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Randomly Something that really made me laugh was on
this page containing extracts from actual accident reports. The one that made me laugh embarrassingly loud and at the risk of people thinking I was loosing it was this:
The other car collided with mine, without giving warning of it's intentions.
That’s pretty much how I felt about my little $1400 scratch.
But that’s not nearly as funny as
savecraig’s mathematical proof that girls are evil. Would I be violating any type of non-harassment rules by posting that above my desk?
We went to dinner last night, a big bunch of us for Angel’s girlfriend’s like 12th birthday or something. Since the tip was added, we starting paying, but were coming up short. And then we noticed that a lot of multiple orders (i.e. gin and tonic) had an extra one or two thrown on them. So, you know, they were scamming us. I kept my mouth shut as not to mention how a certain waiter amongst us admitted to me pulling that scam a few years ago.
My sexy and fancy new Mary Jane style shoes are actually too big for my feet. They are a 9. I mostly buy shoes sized 9 or 9 1/2. I didn’t think I needed an 8 1/2 ever since I was like 12
Friday, October 5, 2001
The big dilemma I have to go to the glass man tomorrow morning. He opens at 9. I need my glass for my project. I have to get to NJ for a hair appointment that is at 12:30, which means I have to take the 10:42 train out of Penn Station to avoid being late as I currently look like a shaggy dog. The back of my hair has recently also taken to flipping up very late-Brady Florence Henderson like.
The final problem is this: Knicks tickets go on sale tomorrow at 10. My cell phone is MIA. I’m trying to figure out how to work all this out so I can get my glass, get at least 2 tickets for 2 games including a xmas/birthday/surprise. Sometimes, I want too much.
Friday, October 5, 2001
Unsolicited adviseWhen the train is packed, don’t try to get on. It creates more problems than it is worth. By packed I mean there is barely enough room for the people already in there. It takes forever to squeeze on, close the doors and get going again. If we’d all just wait for the next train, we’d find something really nice: smoothly moving subway traffic. (This is especially directed towards those "yuppie" stops where they insist on pushing pushing)
On a related topic, unless there is at least 5 or 6 people already in the elevator car, when you see someone trying to get on as the doors are closing, press the “door open” button. If the car has a sufficient number of people in it and opening the door would cause a packed subway-like effect, make the person wait for another elevator. I hate it when there is one person in the elevator and they let the doors close because they wanted to car to themselves.
Friday, October 5, 2001
I just may be I plan on archiving this weekend. I've been planning on that all week. But I want to put up a little thing I wrote a long time ago that I've been thinking about lately. I just have to find it, hopefully in disk format. So something to come.
To be vague as hell, I recently was really off with an assumption I made. It was about a particular moment/occurrence/event. I hate it when I’m wrong. But I know something for sure: even though my thoughts of that particular moment might have been wrong I know that my analysis of the entire situation is still dead-on true.
A lot of crazy things have been happening around me. They piss me off. And people who would otherwise not get so worked up are more inclined to do so these days. This also pisses me off. Last night I came to the conclusion that these people are getting pissed off at these little bad things happening around me because they are just getting whipped in the ass by the smaller amounts of bad they put out into the world. The things pissing other people off just don’t seem to work me up at all because I was not part of putting bad out there and since it hasn’t killed me nor is as tragic as the frigging WTC collapsing and killing thousands, then it’s not worth my time. And people are starting to really piss me off. So then
Rob Bresney
says:
Weirdly enough, being kind and generous to everyone, even your adversaries, is not only the morally correct thing to do; it's also the best possible strategy for advancing your selfish goals.
Dare I even confess what they are?
Friday, October 5, 2001
Why does it always rain on me You know what really sucks? Coming back from a revitalizing weekend to spend every second of your life at work. Well, not every second. Monday and Tuesday I worked late, got home with the dusk, threw questionable dinners together and dealt with my sister's car. The $1400 "scratch" I put in it this weekend. I mean, it's not really my fault. I could be a complete ass and lie and say I totally saw her back up into me. But I didn't. I just saw no one, went and then got hit. I'm not sure who's to blame. My sister knows though, me. Good-bye less than $1,000 debt.P>
I tried to get a hold of her last night at the boyfriend/future-brother-in-law, but she was still at the gym. I asked him if he'd give me the behind the scenes info since I really don't think my sister is as okay with this as she's appearing to be. I mean, she's a poor teacher who went out and bought herself a new car that she was nice enough to share. I wasn't even allowed to borrow a banana clip in 1986 without leaving a dollar deposit. It took her about from the time I was 16 until until the past year to forgive to me being a bitch once or twice, when I was 16. 16 year old girls are innately bitchy. I mean, come on. But he said he'd give her some loving and she'd be fine. For some reason, this didn't creep me out.
My job sometimes becomes a pain. I'm at the point of suffocating repetition since things change every, um, 5 seconds. I want to spend a long time a way from work and work related things and the accident I got in. And I get to tonight. I'm going to see Travis (just Travis, no Tritt) at Radio City. I don't think I've been there since 1986 with a borrowed banana clip on to see the Rockettes and the Christmas show.
Wednesday, October 3, 2001
Warm n Cozy The good thing about living in the same building as your landlord is that when falls throws it's first early chill, she turns on the heat because she too is cold even if your roommate was unable to pay his rent on time (due to loss of work with the city being closed at the beginning of the month). The bad thing is that she isn't always home at 7pm as she was last night. The bad thing is you wind up being so cosy in bed that you don't wake until 9am and get to work more late than normal.
Tuesday, October 2, 2001
Free Food The email address on this page gives you access to a $50 gift certificate to the fancy resturants you always thought, I'd go if it was about $50 cheaper. Restuarants next will pay for you to eat there.
Tuesday, October 2, 2001
Copy/Paste/Delete I began writing about my weekend, and how wonderful it was. But then I went on and on so I put it here. Go read that.
Monday, October 1, 2001
CBS Right now, my job is endlessly frustrating. Right now, the computer problem I'm having that forced me just to leave the office yesterday since the clock rolled to 5pm is making me feel that I could care less. I had things to say but I keep forgetting them in my frustration.
My officemate knows how to be pretty adorable. He brought me Mate de Coca tea that his mother brought back from her recent visit to Peru. Coca is the same plant that cocaine is made from. When my little sister spent a summer in Bolivia, she was strung out on this stuff. She had like 10 mugs a day and definitely suffered from some type of withdrawl when she returned. On a cup to cup basis, I find it superior to caffiene in every way.
I'd like to thank the tea for making my week a bit better. It had it's place. And it doesn't keep me up at night like coffee (assuming I'm sleeping at all). My officemate is pretty cute. In comparasion to Ben, that's impossible to say. Ben's cuteness is a philosophical debate of angels on pinheads. My officemate's cuteness is definitely measurable.
I mentioned Ben because if this problem ever gets fixed and I ever get to leave, I get to spend an entire weekend with him, away from here. This is good especially after I watched the Empire State Building get evacuated for yet another bomb scare. Today I've been thinking for 3 things:
1- Ben Ben Ben Ben Ben
2- Random classic rock, new wave and standard 80s lyrics (spin me right round baby right round)
3- I wonder to what degree I resist "normal" when it feels that way for a minute. Do I constantly push myself away from not feeling upset about this whole thing? (then the Empire State Building gets evacuated!)
I would like to thank the nice weather for making this situation easier. I was in a terrible terrible mood earlier this week when it was cloudly. The sun coming out made me about 23% better. When things like that happen, the sun simply changes my day, it makes me realize I was right not to move to Seattle.
Sanity this week was brought to you by the letters
C for Coca tea
B for Ben
S for sun
and the number
less than 1,000 for what your credit card balance finally is.
Friday, September 28, 2001
Funny Names This morning I had one thought in my head "Elephant Shit Mary." This could take on some pretty mean intrepretations knowing my life, but I was mostly thinking about the Sensations exhibit back in 00 at the Brooklyn Museum with the Elephant Shit Mary Guilliani had a temper tantrum over. And had bullet proof glass installed in front of it. Because it offended him. And gave the Brooklyn Museum plenty of money as everyone wanted to see what could be so bad.
I don't want Guilliani to be the mayor again. I want a new mayor. He's done a great job here and if we should truly believe it's time to get back to normal, we should remember how much he aggrivated everyone. With Elephant Shit Mary, supporting cops who shove broom handles into immigrants and call 41 shots self-defense. I mean, really, he could be a huge pain. I still do think he should be given George Bush's office.
My little project requires I buy some glass. I went to the "Glass Man" has he's affectionately become in the past week to see what he can do for me. Unfortunately, it's a Jewish holiday and they're closed. Well, the store is closed but I could still see the glass man working in the shop. Riot gate between us. Very melodramatic. This is after I worked late in order to be able to go this morning. This is profoundly frustrating because now I have to work late again next week so that I can go then since I want to start my project as soon as possible. I'm a dork.
I don't feel normal, I can't feel normal. All I can do is make up projects, including spray-painting patterns on our wall to match the pattern on the table in chrome. Because someone thought ruining my city would accomplish something. There's such a deep seeded anger that comes out in hot tears whenever I think of it. So I don't. I go to the glass man, design stencils to cut and wonder when I'm going to scrub the other half of the living room with a solution with too much Murphy's Oil to give it the shine the other half already has.
One good thing: number of roaches since I went on an attack: 0. I think I'll put a counter up.
Thursday, September 27, 2001
How Brainy I watched Miss American this weekend. Mostly because it's the perfect opportunity to be caddy as all hell. Because these girls are SUPPOSED to be flawless. They are parading themselves based on that alone. It's not like people walking down the streets, clothes thrown on to get to work, hair in a pony tail. Tony Danza as the host could have only been surpassed by Scott Baio.
Several years after the call-in vote to ban or keep the swimsuit "competition", they added a quiz this year. Miss Oregon got 6 right and she won. The ladies who took this were, unsurprisingly, stupid. I found the tests on this page. Take it to see if you too are smarter than Miss America contestants. If you get 6 right, you too can dream of being Miss America. (Here's a clue for the only random one: she was in the Mary Tyler Moore Show).
I also caught this random show on FOX the other night:Who wants to be a princess. I thought I was watching another pagent, but it was just 30 ladies trying to get a date with some geeky looking Italian "prince". He tried to look relatively sauve but his geekiness was pretty apparent. What I liked most thought was that he picked the girl who was most down-to-earth sounding (it might of been her tits though rather than her attitude)
One line I read somewhere keeps going through my head about whether Guilliani should have another political term and amusing me. To totally misquote (but it doesn't matter since I can't recall the source) "Yes, he should get another term. Perferably, George Bush's current term.
Wednesday, September 26, 2001
Lovey I really should be preparing for this meeting I requested so I have something to say at this meeting I requested to have. I'm too darn distracted. I'm perpetually distracted. And chronically late for work. It's not as if it's the first time I've been late as the F train can take any where from 30 minutes to an hour and 15, but I never leave the house before 8:30 any more. Chronically late. So I take 1/2 hour lunches instead.
Because I'd rather do something else before leaving the house like talk to the bird (as this week is his fifth birthday), sweep the kitchen floor, put away whatever project I was working on last night, sit and watch some Good Day NY on Fox. This morning, I had the last of my Multi-grain Cheerios because there was milk that was fresh and not questionably so. And these Cheerios give you 100% of your daily requirement of iron.
Also, with Marie talking about how lovely Ben is, I can't help but to be over-anxious right now. I am basically making it through this week with lots of art projects and knowing I'm going to visit Ben over the weekend. Because Ben is the only person I know who like to talk about documentaries with me. And who likes to tell me about maps. And who is fetchingly smart with his handsome plastic glasses. All of my friends switched from wire frames to plastic frames around the same time. I believe Ben started this trend with his desire to look 50s Dragnet-esque.
I forgot Marie's exact words regarding how Ben loves her too much, but really, she forgets how wonderful she is, to the point that Ben really has no choice but to love her that much because that's simply what she deserves. She doesn't take my confessions of love so seriously because, you know, I've known her since she was a fetus and I was like 4'6". Unless a boy builds a temple with a huge gold dome, puts many dogs inside along with subscriptions to all her old-lady-type magazines and old Greek texts to translate with a expert on-hand to guide her through with many other requirements which I can't write due to my meeting I MUST prepare for, I really don't think a boy loves her enough. But, you know, that's just what I think.
Wednesday, September 26, 2001
OoopsI'm pretty sure that the article in the Village Voice about what "out of context" Jerry Falwell's remarks might have been is pretty right. And while I continued to look through the Voice, I had to read one of my favorite journalists, Nat Hentoff, who manages to capture one of my fears in this line:
Will America again be so captured by fear as to cast a net of suspicion over growing numbers of its own citizens? I might not agree with everything he has to say, but at least he's spoke to one of my (many) anxieties. With already most of the media controlled by large companies like TimeWarner, will I be getting information of the news that they believe will get the biggests sales, viewership, etc.?
As I am just compiling a set of links to try to direct my feelings right now, I've found this picture of my stinky upstairs neighbor (in the middle, holding the sign) who put up the offensive signs and just might be the cause of our roach problem. The sign is covering her chin hair. I got one of those electrical anti-roach things which are supposed to emit an annoying electrical signal.
I don't want to write about this any more. The hairy chined neighbor kind of did me in.
Monday, September 24, 2001
Mud I'm not too sure how to feel any more. I'm not sure how to feel about all the politics goings around because politics are already half lies and propaganda. I mean, I was all set to vote for a Republican for NYC mayor (Bloomberg) before all this because I understand the need for toughness which none of the Democrats had. If I never registered to vote, I wouldn't have these problems.
I was sick of sitting in the back seat, ready to vote on something, ready to involve myself. But now there is no right and true answer. War or not war, peace or not peace, it isn't really one or the other or both etc. The due process we give to every American does not apply to the rest of the world but has the government given me sufficient proof that they aren't going to abuse their power which they have done historically, which has made me the politcally cyncial person I am. (I'm not sure if that too long sentence deserves a question or a period, which is the basic way I feel these days?)
But you know what? This still sucks. Maybe if I didn't live in New York City and refuse to take the A train even though it would now offer me a shorter commute because it goes right under there, skips stops and the like. Maybe if my stomach didn't turn to hell every time I look south and see nothing but sky. People used to complain about how they couldn't live in New York because there was no horizon. We don't have a horizon now but the extra southern space we have makes me sick.
Going towards Canal Street, or just standing anywhere when the wind changes in the entire city, when the scent of the fires, rubble and the like fill me I get dizzy, confused and my eyes unfocus. It reminds me of when I was TB drugs and wondered if the drugs weren't worse than the disease. But it's because the smell is the olfactory version of the sight of it not there. It smells like my house did after the fire and the closet in the room where it took place still smells like.
I want to be able to take this political like stand about what we should do. Angel can quote some pretty vicious things I've said as well as some overly forgiving things as well. Because it's too big of a mess for me to want to think about what we should be doing when the shock waves of what happened are still resonating too deeply in me.
Sunday, September 23, 2001
Little Fuckers I need the following materials in order to launch an attack on my house:
1-Weed wacker to get rid of the grass growing in the back yard that's over 2 feet tall
2-A metal strip to tack on the bottom of my front door as their is currently a 1/2 inch gap
3-Plastic wood to put in the small hole in the framing to my window
4-A smaller garbage bin and containers that aren't recyclables
5-More Murphy's Oil Soap, scrub brushes, lysol and the like
I need these because last night as I was planning my little art project out I killed another one. That makes 2 more roaches than I ever needed to see in my life. And I never need to see one again. I'm ANGRY now as I went from fairly clean to very clean. I do not want to develop some OCD and need to scrub my bathroom floor every day. I have the sneaking suspicion that the source of these little fuckers is either:
a) the very large weeds in the back which give them a nice place to live.
b) the stinky neighbors as both roaches have appeared shortly after the neighbors returned.
I figure if I get rid of the weeds, seal the space under my door and do a real deep cleaning including the front hall plus adding some strategically arranged roach traps, I should never see one again. My apartment simply isn't dirty and I have to stop thinking that's what's making them come in. It's not as if I didn't spend all of Wednesday night cleaning. If I still find another, it's time to tell the neighbors their shit is stanks.
Friday, September 21, 2001
Blame Canada I need to vent this. The Canadians drive me up the wall. They refuse to zip files because it takes like 5 seconds. And then I have to sit and wait another 45 minutes for their unzipped files to get to me. And then they get all impatient about the FedEx not arriving, when they are in a different time zone, hours behind us. If FedEx isn't there first thing in the morning as before, do I really need to go and zip files to them? Like waiting 45 minutes isn't too bad because by the time I sent the files to them, guess who arrived? FedEx.
The lady in the mail room put it best: "Don't they got anything else to worry about? They should be happy anything is even being delivered at all." Ugh!
Friday, September 21, 2001
Lunch Break In the rain, I went up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (pronounced "mu-zam" in Tara-speak). I did not go to look a pictures, I did not go to play "when Harry Met Sally" as I suggested below. I went to go shopping, although I do know how to sneak into the museum now (shhh). I took a long lunch while waiting for the last chapter to be delivered to me so that I could continue to make up FedEx packages for the friggin Canadians. I wanted to buy this poster of the Flatiron, and not for myself but for Angel's girlfriend because she likes the building, makes her feel at peace. And we all could use some more internal peace right now.
And then I bought myself a book of postcards of New York Landmarks which contains black and white stony pictures with only one that has the WTC. It was behind the Woolworth Building. I needed these postcards for a very special art project to decorate my apartment which I won't describe because I know Martha Stewart does google searches for Barnard girls all the time and steals their art project ideas. I want to make them, take pictures of them, and then make her cry.
Taking the bus up and down the east side on a rainy fall day is relaxing. It's basically sitting in traffic and watching the east side slowly pass by, listening to the rain, the dehumidifier kick in when our breaths have clouded up all of the bus windows. Plus a long lunch that involves a long trip is always fun. How I love photocopy days!
Thursday, September 20, 2001
Laughing at the desk Still Missing: Chandra Levy. Still loved by the Post: Gary Condit. Just seeing his name in print made me giggle. The Post knows how to comfort us. Although I really do miss hearing about that Lizzie Grubman who I'd mistakenly called Lizzie Borden.
My family always had a flag up. Every morning my grandmother would put the flag out after she'd gotten her coat from the front hall (she was the only one who keeps her coat in the front hall, the rest of us use the back hall with the larger closet that also contains bowling balls, sneakers, and general family catch-all). If it rained during any of the hours between our return from school and my parents'/grandmother’s return, we were expected to bring the flag in. If the day remained sunny, my grandmother would bring the flag in when she went to the front hall to turn on the outside lights. I think we stopped flying the flag when I was in high school because it had become old and worn. I couldn't remember all the rules my grandmother had for the flag but found even better ones here. Thinking about my grandmother and the flag makes me laugh.
But you know what bothers me? This Susan Sontag piece in the recent New Yorker. I read the New Yorker to keep up on the pretensions I'd have if I weren’t, well, not pretentious. "Talk of the town" is usually cute vignettes of City life. This week, big writers reflected and all very nicely put until you get to her little piece. She was aggressive and raw. She was honestly nauseating; she clearly needs to grieve. I then came across this little piece in the Post during the aftermath of my disgust which again mentions Susan Sontag and what the author's reaction to her piece was:
I wanted to walk barefoot on broken glass across the Brooklyn Bridge, up to that despicable woman's apartment, grab her by the neck, drag her down to ground zero and force her to say that to the firefighters.
Thursday, September 20, 2001
Email to Calcium I took dowm my email poll. 1/3(33 and 1/3 percent) of people had only 1 or 2 email addresses. 1/2 (50 percent) had 5 or more. And most people lied because most people only reported the email addresses they actually use. I know.
But now I have a GREAT NEW POLL on what type of milk do you drink since everyone likes their milk fat percentage and only their milk fat percentage. That and I have a sneaky suspicion most people don't care because they're looking forward to a future of osteoporosis.
Wednesday, September 19, 2001
Show that smile again I've been on this big 80s kick this week. I think I do that about, um, once a month. But now I haev the all important nostalgic link to 80s sitcom theme songs. Nothing's better than sitting at work, waiting for photocopies to copy and singing some good ole tune to yourself. If those theme songs aren't good enough, this page has about every sitcom every on air for a half hour.
While reading the "Mr. Belvedere" theme song, I realized how wrong I had the words in my head. I assumed they were "Streets on the China/Never met her before/Who cares" rather than "Streaks on the china/Never mattered before/Who cares." I hit the "who cares" point right on the money. But I don't think that is as bad as thinking that Van Halen's Panama contains the lyrics "Had enough bad love" rather than just "Panama Panama" because I found it more suiting for an 80s to sing something so melodramatic.
I'm not sure if this is fitting with lyrical mistakes, but I used to think ponies where just teenaged horses and not a separate miniature species. I thought this until, like, my senior year in college.
Wednesday, September 19, 2001
Something for Nothing The observation deck at the Empire State Building may be closed and the whole area around the building is covered in police, barracades and the like. I guess you can't look all the way down Manhattan, all around Manhattan. But there is something else going on, getting your mind off of what isn't there. You can go to most Museums for FREE free this week. So go look at picutres, wander around the Egyptian exhibit and play "When Harry Met Sally" and generally fuck off your lunch hour in front paintings. I think this is a good thing.
Here's a ssatellite picture. I needed to really see it from above.
Tuesday, September 18, 2001
If Miami Fell I don't know why I have the need to look at such things; I keep on wanting to know more but regretting when it finally upsets me. But I keep on doing it. In a Salon.com article on the history of the Twin Towers we come across this doozy for a factoid:
Together, they boasted 10 million square feet in office space. That's larger than the Pentagon and more space than some entire American downtown business districts, such as St. Louis, Miami and San Diego.
We still have our most of city, the skyscrapers of mid-town completely untouched, but we lost the equivalent of Miami. The article discusses how no one really had a strong attachment to these buildings. I must say they weren't beautiful but they made New York visible from further and further away. And the way they sparkled late into the evening as people worked the 12 to 8 shifts in financial offices and the like is unforgettable.
When I was younger I thought that the Empire State Building was the "Entire State Building" and all the government was run from there.
Tuesday, September 18, 2001
Red/white/blue The people who lived in my apartment before me and left the 1/2 inch dirt I've finally scrubbed away used to have a "Funeral Home" sign in the living room window which looks out onto the quiet little street. The neighbors really didn't like this sign, but it stayed up until the landlord asked them to take it down when she began showing the apartment to clean, normal prospective tenants.
The girl who lives upstairs is a bit of a radical, works in a fairly radical non-profit and the like. Angel and I ran into her on the train as we were going home for the first time since before the attacks. She was wearing a buttom that said "riot, not diet" and I'm not too sure what it's trying to say. She put a sign up on their living room window on Friday which said:
"War is not the answer" in red/white/blue
This just bothered me. When sitting on my stoop, you can see American Flags neatly hung up and down both sides of the streets. My neighborhood contains a list of ethinicities that sounds like a UN meeting roll call. And everyone had their flag out. And my upstairs neighbor had this sign in her window.
Saturday morning, as I was leaving for the zoo, I forgot that one thing or another that I always forget just as the door had been locked. I turned around and went back inside. Her sign, most probably due to the suggestions of either my landlord who lost her aunt or my neighbors, had been changed. It now reads:
"We seek peace" in red/white/blue.
This is a better, rational, less painful for other people to read. The flags have no specific message, they are merely symbols with multiple interpretations. I'm sure there are some families that just hung them to prevent harassment. Some families with firefighters who hung them for lost loved one. Some families who hung them because the situation has made them hurt and they wanted to feel part of something.
Her sign intruded on people's grief, their pain, their way of thinking about the situation. She was judging the reactions of her neighbors. She was judging their grief and making them uncomfortable. She made me uncomfortable and I must look to her window every time we climb out front stairs. Her current message is what we truly do seek, what we truly desire.
Monday, September 17, 2001
Monday never sucked as much I work right next to what is now the tallest building in New York. The security at the Empire State Building is intense these days. Last week, most of the streets were closed off around it, now there are just endless lines to get into the building. Three entrances are open, on 33, 34 and Madison. This morning, each had a snaking line that immediately reminded me of an amusement park.
It's funny how everyone managed to spontaneously form this line, stretching a half block and then winding back and forth. How everyone stood there patiently waiting to get into the building. It's strange, all these little changes.
All the changes that go beyond, how these long lines are one of the many benign changes that still effect you. Like the new subway map. How strange and empty southern Manhattan looks and the discrete deletion of all text in that area of the city. We are supposed to be returning to normal, pretending we can act normal. I'm not sure what that means.
I just needed to archive.
Monday, September 17, 2001
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