holy schmoses

That previous clip of Sesame Street had me strolling down nostalgia street so I went hunting for a few more. I almost shit my pants when I saw these. I completely remember all three of these videos from my childhood.






Recognize the composer? It's Philip Glass. I thought I was first introduced to minimalist music through my sister when I was in high school but no, I was much much younger (though she still gets props for giving me my first hearing of Steve Reich). I am continually amazed at what an influence Sesame Street had on my being, who I was as a child and now who I am as an adult. Seriously, puppets and music and the love of simple things and the fostering of deep imagination. It's incredible. It's too bad I don't see the same thing in today's Sesame Street. It makes me sad. But appreciative that I got to experience something so amazing and influential.

more grammar woes

This pretty much encapsulates my experience this morning. Except for there was less singing and dancing and camaraderie and more yelling, arguing and idiocy. And there were definitely no puppets. But still. My favorite part is right around -1:18, with Kermit's line. That's just the worst feeling.


When I was in school (probably college but maybe high school) I often used the word especially in my papers. I still use it. I have a pretty limited vocabulary, um, limited to words such as: especially, pretty, quite, realized, suddenly, particularly, stupid, assfuck. That's almost my whole lexicon right there. Anyway, whenever I would do a spell/grammar check on my papers the little prompt box would always ask me if I meant specially instead of especially. Well, uh, I don't think so. But maybe. How do I know what I meant? I was pretty trusting of W*rd's prompt box but not for that. I would keep it especially but my confidence in my sentence structure and grammatical abilities began to wane. Mostly just concerning adverbs though. Of course I don't think I ever researched either word to see which one was right. That little prompt box just questioned me enough to force me to question myself. Until now. Stupid M*cr*s*ft, what are you trying to do to me?! I've been right the whole time. Was it a conspiracy by M*cr*s*ft to make me get lower grades due to improper grammar? Did the programmer specially design the system to question the word especially because he had a secret vendetta? I don't know, but it gave me a complex.

fruity fruit fruit

Yesterday was not so good. And you know what really made it bad? Whole Foods didn't have any more organic, locally grown Winesap apples! Can you believe it? Those jerks. I did not buy a cupcake instead, let me tell you. What I did buy was an organic, Washington grown Red Delicious apple (and a Fuji and a Braeburn and a Bosc pear and an Asian pear and two bananas). But here's the thing about Red Delicious. While I will concede that they are indeed red, I would not, on my own, term them delicious. I've found that they're the apple you're most likely to find disappointingly and disgustingly soft and mealy, it seems impossible to buy a crisp one. Okay, granted the one I bought today was crisp and pretty good. But delicious? Please. But biting into one never turns me into a princess (a la Snow White), fulfilling my kind of backwards inverted fairy tale thinking, to which I'm prone.

But those Winesaps. Those were de-li-cious. Fucking delicious even.

Though I don't know if I'm being fair. My taste of apples may be heavily influenced by my childhood. (Isaac, stop reading now. I don't want any pointed comments about the farm and/or nostalgia.) I associate Red Delicious with after-Church "snacks" my father used to make, namely a mealy apple with some Tillamook cheddar cheese. Those were gross. Even though I still have apples and cheese as a snack but I use organic apples and organic white cheddar cheese. But I associate Winesaps with my grandmother's apple trees, where I'd just walk by and pick a fresh apple right off the branch and bite into it. I don't actually know what kind of apples she grew and I doubt they were Winesaps but the taste is awfully similar.

To summarize: I'm a snoot who only buys organic to make himself feel better. And it totally works.

"Go Winesap! Sometime they're red too!"

mor epics

I meant to type more pics but I think mor epics is better. Too bad this post will not reflect the better title.

I was involved in my first focus group the other day. It was for toothpaste but we didn't just sit around talking about toothpaste, oh no, this group was different! We spent the first 2 hours talking all about fresh! and what fresh! means to us and what is fresh! and how do you stay fresh! ever feel not so fresh! I swear the way there were saying fresh it had to have an exclamation point on the end. It felt very strange to sit around for nearly three hours seriously discussing toothpaste but I got paid $125 so whatever. But if a dental product is released soon that comes in the form of individual toothpaste balls held in a treasure chest container and they have the taste of dragon and/or starfruit, you'll know who gave them that idea.

At the beginning of the group we all had to go around and say our name, where we lived, what we did for a living and what our favorite TV show was. I ended up saying America's Next Top Model even though I wanted to say something snooty and British. But I had already decided that I was never going to go with my first response answer, since whatever it is usually makes me seem like an asshole. A guy ahead of me said Dexter and I perked up because I was thinking:

But he meant:


Isn't he cute? Which one? Exactly.

Once again my mind was on cartoons.

2nd interlude

Just so you know how things are going.

like crack

I think I have a problem. Can you guess what it is? As a hint, here's a picture from my trashcan.


That's right:
All my socks have holes in them.

No, wait. I mean:
All my underwear has holes in it.

No no, that's not right. Oh, I know!
I'm fucking addicted to ice cream.

I thought I had it under control for a while and not only did I think I had it under control, I actually did. I wasn't craving it or anything. But lately I've gone bananas, or Chunky Monkey, if you catch my drift. I just can't stop eating it. Every morning after, I wake up groggy, feeling awful and swear I won't eat it again right before I go to bed but inevitably, by the time I get home, that resolution becomes meaningless. It's not even really that I'm so stressed or have a hard life right now. I think it's probably just that I'm pushing myself to finish these first 150 for my Pilates certification. I'm so close, I should finish by next week. Of course, I then have to do 200 more teaching hours but that's later. Though I don't know if I'm reaping the benefits that these practice hours are supposed to provide. I've been so drained lately that by the time I start teaching my 6th, 7th or 8th session in a row I can hardly remember half of the exercises, much less direct my client. So I'm really probably not learning much. But whatever, at least I'll start getting paid...by my two paying clients.

what's in a name?

Last night I got together with Parfait. I don't know if I've ever talked about him before on this blog though I know I've talked about him personally with some of you. I think I'm kind of afraid he'll find this blog and realize what an asshole I am. Of course, he's bound to realize at some point, I'd just kind of rather it be in person.

Anyway, Parfait. He's older, duh. Maybe even almost twice my age, if I were a few years younger. But as we both age, the fraction between our ages will just keep getting smaller so really he's not that much older than me when you look at it in a larger context, say 500 years. Yes, I really should try to meet men my own age but we all know that's not going to happen so I might as well get as much pleasure out of this "relationship" as I can. And for the most part, it is pleasurable. Except for the fact that he doesn't really listen to what I say and constantly turns the conversation back to himself and tells stories that I somehow miss the point of and talk about all the amazing famous things or people he's knows, seen or done in this slightly annoying superior way.

Last night he told me that he got rid of all the drug paraphernalia in his apartment, which I think means that he's not going to do any sort of drug anymore...and he likes his drugs. He also told me that he got rid of his small circle of fuck buddies, "to make room in case there's the possibility that more develops between us." Okay, that's not really a direct quote but pretty close. He talked for about 40 minutes about cleaning his life ("metaphorically and literally") and us and what we might be but it was all very vague and noncommittal (which is good because I don't like commitment either) and I think I probably said about 5 words because I didn't know how to respond to that. Plus I was really really sleepy and I kind of felt like a jerk for constantly thinking about my bed while he tried to bare some part of his soul or something.

Here's another thing: he really likes to hint at the crazy wild party sex drug times he's had, which I'm sure are pretty true, but neglects to offer any details. He's told me, numerous times, that his last boyfriend asked him about some the crazier moments and he refused to answer because they would freak his boyfriend out. But he won't tell me anything either, for the same reason and you know I want to know because I have a dirty freaky mind. I just want to say, "Look, unless you (consensually) tied up some guy, chopped off his foot, threw it in the oven, fucked his bloody stump while it baked, basted his foot with your come and then fed it to him, I don't think I'll be very shocked. And even that might not surprise me."

How about you?

"supposebly" and "manglers"

I was little late to work today. That's nothing special. I've been arriving late to work pretty consistently lately. But today I actually woke up on time, took a relaxing shower and still had enough time left to fully lotion my entire body. Yeah. But the reason I was late was because I was listening to A Way with Words. I love this show. And if you're interested in language, specifically but not necessarily limited to English, and you're kind of a dorkus mcgorkus, you'll probably love it too. As I was listening I noticed that I kind of needed to leave to go to work but the hosts had just started the quiz part of the show and it was all about adverbs and how could I miss that? So I sat on my bed, fully dressed and ready to leave, and listened until the end of the quiz then ran out my door. I got a little sad that my I*pod has been broken forever and I can't listen to this show on the train anymore. Can I justify buying a new I*pod just so I can listen to past podcasts of a radio show while on the subway? Maybe.

unclean

Yesterday was laundry day, like, super for reals. I specifically went to the bank and withdrew 20 bucks which I then exchanged for quarters. I got home at 6:18 and walked into my room at 6:20. (Into my room is key.) Then, when I tried to walk out of my room, I couldn't! The door was stuck. I kept turning the handle but it wouldn't catch the latch. I'd noticed this happen before but with some gentle nudging I'd always been able to get it to catch. Not this time. I tried a few more times before pounding on my bedroom wall and yelling my roommate's name. No one answered. So I tried to call his phone, just in case he couldn't hear my pounding for some reason. (?) Turns out the number I have for him, which I thought was his cell phone, is actually the land line in our apartment, so I sat on my bed hearing the phone ring in the living room. So I went back to trying to jiggle the handle a few more times. I then called my friend and neighbor, Isaac. That's how I know what time this happened. I was thinking that maybe he could scale the brick wall of the church courtyard that my window overlooks, catch my keys, which I'd throw out the window, let himself into my apartment and try to jimmy the latch from the outside. Unfortunately, he was still at work. And he's not really one for scaling walls, in the rain, in the dark, on God's holy ground. I then took the bolts out of the hinges on the door and tried just pulling it out from the frame. My door opens into my room, that's why I couldn't just kick it in. That, and the fact that I would probably splinter it before it came free. But the hinges had been painted over at some point and weren't moving. Even after repeated bangs with my hammer, which I'm so glad I bought and keep in my room. My available laundry time was running out.

But the bathroom window was open! My window is on the inside corner of the building and our bathroom window is on the opposite corner. So when you look out my window, there's the bathroom.


The bathroom window consists of two sliding panels and when both are pushed down the opening is about 4 feet high by 2 1/2 feet wide. "Maybe," I thought, "I can climb outside my window, onto the bathroom ledge, through the bathroom window and then jimmy the latch myself from the outside." Did I mention I live on the 3rd floor? I was still on the phone with Isaac and, upon hearing my brilliant idea, he promptly tried to talk me out of it. I hung up quickly, promising to call back from the living room. I put my keys in my pocket, just in case, then debated whether or not to take my phone. Say I'm scaling my building and my phone falls out of my pocket to the cement below. It would definitely break and I'd be super pissed. But say I'm scaling my building and I fall to the cement below but can't call an ambulance because I left my phone in my room. I left the phone. So I held onto the molding around my window, put one foot onto the ledge of the bathroom and one on my ledge, transferred over to just the bathroom ledge, reached in through the window to grab whatever I could and tried to lift my legs through, one at a time. Here's what I was trying to get through, viewed from the inside.


That's not a lot of room, plus I'm pretty tall, which in some ways made it easier but in others harder. The point is, I got through, but not before knocking over my roommate's razor (which I was momentarily worried about until I remembered that I could, at any moment, fall to my death).

Now that I was out I figured it would be a simple matter of sliding a knife through the door jamb to press the latch open--a skill that I mastered as a child when my dad would lock the TV room door in the hopeless attempt to stop my brother and me from ruining our minds. It wasn't so easy. The fucking molding around the door made it so that I had to slide the knife it at this weird angle and I couldn't even find the goddamn latch. I tried using a small steak knife, a butcher knife, a spatula (I was running out of options), a paint blade and finally a giant screwdriver. None of them worked. I did start to do a pretty good job of wrecking the door frame. After many a failed attempt, I finally went downstairs to find my super, only to be told that he was out and wouldn't be back until 1AM. What the hell was I going to do? Yes, technically I could get in and out of my room through the window but not only is that not the safest way but it's not very practical. I need to get up at 4:30 the next morning and work straight until 8PM. And I still needed to do laundry. I was not about to start tossing my clothes through the bathroom window. I called Isaac again (from the landline, remember I wisely left my cell phone in my bedroom) to let him know I wasn't sprawled out on the concrete. He suggested I go to sleep on the living room couch and wait for the super to get home. But my stubborn side said, no, I am going to fucking fix this. So I went back at that latch with renewed vigor/anger. But it just wasn't working...from this side. Back into the bathroom! I threw the giant screwdriver into my room and once again traversed the heights. Once back in my room I jammed that screwdriver in the door frame and jiggled, wiggled, banged and pulled against it, totally tearing the wood until the door popped open. Success! As I pulled the door open more it finally started falling off its hinges, which I had neglected to put back in.

I started playing with the latch and found that I couldn't keep it in. I thought about taping it down but worried that one day, without my noticing, the tape would come off and I would get trapped again. So I unscrewed the plating on the latch, turned it upside down, and screwed it back in. Now the hole for the latch was too low so the plate kept it in.

So I got free but in the process really fucked up the doorknob and frame. If you're wondering why I didn't just take the doorknob off, I couldn't, it was nailed in. If you look closely, this is what you'd see.




But I'm planning that not many people will, particularly my roommates and certainly not my super, because I'm not going to tell them. My super kind of sucks and takes forever to fix anything so I'm just going to live with this. The door still closes and stays closed from friction so I'm fine.

Then I finally, finally, went downstairs to do my laundry only to discover that the basement was partly flooded and the machines were broken!

So instead I bought some brownie mix, actually made the brownies, and treated myself to a big bowl of brownies and ice cream, which I promised myself I could have a few weeks ago. And it totally made me sick. And I may or may not be wearing dancer briefs as underwear today, so I really hope I don't have to go to the hospital.



And here are some more pictures I discovered in my phone.

Me being pensive. Surprise. I have no idea when, where or why I took this picture. Or why I didn't delete it; I don't look very good.



My boss' dog. Her name is Lola and I love her.



Hershey Kiss wrappers from a whole bunch that I ate one day. I think I took this because my coworker said I could have as many of her chocolates as I wanted and I wanted to show her what a dangerous statement that was.

I quit

I just tried to write this post twice and each time it kept getting longer and boringinger. Here's a short recap: I quit my gym teaching job. The quitting sucked and was horrible but things worked out fine since I got to just stop instead of having to work there for another two weeks, which I was thinking I would have to do. The good news is that I already have an apprenticeship lined up for November. It's not many hours but it's at a place that I think has better potential. It won't give me health insurance but whatever.

hypocrite

Today I took a PIlates mat class out at the studio I teach at in DUMBO. I kind of hate mat classes. They usually just really hurt my hip flexors. But not today. This time they hurt something else.

As I was rolling onto my back doing some sort of exercise, I felt like a spider was crawling up the side of my right leg, right on my calf. I didn't think much of this since I usually feel like spiders are crawling up my legs. (Did you know that about me?) I reached down and swatted at my leg, which usually makes that feeling go away, but it remained. I swatted again and it still stayed. I reached down and slowly brushed my calf and noticed that I couldn't exactly feel my hand touching my leg. I could still feel it but it was like that weird semi-numb feeling you get when your muscles are coming out from anesthetic. That didn't seem too good. But I continued in the class anyway. Now, if I were training someone and they told me one of their limbs was going numb I would tell them to immediately stop what they were doing and discontinue exercising. Numbness is almost never a good thing. But is that what I did? Nope, I didn't want to seem like a wimp in front of my instructor. So I just kept going, slightly modifying little things to make up for the fact that I couldn't exactly feel my right leg. I figured I just stretched it weird and what I really needed was to just stand up and walk around. So I finished up class, got up, walked around, and the numbness stayed. So I changed and left, and it stayed. I went to work, and it stayed. And did some work-related errands, and it stayed. And now, nearly 8 hours later, I'm almost completely sure that my leg is back to normal. I know I'm kind of making it sound like I was walking around falling all over my right leg but it wasn't like that at all. Just a weird, numb feeling that I didn't even notice unless I was actually touching my leg. Isn't that strange.

Please don't send me reprimands; I'll well aware how dumb that was. That's the reason I blogged about it; I like to share.

time for a change?

I have a small hole in the underwear I'm wearing. It's very teeny, on the side of my right hip right near the band. It's so tiny you would never have noticed it, if I hadn't accidentally slipped my finger through and ripped it open another inch. Is it time for new underwear? I'm not so sure.

You know the old standby from mom?

"Make sure you have on nice, clean underwear. You might get in an accident and taken to the hospital and you don't want to be embarrassed by your undergarments."

Didn't your mom ever say that to you? Neither did mine. But anyway.

Here's the problem. If I were ever in an accident and had to be rushed to the hospital, my shitty (so to speak), holey underwear would probably be the last thing on my mind. On the other hand, if I walked around wearing cute new expensive underwear and got in an accident and had to be rushed to the hospital, my cute new expensive underwear would definitely be the first thing on my mind because it would probably get fucking ruined.

Now I'm not saying I don't wash my underwear, because I do. I'm just not overly concerned about a hole right now. But when you visit me in the hospital, I think you know what gift to bring me.

That's right: socks.

scientific

The other day I bought a certain Pilates magazine. I don't know why, but I kinda thought it would be a sort of informative journal full of innovative ideas and current methodology concerning technique and style. No sir. It's advertising space and traditional thinking. I should have known. Really, I should have. I was asking my instructor if she knew of any good resources and the first one she suggested was Men's Health.

For real? Yes.

She admitted that it had a lot of stupid ("really stupid," I offered) shit in it but that it also had some great info on working out and nutrition and stuff. So I stole her husband's copy, um, out of the bathroom, at the gym.

where?

I've been getting asked for directions a lot lately. Like, more in the past month than I've ever been asked since I moved here three years ago. I don't know what it is. I'm pretty sure I'm wearing the same bitter scowl that I usually have, so why have people started thinking I'd be helpful? (Some of you know my sneaking suspicion about why this is but it hasn't been received with enthusiasm so I'm keeping it to myself.)

A few weeks ago I around 9PM I was walking downtown when a woman asked me where 12th street was. I pointed her north, she beckoned to her group, and I continued walking south. Not only did I apparently look like I was approachable but I knew where to direct her without any hesitation. I was feeling pretty good about myself, until I noticed that the next block down said 12th street. Oops. That took me down a peg. The really sad thing is that that group would probably walk up to 14th, realize they must have missed 12th then walk back down to where they ran into me, continuing to think they're still missing it. Because why would someone give them bad directions? 12th must be between 14th and that place where we met that nice man, because he pointed us north.

Stupid tourists.

I also gave some tourists directions to Grimaldi's yesterday. And this time I really did know how to get there. When they learned that I had never been they invited me to go with them. I was seriously tempted but then I probably would've arrived to work an hour and a half late, and I couldn't quite justify that in my head.

I updated this post. Every store will now have the "Scene" feature.

help me!

Seriously. I would really appreciate your opinion.

Here's the deal:

I'm trying to change my job and start teaching Pilates for a living. Right now I have a full time job (37-40 hours a week) at the theater where I've worked for three years. I have dental and health insurance at this job but I don't like it very much and I get out late (8PM). I also teach Pilates at a gym 3 days a week. Right now my number of sessions at the gym fluctuates between 3 to 6. So I'm not making much there. There's the potential that that number could increase but it depends on the clients so I can't necessarily depend on it. I'm also barely teaching at a studio (keep in your head: theater, gym and studio) but I don't get paid at that job since those teaching hours are part of my certification in Pilates. I still have about 70 hours to finish before I'll get paid out there. It's taken me about 4 months to teach 80 hours and since I'm busier now (with other things) it'll probably take me at least another 4 months, meaning next February, before I'll start getting paid.

A friend of mine teaches at another studio and told me that the owner was looking for instructors. I met with the owner yesterday and gave her a lesson and she said she'd be interested in taking me on as an apprentice (since I'm not fully certified), meaning that I would get paid, just not that much. But she doesn't need me when I'm free, she needs someone to be available in the evenings. I told her I would figure out some way to make it work with my job at the theater but that would basically mean leaving work about 2 hours early and I'm not so sure they'd like that.

So here's my question. Am I trying to take on too much at once? Should I forget about this apprenticeship thing and just concentrate on my job at the theater, work at the gym, and finish up my hours at the original studio? None of the hours I work at other studios or gyms count as hours toward my certification, these first 150 hours have to be done at that studio. Or would I be letting a great opportunity go by not starting at this second studio? Would it be better to finish up those 150 hours so I'd at least have that done and wouldn't have to worry about traveling out to DUMBO without getting paid?

I really don't know. What do you think?

professional

Can you spot the typo in the following message I sent from my work email?

Hi Jennifer,

I did receive your fax, thank you. Don't forget that your reaming balance is due no later than February 2, 2008.

I hope you're having a lovely week.

Sincerely,
ipj

You get what you pay for.

you dope

Today was another 4AM morning, though I was able to push back waking up until 4:30 by cutting all my fruit and getting my bag ready last night. Which means I pretty much just jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth, showered and ran down to the train. On the subway ride out to DUMBO I started thinking about how my throat kind of hurt and that that probably indicated I hadn't been getting enough sleep lately. I also thought about how it's been taking me a little longer to fully wake up in the mornings, most likely again due to lack of sleep.

I arrived in DUMBO with one minute to spare and unlocked the door to the exercise studio where I'm working, which promptly set the alarm to beep at me. I walked over the the alarm panel and. And what? Do you know? 'Cause I sure didn't. I looked at it, some numbers popped into my head, I figured they were probably right and started typing. After typing in 5 digits I had the vague feeling that something was wrong. I typed in the same 5 digits again before I fully realized that there are only 4 digits for this alarm. I was starting to panic now. I was pretty sure I had the numbers right, I just needed to take one out. The next problem was that I was only using four numbers but hitting one of them twice but I was sure there was one digit in the code twice but I was also sure that I needed to use all four of the numbers I was entering. I had one last desperate attempt and then, obviously, set off the alarm. I've been working here since February and I set off the alarm. That fucker is LOUD! And it did it's job because when it when off, I ran. I grabbed my phone and booked it out of there. I called my boss (at 6AM) and she tried to explain how to turn the alarm off. Unfortunately, my phone kind of sucks and I don't have the best hearing so I kept saying 'what?' over and over, sounding like an idiot. I finally turned off the alarm and luckily my boss knew I'm (usually) great and wasn't pissed at all. Once she told me the correct code I realized that I had been entering a short conglomeration of the correct alarm code, the alarm code at my other job and my ATM pin number. I then had to call the alarm company and rattle off variations on a word (once again kind of sounding like an idiot) hoping one of them was the key word to let them know everything was okay.

Then the police arrived.

I'm still a bit frazzled. And tired.

you what?

During lunch the other day Isaac and I decided to leave the bitter dullness of Times Square and take the subway somewhere far away. (Specifically to Magnolia, the purpose of which I'll blog about in the future.) Unfortunately I forgot that I didn't have a metrocard. I get TransitChecks through my work and they were apparently delivered to my office last Monday, when I wasn't there. Instead of the delivery person leaving the card with my boss she took it back to her office (in another building) and neglected to tell me. So when Wednesday rolled around, I swiped my card to discover that it had expired. So I ended up having to buy two one-way tickets that morning; I had to head out to DUMBO before I came to work. Stupidly, I didn't go pick up my new card before lunch. So when we went down into the subway I walked toward the turnstile, reached into my pocket for my wallet and suddenly yelled, "Fuck! I don't have my metrocard!" I said this a little too loud and annoyingly. But then, this hot older silver-haired man turned around (on the other side of the turnstile) and said, "Here, you can use mine." I took quizzically, swiped it quizzically, gave it back and said thank you, still confused. What is the action of kindness you are offering me? I think what perplexed me was how could I use his unlimited card if he had just used it? Because why would anyone let me, a complete stranger, use one of the paid rides on his card? After he left I realized that I wasn't quite profuse enough in my thanks. I should have run after him and offered him something. A hand job for you kindness sir? I would have done it too. He was silver fox. Thank you hot stranger.

So I bought Fit for Life and I'm reading it. Now if you look at me quizzically and say, "But you're not fat" Ima punch you. Just because I'm relatively thin does not mean I'm healthy. And although this book does often talk about losing weight it's mainly a way to eat well. I'm at about page 70 and what I've gleaned so far is that fruit is the body's best friend. And that you should skip breakfast or just eat lots of fruit for breakfast. So that's what I'm doing. I cut up a bunch of fruit last night in preparation for today, which brings me to the "meat" of my post: how in the hell do you cut a mango? I fucking butchered that thing. The mango was probably about the size of two of my fists but I think I only got like 3/4 of a cup of fruit out of it. It was a mess. I was jabbing and slicing as hard as I could. Don't those things have a pit or something? I couldn't even get to it. I put the mango along with some honeydew and kiwi all in a tupperware container and took it with me this morning. This turned out to not be such a good idea. Since each of those fruits was pretty juicy their flavors all kind of ran together, but not in a pleasant way. Ueh, this is dull. That's the kind of post you get at 7AM.

opinion vs fact

Isaac and ipj are discussing Casino Royale:

Isaac: That was a good scene.
ipj: It was bad.
Isaac: Why can't you say I think it was bad.
ipj: Why can't you say I think it was good.
Isaac: Fine. I think it was a good scene.
ipj: Well it wasn't!



I'm pretty sure people have started dropping the . off the end of vs, as I did in the title of this post. This confuses me. Does vs no longer stand for versus? And also, no one says versus anymore; now we're supposed to say the letters v and s.* As in Brown vee-ess the Board of Education or Godzilla vee-ess Mothra. Could someone explain that to me. It doesn't shorten anything. It's certainly not easier to say. Is it some new politically correct thing where opposing sides are no longer considered opponents but mutually working towards the betterment of mankind with just differing opinions? What? Exactly. And if we have to say vee-ess does that mean we should start saying ampersand whenever there's a & sign? Like Ben ampersand Jerry's? Because I'm not going to do that. Though for the sake of consistency in ridiculousness I might try to convince everyone else to.

It's time to get rid of my nearly four year old gym shoes. These things hurt my feet. But I can deal with that; I've been dealing with it for months. And if you know me you'll know that a little thing like pain isn't enough of an impetus to overcome my laziness and distaste for shopping and hence spending money. The real problem now is that they smell. Stanky smell. I don't think they ever fully recovered from the wet soggy mess they became after that rainstorm a few weeks ago. This is a real problem for me since, as many of you know, I hate wearing shoes. I take them off as much as possible. But now I'm embarrassed by the smell. I might have to do a quick fix with some baking soda until I get some new shoes. Of course, there's the possibility that I'll allow the quick fix to turn into a long term solution. The alternative is to refuse to wear shoes at all. I mean, I grew up walking barefoot on gravel, how much worse can the streets of New York be?

*Please note: these perceptions pretty much come from high school experiences, nearly 10 years ago. I have no idea what anyone does anymore.

nutrition

The subway ride home after experiencing my personal version of dance hell (in short form):

Isaac: What should I have for dinner?
ipj: Peanut butter and raw honey.
Isaac: That's not a meal!
ipj: It is if you eat a lot of it.

ouch!

You know what hurts? Popping a tiny tiny tight pimple on your hairless, sensitive chest. For reals.

sleep betrayal

My dreams have become increasingly transparent. It makes me sad. I miss the days when I dreamt (I also miss the days of irregular conjugation. Did you know it's now supposed to be "dreamed?" Yech.) I was an old woman being chased by Hitler and an army of Nazis and I'd try to stop him by throwing explosive pineapples out of my one-person helicopter and I kept writing vague yet powerfully symbolic metaphoric one-liners on post-it notes to the other old women in the Nazi party warning them of impending doom. Those days are gone. Perhaps I'll buy some cran-raspberry juice and drink it right before going to bed. That always gave me weird dreams in the past.

Last night's dream didn't take place in any fantastic world but it did carry a lot of emotion. I was in some American town in my father and his wife's home. My dad was incredibly unstable, bordering on psychotic. My dad's wife wanted me to talk to him. I went into the bathroom, where he had trapped himself in the glass shower. He was fully clothed and had lost a lot of weight. When he saw me he started angrily screaming and yelling. He reached up to a rack on the wall which held a multitude of knives, blades and other sharp objects and took down a large razor blade. The whole time I just stood there, I knew exactly what was going to happen but couldn't see any way to stop it. He paused his screaming, look directly at me, yelled "Sacrifice is art!" and started slashing at his arm trying to cut off his hand. (I would never say that out loud but apparently I'd think it.)

It was later explained that the whole reason he basically went crazy had to do with my unborn brother that I had absorbed or killed or mutilated in some way or something. And then things went from there.

See? No flying. No super powers. No hot celebrity sex (though I don't really ever have those dreams). Just a lot of semi-subconscious guilt-shit cropping up.

I should probably call my dad. I need a vacation. And some imagination.

the real me?

According the The Golden Compass movie's website my Dæmon is:



I took this test a bunch of times and tried to answer as honestly as possible. Really. I was practically stressing out trying to be truthful. And I didn't just retake it because I didn't like the first few Dæmons it gave me.

Anyway, you should click on the picture and take the test about me to see if you agree. Here's the thing though, your answers affect what everyone else sees. The qualities associated with me stay the same because that's what came up when I took the test, that way when someone else views this they'll still answer the questions based on the original test's qualities. But the Dæmon will keep changing based on your answers. So don't go answering things willy-nilly; I don't want to end up with a cockroach or something. And you should probably only do it once. I started running into problems when I kept answering questions for myself over and over again just to see what would happen.

So take the test. And after taking the test you should read the book. And after reading the book you should see the movie, with me.

what?

Every Thursday my job has a "manager's meeting," which I am supposed to attend. And I have been attending...every Thursday...at 11AM...for the past 6 months.

But not today.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I really have no idea what day of the week it is anymore. Nothing divides my days because my entire week is a hodgepodge of work and Pilates. Different days just mean a different schedule of the same routines. This morning I totally sat at my desk playing solitaire while the meeting was happening. At one point I stopped and thought, huh, L & L have been gone a long time, I wonder where they are? On my way to the kitchen to fill up my water bottle I even walked by the conference room where the meeting was being held. I saw everyone in there and still nothing clicked. I figured they were probably having a reporting meeting that didn't concern me. I doubt I would have ever realized my mistake if my boss hadn't mentioned something when I just went to ask her about an unrelated problem.

lose weight now, ask me how!

You will need:

1 low paying job
3 senses of impending dread (life, love, money)
1 commitment that forces you to go to the gym
1 obsessive need to exercise
a healthy dose of low self-esteem
and lots and lots of natural aversion to food

It's so easy!*

A while ago I was tabulating all my expenses over the past few months (because my job is dull and I'm not going to work to make it better), trying to figure out if I could move (it turns out I can't, but that's another post that will never be). I discovered that since January I've spent almost the exact same amount on food every month, like, within a few dollars. And I don't plan my meals or budget when it comes to food. I mean, I don't actively budget, I just let my impending sense of dread, related to money, dictate when and what I eat. And apparently it keeps me on the mark. I thought this was pretty impressive until tarak pointed out that it might only mean that I eat the exact same thing every month. And she was right. That certainly turned this exciting phenomenon into a bland happenstance. The end.

Better go get on the treadmill.

*ice cream, brownie batter or smores are not valid substitutes for or add ins to the above ingredients

I'll be there

I think I finally understand the madness of those Hairy Pauter fans. I can't wait for this movie to come out. I love this book and indeed the whole His Dark Materials trilogy. I'm not sure if the movie can compete with my imagination but I'm willing to give it a try. I'm still willing even after watching the trailer, which was lackluster. I don't care; I'll be lining up to see the first viewing. I mean, maybe. But not if the line is like, really long. But still, I am excited.

I was at B&N the other day and wanted to buy The Golden Compass because the only other book I had in my bag was this one (don't ask) and lord, that wasn't gettin' me through my subway ride. Unfortunately the store only had copies of the next two books...but they also had the trilogy conveniently bound in one book. What to do? I actually already own the 2nd and 3rd books so I didnt' really need a full volume but wouldn't it be handy to have them all together and if I bought it then I could just let my other copies stay in circulation in Book Club and I could keep this one all for my greedy self and I know I'd have to use my credit card because I don't have any money but that's what credit cards are for right or should I spend that money on some other books that I don't already own? What a dilemma. I didn't buy it. But I did, a few hours later, take an unnecessarily long train ride to go to a different book store where I was either going to buy The Golden Compass or, if they didn't have it, give myself permission to buy the full volume. They (unfortunately) did have the single book but now I'm almost done and I don't have the other two, they're loaned out! Now what will I do? Read something new? Never!

bringing...back

I know sometimes I seem cold...distant...self conscious...sad. But that's not always the case. (At first I typed "but's that not true." I quickly realized my semantic mistake.) Get me in the right setting and I'll set my inner fool free. Usually that setting is my solitary room, late night, window shades drawn, lights off, pipe out and thoroughly smoked. But this time it was a pool.

Hooray! Water! I feel so free! And reflective!


Oo! Eeep! Hah hah, it's tickling me! Good thing I'm wearing sunglasses.

But where would we be without just a little bitta sexy?

Oooh yeah, baby. This is so hot and not at all completely annoying. No, I love chlorinated water getting splattered into my eyes. Gets me goin'!

It seems like in a lot of anime I watch a recurring power (usually of the evil character) is the ability to absorb another person (also usually including, and most importantly, that person's soul). Then they either gain that other person's power or their hair turns colors or they just get generally stronger or something. The point is, I think I might be developing that ability.

It begins. She can't escape.


Does that make me evil? Who cares! As long as I get better skin and softer hair out of it, that's fine with me.

I also like that though Miss M is holding the beer, I'm the one who appears to be drunk. Or am I just sleepily sexy? I've been cultivating that look a lot lately, though often dropping the sexy.

pretty (something)

"This is one time, growing up on the farm..."

Welcome words to some, dreaded to others. But no longer need you rely on my lackluster storytelling abilities. No longer need you use your imagination, or at least not as much. Come with me on a tour of my childhood.

It's starts, appropriately and stereotypically enough, with a barn.

This barn belongs to my old neighbor. Dry, weathered, dusty. Everything you'd expect.

And then there's this thing.

This is a really really old beet digger that's been sitting there for as long as I remember. I think maybe my grandfather used it when my dad was a kid. I think it's pretty cool. Of course, I think all these pictures are pretty cool.

And now, my cherished childhood stomping ground: the mighty WATERFALL!

Can't you just feel the danger?! I swear it was bigger when I was 6. It really freaked me out. It seemed like a rushing river. Those are my sisters sittin' on the bridge. We used to go swimming in that canal, pesticides and all. It's probably about 3 1/2 feet deep. That's enough to drown in.

And a view from the other side.
See those tall trees in the distance on the right? Well, just to the left of those are some shorter trees, that's my old house. I used to weed that field. It was filled with mint when I lived there and my sister, my dad and I would weed it all by hand and there's a lot more you don't see. That was a bitch, but having mint waft through the open windows of your house on a summer evening was pretty delightful.

And speaking of work, can you set a syphon?
Ida can do it one handed. I never could.

And lastly, one more picture of the swimmin' canal.

Look at that blue sky. I miss it. New York is great for a lot of things but open space isn't one of them.

stuffin' stuff

Today I: went on a date (sort-of), saw Harry Potter (eh) and got my written final back from my Pilates instructor (good). First, the date. This guy contacted me on Friendster (which actually I just remembered that I have a link to this blog posted on my friendster account so I'll have to delete that because he might read it, I mean, if I saw a link to his blog I would totally read it. I don't think he has a blog though). Anyway, we only three short email exchanges and today we met. We met at Columbus Circle and then took a walk through Central Park. I got nervous (the meeting place was my idea) so I ran into Whole Foods and bought some bread, cheese, apples and two different juices. We ended up walking all the way to 90th before we sat down and ate. He didn't eat anything, just drank his juice. But we talked the whole time. About what you ask? What else, art. We seriously only talked about art the whole two hours we were together. It was actually pretty interesting and I realized that he definitely had a more interesting education than me. We have a lot of similar opinions on art and it was nice to talk to someone who didn't worry about immediately talking about art and only art, because that's often what I want to do when I meet people. Here's the question though, do I have to be immediately attracted to him? Because I wasn't. I think I'm still too superficial, how do I change that?

Second, Harry Potter. Laurenj was nice enough to invite me along with her and some friends. It was fun to hang out with them, even though we were all facing forward and coudn't really talk. Still, what a bonding moment. But the movie: I was unimpressed. I mean, I had fun-ish but I didn't think this was was nearly as good as the last one. And I certainly don't think this one is the darkest so far. This movie reminded me too much of the first two, too much sappy happiness with "beautiful" sweeping shots and flowing sentimental string music. Ugh. For me, this movie captured a lot of what I find annoying about the books, all the plot holes and confusing situations. Plus I just kept waiting for ol' Fiennes to show up. That lack of a nose only makes him sexier in my book. That just means his tongue could get deeper. Hot! But he was really only in the last few minutes. Really, there wasn't enough adult acting in this movie at all. Almost every adult in these series is a wonderful actor and yet they never get to do anything. Oh Maggie.

Third, my Pilates instructor said my written final was great. That felt nice. She encouraged me to take my practical test so that she could start scheduling clients with me or, more accurately, have the potential to schedule clients with me. I don't know if there are enough clients to actually schedule. We'll see where that goes.

that's what the sun does

A few weeks ago the head of my department invited her staff out to her house for a little get together. She apparently does this every year and yet so far no one's been able to go. Well, not this year. I asked around to see who could come and at first the turnout looked good. Five of us peons plus my immediate boss and her husband. By the time last Sunday rolled around though two people dropped out. So three of us jumped on the bus Sunday morning at 10AM (did I mention she lives in New Jersey?) prepared for we didn't know what. It turns out my boss boss has a lovely house, a pretty great yard and a very nice pool...that only I went swimming in. No one else even brought a bathing suit; but I wasn't to be deterred. I stayed in that pool for as long as possible. I had two Bloody Marys, two margaritas and 4 cigarettes, some while still in the pool. I haven't smoked for quite a while but it just seemed right to smoke while all cool sunglassed up while hanging on the side of the pool.

We were there for about 6 hours. A pleasant retreat from New York, I don't think I heard a car honk once. We were pretty tuckered out (or at least I was) on the bus ride home but none of worse for it. HL graciously let me use his shoulder.

Awwww.

Yesterday on our lunch break, HL and I made up a new game called Spitty Splashy. It's played with, duh, two people. Splashy needs a cup of cold water, Spitty is empty handed. The rules are as follows:

Splashy: dip your fingers in the water and flick it as your opponent
Spitty: quickly lick your fingers and slap your opponent's arm

The object of the game is to win. Actually, the real object is to annoy the hell out of each other. It's pretty fun. Guess which player I was.

lessons

What I learned from Men's Health magazine
or as I usually think it should be called: Your Window Into the Idiotic Straight Male Psyche

Women are...interested in men who express alpha status. Accomplish this by using a loud voice, speaking often, taking up lots of space, and interrupting others.

In other words, get drunk and act like the asshole you know you are, asshole. That makes sense since I'm pretty sure men are interested in women who display omega status. Accomplish this by always agreeing, doing his laundry and keeping your dumb-ass mouth shut. What other gems can MH offer?

The message you must convey to women boils down to "I'm here, I'm male, and I won't hurt you."

That's definitely the first thing I'd like to know. (I'll have you know I didn't even add that color, HM used it on it's own.)

Maybe just one more:

Rather than what she says, how she acts is a much more reliable gauge of what she's thinking. Straightening her hair or orienting her body toward you means she's interested.

And if she says "no," she really means "Yes!"

These are just random quotes from the article printed on the accompanying photographs. I don't know if I have the wherewithal to read the entire blathering piece. Plus I might just end up quoting the entire thing on here.

What I learned last night

Semi-pleasurable sexual experiences do not provide enhanced artistic inspiration. Apparently I have to be utterly disappointed and unsatisfied to tap into my well of creativity. That uncomfortable mix of pleasure and mild shame just doesn't cut it. Maybe I'm expecting too much, it was at least a learning experience on my creative process. When it comes down to it, I'm really doing research. Where's my grant money?

What I learned right now

No matter how tired you are or how late you might be you should always check weather.com. Stupid rain. Stupid sandals.

What else I learned right now

If you're going to be at a gym for 4 hours you might as well bring some workout clothes, even if you don't feel like exercising, because you probably won't have anything better to do.

Also, this morning (at 5:30AM) I cried on the subway again from The Road. Again. I restrained myself a bit more this time. Who knows what other psychotic shit might have come spilling out that early?

math at the end of the world

l x w = ?

What's the answer? I'll give you a hint: it has to do with rectangles.

I was playing online pictionary (also called graffiti by those Yah*oo bastards, just to make it hard to find) and my "requesting to remain anonymous for this very reason" coworkers could not guess the answer. (I had actually drawn them a square as well.) I refused to start a new drawing. We sat there for over a minute while I kept saying Length times width! Length times width! I was flabbergasted. In an attempt to find someone to share my befuddlement I told this story to another coworker who also failed to provide the correct answer. How could this be?! They each justified their woefully lacking knowledge of math by pointing out that they majored in theater. Damn arts, ruining the scientific minds of our "youth."

Let's jump to a new topic.

Have you read The Road by Cormac McCarthy? It's really good. Really really good. This is my second time reading it in less than a year and it made me cry on the subway this morning. It was a pretty crowded train at 7:30AM and I was sobbing. His writing completely caught me off guard. I think it's becoming one of my favorite books ever. You should read it.

You know what's better than lukewarm V8? Probably most things.

I did send off most of the emails that I was supposed to though. It's really hard to try to keep track of 8 different people's schedules. I need a better planner. I wish I had an electronic one with an actual type schedule in it. Like the one on my computer at home. That would be great.

Ugh, I still have 3 1/2 more hours of sitting alone in the box office before I can go home and figure out what kind of food to eat, based on what currently grosses me out the least. That'll be fun, won't it?

some problems

It's funny how little things can still upset me so completely. Not so much funny "ha ha" more funny "psycho."

I just received a "thanks but no thanks" email from my pilates instructor concerning my pilates notes. The book of exercise notes she gave my "class" was written a while ago by her husband and she didn't like the way it was done. She noticed that I had been retyping all of the notes in a better format and adding notes from the DVDs she had given us. She mentioned she was interested in buying either my notes or another girl's. So I sent off my notes for her to look at and she just emailed me saying she's going with the other girl's. Now, normally that would only hurt a little bit but here's the thing. I've trained with this other girl and while she's training me she keeps consulting her notes but can't figure out what they're referring to. For instance, we'd be doing an exercise and she'd read "reach arms overhead for stretch" and she would say, "Hmm, I don't know if that means behind you or to the ceiling or what. Let's try some different things." And we did and I didn't feel a stretch so obviously her notes weren't helping. I deliberately made my notes explicitly clear so that if you couldn't exactly remember how an exercise was to be accomplished it would tell you. I don't see the point of using notes that don't make any sense. But her notes were apparently almost verbatim from the DVDs which I'll admit I didn't do because my instructor doesn't cover everything in the DVDs and rambles a lot. Anyway, the rejection just hurt and the thing is it hurt way more than it should have. That's not even much of a rejection but I really went temporarily crazy-hate in my head. Literally, it was like rage was coming out every pore of my skin. I should probably work on that with my therapist. (Who still doesn't exist sooo...I'm done!)

I know the feeling

My my. I don't know if this song is work appropriate, nevertheless it's what's playing right now. Good thing I'm alone up here.
____________________________
Once I had taste
Once I crossed the line
Once it overflowed
I lost my mind

The smell of you is sex
The thought of you is cream
The taste of you it makes me scream

Once I bit the fruit
Once I turned the key
Once is not enough when
You're deep in me
____________________________
Mmm-hmm.

accurate

Isaac was once again accusing me of lacking feelings (brought on by my desire to go to Fashion Soup for lunch, figure that connection out):

HL: Your heart is made of ice.
pause
Me (softly whimpering): It can still break.

an achievement?

When I arrived at work yesterday I had a lovely sense of satisfaction over my many accomplishments already finished that morning. What were those grand accomplishments? Waking up early, riding the subway from the south end of Brooklyn to the north end of Manhattan, showering, then riding back to midtown and only arriving to work 15 minutes late. So my accomplishments basically consisted of basic hygiene, sitting on my ass and arriving to work late. If I can keep up this awesome potential I'll be curing cancer in no time.

Did I tell you I went on a "date" the other day? I know, can you believe it? Maybe I won't be alone forever. To recount the entire "date" would be annoying so I'll just tell you this: it began with a train ride and ended with me washing his shorts. Let that titillate your imagination, you'll probably come up with something better than what really happened. Of course, we all know the real ending is my remaining alone but whatever. It kind of blows that when I finally get up the nerve to ask someone out it has to be someone who's soon to be unavailable (he's from Montreal and going back soon). Am I turning into my mother? He is originally from Normandy and speaks French so maybe I am. (See francophile blog, that's ma mere.)

gay blogilates

I haven't posted for so long that I almost forgot my blogger password.

Today's post starts off all about pilates and I think YorN might be the only person who'll be genuinely interested. You'll see why soon, I'm about to get dancer dorky. I had a session with a fellow trainee and she rocks. She has a great eye and has really helped to start balance me out. She's noticed that the right side of my body is much more developed than my left and that I totally cheat at exercises to compensate. This morning I told her that I wanted to work on a specific series because I was having a lot of trouble with my scapulae flaring out. I mentioned that my scapulae are crazy because even when I'm just standing there they start to poke out from my back and I could not figure out how to keep them down. First and only of all, in my pilates and my old dance classes, the instructors were always talking about finding the lats (the latissimus dorsi, a huge muscle of the back) and pulling them down. So today, Megan (the fellow trainee) and I started experimenting and we discovered that when I'm told to pull my lats down what I actually do is depress my scapulae by contracting my rhomboids. I couldn't access my lats at all! And this whole time that's totally what I thought I was doing! I was horribly upset that I was so lacking in body awareness. We spent the next 10 minutes just trying to get me to find my lats. I was finally able to but then keeping that awareness and performing exercises is really hard. Like, really hard. Then, after we had done some more pilates, Megan showed me some more exercises I could do just for my lats because once again, my right side is more developed than my left. I started concentrating on those and noticed that when looking in the mirror in front of me I actually had a great view of my back, it being reflected from the mirror behind me. So I of course stripped off my shirt so I could really see those lats working. It helped a lot. And really, my back looks pretty good, maybe hot even. I then became fascinated with the imbalances in my back when I was just standing still. Namely, my right scapula juts out and up much more noticeably than my left. I played with trying to bring it back into alignment but now it's 5 hours later and I must have concentrated on it too much because now all I can feel is that shouderblade poking out and it's starting to hurt and really drive me crazy.

No segue...

A few nights ago MNS and Pants had a karaoke party and I was invited. Now, I've never sang karaoke before, ever and I told MNS that I probably wasn't going to start anytime soon. She and I are pretty much on the same wavelength when it comes to karaoke. But after watching her brave a few songs I figured I'd better step up. And step up I did. I quickly drank 3 beers, which gave me an extra boost of light headed confidence (particularly since I hadn't eaten since lunch), went to the front of the room and belted out Bjork's It's Oh So Quiet. Wow bam! Zing boom! I put energy into that fucker! When I sat down MNS just looked at me for a moment then said, "I've never seen this side of you. I've known you for so long and have never seen you like this." And that was just a precursor. Later I sang Don't Tell Mama with MNS's sister, Beta, complete with ass slaps and body caresses. Upon sitting down this time MNS leaned over and whispered in a surprised, slightly conspiratorial/complimentary tone, "You are such a fag. Really faggy." Who knew? Now you do.

And finally...

More disastrous combinations

semantics

A quote from my boss at the theater:

"I know you're not calling our members hookers."

Who knew she had such good hearing?

The ability to recognize negative behavior often has no correlation with correcting that behavior. At least that's how it often is with me. I can usually easily spot when I'm being whiny, pitiful or self-destructive but do I stop? Nosirree. Even when my behavior is so secretive that the only person that knows its happening (and hence the main person it hurts) is me. Petulance reigns supreme. Why can't I just enjoy aspects of life? Why do I crumble when my plans are disrupted? Why do I feel like I deserve this loneliness? Only my therapist (who doesn't exist) can tell.

In other news, I wish I could stay at the gym all day. I love it there (right now, I'm pretty fickle when it comes to things that make me happy so we'll see how long this lasts). I love spending hours and hours exercising and stretching. Yesterday I had to go open the studio at 6AM. I then did some cardio for about 35 minutes, watched some pilates training then had an hour of a sort of personal pilates/weight/cardio class where a teacher was trying to create a new routine so she tried it out on me. I felt so tired when I left but that evening I decided to skip the closest subway stop and walk the 20 blocks to the next express stop. Then I come to work at the theater and get down down down. Enclosed in a windowless cube, I arrive and immediately begin to gorge on sugar. Perhaps someday I'll be able to do something I love. Isn't that everyone's goal? Has anyone achieved it? No one I know, it seems.

When I arrived home around 11PM last night and opened the cupboard to put away some soy milk I had bought I noticed that my peanut butter was nearly gone. That's not how I left it. I immediately went to my room, grabbed a sheet of paper, left my passive-aggressive note on the stove and went to bed. Before I fell asleep I heard one of my roommates come home and when I got up this morning the note was gone. That's too bad, because it was for both of them. I also took my chips out of my room and put them back in the kitchen, you know, as a temptation. We'll see what happens.

I had only been at the pilates studio this morning for about 10 minutes before the cops showed up. Apparently the alarm had gone off. I thought something was weird with the alarm but since I was able to deactivate it and now it says "Ready" I figured everything was fine. Guess not. After telling me that I needed to contact the alarm company one officer said, in a condescending tone, "So what, this place is filled with girls and the other one is for guys?" (There's a gritty boxing studio right across the hallway.) I gave him a mixed skeptical/incredulous look and said, "No, men come here too. What do you think I am?" Which I immediately realized was not the right thing to say. I pretty much expected him to respond, "Not a man." It was definitely in their eyes, particularly the 2nd officer's. I should have said, "And there are plenty of women at the boxing studio too, all of whom could kick your ass."

not my mom

The Earth Day website didn't make me feeling like saving ol' mother earth. Instead it made me mad, because it tried to make me feel guilty. I took the footprint quiz and yes, I could buy more non-processed foods but really, I felt like I was pretty good in the grand sweep of America. But then when I finished it hit me with the guilt: If everyone lived like you, we would need 3 planets. I think that pretty much implies: If everyone lived like you, you fucking uncaring bastard, we would need 3 planets. I understand what they're saying and that it's interesting, it just comes across as acusatory and I don't think that's the best way to get someone on your side. At least not with me; guilt usually has the opposite effect. So in honor of Earth Day I'm going to go chop down a tree, use it to kill a cow, freeze the meat and ship it off as the only cargo of a 757 to California. Now how many planets do we need, huh?

it's probably true

Prompted by a recount of my morning, a quote from HL:

It's safe to say that if you're not at work, at BAM or at DTW then you're home masturbating.

I could say nearly the same for him.

future chips

The chip wars continue at my apartment. My roommates are most definitely eating my chips. I don't think they're eating anything else I buy (at least not consistently) but the chip snacking is driving me crazy. To make doubly sure that I wasn't placing false accusations (even though I heard Horsey open my chip bag and munch away) I carefully and specifically folded the last bag and placed binder clips on the sides. When I came home the bag was haphazardly folded and the clips were not in the same place. I refolded and replaced the clips and the same thing happened the next day. When I arrived home the apartment was empty. Perfect. Since I would be heading out soon this was my chance to employ my normal passive-aggressive tactics and avoid confrontation at the same time. I wrote up a quick note:

Please stop nibbling at my food. It is incredibly inconsiderate. If you would like something please ask me first.

I was all set to put it on the fridge when suddenly both! my roommates walked in the door. Damn damn damn. So instead I sulked in my room. I thought about putting a note directly on the chip bag:

Stop. Are these yours? Then don't eat them.

But that seemed a little too snotty. I should just talk to them. The next morning I screwed my courage to the sticking place and walked into the living room to kill my roommates and become King of Scotland! I mean, Washington Heights! But of course, I chickened out. I keep thinking that to complain about something I should be the model roommate in all other areas and I'm not. Yes yes, if a friend told me that I'd say they were crazy and should stand up for themselves. But instead I just kept my chips in my room that day. Maybe I'll deal with the problem the next time I buy chips. For now, if I ever feel like I'm not the model roommate I just remember the food nibbling and the fact that I have to wash any dish before I use it, because I can't count on the roomies to thoroughly wash anything.

And speaking of gun control and weapons and stuff (see NSP's blog), has anyone seen that show Future Weapons on the Discovery channel? It's fucking creepy. It might be the most unsettling thing on television. I've only watched about 5 minutes of it but it made me extremely uncomfortable. The show is all about new weapons research and how things are becoming faster, smaller and more accurate. Part of the episode I saw featured an interview with a pilot on an aircraft carrier. He was talking about some new plane he flies and proudly pointed out the bombs it carried and talked about how great they were. What kept going through my mind was that everything featured on the show was made specifically to kill people. None of the "toys" shown had any other use. I found their pride and joy unsettling.

art schmart fart fat

It turns out that my inspiration for art comes from unsatisfying sexual experiences. Is that really a surprise? Isn't that the origin of a lot of art?

Last night was one such experience. He was attractive enough (I mean, if someone other than myself were judging him, in my opinion he could've been more attractive) and it felt good but when we were done I realized that I'd much rather be sleeping with someone I'd actually want to talk to afterwards. Anyway, while lying on his chest, experiencing the emptiness of my soul, an idea for a performance piece began to formulate in my mind. Unfortunately I can't remember much of it now but I think I've found a way to tap my creativity. This is the second time that's happened. The first time was with a different man and that experience spurned the creation of my meat cleaver piece. Coincidence or source material? You decide.

My dad and his wife were in town this weekend. Here're two new things that happened:

1. Peeing while Dad was just one urinal over...and talking to me
2. Dad's Wife pointing out men who're checking me out

And two new things I discovered:

1. Dad and Dad's Wife both take off their shoes at the theater.
2. Dad's Wife sucks mints while watching performances.

Though I have nothing against taking off your shoes, I do it too, discreetly, in other respects Dad & Dad's Wife were quickly becoming bad theater goers. Mostly it was the mints. And that she asked my dad, during the play, if he wanted one. I'll at least acknowledge that she did try to take them out of her purse as quietly as possible but still, it was a metal box with a bunch of rattling small orbs inside, those are hard to keep quiet.

We had an art filled week. On Thursday we went to the Met, which was great. After living here for nearly 3 years I'd still never been. Pathetic. I saw a self-portrait of Pablo Picasso that made me fall in love with him. Now if he were my boyfriend I'd really have some inspirational sex. We then went to the Museum of Arts & Design to see an exhibit on subversive knitting. (Thanks for the tip, MNS.) That was also awesome. One piece was a huge knitting project captured on film involving telephone poles and tractors. I could tell my dad liked that one. And then we went to see Journey's End. They liked it well enough. Their main comment, "Wow. That's certainly better than the college productions we usually see at BYU (Brigham Young University)." Good enough for me.

On Friday we went to a small movie house to watch an artsy French film, Private Fears in Public Places. We all found that to be a disappointment, not bad exactly, just not that good. Later we went to MoMA, where I rediscovered the joy of David Smith. Then we had to rush out to BAM for a performance of The Magic Flute, also a disappointment. I was so excited to take them to BAM, it feels like such a New York thing to me but the opera really was bad. The singers, professional opera singers from Belgium's national company I'm pretty sure, couldn't even fill the house with their voices. We could barely hear them. And I'm pretty sure the woman playing the Queen of the Night might have been a bird in disguise. She literally squawked out those notes.

On Saturday I had to work so Dad & Dad's Wife went to the Bodies exhibit, which they said was "good." When pressed for more they added "fine." Then that night we saw The Lion King. No, I didn't ever cry, neither did they as far as I could tell. But here's what I have to say: Julie Taymor is awesome, that grass was fucking brilliant but the basic story and many of the songs of this show are godawful boring. And tourists are weird. And fascinating up close.

And that's how it went down. Next time we're going to more experimental theater. At least they'll be expecting that to be bad.

If you had purchased tickets this morning to the theater where I work, here's part of an email you might have received:

Dear Patron:

Your Such&Such ticket order has been processed and mailed to you on (insert full date).

Please remember that there are no refunds or exchanges for any performance.

Sincerely,

What am I, a bumbling 16 year old intern? I fixed the email and sent it out again. Idiotic.

have I told you lately that I love you?

There's a reason why.

I didn't have any food in my apartment this morning for breakfast (unless I wanted to make macaroni & cheese and prune juice, which I didn't) so I headed out early to stop by Whole Foods on my way to work. I spend my time on the train fantasizing about the delicious assortment of foodstuffs I could potentially buy. These fantasies mostly centered around baked goods, scones, bagels, whathaveyou. But when I arrived and looked at the selection I remember that the Columbus Circle Whole Foods has shit ass baked goods. Everything is always too dry and overcooked, thick and hard. I was immensely disappointed. I ended up buying a champagne mango (I'd never seen one before) and some kefir. That's my breakfast and lunch. Washed down with mini peanut butter cups and some tears.

I was on the phone with a local book store and had the urge to go crazy. A specific kind of crazy. I wanted to be that person who sincerely believed he was always in the right even when making things up that never happened. I think it's called self-delusion and it's very appealing.

When I woke up this morning I decided that my task for today was would was would

I've changed my mind. My task for today is to work on my grammar.

I decided my task for today would be to make a list of what I love and what I hate about my life. Does anyone see where this is going? While I was "making" breakfast I began the list in my head but after about a minute I realized it was just going to make me unhappy. My list of pros took about 15 seconds to flesh out but my list of cons seemed unending. I had to stop. I had already been pretty upset and despondent over the role of art in my life and, more specifically, the role of my life in art. I couldn't see my life changing in any way to allow myself to become the artist I want to be. It's scary and deeply depressing. I think part of the problem is that I like to take safe "risks." I can't talk about that anymore, at least not in the blogging forum.

So here's the thing that I'm excited about and alluded to earlier. I'm going to be in a pilates machine certification course. And I don't have to pay! That's really the best part. I'm at the pilates studio right now typing this. The owner prefer to call it a fitness lab. It's not a gym (I agree) but it's more than a pilates studio so: fitness lab. That's just hard for me to say. In return for free certification I owe them 300 hours of my life, starting last Sunday. I'll be "working" here until about next December. I'm working the front desk and let me tell you, I work it, baby. Meaning I bull shit prospective clients hoping they won't discover that I don't know what I'm talking about. I really don't. I've never attending any of the classes here, nor met any of the personal trainers. The thing I'm best at is talking about pilates because even though I haven't seen anyone in action I know enough about the body in relation to pilates to sound pretty convincing. The actual classes for the certification haven't started yet, first one's this Tuesday. I'll let you know how it goes. But for now I'm enjoying myself. Sitting alone in a sunny large studio reading and listening to whatever music I want. Sounds great huh?

zen

If you spill orange colored soup on an orange colored shirt, will it leave a stain?

Ponder that question and find inner peace.

P.S. The answer is yes.

in the beginning

I've started a new project.

Here's a closer shot.

Doesn't it look complicated? And annoying? Well, it isn't one of those but is the other. It may not seem like much now but pretty soon it'll be a beautiful, though scratchy, something. And I didn't spend money on new yarn! Hence the scratchiness. I'm using yarn I bought over 11 years ago when I lived in France. That's where I learned how to knit. My first project was a sweater (a little ambitious) and I bought too much yarn by about 7 skeins*. Those skeins have since been living in my various closets. I don't remember the yarn being so scruffy when I bought it but it certainly is now. Maybe I can soften it up somehow.

During lunch today I bought yet another bag of mini eggs. HL at first made fun of my obsession but after eating about 20 he's coming around. They are so good. My little eggies. My little chocolate abortions. Tasty.

*skein: a loosely coiled length of yarn or thread wound on a reel

bland-o-rama

Something happened today that could potentially be good. I don't want to talk about it too much in case it doesn't work out. But I'm pretty excited. Of course, the last time I was this excited about this type of thing I turned out to be pretty miserable by the end.

Today I planned on making some gloves out of yarn that I bought in France when I was 16 but, when I finally found a pattern (I have no idea how to make gloves) I discovered that I brought the wrong needles to work. So now that's my task for Monday. I wonder if there's a way to soften this yarn. I remember it being softer when I first bought it but it's been 11 years, sitting in various closets the whole time. Now it's pretty scratchy. I don't care. I need some gloves. Nothing too fancy, this'll be another practice project. Later on they'll get more stylin'.

I have a strike to work tomorrow and I'm not going to let it get me down. I signed up for it with gusto over a month ago but now I'm regretting it. Whatever, I need the money.

In closing, would you like to read an interview that provides insight into the state of dance and its intelligent, thougtful artists? Click here. I know you want to...and some of you have to [Erin]. (This is not the same artist I was complaining about before.)