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.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
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?
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?
Thursday, March 30, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
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.
"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.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, March 13, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, March 06, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
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!
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, December 12, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, October 03, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Unemployed-bored-bummed and useless blues
What is it about depression that makes one so endlessly tired? I knew a girl my freshman year of college who slept 16 hours a day. We eventually staged an intervention. Or maybe it's not always physical exhaustion but mental. I remember lying on the couch in my college house once, staring at the ceiling. My roommate came in.
"Oh, are you taking a nap?"
"No."
"Do you want me to turn the TV on?"
"No."
Eventually she covered me with a blanket and turned off all the lights. This amused me so much I was actually able to get up again 2 hours later.
Mostly it's the brain fuzz that bothers me. I picked up my phone tonight without knowing why. I stared at it for a full 10 seconds before I realized it was ringing. It's taken me 2 hours to write this.
There are two strategies I have when faced with depression.
#1 Distract yourself
Go drinking (not endorsed by this company), call someone, put on hideous makeup, eat nauseating amounts of chocolate. Yu Cheung, my wise Chinese mentor, calls these things "state modulators," a real term for dealing with the mentally ill. Often people with brain damage send themselves into fits. You cannot talk them out of it and if you wait it out, it sometimes gets worse. Even if you find what set them off and make it stop, it's too late, their mind is already in that fit. So you use a trigger: food, a smell, cherry chapstick, music, to literally modify their state. Works the same way with the depressed. We're going to Great America on Sunday. Riding roller coasters should do it for me.
#2 Ride it out (aka Give In)
Know that it will end someday. This is the most important part. Understand that you will not pay any bills, clean your house or function properly for the rest of the day and accept that. Get into bed. Turn off lights. Pull a blanket over your head. Cry, if necessary, or drink until you pass out. Often #2 is used only after #1 fails. It helps if you stop showering and answering your phone. You only eat food that is already in your fridge. Never mind cooking or scraping off the mold. At this point your sense of humor will dessert you entirely, as will your ability to, um...
"Oh, are you taking a nap?"
"No."
"Do you want me to turn the TV on?"
"No."
Eventually she covered me with a blanket and turned off all the lights. This amused me so much I was actually able to get up again 2 hours later.
Mostly it's the brain fuzz that bothers me. I picked up my phone tonight without knowing why. I stared at it for a full 10 seconds before I realized it was ringing. It's taken me 2 hours to write this.
There are two strategies I have when faced with depression.
#1 Distract yourself
Go drinking (not endorsed by this company), call someone, put on hideous makeup, eat nauseating amounts of chocolate. Yu Cheung, my wise Chinese mentor, calls these things "state modulators," a real term for dealing with the mentally ill. Often people with brain damage send themselves into fits. You cannot talk them out of it and if you wait it out, it sometimes gets worse. Even if you find what set them off and make it stop, it's too late, their mind is already in that fit. So you use a trigger: food, a smell, cherry chapstick, music, to literally modify their state. Works the same way with the depressed. We're going to Great America on Sunday. Riding roller coasters should do it for me.
#2 Ride it out (aka Give In)
Know that it will end someday. This is the most important part. Understand that you will not pay any bills, clean your house or function properly for the rest of the day and accept that. Get into bed. Turn off lights. Pull a blanket over your head. Cry, if necessary, or drink until you pass out. Often #2 is used only after #1 fails. It helps if you stop showering and answering your phone. You only eat food that is already in your fridge. Never mind cooking or scraping off the mold. At this point your sense of humor will dessert you entirely, as will your ability to, um...
Thursday, September 15, 2005
My name is Jasmine and I'm an addict
One cool November morning, almost a year ago now, I came into work almost an hour late. My eyes were bloodshot and my hands were shaking so hard I couldn't hold a book. Nothing I said made any sense. My boss leaned in to smell my breath. "Are you...? Is that..? You have chocolate on your face!" That's right. I was tweaked out on chocolate and didn't care who knew about it. I had been to the chocolate festival.
It's almost that time again, ladies and gentlemen. The 8th Annual New York Chocolate Festival is coming to town. Be still my beating heart. No seriously. Calm down. You've had too much chocolate again. There were sharply dressed men on every corner holding plates of chocolate. Sellers extolled the virtues of 83% cocao chocolate versus 79% and FORCED you to try both. There was alcohol. There were cooking demonstrations. There was chocolate art: dresses, houses, paintings. And there was, if you can even imagine the joy without fainting, thick, syrupy chocolate coffee. It's November 10-13. For details, click HERE. To read Joe's report of last year's experience, click HERE. For the pictures he took, click HERE.
In fact, doesn't that seem like a fantastic weekend all around to visit New York? Imagine: cold enough for a jacket, but no snow. Most of the tourists are gone. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center is already up, but no holiday shopping crowds yet. Sounds like heaven, doesn't it?
It's almost that time again, ladies and gentlemen. The 8th Annual New York Chocolate Festival is coming to town. Be still my beating heart. No seriously. Calm down. You've had too much chocolate again. There were sharply dressed men on every corner holding plates of chocolate. Sellers extolled the virtues of 83% cocao chocolate versus 79% and FORCED you to try both. There was alcohol. There were cooking demonstrations. There was chocolate art: dresses, houses, paintings. And there was, if you can even imagine the joy without fainting, thick, syrupy chocolate coffee. It's November 10-13. For details, click HERE. To read Joe's report of last year's experience, click HERE. For the pictures he took, click HERE.
In fact, doesn't that seem like a fantastic weekend all around to visit New York? Imagine: cold enough for a jacket, but no snow. Most of the tourists are gone. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center is already up, but no holiday shopping crowds yet. Sounds like heaven, doesn't it?
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