Folks.
Have you seen the premier episode? Roommate and I watched it last night and man. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. Nor have I felt so awkward. Nor have I clung to my pillow for deal life due to someone else's being utterly humiliated.
You must ALL watch it.
Preliminary observations:
1. I am worried about Verne Troyer (Mini Me). I am afraid that after he sees this show, he might, well, be mortified to the extent of, well, harming himself. Man. You should have SEEN this. Mini Me got trashed to the point of complete and utter insanity. I can't even explain it. Like he was moaning and touching Peter Brady's arm repetitively while saying nothing and then driving around his little transport while naked. Then he started to pee on the wall, and Da Brat found him, and she had to ask Peter Brady for help because, well, wtf!? You just have to see it. Please.
2. Peter Brady is HOT. Roommate and I were both looking at him and finally she said "Dude, I'm afraid to admit this, but I'm a little attracted to Peter Brady" and I was like "DUDE! I KNOW! He got HOT!" I don't know what it is. He's cut, and has perfect teeth, and is funny, and cute, and... how can I have a crush on Peter Brady? He's 48!!! Peter Brady!!! I was definitely a Greg Girl in my youth, but now, I'm all about Peter.
3. The Surreal Life, done by VH1 and not Fox, is the best idea for a show ever.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Metro Update
OK kids.
Everyone's all crazy about the Metro.
The Metro actually started in Europe, I believe. Something like Sweden or Switzerland.
There has been talk of the Boston Globe buying the Metro for a while. I didn't realize the New York Times was thinking of buying the New York franchise.
Either way, I looked at AM New York again last night and yes, there are allegations against the Metro for racist comments being said during board meetings. The specific examples they gave were the "n" word and jokes about the male sexual anatomy of certain races. I guess there's a representative in NY (Harlem) who is demanding at least an apology from The Metro. The Metro claims that it's all a misunderstanding and its because of the translation.
I don't know. Again, I was delirious when I re-read it, but I'm not going to read the Metro anymore.
Everyone's all crazy about the Metro.
The Metro actually started in Europe, I believe. Something like Sweden or Switzerland.
There has been talk of the Boston Globe buying the Metro for a while. I didn't realize the New York Times was thinking of buying the New York franchise.
Either way, I looked at AM New York again last night and yes, there are allegations against the Metro for racist comments being said during board meetings. The specific examples they gave were the "n" word and jokes about the male sexual anatomy of certain races. I guess there's a representative in NY (Harlem) who is demanding at least an apology from The Metro. The Metro claims that it's all a misunderstanding and its because of the translation.
I don't know. Again, I was delirious when I re-read it, but I'm not going to read the Metro anymore.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Strangers
I am bitchy and moody and utterly exhausted today.
I need to be diligent about getting more sleep. I am too old to keep such hours.
Thankfully happy hour is not happening tonight. Lack of interest. Or maybe everyone is bitchy and moody and utterly exhausted. Regardless of the cause, it is a relief. Were I happier or wide awake, I'd have the energy to be slightly annoyed with people for not being motivated, but I can't rally today. There is also a party tonight. And a competing happy hour. I will do none of these things, because I can't quite string together words in sentence form.
Instead, I will pick up my dry cleaning, which has been clean for weeks.
Anyway.
Before lunch I could barely function. Generalized delirium, cloudiness, apathy. I commuted from a new location for the first time this morning, and forgot to pick up a paper to read at lunch.
Normally I read The Metro. I don't know why. I guess its some homage to Boston or something. Can't change everything. The Metro in NY is different than the Metro in Boston - it has a slightly different format in the world/local news areas, and also has a Style section, and a section called The Word, which has celebrity gossip and local celebrity sightings.
There were no Metro's remaining at the stand near work, so I had to get an AM New York, which is actually bigger and better and more buff in the area of local news, which is good because I seriously have no idea what's going on in NYC other than what Kate Hudson was wearing when she was spotted shopping in Soho!
The AM New York box was tricky. Nothing like the Metro one or the Village Voice or apparently any other free paper I've ever picked up. I was too delirious to deal. Like it was heavy and opened from the top and then out, and I was holding things in my hands and was just off balance and confused and bitchy and wanted to cry because why was getting a freaking free paper an ordeal?
This whole episode was about two seconds, but in those two seconds a very nice man intervened and said "Let me help you" and I said "Oh, no, thanks, I got it" and he said "No, I'd like to" and then he opened it up for me and also handed me a paper.
Who does that?
How nice was he?
It made my day.
What did not make my day, however, was the article I read in AM New York about the Metro!!! Apparently the Metro is under attack for racism? Something about racial slurs at meetings? Possibly in Boston? I was delirious when I read it and need to go back and look at it again tonight. Because I can, because I am not going out. Thank god.
Weird, though. Like did they print this in the Metro and did I just miss it? Or did they not print it? Sketchy. Very very sketchy. I think, though, that it is in my best interest, on principle and just for content, to switch to AM New York.
I digress. Random acts of kindness. Why is it so meaningful when a stranger is nice to you? I swear, I could be smothered with affection by people I know and feel like shit, but the second a stranger compliments me or asks me how I am doing, I feel like gold.
I think it restores my faith in humankind, which doesn't really make sense, because what motivates strangers to be nice? You don't know. You can't know. It shouldn't mean anything, but it does.
Bench Buddy was telling me about how he was going up an escalator the other day, and coming down the escalator on the other side was a really attractive woman. The dude behind him on his side of the escalator shouted to her "You're beautiful!" and she was so happy.
Can you imagine? Would you not melt?
I said to him that I'd like to compliment strangers more often, and that I should, but he said that it would freak people out. Would it? Sometimes it does. How can you distinguish?
I don't know. I'm moody and some random dude on the streets of New York made me blissfully happy for a second by handing me a newspaper.
Or maybe I'm just tired.
I need to be diligent about getting more sleep. I am too old to keep such hours.
Thankfully happy hour is not happening tonight. Lack of interest. Or maybe everyone is bitchy and moody and utterly exhausted. Regardless of the cause, it is a relief. Were I happier or wide awake, I'd have the energy to be slightly annoyed with people for not being motivated, but I can't rally today. There is also a party tonight. And a competing happy hour. I will do none of these things, because I can't quite string together words in sentence form.
Instead, I will pick up my dry cleaning, which has been clean for weeks.
Anyway.
Before lunch I could barely function. Generalized delirium, cloudiness, apathy. I commuted from a new location for the first time this morning, and forgot to pick up a paper to read at lunch.
Normally I read The Metro. I don't know why. I guess its some homage to Boston or something. Can't change everything. The Metro in NY is different than the Metro in Boston - it has a slightly different format in the world/local news areas, and also has a Style section, and a section called The Word, which has celebrity gossip and local celebrity sightings.
There were no Metro's remaining at the stand near work, so I had to get an AM New York, which is actually bigger and better and more buff in the area of local news, which is good because I seriously have no idea what's going on in NYC other than what Kate Hudson was wearing when she was spotted shopping in Soho!
The AM New York box was tricky. Nothing like the Metro one or the Village Voice or apparently any other free paper I've ever picked up. I was too delirious to deal. Like it was heavy and opened from the top and then out, and I was holding things in my hands and was just off balance and confused and bitchy and wanted to cry because why was getting a freaking free paper an ordeal?
This whole episode was about two seconds, but in those two seconds a very nice man intervened and said "Let me help you" and I said "Oh, no, thanks, I got it" and he said "No, I'd like to" and then he opened it up for me and also handed me a paper.
Who does that?
How nice was he?
It made my day.
What did not make my day, however, was the article I read in AM New York about the Metro!!! Apparently the Metro is under attack for racism? Something about racial slurs at meetings? Possibly in Boston? I was delirious when I read it and need to go back and look at it again tonight. Because I can, because I am not going out. Thank god.
Weird, though. Like did they print this in the Metro and did I just miss it? Or did they not print it? Sketchy. Very very sketchy. I think, though, that it is in my best interest, on principle and just for content, to switch to AM New York.
I digress. Random acts of kindness. Why is it so meaningful when a stranger is nice to you? I swear, I could be smothered with affection by people I know and feel like shit, but the second a stranger compliments me or asks me how I am doing, I feel like gold.
I think it restores my faith in humankind, which doesn't really make sense, because what motivates strangers to be nice? You don't know. You can't know. It shouldn't mean anything, but it does.
Bench Buddy was telling me about how he was going up an escalator the other day, and coming down the escalator on the other side was a really attractive woman. The dude behind him on his side of the escalator shouted to her "You're beautiful!" and she was so happy.
Can you imagine? Would you not melt?
I said to him that I'd like to compliment strangers more often, and that I should, but he said that it would freak people out. Would it? Sometimes it does. How can you distinguish?
I don't know. I'm moody and some random dude on the streets of New York made me blissfully happy for a second by handing me a newspaper.
Or maybe I'm just tired.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Nothing To Say
Ummmm.
There's not much going on these days. I am trying to get settled in again. Being back in MA for a week made me feel like I'd never moved. I'm still delirious from coming back right before New Year's.
The weekend was good. Did I write about the weekend?
Went out with work posse on Friday night. We intended to drink at some swanky place in the East Village, but it was mysteriously closed when we got there. We ended up wandering around and ended up at some cheesy place that claimed to have barbecue (food is now one of our criteria). Once we got in there, we soon realized there was no food. But, the beauty of New York is that you can have things delivered to bars that don't have food, so we got pizza delivered to us. But we had no plates. Or utensils. Or napkins, so it was kind of a disaster. The waitress couldn't deal. There were maybe 20 people in this place, and she kept getting all huffy when we'd order a drink. At one point she said "Ummm, so the bartender just put your drinks on the bar and you can just go get them because I'm too swamped," then "Oh, you're ordering drinks AGAIN?" and then "Look, I want to settle your bill but I can't really deal right now so you have to open a tab." This place felt like Louisiana. The music sucked and there was tons of plaid and a dude with a tail, Jordan Knight style.
Since that place sucked, we ended up walking around the East Village and ended up at Bouche Bar, which happens to be downstairs from Certain Someone's apartment, which was trippy. I felt a bit awkward about going there, and begged to find somewhere else to go, but P from upstairs said "If we see him, don't worry - there's more of us than him, we'll just beat him and then duct tape him to a car, and since its cold out, you know he'll stick to that shit."
I drank too much and got moody instead of happy dull, and D kept saying things like "I just want to make you happy" and "the past is the past" while Former Favorite Ex-Boyfriend kept calling my cell phone since he was on the loose somewhere in NYC. I didn't care at all, which was new. D said jokingly "Is someone booty calling you?" and I said nothing, because, well, two months ago I'd have said "yes."
The entire time we were out I was dying for people to disappear so I could get a moment alone with D. Secrets suck.
Saturday was warm and fuzzy and lovely. D washed dishes unprompted while I downloaded songs for him. We (how did I become we?) went to two movies. We were supposed to go to the Brooklyn museum, but it was dreary and the perfect day for a double feature and burritos.
Sloth Sunday was laundry and drawing and TV and phone calls.
Today at lunch I had scrambled eggs and, instead of home fries, french fries. I was thinking to myself "I should have put All-Day-Breakfast in the happiness song, because, really, what is better than breakfast all day? Life just does not get better!" Then I went to squeeze ketchup out of the packet and squeezed it all over my hand and all over the Village Voice. Ugh. It somehow got on the front of the Village Voice, so every time I went to turn a page my fingers got smothered in ketchup. Fantastic. The good news is that it didn't get on my pink coat.
Yesterday in the elevator there was some sort of drunk-ish dude (stoned?) after work and he looked at me and smiled and slurred "Pinnnnnkkkkk....."
Also yesterday I gave D the song I wrote for him as a Christmas song. This was the first time I've written, completed, and handed a song to someone. I was having, predictably, a million fits. Sister convinced me that D would not think me insane. I told him I wasn't sure if he would think it insane or cute, and he said "I can't believe it even crossed your mind that I would think this was insane. What is insane is people eating turnips."
While I was at dinner with E, D called and left a message that said "You are the most awesome girlfriend in the world."
Sigh.
I called him after my dinner, which was Thai food that appeared 30 seconds after being ordered and which had tofu that was indistinguishable from a potato. E and I discussed jury duty and then whether there exists an evidence-proof way to dispose of a dead body. During the phone call D told me that the smurfs represent the Aryan race (his song made reference to a smurf). Ummmm. Thoughts? Azreal = Israel? I don't know about this.
Which reminds me that I have other songs for people in various stages of decelopment. If I hadn't moved, I'd have finished so many songs.
I might play an open mic next week. Bench Buddy happened upon one randomly on Monday night on the upper west side that has a piano, and at which Norah Jones used to play. I am nervous, but I have a long weekend to practice.
I am looking forward to the weekend. I actually have plans. And it is long. Yes.
And I am looking forward to tonight, because D is making crepes!
Which reminds me that I should stop blogging and go eat crepes. So many projects, so little time. R is starting an internet radio station and wants me to DJ one night a week. That will be awshummmm, but do I have time? No. Will I do it anyway? Yes. Because it will keep me off the streets one night a week! And save me money, which needs to happen.
Right. Nothing to say. NEVER!!!!!!!!
There's not much going on these days. I am trying to get settled in again. Being back in MA for a week made me feel like I'd never moved. I'm still delirious from coming back right before New Year's.
The weekend was good. Did I write about the weekend?
Went out with work posse on Friday night. We intended to drink at some swanky place in the East Village, but it was mysteriously closed when we got there. We ended up wandering around and ended up at some cheesy place that claimed to have barbecue (food is now one of our criteria). Once we got in there, we soon realized there was no food. But, the beauty of New York is that you can have things delivered to bars that don't have food, so we got pizza delivered to us. But we had no plates. Or utensils. Or napkins, so it was kind of a disaster. The waitress couldn't deal. There were maybe 20 people in this place, and she kept getting all huffy when we'd order a drink. At one point she said "Ummm, so the bartender just put your drinks on the bar and you can just go get them because I'm too swamped," then "Oh, you're ordering drinks AGAIN?" and then "Look, I want to settle your bill but I can't really deal right now so you have to open a tab." This place felt like Louisiana. The music sucked and there was tons of plaid and a dude with a tail, Jordan Knight style.
Since that place sucked, we ended up walking around the East Village and ended up at Bouche Bar, which happens to be downstairs from Certain Someone's apartment, which was trippy. I felt a bit awkward about going there, and begged to find somewhere else to go, but P from upstairs said "If we see him, don't worry - there's more of us than him, we'll just beat him and then duct tape him to a car, and since its cold out, you know he'll stick to that shit."
I drank too much and got moody instead of happy dull, and D kept saying things like "I just want to make you happy" and "the past is the past" while Former Favorite Ex-Boyfriend kept calling my cell phone since he was on the loose somewhere in NYC. I didn't care at all, which was new. D said jokingly "Is someone booty calling you?" and I said nothing, because, well, two months ago I'd have said "yes."
The entire time we were out I was dying for people to disappear so I could get a moment alone with D. Secrets suck.
Saturday was warm and fuzzy and lovely. D washed dishes unprompted while I downloaded songs for him. We (how did I become we?) went to two movies. We were supposed to go to the Brooklyn museum, but it was dreary and the perfect day for a double feature and burritos.
Sloth Sunday was laundry and drawing and TV and phone calls.
Today at lunch I had scrambled eggs and, instead of home fries, french fries. I was thinking to myself "I should have put All-Day-Breakfast in the happiness song, because, really, what is better than breakfast all day? Life just does not get better!" Then I went to squeeze ketchup out of the packet and squeezed it all over my hand and all over the Village Voice. Ugh. It somehow got on the front of the Village Voice, so every time I went to turn a page my fingers got smothered in ketchup. Fantastic. The good news is that it didn't get on my pink coat.
Yesterday in the elevator there was some sort of drunk-ish dude (stoned?) after work and he looked at me and smiled and slurred "Pinnnnnkkkkk....."
Also yesterday I gave D the song I wrote for him as a Christmas song. This was the first time I've written, completed, and handed a song to someone. I was having, predictably, a million fits. Sister convinced me that D would not think me insane. I told him I wasn't sure if he would think it insane or cute, and he said "I can't believe it even crossed your mind that I would think this was insane. What is insane is people eating turnips."
While I was at dinner with E, D called and left a message that said "You are the most awesome girlfriend in the world."
Sigh.
I called him after my dinner, which was Thai food that appeared 30 seconds after being ordered and which had tofu that was indistinguishable from a potato. E and I discussed jury duty and then whether there exists an evidence-proof way to dispose of a dead body. During the phone call D told me that the smurfs represent the Aryan race (his song made reference to a smurf). Ummmm. Thoughts? Azreal = Israel? I don't know about this.
Which reminds me that I have other songs for people in various stages of decelopment. If I hadn't moved, I'd have finished so many songs.
I might play an open mic next week. Bench Buddy happened upon one randomly on Monday night on the upper west side that has a piano, and at which Norah Jones used to play. I am nervous, but I have a long weekend to practice.
I am looking forward to the weekend. I actually have plans. And it is long. Yes.
And I am looking forward to tonight, because D is making crepes!
Which reminds me that I should stop blogging and go eat crepes. So many projects, so little time. R is starting an internet radio station and wants me to DJ one night a week. That will be awshummmm, but do I have time? No. Will I do it anyway? Yes. Because it will keep me off the streets one night a week! And save me money, which needs to happen.
Right. Nothing to say. NEVER!!!!!!!!
Monday, January 10, 2005
Blade - Friend to Science
I saw Blade 3 this weekend.
I have many thoughts, but I am going to save them for, well, a song!
I do, however, want to mention that the Blade franchise is all about science.
In the original Blade, we were thrilled to learn that our very own EDTA can be used to kill vampires!
I saw Blade 2, and remember nothing other than the facts that it sucked and that someone said "Smells like neurotoxin!" Shout out to neurotoxins, which, incidentally, do not smell.
Blade 3 was the most science-y of all! The plot crucially rested upon the engineering of a retrovirus that could take out vampires! Apparently Natasha Lyonne, blind and thin again, singlehandedly engineered a virus without a lab? but bit it before the final step, which involved the hybridizing of the virus to Dracula's blood!!! Yes! SCIENCE!!! She also said things like "Taq polmerase" and "genetic cloning enzymes."
Most people were getting excited about the weaponry and violence, but I geeked out completely over polymerase.
That is all.
I have many thoughts, but I am going to save them for, well, a song!
I do, however, want to mention that the Blade franchise is all about science.
In the original Blade, we were thrilled to learn that our very own EDTA can be used to kill vampires!
I saw Blade 2, and remember nothing other than the facts that it sucked and that someone said "Smells like neurotoxin!" Shout out to neurotoxins, which, incidentally, do not smell.
Blade 3 was the most science-y of all! The plot crucially rested upon the engineering of a retrovirus that could take out vampires! Apparently Natasha Lyonne, blind and thin again, singlehandedly engineered a virus without a lab? but bit it before the final step, which involved the hybridizing of the virus to Dracula's blood!!! Yes! SCIENCE!!! She also said things like "Taq polmerase" and "genetic cloning enzymes."
Most people were getting excited about the weaponry and violence, but I geeked out completely over polymerase.
That is all.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Validation
I was in a bad mood today. I wasn't sure why. You know how it is. General malaise, moodiness, questioning everything, questioning happiness, doubting things. Thinking about Boston. Wanting friends. Wondering if you made the right decision. Thinking you look like shit even though people like your new haircut. Experiencing a mood because for the first time since you moved you have time to experience a mood.
I thought "Why ever am I in a bad mood?"
I looked at my calendar. Right. PMS.
Of course.
As M says, usually the acknowledgment of PMS's existence is enough to combat PMS, but this time it wasn't.
D asked me on the phone "How are you doing?" and I said "I don't know, I'm in a bad mood, but I think it might be PMS."
He said "How do you know?" and I said "Well, I don't." I explained that sometimes its hard to tell, especially in times of major life transitions.
Because I was in a bad mood, he said "Well, I should probably let you go..." and because I was in a bad mood I was like "Yeah, I guess..." even though I didn't want to get off the phone. Darn PMS! Where has my mind gone? I am psychotic. I wanted to cry. Why? No freaking idea.
When I got off the phone with him, I checked my email. I'd been checking neurotically all weekend for some sort of confirmation of the receipt of my comic, which I'd sent in rough form for feedback. I hadn't heard back from the dude all weekend (I sent it on Friday) and was concerned that he hated it and was trying to figure out a polite way to tell me that it sucked and that he never wants to hear from me again.
But! This time there was an email from him! And he liked the comic! He had some suggestions, and said it was "great" and "funny." YEAH!!!! My bad mood was conquered! Maybe all I needed was validation for all the work I've been doing, and strife I've been experiencing, and uncertainty I've been wrestling with about this project.
I called D back immediately to announce that my bad mood was indeed a bad mood and not PMS, and that it was over!
D wasn't as excited as I was.
We talked for two seconds, and now I am moody again. And want to cry for no reason at all.
Which is because I obviously have PMS.
I thought "Why ever am I in a bad mood?"
I looked at my calendar. Right. PMS.
Of course.
As M says, usually the acknowledgment of PMS's existence is enough to combat PMS, but this time it wasn't.
D asked me on the phone "How are you doing?" and I said "I don't know, I'm in a bad mood, but I think it might be PMS."
He said "How do you know?" and I said "Well, I don't." I explained that sometimes its hard to tell, especially in times of major life transitions.
Because I was in a bad mood, he said "Well, I should probably let you go..." and because I was in a bad mood I was like "Yeah, I guess..." even though I didn't want to get off the phone. Darn PMS! Where has my mind gone? I am psychotic. I wanted to cry. Why? No freaking idea.
When I got off the phone with him, I checked my email. I'd been checking neurotically all weekend for some sort of confirmation of the receipt of my comic, which I'd sent in rough form for feedback. I hadn't heard back from the dude all weekend (I sent it on Friday) and was concerned that he hated it and was trying to figure out a polite way to tell me that it sucked and that he never wants to hear from me again.
But! This time there was an email from him! And he liked the comic! He had some suggestions, and said it was "great" and "funny." YEAH!!!! My bad mood was conquered! Maybe all I needed was validation for all the work I've been doing, and strife I've been experiencing, and uncertainty I've been wrestling with about this project.
I called D back immediately to announce that my bad mood was indeed a bad mood and not PMS, and that it was over!
D wasn't as excited as I was.
We talked for two seconds, and now I am moody again. And want to cry for no reason at all.
Which is because I obviously have PMS.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
I Like Killing Flies
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?
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?
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.
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