I went to Philadelphia this past weekend with D to look at D's cousin's new baby. I hadn't met D's cousin, nor am I particularly interested in babies, so I had low expectations for the weekend.
Luckily, D's cousins - I met three that I hadn't met before - are all wonderful. They also have wonderful signficant others. I looked at the baby for about three seconds and spent the remainder of the time being jealous of D's cousin's new house. This, of course, precipitated fantasies involving my former employer's going public after last week's good news, and then perusal of Craigslist for awesome lofts in Brooklyn that I will never be able to own.
On our way to the house in the morning, there was discussion of what to do about lunch. D's cousin decided that we should order pizza, and asked me what sort of pizza I liked. "Whatever," I said, "As long as there is no meat." "So you like pizza with vegetables on it?" "Yep," I said. Of course they ordered me a pizza with mushrooms on it. D said "OH NO!" because he knows about my anti-mushroom sentiments. Luckily D's cousin's husband, who is brilliant and an avid conspiracy-theorist, picked the mushrooms off for me! What a good host, and how nice of them not to say "Your vegetarian girlfriend is so high maintenance!"
We spent the afternoon touring the house and chatting about various conspiracies involving September 11th. Well, I spent the afternoon talking conspiracy while everyone else changed the baby and discussed the baby's habits and observed the baby sleeping. At one point a bunch of us were hanging out in the bathroom upstairs, and it occurred to me that more people can fit in their bathroom than can fit in my entire apartment. Seriously. There were eight of us in there plus the baby, and it felt spacious.
After looking at the baby had concluded, we headed into Philadelphia where D caved in and consented to our getting our very own hotel room! instead of staying in a room with all of the cousins, which would have involved two grown people, who have jobs and plenty of money to rent their own hotel room, sleeping on the floor.
I love hotels. I love the feeling of vacation. I love staying in a place where I am taken care of. I love space. I love the giant bed. And, most importantly these days, I love the TV!!! While D and his cousins drank cocktails in the other hotel room, I said "Umm... I think I am going to stay behind and... umm... do my hair before we go out," but in reality I watched Made on MTV! I haven't seen that show in over a year! I couldn't decide what to watch. It was sensory overload. News? Videos? Reality shows? Documentaries? The options are endless!!!
When I'd felt sufficiently guilty about watching MTV and after I'd actually tended to my hair, we walked around the city and ended up at Jones for dinner. I got an orange creamsicle martini, potato pancakes, and an awesome avocado sandwich. We then walked around the city a bit more.
We walked by The Liberty Bell. "It's smaller than I thought it would be," I said. Someone said "Has it always been cracked or is that a recent thing?" Nobody knew. It then occurred to me that I didn't know anything about The Liberty Bell other than the fact that it is in Philadelphia. I didn't know if it was commissioned to specifically represent liberty, I didn't know where it came from, when it came from, nothing. I thought for a while, and finally decided that I'd just ask. Embarassing, yes, but I had to know. I said "Does anyone know, like, what the deal is with the liberty bell?" Rather than saying "D, your ignorant girlfriend is so annoying!" they all said "Umm...."
Nobody knew.
Awesome.
(I do have an excuse, though. I have been cursed with the worst American History teachers imagineable. I have basal knowledge from 4th grade, but beyond that I've never been taught a thing about US History. I never even learned the US capitols. My 8th grade teacher, Mr. F, mumbled. Nobody could understand him. On top of being a mumbler, he was a whisperer, to the point where he'd ask a question and nobody would even know that he'd asked a question and then he'd be cross with us and we wouldn't know why. I think this frustrated him, so rather than teach, Mr. F opted to have us read from the textbook in groups. He'd then pass out questions on paper, and we'd answer them. Basically, in 8th grade, co-ed groups of kids reading textbooks is not going to encourage learning as much as early disasters in flirting. My 11th grade US History teacher, Mr. M, was equally terrible. I think he taught, in the traditional sense, 2% of the time. With the rest of the time, he'd talk about the Italian influence on US History and how Italians have been oppressed in the US and when he wasn't doing that, he'd look at girls' legs or breasts and say things like "I like tall women" and when he wasn't doing that, he'd have us watch a movie. I learned things in that class - about the world, about men, about current events, but nothing about US History. I bought "Don't Know Much About History" and started reading it a few year's back, but it was daunting since I literally know nothing about history.)
We didn't go out for drinks because people were tired, which meant more TV for me! I watched Trading Spaces, which I'd never seen before. Bliss.
I spent Sunday afternoon with NR. We ate and shopped and then went to the art museum, which was awesome. I've been to Philly many times but had never been to the art museum.
I headed back on a delayed Amtrak train, tried to watch a movie but was distracted, so ended up doing a couple projects before D showed up. We tried to put together Legos, but about five frustrating minutes and ten missing pieces later, I said "Wait. I don't think that these directions are the right directions for this TIE Fighter." We have no idea where the real directions are, but will try to improvise when we next have time, which will be never.
It was a good weekend.
And it's almost the weekend again.
Awshummmmm.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
St. Someone-or-Other (aka The Parents Must Strike Back)
The Parents have been talking about moving for approximately ten years. We assumed they would never actually move because their standards are so high. They are looking for the perfect home. Basically, they will only move into the exact house they have right now but with smaller dimensions and zero stairs.
They actually found the perfect home a few months back. They put a low bid on it, and the people didn’t bite. This prompted my parents to, gasp, put their house on the market!
Allegedly there is a sign on the lawn and everything.
In order to put their house on the market, The Parents had a lot of preparation to do. They had to paint the walls and make a million trips to “the dump” and hide knick-knacks and tend to the lawn. Much to the dismay of The Evil Neighbors who love privacy, Father took down the eye sore that was The Fence from the back yard. He also, in a rare display of cuteness, painted Mother’s statue of St. Someone-or-Other that resided in the backyard.
The statue, which has been in the backyard for who knows how long (I had never noticed it), had apparently become quite grimy through the years. It is, apparently, a real statue - heavy, with a pedestal.
Father said “I have a surprise for you!” and showed Mother the beautiful white statue. She was excited, because she is quite fond of her statue since St. Someone-or-Other is her very favorite saint.
Fast forward two weeks. Father, in a further effort to beautify the lawn, found himself ready to do some work involving grass near the statue.
But there was no statue!
Father said “Mother, did you move the statue?”
“No. Why?”
“No, really, did you?”
“No, why? Isn’t she there?”
“No, she’s not.”
This precipitated the usual paranoia. Mother said “I know who did this! It was The Evil Neighbors!” We’ve grown accustomed to hearing about The Evil Neighbors. The Parents are nice people who keep to themselves. They are good neighbors. They make no noise, they maintain a tight ship, they are pleasant to interact with. The Evil Neighbors have been cross with The Parents ever since The Parents put a porch off the side of their kitchen fifteen years ago which, apparently, got too close to The Evil Neighbors’ yard.
Hence, The Fence.
“This is because we took down the fence!” she said.
The Parents thought about things and concluded that it wasn’t kids. Why would kids steal a statue? If kids were responsible, they would have vandalized it or just knocked it over. In addition, how would kids have even known about the statue? It was in the backyard and, until recently, hidden behind a fence. And what would kids want with a statue, anyway? If their goal was vandalism, why steal an obscure statue of St. Someone-or-Other when there are clearly bigger targets? And why such a heavy target? It couldn’t be the work of a small person. It would have probably required premeditation of some sort, and a mechanism of transport from the property.
Throughout the years, Father has said things like “I don’t know how he lives with her” about Mr. Evil Neighbor, who isn’t really that evil. “I say hi to her and she just ignores me! She glares at me!” he’d say.
The most recent drama with The Evil Neighbors was when Mr. Evil Neighbor walked over and said “Are you taking down The Fence?” “Yes,” replied Father. “Well, you’re putting up another one, right?” “No,” said Father. Mr. Evil Neighbor walked away without saying a word. This prompted Mrs. Evil Neighbor to start building a stone wall to protect her yard from The Parents’ yard.
“But Mother, what sort of grown person would steal a statue? That’s just too deranged!”
“I know it was her! She’s evil! She’s capable of this! She would!!!!”
Mother said “Look, I just know she took it. I just have this feeling. And I know what she would have done with it, too. She’s out there building a stone wall. She’s out there piling leaves and dirt and whatever other gardening stuff she has into her wheelbarrow. She usually goes and dumps it all in that field across from the Smith’s house – you remember that, right? – I bet she waited until she saw me leave the house, stole the statue because now its white and she can see it and can’t stand it, put it into her evil wheelbarrow, dumped it in that field and buried it.”
Right. Suburban paranoia.
Mother voiced this prediction to Father, who, also believing that The Evil Neighbors are evil enough to do something like this, said “Why don’t I just go take a look in the field, then? I’ll just look around a little.”
“No, no,” Mother said, making a million excuses about why that was not a good idea. She was tired, there were other things to do at home, etc.
“But we’re in the car,” he said, because they were in the car, “and we’re about to drive by it! I’m just going to look.”
“No, no,” she said, but Father, being the focused and unbending person that he is, pulled over anyway and just left her in the car.
Mother, most likely mortified, waited for about two minutes and then saw, about 300 feet away, Father’s arms raise in the air and noticed that, above his head, was a white object.
And the white object was, of course, the statue of St. Someone-or-Other, buried, as predicted.
The two of them picked up the statue and put it in the car. The first thing they did was put the statue of St. Someone-or-Other on a table on the porch, opened the blinds, and faced it towards The Evil Neighbors’ house so that The Evil Neighbors would know that The Parents know.
I was so proud of The Parents for doing that, until they told me that they ended up taking it off the table about five minutes later because they felt guilty. And because they were also afraid of what The Evil Neighbors could be capable of beyond this. The put St. Someone-or-Other in the garage and waited.
Now.
My question to you is: What should The Parents do?
Father said “I want to get a giant crucifix – life size – and put it in our lawn, staring right into hers. I just want to mess with that bitch.” Hah.
Mother said “I’m just afraid of doing anything because we’re not sure that it’s definitely them and because what if they did do it and they do something else?”
I said “Well, you have to call the police.” She had a million excuses for why this was a bad idea, but I was like “Dudes, seriously, on the off chance that they do indeed do something else, you have to get this on record. You don’t have to tell them you dug up the statue. You just have to say that someone stole something off your lawn.”
I am distressed, because I don’t think The Evil Neighbors should just get away with this. The Parents have to do something. The Evil Neighbors, evilness aside, broke laws. Trespassing, vandalism, theft.
It crossed my mind, as I thought about this as though it were a bad evening soap opera, that maybe Mother buried the St. Someone-or-Other herself, but what would be the motive? And, even if she had motive, there’s no way Mother could have carried St. Someone-or-Other to the field.
A friend suggested that The Parents should buy a bunch of hideous statues and put them where St. Someone-or-Other used to be, and hopefully that will annoy The Evil Neighbors. They could install hidden cameras, hoping that The Evil Neighbors would also take the ugly statues.
I said “I want them to put a bunch of ugly statues on The Evil Neighbor’s lawn!”
“I want them to spell out ‘We know what you did!’ with garden gnomes!”
“I want them to somehow find a way to guarantee that a family with six kids under age ten moves into their house and that all of those ten kids’ toys end up on the lawn!”
They must be caught! Or at least toyed with.
Does anyone have any ideas?
Anyone, anyone?
I can’t get over this. It’s like something out of a bad movie about suburbia. I can’t believe grown people behave like this. Mrs. Evil Neighbor is deranged. Seriously deranged. And what makes them think that they can get away with this? They should not get away with this!
Crazy.
They actually found the perfect home a few months back. They put a low bid on it, and the people didn’t bite. This prompted my parents to, gasp, put their house on the market!
Allegedly there is a sign on the lawn and everything.
In order to put their house on the market, The Parents had a lot of preparation to do. They had to paint the walls and make a million trips to “the dump” and hide knick-knacks and tend to the lawn. Much to the dismay of The Evil Neighbors who love privacy, Father took down the eye sore that was The Fence from the back yard. He also, in a rare display of cuteness, painted Mother’s statue of St. Someone-or-Other that resided in the backyard.
The statue, which has been in the backyard for who knows how long (I had never noticed it), had apparently become quite grimy through the years. It is, apparently, a real statue - heavy, with a pedestal.
Father said “I have a surprise for you!” and showed Mother the beautiful white statue. She was excited, because she is quite fond of her statue since St. Someone-or-Other is her very favorite saint.
Fast forward two weeks. Father, in a further effort to beautify the lawn, found himself ready to do some work involving grass near the statue.
But there was no statue!
Father said “Mother, did you move the statue?”
“No. Why?”
“No, really, did you?”
“No, why? Isn’t she there?”
“No, she’s not.”
This precipitated the usual paranoia. Mother said “I know who did this! It was The Evil Neighbors!” We’ve grown accustomed to hearing about The Evil Neighbors. The Parents are nice people who keep to themselves. They are good neighbors. They make no noise, they maintain a tight ship, they are pleasant to interact with. The Evil Neighbors have been cross with The Parents ever since The Parents put a porch off the side of their kitchen fifteen years ago which, apparently, got too close to The Evil Neighbors’ yard.
Hence, The Fence.
“This is because we took down the fence!” she said.
The Parents thought about things and concluded that it wasn’t kids. Why would kids steal a statue? If kids were responsible, they would have vandalized it or just knocked it over. In addition, how would kids have even known about the statue? It was in the backyard and, until recently, hidden behind a fence. And what would kids want with a statue, anyway? If their goal was vandalism, why steal an obscure statue of St. Someone-or-Other when there are clearly bigger targets? And why such a heavy target? It couldn’t be the work of a small person. It would have probably required premeditation of some sort, and a mechanism of transport from the property.
Throughout the years, Father has said things like “I don’t know how he lives with her” about Mr. Evil Neighbor, who isn’t really that evil. “I say hi to her and she just ignores me! She glares at me!” he’d say.
The most recent drama with The Evil Neighbors was when Mr. Evil Neighbor walked over and said “Are you taking down The Fence?” “Yes,” replied Father. “Well, you’re putting up another one, right?” “No,” said Father. Mr. Evil Neighbor walked away without saying a word. This prompted Mrs. Evil Neighbor to start building a stone wall to protect her yard from The Parents’ yard.
“But Mother, what sort of grown person would steal a statue? That’s just too deranged!”
“I know it was her! She’s evil! She’s capable of this! She would!!!!”
Mother said “Look, I just know she took it. I just have this feeling. And I know what she would have done with it, too. She’s out there building a stone wall. She’s out there piling leaves and dirt and whatever other gardening stuff she has into her wheelbarrow. She usually goes and dumps it all in that field across from the Smith’s house – you remember that, right? – I bet she waited until she saw me leave the house, stole the statue because now its white and she can see it and can’t stand it, put it into her evil wheelbarrow, dumped it in that field and buried it.”
Right. Suburban paranoia.
Mother voiced this prediction to Father, who, also believing that The Evil Neighbors are evil enough to do something like this, said “Why don’t I just go take a look in the field, then? I’ll just look around a little.”
“No, no,” Mother said, making a million excuses about why that was not a good idea. She was tired, there were other things to do at home, etc.
“But we’re in the car,” he said, because they were in the car, “and we’re about to drive by it! I’m just going to look.”
“No, no,” she said, but Father, being the focused and unbending person that he is, pulled over anyway and just left her in the car.
Mother, most likely mortified, waited for about two minutes and then saw, about 300 feet away, Father’s arms raise in the air and noticed that, above his head, was a white object.
And the white object was, of course, the statue of St. Someone-or-Other, buried, as predicted.
The two of them picked up the statue and put it in the car. The first thing they did was put the statue of St. Someone-or-Other on a table on the porch, opened the blinds, and faced it towards The Evil Neighbors’ house so that The Evil Neighbors would know that The Parents know.
I was so proud of The Parents for doing that, until they told me that they ended up taking it off the table about five minutes later because they felt guilty. And because they were also afraid of what The Evil Neighbors could be capable of beyond this. The put St. Someone-or-Other in the garage and waited.
Now.
My question to you is: What should The Parents do?
Father said “I want to get a giant crucifix – life size – and put it in our lawn, staring right into hers. I just want to mess with that bitch.” Hah.
Mother said “I’m just afraid of doing anything because we’re not sure that it’s definitely them and because what if they did do it and they do something else?”
I said “Well, you have to call the police.” She had a million excuses for why this was a bad idea, but I was like “Dudes, seriously, on the off chance that they do indeed do something else, you have to get this on record. You don’t have to tell them you dug up the statue. You just have to say that someone stole something off your lawn.”
I am distressed, because I don’t think The Evil Neighbors should just get away with this. The Parents have to do something. The Evil Neighbors, evilness aside, broke laws. Trespassing, vandalism, theft.
It crossed my mind, as I thought about this as though it were a bad evening soap opera, that maybe Mother buried the St. Someone-or-Other herself, but what would be the motive? And, even if she had motive, there’s no way Mother could have carried St. Someone-or-Other to the field.
A friend suggested that The Parents should buy a bunch of hideous statues and put them where St. Someone-or-Other used to be, and hopefully that will annoy The Evil Neighbors. They could install hidden cameras, hoping that The Evil Neighbors would also take the ugly statues.
I said “I want them to put a bunch of ugly statues on The Evil Neighbor’s lawn!”
“I want them to spell out ‘We know what you did!’ with garden gnomes!”
“I want them to somehow find a way to guarantee that a family with six kids under age ten moves into their house and that all of those ten kids’ toys end up on the lawn!”
They must be caught! Or at least toyed with.
Does anyone have any ideas?
Anyone, anyone?
I can’t get over this. It’s like something out of a bad movie about suburbia. I can’t believe grown people behave like this. Mrs. Evil Neighbor is deranged. Seriously deranged. And what makes them think that they can get away with this? They should not get away with this!
Crazy.
Monday, November 07, 2005
City of Apple
I was in Philadelphia this weekend (more later) and spent Sunday with NR, my dear friend from high school.
We did girl things like look at bags and gush about our near identical hairstyles.
We found ourselves in one clothing store, where I instantly became obsessed with this shirt:
I Love New York, the City of Apple.
Awesome.
Much love to NR for being stealth and asking if she could try on the shirt so we could snap a quick photo. Also much love to NR for confirming that the shirt was, indeed, made in the USA.
Fucking awesome.
We did girl things like look at bags and gush about our near identical hairstyles.
We found ourselves in one clothing store, where I instantly became obsessed with this shirt:
I Love New York, the City of Apple.
Awesome.
Much love to NR for being stealth and asking if she could try on the shirt so we could snap a quick photo. Also much love to NR for confirming that the shirt was, indeed, made in the USA.
Fucking awesome.
Life of Crime
I am wearing the only thing I've ever stolen today. I just got a compliment, and had to answer the "Where did you get those?" question.
"Well, actually, I just took them from the bowling alley. I feel like bowling shoes should be more rent-to-own than just a lifetime of renting. Right. Yeah."
It made me happy that it made other people happy to hear my story about the crime.
It also makes me happy because I've had these for like 7 years and still I adore them.
Awesome.
"Well, actually, I just took them from the bowling alley. I feel like bowling shoes should be more rent-to-own than just a lifetime of renting. Right. Yeah."
It made me happy that it made other people happy to hear my story about the crime.
It also makes me happy because I've had these for like 7 years and still I adore them.
Awesome.
Friday, November 04, 2005
In The Microwave!?!?
Just as we were becoming able to peacefully coexist, a cockroach decided to appear in my microwave just after I'd microwaved some bread.
Bastards.
Bastards.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Lines
I tried to see Midnight Pajama Jam at Galapagos last night.
Most of this is my own fault. Well, not my fault as much as it is my boss' fault. The 2:30 meeting got pushed back to 4:00 and then 4:30, which resulted in a late day heart-to-heart rather than an hour and a half long discussion of data. This caused us to get to Williamsburg later than expected. We grabbed dinner, which went faster than I'd anticipated, and got to Galapagos at around 7:45 for the 8:00 show.
We waited in line until after 8:00.
During this time, I said "Eugene Mirman is at the bar!" Eugene Mirman, national celebrity (well, maybe more of a locally adored comic) and fellow participant in UMass' Orgy of Talents Circa 1995 or 1996, had been an object of my stalking before I even got to NYC. Not because I have a crush on him or because I think he's awesome (well, he is awesome, but I didn't know that before I even got to NYC), but because I think it is awesome that someone from that god awful talent show went on to make a name for himself. And not that the talent show was god awful, but it wasn't necessarily a breeding ground for, well, real talent. Anyway, I just really want to say one night, at the bar, "Hey Eugene Mirman, remember the Orgy of Talents Circa 1995 or 1996? You were really funny." I just really want to see if he remembers it at all, and what he'll say about it, because if he does remember it and he does say something about it, I bet what he says will be really really funny.
And it will make a rad blog entry. Or, better yet, a song called "Eugene Mirman Remembers Me!"
I digress...
I was disappointed in myself for not saying something to Eugene Mirman.
I was more disappointed in fucking people because after we'd been in line for about twenty minutes, D said "What the fuck? Look at those assholes." A bunch of people just cut in the line. Maybe ten or so. "Who do they think they are?" "You should start a fight," I said. "You're going to see me mad. Do you know that this sort of thing makes me mad?" "I know, honey." "I can't believe them." "Should we say something?" "No, I'm just going to observe this." A few minutes later "Do you see how I'm observing this and how it's making me mad?" "Yes, honey, maybe you should say something. But don't start a fight." "I'm so mad."
I wasn't mad. I expect this sort of behavior from people, especially from people in New York City, and particularly from entitlement-feeling line-cutters in Williamsburg.
I was mad when it sold out and there were approximately ten people who could not get into the show. Including us.
We should have said something.
But what do you say? Is it worth the confrontation? I never know.
We went home and watched the first half of Harry Potter 2 instead and went to bed at 11:00 and didn't wake up until 8:00.
Most of this is my own fault. Well, not my fault as much as it is my boss' fault. The 2:30 meeting got pushed back to 4:00 and then 4:30, which resulted in a late day heart-to-heart rather than an hour and a half long discussion of data. This caused us to get to Williamsburg later than expected. We grabbed dinner, which went faster than I'd anticipated, and got to Galapagos at around 7:45 for the 8:00 show.
We waited in line until after 8:00.
During this time, I said "Eugene Mirman is at the bar!" Eugene Mirman, national celebrity (well, maybe more of a locally adored comic) and fellow participant in UMass' Orgy of Talents Circa 1995 or 1996, had been an object of my stalking before I even got to NYC. Not because I have a crush on him or because I think he's awesome (well, he is awesome, but I didn't know that before I even got to NYC), but because I think it is awesome that someone from that god awful talent show went on to make a name for himself. And not that the talent show was god awful, but it wasn't necessarily a breeding ground for, well, real talent. Anyway, I just really want to say one night, at the bar, "Hey Eugene Mirman, remember the Orgy of Talents Circa 1995 or 1996? You were really funny." I just really want to see if he remembers it at all, and what he'll say about it, because if he does remember it and he does say something about it, I bet what he says will be really really funny.
And it will make a rad blog entry. Or, better yet, a song called "Eugene Mirman Remembers Me!"
I digress...
I was disappointed in myself for not saying something to Eugene Mirman.
I was more disappointed in fucking people because after we'd been in line for about twenty minutes, D said "What the fuck? Look at those assholes." A bunch of people just cut in the line. Maybe ten or so. "Who do they think they are?" "You should start a fight," I said. "You're going to see me mad. Do you know that this sort of thing makes me mad?" "I know, honey." "I can't believe them." "Should we say something?" "No, I'm just going to observe this." A few minutes later "Do you see how I'm observing this and how it's making me mad?" "Yes, honey, maybe you should say something. But don't start a fight." "I'm so mad."
I wasn't mad. I expect this sort of behavior from people, especially from people in New York City, and particularly from entitlement-feeling line-cutters in Williamsburg.
I was mad when it sold out and there were approximately ten people who could not get into the show. Including us.
We should have said something.
But what do you say? Is it worth the confrontation? I never know.
We went home and watched the first half of Harry Potter 2 instead and went to bed at 11:00 and didn't wake up until 8:00.
Post-It
Newest Guy said "Do you have lysis buffer?"
I said "No, but I'll give you the recipe."
I have the recipe on a post-it on my bench, because I make lysis buffer all the time and because I can't remember anything anymore. I took the post-it off and handed it to him. He said "I can't read your writing."
"OK," I said. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll write it again."
He put the post-it back on my bench, but didn't put it where it was originally. Instead, he put it above the stir plate. I thought nothing of it beyond "That's weird that he wouldn't put it back where I keep it, but whatever." I didn't rip it down and put it where it belonged because I thought that would be overly anal and might also hurt his feelings. I made a mental note to move it back when he wasn't around.
I was making a solution today, on the stir plate. I was about to add the last ingredient to it while it was stirring, when I noticed the post-it was still above the stir plate. "I have to remember to move that... because it's totally going to fall in a solution some day!"
And then it fell into the solution.
As if I willed it to.
Seriously. It's been there for an entire day and just as I think "That could fall!" it falls. And bleeds ink into my solution. Awesome.
But its Thursday. Only one... more... day....
And then Philly! Woo hoo!
I said "No, but I'll give you the recipe."
I have the recipe on a post-it on my bench, because I make lysis buffer all the time and because I can't remember anything anymore. I took the post-it off and handed it to him. He said "I can't read your writing."
"OK," I said. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll write it again."
He put the post-it back on my bench, but didn't put it where it was originally. Instead, he put it above the stir plate. I thought nothing of it beyond "That's weird that he wouldn't put it back where I keep it, but whatever." I didn't rip it down and put it where it belonged because I thought that would be overly anal and might also hurt his feelings. I made a mental note to move it back when he wasn't around.
I was making a solution today, on the stir plate. I was about to add the last ingredient to it while it was stirring, when I noticed the post-it was still above the stir plate. "I have to remember to move that... because it's totally going to fall in a solution some day!"
And then it fell into the solution.
As if I willed it to.
Seriously. It's been there for an entire day and just as I think "That could fall!" it falls. And bleeds ink into my solution. Awesome.
But its Thursday. Only one... more... day....
And then Philly! Woo hoo!
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Playing House
I discovered last night that my general outlook on life is exactly correlated with how well I do in photography class.
I don't know if this distills down to some 3rd-grade-teacher's-pet mentality I still hold onto (the desire to please, or the desire for attention), or simply to ego, or, more likely, to hope.
Regardless, as soon as the words "sophisticated" and "fantastic" were used, my mood improved drastically.
Seeing him happy and enthusiastic made me happy and enthusiastic. Knowing that I was the cause of happiness and enthusiasm made me feel relief. Hearing him say "I need you to shoot more because I can't wait to see how you handle it..." made me see a way out.
I nearly skipped home after class, happy again and eager to tell D about everything.
D was at my apartment when I arrived, and he'd cooked dinner! I gave him a million kisses and appreciative words and said "I could get used to this." A long day isn't so bad when there's someone fabulous waiting for you on the other end.
He said "Do you want your surprise?" after I'd settled down a bit. I'd forgotten entirely. From a plastic bag he produced a copy of The Pajama Game on DVD! "I know it's not Harry but..." "It's so much better!" I said and gave him a million more kisses.
We ate dinner and smiled and talked about a plane trip vs. road trip and then watched the first Harry Potter. (Sidenote: I've seen the previews for the new HP and it looks awesome - the special effects look amazing! and I am wondering why the special effects in the first one were so very terrible!)
And then we read.
And then we fell asleep.
The point of all of this? I can't believe I love playing house.
Nobody ever could have predicted this!
Tee hee.
I don't know if this distills down to some 3rd-grade-teacher's-pet mentality I still hold onto (the desire to please, or the desire for attention), or simply to ego, or, more likely, to hope.
Regardless, as soon as the words "sophisticated" and "fantastic" were used, my mood improved drastically.
Seeing him happy and enthusiastic made me happy and enthusiastic. Knowing that I was the cause of happiness and enthusiasm made me feel relief. Hearing him say "I need you to shoot more because I can't wait to see how you handle it..." made me see a way out.
I nearly skipped home after class, happy again and eager to tell D about everything.
D was at my apartment when I arrived, and he'd cooked dinner! I gave him a million kisses and appreciative words and said "I could get used to this." A long day isn't so bad when there's someone fabulous waiting for you on the other end.
He said "Do you want your surprise?" after I'd settled down a bit. I'd forgotten entirely. From a plastic bag he produced a copy of The Pajama Game on DVD! "I know it's not Harry but..." "It's so much better!" I said and gave him a million more kisses.
We ate dinner and smiled and talked about a plane trip vs. road trip and then watched the first Harry Potter. (Sidenote: I've seen the previews for the new HP and it looks awesome - the special effects look amazing! and I am wondering why the special effects in the first one were so very terrible!)
And then we read.
And then we fell asleep.
The point of all of this? I can't believe I love playing house.
Nobody ever could have predicted this!
Tee hee.
I Like to Move It
Move it
I like to move it move it
I like to move it move it
Ya like to MOVE IT
Yeah.
That song was just on at lunch.
It is somehow even more absurd out of context.
I like to move it move it
I like to move it move it
Ya like to MOVE IT
Yeah.
That song was just on at lunch.
It is somehow even more absurd out of context.
Mittens
I love fingerless gloves. Love them.
I'm not a fan of regular gloves.
I prefer mittens.
It seems, though, that the fingerless glove has taken over the mitten market and there are no more cool mittens available for purchase!
This is problematic considering that I lost one of my mittens in the move, and now I have none. And it will get cold. Soon. And I will have a pair of fingerless gloves, which will basically be useless.
The problem is that I want the exact same mittens that I now have one of. I bought these fuzzy pink mittens with NL at Urban Outfitters two years ago and they are the best mittens I've ever had. I want equally cute (warmer, if possible) mittens. Is that asking too much?
This only proves that when you love something, you should buy at least two of them. Because what if you lose it? What if you spill red wine on your favorite shirt? What if what if what if it shrinks!?!?!?
Sniff. I miss my mitten.
I'm not a fan of regular gloves.
I prefer mittens.
It seems, though, that the fingerless glove has taken over the mitten market and there are no more cool mittens available for purchase!
This is problematic considering that I lost one of my mittens in the move, and now I have none. And it will get cold. Soon. And I will have a pair of fingerless gloves, which will basically be useless.
The problem is that I want the exact same mittens that I now have one of. I bought these fuzzy pink mittens with NL at Urban Outfitters two years ago and they are the best mittens I've ever had. I want equally cute (warmer, if possible) mittens. Is that asking too much?
This only proves that when you love something, you should buy at least two of them. Because what if you lose it? What if you spill red wine on your favorite shirt? What if what if what if it shrinks!?!?!?
Sniff. I miss my mitten.
More Parade...
As promised, here are some photos from the Halloween Parade! They are dark and blurry.
Before the parade:
There was a giant pumpkin before the parade:
This made me insane because I adore both skeletons AND puppets:
Snake puppets:
Popes making out:
Giant bird puppet:
Random people:
Irish dancers (way more awesome than you'd think!):
The Gates!
More Gates!
Zombie Band:
Edward Scissorhands:
Before the parade:
There was a giant pumpkin before the parade:
This made me insane because I adore both skeletons AND puppets:
Snake puppets:
Popes making out:
Giant bird puppet:
Random people:
Irish dancers (way more awesome than you'd think!):
The Gates!
More Gates!
Zombie Band:
Edward Scissorhands:
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
I Don’t Love A Parade
So I went to the Halloween parade last night. I arrived at about 6:30. The people were only about two deep at that point, so I actually had a chance of seeing the costumes!
The parade started late, which afforded me plenty of time to eavesdrop on the awkward attempts of a born-and-raised 50-something New Yorker trying to speak French to some tourists.
The parade was ok. They definitely front-load it so that all of the awesome stuff is at the beginning. There were giant creepy puppets and zombie bands and it all felt very Halloween-esque. The problem is that the parade stops every so often – there’d be a lull of about five minutes where there would be nothing. And because anyone is allowed to walk in the parade, there is disorder and, well, a lot of lame costumes.
I watched for about an hour and a half and then gave up. I decided that I’d seen enough and that there was not a chance that my photos would come out good no matter how long I waited and no matter how many different flash settings I tried.
I did manage to see D and R, whose picture I took but, of course, none of them really came out because I was too far away. D was very cute and ran over to me and kissed me through the crowd.
After the parade I headed up 7th to meet up with D and R and S, who left the parade early in order to either go back to D’s and hang out or grab some food. I voted “Food!” because “I think we should be out on Halloween and not sitting inside – we need to see costumes!” By the time I met them I was starving to death and irritable. It was about 9:00 (and if you factor in Daylight Savings, it was 10:00!) and nobody could make a decision. We decided to head down Hudson to hopefully avoid crowds, but apparently there are only meat-restaurants on Hudson. We walked down Spring – everywhere was crowded or expensive or meat, so ultimately opted to just grab a slice of pizza and eat it at D’s. By this point it was 10:00 and I had a raging headache and didn’t want to talk to anyone ever again, so I didn’t have much fun.
Which is fine, because I’d anticipated having no fun because how can you have fun if you’re not wearing a costume on Halloween? And, for all intents and purposes, I spent Halloween alone because I watched the parade by myself. It’s not the same when you have to tell people about the awesome costumes you saw. It’s better to be like “Dude, that guy in the spoon costume was the best ever!”
Yeah. Slightly annoyed with myself for not coming up with a good costume. I’m annoyed that I didn’t come up with a costume at all. At around 5:00 last night everyone was punchy because it was a holiday and felt like Friday. R put green lab tape around his forehead and said “Look, I’m Olivia Newton John!” I then put red lab tape on my palms and said “Look, I’m stigmata!” and everyone thought it was funny and thought I should walk in the parade, but it just felt too easy. And plus, I’d rather do it really gory. Although I guess the tape was fairly cute.
Next year. Next year I will have an awesome and clever costume and will have so very much fun on Halloween. No more holiday disappointments! No. Never.
Tomorrow I will put up some of my really blurry photos from the parade, but until then, here you go:
Most Nostalgically Awesome Costume: Four guys dressed up as contestants on Super Sloppy Double Dare
Most Popular Costume: Rainbow Brite / George Bush
Most Fun Costume: PacMan and the Ghosts Running Around
Most Provocative Costume: Two Popes Making Out
Hottest Costume: Mostly Naked Man With Beautiful Body Roller-Blading
Most Accurate Costume: Edward Scissorhands
Favorite Costume: The Gates!
Best Celebrity Sighting: Interior Design Guy from “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” at a bar we didn’t go to because it was too crowded
The parade started late, which afforded me plenty of time to eavesdrop on the awkward attempts of a born-and-raised 50-something New Yorker trying to speak French to some tourists.
The parade was ok. They definitely front-load it so that all of the awesome stuff is at the beginning. There were giant creepy puppets and zombie bands and it all felt very Halloween-esque. The problem is that the parade stops every so often – there’d be a lull of about five minutes where there would be nothing. And because anyone is allowed to walk in the parade, there is disorder and, well, a lot of lame costumes.
I watched for about an hour and a half and then gave up. I decided that I’d seen enough and that there was not a chance that my photos would come out good no matter how long I waited and no matter how many different flash settings I tried.
I did manage to see D and R, whose picture I took but, of course, none of them really came out because I was too far away. D was very cute and ran over to me and kissed me through the crowd.
After the parade I headed up 7th to meet up with D and R and S, who left the parade early in order to either go back to D’s and hang out or grab some food. I voted “Food!” because “I think we should be out on Halloween and not sitting inside – we need to see costumes!” By the time I met them I was starving to death and irritable. It was about 9:00 (and if you factor in Daylight Savings, it was 10:00!) and nobody could make a decision. We decided to head down Hudson to hopefully avoid crowds, but apparently there are only meat-restaurants on Hudson. We walked down Spring – everywhere was crowded or expensive or meat, so ultimately opted to just grab a slice of pizza and eat it at D’s. By this point it was 10:00 and I had a raging headache and didn’t want to talk to anyone ever again, so I didn’t have much fun.
Which is fine, because I’d anticipated having no fun because how can you have fun if you’re not wearing a costume on Halloween? And, for all intents and purposes, I spent Halloween alone because I watched the parade by myself. It’s not the same when you have to tell people about the awesome costumes you saw. It’s better to be like “Dude, that guy in the spoon costume was the best ever!”
Yeah. Slightly annoyed with myself for not coming up with a good costume. I’m annoyed that I didn’t come up with a costume at all. At around 5:00 last night everyone was punchy because it was a holiday and felt like Friday. R put green lab tape around his forehead and said “Look, I’m Olivia Newton John!” I then put red lab tape on my palms and said “Look, I’m stigmata!” and everyone thought it was funny and thought I should walk in the parade, but it just felt too easy. And plus, I’d rather do it really gory. Although I guess the tape was fairly cute.
Next year. Next year I will have an awesome and clever costume and will have so very much fun on Halloween. No more holiday disappointments! No. Never.
Tomorrow I will put up some of my really blurry photos from the parade, but until then, here you go:
Most Nostalgically Awesome Costume: Four guys dressed up as contestants on Super Sloppy Double Dare
Most Popular Costume: Rainbow Brite / George Bush
Most Fun Costume: PacMan and the Ghosts Running Around
Most Provocative Costume: Two Popes Making Out
Hottest Costume: Mostly Naked Man With Beautiful Body Roller-Blading
Most Accurate Costume: Edward Scissorhands
Favorite Costume: The Gates!
Best Celebrity Sighting: Interior Design Guy from “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” at a bar we didn’t go to because it was too crowded
Monday, October 31, 2005
Gross
New pet peeve: people wearing gruesome Halloween costumes while I am trying to eat lunch.
I still can't believe I'm not doing Halloween this year.
Bah humbug!
I still can't believe I'm not doing Halloween this year.
Bah humbug!
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Freaking Halloween
Oy. I just got back from Princeton, where I enjoyed a lovely day of foliage and oooh-ing over the castle-like campus and shouting "Don't do it! It's meaningless! It's not worth the debt!" to potential students on tours and saying things like "Maybe I should just move out to the country" and then rethinking it when I realized that it takes only ten minutes to walk around the entire center of town. It was fabulously therapeutic to see Brother and to figure out just how close he now lives to me. It was also amazing to have three whole hours to myself in transit and to, gasp, read a book! In honor of recent discussions on the blog, I decided to start reading "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer which I've nearly finished in one day and which is dedicated to, ahem, Nicole.
I am back now, wrestling with various Halloween costumes that are in various states of disarray. Tangled wigs, dresses that once fit, costumes that were once sexy that now show my age. I used to love Halloween. I think I still love Halloween. I just hate Halloween in New York where everyone is oh-so-clever and oh-so-attractive. What's the fucking point?
I think the point is to rent some kids and take them trick-or-treating. But not here. Because who would want to go to strangers' apartments in this city?
I love Halloween. I love Halloween parties. I love seeing people out during the day in costumes. I love witches on the subway. I loved these things in Boston. In New York they only annoy me, because I feel like it is just one more way for all of these stupid people to draw attention to themselves.
The parade is tomorrow and I am excited. Anyone can march in it. I toyed with the idea, but then decided that unless my costume is a complete disguise, I'd rather die than be looked at. D will be marching. He is very excited. It is cute that he is so proud of his costume.
I can't believe that I have become the sort of person who thinks "Is this pink wig alone enough for a costume?"
I can't believe I have become the sort of person who doesn't make time for Halloween costume production.
I am looking forward to the parade, though. Do I wish I were going to a party at someone's house? Yes. Do I realize this is a near impossibility in this city? Yes. Do I know that if I had more friends there'd be a chance? Yes. Do I know that even if I were invited to parties that I wouldn't consider going even for a second because I would know that my costume would suck compared to everyone else's in this city? Fuck yeah.
I can't believe this city has made me insecure about Halloween. No wonder I've been in a bad mood.
Speaking of renting kids, Brother and I went to see the "Wallace and Gromit" movie this afternoon and there were kids in the movie theater! I haven't seen kids in a movie theater in ages!
I also saw "The Squid and the Whale" this weekend, which was amazing. I'll probably write more tomorrow when I am at work being contrary and not attending the ribbon-cutting ceremony in NJ because I am like the angsty kid at recess. I'd rather be left alone than play with the other kids. I will be busy writing depressing poetry while the other kids tour the new manufacturing plant.
I think I am going to read now.
Until tomororrow...
I am back now, wrestling with various Halloween costumes that are in various states of disarray. Tangled wigs, dresses that once fit, costumes that were once sexy that now show my age. I used to love Halloween. I think I still love Halloween. I just hate Halloween in New York where everyone is oh-so-clever and oh-so-attractive. What's the fucking point?
I think the point is to rent some kids and take them trick-or-treating. But not here. Because who would want to go to strangers' apartments in this city?
I love Halloween. I love Halloween parties. I love seeing people out during the day in costumes. I love witches on the subway. I loved these things in Boston. In New York they only annoy me, because I feel like it is just one more way for all of these stupid people to draw attention to themselves.
The parade is tomorrow and I am excited. Anyone can march in it. I toyed with the idea, but then decided that unless my costume is a complete disguise, I'd rather die than be looked at. D will be marching. He is very excited. It is cute that he is so proud of his costume.
I can't believe that I have become the sort of person who thinks "Is this pink wig alone enough for a costume?"
I can't believe I have become the sort of person who doesn't make time for Halloween costume production.
I am looking forward to the parade, though. Do I wish I were going to a party at someone's house? Yes. Do I realize this is a near impossibility in this city? Yes. Do I know that if I had more friends there'd be a chance? Yes. Do I know that even if I were invited to parties that I wouldn't consider going even for a second because I would know that my costume would suck compared to everyone else's in this city? Fuck yeah.
I can't believe this city has made me insecure about Halloween. No wonder I've been in a bad mood.
Speaking of renting kids, Brother and I went to see the "Wallace and Gromit" movie this afternoon and there were kids in the movie theater! I haven't seen kids in a movie theater in ages!
I also saw "The Squid and the Whale" this weekend, which was amazing. I'll probably write more tomorrow when I am at work being contrary and not attending the ribbon-cutting ceremony in NJ because I am like the angsty kid at recess. I'd rather be left alone than play with the other kids. I will be busy writing depressing poetry while the other kids tour the new manufacturing plant.
I think I am going to read now.
Until tomororrow...
Saturday, October 29, 2005
The View
I went to the Met today and was reminded why I live in New York City.
Last night was an emotional drain and I needed some good hand-holding one-on-one time with the boyfriend. I was thrilled this morning when he declared "Look, today we should go to a museum of some sort. The Whitney or..." and then proceeded to list a million museums that are on the long list of museums-to-go-to that we will never have time to go to. He ended with "... or The Met." In a rare moment of assertiveness, I said "Look, I don't think I can look at another piece of contemporary art for at least two weeks. Let's go to The Met."
We looked at mummies and armor and a hilarious exhibit on photography and the occult and Van Gogh drawings and some Santiago Calatrava sculptures (and no, the exhibit did not feature his bridge from Buenos Aires) and smiled and ooh-ed and aah-ed and said things like "I knew you would like that because I know your taste now." I revelled in being able to look at skilled art that's good without being challenging. I liked Van Gogh's sketches of trees because that's all they were.
We ran to the roof, excited to see the Sol Lewitt sculptures but more excited to see our city.
"This is why I live here," I said as soon as I stepped into the freezing air up there and saw the view. I gasped. I looked at my favorite new building from above. D said "There's your building. It's a really good addition to the skyline."
I am feeling better about New York City today because today was easy and made us both happy. No amount of cockroaches that just walked past my alarm clock as I was about to set it for my nap that isn't going to happen can prevent my happiness! No getting dark earlier will interfere with my enjoying life! No! I will just think about mummies and everything will be fine.
And... here are some photos!
Last night was an emotional drain and I needed some good hand-holding one-on-one time with the boyfriend. I was thrilled this morning when he declared "Look, today we should go to a museum of some sort. The Whitney or..." and then proceeded to list a million museums that are on the long list of museums-to-go-to that we will never have time to go to. He ended with "... or The Met." In a rare moment of assertiveness, I said "Look, I don't think I can look at another piece of contemporary art for at least two weeks. Let's go to The Met."
We looked at mummies and armor and a hilarious exhibit on photography and the occult and Van Gogh drawings and some Santiago Calatrava sculptures (and no, the exhibit did not feature his bridge from Buenos Aires) and smiled and ooh-ed and aah-ed and said things like "I knew you would like that because I know your taste now." I revelled in being able to look at skilled art that's good without being challenging. I liked Van Gogh's sketches of trees because that's all they were.
We ran to the roof, excited to see the Sol Lewitt sculptures but more excited to see our city.
"This is why I live here," I said as soon as I stepped into the freezing air up there and saw the view. I gasped. I looked at my favorite new building from above. D said "There's your building. It's a really good addition to the skyline."
I am feeling better about New York City today because today was easy and made us both happy. No amount of cockroaches that just walked past my alarm clock as I was about to set it for my nap that isn't going to happen can prevent my happiness! No getting dark earlier will interfere with my enjoying life! No! I will just think about mummies and everything will be fine.
And... here are some photos!
Friday, October 28, 2005
Syrup!
I have been hating New York lately, but sometimes I can't help but smile when I think about all of the bizarre things that have happened during my time living here.
Despite being sickly last evening, I decided to, against better judgment, accompany D to this contemporary art fair to which he'd been given two free tickets to an opening reception cocktail party. I have, dear readers, decided that I am contemporary-arted out. I'm just not an art person. I like art, but I am not obsessed and I don't get much out of looking at it constantly.
The art fair was cool, if, of course, you are rich, and can afford art. It's actually billed as an affordable art fair - prices range from $100 to $10,000, though the least expensive thing I saw was $1200. There were some cool pieces, and in my former life when I had money and was not in a constant financial panic, I'd probably have considered buying something.
I overheard a woman who said "I wish I had a bigger apartment so I could buy all of this stuff!" which struck me as odd, because if she could afford to buy all of this stuff to put in her small apartment, she can most likely afford a larger apartment. I feel like the appropriate thing to declare loudly was "I wish I had more money in general!"
Anyway... I wasn't drinking because I was sickly, and D tends to involute and not speak when we look at art, so I wasn't having the best time. Being sober when everyone else is drunk is never fun.
This was supposed to be our date night - out for dinner! Yeah! We never do this - we never make plans to go out together, so I'd been very excited before the sickness kicked in. D suggested we take a cab from the art fair to a restaurant. When we got in the cab, D said "Can we go to blah blah blah and take 9th Avenue, please."
The cab driver decided to ignore D and take a ridiculous route that was much congested with traffic. This meant lots of stop and go, which is not good when you are sick. About ten minutes into the ride, I yelled "Ummm, can we please get out?" because I was fairly certain that another minute of his insane driving would cause me to lose what little food I'd eaten that day. D said "Can you just drop us off here?" The cab driver kept going. "Can we just get out here? This will be fine..." Still he ignored us. I felt myself turning more and more green and was about to scream when D did. "Please, HERE!" he said and the cab driver was all "What? You want to get out?" and KEPT DRIVING!
Once we were out, we decided that he must have been deaf. CRAZY.
Anyway, we got in another cab and were dropped off in the vicinity of some restaurants we'd seen earlier in the week that we thought looked cool. It smelled really good outside. "Hmmm.... smells like cookies!" I said. D said it smelled like something else... I can't remember. "Or caramel!" I said.
We ate. Well, D ate and I had like three gnocchi and some water. When we left the restaurant, we walked for a few minutes and still it smelled delicious. "I guess what we were smelling was from over here!" D said as we walked a bit.
He then smiled and said "It smells everywhere. Maybe it's me!"
Heh.
Back at my apartment, I swore I could still smell it. "Maybe it's me," I thought, but said nothing while compulsively smelling my hands to see if it was something I'd touched that day.
This morning, I saw this:
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/28/nyregion/28odor.html
Upon reading more on the blogosphere, I have learned that everyone everywhere smelled maple syrup last night. People in Harlem! People in Brooklyn! People in Astoria! People in NJ!!!! I love being part of insane New York news.
This being said, this is a little weird. Apparently we are not to worry, but really, what could possibly cause everyone to smell maple syrup? I don't think a spill. It's a release of some sort - chemical? On purpose? Someone online suggested that maybe its a plot to determine the successfulness of a chemical release on the city. Or maybe it is a chemical release on the city.
NUTS, folks, nuts.
I just mentioned this to Bench Buddy and he was all "Oh my god, I thought it was me! It was driving me crazy! I hate things that smell sickly sweet!"
So yeah. Another crazy thing in NYC.
And now it is the weekend. Thank god. I am going to Princeton to visit my brother because I am in desperate need of some unconditional affection. And I will sleep lots, because I am still feeling weird.
Have good weekends.
Until Monday...
Despite being sickly last evening, I decided to, against better judgment, accompany D to this contemporary art fair to which he'd been given two free tickets to an opening reception cocktail party. I have, dear readers, decided that I am contemporary-arted out. I'm just not an art person. I like art, but I am not obsessed and I don't get much out of looking at it constantly.
The art fair was cool, if, of course, you are rich, and can afford art. It's actually billed as an affordable art fair - prices range from $100 to $10,000, though the least expensive thing I saw was $1200. There were some cool pieces, and in my former life when I had money and was not in a constant financial panic, I'd probably have considered buying something.
I overheard a woman who said "I wish I had a bigger apartment so I could buy all of this stuff!" which struck me as odd, because if she could afford to buy all of this stuff to put in her small apartment, she can most likely afford a larger apartment. I feel like the appropriate thing to declare loudly was "I wish I had more money in general!"
Anyway... I wasn't drinking because I was sickly, and D tends to involute and not speak when we look at art, so I wasn't having the best time. Being sober when everyone else is drunk is never fun.
This was supposed to be our date night - out for dinner! Yeah! We never do this - we never make plans to go out together, so I'd been very excited before the sickness kicked in. D suggested we take a cab from the art fair to a restaurant. When we got in the cab, D said "Can we go to blah blah blah and take 9th Avenue, please."
The cab driver decided to ignore D and take a ridiculous route that was much congested with traffic. This meant lots of stop and go, which is not good when you are sick. About ten minutes into the ride, I yelled "Ummm, can we please get out?" because I was fairly certain that another minute of his insane driving would cause me to lose what little food I'd eaten that day. D said "Can you just drop us off here?" The cab driver kept going. "Can we just get out here? This will be fine..." Still he ignored us. I felt myself turning more and more green and was about to scream when D did. "Please, HERE!" he said and the cab driver was all "What? You want to get out?" and KEPT DRIVING!
Once we were out, we decided that he must have been deaf. CRAZY.
Anyway, we got in another cab and were dropped off in the vicinity of some restaurants we'd seen earlier in the week that we thought looked cool. It smelled really good outside. "Hmmm.... smells like cookies!" I said. D said it smelled like something else... I can't remember. "Or caramel!" I said.
We ate. Well, D ate and I had like three gnocchi and some water. When we left the restaurant, we walked for a few minutes and still it smelled delicious. "I guess what we were smelling was from over here!" D said as we walked a bit.
He then smiled and said "It smells everywhere. Maybe it's me!"
Heh.
Back at my apartment, I swore I could still smell it. "Maybe it's me," I thought, but said nothing while compulsively smelling my hands to see if it was something I'd touched that day.
This morning, I saw this:
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/28/nyregion/28odor.html
Upon reading more on the blogosphere, I have learned that everyone everywhere smelled maple syrup last night. People in Harlem! People in Brooklyn! People in Astoria! People in NJ!!!! I love being part of insane New York news.
This being said, this is a little weird. Apparently we are not to worry, but really, what could possibly cause everyone to smell maple syrup? I don't think a spill. It's a release of some sort - chemical? On purpose? Someone online suggested that maybe its a plot to determine the successfulness of a chemical release on the city. Or maybe it is a chemical release on the city.
NUTS, folks, nuts.
I just mentioned this to Bench Buddy and he was all "Oh my god, I thought it was me! It was driving me crazy! I hate things that smell sickly sweet!"
So yeah. Another crazy thing in NYC.
And now it is the weekend. Thank god. I am going to Princeton to visit my brother because I am in desperate need of some unconditional affection. And I will sleep lots, because I am still feeling weird.
Have good weekends.
Until Monday...
Thursday, October 27, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
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!??!?!?!?
Or, why is my umbrella the only one, in a sea of umbrellas, that inverts every three seconds!??!?!?!?
Monday, October 24, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, October 21, 2005
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.
- 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.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
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.
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...
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...
Monday, October 17, 2005
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.
"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.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
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!
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!
Thursday, October 13, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, October 07, 2005
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!
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.
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.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
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!!!
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!!!
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
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 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.
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.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
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!
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!!!!
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!!!!
Monday, October 03, 2005
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.
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.
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