Errrggghhhhh.
I hate making reservations. Why? Because I am afraid of commitment. How can I decide TODAY what I am going to want to do on Saturday?
What should I do?
Three options for birthday dinner with The Family, of which I am now, thankfully, in charge.
Please cast your vote today.
Option 1:
Dinner at Babbo, Mario Bitali's place in the Village. The Family does like Italian food, and this will most definitely be a good meal. It may be pricey, though, and is it worth it? Odds are, regardless, a reservation will not be able to be made this late in the game.
Option 2:
Artisanal, the cheese place, which is having fondue month! It's semi-fancy, and bound to be delicious. Mother said "But what would we eat there?" "Fondue." "But what then?" "No, we can just eat fondue as the meal."
Option 3:
Swing 46, a supper club. It's a bit on the tourist-y side from what I understand, but there is a big band and then swing dance lessons at 9:15! And then dancing! This will be expensive and probably not a good meal, but will be a good experience for The Family.
I am torn - delicious Italian food, fondue, swing dancing. Hmmmmm. I wish I had favorites in this city.
Please cast your vote today!
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Monday, February 13, 2006
Snow Days
Spent the whole weekend hibernating, looking out the window and saying "YEAH! It's TOTALLY SNOWING! Finally!," watching too much of the Olympics, snuggling, laughing, cleaning, eating snacks and blissfully enjoying forced relaxation while NOT going to Philly to see the Wu pay tribute to the late ODB. Curses.
Allegedly over two feet of snow dropped on NYC. There's barely any left. It will be a warm week and there won't be any remnants of this by next weekend. There aren't the huge snowbanks you'd expect, or buried cars, or snowmen.
If I had to guess, I'd guess that about a foot fell. Maybe it all blew away (it was windy, and there was thunder and lightening! Woo!). Maybe, as M suggested, the city did a really good job clearing it away. But wouldn't there be snow banks? Maybe my concept of two feet of snow is based on two feet of snow that has fallen on top of other snow that was there before, because in normal winters it snows many times and the snow doesn't melt instantaneously. Or maybe two feet fell in Central Park and only a foot fell 1 mile south.
There was an hour and a half delay today at work, but I didn't know. Again curses.
Getting into work was tainted by the usual snow hazards, walking down the sidewalks normally used only to find that there is no exit onto the road. Then you turn around and walk all the way back to find a way out. I think I have devised a good alternate route to get home. And I will go home early because I came in on time.
Which means I must let you go. Hope you all survived the snow! Let me know if you did anything fun.
Allegedly over two feet of snow dropped on NYC. There's barely any left. It will be a warm week and there won't be any remnants of this by next weekend. There aren't the huge snowbanks you'd expect, or buried cars, or snowmen.
If I had to guess, I'd guess that about a foot fell. Maybe it all blew away (it was windy, and there was thunder and lightening! Woo!). Maybe, as M suggested, the city did a really good job clearing it away. But wouldn't there be snow banks? Maybe my concept of two feet of snow is based on two feet of snow that has fallen on top of other snow that was there before, because in normal winters it snows many times and the snow doesn't melt instantaneously. Or maybe two feet fell in Central Park and only a foot fell 1 mile south.
There was an hour and a half delay today at work, but I didn't know. Again curses.
Getting into work was tainted by the usual snow hazards, walking down the sidewalks normally used only to find that there is no exit onto the road. Then you turn around and walk all the way back to find a way out. I think I have devised a good alternate route to get home. And I will go home early because I came in on time.
Which means I must let you go. Hope you all survived the snow! Let me know if you did anything fun.
Friday, February 10, 2006
It's My Birthday and I'll Have Experiences If I Want To
If its my birthday, don't I get to determine how its celebrated? Or do I have to appease others? Do I make demands? Do I make compromises?
I feel like your birthday, especially a big one, is the one day a year on which you are allowed to be a diva, to say "This is what we're doing, everyone, and you have no choice!"
Am I wrong? Do I try to please everyone, or do I create a good situation for me?
I'm so selfish. But you only turn, ahem, 30 once.
I feel like your birthday, especially a big one, is the one day a year on which you are allowed to be a diva, to say "This is what we're doing, everyone, and you have no choice!"
Am I wrong? Do I try to please everyone, or do I create a good situation for me?
I'm so selfish. But you only turn, ahem, 30 once.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Happeeeee
I am home sick from work today, but not because I am super sick (still feeling slightly under the weather, but not dramatic enough to stay home). I am home sick today because I was sick yesterday and worked like a maniac in anticipation of being sick today, therefore getting all of my work done. Which means I would have nothing to do at work today other than stare at my computer and work on side projects, which I would prefer to do from the flannel sheets of my bed.
It is a good idea for me to take a day off, though, as I've been sick-ish for the past week and haven't had time to recuperate. I wouldn't be feeling at all bad now if I'd taken a real sick day last week to recover. I have no guilt.
I should, of course, be sleeping, but the idea of side projects is to enticing. I did a first run through my taxes. NY state taxes are far more annoying than MA state taxes, which are straightforward. I've been doing my taxes online for the past few years (well, not last year, as they were complicated with the move etc.), and its torture because the program calculates your refund as you go through the forms, so you start off thinking "Holy god the state is giving me back $1500!" to "I can't believe they are charging me MORE FREAKING MONEY TO LIVE IN THIS UNAFFORDABLE CITY THOSE BASTARDS!"
More importantly...
I was the happiest I have been in ages last night! D and I went to see "The Pajama Game." Well, D was dragged and I went voluntarily to watch my favorite musical ever.
My love for "The Pajama Game" began in college, when my friends and I went to see the university's production for a mere $5. We went to see everything back then (because everything was $5 for students) and didn't have high expectations. Needless to say we were enamored, and I have been obsessed ever since.
D and I went to a wedding a few months back, and we were seated at a table with an older gentleman who actually writes musical theater. We got to talking about musical theater, singing songs, etc., when I mentioned my love for "The Pajama Game." It is his favorite too! After singing some duets he said "Did you know that there is going to be a revival?" "GET OUT!" "Starring Harry Connick Jr?" "NO!" "Soon?" "DO NOT TOY WITH ME, SIR!"
This is the conversation that precipitated the week-long debate/fight between D and I about my meeting Harry Connick Jr. at a bar and how D would just give up and let me date Harry. I was like "But wouldn't you fight for me?" "No." "If you went out with Kirsten Dunst I would totally try to convince you otherwise! I would try to win you back!"
Of course, convincing D not to date Kirsten Dunst would probably easier, as she is skanky and not terribly talented.
Whereas Harry... meow.
My obsession with Harry predates my obsession with "The Pajama Game." Ever since I bought his album at the beginning of high school...
Things to love about Harry: 1. His voice - it will melt you. 2. His piano playing - retarded. He's been performing since he was 5 years old. 3. His songs - delicious. 4. He's wholesome and not sketchy. 5. His New Orleans accent. 6. His, ahem, looks.
When Harry started acting, I was a spaz. I watched "Memphis Belle" 3000 times.
I never got to see Harry live. I could never find someone to go with, and tickets were always expensive as he tends to appeal to an older, more sophisticated, fur-wearing set. I always regretted not seeing him. I so wanted to see him play piano. Nothing would make me happier.
Lately I've fallen out of love with him, because as you get older you fall out of love with things.
I want to fall back in love with things.
So the tickets went on sale for "The Pajama Game," and they were way too expensive. The least expensive tickets were like $85, and those sold out, which meant I'd be spending $111 to see it.
Initially I thought that was too much money, but as more and more time went by, I got more and more upset about not getting to see Harry. I compulsively checked Craigslist for a spare ticket, thought about what shoes could be purchased with $111 but handling and service charge, and decided that I would just go alone, because it was worth $120 to me, especially since I am turning, ahem, 30 years old.
But then! A miracle! When I first moved here I joined an online service that sells discounted theater tickets!
And they sent me an email! For discounted PJG tickets! For only $60!
I called D immediately, out of breath, and said "Ohmygoddiscountpajamagametickets!" And then "You have to come with me! For my birthday! PLEASE! It would mean so much! I will buy them! You have to come with me! You have to witness me this happy!'
I counted the seconds since the moment of ticket purchase, and last night was the night.
Now. You would think, given how high my expectations were for this, that they would not be met. I could only be met with disappointment.
HELL NO! It was BETTER than I could even dream of.
I think that it was actually the best musical I've ever seen.
Not just because of Harry. Because of everything. Everyone in it was amazing. Michael McKeon was in it and he was hilarious, playing a part he was born to play. The timing was exquisite, it was funny, colorful, creative. The set was adorable. There were giant buttons framing the entire thing, and a pajama conveyor-belt thing at the top of the stage (like the doors in Monsters Inc.). The singing was awesome.
And Harry... oh, Harry.
During the Hernando's Hideaway scene, they added a part where Harry, thank you thank you thank you thank you, PLAYED THE PIANO! Gasp! D said "Now you can say that you saw him play the piano!" D said this when Harry was jokingly playing single notes, but then he burst into an all-out musical number and he rocked the piano harder than I have ever seen anyone rock it live. Oh my god.
I kept thinking "If I had to die at any point up until now, I would like to die right now, because I am truly happy."
At the end, when the cast bowed after the pajama fashion show (and yes, Harry was shirtless! the vapors!), I stood up because a standing ovation was deserved. Everyone in the crowd loved it. It was just pure pajama fun.
The only bad thing was that I had to, well, relieve myself about 10 minutes through Act I. This is the problem with knowing a musical - you know there are no good times to leave because you know how much you love everything. I didn't know if musicals are like the ballet and they won't let you back in once you've left. So I held it. For an hour. Torture.
I knew when Act I was going to end, so I bolted just as soon as the lights were about to go out.
When I returned, I asked one of the ushers what the protocol was. We got to chatting, and another usher came over to elucidate the rules. He said "You're too polite." He then asked the girl usher what she thought, and she said that she was loving it. "I know," I said. "How long were you holding it?" she asked. "Since the second song... but I didn't want to miss my favorite song." "Which is your favorite?" "'There Once Was a Man.'" "Yes!" she said. The male usher then said "I used to hate that number." "No!" we said. "Seriously. It was terrible up until a week ago." "NO!" "Yes! Harry was so stiff. He was just standing there. It was awful."
I'd noticed that Harry was a bit uncomfortable with the dancing so I said "Oh, I thought he did just fine in that number. But he was a little rigid for the swingdancing at the company picnic."
We chatted a bit more, and then I sat down.
Then I thought "Whoa! That guy sort of broke through the 4th wall with that comment... talking about Harry like that instead of the character of Sid... there must be some rule against giving the audience that sort of secret information about the production..." and then "Wait - who was that guy? Clearly he is involved in the rehearsals... what if he goes back to Harry and tells him that some girl thought his dancing was rigid? I will feel terrible!" and then "But he will be talking to Harry about ME! AHHHHHHH!!!!"
D actually liked it. He didn't love it, because he will never love the theater, but he liked it. He laughed a lot and gasped when Harry started going nuts on the piano. He emailed me this morning and recapped that he "had fun at the show." He said he liked it much better than "Spamalot." He is learning! I have to figure out a way to get him addicted.
I bought a Pajama Game magnet because the t-shirt was $30! The soundtrack isn't out yet, but needless to say I will be compulsively checking Amazon for it and then buying it as soon as it is available.
It was perfect.
Well, not quite. The one and only thing that could have made it better is if Harry had been playing the piano, ahem, shirtless.
It is a good idea for me to take a day off, though, as I've been sick-ish for the past week and haven't had time to recuperate. I wouldn't be feeling at all bad now if I'd taken a real sick day last week to recover. I have no guilt.
I should, of course, be sleeping, but the idea of side projects is to enticing. I did a first run through my taxes. NY state taxes are far more annoying than MA state taxes, which are straightforward. I've been doing my taxes online for the past few years (well, not last year, as they were complicated with the move etc.), and its torture because the program calculates your refund as you go through the forms, so you start off thinking "Holy god the state is giving me back $1500!" to "I can't believe they are charging me MORE FREAKING MONEY TO LIVE IN THIS UNAFFORDABLE CITY THOSE BASTARDS!"
More importantly...
I was the happiest I have been in ages last night! D and I went to see "The Pajama Game." Well, D was dragged and I went voluntarily to watch my favorite musical ever.
My love for "The Pajama Game" began in college, when my friends and I went to see the university's production for a mere $5. We went to see everything back then (because everything was $5 for students) and didn't have high expectations. Needless to say we were enamored, and I have been obsessed ever since.
D and I went to a wedding a few months back, and we were seated at a table with an older gentleman who actually writes musical theater. We got to talking about musical theater, singing songs, etc., when I mentioned my love for "The Pajama Game." It is his favorite too! After singing some duets he said "Did you know that there is going to be a revival?" "GET OUT!" "Starring Harry Connick Jr?" "NO!" "Soon?" "DO NOT TOY WITH ME, SIR!"
This is the conversation that precipitated the week-long debate/fight between D and I about my meeting Harry Connick Jr. at a bar and how D would just give up and let me date Harry. I was like "But wouldn't you fight for me?" "No." "If you went out with Kirsten Dunst I would totally try to convince you otherwise! I would try to win you back!"
Of course, convincing D not to date Kirsten Dunst would probably easier, as she is skanky and not terribly talented.
Whereas Harry... meow.
My obsession with Harry predates my obsession with "The Pajama Game." Ever since I bought his album at the beginning of high school...
Things to love about Harry: 1. His voice - it will melt you. 2. His piano playing - retarded. He's been performing since he was 5 years old. 3. His songs - delicious. 4. He's wholesome and not sketchy. 5. His New Orleans accent. 6. His, ahem, looks.
When Harry started acting, I was a spaz. I watched "Memphis Belle" 3000 times.
I never got to see Harry live. I could never find someone to go with, and tickets were always expensive as he tends to appeal to an older, more sophisticated, fur-wearing set. I always regretted not seeing him. I so wanted to see him play piano. Nothing would make me happier.
Lately I've fallen out of love with him, because as you get older you fall out of love with things.
I want to fall back in love with things.
So the tickets went on sale for "The Pajama Game," and they were way too expensive. The least expensive tickets were like $85, and those sold out, which meant I'd be spending $111 to see it.
Initially I thought that was too much money, but as more and more time went by, I got more and more upset about not getting to see Harry. I compulsively checked Craigslist for a spare ticket, thought about what shoes could be purchased with $111 but handling and service charge, and decided that I would just go alone, because it was worth $120 to me, especially since I am turning, ahem, 30 years old.
But then! A miracle! When I first moved here I joined an online service that sells discounted theater tickets!
And they sent me an email! For discounted PJG tickets! For only $60!
I called D immediately, out of breath, and said "Ohmygoddiscountpajamagametickets!" And then "You have to come with me! For my birthday! PLEASE! It would mean so much! I will buy them! You have to come with me! You have to witness me this happy!'
I counted the seconds since the moment of ticket purchase, and last night was the night.
Now. You would think, given how high my expectations were for this, that they would not be met. I could only be met with disappointment.
HELL NO! It was BETTER than I could even dream of.
I think that it was actually the best musical I've ever seen.
Not just because of Harry. Because of everything. Everyone in it was amazing. Michael McKeon was in it and he was hilarious, playing a part he was born to play. The timing was exquisite, it was funny, colorful, creative. The set was adorable. There were giant buttons framing the entire thing, and a pajama conveyor-belt thing at the top of the stage (like the doors in Monsters Inc.). The singing was awesome.
And Harry... oh, Harry.
During the Hernando's Hideaway scene, they added a part where Harry, thank you thank you thank you thank you, PLAYED THE PIANO! Gasp! D said "Now you can say that you saw him play the piano!" D said this when Harry was jokingly playing single notes, but then he burst into an all-out musical number and he rocked the piano harder than I have ever seen anyone rock it live. Oh my god.
I kept thinking "If I had to die at any point up until now, I would like to die right now, because I am truly happy."
At the end, when the cast bowed after the pajama fashion show (and yes, Harry was shirtless! the vapors!), I stood up because a standing ovation was deserved. Everyone in the crowd loved it. It was just pure pajama fun.
The only bad thing was that I had to, well, relieve myself about 10 minutes through Act I. This is the problem with knowing a musical - you know there are no good times to leave because you know how much you love everything. I didn't know if musicals are like the ballet and they won't let you back in once you've left. So I held it. For an hour. Torture.
I knew when Act I was going to end, so I bolted just as soon as the lights were about to go out.
When I returned, I asked one of the ushers what the protocol was. We got to chatting, and another usher came over to elucidate the rules. He said "You're too polite." He then asked the girl usher what she thought, and she said that she was loving it. "I know," I said. "How long were you holding it?" she asked. "Since the second song... but I didn't want to miss my favorite song." "Which is your favorite?" "'There Once Was a Man.'" "Yes!" she said. The male usher then said "I used to hate that number." "No!" we said. "Seriously. It was terrible up until a week ago." "NO!" "Yes! Harry was so stiff. He was just standing there. It was awful."
I'd noticed that Harry was a bit uncomfortable with the dancing so I said "Oh, I thought he did just fine in that number. But he was a little rigid for the swingdancing at the company picnic."
We chatted a bit more, and then I sat down.
Then I thought "Whoa! That guy sort of broke through the 4th wall with that comment... talking about Harry like that instead of the character of Sid... there must be some rule against giving the audience that sort of secret information about the production..." and then "Wait - who was that guy? Clearly he is involved in the rehearsals... what if he goes back to Harry and tells him that some girl thought his dancing was rigid? I will feel terrible!" and then "But he will be talking to Harry about ME! AHHHHHHH!!!!"
D actually liked it. He didn't love it, because he will never love the theater, but he liked it. He laughed a lot and gasped when Harry started going nuts on the piano. He emailed me this morning and recapped that he "had fun at the show." He said he liked it much better than "Spamalot." He is learning! I have to figure out a way to get him addicted.
I bought a Pajama Game magnet because the t-shirt was $30! The soundtrack isn't out yet, but needless to say I will be compulsively checking Amazon for it and then buying it as soon as it is available.
It was perfect.
Well, not quite. The one and only thing that could have made it better is if Harry had been playing the piano, ahem, shirtless.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
9:37
Regardless of what time I get up in the morning and what time I leave my apartment, I get into work at 9:37 am.
I am without a watch these days (and forever, because I have decided that I don't need a watch, and now that I am trying to be a minimalist, since I do not need a watch, I will not have a watch) so run into work every day thinking I am really late, but its always 9:37 when I walk into my bay.
Always. If I get up any time between 8:00 and 8:35, I get to work at 9:37. I get to work at 8:59 on Tuesdays because I have a meeting at 9:00, but Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I start my day at 9:37.
I am without a watch these days (and forever, because I have decided that I don't need a watch, and now that I am trying to be a minimalist, since I do not need a watch, I will not have a watch) so run into work every day thinking I am really late, but its always 9:37 when I walk into my bay.
Always. If I get up any time between 8:00 and 8:35, I get to work at 9:37. I get to work at 8:59 on Tuesdays because I have a meeting at 9:00, but Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I start my day at 9:37.
Another One Bites the Dust
M and her husband A came to visit NYC (well, I guess they came to visit ME!) this past weekend. They arrived on Friday evening, the night of M's very important birthday. M and A hadn't seen The New Apartment (which is not so new anymore - I have been living there for 9 months!) and were quite taken with it, which made me happy, since most people say things like "This is so small!" or "How do you live like this?" or, in the case of The Parents, "Why don't you have napkins?" They appreciated the size and the decoration and it meant oh so much. We celebrated the last couple of hours of M's birthday with brownies (thanks to D, god of the baked goods, although some may argue that making brownies does not make one a god, but I would disagree) and different flavors of ice cream and whipped cream and hot fudge and raspberries. We watched some old Star Trek episodes to have something to make fun of, and stayed up late despite 3/4 of the people in the apartment being, ahem, over 30.
On Saturday we threw together breakfast. This was the first time I'd had more than two people trying to eat an actual meal in my apartment and it wasn't terrible, although it was a tight squeeze in the kitchen. A and I then spent far too long conducting detailed experiments with my new camera, comparing lenses and bodies on the computer and then on the TV. I think the conclusion on that day was that it is my computer that is the problem, but the photos still seem fuzzy on my computer at work. But not on the TV. I have no idea.
Eventually satisfied with our results, the three of us headed up to the MOMA to see some of the permanent collection and a mediocre new photography exhibit. We then "shopped" at the MOMA Design Store, where I, as usual, spent a large percetage of the time fantasizing about being rich and therefore being able to have things like cool salt and pepper shakers and toasters.
We met up with D at Eatery, which was crowded and not giving tables to losers without reservations (us). We decided to walk south on 9th Avenue to a decent Mexican restaurant D and I had been to ages ago. We found it (although I didn't think it was the same one) and were pleased to see that it was not crowded.
I said "This feels like being in Buenos Aires!" D, M, A and I spent an entire week going to meals together when we were in Argentina. We hadn't seen each other since, and I got nostalgic.
M said "Complete with good looking waiter..."
"YES!" I said, trying to stifle my drooling.
M and I have nearly complete divergence in taste with regards to what makes a man hot. There is little to no overlap. But the host at the restaurant... dear god... he was Buenos Aires level good-looking, if not moreso. We kept staring at him and I gave up trying to be subtle. I wished to fix him up with my gay friend, who, incidentally, I am so happy to have in my life because today (today is his birthday!, but he, curse him, is not yet 30) he noticed that my hair looked fabulous, which it does, because I spent like half an hour working on it this morning because lately I've been feeling hideous.
On top of having amazingly goodlooking waitstaff and not actually being the restaurant we thought that it was, it had the best burrito ever. How happy am I? Obscenely happy. I can't wait to go back and inhale another burrito.
M, A and I then saw The Producers, which was lovely. The seats were way up there and I started rocking the headache that resulted from one margerita, but it was fun anyway. I can't wait to re-watch the season of Curb Your Enthusiasm in which Larry David stars in The Producers. It will be meaningful in addition to funny this time around.
We watched a bit of Saturday Night Live after D came back. Despite its being actually funny, we, in true 30 and almost-30-year-old style, went to bed before 1 am. (I can't believe that I live in NYC and go to bed this early! When I used to hang out here before living here, I went to bed at like 5 or 6 am every night!)
M and A went to church on Sunday morning while D and I spent some time working on a video project we've been considering. The four of us had brunch at a diner on 34th Street. D then headed off to do D things, A went to B & H to buy filters, while M and I went to Macy's. M found the jeans she's been looking for, rode the wooden escalator, and marvelled at the giant that is Macy's.
A met us just as we began looking at shoes, which was unfortunate since the agreement was that we would stop looking at shoes when A arrived, as A, for some bizarre and inexplicable reason, does not enjoy looking at shoes. We decided to go up to the wedding registry department to look at china (not that anyone is fantasizing about wedding registries, mind you) and then to the furniture department. The three of us fell onto this red couch and M and A said "We love this couch!" and decided that, since the price was right, there was a chance that they could buy it for their grown up house that they own! A claimed that delivery was $5 to $6, so they took a fabric sample and may one day have that couch alongside the lamp they bought in NYC!
Back at my apartment we had snacks and said our farewells. I was sad to see them go because I do not plan to go back to MA any time soon, as I may be moving back there soon enough. Hopefully they will have a chance to visit one or two more times before I am no longer a New Yorker.
Sniff.
On Saturday we threw together breakfast. This was the first time I'd had more than two people trying to eat an actual meal in my apartment and it wasn't terrible, although it was a tight squeeze in the kitchen. A and I then spent far too long conducting detailed experiments with my new camera, comparing lenses and bodies on the computer and then on the TV. I think the conclusion on that day was that it is my computer that is the problem, but the photos still seem fuzzy on my computer at work. But not on the TV. I have no idea.
Eventually satisfied with our results, the three of us headed up to the MOMA to see some of the permanent collection and a mediocre new photography exhibit. We then "shopped" at the MOMA Design Store, where I, as usual, spent a large percetage of the time fantasizing about being rich and therefore being able to have things like cool salt and pepper shakers and toasters.
We met up with D at Eatery, which was crowded and not giving tables to losers without reservations (us). We decided to walk south on 9th Avenue to a decent Mexican restaurant D and I had been to ages ago. We found it (although I didn't think it was the same one) and were pleased to see that it was not crowded.
I said "This feels like being in Buenos Aires!" D, M, A and I spent an entire week going to meals together when we were in Argentina. We hadn't seen each other since, and I got nostalgic.
M said "Complete with good looking waiter..."
"YES!" I said, trying to stifle my drooling.
M and I have nearly complete divergence in taste with regards to what makes a man hot. There is little to no overlap. But the host at the restaurant... dear god... he was Buenos Aires level good-looking, if not moreso. We kept staring at him and I gave up trying to be subtle. I wished to fix him up with my gay friend, who, incidentally, I am so happy to have in my life because today (today is his birthday!, but he, curse him, is not yet 30) he noticed that my hair looked fabulous, which it does, because I spent like half an hour working on it this morning because lately I've been feeling hideous.
On top of having amazingly goodlooking waitstaff and not actually being the restaurant we thought that it was, it had the best burrito ever. How happy am I? Obscenely happy. I can't wait to go back and inhale another burrito.
M, A and I then saw The Producers, which was lovely. The seats were way up there and I started rocking the headache that resulted from one margerita, but it was fun anyway. I can't wait to re-watch the season of Curb Your Enthusiasm in which Larry David stars in The Producers. It will be meaningful in addition to funny this time around.
We watched a bit of Saturday Night Live after D came back. Despite its being actually funny, we, in true 30 and almost-30-year-old style, went to bed before 1 am. (I can't believe that I live in NYC and go to bed this early! When I used to hang out here before living here, I went to bed at like 5 or 6 am every night!)
M and A went to church on Sunday morning while D and I spent some time working on a video project we've been considering. The four of us had brunch at a diner on 34th Street. D then headed off to do D things, A went to B & H to buy filters, while M and I went to Macy's. M found the jeans she's been looking for, rode the wooden escalator, and marvelled at the giant that is Macy's.
A met us just as we began looking at shoes, which was unfortunate since the agreement was that we would stop looking at shoes when A arrived, as A, for some bizarre and inexplicable reason, does not enjoy looking at shoes. We decided to go up to the wedding registry department to look at china (not that anyone is fantasizing about wedding registries, mind you) and then to the furniture department. The three of us fell onto this red couch and M and A said "We love this couch!" and decided that, since the price was right, there was a chance that they could buy it for their grown up house that they own! A claimed that delivery was $5 to $6, so they took a fabric sample and may one day have that couch alongside the lamp they bought in NYC!
Back at my apartment we had snacks and said our farewells. I was sad to see them go because I do not plan to go back to MA any time soon, as I may be moving back there soon enough. Hopefully they will have a chance to visit one or two more times before I am no longer a New Yorker.
Sniff.
Evolution of Cute
I am at work today, though I shouldn't be. I had a bunch of experiments to tend to today that couldn't be neglected. I am trying, though, to get everything done today so that I can not come in tomorrow if I am still feeling bad.
---
I got home last night at about 6:00 and started to watch March of the Penguins and kept falling asleep.
This is mainly due to my being sick, but is partially due to March of the Penguins being extremely boring. Everyone loved this movie and I don't understand why. I liked it, but it was just ok. Nothing special. Why the enthusiasm? Anyone? Anyone?
There were cool things, things I didn't know about penguins, things that are difficult to believe, as in "Wow, penguins are nuts." I am a fan of the animal documentary, so I appreciated it on that level, but am glad that I didn't pay $10.75 to see it.
I kept thinking, while I was conscious, about the evolution of "cute." I understand why we are preprogrammed to think that human babies are cute. But why do we also gush over other baby things? Those baby penguins were so cute I couldn't handle it. And why are we programmed to think that little furry things are especially cute? Maybe so we know that they are harmless and don't attack them? But wouldn't primitive humans rather dine on harmless, little, easy-to-capture fuzzy things than gigantic, meatier, things that could kill them? Maybe its an instinct to protect us from killing baby things and then being attacked by the baby things ferocious parents. Or, maybe primitive man didn't hunt things that could kill primitive man so there wouldn't have to be a bias towards the harmless. It's just an interesting phenomenon... why humans want to touch furry things... and why we want domesticated animals. Ew.
---
I'm feeling a bit better today than I was yesterday, but I can't remember if I mailed back March of the Penguins or not. I swear it was in my bag, but I have no recollection of dropping it into the mailbox. Did I? Would I have been coherent enough this morning to remember? This is crucial as I want another movie by the weekend, but if I didn't mail it I may be too late. I definitely won't remember to look for it tonight when I get home from the theater, so hopefully I was with it enough this morning to mail it but not with it enough to remember that I mailed it.
---
On top of not remembering if I mailed the DVD, I felt like it took me three hours to walk to work this morning. You know when you're feeling sick your sense of time is weird? My walk from the train to work is about 5 minutes, but it felt like eternity.
---
While I was walking, I was pondering my changing taste in music again, and wondering why this happens to people. I always thought I'd be immune to a change in musical taste, that I'd be into hip hop and indie rock type stuff forever. As time goes by, I tend towards more sedate music. I'm still listening to new things constantly, but what I would have liked even a year ago seems too abrasive for me now. I don't have the ability to find good hip hop, because it is harder to find and there is less of it and because most of it is average. It requires patience, which is something else I am losing over time. I am afraid that I may one day say "Can you TURN THAT NOISE DOWN!?"
---
This makes me nervous, because what if I stagnate? What if I reach an age where I stop listening to new music, and I just listen to everything I listened to whenever I stopped caring about newness in my life? This happened with dance music... I am forever frozen wanting to dance to the songs I danced to from 1997 - 2002, with the occasional early 90's rap tune thrown in there.
I think this happens to people... like parents, for example, do not buy CDs. They may have bought CDs of things they once had on tapes or records, but its not like parents are reading Spin magazine.
---
Then again, my parents didn't have things like Pitchfork (not that I read Pitchfork, but I'm just using it as an example) to keep them aware of music. It was harder for people to find out about new things. Music didn't get around so easily, so instantly, so quickly, and there was probably less of it. Maybe this means that our generation won't stagnate musically, and that we'll constantly be aware of what's going on.
We may just not like they way it sounds, though, because our tastes are apparently genetically programmed to change over time.
---
I think I am going to take some Dayquil, and then I am to celebrate PW's birthday with a long lunch.
---
I got home last night at about 6:00 and started to watch March of the Penguins and kept falling asleep.
This is mainly due to my being sick, but is partially due to March of the Penguins being extremely boring. Everyone loved this movie and I don't understand why. I liked it, but it was just ok. Nothing special. Why the enthusiasm? Anyone? Anyone?
There were cool things, things I didn't know about penguins, things that are difficult to believe, as in "Wow, penguins are nuts." I am a fan of the animal documentary, so I appreciated it on that level, but am glad that I didn't pay $10.75 to see it.
I kept thinking, while I was conscious, about the evolution of "cute." I understand why we are preprogrammed to think that human babies are cute. But why do we also gush over other baby things? Those baby penguins were so cute I couldn't handle it. And why are we programmed to think that little furry things are especially cute? Maybe so we know that they are harmless and don't attack them? But wouldn't primitive humans rather dine on harmless, little, easy-to-capture fuzzy things than gigantic, meatier, things that could kill them? Maybe its an instinct to protect us from killing baby things and then being attacked by the baby things ferocious parents. Or, maybe primitive man didn't hunt things that could kill primitive man so there wouldn't have to be a bias towards the harmless. It's just an interesting phenomenon... why humans want to touch furry things... and why we want domesticated animals. Ew.
---
I'm feeling a bit better today than I was yesterday, but I can't remember if I mailed back March of the Penguins or not. I swear it was in my bag, but I have no recollection of dropping it into the mailbox. Did I? Would I have been coherent enough this morning to remember? This is crucial as I want another movie by the weekend, but if I didn't mail it I may be too late. I definitely won't remember to look for it tonight when I get home from the theater, so hopefully I was with it enough this morning to mail it but not with it enough to remember that I mailed it.
---
On top of not remembering if I mailed the DVD, I felt like it took me three hours to walk to work this morning. You know when you're feeling sick your sense of time is weird? My walk from the train to work is about 5 minutes, but it felt like eternity.
---
While I was walking, I was pondering my changing taste in music again, and wondering why this happens to people. I always thought I'd be immune to a change in musical taste, that I'd be into hip hop and indie rock type stuff forever. As time goes by, I tend towards more sedate music. I'm still listening to new things constantly, but what I would have liked even a year ago seems too abrasive for me now. I don't have the ability to find good hip hop, because it is harder to find and there is less of it and because most of it is average. It requires patience, which is something else I am losing over time. I am afraid that I may one day say "Can you TURN THAT NOISE DOWN!?"
---
This makes me nervous, because what if I stagnate? What if I reach an age where I stop listening to new music, and I just listen to everything I listened to whenever I stopped caring about newness in my life? This happened with dance music... I am forever frozen wanting to dance to the songs I danced to from 1997 - 2002, with the occasional early 90's rap tune thrown in there.
I think this happens to people... like parents, for example, do not buy CDs. They may have bought CDs of things they once had on tapes or records, but its not like parents are reading Spin magazine.
---
Then again, my parents didn't have things like Pitchfork (not that I read Pitchfork, but I'm just using it as an example) to keep them aware of music. It was harder for people to find out about new things. Music didn't get around so easily, so instantly, so quickly, and there was probably less of it. Maybe this means that our generation won't stagnate musically, and that we'll constantly be aware of what's going on.
We may just not like they way it sounds, though, because our tastes are apparently genetically programmed to change over time.
---
I think I am going to take some Dayquil, and then I am to celebrate PW's birthday with a long lunch.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Innate
I finally saw a show at the Bowery Ballroom last night. After spending some quality time catching up and consuming perishables, D and I arrived just in time to hear Death Vessel. I have been listening to this album non-stop since I bought it in December. It's in my top 10 already. He was amazing - he performed solo and had the entire audience captivated. During Low's set, I signed the Death Vessel mailing list and was all awkward because I didn't want to start gushing.
I was dangerously close to being like "I am so affected by your music" or "You have no idea how many times I have listened to your CD" or "I don't really understand how I existed prior to hearing your music" and "Your music was already a part of me before I heard it! It's, like, innately there."
Instead, I snuck up and scribbled my name and email address on the list and made sure not to make eye contact, because I may have melted.
His Name Is Alive was next. I had mixed feelings about this portion of the show. D is a huge fan and has seen them numerous times, but admitted that he didn't like all of the shows because their musical direction changes so often and so dramatically. I have decided that His Name Is Alive is an awesome live band. I liked them live far better than in recordings.
Throughout their set, I started obsessing over getting a hair cut. I need one, desperately, and prior to last night hadn't thought much beyond "I should really find somewhere to get a cheap haircut." Last night was the pivotal moment when I could think of nothing else.
I kept thinking "My hair is too freaking long" and "I have the worst haircut here" and "Where do all these hipsters get their hair done?" and "How do they afford these haircuts?" and "Why does their hair do what they want it to?" and "My head is so heavy with this hair!" I was so depressed. I wanted to bury my head in ugly shame. I then became obsessed with having my hair colored, and thought about that instead of listening to music. I looked at every girl and her hair style and color, trying to figure out what to do and how to finance it. I had grandiose ideas!
Every now and then I'd realize I wasn't listening, and would try to think about something other than the sweet moment tomorrow when I would call Aveda and hear that their haircuts are inexpensive.
My body also started rebelling during His Name Is Alive. My lower back started aching, my feet were killing, and my shoulders and upper back were in immense pain because I was leaning over the balcony in this weird position. I kept shifting back and forth, trying to get comfortable, but couldn't. I wanted to sit on the floor, or on a couch, or offer the guys at the sound board $100 to let me sit with them.
When Low came on, I was exhausted and in extreme discomfort. So was D. His legs and back always hurt when he stands for extended periods of time. Prior to last night, I never had a difficult time standing for hours. I think it may be because we stood for hours on Thursday. Although I don't think it works like that.
This is the first time I've seen Low, which is a travesty. I really should have seen them before this, when I was younger and could stay up late. By midnight I was exhausted and couldn't hear the music over my catatonia. D and I went downstairs and sat on the couch, and within three seconds I feel asleep on his shoulder.
This being said, Low is awesome. Not the best band to see while tired, but still awesome. I think Low is a band best seen from a seat. There really need to be adult rock shows.
My body is still killing and I am sick (I have been on the verge of getting sick for about a week and I think its officially happening, so I am going to go home now and crawl into bed, enjoy its softness and watch some penguins. Awww yeah.
Until tomorrow...
I was dangerously close to being like "I am so affected by your music" or "You have no idea how many times I have listened to your CD" or "I don't really understand how I existed prior to hearing your music" and "Your music was already a part of me before I heard it! It's, like, innately there."
Instead, I snuck up and scribbled my name and email address on the list and made sure not to make eye contact, because I may have melted.
His Name Is Alive was next. I had mixed feelings about this portion of the show. D is a huge fan and has seen them numerous times, but admitted that he didn't like all of the shows because their musical direction changes so often and so dramatically. I have decided that His Name Is Alive is an awesome live band. I liked them live far better than in recordings.
Throughout their set, I started obsessing over getting a hair cut. I need one, desperately, and prior to last night hadn't thought much beyond "I should really find somewhere to get a cheap haircut." Last night was the pivotal moment when I could think of nothing else.
I kept thinking "My hair is too freaking long" and "I have the worst haircut here" and "Where do all these hipsters get their hair done?" and "How do they afford these haircuts?" and "Why does their hair do what they want it to?" and "My head is so heavy with this hair!" I was so depressed. I wanted to bury my head in ugly shame. I then became obsessed with having my hair colored, and thought about that instead of listening to music. I looked at every girl and her hair style and color, trying to figure out what to do and how to finance it. I had grandiose ideas!
Every now and then I'd realize I wasn't listening, and would try to think about something other than the sweet moment tomorrow when I would call Aveda and hear that their haircuts are inexpensive.
My body also started rebelling during His Name Is Alive. My lower back started aching, my feet were killing, and my shoulders and upper back were in immense pain because I was leaning over the balcony in this weird position. I kept shifting back and forth, trying to get comfortable, but couldn't. I wanted to sit on the floor, or on a couch, or offer the guys at the sound board $100 to let me sit with them.
When Low came on, I was exhausted and in extreme discomfort. So was D. His legs and back always hurt when he stands for extended periods of time. Prior to last night, I never had a difficult time standing for hours. I think it may be because we stood for hours on Thursday. Although I don't think it works like that.
This is the first time I've seen Low, which is a travesty. I really should have seen them before this, when I was younger and could stay up late. By midnight I was exhausted and couldn't hear the music over my catatonia. D and I went downstairs and sat on the couch, and within three seconds I feel asleep on his shoulder.
This being said, Low is awesome. Not the best band to see while tired, but still awesome. I think Low is a band best seen from a seat. There really need to be adult rock shows.
My body is still killing and I am sick (I have been on the verge of getting sick for about a week and I think its officially happening, so I am going to go home now and crawl into bed, enjoy its softness and watch some penguins. Awww yeah.
Until tomorrow...
Friday, February 03, 2006
PLUG
D and I went to the PLUG Awards last night at Webster Hall. The PLUG Awards are thrown by and for hipsters to award independent music. While he was reading the nominees, D said “Huh… maybe I am hip…” when he realized that he reads all of the magazines and zines nominated, and that he owned most of the albums in all of the genres honored. “Admit it! You are a hipster!”
There were a bunch of sad rich kids and messy hair and I felt old and gross. D said he felt "corporate."
The first performance was by Beans with Holy F*@k, which was amazing! I could have watched them for hours. Beans is a rapper (I think he’s from NY but I can’t be sure) and Holy F*@k is a band, somewhat electronica. They have a guy who plays film? We have no idea. Regardless, the performance was great and I will see them together whenever they are together. It made me nostalgic for the days when I went to hip hop shows non-stop. I long for the days of crowd unity and call and response. There is no energy like the energy in the audience of a good hip hop show.
Awards were then presented (12 nominees in each category – annoying) while they set up for Chad Van Gaalen’s set. I have been listening to his album as of late and have been digging it. Will I ever listen to it again after last night? Probably not. This was yet another instance of a live show ruining your opinion of an artist you used to love. The thing I love about his album is the quietness, the subtlety, the textures. He played last night with an electric guitar and a drummer, nothing else. The vocals were abrasive, nobody paid attention.
One thing I learned last night is that indie folk is called “Americana.” I apparently listen to a lot of Americana. The horror.
Celebration played next, and they were awesome, if not kind of scary. They will be huge.
We were hungry and wanted pizza and popcorn, but I made wait because I knew that Matisyahu was presenting, and because I am obsessed, I didn’t want to risk missing him. I don’t know anything about his music (I’ve heard it, but don’t know what to think about Jewish reggae) but know that I am intrigued. He came out with C Rayz Walz (who I saw at Lyricist Lounge at Avalon with LBF a million years ago) and, oh my god, he BEATBOXED while CRW rapped the nominees for the category they were presenting! So here’s the thing: Matisyahu is good at beatboxing. I was very impressed.
Here’s the other thing – I don’t think he’s Hasidic. He wasn’t wearing full-on Hasidic grab. If anything, he looked like a gigantic Amish man (which, as you know, made me double blissed).
What else… Cage was up next and I was unimpressed, so we spent their entire set eating. I ate a bag of popcorn while D inhaled a hot dog. The Perceptionists (Mr. Lif and Akrobatik) were next, and they were ok.
By then I was exhausted (I have had some sort of flu-ish thing the past week and I just couldn’t keep my eyes open), so we headed back to D’s and watched Strangers with Candy and then passed out.
We had fun. It was fun to be out, and I am such a fan of the 25 minute set. I like going to shows, but since I, in my adulthood, have become attention-deficient, I only have limited tolerance for performances - 25 minutes is the perfect length. If anything, I’d prefer three-song sets. Unless it’s Radiohead, in which case they can play for eternity.
So that’s that. I am still sick today (although starting to feel better) but enjoying the fact that it is over 60 degrees outside. I went out for lunch without a jacket and was warm. The weekend will be fun – M and A are en route right now, and we will see musical theater shoes and gaze upon unaffordable shoes and modern art. Hopefully, in addition, much sleep will be had.
Incidentally... I only have 20 more days in my 20's.
Have great weekends!
There were a bunch of sad rich kids and messy hair and I felt old and gross. D said he felt "corporate."
The first performance was by Beans with Holy F*@k, which was amazing! I could have watched them for hours. Beans is a rapper (I think he’s from NY but I can’t be sure) and Holy F*@k is a band, somewhat electronica. They have a guy who plays film? We have no idea. Regardless, the performance was great and I will see them together whenever they are together. It made me nostalgic for the days when I went to hip hop shows non-stop. I long for the days of crowd unity and call and response. There is no energy like the energy in the audience of a good hip hop show.
Awards were then presented (12 nominees in each category – annoying) while they set up for Chad Van Gaalen’s set. I have been listening to his album as of late and have been digging it. Will I ever listen to it again after last night? Probably not. This was yet another instance of a live show ruining your opinion of an artist you used to love. The thing I love about his album is the quietness, the subtlety, the textures. He played last night with an electric guitar and a drummer, nothing else. The vocals were abrasive, nobody paid attention.
One thing I learned last night is that indie folk is called “Americana.” I apparently listen to a lot of Americana. The horror.
Celebration played next, and they were awesome, if not kind of scary. They will be huge.
We were hungry and wanted pizza and popcorn, but I made wait because I knew that Matisyahu was presenting, and because I am obsessed, I didn’t want to risk missing him. I don’t know anything about his music (I’ve heard it, but don’t know what to think about Jewish reggae) but know that I am intrigued. He came out with C Rayz Walz (who I saw at Lyricist Lounge at Avalon with LBF a million years ago) and, oh my god, he BEATBOXED while CRW rapped the nominees for the category they were presenting! So here’s the thing: Matisyahu is good at beatboxing. I was very impressed.
Here’s the other thing – I don’t think he’s Hasidic. He wasn’t wearing full-on Hasidic grab. If anything, he looked like a gigantic Amish man (which, as you know, made me double blissed).
What else… Cage was up next and I was unimpressed, so we spent their entire set eating. I ate a bag of popcorn while D inhaled a hot dog. The Perceptionists (Mr. Lif and Akrobatik) were next, and they were ok.
By then I was exhausted (I have had some sort of flu-ish thing the past week and I just couldn’t keep my eyes open), so we headed back to D’s and watched Strangers with Candy and then passed out.
We had fun. It was fun to be out, and I am such a fan of the 25 minute set. I like going to shows, but since I, in my adulthood, have become attention-deficient, I only have limited tolerance for performances - 25 minutes is the perfect length. If anything, I’d prefer three-song sets. Unless it’s Radiohead, in which case they can play for eternity.
So that’s that. I am still sick today (although starting to feel better) but enjoying the fact that it is over 60 degrees outside. I went out for lunch without a jacket and was warm. The weekend will be fun – M and A are en route right now, and we will see musical theater shoes and gaze upon unaffordable shoes and modern art. Hopefully, in addition, much sleep will be had.
Incidentally... I only have 20 more days in my 20's.
Have great weekends!
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Finally Fondue
Before heading downtown to watch the Craigslist documentary, D and I went to the restaurant we tried to go to earlier this week as an end to our quest for fondue. This was only, of course, after D called to verify that they were indeed open and that they were not holding some sort of corporate function.
This place was lovely for many reasons, one of which was the portion size. Little portions for people with little appetites like D and myself! The cheese fondue, which was served with apple and carrot wedges, some sort of raisin-having bread and foccacia, was miniature! Everything there is designed to be shared, so we ate a small pizza after polishing off the small fondue.
We then shared a little caramel apple fondue for dessert. This came with apples for dipping, and then goodies to put on the caramel apple fondue once the apples had been dipped. Coconut shavings, macademia nuts, and chocolate. Yummmm.
All of this was reasonably priced. D had a ginger ale and I had a cranberry juice. When D and I decided that we wanted another ginger ale and cranberry juice, D said "Do you know which restaurants I love? Restaurants with free refills. We'll see if I end up loving this restaurant."
When the bill arrived, D said "I'll get dinner, you get the movie."
I made out on that deal!
D said "You're not going to believe this."
"No free refills?"
"No, hardly," he said, despondent, then giggling.
"What?"
"Two drinks are $8."
"$8 total with refills?"
"No, two drinks are $8."
Four drinks, non-alcoholic, for $16. You can get an entire bottle of ginger ale for half of what it cost for the glass.
Ah, New York City. I said "Wait, four beverages are the same as two desserts? That's obscene."
I think we will go back, though, because the fondue was cute. But we will, of course, only drink water. Ridiculous.
This place was lovely for many reasons, one of which was the portion size. Little portions for people with little appetites like D and myself! The cheese fondue, which was served with apple and carrot wedges, some sort of raisin-having bread and foccacia, was miniature! Everything there is designed to be shared, so we ate a small pizza after polishing off the small fondue.
We then shared a little caramel apple fondue for dessert. This came with apples for dipping, and then goodies to put on the caramel apple fondue once the apples had been dipped. Coconut shavings, macademia nuts, and chocolate. Yummmm.
All of this was reasonably priced. D had a ginger ale and I had a cranberry juice. When D and I decided that we wanted another ginger ale and cranberry juice, D said "Do you know which restaurants I love? Restaurants with free refills. We'll see if I end up loving this restaurant."
When the bill arrived, D said "I'll get dinner, you get the movie."
I made out on that deal!
D said "You're not going to believe this."
"No free refills?"
"No, hardly," he said, despondent, then giggling.
"What?"
"Two drinks are $8."
"$8 total with refills?"
"No, two drinks are $8."
Four drinks, non-alcoholic, for $16. You can get an entire bottle of ginger ale for half of what it cost for the glass.
Ah, New York City. I said "Wait, four beverages are the same as two desserts? That's obscene."
I think we will go back, though, because the fondue was cute. But we will, of course, only drink water. Ridiculous.
Craig
As you all know, I am enamored with Craigslist. I went to see the documentary 24 Hours on Craigslist last night. It was not only a love letter to the sitet, but a great time capsule for life right now. I think watching this in 20 years will be informative and hilarious. It covered every sort of ad, from exercise classes for new mothers in which they run around the mall with their babies in carriages to casual encounters to an Indian boy trying to lose his virginity to people looking for roommates to someone trying to sell a bunch of doors.
It was awesome.
I have been using Craigslist since around 2002, when I got a David Sedaris. This is a weird story – I bought four tickets to hear David Sedaris at the Wang Center. The Evil Sandwich didn’t want a ticket because it was happening around the time when things were getting super shaky, so I bought tickets for me, two friends, and a friend of the second friend. The Evil Sandwich then decided that he wanted to come, and I was determined to find him a ticket to the sold-out show. This is how I learned about Craigslist. Not many people were using it in Boston at the time. I found a girl selling her ticket, and was thrilled! As we exchanged information, we both realized that she was the friend of my friend and she had decided not to go! Which was awesome, because then The Evil Sandwich didn’t have to sit by himself.
What are the odds?
Since then, I have acquired the following from Craigslist:
1. a bunch of terrible attempts at music collaborations
2. a fantastic musical collaboration that resulted in an album and a new friend
3. a bunch of bad dates (and therefore a bunch of good stories)
4. a date that resulted in dating someone for a few months and a really good story about a burrito
5. some more terrible attempts at music collaborations
6. a roommate for my move to NYC
7. an apartment in Williamsburg
8. an amazing blue couch
9. an apartment in NYC
I have also sold the following on Craigslist:
1. a broken digital camera
2. a Pinback ticket
3. a full-size keyboard
4. a garment rack
5. two book shelves
6. a lava lamp
7. a palm pilot
8. a laptop bag
9. some books
10. a pink lamp
11. a red lamp
12. D’s blue chairs
I'm sure there are more things, I just can't remember. I also can’t imagine life without Craigslist – looking for an apartment using the newspaper, trying to sell/buy things on EBay, etc. I may have to sell my piano soon, and I am hopeful that Craigslist will find me a worthy buyer.
Does anyone have any interesting Craigslist stories?
It was awesome.
I have been using Craigslist since around 2002, when I got a David Sedaris. This is a weird story – I bought four tickets to hear David Sedaris at the Wang Center. The Evil Sandwich didn’t want a ticket because it was happening around the time when things were getting super shaky, so I bought tickets for me, two friends, and a friend of the second friend. The Evil Sandwich then decided that he wanted to come, and I was determined to find him a ticket to the sold-out show. This is how I learned about Craigslist. Not many people were using it in Boston at the time. I found a girl selling her ticket, and was thrilled! As we exchanged information, we both realized that she was the friend of my friend and she had decided not to go! Which was awesome, because then The Evil Sandwich didn’t have to sit by himself.
What are the odds?
Since then, I have acquired the following from Craigslist:
1. a bunch of terrible attempts at music collaborations
2. a fantastic musical collaboration that resulted in an album and a new friend
3. a bunch of bad dates (and therefore a bunch of good stories)
4. a date that resulted in dating someone for a few months and a really good story about a burrito
5. some more terrible attempts at music collaborations
6. a roommate for my move to NYC
7. an apartment in Williamsburg
8. an amazing blue couch
9. an apartment in NYC
I have also sold the following on Craigslist:
1. a broken digital camera
2. a Pinback ticket
3. a full-size keyboard
4. a garment rack
5. two book shelves
6. a lava lamp
7. a palm pilot
8. a laptop bag
9. some books
10. a pink lamp
11. a red lamp
12. D’s blue chairs
I'm sure there are more things, I just can't remember. I also can’t imagine life without Craigslist – looking for an apartment using the newspaper, trying to sell/buy things on EBay, etc. I may have to sell my piano soon, and I am hopeful that Craigslist will find me a worthy buyer.
Does anyone have any interesting Craigslist stories?
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Improv
On Friday I received an email from Upright Citizen's Brigade about a show going up featuring Paul Rudd! Oooh! I was very excited and thought "I shall deal with this later..." but never did, as work has been chaotic and stressful for various reasons. I have been so self-absorbed, scattered, trying to figure things out, trying to focus.
I forgot about the email entirely until Sunday, when I mentioned it to D, who is a huge fan of Paul Rudd. I said "I didn't get tickets... and I don't even know when it is..."
D, ever the optimist and never the planner, thought there would be plenty of tickets.
When I got into work yesterday, I checked into things only to learn that it was last night and that there were no tickets! There would, however, be a limited amount of tickets available at the door night-of-show. I told D that if he really wanted to, we could forego the original plan for the night in favor of seeing Paul Rudd improv.
I called UCB and the guy on the phone was of no use. He had no idea how many tickets had been sold, how many would be available, what time to get there, etc.
Hmph.
I decided that getting there by 7:15 would be best (for the 8:00 show). We went on a mission for fondue beforehand, since our Sunday mission for fondue didn't occur because we were both exhausted. I found a place en route to UCB, but when we got there, it was closed for a private function! This is the second time in two months that I have tried to get cheese fondue but have been unable to because of a private function. I was pissed. We ended up eating decent crepes somewhere else.
We got in line and things looked bleak. Very bleak. Luckily Paul Rudd (who is ever-so-small in real life) walked by us in a tux while we were in line, so all was not lost.
We waited for an hour, and they finally said "You can all come in, standing room only!"
I didn't want to, because standing room only for a person who is 5'1'' is different from standing room only for a person who claims to be 6'2'' but is probably taller. But D really wanted to, so we did.
I could see bits and pieces, so it was ok aside from my legs aching.
We got to see Paul Rudd, which is really all that matters. Sadly, however, he was not funny. The format for this improv was a talk show - two hosts and a bartender sidekick from UCB, and then four or five celebrity guests. The two hosts worked really well together. The opening was hilarious, but they didn't give the guests much to work with. I guess seven funny people on a stage, just chatting, isn't as funny as you'd think it would be. I guess its important for people to know each other and their styles to improv effectively. The whole thing was awkward, but still worth $5.
Tonight I fully intend to pick up my laundry and clean my apartment in preparation for M and A's visit this weekend! Unfortunately the postponement of last night's plan may prevent me from buying mint chocolate chip/cookie ice cream for their visit, but that's ok. We will have fun anyway!
And now I must work, or at least do a better job pretending to work.
I forgot about the email entirely until Sunday, when I mentioned it to D, who is a huge fan of Paul Rudd. I said "I didn't get tickets... and I don't even know when it is..."
D, ever the optimist and never the planner, thought there would be plenty of tickets.
When I got into work yesterday, I checked into things only to learn that it was last night and that there were no tickets! There would, however, be a limited amount of tickets available at the door night-of-show. I told D that if he really wanted to, we could forego the original plan for the night in favor of seeing Paul Rudd improv.
I called UCB and the guy on the phone was of no use. He had no idea how many tickets had been sold, how many would be available, what time to get there, etc.
Hmph.
I decided that getting there by 7:15 would be best (for the 8:00 show). We went on a mission for fondue beforehand, since our Sunday mission for fondue didn't occur because we were both exhausted. I found a place en route to UCB, but when we got there, it was closed for a private function! This is the second time in two months that I have tried to get cheese fondue but have been unable to because of a private function. I was pissed. We ended up eating decent crepes somewhere else.
We got in line and things looked bleak. Very bleak. Luckily Paul Rudd (who is ever-so-small in real life) walked by us in a tux while we were in line, so all was not lost.
We waited for an hour, and they finally said "You can all come in, standing room only!"
I didn't want to, because standing room only for a person who is 5'1'' is different from standing room only for a person who claims to be 6'2'' but is probably taller. But D really wanted to, so we did.
I could see bits and pieces, so it was ok aside from my legs aching.
We got to see Paul Rudd, which is really all that matters. Sadly, however, he was not funny. The format for this improv was a talk show - two hosts and a bartender sidekick from UCB, and then four or five celebrity guests. The two hosts worked really well together. The opening was hilarious, but they didn't give the guests much to work with. I guess seven funny people on a stage, just chatting, isn't as funny as you'd think it would be. I guess its important for people to know each other and their styles to improv effectively. The whole thing was awkward, but still worth $5.
Tonight I fully intend to pick up my laundry and clean my apartment in preparation for M and A's visit this weekend! Unfortunately the postponement of last night's plan may prevent me from buying mint chocolate chip/cookie ice cream for their visit, but that's ok. We will have fun anyway!
And now I must work, or at least do a better job pretending to work.
Monday, January 30, 2006
French Movies
I was very tired last night when I got back to NYC from Princeton. Brother, D and I were exhausted all day. Why? No idea. We blamed the weird weather (which, incidentally, is even weirder today - it was 61 degrees! in January!).
In spite of my fatigue, I decided to continue blazing through my NetFlix queue, deliriously, by watching A Very Long Engagement, which was a very long historical movie, involving a romance, that flew by, unlike certain other historical romances I had the misfortune of seeing this weekend.
If you haven't already seen it, you must. The cinematography is exquisite exquisite exquisite. It's like one long glowing photography. I wish I'd seen it in the theater. My only complaint is Audrey Tautou, who I usually like, but who was a bit annoying in this movie. Incidentally, I just looked her up to confirm the spelling of her name and am surprised to learn that she was born in 1978! I thought that she was far older than me. Interesting...
Watching a good movie and eating waffles for dinner on the eve of a 61 degree day at the end of january. Does life get any better?
I guess watching a good movie and eating waffles for dinner on the eve of a 61 degree day at the end of january while feeling secure about one's life could be better. But, as The Boss said, it could be worse. We could have been hit by shrapnel while reporting in Iraq. Right.
OK. Until tomorrow...
In spite of my fatigue, I decided to continue blazing through my NetFlix queue, deliriously, by watching A Very Long Engagement, which was a very long historical movie, involving a romance, that flew by, unlike certain other historical romances I had the misfortune of seeing this weekend.
If you haven't already seen it, you must. The cinematography is exquisite exquisite exquisite. It's like one long glowing photography. I wish I'd seen it in the theater. My only complaint is Audrey Tautou, who I usually like, but who was a bit annoying in this movie. Incidentally, I just looked her up to confirm the spelling of her name and am surprised to learn that she was born in 1978! I thought that she was far older than me. Interesting...
Watching a good movie and eating waffles for dinner on the eve of a 61 degree day at the end of january. Does life get any better?
I guess watching a good movie and eating waffles for dinner on the eve of a 61 degree day at the end of january while feeling secure about one's life could be better. But, as The Boss said, it could be worse. We could have been hit by shrapnel while reporting in Iraq. Right.
OK. Until tomorrow...
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Christian Bale Wasn't In The New World Until The Last Half Hour - WTF?
Between not having (read "being able to mooch") internet at my apartment these days and massive amounts of tumult/work at the old job, I feel like I haven't had much time to blog.
I've been wondering if I should stop blogging. In my mind, my time in NYC is coming to an end and so should the blog. My focus is so narrow these days. I am trying to figure out the future, make plans, save money, think about things I never think about like closet space and babies. These sorts of things make for boring entries, so I feel like I should just stop. I don't want my entries to be all "I am so stressed out! Again! I don't know what to do!"
This being said, with the feeling that my New York era may be drawing to its close, I will start taking advantage of all things New York, and live a New York life to its fullest while I am still here.
Which could make for interesting blogging.
I don't know. I am torn about everything these days.
Regardless...
I am going to post an entry now! Woo!!!
I am in Princeton right now, visiting Brother. I really wanted to get out of the city, have a good night's sleep without the sounds of taxis and gas station parties preventing me from remaining asleep for more than three seconds. D and I arrived last night and we went to eat dinner at this Mexican place where you could design your own burrito! I ordered mine with "sour cream sauce," because I didn't want to pay the extra 49 cents for actual sour cream (I am so responsible with the whole saving of money). That is my only regret on my designed burrito. Otherwise it hit the spot.
Lately I've been craving gross food. I don't know what that's all about. I am wondering if its in retaliation to "the diet." I've been eating healthy - I've still been eating my normal level of food, just greener food and more balanced food. I think my body is revolting. Yesterday was gluttony. Eggs, toast, facon, apple sauce, hash browns, huge ass burrito inhaled, chips and salsa, chocolate fondue, chocolate cookie pie. And still I am starving.
We then went to see The New World, which D liked and which Brother and I (and the rest of the theater patrons, who either snored loudly or made hysterical comments as to the length of this movie) could not tolerate. It started off well enough... but deteriorated into a movie that would have been better titled Girl Walking Around, Oftentimes Painfully Slowly, While Being Followed Around By Lonely Men. More history, less cheesey love story. The narration was overwrought, and the conflict was one-dimensional. We agreed that we liked the history and wish there had been more of that and less, well, walking around. And frolicking. There should have been more development. The movie didn't need to be 2.5 hours because none of the exposition contributed to the plot. Allegedly they cut out 20 minutes! I can't even imagine.
We then went out for dessert, which proved to be a challenge because everything in Princeton closes at 10:00 pm on a Saturday. I said "It must suck to go to school here!" but Brother pointed out that most people probably hang out in New York City. We finally found a college bar that had fondue. Sweet.
We came back to Brother's and watched The Aristocrats, and I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
On Friday I went to see Bench Buddy perform in a standup showcase in the East Village after I participated in work-related solidarity. We drank too much and talked about "the future" and I was comforted to learn that many are disillusioned and are considering going back to school. It was also just comforting to talk about things, react, have people understand. I kept spilling cosmopolitan down my sleeves but didn't care because sloppy is better than anxious.
On Thursday D and I went to see Spamalot (the beginning of my quest to see every musical in NYC). It was really funny. I'd seen Holy Grail once, and figured I wouldn't remember anything but remembered everything. I can't tell if this is from having seen the movie or from witnessing people act it out since high school.
I am re-motivated regarding Music Project du Jour after seeing it. I just have to rethink things a bit. After seeing Spamalot, I am convinced that, as long as the lyrics are funny, the music can suck. Not that it sucked, but the music obviously isn't its strength. I highly recommend seeing it.
I am to see The Producers and The Pajama Game in the next two weeks. I am going to see Low and The PLUG Awards in the next two weeks. I am going to spend money on New York things and nothing else. I am going to turn 30 very soon and will then be a grown up. I guess its timely that all of these big decisions are forced upon me as I am about to turn 30.
Anyway, I am going to brush my teeth and hit the town and shop but not buy anything. Sniff.
Until tomorrow...
I've been wondering if I should stop blogging. In my mind, my time in NYC is coming to an end and so should the blog. My focus is so narrow these days. I am trying to figure out the future, make plans, save money, think about things I never think about like closet space and babies. These sorts of things make for boring entries, so I feel like I should just stop. I don't want my entries to be all "I am so stressed out! Again! I don't know what to do!"
This being said, with the feeling that my New York era may be drawing to its close, I will start taking advantage of all things New York, and live a New York life to its fullest while I am still here.
Which could make for interesting blogging.
I don't know. I am torn about everything these days.
Regardless...
I am going to post an entry now! Woo!!!
I am in Princeton right now, visiting Brother. I really wanted to get out of the city, have a good night's sleep without the sounds of taxis and gas station parties preventing me from remaining asleep for more than three seconds. D and I arrived last night and we went to eat dinner at this Mexican place where you could design your own burrito! I ordered mine with "sour cream sauce," because I didn't want to pay the extra 49 cents for actual sour cream (I am so responsible with the whole saving of money). That is my only regret on my designed burrito. Otherwise it hit the spot.
Lately I've been craving gross food. I don't know what that's all about. I am wondering if its in retaliation to "the diet." I've been eating healthy - I've still been eating my normal level of food, just greener food and more balanced food. I think my body is revolting. Yesterday was gluttony. Eggs, toast, facon, apple sauce, hash browns, huge ass burrito inhaled, chips and salsa, chocolate fondue, chocolate cookie pie. And still I am starving.
We then went to see The New World, which D liked and which Brother and I (and the rest of the theater patrons, who either snored loudly or made hysterical comments as to the length of this movie) could not tolerate. It started off well enough... but deteriorated into a movie that would have been better titled Girl Walking Around, Oftentimes Painfully Slowly, While Being Followed Around By Lonely Men. More history, less cheesey love story. The narration was overwrought, and the conflict was one-dimensional. We agreed that we liked the history and wish there had been more of that and less, well, walking around. And frolicking. There should have been more development. The movie didn't need to be 2.5 hours because none of the exposition contributed to the plot. Allegedly they cut out 20 minutes! I can't even imagine.
We then went out for dessert, which proved to be a challenge because everything in Princeton closes at 10:00 pm on a Saturday. I said "It must suck to go to school here!" but Brother pointed out that most people probably hang out in New York City. We finally found a college bar that had fondue. Sweet.
We came back to Brother's and watched The Aristocrats, and I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
On Friday I went to see Bench Buddy perform in a standup showcase in the East Village after I participated in work-related solidarity. We drank too much and talked about "the future" and I was comforted to learn that many are disillusioned and are considering going back to school. It was also just comforting to talk about things, react, have people understand. I kept spilling cosmopolitan down my sleeves but didn't care because sloppy is better than anxious.
On Thursday D and I went to see Spamalot (the beginning of my quest to see every musical in NYC). It was really funny. I'd seen Holy Grail once, and figured I wouldn't remember anything but remembered everything. I can't tell if this is from having seen the movie or from witnessing people act it out since high school.
I am re-motivated regarding Music Project du Jour after seeing it. I just have to rethink things a bit. After seeing Spamalot, I am convinced that, as long as the lyrics are funny, the music can suck. Not that it sucked, but the music obviously isn't its strength. I highly recommend seeing it.
I am to see The Producers and The Pajama Game in the next two weeks. I am going to see Low and The PLUG Awards in the next two weeks. I am going to spend money on New York things and nothing else. I am going to turn 30 very soon and will then be a grown up. I guess its timely that all of these big decisions are forced upon me as I am about to turn 30.
Anyway, I am going to brush my teeth and hit the town and shop but not buy anything. Sniff.
Until tomorrow...
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Go U! Go U! Mass! Go U Mass!
I received a copy of the UMass Alumni magazine in the mail last night. I was again confused as to how UMass found me - how do they know where I live? How do they know that I moved? How do they do it? I read the alumni magazine for the first time ever last month because one of my favorite New York artists was featured on the cover. I was delighted to learn that he was an alumni!
This month featured Bill Pullman and a bunch of micro-articles about polymers.
Most importantly, however, the magazine featured an update on all of the members of the 95-96 men's basketball team, ten years after the team went to the final four.
Ah, the nostalgia.
Now. I don't remember anything from college. The only thing class-related I remember is the professor biting it on the stairs in Bio285. In Hasbrouke? I think.(Sidenote 1: I also remember the codes for classes, such as Chem111 and Psych131.) (Sidenote 2: Bio285 was Molecular Biology of the Cell - that may not have been the exact name - and is the only class from college that became relevant in my professional life - everything else I "learned" in college was superfluous.) (Sidenote 3: it would have been helpful had I learned something other than how to calculate molarity in any of the four chemistry courses I took while in college, because that information is sort of important now and I don't have it.)
I do, however, remember all of the basketball players from that team and the team the year before. Remember "Rigooooooo....."?
And Ross Burns? Hah!
This was an exciting article to read, and not because of the basketball team. Oh no. It was because of a picture of... The Fat Guy!
For those of you who didn't go to UMass or have no concept of UMass basketball during that era, that year was insane. Sports fervor. I hate sports and even I was caught up. I waited in long lines on mornings when it seemed to be twenty below zero to secure tickets to games. I got to games hours early to rush in to get the good seats. I was trampled by crowds. I made a sign when the game was televised. I chanted along with the fans, I wiggled my fingers during foul shots, and most importantly, I cheered when The Fat Guy ran by.
The Fat Guy was literally called The Fat Guy. He was just a crazy fan who showed up to each game with a collection of signs and proceeded to run around The Mullins Center to generate enthusiasm.
Awesome. I haven't thought about The Fat Guy in forever. I'm not that he's ever crossed my mind since graduating.
The only thing that was disappointing about the article was that the picture of The Fat Guy was from the era when The Fat Guy started losing weight. He was still overweight, but not as Fat. Of course we were distressed to witness him wasting away, but it was appropriate given that the team itself began to decline after their year of glory.
Ah, college. It's the non-academic experience that has the most influence.
This month featured Bill Pullman and a bunch of micro-articles about polymers.
Most importantly, however, the magazine featured an update on all of the members of the 95-96 men's basketball team, ten years after the team went to the final four.
Ah, the nostalgia.
Now. I don't remember anything from college. The only thing class-related I remember is the professor biting it on the stairs in Bio285. In Hasbrouke? I think.(Sidenote 1: I also remember the codes for classes, such as Chem111 and Psych131.) (Sidenote 2: Bio285 was Molecular Biology of the Cell - that may not have been the exact name - and is the only class from college that became relevant in my professional life - everything else I "learned" in college was superfluous.) (Sidenote 3: it would have been helpful had I learned something other than how to calculate molarity in any of the four chemistry courses I took while in college, because that information is sort of important now and I don't have it.)
I do, however, remember all of the basketball players from that team and the team the year before. Remember "Rigooooooo....."?
And Ross Burns? Hah!
This was an exciting article to read, and not because of the basketball team. Oh no. It was because of a picture of... The Fat Guy!
For those of you who didn't go to UMass or have no concept of UMass basketball during that era, that year was insane. Sports fervor. I hate sports and even I was caught up. I waited in long lines on mornings when it seemed to be twenty below zero to secure tickets to games. I got to games hours early to rush in to get the good seats. I was trampled by crowds. I made a sign when the game was televised. I chanted along with the fans, I wiggled my fingers during foul shots, and most importantly, I cheered when The Fat Guy ran by.
The Fat Guy was literally called The Fat Guy. He was just a crazy fan who showed up to each game with a collection of signs and proceeded to run around The Mullins Center to generate enthusiasm.
Awesome. I haven't thought about The Fat Guy in forever. I'm not that he's ever crossed my mind since graduating.
The only thing that was disappointing about the article was that the picture of The Fat Guy was from the era when The Fat Guy started losing weight. He was still overweight, but not as Fat. Of course we were distressed to witness him wasting away, but it was appropriate given that the team itself began to decline after their year of glory.
Ah, college. It's the non-academic experience that has the most influence.
Responsible
When do things change?
When you're little, everyone says "You can be whatever you want when you grow up! You can do whatever you want! The world is your oyster!" How lucky we are to live in a world of opportunity.
You survive high school and then its off to college, where you remain optimistic and think ahead with enthusiasm. You still naively think that whatever happens will be wonderful!
Then BOOM - ADULTHOOD.
Why is the unknown so terrifying now? When did uncertainty become a source of anxiety instead of a source of excitement?
If it weren't for bills to pay, uncertainty would be appealing.
If it wasn't just me, whatever.
Ugh.
I hate making decisions.
When you're little, everyone says "You can be whatever you want when you grow up! You can do whatever you want! The world is your oyster!" How lucky we are to live in a world of opportunity.
You survive high school and then its off to college, where you remain optimistic and think ahead with enthusiasm. You still naively think that whatever happens will be wonderful!
Then BOOM - ADULTHOOD.
Why is the unknown so terrifying now? When did uncertainty become a source of anxiety instead of a source of excitement?
If it weren't for bills to pay, uncertainty would be appealing.
If it wasn't just me, whatever.
Ugh.
I hate making decisions.
Monday, January 23, 2006
The Weekend is Over and I Have Nothing to Show For It
The weekend was unproductive.
It began on the emo tip, with the news that Father lost his job. Again. I know he can handle it, but I still feel terribly. I can't imagine being his age and having to change his life against his will. When I lost my job, it felt like being dumped, complete with hopelessness and an aching sense of injustice. Awful, awful, awful.
I decided to attempt to play Scrabble anyway, but I was just in a bad mood. The place we went to was awesome, though, and had I been in a better mood, I think I'd have had great fun. The Boys played ping pong while I thought about my family and ideas for sitcoms. I spent a few minutes in the jazz lounge listening to one of the bands practice. I'd have been in a much better mood had I been able to just there surrounded by pillows while being a recluse. We played Scrabble (I had to be on D's team because there were five of us - D is apparently really good at both Scrabble and ping pong, but this is not surprising given that he is really good at everything) and I didn't win, despite D's being able to spell "apogee." I was very close to having "vacuous," which would have been awesome given its emo connotation, but someone used the "s" on the board for something else. I think this was maybe the fifth time I've ever played Scrabble, and I was therefore way out of my league.
I went home and brooded, hard. I talked to Sister briefly but spent most of the night wishing I had a good friend around or someone who I actually like to stop by, again, with ice cream and a movie. I watched a terrible movie, felt lonely, downloaded some music, and went to bed early.
I slept for ten hours. Woop! Spent Saturday morning downloading more music and talking on the phone to J, a good friend in NYC who used to date another friend of mine. They have officially broken up and J, who is also dangerously close to 30, isn't in the best state of mind. After we talked for a while she proposed going shopping. I accepted, not because I wanted to shop but because I didn't want to be alone. I accepted in spite of having made tentative plans with Former-Favorite-Ex-Boyfriend, who called about three seconds after I told J I'd shop with her. Oops.
Those of you who know me know that I mostly hate to shop, and that when I do shop, I get insane because nothing fits me. For whatever reason, Saturday afternoon was a stellar afternoon of shopping! It was probably because I went in there thinking I'd buy nothing and just support J. Five amazing shirts and an obscene amount of money spent later, I was feeling wicked cute.
I don't know what it is about the Macy's mirrors but MAN are they flattering! Is it the angle? The length? The fact that they are above the ground? Also - each of the dressing rooms are 1/2 the size of my apartment. Tons of hooks, benches on which to organize, and each room is equipped with three mirrors that you can position accordingly. Sweet!
D and I met up and headed up to Lincoln Center for dinner and the ballet. There's been much talk of "The Future" as of late and therefore much insinuation of not-living-in-NYC forever (thank god) which makes me feel less guilty about (a) doing things in New York now now now and (b) spending money on doing things in New York. The ballet, of course, was awesome. I kept fantasizing about doing ballet again, and then remembering that my almost-30-year-old body won't be able to fold over onto itself anymore. Hmph. I may try, though.
I did nothing on Sunday aside from accompany D on his shopping excursion for sneakers and pants. He didn't get sneakers or pants, nor did I buy a coat despite trying on many, one of which was on a mannequin. D stripped her so that I could try it on, and when trying to stealthly re-coat her pulled her arm off.
Back at my apartment we were both tired, most likely recovering from a slight conflict that morning. We spent time together and talked about how tired we were and how we had so much to do but I didn't want him to sleep or to leave. We watched some animation shorts we've had for months upon months, and then he left.
I talked to LBF. I ate ravioli. I played around with my camera a bit more and still have no idea how to focus. I talked to E about his screenplay and played The Doors for him over the phone. I talked to D, who was moody and therefore super cute, read an article about Craig the Founder of Craigslist that D had found in the trash, and then went to bed.
We do not have snow in New York, unfortuntely. The day is dreary and gross and I can't motivate.
Oh well.
Hopefully I'll have a productive weekend next weekend.
It began on the emo tip, with the news that Father lost his job. Again. I know he can handle it, but I still feel terribly. I can't imagine being his age and having to change his life against his will. When I lost my job, it felt like being dumped, complete with hopelessness and an aching sense of injustice. Awful, awful, awful.
I decided to attempt to play Scrabble anyway, but I was just in a bad mood. The place we went to was awesome, though, and had I been in a better mood, I think I'd have had great fun. The Boys played ping pong while I thought about my family and ideas for sitcoms. I spent a few minutes in the jazz lounge listening to one of the bands practice. I'd have been in a much better mood had I been able to just there surrounded by pillows while being a recluse. We played Scrabble (I had to be on D's team because there were five of us - D is apparently really good at both Scrabble and ping pong, but this is not surprising given that he is really good at everything) and I didn't win, despite D's being able to spell "apogee." I was very close to having "vacuous," which would have been awesome given its emo connotation, but someone used the "s" on the board for something else. I think this was maybe the fifth time I've ever played Scrabble, and I was therefore way out of my league.
I went home and brooded, hard. I talked to Sister briefly but spent most of the night wishing I had a good friend around or someone who I actually like to stop by, again, with ice cream and a movie. I watched a terrible movie, felt lonely, downloaded some music, and went to bed early.
I slept for ten hours. Woop! Spent Saturday morning downloading more music and talking on the phone to J, a good friend in NYC who used to date another friend of mine. They have officially broken up and J, who is also dangerously close to 30, isn't in the best state of mind. After we talked for a while she proposed going shopping. I accepted, not because I wanted to shop but because I didn't want to be alone. I accepted in spite of having made tentative plans with Former-Favorite-Ex-Boyfriend, who called about three seconds after I told J I'd shop with her. Oops.
Those of you who know me know that I mostly hate to shop, and that when I do shop, I get insane because nothing fits me. For whatever reason, Saturday afternoon was a stellar afternoon of shopping! It was probably because I went in there thinking I'd buy nothing and just support J. Five amazing shirts and an obscene amount of money spent later, I was feeling wicked cute.
I don't know what it is about the Macy's mirrors but MAN are they flattering! Is it the angle? The length? The fact that they are above the ground? Also - each of the dressing rooms are 1/2 the size of my apartment. Tons of hooks, benches on which to organize, and each room is equipped with three mirrors that you can position accordingly. Sweet!
D and I met up and headed up to Lincoln Center for dinner and the ballet. There's been much talk of "The Future" as of late and therefore much insinuation of not-living-in-NYC forever (thank god) which makes me feel less guilty about (a) doing things in New York now now now and (b) spending money on doing things in New York. The ballet, of course, was awesome. I kept fantasizing about doing ballet again, and then remembering that my almost-30-year-old body won't be able to fold over onto itself anymore. Hmph. I may try, though.
I did nothing on Sunday aside from accompany D on his shopping excursion for sneakers and pants. He didn't get sneakers or pants, nor did I buy a coat despite trying on many, one of which was on a mannequin. D stripped her so that I could try it on, and when trying to stealthly re-coat her pulled her arm off.
Back at my apartment we were both tired, most likely recovering from a slight conflict that morning. We spent time together and talked about how tired we were and how we had so much to do but I didn't want him to sleep or to leave. We watched some animation shorts we've had for months upon months, and then he left.
I talked to LBF. I ate ravioli. I played around with my camera a bit more and still have no idea how to focus. I talked to E about his screenplay and played The Doors for him over the phone. I talked to D, who was moody and therefore super cute, read an article about Craig the Founder of Craigslist that D had found in the trash, and then went to bed.
We do not have snow in New York, unfortuntely. The day is dreary and gross and I can't motivate.
Oh well.
Hopefully I'll have a productive weekend next weekend.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Antisocial
Lately I have been trying to overcome tendencies to be antisocial. I don't know why it is that I am feeling antisocial - it might be a response to the overly and only social break over the holidays, or a response to creeping ever closer to 30, or a response to not being the happiest I've ever been.
Regardless...
I decided to go out last night when invited. I had pre-existing plans to dine with E and discuss his opus. Dinner with a friend is not something I consider "social." When I say antisocial, I mean "not wanting to hang out with large-ish groups of people, especially when I do not know or do not like various members of the group." I guess I have less and less tolerance for smalltalk as I get older. I have little desire to engage in being social for the sake of being social. I want quality, not quantity.
It is bizarre that I've been acting antisocial given that I've been feeling a bit on the lonely side as of late. Not desperate lonely, or wishing there were people around. More like wishing that there existed the option of people being around.
After hanging up the phone with M last Saturday night, post-girlish discussion of "the future," I was sad, because I wished that the conversation could have been shared in person over mint chocolate chip ice cream.
Indian food with E was lovely, complete with the requisite wishing I had a different job entirely, this particular wish involving a life in which I would read screenplays all day and find inconsistencies and lovely quirks and realness therein. I then headed over to D's to meet up with him and his friend and his friend's friend to go to a comedy show that started at 11.
We hung out at his place for a bit - they all drank lots while I abstained because of the two drink minimum at the club. I think part of my antisocial tendencies stem from my consistently being the only sober person in groups. Always people drinking and drinking and drinking. I don't have that luxury because my window between buzzed and drunk is one sip. I'm always cautious. I therefore always feel like an outsider. "Have another one!" people always say. They don't understand that "one" more for me will cause a mess. Regardless, I had fun last night. It was fun and funny. And I drank far too much, because I haven't had too much to drink in far too long.
Nights like that make me wonder why I don't do these things more often.
The only problem with this is that it has interfered with my attempt at not being antisocial tonight. The plan for tonight was to go to this bar that has ping pong and scrabble and jazz after work. Do I want drinks? No. Do I want to hang out with these people? Also no. Do I feel like I should be doing something other than reading or watching a movie? Yes. Do I want to play ping pong and/or scrabble while still feeling dehydrated and gross from last night? No.
Is this that big of an issue? No. I am going to go and have a drink and I will feel miraculously fine. The rest of the weekend is going to be anti-social as well - I am going to the ballet tomorrow night with D and may or may not hang out with Former-Favorite-Ex-Boyfriend tomorrow. It will depend on how lonely I feel tomorrow morning when I wake up.
Again, do I want to? Absolutely not. Do I want just to have something to do and to see a familiar face? Yes.
Ah, New York, you have changed me so much. No drama, just filler.
OK. I should finish working and have some sort of snack to prepare for drinks and Scrabble. Wooo! Have nice weekends, kids!
Regardless...
I decided to go out last night when invited. I had pre-existing plans to dine with E and discuss his opus. Dinner with a friend is not something I consider "social." When I say antisocial, I mean "not wanting to hang out with large-ish groups of people, especially when I do not know or do not like various members of the group." I guess I have less and less tolerance for smalltalk as I get older. I have little desire to engage in being social for the sake of being social. I want quality, not quantity.
It is bizarre that I've been acting antisocial given that I've been feeling a bit on the lonely side as of late. Not desperate lonely, or wishing there were people around. More like wishing that there existed the option of people being around.
After hanging up the phone with M last Saturday night, post-girlish discussion of "the future," I was sad, because I wished that the conversation could have been shared in person over mint chocolate chip ice cream.
Indian food with E was lovely, complete with the requisite wishing I had a different job entirely, this particular wish involving a life in which I would read screenplays all day and find inconsistencies and lovely quirks and realness therein. I then headed over to D's to meet up with him and his friend and his friend's friend to go to a comedy show that started at 11.
We hung out at his place for a bit - they all drank lots while I abstained because of the two drink minimum at the club. I think part of my antisocial tendencies stem from my consistently being the only sober person in groups. Always people drinking and drinking and drinking. I don't have that luxury because my window between buzzed and drunk is one sip. I'm always cautious. I therefore always feel like an outsider. "Have another one!" people always say. They don't understand that "one" more for me will cause a mess. Regardless, I had fun last night. It was fun and funny. And I drank far too much, because I haven't had too much to drink in far too long.
Nights like that make me wonder why I don't do these things more often.
The only problem with this is that it has interfered with my attempt at not being antisocial tonight. The plan for tonight was to go to this bar that has ping pong and scrabble and jazz after work. Do I want drinks? No. Do I want to hang out with these people? Also no. Do I feel like I should be doing something other than reading or watching a movie? Yes. Do I want to play ping pong and/or scrabble while still feeling dehydrated and gross from last night? No.
Is this that big of an issue? No. I am going to go and have a drink and I will feel miraculously fine. The rest of the weekend is going to be anti-social as well - I am going to the ballet tomorrow night with D and may or may not hang out with Former-Favorite-Ex-Boyfriend tomorrow. It will depend on how lonely I feel tomorrow morning when I wake up.
Again, do I want to? Absolutely not. Do I want just to have something to do and to see a familiar face? Yes.
Ah, New York, you have changed me so much. No drama, just filler.
OK. I should finish working and have some sort of snack to prepare for drinks and Scrabble. Wooo! Have nice weekends, kids!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
The Bodies – An Editorial by Leah Lar
D and I went to see The Bodies this weekend in South Street Seaport. We’d been experiencing conflict over whether or not to see it. We are scientists, so of course we see the merit in this sort of exhibit, especially in something this unique. We are also, however, moral beings, and the exhibit has been fraught with controversy regarding the origin of its bodies. Rumor has it that the bodies belonged to prisoners or homeless people in China, and that they were scooped off the streets, obviously without consent.
Sketchy.
I suppose donating bodies with no known identity to science is a noble thing to do. This being said, are these bodies being donated “to science” or “for profit?”
Science is knowledge. Seeing things like this is good. It’s informative. It excites children about science! (I really wish it wouldn’t, though. I wanted to scream “This is not interesting! Do not make a career of this unless you plan on getting an MD!”) It helps us understand our own bodies. It’s valuable.
If it was free, then I’d be fine with it.
What I am not fine with is charging $25 per person to see the bodies and organs of people who didn’t necessarily want their bodies to be on display. I don’t think people should profit from this. Unless, of course, the proceeds go to homeless shelters or research funds or something. Maybe this is the case.
When we entered the building, I was suddenly overcome with trepidation and didn’t want to go in. “I don’t know if I want to see this,” I said. I am currently reading a book called Stiff which, while being amazing and an addictive and informative read, has me constantly contemplating mortality and what happens to bodies when they cease living. The book is about what happens to bodies when they die, and, more overwhelmingly, what happens to cadavers that are donated to or stolen for science. It’s interesting and I love it, but I can’t shake the occasional and morbid unwelcome image of a loved one’s body being used as a crash test dummy.
We paid the steep admission price and entered the exhibit.
My initial reaction: awesome! It really was awesome. The whole bodies were unsettling. It didn’t seem real. I had a better understanding of anatomy after seeing the exhibit. It was organized based on organ system, and therefore went from the psychologically and emotionally easiest to most difficult to handle. It started with the skeletal system – we’ve all seen this before. They had entire bodies displayed out in the open along with components displayed in cases. It then went to muscle and then to the nervous system. The muscles were weird – so meat-like. The nervous system, obviously, was my favorite. They had the whole nervous system in a case – still connected – the brain, spinal cord, and nerves sent from the spinal cord. Awesome!
It was then the circulatory system. The room was dark, and they’d used a dye to stain arteries red and veins blue, and then somehow removed the organs they supplied. Super cool. Then respiratory, digestive, excretory, reproductive, development, and a room at the end bringing everything together.
I didn’t really have a problem with things because I think it is human nature to distance yourself from death. I didn’t allow myself to consciously think “This is an actual person who lived and breathed and had a family.” Every so often I’d remember, and I would freak out and want to run away. Sometimes I’d be like “This is actually a real arm, not a model. Huh.”
The organs weren’t as disturbing – they obviously weren’t as personal. But the limbs… and the brains… and the whole bodies…
A few observations:
1. As stated above, muscles look like meat. I don’t imagine anyone ate meat after going to that exhibit.
2. The bladder – SMALL. So very tiny. Smaller than a rubber balloon deflated.
3. The uterus – WICKED SMALL. I had no idea. And the ovaries were so little!
4. Testicles – also wicked small.
5. Second grossest thing I have ever seen in my life = penile cancer.
6. GROSSEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE = teratoma of ovarian tissue (I think –I can’t even remember what it was supposed to be, I just know it was in the reproduction room) that had freaking HAIR AND TEETH GROWING IN IT. I thought I was going to vomit. If I am ever diagnosed with a teratoma I think that I will instantly go mad and have to be committed. I can’t bear the thought of teeth growing in my uterus. Oh my god. The horror, the horror. I imagine, though, that doctors don’t tell people this because I bet anyone would be taken completely insane by such knowledge.
By the time I was through the reproductive room, I had mixed feelings. I was trying my hardest not to obsess about the realness of the bodies. “Stop thinking about them as people… stop thinking about them as people…” I thought it was scientifically cool, but mostly unnecessary. There was no reason these bodies couldn’t be models. Why not dissect a human and then make a cast? People wouldn’t pay $25 to see casts of dead people. The realness (and shock) is what draws them in.
I was also having minor agita in the reproductive room because my biological clock was ticking loudly. There were these phrases on the walls throughout the exhibit, and in the reproductive room there was a statistic written about how a male’s fertility starts going down after age 35. Tick, tick, tick… D said “Did you read that thing about a male’s fertility?” I said nothing. “Good thing I’m not 35!” “You know, a woman’s fertility goes down too, even more than a man’s… it’s good to have your first by 35, because if you don’t, it gets harder and harder to conceive.” He laughed.
“IT’S NOT FUNNY!!”
The whole exhibit made me very serious.
The development room was after the reproductive room, and there was sign that said something to the effect of “You may not want to go into this room” for various reasons.
“Whatever,” I thought. “I’ve made it this far, I’ll go in there. How bad could it be?”
It was awful. Real, dead babies. Preserved. Not just embryos, which is sad enough. But near-term babies, preserved in the skin. They didn’t really look like real babies. I’d probably have fainted if they had. (There was, however, one cool portion where they’d stained developing fetuses with some dye that binds to calcium to demonstrate bone growth throughout development.)
So this? Not necessary. It didn’t have to be real babies. Nobody would know! Maybe they weren’t real babies. They didn’t look like real babies, but they claimed that everything in the exhibit was real.
I experienced major agita. Near tears, I blazed through the final room, uninterested and experiencing great animosity for the exhibit. I lingered a bit at the information desk where a woman, at whom I cast many a mean glance, answered questions and told exhibit-goers about the fixation process.
Someone asked where the bodies came from. She answered that they were all from China and that most of them were bodies donated to science or bodies with no known next of kin. Someone inquired as to the Chinese prisoner origin of the bodies. She danced around the issue and explained why that wouldn’t be likely without actually saying that it was not the case. When asked about the fetuses, she explained that they were either miscarried and donated by mothers or that they were found in dead bodies.
Dear god.
There is no way a mother would knowingly consent to having her child’s dead body on display in a $25 exhibit. No freaking way.
I can’t help but wonder if these mothers donated their babies to science, hoping to help someone else down the line through research.
Yes, you can argue that having these babies on display does help someone down the line. Knowledge! Prevention! Etc.!
But it’s still greatly disturbing, and I don’t imagine a doctor said “Can we please have your baby so that we can fix it and display it in a case for people around the world to see?”
I wish I hadn’t gone. My stomach was upset for the rest of the day, and every time I see and ad for the exhibit I feel ill. I think it just went a little too far, otherwise it would have been cool. I understand the need to be comprehensive, and its just an issue with which I have personal problems. If you get the opportunity to see it, you should go. Most people love it. D loved it, and the people in the exhibit (and others I know who have seen it) were enthralled.
The end.
Sketchy.
I suppose donating bodies with no known identity to science is a noble thing to do. This being said, are these bodies being donated “to science” or “for profit?”
Science is knowledge. Seeing things like this is good. It’s informative. It excites children about science! (I really wish it wouldn’t, though. I wanted to scream “This is not interesting! Do not make a career of this unless you plan on getting an MD!”) It helps us understand our own bodies. It’s valuable.
If it was free, then I’d be fine with it.
What I am not fine with is charging $25 per person to see the bodies and organs of people who didn’t necessarily want their bodies to be on display. I don’t think people should profit from this. Unless, of course, the proceeds go to homeless shelters or research funds or something. Maybe this is the case.
When we entered the building, I was suddenly overcome with trepidation and didn’t want to go in. “I don’t know if I want to see this,” I said. I am currently reading a book called Stiff which, while being amazing and an addictive and informative read, has me constantly contemplating mortality and what happens to bodies when they cease living. The book is about what happens to bodies when they die, and, more overwhelmingly, what happens to cadavers that are donated to or stolen for science. It’s interesting and I love it, but I can’t shake the occasional and morbid unwelcome image of a loved one’s body being used as a crash test dummy.
We paid the steep admission price and entered the exhibit.
My initial reaction: awesome! It really was awesome. The whole bodies were unsettling. It didn’t seem real. I had a better understanding of anatomy after seeing the exhibit. It was organized based on organ system, and therefore went from the psychologically and emotionally easiest to most difficult to handle. It started with the skeletal system – we’ve all seen this before. They had entire bodies displayed out in the open along with components displayed in cases. It then went to muscle and then to the nervous system. The muscles were weird – so meat-like. The nervous system, obviously, was my favorite. They had the whole nervous system in a case – still connected – the brain, spinal cord, and nerves sent from the spinal cord. Awesome!
It was then the circulatory system. The room was dark, and they’d used a dye to stain arteries red and veins blue, and then somehow removed the organs they supplied. Super cool. Then respiratory, digestive, excretory, reproductive, development, and a room at the end bringing everything together.
I didn’t really have a problem with things because I think it is human nature to distance yourself from death. I didn’t allow myself to consciously think “This is an actual person who lived and breathed and had a family.” Every so often I’d remember, and I would freak out and want to run away. Sometimes I’d be like “This is actually a real arm, not a model. Huh.”
The organs weren’t as disturbing – they obviously weren’t as personal. But the limbs… and the brains… and the whole bodies…
A few observations:
1. As stated above, muscles look like meat. I don’t imagine anyone ate meat after going to that exhibit.
2. The bladder – SMALL. So very tiny. Smaller than a rubber balloon deflated.
3. The uterus – WICKED SMALL. I had no idea. And the ovaries were so little!
4. Testicles – also wicked small.
5. Second grossest thing I have ever seen in my life = penile cancer.
6. GROSSEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE = teratoma of ovarian tissue (I think –I can’t even remember what it was supposed to be, I just know it was in the reproduction room) that had freaking HAIR AND TEETH GROWING IN IT. I thought I was going to vomit. If I am ever diagnosed with a teratoma I think that I will instantly go mad and have to be committed. I can’t bear the thought of teeth growing in my uterus. Oh my god. The horror, the horror. I imagine, though, that doctors don’t tell people this because I bet anyone would be taken completely insane by such knowledge.
By the time I was through the reproductive room, I had mixed feelings. I was trying my hardest not to obsess about the realness of the bodies. “Stop thinking about them as people… stop thinking about them as people…” I thought it was scientifically cool, but mostly unnecessary. There was no reason these bodies couldn’t be models. Why not dissect a human and then make a cast? People wouldn’t pay $25 to see casts of dead people. The realness (and shock) is what draws them in.
I was also having minor agita in the reproductive room because my biological clock was ticking loudly. There were these phrases on the walls throughout the exhibit, and in the reproductive room there was a statistic written about how a male’s fertility starts going down after age 35. Tick, tick, tick… D said “Did you read that thing about a male’s fertility?” I said nothing. “Good thing I’m not 35!” “You know, a woman’s fertility goes down too, even more than a man’s… it’s good to have your first by 35, because if you don’t, it gets harder and harder to conceive.” He laughed.
“IT’S NOT FUNNY!!”
The whole exhibit made me very serious.
The development room was after the reproductive room, and there was sign that said something to the effect of “You may not want to go into this room” for various reasons.
“Whatever,” I thought. “I’ve made it this far, I’ll go in there. How bad could it be?”
It was awful. Real, dead babies. Preserved. Not just embryos, which is sad enough. But near-term babies, preserved in the skin. They didn’t really look like real babies. I’d probably have fainted if they had. (There was, however, one cool portion where they’d stained developing fetuses with some dye that binds to calcium to demonstrate bone growth throughout development.)
So this? Not necessary. It didn’t have to be real babies. Nobody would know! Maybe they weren’t real babies. They didn’t look like real babies, but they claimed that everything in the exhibit was real.
I experienced major agita. Near tears, I blazed through the final room, uninterested and experiencing great animosity for the exhibit. I lingered a bit at the information desk where a woman, at whom I cast many a mean glance, answered questions and told exhibit-goers about the fixation process.
Someone asked where the bodies came from. She answered that they were all from China and that most of them were bodies donated to science or bodies with no known next of kin. Someone inquired as to the Chinese prisoner origin of the bodies. She danced around the issue and explained why that wouldn’t be likely without actually saying that it was not the case. When asked about the fetuses, she explained that they were either miscarried and donated by mothers or that they were found in dead bodies.
Dear god.
There is no way a mother would knowingly consent to having her child’s dead body on display in a $25 exhibit. No freaking way.
I can’t help but wonder if these mothers donated their babies to science, hoping to help someone else down the line through research.
Yes, you can argue that having these babies on display does help someone down the line. Knowledge! Prevention! Etc.!
But it’s still greatly disturbing, and I don’t imagine a doctor said “Can we please have your baby so that we can fix it and display it in a case for people around the world to see?”
I wish I hadn’t gone. My stomach was upset for the rest of the day, and every time I see and ad for the exhibit I feel ill. I think it just went a little too far, otherwise it would have been cool. I understand the need to be comprehensive, and its just an issue with which I have personal problems. If you get the opportunity to see it, you should go. Most people love it. D loved it, and the people in the exhibit (and others I know who have seen it) were enthralled.
The end.
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