Date: August-ish, 2006
Genre: Musical theater, as if there's anything else these days!
Description:
Readers of My Mundane Life In Song may remember the infamous Sandwich Swap, which was not attended by yours truly due to some skepticism/cynicism on the part of visitors I had the weekend on which it took place. The entry sparked a debate regarding whether the sandwich swap was a sketchy endeavor or not.
Because I still assert that the sandwich swap would have appealed to and therefore only have been attended by nice New Yorkers and not the evil ones, I wrote a song about how there are far worse things in the world than strangers making you sandwiches.
I started writing this at a time when I was watching a lot of musicals, so its straight out of the musical of my life (My Mundane Life In Song in full effect!), complete with chorus girls who are convinced to change their minds by the end of the song.
I also used the new keyboard and am getting used to the sounds, so I didn't make all the right choices but dear god I've been sitting on this song since August and its about time I posted it. I wrote it one day in August, recorded piano and vocals the following day, and then added strings and other weird songs last night during a burst of alone-induced-productivity. And I'm not working on it ever again, because I love this song enough to make it perfect, which will never happen. There is not time.
So... enjoy!
Lyrics:
I hate everyone
And I don't trust anyone
In the city, they're all out to get me
Any New Yorker in a car would run you over in the crosswalk
Even when the little blinking guy is telling you it's safe to walk across
Still I trust strangers bearing sandwiches
Try as hard as you might to convince me otherwise
That someone who respects the awesomest lunch food known to man
Could have evil motives
Not a sandwich lover!
Any waiter you tip could be spitting on your potatoes
And even Mr. Softee could be lying about the cost of your ice cream cone
Still I trust strangers bearing sandwiches
(She trusts strangers)
Try as hard as you might to convince me otherwise
(She can't be convinced)
That someone who respects the best thing that ever happened to bread
Could be capable of evil
(They're evil)
Nobody who knows about the sandwich swap in Park Slope is the type of person who would pee on lettuce
Hipsters prefer irony to the vulgar
The only risk I see is that nobody will trade their sandwich with me
Cuz I never liked Bloc Party
(Overrated)
Every time you use your credit card identity theft might not be far off
And when you're on the subway people won't hesitate to run down the pregnant lady to steal her seat
Wallets are stolen
The cabbies drive too fast
People are groped
And the dry cleaner's a bastard
The airlines are assholes
This whole country is fucked
I saw a crazy man taking a dump on my street
Everything's scary
And really messed up
So I'll take my chances, I'll press my luck
With a sandwich
A nice stranger's making me a sandwich
Don't fear the sandwich
Don't fear a sandwich
I trust strangers bearing sandwiches
(We trust strangers)
Try as hard as you might to convince us otherwise
That someone who respects the awesomest lunch food known to man could have evil motives
No, not a sandwich lover!
Trust strangers bearing sandwiches
Trust strangers bearing sandwiches
Trust strangers bearing sandwiches
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Friday, October 27, 2006
On Track
The last couple of weeks have been catch up weeks - catching up on household projects, getting organized, making lists of projects that need to be done, phone calls that must be returned, etc.
The last couple of weeks have also been heinous at work. Too much work, too much stress surrounding the work, but acceptable because the result was a thumbs up (thumbs up!) from the big guy, a handshake from The Boss, and a weird insult/compliment to the effect of "This is an instance of where your being so anal has really helped us... nobody else at this entire company could have done as good a job." Right.
The last couple of weeks have also been social. I'm settling back into my old life, and it makes me feel like I don't want to leave. There's so much to do, so much to see, so many conversations to have.
This week was busy. I spent Monday night staring catatonically at the TV. D said "You must be really bored." "Au contraire..." I said. "There are a million things I could be doing right now, but note! I am choosing to sit here and watch Friends reruns. Do not judge me!"
I was a bit fried from the weekend. I didn't do much, but I emerged from the weekend emotionally drained. I stayed in on Friday night. I finally returned JQ's phone call and waited for half an hour before I dropped the bomb and killed the conversation. D and I tried a new recipe that was an abysmal failure. Mid-recipe Father called (I didn't know what to do - why was he calling? was I happy he was calling? was I mortified?), and my heart was torn to shreds and then reassembled by my assertiveness. We tried to watch Godfather 3 to get my mind off of things, but the movie just sucks. Hard. Sophia Coppola = gross. We started watching The Happiness of the Katakuri's (a Japanese murder-mystery-musical) and fell asleep in the middle of it.
We woke up early to see Marie Antionette, which I was being dragged to as a dutiful girlfriend. For some reason incomprehensible to me, D has a crush on Kirsten Dunst. Kirsten Dunst = also gross. The movie = also gross! Oh my. One of the worst I've ever seen, and not even because of Kirsten Dunst. The only good thing about it was Steve Coogan, who I heart. D even hated it, and he loves everything. He was mortified by the wastefulness. It was a very anti-Sophia weekend.
We met up with Brother and BB at Penn Station, and headed downtown to a gallery. We went to more galleries. We shopped. We ate pizza and then more pizza with marshmallows and chocolate on it. We shopped. D and Brother enabled me to buy Fluevogs. We spent yet another weekend evening in and watched Lady Vengeance and then finished watching The Happiness of the Katakuri's, which turned out to be one of the best movies of all time.
We woke up early on Sunday morning to see the matinee of The Prestige, which was amazing. You must all run out and see it immediately! This minute! Oh! It was a life-changing movie. And OH, Christian Bale! Oh my. Really. Even with a fake beard. And Hugh Jackman can act. I'm getting all excited just thinking about the movie. The rest of the day was spent playing with the new external hard drive and burning CDs and backing up songs and cleaning and talking to NL finally and talking to Mother for hours during which I was honest and protecting and somehow managed to feel functional afterwards. We didn't watch TV and read instead.
Monday was the vegetating and then D, after I'd brushed my teeth and emerged to say goodnight to him, saying "Hey - should we talk about the vacation now?" "Ok?" and then talking and no progress and then D putting the laptop on me saying "Let's look some things up..." and then walking away and me saying "Can I please go to sleep?" an hour later and him being annoyed and all "You have to ask me to go to sleep?" and I said "No, I mean 'do you mind if I stop doing this?'" and my going to sleep way later than I'd meant to.
Tuesday was booking the trip! A resort in Cancun! No planning involved! A deal on the internet! A jacuzzi in the room! Yes! Of course now I have to shop for bathing suits. The Alaska plan was much better in that I own many many articles of clothing that obscure my body. But who cares? Cancun! WOO!!!!
We were late meeting MY at Grimaldi's for pizza because of the planning. We met there prior to checking out the hipster Hell House in DUMBO. For those of you who don't know, Hell Houses are these weird "haunted houses" set up by Evangelical Christians to freak kids out and to hopefully make them more religious. So rather than ghosts and zombies, there are scenes of abortions and suicides and gay weddings. I didn't know how I'd feel - I felt a little guilty, actually. I could go on and on about this for hours. It was an interesting experience, and I'll blog about it later. We went out for drinks afterwards at Superfine, which is awesome because it had giant (I mean GIANT) spiders all over the walls for Halloween.
I had lunch in the East Village with PW on Wednesday. I found the jackpot block for vegetarian dining as PW was a bit late. Sweet! Whole wheat goat cheese ravioli in a sage cream sauce with pieces of butternut squash. Deliciously fall. We caught up and squealed about work crushes and vented about families. I was having one of those nights where I was super excited about seeing D, and therefore nearly ran home. We had an actual conversation and then began watching American Dreamz, which turned out to be strangely entertaining.
I worked too late last night and was late meeting friends for falafel, so we ended up having amazing Thai instead in between. Afterwards we went to TM's show which wasn't as bad as he'd threatened, and D and I finished watching American Dreamz which was actually quite entertaining, mainly due to Willem Dafoe's portrayal of the Dick Cheney-esque character.
Tonight I am going to go home. And do nothing! No, not true. I am not capable of doing nothing! I am going to go to CVS, and then to the Amish market, and then home where I will do laundry (it is an emergency) and sweep and dust and watch a DVD and hopefully work on a song that's been lingering for over two months. I will finish it this weekend. I will also do one photography project that I've been procrastinating and will hopefully start the second one. I will also watch Babel with ER and hopefully dine with SK and MF. And hopefully I'll get to see NR for a bit, because she is emo and I am worried, because it is NYC and we all have those sorts of moods, especially when things are preventing us from enjoying the city. D is away this weekend, so I will spread out in the bed and get tons of sleep and not forget Daylight Savings and be absurdly productive and listen to classical music and make phone calls and be self-absorbed and exit the weekend feeling good about myself. I will be rejuvenated! I will be prepared for Halloween next week and 3D Nightmare Before Christmas.
Yes.
And now... CVS. Yay paper towels!
The last couple of weeks have also been heinous at work. Too much work, too much stress surrounding the work, but acceptable because the result was a thumbs up (thumbs up!) from the big guy, a handshake from The Boss, and a weird insult/compliment to the effect of "This is an instance of where your being so anal has really helped us... nobody else at this entire company could have done as good a job." Right.
The last couple of weeks have also been social. I'm settling back into my old life, and it makes me feel like I don't want to leave. There's so much to do, so much to see, so many conversations to have.
This week was busy. I spent Monday night staring catatonically at the TV. D said "You must be really bored." "Au contraire..." I said. "There are a million things I could be doing right now, but note! I am choosing to sit here and watch Friends reruns. Do not judge me!"
I was a bit fried from the weekend. I didn't do much, but I emerged from the weekend emotionally drained. I stayed in on Friday night. I finally returned JQ's phone call and waited for half an hour before I dropped the bomb and killed the conversation. D and I tried a new recipe that was an abysmal failure. Mid-recipe Father called (I didn't know what to do - why was he calling? was I happy he was calling? was I mortified?), and my heart was torn to shreds and then reassembled by my assertiveness. We tried to watch Godfather 3 to get my mind off of things, but the movie just sucks. Hard. Sophia Coppola = gross. We started watching The Happiness of the Katakuri's (a Japanese murder-mystery-musical) and fell asleep in the middle of it.
We woke up early to see Marie Antionette, which I was being dragged to as a dutiful girlfriend. For some reason incomprehensible to me, D has a crush on Kirsten Dunst. Kirsten Dunst = also gross. The movie = also gross! Oh my. One of the worst I've ever seen, and not even because of Kirsten Dunst. The only good thing about it was Steve Coogan, who I heart. D even hated it, and he loves everything. He was mortified by the wastefulness. It was a very anti-Sophia weekend.
We met up with Brother and BB at Penn Station, and headed downtown to a gallery. We went to more galleries. We shopped. We ate pizza and then more pizza with marshmallows and chocolate on it. We shopped. D and Brother enabled me to buy Fluevogs. We spent yet another weekend evening in and watched Lady Vengeance and then finished watching The Happiness of the Katakuri's, which turned out to be one of the best movies of all time.
We woke up early on Sunday morning to see the matinee of The Prestige, which was amazing. You must all run out and see it immediately! This minute! Oh! It was a life-changing movie. And OH, Christian Bale! Oh my. Really. Even with a fake beard. And Hugh Jackman can act. I'm getting all excited just thinking about the movie. The rest of the day was spent playing with the new external hard drive and burning CDs and backing up songs and cleaning and talking to NL finally and talking to Mother for hours during which I was honest and protecting and somehow managed to feel functional afterwards. We didn't watch TV and read instead.
Monday was the vegetating and then D, after I'd brushed my teeth and emerged to say goodnight to him, saying "Hey - should we talk about the vacation now?" "Ok?" and then talking and no progress and then D putting the laptop on me saying "Let's look some things up..." and then walking away and me saying "Can I please go to sleep?" an hour later and him being annoyed and all "You have to ask me to go to sleep?" and I said "No, I mean 'do you mind if I stop doing this?'" and my going to sleep way later than I'd meant to.
Tuesday was booking the trip! A resort in Cancun! No planning involved! A deal on the internet! A jacuzzi in the room! Yes! Of course now I have to shop for bathing suits. The Alaska plan was much better in that I own many many articles of clothing that obscure my body. But who cares? Cancun! WOO!!!!
We were late meeting MY at Grimaldi's for pizza because of the planning. We met there prior to checking out the hipster Hell House in DUMBO. For those of you who don't know, Hell Houses are these weird "haunted houses" set up by Evangelical Christians to freak kids out and to hopefully make them more religious. So rather than ghosts and zombies, there are scenes of abortions and suicides and gay weddings. I didn't know how I'd feel - I felt a little guilty, actually. I could go on and on about this for hours. It was an interesting experience, and I'll blog about it later. We went out for drinks afterwards at Superfine, which is awesome because it had giant (I mean GIANT) spiders all over the walls for Halloween.
I had lunch in the East Village with PW on Wednesday. I found the jackpot block for vegetarian dining as PW was a bit late. Sweet! Whole wheat goat cheese ravioli in a sage cream sauce with pieces of butternut squash. Deliciously fall. We caught up and squealed about work crushes and vented about families. I was having one of those nights where I was super excited about seeing D, and therefore nearly ran home. We had an actual conversation and then began watching American Dreamz, which turned out to be strangely entertaining.
I worked too late last night and was late meeting friends for falafel, so we ended up having amazing Thai instead in between. Afterwards we went to TM's show which wasn't as bad as he'd threatened, and D and I finished watching American Dreamz which was actually quite entertaining, mainly due to Willem Dafoe's portrayal of the Dick Cheney-esque character.
Tonight I am going to go home. And do nothing! No, not true. I am not capable of doing nothing! I am going to go to CVS, and then to the Amish market, and then home where I will do laundry (it is an emergency) and sweep and dust and watch a DVD and hopefully work on a song that's been lingering for over two months. I will finish it this weekend. I will also do one photography project that I've been procrastinating and will hopefully start the second one. I will also watch Babel with ER and hopefully dine with SK and MF. And hopefully I'll get to see NR for a bit, because she is emo and I am worried, because it is NYC and we all have those sorts of moods, especially when things are preventing us from enjoying the city. D is away this weekend, so I will spread out in the bed and get tons of sleep and not forget Daylight Savings and be absurdly productive and listen to classical music and make phone calls and be self-absorbed and exit the weekend feeling good about myself. I will be rejuvenated! I will be prepared for Halloween next week and 3D Nightmare Before Christmas.
Yes.
And now... CVS. Yay paper towels!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Boys Are Insane
One of my very best friends just had her first baby!
Needless to say I am overjoyed, bouncing off the walls with excitement, wanting to know all of the details.
I whispered to D "M had the baby!"
"Oh!" he said.
And then he started talking to someone else.
Boys are insane.
I guess men just don't care about gender or names or sizes.
I'll let you know if he ever asks.
Needless to say I am overjoyed, bouncing off the walls with excitement, wanting to know all of the details.
I whispered to D "M had the baby!"
"Oh!" he said.
And then he started talking to someone else.
Boys are insane.
I guess men just don't care about gender or names or sizes.
I'll let you know if he ever asks.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
How Much Do You Want For This?
How am I supposed to know?
I braved the downpour last night to display a fraction of my childhood possessions to some judges at a vintage toy store.
Guy 1, behind the counter, was encouraging and enthusiastic.
Guy 2 - not all there, in a clinical sense, but very Star Wars enthusiastic.
Guy 3 was the messenger, the man designated to go through my nostalgia and determine what is and is not worth the time of The Owner.
He took out a tray, cleaned it off, and said "Now I will go through your stuff."
While this was happening, Guy 1 said "What do you want for those?" I ended up selling the stained tauntaun, discolored white abominable snowman guy who slays the tauntaun, and the big green lizard thing from Star Wars that appears for like two seconds in the film to him for a total of $15. I was thrilled, as he was buying them for his 5 year old son who, for some wonderful reason, adores the old toys. My heart was warmed.
Meanwhile Guy 3 picked through my toys, separating them on a basis unbeknownst to me.
"How much do you want for these?"
"I don't know... how much should I want?"
"I can't tell you. You tell me how much you want and then I tell you whether or not we can do it."
Dear god. How am I supposed to know? $1 a figure? $2? More for the pins? What about the Micro Machines playsets?
I had no idea. What's best in a situation like this? Lowball so its a sure sell or highball on the off chance that they'll give you a ridiculous amount of money?
No. Clue.
While I considered my options, they kept saying "Do you really want to sell these?" "Why are you selling these?" "Isn't it killing you to get rid of these?" "I have no choice!" I kept saying. I have no choice. Choice with regard to certain matters in my life has been removed. Thank you, Parents, for making things even more difficult than they need to be.
I deliberated. I agonized, trying to put a price on my childhood. I looked at the infinite collection of vintage toys they were selling, trying to get an idea of what the mark up would be, what things were worth.
"These are GI Joe guns," said Guy 3, judgmental.
I made something up. I was firm.
He said "So you want $101 for all of this?"
"Uh... yeah, I guess."
Right. I wanted $101. That's what my Star Wars collection was worth. "Hey, let's just say $100," I said, sarcastically generous.
He said "There's no way he'll give you that. Look, we don't want these (he separated out figures that they had many of and that were missing capes and weapons and helmets)... that will bring it down to $89. How about that?" I nodded.
He excused himself to call The Owner. I heard him saying things like "She Ra's but the hair isn't as mint as the ones that came in last week... The Garbage Pail Kids might be first edition... the pins are in perfect condition... Jabba... complete Vader... no helmets..."
In the meantime, Guy 1 bought a Micro Machines C-3PO/Cantina playset and the Max Rebo Band for $10. Guy 2 bought a Micro Machines R2-D2/Jabba's Palace playset and a commemorative coin.
Guy 3 returned and said "He'll give you $40 for all of it or $20 for Jabba and the Ewoks."
No!
Again I deliberated, in agony. $40 for everything? For 40 action figures and 8 She Ra's and 7 pins and the coins and the loose Micro Machines and the Micro Machines and the Garbage Pail Kids?
I kept asking them what they thought I should do.
They kept saying "We really can't tell you."
I was tempted. $40 to just be finished. $40 to not have to deal with Ebay, at least for these toys. $40 to a store that would turn around and sell them for triple that, at least.
I couldn't decide. I went back and forth.
I decided to take the $20 and just take everything back home with me, where it will sit for eternity not being sold on Ebay.
Guy 3 said "I think you made the right decision. Now. How much can I buy a She Ra for?"
Sweet.
I braved the downpour last night to display a fraction of my childhood possessions to some judges at a vintage toy store.
Guy 1, behind the counter, was encouraging and enthusiastic.
Guy 2 - not all there, in a clinical sense, but very Star Wars enthusiastic.
Guy 3 was the messenger, the man designated to go through my nostalgia and determine what is and is not worth the time of The Owner.
He took out a tray, cleaned it off, and said "Now I will go through your stuff."
While this was happening, Guy 1 said "What do you want for those?" I ended up selling the stained tauntaun, discolored white abominable snowman guy who slays the tauntaun, and the big green lizard thing from Star Wars that appears for like two seconds in the film to him for a total of $15. I was thrilled, as he was buying them for his 5 year old son who, for some wonderful reason, adores the old toys. My heart was warmed.
Meanwhile Guy 3 picked through my toys, separating them on a basis unbeknownst to me.
"How much do you want for these?"
"I don't know... how much should I want?"
"I can't tell you. You tell me how much you want and then I tell you whether or not we can do it."
Dear god. How am I supposed to know? $1 a figure? $2? More for the pins? What about the Micro Machines playsets?
I had no idea. What's best in a situation like this? Lowball so its a sure sell or highball on the off chance that they'll give you a ridiculous amount of money?
No. Clue.
While I considered my options, they kept saying "Do you really want to sell these?" "Why are you selling these?" "Isn't it killing you to get rid of these?" "I have no choice!" I kept saying. I have no choice. Choice with regard to certain matters in my life has been removed. Thank you, Parents, for making things even more difficult than they need to be.
I deliberated. I agonized, trying to put a price on my childhood. I looked at the infinite collection of vintage toys they were selling, trying to get an idea of what the mark up would be, what things were worth.
"These are GI Joe guns," said Guy 3, judgmental.
I made something up. I was firm.
He said "So you want $101 for all of this?"
"Uh... yeah, I guess."
Right. I wanted $101. That's what my Star Wars collection was worth. "Hey, let's just say $100," I said, sarcastically generous.
He said "There's no way he'll give you that. Look, we don't want these (he separated out figures that they had many of and that were missing capes and weapons and helmets)... that will bring it down to $89. How about that?" I nodded.
He excused himself to call The Owner. I heard him saying things like "She Ra's but the hair isn't as mint as the ones that came in last week... The Garbage Pail Kids might be first edition... the pins are in perfect condition... Jabba... complete Vader... no helmets..."
In the meantime, Guy 1 bought a Micro Machines C-3PO/Cantina playset and the Max Rebo Band for $10. Guy 2 bought a Micro Machines R2-D2/Jabba's Palace playset and a commemorative coin.
Guy 3 returned and said "He'll give you $40 for all of it or $20 for Jabba and the Ewoks."
No!
Again I deliberated, in agony. $40 for everything? For 40 action figures and 8 She Ra's and 7 pins and the coins and the loose Micro Machines and the Micro Machines and the Garbage Pail Kids?
I kept asking them what they thought I should do.
They kept saying "We really can't tell you."
I was tempted. $40 to just be finished. $40 to not have to deal with Ebay, at least for these toys. $40 to a store that would turn around and sell them for triple that, at least.
I couldn't decide. I went back and forth.
I decided to take the $20 and just take everything back home with me, where it will sit for eternity not being sold on Ebay.
Guy 3 said "I think you made the right decision. Now. How much can I buy a She Ra for?"
Sweet.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Normal Blogging Resumes...
... for the time being.
I've been trying to be very dismissive of work at work, to "work" in the way that everyone else "works," which is not to drive themselves mad. It worked for a few days, and I thought (hoped!) that it would continue through this week. I planned a light week, with little stress, full of errands and side projects but alas! No! Of course not! A meeting at 4:45! More work discussed! For tomorrow! Or else!
I am supposed to be working now but my brain hurts. Oh how it hurts. I can't wait for the call from MF for dinner, which for me will be more liquid than solid.
Nevertheless...
I am feeling more sane these days. Last weekend was revelatory. I harnessed anger instead of sadness and felt mostly functional by the middle of last week. I know these things take time, but I am impatient by nature and also far too self aware. I put pressure on myself to solve my own problems quickly, but I think something like this takes a long time to process and I have to allow myself to do that in whatever way possible. I have to do whatever it takes, and if anger is what it takes, then so be it.
Hence was I functional enough to go out every night last week (thank you, rage, for making me not want to be sedentary), even though my cold was raging and I needed sleep and also more sleep.
I had diner food with PW on Tuesday night. I asked for asparagus in the scrambled eggs and they somehow managed to strip the asparagus of all its wonderful asparagine (heh) properties. I didn't mind, though, as the conversation rendered the cuisine unimportant.
On Wednesday I met D's friend A from Arizona, and her crazy friend D from NYC whose apartment has bed bugs. I loved them both, and cringed only when A said "So I've heard nothing about you so tell me about you!!" which isn't her fault, but oh. How can anyone be dating someone for two years and tell good friends nothing? She said "Well, I've heard that one thing," she said and glanced slyly at D. What? What one thing? How am I not supposed to ask "What one thing?" I am a girl and must know such things! Did she hear the thing about how I was annoyed that he ignored my emails? Does she think I'm insane? Is she angry with me for wanting D to tell me about his days? I repressed all girl-like tendencies and somehow managed not to ask. I wanted to counter with "Well, I've heard nothing about you either," again incriminating D who hadn't mentioned her before and then said "You have to meet my friend A! She's such a good friend!" I had originally deemed her visit unimportant since he'd never mentioned her, but then thought better of it and realized that I can't tell who is and is not important to D since he doesn't ever talk about the people in his life. I was glad that I decided to do the right thing and meet her despite my being sick because she rocks. Hard.
On Thursday CJ arrived with flowers in hand. I haven't seen him since I moved to NYC as he'd been banned from the country until recently. I told him everything, got over it quickly and we went to the roof where we talked relationships and NYC. We ate, drank, returned to the apartment, played with Star Wars figures, and went to bed. Early. Because I was still sick. Sick (drunk?) enough to incorrectly inflate the air mattress which of course deflated and left CJ's elbow on the hard wood floor. Me = worst hostess ever. Well, worst drunken/deliriously ill hostess ever.
Friday was my first ever massage, a gift from D! Yes! I nearly cried when he told me about it. He told me on Tuesday and I was counting down all week. I realized during the massage that I am incapable of relaxing my body and mind. My body felt tense. I had to concentrate on being relaxed. I had to concentrate on not thinking. I had to concentrate on not hearing the sounds of the city outside. I found myself thinking about trees covered in snow. About half an hour through it I was jelly, and was mortified when my hour was up. Euphoric, I called NR and couldn't muster up the energy to plan a location for dinner, so we decided to cancel. I walked the 30 blocks home in the cold because my senses were alive, my stress was low, and I didn't want to ruin my calm state by dealing with the subway.
At home I had a lame dinner, and started to watch Road to Perdition with D but we both fell asleep by 10:15. Bliss. We are lame, and do we care? No! Because we no longer have to impress anyone.
On Saturday morning D and I decided to deconstruct our entire apartment in order to Get Rid of Stuff. Everyone is constantly telling us that we have no stuff, but we are both bothered by how much stuff we have. I think what inspired us most was The Parents' having kept everything for 30 years. Not that we have accumulated much, but there's always room for improvement. I threw away VHS tapes (yes, I did it!) and my Jem wig. We shuffled drawers around and re-organized the closets. Mid-process I left to have lunch with SK, who I haven't seen in way too long. We caught up and were girlie and happy and making lavish plans for our New York selves. Back at the apartment I threw away old bills and MA tax booklets from 1999. I began photographing all the nostalgia I want to get rid of and was surprised when CJ popped in. I was even more surprised when he gave me $60 for four Star Wars commemorative plates. Yes! I took more photos and did more reorganizing when D returned. I even convinced D to utilize the vast space beneath our bed for storage purposes. We tried to finish Road to Perdition but the DVD was scratched. I posted items on Craigslist and some collector websites, read Wired and was asleep by midnight. That's two weekend nights in, folks.
Yesterday I woke up early and took more photos of things to sell. I posted more ads. I scrambled eggs with shallots and felt healthier. D and I headed to the East Village, where we searched for Halloween costumes and met up with NR. I had a fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich for a snack. The three of us then met up with MY and saw The Departed, which was doubly awesome because (a) it was a really good movie (more Tarantino than Scorsese, if you ask me) and (b) Frank Mallicoat was in it. FRANK MALLICOAT from the evening news in Boston! I love Leo. I admit it. It's taken me many years to admit but I admit it. He's a good actor. And hot. He can't not be. He does not age. He's brilliant always. Matt Damon was the ultimate weasle. Run out. See it. UMass represents in it. As does the Dedham Mall. And Somerville! We went out for dinner and rehashed what confused us about the movie. Back at the apartment, I finished up my photography project (goals for the weekend exceeded - all that remains now are the books! woop!), and was asleep, again, by 11:00.
It was the perfect weekend. Relaxed yet ridiculously productive, solitary at times but also social, movie watched, Halloween costume thought of and portion of Halloween costume acquired, emotions mostly ignored (other than anger and how dare they keep calling me about these things?), new project conceived. The only downside was that I still haven't returned phone calls to NL or JQ, and I want to call AS and RR but there is no time and the time difference makes it even more difficult. But I will... I feel things calming down, I feel myself calming down. I am digging the calm to the extent that I declared "I don't think we should go to the Galapagos and Machu Pichu and Easter Island... while that would be the best thing ever, I think it might be a little nuts for us to try to do three different trips in two weeks... many flights... possible stress... what about going to a spa resort instead?" Massages every day! Jacuzzi in the room! Possibly wilderness or ocean outside our door! I think relaxing is in order, and I am nearly certain D will consent.
Heh. Me at a spa. Hilarious, but I think it is the right thing for right now.
Until the next time that I have a spare moment at work....
I've been trying to be very dismissive of work at work, to "work" in the way that everyone else "works," which is not to drive themselves mad. It worked for a few days, and I thought (hoped!) that it would continue through this week. I planned a light week, with little stress, full of errands and side projects but alas! No! Of course not! A meeting at 4:45! More work discussed! For tomorrow! Or else!
I am supposed to be working now but my brain hurts. Oh how it hurts. I can't wait for the call from MF for dinner, which for me will be more liquid than solid.
Nevertheless...
I am feeling more sane these days. Last weekend was revelatory. I harnessed anger instead of sadness and felt mostly functional by the middle of last week. I know these things take time, but I am impatient by nature and also far too self aware. I put pressure on myself to solve my own problems quickly, but I think something like this takes a long time to process and I have to allow myself to do that in whatever way possible. I have to do whatever it takes, and if anger is what it takes, then so be it.
Hence was I functional enough to go out every night last week (thank you, rage, for making me not want to be sedentary), even though my cold was raging and I needed sleep and also more sleep.
I had diner food with PW on Tuesday night. I asked for asparagus in the scrambled eggs and they somehow managed to strip the asparagus of all its wonderful asparagine (heh) properties. I didn't mind, though, as the conversation rendered the cuisine unimportant.
On Wednesday I met D's friend A from Arizona, and her crazy friend D from NYC whose apartment has bed bugs. I loved them both, and cringed only when A said "So I've heard nothing about you so tell me about you!!" which isn't her fault, but oh. How can anyone be dating someone for two years and tell good friends nothing? She said "Well, I've heard that one thing," she said and glanced slyly at D. What? What one thing? How am I not supposed to ask "What one thing?" I am a girl and must know such things! Did she hear the thing about how I was annoyed that he ignored my emails? Does she think I'm insane? Is she angry with me for wanting D to tell me about his days? I repressed all girl-like tendencies and somehow managed not to ask. I wanted to counter with "Well, I've heard nothing about you either," again incriminating D who hadn't mentioned her before and then said "You have to meet my friend A! She's such a good friend!" I had originally deemed her visit unimportant since he'd never mentioned her, but then thought better of it and realized that I can't tell who is and is not important to D since he doesn't ever talk about the people in his life. I was glad that I decided to do the right thing and meet her despite my being sick because she rocks. Hard.
On Thursday CJ arrived with flowers in hand. I haven't seen him since I moved to NYC as he'd been banned from the country until recently. I told him everything, got over it quickly and we went to the roof where we talked relationships and NYC. We ate, drank, returned to the apartment, played with Star Wars figures, and went to bed. Early. Because I was still sick. Sick (drunk?) enough to incorrectly inflate the air mattress which of course deflated and left CJ's elbow on the hard wood floor. Me = worst hostess ever. Well, worst drunken/deliriously ill hostess ever.
Friday was my first ever massage, a gift from D! Yes! I nearly cried when he told me about it. He told me on Tuesday and I was counting down all week. I realized during the massage that I am incapable of relaxing my body and mind. My body felt tense. I had to concentrate on being relaxed. I had to concentrate on not thinking. I had to concentrate on not hearing the sounds of the city outside. I found myself thinking about trees covered in snow. About half an hour through it I was jelly, and was mortified when my hour was up. Euphoric, I called NR and couldn't muster up the energy to plan a location for dinner, so we decided to cancel. I walked the 30 blocks home in the cold because my senses were alive, my stress was low, and I didn't want to ruin my calm state by dealing with the subway.
At home I had a lame dinner, and started to watch Road to Perdition with D but we both fell asleep by 10:15. Bliss. We are lame, and do we care? No! Because we no longer have to impress anyone.
On Saturday morning D and I decided to deconstruct our entire apartment in order to Get Rid of Stuff. Everyone is constantly telling us that we have no stuff, but we are both bothered by how much stuff we have. I think what inspired us most was The Parents' having kept everything for 30 years. Not that we have accumulated much, but there's always room for improvement. I threw away VHS tapes (yes, I did it!) and my Jem wig. We shuffled drawers around and re-organized the closets. Mid-process I left to have lunch with SK, who I haven't seen in way too long. We caught up and were girlie and happy and making lavish plans for our New York selves. Back at the apartment I threw away old bills and MA tax booklets from 1999. I began photographing all the nostalgia I want to get rid of and was surprised when CJ popped in. I was even more surprised when he gave me $60 for four Star Wars commemorative plates. Yes! I took more photos and did more reorganizing when D returned. I even convinced D to utilize the vast space beneath our bed for storage purposes. We tried to finish Road to Perdition but the DVD was scratched. I posted items on Craigslist and some collector websites, read Wired and was asleep by midnight. That's two weekend nights in, folks.
Yesterday I woke up early and took more photos of things to sell. I posted more ads. I scrambled eggs with shallots and felt healthier. D and I headed to the East Village, where we searched for Halloween costumes and met up with NR. I had a fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich for a snack. The three of us then met up with MY and saw The Departed, which was doubly awesome because (a) it was a really good movie (more Tarantino than Scorsese, if you ask me) and (b) Frank Mallicoat was in it. FRANK MALLICOAT from the evening news in Boston! I love Leo. I admit it. It's taken me many years to admit but I admit it. He's a good actor. And hot. He can't not be. He does not age. He's brilliant always. Matt Damon was the ultimate weasle. Run out. See it. UMass represents in it. As does the Dedham Mall. And Somerville! We went out for dinner and rehashed what confused us about the movie. Back at the apartment, I finished up my photography project (goals for the weekend exceeded - all that remains now are the books! woop!), and was asleep, again, by 11:00.
It was the perfect weekend. Relaxed yet ridiculously productive, solitary at times but also social, movie watched, Halloween costume thought of and portion of Halloween costume acquired, emotions mostly ignored (other than anger and how dare they keep calling me about these things?), new project conceived. The only downside was that I still haven't returned phone calls to NL or JQ, and I want to call AS and RR but there is no time and the time difference makes it even more difficult. But I will... I feel things calming down, I feel myself calming down. I am digging the calm to the extent that I declared "I don't think we should go to the Galapagos and Machu Pichu and Easter Island... while that would be the best thing ever, I think it might be a little nuts for us to try to do three different trips in two weeks... many flights... possible stress... what about going to a spa resort instead?" Massages every day! Jacuzzi in the room! Possibly wilderness or ocean outside our door! I think relaxing is in order, and I am nearly certain D will consent.
Heh. Me at a spa. Hilarious, but I think it is the right thing for right now.
Until the next time that I have a spare moment at work....
Thursday, October 12, 2006
And Now For the Things I Couldn't Part With...
My whole life fit in here.
Old records and books on records (Barbie! Strawberry Shortcake! Etc.!).
She-Ra, Princess of Power. I am going to try to sell these on Ebay.
Etch-a-Sketch and his brother Skedoodle. They both still work.
Pile o' Barbies for future art project. Woo hoo!
Oh man, I could not throw away the Sesame Street house. Never!!!!
These are a mere fraction of the salvaged My Little Ponies.
Nobody could ever throw these away.
Charmkins!!?!??!?! Yes!
Strawberry Shortcakes galore!!! And yes, they still smell good.
The Strawberry Shortcake shoes blissed and tripped me out.
And you can't forget the pets. Cutest. Things. Ever.
And then there are the miniature ones. Awesome.
Did anyone else play with Busy Bears? I was nuts about these. Most likely because they are small, and I am nuts about little things.
I was insane and collected (and personified) erasers. I did not throw them away.
Dear god, my charm necklace (color coordinated, of course)!
Care Bears. The stuffed ones did not fare so well in the attic.
Dolly Pops, old school.
These are not even all of the smurfs.
And finally, the sticker books.
That's all for now, but there's more where these came from. Stay tuned.
Old records and books on records (Barbie! Strawberry Shortcake! Etc.!).
She-Ra, Princess of Power. I am going to try to sell these on Ebay.
Etch-a-Sketch and his brother Skedoodle. They both still work.
Pile o' Barbies for future art project. Woo hoo!
Oh man, I could not throw away the Sesame Street house. Never!!!!
These are a mere fraction of the salvaged My Little Ponies.
Nobody could ever throw these away.
Charmkins!!?!??!?! Yes!
Strawberry Shortcakes galore!!! And yes, they still smell good.
The Strawberry Shortcake shoes blissed and tripped me out.
And you can't forget the pets. Cutest. Things. Ever.
And then there are the miniature ones. Awesome.
Did anyone else play with Busy Bears? I was nuts about these. Most likely because they are small, and I am nuts about little things.
I was insane and collected (and personified) erasers. I did not throw them away.
Dear god, my charm necklace (color coordinated, of course)!
Care Bears. The stuffed ones did not fare so well in the attic.
Dolly Pops, old school.
These are not even all of the smurfs.
And finally, the sticker books.
That's all for now, but there's more where these came from. Stay tuned.
Trashed Nostalgia
The My Little Pony stable didn't make the cut.
Scooter didn't survive time very well.
Stuffed fruit people - no idea what these are, who they belonged to, but I remember having mad affection for them. And where are they? At the dump!
Remnants of the "Berry Bake Shoppe," and a stray Jem doll that was in the house. I threw the rest of them out in the yard for dump transport.
The games? All gone!
We wanted to keep the Lite Brite but the cord was moldy. Devastation.
Good bye, Ewok Village.
Au revoir, Castle Grey Skull.
Oh how we loved this camping set. And now its gone!
Fisher Price cash register? Hours of fun.
Jem's guitar. Gone.
About 1/20 of what we tossed this past weekend. Please note Jem's apartment, en route to the dump.
My Little Pony Castle and Millennium Falcon being throw away together.
See you on the other side, Ouija Board.
No, not the Jem stage! I just can't take it.
I didn't start taking pictures until we were virtually finished going through things. There just wasn't time. This barely represents the things we parted with.
Scooter didn't survive time very well.
Stuffed fruit people - no idea what these are, who they belonged to, but I remember having mad affection for them. And where are they? At the dump!
Remnants of the "Berry Bake Shoppe," and a stray Jem doll that was in the house. I threw the rest of them out in the yard for dump transport.
The games? All gone!
We wanted to keep the Lite Brite but the cord was moldy. Devastation.
Good bye, Ewok Village.
Au revoir, Castle Grey Skull.
Oh how we loved this camping set. And now its gone!
Fisher Price cash register? Hours of fun.
Jem's guitar. Gone.
About 1/20 of what we tossed this past weekend. Please note Jem's apartment, en route to the dump.
My Little Pony Castle and Millennium Falcon being throw away together.
See you on the other side, Ouija Board.
No, not the Jem stage! I just can't take it.
I didn't start taking pictures until we were virtually finished going through things. There just wasn't time. This barely represents the things we parted with.
The Dollhouse Was Spared...
... because The Grandparents and Great Aunt were sentimentally attached to it, possibly moreso than I am because they made it for me when I was born. They offered to keep it in their attic for the time being, only after looking at all of the small silverware and plates and chairs and toilet paper holders.
The weekend was bad in ways that I hadn't predicted. Aside from the trauma of having to sort through my entire life to determine what are and are not important reminders of things, aside from saying goodbye to the house I grew up in, aside from saying goodbye to a yard (and there will be no new yard), aside from saying goodbye to a neighborhood (and there will be no new neighborhood), aside from dealing with all of the other crap that's accompanying this, I had to throw away all of my old emails! All of them! I neurotically printed out every email I received as a freshman in college because email seemed, in its infancy, as valuable as letters. Drunk ones, funny ones, revelatory ones... remember freshman year and the deluge of self exploration? Oh, they were beautiful, and I tossed them all because there will never ever be a time when there will be time to read them.
I thought I would be sad. I wasn't. I was too focused on getting things done, saving things from certain death, doing things for other people. I didn't have time to be sad. I did, however, have plenty of time to be angry. The weekend was spent mainly marvelling at the way the situation is being handled by people who are supposed to nurturing, put together, and focused.
I seethed. I clenched my fists. I said what I thought, because if they get to say what they think then so do I. I talked back. I made declarations of my feelings and drank too much. I sang songs with Sister and was thankful to be there when she broke down. I haven't had my breakdown yet, or maybe I've already broken down and I'm on the angry upswing.
I was nostalgic, but not for the family, not for the house. I think I've revised my outlook on my childhood in the past few months and can't really look at it anymore. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about where I come from. I can't even contemplate the morally confused signals I must have received. It makes me want to vomit, so I don't think about it.
I thought instead about old friends, about the parties I used to have in the basement, about long lost crushes and people who I should have had crushes on but didn't. I wanted to run down to ESW's parents' house - are they still there? - and say "I wish I liked him back. I was an idiot. He was such a good person. I was a jerk! Is he happy? Can I call him? Please?"
And oh the toys. The Parents have kept every single thing they (we) ever had. Every. Single. Thing. Thirty years of nostalgia to sort through in two days. Poor Brother had it worst, but made the most light of it by staging a dramatic reading of his 7th grade diary.
We were, apparently, spoiled. Spoiled with toys. Spoiled by relatives. The extended family showered us with every possible collectible imagineable.
Childhood me wasn't much different from me now. While now I make lists, then I compulsively collected everything I came across. I apparently also took really good care of everything I came across, because everything was in remarkably good condition.
I think Father made seven trips to the dump in less than 24 hours. We had to toss nearly everything. There was no time to consider how much most things would go for on Ebay.
Mother allowed us each to have one (which I increased to two, because how can you put 30 years of things into one tupperware?) tupperware. I filled one with scrapbooks and a few drawings and old letters. The second was filled with the toys I saved, the ones with which I'm not yet ready to part.
I took back eight boxes of nostalgia to hopefully sell on Ebay or Craigslist. Those photos will be forthcoming.
For now, hoever, you can look at what was trashed and what I saved in the Toy Tupperware.
Enjoy!
The weekend was bad in ways that I hadn't predicted. Aside from the trauma of having to sort through my entire life to determine what are and are not important reminders of things, aside from saying goodbye to the house I grew up in, aside from saying goodbye to a yard (and there will be no new yard), aside from saying goodbye to a neighborhood (and there will be no new neighborhood), aside from dealing with all of the other crap that's accompanying this, I had to throw away all of my old emails! All of them! I neurotically printed out every email I received as a freshman in college because email seemed, in its infancy, as valuable as letters. Drunk ones, funny ones, revelatory ones... remember freshman year and the deluge of self exploration? Oh, they were beautiful, and I tossed them all because there will never ever be a time when there will be time to read them.
I thought I would be sad. I wasn't. I was too focused on getting things done, saving things from certain death, doing things for other people. I didn't have time to be sad. I did, however, have plenty of time to be angry. The weekend was spent mainly marvelling at the way the situation is being handled by people who are supposed to nurturing, put together, and focused.
I seethed. I clenched my fists. I said what I thought, because if they get to say what they think then so do I. I talked back. I made declarations of my feelings and drank too much. I sang songs with Sister and was thankful to be there when she broke down. I haven't had my breakdown yet, or maybe I've already broken down and I'm on the angry upswing.
I was nostalgic, but not for the family, not for the house. I think I've revised my outlook on my childhood in the past few months and can't really look at it anymore. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about where I come from. I can't even contemplate the morally confused signals I must have received. It makes me want to vomit, so I don't think about it.
I thought instead about old friends, about the parties I used to have in the basement, about long lost crushes and people who I should have had crushes on but didn't. I wanted to run down to ESW's parents' house - are they still there? - and say "I wish I liked him back. I was an idiot. He was such a good person. I was a jerk! Is he happy? Can I call him? Please?"
And oh the toys. The Parents have kept every single thing they (we) ever had. Every. Single. Thing. Thirty years of nostalgia to sort through in two days. Poor Brother had it worst, but made the most light of it by staging a dramatic reading of his 7th grade diary.
We were, apparently, spoiled. Spoiled with toys. Spoiled by relatives. The extended family showered us with every possible collectible imagineable.
Childhood me wasn't much different from me now. While now I make lists, then I compulsively collected everything I came across. I apparently also took really good care of everything I came across, because everything was in remarkably good condition.
I think Father made seven trips to the dump in less than 24 hours. We had to toss nearly everything. There was no time to consider how much most things would go for on Ebay.
Mother allowed us each to have one (which I increased to two, because how can you put 30 years of things into one tupperware?) tupperware. I filled one with scrapbooks and a few drawings and old letters. The second was filled with the toys I saved, the ones with which I'm not yet ready to part.
I took back eight boxes of nostalgia to hopefully sell on Ebay or Craigslist. Those photos will be forthcoming.
For now, hoever, you can look at what was trashed and what I saved in the Toy Tupperware.
Enjoy!
Thursday, October 05, 2006
The Dollhouse
I just found out that Father put my beloved dollhouse on Craigslist.
Who does that without asking the owner?
He also said "What were you planning on doing for dinner tomorrow night?"
"What?" I asked, confused.
I am heading home tomorrow to see The House for the last time, to rescue my things from the dump and from Craigslist, to have a huge meltdown and to feel like I don't have to go back until Christmas, if even then.
"She's asking me what you plan on doing for dinner."
"I don't have any plans for dinner... I'm going to be on the bus all day, and then I will be with you guys after 5:00."
"OK, but what are your plans?"
"I don't have any plans! I'm going to be on the bus! I can't get dinner on the bus. What are your plans?"
"We don't know."
"Are you going to eat?"
We've had this conversation so many times.
I'm sick of having parents who won't be parents. What kind of parents don't have food in the house? What kind of parents don't try to feed their kids? I guess I have the sort of situation wherein I should bypass parents entirely and head straight for grandparents.
"We'll figure something out."
I nearly exploded.
I said "Listen, Father, if you guys are planning on not eating and not taking me anywhere to get food, I'm not going to come tomorrow, and I will come on Saturday and pack a lunch for the bus and then eat dinner with Sister."
"We'll figure something out."
What is wrong with these people?
I can't imagine if I pulled that with a guest, especially with The Parents. "Oh! You've just got off the bus you've been on for 6 hours! Well, good luck with everything! I don't eat food, nor do I have any in the apartment, nor do I intend to spend time with you. Find something to eat, and thanks for visiting! See ya! I'm going to bed now!"
And they want me to stay until Monday! Please! I said "Look, I really need a day off. I've been working like an idiot. I've been sick. I haven't been getting enough sleep. I haven't had any time for myself. I need Monday. I need there to be something holiday-ish about this holiday weekend."
"But it would be so nice to have you all in the house!"
"We can't all fit in the house anymore, Father."
"But there's an air mattress!"
What about deconstructing my childhood is going to be nice? A bomb hit my house and I'm going home to collect whatever pieces remain, and to bring them to my nice, adult home that comes complete with food and mental health and happiness and I will protect the pieces there forever. This isn't your nice, normal downsizing. People keep saying "You knew this would happen" and I keep saying "Not like this... this isn't how it's supposed to be, for anyone." This is destruction and I want to immerse myself in it for the least amount of time possible.
It would be so nice.
There is nothing nice about this.
Until next week...
(I know you will all be anxiously awaiting a photo essay on the saved 80's toys! Come on, you know you want to peep The Lite Brite.)
Who does that without asking the owner?
He also said "What were you planning on doing for dinner tomorrow night?"
"What?" I asked, confused.
I am heading home tomorrow to see The House for the last time, to rescue my things from the dump and from Craigslist, to have a huge meltdown and to feel like I don't have to go back until Christmas, if even then.
"She's asking me what you plan on doing for dinner."
"I don't have any plans for dinner... I'm going to be on the bus all day, and then I will be with you guys after 5:00."
"OK, but what are your plans?"
"I don't have any plans! I'm going to be on the bus! I can't get dinner on the bus. What are your plans?"
"We don't know."
"Are you going to eat?"
We've had this conversation so many times.
I'm sick of having parents who won't be parents. What kind of parents don't have food in the house? What kind of parents don't try to feed their kids? I guess I have the sort of situation wherein I should bypass parents entirely and head straight for grandparents.
"We'll figure something out."
I nearly exploded.
I said "Listen, Father, if you guys are planning on not eating and not taking me anywhere to get food, I'm not going to come tomorrow, and I will come on Saturday and pack a lunch for the bus and then eat dinner with Sister."
"We'll figure something out."
What is wrong with these people?
I can't imagine if I pulled that with a guest, especially with The Parents. "Oh! You've just got off the bus you've been on for 6 hours! Well, good luck with everything! I don't eat food, nor do I have any in the apartment, nor do I intend to spend time with you. Find something to eat, and thanks for visiting! See ya! I'm going to bed now!"
And they want me to stay until Monday! Please! I said "Look, I really need a day off. I've been working like an idiot. I've been sick. I haven't been getting enough sleep. I haven't had any time for myself. I need Monday. I need there to be something holiday-ish about this holiday weekend."
"But it would be so nice to have you all in the house!"
"We can't all fit in the house anymore, Father."
"But there's an air mattress!"
What about deconstructing my childhood is going to be nice? A bomb hit my house and I'm going home to collect whatever pieces remain, and to bring them to my nice, adult home that comes complete with food and mental health and happiness and I will protect the pieces there forever. This isn't your nice, normal downsizing. People keep saying "You knew this would happen" and I keep saying "Not like this... this isn't how it's supposed to be, for anyone." This is destruction and I want to immerse myself in it for the least amount of time possible.
It would be so nice.
There is nothing nice about this.
Until next week...
(I know you will all be anxiously awaiting a photo essay on the saved 80's toys! Come on, you know you want to peep The Lite Brite.)
Friday, September 29, 2006
Saving Your Toys
I dined with TE last night and the conversation turned to fertility. I refuse to believe that I am old enough to be having conversations (and more bizarrely, to be concerned) about fertility. We discussed progesterone, and monitoring basal body temperature, and PCOS (what if I have it?), and age, and dear god. I wanted to run home and scream “We should start now! What if what if what if what if what if?” which would have been hilarious given that we still haven’t scheduled the follow up conversation entitled “Whether Or Not We Are Enthused About The Idea of Procreating.”
TE is D’s friend, but because D cannot plan I end up seeing much more of TE than he does. TE confessed that D talked to her about our relationship issues in the beginning. She said “At the beginning he was all ‘she has these issues with me…’ and every time I’d be like ‘dude, she’s right!’” I wanted to hug her when she said “This one time he couldn’t understand why you were upset that he never responded to your emails and I was like ‘Dude, that’s just rude.’ And you can’t sleep in a bed with another girl, you just can’t.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if TE saved things without realizing she had.
When I got home D was in amazing form, having bought flowers for the apartment. He was very excited to see us and said “I want to know about your day” when TE left. I can’t get over the profound effect our conversation from earlier in the week has had. I swear we’ve had the same conversation 18 million times but for some reason it stuck this time, and splendidly!
He said “I think we need to own Camelot on DVD.”
Oh my!
And he’s close (I think) to consenting to taking a swing dance class with me.
Things are looking up, at least on the NYC front. Of course there are toys to deal with, and the Ebay-ing and Craigslist-ing, and condos, and Parents, and guilt, and angst, and photography school (I had my first photography school dream/nightmare last night!), and promotions, and presentations, and saving money, and a weekend that’s already crammed, but whatever. It’s fall and I think I will fall-ize clothes this weekend and perhaps even wear a jacket. I will look at photography and see friends and movies and technology and maybe wall-climbing and eat well and sleep an extra hour or two and hopefully catch up on some projects. Yes, weekends in NYC are good even if you really should be somewhere else saving your toys from certain death.
TE is D’s friend, but because D cannot plan I end up seeing much more of TE than he does. TE confessed that D talked to her about our relationship issues in the beginning. She said “At the beginning he was all ‘she has these issues with me…’ and every time I’d be like ‘dude, she’s right!’” I wanted to hug her when she said “This one time he couldn’t understand why you were upset that he never responded to your emails and I was like ‘Dude, that’s just rude.’ And you can’t sleep in a bed with another girl, you just can’t.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if TE saved things without realizing she had.
When I got home D was in amazing form, having bought flowers for the apartment. He was very excited to see us and said “I want to know about your day” when TE left. I can’t get over the profound effect our conversation from earlier in the week has had. I swear we’ve had the same conversation 18 million times but for some reason it stuck this time, and splendidly!
He said “I think we need to own Camelot on DVD.”
Oh my!
And he’s close (I think) to consenting to taking a swing dance class with me.
Things are looking up, at least on the NYC front. Of course there are toys to deal with, and the Ebay-ing and Craigslist-ing, and condos, and Parents, and guilt, and angst, and photography school (I had my first photography school dream/nightmare last night!), and promotions, and presentations, and saving money, and a weekend that’s already crammed, but whatever. It’s fall and I think I will fall-ize clothes this weekend and perhaps even wear a jacket. I will look at photography and see friends and movies and technology and maybe wall-climbing and eat well and sleep an extra hour or two and hopefully catch up on some projects. Yes, weekends in NYC are good even if you really should be somewhere else saving your toys from certain death.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
All Artists Have Egos
Heh. I first wrote "eggos."
I was disappointed by Science of Sleep. My expectations were too high. While it was at times visually adorable, it lacked substance and failed because of a mostly superficial/mad/unlikable protagonist who was tolerable only because of the cuteness of Gael Garcia Bernal.
Oh well.
I was disappointed by Science of Sleep. My expectations were too high. While it was at times visually adorable, it lacked substance and failed because of a mostly superficial/mad/unlikable protagonist who was tolerable only because of the cuteness of Gael Garcia Bernal.
Oh well.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Nostalgia
I’ve been trying to be proactively happy.
A tendency I (do we all?) exhibit when confronting an obstacle is to regress to a time when things were easier, happier, and obvious. I look back to the past and think “What used to make me happy? What did I used to like?” and start doing those things. I end up playing more piano and thinking about Star Wars and wanting to take ballet lessons or play with toys.
I decided the other night that it was imperative that I watch Camelot. I’d never seen the movie – but I’ve seen the stage production numerous times, was addicted to the soundtrack in high school, spent study halls in the music room playing the score. I was never shy about indulging my Arthurian-legend-obsessed teenage self. It’s amazing that I didn’t turn out goth.
I put in the DVD last night after I begged D to give it ten minutes. “But its three hours long!” “Those three hours will fly, I swear!” D, being ever patient and ever seeking to make me happy without having to think about how to do it, agreed.
You can imagine my horror when Guinevere appeared in the movie and she was not Julie Andrews. Wtf!? I was mortified!
Vanessa Redgrave? WHAT!?!?
First of all, Vanessa Redgrave is adorable in it. I want to devour her. I have a minor girl crush on her. The banter between she and Richard Harris is precious, and believable.
Second of all, she’s all sex in it. Oh so sexy. I understand why Julie Andrews wouldn’t necessarily have been right for the part.
Third of all, she can’t sing. At. All.
It’s difficult when you’ve been attached to a particular soundtrack for years upon years and then someone destroys it.
I was trying to sing along and instead of actually singing, she speaks some of the lyrics! Because she can't sing! At all!
Oh, Julie, why!?! WHY!?!
D didn’t make any comments for the first 45 minutes. I couldn’t tell if he was being tortured or if he was actually getting something out of it. Every five minutes I’d say “You know, if you want to watch something else its ok…”
No response.
An hour into it he said “This is so campy.”
Campy good or campy bad? No way to tell!
Five minutes later “The costumes in this movie are amazing. Did it win any Oscars? The hats! The hats are awesome!”
“Yes, and the hair is awesome too.” Pause. “Do you want to watch something else? I swear I don’t mind… I can watch the rest in the bedroom.”
“NO! The first hour just flew by!”
Yes.
He said “We should write a Star Wars musical.”
“Yes, we should. I think I could do that in a day.”
During the joust (during which they do not sing the best song from the musical) he got up to do the dishes. He said “Honey, this cutting board reminds me of our trip to Saugerties! Remember when we did that? That was so fun! Remember the garlic festival? Oh, that was such a good time.”
I laughed and laughed, and then flipped him off. At least he’d listened.
We’d had a spat the night prior when I remarked (unrelated) that it’s strange to me the extent to which he does not ever acknowledge the relationship. “It’s just weird to me,” I said. I told him how he gives no feedback, good or bad. He never has an opinion about the relationship, and he doesn’t make mention of things that we’re going to do or have done. It’s like things never happened. Which is ok, I guess, but is weird because it is as though we don’t share any memories, nor do we share common goals (read: the trip). Consequently I never know what he’s thinking, if he’s having a good time, what he enjoys, what he might like to do, etc. and then, because I am a girl, I get insecure because I have to guess.
But he listened, and this is progress, so I laughed, which is what I needed.
We made it to the turning point in Camelot, where everyone starts being emo, and went to bed as we’d gotten only a few hours’ sleep the night before. Instead of going directly to sleep, we talked! About things like what it must have been like for our parents to date way back then! And what kind of people they are! And being too comfortable in life! And being frustrated with helpless people! And not wanting to be manipulated by people! And these topics were not entirely initiated by me!
I love progress, because it is what makes me happy. I didn’t have nightmares last night for the first time in about three weeks.
Progress!
(Sidenote: I am listening to Indie Pop Rocks on SomaFM right now and The Stills’ Animals and Insects is playing, which is a song that reminds me of when D and I were first dating [actually, I think he may have given it to me when we were just friends]. He’d lent me the album and I listened to it like a mental patient in the freezing cold every night in Williamsburg, where I waffled between being blissed out having a crush on the cutest boy ever and worrying about Uncle T, who was going to die and it was just a matter of when. On the street I’d sing the song at the top of my lungs to get out of myself. I think that maybe I could tell D, now, that this song reminds me of him and the beginning and how giddy he made me without even meaning to.)
A tendency I (do we all?) exhibit when confronting an obstacle is to regress to a time when things were easier, happier, and obvious. I look back to the past and think “What used to make me happy? What did I used to like?” and start doing those things. I end up playing more piano and thinking about Star Wars and wanting to take ballet lessons or play with toys.
I decided the other night that it was imperative that I watch Camelot. I’d never seen the movie – but I’ve seen the stage production numerous times, was addicted to the soundtrack in high school, spent study halls in the music room playing the score. I was never shy about indulging my Arthurian-legend-obsessed teenage self. It’s amazing that I didn’t turn out goth.
I put in the DVD last night after I begged D to give it ten minutes. “But its three hours long!” “Those three hours will fly, I swear!” D, being ever patient and ever seeking to make me happy without having to think about how to do it, agreed.
You can imagine my horror when Guinevere appeared in the movie and she was not Julie Andrews. Wtf!? I was mortified!
Vanessa Redgrave? WHAT!?!?
First of all, Vanessa Redgrave is adorable in it. I want to devour her. I have a minor girl crush on her. The banter between she and Richard Harris is precious, and believable.
Second of all, she’s all sex in it. Oh so sexy. I understand why Julie Andrews wouldn’t necessarily have been right for the part.
Third of all, she can’t sing. At. All.
It’s difficult when you’ve been attached to a particular soundtrack for years upon years and then someone destroys it.
I was trying to sing along and instead of actually singing, she speaks some of the lyrics! Because she can't sing! At all!
Oh, Julie, why!?! WHY!?!
D didn’t make any comments for the first 45 minutes. I couldn’t tell if he was being tortured or if he was actually getting something out of it. Every five minutes I’d say “You know, if you want to watch something else its ok…”
No response.
An hour into it he said “This is so campy.”
Campy good or campy bad? No way to tell!
Five minutes later “The costumes in this movie are amazing. Did it win any Oscars? The hats! The hats are awesome!”
“Yes, and the hair is awesome too.” Pause. “Do you want to watch something else? I swear I don’t mind… I can watch the rest in the bedroom.”
“NO! The first hour just flew by!”
Yes.
He said “We should write a Star Wars musical.”
“Yes, we should. I think I could do that in a day.”
During the joust (during which they do not sing the best song from the musical) he got up to do the dishes. He said “Honey, this cutting board reminds me of our trip to Saugerties! Remember when we did that? That was so fun! Remember the garlic festival? Oh, that was such a good time.”
I laughed and laughed, and then flipped him off. At least he’d listened.
We’d had a spat the night prior when I remarked (unrelated) that it’s strange to me the extent to which he does not ever acknowledge the relationship. “It’s just weird to me,” I said. I told him how he gives no feedback, good or bad. He never has an opinion about the relationship, and he doesn’t make mention of things that we’re going to do or have done. It’s like things never happened. Which is ok, I guess, but is weird because it is as though we don’t share any memories, nor do we share common goals (read: the trip). Consequently I never know what he’s thinking, if he’s having a good time, what he enjoys, what he might like to do, etc. and then, because I am a girl, I get insecure because I have to guess.
But he listened, and this is progress, so I laughed, which is what I needed.
We made it to the turning point in Camelot, where everyone starts being emo, and went to bed as we’d gotten only a few hours’ sleep the night before. Instead of going directly to sleep, we talked! About things like what it must have been like for our parents to date way back then! And what kind of people they are! And being too comfortable in life! And being frustrated with helpless people! And not wanting to be manipulated by people! And these topics were not entirely initiated by me!
I love progress, because it is what makes me happy. I didn’t have nightmares last night for the first time in about three weeks.
Progress!
(Sidenote: I am listening to Indie Pop Rocks on SomaFM right now and The Stills’ Animals and Insects is playing, which is a song that reminds me of when D and I were first dating [actually, I think he may have given it to me when we were just friends]. He’d lent me the album and I listened to it like a mental patient in the freezing cold every night in Williamsburg, where I waffled between being blissed out having a crush on the cutest boy ever and worrying about Uncle T, who was going to die and it was just a matter of when. On the street I’d sing the song at the top of my lungs to get out of myself. I think that maybe I could tell D, now, that this song reminds me of him and the beginning and how giddy he made me without even meaning to.)
Monday, September 25, 2006
Duet
As the readers of My Mundane Life in Song know, I am incapable of packing. I am crippled by the idea of packing for a short trip, rendered useless when considering packing for a long trip, and the idea of moving is enough to make me want to implode.
I am, however, quite skilled at throwing things away, and especially fond of parting ways with formerly sentimental items. If NYC teaches you anything, it’s that you can’t form attachments to objects that don’t actually function.
While in MA, I took it upon myself to help The Parents purge their former lives. I was allegedly there to help dive into The Toys, but instead found myself forcing Father to go through his audio tapes from the 80’s. I found some of my own, and of course listened to the Straight Up single and that “Why is love a crime?” song by BabyFace before tossing them. I threw away my New Kids on the Block tapes, and Whitesnake! And Whitney Houston! And Guys Next Store! Who? I have no idea! I also forced Father to sit and go through the piano benches and the baskets of sheet music and the drawers of sheet music and the binders of sheet music. I got rid of my first ever piano book, the theory lessons that I always ignored, and all but one program from piano recitals.
Father said “How can you not keep these things?”
“BECAUSE I DON’T NEED THEM! I haven’t the space! And neither will you, depending on what happens! THROW IT ALL AWAY!”
He kept a lot of his sheet music, and forced me to take some that he “isn’t good enough to play.”
As part of my limited burst of productivity yesterday, I decided to go through all of the sheet music he’d unloaded. I’d brought it to NYC in the very same bag in which I used to carry my sheet music to piano lessons! I dumped the bag and rummaged through old recital songs (motor memory is such a strange thing) I can’t believe I ever played. I reminisced. I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the bag and put in the closet in the To Be Dealt With pile.
I found some Verdi duets that belonged to Father’s sister when she took piano lessons as a child. They are disintegrating.
After popping a pill to force me to cease being anxious about the fact that I’d stopped being productive and had been reduced instead to a sobbing pile of confusion hiding under the bed sheets while listening to Bright Eyes, I sat down at the piano and said “D, come play this duet with me.”
And he did.
And we sounded decent!
We had so much fun. I felt again like I have a partner in crime. I’ve been feeling disconnected from everyone and everything as of late. I feel like I’m going through something that nobody understands, and that he especially can’t understand, no matter how much I try to explain things. “You just need to stop thinking about it,” he’ll say, which for him is easy but for me is impossible. When I do stop thinking about it (which I do, most of the time, which makes me feel guilty and callous and undutiful), it creeps back into my life with a vengeance that reduces me to the previously mentioned sobbing pile of confusion that either cries in the bathroom with the door shut or pretends to nap while the stereo is blasting the same mix mini disc over and over and over again.
I spent a great portion of my confusion crying on the bathroom rug because I don’t want to visit D’s parents. I like them. I do. It’s just that when I visit nobody talks to me, and it has nothing to do with me. It’s the construct, and the construct has been deemed cultural. I admit that I don’t come from an easy culture, and I do everything possible to make sure that D is accommodated and comfortable. When the culture is overly affectionate and verbose and honest, it’s easy to remove oneself and find quiet or isolation. When the culture is reserved and silent and impersonal, it is impossible to find an outlet for communication, for talking, for a sense of belonging.
I can’t pretend that things are ok. I can’t feel even lonelier that I already do. I can’t be around a functional (well, functional by certain definitions) family and pretend that my heart isn’t broken. I can’t be silent and dishonest for three days. I just can’t.
And, most distressingly, I can’t tell this to D.
I was thrown into the fit because I said “D, how long did you want to visit your parents for before Christmas?” We need to figure this out so we can use the stupid plane tickets before I have a meltdown. We’d decided to visit them pre-holidays since they are off to Thailand for the holiday and don’t seem to think that visiting us in an option. “At least five days… three works days and a weekend.”
Nope.
“Oh, well, do I have to come for that whole time?”
“No, you can take a plan by yourself and I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
And then the desire to sob, and the repressing of the sob, which becomes silence instead of enthusiasm, which becomes “What’s the matter with you?” which results in “Nothing…” and then crying in the bathroom, because I know that there is no way I am going to get myself to the airport to visit them. It’s just not going to happen. I can’t even bring myself to buy groceries these days, and he thinks I am going to get on a plane to visit his parents? His grandmother? Yes. His cousins? Absolutely! Various aunts and uncles? Certainly! His brother and nieces? Of course! But his parents? Absolutely not. They don’t care if I’m there, so why would I visit them by myself?
But can I explain this? No.
Instead I hide and wish I could take a few days to see my family and wish that I was dating someone whose parents noticed I existed and wished I could figure out a way to explain to him that this is one way in which marriage changes things, because I am nearly certain that his parents would be phased by my existence were we married.
I chilled out, said nothing, microwaved a samosa instead of going to the Amish market, ordered too many prints, and reappeared, chill, saying “D, come play this duet with me!”
We were both happier than we’ve been in a long time.
I don’t feel like we’re at odds, I just feel like we’re not on each other’s sides right now.
I asked him in the car “What do you think about all of this?”
He said he was mad, pissed, and launched into theory and nothing specific. He never said he felt bad for me. He never said he wished there was something he could do. He doesn’t realize that there’s so much he could do, and I can’t ask because I feel like having to ask implies asking too much.
I wanted to ask "Don't you feel bad for me? At all?"
I watched Friends With Money last week, and the Catherine Keener character hits the end of the rope with her husband when she burns her hand in front of him and he says nothing. She says something like “Don’t you want to know if I’m ok?” He says that he can see that she’s ok. “But don’t you want to know?” He says that he can see that there’s not a problem. “But if there was, wouldn’t you want to know? Wouldn’t you ask?” He says something like “If there was a problem, you would just tell me, and then I would know. Otherwise I’d just assume you were fine.”
This goes on for a while.
I wonder if as women we all just want to be acknowledged. Why would we tell them things if we don’t feel that they’re interested? If he burned his hand, she’d have said “Oh my god are you ok?”
And if D was going through this, I’d ask every once in a while “How are things? Are you ok?” and hopefully he’d feel that he could tell me.
And if D was crying one night, on the following day I’d say “Hey – are you feeling better today? How are you doing?” instead of calling and saying “Hey, I’m going to ride my bike. What are you doing for dinner?”
But instead we played a duet, and everything was fine. I guess you have to accept closeness in whatever form it comes, and if that means feeling really alone for a few hours and crying by yourself and being unable to say what you think followed by making music together, then so be it.
I am, however, quite skilled at throwing things away, and especially fond of parting ways with formerly sentimental items. If NYC teaches you anything, it’s that you can’t form attachments to objects that don’t actually function.
While in MA, I took it upon myself to help The Parents purge their former lives. I was allegedly there to help dive into The Toys, but instead found myself forcing Father to go through his audio tapes from the 80’s. I found some of my own, and of course listened to the Straight Up single and that “Why is love a crime?” song by BabyFace before tossing them. I threw away my New Kids on the Block tapes, and Whitesnake! And Whitney Houston! And Guys Next Store! Who? I have no idea! I also forced Father to sit and go through the piano benches and the baskets of sheet music and the drawers of sheet music and the binders of sheet music. I got rid of my first ever piano book, the theory lessons that I always ignored, and all but one program from piano recitals.
Father said “How can you not keep these things?”
“BECAUSE I DON’T NEED THEM! I haven’t the space! And neither will you, depending on what happens! THROW IT ALL AWAY!”
He kept a lot of his sheet music, and forced me to take some that he “isn’t good enough to play.”
As part of my limited burst of productivity yesterday, I decided to go through all of the sheet music he’d unloaded. I’d brought it to NYC in the very same bag in which I used to carry my sheet music to piano lessons! I dumped the bag and rummaged through old recital songs (motor memory is such a strange thing) I can’t believe I ever played. I reminisced. I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the bag and put in the closet in the To Be Dealt With pile.
I found some Verdi duets that belonged to Father’s sister when she took piano lessons as a child. They are disintegrating.
After popping a pill to force me to cease being anxious about the fact that I’d stopped being productive and had been reduced instead to a sobbing pile of confusion hiding under the bed sheets while listening to Bright Eyes, I sat down at the piano and said “D, come play this duet with me.”
And he did.
And we sounded decent!
We had so much fun. I felt again like I have a partner in crime. I’ve been feeling disconnected from everyone and everything as of late. I feel like I’m going through something that nobody understands, and that he especially can’t understand, no matter how much I try to explain things. “You just need to stop thinking about it,” he’ll say, which for him is easy but for me is impossible. When I do stop thinking about it (which I do, most of the time, which makes me feel guilty and callous and undutiful), it creeps back into my life with a vengeance that reduces me to the previously mentioned sobbing pile of confusion that either cries in the bathroom with the door shut or pretends to nap while the stereo is blasting the same mix mini disc over and over and over again.
I spent a great portion of my confusion crying on the bathroom rug because I don’t want to visit D’s parents. I like them. I do. It’s just that when I visit nobody talks to me, and it has nothing to do with me. It’s the construct, and the construct has been deemed cultural. I admit that I don’t come from an easy culture, and I do everything possible to make sure that D is accommodated and comfortable. When the culture is overly affectionate and verbose and honest, it’s easy to remove oneself and find quiet or isolation. When the culture is reserved and silent and impersonal, it is impossible to find an outlet for communication, for talking, for a sense of belonging.
I can’t pretend that things are ok. I can’t feel even lonelier that I already do. I can’t be around a functional (well, functional by certain definitions) family and pretend that my heart isn’t broken. I can’t be silent and dishonest for three days. I just can’t.
And, most distressingly, I can’t tell this to D.
I was thrown into the fit because I said “D, how long did you want to visit your parents for before Christmas?” We need to figure this out so we can use the stupid plane tickets before I have a meltdown. We’d decided to visit them pre-holidays since they are off to Thailand for the holiday and don’t seem to think that visiting us in an option. “At least five days… three works days and a weekend.”
Nope.
“Oh, well, do I have to come for that whole time?”
“No, you can take a plan by yourself and I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
And then the desire to sob, and the repressing of the sob, which becomes silence instead of enthusiasm, which becomes “What’s the matter with you?” which results in “Nothing…” and then crying in the bathroom, because I know that there is no way I am going to get myself to the airport to visit them. It’s just not going to happen. I can’t even bring myself to buy groceries these days, and he thinks I am going to get on a plane to visit his parents? His grandmother? Yes. His cousins? Absolutely! Various aunts and uncles? Certainly! His brother and nieces? Of course! But his parents? Absolutely not. They don’t care if I’m there, so why would I visit them by myself?
But can I explain this? No.
Instead I hide and wish I could take a few days to see my family and wish that I was dating someone whose parents noticed I existed and wished I could figure out a way to explain to him that this is one way in which marriage changes things, because I am nearly certain that his parents would be phased by my existence were we married.
I chilled out, said nothing, microwaved a samosa instead of going to the Amish market, ordered too many prints, and reappeared, chill, saying “D, come play this duet with me!”
We were both happier than we’ve been in a long time.
I don’t feel like we’re at odds, I just feel like we’re not on each other’s sides right now.
I asked him in the car “What do you think about all of this?”
He said he was mad, pissed, and launched into theory and nothing specific. He never said he felt bad for me. He never said he wished there was something he could do. He doesn’t realize that there’s so much he could do, and I can’t ask because I feel like having to ask implies asking too much.
I wanted to ask "Don't you feel bad for me? At all?"
I watched Friends With Money last week, and the Catherine Keener character hits the end of the rope with her husband when she burns her hand in front of him and he says nothing. She says something like “Don’t you want to know if I’m ok?” He says that he can see that she’s ok. “But don’t you want to know?” He says that he can see that there’s not a problem. “But if there was, wouldn’t you want to know? Wouldn’t you ask?” He says something like “If there was a problem, you would just tell me, and then I would know. Otherwise I’d just assume you were fine.”
This goes on for a while.
I wonder if as women we all just want to be acknowledged. Why would we tell them things if we don’t feel that they’re interested? If he burned his hand, she’d have said “Oh my god are you ok?”
And if D was going through this, I’d ask every once in a while “How are things? Are you ok?” and hopefully he’d feel that he could tell me.
And if D was crying one night, on the following day I’d say “Hey – are you feeling better today? How are you doing?” instead of calling and saying “Hey, I’m going to ride my bike. What are you doing for dinner?”
But instead we played a duet, and everything was fine. I guess you have to accept closeness in whatever form it comes, and if that means feeling really alone for a few hours and crying by yourself and being unable to say what you think followed by making music together, then so be it.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Catching Up
It's been crazy, folks, crazy! Not just with work, but with life in general. I spent this week catching up with life. I bought groceries, drank with MF who is concerned and wonderful (and who I forgot I'd made plans with and therefore had to invite to midtown where I apologized profusely and drank with him at the bar and then cooked dinner for him amidst some good gossip), dined with NR at a great find in the west village prior to attending a boring pre-season hockey game courtesty of The Boss, took a bubble bath and cleaned and relaxed and watched a movie for the first time in I can't remember how long, went to the bar with my new coworker and a million other coworkers and PW, who fits right in and tolerates science-speak, but it was ok because we talked also about tatoos and expenses and boys.
The week before I was in MA, where I was able to talk and emote around people who understand, around people who share blood, around people who are feeling many things and things that are different but still important. It was good to be immersed in the new dynamic, and to see it acknowledged. Separate is annoying logistically but it's so much better and real and far less stressful. I helped pack and organize and throw things away. I found old sheet music and cried playing the piano for the very last time. I didn't think it would hurt but it really did. I wasn't the only one who was crying. I cried too much and didn't go through the toys, which worries me because I know if I saw the Barbie heads I would think of something wonderful to do with them, but from afar may have to say "Just throw them away," sniff sniff. I felt connected to things I hadn't realized existed. I can't believe it's all going to be gone soon. I can't believe where they're going. I don't understand what it means yet. I looked at a condo and said "Buy it!" even though I'm not sure it's the best idea in general, but I think it's the best idea for her. I said things like "Ask them if you can keep the curtain rods! They're spectacular!" Others were more concerned about heat and storage space, but it felt cozy and new and that's what she needs now.
I saw friends too, met and adored the new fiance, had drinks, cuddled with a cat who is more of a stuffed animal than a living thing, dance danced revolution, ate a burrito, felt loved and like I belong somewhere which happens not to be where I live now, listened to Sister's band, ran around frantically, met someone from NYC on the commuter rail, used a Charlie Card, decided that yes I am going to go to photography school and its just a matter of when, talked to D and was missed, got a haircut with my old hairdresser who found out the day before that she has thyroid cancer, didn't miss NYC at all, slept well despite being on couches at times, spent money, had banana-peach-walnut pancakes presented to me and thanked her for being like a parent since right now it feels like I don't have any, saw all of my grandparents, ran into old friends, spent more money, and just felt good.
And of course I felt very bad when I got home and remembered what life really is, so I shut the door and cried because I wanted to be with people who matter and around things that matter and to not be more stressed out at work about things that do not matter.
But all is ok now, because I ate a lot of garlic this weekend.
Until next time...
The week before I was in MA, where I was able to talk and emote around people who understand, around people who share blood, around people who are feeling many things and things that are different but still important. It was good to be immersed in the new dynamic, and to see it acknowledged. Separate is annoying logistically but it's so much better and real and far less stressful. I helped pack and organize and throw things away. I found old sheet music and cried playing the piano for the very last time. I didn't think it would hurt but it really did. I wasn't the only one who was crying. I cried too much and didn't go through the toys, which worries me because I know if I saw the Barbie heads I would think of something wonderful to do with them, but from afar may have to say "Just throw them away," sniff sniff. I felt connected to things I hadn't realized existed. I can't believe it's all going to be gone soon. I can't believe where they're going. I don't understand what it means yet. I looked at a condo and said "Buy it!" even though I'm not sure it's the best idea in general, but I think it's the best idea for her. I said things like "Ask them if you can keep the curtain rods! They're spectacular!" Others were more concerned about heat and storage space, but it felt cozy and new and that's what she needs now.
I saw friends too, met and adored the new fiance, had drinks, cuddled with a cat who is more of a stuffed animal than a living thing, dance danced revolution, ate a burrito, felt loved and like I belong somewhere which happens not to be where I live now, listened to Sister's band, ran around frantically, met someone from NYC on the commuter rail, used a Charlie Card, decided that yes I am going to go to photography school and its just a matter of when, talked to D and was missed, got a haircut with my old hairdresser who found out the day before that she has thyroid cancer, didn't miss NYC at all, slept well despite being on couches at times, spent money, had banana-peach-walnut pancakes presented to me and thanked her for being like a parent since right now it feels like I don't have any, saw all of my grandparents, ran into old friends, spent more money, and just felt good.
And of course I felt very bad when I got home and remembered what life really is, so I shut the door and cried because I wanted to be with people who matter and around things that matter and to not be more stressed out at work about things that do not matter.
But all is ok now, because I ate a lot of garlic this weekend.
Until next time...
The Garlic Festival: A Photo Essay by Leah Lar
Oh blogging, how I miss you! Work has been crazy, and every day I cry because I don't have time to blog. I don't even have time to read blogs. I don't have time to do anything other than work and resent work. Because I work and resent work for more and more hours each day, I have been reduced to a frazzled mess by the time I return home and either go out and drink to forget or go to bed at 9:00. I've lost touch with far too many things, and am therefore recovering today. I am uploading photos and cleaning things and throwing other things away and making phone calls and getting organized and making lists and remembering all the things that make work worthwhile.
And now... a blog entry.
D and I went to the Hudson Valley Garlic Festival yesterday. I don't know how I found about it. All I know is that its been looming on my calendar for over six months. Most are perplexed by the existence of such a festival. I, on the other hand, have been counting down to it since I discovered its existence.
It couldn't have come at a better time. I needed the country, I needed foliage, I needed sun, I needed cheesy fall-themed crafts. I've been yearning for the country since I am no longer a person who is able to visit a lawn. We wanted to make an elaborate weekend of it - head upstate, stare at leaves, partake of a maize maze, dine at the Culinary Institute of Art, consume insane amounts of garlic.
Our plans were thwarted first by the non-existence of a maize maze. The closest one, it seems, is in CT.
It then came to our attention that one needs to make reservations for the CIA at least months in advance.
And then there was the weather issue - showers predicted for the entire weekend, which meant no gazing at foliage.
We were, however, determined to go to the garlic festival, rain or shine.
We woke up early yesterday and checked the weather. The forecast was bleak. I wanted to wait until the following day, when thunder storms were predicted, but at least there was a chance that the forecast would change! D wanted to go yesterday, and since he was driving, I agreed.
And oh how glad I am that he insisted that we go yesterday, as it didn't rain at all and the sun actually came out!
It ruled.
When we got there we couldn't believe how many people were there. There were seriously zillions of cars. And trizillions of country folk. It was bliss.
And here, dear readers, are photographs of everything we ate at the Garlic Festival as well as some shots of miscellaneous crafts and garlic cloves..
Enjoy!
Garlic Herb Corn-on-the-Cob: This was being sold by a boy scout troop, and it was delicious. So delicious, in fact, that we returned hours later to eat another one.
Potato-Garlic Soup in a bread bowl: This one was not a winner. The woman put at least three extra tablespoons of minced garlic in our soup and it still somehow managed to not taste of garlic. Additionally, the bread-to-soup ratio was way off. With hindsight we should have went with the garlic chowder.
Garlic roasters for sale:
Garlic merch. The only garlic merch I bought was a wooden Christmas ornament shaped like a garlic clove.
Marionettes having nothing to do with garlic but which are still awesome.
These are whirly gigs made of soda and beer cans. I was obsessed.
D had some sort of garlic cow product on a stick.
Garlic all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Baskets of garlic everywhere.
There were samples of everything, including raw garlic cloves of many different exotic types of garlic.
These are garlic necklaces. I didn't buy one, although I really wanted one. I also wanted garlic earrings.
A display of different types of garlic.
This guy from the Garlic Foundation was giving a talk about how garlic grows, and showed us the scape (?).
I took the paperwork to become a member, but its $15 just to receive a newsletter four times a year!
Garlic!
And more garlic!
And still more garlic!
These vendors claimed to have the best pesto in the universe, and they were right! We bought their garlic spike variety.
Garlic ice cream, folks. I'm pretty sure it was just vanilla with minced garlic mixed in, but dear god was it delicious. I worry now that I will crave it in the future and not be able to ever have it again.
The worst garlic bread of all time.
And of course garlic popcorn.
This teenager was utterly mortified (blushing and embarrassed) that I was taking her photo. I didn't have the heart to tell her she wasn't even really in it.
And the grand finale! Roasted garlic...
... dipped in chocolate fondue!!!!
I know what you're thinking... wtf!? That's what we were thinking. We paid 50 cents for two cloves since we thought it would be a disaster, but we ended up going back for more! The texture was what was most amazing.
We also tried samples of cheeses and pestos and dips and spreads and pickles and everything else one can imagine. We bought pesto, a marinade, a garlic/dill dip, and, well, garlic.
I think that this will be an annual adventure. Being in the country was like being in utopia. I didn't want to come back to the city, but luckily our return was rendered easy by stops at the Christmas Tree Shop (50 cents ramekins? impossible!) and Target, where I found reverse fudge strip cookies and remarkable storage options. It was a lovely day, even if we didn't get to stay in the country.
And now... a blog entry.
D and I went to the Hudson Valley Garlic Festival yesterday. I don't know how I found about it. All I know is that its been looming on my calendar for over six months. Most are perplexed by the existence of such a festival. I, on the other hand, have been counting down to it since I discovered its existence.
It couldn't have come at a better time. I needed the country, I needed foliage, I needed sun, I needed cheesy fall-themed crafts. I've been yearning for the country since I am no longer a person who is able to visit a lawn. We wanted to make an elaborate weekend of it - head upstate, stare at leaves, partake of a maize maze, dine at the Culinary Institute of Art, consume insane amounts of garlic.
Our plans were thwarted first by the non-existence of a maize maze. The closest one, it seems, is in CT.
It then came to our attention that one needs to make reservations for the CIA at least months in advance.
And then there was the weather issue - showers predicted for the entire weekend, which meant no gazing at foliage.
We were, however, determined to go to the garlic festival, rain or shine.
We woke up early yesterday and checked the weather. The forecast was bleak. I wanted to wait until the following day, when thunder storms were predicted, but at least there was a chance that the forecast would change! D wanted to go yesterday, and since he was driving, I agreed.
And oh how glad I am that he insisted that we go yesterday, as it didn't rain at all and the sun actually came out!
It ruled.
When we got there we couldn't believe how many people were there. There were seriously zillions of cars. And trizillions of country folk. It was bliss.
And here, dear readers, are photographs of everything we ate at the Garlic Festival as well as some shots of miscellaneous crafts and garlic cloves..
Enjoy!
Garlic Herb Corn-on-the-Cob: This was being sold by a boy scout troop, and it was delicious. So delicious, in fact, that we returned hours later to eat another one.
Potato-Garlic Soup in a bread bowl: This one was not a winner. The woman put at least three extra tablespoons of minced garlic in our soup and it still somehow managed to not taste of garlic. Additionally, the bread-to-soup ratio was way off. With hindsight we should have went with the garlic chowder.
Garlic roasters for sale:
Garlic merch. The only garlic merch I bought was a wooden Christmas ornament shaped like a garlic clove.
Marionettes having nothing to do with garlic but which are still awesome.
These are whirly gigs made of soda and beer cans. I was obsessed.
D had some sort of garlic cow product on a stick.
Garlic all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Baskets of garlic everywhere.
There were samples of everything, including raw garlic cloves of many different exotic types of garlic.
These are garlic necklaces. I didn't buy one, although I really wanted one. I also wanted garlic earrings.
A display of different types of garlic.
This guy from the Garlic Foundation was giving a talk about how garlic grows, and showed us the scape (?).
I took the paperwork to become a member, but its $15 just to receive a newsletter four times a year!
Garlic!
And more garlic!
And still more garlic!
These vendors claimed to have the best pesto in the universe, and they were right! We bought their garlic spike variety.
Garlic ice cream, folks. I'm pretty sure it was just vanilla with minced garlic mixed in, but dear god was it delicious. I worry now that I will crave it in the future and not be able to ever have it again.
The worst garlic bread of all time.
And of course garlic popcorn.
This teenager was utterly mortified (blushing and embarrassed) that I was taking her photo. I didn't have the heart to tell her she wasn't even really in it.
And the grand finale! Roasted garlic...
... dipped in chocolate fondue!!!!
I know what you're thinking... wtf!? That's what we were thinking. We paid 50 cents for two cloves since we thought it would be a disaster, but we ended up going back for more! The texture was what was most amazing.
We also tried samples of cheeses and pestos and dips and spreads and pickles and everything else one can imagine. We bought pesto, a marinade, a garlic/dill dip, and, well, garlic.
I think that this will be an annual adventure. Being in the country was like being in utopia. I didn't want to come back to the city, but luckily our return was rendered easy by stops at the Christmas Tree Shop (50 cents ramekins? impossible!) and Target, where I found reverse fudge strip cookies and remarkable storage options. It was a lovely day, even if we didn't get to stay in the country.
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