After work last night I went into Union Square to replace my somewhat broken glasses. I first went to a place called Union Square Optical which accepts my vision insurance. They were utterly disinterested in helping me find glasses, which is absurd when all of the glasses are in cases. Frustrated with the salesforce, I walked across the street to a less-than-sophisticated place with many deals on glasses.
Their selection wasn't fabulous, but the salesforce was hilarious. I was initially working with one chick who was annoyed that I wanted to try on more than five pairs of glasses. Now. This woman wears glasses so she must understand the importance of having a good pair. It's your face. You have to see it every day. It is crucial that you have glasses you like. The five I tried on were all hideous. She dished me off to another woman.
This woman was a riot. There was a very well-dressed and attractive British man in the store who I kept asking for advice about my glasses since the women in the store weren't, well, the most stylish of folks. He disappeared around the corner to have his eyes checked, and this woman says "Man, would I like to do him!" Heh. I said, quietly, "Me too, actually." She said "Yeah, but his lips are thin. I have no use for thin lips. I'm Italian." I agreed. Then she said "He's gay, anyway, and has thin lips. Who needs 'im?"
She was patient with me and told me her life story while I stared at myself for hours in different pairs of glasses. I narrowed it down to two. I chose the pair that most people in the store preferred and had her charge me for it. After she charged me, she whispered "Because you're a guinea I'll cut you a deal - I'll give you that second pair for $200." Shit. That is a good deal, but the first pair wasn't a good deal. I talked them down on the first pair by threatening to go elsewhere with my vision insurance. And its not like I need more glasses because I clearly already have too many. But $200 for an adorable pair of glasses? You can't beat that!
I gave in and she whispered "I'm only doing this for ya because your Sicilian," which is weird, because I never told her I was Sicilian. I said "How can you tell?" and she said "I've dated your kind."
She ran my credit card through again, and it wouldn't go through. She tried many times with no luck. She finally called Master Card and the Master Card dude wanted to talk to me on the phone. He asked me my mother's maiden name and then said they just wanted to make sure everything was fine since there'd been an unusual amount of activity on my card that day. I confirmed my Amtrak purchase (Thanksgiving!) and then my double glasses purchase.
So how awesome would it be if someone stole your credit card and used it to buy tons of glasses? I'd be psyched. A glasses-buying rampage scheme of mass proportions! Purple frames! Wire frames! Perscription sunglasses! Freaking awesome.
After my purchase I grabbed a slice of pizza at Pronto Pizza and Chinese Food. While there, a homeless man approached me and asked me for some money. Since I'd just spent a ton of money, I thought "Well, I can't be that selfish. I'll give the dude a dollar." I gave him a dollar and then watched him walk around the rest of Pronto asking for money, and realized the dude had a really nice walkman and a better coat than me. Right.
I then went to see The Incredibles which was perfect. And timely considering the class I am taking right now. I got a lot of the comic jokes that I'd probably have missed had I not taken this class.
Normally I like to go to movies by myself (and will most likely be doing a lot of that here), but I noticed last night some bad things about going to movies by oneself. Such as:
1. You can't multitask - I got there a bit later than I'd have preferred, and when that happens, you usually say "You get seats, you get food, while I run to the bathroom." But I could only do one of those things at a time, which caused me to ....
2. End up sitting on the side of the theater (no aisle seats remaining!) where I was seated under one of those overheard lights and felt like I was either on stage or going blind and I had nobody to complain to!
3. When you are by yourself, you look even more ridiculous spazzing out to the preview for Revenge of the Sith than you would if you were with your dorky friends.
4. You have nobody to say "Man, I can't freaking wait for the Johnny Depp Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" to.
And as far as more glasses go, today is our Health and Safety Fair where I will be getting prescription safety glasses! And a cholesterol test, if there's enough time.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Monday, November 15, 2004
ODB R.I.P.
A piece of me has died along with the knowledge that Ol' Dirty Bastard, aka Dirt McGirt, aka Big Baby Jesus is dead.
In honor of ODB, I will take this opportunity to remind you of the following link. Enjoy. And feel free to post your results in honor of ODB.
http://www.recordstore.com/wuname/wuname.pl
(Incidentally, I am reminded of our original discovery of this website and how some of us tried to figure out the algorithm. Man were we cool back then!)
Word from Superintendant God-Botherer.
Sniff.
In honor of ODB, I will take this opportunity to remind you of the following link. Enjoy. And feel free to post your results in honor of ODB.
http://www.recordstore.com/wuname/wuname.pl
(Incidentally, I am reminded of our original discovery of this website and how some of us tried to figure out the algorithm. Man were we cool back then!)
Word from Superintendant God-Botherer.
Sniff.
Fung Wah
My sister came to visit this weekend. We had a marvelous time. I'd forgotten just how lovely it is to have close girl friends in your proximity. I guess I successfully managed to forget how much I miss her. It was great to see her, but incredibly sad to see her go.
She arrived late on Friday night due to stupid weather. We opted not to go out and instead sat up late catching up (my sister is even worse than me at the phone, which is hard to believe!) and drinking bad wine and eating good cheese and strawberries.
On Saturday we went for breakfast at Relish, where I had amazing onion rings. Hmmmm. We then walked aimlessly around Williamsburg (I'd hoped to cross one of the movies off my list of Seven-Movies-To-See-Before-Thansgiving but by the time we motivated to get out of the house there was no way we could fit one in) and then around the Village, where, drum roll please, I acquired purple pants! They were far too expensive and don't actually fit, but they require only a hem so there is hope!
We then ate dinner at the vegetarian restaurant in Williamsburg. Why is vegetarian food always so dry? I don't understand. We went back to the loft feeling bloated and tired, but managed to rally to go to a show with Roommate and her friend L in SoHo. Roommate has been so excited for this show and was therefore devastated when we arrived to the 8:00 show at 8:30 to find out that the box office closed at 8.
When does that ever happen? Since when do shows start on time? Like we got there and the show was going on and there wasn't even a door! We had to press a buzzer and we were like "We're here for the show?" and they were like "The Box Office Is Closed." It was all very Wizard of Oz. Then a dude appeared and said very zen-ly "Why didn't you get here at 7:30?" Why ever would we have done that? We ended up grabbing a few drinks at some lame place in the East Village, where my sister and I felt like imposters. I felt really really really lonely.
We journeyed back to Williamsburg where we met up with some of Roommate's friends and a friend of mine from work, D, and his friends. Some weird kid approached my sister and I the second we were alone and said "What do you guys do?" and then "Are you guys Jewish?" and "How do you know each other?" We told him we were both 25% Sicilian and from the same area but still he had no idea we were sisters. I admired his courage, though, and have to admit it was cute when he yelled across the bar to his friend "We have two Italians here!"
My friend D, his friends, my sister and I then went back to the loft to chill, drink some water, eat some sesame sticks, decompress. We tried then to meet up with Roommate et. al. at a party at our realtor's loft. Now. I am not a big fan of the realtor. In fact, I just don't like him. I don't like him because he is smarmy and exudes desparation and is a lovesick puppy towards Roommate. He thinks he is ultra cool and he is not.
Roommate told us she'd meet us but didn't appear for a while. I didn't want to go to the party without her because clearly I know the realtor and clearly he did not invite me. That's crashing. That's not cool. Our hatred for each other is mutual. We waited in the lobby of his building for a long time, while everyone except me became increasingly frustrated. Finally Roommate appeared, and we all walked up to the third floor.
There, we were asked to remove our shoes. There were hundreds of shoes in the hallway. There was a dude there who was paid to watch our shoes. Ridiculous. Realtor thinks he's so cool. We removed our shoes after throwing many fits, and then walked into the party where a dude checked our coats for us. Also ridiculous. Realtor's loft is fanastic - its called The Green Room and has green stained hardwood floors and amazing lighting and furniture and atmosphere. He'd hired three DJ's. There was a disco ball and lighting and fog. It was a rave inside. Realtor was wearing black silk pajamas and being ultra-smarmy and ultra-desperate. He has an 8x10 shag rug in his apartment and sitting on it were about 20 catatonic drugged-out hipsters doing nothing but looking angsty and tired. The party was awful, but worth the stories.
Yesterday we slept in too late again and went for breakfast and then did nothing all day but discuss what sort of guinea pig my sister should get.
Last night she was slated to take the Fung Wah bus out of New York. Last time she tried to do this, she missed the one she was scheduled for and had to take one an hour later, which was late, so it was a fiasco. This time she swore getting there half an hour early would solve all of the problems.
We got there 15 minutes early, but there were, no joke, at least 300 people waiting in line for the next bus. And no bus came. And when no bus came, I said "When is the bus coming?" and nobody knew. I said "All of these people are holding tickets - so there will be more than one bus?" and they said "No" and I said "What are they to do?" and they said "They will all get on the bus."
I said "Yes, but, they all have tickets for the 6:00 bus and there's only one bus."
They said "No, 7:00."
I said, "No, 6:00."
"6:30!!!!"
"OK, well, its 6:30 and the 6:00 bus hasn't come nor has the 6:30, so when do you suppose these buses are coming?"
"6:00!"
"No, no, see, these people all have tickets for the same bus that was supposed to come half an hour ago and we're just wondering what you intend to do."
"Just wait in line..."
"NO! But see, we're just wondering if they should make other plans to get home, because this is freaking ridiculous."
"I'll find you in line..."
"No, but really, like, is the bus actually coming at all?"
"Don't know. Ask the window."
I went to the window and said "Listen, when is the 6:00 bus going to get here?"
"How should I know?"
I nearly lost my mind.
This all took place over 45 minutes in the freezing cold in a line of 300 irritable, anxious, teeth-chattering people.
I just don't understand how they can't be communicating with the buses. Like really. How hard could that possibly be?!?!? And I don't understand why they refuse to give out any information. At least at Peter Pan, when they oversell a bus, they tell you and try to keep you calm and explain to you your options. Fung Wah apparently oversells their buses 3-fold and then expects nobody to care. Why can't they just be honest?
After trying to deal with these people I found my sitser in line and found that a group of Bostonians around her had been calling other methods of transporations, and there were no flights or Peter Pan buses that weren't sold out. I felt their pain. They decided to take the Acela, but too late. They said "We will take the 7:00!" and I said "No you won't, there's no way you're going to make it." They said "But we will take a cab!" and I said "No way. Not going to make it. Traffic."
I have so much expertise now in the public transit woes of the New York/Boston commute.
My sister jumped in a cab with three other people from Boston and they went to Penn Station without getting a refund from fucking Fung Wah.
At 7:45 she called to say she'd be taking the 8:00.
At 9:00 she called to say that the 8:00 had been delayed indefinitely in Newark due to mechanical problems.
At 9:30 she called to say she was on the train and that she'd be getting to Boston at 1:30. She said they'd joked with the cab driver who offered to take them to Boston for $400. They should have just done that.
In response to my text message "Did you get home ok?" this morning, my sister sent the following message:
3:30.
Fuck.
I feel awful. But mostly because I am afraid this experience will deter her from ever coming to NYC again.
So, dear readers, when you come to visit, do not take the Fung Wah. You get what you pay for.
I haven't done a minute of work today. Mondays suck.
She arrived late on Friday night due to stupid weather. We opted not to go out and instead sat up late catching up (my sister is even worse than me at the phone, which is hard to believe!) and drinking bad wine and eating good cheese and strawberries.
On Saturday we went for breakfast at Relish, where I had amazing onion rings. Hmmmm. We then walked aimlessly around Williamsburg (I'd hoped to cross one of the movies off my list of Seven-Movies-To-See-Before-Thansgiving but by the time we motivated to get out of the house there was no way we could fit one in) and then around the Village, where, drum roll please, I acquired purple pants! They were far too expensive and don't actually fit, but they require only a hem so there is hope!
We then ate dinner at the vegetarian restaurant in Williamsburg. Why is vegetarian food always so dry? I don't understand. We went back to the loft feeling bloated and tired, but managed to rally to go to a show with Roommate and her friend L in SoHo. Roommate has been so excited for this show and was therefore devastated when we arrived to the 8:00 show at 8:30 to find out that the box office closed at 8.
When does that ever happen? Since when do shows start on time? Like we got there and the show was going on and there wasn't even a door! We had to press a buzzer and we were like "We're here for the show?" and they were like "The Box Office Is Closed." It was all very Wizard of Oz. Then a dude appeared and said very zen-ly "Why didn't you get here at 7:30?" Why ever would we have done that? We ended up grabbing a few drinks at some lame place in the East Village, where my sister and I felt like imposters. I felt really really really lonely.
We journeyed back to Williamsburg where we met up with some of Roommate's friends and a friend of mine from work, D, and his friends. Some weird kid approached my sister and I the second we were alone and said "What do you guys do?" and then "Are you guys Jewish?" and "How do you know each other?" We told him we were both 25% Sicilian and from the same area but still he had no idea we were sisters. I admired his courage, though, and have to admit it was cute when he yelled across the bar to his friend "We have two Italians here!"
My friend D, his friends, my sister and I then went back to the loft to chill, drink some water, eat some sesame sticks, decompress. We tried then to meet up with Roommate et. al. at a party at our realtor's loft. Now. I am not a big fan of the realtor. In fact, I just don't like him. I don't like him because he is smarmy and exudes desparation and is a lovesick puppy towards Roommate. He thinks he is ultra cool and he is not.
Roommate told us she'd meet us but didn't appear for a while. I didn't want to go to the party without her because clearly I know the realtor and clearly he did not invite me. That's crashing. That's not cool. Our hatred for each other is mutual. We waited in the lobby of his building for a long time, while everyone except me became increasingly frustrated. Finally Roommate appeared, and we all walked up to the third floor.
There, we were asked to remove our shoes. There were hundreds of shoes in the hallway. There was a dude there who was paid to watch our shoes. Ridiculous. Realtor thinks he's so cool. We removed our shoes after throwing many fits, and then walked into the party where a dude checked our coats for us. Also ridiculous. Realtor's loft is fanastic - its called The Green Room and has green stained hardwood floors and amazing lighting and furniture and atmosphere. He'd hired three DJ's. There was a disco ball and lighting and fog. It was a rave inside. Realtor was wearing black silk pajamas and being ultra-smarmy and ultra-desperate. He has an 8x10 shag rug in his apartment and sitting on it were about 20 catatonic drugged-out hipsters doing nothing but looking angsty and tired. The party was awful, but worth the stories.
Yesterday we slept in too late again and went for breakfast and then did nothing all day but discuss what sort of guinea pig my sister should get.
Last night she was slated to take the Fung Wah bus out of New York. Last time she tried to do this, she missed the one she was scheduled for and had to take one an hour later, which was late, so it was a fiasco. This time she swore getting there half an hour early would solve all of the problems.
We got there 15 minutes early, but there were, no joke, at least 300 people waiting in line for the next bus. And no bus came. And when no bus came, I said "When is the bus coming?" and nobody knew. I said "All of these people are holding tickets - so there will be more than one bus?" and they said "No" and I said "What are they to do?" and they said "They will all get on the bus."
I said "Yes, but, they all have tickets for the 6:00 bus and there's only one bus."
They said "No, 7:00."
I said, "No, 6:00."
"6:30!!!!"
"OK, well, its 6:30 and the 6:00 bus hasn't come nor has the 6:30, so when do you suppose these buses are coming?"
"6:00!"
"No, no, see, these people all have tickets for the same bus that was supposed to come half an hour ago and we're just wondering what you intend to do."
"Just wait in line..."
"NO! But see, we're just wondering if they should make other plans to get home, because this is freaking ridiculous."
"I'll find you in line..."
"No, but really, like, is the bus actually coming at all?"
"Don't know. Ask the window."
I went to the window and said "Listen, when is the 6:00 bus going to get here?"
"How should I know?"
I nearly lost my mind.
This all took place over 45 minutes in the freezing cold in a line of 300 irritable, anxious, teeth-chattering people.
I just don't understand how they can't be communicating with the buses. Like really. How hard could that possibly be?!?!? And I don't understand why they refuse to give out any information. At least at Peter Pan, when they oversell a bus, they tell you and try to keep you calm and explain to you your options. Fung Wah apparently oversells their buses 3-fold and then expects nobody to care. Why can't they just be honest?
After trying to deal with these people I found my sitser in line and found that a group of Bostonians around her had been calling other methods of transporations, and there were no flights or Peter Pan buses that weren't sold out. I felt their pain. They decided to take the Acela, but too late. They said "We will take the 7:00!" and I said "No you won't, there's no way you're going to make it." They said "But we will take a cab!" and I said "No way. Not going to make it. Traffic."
I have so much expertise now in the public transit woes of the New York/Boston commute.
My sister jumped in a cab with three other people from Boston and they went to Penn Station without getting a refund from fucking Fung Wah.
At 7:45 she called to say she'd be taking the 8:00.
At 9:00 she called to say that the 8:00 had been delayed indefinitely in Newark due to mechanical problems.
At 9:30 she called to say she was on the train and that she'd be getting to Boston at 1:30. She said they'd joked with the cab driver who offered to take them to Boston for $400. They should have just done that.
In response to my text message "Did you get home ok?" this morning, my sister sent the following message:
3:30.
Fuck.
I feel awful. But mostly because I am afraid this experience will deter her from ever coming to NYC again.
So, dear readers, when you come to visit, do not take the Fung Wah. You get what you pay for.
I haven't done a minute of work today. Mondays suck.
Friday, November 12, 2004
French Toast
I don't know if there's anyone out there reading anymore.
If you are, you will be pleased to know that I had French Toast for lunch. French Toast, however, is not enough to kill a wicked bad mood. I thought it would, but it didn't.
It's been the worst science day ever. I could go on about radioactivity and broken cell harvesters and my missing boss and the girl who ran my blot through with my film, but I'll just say I'm glad its the weekend and next week is going to suck. And I was in a vile mood before any of this even happened.
My sister is coming this weekend, just in time. She will be enough to kill a wicked bad mood.
Last night I went out for drinks with the work folks. Their peer pressure is so effective. I shouldn't have. I haven't been this tired ever.
One interesting thing about last night: there is a girl with whom I work who is a liberal. We are all, obviously, liberals in New York City. So we're talking about Bush being a moron (as we always do) and JesusLand and I said "We really need to have another Bill Clinton." I was going on about charisma and intelligence and the
Al Gore Robot Quotient etc., and this girl said "Yeah, but Bill Clinton with more moral integrity."
Whoa.
It was suddenly 1998 and there we were screaming about Monica Lewinsky and blow jobs and sex in the office and whether cheating on your wife means you are also lying to the country. I felt sort of bad for her because it was 10:1, but really. Her bad for bringing that up now.
It's 5:15. Only 45... more... minutes....
If you are, you will be pleased to know that I had French Toast for lunch. French Toast, however, is not enough to kill a wicked bad mood. I thought it would, but it didn't.
It's been the worst science day ever. I could go on about radioactivity and broken cell harvesters and my missing boss and the girl who ran my blot through with my film, but I'll just say I'm glad its the weekend and next week is going to suck. And I was in a vile mood before any of this even happened.
My sister is coming this weekend, just in time. She will be enough to kill a wicked bad mood.
Last night I went out for drinks with the work folks. Their peer pressure is so effective. I shouldn't have. I haven't been this tired ever.
One interesting thing about last night: there is a girl with whom I work who is a liberal. We are all, obviously, liberals in New York City. So we're talking about Bush being a moron (as we always do) and JesusLand and I said "We really need to have another Bill Clinton." I was going on about charisma and intelligence and the
Al Gore Robot Quotient etc., and this girl said "Yeah, but Bill Clinton with more moral integrity."
Whoa.
It was suddenly 1998 and there we were screaming about Monica Lewinsky and blow jobs and sex in the office and whether cheating on your wife means you are also lying to the country. I felt sort of bad for her because it was 10:1, but really. Her bad for bringing that up now.
It's 5:15. Only 45... more... minutes....
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Tired
So. Very. Tired.
I got into work at nearly 8 am on Tuesday and Wednesday. Back in the day I used to get up at 8:45.
And then I left well after ten hours of work on Tuesday, and yesterday was 10 hours.
One of the many crazy things about this place is that people get alarmed if they see you after 6pm. Like "Whoa - do people know you're here? Make sure people know you're here so you don't get locked in! What are you doing here?" I remember the days of feeling guilty about leaving before 6pm.
And then I didn't get home until after midnight both nights.
I'm just not used to this anymore. Because I am an old lady.
The people in the bay, right now, are talking about cupcakes.
I intended to go for drinks tonight with Intimate Apparel, but I am a zombie and would be (and have) no fun. We have postponed until Tuesday. Which is hilarious, because we've been trying to set this up since the Red Sox beat the Yankees. Busy busy busy.
Oh! But now the people in my bay are talking about shoes! Which is acceptable.
Last night after class I went out for dinner with new friend E. It was nice. It was the first time I've hung out with someone non-work-related or non-past since moving to NYC. He said "Have you gotten to the point where you're like 'Where the fuck am I?'" which was fabulous, because I hit that point on Friday night when I nearly stood up in the bar and yelled "Where the fuck am I? Who are you people? What have I done!??!" It was nice to learn that somebody understood that. The person I was with on Friday night didn't understand the surreal quotient of such a situation, so I didn't get to stand up and yell those things. Darn him for being a more adjusted and less melodramatic person than I am. And darn him for having a job where he gets to discuss "villains." Again, jealous.
Last night E also said "I have a blog, and its weird because people don't call you as much when you have a blog because they think they know everything about you. And then when they do talk to you, they're like 'Oh, man, it was crazy when you did X' because they read about it, or they'll say 'Yeah, I know already, I read about it on your blog.'"
Preach on.
I got into work at nearly 8 am on Tuesday and Wednesday. Back in the day I used to get up at 8:45.
And then I left well after ten hours of work on Tuesday, and yesterday was 10 hours.
One of the many crazy things about this place is that people get alarmed if they see you after 6pm. Like "Whoa - do people know you're here? Make sure people know you're here so you don't get locked in! What are you doing here?" I remember the days of feeling guilty about leaving before 6pm.
And then I didn't get home until after midnight both nights.
I'm just not used to this anymore. Because I am an old lady.
The people in the bay, right now, are talking about cupcakes.
I intended to go for drinks tonight with Intimate Apparel, but I am a zombie and would be (and have) no fun. We have postponed until Tuesday. Which is hilarious, because we've been trying to set this up since the Red Sox beat the Yankees. Busy busy busy.
Oh! But now the people in my bay are talking about shoes! Which is acceptable.
Last night after class I went out for dinner with new friend E. It was nice. It was the first time I've hung out with someone non-work-related or non-past since moving to NYC. He said "Have you gotten to the point where you're like 'Where the fuck am I?'" which was fabulous, because I hit that point on Friday night when I nearly stood up in the bar and yelled "Where the fuck am I? Who are you people? What have I done!??!" It was nice to learn that somebody understood that. The person I was with on Friday night didn't understand the surreal quotient of such a situation, so I didn't get to stand up and yell those things. Darn him for being a more adjusted and less melodramatic person than I am. And darn him for having a job where he gets to discuss "villains." Again, jealous.
Last night E also said "I have a blog, and its weird because people don't call you as much when you have a blog because they think they know everything about you. And then when they do talk to you, they're like 'Oh, man, it was crazy when you did X' because they read about it, or they'll say 'Yeah, I know already, I read about it on your blog.'"
Preach on.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Wednesday
I had a dream last night in which I got my hair dyed pink. It was adorable. It matched my coat. I was very cute and very Gwen. I am wondering if you can bleach your hair, then dye it black twice, then bleach it again and then dye it pink without your hair falling out.
Last night Roommate and I went to see Modest Mouse at Radio City Music Hall.
Roommate said "It's weird that Modest Mouse is at Radio City Music Hall."
I said "It is weird that we are at Radio City Music Hall." Because it was. It was very festive and holiday-ish and bizarre and NY. Roommate said that she once saw the Rockettes Christmas Spectacular Whatever and was mortified first by a nativity scene and then by a wise man in said nativity scene whose robe was decorated with the American flag. Sadly we didn't see any rockettes or reindeer or Jesuses or anything.
My review: crisp. Amazing live band. Elegantly and perfectly executed. Totally wrong venu, though, and the new album must be really bad. I only recognized two songs (which were old and therefore good) and the rest I was either lukewarm about or hated. Roommate said "Man, I know they have a lot of mellow shit, but I really wish they rocked more" whereas I was thinking "Man, I know they have a lot of rock shit, but I wish they played more of the moody and chill stuff." Which suggests to me that the new album is an intermediate and therefore inferior hybrid of old stuff. The lead singer - I think his name is Isaac? - was a spazz, though, and the definition of rock star.
Also.
I must be at that age where I get annoyed with people very easily. When R and I went to see Aimee Mann, there was this weird phenomenon at the show - people making out. Now, people making out at a show isn't weird unto itself - but at Aimee Mann? That music makes you want to slit your wrists, be introverted, sad, alone, etc. Not make out. It is not make out music.
Last night, there was a makeout session going on in front of us between two people who had to have been from New Jersey. They were not from New York. No way. The girl had atrocious hair and really big glasses and no sense of style. The dude had a mullet and too-tight jeans. When they weren't making out, the boyfriend was tapping the girl's ass to the beat. And not light tapping - like slapping her ass. Roommate claims that at one point the chick yelled "You are so coooool!" to the band. It would have been entertaining to make fun of them if this hadn't been constant, but an hour plus of this is unbearable.
Also at the show were many dizzy bitches who were dancing frenetically for no good reason. Hippies. Yeah.
And also at the show were many pompous music dicks, such as the dude behind me who was saying things like "Isaac's placement on the stage is always so interesting - see - he tends to position himself on the right which suggests blah blah fru fru shi shi wah wah..." Ugh.
One other thing: this past Friday I went for a drink with a friend. During the conversation, he said "I'm really excited about the villian in our next movie... he's blah blah blah." I immediately interrupted him and said "Did you just say 'villain?'" I don't know what it was that struck me about the word villain - I guess its that its a fabulous and loaded word that you don't get to use in every day conversation, unless, of course, you are my friend and you have the sort of job that involves "villians." (Me = JEALOUS)
I want to use the word "villain" now, so here you go:
Damn you, Al Gore, for creating this internet!!!
The internet has really left us all quite vulnerable to slipping into psychotic behavior really easily. Within the last week, three people (myself included) have become aware of certain information we were not meant to know through the internet.
As my fabulous friend R said yesterday "Back in the day, you had to be clever about these things - lipstick on the collar, a found earring - but now?!?! NO! It's all out there!"
And it is. There's no subtlety. There's no questions. We can all be stalkers now and its so damn easy!
In my case, I wasn't stalking. It was a total mistake. Totally blindsided.
The other cases involved stalking. As in "He's been online for hours and he's ignoring my emails!" or "You will not BELIEVE what he posted on MySpace!" or "I am going to fucking KILL MY EX. The internet is EVIL!" or "Why is he online? What is he doing?!"
Back in the day you went out with a guy and then you talked on the phone a few days later. Or maybe the next day. I don't know. I suck at dating. But now, its like you go on a date and then you ask yourself "Are they still dating? What is the status of their profile? When was the last time they were online? Why are they online? What are they doing!??!?! Are they still other profiles?" Angst, psychotic behavior, stalking.
People are driving themselves crazy.
Or, as another friend pointed out, internet dating is like alcoholism. As soon as things get bad with life or the relationship you're in, you post your profile (or, to carry on the analogy, hit the bottle, off the wagon, etc.) or email someone to make yourself feel better. And then all hell breaks loose, because your ex sees you, or your current significant other sees you, or whatever else.
Nonsense.
It was so much easier when we didn't have the ability to see what people were doing every second of the day.
Then again, some of us just blatantly expose ourselves every second of the day by having a blog, which is fine. ;)
Last night Roommate and I went to see Modest Mouse at Radio City Music Hall.
Roommate said "It's weird that Modest Mouse is at Radio City Music Hall."
I said "It is weird that we are at Radio City Music Hall." Because it was. It was very festive and holiday-ish and bizarre and NY. Roommate said that she once saw the Rockettes Christmas Spectacular Whatever and was mortified first by a nativity scene and then by a wise man in said nativity scene whose robe was decorated with the American flag. Sadly we didn't see any rockettes or reindeer or Jesuses or anything.
My review: crisp. Amazing live band. Elegantly and perfectly executed. Totally wrong venu, though, and the new album must be really bad. I only recognized two songs (which were old and therefore good) and the rest I was either lukewarm about or hated. Roommate said "Man, I know they have a lot of mellow shit, but I really wish they rocked more" whereas I was thinking "Man, I know they have a lot of rock shit, but I wish they played more of the moody and chill stuff." Which suggests to me that the new album is an intermediate and therefore inferior hybrid of old stuff. The lead singer - I think his name is Isaac? - was a spazz, though, and the definition of rock star.
Also.
I must be at that age where I get annoyed with people very easily. When R and I went to see Aimee Mann, there was this weird phenomenon at the show - people making out. Now, people making out at a show isn't weird unto itself - but at Aimee Mann? That music makes you want to slit your wrists, be introverted, sad, alone, etc. Not make out. It is not make out music.
Last night, there was a makeout session going on in front of us between two people who had to have been from New Jersey. They were not from New York. No way. The girl had atrocious hair and really big glasses and no sense of style. The dude had a mullet and too-tight jeans. When they weren't making out, the boyfriend was tapping the girl's ass to the beat. And not light tapping - like slapping her ass. Roommate claims that at one point the chick yelled "You are so coooool!" to the band. It would have been entertaining to make fun of them if this hadn't been constant, but an hour plus of this is unbearable.
Also at the show were many dizzy bitches who were dancing frenetically for no good reason. Hippies. Yeah.
And also at the show were many pompous music dicks, such as the dude behind me who was saying things like "Isaac's placement on the stage is always so interesting - see - he tends to position himself on the right which suggests blah blah fru fru shi shi wah wah..." Ugh.
One other thing: this past Friday I went for a drink with a friend. During the conversation, he said "I'm really excited about the villian in our next movie... he's blah blah blah." I immediately interrupted him and said "Did you just say 'villain?'" I don't know what it was that struck me about the word villain - I guess its that its a fabulous and loaded word that you don't get to use in every day conversation, unless, of course, you are my friend and you have the sort of job that involves "villians." (Me = JEALOUS)
I want to use the word "villain" now, so here you go:
SuperVillain of the Week = THE INTERNET
Damn you, Al Gore, for creating this internet!!!
The internet has really left us all quite vulnerable to slipping into psychotic behavior really easily. Within the last week, three people (myself included) have become aware of certain information we were not meant to know through the internet.
As my fabulous friend R said yesterday "Back in the day, you had to be clever about these things - lipstick on the collar, a found earring - but now?!?! NO! It's all out there!"
And it is. There's no subtlety. There's no questions. We can all be stalkers now and its so damn easy!
In my case, I wasn't stalking. It was a total mistake. Totally blindsided.
The other cases involved stalking. As in "He's been online for hours and he's ignoring my emails!" or "You will not BELIEVE what he posted on MySpace!" or "I am going to fucking KILL MY EX. The internet is EVIL!" or "Why is he online? What is he doing?!"
Back in the day you went out with a guy and then you talked on the phone a few days later. Or maybe the next day. I don't know. I suck at dating. But now, its like you go on a date and then you ask yourself "Are they still dating? What is the status of their profile? When was the last time they were online? Why are they online? What are they doing!??!?! Are they still other profiles?" Angst, psychotic behavior, stalking.
People are driving themselves crazy.
Or, as another friend pointed out, internet dating is like alcoholism. As soon as things get bad with life or the relationship you're in, you post your profile (or, to carry on the analogy, hit the bottle, off the wagon, etc.) or email someone to make yourself feel better. And then all hell breaks loose, because your ex sees you, or your current significant other sees you, or whatever else.
Nonsense.
It was so much easier when we didn't have the ability to see what people were doing every second of the day.
Then again, some of us just blatantly expose ourselves every second of the day by having a blog, which is fine. ;)
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
I'm Fine
I just want you all to know that I will be fine. Just fine! I just need a day to process this. I have to go over 10 years of nonsense and deal with it for the first time ever and then be done with it.
I am sad but I'll live. Thanks to all of you!!!!
Also.
The people in my bay talk about one of three things: food, kids, or dogs.
Right now it is dogs. There is all sorts of dog talk and giggling. I am having a hard time concentrating today for obvious reasons so I've been sitting here staring at a pile of work that needs to be done while listening to this. I don't understand. Dogs! Hee heeee!!!!!!
This, however, is acceptable in light of what was overheard yesterday in my bay: "I brought in a book about breast feeding for you!"
Hee heeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am sad but I'll live. Thanks to all of you!!!!
Also.
The people in my bay talk about one of three things: food, kids, or dogs.
Right now it is dogs. There is all sorts of dog talk and giggling. I am having a hard time concentrating today for obvious reasons so I've been sitting here staring at a pile of work that needs to be done while listening to this. I don't understand. Dogs! Hee heeee!!!!!!
This, however, is acceptable in light of what was overheard yesterday in my bay: "I brought in a book about breast feeding for you!"
Hee heeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The Best Thing In the World Is....
Having amazing girlfriends who will bash men with you.
I adore you all.
I adore you all.
Tuesday (Caution: Personal Content; Melodrama; Read at Your Own Risk)
I posted a long melodramatic and entirely too personal entry yesterday regarding my horrible weekend. I didn't publish it because it was too personal and should therefore remain so.
This being said, I am so upset right now I might just publish it anyway, and if I do, I'll tell you not to read it. I just need to do it for myself, because its going to take me a while to write a song good enough to express how this feels.
For now, dear readers, I will leave you with this entirely too personal blog.
I guess its just easy to do things that are familiar, even if the familiar things are bad. At least they're comfortable. When you're new to a place and unsettled, you'll find solace in the familiar, even if the familiar has the potential to rip your heart out and remind you of a person you used to be and who you're desperately trying not to be anymore. At least, though, its you and not some confused bizarre you with no identity because you are anonymous in NYC.
I'm all melodrama right now. I just lost a ten-year-friendship, probably the most important friendship I've ever had with anyone, on a Tuesday afternoon. Man. Instead of thinking about how pissed I am, I am thinking about how he brought me a Hershey Bar with Almonds when I was staying with my parents after things ended with The Sandwich Who Shall Not Be Named and I wasn't eating. I am thinking about how I never felt unsafe with him. I am thinking about how, one time when he was drunk, I asked him if he'd ever love me again and the perfect slurred response he gave.
I am thinking about how I called my mother last night to tell her what happened. I said, trying not to cry, "Ma - I need your advice - this is what happened - Favorite Ex-Boyfriend came to visit this weekend..."
She gasped and then sighed on the other end of the line, because I know how she feels about him and about us and the gasp betrayed all of the optimism she tries so hard to hide.
I had to say "No, actually..." and then told her everything about us. About how this very thing happened before and how I flipped out and how that time I was 25 years old and how I am (and we are) a stupid ridiculous pathetic pattern.
She was so disappointed. My mother is the only person who has ever encouraged me to continue having any sort of relationship with him (friendship or otherwise) because she adores him, and because she, like me, is far too patient with people, especially when people are not being nice to her.
I inherited my delusions from my mother.
And its awesome, because I just received a nonchalant email from him, my response to which has confirmed that I am insane and stupid and self-loathing, because all I can do is be delusional and miss the candy-bar-bringing memory of him.
This being said, I am so upset right now I might just publish it anyway, and if I do, I'll tell you not to read it. I just need to do it for myself, because its going to take me a while to write a song good enough to express how this feels.
For now, dear readers, I will leave you with this entirely too personal blog.
I guess its just easy to do things that are familiar, even if the familiar things are bad. At least they're comfortable. When you're new to a place and unsettled, you'll find solace in the familiar, even if the familiar has the potential to rip your heart out and remind you of a person you used to be and who you're desperately trying not to be anymore. At least, though, its you and not some confused bizarre you with no identity because you are anonymous in NYC.
I'm all melodrama right now. I just lost a ten-year-friendship, probably the most important friendship I've ever had with anyone, on a Tuesday afternoon. Man. Instead of thinking about how pissed I am, I am thinking about how he brought me a Hershey Bar with Almonds when I was staying with my parents after things ended with The Sandwich Who Shall Not Be Named and I wasn't eating. I am thinking about how I never felt unsafe with him. I am thinking about how, one time when he was drunk, I asked him if he'd ever love me again and the perfect slurred response he gave.
I am thinking about how I called my mother last night to tell her what happened. I said, trying not to cry, "Ma - I need your advice - this is what happened - Favorite Ex-Boyfriend came to visit this weekend..."
She gasped and then sighed on the other end of the line, because I know how she feels about him and about us and the gasp betrayed all of the optimism she tries so hard to hide.
I had to say "No, actually..." and then told her everything about us. About how this very thing happened before and how I flipped out and how that time I was 25 years old and how I am (and we are) a stupid ridiculous pathetic pattern.
She was so disappointed. My mother is the only person who has ever encouraged me to continue having any sort of relationship with him (friendship or otherwise) because she adores him, and because she, like me, is far too patient with people, especially when people are not being nice to her.
I inherited my delusions from my mother.
And its awesome, because I just received a nonchalant email from him, my response to which has confirmed that I am insane and stupid and self-loathing, because all I can do is be delusional and miss the candy-bar-bringing memory of him.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
10 Items from Today
Stuff that's on my mind right now:
1. It is cool when parking is not allowed around your building because Paramount is filming a movie there.
2. It is not cool when there is grafitti in your neighborhood that says "Fuck You, Bush-haters!"
3. It is also not cool when you get stuck in the elevator when you are already running late for work. As those of you who have visited my apartment building know, the elevator situation is, for lack of a better word, treacherous. For those of you who don't know, basically its an old, rickety elevator that opens and closes really fast, and will basically close on you if you're in its way. I only live on the third floor, so there's really no reason for me to take the elevator, other than pure laziness about walking and also about taking my keys out to get from the stairwell into the apartment complex. This morning I got into the elevator without a problem and took it
down to the first floor. It started to open. It opened about three inches and then stopped. I stood there for a moment, waiting, but nothing happened. I pressed the "open" button and nothing happened. I pressed the "close" button and still nothing happened. I pressed all the buttons and still nothing. I tried to pry the door open and it wouldn't budge. I pressed more buttons. Kicked the door. Kicked the inside of the elevator. Nothing. Nothing other than panic. I thought "Well, I could try to squeeze out, but I probably won't make it, because it's only three inches and my body width is more than that. Plus, I will have to empty out the contents of my bag to squeeze it through." I thought more about squeezing, and decided it was a decent option. Then I thought "But what if I get stuck? Or worse, what if I get stuck and then the elevator decides to move? I would actually die if that happens, because I know that this elevator has no concern for the people who are in its way." Then I thought "Well, I could press the alarm, but then what if I could have squeezed through? Whoever rescues me will think I am a tool for having them rescue me when I could have very easily escaped." Then I thought "I should just squeeze - I think I can make it - what's the worse that will happen? I'll get a little elevator crud on my fabulous pink coat or die. No big deal." So I threw my bag out through the crack and barely squeezed through. Barely squeezed through to the point that when I was out my body shot across the hallway because I was stuck. Luckily nobody was there to see this. But, as Roommate points out, there are cameras everywhere in our building so somebody is going to watch this and be very entertained.
4. So, the moral of the story is, another good thing about being small is being able to squeeze through stuck elevator doors without too much trauma. This is just about the only thing that is good about B cups. Word.
5. The other thing that's bizarre is just elevators in general. And then getting stuck in them. And how scary it is. And how people don't know what to do when people are stuck in a box that's going nowhere. My boss was just telling me about this time when he was stuck in an elevator for an hour and a half by himself with his samples on ice. He was stuck between floors, and people eventually came to rescue him but they were dumbfounded as to how to get him out of the box. It's really bizarre when you think about it. Like are you freaking out because you're claustrophobic or because you can't get where you're going or because you're helpless or because you're stuck? Being literally stuck (rather than metaphorically) is a terrible, terrible thing.
6. Last night on the train I made eye contact with this fella who was wearing headphones. He glanced down at my bag. I was confused. Then I looked down and realized he was looking at my Kerry/Edwards button. I looked back at him, and we both sighed. I very dramatically removed the button. He nodded in concession. When I got off the train, I dramatically stomped my feet and threw the button into the trash on Bedford.
7. Also last night I made a friend! I am thrilled. The boy on whom I have a friendship crush from my class, E, said "We should hang out some time." We exchanged numbers. I intend to make E my new movie buddy, as he is a film student at Columbia.
8. Speaking of class, last night we talked about American Splendor. There's this girl in the class who, when we were reading Fantastic Four said, in reference to The Thing, "Why doesn't he just get over things?" (this should be said in a thick, thick, thick New Jersey accent) This was distressing, because really, how and why would you ever get over being The Thing? It ain't easy to look like that and to be viewed and feared as a monster by the world. It is completely appropriate for Ben Grimm to experience angst regarding being turned into The Thing. Last night the conversation turned to Harvey Pekar, who I adore, because in millions of ways I identify with him (as I indentify with The Thing). We were drawing parallels between Harvey and The Thing, and the same girl said "I guess I just feel the same way - like why doesn't he just get over things and just go to therapy?" I got all upset and yelled "Dude, the book is his therapy!" The professor was like "Yes, yes!" Yes! I bring this up, though, because the girl said "I think people read or watch movies for two different reasons - total escapism or to identify with characters. I'm an escapist." Nothing wrong with that. But. Why is she so disgruntled when things are honest or have depth? And why do I identify with all of these tragic and sad characters? It is most likely a fact that this girl listens to Jessica Simpson and not emo pop. It was really everything I could do to be like "Dude, I have a blog that is basically my own American Splendor." The whole thing with Harvey Pekar (and you know this is you've seen the movie) is that he is a clerk by day in a dead end job who writes his comics to feel like he's doing something meaningful, to create art, to justify his stupid job that leaves him time to pursue other intellectual and creative endeavors. American Splendor is autobiography, but it's autobiography of the mundane. It's everyman. It's average. It's the search for recognition in your normal average boring life. It's rich in metaphors and struggle, it's emotional and charged, but still manages to be real. Lovely and real. Man's battle against a uneventful weekend. Love it. I actually wrote a song two weeks ago that I need to work on this weekend, about why it sucks when people say they'll call and then don't. While I was recording it I took a break from it to read American Splendor, and encountered a story in which Harvey Pekar rants for about 6 pages about the same phenomenon. He did it in words and pictures, I did it in words and music. Whenever I get that song up here I'll copy over the excerpt. The man is a genius, and its genius that he's finally acknowledged.
9. What would be awesome would be a course entitled "Blog as Literature" where you read people's blogs and analyze them and try to understand the deeper meaning.
10. Am trying to plan my weekend but have no idea what's going on because most people don't compulsively plan like I do. I want to see everyone, do everything, but can't plan because who knows what everyone is doing? They don't, because they don't compulsively plan.
1. It is cool when parking is not allowed around your building because Paramount is filming a movie there.
2. It is not cool when there is grafitti in your neighborhood that says "Fuck You, Bush-haters!"
3. It is also not cool when you get stuck in the elevator when you are already running late for work. As those of you who have visited my apartment building know, the elevator situation is, for lack of a better word, treacherous. For those of you who don't know, basically its an old, rickety elevator that opens and closes really fast, and will basically close on you if you're in its way. I only live on the third floor, so there's really no reason for me to take the elevator, other than pure laziness about walking and also about taking my keys out to get from the stairwell into the apartment complex. This morning I got into the elevator without a problem and took it
down to the first floor. It started to open. It opened about three inches and then stopped. I stood there for a moment, waiting, but nothing happened. I pressed the "open" button and nothing happened. I pressed the "close" button and still nothing happened. I pressed all the buttons and still nothing. I tried to pry the door open and it wouldn't budge. I pressed more buttons. Kicked the door. Kicked the inside of the elevator. Nothing. Nothing other than panic. I thought "Well, I could try to squeeze out, but I probably won't make it, because it's only three inches and my body width is more than that. Plus, I will have to empty out the contents of my bag to squeeze it through." I thought more about squeezing, and decided it was a decent option. Then I thought "But what if I get stuck? Or worse, what if I get stuck and then the elevator decides to move? I would actually die if that happens, because I know that this elevator has no concern for the people who are in its way." Then I thought "Well, I could press the alarm, but then what if I could have squeezed through? Whoever rescues me will think I am a tool for having them rescue me when I could have very easily escaped." Then I thought "I should just squeeze - I think I can make it - what's the worse that will happen? I'll get a little elevator crud on my fabulous pink coat or die. No big deal." So I threw my bag out through the crack and barely squeezed through. Barely squeezed through to the point that when I was out my body shot across the hallway because I was stuck. Luckily nobody was there to see this. But, as Roommate points out, there are cameras everywhere in our building so somebody is going to watch this and be very entertained.
4. So, the moral of the story is, another good thing about being small is being able to squeeze through stuck elevator doors without too much trauma. This is just about the only thing that is good about B cups. Word.
5. The other thing that's bizarre is just elevators in general. And then getting stuck in them. And how scary it is. And how people don't know what to do when people are stuck in a box that's going nowhere. My boss was just telling me about this time when he was stuck in an elevator for an hour and a half by himself with his samples on ice. He was stuck between floors, and people eventually came to rescue him but they were dumbfounded as to how to get him out of the box. It's really bizarre when you think about it. Like are you freaking out because you're claustrophobic or because you can't get where you're going or because you're helpless or because you're stuck? Being literally stuck (rather than metaphorically) is a terrible, terrible thing.
6. Last night on the train I made eye contact with this fella who was wearing headphones. He glanced down at my bag. I was confused. Then I looked down and realized he was looking at my Kerry/Edwards button. I looked back at him, and we both sighed. I very dramatically removed the button. He nodded in concession. When I got off the train, I dramatically stomped my feet and threw the button into the trash on Bedford.
7. Also last night I made a friend! I am thrilled. The boy on whom I have a friendship crush from my class, E, said "We should hang out some time." We exchanged numbers. I intend to make E my new movie buddy, as he is a film student at Columbia.
8. Speaking of class, last night we talked about American Splendor. There's this girl in the class who, when we were reading Fantastic Four said, in reference to The Thing, "Why doesn't he just get over things?" (this should be said in a thick, thick, thick New Jersey accent) This was distressing, because really, how and why would you ever get over being The Thing? It ain't easy to look like that and to be viewed and feared as a monster by the world. It is completely appropriate for Ben Grimm to experience angst regarding being turned into The Thing. Last night the conversation turned to Harvey Pekar, who I adore, because in millions of ways I identify with him (as I indentify with The Thing). We were drawing parallels between Harvey and The Thing, and the same girl said "I guess I just feel the same way - like why doesn't he just get over things and just go to therapy?" I got all upset and yelled "Dude, the book is his therapy!" The professor was like "Yes, yes!" Yes! I bring this up, though, because the girl said "I think people read or watch movies for two different reasons - total escapism or to identify with characters. I'm an escapist." Nothing wrong with that. But. Why is she so disgruntled when things are honest or have depth? And why do I identify with all of these tragic and sad characters? It is most likely a fact that this girl listens to Jessica Simpson and not emo pop. It was really everything I could do to be like "Dude, I have a blog that is basically my own American Splendor." The whole thing with Harvey Pekar (and you know this is you've seen the movie) is that he is a clerk by day in a dead end job who writes his comics to feel like he's doing something meaningful, to create art, to justify his stupid job that leaves him time to pursue other intellectual and creative endeavors. American Splendor is autobiography, but it's autobiography of the mundane. It's everyman. It's average. It's the search for recognition in your normal average boring life. It's rich in metaphors and struggle, it's emotional and charged, but still manages to be real. Lovely and real. Man's battle against a uneventful weekend. Love it. I actually wrote a song two weeks ago that I need to work on this weekend, about why it sucks when people say they'll call and then don't. While I was recording it I took a break from it to read American Splendor, and encountered a story in which Harvey Pekar rants for about 6 pages about the same phenomenon. He did it in words and pictures, I did it in words and music. Whenever I get that song up here I'll copy over the excerpt. The man is a genius, and its genius that he's finally acknowledged.
9. What would be awesome would be a course entitled "Blog as Literature" where you read people's blogs and analyze them and try to understand the deeper meaning.
10. Am trying to plan my weekend but have no idea what's going on because most people don't compulsively plan like I do. I want to see everyone, do everything, but can't plan because who knows what everyone is doing? They don't, because they don't compulsively plan.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Stupid Non-Omen
In one hour Kerry's concession speech will occur.
This is a sad, sad, sad day.
I seriously cannot believe that people think that this freaking Bush regime is acceptable. War. Horrible economy. Destruction of the environment.
Another four years of this. Unacceptable.
Man.
Freaking south and middle.
Watching the states on the map turn red last night was almost more stressful than watching Game 7 of the Sox/Yankees series two weeks ago at this time.
I ask you all to read (and listen to) my blog entry from August 6, 2004. I still feel that way. If only Clinton could just run for eternity! He has enough charisma (and a wonderful track record, Monica aside, but who really cares? he is a great leader and led us to nothing but prosperity) to be elected for the rest of time.
I went from being nervous nervous nervous nervous to being sad sad sad sad sad sad.
The only thing that could make me happy today is to be signed to Matador. LBF sent me an email that said I should be a famous rock star, and I agree. Then I could use my fame and fortune to Rock the Vote.
Sad sad sad sad sad.
That is all.
This is a sad, sad, sad day.
I seriously cannot believe that people think that this freaking Bush regime is acceptable. War. Horrible economy. Destruction of the environment.
Another four years of this. Unacceptable.
Man.
Freaking south and middle.
Watching the states on the map turn red last night was almost more stressful than watching Game 7 of the Sox/Yankees series two weeks ago at this time.
I ask you all to read (and listen to) my blog entry from August 6, 2004. I still feel that way. If only Clinton could just run for eternity! He has enough charisma (and a wonderful track record, Monica aside, but who really cares? he is a great leader and led us to nothing but prosperity) to be elected for the rest of time.
I went from being nervous nervous nervous nervous to being sad sad sad sad sad sad.
The only thing that could make me happy today is to be signed to Matador. LBF sent me an email that said I should be a famous rock star, and I agree. Then I could use my fame and fortune to Rock the Vote.
Sad sad sad sad sad.
That is all.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Omen
This morning I saw a blonde middle aged woman on the train who looked just like John Kerry.
I am hoping this is a sign of good things to come tonight.
I am hoping this is a sign of good things to come tonight.
Monday, November 01, 2004
The Long Review of the Weekend - Part 2
I got up way too early on Saturday to meet M and A for the parade. We ended up getting a sweet spot outside Charles MGH, only about three people deep. We saw a dude dressed as Where's Waldo, which I think is the best idea ever. When I next go to a big crowd scene, I am so dressing as Where's Waldo. Although now that I've written this, I won't be able to get away with saying it was my idea. Oh well. Nevertheless, we waited for a couple hours and then got to see the players go by for about two seconds. It was still wonderful. We got some nice photos. And it was good to be amongst fans. And happiness. 100% bliss. It was interesting to see heroes that close. I will post some photos when I am not sick and can function.
After the parade I waited in line with 100 other people for an Anna's burrito (woo hoo!) and then briefly hung out with former roommate J before (and after) taking a nap. It was great to see him, and again I felt like I was at home.
I went to my sister's Halloween party with M and A that night. It was weird for us because we are 28 (nearly29) and my sister is newly 22. It was a college party. I know you all think I am far too fixated on age, so I'll just say this once. We were old.
The old folks stayed in the area outside the bathroom and didn't mingle.
My sister came bopping through at one point and said "Why are you guys out here? You should dance."
I said "No, Sister, we're old."
"You're not old."
"Yes, we are. We're the oldest people here."
"No you're not."
"Who's older than us?"
"Leah, there are married people here." She said married people all hushed as though these people were diseased, like the way people used to be afraid to say cancer and got all quiet and didn't really know how to say it but everyone knew exactly what was going on. At least this is what I'm told by people who lived in the era when people wouldn't say cancer.
M and A looked at each other. "We're married!" M said, not quite offended but more like amused.
I said "You mean to tell me that the other married people here are older than us?"
My sister looked at us, smiled a bit unsurely, and then walked away.
We left the party early and headed out to Worcester, where M and A live in their fabulous gigantic adult apartment. M and A are the kind of couple who make me want to be married. They are so good at it - cute but not obnoxiously so, and still in possession of their individuality. They rock. I slept very well on their spare futon and then headed back yesterday by train. Longest train ride ever. Not because the ride was long, but because the train would stop in insignificant cities such as Springfield for 30 minutes while engines were converted or something.
While I was on the train the dude behind me was yelling at someone about an Excel spreadsheet designed to play Fantasy Basketball. I have no idea. This guy was a tool. I wanted to turn around and be like "Do you have to be so mean to whoever you're talking about? If you're so concerned, make your own damn spreadsheet!" He'd be like "No, you're not listening to me. I asked you this before. How did you make the formula? What cells did you copy? Where did you get the stats? Did you factor in the assists? NO! TRY GOOGLE!!!"
When I got to NY a man dressed as Gumby was getting a Metro card and a Twister Board walked by. I'd completely forgotten it was Halloween. Unfortunately I was spent (and sick!) from the weekend, so I didn't do anything but go home, unpack, and listen to Roommate's boy troubles.
I desperately need sleep.
Tomorrow we vote. I am so nervous. Everyone. VOTE.
After the parade I waited in line with 100 other people for an Anna's burrito (woo hoo!) and then briefly hung out with former roommate J before (and after) taking a nap. It was great to see him, and again I felt like I was at home.
I went to my sister's Halloween party with M and A that night. It was weird for us because we are 28 (nearly29) and my sister is newly 22. It was a college party. I know you all think I am far too fixated on age, so I'll just say this once. We were old.
The old folks stayed in the area outside the bathroom and didn't mingle.
My sister came bopping through at one point and said "Why are you guys out here? You should dance."
I said "No, Sister, we're old."
"You're not old."
"Yes, we are. We're the oldest people here."
"No you're not."
"Who's older than us?"
"Leah, there are married people here." She said married people all hushed as though these people were diseased, like the way people used to be afraid to say cancer and got all quiet and didn't really know how to say it but everyone knew exactly what was going on. At least this is what I'm told by people who lived in the era when people wouldn't say cancer.
M and A looked at each other. "We're married!" M said, not quite offended but more like amused.
I said "You mean to tell me that the other married people here are older than us?"
My sister looked at us, smiled a bit unsurely, and then walked away.
We left the party early and headed out to Worcester, where M and A live in their fabulous gigantic adult apartment. M and A are the kind of couple who make me want to be married. They are so good at it - cute but not obnoxiously so, and still in possession of their individuality. They rock. I slept very well on their spare futon and then headed back yesterday by train. Longest train ride ever. Not because the ride was long, but because the train would stop in insignificant cities such as Springfield for 30 minutes while engines were converted or something.
While I was on the train the dude behind me was yelling at someone about an Excel spreadsheet designed to play Fantasy Basketball. I have no idea. This guy was a tool. I wanted to turn around and be like "Do you have to be so mean to whoever you're talking about? If you're so concerned, make your own damn spreadsheet!" He'd be like "No, you're not listening to me. I asked you this before. How did you make the formula? What cells did you copy? Where did you get the stats? Did you factor in the assists? NO! TRY GOOGLE!!!"
When I got to NY a man dressed as Gumby was getting a Metro card and a Twister Board walked by. I'd completely forgotten it was Halloween. Unfortunately I was spent (and sick!) from the weekend, so I didn't do anything but go home, unpack, and listen to Roommate's boy troubles.
I desperately need sleep.
Tomorrow we vote. I am so nervous. Everyone. VOTE.
The LONG Review of the Weekend - Part 1
I am back from Boston. I am sick. I am not happy about it.
I left NYC on Friday afternoon. On my way out of the building my irrational fear of revolving doors proved merited when I got stuck (and nearly crushed) in one. Scary. It's another story for another time, but be warned. It can happen. It's totally acceptable for you to be afraid. Be very very afraid.
On my way back to Boston, I was filled with this weird feeling. Almost the feeling you have when you're going home for Christmas. Excited. Warm and fuzzy. I hadn't predicted this. Maybe it was just fall playing tricks on me.
When I got to South Station I was waiting for my food when I was approached by a very drunk man who slurred "Whasssss wrong with people?" "Excuse me?" "Whassssss wrong. With. PEOPLE." I said "People suck, man." He said something or other about wanting to use my cell phone and I didn't let him. When I looked at him, I realized his face was bleeding profusely. He stank of alcohol. He was wearing a Red Sox sweatshirt. He was cross with me for not allowing him to use my phone, so in retaliation he stole the tip jars from the grille. The manager of the place jumped over the counter to get the tip jar back from the man who was now harrassing the people at McDonald's. When the manager came back, we were all rolling our eyes because it was quite funny. I said "Man, I just moved a month and a half ago to NYC, I just got back, and this is the first person I talk to!" The man explained that there was a lot of this sort of thing going on since the Sox won - drunken bizarreness, basically. When I got my food, the manager said "Welcome home, sweetie!"
It was normal up until the point when I tried to leave and realized my glasses had fallen out of my camera bag. I couldn't see (obviously) and started living my nightmare in which my glasses are missing and I am freaking out and nobody seems to care. Seriously, folks, people were not in a crisis about this but this was a crisis! The glasses were not in the bag, nor were they anywhere around the bag. And the bag hadn't been moved, so where could they be? I was fairly certain nobody had stolen the glasses, because who would steal glasses?, but I was starting to panic because there was no reasonable location for the glasses since they weren't where they were supposed to be nor were they near where they were supposed to be. Nobody was helping, which I thought was mean because I couldn't see. I finally convinced JA that this was a crisis, and she used her perfect vision to help me find them. She found them across the room under a couch, and they were totally deformed. Completely deformed. Couldn't even put them on my face.
Panic. People were all "Hey, man, what's the big deal? Just have em fixed."
No. No no no!!! Do people not understand what its like to be blind? Yes, I could have them fixed, presumably the following day, but still! What if the only optician's I knew in Boston wasn't open? There was no way I was getting them fixed before the parade, so that sucked. It also meant great headaches and confusion. And if I couldn't get them fixed at all, that meant going back to NY early, but how would I even get home without being able to read signs? Panic panic panic.
I was so flustered that I left my new coat at the party. I remembered in time, and was like "Shit! My coat!" and everyone was like "Why don't you just go back and get it?" and I'm like "Because I can't see a damn thing!" I begged someone to go back and get it, because my head was throbbing and I was trying not to cry about missing the parade.
In the car on the way home with normal lighting and increasing sobriety, I decided to just fix them myself and take the risk, because the parade was worth it. And I sort of fixed them. Well, I can wear them. They're a little crooked which leads to little headaches, but whatever. I will find a place in NY soon enough and have them truly fixed.
Got back to Good Old Hall Street at around 2 or so and basically felt like I hadn't moved. I hung out with A and B for hours in the kitchen, just like the old days, where we caught up and entertained each other with various stories of strangers on the street and the old stand-by, SuperFly. Obviously I had an entirely new arsenal of SuperFly stories that had my former roommates in stitches. I really do miss them.
Got about three hours sleep (Good Old Hall Street and the lack of heat!) and got up for the parade.
I left NYC on Friday afternoon. On my way out of the building my irrational fear of revolving doors proved merited when I got stuck (and nearly crushed) in one. Scary. It's another story for another time, but be warned. It can happen. It's totally acceptable for you to be afraid. Be very very afraid.
On my way back to Boston, I was filled with this weird feeling. Almost the feeling you have when you're going home for Christmas. Excited. Warm and fuzzy. I hadn't predicted this. Maybe it was just fall playing tricks on me.
When I got to South Station I was waiting for my food when I was approached by a very drunk man who slurred "Whasssss wrong with people?" "Excuse me?" "Whassssss wrong. With. PEOPLE." I said "People suck, man." He said something or other about wanting to use my cell phone and I didn't let him. When I looked at him, I realized his face was bleeding profusely. He stank of alcohol. He was wearing a Red Sox sweatshirt. He was cross with me for not allowing him to use my phone, so in retaliation he stole the tip jars from the grille. The manager of the place jumped over the counter to get the tip jar back from the man who was now harrassing the people at McDonald's. When the manager came back, we were all rolling our eyes because it was quite funny. I said "Man, I just moved a month and a half ago to NYC, I just got back, and this is the first person I talk to!" The man explained that there was a lot of this sort of thing going on since the Sox won - drunken bizarreness, basically. When I got my food, the manager said "Welcome home, sweetie!"
My friend RP picked me up from the Davis Square T station after which I quickly transformed into Estelle, the crazy old widow who bowls. We went to my friend G's house in Waltham for a party. It was surreal to see everyone and even more surreal to see everyone in costume. My favorite was BKNY as Oates (of Hall and Oates). We had way too much fun doing a photo shoot and making fun of G's dresser, on which he had a doylie (is that how you spell it? I've never had to write it before, because when would you ever have occasion to make reference to a doylie?). It was almost as though I hadn't moved. I realized that I really miss a few people, but overall it was fairly normal.
It was normal up until the point when I tried to leave and realized my glasses had fallen out of my camera bag. I couldn't see (obviously) and started living my nightmare in which my glasses are missing and I am freaking out and nobody seems to care. Seriously, folks, people were not in a crisis about this but this was a crisis! The glasses were not in the bag, nor were they anywhere around the bag. And the bag hadn't been moved, so where could they be? I was fairly certain nobody had stolen the glasses, because who would steal glasses?, but I was starting to panic because there was no reasonable location for the glasses since they weren't where they were supposed to be nor were they near where they were supposed to be. Nobody was helping, which I thought was mean because I couldn't see. I finally convinced JA that this was a crisis, and she used her perfect vision to help me find them. She found them across the room under a couch, and they were totally deformed. Completely deformed. Couldn't even put them on my face.
Panic. People were all "Hey, man, what's the big deal? Just have em fixed."
No. No no no!!! Do people not understand what its like to be blind? Yes, I could have them fixed, presumably the following day, but still! What if the only optician's I knew in Boston wasn't open? There was no way I was getting them fixed before the parade, so that sucked. It also meant great headaches and confusion. And if I couldn't get them fixed at all, that meant going back to NY early, but how would I even get home without being able to read signs? Panic panic panic.
I was so flustered that I left my new coat at the party. I remembered in time, and was like "Shit! My coat!" and everyone was like "Why don't you just go back and get it?" and I'm like "Because I can't see a damn thing!" I begged someone to go back and get it, because my head was throbbing and I was trying not to cry about missing the parade.
In the car on the way home with normal lighting and increasing sobriety, I decided to just fix them myself and take the risk, because the parade was worth it. And I sort of fixed them. Well, I can wear them. They're a little crooked which leads to little headaches, but whatever. I will find a place in NY soon enough and have them truly fixed.
Got back to Good Old Hall Street at around 2 or so and basically felt like I hadn't moved. I hung out with A and B for hours in the kitchen, just like the old days, where we caught up and entertained each other with various stories of strangers on the street and the old stand-by, SuperFly. Obviously I had an entirely new arsenal of SuperFly stories that had my former roommates in stitches. I really do miss them.
Got about three hours sleep (Good Old Hall Street and the lack of heat!) and got up for the parade.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Don't Expect There to Be Scientists In Your Entourage
Genre: Romp Stompin Broadway Number in Honor of NYC
Date: early October-ish
Description:
A song about scientists. I know some fabulous normal wonderful darling charistmatic scientists, such as LBF, R, M, and everyone's favorite physicist in CA. This song is not about them.
Lyrics:
Scientists are good at calculations and
Scientists are good at consensus sequences and tumor cells
But not so much when it comes to social skills
You can talk about concentrations and
the ever-interesting lengths of incubations and protocols
Or you can tell them how cute their kids look in the JC Penny professional photos
You are screwed if you have a personality
Don't expect to flesh out your posse with selections from your science-based company
They'll look at you like you have four heads
If you mention something with even the slightest depth
Take Brad, Joe, Steve or whoever
Who works in Cell and Molecular
I asked him about his day, he literally ran the other way
Could I really be so scary to all these folks in New York City?
I realize I'm a freak because I can't talk about my kid or dog or husband
But at least I have a little substance
Maybe I'm too much of a people person
When you try to get to know a scientist it makes them nervous
They won't tell their story
They'll look at you funny and give one word answers
God forbid they should say something witty
Maybe in four months I'll feel differently
Maybe the scientists will warm up to me and we'll discuss MTV
But I'm nearly certain that they still won't think that Teen Girl Squad is the funniest thing
And they'll just keep giggling
FOR NO GOOD REASON
Chorus
Scientists can be quirky and adorable depending on where you are
Date: early October-ish
Description:
A song about scientists. I know some fabulous normal wonderful darling charistmatic scientists, such as LBF, R, M, and everyone's favorite physicist in CA. This song is not about them.
Lyrics:
Scientists are good at calculations and
Scientists are good at consensus sequences and tumor cells
But not so much when it comes to social skills
You can talk about concentrations and
the ever-interesting lengths of incubations and protocols
Or you can tell them how cute their kids look in the JC Penny professional photos
You are screwed if you have a personality
Don't expect to flesh out your posse with selections from your science-based company
They'll look at you like you have four heads
If you mention something with even the slightest depth
Take Brad, Joe, Steve or whoever
Who works in Cell and Molecular
I asked him about his day, he literally ran the other way
Could I really be so scary to all these folks in New York City?
I realize I'm a freak because I can't talk about my kid or dog or husband
But at least I have a little substance
Maybe I'm too much of a people person
When you try to get to know a scientist it makes them nervous
They won't tell their story
They'll look at you funny and give one word answers
God forbid they should say something witty
Maybe in four months I'll feel differently
Maybe the scientists will warm up to me and we'll discuss MTV
But I'm nearly certain that they still won't think that Teen Girl Squad is the funniest thing
And they'll just keep giggling
FOR NO GOOD REASON
Chorus
Scientists can be quirky and adorable depending on where you are
Roots, Not Baseball
Last night there were hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of blissed out delirious Red Sox fans skipping around like idiots and screaming at the tops of their lungs through about four square blocks near the Riviera.
I joined up with the mob after skipping from the bar I'd watched the game at (there were at least 10 bars overloaded with Red Sox fans in these four square blocks) and after being stopped by at least ten people who gave me hugs and a few people who said "If you love Boston so fucking much, why don't you just fucking go back?"
The mob oscillated between ecstasy and shock. It wasn't as crazy as it was last week because people couldn't process it. We know the response to "We beat the Yankees!" but were we prepared for "We won the World Series!"?
In the middle of the micro-riot, two dudes climbed a pole and led various chants. Then they signalled for everyone to be quiet, and everyone, bizarrely enough, obliged.
This is what the dude yelled:
"You know what this is about? This isn't about us - this is for our grandfathers, who went 80 years without knowing what this feels like! This is for them!"
The micro-riot applause sounded different in response to this. It wasn't ecstasy or shock or delirium or chaos or bliss. It was the sound of respect, and pride, the sound of really deep roots.
And that, folks, is why I have been following baseball for the past two weeks. It's not baseball. It's pride in where I'm from, where my parents are from, where their parents and their parents' parents are from. Locals are a bizarre and dedicated breed, and that's what I am! Even though I don't live there anymore, I am still attached to my roots.
And so are most of you! I was thinking about how a lot of my friends from back home are locals with deep family roots in MA. For example, consider how M used to get excited every single time she'd drive by the house her father grew up in, which was around the corner from my house on Hall Street.
Or how my favorite ex-boyfriend's father is extremely sick, and how he has no short term memory anymore so he can't really communicate, but how my ex can still watch and discuss the Red Sox with him because my ex continuously returns to MA to watch sports.
In rooting for the Sox it's like I'm rooting for all of you because I know how much this means to you. I know that you have travelled to the west coast to see Red Sox games. I know that you look forward to Fenway each season. I know you've been hoping for this for your entire lives, just like your grandfathers. I am rooting for you and what you represent.
I can't get over the people on the street last night who were so angry that we were excited. It's just sad because New York City is a place where everyone feels like they belong. Historically that's what it is - people from all over the world came through New York City in search of hope and hopefully tolerance. New York City and its burroughs are places you can live regardless of your skin color, socioeconomic background, regardless of how bizarrely you dress or how many dogs you want to carry in your pocketbook with you to work.
Pride in the face of adversity. I hated New Yorkers last night and actually momentarily contemplated jumping on a Fung Wah bus to be where I belonged (until it occurred to me that, unlike NYC, the bars in Boston would not be open until 5am). I sang the praises of Boston and even of Rhode Island, where the kids I watched the game with hailed from (although I should mention that everyone in the bar agreed that CT, indeed, sucks).
This is why I watched baseball. I am proud of where I came from and who I am even though I live somewhere else now.
I am coming home for the parade this weekend because it actually hurts to see photos of people going nuts in Kenmore Square. I miss Boston today, but I will be there tomorrow! Woo hoo!
I joined up with the mob after skipping from the bar I'd watched the game at (there were at least 10 bars overloaded with Red Sox fans in these four square blocks) and after being stopped by at least ten people who gave me hugs and a few people who said "If you love Boston so fucking much, why don't you just fucking go back?"
The mob oscillated between ecstasy and shock. It wasn't as crazy as it was last week because people couldn't process it. We know the response to "We beat the Yankees!" but were we prepared for "We won the World Series!"?
In the middle of the micro-riot, two dudes climbed a pole and led various chants. Then they signalled for everyone to be quiet, and everyone, bizarrely enough, obliged.
This is what the dude yelled:
"You know what this is about? This isn't about us - this is for our grandfathers, who went 80 years without knowing what this feels like! This is for them!"
The micro-riot applause sounded different in response to this. It wasn't ecstasy or shock or delirium or chaos or bliss. It was the sound of respect, and pride, the sound of really deep roots.
And that, folks, is why I have been following baseball for the past two weeks. It's not baseball. It's pride in where I'm from, where my parents are from, where their parents and their parents' parents are from. Locals are a bizarre and dedicated breed, and that's what I am! Even though I don't live there anymore, I am still attached to my roots.
And so are most of you! I was thinking about how a lot of my friends from back home are locals with deep family roots in MA. For example, consider how M used to get excited every single time she'd drive by the house her father grew up in, which was around the corner from my house on Hall Street.
Or how my favorite ex-boyfriend's father is extremely sick, and how he has no short term memory anymore so he can't really communicate, but how my ex can still watch and discuss the Red Sox with him because my ex continuously returns to MA to watch sports.
In rooting for the Sox it's like I'm rooting for all of you because I know how much this means to you. I know that you have travelled to the west coast to see Red Sox games. I know that you look forward to Fenway each season. I know you've been hoping for this for your entire lives, just like your grandfathers. I am rooting for you and what you represent.
I can't get over the people on the street last night who were so angry that we were excited. It's just sad because New York City is a place where everyone feels like they belong. Historically that's what it is - people from all over the world came through New York City in search of hope and hopefully tolerance. New York City and its burroughs are places you can live regardless of your skin color, socioeconomic background, regardless of how bizarrely you dress or how many dogs you want to carry in your pocketbook with you to work.
Pride in the face of adversity. I hated New Yorkers last night and actually momentarily contemplated jumping on a Fung Wah bus to be where I belonged (until it occurred to me that, unlike NYC, the bars in Boston would not be open until 5am). I sang the praises of Boston and even of Rhode Island, where the kids I watched the game with hailed from (although I should mention that everyone in the bar agreed that CT, indeed, sucks).
This is why I watched baseball. I am proud of where I came from and who I am even though I live somewhere else now.
I am coming home for the parade this weekend because it actually hurts to see photos of people going nuts in Kenmore Square. I miss Boston today, but I will be there tomorrow! Woo hoo!
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
20 Things from 10.26.04
I wrote these down on fabulous pink post-its last night after baseball and half a bottle of wine because I was afraid that today I'd think that nothing happened yesterday.
In no particular drunken order:
1. Tommy Lee = growl
2. Larry King's big orange triangle head while interviewing Tommy Lee = weird
3. Red Sox = goes without saying
4. Audience in St. Louis = opposite of aesthetically appealing
5. Open mic on Avenue C = super sketchy and bad bad idea
6. Landon on Real World looking like and now reminding me of preferred ex-boyfriend = sentimental/nostalgic/missing/near-tears state
7. New York law requiring landlords to install carbon monoxide detectors that also requires tenants to pay for said detectors = absurd
8. MTV OC-reality-show-thing = only bad idea MTV has ever had
9. New Eminem video = phenomenal
10. Roommate's divorce finalized today = awesome!!!!
11. Hasidic men having to wear hats to bed = bizarre
12. White wine expanding cork = annoying but acceptable as long as you have packing tape
13. Nelson's After The Rain being played during World Series telecast = bliss!
14. Sister singing Somewhere Out There on phone = infinitely less lonely me
15. Snoop Dogg's minimalist Drop It Like Its Hot = salvation of current hip hop
16. Stranger comparing one of my blog songs to Low = one of best moments of life thus far
17. Labelling lots of tubes at work for first time in months = way more exciting than it should have been
18. New shirt from SoHo = big hit!
19. Listening to Your Ghost on Ipod = not as painful as it used to be
20. Daylight Savings Time (fall back! woo hoo!) in a few days = perfect timing after being drunk and sleep deprived because of baseball
In no particular drunken order:
1. Tommy Lee = growl
2. Larry King's big orange triangle head while interviewing Tommy Lee = weird
3. Red Sox = goes without saying
4. Audience in St. Louis = opposite of aesthetically appealing
5. Open mic on Avenue C = super sketchy and bad bad idea
6. Landon on Real World looking like and now reminding me of preferred ex-boyfriend = sentimental/nostalgic/missing/near-tears state
7. New York law requiring landlords to install carbon monoxide detectors that also requires tenants to pay for said detectors = absurd
8. MTV OC-reality-show-thing = only bad idea MTV has ever had
9. New Eminem video = phenomenal
10. Roommate's divorce finalized today = awesome!!!!
11. Hasidic men having to wear hats to bed = bizarre
12. White wine expanding cork = annoying but acceptable as long as you have packing tape
13. Nelson's After The Rain being played during World Series telecast = bliss!
14. Sister singing Somewhere Out There on phone = infinitely less lonely me
15. Snoop Dogg's minimalist Drop It Like Its Hot = salvation of current hip hop
16. Stranger comparing one of my blog songs to Low = one of best moments of life thus far
17. Labelling lots of tubes at work for first time in months = way more exciting than it should have been
18. New shirt from SoHo = big hit!
19. Listening to Your Ghost on Ipod = not as painful as it used to be
20. Daylight Savings Time (fall back! woo hoo!) in a few days = perfect timing after being drunk and sleep deprived because of baseball
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
The Votes Weren't In
So I only got one vote on what to do about the dude from The Riveria, and that was from my dear friend in France, who voted for Scenario 3.
I talked to an actual person about it - R at work - and he said "Dude, at least get a free dinner out of it! Don't tell him in advance you don't want to date him. That's mean. Get the free dinner, and say 'Look, man, I think you're cool but I'd like to just jam as friends."
After work last night I went to SoHo again in search of purple pants. I bought two purple sweaters, but no pants. I will not rest until I am the owner of purple pants! I tried on some size 0 pants that were at least four sizes to big. Infuriating.
(Sidenote 1: I have decided that when I am rich and famous I will be dressed by Dolce and Gabbana. People will say "Who are you wearing?" and I will say "Dolce and Gabbana" and then I will look coyly into the camera and pout.)
After the purple disappointment, I said "What will make up for this is a good burrito!" I'd heard of a place in Williamsburg that allegedly had good burritos, so I went there. Turned out to be an actual restaurant, so while waiting for my burrito I decided to call the dude.
(Sidenote 2: my quest for the Anna's-Equivalent-Burrito is still ongoing. I've now eaten burritos from six different places and none of them has even come close. There are so many issues - dryness, incorrect ratio of beans to rice, nastiness/run-iness of beans, nastiness of rice, bad ratio of guacamole to salsa. Last night's was ok - maybe number 2 in NY, but number 1 is not even 1/10 the burrito of the Anna's burrito!!! I am looking forward to Thanksgiving weekend if only to have an Anna's burrito.)
We were chatting, and we talked about SuperFly (it was nice to have someone to discuss SuperFly's embarrassing behavior with), the game (apparently all sorts of wonderful mayhem ensued for the hour or so after I left the Riviera last week), my job, NY. Finally I said "And what is it that you do?"
"I'm in the fashion industry."
I thought real hard and tried to remember him, and really, he's really really straight.
"Oh?"
"Actually, I just started a new job today."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I'm really excited about it because I'm launching a new line of products."
"Oh?"
He went on to talk about how he used to work for Liz Claiborne (weird) and how he loves
sales/marketing in the fashion industry. I thought "Word. Free clothes pour moi!"
He finally wrapped back around to what he's doing at his new job, and he said "Yeah, I'm really excited about this new line of products."
"What are they?"
"It's a line of women's intimate apparel! I'm so excited - they're like these fabulous sets of matching bras and panties."
Panties. He said "panties." Heh. Heh heh.
Only in NY, folks.
Unfortunately the friend scenario won't work to my advantage, because you can't really ask your male friend to get you free "intimate apparel." What kind of man says "intimate apparel?"
The good news is that it was very light and very short, and he's low key. He travels, I told him I am busy with baseball and other nonsense this week, and he said "maybe we can grab a beer or something next week." He said he'd call next week. Totally low maintenance.
Panties. Heh.
I talked to an actual person about it - R at work - and he said "Dude, at least get a free dinner out of it! Don't tell him in advance you don't want to date him. That's mean. Get the free dinner, and say 'Look, man, I think you're cool but I'd like to just jam as friends."
After work last night I went to SoHo again in search of purple pants. I bought two purple sweaters, but no pants. I will not rest until I am the owner of purple pants! I tried on some size 0 pants that were at least four sizes to big. Infuriating.
(Sidenote 1: I have decided that when I am rich and famous I will be dressed by Dolce and Gabbana. People will say "Who are you wearing?" and I will say "Dolce and Gabbana" and then I will look coyly into the camera and pout.)
After the purple disappointment, I said "What will make up for this is a good burrito!" I'd heard of a place in Williamsburg that allegedly had good burritos, so I went there. Turned out to be an actual restaurant, so while waiting for my burrito I decided to call the dude.
(Sidenote 2: my quest for the Anna's-Equivalent-Burrito is still ongoing. I've now eaten burritos from six different places and none of them has even come close. There are so many issues - dryness, incorrect ratio of beans to rice, nastiness/run-iness of beans, nastiness of rice, bad ratio of guacamole to salsa. Last night's was ok - maybe number 2 in NY, but number 1 is not even 1/10 the burrito of the Anna's burrito!!! I am looking forward to Thanksgiving weekend if only to have an Anna's burrito.)
We were chatting, and we talked about SuperFly (it was nice to have someone to discuss SuperFly's embarrassing behavior with), the game (apparently all sorts of wonderful mayhem ensued for the hour or so after I left the Riviera last week), my job, NY. Finally I said "And what is it that you do?"
"I'm in the fashion industry."
I thought real hard and tried to remember him, and really, he's really really straight.
"Oh?"
"Actually, I just started a new job today."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I'm really excited about it because I'm launching a new line of products."
"Oh?"
He went on to talk about how he used to work for Liz Claiborne (weird) and how he loves
sales/marketing in the fashion industry. I thought "Word. Free clothes pour moi!"
He finally wrapped back around to what he's doing at his new job, and he said "Yeah, I'm really excited about this new line of products."
"What are they?"
"It's a line of women's intimate apparel! I'm so excited - they're like these fabulous sets of matching bras and panties."
Panties. He said "panties." Heh. Heh heh.
Only in NY, folks.
Unfortunately the friend scenario won't work to my advantage, because you can't really ask your male friend to get you free "intimate apparel." What kind of man says "intimate apparel?"
The good news is that it was very light and very short, and he's low key. He travels, I told him I am busy with baseball and other nonsense this week, and he said "maybe we can grab a beer or something next week." He said he'd call next week. Totally low maintenance.
Panties. Heh.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Dentist Rant
Dear faithful readers,
I went to my dentist appointment this morning. As you know, making this appointment, like all things in NYC, was an ordeal. I called and made an appointment with the bitchy lady on the phone who said "Would you also like to make an appointment for a cleaning?" I responded "Wait - what did I just make an appointment for?" "The dentist." "They're separate?" "Hmmm-hmmmm." She transferred me to someone, and I said "I'd like to make an appointment for a cleaning?" She said "When?" and I said "Well, I am seeing the dentist on 10/25 at 9:00 am so after that?" She made an appointment for me at 9:30. Never have I had to make two appointments, but they seemed to think I was being insane for being confused so whatever. I should have known!
I arrived this morning at 9:00 am. On the nose. I was proud, because I thought I was running really late. I get in there and its chaos. Tons of irritable people waiting for appointments, as well as tons of women waiting behind the desk just looking bitchy.
I walked up to the desk and stood there for about four minutes while all of these women ignored me. I figured one of them would acknowledge me, look up, say something. But no. They kept looking through me, answering phones, talking to one another, speaking in Spanish to patients who were clearly irate about something. The vibe in there was foul and impatient.
Finally I said "Um? Excuse me?" and this one girl looked at me, put out that I was speaking. "I have an appointment at 9:00 with the dentist and then at 9:30 for a cleaning." "Which dentist?" she snapped, and I said "I don't know. I'm new. Maybe you can look it up?" All put out, she threw some forms at me and told me to fill them out. Like literally threw them. Well, more like slid them at me on the counter and then rolled her eyes. I filled them out and brought them back, and said "I don't know the address of my insurance" and she yelled at me and said "You don't know the address of your employer?" and I said, "No, my insurance" and she was like "SO!?!?" and I said "Well, there's this box here that asks for the address of your insurance and I'm just letting you know that I didn't fill it in" to which she responded "You don't know your employer's address?"
She snatched the paperwork out of my hands and stomped away.
I waited. During this time period, an older gentleman stormed out. Another gentleman was huffing and puffing. Another woman stormed off. Then another gentleman said "I'm not sure if the dentist knows I'm here. Nobody alerted him." "Did you sign in?" one woman barked. "I did, but nobody told him." "Oh, he KNOWS." I said "Wait - I didn't sign in?" and another woman barked "You don't have to because you're new." Meanwhile another woman was on the phone and said to the gentleman "Oh, well, now he knows you're here." Bitches.
I waited for 35 minutes. I looked up from my book and made eye contact with another woman behind the desk, who was, surprise suprise!, bitchy!, who summoned me over. She said "Do you know your work phone number?" I said I didn't (lame of me, yes, I know). It occurred to me then that she hadn't done anything with my paperwork before I looked up.
I waited another ten minutes, looked up, made eye contact again, and she summoned me. This time she said "What about your work address zip code?"
I made one up and then sat back down. Another ten minutes passed (it was now 10:00 am) and finally I stormed over to the desk and said "Look, I had a dentist appointment at 9:00 am. I've been waiting for an hour and I haven't been called in for the dentist or for my cleaning."
"Did you put in your paperwork for your cleaning?"
"I filled out the paperwork you gave me."
"It's different."
"Excuse me?"
"You have to fill out paperwork for your cleaning. That's why you haven't been CALLED," she snapped, and pointed around the corner.
I walked around the corner to the unmarked cleaning office? WTF?!?!??!?! A woman gave me more paperwork and said I'd be called in a few minutes after I saw the dentist.
I nearly started to cry. I'd been there for over an hour and everyone was mean and bitchy. I said "Do you have any idea when this might happen?" and she didn't.
I waited another fifteen minutes, after which I was called in for x-rays which were adminstered by a bitchy woman who told me to relax and who I couldn't really understand through her accent.
Then I had to wait another fifteen minutes for "the dentist."
Then I got called back to see "the dentist," where yet another bitchy woman, who gave me dirty looks for no reason, set me up. After sitting in the chair in silence for ten minutes while she stomped around and spoke on her cell phone, I said "Do you have any idea when he might turn up?" and she said "HE'LL BE HERE IN A SECOND!" and then stormed off.
The dentist was nice enough, but I hated him anyway. He was trying to be chatty, asked me if my family was in the mafia, but I couldn't be bothered. I wanted to kill him. He told me I don't have a cavity and told me I should get my teeth whitened because they are running a deal for $150, which is actually fairly cheap and which I'd have considered if I wasn't adamant about never setting foot in that place again.
I put my coat on at 10:45 and stormed into the cleaning office and declared "I can't take this anymore! I've been here for an hour and 45 minutes and I have a job!" The woman understood and told me to call to reschedule my appointment, but clearly I won't be doing that.
Now.
I'm not irate that I had to wait. Sometimes these things happen. There are dental emergencies. I understand that someone's tooth falling out is far more important than my yearly cleaning.
But.
What I can't tolerate is gross incompetence, the fact that they clearly didn't do anything with my paperwork because they were sitting around being bitchy for the first 45 minutes I was there, the fact that they ignored me when I walked in (and ignored everyone else there, for that matter), the fact they they rolled their eyes every time a patient would call on the phone. They were the antithesis of helpful. Would it have been so difficult for them to say "Here, fill out this paperwork, and when you're finished, walk to the unmarked office around the corner and fill out paperwork there." If they'd said that, I could have had my teeth cleaned during the wait. But no! They can't possibly be proactive or nice.
I hate them all.
And now I have to make yet another cleaning appointment and fill out new paperwork at another dentist's office. Man. I am never calling 1-800-DENTIST again.
I went to my dentist appointment this morning. As you know, making this appointment, like all things in NYC, was an ordeal. I called and made an appointment with the bitchy lady on the phone who said "Would you also like to make an appointment for a cleaning?" I responded "Wait - what did I just make an appointment for?" "The dentist." "They're separate?" "Hmmm-hmmmm." She transferred me to someone, and I said "I'd like to make an appointment for a cleaning?" She said "When?" and I said "Well, I am seeing the dentist on 10/25 at 9:00 am so after that?" She made an appointment for me at 9:30. Never have I had to make two appointments, but they seemed to think I was being insane for being confused so whatever. I should have known!
I arrived this morning at 9:00 am. On the nose. I was proud, because I thought I was running really late. I get in there and its chaos. Tons of irritable people waiting for appointments, as well as tons of women waiting behind the desk just looking bitchy.
I walked up to the desk and stood there for about four minutes while all of these women ignored me. I figured one of them would acknowledge me, look up, say something. But no. They kept looking through me, answering phones, talking to one another, speaking in Spanish to patients who were clearly irate about something. The vibe in there was foul and impatient.
Finally I said "Um? Excuse me?" and this one girl looked at me, put out that I was speaking. "I have an appointment at 9:00 with the dentist and then at 9:30 for a cleaning." "Which dentist?" she snapped, and I said "I don't know. I'm new. Maybe you can look it up?" All put out, she threw some forms at me and told me to fill them out. Like literally threw them. Well, more like slid them at me on the counter and then rolled her eyes. I filled them out and brought them back, and said "I don't know the address of my insurance" and she yelled at me and said "You don't know the address of your employer?" and I said, "No, my insurance" and she was like "SO!?!?" and I said "Well, there's this box here that asks for the address of your insurance and I'm just letting you know that I didn't fill it in" to which she responded "You don't know your employer's address?"
She snatched the paperwork out of my hands and stomped away.
I waited. During this time period, an older gentleman stormed out. Another gentleman was huffing and puffing. Another woman stormed off. Then another gentleman said "I'm not sure if the dentist knows I'm here. Nobody alerted him." "Did you sign in?" one woman barked. "I did, but nobody told him." "Oh, he KNOWS." I said "Wait - I didn't sign in?" and another woman barked "You don't have to because you're new." Meanwhile another woman was on the phone and said to the gentleman "Oh, well, now he knows you're here." Bitches.
I waited for 35 minutes. I looked up from my book and made eye contact with another woman behind the desk, who was, surprise suprise!, bitchy!, who summoned me over. She said "Do you know your work phone number?" I said I didn't (lame of me, yes, I know). It occurred to me then that she hadn't done anything with my paperwork before I looked up.
I waited another ten minutes, looked up, made eye contact again, and she summoned me. This time she said "What about your work address zip code?"
I made one up and then sat back down. Another ten minutes passed (it was now 10:00 am) and finally I stormed over to the desk and said "Look, I had a dentist appointment at 9:00 am. I've been waiting for an hour and I haven't been called in for the dentist or for my cleaning."
"Did you put in your paperwork for your cleaning?"
"I filled out the paperwork you gave me."
"It's different."
"Excuse me?"
"You have to fill out paperwork for your cleaning. That's why you haven't been CALLED," she snapped, and pointed around the corner.
I walked around the corner to the unmarked cleaning office? WTF?!?!??!?! A woman gave me more paperwork and said I'd be called in a few minutes after I saw the dentist.
I nearly started to cry. I'd been there for over an hour and everyone was mean and bitchy. I said "Do you have any idea when this might happen?" and she didn't.
I waited another fifteen minutes, after which I was called in for x-rays which were adminstered by a bitchy woman who told me to relax and who I couldn't really understand through her accent.
Then I had to wait another fifteen minutes for "the dentist."
Then I got called back to see "the dentist," where yet another bitchy woman, who gave me dirty looks for no reason, set me up. After sitting in the chair in silence for ten minutes while she stomped around and spoke on her cell phone, I said "Do you have any idea when he might turn up?" and she said "HE'LL BE HERE IN A SECOND!" and then stormed off.
The dentist was nice enough, but I hated him anyway. He was trying to be chatty, asked me if my family was in the mafia, but I couldn't be bothered. I wanted to kill him. He told me I don't have a cavity and told me I should get my teeth whitened because they are running a deal for $150, which is actually fairly cheap and which I'd have considered if I wasn't adamant about never setting foot in that place again.
I put my coat on at 10:45 and stormed into the cleaning office and declared "I can't take this anymore! I've been here for an hour and 45 minutes and I have a job!" The woman understood and told me to call to reschedule my appointment, but clearly I won't be doing that.
Now.
I'm not irate that I had to wait. Sometimes these things happen. There are dental emergencies. I understand that someone's tooth falling out is far more important than my yearly cleaning.
But.
What I can't tolerate is gross incompetence, the fact that they clearly didn't do anything with my paperwork because they were sitting around being bitchy for the first 45 minutes I was there, the fact that they ignored me when I walked in (and ignored everyone else there, for that matter), the fact they they rolled their eyes every time a patient would call on the phone. They were the antithesis of helpful. Would it have been so difficult for them to say "Here, fill out this paperwork, and when you're finished, walk to the unmarked office around the corner and fill out paperwork there." If they'd said that, I could have had my teeth cleaned during the wait. But no! They can't possibly be proactive or nice.
I hate them all.
And now I have to make yet another cleaning appointment and fill out new paperwork at another dentist's office. Man. I am never calling 1-800-DENTIST again.
Little Sisters
The weekend is over. For the first time since moving to New York I felt lonely. This is most likely because I had no plans and because my roommate was back in Boston, much to her and my dismay.
On Friday night I played lots of piano - I am working on a cover of a song to play at an open mic. I probably won't play this week. I want to get a recording of this song before I go public. I've actually only heard this song once or twice in my life. My father used to play it on the piano all the time when I was little, so I have this distorted notion of how it goes. I heard it recently in a vegetarian cafe in Williamsburg and realized that its one of the best emo songs ever written, despite being from the 70's and being by one of the classic rock's giants.
Saturday was spent doing things like reading, piano, and three loads of laundry! And grocery shopping! And the cooking of pasta for dinner, which was monumental since I haven't managed to boil pasta in years.
Also on Saturday one of the boys I met outside the Riviera called. Luckily I didn't answer the phone. This is not the one I really wanted to call, of course. I am torn as to what to do - I know I don't want to date this guy but I liked him well enough. I'm not sure I want to date anyone right now. There's far too much for me to do on a personal level to be bothered, unless there are skyrockets. Faithful readers, do I:
1. not call him back, thus losing the potential for a cool friend
2. call him back and go on a date with him and then tell him I don't want to date him or
3. call him back and tell him I think he's cool and I'd like to hang out, but I'm
not interested in dating anyone right now
My vote is 3, but is that evil? I suppose if he thinks its evil, he can always say "I only want to date. I have enough friends."
I watched baseball until the bottom of the fourth on Saturday night and then dragged myself away from the TV to see my favorite band in the world, Pinback, play around the corner. The opening band, Aspects of Physics was raw torture despite their having a promising name. Raw. Torture. They were all computer-y and art rock and god awful and had projections.
Between the opening band and Pinback, I sat down next to this girl who I swear was Avril Lavigne. I swear to you. She said "Are you hear by yourself?" and I said "Why yes I am" and she said "So am I. My name is M." We talked for a while, all the while I kept thinking "Am I certain this is not Avirl Lavigne?" Seriously. She was adorable - she just moved to NYC from Kansas City, where she lived for a few months after graduating from college in CA. She needed to get away from things, but is now alternating between elation and misery in Queens, where she works at a Victoria's Secret due to her major being Philosophy. I really enjoyed her company. She took my number and we parted ways so that she could sit atop a speaker to enjoy the show. She passed by me once on the way to the bar, and on her way back she gave me a kiss on the cheek.
It struck me that thus far, the only females I've met in NYC have been like little sisters. They're all at least five years younger than me but extremely protective of my emotional state. Interesting.
Nevertheless, I digress. Pinback was also raw torture. I am devastated. This is an instance of a band being so horrible live that they are destroyed for you for the rest of time. The vocals were terrible. It amazes me that they were ever able to get vocals good enough for the albums. They rocked too hard live. The beauty of the recordings is that they are sublte and soft, really moody and elegant. Things were choppy live. I left early to watch the remainder of the game, but it was over by the time I got home. And now Pinback is ruined. Just like Death Cab For Cutie. Actually, they didn't sound unlike Death Cab For Cutie, even though they sound nothing like Death Cab For Cutie. I wonder if all emo bands sound the same live, and their recordings are just deceptive.
Sunday was SoHo shopping. I encountered all manner of little dogs wearing expensive outfits while shopping as well as all manner or snotty/obnovioux/overzealous salesperson. One girl said "That sweater will totally fit you - you should buy it without even trying it on" as she followed me around the store. I said, "No, actually, I'll just try it on" and she was all pissed. I tried it on, and it was, of course, too big. Like it was so big that it was hanging off my chest. I came out of the dressing room and handed it to her and she was like "What! What's WRONG?" and I said "Too big" and she said "But you didn't even SHOW ME" and was all bitchy. I was like "Believe me, it was too big" and she said "Hmph" and stormed away.
I also walked into a store that could have been a museum or a store. I'm still not sure. Very fancy. I shouldn't have been in there. I also tried to get into a store that was locked. Perhaps it is one of these stores where you need an appointment to shop, or the kind of place where there can only be X amount of people in there at once so that the ratio of customer to salesperson can promote perfect overzealous/obnoxious salesperson behavior.
The good news it that I have purchased a coat! Now I can appear like a New Yorker on the outside, at the very least. I admired myself in many windows on the way to work this morning. My roommate said that I look like "a piece of candy" in the coat. It is agreed that it was a good purchase.
I listened to the new Elliott Smith on the subway. I almost cried. There is some really good stuff on it, some of his best. I'm sure Elliott Smith didn't sound like Death Cab for Cutie live, and he's about as Emo as it gets. Elliott, we miss you!
On Friday night I played lots of piano - I am working on a cover of a song to play at an open mic. I probably won't play this week. I want to get a recording of this song before I go public. I've actually only heard this song once or twice in my life. My father used to play it on the piano all the time when I was little, so I have this distorted notion of how it goes. I heard it recently in a vegetarian cafe in Williamsburg and realized that its one of the best emo songs ever written, despite being from the 70's and being by one of the classic rock's giants.
Saturday was spent doing things like reading, piano, and three loads of laundry! And grocery shopping! And the cooking of pasta for dinner, which was monumental since I haven't managed to boil pasta in years.
Also on Saturday one of the boys I met outside the Riviera called. Luckily I didn't answer the phone. This is not the one I really wanted to call, of course. I am torn as to what to do - I know I don't want to date this guy but I liked him well enough. I'm not sure I want to date anyone right now. There's far too much for me to do on a personal level to be bothered, unless there are skyrockets. Faithful readers, do I:
1. not call him back, thus losing the potential for a cool friend
2. call him back and go on a date with him and then tell him I don't want to date him or
3. call him back and tell him I think he's cool and I'd like to hang out, but I'm
not interested in dating anyone right now
My vote is 3, but is that evil? I suppose if he thinks its evil, he can always say "I only want to date. I have enough friends."
I watched baseball until the bottom of the fourth on Saturday night and then dragged myself away from the TV to see my favorite band in the world, Pinback, play around the corner. The opening band, Aspects of Physics was raw torture despite their having a promising name. Raw. Torture. They were all computer-y and art rock and god awful and had projections.
Between the opening band and Pinback, I sat down next to this girl who I swear was Avril Lavigne. I swear to you. She said "Are you hear by yourself?" and I said "Why yes I am" and she said "So am I. My name is M." We talked for a while, all the while I kept thinking "Am I certain this is not Avirl Lavigne?" Seriously. She was adorable - she just moved to NYC from Kansas City, where she lived for a few months after graduating from college in CA. She needed to get away from things, but is now alternating between elation and misery in Queens, where she works at a Victoria's Secret due to her major being Philosophy. I really enjoyed her company. She took my number and we parted ways so that she could sit atop a speaker to enjoy the show. She passed by me once on the way to the bar, and on her way back she gave me a kiss on the cheek.
It struck me that thus far, the only females I've met in NYC have been like little sisters. They're all at least five years younger than me but extremely protective of my emotional state. Interesting.
Nevertheless, I digress. Pinback was also raw torture. I am devastated. This is an instance of a band being so horrible live that they are destroyed for you for the rest of time. The vocals were terrible. It amazes me that they were ever able to get vocals good enough for the albums. They rocked too hard live. The beauty of the recordings is that they are sublte and soft, really moody and elegant. Things were choppy live. I left early to watch the remainder of the game, but it was over by the time I got home. And now Pinback is ruined. Just like Death Cab For Cutie. Actually, they didn't sound unlike Death Cab For Cutie, even though they sound nothing like Death Cab For Cutie. I wonder if all emo bands sound the same live, and their recordings are just deceptive.
Sunday was SoHo shopping. I encountered all manner of little dogs wearing expensive outfits while shopping as well as all manner or snotty/obnovioux/overzealous salesperson. One girl said "That sweater will totally fit you - you should buy it without even trying it on" as she followed me around the store. I said, "No, actually, I'll just try it on" and she was all pissed. I tried it on, and it was, of course, too big. Like it was so big that it was hanging off my chest. I came out of the dressing room and handed it to her and she was like "What! What's WRONG?" and I said "Too big" and she said "But you didn't even SHOW ME" and was all bitchy. I was like "Believe me, it was too big" and she said "Hmph" and stormed away.
I also walked into a store that could have been a museum or a store. I'm still not sure. Very fancy. I shouldn't have been in there. I also tried to get into a store that was locked. Perhaps it is one of these stores where you need an appointment to shop, or the kind of place where there can only be X amount of people in there at once so that the ratio of customer to salesperson can promote perfect overzealous/obnoxious salesperson behavior.
The good news it that I have purchased a coat! Now I can appear like a New Yorker on the outside, at the very least. I admired myself in many windows on the way to work this morning. My roommate said that I look like "a piece of candy" in the coat. It is agreed that it was a good purchase.
I listened to the new Elliott Smith on the subway. I almost cried. There is some really good stuff on it, some of his best. I'm sure Elliott Smith didn't sound like Death Cab for Cutie live, and he's about as Emo as it gets. Elliott, we miss you!
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