I have a theory. Well, its not really a theory. Just an inconclusive observation.
I think I have more dreams - or am more likely to remember dreams - when I read before going to bed.
This being said, I read before going to bed when I have time to read before going to bed, which generally means that tons of sleep is had on this sort of night. So it could be that I remember more dreams because I have more dreams when I get more sleep.
Regardless, it seems like my dreams are most complex when I've read prior to falling asleep.
Last night I had a recurring dream. I have this dream maybe once or twice a year, and have been having it since I was a child. It's gotten more developed and elaborate as I've grown up. It involves dinosaurs, which I love. I do, after all, sleep with a stuffed dinosaur that I've had since 5th grade. In the dream, however, dinosaurs are coming! It's on the news and we are all warned to stay inside and fight them off if we can, but we really don't have a chance.
When I was little, the dinosaurs would come to my parents' house, and we'd all be huddled in the basement as a family, helpless, watching their feet pass by the skinny basement windows as our house shook. Eventually a dinosaur (think velociraptor) would get in and make its way down the stairs and into the basement, cornering us. Usually it would attack one or all of my family members, except me, and I'd wake up shortly thereafter.
As I grew up, the dreams would take on a more aggressive approach. We'd try to come up with ways to get out of the house to avoid the dinosaurs or we'd try to devise weaponry out of household objects to take them down. Sometimes we'd just watch them from inside and they'd never get in, sometimes they'd get in and be upstairs and we'd just be freaking out downstairs, sometimes they'd actually get down into the basement and we'd be screwed, sometimes we'd climb onto the roof and watch them from above.
In all scenarios, I am in awe. I love dinosaurs. I am in awe, but the most scared I've ever been. I am scared for my family and afraid that my home will be torn apart by dinosaurs.
In all scenarios, its usually my siblings and I battling, devising plots, holding onto each other tightly. I think in the more recent instances of the dream, my parents are away on vacation or at work or busy with other things.
In last night's episode, my siblings and I were trying to figure out ways to battle the dinosaurs, as usual. It was raining this time - which was new - so our observation was obstructed. We had no idea if/when they would be arriving. We couldn't predict anything. We were, moreso than usual, helpless. We were arguing and frightened and panicked and desperate. My mother was around. She refused to do anything. She was in her room, cowering, saying there was no hope. She couldn't do it. Don't even bother. It is the end. My father was there as well, and he kept saying that he knew what to do - he knew exactly what to do - but he wouldn't help. He said "You guys can do this on your own. You don't need my help." We kept saying we needed help - whatever help could be given - but he was like "No, I'll just take care of myself."
My siblings and I held onto each other for dear life, waiting, the three of us, no parents, for our house to be torn apart by dinosaurs. Which, in this dream, it was. We were fine, but the house was destroyed. The three of us were left out in the rain with no parents.
It's interesting to see this evolve - so obviously - over time.
I wonder why I was so afraid of my home being torn apart as a child. There was no reason for me to be having this dream back then. We all make sense in the dream now.
I don't know if this is a larger metaphor - I think it is obvious and represents something you love having the potential to be really scary and destructive.
Anyway, recurring dreams. Weird. It's wasteful to have dreams you've had before. But still interesting to see them change ever so slightly.
My other recurring dream is the prom-dress shopping dream. I haven't had that in a while. It's awful. Even worse than the dinosaurs.
OK. I have to work. Happy Thursday.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Maroon 5 Is Responsible For All That Is Bad In The World
Bah.
I am dead tired.
Why? Because of the most dreadful band ever, Maroon 5!
I will get to this later.
First things first - I had my first impulse-buy class night and it was awesome. We watched Swimming Upstream, with Geoffrey Rush. I wouldn't recommend the movie. I had many issues with it, mainly that the characters were all one-dimensional, which were voiced by other members of the class. This class is awesome because
(1) Nobody has seen the movie before, so you avoid that film student nonsense where people have seen the movie a million times before and already know everything - this format selects for an immediate and therefore visceral response to a film, and makes for interesting discussion
(2) You don't know who the guest is going to be while you are watching the movie -
after the movie, there's a 15 minute discussion, after which they say "And I am pleased to introduce blah blah blah..."
(3) Last night, Blah Blah Blah was the writer of the film, Tony Fingelton. The film is actually his life story - he was a famous swimmer in Australia, but the movie focuses more on his family.
(4) It was super cool, because everyone was talking about how the characters were so one-dimensional and then the character himself appears!
(5) It's great, because you can have any question about a movie answered. For
example, the professor had asked "By a show of hands, do you guys think that his father loved him?" We then got to actually ask the dude if he thought his father loved him. People asked all sorts of cool questions such as "Did you get to decide who would play you?"
(6) It was interesting to hear about the trippiness of having your autobiography
made while you are still alive. And I imagine it must be interesting for the filmmaker to hear a film class talk about his/her movie. I am loving this class, and can't wait to see who is there next week!
What I don't love, however, is Maroon 5. No sir. I've hated them since day 1. The dude's voice = nails on the chalkboard. The video where he is making out with that chick is unsettling. Hate hate hate. Sorry if you like them. It's just that every now and then a song will come out that makes you want to have a seizure, and that song, whatever it's called I don't even know - the one that goes "this love has taken its toll on me... blah blah goodbye... so many times befo-o-ore...." is my seizure-inducer.
After class last night I went to see The Arcade Fire at Webster Hall. The Arcade Fire is the band du jour amongst hipsters.
I hadn't been to Webster Hall since my other life. I went there with The Sandwich and Certain Someone years and years ago to go dancing. For only $30 you get to dance in the biggest meatmarket on the planet! Yipee! Luckily Certain Someone paid for all of us.
(Digression: The Webster Hall Scene From Another Lifetime is actually, with hindsight, a very pivotal night of my life. If I hadn't gone to NYC with Sandwich way back when, I'd never have witnessed the weird fight that broke out between Sandwich and Certain Someone at Webster Hall. The fight made me feel very bad about our visit and prompted me to ask Sandwich for Certain Someone's email in order to apologize. If I hadn't had Certain Someone's email address, I'd never have contacted him and offered to buy him a drink the next time I was in NY in order to apologize for Sandwich's inappropriate behavior. Had I not seen Certain Someone the following year, I'd probably not have contacted him when R and I went to NYC this summer. Had I not seen him this summer, I'd never have spent so much time in NYC and would never have fallen in love with it. I wouldn't have looked for a job here and I wouldn't live here now, and I'd never have met D. So, moral of the story, Webster Hall isn't completely evil, nor are ex-es.)
The venu is cool. I was dead tired after class and dead tired from the night before (open mic, stayed up all night, blah blah) and famished because I only had a bagel for dinner. We got there at about 10:45 and figured Arcade Fire would be going on shortly, but no! Their crazy violin-playing friend from Canada played three songs.
They didn't go on until about 11:45. Why? Because freaking Maroon 5 was supposed to play Conan but cancelled, so The Arcade Fire got to play instead, thus messing up their entire show and creating an irritable audience that The Arcade Fire kept berating for being so quiet.
Sorry, Arcade Fire, but it's hard to be enthusiastic at 1 am on a Tuesday, especially when some people have been there since 8:00!
Oh adult-rock-show, where are thou? Start at 6:00 pm, everyone has a seat, there is no painful opening band, and everyone is home and in bed by 10:00.
I am too old for this.
Irritability aside, I didn't like the show. I've actually been lukewarm about them. I really liked the CD upon first listen, but the more and more I listened to it, the less and less I liked it. I almost sold my ticket, but at the last minute thought "Well, maybe a live show will make me less lukewarm about them." No such luck.
My issues:
(1) The reason the Arcade Fire is at all good is the production. The production is elegant and bizarre and unique and, well, a bit subtle. Live its all crescendo and each element is screaming at you, which makes it hard to listen to.
(2) The music was too big for the venu. Very hard on the ears.
(3) All the songs are far too long. Like 8 minutes. And the set order was flawed. It didn't have a good flow.
(4) The performance-art-ness of it was unexpected, and unnecessary.
(5) I was tired. I really don't know how much of my opinion is influenced by fatigue. I was unimpressed, but then again, class was so awesome that anything that followed was almost guaranteed to be anticlimatic.
6) There were tons of rude people at the show. Freaking New York. I didn't check my coat because I am cheap now. We were on the upper level and there are couches there, and a bunch of girls were kind of lying on one. They had a pile of coats on the back of the couch. I said "Do you guys mind if I throw my coat here?" and they looked at me like I had 14 heads. They were mortified that I could be asking such a thing! They looked at me as though I'd just asked if I could sit on them. They looked at me bitchily and didn't say anything for like 30 seconds while they looked at each other and rolled their eyes, taken aback by my audacity, and finally they were like "Yeah, well, I guess." I was like "You know what? Don't worry about it. I'll just put my coat on the floor behind the couch" and they were annoyed by that as well! I put my coat down and D grabbed it and stomped away and was like "Those girls suck," which is funny, because my feeling was that I should put my coat there because they suck whereas his feeling was that I should not so as not to have to deal with them. Other people were angry at D for being tall. Maybe everyone was just overtired.
So there it is. A good Tuesday. Tonight I am going to bed at 9:00 and I can't wait. It's all about the little things, folks. Like reading Sandman before going to bed. Sweet.
Alright. I'm putting my blot in primary and I am out of here!
I am dead tired.
Why? Because of the most dreadful band ever, Maroon 5!
I will get to this later.
First things first - I had my first impulse-buy class night and it was awesome. We watched Swimming Upstream, with Geoffrey Rush. I wouldn't recommend the movie. I had many issues with it, mainly that the characters were all one-dimensional, which were voiced by other members of the class. This class is awesome because
(1) Nobody has seen the movie before, so you avoid that film student nonsense where people have seen the movie a million times before and already know everything - this format selects for an immediate and therefore visceral response to a film, and makes for interesting discussion
(2) You don't know who the guest is going to be while you are watching the movie -
after the movie, there's a 15 minute discussion, after which they say "And I am pleased to introduce blah blah blah..."
(3) Last night, Blah Blah Blah was the writer of the film, Tony Fingelton. The film is actually his life story - he was a famous swimmer in Australia, but the movie focuses more on his family.
(4) It was super cool, because everyone was talking about how the characters were so one-dimensional and then the character himself appears!
(5) It's great, because you can have any question about a movie answered. For
example, the professor had asked "By a show of hands, do you guys think that his father loved him?" We then got to actually ask the dude if he thought his father loved him. People asked all sorts of cool questions such as "Did you get to decide who would play you?"
(6) It was interesting to hear about the trippiness of having your autobiography
made while you are still alive. And I imagine it must be interesting for the filmmaker to hear a film class talk about his/her movie. I am loving this class, and can't wait to see who is there next week!
What I don't love, however, is Maroon 5. No sir. I've hated them since day 1. The dude's voice = nails on the chalkboard. The video where he is making out with that chick is unsettling. Hate hate hate. Sorry if you like them. It's just that every now and then a song will come out that makes you want to have a seizure, and that song, whatever it's called I don't even know - the one that goes "this love has taken its toll on me... blah blah goodbye... so many times befo-o-ore...." is my seizure-inducer.
After class last night I went to see The Arcade Fire at Webster Hall. The Arcade Fire is the band du jour amongst hipsters.
I hadn't been to Webster Hall since my other life. I went there with The Sandwich and Certain Someone years and years ago to go dancing. For only $30 you get to dance in the biggest meatmarket on the planet! Yipee! Luckily Certain Someone paid for all of us.
(Digression: The Webster Hall Scene From Another Lifetime is actually, with hindsight, a very pivotal night of my life. If I hadn't gone to NYC with Sandwich way back when, I'd never have witnessed the weird fight that broke out between Sandwich and Certain Someone at Webster Hall. The fight made me feel very bad about our visit and prompted me to ask Sandwich for Certain Someone's email in order to apologize. If I hadn't had Certain Someone's email address, I'd never have contacted him and offered to buy him a drink the next time I was in NY in order to apologize for Sandwich's inappropriate behavior. Had I not seen Certain Someone the following year, I'd probably not have contacted him when R and I went to NYC this summer. Had I not seen him this summer, I'd never have spent so much time in NYC and would never have fallen in love with it. I wouldn't have looked for a job here and I wouldn't live here now, and I'd never have met D. So, moral of the story, Webster Hall isn't completely evil, nor are ex-es.)
The venu is cool. I was dead tired after class and dead tired from the night before (open mic, stayed up all night, blah blah) and famished because I only had a bagel for dinner. We got there at about 10:45 and figured Arcade Fire would be going on shortly, but no! Their crazy violin-playing friend from Canada played three songs.
They didn't go on until about 11:45. Why? Because freaking Maroon 5 was supposed to play Conan but cancelled, so The Arcade Fire got to play instead, thus messing up their entire show and creating an irritable audience that The Arcade Fire kept berating for being so quiet.
Sorry, Arcade Fire, but it's hard to be enthusiastic at 1 am on a Tuesday, especially when some people have been there since 8:00!
Oh adult-rock-show, where are thou? Start at 6:00 pm, everyone has a seat, there is no painful opening band, and everyone is home and in bed by 10:00.
I am too old for this.
Irritability aside, I didn't like the show. I've actually been lukewarm about them. I really liked the CD upon first listen, but the more and more I listened to it, the less and less I liked it. I almost sold my ticket, but at the last minute thought "Well, maybe a live show will make me less lukewarm about them." No such luck.
My issues:
(1) The reason the Arcade Fire is at all good is the production. The production is elegant and bizarre and unique and, well, a bit subtle. Live its all crescendo and each element is screaming at you, which makes it hard to listen to.
(2) The music was too big for the venu. Very hard on the ears.
(3) All the songs are far too long. Like 8 minutes. And the set order was flawed. It didn't have a good flow.
(4) The performance-art-ness of it was unexpected, and unnecessary.
(5) I was tired. I really don't know how much of my opinion is influenced by fatigue. I was unimpressed, but then again, class was so awesome that anything that followed was almost guaranteed to be anticlimatic.
6) There were tons of rude people at the show. Freaking New York. I didn't check my coat because I am cheap now. We were on the upper level and there are couches there, and a bunch of girls were kind of lying on one. They had a pile of coats on the back of the couch. I said "Do you guys mind if I throw my coat here?" and they looked at me like I had 14 heads. They were mortified that I could be asking such a thing! They looked at me as though I'd just asked if I could sit on them. They looked at me bitchily and didn't say anything for like 30 seconds while they looked at each other and rolled their eyes, taken aback by my audacity, and finally they were like "Yeah, well, I guess." I was like "You know what? Don't worry about it. I'll just put my coat on the floor behind the couch" and they were annoyed by that as well! I put my coat down and D grabbed it and stomped away and was like "Those girls suck," which is funny, because my feeling was that I should put my coat there because they suck whereas his feeling was that I should not so as not to have to deal with them. Other people were angry at D for being tall. Maybe everyone was just overtired.
So there it is. A good Tuesday. Tonight I am going to bed at 9:00 and I can't wait. It's all about the little things, folks. Like reading Sandman before going to bed. Sweet.
Alright. I'm putting my blot in primary and I am out of here!
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Retirement
Dear Open Mic,
It is with the deepest regret that I write to inform you that I will no longer be a performer of music. The past week has been a fabulous experience, and I am saddened that my illustrious career will be coming to an end. My time with you has been of great value to me, both on professional and personal levels. You have been nothing but kind, encouraging, and supportive.
It took me a while - an entire week - to realize that this is not the right fit, and that I must seek fulfillment elsewhere. I do not have the appropriate skill set to serve your needs. This is detrimental to your organization as well as to my self esteem.
I wish you continued success in the future. I hope that the other performers in the organization will continue to pass out their very professional CDs and flyers, that they will shamelessly promote their professional gigs while the little guy suffers anxiety attacks, and that they will buff up their mailing lists. They are all extremely, obscenely, ridiculously and amazingly talented and I know you will all go far in life.
Thank you, open mic, for giving me this opportunity to realize that I should remain a studio musician. (Or, perhaps, just play open mics in places that are not New York City.)
Sincerely,
Leah
It is with the deepest regret that I write to inform you that I will no longer be a performer of music. The past week has been a fabulous experience, and I am saddened that my illustrious career will be coming to an end. My time with you has been of great value to me, both on professional and personal levels. You have been nothing but kind, encouraging, and supportive.
It took me a while - an entire week - to realize that this is not the right fit, and that I must seek fulfillment elsewhere. I do not have the appropriate skill set to serve your needs. This is detrimental to your organization as well as to my self esteem.
I wish you continued success in the future. I hope that the other performers in the organization will continue to pass out their very professional CDs and flyers, that they will shamelessly promote their professional gigs while the little guy suffers anxiety attacks, and that they will buff up their mailing lists. They are all extremely, obscenely, ridiculously and amazingly talented and I know you will all go far in life.
Thank you, open mic, for giving me this opportunity to realize that I should remain a studio musician. (Or, perhaps, just play open mics in places that are not New York City.)
Sincerely,
Leah
Monday, January 31, 2005
Houses and Friendsickness
The weekend is over. I don't know where it went.
Not much happened. Practicing for the open mic, shopping in Soho for sweaters or shoes and buying a tube top instead (tax free in NYC this week! yeah!), not making any of the phone calls that needed to be made, falling harder for the boy when I thought it was impossible.
An awesome girl from work, P, had a housewarming party yesterday. We met prior to the function in Queens for fabulous Indian buffet at a place called Jackson Diner. The food was delicious but I didn't eat much, as I was overwhelmed by the coworker-on-the-weekend factor, and preoccupied with concentrating on not smiling too brightly or obviously at D.
There was a girl there of whom I am not terribly fond. I was holding one overheard conversation against her, a conversation in response to which I'd formed a very concrete and unfavorable opinion about her. I decided to give her a chance at this function, because if awesome P likes her, why shouldn't I? I was sitting across from her and she did her best to interrupt me as often as possible and disagree with everything I said, just on principle.
The conversation turned to internet dating, and how she's doing it, and how she's not successful. Heh. I wanted to say "Nobody in their right mind would date you, internet or not!" but didn't. She kept saying things like "I won't date musicians, artists, or vegetarians. God. You know what that says about a person."
I said "Well, have you tried Craigslist? I feel like that's a better indication of someone's personality - like it removes the math from the personals and is more like a first impression, you know, like it might be a better predictor of chemistry."
She was not having that. Everyone on Craigslist lies! Is a psycho! How could you ever know about someone if they're not answering specific questions?
I said "Well, how can you know if people are telling the truth on Match.com?"
"Well, I've never had a problem. I think if people want it to work they have to be honest."
Whatever.
I made the mistake of telling her about my "Do-Not-Date-This-Man.com" website, which has been revised to be an all-purpose review-of-dates website. So you could put the good, the bad, the ugly. And she's like "That would never work. People would never be honest!"
Dear god. This is clearly a girl who dates for money and status and is just all around ridiculous. Love is out of the question if the man is passionate about what he does but doesn't meet a certain salary requirement. I'd heard about this sort of girl in New York but hadn't encountered it until yesterday. I wanted to slap her. The thing is that I'd figured this all out about her based on that one conversation I'd eavesdropped on months prior. Sometimes stereotypes are around for a reason.
Early in our relationship, D said that he thought that someone at work had a crush on him. I don't know why he told me that. It actually bothered me at the time, and he wouldn't tell me who it was because he could tell that it bugged me. He said he had no interest, blah blah, etc. Anyway, long story longer, I managed to figure out based on certain clues yesterday that it is this girl! So now I just think its really funny. Heh.
Anyway, after brunch we all went to this girl's house, but she lives in East Guam, Queens, so it required... drum roll.... driving in cars!!! Yipee!!!!! I was giddy. I was even more giddy when I learned that another girl from work, M, and her boyfriend G, had rented a minivan because they were going to IKEA after the party!!!
I was blissed out the whole time. I was blissed out to the point that I didn't even care that G was listening to Elton John's greatest hits! I was thrilled to be in a car! I was thrilled to put on a seatbelt! I was thrilled to be able to sing along to songs with others!
I was even more blissed out when we got to P's, because she has a house! An actual house!!!! I literally rolled around on her carpets. They were so plush and soft and luscious and new and fabulous. I watched Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle for the second time in a month while seated in front of their fireplace. Sigh. I too could have this if I wanted to live an hour and a half outside of the city but, alas, it is not worth it. Oh well. It was a day of houses and transit.
So here's the thing. It's not that I'm homesick - I do miss things like rugs and friends with cars and dinner tables and comfort. I've determined that I am, in fact, friendsick. I miss specific friends, but I more miss having close friends at all. When I hang out with these people, it is so clear and painful to me that I have no close friends around here. Nobody in this entire city knows me well. It's a strange feeling. I'd like, for example, to discuss my relationship with D with (a) someone who knows D and (b) someone who knows about my past and (c) someone who knows how crazy I get about relationships. I'd like to discuss my friendsickness with someone who knew me before. Everyone here knows me from September 2004 through the present. There's nothing before that. It's quite bizarre. I realize close friendships come with time, but it would be nice to have at least one familiar person.
Sigh.
Someday I'll have my very own carpets and tons of friends to invite over for dinner.
Sigh.
Monday.
Yeah.
Not much happened. Practicing for the open mic, shopping in Soho for sweaters or shoes and buying a tube top instead (tax free in NYC this week! yeah!), not making any of the phone calls that needed to be made, falling harder for the boy when I thought it was impossible.
An awesome girl from work, P, had a housewarming party yesterday. We met prior to the function in Queens for fabulous Indian buffet at a place called Jackson Diner. The food was delicious but I didn't eat much, as I was overwhelmed by the coworker-on-the-weekend factor, and preoccupied with concentrating on not smiling too brightly or obviously at D.
There was a girl there of whom I am not terribly fond. I was holding one overheard conversation against her, a conversation in response to which I'd formed a very concrete and unfavorable opinion about her. I decided to give her a chance at this function, because if awesome P likes her, why shouldn't I? I was sitting across from her and she did her best to interrupt me as often as possible and disagree with everything I said, just on principle.
The conversation turned to internet dating, and how she's doing it, and how she's not successful. Heh. I wanted to say "Nobody in their right mind would date you, internet or not!" but didn't. She kept saying things like "I won't date musicians, artists, or vegetarians. God. You know what that says about a person."
I said "Well, have you tried Craigslist? I feel like that's a better indication of someone's personality - like it removes the math from the personals and is more like a first impression, you know, like it might be a better predictor of chemistry."
She was not having that. Everyone on Craigslist lies! Is a psycho! How could you ever know about someone if they're not answering specific questions?
I said "Well, how can you know if people are telling the truth on Match.com?"
"Well, I've never had a problem. I think if people want it to work they have to be honest."
Whatever.
I made the mistake of telling her about my "Do-Not-Date-This-Man.com" website, which has been revised to be an all-purpose review-of-dates website. So you could put the good, the bad, the ugly. And she's like "That would never work. People would never be honest!"
Dear god. This is clearly a girl who dates for money and status and is just all around ridiculous. Love is out of the question if the man is passionate about what he does but doesn't meet a certain salary requirement. I'd heard about this sort of girl in New York but hadn't encountered it until yesterday. I wanted to slap her. The thing is that I'd figured this all out about her based on that one conversation I'd eavesdropped on months prior. Sometimes stereotypes are around for a reason.
Early in our relationship, D said that he thought that someone at work had a crush on him. I don't know why he told me that. It actually bothered me at the time, and he wouldn't tell me who it was because he could tell that it bugged me. He said he had no interest, blah blah, etc. Anyway, long story longer, I managed to figure out based on certain clues yesterday that it is this girl! So now I just think its really funny. Heh.
Anyway, after brunch we all went to this girl's house, but she lives in East Guam, Queens, so it required... drum roll.... driving in cars!!! Yipee!!!!! I was giddy. I was even more giddy when I learned that another girl from work, M, and her boyfriend G, had rented a minivan because they were going to IKEA after the party!!!
I was blissed out the whole time. I was blissed out to the point that I didn't even care that G was listening to Elton John's greatest hits! I was thrilled to be in a car! I was thrilled to put on a seatbelt! I was thrilled to be able to sing along to songs with others!
I was even more blissed out when we got to P's, because she has a house! An actual house!!!! I literally rolled around on her carpets. They were so plush and soft and luscious and new and fabulous. I watched Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle for the second time in a month while seated in front of their fireplace. Sigh. I too could have this if I wanted to live an hour and a half outside of the city but, alas, it is not worth it. Oh well. It was a day of houses and transit.
So here's the thing. It's not that I'm homesick - I do miss things like rugs and friends with cars and dinner tables and comfort. I've determined that I am, in fact, friendsick. I miss specific friends, but I more miss having close friends at all. When I hang out with these people, it is so clear and painful to me that I have no close friends around here. Nobody in this entire city knows me well. It's a strange feeling. I'd like, for example, to discuss my relationship with D with (a) someone who knows D and (b) someone who knows about my past and (c) someone who knows how crazy I get about relationships. I'd like to discuss my friendsickness with someone who knew me before. Everyone here knows me from September 2004 through the present. There's nothing before that. It's quite bizarre. I realize close friendships come with time, but it would be nice to have at least one familiar person.
Sigh.
Someday I'll have my very own carpets and tons of friends to invite over for dinner.
Sigh.
Monday.
Yeah.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Fat Black Pussycat
Last night was $4 martinis. An extremely cost effective way to get drunk and homesick and experience your first psychotic girl episode in years. Awshummmmmm.
Hope you all have stellar weekends.
Hope you all have stellar weekends.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Leo
I saw The Aviator last night.
Thoughts:
1. It was stylistically all over the place. Very uneven. I would give anything to have the old Martin Scorsese back.
2. It was overambitious. I wish he'd made this movie 15 years ago. I wanted the entire film to be like the meltdown scenes. In this movie, they stood out as old-school Scorsese, which was great, but then the movie would revert back to overused conventional crap. Blah.
3. It didn't have much depth.
4. It didn't really have a beginning. Or a good story arc.
5. I kept thinking it was over, but it never was!
6. The Howard Hughes character didn't make sense - he had no emotional depth whatsoever - sometimes he was neurotic, sometimes not. Sometimes OCD, sometimes not. Sometimes germaphobic, sometimes not. Very inconsistent. Without explanation. Did I care? No.
7. I still, apparently, have a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio. His eyes are so blue. I wanted him to be more nuts. I wanted psychotic camera angles and fucked up music and, well, I guess I just wanted it to be Taxi Driver. I thought, however, he handled greatly what he was given.
8. Cate Blanchett is exquisite.
9. And you can imagine how thrilled I was to see Jude Law! Delicious. I spent the rest of the movie wondering if he would reappear.
10. The star cameos, though, were a little distracting. Rufus Wainwright? Gwen Stefani? What? Willem Dafoe? YES!
11. The editing was atrocious. It seems like they didn't get all of the footage they needed, and then just threw things together. There was one scene in which Howard Hughes and his recently hired 15-year-old girlfriend were at a table discussing the future of TWA with somebody or other. I don't really know, because I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying because the editing was killing me! The girl was eating ice cream, and the spoon kept disappearing, or she'd have it, and then it would be in a different place. Howard Hughes was sipping coffee, and the same thing was happening. He's be drinking it, and the shot would be over-the-shoulder and the coffee was gone!!! And its nominated for best editing! Wtf!??!
12. The period piece-ness and epic-ness were nice. People love a good epic. This is the only explanation as to why it is nominated for 11 academy awards.
13. It had the token gory Scorsese scene, although it caught me off gaurd because I forgot I was watching a Scorsese film. You know the kind - blood all over the face, loud sounds of violence, that sort of thing. I wish the entire movie had been like that.
14. The story, though, man! Does anyone know anything about Howard Hughes? I need to pick up a biography or at the very least do some reading today. I don't know how much of the movie was true. I don't know much about him at all, other than the fact that he funded my research at UMass and thanks to him I got $1000 for writing my senior thesis. The idea of an eccentric, brilliant billionnaire who throws money around without thinking into inventions and movies thrills me. Does this happen anymore? What ever happened to the rich and neurotic eccentric who pursues his passions without consequence? What happened to inventions? Have we stopped evolving? This guy was nuts - he's like "Build a bigger plane!" and didn't care if it was practical or cost effective or possible. He was focused and obsessive and could be, because he had money, which gave him complete freedom. It's also weird to think of a time when there weren't passenger planes, and how some nut job was like "We could fly people across the Atlantic!" and people were like "Noooooo! It cannot and should not be done!"
15. This was a harsh review, and far more harsh than I actually felt. I wouldn't recommend it, but if you really want to see it, I wouldn't discourage you either. It's a very interesting story, and the acting is superb.
I guess 2 out of 5 stars. Well, maybe 3 out of 5. Yeah. 3 out of 5 stars.
Thoughts:
1. It was stylistically all over the place. Very uneven. I would give anything to have the old Martin Scorsese back.
2. It was overambitious. I wish he'd made this movie 15 years ago. I wanted the entire film to be like the meltdown scenes. In this movie, they stood out as old-school Scorsese, which was great, but then the movie would revert back to overused conventional crap. Blah.
3. It didn't have much depth.
4. It didn't really have a beginning. Or a good story arc.
5. I kept thinking it was over, but it never was!
6. The Howard Hughes character didn't make sense - he had no emotional depth whatsoever - sometimes he was neurotic, sometimes not. Sometimes OCD, sometimes not. Sometimes germaphobic, sometimes not. Very inconsistent. Without explanation. Did I care? No.
7. I still, apparently, have a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio. His eyes are so blue. I wanted him to be more nuts. I wanted psychotic camera angles and fucked up music and, well, I guess I just wanted it to be Taxi Driver. I thought, however, he handled greatly what he was given.
8. Cate Blanchett is exquisite.
9. And you can imagine how thrilled I was to see Jude Law! Delicious. I spent the rest of the movie wondering if he would reappear.
10. The star cameos, though, were a little distracting. Rufus Wainwright? Gwen Stefani? What? Willem Dafoe? YES!
11. The editing was atrocious. It seems like they didn't get all of the footage they needed, and then just threw things together. There was one scene in which Howard Hughes and his recently hired 15-year-old girlfriend were at a table discussing the future of TWA with somebody or other. I don't really know, because I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying because the editing was killing me! The girl was eating ice cream, and the spoon kept disappearing, or she'd have it, and then it would be in a different place. Howard Hughes was sipping coffee, and the same thing was happening. He's be drinking it, and the shot would be over-the-shoulder and the coffee was gone!!! And its nominated for best editing! Wtf!??!
12. The period piece-ness and epic-ness were nice. People love a good epic. This is the only explanation as to why it is nominated for 11 academy awards.
13. It had the token gory Scorsese scene, although it caught me off gaurd because I forgot I was watching a Scorsese film. You know the kind - blood all over the face, loud sounds of violence, that sort of thing. I wish the entire movie had been like that.
14. The story, though, man! Does anyone know anything about Howard Hughes? I need to pick up a biography or at the very least do some reading today. I don't know how much of the movie was true. I don't know much about him at all, other than the fact that he funded my research at UMass and thanks to him I got $1000 for writing my senior thesis. The idea of an eccentric, brilliant billionnaire who throws money around without thinking into inventions and movies thrills me. Does this happen anymore? What ever happened to the rich and neurotic eccentric who pursues his passions without consequence? What happened to inventions? Have we stopped evolving? This guy was nuts - he's like "Build a bigger plane!" and didn't care if it was practical or cost effective or possible. He was focused and obsessive and could be, because he had money, which gave him complete freedom. It's also weird to think of a time when there weren't passenger planes, and how some nut job was like "We could fly people across the Atlantic!" and people were like "Noooooo! It cannot and should not be done!"
15. This was a harsh review, and far more harsh than I actually felt. I wouldn't recommend it, but if you really want to see it, I wouldn't discourage you either. It's a very interesting story, and the acting is superb.
I guess 2 out of 5 stars. Well, maybe 3 out of 5. Yeah. 3 out of 5 stars.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Suit
I went to listen to Douglas Coupland talk last night at the Barnes and Noble in Union Square. I don't know why I was expecting him to be wearing a suit. I suppose its because he's successful, but really, he's a nut. I should have known that from his writing. Why would he be wearing a suit?
Some thoughts:
1. His new book, Eleanor Rigby, sounds cool, at least based upon the excerpts that he read.
2. I am thrilled that he is currently working on a sequel to Microserfs! It is called J Pod, and he read from it last night. Bonus! He read a part in which the protagonists start talking about Ronald McDonald, and decide that it would be funny to write personals-style letters to Ronald McDonald to explain why they would be the ultimate mate for him. It was very funny. I can't wait.
3. Douglas Coupland is a spazz and very normal. The most bizarre thing about him is that his reading-out-loud style sounds exactly like his speaking-style, so I kept getting confused as to what was being read vs. what was not being read. Very casual, very spastic. I wonder if he always read out loud that way, like in elementary school. I hate reading out loud. See previous posts about ulcers and neuroses. The thing about reading out loud in school is, though, when you get that post-traumatic-stress-blocked-the-experience-out thing, you have no idea what's going on because you essentially missed everything from the part you read. Then you are confused and can't catch up, on top of being traumatized. Awesome.
4. The Q & A was weak - only three questions - but the third person who asked a question was like "I saw you about ten years ago and you were talking about how the 30's were the best years of your life. Can you reflect, now that you're in your 40's, on that?" He then went on to say that the 30's are, in fact, the best years. He said "And 26 is the worst year. Anyone? Does anyone agree that was the worst age?" Preach on. So true. 26 was the worst year ever. He still feels that the 30's were great, and that 40 is too close to death and people treat you as such. He told some 40's related anecdotes, but said "You know, amongst people in their 50's and 60's, the age that they think of themselves in their minds is 33 or 34." Interesting. So things pretty much peak at 33 or 34, which is scary. Only 4 or 5 more years!!!! And then stagnation.
Hmmmmm. Well, I'm not sure how old all of you readers are, so I'm not sure that we have data on this yet. I wholeheartedly agree with Douglas Coupland that 26 sucked, as did 27. For me, I think my early 20's were the best - the first two years out of college. Man. I loved that. And I have also liked 28, and think 29 will be even better. I feel like most people probably like the college years best. But man, 11 was awesome!
Some thoughts:
1. His new book, Eleanor Rigby, sounds cool, at least based upon the excerpts that he read.
2. I am thrilled that he is currently working on a sequel to Microserfs! It is called J Pod, and he read from it last night. Bonus! He read a part in which the protagonists start talking about Ronald McDonald, and decide that it would be funny to write personals-style letters to Ronald McDonald to explain why they would be the ultimate mate for him. It was very funny. I can't wait.
3. Douglas Coupland is a spazz and very normal. The most bizarre thing about him is that his reading-out-loud style sounds exactly like his speaking-style, so I kept getting confused as to what was being read vs. what was not being read. Very casual, very spastic. I wonder if he always read out loud that way, like in elementary school. I hate reading out loud. See previous posts about ulcers and neuroses. The thing about reading out loud in school is, though, when you get that post-traumatic-stress-blocked-the-experience-out thing, you have no idea what's going on because you essentially missed everything from the part you read. Then you are confused and can't catch up, on top of being traumatized. Awesome.
4. The Q & A was weak - only three questions - but the third person who asked a question was like "I saw you about ten years ago and you were talking about how the 30's were the best years of your life. Can you reflect, now that you're in your 40's, on that?" He then went on to say that the 30's are, in fact, the best years. He said "And 26 is the worst year. Anyone? Does anyone agree that was the worst age?" Preach on. So true. 26 was the worst year ever. He still feels that the 30's were great, and that 40 is too close to death and people treat you as such. He told some 40's related anecdotes, but said "You know, amongst people in their 50's and 60's, the age that they think of themselves in their minds is 33 or 34." Interesting. So things pretty much peak at 33 or 34, which is scary. Only 4 or 5 more years!!!! And then stagnation.
Hmmmmm. Well, I'm not sure how old all of you readers are, so I'm not sure that we have data on this yet. I wholeheartedly agree with Douglas Coupland that 26 sucked, as did 27. For me, I think my early 20's were the best - the first two years out of college. Man. I loved that. And I have also liked 28, and think 29 will be even better. I feel like most people probably like the college years best. But man, 11 was awesome!
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Fear Not Conquered, But I Am Still Alive
My.
Well.
Hmmmmm.
So.
Yeah.
The open mic.
Right.
I left work at about 6:30 last night, thinking "I should probably eat." I sat, the only person in Subway, staring at my sandwich for about an hour while listening to Lollybanger originals on my IPod, trying to drown out the hip hop by concentrating on lyrics, chords, and crescendos. I ate 1/3 of my 1/2 sandwich, and felt like I was going to vomit. I contemplated forcing myself to, but thought better of it, because could it really be good for your singing voice to be throwing up before a show? No, couldn't be good.
I headed over to D's. He really wanted to come. I don't know why he wanted to. Because I can't say "no" to him, I allowed it. Prior to the show, I talked to my Sister, whose band had a show last night as well. She was just as nervous as I was. It was lovely to have someone to share irrational nervous energy with. Unfortunately I had to cut her short because I was afraid that the longer I spoke with her, the less likely I'd be to brave the cold to go to an open mic that was torturing me before I even got there.
Bless D. He distracted me during our journey with deliriously-told stories of his weekend ski trip. He'd just gotten off the plane. He was unshaven and incoherent and adorable.
The open mic was at the same place we saw Primer last week, so the build up was agony. I swear it took 10x the time to walk there that it did last week. I guess time goes really slowly when you feel nauseous.
The place was beautiful. They had a grand piano and tables and lights and a bar and a swank menu. It would be a great place to play if one was confident.
There was nobody there, so there was no excuse. None. I went to the sign up table, where sat a bunch of encouraging people who all knew each other. I said "This is my first time" and they were all enthusiastic and cute and encouraging and I have no idea what I said to them because I was freaking out. I kept bumping into them and the waitress and tables.
I was #7. The hostess got up to introduce things, and turned out, since there were so few of us, we'd each get two songs and then a third if there was time. Two songs! I'd only prepared one. Shit. Shit shit shit. I have a million songs but can't remember how any of them go.
Boy #1 was very, very cute. He sang funny, theater-ish songs. He was very good. I enjoyed him.
Oh god. The second guy. Karaoke, basically. Dude wants to be Usher. He had backup tracks being cued by the sound guy, who had no idea what track to play. Unbearable. Remember the guy who sings karaoke in the Harvard Square T station? That kind of thing, only originals. Think Stevie Wonder meets Billy Ocean but sung in the style of a very bad Michael Jackson. But, he was enthusiastic. He was happy. He danced like Carlton.
The third guy was a keyboard playing bluesy guy that, well, yeah. Cheese. Utter cheese. Randy Newman-y. But blues.
The fourth woman looked exactly like Helen Mirren. For a moment I thought that she was Helen Mirren, because in NY you never know! I fell in love with this woman instantly because of her age. Her music, however, well. Yeah. One song she just wrote last week and it had no words, so she played and sort of did this weird jazz scat thing. She was an amazing pianist, though. Her lyrics, however, were trite. All of their lyrics were trite. I guess the average musician writes for the average listener.
The fifth girl was the anti-me. She got up and in the sweetest and most sincere voice said things like "This open mic is so magical" and "I am so excited to be here, with all of you, you're all so talented, some of you I've seen before, and some of you, wow, your very first open mic! Is she here? Yes - that girl in the back - its her very first open mic! Isn't she brave?" Awsummmmm. She played piano and was very good, and sang about things like love and optimism. Anti-me. I could be friends with this girl, but I imagine she now hates me based on our music.
The sixth dude was hippie boy with guitar. Don't know what he was singing about because I was number 7, and I couldn't function. He seemed alright. Generic. Fine.
OK.
The hostess called me up and I stumbled onto the stage utterly delirious. She said something about "courage" and I basically fell onto the bench and played a few keys to get my hands to stop shaking. Someone from the audience yelled "You'll have to move the microphone."
Shit. So it begins. Damn shortness! So I was like "Where to?" because I had no idea where a mic should be. I said something like "Yeah, this is my first one, I am having a million micro heart attacks, and this song is called 'Climb.'"
Readers, you might remember this song from the summer - it is a My Mundane Life in Song greatest hit! The song about being on the rooftop and feeling lonely. It's my favorite song I've ever written, and man did I murder it on stage!
Murder. Over. I'll probably never be able to listen to it again.
First of all, the freaking microphone. God. How are you supposed to play with a microphone in front of your face? It threw my whole game off. I had to hold my body differently and worry about the direction of singing. And it made me so nervous. Sometimes it actually physically interfered with my playing. Like I had to play around it. I will never make this mistake again. What I should have done was about half way through the song just stopped and moved the damn thing, but instead I kept playing and sucking and dying and being mortified.
Second of all, my foot shaking! GOD!!!! There were people sitting so close to me and all I could think was "They can see my leg SHAKING!" I'm talking violent shaking. Not a quiver. Like no control of the foot with which I am attempting to play pedal.
Third of all, the singing. I just couldn't play and sing and shake and have micro heart attacks and remember lyrics and chords all at the same time!
Fourth of all, I was so nervous that I didn't even play the entire song. I played a really stripped down minimalist version of it. I played the entire length of the song, but I didn't play depth. I left out the high end (which is my favorite part) because I couldn't reconcile the high end with the goddamn microphone.
Fifth of all, I messed up. Lots. Off key. Missed notes. Wrong notes.
Yeah.
So. When I finished, I was like "Well, you could just walk off the stage right now, or just do another one. Like you'll ever see these people again!"
The problem with this is that I don't know any of my own songs. The only song I really know is "Drone," which is from "Plumb Forgot." Raunchy, raw, completely inappropriate for this audience which had a dude who was 60-ish years old. I said "So, I have a million songs and don't know how any of them go, so I am going to give this one a shot. The lyrics are questionable - I prefer to think of them as raw - and I hope not to offend you - it's called 'Drone.'" Now, it would have been awesome if I'd said that calmly - banter-ish - but instead, I said it really antagonistically - insinuating that if you are offended you are an idiot. No control. NONE.
Shit.
I moved the microphone because I figured out during the 5 minutes of torture where it should be. And then I fucking ROCKED "Drone." I think I did. I closed my eyes and wailed. I played it a little fast, but whatever. I think it sounded ok. My voice was sort of cracking towards the end - because its long - and I got the final "jazz chord" completely wrong - like wrong key, wrong chord, took me three tries to get it, but whatever. People laughed with me. I finished it, and then ran off the stage and would have run straight to the bathroom to cry had D not been there.
D said it was good. Right. I was like "You're not objective! It was terrible! I can't believe this!" I was totally depressed, and sent text messages that said things like "Disaster" and "Never again" and "Sucked ass" and "Dreams shattered." I couldn't look at D. I felt like I was an embarassment to him. I was afraid people were thinking "Who's that loser boy with that girl who sucks?"
It felt disastrous. I let myself down. I don't know. I was expecting it to be terrible, but I guess I wasn't prepared for it. It's hard to fail. And it's hard to fail at something subjective, because you can't be convinced otherwise.
Except....
I was morose, down, and beaten. D was exhausted from skiing and planes. We were both thrilled when the third round was over (luckily I didn't have to play the third round, but, if I go next week, I get four songs because of it) and were scrambling to get out of there. D handed me my scarf and I sort of turned around to put it on and Boy #1 was standing there.
He said "I really liked your stuff."
WHAT!??!?!
I said "Wait, me? You liked my stuff?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, shucks, I liked your stuff too." OK, I didn't say "shucks," but that's how I felt.
He said "You have a nice contralto."
Right. Contralto.
I'm like "Sorry?"
"Contralto?"
"What?"
"Low, like your low voice. I really like what you do with it."
Then I was babbling and saying things like "Yeah, well, I'm not really sure how to use it because I don't know about arrangements and I left out the high end of the first song completley which kind of sucks because its complimentary to my voice and I was so nervous and your stuff was really funny."
Awwwshummmmmm.
And then this boy changed my life. I swear he did. He said "You know who you remind me of?"
And I thought it my mind "How awesome would it be if he said 'Cat Power?' It would be so awesome if he said 'Cat Power,' because that would be such a compliment and then we could be friends because we have similar taste!"
"No?"
"Cat Power. Like what you do with your voice and your arrangements..." and it was everything I could do not to hug him. I was gushing.
I was like, in the style of valley girl, "Omigod, are you serious? I love Cat Power! She is my favoritest favoritest!"
"Have you ever seen her live? She wears these... blah blah..." don't know what he said, because I was thinking "Don't tell him how much that means, don't tell him how much that means."
I said "Yeah, well, I'll have to check her out some time. Yeah. Word. Ummm. Are you playing next week?"
"Yeah, probably."
"OK, well, yeah, then I'll see you then!"
"Cool."
Shit. So basically I am going to play the open mic next week even though I am scared shitless and will suck again because I want to be friends with this boy who writes funny songs and I want to tell him how what he said made my month.
D was psyched for me, but said "Yeah, I guess that's cool, but its not cool that he's so cute. And now we get to have an awkward New York moment where the three of us are standing on the same platform together waiting for the train for hours." Luckily that didn't happen, and I got to tell D that he is, in fact, the cutest.
I was totally manic-depressive-manic. After I spoke with Boy #1 I was NUTS. On a cloud. The high. Yeah. He's objective. He didn't have to say anything.
My overall feeling is this: My performance was, by far, the worst. Everyone else was pristine, professional, polished. My content, however, both lyrical and music-wise, was the best. Bench Buddy said "Emo but bad is so much better than professional pop." But still. I really sucked. But I still believe in the music. Which fell upon deaf ears, I think, in that audience.
Do I care? No. I don't care if they don't appreciate me.
I do care, however, that my performance was weak. I could be better. I think I need practice, but in order to get that, I have to repetitively torture myself. Is it worth it? Really, what's the point? I want the high, right? Can I get the high? Is that the point?
People. What is the point? Please remind me.
I am going to go back next week. There are good things:
1. The piano - rad.
2. You get two songs in a row, so I can play a stupid easy song first and warm up with it - so "Nuclear Football?" "I, Robot?" Thoughts?
3. One thing I hadn't thought about as far as originals go, nobody knows how they are supposed to go. Like the fact that I left out two layers of "Climb" really doesn't matter, right? Nobody knew it was missing except me.
4. Might make a friend. I think I can I think I can I think I can.
Bad things:
1. Could suck again.
2. Not sure what to play - playing "Drone" broke D's heart a little bit - I hadn't considered that at all - I hadn't considered the fact that I affect someone now - my songs are all so, well, angry and sad and the past. How awful of me. But it allowed me, again, to tell D that he is the cutest and the best ever and that maybe, just maybe, I can write a happy song. Or, maybe I'll sing "Thirteen." Oh. That would be the cutest.
3. Could suck even more.
But see? There are 4 good things and 3 possible bad things.
I should do it.
This entry was so long.
I love the blog. I love that the blog shares all these new experiences with me.
Blogs. Sigh. I am sitting on a song about this blog, actually. God it would be funny if I'd actually do it. I've been working on it since the train ride home for Thanksgiving.
OK. I should eat.
Thank you for reading, and thank you for all of your encouragement!!!!
Well.
Hmmmmm.
So.
Yeah.
The open mic.
Right.
I left work at about 6:30 last night, thinking "I should probably eat." I sat, the only person in Subway, staring at my sandwich for about an hour while listening to Lollybanger originals on my IPod, trying to drown out the hip hop by concentrating on lyrics, chords, and crescendos. I ate 1/3 of my 1/2 sandwich, and felt like I was going to vomit. I contemplated forcing myself to, but thought better of it, because could it really be good for your singing voice to be throwing up before a show? No, couldn't be good.
I headed over to D's. He really wanted to come. I don't know why he wanted to. Because I can't say "no" to him, I allowed it. Prior to the show, I talked to my Sister, whose band had a show last night as well. She was just as nervous as I was. It was lovely to have someone to share irrational nervous energy with. Unfortunately I had to cut her short because I was afraid that the longer I spoke with her, the less likely I'd be to brave the cold to go to an open mic that was torturing me before I even got there.
Bless D. He distracted me during our journey with deliriously-told stories of his weekend ski trip. He'd just gotten off the plane. He was unshaven and incoherent and adorable.
The open mic was at the same place we saw Primer last week, so the build up was agony. I swear it took 10x the time to walk there that it did last week. I guess time goes really slowly when you feel nauseous.
The place was beautiful. They had a grand piano and tables and lights and a bar and a swank menu. It would be a great place to play if one was confident.
There was nobody there, so there was no excuse. None. I went to the sign up table, where sat a bunch of encouraging people who all knew each other. I said "This is my first time" and they were all enthusiastic and cute and encouraging and I have no idea what I said to them because I was freaking out. I kept bumping into them and the waitress and tables.
I was #7. The hostess got up to introduce things, and turned out, since there were so few of us, we'd each get two songs and then a third if there was time. Two songs! I'd only prepared one. Shit. Shit shit shit. I have a million songs but can't remember how any of them go.
Boy #1 was very, very cute. He sang funny, theater-ish songs. He was very good. I enjoyed him.
Oh god. The second guy. Karaoke, basically. Dude wants to be Usher. He had backup tracks being cued by the sound guy, who had no idea what track to play. Unbearable. Remember the guy who sings karaoke in the Harvard Square T station? That kind of thing, only originals. Think Stevie Wonder meets Billy Ocean but sung in the style of a very bad Michael Jackson. But, he was enthusiastic. He was happy. He danced like Carlton.
The third guy was a keyboard playing bluesy guy that, well, yeah. Cheese. Utter cheese. Randy Newman-y. But blues.
The fourth woman looked exactly like Helen Mirren. For a moment I thought that she was Helen Mirren, because in NY you never know! I fell in love with this woman instantly because of her age. Her music, however, well. Yeah. One song she just wrote last week and it had no words, so she played and sort of did this weird jazz scat thing. She was an amazing pianist, though. Her lyrics, however, were trite. All of their lyrics were trite. I guess the average musician writes for the average listener.
The fifth girl was the anti-me. She got up and in the sweetest and most sincere voice said things like "This open mic is so magical" and "I am so excited to be here, with all of you, you're all so talented, some of you I've seen before, and some of you, wow, your very first open mic! Is she here? Yes - that girl in the back - its her very first open mic! Isn't she brave?" Awsummmmm. She played piano and was very good, and sang about things like love and optimism. Anti-me. I could be friends with this girl, but I imagine she now hates me based on our music.
The sixth dude was hippie boy with guitar. Don't know what he was singing about because I was number 7, and I couldn't function. He seemed alright. Generic. Fine.
OK.
The hostess called me up and I stumbled onto the stage utterly delirious. She said something about "courage" and I basically fell onto the bench and played a few keys to get my hands to stop shaking. Someone from the audience yelled "You'll have to move the microphone."
Shit. So it begins. Damn shortness! So I was like "Where to?" because I had no idea where a mic should be. I said something like "Yeah, this is my first one, I am having a million micro heart attacks, and this song is called 'Climb.'"
Readers, you might remember this song from the summer - it is a My Mundane Life in Song greatest hit! The song about being on the rooftop and feeling lonely. It's my favorite song I've ever written, and man did I murder it on stage!
Murder. Over. I'll probably never be able to listen to it again.
First of all, the freaking microphone. God. How are you supposed to play with a microphone in front of your face? It threw my whole game off. I had to hold my body differently and worry about the direction of singing. And it made me so nervous. Sometimes it actually physically interfered with my playing. Like I had to play around it. I will never make this mistake again. What I should have done was about half way through the song just stopped and moved the damn thing, but instead I kept playing and sucking and dying and being mortified.
Second of all, my foot shaking! GOD!!!! There were people sitting so close to me and all I could think was "They can see my leg SHAKING!" I'm talking violent shaking. Not a quiver. Like no control of the foot with which I am attempting to play pedal.
Third of all, the singing. I just couldn't play and sing and shake and have micro heart attacks and remember lyrics and chords all at the same time!
Fourth of all, I was so nervous that I didn't even play the entire song. I played a really stripped down minimalist version of it. I played the entire length of the song, but I didn't play depth. I left out the high end (which is my favorite part) because I couldn't reconcile the high end with the goddamn microphone.
Fifth of all, I messed up. Lots. Off key. Missed notes. Wrong notes.
Yeah.
So. When I finished, I was like "Well, you could just walk off the stage right now, or just do another one. Like you'll ever see these people again!"
The problem with this is that I don't know any of my own songs. The only song I really know is "Drone," which is from "Plumb Forgot." Raunchy, raw, completely inappropriate for this audience which had a dude who was 60-ish years old. I said "So, I have a million songs and don't know how any of them go, so I am going to give this one a shot. The lyrics are questionable - I prefer to think of them as raw - and I hope not to offend you - it's called 'Drone.'" Now, it would have been awesome if I'd said that calmly - banter-ish - but instead, I said it really antagonistically - insinuating that if you are offended you are an idiot. No control. NONE.
Shit.
I moved the microphone because I figured out during the 5 minutes of torture where it should be. And then I fucking ROCKED "Drone." I think I did. I closed my eyes and wailed. I played it a little fast, but whatever. I think it sounded ok. My voice was sort of cracking towards the end - because its long - and I got the final "jazz chord" completely wrong - like wrong key, wrong chord, took me three tries to get it, but whatever. People laughed with me. I finished it, and then ran off the stage and would have run straight to the bathroom to cry had D not been there.
D said it was good. Right. I was like "You're not objective! It was terrible! I can't believe this!" I was totally depressed, and sent text messages that said things like "Disaster" and "Never again" and "Sucked ass" and "Dreams shattered." I couldn't look at D. I felt like I was an embarassment to him. I was afraid people were thinking "Who's that loser boy with that girl who sucks?"
It felt disastrous. I let myself down. I don't know. I was expecting it to be terrible, but I guess I wasn't prepared for it. It's hard to fail. And it's hard to fail at something subjective, because you can't be convinced otherwise.
Except....
I was morose, down, and beaten. D was exhausted from skiing and planes. We were both thrilled when the third round was over (luckily I didn't have to play the third round, but, if I go next week, I get four songs because of it) and were scrambling to get out of there. D handed me my scarf and I sort of turned around to put it on and Boy #1 was standing there.
He said "I really liked your stuff."
WHAT!??!?!
I said "Wait, me? You liked my stuff?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, shucks, I liked your stuff too." OK, I didn't say "shucks," but that's how I felt.
He said "You have a nice contralto."
Right. Contralto.
I'm like "Sorry?"
"Contralto?"
"What?"
"Low, like your low voice. I really like what you do with it."
Then I was babbling and saying things like "Yeah, well, I'm not really sure how to use it because I don't know about arrangements and I left out the high end of the first song completley which kind of sucks because its complimentary to my voice and I was so nervous and your stuff was really funny."
Awwwshummmmmm.
And then this boy changed my life. I swear he did. He said "You know who you remind me of?"
And I thought it my mind "How awesome would it be if he said 'Cat Power?' It would be so awesome if he said 'Cat Power,' because that would be such a compliment and then we could be friends because we have similar taste!"
"No?"
"Cat Power. Like what you do with your voice and your arrangements..." and it was everything I could do not to hug him. I was gushing.
I was like, in the style of valley girl, "Omigod, are you serious? I love Cat Power! She is my favoritest favoritest!"
"Have you ever seen her live? She wears these... blah blah..." don't know what he said, because I was thinking "Don't tell him how much that means, don't tell him how much that means."
I said "Yeah, well, I'll have to check her out some time. Yeah. Word. Ummm. Are you playing next week?"
"Yeah, probably."
"OK, well, yeah, then I'll see you then!"
"Cool."
Shit. So basically I am going to play the open mic next week even though I am scared shitless and will suck again because I want to be friends with this boy who writes funny songs and I want to tell him how what he said made my month.
D was psyched for me, but said "Yeah, I guess that's cool, but its not cool that he's so cute. And now we get to have an awkward New York moment where the three of us are standing on the same platform together waiting for the train for hours." Luckily that didn't happen, and I got to tell D that he is, in fact, the cutest.
I was totally manic-depressive-manic. After I spoke with Boy #1 I was NUTS. On a cloud. The high. Yeah. He's objective. He didn't have to say anything.
My overall feeling is this: My performance was, by far, the worst. Everyone else was pristine, professional, polished. My content, however, both lyrical and music-wise, was the best. Bench Buddy said "Emo but bad is so much better than professional pop." But still. I really sucked. But I still believe in the music. Which fell upon deaf ears, I think, in that audience.
Do I care? No. I don't care if they don't appreciate me.
I do care, however, that my performance was weak. I could be better. I think I need practice, but in order to get that, I have to repetitively torture myself. Is it worth it? Really, what's the point? I want the high, right? Can I get the high? Is that the point?
People. What is the point? Please remind me.
I am going to go back next week. There are good things:
1. The piano - rad.
2. You get two songs in a row, so I can play a stupid easy song first and warm up with it - so "Nuclear Football?" "I, Robot?" Thoughts?
3. One thing I hadn't thought about as far as originals go, nobody knows how they are supposed to go. Like the fact that I left out two layers of "Climb" really doesn't matter, right? Nobody knew it was missing except me.
4. Might make a friend. I think I can I think I can I think I can.
Bad things:
1. Could suck again.
2. Not sure what to play - playing "Drone" broke D's heart a little bit - I hadn't considered that at all - I hadn't considered the fact that I affect someone now - my songs are all so, well, angry and sad and the past. How awful of me. But it allowed me, again, to tell D that he is the cutest and the best ever and that maybe, just maybe, I can write a happy song. Or, maybe I'll sing "Thirteen." Oh. That would be the cutest.
3. Could suck even more.
But see? There are 4 good things and 3 possible bad things.
I should do it.
This entry was so long.
I love the blog. I love that the blog shares all these new experiences with me.
Blogs. Sigh. I am sitting on a song about this blog, actually. God it would be funny if I'd actually do it. I've been working on it since the train ride home for Thanksgiving.
OK. I should eat.
Thank you for reading, and thank you for all of your encouragement!!!!
Monday, January 24, 2005
Ulcer
Right now:
1. Trying to get over irritable morning commute. I tried a new trajectory this morning and, again, met with bizarre placed snowbanks that had me backtracking away from my destination at least four times. I almost got run over by a truck. I had to let two L trains go by before there was space for me. Bench Buddy said "It's awesome to live in Brooklyn, but it's at times like these that you realize that nobody cares about Brooklyn." Preach on. Irritable.
2. Trying to suppress open-mic induced ulcer. Every time I think about it my stomach flares up and I feel like I am going to vomit. It's not for 9 hours, but already I am freaking out. I suspect this will be the sort of thing where they call out "Leah" and I pretend like I am not there. I'll look around with everyone else and shrug my shoulders and wonder why this person signed up and left prior to being called! How dare they give up such a valuable opportunity?
3. Trying to convince myself that my impulse buy just now was the right thing to do. I got an email from NYU about this class - basically, you go and preview movies before they come out and then the professor interviews the director or star or both. Very cool. Very New York. The problem with this is that you don't know what the movies are, so you're paying lots of money to potentially see awful movies. I think, however, that bad movies could be worthwhile if you get to listen to Bruce Willis discuss the badness afterwards. There are screenings on Tuesday nights and then random ones on the weekends, and you could also get invited to premiers and other previews. And you might be invited to participate in focus groups. I wouldn't be agonizing over this except that money is tight these days. But, again, why live in NY if you're not going to do things like this?
4. Trying to forget ulcer by doing things such as writing blog.
5. Trying not to fantasize too hard about proposed collabo between Bench Buddy and myself in which we would perform Brick by Ben Folds at the open mic. Bench Buddy would sing in the style of Bright Eyes. I would not have an ulcer because all eyes would be on Bench Buddy.
This ulcer really needs to cease. As a kid, I'd have ballet and piano recitals and feel like this every time. One time I dropped and broke a plate the morning before a piano recital because my hands were shaking so badly. My family would always say "It's so cute - you can tell you're nervous because your foot shakes." Yes, cute, thank you. Thanks for noticing I was having a meltdown on stage and thank you even more for pointing it out. The problem with doing an open mic is that your meltdown can be two-fold - you can fuck up on the keys and in your voice. I could forget the words. My voice will quiver. My hands will be shaking. What if I forget the song completely? I think I might write down the words just to be safe. I am playing a long song so that I'll have time to acclimate over time. Maybe the first two minutes will be a disaster, but hopefully I'll be comfortable by the third minute. Man. My voice shakes a lot when I do karaoke, but only the first song. Only the first time. Maybe this first open mic will be a disaster but all future ones will be stellar. Maybe it will be such a disaster that I'll never want to do one again. Maybe it will be ok because I can look at the piano or close my eyes and I'll feel like I am at my own piano, alone. Karaoke is tough because you are forced, usually, to look at the people, and you're constantly thinking "Do they think I suck? Do they want to leave? Can they tell I'm having a meltdown?"
I should stop having an ulcer because I might not even be able to play. This could be the sort of open mic where people are rabid and they all get there an hour early and scramble to sign up. I am going to get there half an hour early, just so I can have a drink, see what's going on, decide if I really want to do this.
Is it true that there are people who don't have stagefright? Is it true that some people like public speaking?
Bench Buddy said he started smoking to deal with doing standup comedy.
I really wish I smoked. I wish I wasn't so anxious. I wish I wasn't challenging myself like this. I wish I had more confidence. I wish I had a beta blocker.
Sigh.
OK. I am going to do some math. I am glad to have that out of my system. Thank you, readers, for putting up with my self-indulgence.
1. Trying to get over irritable morning commute. I tried a new trajectory this morning and, again, met with bizarre placed snowbanks that had me backtracking away from my destination at least four times. I almost got run over by a truck. I had to let two L trains go by before there was space for me. Bench Buddy said "It's awesome to live in Brooklyn, but it's at times like these that you realize that nobody cares about Brooklyn." Preach on. Irritable.
2. Trying to suppress open-mic induced ulcer. Every time I think about it my stomach flares up and I feel like I am going to vomit. It's not for 9 hours, but already I am freaking out. I suspect this will be the sort of thing where they call out "Leah" and I pretend like I am not there. I'll look around with everyone else and shrug my shoulders and wonder why this person signed up and left prior to being called! How dare they give up such a valuable opportunity?
3. Trying to convince myself that my impulse buy just now was the right thing to do. I got an email from NYU about this class - basically, you go and preview movies before they come out and then the professor interviews the director or star or both. Very cool. Very New York. The problem with this is that you don't know what the movies are, so you're paying lots of money to potentially see awful movies. I think, however, that bad movies could be worthwhile if you get to listen to Bruce Willis discuss the badness afterwards. There are screenings on Tuesday nights and then random ones on the weekends, and you could also get invited to premiers and other previews. And you might be invited to participate in focus groups. I wouldn't be agonizing over this except that money is tight these days. But, again, why live in NY if you're not going to do things like this?
4. Trying to forget ulcer by doing things such as writing blog.
5. Trying not to fantasize too hard about proposed collabo between Bench Buddy and myself in which we would perform Brick by Ben Folds at the open mic. Bench Buddy would sing in the style of Bright Eyes. I would not have an ulcer because all eyes would be on Bench Buddy.
This ulcer really needs to cease. As a kid, I'd have ballet and piano recitals and feel like this every time. One time I dropped and broke a plate the morning before a piano recital because my hands were shaking so badly. My family would always say "It's so cute - you can tell you're nervous because your foot shakes." Yes, cute, thank you. Thanks for noticing I was having a meltdown on stage and thank you even more for pointing it out. The problem with doing an open mic is that your meltdown can be two-fold - you can fuck up on the keys and in your voice. I could forget the words. My voice will quiver. My hands will be shaking. What if I forget the song completely? I think I might write down the words just to be safe. I am playing a long song so that I'll have time to acclimate over time. Maybe the first two minutes will be a disaster, but hopefully I'll be comfortable by the third minute. Man. My voice shakes a lot when I do karaoke, but only the first song. Only the first time. Maybe this first open mic will be a disaster but all future ones will be stellar. Maybe it will be such a disaster that I'll never want to do one again. Maybe it will be ok because I can look at the piano or close my eyes and I'll feel like I am at my own piano, alone. Karaoke is tough because you are forced, usually, to look at the people, and you're constantly thinking "Do they think I suck? Do they want to leave? Can they tell I'm having a meltdown?"
I should stop having an ulcer because I might not even be able to play. This could be the sort of open mic where people are rabid and they all get there an hour early and scramble to sign up. I am going to get there half an hour early, just so I can have a drink, see what's going on, decide if I really want to do this.
Is it true that there are people who don't have stagefright? Is it true that some people like public speaking?
Bench Buddy said he started smoking to deal with doing standup comedy.
I really wish I smoked. I wish I wasn't so anxious. I wish I wasn't challenging myself like this. I wish I had more confidence. I wish I had a beta blocker.
Sigh.
OK. I am going to do some math. I am glad to have that out of my system. Thank you, readers, for putting up with my self-indulgence.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Blizzard of '78
Yesterday afternoon I was feeling a little nostalgic for Boston when I spoke with my parents about the upcoming storm - they were stuck in apocalypse-level traffic on their way to Home Depot with the rest of the world to get plastic or something for their windows. I thought "Man, I wish I was there! I wish I was freaking out about a snow storm, and frantic about being stranded! I wish I could look forward to feet of snow and hours of shovelling with my neighbors, who would say things like 'We haven't seen anything like this since the blizzahd of '78!'"
Former Roommate Peachz said today that the good folks of MA actually got more snow than the Blizzard of '78!, which, again, makes me feel slightly sad.
But not really, because the moment I stepped out this afternoon to buy groceries I had more rational thoughts such as "I HATE SNOW! Why don't people freaking shovel? And why, when they do, do they shovel it onto the goddamn sidewalk? Where am I supposed to walk?" It took me at least 2x the time it normally takes to walk around. It was the sort of thing where you're walking on a sidewalk and then the open area just ceases and becomes a giant snowbank and you have to turn around.
This is mystifying, because we didn't really get that much snow. At most a foot, but I think it was more like six inches with a really inefficient shovelling job.
My journey to the grocery store was of the sort where you're walking in snowbanks and falling over every few feet because your ankles are twisting on the weird terrain, and then you get snow in your sock and have to deal with it for an hour.
Although, this experience reminds me of an idea I had for a movie in which two people meet while they are navigating their ways through snowbanks. Like the girl is walking and the boy has already turned around because he encountered a random snowbank mid-sidewalk, and they sort of crash into each other and are isolated from the world by a 7-foot pile of snow. I think that's cute. Well, not really, but when this sort of thing with the random snowbank would occur in Boston I'd fantasize about some dude also being trapped and we could laugh about it together instead of my just being irritable and pissed off and having to turn around and backtrack for five minutes. Unfortunately its a romantic comedy type idea, and I have no use for romantic comedies, so the idea will never be more than an idea.
Aside from the snow, the weekend was lovely. I did NOTHING! and therefore got many things done.
Many, many things.
The Loft is now a Sparkly Loft, the Cat is Happy, the comics are compiled and submitted for further evaluation, the music has been practiced and is (gasp!) ready for performance tomorrow night should I get to the open mic in enough time to sign up, and a dent has been made in the phone calls.
I did not go to see Aviator, because of the snow. Wimp move, yes, but I had other things to do and the idea of sitting in a movie theater for three hours with snow in my sock and soaked to the core and freezing just didn't seem appealing.
I am feeling domestic lately. I think its the, ahem, blah, um, boyfriend thing. It could be because he cooks and I feel like a deadbeat and a miserable excuse for a woman, or because it just makes me feel settled and like I should be doing things like cleaning and contemplating the colors of walls and cooking. Either way, I cooked tonight!
Now. When I first graduated from college I was all about cooking. I cooked a few times a week. I tried recipes (granted, most of them turned into complete and utter disasters - the ones I recall most fondly are the carrot ginger soup that ended up all over the kitchen and would actually be a very good recipe for cinema vomit should you ever need some! and the potato leek soup that ended up being mashed potatoes and the cheesy potatoes my mother makes that didn't even make it past "melt the butter in the bottom of the pot and then add cheese" because something AWFUL happened to it without explanation) and ate well. I brought lunch to work. I made homemade pasta. I made sauces. I cooked fairly regularly for about two years and then got distracted by other things and stopped.
I didn't cook for the entirety of my stay at my last apartment, which was three years. THREE YEARS! I think I may have made one calzone, scrambled eggs on the weekends, and boiled pasta twice. I cooked little things for parties and pot lucks, but never actually cooked for myself. I don't know why. I think I lost interest, in either cooking or in myself.
Each year one of my New Year's resolutions is COOK MORE. Or, COOK AT ALL.
This wasn't one of my resolutions this year, because I knew it wasn't going to happen. But because of domestication or the blizzard or free time or all of those things, I decided to COOK! I know, I know. You can't believe it. I made a tomato mozzarella basil olive oil salad and potato gnocchi with sage butter parmesan sauce. And it was GOOD! DELICIOUS even!!! Roommate had some. Her mind was blown.
I am so happy. I don't know why. Why? Cooking isn't a big deal, but I guess it is for me. I feel so satisfied. And full. Yummmmmmmmmm,
So that's that. It was a good weekend of nothing. Very non-New York, but still good.
I am not looking forward to leaving the Loft tomorrow. The snow. Ugh. And more on the way. I am bringing extra socks to work. I am going to have to wear boots. I freaking hate winter boots. HATE THEM. I hate being the person with the change of clothes. I wish I hate boots that could double as regular shoes. But those are tres cher, and there is no more money these days.
Hope you are all surviving the snow if you are somewhere where there is snow! And if you don't have snow, well, you suck.
Former Roommate Peachz said today that the good folks of MA actually got more snow than the Blizzard of '78!, which, again, makes me feel slightly sad.
But not really, because the moment I stepped out this afternoon to buy groceries I had more rational thoughts such as "I HATE SNOW! Why don't people freaking shovel? And why, when they do, do they shovel it onto the goddamn sidewalk? Where am I supposed to walk?" It took me at least 2x the time it normally takes to walk around. It was the sort of thing where you're walking on a sidewalk and then the open area just ceases and becomes a giant snowbank and you have to turn around.
This is mystifying, because we didn't really get that much snow. At most a foot, but I think it was more like six inches with a really inefficient shovelling job.
My journey to the grocery store was of the sort where you're walking in snowbanks and falling over every few feet because your ankles are twisting on the weird terrain, and then you get snow in your sock and have to deal with it for an hour.
Although, this experience reminds me of an idea I had for a movie in which two people meet while they are navigating their ways through snowbanks. Like the girl is walking and the boy has already turned around because he encountered a random snowbank mid-sidewalk, and they sort of crash into each other and are isolated from the world by a 7-foot pile of snow. I think that's cute. Well, not really, but when this sort of thing with the random snowbank would occur in Boston I'd fantasize about some dude also being trapped and we could laugh about it together instead of my just being irritable and pissed off and having to turn around and backtrack for five minutes. Unfortunately its a romantic comedy type idea, and I have no use for romantic comedies, so the idea will never be more than an idea.
Aside from the snow, the weekend was lovely. I did NOTHING! and therefore got many things done.
Many, many things.
The Loft is now a Sparkly Loft, the Cat is Happy, the comics are compiled and submitted for further evaluation, the music has been practiced and is (gasp!) ready for performance tomorrow night should I get to the open mic in enough time to sign up, and a dent has been made in the phone calls.
I did not go to see Aviator, because of the snow. Wimp move, yes, but I had other things to do and the idea of sitting in a movie theater for three hours with snow in my sock and soaked to the core and freezing just didn't seem appealing.
I am feeling domestic lately. I think its the, ahem, blah, um, boyfriend thing. It could be because he cooks and I feel like a deadbeat and a miserable excuse for a woman, or because it just makes me feel settled and like I should be doing things like cleaning and contemplating the colors of walls and cooking. Either way, I cooked tonight!
Now. When I first graduated from college I was all about cooking. I cooked a few times a week. I tried recipes (granted, most of them turned into complete and utter disasters - the ones I recall most fondly are the carrot ginger soup that ended up all over the kitchen and would actually be a very good recipe for cinema vomit should you ever need some! and the potato leek soup that ended up being mashed potatoes and the cheesy potatoes my mother makes that didn't even make it past "melt the butter in the bottom of the pot and then add cheese" because something AWFUL happened to it without explanation) and ate well. I brought lunch to work. I made homemade pasta. I made sauces. I cooked fairly regularly for about two years and then got distracted by other things and stopped.
I didn't cook for the entirety of my stay at my last apartment, which was three years. THREE YEARS! I think I may have made one calzone, scrambled eggs on the weekends, and boiled pasta twice. I cooked little things for parties and pot lucks, but never actually cooked for myself. I don't know why. I think I lost interest, in either cooking or in myself.
Each year one of my New Year's resolutions is COOK MORE. Or, COOK AT ALL.
This wasn't one of my resolutions this year, because I knew it wasn't going to happen. But because of domestication or the blizzard or free time or all of those things, I decided to COOK! I know, I know. You can't believe it. I made a tomato mozzarella basil olive oil salad and potato gnocchi with sage butter parmesan sauce. And it was GOOD! DELICIOUS even!!! Roommate had some. Her mind was blown.
I am so happy. I don't know why. Why? Cooking isn't a big deal, but I guess it is for me. I feel so satisfied. And full. Yummmmmmmmmm,
So that's that. It was a good weekend of nothing. Very non-New York, but still good.
I am not looking forward to leaving the Loft tomorrow. The snow. Ugh. And more on the way. I am bringing extra socks to work. I am going to have to wear boots. I freaking hate winter boots. HATE THEM. I hate being the person with the change of clothes. I wish I hate boots that could double as regular shoes. But those are tres cher, and there is no more money these days.
Hope you are all surviving the snow if you are somewhere where there is snow! And if you don't have snow, well, you suck.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Zombie
I am a zombie today. I need to balance my time more efficiently so as not to be handling radioactivity while completely delirious.
Let's see.
Mood today - minorly stressed. Not for any reason in particular, just the build up of life chores that will consume more of my weekend than I'd like. I was only in my apartment once this week, so I know that when I get home tonight I will be met by Dirty Loft and Piles of Dishes and Ten Bags of Trash That Need to Be Taken Out and Bills and Hungry Cat and Unpacking and Grocery Shopping. Blah. I also need to work on three comics this weekend. Blah again. It will be hard to do without Photoshop, so I will spend the weekend being stressed out that I am not working on the three comics. I also have to practice music. And oh how I would love to write music. And make progress on the list of 40,000 phone calls that have to be made. My goal is to make and complete 6.
I'd like to relax. I'd like to watch TV. I'd like to read a book or magazine. I'd like to think "Two days with infinite potential!" but instead its two days already booked with personal anal tasks such as the washing of sheets and towels, which I've been procrastinating for months. I live in New York City but will be spending yet another weekend not allowing myself to experience it.
I don't know why I am so unsettled when things linger. I'm sure most people are like "Screw it, I have other things to do, the dishes can wait!" but no, not me. I can't function if the dishes surpass a certain level.
The only leisurely thing I will do this weekend is see Aviator, which is supposed to be good. And long. And escapist. Yes.
The problem with being busy during the week is that your weekends disappear. I have to be more disciplined. I have to be at home. I have to draw at night. I have to call my parents on a Tuesday.
I wanted to shop this weekend. I am having one of those weeks where I loathe my entire wardrobe. I want new jeans and sweaters and black shoes and girly earrings. I also want another haircut. Current haircut, which was exquisite for a month, is growing out weirdly. Too many layers. There is, however, no time for shopping this weekend or a haircut any time in like the next month. Next weekend, I swear!, the comics will be done and I will be walking into fabulous boutiques and spending money I don't have on adorable outfits that will make me feel pretty. And maybe, just maybe!, I will actually go to a museum or gallery, which I have been trying to do since I moved here.
I am supposed to go to a party at Bench Buddy's tonight. His lawyer girl roommates are throwing it, and he's worried. He said "They're not like us." I said "Shit, should I, like, dress up or something to fit in?" and he said "NO!!! NEVER!!!! Come AS IS." Sigh. Little does he know that I won't be coming at all, because I won't be able to leave my house until it is spotless and the mail has been read and I have unpacked and played some piano and fed the cat and laundry is finished and nap is complete. I said "I am going to take a nap tonight before your party, and in all honesty, I might not wake up until tomorrow." I think he understands.
It's difficult because it would be far easier to just say "Bench Buddy, I've been up until all hours this week (and for the past few weeks) hanging out with the most amazing man on the planet," but instead I have to be secretive and lie.
Which was especially difficult today, because I spent a portion of last night with Bench Buddy so he knows I wasn't out on the town raging. D invited a friend of his over and said "You should come by, and you can invite Bench Buddy if you want." The four of us hung out for a bit, during which D made macaroni with many cheeses from scratch and poured me multiple chocolate martinis while we watched Pootie Tang.
(News Flash: We are listening to a Classic Rock station right now and they are playing Stone Temple Pilots' Interstate Love Song. I am old. I also like the song White Room way more than I probably should.)
Bench Buddy got bored and left, so I just pretended that I stayed at D's really late and had more chocolate martinis than I should have. Right. Which isn't really that much of a lie, right? Right!
After Bench Buddy left, the three of us played Hangman, which was surprisingly fun. Not because Hangman in and of itself it fun, but because D's friend is an architect and was getting out of control with his detailed nooses etc. Which prompted us to try to one up each other every time it was our turn to pick the word. D drew a guillotine, I drew a grim reaper and then an electric chair and then death via walking the plank. Arrrgghhhhhh!!!!! D's friend drew lethal injection and death by gunshot and a gory cycling accident.
Once Hangman got old (which it didn't, really, we just couldn't think of any more ways one could be executed) we played 20 Questions. When we were little, I swear this game didn't take hours, but last night we kept picking things that took forever. And it was awesome because someone would ask a global question like "Is it bigger than a basketball?" and then the next person would follow it with something like "Is it fondue?" without having any idea if it was even edible. D was like "Is it really supposed to take 400 questions to figure this out?" It did. Every time. Do we just pick more complex things as adults?
I sucked at it, because I was so tired.
I am still so tired.
I've been writing this entry for hours because I keep getting distracted because I am so tired.
Which reminds me that my experiment is coming up.
OK, folks, an hour more of work and then I am leaving early, because everyone else left early to ski in Vermont, where the high is supposed to be -1.
Stay warm!
Let's see.
Mood today - minorly stressed. Not for any reason in particular, just the build up of life chores that will consume more of my weekend than I'd like. I was only in my apartment once this week, so I know that when I get home tonight I will be met by Dirty Loft and Piles of Dishes and Ten Bags of Trash That Need to Be Taken Out and Bills and Hungry Cat and Unpacking and Grocery Shopping. Blah. I also need to work on three comics this weekend. Blah again. It will be hard to do without Photoshop, so I will spend the weekend being stressed out that I am not working on the three comics. I also have to practice music. And oh how I would love to write music. And make progress on the list of 40,000 phone calls that have to be made. My goal is to make and complete 6.
I'd like to relax. I'd like to watch TV. I'd like to read a book or magazine. I'd like to think "Two days with infinite potential!" but instead its two days already booked with personal anal tasks such as the washing of sheets and towels, which I've been procrastinating for months. I live in New York City but will be spending yet another weekend not allowing myself to experience it.
I don't know why I am so unsettled when things linger. I'm sure most people are like "Screw it, I have other things to do, the dishes can wait!" but no, not me. I can't function if the dishes surpass a certain level.
The only leisurely thing I will do this weekend is see Aviator, which is supposed to be good. And long. And escapist. Yes.
The problem with being busy during the week is that your weekends disappear. I have to be more disciplined. I have to be at home. I have to draw at night. I have to call my parents on a Tuesday.
I wanted to shop this weekend. I am having one of those weeks where I loathe my entire wardrobe. I want new jeans and sweaters and black shoes and girly earrings. I also want another haircut. Current haircut, which was exquisite for a month, is growing out weirdly. Too many layers. There is, however, no time for shopping this weekend or a haircut any time in like the next month. Next weekend, I swear!, the comics will be done and I will be walking into fabulous boutiques and spending money I don't have on adorable outfits that will make me feel pretty. And maybe, just maybe!, I will actually go to a museum or gallery, which I have been trying to do since I moved here.
I am supposed to go to a party at Bench Buddy's tonight. His lawyer girl roommates are throwing it, and he's worried. He said "They're not like us." I said "Shit, should I, like, dress up or something to fit in?" and he said "NO!!! NEVER!!!! Come AS IS." Sigh. Little does he know that I won't be coming at all, because I won't be able to leave my house until it is spotless and the mail has been read and I have unpacked and played some piano and fed the cat and laundry is finished and nap is complete. I said "I am going to take a nap tonight before your party, and in all honesty, I might not wake up until tomorrow." I think he understands.
It's difficult because it would be far easier to just say "Bench Buddy, I've been up until all hours this week (and for the past few weeks) hanging out with the most amazing man on the planet," but instead I have to be secretive and lie.
Which was especially difficult today, because I spent a portion of last night with Bench Buddy so he knows I wasn't out on the town raging. D invited a friend of his over and said "You should come by, and you can invite Bench Buddy if you want." The four of us hung out for a bit, during which D made macaroni with many cheeses from scratch and poured me multiple chocolate martinis while we watched Pootie Tang.
(News Flash: We are listening to a Classic Rock station right now and they are playing Stone Temple Pilots' Interstate Love Song. I am old. I also like the song White Room way more than I probably should.)
Bench Buddy got bored and left, so I just pretended that I stayed at D's really late and had more chocolate martinis than I should have. Right. Which isn't really that much of a lie, right? Right!
After Bench Buddy left, the three of us played Hangman, which was surprisingly fun. Not because Hangman in and of itself it fun, but because D's friend is an architect and was getting out of control with his detailed nooses etc. Which prompted us to try to one up each other every time it was our turn to pick the word. D drew a guillotine, I drew a grim reaper and then an electric chair and then death via walking the plank. Arrrgghhhhhh!!!!! D's friend drew lethal injection and death by gunshot and a gory cycling accident.
Once Hangman got old (which it didn't, really, we just couldn't think of any more ways one could be executed) we played 20 Questions. When we were little, I swear this game didn't take hours, but last night we kept picking things that took forever. And it was awesome because someone would ask a global question like "Is it bigger than a basketball?" and then the next person would follow it with something like "Is it fondue?" without having any idea if it was even edible. D was like "Is it really supposed to take 400 questions to figure this out?" It did. Every time. Do we just pick more complex things as adults?
I sucked at it, because I was so tired.
I am still so tired.
I've been writing this entry for hours because I keep getting distracted because I am so tired.
Which reminds me that my experiment is coming up.
OK, folks, an hour more of work and then I am leaving early, because everyone else left early to ski in Vermont, where the high is supposed to be -1.
Stay warm!
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Brain Exploding
I went to see a screening of a film called Primer last night. It made me nostalgic, because it was in a screening room just like the screening room at the Coolidge in Brookline. D said "This isn't what I expected" to which I responded "This is exactly what I'd hoped for."
Our journey to the center where the film was shown was lovely, because it was snowing again. Large, fluffy, romantic flakes of snow near the glowing trees of Central Park. I was so happy. I kept thinking "This is what I wanted from New York. This is what I want. And I have it. How new."
The movie was nuts. It was made with no budget. It stars the writer and director and various of his family members and friends, and his friends' family members. If I had to guess, the writer/director is/was a scientist-turned filmmaker, who thought "I have no budget, what do I have access to for sets?" and, like me, when I've had these thoughts, he thought "Well, I have friends with apartments and access to labs, so I'll make a science movie!"
The science was incomprehensible, but it's not important that you understand the Physics. Something about argon and tubing and resistance and a box and a protein and voila! Time travel.
It really explores the dark side of science and time travel. This movie was such a mind fuck. It's the kind of film you need to watch 10 times, and each time have available to you a pencil and paper, preferably graph paper, to figure out what's going on. The moral implications are huge, and really stressed us out afterwards. As did the concept of knowing that your time travelling double could be out there right now doing things that you would or would not know about? I don't know.
Fucking weird.
I really liked it. You should all see it, but be prepared to be very very confused. It made sense for the first hour, but then got completely out of hand. We were trying to discuss it but couldn't, because neither of us really knew what happened. We could only hypothesize. And neither of us had a pen during the movie, so we weren't able to draw diagrams.
I think it was out of hand because it was actually a realistic time travel movie.
I love how as humans we are just unable to deal with the concept of time travel. It's beyond us. It's a dimension we can't comprehend. The implications are vast and scary and amazing. D was going on and on about his theory that time doesn't really exist, and I couldn't handle it. My brain almost exploded. I had to be like "Can we just not talk about this for like an hour because my mind hurts?"
I couldn't get my brain to shut down. I kept thinking "But no, there wouldn't be a double because of x.... and there would only be a double for x amount of time... but then what if the double went back in time too?... and if time is a loop and not a line, this doesn't work... or maybe it does... and what was going on when..."
It's so refreshing when something can have this profound and this new an effect on you as an adult. I feel good today, because I feel like something has been added to my life - philosophically, intellectually, artistically.
I am also inspired, because the guy who made this film changed his life. He must have. He had to have been a physicist or engineer at some point and thought "This sucks - I hate working for a company - I am going to be a filmmaker!" and then took what he knew and made an awesome movie that dealt with science, and a concept that appears often in movies, in a novel way. The movie was raw - there were no overdubs or lighting marvels. He worked with what he had, and made something amazing, which is actually kind of how science works. Take what you do know and see if you can find something that nobody's ever found before.
OK. I have finished gushing. See the movie if its screening near you.
I'm off to do science.
Our journey to the center where the film was shown was lovely, because it was snowing again. Large, fluffy, romantic flakes of snow near the glowing trees of Central Park. I was so happy. I kept thinking "This is what I wanted from New York. This is what I want. And I have it. How new."
The movie was nuts. It was made with no budget. It stars the writer and director and various of his family members and friends, and his friends' family members. If I had to guess, the writer/director is/was a scientist-turned filmmaker, who thought "I have no budget, what do I have access to for sets?" and, like me, when I've had these thoughts, he thought "Well, I have friends with apartments and access to labs, so I'll make a science movie!"
The science was incomprehensible, but it's not important that you understand the Physics. Something about argon and tubing and resistance and a box and a protein and voila! Time travel.
It really explores the dark side of science and time travel. This movie was such a mind fuck. It's the kind of film you need to watch 10 times, and each time have available to you a pencil and paper, preferably graph paper, to figure out what's going on. The moral implications are huge, and really stressed us out afterwards. As did the concept of knowing that your time travelling double could be out there right now doing things that you would or would not know about? I don't know.
Fucking weird.
I really liked it. You should all see it, but be prepared to be very very confused. It made sense for the first hour, but then got completely out of hand. We were trying to discuss it but couldn't, because neither of us really knew what happened. We could only hypothesize. And neither of us had a pen during the movie, so we weren't able to draw diagrams.
I think it was out of hand because it was actually a realistic time travel movie.
I love how as humans we are just unable to deal with the concept of time travel. It's beyond us. It's a dimension we can't comprehend. The implications are vast and scary and amazing. D was going on and on about his theory that time doesn't really exist, and I couldn't handle it. My brain almost exploded. I had to be like "Can we just not talk about this for like an hour because my mind hurts?"
I couldn't get my brain to shut down. I kept thinking "But no, there wouldn't be a double because of x.... and there would only be a double for x amount of time... but then what if the double went back in time too?... and if time is a loop and not a line, this doesn't work... or maybe it does... and what was going on when..."
It's so refreshing when something can have this profound and this new an effect on you as an adult. I feel good today, because I feel like something has been added to my life - philosophically, intellectually, artistically.
I am also inspired, because the guy who made this film changed his life. He must have. He had to have been a physicist or engineer at some point and thought "This sucks - I hate working for a company - I am going to be a filmmaker!" and then took what he knew and made an awesome movie that dealt with science, and a concept that appears often in movies, in a novel way. The movie was raw - there were no overdubs or lighting marvels. He worked with what he had, and made something amazing, which is actually kind of how science works. Take what you do know and see if you can find something that nobody's ever found before.
OK. I have finished gushing. See the movie if its screening near you.
I'm off to do science.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Zero Degrees F
The only good thing about the temperature feeling like Zero F is grownups in mittens and ear muffs. I love it. Can't get enough of adults wearing outfits suitable for the Arctic. I love rosey cheeks and watery eyes and heads wrapped in three scarves. So cute.
Yeah, man, it is cold out there. Not as cold as yesterday, though.
I bought the best hat last night. My old hat, which I had no love for anyway, disappeared. Who knew one could actually experience affection for a winter hat? I know, I know, you're thinking "I am a hat person, I look good in hats, so what is there not to love about hats?" Well, some of us look like idiots in hats. I've never had a hat that actually looked good. Not that it really matters, because we all look cute in our winter outfits no matter what they are.
This hat rules, though. I can't even describe it. I might have to post a photo. It's adorable. It's not as much adorable on me as it is just adorable.
Unfortunately they did not have a matching scarf or gloves. Well, that's not true. They did have matching gloves (the kind of gloves that are also mittens!!!) but the gloves were made for people with gigantic hands.
The lack of scarf and mittens has foiled my plan to have my first ever matching set of winter gear, but I'll live. The hat was too adorable to pass up.
But yes. Cold. And no end in sight. But I am not going to complain, because there hasn't been any major snow. I had a dream last night that I was shovelling my parents' driveway - that was the whole dream - just snow and ice and me with a shovel. Then I had a dream that I was on a bus coming back from Medway and that I left my Ipod on my seat while I went to the restroom (the bus was actually a huge, moving bar so it wasn't as horrifying to go to the restroom as you might imagine). While I was in the restroom, I thought "Shit! I left my Ipod on the seat! Somebody is going to steal it!" I wasn't surprised when I got back to my seat and it was missing, but I was surprised that it had been replaced by a decoy Ipod. Weird. I was like "Look, this is weak! This is a blue phone, not a blue Ipod. Who has my Ipod?" which was apparently enough guilt to get the dude who stole it to confess. I gave him back his phone, he gave me the Ipod, all was forgiven and I listened to Death Cab For Cutie. I then went to the bar and told my brother what had happened, and he was like "Do you think I should turn into a superhero?" and I was like "What?" "Do you think I should turn into my alter ego and kick that guy's ass?" and I was like "Well, yes, but where will you change into your outfit?" and he was like "Yeah, you're right. Too difficult." And that was it.
Hmmmmm.
Bench Buddy just specifically put on the video for Toxic on Yahoo Launch. Sigh. We rocked out until it ended and Lindsay Freaking Lohan came on.
And with that, I will stop, because I am about to launch into a diatribe about Lindsay Lohan again. I will spare you all.
Have a lovely Wednesday.
Yeah, man, it is cold out there. Not as cold as yesterday, though.
I bought the best hat last night. My old hat, which I had no love for anyway, disappeared. Who knew one could actually experience affection for a winter hat? I know, I know, you're thinking "I am a hat person, I look good in hats, so what is there not to love about hats?" Well, some of us look like idiots in hats. I've never had a hat that actually looked good. Not that it really matters, because we all look cute in our winter outfits no matter what they are.
This hat rules, though. I can't even describe it. I might have to post a photo. It's adorable. It's not as much adorable on me as it is just adorable.
Unfortunately they did not have a matching scarf or gloves. Well, that's not true. They did have matching gloves (the kind of gloves that are also mittens!!!) but the gloves were made for people with gigantic hands.
The lack of scarf and mittens has foiled my plan to have my first ever matching set of winter gear, but I'll live. The hat was too adorable to pass up.
But yes. Cold. And no end in sight. But I am not going to complain, because there hasn't been any major snow. I had a dream last night that I was shovelling my parents' driveway - that was the whole dream - just snow and ice and me with a shovel. Then I had a dream that I was on a bus coming back from Medway and that I left my Ipod on my seat while I went to the restroom (the bus was actually a huge, moving bar so it wasn't as horrifying to go to the restroom as you might imagine). While I was in the restroom, I thought "Shit! I left my Ipod on the seat! Somebody is going to steal it!" I wasn't surprised when I got back to my seat and it was missing, but I was surprised that it had been replaced by a decoy Ipod. Weird. I was like "Look, this is weak! This is a blue phone, not a blue Ipod. Who has my Ipod?" which was apparently enough guilt to get the dude who stole it to confess. I gave him back his phone, he gave me the Ipod, all was forgiven and I listened to Death Cab For Cutie. I then went to the bar and told my brother what had happened, and he was like "Do you think I should turn into a superhero?" and I was like "What?" "Do you think I should turn into my alter ego and kick that guy's ass?" and I was like "Well, yes, but where will you change into your outfit?" and he was like "Yeah, you're right. Too difficult." And that was it.
Hmmmmm.
Bench Buddy just specifically put on the video for Toxic on Yahoo Launch. Sigh. We rocked out until it ended and Lindsay Freaking Lohan came on.
And with that, I will stop, because I am about to launch into a diatribe about Lindsay Lohan again. I will spare you all.
Have a lovely Wednesday.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Frogger
Well, not really. I just wanted to write "Frogger," because didn't that make you happy?
Why is it that when somebody offers to paint you a painting on a Friday, you say "I know just what I want it to be!" and then proceed to search the web and find 20,000 pictures of what it will be but fail to save the picture to your desktop because you think you'll find something better on Monday, and then, by Monday, all of the pictures you previously found have been removed from the web? Man. It will still be a good painting, though.
How nice to have a painting to look forward to!
The weekend was good. This is what happened:
1. Sex toy party in Park Slope neighborhood on Friday night. It was freezing out. The directions were given in girl-speak and involved getting out of the subway, looking at a hardware store and then making sure that it was behind you on the right. You were then to walk across a street, then walk down an unnamed street for 1 - 2 blocks until you saw a restaurant with a green awning that was diagonolly across from a barber shop in a through street. Awshummmm. Needless to say I got lost,very very lost. This was mainly because the green restaurant was about 7 blocks from the subway stop, so I walked in every possible direction for four blocks until I finally decided that the girl had no idea where she lived. Which actually ended up being the case, because she had never, in fact, walked the way she sent out in the directions. The party was... interesting. There were snooty student girls wearing black mini skirts and tall boots, who in response to the question "Where do you live?" chuckled snottily "On Manhattan," to which I had to say "WHERE?" which forced them to then admit what crappy neighborhood they lived. in The party itself was bizarre - we were encouraged to try and then buy a plethora of things I didn't know existed. They wanted us to try things that stimulated such things as blood flow, which seemed weird because if the cream that causes a rush of blood to and then stimulation of the clitoris does indeed work for you, what are you supposed to do for the remainder of the party? Just sit there? We put nipple cream on our lips. And edible whatever on our arms and then licked it off. I felt like we should all be best friends after that, but the girls were still snotty.
2. After the party we ventured out to the East Village. The girls warmed up a bit after we talked about hair for 20 minutes. Or maybe it was just the pheremones we'd applied at the party. We went to a cool indie rock place where I fit in better than I fit in at the sex toy party. L and I went for pizza in the middle of this and I had the most exquisite slice of pizza I've ever had - breaded eggplant with sauce, mozzarella, and HUGE chunks of ricotta with garlic in it. Delicious. Hmmmmmmm.
3. Met up with D afterwards - we were both drunk and spastic and said things too soon but I am thrilled. Giddy. Dare I say.... happy?
4. Spent Saturday still giddy and then went out with this guy D from Friendster, who will henceforth be called Friendster D. Friendster D wrote me well before Thanksgiving and we'd been trying since to get together. I kept being too busy, but now I have time because I am not going back to MA and nobody is visiting and I can start making NY friends. I think this was originally supposed to be a date, so I had to be like "Ummm... I am hoping you don't want this to be a date because now I have a... ummm... hard to say.... choke... blah... boyfriend." Heh. He wanted to get together anyway, and we had a lovely time, and I have a friend! He even brought me a present - we'd been writing about Jem and he brought me a pair of earrings that reminded him of the Holograms. See? There are nice people in NYC! Point of this is not that I have Jem-like earrings or that I have a friend, but that Friendster D is childhood friends of the creators of homestarrunner.com. Zowie!!! I called M right away. We are so very close to being friends with They Might Be Giants.
5. Saturday night was drawing Blade 3 stick figures. Aside from strangely accurate lips on Parker Posey, it is a disaster, but hopefully a readable and strangely charming disaster.
6. Sunday was groceries and laundry and Golden Globes and Natalie Portman winning and my being mortified by her win (she sucked in that movie) and her big head and her wearing a nightgown that reminded me of the creepy drummer daughter from the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players.
7. And then Sid and Buddy karaoke!!!! But again, no Buddy! Something is wrong. Very wrong. Instead of saying Sid and Buddy, the Lite-Brite sign on the stage said "Sid and YOU!" Best karaoke ever. Even better than last time, as there was a bigger crowd and therefore higher rockstar quotient. I sang Heaven by Warrant, which I must admit was one of my better and more inspired karaoke performances. The crowd was into it. Lighters. Thrashing of hair. Bench Buddy playing an inflatable guitar and doing backup. Yes. My second selection was Fuck and Run by Liz Phair, which was good but I couldn't sing it honestly because, darn it, I have all that stupid old shit like letters and sodas! I was thrilled to see that much of the hipster audience knew the words. I was slightly concerned that nobody would know the song. When I finished Sid said "And that was for all of you men-haters out there." Heh. I think I still hate all of them but one. Well, maybe two, because I don't hate Sid.
8. I was wearing rainbow socks at the bar. But they are weird rainbows - like they have all the colors but blue, which is weird. And the colors are all very luscious - like instead of yellow its more of a mustard. And instead of red its a deep pink. I don't know. You'd have to see them. Point being they are a weird rainbow. There was a dude there with a sweater that was exactly like my socks! I couldn't contain myself. All night I kept being like "R, it's so weird - that guy's sweater is just like my socks!" "No, I mean exactly like my socks!" "Like what are the odds that his sweater is the same exact bizarre rainbow as my socks?" "Why is that guy even wearing a rainbow sweater?" "I can't get over this!" Finally R was like "Would you just go TALK TO HIM ABOUT IT?" So I did, and he was just as excited as me. Heh.
9. When we left karaoke, it was snowing! My first snowfall in New York! It was 3 am and beautiful and I wanted more snow to make a snowman and push D into a snowbank and throw a snowball at him and then make snow angels. I couldn't stop smiling. I was yelling "My first snow!!! My first New York snow!!! And I'm with my first New York friend (L, my friend blind date from September) and my first New York boyfriend!" Bliss, folks, bliss. Long weekends are bliss.
10. Yesterday was supposed to be open mic and a movie, but instead it was lethargy because I slept for two hours the night before. Darn you rum and coke! Darn you karaoke high!!! Darn you cute boy!!!! It was a nap and then delirium, and instead of a movie, Aqua Teen Hunger Force (I still can't stop laughing at the moth / brownies clones) and Curb Your Enthusiasm in D's ice cold apartment where we ate ice cream anyway.
Long weekend, long post.
Hope it wasn't too incoherent. I need some sleep. I will get it tonight. YES!
Why is it that when somebody offers to paint you a painting on a Friday, you say "I know just what I want it to be!" and then proceed to search the web and find 20,000 pictures of what it will be but fail to save the picture to your desktop because you think you'll find something better on Monday, and then, by Monday, all of the pictures you previously found have been removed from the web? Man. It will still be a good painting, though.
How nice to have a painting to look forward to!
The weekend was good. This is what happened:
1. Sex toy party in Park Slope neighborhood on Friday night. It was freezing out. The directions were given in girl-speak and involved getting out of the subway, looking at a hardware store and then making sure that it was behind you on the right. You were then to walk across a street, then walk down an unnamed street for 1 - 2 blocks until you saw a restaurant with a green awning that was diagonolly across from a barber shop in a through street. Awshummmm. Needless to say I got lost,very very lost. This was mainly because the green restaurant was about 7 blocks from the subway stop, so I walked in every possible direction for four blocks until I finally decided that the girl had no idea where she lived. Which actually ended up being the case, because she had never, in fact, walked the way she sent out in the directions. The party was... interesting. There were snooty student girls wearing black mini skirts and tall boots, who in response to the question "Where do you live?" chuckled snottily "On Manhattan," to which I had to say "WHERE?" which forced them to then admit what crappy neighborhood they lived. in The party itself was bizarre - we were encouraged to try and then buy a plethora of things I didn't know existed. They wanted us to try things that stimulated such things as blood flow, which seemed weird because if the cream that causes a rush of blood to and then stimulation of the clitoris does indeed work for you, what are you supposed to do for the remainder of the party? Just sit there? We put nipple cream on our lips. And edible whatever on our arms and then licked it off. I felt like we should all be best friends after that, but the girls were still snotty.
2. After the party we ventured out to the East Village. The girls warmed up a bit after we talked about hair for 20 minutes. Or maybe it was just the pheremones we'd applied at the party. We went to a cool indie rock place where I fit in better than I fit in at the sex toy party. L and I went for pizza in the middle of this and I had the most exquisite slice of pizza I've ever had - breaded eggplant with sauce, mozzarella, and HUGE chunks of ricotta with garlic in it. Delicious. Hmmmmmmm.
3. Met up with D afterwards - we were both drunk and spastic and said things too soon but I am thrilled. Giddy. Dare I say.... happy?
4. Spent Saturday still giddy and then went out with this guy D from Friendster, who will henceforth be called Friendster D. Friendster D wrote me well before Thanksgiving and we'd been trying since to get together. I kept being too busy, but now I have time because I am not going back to MA and nobody is visiting and I can start making NY friends. I think this was originally supposed to be a date, so I had to be like "Ummm... I am hoping you don't want this to be a date because now I have a... ummm... hard to say.... choke... blah... boyfriend." Heh. He wanted to get together anyway, and we had a lovely time, and I have a friend! He even brought me a present - we'd been writing about Jem and he brought me a pair of earrings that reminded him of the Holograms. See? There are nice people in NYC! Point of this is not that I have Jem-like earrings or that I have a friend, but that Friendster D is childhood friends of the creators of homestarrunner.com. Zowie!!! I called M right away. We are so very close to being friends with They Might Be Giants.
5. Saturday night was drawing Blade 3 stick figures. Aside from strangely accurate lips on Parker Posey, it is a disaster, but hopefully a readable and strangely charming disaster.
6. Sunday was groceries and laundry and Golden Globes and Natalie Portman winning and my being mortified by her win (she sucked in that movie) and her big head and her wearing a nightgown that reminded me of the creepy drummer daughter from the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players.
7. And then Sid and Buddy karaoke!!!! But again, no Buddy! Something is wrong. Very wrong. Instead of saying Sid and Buddy, the Lite-Brite sign on the stage said "Sid and YOU!" Best karaoke ever. Even better than last time, as there was a bigger crowd and therefore higher rockstar quotient. I sang Heaven by Warrant, which I must admit was one of my better and more inspired karaoke performances. The crowd was into it. Lighters. Thrashing of hair. Bench Buddy playing an inflatable guitar and doing backup. Yes. My second selection was Fuck and Run by Liz Phair, which was good but I couldn't sing it honestly because, darn it, I have all that stupid old shit like letters and sodas! I was thrilled to see that much of the hipster audience knew the words. I was slightly concerned that nobody would know the song. When I finished Sid said "And that was for all of you men-haters out there." Heh. I think I still hate all of them but one. Well, maybe two, because I don't hate Sid.
8. I was wearing rainbow socks at the bar. But they are weird rainbows - like they have all the colors but blue, which is weird. And the colors are all very luscious - like instead of yellow its more of a mustard. And instead of red its a deep pink. I don't know. You'd have to see them. Point being they are a weird rainbow. There was a dude there with a sweater that was exactly like my socks! I couldn't contain myself. All night I kept being like "R, it's so weird - that guy's sweater is just like my socks!" "No, I mean exactly like my socks!" "Like what are the odds that his sweater is the same exact bizarre rainbow as my socks?" "Why is that guy even wearing a rainbow sweater?" "I can't get over this!" Finally R was like "Would you just go TALK TO HIM ABOUT IT?" So I did, and he was just as excited as me. Heh.
9. When we left karaoke, it was snowing! My first snowfall in New York! It was 3 am and beautiful and I wanted more snow to make a snowman and push D into a snowbank and throw a snowball at him and then make snow angels. I couldn't stop smiling. I was yelling "My first snow!!! My first New York snow!!! And I'm with my first New York friend (L, my friend blind date from September) and my first New York boyfriend!" Bliss, folks, bliss. Long weekends are bliss.
10. Yesterday was supposed to be open mic and a movie, but instead it was lethargy because I slept for two hours the night before. Darn you rum and coke! Darn you karaoke high!!! Darn you cute boy!!!! It was a nap and then delirium, and instead of a movie, Aqua Teen Hunger Force (I still can't stop laughing at the moth / brownies clones) and Curb Your Enthusiasm in D's ice cold apartment where we ate ice cream anyway.
Long weekend, long post.
Hope it wasn't too incoherent. I need some sleep. I will get it tonight. YES!
Friday, January 14, 2005
The Surreal Life 4
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.
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.
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!!!!!!!!
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