Bench Buddy is listening to the steroid hearings right now.
He was like "Have you been following this at all?" and I had to explain how both of my parents are the most anti-sport people on the planet and how yes, I know there is a steroid issue in existence but no, I am not following it and have no idea what's going on.
It is imperative that I marry a jock so that my future offspring have a chance of not being completely isolated.
Bench Buddy said "This affects us all!"
Right.
So it's St. Patrick's Day. I've never really understood why Americans celebrate St. Patrick's Day, nor have I ever felt compelled to celebrate it. In fact, I think I honored it once and once only, and ended up at home after the fact with a Canadian in my bed.
At any rate, St. Patrick's Day is an American concoction. I learned all about it through a long conversation with Sinead, a former colleague of mine who hails from, you guessed it, Ireland. She explained to me that St. Patrick's Day isn't more than a religious holiday in Ireland. In fact, according to The History Channel, Irish law mandated that pubs be closed on March 17 up until the 1970's.
So people go out and get drunk in the honor of the Irish. Cool. That's fine. I guess what I don't understand is why there is peer pressure to do this. Seriously. People at work are all "You gotta come out! It's ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!! Come ON!" A bunch of people are going to some Irish-themed bar that is going to be playing music-from-Ireland all night.
It would be better if they just called it "National Drunken Act-Like-An-Idiot and Possibly See or Protest a Parade Day!"
Someone I work with, who is of Italian descent, has taken tomorrow as a personal day so as to enjoy St. Patrick's Day.
According to The History Channel (via the US Census): "There are 34 million U.S. residents who claim Irish ancestry. This number is almost nine times the population of Ireland itself (3.9 million). Irish is the nation’s second most frequently reported ancestry, trailing only German. "
Who knew?
I can't decide if I am going to go out or not. I am definitely not going to the music-from-Ireland function. There's a counter-function NOT at an Irish bar that could be manageable, but I think D and I are going to go to the movies instead. Maybe have one non-St.-Patrick's-Day drink beforehand.
Hmmmm.
I'm bored and boring right now and on all sorts of drugs to counteract a headache I've had since yesterday, when I didn't have lunch or ingest caffeine until 4 pm because I was training people again and when I finally went out to lunch with them I ordered vegetarian burrito/enchilada that had chicken/beef in them. Awshummmmm.
OK. I am going to pretend to read a paper now.
Until tomorrow....
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Indie Rock Karaoke at Northsix
Yo kids.
I went to Indie Rock Karaoke last night at Northsix in Brooklyn. I was expecting madness. I was expecting thousands of critical hipsters. I was expecting the Yeah Yeah Yeah's to be there, chuckling about the performances of their songs.
What I was not expecting was to be the only group of people there. I was also not expecting the KJ to look just like that kid from "18 Again," who is the same kid who was in the TV version of "Ferris Bueller," which is another topic for another time.
Bench Buddy and I got there one hour after doors opened, and we were literally the only two people there. We were soon joined by R and his girlfriend J. Then there were four of us, and 850 indie rock karaoke songs to split amongst ourselves!
I was suprised by the lack of turnout. I was convinced that everyone in Williamsburg would think that this was the best thing ever, but, as Bench Buddy astutely pointed out, "Not everyone thinks like us."
True, Bench Buddy, true, which is why we are so darn special!
The KJ is from Athens, GA and tours with this. He can't quite make a living at it. I was hoping he'd say "Yes, I make MILLIONS!" so Bench Buddy and I could immediately quit our jobs and bring Indie Rock Karaoke to Brooklyn as a regular occurence.
At any rate, the selection was good. Lots of Pixies, Sonic Youth, Neutral Milk Hotel, random They Might Be Giants songs such as "Ana Ng," a never-ending supply of Liz Phair and Radiohead. Yeah, it was cool.
It was coolest because in his list, the KJ had a bunch of lame songs like things by Britney Spears or K-Ci and Jo Jo or Creed and there would be an explanation listed next to them such as "I got this because I wanted a Weezer song" or "I really wanted 'Float On' by Modest Mouse." Heh.
We weren't really the only ones there. There were maybe a total of 20 people there, including a bartender and bouncer-type.
There was lots of Liz Phair being sung, and by lots, I mean two songs. J did "Supernova." It was awshummmm.
I wanted to do "6'1''" but didn't. Something I hadn't thought of regarding Indie Rock Karaoke - reverence. All of the songs are good. You respect all of the songs, and therefore don't want to mess them up. Usually you can start off with something easy or cheesy - but not here! No! You don't want to mess up "Weezer." It would be a sin.
I don't really know what anyone did for songs, because I was too busy staring at the book or taking photos.
I do know that some kid scooped Bench Buddy and did "Army" by Ben Folds. Wtf? Who else does "Army" by Ben Folds? This is Bench Buddy looking sad about not being able to sing his selection.
I myself sang "Nobody's Fault But My Own" by Beck and felt a bit emo while doing it. It made me want to cry. That song reminds me of things. Such a beautiful song, though, even with a lot of feedback.
My second selection was "Kissing the Lipless" by The Shins. Here I am singing:
It was GREAT karaoke, although I was thinking "I am doing a great disservice to The Shins right now" the entire time. People seemed into it. I got to scream a bit and pretend I was in a really good band. I'd love to do this song again, but I know I won't get a chance to, because Indie Rock Karaoke doesn't happen every day.
And I swear Bench Buddy and I were having a better time than the middle left photo would indicate.
I went to Indie Rock Karaoke last night at Northsix in Brooklyn. I was expecting madness. I was expecting thousands of critical hipsters. I was expecting the Yeah Yeah Yeah's to be there, chuckling about the performances of their songs.
What I was not expecting was to be the only group of people there. I was also not expecting the KJ to look just like that kid from "18 Again," who is the same kid who was in the TV version of "Ferris Bueller," which is another topic for another time.
Bench Buddy and I got there one hour after doors opened, and we were literally the only two people there. We were soon joined by R and his girlfriend J. Then there were four of us, and 850 indie rock karaoke songs to split amongst ourselves!
I was suprised by the lack of turnout. I was convinced that everyone in Williamsburg would think that this was the best thing ever, but, as Bench Buddy astutely pointed out, "Not everyone thinks like us."
True, Bench Buddy, true, which is why we are so darn special!
The KJ is from Athens, GA and tours with this. He can't quite make a living at it. I was hoping he'd say "Yes, I make MILLIONS!" so Bench Buddy and I could immediately quit our jobs and bring Indie Rock Karaoke to Brooklyn as a regular occurence.
At any rate, the selection was good. Lots of Pixies, Sonic Youth, Neutral Milk Hotel, random They Might Be Giants songs such as "Ana Ng," a never-ending supply of Liz Phair and Radiohead. Yeah, it was cool.
It was coolest because in his list, the KJ had a bunch of lame songs like things by Britney Spears or K-Ci and Jo Jo or Creed and there would be an explanation listed next to them such as "I got this because I wanted a Weezer song" or "I really wanted 'Float On' by Modest Mouse." Heh.
We weren't really the only ones there. There were maybe a total of 20 people there, including a bartender and bouncer-type.
There was lots of Liz Phair being sung, and by lots, I mean two songs. J did "Supernova." It was awshummmm.
I wanted to do "6'1''" but didn't. Something I hadn't thought of regarding Indie Rock Karaoke - reverence. All of the songs are good. You respect all of the songs, and therefore don't want to mess them up. Usually you can start off with something easy or cheesy - but not here! No! You don't want to mess up "Weezer." It would be a sin.
I don't really know what anyone did for songs, because I was too busy staring at the book or taking photos.
I do know that some kid scooped Bench Buddy and did "Army" by Ben Folds. Wtf? Who else does "Army" by Ben Folds? This is Bench Buddy looking sad about not being able to sing his selection.
I myself sang "Nobody's Fault But My Own" by Beck and felt a bit emo while doing it. It made me want to cry. That song reminds me of things. Such a beautiful song, though, even with a lot of feedback.
My second selection was "Kissing the Lipless" by The Shins. Here I am singing:
It was GREAT karaoke, although I was thinking "I am doing a great disservice to The Shins right now" the entire time. People seemed into it. I got to scream a bit and pretend I was in a really good band. I'd love to do this song again, but I know I won't get a chance to, because Indie Rock Karaoke doesn't happen every day.
And I swear Bench Buddy and I were having a better time than the middle left photo would indicate.
Mousse
I got back from Indie Rock Karaoke about an hour and a half ago and called D, who is in Florida. My plan was to, while talking to him, upload my photos from Indie Rock Karaoke and post them to the blog.
We were having a nice conversation, though, so I didn't think it fair to engage in side projects while talking about "expectations" and "kids" and "loving someone the most and being loved most by them."
Sigh.
I did manage to upload the photos, though, but am too incoherent to post them in any cohesive manner. I will get to it tomorrow.
In the meantime, in the spirit of photoblogging which is my new obsession, you can take a look at this dessert I had last night at Cafe Mozart on the Upper West Side.
I met LL after work and pre-hair-fixing for dinner. (Sidenote: it is adorable that my sole female friend in NYC has the same initials as yours truly). The place was very New York - kind of swanky on the inside with a dude playing jazzy/lounge piano. He wasn't there when we got there, so we were seated at a table directly behind the piano. When he started, my back was literally up against his back. I contemplated talking about him while he played, but instead decided to pretend that I was in a movie that was taking place in New York, and that LL and I were engaging in sophisticated and witty dialogue about very important things, and not talking about one-night-stands and roommate issues like we really were.
The food was good. It was also lovely to look at, as evidenced by the fact that two separate groups of people who had already eaten stopped at our table to ask us what we were eating. We were full after dinner, but we asked for the dessert menu anyway, hoping we would not be tempted.
Alas, there were no fewer than like 400 desserts. I'm not kidding. It was three pages of a big menu in very small font. I went with the peanut butter mousse cake (see above) which was chocolate cake with a layer of chocolate mousse, a layer of peanut butter mousse, and a layer of white chocolate mouse, with reeses peanut butter cups strewn about. Heaven.
I got back to Williamsburg, feeling like I was going to vomit, at around 10:00, when Roommate was kind enough to dye my hair back to its rightful state, just in time for Indie Rock Karaoke tonight, which was all for nothing since Interpol wasn't there.
It is late now and its been ages since I've had a good night's sleep. Tonight I can't even get 6 hours. Damn you, photographs! I got a little less than 6 last night, and about 5 the night before. D returns from Florida late-night tomorrow and wants to see me. Missing someone is a lovely feeling. Knowing you won't sleep for the next few days is not. The good news is that in spite of being dead tired I feel very good, most likely because things are being accomplished and thoughts are being formulated.
OK. I am really going to sleep now.
If I fall asleep in five minutes I'll get 5 hours and 45 minutes of blissful sleep.
We were having a nice conversation, though, so I didn't think it fair to engage in side projects while talking about "expectations" and "kids" and "loving someone the most and being loved most by them."
Sigh.
I did manage to upload the photos, though, but am too incoherent to post them in any cohesive manner. I will get to it tomorrow.
In the meantime, in the spirit of photoblogging which is my new obsession, you can take a look at this dessert I had last night at Cafe Mozart on the Upper West Side.
I met LL after work and pre-hair-fixing for dinner. (Sidenote: it is adorable that my sole female friend in NYC has the same initials as yours truly). The place was very New York - kind of swanky on the inside with a dude playing jazzy/lounge piano. He wasn't there when we got there, so we were seated at a table directly behind the piano. When he started, my back was literally up against his back. I contemplated talking about him while he played, but instead decided to pretend that I was in a movie that was taking place in New York, and that LL and I were engaging in sophisticated and witty dialogue about very important things, and not talking about one-night-stands and roommate issues like we really were.
The food was good. It was also lovely to look at, as evidenced by the fact that two separate groups of people who had already eaten stopped at our table to ask us what we were eating. We were full after dinner, but we asked for the dessert menu anyway, hoping we would not be tempted.
Alas, there were no fewer than like 400 desserts. I'm not kidding. It was three pages of a big menu in very small font. I went with the peanut butter mousse cake (see above) which was chocolate cake with a layer of chocolate mousse, a layer of peanut butter mousse, and a layer of white chocolate mouse, with reeses peanut butter cups strewn about. Heaven.
I got back to Williamsburg, feeling like I was going to vomit, at around 10:00, when Roommate was kind enough to dye my hair back to its rightful state, just in time for Indie Rock Karaoke tonight, which was all for nothing since Interpol wasn't there.
It is late now and its been ages since I've had a good night's sleep. Tonight I can't even get 6 hours. Damn you, photographs! I got a little less than 6 last night, and about 5 the night before. D returns from Florida late-night tomorrow and wants to see me. Missing someone is a lovely feeling. Knowing you won't sleep for the next few days is not. The good news is that in spite of being dead tired I feel very good, most likely because things are being accomplished and thoughts are being formulated.
OK. I am really going to sleep now.
If I fall asleep in five minutes I'll get 5 hours and 45 minutes of blissful sleep.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
My Not So Secret Fantasy Is That Interpol Will Be At Northsix Tonight To See Me Massacre "Evil"
The sun is out, my hair is black, my taxes are done, lyrics have been printed out to various potential indie rock songs that will stump and embarrass me in front of all manner of hipsters at karaoke this evening, and I am leaving work before 5:30!
Take THAT, anxiety!
Take THAT, anxiety!
Monday, March 14, 2005
Theory
I have decided to potentially pay someone to help me with my taxes. I have been asking people at work what I should do, and they either say "Well, don't forget to do the city form... which is form something-or-other... no, I don't know where you get it... or what its called.... but you can download it... it's not the same as the state form... I have no idea" or "You should just go to H & R Block because, really, its really complicated here."
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In other news, L'Oreal has blamed my natural hair color for my hair-dye issue and not their poor quality control. I hate when customer service makes you feel like an idiot. I don't see how my dark hair could have possibly turned orange from black hair dye. It's impossible. This being said, they are sending me a "gift certificate" but I don't know that I can wait for it. I want to deal with this issue immediately.
Nobody seems to think its hideous. In fact, people claim to like it. It's much more subtle today. Weird, but subtle. I can't quite decide what to do. I have to look at myself on some more surfaces to determine my true feelings.
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I had to train some people from another facility this afternoon. We took them out to lunch and they walked really slow, because they are not from New York City.
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Tomorrow night is Indie Rock Karaoke around the corner at NorthSix. It is very esoteric. We're not sure what it is - will it be like Hip Hop Karaoke or will it be actual karaoke? Either way, they are selling advance tickets to this and we are hoping that Hipster Nation does not hear about it. I caved in and bought an advance ticket and therefore spent an unnecssary $4 to guarantee getting in. I would be heartbroken if I missed out on this.
I now have to decide what song to sing, if I am going to sing at all. If The Hipsters are in full effect it could be intimidating. I am torn - Modest Mouse? Interpol? Death Cab For Cutie? Blur? Radiohead? Yeah Yeah Yeah's?
I am also torn regarding whether I should skip class or not to get there in time. If I go to class, I'll definitely not get to do karaoke but I might get to see an awesome movie and be in the presence of someone super-famous. If I don't go to class, I have a chance of doing karaoke.
Karaoke is not a definite in any of these scenarios, but its more likely if I skip class.
I feel that class must be skipped.
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I came up with a Neuroscience-related theory this weekend and don't know what to do about it. I emailed some random professor in Texas and am dying for him to email me back. I feel all online-dating about it. I keep checking my email, hoping, hoping, hoping. There's really no reason for him to write back, except that he's an academic and must love academics and therefore academically enthusiastic people!
In my searches for information regarding my theory, I found out that it's Brain Awareness Week! How exciting!!!! To the best of my knowledge, there are no Brain Awareness functions going on in New York City. Hmph. If only I lived in Croatia!
I should make it my new mission to bring Brain Awareness Week to New York City next year.
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Ummmmmm.
I'm tired.
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In other news, L'Oreal has blamed my natural hair color for my hair-dye issue and not their poor quality control. I hate when customer service makes you feel like an idiot. I don't see how my dark hair could have possibly turned orange from black hair dye. It's impossible. This being said, they are sending me a "gift certificate" but I don't know that I can wait for it. I want to deal with this issue immediately.
Nobody seems to think its hideous. In fact, people claim to like it. It's much more subtle today. Weird, but subtle. I can't quite decide what to do. I have to look at myself on some more surfaces to determine my true feelings.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I had to train some people from another facility this afternoon. We took them out to lunch and they walked really slow, because they are not from New York City.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tomorrow night is Indie Rock Karaoke around the corner at NorthSix. It is very esoteric. We're not sure what it is - will it be like Hip Hop Karaoke or will it be actual karaoke? Either way, they are selling advance tickets to this and we are hoping that Hipster Nation does not hear about it. I caved in and bought an advance ticket and therefore spent an unnecssary $4 to guarantee getting in. I would be heartbroken if I missed out on this.
I now have to decide what song to sing, if I am going to sing at all. If The Hipsters are in full effect it could be intimidating. I am torn - Modest Mouse? Interpol? Death Cab For Cutie? Blur? Radiohead? Yeah Yeah Yeah's?
I am also torn regarding whether I should skip class or not to get there in time. If I go to class, I'll definitely not get to do karaoke but I might get to see an awesome movie and be in the presence of someone super-famous. If I don't go to class, I have a chance of doing karaoke.
Karaoke is not a definite in any of these scenarios, but its more likely if I skip class.
I feel that class must be skipped.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I came up with a Neuroscience-related theory this weekend and don't know what to do about it. I emailed some random professor in Texas and am dying for him to email me back. I feel all online-dating about it. I keep checking my email, hoping, hoping, hoping. There's really no reason for him to write back, except that he's an academic and must love academics and therefore academically enthusiastic people!
In my searches for information regarding my theory, I found out that it's Brain Awareness Week! How exciting!!!! To the best of my knowledge, there are no Brain Awareness functions going on in New York City. Hmph. If only I lived in Croatia!
I should make it my new mission to bring Brain Awareness Week to New York City next year.
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Ummmmmm.
I'm tired.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Another Weekend Bites the Dust
Another weekend in NYC.
It started off well, with only minor ulcer-induing events such as PW being on a bus to NYC that was lost, on which various busriders nearly staged a coup, followed by the part where his cab driver got lost on the way to Williamsburg.
During this ulcer-inducing event, I spent my first evening at home in quite some time doing things like laundry and dishes and searching for ancient 401k documents and Travelocity reservations. I also started my taxes, only to learn that partial-year residence forms are not intuitive.
I used TaxAct, which has this infuriating feature that calculates your refund as you go along, so you go from the elation of thinking you'll receive thousands of dollars from the government to realizing you owe shitloads of money.
Luckily I do not owe shitloads of money because moving can be deducted. Thanks, M, for the tip!
I can't, however, figure out if I will be getting money back from or owe, gasp, over $1000 to the state of NY. Why, you ask?
Because I don't know if I live in the city of New York or not.
Now.
I live in Brooklyn which, in my mind, is not the city of New York. In my mind, the city of New York is Manhattan. Some people, however, think that the city of New York includes all of the burroughs, of which Brooklyn is one. If I live in the city of New York, I have to pay all sorts of extra taxes. If I don't, I will get money back. I'm not sure how to figure this out. Tomorrow I plan to march my occasionally red hair over to the post office to get a booklet, which will hopefully explain to me where I live and will hopefully tell me that I will be getting money back.
Additionally, the state of MA will not allow you to e-file partial year resident tax returns, so I have to do a paper return for MA as well. I guess that's ok, since I didn't have to pay extra tax because I lived in Somerville.
How weird.
Needless to say I almost vomited when I saw how much I will owe if I live in the city of New York. Ulcer. Yipee.
PW eventually arrived so I set the taxes to rest until Sunday morning. He also had an ulcer, so PW, D and I split a bottle of champagne and all passed out with less agita.
On Saturday, D and I went to the MOMA to see a Vietnamese movie called "Buffalo Boy." It was slow and gritty, and I wasn't sure if I liked it or not until the Q & A with the director, which convinced me that I did.
It was interesting to watch, because it was an instance of thinking "Wow, people live like this, and they don't seem to mind." The contrast is amazing. The simplicity of every day life, the struggle, the acceptance. The challenging aspect of this movie was that nobody in the movie was happy, and I wondered "Do they mind? Do they wish they had something else?"
The audience was comprised mainly of people between the ages of 65 - 80, museum patrons wearing fur coats and suit jackets to a movie on a Saturday afternoon. When the film ended, I went to the ladies' room and witnessed a horrifying scene. I was about fourth in line amongst women aged 65 - 80. We were waiting for 6 stalls. The seventh stall, which was closest to us, was not being used. This vile lady - maybe like 60 or so - busted into the restroom and marched to the front of the line and declared "Is there any particular reason this stall is not being used?" The small, cute, polite, and meak woman in the front of the line said quietly "Well, it doesn't have a seat..." to which Cruella responded "That does not mean it's NOT FUNCTIONAL! Did anybody CHECK TO SEE IF IT WORKS!?" Nobody had. We all shook our heads. She said "Well, CHECK!" The woman at the front of the line went in and flushed it and said "Well, yes, it appears to work..." "SO USE IT!" The poor woman, fearing for her life, used the seatless toilet just to appease this horrid woman.
Now. Horrid woman had every right to check the stall herself and then cut the line.
She did not, however, have the right to yell at all of us, nor did she have the right to force the nice lady to use a stall she didn't want to, nor did she THEN have the right to cut all of us because she'd been so forward about marching in there. She seriously CUT ALL OF US.
I left fuming. D said "Wow, this is going to be good," as I was running up the escalator so as not to attack an elderly woman.
We then tried to meet up with D's friend S to go to the Scope Art Show, but didn't because it was crowded and D doesn't do well in crowds. He had some alternate activites planned, including checking out this design store near the museum that's in a renovated townhouse in which someone used to live. It was very lavish with balconies and staircases. We pretended that the floors were made of lava and that we had to escape onto lava-proof modern mats, and then that I was the captain of a spaceship seated in my modern space captain chair.
We met up with PW there and then went to eat at SEA, where S accidentally ordered a whole fish and where we all shared molten chocolate cake and fried bananas that looked like little spring rolls.
A photo of PW and I looking as though we are on a bad first date:
We then went back to the loft and drank more.
Too much drinking going on, folks.
PW and I oscillated between watching "Minority Report" and some god awful Jennifer Love Hewitt vehicle on Oxygen (I didn't even know we got Oxygen) after D and I had a discussion about communication techniques (sigh, this has been a long time coming and I am relieved but still insecure; I apparently have no idea how not to be insecure) and the worst question in the world "What are you thinking?"
Today, I met PW at the MOMA after he finished his interview.
The MOMA is overwhelming. Too much to digest. I decided to become a member because I want to spend more time there and digest things in a more thoughtful way. I am slow to go through museums and realize that I will need at least 30 hours to deal with it appropriately.
I realized today that I am stupid at art because I have zero recall skills when it comes to artists. I can't remember who does what. I can't remember names. I can't remember styles. It's like how some people can't remember dates. I can't remember artists. I was staring at the most wonderful painting and kept thinking "Do not forget this name, do not forget this name, you will remember nothing from today so please please please do not forget THIS name."
Of course I forgot. I remembered the name of the painting, though, so I was able to track down the artist.
I'll never be able to "talk art" because I'll be like "Uhhh... was Picasso the one who painted 'Starry Night?'"
Well, not that bad, but I'll never be able to keep up.
I just have to sit there, be quiet, and say "Wow, this is pretty!"
I am hoping that my MOMA membership will rectify this situation. If I go through one gallery a week, perhaps I'll absorb something. I think this might involve, gasp, studying.
This is all magnified because D is very art-y. He reads current art magazines and knows who's showing at every gallery in NYC and knows what they're trying to say or do and has fierce opinions about all of it. He's also the type to blaze through galleries and then have three hours of things to say, whereas I have to stare at every painting for half an hour before I have any idea what's going on and then say "Ummm, well, I like the use of... well.... I don't know. It's fucked up."
I wish I was better at this. I wish I didn't drop my art history class at UMass because it involved field trips.
The museum was crowded and chaotic, so we didn't see the whole thing, nor did I buy as many postcards as I'd have liked.
Yeah. This is a prime example. I bought postcards of a bunch of pieces I liked, but I've already forgotten who they're by even though I looked at the postcards a million times. Well, that's not true. I remember one photographer's name, but only because Sister and I saw a travelling exhibit of his at the San Francisco MOMA and because I said to D "Sister and I saw this awesome exhibit of these, like, giant photographs of concert crowds and like a supermarket and it was incredible," and D was instantly "Oh, you mean Andreas Gursky, blah blah blah blah" and he knew everything and I felt stupid.
As PW and I were fading, I decided to take some photos using his camera.
This was awesome. A bunch of mirrors and vessels with reflective surfaces can really trip you out. I am going to freely stare at this for hours with my membership:
For whatever reason I've always loved little things. Miniature animals and dollhouses and figurines, like Charmkins. Needless to say I fell in love with this and took a million pictures trying to capture the depth and cuteness, but this was the best I could do:
After the MOMA we journeyed back to Williamsburg. It felt good to walk around. It felt like it felt when I first moved here. It was new and exciting and I was psyched to find a flea market that's open every weekend. I haven't been here in so long. It smelled like it smelled in September - unknown and thrilling.
PW and I cooked dinner and dyed hair and rolled around on the new black shag rug that Roommate brought back from Philadelphia. It's nice to have softness in the Loft.
I am going to be in the Loft this week because D is in Florida and because I really need to be.
I need to de-frazzle. I need to finish my taxes and write songs and read books and work on theories and have ideas and think about a painting and miss him and not miss NYC. There's so much to figure out when everything is new. And so much to keep up with when everything from before is far away. Nothing is assumed, nothing is a given, nothing is routine.
Everyone says it takes a year. I hope they're right because if they are, I'm half way there.
It started off well, with only minor ulcer-induing events such as PW being on a bus to NYC that was lost, on which various busriders nearly staged a coup, followed by the part where his cab driver got lost on the way to Williamsburg.
During this ulcer-inducing event, I spent my first evening at home in quite some time doing things like laundry and dishes and searching for ancient 401k documents and Travelocity reservations. I also started my taxes, only to learn that partial-year residence forms are not intuitive.
I used TaxAct, which has this infuriating feature that calculates your refund as you go along, so you go from the elation of thinking you'll receive thousands of dollars from the government to realizing you owe shitloads of money.
Luckily I do not owe shitloads of money because moving can be deducted. Thanks, M, for the tip!
I can't, however, figure out if I will be getting money back from or owe, gasp, over $1000 to the state of NY. Why, you ask?
Because I don't know if I live in the city of New York or not.
Now.
I live in Brooklyn which, in my mind, is not the city of New York. In my mind, the city of New York is Manhattan. Some people, however, think that the city of New York includes all of the burroughs, of which Brooklyn is one. If I live in the city of New York, I have to pay all sorts of extra taxes. If I don't, I will get money back. I'm not sure how to figure this out. Tomorrow I plan to march my occasionally red hair over to the post office to get a booklet, which will hopefully explain to me where I live and will hopefully tell me that I will be getting money back.
Additionally, the state of MA will not allow you to e-file partial year resident tax returns, so I have to do a paper return for MA as well. I guess that's ok, since I didn't have to pay extra tax because I lived in Somerville.
How weird.
Needless to say I almost vomited when I saw how much I will owe if I live in the city of New York. Ulcer. Yipee.
PW eventually arrived so I set the taxes to rest until Sunday morning. He also had an ulcer, so PW, D and I split a bottle of champagne and all passed out with less agita.
On Saturday, D and I went to the MOMA to see a Vietnamese movie called "Buffalo Boy." It was slow and gritty, and I wasn't sure if I liked it or not until the Q & A with the director, which convinced me that I did.
It was interesting to watch, because it was an instance of thinking "Wow, people live like this, and they don't seem to mind." The contrast is amazing. The simplicity of every day life, the struggle, the acceptance. The challenging aspect of this movie was that nobody in the movie was happy, and I wondered "Do they mind? Do they wish they had something else?"
The audience was comprised mainly of people between the ages of 65 - 80, museum patrons wearing fur coats and suit jackets to a movie on a Saturday afternoon. When the film ended, I went to the ladies' room and witnessed a horrifying scene. I was about fourth in line amongst women aged 65 - 80. We were waiting for 6 stalls. The seventh stall, which was closest to us, was not being used. This vile lady - maybe like 60 or so - busted into the restroom and marched to the front of the line and declared "Is there any particular reason this stall is not being used?" The small, cute, polite, and meak woman in the front of the line said quietly "Well, it doesn't have a seat..." to which Cruella responded "That does not mean it's NOT FUNCTIONAL! Did anybody CHECK TO SEE IF IT WORKS!?" Nobody had. We all shook our heads. She said "Well, CHECK!" The woman at the front of the line went in and flushed it and said "Well, yes, it appears to work..." "SO USE IT!" The poor woman, fearing for her life, used the seatless toilet just to appease this horrid woman.
Now. Horrid woman had every right to check the stall herself and then cut the line.
She did not, however, have the right to yell at all of us, nor did she have the right to force the nice lady to use a stall she didn't want to, nor did she THEN have the right to cut all of us because she'd been so forward about marching in there. She seriously CUT ALL OF US.
I left fuming. D said "Wow, this is going to be good," as I was running up the escalator so as not to attack an elderly woman.
We then tried to meet up with D's friend S to go to the Scope Art Show, but didn't because it was crowded and D doesn't do well in crowds. He had some alternate activites planned, including checking out this design store near the museum that's in a renovated townhouse in which someone used to live. It was very lavish with balconies and staircases. We pretended that the floors were made of lava and that we had to escape onto lava-proof modern mats, and then that I was the captain of a spaceship seated in my modern space captain chair.
We met up with PW there and then went to eat at SEA, where S accidentally ordered a whole fish and where we all shared molten chocolate cake and fried bananas that looked like little spring rolls.
A photo of PW and I looking as though we are on a bad first date:
We then went back to the loft and drank more.
Too much drinking going on, folks.
PW and I oscillated between watching "Minority Report" and some god awful Jennifer Love Hewitt vehicle on Oxygen (I didn't even know we got Oxygen) after D and I had a discussion about communication techniques (sigh, this has been a long time coming and I am relieved but still insecure; I apparently have no idea how not to be insecure) and the worst question in the world "What are you thinking?"
Today, I met PW at the MOMA after he finished his interview.
The MOMA is overwhelming. Too much to digest. I decided to become a member because I want to spend more time there and digest things in a more thoughtful way. I am slow to go through museums and realize that I will need at least 30 hours to deal with it appropriately.
I realized today that I am stupid at art because I have zero recall skills when it comes to artists. I can't remember who does what. I can't remember names. I can't remember styles. It's like how some people can't remember dates. I can't remember artists. I was staring at the most wonderful painting and kept thinking "Do not forget this name, do not forget this name, you will remember nothing from today so please please please do not forget THIS name."
Of course I forgot. I remembered the name of the painting, though, so I was able to track down the artist.
I'll never be able to "talk art" because I'll be like "Uhhh... was Picasso the one who painted 'Starry Night?'"
Well, not that bad, but I'll never be able to keep up.
I just have to sit there, be quiet, and say "Wow, this is pretty!"
I am hoping that my MOMA membership will rectify this situation. If I go through one gallery a week, perhaps I'll absorb something. I think this might involve, gasp, studying.
This is all magnified because D is very art-y. He reads current art magazines and knows who's showing at every gallery in NYC and knows what they're trying to say or do and has fierce opinions about all of it. He's also the type to blaze through galleries and then have three hours of things to say, whereas I have to stare at every painting for half an hour before I have any idea what's going on and then say "Ummm, well, I like the use of... well.... I don't know. It's fucked up."
I wish I was better at this. I wish I didn't drop my art history class at UMass because it involved field trips.
The museum was crowded and chaotic, so we didn't see the whole thing, nor did I buy as many postcards as I'd have liked.
Yeah. This is a prime example. I bought postcards of a bunch of pieces I liked, but I've already forgotten who they're by even though I looked at the postcards a million times. Well, that's not true. I remember one photographer's name, but only because Sister and I saw a travelling exhibit of his at the San Francisco MOMA and because I said to D "Sister and I saw this awesome exhibit of these, like, giant photographs of concert crowds and like a supermarket and it was incredible," and D was instantly "Oh, you mean Andreas Gursky, blah blah blah blah" and he knew everything and I felt stupid.
As PW and I were fading, I decided to take some photos using his camera.
This was awesome. A bunch of mirrors and vessels with reflective surfaces can really trip you out. I am going to freely stare at this for hours with my membership:
For whatever reason I've always loved little things. Miniature animals and dollhouses and figurines, like Charmkins. Needless to say I fell in love with this and took a million pictures trying to capture the depth and cuteness, but this was the best I could do:
After the MOMA we journeyed back to Williamsburg. It felt good to walk around. It felt like it felt when I first moved here. It was new and exciting and I was psyched to find a flea market that's open every weekend. I haven't been here in so long. It smelled like it smelled in September - unknown and thrilling.
PW and I cooked dinner and dyed hair and rolled around on the new black shag rug that Roommate brought back from Philadelphia. It's nice to have softness in the Loft.
I am going to be in the Loft this week because D is in Florida and because I really need to be.
I need to de-frazzle. I need to finish my taxes and write songs and read books and work on theories and have ideas and think about a painting and miss him and not miss NYC. There's so much to figure out when everything is new. And so much to keep up with when everything from before is far away. Nothing is assumed, nothing is a given, nothing is routine.
Everyone says it takes a year. I hope they're right because if they are, I'm half way there.
It's Not Easy Being Red
Hello folks.
I've had a lovely weekend, mainly because my dear friend PW has been in beloved NYC visiting.
Spending time with old friends is fabulous, friends who know you well and with whom you can have neurotic episodes without fearing that they will de-friend you. It's difficult being in a new place and being a new person, constantly being on good behavior so as not to scare off potential friends and current boyfriends. It's nice to be able to slip into insecure fits and anxious ramblings about state tax returns with people who expect this sort of thing from you.
It's also nice to engage in old, familiar activities, such as watching bad made-for-TV movies starring Jennifer Love Hewitt and seeing fashion shows in your apartment.
I was mostly excited about PW's visit because he was kind of enough to agree to dying my hair! My brown roots have been showing, and I have been missing my black angst-ridden hair. PW was always gracious enough to help me with my hair - both with color and style - when we lived together. I can't even explain how much I have been looking forward to doing this again.
At approximately 8:30 this evening, PW started the coloring process.
At approximately 9:15 this evening, when I left the bathroom after washing the dye out and conditioning my hair, PW said "How does it look?" to which I replied...
"IT'S RED!"
Yes, folks, fucking Feria by L'oreal.
My hair is FUCKING SUBURBAN HOUSEWIFE RED.
Well, if it was all red, that would be FINE. No, it wouldn't be fine, but it wouldn't be freaky either. But it would be fine.
Except that it's not, because the portion of my hair that was dyed before is still dark brown.
No, folks, only MY ROOTS are red. Like Dana Scully X-Files red. The rest is dark brown.
I am trying not to be vain and completely freak out about this, but seriously, its going to be a bad scene.
I am going to call L'oreal tomorrow and demand something. I don't know what. I demand quality control! I demand black dye in the box with the woman with Starry Night Bright Black hair on the cover! I demand to look like this woman!
Really I'll just demand a refund of my $8.99 plus another $8.99 to purchase what I hope is actually Starry Night Bright Black dye to remedy this situation.
I just hope fixing this situation does not involve my hair falling out.
My poor, damaged, red and brown and black and bleach hair.
Sigh.
I am interested, though, in seeing how people react to this tomorrow. I wonder if they will say "You dyed your hair!" or "You dyed your... ummm... hair?" or "It's looks nice!" or "It looks... different."
I am not interested in the reprimanding I will receive from my hairdresser on Wednesday when she sees what I have done to my hair. Black on red on black on bleach. She is going to kill me.
Hopefully Roommate will have helped me with this prior to my haircut. Maybe my hairdresser won't be able to tell. Hopefully dying your own hair isn't as vile a sin as cutting your own bangs.
OK. I should sleep. I've had too much to drink over the past few nights and my liver is angry but my neurons aren't.
Maybe I'll blog a bit more and then not sleep.
I've had a lovely weekend, mainly because my dear friend PW has been in beloved NYC visiting.
Spending time with old friends is fabulous, friends who know you well and with whom you can have neurotic episodes without fearing that they will de-friend you. It's difficult being in a new place and being a new person, constantly being on good behavior so as not to scare off potential friends and current boyfriends. It's nice to be able to slip into insecure fits and anxious ramblings about state tax returns with people who expect this sort of thing from you.
It's also nice to engage in old, familiar activities, such as watching bad made-for-TV movies starring Jennifer Love Hewitt and seeing fashion shows in your apartment.
I was mostly excited about PW's visit because he was kind of enough to agree to dying my hair! My brown roots have been showing, and I have been missing my black angst-ridden hair. PW was always gracious enough to help me with my hair - both with color and style - when we lived together. I can't even explain how much I have been looking forward to doing this again.
At approximately 8:30 this evening, PW started the coloring process.
At approximately 9:15 this evening, when I left the bathroom after washing the dye out and conditioning my hair, PW said "How does it look?" to which I replied...
"IT'S RED!"
Yes, folks, fucking Feria by L'oreal.
My hair is FUCKING SUBURBAN HOUSEWIFE RED.
Well, if it was all red, that would be FINE. No, it wouldn't be fine, but it wouldn't be freaky either. But it would be fine.
Except that it's not, because the portion of my hair that was dyed before is still dark brown.
No, folks, only MY ROOTS are red. Like Dana Scully X-Files red. The rest is dark brown.
I am trying not to be vain and completely freak out about this, but seriously, its going to be a bad scene.
I am going to call L'oreal tomorrow and demand something. I don't know what. I demand quality control! I demand black dye in the box with the woman with Starry Night Bright Black hair on the cover! I demand to look like this woman!
Really I'll just demand a refund of my $8.99 plus another $8.99 to purchase what I hope is actually Starry Night Bright Black dye to remedy this situation.
I just hope fixing this situation does not involve my hair falling out.
My poor, damaged, red and brown and black and bleach hair.
Sigh.
I am interested, though, in seeing how people react to this tomorrow. I wonder if they will say "You dyed your hair!" or "You dyed your... ummm... hair?" or "It's looks nice!" or "It looks... different."
I am not interested in the reprimanding I will receive from my hairdresser on Wednesday when she sees what I have done to my hair. Black on red on black on bleach. She is going to kill me.
Hopefully Roommate will have helped me with this prior to my haircut. Maybe my hairdresser won't be able to tell. Hopefully dying your own hair isn't as vile a sin as cutting your own bangs.
OK. I should sleep. I've had too much to drink over the past few nights and my liver is angry but my neurons aren't.
Maybe I'll blog a bit more and then not sleep.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Diplodocus
Ah, what a night.
I feel slightly more like my normal self.
Most likely because I have arrived at work exhausted, recovering from an exciting and bizarre New York night.
It is so nice to be reacquainted.
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The night began with a burrito, followed by a bonus movie class. Before the class, the professor said "Are any of you journalists?" and told us not to write about what happened.
Now.
Does a blog count? It is published writing, so I feel like I shouldn't write about it.
This being said, I think its acceptable to write about things very vaguely and then in the summer, when this movie is released, I can reveal all!
Basically, we got to screen a rough cut of a film from a very famous director, who is old and adorable and who wanted to screen the film to an audience of film-goers and film-lovers, not critics. He wanted to see how the film played, if laughs came in the right places, if the audience responded as intended, if we understood what was going on.
The movie itself was amazing. It far exceeded my expectations, not because I didn't have faith in the director but because I, like everyone there, lacked faith in his main casting choice. It ended up being a non-issue. The movie was charming and riveting and enjoyable. I will recommend it to you when its actually out.
Hearing a director talk about his movie mid-process was an interesting experience. I kept wondering if he felt at all insecure, what he must have been feeling while we watched the movie, how disappointing it must be for people to watch bad movies they've made.
I like feeling like I am protecting secret information.
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After class I went to meet my friend DD at a bar called 12'' in the East Village. As soon as I walked in there, I recognized someone.
Those of you who know me might remember how I stumbled upon a stalker's dream on Friendster last year, when I found a link to a website/blog kept by a Dude I went to middle school with. This website is a photoblog chronicling the past few years, during which this Dude documented a variety of activities involving people I went to high school with.
If you know me, you also know that I suffer from a serious disconnect from high school. Prior to encountering this website, it felt like fiction to me. Almost as though it never happened, since it had no impact on the person I became. Seeing these people - seeing that they are still together and that they still have something - was a huge mind fuck for me. I went nuts and wrote songs and thought things like "Why did I disconnect? Do I want this? Do I want a reliable entourage? Do I want a posse comprised of people I can count on? Why don't I have a group? Why don't I care about these sorts of things? Why does my past make me so uncomfortable?"
In a way I was jealous of them. I was jealous of their having something old and comfortable and a given. I was jealous that they've found new lives but still preserve the old. I was jealous of their adventures. And, most importantly, I was jealous of this Dude's blog. But not super jealous, because he does techy things for a living.
Anyway, long story longer, I walked into this bar last night and saw this Dude's brother. Not that I ever met his brother in real life. No, folks, I recognized him from the photos on the blog.
I also know, from the blog, that these two travel as a pair, so I knew it wasn't long before Dude appeared.
I should also say that I am not surprised by any of this, since I knew that Dude hosts parties in the East Village often. I guess I knew it was only a matter of time.
Meanwhile, I pounded my Mad Dog cosmopolitan while I hung out with DD and D, who was having vertigo and also making no sense because he can't hear well, and the music was loud, and he rarely goes out to bars because he can't have conversations with people because he can't hear them, but tries so hard to be part of things.
Soon Dude appeared and I acted very surprised! and what are you doing here! and wow this is weird!!! I basically pretended like I had no idea what he was doing in NYC, and asked things like "Where do you live?" even though I know his apartment is a few blocks away and know what it looks like because there are pictures of it on his website and "What do you do?" even though I know he owns his own company and I know what it does and I know he's teaching courses at NYU.
Awkward. He shook D's hand and acted friendly. We didn't talk for long, because he knew everyone there and because I was having an existential crisis.
I eventually ended up sitting along the wall with D, who I tried to make feel secure - why does alcohol make people so insecure? - and DD, who I danced with while seated, and DD's friend, who looked just like Tommy Lee (!) and who was DJ-ing a bit that night.
It felt good to be out. To talk to people. To have conversations. I took Dude's card and emailed him today, asking to be put on the mailing list for his functions. Maybe I'll actually make some friends.
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At around 12:15 we headed over to Rothko, where we saw Diplo spin. That was the whole point of the evening. The drinking and existential crises delayed our getting there, so we only stayed for about an hour or so.
It was awesome. Again, it felt good to be out and to be dancing! It's been too long.
He's quite good. Lots of reggae and hip hop and Ah-Ha.
Only downside was that it was smokey, and I smell smoke-y today because I stayed at D's and am wearing the same black hoodey and jeans I wore last night. Gross, I know, but D lives a 4 minute walk from work and obviously I wasn't going to go back to Brooklyn after the show when I could take a 3-minute-cab to his apartment and get an extra hour of sleep the following morning.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am exhausted, but in a lovely and familiar way.
The way in which you know fun was had and the exhaustion is worth it.
I can recover tonight while I wait for PW to arrive from Boston! And whilst waiting for PW, I am going to do fun Friday-night activities such as laundry! and taxes! and sorting through mail from the past week since I haven't been home since Monday! and doing dishes! and buying food! and settling up the bill with Roommate!
It's all good, because the next two weeks are going to be non-stop.
And then I go to Orlando to "meet the family."
And then, around May, I can get some sleep.
I feel slightly more like my normal self.
Most likely because I have arrived at work exhausted, recovering from an exciting and bizarre New York night.
It is so nice to be reacquainted.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night began with a burrito, followed by a bonus movie class. Before the class, the professor said "Are any of you journalists?" and told us not to write about what happened.
Now.
Does a blog count? It is published writing, so I feel like I shouldn't write about it.
This being said, I think its acceptable to write about things very vaguely and then in the summer, when this movie is released, I can reveal all!
Basically, we got to screen a rough cut of a film from a very famous director, who is old and adorable and who wanted to screen the film to an audience of film-goers and film-lovers, not critics. He wanted to see how the film played, if laughs came in the right places, if the audience responded as intended, if we understood what was going on.
The movie itself was amazing. It far exceeded my expectations, not because I didn't have faith in the director but because I, like everyone there, lacked faith in his main casting choice. It ended up being a non-issue. The movie was charming and riveting and enjoyable. I will recommend it to you when its actually out.
Hearing a director talk about his movie mid-process was an interesting experience. I kept wondering if he felt at all insecure, what he must have been feeling while we watched the movie, how disappointing it must be for people to watch bad movies they've made.
I like feeling like I am protecting secret information.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After class I went to meet my friend DD at a bar called 12'' in the East Village. As soon as I walked in there, I recognized someone.
Those of you who know me might remember how I stumbled upon a stalker's dream on Friendster last year, when I found a link to a website/blog kept by a Dude I went to middle school with. This website is a photoblog chronicling the past few years, during which this Dude documented a variety of activities involving people I went to high school with.
If you know me, you also know that I suffer from a serious disconnect from high school. Prior to encountering this website, it felt like fiction to me. Almost as though it never happened, since it had no impact on the person I became. Seeing these people - seeing that they are still together and that they still have something - was a huge mind fuck for me. I went nuts and wrote songs and thought things like "Why did I disconnect? Do I want this? Do I want a reliable entourage? Do I want a posse comprised of people I can count on? Why don't I have a group? Why don't I care about these sorts of things? Why does my past make me so uncomfortable?"
In a way I was jealous of them. I was jealous of their having something old and comfortable and a given. I was jealous that they've found new lives but still preserve the old. I was jealous of their adventures. And, most importantly, I was jealous of this Dude's blog. But not super jealous, because he does techy things for a living.
Anyway, long story longer, I walked into this bar last night and saw this Dude's brother. Not that I ever met his brother in real life. No, folks, I recognized him from the photos on the blog.
I also know, from the blog, that these two travel as a pair, so I knew it wasn't long before Dude appeared.
I should also say that I am not surprised by any of this, since I knew that Dude hosts parties in the East Village often. I guess I knew it was only a matter of time.
Meanwhile, I pounded my Mad Dog cosmopolitan while I hung out with DD and D, who was having vertigo and also making no sense because he can't hear well, and the music was loud, and he rarely goes out to bars because he can't have conversations with people because he can't hear them, but tries so hard to be part of things.
Soon Dude appeared and I acted very surprised! and what are you doing here! and wow this is weird!!! I basically pretended like I had no idea what he was doing in NYC, and asked things like "Where do you live?" even though I know his apartment is a few blocks away and know what it looks like because there are pictures of it on his website and "What do you do?" even though I know he owns his own company and I know what it does and I know he's teaching courses at NYU.
Awkward. He shook D's hand and acted friendly. We didn't talk for long, because he knew everyone there and because I was having an existential crisis.
I eventually ended up sitting along the wall with D, who I tried to make feel secure - why does alcohol make people so insecure? - and DD, who I danced with while seated, and DD's friend, who looked just like Tommy Lee (!) and who was DJ-ing a bit that night.
It felt good to be out. To talk to people. To have conversations. I took Dude's card and emailed him today, asking to be put on the mailing list for his functions. Maybe I'll actually make some friends.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At around 12:15 we headed over to Rothko, where we saw Diplo spin. That was the whole point of the evening. The drinking and existential crises delayed our getting there, so we only stayed for about an hour or so.
It was awesome. Again, it felt good to be out and to be dancing! It's been too long.
He's quite good. Lots of reggae and hip hop and Ah-Ha.
Only downside was that it was smokey, and I smell smoke-y today because I stayed at D's and am wearing the same black hoodey and jeans I wore last night. Gross, I know, but D lives a 4 minute walk from work and obviously I wasn't going to go back to Brooklyn after the show when I could take a 3-minute-cab to his apartment and get an extra hour of sleep the following morning.
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I am exhausted, but in a lovely and familiar way.
The way in which you know fun was had and the exhaustion is worth it.
I can recover tonight while I wait for PW to arrive from Boston! And whilst waiting for PW, I am going to do fun Friday-night activities such as laundry! and taxes! and sorting through mail from the past week since I haven't been home since Monday! and doing dishes! and buying food! and settling up the bill with Roommate!
It's all good, because the next two weeks are going to be non-stop.
And then I go to Orlando to "meet the family."
And then, around May, I can get some sleep.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Comedy
I went to see Bench Buddy do a standup comedy open mic last night.
I was expecting for people to be not-very-funny, but, like the open mic I did, everyone was really good.
Well, not everyone, but I'd say 75% of the people were really funny.
It was a pleasant surprise.
I actually enjoyed myself. I thought it was going to be like attending a kid's 5th grade band concert, writhing in agony while convinced that your kid is absolutely brilliant.
I suppose its not surprising that there are actually good standup comics lurking about in obscurity in NYC.
Bench Buddy was funny. It was interesting to see him on stage. The beauty of his everyday humor is that it's subtle, observational, and understated. He's mellow and low key. His comedian persona, however, was enthusiastic and happy and spastic and wow!!!
A good portion of the comedians had routines that revolved around their weight, having lost insane amounts of weight, needing to lose weight, etc.
It just seemed like an unusually high percentage of people who had lost weight. I'm talking 100's and 100's of pounds. The comedians who weren't going to talk about weight ended up talking about it anyway, because everyone else was and that's funny.
Then I wondered - is there a correlation between weight and humor?
Did I overcompensate for my childhood scrawniness and comprehensive lack of athletic ability by studying too much?
Is there a similar trait that causes someone to become the class clown?
Hmmmm.
Regardless, fun was had. He's going to do it again in a couple of weeks.
Additionally, D, inspired by Bench Buddy's performance, has decided to become a standup comedian. He has taken to carrying around a little black spiral-bound notebook labeled "JOKES" with yellow lab tape. Every five seconds he pulls it out and scribbles something frantically, and then starts laughing.
I had to say "You know, when you get up there, it's probably not awesome to like laugh hysterically at your own jokes."
He's trying to figure out his persona, his vibe.
I am excited for him. I love being around people who are inspired. He's punchy and lively and thrilled with life right now. He's obsessed and driven. I am jealous. I can't wait for the Bench Buddy / D double bill in two weeks.
And, I love New York and that the people here are wicked funny.
I was expecting for people to be not-very-funny, but, like the open mic I did, everyone was really good.
Well, not everyone, but I'd say 75% of the people were really funny.
It was a pleasant surprise.
I actually enjoyed myself. I thought it was going to be like attending a kid's 5th grade band concert, writhing in agony while convinced that your kid is absolutely brilliant.
I suppose its not surprising that there are actually good standup comics lurking about in obscurity in NYC.
Bench Buddy was funny. It was interesting to see him on stage. The beauty of his everyday humor is that it's subtle, observational, and understated. He's mellow and low key. His comedian persona, however, was enthusiastic and happy and spastic and wow!!!
A good portion of the comedians had routines that revolved around their weight, having lost insane amounts of weight, needing to lose weight, etc.
It just seemed like an unusually high percentage of people who had lost weight. I'm talking 100's and 100's of pounds. The comedians who weren't going to talk about weight ended up talking about it anyway, because everyone else was and that's funny.
Then I wondered - is there a correlation between weight and humor?
Did I overcompensate for my childhood scrawniness and comprehensive lack of athletic ability by studying too much?
Is there a similar trait that causes someone to become the class clown?
Hmmmm.
Regardless, fun was had. He's going to do it again in a couple of weeks.
Additionally, D, inspired by Bench Buddy's performance, has decided to become a standup comedian. He has taken to carrying around a little black spiral-bound notebook labeled "JOKES" with yellow lab tape. Every five seconds he pulls it out and scribbles something frantically, and then starts laughing.
I had to say "You know, when you get up there, it's probably not awesome to like laugh hysterically at your own jokes."
He's trying to figure out his persona, his vibe.
I am excited for him. I love being around people who are inspired. He's punchy and lively and thrilled with life right now. He's obsessed and driven. I am jealous. I can't wait for the Bench Buddy / D double bill in two weeks.
And, I love New York and that the people here are wicked funny.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Last night....
... I had this dream, in which I was walking to class in the snow. It was snowing so hard. The city was a sheet of ice. Per usual, I was dressed inappropriately and wearing chucks in the dead of winter. I kept slipping around. The wind was fierce. People were being blown over, dropping to my left and right. At one point the wind was so fierce that it actually dragged me across the ice and almost into the road. I held onto a traffic light for dear life for a few moments while the wind gusted.
I finally arrived at the class, which was being held at this giant theater with red velvet curtains and balconies. Very fancy. I waited in a long line populated by various society folk wearing fur coats and finally found my way to a seat. I looked across the aisle, and realized I was sitting across from Michael Imperioli from The Sopranos. He looked just like he looks on TV and in the movies. I kept having thoughts like "I should say something to him, and then we can be friends, and then someday our kids can play together and they can share Italian American traditions. How lovely would that be!"
While trying not to stare, I realized that he was seated next to Warren Beatty. No - wait - it wasn't Warren Beatty, but he looked a lot like Warren Beatty. I kept thinking "I somehow know this man who is not Warren Beatty, but who is he?"
It finally occurred to me that it was John Shea, the actor who played Lex Luther on the early 90's TV sensation Lois and Clark, which is one of my favorite shows of all time. Comics and Teri Hatcher - does life get any better? I kept having thoughts like "I should say something to him, and tell him how much I loved Lois and Clark and how I loved the complexity he brought to Lex Luther." Instead I said nothing and tried not to stare, and waited patiently for class to begin.
Class began pompously. The professor said that he'd had dinner with Dr. Ruth earlier in the week, and that she'd told him to "warm up the crowd" by telling a joke. He told Dr. Ruth's joke, which was actually quite funny, and then gave a brief history of "the movies," which included various anecdotes about Edison and nickelodeons and Hollywoodland.
We watched a movie, and at the end, the professor reappeared and said "Well, I have to say, I think Dr. Ruth's joke really set the tone for the evening and for the entire class, and we should thank her!"
Dr. Ruth then appeared from behind the red velvet curtains, carrying a dozen red roses. All 4 feet and 8 inches of her looked adorable in her hot pink suit.
She said, in her unmistakable Dr. Ruth accent, "I haff to commend you all - for coming outtt in the vind and snow on suchh an awfful nightt - I promisss you that you will all haf GREAT SEX for the rest of your lives!"
I then went back out into the snow, where my Spidey Sense started tingling. A man approached me on the street and said "Hi!" and I said "Hello," and kept walking. He stopped and said "Come on, baby, can't I come home with you to warm you up?" I kept walking, not looking back, but I could tell that he was following me. He eventually gave up and turned around, which was good, because I didn't want the dream to end in violence.
Then I woke up.
Not really.
Then I got to D's and said "What a freaking weird night."
Weird night, eh? Ah, New York.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Incidentally, the movie we saw was called "In My Country" and starred Juliette Binoche and Samuel L. Jackson in a story that follows two journalists as they experience the post-apartheid Reconciliation, a series of trials in which those who committed atrocities confronted their victims and were then granted amnesty.
Conceptually interesting - I didn't even know that these trials happened.
Instead of actually being interesting, though, it resorted to awful cliches and romance and didn't have the depth that a story that takes place during this time should have.
Additionally, I had a really hard time with some of the South African accents. Some of them were good, but I couldn't understand some of the people. They didn't sound South African. Juliette Binoche's accent sounded like a combination of Scottish and Russian.
Please do not see it.
Thank you.
I finally arrived at the class, which was being held at this giant theater with red velvet curtains and balconies. Very fancy. I waited in a long line populated by various society folk wearing fur coats and finally found my way to a seat. I looked across the aisle, and realized I was sitting across from Michael Imperioli from The Sopranos. He looked just like he looks on TV and in the movies. I kept having thoughts like "I should say something to him, and then we can be friends, and then someday our kids can play together and they can share Italian American traditions. How lovely would that be!"
While trying not to stare, I realized that he was seated next to Warren Beatty. No - wait - it wasn't Warren Beatty, but he looked a lot like Warren Beatty. I kept thinking "I somehow know this man who is not Warren Beatty, but who is he?"
It finally occurred to me that it was John Shea, the actor who played Lex Luther on the early 90's TV sensation Lois and Clark, which is one of my favorite shows of all time. Comics and Teri Hatcher - does life get any better? I kept having thoughts like "I should say something to him, and tell him how much I loved Lois and Clark and how I loved the complexity he brought to Lex Luther." Instead I said nothing and tried not to stare, and waited patiently for class to begin.
Class began pompously. The professor said that he'd had dinner with Dr. Ruth earlier in the week, and that she'd told him to "warm up the crowd" by telling a joke. He told Dr. Ruth's joke, which was actually quite funny, and then gave a brief history of "the movies," which included various anecdotes about Edison and nickelodeons and Hollywoodland.
We watched a movie, and at the end, the professor reappeared and said "Well, I have to say, I think Dr. Ruth's joke really set the tone for the evening and for the entire class, and we should thank her!"
Dr. Ruth then appeared from behind the red velvet curtains, carrying a dozen red roses. All 4 feet and 8 inches of her looked adorable in her hot pink suit.
She said, in her unmistakable Dr. Ruth accent, "I haff to commend you all - for coming outtt in the vind and snow on suchh an awfful nightt - I promisss you that you will all haf GREAT SEX for the rest of your lives!"
I then went back out into the snow, where my Spidey Sense started tingling. A man approached me on the street and said "Hi!" and I said "Hello," and kept walking. He stopped and said "Come on, baby, can't I come home with you to warm you up?" I kept walking, not looking back, but I could tell that he was following me. He eventually gave up and turned around, which was good, because I didn't want the dream to end in violence.
Then I woke up.
Not really.
Then I got to D's and said "What a freaking weird night."
Weird night, eh? Ah, New York.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Incidentally, the movie we saw was called "In My Country" and starred Juliette Binoche and Samuel L. Jackson in a story that follows two journalists as they experience the post-apartheid Reconciliation, a series of trials in which those who committed atrocities confronted their victims and were then granted amnesty.
Conceptually interesting - I didn't even know that these trials happened.
Instead of actually being interesting, though, it resorted to awful cliches and romance and didn't have the depth that a story that takes place during this time should have.
Additionally, I had a really hard time with some of the South African accents. Some of them were good, but I couldn't understand some of the people. They didn't sound South African. Juliette Binoche's accent sounded like a combination of Scottish and Russian.
Please do not see it.
Thank you.
A Very Bagel Special
Hello all.
I am swamped at work and haven't had time yet to tell you about my fabulous weekend with M and A, who visited yet again from Worcester! They are such great friends, and always bring thoughtful little gifts. This time they brought me hot fudge from Friendly's, which is one of my favorite things on the planet and hard to come by in NYC.
M, who did have time to write about our fabulous weekend, has allowed me to utilize her as a guest writer for the second time.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The other NYC story
On Sunday, we had big plans. We were going to have brunch, go see the new, free art installation, go to B&H Photo Video, and go to SoHo to buy the lamp that The Husband and I found last December but thought was too expensive. Little did we know that lamps are really expensive, and usually boring. The brunch part was wonderful, but the plans began to go a bit sour on the way to the art exhibit. For although it was only 54 or so degrees outside, the wind made it feel like 20 or something. Plus, I was wearing tall boots because I had on brown pants that require heels. (The Doktah advised against getting them hemmed; she said I should just wear heels. Curse her.) These boots are actually pretty comfy as heels go due to the chunkiness of the heel, but it turns out that I should not wear them two days in a row if I'm doing a lot of walking, because chunky or no, heels are heels.
So we schlepped over to the art installation on very painful ankles (well, I was the only one with painful ankles), and it turns out the art installation was not free. We paid anyway, if only to get out of the cold, because the damn thing was right on the water and the wind was making me miserable. I was not dressed for the weather at all. But it is a temporary structure, so it wasn't much warmer inside. The exhibit consisted of a long hallway of painting after painting of Tibetan people with elephants, birds, or leopards. Each painting was individually quite beautiful, but after a hundred pictures of people with closed eyes posing with elephants, it begins to get repetitive. Plus the fact that every single person had their eyes closed really started to get on my nerves. It's like they were saying, "Oh, look at me, I'm so spiritual and communing with this elephant. Don't you wish you were as deep as I am? Look, I'll meditate right now. Meditating is like second nature to me. Ohhmmm....." At the end of the hallway was a looped film of the same images. The artists had obviously made the film, and then used it as the model for the paintings, so it was even more repetitive. And the film was run in slow motion, to really drive home the deep spirituality of the subjects, which did not add to my enjoyment. And did I mention that it was cold in there? And that it wasn't free?
OK. So we ended up having to skip B&H because things just took too long, and wound up in SoHo where, luckily, the lamp was still for sale, and for $10 less than in December! So we bought it, and asked for one in a box because we had to drive back to Massachusetts with it. It came in a really tall box, and when we hailed a cab to go back to Brooklyn, we discovered it would not fit. Since the L train to Brooklyn was not running, we were forced to walk ten minutes more in the freezing cold on sore ankles, carrying a very cumbersome tall box, and catch the J train over the bridge and then wait and wait for the shuttle, which turned out not to be a "shuttle" so much as a bus because it stopped a lot.
The only thing motivating us was the thought of the awesome bagels we were going to buy from the best bagel store ever, 4 blocks up from Leah Lar's apartment, and then the thought of eating said bagels in the lovely, lovely warmth of the apartment. And also the bathroom.
So The Husband and D headed back to the apartment to get our stuff all packed up, and Leah Lar and I ordered the bagels. I ordered 1 toasted pumpernickel bagel with garlic and herb cream cheese, and 1 toasted sesame bagel with the same cream cheese. Leah Lar ordered 1 toasted everything bagel with plain cream cheese and 1 toasted wheat bagel with garlic and herb cream cheese. I ordered first, and several minutes later the guy who took my order said, "You wanted 1 pumpernickel and 1 sesame, right?" Right. "You wanted them toasted, right?" Right. "You wanted garlic and herb cream cheese, right?" Right.
So when we got back to the apartment, we found the following 4 bagels: 1 toasted everything with plain cream cheese, 1 untoasted wheat with plain cream cheese, and 2 untoasted sesame bagels with olive and red pepper cream cheese. I'll give you a second to go back and check what we ordered.
So D was golden, because they got his right. And Leah Lar was disappointed at the lack of toasting on her wheat bagel, but her order-taker had told her there was no more garlic and herb cream cheese, so she was prepared for that. But as for me and The Husband, I guess my guy was just toying with me with all the double checking.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Incidentally, I would like to point out that as we were leaving the bagel shop, I said to M "I have a very bad feeling about our order." I just had a bad feeling. And I was right, dammit! I am mad, but not mad enough to never order bagels there again, because they are fabulous bagels when prepared correctly.
I'd also like to add that the structure that housed the exhibit is a nomadic museum constructed mostly out of recyclable and reuseable material. Very impressive and regal.
Here is information about the architect:
http://www.time.com/time/innovators/design/profile_ban.html
I didn't like the exhibit. One photo, fine. 100? Not fine. It was a redundant collection and really distracted from the museum.
Here is the link to the exhibit:
http://ashesandsnow.org/home.html
The fact that it was freezing didn't help. Perhaps I'd have enjoyed it more had the weather been better.
This is M's account of Sunday. On Saturday night, we saw a play called After Ashley that features Kieran Culkin (who I thought was amazing; M and A didn't think so and M was bothered by his hair), Anna Paquin (who we all agreed was unbearably bad and was trying real hard to act) and the guy who played Miles on Murphy Brown. I really liked the play, although I felt that it only scraped the surface of the themes it tried to explore.
http://www.vineyardtheatre.org/AfterAshley.html
M told me this weekend how to make these links clickable, but I've already forgotten. Sorry, readers, for making you primitively copy and paste these links.
After the play we went for drinks at Antique Lounge, which is lovely because it is three blocks from my apartment and because they give you animal themed snacks, such as Goldfish and Animal Crackers, in martini glasses.
We were going to have ice cream with Friendly's hot fudge afterwards, but because we are old, we went to bed instead.
Stay tuned for the futher adventures of M and A in NYC!
I am swamped at work and haven't had time yet to tell you about my fabulous weekend with M and A, who visited yet again from Worcester! They are such great friends, and always bring thoughtful little gifts. This time they brought me hot fudge from Friendly's, which is one of my favorite things on the planet and hard to come by in NYC.
M, who did have time to write about our fabulous weekend, has allowed me to utilize her as a guest writer for the second time.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The other NYC story
On Sunday, we had big plans. We were going to have brunch, go see the new, free art installation, go to B&H Photo Video, and go to SoHo to buy the lamp that The Husband and I found last December but thought was too expensive. Little did we know that lamps are really expensive, and usually boring. The brunch part was wonderful, but the plans began to go a bit sour on the way to the art exhibit. For although it was only 54 or so degrees outside, the wind made it feel like 20 or something. Plus, I was wearing tall boots because I had on brown pants that require heels. (The Doktah advised against getting them hemmed; she said I should just wear heels. Curse her.) These boots are actually pretty comfy as heels go due to the chunkiness of the heel, but it turns out that I should not wear them two days in a row if I'm doing a lot of walking, because chunky or no, heels are heels.
So we schlepped over to the art installation on very painful ankles (well, I was the only one with painful ankles), and it turns out the art installation was not free. We paid anyway, if only to get out of the cold, because the damn thing was right on the water and the wind was making me miserable. I was not dressed for the weather at all. But it is a temporary structure, so it wasn't much warmer inside. The exhibit consisted of a long hallway of painting after painting of Tibetan people with elephants, birds, or leopards. Each painting was individually quite beautiful, but after a hundred pictures of people with closed eyes posing with elephants, it begins to get repetitive. Plus the fact that every single person had their eyes closed really started to get on my nerves. It's like they were saying, "Oh, look at me, I'm so spiritual and communing with this elephant. Don't you wish you were as deep as I am? Look, I'll meditate right now. Meditating is like second nature to me. Ohhmmm....." At the end of the hallway was a looped film of the same images. The artists had obviously made the film, and then used it as the model for the paintings, so it was even more repetitive. And the film was run in slow motion, to really drive home the deep spirituality of the subjects, which did not add to my enjoyment. And did I mention that it was cold in there? And that it wasn't free?
OK. So we ended up having to skip B&H because things just took too long, and wound up in SoHo where, luckily, the lamp was still for sale, and for $10 less than in December! So we bought it, and asked for one in a box because we had to drive back to Massachusetts with it. It came in a really tall box, and when we hailed a cab to go back to Brooklyn, we discovered it would not fit. Since the L train to Brooklyn was not running, we were forced to walk ten minutes more in the freezing cold on sore ankles, carrying a very cumbersome tall box, and catch the J train over the bridge and then wait and wait for the shuttle, which turned out not to be a "shuttle" so much as a bus because it stopped a lot.
The only thing motivating us was the thought of the awesome bagels we were going to buy from the best bagel store ever, 4 blocks up from Leah Lar's apartment, and then the thought of eating said bagels in the lovely, lovely warmth of the apartment. And also the bathroom.
So The Husband and D headed back to the apartment to get our stuff all packed up, and Leah Lar and I ordered the bagels. I ordered 1 toasted pumpernickel bagel with garlic and herb cream cheese, and 1 toasted sesame bagel with the same cream cheese. Leah Lar ordered 1 toasted everything bagel with plain cream cheese and 1 toasted wheat bagel with garlic and herb cream cheese. I ordered first, and several minutes later the guy who took my order said, "You wanted 1 pumpernickel and 1 sesame, right?" Right. "You wanted them toasted, right?" Right. "You wanted garlic and herb cream cheese, right?" Right.
So when we got back to the apartment, we found the following 4 bagels: 1 toasted everything with plain cream cheese, 1 untoasted wheat with plain cream cheese, and 2 untoasted sesame bagels with olive and red pepper cream cheese. I'll give you a second to go back and check what we ordered.
So D was golden, because they got his right. And Leah Lar was disappointed at the lack of toasting on her wheat bagel, but her order-taker had told her there was no more garlic and herb cream cheese, so she was prepared for that. But as for me and The Husband, I guess my guy was just toying with me with all the double checking.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Incidentally, I would like to point out that as we were leaving the bagel shop, I said to M "I have a very bad feeling about our order." I just had a bad feeling. And I was right, dammit! I am mad, but not mad enough to never order bagels there again, because they are fabulous bagels when prepared correctly.
I'd also like to add that the structure that housed the exhibit is a nomadic museum constructed mostly out of recyclable and reuseable material. Very impressive and regal.
Here is information about the architect:
http://www.time.com/time/innovators/design/profile_ban.html
I didn't like the exhibit. One photo, fine. 100? Not fine. It was a redundant collection and really distracted from the museum.
Here is the link to the exhibit:
http://ashesandsnow.org/home.html
The fact that it was freezing didn't help. Perhaps I'd have enjoyed it more had the weather been better.
This is M's account of Sunday. On Saturday night, we saw a play called After Ashley that features Kieran Culkin (who I thought was amazing; M and A didn't think so and M was bothered by his hair), Anna Paquin (who we all agreed was unbearably bad and was trying real hard to act) and the guy who played Miles on Murphy Brown. I really liked the play, although I felt that it only scraped the surface of the themes it tried to explore.
http://www.vineyardtheatre.org/AfterAshley.html
M told me this weekend how to make these links clickable, but I've already forgotten. Sorry, readers, for making you primitively copy and paste these links.
After the play we went for drinks at Antique Lounge, which is lovely because it is three blocks from my apartment and because they give you animal themed snacks, such as Goldfish and Animal Crackers, in martini glasses.
We were going to have ice cream with Friendly's hot fudge afterwards, but because we are old, we went to bed instead.
Stay tuned for the futher adventures of M and A in NYC!
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Eminem
Bench Buddy is doing a standup comedy open mic tomorrow night and I am giddy. I am hoping to catch him, as I have Expensive Haircut #2 tomorrow night that will rectify the abomination that is Expensive Haircut #1.
We were just talking about it, and he said "Hey, did you ever find out about the open mic at Cafe Vivaldi?" to which I responded "No, well, I'm just not ready yet. Maybe someday soon, but not yet."
He said "I'll have to, like, secretly look into it..."
Then he got really excited and said "You'll be just like Eminem in '8 Mile!' I'll go and secretly sign you up for the battle and you'll be thrown into the fire and then you'll kick ass..." Then he started performing excerpts from the battles.
I said "Yes, Bench Buddy, I am just like Eminem."
I never thought I'd ever be compared to Eminem. In some weird way, it actually did motivate me. Someone said that "8 Mile" is the "Karate Kid" of the new millennium, and they were right.
And Bench Buddy is my own personal Mr. Miyagi.
Yes, I am inspired.
We were just talking about it, and he said "Hey, did you ever find out about the open mic at Cafe Vivaldi?" to which I responded "No, well, I'm just not ready yet. Maybe someday soon, but not yet."
He said "I'll have to, like, secretly look into it..."
Then he got really excited and said "You'll be just like Eminem in '8 Mile!' I'll go and secretly sign you up for the battle and you'll be thrown into the fire and then you'll kick ass..." Then he started performing excerpts from the battles.
I said "Yes, Bench Buddy, I am just like Eminem."
I never thought I'd ever be compared to Eminem. In some weird way, it actually did motivate me. Someone said that "8 Mile" is the "Karate Kid" of the new millennium, and they were right.
And Bench Buddy is my own personal Mr. Miyagi.
Yes, I am inspired.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Peaceful, Positive, and Pink
As part of my personal day today, I went to Union Square to attend a hip hop rally in protest of Hot 97's tsunami song. I don't know if this made national news, but basically what happend is the unintelligent hosts of Hot 97's morning show (Hot 97 is the station where 50 Cent recently spoke and where someone from his entourage was shot outside) wrote and aired an ignorant, disrespectful, distasteful, and utterly racist song about the tsunami victims shortly after the tragedy.
These were the lyrics: (these are very insensitive and offensive, so don't read if you're not willing to deal with this)
There was a time
When the sun was shining bright
So I went down to the beach to catch me a tan
Then the next thing I knew
A wave 20 feet high came and washed your whole country away
And all at once you could hear all the screaming Chinks
And no one was safe from the wave
There were Africans drowning
Little Chinamen swept way
You could hear God laughing "Swim You bitches, swim"
[Chorus]
So now you're screwed, it's a tsunami
You better run and better kiss your ass away
Go find your mommy
I just saw her float by, a tree right through her head, and now your children will be sold child slavery
[Repeat chorus]
Heinous. Completely and utterly heinous. I could go off, but I won't. You know how I feel.
Obviously New Yorkers have been up in arms, demanding that Miss Jones (the host of the morning show) and the remaining morning staff be terminated. It's tough, though, because of freedom of speech.
A rally was held today in order to stress the positive and peaceful qualities of hip hop, and to dismiss the violence and hatred associated with the culture.
Here's the link:
http://www.hiphopliveshere.com/
Here is what the rally looked like from the Filene's Basement in Union Square, which clearly isn't in the basement:
And here is another shot:
As you can see, it wasn't very crowded. It wasn't that good of a rally. The sound system was on very low, so you couldn't tell a rally was happening unless you were right on top of it.
People had signs. This woman's baby was awesome.
Suchin Pak from MTV was there. I kept following her around, semi-hoping she'd ask to interview me so I could say "No thanks, Suchin, and you look much cuter with glasses." I have a suspicion that I'll be hovering in the background of every interview that airs on MTV.
The best thing about Suchin Pak was that she was being followed around by her cameraman and this nerdy early-20's PA (and me) who had a notebook that said "Why are you here?" and "What did you think of the tsunami song?" in case Suchin forgot what to say. I desperately tried to get a photo of it over his shoulder but couldn't get the right angle. Curse my shortness.
Here's another dude with a sign.
There was more interviewing going on than actual rallying.
There was music, but you couldn't really hear it.
And rapping, which you could hear. Very socially aware and very good, but sadly the crowd never got into it.
I never really got into it either, and it was cold and I couldn't hear what was going on, so I went up to Filene's Basement to photograph things from above and happened upon the annual bridal gown madness insanity event. Unfortunately it wasn't crazy when I got there.
I decided to shop, since it was a personal day and I could do whatever I want! I need a spring coat. I've never had a good spring coat, mainly because I can never find coats that fit me. They are always too big. I found one - its very very hot pink - and while trying it on in the store I was torturing myself. It fit so nicely - it seemed slightly too big - and was so pink. I asked a woman who worked there, who was like 400 pounds, what she thought. She told me it was "too small" and that I should really try a larger size. I wanted to yell "Dude, I just wanted to know if you thought it was TOO PINK!" She kept rolling her eyes and huffing "Honey, move your arms around - see? It's TOO SMALL."
Hmph.
I took it into the dressing room with me along with all sorts of other lovely pink items for future spring and summer weddings, and found myself becoming Joe-Pesci-on-Saturday-Night-Live about the whole thing. Have you seen that sketch where he's buying a ring and looking at himself in the mirror and doing all of the poses he might do in real life that would showcase the ring? That was me with the coat. I blame that large woman. Here I am being out of control with various poses I might make while wearing the coat.
I bought the coat, as well as two of the dresses. To be determined. I have 30 days to decide. Roommate thinks the coat fits beautifully but is unsure about its pinkness. I am going to have to ask D and M, who's visiting this weekend. Yipee!
On my way home, there were a dozen red roses on some trash cans on N. 3rd St. I tried to get a picture of them with Brooklyn and the Brooklyn sky in the background, but it didn't work. I took 15 of them and this is, regrettably, the best one.
Ah, personal day.
And now, the weekend.
These were the lyrics: (these are very insensitive and offensive, so don't read if you're not willing to deal with this)
There was a time
When the sun was shining bright
So I went down to the beach to catch me a tan
Then the next thing I knew
A wave 20 feet high came and washed your whole country away
And all at once you could hear all the screaming Chinks
And no one was safe from the wave
There were Africans drowning
Little Chinamen swept way
You could hear God laughing "Swim You bitches, swim"
[Chorus]
So now you're screwed, it's a tsunami
You better run and better kiss your ass away
Go find your mommy
I just saw her float by, a tree right through her head, and now your children will be sold child slavery
[Repeat chorus]
Heinous. Completely and utterly heinous. I could go off, but I won't. You know how I feel.
Obviously New Yorkers have been up in arms, demanding that Miss Jones (the host of the morning show) and the remaining morning staff be terminated. It's tough, though, because of freedom of speech.
A rally was held today in order to stress the positive and peaceful qualities of hip hop, and to dismiss the violence and hatred associated with the culture.
Here's the link:
http://www.hiphopliveshere.com/
Here is what the rally looked like from the Filene's Basement in Union Square, which clearly isn't in the basement:
And here is another shot:
As you can see, it wasn't very crowded. It wasn't that good of a rally. The sound system was on very low, so you couldn't tell a rally was happening unless you were right on top of it.
People had signs. This woman's baby was awesome.
Suchin Pak from MTV was there. I kept following her around, semi-hoping she'd ask to interview me so I could say "No thanks, Suchin, and you look much cuter with glasses." I have a suspicion that I'll be hovering in the background of every interview that airs on MTV.
The best thing about Suchin Pak was that she was being followed around by her cameraman and this nerdy early-20's PA (and me) who had a notebook that said "Why are you here?" and "What did you think of the tsunami song?" in case Suchin forgot what to say. I desperately tried to get a photo of it over his shoulder but couldn't get the right angle. Curse my shortness.
Here's another dude with a sign.
There was more interviewing going on than actual rallying.
There was music, but you couldn't really hear it.
And rapping, which you could hear. Very socially aware and very good, but sadly the crowd never got into it.
I never really got into it either, and it was cold and I couldn't hear what was going on, so I went up to Filene's Basement to photograph things from above and happened upon the annual bridal gown madness insanity event. Unfortunately it wasn't crazy when I got there.
I decided to shop, since it was a personal day and I could do whatever I want! I need a spring coat. I've never had a good spring coat, mainly because I can never find coats that fit me. They are always too big. I found one - its very very hot pink - and while trying it on in the store I was torturing myself. It fit so nicely - it seemed slightly too big - and was so pink. I asked a woman who worked there, who was like 400 pounds, what she thought. She told me it was "too small" and that I should really try a larger size. I wanted to yell "Dude, I just wanted to know if you thought it was TOO PINK!" She kept rolling her eyes and huffing "Honey, move your arms around - see? It's TOO SMALL."
Hmph.
I took it into the dressing room with me along with all sorts of other lovely pink items for future spring and summer weddings, and found myself becoming Joe-Pesci-on-Saturday-Night-Live about the whole thing. Have you seen that sketch where he's buying a ring and looking at himself in the mirror and doing all of the poses he might do in real life that would showcase the ring? That was me with the coat. I blame that large woman. Here I am being out of control with various poses I might make while wearing the coat.
I bought the coat, as well as two of the dresses. To be determined. I have 30 days to decide. Roommate thinks the coat fits beautifully but is unsure about its pinkness. I am going to have to ask D and M, who's visiting this weekend. Yipee!
On my way home, there were a dozen red roses on some trash cans on N. 3rd St. I tried to get a picture of them with Brooklyn and the Brooklyn sky in the background, but it didn't work. I took 15 of them and this is, regrettably, the best one.
Ah, personal day.
And now, the weekend.
Personal
I am taking a personal day today.
I haven't been by myself for more than an hour in weeks.
I am using today to do things like pick up the mystery package that's been sitting at the post office for weeks, to clean and do laundry and put things on my Ipod, to download some Brit Pop, to perhaps make copies of the CD's I've been promising people for over a month, to attend and photograph a rally in Union Square at 3 pm.
I don't know how much of this will happen, but I don't care, because I am in my pajamas listening to classical music while staring at my still-unfinished 401k paperwork that is so getting dealt with today!
When I called my boss to inform him that I'd be taking a personal day, it was hard for me not to explain what I was doing.
The point of a personal day is that its personal. It's ironic that I usually keep to myself at work and don't let anyone know me. But the second I am taking a personal day, I feel the need to explain that last week was very stressful with D's being sick and that I've so many visitors and that I am on the verge of a meltdown and that because I have very little work to do today, it makes sense for me to rejuvenate.
But I just said "N, it's Leah, I am taking a personal day" and then quickly hung up before I told my boss my life story.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last night a bunch of us went to a place called Cafe Vivaldi, which is coincidentally around the corner from D's apartment and is my new favorite place on the planet.
It's a restaurant/bar with a fireplace and Yamaha grand piano and someone playing classical music while you drink cosmopolitans or beers. A friend of Bench Buddy's roommate was playing and he was fantastic. He played Chopin and Beethoven and Debussy. He said "I heard you are quite the little pianist" and I said "Well, I am the little pianist, but that's about it." He said I could play there whenever I wanted, and that if I wanted to play in between his sets on Sunday I could. Not that I am going to, but how lovely of him to offer. I think I need to become friends with him.
I think this will be the place I go when I need to unwind, or to be introspective, or to meet people, or to get drunk while listening to classical music, which I think is a lovely prospect.
My only complaint is that my "friends" were being loud. I realize it is a bar so people should talk, but I wanted to hear everything. There was debate about whether you clap between movements when you're at a bar and not at the symphony. Sometimes I found myself playing air piano. Sometimes I found myself actually being happy.
Sigh. Classical music and personal days. Life feels good today.
I haven't been by myself for more than an hour in weeks.
I am using today to do things like pick up the mystery package that's been sitting at the post office for weeks, to clean and do laundry and put things on my Ipod, to download some Brit Pop, to perhaps make copies of the CD's I've been promising people for over a month, to attend and photograph a rally in Union Square at 3 pm.
I don't know how much of this will happen, but I don't care, because I am in my pajamas listening to classical music while staring at my still-unfinished 401k paperwork that is so getting dealt with today!
When I called my boss to inform him that I'd be taking a personal day, it was hard for me not to explain what I was doing.
The point of a personal day is that its personal. It's ironic that I usually keep to myself at work and don't let anyone know me. But the second I am taking a personal day, I feel the need to explain that last week was very stressful with D's being sick and that I've so many visitors and that I am on the verge of a meltdown and that because I have very little work to do today, it makes sense for me to rejuvenate.
But I just said "N, it's Leah, I am taking a personal day" and then quickly hung up before I told my boss my life story.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last night a bunch of us went to a place called Cafe Vivaldi, which is coincidentally around the corner from D's apartment and is my new favorite place on the planet.
It's a restaurant/bar with a fireplace and Yamaha grand piano and someone playing classical music while you drink cosmopolitans or beers. A friend of Bench Buddy's roommate was playing and he was fantastic. He played Chopin and Beethoven and Debussy. He said "I heard you are quite the little pianist" and I said "Well, I am the little pianist, but that's about it." He said I could play there whenever I wanted, and that if I wanted to play in between his sets on Sunday I could. Not that I am going to, but how lovely of him to offer. I think I need to become friends with him.
I think this will be the place I go when I need to unwind, or to be introspective, or to meet people, or to get drunk while listening to classical music, which I think is a lovely prospect.
My only complaint is that my "friends" were being loud. I realize it is a bar so people should talk, but I wanted to hear everything. There was debate about whether you clap between movements when you're at a bar and not at the symphony. Sometimes I found myself playing air piano. Sometimes I found myself actually being happy.
Sigh. Classical music and personal days. Life feels good today.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Louis Vuitton
I so have nothing to say.
So here are 10 things about nothing:
1. I slept from 10pm to 8am and got into work at 10:30am. Delightful!
2. On the train this morning there was a woman wearing a Louis Vuitton scarf. It was hideous. It made me sad, because what if this poor woman paid Louis Vuitton caliber money for a horrid dark brown / light brown scarf with L's and V's on it?
3. This past weekend, as part of our car-tour-de-New-York, D stopped us somewhere on the southern tip of Manhattan to look at the Statue of Liberty. While my father took photos, I looked at contraband handbags, and saw the most adorable pink argyle Prada bag. Just as I was about to ask the dude how much he wanted for it, all of the contraband handbag vendors hid their merchandise within three seconds. It was bizarre - they wrapped everything up immediately in sheets, and it seriously took three seconds for millions of bags to become none. They've got this down to a science. We waited for a bit to ask about the bag, but tha police kept driving by.
4. Later that day, D asked me if I wanted it because it was Prada. I was like "What do you think?" and he said "You'd probably rip the label off." "Yes, darling, you are getting to know me." Pink argyle!!! Shit. Fuck tha police.
5. I had a dream last night that LBF and I were having babies. This was a very realistic dream, in that it was a dream about actual pregnancy instead of the usual dreams I have in which I suddenly have a baby and am confused. Normally I'm like "Did I steal this child? Does this child belong to me? Where did this come from?!?!" In the dream, I was showing and mainly concerned about where/when my water would break and what that would be like. I was also trying to organize an outing to go dancing and various friends of mine - old school friends from like years ago - were trying to tell me that dancing and drinking are not good ideas when one is pregnant. And I kept being like "You're right - what if my water breaks IN THE CLUB!?" Later in the dream, I was building a hammock for the baby to sleep in and D wanted nothing to do with it. I kept saying "Where do you expect our child to sleep?" and he kept trying to tell me he didn't care because he didn't want it.
6. D and I had a fight this morning - well, not really a fight, more of an issue - that we didn't resolve. This is another reason why one should not date one's coworker, because you're both feeling terrible and sad and you have to smile and be normal and not awkward when you get to work. We cleared things up at lunch, but morning was brutal.
7. You may have already seen this, but it's awesome:
http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20050225/ap_on_fe_st/somervi
lle_gates_1
8. And also:
http://www.futurebird.com/buckets/
9. Bench Buddy and I are going to construct and post an Emo Scale tomorrow, on which we and our coworkers will indicate our moods as represented by the works of various bands/musicians. It will involve velcro and lamination and pictures of Ben Folds! We are way too excited about it.
10. I guess maybe I had only nine things to say.
Until tomorrow...
So here are 10 things about nothing:
1. I slept from 10pm to 8am and got into work at 10:30am. Delightful!
2. On the train this morning there was a woman wearing a Louis Vuitton scarf. It was hideous. It made me sad, because what if this poor woman paid Louis Vuitton caliber money for a horrid dark brown / light brown scarf with L's and V's on it?
3. This past weekend, as part of our car-tour-de-New-York, D stopped us somewhere on the southern tip of Manhattan to look at the Statue of Liberty. While my father took photos, I looked at contraband handbags, and saw the most adorable pink argyle Prada bag. Just as I was about to ask the dude how much he wanted for it, all of the contraband handbag vendors hid their merchandise within three seconds. It was bizarre - they wrapped everything up immediately in sheets, and it seriously took three seconds for millions of bags to become none. They've got this down to a science. We waited for a bit to ask about the bag, but tha police kept driving by.
4. Later that day, D asked me if I wanted it because it was Prada. I was like "What do you think?" and he said "You'd probably rip the label off." "Yes, darling, you are getting to know me." Pink argyle!!! Shit. Fuck tha police.
5. I had a dream last night that LBF and I were having babies. This was a very realistic dream, in that it was a dream about actual pregnancy instead of the usual dreams I have in which I suddenly have a baby and am confused. Normally I'm like "Did I steal this child? Does this child belong to me? Where did this come from?!?!" In the dream, I was showing and mainly concerned about where/when my water would break and what that would be like. I was also trying to organize an outing to go dancing and various friends of mine - old school friends from like years ago - were trying to tell me that dancing and drinking are not good ideas when one is pregnant. And I kept being like "You're right - what if my water breaks IN THE CLUB!?" Later in the dream, I was building a hammock for the baby to sleep in and D wanted nothing to do with it. I kept saying "Where do you expect our child to sleep?" and he kept trying to tell me he didn't care because he didn't want it.
6. D and I had a fight this morning - well, not really a fight, more of an issue - that we didn't resolve. This is another reason why one should not date one's coworker, because you're both feeling terrible and sad and you have to smile and be normal and not awkward when you get to work. We cleared things up at lunch, but morning was brutal.
7. You may have already seen this, but it's awesome:
http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20050225/ap_on_fe_st/somervi
lle_gates_1
8. And also:
http://www.futurebird.com/buckets/
9. Bench Buddy and I are going to construct and post an Emo Scale tomorrow, on which we and our coworkers will indicate our moods as represented by the works of various bands/musicians. It will involve velcro and lamination and pictures of Ben Folds! We are way too excited about it.
10. I guess maybe I had only nine things to say.
Until tomorrow...
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Pricing Games and Hot Flashes and Pointlessness
I went to see a charming little film called Schultze Gets The Blues last night. It is a German movie with an idealistic love for America and Americans.
It was slow but endearing.
And it had yodeling, which made me happy.
Since the movie was slow, I had time to contemplate yodeling without missing out on anything in the movie. I was thinking "Why does yodeling make me so happy?" and finally I determined that it's nostalgia for The Price Is Right and not The Sound of Music.
If you don't suffer from the same nostalgia, I am referring to a pricing game on TPIR in which a contestant has to guess the price of a prize and then this small dude climbs up a mountain while yodeling. He climbs for the amount of notches that the contestant is away from the actual retail price of the prize. It's agony because you don't know if he's going to stop or fall over the side the mountain.
This is a really stressful game. Probably one of the more stressful games on TPIR, but it still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy thinking about it.
I spent a good portion of the movie last night trying to think of what that game was called. I came up with some theories:
1. Climb Every Mountain
2. Rise To the Top
3. The Lonely Goatheard
4. The Yodeler
5. Weird Little Man Who Yodels
6. Don't Fall Over the Edge
7. The Mountain Game
8. The Climbing Game
I was trying to think like the brilliant minds behind The Price Is Right, about things like The Race Game and Three Strikes and The Golf Game and PLINKO!!!
Needless to say I've been looking forward to this moment... I've been waiting since last night for this... I've been in agony... I've been waiting for the moment when I could look up the actual name of The Game With The Little Yodeling Dude...
Oh. Cliff Hangers. I'm not sure if I actually ever knew that. Hmmm.
http://gscentral.net/cliff.htm
Heh. I guess its funny that determining the name of this game from last night to just now was sort of a, well, yeah, a cliffhanger.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am also thinking about menopause today. It was something I've been looking forward to, up until last night. In New York, landlords are responsible for heating tenants' apartments, so we have no control over the heat level.
A few weeks ago, D caved in and bought a space heater because his apartment was just too damn cold. He complained to the landlord, but things never got better.
Starting yesterday, somebody must have put the smack down on the landlord because his apartment was 90 degrees. For those of you who know me, you know I prefer things warm. I'd have the heat on 80 at all times if given my way. D set up two fans, but they didn't do much. I rolled over in the middle of the night and put my hand on my pillow and I'm not kidding when I say I winced because the pillow was so freaking hot (my pillow - and therefore my head - is right near the radiator when I sleep). I got up and melodramatically declared that we needed to switch sides because I was dying from heat stroke.
This is what menopause must be like. I can't even imagine. I can't imagine being that hot at random and being expected to function. How awful.
It's also awful that people in NYC are either forced to freeze or to put their air conditioners on in the middle of the winter.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am feeling pointless lately. I am not consuming anything artistic or worthy. I haven't had an original thought in quite some time. I am too busy comparing myself to other people.
Do other people compare themselves to other people?
I need hobbies. I need to be good at something. I don't feel like I have "a thing" right now. Pointless. I found these old science songs online from the 60s and thought I'd write and record some of my own, but that is derivative. I'm entirely derivative. I thought "I should paint again," but then I thought "What would I paint?" and came up with nothing. I feel barren. I thought "Maybe I should take a class on philosophy," but then thought "I might then feel more stupid and wouldn't be able to take it."
Dance lessons could be cool.
Career change.
Jewelry making.
Painting.
Photography.
I don't feel good enough lately, but I can't quite figure out what I'm not good enough for. Me? Him? New York?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
D just sent me the word-of-the-day, and it's "misanthrope."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
More optimistic entries for the rest of the week, I promise.
It was slow but endearing.
And it had yodeling, which made me happy.
Since the movie was slow, I had time to contemplate yodeling without missing out on anything in the movie. I was thinking "Why does yodeling make me so happy?" and finally I determined that it's nostalgia for The Price Is Right and not The Sound of Music.
If you don't suffer from the same nostalgia, I am referring to a pricing game on TPIR in which a contestant has to guess the price of a prize and then this small dude climbs up a mountain while yodeling. He climbs for the amount of notches that the contestant is away from the actual retail price of the prize. It's agony because you don't know if he's going to stop or fall over the side the mountain.
This is a really stressful game. Probably one of the more stressful games on TPIR, but it still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy thinking about it.
I spent a good portion of the movie last night trying to think of what that game was called. I came up with some theories:
1. Climb Every Mountain
2. Rise To the Top
3. The Lonely Goatheard
4. The Yodeler
5. Weird Little Man Who Yodels
6. Don't Fall Over the Edge
7. The Mountain Game
8. The Climbing Game
I was trying to think like the brilliant minds behind The Price Is Right, about things like The Race Game and Three Strikes and The Golf Game and PLINKO!!!
Needless to say I've been looking forward to this moment... I've been waiting since last night for this... I've been in agony... I've been waiting for the moment when I could look up the actual name of The Game With The Little Yodeling Dude...
Oh. Cliff Hangers. I'm not sure if I actually ever knew that. Hmmm.
http://gscentral.net/cliff.htm
Heh. I guess its funny that determining the name of this game from last night to just now was sort of a, well, yeah, a cliffhanger.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am also thinking about menopause today. It was something I've been looking forward to, up until last night. In New York, landlords are responsible for heating tenants' apartments, so we have no control over the heat level.
A few weeks ago, D caved in and bought a space heater because his apartment was just too damn cold. He complained to the landlord, but things never got better.
Starting yesterday, somebody must have put the smack down on the landlord because his apartment was 90 degrees. For those of you who know me, you know I prefer things warm. I'd have the heat on 80 at all times if given my way. D set up two fans, but they didn't do much. I rolled over in the middle of the night and put my hand on my pillow and I'm not kidding when I say I winced because the pillow was so freaking hot (my pillow - and therefore my head - is right near the radiator when I sleep). I got up and melodramatically declared that we needed to switch sides because I was dying from heat stroke.
This is what menopause must be like. I can't even imagine. I can't imagine being that hot at random and being expected to function. How awful.
It's also awful that people in NYC are either forced to freeze or to put their air conditioners on in the middle of the winter.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am feeling pointless lately. I am not consuming anything artistic or worthy. I haven't had an original thought in quite some time. I am too busy comparing myself to other people.
Do other people compare themselves to other people?
I need hobbies. I need to be good at something. I don't feel like I have "a thing" right now. Pointless. I found these old science songs online from the 60s and thought I'd write and record some of my own, but that is derivative. I'm entirely derivative. I thought "I should paint again," but then I thought "What would I paint?" and came up with nothing. I feel barren. I thought "Maybe I should take a class on philosophy," but then thought "I might then feel more stupid and wouldn't be able to take it."
Dance lessons could be cool.
Career change.
Jewelry making.
Painting.
Photography.
I don't feel good enough lately, but I can't quite figure out what I'm not good enough for. Me? Him? New York?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
D just sent me the word-of-the-day, and it's "misanthrope."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
More optimistic entries for the rest of the week, I promise.
Monday, February 28, 2005
The Curtains
My parents visited this weekend and now, more than ever, I am convinced that I need to start smoking.
Lovely to see them, and now that they are gone, I can tend to my ulcer.
I wish parents would just say "We just want to be in your presence and don't actually want to do anything so as not to feel empty-nested" instead of saying "We don't care what we do" and then cowering in the corners of a contemporary art museum.
I wish we weren't so different.
I wish I didn't miss them as much as I do.
I wish their visit didn't coincide with other stressful things.
Mom brought chocolate chip cookies and apple pies and other rations that will be useful during the upcoming snowstorm, which will be pounding us any second. We are hopeful for a snow day.
Dad took photos, but only a mere 75! He only talked about taxes for about a minute. He is learning.
It was lovely to see Sister, but I wish I didn't have to see her while playing the roles of Daughters. I am hoping that she and her boyfriend will visit soon on their own, so that we can be ourselves.
My parents, of course, adored D, who rallied and charmed them despite having been hospitalized. He adored them, too. It went far better than I could have imagined, ulcer aside. Their meeting makes me feel serious. It's all real now. D becomes less and less fictional with each friend and family member he meets.
I keep looking out the window for snowflakes. This could be the sort of storm that allows us to go home early! I need to decompress. Please, please, please let there be snow and lots of it followed by freezing rain and other treacherous natural phenomenon that prohibit my commuting. PLEASE!
Still no snow. Actually, it would be best if it didn't start snowing until around 5:00, because I do not have a scarf or mittens because when I left the loft this morning I was still feeling insane from the weekend and could not do things like dress myself appropriately.
I am going to work now.
Hope you are all having a joyous Monday.
p.s. Since I was feeling emo and ulcer-y and fatalistic on Friday night while D was in the hospital I, gasp, wrote a song!!! This means that there actually migh be A SONG on My Mundane Life In Song within a week! Don't get too excited. I am still in love with the chorus and bridge-to-chorus after two days, but I loathe the verse. We'll see what happens.
Lovely to see them, and now that they are gone, I can tend to my ulcer.
I wish parents would just say "We just want to be in your presence and don't actually want to do anything so as not to feel empty-nested" instead of saying "We don't care what we do" and then cowering in the corners of a contemporary art museum.
I wish we weren't so different.
I wish I didn't miss them as much as I do.
I wish their visit didn't coincide with other stressful things.
Mom brought chocolate chip cookies and apple pies and other rations that will be useful during the upcoming snowstorm, which will be pounding us any second. We are hopeful for a snow day.
Dad took photos, but only a mere 75! He only talked about taxes for about a minute. He is learning.
It was lovely to see Sister, but I wish I didn't have to see her while playing the roles of Daughters. I am hoping that she and her boyfriend will visit soon on their own, so that we can be ourselves.
My parents, of course, adored D, who rallied and charmed them despite having been hospitalized. He adored them, too. It went far better than I could have imagined, ulcer aside. Their meeting makes me feel serious. It's all real now. D becomes less and less fictional with each friend and family member he meets.
I keep looking out the window for snowflakes. This could be the sort of storm that allows us to go home early! I need to decompress. Please, please, please let there be snow and lots of it followed by freezing rain and other treacherous natural phenomenon that prohibit my commuting. PLEASE!
Still no snow. Actually, it would be best if it didn't start snowing until around 5:00, because I do not have a scarf or mittens because when I left the loft this morning I was still feeling insane from the weekend and could not do things like dress myself appropriately.
I am going to work now.
Hope you are all having a joyous Monday.
p.s. Since I was feeling emo and ulcer-y and fatalistic on Friday night while D was in the hospital I, gasp, wrote a song!!! This means that there actually migh be A SONG on My Mundane Life In Song within a week! Don't get too excited. I am still in love with the chorus and bridge-to-chorus after two days, but I loathe the verse. We'll see what happens.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Legos Make Everything Better
I spent the morning in the ER with D.
I don't know what's going on. All I know is that watching the person you love suffer is worse than suffering yourself and that the unknown is fucking scary.
I also know that it is ridiculous that they show talk shows in the emergency room. While I was there, I watched agitated people on Jerry Springer kick the crap out of each other. I then watched the guests of Maury Povich cry and slip into fits of hysteria. I kept wishing they'd put on the fishtank channel. I think people in hospital waiting rooms need serenity, not violence.
I also know that I am now back at work trying to get eight hours of work done in four hours while D is still at the hospital just waiting around feeling fine and hoping to get a fabulous magnetic picture of his brain.
Oooh! He just called and is having an MRI at 9:00. I can't believe we got there at 11:00 am and he's just going to get it at 9:00 pm. There is something thrilling and adorable about our plan to have me smuggle food into him during visitor's hours, which go from 8:00 to 8:15 pm.
In spite of being tense and emo today, I laughed like an idiot at the following:
http://www.koreus.com/files/200408/lego_thriller.html
You have to watch the entire thing, or at least until the dance number about 2/3 of the way through.
Have a nice weekend.
I will try to enjoy mine and not indulge my ulcer.
I don't know what's going on. All I know is that watching the person you love suffer is worse than suffering yourself and that the unknown is fucking scary.
I also know that it is ridiculous that they show talk shows in the emergency room. While I was there, I watched agitated people on Jerry Springer kick the crap out of each other. I then watched the guests of Maury Povich cry and slip into fits of hysteria. I kept wishing they'd put on the fishtank channel. I think people in hospital waiting rooms need serenity, not violence.
I also know that I am now back at work trying to get eight hours of work done in four hours while D is still at the hospital just waiting around feeling fine and hoping to get a fabulous magnetic picture of his brain.
Oooh! He just called and is having an MRI at 9:00. I can't believe we got there at 11:00 am and he's just going to get it at 9:00 pm. There is something thrilling and adorable about our plan to have me smuggle food into him during visitor's hours, which go from 8:00 to 8:15 pm.
In spite of being tense and emo today, I laughed like an idiot at the following:
http://www.koreus.com/files/200408/lego_thriller.html
You have to watch the entire thing, or at least until the dance number about 2/3 of the way through.
Have a nice weekend.
I will try to enjoy mine and not indulge my ulcer.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Carnegie Hall
I thought my birthday plans were going to be, well, a fancy dinner. D had said "Not that you don't dress nicely, but you might want to dress a little more, well, nicely than you usually do on your birthday."
I was excited about but flustered by having to dress up for something mysterious. I didn't make it through my entire class on Tuesday night for many reasons, including three old ladies wearing fur coats who yelled at me for eating a bagel during the movie, my subsequent starvation, my desire to blog, and my nervousness about finding the perfect outfit for my mystery date the following night.
On the train en route to mystery destination I started getting nervous. I was sensing an elaborateness surrounding the plan, as D said "We might want to grab a snack - this could be a while," which suggested something with a finite duration, and therefore tickets. Tickets? Does he know me well enough to buy tickets to something?
We got off the train and started walking and it soon became apparent that we were going to, gasp, Carnegie Hall!!!!!!
I have romantic and nostalgic feelings surrounding Carnegie Hall that are due solely to the Chipmunks Christmas Special from 1981, in which Dave books Alvin to play a harmonica solo at Carnegie Hall.
http://www.chipmunks.com/catalog/product_info.php?products_id=39&osCsid=7052b986225e9ada0e39c40439095967
Carnegie Hall!
I was flipping out. First of all, I was at the Carnegie Hall!
Second of all, how is it conceivable that someone took the time to devise this plan for me? How did I get this lucky? How is this even possible? I kept saying "I can't believe this is my life!"
Third of all, we walked up three flights of stairs to our box!!! You sit in boxes at Carnegie Hall on red velvet covered red chairs.
The performance was of Contemporary American Composers, including the debut of a symphony by Danny Elfman. The piece was exquisite. I was holding my breath throughout all six movements. I actually felt relieved when it ended, because I was emotionally on edge the entire time.
The best news of all, however, is that Danny Elfman is busily composing an Edward Scissorhands ballet!
Following the performance, D took me for dinner at Grilled Cheese NYC, where we ate grilled cheeses and sweet potato fries and where I kicked his ass not once but twice at Connect Four.
Is it possible for him to be any more perfect?
This birthday date completely made up for all of the emo birthdays past.
Maybe 29 is going to be ok.
I was excited about but flustered by having to dress up for something mysterious. I didn't make it through my entire class on Tuesday night for many reasons, including three old ladies wearing fur coats who yelled at me for eating a bagel during the movie, my subsequent starvation, my desire to blog, and my nervousness about finding the perfect outfit for my mystery date the following night.
On the train en route to mystery destination I started getting nervous. I was sensing an elaborateness surrounding the plan, as D said "We might want to grab a snack - this could be a while," which suggested something with a finite duration, and therefore tickets. Tickets? Does he know me well enough to buy tickets to something?
We got off the train and started walking and it soon became apparent that we were going to, gasp, Carnegie Hall!!!!!!
I have romantic and nostalgic feelings surrounding Carnegie Hall that are due solely to the Chipmunks Christmas Special from 1981, in which Dave books Alvin to play a harmonica solo at Carnegie Hall.
http://www.chipmunks.com/catalog/product_info.php?products_id=39&osCsid=7052b986225e9ada0e39c40439095967
Carnegie Hall!
I was flipping out. First of all, I was at the Carnegie Hall!
Second of all, how is it conceivable that someone took the time to devise this plan for me? How did I get this lucky? How is this even possible? I kept saying "I can't believe this is my life!"
Third of all, we walked up three flights of stairs to our box!!! You sit in boxes at Carnegie Hall on red velvet covered red chairs.
The performance was of Contemporary American Composers, including the debut of a symphony by Danny Elfman. The piece was exquisite. I was holding my breath throughout all six movements. I actually felt relieved when it ended, because I was emotionally on edge the entire time.
The best news of all, however, is that Danny Elfman is busily composing an Edward Scissorhands ballet!
Following the performance, D took me for dinner at Grilled Cheese NYC, where we ate grilled cheeses and sweet potato fries and where I kicked his ass not once but twice at Connect Four.
Is it possible for him to be any more perfect?
This birthday date completely made up for all of the emo birthdays past.
Maybe 29 is going to be ok.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
My Mundane Life In Song Would Like To Welcome...
... a very special guest, RR.
I love when the blog hosts guest writers.
RR has summarized her feelings about our weekend karaoke experience as follows:
Leah's Birthday Karaoke Extravaganza
Hit Lists
High Light Performances
Male
D's heartfelt rendition of Roy Orbinson's Crying… I dare you not to cry!
Bench Buddy's Pearl Jam...would have made Eddie proud and was right on and just what we needed.
Female
Leah's Creep….She is too hard on herself folks.
Leah's Buffalo Stance... "What's he like? What's he like anyway?!"
RR's Easy
Duets
RR and D's Hungry Like the Wolf
Leah and RR's Live to Tell...oh Madonna you know our pain. Thank you.
D and N's True nicely done among chaos… it is hard to make the crazy look less crazy but you did it and N's "I know it's true Hoos" were awesome.
Leah and D's Flame.. I was there folks and need to get a fire extinguisher.
Duets that would have Rocked Brooklyn leaving them talking...had we been called up or Named Liz.....
Leah and RR's Milkshake...we can teach you but we will have to charge!
I love when the blog hosts guest writers.
RR has summarized her feelings about our weekend karaoke experience as follows:
Leah's Birthday Karaoke Extravaganza
Hit Lists
High Light Performances
Male
D's heartfelt rendition of Roy Orbinson's Crying… I dare you not to cry!
Bench Buddy's Pearl Jam...would have made Eddie proud and was right on and just what we needed.
Female
Leah's Creep….She is too hard on herself folks.
Leah's Buffalo Stance... "What's he like? What's he like anyway?!"
RR's Easy
Duets
RR and D's Hungry Like the Wolf
Leah and RR's Live to Tell...oh Madonna you know our pain. Thank you.
D and N's True nicely done among chaos… it is hard to make the crazy look less crazy but you did it and N's "I know it's true Hoos" were awesome.
Leah and D's Flame.. I was there folks and need to get a fire extinguisher.
Duets that would have Rocked Brooklyn leaving them talking...had we been called up or Named Liz.....
Leah and RR's Milkshake...we can teach you but we will have to charge!
29
Whoa. I just turned 29.
Yep.
Wow.
When I was a little kid I always thought people who were 30 were really, really old. I still feel like a kid. I haven't figured anything out. I suppose I have one more year to get everything in order.
Late-20's are almost over. When did that happen?
I need to figure things out.
But only after I celebrate my birthday in early-20's style.
I wish I could be a spastic drunk instead of an introspective one.
The photos from my birthday party are not as fun as I'd like them to be, but I will share them anyway. I didn't do a good job of documenting everything since I was, well, distracted.
We started off with a small gathering and karaoke in the apartment. Much gratitude towards RR and her fabulous MTV-brand-karaoke-machine with superfluous video camera. At first we feared the camera and didn't quite know what to make of the machine's capacity for live video. Our disdain quickly turned into awe and we were hooked. Please note the pink post-it collage on the wall, again, courtesy of RR. Nobody signed up. And, because neither of us are LBF, we couldn't come up with any suggestions for people. This didn't, however, stop people from singing. I don't have many photos of people singing because I was busy tending to mingling and other hostess-like activities during this portion of the party.
D baked this fabulous cake. It was orange, but not in honor of TheGates. It was delicious.
RR and I bought shark tatoos at the Folk Art Museum that afternoon. I was thrilled because a shark is actually one of my realistic tatoo options. We covered ourselves with tats and formed a gang. RR was Mama Shark, but she did not appear in photographs because as the Gang Leader she has to maintain an aura of mystery.
After everyone had gathered at The Loft, we headed out to Galapagos for some Sid and Buddy (well, I guess its now just Sid) karaoke. It was crowded when we got there so I knew there was no chance of getting to sing. I signed up for "Bandages" by Hot Hot Heat anyway. I challenged popular opinion that I should indicate that it was my birthday when I signed up, due to my not wanting to draw attention to myself. I hoped I'd get to sing but sadly I did not. But we still had fun. I think Bench Buddy had the most fun.
As usual, the people at Sid Karaoke were quite good. RR and I particularly enjoyed some girl's rendition of Fever.
The male sharks did as well.
D, who wasn't having the best time given his not feeling well and given my being drunk and full of drama, was about to leave when he was called up to sing "True" by Spandau Ballet. N joined him onstage, along with some woman who insisted on singing every single song. She was unbearable. D and N were, of course, adorable. This picture, however, is not.
Shortly after they sang we decided to leave, because RR and I were certain we, as The Sharks, might kill the woman who stole D and N's karaoke thunder. When we left Galapagos, there was a pristine coating of snow in the road. It is so rare to see snow so untouched. Immaculate. RR and N decided to make snow angels.
N's snow angel was very little and cute.
The Male Sharks copied them and made their own snow angels.
The girls tried to make snow sharks.
When I think of my 29th birthday party, I will think of walking back to The Loft in the snow behind everyone else. I felt like an observer instead of a participant. This is what my 29th birthday looked like.
29.
Whoa.
Yep.
Wow.
When I was a little kid I always thought people who were 30 were really, really old. I still feel like a kid. I haven't figured anything out. I suppose I have one more year to get everything in order.
Late-20's are almost over. When did that happen?
I need to figure things out.
But only after I celebrate my birthday in early-20's style.
I wish I could be a spastic drunk instead of an introspective one.
The photos from my birthday party are not as fun as I'd like them to be, but I will share them anyway. I didn't do a good job of documenting everything since I was, well, distracted.
We started off with a small gathering and karaoke in the apartment. Much gratitude towards RR and her fabulous MTV-brand-karaoke-machine with superfluous video camera. At first we feared the camera and didn't quite know what to make of the machine's capacity for live video. Our disdain quickly turned into awe and we were hooked. Please note the pink post-it collage on the wall, again, courtesy of RR. Nobody signed up. And, because neither of us are LBF, we couldn't come up with any suggestions for people. This didn't, however, stop people from singing. I don't have many photos of people singing because I was busy tending to mingling and other hostess-like activities during this portion of the party.
D baked this fabulous cake. It was orange, but not in honor of TheGates. It was delicious.
RR and I bought shark tatoos at the Folk Art Museum that afternoon. I was thrilled because a shark is actually one of my realistic tatoo options. We covered ourselves with tats and formed a gang. RR was Mama Shark, but she did not appear in photographs because as the Gang Leader she has to maintain an aura of mystery.
After everyone had gathered at The Loft, we headed out to Galapagos for some Sid and Buddy (well, I guess its now just Sid) karaoke. It was crowded when we got there so I knew there was no chance of getting to sing. I signed up for "Bandages" by Hot Hot Heat anyway. I challenged popular opinion that I should indicate that it was my birthday when I signed up, due to my not wanting to draw attention to myself. I hoped I'd get to sing but sadly I did not. But we still had fun. I think Bench Buddy had the most fun.
As usual, the people at Sid Karaoke were quite good. RR and I particularly enjoyed some girl's rendition of Fever.
The male sharks did as well.
D, who wasn't having the best time given his not feeling well and given my being drunk and full of drama, was about to leave when he was called up to sing "True" by Spandau Ballet. N joined him onstage, along with some woman who insisted on singing every single song. She was unbearable. D and N were, of course, adorable. This picture, however, is not.
Shortly after they sang we decided to leave, because RR and I were certain we, as The Sharks, might kill the woman who stole D and N's karaoke thunder. When we left Galapagos, there was a pristine coating of snow in the road. It is so rare to see snow so untouched. Immaculate. RR and N decided to make snow angels.
N's snow angel was very little and cute.
The Male Sharks copied them and made their own snow angels.
The girls tried to make snow sharks.
When I think of my 29th birthday party, I will think of walking back to The Loft in the snow behind everyone else. I felt like an observer instead of a participant. This is what my 29th birthday looked like.
29.
Whoa.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
TheGatesTheGatesTheGates.... Again
On Saturday, RR and I went to see TheGates.
This was my second time seeing TheGates. I warned RR about not getting her hopes up.
Maybe I just don't like orange.
Here are some pictures:
Picture of pictures of TheGates:
Some people and some gates:
Some more people and some more gates:
"I am contemplating the deeper meaning of The Gates....
"... and I have decided that The Gates are totally, like, the best thing EVER!"
RR has much better photos, which I will post whenever she gets a chance to send them to me.
I'll also have photos, most likely a plethora of panoramas, to post after my parents' visit this coming weekend.
After TheGates, RR and I tried to go to the MOMA but failed miserably because of the crowds. Mobs. Insanity. We went to the Folk Art Museum instead, where we fell in love with The Blue Exhibit. I had a Sal Moment during which I almost thought it acceptable to photograph something at the museum. In the Blue Exhibit, they had a collection of various blue pigments with which I fell in love. Luckily RR has a high tech camera phone, and managed to covertly take this for me:
We then headed back to The Loft where we mutually experienced pre-party anxiety. I am so glad she was there to maintain some degree of sanity as I went through the normal emotions of pre-party panic followed by "what to wear" trauma followed by inability to function for the hour prior to and after the start of the party.
My main concern with this function was quantity. Because nobody from work responded to my invitation, I had no idea if anyone was coming. None. How do you plan a function when you have zero concept of the amount of attendees? My estimate was approximately 10 people, which ended up being the case.
But of course I was having the following panic attacks:
1. What if nobody came? It wouldn't be the end of the world because I'd have fun with D and RR no matter what.
2. What if everybody came and there was not enough food or alcohol?
3. What if people came and nobody had fun?
4. What if people came and they all hated each other?
5. What if what if what if things culminated in my crying at my own party?
The only portion of the list that ended up being relevant was, sadly, number 5.
The party ended up being just the right mixture - too much alcohol plus not enough karaoke plus missing my girlfriends plus cock blocking plus vile and attention-needy girls plus patient boys plus feeling like an outcast and not feeling like a queen on one's birthday - for misdirected tears.
All I have to say is that I am so lucky to have such wonderful girls. I have decided that I don't need new friends, because I already have the most amazing friends in the world. I love that they calm and validate the tears and know just what to say, because they know me.
Man. I am so tired.
These entries are so incoherent. I haven't slept much over the past week. I'd intended to sleep tonight but the blog takes priority! I guess its fitting that the entries are all over the place, because so was the weekend.
This was my second time seeing TheGates. I warned RR about not getting her hopes up.
Maybe I just don't like orange.
Here are some pictures:
Picture of pictures of TheGates:
Some people and some gates:
Some more people and some more gates:
"I am contemplating the deeper meaning of The Gates....
"... and I have decided that The Gates are totally, like, the best thing EVER!"
RR has much better photos, which I will post whenever she gets a chance to send them to me.
I'll also have photos, most likely a plethora of panoramas, to post after my parents' visit this coming weekend.
After TheGates, RR and I tried to go to the MOMA but failed miserably because of the crowds. Mobs. Insanity. We went to the Folk Art Museum instead, where we fell in love with The Blue Exhibit. I had a Sal Moment during which I almost thought it acceptable to photograph something at the museum. In the Blue Exhibit, they had a collection of various blue pigments with which I fell in love. Luckily RR has a high tech camera phone, and managed to covertly take this for me:
We then headed back to The Loft where we mutually experienced pre-party anxiety. I am so glad she was there to maintain some degree of sanity as I went through the normal emotions of pre-party panic followed by "what to wear" trauma followed by inability to function for the hour prior to and after the start of the party.
My main concern with this function was quantity. Because nobody from work responded to my invitation, I had no idea if anyone was coming. None. How do you plan a function when you have zero concept of the amount of attendees? My estimate was approximately 10 people, which ended up being the case.
But of course I was having the following panic attacks:
1. What if nobody came? It wouldn't be the end of the world because I'd have fun with D and RR no matter what.
2. What if everybody came and there was not enough food or alcohol?
3. What if people came and nobody had fun?
4. What if people came and they all hated each other?
5. What if what if what if things culminated in my crying at my own party?
The only portion of the list that ended up being relevant was, sadly, number 5.
The party ended up being just the right mixture - too much alcohol plus not enough karaoke plus missing my girlfriends plus cock blocking plus vile and attention-needy girls plus patient boys plus feeling like an outcast and not feeling like a queen on one's birthday - for misdirected tears.
All I have to say is that I am so lucky to have such wonderful girls. I have decided that I don't need new friends, because I already have the most amazing friends in the world. I love that they calm and validate the tears and know just what to say, because they know me.
Man. I am so tired.
These entries are so incoherent. I haven't slept much over the past week. I'd intended to sleep tonight but the blog takes priority! I guess its fitting that the entries are all over the place, because so was the weekend.
Winds of Change
After the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players, it was time for the karaoke party prequel!
D, RR and I travelled back to Williamsburg, where we enjoyed chocolate covered strawberries (and bananas!) courtesy of RR and got our karaoke on.
Roommate and her new Boy/Toy were at the Loft. They definitely thought we were nerds, but that didn't stop them from joining in.
In fact, Boy/Toy can really sing.
And, for the second time in one weekend, I sang Poison by Bel Biv Devoe.
And also Buffalo Stance.
And D and I performed a stunning duet of The Flame.
And RR and I kicked ass during La Isla Bonita:
And I learned that I should never ever sing Creep, no matter how well I think I can sing along with Thom Yorke.
We were exhausted, but that didn't stop RR from beautifully executing her own version of The Scorpion's Winds of Change:
Nothing stops karaoke!!!!! We won't stop! You can't stop us now!!!!
D, RR and I travelled back to Williamsburg, where we enjoyed chocolate covered strawberries (and bananas!) courtesy of RR and got our karaoke on.
Roommate and her new Boy/Toy were at the Loft. They definitely thought we were nerds, but that didn't stop them from joining in.
In fact, Boy/Toy can really sing.
And, for the second time in one weekend, I sang Poison by Bel Biv Devoe.
And also Buffalo Stance.
And D and I performed a stunning duet of The Flame.
And RR and I kicked ass during La Isla Bonita:
And I learned that I should never ever sing Creep, no matter how well I think I can sing along with Thom Yorke.
We were exhausted, but that didn't stop RR from beautifully executing her own version of The Scorpion's Winds of Change:
Nothing stops karaoke!!!!! We won't stop! You can't stop us now!!!!
A-W-K-W-A-R-D
My birthday weekend commenced on Saturday morning, when D and I woke up early and cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. For D, the major motivating force was ridding The Loft of Roommate-associated-clutter and cat-associated unsightliness. Bless him and his OCD tendencies and his love of vacuuming. The Loft looks amazing, and playing house with him in this huge space was one of the weekend's major highlights.
A major motivating factor for me was anticipating the arrival of RR, my dear, wonderful and insanely-missed friend from Boston. She arrived Saturday afternoon with karaoke machine in tow and tons of love to give. We caught up, set up the karaoke machine, got ready, and headed out for our evening with the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players!
Since relocating to New York, I have flip flopped my inability to estimate how long things will take. When I lived in Boston I was notoriously early for things. I was always the one waiting. I'd say "Man, I am going to be at work all day - this experiment is going to take 9 hours!" so I'd rush and then be done in 5 hours. Here, I'm like "Oh yeah, I'll be there in 20 minutes" and it will take an hour. I am never on time. I think its because I haven't quite developed the ability to compare how long things should take to how long things actually take. Because I can see Manhattan from my window, it should take me only seconds, in theory, to get there. Tis not the case.
Anyway, RR and I were supposed to meet D at Fez Under Time at 7:00. When we got to the L, I looked at the clock, which said 6:50. I knew it would take us at least half an hour to get there. I said "Is that right?" Sadly it was. The L didn't come for a while, of course, and I was feeling really guilty for keeping D waiting. Again. Like I always do.
When we got off the L at Union Square, we were supposed to switch to the 6. We were in a rush, and RR, who has longer legs than me, got ahead of me and ran to catch a train. She bolted down the stairs. I followed after her, but couldn't keep up. Next thing I knew she was running onto the wrong train. Sloooooooow mooooooootion... "Noooo.... not that one!" I yelled, but it was too late! The doors closed on RR before I could get on the train, and she was gone.
I was frantic. I was like "Somebody tell me where that train goes!" There were these four fabulously New York construction men there, laughing at me. They told me that the train went to Astor. "What's that?!?!?" I was afraid it was Brooklyn. It was, apparently, only one stop away, so I decided to take the next train to Astor, which was hopefully what RR did as well. The four men continued to make fun of me until the next train came. They told me I was a bad host, that it was my duty as a New Yorker to hold my guests' hands. I said "No, not my fault, she got cocky!" and they said "No way, man, you're just becoming a New Yorker" and "What kind of friend are you?" and "How could you?" and "Good luck, she's going to kick your ass." I was crying tears of laughter by the time I got on the next train.
RR was nowhere to be found on the platform at Astor. D called and I was like "I can't talk to you right now I have lost RR and I don't know what to do where she is shit i suck oh my god."
RR had apparently gone to the other side of the platform and saw me looking around, so she called and we were reunited.
We ended up being really really really late.
D had been late as well, but because he was sick. Again. My heart is breaking.
I couldn't decide between being worried to the point of having another meltdown or being giddy about having lost RR and having felt like the subject of a funny play about becoming a New Yorker.
When we got into Fez Under Time, there was a line. Not cool since we had reserved tickets, which means we should have gotten a seat. I was holding onto D because I was afraid he was going to pass out or something, when some dude approached RR. He seemed to know her. She seemed horrified by his very presence. She clenched her teeth and tried desperately to conceal her awkwardness, but needless to say she didn't do a good job. Apparently some dude she knows from Boston heard what she was doing and decided to just turn up unannounced and unplanned, which really wigged out RR.
A-W-K-W-A-R-D.
We couldn't get seats at first, so we stood by the bar and listened to the awful opening band while we jealously watched The Trachtenburg Daughter eat a gigantic plateful of spaghetti.
We eventually spotted three seats - not together - and decided to sit down because we were worried about D and starving.
And then - the show! If you do not know about the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players, please consult:
http://www.slideshowplayers.com/
RR and I had seen them over a year ago during a snowstorm in Cambridge at the Middle East. We were simultaneously amused and horrified by them. At one point The Father called attention to us during the show and we were terrified, but not to the point that we weren't thrilled about the possibility of seeing them again.
The show was good. They played "Look At Me," which is our favorite. The Father was his usual punchy self only this time, unlike in Cambridge, he was a slightly more organized and therefore appealing punchy. He was funny, especially when talking about TheGates. If he wasn't so smart the banter might become exhausting, but he's witty and bizarre and lovely. He appeals to a specific sense of humor which I happen to have. Readers, this is not for everyone.
Towards the end of the set, The Father initiated a question-and-answer session, which included questions from the audience such as "Why are there only white people in your slides?" and a question to the daughter asking if she has aspirations involving something other than music. I think everyone worries about her. She answered "I would like to be an actor."
Things are clearly much worse than any of us could have imagined.
A major motivating factor for me was anticipating the arrival of RR, my dear, wonderful and insanely-missed friend from Boston. She arrived Saturday afternoon with karaoke machine in tow and tons of love to give. We caught up, set up the karaoke machine, got ready, and headed out for our evening with the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players!
Since relocating to New York, I have flip flopped my inability to estimate how long things will take. When I lived in Boston I was notoriously early for things. I was always the one waiting. I'd say "Man, I am going to be at work all day - this experiment is going to take 9 hours!" so I'd rush and then be done in 5 hours. Here, I'm like "Oh yeah, I'll be there in 20 minutes" and it will take an hour. I am never on time. I think its because I haven't quite developed the ability to compare how long things should take to how long things actually take. Because I can see Manhattan from my window, it should take me only seconds, in theory, to get there. Tis not the case.
Anyway, RR and I were supposed to meet D at Fez Under Time at 7:00. When we got to the L, I looked at the clock, which said 6:50. I knew it would take us at least half an hour to get there. I said "Is that right?" Sadly it was. The L didn't come for a while, of course, and I was feeling really guilty for keeping D waiting. Again. Like I always do.
When we got off the L at Union Square, we were supposed to switch to the 6. We were in a rush, and RR, who has longer legs than me, got ahead of me and ran to catch a train. She bolted down the stairs. I followed after her, but couldn't keep up. Next thing I knew she was running onto the wrong train. Sloooooooow mooooooootion... "Noooo.... not that one!" I yelled, but it was too late! The doors closed on RR before I could get on the train, and she was gone.
I was frantic. I was like "Somebody tell me where that train goes!" There were these four fabulously New York construction men there, laughing at me. They told me that the train went to Astor. "What's that?!?!?" I was afraid it was Brooklyn. It was, apparently, only one stop away, so I decided to take the next train to Astor, which was hopefully what RR did as well. The four men continued to make fun of me until the next train came. They told me I was a bad host, that it was my duty as a New Yorker to hold my guests' hands. I said "No, not my fault, she got cocky!" and they said "No way, man, you're just becoming a New Yorker" and "What kind of friend are you?" and "How could you?" and "Good luck, she's going to kick your ass." I was crying tears of laughter by the time I got on the next train.
RR was nowhere to be found on the platform at Astor. D called and I was like "I can't talk to you right now I have lost RR and I don't know what to do where she is shit i suck oh my god."
RR had apparently gone to the other side of the platform and saw me looking around, so she called and we were reunited.
We ended up being really really really late.
D had been late as well, but because he was sick. Again. My heart is breaking.
I couldn't decide between being worried to the point of having another meltdown or being giddy about having lost RR and having felt like the subject of a funny play about becoming a New Yorker.
When we got into Fez Under Time, there was a line. Not cool since we had reserved tickets, which means we should have gotten a seat. I was holding onto D because I was afraid he was going to pass out or something, when some dude approached RR. He seemed to know her. She seemed horrified by his very presence. She clenched her teeth and tried desperately to conceal her awkwardness, but needless to say she didn't do a good job. Apparently some dude she knows from Boston heard what she was doing and decided to just turn up unannounced and unplanned, which really wigged out RR.
A-W-K-W-A-R-D.
We couldn't get seats at first, so we stood by the bar and listened to the awful opening band while we jealously watched The Trachtenburg Daughter eat a gigantic plateful of spaghetti.
We eventually spotted three seats - not together - and decided to sit down because we were worried about D and starving.
And then - the show! If you do not know about the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players, please consult:
http://www.slideshowplayers.com/
RR and I had seen them over a year ago during a snowstorm in Cambridge at the Middle East. We were simultaneously amused and horrified by them. At one point The Father called attention to us during the show and we were terrified, but not to the point that we weren't thrilled about the possibility of seeing them again.
The show was good. They played "Look At Me," which is our favorite. The Father was his usual punchy self only this time, unlike in Cambridge, he was a slightly more organized and therefore appealing punchy. He was funny, especially when talking about TheGates. If he wasn't so smart the banter might become exhausting, but he's witty and bizarre and lovely. He appeals to a specific sense of humor which I happen to have. Readers, this is not for everyone.
Towards the end of the set, The Father initiated a question-and-answer session, which included questions from the audience such as "Why are there only white people in your slides?" and a question to the daughter asking if she has aspirations involving something other than music. I think everyone worries about her. She answered "I would like to be an actor."
Things are clearly much worse than any of us could have imagined.
Harlem Globetrotters
D and I, along with some of our coworkers, had tickets to see the Harlem Globetrotters on Friday night! I was so very excited. I love when nostalgia can be that powerful.
Prior to the game, D, Bench Buddy and I went to D's for drinks and conversation. We busily drank and discussed Bench Buddy's premise that love, hate, and indifference are like an isoceles triangle, with love and hate being the bottom and very close together and therefore readily and often interchangeable, and indifference being very far away and therefore harder to achieve. Ah, Bench Buddy. And then we sang Poison by Bel Biv Devoe.
The conversation and drinks made us late for the game, which started at 8:00. We got to Madison Square Garden at around 8:30. Once we found our way inside, which was far more difficult than we'd anticipated, we were baffled by the amount of people who were in the hallways. We deduced that it was halftime, and I felt stupid for having thought that a Harlem Globetrotters game would be as long as an NBA game. I said "I guess it makes sense that the halves would only be 20 minutes, but man, that's disappointing."
We met our other coworkers at the seats and they kept being like "Man, you guys are so late!"
I said "How were we supposed to know that the half would only be 20 minutes? We're not that late! Did we miss the hiding-the-ball trick?"
After like five minutes of discussion regarding our being late, it was revealed that the game started at 7:00. Oops.
Nevertheless, it was fun. There was much more, well, hip hop than I expected. Also, during the half, horrid pop music was playing and little kids were going nuts singing along with Ashlee Simpson. I fear for the youth. The game was fun - lots of dancing, antics, banter, and much less basketball than I remembered.
Here is some dancing:
It was fun.
Some questions, though:
1. Who are the Harlem Globetrotters? Like did they play basketball in college and almost made it into the NBA?
2. Do the Harlem Globetrotters score easily with chicks? Like does that work if you're in a bar and someone asks what you do - do girls think its hot if you're a Globetrotter? Or do people think its lame?
3. Do they make Nationals t-shirts? If they do, we are going to buy them and cheer for the Nationals next time.
4. Bench Buddy claims that the Nationals won once and only once - was this on purpose or did the Globetrotters have a bad night and the Nationals accidentally won?
Things to ponder before bringing future children to a Globetrotters game.
Prior to the game, D, Bench Buddy and I went to D's for drinks and conversation. We busily drank and discussed Bench Buddy's premise that love, hate, and indifference are like an isoceles triangle, with love and hate being the bottom and very close together and therefore readily and often interchangeable, and indifference being very far away and therefore harder to achieve. Ah, Bench Buddy. And then we sang Poison by Bel Biv Devoe.
The conversation and drinks made us late for the game, which started at 8:00. We got to Madison Square Garden at around 8:30. Once we found our way inside, which was far more difficult than we'd anticipated, we were baffled by the amount of people who were in the hallways. We deduced that it was halftime, and I felt stupid for having thought that a Harlem Globetrotters game would be as long as an NBA game. I said "I guess it makes sense that the halves would only be 20 minutes, but man, that's disappointing."
We met our other coworkers at the seats and they kept being like "Man, you guys are so late!"
I said "How were we supposed to know that the half would only be 20 minutes? We're not that late! Did we miss the hiding-the-ball trick?"
After like five minutes of discussion regarding our being late, it was revealed that the game started at 7:00. Oops.
Nevertheless, it was fun. There was much more, well, hip hop than I expected. Also, during the half, horrid pop music was playing and little kids were going nuts singing along with Ashlee Simpson. I fear for the youth. The game was fun - lots of dancing, antics, banter, and much less basketball than I remembered.
Here is some dancing:
It was fun.
Some questions, though:
1. Who are the Harlem Globetrotters? Like did they play basketball in college and almost made it into the NBA?
2. Do the Harlem Globetrotters score easily with chicks? Like does that work if you're in a bar and someone asks what you do - do girls think its hot if you're a Globetrotter? Or do people think its lame?
3. Do they make Nationals t-shirts? If they do, we are going to buy them and cheer for the Nationals next time.
4. Bench Buddy claims that the Nationals won once and only once - was this on purpose or did the Globetrotters have a bad night and the Nationals accidentally won?
Things to ponder before bringing future children to a Globetrotters game.
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