Went to see The Corporation last night after work. It was ok. Made me think about things and therefore made me extremely depressed. Made me feel like I have to take more responsibility for my life and what I dump down the sink at work. Made me feel like the world is a bad, bad, bad corporate jungle but we all need to have money, so it all makes sense. I miss the days when I felt like I didn't require money to be happy.
After the movie I went for drinks with Friend R From Work in the East Village. I don't know where we went. It's all a little foggy. It was slightly trippy because we walked by Certain Someone's apartment, and I went from thinking "Wow! This is all so new!" to being like "Wait a second.... I've been here a million times." I had a couple of cosmopolitans, which wasn't the best idea since I had a bagel for dinner.
When my second cosmo was finished, I decided to head back to Brooklyn. Walked myself back to the L, went down the stairs, and realized "Wait! I can't get IN TO the L!" Yes, folks, the L, my only way to get home, stops running at midnight. Who knew?
I ran into a girl who was also flabbergasted, so we decided to get a cab together. We tried to get a cab for a few minutes without luck, and finally managed to get one that we sort of stole from these two dudes across the street. They were pissed, so I was like "Dudes, where are you guys going?" They were going to basically where we were going, so the four of us shared a cab back to Brooklyn.
Those two dudes didn't know each other either, so it started out really awkwardly, but luckily one of the dudes was very talkative. Turns out he's directing a play and is originally from Boston, where his father is a biochemist at MIT. We chatted, and I asked him about how he made friends, and he's like "Random - just start going to a bar and you'll make friends, or you meet people in the back of cabs. You know. That's how you make friends."
He also said "Don't worry about it just yet. You are a young plant. You don't have roots yet. You can't. It's normal."
He also gave me his email and said "I'll get you tickets to the play. You should come. Email me."
Word. I emailed him, but I assume he will be like all men (well, I am comparing him to all straight men and he is not a straight man, but he is still a man!) and will not respond, but I figured I'd try.
So when we got into Williamsburg there was tons of traffic. Totally bizarre. There's never traffic in Williamsburg. And tons of hasidic men walking around. Tons. Insane amounts blocking traffic and causing traffic.
The silent dude in the cab, who turned out to be of Russian or something confused with Russian descent, said "There's a mass Jewish wedding tonight from midnight to 5 am. 1500 people getting married."
What?
Tons of traffic, so I ended up being dropped off fairly far from my apartment. And there were, seriously, swarms of hasidic men on all the streets at 1 am. No women anywhere. Just men for like 5 square blocks. And it was loud and alive and there were tons of buses blocking my apartment because apparently the buses were being parked at my building.
I was psychotically giggling during my entire walk home. Drunk tagged R but he didn't answer the phone, which made me mad, but I guess it was an hour after I'd left him in the East Village. It was just so funny, not because there's anything inherently funny about a mass wedding at 1 am in my neighborhood, but because this is my life. I now live in a place where I get lost and take cabs with complete strangers and then encounter mass weddings at 1 am on a Thursday and have nobody to share it with.
Life is getting good.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Back To School
I went to class last night. It was difficult. Not the class itself, but the act of going-to-class. I haven't been to class in forever. Of course the normal issues of commitment-phobia came rushing to the surface. When people ask "Why don't you go back to school?" I usually blame issues of money or time or happiness. The truth is that I can't commit to anything for more than a day.
This particular class is an adult ed, non-credit class being offered through NYU. It is called "Comics as Literature." I chose this class specifically because it seemed non-committal (and also because it seemed cool!) - like how much dedication could it possibly take to read comics?
I got lost going there. Big surprise. I had a map and still got lost because W. Houston curved. NY is lovely because it is a grid but you take grid-ness for granted and just keep walking in the same direction when every now and then things become a triangle. Confusing.
NYU is surprisingly close to where I work, which will be lovely when it is snowing and I am feeling ultra-commitment-phobic about going to class.
And you will all be so proud of me - R from work said "The CMJ Music Marathon starts tonight - we should go to a show" to which I responded "Alas, no, I cannot, because I have class! And I am going to it! And there's nothing you or the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players can do about it!" I'd have loved, though, to see Sonic Youth with MixMaster Mike, but there were no tickets. That show wouldn't have interfered with my being a good student. Hmph.
Class was cool. We get to read fabulous things like Watchmen and Sandman and other things. Also learned a bit about the history of comics, graphic novels, etc., and am inspired to, gasp, read more! School is cool! I like school! I think I will be doing more school in the future!!!
Never underestimate the benefits of having something regular and dependable to do, especially when you don't know anyone. I am jazzed about the next class. And not because the class is good - it's not - but because I am thrilled to have something regular in my life!
So yes. Class. There are 6 students. Me, a girl who reminds me of Jessica Simpson and who is taking this class because her job is making her (what would I give to have a job that forced me to take this class! yes!), a woman from NJ who works in HR and talks really fast and is very socially aggressive and talks and talks some more but seems nice, an older guy who has lots to say and knows everything but isn't obnoxious about it, a reluctant kid who works for Columbia House and a shy dude who is studying film at Columbia (he is my favorite, because he is
softspoken and dark and because I secretly hope he will write a movie about this class).
The teacher looked like a professor. Tweed jacket over turtleneck. He grew up in Boston in that time that bred people who wear jackets with elbow pads over turtlenecks and who have that more-proper-Boston-accent like my parents have. They say "hahlf" instead of "half." That kind.
After class, I walked with the girls to the subway. It was funny because they had no idea where they were going and I did! Yay grid! I was like "The subway stop is in this direction, gals!" It was funny because NJ/HR girl was complaining "I didn't think we'd have to do work in this class!" I suppose by do work she means read comics. God forbid. I was glad, though, that someone else couldn't commit to doing work. But seriously. Is it that stressful to read graphic novels? And she really thought we'd just go and listen?
It made me sad, though, because Watchmen is the best book ever and it would make me sad if she (or anyone) didn't read it when given the opportunity. I kept being like "No, dude, you have to read Watchmen though. Seriously. It's worth it." I must have sounded like such a dork, but whatever! She should read it!
(Sidenote: Before I moved I read Watchmen again after nearly 10 years to the minute from the first time I read it, and man, was it good again! I wrote a song called "Dr. Manhattan" that I never recorded, but now I shall be inspired and will put it on the blog soon! Yeah!)
I walked to the train with Jessica Simpson. She was nice and wearing very high pink high heels. Sadly she'd lost her metro card, though, and therefore couldn't get on the subway with me despite all her good intentions. Curses! The good news, though, is that she has to take this class for work so she will definitely be there next week. We will be able to chat. I will have human interaction. It will be marvelous.
After class I decided to check out an alleged open mic in Williamsburg, but it turned out to be a dreaded Singer/Songwriter Showcase from 8:30 - 10:30, f0llowed by open mic at 10:30. Open mics are good because there's a chance that there might be something good so you can convince yourself to sit through the bad. Bad singer/songwriter showcases are just bad bad bad. This one was bad bad bad and being listened to a bunch of hipsters about 1/2 my age who clapped politely and generally looked angsty. I was there for 1.5 songs and left hoping that America's Next Top Model was on at 9:00.
It wasn't. It was debate, baseball, or hip hop honors. It's all about hip hop honors. Roommate has taken to calling me "Puff Leah" and every time the people on the honors made a shout-out to anything New York related - Brooklyn, the Bronx, New York City, Union Square - we responded because they are obviously talking to us! We are especially proud of our neighbors The Beastie Boys.
And how awesome is Chuck D? Word.
This particular class is an adult ed, non-credit class being offered through NYU. It is called "Comics as Literature." I chose this class specifically because it seemed non-committal (and also because it seemed cool!) - like how much dedication could it possibly take to read comics?
I got lost going there. Big surprise. I had a map and still got lost because W. Houston curved. NY is lovely because it is a grid but you take grid-ness for granted and just keep walking in the same direction when every now and then things become a triangle. Confusing.
NYU is surprisingly close to where I work, which will be lovely when it is snowing and I am feeling ultra-commitment-phobic about going to class.
And you will all be so proud of me - R from work said "The CMJ Music Marathon starts tonight - we should go to a show" to which I responded "Alas, no, I cannot, because I have class! And I am going to it! And there's nothing you or the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players can do about it!" I'd have loved, though, to see Sonic Youth with MixMaster Mike, but there were no tickets. That show wouldn't have interfered with my being a good student. Hmph.
Class was cool. We get to read fabulous things like Watchmen and Sandman and other things. Also learned a bit about the history of comics, graphic novels, etc., and am inspired to, gasp, read more! School is cool! I like school! I think I will be doing more school in the future!!!
Never underestimate the benefits of having something regular and dependable to do, especially when you don't know anyone. I am jazzed about the next class. And not because the class is good - it's not - but because I am thrilled to have something regular in my life!
So yes. Class. There are 6 students. Me, a girl who reminds me of Jessica Simpson and who is taking this class because her job is making her (what would I give to have a job that forced me to take this class! yes!), a woman from NJ who works in HR and talks really fast and is very socially aggressive and talks and talks some more but seems nice, an older guy who has lots to say and knows everything but isn't obnoxious about it, a reluctant kid who works for Columbia House and a shy dude who is studying film at Columbia (he is my favorite, because he is
softspoken and dark and because I secretly hope he will write a movie about this class).
The teacher looked like a professor. Tweed jacket over turtleneck. He grew up in Boston in that time that bred people who wear jackets with elbow pads over turtlenecks and who have that more-proper-Boston-accent like my parents have. They say "hahlf" instead of "half." That kind.
After class, I walked with the girls to the subway. It was funny because they had no idea where they were going and I did! Yay grid! I was like "The subway stop is in this direction, gals!" It was funny because NJ/HR girl was complaining "I didn't think we'd have to do work in this class!" I suppose by do work she means read comics. God forbid. I was glad, though, that someone else couldn't commit to doing work. But seriously. Is it that stressful to read graphic novels? And she really thought we'd just go and listen?
It made me sad, though, because Watchmen is the best book ever and it would make me sad if she (or anyone) didn't read it when given the opportunity. I kept being like "No, dude, you have to read Watchmen though. Seriously. It's worth it." I must have sounded like such a dork, but whatever! She should read it!
(Sidenote: Before I moved I read Watchmen again after nearly 10 years to the minute from the first time I read it, and man, was it good again! I wrote a song called "Dr. Manhattan" that I never recorded, but now I shall be inspired and will put it on the blog soon! Yeah!)
I walked to the train with Jessica Simpson. She was nice and wearing very high pink high heels. Sadly she'd lost her metro card, though, and therefore couldn't get on the subway with me despite all her good intentions. Curses! The good news, though, is that she has to take this class for work so she will definitely be there next week. We will be able to chat. I will have human interaction. It will be marvelous.
After class I decided to check out an alleged open mic in Williamsburg, but it turned out to be a dreaded Singer/Songwriter Showcase from 8:30 - 10:30, f0llowed by open mic at 10:30. Open mics are good because there's a chance that there might be something good so you can convince yourself to sit through the bad. Bad singer/songwriter showcases are just bad bad bad. This one was bad bad bad and being listened to a bunch of hipsters about 1/2 my age who clapped politely and generally looked angsty. I was there for 1.5 songs and left hoping that America's Next Top Model was on at 9:00.
It wasn't. It was debate, baseball, or hip hop honors. It's all about hip hop honors. Roommate has taken to calling me "Puff Leah" and every time the people on the honors made a shout-out to anything New York related - Brooklyn, the Bronx, New York City, Union Square - we responded because they are obviously talking to us! We are especially proud of our neighbors The Beastie Boys.
And how awesome is Chuck D? Word.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Criminally bad
I went to see Criminal last night.
Even the adorableness of Diego Luna (who, incidenally, is three years younger than me) was not enough to save this movie from being one of the worst movies I've ever seen.
Please do not see it.
That is all.
Even the adorableness of Diego Luna (who, incidenally, is three years younger than me) was not enough to save this movie from being one of the worst movies I've ever seen.
Please do not see it.
That is all.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Columbus Day Weekend Part Deux - The Birth of Hip Hop Anonymous
On Sunday LBF and I went for breakfast where LBF, who doesn’t like Bloody Marys, decided to try a Bloody Mary. Bad idea. I don’t know why anyone likes Bloody Marys, but that’s beside the point! We then headed back to The Loft to change outfits since all of a sudden it is winter and we were caught unprepared. From there we headed into Manhattan, where we had two goals: MTV Store and Accessories.
The MTV Store was a disappointment for LBF, who was expecting something much more dramatic. I was expecting Puffy to be there, but sadly, he was not. Mission Accessories, however, proved fruitful. LBF now owns the world’s most vast collection of purple accessories, including bracelets, necklaces, rings, and earrings. I now own about 7 pairs of earrings I don’t need as well as the world’s most fabulous sparkly pink wallet! Finally! Project Wallet, which has been ongoing for the past four years and I’m not kidding, has finally come to an end. I will never have to buy a wallet again!
After shopping in Soho, we thought “Hey, we’re hungry! Let’s go grab a quick slice of pizza in Little Italy!” HAH! You’d think it would be easy to get a quick slice of pizza in Little Italy, but no. Like everything in New York, this was a project. We finally found a place to get a slice of pizza after walking the entirety of Little Italy twice, but then it took them, like, 15 minutes to give us two freaking slices of cheese pizza. LBF was homicidal this time.
We then headed back to The Loft, where we primped for KARAOKE!!!!!!!!!!!
YIPEE!!!!!!!!!!!
One of the main reasons for LBF to visit on this particular weekend was karaoke. Hip hop karaoke, to be more precise. I’d seen this on a website when I first moved here. I thought “New York is heaven. They specifically have hip hop karaoke in my neighborhood on Sunday nights!”
We talked about Hip Hop Karaoke all day. As usual, I was neurotic. I was worried about many things – like what if people were really good? What if people could tell we were posers? What if there were no people? What if it was a Chinese food restaurant with only one guy doing hip hop karaoke? What if it was really intimidating? What if they could see right through us? Who would be there? What song would I do? What if I sucked? Etc.
LBF was more optimistic, and said “Leah, the people at hip hop karaoke will think we are goddesses by the time we’re through.”
LBF – glass-half-full attitude or completely unrealistic expectations? All I need to say is that it’s a good thing I’m neurotic (and Super Fly just has to deal with my being neurotic!).
We walked to the Chinese Restaurant, which, as far as I can tell, didn’t even have a sign. Then we walked in and there were no people. None. And also no karaoke. Then I noticed a stairwell. We walked down this stairwell into this red-lit den with a bar and maybe about 10 people sitting around drinking. We took off our coats and decided to get a drink, but there was no bartender.
Finally a bartender appeared and we ordered drinks. Perplexing, though, because hip hop karaoke allegedly began at 8:00 and it was, ahem, 10:30.
We made fun of the place for a while, partially because it was so awful and partially because we were, well, worried. Amidst our discussions, LBF said “Wait a second – I don’t see a monitor.”
Baffling. No monitor. But signs for karaoke.
Uh-huh.
You see, it’s not karaoke at all! It’s actually a real DJ! And you can do whatever song you want! And if you don’t know the words, they have the words printed out on sheets of paper! YEAH!!!!
In all my paranoid scenarios, I never once thought “Perhaps it will not be karaoke at all, and what it will be, instead, is actually more of a hip hop open mic night in which you are encouraged to do covers!”
LBF’s goddess dreams = shattered.
Now. This was disappointing for a variety of reasons. No hip hop karaoke. Plus, how weak is that? I could host hip hop karaoke and actually do a better job with my broken karaoke machine that doesn’t have video right now! Also, it’s not karaoke because you have to be good to do it. You have to know the song inside and out. Where’s the fun in that?!?!?!?!?
Luckily I am a paranoid idiot, and made backup karaoke plans.
Apparently, without having known it in advance, I moved to a building around the corner from the best karaoke bar I’ve ever been to.
Check out this website:
http://www.sidandbuddy.com/
Hosted by “Sid” who is the inexplicably irresistible combination of Beetlejuice and Vince Vaughan. I guess its good that I am rabid for an actual person. The show is great. The man can sing and play a mean inflatable guitar. There were a bunch of, well, regulars there who are zany and charming and supportive and actually good.
It’s fabulous because you actually do karaoke on a stage, rock-star-style, and he’s got TONS of reverb and a little echo on the mic so everyone sounds great.
LBF was amazing. During the day, she came up with her hip hop alter ego, Hip Hop Anonymous. She thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever said. I’m not sure that I really get it, but I’ll support her. Sid called her up as Hip Hop Anonymous and she kicked ass – did a little LL, did a little Beasties, and the crowd adored her. They commended her “courage.”
I did “Somebody to Love” by Queen. Sort of a melodramatic choice, but I am feeling melodramatic lately. Plus, I think it’s a fitting song for this point in my life. I have no idea if it was good or not because I was having a nervous breakdown while doing it and am now suffering from post-traumatic-karaoke-stress-disorder. I had fun, though, especially being on stage. I do remember looking down and seeing people watching me, which is cool and also horrifying.
I am so going back this weekend, and am hoping that I too become a zany regular.
Karaoke. Around the corner from The Loft. Life is good.
The MTV Store was a disappointment for LBF, who was expecting something much more dramatic. I was expecting Puffy to be there, but sadly, he was not. Mission Accessories, however, proved fruitful. LBF now owns the world’s most vast collection of purple accessories, including bracelets, necklaces, rings, and earrings. I now own about 7 pairs of earrings I don’t need as well as the world’s most fabulous sparkly pink wallet! Finally! Project Wallet, which has been ongoing for the past four years and I’m not kidding, has finally come to an end. I will never have to buy a wallet again!
After shopping in Soho, we thought “Hey, we’re hungry! Let’s go grab a quick slice of pizza in Little Italy!” HAH! You’d think it would be easy to get a quick slice of pizza in Little Italy, but no. Like everything in New York, this was a project. We finally found a place to get a slice of pizza after walking the entirety of Little Italy twice, but then it took them, like, 15 minutes to give us two freaking slices of cheese pizza. LBF was homicidal this time.
We then headed back to The Loft, where we primped for KARAOKE!!!!!!!!!!!
YIPEE!!!!!!!!!!!
One of the main reasons for LBF to visit on this particular weekend was karaoke. Hip hop karaoke, to be more precise. I’d seen this on a website when I first moved here. I thought “New York is heaven. They specifically have hip hop karaoke in my neighborhood on Sunday nights!”
We talked about Hip Hop Karaoke all day. As usual, I was neurotic. I was worried about many things – like what if people were really good? What if people could tell we were posers? What if there were no people? What if it was a Chinese food restaurant with only one guy doing hip hop karaoke? What if it was really intimidating? What if they could see right through us? Who would be there? What song would I do? What if I sucked? Etc.
LBF was more optimistic, and said “Leah, the people at hip hop karaoke will think we are goddesses by the time we’re through.”
LBF – glass-half-full attitude or completely unrealistic expectations? All I need to say is that it’s a good thing I’m neurotic (and Super Fly just has to deal with my being neurotic!).
We walked to the Chinese Restaurant, which, as far as I can tell, didn’t even have a sign. Then we walked in and there were no people. None. And also no karaoke. Then I noticed a stairwell. We walked down this stairwell into this red-lit den with a bar and maybe about 10 people sitting around drinking. We took off our coats and decided to get a drink, but there was no bartender.
Finally a bartender appeared and we ordered drinks. Perplexing, though, because hip hop karaoke allegedly began at 8:00 and it was, ahem, 10:30.
We made fun of the place for a while, partially because it was so awful and partially because we were, well, worried. Amidst our discussions, LBF said “Wait a second – I don’t see a monitor.”
Baffling. No monitor. But signs for karaoke.
Uh-huh.
You see, it’s not karaoke at all! It’s actually a real DJ! And you can do whatever song you want! And if you don’t know the words, they have the words printed out on sheets of paper! YEAH!!!!
In all my paranoid scenarios, I never once thought “Perhaps it will not be karaoke at all, and what it will be, instead, is actually more of a hip hop open mic night in which you are encouraged to do covers!”
LBF’s goddess dreams = shattered.
Now. This was disappointing for a variety of reasons. No hip hop karaoke. Plus, how weak is that? I could host hip hop karaoke and actually do a better job with my broken karaoke machine that doesn’t have video right now! Also, it’s not karaoke because you have to be good to do it. You have to know the song inside and out. Where’s the fun in that?!?!?!?!?
Luckily I am a paranoid idiot, and made backup karaoke plans.
Apparently, without having known it in advance, I moved to a building around the corner from the best karaoke bar I’ve ever been to.
Check out this website:
http://www.sidandbuddy.com/
Hosted by “Sid” who is the inexplicably irresistible combination of Beetlejuice and Vince Vaughan. I guess its good that I am rabid for an actual person. The show is great. The man can sing and play a mean inflatable guitar. There were a bunch of, well, regulars there who are zany and charming and supportive and actually good.
It’s fabulous because you actually do karaoke on a stage, rock-star-style, and he’s got TONS of reverb and a little echo on the mic so everyone sounds great.
LBF was amazing. During the day, she came up with her hip hop alter ego, Hip Hop Anonymous. She thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever said. I’m not sure that I really get it, but I’ll support her. Sid called her up as Hip Hop Anonymous and she kicked ass – did a little LL, did a little Beasties, and the crowd adored her. They commended her “courage.”
I did “Somebody to Love” by Queen. Sort of a melodramatic choice, but I am feeling melodramatic lately. Plus, I think it’s a fitting song for this point in my life. I have no idea if it was good or not because I was having a nervous breakdown while doing it and am now suffering from post-traumatic-karaoke-stress-disorder. I had fun, though, especially being on stage. I do remember looking down and seeing people watching me, which is cool and also horrifying.
I am so going back this weekend, and am hoping that I too become a zany regular.
Karaoke. Around the corner from The Loft. Life is good.
Columbus Day Weekend Part 1 - Super Fly says "There's no malice in here!"
My first long weekend in NYC has come and gone.
It started off with shopping on Broadway. Super Fly and I met up after work on Friday because I wanted to buy a yellow lamp for the living room and he wanted to buy a sequel to the Super Fly t-shirt for his brother. Super Fly ended up spending tons of money on things such as a shirt that said Bad Ass Mo Fo, a blue Chinese robe for his pimp daddy self, and these weird glowing balls. I can’t even describe them. When I have internet at home I will post a photo. They’re much cooler than they sound.
We grabbed some pizza and some alcohol and headed back to Williamsburg, where I watched the debate before going out for the night. Kerry kicked the crap out of Bush, who was super defensive. Of course, in typical and super annoying Super Fly fashion, Super Fly proceeded to get trashed while watching the debate, talked through the entire thing, and then started going off about how ridiculous a country America is. This annoyed me because Super Fly, as a non-American, has taken advantage of the American way of things more than anyone I’ve ever met, American or not. I got really defensive and pissed off, because it’s the age old analogy: I can make fun of my little brother but the second anybody else does I’ll go nuts. Thankfully Super Fly had other plans for the evening and hauled his drunk ass self out of my apartment to go meet some Irish Girl he’d met last time we were here in May, on the night that Super Fly was born. He left without his shoes. It was awshummm. I didn’t go out because, seriously, I felt like I might kill someone. There’s nothing I loathe more than being antagonized / annoyed in my own home. Thankfully I have more appealing drunk friends who happened to call me on Friday night during this ordeal, and thankfully I have sober friends who were home and who I called and who listened to me during this ordeal.
On Saturday morning my former LBF arrived for a visit! I was thrilled. I was especially happy to see her after having spent Friday night feeling homicidal. I grabbed some breakfast with Super Fly and LBF, after which we trolled around Williamsburg looking at vintage clothes that were all too big for me and exploring the area. We went back to The Loft and took naps, after which we went to Sea, which is the coolest Thai restaurant on the planet. Afterwards we went back to The Loft to primp.
We went to No Malice Palace in the East Village afterwards, which is my favorite bar on the planet. Gratitude towards Certain Someone for taking me there over a year ago. They play underground hip hop and the scene is very non-scenester. There wasn’t all that much material to work with, aside from this huge group of ex-frat boys who looked like they had beamed in from Boston. Not that I was interested in them, because, really, that was the whole point of leaving Boston, but LBF was all over that.
Had some interesting conversations with Super Fly there. I was drinking and getting moody and lonely and emo, and Super Fly was actually being supportive. He also confessed that he annoys me on purpose, which, well, annoyed me. But he can be so endearing, which is why we're still friends, and which is why I was happy to have him there when I was being emo. This didn't, however, prevent me from asking Super Fly to leave The Loft. The Loft just isn't big enough for Super Fly.
Super Fly says "You can't go wrong with black, unless it's dark blue."
It started off with shopping on Broadway. Super Fly and I met up after work on Friday because I wanted to buy a yellow lamp for the living room and he wanted to buy a sequel to the Super Fly t-shirt for his brother. Super Fly ended up spending tons of money on things such as a shirt that said Bad Ass Mo Fo, a blue Chinese robe for his pimp daddy self, and these weird glowing balls. I can’t even describe them. When I have internet at home I will post a photo. They’re much cooler than they sound.
We grabbed some pizza and some alcohol and headed back to Williamsburg, where I watched the debate before going out for the night. Kerry kicked the crap out of Bush, who was super defensive. Of course, in typical and super annoying Super Fly fashion, Super Fly proceeded to get trashed while watching the debate, talked through the entire thing, and then started going off about how ridiculous a country America is. This annoyed me because Super Fly, as a non-American, has taken advantage of the American way of things more than anyone I’ve ever met, American or not. I got really defensive and pissed off, because it’s the age old analogy: I can make fun of my little brother but the second anybody else does I’ll go nuts. Thankfully Super Fly had other plans for the evening and hauled his drunk ass self out of my apartment to go meet some Irish Girl he’d met last time we were here in May, on the night that Super Fly was born. He left without his shoes. It was awshummm. I didn’t go out because, seriously, I felt like I might kill someone. There’s nothing I loathe more than being antagonized / annoyed in my own home. Thankfully I have more appealing drunk friends who happened to call me on Friday night during this ordeal, and thankfully I have sober friends who were home and who I called and who listened to me during this ordeal.
On Saturday morning my former LBF arrived for a visit! I was thrilled. I was especially happy to see her after having spent Friday night feeling homicidal. I grabbed some breakfast with Super Fly and LBF, after which we trolled around Williamsburg looking at vintage clothes that were all too big for me and exploring the area. We went back to The Loft and took naps, after which we went to Sea, which is the coolest Thai restaurant on the planet. Afterwards we went back to The Loft to primp.
We went to No Malice Palace in the East Village afterwards, which is my favorite bar on the planet. Gratitude towards Certain Someone for taking me there over a year ago. They play underground hip hop and the scene is very non-scenester. There wasn’t all that much material to work with, aside from this huge group of ex-frat boys who looked like they had beamed in from Boston. Not that I was interested in them, because, really, that was the whole point of leaving Boston, but LBF was all over that.
Had some interesting conversations with Super Fly there. I was drinking and getting moody and lonely and emo, and Super Fly was actually being supportive. He also confessed that he annoys me on purpose, which, well, annoyed me. But he can be so endearing, which is why we're still friends, and which is why I was happy to have him there when I was being emo. This didn't, however, prevent me from asking Super Fly to leave The Loft. The Loft just isn't big enough for Super Fly.
Super Fly says "You can't go wrong with black, unless it's dark blue."
First Confused Moment
So I woke up at 3am last night and thought "Where am I?" And then I thought "Oh right, I live in NYC and I have to work in the morning."
Wtf?
Also, this morning I watched The Weather Channel for the first time, since I've still been unable to track down a weather hotline. I was watching Local on the 8's, and the first screen was split between BOSTON And NYC. Of course I looked at the Boston weather and thought "Whoa! It's going to be COLD today!" Heh. Luckily NYC is going to be 5 degrees warmer. Take that!
(Side note: The Weather Channel is totally advertising that Day After Tomorrow monstrosity because apparently it was about weather, and not Jake Gylenhaal's descent into lack of cred)
Finally, on the topic of celebrity crushes, Jude Law is everywhere and I am thrilled! I may have to see Alfie even though it looks bad because it has Jude Law and because it is about NYC.
Celebrity Crush Du Jour: Tie between Scott Weiland and Dave Navarro.
Dave Navarro - so adorable I can't handle it. I want what Carmen and Dave have. Then I can be happy. I was watching some god awful entertainment show like Extra last night so I could be melancholy about the death of Christopher Reeve and they had an interview with Dave. Yum.
Scott Weiland - rock starrrrr. I love him being all waify and snakey. I hate Fall to Pieces because it is very melodramatic and cheesy but is admittedly a good STP/GnR hybrid. Anyway, when I was watching The Weather Channel this morning I actually watched videos for a bit (I can't stop!), and saw the video for Fall to Pieces, which was even more melodramatic than the song itself. It had Scott Weiland acting. Point being, despite the high cheese quotient of the video I was still rabid for Scott Weiland. Absolutely rabid.
It occurs to me now that because I know noone and can't have a crush on anyone in my actual life, I have reverted to being fourteen and having crushes on celebrities. Word.
I will write about ce weekend soon-ish.
Wtf?
Also, this morning I watched The Weather Channel for the first time, since I've still been unable to track down a weather hotline. I was watching Local on the 8's, and the first screen was split between BOSTON And NYC. Of course I looked at the Boston weather and thought "Whoa! It's going to be COLD today!" Heh. Luckily NYC is going to be 5 degrees warmer. Take that!
(Side note: The Weather Channel is totally advertising that Day After Tomorrow monstrosity because apparently it was about weather, and not Jake Gylenhaal's descent into lack of cred)
Finally, on the topic of celebrity crushes, Jude Law is everywhere and I am thrilled! I may have to see Alfie even though it looks bad because it has Jude Law and because it is about NYC.
Celebrity Crush Du Jour: Tie between Scott Weiland and Dave Navarro.
Dave Navarro - so adorable I can't handle it. I want what Carmen and Dave have. Then I can be happy. I was watching some god awful entertainment show like Extra last night so I could be melancholy about the death of Christopher Reeve and they had an interview with Dave. Yum.
Scott Weiland - rock starrrrr. I love him being all waify and snakey. I hate Fall to Pieces because it is very melodramatic and cheesy but is admittedly a good STP/GnR hybrid. Anyway, when I was watching The Weather Channel this morning I actually watched videos for a bit (I can't stop!), and saw the video for Fall to Pieces, which was even more melodramatic than the song itself. It had Scott Weiland acting. Point being, despite the high cheese quotient of the video I was still rabid for Scott Weiland. Absolutely rabid.
It occurs to me now that because I know noone and can't have a crush on anyone in my actual life, I have reverted to being fourteen and having crushes on celebrities. Word.
I will write about ce weekend soon-ish.
Friday, October 08, 2004
MTV
Last night I left work early because I was hungover and ineffective. Ineffective to the point that my head kept nearly crashing down onto my computer keyboard.
I went home and was like "Wow! I can watch TV for the first time since I've had TV!" so I watched MTV.
And then I realized one of the good things about not having TV is that you don't have the knowledge that Lindsay Lohan has busted into the world of professional singing. Like a zombie I watched the MTV Linsday Lohan making-the-video of her new smash single Rumors. I realize she's sick of people saying what they want about her and she really just wants me to back up off her, but really. Is this necessary?
I just don't see what the big deal about Lindsay Lohan is. She has very thin lips. She is dating Fes from That 70s Show and this is infuriating. Apparently she is now singing.
MTV2 was showing Eminem videos and only Eminem videos. I don't like the new Eminem song, so I couldn't bring myself to watch any Eminem videos because it just depressed me. So of course my only alternative was to watch MTV.
But really. Does the world need another thin-lipped pitch-corrected teen-y girl singer singing about how opressed she is now that she's famous? MTV is such an enabler. At least the cookie cutter vocalists now come with different color hair so us brunettes can feel like we're worth something. And now the thin-lipped girls of the world can feel special too!!!!
Linsday Lohan. Her next song will be about how she's so overxposed and how she feels so bad about it.
I've been listening to Howard Stern in the mornings because there is no good music being played in NYC in the mornings. I actually happened to catch his "announcement" the other day and it made me really sad. Not because I will miss Howard Stern but because I feel like free radio is good and how threatening could a radio show really be to society? He had some really good points, and, well, why should only the rich be able to listen to his program and get to watch The Sopranos? It just ain't right.
Anyway, the reason I mention this is because Howard Stern keeps having Lindsay Lohan's biological father on the program, and its really funny, because the guy is a total screw up and he also feels so oppressed. He's the polar opposite of Jessica Simpson's amazingly put together gay agent father. He's like "I had to be dragged out of that bar because I got belligerent because of an interaction between that one drink I had and the perscription drugs I was taking!" And then the bouncer from that bar called and they had a fight over the phone about it. I have to admit, and I swear I'm not a fan of Howard Stern, that I laughed really hard.
I went home and was like "Wow! I can watch TV for the first time since I've had TV!" so I watched MTV.
And then I realized one of the good things about not having TV is that you don't have the knowledge that Lindsay Lohan has busted into the world of professional singing. Like a zombie I watched the MTV Linsday Lohan making-the-video of her new smash single Rumors. I realize she's sick of people saying what they want about her and she really just wants me to back up off her, but really. Is this necessary?
I just don't see what the big deal about Lindsay Lohan is. She has very thin lips. She is dating Fes from That 70s Show and this is infuriating. Apparently she is now singing.
MTV2 was showing Eminem videos and only Eminem videos. I don't like the new Eminem song, so I couldn't bring myself to watch any Eminem videos because it just depressed me. So of course my only alternative was to watch MTV.
But really. Does the world need another thin-lipped pitch-corrected teen-y girl singer singing about how opressed she is now that she's famous? MTV is such an enabler. At least the cookie cutter vocalists now come with different color hair so us brunettes can feel like we're worth something. And now the thin-lipped girls of the world can feel special too!!!!
Linsday Lohan. Her next song will be about how she's so overxposed and how she feels so bad about it.
I've been listening to Howard Stern in the mornings because there is no good music being played in NYC in the mornings. I actually happened to catch his "announcement" the other day and it made me really sad. Not because I will miss Howard Stern but because I feel like free radio is good and how threatening could a radio show really be to society? He had some really good points, and, well, why should only the rich be able to listen to his program and get to watch The Sopranos? It just ain't right.
Anyway, the reason I mention this is because Howard Stern keeps having Lindsay Lohan's biological father on the program, and its really funny, because the guy is a total screw up and he also feels so oppressed. He's the polar opposite of Jessica Simpson's amazingly put together gay agent father. He's like "I had to be dragged out of that bar because I got belligerent because of an interaction between that one drink I had and the perscription drugs I was taking!" And then the bouncer from that bar called and they had a fight over the phone about it. I have to admit, and I swear I'm not a fan of Howard Stern, that I laughed really hard.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Three Cosmos and a Forkful of Mac and Cheese - Part 2
The party was great. It was just what I needed. I identified potential friend material, drank lots, relaxed, danced to killer hip hop. (Aside: it saddens me that I don’t know any lyrics to hip hop songs anymore. I am an old lady!) Couldn’t have asked for a better night. I am madly in love with New York City today.
We got to the party at 5:30, and by 10:00 I was sort of like “Wow, I’ve been here a long time.” People were leaving, people were getting sloppy, and I was actually getting tired. Curse these 9 – 5:30 hours!!!
I located my friend D, because there was talk of heading out to Williamsburg for a show afterwards, and I was like “Dude, wanna head out?” and he’s like “Wanna go to that show?” and I’m like “Sure.”
So we’re on our way out, but, of course, “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough” was playing so I had to dance to it. And then another song I liked. Then I was drinking more cosmo and having that conversation with J and lost D. I was semi-irritated about it, but only semi, because I sort of just wanted to go to bed. So I said “Word” to J and walked upstairs out of the bar where I found D.
D was basically holding R up. R was TRASHED. Obliterated. Ridiculous ridiculous insane level drunk. Beyond even college-level. Running out into traffic drunk. Falling on the street drunk. Falling over tables in the bar and nearly lighting himself on fire drunk. Taking a nap on the street drunk. Unable to hold himself up drunk. Huggy drunk. “I lufff that you werrrrrkkkkkk here….. yerrrrrr awshummmm……” drunk. I really know how to pick em.
Apparently HR had called “a car” to come and get him, and D was going to take him back to his place. I offered to join him, because the car would make many stops, so why not? Plus, I felt bad for D and figured he could use a backup to do things like search for keys while he basically carried R from place to place.
The Lincoln eventually appeared. It was weird. It was like having a limo driver, and we were the pimped out wasted hip hop stars in the back. D knew the block R lived on but not exactly where. The whole ride to R’s apartment R was like “I’m so f-ing DRNNNNKKKKKKKKKK….. whrssss my bedttt…… I just want to shleeeeppp…. Whass…. Wherrr……” Etc.
We’re like “Dude, where do you live?” Or course he didn’t know. He basically flies out of the car and is, like, flinging his body all over the street and onto people. I can’t even explain this – you know what I mean, though. Like when you’re drunk and the earth will shift and you’re unprepared. Like he took a light step and violently ran four steps in the direction opposite the original step and crashed into a brick wall. And then after crashing into the wall, recoiled and crashed into some people. And all the while D is trying to pull him up. Awshummmmm…..
He told us the number of his building, but it wasn’t actually his building. Finally he located the right one, but didn’t remember what number unit he was. Then he remembered he lived on the fourth floor, but D and I were too drunk to count and just had no idea what was going on. Luckily R was with it enough to identify his door. Then he couldn’t find the keys. Then I was like “Wait! That’s why I’m here!” so I had to go through all of his things to find the keys. Awkward. And then there were millions of them. And two locks on the door.
Yeah.
And then I spent the night worrying that R had drowned in his own vomit and that my new lab best friend was dead and it was all my fault.
But he is here today. Albeit in a very dysfunctional state. D and I are going to make R get us tickets to the newly added Pixies show to make up for this.
After the drop off, D came back to the loft to check out the infamous big white building. He was very jealous and rode one of Roommate’s bikes around in the apartment after playing some piano. Then we went out with Canadian Jon for a drink, but neither of us drank because, well, we really didn’t need to anymore.
And now I am here.
The commute this morning was great! because there was nothing to hold on to and I was hungover and it was really. fun. trying to balance myself. It was one of those weird instances where the train is not crowded but for whatever reason people suck and don’t let short people have access to any of the bars, so I couldn’t even support myself in the mass of bodies.
Now I need lunch. And some advils. Advils are awshummmmm.
We got to the party at 5:30, and by 10:00 I was sort of like “Wow, I’ve been here a long time.” People were leaving, people were getting sloppy, and I was actually getting tired. Curse these 9 – 5:30 hours!!!
I located my friend D, because there was talk of heading out to Williamsburg for a show afterwards, and I was like “Dude, wanna head out?” and he’s like “Wanna go to that show?” and I’m like “Sure.”
So we’re on our way out, but, of course, “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough” was playing so I had to dance to it. And then another song I liked. Then I was drinking more cosmo and having that conversation with J and lost D. I was semi-irritated about it, but only semi, because I sort of just wanted to go to bed. So I said “Word” to J and walked upstairs out of the bar where I found D.
D was basically holding R up. R was TRASHED. Obliterated. Ridiculous ridiculous insane level drunk. Beyond even college-level. Running out into traffic drunk. Falling on the street drunk. Falling over tables in the bar and nearly lighting himself on fire drunk. Taking a nap on the street drunk. Unable to hold himself up drunk. Huggy drunk. “I lufff that you werrrrrkkkkkk here….. yerrrrrr awshummmm……” drunk. I really know how to pick em.
Apparently HR had called “a car” to come and get him, and D was going to take him back to his place. I offered to join him, because the car would make many stops, so why not? Plus, I felt bad for D and figured he could use a backup to do things like search for keys while he basically carried R from place to place.
The Lincoln eventually appeared. It was weird. It was like having a limo driver, and we were the pimped out wasted hip hop stars in the back. D knew the block R lived on but not exactly where. The whole ride to R’s apartment R was like “I’m so f-ing DRNNNNKKKKKKKKKK….. whrssss my bedttt…… I just want to shleeeeppp…. Whass…. Wherrr……” Etc.
We’re like “Dude, where do you live?” Or course he didn’t know. He basically flies out of the car and is, like, flinging his body all over the street and onto people. I can’t even explain this – you know what I mean, though. Like when you’re drunk and the earth will shift and you’re unprepared. Like he took a light step and violently ran four steps in the direction opposite the original step and crashed into a brick wall. And then after crashing into the wall, recoiled and crashed into some people. And all the while D is trying to pull him up. Awshummmmm…..
He told us the number of his building, but it wasn’t actually his building. Finally he located the right one, but didn’t remember what number unit he was. Then he remembered he lived on the fourth floor, but D and I were too drunk to count and just had no idea what was going on. Luckily R was with it enough to identify his door. Then he couldn’t find the keys. Then I was like “Wait! That’s why I’m here!” so I had to go through all of his things to find the keys. Awkward. And then there were millions of them. And two locks on the door.
Yeah.
And then I spent the night worrying that R had drowned in his own vomit and that my new lab best friend was dead and it was all my fault.
But he is here today. Albeit in a very dysfunctional state. D and I are going to make R get us tickets to the newly added Pixies show to make up for this.
After the drop off, D came back to the loft to check out the infamous big white building. He was very jealous and rode one of Roommate’s bikes around in the apartment after playing some piano. Then we went out with Canadian Jon for a drink, but neither of us drank because, well, we really didn’t need to anymore.
And now I am here.
The commute this morning was great! because there was nothing to hold on to and I was hungover and it was really. fun. trying to balance myself. It was one of those weird instances where the train is not crowded but for whatever reason people suck and don’t let short people have access to any of the bars, so I couldn’t even support myself in the mass of bodies.
Now I need lunch. And some advils. Advils are awshummmmm.
Three Cosmos and a Forkful of Mac and Cheese - Part 1
Last night was my company’s semi-annual drinkfest. It was held at a bar a block away from where we work. It was very New York – loungy, white furry walls, pink lighting, mirrors, sheets draped from the ceiling.
I think that it was, most likely, the most surreal night of my entire life. Every now and then, between sips of Cosmo, I’d think “Wait – where am I? Who are these people? What’s going on?” and then I’d have another sip and everything was fine.
It started at 5:30. I headed over with my new friend R. He’s cool. I really like him. He’s into photography and guitar and songwriting and show-going and does science for a day job. He’s one of those people who make me feel honest.
In there, I mostly clung to R and other people I already know, and met a few new people, which I will get to in a few paragraphs.
By 7:00 I was trashed and was dancing with a bunch of people I didn’t know. We were frantically moving lounge furniture out of the way to make space. It was awesome.
By 8:30, the party had turned into a raging hip hop / reggae dance party and I was blissed out. Again, every now and then I’d be dancing with someone and I’d think “Wait – who is this guy? What department does he work in? Have I already forgotten his name? Wait – I’m in New York City dancing to hip hop with my new coworkers!”
But it was good because I was drunk and could be like “Hey, dude, I know I’ve met you 40 times, but what’s your name again?” and that’s endearing to people when you (and they) are drunk.
I think I may have been Insane-New-Girl at the party, but I think that’s what needed to occur. Needed to show my true colors. Figure out who I might click with when I’m actually being myself instead of being my suspicious, overwhelmed, underimpressed science self.
One of the coolest things about this party was, pardon the cheesy use of the word, diversity. Definitely a more diverse crowd in NYC. And therefore a, ahem, better dancing crowd. I’m used to being a minority in science, but this was different. It was nice to see different colors and different personalities and, well, personalities.
There’s this one dude who works in legal – I finally asked him his name and said “Dude, I know I met you on my first day and also again tonight, but in my mind I can’t stop calling you Lord of the Lab Notebooks.” So H (his name starts with H and his actual name is very very very unfortunate and not at all indicative of his personality) rocks because at work he is all uptight, shirt tucked in, hair perfect, glasses-wearing legal person. Last night, he removed his glasses, unbuttoned his shirt, mussed up his hair, and just let loose. H is an amazing dancer. The women were rabid. He said to me “You’re good.” And then he pointed to me and said to other people “She’s good. It’s about time someone’s good.” That made me smile. I need to go dancing more often.
I also met this guy, J, who was a riot. He is a recent (and obvious) transplant from CA and kept calling me “Laura.” I wanted to be like “I’m sorry, my name is Leah, but you can call me ‘Val.’” Anyway, J was all wide-eyed and thrilled about NYC, and I said “But aren’t you freaking out?” And he was like “No, man, no. This is all divine intervention. Everything’s working for me. I moved here not knowing anyone, and the first day I started I walked out onto the sidewalk and turns out my best friend from high school, who I hadn’t seen in a decade, works in the building next door. And then my mother was reading the New York Times and said ‘Your high school sweetheart is getting married in NY! She’s in NY!’” Then he’s like “There’s so much here. So much to do, to see. Every morning I want to roll the dice.”
I’m like “Roll the dice?”
And he’s like “Yeah, man, I have this girlfriend in CA, but man, there are SO MANY BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN NEW YORK I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”
I’m like “Dude, I just met you, and I don’t know anything about you or your situation, but my advice is to, well, go enjoy NY and its beautiful women.”
I said this partially because I was drunk and was like “This man is beautiful.” Heh. But also because I meant it. I feel like moving to NY is like going to college – like you don’t want to come here with anything, because if you do, you might not be able to take full advantage. Earlier in the evening, R said “Did you leave anyone behind in Boston?” and I was like “No, I don’t date effectively, and I wouldn’t do this unless I literally had nothing to lose.”
Then J is like “I can’t believe you’re from Boston.” “Why ever would you say that?” “I’ve seen you around – and when I saw you, I thought ‘That girl is so New York.’ Just the way you dress, and your vibe. Or CA. I could see you on your skateboard and then mixing music at night.” That made me happy. I am “so New York.”
And the reason I mention this conversation at all, really, is because of the following exchange. We were talking about my boss (this guy actually saw my resume and was apparently desperate to hire me, and I’m saddened about the timing of it all, because it would be very very fun to work with him) and this guy also made me honest so I said “I feel like I might be a bit much for him. Like he’s so cute and old and conservative and I’m, well, me” and J said “If you just be 100% you this company will be an infinitely better company.”
That will be in the movie too. J will be played by Jude Law (he doesn’t look like Jude Law but in the movie version I think Jude Law would do a good job with this character) and in the movie we will have this conversation and then my character will be like “J, I like you. I’d like to continue this conversation. At my apartment in Williamsburg.”
When I was leaving he’s like “Where do you work?” “7th floor. Come visit.” And he’s like “Cool, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I’m like “Word.” And he’s like “Did you just exit by saying ‘word?’” and I’m like “Yeah, word.” “That’s a Boston thing?” “No, just me” and he’s like “My friend who’s doing his post-doc in Boston says ‘word’ too” and I was like “No, you apparently just know the only two people on the planet who say ‘word.’ Word.”
Word.
I think that it was, most likely, the most surreal night of my entire life. Every now and then, between sips of Cosmo, I’d think “Wait – where am I? Who are these people? What’s going on?” and then I’d have another sip and everything was fine.
It started at 5:30. I headed over with my new friend R. He’s cool. I really like him. He’s into photography and guitar and songwriting and show-going and does science for a day job. He’s one of those people who make me feel honest.
In there, I mostly clung to R and other people I already know, and met a few new people, which I will get to in a few paragraphs.
By 7:00 I was trashed and was dancing with a bunch of people I didn’t know. We were frantically moving lounge furniture out of the way to make space. It was awesome.
By 8:30, the party had turned into a raging hip hop / reggae dance party and I was blissed out. Again, every now and then I’d be dancing with someone and I’d think “Wait – who is this guy? What department does he work in? Have I already forgotten his name? Wait – I’m in New York City dancing to hip hop with my new coworkers!”
But it was good because I was drunk and could be like “Hey, dude, I know I’ve met you 40 times, but what’s your name again?” and that’s endearing to people when you (and they) are drunk.
I think I may have been Insane-New-Girl at the party, but I think that’s what needed to occur. Needed to show my true colors. Figure out who I might click with when I’m actually being myself instead of being my suspicious, overwhelmed, underimpressed science self.
One of the coolest things about this party was, pardon the cheesy use of the word, diversity. Definitely a more diverse crowd in NYC. And therefore a, ahem, better dancing crowd. I’m used to being a minority in science, but this was different. It was nice to see different colors and different personalities and, well, personalities.
There’s this one dude who works in legal – I finally asked him his name and said “Dude, I know I met you on my first day and also again tonight, but in my mind I can’t stop calling you Lord of the Lab Notebooks.” So H (his name starts with H and his actual name is very very very unfortunate and not at all indicative of his personality) rocks because at work he is all uptight, shirt tucked in, hair perfect, glasses-wearing legal person. Last night, he removed his glasses, unbuttoned his shirt, mussed up his hair, and just let loose. H is an amazing dancer. The women were rabid. He said to me “You’re good.” And then he pointed to me and said to other people “She’s good. It’s about time someone’s good.” That made me smile. I need to go dancing more often.
I also met this guy, J, who was a riot. He is a recent (and obvious) transplant from CA and kept calling me “Laura.” I wanted to be like “I’m sorry, my name is Leah, but you can call me ‘Val.’” Anyway, J was all wide-eyed and thrilled about NYC, and I said “But aren’t you freaking out?” And he was like “No, man, no. This is all divine intervention. Everything’s working for me. I moved here not knowing anyone, and the first day I started I walked out onto the sidewalk and turns out my best friend from high school, who I hadn’t seen in a decade, works in the building next door. And then my mother was reading the New York Times and said ‘Your high school sweetheart is getting married in NY! She’s in NY!’” Then he’s like “There’s so much here. So much to do, to see. Every morning I want to roll the dice.”
I’m like “Roll the dice?”
And he’s like “Yeah, man, I have this girlfriend in CA, but man, there are SO MANY BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN NEW YORK I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”
I’m like “Dude, I just met you, and I don’t know anything about you or your situation, but my advice is to, well, go enjoy NY and its beautiful women.”
I said this partially because I was drunk and was like “This man is beautiful.” Heh. But also because I meant it. I feel like moving to NY is like going to college – like you don’t want to come here with anything, because if you do, you might not be able to take full advantage. Earlier in the evening, R said “Did you leave anyone behind in Boston?” and I was like “No, I don’t date effectively, and I wouldn’t do this unless I literally had nothing to lose.”
Then J is like “I can’t believe you’re from Boston.” “Why ever would you say that?” “I’ve seen you around – and when I saw you, I thought ‘That girl is so New York.’ Just the way you dress, and your vibe. Or CA. I could see you on your skateboard and then mixing music at night.” That made me happy. I am “so New York.”
And the reason I mention this conversation at all, really, is because of the following exchange. We were talking about my boss (this guy actually saw my resume and was apparently desperate to hire me, and I’m saddened about the timing of it all, because it would be very very fun to work with him) and this guy also made me honest so I said “I feel like I might be a bit much for him. Like he’s so cute and old and conservative and I’m, well, me” and J said “If you just be 100% you this company will be an infinitely better company.”
That will be in the movie too. J will be played by Jude Law (he doesn’t look like Jude Law but in the movie version I think Jude Law would do a good job with this character) and in the movie we will have this conversation and then my character will be like “J, I like you. I’d like to continue this conversation. At my apartment in Williamsburg.”
When I was leaving he’s like “Where do you work?” “7th floor. Come visit.” And he’s like “Cool, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I’m like “Word.” And he’s like “Did you just exit by saying ‘word?’” and I’m like “Yeah, word.” “That’s a Boston thing?” “No, just me” and he’s like “My friend who’s doing his post-doc in Boston says ‘word’ too” and I was like “No, you apparently just know the only two people on the planet who say ‘word.’ Word.”
Word.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
I Am The Only Person In the World Who This Has Happened To
In the neverending DirectTV / Cingular saga, I decided yesterday that instead of jumping the gun and immediately buying a new phone to rectify the sudden lack of cell phone reception in my apartment, I would make some phone calls from work to figure out what my options were.
Phone Call 1: called Cingular. The college kid on the phone thought my complaint was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. He believed me, though. He was joking with me and said that my cell phone was acting out because it wasn't getting as much attention anymore now that I have TV. He said they would send me a new phone in the mail, but then realized he couldn't because I've had my phone for over a year. Curses. He said "I will put you in touch with Samsung and see what they can do."
Phone Call 2: called Samsung. This guy was very helpful but hadn't heard of DirectTV interfering with a cell phone. He did understand, though, about how my phone runs interference with electronics on a regular basis and gave me some tips. He tried to change a setting on my phone, but couldn't because my phone was set up in such a way that made the change impossible. He suggested that I call DirectTV and ask them to put "a filter" on the incoming signal.
Phone call 3: called DirectTV. This guy was a bastard. He totally didn't believe me and kept saying, really slowly, "I've never heard of anyone having a problem with their cell phone because of DirectTV." I said "Look, I don't know if its really the problem, but I'm just wondering if you can put a filter on the signal." He said he'd never heard of filters, and basically told me I was an idiot. The only useful thing he said was "Have you unplugged the receiver to see if you get signal?"
Uhhh.... no.
Hadn't done that. It had occurred to me to do that over the weekend, but I didn't because (a) I was concerned that unhooking the receiver would somehow obliterate DirectTV and given the drama it took to install it I didn't want to risk it and (b) I completely forgot.
Last night when I got home from work I unplugged the DirectTV receiver and instantly had 5 bars on my phone. Wtf? Granted, reception in the apartment wasn't as good as it was before, but unplugging it did have an affect on my phone.
So now I am torn, because I think my only option is to unplug the receiver whenever I want to use my cell phone. The good news it that the landline is installed, so I can take calls on it. But I can't make calls on it, because we are cheap and don't have long distance. But I don't want to opt out of my Cingular contract (money I don't have! and a pain in ass) and I don't want to opt out of the DirectTV contract (money I don't have as well as scheduling and surviving another cable installation which I just don't want to do).
And I don't know if I should call DirectTV back and be like "Fyi - I did my experiment and lo and behold you're freaking receiver interferes with my cell phone, bastards!"
Phone Call 1: called Cingular. The college kid on the phone thought my complaint was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. He believed me, though. He was joking with me and said that my cell phone was acting out because it wasn't getting as much attention anymore now that I have TV. He said they would send me a new phone in the mail, but then realized he couldn't because I've had my phone for over a year. Curses. He said "I will put you in touch with Samsung and see what they can do."
Phone Call 2: called Samsung. This guy was very helpful but hadn't heard of DirectTV interfering with a cell phone. He did understand, though, about how my phone runs interference with electronics on a regular basis and gave me some tips. He tried to change a setting on my phone, but couldn't because my phone was set up in such a way that made the change impossible. He suggested that I call DirectTV and ask them to put "a filter" on the incoming signal.
Phone call 3: called DirectTV. This guy was a bastard. He totally didn't believe me and kept saying, really slowly, "I've never heard of anyone having a problem with their cell phone because of DirectTV." I said "Look, I don't know if its really the problem, but I'm just wondering if you can put a filter on the signal." He said he'd never heard of filters, and basically told me I was an idiot. The only useful thing he said was "Have you unplugged the receiver to see if you get signal?"
Uhhh.... no.
Hadn't done that. It had occurred to me to do that over the weekend, but I didn't because (a) I was concerned that unhooking the receiver would somehow obliterate DirectTV and given the drama it took to install it I didn't want to risk it and (b) I completely forgot.
Last night when I got home from work I unplugged the DirectTV receiver and instantly had 5 bars on my phone. Wtf? Granted, reception in the apartment wasn't as good as it was before, but unplugging it did have an affect on my phone.
So now I am torn, because I think my only option is to unplug the receiver whenever I want to use my cell phone. The good news it that the landline is installed, so I can take calls on it. But I can't make calls on it, because we are cheap and don't have long distance. But I don't want to opt out of my Cingular contract (money I don't have! and a pain in ass) and I don't want to opt out of the DirectTV contract (money I don't have as well as scheduling and surviving another cable installation which I just don't want to do).
And I don't know if I should call DirectTV back and be like "Fyi - I did my experiment and lo and behold you're freaking receiver interferes with my cell phone, bastards!"
The Commute
I was running a bit late to work this morning anyway. Not for any particular reason. Just because I felt like sleeping an extra ten minutes.
Took the L to 6th Ave, as I do every day, and waited to transfer to the red 1 or red 9 downtown to Houston Street. Like I do every day.
The 1 and 9 arrive on the right side of the tracks. There's a 2 and 3, also red, that arrive on the left side of the tracks. I don't really know where the 2 or 3 go, I just know the 2 and 3 don't go to work.
So I'm waiting there and a 9 comes on the left side of the tracks. Very confusing. I thought "Well, its a 9, so it must be a 9 even though its not where the 9 usually arrives." I got on, as did a bunch of people. The doors didn't close for a while, and people started getting shifty and confused a bunch of people jumped off of the train before the doors closed.
So this 9 wasn't actually a 9. It was 2 or 3, because it went express to somewhere. I don't know where it went. I just know it went right by Houston. And then right by a bunch of stops after Houston. Many mini heart attacks were had.
I realized, though, that this was a very crafty thing for the MTA to do because:
What had happened, apparently, was a 9 train had stalled on the right side of the tracks after Houston, thus making it impossible for trains to travel on the right side of the tracks. I know this because we blew by the stalled train while I was on my train. Instead of announcing that there were no 1's or 9's anymore, they sent a 9 on another track so people would mistakenly get onto it, go express to the next available stop, and then be able to get off at that stop, cross over to the uptown direction and take a 1 or 9 on the tracks that were actually working.
Crafty, yes, but I was having a fit because I had no idea where I was going, how long it would take, how long it would take to get to work from wherever I was, would I even be able to get back, etc. I checked out the map and I was pretty far downtown, but it only took me about 5 minutes to get to work once I got on the 1 downtown. I did not call in late, however, because it wasn't my fault and I figure everyone was having the same problem. Right. No need to call in late two times in less than a week and a half.
Took the L to 6th Ave, as I do every day, and waited to transfer to the red 1 or red 9 downtown to Houston Street. Like I do every day.
The 1 and 9 arrive on the right side of the tracks. There's a 2 and 3, also red, that arrive on the left side of the tracks. I don't really know where the 2 or 3 go, I just know the 2 and 3 don't go to work.
So I'm waiting there and a 9 comes on the left side of the tracks. Very confusing. I thought "Well, its a 9, so it must be a 9 even though its not where the 9 usually arrives." I got on, as did a bunch of people. The doors didn't close for a while, and people started getting shifty and confused a bunch of people jumped off of the train before the doors closed.
So this 9 wasn't actually a 9. It was 2 or 3, because it went express to somewhere. I don't know where it went. I just know it went right by Houston. And then right by a bunch of stops after Houston. Many mini heart attacks were had.
I realized, though, that this was a very crafty thing for the MTA to do because:
What had happened, apparently, was a 9 train had stalled on the right side of the tracks after Houston, thus making it impossible for trains to travel on the right side of the tracks. I know this because we blew by the stalled train while I was on my train. Instead of announcing that there were no 1's or 9's anymore, they sent a 9 on another track so people would mistakenly get onto it, go express to the next available stop, and then be able to get off at that stop, cross over to the uptown direction and take a 1 or 9 on the tracks that were actually working.
Crafty, yes, but I was having a fit because I had no idea where I was going, how long it would take, how long it would take to get to work from wherever I was, would I even be able to get back, etc. I checked out the map and I was pretty far downtown, but it only took me about 5 minutes to get to work once I got on the 1 downtown. I did not call in late, however, because it wasn't my fault and I figure everyone was having the same problem. Right. No need to call in late two times in less than a week and a half.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Open Up Your Chest
Yes, M, you are right, because Jimmy is straight out of a movie.
In the movie version he is played by Morgan Freeman. He is smaller and older than Morgan Freeman, but he has that vibe. Think of a 5'7'' and thinner Morgan Freeman aging jazz musician talking really slowly and wisely kind of guy.
He just stopped by and said "How's the lonely?"
I told him I was feeling better because I'd gone to the movies, which was a normal activitiy for non-lonely people. I told him about Saun of the Dead, which obviously he hadn't heard of.
He said "Just what you need. Open up your chest and laugh a little."
Yes, Jimmy, yes.
He told me I was looking better today. When I asked him how he was doing, he said "I'm still here. Last night, I got out some food for dinner. Then, found myself a bag of potato chips and two tootsie rolls and that was my dinner."
Awesome.
I don't know who should play me in the movie, though. Hmm... things to think about.... but Ione Skye is going to play M. Or maybe Mary Louise Parker because I haven't seen Ione Skye anywhere lately.
In the movie version he is played by Morgan Freeman. He is smaller and older than Morgan Freeman, but he has that vibe. Think of a 5'7'' and thinner Morgan Freeman aging jazz musician talking really slowly and wisely kind of guy.
He just stopped by and said "How's the lonely?"
I told him I was feeling better because I'd gone to the movies, which was a normal activitiy for non-lonely people. I told him about Saun of the Dead, which obviously he hadn't heard of.
He said "Just what you need. Open up your chest and laugh a little."
Yes, Jimmy, yes.
He told me I was looking better today. When I asked him how he was doing, he said "I'm still here. Last night, I got out some food for dinner. Then, found myself a bag of potato chips and two tootsie rolls and that was my dinner."
Awesome.
I don't know who should play me in the movie, though. Hmm... things to think about.... but Ione Skye is going to play M. Or maybe Mary Louise Parker because I haven't seen Ione Skye anywhere lately.
Bollocks
Roommate and I went to the movies last night. We saw "Saun of the Dead." You all must see it. I haven't laughed that hard in a while. The first 1/3 of this movie is absolutely exquisite.
The previews included "Seed of Chucky," "Blade 3" (and I swear Parker Posey is in this - wtf?), some ghost movie with Michael Keaton, I forget what else. Something I wanted to see. My brain is so on overload right now.
But yes. "Saun of the Dead." Hilarious British Zombie Romantic Comedy. I wish I was British because then I'd be inherently interesting and witty and charming. It had its cheesy moments, but, again, brilliant idea and brilliant Act I.
The best thing about going to the movies was this: when it was over, I felt completely normal. For the first time since I moved here I feel like I live in NY! I pointed this out to Roommate, and she said "That is because we went to the movies, which is an activity people do where they live, and not when they're on vacation. " Good point.
OK. All of you must now run out at see "Saun of the Dead."
The previews included "Seed of Chucky," "Blade 3" (and I swear Parker Posey is in this - wtf?), some ghost movie with Michael Keaton, I forget what else. Something I wanted to see. My brain is so on overload right now.
But yes. "Saun of the Dead." Hilarious British Zombie Romantic Comedy. I wish I was British because then I'd be inherently interesting and witty and charming. It had its cheesy moments, but, again, brilliant idea and brilliant Act I.
The best thing about going to the movies was this: when it was over, I felt completely normal. For the first time since I moved here I feel like I live in NY! I pointed this out to Roommate, and she said "That is because we went to the movies, which is an activity people do where they live, and not when they're on vacation. " Good point.
OK. All of you must now run out at see "Saun of the Dead."
Metro Animal Story
Did anybody read this animal story in the Metro this morning?
Man mistakenly cuts off penis, dog eats it
Bucharest An elderly Romanian man mistook his penis for a chicken's neck, cut it off and his dog rushed up and ate it, the state Rompres news agency said yesterday. It said 67 year-old Constantin Mocanu, from a village near the southeastern town of Galati, rushed out into his yard in his underwear to kill a noisy chicken keeping him away at night. "I confused it with the chicken's neck," Mocanu said. "I cut it... and the dog rushed and ate it."
Wrong on so many levels. So many. Ear plugs, sir. Ear plugs. No chicken-neck-cutting.
Man mistakenly cuts off penis, dog eats it
Bucharest An elderly Romanian man mistook his penis for a chicken's neck, cut it off and his dog rushed up and ate it, the state Rompres news agency said yesterday. It said 67 year-old Constantin Mocanu, from a village near the southeastern town of Galati, rushed out into his yard in his underwear to kill a noisy chicken keeping him away at night. "I confused it with the chicken's neck," Mocanu said. "I cut it... and the dog rushed and ate it."
Wrong on so many levels. So many. Ear plugs, sir. Ear plugs. No chicken-neck-cutting.
Monday, October 04, 2004
No, You Don't Know
So older-than-dirt Jimmy just came by and said "What's what? You look beaten down."
I said "I'm, well, I'm lonely."
He said "I get lonely myself at times. Then I just jump straight up into the next thing."
Yes, Jimmy, yes.
He explained to me that only 3/10 of his family remains, and that his father, mother, and a bunch of siblings all died one after the other. He told me that he never cried until this one day at church, not too long ago at a Mother's Day mass, the preacher was going on and on and on about mothers. Jimmy left the church in the middle of the sermon, went to his car, and started to cry in his car.
People came after him. People said "We know how you feel."
Jimmy said "No, you don't know. You don't know how I feel."
Then he said to me "But I know how you feel. I know how it feels to be lonely. You'll find the next thing soon."
I said "I'm, well, I'm lonely."
He said "I get lonely myself at times. Then I just jump straight up into the next thing."
Yes, Jimmy, yes.
He explained to me that only 3/10 of his family remains, and that his father, mother, and a bunch of siblings all died one after the other. He told me that he never cried until this one day at church, not too long ago at a Mother's Day mass, the preacher was going on and on and on about mothers. Jimmy left the church in the middle of the sermon, went to his car, and started to cry in his car.
People came after him. People said "We know how you feel."
Jimmy said "No, you don't know. You don't know how I feel."
Then he said to me "But I know how you feel. I know how it feels to be lonely. You'll find the next thing soon."
Alphabet of Nations
They Might Be Giants is like an intravenous injection of HAPPY.
I think "Birdhouse in Your Soul" might be one of the best songs ever. Although, you can't jump to the entire song once you've, ahem, hit a certain, ahem, age. Such as 28. Oh well.
So M & A came to visit this weekend and we had a lovely time. It was so nice to have company and to actually interact with people. They brought me the Star Wars Trilogy on DVD as a housewarming gift, but, sadly, A determined that my DVD player/karaoke machine is, in fact, broken so I can't watch them. Sadness and weeping. Need to buy: DVD player, karaoke machine, couch, walls, coffee table, lamp, adaptors for power supply, new cell phone, friends.
We went to see They Might Be Giants at the Irving Plaza on Saturday night. I wore my fabulous new and truly outrageous Jem t-shirt that I bought in Soho on Friday night. M copied me and wore her hair in buns. We looked adorable and like we were 15 years old.
I was kind of nervous about it because I was afraid the show would make me feel old, but it didn't, because They Might Be Giants themselves are old and their fans are therefore old. If anything, I'd say we were average age there, if not on the younger side. I was thinking that it must be hard to be They Might Be Giants, because they have so many songs that span so many years to choose from for their set list. How could you ever decide?
Irving Plaza was ok. Sort of like Avalon only deeper and with $9 Captain and Coke. It was cool before the show because they played Spaceballs without sound. Not a good venu for the short, though. There are things about being short that are good - such as the fact that you can look cute in hoodies and sleep on trains easily because you can curl up. But when it comes to shows, as a short person you really just go to listen. M was very nice and told me what was going on onstage.
The show was good. Again, They Might Be Giants just make you happy happy happy! Being at the show reminded me of why I moved to NYC.
Yesterday we went out for brunch and then went furniture shopping in Williamsburg, where M & A found this very cool Chinese buffet thing and/or a vintage bar to buy for their new apartment. They didn't buy either because both items are expensive and they needed to think about it. But I am thrilled for them, because now they are dual income and can actually consider buying these sorts of things. While they were doing this I bought an ice cream from an ice cream truck for $1 and kept wishing I was rich. We also found this amazing used book store
(well, more of a kioske) around the corner from my apartment.
After they left I wanted to make phone calls, but couldn't for obvious reasons. I ended up recording a new song which I hope to have up this week if our phone works and we can then get internet. Roommate and I also watched "Desperate Housewives" which was actually pretty good. Terri Hatcher is obscenely hot. If I could look like anyone in the world, it might have to be Terri Hatcher. She's a good combination of hot/adorable. That show also has many people from "Melrose Place" - Kimberly plays this uptight and perfect housewife type and The Gay Guy plays someone's husband. I think this could be this year's guilty pleasure.
A good weekend. Now its back to reality. Hmph.
I think "Birdhouse in Your Soul" might be one of the best songs ever. Although, you can't jump to the entire song once you've, ahem, hit a certain, ahem, age. Such as 28. Oh well.
So M & A came to visit this weekend and we had a lovely time. It was so nice to have company and to actually interact with people. They brought me the Star Wars Trilogy on DVD as a housewarming gift, but, sadly, A determined that my DVD player/karaoke machine is, in fact, broken so I can't watch them. Sadness and weeping. Need to buy: DVD player, karaoke machine, couch, walls, coffee table, lamp, adaptors for power supply, new cell phone, friends.
We went to see They Might Be Giants at the Irving Plaza on Saturday night. I wore my fabulous new and truly outrageous Jem t-shirt that I bought in Soho on Friday night. M copied me and wore her hair in buns. We looked adorable and like we were 15 years old.
I was kind of nervous about it because I was afraid the show would make me feel old, but it didn't, because They Might Be Giants themselves are old and their fans are therefore old. If anything, I'd say we were average age there, if not on the younger side. I was thinking that it must be hard to be They Might Be Giants, because they have so many songs that span so many years to choose from for their set list. How could you ever decide?
Irving Plaza was ok. Sort of like Avalon only deeper and with $9 Captain and Coke. It was cool before the show because they played Spaceballs without sound. Not a good venu for the short, though. There are things about being short that are good - such as the fact that you can look cute in hoodies and sleep on trains easily because you can curl up. But when it comes to shows, as a short person you really just go to listen. M was very nice and told me what was going on onstage.
The show was good. Again, They Might Be Giants just make you happy happy happy! Being at the show reminded me of why I moved to NYC.
Yesterday we went out for brunch and then went furniture shopping in Williamsburg, where M & A found this very cool Chinese buffet thing and/or a vintage bar to buy for their new apartment. They didn't buy either because both items are expensive and they needed to think about it. But I am thrilled for them, because now they are dual income and can actually consider buying these sorts of things. While they were doing this I bought an ice cream from an ice cream truck for $1 and kept wishing I was rich. We also found this amazing used book store
(well, more of a kioske) around the corner from my apartment.
After they left I wanted to make phone calls, but couldn't for obvious reasons. I ended up recording a new song which I hope to have up this week if our phone works and we can then get internet. Roommate and I also watched "Desperate Housewives" which was actually pretty good. Terri Hatcher is obscenely hot. If I could look like anyone in the world, it might have to be Terri Hatcher. She's a good combination of hot/adorable. That show also has many people from "Melrose Place" - Kimberly plays this uptight and perfect housewife type and The Gay Guy plays someone's husband. I think this could be this year's guilty pleasure.
A good weekend. Now its back to reality. Hmph.
Cable TV
On Saturday morning we got cable.
The cable dude called at 8:30 and said he was on the way and would be there in half an hour.
At 9:30 he called and said he was lost. He wasn't actually lost. He, like my parents, had driven by my building multiple times not thinking people could conceivably live in it.
He called again because he couldn't find the door.
Then he didn't call and didn't turn up, so I called him and found out he'd taken the wrong elevator and was locked in a stairwell. Who knew you could be locked in a stairwell in my building?
We had a dish already outside our window, which was good because we couldn't have had access to the roof due to the fact that the management and superintendent of our building do not work on Saturdays. I thought to myself "This will be so easy! He will just plug in the receiver and we will have cable!" Then I thought to myself "Wait a second - nothing about NY is easy so of course there will be drama."
At first there didn't seem to be any drama. Things seemed relatively straightforward. The cable dude was taking his sweet time and being all chatty, though, because he was a Computer Engineering Major at UMass and was psyched that I too went to UMass! He was amazed! I couldn't understand why he was so excited, but then it occurred to me that I've lived in an area for so long where pretty much everyone went to UMass. He just couldn't get over it. He said "You must have some crazy stories" and I said "Not really - unless you consider stories about studying CRAZY!"
He plugged in the receiver, and of course, no signal. None. Nothing he could do. He unscrewed something on the dish which involved his hanging out of the window and swearing for about 15 minutes. He was clearly afraid of heights. I was afraid for him.
When unscrewing the whatever didn't work, he announced that he was going to his truck.
He returned a few minutes later and decided that "someone played with this dish" and that he would take it out and put it back. Fine. This, unfortunately, involved my help and therefore my hanging out the window. I thought I was going to die. It was kind of funny, and kind of fun, since I was actually socializing with someone. But I was seriously freaking out.
Eventually the cable got hooked up and that was that. But let the stick beating begin - when the cable dude was leaving, he was all "Can I call you?" Heh. I said he could, not because I want him to, but because I couldn't really say "no" because he had just undergone a ridiculous amount of stress to install cable in my apartment. Like potential-life-ending stress. Plus, he already has my number and knows where I live so I figured I'd keep in amicable.
The reason I tell this story, though, is because as soon as he turned on the receiver in my apartment my cell phone stopped working. Like it went from 6 bars to none, maybe one, sometimes the grey bars that allow only emergency phone calls. And when I have one bar, I can't actually make phone calls. Like it will drop the call as soon as it starts ringing. I am pissed. I don't know if its a total coincidence or if the cable signal is actually now interfering with my cell phone. I called my cell phone carrier and they "sent a program" to my phone that "might help."
Ergh.
Nothing in this city is easy!!!!
It was extremely frustrating because I was waiting for M & A to arrive, and had no way to talk to them since our land line doesn't work either. I had to leave the apartment and walk a few blocks to call them. Then, when I got back, my cell phone miraculously worked again. I was relieved until the following morning when, of course, it no longer worked. It didn't work at all yesterday. It doesn't work only in the apartment.
In other tragic news, the inputs to my fabulous power supply at work do not accept the leads from my fabulous gel box, so that sucks. I think they make adaptors, but what a pain! I can't seem to get anything right in this city!!!!
The cable dude called at 8:30 and said he was on the way and would be there in half an hour.
At 9:30 he called and said he was lost. He wasn't actually lost. He, like my parents, had driven by my building multiple times not thinking people could conceivably live in it.
He called again because he couldn't find the door.
Then he didn't call and didn't turn up, so I called him and found out he'd taken the wrong elevator and was locked in a stairwell. Who knew you could be locked in a stairwell in my building?
We had a dish already outside our window, which was good because we couldn't have had access to the roof due to the fact that the management and superintendent of our building do not work on Saturdays. I thought to myself "This will be so easy! He will just plug in the receiver and we will have cable!" Then I thought to myself "Wait a second - nothing about NY is easy so of course there will be drama."
At first there didn't seem to be any drama. Things seemed relatively straightforward. The cable dude was taking his sweet time and being all chatty, though, because he was a Computer Engineering Major at UMass and was psyched that I too went to UMass! He was amazed! I couldn't understand why he was so excited, but then it occurred to me that I've lived in an area for so long where pretty much everyone went to UMass. He just couldn't get over it. He said "You must have some crazy stories" and I said "Not really - unless you consider stories about studying CRAZY!"
He plugged in the receiver, and of course, no signal. None. Nothing he could do. He unscrewed something on the dish which involved his hanging out of the window and swearing for about 15 minutes. He was clearly afraid of heights. I was afraid for him.
When unscrewing the whatever didn't work, he announced that he was going to his truck.
He returned a few minutes later and decided that "someone played with this dish" and that he would take it out and put it back. Fine. This, unfortunately, involved my help and therefore my hanging out the window. I thought I was going to die. It was kind of funny, and kind of fun, since I was actually socializing with someone. But I was seriously freaking out.
Eventually the cable got hooked up and that was that. But let the stick beating begin - when the cable dude was leaving, he was all "Can I call you?" Heh. I said he could, not because I want him to, but because I couldn't really say "no" because he had just undergone a ridiculous amount of stress to install cable in my apartment. Like potential-life-ending stress. Plus, he already has my number and knows where I live so I figured I'd keep in amicable.
The reason I tell this story, though, is because as soon as he turned on the receiver in my apartment my cell phone stopped working. Like it went from 6 bars to none, maybe one, sometimes the grey bars that allow only emergency phone calls. And when I have one bar, I can't actually make phone calls. Like it will drop the call as soon as it starts ringing. I am pissed. I don't know if its a total coincidence or if the cable signal is actually now interfering with my cell phone. I called my cell phone carrier and they "sent a program" to my phone that "might help."
Ergh.
Nothing in this city is easy!!!!
It was extremely frustrating because I was waiting for M & A to arrive, and had no way to talk to them since our land line doesn't work either. I had to leave the apartment and walk a few blocks to call them. Then, when I got back, my cell phone miraculously worked again. I was relieved until the following morning when, of course, it no longer worked. It didn't work at all yesterday. It doesn't work only in the apartment.
In other tragic news, the inputs to my fabulous power supply at work do not accept the leads from my fabulous gel box, so that sucks. I think they make adaptors, but what a pain! I can't seem to get anything right in this city!!!!
Friday, October 01, 2004
Delirious
I have been listening to my Ipod for the last three hours in order to drown out the sounds of my chatty coworkers and the NYC traffic outside.
I am totally delirious.
Word.
I am totally delirious.
Word.
Where is the Indian Buffet?
Things from today:
Can’t stop thinking that Jude Law is the best looking person on the planet.
My coworkers were standing in my bay a couple of days ago and saying “We should all go out for lunch on Friday!” They didn’t ask me about it or really tell me, but I figured they’d just let me know on Friday. Today, they were all hovering in the bay at around 11:30 finalizing their lunch plans, which involved going out for Indian buffet. I thought “Indian food! I love Indian food! Yippee!” So they’re talking and still nobody mentions to me the lunch plans. Then at 12:00 they all just leave.
I had a few thoughts while this was all happening:
Maybe they think they told me. But still – if they did tell me, why wouldn’t they say “Hey – are you still coming?” or “Hey – are you sure you can’t come?” like they were saying to everyone else.
Maybe they think I don’t want to eat with them since I eat by myself. But, if this is the case, might they at least try once to invite me for lunch? Did it occur to them at all that I might not want to invite myself along?
Maybe they don’t know me well enough to invite me to lunch. But, might it not be a good way to get to know me?
I am really upset about this because I feel like the outcast new kid in school who doesn’t have the right outfit. And by right outfit, I mean “spouse.” Maybe they hate that I wear my hair in ponytails or they are jealous of my fabulous red hoodie or they don’t like that I ordered disposable cell counters for everyone. Regardless, this sucks.
I decided to reward myself by eating a burrito for lunch, so I went to this place slightly uptown called Tex Mex. It was awful. Worst burrito I’ve ever had. It didn’t even look like a burrito.
One good thing was that while in the burrito place a 14-year-old-kid looked at me, smiled, and said “Hi.” I smiled back and said “Hello, how are you?” and he said “Good. How are you?” I told him I was fine and then did everything I could not to say “Actually, I’m not fine, because you’re the first person who’s spoken to me in two weeks and my coworkers hate me and do you have any idea how much it means to me that you smiled?”
When I got back to my building, I decided to talk to the security guard in order to continue my long line of being friends with everyone non-science at my place of employment. Well, it’s not really that long a lineage, but it includes:
the crazy walk-around-security hip hop producer who worked at my company two companies ago and who was my new best friend after I ran into him at the LL Cool J show
the nutty guy who worked in the Rebecca’s Café downstairs two jobs ago who gave me awesome hip hop bootlegs
all of the fabulous admins from two jobs ago
the security guard in the lobby from one job ago who made me feel really good about life
I said hello and he said “So – you just started working here?” and I said “Yeah, I actually just moved here” and we got to talking about that, and Boston. Then he said “How do you like your new job?” and I downloaded and said “Too soon to tell – but I’m not sure I like my coworkers” and told him how I feel so overwhelmed and they’re not very accommodating.
Then he said “Well, that’s New York for you. Everyone is really selfish” and I told him about how I eat by myself and he said “Better that way. Everyone here is in such a rush that they don’t have time for anyone. Don’t think about anyone other than themselves.”
And then he said this:
“You just need one. It’s best that way. You only need one who you can trust.”
I think he’s right, and I think I’ve identified possibly three. It doesn’t need to be everyone. You just need someone.
Can’t stop thinking that Jude Law is the best looking person on the planet.
My coworkers were standing in my bay a couple of days ago and saying “We should all go out for lunch on Friday!” They didn’t ask me about it or really tell me, but I figured they’d just let me know on Friday. Today, they were all hovering in the bay at around 11:30 finalizing their lunch plans, which involved going out for Indian buffet. I thought “Indian food! I love Indian food! Yippee!” So they’re talking and still nobody mentions to me the lunch plans. Then at 12:00 they all just leave.
I had a few thoughts while this was all happening:
Maybe they think they told me. But still – if they did tell me, why wouldn’t they say “Hey – are you still coming?” or “Hey – are you sure you can’t come?” like they were saying to everyone else.
Maybe they think I don’t want to eat with them since I eat by myself. But, if this is the case, might they at least try once to invite me for lunch? Did it occur to them at all that I might not want to invite myself along?
Maybe they don’t know me well enough to invite me to lunch. But, might it not be a good way to get to know me?
I am really upset about this because I feel like the outcast new kid in school who doesn’t have the right outfit. And by right outfit, I mean “spouse.” Maybe they hate that I wear my hair in ponytails or they are jealous of my fabulous red hoodie or they don’t like that I ordered disposable cell counters for everyone. Regardless, this sucks.
I decided to reward myself by eating a burrito for lunch, so I went to this place slightly uptown called Tex Mex. It was awful. Worst burrito I’ve ever had. It didn’t even look like a burrito.
One good thing was that while in the burrito place a 14-year-old-kid looked at me, smiled, and said “Hi.” I smiled back and said “Hello, how are you?” and he said “Good. How are you?” I told him I was fine and then did everything I could not to say “Actually, I’m not fine, because you’re the first person who’s spoken to me in two weeks and my coworkers hate me and do you have any idea how much it means to me that you smiled?”
When I got back to my building, I decided to talk to the security guard in order to continue my long line of being friends with everyone non-science at my place of employment. Well, it’s not really that long a lineage, but it includes:
the crazy walk-around-security hip hop producer who worked at my company two companies ago and who was my new best friend after I ran into him at the LL Cool J show
the nutty guy who worked in the Rebecca’s Café downstairs two jobs ago who gave me awesome hip hop bootlegs
all of the fabulous admins from two jobs ago
the security guard in the lobby from one job ago who made me feel really good about life
I said hello and he said “So – you just started working here?” and I said “Yeah, I actually just moved here” and we got to talking about that, and Boston. Then he said “How do you like your new job?” and I downloaded and said “Too soon to tell – but I’m not sure I like my coworkers” and told him how I feel so overwhelmed and they’re not very accommodating.
Then he said “Well, that’s New York for you. Everyone is really selfish” and I told him about how I eat by myself and he said “Better that way. Everyone here is in such a rush that they don’t have time for anyone. Don’t think about anyone other than themselves.”
And then he said this:
“You just need one. It’s best that way. You only need one who you can trust.”
I think he’s right, and I think I’ve identified possibly three. It doesn’t need to be everyone. You just need someone.
Debate 1
Lots and lots to say today. Lots.
I think that I’ll be telling this story to my future fictional phantom children someday when they say “Ma, what was it like when you first moved to NYC?”
Roommate and I were supposed to go out last night to play pool in the East Village with some Friends of Roommate who are in an all chick Depeche Mode cover band. We opted to stay in, however, due to various girl issues and to the general malaise we’ve been feeling about life as of late. Plus, we’d get to drink wine and watch the debate on our fabulous snowy TV that only gets CBS!
We watched and made fun of the end of Snowy Survivor while starting to drink.
Sitting there in the papasan chair while Roommate sat on the floor, I began to freak out because it seemed like Dubya was winning the debate. Not that he was being even semi-competent. It just seemed like Kerry was really nervous, and Dubya actually had some points (the horror). Although, Dubya’s reaction shots were awesome. He looked like an irritated four-year-old. I said “Do you think the rest of the country is distressed that the leader of the free world looks like a Keebler Elf?”
(I was also horrified by Jim Lehrer’s eyes – like he has beady beady beady freaky eyes, which look even more beady and freaky on snowy TV)
This prompted both Roommate and I to start drinking lots and lots. Lots. It was about 35 minutes into the debate when I said “I’m… not… going… to… make it….” and I then said “Do you know what we should do?” I don’t know what I was going to say, but Roommate said “Raise monkeys?”
This prompted me to launch into my tirade about how I hate how the media exploits monkeys. Which is not what I meant to say. If I’d been sober I’d have said how I hate how monkeys are dressed up as people and how it’s absurd that people think its funny when monkeys are dressed up as people, because it’s really not funny. Like really, what is funny about a monkey with a blonde wig and a pocketbook?
Things deteriorated from there. It became “Senator Kerry, what is your feeling on the domestic issue of Monkey-Xploitation?”
By the end of the debate we were trashed. I couldn't even get out of the chair. We were also depressed, because we thought Dubya had won, so we were slightly confused by the recap polls or whatever that said people’s opinions of Kerry had improved. Sweet! Don’t know why, because I was wrecked, but it was good, because I really needed to laugh.
We also had a fabulous drunken conversation about how surreal our lives are right now. It is so awesome to be able to share this insanity with someone who’s going through the exact same thing. It’s not easy here, and I can’t really explain it to anyone who’s not here. But she knows, and knowing is half the battle.
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