 |
|
© All text and images copyright 1999-2004
emjaybee |
|
October 1 More long work days loom on the horizon, so I decided to prop up my weary head and put up another update. It may be a while after this one. Matt's folks come up in a few weeks, and we all get to be touristy and see the sights, which we haven't had much time to do since we've been living here. Before that, it's Ren-Faire excitement in Massachusetts this weekend. I've never been to Massachusetts. Actually, I've only ever been to about 15 states, mostly while driving through them to get to other states. There's a lot I haven't seen. Matt wants to take me to California and see San Francisco, which I'm sure is beautiful, but I also have the suspicion that the Big One is just waiting for me to set foot on the ground to go off. Earthquakes give me the heebies. I don't have a lot to add. Oh yeah, I sat across the train from the Ugly American and his mulleted wife the other day. If you don't know, subway cars are surprisingly quiet places. No one talks loudly, and they avoid looking at each other. Most people read or sleep. But UA and his gal, resplendent in fanny packs and golf shirts, were just itching to share their confusion and wonder about being in New York with the rest of us. After discussing their subway route at a decibel level that could reach the entire train, he started trying to be pals with the poor, polite woman stuck standing next to him: UA: I'm from San Diego! This train stuff is all weird to me! Rest of the passengers: (thinking: Shut up already.) Polite lady: oh ha, yes. ahem. UA: (to PL) Say, what do you do? PL: I'm in advertising, and I'm a student. UA: You work and go to school? And you ride this commute every day?! PL: (mystified, because she only goes from midtown to Upper West Side, and it's a lousy 10-minute ride) Uh, yeah. It's ok. UA: Where do you work? PL: (thinks: none of your ^%* business) Midtown. UA: What company? PL: Oh, you know..oops, my stop. Enjoy the city! Wherupon she gets off, and just stands on the platform as we pull away...a dead giveaway that she's not at her stop but escaping the UA by catching the next train. As we all now consider doing. I look steadfastly in the other direction, dreading that he might ask me a question. But a new sacrificial lamb presents itself, in the form of one of those older NY ladies that always help tourists, who decides to help the two of them, still furrowing their brows at the subway map as our train glides towards Brooklyn. ONYL: Where are you trying to go, sweetie? UA: The Trade Center. ONYL: That's two more stops, get off at Cortlandt. UA: Thanks! Hey, you ever come to San Diego, we'll show you around! Of course, you'll need a car, haw haw! You sure do know where everything is around here! ONYL: I grew up here, yes. UA: Would you like us to buy you dinner? Come hang out with us! ONYL: (startled) Oh, ha, no, you don't know what dinner costs in New York. UA: You'd be worth it, if you showed us around! Horror dawning in her eyes at the thought of trundling through the boroughs with this pair, the ONYL politely demurs and gets off at the next stop, which probably wasn't hers either. But before anyone else could get buddied up to, we got to Cortlandt and Mr. and Mrs. San Diego waddled off. October 30Ah. Another entry. It's been a bit scanty this month, my apologies. My work has finally slowed to a manageable torrent instead of a Noah-like flood, so I have been taking care of all the things which I didn't have time to do a month ago. Like sleeping. Not drinking, though I intend to do some catching up there also. We went to a peace rally last weekend, as those of you who get Matt's weekly updates already know, and at that rally I learned one thing: string cheese does not taste good after several hours in your backpack. However, the little Korean lady in front of the DC National Museum will gladly sell you a hotdog for 1.50, and you will be so hungry it will taste like manna. Greasy, beefy manna. I always wondered about manna. White, honey-tasting flakes that fell from the sky and were edible but could not be stored or preserved, only eaten fresh. Kind of like sopapillas. mmmmm. sopapillas. This is a stream-of-conciousness entry, as I forgot to email myself all the pithy notes I jotted down at work to tell you about, like "BJ Thomas is the guy who sings My Maria! My coworker is wearing suspenders! It's too hot in my office!" Stuff like that, man, aren't you sorry you're missing it? Instead, let me tell you about my new hat. It's a medium-brimmed floppy winter hat, which is great in front of my face, where it blocks some nasty rain, but not so good at the back of my head, where it keeps hitting my collar and getting pushed up on my head. It's apparently designed for a long-necked group of people who never wear anything with a collar. So I modified it, with a cunningly placed safety pin, so that the back brim rolls under. Much better. And the rolled brim helps it fit better on my tiny head. Did I mention I have a tiny head? I do. Hats are always way big on it. Were I to shave my head, I would look like one of those big toy snap-together bead things you used to play with .Remember? They came in all different colors and were hexagonal or something, and there was a little rounded pointy bit on one end that popped into the bottom of the next bead? And then your teacher came along and told you to share, and you screamed and hit her, and it was the corner for you, missy, until you learn to behave? And in the corner you got your revenge by saying "My teacher is a big stinky doo-doo head" one million times under your breath? And later, they served you those little cookies shaped like windmills (why windmills?) and some of the grape stuff that was almost as good as Kool-Aid, and you made everyone at the table laugh because you could burp your own name? Anyway, I'd look like one of those beads. So a hat is good, and I like it. I've been spending some time on Robin McKinley's site, and if you don't know who she is, don't be frightened by the cheesy layout. I'm pretty sure one of her fans did it for her. She's not much on the whole Internet thing. I'm working on a review of her and another author, because she's one of my favorites, and I was pleased to find her site and find that she is basically a cranky old witch. Especially if you read her FAQ's. It's very encouraging, because I would love to write as well as she does, and I'm a cranky old witch too, so maybe that's a sign of hope. More interesting stuff later in the week, I hope. October 20 An event-filled time has passed, little buckaroos, since I was able to post. So event-uous, in fact, that I will have to write this as a Mega-Entry, with subheads. Feel free to skip around, but remember to answer all the questions at the end of the chapter in the time allotted. Music The rest of the time, I've been at on Radio Paradise or Radioio. Last week I was forced to bob my head and hum idiotically while listening to Patty Griffith's Long Ride Home, Sheryl Crow's Redemption Day, Master and Servant by Depeche Mode, Put a Lid on It by the Squirrel Nut Zippers, Bille Holiday singing Ain't Nobody's Business if I Do, U2's Bad, Wilco/Billy Bragg singing California Stars, Erin McKeown's Blackbirds and the Eels' Last Stop. On right now: REM, Green. I've got my Orange Crush. Movies
Current
Events Only history will give us any perspective on what's really going on with this push for war. There are motives and manipulations taking place in our government and around the world that we, as a people, are not privy to. I'm not talking black-helicopter type of stuff, but just the inevitable clubbyness of a group of powerful, wealthy, well-connected individuals feeling the pull of acting in their own interests or in response to their own desires rather than in the interests of those whom they are supposed to lead. I don't necessarily believe an Iraq war will make things worse for us in terms of terrorism, and I don't really care if despotic regimes in the Middle East like us or not. But I feel a real fear that the executive branch is bent on upsetting the balance of power in our government and attempting to override the checks and balances of our democracy. If they are successful in Iraq, then they may ride a wave of relief and good feelings into another term, and do even more damage to our civil rights. If they lose, we may experience more terrorism and loss of life. What am I supposed to wish for in this scenario? Insight
into the American Soul I love America. Bathroom
Etiquette and Why I Can Never Be Mad at McDonald's Anyway, I arrived at the Golden Arches just as another lady left, and as I feared, she was of that dreaded female type: the Sprinklers. Now if you're phobic about public restrooms, I understand not wanting your posterior to touch the germ-ridden porcelain. Really I do. I respect your right to hover and get pee all over your own leg. What I don't respect is that you don't CLEAN OFF the SEAT when you're done. You do realize that someone else is going to use that seat again, don't you? Who will have to wad up toilet paper and clean up YOUR URINE gingerly just so they can use the toilet too? Please, ladies. At least CLEAN UP YOUR OWN URINE SPRINKLES. You suck. May you and your ilk all be forced to clean toilets in a Purgatory full of diarrhetic angels with bad aim. Work
Not So
Much Lesbian Subtext Familien
*** More pictures!
|
