Hello dear readers.
I am home sick today with some sort of stomach flu or food poisoning. I am not happy about this as I am not a fan of dehydration-induced delirium.
The good news is that D, growing every more spectacular by the minute, gave me an Ali G DVD to watch today as well as Sandman Volume 1, which was apparently my Christmas gift and which he forced upon me because of my sickness.
Little does he know that I am recording a song for him, even though I am delirious! Ha! That will show him! He too will be happy!!!
Nevertheless...
Pre-food poisoning, D and I had intended to see Blade 3 but because we are in the beginning and because the butterflies are fierce, we missed the movie and ended up going to a really late dinner, after which we watched "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle." Damn was it good. It was surprisingly intelligent and one of the funniest movies I've ever seen. You should all see it. Really. All I need to say is Neil Patrick Harris. Now you want to see it, right?
The point of this entry is that prior to my leaving Boston, I went to the Boston Independent Film Festival with my friends S and T. We saw a documentary entitled "I Like Killing Flies,' which was about a diner in New York City called Shopsin's. Shopsin's is this crazy place run by an equally crazy/curmudgeonly man who looks a bit like Jerry Garcia, who when not cooking everything himself is prone to entertaining and philosophical monologues . There are rules to get into his restaurant - such as no parties of four or more - and there are like 47 million things on the menu.
We talked about the movie afterwards, and while I wasn't impressed with the filmmaking itself, I was impressed by its subject matter - Shopsin and his restaurant are really unique characters, and interesting slices of life. Ah, New York! Its inhabitants are quirky and wonderful. I remember thinking "I'd like to at the very least walk by that place and check it out." Not that I ever thought I would, because would I even remember? And if so, would I be able to find it?
Last night we were walking to dinner at this noodle place - the probable cause of my stomach issues - and we walked right by Shopsin's. Shopsin's is only one block from D's apartment, which is only a few blocks from work. Weird!
I said "Oh my god - is that THE Shopsin's?"
D said "Yeah, it used to be around the corner," which confirmed that it was THE Shopsin's because the documentary was about how Shopsin was forced to move to a new location around the corner from his original location.
"WOW. Have you ever been in there?"
"No, it looks kind of sketchy. Like dirty. I dunno. It just doesn't look good."
I was mortified. To me, it's a place with infinite charm and 4217 different kinds of pancakes. It's a character. It is larger than life. I said "The dude who runs it is a nut. He's awesome."
D hadn't seen nor heard of the documentary, so when I told him what I knew he became intrigued and said we should go there some time.
But I don't want to, because I am afraid Shopsin won't let me in because he doesn't like my hair.
We looked in the window, and I felt sort of sad. I don't know why. I guess its sort of like growing up - in my mind, because of the movie, it was this magical place where all sorts of bizarre things are constantly occurring and where ideas are had and laughter is constant and where food becomes philosopy. It was closed when we walked by, and from the outside it looked ordinary. Regular. Normal. Like any other diner with only 4 kinds of pancakes.
Why is it so often disappointing when things become real?
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Last Tofu In Paris - Addendum
In the comments section from The Last Tofu in Paris post yesterday, M wondered why I hadn't made mention of DH's encounter with JG.
Some background information:
During my freshman and sophomore years of college, I lived in the dorm with N.
During those same years, M lived with H.
During those same years, N had a friend JG who would appear every now and then and would call our room. JG annoyed me. There were many things about her that bothered me - but the two most annoying things about her were her voice and the way every single boy would fall in love with her instantly for no apparent reason. She was so transparent to women - her high pitched squeal, her contrived stare and batting eyelashes, her body language. But men? They were rabid. JG would call the room, and I swear she would flirt with me over the phone.
She would screech "Hi-eee Leah!!! How are you doing, silly-head?"
I am not making that up. She called me silly-head. Who does that? And more importantly, why are all men infatuarted with someone who does that?
After sophomore year, I subletted an apartment from JG, which was the very same apartment in which I lived with DH.
As junior year approached, N (my roommate) and M decided to move off-campus into a house. There was talk of who would live in the house, and when I found out that they were going to live with JG, I thought "No, not me, I can't live with her. I would just die. Or, I'd have to kill her."
So N (my roommate) and M moved in with JG, DH, and another friend of theirs, while I moved in with H (M's roommate).
Confusing.
All you need to know is that M lived with JG for some reason that must have made sense to M at the time.
M had (has) issues with JG, to the point where she had nightmares about her.
M was shocked and horrified to hear that DH had recently run into JG in the airport in Philly, which is where M used to live!!! She said "OH MY GOD - it is possible that I could have run into JG!" She wanted to know exactly what had happened, and sympathized with DH.
She said "I wonder what I would have done if I'd run into her."
Which of course provided us with endless giggly material.
So, for the first time ever on My Mundane Life In Song, I am thrilled to present a guest writer! This is M's version of what would have happened had I run into JG in the airport, but some of it is just her projecting, such as when I nearly declare "WENCH!" I probably wouldn't do that, but M has been known to do that in response to JG.
I am proud to present:
JG (written by M!)
Picture it. You're in an airport, happily chatting with your friend about the vacation you are about to start when you hear it. "LEEEEEEE-ahhhhhhhh!" . Your eyes widen in shock and your head snaps up. You haven't heard that sound in years, that high pitched first syllable followed by the long sighing second syllable, but you recognize it instantly. Could it be? It couldn't. Could it? The hairs on the back of your neck are prickling as you slowly turn your head. It is! It's J from college!
She's bearing down on you with her wide mouth stretched into a smile. She's grinning at you like as though she's found her long-lost friend, and she's making those squeaking cutesy noises you remember so well. "Leah! Hiii-eeeee!!! How are you?" Women are giving her horrified looks and dogs are fleeing the supersonic squeaking, but she leaves a trail of dazed men with hopeful smiles in her wake.
You back away as your eyes dart back and forth, searching, searching for an escape. Suddenly, you remember that your friend has yet to develop an immunity against her evil, magical wiles. You throw yourself between your friend and J, screaming, "Save yourself! It's too late for me! Run! RUN!!!!" There can be no disobeying the terror in your voice, and he flees. You are alone.
She has arrived. "LEEE-ahhhhh! It's been so long!" She begins to babble on and on about her new job, her new house, her new boyfriend.
You are trapped. All you can do is feign interest in her life and pray that your friend doesn't come back until she's gone. Your eyes are watering from the effort of holding back the screams of, "WENCH! WENCH!" until you can't take it anymore. You shake your head, as if waking from a dream, and say, "Listen, J, it's been great talking to you and all, but I have to go, because I really can't stand you and
couldn't care less about your life."
She gives you a shocked, wounded look, and you take the opportunity to run for the food court. You're free! The remaining minutes before your flight are spent relishing the lack of J in your life. Ahhh.
When your row number is called, you get on the plane and find your seat: 34A. Guess who's sitting in 34B.
Awkward.
Some background information:
During my freshman and sophomore years of college, I lived in the dorm with N.
During those same years, M lived with H.
During those same years, N had a friend JG who would appear every now and then and would call our room. JG annoyed me. There were many things about her that bothered me - but the two most annoying things about her were her voice and the way every single boy would fall in love with her instantly for no apparent reason. She was so transparent to women - her high pitched squeal, her contrived stare and batting eyelashes, her body language. But men? They were rabid. JG would call the room, and I swear she would flirt with me over the phone.
She would screech "Hi-eee Leah!!! How are you doing, silly-head?"
I am not making that up. She called me silly-head. Who does that? And more importantly, why are all men infatuarted with someone who does that?
After sophomore year, I subletted an apartment from JG, which was the very same apartment in which I lived with DH.
As junior year approached, N (my roommate) and M decided to move off-campus into a house. There was talk of who would live in the house, and when I found out that they were going to live with JG, I thought "No, not me, I can't live with her. I would just die. Or, I'd have to kill her."
So N (my roommate) and M moved in with JG, DH, and another friend of theirs, while I moved in with H (M's roommate).
Confusing.
All you need to know is that M lived with JG for some reason that must have made sense to M at the time.
M had (has) issues with JG, to the point where she had nightmares about her.
M was shocked and horrified to hear that DH had recently run into JG in the airport in Philly, which is where M used to live!!! She said "OH MY GOD - it is possible that I could have run into JG!" She wanted to know exactly what had happened, and sympathized with DH.
She said "I wonder what I would have done if I'd run into her."
Which of course provided us with endless giggly material.
So, for the first time ever on My Mundane Life In Song, I am thrilled to present a guest writer! This is M's version of what would have happened had I run into JG in the airport, but some of it is just her projecting, such as when I nearly declare "WENCH!" I probably wouldn't do that, but M has been known to do that in response to JG.
I am proud to present:
JG (written by M!)
Picture it. You're in an airport, happily chatting with your friend about the vacation you are about to start when you hear it. "LEEEEEEE-ahhhhhhhh!" . Your eyes widen in shock and your head snaps up. You haven't heard that sound in years, that high pitched first syllable followed by the long sighing second syllable, but you recognize it instantly. Could it be? It couldn't. Could it? The hairs on the back of your neck are prickling as you slowly turn your head. It is! It's J from college!
She's bearing down on you with her wide mouth stretched into a smile. She's grinning at you like as though she's found her long-lost friend, and she's making those squeaking cutesy noises you remember so well. "Leah! Hiii-eeeee!!! How are you?" Women are giving her horrified looks and dogs are fleeing the supersonic squeaking, but she leaves a trail of dazed men with hopeful smiles in her wake.
You back away as your eyes dart back and forth, searching, searching for an escape. Suddenly, you remember that your friend has yet to develop an immunity against her evil, magical wiles. You throw yourself between your friend and J, screaming, "Save yourself! It's too late for me! Run! RUN!!!!" There can be no disobeying the terror in your voice, and he flees. You are alone.
She has arrived. "LEEE-ahhhhh! It's been so long!" She begins to babble on and on about her new job, her new house, her new boyfriend.
You are trapped. All you can do is feign interest in her life and pray that your friend doesn't come back until she's gone. Your eyes are watering from the effort of holding back the screams of, "WENCH! WENCH!" until you can't take it anymore. You shake your head, as if waking from a dream, and say, "Listen, J, it's been great talking to you and all, but I have to go, because I really can't stand you and
couldn't care less about your life."
She gives you a shocked, wounded look, and you take the opportunity to run for the food court. You're free! The remaining minutes before your flight are spent relishing the lack of J in your life. Ahhh.
When your row number is called, you get on the plane and find your seat: 34A. Guess who's sitting in 34B.
Awkward.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
The Last Tofu in Paris (or, Where Is My Mind?)
I went out for dinner last night with my friend DH who was visiting NY from Portland, Oregon.
It's weird, because DH wasn't really my friend in college, despite the fact that he was friends with many of my friends and despite the fact that, as some of you may remember, I lived with him.
I think DH and I are friends now because we grew up to be the same person, which is cool but also bad because we connect because of some of our more self-absorbed and self-righteous traits.
DH and I ate at a vegetarian restaurant in the East Village, which was absolutely delicious and at which DH ordered a dish called "Last Tofu in Paris," which will probably make me smile for the rest of time.
DH is brilliant and prone to novel ideas and appealing monologue.
Listening to him speak reminds me of how smart I no longer am. I can't keep up. I couldn't monologue if my life depended on it. I don't have as much to say as I used to, which is probably because I don't know as much as I used to.
I used to know things about hunter gatherers and integrals and organic chemistry and could tell you why certain people no longer have the ability to comprehend nouns. I don't know any of this anymore. I'm not even certain that college happened because I took nothing from it.
Things are really dumbing down. I'm not happy about it.
After dinner with DH last night, I was contemplating my ever-growing stupidity and was thinking about how my mind is changing. I'm no longer book smart. I can't remember things. I used to know lyrics to every song ever, and I can still sing "I Can't Fight This Feeling" from start to finish without thinking about it, but I haven't remembered any lyrics in, like, the last 10 years. I can't recall details. The only thing about which I have any degree of expertise is pop culture. I can tell you all about Britney's shopping habits. But I can't soliloquize. I don't believe in anything that strongly anymore nor would I have the confidence or words to describe it if I did. I am becoming more and more right brained as I get older.
I went home and started a new project, which involved my writing and then, gasp, drawing a comic. When I was a little kid - well, not little - middle-school-and-early-high-school-ish - I used to write all sorts of stories and illustrate them for my friends. You can think of them as a late-80's / early-90's blog. I used to do this without even thinking - like it just happened, and was satisfactory, and people loved them. I also used to write stories for my friends. Vast works of fiction that just sort of happened.
Not anymore, kids!
Sitting there on my bed with pen in hand, agonizing over the first panel - should they be walking? Are they holding hands? Should there be a city scape in the background? If so, are the buildings realistic looking? Cartoon-y like them? Are they in silhouette? Is he wearing a hoodie? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I even asking these questions? I can't draw anymore!!!!
Ridiculous.
I feel totally ineffective. I am going to draw the comic even though I have no idea what I am doing. I think this is a good opportunity to be creative and to challenge myself. I just hope I don't feel even less effective than I do right now when all is said and done.
I guess I just wish I could be like DH, and wish I had tons of new and exciting ideas and things to say, and drawings to draw, and causes to champion, and ways to improve society.
I feel so stupid.
Ergh.
And then, like, if my mind has deteriorated this much since college, in only 6.5 years!!!, how boring will I be in another 30 years?
I can't even think about this. I could cry. Or maybe I feel like I could cry because its 1:15 and I am starving to death and can't go to lunch for another half hour.
It's weird, because DH wasn't really my friend in college, despite the fact that he was friends with many of my friends and despite the fact that, as some of you may remember, I lived with him.
I think DH and I are friends now because we grew up to be the same person, which is cool but also bad because we connect because of some of our more self-absorbed and self-righteous traits.
DH and I ate at a vegetarian restaurant in the East Village, which was absolutely delicious and at which DH ordered a dish called "Last Tofu in Paris," which will probably make me smile for the rest of time.
DH is brilliant and prone to novel ideas and appealing monologue.
Listening to him speak reminds me of how smart I no longer am. I can't keep up. I couldn't monologue if my life depended on it. I don't have as much to say as I used to, which is probably because I don't know as much as I used to.
I used to know things about hunter gatherers and integrals and organic chemistry and could tell you why certain people no longer have the ability to comprehend nouns. I don't know any of this anymore. I'm not even certain that college happened because I took nothing from it.
Things are really dumbing down. I'm not happy about it.
After dinner with DH last night, I was contemplating my ever-growing stupidity and was thinking about how my mind is changing. I'm no longer book smart. I can't remember things. I used to know lyrics to every song ever, and I can still sing "I Can't Fight This Feeling" from start to finish without thinking about it, but I haven't remembered any lyrics in, like, the last 10 years. I can't recall details. The only thing about which I have any degree of expertise is pop culture. I can tell you all about Britney's shopping habits. But I can't soliloquize. I don't believe in anything that strongly anymore nor would I have the confidence or words to describe it if I did. I am becoming more and more right brained as I get older.
I went home and started a new project, which involved my writing and then, gasp, drawing a comic. When I was a little kid - well, not little - middle-school-and-early-high-school-ish - I used to write all sorts of stories and illustrate them for my friends. You can think of them as a late-80's / early-90's blog. I used to do this without even thinking - like it just happened, and was satisfactory, and people loved them. I also used to write stories for my friends. Vast works of fiction that just sort of happened.
Not anymore, kids!
Sitting there on my bed with pen in hand, agonizing over the first panel - should they be walking? Are they holding hands? Should there be a city scape in the background? If so, are the buildings realistic looking? Cartoon-y like them? Are they in silhouette? Is he wearing a hoodie? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I even asking these questions? I can't draw anymore!!!!
Ridiculous.
I feel totally ineffective. I am going to draw the comic even though I have no idea what I am doing. I think this is a good opportunity to be creative and to challenge myself. I just hope I don't feel even less effective than I do right now when all is said and done.
I guess I just wish I could be like DH, and wish I had tons of new and exciting ideas and things to say, and drawings to draw, and causes to champion, and ways to improve society.
I feel so stupid.
Ergh.
And then, like, if my mind has deteriorated this much since college, in only 6.5 years!!!, how boring will I be in another 30 years?
I can't even think about this. I could cry. Or maybe I feel like I could cry because its 1:15 and I am starving to death and can't go to lunch for another half hour.
Pretty Woman
Over the Christmas break, I managed to get to Boston for one day and one day only, and had the great pleasure of spending an evening at my former residence on Hall Street. I was fortunate enough to have the extremely trippy experience of sleeping in my old room but in a different bed. Weird. Weird to hear the same old Tuesday morning trash-pick up sounds.
Anyway.
I hung out with A and J and it was lovely. Because I was both physically and emotionally drained, I requested that we stay in like the old days, order Chinese from Dragon Garden (scallion pancakes = divine), and drink wine. J suggested that we watch a movie. Luckily A is armed with an arsenal of girly movies such as Pretty Woman.
Now. I've seen Pretty Woman many, many times, but not recently. I know what happens. I know the plot. I know the ending. I know it's all happy and rosey and has Richard Gere climbing out the top of a limousine and conquering his fear of heights and commitment for Julia and her adorable smile. I know this.
Nevertheless, during this most recent viewing, I was very worried about Julia Roberts. I kept thinking "Don't go back to him! He is going to HURT YOU! He is vile because he is a man! He cannot be trusted! He is only using you! He is going to DEMOLISH YOUR HEART!"
Funny how age and baggage can jade you to the point of causing you to reexperience happy things in an unpleasant way. It sort of cracked me up, but also made me sad, because I can't believe how out of hand my skepticism has become.
"It must have been love, but its over noooowwwwww.... it must have been good, but I lost it somehowww.... "
Sigh.
Anyway.
I hung out with A and J and it was lovely. Because I was both physically and emotionally drained, I requested that we stay in like the old days, order Chinese from Dragon Garden (scallion pancakes = divine), and drink wine. J suggested that we watch a movie. Luckily A is armed with an arsenal of girly movies such as Pretty Woman.
Now. I've seen Pretty Woman many, many times, but not recently. I know what happens. I know the plot. I know the ending. I know it's all happy and rosey and has Richard Gere climbing out the top of a limousine and conquering his fear of heights and commitment for Julia and her adorable smile. I know this.
Nevertheless, during this most recent viewing, I was very worried about Julia Roberts. I kept thinking "Don't go back to him! He is going to HURT YOU! He is vile because he is a man! He cannot be trusted! He is only using you! He is going to DEMOLISH YOUR HEART!"
Funny how age and baggage can jade you to the point of causing you to reexperience happy things in an unpleasant way. It sort of cracked me up, but also made me sad, because I can't believe how out of hand my skepticism has become.
"It must have been love, but its over noooowwwwww.... it must have been good, but I lost it somehowww.... "
Sigh.
Monday, January 03, 2005
Parents' Visit to NYC - Take 2
(Note: this entry is LONG and is mainly for me, but feel free to read as much as you can about my family's visit to NYC!)
My parents and siblings had planned on spending a couple of days with me in NYC, assuming, of course, the weather held out and everything would go smoothly. I don't know why parents are so obsessed and fearful of weather. "Yes, we are very excited about coming to NY, but you never know - there could be a blizzard, in which case we will not. We'll just have to see."
They are planning to come for my birthday, but only, of course, if it is not snowing. And they are worried now. They are adorable.
We arrived on Wednesday after a noneventful trip in the Camry. My father kept saying "We're going to hit traffic. It's going to be terrible," and I kept saying "No, Dad, there's really not going to be any, because we're not going to be in the city, and we're going to be hitting Brooklyn at around 4, and nobody's working, and plus nobody in New York has a car, I really wouldn't worry." Still he insisted. The traffic was going to be cataclysmic! What would we do? Woe is us! Of course there was no traffic.
He had directions printed out, and handed them to my sister in the backseat because she is the only one who is trustworthy with directions. She read him the directions, and still he asked to see them and said things like "Are you sure?" to which Sister responded "Dad, I KNOW HOW TO READ NUMBERS!!!! AHHHHHH!"
When we got to Brooklyn we were all starving and irritable, so we snacked on the rations my mother brought, which were enough food to feed like 43 people for a week. She called me on Tuesday from the supermarket and asked "What do you kids eat?" because she wanted to provide food, and I was like "Ma, really, don't worry, there is food in NY" but her motherly instincts would allow her to be nothing less than prepared for war. She is lovely because she bought a gallon of milk and then soy milk for my brother. She also brought cheese curls and Tostitos and both mild and medium salsas. And Oatmeal. And bananas, which were a big hit.
We chilled out for a while and then it was time for dinner! Brother wasn't feeling particularly well, so we decided to have some comfort food, but the comfort food place was closed! Which is weird, because its called Anytime, but is not, apparently, opened at any time. Anytime is across from Sea, which is a horribly trendy and delicious Thai restaurant that is bizarrely enough reasonably priced. My parents, for the first time ever, ate Thai food! And they liked it!!! Breakthrough!
On Thursday morning I asked my father to take me to the post office, because I had a piece of certified mail there that had been waiting for me for months. I never went because I wasn't sure where the post office was, nor was I available during the hours it was open. He was cool with it, but kept saying "Do you know where the post office is?" I knew where it was because I'd consulted a map, but when we got to where I thought it was things ceased being a grid and I was confused. I apologized, and said "All we have to do is swing back around and take that other street" which became my father saying "Do you really know what you're doing? We should ask for directions." "Dad, its right back there." "No, we should ask someone if they know where the post office is." "It's RIGHT THERE. Just go down this street." "No, I'm pulling over and asking." "Dad, nobody is going to know where the post office is!" He asked a bunch of people, none of whom knew where the post office was. I'd nearly convinced him to drive when someone knocked on the window (someone we'd asked a few moments back for the location of the post office) and said "The post office- its right there - I can see it!"
Yep. It was a few blocks behind us, exactly where I thought it was. My father said "Yeah, why don't you just get out and walk. I'll just wait here." So I did. And then waited in the post office for 30 minutes only to find that the piece of mail had been sent back, and that the post office had never sent the final notification. I tried to be mad, but I was beat down by other things, mainly being made to feel clueless.
We then went to the Museum of Natural History, which is my favoritest place in the world and which is very well lit. (Ironically, in the very same exhibit that I praised as "well laid out" that was misheard as "well lit" by M some years back, my brother said "this exhibit has the worst layout ever.") We'd originally planned on going to the new MOMA, but I decided at the last minute that the MOMA is not parent-friendly and that it would be better to check it out at some point with my siblings when the parents were not present. The family adored the museum.
Afterwards, we were slated to check out the tree in Rockefeller Center but everyone was too tired. I didn't care, as I've seen it before. We decided to go to dinner, which, of course, was a major project. I said "There's an awesome Italian restaurant in Union Square that I went to with M and A. We should go there." My father was skeptical - I still don't know if he was concerned about the cost or my ability to discern quality dining from poor dining, which is ridiculous as my father thinks Pizzeria Uno is fine dining. He just wasn't into it, and wanted to go back to Little Italy, which is not my favorite place.
I said "Look, I don't want to go to Little Italy. We did that last time you were here and don't you want to do something different?"
God forbid.
My father said, in the lobby of the museum, "I am going to ask some people where there's a restaurant," just NOT UNDERSTANDING THE POINT OF NY!!! I swear. I was mortified. MORTIFIED.
"Please, Dad, DON'T."
Don't embarrass me. I don't want to be 13 again. I don't want someone to say "Sir, there are 5 million restaurants within a five minute walk from here. Just walk. Your daughter must be an idiot if she doesn't realize that."
I said "Here's what we will do - we are going to walk the length of Columbus Ave. from this stop to the next stop, and if we don't find a cool restaurant to eat at, we will go to Little Italy."
My father cannot handle spontaneity. My mother, on the other hand, when in New York becomes spontaneous and unafraid and marvelled by the world. She is amazing here. I love having her around.
We found a cool restaurant that wasn't approved of by my father, so he started asking people. Some guy on the street who my father determined was completely trustworthy recommended a place 5 blocks down. My father told me where it was, and I humored him and said we'd go, and all the way up he kept saying "Do you know where you're going?" Steaming. Steaming the whole way.
The place sucked, and we ended up at the original place, which was exquisite.
Heh.
On the way out of the subway station in Williamsburg my parents lagged behind. Sister and I walked on ahead, outside of the station, and then heard my mother calling after us "Wait..." "What?" "Wait..."
No idea.
So we walked back in, and turned out my father had found a Metro card on the subway and was testing it to see if there was any money left on it. He was standing in a sea of tossed Metro cards. I nearly cried. "Dad, there's NO MONEY on it. People just toss them!" but he insisted on checking them. When I told Boyfriend about this, he thought it was nice because he is nonjudgmental and gives people the benefit of the doubt and said "It's cute - your father was trying to find a Metro card for you!" and I was like "You must be on crack if you think he was going to give it to me. He was trying to find free rides for the next time he and my mother are here."
Again, mortified.
On Friday morning we tried to have comfort food again, but Anytime was still not open. We ended up at Relish. It was a Friday afternoon, and my father said "I want breakfast. Why don't they have breakfast? Where is the breakfast menu? I want a breakfast menu." He actually got up to demand a breakfast menu, but I talked him down by saying "Dad, it's LUNCH. It's not the weekend. There are eggs on this menu. That's the best you're going to do." "Well, they should have a breakfast menu." "No, because its lunch, and there are breakfast items on this menu."
The waitress came over and said "What can I get for you?" and my father said "Well, I'd like some breakfast and what are you going to do about it?"
She said "Sir, there are egg dishes on the menu" and my father sighed dramatically and ordered scrambled eggs.
Yes, yell at the waitress to get breakfast.
Yes.
Yes. This is how to treat people. This is how to get spit in your food.
I was so embarrassed. I seriously felt like a teenager, when you feel like your parents are designed exclusively to embarrass you and when you pretend like you don't know them. I kept thinking "I can never eat here again."
It was a nice visit, but overdosing on family can really mess you up. The stress level increases as you are made to feel more and more like a child by your parents, who are the only people who can do this to you.
The lovely thing, though, is that my mother made me feel like a grownup. It's the first time I've entertained my entire family - had them stay over, provided for them, etc. - and my mother was so proud. She always says how she misses having us little, playing with us, but how these times are just as valuable to her in a different way. I think its like that for all of us, and its nice to be able to take care of her and feed her and be an adult with her.
As stressful as it all was, I miss them already.
I hope we can do this every year.
My parents and siblings had planned on spending a couple of days with me in NYC, assuming, of course, the weather held out and everything would go smoothly. I don't know why parents are so obsessed and fearful of weather. "Yes, we are very excited about coming to NY, but you never know - there could be a blizzard, in which case we will not. We'll just have to see."
They are planning to come for my birthday, but only, of course, if it is not snowing. And they are worried now. They are adorable.
We arrived on Wednesday after a noneventful trip in the Camry. My father kept saying "We're going to hit traffic. It's going to be terrible," and I kept saying "No, Dad, there's really not going to be any, because we're not going to be in the city, and we're going to be hitting Brooklyn at around 4, and nobody's working, and plus nobody in New York has a car, I really wouldn't worry." Still he insisted. The traffic was going to be cataclysmic! What would we do? Woe is us! Of course there was no traffic.
He had directions printed out, and handed them to my sister in the backseat because she is the only one who is trustworthy with directions. She read him the directions, and still he asked to see them and said things like "Are you sure?" to which Sister responded "Dad, I KNOW HOW TO READ NUMBERS!!!! AHHHHHH!"
When we got to Brooklyn we were all starving and irritable, so we snacked on the rations my mother brought, which were enough food to feed like 43 people for a week. She called me on Tuesday from the supermarket and asked "What do you kids eat?" because she wanted to provide food, and I was like "Ma, really, don't worry, there is food in NY" but her motherly instincts would allow her to be nothing less than prepared for war. She is lovely because she bought a gallon of milk and then soy milk for my brother. She also brought cheese curls and Tostitos and both mild and medium salsas. And Oatmeal. And bananas, which were a big hit.
We chilled out for a while and then it was time for dinner! Brother wasn't feeling particularly well, so we decided to have some comfort food, but the comfort food place was closed! Which is weird, because its called Anytime, but is not, apparently, opened at any time. Anytime is across from Sea, which is a horribly trendy and delicious Thai restaurant that is bizarrely enough reasonably priced. My parents, for the first time ever, ate Thai food! And they liked it!!! Breakthrough!
On Thursday morning I asked my father to take me to the post office, because I had a piece of certified mail there that had been waiting for me for months. I never went because I wasn't sure where the post office was, nor was I available during the hours it was open. He was cool with it, but kept saying "Do you know where the post office is?" I knew where it was because I'd consulted a map, but when we got to where I thought it was things ceased being a grid and I was confused. I apologized, and said "All we have to do is swing back around and take that other street" which became my father saying "Do you really know what you're doing? We should ask for directions." "Dad, its right back there." "No, we should ask someone if they know where the post office is." "It's RIGHT THERE. Just go down this street." "No, I'm pulling over and asking." "Dad, nobody is going to know where the post office is!" He asked a bunch of people, none of whom knew where the post office was. I'd nearly convinced him to drive when someone knocked on the window (someone we'd asked a few moments back for the location of the post office) and said "The post office- its right there - I can see it!"
Yep. It was a few blocks behind us, exactly where I thought it was. My father said "Yeah, why don't you just get out and walk. I'll just wait here." So I did. And then waited in the post office for 30 minutes only to find that the piece of mail had been sent back, and that the post office had never sent the final notification. I tried to be mad, but I was beat down by other things, mainly being made to feel clueless.
We then went to the Museum of Natural History, which is my favoritest place in the world and which is very well lit. (Ironically, in the very same exhibit that I praised as "well laid out" that was misheard as "well lit" by M some years back, my brother said "this exhibit has the worst layout ever.") We'd originally planned on going to the new MOMA, but I decided at the last minute that the MOMA is not parent-friendly and that it would be better to check it out at some point with my siblings when the parents were not present. The family adored the museum.
Afterwards, we were slated to check out the tree in Rockefeller Center but everyone was too tired. I didn't care, as I've seen it before. We decided to go to dinner, which, of course, was a major project. I said "There's an awesome Italian restaurant in Union Square that I went to with M and A. We should go there." My father was skeptical - I still don't know if he was concerned about the cost or my ability to discern quality dining from poor dining, which is ridiculous as my father thinks Pizzeria Uno is fine dining. He just wasn't into it, and wanted to go back to Little Italy, which is not my favorite place.
I said "Look, I don't want to go to Little Italy. We did that last time you were here and don't you want to do something different?"
God forbid.
My father said, in the lobby of the museum, "I am going to ask some people where there's a restaurant," just NOT UNDERSTANDING THE POINT OF NY!!! I swear. I was mortified. MORTIFIED.
"Please, Dad, DON'T."
Don't embarrass me. I don't want to be 13 again. I don't want someone to say "Sir, there are 5 million restaurants within a five minute walk from here. Just walk. Your daughter must be an idiot if she doesn't realize that."
I said "Here's what we will do - we are going to walk the length of Columbus Ave. from this stop to the next stop, and if we don't find a cool restaurant to eat at, we will go to Little Italy."
My father cannot handle spontaneity. My mother, on the other hand, when in New York becomes spontaneous and unafraid and marvelled by the world. She is amazing here. I love having her around.
We found a cool restaurant that wasn't approved of by my father, so he started asking people. Some guy on the street who my father determined was completely trustworthy recommended a place 5 blocks down. My father told me where it was, and I humored him and said we'd go, and all the way up he kept saying "Do you know where you're going?" Steaming. Steaming the whole way.
The place sucked, and we ended up at the original place, which was exquisite.
Heh.
On the way out of the subway station in Williamsburg my parents lagged behind. Sister and I walked on ahead, outside of the station, and then heard my mother calling after us "Wait..." "What?" "Wait..."
No idea.
So we walked back in, and turned out my father had found a Metro card on the subway and was testing it to see if there was any money left on it. He was standing in a sea of tossed Metro cards. I nearly cried. "Dad, there's NO MONEY on it. People just toss them!" but he insisted on checking them. When I told Boyfriend about this, he thought it was nice because he is nonjudgmental and gives people the benefit of the doubt and said "It's cute - your father was trying to find a Metro card for you!" and I was like "You must be on crack if you think he was going to give it to me. He was trying to find free rides for the next time he and my mother are here."
Again, mortified.
On Friday morning we tried to have comfort food again, but Anytime was still not open. We ended up at Relish. It was a Friday afternoon, and my father said "I want breakfast. Why don't they have breakfast? Where is the breakfast menu? I want a breakfast menu." He actually got up to demand a breakfast menu, but I talked him down by saying "Dad, it's LUNCH. It's not the weekend. There are eggs on this menu. That's the best you're going to do." "Well, they should have a breakfast menu." "No, because its lunch, and there are breakfast items on this menu."
The waitress came over and said "What can I get for you?" and my father said "Well, I'd like some breakfast and what are you going to do about it?"
She said "Sir, there are egg dishes on the menu" and my father sighed dramatically and ordered scrambled eggs.
Yes, yell at the waitress to get breakfast.
Yes.
Yes. This is how to treat people. This is how to get spit in your food.
I was so embarrassed. I seriously felt like a teenager, when you feel like your parents are designed exclusively to embarrass you and when you pretend like you don't know them. I kept thinking "I can never eat here again."
It was a nice visit, but overdosing on family can really mess you up. The stress level increases as you are made to feel more and more like a child by your parents, who are the only people who can do this to you.
The lovely thing, though, is that my mother made me feel like a grownup. It's the first time I've entertained my entire family - had them stay over, provided for them, etc. - and my mother was so proud. She always says how she misses having us little, playing with us, but how these times are just as valuable to her in a different way. I think its like that for all of us, and its nice to be able to take care of her and feed her and be an adult with her.
As stressful as it all was, I miss them already.
I hope we can do this every year.
Back in General
It's amazing how you can completely forget what you do for a living after being away from it for less than two weeks.
Apparently I do science, but I can't do it today.
I'd assumed today would be a wasted day, but I didn't realize just how ineffective I'd be. It's odd, because I was really looking forward to returning to work (normalcy) until it actually happened. Oh well.
I am dead tired. The holidays were hectic. Lots of family. I cried in two days the same amount of tears I've cried over the past three years. I realized that I cry when I see other people crying, especially children. I didn't get to see enough people in Boston, but was thrilled to be able to spend time with my former roommates and two of my spectacular girlfriends from college, one who has a wonderful husband and the other who has an equally wonderful fiance. I nearly killed my father in NYC, because he has the wonderful talent of being able to make me feel like I am 5 years old and incompetent and embarrassed by him no matter what age I am. New Year's Eve ended up being amazing, the best result of which is that I have, gasp, a boyfriend! Who I really like! Who feeds Roommate's cat because he knows how much it annoys me. Sigh.
I'll write more detailed stories later, but I just wanted to blog because I am going through withdrawal. Work wouldn't be work without writing my blog. Then again, it's not like I'm capable of doing work today.
Oh well.
More to come...
Apparently I do science, but I can't do it today.
I'd assumed today would be a wasted day, but I didn't realize just how ineffective I'd be. It's odd, because I was really looking forward to returning to work (normalcy) until it actually happened. Oh well.
I am dead tired. The holidays were hectic. Lots of family. I cried in two days the same amount of tears I've cried over the past three years. I realized that I cry when I see other people crying, especially children. I didn't get to see enough people in Boston, but was thrilled to be able to spend time with my former roommates and two of my spectacular girlfriends from college, one who has a wonderful husband and the other who has an equally wonderful fiance. I nearly killed my father in NYC, because he has the wonderful talent of being able to make me feel like I am 5 years old and incompetent and embarrassed by him no matter what age I am. New Year's Eve ended up being amazing, the best result of which is that I have, gasp, a boyfriend! Who I really like! Who feeds Roommate's cat because he knows how much it annoys me. Sigh.
I'll write more detailed stories later, but I just wanted to blog because I am going through withdrawal. Work wouldn't be work without writing my blog. Then again, it's not like I'm capable of doing work today.
Oh well.
More to come...
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Holiday Musak
I've had enough of it.
I don't understand why people at this company think it is acceptable to listen to Christmas carols all day long.
I finally had a meltdown and am blasting Interpol's Antics, which grows on me more and more every time I listen to it. It's amazing. I didn't think it was the first five times I heard it, but now I think its brilliant. It was the same with their first CD.
I can hear remnants of Christmas carols across the bay, but I don't care. They can call me Scrooge, Music Snob, Bitch, whatever. I'll take that over hearing Holly Jolly Freaking Christmas four more times today.
I don't feel Christmas-y. At all. I've been singing mock Christmas carols to Bench Buddy all day. He must want to kill me.
Interpol should put out a Christmas album. That would rule.
I have no spirit this year. I have no desire to celebrate holidays.
Yesterday was good. I got an amazing haircut that was worth every penny. I couldn't stop looking at it in every shiny surface. I couldn't believe it was me! I was invited to a New Year's Eve party in Harlem by my adorable hairdresser. After my fancy haircut I had one of the best nights of my life, during which D asked "Would you like me to make you an omelette?" How does he know everything?
Yet I am still moody and not feeling the holidays. It could be because Roommate got me a present and I didn't get her anything. I feel like I am dropping the ball this year. It's an awful feeling. It's not even like I feel self-absorbed - I am just oblivious, scattered, disorganized. We were talking about it, and I said to Roommate "I don't think we can be held accountable for anything that happened in 2004," because it has been crazy. Crazy adjustments. But she still has it together enough to remember to get me a present. I suck.
D got me a present too, but I didn't get him anything, because, again, I suck. I considered getting him something, but I thought that might be scary to him and also I didn't know what to get. I thought about Legos, because how fun would that be? I told him to keep whatever it is until my birthday so I can feel like slightly less of an asshole.
I bought gifts for some folks in Boston - the ones who are letting me stay with them - but now I don't even know if I'll see them.
My mother just called and told me to pack clothes for a funeral. She said he only has hours left. I had considered packing funeral appropriate attire, but then thought better of it as being prepared might be morbid and defeatist. I had decided against it as a statement of optimism, but apparently that was not a good idea. I own no nice clothes. I don't have room for a nice pair of shoes in my bag with over a week's worth of clothes and Christmas presents. I can't fathom the idea of my uncle not being with us on Christmas, nor can I comprehend my being prepared for this by packing accordingly.
And I can't believe I didn't make it in time. I booked a train at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow, in order to get home as soon as possible to see him. I talked to my boss, who agreed that it was acceptable for me to "call in sick" one day and one day only, but now it doesn't even matter. Now I get to cry on a train for four hours by myself while the rest of my family cries together today.
Bah humbug.
Yep.
But! It will be a new year soon, and once we all survive the holidays, things will be back in order.
I don't know if I am going to blog from home. I may. I may need to for sanity purposes. If I don't, happy holidays to you all, dear readers, experience great celebrations and happiness in the New Year, and I'll be back in '05.
Until then....
I don't understand why people at this company think it is acceptable to listen to Christmas carols all day long.
I finally had a meltdown and am blasting Interpol's Antics, which grows on me more and more every time I listen to it. It's amazing. I didn't think it was the first five times I heard it, but now I think its brilliant. It was the same with their first CD.
I can hear remnants of Christmas carols across the bay, but I don't care. They can call me Scrooge, Music Snob, Bitch, whatever. I'll take that over hearing Holly Jolly Freaking Christmas four more times today.
I don't feel Christmas-y. At all. I've been singing mock Christmas carols to Bench Buddy all day. He must want to kill me.
Interpol should put out a Christmas album. That would rule.
I have no spirit this year. I have no desire to celebrate holidays.
Yesterday was good. I got an amazing haircut that was worth every penny. I couldn't stop looking at it in every shiny surface. I couldn't believe it was me! I was invited to a New Year's Eve party in Harlem by my adorable hairdresser. After my fancy haircut I had one of the best nights of my life, during which D asked "Would you like me to make you an omelette?" How does he know everything?
Yet I am still moody and not feeling the holidays. It could be because Roommate got me a present and I didn't get her anything. I feel like I am dropping the ball this year. It's an awful feeling. It's not even like I feel self-absorbed - I am just oblivious, scattered, disorganized. We were talking about it, and I said to Roommate "I don't think we can be held accountable for anything that happened in 2004," because it has been crazy. Crazy adjustments. But she still has it together enough to remember to get me a present. I suck.
D got me a present too, but I didn't get him anything, because, again, I suck. I considered getting him something, but I thought that might be scary to him and also I didn't know what to get. I thought about Legos, because how fun would that be? I told him to keep whatever it is until my birthday so I can feel like slightly less of an asshole.
I bought gifts for some folks in Boston - the ones who are letting me stay with them - but now I don't even know if I'll see them.
My mother just called and told me to pack clothes for a funeral. She said he only has hours left. I had considered packing funeral appropriate attire, but then thought better of it as being prepared might be morbid and defeatist. I had decided against it as a statement of optimism, but apparently that was not a good idea. I own no nice clothes. I don't have room for a nice pair of shoes in my bag with over a week's worth of clothes and Christmas presents. I can't fathom the idea of my uncle not being with us on Christmas, nor can I comprehend my being prepared for this by packing accordingly.
And I can't believe I didn't make it in time. I booked a train at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow, in order to get home as soon as possible to see him. I talked to my boss, who agreed that it was acceptable for me to "call in sick" one day and one day only, but now it doesn't even matter. Now I get to cry on a train for four hours by myself while the rest of my family cries together today.
Bah humbug.
Yep.
But! It will be a new year soon, and once we all survive the holidays, things will be back in order.
I don't know if I am going to blog from home. I may. I may need to for sanity purposes. If I don't, happy holidays to you all, dear readers, experience great celebrations and happiness in the New Year, and I'll be back in '05.
Until then....
Monday, December 20, 2004
Wrapping Paper Rant
After The Pixies show on Saturday night I stopped by one of the millions of Duane Reades near Penn Station to buy wrapping paper for Christmas presents. I bought fabulous wrapping paper, the type that is expected of my presents. I wasn't sure it would be enough, but figured I'd just get more if the need presented itself.
I wrapped the first batch of presents last night in my delirium, and confirmed that I didn't have enough paper.
"That's fine," I thought, "I'll go to CVS tomorrow and buy some more, and shall use the coupon I got after using my Extra Care Card last week! Wee hee! Four dollars off!!!"
When I woke up this morning, the presents that I had wrapped in the cool textured pink sparkly paper had unwrapped themselves! Apparently tape and this sort of paper don't get along. "Fine," I thought, "I'll just get more paper at CVS. I had to get more paper anyway."
Today it was 5 degrees out, and felt like many below. Many, many, many below.
I was in a minor panic because today was the only day I could buy wrapping paper, as tomorrow I have my fancy haircut after work (!) and then plans afterwards, and I might be heading back to MA on Wednesday night!
Normally this wouldn't cause a panic, but man. THE COLD. Did I mention it was cold today? Like fingers sticking to doors cold. Like contemplating not eating lunch so as not to have to go outside cold.
I decided to brave the obscene cold despite my sickness and went to CVS after work.
There was no decent wrapping paper. It was fifteen minutes of unnecessary not-on-the-commute walking, and I thought I was going to die.
"No worries," I thought, "There is a Duane Reade on 14th Street... only two blocks from the subway... I can handle two blocks... only two... extra
... blocks...."
I jumped on the train and went uptown two stops to the Duane Reade, which was ON FIRE. I'm not kidding. There was a fire in the building that houses the Duane Reade. Fire trucks, police cars, chaos, tape, pedestrians being shuffled out of the way. Wtf? This is the second time in my life that my destination has been on fire. Bizarre.
I walked two blocks west of where I was, hoping to find another one, but I couldn't. What are the odds of there not being a Duane Reade? I knew there was another one three or four blocks east, but man was it COLD.
Like freezing.
Like my eyes were numb freezing.
Like you feel like your face will crack off freezing.
Like you've lived your entire life in the Northeast and still find yourself ill equipped to handle such cold despite the fact that you are wearing 47 layers of stuff freezing.
I decided to go back to Williamsburg and treat myself to a potato knish and hot bowl of broccoli cheddar soup, but of course The Bagel Store had no soup left. I then went to the Williamsburg Pharmacy where I bought three rolls of wrapping paper (because they only freaking come in sets of three) even though I only wanted the red shiny roll. The other two rolls have hideous Christmas patterns.
I got home and unravelled the roll of red, shiny paper, which isn't even enough to wrap one freaking shirt box, which is what needs to be wrapped.
Hmmmmmmm.
I wouldn't be so cross if it wasn't so cold, and if everything in NY wasn't such a project! All I want is PRETTY SPARKLY WRAPPING PAPER!!! IS THAT ASKING TOO MUCH!?!?!? CVS!!! Why have you failed me?!?! I have stuck by you in this Duane Reade Universe, but you have let me down. So disappointing.
Ahhh. I feel better after that rant. Why do the holidays make people crazy?
I think its because when its cold out all you want to do is be inside, under your covers while in your pajamas, taking shots of Nyquil while cuddling your stuffed animal or, better yet, a person. Instead you find yourself on an absurd quest in subzero conditions looking for an item that is going to be ripped to shreds and unappreciated but is super important to you because people always say "You always have the best looking presents!" You can't let the people down!
I guess it just sucks when you wasted your night walking around catching pneumonia and will still have ugly presents.
Oh well.
I am going to Nyquil now.
Word.
I wrapped the first batch of presents last night in my delirium, and confirmed that I didn't have enough paper.
"That's fine," I thought, "I'll go to CVS tomorrow and buy some more, and shall use the coupon I got after using my Extra Care Card last week! Wee hee! Four dollars off!!!"
When I woke up this morning, the presents that I had wrapped in the cool textured pink sparkly paper had unwrapped themselves! Apparently tape and this sort of paper don't get along. "Fine," I thought, "I'll just get more paper at CVS. I had to get more paper anyway."
Today it was 5 degrees out, and felt like many below. Many, many, many below.
I was in a minor panic because today was the only day I could buy wrapping paper, as tomorrow I have my fancy haircut after work (!) and then plans afterwards, and I might be heading back to MA on Wednesday night!
Normally this wouldn't cause a panic, but man. THE COLD. Did I mention it was cold today? Like fingers sticking to doors cold. Like contemplating not eating lunch so as not to have to go outside cold.
I decided to brave the obscene cold despite my sickness and went to CVS after work.
There was no decent wrapping paper. It was fifteen minutes of unnecessary not-on-the-commute walking, and I thought I was going to die.
"No worries," I thought, "There is a Duane Reade on 14th Street... only two blocks from the subway... I can handle two blocks... only two... extra
... blocks...."
I jumped on the train and went uptown two stops to the Duane Reade, which was ON FIRE. I'm not kidding. There was a fire in the building that houses the Duane Reade. Fire trucks, police cars, chaos, tape, pedestrians being shuffled out of the way. Wtf? This is the second time in my life that my destination has been on fire. Bizarre.
I walked two blocks west of where I was, hoping to find another one, but I couldn't. What are the odds of there not being a Duane Reade? I knew there was another one three or four blocks east, but man was it COLD.
Like freezing.
Like my eyes were numb freezing.
Like you feel like your face will crack off freezing.
Like you've lived your entire life in the Northeast and still find yourself ill equipped to handle such cold despite the fact that you are wearing 47 layers of stuff freezing.
I decided to go back to Williamsburg and treat myself to a potato knish and hot bowl of broccoli cheddar soup, but of course The Bagel Store had no soup left. I then went to the Williamsburg Pharmacy where I bought three rolls of wrapping paper (because they only freaking come in sets of three) even though I only wanted the red shiny roll. The other two rolls have hideous Christmas patterns.
I got home and unravelled the roll of red, shiny paper, which isn't even enough to wrap one freaking shirt box, which is what needs to be wrapped.
Hmmmmmmm.
I wouldn't be so cross if it wasn't so cold, and if everything in NY wasn't such a project! All I want is PRETTY SPARKLY WRAPPING PAPER!!! IS THAT ASKING TOO MUCH!?!?!? CVS!!! Why have you failed me?!?! I have stuck by you in this Duane Reade Universe, but you have let me down. So disappointing.
Ahhh. I feel better after that rant. Why do the holidays make people crazy?
I think its because when its cold out all you want to do is be inside, under your covers while in your pajamas, taking shots of Nyquil while cuddling your stuffed animal or, better yet, a person. Instead you find yourself on an absurd quest in subzero conditions looking for an item that is going to be ripped to shreds and unappreciated but is super important to you because people always say "You always have the best looking presents!" You can't let the people down!
I guess it just sucks when you wasted your night walking around catching pneumonia and will still have ugly presents.
Oh well.
I am going to Nyquil now.
Word.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Happiness
Genre: Self indulgent cover of a song from a musical
Date: 12.19.04
Description:
I was deliriously tired last night when I wrote the post about being happy.
I looked at it this morning and thought "Heh, those alternate lyrics to Happiness are kind of cute."
I then spoke with my mother, who said "After your father talked to you yesterday, he said you sounded REALLY HAPPY."
I said "That, mother, is because I am really happy!" I thought "Perhaps I should be self-indulgent and enjoy this happiness by actually recording the cheesy version of Happiness I proposed last night on the blog!" Plus, it's about time I actually recorded a song from a bad musical instead of writing originals that sound like they're from bad musicals.
I had no idea when I'd do it, until I went down to the laundry room and realized that even when you have tons of quarters for the first time in weeks, you can't actually do laundry when, in addition to the change machine being broken, so are half of the washing machines.
The broken machines gave me an extra hour of time, during which I recorded this. It was a rush job. The mixdown is pretty bad, as I just finished it after Christmas shopping in the rain during which I realized I am sick. I am sitting in my apartment wearing a scarf and hat and feeling like ass, but I am not phased because I am happy.
Please enjoy my bad cover of a bad song, and if you'd like to see the words, please reference the previous entry.
Date: 12.19.04
Description:
I was deliriously tired last night when I wrote the post about being happy.
I looked at it this morning and thought "Heh, those alternate lyrics to Happiness are kind of cute."
I then spoke with my mother, who said "After your father talked to you yesterday, he said you sounded REALLY HAPPY."
I said "That, mother, is because I am really happy!" I thought "Perhaps I should be self-indulgent and enjoy this happiness by actually recording the cheesy version of Happiness I proposed last night on the blog!" Plus, it's about time I actually recorded a song from a bad musical instead of writing originals that sound like they're from bad musicals.
I had no idea when I'd do it, until I went down to the laundry room and realized that even when you have tons of quarters for the first time in weeks, you can't actually do laundry when, in addition to the change machine being broken, so are half of the washing machines.
The broken machines gave me an extra hour of time, during which I recorded this. It was a rush job. The mixdown is pretty bad, as I just finished it after Christmas shopping in the rain during which I realized I am sick. I am sitting in my apartment wearing a scarf and hat and feeling like ass, but I am not phased because I am happy.
Please enjoy my bad cover of a bad song, and if you'd like to see the words, please reference the previous entry.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Happiness
Bench Buddy asked me to DJ the hip hop portion of his loft party last night, as I have a fairly decent and deep collection of hip hop on l'Ipod. DJ-ing this party was extremely gratifying because when I played obscure stuff it did not fall upon deaf ears. It fell upon mainly deaf ears, but it was appreciated by a few, which is really all you can ask for.
Sadly, I did not have time to play "Drop It Like It's Hot" even once!!!
But I did get to dance all night in a loft in New York City to obscure hip hop selected by me.
I am madly in love with New York right now.
Sung to the tune of "Happiness" from the Peanuts:
Happiness is
Hip hop dance parties,
Seeing the Pixies,
Writing your blog.
Happiness is
Having quarters,
Fuzzy pink mittens,
And a Bendy Snoop Dogg!
Happiness is
Drinking Hawaiian Punch with Vodka,
And Happiness is
A cute boy in your bed.
Happiness is
Finished shopping,
All-night talking,
And not worrying...
Happiness is
Going home and
Seeing your family
While missing New York!
Happiness is
Knowing you've found where you're supposed to be...
And happiness is
Apparently ok with me.
Sadly, I did not have time to play "Drop It Like It's Hot" even once!!!
But I did get to dance all night in a loft in New York City to obscure hip hop selected by me.
I am madly in love with New York right now.
Sung to the tune of "Happiness" from the Peanuts:
Happiness is
Hip hop dance parties,
Seeing the Pixies,
Writing your blog.
Happiness is
Having quarters,
Fuzzy pink mittens,
And a Bendy Snoop Dogg!
Happiness is
Drinking Hawaiian Punch with Vodka,
And Happiness is
A cute boy in your bed.
Happiness is
Finished shopping,
All-night talking,
And not worrying...
Happiness is
Going home and
Seeing your family
While missing New York!
Happiness is
Knowing you've found where you're supposed to be...
And happiness is
Apparently ok with me.
The Pixies: a Review (or Adult Rock Show)
My ears are ringing right now but I don't particularly care, because wow.
My friend BL from Boston wrote me two weeks ago and said "I thought of you at The Pixies because it was an adult rock show." She was right. The average age of the people at the show was 35. And we rocked, but in a very polite, non-pushy, non-teenager sort of way.
This show was a religious experience.
Wow.
Yeah.
We were lacking words afterwards because wow.
Legends.
Flawless.
Amazing.
Perfect.
My only complaint is that, similar to the They Might Be Giants show, I literally couldn't see a thing. Every so often I'd see Frank Black's bald head floating around, but other than that, I saw the drummer twice. I wondered why they don't just build the stage a few feet higher.
They played everything. It is remarkable when a band can play a long set and not play any songs you don't like. Again, perfect.
Wow.
I am wondering if this show is the best show I've seen. Or, more appropriately, the best show I've ever heard. I think if I'd been able to see, I'd put it at number 1. But you have to consider the entire experience when making this sort of statement.
It's much easier to pick the five worst shows you've ever seen than the five best, but if I had to pick my five best right this minute they would be:
1. Radiohead at the Tweeter Center (8/03) (also a religious, literally life-changing experience)
2. The Pixies at Hammerstein Ballroom (12/04)
3. Blur at Avalon (7/03)
4. Jay Z at the Worcester Palladium (9/01) (right after 9/11, therefore a memorable and intense experience but also just flawless hip hop)
5. Jump, Little Children at the Paradise (5/01)
I'm not sure about 5. I can't remember which Jump, Little Children show was the show where they performed "Where She Lies" without amplification. But that show was amazing. Outkast was also amazing at Smokin Grooves in summer '02, as was Eminem that summer at Anger Management. And LL Cool J was amazing at Avalon, as was Aimee Mann. And Travis. And others. And the first J5 show I saw at Lupo's was phenomenol as well. And Sunny Day Real Estate at Axis in '99. They were awesome. That could be 5 depending on which day you ask me, as could Incubus in September '01. Hmmm... and Ben Folds always puts on a good show.
Best show I didn't see was Elliott Smith at Avalon. Not attending is on my list of biggest regrets in life.
And the 5 Worst Shows (not in order, because they were just terrible and you can't quantitate bad as accurately):
1. Smashing Pumpkins (college - don't remember when? Mo?)
2. Death Cab For Cutie (summer '04)
3. Pinback (10/04)
4. Liz Phair (2003 at some point)
5. Grandaddy (no idea when)
My ears are ringing.
Ringing ears are a sign of fun had.
Wow.
My friend BL from Boston wrote me two weeks ago and said "I thought of you at The Pixies because it was an adult rock show." She was right. The average age of the people at the show was 35. And we rocked, but in a very polite, non-pushy, non-teenager sort of way.
This show was a religious experience.
Wow.
Yeah.
We were lacking words afterwards because wow.
Legends.
Flawless.
Amazing.
Perfect.
My only complaint is that, similar to the They Might Be Giants show, I literally couldn't see a thing. Every so often I'd see Frank Black's bald head floating around, but other than that, I saw the drummer twice. I wondered why they don't just build the stage a few feet higher.
They played everything. It is remarkable when a band can play a long set and not play any songs you don't like. Again, perfect.
Wow.
I am wondering if this show is the best show I've seen. Or, more appropriately, the best show I've ever heard. I think if I'd been able to see, I'd put it at number 1. But you have to consider the entire experience when making this sort of statement.
It's much easier to pick the five worst shows you've ever seen than the five best, but if I had to pick my five best right this minute they would be:
1. Radiohead at the Tweeter Center (8/03) (also a religious, literally life-changing experience)
2. The Pixies at Hammerstein Ballroom (12/04)
3. Blur at Avalon (7/03)
4. Jay Z at the Worcester Palladium (9/01) (right after 9/11, therefore a memorable and intense experience but also just flawless hip hop)
5. Jump, Little Children at the Paradise (5/01)
I'm not sure about 5. I can't remember which Jump, Little Children show was the show where they performed "Where She Lies" without amplification. But that show was amazing. Outkast was also amazing at Smokin Grooves in summer '02, as was Eminem that summer at Anger Management. And LL Cool J was amazing at Avalon, as was Aimee Mann. And Travis. And others. And the first J5 show I saw at Lupo's was phenomenol as well. And Sunny Day Real Estate at Axis in '99. They were awesome. That could be 5 depending on which day you ask me, as could Incubus in September '01. Hmmm... and Ben Folds always puts on a good show.
Best show I didn't see was Elliott Smith at Avalon. Not attending is on my list of biggest regrets in life.
And the 5 Worst Shows (not in order, because they were just terrible and you can't quantitate bad as accurately):
1. Smashing Pumpkins (college - don't remember when? Mo?)
2. Death Cab For Cutie (summer '04)
3. Pinback (10/04)
4. Liz Phair (2003 at some point)
5. Grandaddy (no idea when)
My ears are ringing.
Ringing ears are a sign of fun had.
Wow.
Friday, December 17, 2004
Chocolate Martini
Apparently drinking chocolate martinis is a bad idea when you'd like to sleep after drinking them.
But they taste really good.
Right now I am on hold with my health insurance company in order to inform them that I did not ever receive a cleaning at that god awful dentist's office near Times Square. It pains me that my insurance company gave them $65 for a cleaning I never had.
Yesterday was a good day. My mother's cousin P is in the restaurant business and is, bizarrely enough, involved in the opening of a bunch of Anna's-like-restaurants in NYC! He invited me and some friends to a free preview event at their newest location yesterday. Eating that burrito for lunch was bliss. It was as good as Anna's! And free! And the even better news is that they're opening one a block away from my company!!! Free burritos! All the time!!! AHHHH!!!!!
He met us out last night for drinks, which was lovely. P bears a striking resemblance to my mother's mother and aunts. It felt nice to look at something so familiar. It's also nice, at a time when my family is going through something very sad, to be able to share my feelings with someone who understands.
The operator just told me that they will have to call me back due to high call volume. How frustrating.
I didn't really sleep last night. It was probably because of chocolate martinis and family and happiness and sadness and Christmas presents in the mail and dentists and those lovely 8th-grade butterflies again. I feel like ass today, which is unfortunate because today is the departmental lunch at a fancy secret location, not to mention Bench Buddy's indie rock listening / hip hop dance party is this evening. I am responsible for the hip hop dance party portion of the festivities. I will be playing Drop It Like It's Hot on repeat. Hopefully I'll have time for playlist-making and napping tonight before I head to his loft, and hopefully my stomach will be appeased by whatever secret food I'll be eating within the next hour.
I am going to spend some quality time with my lab notebook now before we embark on our secret journey.
Until next time...
But they taste really good.
Right now I am on hold with my health insurance company in order to inform them that I did not ever receive a cleaning at that god awful dentist's office near Times Square. It pains me that my insurance company gave them $65 for a cleaning I never had.
Yesterday was a good day. My mother's cousin P is in the restaurant business and is, bizarrely enough, involved in the opening of a bunch of Anna's-like-restaurants in NYC! He invited me and some friends to a free preview event at their newest location yesterday. Eating that burrito for lunch was bliss. It was as good as Anna's! And free! And the even better news is that they're opening one a block away from my company!!! Free burritos! All the time!!! AHHHH!!!!!
He met us out last night for drinks, which was lovely. P bears a striking resemblance to my mother's mother and aunts. It felt nice to look at something so familiar. It's also nice, at a time when my family is going through something very sad, to be able to share my feelings with someone who understands.
The operator just told me that they will have to call me back due to high call volume. How frustrating.
I didn't really sleep last night. It was probably because of chocolate martinis and family and happiness and sadness and Christmas presents in the mail and dentists and those lovely 8th-grade butterflies again. I feel like ass today, which is unfortunate because today is the departmental lunch at a fancy secret location, not to mention Bench Buddy's indie rock listening / hip hop dance party is this evening. I am responsible for the hip hop dance party portion of the festivities. I will be playing Drop It Like It's Hot on repeat. Hopefully I'll have time for playlist-making and napping tonight before I head to his loft, and hopefully my stomach will be appeased by whatever secret food I'll be eating within the next hour.
I am going to spend some quality time with my lab notebook now before we embark on our secret journey.
Until next time...
Thursday, December 16, 2004
W
I've been listening to the "W" songs on my IPod this week. There are a lot of them. And they are, for the most part, really good songs. Much better than a random sampling of shuffled songs on my IPod. Maybe alphabetical is the way to go. I am thinking of staging a competition between all of the letters. It would be interesting. I think "W" has a good chance of Winning.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Obligatory Snoop Dogg Post Of The Week
Last night at the holiday party there was a spurt of time during which songs such as "Brown Eyed Girl" and "December '63" or "Oh, What A Night!" or whatever that god awful song is called were being played. Needless to say I immediately slipped into a snobby mood and exclaimed "What is this guy doing?!?!"
Bench Buddy said "It's as though he can only play a good song every third song. He's going between dance hall and bad wedding without remorse!"
I said "I am going to request some hip hop."
Bench Buddy said "Since the odds of him playing indie pop are pretty slim, I think that's a great idea."
I ran up the stairs and basically ran into the DJ booth and said "So... what do I have to do to get you to play 'Drop It Like It's Hot?'"
He started at me and said, slowly, "Thank you."
"What?"
"Thank you. You have no idea how big the aching in my soul has gotten having to play this music."
Awshummmm.
I then asked him if he could follow it with "Nuthin But A G Thang" and then "Hypnotize," but he was convinced the crowd wouldn't be able to deal.
So he played one verse of "Drop It Like It's Hot" about two hours after my request was made and after I'd been dropped on my face.
Apparently it is 23 degrees outside right now. Might be time for the winter hat. Which reminds me that I should probably go to work.
Until next time...
Bench Buddy said "It's as though he can only play a good song every third song. He's going between dance hall and bad wedding without remorse!"
I said "I am going to request some hip hop."
Bench Buddy said "Since the odds of him playing indie pop are pretty slim, I think that's a great idea."
I ran up the stairs and basically ran into the DJ booth and said "So... what do I have to do to get you to play 'Drop It Like It's Hot?'"
He started at me and said, slowly, "Thank you."
"What?"
"Thank you. You have no idea how big the aching in my soul has gotten having to play this music."
Awshummmm.
I then asked him if he could follow it with "Nuthin But A G Thang" and then "Hypnotize," but he was convinced the crowd wouldn't be able to deal.
So he played one verse of "Drop It Like It's Hot" about two hours after my request was made and after I'd been dropped on my face.
Apparently it is 23 degrees outside right now. Might be time for the winter hat. Which reminds me that I should probably go to work.
Until next time...
Bless You, Holiday Party
Tee hee. The butterflies were reciprocated at the holiday party.
Also at the holiday party was drunken R again, who slurred things such as "Yerrrr the bessssht.... yerrrr the coolessst person at the companeee.... man, yerrrr my bessssht friend...."
He was also grabbing girls and twirling them around and grinding on whoever was around.
When you're my size, oftentimes people feel the compulsion to pick you up off of the ground. Which wouldn't be a bad thing if I didn't have this totally neurotic fear of being lifted off the ground. I'm not sure from where it stems. I just hate being picked up - I feel really helpless, and god forbid if someone tilts me upside down. Total freak out.
The first time R picked me up tonight he picked me up wedding-day-over-the-threshold style and spun me around. I, of course, thought I was going to die. Luckily he stopped before I died, but not before my shirt was basically lifted up over my head, which was awsshummmm because I was bra-less. Mortified. I don't think anyone saw, and if they did, they were too drunk to remember.
The second time R picked me up tonight he tried the same maneuver, except this time it was about an hour and therefore four more drinks or shots or whatever later. He started spinning me around, but my head was tilted towards the ground - I was like "Dude, fucking STOP!" and he was just out of control with the spinning, and unable to control his body, which resulted in his dropping me, face first, onto the ground.
The whole scene was in slow motion. I was scared from the start, because somehow I knew the ending would not be pretty. I basically dropped (or was thrown, actually) a few feet and slammed my jaw on the ground, which then slammed upwards in my mouth. Luckily I didn't lose any teeth, which I could have. But man. The drop was at such a fierce velocity that I couldn't even get up afterwards.
I sort of sat there, dumbfounded, unsure of what to do. Because I couldn't get up, I didn't punch R in the face.
I'm sitting there, and people run over and are like "Oh my god!" "Are you alright?" "What happened?" etc.
I was like "I am going to fucking kill R" and then "Oh man, my chin hurts..."
M said "Here's my drink - its cold - why don't you put it on your chin," so I did.
Then this woman comes rushing over and takes the drink out of my hand and says "No more drinking for you!"
And I was like "EXCUSE ME!??!"
She said "I saw what just happened" and is literally trying to pull the drink out of my hand but I won't let her "And you are CUT OFF!"
I was like "You listen to me..."
And she's like "NO, YOU listen to me... you're totally drunk... I am the VP of *** and I know what's going on..."
And I was like "Clearly you don't, and you listen to ME, because that drink isn't even mine and I am completely sober and that drunk asshole over there just picked me up and dropped me on my head, and I was using that drink, provided to me kindly by M, to ice my chin, which is in massive amounts of pain."
VP of *** kissed my ass all night, as did R, who felt really really bad and kept saying "Leah, you know how much I lufffff you and you know I'd never hurt you cuz yer the besssssssht....."
I'd never had the thought "I would exchange my left arm for an ice pack" before tonight.
My chin is awesomely swollen right now.
I had ice cubes on it all night. It was a million degrees in the club so they melted instantly all over my purple pants.
But I don't really care, because Source Of Butterflies came over having missed the entire scene and said "You still look beautiful" and smiled awkwardly and made it all better.
Karma got R, though. After the company party we headed to an after party at some stupid bar that didn't have karaoke, because the karaoke plan got squashed due to various drama, people not showing, and my chin being my priority. R was sad about this, and upon arriving at the after party bar, said to the bouncer "So... like.... can we sing Bon Jovi here?" except somehow managed to slur it and offend the bouncer in the process. The bouncer said "He can't come in," and we were all "Why?" and he said "I am making a judgment call," assumingly based on his sobriety, but really he was just being snotty because R said something about karaoke, which apparently isn't cool enough.
We were outside for a while trying to decide what to do - ditch R and hang out with the rest of the crew - or take off and do karaoke somewhere else. While this was happening, A came out and said to R "Dude, how long have you lived in this city?" and R said "Two years." A said "Haven't you learned not to ask stupid questions like that? You deserve it!" and then marched away all high and mighty.
I wish I'd said "Haven't YOU learned not to go to snotty bars where bouncers flag people for arbitrary things?"
What a stupid poser lame ass thing to do.
Some woman from work took care of things (this drama went on for about half an hour, during which some of us just went inside, others rotated to hang out with R outside, etc.) by telling the bouncer that R was her boss and a very important VP. Who has a mohawk. Heh. R had to drink water for the remainder of the evening. (I think right now he and 50 other people are eating pancakes, but I didn't want any. Well, I want (ed) some but it didn't seem like a good idea. Now I really wish I'd had some. I thought I was tired, but again - the caffeine, alcohol and butterflies have gotten the best of me!)
Then we were all together and it was lovely, and I wasn't at all mad at R because I felt very sorry for his being flagged. I felt like it was us against the man! Or, us against snotty karaoke-haters.
Stupid bar.
Other than the chin fiasco and the lovely bruise it will leave on my face, the holiday party was great fun. Lots of dancing. Fabulous food this time. Cute boys from the New Jersey facility. Converse instead of pink boots because you can't be cold and have feet in agony at the same time - only one ridiculous clothes item per outing, so the tank top won over the boots. It didn't matter.
Things worked out exactly as I'd hoped without the pink boots. My horoscope today said "Don't be surprised if today actually turns out to be the red letter day you're hoping for." I thought "Not me, nope, no siree!!! There's no way life will let me have the day I am hoping for today," but, even without pink boots, I got it.
Tee hee.
Also at the holiday party was drunken R again, who slurred things such as "Yerrrr the bessssht.... yerrrr the coolessst person at the companeee.... man, yerrrr my bessssht friend...."
He was also grabbing girls and twirling them around and grinding on whoever was around.
When you're my size, oftentimes people feel the compulsion to pick you up off of the ground. Which wouldn't be a bad thing if I didn't have this totally neurotic fear of being lifted off the ground. I'm not sure from where it stems. I just hate being picked up - I feel really helpless, and god forbid if someone tilts me upside down. Total freak out.
The first time R picked me up tonight he picked me up wedding-day-over-the-threshold style and spun me around. I, of course, thought I was going to die. Luckily he stopped before I died, but not before my shirt was basically lifted up over my head, which was awsshummmm because I was bra-less. Mortified. I don't think anyone saw, and if they did, they were too drunk to remember.
The second time R picked me up tonight he tried the same maneuver, except this time it was about an hour and therefore four more drinks or shots or whatever later. He started spinning me around, but my head was tilted towards the ground - I was like "Dude, fucking STOP!" and he was just out of control with the spinning, and unable to control his body, which resulted in his dropping me, face first, onto the ground.
The whole scene was in slow motion. I was scared from the start, because somehow I knew the ending would not be pretty. I basically dropped (or was thrown, actually) a few feet and slammed my jaw on the ground, which then slammed upwards in my mouth. Luckily I didn't lose any teeth, which I could have. But man. The drop was at such a fierce velocity that I couldn't even get up afterwards.
I sort of sat there, dumbfounded, unsure of what to do. Because I couldn't get up, I didn't punch R in the face.
I'm sitting there, and people run over and are like "Oh my god!" "Are you alright?" "What happened?" etc.
I was like "I am going to fucking kill R" and then "Oh man, my chin hurts..."
M said "Here's my drink - its cold - why don't you put it on your chin," so I did.
Then this woman comes rushing over and takes the drink out of my hand and says "No more drinking for you!"
And I was like "EXCUSE ME!??!"
She said "I saw what just happened" and is literally trying to pull the drink out of my hand but I won't let her "And you are CUT OFF!"
I was like "You listen to me..."
And she's like "NO, YOU listen to me... you're totally drunk... I am the VP of *** and I know what's going on..."
And I was like "Clearly you don't, and you listen to ME, because that drink isn't even mine and I am completely sober and that drunk asshole over there just picked me up and dropped me on my head, and I was using that drink, provided to me kindly by M, to ice my chin, which is in massive amounts of pain."
VP of *** kissed my ass all night, as did R, who felt really really bad and kept saying "Leah, you know how much I lufffff you and you know I'd never hurt you cuz yer the besssssssht....."
I'd never had the thought "I would exchange my left arm for an ice pack" before tonight.
My chin is awesomely swollen right now.
I had ice cubes on it all night. It was a million degrees in the club so they melted instantly all over my purple pants.
But I don't really care, because Source Of Butterflies came over having missed the entire scene and said "You still look beautiful" and smiled awkwardly and made it all better.
Karma got R, though. After the company party we headed to an after party at some stupid bar that didn't have karaoke, because the karaoke plan got squashed due to various drama, people not showing, and my chin being my priority. R was sad about this, and upon arriving at the after party bar, said to the bouncer "So... like.... can we sing Bon Jovi here?" except somehow managed to slur it and offend the bouncer in the process. The bouncer said "He can't come in," and we were all "Why?" and he said "I am making a judgment call," assumingly based on his sobriety, but really he was just being snotty because R said something about karaoke, which apparently isn't cool enough.
We were outside for a while trying to decide what to do - ditch R and hang out with the rest of the crew - or take off and do karaoke somewhere else. While this was happening, A came out and said to R "Dude, how long have you lived in this city?" and R said "Two years." A said "Haven't you learned not to ask stupid questions like that? You deserve it!" and then marched away all high and mighty.
I wish I'd said "Haven't YOU learned not to go to snotty bars where bouncers flag people for arbitrary things?"
What a stupid poser lame ass thing to do.
Some woman from work took care of things (this drama went on for about half an hour, during which some of us just went inside, others rotated to hang out with R outside, etc.) by telling the bouncer that R was her boss and a very important VP. Who has a mohawk. Heh. R had to drink water for the remainder of the evening. (I think right now he and 50 other people are eating pancakes, but I didn't want any. Well, I want (ed) some but it didn't seem like a good idea. Now I really wish I'd had some. I thought I was tired, but again - the caffeine, alcohol and butterflies have gotten the best of me!)
Then we were all together and it was lovely, and I wasn't at all mad at R because I felt very sorry for his being flagged. I felt like it was us against the man! Or, us against snotty karaoke-haters.
Stupid bar.
Other than the chin fiasco and the lovely bruise it will leave on my face, the holiday party was great fun. Lots of dancing. Fabulous food this time. Cute boys from the New Jersey facility. Converse instead of pink boots because you can't be cold and have feet in agony at the same time - only one ridiculous clothes item per outing, so the tank top won over the boots. It didn't matter.
Things worked out exactly as I'd hoped without the pink boots. My horoscope today said "Don't be surprised if today actually turns out to be the red letter day you're hoping for." I thought "Not me, nope, no siree!!! There's no way life will let me have the day I am hoping for today," but, even without pink boots, I got it.
Tee hee.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
If You'd Told Me Ten Years Ago....
... that I'd be meeting a friend from high school for dinner in New York City, during which we'd discuss her having just received a verbal offer from a major record label to do A & R, I'd have thought you were completely insane.
But I did just this last night! My friend N from high school, who lies on the correct side of the gay marriange debate, was in town yesterday for a job interview. I haven't seen N in over a year and a half, so I was thrilled to not only see her but to celebrate with her!
Barring any paperwork or political fiascos, N will have one of the coolest jobs on the planet. Her job will be to listen to music. She will have the ability to change the lives of artists and to change all of our lives by discovering the next big thing.
It was lovely to see her, and to see just how far we've both come. We talked a lot about how many of the people we attended high school with are in my home town, drinking at the only bar in town with people they've known for a million years, making babies with each other, living a life of familiarity and comfort. There's nothing wrong with babies and houses and security and lawns and living a block from your parents.
It would, however, be entirely wrong for me, and I wonder why, given the same upbringing as these people, I chose a life so different from their lives, from my parents' lives, from the rural suburban dream. Granted, I just left my comfort zone of Boston, but I left. I wonder if it ever occurred to the kids from my graduating class to leave. Did they want to and just couldn't? Or did they stay because they really didn't want anything else?
I guess its just hard to shake the suburban dream. Like I said, if you told me when I was 15 that I'd be working in New York City, I probably would have collapsed into a fit of anxiety. Back then, Boston was too large to comprehend.
And now I am hanging out in NYC with old friends. We're so different now in our city clothes and better hair. We still talk about music but its different now because we're in it. We no longer look at it, and the rest of life, from a distance. I am so psyched I triumped over my suburban upbringing!!! But, I do miss trees and soft surfaces.
Nevertheless, being a grownup rules. As does hanging out with N.
Trivia question: Does anyone who isn't N, without looking it up, know what A & R stands for? I thought I knew, but apparently never did, because when she told me it was completely and utterly foreign.
But I did just this last night! My friend N from high school, who lies on the correct side of the gay marriange debate, was in town yesterday for a job interview. I haven't seen N in over a year and a half, so I was thrilled to not only see her but to celebrate with her!
Barring any paperwork or political fiascos, N will have one of the coolest jobs on the planet. Her job will be to listen to music. She will have the ability to change the lives of artists and to change all of our lives by discovering the next big thing.
It was lovely to see her, and to see just how far we've both come. We talked a lot about how many of the people we attended high school with are in my home town, drinking at the only bar in town with people they've known for a million years, making babies with each other, living a life of familiarity and comfort. There's nothing wrong with babies and houses and security and lawns and living a block from your parents.
It would, however, be entirely wrong for me, and I wonder why, given the same upbringing as these people, I chose a life so different from their lives, from my parents' lives, from the rural suburban dream. Granted, I just left my comfort zone of Boston, but I left. I wonder if it ever occurred to the kids from my graduating class to leave. Did they want to and just couldn't? Or did they stay because they really didn't want anything else?
I guess its just hard to shake the suburban dream. Like I said, if you told me when I was 15 that I'd be working in New York City, I probably would have collapsed into a fit of anxiety. Back then, Boston was too large to comprehend.
And now I am hanging out in NYC with old friends. We're so different now in our city clothes and better hair. We still talk about music but its different now because we're in it. We no longer look at it, and the rest of life, from a distance. I am so psyched I triumped over my suburban upbringing!!! But, I do miss trees and soft surfaces.
Nevertheless, being a grownup rules. As does hanging out with N.
Trivia question: Does anyone who isn't N, without looking it up, know what A & R stands for? I thought I knew, but apparently never did, because when she told me it was completely and utterly foreign.
Charlie and The Chocolate Factory!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The trailer has been released!!!!!! Johnny Depp's face looks weird.
http://chocolatefactorymovie.warnerbros.com/#
Good luck getting "Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka...." out of your head.
http://chocolatefactorymovie.warnerbros.com/#
Good luck getting "Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka...." out of your head.
Monday, December 13, 2004
$10 Boots
Had a lovely weekend with M and A, who came down to NY all the way from Worcester for yet another fabulous weekend!
We started off having the best bagels in the world, which happen to be in Williamsburg. I won't even attempt to describe the cream cheese, because I won't do it justice.
We then went to the island to see People Are Wrong, a new musical starring John Flansburgh of They Might Be Giants, who M would most likely stalk if given the opportunity. It was playing at the same theater at which Avenue Q originally debuted. It's about a couple who relocates from the big city to the country. They want to start a garden in their yard because their wedding will be hosted at their new home. Because they are city people, they have absolutely no idea how to garden (they probably don't know what a Cuisinart is, either!), so they hire a local company to help them. The company, as it turns out, is a cult, headed by a dude with a ponytail who thinks he's from outerspace. After receiving a vision from space, the cult leader decides to use the money from the city people to build a space ship in their garden to send him back to his home dimension.
Yeah.
It was awesome. It appeals to a particular sense of humor, but if you have that sense of humor, you'll love it. The talent level was impressive, and it was great to laugh consistently throughout the entire show. It was also just nice to be at a musical. It's been a long time. M and I decided that if we were rich we'd go to musicals and plays all the time. And shop lots. She said "I'd get bored with the shopping." I never would. Not here, anyway.
Afterwards, we found a fantastic Italian restaurant south of Union Square where M ordered a special that, unbeknownst to her, contained caviar. Luckily it didn't cost an obscene amount of money. I got risotto with peas and artichokes. Yum. And then we had dessert. Also yum.
We then headed uptown and battled the tourists for a glimpse of the tree in Rockefeller Center, which was quite beautiful and extremely romantic and apparently not a disappointment. Seeing it made me feel like a tourist. I think I felt that way because it was very romantic, and very New York, and I had that feeling of awe that I experience only in response to New York City. It's nice to know I can still feel it. I'm sure I'll feel that way again in Central Park this summer. Ah, New York.
On Sunday we had breakfast at Relish, where I ordered french toast and onion rings, because Relish has the second-best onion rings in the world. It is nice to live walking distance from the second-best onion rings in the world. I also live walking distance from the world's best bagels, and the world's second-best creme brulee. Instead of talking about shoes at breakfast, we discussed glasses for like half an hour. A is so patient with us. I am so happy that M found A.
We then headed back to the island for some shopping and shoe-gazing in SoHo. On our way from SoHo to Union Square, there was a man on the street shouting "$5 shoes! $10 boots!" It was some sketchy weird outlet-y place with random clothes thrown about and tons of strange shoes. I found a pair of snakeskin-ish pinkish purple knee high boots for $10!!! $10 for tall boots!!!! I had to have them after A gave me his approval, because A's approving of anything shoe-related is noteworthy. They don't quite fit and aren't the most comfortable shoes, but $10!!!!
After more shopping at the fantastic Union Square Christmas Market Thing, we headed back and had more bagels and amazing little desserts to celebrate A's 29th birthday!
It was a great visit.
For the first time since I moved here, I found myself confronted with free time last night! I sat on the couch and was actually afraid of the lack of something to do. I felt unproductive and wasteful and useless and moody for about an hour, and then thought "Wait, I can just... relax!"
So I did.
And it was nice.
I watched Arrested Development, which is an amazing show. Every line on that show is hilarious, so I end up missing every other line while I am laughing like an idiot.
After Desperate Housewives I was feeling a bit useless again, but after the source of butterflies called to see how my weekend went and to tell me about something of note that's happening on Wednesday, I felt better and recorded another cover song on the real piano because Roommate was out of town!!! It came out well. Well, the audio is crap, but the cover is good and I think it might be almost ready to debut at an open mic. Yes, I will attend and play at a non-sketchy open mic after the holidays! Watch out, New York, and prepare yourself for the coming of the Lollysphere!
We started off having the best bagels in the world, which happen to be in Williamsburg. I won't even attempt to describe the cream cheese, because I won't do it justice.
We then went to the island to see People Are Wrong, a new musical starring John Flansburgh of They Might Be Giants, who M would most likely stalk if given the opportunity. It was playing at the same theater at which Avenue Q originally debuted. It's about a couple who relocates from the big city to the country. They want to start a garden in their yard because their wedding will be hosted at their new home. Because they are city people, they have absolutely no idea how to garden (they probably don't know what a Cuisinart is, either!), so they hire a local company to help them. The company, as it turns out, is a cult, headed by a dude with a ponytail who thinks he's from outerspace. After receiving a vision from space, the cult leader decides to use the money from the city people to build a space ship in their garden to send him back to his home dimension.
Yeah.
It was awesome. It appeals to a particular sense of humor, but if you have that sense of humor, you'll love it. The talent level was impressive, and it was great to laugh consistently throughout the entire show. It was also just nice to be at a musical. It's been a long time. M and I decided that if we were rich we'd go to musicals and plays all the time. And shop lots. She said "I'd get bored with the shopping." I never would. Not here, anyway.
Afterwards, we found a fantastic Italian restaurant south of Union Square where M ordered a special that, unbeknownst to her, contained caviar. Luckily it didn't cost an obscene amount of money. I got risotto with peas and artichokes. Yum. And then we had dessert. Also yum.
We then headed uptown and battled the tourists for a glimpse of the tree in Rockefeller Center, which was quite beautiful and extremely romantic and apparently not a disappointment. Seeing it made me feel like a tourist. I think I felt that way because it was very romantic, and very New York, and I had that feeling of awe that I experience only in response to New York City. It's nice to know I can still feel it. I'm sure I'll feel that way again in Central Park this summer. Ah, New York.
On Sunday we had breakfast at Relish, where I ordered french toast and onion rings, because Relish has the second-best onion rings in the world. It is nice to live walking distance from the second-best onion rings in the world. I also live walking distance from the world's best bagels, and the world's second-best creme brulee. Instead of talking about shoes at breakfast, we discussed glasses for like half an hour. A is so patient with us. I am so happy that M found A.
We then headed back to the island for some shopping and shoe-gazing in SoHo. On our way from SoHo to Union Square, there was a man on the street shouting "$5 shoes! $10 boots!" It was some sketchy weird outlet-y place with random clothes thrown about and tons of strange shoes. I found a pair of snakeskin-ish pinkish purple knee high boots for $10!!! $10 for tall boots!!!! I had to have them after A gave me his approval, because A's approving of anything shoe-related is noteworthy. They don't quite fit and aren't the most comfortable shoes, but $10!!!!
After more shopping at the fantastic Union Square Christmas Market Thing, we headed back and had more bagels and amazing little desserts to celebrate A's 29th birthday!
It was a great visit.
For the first time since I moved here, I found myself confronted with free time last night! I sat on the couch and was actually afraid of the lack of something to do. I felt unproductive and wasteful and useless and moody for about an hour, and then thought "Wait, I can just... relax!"
So I did.
And it was nice.
I watched Arrested Development, which is an amazing show. Every line on that show is hilarious, so I end up missing every other line while I am laughing like an idiot.
After Desperate Housewives I was feeling a bit useless again, but after the source of butterflies called to see how my weekend went and to tell me about something of note that's happening on Wednesday, I felt better and recorded another cover song on the real piano because Roommate was out of town!!! It came out well. Well, the audio is crap, but the cover is good and I think it might be almost ready to debut at an open mic. Yes, I will attend and play at a non-sketchy open mic after the holidays! Watch out, New York, and prepare yourself for the coming of the Lollysphere!
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Vaudeville
Roommate and I went to Floating Vaudeville last night at Galapagos.
It was awesome. Roommate said "I love our New York life."
Some thoughts:
1. We thought the dude at the door was cute and gay when we walked in. Roommate said "What do you think?" I said "Cute but gay... too bad." On our way out, dude was totally into Roommate and not-as-elusive, which caused us to realize that he was neither cute nor gay. Apparently boys cannot be cute and straight.
2. There was a hula hoop woman. She was nuts. Extremely talented. Her face looked a bit like Parker Posey's. Her first set consisted of a striptease whilst hula hooping. In theory this should be tres sexy. The whole thing excited me at first - when she removed her gloves etc. - until she removed her top. Her body was obscenely cut. You know the type. Body-building-too-thin-chick-cut-concave-transparent-stretched-out-abs. It was actually kind of gross, and distracted from what was going on. Her second set was one where she was wearing a half shirt and started with one hula hoop which ended up being about 20. Again, she was amazing, but I couldn't stop staring at and being horrifed by her scary abs.
3. www.cornmo.com This guy is the best thing ever. Roommate has been talking about him non-stop since I met her. "You are gonna love Cornmo," she'd say or "When you see Cornmo your life will be forever changed," or "Cornmo can turn anything into happy." She was so right. He's a one-man band - plays keys or accordian while having a small drum attached to his shoe for dramatic moments - and sounds like Queen meets They Might Be Giants meets Ben Folds. Fabulous. I can't really describe him - his songs are hilarious (songs about time travel, a German lady who gave him candy when he was a little kid, a girl who wanted to hook up with him after a show but he was oblivious because it doesn't make sense thata a girl would want to hook up with someone because they play the accordian), he is sincere and deadpan, and you just want to smother him or invite him over to sing songs for you at your apartment. The wonderful thing is that he will come over and sing songs for you in your apartment, so we're thinking of inviting him to do a set at our fictional February party that we'll be hosting once we've made friends in January, which is our goal.
4.. We didn't make any friends last night, which was our goal. We were met, however, by a spastic Ohio-in-origin kid from our building named Freddie, who ran after us on the street as we left Galapagos to say "Did you guys see that girl having sex with that car over there?" He works for a company that tries to get people to "save the children" and, of course, fell in love with Roommate by the time we got back to our building. He invited us to some parties which we did not attend and also to an audio installation he's doing in Suite 317 on Wednesday, which I think I might check out if I am not too fried from Tuesday's company party. It can't be a bad idea to meet the musically-inclined in the building. They might want to come to our Cornmo party in February and pretend to be our friends.
Until tomorrow....
It was awesome. Roommate said "I love our New York life."
Some thoughts:
1. We thought the dude at the door was cute and gay when we walked in. Roommate said "What do you think?" I said "Cute but gay... too bad." On our way out, dude was totally into Roommate and not-as-elusive, which caused us to realize that he was neither cute nor gay. Apparently boys cannot be cute and straight.
2. There was a hula hoop woman. She was nuts. Extremely talented. Her face looked a bit like Parker Posey's. Her first set consisted of a striptease whilst hula hooping. In theory this should be tres sexy. The whole thing excited me at first - when she removed her gloves etc. - until she removed her top. Her body was obscenely cut. You know the type. Body-building-too-thin-chick-cut-concave-transparent-stretched-out-abs. It was actually kind of gross, and distracted from what was going on. Her second set was one where she was wearing a half shirt and started with one hula hoop which ended up being about 20. Again, she was amazing, but I couldn't stop staring at and being horrifed by her scary abs.
3. www.cornmo.com This guy is the best thing ever. Roommate has been talking about him non-stop since I met her. "You are gonna love Cornmo," she'd say or "When you see Cornmo your life will be forever changed," or "Cornmo can turn anything into happy." She was so right. He's a one-man band - plays keys or accordian while having a small drum attached to his shoe for dramatic moments - and sounds like Queen meets They Might Be Giants meets Ben Folds. Fabulous. I can't really describe him - his songs are hilarious (songs about time travel, a German lady who gave him candy when he was a little kid, a girl who wanted to hook up with him after a show but he was oblivious because it doesn't make sense thata a girl would want to hook up with someone because they play the accordian), he is sincere and deadpan, and you just want to smother him or invite him over to sing songs for you at your apartment. The wonderful thing is that he will come over and sing songs for you in your apartment, so we're thinking of inviting him to do a set at our fictional February party that we'll be hosting once we've made friends in January, which is our goal.
4.. We didn't make any friends last night, which was our goal. We were met, however, by a spastic Ohio-in-origin kid from our building named Freddie, who ran after us on the street as we left Galapagos to say "Did you guys see that girl having sex with that car over there?" He works for a company that tries to get people to "save the children" and, of course, fell in love with Roommate by the time we got back to our building. He invited us to some parties which we did not attend and also to an audio installation he's doing in Suite 317 on Wednesday, which I think I might check out if I am not too fried from Tuesday's company party. It can't be a bad idea to meet the musically-inclined in the building. They might want to come to our Cornmo party in February and pretend to be our friends.
Until tomorrow....
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Thirteen
Date: 12.9.04
Genre: Butterflies
NOTE: This is a cover of Big Star's "Thirteen" from the album #1 Record which was released in 1972. This is one of my favorite songs ever.
Description:
Some technical notes: I did this in one hour. I rushed this because I am afraid that if I don't record it now, I never will because the butterflies will be replaced by more venom towards men.
Yes, I know, I know, you're saying "tempo issues!" The original song changes tempo, so there!
The bridge bites. I've actually never liked the bridge in the song - it doesn't go with the rest of the song - but I appreciate that as an issue, as Lollybanger had the same issue on many occasions. The bridge, however, sounded infinitely worse on piano than on guitar, so I just threw something not-as-complex but equally dumb in there on this recording.
I have not done this song justice. This is the cutest song ever written and I have butchered it in my attempt to capitalize on my temporary good mood. I am sorry, Big Star. I really love the song. Please forgive me.
I recorded this song because I currently feel very cute towards someone, which is something I haven't experienced in a very long time. I haven't felt this way in nearly ten years. It is noteworthy and deserves a song. It is hard, however, to depart from my usual hateful, spiteful, vengeful writing style. I'd love to write a song about having an innocent crush, but the last time I did that I wrote "Big Dipper" and all hell broke loose over the course of the next few years.
I would write a song if I felt at all optimistic, but I don't.
I will, however, enjoy feeling like I am "Thirteen" until everything gets ruined.
(Cute sidenote: I've been toying with the idea of recording this for a while, and the other night he said "What is your feeling on The Rolling Stones?" and I said "Overrated," and he gave me the nod of approval and then said "Except Paint It Black, of course." Sigh.)
Lyrics:
Won't you let me walk you home from school
Won't you let me meet you at the pool
Maybe Friday I can
Get tickets for the dance
And I'll take you
Won't you tell your dad "Get off my back"
Tell him what we said bout "Paint It Black"
Rock n roll is here to stay
Come inside now its okay
And I'll shake you
Won't you tell me what you're thinking of
Would you be an outlaw for my love
If its so then let me know
If its "no" well, I can go
I won't make you
Genre: Butterflies
NOTE: This is a cover of Big Star's "Thirteen" from the album #1 Record which was released in 1972. This is one of my favorite songs ever.
Description:
Some technical notes: I did this in one hour. I rushed this because I am afraid that if I don't record it now, I never will because the butterflies will be replaced by more venom towards men.
Yes, I know, I know, you're saying "tempo issues!" The original song changes tempo, so there!
The bridge bites. I've actually never liked the bridge in the song - it doesn't go with the rest of the song - but I appreciate that as an issue, as Lollybanger had the same issue on many occasions. The bridge, however, sounded infinitely worse on piano than on guitar, so I just threw something not-as-complex but equally dumb in there on this recording.
I have not done this song justice. This is the cutest song ever written and I have butchered it in my attempt to capitalize on my temporary good mood. I am sorry, Big Star. I really love the song. Please forgive me.
I recorded this song because I currently feel very cute towards someone, which is something I haven't experienced in a very long time. I haven't felt this way in nearly ten years. It is noteworthy and deserves a song. It is hard, however, to depart from my usual hateful, spiteful, vengeful writing style. I'd love to write a song about having an innocent crush, but the last time I did that I wrote "Big Dipper" and all hell broke loose over the course of the next few years.
I would write a song if I felt at all optimistic, but I don't.
I will, however, enjoy feeling like I am "Thirteen" until everything gets ruined.
(Cute sidenote: I've been toying with the idea of recording this for a while, and the other night he said "What is your feeling on The Rolling Stones?" and I said "Overrated," and he gave me the nod of approval and then said "Except Paint It Black, of course." Sigh.)
Lyrics:
Won't you let me walk you home from school
Won't you let me meet you at the pool
Maybe Friday I can
Get tickets for the dance
And I'll take you
Won't you tell your dad "Get off my back"
Tell him what we said bout "Paint It Black"
Rock n roll is here to stay
Come inside now its okay
And I'll shake you
Won't you tell me what you're thinking of
Would you be an outlaw for my love
If its so then let me know
If its "no" well, I can go
I won't make you
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