I have that fabulous NKOTB Christmas tune This One's For the Children in my head. Drat. I have no idea where it came from. I had no idea there were still even neurons for this song in my head. No good, folks.
***
I watched Harry Potter 3 last night. All I have to say is "Wtf?" Seriously. We had no clue. D kept being like "Do you understand this?" "Not at all." "Why are they executing that thing?" "Is Gary Oldman bad?" "Why do those things keep going after Harry? This makes no sense!" "Wait - the rat betrayed Harry's parents?" "WHAT IS GOING ON!?!"
***
It's Newest Guy's last day today and The Boss didn't plan a going-away lunch. I've been telling people about the lunch that I am sort of planning by word of mouth rather than via a formal group email. We are going to eat at 1:30, because that's when I can eat. Everyone keeps saying "Why do we have to go so late?" "Because I am in charge. And you have to eat when I can eat." People aren't coming because that's too late. Fine, that's cool. But then "But I brought my lunch!" I don't know what to say. And also people from other departments crashing the lunch who don't even have a relationship with Newest Guy just so they can feel included / popular. I could throw a fit.
***
The Parents are coming this weekend. Father is on crutches. This is going to be hilarious. We have many things planned. Hopefully they brought cash for cabs.
Yes. Keep telling myself that it's funny.
***
Ummm. There's more but I am frantic and trying to finish things before the extremely late 1:30 lunch that's so very inconvenient for everyone.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
The Liberty Bell
I went to Philadelphia this past weekend with D to look at D's cousin's new baby. I hadn't met D's cousin, nor am I particularly interested in babies, so I had low expectations for the weekend.
Luckily, D's cousins - I met three that I hadn't met before - are all wonderful. They also have wonderful signficant others. I looked at the baby for about three seconds and spent the remainder of the time being jealous of D's cousin's new house. This, of course, precipitated fantasies involving my former employer's going public after last week's good news, and then perusal of Craigslist for awesome lofts in Brooklyn that I will never be able to own.
On our way to the house in the morning, there was discussion of what to do about lunch. D's cousin decided that we should order pizza, and asked me what sort of pizza I liked. "Whatever," I said, "As long as there is no meat." "So you like pizza with vegetables on it?" "Yep," I said. Of course they ordered me a pizza with mushrooms on it. D said "OH NO!" because he knows about my anti-mushroom sentiments. Luckily D's cousin's husband, who is brilliant and an avid conspiracy-theorist, picked the mushrooms off for me! What a good host, and how nice of them not to say "Your vegetarian girlfriend is so high maintenance!"
We spent the afternoon touring the house and chatting about various conspiracies involving September 11th. Well, I spent the afternoon talking conspiracy while everyone else changed the baby and discussed the baby's habits and observed the baby sleeping. At one point a bunch of us were hanging out in the bathroom upstairs, and it occurred to me that more people can fit in their bathroom than can fit in my entire apartment. Seriously. There were eight of us in there plus the baby, and it felt spacious.
After looking at the baby had concluded, we headed into Philadelphia where D caved in and consented to our getting our very own hotel room! instead of staying in a room with all of the cousins, which would have involved two grown people, who have jobs and plenty of money to rent their own hotel room, sleeping on the floor.
I love hotels. I love the feeling of vacation. I love staying in a place where I am taken care of. I love space. I love the giant bed. And, most importantly these days, I love the TV!!! While D and his cousins drank cocktails in the other hotel room, I said "Umm... I think I am going to stay behind and... umm... do my hair before we go out," but in reality I watched Made on MTV! I haven't seen that show in over a year! I couldn't decide what to watch. It was sensory overload. News? Videos? Reality shows? Documentaries? The options are endless!!!
When I'd felt sufficiently guilty about watching MTV and after I'd actually tended to my hair, we walked around the city and ended up at Jones for dinner. I got an orange creamsicle martini, potato pancakes, and an awesome avocado sandwich. We then walked around the city a bit more.
We walked by The Liberty Bell. "It's smaller than I thought it would be," I said. Someone said "Has it always been cracked or is that a recent thing?" Nobody knew. It then occurred to me that I didn't know anything about The Liberty Bell other than the fact that it is in Philadelphia. I didn't know if it was commissioned to specifically represent liberty, I didn't know where it came from, when it came from, nothing. I thought for a while, and finally decided that I'd just ask. Embarassing, yes, but I had to know. I said "Does anyone know, like, what the deal is with the liberty bell?" Rather than saying "D, your ignorant girlfriend is so annoying!" they all said "Umm...."
Nobody knew.
Awesome.
(I do have an excuse, though. I have been cursed with the worst American History teachers imagineable. I have basal knowledge from 4th grade, but beyond that I've never been taught a thing about US History. I never even learned the US capitols. My 8th grade teacher, Mr. F, mumbled. Nobody could understand him. On top of being a mumbler, he was a whisperer, to the point where he'd ask a question and nobody would even know that he'd asked a question and then he'd be cross with us and we wouldn't know why. I think this frustrated him, so rather than teach, Mr. F opted to have us read from the textbook in groups. He'd then pass out questions on paper, and we'd answer them. Basically, in 8th grade, co-ed groups of kids reading textbooks is not going to encourage learning as much as early disasters in flirting. My 11th grade US History teacher, Mr. M, was equally terrible. I think he taught, in the traditional sense, 2% of the time. With the rest of the time, he'd talk about the Italian influence on US History and how Italians have been oppressed in the US and when he wasn't doing that, he'd look at girls' legs or breasts and say things like "I like tall women" and when he wasn't doing that, he'd have us watch a movie. I learned things in that class - about the world, about men, about current events, but nothing about US History. I bought "Don't Know Much About History" and started reading it a few year's back, but it was daunting since I literally know nothing about history.)
We didn't go out for drinks because people were tired, which meant more TV for me! I watched Trading Spaces, which I'd never seen before. Bliss.
I spent Sunday afternoon with NR. We ate and shopped and then went to the art museum, which was awesome. I've been to Philly many times but had never been to the art museum.
I headed back on a delayed Amtrak train, tried to watch a movie but was distracted, so ended up doing a couple projects before D showed up. We tried to put together Legos, but about five frustrating minutes and ten missing pieces later, I said "Wait. I don't think that these directions are the right directions for this TIE Fighter." We have no idea where the real directions are, but will try to improvise when we next have time, which will be never.
It was a good weekend.
And it's almost the weekend again.
Awshummmmm.
Luckily, D's cousins - I met three that I hadn't met before - are all wonderful. They also have wonderful signficant others. I looked at the baby for about three seconds and spent the remainder of the time being jealous of D's cousin's new house. This, of course, precipitated fantasies involving my former employer's going public after last week's good news, and then perusal of Craigslist for awesome lofts in Brooklyn that I will never be able to own.
On our way to the house in the morning, there was discussion of what to do about lunch. D's cousin decided that we should order pizza, and asked me what sort of pizza I liked. "Whatever," I said, "As long as there is no meat." "So you like pizza with vegetables on it?" "Yep," I said. Of course they ordered me a pizza with mushrooms on it. D said "OH NO!" because he knows about my anti-mushroom sentiments. Luckily D's cousin's husband, who is brilliant and an avid conspiracy-theorist, picked the mushrooms off for me! What a good host, and how nice of them not to say "Your vegetarian girlfriend is so high maintenance!"
We spent the afternoon touring the house and chatting about various conspiracies involving September 11th. Well, I spent the afternoon talking conspiracy while everyone else changed the baby and discussed the baby's habits and observed the baby sleeping. At one point a bunch of us were hanging out in the bathroom upstairs, and it occurred to me that more people can fit in their bathroom than can fit in my entire apartment. Seriously. There were eight of us in there plus the baby, and it felt spacious.
After looking at the baby had concluded, we headed into Philadelphia where D caved in and consented to our getting our very own hotel room! instead of staying in a room with all of the cousins, which would have involved two grown people, who have jobs and plenty of money to rent their own hotel room, sleeping on the floor.
I love hotels. I love the feeling of vacation. I love staying in a place where I am taken care of. I love space. I love the giant bed. And, most importantly these days, I love the TV!!! While D and his cousins drank cocktails in the other hotel room, I said "Umm... I think I am going to stay behind and... umm... do my hair before we go out," but in reality I watched Made on MTV! I haven't seen that show in over a year! I couldn't decide what to watch. It was sensory overload. News? Videos? Reality shows? Documentaries? The options are endless!!!
When I'd felt sufficiently guilty about watching MTV and after I'd actually tended to my hair, we walked around the city and ended up at Jones for dinner. I got an orange creamsicle martini, potato pancakes, and an awesome avocado sandwich. We then walked around the city a bit more.
We walked by The Liberty Bell. "It's smaller than I thought it would be," I said. Someone said "Has it always been cracked or is that a recent thing?" Nobody knew. It then occurred to me that I didn't know anything about The Liberty Bell other than the fact that it is in Philadelphia. I didn't know if it was commissioned to specifically represent liberty, I didn't know where it came from, when it came from, nothing. I thought for a while, and finally decided that I'd just ask. Embarassing, yes, but I had to know. I said "Does anyone know, like, what the deal is with the liberty bell?" Rather than saying "D, your ignorant girlfriend is so annoying!" they all said "Umm...."
Nobody knew.
Awesome.
(I do have an excuse, though. I have been cursed with the worst American History teachers imagineable. I have basal knowledge from 4th grade, but beyond that I've never been taught a thing about US History. I never even learned the US capitols. My 8th grade teacher, Mr. F, mumbled. Nobody could understand him. On top of being a mumbler, he was a whisperer, to the point where he'd ask a question and nobody would even know that he'd asked a question and then he'd be cross with us and we wouldn't know why. I think this frustrated him, so rather than teach, Mr. F opted to have us read from the textbook in groups. He'd then pass out questions on paper, and we'd answer them. Basically, in 8th grade, co-ed groups of kids reading textbooks is not going to encourage learning as much as early disasters in flirting. My 11th grade US History teacher, Mr. M, was equally terrible. I think he taught, in the traditional sense, 2% of the time. With the rest of the time, he'd talk about the Italian influence on US History and how Italians have been oppressed in the US and when he wasn't doing that, he'd look at girls' legs or breasts and say things like "I like tall women" and when he wasn't doing that, he'd have us watch a movie. I learned things in that class - about the world, about men, about current events, but nothing about US History. I bought "Don't Know Much About History" and started reading it a few year's back, but it was daunting since I literally know nothing about history.)
We didn't go out for drinks because people were tired, which meant more TV for me! I watched Trading Spaces, which I'd never seen before. Bliss.
I spent Sunday afternoon with NR. We ate and shopped and then went to the art museum, which was awesome. I've been to Philly many times but had never been to the art museum.
I headed back on a delayed Amtrak train, tried to watch a movie but was distracted, so ended up doing a couple projects before D showed up. We tried to put together Legos, but about five frustrating minutes and ten missing pieces later, I said "Wait. I don't think that these directions are the right directions for this TIE Fighter." We have no idea where the real directions are, but will try to improvise when we next have time, which will be never.
It was a good weekend.
And it's almost the weekend again.
Awshummmmm.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
St. Someone-or-Other (aka The Parents Must Strike Back)
The Parents have been talking about moving for approximately ten years. We assumed they would never actually move because their standards are so high. They are looking for the perfect home. Basically, they will only move into the exact house they have right now but with smaller dimensions and zero stairs.
They actually found the perfect home a few months back. They put a low bid on it, and the people didn’t bite. This prompted my parents to, gasp, put their house on the market!
Allegedly there is a sign on the lawn and everything.
In order to put their house on the market, The Parents had a lot of preparation to do. They had to paint the walls and make a million trips to “the dump” and hide knick-knacks and tend to the lawn. Much to the dismay of The Evil Neighbors who love privacy, Father took down the eye sore that was The Fence from the back yard. He also, in a rare display of cuteness, painted Mother’s statue of St. Someone-or-Other that resided in the backyard.
The statue, which has been in the backyard for who knows how long (I had never noticed it), had apparently become quite grimy through the years. It is, apparently, a real statue - heavy, with a pedestal.
Father said “I have a surprise for you!” and showed Mother the beautiful white statue. She was excited, because she is quite fond of her statue since St. Someone-or-Other is her very favorite saint.
Fast forward two weeks. Father, in a further effort to beautify the lawn, found himself ready to do some work involving grass near the statue.
But there was no statue!
Father said “Mother, did you move the statue?”
“No. Why?”
“No, really, did you?”
“No, why? Isn’t she there?”
“No, she’s not.”
This precipitated the usual paranoia. Mother said “I know who did this! It was The Evil Neighbors!” We’ve grown accustomed to hearing about The Evil Neighbors. The Parents are nice people who keep to themselves. They are good neighbors. They make no noise, they maintain a tight ship, they are pleasant to interact with. The Evil Neighbors have been cross with The Parents ever since The Parents put a porch off the side of their kitchen fifteen years ago which, apparently, got too close to The Evil Neighbors’ yard.
Hence, The Fence.
“This is because we took down the fence!” she said.
The Parents thought about things and concluded that it wasn’t kids. Why would kids steal a statue? If kids were responsible, they would have vandalized it or just knocked it over. In addition, how would kids have even known about the statue? It was in the backyard and, until recently, hidden behind a fence. And what would kids want with a statue, anyway? If their goal was vandalism, why steal an obscure statue of St. Someone-or-Other when there are clearly bigger targets? And why such a heavy target? It couldn’t be the work of a small person. It would have probably required premeditation of some sort, and a mechanism of transport from the property.
Throughout the years, Father has said things like “I don’t know how he lives with her” about Mr. Evil Neighbor, who isn’t really that evil. “I say hi to her and she just ignores me! She glares at me!” he’d say.
The most recent drama with The Evil Neighbors was when Mr. Evil Neighbor walked over and said “Are you taking down The Fence?” “Yes,” replied Father. “Well, you’re putting up another one, right?” “No,” said Father. Mr. Evil Neighbor walked away without saying a word. This prompted Mrs. Evil Neighbor to start building a stone wall to protect her yard from The Parents’ yard.
“But Mother, what sort of grown person would steal a statue? That’s just too deranged!”
“I know it was her! She’s evil! She’s capable of this! She would!!!!”
Mother said “Look, I just know she took it. I just have this feeling. And I know what she would have done with it, too. She’s out there building a stone wall. She’s out there piling leaves and dirt and whatever other gardening stuff she has into her wheelbarrow. She usually goes and dumps it all in that field across from the Smith’s house – you remember that, right? – I bet she waited until she saw me leave the house, stole the statue because now its white and she can see it and can’t stand it, put it into her evil wheelbarrow, dumped it in that field and buried it.”
Right. Suburban paranoia.
Mother voiced this prediction to Father, who, also believing that The Evil Neighbors are evil enough to do something like this, said “Why don’t I just go take a look in the field, then? I’ll just look around a little.”
“No, no,” Mother said, making a million excuses about why that was not a good idea. She was tired, there were other things to do at home, etc.
“But we’re in the car,” he said, because they were in the car, “and we’re about to drive by it! I’m just going to look.”
“No, no,” she said, but Father, being the focused and unbending person that he is, pulled over anyway and just left her in the car.
Mother, most likely mortified, waited for about two minutes and then saw, about 300 feet away, Father’s arms raise in the air and noticed that, above his head, was a white object.
And the white object was, of course, the statue of St. Someone-or-Other, buried, as predicted.
The two of them picked up the statue and put it in the car. The first thing they did was put the statue of St. Someone-or-Other on a table on the porch, opened the blinds, and faced it towards The Evil Neighbors’ house so that The Evil Neighbors would know that The Parents know.
I was so proud of The Parents for doing that, until they told me that they ended up taking it off the table about five minutes later because they felt guilty. And because they were also afraid of what The Evil Neighbors could be capable of beyond this. The put St. Someone-or-Other in the garage and waited.
Now.
My question to you is: What should The Parents do?
Father said “I want to get a giant crucifix – life size – and put it in our lawn, staring right into hers. I just want to mess with that bitch.” Hah.
Mother said “I’m just afraid of doing anything because we’re not sure that it’s definitely them and because what if they did do it and they do something else?”
I said “Well, you have to call the police.” She had a million excuses for why this was a bad idea, but I was like “Dudes, seriously, on the off chance that they do indeed do something else, you have to get this on record. You don’t have to tell them you dug up the statue. You just have to say that someone stole something off your lawn.”
I am distressed, because I don’t think The Evil Neighbors should just get away with this. The Parents have to do something. The Evil Neighbors, evilness aside, broke laws. Trespassing, vandalism, theft.
It crossed my mind, as I thought about this as though it were a bad evening soap opera, that maybe Mother buried the St. Someone-or-Other herself, but what would be the motive? And, even if she had motive, there’s no way Mother could have carried St. Someone-or-Other to the field.
A friend suggested that The Parents should buy a bunch of hideous statues and put them where St. Someone-or-Other used to be, and hopefully that will annoy The Evil Neighbors. They could install hidden cameras, hoping that The Evil Neighbors would also take the ugly statues.
I said “I want them to put a bunch of ugly statues on The Evil Neighbor’s lawn!”
“I want them to spell out ‘We know what you did!’ with garden gnomes!”
“I want them to somehow find a way to guarantee that a family with six kids under age ten moves into their house and that all of those ten kids’ toys end up on the lawn!”
They must be caught! Or at least toyed with.
Does anyone have any ideas?
Anyone, anyone?
I can’t get over this. It’s like something out of a bad movie about suburbia. I can’t believe grown people behave like this. Mrs. Evil Neighbor is deranged. Seriously deranged. And what makes them think that they can get away with this? They should not get away with this!
Crazy.
They actually found the perfect home a few months back. They put a low bid on it, and the people didn’t bite. This prompted my parents to, gasp, put their house on the market!
Allegedly there is a sign on the lawn and everything.
In order to put their house on the market, The Parents had a lot of preparation to do. They had to paint the walls and make a million trips to “the dump” and hide knick-knacks and tend to the lawn. Much to the dismay of The Evil Neighbors who love privacy, Father took down the eye sore that was The Fence from the back yard. He also, in a rare display of cuteness, painted Mother’s statue of St. Someone-or-Other that resided in the backyard.
The statue, which has been in the backyard for who knows how long (I had never noticed it), had apparently become quite grimy through the years. It is, apparently, a real statue - heavy, with a pedestal.
Father said “I have a surprise for you!” and showed Mother the beautiful white statue. She was excited, because she is quite fond of her statue since St. Someone-or-Other is her very favorite saint.
Fast forward two weeks. Father, in a further effort to beautify the lawn, found himself ready to do some work involving grass near the statue.
But there was no statue!
Father said “Mother, did you move the statue?”
“No. Why?”
“No, really, did you?”
“No, why? Isn’t she there?”
“No, she’s not.”
This precipitated the usual paranoia. Mother said “I know who did this! It was The Evil Neighbors!” We’ve grown accustomed to hearing about The Evil Neighbors. The Parents are nice people who keep to themselves. They are good neighbors. They make no noise, they maintain a tight ship, they are pleasant to interact with. The Evil Neighbors have been cross with The Parents ever since The Parents put a porch off the side of their kitchen fifteen years ago which, apparently, got too close to The Evil Neighbors’ yard.
Hence, The Fence.
“This is because we took down the fence!” she said.
The Parents thought about things and concluded that it wasn’t kids. Why would kids steal a statue? If kids were responsible, they would have vandalized it or just knocked it over. In addition, how would kids have even known about the statue? It was in the backyard and, until recently, hidden behind a fence. And what would kids want with a statue, anyway? If their goal was vandalism, why steal an obscure statue of St. Someone-or-Other when there are clearly bigger targets? And why such a heavy target? It couldn’t be the work of a small person. It would have probably required premeditation of some sort, and a mechanism of transport from the property.
Throughout the years, Father has said things like “I don’t know how he lives with her” about Mr. Evil Neighbor, who isn’t really that evil. “I say hi to her and she just ignores me! She glares at me!” he’d say.
The most recent drama with The Evil Neighbors was when Mr. Evil Neighbor walked over and said “Are you taking down The Fence?” “Yes,” replied Father. “Well, you’re putting up another one, right?” “No,” said Father. Mr. Evil Neighbor walked away without saying a word. This prompted Mrs. Evil Neighbor to start building a stone wall to protect her yard from The Parents’ yard.
“But Mother, what sort of grown person would steal a statue? That’s just too deranged!”
“I know it was her! She’s evil! She’s capable of this! She would!!!!”
Mother said “Look, I just know she took it. I just have this feeling. And I know what she would have done with it, too. She’s out there building a stone wall. She’s out there piling leaves and dirt and whatever other gardening stuff she has into her wheelbarrow. She usually goes and dumps it all in that field across from the Smith’s house – you remember that, right? – I bet she waited until she saw me leave the house, stole the statue because now its white and she can see it and can’t stand it, put it into her evil wheelbarrow, dumped it in that field and buried it.”
Right. Suburban paranoia.
Mother voiced this prediction to Father, who, also believing that The Evil Neighbors are evil enough to do something like this, said “Why don’t I just go take a look in the field, then? I’ll just look around a little.”
“No, no,” Mother said, making a million excuses about why that was not a good idea. She was tired, there were other things to do at home, etc.
“But we’re in the car,” he said, because they were in the car, “and we’re about to drive by it! I’m just going to look.”
“No, no,” she said, but Father, being the focused and unbending person that he is, pulled over anyway and just left her in the car.
Mother, most likely mortified, waited for about two minutes and then saw, about 300 feet away, Father’s arms raise in the air and noticed that, above his head, was a white object.
And the white object was, of course, the statue of St. Someone-or-Other, buried, as predicted.
The two of them picked up the statue and put it in the car. The first thing they did was put the statue of St. Someone-or-Other on a table on the porch, opened the blinds, and faced it towards The Evil Neighbors’ house so that The Evil Neighbors would know that The Parents know.
I was so proud of The Parents for doing that, until they told me that they ended up taking it off the table about five minutes later because they felt guilty. And because they were also afraid of what The Evil Neighbors could be capable of beyond this. The put St. Someone-or-Other in the garage and waited.
Now.
My question to you is: What should The Parents do?
Father said “I want to get a giant crucifix – life size – and put it in our lawn, staring right into hers. I just want to mess with that bitch.” Hah.
Mother said “I’m just afraid of doing anything because we’re not sure that it’s definitely them and because what if they did do it and they do something else?”
I said “Well, you have to call the police.” She had a million excuses for why this was a bad idea, but I was like “Dudes, seriously, on the off chance that they do indeed do something else, you have to get this on record. You don’t have to tell them you dug up the statue. You just have to say that someone stole something off your lawn.”
I am distressed, because I don’t think The Evil Neighbors should just get away with this. The Parents have to do something. The Evil Neighbors, evilness aside, broke laws. Trespassing, vandalism, theft.
It crossed my mind, as I thought about this as though it were a bad evening soap opera, that maybe Mother buried the St. Someone-or-Other herself, but what would be the motive? And, even if she had motive, there’s no way Mother could have carried St. Someone-or-Other to the field.
A friend suggested that The Parents should buy a bunch of hideous statues and put them where St. Someone-or-Other used to be, and hopefully that will annoy The Evil Neighbors. They could install hidden cameras, hoping that The Evil Neighbors would also take the ugly statues.
I said “I want them to put a bunch of ugly statues on The Evil Neighbor’s lawn!”
“I want them to spell out ‘We know what you did!’ with garden gnomes!”
“I want them to somehow find a way to guarantee that a family with six kids under age ten moves into their house and that all of those ten kids’ toys end up on the lawn!”
They must be caught! Or at least toyed with.
Does anyone have any ideas?
Anyone, anyone?
I can’t get over this. It’s like something out of a bad movie about suburbia. I can’t believe grown people behave like this. Mrs. Evil Neighbor is deranged. Seriously deranged. And what makes them think that they can get away with this? They should not get away with this!
Crazy.
Monday, November 07, 2005
City of Apple
I was in Philadelphia this weekend (more later) and spent Sunday with NR, my dear friend from high school.
We did girl things like look at bags and gush about our near identical hairstyles.
We found ourselves in one clothing store, where I instantly became obsessed with this shirt:
I Love New York, the City of Apple.
Awesome.
Much love to NR for being stealth and asking if she could try on the shirt so we could snap a quick photo. Also much love to NR for confirming that the shirt was, indeed, made in the USA.
Fucking awesome.
We did girl things like look at bags and gush about our near identical hairstyles.
We found ourselves in one clothing store, where I instantly became obsessed with this shirt:
I Love New York, the City of Apple.
Awesome.
Much love to NR for being stealth and asking if she could try on the shirt so we could snap a quick photo. Also much love to NR for confirming that the shirt was, indeed, made in the USA.
Fucking awesome.
Life of Crime
I am wearing the only thing I've ever stolen today. I just got a compliment, and had to answer the "Where did you get those?" question.
"Well, actually, I just took them from the bowling alley. I feel like bowling shoes should be more rent-to-own than just a lifetime of renting. Right. Yeah."
It made me happy that it made other people happy to hear my story about the crime.
It also makes me happy because I've had these for like 7 years and still I adore them.
Awesome.
"Well, actually, I just took them from the bowling alley. I feel like bowling shoes should be more rent-to-own than just a lifetime of renting. Right. Yeah."
It made me happy that it made other people happy to hear my story about the crime.
It also makes me happy because I've had these for like 7 years and still I adore them.
Awesome.
Friday, November 04, 2005
In The Microwave!?!?
Just as we were becoming able to peacefully coexist, a cockroach decided to appear in my microwave just after I'd microwaved some bread.
Bastards.
Bastards.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Lines
I tried to see Midnight Pajama Jam at Galapagos last night.
Most of this is my own fault. Well, not my fault as much as it is my boss' fault. The 2:30 meeting got pushed back to 4:00 and then 4:30, which resulted in a late day heart-to-heart rather than an hour and a half long discussion of data. This caused us to get to Williamsburg later than expected. We grabbed dinner, which went faster than I'd anticipated, and got to Galapagos at around 7:45 for the 8:00 show.
We waited in line until after 8:00.
During this time, I said "Eugene Mirman is at the bar!" Eugene Mirman, national celebrity (well, maybe more of a locally adored comic) and fellow participant in UMass' Orgy of Talents Circa 1995 or 1996, had been an object of my stalking before I even got to NYC. Not because I have a crush on him or because I think he's awesome (well, he is awesome, but I didn't know that before I even got to NYC), but because I think it is awesome that someone from that god awful talent show went on to make a name for himself. And not that the talent show was god awful, but it wasn't necessarily a breeding ground for, well, real talent. Anyway, I just really want to say one night, at the bar, "Hey Eugene Mirman, remember the Orgy of Talents Circa 1995 or 1996? You were really funny." I just really want to see if he remembers it at all, and what he'll say about it, because if he does remember it and he does say something about it, I bet what he says will be really really funny.
And it will make a rad blog entry. Or, better yet, a song called "Eugene Mirman Remembers Me!"
I digress...
I was disappointed in myself for not saying something to Eugene Mirman.
I was more disappointed in fucking people because after we'd been in line for about twenty minutes, D said "What the fuck? Look at those assholes." A bunch of people just cut in the line. Maybe ten or so. "Who do they think they are?" "You should start a fight," I said. "You're going to see me mad. Do you know that this sort of thing makes me mad?" "I know, honey." "I can't believe them." "Should we say something?" "No, I'm just going to observe this." A few minutes later "Do you see how I'm observing this and how it's making me mad?" "Yes, honey, maybe you should say something. But don't start a fight." "I'm so mad."
I wasn't mad. I expect this sort of behavior from people, especially from people in New York City, and particularly from entitlement-feeling line-cutters in Williamsburg.
I was mad when it sold out and there were approximately ten people who could not get into the show. Including us.
We should have said something.
But what do you say? Is it worth the confrontation? I never know.
We went home and watched the first half of Harry Potter 2 instead and went to bed at 11:00 and didn't wake up until 8:00.
Most of this is my own fault. Well, not my fault as much as it is my boss' fault. The 2:30 meeting got pushed back to 4:00 and then 4:30, which resulted in a late day heart-to-heart rather than an hour and a half long discussion of data. This caused us to get to Williamsburg later than expected. We grabbed dinner, which went faster than I'd anticipated, and got to Galapagos at around 7:45 for the 8:00 show.
We waited in line until after 8:00.
During this time, I said "Eugene Mirman is at the bar!" Eugene Mirman, national celebrity (well, maybe more of a locally adored comic) and fellow participant in UMass' Orgy of Talents Circa 1995 or 1996, had been an object of my stalking before I even got to NYC. Not because I have a crush on him or because I think he's awesome (well, he is awesome, but I didn't know that before I even got to NYC), but because I think it is awesome that someone from that god awful talent show went on to make a name for himself. And not that the talent show was god awful, but it wasn't necessarily a breeding ground for, well, real talent. Anyway, I just really want to say one night, at the bar, "Hey Eugene Mirman, remember the Orgy of Talents Circa 1995 or 1996? You were really funny." I just really want to see if he remembers it at all, and what he'll say about it, because if he does remember it and he does say something about it, I bet what he says will be really really funny.
And it will make a rad blog entry. Or, better yet, a song called "Eugene Mirman Remembers Me!"
I digress...
I was disappointed in myself for not saying something to Eugene Mirman.
I was more disappointed in fucking people because after we'd been in line for about twenty minutes, D said "What the fuck? Look at those assholes." A bunch of people just cut in the line. Maybe ten or so. "Who do they think they are?" "You should start a fight," I said. "You're going to see me mad. Do you know that this sort of thing makes me mad?" "I know, honey." "I can't believe them." "Should we say something?" "No, I'm just going to observe this." A few minutes later "Do you see how I'm observing this and how it's making me mad?" "Yes, honey, maybe you should say something. But don't start a fight." "I'm so mad."
I wasn't mad. I expect this sort of behavior from people, especially from people in New York City, and particularly from entitlement-feeling line-cutters in Williamsburg.
I was mad when it sold out and there were approximately ten people who could not get into the show. Including us.
We should have said something.
But what do you say? Is it worth the confrontation? I never know.
We went home and watched the first half of Harry Potter 2 instead and went to bed at 11:00 and didn't wake up until 8:00.
Post-It
Newest Guy said "Do you have lysis buffer?"
I said "No, but I'll give you the recipe."
I have the recipe on a post-it on my bench, because I make lysis buffer all the time and because I can't remember anything anymore. I took the post-it off and handed it to him. He said "I can't read your writing."
"OK," I said. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll write it again."
He put the post-it back on my bench, but didn't put it where it was originally. Instead, he put it above the stir plate. I thought nothing of it beyond "That's weird that he wouldn't put it back where I keep it, but whatever." I didn't rip it down and put it where it belonged because I thought that would be overly anal and might also hurt his feelings. I made a mental note to move it back when he wasn't around.
I was making a solution today, on the stir plate. I was about to add the last ingredient to it while it was stirring, when I noticed the post-it was still above the stir plate. "I have to remember to move that... because it's totally going to fall in a solution some day!"
And then it fell into the solution.
As if I willed it to.
Seriously. It's been there for an entire day and just as I think "That could fall!" it falls. And bleeds ink into my solution. Awesome.
But its Thursday. Only one... more... day....
And then Philly! Woo hoo!
I said "No, but I'll give you the recipe."
I have the recipe on a post-it on my bench, because I make lysis buffer all the time and because I can't remember anything anymore. I took the post-it off and handed it to him. He said "I can't read your writing."
"OK," I said. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll write it again."
He put the post-it back on my bench, but didn't put it where it was originally. Instead, he put it above the stir plate. I thought nothing of it beyond "That's weird that he wouldn't put it back where I keep it, but whatever." I didn't rip it down and put it where it belonged because I thought that would be overly anal and might also hurt his feelings. I made a mental note to move it back when he wasn't around.
I was making a solution today, on the stir plate. I was about to add the last ingredient to it while it was stirring, when I noticed the post-it was still above the stir plate. "I have to remember to move that... because it's totally going to fall in a solution some day!"
And then it fell into the solution.
As if I willed it to.
Seriously. It's been there for an entire day and just as I think "That could fall!" it falls. And bleeds ink into my solution. Awesome.
But its Thursday. Only one... more... day....
And then Philly! Woo hoo!
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Playing House
I discovered last night that my general outlook on life is exactly correlated with how well I do in photography class.
I don't know if this distills down to some 3rd-grade-teacher's-pet mentality I still hold onto (the desire to please, or the desire for attention), or simply to ego, or, more likely, to hope.
Regardless, as soon as the words "sophisticated" and "fantastic" were used, my mood improved drastically.
Seeing him happy and enthusiastic made me happy and enthusiastic. Knowing that I was the cause of happiness and enthusiasm made me feel relief. Hearing him say "I need you to shoot more because I can't wait to see how you handle it..." made me see a way out.
I nearly skipped home after class, happy again and eager to tell D about everything.
D was at my apartment when I arrived, and he'd cooked dinner! I gave him a million kisses and appreciative words and said "I could get used to this." A long day isn't so bad when there's someone fabulous waiting for you on the other end.
He said "Do you want your surprise?" after I'd settled down a bit. I'd forgotten entirely. From a plastic bag he produced a copy of The Pajama Game on DVD! "I know it's not Harry but..." "It's so much better!" I said and gave him a million more kisses.
We ate dinner and smiled and talked about a plane trip vs. road trip and then watched the first Harry Potter. (Sidenote: I've seen the previews for the new HP and it looks awesome - the special effects look amazing! and I am wondering why the special effects in the first one were so very terrible!)
And then we read.
And then we fell asleep.
The point of all of this? I can't believe I love playing house.
Nobody ever could have predicted this!
Tee hee.
I don't know if this distills down to some 3rd-grade-teacher's-pet mentality I still hold onto (the desire to please, or the desire for attention), or simply to ego, or, more likely, to hope.
Regardless, as soon as the words "sophisticated" and "fantastic" were used, my mood improved drastically.
Seeing him happy and enthusiastic made me happy and enthusiastic. Knowing that I was the cause of happiness and enthusiasm made me feel relief. Hearing him say "I need you to shoot more because I can't wait to see how you handle it..." made me see a way out.
I nearly skipped home after class, happy again and eager to tell D about everything.
D was at my apartment when I arrived, and he'd cooked dinner! I gave him a million kisses and appreciative words and said "I could get used to this." A long day isn't so bad when there's someone fabulous waiting for you on the other end.
He said "Do you want your surprise?" after I'd settled down a bit. I'd forgotten entirely. From a plastic bag he produced a copy of The Pajama Game on DVD! "I know it's not Harry but..." "It's so much better!" I said and gave him a million more kisses.
We ate dinner and smiled and talked about a plane trip vs. road trip and then watched the first Harry Potter. (Sidenote: I've seen the previews for the new HP and it looks awesome - the special effects look amazing! and I am wondering why the special effects in the first one were so very terrible!)
And then we read.
And then we fell asleep.
The point of all of this? I can't believe I love playing house.
Nobody ever could have predicted this!
Tee hee.
I Like to Move It
Move it
I like to move it move it
I like to move it move it
Ya like to MOVE IT
Yeah.
That song was just on at lunch.
It is somehow even more absurd out of context.
I like to move it move it
I like to move it move it
Ya like to MOVE IT
Yeah.
That song was just on at lunch.
It is somehow even more absurd out of context.
Mittens
I love fingerless gloves. Love them.
I'm not a fan of regular gloves.
I prefer mittens.
It seems, though, that the fingerless glove has taken over the mitten market and there are no more cool mittens available for purchase!
This is problematic considering that I lost one of my mittens in the move, and now I have none. And it will get cold. Soon. And I will have a pair of fingerless gloves, which will basically be useless.
The problem is that I want the exact same mittens that I now have one of. I bought these fuzzy pink mittens with NL at Urban Outfitters two years ago and they are the best mittens I've ever had. I want equally cute (warmer, if possible) mittens. Is that asking too much?
This only proves that when you love something, you should buy at least two of them. Because what if you lose it? What if you spill red wine on your favorite shirt? What if what if what if it shrinks!?!?!?
Sniff. I miss my mitten.
I'm not a fan of regular gloves.
I prefer mittens.
It seems, though, that the fingerless glove has taken over the mitten market and there are no more cool mittens available for purchase!
This is problematic considering that I lost one of my mittens in the move, and now I have none. And it will get cold. Soon. And I will have a pair of fingerless gloves, which will basically be useless.
The problem is that I want the exact same mittens that I now have one of. I bought these fuzzy pink mittens with NL at Urban Outfitters two years ago and they are the best mittens I've ever had. I want equally cute (warmer, if possible) mittens. Is that asking too much?
This only proves that when you love something, you should buy at least two of them. Because what if you lose it? What if you spill red wine on your favorite shirt? What if what if what if it shrinks!?!?!?
Sniff. I miss my mitten.
More Parade...
As promised, here are some photos from the Halloween Parade! They are dark and blurry.
Before the parade:
There was a giant pumpkin before the parade:
This made me insane because I adore both skeletons AND puppets:
Snake puppets:
Popes making out:
Giant bird puppet:
Random people:
Irish dancers (way more awesome than you'd think!):
The Gates!
More Gates!
Zombie Band:
Edward Scissorhands:
Before the parade:
There was a giant pumpkin before the parade:
This made me insane because I adore both skeletons AND puppets:
Snake puppets:
Popes making out:
Giant bird puppet:
Random people:
Irish dancers (way more awesome than you'd think!):
The Gates!
More Gates!
Zombie Band:
Edward Scissorhands:
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
I Don’t Love A Parade
So I went to the Halloween parade last night. I arrived at about 6:30. The people were only about two deep at that point, so I actually had a chance of seeing the costumes!
The parade started late, which afforded me plenty of time to eavesdrop on the awkward attempts of a born-and-raised 50-something New Yorker trying to speak French to some tourists.
The parade was ok. They definitely front-load it so that all of the awesome stuff is at the beginning. There were giant creepy puppets and zombie bands and it all felt very Halloween-esque. The problem is that the parade stops every so often – there’d be a lull of about five minutes where there would be nothing. And because anyone is allowed to walk in the parade, there is disorder and, well, a lot of lame costumes.
I watched for about an hour and a half and then gave up. I decided that I’d seen enough and that there was not a chance that my photos would come out good no matter how long I waited and no matter how many different flash settings I tried.
I did manage to see D and R, whose picture I took but, of course, none of them really came out because I was too far away. D was very cute and ran over to me and kissed me through the crowd.
After the parade I headed up 7th to meet up with D and R and S, who left the parade early in order to either go back to D’s and hang out or grab some food. I voted “Food!” because “I think we should be out on Halloween and not sitting inside – we need to see costumes!” By the time I met them I was starving to death and irritable. It was about 9:00 (and if you factor in Daylight Savings, it was 10:00!) and nobody could make a decision. We decided to head down Hudson to hopefully avoid crowds, but apparently there are only meat-restaurants on Hudson. We walked down Spring – everywhere was crowded or expensive or meat, so ultimately opted to just grab a slice of pizza and eat it at D’s. By this point it was 10:00 and I had a raging headache and didn’t want to talk to anyone ever again, so I didn’t have much fun.
Which is fine, because I’d anticipated having no fun because how can you have fun if you’re not wearing a costume on Halloween? And, for all intents and purposes, I spent Halloween alone because I watched the parade by myself. It’s not the same when you have to tell people about the awesome costumes you saw. It’s better to be like “Dude, that guy in the spoon costume was the best ever!”
Yeah. Slightly annoyed with myself for not coming up with a good costume. I’m annoyed that I didn’t come up with a costume at all. At around 5:00 last night everyone was punchy because it was a holiday and felt like Friday. R put green lab tape around his forehead and said “Look, I’m Olivia Newton John!” I then put red lab tape on my palms and said “Look, I’m stigmata!” and everyone thought it was funny and thought I should walk in the parade, but it just felt too easy. And plus, I’d rather do it really gory. Although I guess the tape was fairly cute.
Next year. Next year I will have an awesome and clever costume and will have so very much fun on Halloween. No more holiday disappointments! No. Never.
Tomorrow I will put up some of my really blurry photos from the parade, but until then, here you go:
Most Nostalgically Awesome Costume: Four guys dressed up as contestants on Super Sloppy Double Dare
Most Popular Costume: Rainbow Brite / George Bush
Most Fun Costume: PacMan and the Ghosts Running Around
Most Provocative Costume: Two Popes Making Out
Hottest Costume: Mostly Naked Man With Beautiful Body Roller-Blading
Most Accurate Costume: Edward Scissorhands
Favorite Costume: The Gates!
Best Celebrity Sighting: Interior Design Guy from “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” at a bar we didn’t go to because it was too crowded
The parade started late, which afforded me plenty of time to eavesdrop on the awkward attempts of a born-and-raised 50-something New Yorker trying to speak French to some tourists.
The parade was ok. They definitely front-load it so that all of the awesome stuff is at the beginning. There were giant creepy puppets and zombie bands and it all felt very Halloween-esque. The problem is that the parade stops every so often – there’d be a lull of about five minutes where there would be nothing. And because anyone is allowed to walk in the parade, there is disorder and, well, a lot of lame costumes.
I watched for about an hour and a half and then gave up. I decided that I’d seen enough and that there was not a chance that my photos would come out good no matter how long I waited and no matter how many different flash settings I tried.
I did manage to see D and R, whose picture I took but, of course, none of them really came out because I was too far away. D was very cute and ran over to me and kissed me through the crowd.
After the parade I headed up 7th to meet up with D and R and S, who left the parade early in order to either go back to D’s and hang out or grab some food. I voted “Food!” because “I think we should be out on Halloween and not sitting inside – we need to see costumes!” By the time I met them I was starving to death and irritable. It was about 9:00 (and if you factor in Daylight Savings, it was 10:00!) and nobody could make a decision. We decided to head down Hudson to hopefully avoid crowds, but apparently there are only meat-restaurants on Hudson. We walked down Spring – everywhere was crowded or expensive or meat, so ultimately opted to just grab a slice of pizza and eat it at D’s. By this point it was 10:00 and I had a raging headache and didn’t want to talk to anyone ever again, so I didn’t have much fun.
Which is fine, because I’d anticipated having no fun because how can you have fun if you’re not wearing a costume on Halloween? And, for all intents and purposes, I spent Halloween alone because I watched the parade by myself. It’s not the same when you have to tell people about the awesome costumes you saw. It’s better to be like “Dude, that guy in the spoon costume was the best ever!”
Yeah. Slightly annoyed with myself for not coming up with a good costume. I’m annoyed that I didn’t come up with a costume at all. At around 5:00 last night everyone was punchy because it was a holiday and felt like Friday. R put green lab tape around his forehead and said “Look, I’m Olivia Newton John!” I then put red lab tape on my palms and said “Look, I’m stigmata!” and everyone thought it was funny and thought I should walk in the parade, but it just felt too easy. And plus, I’d rather do it really gory. Although I guess the tape was fairly cute.
Next year. Next year I will have an awesome and clever costume and will have so very much fun on Halloween. No more holiday disappointments! No. Never.
Tomorrow I will put up some of my really blurry photos from the parade, but until then, here you go:
Most Nostalgically Awesome Costume: Four guys dressed up as contestants on Super Sloppy Double Dare
Most Popular Costume: Rainbow Brite / George Bush
Most Fun Costume: PacMan and the Ghosts Running Around
Most Provocative Costume: Two Popes Making Out
Hottest Costume: Mostly Naked Man With Beautiful Body Roller-Blading
Most Accurate Costume: Edward Scissorhands
Favorite Costume: The Gates!
Best Celebrity Sighting: Interior Design Guy from “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” at a bar we didn’t go to because it was too crowded
Monday, October 31, 2005
Gross
New pet peeve: people wearing gruesome Halloween costumes while I am trying to eat lunch.
I still can't believe I'm not doing Halloween this year.
Bah humbug!
I still can't believe I'm not doing Halloween this year.
Bah humbug!
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Freaking Halloween
Oy. I just got back from Princeton, where I enjoyed a lovely day of foliage and oooh-ing over the castle-like campus and shouting "Don't do it! It's meaningless! It's not worth the debt!" to potential students on tours and saying things like "Maybe I should just move out to the country" and then rethinking it when I realized that it takes only ten minutes to walk around the entire center of town. It was fabulously therapeutic to see Brother and to figure out just how close he now lives to me. It was also amazing to have three whole hours to myself in transit and to, gasp, read a book! In honor of recent discussions on the blog, I decided to start reading "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer which I've nearly finished in one day and which is dedicated to, ahem, Nicole.
I am back now, wrestling with various Halloween costumes that are in various states of disarray. Tangled wigs, dresses that once fit, costumes that were once sexy that now show my age. I used to love Halloween. I think I still love Halloween. I just hate Halloween in New York where everyone is oh-so-clever and oh-so-attractive. What's the fucking point?
I think the point is to rent some kids and take them trick-or-treating. But not here. Because who would want to go to strangers' apartments in this city?
I love Halloween. I love Halloween parties. I love seeing people out during the day in costumes. I love witches on the subway. I loved these things in Boston. In New York they only annoy me, because I feel like it is just one more way for all of these stupid people to draw attention to themselves.
The parade is tomorrow and I am excited. Anyone can march in it. I toyed with the idea, but then decided that unless my costume is a complete disguise, I'd rather die than be looked at. D will be marching. He is very excited. It is cute that he is so proud of his costume.
I can't believe that I have become the sort of person who thinks "Is this pink wig alone enough for a costume?"
I can't believe I have become the sort of person who doesn't make time for Halloween costume production.
I am looking forward to the parade, though. Do I wish I were going to a party at someone's house? Yes. Do I realize this is a near impossibility in this city? Yes. Do I know that if I had more friends there'd be a chance? Yes. Do I know that even if I were invited to parties that I wouldn't consider going even for a second because I would know that my costume would suck compared to everyone else's in this city? Fuck yeah.
I can't believe this city has made me insecure about Halloween. No wonder I've been in a bad mood.
Speaking of renting kids, Brother and I went to see the "Wallace and Gromit" movie this afternoon and there were kids in the movie theater! I haven't seen kids in a movie theater in ages!
I also saw "The Squid and the Whale" this weekend, which was amazing. I'll probably write more tomorrow when I am at work being contrary and not attending the ribbon-cutting ceremony in NJ because I am like the angsty kid at recess. I'd rather be left alone than play with the other kids. I will be busy writing depressing poetry while the other kids tour the new manufacturing plant.
I think I am going to read now.
Until tomororrow...
I am back now, wrestling with various Halloween costumes that are in various states of disarray. Tangled wigs, dresses that once fit, costumes that were once sexy that now show my age. I used to love Halloween. I think I still love Halloween. I just hate Halloween in New York where everyone is oh-so-clever and oh-so-attractive. What's the fucking point?
I think the point is to rent some kids and take them trick-or-treating. But not here. Because who would want to go to strangers' apartments in this city?
I love Halloween. I love Halloween parties. I love seeing people out during the day in costumes. I love witches on the subway. I loved these things in Boston. In New York they only annoy me, because I feel like it is just one more way for all of these stupid people to draw attention to themselves.
The parade is tomorrow and I am excited. Anyone can march in it. I toyed with the idea, but then decided that unless my costume is a complete disguise, I'd rather die than be looked at. D will be marching. He is very excited. It is cute that he is so proud of his costume.
I can't believe that I have become the sort of person who thinks "Is this pink wig alone enough for a costume?"
I can't believe I have become the sort of person who doesn't make time for Halloween costume production.
I am looking forward to the parade, though. Do I wish I were going to a party at someone's house? Yes. Do I realize this is a near impossibility in this city? Yes. Do I know that if I had more friends there'd be a chance? Yes. Do I know that even if I were invited to parties that I wouldn't consider going even for a second because I would know that my costume would suck compared to everyone else's in this city? Fuck yeah.
I can't believe this city has made me insecure about Halloween. No wonder I've been in a bad mood.
Speaking of renting kids, Brother and I went to see the "Wallace and Gromit" movie this afternoon and there were kids in the movie theater! I haven't seen kids in a movie theater in ages!
I also saw "The Squid and the Whale" this weekend, which was amazing. I'll probably write more tomorrow when I am at work being contrary and not attending the ribbon-cutting ceremony in NJ because I am like the angsty kid at recess. I'd rather be left alone than play with the other kids. I will be busy writing depressing poetry while the other kids tour the new manufacturing plant.
I think I am going to read now.
Until tomororrow...
Saturday, October 29, 2005
The View
I went to the Met today and was reminded why I live in New York City.
Last night was an emotional drain and I needed some good hand-holding one-on-one time with the boyfriend. I was thrilled this morning when he declared "Look, today we should go to a museum of some sort. The Whitney or..." and then proceeded to list a million museums that are on the long list of museums-to-go-to that we will never have time to go to. He ended with "... or The Met." In a rare moment of assertiveness, I said "Look, I don't think I can look at another piece of contemporary art for at least two weeks. Let's go to The Met."
We looked at mummies and armor and a hilarious exhibit on photography and the occult and Van Gogh drawings and some Santiago Calatrava sculptures (and no, the exhibit did not feature his bridge from Buenos Aires) and smiled and ooh-ed and aah-ed and said things like "I knew you would like that because I know your taste now." I revelled in being able to look at skilled art that's good without being challenging. I liked Van Gogh's sketches of trees because that's all they were.
We ran to the roof, excited to see the Sol Lewitt sculptures but more excited to see our city.
"This is why I live here," I said as soon as I stepped into the freezing air up there and saw the view. I gasped. I looked at my favorite new building from above. D said "There's your building. It's a really good addition to the skyline."
I am feeling better about New York City today because today was easy and made us both happy. No amount of cockroaches that just walked past my alarm clock as I was about to set it for my nap that isn't going to happen can prevent my happiness! No getting dark earlier will interfere with my enjoying life! No! I will just think about mummies and everything will be fine.
And... here are some photos!
Last night was an emotional drain and I needed some good hand-holding one-on-one time with the boyfriend. I was thrilled this morning when he declared "Look, today we should go to a museum of some sort. The Whitney or..." and then proceeded to list a million museums that are on the long list of museums-to-go-to that we will never have time to go to. He ended with "... or The Met." In a rare moment of assertiveness, I said "Look, I don't think I can look at another piece of contemporary art for at least two weeks. Let's go to The Met."
We looked at mummies and armor and a hilarious exhibit on photography and the occult and Van Gogh drawings and some Santiago Calatrava sculptures (and no, the exhibit did not feature his bridge from Buenos Aires) and smiled and ooh-ed and aah-ed and said things like "I knew you would like that because I know your taste now." I revelled in being able to look at skilled art that's good without being challenging. I liked Van Gogh's sketches of trees because that's all they were.
We ran to the roof, excited to see the Sol Lewitt sculptures but more excited to see our city.
"This is why I live here," I said as soon as I stepped into the freezing air up there and saw the view. I gasped. I looked at my favorite new building from above. D said "There's your building. It's a really good addition to the skyline."
I am feeling better about New York City today because today was easy and made us both happy. No amount of cockroaches that just walked past my alarm clock as I was about to set it for my nap that isn't going to happen can prevent my happiness! No getting dark earlier will interfere with my enjoying life! No! I will just think about mummies and everything will be fine.
And... here are some photos!
Friday, October 28, 2005
Syrup!
I have been hating New York lately, but sometimes I can't help but smile when I think about all of the bizarre things that have happened during my time living here.
Despite being sickly last evening, I decided to, against better judgment, accompany D to this contemporary art fair to which he'd been given two free tickets to an opening reception cocktail party. I have, dear readers, decided that I am contemporary-arted out. I'm just not an art person. I like art, but I am not obsessed and I don't get much out of looking at it constantly.
The art fair was cool, if, of course, you are rich, and can afford art. It's actually billed as an affordable art fair - prices range from $100 to $10,000, though the least expensive thing I saw was $1200. There were some cool pieces, and in my former life when I had money and was not in a constant financial panic, I'd probably have considered buying something.
I overheard a woman who said "I wish I had a bigger apartment so I could buy all of this stuff!" which struck me as odd, because if she could afford to buy all of this stuff to put in her small apartment, she can most likely afford a larger apartment. I feel like the appropriate thing to declare loudly was "I wish I had more money in general!"
Anyway... I wasn't drinking because I was sickly, and D tends to involute and not speak when we look at art, so I wasn't having the best time. Being sober when everyone else is drunk is never fun.
This was supposed to be our date night - out for dinner! Yeah! We never do this - we never make plans to go out together, so I'd been very excited before the sickness kicked in. D suggested we take a cab from the art fair to a restaurant. When we got in the cab, D said "Can we go to blah blah blah and take 9th Avenue, please."
The cab driver decided to ignore D and take a ridiculous route that was much congested with traffic. This meant lots of stop and go, which is not good when you are sick. About ten minutes into the ride, I yelled "Ummm, can we please get out?" because I was fairly certain that another minute of his insane driving would cause me to lose what little food I'd eaten that day. D said "Can you just drop us off here?" The cab driver kept going. "Can we just get out here? This will be fine..." Still he ignored us. I felt myself turning more and more green and was about to scream when D did. "Please, HERE!" he said and the cab driver was all "What? You want to get out?" and KEPT DRIVING!
Once we were out, we decided that he must have been deaf. CRAZY.
Anyway, we got in another cab and were dropped off in the vicinity of some restaurants we'd seen earlier in the week that we thought looked cool. It smelled really good outside. "Hmmm.... smells like cookies!" I said. D said it smelled like something else... I can't remember. "Or caramel!" I said.
We ate. Well, D ate and I had like three gnocchi and some water. When we left the restaurant, we walked for a few minutes and still it smelled delicious. "I guess what we were smelling was from over here!" D said as we walked a bit.
He then smiled and said "It smells everywhere. Maybe it's me!"
Heh.
Back at my apartment, I swore I could still smell it. "Maybe it's me," I thought, but said nothing while compulsively smelling my hands to see if it was something I'd touched that day.
This morning, I saw this:
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/28/nyregion/28odor.html
Upon reading more on the blogosphere, I have learned that everyone everywhere smelled maple syrup last night. People in Harlem! People in Brooklyn! People in Astoria! People in NJ!!!! I love being part of insane New York news.
This being said, this is a little weird. Apparently we are not to worry, but really, what could possibly cause everyone to smell maple syrup? I don't think a spill. It's a release of some sort - chemical? On purpose? Someone online suggested that maybe its a plot to determine the successfulness of a chemical release on the city. Or maybe it is a chemical release on the city.
NUTS, folks, nuts.
I just mentioned this to Bench Buddy and he was all "Oh my god, I thought it was me! It was driving me crazy! I hate things that smell sickly sweet!"
So yeah. Another crazy thing in NYC.
And now it is the weekend. Thank god. I am going to Princeton to visit my brother because I am in desperate need of some unconditional affection. And I will sleep lots, because I am still feeling weird.
Have good weekends.
Until Monday...
Despite being sickly last evening, I decided to, against better judgment, accompany D to this contemporary art fair to which he'd been given two free tickets to an opening reception cocktail party. I have, dear readers, decided that I am contemporary-arted out. I'm just not an art person. I like art, but I am not obsessed and I don't get much out of looking at it constantly.
The art fair was cool, if, of course, you are rich, and can afford art. It's actually billed as an affordable art fair - prices range from $100 to $10,000, though the least expensive thing I saw was $1200. There were some cool pieces, and in my former life when I had money and was not in a constant financial panic, I'd probably have considered buying something.
I overheard a woman who said "I wish I had a bigger apartment so I could buy all of this stuff!" which struck me as odd, because if she could afford to buy all of this stuff to put in her small apartment, she can most likely afford a larger apartment. I feel like the appropriate thing to declare loudly was "I wish I had more money in general!"
Anyway... I wasn't drinking because I was sickly, and D tends to involute and not speak when we look at art, so I wasn't having the best time. Being sober when everyone else is drunk is never fun.
This was supposed to be our date night - out for dinner! Yeah! We never do this - we never make plans to go out together, so I'd been very excited before the sickness kicked in. D suggested we take a cab from the art fair to a restaurant. When we got in the cab, D said "Can we go to blah blah blah and take 9th Avenue, please."
The cab driver decided to ignore D and take a ridiculous route that was much congested with traffic. This meant lots of stop and go, which is not good when you are sick. About ten minutes into the ride, I yelled "Ummm, can we please get out?" because I was fairly certain that another minute of his insane driving would cause me to lose what little food I'd eaten that day. D said "Can you just drop us off here?" The cab driver kept going. "Can we just get out here? This will be fine..." Still he ignored us. I felt myself turning more and more green and was about to scream when D did. "Please, HERE!" he said and the cab driver was all "What? You want to get out?" and KEPT DRIVING!
Once we were out, we decided that he must have been deaf. CRAZY.
Anyway, we got in another cab and were dropped off in the vicinity of some restaurants we'd seen earlier in the week that we thought looked cool. It smelled really good outside. "Hmmm.... smells like cookies!" I said. D said it smelled like something else... I can't remember. "Or caramel!" I said.
We ate. Well, D ate and I had like three gnocchi and some water. When we left the restaurant, we walked for a few minutes and still it smelled delicious. "I guess what we were smelling was from over here!" D said as we walked a bit.
He then smiled and said "It smells everywhere. Maybe it's me!"
Heh.
Back at my apartment, I swore I could still smell it. "Maybe it's me," I thought, but said nothing while compulsively smelling my hands to see if it was something I'd touched that day.
This morning, I saw this:
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/28/nyregion/28odor.html
Upon reading more on the blogosphere, I have learned that everyone everywhere smelled maple syrup last night. People in Harlem! People in Brooklyn! People in Astoria! People in NJ!!!! I love being part of insane New York news.
This being said, this is a little weird. Apparently we are not to worry, but really, what could possibly cause everyone to smell maple syrup? I don't think a spill. It's a release of some sort - chemical? On purpose? Someone online suggested that maybe its a plot to determine the successfulness of a chemical release on the city. Or maybe it is a chemical release on the city.
NUTS, folks, nuts.
I just mentioned this to Bench Buddy and he was all "Oh my god, I thought it was me! It was driving me crazy! I hate things that smell sickly sweet!"
So yeah. Another crazy thing in NYC.
And now it is the weekend. Thank god. I am going to Princeton to visit my brother because I am in desperate need of some unconditional affection. And I will sleep lots, because I am still feeling weird.
Have good weekends.
Until Monday...
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Christian Slater
I was home sick from work today.
This finally afforded me time to watch "Pump Up the Volume," which Netflix sent a few weeks ago.
I think I've mentioned this before, but I was much in love with Christian Slater back in the day. I think I saw "Gleaming the Cube" 4 million times. And, as I mentioned in a song, I unsuccessfully launched a search involving hundreds of people to find a very specific "Gleaming the Cube" poster.
Anyway, I never saw "Pump Up the Volume." I know what you're thinking - how could any self-respecting Christian Slater fan not have seen "Pump Up the Volume?"
The answer is: conservative parents.
I think I was nearly grounded for throwing a fit about not being allowed to see "Pump Up the Volume" because, dear readers, it was Rated R.
All of my girlfriends were going to see it and they didn't love him nearly as much as I did! I was livid. My parents were insane about things Rated R. "Not until you're 17," they would say, and I knew that even when I was 17 they would be distressed about my seeing boobs onscreen. When "Pump Up the Volume" came out, I too was conservative and too conservative to consider lying to my parents and sneaking into the movie.
So I never saw it until today!
And oh my god. I still love Christian Slater. Not Christian Slater now, but Christian Slater then. Dear god. I think I would have combusted if I'd seen it in 1990.
I am thinking that D has slightly Christian-Slater-like hair. Awwww yeah.
OK. This is boring because I am delirious. Hopefully I will be coherent tomorrow. Until then... Christian Slater. Yum.
This finally afforded me time to watch "Pump Up the Volume," which Netflix sent a few weeks ago.
I think I've mentioned this before, but I was much in love with Christian Slater back in the day. I think I saw "Gleaming the Cube" 4 million times. And, as I mentioned in a song, I unsuccessfully launched a search involving hundreds of people to find a very specific "Gleaming the Cube" poster.
Anyway, I never saw "Pump Up the Volume." I know what you're thinking - how could any self-respecting Christian Slater fan not have seen "Pump Up the Volume?"
The answer is: conservative parents.
I think I was nearly grounded for throwing a fit about not being allowed to see "Pump Up the Volume" because, dear readers, it was Rated R.
All of my girlfriends were going to see it and they didn't love him nearly as much as I did! I was livid. My parents were insane about things Rated R. "Not until you're 17," they would say, and I knew that even when I was 17 they would be distressed about my seeing boobs onscreen. When "Pump Up the Volume" came out, I too was conservative and too conservative to consider lying to my parents and sneaking into the movie.
So I never saw it until today!
And oh my god. I still love Christian Slater. Not Christian Slater now, but Christian Slater then. Dear god. I think I would have combusted if I'd seen it in 1990.
I am thinking that D has slightly Christian-Slater-like hair. Awwww yeah.
OK. This is boring because I am delirious. Hopefully I will be coherent tomorrow. Until then... Christian Slater. Yum.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Umbrella
What makes a good umbrella good?
Or, why is my umbrella the only one, in a sea of umbrellas, that inverts every three seconds!??!?!?!?
Or, why is my umbrella the only one, in a sea of umbrellas, that inverts every three seconds!??!?!?!?
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