As fate would have it...

I received Sea Monkeys this morning as a gift. These days they are GUARANTEED to live for two years. I told the giver, my uncle, that I really wasn't prepared to make that kind of committment... but it does make it a more serious kind of gift for a significant other. Two years is like giving someone a cat. Or at least a gerbil. Chrismakkah gerbil?

STRIKE!

This is my only proof that I walked to/from work 3 times. I love extreme circumstance (so long as no one is in danger) and so severe weather, blackouts and transit strikes are right up my alley... but this got old. Luckily, it's a good excuse for the sparsity of Chrismakkah presents I'll be doling out this weekend. I felt once again very distant from most people I spoke to about the strike while it was going on, there seemed to be so much anger and frustration and it was solely aimed at the union. I'm sure it's my pinko upbringing, but I was always taught never to cross a picket line, regardless of what the union is or what they're requesting-- a strike is a huge, costly, dangerous, difficult thing that folks don't arrive at lightly, so you have to assume whatever they're asking for it worth a whole lot to them. Maybe I also feel torn between the sense of purpose I felt while cresting the Brooklyn Bridge on the second morning, accompanied by thousands of New Yorkers and Billy Bragg singing "There is power in the union" on my ipod and the fact that I was trudging all that way to a job that provides no such sense of purpose and probably more undermines things I believe are important. Looks like I need my own labor negotiations.

MTA War Stories

Well, it happened. The subway is on strike. I know that several of you blog from New York and I am interested in harrowing and humorous tales of how you're getting around.

I'm in Minneapolis and when the buses here went on strike a couple of years ago, the only thing that changed for me was that I had to drive this really tedious and annoying co-workerto work every day. And my most harrowing transportation experience recently is having to scrape off my windshield every morning in -20 windchills.

Anyway, let's hear your stories as I don't believe Katie Couric's experiences really sum up those of the average New Yorker. And while you're at it, let's hear your plans for getting the trains moving again. I'll be there in 9 days and I don't have money for cabs.

Holidazzle

So apparently Bush is totally booked for the next 3 weeks or so. I wonder when he'll observe Kwanzaa.
Also, speaking of religious pluralism, I read an article this morning about Hindus wanting New York to make Diwali another Alternate Side Parking Suspended day- so the normal rules of "no Parking on Tuesdays" don't apply on those days. Bloomberg vetoed the bill to make Diwali one of those days, unfortunately it seems the NYC DOT has gotten themselves into a little bit of a pickle since there are already something like 45 of these days including "Solemnity of Ascension" and "Shemini Atzereth" (observed at the end of Sukkot, marked by a service in memory of the dead and a special prayer for rain.) The city argued that the other holidays represent a large number of people and are holidays that prohibit driving (so folks can't move their cars,) which I guess makes sense except in cases like "Lincoln's Birthday" and "Lincoln's Birthday (observed)." The cars are moved to allow street cleaning and so this was another point raised, if parking weren't enforced in Diwali, the streets would be dirty... but what about the one-two punch of the 7th and 8th days of Passover immediately followed by Holy Thursday and Good Friday!?!? The streets will be filthy in late April, book your vacations now.

Funny 'Cause Its True?

Saturday night, mostly because it was cold there were no options of parties of people we knew, we went to a party locally of someone we didn't know. (We being myself, Erica, Rob and our two friends visiting from Boston.) I thought they had kind of an odd aesthetic sense-- the living room ceiling was covered with those nets of christmas lights (excuse, holiday lights. Um, I don't think they were kwanzaa lights, though) and those little styrofoam model airplanes that you might get as a prize in a cereal box or buy as some kind of souvenir from a flight-related tourist destination-- kitty hawk and cape canaveral come to mind. After being there for awhile, someone mentioned that this was a "Pearl Harbor" party.
Excuse me...? All of the sudden the Kamikaze shots made sense.
Granted I think I have a pretty liberal interpretation of whats funny. And I generally appreciate inappropriate humor. And I didn't think it was "offensive." Just really weird. I mean, I guess I understand we're all supposed to be over Pearl Harbor. Not even very many people alive today were alive or concious of what was going on at the time- but where is the line? At what point is it ok for an attack that claimed 2,390 lives to become the theme for a party for a bunch of twenty-somethings in Brooklyn. So if September 11th was the Pearl Harbor of our generation, will there be September 11th parties in 60 years? Should we start having them now so even when we're old and senile, our grandkids will think we were really cool and cutting edge? Is anything sacred or does enough time pass and allow anything and everything into the public domain, allowing us to do with the symbols what we want? I don't think anyone would suggest a Holocaust party. Or a Tsunami party. Hurricane Katrina? How about a party themed "massacre" and everyone could come dressed in the theme of their favorite massive loss of life. These ideas seems totally abhorrant, but why is one ok and the other isn't? Are we being ironic when we drink wine and eat chips with a tragic theme? Is it ok because no one who was impacted by the event was going to show up to the party (I assume the organizers didn't invite any grandparents...)?
The thing about liking inappropriate humor is that I understand that it's hypocritical for me to draw this line. I hosted a "cowboys and indians" party sophomore year, Freshman year we played a drinking game called "Beer Hunter" (a russian roulette of drinking based on the film about Vietnam) I think jokes about stereotypes are funny and while it's "ironic" because it's not what I believe and I don't condone people who believe those things... they are reflective of real problems and issues real people face.
But something about this rubbed me in a weird way.

iPod: Protection from Myself

After 15 months together--most of which were blissfully happy--it's over between me and my iPod. On a bus back to New York over Thanksgiving weekend, songs kept skipping, and so I restarted it only to discover that all 2500+ songs were gone. When I try to plug it in to Sarah's computer, I am told that "The system cannot read the inserted disc" or something devastating like that. My reaction has been surprisingly mature. It's been a week now and life has been okay. I'm getting a lot more reading done on the subway, and walking down the street I do feel more a part of the world.

The trouble, as I found out yesterday, is the bus. My work takes me to various places that make it necessary to ride the M86 back and forth across town. I can't read on the bus for fear of vomiting, so this had been prime iPod time. I'd look out the window and lip-synch to myself, ignoring the people around me. But now I have nothing to do on the bus. Yesterday I found myself reverting to an old habit that I associate with the summer of 2003, when I first moved here: I stare at people. I like to look at what people are wearing, what they're reading, what they're writing, etc. Obviously the people who are most fun to watch are the ones who are a little bit crazy--the ones who draw fellow passengers in sketchpads, the ones who have facial tics, the ones who pray, and so forth. Yesterday I happened to be across a woman in fur and a ton of makeup who was talking to herself, so naturally I stared. It didn't take too long before we made eye contact and I got freaked out and concentrated hard for the rest of the ride on not looking at her. One day I'm going to stare at the wrong person and get my ass kicked. Or mugged.

So that's why I need a new iPod (or to wait the five hours it will take to get it serviced at the Apple store in SoHo): too keep my mind busy enough that I don't have to stare at people and therefore put myself in danger.

Or, I guess I could start using one of my three portable CD players again. But that just feels so backwards now.

11215 Dialect

This morning, at the intersection of Union Street and 5th Avenue, I jumped the gun. Although there wasn't a walk signal, the path looked clear. The woman in her late 20's next to me seemed to think so too. We both started walking, then looked both ways, realized there was in fact oncoming traffic, and said at the same exact time, "Maybe not."

Maybe not. Is this just what people say in that situation? I doubt that most would find it necessary to talk to themselves/impress the strangers around them with their take on what has just gone down. If I were a linguist, I might trace "maybe not" back to the same language group as "I feel like."

More questions. Is it possible that our using the same words at the same time indicates some sort of shared lifestyle? And given the fact that I found this incident to be worthy of a blog posting, is it a lifestyle that could use a little spicing up?

It's Christmas, for Christ's sake.

About a week ago, the Christmas decorations appeared in the lobby of my office building. Someone, somewhere really went overboard. Every flat surface hosts little scenes of golden deer frolicking in fake golden snow, there is a giant christmas tree that blocks the path to the turnstiles and all surfaces that can't quite accomodate a golden deer have swags of greenery on them. There are also about 6 different decorating themes going on there... but I really don't care. It's Christmas. The theme is Christmas. Fine.
Monday I noticed a new set of decorations in the corner of the cafeteria. Here we have a Christmas tree, a menorah and, apparently, a Kwanzaa table. I didn't see the Kwanzaa table up close until I inspected today, but could only assume thats what it was-- when you see a folding table draped in kente cloth, it can only mean Kwanzaa. When I looked more closely this morning, the Kwanzaa table also holds a Kwanzaa candle holder, wooden bowel of fruits and vegetables and dried corn. (You can read more about this at the official Kwanzaa website, http://www.officialkwanzaawebsite.org/symbols.html)
Ok, so this is the point: In theory I totally support and value a pluralistic society. I mean, there is no caveat to this. I just don't find this all necessary. Menorahs and Christmas Trees are not the same things, one is an instrument of a religious holiday, the other is a decorative symbol associated with a religious holiday. Christmas and Hannukah aren't the same thing- and the there's Kwanzaa, which isn't the same thing at all since it's not a religious holiday... but it is an important development from the black power movement. It's just this kind of lame newish need to give everyone something roughly equivalent to Christmas. Instead of giving jews and african-americans some throw away symbol, why not chill on the Hannukah bit and teach gentiles about Rosh Hashanah? Or don't make it seem like Kwanzaa is the black people's Christmas... teach everyone what its about and why its important that it exists.

On a seperate note, I read in the paper today that tomorrow buses in New York and various other cities across the country will be honoring Rosa Parks by reserving a seat at the front of the bus in her memory. Now THATS a cool tradition.

RENT

Ok, it got mediocre reviews from the professional critics. But check out the reviews of fans of RENT. A+ all the way around. I've seen it twice already and have some observations:

First, the Minneapolis Star Tribune movie critic needs to quit watching movies and take a look around: he seems to think that poverty, AIDS, and materialism were only problems of the 1990s. While the East Village has perked up and new drugs for HIV have curbed the tragedies of the late 1980s, to say that the movie is "too little, too late" is like saying "Hair" shouldn't have been made a movie because the Hippies were done by 1979 (when the movie came out) or that "Sound of Music" shouldn't have been made a movie because the Nazis weren't in Austria anymore. Newsflash, buddy: people still have AIDs, people still die, people are still poor, and people still sell out.

Second, the emotional climax(es) at the end are just as, or even more, powerful than on stage because they feel more real. It looks like a real hospital, real ice chips, real lesions. I have to say, I cried harder in the movie than in the play. Maybe because at the end of the movie, Angel doesn't come out to bow and dance around.

Third, Jesse Martin deserves an Oscar for his portrayal of Tom Collins. The acting was simply superb, especially since he didn't have dialogue to rely on to portray his pain at the end. It's a lot harder to convey a broken heart while you are singing but his voice together with the emotiveness of his face and body were brilliant. I wish I were a member of the Acadamy.

Finally, yes, there were a few scenes that struggled to translate from the little Broadway stage to the silver screen. The one that comes to mind is Roger up on a mountain in New Mexico/L.A. It looked sort of like a Monster Ballads video combined with a Biblical epic. Also, Maureen and Joanne's engagement party was sort of random. I mean, "Take me or leave me" is a great song, but I think it would have played out better on the streets of New York than in a hotel reception. However, these are minor stylistic points that do not detract from the film as a whole.

I love RENT, I have always loved RENT, and I will always love RENT and I can't wait to see it again.

What did others think?

I'm a sitter...

There are two kinds of women when it come to peeing, the sitters and the hoverers. I am one of the former. I've never been much for being afraid of germs and while I wash my hands and even occasionally Purell, I've always subscribed much more to the "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" theory of dealing with the world. Yeah, I try not to, but I know that many times my hands go from a grimey subway pole to applying lip balm. I mean, really. Whatever. Anyway, I'm not trying to legislate peoples' bathroom behaviors BUT... what is it about movie theaters that makes hoverers piss all over the toilet seats? This occurs far more frequently in movie theaters than anywhere, and I've peed in some dramatic locales. Or, at least, "rustic." What I don't like is these hoverers imposing their peeing preferences on me. The only reason the toilet seat would be contaminated-- is because they peed on it. So in order to maintain my own indentity as a sitter, I am forced to wipe away a stranger's pee and sit. Which is so much grosser than that jerk just sitting in the first place.
When we first started learning about AIDS in 3rd grade or so, they had this cartoon poster that said, "Hey! Guess What? You Can't Get AIDS From..." and then there were 9 or so drawings of activities. Like, "giving someone a hug."
But more relevantly, "Using a Public Toilet." So really this all comes back to the need for HIV/AIDS education in this country-- so that every bozo at Loews knows that not only can you not get AIDS by using a public toilet, but you can't get cooties either. So sit down. Or, at least, don't pee all over the seat.

West Wing

I'm watching the first episode of West Wing that I've ever seen. It's the live, limited-commercial-interruption debate between the contenders. I'm not sure why I've never watched West Wing. I love politics and elections and I love to hate some presidents. The debate is great! It's exciting and on-point and I find myself wondering how many Americans are getting a read education right now. Finally learning what CAFTA is? For the first time understanding what universal health care really means? Thinking about policy issues they've never had time for before? I wonder how many more people are watching this debate than watched the presidential debates in 2004. I'd be interested in finding some stats on that after the show. In any case, I vote for Jimmy Smits. Viva la democracia.

The Way I See It vs. Flavorology

Have you all read about how Starbucks is coming under attack from some conservative groups who feel that the quotes printed on the cups are bad for America? According to the Seattle Times, it was the Armistad Maupin quote that stirred up the most controversy: "My only regret about being gay is that I repressed it for too long. I surrendered my youth to the people I feared when I could have been out there loving someone. Don't make that mistake yourself. Life's too damn short."

Perhaps as an attempt to show Starbucks how it's done, Dunkin' Donuts has started to decorate their less environmentally sound (not nearly as liberal) cups with reading material. The new DD campaign is called "Flavorology." This morning the side of my cup read, "What does your coffee say about you? If you LOVE caramel...you remain smooth even when things are sticky. Your MYSTIC match: Marshmellow & Blueberry."

Hey. I like caramel! Well then, it's settled. I just need to find a hottie who likes marshmellow and/or blueberry flavored coffee. I predict that this will be much easier than coming out of the closet. Now if only Dunkin' Donuts coffee had enough caffeine to actually wake me up.

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2002455480_starbucks29m.html

Very, Very Strange

http://abcnews.go.com/Primetime/story?id=1231684&page=1&CMP=OTC-RSSFeeds0312

Stolen Joke

Ok, I took this find from Fletcher but it's really funny. I mean, more funny if you make the person really ugly and cumbersome and then they have to dance. I do wish there were more outrageous clothes, though. Once again, thank you GAP.

joking about rights

Today we all had a good laugh at my law firm. In court, the judge asked one of my lawyers if he would like to explain his client's rights to the client or if the lawyer would prefer that the judge explain the client's rights.

My lawyer had let his mind drift for a moment, which, of course we all do during even during quite important moments, and responded: "No, your honor, that won't be necessary." The judge looked at him quizically, said "Uh, well someone has to so I guess I will" and proceeded to explain to the client what his rights are.

Since at least a few of us are employed by law firms, we know that lawyers often take themselves way too seriously. Sometimes it's good to have a good chuckle over telling the judge that the client doesn't need his rights. It's no Boston Legal or Night Court, but still, it's funny and brightened my otherwise dull Thursday afternoon.

Jews on Wheels

Possible responses to the question "Are you Jewish?" when posed to people who pass by the Chabad Lubavitch Sukkah Mobile on the corner of 86th and 3rd:

• "It's complicated."
• "Do you want me to be?"
• "No, but my boyfriend is."
• "Half."
• "No, I'm Puerto Rican." (I actually heard someone say that.)

And my personal favorite:

• "Yeah, why, are you?"

Anybody have any other suggestions?

Cry me a River

There was an article in the NYT Thursday Styles yesterday which I suggest everyone read before they make you have to pay for it. It's about women crying on the job, especially when they're just starting out. It's great, mostly I think because I learned that women actually are more physiologically prone to cry when frustrated than men. This makes sense and also makes me feel a whole lot less crazy. Thinking back to my old job and the mean men there always gives me the shivers but I sometimes remember the time I cried in front of the meanest one (I cried in private on multiple occasions) and what a loser I felt like. Nice to know at least I'm not alone and not atypical. Best tip? Don't run to the bathroom to cry... better tip? Don't work with meanies.

Anonymity: Friendster in the Physical World

Weekend before last I went to a party, the host of which is so far removed from me it hardly worth describing (I'll try-- a friend of my friend's roommate). I headed for the bathroom and saw this very pretty and distictive-looking black girl I immediately recognized from the subway. I couldn't place when or where, but I knew I'd seen her. I was, luckily, enough beers into the night to start doing things for their story-value. So I walked by, stopped and told her I recognized her from the train. She looked at me, paused, and admitted she recognized me, too. Then she said, "You must live around me, you got off at Franklin." Some small talk ensued, mostly about how I don't actually live there, hey look we have the same shoes, mine are from DSW, yours too? And I went to the bathroom. And then I had time to think-- how incredible! I walk around all of the time looking at people and always kind of assuming they're not looking at me. Frankly it's not totally shocking she recognized me-- since probably any white girl getting off at Franklin is more noticeable than even the most striking black girl-- but still. There is this feeling of anonymity in New York that can be total horseshit. If you walk down 7th Avenue in Park Slope picking your nose, this will trump any kind of brilliant comments you made in Anthropology of African Americans in the minds of a frightening number of Wesleyan alums.
But it's always kind of eerie, being told that someone saw you somewhere when you were totally unaware. Anyway, this little parable fits nicely within the Friendster situation-- learning that randies look at me as I look at randies is kind of reassuring/makes one feel less crazy or like some kind of gossip/information whore. But PLEASE this should only go one way. Ridiculous as it may be and possibly impossible, I'll say it clearly, I WANT TO SEE WHO LOOKS AT ME AND NO WAY IN HELL DO I WANT OTHERS TO SEE WHO I LOOK AT. If we could work something similar out in the physical world (like if no one could see you when inappropriately ogling someone's deformity) that would be great, too.

Ten Years Ago Today...

Ten years ago today the OJ Simpson verdict was announced. I guess I could go on about the verdict, whats happened since and some diatribe about race and... but I won't. What strikes me most, is that the OJ Simpson verdict was announced TEN YEARS AGO. This past weekend was full of people from the past, real kind of retrospective on the lifetime that these first 24 years has been building. Ten years ago I was sitting in Honors World Studies, Ms. Lindstrom's class. I was a freshman in high school.
This weekend I went to the Brooklyn Museum, a bar and a party with some people who were in that class. Most of them I hadn't seen since they graduated in 1998. We had never really been friends, more acquaintances. When my contact-friend called on Saturday night and said she was at the museum with them, they wanted to see me, the fourteen-year-old that lives in my heart was surprised. I was rememberable? I don't remember when I was like then. I have no idea. As we were hanging out, I realized that they weren't especially funny. Or, at least, not funny in the ways I have come to expect from my friends. Was I funny when I was 16? Am I funny now? When did that happen? If you're reunited with someone you had a crush on when you were 16, or who had a crush on you... what is supposed to happen? How can you not find yourself wanting to ask, "why did you like me?" "or I like you?" Why did I have crushes on people? Because they seemed different or cool or because I was bored? I don't remember how I was, but I remember being angry and confused a lot. Or being really, really sure of things I now think are stupid and irrelevent and not representative of the person I am or I want to.
The high school theme continued through the weekend when I went to a friend's birthday barbecue. On the way, I ran into a friend from Wesleyan who had moved to the neighborhood. She asked where I was going and I started to respond when I remembered that she and the birthday boy had gone to high school together. I told her it was his birthday. She said, "oh, I used to have such a crush on him... when he'd draw in Spanish class instead of pay attention." Walking to his house I thought more about high school and how as far away as it feels, seeing people from that era can bring a lot of weird feeling back. Like you can smell it all again or something. But, for me, it smells better the second time. At the birthday party his friend from college told me I should carry the candle-in-a-muffin out to him, since I was his oldest friend there. We were campers together when we were sixteen. Part of what I think I do value about that friendship is that while I may not remember what I was like when I was sixteen, our friendship proves there was enough good then to attract good people.
OJ Simpson makes me feel old. Which makes me feel young because I know 24 is not old. But ten years ago, OJ was acquited. Until September 11, OJ Simpson was our JFK assasination. It was a touchstone of popular culture, it was a "where were you" moment. We are alive, we were aware, we were what would become the people we are now, we were learning about the Reformation (maybe just my class) and it blows my mind that it was ten years ago.

happy 30th jonny

gee whiz, i sure am glad i got to see jonny moseley and several other skiers/snowboarders ski jump in san francisco. i got to see snow! hot snowboarders! skip out on work! stop for frozen yogurt! i topped off the un-characteristically warm day with a trip to american apparel to buy a t-shirt because i was sweating through my sweater, watching people in full out snow-gear hurdle down the street.

ok. so it was kind of great. and weird.

http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/news/12776417.htm

Mutts

On Tuesday I was walking to the subway with the conductor of one of the kids' orchestras that I work for. We got to talking about dogs. That morning she had met an adorable three-month-old puppy who had been rescued from Hurricane Katrina, and she was considering adopting it. Not only was it well-tempered, cute, and a host of other desirable dog qualities, but she has a soft spot in her heart for mutts, especially since she considers herself one. "I have every type of blood running through my veins," she said, "and I'm convinced it's the reason why I am in better health than anyone I know." I'm pretty sure that for dogs, mutts are known to be healthier than pure-breds, but didn't know that applied to people too, although I guess it kind of makes sense in a way. (Or maybe not--because people of different races are all of the same species?? Scientists? Julia? Help me out here.)

I am not a mutt. I am white, white, white and of European descent through and through. But I am the product of an interfaith marriage. Wouldn't it be nice if being a religious mutt came with similar perks that mixed-species dogs enjoy? A stronger spiritual immune system, if you will: less susceptible to crises of faith, better equipped to communicate with God (or whatever/whoever), less likely to kill yourself and/or other people in the name of that whatever/whoever, more likely to live a longer and healthier life. Unfortunately for me and a lot of other people, I don't think that's the case--the reason I personally don't suffer from crises of faith is more likely just because I don't have a lot of it in the first place.

Being a religious mutt is not really that big a deal, at least not in New York and not at my college, one of Princeton Review's Top Godless Universities. At worst, it's confusing; at best, you learn more about different traditions and get a lot of presents in December.

NPR

So I am listening to John Edwards talk on NPR about some initiative he's starting for poor kids in North Carolina... and I am wondering- did he always sound so southern? During the election, I remember, well, not thinking he could be confused with Mayor Quimby... but he sounds REALLY southern right now? Is this to gain authenticity with his NC contingent or was he faking through the election? Did he go to newscaster speech therapy?
That all being said, he is saying some really great stuff and right now I feel a lot more excited about him now than I did a year ago (except for sexual excitement, of course)... among which is that the average net worth of a black family is $6000, a latino family $8000, and a white family $80,000.

Niceness surely does not cut it.

i have long maintained that "niceness" is not, in and of itself, a redeeming quality. if that's all someone is, they're probably boring and therefore, the niceness doesn't count because it's worse to be boring than it is good to be nice. Here is a partial list of redeeming qualities:

1) funny.
2) smart.
3) sassy.
4) quick with a light.
5) good memory
6) fun.
7) mean to boring people.
8) cynical.
9) drinker.
10) informed.
11) thinks big.
12) makes fun of hipsters and hippies.
13) makes inappropriate jokes.
14) appreciates inappropriate jokes.

If you are all these things AND are nice, then ok. But it depends on who you're nice to (see #7).

new job. nothing like new shoes.

i know what to do with new shoes. you put them on and parade around town. but i don't really know what to do with this new job. this is the first *real* office job i have ever had. when i taught kindergarten, there was always something to do or some vomit to clean up. as a legal aid-er, i was alone in a cornfield and no one knew when i spent hours on end googling and smoking. but now i'm in a real office with a real cubicle and i'm not sure what the rules are.

if i don't have a project i'm working on, do i need to tell the lawyer that or is that bugging him? it's only my third day so i'm still trying to feel out the pace of this place. but i feel like it's wrong to blog for 20 bucks an hour when i would do it for free and that, at this rate, i ought to do something more productive or helpful like help some people adopt a guatemalan kid. do you think a blog could adopt a child? or a puppy? or a chia pet? i've gone too far. please advise on what to do when there's nothing to do in a cubicle.

In my ongoing efforts to fulfill my New Year’s Resolutions, I met my Primary Care Physician on Friday afternoon. I got what I needed from him: a few referrals from someone with Board Certifications. But by the time I actually shook hands with the good doctor, I was so thoroughly unimpressed by the first 90 minutes of my visit to his office that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d turned out to be not a doctor at all but a bartender, a plumber, an accountant, or the star of a new reality TV show. My lack of confidence came from the two medical assistants who spent almost an hour with me before I met their boss. At every step—measuring my height and weight, administering a pulmonary function test and EKG, asking me all the standard history questions—I felt that everything would go more smoothly and accurately if I were the one running the show. I glanced at their notes at one point and couldn’t help judging their misspelling of certain key words in my medical history (a relatively interesting story, if I do say so myself, that didn’t seem to impress them). I thought they were kidding when they told me to collect a urine sample and leave it on the tub in the bathroom, next to someone else’s pee. Both specimens were still there when I left an hour later.

The doctor, while a little rough around the edges, appeared to know what he was talking about, which is all that matters. But I got to thinking about the entry-level jobs that we’ve all had. Those foot-in-the-door-I-didn’t-need-to-go-to-college-for-this positions where you are below the lowest rung on the ladder and have so little power that it’s not even worth discussing: maybe they are actually more important than we think. Maybe how we perform isn’t just important in terms of doing the dirty boring work that no one else wants to do, but matters in shaping how people regard the organization. The receptionist was pissed at me from the minute I walked in the door because I was late (even though I called ahead), the assistants were dumb…so it doesn’t matter how great the doctor was—I probably won’t go back.

And so, receptionists, paralegals, session assistants, cashiers, take heart! We do matter. At least to each other.

What would Buffett do?

Erica and I saw Jimmy Buffet live last night. I mean, we didn't go for him, we went to the "From the Big Apple to the Big Easy" benefit concert at Madison Square Garden and he was there. The concert in total was part bizarre, part fun, part exhausting and part something else. The something else may have to do with the fact that the crowd was virtually entirely white, far as the eye could see. The whitest mass I believe I have ever seena assembled in New York City. I think we can blame this on Buffett.
The concert began with a lot of performers and groups singing one or two songs, then later being brought out for a little more of a complete set, sometimes to sing with each other and provide golden and unique memories. As well as a lot of cell-phone pictures.
Jimmy Buffett came out, the crowd went wild. Like, seriously apeshit. He starts playing. And keeps playing and playing and playing. All in all, he probably did 8-10 songs which was about double what anyone else played. It seemed like everyone in the crowd knew all of the words, it was echoing off the walls in that special concert-way it does when people are singing along. I had never heard any of these songs before. And what's more, I didn't like them. They were all about sailing and drinking and sitting around on islands. This kind of surprised me, since those are things I like, so why wouldn't I like songs about them? Because they are cheesey and boring, at least thats what I came up with. But the crowd didn't think so.... no the crowd was going crazy. The crowd put their two hands on top of their heads to make a "fin" and sang along "fin to the left, fin to the right" like it was a fucking Raffi record. We were stunned and there was something more than a little creepy about it. Not only have I been ignorant of this Jimmy Buffett sub-culture, but somehow Jimmy can control the crowd, dictate their actions and it didn't seem too far off that if you piss Jimmy off, he's sic a bunch of Long Islanders making hand-fins on you.
Basically, I had no idea Jimmy Buffett was so popular. Did you?

And Bill Clinton was there. That was cool.

blast from the past

last friday night, i had a vivid dream about an old boyfriend. very old. as in, the last time we had a real conversation was 7 years ago. Both the relationship and this recent dream were very intense and i knew i needed to talk to him.

so, the next day, instead of spending the day reading about criminal procedure, i spent the day googling this old boyfriend. now, this was no easy task. the bloke is (was) a hippie and didn't believe in organized ANYTHING so he wasn't very easy to find. my search led me to ohio, illinois and finally washington state where i located his mother.

long story short, it turns out that my dream was not in vain. it had a reason. the old boyfriend is very sick. he almost died last week. so now what? i don't KNOW him anymore. but i did. i certainly don't LOVE him anymore. but i did. it's so strange to me how people come in and out of our lives. and i am feeling now that maybe people don't ever really leave our lives. if i can dream that i have to talk to a person i haven't even thought of in so long in the same week that this person almost died, doesn't that indicate some sort of subconscious connection? something in me knew that the energy was out of whack and had to be *fixed*.

don't get me wrong. i am not new age. i am not very spiritual. i am not psychic (at least not like patricia arquette on the hit show "medium.") but all this has got me thinking about how to deal with people that i used to know, but don't know anymore. as we get older, we'll have to think about these things more often. the more people we meet, the more people we have the potential to lose touch with and no longer know. so then, what happens when something happens to them?

all of a sudden, when life and death are on the line, regrets about what was said and what was left unsaid rise to the surface. is near-death a warning to reconnect with people we used to know? a second chance to at least make things right and acknowledge the place the person had in our lives? what about fame? if you woke up one morning and saw an old friend or lover on the today show, wouldn't you want to call them up and reconnect? i know i would.

and not be morbid, but as we get old(er), what about when you hear that an old friend or lover has died? flowers? attend the funeral? reach out to the family? wear a rubber bracelet in memory? ignore the situation all-together as you might if you read the obituary of a stranger?

what do we do with people that are strangers but used to not be strangers? this is the first time i have been confronted with such a situation. for now, i've written a letter and blogged. what about next time? can i count on bizarre dreams to alert me to things happening to people i used to know? should i make sure i don't *lose touch* with people i might want to follow up with later?

i think i'd like a device that functioned so that i could keep track of people who have mattered to me at all times but without having to actually maintain contact with the person. i envision something like a blackberry where i could type in a name and find out their contact info, occupation, love status, and general health status. i realize this would be creepy. but so was my dream. maybe i should join the CIA.

bosses know when you're talking shit

Today, my boyfriend left earlier than me to go to work which meant that instead of watching ESPN sports news in the morning, the channel was changed to ... MTV -- apparently my favorite network. (During commercials I watched a little Saved by the Bell, though). Anyway, they had some little bit involving a delusional cartoon boss saying "of course I work as hard as my employees. Even though I leave earlier and take more vacation."

This is the story of my work experience. My boss is mean and awkward and not very well educated. She always goes home at 3 or 4 to walk her dog. She likes to say things like "alls I know is" with a long sssss. How she got about 20 nursing degrees and a MPH is a mystery to alls of us here. She also has had weird incidents involving her dog, like getting pawed at by her puppy and going to the ER with a scratched cornea. The latest involves her riding her bike (with her huge accident-prone dog on a leash beside her) without a helmet on. The result of this great idea was discovered by a few MRI and CT scans to be internal bleeding on both sides of her head and an extended leave because of dizziness and head trauma. We all would be a little more sympathetic if she were at all a kind person. Anyway, you would think I would be happy that she is out for about a month except she was right in the middle of supposedly getting me a fairly important raise that now will probably not happen before I quit.

And of course, the one time she comes in ever (today at 2:30), she catches me writing a very long rant about "my manager" on gmail. How do they know when to come behind you and read things about themselves?
shit. it's the mysterious power of bosses.

Confession Time...

Bracelets are courtesy of a recent Bat Mitzvah named Naomi. They indicate opposition to Ovarian cancer.

Livestrong or Die: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Oppose Bad Stuff

I'd like to draw your attention to the phenomenon of the rubber bracelet. I know this may strike close to home as some of you [Bay Area, I'm looking at you] have been known to wear the bracelets and/or sleep with those who wear the bracelets. I've assembled a little timeline of my relationship with the bracelet, hopefully by indentifying some patterns, I won't feel so haunted by them:
2004: Lance Armstrong introduces the LiveStrong bracelet. It is rubber, bright yellow, costs $1 and supports cancer research. Sales are unexpectedly strong, they sell out and soon people are paying upwards of $50 for a resold bracelet on ebay. This has become a fashion trend and because of the premium on resold bracelets, many bracelets are now detached from any kind of cancer research funding. Would those ebayers donate $50 to the LiveStrong Foundation? No, but they will pay $50 to look like they donated $1.
August 2004: I get into an argument with a bartender who is wearing a yellow Livestrong bracelet. I am a little drunk and tell him I don't think we should be idolizing a man who runs out on his wife after she stood by him through testicular cancer to tour europe with Sheryl Crow. The bartender does not agree, is angered and overcharges me. I have since been told that my chronology is a little off... I have also since been been told by multiple media outlets that Lance has been doping, I wonder what the bartender would have said about that.
November 2004: At Thanksgiving dinner, I notice my boyfriend's 17 year old sister is wearing a handful of rubber bracelets, as is his 12 yr old brother. I ask them about them and apparently they indicate opposition to cancer (Lance's but also specifically breast) and AIDS. Also support of Hollister, an offshoot of Abercrombie and Fitch, where she worked.
* * * *
Early August 2005: On a trip to Boston, Erica notices a bunch of rubber bracelets sold at Urban Outfitters. She asks the cashier about the ten pack of bracelets inscribed with phrases like, "Shit Faced." She is told that these are not in fact bracelets modeled after the Livestrong bracelets, but instead bands to be put around a beer bottle in order to tell whose is whose. We call bullshit on that.
Mid-August 2005: We all discover that orange rubber bracelets means you want to stay in Gaza.
Late August: I am riding the subway and all of the sudden notice how it seems most everyone in the car is wearing some kind of bracelet. Most of them say "Grenada," "Trinidad" or "Puerto Rico," one women next to me has a white one that says "one." I get to work and google it, learning that apparently on that very subway that morning I was sitting next to a woman who opposed world poverty. I think Bono is involved with this effort, although we already know he opposes poverty.
September 1, 2005: In a little internet research for this blog, I discover all of the options for what you can buy a bracelet to say. I also discover sites like: http://www.customsiliconebracelets.com/ where you can make them say whatever you want (or buy, premade ones) which then you can resell. And so... I am open to suggestions. Let's print some up and tell the world we also don't like bad things.

Ugly Naked Guy

The apartment building that sits on the east side of Third Avenue between 87th and 88th streets is huge. I count 33 floors from my office window across the street. Most of the windows have the blinds drawn during the day, but there are a few that stay open and give us the pleasure of witnessing certain parts of the daily routines of the inhabitants. There's a woman somewhere between floors 15 and 20 who always hangs out the window to shake out a red rug. There's a guy on the 4th floor, the only floor with balconies, who likes to sit outside and work on his laptop. There's a lady on 9 or 10 who puts on either blue or red workout shorts, a sports bra, and a sweatband to do a solid 30 minutes on the elliptical machine that sits right in front of the window next to a huge fan. Her dedication to her exercise doesn't appear to be paying off, as my officemates never fail to point out. And then there is the naked guy. He's fat. He's hairy. He has several tattoos. And man, does he love being naked. He leans out the window and smokes cigarettes naked. He leans out the window and talks on his cell phone naked. He'd probably leave his apartment to get a soy energy drink at the Wildgreen cafe underneath his building naked if he could. His belly is a perfect sphere that rests on the window sill. Until yesterday the extend of his nudity wasn't exactly certain. He could presumably have been wearing a thong or low-riding boxer-briefs. But now I and my coworkers--two middle-aged women and a strapping young man--know better. Sadly, this was the most exciting thing that happened in my day.

Good God

"Freedom is not America's gift to the world, it is the Almighty God's gift to every man and woman in this world." -- George W. Bush

Pat v. Hugo

I think this "firestorm" over Pat Robertson wanting the U.S. to assasinate Hugo Chavez is amazing. It's really one of those "we couldn't make this up, folks" events. I mean, by saying it, he makes it impossible to be done. Then again, you can't put anything past these dudes. Below are some choice bits from today's NY Times article about it:

"Mr. Rumsfeld dismissed Mr. Robertson's remark on assassination, saying: 'Certainly it's against the law. Our department doesn't do that type of thing.'"

Oh, really? Since when?

"The Rev. Jesse Jackson called for the Federal Communications Commission to investigate, just as it did when Janet Jackson's breast was exposed in the Super Bowl broadcast in 2004. 'This is even more threatening to hemispheric stability than the flash of a breast on television during a ballgame,' Mr. Jackson said."

I think I see their line of reasoning here... Ms. Jackson's breast is rather threatening to hemispheric stability... just as blowjobs and infidelity make an unfit president. Thank goodness we're saved, having been delivered into the hands of those advocating secret assasinations of democratically elected leaders and endless war.

The Internet is Not Squeamish

So I've been living with my girlfriend in the same apt. in Oakland since we moved here 3 years ago (which is a crazy thing to be able to say) And in that time we've both developed a lot of digestive problems, some similar, some not, but basically we're both in pain a lot now and weren't before. You'd think, oh well maybe you're both eating crap, but we have very different diets so I always thought it was just a coincidence. (Anyways, is it just me, or does everyone you know have IBS these days? Like seriously, what the hell is going on? How come everybody's in pain? Seriously.) But so a while ago I started noticing that sometimes our bathroom sink water would have lots of strange black flakes in it. It freaked me out a lot and I kept saying 'huh we should call our landlord or something' but I'm lazy I guess and didn't. We finally got a contractor to check out a lot of things in our house recently and while investigating the mysterious black crap, he discovered that in fact it was ALL our water and that our hot water heater was filled with this greasy black tar.

This freaks me out to no end, but he seemed to be not very excited about it, nor was my doctor who said that it wasn't the cause of my problems. Which actually is really annoying cause what the hell is?

Anyways, convinced that my insides were covered in tar, I started combing the web for holistic/herbal type things to cleanse my digestive tract (cause, what else do you have to do?) and my GOD, I stumbled into a world of frank poo talk that truly knocked my socks off. People do some crazy shit to their bodies! After a couple sites, I became convinced that what I really needed was to take Charcoal (Yes, charcoal. As in, the black shit at the bottom of your fireplace. They sell pills at Walgreens.) to absorb all the toxins in my body. [ Word to the wise, do NOT take charcoal pills. You will NOT feel better.] And that was even the mildest of them all. One holistic doctor had people swallowing copious amounts of Epsom Salts (which are normally used for baths and soaks) while another describe in GREAT detail the detriments of intestinal "plaque" which can weigh like 10 or 20 pounds, and actually had actual photos of the end results of their $95 dollar detox kit. NOT for the faint of hearts. That one actually scarred me for life.

It makes me wonder though. We rely for the most part on western medicine and when we do venture into the unknown world of homeopathy its usually for the basics - acupuncture, acupressure, etc. Most western doctors scoff at the idea of intestinal plaque or charcoal therapy, but what if medical history had been different? Are those things so crazy? I don't know. The internet is scary. Part of me wished there was a more consistent system of Peer Reviewed Sites so that I wouldn't have spent the better part of last week doubling over in charcoal-induced pain, but then who's to say that taking random over the counter stomach medicines are any less crazy than Epsom salts? Maybe we do actually have 10 pounds of crud lining the walls of our intestines. I don't know!

Google this.

My new favorite google search that brought someone in cyberspace to us:

naked studets school girls photo

Misspellings are author's own.

God bless the internet for bringing people together.

New York Belongs in the Developing World

Evidence:
Hot and muggy summers. Stinks. Polluted. Women wearing skintights clothes with various strategic holes cut in them for fashion's sake. People sell batteries on public transportation. People sell cotton candy on the subway. Other people buy this shit. The New York City Subway is not that of the cultural capital of a developed nation. Period. Citizens regularly coexist with rats and roaches. Sometimes it doesn't seem like there's anything like zoning-- stores are randomly subdivided. Designer knockoff sunglasses are sold out of former ice cream windows. Most times everywhere smells like warm pee. The power goes out. The power browns out. The water gets contaminated because of too much rain. The new bay window in the building next door to our apartment was installed on the second floor with an elaborate system of pulleys, a rope and a good old fashioned "heave-ho" by 15 chinese men. Barely anyone has a car. People are inappropriately bringing animals into stores and onto public transportation, nevermind that it's a floofy dog and not a chicken. There are whole dead animals hanging in windows. There are few real grocery stores. People carry all of their shit everywhere.
Anyone have any more?

Because I'm a statistician at heart. And also bored.

Top ten pink words to be found on this blog:
1. room
2. home
3. car
3. free
5. money
5. gift
7. boyfriend
7. google
7. video/video games
7. diamonds

Yesterday I went to the Dentist

So I've never really understood peoples' aversion to the dentist. I had gone to Dr. O my entire life and he can be credited for the shiny chops I grin to the world. Upon moving to New York, and procrastinating for over a year, I went to a dentist in Brooklyn last December (the "all my life" dentist of a friend and hi family.) I was heavily shamed due to my plaque buildup and the hygienist claiming I don't floss. Which is ironic, because I actually do floss regularly. "Every day?" she asked. "Well, no, but 5-6 days per week..." which I consider "every day." That dentist made me come back for a second appointment to finish the cleaning and the whole thing cost over $300. Most of which was paid for by insurance, $80 or so paid for by me.
Let me amend not understanding peoples' aversion to the dentist to not understanding it until YESTERDAY. Yesterday I go to this dental factory across the street from City Hall. They have a floor of a building, 16 exam rooms, a bevy of folks wandering around who are hygienists, xray technicians, dentists, etc. I saw the dentist before the cleaning, she looked at my xrays and asked me to open up. For about 6 seconds she looked in my mouth, moving my lips and gums with her fingers. Then said, "Ok, looks great. See you in six months." And gave me a high five.
So this was weird and I wanted to ask her, "um, I mean, I'm no dentist, but shouldn't you be poking all of my teeth with a sharp metal stick? Or something?!?"
I was moved into another room for a cleaning. After waiting a very long time, this man who was creepy in the way that Phillip Seymour Hoffman is creepy in Magnolia (maybe it was just the outfit?), comes in a says "I'll be doing your cleaning." He then proceeds to make the next 6-8 minutes the most painful and miserable I can immediately recall. He is forceful, careless and it feels violent. He sprays water all over my face and my mind detaches from my body as I try to concentrate on how soon it will be over based on how many teeth he has assaulted. He used a water-pik-like thing and the grinder/polisher. Again, no metal stick for scraping.
And then it was over and he said, "ok, you're done." And I kind of stared at him, face completely wet and mouth full of blood. I ran away and felt like crying. I could have achieved the same effect my brushing my teeth too hard until they bled. Gross. And they still aren't clean.
Today my teeth hurt and I finally understand why America, indeed the world, hates going to the dentist.

New Entry in the "weird things people want to do with their dead relatives' remains" File

So there are multiple ways of making a synthetic diamond. Most of them start out with a little diamond nugget and use some sort of technology and carbon to grow a diamond, like growing a cultured pearl. One of these technologies is called a "memorial" diamond and the carbon used comes from the remains of your loved one... how weird is that? And check out the company's website... "because love lives on"
http://www.lifegem.com/

God is Smiling... and so am I

So I have no money. This always happens, I don't know how (um... credit card debt, oppressive amounts of student loans and a penchant for Thai food that I don't make and vacation may have something to do with it...) but this isn't the point. I have $16 in my checking account until Friday... but this isn't a sob story. Today I reached into the pocket of the pants I wore to work, which I haven't worn in a while... and found a $20 bill.
I don't know how I misplaced it (maybe losing $20 and not realizing is why I run out of money?) but the fact remains... I needed it and I got it. And not like a $5, which would have been nice, but a whole $20. Thanks, dude. I wonder if this works for other things...
I really need a tiara...

Bad Ideas

Lately it seems that people are running out of ideas. I am sick of hearing about a lot of things: hurricanes and floods that always wreak havoc on the same towns, famous 17- to 25-year-old women who become very skinny in an unreasonable amount of time, and suicide bombers, to name a few. But at least most of these trends can be chalked up to complex social pressures and/or forces of nature. What I am REALLY sick of are baseball players who use performance-enhancing drugs and Catholic priests who sexually abuse children. I guess for these particular issues, we are currently in a sort of grace period when the culprits are often getting into trouble well after the fact—at the time of the crime, they could conceivably have convinced themselves that they might not get caught. So in some way, while there is no question that they are perverts or cheaters, they might not necessarily be stupid (if you define stupid as not learning anything from the mistakes of those around you). But from now on, anyone who is found to have commited the above offenses at any point after the year 2003 should serve time not only for the lives they ruined but for being dumb and uncreative.

Please note that I am not putting steroid-abusers in the same category of child-abusers. Canseco, Palmeiro, Giambi, et al, are only directly hurting themselves (indirectly, of course, they are hurting their wives, children, and above all, the fans. THE FANS!!) while sexually abusive priests are doing permanent psychological damage to young people. My point is only that if you’re going to make headlines getting into some kind of trouble, can’t you be a little more original? If you play professional sports, don’t do drugs. If you are a religious leader, don’t have sexual relationships with kids. If you are a politician, don’t sleep with your intern. If you are a dentist, don’t have an affair with the hygienist. If you are a washed-up celebrity, don’t make a reality TV show. It’s all just so cliché.

I’m also sick of Brad and Angelina, but for different reasons.

sound off

situation: 2 "friends" have purchased a bottle of wine. It was Friend A's idea. Friend B puts the charge on her credit card and they walk home ready to get black teeth from the wine. Friend A says she will pay Friend B for her half of the bottle of wine. The friends arrive home. Friend B pours her wine and drinks happily. Friend A pours her wine and sets the cup down, forgetting about the wine and then falling asleep face-down on the carpet (she has already had 1 bottle of wine).

The next week, Friend B suggests that Friend A buy her lunch to cover her half of the purchased wine. Friend A says "But I didn't even drink it!" Friend B thinks, yes, but you poured it making unsuitable for anyone else to drink and now it is some nastyass vinegar. Friend B starts to feel less friendly but isn't quite sure how to approach the subject again.

Please dear friends (none of whom are Friend A), sound off. Who is right? A or B? Assuming B is right, how should B go about getting her $7 dollars? And yes, $7 is worth more than the friendship- A and B are not that good of friends.

Sarah, I know this started out sounding like a standardized test. Sorry to disappoint but it's sort of like algebra what with the letters and all.

Advise.

"Let the morningtime drop all its petals on me..."

Island Flavors in a Yellow Envelope
By JULIA MOSKIN and KIM SEVERSON
LONG before the BlackBerry and the PlayStation Portable, New Yorkers loved their hand-helds. The folded pizza slice, the hot dog and the crusty knish have a built-in mobility that lets hungry New Yorkers eat on the street, and enough density to carry them through to the next meal.

New immigrants have added to the on-the-go family, introducing Colombian arepas, Mexican tacos and Uzbek samsas. But the hand-held with the best shot at making the list of classic New York noshes is the Jamaican beef patty, a rectangle of flaky yellow crust filled with ground beef shot through with onion, thyme and the inimitable heat and perfume of Scotch bonnet chili peppers.

Trading Spaces II

I spent 3 days last week in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Origin of Sarah and current residence of Jenny Gassman-Pines and her boyfriend (also of Wesleyan) Ben Weeks. As well as a lot of joggers, for rent signs, beer drinkers, lakes, caribou coffee houses, progressives, and degrees. It was almost 100 degrees when I was there. And humid.

Walking off of the plane and into the terminal, I found myself smack in front of a Maui Taco. It looked exactly like the Maui Taco around the corner from my office back home. I met Ben at the baggage claim and began the car ride from the airport. The conversation came easier than expected and answers to questions like "So you enjoy living in New York then?" seemed obvious.

Stepping into their fully furnished and decorated apartment (complete with pet bird), I felt unsettled. They really live in their apartment. I use mine in Brooklyn as a place to sleep. The kitchen held enough food for both humans and bird. There was a parking spot, hanging plants, laundry downstairs, air conditioning. Every window had blinds! I guess it doesn't take too much to impress me.

Waking from my first night on the air mattress, I found an already gymed and freshly showered Jenny. I wondered what we'd do for breakfast. When she suggested we leave the apartment and get some bagels, I felt at home. Sure I'd be the only one out of the three of us who would need coffee, but at least she didn't have a full breakfast waiting for us.

Once at Brueggers, a few things struck me as odd. 1) More flavors of low fat cream cheese than regular cream cheese 2) No iced coffee 3) Bagels had huge holes. But most shocking was what followed my ordering a cup of coffee. There was no milk and no to-go lids. Where was I ? The fine people at Brueggers were not very skilled at wrapping up the bagels in that paper stuff and did not include napkins. Living life on the run is not something they've gotten down to a science in that neck of the woods. Instead we ate by beautiful Lake Calhoun, then drove to St.Paul, sipped blended drinks with smart people, ate Vietnamese food, caught a documentary at an art house theatre. This was a great place.

I've got to run now to a house warming party. I hear they've installed shelves. I'm sure to be very impressed.

Trading Spaces I

I spent 4 days last week in California. Origin of Juliet, residence of Moira, Julia and Alison and, at one point, of Kristina also. As well as a lot of migrant farm workers, movie stars, gay men, tree huggers, plastic surgeons, mountains, ocean, hitchhikers and oranges. My feelings about California, in principle, are mixed. Basically, it seems to me a little overblown. I mean, there are lots of places to live but to listen to some CA-dwellers, why would you? Obviously this is also the case with a lot of New Yorkers and you'd probably even be able to find people who would think you were mad to move away from Dubuque, El Paso or Mobile... but I digress. This is a not an outline of the reasoning behind my pledge to never live in California, but rather a meditation on some differences I observed while visiting the homestate of Juliet, the very same weekend she was visiting mine.
1. California is a big state. San Francisco and Santa Barbara have nothing to do with one another. SoCal and NoCal are very different. A lot of people live in California.
2. The weather. I remember folks who went to college in Southern CA saying over Thanksgiving freshman year back in Mpls that no one even spoke about the weather. It was just always nice. Northern California is another story and I really think it's time to stop using the weather as a reason for living in the bay area... come on, folks. We can talk bubble tea, streetcars, charming streets or the possibility you'll find gold whilst panning... on the other hand, maybe this is actually an advantage-- at least folks in San Francisco have something to awkwardly talk about in elevators. Additionally, California couldeb improved by having water warm enough to swim in at all/more of the year.
3. I saw Avocados for sale for $.79. This alone is a reason to live somewhere.
4. I didn't have a bagel, but I bet it wouldn't have been so great. I did also notice that every bagel store I saw was called something having to do with Brooklyn or New York. So I decided I may as well wait until I got home where we have the geography built-in and bagels stores can just be named for bagels ie, Bageltique. Mmmm... Bageltique.
5. California is really pretty. Even with smog in L.A., in suburbia, in more industrial parts.
6. California loves the Evite. At least thats what Alison and Julia said. They estimate nearly all events they attend are advertised via Evite. I find thi bizarre. Not because there is anything wrong with the Evite but because it seems so foreign. I wonder why this is?
All in all, a great trip. In a lot of ways, seeing where someone came from is a good way to understand more about them... I mean, we are all products of or reactions to what we've experienced. Then again, we've all been seperated by miles and/or years from that upbringing... all in all, I am impressed that Juliet didn't turn out to be an Asian man with bleached blonde hair. And that Moira, Alison and Julia haven't copped that steez. Maybe Kristina did a little, but she's been cosmo-checked back to reality by two years back in 'Soter.
Cal-eh-fourn-ya, Cal-eh-fourn-ya, CAL-EH-FOURN-YA... here we coooome...

Julia and Lindsey Are Total Pansies

http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/funny_old_game/4631111.stm

Romance is dead, Long live Romance.

So my boyfriend and I took a really big step a few weeks ago... we traded iTunes libraries. Before we did it, he warned me it would be a big step, he asked me if I was ready. I was so eager to gorge myself on music that I didn’t even think about it... and now it’s too late. I own all of his digital music and he owns all of mine. The implications didn’t really register until last week when I realized that we had just effectively killed the mix-cd-as-present.
There is no song that he could put on a mix that I don't already own. This is insanely depressing! The ipod alone killed it as I would put other mixes he made on my ipod before really listening to them. What, you think I sit around listening to CDs!?! I was riding home on the train and the song "She's a rainbow" by the Rolling Stones came on. I thought, kind of wistfully, about what an awesome song that would be on a lovey dovey mix. I checked the display and sure enough "Anniversary Mix" it was. Shit.
There is something about gorging oneself on music that makes it all mean less. When you can want and have everything it leads to a kind of apathy. Why should I buy a CD? I won't only partially because I can download it for free, but I think more because a) I know I'll probably only like a portion of it. b) It'll go on my ipod and I'll probably hear it on shuffle, not recognize it and skip it and c) I have 3,000 songs at my fingertips at all times.... why would I spend $12 to get a few more? Now, I hate to bad-talk the ipod. I love it, I trust it and when it broke, it broke my heart. BUT it may be fair to say that the ipod killed something beautiful. And I let it happen. I was complicit and then nailed the final stake in the coffin with my insatiable thirst for music. I don't even like Radiohead but now I have 4 albums within arms grasp at all times, what have I done?!!

The Things We Do For Snapple

Picture this:

A young woman walks down 5th Avenue in Brooklyn late on a Friday afternoon, listening to her iPod and feeling pretty satisfied with herself for fitting her Target purchases into her big red cart that she usually reserves for trips to the laundromat. Mostly, she is just looking forward to getting home and enjoying one of the Snapple Diet Peach Iced Teas that she just bought in a 12 pack, saving herself and her roommate/co-Snapple-addict a couple bucks.

Her stride is interrupted when the front wheels of the cart strike an uneven crack in the sidewalk. The world starts moving in slow motion and the woman realizes with resignation that not only is the cart going down, but she is going down with it. Soon the cart is lying flat on the ground, the woman is lying stomach-down on top of it, and the 12 pack is hemorrhaging (sp?) iced tea. After a significant amount of cursing and detangling herself from her headphone wires, she spends the next five to ten minutes rescuing the uninjured Snapple bottles from shards of broken glass. Good news: 9 bottles were salvaged. Also fortunate that this happened in front of a dumpster, which was a convenient place to put the wet cardboard container and the remnants of the teas that didn't make it, and that so far there is no evidence of tiny glass shards embedded in my, I mean her, fingers.

This may be the most dramatic of mishaps involving the shopping cart, but is by no means the first. The jury is still out on the value of the cart, which, while it does save your muscle power, is heavy, awkward, and kind of expensive. Please share any opinions on the shopping cart, pro or con, if you have them. And next time you see me, don't forget to ask to see the new cool lumpy bruises on my shins.

popsicle disaster

Ok. So is some poor ad or marketing exec getting fired for this idea?(http://www.nytimes.com/2005/06/22/nyregion/22popsicle.html)

as a person "allergic" to kiwi, i could have died. if i lived in ny and decided licking a giant melting popsicle was a good way to say innocent children from drowning.

Now dubbed TomKat...

Weirder and weirder...
Read here (http://www.radarmagazine.com/fresh-intelligence/2005/06/17/index.php) about how before Katie Holmes was cast in Mission Impossible, Tom tried to convert all kinds of other young actresses to Scientology at least according to Scarlett Johanssen. If you're not interested in Katie Holmes Cruise, how can you turn a blind eye to Scarlett, Lindsey Lohan, Jessica Alba and Kate Bosworth? If we lose them, American culture is sunk!

THIS JUST IN!!!

As per the BBC and the New York Times, approximately one hour ago Tom Cruise proposed to Katie Holmes. At the Eiffel Tower. They have been dating for less than 2 months (see previous post.) Uhmmm.... ok. ( http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/em/fr/-/2/hi/entertainment/4102854.stm )
This deserves a lot of dialogue, hashing out. The reports of her being "really excited" about Scientology are, well, creepy but the most noteworthy thing I've learned of in my extensive Googling of the past 15 minutes is: www.freekatie.net
My favorite is the "Run Katie Run" T, but pick your own.

losing my edge

i guess i didn't ever really have an edge to begin with, but i recently decided that if there ever was a "hardcore" side to my personality, it is completely gone. This is based on the fact that I have discovered how much of a sucker I am for twin dogs puttering around san francisco. They are infinitely cute and adorable in pairs, especially when they are bulldogs or terriers or labs....or actually anything that isn't a chihuahua. I just want to grab them up in my arms and start parading them around, taking photos of them snuggling and hanging out together. I would probably even name them horrible corresponding names like "kibbles" and "bits" or "bonnie" and "clyde" or "prince william" and "prince harry" (putting "prince" in front just increases cuteness.)
yuck. what have i become.

Can't hide my disappointment in Corporate America

No, this is not about my job.
Erica got me addicted to diet Peach Iced Tea by Snapple. It feels slightly healthier than chugging bottles of diet Coke (an illusion, I'm sure) and is very tasty. And so I have reentered the world of the Snapple "Fact." (also, last week I won a Snapple lip balm, expected to arrive in 8-10 weeks) For awhile the Snapple Facts were somewhat normal... "Polar Bears have Black Skin." And things like that. The past two I've gotten have made me hoppin' mad, though. Yesterday, "Putting rubber bands on the ends of hangers will prevent clothes from slipping off." Yes. Now the Snapple facts are household physics. Not even, "Baking Soda and Vinegar will make a Volcano." But freaking Hints from Heloise. And today, "To take lumps out of a bag of sugar, place it in the refrigerator for 24 hours." Does anyone else find this weird? And, I'll say it, totally inappropriate! These are not Snapple facts. I expected more...

Quote of the Day

The following exchange took place between myself and a soon-to-be 3rd grader, while we waited outside a classroom for her turn to audition for placement in her orchestra next year in the un-air-conditioned third-floor hallway of a school on the Upper West Side. We'll call her Bonnie. She is about three feet tall and has just upgraded from a 1/8-size to a 1/4-size cello.

Bonnie: What are you?
Me: What do you mean, what am I?
Bonnie: Like, are you Catholic?
Me: Oh. No.
Bonnie: So what are you?
Me: I'm Jewish. Sort of.
Bonnie: I knew it!

I remember being her age and answering similar questions, only back then I knew right away what was being asked. And back then the answer was always much more glamorous: "I'm both." Meaning both Jewish and Christian (this being before the day of my mother's conversion and my Bat Mitzvah), and therefore the envy of all present-coveting children. I guess I'm just surprised that a decade and a half later, kids are still asking each other and their elders the same question. (I didn't ask what it was that gave me away as Jewish to a 7-year-old.)

A going-into-5th-grade flute player who we'll call Iggy had a similar question about the building we were in. Iggy's flute is the only one I've ever seen with a curved mouthpiece, as his arms are too short to reach all of the keys.

Iggy: (scratching his head, looking around at the artwork decorating the hallway) What kind of school is this?
Me: It's a Catholic school.
Iggy: Isn't there separation of church and state?
Me: (I laugh very loudly.)
Iggy: (shrugging) Well, I guess some people don't abide by it.

I tried to explain that there are actually a lot of religious schools, for all different religions, and that it's okay as long as they don't get money from the state. He seemed to get it.

Iggy: Oh. So it's not illegal, then.

High Drama on the 20th Floor

At work:
A man went running down the hall at about 10:30 this morning yelling, "does anyone know CPR?" I said no, when I do. I guess my certification is lapsed but I've been pumping, breathing and counting into dummies since taking Red Cross Babysitting the summer after 7th grade. Everyone got certified in Health class in 9th grade and all 3 summer I worked at YMCA camp I renewed. So why was my knee-jerk reaction to say no? On the surface, yeah, I was eating a bagel and didn't want to put my poppyseed mouth to somebody else's. But mostly I was scared, I think. Its been a long time, I don't want to fuck up. Then again, I would obivously be wracked with guilt if someone died I could have helped. And then I would consider myself the most selfish, terrible person alive. But for some reason now I don't, I just kind of want to study my movtivations and analyze it all.

Turns out one of the summer associates has a seizure condition and had a seizure. Note: The man obviously did not himself know CPR or he would have known that CPR is not what one needs during a seizure. People called security who called the paramedics who arrived approx. 10 minutes later they arrived (not a good sign for someone who actually would require CPR) The summer associate was fine but was taken to the hospital anyway, apparently he is on meds but has stopped taking them... this gave Maggie and I the opportunity to share seizure stories. I refrained from talking about my own baby seizures (since all I remember is a fireman laying me on the stairs and how uncomfortable it was) and elected to talk about a certain history professor at Wesleyan who warns each class that he may have a seizure, to just give him room and not to call 911. Yeah, right. Of course I'd call 911... I mean, it's not like I'd just stand there helplessly while someone suffers...

NPR

I heard once, on NPR, that 4pm on Wednesday was the most popular time for suicide attempts. I believe it. I am not proposing anything rash, but it is truly the most miserable time of the week.

Bizarre and Fascinating

Recent Google Searches That Brought Folks Here:

• "quiznos"+"calories"+"mesquite chicken"
• "kristina lund alcantara"
• katie holmes blemish gossip
• filipino "mouth noise"

On this day in history...

Today, Sarah is 24. While she may think that her birth is the only notable event that ever occurred on May 23, I have discovered some evidence to the contrary. First of all, she shares her birthday with other notable public figures like Drew Carey and Mike Myers. And also Bob Dylan, some guy the kids really liked back in the day. According to the History Channel, on May 23, 1911, the New York Public Library was dedicated; on May 23, 1934, Bonnie and Clyde were killed by the cops; on May 23, 1949, the Federal Republic of Germany was established; and on May 23, 1960, the capture of Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann was announced.

Happy Birthday, Sarah, and many more.

Headlines

I like this story, http://nytimes.com/2005/05/17/nyregion/17painting.html, about a guy who stole a $1.5 million dollar Basquiat painting from the cargo area at JFK. Problems being that the heist was recorded on video and that he had been required to give a copy of his driver's license to enter the area.

Mr. Porcelli had worked for Cace for seven or eight years, said the
company's president, George Cunningham. He added that Mr. Porcelli had
visited the airport on multiple occasions - presumably enough times to know
about its security procedures.
"To me he's a complete idiot," Mr. Cunningham said yesterday. "Why would you give someone your driver's license with all your information and then go and do something like this?"

Other news... I found some delicious irony in Donald Rumsfeld chastising Newsweek on the news last night. "People are dead," because of Newsweek's maybe-right-maybe-wrong report of desecration of the Koran in Guantanamo. If the report was untrue, shame on Newsweek for sure. But shouldn't the shame come from someone else who isn't responsible for an even greater and intentional loss of life? I mean, I am more qualified than Rummy to dole out shame for causing death in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Don't you think?

In related news, today's cover of the New York Post, referencing the same story reads "HOLY SHIITE!" Awesome.

Meanwhile, the future doesn't look bright as 253 more girl ages 7-15 were arrested in NYC in 2004 than in 2002. And apparently getting kicked out of preschool has become a real problem (http://nytimes.com/2005/05/17/education/17expel.html)

Jonathans and Me

I’m told Jonathan Safran Foer recently bought a place not far from where I live in Park Slope. So seeing as how I was an English major and he is a neighbor (with pretty eyes, brown hair and glasses) I have decided to read Everything is Illuminated. It’s not really working. Magazines are just too tempting.

Last weekend, for instance, I ditched the novel for an article in New York Magazine, written by another Jonathan with three names. Only this one hates Brooklyn. Here is a highlight from Jonathan Van Meter’s piece “I Hate Brooklyn.”

"When I hear modern-day yuppies talk of being “pioneers” in certain Brooklyn neighborhoods—so smug in their 718 T-shirts—I want to poke my finger in their eyes. Brooklyn is not a clean slate. People who live there have a history, one that, more often than not, is of grit and forbearance. It’s a history that I imagine the shabby Gentiles of Park Slope and the midwestern hipsters of Williamsburg—colonists, all!—don’t want to think about too much”

Now I’ve been accused of gentrifying, who hasn’t? But colonizing? I mean I do belong to the Prospect Park Y, a community center whose stated mission it is to “put Christian principles into practice through programs that build healthy spirit, mind and body for all.” But my activities there are innocent enough. I mostly just take the free-of-charge mambo-salsa dance class. So that should the “original inhabitants” of my building be playing their “music” at 9 o’clock on a Saturday morning, I can be doing the steps under the covers. I have a hunch, however, that they’re playing meringue.

Like my ipod. Louder. Outside.

Does this mean we are pop culture?


http://www.summerstage.org/

Where are we going?

Michael Bruce Ross is a much more interesting national issue than Terri Schiavo. We could have debated the death penalty. We could have talked about volunteers for death row. We could have talked about a lot of things. And of course there was some discussion... I liked reading about how much a volunteer for death screws up the whole paradigm of the debate over the death penalty. But nothing like Terri.
The disturbing trend: Government involvement in living and dying. Congress should convene to keep Terri alive against her husband's wishes. The State of Connecticut should kill a man, a murderer, because he wants to be killed. Where is this going? I don't think I like it.
On one hand, I kind of thought they wouldn't kill him, it wouldn't actually go through. The death penalty in the self-righteous blue-state New England? No... the death penalty is for TEXAS and FLORIDA... and New York. And Pennsylvania. Wait, we used to think those red staters couldn't make informed decisions. What about the executions in Blue states?
The other point that comes to mind: Remember how the whole issue in the US has always been States Rights v. Federal Rights? Since when do they get to say who lives and dies and when? Since when is conservatism about big government and big brother? Aren't we all supposed to be living on ranches with a lot of money and a lot of guns in a Republican paradise? An overstatement I know. It just makes me very sad.

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/13/nyregion/13cnd-death.html?hp&ex=1116043200&en=2c6bf26c81a00088&ei=5094&partner=homepage

Is this so wrong?

I kind of want to read this book. And her previous book, "Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office." What does this say about me, feminism, the sexual revolution and why I don't have any money?

13 going on 30, without Jen Garner.

It seems like this has been coming up a lot lately-- how folks are friends with one another. On one hand we're older, wiser and more mature, on the other hand we continue to hurt or be hurt by people whose concept of what it means to be a friend is different. One bloggette related the story of being at a friend's house with another friend when the second received a phone call and invitation to play a certain board game. The second turned to the first and asked her if she wanted to go play. This was very upsetting to the blogette, transporting her back to an earlier time. A time of people getting in daily "fights," laying dibs on who would play with who during recess and backstabbing. In so many ways we've been well-socialized since then, I do wonder though how genuine the its been. We still gossip, though now we go it under the banner of concern/interest in our friends. People are still excluded, though now we attribute it to insecurity and carelessness rather than malice.
Exclusion is an interesting idea. The excluder feel somehow entitled, the excludee feels sad and resentful. My mom was talking about my sister's friends. They are 13/14 and in 8th grade. My mom was marveling at how well they all get along, how little jealousy is involved. She asked my sister where her best friend was that night, "Oh, she's at a movie with Rachel." My mom, instigator that she is, goaded her "Did they invite you? Does that make you sad?" And Zoe said "No." I marvel at how unfair it is that she got the hot bod and the emotional maturity. And how she managed to become friends so early on with a bunch of girls who aren't using inclusion/exclusion to make themselves feel better about themselves or to hurt their friends. I think we could all take a lesson from those Clara Barton Open School 8th graders. Plus their cell phones have way cooler ringtones than ours.

Cubic Zirconia

An -ist in the age of -isms.

From time to time I've wondered if I'm racist.
My dad would say, "everyone has prejudices, but if you recognize them and don't let them affect the way you treat people, you're doing better than most people."
But this isn't what I'm talking about. I am starting to believe that the biggest -ism that threatens to make me an -ist is Ageism.
In my job there are a lot of young associates. I've encountered a lot who went straight from undergrad to law school and started at the first since graduating in 2004. Note: This makes them 26 years old. As in, two years older than me, the same age as my boyfriend, and younger than Erica's brother. I was stuck working with one such lawyer last week, into the evening on Friday. She graduated from Bates in 2001. She pronounced "Iroquois," "Ear-rack-waas." She was in charge of telling me what to do and frankly I thought she was too young. And maybe too dumb. But also dumb because she was young. Erica hung out with her friend from high school and his friends, they are 2Ls at NYU. They sit around and play video games and smoke pot and in a little over a year- they will be lawyers. This is silly.
However, one day I will be a lawyer. And granted I'll be 28 instead of 25. Will I be biased against myself? Will I be skeptical of my own competence? Have I been exposed as the raging Agist I am? Um, probably not since I know how to pronounce Iroquois.

What's News?

"After 99 Days, Bush Uses News Conference to Test Winds." That's the headline. I thought it was test the waters. But what do I know. I've never written for the New York Times. So he addressed the nation, and..."Among the things the president has going for him is that he's still the president," said former Senator Bob Kerrey of Nebraska.

I suggest checking out the slide show on the page below. http://www.nytimes.com/2005/04/28/nyregion/28taxi.html?hp\

From Craig's List: $2300 / 2br - Lots Of Space in North Park Slope! Near train/ park/shopping/---Near Erica Sattin and Sarah Erlinder's "dream apartment"---way more than you can pay/:)---look into living in the Gowanus Redevlopment Zone!!!!!!!

This weekend the new Will Ferrell movie, Kicking and Screaming, comes out. Anyone? Here's the tagline: "All his life Phil Weston has dreamed of being on a winning team. Phil... your time has come."

Ten years ago, another movie called Kicking and Screaming was in the theatres. As it was written and directed by a man named Baumbach, it's much more my speed. The plot: "Following graduation, a handful of college students do nothing and talk about it wittily. "

What Else Do You Have to Do the major motion picture would be somewhat similar. I think the plot would be outlined as follows: "Following graduation, a handful of college studets (who are no longer college students because it is following graduation-duh) do a lot and blog about it wittily." I think the the title is still available. The closest thing would probably be the 1992 Iranian film,"Digeh che khabar," which translates to mean "What Else is New?"

Risky Business

One of my coworkers talks a lot, and over the past ten months of my employment I've gotten used to her tendency to think out loud. I almost always pay attention to what she says, but I don't always absorb it, even when it is relevant to me and/or my work. And I consider responding verbally totally optional. But today one of her non-sequiturs hit me like a ton of bricks:

She: "I saw on CNN this morning that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are dating."

Me: [shrieking] "What??????!!!!!!"

This blows me away. I don't even know what to write about it, but I had to write something. I think Katie Holmes is a beautiful, classy girl, and brava to her for scoring with Maverick himself, but WHAT is he doing? Besides having a mid-life crisis, which I don't think people as rich and successful as he is should be allowed to have. Please, someone (Alison, perhaps?) comment on this and help me sort it all out. Thanks.

Best Week Ever!

This being Administrative Professionals Week, there are big events down at the 'ffice. Yesterday we were treated to a free breakfast, which was actually quite delicious and full of things like spinach quiche and ham and cheese fritatta. Nothing continental here. Then, at 10:35 am, it happened. We all received the email from our supervisor's supervisor:

Subject: Got Caught in the Rain?

Well, as luck would have it, our support staff gift this year is a windproof umbrella in a sturdy carrying case.

Unfortunately, this gift is for CWT employees only so temporary paralegals are not eligible. Temporary paralegals are welcome to the dessert fest on Friday however.

Classy. The sturdy carrying case has a shoulder strap and the whole thing looks like a shoulder fired missile launcher or at least a billy club. Coworker Maggie said two years ago they got rolling suitcases and last year it was a "crappy" radio. This brings me to the DESSERT FEST on Friday. So many SSSSSs, so many Es. Anyway, I still think this job is hilarious. More hilarious is that at the old job no one was appreciated for anything...
Of note: today is bring your child to work day here at Cadwalader. So far have not seen any children, but there was a sign this morning that said "Take Your Child to Breakfast." Which struck me as very funny somehow.

radiokbla has self-destructed

I had a friendster blog and now it is gone. The page is just empty and cannot be found. Why would this be? Any blog-xperts care to weigh in? The only thing I can think is that I referred to my nasal spray by name-brand on the blog. Yes, Sarah, I realize that makes me sound even gayer than usual. Where is my blog? I don't think I sniffed it up...

Sarah Interprets the Scriptures....

Ok. It's passover. Let me share my thoughts and feelings on bread.
1. If we were not intended to eat carbs, there would be no passover. Passover would have been a really convienient way to segue the chosen people onto the chosen diet. But such is not the case. The Atkins-friendly ham and cheese omelet replacing the bagel for breakfast? I don't think so... And isn't the whole point at one level to make us appreciate how great it is that we're not in bondage or trudging through the desert waiting for a miracle. Life is so good, we eat levened bread... why give that up?
2. What is Kosher for Passover? Now, obviously I don't keep Kosher For the Rest of the Year, but under these more relaxed guidelines, I advocate for a more contemporary approach to the bread of affliction. Ok, so in Moses' time Matzoh came about because in their haste to flee oppression, the dough had no time to rise, it was baked by the sun... and so on. Just as the Jews didn't have lots of leisure time to make artesanal breads, hard-working poor folks worldwide have been making do with what they have. These are transcendant themes of poverty and in our new global culture I think alternate and international breads of affliction should be taken into account.
New acceptable substitutions for Matzoh and yes, I have been ordained on the internet:

• Pita
• Tortilla
• Nan
• Injera (Eithiopian flat bread, used to eat tasty morsels with your hands. Hello, affliction.)
• Fry bread. (No one is more oppressed than the Native Americans, come on.)
• Lefse (Norweigians are afflicted with stupidness. That's right, Kristina.)

While writing this, I came across this: http://www.foodsubs.com/Flatbread.html

"Reality Bites," Real and Imagined

There are some films and TV shows that you see in your youth and remember as being simply wonderful. Flawless, really. Then sometimes you see them again when you're a bit older and realize that they are not actually very good at all. (For me, Mike Myers' "So I Married an Axe Murderer" and the series "Perfect Strangers.") "Reality Bites" is not one of those movies. I watched it again last night on the We channel and was kind of bowled over by how it may even be better than I remembered it. Maybe this is because I don't think I've seen it since graduating from college, and therefore have a new appreciation for Troy Dyer's wisdom ("The only thing you have to be at 23 is yourself.") and Laney's job search (David Spade at the fast food joint: "There's a reason I've been here six months.") Maybe it's because Ethan Hawke hasn't looked that good in years or because Janeane Garofalo's bangs are back in style. Maybe it's the soundtrack--the "My Sharona" scene in the gas station food mart, the wonderfully mopey scenes at the end set to U2's "All I Want is You." In any case, next time you're at a parent's house for a holiday that you are half-heartedly celebrating and find yourself alone and kind of bored at 11 p.m., I highly recommend revisiting what I now consider a classic.

Possible Unknown Benefit of Lesbianism

When a lady is late for work and the outfit she had imagined as being genius actually looks stupid, might it not be more useful to have a girlfriend than a boyfriend? Boyfriends are nice and all, but kind of useless in the face of that kind of panic that really only a girl/woman/femmie gay man can understand. Just a thought.

Re: jury duty

I spent a good deal of my childhood sneakily watching Night Court. I wasn't allowed to, due to the graphic nature or something like that. But while my mom made dinner, I'd watch and learn about things like hookers and bailiffs. Only one of these came in useful in my time at Jury Duty, you'll have to read on to determine which. (Note: A similar sneaking-of-forbidden-media-involving-prostitutes situation arose with Pretty Woman, but that's the subject of another blog. This one concerns courts.) So I was summoned for Jury Duty in Kings County on Monday. I was very excited about it, not only was it a change of scenery but it seemed like a great opportunity to see a real slice the lives of people in my community. Errr... borough. People in my
community are 34 years old and generally have two kids who they dress in expensive tights and progressive silk-screened Ts. "Babies Against Bush." I showed up at 8:45 on Monday and was told to "have a seat." Over the next two hours more and more folks came in, some of whom had
been waiting to be called all day Friday, some of whom had already been Voir Dire-ed and selected for a jury. We all waited. We got intricately detailed instructions, repeated 6 times, about how exactly to tear the perforations on our cards and how to cross out our name or
addresses if they were listed incorrectly. We watched a video hosted by Jane Pauley and Ed Bradley (of 60 Minutes). It gave examples of how much the legal system has improved since the Dark Ages when folks were bound and thrown into a lake to determine guilt or innocence. If they floated, they were guilty. Sank meant innocence. (This is like the Salem witch trials although for some reason I had always imagined this being doubly barbaric because if the person sank, I thought they would automatically be dead. The video cleared this up by showing the
townspeople waiting a given amount of time and then rushing in to recover the newly acquitted and very wet detainee.) The video also told us that if we felt like we were just wasting time, waiting around, we were wrong. We were in fact not only fulfilling our civic duty but upholding the institution of democracy. I felt good about that, but still thought I was wasting my life. We waited and waited. At 12:30 we were dismissed for a 1.5 hour lunch. I shopped along the
Fulton Mall in downtown Brooklyn. I found some amazing bargains, especially on shoes, in stores white people don't shop at. I ate a Thai lunch special of basil chicken. I went back to the room. I waited for another hour. At 3pm my name was called. I felt smug parading past all of the other folks who had to keep waiting, I was going to be Voir Dire-ed. In truth, one of the reasons I was so excited about Jury Duty was the possibility of a really juicy case. At some level I was hoping
for a murder, or some capital crime, so I could trick my way onto the Jury, vote against the death penalty, subvert the whole system... this illusion was shattered for two reasons. 1. I am fairly sure, though could confirm this via a quick google, that New York state is on a
moratorium when it comes to the death penalty. 2. As soon as we got into the questioning room, I was told it was a civil car accident dispute. Damn.
So we were asked questions about ourselves, our families... our experiences in car accidents... and eventually the jury was selected. Almost everyone was picked, noticeably not the man who asked for a "private conference" with the attorneys. The jury of six was myself, a 40-something white "designer" who went to Cooper Union, had lived in Williamsburg for 20 years and seemed to be a self-righteous gentrifier. There was also a 20-20yr old Latina, a 50-something Filipino man, a 60-something Polish man and a 50-something Jamaican woman. It was interesting that only 2 of 6 were US-born. A jury of one's peers.

DAY 2:

We were instructed to arrive at 9:30, I rolled in at 9:45 and very anxious. Partially because I didn't want the Jury police on my tail but mostly because I was afraid of getting booted off the Jury and having to wait in that room another day. I entered the holding pen, it was filled with a lot of new people (including my talkative co-worker, by chance) and a lot of people who had been waiting since the day before. I didn't see anyone I recognized from my jury and got anxious for a moment. Once again, I was told to "take a seat." I reheard the instructions on tearing at the perforations. This day I was prepared and had arrived with an issue of Time, one of the Nation and a novel (far trumping the academic non-fiction I had brought the day before.) I waited and waited. I thought for a long time how adult we all were. I mean, obviously we are all adults, but the ability to be told to sit in a chair and wait there for an undetermined amount of time and actually do it... seems like it fights against all of our insticts and is the result of a lifetime of socialization. Waiting and waiting, we were finally called by the bailiff (!) and brought to the courtroom. I felt underdressed. We waited in the jury room some more. We came into the courtroom, everyone stood for us. The trial started. The judge, bailiff and court reporter were all black women, I found this interesting. The Plaintiff testified through an interpreter. His lawyer had a wandering eye and didn't once pronounce his name correctly. The other lawyer was named Barbie. She spoke very preceisely except for referring to us as "youse guys." We kept getting sent in and out of the jury room. The defendant never even showed up. We got another long lunch, I ate turkey on a bagel at the promenade. I saw the interpreter there but wasn't sure if I was allowed to speak to her. We came back to court. Waited some more. Deliberated. I felt bullied by the Polish and Filipino guys, they kept interupting and I wondered if it was a gender thing. Or maybe an age one. Hard to tell. We reached a verdict, the Filipino man was the foreperson. They all said foreman even though the judge said foreperson, maybe it was a gender thing after all. I went home. Democracy.