Ours was very rustic and country-like. Lots of plaid and yellow walls and wood. This one wouldn't have been out of place in New York City. The people at the party were very fashionable and funky. I asked the owner "How did you get this apartment? You got way better furniture that I did!"

The owner said "Honey, just sneak. Little by little. One piece a day. They won't even realize!" She pointed to some art that was hanging from the ceiling. "They never look up," she said. "They never look."

I suppose its not that weird. I am trying to figure out a New Life Plan that will allow me to live in New York City forever.

***

More later.

Quality Time

Ever appreciative that my IPod survived the Cranberry Juice Fiasco, I have been trying to spend as much quality time with it as possible.

En route to D's last night, I didn't have anything to read and was suffering from attention deficit, so I decided to play games. I hadn't played a game on my IPod since one of the many try-to-get-the-loft-trips to NYC last summer with Former Roommate, who played Solitaire on her IPod on the train. I said "What are you doing?" "Playing Solitaire." "How?" "What do you mean?" "How did you get a game on your Ipod?" "It comes with games." "Oh."

It apparently also has an address book and other non-music related features that are not interesting enough to me to merit my learning more about them.

I played Solitatire for about two seconds and got frustrated with it. I don't like the weird little hand that appears over the cards. I don't like the action. It just isn't fun.

I decided to see what else it has, and it has this music trivia game! It randomly selects a song and starts playing it, and gives you five multiple choice options for the name of the song! Awesome! I got, like, 1 out of 7 right. This is because I own too much music, and also because I don't know the names of any songs.

The reason I bring this all up is because, at random, IPod picked a song that I'd never even heard before! It was on a mix that Stupid A gave me last April. I listened to his mixes nonstop when things were good, but somehow managed to miss this song. It must have been at the end of one of the mixes, or maybe I thought the beginning of it was boring so skipped it.

It's awesome! It's my new favorite song!!! I love it! Thank you, IPod, for surviving and making me aware of this song. And you know what? If I'd lost the IPod forever, I'd never have heard this song because I didn't keep the mixes on CD.

Yay!!!

I am going to cover this song for My Mundane Life In Song, so watch out!!!

Grades Are Good

I am taking a class.

I thought that the beauty of taking a class as an adult, a class that doesn't matter, was the lack of pressure! Go at your own pace! Do as much or as little as you feel appropriate! Don't even bother with the homework if you don't have time! Don't feel any pressure to actually show up! Spend absurd amounts of money and get nothing out of it if that's what you want!

No grades, no pressure, no future. Lovely!

I am finding, though, that I actually care about my photography class. I desperately want feedback. I want personal attention. I want to sit with the teacher and dissect my technique. I want him to be brutal, objective, and merciless. I want him to make suggestions. I want him to tell me I am a unique talent! I want him to exclaim "Brilliant!" when he sees my contact sheets that actually have pictures on them! I want something!!!!

I realize that this is impossible. Given the size of the class and the length of the classtime, it's unrealistic to think that anyone will be given individual attention. We can't go over everyone's photos. It would take forever. It would be boring. It would be futile.

I stayed late after class, hoping to ask the teacher if maybe I could come early to the next class to go over some things with him - show him some old photos, talk about my show, throw some ideas at him and have him tell me that they are great or that they are trite.

All the girls (think Indiana Jones, folks) and this one high maintenance older gentleman who's usually a riot (not on purpose) but who slept through the entire class remained behind.

Drat.

I'm timid. I waited while all the other girls asked their questions ("why are my photos printing out weird?" "what kind of tripod should I get?") and while high maintenance older gentleman asked for advice about photographing Park Ave. for some sort of professional endeavor (it seems that this man is a photographer but has no idea how to take pictures! I have to figure this out...).

I gave up and left, sad, not knowing if I'm any good.

Now.

Does it matter if he thinks I'm any good? No. I suppose it's up to me. I should monitor my progress and be able to assess if things are changing for the better.

But sometimes you want feedback! This is why, gasp, grades are good!!!!

I called R, who'd taken this class previously and who'd had similar complaints, and said "R, is it completely inappropriate for me to send him an email and ask if we could meet for coffee to discuss things?"

"Yes."

"CRAP!!!" I whined.

I want help. I want guidance. Assistance. Criticism. I want a massacre and then I want things to improve.

It's bizarre to actually care about something. It's been so long.

I'll Be Loving You Forever

I work directly across the street from a club called Culture Club.

It's Pollyesther's. Or whatever that nostalgia-themed-nightclub-chain thing is called. You know the one. The one where Brother and his friend B started dancing in a very coordinated fashion and caused a circle to form around them, 80's style.

The one across the street hosts concerts. The last concert advertised was Tiffany. Before that - Deborah Gibson. I was tempted to attend both.

I am so so so very tempted to attend... gasp... the Jordan Knight concert next week!

I'll admit it. I was a huge fan of New Kids on the Block. I had posters all over my wall. It was as though I had NKOTB wallpaper. I had t-shirts. I had the New Kids on the Block pillowcase. I spent hours upon hours hiding in the basement, playing Sega, listening to the Hangin' Tough tape over and over and over.

I went to the concerts. I threw fits when my parents wouldn't allow me to camp out for tickets. I was envious when my friends went to JP and sat outside Joey's parents' house, waiting for a glimpse of Joe!!!

I also claimed to be partial to Jon Knight, even though I was secretly smitten with Jordan. I think this was the beginning of my tendency to side with the underdog no matter what! Sometimes I secretly root for the favored team to lose, even if they're my team, because I feel sorry for the bad team who hasn't a chance.

I think this was what I was doing in claiming to love Jon Knight. I was all about him, but I think I was all about him because, well, nobody else was.

Or maybe that was the beginning of my being, ahem, contrary. I was against the mainstream, even at age 12! Well, not really, since I clearly was the mainstream in liking NKOTB. I bet all future hipsters liked Jon Knight, or, in the most extreme of cases, Danny Wood.

Anyway...

Yeah. I loved Jordan Knight. I still think he's adorable. Talentless, but adorable.

I'm tempted.

Very, very tempted.

The poster claims that he will be singing songs from his NKOTB days.

I am tempted, not only to see him, but to see who else will be at the show. What will the crowd be like? Who will be there? Will it be a bunch of 30-somethings who were raised in MA?

For $10, no issue. I'd be there with bells on and camera in hand.

But for $30? No way.

***

Speaking of $30, should I put ads on my blog to make money? Does anyone know anything about this? Do you actually make money? Will it be unsightly? Will it deter people from reading? As far as I can tell there aren't many people reading anymore so I guess it doesn't really matter. The ads won't make money, because nobody is reading, and the ads being there won't prevent people from reading because nobody is reading.

Which means... I should just put them on there? In case they make money?

I don't know.

Fry Baby

After dining with the other LL last night, I returned home and was suddenly overcome with motivation to clean! I don't know why. It was late-ish and I was tired, but I thought "Hmmm... my friend might be crashing here tomorrow night. I should probably tidy up a bit."

Additionally, I was over D's apartment on Sunday night while he was cleaning (I read the UMass Alumni magazine for the first time ever while he focused on the cleaning), which for D involves getting on his hands and knees with a sock soaked in some sort of cleaning product and cleaning his entire apartment's floor by hand. I said "D, I don't know how you spend any time in my apartment. You must be disgusted." Then "D, why do you put such love and care into the floors of an apartment you don't own?" He said "Because, it has to be liveable." "But wouldn't it be fine if you just, like, swept? And maybe mopped every so often?" He does this at least once a week. I then said "D, you'd better stop doing this. You're making me want to move in with you." I'd be exempt forever from doing any sort of cleaning if I lived with him. How appealing!

My kitchen floor has some shady areas, areas that were un-clean before I moved in. I'd mopped a couple times but the areas were never cleaned. I just assumed that there was no hope, that the floor was stained, but last night I thought "Perhaps I should try the Cinderella-clean-the-floor-on-my-hands-and-knees-while-scrubbing- unglamorously method that D has had such success with."

Miraculous!

Since my entire apartment began to reek of cleaning product, I decided to air things out and opened a window.

Within two seconds my entire apartment smelled like Fried.

Fried what? I don't know.

It was immersed in Fried.

Like someone had turned on 4204 deep fryers in my apartment, not in order to fry anything in particular, but just heated up oil. Tons of it.

I shut the window immediately, but it was too late.

Everything was soaked in the aroma of Fried.

What do you do in this situation? You can't air out your apartment, because if you open the window, it will just get worse. I lit candles and hoped it would go away.

D turned up late - he'd gone to see Transporter 2 - and I said "Does it smell like..."

"Fried? Yes. It's the people on the second floor."

"Could you tell what they were frying?"

"Chicken?"

"No, its definitely not meat. It just smells like Fried."

"French fries?"

"Maybe."

Later D revised his statement and said that he thought it smelled like a fried dessert of some sort.

"That's actually just the smell of Fried mixed with fruity-smelling red candle, darling."

"Oh."

I was reminded of how Former Roommate RM used to cook meat on his George Foreman Grill, and how, because my bedroom was closest to the kitchen, all of the meat stench would accumulate in my room and there was nothing I could do.

It seemed that the fried had dissipated this morning, but its possible I'd just habituated to it.

At about 12:30am, D said "Oh my god. I haven't stopped thinking about the strawberry milkshake you didn't have. I think I am going to go to McDonald's right now and get one for us to split."

"Oh, well, if you want one, but I don't want any. It's too late for food."

I said this (a) because I didn't want the milkshake anymore and (b) because I was dying for fried dough.

Those bastards on the second floor!

Ice Cream

Had dinner last night with the other LL at the worst restaurant ever.

I chose this restaurant because I saw someone in the window eating waffles. And I also wanted an ice cream sundae. "I want waffles!" I declared, "With fruit on them. And ice cream. Yes. We shall eat here."

We walked in and I said "This place reminds me of Friendly's!" LL agreed. I thought to myself "I hope, though, that the service is better than Friendly's. And I hope they actually have the stuff that's on the menu." Friendly's is notorious for not being able to make the waffle sundae when I want it, or for being out of the first three ice cream flavors I order.

Upon perusing the menu, I realized that I couldn't decide what I wanted. So many options! The only thing I knew I wanted was a strawberry milk shake. And mashed potatos. And a waffle with a pile of fruit on it. Weird, yes, but who cares? It's New York City. Anything goes.

I decided that I would get the waffle with fruit only if the fruit was to my liking. If the fruit was not to my liking, I'd go with the banana pancakes. The other LL decided that she would have a grilled cheese if she could also get cheese fries with gravy, and that if they couldn't do cheese fries with gravy, she'd get something breakfast related.

When the waitress appeared, I asked "What kind of fruit comes with the waffle with fruit?" She didn't know, but guessed "Watermelon, and I think orange."

"Really?" I asked, thinking this was unlikely because watermelon on a waffle? Oranges? Just doesn't seem right. "Are there any berries involved?"

"Berries?"

"Yeah, berries."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, some places... you can get a waffle with strawberries on it. And also raspberries and blueberries if you're lucky."

"Oh, I don't know. I'll ask."

She left, returned, and informed me that they basically put their fruit cup on the waffle.

Ewwww.

I said "I'll have the banana pancakes, then, and a strawberry milkshake."

"Oh, we don't have strawberry milkshakes."

"Oh, ok then, I'll have a chocolate one."

"Well, we don't have any because we have no ice cream. The shipment didn't arrive today."

Curses!

"Oh, ok, then I'll have the strawberry milk."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You mean milk with strawberry syrup in it?"

"Yes, like right here it says strawberry milk on the menu."

"You're sure you want that?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I said.

"Is that actually good?"

"Well, I don't know if it will be good here, but its usually good."

I didn't bother with the mashed potatos for fear that it would be too complicated.

The other LL ordered cheese fries with gravy and a grilled cheese, and then asked for a cherry coke. Which they did not have. So she asked for coke with vanilla syrup.

Our drinks arrived about ten minutes later. They were acceptable.

After 45 minuters, the other LL said "Dude, has it been like 45 minutes? How long can it take to make a grilled cheese and pancakes?"

We waited a bit longer, then started doing the thing where you try to stare down your waitress and look cross so that your food will materialize. A few moments after the stares were realized, she presented us with gravy and a plate of butter and syrup. Tease. We looked at this for about ten minutes when I exclaimed "Dude, seriously, I am just going to start eating this butter if she doesn't bring food."

She finally appeared with pancakes and cheese fries. We waited a few moments longer, and the other LL said "Why are you waiting?" "I'm waiting for your grilled cheese." "No, I'll eat the fries. We need to eat!"

We ate for about 10 more minutes. The other LL said "Where is the grilled cheese?!?!? Do you think they forgot?"

We did the stare thing again, and asked the waitress "Where is the grilled cheese?"

"What grilled cheese?"

"The grilled cheese. That I ordered."

"You ordered a grilled cheese?"

Oh. My. God.

What is wrong with New York City?

We should have gone for Indian food. Damn you lame diner on University Place and your promise of an ice cream sundae!!!!

Contact Sheet

OK.

Melodrama over.

I picked up my first successful contact sheet on Friday afternoon and it came out magnificently. I will not be quitting my photography class. I will not be giving up on photography.

***

Speaking of photography, last week's class was on shutter speed and long exposures. You know. Light tricks. D and I spent last night taking long exposures of words written and shapes drawn in the sky with a laser pointer. We were giddy. I love when D gets so happy and smiles so hard that it hurts my face.

***

This lead to pre-sleeping discussions of photography and art photography and the personalities of photographers based on what they choose to photograph.

I think this then resulted in my having an extremely disturbing dream in which my superintendent, who is, in real life, the sweetest and most adorable 70-ish old lady, attempted to rape D while he slept on a field trip bus that was taking us to an unknown destination. I witnessed this happening - he was asleep in his seat and she approached him, started to remove his clothes, started to remove her clothes (ewwww). I just watched, not knowing what to do. I thought "If I wake him up, he's going to be traumatized on so many levels. He'll be horrified. It will shatter his entire philosophy of life. It will make him bitter and jaded. It will ruin him. There's a chance, if he wakes up, that he'll let her go through with this because he's too nice of a person and that will ruin me." So, instead of waking him up, I took out my camera and contemplated taking a photo.

Luckily I was able to wake myself up before anything further happened.

A gross dream with more symbolism than I care to deal with consciously.

***

I went to my first NYC wedding this weekend and it was awesome. It was in a midtown loft with a view of nothing since it was on the second floor, but who cares? The people were smart and beautiful and all have interesting jobs and personalities and glasses.

I cried more than I've ever cried at a wedding. I hadn't met the bride nor the groom prior to this night. I didn't know them at all, but still I was weeping when their mothers spoke during the ceremony. I wept when they read the vows they'd written to one another. I wept when the Unitarian Minister Dude talked about love and how crazy and wonderful it is.

I determined later on that I cried because I was jealous.

When D asked what I was jealous of, I said "I don't know" but thought "Love? Perfection? Their mothers? Their smart bohemian families. Their perfect hair. The way they love each other. The way they compliment each other. The way everyone here loves that they're in love. They way everyone is supporting them. The way their families are mutually thrilled with this union. The way they know they are lucky to have found each other. The way they acknowledge one another's weaknesses and find them lovely instead of burdensome. The way they talk about their future children. Commitment. Certainty. Hope. The way its so perfect for them today. The way they make it seem like it was always and will always be perfect."

Despite my jealousy, I had a great time. Met some cool people. Danced a bit and then watched Curb Your Enthusiasm back at my apartment.

***

Didn't do much else this weekend other than catch up on phone calls and run errands, including a trip to Williamsburg during which I had to kill time while waiting to find out that Beacon's Closet was giving me $12 for like three bags of awesome clothes. The clothes were awesome, but they weren't in the best condition. Small stains, that sort of thing. Maybe they don't want high maintenance clothing.

Regardless, I had to kill an hour and ended up killing two hours because, for the love of god, I tried on glasses at a place that has the best selection of glasses I've ever seen! I found an amazing pair on sale for $100. $100!!!! The exact kind I wanted! ON SALE!!! For very little!

I am going to go back this weekend with Sister and ask her what she thinks. If she likes them, I'll buy them. Who knows? Maybe I can sell my old ones or something.

I am an addict.

But they are so cute!!!

***

OK. I think that's all.

Try to survive Monday.

But Sometimes People Are OK

I spend so much time on this blog complaining about bad customer service and moody New Yorkers and illiterate CVS employees. This post will be devoted to the nice people of New York!

***

Yesterday afternoon, after dropping off my most likely ill-fated roll of film to be processed on a contact sheet, I went for lunch at a small coffee shop in midtown. They'd advertised a Mozzarella Baguette Special outside their shop on the sidewalk, so I asked about it. The chef, who was behind the counter, came out from behind the counter, walked over to a big pile of menus and gave one to me. He said "Are you a vegetarian?" "Yes," I said, which prompted him to go over the entire menu with me to indicate what was safe. He then said things like "And if you don't like that, I could make it with this..." and offered up suggestions. He said "I'll make anything you want!" So I suggested a sandwich. He said "Of course!" and then "And what if I put balsamic vinegar on it?" "YES!"

Halfway through eating my sandwich, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and it was the chef, standing there with a soup sample. "It's lentil soup. It's vegetarian. I thought you might like it. You can eat this when you finish your sandwich."

Adorable.

***

This morning, at every stop, the conductor on the C train said "For all of you getting off at the stop, please have a wonderful day! And I hope you enjoyed your time on the C train!"

***

On Wednesday night, I walked around my neighborhood in search of photo opportunities and didn't come up short because everyone was so nice. They smiled and welcomed me into their workplaces. They called me "Sweetie" and wished me luck. Normally I'd be annoyed being called "sweetie," but if it means having an awesome final photo project involving a taxi cab repair shop and its wacky employees, so be it!

***

There are nice people in New York City. Tons of them. I, like many people, just focus on the bad ones. But no more! Maybe that's what my photo project will be. Friendliness In The City. And I'll do a companion piece entitled Miserableness In The City, which will feature CVS and Cingular employees, as well as receptionists in dentists' offices. Yay!

***

Have good weekends.

The New York Times

It's been a sad week for my career as a photographer, folks.

1. After frantically finishing D's roll of color film on Saturday, I excitedly wound it so that I could drop it off to be developed. The manual said that the roll was finished winding when the tension eased, but there wasn't really any tension to begin with. I would furiously and gave up at an arbitratry time, popped it open, and voila! No film in the camera. This was not my fault. Still it was heartbreaking. All of the photos of the cute people on the street who asked me to take their pictures were gone! The businessman nervously smoking, the cardboard boxes, the pictures of Bench Buddy. All nonexistent.

2. I loaded a new roll of film and shot my homework that weekend. I also got some amazing shots of my former laundromat, which was being deconstructed. I couldn't wait to see them! I took some cool photos of a street fair on 34th Street, and some hopefully pictures of some buildings in that area. I dropped off the film on Monday to have a contact sheet made. When I walked in to pick it up on Tuesday night right before class, the dude behind the counter cringed sadly when he saw me. He said "Oh, Leah, your film. There was nothing on it." Nothing! It had never seen light. It never caught when I loaded it. I was devastated. Not only did I feel stupid, but I hadn't done my homework! This is not like me, folks. I went to class, morose, only to learn that many others with old manual cameras had made the same mistake. The teacher showed me how to load my film, and honestly, there's no way I ever would have known how to do it without having seen a demonstration. I have no way of knowing whether or not my pictures are crap. I don't know if the light meter works. I don't know if I know how to use it. No idea.

3. I took a roll of film last night. I made many mistakes because I was nervous. I am dropping that one off this afternoon. I'm sure I wound it incorrectly, or I opened the camera before it was completely wound, or the camera was set to the wrong film speed. I don't even want to know! I'm sure all the photos will be blurry messes. I'll be terribly embarrassed when I pick them up. I'll shove digital prints in my teacher's face to prove that I can take a decent photo. Bad, bad, bad.

4. I tried to do some of my assignments using my digital yesterday because I thought "Well, at least if I'm sucking I'll know," but because our assignments this week are about motion and not light, I can't do them with my digital because of my shaky hands and because my digital doesn't have a small enough aperture. On top of all this, I was doing the portion of my homework in which I was to capture something that's moving really fast with a really small shutter speed and was very excited with the results showing a vortexed conical tube with media in it appearing completely stationary with water droplets!!!, until I did the same shot at like 60 and it was still frozen. Wtf!? Clearly I have no idea what's going on.

5. In spite of this, I was very excited about my photography career because I was contacted by a woman earlier in the week who works at the cultural center that hosted the Spelling Bee. She said "The New York Times is running a piece about Spelling Bees, and they'd like to use your photo that you took of your boyfriend at the spelling bee. The deadline is tomorrow." D called her and gave her permission to use his image. I then sent her the photo after I'd made certain I'd get a photo credit. In the New York Times. D and I tried not to get too excited about it, as the week hadn't been going well aside from my kick-ass seminar and because neither of us are lucky people. Of course I got excited anyway, because I felt that having a photo in the New York Times would nullify my awful photography week and perhaps redeem my tragic failure as an amateur photographer.

6. And, of course, they ran the story sans my photo. Dear god! My career is over before it even began.

Sniff.

Woe.

Woe is me.

Etc.

Photography Class

Date: 9.28.05
Genre: Quick and Dirty Teaching Tool!




Description:

I was thinking that it's about time My Mundane Life In Song had another song on it! It's been a while since the Ethan Hawke song.

This being said, there's not much time these days for songs. When D asked me if I wanted to have dinner together tonight, I paused and he inferred "Oh, you want tonight to be alone night?"

Yes.

I love Alone Night. I love having no obligations outside of myself.

Unfortunately I spent a greater portion of tonight working on my photography class homework, which will most likely be a disaster. I was trying to do some long (fun with light) exposures and had the aperture setting completely wrong. I wasn't thinking. I just did this and, well, its sort of late. I think I am going to go back outside and try it again after I finish this entry.

Nevertheless... Alone Night was mainly devoted to photography homework, so I thought it appropriate to write a song for Beginning Photographers to remind them of things that could go wrong and to give them confidence.

Yes, folks, this song is based on not one but two true stories about my photography experience thus far. I am fairly demoralized and almost want to stop the class, but I will persevere, and will sing this song whenever I feel like being a quitter.

I spent about half an hour on this song. It's terrible. I'll re-do it some time when Alone Night turns into Alone Week or Alone Weekend. Right now, even when I am Alone I am Alone with Camera.

Obligations. I guess homework is an obligation.

So yeah. The song sucks as much as my first attempts at film photography.

But it's a song!

The good news is that Audioblog now has preferences for upload quality, so hopefully all future My Mundane Life In Song songs will be easier for you to listen to and won't be all distored!!! Woo hoo!!!

Lyrics:

Be sure to check that there's a roll of film
In your camera before you take pictures
Cuz if you don't you will be sad
And missing all the photos you had

Be sure to check that you've loaded your film properly
Make sure it advances properly
Cuz if you don't you'll be in class
Without homework and you'll feel like an ass

The worst thing you'll note
Is all your lost photos
Of smiling strangers and laundromats
Of the Empire State Building and blurry traffic
You'll never see them

You'll have no way of knowing
If you're doing anything right at all
You're used to digital
Everything could be overexposed
You'll never know

Maybe you're in over your head
Or maybe you're retarded
Or maybe you'll never get good at this
Maybe just be patient
Don't get attached
And practice

Practice loading your film
Get help wtih loading your film
Learn how to load your film

My Parents Are Even Cheaper Than I'd Realized

I adore my parents. They are extremely loveable despite and because of their parent quirks.

I called them on Saturday to let them know that I'd changed my phone number, in case, for some reason, they'd been trying to get in touch with me or if they tried to call me before they received the email I'd sent explaining my current cell phone situation. I know that they worry, and I wanted to make sure they weren't worrying unnecessarily.

As she was writing down my new phone number, Mother said "Oh... is this a New York number?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed proudly.

"Oh well, then," she said, and sighed.

"What?"

"Well, I guess you'll just have to call us."

This was bizarre on two levels. The first was that my calling them isn't really different from what occurred when I had my original phone number. They never call! The second was the sigh regarding my New York number. Was she disappointed that I'd officially made the transition?

"Why?" I asked.

"Because, we don't have long distance."

"What?"

"We can't call outside of eastern MA or sourthern NH."

"No, you mean you can't call from eastern MA or southern NH, right? You don't have roaming."

I knew that my parents have an archaic, minimal cell phone plan. I knew that they couldn't roam, because my father always calls right before they get to somewhere they can't call from and declares "Well, just thought I'd call you before we get to Sturbridge because we can still talk to you! What's going on? Do you need to tell us anything?" I knew that they don't have any anytime minutes at all. They only have nights and weekends, and so can call only after 7 pm or on the weekends because otherwise it would cost them something like 50 cents a minute. I know this because my mother will frantically call me in the middle of the day and say "I'm using the calling card can you call me back?!" I knew that they have no long distance on their home phone because they are cheap.

What I didn't know was that my parents don't have long distance on their cell phone either! Is this even a possibility? Isn't that the point of having a cell phone? My parents don't really use it to be mobile. I think they have it so Father can talk from the car on weekends when he doesn't feel like shopping with Mother. They also have it so they can talk while they're indulging their their internet-addicted personalities, but this doesn't really work because they don't have good reception in their house. Inevitably I'll call them and they'll be like "Hi! We can't hear you! Call us back on the real phone in three minutes!"

She said "No, we can't actually call anywhere outside the local area or we get charged for it."

"Are you sure?" I insisted.

She said she was sure. I confirmed this with Father.

I said "Maybe you guys should get long distance. I mean, 2/3 of your kids live out of state now."

"No, that's why we have the calling card," Mother said. "That's how we talked to your brother in IL."

I can't believe they didn't get long distance to talk to my brother in IL!

"Huh," I said. "Well, I guess you can call me with the calling card and I can call you back."

But really, isn't it my Parents' responsibility to figure out a way to talk to their kids? What would they do if we didn't have cell phones or long distance plans? Clearly we are the ones who can't afford these things.

I also can't believe that my parents have nobody to call outside of their local area. I guess it makes sense - both of them were born and raised in MA and all of their families have settled there. They've never lived anywhere else, so I guess they've haven't had many opportunities to become friends with people who live in other states.

It's just bizarre that people exist, in this era, who can't make long distance calls.

My parents also have dial-up internet.

They're crazy, but that's why I love them.

Wardrobe Transition

I am so wearing long sleeves tomorrow! Woo hoo! Fall is here!!!!

The Best Feeling In the World Is....

Relief.

It's done! It's over! I survived my yearly seminar!!! Woo hoo!

And in more exciting news, my Ipod has been resurrected from the dead! It's a bit lethargic and the screen is problematic, but who cares!?

Now I have to decide if I want to cancel my order for the 60 gig refurbished Ipod, or if I want to keep it and try to sell the current one. I figure I can get a pretty penny for it despite its being damaged by selling it to someone with all of the songs on it. I mean, that's like 300 free CDs! Who wouldn't want that?

Business Models

It occurred to me this weekend that every store on the planet should operate like B & H. You go in, you figure out what you want, you have someone on the floor scan it in, they take it from you, they give you a slip of some sort, your items disappear, you go to the cash register without your disappeared items, you check out in one second because there's nothing to scan in, you get another receipt, you go to a second line and voila! Your items are there, in a bag, and are handed to you within two seconds. On a busy weekend afternoon, you are in and out of there in 5 seconds flat.

I wonder why more businesses don't operate this way. D says its because it requires a huge workforce to be this efficient. It's true. There are a lot of employees, and this probably wouldn't be a possibility for stores that aren't selling really expensive electronics. But still. It rules, and it is always a pleasure going in there, as long as you know exactly what you want.

In contrast we have Cingular. I have been a loyal Cingular subscriber since I reluctantly got a cell phone in 1999 after my roommate, R, got a serious girlfriend and was therefore on the phone at all times. He would say things like "You better not use the phone tonight, because A is going to call." He didn't say this because he really wanted to talk to A. He said it because he knew that A would rip him a new one if he wasn't available or if the line was busy. Because I liked R, I caved in and got myself a cell phone despite having previously said that I would never, ever, ever! have a cell phone.

With the death of my cell phone this weekend, I had to reevaluate whether I wanted to remain with Cingular or transfer to a new carrier in order to get a cheap, perhaps free, phone.

I wanted to stay with Cingular. I like Cingular. I have no complaints. Reception is great everywhere except The Parents', but that's not much of an issue these days. My contract had expired, so I figured I'd go to the Cingular store, renew my contract, and a get a free phone out of the deal.

I headed out on Saturday afternoon to the Cingular Store on the south side of 34th Street at 7th.

Nobody helped me when I walked in. There was a malaise amongst the employees, an overall attitude of being completely exasperated by anyone's being in the store. When nobody offered to help me after about two minutes (even though there were no other customers in the store), I approached a girl and explained my situation.

She said nothing. Finally she said "So?"

"So..." I said, "I'd like to renew my contract so I can get a cheap phone."

Nothing.

"Do you have cheap phones?"

She snapped "We have this one for $19.99 after rebate."

"I don't like that one," I said, because it was flimsy and had a mirror on it. But not a shiny mirror. A dull, ugly, pointless cell phone mirror. "Do you have other phones?"

Exasperated! She sighed loudly and said "THESE" and pointed to two other phones on the wall that were a bit too expensive.

"You have only three phones?"

She groaned and walked three whole feet to the other wall and showed me three more phones. I asked her if they had my old phone, which I love, and she said they didn't.

I finally consented to one of the phones even though I didn't like it. She asked me what my phone number was, and when I told her, she said "Where's that?" I explained that I still had my Boston number, and she said she could do nothing for me because I should have relocated. I said "Can't you relocate me right now?"

She didn't know but said I could try. I could call in from there and do it. It seemed a bit strange to me that she couldn't do it, but I figured she knew what she was talking about. I then said "Well, since you're going to relocate me, you can still take my Sim card out of this phone, right? So I won't lose my numbers."

"No, I can't, because you're out of the realm of service."

"Yes, but the data is in the card. Like we could copy the information onto the phone, then reset the card, and then it would be fine."

"No, you can't."

"I think you can."

"No. We are going to reset everything."

I asked her if she minded if I checked my voicemail before my phone ceased to exist, and she was put out by it. She didn't understand. I said "Look, I haven't had access to a phone and I just want to see if I missed any messages before you obliterate my old line."

Exasperated again! I checked my messages to see if D had called (we were supposed to be hanging out but couldn't because D refuses to make plans in advance and since I was without phone I couldn't communicate at all). He had called, but he didn't leave his number and I, because I don't know phone numbers because I am enslaved to technology, had no way to reach him. Knowing that my card was going to be killed and all hope of contacting D killed as well, and knowing that this woman was a royal pain in the ass, I decided to just leave and find another carrier.

I said "Do you know if there's a Sprint nearby?" Without hesitation she told me where I could find a Sprint and a Verizon.

Wtf!??! Isn't it their job to make sure patrons don't leave? Ridiculous.

I went to Verizon first. They didn't have any free phones either for new subscribers. I didn't like any of the phones there enough to pay what they were asking, so I headed to Sprint.

Sprint was nuts! They had millions of phones and options. Clearly everyone in New York has Sprint because there were tons of people there, waiting in a queue. Sprint is high tech. They have payment kiosks. They have a digital queue - you stop in at the front and then they put your name on a screen so you will know when it is your turn to be helped. I was tired and beat down and didn't want to figure these things out, so I decided to give up, go home and rethink things.

In my fantasy world, I would go home and find my exact phone for sale on Craigslist for $10. I would pick it up that afternoon, go to a different Cingular that night, and voila! Fully operational.

I headed west along the north side of 34th and noticed another Cingular store! It was directly across the street from the first Cingular I'd gone into.

"Hmmm... interesting..." I thought, and wondered if it would be different in there. I decided to go in, and lo and behold, it was another planet! It was professional, large, posh, and within three seconds of my being there, two people approached me and asked me if I needed help.

Within five minutes, I was sitting down, having been relocated by the store, my number was being changed, only after they put my cranberry juice soaked SIM card into my new phone, downloaded all the numbers, and then gave it back to me as a souvenir.

Now.

This is awesome, because I have a new phone that I actually like (although it was not free, but I think the days of the free phone with new contract are over), a New York number which I'd meant to get for a while, I had a nice time chatting with and being made fun of by the Nice Cingular Man, etc.

But.

What is Cingular thinking? They are thinking "If we have two stores, we'll get twice as much business!" but in essence, they are losing business of anyone who happens to be walking down the south side of the street.

If they removed the south side store, nobody would be distracted by it, they'd look across the street and see a Cingular store, and they would just go there.

Instead, they have one really shitty store and one awesome store, which makes no sense.

I think I am going to write them a letter.

Do I really care? No. But I am frustrated by this poor business model. Things that make no sense drive me insane. When I told Nice Cingular Man about the poor service across the street, he said "A lot of people have been saying that lately."

I guess I'll write a letter, if only to hopefully get some free Cingular gear out of this. Or a ring tone, because as cute as my new phone is, it isn't as good as my old phone and didn't come with any satisfactory ring tones. Oh well.

So yes. I have a new phone.

And I ordered a new refurbished 60 gig color-screen IPod and am hopefully going to sell my dead one on Craigslist for parts.

It sucks because I am poor, but at least I am almost back in business.

And now I must work on my seminar.

Au revoir!

Weekend

Yeah.

So the weekend flew by because of spending an entire day putting CD's into my computer, removing them, putting other ones in, making playlists, preparing for the day when I will, again, have an IPod.

I got up really early on Saturday morning after having gone to bed a few hours earlier because of anxiety. I thought "Wait! I shouldn't be sleeping when I could be uploading music onto my computer!"

I spent most of the day ripping CD's, while I organized what music remained on my computer, finished watching Spartacus, did the indoor portion of my photography homework, cooked elaborate lunch and dinner, and watched the entirety of Bonnie and Clyde. I left the house only to do the outside portions of my photography homework and to walk sadly up and down 34th Street in search of a new cell phone and cell phone deal, which was, apparently, not to be found (story coming soon...).

I had ambitious plans for the weekend. I wanted to catch up on phone calls, go to the International Center for Photography, go to Beacon's Closet to sell some clothes, go to a party with D. I did none of these things, because my plans were all messed up due to being phoneless and without phone numbers.

I spent yesterday doing the Saturday plans, which instead of being a movie and drink became brunch at an apartment in the Upper East Side followed by a movie followed by chatting at the apartment again. I was slightly distressed about going to the Upper East Side, as it is in the middle of nowhere and is notorious for being, well, lame. I was expecting it to be a barren wasteland, but it was actually quite nice. Difficult to get to, and tons of babies, but still there were things going on. Not much of "a scene," but I think that's actually quite nice.

Brunch was nice. It was nice to be visiting someone's apartment for a meal! These things tend not to happen in NYC because apartments are small. She made scrambled eggs with cheese and garlic and oregano, and bagels, and fake sausage and fake bacon. I was slightly concerned about the fake sausage and bacon, as I don't eat sausage or bacon or any meat product because of texture issues. I thought it rude not to partake, so I forced myself. I didn't like the sausage, but man! The facon was amazing! I am addicted. If I ever go grocery shopping again I will most definitely buy some.

We saw Everything is Illuminated, which I adored. It wasn't the best adaptation of a book (the book is one of the best books I've ever read), but it maintained the general vibe, humor, and sentimentality. The filmmaking and cinematography were superb. I really liked it. I laughed, I cried, etc.

Then, because I hadn't seen him in a whole day!, D wanted to go on a proper date. He was very cute and missed me! He said "I think this is the longest I've gone without seeing you! I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks!"

I pointed out to him that its the longest he's gone without seeing me here. He'd apparently forgotten about all of the trips he's taken in the past year during which we haven't seen each other. I guess there's a psychological difference between going away and being, well, left somewhere.

He was very cute, and suggested we go to dinner and a movie. I was excited, so actually did my hair. D said "Your hair looks good - did you do something different?" "No," I said, "I just did it."

D said "OK. Tell me exactly what you've been doing for the past two days, since I last saw you. Play by play." So cute. It's so nice to be missed.

We went to see Corpse Bride, which was good but not awesome. Not nearly as good as Nightmare Before Christmas, but how could it be?

Yeah. Lots of movies.

Incidentally, Spartacus redeemed itself, but maybe its because I only had 20 minutes remaining to watch. I actually felt, gasp, emotion at the end! So it wasn't completely terrible as an experience stretched over a week's time.

I intend to make better use of next weekend. It will be good. I am counting the seconds. Once I get through tomorrow's seminar all will be fine. I will no longer
have any anxiety. It will be splendid.

OK. I am going to eat lunch now.

More later...

R.I.P. IPOD

Oh my god.

I decided, this week, after circumstances unfortunately led to my missing a couple of days of my caffeine regiment, that I'd quit caffeine. I'm not a big caffeine drinker - a coke a day, maybe two. When I don't have a coke at lunch, I get a headache. I used to have three cokes a day, and I decreased it to one after I went to a dentist appointment. In the dentist's building was a sleep clinic. At the time, I was having difficulty sleeping so I grabbed a pamphlet while I was there, which stated that any caffeine after 6pm can contribute to poor sleep. So no more coke with dinner.

Anyway.

I got a Minute Maid cranberry-apple juice for lunch yesterday that I didn't finish. I brought it back to work, took it out of my bag, and put it in my desk drawer. Upside down.

I was talking to Mother on the phone yesterday when D appeared and said "Are you ready to go?" I was confused, as D was supposed to call me from his apartment and I was supposed to meet him there before departing for the party. He explained that the phones weren't working. He was newly showered and cute and wanting to leave, so I quickly finished with Mother, grabbed my juice, put it in my bag, and we were off!

About two blocks away from work I said "Weird... my pants feel wet...."

It occurred to me, instantly, that the juice had spilled.

I frantically, without even telling D what was going on, started going through my bag and grabbed my IPod and put it on the ground. I then looked for my phone and put that on the ground. I made little piles on the sidewalk of things in priority of tragic loss - wallet (dyed red - I love this wallet), makeup, vicodins (shit! dissolved!), phone, IPod. There was a pool of cranberry juice in the bag. "I don't know what to do," I said in a panic.

I just didn't know what to do. My bag had a pool of cranberry juice in it that I didn't want to dump on the ground, and everything I owned was red. The damage didn't seem too bad. D, ever calm, said "Should we go to my apartment?" "YES!" I declared. D said that he would be doing laundry on Saturday, and that he would wash the bag and the wallet. He called N to tell her we would be late to the party. While he wiped down credit cards and Yoda, I tended to my cell phone and IPod.

I turned both on to make sure that they still worked. They did!

I carefully wiped IPod and went to turn it off. It wouldn't.

It didn't turn off.

In fact, it didn't do anything.

It was stuck on Most Serene Republic. I just stared it. The I pressed more buttons. Then the screen started to go.

"D, I am going to go to the Apple Store right now. I have to go. Just go to N's. I'll see you tomorrow."

"No, I'm going with you!" he declared.

I grabbed one credit card and IPod, and ran. Of course it started to rain. Neither of us thought to bring an umbrella. I wrapped IPod in my hoodie and wanted D to scream "Woman in labor!" so we could get to the Apple Store sooner.

When we arrived, I was nearly in tears as I looked for someone to help me. The first employee I encountered was of no use, and said "You have to bring this to the Genius Bar, which is closed right now because Spike Lee is here tonight."

"I don't give a rat's ass about Spike Lee! Aren't any of these genuises around somewhere? Can't they just tell me if IPod is going to survive!?" He wouldn't help. He said "You'll just have to bring it here tomorrow."

"No, you don't understand," I said. "I need to figure this out NOW."

A female employee saw my being hysterical and offered to help. She said the situation was bleak, and decided to plug in IPod at one of the docking stations to see what would happen. When she plugged it in, it shut off (forever) and actually got the plug in. She said "I can actually see the water in the screen." You can see the water in the screen.

She said "Let's bring this up to the Genuis Bar and see what they can do."

The Genius Bar, of course, was open, and a bunch of people looked at it and basically there is no hope. None.

Now.

What am I upset about?

1. The money. The MONEY. If I was in Boston, no problem. I'd have a spare $400 and I'd just buy another one. $400 here is another story. There is not $400. I was saving (saving, ha!) money to buy a nice SLR after Christmas with special lenses etc. But no! Now I have to decide between an IPod and a camera and last night D asked me if I wanted to go to London and I guess the answer has been decided for me.

2. Fucking New York. Seriously. This wouldn't be a travesty anywhere else.

3. The music. No, folks, I don't have my 40 gig of music on my computer because its 40 gig! I need all of the memory I can salvage to record millions of tracks for the songs on this blog. So no, I don't have a backup. The loss of the IPod is not only a loss of $500 (it was $500 at the time) but a loss of over a year of man hours of ripping CD's and then putting them on the IPod. I have no time to do anything. When am I going to put all of those CD's back on the IPod, especially when I have unreliable stolen internet? I can't type in the track names for all of these CD's! I just can't do it!!!!

4. Right now, I am freaking out because during my spring cleaning I threw away my ancient discman because I was like "I'll never need YOU again! Mwa ha ha!" so now I have no way to listen to music at all. And its the weekend. And my projects involved running around the city taking photos while listening to music. It's going to be a silent weekend, and that breaks my heart.

The female employee suggested that I take the IPod home and dry it with a fan and then try to hook it up later.

We hurried back to D's. On our way, D said "Hey - I think your phone is ringing. It's vibrating..." He was holding it because I was cradling IPod in its hoodie bed. He handed it to me, but it wasn't actually ringing. It was vibrating as part of its death dance.

"Fuck," we both said.

The phone got steadily worse over time. Every time I dried it and then turned it on again, there would be a different problem. One time none of the buttons worked. Another time the buttons worked but all of them led to Text Messaging. Sometimes it worked but I couldn't access the phone numbers.

Now it has nothing. When I got back here late last night, it worked fine technically but couldn't get reception. Then, at some point in the night, it just gave up. Did I write down phone numbers before this happened? Nope.

I am supposed to go to a party tonight with D and he didn't tell me where or when it is because he doesn't make plans, so I guess that's not happening unless I can get a new phone today.

Which I will, and hopefully it will take the card from my old phone, which hopefully isn't totally destroyed.

Because I haven't made a list of phone numbers in two years, which means all of my New York plans are a wash this weekend if I can't get the phone to work with the old card.

Shit.

So fucking irresponsible. This is what New York does to me! This never would have happened in Boston. Never. I am always so frazzled and insane here and have no idea what's going on.

OK. I must go and continue to upload CD's onto my harddrive in the event that I do get another IPod.

Sniff.

I miss you, dear IPod. We had a good run. I'm sorry.

What Am I Missing?

Part of the theorized appeal of Netflix is to catch up on classic movies you've never seen. Right now, I have Bonnie and Clyde at my apartment. I am psyched.

Last weekend I said "D, we need to set aside some time to watch Spartacus. That movie is long. Over three hours. Epic."

We decided to watch it on Monday night.

We didn't finish it.

Why?

Because it is boring as hell.

Boring!

Political intrigue, millions of extras, and adorable Tony Curtis aside, I don't see the appeal. I just didn't care. At all. Kirk Douglas is annoying. Spartacus isn't at all sympathetic or interesting. He's a drip. The love scenes are unbearable. D said the love scenes were "Episode-3-esque."

We tried to finish it on Wednesday, but I fell asleep again! D finished it, and when I asked "Was it worth it?" he didn't have an answer.

I am going to try to finish it this weekend. Wish me luck!

So here's my question for you - what am I missing? People love this movie. I don't think this is a question of era-based aesthetics, which I think could explain why I hated West Side Story so much.

I feel like these classics shouldn't involve so much labor on the part of the viewer.

We have Lawrence of Arabia and Casablanca in the queue and I am already skeptical.

So please - if you know why Spartacus is good (yes, I agree, its visually amazing and there's some really good acting, but these things are not enough to sustain a three hour film), please let me know so that I can watch it this weekend without feeling bitter.

Thanks, and have fabulous weekends.