win, place, show

I Hate New York Street Fairs

2006-05-31T22:25:00.000-04:00

Now that Memorial Day has passed and the humidity topped 80 percent, it's officially summer in New York. Which means that, in addition to the wardrobe issue, (hot, humid, sticky outside, freezing cold inside - what to wear, especially in light of the fact that winter hibernation pounds are not melting away like the butter I slather all over my piping hot croissant), New York turns into a maze each weekend as half the streets are shut for street fairs or parades. Street selection is done with abandon, at least below 14th Street; recent fairs have affected 6th Avenue on consecutive weekends, Second Avenue, Third Avenue and Cooper Square.

Oh, how sweet, you think, street fairs.

Yes, I remember street fairs, legitimate, real street fairs with themes and beer gardens and art and music... Fillmore, Polk, Union, Haight, Castro, and the best of the rest, the Folsom Street Fair, where one couldn't see the collars, leashes and chaps for the leather. These fairs had character, they had style, they had the good sense to happen one at a time for one weekend only.

The New York street fairs, on the other hand, all have the same theme - capitalism. There are five categories of goods sold at these fairs:

1. Human labor - this is usually in the form of massages. 10 minutes for $10, 20 minutes for the bargain price of $20. If you are walking by and are not simultaneously engaged in conversation, listening to a portable music device and talking on your phone, you will likely be unable to resist the advances of the women who insist you look haggard. One out of every 20 stalls.

Every now and then, a chiropractor or fortune teller is included in this category.

2. Miscellaneous consumer goods. This includes, without exception, tables of the following: sunglasses; purses; records/CDs/DVDs/videos; and sheets. Two out of every ten stalls is in this category.

3. Clothing. This includes vendors of socks/underwear, knock-off and/or discounted "designer" clothing, and "trendy" clothing such as peasant skirts, ponchos, and burlap sacks. Three out of every twenty stalls fits in this category.

4. Solicitations; includes, free stuff. Newspaper registration, organic farming information, various types of flavored water and juices. One out of every twenty tables.

5. Vaguely artistic items that do not fit into any of the above categories. Could include sculpture of a variety of media, such as wood, petrified, whittled, or other; metal, rusted, pounded, or other; jewelry, beaded, tied, or other; other. One out of every ten stalls.

6. Food. One great thing about New York is the ability to get cheap food of any ethnicity at any time, in any place, and no where is that more true than at a Saturday street fair. In the space of one city block (not avenue), it is possible to consume a main course of pad thai, tortilla Espanola, grilled corn on the cob, gyro, barbeque, and arepas; followed by crepes, burritos, falafel and empanadas. You can wash it down with some nice fresh lemonade, a smoothie, or, if you're lucky, a free flavored water. Nine out of every 20 stalls.

Now a benefit would be if you could walk up an entire fair without having to pay attention to traffic, but though the "host" street is closed to cars, the cross strees remain open and full of hot, angry, annoyed drivers who have been forced to detour because their preferred route is closed for a street fair.

Happy Anniversary

2006-05-30T22:05:00.000-04:00

Last week marked my one year anniversary in New York City. In honor of such, I'm noting some of my recent New York achievements.

1. Sometime in the last couple of months, I saw a roach in my apartment that could have been a mouse. This was disturbing because I have not cooked once since I moved in, my roommate has not been here since October, and I generally don't eat at home either. And because the thing was enormous and I have a mortal fear of bugs.

Naturally, I went out and bought all sorts of non-environmentally-friendly-but-guaranteed-to-do-harm-to-living-beings-and-unborn-children bug killer and sprayed with abandon.

Saturday, I found said roach, (and the royal "we" believe it is the self-same roach that was discovered months ago), now deceased and decomposing (behind a couch; it was a thorough cleaning). Still terrified of the now-transparent vermin, lest it re-compose itself and regenerate at the moment I attempted to pick it up with layers of paper towels, I grabbed my handy Dustbuster and began suctioning.

Eventually, I will need to buy a new Dustbuster because I will never be able to change the bag.

2. This morning, after a fitful night of sleep spent thinking about all the work that I should have done over the weekend, I woke before 5 to a new sound in my apartment.

Over the weekend, it suddenly turned into summer. Because I have not yet fully allowed myself to believe this, and because I am trying to live an environmentally-friendly life, I have not yet installed any air conditioners. I am relying, instead, on strategically opened windows at strategic times of the day; because I don't really get much sun or light in my apartment, this works rather well.

But I have no screens. Not surprising, in an apartment that has no shower. And I think that I now have a bird, which is not, in case you were wondering, a pet I have ever wanted.

Manguage

2006-05-04T20:46:00.000-04:00

I'm fascinated by the way that people talk and the words that they choose.

When girls disappoint each other or ask other girls to be flexible, they become overly apologetic: "I'm sooooooo sorrrrryyyyy." The time it takes to say each word multiples exponentially. If the conversation takes place in person, it is accompanied with a head tilt and sad eyes. If it's over the phone, it is said multiple times. If it's on email, it's written out as above.

When guys disappoint each other or ask other guys to be flexible, they refer to each other as "man." It's that simple and forthright - hey, I need to reschedule, can you do it then? Yeah? Thanks so much, man.

Never dude in this scenario, and never, never guy.

Real Estate Values, New York Edition

2006-04-30T18:47:00.000-04:00

It's a fun game to play in New York City...sit around, especially with friends from out of town, and talk about how much "people" you know have just spent on apartments.

Today at brunch, with two out of town guests, the game commenced.

Guest #1 from Denver commented on Guest #2's house, in the Capitol Hill area of Denver. She lives alone, has three bedrooms upstairs that she doesn't even use, all for the price of $1,000.

Which, of course, caused me to provide this explanation of my first apartment in Denver: "We had five bedrooms, two bathrooms, a cigar cellar, two-car garage, dishwasher, washer-dryer, and a yard, and I paid $320 a month."

T, my fellow New Yorker commented, "My friend moved into a 400-square foot apartment here in the city. A couple of months ago, the owners decided they wanted to sell it, so out she goes. It's a three-story walkup. Sold for $750,000."

We all, collectively, remark and sigh about how unbelievable that is.

Guest #1 from Denver comments, "Yeah, T has a friend in New York who's shower is in the kitchen."

I laugh. "Yeah, that's me. But it's not just the shower - which, actually, I don't have - it's the whole bathroom."

Blogging Six Degrees of Separation

2006-04-14T12:55:00.000-04:00

Because it's been a slow day and I completely lack motivation to do anything, I tried to start a new game. Start at one blog I visit frequently and see how long it takes until I get to another blog that I visit frequently.

You can play too. The only rule is that you have to explore - click on new blogs.

I quickly tired of this game. It was too easy, and then too difficult. But good luck.

Oh, and of course then there are lazy people like me who don't have any blogs in their blog roll and really take all the joy out of your fun.

Foreign Travels

2006-04-14T12:37:00.000-04:00

About 30 seconds after I logged on this morning,* My brother IMed:

"survey says i should not have gone out last night"

He has no idea.

Last night I "wakened my tastebuds" to the culinary delights and liquid cures of Brazil and Russia.

This was a bad idea.

Stop 1: Boca Chica - the girl mouth, or does it just roll off the tongue? Either way, it's made my morning very uncomfortable.

Stop 2: Anyway Cafe. My new favorite place. Live music, decor that almost makes it feel like you're outside. Oh, and infused vodkas (available by the carafe?), 20-plus martinis, beer from the former Soviet republics, borscht and blinis.

Stop 3: The locals decided to walk the UES visitor to the subway. I can go myself, she claimed. Come on, it's three blocks, we're happy to do it, we replied. Finally, our powers of persuasion won her over. On the way to the subway, we saw undercover cops busting a drug deal. Mission accomplished.

Fortunately, it's Good Friday and no one's in the office and none of my clients are around. I did actually curl up under my desk for about three minutes, then decided I would be better off grabbing a newspaper and "reading" it with my back to the office.

* A quick note about my preferred IM etiquette. Generally, first thing in the morning is a bad time for me if you actually want me to start and participate in a conversation. Usually going through emails, needing coffee, etc. Same story for the end of the day - just trying to get out of there. Yes, if I'm logged on, I'm still there. Oddly, people often find first thing in the morning a good time to ask me to help with something. They are wrong. I am disinclined.

I'm a Trend Spotter

2006-04-10T20:13:00.000-04:00

Uncanny. Is reciprocation a Spring-time phenomenon? Or are people just going outside now?

Flying without ID

2006-04-10T19:52:00.000-04:00

Being the escort that I've become in the last week, I hopped on a flight up to Boston on Saturday to watch the Rackets U.S. Open and attend their association's celebratory dinner.*

Without really reading the details, we signed up and headed off to the airport. We knew that:

1. The dinner was black tie
2. We would have to be dressier than our normal Saturday-Sunday attire during the days
3. That there would be few guys under 35; and
4. Most of the guys were coming from England.

As seasoned travelers, we normally would not leave for the airport more than an hour before our flight. But three weeks ago, my wallet with my treasured California driver's license was stolen. Now the DMV in New York does make it relatively easy for new residents; rather than taking the test over, as California requires, you simply send in your old license and get a new one in the mail. And they also make it easy to get a new license if your old one has been stolen. But they do not have an easy solution if your out-of-state license is stolen.

Normally, I'd just use my passport. However, two months ago, my passport expired.

Moral Dilemma I just typed out the rest of this story. And I'm not foolish enough to think that my little corner of cyberspace is particularly well-trafficked, particularly by those who are not related to me in some way. But do I really want to explain how I managed to get to Boston and back on an airplane without ID on the World Wide Web?

So instead, a best quote of the weekend:

"Is 'Guy' a stupid name in England too?" (Said in a good-natured manner by one good-natured person to another.)

* And to see my brother, which was the highlight of the weekend.

Reciprocation

2006-04-07T12:01:00.000-04:00

Last night I made a lame attempt at hitting the NYC club scene. A friend needed a favor: help entertaining her clients at 11 at Cain. So I dug out my party shoes and going outshirt and ferried over to the land of the clubs, and land previously untouched by my presence.

We were some of the first groups to arrive at the club; combined with the fact that we were, in effect, acting as escorts, we were forced to be sociable and conduct friendly conversation. We each took a client under our tender tutelage while we drank vodka sodas with straws.

Naturally, one of my client's first questions was the oh-so-original, "So, what do you do?" Oftentimes, I respond with answers like "macrame" or "a lot of things" or "I'm sort of a glorified salesperson, except there's really no glory in it whatsoever." But since this is a friend's client, I provided an honest, straightforward answer: "I'm in PR, I work at an agency." He proceeds to ask me if I'm an image consultant (no) or a publicist (also no), so I provide a quick PR 101 lesson and share some of the details of my job.

Why do men, (and I do think it is exclusively men), express a great degree of interest in what women "do," yet then refuse to share whatever it is that they do? Wherefore the cagey responses? Do you think we care? If we're already talking to you, and interested enough to ask the question, do you think the fact that you've started a hedge fund, are a student or work for the government (three recent examples) is going to cause such damage that we will no longer be interested? Or do you think that disclosing those facts will suddenly increse our interest level, and we'll lose sight of who you are as a person, and only see you as the potential sugar daddy/tax write-off/get-out-of-jail card free that you are?

Perhaps it's a reflection on me. But it feels quite condescending.

The Game is Winning

2006-04-07T11:55:00.000-04:00

Unfortunately, my little game is much harder than it seems. However, I did manage to incorporate some lovelies into my conversation yesterday.

To wit, one colleague's last day was yesterday. As he walked around saying his goodbyes, I managed to tell him the following:

"Well, good luck; you know, it's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday."

"Former Colleague, I just want you to know that as you go on, we'll remember all the times we had together."

A challenging aspect is to try to say these lines without singing them.

And a contest has been born. Give me a lyric, and I'll try to incorporate it into my daily work conversation.

Work Games

2006-04-06T09:20:00.000-04:00

A friend recently told me that his group designed a contest during an interrogation: whoever could insert the most song lyrics into his answers would win (and yes, it is a group of all men).

I'm going to try this today and see if anyone catches on. I think I'm most excited to use "working overtime on the production line" and "you're the reason I'm leaving."

Moving on Up

2006-04-05T19:11:00.000-04:00

I was recently upgraded from a small gray cube with no view whatsoever to a large, white coffice (not quite a cube, not quite an office). I have a window and a semblance of privacy - no longer can people sneak up on me from behind. And in what might be the best feature of all, I have a desk that separates me from the "others." With chairs for people who want to stop by and chat.

It has, sadly, improved my job satisfaction astronomically. I should not be so easily swayed, but alas, I am.

From my new location, high above the city on the second-highest floor* in a moderately high Midtown building, I had a great view of the hours of snow today. Needless to say, this decreased my satisfaction with Manhattan to dismal depths.

*There exists the idea that having an office at the top is (choose your own) impressive/powerful/great/beneficial/etc. I beg to disagree. We have two elevator banks with four anemic, nauseating elevators in each bank. In the morning, there are 13 possible floors where the elevators can stop before I disembark. I schedule each morning so I can arrive just around 9. There are many mornings when I spend a good 5 minutes waiting for the elevator, followed by a 5-minute choppy ride up.

But nothing is worse than last night, when, for once, I caught one of the elevators alone and rode "express" to the lobby. Except then the doors stayed shut. And the car didn't move. And my pressing the buttons and screaming and banging on the doors did nothing. And then the car started to move, and I didn't know which direction we were going, if we were rising or falling, so I started hitting buttons, and finally the car stopped moving, and I ran out, and was stuck on a strange floor (which was, unfortunately, none of the anonymous floors in the building that I'd actually like to explore), but still had to catch another elevator (no death wish, thank you) to get out of the builing.

Telephone Etiquette

2006-04-04T22:52:00.000-04:00

First, an observation. Consider the sample size: my friends under the age of 40. Most, but not all, dwellers in cities of some size.

Of these, 99 percent have cell phones. Most of the 99 percent who have cell phones do not have home phones. The ones who do? Married or living with their significant other.

Therefore, one could draw the following conclusions:

You are a person
You are under the age of 40
Therefore, you have a cell phone
And you have a home phone
Therefore, you are married or living with your significant other

Not scientific, but I’m a publicist, and recent studies show that 90 percent of publicists love surveys, even if the sample size is 1.

The point is that most of the people I know have cell phones and/or are very familiar with one of its key features – caller ID. Indeed, I have it at work, (a delicious side dish). So yes, I always know you’re calling, unless you’re “unknown” or “unavailable.” But I feign surprise anyway, to preserve some of those feelings – dread? excitement? – that one used to have when one picked up the phone – never knowing what would be waiting for you on the other end.

Despite my idiosyncrasies, there are some elements of telephone etiquette that clearly define a relationship. Unsurprisingly, most have to do with another cell phone feature – voicemail.

Example 1: The screener. In November, my mother asked me if I ever screened her calls. I (stupidly?) told her the truth – yes. To be frank, there are times when I do not want to talk on the phone to anyone – I’m hungover, I’m in a bad mood, I’m with people, I’m in the shower, it’s early, it’s late, etc. We’ll have a much better conversation if we talk when I want and am ready to talk. Interestingly enough, I tend to screen only people I’m very close to, or, on rare occasion, people I’m trying to avoid altogether.

Example 2: The repeat caller. This person is probably a victim of the screener. As evidence, there have been weekends when I have missed 17 calls from my mother. As I explained to her, I know you’re calling, and calling you back is on my list of things to do. Issuing the repeat calls is not going to speed up this timeline, it will only annoy me and make me less likely to call you back.

Example 3: The intimate caller. In this day and age, there are three words that define the status of a relationship. Not “I love you,” but “Hi, it’s me.” As I’ve already mentioned, I know it’s you because I have caller ID.* But there you go, assuming that I should know who “me” is by the sound of your voice. In doing so, you’re also assuming a level of intimacy – that you’re the only “me” in my life.

The lesson? If you’re leaving me messages and identifying yourself as “me,” I’d probably know who you are even if I didn’t have caller ID. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.

*(Side note: sometimes I don’t check my voicemail for days, because I know who’s called me and assume they have something to say to me, so I might as well just call them back and not wade through the “you have three new messages and three saved messages. Three new messages. First new message.” rigor morale).

An Overabundance of Adverbs.

2006-03-01T22:42:00.000-05:00

As a member of the esteemed PR community, I receive multiple emails a day compiling requests from journalists around the world.

Last week, there was this:

I'm working on a story about the word 'actually.' A warning: Most of my observations are from a couple of weeks of watching TV, and listening to conversations on the street and in blogs, so I know I may be way off base here, but it seems, among young people, the word has really become a popular adverb, perhaps, as popular as the discourse marker it's commonly used as. It's nothing new, I presume. But a shift that maybe has occurred in the past ten years. Any linguists out there with a particular interest in how these words become popular -- and especially why a word like 'actually' would become popular with one generation and not another.

Well, my observation would point to two other adverbs.

1. Honestly. Honestly, I cannot count the number of times I hear this in one day. Honestly, just about everyone I know uses this word. Honestly, are they lying to me the rest of the time?

2. Apparently. Apparently, they are lying to me the rest of the time.

In Like a Bengal Tiger

2006-03-01T22:29:00.000-05:00

Out like a soft, smooth summer breeze?

One can dream.

Recap of the last 16 days...by the numbers.

26.9 inches of snow
5 days of toys
17 hour round trip to San Francisco
3 offers on my car
1 car sold
4 six-packs of beer for targets
23 hours awake
79 degrees in the office
3 family members

Key number for March?

17. For St. Patrick's.

The Tuck In Boot

2006-02-13T19:00:00.000-05:00

A very polarizing issue - whether or not you (a woman) should tuck your pants (jeans) into your boots (cowboy, snow, etc.) or not.

I am not a fan. In my opinion, this looks good on apparently 1 percent of women - those who have long, skinny legs.

But when there's snow, and a lot of it, it makes sense. One of the reasons you buy winter boots is because they're warm and waterproof. Pants are generally not warm and certainly not waterproof. Therefore, when it's wet and snowy and slushy and muddy, tucking your pants into your boots preserves your pants and uses your boots for their designed purpose.

Dispatch from Fall Fashion Week

2006-02-07T22:28:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago I received an invitation to tonight's Nanette Lepore fall runway show. As a fashion aficianado, but generally too broke to "invest" in anything other than a couple of staple, I was looking forward to this glimpse into the lives of the glamfabulous.

I wondered about what I'd wear to fit in with such a chic crowd. Then I realized I should not try to look too hip because I was not going to be turning any heads. And to top it off, I've been fighting off a cold, so regardless of how sucessful I was in pulling off my imposter look, I just wasn't that into it. I was more concerned I'd sneeze or cough at an inopportune moment.

Despite it all, I did manage to learn some valuable tidbits about the fashion industry tonight.

1. During Fashion Week, everyone pretends to be a celebrity. Some of them may be, but everyone in the audience tried to out-hip the other. And we weren't even at the hottest show of the night - Heatherette. (As proof of my lack of real fashion stature, I'd not even heard of Heatherette before I entered Nanette.)

2. Kristen from "Laguna Beach" is really milking her 15 minutes of fame. She's going to make a career out of this. Shockingly good luck.

3. Models lean backwards at unnatural angles when they walk. Rather than walking perpendicularly to the ground, they walk 30 degrees right of upright, with their shoulders pulled back, hips thrust forward, arms swinging at their sides. Watching hours of "America's Next Top Model" didn't prepare me for the strut that is the runway walk. Which I, of course, in all my faux-trendy aspirations, attempted to mimic once I returned to the "safety" of the Bowery.

So I Lied

2006-02-01T10:28:00.000-05:00

About never posting about James Frey again.

But I think the tides have turned. Today, after being vilified by the world's self-appointed book czarina, James Frey's agent dumped him.

It's all too much.

Why, three weeks later, do people still care? I don't remember now, but I don't think the media cared quite so much, or so long, when Doris Kearns Goodwin and Stephen Ambrose were found guilty of plagiarism. Okay, so Jason Blair and Stephen Glass might be a different story, but this has gone on long enough. He didn't copy someone else's work, he didn't fabricate stories about world events - he embellished the facts of his life to sell his story.

Which, to be honest, is something that I do on a more or less daily basis.

January Goals Completed

2006-01-30T22:32:00.000-05:00

In an attempt to take advantage of living in New York and to eventually make something of my life, I established some goals for 2006. Among those are to do something new every month and to do something cultural every month.

January's over tomorrow. I fit both goals in on Saturday.

Something New
Not exactly revolutionary, but I played a some racquetball with two friends, M and P. I'd played squash and tennis before, but racquetball was something new.

The racquetball was entertaining and fun, but more fun were the other people at the 92nd Street Y. There was my playing partner, a man who was probably 20 years older than me but who, and I have confirmation from my partners, was hitting on me. It must have been my stylish outfit. For a while, while the four of us played mixed doubles, the only time M and I would hit the ball was when we served as the men ran around the court taking all the shots.

Then there was the family - mother, father, and tomboy. Mother was decent. Father brags of daughter, "This is the first time she's ever played," then proceeds to yell at P when he beats her, as it was the first time she'd lost a game. Later, when the father asked P if he wanted to play, he admonished P, "But keep your eyes open, I don't feel like getting hit today." Five points later, P beaned him, accidentally, of course. Tomboy was a brat, but probably because she'd never heard the word no.

Something Cultural
A couple of showers later, P, M and another couple joined me in my hood for a play at the Wow Cafe Theater. A pretty original murder mystery, with a number of twists; just about everyone was sleeping with someone else - men with men, men with women, but no girl-on-girl action. Some of the writing was a bit cliched, literally, or a bit too pop-culturesque (though there were no "don't go all Brokeback on my a**" comments), and some of the acting was not good, but overall, quite entertaining, and I'm looking forward to next month's culture.

I also kinda had two cultural events...stopped at the MOMA on Friday night to meet some friends and tour the museum. However, we were meeting at the bar, so I walked through the Pixar exhibit to the bar, where we had a drink and, lo and behold, it was 7:50 - 10 minutes to closing.

Not quite sure what's on for February...

Buzz Kill

2006-01-30T17:45:00.000-05:00

Oh, shocking, breaking news out of London today. Alcohol causes cancer.

Thanks for that, CNN, because hangovers and guilt aren't bad enough.

How to Extend Your 15 Minutes of Infamy Indefinitely

2006-01-25T23:04:00.000-05:00

DEGMS(which is my acronym for don't even get me started).

This is my last James Frey post ever. And I'm never going to read the Leonard book either.

But seriously. Who do you think suggested this coup? A "call in" to Larry King's show to refute the news that, as the Arbiter of American Literature Herself, (a.k.a. Oprah), you have been fooled? So two weeks ago. What's happened since? Have sales flogged? Is the Credibility of the World's most famous Book Club being questioned?

Who approached whom? James Frey, trying to inflate sales of "My Friend Leonard"? Oprah, hoping to restore ratings/legitimacy?

Can I call in sick tomorrow to watch, or would that signify an addiction?

Don't Believe Your Eyes

2006-01-25T17:26:00.000-05:00

Ford has named their new plan for a company turnaround the "Way Forward."

I first saw those words in the the context of the announcement - which focuses on layoffs and bankruptcy. And as I read the article, I wondered if the person who came up with that slogan had since been laid off, or if he/she would be.

Because the first time I read it, my eyes-brain said What? The Wayward Ford plan? What are they thinking?

The Kitchen Wars

2006-01-25T08:12:00.000-05:00

San Francisco and New York both have top-notch restaurants – in San Francisco, you might have to hop in a car and travel to visit Thomas Keller, but you’re also enjoying yourself in Napa as opposed to the Time Warner Center.

Each city would clearly win certain categories – I haven’t yet found a restaurant that serves California cuisine here, but the Italian food in San Francisco can’t compare with the Italian food here. On the whole, though I’d agree with what’s probably the popular conventional wisdom – that New York’s restaurant scene is better than San Francisco’s.

But I can’t go out to eat every night. So sometimes, I venture, (gasp), to the grocery store. The exciting news this/last week is that another West Coast outfit, Trader Joe’s, or as we affectionately call it, TJ’s, is opening in Union Square.

Unfortunately, based on other New York outposts of my Cali faves, I’m not getting my hopes up.

Example: Whole Foods (New York: Union Square/Time Warner Center; San Francisco: California Street/SOMA)

I hate Whole Foods in New York. I loved it in San Francisco.

My habits: I do not cook; I can, but it just doesn't fit in with my life right now. So I'm more of a "Prepared Foods" or salad bar kind of person. My typical takeaway from Whole Foods is less than five items.

Side note: There was a period when I would get dinner from the Cali Street store three times a week or so. This was a good time in my life. Unfortunately, one Saturday I ran into a guy I'd gone on some dates with, with whom I'd been admittedly immature when I decided that regardless of how gorgeous he was, I couldn't bear to stand one more minute with his unfunny self. What are you doing now, I asked, knowing he no longer worked at our former restaurant. I'm managing the bakery at the Whole Foods up the street, he said, and proceeded to tell me how actually unhealthy and unfresh and unnatural the baked goods are there: yeah, they say the pies are all natural and homemade, but we don't even make the crusts; they're frozen.

As a result of this run-in, I avoided the Whole Foods for months, until one day I decided to brave it. Chances are, I reasoned, he'd already left for another store or restaurant. From that point on, I faced my fears and returned to Whole Foods (admittedly with less frequency than before), although I'd often disguise myself with a hat, hood, or strategically placed grocery item. End side note

Price: As per above, I'm not so daft as to actually grocery shop at Whole Foods. With that said, why bother comparing the price. It’s Whole Foods, a.k.a. “Whole Paycheck.” You’re not going there for the bargains. After all, they always have that sign on the “Whole Foods 360” private-label goods that the prices aren’t discounted or something like that.

Size: Of the four WF included in my empirical study, California Street is the smallest – but it’s also the one I frequent/frequented most often. So obviously, the size doesn’t matter. The New York stores are enormous, and often less crowded and difficult to navigate than the California St. store.

Selection/Quality: Incomparable. First of all, (although I’ve been told that the WF that’s to open on Houston and 2nd will be different), there is no wine. (This is a fault throughout New York – it is way to difficult to buy a bottle of wine. Any ghetto grocery store in SF sells wine.) The food – from the bulk items (which don’t exist in NY stores) to the cheese (Humboldt Fog, anyone?) to the prepared food section, deli items and bakery (DEGMS) – is astronomically better at the San Francisco stores. Even the dairy selection is more expansive in California, but I guess that happy cows come from California.

Customer Experience: San Francisco wins hands down (and I’ve heard that Whole Foods has some sort of competition between stores to determine which ones are the best). The California stores were always full of samples – fresh fruit, deli items, soup, seafood, crab, ad nauseam – like an expensive and higher-quality Costco. Returning or reusing a plastic bag would give you a five cent discount or a donation to a local charity.

But the real downside of the New York stores is the check out experience. I understand the stores are crowded, but it’s like being corralled and led out to pasture.

Finally, there's the single best feature of the California Street store: The Peet’s Coffee on the bottom floor.

And here’s a little secret for all New Yorkers who are looking for a better (and really reasonably-priced cup of coffee). The Orange Savings office on 49th between Park and Madison sells Peet’s Coffee. Every fifth coffee is free. Buy a pound of beans and you get a coffee free.

Worlds Collide

2006-01-23T23:06:00.000-05:00

I think there are about 8 million people in New York City. All told, I might know one or two hundred - some I probably don't realize are here, but know them from college or high school or past jobs or who knows what.

Saturday night, I went out with two girls from college. Yearning for the pong of our college days, we headed to a bar in Murray Hill, where most of the patrons probably average between 6 - 18 months out of college versus our 6 - 18 years out of college. So when people started to arrive, we decided to leave, and headed to The Hog Pit.

On our way, figure out that my "regular" crew, including two guys from high school, (among them E, the infamous shower-constructor/senior prom date of vegetable corsage fame), and my birthday mate. And some other friends from our hometown and respective colleges.

Within the hour, the three "originals" had seen a guy I went to play group with, a group of friends of an ex, an ex and former colleagues of one of the "regulars," and some guy who thought he recognized us from Brooklyn (possible ulterior motive?).

Altogether, 3 of us saw a total of 25 people we knew.

I'd never been to The Hog Pit before, and don't know if it has some sort of particular attraction (it might just be that it's an affordable bar in an area with a lot of overpriced options). But it made Manhattan seem like a really small city.

Point of View

2006-01-23T22:35:00.000-05:00

I'm a fan of Jon Stewart, and have been for years. I've seen him before - he spoke at my brother's college graduation a couple of years ago. But when a friend called with an extra ticket to his show today, suddenly I had a doctor's appointment and had to leave work early.

Tonight's guest was Fred Barnes - author of "Rebel in Chief," executive editor of The Weekly Standard, co-host of FOXNews' "Beltway Boys" - in other words, someone whose politics run pretty blatantly opposite to Stewart's.

And this is one of the reasons why I admire him. Because he could have been unfair, he could have embarrassed Barnes, he could have closed himself to an intelligent conversation. Instead, he conducted an intelligent - and humorous - debate/conversation.

My politics are certainly more in line with Stewart's than Barnes's. But it does me absolutely no good to surround myself with people who only think like I do, and shut myself off from people whose opinions are different. On the one hand, how are we ever going to beat them if we don't try to understand them?

Some of my friends who share my politics spend plenty of time ridiculing the right and disdaining their existence, and I'm not guilt-free either. But I'm trying to make an attempt to understand "their" beliefs and thinking so that I at least go into the "battle" - or, more likely, (possibly heated) conversation - in an educated manner.

(Huh, kinda boring. Inspires another more gossipy post.)

Never Say No

2006-01-21T12:17:00.000-05:00

It's a problem. I never say no. It affects nearly everything I do. I think it's borne from a combination of a fear that I might miss something if I do, being too nice, and a desire for adventure.

Sometimes, I end up doing exciting things.

Yesterday night is one example.

For the most part, my job is rather typical of any corporate job, but sometimes exciting opportunities come up. MCing movie premieres. Working the door at VIP events. These are some of the glamorous activities that pepper my life from time to time.

Last night I was called upon to document a PETA rally in midtown. Girls almost bared it all on the street for an hour; fortunately for them, it was an unseasonably warm evening. Men ogled their rear ends. I snapped picture upon picture. Spoke to interesting people - the cop who said, Sure, they'll protest painful animal deaths, but they wouldn't think twice about having an abortion. The woman who spoke to some poor person on the other end of her cell phone with a message intended for the crowd, Oh my GAWD, you would not buLEEVE this, there are all these WOMEN (there were six), and they're NAKED (they wore thongs and shoes); there's a FASHION event here and the people are wearing WOOL and FUR and they're protesting by being NAKED.

Yes. Exactly. Those long, elegant evening gowns you saw? Made of wool. Right.

You never quite have a great Friday night until you email around pictures of nearly naked women.

*****

For 2006 I instituted a rule that I must intentiontionally do something new every month. With my track record, that shouldn't be too hard. However, it's now January 21, and I have no new activity to report.

Bonus: Great Expectations

2006-01-19T19:56:00.000-05:00

For years, I knew this day was going to come. That it came today was a bit of a surprise.

*****

Email Inbox. Time: 1:52. Subject: News.

Venus,

D mentioned he saw you in NY. What a small world.

Before you heard from somewhere else, I wanted to let you know that I got engaged down in Carmel this past weekend to my girlfriend E. It's been an absolute whirlwind since then - but I thought it was right for me to let you know before you read it in the alumni magazine or something like that.

Hope all is well for you and that NY is still a ball!

Best,
P

*****

I long expected that I would feel like I got punched in the stomach when I heard the news. Instead, it felt like finding out your 7th grade health teacher is pregnant. Something that you are not surprised to hear and happy about, but in reality has no affect on your life.

After all, he's going to be 30 this year (as am I, but he's seven months older), and this is what people do - they grow up, fall in love, settle down, get married. It's true that at one point I thought I would be the one he would propose to, but that was what? - four? five? - years ago now. It's been years since I imagined, pictured or assumed the rest of my life would be spent by his side.

So I responded...

*****

Hey P - that's great news, I'm very excited for you. You probably didn't need to worry about me finding out through the alumni mag, as I think I'm so delinquent on paying my dues that I've been permanently removed from the list...anyway, I'm really happy for you both, and wish nothing less than the best for you.

In other news, it was a complete trip to see D - he walked up behind me and said Our College sucks. I nearly jumped out of my skin, after first checking to make sure that I wasn't wearing a sweatshirt or anything.

Anyway, congratulations again, and best of luck with what I hope is a relatively painless wedding planning period.
Best,
V

*****

And it's true. No, "Oh, he beat me," sentiments; it's not a race. And no regrets.

I doubt he'd be thrilled by my posting this online, but I doubt he'll ever find this. And even if he did, this is not something I'd spend hours searching for and editing to keep hidden.

Intended Post for the Evening

2006-01-19T19:41:00.000-05:00

After being all cavalier about my forthcoming (and imaginary) anonymous worker blog existence, I checked to see if anyone had actually been coming by to read.

Imagine my shock, my horror, my uncontrolled freak out when I see my company name and headquarters location logged in the site's traffic.

Which leads to a frantic searching of all mentions of my job or work and either deleting or editing said references to ensure that my current and future livelihood remains intact.

And the realization, as I'm finishing, that the mystery shopper is probably the one colleague who knows the actual address of this site, and that it's the server that changes the location.

A quick text confirmed the fact.

But by this point, the paranoia was pervasive, and swift work had to be done. And was. So now, even if someday work determines that this belongs to me, I don't think it could be held against me.

Sunnier Climes

2006-01-18T23:09:00.000-05:00

I was talking - actually talking, which is a feat for me, since I'm not much of a phone talker, and, frankly, pretty awful at keeping in touch in general - with my girlfriend E yesterday. We're both employed in the same field, ended up here kind of by accident after traveling the world (her) the Western hemisphere (me). The magical mystery tour of our careers...

E and I are aware of all the anonymous worker blogs out there, formerly anonymous worker blogs, and some blogs of current workers, and the number of (probably at least slightly) lucrative writing/publishing deals these memoirists have/will earn.

You know, it's too bad, E, just like the Internet boom, we're a year late to this trend too.

What do you mean?

Well, if we'd had the idea a year ago to blog our work lives anonymously we could have been the ones sporting the book deals.

(Laughter)

So I was thinking about starting a new blog that was an anonymous work blog, but I think that's tired and done now...memoirs are so James Frey...and all I'd probably get is fired with a Note In My Permanent File that I am permanently unemployable.

Maybe we should just get married, and then we could have a baby and not have to go to work.

Yeah, but then we'd have to make sure we find someone who could actually support us.

Right.

Moving East...

2006-01-18T19:01:00.000-05:00

First the car, then the shower, now the timezone... perhaps a bit of acceptance that I now actually live on the East Coast?

Catalog of the Boys of MLK Weekend

2006-01-17T22:59:00.000-05:00

Worst pick-up line

Him: Have you seen “Beauty and the Geek?” It’s the show put on by Ashton Kutcher’s production company.
Us: No.
Him: It’s great. It’s about these ugly, but really smart and funny, guys and these beautiful, but really dumb girls. And they all go out, and they try to make a match.
Us: Uh huh.
Him: Yeah. And the girls, they’re really dumb. And they go out with the geeks, and it’s a reality show.
Me: Okay, thanks, we’ll check it out. Thanks for the tip.

That is either a bad conversation starter or an insult. Should we assume that we are the beauties, the beautiful but really dumb girls, and you are the geek, ugly but really smart and funny? If so, prove it by starting a better conversation.

Best pick-up line

Him: What grade are you in?
Me: Uh…
Him: Are you a junior?
Me: Uh…I was about…(trying to do subtraction in my head)…
Him: In college?
Me: Uh…about…
Him: Where do you go to school?
Me: Where do you go?
Him: Lawrenceville. How old are you?
Me: 29. How old are you, my very drunk little friend?
Him: A senior.

Bad act

The guy who mimicked Ali G. Started out funny, but you have to have your own material and stop the accent at some point. Ten minutes is not funny. Five minutes is not funny.

Worst act

The guy who had chocolate milk, then retched for an unknown period of time.

Moving Into the 1900s

2006-01-17T22:30:00.000-05:00

E came over last night and changed my life.

“You couldn’t have lived on the second floor?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “I live on floor 3-4.”

(In my building, the floors have one set of numbers on the floor and another on the wall.)

We get to my apartment. There are some signs on the door.

The Han-u-man Ash-ram? What’s that? he asked.

Hanuman Ashram. I said. It’s a temple to the monkey God Hanuman.

He walks in behind me. Through the multicolored kitchen, into the multicolored living room.

It’s usually much neater, I explain.

A series of sounds – huh, aha, hmm – gurgle from his mouth.

Where does all the magic happen? he asked.

I showed him my room.

Back into the living room, he spots the picture box of Mary holding a dying Jesus.

Does this make the guys nervous? he asked.

Not as nervous as the cross over my bed, I respond.

That yours? he asked.

No, but I couldn’t well take it down, could I?

Okay, where’s the bathroom? he asked.

In the kitchen, I say.

In the kitchen? What a weird place, he said.

I reached through the curtain to open the bathroom door.

No glass? he asked.

Due to the aforementioned cup-showering, I had a cup in the bathtub.

What, do you do your dishes in here too? he asked.

No, that’s the cup for the shower. I said.

Later, at dinner, he said, how long have you lived there?

Since July 1st, so about six months, I guess.

How long did that take me – a minute and a half? he asked.

Yeah, I said.

So, it took me a minute and a half to do something you couldn’t get done in six months?

Hey, I never would have gotten it done if it weren’t for you.

What did E do that has improved my life as much, if perhaps not more so, as getting an iPod?

He turned my bathtub into a shower.

NYC Talks: 126 Rivington

2006-01-15T23:16:00.000-05:00

By now, everyone in New York knows about the "kids" at 126 Rivington. And sure enough, conversations during this very social Martin Luther King weekend were a six degrees of separation catalogue of who knows who and how. Except my empirical evidence shows that it's about two degrees of separation in this situation, and everyone seems to be connected to Mike.

Example 1, Friday night: Subject of venerable Sunday Styles article comes up. Friend T used to date former resident and roommate of Mike, Kevin.

Example 2, Saturday night: Did you see the Sunday Styles last weekend? Friend M knows Mike, and two other random guys we met knew him as well.

Now I'm not sure if the random guys really qualify as one of my personal degrees of separation for me since I don't really know them, but the fact that everyone seems to know them might be an indication that by next week, or certainly in three weeks when the taping is over, the new celebrealities may wish their cupcake tenement had never been exposed. And we'll all be tired of talking about them.

(Apparently the news is that Ashton Kutcher's production company has signed the kids, and the first night out is tomorrow.)

Sobriety

2006-01-12T18:42:00.000-05:00

I wouldn’t say I’m still suffering about the “injustice” I feel at having actually finished a supposed work of nonfiction only to find out that parts of it were falsified. The more I think about James Frey, the more I’m flat-out surprised by the sheer numbers of the members of the media and people who feel “robbed” because it’s been determined he is a Liar. First of all, the guy admitted from the beginning that he was an Alcoholic and a Drug Addict and a Criminal – is it such a stretch to consider that he might be Lying as well?

But more to the point, have all of these people never overindulged in a mind-altering substance in their lifetimes? If so, bravo to them. And they’re probably mostly all Liars as well.

In perspective, this Guy was a Drug Addict and an Alcoholic for at least a decade. There is no possible way that he could remember such Detail even if he did write it all down. I’m not an Alcoholic (spare me your comments about Denial) but there are times when I probably drink more than my fair share of Alcohol. Sometimes, the Events of Those Nights become a bit hazy, and I may need to be reminded of them. And that’s certainly happened to Friends of mine as well, and though they deny it, probably my Mother and Father too. Moreover, if you do the same thing time and time again (e.g. go to the same bar weekend after weekend) the events of any one particular night may become difficult, if not impossible, to distinguish, whether or not you were out of your mind on a particular night.

I’m not trying to out myself, my friends or my family as alcoholics; on the contrary, if we all exist in varying degrees of sobriety, and still at times forget things, it should be expected that an Alcoholic and a Drug Addict forgot more than his fair share of events and “had” to make something up.

The fact of the matter is it’s a quick read, as proven, once again, by the fact that I finished the book. Good for him for actually sitting down and writing it.

Homesty

2006-01-11T23:03:00.000-05:00

I knew a coach once who misspelled "honesty" - into some sort of a pig's dwelling. The story is that all the kids all started laughing - at him, first, not with him. To their delight, he kind of joined in, and it became a theme of the season.

It's not always the way that conversations go. A little white lie here, a stretch of the truth there. Or just a lack desire or need or reasons to bring the truth up. (For a good look at honesty, go see "Match Point.)

The only times I've had really honest conversations with my friends is when there has been a rift or a fight or someone's feelings have been hurt. As I'm rather conflict-avoidant, non-confrontational and easy-going, these conversations have been few and far between.

I'm honest in these conversations, though, because at this point, there's probably nothing to lose. You can be honest about your feelings toward the person, your opinions, your thoughts, because there's a good chance the relationship may be over anyway, or you may never talk to the person again, so you might as well leave them knowing exactly who you are.

In my (albeit limited) experience, the relationships continued after this point - though possibly with some subtle, or major, changes. Sometimes I think it's because I realize that I actually like the person more, or know the person better, after being honest about our strengths, faults, fears.

But you can't just start one of those conversations. Most of the time, you don't need to - simply by being a friend, by listening when they talk, by remembering special dates, what have you, you demonstrate the amount you value them. And you (or maybe it's just me) can't just call someone up and say "Hi, how's your day? Great. Yeah, work's fine. I was just calling to tell you how important you are to me. Oh, you're welcome. Yeah, I'll talk to you later. Bye."

But maybe I'll try it sometime.

Reading is Stupid

2006-01-10T22:37:00.000-05:00

I met a traveler, a well-read traveler, who coined that phrase. We all got quite a laugh from that. When you're backpacking in foreign countries for months, reading is a default activity.

I'm not a great reader. I read The New Yorker and The Atlantic Monthly regularly, but I have an extremely difficult time reading books. I'll read enough of the story to get involved, then skip to the end to determine the end of the story, will continue reading, and keep skipping forward and backward. Sometimes, I'll make it through an entire work of fiction, but I'm rarely able to finish a work of non-fiction, especially if it's an extension of the five-paragraph essay (intro paragraph building to thesis, three supporting paragraphs, restatement of thesis followed by conclusion) I've been writing and reading since fourth grade.

Sidebar: Why bother reading these? After the first chapter, you know what the author is going to prove, and you either agree or disagree, and 300 pages of supporting documentation is just repetitive, didactic, and boring. Incidentally, the fact that I can last through a non-fiction New Yorker or Atlantic Monthly article but not a treatise on the same topic may speak to my attention span. End sidebar

Alas. I finally read a complete book, a memoir, on the plane to Las Vegas last week. James Frey's Million Little Pieces. Yes, I cheated a little bit, read ahead to the end to find out what happened to all of the characters. A work of non-fiction, and I finished it.

And then, yesterday, what do we learn? It's fake writer day.

(However, I was so proud and inspired by actually finishing a book that I picked up another before I learned that the work was at least partly fabricated. The Kite Runner. And now I'm sticking to fiction and back to my magazines.)

Time

2006-01-09T22:22:00.000-05:00

"I'm worried about him," he said to me.

"Him? Really?" I responded.

We had five, maybe ten minutes left in the trip. Not nearly enough time to start or finish such a conversation.

In this case, I think the person is actually all right. But we all deserve someone to worry about us now and then.

Last week I was a bit of a mess. Frustrated by the fact that I'm now less than a year from being 30, and don't feel like I've really accomplished anything, moved my life into that place where I thought I would be. Particularly on the career front - my third or fourth one in less than a decade. I look to what should be my aspirations in this career - to reach the top - and have absolutely no desire to get there.

I have a good life. Most of the time, I am a disgustingly happy and upbeat person. I am grateful for everything I have, for all of the opportunities I've had. Which makes me more determined to actually make something out of it.

So for 2006, I've established a list of goals. Some of them are:

Do something new every month.
Do something cultural every month.
Establish a second source of income that doesn't involve going to another place of work.

I spent the last week in Vegas for CES. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but I got home this morning at 2 a.m. and I'm pooped. Another trade show next week...National Retail Federation in New York, which means no MLK day for me. Glad I took those last two weeks off, because I don't think I'll get another day off until after St. Patrick's Day.

Another Expected Post About the Transit Strike

2005-12-21T14:29:00.000-05:00

By now, I'm a thousand miles away from New York where public transit exists, but cars rule the day, and the metro area is only some small percentage of the number of people who live in the NY metro area, leading to never-unmanageable traffic. And even if I were still in New York, and not on vacation, I have some sort of sick fascination with usually walking the three miles to work anyway, so the strike would certainly inconvenience me on the days when I oversleep or it rains, but I'd just be late, or wet, when I arrived at work.

But just for fun, here's my story.

Planned itinerary: Delta flight from LaGuardia departing at 10 a.m.
Starting point: Lower East Side, Manhattan

6:15 - Woke up, turned on the TV and realized that the strike was on. Hmm, I mused, I did not develop a contingency plan for transportation to the airport. We, or at least I, never really thought the strike would happen, especially after last Thursday's false alarm. Oh, they'll come to an agreement, the infamous "they" won't let it happen.

7:00 - Left my apartment. Uniform consisted of jeans, sweater, jacket, scarf, gloves, and boots (not winter boots, fashion boots). Back pack holding sneakers, pair of shoes and toiletries; pulling rolling suitcase.

7:10 - Arrive at the corner of Houston and Chrystie. Try to hail a cab. With suitcase in tow, receive apologetic looks.

7:30 - Begin walking North. Think that I can walk to Penn Station, catch the LIRR to JFK, and then take a shuttle to LaGuardia. Realize that I will not make the plane under this scenario, but at least that will get me to the airport.

7:40 - Call my family, let them know that I'm not going to make the plane.

8:00 - End up in Union Square, see the W Hotel. Check with the concierge and ask if they have any guests going to LGA; perhaps I could jump in? They don't, but Jose the bellman offers to help me out.

8:15 - This is not working. Jose says to me, "Fucking subways, man. I can't believe that they did this. It's the holidays." We brainstorm alternate routes to the airport, and come up with a shuttle bus that runs from Grand Central to LGA and leaves every half hour. Jose hails a cab, I jump in and join another passenger.

8:30 - We've picked up another passenger on the way. Around Grand Central, traffic starts picking up; I offer to jump out at 40th Street. Our cab's in the middle of the road; the new passenger says, "Here?" "Yeah, if that's okay?" He sees the new laws of the road, with commuters jumping out and in anywhere, and agrees.

8:32 - The 8:30 bus is pulling away when I step up. Get in line for the 9:00 bus. The guy in front of me, who will also be on the 9:00 bus, has a 9:00 flight. The guy in back of me has a 10:20 flight from JFK.

9:33 - Arrive at the first stop at LGA. I'm the last.

9:52 - Arrive at the Delta terminal.

9:54 - Get to the counter. Say, I think I've missed my flight. Confirmed.

10:03 - Can be booked on a 3:15 out of Kennedy for an extra $500.

10:56 - Edward and Clara at the Delta counter figure out a way to put me on a Song flight to Florida for $25, and standby for the connection. Their superior is pissed that they're breaking protocol and not charging me the extra $500. Edward tells me not to worry about it - it's Christmas, after all.

11:17 - Get on the plane. It's empty. Seems like I wasn't the only one with trouble after all.

Vacation

2005-12-19T16:37:00.000-05:00

I'm on the longest vacation I've taken in three years. Off until Jan 3. Ahhhhhhh.

My Car.

2005-12-15T18:19:00.000-05:00

Sad. Sad. Sad.

Sent this email today.

V. sad now.
______________________

Hi all,
I apologize for the highly impersonal email, but the time has probably come for me to sell my car. Alas, the registration is going to run out in 16 days, and my sister and brother-in-law, who had kindly been storing it in their garage, where it was waiting for the day I returned to a car-centric culture, are moving next week. So, I am starting to accept the fact that having a car in California does me no good when I'm living in New York.

If you're not interested, you can skip directly to the bottom. Otherwise, here are the details, although many of you may have experienced its smooth drive before.

It's a 1998 Honda CR-V, with about 50 or 55,000 miles on it. It's been well cared for, with all of the requisite tire changes, maintenance checkups, oil changes, car washes, etc. It has never (knock on wood) had a mechanical problem, although, in the interest of full disclosure, I did drive it into a parked car one snowy night while I was living in Denver. The damage was repaired with real Honda parts (not OEM). I also upgraded the stereo, but it's nothing fancy, just a CD player. The windows are tinted because you pretty much have to do that when you live in Denver or suffer through-window sunburns.

Physically, the car's in good shape - there are some scratches and dings, but it's been street parked for most of its SF tenure and, frankly, that's what bumpers are for.

I know it's stupid, but it has a lot of sentimental value to me and I'd love to see it end up with someone I know, or a friend of a friend, or, well, not a junkyard or some used car lot. Based on the Kelly Blue Book figures, it's actual value lies between $8,000 and $10,000. (It's car sales, there's bound to be some negotiation.)

So, if you are in the market for a new car, or know someone who is or who might be, would you kindly let me know and/or pass on this email? I'll probably stick it up on craigslist in the coming days, but wanted to give you all first crack.

To conclude this email equally as impersonally as it opened, thanks very much, happy holidays, and good luck in 2006.
Best,
Venus

P.S. Miss you all, NY is good, weather sucks and I regret ever complaining about SF weather and the heat this past summer.

Running Diary of 12/14/05

2005-12-14T23:07:00.000-05:00

6:48 Alarm goes off
7:42 Stop pressing snooze, get out of bed
7:46 Turn on the water
7:50 Realize it's brown and cold
7:51 Decide bathing isn't such a priority today
8:02 Start putting on boots, coat, scarf, gloves and hat
8:07 Leave apartment
8:30 Have walked 20 blocks. Wearing what one colleague described as "quite the Punky Brewster look": lace up "fur"-lined boots, pink leggings, a skirt, cow-print jacket, bright blue scarf, multi-colored ski hat and South American wool gloves. I realize you shouldn't mix your prints, but I am lacking on the winter accessories.
8:31 Can no longer feel my knees
9:03 Arrive at work (actual time. It's logged every day.)
10:38 Legs thaw; remove pink leggings and lace up boots for more work-appropriate alternatives.

PM
4:49 Complete project with a 5 o'clock deadline
7:12 Receive just about the best work news I've ever received. Realize the amount of joy and glee I feel about this is probably sick and inappropriate.
11:35 (Projected) Plan to view said work success and go to sleep with a smile.

12/15 AM
4:44 (Projected and estimated) Turn another year older.

Sag

2005-12-14T22:58:00.000-05:00

I pretty much believe in things like astrology, fate, luck, etc. I would never have my personalized horoscope read, though, because I wouldn't want some (potential) hack's vision of my future to alter the way I choose to live my life.

But there has to be something said for astrology. The older I get, more and more of my close friends are Sagittarii (that's 7 years of Latin for you). Maybe it's the fiery personalities, adventurous natures or steadfast independence that we all share - though I'm not always sure I exhibit each of these characteristics. Maybe part of the reason we thrive as the center of attention is because, as children, we are constantly fighting against the pilgrims, Jesus and dreidels for recognition of our birthday.

To all of my Sag friends, real and virtual, happy birthday.

Right

2005-12-13T19:01:00.000-05:00

Is just about my favorite response to any question or comment. It can really be used in any situation.

"Are you coming to the party on Friday?"
"Right."
Translation: Um, I have to check my social calendar, but unless something better comes up, I'll try to stop by.

"Did you remember to fed ex the product?"
"Right."
Translation: Nope, but I'll do it now.

"Dude, that was the best show in the history of shows."
"Right."
Translation: We absolutely do not have the same taste.

"I think we should see other people."
"Right."
Translation: You mean nothing to me, either.

Right's close cousin is DWAI - don't worry about it. Interestingly, and I'm convinced it's not a sheer coincidence, dwai means right in Japanese, I believe.

These two words give me so much pleasure, but I'm not convinced that enough people are aware of DWAI, so I'm going to use my considerable grassroots marketing skills to publicize DWAI. It's worked pretty well so far for rad.

Shameless Plug for My Birthday

2005-12-12T23:37:00.000-05:00

This is my birthday week.

So ingratiate yourself to me forever and send me happy birthday wishes.

Back from the Void

2005-12-12T22:41:00.000-05:00

Last week it got considerably colder, (and thanks, Sam Champion, for letting us know that tomorrow we'll be expecting the coldest blast of the season), I've begun what will likely be a season-long hibernation. Previously, I'd been unable to find a reliable wireless signal in my apartment. But now that I'm spending more time here, I ventured out and brought my stolen laptop into my absent roommate's room, and realized that lo, I could hijack from good old default. So my apologies to default, I hope to pay you back somehow in the future, but in the meantime please accept my gratitude.

As an aside, on the subject of winter, I'm really going to try not to complain about this all winter long. I now understand why shows about nubile teenagers are shot not in New York, but in Southern California. When I moved to California, I couldn't believe my luck - wow, I've landed in vacationland, how do people actually have real lives here, it's too nice, too easy. Oh, but it's very easy to adapt to. New York is reality - it's hard, it's tough, it's bitterly cold, and it's not exactly a spring break destination.

For now, despite the fact that everything about the holidays causes a deep-seeded physical reaction in me (and not, necessarily, one of hohohojolliness), I am going to try to embrace the carols and the decorations and the trees and the charity and the general goodwill toward men because in a month, all this will be gone and it will just be cold, bitterly cold.

My apologies, in advance, to all of you who live in lattitudes north of NY and/or near the Great Lakes. End of weather-related negativity until the summer, when it's too hot for everything.

(Final aside - this, too, is something common I've discovered among humans - regardless of where they live - could be the best climate in the world - they complain about the weather. It's too hot, too cold, too windy, too humid, too dry, too rainy, too snowy, too icy, etc.)

Winter Evening Musings

2005-12-11T20:37:00.000-05:00

Last night was a looooong night, but I had made plans to watch the "early" football games with another Jacksonville fan today, so I somehow managed to roll myself out of bed and across town to the predetermined spot.

A note - watching football on the East Coast is a great way to completely waste a Sunay. In California, you're up by 10, done by 4 at the latest; in New York, you up by 1, done by 7 - game over.

By the third quarter the score was 23-3 or some such abomination. I began talking to some Indy fans, whom I'd initially found really obnoxious - likely just because we were routing for opposite teams and I just don't like Peyton Manning and the plain vanilla Indianapolis team.

Between the four of us, though, we were a pretty amusing crew. A chef, two actors (one who was a former Navyman) and me - essentially, a toy salesperson.
________________________

I wish that the gadgets that attach kids' gloves to their jackets were available for adults. Why aren't they? I lost another glove today. I now have plenty of gloves, but few that match.
________________________

Talked to a friend in California today and explained the whole lost glove scenario. Is it cold? she asked. Yeah, I said. Like 40? she asked. Uh, way colder than 40.
________________________

I cannot regulate the heat in my apartment unless I open the window. The apartment as a whole is rather sauna-like; the bathroom is about 25 degrees warmer because a pipe with some undetermined purpose gives off heat. I'm actually pretty happy about the sauna effect in the bathroom, as it makes the cup bathing method bearable in the winter.

If I were ever going to be a stand-up comedian, this apartment would comprise the bulk of my material. I love it and its character, but others find it highly amusing.
________________________

Some people say that I'm too nice sometimes. Today, walking home from the game, a guy on the street asked me if there were any Internet cafes around. I had no idea, but pointed him in a direction that might have been helpful. He's an artist in town visiting for an exhibition - and apparently he found Internet access somewhere, because he emailed an invitation to the opening. Being nice pays dividends sometimes.
________________________

I am ready for vacation. A bit burnt out at the moment.

Sweet and Sour

2005-12-10T14:59:00.000-05:00

The Thanksgiving to Christmas time period is one of intensity. Emotions run high, everything is amplified, people just feel things more. If your life is beautiful, then everything is rosy, garnished in greens and reds and silvers, ringing with bells and carols. Miserable? Then it's likely this is the loneliest, most depressing time of year.

I'm in the middle, riding a pretty steady wave of equanimity that's been my nature for the last 28 years and 360 days. And because I'm not miserable, I see people whose conditions I assume are miserable - like the guy at 43th and 6th that hands out flyers for Rafael's Salon EVERY day - and think, I bet all he wants is someone to look at him, to acknowledge his existence as a fellow human. That's probably why he's wearing the 2005 New Year's glasses. Does anyone ever have a conversation with him? I take his flyer whenever I pass (and also from the guy on 44th, and 45th, all hawking for the same salon), and say thanks, but that's not really enough, or wouldn't be enough for me. As I walk past, I tear up, and I'm sure that people on the street don't acknowledge me either.

Or you see people who appear outwardly ecstatic - they're in love, they're celebrating, their lives have never been better, what have you - and I wonder, hmm, what would it take for me to be there? A different job, a different location, a guy?

They say that this is the season when a lot of people die - old or sick people who have seen too much and are tired of fighting, people who are seriously depressed and take their own lives - and I think it's because of the emotional amplification. As the end of the year nears, you take stock in your life - what you have done in the last year, how your life has improved, or, for those who look at things less optimistically, declined - and make a (subconscious) decision about whether you will stay on the roller coaster for another turn, weathering the ups and the downs because, overall, the possibility of the future is worth it, or get off because your ride is over.

There was a homeless guy in San Francisco who would stand on Van Ness near the on-ramp to 80 and 101 with a sign that said, "Everything helps, even a smile." I'm sure the money is more useful, but the smile is free and acknowledges his humanity. I like to give the smiles. Doesn't hurt me at all, and if it helps someone else have a slightly brighter day, then it's worth it.

Maybe next year I'll begin a grassroots campaign or a non-profit organization - "Start with a Smile." Hopefully it's already been done.

I Try Not to be Competitive

2005-09-15T18:46:00.000-04:00

But I am.

I walk to work on a more or less daily basis.

I can't help but race people. Even when I try to walk leisurely, I end up wanting to take people down on the sidewalk.

I never declare my racing intentions, not casting so much as a glance toward my competition.

But most of the time, the people I'm racing start racing me back. They pick up the pace, and suddenly arms are flailing in that "I'm trying to walk like I'm under control and quite lackadaisical, really, I'm like a tiger waiting to pounce upon the unsuspecting gazelle" manner.

In San Francisco, I had an advantage, because, and I don't mean to brag, but I was money walking up the hills. I could take anyone down (within reason - I don't even bother getting into a throw-down with someone who's more than a foot taller than I am).

Here it's more of a challenge. I'm slightly thwarted by the fact that my jaywalking skills are not fully developed, and my desire to stay alive outshines any desire I have to win my self-imposed competitions.

So I have to rely on my raw talent and crowd-avoidant strategy.

Unfortunately, I've been rather successful in this quest. Sadly, this feeds the monster and only makes my desire to race stronger.

Happy Anniversary

2005-09-06T11:00:00.000-04:00

To my sis & brother in law, and also to my grandmother on surviving a year.

Happy Birthday

2005-09-01T19:25:00.000-04:00

To my little baby brother. Who turns 20 today.

And to my parents, who no longer have any teenagers.

Most Thankless/Thankful Jobs

2005-09-01T19:24:00.000-04:00

It’s inevitable: no matter how much you like or love someone, at some point, you will be frustrated by them. For kids, the object of our frustration may often be our parents – whether they are constantly mispronouncing a name of a teacher or friend, or telling us something we should do (especially if we know they are right), they can be the target of much, often irrational, frustration.

I was walking home on Saturday, down Fifth Avenue, a couple of blocks from the Empire State Building. I came upon a group of about five people encircling a man who was laying down on the sidewalk. At first, I though he was homeless, and then I realized he was bleeding heavily from his head and having a seizure. A man was holding his tongue, and a woman, hands bloodied, was nearing hysterics as she stood above the boy.

I was going to continue walking down the street – no need to add another rubbernecker to someone’s tragedy – when I remembered that it was about a year ago that I didn’t witness a car accident. I didn’t see the accident, but I was probably 50 feet from an intersection when I heard someone scream. It was a scream you could automatically identify as that of someone in pain. Not thinking about what I would or wouldn’t be able to do when I reached the screamer, I ran toward the noise and found a woman, lying on the street, and a white Mercedes, that had hit her, idling nearby. I called 911 and sat with the woman, holding her hand as she lay in the street until the ambulance came.

With that memory in my mind, I went back to the woman in hysterics and started stroking her back. Someone asked, “Is that your husband?” to which she replied, “No, he’s my son – he’s 28.” A phone, dialed into 911, was handed to her. As a tourist, unfamiliar with her location and preoccupied with her son’s condition, she couldn’t answer the dispatcher’s questions and asked me to take the phone. The ambulance arrived minutes later, and her son started to wake up.

As I walked away, I was nearly in tears. I’m guessing that her son probably has those natural tendencies that most kids have – love their parents, are grateful for all of their sacrifices, but at times are exceedingly frustrated by them. Quite honestly, if it had been me walking down the street, about to visit the Empire State Building with my parents, part of me would probably be exasperated by a comment about the traffic, or the humidity, or the architecture – though I’d probably catalogue the thought or information and use it later.

So we’re grateful and loving overall, in the grand scheme of things, but often frustrated in the moment. And then, suddenly, you have a moment of disaster – whether it’s a hurricane, a heart attack or an accident – and suddenly, you’re left with the consequences of your last thoughts, your last words.

Had it been me on the sidewalk, walking with my parents, I’m not sure if my mother would ever want to let me out of the house without a helmet again. But eventually, she would have. And eventually, maybe, she might have stopped worrying about whether or not I would fall down on the street, off a boat, or in my apartment all by myself, with no one to come upon my body for days (she has quite an active imagination – it would be a street teeming with traffic, at rush hour, and I’d be in the middle of it). But that I’m much less sure of, and much more grateful for, as well.

Miracles of Customer Service

2005-08-26T19:01:00.000-04:00

Earlier today, I was ready to post a long, irate blog about Kinko's. For a long time, I've had a hate-filled relationship with Kinko's, but yet continue this relationship, despite knowing it is bad for me, because of the following:

1. most of the time, they get they do the job (albeit not always right and not always on time)
2. they are ubiquitous - within a one block radius of my office, I think there are 5?
3. they can handle just about every one of my printing needs.

But in my dealings with them (which began when I graduated from college and relied on one on Colorado Blvd. in Denver for my resume building, job searching, printing and faxing job searching chores) I have never been impressed with their customer service. On the contrary, I've been downright frustrated and consistently become very angry with myself for continuing to subject myself to the torture that is Kinko's.

My top annoyances include:

1. You can stand in line at Kinko's for hours. There will be plenty of people milling about behind the gray barrier, but no one will acknowledge the presence of your increasingly high-blood-pressured self.
2. They get things wrong or deliver them late.
3. They take forever.

I have to say, though, that I think since the merger or acquisition or whatnot by FedEx, customer service, overall, has improved.

I spent about 2.5 hours in a Kinko's today, split into two "shifts." The first shift left me highly displeased. I think I was dealing with the manager, who, after learning I was waiting for him, stood around, looking at me for 15 minutes without acknowledging my presence, then went to another area of the store and made a call. After taking my order, he went off for another 15 minutes to see if he could open my file. Uh huh.

So I was going to return to work and rant on and on about Kinko's. But then I returned at 5. And was greeted right off the bat by a friendly associate who asked if I needed any help. And was consistently communicated to in an informed manner throughout my visit. And the people were helpful, and really seemed like they enjoyed working there and they enjoyed their jobs.

I spent about an hour in the store tonight, but it was, perhaps, my first wholly positive experience at Kinko's.

What If...

2005-08-26T13:03:00.000-04:00

I started signing all of work emails "Love, Venus"?

Coordination, or Lack Thereof

2005-08-22T21:10:00.000-04:00

I played my first game of regulation croquet on Saturday. Not, one would think, a game providing great coordination. It should be easier than baseball - after all, a croquet ball isn't moving. And it should be easier than golf - after all, both the croquet ball and mallet head are bigger than a golf ball and golf club head.

I somehow managed to get second place, but I still whiffed the ball multiple times, and managed to hit it with the side of the mallet multiple times. My best move, though, had to be when I lofted a wicket across the field of play.

Usually, I can blame my lack of coordination on the huge number of distractions around. Whether it's a man wearing head-to-toe seersucker or my thoughts, I have a hard time paying attention to what I'm doing. Like yesterday, walking down Astor Place, distracted by who knows what, when I trip over my flip flop and spend the next quarter block trying to figure out if I were going to gracefully flop onto the street or manage to stay upright. One person acknowledged my moves with a smile.

Hopefully no one was so distracted by my moves and found themselves sprawled across the street.

Think Pink

2005-08-22T15:10:00.000-04:00

I have been doing laundry for years. Though a bit of a tiresome chore - especially when doing the laundry entails a trip down the block to the laundromat, the essential forgetting of a key item (detergent, quarters, fabric softener) back at home, accurately estimating the exact drying time of a load of assorted items, enduring stares and leering glances from dirty old men as one folds "unmentionables," and finally, toting clean and mostly dry clothes back home - doing laundry is not a difficult thing to do. Every element involved in the laundry process, from the detergent to the change machines to the washer and the dryer, includes instructions. While these may sometimes overlap, (what difference does it make if the water, detergent or clothes go in the load first?), laundry is rather mindless, involving skills mastered in elementary school (identifying colors, counting quarters).

Saturday was laundry day for me. Toted my clothes through the humidity to the laundromat. Ah, there's a red shirt I haven't washed before - better put that in with the darks and wash on cold.

Thirty minutes later, unload my delicates from their segregated washer. Why is this white shirt pink? Why is every white item pink? What is the offending item? As an experienced laundress, what have I overlooked?

A drawstring. A bloody (in the British sense) BRIGHT RED drawstring on a pair of yoga pants.

My wardrobe is ready for Easter.

August 9: My Trip Home

2005-08-10T17:29:00.000-04:00

I have one of those possibly slightly-less-than-legal NYC living situations that I'm not going to detail in case, suddenly, legions of people start reading this blog and suddenly, my roommate and I are thrust back into the inhospitable rental market here. My roommate also has another home, in the "real" country, (not Fairfield county), where she lives with her two children. One of her boys is celebrating his birthday tomorrow.

I keep a wide variety of odd goods at work, including a fair number of toys. Again, a scenario I'm not going to provide much back story about. Among those toys are next-generation, larger, faster, better-than-ever Super Soaker-esque water guns, complete with shield to protect yourself in intense water fights.

I decided to give one of these guns to my roommate's son for his birthday. So I left work yesterday with the weapon strapped to my arm - keep in mind, it's designed for children, but still covered 3/4 of my entire arm. Walked nonchalantly down the street. Received a few stares, a couple of chuckles, one comment.

Entered the subway. Surely, in light of recent events, I'd be stopped, asked to empty the gun's ammo reserves. Neither the MTA nor NYPD batted an eye. Perhaps 20-something girls toting water guns are common occurrences?

While riding the subway, three guys about my age did throw some looks my way, as I worked to position the behemoth, still strapped to my arm, into a comfortable riding position. I demonstrated the power and range of the gun. They ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the gun's power and design.

And remained unmolested by any MTA or NYPD official.

Exited the train, exited the station, and completed my tour of duty for the evening. Delivered the munitions.

On Becoming a New Yorker

2005-08-10T15:30:00.000-04:00

Faithful readers will already know I'm addicted to the magazine, but I've learned reading the pub is not quite enough to become a New Yorker.

First, then, you probably have to move to and/or live in New York. I suppose there is some sort of grandfather clause for those who grew up here and are "on a break" from the city, or have been forced to move due to work/significant other/lack of money.

However, living in "The City" does not one a New Yorker make. One must do/have other done to him/her other things first. Such as:

1. See a rat.
I had this fortunate experience last night, and it was mostly uneventful. Ah, a rat, I thought, as a creature scurried into the subway.
However, this morning, I had a somewhat more alarming rat experience. On my way to work, calmly walking down the sidewalk, a rat was camped out in a sidewalk divot. I tried to keep my heart rate down and tiptoe around the rat to not rouse him from his seemingly comfortable slumber and onto, say, my sandal-clad foot. I was successful, and also succeeded in not squealing like a girl, though I wanted to.
2. See a roach.
I'd really like to forget this happened, due to my archenemy's location. I'm not at a point where I'm ready to talk about this, but suffice it to say, it happened.
3. See a celebrity.
This has probably happened, and I know that I attended a movie the other night with some people from Sonic Youth, but I'm not at the point where I'm writing into Gawker stalker.

Other qualifications probably include overpaying for an apartment, a drink, a movie, groceries, etc. Riding the subway.

Actually, I just realized all these things only mean you live in New York. Not that you are a New Yorker. That's something I don't know that I'll ever be.

Relevance of Previous Post

2005-08-09T12:53:00.000-04:00

Re: my complete, all-consuming utter lack of self-control - I am usually only able to stop when I am on the verge of illness, regardless of the vice - be it candy, pizza, popcorn, alcohol, coffee, etc.

Usually, this "stop" instinct kicks in before I'm at the point of illness, which I suppose is better than getting to the point of illness. But occasionally I am able to override this self-control to the dark side.

A psychiatrist might diagnose me with slight OCD, but I think it's just that I never lost my childhood sensibility - or I never gained an adult sensibility.

Me and My Total, Complete, Consuming Lack of Self Control

2005-08-09T11:48:00.000-04:00

We received a big box of candy in the office yesterday. Wonka candies, like Sweet Tarts, Lik-M-Aid, Gobstoppers, Bottle Caps, Nerds, etc. Each one of those now has many different spin-offs - most centering on chewiness, size, or other sort of novelty (witness: Nerds on a Rope?). There were copious amounts of candy yesterday, and I quickly determined that my favorites were the tart, sweet chewiness of the Chewy Sweet Tarts. Regular size or "tiny," I don't discriminate.

I'm quite hungry this morning because I met my former coworker at the gym this morning, then walked up to work. But it's only 11:30.

So I've just consumed about 200 Tiny Chewy Sweet Tarts. When the bag is open, in front of me, I honestly cannot stop guzzling them into my mouth until I'm on the verge of illness. Which is where I find myself now.

Why All the Sudden Are All the Girls Lovin'?

2005-08-05T10:34:00.000-04:00

A friend recently asked why all the girls are lovin' him lately. He's the same guy he's always been, he commented. Why is he suddenly fighting off droves of women?

Here's the answer.

1. We are all getting slightly older. Most of my single girlfriends haven't approached the deer-in-headlights stage that hits some women, (I'd like to think we're all slightly more grounded and independent than that, but the reality is that I know a lot of my friends see 30 staring them in the face and think that it's time to stop, quite literally, screwing around, and to start approaching dating a little bit more seriously. Which means taking a long-term view at people that you're dating, even if it's only been a short time.*

I think this is true for men as well as women, though maybe not as widespread? Hard for me to say, since I'm not one, but I'm guessing there are some women that some men wouldn't have considered dating when they were in high school or college or even early-mid 20s, who are suddenly turning heads everywhere.

2. A corollary to 1. Our views are maturing. What was once attractive is less important. A personal story, to wit.

I dated a guy for a couple of weeks a couple of years ago. He was movie-star H.O.T. And it was fun, for a little bit. He had a lot of ideas, but no desire or drive or ambition to make them happen.

The worst part, though, is that he was actually un-funny. Not just not funny, but actively the opposite of funny. And he thought he was hilarious.

While we were sort-of-dating, (because being the commitment-phobe I am, there's never anything formalized), I met another guy. From the get-go, we just got along - we had the same personality, same sense of humor, we were almost the same person, to be honest.

Now Funny Guy was not a bad looking guy, but he was significantly less attractive, physically, than Hot Guy. But suddenly I found myself significantly more attracted to Funny Guy than to Hot Guy, and stopped seeing Hot Guy altogether.

As a postscript, nothing ever happened with Funny Guy, but we remain friends from afar.

This feeds into that oft-told psychology lesson - if you like people, they become more attractive to you. And if the hottest person in the history of people is repulsive to you, then he or she will probably be a lot less attractive.

3. With regard to the particular person who asked the question, I don't think he's being quite fair to himself. Sure, he's the same person he's always been, but there's a confidence and a comfort level that he has with himself that wasn't always there. He's always been able to laugh at himself, but he used to be a lot quieter. Now he's a lot more open, and it gives people, girls and guys, a chance to discover just how great he is.

*Disclaimer: I'm not quite in this category yet. Just moved to a new city, you know.

My Morning Bathroom Routine

2005-07-19T13:33:00.000-04:00

I love my apartment - it's full of character, it's spacious, and for the most part, it's private, it's quite old. But. Due to the fact that it's quite old, it has no shower. I have to take a bath.

I hate baths.

Hate them like few other things in the world. I cannot understand their appeal. Why someone would want to sit in water that, after a minute or two, is dirty, is beyond me.

So every morning, I squat in the tub on my tip toes. I use a small green cup to pour water over my head. Repeatedly. Turn the water off, lather up. (This is a part that I'm pretty proud of.) Then, with my eyes closed, I squat and balance on my tip toes while I fill up the green cup and rinse the shampoo from my hair.

(Side note: I'm now able to balance in a squat, fill the cup and pour it over my head repeatedly with my eyes closed. I attribute this to yoga. And that's just one more reason why I think I'm going to take yoga teacher training.)

Then put conditioner in my hair. Lather up with soap. Shave if necessary.

Removing the soap later from my body with the cup is slighly more difficult and messy than when I focus on my hair. So first, I rinse the conditioner from my hair, and once that's out, I rinse whatever soap is left.

This is working fine for the summer, but might cause some problems (flu? frostbite?) in the winter. So my goal is that by winter I'll be shacking up with someone who has a shower.

One for My Brother

2005-07-19T13:27:00.000-04:00

Who claims he surfs the Internet all day long at work. I tell him that's not all that uncommon, and that, in fact, I used to spend full days Web surfing.

He's nine years younger than I am (almost). When I got my first job out of college, he was 12 years old, and so curious about what I did all day at work. Do you have an office? What do you do during the day?

When the word "manager" worked its way into my title, he asked, "Does that mean you manage someone?" The answer was no. I managed a "thing." "Then why are you called a manager?" Uh, welcome to corporate America.

Which, by the way, is the reason I've not been able to post lately. As opposed to my brother, I've not been able to spend all day surfing the Internet.

Best Email of the Day, and it's Only 9:30

2005-07-07T09:33:00.000-04:00

From one of my high school "posse" who lives in London:

Thanks Kerry

We are all ok thanks. Has been a scary day - we are still being told to stay at work rather than try and get home which is frustrating but if it the safest option I'm not moving.

Hopefully there won't be anymore blasts.

Thanks for thinking of us.

Living in New York now, the events of today understandably evoke reminders of 9/11. I feel strangely inadequate because I didn't live here at the time, though my memories of the day are indelible.

The Value of Niceness

2005-06-30T09:37:00.000-04:00

I've tried to remain a friendly, open person since I've moved to New York. This is sometimes difficult - walking down the street, people are iPodlands unto themselves, averting their eyes and cutting off the sounds of the city. I understand it's crowded here, and there is the need, the want, the desire to try to carve out some personal space, be it on the sidewalks, in the elevators, or on the subway. But isn't it an advantage of the city to be surrounded by so many fellow humans - people who are like you in some ways yet amazingly different in others?

I went to lunch yesterday with my colleague, (side note: you should check out his trax if you haven't already). On our way back, we passed a woman in white pants with a sticker stuck to one pant leg. "Ma'am," I said, "You've got a sticker on your pants." "I know," she bitched, "It's supposed to be there."

I'm not sure if it was sewn into the pants or one of those visitor tags that she'd applied to her pant leg in an attempt to have men not look at her breasts. If it was the former, it was a bad fashion statement, and if it was the latter, it was a stupid idea.

Later in the evening, as a light-but-steady rain was falling, I passed a girl on the street wearing a lovely dress. Blue and white, geometric shapes, just gorgeous (I might have been coveting it for myself?). "I love your dress," I said to her, "It's lovely." "Thank you," she said.

Two minutes later she added, with a smile on her face, "Today's my birthday."

So that's all the proof I need. Sure, some of the people I try to be nice to might be bitches, but some of them might be celebrating their birthdays.

Winners and Losers

2005-06-29T14:47:00.000-04:00

After berating the hideousness of the NY rental real-estate market recently, I wanted to close the story and juxtapose my rollercoaster (yet ultimately jubilant experience) with that of these 40 or so people.

As I mentioned previously, trying to rent an apartment in New York was rather like trying to join the FBI. The amount of paperwork, income and time required is enough to make anyone question their reasons for living in New York, in the first place, and moving apartments, in the second.

I began my search in earnest on June 18, (side note: when I wrote the initial De.Moral.ization post, I might have had a little bit to drink, and details, like the date, might have gotten mixed up in the posting.) That day, I visited a number of neighborhoods and two realtors, and gave up on the idea of living alone in NYC. So I applied to a number of share situations on craigslist.

Sunday I went to see five apartments, I believe. They ranged in price from $800 to $1,200. Interestingly, the best of these places was for $910 - a three-bedroom, two-bathroom duplex with outdoor space. Some of the worst values included a couch in a loft (no door or walls) for $1,100 and a tiny room with lofted bed in an apartment. The catch with the second apartment is that the renter hadn't informed her current rentee of the fact that she was looking for a new roommate.

I headed out again on Monday, the 20th, to three more apartments. These were all improvements over the Sunday visits, with the exception of Sunday's winner. And while I probably could have lived in any of them, the prospect was not exciting.

On Tuesday, I made an attempt to visit another apartment, only to come upon the building and realize that I would be forever depressed if I lived in there. Wouldn't even matter if the apartment itself were beautiful - from the outside, it was so institutional that I would have surely ended up there sooner than I probably will.

After much waffling about whether or not to make another attempt on Wednesday, I went to another two open houses. The first was post-college living at its finest - huge living room with lawn-chair furniture and every gaming device manufactured in the last 18 months. The second was a two-story, three bedroom, one bath duplex, and actually could have suited me.

But there was one more number on my list.

The CL ad had read something to the effect of - roommate for 2br East Village tenement. So I called the number and had a nice conversation with the current tenant. "Would you be able to see the place tomorrow?" he asked. "How about tonight, I'm just around the corner?" We met, chatted, and all went well.

Thursday he called to offer me the apartment. Monday I handed over the check. Friday I move in.

Result? Pure kismet. A CL match made in heaven. Like they say, I finally found it in the last place I looked.

Ponderments

2005-06-27T18:34:00.000-04:00

1. What if your father was Karl Rove? Donald Rumsfeld? Who would you date?

2. In NYC these days, I've noticed that a lot of the guys are sporting the same haircut. It's a pseudo-mohawk - shorter on the sides, but not too closely shorn, and brushed toward the center - sometimes peaked on top, sometimes just brushed into a point in the center of one's forehead.

To me, it says, "I'm edgy and indie. But I also work a corporate job to support my edgy/indie lifestyle, and can't afford to lose it, so this is my subtle attempt to marry my edgy/indie life and my corporate life."

How indie and edgy are you if every third person on the street is sporting the same 'do?

How closely does this mirror when men in the 70s started growing their hair long? When men adopted the Julius Caesar a la George Clooney in the 90s? When women adopted the Rachel in the 90s? Doesn't this further support the fact that this is not an edgy hairdo?

A Shout Out

2005-06-27T18:31:00.000-04:00

I'm generally a pretty sunny person, but sometimes I have a bad day.

Best unprovoked comment I got all day, from someone I respect:

you are a sincere and good girl in a city full of weasels. remember that.

Now that I'm feeling a little bit better, envisioning a city full of weasels is a lovely visual. You could make some really nice hats and jackets.

Support My Personal Charities

2005-06-27T08:27:00.000-04:00

For two consecutive years, I participated in long-distance charitable events - the Boston Marathon and then the Avon 3-Day Walk. But after a while, it gets to be a little difficult to ask your friends to support your cause du annum, and all the training throws a bit of a wrench in your social life. Priorities, priorities...

Anyway, my friend Evan is participating in a swim around Manhattan relay to raise money for the Lance Armstrong Foundation and the Manhattan Island Foundation. But the real driving force behind this cause is their friend, Mike, who was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. They're a lot more organized in their fundraising efforts than I ever was - I even bought a shirt.

Starbucks Inconsistencies

2005-06-24T10:09:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite sports writers often writes about inconsistent Starbucks coffee drinks. I have my own observations on the cross-country inconsistencies.

First of all, not shockingly, Starbucks is more expensive in New York. My drink of choice is a tall cappucino. In San Francisco, that set you back $2.45 - no tax included. In New York, it's $3.05, which comes to $3.40, I think, because tax is included.

Secondly, and this I think would cause Starbucks executives, who work to indoctrinate their legion of addicts with the Starbucks-approved-coffee-ordering language, there are inconsistencies from coast to coast. My drink is actually a tall non-fat cappucino - this I learned after multiple wrong attempts to order a small cappucino with non-fat or skim milk. (Side note: Is there anything more passive aggressive than the Starbucks employee that repeats your order, in the proper Starbucks terminology, to the barista?) In New York, my order is regularly corrected - it's a tall skim cappucino here.

The Search is Over

2005-06-23T18:53:00.000-04:00

For at last I have found my Camelot.

Or a two-bedroom tenement in the Village.

Housing Humour, v. 3

2005-06-22T16:58:00.000-04:00

Look, a free place to live! No strings attached! Apparently, these places are available not infrequently.

Free Room For Attractive Females

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: anon-80336581@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-06-22, 4:54PM EDT

If there any really attractive females who need a place to stay in Manhattan, I'm offering my downstairs area for free. Nothing is expected of you other than you should help me throw parties, and maybe sometimes join on nights out. The place is a one bedroom, with downstairs living room with pullout couch and bedroom upstairs on roof. Includes an enormous private roof terrace. Contact me ASAP if interested.

Housing Humour, v. 2

2005-06-22T11:18:00.000-04:00

Today's fave so far:

$1 - GREAT DEAL FOR THE RIGHT FEMALE

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: anon-80156613@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-06-21, 7:26PM EDT

Luxury building. Door man. Gym. Spa..pool. Tennis courts. You pay no rent. I pay 3000 a month for the place. Need you to do the housework. I will pick one girl. Send a picture. Prettiest girl gets the place. By the way I'm a 27

Housing Humour, v. 1

2005-06-21T14:38:00.000-04:00

Through my online apartment search, I've discovered some gems.

One forwarded from a friend offered a free apartment for a sexy female. Preference was given to women with a little "junk in the trunk." I was offended when the friend advised me to bulk up a little bit - he said for a free apartment, you can carry a little more junk.

Perhaps because it's hot and summer, the calls for roommates interested in walking around in various states of undress are all over craigslist. These usually include some form of the language "if you are willing to walk around naked, or in sexy skimpy underwear, or even in a bikini, it's a plus." Oftentimes, rent on these situations is not reduced.

Then there was one that I think has been removed by the poster or sent to the craigslist graveyard. For $600, a 38 year-old divorcee was offering a floor of her townhome, furnished with an aerobed and frette sheets (she was married to a millionaire). I couldn't help but be suspicious - either she is really acting out of the goodness of her heart, and offering to help a newbie, or she is hoping to use the room as a pad for her live in lover.

Missteps

2005-06-21T12:41:00.000-04:00

I am working in the lobby of a midtown hotel this week.

It's in the 80s and sunny in New York this week. So yesterday, appropos of the climate, I work a tank top. And froze for the entire day due to the frigid air pumped out by the hotel's extremely efficient air conditioning system, compounded by the constant flowing water falling in back of me. Ah, to be trendy.

So today I'm wearing a turtleneck. In 80+ degree weather. I'm still on the cold side, but it's markedly better.

I am also wearing red pants a la Meg White of the White Stripes. I was intending to pick up pants from the dry cleaner and change, but I forget where my dry cleaner is. Not exactly the best first impression, perhaps.

As I jaywalked across the street to try to find the dry cleaner, I nearly stepped on a pigeon who/that had met his/her demise at the hands of a speedy driver. Probably a taxi.

Otherwise, the lobby is a great place for people watching. Many people think I work here - apparently, I look official.

A New Version of an Old Idea

2005-06-19T23:03:00.000-04:00

This weekend I decided there should be a site that's the anti-friendster - basically, rather than trying to spark connections, this site would be a resource for people who are looking for CSI regarding people they meet on friendster, craigslist, or any other online marketplace.

I think I heard that a site like this exists, at least for professional purposes, though perhaps its only my industry. I think this could be much more beneficial, albeit possibly slightly ethically questionable, when applied to the dating/friend/activity partner search.

Rules:
1. All testimonials (is there a word for an anti-testimonial?) would have to be anonymous.
2. Membership is a la Augusta - you don't actually know you're a member until someone tells you. You're secretely "nominated" by those who wish to warn fellow humans of your fallibility.

Perhaps this is cruel, but I think it would really take off.

And for the record, it's not like I would be immune to the site. I'm sure there are at least two or three people who would recommend against dating me.

As Mary Karr wrote in Last Love (02/07/05 New Yorker): "So everyone I kissed left hurt...Another claimed my heart was arsenic at its core."

Maybe not 100 percent true, but I'm sure there are those who would concur with that statement.

De.Moral.ization

2005-06-19T03:11:00.000-04:00

Subtitle: How I've Been Kicked In the Ass Many Times Since I've Been in New York, But How Today, June 17, Took the Cake

Caution: This post contains material that may not be suitable for all audiences. If you are an unsuitable audience, and you choose to continue reading, please do not infer this is as an invitation to comment on any of the following topics: (1) my life choices; (2) my safety; (3) my attitude.

Today I began my concerted effort to find an apartment of my own in New York. I quickly realized this is not going to happen for a multitude of reasons, including:

1. Many landlords supposedly require that you make 40 times the rent of the apartment. Go ahead, search on craigslistand see how many apartments under $1,000 in Manhattan you find. (Is it a hint that the brokers recommend I live in Brooklyn?) Barring proof of income, you need a guarantor. Many require in tri-state-guarantors.
2. Most landlords deal with brokers to rent their apartments. Most brokers charge 17 percent, at least, of one full year of the rent, with a minimum of $2,000, for the six-10 minutes they spend searching their databases for apartments that might fit the maximum requirements the hopeful (hopeless) lessees have specified.

In sum, this means that at my current age, with a college degree and seven years of experience, at my current salary I am unable to rent an apartment on my own. As a fiercely independent person, especially financially, even if, hypothetically, I were able to afford the monthly rent for a studio apartment, I am past the point in my life where I would consider it acceptable for me to ask my parents - who probably don't even qualify, due to their out-of-tri-state-area residency - to submit all of their tax forms for the past two years and show proof of their employment so that I can rent an apartment. Not going to happen.

Moreover, the whole NY craigslist search seems to be a bit of a joke. It's nothing more than a bait and switch, a way for brokers to lure you into one possible office and then say, aha, we've found x number of apartments at your maximum, or your maximum minus $5 a month, but sorry, there's nothing available cheaper. That apartment you saw on craigslist? Oh, we're sorry, that's been "rented" (yeah, to the craigslist graveyard of removed posts - seriously - search for it in the message board section).

So I am going to live with roommates here, because that's the only way I will get a place without a huge production.

That is demoralizing fact number 1, and, as you'll see by virtue of the amount of content I have to share about that topic as opposed to topic 2, the far more upsetting of the two demoralizing events.

Event 2: I'm walking home, looking decidely unsexy and casual in a punk hoodie, dark jeans and flip flops. A prostitute is standing on the street, near wear I'm walking.

A "john" approaches and says to me, "I'm just going to piss because I want to get my d*#k sucked."

P to the S, good luck dude. Better luck either (1) getting someone that you'll pay for or (2) going home to your wife.

Oddly, number 2 was a lot easier to walk away from without feeling demoralized. In a sick way, it's kind of good to remember you're attractive, albeit to the sickos, and in another way, it's kind of good to have the power to completely walk by the guy, ignoring him, his ridiculousness and his full bladder, which is exactly what I did.

True Love

2005-06-17T16:54:00.000-04:00

Or not.

Yesyesyesyesyes.

My Comment on the News Today

2005-06-17T16:38:00.000-04:00

Firstly, and most importantly, the news that sparked at least, oh, I don't know, hours of Internet searching into such topics as bad feet, career-ending moves, and fake love affairs, not to mention office conversations.

That would be, of course Hollywood's latest leading couple. Complete with a side visit to the scientology website, where you can hook your child on Dianetics, too.

Then, of course, there's news from one of my home states. After her husband was exonerated by the autopsy of any wrong doing, Gov. Bush just won't let a dead woman rest. Thing is, he must have some advisors who are whispering in his ear that the voters are demanding justice.

Shockingly, a $26,000 shower curtain is not a necessary business expense.

SF v. NYC: A Bar Scene Story

2005-06-17T11:57:00.000-04:00

Granted, my universe of experience in SF is much greater than it has been so far in NYC, but here are some initial observances. These are not complaints or me ranking one city v. the other, just observances.

1. Like everything other than the cabs, alcohol is more expensive in NY. Example: Grey Goose Martini, up with olives will set you back between $6 and $8 in San Francisco; it starts around $10 or $12 here. A Stella in SF runs about $4 or $5; in NYC, between $7 and $10.

2. Amount of consumption is much higher in NYC than SF. Again, I can only speak to my personal experience to date.

3. From these two above facts, one might deduce that I am spending considerably more money on alcohol in NYC. One would be wrong. Because, in my limited, 3.5 weeks of experience, guys tend to be much more forward and buy many more drinks for girls in NYC than they do in SF. (And please, no cracks like "that's b/c all the guys in SF are gay." First of all, it is not true. Secondly, the gay and straight bar scene in SF is pretty segregated.)

4. Oh, and the nightlife is much later in NYC than SF, but that's understandable. Closing time in SF is 2 a.m. (though you can stay out later and go to after-hours, no alcohol served clubs); in NYC, it's 4 a.m. (not sure re: the after-hours scene here because I haven't even made it to last call).

SF v. NYC: An Apartment Story

2005-06-16T13:56:00.000-04:00

Some quick observations: when New Yorkers hear that I've moved here from San Francisco, they often respond in one of two ways:

1. Why?
2. Oh, I love San Francisco, it's one of my favorite cities.

Some other people say, well, at least you moved from one expensive market to another.

These people have no idea what they are talking about.

For the last three weeks plus one in between, I have been subletting a room in an apartment that is in what I've determined to be the New York equivalent of the Marina.

Until yesterday, I thought it was a two bedroom. It is $2,300 a month (though the person I sublet from gave me a discount). Spacewise, it's fine, though these girls are clearly not anywhere close to godliness. But overall, it's okay. I wouldn't pay $1,150 a month to share this place, but if it was what you were looking for when you graduated from college, well, then, so be it.

Yesterday night I got home and the walls that had enclosed the second "bedroom" just that morning were gone.

So the place is actually a one bedroom. For $2,300. You can "convert" it into a two bedroom, but it's not meant to be.

My last apartment in San Francisco was $900. A junior one bedroom, full, large kitchen, full bath with tub (all of which I kept clean, p to the s). Granted, the building left something to be desired, but the apartment itself was nice.

I've shared the sentiment with many that the rental market in NYC is considerably more expensive than SF. You pay more money, you get less room.

Today's Sign That the Apocalypse is Upon Us

2005-06-16T09:34:00.000-04:00

I'll take a little bit of crazy with a side of wedding dress, your honor.

How Old Am I?

2005-06-15T10:44:00.000-04:00

Today is my half-birthday. Why do I know this, and why do I care, at my age?

Two friends have my birthday (and hence, half-birthday) as well. They were both thrilled when I wished them a happy half-birthday. Maybe I'm starting a new trend.

Throwing the Gauntlet

2005-06-14T11:35:00.000-04:00

It's been broughten.

I'm not smart enough to follow in the maestro's path and be an educator, so all you get is a first crack at the song that started today's cubicle battle.

Dance Off

2005-06-14T11:27:00.000-04:00

My colleague and music aficionado friend and I are having a battle of the bands at our desks right now. I don't think it's intentional. I was playing some music, then played a little more, that got a little louder, and now he's drowned me out. This could make a boring day escalate into hours of fun.

Star Wars

2005-06-10T11:10:00.000-04:00

I'm not a fan... I didn't see it until it was re-released when I was in college, a year or so after I'd seen Space Balls for the first time. I thought Space Balls was terrible, and then I watched Star Wars, and suddenly I realized why Space Balls was hysterical.

Anyway, my favorite magazine not-so-recently ran a review of the latest Star Wars. And it contained the funniest line in the history of lines, regarding (who is it? Yoda? Obie Wan?) a character's mixed-up syntax. When complaining about the weird order, the writer commented, "Break me a fucking give."

Just thinking about that makes me want to laugh out loud. I was in the airport when I read that line, and convulsed for about five minutes.

Unanswerable Questions

2005-06-01T10:13:00.000-04:00

Why, woman, why? Am I just completely blind to this sex appeal?

On Topic

2005-05-27T11:46:00.000-04:00

My favorite hangover food is a breakfast burrito. Back in the day, I had these quite frequently. Now I try to save it for the times when I really need it. Based on a limited sample size of two weeks, I think that might occur more frequently in my new life.

And a Diet Coke.

Instead, this morning I had my traditional oatmeal. Regular flavor. Exciting life, no?

The Giving Tree

2005-05-26T18:59:00.000-04:00

I had the book in hardback. It was flourescent green - my friend would dub that color "nuclear fallout green" in 9th grade geometry class as we watched the class from the radiator, like "birds on a wire," (or so we dubbed ourselves), and tried to think up new colors for a crayon contest. (Tequila sunrise blue was another, but now, with a lot more tequila experience under my belt, I think it should be tequila sunrise black.)

I loved that book, with the picture of Shel Silverstein's face taking up the entire back cover. I'd feel bad for the tree, when the boy forgot about it. I'm sure it's allegorical in some way, probably about aging and moving on, losing friends, making new friends, and resurrecting old friendships years later.

I am going to buy his last book. Maybe some day I'll have a big-eyed youngster I can share it with.

(Incidentally, I also LOVED James and the Giant Peach. Children's books rock.)

The Attractability Theory

2005-05-26T09:21:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, not daily, but not infrequently, when I'm walking down the street, a certain type of man will comment on my appearance - hey, beautiful; or, ummmm hmmmm; or, great smile; etc. My first mistake is probably looking these people in the eye and smiling, but I feel that you're supposed to treat human beings like human beings, so I do.

I think I'm pretty enough to get these comments - I'm no Anna Ayala, but I'm not Gisele, either.

In Which the Author Rides Off Into the Sunset

2005-05-20T18:18:00.000-04:00

Heigh-ho silver, I'm leaving the ranch.

I worked at a dude ranch once. One of the more humorous jobs of my life, and a summer in which I singlehandedly re-defined job-hopping. After 36 hours as ranch hands, I wrote a note announcing our intentions ("If I said I were proud of what we were doing, I'd be branded a liar") and off we drove, toward Steamboat Springs, at 4 a.m. with our headlights off so that we didn't wake our narcoleptic chainsmoking insomniac boss.

True story, as unlikely as it seems. We were young, impressionable and keyword naive. Naive enough to think that the following would be acceptable and even, yes, fun:

1. Six days of work on (5 a.m. until 10 p.m., with "lunch" between 3 and 4), one day off
2. Living in a double-wide without running water or a shower for three months
3. Making $250 a month (room and board included. But we were only allowed to eat the day old food.)
4. Possibly the greatest marketing coup, in which they titled the job of "chambermaid" as "entertainment coordinator"

We made our best decision by leaving, but even that we attempted to do with class.

We'd had to sleep with our pajamas tucked into our socks and wearing hats. A skunk had died under the cattle-skull adorned double-wide, and they'd opened the windows to alleviate the stink. In the process, the room had become infested with bugs. Which were almost as loud as the mice - they'd sent the cat in to kill the mice, and I felt like I was living a version of an old lady who swallowed a fly.

We'd packed our bags the night before, slightly fearing that the boss would be none too pleased when we decided to high-tail it back to where we started, and might take out his anger and loathing with a shotgun, (in retrospect, this seems highly unlikely, but at the time, it seemed like a real possibility). Having stowed one bag each in the car (Dolores the Taurus - this was the summer before Seinfeld receded into syndication), we tried to sleep.

At 3:30 a.m., I heard my friend wrestling with her sheets. It's not hard to be disturbed by someone's sleep habits when you're five feet from one another, even if you are in different beds. "K," I half-shouted, half-whispered, "Are you awake?" (If she hadn't been awake, I'd have woken her up.) "Yes," she replied, groggily. "Let's just get the flip* out of here," I declared.

We knocked on the door of the "main house." They started to milk the cows at 4; we intended to tell them that we would stay for two weeks, but we wanted to leave. We knocked; no answer. We went back to our trailer, put our second bags in the car, and returned to the "lodge." We knocked, again, though we might have tempered the degree of our vigor and enthusiasm.

Unable to rouse our bosses, we returned to our trailer, where I penned the best resignation letter in the history of resignation letters. And off we rode.

(Postscript: In a coincidence thousands of miles away, my parents had gone for beachfront horseback ride at dawn. When they returned to their house, three hours after we were expected to start our morning shift, our colleagues did not seem too surprised that we'd not yet arrived. It took another two hours until they realized we were gone.)

Today is my last day in the SF office. Leaving this office won't be quite as dramatic as leaving the ranch, but the city and life is a different story.

* Not what I actually said. Edited for content.

To Dream, Perchance to Sleep

2005-05-19T11:22:00.000-04:00

Yet another stream of consciousness. If I had an iPod, I probably wouldn't think about so many random things.

Parked in street cleaning last night in a construction zone. Had a difficult time finding the spot, in the first place, and made multiple trips toting boxes and moving supplies four blocks back to my apartment. Saw the construction zone (move car by 7) sign. Didn't see the street cleaning sign for the boxes. This morning, up at 4:45, which, incidentally, would have been plenty of time to move my car by the 6 a.m. street cleaning. But I didn't, and I got a ticket, and frankly, I just don't even care. I am over caring.

A pseudo third-grade poem (b/c I doubt I used the word "nor" correctly, but now I'm too insert appropriate adjective here to not use it):

My dad
is rad
not bad
nor mad

Quote of last night, said by me in full unintentional hollaback fashion in the midst of packing, to E: So I'm all, yo, bitch.

This proves the point that I am officially incapable of any sort of conversation at this point. My memory, which is usually spot on, is shot due to lack of sleep. Yes. 4:44 a.m. today. Without an alarm clock. Stress much?

I think Michael Stipe's song Nightswimming was an exercise in creative writing or thinking. If I were him, I would have come up with that in the following way.

Hmm...Sleepwalking is so interesting...you sleep at night...how are other ways you move...oh, naturally, swimming.

By that logic, right now I'm napworking.

Aw Shucks

2005-05-18T11:07:00.000-04:00

Brandon Walsh is off the market.

Britney is to the President as...

2005-05-18T10:30:00.000-04:00

Best exchange of the night, said after making it through but one-half hour of Britney + Kevin: Chaotic.

T: I mean, Bush must be as much of an idiot as Britney.

J: But he has better advisors.

P.S. Producers of that show - we might have been able to sit through a half hour. Editing would have been key. And don't even get me started on the one-half hour that we sat through. Any compound adjective including self would apply.

Wouldn't It Be Funny If...

2005-05-17T19:28:00.000-04:00

You were so stupid that you thought you would try to [drive your] commute to work in Manhattan?

Quote from a friend. I have some hella funny friends. Or is it hecka?

Another Goal for My New Life

2005-05-17T17:38:00.000-04:00

One of my ongoing goals in life is to say things, in public, that are so outlandish that people who are eavesdropping and overhear my comments will submit them to The New York Times Metropolitan Diary. Now that I'm moving to NYC, this might actually happen.

Now, I can add another, albeit not quite-so-geographically dependent goal to my list. I want to win the caption contest.

My Left Foot

2005-05-17T17:32:00.000-04:00

Or it was The Commitments... one of these movies has one of my all-time favorite expressions of frustration. Which, because I am still attempting (in what is likely to be my last week of posting) to keep this clean, I will not post here.

But for crying out loud, there's no one here, and now there's a car alarm, the blaring horn, just bleating, non-stop. It's torture. Yet my only companionship.

I'll Be Your Whatever You Want

2005-05-17T17:17:00.000-04:00

Whoever can identify the group and the song wins...my undying kinship and the knowledge that at some point in our mutual lives we enjoyed the same kind of music, though our tastes may have since changed. No Google-cheating allowed. Oh fine, Google it, but you won't enjoy my undying kinship.

I'm all alone at the ranch today. Can you tell? That's why I ask all these rhetorical questions. I talk to myself because there is no one to talk to. I also wear my sunglasses at night.

Moving back to the 21st century... I have to wonder if eventually, the infamous "they" will find out that kudzu has some adverse side effects.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

2005-05-16T20:39:00.000-04:00

At least that's what it feels like. I'm pretty much incapable of carrying on semi-intelligent conversation at this point, and there are approximately seven more days of this to come. Somehow, I'm going to manage to go to work, pack all my stuff, and attend extensive parties in my honor (because, dear friends, as you know, it's always all about me. In fact, I should re-name this blog - it's all about me).

A nice side effect to leaving is that it's given me an excuse to get in touch with those friends who've fallen out of my inner circle. Because, like, now I have something to tell them. I'm not sure if I actually do care if I seen them before I go, but I can play nice, assuming that, well, if I haven't seen you in the past year, it's unlikely that we'll be getting together this week. Or sometime this summer, when you're vacationing on the East Coast.

Frankly, I hate goodbyes, and I like the "oh yeah, we'll definitely catch up" game. It's like believing in Heaven or past lives (and hence, future lives)...just makes everything easier.

(Clarification point: this post is not intended to be morbid, but realize I have opened and closed w/decidedly morbid overtones.)

Surfing the Rainbow

2005-05-09T00:18:00.000-04:00

Of fruit flavor - or at Bolinas.
In the last couple of weeks here, I've actually tried more new activities and visited more new cities and areas than usual. It's happened to me before...I'd live in the middle of a beautiful place and feel assured that it wouldn't be leaving, and I wouldn't be leaving, so I could take advantage of my surroundings some other time. Then, when the time runs out, or begins to run out, I try to do everything, and do it as much as I could, as often as I can.

Finally finished the armoire, though...

Quotable PSAs

2005-05-04T21:37:00.000-04:00

Strangely enough, public service announcements from the 80s and 90s really stuck in my head. Strange, because in the first place, I wasn't really allowed to watch much TV - my mother was our own personal version of today's TV rating scheme: we were limited to a half-hour of monitored TV a day (The Muppets, After School Specials and PBS were acceptable; cartoons were not) if we completed our homework. Secondly, the acting and messages were not hugely compelling: Girl fries egg - aha! This is your brain on drugs. Girl trashes kitchen. Hmm. That looks like fun.

But I still remember the dialog from many of these spots, and I often find myself wanting to use some of the phrases in my everyday speech.

For example, in a business meeting, when a superior asks why I've done something in the particular way I've done it (accusatory tone), I'd like to respond:

I learned it from watching you, dad, I learned it from watching you.

Or if a colleague asks a question, and I provide the answer, and they thank me for imparting to them a piece of my overwhelming knowledge:

That's the more you know. And knowing makes all the difference.

Though I usually refrain because I don't think anyone would get my joke - that, or its horribly inappropriate at the time, I think I'm pretty hysterical when I can incorporate those sayings into a normal conversation.