april 01

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

phone home

4/26/01
I'm working late since I'm supposed to pick up the keys to my new place at 9pm. So I came in at 12:30, but I haven't managed to get much done. I've gotten a little sidetracked bidding on greeting cards on Ebay. I was just about to call it a day, but had to get my loathing for those new "Life Tastes Good" Coke commercials out of my system. The one I really hate is with all the college kids, "six weeks from graduation," having fun, doing nothing and lazing around on a train like this is as good as life gets. I don't know, these commercials are supposed to tap into something, be poignant or who knows what, but I just feel hollow and sick to my stomach every time I see one. The more annoying thing is that this particular commercial isn't on their site, but Spanish Wedding" is. I just thought it was an irritating ad with a little girl who wants to give the bride a sip of her Coke, but no, it's a Spanish Wedding. Hispanic culture's hot now, didn't you know? Speaking of sentimental ads, this series that I actually do like for reasons I can't quite pin down are Georgia Pacific's recent commercials. I liked the first one better, which they refer to as "Wood Mill" with a bunch of scenes in a mill…you know, I'm no good at describing commercials…let's have their "Branding" (I love that word--so 21st century) dept. sum it up:

This spot opens on various scenes of Georgia-Pacific's wood products and paper mills. The camera pans through the various facilities, with close-up shots on raw paper, wood, and cardboard products at several different stages of production. All the while, supers naming different types of everyday household items flash upon the products, illustrating what these raw materials will one day be transformed into. A shot of rows and rows of lumber has the super, "your patio deck" and "the neighbor’s fence." An enormous roll of paper carries the super, "The Great American Novel." We see boxes rolling off the assembly line as a super flashes, "Moving day." Scenes in the factory continue to run throughout with supers such as "your sister's diary," "Dear John," and "the bookshelves you keep putting off." The spot fades to an end treatment of a home being built from the ground up as supers flash the words. "lumber, gypsum wallboard, plywood, office paper, paper towels, corrugated boxes, particleboard, bath tissue." The home transforms into the Georgia-Pacific logo as the tagline is supered: "Georgia-Pacific. We make the things that make you feel at home.

Yes, that's more like it. I've been fond of this commercial since I first saw it. It gets into your being and tugs at you (well, me) in strange ways. While the Coke ads make me nasty and bitter, the Georgia Pacific ones almost cause me to tear up. Who knew that paper products could conjure up such feeling?

4/24/01
I've been too wound up and busy packing and cleaning to write much here lately. I really hate cleaning, and it shows. The thing is, I can't stand dirt or grime, but instead of regularly keeping on top of combatting it, I get grossed out by creepy cracks and crevices like the space between the stove and the sink and behind radiators and let the filth build up until it' s out of control. I wouldn't even care, if it weren't for the fact that I'd really like my security deposit (paltry as it is--getting $580 back doesn't seem so impressive when I just had to fork over $1,500 security for the new place) back. I can't figure out if I really got this place so dirty in three years or if it was on the grimy side when I moved in. I just can't believe the difference in color on the bathroom tiles after scrubbing them. I guess they're supposed to be white, not tan. The really creepy thing was after taking down pictures off the refrigerator, there were all these white squares on a cream colored background. So wrong. I also can't believe I've accumulated six large garbage bags of clothes, shoes and purses that I need to get rid off. I don't even think they have Goodwill/Salvation Army drop-offs here so I'm not sure what to do with the crap. I used to love going to the Goodwill drive-thru drop-off and unloading ages of no longer useful stuff. I hear that they're all fussy here and will go through your things and only take what they want and reject the rest, which seems a little fishy if you'd ever seen the pathetic thrift stores they have in the city. So, I'm supposed to be getting my keys Thurs. night and moving Fri. It's been this real hassle because the guy hasn't moved out yet, and I can't get new phone service til he turns his off, which he hasn't yet. So I don't know when I'll have a new number or will even be able to use my computer (for the internet). And I'm thinking if this guy isn't moving out til Thurs. night and it's mine that evening there's no way it'll be cleaned in any way. And while I don't mind my own grime, I can't deal with strangers' lived-in germs so I guess I'll be cleaning all damn weekend. And to top it off, I have no bed. I never bothered to get one here, and really yucked people out by using the mattress left behind (I remember looking at this place and there was this Indian family of like four or five in here, and the grandma was all passed out, napping on the mattress on the floor). I've already been told that if I cart that filthy thing to a new apt. that something must really be wrong with me, so maybe I'll leave it behind. But it's such a headache, beds and mattresses aren't cheap and delivery is a whole other issue as far as timing and cost. I'll probably go the IKEA route, especially since I got their $3,000 limit credit card last time I was there, but at $115 per delivery, I'd better get some good stuff, and lots of it. I was just going to go off about the new woman at work and her talking about how much she's been sweating and smells and how she leaves pee on the toilet seat, but there's just too much to be done right now. But I'm not going to forget about the pee on the seat business--that's a huge pet peeve of mine. Women are really foul in the bathroom, all prissy and obnoxious, they don't want their skin to touch the seat so they squat and get urine all over the place so it's even more disgusting for the next person. If women didn't squat over the toilet in the first place, there wouldn't be piss all over the place. I dont get it. They think that everyone else is dirty, but they're the messy pigs. Just sit on the goddamn seat, or put paper down, or whatever. I don't care, I just don't want to have to deal with your pee because you're the finicky one. O.k., back to cleaning.

4/20/01
I'm not sure if it's possible to mentally regress, but I'm starting to think it is. If unused muscles deteriorate, then I'm sure the same is true for brain functions and linguistic skills. Somehow I've sunk into this blah Mon-Fri rut of no return. More than half the time I'm the only one at work which is starting to get on my nerves (almost as much, if not more so than when other people are there) because I have to wake up way too early to sit on a subway for an hour to sit by myself in a tiny office in a total dirty warzone (they've been tearing up the street since like Feb. and I think all the mud and dust is keeping me sick. It looks like a Mad Max landscape outside, which could be cool if that freaky wild-haired kid was running around, but no cigar) and do nit-picky work until 5pm, then sit on the subway for another hour, come home and sit here by myself until I bore myself to death and I go to bed between 11pm and 12am. I can go days with little or no substantial interpersonal interaction, and I think it's starting to make me stupid. Actually, it's worse when there are other people at work (all two of them) because I have absolutely nothing to say to them and what few words are exchanged are near meaningless. Like when I do talk to people, my sentences are all garbled and I have to keep repeating myself. In my day, I may ask a store clerk for a pack of cigarettes, or ask an MTA clerk for a 7-day Metrocard, or make calls to Chambers of Commerces in random upstate New York towns to find out about kayak rentals, but that's about it. I suppose you shouldn't blame a job for your misery, you should blame yourself for dumb choices and take action. And I do make efforts, but right now jobs are about as scarce as they've ever been, and it's silly to think a job is what's wrong with your life when it's clearly just a symptom. My mom is the perfect example of a lifetime of job dissatisfaction. Since she graduated highschool she's done billing work in either medical offices or for medical insurance companies, and like every six months to a year, she gets fed up and changes jobs (or moves). But takes jobs that are exactly the same, just in different companies. She doesn't complain, but I can't imagine it's terribly fulfilling. After like 22 years of the same monotonous thing, wouldn't you think you'd crack (or try something new)? I'm starting to think that I'm not supposed to work. No, not like I've got some higher calling or something, but I don't think jobs and myself are well-suited. I don't want to be lazy and lay around the house all day, but getting up every day and going to an office is going to be the death of me. I guess I've got a lifetime to figure out what's right, but presently, at 28, I wish whatever this genius path I'm meant to be on would present itself to me a little quicker (where's Oprah when you need her--I'd better check out her reading recommendations as soon as I get done here). I hate to be a hermit, and despite my moaning, no one's forcing me to sit home alone on a Friday night. I could've gone out with friends (seeing "Joe Dirt" was mentioned, but there's no way in hell I'm blowing ten bucks on that beast), but I can't really because I'm supposed to be packing and if I go out tonight, next thing I know it'll be 3am and instead of trekking back to Queens, I'll take the easy way out and stay at James's (he's out of town for some stupid company retreat thing), sleep in until noon and get too sidetracked to come back here and clean my shit up. I just have to force myself to stay put tonight and be productive (so far, I've only managed to make dinner [a very decent salad of red leaf lettuce, blue cheese, toasted pecans, red delicious apple, and smoked turkey topped with a cider vinaigrette], watch a "Frasier" rerun and type this crap). But for all the mundane blandness, I have to admit there's a lot of good here too. Little things like the insane two-floor football stadium-sized Chinese all-you-can-eat restaurant, East Buffet in Flushing that I went to for Easter. I can't even begin to describe this place (though I'm sure I will later whether or not anyone cares). They had a sushi bar, a station with peking duck, suckling pig and lamb (for Easter only, I'm guessing), crazy congees and fruit soups, crab legs, Korean bbq, tempura, dim sum, weird old school American dishes like lobster thermidor, a huge dessert section filled with innumerable variations on the brightly colored coconut, rice and gelatin theme, and half-priced bubble tea (a bargain at $1.50 a mug). I'm only sad that the URL www.eastbuffet.com that I swear was on their business card (I don't have it here at home) doesn't appear to work. I'm sure it'd be a doozy of a site. Also, Sat. morning I was watching this Jacques Torres Easter special on the Food Network where he was making out of control candy bonnets and rabbits coming out of chocolate watering cans. It was very impressive. Later that afternoon, I went with James to drop off stuff at his storage space in DUMBO (Down Under Manhattan Brooklyn Overpass, I think. I didn't make the stupid acronym up, and I don't know that that area near the navy yards actually has a proper name), and remembered that Jacques Torres had recently opened up a factory/store over there, so we swung by (however, I didn't go in. I just wanted to see where it was, and besides I didn't have $40 to blow on a chocolate bunny at the moment). I don't know, for as much as this city can stink and give me tics (actually my eye twitch has dissipated. My new disturbing ailment appears to be random, insanely itchy hives and welts all over my body, which is quite an exciting replacement), it can be very cool too. Where else could I watch a TV show with interesting products and then hours later be able to go see them in person? Anyway, I just realized that it's not the lack of opportunities to speak all day that is bumming me out (yeah, I just said bumming me out--I told you I was getting dumb--I was totally [oops, totally?] chastised last week for saying stoked. Dude, what gives?) so much as that I feel like I can't be myself. God, that sounds gross. It's not like I have this stifling corporate job. I work in a rathole in Brooklyn with a stupid boss a year younger than me who got some notion in her head about starting a website in the most harsh of financial climates. So, it's lowkey, but there's no sense of comradery, ooh I don't really mean comradery, like I can't joke with anyone, there's absolutely no fun to be had. Even at the lamest of jobs (really, those are usually the most entertaining as far as the humor factor goes) I had people to commiserate with. At this place, they watch "Regis and that new woman," "Rose O'Donnell," and "The View" without one single ounce of sarcasm ever crossing their lips or minds. I swear, if I have to watch "Oprah" or listen to Z100 one more day, I'm going to have a freakin' aneurysm. I think I've been rendered speechless from all the bile bubbling up in my system. I have no tolerance for bad company (not the band), and that's what this job's become. A horrible party where I can't just up and leave. 40+ insipid hours a week are being stolen from me. It's a crime against humanity that has to be sorted out soon.

4/16/01
Oh boy. I guess it's tax day, right? I knew that, but was sort of ignoring the fact that I knew and semi going through my crap deciding what to pack and what to throw out, when I found all my old tax forms and W-2's. The oldest one I had was from '95. I'm surprised that I even transported that stuff from Portland almost three years ago, and am even more amazed that it's still around. So, I figure that would be five years that I haven't sent in my taxes so far. I thought things were bad now, but it was really crazy to see that in '95 I had six different jobs and only made $5,762.17 gross (I guess your dollar stretches further when your rent is $200 and a night of entertainment consists of Taco Bell drive thrus [are Seven Layer Burritos still 99 cents in the NW? They certainly aren't here] and 40s of Olde English 800). That was a year after graduating. I mean, people make $50,000 straight out of school now and it's no big deal. What happened between between '94 and now?! And why didn't I tap into any of it? Jeez, and now it's too late. It seems like everyone I know is unemployed (though not on unemployment--I guess everyone else has savings sufficient enough to leisurely take vacations and just plain hang out). And while I've never managed to reap the benefits that every other wealthy twenty-something on earth has, if I wanted to think positively I could say that since '95 I've cut my number of jobs per year in half (only three in '00) and have increased my salary 5.5 times (which isn't saying much). See, I'm doing great! A success story to beat all.

4/12/01
God bless NYC and all its religious inhabitants. I don't recall ever getting Good Friday off before, but I'm not complaining. Things like Ash Wednesday and Easter are a much bigger deal here, it seems. I never did much on Easter except eat chocolate bunnies and hunt for eggs. Well, I do remember in the early '80s going to the newly opened Clackamas Town Center (big mall where Tanya Harding practiced/practices ice skating) on Easter, and that was quite a treat. I also recall having to go to Outdoor School (is that just a West Coast creation--making 6th graders go to the woods for a week to learn about science and nature?) on Easter and everyone who brought candy (like myself) got it taken away. Not only did that suck, but we couldn't take showers, they also took our make up away (I guess they didn't want a bunch of 11 yr. old, whores in training, messing up the wilderness), and since I was in a fight with my friends (as good pre-teen girls always are) the week we picked partners, I got stuck with the class freak, Maureen, who talked in her sleep about meeting Duran Duran and who flipped my buddy burner (those homemade camp stoves made from coffee cans and heated with candles crafted from tuna cans, cardboard and wax) burger onto the muddy grass and the counselors made me eat it anyway. I was throwing up the rest of the afternoon and missed the field day festivities. I swear I was the only girl on the bus home who wasn't crying (they all wanted to stay). Ah...Easter memories. I did notice that Hostess changed the color of its purple Easter snoballs this year. Last year they were all dark and muddy gray. Now they're lighter, but still dusty and barely lavender. Why are true purple pigments so hard to create (cheaply)? Drugstore purple eyeshadow is always chalky and dull, and I remember in art school that the purple paint was always more expensive than the other colors. Anyway, today I got a crack up at work (a rare occurrence). I was already in a decent mood since I was the only one in the office (a new beastly Pizza Hut manager type woman starts next week--believe you me, I'm not going to be able to last much longer). But I got this package from Mike who used to do a zine, "Culture Freak," which is now online in a different form. He said he had a friend who used to work for CBS, who had all these demented collages sent by a Shelly Long fan. I can't even begin to describe the things. I receive a pretty thick stack, and I think this is only a small portion of the sum total. They're near nonsensical, but with recurring themes that involve the Tijuana Brass Band and these cowboy caricatures, and are sort of centered around her short-lived '93 sitcom, "Good Advice." Very odd stuff, though more amusing than menacing. I think it's the sheer number of these "artworks" that makes you wonder. Free time can be a scary thing.

4/9/01
I was just about to marvel over the nice weather and how it finally seems like spring and all that, but now there's a violent thunder and lightning storm going on. Oh well. Soon enough it'll be scorching hot so it's fine by me if it stays cool and gloomy for a little bit longer. Well, my computer is back up and running and that makes me feel more like myself. I'm supposed to be packing, but it's such a chore. And I hardly even have any possessions--just a bunch of books and flotsam and jetsam that's been sitting on the floor for over two years. It's pretty pathetic. My landlord stopped by tonight and wanted to look at the apt. I'm sure she thought all the crap strewn about, flattened cardboard, and disassembled shelves and tables were part of the moving process, but that's how it always looks. It's an unbearable situation really. I hate messes, but as I've said before, I never put things together or attempted to pretty up the place because I always wanted to be able to pack up and scram at a moment's notice. But of course, I've been living here almost three years now so that's just sad. I vow to settle in and make efforts with my new apt. It's about time to turn over new leaf. Blah, I wish I had exciting things to report. It seems that day by day, my life becomes more mundane. I hate it when everything's chaotic and miserable, but it's certainly more fun to talk about, that's for sure. This weekend I did stuff like going to a birthday party (there's been like millions in the past few weeks), and spent too much money on presents that I really wanted for myself (like this heart-shaped casserole crock. But I've decided to be adult and generous and hopefully I'll be pleased when my birthday rolls around. I watched rented movies ("Set Me Free" which I thought sounded good when it came out last year, but was really sort of a Canadian coming of age bore), went shoe shopping (and couldn't find a thing I liked under $200) and made sticky buns. God, I'm the bore. The funniest part of the weekend was at dinner Fri. night. James and I went to this Moroccan place Cafe Mogador, and about half way through dinner I noticed that we were sandwiched on both sides by tables of gay men. I didn't think much of it, but when I was in the bathroom, I guess the waiter slipped James his phone number with the bill. I thought he was joking at first. It cracked me up, Jim (the waiter) had this floppy, fake black mildly Goth hair going on, which I just can't understand in this day and age (but at least he was the appropriate age, like late 20s/early 30s. It baffles me when youngsters adopt Goth stylings. Not the Marylin Manson stuff. Like when we were in Saratoga Springs there was this group of youngsters who were probably around 19 and had on old Cure shirts, Doc Martins, berets and crap. I mean, that's all late '80s, my high school era. It's one thing if a person never grows out of their teen style, but it's a horse of a different color to adopt an unattractive look 12 years too late.I guess it's like the gross guys in my school who listened to Pink Floyd.) Later when we called the number (yes, we called it) a gruff Brooklyn sounding guy answered (he could've been gruff because it was around 3 a.m.) and when James asked for Jim the guy said, "which Jim?" which seemed like the funniest thing in the world at the time. Like there's this crazy house full of Jims who pass their numbers out to strangers on a regular basis. No, it doesn't take much to amuse me.

4/3/01
There's something wrong with my computer at home (I’m obviously not at home right now, still at work) and it's unusable. I never knew how addicted I was. Now I don't know what to do when I go home. TV bores me, I don't have any good books lying around and you can only talk on the phone so much. I hope to have it running by this weekend, but in the meantime I'm going nuts. Well, I decided to take the bad carpet apt. Don't ask why. I've just been feeling antsy and bored, and maybe a change of neighborhood will do me good. I'm sure it wasn't the best thought out, well rounded decision, and I'll probably regret it later, but I didn't see any great options opening up in the near future. If you spend your life waiting around for perfect opportunities, you can spend an eternity. I'd rather be decisive and adapt as I go. It's weird, but I'm actually feeling sort of sad about moving out of Queens. Or maybe I'm just nervous about a new apt. and neighborhood I know virtually nothing about. But then, that's the fun of it. New things. I wish I could write more, but I've got to go put the deposit down on the place.

4/1/01
I just realized that it's April Fool's Day. This whole weekend has been such a blur of boredom that I lost track of the date. You know you're in a sorry state when the highlight of your Sat. evening consists of a midnight viewing of "Strong Medicine" on the Lifetime Network (though, as I previously mentioned, I love/hate the show and was pretty sad to see it missing from its peak Sun. at 8pm slot). James and another friend were out of town this weekend, I thought I knew other people, but I guess not because no one called, asked if I had any plans, or invited me to do anything. It's not like I can't take the initiative, but this bothered me still. I swear, I'm not that socially inept, so why I have I been sitting in an apt. wasting away for the past two days. I'm currently listening to mid to late '90s oldies on this Live365 K Records radio station thing I just discovered and am getting all nostalgic for who knows what. Audio is still a novelty to me since my computer at home doesn't have speakers or any of that fancy stuff (actually, it's not working at all at the moment, which isn't making me very happy). I'm having a total dilemma. I saw that apt. fri. night and it's just like I pictured it, ruined with modern fixtures and with a really ugly bright red carpet. The location is convenient, the price is reasonable, no broker fee, but the neighborhood isn't all that great, I didn't see any decent grocery stores or a close laundromat and the place is an eyesore. Sat. I saw a much nicer apt. but farther out in a worse neighborhood. And I had a bad feeling about it since there were a bunch of families looking at it and dual incomes (even if a person only makes like $25,000/yr, times two it certainly beats me out) are always more attractive to a landlord than a single measly one. I don't even feel like bothering with the application fee on this one. I've been stressing on whether or not I want to move to a convenient, yet ugly apt. It was between me and one other woman, and when I checked my messages this evening there was one saying I'd gotten the place. Now I don't know what to do. Take it out of the fear that I won't find anything better or hold out for something amazing that may or may not ever materialize? I'd better decide by tomorrow.