1999
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1/26/00
Today was not bad, but it would've been better if I'd gotten away with registering for classes without having my shots like I almost did. It was a Tom Ripley moment (I guess the surprise ending to "The Talented Mr. Ripley" was that Matt Damon doesn't get away with everything. Who thought he was going to?!) but in the end, they noticed I didn't have my immunization paperwork. What kind of state is this, where they make you get shots if you want to go to school. However, I still didn't get them. Tomorrow, I think. One of the only good parts about my job is reading all the magazines and looking like you're doing stuff to them. I mean, I do put the dates on them and all that, but I make a 30 min. task last hours. I need to keep up with things, you know. Today I learned: that guy Green from 80's band, Scritti Politti has just put out a hip hop record [Time Out NY], Angelina Jolie is "more than just a pair of lips" [Esquire], the skinny 80's silhouette is out. Now girdles and curves are in--think Gwenyth Paltrow and Charlize Theron. [New York Observer] Um, cause when I think buxom those two pop right into my head. Also, that scientists are working on technology that will allow people to put their interests and preferences into a badge they wear and when others with similar characteristics get near them the badge will beep so that in today's society of disconnected people we will be able to find soul mates easier. The Japanese already have a version of this that is very popular with the teens and pervy businessmen [New Scientist]. Purple is in for make-up! [Harper's Bazaar (the newly designed version)]. Women prefer thinking about food over sex [Ladies' Home Journal]. Looney Toons characters on clothing is only second to Disney and rapidly gaining ground [Women's Wear Daily]. O.k., how is that that goddamn book about The Mullet is in every single magazine on the planet? There was a many paged spread in "GQ" and it's been hyped up everywhere else. I first saw it in some chain book store in England around Thanksgiving. I thought, oh, ha ha, a book about funny haircuts. Then a friend gave it to a friend for Christmas and everyone had their laughs. Fine. This was an amusing zine topic like four years ago. There are countless websites devoted to it. Oh yes, we all love to hate tackiness. BUT ENOUGH ALREADY. Who the fuck gets to publish this stuff?! Why does everyone eat it up like it's the freshest thing they've ever heard? Why am I the only one who seems to get bothered by this?! There's this new game where you can relate any actor to another using Kevin Bacon. It's so novel that I'm sure you've never heard of it yet. Yes, I think I'll write a book about that. Oh, do you know what else is funny? The Seventies!! Those clothes, that music, those hilarious sitcoms...you remember "The Brady Bunch?" Me too! I'm just so full of genius tonight. I'd better go write all this down before someone steals my ideas.
1/24/00
I called in sick today and somehow I still didn't find the time to do anything of much importance. I went to the post office, bought lightbulbs and Sanrio valentines, ate leftover Chinese food, messed around with drawing programs on the computer, took some personality tests, talked on the phone, listed to some new cd's, and found out that I didn't get the job I interviewed for at Seventeen Online. Then I sulked at bit. When I was out and about I noticed the weirdest thing. When I'd breathe in nothing would be out of the ordinary, but when I breathed out, my tongue felt all tingly and chalky and my mouth tasted like baking soda. By the time I got home, my whole mouth and lips tasted salty. My only guess is that there's something weird in the air from the stuff they put on the streets to melt the ice. If so, that is creepy. The roads were all dusty and white. I doubt it's just normal salt. I'm probably being slowly poisoned by some chemical defroster. Or maybe I just have too much sodium in my body and it decided to surface today. It's all wrong. I also managed to get my feathers ruffled by everything and everyone this weekend and ended up picking dumb fights. I just can't help myself. I should be sent to anger management lessons. They really exist. I used to have this friend, Pauline, who worked at Fred Meyers (grocery store) and would always get into trouble for swearing and snapping at customers. She got sent to anger management training. This was very funny to me. I'm not sure that I like the way this new year is going. 1999 was all about getting the attention of dumb boys. That's all o.k. now so I have time to worry about new things. It appears that being miserable about jobs/(lack of) career is the current focus. I swear, I'd be perfectly happy sitting around all day doing nothing nothing in particular. People find that hard to believe. Maybe I'm lying to myself and I'm just an unmotivated, lazy, n'er do well. Maybe it's not worth making yourself sick over.
1/18/00
What could be worse than spit and/or phlegm globs every 3 to 4 feet on the sidewalk? Frozen spit and/or phlegm globs. As if braving 5 degree weather was not bad enough. Oh well. I am trying not to be so cranky, but I just haven't been having the best feelings about things lately. I have to get shots before I start school in a few weeks and that doesn't seem fair. Do other states require all this immunization crap? I've never heard of it. Well, at least it was a three day weekend. I went to a couple parties, saw "The Talented Mr. Ripley," finally got my scanner to work (I've had the damn thing for over a year now) and was generally lazy. Wasn't there supposed to be some surprise ending to "Mr. Ripley"? If so, it was lost on me. I'm afraid that I'm starting to revert back to my New York sucks mode. Sometimes I wish I didn't know so many empty-headed overpaid people. It can get you down. I did catch a little slice of quintessential New York today that put a smile on my face. I'd completely forgotten about The Guardian Angels, but there they were doing whatever it is that they do on the G train this afternoon. I thought they'd gone the way of the electric typewriter. Apparently not. I think they're just what this new millennium needs.
1/13/00
I wrote a much more detailed version of this last night in my pitch black bedroom (one light bulb burnt out last week and then the other one went yesterday and I have no chairs that are tall enough for me to reach the ceiling fixture and I'm afraid of heights. It's a big mess)and I know saved the document because my Mac is old and buggy and then the computer crashed and when I turned it back on everything I'd written was gone. This did not make me happy, but I'm trying to be an overemtional freak these days so I did not panic. I just rewrote it bits and pieces this morning and it's not the end of the world. There are those days when no one seems to pay any attention to you (most of them) and then there are those where people notice you for no particular reason and it throws you for a loop. That was yesterday. I was on the G train on the way to work. As we approached my stop, I got up and noticed two guys standing in front of the door and in my typical fashion became mildly annoyed (not that it's abnormal to stand in front of the doors, but the G train is never so crowded that this needs to be done) that they were in my way. One of them looked me up and down and I thought, "oh no" and then he said to his friend, "she goes to Pratt," which I was. The southbound G train does tend to be predominantly black and when youngish white folks get off at the Clinton-Washington stop, it could be a safe assumption that they're going to the art school. As the doors opened, they started asking me if I went to Pratt, and I couldn't really chit-chat, but I said, "no, I work there" and they wanted to know what I did and in the split second I had, it was too hard to explain what a library assistant is so I just said I was a librarian and they seemed to get a big kick out of this. I don't know why, but this exchange was funny to me. Then on the way home, I was sitting across from these two teenage boys, at least I'm guessing they were teenage since they were talking about senior prom and one had braces. I heard the words, "she's attractive" and I was like, "they are not talking about me." Not that I think I'm so beastly that no one would find me attractive, but I just don't think I have much appeal to urban teens (whatever that means). Not to stereotype too much, but I'm pretty much invisible to men of color in my neighborhood (unless it's 4 am on a subway platform and then they love me). I don't have long hair, gaudy jewelry, dark lipliner, or a big ass. I am definitely not living la vida loca. O.k., that is stereoptyping, but it's true, I swear. One of the boys says, "Excuse me" and I was like, "Oh no, here comes trouble" and then he asked, "Is that your real hair?" and I wasn't sure what he meant by that. At first I thought he was trying to take the piss out of me, but he seemed very polite and earnest. Then I realized he meant the gray in my hair. It's become pretty pronounced, as of late, a lot of people think I frost it that way on purpose. I said it was real and he wanted to know if it'd been like that since I was a kid since I obviously wasn't old (I think he thought I was younger than I was--not that I'm complaining) and said it looked very good and that I was "attractive." This totally cracked me up. It was all I could do to say, "thank you" without busting up. It was an odd day. Later at the grocery, I got in a short line and then the woman in front of me pulled this huge basket out of nowhere and I was like, "goddamn you" and felt my blood pressure rising. But then, I thought, "So what. What's the big deal if I get home five minutes later?" and smiled at her when she turned around (not a grimace, but a genuine smile). Then she let me and the old lady behind me go ahead of her and I thought this was terribly nice and told her so. Strangers aren't so rotten. I think it's the people you know that you have to watch out for.
1/10/00
"I really do have love to give, I just don't know where to put it." That's courtesey of William Macy's ex boy genius character, Donnie Smith, in "Magnolia." I was a little wary of the movie, mostly due to its casting of Tom Cruise, but I ended up really liking it. Donnie Smith wants the attention of a "handsome" bartender with braces, Brad. After drinking a sizeable amount of tequilla instead of his usual soda, Donnie blurts out that he loves this guy and begins soliliquizing on love and obsessions, and it's all kind of sad and pathetic and poignant and the kind of thing that makes me happy. People need to say "I love you" to strangers more often. Last night I was lying in bed with the purpose of reading Carson McCuller's, "A Tree. A Rock. A Cloud" but I couldn't focus so then I tried to empty my mind and let answers come to me about what I should be doing with myself and I ended up falling asleep. I was awoken by the phone ringing and it was the dean of the library school asking me questions like "what are my career goals and objectives?" and "how did I come to the decision to pursue a career in library science?" and I was like "what the fuck?!" I don't know, it weirded me out that I would be pondering career stuff and then on a Sunday at 9 pm have someone call out of the blue to probe me on this very topic. I don't know if this was supposed to be a sign pointing me in the right direction or what. So, since I was awake, I read the story that I'd read before, but had totally forgotten. It's all about love too. I'm on such a trying to love the world kick these days. I mean, it's disgusting, but I'm sure there are worse crimes. It involves a seemingly disturbed man at the counter of an all-night cafe and a young paper boy he's decided to focus his attention on. He starts by grasping the boy's face and saying, "I love you" and then proceeds to tell him about his conclusions on love and how things go all wrong and make you miserable because people start out with falling in love with each other and how that's the most dangerous thing since it's starting at the wrong end. His theory is that love should be begun with a tree, a rock, a cloud. "...For six years now I have gone around by myself and built up my science. And now I am a master. Son. I can love anything. No longer do I have to think about it even. I see a street full of people and a beautiful light comes in me. I watch a bird in the sky. Or I meet a traveler on the road. Everything, Son. And anybody. All stranger and all loved! Do you realize what a science like mine can mean?" This is good stuff. Call me a sap. I can take it.
1/6/00
"You could have a brain injury." That's the new subway sign that's been catching my attention lately. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure what it's advertising (see, I must have a brain injury if I can't remember), but I figure it's for one of those tv lawyers, personal injury law suit type of deals. As of yesterday, I am antsy and unsatisfied. Well, I'm always antsy and unsatisfied, but yesterday I felt this marked shift. I don't know, since June I've been in this low-key, living and working in the boroughs, mental health retreat thing. I like the simplicity and low-stress lifestyle, but I'm starting to get this nagging feeling that this can't last and I'm not sure that I want it to. This could be due to the fact that I'm supposed to start grad school in less than a month and this is a big commitment (is that one T or two? I'm too lazy to look it up) and I'm not getting any younger here and that could take me down some path that I may not even want to go. What if I'm supposed to be doing something else? Well, I do have some other ideas brewing--this is a new century, for crying out loud--it could be time for a change. The more I think about what I should be doing with myself the more brain injured I feel.
1/4/00
Oh my goodness. I just noticed something nuts. I've been worrying just a tiny bit lately about who reads this, if it's o.k. to talk about people etc., but whatever, this is innocent. At work we have work study students who shelve the books and things like that and there's this one that's been here for a few months who is a cute little thing. Hot stuff in an oh so young way. The way that more and more I realize is too young for me. Gawky, blonde, and rumpled has always fit my criteria. I've known this kid's first name, but this morning I was looking at a sign-up list for students who want to work through the winter break and had the shock of my life (well, the shock of my day, at least). His name is Jeffrey Robbins. I mean, what the fuck?! Maybe you are already familiar with my ROB pattern. Maybe you aren't. I'll briefly explain: In '94 I went out with an RO--Matt Roth--this may have started it. In '97 it was an ROB--Tom Robinson. '98 I had a crush on another ROB--John Robertson--this started the J. ROB trend. Later in '98 I became consumed with the very thought of a new J. ROB--James Robb. Now on the '99-'00 cusp, I've discovered yet another J. ROB--barely legal hottie, Jeffrey Robbins. What is up with this?! It's weirding me out. Why are people with these letters in their names always in my life? I may never know. On a completely unrelated note--I think my possessions are turning against me. In the past few weeks everything has been breaking. First my cd boombox started skipping on all my cd's, then my toaster stopped staying down--I have to hold the damn lever down if I want toast in the morning, then my hairdryer stopped putting out hot air--it just blows cold wind, and then my answering machine started going all crackly where you can barely hear people's voices. Then last night I came home from work and was all tired and spacey from having such a mindnumbing job and I was going to make fried rice, but you need the rice to be cold before you can do that so I immediately put water on to boil in order to expedite the process. I have no counters so I often leave plates and silverware on the burners. I then started hanging clothes up. When I went to check on the water it still hadn't boiled. I know they say about watched pots, but it seemed like it should've been on its way by now. I checked again a few minutes later and it still wasn't boiling. I did notice that the plate on the stove was covered in black crumbs and chunks, the knives were sooty looking, and the smell of garlic was in the air. I could not figure this out. I had used this plate earlier in the day to cut a bagel and all that should've been there would be bread scraps and tiny garlic bits. I started feeling panicky like I knew something was wrong, but couldn't put my finger on it. I just kept staring at the plate in this brain damaged way. Eventually, I just though, "huh, oh well" and went back to hanging clothes. That was when I heard the huge BOOM and it finally clicked that I had turned on the burner under the plate and not the pot. The plate totally exploded and the knife handle had melted all over everything. It made me feel crazy. Like is this how senile people live? Knowing something is amiss, but not being able to identify it til it's too late and tragedy has already struck. I was jumpy the rest of the evening and kept thinking I was seeing cockroaches out of the corners of my eyes. This is no way to live, I tell you.
1/3/00
This is the first time I've had to type the double zeros. It's definitely a strange feeling. So...a new millennium. O.k. I decided to ring in the New Year in beautiful Atlantic City! With all the Y2K hoopla, it only seemed right to get the hell out of the city and head down to New Jersey. It was all I hoped for and then some. As we approached the boardwalk, I turned on the radio and I know this sounds unbelievable, but Kenny Rogers "The Gambler" was coming in loud and clear. It was as if Kenny, himself was manning the airwaves for my listening pleasure. I knew right then that I'd made the right New Year's Eve decision. I've never gambled, I was too scared to play anything other than the slot machines, and came away with only $14, but that was fine by me. I did discover the secret of winning in Atlantic City: you must be either over 65, over 300 pounds, or in a wheelchair. I can't even begin to imagine what would be possible if one were an amalgamation of all three. The town itself was pretty good, at least from what I could see in the dark out the car windoe. There was a nice flophouse/shantytown quality that you don't see every day. "We Buy Gold" signs, strip clubs, and bail bonds in abundance. Old men on BMX bikes (you know when you see a grown up on a bike and they're not outdoorsy and it's not a mountain bike that they're not riding for fun and that a drunk driving license suspension must be involved). So, that was that. I was back in Manhattan by 8 am (not because I wanted to be--if I had things my way, I'd still be parked in front of a slot machine, screwdriver and cigarette in hand). This was the weekend for firsts--yesterday I went to IKEA (in N.J.--this could be a trend) and almost lost my mind due to the "millennium sale" crowds. But I did get some swedish meatballs, marzipan, and the chance to watch some oom pah pah band. Nevermind that I walked away near empty handed. If that was not enough, I then had a brief encounter with an outlet mall. I was very impressed to see a Spencer Gifts and a giant Marshall's. It made my new year. It's strange how things go in cycles. Thurs. Dec. 30, I was out at a bar in Brooklyn and out of the blue appears the creepiest, cuddliest one night stand of all time, Bertold. It was almost one year to the date. At least I've cooled it with the going home with gross guys phase that seemed to shadow '98-'99. 2000 is all about...I'm not sure...something else. Now it's back to the grind business as usual Monday. What a shame.