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1/28/01
Ack, I'm totally sick, therefore I have done nothing this weekend but lie on the couch wrapped in a blanket and sweat and cough with a 101 degree temperature, and that's not very exciting to talk about. The highlight of my sat. night was trying to find a position to sleep in without breaking into a hacking fit, then coughing so uncontrollably hard that I threw up and tried catching it in my hand, but it dripped all over the sheets (that had just been changed 10 min. ago), on the floor, and on my shirt. James was in the bathroom so he had no idea that I'd just ruined the nice clean bed that he'd made. It's kind of funny now that I think about it. I mean, I did clean it up. I'm gearing up for the Super Bowl...well, sort of. I'm no football fan, but after only eating soup yesterday, a big plate of Buffalo wings sounds pretty good.
1/22/00
I don't know if I can type much--it's so freezing in here. I got home tonight after being gone all week and it appears that the heat hasn't been on in ages. And there was another snowfall this weekend so it's not exactly balmy. I don't know, I seriously can't feel my fingers and it's not making me very happy. At my new job, we send writers out to do nearby town profiles, and I'd wanted to do one so I think I'm going to New Haven, CT wed., which is fine and good, but how fun is sightseeing and all that stuff when it's 20 degrees out? I almost regret volunteering (well, I'm not really volunteering--it's a day out of the office and I'm paid on top of my usual salary), but still. It's weird, fri. night I went out dinner (that's not weird, it's what I do every fri. night) but later I met up with friends at the Holiday Cocktail Lounge (freaky place) next door. We got to discussing this guy from Portland, Mike Dooley, that I don't really know even though we both worked at the Northwest Film Center. But Jane was telling all the foul stories (things like scary, drunk women coming in, sitting on the counter, sticking pepperoni sticks into their nether regions and putting them back into the container and mixing it in) he had from working at a 7-11. I recalled meeting him once when I first moved here and how he happened to have this kid, Noah Amos, in tow. Noah was a high school friend of my sister's that she'd had some huge falling out with over some unwanted advance (and speaking of people crossing boundaries, my friend Jessica recently hung out with some guy Tony she knew from high school that she happened to run into in Brooklyn. I guess he date raped her friend in high school and at the time it was this horrible sordid thing where the girl's mom came home and found her passed out with a used condom laying in the middle of the floor. I don't know, does the passing of twelve years make it o.k. to pal around with a date raper? I guess he's good looking [according to her] and fine enough to go out for drinks with, but the whole thing is odd to me), hence his nickname Noah Anus. I remembered him best for his eating my last pop tart and almost giving me an aneurysm. But anyway, we left to go to another bar, were walking down 10th St. and who should walk right past us in an army jacket, but Noah Anus! None of us said hi, and I totally busted a gut (he did turn around). It was just so strange. I hadn't seen him in over two years and then by mentioning him that evening he was somehow conjured up. Ack, and I've been all bad and haven't called my dad even though I know he's sick. But I just can't deal with the whole cancer thing, plus I hear he's being freaky as usual. My grandma called him and totally out of the blue he made some comment about how he and Vicki didn't have the money to fly me or my sister out there. Now that's just plain odd. 1). Neither of us asked or expect him to fly us out there. 2). They have plenty of money. They're both so weird and cheap. I was going to talk to him on Sunday, but then I got some random email from his wife (Vicki) about how he had some heart problem and had angioplasty last week. That's so fucked up, especially since it's his second heart surgery. Cancer combined with heart failure can't be good, you know. I really don't know what I'm supposed to do. Do you pick up and visit someone when they're really ill, do you wait until it's even worse (not to be negative, but I don't see this situation improving greatly)? I mean, horrible as it sounds, there's probably going to be a funeral sometime in the future. Do you go twice? I don't know the protocol at all. I kind of thought I'd take a "real" vacation this year. I was here over two years before I had the time and money to even visit Portland once and that didn't feel like much of a vacation. I didn't think I'd going back any time soon. My 2001 plans were more along the lines of a fun European trip, not a dutiful, Northwest downer. I'll just have to see, I guess.
1/17/01
It's so twisted (in a good way) how people past and present always weave around your life. This weekend was a perfect example. To explain, back in the zine hey-day of the mid '90s, one of my most faithful penpals was a 15 year old from Tucson, Seth. He came and hung out with me in Portland in '97 and then here in New York in '98. I'm not sure if he'll be 20 or 21 in Feb., but either way, that's weird to think. But then, I'm 28 now and that can be freaky if I think about it hard enough (today I was asked my age at work by a 21 year old, and she was surprised by my reply. She thought 25, which is about right since last year people always guessed 24. There's been a consistent three year lag for a while now). Now he's got Puberty Strike and who knows what else since I haven't been in touch for a while. But anyway, he had a girlfriend in highschool, Layla, that I corresponded with maybe a handful of times. Then a few months ago I got an email from her out of the blue because she'd found this site and was all into the Goodies section since she's also food obsessed and has been doing restaurant reviews in Berkeley. That leads me to Fawn. She does comics and all sorts of cute stuff and lived in Portland when I did. We wrote maybe once and talked on the phone and planned to hook up, but never did since this was weeks before I moved to New York and she moved to Berkeley. Now somewhere in there Layla, Seth and Fawn lived together in Berkeley so they are all connected. Then this summer my friend Jane mentioned that someone I knew had just moved into her apt. building in Brooklyn. This would be Fawn. Now this past weekend Layla was visiting Fawn (and brought her on again off again boyfriend, which was really strange because I remember her emailing me about him back when I worked at the library in Portland) so all got together for various meals (these girls like their meat, which is an admirable trait for sure) and drinks. The funny thing is that I'd never met any of them in person before. Thankfully, everyone recognized each other and it wasn't like one of those blind date "I'll be wearing a rose in my lapel" sort of situations. And to twist it even further, Queen Itchie (who goes by her real name or something these days), who I stayed with when I first moved to NY, used to live in Tucson, and Jeff, the boyfriend of Layla, knows her from then. And to top it off, she also used to live with Fawn in Berkeley before she moved to Portland. So, I guess zines really do connect people, and Tucson, Berkeley, New York and Portland are hotbeds for this activity. Not that any of this means anything profound, but blasts from the pasts are good, and meeting up with like-minded near strangers keeps you from feeling socially retarded. I have little public contact in my new job, there's only two employees besides myself, and I never ever see my friends anymore since everyone seems to have hardcore jobs. It's starting to make me feel nutty. And when I do hang out with friends, it's rarely remarkable. Not that life should be non-stop excitement, but I'm feeling sort of blah about people lately and I don't want to become a total anti-social hermit.
1/16/01
Maybe you've noticed those stickers (that often adorn trucks) with Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes fame, peeing. I never really gave them much thought, though I can't say I've understood the appeal. Sometimes he pees on the Chevy or Ford logo, sometimes it's "my ex." You know the stuff. But what I saw Friday night scarred me through and through. It was late night in Williamsburg and the van in front of us caught my attention. From a distance it looked like a guy/kid taking a dump. This seemed really unbelievable to me (I don't know why, anything's possible, right?). James said it was just the character's foot, but I didn't believe that for a second. As got closer, I could make out this semi-squatting cartoon guy flipping the viewer off, his pants were around his ankles, three lines indicating strong wind were coming out his butt and there was a pile of shit behind him. That was funny (yet disturbing) in and of itself, but the icing on the cake were the large words above his head, "Latin Lover." Now what the hell does that mean?! Pooping is one thing, but Latin Lover?! What was this guy trying to say? I took photos (with my new camera), but I'm not sure if they'll turn out since I didn't really read the manual well. The very next day were driving to Queens and saw the pooping character again, this time minus the Latin Lover bit. So, obviously the first guy had doctored his sticker (or was stupid enough to put two non-related stickers too close to each other) in some strange attempt at machismo? Humor? I'm not too sure. On the way to Target, I also noticed a delivery van with the company name and address scrawled on the door with what looked to be a crayon or sharpie pen in the handwriting of a four year old child. I can't remember the company, but I did enjoy the way he (or maybe it was a she, though I doubt it) spelled Brooklyn, Broklyn. People are getting nuttier and nuttier with their vehicles, and I hope it keeps up because it keeps me in good humor.
1/9/01
For the past couple days, I was going to write about my annoyance with my father. He never did acknowledge my call about canceling my stolen money order back in Sept. and that pissed me off. And then I didn't get anything for Christmas, not even a card. I know that his wife, the walking fetus, had emailed my sister one of those generic online cards, and I don't think my sister has spoken to my dad in years. I really don't know what's wrong with the man. I could understand if my parents had never been married, or divorced when were young, but my parents didn't even split up until I was in college so it's not like he's a stranger. I was just joking the other day with my sister about how he's probably dead and as sad as it sounds, neither of us give him more than five years (I suppose that's not funny joking, but the guy has a million health problems--diabetes, high blood pressure/cholesterol, and had a heart attack in '97, which is a big deal. Whenever I go to the doctor they ask about all three of those things, having a heart attack before 60 being a huge, huge problem genetically, not that the rest of it is particularly good either. No one in his family lives past their 50's--tell a doctor that, then add that you smoke, if you want to get them on a rampage) and then I was mourning how that wouldn't even do me any good since I doubt I'd get anything from it (in the context that the only way I'd ever be able to move was if a family member left me money, which would be highly unlikely). Yeah, that's crass, but sometimes I get irked by my cheapskate family. Like I've gotten hotel shampoos and trial sized tampons for Christmas. Everyone I know who's had grandparents die, got chunks of cash--when my grandfather died, I got a grocery bag of generic cigarettes and a sack of sharpie pens. That's life, I suppose. He didn't have much and I'm not an ungrateful beast, but my dad isn't living in a cardboard box, he does alright for himself in a trashy middle class sort of way so there isn't any excuse for his behavior. But this morning, I checked my email at work and there was a message from the Fetus with the subject header "your dad" and I was like, "oh shit." I guess he has cancer, and from what I gathered, it's pretty advanced, though she seemed positive. And they've known since Nov. which makes them even weirder than I already thought they were. I really don't know what to think about any of this, it's definitely not a good thing. You'd think that I wouldn't be surprised, considering the way I'd been talking, but cancer had never crossed my mind--I was thinking more along the lines of massive coronary. And as much as my dad gets on my nerves, I don't really want him to die. When James and I visited him in the fall, I even said that that was probably the last time I'd ever see him, which I think creeped James out, especially since it didn't seem like anything was really wrong with him. I was just speculating. When I got my camera stolen in Canada I was most upset that they'd gotten my undeveloped raccoon popping out of a garbage can photo, but now I'm thinking that I should've been more concerned with the corny family photos. Oh well, there's nothing much I can do about any of it at the moment.
1/8/01
Ack, itineraries can be exhausting. I feel so burnt out and it hurts my eyes to look at a computer screen. I'm not sure if it's that I'm tired because it's monday and I'm always beat on mondays from staying up too late on the weekend, or that I'm getting sick (I've had this weird headache off and on for four day), or if working is sapping all my energy. Probably a combination of all three. It's 9:31, and I could easily go to bed right now, but I hate doing things like that. This morning I was taking the R from Manhattan into Brooklyn and I still don't know that route super well since I only take it maybe once a week, and this older woman asked me something and I couldn't understand her, and I hate that sort of thing because I just don't like helping strangers. Not that it's bad to help people, but you never know what will result from acknowledging or engaging someone in conversation. It could be an innocent question with a simple answer, or they could demand my time and money or who knows what else. Whenever I try to be polite and help someone, they never seem to understand what I'm saying and it gets all twisted, or if it's a guy, they turn creepy. Whenever it starts with a stranger commenting in Spanish (as it did with this woman), I'm like, oh no, this is going to go the confusing route. I didn't get what she wanted, then I made out that she wanted to know if we'd passed the Borough Hall stop. I said, "no" because hadn't, but then afterward I realized that the R doesn't stop at Borough Hall at all and I became tormented trying to decide whether or not to tell her this. If I did mention it, she'd ask me a million questions as how to get there, and to be honest, I don't know which train stops there and you just know she'd end up being annoyed with me, when she's the one who got on a train, not knowing where to get off. At each stop, she nervously looked out at the sign, and I felt really guilty for not piping up, but I just couldn't bring myself to get involved. Then on the way home from work, I stopped at an ATM and there was a lone glove sitting on the machine, which I didn't give much though to. But after I left and was already a good 50 ft. from the door, the woman after me in line came out with the glove, thinking I'd left it behind. I thanked her, but of course it wasn't my glove. I guess she put it back. I think I was being taught a lesson about helping others.
1/4/01
Oh, I'm in a much better mood today--because I got my camera! Tues. night I ordered it online from some cheap place that happened to be in Brooklyn and I kept waiting for them to email me saying it was out of stock. Then today at work it came UPS and it was a total surprise. I really think shopping online is the way to go. The ultimate in anti-social entertainment. I don't like asking questions and I don't like dealing with salesclerks and you can't touch anything here anyway, it's always behind the counter and it's a stupid ordeal, like this walkman I recently bought for $14.99 took one person to show it to me, then I had to go to another desk and wait for someone to bring it up, then I had to show the security guard my receipt on the way out and he had to go through my bag. It's ridiculous and a waste of time. I'd rather do research online, compare prices and all that with no one bothering me. I was also put in a good mood by a peculiar email from James. Though he never vocalized it, I'm guessing that one of his resolutions must have been to plan ahead more (this is a beef of mine--I can't deal with making big plans for things like New Year's only the weekend before--everything's overpriced and you can't get what you want. I think I'm starting to sound like some sort of control freak, but if there are a few tiny things you can do to make things smoother in your life, then I think you should do them) because I got this detailed itinerary for our weekend. You don't even know how much I like lists, adherence to schedules and awareness of time. It's that whole Meyers Briggs/Keirsey Temperament J vs. P thing. I don't have any (J)udger friends here and it's aggravating because no one's ever on time, no one ever knows what they're going to do until the night of, and they take like 5 hours to do something simple like pick out a pair of socks and I always end up looking like an impatient bitch (which maybe I am). So, I'm happy to have a schedule for my weekend, no matter how creepy that may appear. The only trouble is that I'm supposed to come up with something for the following week and since I'm the one who always makes a fuss, I'm going to have to come up with something pretty impressive to pull my weight.
Friday 9:15pm Traffic Loews Theaters 42nd St. E-Walk Theater (hmmm..) 247 West 42nd St. (212)673-4042 Friday 11:00pm Port Authority Video Arcade ! (not definite) Friday 12:00am Hudson Bar 356 W. 58th Street between Eighth and Ninth Ave. (212)554-6343 Saturday 3:50pm State at Main United Artists Union Square 14 Theatre (212)253-2225 Saturday 8:00pm We have Saturday 8pm reservations -- under "Robb" -- at: Lansky Lounge & Grill -- steak Diane 104 Norfolk St between Rifington and Delancy Sts. (212-677-9489) (optional -- if a certain sleepy somebody can get out of bed) Sunday 10:00am Dim Sum Go-Go 5 East Broadway between Chatham Sq and Bowery (212-732-0797) Sunday 2:00pm O' Brother Where Art Thou United Artists Union Square 14 Theatre (212)253-2225 Sunday 4:00pm New York Gians vs. Philadelphia Eagles (Fox) Sunday 7:30pm King of the Hill (Fox) Sunday 9:00pm We have reservations at 9pm under "Robb" Williamsburg's Chez Goo Goo -- baked Alaska dessert 138 North 8th between Bedford and Berry (718-218-8001)
1/3/01
I'm not sure about this new year yet. I was thinking about how things (nothing important, just small stuff) just haven't been going my way and how that's not any way to start a new year, but now that I think about it, most of the annoying stuff happened before the first. The irksome thing that's not too important is that damn Elph camera. I had Friday off work and access to a rental car, so I headed to New Jersey and checked out an outlet mall. The camera and boots were two things I had in mind to buy, but neither panned out. Then I went to IKEA since it's in the same area and bought doo dads like a baking sheet, cups, dishes, frames and a down comforter and cover, which was actually a big deal since I've been without a bedspread for almost three years now and that's pathetic. I could never cough up the $100+ when I was perfectly warm with my ratty sheet and electric blanket, even knowing that's trashy, but not caring since no one sees me wrapped up in it except myself, right? So, I have one homey thing in my house, maybe curtains, a bed, new mattress, couch and bookshelves will make their way into my apt. one day. Maybe even by 2002. IKEA wasn't a wash, but I was still bent on finding that camera. Every store went to was out and the sales people would act like I was retarded for even thinking they'd have it. I mean, aren't stores supposed to sell cameras?! Best Buy had rows and rows of cameras and no Elph and when I lost my shit and was like, "Well, then, what do you have?!" they said they had two cameras. Two?! Two out of like 30? Like I'm the only person dumb enough to not realize that cameras are hot Christmas items (I didn't know that). Then I decided I wanted a VCR since they're cheap now and all the ones I liked were out of stock as well. Fine. Then went to Target and yes, the Elphs were all gone, but I'd also been wanting an ice cream maker for a while and didn't get one for Christmas. They all seem to be $59.99, which is too darn expensive, but Target had one for $39.99 and I felt so defeated about everything else that I snatched it up and felt pretty content for about 10 minutes. I really wanted to go to the Outback Steakhouse in the parking lot since I'd never been to one before and there was an hour wait, which is ridiculous. That's something I can't deal with at hyped up places in Manhattan, let alone a New Jersey parking lot. I don't know if it was really because I didn't get my crappy steak (left) or because nothing was going my way and I'm a baby or if because the holidays just sucked in general, but I started bawling. That's pretty troublesome when Outback Steakhouse can bring you to tears. Oh, I was also upset because I'd made reservations at this new hard to get into restaurant in Philadelphia (it's not like there are a lot of options for interesting/cool dining spots in Philly) for Sat. night (they were all booked up for New Year's Eve) and had made all these plans and it became pretty evident by Friday that there would be a blizzard on Sat. so it ruined everything I'd worked out. I was really pissed because everything had come together nicely. I'd picked this restaurant, Pod, and while James was away he made hotel reservations and randomly picked the one attached to the restaurant, not knowing I'd wanted to go to that restaurant. It was all fateful and the weather was going to fuck it all up. So, after shopping went to my apt. to drop stuff off and set up my new stereo (one of the only things that actually seemed to have no problems). I got excited and opened up my ice cream maker box only to discover that the container part was covered in some disgusting gelatinous, jizzy substance. It was wrapped in plastic and all this goo was oozing between its surface and the wrap like some pus-filled blister. This was too much. I mean, what the hell? I sort of deduced that some sort of substance was inside the lining of the container to aid in freezing and that the casing was cracked so it had leaked. Whatever the explanation, I wasn't thrilled. It's sitting by my feet as I type and it still makes me mad. Now I'm going to have to lug this thing back to Target in the next month and it's not as if any are conveniently located. Waah, all the dumbest stuff has really gotten under my skin. So, Saturday it really did snow and it was too dangerous to drive and even walking to the liquor store and Rite Aid took effort. I did see "Shadow of the Vampire" that night and made hot apple ciders and that was alright. decided to try for Philly on Sunday and were able to finagle changing our reservations to that night instead. It was a fun, short trip. Sunday taste-tested cheesesteaks at Geno's (then at Pat's across the street the next day) and got drinks on South St., which I think is normally an obnoxious overrun tourist strip, but due to the ice it was pretty dead even on New Year's Eve. Dinner was 11:30 at Pod and the restaurant was cool in a way that would be obnoxious and overly hip in Manhattan. You know, filled with people who think they're something else. I guess the folks dining there probably thought they were pretty remarkable too, but how glamorous can you be in Philly? I just wanted to go to this place because the interior was all design-y, mod white plastic with little seating pods where you could change the color of your lighting from greens to pinks to blues and so on. Gimmicky with squishy chairs that light up when you sit on them and a sushi conveyer belt and $8 drinks (which I think were supposed to be expensive, but I'm desensitized by Manhattan prices) with names like Blue, Red and Purple. I was very happy because Green (my favorite color) was Stoli Vanil (my favorite liquor), lime juice and orange juice. However, I'm not sure how they got the emerald green color--I took photos with the Hello Kitty I-Zone, but it didn't capture things properly (and everyone around me was flashing those damn Elph cameras--I'm dead serious). got lots of sushi, some fancified Peking Duck and champagne at midnight. I wasn't really disappointed by my dining choice, though it was weird to have everyone pack it in around 1:30--I've gotten spoiled by 4am closing times. Most things were closed on New Year's day, but I had to peek around the little Chinatown and I'd heard there was a Burmese restaurant, Rangoon, that I had to check out since around here you don't find things like Burmese food. also got more cheesesteaks for the road, which is a whole experience in itself that I won't go into here (all the specific food-related ramblings will be put in the Goodies section later this week). I also tried to find my camera, but got all the same "what are you thinking trying to buy a camera the week after Christmas" looks and comments, but with a Philly flair. But what I was most impressed with in all of Philadelphia was the insanely cheap cigarettes. went to this place called Wawa (like a 7-11) and James got cigarettes, a coffee and a grab bag of Doritos. The total was $4.25. The cigarettes alone would be $5 here (or $4.75 in my neighborhood and $5.25 in SoHo). I thought she rang it up wrong. $3.25 a pack?! And the gas stations were selling them for $2.70. I mean, what gives? What's wrong with this fucked up city (I mean New York)? I'm always vaguely aware that things are marked-up here, but this seemed extreme. How can prices be almost double only an hour and a half away? And don't even get me started on rents...I called a broker yesterday and he practically laughed when I said my limit was $825. They didn't have anything under $949 and that was for a studio in a crappy, undesirable, inconvenient neighborhood that's no closer to the city than where I already live. They also said that I need to make 4 times the rent, which I don't. No, I don't make $36,000 and well, in about 90% of NYC's eyes that makes me a loser. Then I started thinking how I don't know a single person who makes less than $50,000 and my blood started boiling a bit. Should I be mad at everyone because they're financially secure or should I be mad at myself because I'm clearly an incompetent oaf who can't get ahead no matter how hard I try? No healthy person would advocate blaming others rather than taking responsibility for your own misfortune. But blindly lashing out at others is so much more fun than beating yourself up.