Life Listed - Chronologically

I'd like to know who works for Raytheon that checks my page regularly. Just because it would be nice to know who's reading my page and I just can't figure it out. . .Email me.
Wednesday, March 27, 2002

Last night being $5 night at Cobble Hill Cinemas featured Monster's Ball which Halle Berry received an Oscar for and her acceptance speech needs to win whatever award is given for completely loosing your shit and being overwhelmingly stunned. While I enjoyed the movie, I was annoyed by the people behind me.

Cobble Hill is rich and yuppie. Cobble Hill is more affected than any neighborhood in Manhattan. It competes with Park Slope. People with a sense of how the world should work, how people should act; people who also sleep under sheets of sewn money. People here seem strangely detached from reality. This is based entirely on the person(s) sitting behind me at the movie.

The movie was not a happy movie. Very little went right in these people's lives. They were poor, rural, southern, abusive and abused. Everything that Cobble Hill isn't (supposedly).

Every single time someone was shoved, politically incorrect or just plain ignorant words were spoken, something "terrible" happened, whomever behind me would react. With sucking in their breath loudly, muttering wow, or ooo or whatever reaction. As if these were the first time they saw these things. As if these things were so terribly shocking each and every act deserved a response.

Had they never yelled at anyone in their lives? Or been yelled at? Had they never seen someone hit, in real life or on NYPD Blue? Was injustice so terrible that they couldn't keep their mouth shut so I could watch my movie. I had reactions, I kept most of them inside. Because saying "oh god" every ten minutes was something I realized might annoy my fellow movie go-ers.

Apparently not the easily-shocked person(s) behind me.
Wednesday, March 27, 2002

Last night I developed my plan to sell my crafts. It will start low-key and work it's way to high-class. I'm talking $200 a pop at Bergdorf in 2004. Seriously though, I need some business cards. And a web page (which I know nothing about doing beyond pitas). I've made several bags for several girls who get plenty of compliments on them. I fiugre if each girl gets 1 small card holder full of cards, similar in fashion to my Valentine's Day presents, and each time someone asks them where they got that from, they could give my card.

Round 1 of sales would probably be friends of friends so they get discounted rates to also pass out my cards. In this manner, my work spreads very quickly. In a matter of years, bam, I'm having some immigrant ladies make my bags like Brooklyn ChicKnits. I'm tentative about getting too into something that could collapse and leave me on my arse in a few years when everyone starts carrying pig skin or endagered specie fur bags.

I've looked at the web at bags available and most of the bags that don't say "vintage" are nasty. They are simlpy unattractive, slightly ugly and of a lower style from when I first started making them and was comparatively bad.

Step one: make bags for more girls. coordinating card holders made as well. At least 6 by August.
Step two: get cards made.
Step three: get web page.
Actually, they all coincide, because I can't give them purses until I have the cards and I can't get the cards until I have a web address. I guess I can just register something and work from there.

Boredom breeds creativity.
Wednesday, March 27, 2002

One of the greatest things in New York is the subway. It's huge, costs only $1.50 from go from Far Rockaway to the Bronx zoo or just 14th Street to 23rd. It's dirty, it's loud, it's crowded. Sometimes, it's empty and creepy. It takes a while for the seasonal temperature changes to work their way down into the subway, but once it becomes hot or cold mid-season it's almost worse than the outside air. Although I cannot stand over-crowded trains, refuse to pack myself into a car since it essentially slows down the system, I generally love the subway.

I wanted to move back to the city because I hated the car. I hated sitting in indiviudal serving packages of Toyotas, BMWs and a rapidly accelerating portion of SUVs as we slid along the road, slowly, with the windows rolled up and music at an non-interferring volume. I'd roll my window down, blast my music and sing out loud. Because it was boring. To sit in traffic. Absolutely no entertainment. When Angel told me that his sister puffed on her way home from UCLA in their college days, I thought she was nuts. Sitting in traffic for a year as a Jersey temp brought more sensible light onto this activity (although I never did).

Right now, Bloomberg is trying to get more people onto the subway. He thinks roads are expensive resources and a premium should be paid for them. However, with too many people on the subway, it will become a premium and prices will go up. Imagine $1.75 for the subway! Inconceivable!

I just wonder what his solutions are for increased subway riders. Will he put an express train on the F-line as it so badly needs (like maybe making the V go to Brooklyn rather than it just being a pain in my arse). Will he give more people jobs in token booths or will he just make more machines?

No matter what, there is push to create more public transportation and less individual servings in cars. As a matter of fact, I've already created a transportation conspiracy. For 4 days, there has been a fire burning at warehouse near the entrance to the Holland Tunnel, leading to it being closed. Plumes and plumes of smoke are lazily drifting over the Hudson River while commuters are redirected to the Lincoln Tunnel for a excessively congested wait or to a brand new ferry out of Hoboken that just opened on Monday.

Since the terrorist attacks on New York, Hoboken's train station has been very quiet. Without the downtown PATH, and a ferry that leaves from Battery Park far away from much of the downtown offices, most people seem to prefer to go to Penn Station for $1.50 subway ride rather than pay for the $3.00 ferry.

But if you open a new ferry, cheaper than the tunnel, force the tunnel traffic to use the ferry by a oh-so coincidental fire making tunnel travel unsafe, hmmm. You can generate more business for the Hoboken Terminal and the new ferry. Conspiracy or not? Hmmmm (analytically stroking chin )
Tuesday, March 26, 2002

Lately, many people have commented on an unusual prevalence of ghetto-speak and attitude in my conversations and interactions. Lately, my vocabulary has been cut down to ain'ts, superfluous nos and lazy pluralizations. My head has the tendency to groove like Stevie when I'm stating something pursuasive. I'm basically turning into a Ricki Lake guest.

Firstly, it's in my blood. It's no small coincidence that Marie and Jesse should be such good friends/family of mine. We weren't the typical Gap v-neck wearing kids. We were Gap v-neck wearing kids from ghetto-assed backgrounds conforming into our idyllic suburb and living only a mile away from the projects of our parents' youth. When Bess found out Marie was to be her roommate and wondered what type of Jersey Essex County ghetto-trash she was being forced to live with, she wasn't far off. We're ghetto-class though.

Secondly, the ghetto in me that Barnard tried to stomp out did not die by telling me that dawg was not a word and that carefully calculated pauses in conversations are more effective than endlessly, nearly breathless ramblings. And honestly, this method, the ways of casually saying ain't at the right point forces people to perk up in ways they wouldn't otherwise. It's "un-educated" but when you can simultaneously fancy around the typical, high-brow modes of argument and conversation with the same ease as a street-corner drug deal, you have a deathly mix. You can catch both types unaware, force them to focus and consider. It's a complicated system I'm purposely perfecting (Barnard did teach me how to bull like a motha).

In other news, I was told that it would be otherwise pretty stupid for me to move. Since I have a good place, a big place, a nice place. I was told I need to stop thinking every change should be a tornado, hurricane, fire, and so forth effect. I was told that I should stop throwing everything in the air just because on variable will be different. I don't know how I feel about this.

My family friend in San Fran is moving closer to the Oregon border this summer. If I want to take a job in the Oakland office, a position needs to open up soon. Since my sixth month here, I have been prepared to transfer out there as soon as there was a job. I've actually been looking forward to this possibility.

I like drastic change. Some of the greatest lessons I've learned have come through drastic change. I have a busy week but I need some time to work this thought through. Part of me really needs to find a quiet space in the middle of nowhere for about a week. (Hmmm, Jamestown?)
Tuesday, March 26, 2002

And even though I've dropped from 4th place to 9th in the NCAA basketball pool at work, I am still the top ranking female in the office. It's the little things that matter. More than the dull job, the boredom of 9 to 5, being hte top ranking female makes it some how worth while.
Monday, March 25, 2002

Saturday, I sent Angel out to do laundry. Because I was having people over to look at the place. And I didn't have any underwear for Sunday. Three people stopped by. Two were definitely not people I'd live with or ever talk to again for that matter.

The first girl was wearing a red beret. She seemed interested in convincing me not to like her. "Well I'm a musician and I play all these corny string instruments and they sound really boring and it might annoy you at night since you are home frequently." She talked constantly about how great it was in Chelsea, in her boyfriend's building at $400/month and how commuting is just something she doesn't know about. Maybe she could take a 6' x 5' room in Manhattan then. I was happy the see her go.

The second girl reminded me of one of my frineds at Barnard. She's working as a party promoter until she get another job since being laid off in the magazine world. She was interesting, fun to talk to but I suspected she was on drugs. It don't really think it matters though, if she's on drugs. Just as long as she pays her rent, is nice and is willing to share.

The third girl had lived in the neighborhood before. She seemed put off by the fact that girl #2 and her appointed time overlapped. She seemed strange and odd. She's from Teaneck if that is any explaination. She was obsessed with when the apartment was built. Upon leaving she said it was very Marth Stewart & Pottery Barn. I replied that it was actually too much TLC, refering to The Learning Channel which is chock full o' design and home improvement shows I watched when I was looking for my job. Her reply to "too much TLC" was "yeah, a little over-done." Like I said, she's from Teaneck.

I really need to take the cheapy digital camera my father got free with his computer to take pictures of some of the things I am making. Because they make me pause & admire their beauty. I used to second guess a lot of the crocheted goods I'd make as very pokey and hokey and dull. However, the blue & black butterfly bag with interfacing re-inforced panels, padded lining and double thick handles blows my socks off.

Sunday I was supposed to go see a few places since I am also still open to moving elsewhere. I left Jersey at 11 am, took a ferry into downtown Manhattan. I walked my way up through the city, stopping in shops, buying thing I didn't need. When I finally hit the Delancey Street station, it was nearly 3 pm. I was the room in Carroll Garden that is so tiny you can't fit much more than a bed and apparently the landlord's children run through the apartment to get to the backyard. For $750 a month!

I then walked to Park Slope where the guy sells stuff on the weekends on the street in the Brooklyn "stoop sale" fashion. The apartment was stinky and crammed with his goods. I chatted on my cell phone with Jesse as I generally do when walking on the weekends. He convinced me that if I really needed toothpaste, I just buy some more. I'd been just squeezing and squeezing the little travel tubes we have lying around for nearly a week now. Having a fat thick tube that I can squeeze from the middle makes me feel like an adult.
Monday, March 25, 2002

I was in severe denial that Bess wanted to take a break. I checked her page as per usual on a near-stalking basis. I think she can recite my IP address in her sleep she sees it so often on her site meter. I'm happy there is something for me to do at work know. Other than, you know, work.

Big man came to me this am and said, this list, all wrong, you do over today. I'm putting things together for two big meetings Monday & Tuesday. My morning looked swamped when I left at 8 pm. And there's big important guy asking me to fix a list which I didn't make but am now in custody of. Of course, when big important guy asks, you do.

Warning, whine approaching: I didn't even get to go have a cigarette until 2:30!
Friday, March 22, 2002

Last night began with working too late. It followed with going out to dinner for Angel's practically 50th birthday. The man is old (28). In attendance were his girl, his cousin, his cousin's girlfriend and randomly his boss's girlfriend was there so she joined us. All these mothas were from LA. Spending the evening with people from LA is aggrivating because we all know how they are just a bit, um, off.

His cousin is basically my favorite person is Angel's life. I like the way he treats me, brotherly, sly smiles, hearty laughs. Some drama between him and girlfriend. They left early. His boss then showed up. I was happy to have another east-coaster around. His girlfriend talked incessantly to boss's girl. Things went down that'll I'll surely talk shit about with Marie since she's a good ole gossipy Jersey girl. She understands the value of talking crap about people.

Hint: Waiter asked if we wanted more glasses for water, 5 people around table (a, girl, boss, boss's girl, me). A's girl relpies: 4, then mutters to boss's girl, well the other one doesn't count meaning either a, boss or me. You do the math.

It got ass cold and I had to go home while they were heading out to a club to shake their bootays. I figured springing for a cab after I'd thrown too much money in for dinner was worth it. I had probably 10 times more excitement and interest in this cab ride than any other point in the evening.

My cabbie was young, american Jewish boy from Philadelphia. Stuggling rock musician drives cab for cash, very traditional and long-dead NY story. As he made his way down through Manhattan, a car cut him off, he had to slam on the breaks. He commented on the out-of-towners and I noticed the convertible's Michigan plates. Cabbies, in the fairly empty late-night streets go fast. If other cars suddenly break, it causes problems.

A few blocks later, the convertible with Michigan plates decides it wants to be on the other side of us again. It basically cuts in front of us, does some stupid stuff, leading to both cars coming to a schreeching halt to avoid hitting a stopped cab. (Mind you, this entire time, my cab stayed in the same lane, going about 40.) The guy from Michigan gets out of the car, comes up to the cabbie and starts screaming. Saying, "come out of the cab," punching the window. The cabby pulls away and the guy from Michigan walks in front of the cab yelling "come on and hit me." He then kicks the cab, and punches the door near me. As if I have anything to do with what the cab driver was doing either way.

Children, this is way we don't come to NYC, do a shit load of coke and decide to act out the way you think people in the city act based on watching Hollywood movies.

We frigging laughed. He thought I'd be upset but I thought it was hilarious. It was the craziest thing ever happened to either of us in a cab. It led to a long conversation about how people should not drive in NYC. How very few people know how to drive in NYC. And him saying, "By the sound of it, I bet you drive in the city like a pro." Yeah, just ask Marie about the time I got around 10 cabs to get from the left to right lane trying to get into the Holland Tunnel (although she might not remember because she was drunk.)
Friday, March 22, 2002

Last night everyone who was supposed to come by cancelled except for 1 person. How aggrivating. It was the rain but the range of excuses varied. The one person who did show was a non-effeminate gay black boy from Silver Spring, MD via Brown University who works as a social worker. He also has an X-box. He seems pretty okay but boys aren't as likely to disclose as much about themselves as girls (ever) so it's hard to determine. We'll see. I basically plan on letting 1/2 the world come into my apartment until one stellar human sticks out. Or settle for someone that's just okay.
Thursday, March 21, 2002

Dear Caffeine:
Sorry for being such a bitch and deciding we needed a break. It was just becoming to hard for me, believing that I needed you rather than wanted you. I felt as if I was nothing without out in my life and had to prove to myself otherwise. It wasn't you, but me.

And this morning, when I accepted you back into my life, in your brown little paper cup saying "It's a pleasure to serve you", greeting me so charmingly, I knew it was right.

How bright eyed and energetic I feel this morning! Because of you. Without you today, I would be sitting unable to focus, thinking mostly of my soft warm bed, the world beyond this office. But with just a little bit of your support, I am able to get through my day, enter my day and carry on.

Now that I know the true value of you in my life, things will not go back to the way they were. I will not depend on you for a fresh morning but turn to you when I want that feeling. Not every day again, but life with you once in a while makes it a whole lot nicer life to live.

I love you, Caffeine,
Tara
Thursday, March 21, 2002

I have nothing to say because my life is right now lacking in the note worthy. I basically expect Klare to entertain me since I know her office is out of town/country. I have a lot of trouble focusing on work. I came in late but can't stay because a slew of people are coming over tonight because they want to be my roommate. I'll surely have interesting anecdotes to share at that point.

It's now offically spring. It's been that way for about an hour. The SAD (Seasonal Affected Disorder) is no longer a plausible excuse for being moody. Now it's just sad. The guy across the hallway emailed several folks a Shelley quote to welcome in the new season. Upon Jesse's suggestion, I emailed him back this poem which is by far more appropriate for our wet weather:

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed
balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

I hope I didn't freak him out.
Wednesday, March 20, 2002

Additionally, I'd like to inform eveyone that I am in forth place of the office pool for the college basketball playoffs. My $5 investment has a good chance of a return. And I'm also the highest ranking female. (I'd like to add I know very little about college basketball, I did it all on a whim, a guess, who I thought should win)
Monday, March 18, 2002

If you read below, you'll see I completely forecasted this weather. If you looked outside the window around 1:30 last night, you'd know I had even seen the brief snow in our future. And yes, I had no choice but to weary the puffy down coat to work. It looks pretty funny with the tan canvas and leather shoulder bag I bring with me to look professional even though it holds:
Power Puff Girls mirror
Pokemon high bounce ball
Small stone painted like a lady bug
3 (at least) books of matches
Pocket subway map from guy in large coffee cup
Library card & the 50,000 insurance cards issued by my employer
2 glitter gel pens in red and blue
The Atlantic Monthly & a yellowed paperback of In Cold Blood (with no cover)
checkbook, cell phone, wallet, MetroCard, employee access card
An apple

But I like to pretend this bag contains important documents for my important job in an important office when I'm on the train. I do not let anyone look in my bag as I'm taking my book or magazine out/putting it back in. I do not want them to see the tin-foil covered sandwich, the fairly boring contents. Because it's supposed to intimidate the world as an important bag, not just an overrated back pack.
Monday, March 18, 2002

This morning I dropped my black wooly coat off at the dry cleaners. That means there is a 50 times greater chance that we will have a flash blizzard in between now and the time I get it back on Tuesday. There is a 100 times greater chance it will be colder, but too warm to wear the puffy powder blue "J-lo" coat. That's just how these things work.

I obsessively check my checking account online when I'm supposed to get paid. I just want to know when the money I've already worked for is finally mine. Today I was shocked at the balance. My IRS check came in! I have an actualy susbtancial amount in a savings account now. It used to be roughly what I had saved by the age of like 12. Now I can go on vacation or move.

Last night I met the first person to come by and check the place out. We got along really well and talked for a good long bit. Firstly, I know everyone who sees my place wants it. Secondly, I don't know if I can handle someone THAT high energy. Elmo-esque. She says she goes to bed by 10, I guess she just tires herself out.

I received my LSAT scores in the mail last night. I am definitely not going to law school with these scores. I just did not do well. I scored pitifully low, worse than I ever have on a standardized test. I think I'm becoming retarded. I think there is something about sitting a room with no windows for 8 hours a day that really makes you mentally ill.
Friday, March 15, 2002

Between now and June 2003, you'll be receiving opportunity after opportunity to learn more about relationships. Will you take advantage of this embarrassment of riches, Capricorn? I hope so. I believe there's nothing more important than deepening your capacity for togetherness. You might imagine you have better things to do, like building your career or making more money. But the ironic fact is that cultivating your intimacy skills will change you in the precise ways that are most likely to serve your worldly ambitions.

You saying I'm going be getting some soon?
Thursday, March 14, 2002

In my roommate wanted ads I've thrown out into cyber-hell, I said that smoking is negotiable since I'm "trying" to quit. Someone actually emailed me saying she doesn't smoke and will help me quit. I don't think she even gets a reply. I don't think you need to help me do nothing. I'll quit in my own damn time, I'm not looking for an -in-house support group. The quotes around "trying" mean I'm not taking myself serioously. I'm smoking like a mad woman, hoping to exhaust myself with them, getting back to why I thought I was completely ready to quit.
Thursday, March 14, 2002

I'm a Beaver. I'm not sure if this should amke me happy or not. But I always thought it was funny that Satre's nickname for Simone de Beauviour was Beaver. Here was this ultra-independent-type women being called a nickname for you know, snatch.
Wednesday, March 13, 2002

I'm happy that I'm not the only one who feels the way I do about keys. Thanks Lockwood. Last week I came home from work early. I knew Angel wasn't home because he'd just phoned my cell as I was walking home. I walked in singing Blackbird, proceeded to take off uncomfortable work clothes in the hallway on my way to the bathroom. I was going to get the cordless phone out of Angel's room, but stopped before my foot crossed the threshold of his open door. Because his girl was lying in his bed, sheets to neck but nude. at 4:30 in the afternoon. because she could let herself out whenever she felt like it with the key. She then waited around for 2 hours, knowing Angel was on his way home. Friggin annoying

Whatever, he's out of there in May. I realize it's much better that way because he has no courtesy, lacks many elements of respect or a lot of other things you never learn when the first time on your own in when you are 27 years old and you think adult life should be pulled out of episodes of Falcon Crest.
Wednesday, March 13, 2002

Yesterday I went to Chelsea Market which is just entirely too hip for it's own good with televisions mounted in the walls, covered in thin wire mesh, NY1 being brought to you live as you are waiting for the bathroom near the elevators to the NY1 offices. But, most importantly, I got a hold of some maple candy which I've had a hankering for since Marie and I watched Martha make it with an old man from Vermont. The maple candy was in the shape of man with a hat and eating anything in the shape of people and animals is always fun; I've been thinking about making fish-shaped chicken breasts. I'm in the mood for run-on sentences these days.

I saw the Knicks play basketball. I walked around the lower tier where I can never afford to sit but can block other people's view as I'm staring at Spike Lee. The half time show was a Manhattan YMCA versus Greenpoint YMCA, a pee-wee basketball game where they mostly just ran up and down the field. We left before the game was over, the Knicks were going to loose.

I feel asleep on the subway ride home. I've never fallen so deeply asleep on the train (don't worry, I wasn't alone). It's kind of creepy to wake up and to have missed most of the stops in Brooklyn.

Angel & I bought Cream Savers before we got on the train. On the subway platform, Angel decided to give away the candy. Most people were creeped out when offered some candy, but some people thought it was pretty neat and took a piece. The people who took candy were by far more interesting and happier-looking. I wonder how I'd feel seeing someone like me and Angel walking down the subway platform offering a roll of candy. The black guy in the subway didn't think we were amusing. He thought we should think twice as we could "get beat down." He was pretty obsessed about us getting beat down, trying to warn us of the dangers of giving candy to New Yorkers. He didn't want any candy. Eventually, the candy was gone and I fell asleep in my sugar-induced slumber.
Wednesday, March 13, 2002