D and I went through our NetFlix queue last night, and realized that most of our chosen movies are movies he wants to see or wants me to see.
There were a lot of "Well, I feel like I should see this, but do I really want to?" on my part.
We decided that the best thing to do would be to have two separate NetFlix accounts.
I don't know if I can afford NetFlix on my own.
I am sad, because I love NetFlix. I love them even more now that they have candy-cane patterned stickers and cute little snowflakes on the envelopes for the holidays. I love them for their fast turnover, their user-friendly website, their enabling me to see movies I'd never have otherwise seen.
I don't love, however, how they make me boring. D and I are both obsessive, list-making and list-checking-off-of personalities. NetFlix neutralizes us at times, and we have gone to far fewer movies now that NetFlix is in our lives.
I don't want to live like this. If I didn't have NetFlix, I'd probably rent a movie once a month. D is more of a compulsive renter, so this is more his thing. I'd rather read books and go to the movies and work on music.
I think I may downgrade to the 1 DVD-at-a-time membership, which is only $10 a month. If I watched one movie a week it would make it worth it, and I can definitely find time to watch one movie a week.
This will allow me to embark upon Project Watch Every Movie Musical Ever Made. I will only watch movies I really want to see instead of watching movies because they are there. I will be a new, productive person!
The only problem with this is that I will never see D.
But we'll figure it out.
Shared NetFlix account, precursor to domestic partnership, it's been real, but it's just not working out for me.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Christmas Carol Contest
As per Nithya's suggestion, I am thinking about writing a Christmas carol!
I have an idea for lyrics, but here's a better idea: A My Mundane Life in Song Christmas Carol Contest!
You write the lyrics, I'll write the music and post it on the blog.
Here's the deal:
1. Write a Christmas Carol - no more than three verses. It can be of your own design, or it could be a parody, set to the tune of a pre-existing Christmas carol.
2. Post the lyrics on the blog by 3:00 this afternoon. Of, if you want it to be a surprise to the readers, you can email the me the lyrics.
3. I'll pick one and record it this weekend.
4. And if there are a bunch, I'll record a bunch.
Yeah!
I'm not going to get too excited because I doubt that any of you will have time to write a Christmas carol in the next few hours. If there are no entries, maybe we can have the contest again next week when there is more time. And if there are no entries then, then I will win and record my own song.
Awesome.
I have an idea for lyrics, but here's a better idea: A My Mundane Life in Song Christmas Carol Contest!
You write the lyrics, I'll write the music and post it on the blog.
Here's the deal:
1. Write a Christmas Carol - no more than three verses. It can be of your own design, or it could be a parody, set to the tune of a pre-existing Christmas carol.
2. Post the lyrics on the blog by 3:00 this afternoon. Of, if you want it to be a surprise to the readers, you can email the me the lyrics.
3. I'll pick one and record it this weekend.
4. And if there are a bunch, I'll record a bunch.
Yeah!
I'm not going to get too excited because I doubt that any of you will have time to write a Christmas carol in the next few hours. If there are no entries, maybe we can have the contest again next week when there is more time. And if there are no entries then, then I will win and record my own song.
Awesome.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
It Has Begun
I love Christmas carols.
I really do.
But listening to them non-stop? All day? For the next 24 days!??!?!
No.
I can't do it.
I do like, however, when random people walk by and start doing their renditions of Wham's Last Christmas.
I said "Hey! You know what we should do? For the purpose of morale? Have an interdepartmental Christmas Carol Challenge!!!"
I know, I know, not everyone celebrates Christmas. But everyone celebrates Wham, right?
We just listened to someone who sounds like Whitney Houston (I think it was Whitney Houston) doing Do You Hear What I Hear. There was a Bryan Adams Christmas carol today with the worst lyrics I've ever heard. I think Bing Crosby is singing right now.
Christmas carols have been all day.
Consequently there has been discussion of things like snow and and the Holiday Party (which is tomorrow!) and Christmas specials. Someone said "I think the Burl Ives snowman looks Asian."
I can't take another month of this.
I really do.
But listening to them non-stop? All day? For the next 24 days!??!?!
No.
I can't do it.
I do like, however, when random people walk by and start doing their renditions of Wham's Last Christmas.
I said "Hey! You know what we should do? For the purpose of morale? Have an interdepartmental Christmas Carol Challenge!!!"
I know, I know, not everyone celebrates Christmas. But everyone celebrates Wham, right?
We just listened to someone who sounds like Whitney Houston (I think it was Whitney Houston) doing Do You Hear What I Hear. There was a Bryan Adams Christmas carol today with the worst lyrics I've ever heard. I think Bing Crosby is singing right now.
Christmas carols have been all day.
Consequently there has been discussion of things like snow and and the Holiday Party (which is tomorrow!) and Christmas specials. Someone said "I think the Burl Ives snowman looks Asian."
I can't take another month of this.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
I Can't Believe I've Become That Girl
I had food poisoning last night which resulted in my not sleeping well which resulted in my having weird, distressing dreams when I actually did manage to get a few moments' sleep.
During one of these moments I had a dream that there was a large meeting at work, except that it was more like a high school assembly. Tons of people. Tons of chaos. Nobody paying attention. Etc.
The assembly was being given by B, an upperlevel type with whom I never interact. He's someone I know only because he is outspoken at meetings and seems very smart and therefore worthy of my neurons.
B said "D, it is time now!"
D resisted. He was sitting in the row in front of me. He was blushing and distressed and I could tell he didn't want to do whatever B had planned for him.
"Now. You have to."
The New Girl, who was seated next to D, turned around and put a hideous ring on one of my fingers. Hideous, I tell you. It was flat and square and big and had a bunch of flat, small diamonds in it. She said "I picked it out just for you."
"D is proposing to you!" B said, upon which all of my coworkers and people I knew from high school and college turned around and looked at me. They stared. They smiled. Everybody was thrilled, except for D.
He giggled uncomfortably, and tried to smile, but couldn't.
I started weeping uncontrollably. I was so upset. I was upset because he didn't just ask me. I was upset because he didn't pick out the ring. I was upset because the ring was horrific. I was upset because everyone was staring at me. I was upset because he was upset.
"Yes, yes, yes" I said anyway, as D tried to smile but couldn't.
It was awful.
I woke up and felt very unsettled. "D," I said, "I just had the most awful nightmare! I dreamt that B forced us to get engaged in front of the entire company and that The New Girl picked out this awful ring for me and it was just so very terrible!"
"Huh," he said, and I was upset because he said nothing.
Can I get a "Wierd!" or "Why would be dreaming about B?" or "It's not that terrible, is it?"
This all stemmed from my blushing at group meeting yesterday. Everyone turned around to look at me when The Big Boss commended something I'd done, which prompted my blushing. I hate being looked at, paid attention to, noticed at all. My blushing then prompted another upper level type to say, loudly, "LOOK AT YOU! YOU'RE BLUSHING! WHY ARE YOU BLUSHING?" which, of course, made me blush further.
Last night, I went to D's friend's show at the Pussy Cat Lounge, which is, yes, a strip club. They didn't play in the strip club. They played in the completely separate lounge above it. Prior to the show, we went out for dinner with D's friend's girlfriend T, who rules. She rules because she is smart, honest, and has no filter.
At one point she said "So, you guys have been together for a year? Why don't you live together? Start saving money? Living together is awesome! It really helps the relationship, changes the dynamic..."
Dead silence.
A-W-K-W-A-R-D.
"Oh! I think I left my umbrella at your house!" T declared. D ran back to get it, and T said "Did I say something I shouldn't have? Have you guys been talking about it?"
"No, not at all."
"Why not?"
"Because he's not sure."
"If he wants to live together? What - are you too neat or something?"
"No, he's the one who's too neat. No, that's not it. He's just not sure... well,
he's not sure about me."
"Well, that's ridiculous. You have to tell him he's sure. You have to make him
your bitch." How I adore T.
"That's not how I am," I said. "I want us to come to the same conclusions at the same time, and if he waits too long, I'd rather walk than force him into something he doesn't want."
We piled into a cab after D retrieved the umbrella, and T began saying things like "You know how I was talking about NY being a lone bone city? (because she'd been
talking about how men can't get dates in NYC earlier that night and how women, no matter how vile, can without fail) It's true. After men hit 31, they can't get a date. Women, they can get dates, no problem. Every woman is always thinking about at least 5 guys in her life she could sleep with. Not that she would sleep with these guys, but she could! I mean, once you hit 31, you're so set in your ways, no woman would put up with you! And then you'll want a relationship, and you'll be alone forever. And you'll be thinking about the ones who did put up with your shit. I mean, if you find someone, its just stupid to be worried."
She went on and on about how the first year of any relationship is the hardest and how its unrealistic to think that everything will be perfect. I laughed and laughed. D said nothing.
I hoped for some sort of follow-up from D. At the very least "T was nuts in the
cab" or "What was she talking about?" or even a little anger, like "What did you say
to her?"
Nothing.
Of course.
Hence the dream.
Another contributor - right before we went to bed, we were talking about D spending time with my parents next week. He will be in MA for job training and I am going to
meet him at my parents' house on Wednesday night. He said "Don't worry. If you
want to come on Thursday morning, I can totally hang with your parents."
"Oh, you don't have to. I don't mind coming."
"No, seriously, you don't have to. I have plenty of things I need to talk about with your parents."
!!!!
"Maybe now I can see those videos from when you were little, and see pictures of you from middle school! Mwa ha ha!!!!"
Sigh.
Hence the dream.
I can't believe I've become That Girl.
Until tomorrow...
During one of these moments I had a dream that there was a large meeting at work, except that it was more like a high school assembly. Tons of people. Tons of chaos. Nobody paying attention. Etc.
The assembly was being given by B, an upperlevel type with whom I never interact. He's someone I know only because he is outspoken at meetings and seems very smart and therefore worthy of my neurons.
B said "D, it is time now!"
D resisted. He was sitting in the row in front of me. He was blushing and distressed and I could tell he didn't want to do whatever B had planned for him.
"Now. You have to."
The New Girl, who was seated next to D, turned around and put a hideous ring on one of my fingers. Hideous, I tell you. It was flat and square and big and had a bunch of flat, small diamonds in it. She said "I picked it out just for you."
"D is proposing to you!" B said, upon which all of my coworkers and people I knew from high school and college turned around and looked at me. They stared. They smiled. Everybody was thrilled, except for D.
He giggled uncomfortably, and tried to smile, but couldn't.
I started weeping uncontrollably. I was so upset. I was upset because he didn't just ask me. I was upset because he didn't pick out the ring. I was upset because the ring was horrific. I was upset because everyone was staring at me. I was upset because he was upset.
"Yes, yes, yes" I said anyway, as D tried to smile but couldn't.
It was awful.
I woke up and felt very unsettled. "D," I said, "I just had the most awful nightmare! I dreamt that B forced us to get engaged in front of the entire company and that The New Girl picked out this awful ring for me and it was just so very terrible!"
"Huh," he said, and I was upset because he said nothing.
Can I get a "Wierd!" or "Why would be dreaming about B?" or "It's not that terrible, is it?"
This all stemmed from my blushing at group meeting yesterday. Everyone turned around to look at me when The Big Boss commended something I'd done, which prompted my blushing. I hate being looked at, paid attention to, noticed at all. My blushing then prompted another upper level type to say, loudly, "LOOK AT YOU! YOU'RE BLUSHING! WHY ARE YOU BLUSHING?" which, of course, made me blush further.
Last night, I went to D's friend's show at the Pussy Cat Lounge, which is, yes, a strip club. They didn't play in the strip club. They played in the completely separate lounge above it. Prior to the show, we went out for dinner with D's friend's girlfriend T, who rules. She rules because she is smart, honest, and has no filter.
At one point she said "So, you guys have been together for a year? Why don't you live together? Start saving money? Living together is awesome! It really helps the relationship, changes the dynamic..."
Dead silence.
A-W-K-W-A-R-D.
"Oh! I think I left my umbrella at your house!" T declared. D ran back to get it, and T said "Did I say something I shouldn't have? Have you guys been talking about it?"
"No, not at all."
"Why not?"
"Because he's not sure."
"If he wants to live together? What - are you too neat or something?"
"No, he's the one who's too neat. No, that's not it. He's just not sure... well,
he's not sure about me."
"Well, that's ridiculous. You have to tell him he's sure. You have to make him
your bitch." How I adore T.
"That's not how I am," I said. "I want us to come to the same conclusions at the same time, and if he waits too long, I'd rather walk than force him into something he doesn't want."
We piled into a cab after D retrieved the umbrella, and T began saying things like "You know how I was talking about NY being a lone bone city? (because she'd been
talking about how men can't get dates in NYC earlier that night and how women, no matter how vile, can without fail) It's true. After men hit 31, they can't get a date. Women, they can get dates, no problem. Every woman is always thinking about at least 5 guys in her life she could sleep with. Not that she would sleep with these guys, but she could! I mean, once you hit 31, you're so set in your ways, no woman would put up with you! And then you'll want a relationship, and you'll be alone forever. And you'll be thinking about the ones who did put up with your shit. I mean, if you find someone, its just stupid to be worried."
She went on and on about how the first year of any relationship is the hardest and how its unrealistic to think that everything will be perfect. I laughed and laughed. D said nothing.
I hoped for some sort of follow-up from D. At the very least "T was nuts in the
cab" or "What was she talking about?" or even a little anger, like "What did you say
to her?"
Nothing.
Of course.
Hence the dream.
Another contributor - right before we went to bed, we were talking about D spending time with my parents next week. He will be in MA for job training and I am going to
meet him at my parents' house on Wednesday night. He said "Don't worry. If you
want to come on Thursday morning, I can totally hang with your parents."
"Oh, you don't have to. I don't mind coming."
"No, seriously, you don't have to. I have plenty of things I need to talk about with your parents."
!!!!
"Maybe now I can see those videos from when you were little, and see pictures of you from middle school! Mwa ha ha!!!!"
Sigh.
Hence the dream.
I can't believe I've become That Girl.
Until tomorrow...
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Dude
I saw Constantine last night and it didn't completely suck. It was, actually, quite good.
As we were watching it, I realized that, in some ways, D reminds me of Keanu. There's something Keanu-esque about his features.
I said "You know, you remind me of Keanu Reeves."
He seemed somewhat offended.
"I hope I remind you of the good things."
I suppose reminding someone of Keanu Reeves isn't necessarily a good thing, depending on what they're referring to.
If I had said "You remind me of Brad Pitt," I don't think he'd have taken offense because Brad Pitt's overwhelming trait is obscene good looks (second only to his amazing abs). "You remind me of Brad Pitt" = "You are freaking SO HOT I CANNOT HANDLE IT."
Keanu Reeves' overwhelming traits, however, include things like: constant bewildered look, inability to act, inability to smile, inability to chew gum convincingly according to my friend MS from college, inability to sit at a desk convincingly, stoic, rigid, ambiguously gay, dull, etc.
"No! I mean you're cute! Like Keanu Reeves! You're even cuter!!! I mean, Keanu is HOT."
"Do you think he's mixed?"
"I think he's Lithuanian."
He's not Lithuanian. He was born in Lebanon. I guess I got the two confused because last time I thought about Keanu Reeves' stats was in 8th grade when I was obsessed with Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, but back then we fought over Bill because he was cute and blonde and because that sort of thing appeals to middle-schoolers. Keanu is an acquired taste. Keanu is pretty, and you don’t understand pretty when you’re 12.
Anyway.
I just looked it up and it turns out that Keanu is 1/4 Chinese, 1/4 Hawaiian, 1/2 English, and is a Canadian citizen.
So I was right in thinking that D reminds me of Keanu. So there.
Keanu. Such an enigma. He is in two of my favorite movies - The Matrix and Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. But he was also in some of the worst movies I've ever seen - Chain Reaction, Johnny Mnemonic, A Walk In the Clouds.
This is why I assumed Constantine would suck, but I had to see it anyway because, well, Keanu is cute.
As we were watching it, I realized that, in some ways, D reminds me of Keanu. There's something Keanu-esque about his features.
I said "You know, you remind me of Keanu Reeves."
He seemed somewhat offended.
"I hope I remind you of the good things."
I suppose reminding someone of Keanu Reeves isn't necessarily a good thing, depending on what they're referring to.
If I had said "You remind me of Brad Pitt," I don't think he'd have taken offense because Brad Pitt's overwhelming trait is obscene good looks (second only to his amazing abs). "You remind me of Brad Pitt" = "You are freaking SO HOT I CANNOT HANDLE IT."
Keanu Reeves' overwhelming traits, however, include things like: constant bewildered look, inability to act, inability to smile, inability to chew gum convincingly according to my friend MS from college, inability to sit at a desk convincingly, stoic, rigid, ambiguously gay, dull, etc.
"No! I mean you're cute! Like Keanu Reeves! You're even cuter!!! I mean, Keanu is HOT."
"Do you think he's mixed?"
"I think he's Lithuanian."
He's not Lithuanian. He was born in Lebanon. I guess I got the two confused because last time I thought about Keanu Reeves' stats was in 8th grade when I was obsessed with Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, but back then we fought over Bill because he was cute and blonde and because that sort of thing appeals to middle-schoolers. Keanu is an acquired taste. Keanu is pretty, and you don’t understand pretty when you’re 12.
Anyway.
I just looked it up and it turns out that Keanu is 1/4 Chinese, 1/4 Hawaiian, 1/2 English, and is a Canadian citizen.
So I was right in thinking that D reminds me of Keanu. So there.
Keanu. Such an enigma. He is in two of my favorite movies - The Matrix and Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. But he was also in some of the worst movies I've ever seen - Chain Reaction, Johnny Mnemonic, A Walk In the Clouds.
This is why I assumed Constantine would suck, but I had to see it anyway because, well, Keanu is cute.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Gas Station Incident - Part II (aka I Really Need Renter's Insurance)
My street corner is cursed. As you may or may not recall, I live above a gas station that released sodium bicarbonate or whatever it is in a false alarm fire over the summer, which resulted in my entire apartment and all of my possessions being coated with a white dust. In addition, my street corner, at 10th Avenue and 36th Street, was the sight of a deadly hit and run accident involving a bus about a month ago. On top of this, D and I were forced to call 311 a few weeks ago when the gas station became the site of a spontaneous hip hop party at 5am on a Saturday morning.
Yesterday morning, D and I awoke from a dead sleep when we heard screech, BANG!, screech, BANG, BLOWWWW!!!!!
We looked at each other, shocked. D bolted from bed, looked out my bedroom window, then ran to the living room and yelled "Oh my god we have to get out of here the gas station is on fire oh my god we should get out of here!"
"What?" I said, groggy. "Really?"
I put on my sneakers and ran to the window while putting on my coat.
I couldn't tell if the gas station was on fire because the white stuff was everywhere again. "Oh, I'm sure they've got it under control... like last time," I said.
"Ummm..."
I took my sneakers off, changed from pajamas to clothes just in case we couldn't come back for a while, grabbed the wallet and keys and phone and scarf and of course camera, and headed out of the apartment.
When we got to the stairwell, we had a better view of what had happened.
A cab driving down 10th Avenue had apparently driven out of control into a stationary cab in the gas station, crashed into it, and caused that car and the pump that it was at to ignite!!! Bizarrely, there was a blue SUV on the corner of 36th Street that was completely demolished.
Instead of leaving the scene, D and I stood in the stairwell trying to figure out who hit who, how Physics could have possibly led to this result, watching the firemen arrive and put the fires out, wondering if there were any bodies, etc.
Meanwhile, various neighbors congregated, just like last time, only this time they were in pajamas! How cute!
D and I eventually decided to go outside and talk to people, to see if anyone knew what had happened.
The eyewitness consensus was that an older woman driving the SUV (PA plates) was going down 10th Avenue THE WRONG WAY, and that the taxi had to swerve to get out of her way. She hit him anyway, causing him to launch into the gas station, hit the other car, and then, bang blow FIRE!
Fucking nuts.
Here are some photos:
Some thoughts about this:
1. The sound. It is not natural for humans to hear that sort of thing. It was so scary. I almost had a heart attack.
2. Being a spectator. D said "I now understand why spectators get injured in these sorts of situations." Rather than run away due to the prospect of being blown up with the gas station, we stood there discussing what was going on, trying to figure it out, etc.
3. Not knowing. We kept wondering "Where are the cabbies? Are they ok? Who hit who? How is this even possible?"
4. D. I love this boy. Had he not been there, I'd been insane. It was comforting to experience this with him, to be calm because of him, to have someone to share this sort of thing with.
5. My fire escape. There's been recent talk of putting my air conditioner on the fire escape, because having it in the window is causing a draft and given that the heat is never on in here, it's a problem. It is illegal to put things on fire escapes, but yesterday I realized that the most likely source of a fire would be this stupid gas station and my fire escape, should I escape onto it, is above the gas station. Clearly nobody will be using that fire escape. I'm not going to put the air conditioner out there, but I'd be more inclined to after yesterday's experience.
When we'd had enough time staring at the firemen, we came back upstairs, adrenaline rushing, and drew billiards-style diagrams on paper towels trying to figure out how that side of the woman's car had been destroyed if she'd hit the taxi driver in a head on collision, and how, then, that side of the back of his car was ruined. How did she hit the back of his car if she was driving down the wrong side of the road? No idea.
We calmed down, I took a shower while D tried to contact the New York Times to see if they were interested in the photos. I was fairly convinced that I had the only photo of the flames given that all of the news crews arrived only after the firemen had dealt with the situation. He found a tip-line email address. I quickly downloaded my photos, sent the one of the flames to The Times, and then ran out of the apartment as I was late for a doctor's appointment.
When we got outside, there were two news crews. I said "I wonder if I should tell them I have the photo." I decided to, as I felt very much like the photojournalist I aspire to be. I said "Hey, I have a photo of the fire." They said "Send it to us!" They then started asking us questions and said "Can we interview you?"
"Hell no," I said, but of course D consented.
He was so cute as an eyewitness in his scarf and winter coat, answering questions and explaining how the smoke looked like a blizzard and how things could have been much, much worse had things occurred slightly differently.
The interviewer said the story would air after football.
Fortuitously, D got an antenna for his TV last week, so we would actually be able to see the story! We decided to reconvene "after football" to see if my photos and D's interview made the local news.
As the day progressed, we realized that neither of us had any idea when "after football" was.
I called some boys I know in the city but they did not answer. I called Father and he said "You know better than to ask me questions about sports." D called a friend who also had no idea. D ended up asking a Best Buy Employee when football was on and got a definitive answer.
We went back to his apartment and sat glued to the TV. I watched "Smallville" episodes while checking back obsessively to various stations airing football, saying things like "THIS HAS BEEN THE LONGEST FOUR MINUTES OF ALL TIME!"
The first game ended after what seemed like 10 hours and the NBC News began, and HEADLINED WITH MY PHOTO!!!! AHHHH!!!!!!! "OH MY GOD THAT WAS MY PHOTO!" I said, nearly doing cartwheels on D's couch.
The story was good. It was about how this could have "been catastrophic for residents of this apartment complex on 36th Street." There was a shot of my apartment complex, with my stills interspersed. And then D's interview! It was awesome. D's body temperature rose about 15 degrees while watching himself on TV. Excitement! We were freaking out. We taped it. I called The Parents. The only problem is that they said that D took the photos. Of course. But whatever. I don't care! My photos were on TV!!! My babies! ON TV!!!!
The second story, which aired on ABC Eyewitness News, was more informative but featured less of us. We did learn, however, that the driver of the stationary cab that was hit and that ultimately went up in flames was inside the BP getting a coffee when his car was hit. Had he been at the pump he'd surely be dead. THANK GOD. It also had footage of the pump, which actually had gone caught on fire as well. It featured an interview with a neighbor who said something like "You never know what's going on at this corner, but it's always something!"
I think this was worth missing Thanksgiving in MA for.
Awesome!
Yesterday morning, D and I awoke from a dead sleep when we heard screech, BANG!, screech, BANG, BLOWWWW!!!!!
We looked at each other, shocked. D bolted from bed, looked out my bedroom window, then ran to the living room and yelled "Oh my god we have to get out of here the gas station is on fire oh my god we should get out of here!"
"What?" I said, groggy. "Really?"
I put on my sneakers and ran to the window while putting on my coat.
I couldn't tell if the gas station was on fire because the white stuff was everywhere again. "Oh, I'm sure they've got it under control... like last time," I said.
"Ummm..."
I took my sneakers off, changed from pajamas to clothes just in case we couldn't come back for a while, grabbed the wallet and keys and phone and scarf and of course camera, and headed out of the apartment.
When we got to the stairwell, we had a better view of what had happened.
A cab driving down 10th Avenue had apparently driven out of control into a stationary cab in the gas station, crashed into it, and caused that car and the pump that it was at to ignite!!! Bizarrely, there was a blue SUV on the corner of 36th Street that was completely demolished.
Instead of leaving the scene, D and I stood in the stairwell trying to figure out who hit who, how Physics could have possibly led to this result, watching the firemen arrive and put the fires out, wondering if there were any bodies, etc.
Meanwhile, various neighbors congregated, just like last time, only this time they were in pajamas! How cute!
D and I eventually decided to go outside and talk to people, to see if anyone knew what had happened.
The eyewitness consensus was that an older woman driving the SUV (PA plates) was going down 10th Avenue THE WRONG WAY, and that the taxi had to swerve to get out of her way. She hit him anyway, causing him to launch into the gas station, hit the other car, and then, bang blow FIRE!
Fucking nuts.
Here are some photos:
Some thoughts about this:
1. The sound. It is not natural for humans to hear that sort of thing. It was so scary. I almost had a heart attack.
2. Being a spectator. D said "I now understand why spectators get injured in these sorts of situations." Rather than run away due to the prospect of being blown up with the gas station, we stood there discussing what was going on, trying to figure it out, etc.
3. Not knowing. We kept wondering "Where are the cabbies? Are they ok? Who hit who? How is this even possible?"
4. D. I love this boy. Had he not been there, I'd been insane. It was comforting to experience this with him, to be calm because of him, to have someone to share this sort of thing with.
5. My fire escape. There's been recent talk of putting my air conditioner on the fire escape, because having it in the window is causing a draft and given that the heat is never on in here, it's a problem. It is illegal to put things on fire escapes, but yesterday I realized that the most likely source of a fire would be this stupid gas station and my fire escape, should I escape onto it, is above the gas station. Clearly nobody will be using that fire escape. I'm not going to put the air conditioner out there, but I'd be more inclined to after yesterday's experience.
When we'd had enough time staring at the firemen, we came back upstairs, adrenaline rushing, and drew billiards-style diagrams on paper towels trying to figure out how that side of the woman's car had been destroyed if she'd hit the taxi driver in a head on collision, and how, then, that side of the back of his car was ruined. How did she hit the back of his car if she was driving down the wrong side of the road? No idea.
We calmed down, I took a shower while D tried to contact the New York Times to see if they were interested in the photos. I was fairly convinced that I had the only photo of the flames given that all of the news crews arrived only after the firemen had dealt with the situation. He found a tip-line email address. I quickly downloaded my photos, sent the one of the flames to The Times, and then ran out of the apartment as I was late for a doctor's appointment.
When we got outside, there were two news crews. I said "I wonder if I should tell them I have the photo." I decided to, as I felt very much like the photojournalist I aspire to be. I said "Hey, I have a photo of the fire." They said "Send it to us!" They then started asking us questions and said "Can we interview you?"
"Hell no," I said, but of course D consented.
He was so cute as an eyewitness in his scarf and winter coat, answering questions and explaining how the smoke looked like a blizzard and how things could have been much, much worse had things occurred slightly differently.
The interviewer said the story would air after football.
Fortuitously, D got an antenna for his TV last week, so we would actually be able to see the story! We decided to reconvene "after football" to see if my photos and D's interview made the local news.
As the day progressed, we realized that neither of us had any idea when "after football" was.
I called some boys I know in the city but they did not answer. I called Father and he said "You know better than to ask me questions about sports." D called a friend who also had no idea. D ended up asking a Best Buy Employee when football was on and got a definitive answer.
We went back to his apartment and sat glued to the TV. I watched "Smallville" episodes while checking back obsessively to various stations airing football, saying things like "THIS HAS BEEN THE LONGEST FOUR MINUTES OF ALL TIME!"
The first game ended after what seemed like 10 hours and the NBC News began, and HEADLINED WITH MY PHOTO!!!! AHHHH!!!!!!! "OH MY GOD THAT WAS MY PHOTO!" I said, nearly doing cartwheels on D's couch.
The story was good. It was about how this could have "been catastrophic for residents of this apartment complex on 36th Street." There was a shot of my apartment complex, with my stills interspersed. And then D's interview! It was awesome. D's body temperature rose about 15 degrees while watching himself on TV. Excitement! We were freaking out. We taped it. I called The Parents. The only problem is that they said that D took the photos. Of course. But whatever. I don't care! My photos were on TV!!! My babies! ON TV!!!!
The second story, which aired on ABC Eyewitness News, was more informative but featured less of us. We did learn, however, that the driver of the stationary cab that was hit and that ultimately went up in flames was inside the BP getting a coffee when his car was hit. Had he been at the pump he'd surely be dead. THANK GOD. It also had footage of the pump, which actually had gone caught on fire as well. It featured an interview with a neighbor who said something like "You never know what's going on at this corner, but it's always something!"
I think this was worth missing Thanksgiving in MA for.
Awesome!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Aimee Mann Again
E was kind enough to invite me to see Aimee Mann as part of the Wall Street Rising free concert series this weekend.
E was even more kind and got there super early, thus securing us awesome seats.
This was the best Aimee show I've ever seen. She was very much on, very in tune with the audience, the performance was fabulous, the selection of songs perfect.
Now.
You may be noticing a couple of weird things about the first photo I posted in this entry.
Weird thing #1: Aimee Mann is looking a bit Whitney Houston-esque. You would be correct in thinking this. Aimee - not looking so hot. She's either got a drug problem (I don't think so - she seemed fine at the show), an illness, or issues with the consumption of food. I am worried. Whatever the cause, it didn't affect the awesomeness of the show.
Aimee Mann: Skeleton Style (she actually appeared much thinner than this in real life)
Weird thing #2: Johnny Damon plays lead guitar for Aimee Mann!!!!
Dear god he looked Just. Like. Him.
The whole evening was like a movie. Three hours prior to my leaving, I got the news about The Sandwich.
It was, of course, The Sandwich who got me into Aimee Mann in the first place. I'd listened to her intermittently, here and there, but hadn't really fell in love until The Sandwich put "Save Me" on one of the first mix CD's he made for me.
I was broken at the time, for different reasons than I am now, and that is how and why The Sandwich was able to have such an effect.
The lyrics:
You look like... a perfect fit,
For a girl in need... of a tourniquet.
But can you save me?
Come on and save me...
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone.
'Cause I can tell... you know what it's like.
A long farewell... of the hunger strike.
But can you save me?
Come on and save me...
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone.
You struck me dumb, Like radium
Like Peter Pan, or Superman,
You have come... to save me.
Come on and save me...
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone,
Except the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone,
But the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone.
I've seen Aimee a number of times, and never had I heard her play "Save Me." I've heard her do "Voices Carry," but never "Save Me." I figured there was no chance of her doing it, but I was wrong.
In my own personal episode of 90210, during which my friend E and I attend an Aimee Aimee show at the Peach Pit and are struck by her thinness (maybe its the Very Special Anorexia Episode?), I would cry to myself while singing along with "Save Me." There would be a montage of episodes past, highlighting moments such as when The Sandwich and I met, the first time we talked all night and I told him why I was broken and how I cried because I hadn't told anyone else before, the time when The Sandwich said "Don't ever let me break you... physically or otherwise..." one night before anything had ever happened between us as he accidentally tumbled on me (I swear it was an accident) in my bed after listening to music until 4 am on a school night, his hands in my ass pockets under the blanket as the sun rose, The First Kiss, The First BreakUp, The 9/11 Mistake, his flying home early to see me and my meeting him at the airport, the pool on the roof in Miami, my hand making contact with his face and his saying "You should really do that more often... I deserve so much worse," scenes of the hardest laughter and heaviest tears imagineable, his showing up at my apartment at 6:00 am before I left for St. Louis and my seeing him for the last time when neither of us knew it was the last time, some more sweet scenes to make it easier on the audience but which to pick? There were as many sweet moments as there were scathing ones. For every time I said "This isn't fucking fair! FIGURE YOUR SHIT OUT AND DO SOMETHING!" I said "I can't imagine life without you. It's all worth it, I know it is." For every time he cried there were a million times when he said something funny, funniest, for me and only for me. There would be scenes of this world we created that consisted only of the two of us and had nothing to do with the rest of the world. The real world. If we'd let the real world in, we wouldn't have lasted more than one night.
Two escapists = disaster. We always talked about running away. He talked about it more than I did, but he was more of a wimp than I was.
I guess I really did run away. After all was said and done, I ran away from it all.
Crazy.
I should have done it sooner.
Although, in his own way, he was running away by being with me in the first place.
So yeah. Aimee Mann. Devastating but cathartic.
And with that, have yourselves Happy Thanksgivings.
E was even more kind and got there super early, thus securing us awesome seats.
This was the best Aimee show I've ever seen. She was very much on, very in tune with the audience, the performance was fabulous, the selection of songs perfect.
Now.
You may be noticing a couple of weird things about the first photo I posted in this entry.
Weird thing #1: Aimee Mann is looking a bit Whitney Houston-esque. You would be correct in thinking this. Aimee - not looking so hot. She's either got a drug problem (I don't think so - she seemed fine at the show), an illness, or issues with the consumption of food. I am worried. Whatever the cause, it didn't affect the awesomeness of the show.
Aimee Mann: Skeleton Style (she actually appeared much thinner than this in real life)
Weird thing #2: Johnny Damon plays lead guitar for Aimee Mann!!!!
Dear god he looked Just. Like. Him.
The whole evening was like a movie. Three hours prior to my leaving, I got the news about The Sandwich.
It was, of course, The Sandwich who got me into Aimee Mann in the first place. I'd listened to her intermittently, here and there, but hadn't really fell in love until The Sandwich put "Save Me" on one of the first mix CD's he made for me.
I was broken at the time, for different reasons than I am now, and that is how and why The Sandwich was able to have such an effect.
The lyrics:
You look like... a perfect fit,
For a girl in need... of a tourniquet.
But can you save me?
Come on and save me...
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone.
'Cause I can tell... you know what it's like.
A long farewell... of the hunger strike.
But can you save me?
Come on and save me...
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone.
You struck me dumb, Like radium
Like Peter Pan, or Superman,
You have come... to save me.
Come on and save me...
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone,
Except the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone,
But the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone.
I've seen Aimee a number of times, and never had I heard her play "Save Me." I've heard her do "Voices Carry," but never "Save Me." I figured there was no chance of her doing it, but I was wrong.
In my own personal episode of 90210, during which my friend E and I attend an Aimee Aimee show at the Peach Pit and are struck by her thinness (maybe its the Very Special Anorexia Episode?), I would cry to myself while singing along with "Save Me." There would be a montage of episodes past, highlighting moments such as when The Sandwich and I met, the first time we talked all night and I told him why I was broken and how I cried because I hadn't told anyone else before, the time when The Sandwich said "Don't ever let me break you... physically or otherwise..." one night before anything had ever happened between us as he accidentally tumbled on me (I swear it was an accident) in my bed after listening to music until 4 am on a school night, his hands in my ass pockets under the blanket as the sun rose, The First Kiss, The First BreakUp, The 9/11 Mistake, his flying home early to see me and my meeting him at the airport, the pool on the roof in Miami, my hand making contact with his face and his saying "You should really do that more often... I deserve so much worse," scenes of the hardest laughter and heaviest tears imagineable, his showing up at my apartment at 6:00 am before I left for St. Louis and my seeing him for the last time when neither of us knew it was the last time, some more sweet scenes to make it easier on the audience but which to pick? There were as many sweet moments as there were scathing ones. For every time I said "This isn't fucking fair! FIGURE YOUR SHIT OUT AND DO SOMETHING!" I said "I can't imagine life without you. It's all worth it, I know it is." For every time he cried there were a million times when he said something funny, funniest, for me and only for me. There would be scenes of this world we created that consisted only of the two of us and had nothing to do with the rest of the world. The real world. If we'd let the real world in, we wouldn't have lasted more than one night.
Two escapists = disaster. We always talked about running away. He talked about it more than I did, but he was more of a wimp than I was.
I guess I really did run away. After all was said and done, I ran away from it all.
Crazy.
I should have done it sooner.
Although, in his own way, he was running away by being with me in the first place.
So yeah. Aimee Mann. Devastating but cathartic.
And with that, have yourselves Happy Thanksgivings.
Little Lab!
I am so behind.
I've been distracted by work and biological clocks and groceries.
I can't decide what's worse - travelling or grocery shopping the day before Thanksgiving.
I digress...
Last week I went to some gallery openings with R in pursuit of free drinks and good art. Our evening was cut short by my emotions, only after I ran into Joe Pesci without even noticing.
Prior to my anxiety getting the best of me, we passed this window on 10th Avenue. It's a display space for some gallery and there is always something bizarre within.
R and I were thrilled by that night's window! It was... a lab!
I wish I knew who did this, or why. I wish I'd been more focused on things other than stupid boys and could have processed what the point of this was! And taken better photos!
I could do neither, but it's wicked awesome anyway.
A dissection of some sort. Little beakers. The artist's face on the dolls?
Dunno.
But still... awesome.
I've been distracted by work and biological clocks and groceries.
I can't decide what's worse - travelling or grocery shopping the day before Thanksgiving.
I digress...
Last week I went to some gallery openings with R in pursuit of free drinks and good art. Our evening was cut short by my emotions, only after I ran into Joe Pesci without even noticing.
Prior to my anxiety getting the best of me, we passed this window on 10th Avenue. It's a display space for some gallery and there is always something bizarre within.
R and I were thrilled by that night's window! It was... a lab!
I wish I knew who did this, or why. I wish I'd been more focused on things other than stupid boys and could have processed what the point of this was! And taken better photos!
I could do neither, but it's wicked awesome anyway.
A dissection of some sort. Little beakers. The artist's face on the dolls?
Dunno.
But still... awesome.
Real Date
I got out of work early yesterday. This was due to my getting into work obscenely early in order to perform the function of "Hair Model."
A student from the salon downstairs had been looking for "models" on the street last week. A coworker spread the word, and a bunch of us made appointments for $20 in the salon I normally go to. I know. It's awkward. Not only did I run into my former hairdresser after having gotten a haircut in Argentina, but yesterday I ran into her at her own salon while getting my hair cut by someone else. Caught in the act! It's her fault, though. She charges $80 now.
The best thing about this was that my hairdresser kept referring to me as "a model."
The worst thing was that the haircut took two hours. My hairdresser was very insecure, which I guess is a good thing, and kept checking with the master hairdresser before making a move. My hair looks amazing and may be the best haircut I've ever gotten. It actually stays flat. It's quite miraculous. Everyone at the salon was very impressed.
When I returned to work from my haircut, I called D and said "You have to come see my hair!" When he arrived, I said "We should go on a date because I have such good hair!"
I got out early, which meant we had a ton of time to have a good date.
It was such a good date!
We started off with shopping in SoHo. We looked for new eyeglasses for D and took photos of the top contenders. We then looked at coats for D, after which I bought an argyle scarf (which I'd been looking for for the entirety of last winter) and gloves. Yes, gloves. I may have given up on mittens. At least for the time being. I had to cave in because its 25 degrees right now and my hands were cold. I am, however, now better at being a girl because my scarf and gloves match one another, and both look good with my coat.
After more shopping we ended up at a cute new restaurant in Nolita. We ordered apple martinis but they couldn't make them. They recommended, instead, applie pie caramel martinis that came with caramel lining the rim. Yes! We split garlic mashed potatoes and crispy macaroni and cheese rolls. That's right - crispy macaroni and cheese rolls with a smoked gouda sauce.
We then headed off in pursuit of other date-like activities. D was in the mood for happy hour, and bolted into this bar the minute he saw "$5 Raspberry Cosmos!" on a chalkboard outside its door. It was a dive - dark, barren, and marvelous. "I really want to play pool!" D said. "OK, but I suck. Hard," I said. "Me too," said D. We then embarked on what I thought would be the longest game of pool of all time.
D thought I'd lied because I got three balls in right away. I guess I was at that perfect level of intoxication during which your focus is at a maximum and your anxiety is at a minimum. I am good at pool for about 15 minutes when this happens. Otherwise my playing pool is a hilarious disaster.
D definitely lied, as he is very good at pool.
The game only lasted about 5 minutes. It would have been even shorter had I not gotten the white one in four times.
We split two raspberry cosmos and then headed back out into the cold.
We decided to walk towards D's house in pursuit of a meal since he was not wearing a coat (why do boys do this?) and it was about 20 degrees out. We figured if we didn't find anything acceptable to eat, we'd at least be close to home and the potential of food there.
We ended up at a new comedy club on Bleeker. They wooed us in with the promise of free comedy, but told us, when we sat down right in front of the stage, that there was a two drink or two food minimum purchase per person.
Fine, we thought, since we were hungry. I didn't want to drink, but figured D would want a couple more.
Of course it ended up being a two drink minimum per person, food not mattering, so we ended up paying for two drinks that we didn't even order. Assholes. And the drinks that we did have were disgusting.
The show itself was much better than I'd expected. There was a lot of audience interaction, which made it imtimate. You know the sort of thing where the comedian onstage asks people questions about themselves, and then all of the remaining comics make fun of them for the remainder of the evening.
D and I got pegged as the "happy couple" when the first comic asked D how long we'd been together. D said, enthusiastically, "11 months and 7 days" and all of the women in the room said "Awww......"
D = very cute last night.
When asked if he loved me, he declared "FUCK YEAH!"
Awesome date, folks. We never do stuff like this. We never take the time to just run around our city and find things to do. We're always pressed for time, feeling obligated to do things, checking things off the list.
Last night was the most fun I've had in a long time.
And with that, I bid you all the happiest of Thanksgivings.
And do not fret - My Mundane Life In Song will return next Monday.
Word.
A student from the salon downstairs had been looking for "models" on the street last week. A coworker spread the word, and a bunch of us made appointments for $20 in the salon I normally go to. I know. It's awkward. Not only did I run into my former hairdresser after having gotten a haircut in Argentina, but yesterday I ran into her at her own salon while getting my hair cut by someone else. Caught in the act! It's her fault, though. She charges $80 now.
The best thing about this was that my hairdresser kept referring to me as "a model."
The worst thing was that the haircut took two hours. My hairdresser was very insecure, which I guess is a good thing, and kept checking with the master hairdresser before making a move. My hair looks amazing and may be the best haircut I've ever gotten. It actually stays flat. It's quite miraculous. Everyone at the salon was very impressed.
When I returned to work from my haircut, I called D and said "You have to come see my hair!" When he arrived, I said "We should go on a date because I have such good hair!"
I got out early, which meant we had a ton of time to have a good date.
It was such a good date!
We started off with shopping in SoHo. We looked for new eyeglasses for D and took photos of the top contenders. We then looked at coats for D, after which I bought an argyle scarf (which I'd been looking for for the entirety of last winter) and gloves. Yes, gloves. I may have given up on mittens. At least for the time being. I had to cave in because its 25 degrees right now and my hands were cold. I am, however, now better at being a girl because my scarf and gloves match one another, and both look good with my coat.
After more shopping we ended up at a cute new restaurant in Nolita. We ordered apple martinis but they couldn't make them. They recommended, instead, applie pie caramel martinis that came with caramel lining the rim. Yes! We split garlic mashed potatoes and crispy macaroni and cheese rolls. That's right - crispy macaroni and cheese rolls with a smoked gouda sauce.
We then headed off in pursuit of other date-like activities. D was in the mood for happy hour, and bolted into this bar the minute he saw "$5 Raspberry Cosmos!" on a chalkboard outside its door. It was a dive - dark, barren, and marvelous. "I really want to play pool!" D said. "OK, but I suck. Hard," I said. "Me too," said D. We then embarked on what I thought would be the longest game of pool of all time.
D thought I'd lied because I got three balls in right away. I guess I was at that perfect level of intoxication during which your focus is at a maximum and your anxiety is at a minimum. I am good at pool for about 15 minutes when this happens. Otherwise my playing pool is a hilarious disaster.
D definitely lied, as he is very good at pool.
The game only lasted about 5 minutes. It would have been even shorter had I not gotten the white one in four times.
We split two raspberry cosmos and then headed back out into the cold.
We decided to walk towards D's house in pursuit of a meal since he was not wearing a coat (why do boys do this?) and it was about 20 degrees out. We figured if we didn't find anything acceptable to eat, we'd at least be close to home and the potential of food there.
We ended up at a new comedy club on Bleeker. They wooed us in with the promise of free comedy, but told us, when we sat down right in front of the stage, that there was a two drink or two food minimum purchase per person.
Fine, we thought, since we were hungry. I didn't want to drink, but figured D would want a couple more.
Of course it ended up being a two drink minimum per person, food not mattering, so we ended up paying for two drinks that we didn't even order. Assholes. And the drinks that we did have were disgusting.
The show itself was much better than I'd expected. There was a lot of audience interaction, which made it imtimate. You know the sort of thing where the comedian onstage asks people questions about themselves, and then all of the remaining comics make fun of them for the remainder of the evening.
D and I got pegged as the "happy couple" when the first comic asked D how long we'd been together. D said, enthusiastically, "11 months and 7 days" and all of the women in the room said "Awww......"
D = very cute last night.
When asked if he loved me, he declared "FUCK YEAH!"
Awesome date, folks. We never do stuff like this. We never take the time to just run around our city and find things to do. We're always pressed for time, feeling obligated to do things, checking things off the list.
Last night was the most fun I've had in a long time.
And with that, I bid you all the happiest of Thanksgivings.
And do not fret - My Mundane Life In Song will return next Monday.
Word.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Some People Should Not Be Allowed To Be Happy
Atop this list?
Ex-es.
Especially evil ex-es who pretty much ruined you for eternity.
And they should not be happy with people who know of and directly experienced the ruin.
There's something especially disturbing about an ex being happy with someone you know. It's almost as though you suffered and therefore paved the way for this person to be happy. You suffered the chaos, the judgment, the emotional turbulence, the bullshit, the pain, the therapy, the anger, the sadness, the insecurity, the not feeling good enough, only in order for that person to bypass it entirely and then to be happy.
It's not fair.
It's not fair that they get to be happy.
It is especially unfair that he gets to feel secure and that there's someone out there who loves him and thinks he's enough, someone who's willing to follow him and put up with his issues.
I don't have that.
It's funny. I'm not jealous of her. Yes, I wish things had turned out differently but I know now that it was for the best. I'm not jealous of her. I'm jealous of him, that he gets to be over it and found someone that loves him that way and that much. I'm so jealous that he's moving on, that he's made decisions, that he's confident and secure. He and I - we are 2/3 of the people who went through that mess and I bet 2/3 of us came out fine on the other end. I just expected it to be a different 2/3. He wasn't supposed to be part of it. He is supposed to be ruined because he ruined everything for all of us.
I'm feeling distressed these days over the concept of time. I feel time passing. I spent a good part of my life waiting for him. Waiting for him to grow up, to make difficult decisions, to tell me what was going on. I was powerless. I let time pass, I let opportunities with other men pass, I let my life pass me by because of hope and a false sense of security.
I am jealous that he's not waiting anymore.
I, however, am. I am still waiting on a man, a different man now, to make up his mind, and I can't stand it. I hate that we, as women, have to wait for a man to commit. I hate living the cliche. I hate putting everything on hold so as not to scare someone away. I hate playing the game. I hate being dishonest. I hate pretending that everything is cool when I want to demand that he tell me that everything is going to be ok.
I was feeling a bit messy yesterday and called D to ask if I could spend the night with him. I've never done that before. I've never asked. He asked me if something was wrong and I just broke down and cried, not because of jealousy, but because this feeling of waiting reminds me of old things that are very painful. I was cryptic and finally admitted that I'd received some disturbing information about The Sandwich. I wanted to say "I want to be enough for you. I wasn't enough for him even though he told me I was. I want you to think that I am enough, I want you to have faith in me, I want you to have faith in us, I want you to think that this is worth it." I said, instead, that I was sad and that it was bringing up old feelings and that I was distressed that The Sandwich's life was working out for him.
D said "Well, that's normal."
I said incoherent things and D listened. He often asks me what I need at times like this. I usually say "I just need you to listen and not be dismissive." But last night I needed affirmation. I needed a hug. I needed him to say "It's going to be ok. You have me. I'm here for you."
I thought of RR and her Boyfriend Cue Cards, and I said "Maybe this would be a good time for you to say 'Don't worry, you have a boyfriend who loves you very much.'" I had about 43 other cue cards ready, but didn't use them, because what's the point?
He said it, and then said "Well, what do you want me to do? Should I distract you? Should we talk about it? What should I say?"
He tries so hard, and I appreciate it, but the ability to comfort people is something you know how to do or don't know how to do. I don't have a protocol for this. I guess its an innate technique. The Sandwich knew. No matter how bad things got, I always felt comforted. Last night I missed him, because he would have known what to say.
I think I may write a song. Woo hoo!
That is all.
Happy Monday to you all.
Ex-es.
Especially evil ex-es who pretty much ruined you for eternity.
And they should not be happy with people who know of and directly experienced the ruin.
There's something especially disturbing about an ex being happy with someone you know. It's almost as though you suffered and therefore paved the way for this person to be happy. You suffered the chaos, the judgment, the emotional turbulence, the bullshit, the pain, the therapy, the anger, the sadness, the insecurity, the not feeling good enough, only in order for that person to bypass it entirely and then to be happy.
It's not fair.
It's not fair that they get to be happy.
It is especially unfair that he gets to feel secure and that there's someone out there who loves him and thinks he's enough, someone who's willing to follow him and put up with his issues.
I don't have that.
It's funny. I'm not jealous of her. Yes, I wish things had turned out differently but I know now that it was for the best. I'm not jealous of her. I'm jealous of him, that he gets to be over it and found someone that loves him that way and that much. I'm so jealous that he's moving on, that he's made decisions, that he's confident and secure. He and I - we are 2/3 of the people who went through that mess and I bet 2/3 of us came out fine on the other end. I just expected it to be a different 2/3. He wasn't supposed to be part of it. He is supposed to be ruined because he ruined everything for all of us.
I'm feeling distressed these days over the concept of time. I feel time passing. I spent a good part of my life waiting for him. Waiting for him to grow up, to make difficult decisions, to tell me what was going on. I was powerless. I let time pass, I let opportunities with other men pass, I let my life pass me by because of hope and a false sense of security.
I am jealous that he's not waiting anymore.
I, however, am. I am still waiting on a man, a different man now, to make up his mind, and I can't stand it. I hate that we, as women, have to wait for a man to commit. I hate living the cliche. I hate putting everything on hold so as not to scare someone away. I hate playing the game. I hate being dishonest. I hate pretending that everything is cool when I want to demand that he tell me that everything is going to be ok.
I was feeling a bit messy yesterday and called D to ask if I could spend the night with him. I've never done that before. I've never asked. He asked me if something was wrong and I just broke down and cried, not because of jealousy, but because this feeling of waiting reminds me of old things that are very painful. I was cryptic and finally admitted that I'd received some disturbing information about The Sandwich. I wanted to say "I want to be enough for you. I wasn't enough for him even though he told me I was. I want you to think that I am enough, I want you to have faith in me, I want you to have faith in us, I want you to think that this is worth it." I said, instead, that I was sad and that it was bringing up old feelings and that I was distressed that The Sandwich's life was working out for him.
D said "Well, that's normal."
I said incoherent things and D listened. He often asks me what I need at times like this. I usually say "I just need you to listen and not be dismissive." But last night I needed affirmation. I needed a hug. I needed him to say "It's going to be ok. You have me. I'm here for you."
I thought of RR and her Boyfriend Cue Cards, and I said "Maybe this would be a good time for you to say 'Don't worry, you have a boyfriend who loves you very much.'" I had about 43 other cue cards ready, but didn't use them, because what's the point?
He said it, and then said "Well, what do you want me to do? Should I distract you? Should we talk about it? What should I say?"
He tries so hard, and I appreciate it, but the ability to comfort people is something you know how to do or don't know how to do. I don't have a protocol for this. I guess its an innate technique. The Sandwich knew. No matter how bad things got, I always felt comforted. Last night I missed him, because he would have known what to say.
I think I may write a song. Woo hoo!
That is all.
Happy Monday to you all.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Hip Hop On Trial
I have been following the trial of hip hop mogul Irv Gotti.
(How much do I love the word "mogul?")
Today's paper had a small story about how their former intern testified that he had seen shoe boxes full of x thousands of bills of "dirty money."
Gotti's attorney then produced a shoe box, x thousands of fake bills, and said something like "Since you claim to have seen x thousands of bills in a show box, please show us how x thousands of bills could fit."
The former intern, of course, could not fit the bills into the shoe box.
The hip hop community laughed.
The point of all of this? I can't believe this sort of thing happens in real life. It seems like something that would happen only on an episode of Ally McBeal. Lawyers using empty shoe boxes with fake bills as a demonstration.
Awesome.
This is going to be a great movie when they make a movie about this.
I only wonder if Ja Rule will play himself.
(How much do I love the word "mogul?")
Today's paper had a small story about how their former intern testified that he had seen shoe boxes full of x thousands of bills of "dirty money."
Gotti's attorney then produced a shoe box, x thousands of fake bills, and said something like "Since you claim to have seen x thousands of bills in a show box, please show us how x thousands of bills could fit."
The former intern, of course, could not fit the bills into the shoe box.
The hip hop community laughed.
The point of all of this? I can't believe this sort of thing happens in real life. It seems like something that would happen only on an episode of Ally McBeal. Lawyers using empty shoe boxes with fake bills as a demonstration.
Awesome.
This is going to be a great movie when they make a movie about this.
I only wonder if Ja Rule will play himself.
Celebrity Sighting.... Not!
Last evening, while contemplating the nature of art and what makes something "good" or "bad" or "difficult" and being emotional and worrying about the future, I apparently walked into Joe Pesci without even realizing it!!!
R said "Oooh... first celebrity sighting!"
"What? Where? WHAT?!"
"That short guy."
"WHAT!?!?"
"Did you see that group of girls?"
Yes, I'd noticed the group of teenaged girls walking into the gallery, because they had on far too much makeup and because it was weird to see teenagers at a gallery's opening reception on a Thursday night.
"He was right behind them."
"DAMMIT!"
That would have been a good one. Really. We could have actually talked to him.
Drat.
R said "Oooh... first celebrity sighting!"
"What? Where? WHAT?!"
"That short guy."
"WHAT!?!?"
"Did you see that group of girls?"
Yes, I'd noticed the group of teenaged girls walking into the gallery, because they had on far too much makeup and because it was weird to see teenagers at a gallery's opening reception on a Thursday night.
"He was right behind them."
"DAMMIT!"
That would have been a good one. Really. We could have actually talked to him.
Drat.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Date
What's better than sharing a bottle of wine and a cheese plate and a hummus plate and creme brulee and banana/walnut bread pudding with banana caramel sauce and hot chocolate sauce over candlelight and man-bashing while it is pouring rain outside?
Nothing. There is nothing better than gluttony with a girl friend.
Nothing. There is nothing better than gluttony with a girl friend.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Someone please tell me that my boyfriend of almost a year did not just suggest that I live in an undergraduate dorm were I to go back to school, when I would be going back to school in order to be able to stay in NYC with him for as long as his uncompromising self deems appropriate.
I am on the verge of a fit.
I should really just move back to Boston.
I am on the verge of a fit.
I should really just move back to Boston.
Have Disdain for Your Audience
My last photography class was last night. Instead of having an actual class, we had a party - with a group exhibit (also including photos from the other Tuesday night class - I'd said the week before "What if that other class is better than us? We'll have to fight them!" but, ahem, they were not better than us) that was open to the public. I was very happy that my New York friends showed up. It was nice of them to show their support.
It was fun. Very, very fun. I expected there to be only a few people, but I think there were probably 100 people there (not all at once - over the course of three hours). It was interesting to watch strangers react to my photography. It was interesting to see other people's photography. It was fun to gush over the amazing shows and make fun of the not-so-amazing shows.
At one point I was standing near my photos, and Teacher came up to me and started giving me a hard time about the show I chose. I'd agonized over it. I had three solid shows - all very different - and decided to go with a less-emotional, more technically sophisticated show. He said "These all pop - which is good - but they all stand alone. It's too obvious." He was cross with me for not picking the more emotional, more subtle show. I'd wanted to pick the emotional, personal one but had been convinced otherwise by D, who was very attached to the show I ended up picking.
"But other people..." I said.
"Don't listen to other people."
"But they are the audience."
"You have to have disdain for your audience. If you aren't arrogant, you won't be a good photographer."
Interesting.
He said "All of your images are good. Everything you do is good. I wouldn't say this unless I thought you were capable of both."
I was flattered. He was gushing. I wanted to give him a hug but didn't, because that would be inappropriate. But it probably would have been ok, because there was much wine being consumed.
What he said is true. I have to trust myself. I can't seek approval from others. I have to go with my instinct and put myself out there and I should have put up the other show because I was more attached to it. I guess his point was that an artist's attachment to something is very important, and that the audience will see and respond to that.
Yes.
It was sad to say goodbye to my classmates. Just as I'd grown attached to the work I produced throughout the class, I'd grown attached to them. Having something concrete every week, looking forward to seeing people, getting excited about their shows... I don't know what I am going to do with myself.
I collected contact information and we talked about taking another photography class together. Or forming a club. Or getting together for a reunion after the holidays to look at everyone's photos from their holiday travels. I was thinking of maybe setting up a Flickr group for us, but they don't have accounts.
All of these things we say that we'll do... will I ever see them again? Probably not. I'll try, though. Because I am attached.
Saying good-bye to Teacher was even worse. "Well, I'm leaving," I said. Silence. "Umm... the class was good. Comprehensive. I enjoyed it. Yeah." "I want to see more of your images." "I have so many I never had time to show you." "Send them to me. Please. Keep in touch." I didn't say "You were awesome, you taught me so much, your criticism and praise have been motivating. Thank you thank you thank you thank you."
D said "So what's next?" and I said "Shit. I don't know." I don't know. I think nothing until after the holidays, and then the ball will start rolling and I'll start working on a portfolio and will make phone calls to Teacher about old lenses and picking images and programs. And I'll start a photography club. And I'll learn how to use film, I swear.
Today I am feeling a mixture of elation and distress. The show went well, the photos were well-received, I had great conversations with friends and strangers, people had fun, I felt all sorts of love and support which is something that I lack here in NYC. I've been thinking about the final show for 9 weeks and it's over. There's now the sense of having nothing to look forward to.
Oh well.
It was a good 9 weeks and I guess all good things must come to an end.
It was fun. Very, very fun. I expected there to be only a few people, but I think there were probably 100 people there (not all at once - over the course of three hours). It was interesting to watch strangers react to my photography. It was interesting to see other people's photography. It was fun to gush over the amazing shows and make fun of the not-so-amazing shows.
At one point I was standing near my photos, and Teacher came up to me and started giving me a hard time about the show I chose. I'd agonized over it. I had three solid shows - all very different - and decided to go with a less-emotional, more technically sophisticated show. He said "These all pop - which is good - but they all stand alone. It's too obvious." He was cross with me for not picking the more emotional, more subtle show. I'd wanted to pick the emotional, personal one but had been convinced otherwise by D, who was very attached to the show I ended up picking.
"But other people..." I said.
"Don't listen to other people."
"But they are the audience."
"You have to have disdain for your audience. If you aren't arrogant, you won't be a good photographer."
Interesting.
He said "All of your images are good. Everything you do is good. I wouldn't say this unless I thought you were capable of both."
I was flattered. He was gushing. I wanted to give him a hug but didn't, because that would be inappropriate. But it probably would have been ok, because there was much wine being consumed.
What he said is true. I have to trust myself. I can't seek approval from others. I have to go with my instinct and put myself out there and I should have put up the other show because I was more attached to it. I guess his point was that an artist's attachment to something is very important, and that the audience will see and respond to that.
Yes.
It was sad to say goodbye to my classmates. Just as I'd grown attached to the work I produced throughout the class, I'd grown attached to them. Having something concrete every week, looking forward to seeing people, getting excited about their shows... I don't know what I am going to do with myself.
I collected contact information and we talked about taking another photography class together. Or forming a club. Or getting together for a reunion after the holidays to look at everyone's photos from their holiday travels. I was thinking of maybe setting up a Flickr group for us, but they don't have accounts.
All of these things we say that we'll do... will I ever see them again? Probably not. I'll try, though. Because I am attached.
Saying good-bye to Teacher was even worse. "Well, I'm leaving," I said. Silence. "Umm... the class was good. Comprehensive. I enjoyed it. Yeah." "I want to see more of your images." "I have so many I never had time to show you." "Send them to me. Please. Keep in touch." I didn't say "You were awesome, you taught me so much, your criticism and praise have been motivating. Thank you thank you thank you thank you."
D said "So what's next?" and I said "Shit. I don't know." I don't know. I think nothing until after the holidays, and then the ball will start rolling and I'll start working on a portfolio and will make phone calls to Teacher about old lenses and picking images and programs. And I'll start a photography club. And I'll learn how to use film, I swear.
Today I am feeling a mixture of elation and distress. The show went well, the photos were well-received, I had great conversations with friends and strangers, people had fun, I felt all sorts of love and support which is something that I lack here in NYC. I've been thinking about the final show for 9 weeks and it's over. There's now the sense of having nothing to look forward to.
Oh well.
It was a good 9 weeks and I guess all good things must come to an end.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Mashed Po
Apparently I am not the only one with the mashed-potato buffet issue.
As of late, I've been treating myself to the new and fantastic hot/cold buffet at this cafeteria-esque restaurant across the street. It's heaven! You can do things like mix teriyaki vegetables with fried plantains and candied yams and cucumer salad and pesto pasta primavera.
The problem is that they have mashed potatoes every day! And, of course, mashed potatoes rule. I could eat a meal comprised entirely of mashed potatoes. Why don't I, you ask? Because mashed potatoes weigh more than other types of food. And the buffet is pay-by-the-pound.
Here is the problem. You always want mashed potatoes, but the minute you put the mashed potatoes on your plate, you realize "Crap, those weigh a ton." And then you compensate by getting far less from the buffet than you'd like.
Yesterday, The Boss said "How was your lunch?"
"It was good," I said, "But I'm still starving."
"Why?"
"Because I have this issue with the hot/cold buffet."
"ISN'T THAT THING GREAT?!!"
"It is, but I always want the mashed potatoes."
"Me too! But they weigh so much!"
"Right! So I'm always starving."
"ME TOO!!! I feel your pain."
I feel so much better knowing that other people have a mashed potato addiction that prevents them from ever feeling full. It is nice to know that I am no alone in the world.
As of late, I've been treating myself to the new and fantastic hot/cold buffet at this cafeteria-esque restaurant across the street. It's heaven! You can do things like mix teriyaki vegetables with fried plantains and candied yams and cucumer salad and pesto pasta primavera.
The problem is that they have mashed potatoes every day! And, of course, mashed potatoes rule. I could eat a meal comprised entirely of mashed potatoes. Why don't I, you ask? Because mashed potatoes weigh more than other types of food. And the buffet is pay-by-the-pound.
Here is the problem. You always want mashed potatoes, but the minute you put the mashed potatoes on your plate, you realize "Crap, those weigh a ton." And then you compensate by getting far less from the buffet than you'd like.
Yesterday, The Boss said "How was your lunch?"
"It was good," I said, "But I'm still starving."
"Why?"
"Because I have this issue with the hot/cold buffet."
"ISN'T THAT THING GREAT?!!"
"It is, but I always want the mashed potatoes."
"Me too! But they weigh so much!"
"Right! So I'm always starving."
"ME TOO!!! I feel your pain."
I feel so much better knowing that other people have a mashed potato addiction that prevents them from ever feeling full. It is nice to know that I am no alone in the world.
Monday, November 14, 2005
The Elusive Flea Market
On Sunday, The Parents, D and I headed to the Upper West Side for brunch at Cafe Mozart. Father had parked his car in a lot, much to his dismay, the day before. He searched for a space but could not find one. The guy at the lot said "If you pick up your car later than 1:17 tomorrow, it will be $10 for each additional hour."
Father said "I have to get my car at 1:17."
"But our reservation is at noon. There's no way we will be back here by 1:17."
"No, I have to be."
"OK. Well, why don't you get up on Sunday morning and move the car? It's free to park on Sundays now."
Father thought that was a good idea, but then said "Well, would it make more sense to just drive?"
"I don't know," I said. "I have no idea what parking is like on the upper west side. That's unchartered territory. I suppose its just as unlikely to find a spot up there as it is down here, so why not?"
D agreed, and advocated our just driving up there.
So we did.
We got there in about 5 minutes and then spent 30 minutes looking for a spot. Father remained surprisingly chill about the whole thing, dropped us off, and then ended up parking in a sketchy spot that had earlier been vetoed by Mother. Heh.
Brunch was yum.
After brunch, D left to ride his bike and Mother and I headed down to the elusive Hell's Kitchen Flea Market, which was actually there! Crazy. This activity was unplanned, but we'd passed it on our way north on 10th Avenue, and decided to, gasp, be spontaneous since it was such a lovely day!
Father parked illegally and just stayed in the car, while Mother looked at weird jewelry and I looked at vintage coats and jewelry.
I am now certain that The Hell's Kitchen Flea Market from Summer 2004 was not the Hell's Kitchen Flea Market, because it was not a flea market. It was definitely a street fair. The Hell's Kitchen Flea Market is definitely a classic flea market.
Here are some photos:
We had a great time. I bought a baby blue cosmetics case from the 70's in which to store camera equipment. Awshummmmmm!
Saying good-bye to The Parents was hard, since I probably won't see them again until Christmas. It's not so much not seeing them as it is knowing that it's more difficult to see them now. When I lived an hour away from them, I probably saw them less than I do now but knew I could see them whenever I wanted.
Sigh.
I spent the remainder of Sunday being mostly reclusive and not enjoying the nice weather because I thought it was more important to decompress and be totally alone. I wanted to go to B & H or The Container Store, but I decided instead to download music and deal with photos and make a few phone calls and watch The Pajama Game. I'll have four full days off for Thanksgiving during which I can run errands and see movies and be around a zillion people. It's just as important to take advantage of quiet time.
And with that, I'm off. To have more quiet time tonight, before the chaos starts up again tomorrow night.
Until tomorrow....
Father said "I have to get my car at 1:17."
"But our reservation is at noon. There's no way we will be back here by 1:17."
"No, I have to be."
"OK. Well, why don't you get up on Sunday morning and move the car? It's free to park on Sundays now."
Father thought that was a good idea, but then said "Well, would it make more sense to just drive?"
"I don't know," I said. "I have no idea what parking is like on the upper west side. That's unchartered territory. I suppose its just as unlikely to find a spot up there as it is down here, so why not?"
D agreed, and advocated our just driving up there.
So we did.
We got there in about 5 minutes and then spent 30 minutes looking for a spot. Father remained surprisingly chill about the whole thing, dropped us off, and then ended up parking in a sketchy spot that had earlier been vetoed by Mother. Heh.
Brunch was yum.
After brunch, D left to ride his bike and Mother and I headed down to the elusive Hell's Kitchen Flea Market, which was actually there! Crazy. This activity was unplanned, but we'd passed it on our way north on 10th Avenue, and decided to, gasp, be spontaneous since it was such a lovely day!
Father parked illegally and just stayed in the car, while Mother looked at weird jewelry and I looked at vintage coats and jewelry.
I am now certain that The Hell's Kitchen Flea Market from Summer 2004 was not the Hell's Kitchen Flea Market, because it was not a flea market. It was definitely a street fair. The Hell's Kitchen Flea Market is definitely a classic flea market.
Here are some photos:
We had a great time. I bought a baby blue cosmetics case from the 70's in which to store camera equipment. Awshummmmmm!
Saying good-bye to The Parents was hard, since I probably won't see them again until Christmas. It's not so much not seeing them as it is knowing that it's more difficult to see them now. When I lived an hour away from them, I probably saw them less than I do now but knew I could see them whenever I wanted.
Sigh.
I spent the remainder of Sunday being mostly reclusive and not enjoying the nice weather because I thought it was more important to decompress and be totally alone. I wanted to go to B & H or The Container Store, but I decided instead to download music and deal with photos and make a few phone calls and watch The Pajama Game. I'll have four full days off for Thanksgiving during which I can run errands and see movies and be around a zillion people. It's just as important to take advantage of quiet time.
And with that, I'm off. To have more quiet time tonight, before the chaos starts up again tomorrow night.
Until tomorrow....
Canstruction NYC 2005
The Parents came to visit this weekend. We had a lovely time, mainly because I'd planned a busy weekend for us.
When they arrived on Saturday, they said "We don't want to do much walking (since Father is on crutches) so we aren't going to come to The Cans." I said "Well, that's fine. You guys can stay here but I am going to see The Cans."
I was referring to Canstruction, which is a contest wherein teams design huge objects out of canned goods and bottles and other foods that will then be donated to various hunger-ending charities. Awesome! I was not going to miss it because of The Parents.
Mother said "Well, ok, I wouldn't mind just staying in your apartment and relaxing."
"OK, that's cool," I said. "But you guys will have to meet us at The Chocolate Show afterwards because it doesn't make any sense for me to come and get you."
"Oh. How will get there?" I explained that it was a very easy cab ride and that I would give them my keys to lock up and would call them when D and I had finished looking at The Cans.
"Ummm..."
"We'll come!" Father declared.
Hah. I know them far too well. I knew the mere mention of their taking a cab alone would be enough to make them my slaves for the day! Mwa ha ha!!!
We left my apartment and it was a bit colder than I'd anticipated, so I said "You guys wait here while I run upstairs and change my coat. We'll get a cab when I come back down." You can imagine my surprise when, upon my return to the sidewalk, my parents had hailed a cab on their own! I said "What!? How did you guys do this?" Turned out a cab just stopped because he saw Father standing there with crutches, but still! I was so proud of them!!!
We met D at the Design Center and had a fabulous time. It definitely would have been easier had one of us not been on crutches, but it didn't really matter. We just took an elevator from floor to floor. The Canstructions were all adorable. Some were better than others. Many had cute puns on "Can" in the title, although I can't remember any of them and already threw out the list of names. Drat!
Anyway, here are some photos:
Empire State Building
Music Notes
Rubics Cube
Rose
Rocket
The Guggenheim
IPod (this one, along with a bunch of others, had fallen down shortly after being assembled... so sad!)
Lotus (Mother voted for this one for People's Choice)
Wave (Father and I voted for this one)
Cobra
Penguins
King Kong (and please note Mrs. Butterworth in his hand! Awesome!!!)
Pirate Ship (and please note life preserver made of LifeSavers as well as the usage of Chips Ahoy! and Pirate Booty... argggghhhhhhhh!)
PacMan
I didn't take photos of everything, but feel free to vote for your favorite for the My Mundane Life In Song Reader's Choice Award!
D and I were inspired. D said "We must enter next year!" and even came up with an awesome idea for an entry. Our enthusiasm died, though, when we considered how many canned goods you'd need to practice with and how much space you'd need to practice. So I guess we won't enter. Sadness.
After Canstruction, the four of us grabbed a cab and headed to The Chocolate Show. I don't have any photos from The Chocolate Show because I was far too busy stuffing my face with amazing free samples. Dear god. I bought some orange-flavored dark chocolate and some chocolate-covered potato sticks. D bought a collection of gourmet peanut butter - six different kinds, including white chocolate peanut butter and cinnamon raisin peanut butter! Does life get any better?
We wanted to buy more, but by the end of the show, we were sick of chocolate.
We went back to D's apartment (yes, my parents went and hung out in my boyfriend's <200 sq ft apartment) and crashed. We then had immense difficulty hailing a cab to take us to dinner on the Lower East Side at My Favorite Restaurant in NYC. I am so happy to have a favorite restaurant. The Parents enjoyed it.
We then headed back to my apartment where we hung out, watched some of Top Secret, and then went to bed early.
It was a wonderful day - beautiful weather, The Parents' very first cab ride in NYC!, snakes made out of cans, chocolate chocolate chocolate, Italian food, good conversation, hugs from Parents. Life is good.
When they arrived on Saturday, they said "We don't want to do much walking (since Father is on crutches) so we aren't going to come to The Cans." I said "Well, that's fine. You guys can stay here but I am going to see The Cans."
I was referring to Canstruction, which is a contest wherein teams design huge objects out of canned goods and bottles and other foods that will then be donated to various hunger-ending charities. Awesome! I was not going to miss it because of The Parents.
Mother said "Well, ok, I wouldn't mind just staying in your apartment and relaxing."
"OK, that's cool," I said. "But you guys will have to meet us at The Chocolate Show afterwards because it doesn't make any sense for me to come and get you."
"Oh. How will get there?" I explained that it was a very easy cab ride and that I would give them my keys to lock up and would call them when D and I had finished looking at The Cans.
"Ummm..."
"We'll come!" Father declared.
Hah. I know them far too well. I knew the mere mention of their taking a cab alone would be enough to make them my slaves for the day! Mwa ha ha!!!
We left my apartment and it was a bit colder than I'd anticipated, so I said "You guys wait here while I run upstairs and change my coat. We'll get a cab when I come back down." You can imagine my surprise when, upon my return to the sidewalk, my parents had hailed a cab on their own! I said "What!? How did you guys do this?" Turned out a cab just stopped because he saw Father standing there with crutches, but still! I was so proud of them!!!
We met D at the Design Center and had a fabulous time. It definitely would have been easier had one of us not been on crutches, but it didn't really matter. We just took an elevator from floor to floor. The Canstructions were all adorable. Some were better than others. Many had cute puns on "Can" in the title, although I can't remember any of them and already threw out the list of names. Drat!
Anyway, here are some photos:
Empire State Building
Music Notes
Rubics Cube
Rose
Rocket
The Guggenheim
IPod (this one, along with a bunch of others, had fallen down shortly after being assembled... so sad!)
Lotus (Mother voted for this one for People's Choice)
Wave (Father and I voted for this one)
Cobra
Penguins
King Kong (and please note Mrs. Butterworth in his hand! Awesome!!!)
Pirate Ship (and please note life preserver made of LifeSavers as well as the usage of Chips Ahoy! and Pirate Booty... argggghhhhhhhh!)
PacMan
I didn't take photos of everything, but feel free to vote for your favorite for the My Mundane Life In Song Reader's Choice Award!
D and I were inspired. D said "We must enter next year!" and even came up with an awesome idea for an entry. Our enthusiasm died, though, when we considered how many canned goods you'd need to practice with and how much space you'd need to practice. So I guess we won't enter. Sadness.
After Canstruction, the four of us grabbed a cab and headed to The Chocolate Show. I don't have any photos from The Chocolate Show because I was far too busy stuffing my face with amazing free samples. Dear god. I bought some orange-flavored dark chocolate and some chocolate-covered potato sticks. D bought a collection of gourmet peanut butter - six different kinds, including white chocolate peanut butter and cinnamon raisin peanut butter! Does life get any better?
We wanted to buy more, but by the end of the show, we were sick of chocolate.
We went back to D's apartment (yes, my parents went and hung out in my boyfriend's <200 sq ft apartment) and crashed. We then had immense difficulty hailing a cab to take us to dinner on the Lower East Side at My Favorite Restaurant in NYC. I am so happy to have a favorite restaurant. The Parents enjoyed it.
We then headed back to my apartment where we hung out, watched some of Top Secret, and then went to bed early.
It was a wonderful day - beautiful weather, The Parents' very first cab ride in NYC!, snakes made out of cans, chocolate chocolate chocolate, Italian food, good conversation, hugs from Parents. Life is good.
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