Jobby Jobs

So today I spent HOURS searching for jobs, and I actually found a lot of stuff that I'm interested in. Of course, they have to be interested in me back, but that's another issue.
I found one job ad that was all cheeky, like "tired of being left in the technological dust" and "we never sleep here, so you can always sleep on the floor." Stuff like that. So of course I made my cover letter just as cheeky right back. "Dear Team Who Never Sleeps (because "Human Resources" sounds stupid..." And of course they wrote back to me ten minutes later, interested. And of course they are located in Stanford. Which is, what, an hour and a half away? By car? Which I do not have?
Still, I would commute to Idaho to finally get a job I love at a company I love, so I'm just going to roll with it for a while. We'll see.
On the writing front, I've finally filled in all those unfinished patches, and am now attempting to print it out to have Luke read it. Attempting, because my catridge faded halfway through the 166 pages. Punk.

Closets

The last days of our trip, the short version:
Crazy Driving: corkscrew curves, smashed between the sparkling Pacific Ocean and towering tree-covered California mountains. Beautiful, less sickening than I would anticipate, and Joe drove most of the way.
Big Sur: we couldn't find the trails. We ended up walking through an overcrowded campground for most of the time, making me exceedingly frustrated. At last we got away a little, and found some redwoods, which we huge, but small by comparison to what we will see someday in Sequoia National Forest.
Monterrey: we got the last crappy, overpriced yet affordable room in the whole city. Actually, it was north of the city in Marina, but no matter--we were 2 blocks from the beach. We sat and watched our first California sunset on the cooling sand, then had a terrible dinner at a frightening place called AJ Spurs. Overpriced meat, too much food, terrible service, and half-hearted servers singing "Happy Birthday" to someone every five minutes. The only good part were the free root beer floats.
Now, a week and a half later, I am sitting in an extended stay hotel in San Bruno, a half hour south of SF. Joe and I are waiting for Christy to get home to drive us to move some of our stuff into our new apartment. I can't wait to be settled. Hopefully we'll get our boxes of books on Friday. It would be nice to fill our giant empty apartment with SOMETHING. It's funny--in San Francisco they have these extra little rooms off every room in an apartment--sometimes two. They call them "closets." In NYC we call that a second bedroom.

California

After the Grand Canyon, it was finally time to head into California. Somehow we managed to time it just right to hit rush hour in L.A. on a Friday afternoon, but we were still OK. Joe drove and I navigated. We took the long way around the city so we didn't have to go THROUGH the city. Then we were on Highway 101.
When you're still in the L.A. area, you can't see much ocean yet. We were trying to get as far away as we could, but 101 is still running mostly west at that point, so we were blinded by the sun. Besides we were exhausted. Suddenly a mini golf course loomed on the horizon, dominated by a ten foot tall Cinderella-like castle.
"Oooh!" Joe and I looked at each other. "Should we stop?"
We considered. Probably not, we decided. We should try to get a lot farther tonight.
We looked at each other again. "Well?"
"I think I'm taking this exit," Joe said.
"I think I saw a Motel 6 back there too," I said.
It took us a while to find mini golf again, and even longer to find the Motel 6 (there were only 5 rooms left when we got there!!!), but it was totally worth it. We relaxed, played mini golf and skee ball, ate sushi, and slept well in our barely adequate, leaky AC, Motel 6 room.
When we discovered that we had barely gotten a room here, we decided we should really reserve something ahead of time if we wanted to spend the next night near Monterey. So we started calling hotels from our AAA books.
Sold out, sold out, sold out, we have just one standard room left.
"Really? How much?"
"$225."
I nearly fainted. We were on the verge of deciding to wake up at 5 a.m. and drive straight through until San Francisco, when Joe discovered that Motel 6 kept a book of all their hotels in the room. We called up the Marina location (just outside of Monterey) and got one of THEIR last rooms.
Whew.
Tomorrow: Monterey, Big Sur, Crazy Driving

Canyon So Grand

We arrived at Grand Canyon Park later than we had hoped--about 1 in the afternoon--then had to wait in line at the entrance for a half hour before we could even drive in. $25 just for us to get in! Not so bad, I suppose, since that's the only fee.
It's very confusing when you first arrive there. We parked in the first spot we found, not even sure if we could stay there, took a few pictures from a vantage point there and thought, what now?
At that point, Joe was not particularly happy, being hungry, confused, and less optimistic than me that we would figure everything out. So we sat down and ate our Arby's sandwiches on a bench (the best view I've ever had for a picnic by the way, though the Colusseum in Rome is a close second). Then I tore apart half the trunk to find Joe's sneakers, slathered us both with gobs of sunblock, and headed towards the Vistor's Center where a nice forest ranger explained everything to us.
First we hiked 2.5 miles along the Rim Trail, the easiest hike in the park. The Grand Canyon is amazing (obviously) but still feels distant, like I'm looking at a computer generated backdrop. There aren't a lot of safety fences there--they like to keep it very raw. You can go right up to the edge and if you trip, you're screwed. The Canyon is ten miles long and about a mile across (I think) and the most beautiful part is the individual rock formations. They are so unique and are on such a large scale that they are breathtaking.
Next we went a little ways down Blue Angel Trail. This is the easiest trail to take that goes below the rim. We didn't want to go too far because it was pretty hot out, and I don't take well to heat. Besides, neither of us is exactly in tip-top shape, and the altitude makes breathing even harder. So we meandered down the trail a bit, already feeling the heat. There is mule poop all over the trail, but I didn't get to see any mules. Boo. However we did see Indian Rock Paintings, ancient red paintings of deer high above us on the rock cliff. The Grand Canyon was inhabited by Native Americans for thousands of years until the bastard white people threw them out to make it a national park. We took it easy walking back up, stopping the shade to drink lots of water. We saw one middle-aged man sitting on a rock sweating and gasping and rubbing his legs while two women hovered worriedly around him. They said he needed electrolytes and eventually some people walked by and offered him their Gatorade (which we didn't have or we would have gladly given it). I don't understand the mechanics of dehydration completely, but I know that water isn't enough. You need salt and electrolytes too.
Finally, we took the free shuttle bus (okay, I supposed that's where our $25 goes, and it's totally worth it) out to the farthest end we could get to--Hermit's Point. The ride was really neat. From there we could finally see the Colorado River, which I know is huge, but just looks like a tiny brown ribbon at the bottom of the Canyon. At the point you can see the Canyon laid out in all its glory, almost end to end.
We decided to stay for sunset. We wanted to avoid most of the craziness though, so we stayed away from the most popular spots and just went out on a point near our car. It was very cool, the way the setting sun hits the cliffs all slanty, highlighting each ridge, though it wasn't life-changing or anything, probably due to our less-than-great spot and a lot of clouds. Christy says that sunrise is even better, but we didn't know yet where we were spending the night and besides, I managed to lose our receipt for re-entry, so we would have had to pay again.
The Best Western we'd hoped to stay in was sold out, but we managed to find a room at the Red Feather Inn that was even cheaper anyways. Still more expensive than going back to Flagstaff for a room, but worth it to have a relaxing night of watching zombie movies after a hard day of hiking. I only got sunburned on my legs a little and got a little heat rash (aka flesh-eating disease) on my hands.
All in all, our "winging it" has been working well.

I Heart New Mexico

Well, we've arrive safe and sound in San Francisco, but I'm going to pick up where I left off in...New Mexico.
It is beautiful there, and out of all the states we visited, it is the one I would most like to return to. I was amazing by the landscape...red, rocky outcroppings, trees, canyons popping up around corners. We stopped quickly in Albuquerque (is that how you spell that?) to eat some tasty burritos, then stopped at "the cave of fire and ice." We had to drive 20 miles in the backcountry of New Mexico until we got onto Indian land. The "fire" part is an ancient volcano crater, a half a mile across. You hike up and up until you can look over this giant, dizzying hole. The path we walked on was covered with lava, and you can see the path the lava took 10,000 years ago from up there.
The "ice" part was a cave, just 30 feet or so below the surface, where it never gets above 31 degrees. It is part of a collapsed lava tube. The ice on the bottom is twenty feet thick and would be even thicker except the people in that area used to chop blocks out of it to keep their food cold! No one knows how it started, but the ice that's already there helps it stay that cold.
We saw some little lizards on the way back and learned about the trees in the area, which are very cool, though prone to being hit by lightning because of the iron in the lava rocks around them.
The Zuni Pueblos were just 30 minutes away, but we didn't have time to go see them. That will be number one on my list for when we return!
We stayed in Gallup that night. All in all, wonderful people in New Mexico.
Tomorrow: Canyon, Grand.

Oklahoma!

Now, while Kansas is disgusting in its boringness, Oklahoma is actually rather stunning in its starkness. The soil turns red and rocky. Oil machines dotted the fields in one area. At first we thought they might be irrigation machines, since they were only 10 feet tall or so, but then we saw them in fields that had no crops. Those huge, huge energy generating windmills lined the highways too. We guessed they are 120 feet tall or more. Those windmills always freak me out. I imagine that when the apocalypse comes and the world end, those arms will just keep on turning, even when there are no more humans.
We blasted past Oklahoma City to a cute little town called El Reno. Sid's in El Reno is famous for making onion-fried burgers. They take a ball of ground hamburger, thwack! it onto the grill, smush it flat, then drop a handful of sliced onions on top of it. They press the onions into the meat and fry it up crisp. It was one of the biggest suprises of the trip. Who knew non-rare burgers could be so delicous? The waitress was really nice too.
"So," she says, as soon as we order, "where y'all from?"
"New York."
"Y'all must have a book to know what to order." We laughed and told her we had "Road Food." They get a lot of out of towner from being featured in a few books.
We pressed on to Amarillo, TX. Texas is amazing, sweeping expanses of grasslands. We saw the second largest cross in North America. There are lots and lots of "Jesus Loves You" type signs here, both handpainted and purchased by organizations. Lots of bumper stickers too. It is vastly different from New York, and even different from Wisconsin.
By the time we got to Amarillo, we were exhausted. We considered going to the Big Texan where they have the 72 oz steak and a limo with steer horns on the front to pick you up for free. But instead we bought a six-pack of Lonestar at the Shell station and ate dinner at the IHOP.
We are moving slower lately. Stopping earlier and leaving later. We're having fun, but it does get tiring.

We're not in Kansas anymore (thank God!)

Kansas is an awful, horrifically boring place, to the point of pain.
Joe and I attempted to kill each other but were unsuccessful.

Goin' to Kansas City, Kansas City here I come

This morning we woke up at the crack of dawn (literally--I set the alarm wrong and I was in the shower already before either of us realized it was only 6 a.m.) and headed towards St. Louis, Missouri. Just outside of St. Louis is the tiny town of Collinsville, Illinois, home of the World's Largest Catsup bottle. That's right folks. The bottle itself is about forty feet tall, plus it stands on top of a tower several stories high. You drive through this tiny little idyllic neighborhood, go up a hill and as you go over, the bottle simply appears before you, looking at first like it is hovering over the trees. It stands over a former ketchup plant. We jumped out, took pictures, and then jumped back onto the road again to race to the next attraction, Cahokia Mounds.
I accidentally spotted the Indian Mound site on the atlas and mentioned it to Joe, who had no idea what I meant by Indian Mounds, so we decided to go. It turns out that one of the mounds there, Monk's Mound, is the largest man-made earth contruction on this continent--even larger than mounds in Mexico. Cahokia was still a city of thousands of people in 1200 AD and the chief lived on top of Monk's Mound, which covers over 14 acres and is over 100 feet high. In the nearby burial mounds, archaeologists have excavated hundreds of bodies. It was very cool, but blisteringly hot, so we didn't actually climb Monk's Mound.
We pressed on into St. Louis where traffic was nasty. We had 2 possible food destinations: Ted Drewes frozen custard and C & K BBQ. We decided to go for custard first, since it was a little out of the way and BBQ would be on our way out of the city. The custard was amazing. It is located on the old Route 66, so they get a lot of attention, but they live up to it. I got a Cardinal Sin Sundae--vanilla custard, hot fudge and tart cherries, while Joe got a Hawaiian concrete--vanilla custard, pineapple, coconut, and macademia nuts blended into a mixture so thick that they hand it to you upside down for effect. There was nowhere to sit that wasn't in the sun, so we stood off to the side of the order window and devoured them in minutes. Even then we couldn't keep up with the melting. We seem to be following the heat wave.
Traffic had put us behind schedule, so we decided to forego St. Louis BBQ for lunch to be sure we didn't miss Kansas City BBQ for dinner. We made the right decision. Arthur Bryant's BBQ is the most famous BBQ in the country. It's in the warehouse district and is such a run-down plastic-chair kind of place that I wouldn't have even looked twice at it. Until I smelled it. We had a pulled pork sandwich, ribs, ham, baked beans, fries and a red cream soda. My favorite was the pulled pork, though I wasn't blown away by the ribs. I've had better. Same with the fries. But the rest of the meal made up for it. The ham was amazing. It was piled on white bread and it's perfect to dump their famous sauce all over. The restaurant was filled mostly with families and good-ole-boys, who sometimes sat down with more than one platter plus a pint of beans on the side.
We're relaxing in a cheap hotel now, waiting for it to cool off enough to swim in the outdoor pool--the first time we'll have spent more than 8 hours at a hotel. Today was an amazing day, the best of the trip so far. Tomorrow we head into Kansas.

I Ate at the Nauti Mermaid

This morning we headed to Cleveland to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It's beautiful, a glass pyramid on the shore of Lake Erie. It's somewhat pricey (counting parking, though my ancient student I.D. got me $2 off admission). It's intense in there. Music, movies, voices, displays come at you constantly. We saw outfits from David Bowie, Christina Aguilera, Prince, and more. We took our time through the special exhibit--two floors devoted to the life and work of Bob Dylan. I'm not much of a music person, but it was interesting to learn facts about him many people don't know. Like that he was born in Duluth, MN, and that he left MN to go to New York City to find his idol, Woody Guthrie. That's where it all began.
After the museum, which got to be a bit much, we walked a few blocks to find the World's Largest Rubber Stamp. First of all, it's not really rubber. It's made out of aluminum. Second, I thought it would be about as tall as me, not forty feet high. We were strangely impressed by this corporate art-like monstrosity. The stamp says "FREE". Hmm.
One thing we have learned about mid-sized mid-Western cities--they shut down on Sundays. Joe really wanted to go to a few nice, well-known restaurants, but every one of them was either closed or didn't open until 5 pm. We landed at one of the few open places we even saw, "The Nauti Mermaid." A nautical-themed (duh) restaurant/bar, they had good crabcakes and decent sandwiches. We were getting hungry and cranky enough to eat anything.
Then we drove south to Columbus (stopping at a truck-stop so shady it was funny) and then west to Indianapolis, IN. Here we had a destination. Mug N Buns, a drive-in burger joint on the edge of town. We got majorly lost, which ended up not being a problem, since the streets were EMPTY. We just drove around until we found the right street. In the process, we got to see downtown and the rundown part of town under the El Train.
Mug N Buns was glorious, the kind of place we dream of. Their rootbeer is homemade and their onion rings are hand-battered; both were stunning. We got a cheeseburger, which was fine, and a tenderloin, which is a CD-sized disc of pork breaded and deep-fried and put on a bun. I was good, though I don't know if I would eat it too often! We finished off with a chocolate malt and are now crashing at our decently priced, adequate hotel just a mile away from the restaurant.
A shaky start of a day with a great finish. Tomorrow: Kansas City, MO

Outside of Cleveland

We drove for 9 hours and didn't quite make it to Cleveland. It was a long haul, and will hopefully be the longest of the trip, but we wanted to really push to get as far away as possible on our first day.
Loading the car was intensely hot, to the point where I felt sick a few times, but we got everything we needed in, plus half of our maybe pile. As soon as we cleared New York, I fell asleep for 2 hours. I couldn't help it. I couldn't have stayed awake if you paid me.
Pennsylvania is beautifully, but a bit uniformly beautiful. Layers upon layers of green mountains are constantly unfolding before you.
I'm exhausted, so this one is going to be short. Hopefully we'll continue to have decent internet.

Chaos Theory Part 2

Our. Elevator. Is. BROKEN!
On the day before we move, when it is 102 degrees out with 99.9 percent humidity, our elevator breaks. This morning we had to bring our books to the Post Office, which meant we had to carry 8 incredibly heavy (remember what a good packer I am?) boxes down four flights of stairs (OK, so down is much easier than up, and I really only carried 2 while Joe had to take 6). Still. It was annoying.
We saw the super and he swears it will be running by tomorrow morning, when we have to do the actual move. Then he laughed and said, "This is a record. It's never been down this long." Great.

One Hot Italian

New Favorite Music: Regina Spektor
I am listening to her in our almost-empty apartment. The bed actually sold, upstairs is empty and the computer is sitting on the windowsill. The next time you hear from me, I will probably be On the Road.
I said goodbye to one of my best friends today. Last time we parted, it was when she left Wisconsin to go back to New York. When I left her house that night, I paused every few feet to turn and wave. She stood at her living room window and watched until I was out of sight.
Today we did the same thing on the subway. I was still sitting on the train, smushing my face against the window to watch her walk down the platform, as she turned and waved every few feet.
"That man was one hot Italian," a woman next to me said.
"Huh?"
"That man was one hot italian."
"Uh, yeah."
Apparently she thought I was staring at some guy who got off the train at that station too. Doesn't she know there are more important things?
Of course, the last time we said goodbye, I followed her to New York just over a year later. So who knows what will happen this time?

New Technology

The day after I arrived in New York, still reeling from the people and noise, I went to a Verizon store and bought my first cell phone. You can't survive here without one.
I've had that same phone ever since. It was getting to be time to get a new one, plus Joe and I wanted to get on a family plan together. We figured we would wait and do it in California, in case we specifically needed a California plan. I thought it would be very fitting for me to buy a new phone the day after I arrived in San Francisco.
Unfortunately, Joe's phone did not agree with my cosmic alignment. It decided to die yesterday (see the Chaos Theory below for an idea of why). There was no reason for him to get a new T-Mobile phone if we were just going to switch, so yesterday we ran to the Verizon store and signed up.
My new phone is sooo pretty. It takes pictures! And video! When Joe calls me, I made a picture of a hamburger pop up! And it was FREE!
Yes, my $150 phone was free because I re-signed with Verizon. Joe had to pay a little for his flashy black phone because he's not technically a customer, just an add-on line to my account, and of course he wanted a fancy-ish one. But he got all that fun stuff too.
Both of our phone numbers stay the same, which is awesome. It's cheaper, and free for calls between us. The only annoying part is that free minutes still don't start until 9 pm. Which, once we're in CA, is midnight on the east coast (though Joe's mom, Jen, and many of our other friends have Verizon anyways, so it doesn't matter) and 11 pm in Wisconsin. Guess I'll be calling home on weekends more often.

Our Furniture is Gone!

No, it hasn't been stolen! We sold it!
Most of our furniture has left the building as of Saturday. Alex came to take everything that belonged to him, I sold a few things, we all trashed a few things, we gave some away, and I hope to sell the bed soon. The apartment looks so much bigger when it's not filled with random inefficient shelves and ugly tables. The rest of our things are slowly being condensed into essential, managable parcels.
Someone FINALLY took the futon today. It was such a piece of junk, we actually debated PAYING someone to come take.
Zero planning has been done for the actual roadtrip so far. I think the decision is "We're going to wing it." We have our route mostly mapped out (except we may or may not detour through Memphis, TN, rather than Kansas. Although I've been to Graceland, The Boy has not, and Tennessee has to be all-around more interesting that Kansas), and we have AAA books for every single state we're going through along the way, so we'll be fine.
We had our first going away part on Saturday for The Boy's extended group of friends. Wednesday will be Karaoke with MY friends. But Saturday was lots of fun, despite the first place not having AC, the second one being expensive, random tensions among friends, someone throwing a bottle off the roof of a building at a house party, and most everyone drinking more than they should. I was fine, and one of the few who was ready to keep going after we stopped to eat potato pierogies. I was fully awake and un-drunk, but happy to go home.
I'm going to miss that crew, particularly Zad and Oriana. They are definitely not dime-a-dozen type of friends.

Something Goes Right

I called BlueCross today and I am officially approved for health insurance. About $100 for decent coverage in California, and it will start July 27th, just like I wanted it to. The email telling me must have gone astray, since I was approved last week. Whew! That means Joe still has plenty of time to sign up for the same thing.
Someone looked at our entertainment center, but hasn't decided if she wants to purchase it.
I cleaned out the desk upstairs entirely.
I am off work tomorrow to do things like sell books to the Strand, pack Alex's dishes for him, watch "The Color Purple", and donate the rest of our books/movies to the library.

The high temperature today is a sickening 98 degrees. With a humidity index of a thousand. I can't wait to leave this stinkin' city. There was a Heat Advisory on the news for crying out loud! I think that means you're not supposed to leave Air Conditioning if you are old, have a heart condition, or are from Wisconsin.
My brother's roommate in San Fran just wrote me an email saying this is the coldest summer she has ever experienced. I say Hallelujah.

Chaos Theory

The theory is that everything must happen at the most inconvenient times. For instance, everything in our apartment starts to fall apart right before we move out. Why not right after?
First our toilet seat cracked. Random, right? And not such a big deal. But we didn't want to ask the landlord to replace it because of our whole illegal-subletting-thing. I swear, from this day foward, never to sublet from friends again. I eventually replaced it and now it looks clean and beautiful and only cost $10. Plus, I was proud of myself. OK.
Last night, I was drifting off to sleep, feeling cool breezes wash over me, when suddenly the air conditioner made a loud and disturbing sound. WHAA WHAA WHAA...then the compressor (or something) shut off, and all you could hear was a fan. A few moments later it kicked in again. Still, I was disturbed. It had never made that noise before, and it didn't sound right. Last year it didn't always work so well, and Joe and I had discussed how it probably needed a filter change. Discussed, but never did anything about because suddenly it was winter again.
I woke up this morning at 5:30 a.m. and realized I couldn't hear the air conditioner. I went downstairs and I could hear the fan, but not the compressor. I turned it off, waiting a minute, and turned it on. Again, only the fan. Shit. I'm guessing it made that noise again, which is what woke me up.
Then Joe gets up and starts freaking out a bit. Alex's sister bought this air conditioner, and of course Alex insisted that we have to sell it and put that on our heads (OK, Joe's, but I'm the one who has to hear about it). If we don't sell it to the incoming resident, they are throwing away money because it's only 3 years old and cost $800, blah, blah (which I'm not sure I believe) etc. And we can't remove it, because then there will be a giant hole in the wall, open to the outside.
Joe tried to open the front of it, but it wouldn't budge. Finally I saw a small, handle-like hole on the front of the AC, with slots on either side.
"That's it," I said. Joe pulled and it slide up and out, like the lint trap from the top of a dryer. And it was just as disgusting as a lint trap too. It doesn't look particularly disposable--the filter part is attached right to that plastic handle, so Joe tried to wipe off some of the dirt with a damp cloth until we could see through it again. He put it back in and the whole thing started right back up like normal.
Sigh with relief.
It runs a lot quieter than before. I was terrified that that noise was the sound of the motor burning out. Who knew it was so easy to fix?
What's next?

I am an excellent box packer

I really am. I twist and turn and squeeze and measure and repack until everything fits together like a jigsaw puzzle. Heavy books on the bottom, small books saved until last to fill in the cracks.
As a result, I packed a Strand-size box full of Joe's cookbooks until it was so heavy I couldn't pick it up. Joe heaved it onto the scale and we discovered it weighed over 60 pounds. The Post Office in San Francisco had already warned us that, even though book rate goes up to 70 pounds (which is could have been, since our scale is not too acurate) the boxes have to be able to be lifted by one person for General Delivery. So picked through the remaining pile of Joe's books to find all the lightest ones, then ripped open the bottom of the big boxes and did a switcheroo. Then I took a box that we thought would be too small for books and filled it with the heaviest ones. As a result, they weight almost the same amount.
The point of this slightly boring explanation is that we are packing very, very carefully. Space and money is tight. It is going to take a long time to get it all right, but in the end it will be worth it, making for a smoother move. Wait until the morning I pack up the rental car. It will take longer than it should, but in the end, there won't be an inch wasted. I just hope the axels aren't scraping bottom.
In other news, Multivision called today. Multivision is the company I worked for before this one, and their main office is in San Francisco (well, actually Oakland, which is sort of like the Brooklyn of SF). I had emailed my old manager to let her know I was moving out there and to ask if she could do anything, but never got a response, so when I saw them advertising jobs on Craigslist, I sent my resume. A guy who worked at the NY office for a while, then moved back to SF was the one who called and he said he remembered me. He said my manager did mention I was coming to SF, plus he saw my resume. He gave me his cell phone and told me to call when I got there and he would work something out for me. They have a very high turnover--finding a position for me is not a problem.
So that's taken care of.
It's reasuuring, though I'm not sure I want to work there again, even in the interim. It would be taking a step back, and I'm pretty confident that getting another job is not going to be a problem. Then again, they are part of a much larger company now (they were bought out just before I left) so there might be more opportunities that didn't even exist last time I was there. We shall see.

I Want Summer Fridays

This week at work has been boooooring. But I have officially put in my (3 weeks) notice!
I had to tell Rick, my boss, first. I wasn't going to tell him until this past Wednesday, but last Friday afternoon he sent out an email saying he would be out all this week on vacation. So Friday, twitching with nervousness, I went into his office and told him the news.
He was very calm, just said congratulations and we'll miss you and opened up a calendar to figure out my last day. Then suddenly he turned to me and said, "Did you tell Dan yet?"
"No."
"He's going to lose it."
So on Wednesday I had to tell Dan, the production manager. He is, you could say, my direct boss, but is also the person I work closest with here. He was just back from vacation.
"Dan, can I talk to you?" I pointed at the audio room. That's where we go to talk about serious things, like the time someone got fired, because it is soundproof in there. So he knew something big was up.
He shut the door. "Please don't say your quitting," he joked.
I smiled at him.
"Oh no!" He fell over into a chair. My quitting is not coming at a good time for them. Adam is just starting to become competent. The new receptionist is slowly coming to be hated by everyone. Dan is going to have a helluva time doing his job and mine, unless they can get a replacement in here soon enough for me to train them, which I said I would be happy to do.
After he recovered, Dan said good luck and all that. He said they are always looking for producers on the west coast, and I can definitely produce RMTs as a freelancer, since they're just over the phone. So I will have some money to tide me over between jobs. That made me really happy. Also Rick said he will contact people he knows and the studios that my company uses now in SF to see if they have any openings. It would be fun to work at a studio, and both Rick and Dan will give me great recommendations.
So now I'm spending my days freely hating the new girl and trying to teach Adam everthing I know.

Fourth of July BBQs

Despite the running around and craziness, this was one of the most relaxing Fourth of July weekends I've ever had.
My first year I worked because I got holiday pay. I ran out of the Strand at 9 pm, leapt onto a train, and arrived in Williamsburg just in time for the fireworks. I was on a seriously crowded rooftop, and Jen and I stood on top of a cooler to see, holding onto each other to keep from falling off. Then, I had a magical NYC moment. I said, "The only thing that would make this better, is if I had an ice-cold beer." And a guy standing in front of me, without even turning around, reached behind his back and handed me a 40oz Bud. Ask and ye shall receive.
The next year Christy was visiting. She destroyed me in many ways (see Flesh Eating Diseases from last year) but I will never regret sitting out on the FDR to watch fireworks. It is not exactly relaxing, but I highly recommend it for a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
This year was the parade of BBQs. On Saturday, we went to Sonal's loft (Joe's friend Rupal's sister) and drank for 8 hours. It was me, Joe, this random guy who kept blending drinks in a frenzy of 3 blenders in front of him, and about 50 Indians. A super friendly crew who puts on a fancy BBQ. Rupal was about to explode with child, so we spent a lot of time sitting inside (where there's AC) chatting with her.
Sunday we went to Joe's mom's house in Jersey. What is normally an hour and a half bus ride, turned into over 3 hours with a combination of holiday weekend traffic and a nasty motorcycle accident ahead of us. A few girls had to jump off the bus to go pee in the woods, then run to catch up with the bus again (okay, walk. We were going half a mile an hour). I was fine, but Joe didn't feel so great (after 8 hours of drinking--see Saturday) and he was worried about his mom waiting for us at the station and the guys home alone. Everyone was fine in the end, as I knew they would be, and we had a really nice time. Joe fired up burgers, Nancy blended Margaritas, and I eventually whipped up some really tasty Orange-Rum Juliuses, if I do say so myself. A really wicked lightning storm knocked out the lights for a few minutes at the end of the night. It was amazing to watch. It was the last time I'll see Joe's mom before we move, and the last time Joe will see that house, since they're moving the same weekend we are. His mom held up admirably though, and only cried a little.
Monday Joe worked and I watched TV all. day. long. I was in heaven. Also managed to finish polishing my resume and apply for a few jobs.
Tuesday was the Day O'Brooklyn. We went to Dina and Noah's for a Kosher Vegetarian cookout in their backyard. It was incredibly hot, but they filled up the kiddie pool and I splashed around with Mya, their 18 month old daughter, and some neighbor kids. Later, I saw Mya about to stick her fingers in the fan and I grabbed her and pulled her away. I expected her to start shrieking because normally she doesn't want much to do with me. Instead she held tight to my hand and dragged me into the living room to play. Jump to ten minutes later and I'm swinging her around by her ankles while she screams with happiness. I was sweating buckets. I was afraid her little legs would slip out of my slimy hands and she would go sailing across the room like a discus. But she did not want me to stop and when we left she cried.
We cut across Brooklyn on the G train and arrived at Bibbi's BBQ just in time for food. Turkey burgers (where's my cow?!?!?) but real hot dogs and a tasty strawberry shortcake someone showed up with later. It's always fun hanging with the gang. Then we rushed to Oriana's rooftop in time to see the fireworks over in Brooklyn. They were underwhelming, considering we were almost directly beneath them last year, but there were enough fireworks being shot from our rooftop and the rooftops around us to still be exciting.

Sexist Commercial Alert

Both of the sexist commercials are for pizza. What's the deal? Disclaimer: I don't remember the exact wording of the dialogue in the commercials, but believe me when I say it is true to the spirit.
Sexist Commercial #1 is for DiGiorno. A man and his buddies are sitting out on his lawn in chairs watching "the game" on a TV out there. His wife pulls up in a minivan and walks by carrying the groceries. The man sees the pizza sticking out of the top. "Hey, let's order a pizza," he says to his buddies. He pulls out his cell phone and calls his wife in the kitchen.
"Yes, I'd like to order a pizza."
"Bob, is that you?"
"Of course. Put everything on it!" His buddies smile at his aggressive and manly tone.
"But, Bob--"
"And make it snappy!" he barks and hangs up.
The woman gasps in disbelief.
Cut to the men EATING THEIR PIZZA! She brought it to them! I hope she put arsenic on it. She then turns on the sprinklers to get back at them, but they sit there calmly eating their pizza, cuz dang it's so good. She throws up her hands and goes back inside the kitchen (where she belongs, of course).
Perhaps she is going to file for divorce.
Sexist Commercial #2 is for Pizza Hut. A woman wearing pearls sits primly at a nice dining room table.
"My husband loves to eat Pizza Hut Pizza. Of course, I just sit there, eating a small salad." She pauses and looks around furtively. "Well, sometimes I have a piece, but just a small one." She pulls a piece of pizza out from under the table. "See how small it is?" She takes a bite. "It's veggie, I swear."
AHHHH! So now, not only are we supposed to cook pizza and serve it to our man, but we're not even supposed to be eating it?
I suffer.

Packin' Up

Last night I packed all the books I am keeping into one small box. We are hoping that this General Delivery business works out and we can ship all our heavy stuff pretty cheaply to San Francisco.
Joe went through his bookshelf too. It is four times the size of mine, plus a few random pils throughout the house. It took him until 1 a.m., but I'm glad it's done. Now we have YES piles that need to be packed into boxes, MAYBE piles that we will have to go through again, and NO piles. I'm going to take a bag of the most decent looking NO books to try to sell to the Strand. Everything else will be first picked over by our friends and then donated to the library around the corner.
The rental car is reserved and we got the whole insurance business figured out. Plans are in motion.

New Journal

So I've decided to start up a Live Journal. It's basically the same thing as a blog, but the Live Journal Community is much more active. Some of the posts will be the same, some will not. I am going to try to focus more on reading and writing in the Live Journal posts, but it will be about random stuff too. Some day I will probably quit one or the other. Here's the link if you want to check it out: http://jasminesmith.livejournal.com/

Midgets & Balloons

My brain is gone. Fried. Zip. Running around NYC in 90 degree weather will do that to you.
Saturday we went to Chinatown and ate Dim Sum, which is WAY fun and I can't believe I've never done it before. It's this huge echoing room, swarming with Chinese families. Women push carts of food around and you wave and point to get some. She doesn't usually speak English, so you don't know what you're getting, but it doesn't matter because it's all delicious.
Later we went to a concert in Central Park. It's sort of an odd set-up. You can sit on metal bleachers in back, or park yourself in the sun on the green-rug-covered cement ground in front of the stage. Which is probably perfect if you're going to see the Flaming Lips or something, but for chill concerts like this it's mildly uncomfortable. Still, I loved Ollabelle, the middle band. Bluegrassy, twangy, gospel with strong vocals.
That night we ate at Big Nick's. I exhausted my parents by making them walk there, but it was all worth it because those burgers are the king of all ground meat--huge, messy and delicious. Even my mom was talking about it for days.
The next day we saw a photography exhibit, which was nice if a bit skimpy. But luckily outside was a street fair that filled 6th Avenue from 34th street all the way up to 59th. I bought a giant yellow starlet-on-the-beach hat, which still did not prevent me from almost stroking out. I was not made for warm weather. My mom bought more jewelery and my dad, after all three of us were accosted by a band of Chinese masseuse-ninjas, got a ten-minute massage for Father's Day. We ate food on the street and then headed for Cirque Du Soleil. Some ups and downs, but overall pretty neat. Highlight: a midget in a harness hung from 5 giant ballons. The main character flung her into the audience and she bounced around. Whenever she started to come down, the audience would push her back up and she would float around the ceiling for a minute. Ah, surrealism.

Parental Unit Plans

What to do with my parents this weekend? I don't even know what time they get in Thursday night, but some sushi eating or, at the very least, wine-tasting at Vintage will be in order.
Friday: Put them on a Grayline Bus, those red double-decker monsters that cruise NYC. They can do an All-Loops tour, or just Brooklyn, or just Uptown (cuz they've pretty much seen all of Downtown) or one of the specialty tours. I have to work all day, but the earliest bus leaves at 8 am, and there's even a night tour that leaves at 5:45 pm, so they're covered.
On Saturday, there is the Renegade Craft Fair. It could be interesting, but I've never been to it, and it's in sort of an odd part of Brooklyn. Later in Prospect Park, Laurie Anderson and the Tuvan throat singers of CHIRGILCHIN are performing for FREE at 7:30pm. You know you wanna hear the throat singers.
The rest of Saturday is pretty wide open for now.
Sunday, of course, is Cirque du Soleil at 5 pm. We'll probably have brunch at Barney Greengrass (the Sturgeon King) and find some other relaxing afternoon activity.
Monday might be a museum day, including the Cloisters if they didn't get to see it on their bus tour. Other ideas for Monday will pop up over the weekend, I'm sure. Most Broadway shows do not play on Mondays, so if we want to see a show, Saturday would be the day to do it.
That's all for now. More ideas to come.

I ate half a pig

The Big Apple BBQ was this weekend, and I can't believe I ate the whole thing. We got there at 11 a.m. and they don't even start serving until noon. That's not the amazing thing. The amazing thing is that we weren't anywhere near first in line. I tried four different sandwiches (I swear I shared them all with my friend, though the boy didn't). My favorite was Ed Mitchell's Whole Hog. We watched them haul entire hogs into the tent, tear them apart, mix the meat with salt, cider vinegar and mysterious spices, all while Ed Mitchell himself had his hands in it up to his elbows (he was wearing wicked black rubber gloves) and mixed like crazy. Later there was a sausage-and-brisket sandwich, ribs, and pulled pork.
It's not up yet, but I'm sure Joe will write a more extensive account of the BBQ soon.
I got exactly zero writing done this weekend. BBQ+cleaning because my parents coming next weekend and the landlord is showing our apartment this week+planning a move to the other side of the country in 6 weeks+a pity dinner with the gang because Iran lost to Mexico in the world cup=zero writing.

Cop Rock

As I was walking home yesterday, I saw a cop standing next to a taxi and screaming at the driver.
Cop: You cut me off!
Driver: But (incomprehensible argument here)
Cop: No! You don't understand! Traffic does not make it okay for you to cut me off!
A crowd was gathering around to watch the spectacle this cop was making of himself. Aren't Police Officers supposed to set an example for the rest of us? What good does getting angry do, especially when you have the upper-hand of power anyways? This cop didn't realize that by arguing, he was undercutting his own authority. By allowing the driver to argue with him, he was suggesting that the driver even had an arguement to make. Here is how it should have gone:
Cop: You cut me off, sir. Here's your ticket. Have a great day.
Driver: (Gives him incomprehensible lip)
Cop: Here's another ticket, sir, for giving me lip. Give me any more, and I'll have to double your fine and/or arrest you. Again, have a great day.
It's the same with kids (so my mom tells me). When you say something is a law--uh, I mean, rule--it just is. Let them argue with you, and you are suggesting that their arguement is valid. Kids only whine when they think they have a shot at winning. I wasn't much of a whiner, for a very good reason. I never won.
I'm pretty sure God works the same way too, in case you were wondering. You can beg and whine, but all you'll get is what you deserve. He doesn't make deals. He doesn't take your arguement into consideration, no matter how well you defend your side. It would undercut his authority.

Six Years of My Life for this Purpose

I've done it! It's done! My novel is finally done! I just finished typing the last chapter. It's all there and it's glorious.
Of course, I haven't quite figured out how they defeat the trolls in the mountains just yet. I just kinda summarized parts of that chapter. And the beginning is too choppy, and there are all kinds of inconsistencies throughout the whole thing. Plus it's WAY too long. Right now it tops out at about 91,800 words. Unless you're J.K. Rowling, editors won't even consider anything over 80,000, preferably 60,000 for YA novels, like mine. But cutting is easier than adding, and heck, it's done!
Well...so I guess I'll go get drunk now.

Friends and Breastfeeding

Here's a cute pic of me at the Carnivale Fancy dress party at WisCon. My head looks weird because there's a mask on it, though you can't tell. Rebecca and Carla are with me, two friends I actually managed to make this weekend.

On the plane home from WisCon, who just happened to be sitting by me, but Sharyn November, senior editor for Peguin's YA scifi/fantasy line. Watch me twitch with anxiety. She noticed I was reading her latest anthology as we waited to board the plane, and then on it, she was sitting just behind me. As the plane landed and we waited for everyone to get off (we were waaaaay at the back), I got her to sign the book and chatted with her about past and future anthologies. Now, I didn't exactly secure an invitation to submit, but she did mention that she never gets enough science fiction and is looking for it for her next anthology. So in the next 30 days, I must finish the sci fi story I'm writing right now and send it to her. She's one of the top editors around, which means my chances are slim, but what the heck, it's a chance.
So, last time I wrote my dispatches from WisCon, I was just sending them as emails to Jen. In them, I wrote extensively about the heavy-breather girl I recognized from an English class I took and her Jesus-esque boyfriend. They were back this year. The entire weekend, he wore Ali Baba-style pants that allowed us all to see his lovely black brief underwear. And guess what? They've procreated. There was a kid, walking and talking, probably 2 or 3 years old. Which means she could have been pregnant last time I saw her, three years ago. OK.
So I'm sitting in the room where everyone gathers between panels. They have soda and cookies and cheese and tables for everyone to hang out and eat. I'm waiting for my bagel to toast. Heavy-breather English girl is lying on a couch nearby napping, until her child comes and sticks its hands down her shirt. I kind of laugh, because kids do things like that. Heavy-breather then proceeds to haul her shirt up, yank her bra down and pop out a boob. Snack time for junior.
Now. I am all about women breast-feeding in public. Most women are very discreet about it, covering up with a baby-blanket and kind of just tucking the kid under there. It's beautiful and healthy and brings joy to my heart to see it. But don't just flop it all out there, people. And how does the saying go? "If they're old enough to ask for it, they're too old to have it." This kid stood next to the couch, took a drink, then went back to playing with legos. Ugh ugh ugh.

Final Report

I just finished accosting Holly Black in the book signing room. She wasn't sitting at a table with a name sign like everyone else, probably because her books weren't being sold at the convention, but I had brought "Tithe" with me. So I screwed up my courage and walked up to her and asked her to sign it. Here is what she wrote: "To Jasmine--what belongs to you, but others use it more than you do? Holly Black"
My name.
She was really nice and I got to talk to her a little while about her award and about the sequel to "Tithe." Then I made a rather ungraceful exit because I was afraid I would bug her. I like her a lot. I attempted to get Kelly Link's signature, but have failed so far. She's not at a table either, and accosting her has been more difficult.
I have mixed feelings about this weekend. It made me more frustrated that I haven't been published yet, but it didn't make me doubt my own writing abilities. Which, I guess, is a good thing. It made me want to grow up to be Jane Yolen, and it made me want to take more classes and read more books. I made enough friends to be able to sit around talking to them until 1 a.m. last night. But will the friends get me anywhere? I understand that that is not the point of friends, but that is part of the point of coming here. To make contacts that can help me out. But you never know who the next Holly Black will be. I hope I can come back; I hope I will be published by next year. I hope the panels will get better, or I will get better at choosing them and at understanding what they are telling me.
I cried at the Guest of Honor speeches last night. Jane Yolen spoke about her husband who just died, Kate Wilhelm told us how she would never compromise what her books were about, even if it meant they wouldn't get published. Easy to say when you're Kate Wilhelm.
One last thing. I have decided I need to go to Clarion. Maybe not next year, or the year after, but soon. It is six weeks long, but it's something I have to do (if they'll take me. But why wouldn't they?).
There is such a great community, and such great personalities here. Even when I can't stand the level of nerdiness (I heard a guy say today: "I'm biligual--I speak English and Computer. I put that at the top of my resume...") it's still an incredibly open and creative atmosphere.

Report of Exhaustion

I'm tired. I'm tired of talking about science fiction. Scratch that. I'm tired of listening to mostly uninteresting people talk about science fiction. There are very few panels today that I had any interest in.
Last night was the Tiptree Auction, which is the highlight, not to mention the heart and soul, of WisCon. It is hilarious, and they auction off some really cool stuff--like a fan letter from James Tiptree (aka Alice Sheldon) to Carol Emshwiller. It went for $700. Also yesterday I attended an excellent panel titled "Never the Hero: Girls in Genre Literature." Sharyn November, a YA editor, moderated it. She's fun to listen to and so incredibly knowledgable.
I got to speak very briefly with Carol Emshwiller last night too. She is so amazing, and older than my grandma. She writes books and stories that I, even if I could manage to think up this stuff, would be too afraid to write.
Tonight the Guests of Honor will give their speeches. I love listening to Jane Yolen. She is the reason I came this year, and I have enjoyed all of her panels. She is so interesting and wise and truly intelligent. I can't wait to hear her speech.

Report #SI565

I tire of social ineptitude.
I went to a panel on "Dark Fantasy" yesterday that I was looking forward to very much. It was so painful I wanted to leave but I was trapped in a corner by several barge-sized women with bad hair. The moderator was one of those girls who always acts like she's putting on a show. She's one of those people who will talk at top volume while waiting in line in case someone around her thinks she's funny. I made a mental note never to buy her books. Most of rest of the panelists were barely published women who giggle about vampire erotica and ghost stories the rest of the time.
Why are three-quarters of the people here overweight? Why do I have to be part of their cliche?
I did go out to dinner with a group of first-timers and managed to make a few friends--including one girl who writes Fan Fic, something I have no interest in. It was still fun to hear about.
At last, I went to a really good panel. Probably because it was sort of a wise old woman panel, with Jane Yolen and Suzy Charnas, among others. This morning was an even better one, again with Jane Yolen and also Sharyn November, an editor I really respect, and who is incredibly funny.
I caught my first whiff of Weirdo B.O. yesterday, which is unusual. Most people must have showered for the Opening Ceremony, and are only now becoming rank. I dread tomorrow, where it's supposed to get up to 88 degrees.
After a near social anxiety attack at the parties, where even Spotted Cow on tap wasn't enough to coax me to approach random important editors, I went home and got in bed.
Ten minutes later, my cousin showed up with a bachelor's party. Give me strength. Luckily they didn't stay long, but he then proceeded to play music for the next hour. The walls in that apartment are nonexistent. I was pretty sure he had fallen asleep by halfway through it, but I still thought it might be rude to barge in there and turn it off. Oh well, beggers and choosers and all.

Dispatches from a SciFi Convention--Report #JH975J

My arrival was flawless, though filled with anxiety. I stood around in the hallway waiting for the lunch room to open. People immediately grouped into laughing circles, while a few of us stood against the wall. Eventually, I managed to introduce myself to another wallflower, a soft spoken woman who stuck close to me all during lunch. Only two weirdos spied at lunch: one woman with the fiercest mullet I've seen this side of the Mississippi and another guy who came with business cards with a short story printed on the back.
My writing workshop went well--great, actually. No weirdos there. I got some new ideas and new friends. Dinner was leftover meatloaf at my cousin's, which is conveniently located a block and a half from the con. He is conveniently gone most of the time too.
I volunteered to stuff packets, which was fun and chocolate-filled, but overwhelming. No matter how much I WANT to make new friends, after a certain point I can't talk anymore. Luckily someone told me I should go to the reading down the street rightnow and cash in on the cheese plate. I saw Kelly Link. Froze up when I thought about talking to her. I heard Jane Yolen read and liked her even better. Now I'm waiting to go to an evening party.
I have a few things going for me here: one, my age. There is definitely a younger crowd here, but I have mostly talked to older people. I think it makes me unintimidating to them. Two: my tattoo. Great conversation starter, especially in this audience. Three: my Strand sweatshirt. Covers the tattoo, but anyone who knows the Strand digs it.

You know you're a loser when your Great-Aunt parties harder than you

It sounds weird, but I actually had a really good time going home for my grandpa's funeral. I was homesick. I got to spend Mother's Day with my mom and to see all kinds of relatives I haven't seen in years. One of my mom's cousins has four kids--two of which I've never even heard of, much less seen. My Uncle Marty flew in from Germany. Even though he drives us up the wall, it was nice to see him.
Sunday night, after the wake, we had a few family memebers over for pizza. We plowed into the pizza and beer, then sat around the kitchen talking. It was getting late, nearly 10:30, and I was thinking about going to put on my pajamas, when my great-aunt Sandy (my grandpa's little sister--she is, by general family consensus, our favorite relative) came over and put her hand on my head.
"How late is the casino open?"
So we called the casino, found out we had a few hours left, and I, my parents, my two great-aunts, their husbands, and a cousin or two piled into cars and drove over. I played nickel slots most of the night and came out two dollars ahead. My mom won thirty bucks at one point. Then for the last hour we were there, I sat next to my dad and played the poker machines. We both had a lot of fun and we're thinking of making this a family tradition.
The funeral the next morning was perfect. We thought hymns for my grandpa would be silly, so there wasn't going to be any music but a guy volunteered to sing and play guitar and it was beautiful. I read my blog entry and actually made people laugh (at a funeral!). Then I handed out lollies afterwards and I got a few requests for copies of what I read. I'm glad people liked it so much. The graveside service was short and then we all went to T-Bob's for fried chicken and beer. All in all, it was a fitting tribute to my Grandpa Hammer.

George Hammer, the Devil, and Pete Kevilus.

My Grandpa Hammer passed away this weekend. He had lung cancer, and was doing very badly for a while, so this was not unexpected. He smoked two packs of Camels a day for most of his life, so the lung cancer itself wasn't even unexpected. For the first few minutes after my mom told me the news I felt...nothing. Then I shed some tears and felt sad. Now I am left with a feeling that I never would have expected: confusion. I have no idea how to mourn my grandfather's death.
It's not like when my great-grandma died. It was just a few years ago, but I had only met her a half-dozen times in my life. "That's so sad." I spoke my sadness rather than felt any and continued on with my life.
Nor is this like when my maternal grandmother died. I was just thirteen. I cried hysterically, comforted my brother who was crying even more hysterically, and looking at my mom's and grandpa's faces, I thought "Nothing will ever be the same." Nothing ever was.
But with my grandpa's death, I have to think about what will be different. No one will show up to family functions an hour late, carrying either cheap alcohol or greasy food. I will get $20 less every Christmas. There will only be one grandpa sleeping in front of the TV instead of two. When people hear he has died, they ask me if we were close, and I don't know how to answer that. Close, as in confidantes, as in a wise grandfather who taught me valuable life lessons? No. But growing up he lived just two miles away from us. I saw him at least once a week. I guess I knew him pretty well and it turns out I actually really liked him.
But what about my mom? Was she "close" to him? I'd say yes, even if she seems to have had the same relationship with him as I did. For the last few months of his life, he lived with my parents. My mom shuttled him back and forth to doctor's appointments. She got him in and out of bed when he needed help. Before all this, she still spoke to him once or twice a week, still gossiped with my aunt about his antics. She remembered his birthday, asked him out to go shopping or to the movies, even when he drove her nuts.
I wasn't sure whether or not to go to the funeral. It's a lot of time, a lot of money, time off work, hassle. All for a grandpa I can't even decide whether or not I was "close" to. Then I saw that my mom might spend Mother's Day at her dad's funeral--with neither of her children there and I decided that I had to go. Because, after all, funerals are not for the dead, but for the living. They are so that those left behind can be comforted by how many people they still have around them. I want to be one of those people. I want to hug my mom and my dad and my uncle and my cousins and cry over that gruff old tavern-owner who gave me lollies and always let me turn up his jukebox when Roxette came on. I am going to miss him.

Sally Field is Crankier than you'd think at 6 a.m.

But she knit between interviews which was cute. So it's OK.

Back that thang up

So yesterday morning, I was on my way out the door to work. I leaned over to grab my keys from the table, and BAM! my back went out. People think your back going out is like a snap, like something is dislocating. In the movies, there is always a big cracking sound when someone's back goes out. But for me, I have a back spasm. Usually just one. Every single muscle in your back squeezes soooo tight, like a fist clenching, and then just let's go, completely. It's like when they let go, they have given up working. "Yep, we're tired of carrying you around all day, so we're gonna take some time off. Here are some incredibly painful nerve endings to replace us." At that point all I can do is grab my cell phone and my bottle of pills and slump to the floor.
This time I started crying, nearly hysterically. I could tell it was going to be bad. Last week I'd had a tiny spasm, which scared me, but didn't actually hurt me. That should have been my first clue.
So I lay on the floor, while Joe did what he could to help me. I got a few more spasms, which is very bad, and cried more, but mostly because I did NOT want to call out of work. The head of my department was not going to be there in the morning, I had gone home sick (very sick) just the week before, and I knew this was not a good day to call out.
However, due to my inability to even stand up, I had to. I then proceeded to take muscle relaxers until I passed out for a few hours. Sometimes when my back goes out, I lose entire days without meaning to.
Back at work today, I can't sit for more than 3 or 4 minutes at a time. My brain is foggy because I have to take more drugs to keep my back from spasming even more. And, what's worse, the one guy who actually was here yesterday morning didn't notice there was a satellite feed to do. My boss, who should step in at times like these, didn't notice either. Technically, it's his fault, but try telling him that. Now we're going to have to have another "meeting." Ugh.

Bloodthirsty Mousekiller STRIKES AGAIN!

So our landlord discovered we were illegally subletting our apartment and wanted to see Joe. Why do stressful things always seem to happen at night? He kept me up half the night worrying about it, insisting I start to look for a new apartment for us to move into, wondering if we should just leave for San Francisco. It turns out, the guy just wanted us to sign a subletting agreement and to raise our rent 10 percent. Phew! Not that I want to pay more, but it's better than moving.
A week or two later, of course, Joe discovers mouse poop in the kitchen. This apartment will be the death of me. Joe had his standard meltdown, I had mine, and then I managed to get him out of the house to give me time to kill it. Heh heh. In Brooklyn, I couldn't set snap-traps because of the dog, I couldn't put out poison, because of the dog. Well half the reason we had mice was because of that stupid dog. Bowls of dog food are like a China Buffet for mice. This time, I bought a bunch of snap-traps at the hardware store, baited them with stinky cheese, and left for work.
I got home from work 8 hours later (Joe was out for the night, thankfully). I went to the freezer, took out turkey burgers for dinner, and nearly plopped them right on top of a very, very dead mouse on our counter. Its head was collapsed by the trap. I jumped so hard I nearly dropped my burger. I'd forgotten I set the traps. Goodbye Fievel.
Tonight I will start blocking up any potential mouse-holes and will set out half a dozen traps over the weekend while we are at Joe's sister's house. When I am given free reign, no mouse can stand before me.
I should have been a War Queen. Why didn't that pop up on those aptitude tests I took in high school?

My Job is getting in the way of My Career

What's the best thing about having an office job? Access to a printer and copy machine. I say, if I have to be at work at 7 a.m., then I'm allowed to print a copy of my 112 page manuscript if I want to. I don't get paid overtime, after all. I just sent the first five chapters of my book out for the writing workshop I will be participating in at the SciFi Convention in May. I'm actually getting sick of having those beginning chapters critiqued. They are what they are. Someone needs to read the whole thing. I suppose I need to write it first.
This past weekend, Joe and I went to New Jersey to visit his mom and to go to his friend Jess's baby's baptism. Her baby Conner, is the CUTEST. CHILD. EVER. He's so happy all the time! Except, of course, the one time Joe held him. Then he cried. Hehe. He slept through the whole ceremony, while the other 4 babies being baptized screamed. When the water was dumped on his head he woke up, made a cranky face and fell asleep again.
We spent the rest of the weekend digging through Joe's old boxes in the attic. His mom is moving to Delaware this summer, so most of his stuff has to go. He has a fabulous collection of Star Wars figurines, Wolverine comic books, a box of cassette tapes, and 6 boxes of books. One of the tapes, though, was a recording of Joe at six years old talking to his dad, and it was the sweetest thing I've ever heard. At one point his dad mentions the holocaust and Joe goes, "Who is Hitler anyways?"
"You'll learn about him in school," his dad answers.
"What if I can't find the right book?" A precocious child he was.

I saw Fabio yesterday, but only in profile

Every Tuesday I tutor a Chinese girl named Jojo. She has a show on the Chinese language channel and was semi-famous in China. Here's her website. I admit I am a somewhat sloppy tutor, which I make up for with my incredible intelligence. I'll tell you how. I can count on Jojo to provide material to keep us busy for at least half of the hour-long lesson. Last week we went over her resume. This week, we sat down and the first thing she said was:
"Have you ever seen a movie called Good Luck Good Night? I don't understand it."
"Good Night and Good Luck? Which parts don't you understand?"
"All of them."
So we watched the first half hour together, with closed captioning on. The problem with closed captioning is that it's not the same as English subtitles. When we see English subtitles of a foreign movie, they are not usually literal. For example: He has a beef with us. It means nothing in the literal sense. How would you say the same in a Chinese phrase? Maybe: His puppies are out of control.
So the first thing I did was try to explain the McCarthy Era to her. "So, there was the Cold War, right? Which I think was with the Soviet Union. And then everyone started to think that everyone else was a communist. And there was this Senator McCarthy. He was from Wisconsin. You couldn't win he accused you, and you couldn't question his methods, or that made you a commie. It was a witch hunt."
"Witch Hunt?"
And on and on. My biggest problem was that I don't understand history very well myself. I never learned it in high school. Every year, we would begin at the beginning of that grade's history book. It usually started with Columbus, and we would work our way through history from there. But we never got to the Twentieth Century. I kid you not. I think once, when I was a sophomore, we made it to World War I by May, but that's it. So where did I learn the meager facts above? Film school. Hollywood is still angry about that blacklist, so every generation must learn and remember.
After the movie, we read outloud a bit, I corrected her grammar, and I went home, twenty dollars happier. Not a bad gig.

Coming up for air

Do you look around you sometimes and wonder how you got there? Not as in, how did my life turn out this way? But as in, how did I get on this street? How did I manage to pick up a loaf of bread and stand at the checkout line before I even really realized it? Sometimes this is an okay thing. I get off work, go home and am sitting on my couch before I even notice I've left. Other times it's not. I buy the loaf of bread but forget to get eggs because I was watching "A Knight's Tale" in my head when I passed the dairy section. Still, I've never been hit by a car.
It can also feel that way when I'm going so quickly from one event to the other in my packed life, that I don't have time to breath. I get up early to exercise, go to work, do work, eat, join an extra online writing group where I'm expected to submit my entire novel in just a few weeks, go home, eat Chinese, etc. I don't know how I get from one activity to the other.
In more exciting news, WisCon, the feminist scifi/fantasy convention I'm attending in May, has sold out. They have a cap of 1000 memberships, and I think this is the fastest they've reached it. It may even be the first time they've sold out before the day of the convention. It's going to be awesome. There is not a pitching session with agents and editors like at other conventions, but I will get to meet some and I hope to get a few addresses to send out my then-finished novel. Yep, trying to pick up an agent and get his digits.

How to Write a Novel

The problem with writing a novel is that for every hour you spend writing, you spend ten minutes of that staring at the computer screen thinking about how the whole thing is a pile of rubbish. Then I remember that most authors do not get the first book they write published. This makes me feel both better and worse. Better because it doesn't matter if this book is crap. It's my first, my practice novel. It's not going to be published anyways. I get more chances after this. Worse because then why the heck am I wasting my time? Shouldn't I just give up now and start on a better story concept? No, because then technically THAT one would then be my first novel, and it wouldn't get published either. I have to finish this one, if only for my decendants to read someday.
Also, it is always suggested that a wannabe writer should write and publish short stories before cranking out a novel. I have two problems with this. One, short stories and novels are two different art forms. It's the difference between being a sculptor and a painter, a furniture-maker or a house-builder. One does lend its talents to the other, but they are different on the most basic levels. Two, how does one find the time and organization to write short stories, research markets for them, write cover letters, print your story, take it to the post office and mail it to a magazine that's going to pay me $17.50 if they accept my story which they probably won't since it doesn't quite fit the "mood" of their magazine or even their word count. My stories always seem to be too dark, or not dark enough. Not that anyone there is even going to read it before sending me a form rejection letter. Why should they? I've never been published before so I can't be any good. All this is not even worth the ink and the postage. So I hack away at my novel, hoping it can lead to bigger and better things.

Preachy Piece of Junk

Woo, it's been a long time since I've posted! Work has been crazy busy, but also more fun. I'd say I love it 20% of the time, hate it 20% of the time, and don't care much either way about the rest. Not bad. My job happiness is going up at the same rate as my paycheck.
Joe is coming home soon! I missed him so much more than I thought I would. I like having alone time, and really being able to focus on writing, but I just wanted someone to watch a movie with on a Saturday afternoon, you know? Sometimes I forget he's my best friend too. All my other friends always had "plans." Things I didn't want to do. One friend asked if I wanted to come hang out one night with two British guys she'd just met. Let me think, um, no. So I'm saving Joe a piece of the chocolate cake I baked and I'm attempting to clear the couch of my laundry so two people can actually sit on it. Stay tuned and I'll hook you up with pictures and/or a blogged account of his trip.
On the Oscars: How could Heath Ledger not have won Best Actor? Phillip Seymour-Hoffman won, for what, doing a lisp? Heath is australian folks, and he sounded like a Montana cowboy! Though I admit, I'd like to see Capote. At least Ang Lee won Best Director. However Crash, the movie that won best picture, was the preachiest piece of junk I've ever seen in my life. I almost walked out during it and then almost cried afterwards because I'd wasted twelve bucks. Yes, everyone is racist. We get it. You don't have to give someone an Oscar for telling us that.

New Guy

Why do I get explosive, enraging jealousy whenever anyone else at work gets to do something fun? Does this happen to everyone?
So the fun thing to do around here (at least to me) is an SMT. You have to get up at 4 a.m., go down to the studio, and run around answering phones and connecting things in the studio while our talent goes live on-air for three hours. I just did my first one a few weeks ago, nearly 2 months after I started. And now the new guy gets to do one on Friday! He's only been here a week. The only reason they're not having me do it is because I already did one this week, and I'll have 2 early mornings next week. Still. Getting up at 4 does not bother me. And shouldn't they ASK me if I want to get up every day at 4? Maybe I'd say yes. Maybe I'd rather be down at the studio that in this cubicle-filled flourescent drudgery every day. I'm really GOOD at doing SMTs. I want it. I want it now.
I think it's just that I'm insecure. I'm afraid that someone will do something better than me. But really, with this new guy, I don't have to worry. He's not a fast-moving or fast-thinking fella.

Flesh and Silicone

This past weekend, I went to the "Bodies" exhibit with Joe. It features 22 real human bodies, not to mention a selection of real preserved organs, nerve systems, fetuses, tumors and bones. It's pretty amazing. The full bodies are displayed in the open air right in front of you. You could reach out and touch them, and I saw quite a few people getting too close for comfort. Apparently silicone was injected into the muscles and cartilage to replace the water and preserve the bodies. I learned that tumors are totally freaking looking and TB creates actual holes in your lungs. There was one display, in the "fetus room" of a woman's body (all real, folks) and her stomach cut open to show the tiny baby that had died in her uterus along with her. The final display was an entire body cut into half-inch cross-sections and spread out so you could see what each layer of the body looks like. A bit of a pricey trip, but worth the time and money.
Afterwards we went to a play, "Almost, Maine," a Norther-Exposure-like romantic comedy. It was very cute and happy, though I wouldn't recommend it for the non-lovey-dovey types among us.
Friday night we ate at a little French restaurant called mas(farmhouse). It was a delicious meal and they let us craft our own tasting menu, which is unusual. I don't believe the review I linked to is a great representation of the place. Joe got to have lobster (which always fails to impress me) and shortribs and I had butternut squash risotto with grilled portobello mushrooms and the duck, which I thought was slightly undercooked. Never thought I'd see the day when I would question a New York Chef with his own French restaurant!
Finally, check out Joe's Wisconsin Pictures. Be sure to click on "Why I Love Wisconsin Part 2" underneath the picture of the beer cans in the snow to see all the Smith Family Christmas Photos.

Chew your food 100 times

New Year's Eve was quiet for me this year. All of my and Joe's friends had no idea what they were doing, so we decided just to stay in and do our own thing. We went out to dinner that night at EN Japanese Brasserie. Lots of delicious little dishes, including fresh, homemade tofu which tastes a little bit like bread pudding. We had deep fried taro root balls and a raw tuna and avacado salad, plus several kinds of sake, of course. For dessert we had mochi covered ice cream and chocolate souffle with green tea ganach ice cream. We sat around the big communal table in the middle, which features a pool of water and the standard artful branches arranged in the center. The music was way too loud, but they were incredibly gracious about turning it down when I asked. We watched them pound rice using a giant wood mallet and an old-school stone bowl. After a few rounds of pounding, it becomes a sticky gooey mass known as mochi, used to make a traditional Japanese New Year's Eve treat. They passed out samples of it, with sugar-soy sauce poured on top. It's so sticky that it's difficult to chew and swallow and apparently every year at least one or two people choke and die from it. Happy New Year's!

Christmas Card-Worthy

The snow in Wisconsin is nearly Christmas card-worthy. Notice I said nearly. What with the rain and the sun, it has melted into a slightly sub-par dollar store card version. It's still ten times prettier than the snow in New York City.
I have finally returned to the city, after a 14 hour journey back here. It was remarkably uneventful. We got home at 3 am and fell asleep so fast I woke up later to find all the blankets still on the floor from when we left six days ago.
I got such excellent presents this year and I hope the ones I gave were as good. Particularly wonderful--a blue suede blazer from my mom, a cooking class from Joe and all the CDs I got from various people. I ate until I was sick (I can still feel the sugar hardening my veins) and visited with my ever-slowing, slightly demented (not because they're old, they've always been that way) grandparents. Joe and I stayed in the little cabin a few nights. The first night we built a fire. It was wonderful--once we finally got it started. It took a half hour, a stack of newpaper and one small burn on my wrist before it would burn on it's own. Then we dragged the loveseat over in front of the fireplace and wrapped up in a blanket to watch.
And for the first time, Joe got to participate in the greatest Christmas tradition of all: playing Royale Rummy. Yes, my family gambles, but only on Christmas Eve. We deal dummy hands, stack pennies, yell at each other when we're too slow, and cackle over our loved ones loss of cash. I made 20 cents this year. Sweet.

Toys R Us Terror

Two days ago Joe tried to go to Toys R Us and the line was an hour long just to get INTO THE STORE. Can you imagine the pushing, the chaos, the pain that must have been going on inside? No thank you. We'll order our My Little Ponies online from now on.
So I have successfully finished moving into Joe's Apartment. This was by far the easiest move I have ever had, for many reasones. One, I didn't have to take any of my furniture with me. Two, I've been selling off furniture I have now (most of which I got for free in the first place) so the extra cash has put me in a good mood. And Three, Spike wanted to buy my futon from me, but I told him he could have it for free if he brought his minivan and helped me move. Sweet. It was a piece of junk anyways. So Saturday night, the only night Spike could be there, I ran home, threw everything into boxes in 4 hours (not to mention selling my desk, DVD player, taking the kitchen cart, etc.) and we moved all my stuff in one load. Traffic was killer and it took us over an hour each way, but hey, I wasn't paying for gas.
Joe and I (or should I say "I, while hassling Joe to help me") have managed to clear a huge amount of space in his apartment just by moving stuff around. Clean, condense, organize, I keep telling him. I have an entire closet upstairs to myself now.
The one great thing we acquired from my old apartment is the kitchen cart. Basically a cutting board on wheels. It fits under the stairs perfectly, then we can pull it out to have more space to make dinner.
Unfortunately, it looks like there's a chance that I mouse has been roaming Joe's kitchen. Shhh. Don't mention it. I just keep reminding him that I'm a bloodthirsty mousekiller and it can't hide for long. We're going to have to keep our kitchen psychotically, institutionally clean, though.
Soon I will "girly" the place up. I have curtains to hang over the barred window and a sheet to cover his super-nasty futon couch. I'm going to get a makeup mirror to do my makeup in the living room. Nice framed pictures will be hung next to the dusty SpongeBob (Don't worry, I won't take him down...) Bras and nylons will be hung out to dry in the bathroom. If I wore nylons. Or bras. The rug will be dragged outside and beaten. And I will, yes I WILL put up Christmas lights.

Saddam Hussein

How is a trial for Saddam Hussein even possible? I've been told they're modeling it after war crime trials from World War II. They pick certain events--jailing then torturing an entire village for instance--and try him for that. Then move onto the next heinous act. I just read that it is possible he will get the death sentance by hanging, which seems obvious. However someone suggested to me yesterday that they will never hang him. It would make him a martyr. Better to let him rot in jail for the rest of his life, suffering, becoming pathetically cowed and dying alone. Honestly, which is worse? But that would keep him around as a cause too--can't you see a suicide bomber screaming "Free Sadam"?
Just today he screamed at the judge to "go to hell" and that he would not return to "an unjust court." He also claims he's been denied access to "exercise facilities." Who does he think he is? An all-powerful tyrant? I was denied exercise facilities once too. They said, "This isn't your gym. Now put on some pants and get out." You don't see me complaining do you?
So again I ask: How to you hold a trial for evil? I can't even stand to watch.

Two steps forward...

Somehow my new job is just as boring as my old job. Although the work has the potential to be more interesting, there is less of it. Which means I still find myself checking my email every 5 minutes and checking my work schedule to see if anything fun, like a radio tour, has been scheduled. I spend a lot of my time making and drinking tea and transferring all their old beta tapes to DVD, which feels like treading water. Also, although I see my roommates more (Woot.) somehow I don't seem to see Joe any more than before.
Though we did have a nice Thanksgiving. Out to Delaware to his sister's house, watching his brother-in-law deep fry a turkey, and seeing his neices dance in the Nutcracker (so cute!). Deep frying a turkey is a good time. You basically stick it on a hook, haul it out to the garage and immerse it in hot peanut oil cooking on an oversized burner. The garage smelled awesome all weekend.
I miss being near my family. I love New York, and I know I'll probably want to live in or near big cities my whole life, but I hate only seeing my family twice a year (sometimes less). It's even a hassle for Joe to get to his family. It was 5+ hours to his sister's and nearly 2 hours to get to his mom's...at least when she's not in Florida. Man, I can't wait for the day that Particle Transporter machines are acually invented. Just push a button and "Beam me up, Mom!"
Someone should really get on that.

Associate Producer

Here is what happens at my new job: one of our clients needs a copy of a video package my company did for them. They tell me, I make a dub and fedex it over. Or it's time to send out a copy of the project to every news station in the Phoenix, AZ area. I make ten dubs and send out ten fedexes.
That's been the main part so far. Today I learned how to put these video packages on our satellite feed: I record a copy into our satellite program, attach a copy of the PSA, and upload it into the satellite. From there any reporter at CNN or ABC can download it to do a story.
Why do I hate this job less than my last? Because there are full-time producers here, people I can someday be. I don't know how long it will take, but someday I can go out on shoots with them and assist in the satellite media tours (SMT).
Plus, I get paid more.

Busy all the time now

I feel like I just went from 0 to 60 in a day. I was working 2 days (barely) a week, writing, drinking coffee, watching TV and applying for jobs. That's it. Oh, and waiting around for Joe to get home. Now I'm working 56 hours a week and I don't have time to shower. Still, money is a wonderful thing.
My mom is coming in two weeks. We're going to the Chocolate Show, as I described before, to the Rockette Christmas Show, to Mario Battali's restaurant Babbo (where we got to meet Mario last time), and probably to see the Frick Collection. Oh the wonders of New York!
Last Monday, in fact, I got to see a free "play" all about coffee. We went in thinking it was a lecture, and it started out that way. Then a women kept interrupting the speaker and all kinds of things started to happen. People brought out TVs and then suddenly 5 different cups of coffee were set in front of each person. We learned all about the history of coffee and what makes it taste the way it does. We tried at least ten coffee samples by the end of the night, not to mention the perfect 28 second cup of espresso. Check out Joe's account of it too.
I really must say that New York has been good to me because to top it all off, last weekend I got a free ticket, front row to the World Sumo Wrestling Challenge!!!ARGH!!! How cool am I? Not as cool as they are.

Rain

It has been raining here for four solid days now. I love the rain. It makes it hard to wake up in the morning, but then it's so comforting to sit in the window and watch it while you drink your coffee. I can see my breath outside and I love bundling up in sweaters upon sweaters upon hoodies.
I have a strangely distinct memory from when I was very little about sitting in the rain. I could have been as young as 4 or as old as 8, though I suspect closer to the 4 end of the spectrum. I was outside in our backyard one summer when it began to sprinkle out. I ducked into the rows of corn in my mom's garden as it started to rain harder. I squatted in the dirt, now turning to mud, and saw a chicken pecking around under the cornstalks as well. We were so well protected in there that I felt safe and content to stay there all afternoon.
I suspect this memory is so distinct for two reasons: one, I realized you didn't need to be in a house to be protected. Something as flimsy as a cornstalk could suffice. Two, I had made a conscious decision not to go in the house. To not go inside during rain was unthinkable to most people, but suprisingly, I did not melt.
I remember being at the beach when it started to rain and when all the other kids ran out of the water and under the picnic shelter my mom said, "What, are you afraid of getting wet?" Only if it began to thunder and lighning in earnest would she call us out. So we had the water to ourselves.
I remember living in the little brown house, across the road from the big farm house with the garden, and waking my brother up in the middle of the night when there was a thunderstorm. We dragged blankets and pillows to the large front windows and settled there to watch the lightning until we fell asleep. In the morning my dad told us it wasn't a good idea to sit in front of windows during a storm, but it wasn't a real warning and we continued to do this until we were teenagers.
When I was 14 I went to Madison for a week for 4-H Art Team and one of the first days we were there, it rained all day while we had to troop up and down State Street. At the end of State Street is a fountain in Library Mall. The leader of our group reached in a hand as we walked by and splashed everyone. We were already soaked, so we all started splashing each other and of course, were soon IN the fountain which is terrifically illegal. The chaos ended when my friend Julia (whose friendship I still miss terribly) sat right on top of the jetting streams of water coming out the top of the fountain. Singing, "I'm Only Happy When It Rains," no less.
And I remember last Valentine's Day in Tarrytown, NY, standing with Joe in a beautiful misting rain in front of the church with the stained glass windows designed by Chagall. As we walked toward the restaurant where we were having dinner, which was supposedly just down the street, the rain became torrential. The sidewalk disappeared and soon we were walking on the muddy side of a highway. Sheep watched from behind a stone fence. I had a velvet skirt on that was getting heavier and heavier with every step and Joe was soaked from top to bottom. But when we started yelling at the sheep about how we were going to eat them soon, we just started laughing and didn't stop until we got to the roaring fireplace in the front room of Stone Barn. There's nothing like a fire and alcohol to warm you up.
So I have good feelings whenever it rains.

One year and counting

This past weekend was my and Joe's one year anniversary. One year ago I came home one night with just enough tequila in me to feel brave enough to finally kiss that boy. We've been inseperable ever since.
Joe decided to plan a weekend of suprises for me. A long time ago we had talked about going to The Lion King, but tickets were just too expensive and too hard to get. Joe said he'd get tickets to something else, but wouldn't tell me what.
I knew he'd spent the week preparing to cook me dinner, and Friday night he presented me with a typed menu for the evening: Autumn Vegetables with Pumpkin Ricotta, Chicken Laarb, Planked Salmon, Pumpkin Orzo, a German Chocolate Brownie and more. I gave him two of his presents immediately--an apron and oven mitts. For months he's been using a towel as a potholder and I cringe every time he sticks it in the oven. I have started more than one towel on fire that way. The other problem is that Joe's tiny, ancient stove tends to send out clouds of smoke whenever he tries to cook anything. I spent the first half of the evening upstairs fanning the smoke alarm so the sprinklers wouldn't go off. About halfway through the meal, Joe put a cedar board, the "planked" part of the salmon, into the oven to heat. The apartment filled with the most delicious smell, like we were in a cabin in the woods, about to cook over an open fire. When Joe put the salmon on it, smoke began billowing again, even leaking out the top burners. I finally put the fan in front of the alarm to stop it from going off.
That's when the doorbell rang softly.
"I don't even think that was mine," Joe said, but I disagreed. I tiptoed to the door and peered out the peekhole. A man was there. He knocked hesistantly.
Finally Joe opened the door. It was his neighbor from across the hall.
"Is everything OK?" he asked, and that's when we noticed the hallway was full of cedar-scented smoke.
"I'm just cooking!" Joe said quickly, and explained about the planked salmon. They must have thought we were having a bonfire in there.
But the meal was delicious and our anniversary bonanza was off to a great start.
Day Two: Saturday morning I made coffee and my signature egg sandwiches and then we left for a hike in Inwood Hill Park. It's in the farthest northwest corner of Manhattan and, unlike Central Park, is completely natural. There are salt marshes and giant, ancient trees. Part of the park was fenced off to preserve "an endangered species" and we could see a black squirrel running up and down a tree inside. There are indian caves and evidence of glaciers, not to mention intensely steep trails. After a light picnic lunch, we were off to prepare for our fancy-shmancy dinner.
Daniel is considered one of the fanciest places in New York. Per Se is innovative and expensive and highly respected, but Daniel is where big-shot lawyers bring big-shot clients and is an institution that has been around for years. To name just a few things I had: eggplant cavier, rabbit porchetta with foie gras, black sea bass wrapped in potato and a dessert that I simply called chocolate explosion. It was a wonderful experience.
By then we had such warm fuzzy feelings towards the world that we couldn't stand to go home, so we decided to drop by Per Se for a drink. After all, Joe was wearing a tie, so we had to take advantage. It felt so cosmopolitan, so Sex in the City. There was a view of Central Park and the Columbus Circle fountain from our couch in the bar and afterwards we sat on a bench by the fountain and kissed, with Joe's jacket around my shoulders like we were in an old movie. It was the perfect day.
Day Three: Who though things could keep getting better? We got up early enough to watch CBS Sunday Morning and then hurried off to the Medieval Festival going on at Fort Tryon Park. That's right. It was a last minute addition to our intinerary, so we only had an hour to spare, but we made it count. With the Cloisters as a backdrop, and the sun getting hot, the festival was already in full swing when we arrived. There were wandering bards and fencing demonstrations, an axe tent (duh, where else would you go to buy a medieval axe?), a food stand selling blackened turkey legs and ale, a procession of a lord and lady and their full entourage, pewter dragons, and of course hundreds of renaissance dorks in full-on period costumes (no doubt sweating ye olde royale arses off). I loved it.
Then we hurried down to the Union Square Cafe to have delicous food that we ate entirely too much of, before jetting over to Jacque Torres Chocolate Factory for dessert. Great chocolate, especially the champagne flavored ones, but I was disappointed at their lack of a chocolate river. And they call themselves a chocolate factory...
In between all this, we stopped at the Moma Store. Joe had bought me a necklace, a very cool DNA chain necklace, but it was too short. We managed to exchange it for the same thing but a bit longer, and I had my present!
This whole time I bugged Joe to tell me what show we were going to. I was guessing Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, since he knew I really wanted to see that too. I guessed Chicago, because Brooke Shields is in it this year, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Beauty and the Beast, but he would NOT TELL ME! Until at last we got off the subway at Times Square and he said, "Oh. Since The Lion King theater is right here, let's just go to that."
The Liar.
Not only did he have tickets to see The Lion King, but we had good seats. See it turns out Joe knows the uncle of the little girl who plays Nala. They got us seats in the 14th row. On top of that, if Joe could manage to get ahold of the girl's mom after the show, there was a chance we could get a backstage tour.
The show was amazing. The opening song made me cry. It's neat enough in the movie, but to hear it live is awe-inspiring. A cheetah, antelopes, giraffes (on stilts), elephants, birds and lions crowded the stage. The woman who plays Rafiki (the blue-butted monkey) takes you by suprise. Her voice is incredible and she's very funny. At one point Alex, the little girl who plays Nala, got to ride around on a ten-foot tall ostrich. The closing scene of the first act, just after Mufasa dies, made me cry again. It features an intensely sad African dance and a sad song by Nala and Simba's mother.
When the show was over, Joe headed to a corner to call Alex's mom. It was just about then that I discovered my wallet was missing. Joe dug through his bag to find it and I crawled up and down the theater aisles. No luck. I was starting to panic. I couldn't have left it at the restaurant, because I had it when we got on the subway to get here. The bathroom? I left Joe to call while I ran upstairs to find it. The man running the elevator told me no one was allowed back up.
"But I lost my wallet and it might be up there and..." my voice had that edge that meant I was going to cry in a minute.
"You have to talk to...ah, get in," he said.
It wasn't in the bathroom. I had to pee, but there was no time. I found an usher on that floor to ask, and amazingly she turned around and was holding my wallet. I shrieked my thanks, ran downstairs and found Joe. We ran outside and around to the stage door where Nala herself met us and escorted us past security.
Alex is a 10 year old Phillipino girl with a brilliant smile and a beautiful voice and she was obviously delighted to give us a backstage tour.
"Here's the Pumbaa costume, up there is the elephant...here's where the floor opens up and Pride Rock comes up." She showed us her baby elephant costume for the opening scene and how her trunk hooks onto the big elephant to make sure she makes it up the stairs. We touched Rafiki's famous stick. We saw the wildebeast machine that makes it look like hundreds of wildebeasts are running at you. "That's the mask from the old Mufasa," she says, pointing to the wall. "I think he must've died or something because it says In Memory Of." We took a picture with her next to Pumbaa. She told us about going to school and how the boy who plays Simba took her up to the top balcony on a tour and then told her a boy fell of it and died once, completely unaware of the similarities between this adventure and the scene in the Elephant Graveyard in the show.
It was so much fun. I was giddy with excitement. It was the end of our great weekend, but I was too happy to be sad. I couldn't ask for more. I have an endlessly wonderful boyfriend, and we never stop having fun.