Friday, April 08, 2005
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Palindromes
The quarterly company party was last evening.
Nostalgia was rampant. You might remember the first company party attended by MyMundaneLifeInSong as being responsible for the catch-phrase "Awshummmm...."
It's amazing how much has changed since that first party.
And how much hasn't. I felt no more comfortable at this party than the party I attended a mere two weeks after moving to NYC. My eyes weren't as bright this time, so I was pleased that D and I had a backup plan in effect.
I randomly found out on Tuesday that Todd Solondz's new film, Palindromes, was showing last night at the MOMA. The film would be introduced by Solondz, and there would be a Q & A with him and the actors afterwards.
I mentioned this to D, as more of a travesty than an option. D said "I think we should go to the movie instead of the company party."
We decided that the best thing to do would be to get tickets and then make a last minute decision.
It was, of course, sold out, but D, being a genius with little work to do, found out that more tickets would be released yesterday at noon. He was able to go to the MOMA and miraculously managed to get two free tickets. Free, you ask? Yes. A perk of being a MOMA member. This is interesting given our failed attempt at seeing a movie as part of the New Director's Series, which was $10 for members. Weird.
Anyway, the party was boring so we went to the movie.
On our way to the movie, we passed Radio City Music Hall, where many people from New Jersey were formingn crowds. Turns out Maroon 5 was playing. Awshummmm.
We waited in line outside of the MOMA with hundreds of people. I was happy to be outside on a beautiful night while buzzed with my fabulous boyfriend.
Everyone is a Todd Solondz fan. I've seen Welcome to the Dollhouse (which I don't remember well) and Happiness (which I will never forget), but did not see Storytelling, because it was released at a time when I was in, well, a bad mental state and didn't quite feel up to Todd Solondz.
In my opinion, this one is the least provocative. I'm still not sure what to think. It's interesting and challenging storytelling, but I didn't feel connected to it in the same way that I felt connected to Dollhouse and Happiness.
The jury's still out on this one, but that's generally the sign of a good movie. If you see it, let me know what you think.
Todd Solondz was nothing like I expected. I guess I expected him to be meak and morbid and dreary and monotone. He's quite animated and talkative. He's nerdy in the most endearing of ways. His Q & A session helped me to appreciate the movie.
Ellen Barkin, Jennifer Jason Leigh, and a bunch of the other actors were on-hand to discuss the film. With each of these interview-type-things I attend, I gain more of an appreciation for writing/directing and less of an appreciation for acting.
Not that I don't appreciate acting. It's hard. For me, it would be much harder than either writing or directing. In fact, it would be the worst of tortures. Acting is a talent, and I appreciate that.
I guess I just don't find actors and actors' stories/techniques as interesting or relevant as those of a writer or director.
Everyone in my class gasps when an actor appears. For example, when Daniel Day-Lewis was in class I thought people were going to faint. A murmer literally went through the audience. I found the discussion with his wife, who wrote and directed The Ballad of Jack and Rose, much more valuable. Then again, I didn't like the movie all that much (aside from Daniel Day-Lewis' performance), so maybe I just wanted to leave.
I don't know.
I found myself not caring what Ellen Barkin had to say, unless she was talking about the way Todd Solondz directed her.
Celebrity is a weird thing, especially here. Why are people famous? Because we've seen their face projected really hugely on a movie screen?
It's understandable to respect people for being good at their craft. Yes.
But why the murmer? Why was my initial response "Oooh! Ellen Barkin!!!! WOW!"
She did say something really true, though. She pointed out that Todd Solondz's movies and characters are appealing because he doesn't judge. His lack of judgment makes things complicated, but in a sentimental and sympathetic way that results in amazing filmmaking.
OK.
I ought to work.
Until tomorrow, dear readers.
Nostalgia was rampant. You might remember the first company party attended by MyMundaneLifeInSong as being responsible for the catch-phrase "Awshummmm...."
It's amazing how much has changed since that first party.
And how much hasn't. I felt no more comfortable at this party than the party I attended a mere two weeks after moving to NYC. My eyes weren't as bright this time, so I was pleased that D and I had a backup plan in effect.
I randomly found out on Tuesday that Todd Solondz's new film, Palindromes, was showing last night at the MOMA. The film would be introduced by Solondz, and there would be a Q & A with him and the actors afterwards.
I mentioned this to D, as more of a travesty than an option. D said "I think we should go to the movie instead of the company party."
We decided that the best thing to do would be to get tickets and then make a last minute decision.
It was, of course, sold out, but D, being a genius with little work to do, found out that more tickets would be released yesterday at noon. He was able to go to the MOMA and miraculously managed to get two free tickets. Free, you ask? Yes. A perk of being a MOMA member. This is interesting given our failed attempt at seeing a movie as part of the New Director's Series, which was $10 for members. Weird.
Anyway, the party was boring so we went to the movie.
On our way to the movie, we passed Radio City Music Hall, where many people from New Jersey were formingn crowds. Turns out Maroon 5 was playing. Awshummmm.
We waited in line outside of the MOMA with hundreds of people. I was happy to be outside on a beautiful night while buzzed with my fabulous boyfriend.
Everyone is a Todd Solondz fan. I've seen Welcome to the Dollhouse (which I don't remember well) and Happiness (which I will never forget), but did not see Storytelling, because it was released at a time when I was in, well, a bad mental state and didn't quite feel up to Todd Solondz.
In my opinion, this one is the least provocative. I'm still not sure what to think. It's interesting and challenging storytelling, but I didn't feel connected to it in the same way that I felt connected to Dollhouse and Happiness.
The jury's still out on this one, but that's generally the sign of a good movie. If you see it, let me know what you think.
Todd Solondz was nothing like I expected. I guess I expected him to be meak and morbid and dreary and monotone. He's quite animated and talkative. He's nerdy in the most endearing of ways. His Q & A session helped me to appreciate the movie.
Ellen Barkin, Jennifer Jason Leigh, and a bunch of the other actors were on-hand to discuss the film. With each of these interview-type-things I attend, I gain more of an appreciation for writing/directing and less of an appreciation for acting.
Not that I don't appreciate acting. It's hard. For me, it would be much harder than either writing or directing. In fact, it would be the worst of tortures. Acting is a talent, and I appreciate that.
I guess I just don't find actors and actors' stories/techniques as interesting or relevant as those of a writer or director.
Everyone in my class gasps when an actor appears. For example, when Daniel Day-Lewis was in class I thought people were going to faint. A murmer literally went through the audience. I found the discussion with his wife, who wrote and directed The Ballad of Jack and Rose, much more valuable. Then again, I didn't like the movie all that much (aside from Daniel Day-Lewis' performance), so maybe I just wanted to leave.
I don't know.
I found myself not caring what Ellen Barkin had to say, unless she was talking about the way Todd Solondz directed her.
Celebrity is a weird thing, especially here. Why are people famous? Because we've seen their face projected really hugely on a movie screen?
It's understandable to respect people for being good at their craft. Yes.
But why the murmer? Why was my initial response "Oooh! Ellen Barkin!!!! WOW!"
She did say something really true, though. She pointed out that Todd Solondz's movies and characters are appealing because he doesn't judge. His lack of judgment makes things complicated, but in a sentimental and sympathetic way that results in amazing filmmaking.
OK.
I ought to work.
Until tomorrow, dear readers.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
My Mundane Life in Song...goes to Philly! or Steve Perry Litmus Test or Amish Fantasy - DENIED!
Hello readers.
It's another special occasion that merits a guest writer! This is from NR, who I visited this past weekend in Philthy, one of my favorite cities. The text is NR's, the photos and occasional commentary are mine. Enjoy!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This weekend, the awesome Leah and D -who was celebrating his B-day- made a visit to the recently declared most overweight *AND* most depressed city in America (can't help but think the two go hand in hand...) We all lived up to both these honors by Sunday morning.
The dynamic duo arrived late Friday night after dealing with train delays; and since there was a lot planned for the next day, we headed straight back to my place for some rest and drinks. After catching up for a bit and Leah playing with the make-your-own Lego site, we called it a night. Before they could, however, Leah and D had to partake in a household tradition that I strictly enforce on all and any of my overnight guests: The viewing of the Journey DVD. Yes, Journey the band. Yes, Journey as in "Open Arms." Yes, Journey as in the band with THE greatest lead singer ever. The DVD has become a great tool to guage the level of friendship/compatability with my overnight guests. The range of reactions it gets is very wide. Either people get it or they don't. Leah and D are people I think very highly of and therefore, want their respect. So it was with some trepidation that I popped in the video. To my pleasant surprise, D was also a Journey
fan. Moreover a STEVE PERRY fan. Leah, however, was scared. Very, very scared of our, as she put it, non-ironic love for this band. Anyway, Steve
closed the night. Glorious!
The next day, we took our time getting up and after some breakfast we hit Reading Terminal Market. The market is best known for it's Amish establishments (although you can get/buy just about any kind of food that your hearts desire.) I was endeared by Leah and D's excitement of being there. The amount of goods was insane!
Pretty yellow candy that I didn't try:
Pretty orange and pink candy that I didn't try:
Leah, D and I walked around and sampled, bought and ate lots of goodies including blue raspberry licorice, flavored bagel chips, cheese and pretzels.
Preserves:
Cookie Cutter Metropolis:
Leah took lots of great pictures of the visit and wanted to make friends with a cute, little Amish boy who sold her some apple butter (we even contemplated kidnapping him.)
Potential Amish friend who sold me apple butter:
When we arrived at the market, it was slightly raining. When we left, it was
POURING. It sucked and prevented us from doing other cool Philly stuff. (Go
figure, when Leah and D decide come to Philly, the Gods of Weather
decide to screw us. Damn you, Gods, DAMN YOOOOOUUUUU!!!)
This is what most of our trip looked like:
Our next stop was the Mutter Museum. This museum is famous for housing and exhibiting medical oddities. It is a must-see if you're ever in Philly. Conjoined twins? Gross tumors? Death? Skulls? Gigantic colons? Weird diseases? Old-timey medical equipment? Done and done! This place has it all and then some! Actually, jokes aside, it really is some deeply disturbing and depressing stuff. Although they did find it very interesting, Leah and D were adequately depressed by the museum. (I'm a *fun* host!)
(Sidenote: the weekend in Philly was particularly wonderful because I got to indulge three of my obsessions - the Amish, Conjoined Twins, and Cereal!)
We left the museum, still in the pouring rain and headed to South Philly to get a bite to eat. D got himself an authentic Philly Cheesesteak from one of Philly's best sammich joints. (Twas good he said!) Leah and I decided to check out the bakery a few doors down. Oh mah gawd. Too many options and everything looked unbelievable. I got a canolli and Leah got the greatest frickin' chocolate covered banana ever (as usual, she makes the bestestestest choice.) It wasn't just any chocolate covered banana, my friends. It was a banana on a long cinnamon biscuit, with raspberry jam and creme covered in chocolate. We almost died. So rich and oh so yummy. I'm sure Leah and I could go on and on and on about this damn banana...
(Sidenote: the BEST thing about the chocolate covered banana was that it was masquerading as a chocolate covered banana. When I bit into it, I was pleasantly surprised by the amazing dessert experience that greeted me!)
So then, we went home, relaxed, listened to some tunes, watched "Strangers with Candy" and headed off to, yup, eat more food.
What I did in Philly:
We went to Jones, which specializes in upscale comfort food. Leah felt like after the hilarity that was the Mutter Museum and the pouring rain, we could all use a little comforting. Again, good call. The meal did not disappoint. Potato latkes, onion rings, dumplings, tacos, mac and cheese, dessert-themed cocktails. My lovelies, we packed in it.
Because the people at Jones did not indulge NR's celebrity status, NR looked quite noire while drinking Bug Juice:
Then, we did the unthinkable. Despite being filled to the brim with food, we ordered the dessert nachos. Oohh what's that, you say? Dessert nachos: cinnamon chips, hot fudge, brownie bits, melted marshmallow all topped with strawberry salsa. (Yes, that's you salivating.)
Dessert Nachos - yes!:
We had a few bites and started to slip into a food coma. Luckily, I managed to get us home safe. By then, the museum depression had worn off and the Philly over-eating had taken over.
(Sidenote: NR is not giving herself enough credit, folks! She is a celebrity at Jones, as she was featured in an episode of MTV's Real World Philadelphia during which she stabbed at her meal at Jones in the foreground while Willie was on a date with some boy who wasn't as cute as his boyfriend. The people at Jones didn't give her much credit for this, which prompted her to exclaim, diva-like, "Don't you people KNOW WHO I AM!??!?" Not really, but that would have been awesome.)
Sunday didn't rain too much, but one of the main things Leah and D came to Philly for was to see the Salvador Dali exhibit at the Phila Museum of Art (the one Rocky ran up the stairs at.) Alas, the tickets were all sold-out. For the next month. D'OH!
Cool or Weird Dali steps:
So, instead D suggested checking out an exhibit at UPenn's Institute for Contemporary Art. (D, by the way, knows more about the goings-on in Philly than this host. The dude knows, the dude knows.) The exhibit was interesting...but more exciting was our meal prior to it.
(Sidenote: I wouldn't even call the exhibit interesting. D called it "inpenetrable." I didn't like it.)
Folks, I've known Leah for years, and I don't think I've seen her this excited and giddy ever. Like a kid going to her first concert. Seriously, she was just *radiating* with excitement and anticipation. (It was so damn cute.) What such thing brought this on? A little establishment called "Cereality." It is what is sounds like. A cafe that serves a variety of cereal.
Leah's eyes were as wide as they could be taking in everything about the place. She got the Strawberry Fields (oatmeal made with strawberry milk and topped with strawberries.) Thumbs up. D got a blueberry cereal shake and I got Life cereal with almonds, honey and bananas. Damn good stuff. Leah took many pictures of this historic visit.
And now Leah and D's weekend in Philly came to an end. Despite the crummy weather and no Dali, their visit to the City of Brotherly Love was fun. You guys are welcome to visit ANYTIME!!! (Um, that's to Leah, not to YOU reading, I don't know you...unless Leah says you're cool. Then, yeah, it's cool, come on down! High fives.)
Guest blogging was f-u-n -thanks, Leah!
(...dammit, that stupid chocolate banana...)
It's another special occasion that merits a guest writer! This is from NR, who I visited this past weekend in Philthy, one of my favorite cities. The text is NR's, the photos and occasional commentary are mine. Enjoy!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This weekend, the awesome Leah and D -who was celebrating his B-day- made a visit to the recently declared most overweight *AND* most depressed city in America (can't help but think the two go hand in hand...) We all lived up to both these honors by Sunday morning.
The dynamic duo arrived late Friday night after dealing with train delays; and since there was a lot planned for the next day, we headed straight back to my place for some rest and drinks. After catching up for a bit and Leah playing with the make-your-own Lego site, we called it a night. Before they could, however, Leah and D had to partake in a household tradition that I strictly enforce on all and any of my overnight guests: The viewing of the Journey DVD. Yes, Journey the band. Yes, Journey as in "Open Arms." Yes, Journey as in the band with THE greatest lead singer ever. The DVD has become a great tool to guage the level of friendship/compatability with my overnight guests. The range of reactions it gets is very wide. Either people get it or they don't. Leah and D are people I think very highly of and therefore, want their respect. So it was with some trepidation that I popped in the video. To my pleasant surprise, D was also a Journey
fan. Moreover a STEVE PERRY fan. Leah, however, was scared. Very, very scared of our, as she put it, non-ironic love for this band. Anyway, Steve
closed the night. Glorious!
The next day, we took our time getting up and after some breakfast we hit Reading Terminal Market. The market is best known for it's Amish establishments (although you can get/buy just about any kind of food that your hearts desire.) I was endeared by Leah and D's excitement of being there. The amount of goods was insane!
Pretty yellow candy that I didn't try:
Pretty orange and pink candy that I didn't try:
Leah, D and I walked around and sampled, bought and ate lots of goodies including blue raspberry licorice, flavored bagel chips, cheese and pretzels.
Preserves:
Cookie Cutter Metropolis:
Leah took lots of great pictures of the visit and wanted to make friends with a cute, little Amish boy who sold her some apple butter (we even contemplated kidnapping him.)
Potential Amish friend who sold me apple butter:
When we arrived at the market, it was slightly raining. When we left, it was
POURING. It sucked and prevented us from doing other cool Philly stuff. (Go
figure, when Leah and D decide come to Philly, the Gods of Weather
decide to screw us. Damn you, Gods, DAMN YOOOOOUUUUU!!!)
This is what most of our trip looked like:
Our next stop was the Mutter Museum. This museum is famous for housing and exhibiting medical oddities. It is a must-see if you're ever in Philly. Conjoined twins? Gross tumors? Death? Skulls? Gigantic colons? Weird diseases? Old-timey medical equipment? Done and done! This place has it all and then some! Actually, jokes aside, it really is some deeply disturbing and depressing stuff. Although they did find it very interesting, Leah and D were adequately depressed by the museum. (I'm a *fun* host!)
(Sidenote: the weekend in Philly was particularly wonderful because I got to indulge three of my obsessions - the Amish, Conjoined Twins, and Cereal!)
We left the museum, still in the pouring rain and headed to South Philly to get a bite to eat. D got himself an authentic Philly Cheesesteak from one of Philly's best sammich joints. (Twas good he said!) Leah and I decided to check out the bakery a few doors down. Oh mah gawd. Too many options and everything looked unbelievable. I got a canolli and Leah got the greatest frickin' chocolate covered banana ever (as usual, she makes the bestestestest choice.) It wasn't just any chocolate covered banana, my friends. It was a banana on a long cinnamon biscuit, with raspberry jam and creme covered in chocolate. We almost died. So rich and oh so yummy. I'm sure Leah and I could go on and on and on about this damn banana...
(Sidenote: the BEST thing about the chocolate covered banana was that it was masquerading as a chocolate covered banana. When I bit into it, I was pleasantly surprised by the amazing dessert experience that greeted me!)
So then, we went home, relaxed, listened to some tunes, watched "Strangers with Candy" and headed off to, yup, eat more food.
What I did in Philly:
We went to Jones, which specializes in upscale comfort food. Leah felt like after the hilarity that was the Mutter Museum and the pouring rain, we could all use a little comforting. Again, good call. The meal did not disappoint. Potato latkes, onion rings, dumplings, tacos, mac and cheese, dessert-themed cocktails. My lovelies, we packed in it.
Because the people at Jones did not indulge NR's celebrity status, NR looked quite noire while drinking Bug Juice:
Then, we did the unthinkable. Despite being filled to the brim with food, we ordered the dessert nachos. Oohh what's that, you say? Dessert nachos: cinnamon chips, hot fudge, brownie bits, melted marshmallow all topped with strawberry salsa. (Yes, that's you salivating.)
Dessert Nachos - yes!:
We had a few bites and started to slip into a food coma. Luckily, I managed to get us home safe. By then, the museum depression had worn off and the Philly over-eating had taken over.
(Sidenote: NR is not giving herself enough credit, folks! She is a celebrity at Jones, as she was featured in an episode of MTV's Real World Philadelphia during which she stabbed at her meal at Jones in the foreground while Willie was on a date with some boy who wasn't as cute as his boyfriend. The people at Jones didn't give her much credit for this, which prompted her to exclaim, diva-like, "Don't you people KNOW WHO I AM!??!?" Not really, but that would have been awesome.)
Sunday didn't rain too much, but one of the main things Leah and D came to Philly for was to see the Salvador Dali exhibit at the Phila Museum of Art (the one Rocky ran up the stairs at.) Alas, the tickets were all sold-out. For the next month. D'OH!
Cool or Weird Dali steps:
So, instead D suggested checking out an exhibit at UPenn's Institute for Contemporary Art. (D, by the way, knows more about the goings-on in Philly than this host. The dude knows, the dude knows.) The exhibit was interesting...but more exciting was our meal prior to it.
(Sidenote: I wouldn't even call the exhibit interesting. D called it "inpenetrable." I didn't like it.)
Folks, I've known Leah for years, and I don't think I've seen her this excited and giddy ever. Like a kid going to her first concert. Seriously, she was just *radiating* with excitement and anticipation. (It was so damn cute.) What such thing brought this on? A little establishment called "Cereality." It is what is sounds like. A cafe that serves a variety of cereal.
Leah's eyes were as wide as they could be taking in everything about the place. She got the Strawberry Fields (oatmeal made with strawberry milk and topped with strawberries.) Thumbs up. D got a blueberry cereal shake and I got Life cereal with almonds, honey and bananas. Damn good stuff. Leah took many pictures of this historic visit.
And now Leah and D's weekend in Philly came to an end. Despite the crummy weather and no Dali, their visit to the City of Brotherly Love was fun. You guys are welcome to visit ANYTIME!!! (Um, that's to Leah, not to YOU reading, I don't know you...unless Leah says you're cool. Then, yeah, it's cool, come on down! High fives.)
Guest blogging was f-u-n -thanks, Leah!
(...dammit, that stupid chocolate banana...)
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Send Me Your Lego-Selves
Hey kids!
I have been enjoying getting your Lego-self submissions!
If you wouldn't mind, please send me your Lego selves so I can make a collage. That would be a fun project, and I am in desperate need of a project right now.
If you do not send me your Lego self, I will design one for you.
Or, if you do not want to send me your Lego self, please feel free to design a Lego Anonymous. Ummm... some sort of prize will be awarded to the best design.
I have been enjoying getting your Lego-self submissions!
If you wouldn't mind, please send me your Lego selves so I can make a collage. That would be a fun project, and I am in desperate need of a project right now.
If you do not send me your Lego self, I will design one for you.
Or, if you do not want to send me your Lego self, please feel free to design a Lego Anonymous. Ummm... some sort of prize will be awarded to the best design.
Monday, April 04, 2005
I Remember Marching
People complain about the NYC subways.
But.
There is one great thing.
You can sing at the top of your lungs and nobody will think you insane. It's loud underground, and most people are crazy, so nobody thinks twice about singing.
I didn't know what it feels like to be depressed when one should be happy until recently.
Singing really loudly to bad, old, guilty-pleasure-songs in tunnels really helps.
If I had any free time I swear I'd be writing songs. Seriously. I would be.
But.
There is one great thing.
You can sing at the top of your lungs and nobody will think you insane. It's loud underground, and most people are crazy, so nobody thinks twice about singing.
I didn't know what it feels like to be depressed when one should be happy until recently.
Singing really loudly to bad, old, guilty-pleasure-songs in tunnels really helps.
If I had any free time I swear I'd be writing songs. Seriously. I would be.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Friday, April 01, 2005
The Results Are In
D tried the Chocolate Lucky Charms this morning. Verdict?
"Well, um, they just taste like regular Lucky Charms. Or maybe, at best, marshmallows mixed with, like, low grade store brand Cocoa Puffs."
Heh.
Talk of Cocoa Puffs (which I don't really like, but which remind of Cookie Crisps, which rule!) only convinced me further that D and I will be going here while we are in Philly this weekend.
Which reminds me - Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Awesome. Newly released French Toast Crunch? Pointless and vile.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I just saw Kate Hudson and Chris Robinson walking their baby outside of the building. They were very cute. I actually had my camera with me (long story) and momentarily thought of snapping a photo, but then thought better of becoming paparazzi.
I find this precious because for some reason it is heartwarming to see them acting like regular parents. Well, regular parents who don't have to work on a Friday afternoon. I guess I just assumed that a rockstar type would have better things to do, such as being "in the studio" or "with another woman."
Cute.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am wearing black today to honor the passing of Mitch Hedberg.
I'm still upset. We just saw him - not even two weeks ago. I am so glad I had the opportunity to see him. I blame the catty (thanks for editing, E.Pi) bachelorettes who caused him to be paranoid at the show. They drove him back to drugs, or whatever it was that caused his heart attack. Stupid bachelorettes. They probably don't even know that he's dead.
I'm trying to understand why I'm so distressed, and I think its because Mitch Hedberg was so innocent. His comedy was never offensive or charged or distasteful. He was observational and light and fabulous.
I also credit him with being one of the only things that helped my mood a few years back. I hit a rough patch a few years ago, during which I was a mess and couldn't be consoled by anything. Sister said "Dude, you need to listen to Mitch Hedberg." She then launched into an impression and I was like "I don't know, man, I don't know if I can just sit and listen to something right now" and she insisted, saying "Seriously, Leah, he's the funniest guy ever."
I proceeded to sit on the floor of her bedroom in Medway and laugh until the tears transformed from sad tears into the kind that flow in response to uncontrollable laughter. My parents and brother, who heard us laughing, appeared in Sister's room and soon joined us. It was awesome.
I am going to buy a Quadruple Tree Hotel t-shirt in Mitch's honor, and will wear it with pride.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is weird how people are dying.
Johnnie Cochran, Terry Schiavo, Mitch Hedberg... I just heard that Frank Purdue died (I thought he was already dead?) and probably soon The Pope.
Weird.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Well, um, they just taste like regular Lucky Charms. Or maybe, at best, marshmallows mixed with, like, low grade store brand Cocoa Puffs."
Heh.
Talk of Cocoa Puffs (which I don't really like, but which remind of Cookie Crisps, which rule!) only convinced me further that D and I will be going here while we are in Philly this weekend.
Which reminds me - Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Awesome. Newly released French Toast Crunch? Pointless and vile.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I just saw Kate Hudson and Chris Robinson walking their baby outside of the building. They were very cute. I actually had my camera with me (long story) and momentarily thought of snapping a photo, but then thought better of becoming paparazzi.
I find this precious because for some reason it is heartwarming to see them acting like regular parents. Well, regular parents who don't have to work on a Friday afternoon. I guess I just assumed that a rockstar type would have better things to do, such as being "in the studio" or "with another woman."
Cute.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am wearing black today to honor the passing of Mitch Hedberg.
I'm still upset. We just saw him - not even two weeks ago. I am so glad I had the opportunity to see him. I blame the catty (thanks for editing, E.Pi) bachelorettes who caused him to be paranoid at the show. They drove him back to drugs, or whatever it was that caused his heart attack. Stupid bachelorettes. They probably don't even know that he's dead.
I'm trying to understand why I'm so distressed, and I think its because Mitch Hedberg was so innocent. His comedy was never offensive or charged or distasteful. He was observational and light and fabulous.
I also credit him with being one of the only things that helped my mood a few years back. I hit a rough patch a few years ago, during which I was a mess and couldn't be consoled by anything. Sister said "Dude, you need to listen to Mitch Hedberg." She then launched into an impression and I was like "I don't know, man, I don't know if I can just sit and listen to something right now" and she insisted, saying "Seriously, Leah, he's the funniest guy ever."
I proceeded to sit on the floor of her bedroom in Medway and laugh until the tears transformed from sad tears into the kind that flow in response to uncontrollable laughter. My parents and brother, who heard us laughing, appeared in Sister's room and soon joined us. It was awesome.
I am going to buy a Quadruple Tree Hotel t-shirt in Mitch's honor, and will wear it with pride.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is weird how people are dying.
Johnnie Cochran, Terry Schiavo, Mitch Hedberg... I just heard that Frank Purdue died (I thought he was already dead?) and probably soon The Pope.
Weird.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Polka Chic
I think the key to becoming rich is to take something that already exists, and has existed for quite some time, and make it fashionable.
An example - poker. Why is poker a new fad? Suddenly everyone is obsessed with poker. Poker reality shows. Poker internet pop-ups. Radio ads for classes that will teach you how to play poker.
I don't understand.
I mean, I understand, because poker is awesome. It's always been awesome.
I'm sure there are millions of other examples of this that I can't think of right now.
I said to D "You know what we should do? Make like an Uno version of poker... like for kids... people would go nuts for that right now.... you know, like how Uno is CRAZY EIGHTS (thank you, Mo, for editing) but with Draw Fours and Skips."
Turns out that this has already been invented, and is called Phase 10. I was playing Phase 10 shortly before I suggested this. Apparently I hadn't consciously realized that Phase 10 is a combination of Poker and Rummy 500. I was too fixated on the Rummy 500 similarties.
The task of the week is to think of something that's always been cool and to start a crusade to convince people that this thing is NOW the coolest thing.
This might involve a reality TV show. I'm not happy about that, but if it makes me rich, I won't mind selling out.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In other news a third Shins show has been added! I couldn't attend either of the original shows as I will be in The South. A third show was just added and I will be at it, thanks to a blog that just announced that tickets went on sale.
Blogs are good.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
D came back from FL last night. I called him as he was boarding the plane in FL, and he said "I have surprises. You are going to be so excited. You won't be able to sleep tonight."
When he arrived, before saying anything to me, he threw his bag on my bedroom floor and pulled from it a box of Lucky Charms. "Can you stand it?" he said.
"Ummm...."
D thinks that food can only be purchased in Florida. (Which is sort of true - its hard to find what you want in NYC, but I don't think you really need to go to FL to go grocery shopping). He also thinks that Target only exists in FL, even though there is now one in Times Square and has always been one in Brooklyn. Then again, the Target in Brooklyn is actually Scary Target, at which you have to put your shopping cart on an escalator in order to get it to the second floor, thus causing anxious people like myself to carry all sorts of awkwardly shaped objects instead of risking losing potential purchases to an unpredictable escalator with notches in it. I'm sure D would like me to tell you that the Target in FL is a Super Target. I'm not sure how much more super Target could be. Sadly I was not able to experience its Super-ocity firsthand due to its being closed on Easter.
I digress.
"CHOCOLATE LUCKY CHARMS!" he said. "This combines two of your favorite things - Lucky Charms and CHOCOLATE!"
Now.
D knows that variations on food that is already good is a pet peeve of mine. I've always been like this - for example, when I was little, I just adored My Little Ponies and loved all of the ones that I had. Then, as soon as little girls had all of the My Little Ponies, they'd come out with NEW My Little Ponies. Baby ones, ones with wings, ones with glitter, ones with fluorescent hair. I was always torn between loyalty to the original and enthusiasm for the new. It was the same with Cabbage Patch Kids. I finally got one, but then they came out with the premie ones, the animal ones (which now horrifies me - I haven't thought about those since elementary school), but I always remained loyal to Sandy, my original doll.
I just don't understand why there has to be flavored Pringles. Pringles RULE. Why do they need to have barbecue flavored ones when the original flavor is perfectly adequate? And Cheez-Its - Cheez-Its are the best thing ever, so why do they now have flavored ones? And pizza-flavored Golfish? WHY!?!?? Why can't we ever just be happy with what we have?
D is an experimenter. He likes the variants. I always say "D, what if you met a bunch of new people who were slight variants on all the people you know? With all else being equal, I guess you'd try? You'd just try new people?!?!? WHY SHOULD I TRY FREAKING WHITE CHEDDAR PRINGLES WHEN THE ORIGINAL IS AWESOME?!?!? WHY SHOULD I WANT SOMETHING ELSE WHEN WHAT I HAVE IS GOOD? WHY WOULD YOU BUY THESE!??! TRAITOR!!!"
Food remixes.
Lame.
Anyway, I didn't launch into my food diatribe because he was so excited, but now I am torn, because I have to try the Lucky Charms even though I hate them just because they exist. I love original Lucky Charms. I never thought "You know, this could be better."
But, more importantly, D has purchased more Star Wars legos for us to play with!!! Now we will have ships for our TIE fighter to play with. Weeee!!!!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I listened to my friend's radio show this morning. I was torn, because I was listening to Howard Stern prior to his show's beginning and Howard Stern said "How long is the Mitch Hedberg bit? Should we play it now or... well... let's go to ads..."
Torn.
The reason I mention this is because I can rarely find anything on the radio worth listening to, and there I was, for the first time in my life, with a radio conflict!
Mitch Hedberg never came on and I couldn't get a good stream of my friend's show, so there wasn't much of a conflict in the end.
Oh well.
It was, for a moment, cool to be excited about radio.
An example - poker. Why is poker a new fad? Suddenly everyone is obsessed with poker. Poker reality shows. Poker internet pop-ups. Radio ads for classes that will teach you how to play poker.
I don't understand.
I mean, I understand, because poker is awesome. It's always been awesome.
I'm sure there are millions of other examples of this that I can't think of right now.
I said to D "You know what we should do? Make like an Uno version of poker... like for kids... people would go nuts for that right now.... you know, like how Uno is CRAZY EIGHTS (thank you, Mo, for editing) but with Draw Fours and Skips."
Turns out that this has already been invented, and is called Phase 10. I was playing Phase 10 shortly before I suggested this. Apparently I hadn't consciously realized that Phase 10 is a combination of Poker and Rummy 500. I was too fixated on the Rummy 500 similarties.
The task of the week is to think of something that's always been cool and to start a crusade to convince people that this thing is NOW the coolest thing.
This might involve a reality TV show. I'm not happy about that, but if it makes me rich, I won't mind selling out.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In other news a third Shins show has been added! I couldn't attend either of the original shows as I will be in The South. A third show was just added and I will be at it, thanks to a blog that just announced that tickets went on sale.
Blogs are good.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
D came back from FL last night. I called him as he was boarding the plane in FL, and he said "I have surprises. You are going to be so excited. You won't be able to sleep tonight."
When he arrived, before saying anything to me, he threw his bag on my bedroom floor and pulled from it a box of Lucky Charms. "Can you stand it?" he said.
"Ummm...."
D thinks that food can only be purchased in Florida. (Which is sort of true - its hard to find what you want in NYC, but I don't think you really need to go to FL to go grocery shopping). He also thinks that Target only exists in FL, even though there is now one in Times Square and has always been one in Brooklyn. Then again, the Target in Brooklyn is actually Scary Target, at which you have to put your shopping cart on an escalator in order to get it to the second floor, thus causing anxious people like myself to carry all sorts of awkwardly shaped objects instead of risking losing potential purchases to an unpredictable escalator with notches in it. I'm sure D would like me to tell you that the Target in FL is a Super Target. I'm not sure how much more super Target could be. Sadly I was not able to experience its Super-ocity firsthand due to its being closed on Easter.
I digress.
"CHOCOLATE LUCKY CHARMS!" he said. "This combines two of your favorite things - Lucky Charms and CHOCOLATE!"
Now.
D knows that variations on food that is already good is a pet peeve of mine. I've always been like this - for example, when I was little, I just adored My Little Ponies and loved all of the ones that I had. Then, as soon as little girls had all of the My Little Ponies, they'd come out with NEW My Little Ponies. Baby ones, ones with wings, ones with glitter, ones with fluorescent hair. I was always torn between loyalty to the original and enthusiasm for the new. It was the same with Cabbage Patch Kids. I finally got one, but then they came out with the premie ones, the animal ones (which now horrifies me - I haven't thought about those since elementary school), but I always remained loyal to Sandy, my original doll.
I just don't understand why there has to be flavored Pringles. Pringles RULE. Why do they need to have barbecue flavored ones when the original flavor is perfectly adequate? And Cheez-Its - Cheez-Its are the best thing ever, so why do they now have flavored ones? And pizza-flavored Golfish? WHY!?!?? Why can't we ever just be happy with what we have?
D is an experimenter. He likes the variants. I always say "D, what if you met a bunch of new people who were slight variants on all the people you know? With all else being equal, I guess you'd try? You'd just try new people?!?!? WHY SHOULD I TRY FREAKING WHITE CHEDDAR PRINGLES WHEN THE ORIGINAL IS AWESOME?!?!? WHY SHOULD I WANT SOMETHING ELSE WHEN WHAT I HAVE IS GOOD? WHY WOULD YOU BUY THESE!??! TRAITOR!!!"
Food remixes.
Lame.
Anyway, I didn't launch into my food diatribe because he was so excited, but now I am torn, because I have to try the Lucky Charms even though I hate them just because they exist. I love original Lucky Charms. I never thought "You know, this could be better."
But, more importantly, D has purchased more Star Wars legos for us to play with!!! Now we will have ships for our TIE fighter to play with. Weeee!!!!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I listened to my friend's radio show this morning. I was torn, because I was listening to Howard Stern prior to his show's beginning and Howard Stern said "How long is the Mitch Hedberg bit? Should we play it now or... well... let's go to ads..."
Torn.
The reason I mention this is because I can rarely find anything on the radio worth listening to, and there I was, for the first time in my life, with a radio conflict!
Mitch Hedberg never came on and I couldn't get a good stream of my friend's show, so there wasn't much of a conflict in the end.
Oh well.
It was, for a moment, cool to be excited about radio.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
My Trip To Florida - An Essay by Leah Lar
It is sunny and gorgeous in NYC today. Because I did not have to wear a coat today, I am not as wistful as I was yesterday.
At any rate.
We arrived at Laguardia 1.5 hours prior to our scheduled departure on Friday afternoon, only to learn that our flight had been delayed for an hour. This became two hours, then four. Without announcement, the flight was cancelled due to severe weather in Florida.
We spent an hour in line awaiting our fate, and were able to reschedule for Saturday at 3:00 pm. I changed my return flight to Monday at 2:00 pm. I was pissed about this - hence my post on Friday night - as I did not go home to visit my family for Easter because I didn't want to use a precious vacation day. I hadn’t realized I was homesick until Friday, confronted with the idea of visiting someone else’s family when I haven’t seen my own in quite some time. When I did see them last, it was at a funeral and everyone was a mess. D was mad at me when I initially suggested taking a 7am flight on Monday so as not to miss an entire day of work. In order to appease him, I consented to the 2:00, but spent the majority of the night feeling cross without giving him an explanation.
We took a cab back to Brooklyn because I was moody. D is adamantly anti-cab because he is pro-public transit and pro-saving money. I suspect he didn't want to spend two hours trapped on public transit with my being vicious. The cab ride gave me the opportunity to talk to RR, who calmed me down about all things because she is an old friend and therefore understands.
D and I went on "a date" once I was able to make a decision on what to eat. I had a drink and became honest and things were fine.
We headed to JFK the following afternoon. D insisted that we sit at the front of the JFK-transit-train-thing (which costs $5! who knew?) because he is a giddy child about trains.
Check-in was a labor as we no longer had e-tickets. Slightly panicked about missing our flight, we were pleased and annoyed to learn that our flight had, again, been delayed by two hours due to weather in FL. This time it was hail.
Song Airlines rules. They have in-flight trivia and TV, as well as half-decent food for sale. They also have “Song of the Day” safety instructions. It was “Flamenco!” on this particular occasion, and the rules were read by a sultry woman who made arbitrary analogies involving flying and flamenco dancing. I was hoping for “Gangsta Rap!” on my return flight, with the rules for evacuation being read by Snoop Dogg. I was, sadly, disappointed.
Seeing the person you love in a different context for the first time is a powerful experience. I realized, the moment that we stepped outside into the warm and thick Orlando air, that I was going to leave Florida feeling differently about the relationship than when we arrived.
D’s father and niece, who adores D, picked us up. Little Niece 1, who is 3 and a half years old, flipped out when she saw D. D insisted that I sit in the back with Little Niece 1. I tried to insist, without actually saying anything, that this was the worst idea ever, but D wouldn’t have it. His desire for Little Niece 1 to adore me was a little greater than my convictions that Niece 1 would destroy me in a jealous rage or hate me for being unfamiliar or rip my glasses from my face. Little Niece 1 was just in love with Uncle D and therefore suspicious of Uncle D’s friend. She looked me up and down judgmentally at first, causing me to want to jump out of the car. Eventually she warmed up to me, and held both of our hands as we walked into the restaurant to “meet the family.”
Aunts, uncles by marriage, brother, sister-in-law, Little Niece 2, mother. I instantly forgot all names and smiled brightly and hugged his mother and wanted to hide in the fish pool at the entrance to the restaurant.
Dinner was nice. I can’t remember what was said as I was in high stress mode. I was actually in high stress mode for the entire time I was there.
We headed back to D’s parents’ house after dinner. I was ill-prepared for their house. D never mentioned that they lived in a gigantic, sparkly, new and pristine home. I felt like I was on an episode of Cribs. I’ve never set foot in a house like this. It’s gorgeous. This is the view from their kitchen window:
We drank wine and nobody asked me questions. I sat back and observed.
Observation. Amidst an already established family unit, I found myself taking photos of them non-stop. For the first time I understood my father. I wonder if he never feels involved, and that’s why he hides behind the camera. Or, if because he’s hidden behind the camera for so long, he no longer knows how to be involved.
Either way, I got some amazing photos of D’s family. I wonder if, years from now, somebody will find these photos and wonder who took them. I wonder if there will ever be pictures of me. I hope not.
I took about 100 photos of the Nieces and the family and D, who I love to photograph, and also spent a great deal of time taking pictures like this, because I really didn’t know what else to do with myself.
His family is very nice. And photogenic. They told me their life stories when I asked questions, and D said “I’ve never seen either of my parents talk this much.”
I’d never seen D talk so little.
It’s amazing how much you can learn about someone when you see him with his family. On top of the precious and dirty childhood secrets they reveal, they inadvertently shed light onto why he is the way he is. Seeing a person interact with his family is the best data you can gather.
It’s also interesting to compare and contrast families. I can’t read families that are not like my own. I feel comfortable in some families and uncomfortable in others. When you’re growing up, you assume that all families are like yours because you don’t know anything else. I have no idea what they thought of me. None. I have nothing to work with. My family is outgoing and obvious. They have endless amounts of affection to give and life stories to absorb.
I described his family to Roommate and the first thing she said was “Wow, that must have been so weird for you considering what your Mom is like.”
Yes.
I liked them. A lot. By the end of the weekend Little Nieces 1 and 2 were attached to me. Kids are easy to read, and once you have them in your corner they are loyal until the end of time.
We took a ferry to Disney World but didn’t go in. Sister-in-law made fondue. We drank wine and played cards. We tried to go to supermarkets that were closed on Easter. D talked like Mitch Hedberg all weekend and said things like “Wait – what was that Mitch Hedberg joke about the future?” and “Tell them about the rice joke!” I walked around awkwardly and uninvolved, smiling and uttering words nonsensically every now and then. It’s difficult to use words when they are a rarity.
D said “It’s amazing how comfortable this feels. It’s like, so natural. It’s like your being here isn’t a big deal at all.”
I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
After the Disney World ferry/monorail adventure, D and I went for a walk around his parents’ neighborhood, which is a gated community that is still being developed. We played in the foundation of one of the future-houses.
It felt more like something that had been destroyed than something being built. The light was romantic. It was like playing on giant legos. D was blissful and atypically cooperative, and thus granted me permission to take millions of photos of him.
While battling mosquitoes and running around the neighborhood, we learned more about each other. Things are getting better, and I don’t understand how that is possible. I guess this comes with getting to know someone better, and getting to know someone differently.
On our way back to D’s parents’ house, we walked past mounds of dirt that had been dug up for foundations. It reminded me of being a child. The house that I grew up in was designed by my parents, so we were able to play in the foundation and climb the mounds of dirt, which seemed like mountains, before we moved in. I took pictures of the mounds, but instead of looking like mounds of dirt leaking nostalgia, they looked like the surface of Mars.
After dinner we walked again and talked about things like the relationship and photography and personalities and neuroscience and timeframes. We sat by a lake and listened to nothing. We sat on grass, which is something we’ve not done together. We played the “who can spot the most toads” game. We talked about the likelihood of D’s tent still being at his parents’ house and our camping out in their yard that night.
D is prone to asking questions like “What is your happiest memory?” and I never know what to say. Is your happiest memory supposed to be from childhood? Is it sad that I don’t have one? I have vague memories – running around the foundation of my future home, playing restaurant in my grandparents’ pantry, making up dance routines with Sara because we were certain we’d get on Star Search if we practiced enough.
I think the happiest memory has to come from childhood, because it doesn’t risk being tainted. A lot of my happy memories have been brutalized by things that happen afterwards.
Point being, I hope that sitting by the lake with D will remain one of my happiest memories.
I got back on Monday night at around 6:00. My flight was, again, delayed due to weather in northern Florida. People clapped at the end of the flight. This happens every 1 out of 5 flights, and I love when it does. I think people should always clap when people do their job. “Well done! You didn’t kill us! You’ve gone above and beyond and we will therefore clap for you!” Perhaps I’ll start clapping every time I get off the subway successfully, or every time someone at work fills the water bath.
This is the longest and most melodramatic post ever.
If you made it this far, I am clapping for you right now, because you have really gone above and beyond and I am super appreciative of your reading my blog.
At any rate.
We arrived at Laguardia 1.5 hours prior to our scheduled departure on Friday afternoon, only to learn that our flight had been delayed for an hour. This became two hours, then four. Without announcement, the flight was cancelled due to severe weather in Florida.
We spent an hour in line awaiting our fate, and were able to reschedule for Saturday at 3:00 pm. I changed my return flight to Monday at 2:00 pm. I was pissed about this - hence my post on Friday night - as I did not go home to visit my family for Easter because I didn't want to use a precious vacation day. I hadn’t realized I was homesick until Friday, confronted with the idea of visiting someone else’s family when I haven’t seen my own in quite some time. When I did see them last, it was at a funeral and everyone was a mess. D was mad at me when I initially suggested taking a 7am flight on Monday so as not to miss an entire day of work. In order to appease him, I consented to the 2:00, but spent the majority of the night feeling cross without giving him an explanation.
We took a cab back to Brooklyn because I was moody. D is adamantly anti-cab because he is pro-public transit and pro-saving money. I suspect he didn't want to spend two hours trapped on public transit with my being vicious. The cab ride gave me the opportunity to talk to RR, who calmed me down about all things because she is an old friend and therefore understands.
D and I went on "a date" once I was able to make a decision on what to eat. I had a drink and became honest and things were fine.
We headed to JFK the following afternoon. D insisted that we sit at the front of the JFK-transit-train-thing (which costs $5! who knew?) because he is a giddy child about trains.
Check-in was a labor as we no longer had e-tickets. Slightly panicked about missing our flight, we were pleased and annoyed to learn that our flight had, again, been delayed by two hours due to weather in FL. This time it was hail.
Song Airlines rules. They have in-flight trivia and TV, as well as half-decent food for sale. They also have “Song of the Day” safety instructions. It was “Flamenco!” on this particular occasion, and the rules were read by a sultry woman who made arbitrary analogies involving flying and flamenco dancing. I was hoping for “Gangsta Rap!” on my return flight, with the rules for evacuation being read by Snoop Dogg. I was, sadly, disappointed.
Seeing the person you love in a different context for the first time is a powerful experience. I realized, the moment that we stepped outside into the warm and thick Orlando air, that I was going to leave Florida feeling differently about the relationship than when we arrived.
D’s father and niece, who adores D, picked us up. Little Niece 1, who is 3 and a half years old, flipped out when she saw D. D insisted that I sit in the back with Little Niece 1. I tried to insist, without actually saying anything, that this was the worst idea ever, but D wouldn’t have it. His desire for Little Niece 1 to adore me was a little greater than my convictions that Niece 1 would destroy me in a jealous rage or hate me for being unfamiliar or rip my glasses from my face. Little Niece 1 was just in love with Uncle D and therefore suspicious of Uncle D’s friend. She looked me up and down judgmentally at first, causing me to want to jump out of the car. Eventually she warmed up to me, and held both of our hands as we walked into the restaurant to “meet the family.”
Aunts, uncles by marriage, brother, sister-in-law, Little Niece 2, mother. I instantly forgot all names and smiled brightly and hugged his mother and wanted to hide in the fish pool at the entrance to the restaurant.
Dinner was nice. I can’t remember what was said as I was in high stress mode. I was actually in high stress mode for the entire time I was there.
We headed back to D’s parents’ house after dinner. I was ill-prepared for their house. D never mentioned that they lived in a gigantic, sparkly, new and pristine home. I felt like I was on an episode of Cribs. I’ve never set foot in a house like this. It’s gorgeous. This is the view from their kitchen window:
We drank wine and nobody asked me questions. I sat back and observed.
Observation. Amidst an already established family unit, I found myself taking photos of them non-stop. For the first time I understood my father. I wonder if he never feels involved, and that’s why he hides behind the camera. Or, if because he’s hidden behind the camera for so long, he no longer knows how to be involved.
Either way, I got some amazing photos of D’s family. I wonder if, years from now, somebody will find these photos and wonder who took them. I wonder if there will ever be pictures of me. I hope not.
I took about 100 photos of the Nieces and the family and D, who I love to photograph, and also spent a great deal of time taking pictures like this, because I really didn’t know what else to do with myself.
His family is very nice. And photogenic. They told me their life stories when I asked questions, and D said “I’ve never seen either of my parents talk this much.”
I’d never seen D talk so little.
It’s amazing how much you can learn about someone when you see him with his family. On top of the precious and dirty childhood secrets they reveal, they inadvertently shed light onto why he is the way he is. Seeing a person interact with his family is the best data you can gather.
It’s also interesting to compare and contrast families. I can’t read families that are not like my own. I feel comfortable in some families and uncomfortable in others. When you’re growing up, you assume that all families are like yours because you don’t know anything else. I have no idea what they thought of me. None. I have nothing to work with. My family is outgoing and obvious. They have endless amounts of affection to give and life stories to absorb.
I described his family to Roommate and the first thing she said was “Wow, that must have been so weird for you considering what your Mom is like.”
Yes.
I liked them. A lot. By the end of the weekend Little Nieces 1 and 2 were attached to me. Kids are easy to read, and once you have them in your corner they are loyal until the end of time.
We took a ferry to Disney World but didn’t go in. Sister-in-law made fondue. We drank wine and played cards. We tried to go to supermarkets that were closed on Easter. D talked like Mitch Hedberg all weekend and said things like “Wait – what was that Mitch Hedberg joke about the future?” and “Tell them about the rice joke!” I walked around awkwardly and uninvolved, smiling and uttering words nonsensically every now and then. It’s difficult to use words when they are a rarity.
D said “It’s amazing how comfortable this feels. It’s like, so natural. It’s like your being here isn’t a big deal at all.”
I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
After the Disney World ferry/monorail adventure, D and I went for a walk around his parents’ neighborhood, which is a gated community that is still being developed. We played in the foundation of one of the future-houses.
It felt more like something that had been destroyed than something being built. The light was romantic. It was like playing on giant legos. D was blissful and atypically cooperative, and thus granted me permission to take millions of photos of him.
While battling mosquitoes and running around the neighborhood, we learned more about each other. Things are getting better, and I don’t understand how that is possible. I guess this comes with getting to know someone better, and getting to know someone differently.
On our way back to D’s parents’ house, we walked past mounds of dirt that had been dug up for foundations. It reminded me of being a child. The house that I grew up in was designed by my parents, so we were able to play in the foundation and climb the mounds of dirt, which seemed like mountains, before we moved in. I took pictures of the mounds, but instead of looking like mounds of dirt leaking nostalgia, they looked like the surface of Mars.
After dinner we walked again and talked about things like the relationship and photography and personalities and neuroscience and timeframes. We sat by a lake and listened to nothing. We sat on grass, which is something we’ve not done together. We played the “who can spot the most toads” game. We talked about the likelihood of D’s tent still being at his parents’ house and our camping out in their yard that night.
D is prone to asking questions like “What is your happiest memory?” and I never know what to say. Is your happiest memory supposed to be from childhood? Is it sad that I don’t have one? I have vague memories – running around the foundation of my future home, playing restaurant in my grandparents’ pantry, making up dance routines with Sara because we were certain we’d get on Star Search if we practiced enough.
I think the happiest memory has to come from childhood, because it doesn’t risk being tainted. A lot of my happy memories have been brutalized by things that happen afterwards.
Point being, I hope that sitting by the lake with D will remain one of my happiest memories.
I got back on Monday night at around 6:00. My flight was, again, delayed due to weather in northern Florida. People clapped at the end of the flight. This happens every 1 out of 5 flights, and I love when it does. I think people should always clap when people do their job. “Well done! You didn’t kill us! You’ve gone above and beyond and we will therefore clap for you!” Perhaps I’ll start clapping every time I get off the subway successfully, or every time someone at work fills the water bath.
This is the longest and most melodramatic post ever.
If you made it this far, I am clapping for you right now, because you have really gone above and beyond and I am super appreciative of your reading my blog.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Disoriented
What is it about travelling that convinces me that I haven't figured anything out?
I suppose its natural to have no desire to return to one's actual life when one is away from it. I suppose that's the point of taking time away.
Perhaps the key is to take enough time away. Then, presumably, one starts missing one's actual life.
Is that how it's supposed to work?
When I first arrived in Florida, I said things like "I can't believe that people live like this!" and "Why would anyone want this?" and "What if you want to go to a different supermarket?" and "Why does anyone need a three car garage?"
After a day and a half, I instead was saying things like "If I lived here, I'd be so relaxed" and "I'd stare out at this lake and maybe even fish and not think of anything but the stars" and "I'd be giddy watching those construction workers all day" and "Perhaps my snow-builds-character-theory is misinformed."
I am back from the orange-grove painted and perfectly landscaped world of sunny and sparkly Florida. I am disoriented by New York City's dark skies and the rain and the city sounds I'd quickly forgotten.
It's amazing how quickly you can get used to something that is nothing like your life.
It's amazing how quickly you can forget science, and how quickly you can get wrapped
up in fantasies involving everything but what you actually have.
It's amazing how much it saddened me to receive D's voicemail just now that said "Hi - insert secret affectionate and terribly cute pet name here - its beautiful and sunny and we're going to Disney World today so hopefully I'll talk to you tonight." My sadness didn't come from missing him or the sun. I thought "Man, I'd love to go to Disney World." Wtf!? I don't like Disney World! I thought the overabundance of Disney knick-knacks and wall adornments that cluttered my first post-college apartment and annoyed the hell out of me had cured me of any nostalgia that could ever make its way to the surface, but no! I want to go to Disney World.
Damn you, perfect Florida, for making me want to retire right now.
I suppose its natural to have no desire to return to one's actual life when one is away from it. I suppose that's the point of taking time away.
Perhaps the key is to take enough time away. Then, presumably, one starts missing one's actual life.
Is that how it's supposed to work?
When I first arrived in Florida, I said things like "I can't believe that people live like this!" and "Why would anyone want this?" and "What if you want to go to a different supermarket?" and "Why does anyone need a three car garage?"
After a day and a half, I instead was saying things like "If I lived here, I'd be so relaxed" and "I'd stare out at this lake and maybe even fish and not think of anything but the stars" and "I'd be giddy watching those construction workers all day" and "Perhaps my snow-builds-character-theory is misinformed."
I am back from the orange-grove painted and perfectly landscaped world of sunny and sparkly Florida. I am disoriented by New York City's dark skies and the rain and the city sounds I'd quickly forgotten.
It's amazing how quickly you can get used to something that is nothing like your life.
It's amazing how quickly you can forget science, and how quickly you can get wrapped
up in fantasies involving everything but what you actually have.
It's amazing how much it saddened me to receive D's voicemail just now that said "Hi - insert secret affectionate and terribly cute pet name here - its beautiful and sunny and we're going to Disney World today so hopefully I'll talk to you tonight." My sadness didn't come from missing him or the sun. I thought "Man, I'd love to go to Disney World." Wtf!? I don't like Disney World! I thought the overabundance of Disney knick-knacks and wall adornments that cluttered my first post-college apartment and annoyed the hell out of me had cured me of any nostalgia that could ever make its way to the surface, but no! I want to go to Disney World.
Damn you, perfect Florida, for making me want to retire right now.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Weather
I am currently in Brooklyn. I did not just step off a plane into the warm Florida sun. I will not be able to go to Orlando until late tomorrow afternoon. This change of plans requires my taking a vacation day on Monday.
I am on the verge of a meltdown, because not only did I receive potentially bad/annoying news today, spend approximately four hours in the airport, spend two hours in transit to and from the airport, not really eat (I am starving to death but my mood has rendered me incapable of making a decision on if/what to eat), but I am pissed because I want to use my vacation days to visit *my* family.
I have used 1.5 precious vacation days for this, and I am not happy. I'm not blaming anyone or anything. I'm merely responding rather intensely to my first moment of homesickness since I left MA.
I am on the verge of a meltdown, because not only did I receive potentially bad/annoying news today, spend approximately four hours in the airport, spend two hours in transit to and from the airport, not really eat (I am starving to death but my mood has rendered me incapable of making a decision on if/what to eat), but I am pissed because I want to use my vacation days to visit *my* family.
I have used 1.5 precious vacation days for this, and I am not happy. I'm not blaming anyone or anything. I'm merely responding rather intensely to my first moment of homesickness since I left MA.
Easter
Easter is apparently this weekend.
People keep asking me "What are you doing this weekend?"
"Going to FL."
"To celebrate Easter?"
"No, to meet my future in-laws," who I hope will not be celebrating Easter as I did not pack my Easter bonnet, nor did I pack anything that I would feel comfortable wearing in a church. I also forgot to pack dyes with which to make Easter eggs because I also forgot to buy the dye. Drat. I bet my future nieces-in-law would have liked to dye eggs, but probably not as much as I'd have liked it.
Easter nostalgia is fierce right now. Competing in the neighborhood egg hunt (I will never forget this - we were running around hunting for eggs and I found this hideous egg that was dyed a light green and had on it a big black dot; the neighborhood posse ridiculed me for having found the mutant egg, until we were informed that the finder of said egg would be the proud recipient of a kite! and then I was much resented), looking forward to charming pink dresses and little white gloves and little white hats, colorful baskets full of candy and other goodness, dying millions of eggs over at Aunty Peggy and Uncle Tommy's house, running around like a lunatic in my grandparents' fenced-in backyard in Roslindale hoping to find the plastic egg with the dollar bill. Sigh.
At any rate, in celebration of Easter, please enjoy reading Fellowship of the Peeps.
Until next time....
People keep asking me "What are you doing this weekend?"
"Going to FL."
"To celebrate Easter?"
"No, to meet my future in-laws," who I hope will not be celebrating Easter as I did not pack my Easter bonnet, nor did I pack anything that I would feel comfortable wearing in a church. I also forgot to pack dyes with which to make Easter eggs because I also forgot to buy the dye. Drat. I bet my future nieces-in-law would have liked to dye eggs, but probably not as much as I'd have liked it.
Easter nostalgia is fierce right now. Competing in the neighborhood egg hunt (I will never forget this - we were running around hunting for eggs and I found this hideous egg that was dyed a light green and had on it a big black dot; the neighborhood posse ridiculed me for having found the mutant egg, until we were informed that the finder of said egg would be the proud recipient of a kite! and then I was much resented), looking forward to charming pink dresses and little white gloves and little white hats, colorful baskets full of candy and other goodness, dying millions of eggs over at Aunty Peggy and Uncle Tommy's house, running around like a lunatic in my grandparents' fenced-in backyard in Roslindale hoping to find the plastic egg with the dollar bill. Sigh.
At any rate, in celebration of Easter, please enjoy reading Fellowship of the Peeps.
Until next time....
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Anemia
My brain is torturing me right now because it has decided to play, on repeat, Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven Is A Place on Earth."
No, I have no theory regarding this song's being triggered by my traitorous neurons.
Bench Buddy said "Wouldn't you rather have 'Heaven isn't too far aw... ay.. ay ...ayyy....' in your head?"
Yes, Bench Buddy, I would, but that is not how it works!!!
Instead I have "Oooh baby do you know what that's worth? Ooooh heaven is a place on earth!" on replay.
I feel weird today. I am attributing the appearance of this song to yet another symptom of whatever weird neural phenomenon I am suffering from. Since Sunday night, my hands and face have been tingly at night. They are not numb. They are Pins and Needles. Today is the first day during which my hands and face have been tingling during the day. Concurrent with the tingling is the inability to type accurately and inability to access words. When my face is feeling numb my brain goes numb as well, and I can't think of basic words to express myself. Nor can I really have a coherent thought, because every other thought is something like "Man, I could totally pass out RIGHT NOW while my boss is talking to me - that would be dramatic!" or "It's weird how my hands go from being in severe pain to having no sensation at all - if my face wasn't numb I'd be psyched about having carpal tunnel so as not to have to work for the next couple of weeks!" or "Having pins and needles in your cheeks is just plain bizarre."
I am wondering if there is more or less hypochondriasis in the world now that self-diagnosis is rendered so easy by the internet.
A majority of my day today was spent searching for things like "hands tngingl" and "fadil numbnss" and "tremos extremeits" and "lightehadedness."
Neuropathy? Low blood pressure? MS? Hormonal issues?
My vote, for now, is near-onset of the flu. Or maybe something anemia-like. Or psychosomatic pre-meeting-the-parents syndrome.
I love the word anemia.
This sort of thing is all very new to me. Normally I am nonresponsive to health-related issues, but having a numb face, I think, is cause for internet investigation.
Bizarrely enough, I had a minor argument with D last night about health issues before he knew about my numb face and hands. I've been trying not to be too much of a nag about his health, but I am definitely allowed to be a bit of a nag. He finally saw a doctor yesterday - my diagnosis was right, although the doctor he saw has advised that he get a second opinion and apparently mine does not count - which precipitated a conversation, finally, regarding his health. I said something like "People have been telling me that men just don't go to see doctors." He said "Look, I just think its a double standard." "Why?" "Because, like with you, you NEVER go to a doctor. You're awful about it." I said "That's because there's nothing wrong with me. You know if I had another kidney stone or I was fainting at work I'd get myself to a hospital in a second."
Or, M would have to call me on the phone and force me to go to the doctor's by saying "EAR INFECTIONS ARE NOT CURED BY SLEEP!"
Right.
"When the night falls down, I wait for you and you come around..."
I must go now, as I have to engage in one of my favorite activies - PACKING!!!
No, I have no theory regarding this song's being triggered by my traitorous neurons.
Bench Buddy said "Wouldn't you rather have 'Heaven isn't too far aw... ay.. ay ...ayyy....' in your head?"
Yes, Bench Buddy, I would, but that is not how it works!!!
Instead I have "Oooh baby do you know what that's worth? Ooooh heaven is a place on earth!" on replay.
I feel weird today. I am attributing the appearance of this song to yet another symptom of whatever weird neural phenomenon I am suffering from. Since Sunday night, my hands and face have been tingly at night. They are not numb. They are Pins and Needles. Today is the first day during which my hands and face have been tingling during the day. Concurrent with the tingling is the inability to type accurately and inability to access words. When my face is feeling numb my brain goes numb as well, and I can't think of basic words to express myself. Nor can I really have a coherent thought, because every other thought is something like "Man, I could totally pass out RIGHT NOW while my boss is talking to me - that would be dramatic!" or "It's weird how my hands go from being in severe pain to having no sensation at all - if my face wasn't numb I'd be psyched about having carpal tunnel so as not to have to work for the next couple of weeks!" or "Having pins and needles in your cheeks is just plain bizarre."
I am wondering if there is more or less hypochondriasis in the world now that self-diagnosis is rendered so easy by the internet.
A majority of my day today was spent searching for things like "hands tngingl" and "fadil numbnss" and "tremos extremeits" and "lightehadedness."
Neuropathy? Low blood pressure? MS? Hormonal issues?
My vote, for now, is near-onset of the flu. Or maybe something anemia-like. Or psychosomatic pre-meeting-the-parents syndrome.
I love the word anemia.
This sort of thing is all very new to me. Normally I am nonresponsive to health-related issues, but having a numb face, I think, is cause for internet investigation.
Bizarrely enough, I had a minor argument with D last night about health issues before he knew about my numb face and hands. I've been trying not to be too much of a nag about his health, but I am definitely allowed to be a bit of a nag. He finally saw a doctor yesterday - my diagnosis was right, although the doctor he saw has advised that he get a second opinion and apparently mine does not count - which precipitated a conversation, finally, regarding his health. I said something like "People have been telling me that men just don't go to see doctors." He said "Look, I just think its a double standard." "Why?" "Because, like with you, you NEVER go to a doctor. You're awful about it." I said "That's because there's nothing wrong with me. You know if I had another kidney stone or I was fainting at work I'd get myself to a hospital in a second."
Or, M would have to call me on the phone and force me to go to the doctor's by saying "EAR INFECTIONS ARE NOT CURED BY SLEEP!"
Right.
"When the night falls down, I wait for you and you come around..."
I must go now, as I have to engage in one of my favorite activies - PACKING!!!
Banksy
Click on this!
This appears on the following lists:
1. Things I Wish I Thought Of
2. Person I Wish I Was Instead Of Myself
3. Person Who Most Likely Did Not Un-Do His Personal Wackiness
Is this national news?
This made me so happy when I found about it yesterday afternoon.
This appears on the following lists:
1. Things I Wish I Thought Of
2. Person I Wish I Was Instead Of Myself
3. Person Who Most Likely Did Not Un-Do His Personal Wackiness
Is this national news?
This made me so happy when I found about it yesterday afternoon.
Monday, March 21, 2005
I Heart Campbell Scott
The weekend was good. It was the first weekend in a long time without visitors, without obligation, with just me and D.
On Friday night we went to the Whitney, which is basically free on Friday evenings. It's "Pay What You Want," so D and his friend M payed $1 each, and I paid $2, because I felt bad. I don't know why I felt bad. I apparently felt like I should pay 2x what everyone else was paying, just because I am me.
The museum is amazing. So much to see, but not as overwhelming as the MOMA. We saw everything, although I didn't get to be as obsessively staring as I'd have liked. Of course I can't remember anything I saw, aside from the Tim Hawkinson exhibit which was the best art exhibit I've ever seen.
http://www.whitney.org/exhibition/feat_hawk.shtml
His work focuses on his awareness of the human body. It's unique and bizarre and inexplicably creepy. Everyone in the exhibit was blissed out and happy, staring with their mouths open at moving sculptures and strange representations of form. It made me feel like a kid. If you get the opportunity, please see it. You will not be disappointed.
We were starving after the Whitney and found ourselves in a rare pocket of NYC where there was nowhere to eat. Well, there were places to eat, but I was craving onion rings and M was craving "pub grub," so our scope was narrow. This being said, the Upper East Side is a barren wasteland devoid of character and entertainment, so there was seriously nowhere to eat.
During our travels, we came upon this, the most unfortunate store window I have ever seen:
I have no idea what this place is doing in New York City. None, folks.
We ended up passing a diner, and I said "Dammit, we're eating there! I am going to turn into a lunatic if we wait another minute!"
D said "OH! That reminds me - there's an awesome diner around the corner - it's the best - you're going to love it... although, with our luck, it will have shut down." Chuckles. I was actually half expecting it to be on fire at that very moment, but it was, of course, only shut down.
We went back to the original diner where we came up with innovative and potentially lucrative business ideas that would take advantage of rich people, and where I ordered the worst omelette I have ever had. It had spinach and broccoli and American cheese mixed in the exact combination that made the omelette completely tasteless. Weird.
On Saturday I attended a bonus class in which Campbell Scott's film Off the Map was screened. I was slightly peeved by having to get up at 8:00 am on a Saturday to see it, but clung to the slight hope that Campbell Scott, who I love for no apparent reason, would be at the class. The film was darling - it was sweet, subtle, had depth of character. It's one of those movies that makes you root for everyone in it.
And yes, Campbell Scott was there! I half expected him to be smarmy and slick, because he always plays smarmy and slick. I was delighted to learn that he is spastic and lively and down-to-earth and brilliant and obscenely good looking and that he wears glasses, which, as you know, makes me love someone even more. When the question and answer session began, I kept wanting to ask "What are the chances of you coming home with me and my boyfriend?" since D is apparently also in love with him.
The Q and A was awesome. I learned many things, and actually came up with a good band name in the process.
After the movie I headed back to Brooklyn to eat and to just be. I hadn't been in my apartment for a while, and wanted to make sure Roommate was all set for our housewarming party, which I decided not to host but instead to attend. All was good. I did things like read mail and play piano (bliss!) and record rough cuts of things I know I'll forget because I know I won't touch the piano for another month.
I then went back to D's, who had made quiche. We then went to Caroline's in Times Square (we had to walk about 8 blocks through Times Square and I thought D was going to shoot someone - its interesting how Times Square changes once you live in New York - instead of being something to gawk at, it becomes something to navigate as efficiently as possible so as not to grow homicidal towards tourists) to see Mitch Hedberg, who is the funniest man alive.
Here he is: (awful picture)
Like the last time I saw him, about 50% of the audience didn't get it. Mitch Hedberg jokes about the mundane, the innocent, the quirky things that get you through your days. I encourage you to listen to his stuff. He's not political, sexual, or even aware. He's a grown up stoner who observes the inane and turns it into the funniest thing you've ever heard.
D was dying. He couldn't stop laughing. Everyone's Favorite Physicist said something like "Liking Mitch Hedberg Is A Litmus Test For Cool," and D passed. Our friend R and J were also dying, so success! Yeah!!! My friends are cool!
We headed back to Brooklyn again to attend Roommate's party. It's bizarre attending a party at your own house. When I got there my room was being used as a dressing room by the band who was playing. I carried my pocketbook around with me throughout the entire night as though I was at someone else's house.
The party was cool - very New York. My apartment has never looked better. There were many hipster and scenester people there. The vibe was serious. The people were beautiful. The music was provided by a DJ. It was cute to see turntables in my kitchen, and cuter to see a drum set in the living room.
My friend LL turned up (she was the only one I invited outside of D, R, and Bench Buddy) eventually, but we didn't last long. I knew this party would go until 6 am-ish, so I went back into the city and slept. Lots.
Yesterday was the first relaxing day I've had in ages. I slept in. D made crepes with bananas and strawberries and chocolate. We tried to listen to a Bach cantata at a church, but the church website was misleading and there was no Bach to be heard. The church was gorgeous, though, so it wasn't a total loss. Because D becomes more and more perfect each day, he said, "Well, this gives us more time to shop for shoes!" We walked down 8th St. in the rain and looked at millions of shoes but bought none. When we got back to his apartment, we read. I haven't read in so long. I started and finished "Sandman: Endless Nights" and felt profoundly sad about the stories but profoundly giddy about having had time to read. We ate dinner and then spent the night doing a jigsaw puzzle and being silly and being thrilled about having time to do a jigsaw puzzle.
As of this moment I am starting to feel sick, but don't care because I am still riding the happiness from the weekend.
This being said, I should stop typing and should be catatonic so as to get better.
Word.
On Friday night we went to the Whitney, which is basically free on Friday evenings. It's "Pay What You Want," so D and his friend M payed $1 each, and I paid $2, because I felt bad. I don't know why I felt bad. I apparently felt like I should pay 2x what everyone else was paying, just because I am me.
The museum is amazing. So much to see, but not as overwhelming as the MOMA. We saw everything, although I didn't get to be as obsessively staring as I'd have liked. Of course I can't remember anything I saw, aside from the Tim Hawkinson exhibit which was the best art exhibit I've ever seen.
http://www.whitney.org/exhibition/feat_hawk.shtml
His work focuses on his awareness of the human body. It's unique and bizarre and inexplicably creepy. Everyone in the exhibit was blissed out and happy, staring with their mouths open at moving sculptures and strange representations of form. It made me feel like a kid. If you get the opportunity, please see it. You will not be disappointed.
We were starving after the Whitney and found ourselves in a rare pocket of NYC where there was nowhere to eat. Well, there were places to eat, but I was craving onion rings and M was craving "pub grub," so our scope was narrow. This being said, the Upper East Side is a barren wasteland devoid of character and entertainment, so there was seriously nowhere to eat.
During our travels, we came upon this, the most unfortunate store window I have ever seen:
I have no idea what this place is doing in New York City. None, folks.
We ended up passing a diner, and I said "Dammit, we're eating there! I am going to turn into a lunatic if we wait another minute!"
D said "OH! That reminds me - there's an awesome diner around the corner - it's the best - you're going to love it... although, with our luck, it will have shut down." Chuckles. I was actually half expecting it to be on fire at that very moment, but it was, of course, only shut down.
We went back to the original diner where we came up with innovative and potentially lucrative business ideas that would take advantage of rich people, and where I ordered the worst omelette I have ever had. It had spinach and broccoli and American cheese mixed in the exact combination that made the omelette completely tasteless. Weird.
On Saturday I attended a bonus class in which Campbell Scott's film Off the Map was screened. I was slightly peeved by having to get up at 8:00 am on a Saturday to see it, but clung to the slight hope that Campbell Scott, who I love for no apparent reason, would be at the class. The film was darling - it was sweet, subtle, had depth of character. It's one of those movies that makes you root for everyone in it.
And yes, Campbell Scott was there! I half expected him to be smarmy and slick, because he always plays smarmy and slick. I was delighted to learn that he is spastic and lively and down-to-earth and brilliant and obscenely good looking and that he wears glasses, which, as you know, makes me love someone even more. When the question and answer session began, I kept wanting to ask "What are the chances of you coming home with me and my boyfriend?" since D is apparently also in love with him.
The Q and A was awesome. I learned many things, and actually came up with a good band name in the process.
After the movie I headed back to Brooklyn to eat and to just be. I hadn't been in my apartment for a while, and wanted to make sure Roommate was all set for our housewarming party, which I decided not to host but instead to attend. All was good. I did things like read mail and play piano (bliss!) and record rough cuts of things I know I'll forget because I know I won't touch the piano for another month.
I then went back to D's, who had made quiche. We then went to Caroline's in Times Square (we had to walk about 8 blocks through Times Square and I thought D was going to shoot someone - its interesting how Times Square changes once you live in New York - instead of being something to gawk at, it becomes something to navigate as efficiently as possible so as not to grow homicidal towards tourists) to see Mitch Hedberg, who is the funniest man alive.
Here he is: (awful picture)
Like the last time I saw him, about 50% of the audience didn't get it. Mitch Hedberg jokes about the mundane, the innocent, the quirky things that get you through your days. I encourage you to listen to his stuff. He's not political, sexual, or even aware. He's a grown up stoner who observes the inane and turns it into the funniest thing you've ever heard.
D was dying. He couldn't stop laughing. Everyone's Favorite Physicist said something like "Liking Mitch Hedberg Is A Litmus Test For Cool," and D passed. Our friend R and J were also dying, so success! Yeah!!! My friends are cool!
We headed back to Brooklyn again to attend Roommate's party. It's bizarre attending a party at your own house. When I got there my room was being used as a dressing room by the band who was playing. I carried my pocketbook around with me throughout the entire night as though I was at someone else's house.
The party was cool - very New York. My apartment has never looked better. There were many hipster and scenester people there. The vibe was serious. The people were beautiful. The music was provided by a DJ. It was cute to see turntables in my kitchen, and cuter to see a drum set in the living room.
My friend LL turned up (she was the only one I invited outside of D, R, and Bench Buddy) eventually, but we didn't last long. I knew this party would go until 6 am-ish, so I went back into the city and slept. Lots.
Yesterday was the first relaxing day I've had in ages. I slept in. D made crepes with bananas and strawberries and chocolate. We tried to listen to a Bach cantata at a church, but the church website was misleading and there was no Bach to be heard. The church was gorgeous, though, so it wasn't a total loss. Because D becomes more and more perfect each day, he said, "Well, this gives us more time to shop for shoes!" We walked down 8th St. in the rain and looked at millions of shoes but bought none. When we got back to his apartment, we read. I haven't read in so long. I started and finished "Sandman: Endless Nights" and felt profoundly sad about the stories but profoundly giddy about having had time to read. We ate dinner and then spent the night doing a jigsaw puzzle and being silly and being thrilled about having time to do a jigsaw puzzle.
As of this moment I am starting to feel sick, but don't care because I am still riding the happiness from the weekend.
This being said, I should stop typing and should be catatonic so as to get better.
Word.
Simplify Your Life For Success!
Because I am an adult with a short attention span (which unnerves me, since as a child I had the ability to focus on things indefinitely which allowed me to get good grades; if I ever went back to school now it would be a disaster!), I can't read newspapers. Nor can I read the news online. Unless its in short attention span form, such as in publications like am New York.
I just read today's edition of am New York. Well, not really. I read the gossip page, my horoscope, and perused the am Careers section. In her article entitled "Simplify Your Life For Success," Karen Salmonsohn points out that 80% of your results come from only 20% of your activity, so its not so much what you SHOULD be doing as it is what you should NOT be doing. Instead of doing, un-do!
She suggests making an "Un-Do List," which includes the following:
1. Undo unimportant meetings
2. Undo unclear assignments
3. Undo energy sapping people (yes!) and
4. Undo personal wackiness
OK. I agree with 1, 2, and 3. This is fairly intuitive. It pains me that people might have to see these things in published list form to consider them. Number 3 especially. This is a good philosophy for life in general. Yes, Karen, yes!
But.
Wtf is "undo personal wackiness?" Never, Karen, never!
Isn't "personal wackiness" the key to success? If we didn't have personal wackiness, we'd be a bunch of worker drones and that would not be productive. Everyone would be so bored and boring that nothing creative or interesting would ever be accomplished.
Oh, wait, right, that's actually how it is. "Personality" and "personal wackiness" aren't rewarded. We can't be individuals. We can't have ideas. We can't do things differenly and chaotically.
I hate Karen and Karen's world.
Personally, I'd be more productive if people in the workplace would indulge their "personal wackiness." A disorganized and wacky work machine, in my opinion, would encourage me to get more done because it would be more exciting, unpredictable, and ZANY!
I don't even know where I'm going with this.
I guess I just enjoyed seeing the word "wackiness" printed in a newspaper.
Heh.
I just read today's edition of am New York. Well, not really. I read the gossip page, my horoscope, and perused the am Careers section. In her article entitled "Simplify Your Life For Success," Karen Salmonsohn points out that 80% of your results come from only 20% of your activity, so its not so much what you SHOULD be doing as it is what you should NOT be doing. Instead of doing, un-do!
She suggests making an "Un-Do List," which includes the following:
1. Undo unimportant meetings
2. Undo unclear assignments
3. Undo energy sapping people (yes!) and
4. Undo personal wackiness
OK. I agree with 1, 2, and 3. This is fairly intuitive. It pains me that people might have to see these things in published list form to consider them. Number 3 especially. This is a good philosophy for life in general. Yes, Karen, yes!
But.
Wtf is "undo personal wackiness?" Never, Karen, never!
Isn't "personal wackiness" the key to success? If we didn't have personal wackiness, we'd be a bunch of worker drones and that would not be productive. Everyone would be so bored and boring that nothing creative or interesting would ever be accomplished.
Oh, wait, right, that's actually how it is. "Personality" and "personal wackiness" aren't rewarded. We can't be individuals. We can't have ideas. We can't do things differenly and chaotically.
I hate Karen and Karen's world.
Personally, I'd be more productive if people in the workplace would indulge their "personal wackiness." A disorganized and wacky work machine, in my opinion, would encourage me to get more done because it would be more exciting, unpredictable, and ZANY!
I don't even know where I'm going with this.
I guess I just enjoyed seeing the word "wackiness" printed in a newspaper.
Heh.
Best Weekend Ever
The weekend was fantastic. I will write more later, when I can also upload photos.
In the meantime, I am laughing at this:
"You know they call corn on the cob, corn on the cob, but that's how it comes out of the ground, man. They should call that corn, they should call every other version corn off the cob. It's not like if you cut off my arm you would call it Mitch. Then reattach it and call me Mitch-all-together..."
- Mitch Hedberg (funniest man alive)
In the meantime, I am laughing at this:
"You know they call corn on the cob, corn on the cob, but that's how it comes out of the ground, man. They should call that corn, they should call every other version corn off the cob. It's not like if you cut off my arm you would call it Mitch. Then reattach it and call me Mitch-all-together..."
- Mitch Hedberg (funniest man alive)
Friday, March 18, 2005
Marine Mammals are the New Unicorn
D and I are retarded.
We found ourselves discussing science and how its really ruined everything for people - its taken the fun out of potential unknowns. There's nothing new. There's no "What is that IN THE SKY!?!?! ZEUS HIMSELF IS SPEAKING TO US!" And if there is something new, it can be scientifically explained.
We tried to figure out what could happen now that couldn't be explained scientifically and would freak everyone out, and found ourselves stumped.
I said "What if tomorrow we all woke up and could read minds! Suddenly!!!"
He said "What if the earth started rotating the other way?" (which is funny, since he doesn't read the blog, and, well, we've been discussing that...)
Then we started talking about miracles. We weren't calling them miracles since D is an Atheist and I am a recovering Catholic. We didn't realize we were talking about miracles at all, until D said "Something that would go unexplained today would convince people to become spiritual."
True.
Then we thought "This could be a movie..." and tried to think of movie ideas and miracles and what would translate well onto the screen. I kept saying "The miracle can't involve religion. In order for the movie to be powerful and touching, the miracle needs to reach a protagonist who wasn't religious in the first place."
After about an hour of this D said "Wait a second... I can't believe that YOU and ME are trying to come up with an UPLIFTING idea for a movie."
A feel-good movie written by two extremely cynical people.
The only explanation - we are retarded for each other. Ah, love. Two cynics rendered completely and helplessly happy.
Hee hee.
We found ourselves discussing science and how its really ruined everything for people - its taken the fun out of potential unknowns. There's nothing new. There's no "What is that IN THE SKY!?!?! ZEUS HIMSELF IS SPEAKING TO US!" And if there is something new, it can be scientifically explained.
We tried to figure out what could happen now that couldn't be explained scientifically and would freak everyone out, and found ourselves stumped.
I said "What if tomorrow we all woke up and could read minds! Suddenly!!!"
He said "What if the earth started rotating the other way?" (which is funny, since he doesn't read the blog, and, well, we've been discussing that...)
Then we started talking about miracles. We weren't calling them miracles since D is an Atheist and I am a recovering Catholic. We didn't realize we were talking about miracles at all, until D said "Something that would go unexplained today would convince people to become spiritual."
True.
Then we thought "This could be a movie..." and tried to think of movie ideas and miracles and what would translate well onto the screen. I kept saying "The miracle can't involve religion. In order for the movie to be powerful and touching, the miracle needs to reach a protagonist who wasn't religious in the first place."
After about an hour of this D said "Wait a second... I can't believe that YOU and ME are trying to come up with an UPLIFTING idea for a movie."
A feel-good movie written by two extremely cynical people.
The only explanation - we are retarded for each other. Ah, love. Two cynics rendered completely and helplessly happy.
Hee hee.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
St. Patrick
Bench Buddy is listening to the steroid hearings right now.
He was like "Have you been following this at all?" and I had to explain how both of my parents are the most anti-sport people on the planet and how yes, I know there is a steroid issue in existence but no, I am not following it and have no idea what's going on.
It is imperative that I marry a jock so that my future offspring have a chance of not being completely isolated.
Bench Buddy said "This affects us all!"
Right.
So it's St. Patrick's Day. I've never really understood why Americans celebrate St. Patrick's Day, nor have I ever felt compelled to celebrate it. In fact, I think I honored it once and once only, and ended up at home after the fact with a Canadian in my bed.
At any rate, St. Patrick's Day is an American concoction. I learned all about it through a long conversation with Sinead, a former colleague of mine who hails from, you guessed it, Ireland. She explained to me that St. Patrick's Day isn't more than a religious holiday in Ireland. In fact, according to The History Channel, Irish law mandated that pubs be closed on March 17 up until the 1970's.
So people go out and get drunk in the honor of the Irish. Cool. That's fine. I guess what I don't understand is why there is peer pressure to do this. Seriously. People at work are all "You gotta come out! It's ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!! Come ON!" A bunch of people are going to some Irish-themed bar that is going to be playing music-from-Ireland all night.
It would be better if they just called it "National Drunken Act-Like-An-Idiot and Possibly See or Protest a Parade Day!"
Someone I work with, who is of Italian descent, has taken tomorrow as a personal day so as to enjoy St. Patrick's Day.
According to The History Channel (via the US Census): "There are 34 million U.S. residents who claim Irish ancestry. This number is almost nine times the population of Ireland itself (3.9 million). Irish is the nation’s second most frequently reported ancestry, trailing only German. "
Who knew?
I can't decide if I am going to go out or not. I am definitely not going to the music-from-Ireland function. There's a counter-function NOT at an Irish bar that could be manageable, but I think D and I are going to go to the movies instead. Maybe have one non-St.-Patrick's-Day drink beforehand.
Hmmmm.
I'm bored and boring right now and on all sorts of drugs to counteract a headache I've had since yesterday, when I didn't have lunch or ingest caffeine until 4 pm because I was training people again and when I finally went out to lunch with them I ordered vegetarian burrito/enchilada that had chicken/beef in them. Awshummmmm.
OK. I am going to pretend to read a paper now.
Until tomorrow....
He was like "Have you been following this at all?" and I had to explain how both of my parents are the most anti-sport people on the planet and how yes, I know there is a steroid issue in existence but no, I am not following it and have no idea what's going on.
It is imperative that I marry a jock so that my future offspring have a chance of not being completely isolated.
Bench Buddy said "This affects us all!"
Right.
So it's St. Patrick's Day. I've never really understood why Americans celebrate St. Patrick's Day, nor have I ever felt compelled to celebrate it. In fact, I think I honored it once and once only, and ended up at home after the fact with a Canadian in my bed.
At any rate, St. Patrick's Day is an American concoction. I learned all about it through a long conversation with Sinead, a former colleague of mine who hails from, you guessed it, Ireland. She explained to me that St. Patrick's Day isn't more than a religious holiday in Ireland. In fact, according to The History Channel, Irish law mandated that pubs be closed on March 17 up until the 1970's.
So people go out and get drunk in the honor of the Irish. Cool. That's fine. I guess what I don't understand is why there is peer pressure to do this. Seriously. People at work are all "You gotta come out! It's ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!! Come ON!" A bunch of people are going to some Irish-themed bar that is going to be playing music-from-Ireland all night.
It would be better if they just called it "National Drunken Act-Like-An-Idiot and Possibly See or Protest a Parade Day!"
Someone I work with, who is of Italian descent, has taken tomorrow as a personal day so as to enjoy St. Patrick's Day.
According to The History Channel (via the US Census): "There are 34 million U.S. residents who claim Irish ancestry. This number is almost nine times the population of Ireland itself (3.9 million). Irish is the nation’s second most frequently reported ancestry, trailing only German. "
Who knew?
I can't decide if I am going to go out or not. I am definitely not going to the music-from-Ireland function. There's a counter-function NOT at an Irish bar that could be manageable, but I think D and I are going to go to the movies instead. Maybe have one non-St.-Patrick's-Day drink beforehand.
Hmmmm.
I'm bored and boring right now and on all sorts of drugs to counteract a headache I've had since yesterday, when I didn't have lunch or ingest caffeine until 4 pm because I was training people again and when I finally went out to lunch with them I ordered vegetarian burrito/enchilada that had chicken/beef in them. Awshummmmm.
OK. I am going to pretend to read a paper now.
Until tomorrow....
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