Bullies

I am thinking about:

- being socially bullied
- walking into preexisting situations
- people who use guilt to get what they want
- people who change depending on who they're around
- worrying about the feelings of people who I couldn't care less about, not because
I'm worried about their feelings, but because I'm worried about how their
feelings will affect my life

I am thinking that I miss a ton of people - sane, good, sweet, non-drama-welcoming people.

I Am Such a New Yorker

I was thinking about my blog the other day, and I thought "You know, I haven't had any wacky New York stories lately." I then wondered "Is that because things have gotten less wacky?" and then thought about it and decided "No, things are exactly the same as they've always been, it's just that I am used to them now."

I think I have become a New Yorker.

This thesis was confirmed last night after work.

I went to see the saddest movie of all time at the Film Forum. B said "Do you want to go see Mouchette? It will make us feel better about our lives."

I opted to go since I had nothing else planned and because I didn't particularly want to go directly home on such a beautiful night, even if my laundry was waiting to be picked up.

When we got there, B was shocked to find herself without cash at a cash-only theater. I told her I'd get her and that she could just pay me back. Film Forum has awesome popcorn, so we decided to split a small popcorn and each get our own drinks.

The popcorn and two drinks came out to $9.05.

I said "Hey, B, do you have a nickel?" I figured the least she could do was find a nickel for me since I was paying. I had a nickel, but didn't feel like rummaging through my belongings to find it.

She handed me a quarter.

Confused, I took it anyway, thankful for her contribution.

I handed the girl at the cash register $20.25.

She looked at me in horror.

"I don't want that from you."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't need twenty-five cents from you."

"Oh really?" I said without missing a beat. "What makes you think I need ninety-five cents from you?"

"Ugh," she groaned.

I stared her down. I was in consumer-bitch mode. Who is she to tell me what I can and cannot use to pay for things?

Nothing was happening, so I found a nickel and gave it to her.

On our way into the theater I said "B, I really want to fight that girl. Who does she think she is? What is her problem? Why can't I pay for something with a quarter? What the f is wrong with people at The Film Forum? 'Oh, I work at a snotty independent movie theater that shows old depressing movies and therefore I get to tell everyone what to do.'"

(Note: I love The Film Forum. I just hate this girl).

Anyway, the point of this story is not to point out further evidence regarding how people who work at stores and theaters and dentist offices and restaurants in New York City suck beyond all comprehension, but to point out how I said something equally stupid and equally bitchy to someone who gave me attitude.

I never would have done that as a Bostonian.

This means that the transformation into New Yorker may be nearly complete!

When I got home after the movie, wanting to kill myself after enduring Mouchette, I was greeted by three cockroaches (one in the living room, one on the cabinet, and one in the sink) and the revelation that there was still no hot water in my apartment. I cursed at and killed the roaches - two grownups and a baby, ate dinner, gathered some clothes, said farewell to the mountain of dishes that couldn't be washed and the roaches that would begin their nightly orgy as soon as I shut the light, and headed back down to D's to take a much-needed shower.

Ah, New York. How I love it so!

Who Shot Who?

Oh. My. God.

It's just been announced that this year's holiday party will be at the Copacabana!!!

It is insane that we know this given that it is only October 19th.

It is also insane because this means that I will have to have Barry Manilow in my head for a very, very, very long time.

Any time anyone makes reference to the company party I will have to break out in both song and dance.

I am very excited about the holiday party this year because (a) it's at the Copa, Copacabana... which is (b) the hottest spot right around the corner from my apartment! It is also exciting because (c) we are allowed to bring dates this year! which doesn't apply to me directly, but will mean that there will be opportunities to meet the significant others of coworkers! weee! and (d) it's on a Friday, which means that people will actually come this year and that (e) we can stay out all night, either at the Copa or somewhere else, without ruining the following day's work like last year.

I went to the Copa's website and it's awesomely cheesy because they actually have Barry's "Copacabana" playing, midi-style.

Yes.

I can't wait.

PJ's

Am I alone in thinking that pajamas rule?

Is there nothing better than coming home from work on a chilly winter night and putting on your pajamas?

I had to defend the virtues of pajamas last night and it confused me, because I really don't think that pajamas warrant a debate.

Potato

It's a perfect day. I spent an hour walking around the city this afternoon - through SoHo and then Chinatown - to get lenses for my new glasses. It's gorgeous outside. It's supposed to be even more beautiful tomorrow.

While I was wandering around the city, I couldn't stop thinking about Cape Cod Potato Chips.

Weird. I haven't had those since, like, middle school. I couldn't find them anywhere. I nearly went insane.

I must have been craving salty.

It was a girl's birthday at work today, and someone sent her a giant chocolate chip cookie. You know the kind - it substitutes for a cake and has frosting. Yum.

As we inhaled the cookie, this guy from another department said "Does anyone here bake their own chocolate chip cookies?"

Nobody answered.

"Well, you know what makes them better? Adding 3x the amount of salt that is called for in the recipe."

Nobody responded.

I thought to myself "Oh my god... I bet that's his family's secret ingredient for the best chocolate chip cookies ever and he's just told all of us!"

And then "Wait - there's salt in chocolate chip cookies? What?"

Yeah. I've never baked chocolate chip cookies or cookies of any kind that weren't already in the form of a tube or sheet.

So now you all know - add 3x the amount of salt that is called for in your chocolate chip cookie recipe and you will be amazed! And you have My Mundane Life In Song to thank for it!

Let me know if you try it and if it makes them 3x as good.

Therapy

I am so ashamed.

Prior to my viewing of Capote this weekend, I saw a preview for a movie called Prime. It's written by the same guy who wrote Boiler Room, which I liked if only because of the hip hop-heavy soundtrack.

The movie stars Meryl Streep, who I irrationally resent because my freshman year boyfriend forced me to watch Bridges of Madison County because Meryl Streep was supposed to be Italian. This excited him greatly as he was, in reality, Italian, and was enamored with all things Italian, including, apparently, fake Italians. I hated every minute of it mainly because Meryl Streep annoyed me so very much (although I should mention that I caught a bit of it when I still had TV and cried like a baby - this is apparently one of those movies that actually gets better with age - I think I get it more now - as opposed to the sort of movie that gets worse with age such as The Black Cauldron, which I saw recently and which broke my heart as I loved it as a kid and now realize it sort of sucks).

Back to the lecture at hand...

The movie features Meryl Streep as a therapist. Uma Thurman is her patient. My guess is that Uma plays a divorcee who's getting back into the dating scene. Meryl Streep encourages her to pursue a fling with a man who is much younger than her (how much do we love that Uma is playing the older woman?) who, surprise!, turns out to be Meryl Streep's son.

Now.

I have three thoughts about this:

1. Best movie idea ever! Why didn't I think of this? and

2. Best movie idea ever. I can't believe this hasn't already been done! and

3. I can't believe I am excited about a cheesy romantic comedy starring Meryl Streep.

Seriously. This movie is going to suck so hard but the premise and the preview are so funny! Plus, it involves therapy! Awesome!

I also saw a preview last night before Serenity that is of interest... yes, folks, yet another Jake Gylenhaal movie to feel guilty about. In this one, our hero plays a soldier in Iraq. It sort of reminded me of Three Kings. Looks cool. I can't wait.

Speaking of which, this is cute:

Donald Rumsfeld is giving the president his daily briefing. He concludes by saying: "Yesterday, 3 Brazilian soldiers were killed."

"OH NO!" the president exclaims, "that's terrible!"

His staff sits stunned at this display of emotion, nervously watching as the president sits, head in hands.

Finally, the president looks up and asks, "How many is a brazillion?"

Heh. That made me laugh yesterday.

OK. I'm off to get lenses for yet another pair of new glasses.

Until tomorrow...

Maybe It's the Nose

When I saw The Boss this morning, he said "Leah Lar, I was flipping through the channels yesterday and 'Pretty Woman' was on, and you know? You look just like Julia Roberts!"

"No I don't," I said.

"No, you really do. You don't think so?"

"No, I really don't."

"Guys, don't you think she does?" he asked Bench Buddy and Newest Guy.

"Well, maybe if you had different hair..."

"Or were taller..."

"Really?" said Boss.

Finally we all said "Well, maybe. Yeah. Sort of!" so as not to hurt his feelings.

I am so very flattered, because as we all know I love Julia. I still wanted to fight him about it, because I obviously look nothing like Julia Roberts. Nothing! I couldn't look less like Julia Roberts. He's wrong, but he was so cute and pleased with himself that we all had to let it go.

This being said, I have a cousin who I think looks like Julia Roberts (nobody else thinks that she does), so I guess that there's a chance that I may look a bit like Julia Roberts. Maybe in the nose.

Or maybe not at all.

Women Are Organic, Men Are Robots

The weekend thus far....

1. a fatal hit and run involving a bus just outside my apartment

2. "Firefly" = awesome! thanks, Banalities

3. a friend being used

4. THE SUN!!!!

5. a sad breakup

6. an engagement of which I approve - I am the first to have seen the ring! yay!

7. hit on by not one but two waitresses?

8. a new friend

9. "we should do this more often." there are so many things i should do more often.

10. lack-of-cab epidemic still in full force. why aren't there any cabs lately?

i love blogging after rum. makes me feel like less of an old-ish lady.

talk to you on monday!

Faith

Sister came to visit this weekend.

After gorging ourselves at Kate's Joint on Sunday night, we headed to Williamsburg to engage in the long weekend ritual of Sid and Buddy Karaoke at Galapagos.

We vowed to get there early this time, so as to actually get to perform karaoke.

I went on early, committing a karoake faux pas by performing a song I've performed at Sid and Buddy in the past. Whatever. I was nervous.

Members of Sister's entourage performed intermittently.

And then... D! I was nervous for him. It's that phenomenon of being a stage mother - so excited that your loved one is on stage, but terrified that something terrible will happen. D makes up for in enthusiasm what he lacks in pitch.

Sid put on D's song, but it wasn't the right song! D said "This isn't the song."

Sid fumbled and, a minute later, put on the correct song. Except it was the wrong song again! The same wrong song. It was "I Saw Him Standing There," the Tiffany version. D later said "I wanted 'I Think We're Alone Now,' the Tiffany version. Where did he get that?" Someone had actually seen D right down "I Saw Him Standing There," but there was no arguing with him.

"That's not it!" he said from the stage.

"That's what you put," Sid said.

"No, it's not," D said.

Sid said "No, no, stay there..." as D began to leave the stage. "We're going to do karaoke roulette!"

What!?

"I'm going to pick a song and you have to do it."

Oh my god! Random-oke!!!

The crowd waited, tense, wondering what it would be. "Please let him know it, please let him know it, please let him know it..." I chanted in my head.

Oh. He knew it. I knew it. Everyone knew it.

I couldn't help myself. I jumped onto the stage, along with a member of Sister's entourage who helped himself to the inflatable guitar, and started moving my ass back and forth, as did D and Sister's friend, to the introduction of...

"Faith" by George Michael!

This was mostly a tribute to LBF, but man was it fun. I'd never have picked it for myself, but having it picked for me... delicious!

I think that there should be a karaoke that is entirely roulette.

Later that night, two insane guys got up there and tried to do "How Do U Want It" by 2Pac. I knew it was going to be a disaster. Sid stopped them a minute into it and said "You guys need to stop. We're doing roulette" and made them do The Beastie Boys instead.

It was awshummmmm.

Raincoat....

... or snowsuit?

We're pretty sure it was just snowing.

Madness.

2Pac

My Ipod is in rough shape, folks.

While it was still semi-functional yesterday, I was able to listen to but not choose songs. This was achieved by starting at the first song, and then scrolling through, one-at-a-time, in alphabetical order by artist until I happened upon something listenable.

It all started with 2Pac. I'd forgotten I'd even had 2Pac's Greatest Hits on my Ipod! I wasn't in the mood for hip hop prior to photography class, so I scrolled through to 311. 311!!!! Hah!

Then I encountered things like Aimee Mann and American Analog Set, and such hipster darlings that I no longer enjoy like The Arcade Fire and Architecture in Helsinki.

Most bizarre, though, is that apparently all classical musician's names begin with A! I had to scroll through all of Chopin's Preludes and Impromptus because they were performed by someone whose name begins with A. And then Vivaldi's violin concertos. And then the entirety of Prokofiev's Cinderalla.

The Ipod no longer functions at all. I am dying to go home to see if it will charge, but I am not going home tonight because I have been emotionally blackmailed into seeing a movie that I don't really want to see because some people are masters of guilt.

Damn you, guilt masters! You prevent me from going home on a rainy night when I haven't been home in ages! You prevent me from curling up under a blanket and watching a movie and eating in and saving money and charging my Ipod and doing my photography homework!

Yeah. The rain makes me completely insane.

Possessive

I am a person who is possessive about ideas.

Possessive may not be the right word. It might be that I am just shy about my own ideas. I don't want them out there. I only want them to be available to special people, and, in most cases, a special person.

I'm not possessive about everything. I obviously have a blog and put a million ideas out there into the world every day. Personal things, words, that sort of thing. I don't, however, put ideas for screenplays or photo projects or whatever out there, because I may actually do them and I'd rather just have them be finished when people find out about them. Like the blog... I told people "Yeah, I'm doing this thing" and was then excited when I started it and all of the songs were there, complete. It ruled.

I didn't realize that I was possessive about ideas until I found myself with someone who felt compelled to broadcast my ideas to others. It is because he is proud and excited, and that's awesome. It makes me love him more, but I feel, though, that my ideas are mine, and that, if I would like others to know about them, I will choose to tell them and then do just that.

This causes tension. I don't know how to explain myself. I don't know how to explain this pet peeve without sounding like a paranoid loser.

I realized I had this pet peeve when we were standing around one day and he said "Hey, what do you think of this idea?" and started telling this random guy about this quick pillowtalk comment I'd made about how digital sheet music could be a cool thing. It was a conversation I didn't want to have. I didn't want to defend my idea. I hadn't thought it through enough to present it to the world. I wasn't ready. It was mine and it should be under my control.

The only time I said something to him about this was when he said, to a complete stranger, "Leah Lar has an awesome idea for a documentary!" and then started to tell her about it. "Tell her more about it!" he said to me. "No, really, I don't want to." "But it's awesome!" "Well, no, I'm not ready to talk about it." I didn't want to talk about it because this person is in the film industry. I didn't want to talk about it because it was none of her business. I didn't want to talk about it because it was an idea I'd had that I'd told only the person closest to me because that's what you do, right? It's part of intimacy. I don't go around telling everyone everything. I don't tell the same things to every person. You have different sorts of relationships with people.

Last night we were tipsy and listening to 80's music and pretending that we were in middle school. It was silly and wonderful. After we'd finished pretending, I said "You know what there should be? There should be a lip synch contest at work! What ever happened to lip synching? People were all over that in the 80's!" I went on and on about how it would work, and what the categories would be. I said "And it would be, like, you'd have to do it as a group! A boss and his/her employee. You and your boss would definitely win for best hair. And most elusive. And cutest."

"We used to do things like this all the time," he said, "when we were smaller."

"We should totally do it."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"We could do it in the conference room."

"No," I said. "We should wait until we move to the new facility. There's supposedly going to be an auditorium there. We could have it in there! It could be like our inaugural event!"

I wasn't even serious about it. It was something that seemed adorable at the time, but can you imagine? A lip synch contest at work?

I got an email from him this morning that said "I talked to NH about the lip synch contest. She said she's going to see what she can do."

Wtf?

First of all: My idea! If I want to pursue it, I'll pursue it.

Second of all: If the lip synch contest happens and is a success, everyone will think that it was NH's idea or, worse, his.

Third of all: Privacy!

I guess I'm just possessive of relationships and ideas and specificity.

If I want everyone to know about an idea I've had, I'll tell everyone. Things said within the confines of a relationship should not go beyond that.

Am I shy or insane?

I don't know.

My guess is that he would think me insane, which is why I can't say "Could you stop telling everyone about the things I say to you in private?"

It's also a throwback to the old days when my parents would force me to play piano in front of other people. It puts you on the spot. It's very uncomfortable. "Tell the nice people about your idea, honey!"

"If I wanted to tell them, I'd have told them, honey."

I blame the weather. The weather is making me insane!

Right. That's it.

Broke

I am having one of those days - the sort of day that convinces you that there's a conspiracy against you, or the sort that convinces you that you have super powers to destroy everything in your path!

It all started this morning when I tried to listen to my IPod, which, apparently, has broken again! This time it is without reason. I listened to it on Friday and it was fine, and today - the main button doesn't work, which means I can listen to music only if I want to listen to it in alphabetical order. I suspected something like this would happen, because I'd noticed this weekend that the time had reset itself.

Drat.

When I arrived at work, I tried to print out my experiments for the day and, of course, the printer didn't work.

I wrote everything out by hand and decided to just do my best.

Once I'd written out my experiment, I went to the -80 freezer to get my samples and, of course, it wouldn't open. This was due to a combination of the seal's being broken and there being an obscene accumulation of ice. I asked a stronger person for help. He was able to open it but not without his body flying across the room.

I finally had the experiment and the samples, but when I went to read the plate, of course, a glitch in the software prevented me from analyzing the data. Two hours later I figured out the problem.

Ridiculous.

I don't even want to know what's going to happen later.

I hate rainy Tuesdays that feel like Mondays.

Wall

I met my neighbor the other night!!!

I have been sharing walls with this man since May, and I'd seen him only once in passing.

I've fantastized about him - I've wondered what he does for a living, what hours he keeps, what he thinks about the sounds coming from my apartment. I've wondered if he purposefully avoids me because he hates me due to my constantly listening to music or playing piano or talking loudly in my bedroom which, for all I know, could keep him up because maybe his bedroom is right alongside mine and he's trying to sleep at 9pm because he works a bizarre shift at his mystery job.

As I was leaving my apartment the other night at around 9pm to go to D's to watch the Netflix DVD that ultimately wouldn't play, I bumped right into him!

We stared at each other.

My first response was panic. I thought "Oh my god, he's going to KILL ME!" because obviously he hates me because I am loud and he has been working out his evil plan to kill me as soon as he found out who I was!!!

He stared at me, I stared at him, and finally, enthusiastically, he blurted out "DO YOU LIVE HERE?!"

"Yes?" I said, timid.

"OH MY GOD! FINALLY! WE'VE BEEN NEIGHBORS LIKE FOREVER AND I'VE BEEN DYING TO MEET YOU!!!!"

B is a 40-ish fellow who works in fashion. He is extremely excited about everything. He asked me what I did for a living. I said "I'm a scientist" and he said "I love that."

He unlocked his door, and I took a peak inside his apartment. D and I are constantly trying to figure out the layout of the apartment next to mine. Clearly it would have to be nothing like mine, but we couldn't decide if it was microscopic or huge.

I looked around him as he said "You know, I had a friends visiting from Rhode Island the other day and they kept saying how small my apartment is, but I just love living here! I mean, I have two bedrooms..."

"You have two bedrooms?" I asked. Eureeka! I only have one bedroom, how dare he have two?

"Well, they are small," he said, "And your apartment - I saw when they were renovated it. I would kill for your floors."

"They are quite fabulous," I said, trying to see into his apartment. I couldn't, because he has a very long hallway that cuts to the left so you can't see a damn thing from the doorway.

He said "Well, I work for Isaac Mizrahi," he said, "You must have heard of him."

"Oh yes," I said, unimpressed.

"It's been a pleasure living near you," he said. "I hope I don't make too much noise," he said.

"Oh, no, I never hear you. I wasn't even sure that anyone lived here!"

"Well, I'm usually quiet. I sometimes have friends over. Hopefully we're not too loud. The models, you know, it can be crazy."

"Models?"

"Yes, models."

"Oh. I'm taking a photography class. Maybe when we have to do portraits you can hook me up with some models."

"Well, there are some in here right now! Do you want to meet them?"

Models! Yes! I was in!

He invited me in, and I couldn't contain my excitement. I met my neighbor! I was going to get to see the mystery apartment! I was going to meet models!!!!

His apartment looks nothing like mine. At all. It's not renovated, and the layout is strange. His "bedrooms" are both microscopic. It is his living room that is behind my bedroom, and his bedroom is adjacent to mine. Which is weird, but whatever. Things I didn't need to know.

But best of all... his shower is in the kitchen!!!

He was apologetic about that. Not only is it in the kitchen, but it is elevated in the kitchen, so it just hangs there next to the stove! You have to climb a stool to get into it! Insane!

We gushed about our apartments and renovations and models, and I said that I had to get going. He wants to eat lunch or drink wine at some point.

I am just satisfied knowing what lies beyond my walls.

Thrilled, folks.

And with that, have a good loooooooong weekend!

Weird

You know what's weird?

That I have found myself walking behind not one, not two, but three separate people in the past three days that have been smoking cigars on the street.

I mention this because the downstream smoke from a cigar is horrid.

***

You know what else is weird?

I saw a guy the other day who looked just like Master P. I was so convinced it was him, until I remembered that Master P. is really tall, and this guy was only like 5'10''.

On the way to work this morning, after walking behind a dude smoking a cigar, I saw a guy who looked just like Mystikal! It wasn't him, though.

I haven't seen any rappers since moving to NYC.

D saw Redman once from his apartment window. I was jealous.

***

You know what's even more weird?

D was insecure for the first time ever yesterday and it made me really sad, but also, in some weird and deranged way, it made me feel good to know that he thinks about things.

***

You know what else is weird?

I just got really outbid on something on EBay and I am devastated.

Why am I devastated? It's not like I needed that adorable pick laptop bag!

But I did really want it for $4.95.

***

Also weird was this dream I had last night, in which D and I moved into this immense house that was fully furnished. We were not allowed to bring anything into the apartment other than clothes. I complained to the landlord "I can't live under these conditions! I want my own furniture! I want to hang things on the wall! This furniture is absurd!"

D wasn't as distressed.

The house was part of an apartment complex that was basically loft space in a converted barn (yes, a barn) and for some reason the entire apartment would tilt once an hour. I can't even explain it. Something to do with the reindeer that were being kept in the only portion of the barn that remained a barn.

The landlord said "You'll get used to it."

"No, I won't!" I yelled. "Nor will I get used to sleeping in a twin bed!"

"You can push them together," she said.

"But we have two beds outside in the truck. You mean to tell me we can't bring either of them in here?" I asked.

"No, sorry."

"But what about D's memory foam?"

"He'll get used to it."

"We are collectors of art!" I lied. "We have an extensive collection that we would like to hang."

"You can't."

"D, we're minimalists! We can't live like this! We can't live in this clutter!!! There's no empty space!!!!"

"But its so big," he said, in awe.

"Who cares? It's like being a prisoner!"

I walked down to the apartments on the first floor. A lavish party was being hosted in one of them. I let myself in and saw that this apartment was furnished way cooler than ours. Ours was very rustic and country-like. Lots of plaid and yellow walls and wood. This one wouldn't have been out of place in New York City. The people at the party were very fashionable and funky. I asked the owner "How did you get this apartment? You got way better furniture that I did!"

The owner said "Honey, just sneak. Little by little. One piece a day. They won't even realize!" She pointed to some art that was hanging from the ceiling. "They never look up," she said. "They never look."

I suppose its not that weird. I am trying to figure out a New Life Plan that will allow me to live in New York City forever.

***

More later.

Quality Time

Ever appreciative that my IPod survived the Cranberry Juice Fiasco, I have been trying to spend as much quality time with it as possible.

En route to D's last night, I didn't have anything to read and was suffering from attention deficit, so I decided to play games. I hadn't played a game on my IPod since one of the many try-to-get-the-loft-trips to NYC last summer with Former Roommate, who played Solitaire on her IPod on the train. I said "What are you doing?" "Playing Solitaire." "How?" "What do you mean?" "How did you get a game on your Ipod?" "It comes with games." "Oh."

It apparently also has an address book and other non-music related features that are not interesting enough to me to merit my learning more about them.

I played Solitatire for about two seconds and got frustrated with it. I don't like the weird little hand that appears over the cards. I don't like the action. It just isn't fun.

I decided to see what else it has, and it has this music trivia game! It randomly selects a song and starts playing it, and gives you five multiple choice options for the name of the song! Awesome! I got, like, 1 out of 7 right. This is because I own too much music, and also because I don't know the names of any songs.

The reason I bring this all up is because, at random, IPod picked a song that I'd never even heard before! It was on a mix that Stupid A gave me last April. I listened to his mixes nonstop when things were good, but somehow managed to miss this song. It must have been at the end of one of the mixes, or maybe I thought the beginning of it was boring so skipped it.

It's awesome! It's my new favorite song!!! I love it! Thank you, IPod, for surviving and making me aware of this song. And you know what? If I'd lost the IPod forever, I'd never have heard this song because I didn't keep the mixes on CD.

Yay!!!

I am going to cover this song for My Mundane Life In Song, so watch out!!!

Grades Are Good

I am taking a class.

I thought that the beauty of taking a class as an adult, a class that doesn't matter, was the lack of pressure! Go at your own pace! Do as much or as little as you feel appropriate! Don't even bother with the homework if you don't have time! Don't feel any pressure to actually show up! Spend absurd amounts of money and get nothing out of it if that's what you want!

No grades, no pressure, no future. Lovely!

I am finding, though, that I actually care about my photography class. I desperately want feedback. I want personal attention. I want to sit with the teacher and dissect my technique. I want him to be brutal, objective, and merciless. I want him to make suggestions. I want him to tell me I am a unique talent! I want him to exclaim "Brilliant!" when he sees my contact sheets that actually have pictures on them! I want something!!!!

I realize that this is impossible. Given the size of the class and the length of the classtime, it's unrealistic to think that anyone will be given individual attention. We can't go over everyone's photos. It would take forever. It would be boring. It would be futile.

I stayed late after class, hoping to ask the teacher if maybe I could come early to the next class to go over some things with him - show him some old photos, talk about my show, throw some ideas at him and have him tell me that they are great or that they are trite.

All the girls (think Indiana Jones, folks) and this one high maintenance older gentleman who's usually a riot (not on purpose) but who slept through the entire class remained behind.

Drat.

I'm timid. I waited while all the other girls asked their questions ("why are my photos printing out weird?" "what kind of tripod should I get?") and while high maintenance older gentleman asked for advice about photographing Park Ave. for some sort of professional endeavor (it seems that this man is a photographer but has no idea how to take pictures! I have to figure this out...).

I gave up and left, sad, not knowing if I'm any good.

Now.

Does it matter if he thinks I'm any good? No. I suppose it's up to me. I should monitor my progress and be able to assess if things are changing for the better.

But sometimes you want feedback! This is why, gasp, grades are good!!!!

I called R, who'd taken this class previously and who'd had similar complaints, and said "R, is it completely inappropriate for me to send him an email and ask if we could meet for coffee to discuss things?"

"Yes."

"CRAP!!!" I whined.

I want help. I want guidance. Assistance. Criticism. I want a massacre and then I want things to improve.

It's bizarre to actually care about something. It's been so long.

I'll Be Loving You Forever

I work directly across the street from a club called Culture Club.

It's Pollyesther's. Or whatever that nostalgia-themed-nightclub-chain thing is called. You know the one. The one where Brother and his friend B started dancing in a very coordinated fashion and caused a circle to form around them, 80's style.

The one across the street hosts concerts. The last concert advertised was Tiffany. Before that - Deborah Gibson. I was tempted to attend both.

I am so so so very tempted to attend... gasp... the Jordan Knight concert next week!

I'll admit it. I was a huge fan of New Kids on the Block. I had posters all over my wall. It was as though I had NKOTB wallpaper. I had t-shirts. I had the New Kids on the Block pillowcase. I spent hours upon hours hiding in the basement, playing Sega, listening to the Hangin' Tough tape over and over and over.

I went to the concerts. I threw fits when my parents wouldn't allow me to camp out for tickets. I was envious when my friends went to JP and sat outside Joey's parents' house, waiting for a glimpse of Joe!!!

I also claimed to be partial to Jon Knight, even though I was secretly smitten with Jordan. I think this was the beginning of my tendency to side with the underdog no matter what! Sometimes I secretly root for the favored team to lose, even if they're my team, because I feel sorry for the bad team who hasn't a chance.

I think this was what I was doing in claiming to love Jon Knight. I was all about him, but I think I was all about him because, well, nobody else was.

Or maybe that was the beginning of my being, ahem, contrary. I was against the mainstream, even at age 12! Well, not really, since I clearly was the mainstream in liking NKOTB. I bet all future hipsters liked Jon Knight, or, in the most extreme of cases, Danny Wood.

Anyway...

Yeah. I loved Jordan Knight. I still think he's adorable. Talentless, but adorable.

I'm tempted.

Very, very tempted.

The poster claims that he will be singing songs from his NKOTB days.

I am tempted, not only to see him, but to see who else will be at the show. What will the crowd be like? Who will be there? Will it be a bunch of 30-somethings who were raised in MA?

For $10, no issue. I'd be there with bells on and camera in hand.

But for $30? No way.

***

Speaking of $30, should I put ads on my blog to make money? Does anyone know anything about this? Do you actually make money? Will it be unsightly? Will it deter people from reading? As far as I can tell there aren't many people reading anymore so I guess it doesn't really matter. The ads won't make money, because nobody is reading, and the ads being there won't prevent people from reading because nobody is reading.

Which means... I should just put them on there? In case they make money?

I don't know.

Fry Baby

After dining with the other LL last night, I returned home and was suddenly overcome with motivation to clean! I don't know why. It was late-ish and I was tired, but I thought "Hmmm... my friend might be crashing here tomorrow night. I should probably tidy up a bit."

Additionally, I was over D's apartment on Sunday night while he was cleaning (I read the UMass Alumni magazine for the first time ever while he focused on the cleaning), which for D involves getting on his hands and knees with a sock soaked in some sort of cleaning product and cleaning his entire apartment's floor by hand. I said "D, I don't know how you spend any time in my apartment. You must be disgusted." Then "D, why do you put such love and care into the floors of an apartment you don't own?" He said "Because, it has to be liveable." "But wouldn't it be fine if you just, like, swept? And maybe mopped every so often?" He does this at least once a week. I then said "D, you'd better stop doing this. You're making me want to move in with you." I'd be exempt forever from doing any sort of cleaning if I lived with him. How appealing!

My kitchen floor has some shady areas, areas that were un-clean before I moved in. I'd mopped a couple times but the areas were never cleaned. I just assumed that there was no hope, that the floor was stained, but last night I thought "Perhaps I should try the Cinderella-clean-the-floor-on-my-hands-and-knees-while-scrubbing- unglamorously method that D has had such success with."

Miraculous!

Since my entire apartment began to reek of cleaning product, I decided to air things out and opened a window.

Within two seconds my entire apartment smelled like Fried.

Fried what? I don't know.

It was immersed in Fried.

Like someone had turned on 4204 deep fryers in my apartment, not in order to fry anything in particular, but just heated up oil. Tons of it.

I shut the window immediately, but it was too late.

Everything was soaked in the aroma of Fried.

What do you do in this situation? You can't air out your apartment, because if you open the window, it will just get worse. I lit candles and hoped it would go away.

D turned up late - he'd gone to see Transporter 2 - and I said "Does it smell like..."

"Fried? Yes. It's the people on the second floor."

"Could you tell what they were frying?"

"Chicken?"

"No, its definitely not meat. It just smells like Fried."

"French fries?"

"Maybe."

Later D revised his statement and said that he thought it smelled like a fried dessert of some sort.

"That's actually just the smell of Fried mixed with fruity-smelling red candle, darling."

"Oh."

I was reminded of how Former Roommate RM used to cook meat on his George Foreman Grill, and how, because my bedroom was closest to the kitchen, all of the meat stench would accumulate in my room and there was nothing I could do.

It seemed that the fried had dissipated this morning, but its possible I'd just habituated to it.

At about 12:30am, D said "Oh my god. I haven't stopped thinking about the strawberry milkshake you didn't have. I think I am going to go to McDonald's right now and get one for us to split."

"Oh, well, if you want one, but I don't want any. It's too late for food."

I said this (a) because I didn't want the milkshake anymore and (b) because I was dying for fried dough.

Those bastards on the second floor!

Ice Cream

Had dinner last night with the other LL at the worst restaurant ever.

I chose this restaurant because I saw someone in the window eating waffles. And I also wanted an ice cream sundae. "I want waffles!" I declared, "With fruit on them. And ice cream. Yes. We shall eat here."

We walked in and I said "This place reminds me of Friendly's!" LL agreed. I thought to myself "I hope, though, that the service is better than Friendly's. And I hope they actually have the stuff that's on the menu." Friendly's is notorious for not being able to make the waffle sundae when I want it, or for being out of the first three ice cream flavors I order.

Upon perusing the menu, I realized that I couldn't decide what I wanted. So many options! The only thing I knew I wanted was a strawberry milk shake. And mashed potatos. And a waffle with a pile of fruit on it. Weird, yes, but who cares? It's New York City. Anything goes.

I decided that I would get the waffle with fruit only if the fruit was to my liking. If the fruit was not to my liking, I'd go with the banana pancakes. The other LL decided that she would have a grilled cheese if she could also get cheese fries with gravy, and that if they couldn't do cheese fries with gravy, she'd get something breakfast related.

When the waitress appeared, I asked "What kind of fruit comes with the waffle with fruit?" She didn't know, but guessed "Watermelon, and I think orange."

"Really?" I asked, thinking this was unlikely because watermelon on a waffle? Oranges? Just doesn't seem right. "Are there any berries involved?"

"Berries?"

"Yeah, berries."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, some places... you can get a waffle with strawberries on it. And also raspberries and blueberries if you're lucky."

"Oh, I don't know. I'll ask."

She left, returned, and informed me that they basically put their fruit cup on the waffle.

Ewwww.

I said "I'll have the banana pancakes, then, and a strawberry milkshake."

"Oh, we don't have strawberry milkshakes."

"Oh, ok then, I'll have a chocolate one."

"Well, we don't have any because we have no ice cream. The shipment didn't arrive today."

Curses!

"Oh, ok, then I'll have the strawberry milk."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You mean milk with strawberry syrup in it?"

"Yes, like right here it says strawberry milk on the menu."

"You're sure you want that?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I said.

"Is that actually good?"

"Well, I don't know if it will be good here, but its usually good."

I didn't bother with the mashed potatos for fear that it would be too complicated.

The other LL ordered cheese fries with gravy and a grilled cheese, and then asked for a cherry coke. Which they did not have. So she asked for coke with vanilla syrup.

Our drinks arrived about ten minutes later. They were acceptable.

After 45 minuters, the other LL said "Dude, has it been like 45 minutes? How long can it take to make a grilled cheese and pancakes?"

We waited a bit longer, then started doing the thing where you try to stare down your waitress and look cross so that your food will materialize. A few moments after the stares were realized, she presented us with gravy and a plate of butter and syrup. Tease. We looked at this for about ten minutes when I exclaimed "Dude, seriously, I am just going to start eating this butter if she doesn't bring food."

She finally appeared with pancakes and cheese fries. We waited a few moments longer, and the other LL said "Why are you waiting?" "I'm waiting for your grilled cheese." "No, I'll eat the fries. We need to eat!"

We ate for about 10 more minutes. The other LL said "Where is the grilled cheese?!?!? Do you think they forgot?"

We did the stare thing again, and asked the waitress "Where is the grilled cheese?"

"What grilled cheese?"

"The grilled cheese. That I ordered."

"You ordered a grilled cheese?"

Oh. My. God.

What is wrong with New York City?

We should have gone for Indian food. Damn you lame diner on University Place and your promise of an ice cream sundae!!!!