august 01

++++++++++++

phone home

8/29/01
Thanks to a tip off from Isabelle, I've found a new obsession. Well, at least a diversion to occupy myself while at work. It's Wil Wheaton's site, and boy is it a doozy! You know, Wesley Crusher. Not that I've ever been a Trekkie, but he was so full of gawky boyish charm, my type through and through. I've never really mentioned him, even though I have a soft spot for him. Looking at his site prompted a memory of a conversation involving Wil Wheaton I had with James Robb, crazy crush turned manic obsession turned boyfriend, [two year anniversary next Tues?!] the first time I met him.) I can't resist child stars who fade in their 20s, and when they turn out to be geeky, sensitive, funny grown ups--watch out. Wil is all I wished Henry Thomas would be (and wasn't). He actually keeps a weblog where he talks about stuff like auditioning and not getting parts, how he's worried about his sick dad, how much he loves his wife and how he knew they'd be married the first time they met, shopping at Home Depot, and sitting in bed crying. He writes a lot, and it's actually pretty well-written too. I love Wil Wheaton! This is my biggest non-sexual crush in ages.

8/27/01
I can firmly say without a doubt that I've never ever been as scared in my life as I was on Saturday. It started out as an innocent afternoon at Brighton Beach. Friends, Jessica and Deeann (funny, but I don't know how she spells her name, I've never seen it written out) wanted to hang out at the Russian part of the beach, and I thought this sounded ok, though I wasn't about to put a swimsuit on and I definitely wasn't going to go into the water (I haven't gone swimming since '89 and I don't plan on breaking my dry streak any time soon). The weather was balmy, it was a perfect afternoon really, low 80s, no humidity, blue skies, a slight breeze. I didn't even mind sitting on a blanket in the sun (balancing my checkbook while they frolicked in the waves) eating a Russian cherry pastry. It turned out that Deeann had never been to Coney Island so we decided to walk up the boardwalk. I've been countless times, but it's never occurred to me to ride any of the rides. I'm just not a ride person, even as a kid I didn't partake much. I've never had the desire to go on an upside down one, probably because I'm not a big fan of heights. No, make that terrified of heights. And I don't think people understand how serious I am when I say this. It's not like when I say I don't like swimming or horseback riding (two things people seem to like trying to make me do). I'm not scared of the water (well, maybe deep, natural bodies of water) and I'm not scared of horses, I just don't like them. Heights, it's not a choice, my body and mind will totally freak out. I get nervous and dizzy if I even have to walk over one of those foot bridges spanning highways (which I had to do last weekend in Boston). It's not rational, but I can't help it. Though I guess if you don't have a particular phobia it seems sort of silly, like I don't get people who are scared of flying at all. So, Coney Island. Jessica had recently been, and mentioned the Cyclone. I said I'd go on it, which seemed to provoke amazement along the lines of, "Are you sure youreally want to?" and her relaying how horrifying it was. I think "I hated it" was somewhere in her description. The two big rides are the Cyclone and the Wonder Wheel. I said I'd go on the roller coaster way before I'd go on the Ferris Wheel. I hate Ferris Wheels, they scare the shit out of me, and this particular one swings you in little cages. Uh uh, no way. My sister went on it when she was here a few months ago and her eyes were all buggy when she got off. Jessica couldn't believe that I'd be scared of a Ferris Wheel but agree to the roller coaster, and I guess I didn't really have a concept of what I was getting into because I just said "sure I'll ride it" like an idiot. Partly because I hate to have the reputation of being a spoilsport, I always sit out when other people do things, and partly because I don't think I've ever ridden a real roller coaster. Growing up in the NW, you're not exposed to Six Flags and various outdoor amusement parks, they just don't have them. Maybe due to the wet weather, maybe because they're smart. I went to Disneyland twice and remember bawling my head off in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, but then I was only four so you can't blame me. When I was 11 or 12 I rode Space Mountain which did freak me out, but not too terribly. It's Disney for crying out loud. Coney Island is the antithesis of Disneyland. Ratty, dirty, loud, dingy, seedy, decrepit, full of unwholesomeness, and well, not a lot of white people (jeez, not that non-whites are dirty, loud, unwholesome etc., but it has a certain vibe, one that media folks colorfully call "urban." You just don't see any white [or any ethnicity, for that matter] suburban families at Coney Island. I guess people with cars have better places to take their children. It's an odd place, though perfect if you want your picture taken with an albino snake or in front of giant graffiti-style air brushed gangsta portraits [to be fair, there's also Pikachu as an option]). I mean, the park is bordered by projects, which I think lent to Coney Island's unsavory reputation in the '60s-'70s. Luckily, in the latter part of the century, it started getting popular again and it has slowly been spruced up (but not too spruced). Its age is its charm, yet also adds to the sheer scariness of the rides. An 81 year old Ferris Wheel? Uh, no thank you. Well, The Cyclone is a real piece of work. These quotes crack me up

"Just how scary is the Cyclone with its 90 foot first drop, and speeds reaching 68mph? Charles Lindburgh said it was "scarier than flying the atlantic solo". Then there was the 1948 tale of Emilio Franko, who supposedly had an ailment making it impossible for him to utter a sound. Riding the Cyclone, Franko miraculously found he was able to scream and when he got off he uttered the first words of his life "I feel sick." -The Daily News, July 1988

Yeah, it's that scary. I got a little nervous when I saw the sign at the ticket booth with all the warnings like no pregnant women, nobody who'd had recent surgery and no one with high blood pressure. I was like "oh shit, what if I keel over and die on the thing" but didn't take it too seriously. Maybe I should've heeded their damn warning, and just turned around, but no. I still didn't get it, like I didn't see why you had to check your bags, glasses and the like. Stupid, stupid. I got wedged into a car next to Jessica, and she'd warned how you feel like you're going to fly out. The only thing holding you in is this metal bar, which does fit snugly across your lap, but the seats don't come up very high. I felt exposed, and as it crept, clattering along the tracks, I started to get very nervous and tried to scrunch down more in my seat. It seemed the less of you sticking up, the better gravity-wise. When it started climbing the first hill, I got really nervous. Reality kicked in, we were very high off the ground and with each rickety inch, I knew we'd have to fall down that much more of an incline. We crested the peak and before I could do anything (like I could do anything), that baby plunged faster and harder and more violently than anything I've ever experienced in my life. I swear to god. All I can remember is saying "oh shit," tasting my cheese fries coming back up (I didn't barf), and preparing to die. All I can compare that first drop (the subsequent drops were also panic-inducing, but not as severe as the first) to is like when you have dreams where you're falling, your stomach "goes up" and you wake up all scared and sweaty, like that times 50 and you can't wake up because you already are and before you can even think about the horror you've been whipped into another curve. Horrible, it was just horrible. I don't know what kind of freaks wave their arms in the air, I was holding onto the bar for dear life. Numerous times my butt was not making contact with the seat, and the thing is so jerky and rattly it threatens to fly off the tracks at any given moment. I could barely walk when it finally stopped and felt completely emotionally and physically scarred. I felt like I'd sprained my finger from gripping so hard (it still hurts) and like someone had punched my entire body (I wouldn't be surprised if the thing induces Parkinson's Disease), I couldn't think straight. And for $4 you can ride it again, I couldn't believe half the people stayed in their cars for another whirl. I don't know if I'll ever do that again, but no one can accuse me of being a spoilsport. But if the Cyclone was wild, breathtaking terror, then the Wonder Wheel is sheer calculated evil. Scary in a completely different way. You'd think that'd be enough for one day. It was for me, I hung out on the ground while everyone else rode the Spider or Tilt a Whirl. Jessica got gung ho on the Wonder Wheel, kept calling it "geriatric" and insisting that when her family she'd never met (family of her Hungarian father who's never visited) was here last week, they thought it was fine. I was still like, "no way." Deeann didn't want to because she thought Ferris wheels were boring. I didn't want to because it's horrible to have to sit in a car that high up, just hovering about. And like I said, the Wonder Wheel 's cars are on tracks that appear to swing gently when watching from the ground. Yes, appear is the operative word here. Somehow I got suckered into this, a $3.50 ticket was bought for me and next thing I knew I was getting into one of the cages. Inside are two benches, not face to face, but in rows. They sat in front, I sat in back thinking it would be better because I wouldn't see so much ground. Uh, it doesn't really matter your position because once that thing starts rocking all logic goes out the window. I thought the Cyclone had scared the shit out of me, but this was that terror tripled. I totally spazzed, almost started barfing, immediately started sweating and began having a serious panic attack. It's so evil because it goes so slow and you know it's going to start swinging and your mind reels. After the first episode, I went all crazy and said they'd have to get the guys to stop it and let me off, but of course you can't do this, there'd be two more fall/swoop things before it got to the bottom (and went a second full rotation). My mind couldn't even bear the thought of five more of these deals. It helped a tiny bit if I stared at the ground instead of looking out (while you're swinging, it's like you're going to fly off into the park and next thing you know you're staring at the street, then the sky--the angle is much sharper than it looks from the ground), and I figured out the only way I could handle it was if I sat on the floor and closed my eyes. It wasn't the motion so much as the height. As long as I couldn't see anything it was tolerable. The people in the car behind us were laughing and trying to figure why I was curled up near fetal position in our cage, and I thought it was funny too even though I was on the verge of tears. I couldn't help it, I didn't care how silly I looked all wedged underneath the benches. I made it out alive (barely) and if there's any lesson to be learned, it's to believe someone when they say they're scared of something. I was so off-kilter and shaken up the rest of the evening that on the subway ride home, I went all nutty and started thinking I was on a ride (it was an elevated, outdoor subway), whenever it started making noises and jerking, I waited for it to drop, speeding down an incline. Total post traumatic stress disorder. Amusement parks are no laughing matter. Ugh, I can only imagine what sort of diabolical people come up with the concepts for these so-called fun rides. Speaking of insane people, last night I was looking for info about deaths on the Cyclone (I didn't even bother with the Wonder Wheel since I'm the only one who seems to have a problem with it) and found two, both were employees who stood up on the first drop. What the hell would ever get into your brain to make you think it'd be OK to stand during a 90 ft., 68 mph drop?! They had to be Brooklynites, they just had to be.

8/22/01
More and more it's starting to seem that I can't ramble about all the people, places and things I'd like to. I don't know if I think people are getting nosier and more sensitive or if I'm becoming more careful and guarded. Nah, definitely not the latter, but it sucks when I have funny/peculiar/humiliating/entertaining things to tell about, but can't out of fear of retribution or who knows what. But there's one creature on this earth who can't use search engines, and I'm pretty sure doesn't read my website..and that's insects! That's right, insects. For better or worse, it seems to be all I can talk about anymore. Last night I went out for a few drinks (and got off the bus at 4th Ave. and 2nd St. This morning at that very corner a woman and her son were crushed by a wall that was being demolished at the construction site on the corner and were in critical condition (serious now). Brooklyn's dangerous, I tell you. Speaking of taking local current events too personally, I'm supposed to get some renal MRA done in a couple weeks. I don't think it's a big deal, my dr. just wants to make sure I don't have kidney problems, which could be causing my bad blood pressure. I'm not scared of the MRI/MRA thing claustrophobic-wise (which seems to be a big concern with all the websites I've looked at) but I got to this page with an illustration of a patient lying down with two giant IVs in their arm, and I'm like there's no way in hell I'm having tubes put in my arm. Another site mentioned not needing injections anymore for the imaging so I'm not sure which is in store for me, but knowing how half-ass everything in NYC is they're probably still using procedures circa 1975. I'm not going if they're going to stick things in me. Anyway, the point was that a couple weeks ago there was this story in the news about a freak accident where some kid getting an MRI was killed when a magnet on the machine caused an oxygen tank to fly across the room, hitting him on the head. Like I said, everything is half-ass and dangerous around here--it's like living in a third world country. Needless, to say I'm becoming more nervous about this impending MRA), had a nice dinner at the new Blue Ribbon in Brooklyn, called it a night, walked in my door and turned on the light to be greeted by another one of those giant black bugs (roach? water bug?) on the floor of my kitchen. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was desensitization, but I didn't even flinch. I sprayed it a bit, let it half-curl, half-scurry under the fridge and went to bed. Then this morning I remembered to take out the trash (I haven't really been home since Fri. I don't know where my time goes, but if feels like I'm never here and when I am still can't get simple things done like paying bills, doing dishes, ironing etc. How do people manage their lives?) because it was starting to smell. I popped open the lid, fruit flies came out and I noticed light brown grains all over the bag and lid. It was first thing in the morning, I was groggy and couldn't make sense of it. I'd eaten some leftover rice with fish sauce that I'd left sitting on the counter before going out the night before, and that's what it looked like, but I knew I hadn't tossed any of the rice out as it was still sitting on the counter. Then it dawned on me that these were little larvae just waiting to turn into maggots and I almost hurled (I feel like barfing just writing about it). I was in a hurry and needed to leave for work, but the thought of maggots hatching in my house made me ill. I couldn't clean the receptacle so I threw it in the backyard to deal with later. Later would've been a couple hours ago. I'd just as well buy a new garbage can, but halfheartedly tried to rinse it out with the spigot out back. The spigot is about 6.5 ft. high so it was hard to see what I was doing, but I did notice a bunch of bees hovering around. It appeared that the bees have a home in this crack under the eave next to my back door and the spigot. They were buzzing all around, and I just threw the towel in. Enough already! I don't want to deal with giant black bugs, maggots or bees anymore or ever. I don't know what I've done to deserve such bad bug luck.

8/14/01
I just got done (is that poor grammar? I've been getting worse and worse) watching "Sisters" with Margot Kidder on IFC. It's great getting a handful of random cable channels for free. The only two I really watch is IFC and the Food Network (and sometimes Nickleodeon), but that's enough. It makes me feel guilty and lazy to watch TV without doing something else, not that goofing on the computer is all the productive, but I feel a little better if I'm watching TV and typing, but at this place the TV and computer aren't in the same room so it's tricky. You can only be doing one or the other so if there's something that's actually interesting on TV then I need to find a simultaneous activity to balance the sitting and staring. Tonight's option was cutting out little pictures of kabobs with an X Acto knife for a decoupage table that I've been meaning to do since June. Oh well. Another movie that caught my attention on TV recently was "Martin," a 70s vampire thing with a hot, creepy kid in Pittsburgh. I'd never heard of it, but I'm realizing more and more that my knowledge of film isn't all that extensive (not that I ever thought it was in the first place). I'm not one of those people who can rattle of names of directors with zeal and precision. Sunday night my mom was telling me how on "The View" they were talking about how mint kills bugs and she thought of me. I'd already told her what a bunch of shit mint is, and you know if anything's coming out of the mouths of The View (believe me, I'd never watch this show by choice but it's on every morning at work. I will refrain from starting in on Rosie O'Donnell. It was bad enough to watch the original shows and now they're rerunning episodes from spring--as if listening to her commiserating with Fergie about Weight Watchers the first time wasn't enough. I will also not get started on "points," how asinine talking about how many points microwave popcorn contains is. You don't hear men stressing over how many damn points are in a slice of pizza, it makes me ill. I don't think that 90% of American women are getting the point--diet talk is dead boring for crying out loud) ladies than it must be crap. It got me to wondering about where my huge bug went. My mom and I speculated that perhaps mint doesn't kill bugs, yet somehow magically makes them disappear into thin air as both my specimens did. That night I couldn't sleep partly due to the fact that I woke up at 2pm and wasn't tired by 1am, so I was laying there and every little creak had me all riled up. I swear I could hear a faint tap on one of my cd cases and this had me in a tizzy since I'd really hoped that mouse was history. All of a sudden I had to pee which is odd since I never have to go to the bathroom once I'm in bed for the night. I was completely fear stricken and dreaded getting up because I'd have to take about three steps to the light switch and who knows what crawlie creature I could step on in the dark. I braved it anyway, ran and snapped the light on, and wouldn't you know it, about half a foot from where I was standing was that giant bug! Well, it could've been a second one, but let's not even dwell on that because my brain can't take it. I completely lost my shit and ran into the kitchen to grab the new can of real bug spray I'd recently bought. I sprayed the hell out of it, and it did exactly what I always fear bugs will do, it hid in my shoe. Well, sandals, and cheap $9 ones from last summer at that (ever summer I buy a pair of cheap sandals and it's no big shakes if they don't make it to the next season). I sprayed till there was a pool of liquid in them (those are definitely going in the trash) and then the bug ran under my bed. I froze for about a minute then began spraying it again with vigor. I was like an insane over-wrought person in a horror movie, it had to be dead but I couldn't stop attacking. Like the girl who's been chased around the whole movie who finally stabs the bad guy and he must be dead but they go nuts and shriek and can't stop stabbing and then fall into a babbling heap on the ground. I'd stop spraying and peek and swear it was inching still so I'd spray more and repeat this process till it became absurd. I wasted at least 20 min. of good sleep time hunched over, frozen at the foot of my bed waiting for it to pop back out. I almost used the entire can of spray. At 3am I had to call it a night and resigned myself to sleeping with the light on. My biggest fear was that it'd be gone in the morning, but it was still there (and still is, two nights later and I'm not ready to deal with it yet). I don't know why bugs make me so sick to my stomach, it's silly. I'm going to Boston this weekend for work so I guess I should clean the carcass up before then. No one wants to come home to a dirty bug-strewn house.

8/11/01
Well, it's technically five minutes past 8/11, but until you go to bed it's not the next day yet. I shouldn't be allowed to stay home alone on weekend nights because I just end up getting all nutty, squandering my time looking at useless garbage like this (the best part is that it was actually someone's job to make the graphic of Bad Batz holding a quilt with a goofy illustration of the guy). This Rutgers kid made some Bad Batz Maru quilt, which sort of makes me like him and kind of makes me want to punch him. It's one of those sissy dork conundrums where you're simultaneously attracted and repulsed, you know? Maybe not, I fear it's just this thing with me where I'm compelled to befriend social retards, but at the same time want to be really mean to them. Healthy? Uh, probably not, but such is life. I could've gone out, just because friends and loved ones are out of town doesn't mean I'm under house arrest, but I feel that a home-bound weekend won't kill you every couple of months. I had all these plans for doing things around the house, but so far I've just goofed off on the internet, made some ghastly cocktails and ate peculiar, gummy, ricey Vietnamese concoctions made of unknown ingredients and put on all the cds in my collection that I never listen to. Ah, like Ride's "Like a Daydream" from '90, this was like my favorite song from that year and I don't even want to begin dwelling on the fact that this was 11 years ago, that between high school and college time. The only place I could even find a sample from is Barnes & Noble, which seems odd, (oh and some random Italian site with live recordings) and doesn't even matter much since my computer doesn't have sound anyway. I'm so last millennium technology-wise. Damn, I'm just irked that I've been here over three years and still don't have any of my records, that's where all the good stuff is. I haven't bought a record in over three years either, which is baffling. Hobbies just change more with location than I'd anticipated. Things like record, book and thrift store shopping were things I took for granted in Portland, and spent a decent amount of time pursuing. It's not that sort of atmosphere here, everything's either new or collectible (i.e. retro, expensive, insert your own overpriced adjective), no in between, and there's just no time for leisurely scouring what with the pervasive workaholic culture. You start to forget about old favorites, everything's now, fast, young and trendy. Tendencies and preferences begin to date you, and unless you're Madonna (I'll never understand the perpetutal unending fascination with her), you align with your generation and become hopelessly uncool. Old school is great if you're 20, but truly old school is anything but. Jeez, I keep remembering drug-riddled people at shows and bars in the 35-45 age range in Portland wearing leather trenchcoats and fedoras and shit, and it scared the living daylights out of me. How do you become so freakish and out of touch, and do you even know when it happens to you? OK, this isn't something I feel like dwelling on at the moment...me and my cartoon cat tattoos...so '90s. I also have a permanent, noticeable (it's not paranoia, people ask me about it or tell me I have something on my nose or rub their nose when they talk or look at me--it's annoying) small grey scar on my nose from a nose ring I haven't worn since '94, and unless I get dermabrasion or who knows what, it'll probably be there for life. Who expects brilliant life decisions in your teens anyway? I can live with the grey dot and the Hello Kitty tattoo, just don't let me leave the house in combat boots or a stocking cap, ok? It's now 15 min. past 1am (it doesn't really take over an hour to write one of these ramblings--I got distracted somewhere in there) so I guess it really is the next day.

8/8/01
Ah, my neighborhood just keeps getting more and more exciting. The "NY Post" always has great cover headlines, and today's was no exception. "The Booze Brothers" all about the delinquent cop(s) at Brooklyn's 72nd Precinct, one block from my apt. who ran over and killed a family down the street. Right near the Wild Wild West strip club, where he'd been at all day. God bless Sunset Park, Ridgewood never got crazier than a possible purse-snatching or senior being shortchanged at the deli. And stupid me, I missed all the hubbub mon. I guess there was a protest in front of the precinct with close to 2,000 in attendance and I was just piddling around the house fretting over bugs and mice (I haven't seen any in the past two days so maybe the poison finally took hold). People wonder why I'm so skittish crossing busy streets--now they know why--everyone drives like maniacs around here even when they're not drunk. I'm suprised that more people don't get run over. It was one of the first things that struck me when I moved here, how you never hear about people getting hit by cars when it seems like it would happen on a daily basis. Toddlers falling out of windows or shooting themselves (accidentally of course) with guns seem to be the most popular tragedies of late. Gun control is one thing (I'm not anti-gun in the least--my dad had them all over the house and I knew better than to get anywhere near them. Hmm, but I did get into some trouble once in grade school when I got curious about one of his big pocket knives and took it into the bathroom to play with. I got the blade open, but couldn't figure out how to close it and totally panicked because I'd had the fear of God put into me about messing with his weapons. In a genius move, I wrapped the open knife in a blanket and hid it in my bottom drawer. I don't know how many months later it was when my mom accosted me all freaked out to have a nice sit down talk about what I was doing with a knife hidden in my room. I clearly scared the shit out of her, but really she got what she deserved, nobody loves a snoop [and I should know]), out of control drivers are a more pressing issue. God, I love current events.

8/7/01
I was recently priding myself on how well I've adapted to the NYC summer. All I remember is almost dying of heatstroke on a daily in '98, and now I can sleep without even using a fan or air conditioner. In fact I've been torturing myself (and others who visit) by seeing how much heat I can stand before turning the air conditioner on. I just think it's a waste at night, I mean you're sleeping, what does your body know once its asleep? However, I think I'm the only one who finds this little waiting game amusing. I was feeling pretty tough until this weekend when the real summer weather hit this weekend. It's hot, OK? And I'm using the damned air conditioner a little more than I'd like. This is the kind of heat where people could drop dead on the street, total Son of Sam sweltering. Dangerous hot. Clearly dangerous enough to start spontaneous fires. Last night I somehow managed to stay up doing nothing in particular till 1am and decided I'd better get to bed. I go to open my window and turn off the air conditioner (I'm still not going to waste it while I'm sleeping) and I notice flames out the window. At this point I'm so lethargic and spacey that I think I'm imagining things. Is it a weird reflection? Is it a neighbor's bbq? Uh no, it's my backyard on fire. I was like, "what the fuck?!" First the vermin, and now this? And I never act appropriately in these situations, like anyone else would storm out there and take care of business, but I got all panicky and stood there for a minute. It wasn't like the entire yard was on fire, I don't mean to exaggerate, it was a patch maybe two feet sq. and the flames were about two feet high, but it was enough to scare me. I'd pulled out all those weeds a few weeks back, and the piles were so enormous that putting them into garbage bags would've been an insane task. They would easily fill 20 bags so I figured that I'd spread them over the whole yard and they'd eventually dry out and mulch down a bit and I'd deal with them in the fall. This was obviously a fire hazard waiting to happen. I don't have a hose, but there is a faucet outside and two buckets. Yet I couldn't go out there because I wasn't wearing clothes I wanted to be seen in. The whole block could catch on fire, and I'm balking at taking action because I'm wearing a tank top without a bra and a mismatched skirt. It just wasn't a pretty sight, nobody needed to be subjected to that. I ran to the living room to make a phone call, then came back to see the teenage girl next door spraying the fire with a hose over the fence. And like a socially inept nut I didn't go out and ask what happened, I just skulked around my room peeking out the curtain. So, it wasn't a disaster of great proportions, but it does make me wonder how it started. A cigarette, I'm guessing, which is annoying because people are such slobby disrespectful trash around here. People are always throwing their shit around with no regard--why would you think it's OK to flick lit butts into other peoples' yards? That's a silly question--why do people eat fried chicken on the subway and toss the bones, or drop used up batteries wherever their walkman happens to run down? How many basketballs did I throw back over the fence last week? Two. And how many are in my yard as I speak? Two. I don't think the ball-losing neighbors on my right had anything to do with my weed fire, but they will be punished just the same. Those balls are going to stay right where they are. Meanwhile, I'm seriously on my guard--anything could happen next.

8/6/01
I broke down and saw "Planet of the Apes" yesterday. I actually liked it even though I guess it's supposed to suck. I'm always suspicious of movies that my mom likes (She swears by "Little Nicky" but I just couldn't justify spending the ten dollars) but this was an exception. I kept hearing about this "surprise ending" which I won't give away in case any one cares. I don't know about the surprise part, it just doesn't make any sense. Seriously, I don't know if I've gotten dumb and can't catch ironic Twilight Zone-esque twists anymore or if it truly made no sense. I'd like to believe the latter, but I really think I am getting dumber by the day and I swear it's not even my fault. I have enough trouble concentrating and motivating myself as it is, and now I've got this annoying blood pressure medication to contend with. No wonder old people are slow and retarded--the stuff practically puts you in a stupor. I changed to a new one because I was getting so dizzy and tired, but I think this one's even worse. I couldn't wake up this morning (though one interesting side effect is vivid insane dreams--I had one last night involving my high school french teacher, the apocalypse and ominous meaningful numbers floating in the sky, three sets of double digits with lots of ones, sixes and fives that were really important at the moment. I didn't do what I was supposed to do in time and all these bright lights started rising from the forest [yeah, I was in a forest] and it was too late, someone else had used the numbers. Too late for what, I don't know, but it was all very urgent and dramatic. It's like what I'd imagine a Tolkien novel to be like [never read any Tolkien]) and physically couldn't get my eyes to stay open (sort of like right now and it's only 10:30pm). On the complete opposite side of the spectrum, Sat. I saw "The River" this Chinese movie that's like some '97 masterpiece by a director who's never had anything released in the US. It was one of those difficult to watch movies. Not so much in subject matter (though many would say that of the climatic scene where the father jerks off the teenage son in a bathhouse--oh, did I spoil it for you? Well, at least I didn't ruin the "Apes" ending right?) but in attention span. You know, shots lasting minutes of someone laying in the same position in the dark, people sitting alone eating and staring off, there's very little dialogue and not much action. I mean, almost nothing happens. The son gets a mysterious crick in his neck, is in constant anguish and walks around twitching and making faces and starts hitting himself saying he wants to die, while the dad looks for anonymous sex with men, picks up guys at the McDonald's and the mom's having a sexless affair with a pornographer. Sounds much livelier than it is. Accordingly, I saw it alone.

8/1/01
I could talk about things like the Mets game I went to last week or my birthday party Sat. (more of a get together than a bash, really), but I�m still spazzing out on the goddamn vermin in my house. I don�t know what is going on, it�s like the floodgates to hell have been ripped open and the bowels of the earth have begun to spew into my apt. The mouse is one thing, I bought poison yesterday and now he�s going to get it. He�s not scared of me one bit and poops in my clean coffee cups, totally out of control. But Mon. night I sprayed that giant bug with house cleaner (stupid, I know, but I can�t smash bugs or scoop them to take outside), which in Ridgewood always killed cockroaches instantly, even big ones. This beast, which I don�t think is a roach, is invincible. It went under my couch and as I waited hours for it to come out, assumed it was dead. Then last night I got out of the shower and could see the damn thing all the way from the hall--it�s that big. This was the final straw. I rummaged under my counter and found bug spray, a "poison free" bug spray. Great. So what kills the bugs? Mint. Give me a freakin� break. What kind of hippy lived in this place previously?! The stuff that supposedly "kills in seconds" was absolutely useless. I sprayed practically the whole can on the thing and it just slowed a bit. How many seconds is the question--60? 3,600? After it looked like it was finally giving in, I went into my room only to find a smaller bug crawling on my curtains. I nearly lost my shit and sprayed the hell out of him too, which did no good. Mint appears only to stun, not kill. This one was small enough that I didn�t feel so squeamish that I pounded it with a boot six times. That�s how much it took before it stopped moving. Anyway, the giant one finally stopped moving, but when I went back in my room the one I thought was smashed was walking around and I just couldn�t deal anymore. I sprayed him again till he stopped moving and went to bed extremely tired. This morning I woke up and neither bug was where I�d last seen it, falsely lifeless. So I guess they�re both roaming around still. Spraying doesn�t work, smashing doesn�t work--it�s like The Terminator. How did they kill him anyway? Didn�t he fall into a pool of acid or something? I�ll have to look into thathI�m seriously dreading going home tonight--who knows what I�ll find.