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7/26/00
Well, yesterday started off o.k., I got an interview at Barnes & Noble.com (but for a pretty low-level job and you'd think I'd just take what I could get in my position, but you know, that's what I've been doing my whole life and you end up with crap, and this job is more of a sure bet, there's another one I'm in the process of applying for that pays a heck of a lot more money, but it's iffier. I mean, what if I got offered the lower paying b & n job, but declined in hopes of this [or any other] better one and I then didn't get it and had nothing, not even a mediocre job? I don't know.) for this morning. Then I went out last night for my birthday to this Korean place in the West Village, Do Hwa, and that was cool and I got to grill a bunch of meat at my table, but during dinner I started getting nervous because I could feel symptoms of a bladder infection coming on and that really sucked, but thought maybe I was being a hypochondriac as I often am. Later I went out for drinks and it started getting worse. But I was temporarily distracted by my presents: some OXO kitchen tools I'd wanted, Asian snacks and candy, Vanilla Stoli (which is super good with ginger ale-it tastes like cream soda), and this cool Hello Kitty toaster I'd been eyeing at that Japanese mall in N.J. that burns Hello Kitty's face into each piece of toast. I went to bed around 2 am, knowing I'd be tired for my interview, but oh well, and then around 4 am I woke up in excruciating pain and couldn't sleep or sit or do anything. I was all delirious and called around to try and find a 24 hour drug store to get some sort of over the counter treatment until I could get to a dr. in the morning and then I remembered that I probably didn't have health insurance anymore since my job has ceased to exist and couldn't even make an appt. I mean, what the hell?! Why would I have to get sick two days after losing my job and on my birthday?! Even though n.y. summers are normally hot as hades, a rainstorm decided to move into town so I ran out at 4:30 am in the cold pouring rain to Duane Reade and that was an ordeal in itself. Drug stores are creepy in the wee hours, a couple people were shuffling around and it didn't seem like anyone was actually working there and there didn't seem to be anything even remotely for bladder/urinary problems, though I know those pills exist because I bought them in Portland and they had some smiling senior citizen couple on the box. Half-asleep, I scoured the aisles and back behind some counter there were all these strewn-about piles of medicine on a shelf and I spied something called Cystex, which seemed like the stuff I was looking for. I tried to ask the woman stocking shelves for it, but she seemed clueless and had to call some guy reading magazines over and he seemed clueless too, like neither of them were allowed behind the counter or something, but he climbed on a chair and over the little swinging door that must have been locked. It was a total nightmare and I'm sure I looked like a freak with my just out of bed hair and clothes I grabbed off the floor. And the whole time I'm thinking, "how the hell am I going to manage an interview at 11 am on two hours sleep?" It really sucked, but what can you do? This morning I woke up, got ready, called and made a dr. appt. (obviously my insurance hadn't been cancelled yet, which is the one bright note to this tale) for 2 pm, turned on the TV and instantly an ad came on for something called Anzo that helps with urinary pain until you can get to a dr. (Anzo, my ass. I had to settle for some random dirty box of Cystex thrown behind a counter) checked my messages at home and found out that they wanted to reschedule the interview for later. So, I guess that was good, but damn, I could've stressed less and slept longer and not gotten all gussied up and all that. The only part of my day that brought amusement was dr.'s office visit. My regular dr. was out on maternity leave so I got some random new guy-I'm not even sure if he was a dr., he seemed pretty young and un-authoritative and appeared to be using someone else's office like he didn't have one of his own and he had a ratty backpack sitting next to his chair and anyway, my point is that in a twisted way he was hot. He was all WASPy and sandy complexioned (my favorite) and spoke in this concerned, measured tone. Now, I know I'm being semi-delusional and like to create interest in my life, but I swear he touched me in a mildly inappropriate way. I had to sit on the exam table and he lightly punched my back to see if it was painful and that was normal. Then I laid on my back and he pressed around my stomach and bladder to see if it hurt and that too, was normal. Then I sat up and asked if that was all, he said yes then with the palm of his hand rubbed i.e. caressed my back, which wasn't normal. I know that sounds harmless and it was, but there was something so simultaneously innocent and dirty that I couldn't help but think twice about it. I can't even quite put my finger on it, but it just wasn't the manner in which you touch a patient. If I ever have problems again, I'll be sure to ask for Dr. Louis Lit. Even the magic 8 ball I consulted at the Rite Aid while waiting for my prescription said no, that nothing peculiar had transpired with Louis, but magic 8 balls have been wrong before. I never thought I'd get all warm (not hot) and bothered by some fumbling young doctor in khakis.

7/20/00

What is wrong with this ad from the "Village Voice"? EVERYTHING. It's the scary harbinger I've been waiting for. The Williamsburg craze has finally gotten so out of control that now Ridgewood (my neighborhood) is considered Williamsburg. I'd predicted that by around 2005, people would start being pushed out towards my neighborhood (where hopefully I'd no longer be). Maybe I should stick around, hold out, stake my claim and be the proud renter of the cheapest apt. in town when this new amazing Ridgewood trend takes hold. Now if you recall from my poorly drawn map, Williamsburg is NOWHERE NEAR Ridgewood. They're not even in the same burough. I can sort of see how the realtor could fudge it since diagonally there isn't really a neighborhood between the two, it's sort of a no man's land wasteland that is still on the Brooklyn side so technically they may be able to call it Williamsburg, but that ain't no Williamsburg. Any hipster will tell you that once you get past the third stop on the L it becomes uncool. Ideally, you should only live off the first stop. Recently there have been trickles as far out as the 5th stop, but no further because about there it starts becoming a ghetto and it stays sketchy til you get to Ridgewood when it nicens up again, but with greatly reduced rent since you're now 45 min. from the city as opposed to a pleasant 10-15 min. REAL Williamsburg commute. This ad is for the SEVENTH stop. I live off the 9th L stop. I know I'm going on and on, but this is insanity. I think with time, they will stop calling Brooklyn, Brooklyn and will have renamed the entire burough Williamsburg to make everyone feel good and to increase rental profits. It'll be some committee of brokers and real estate agents who band together with this bright idea. This is so wrong. It's like someone trying to sell me a size 14 JC Penny dress and labeling it a size 6, then charging me $500. I know I can't wear a size 6, but for a certain fee I now can legitimately tell people I'm a size 6 and in my head I might start justifying and believing it. On an unrelated note, I saw just the second half of "Clockwatchers" a few weeks ago and it was really good and sad and about office culture in a sharp, un-campy way and starred Toni Collette, who I really like...

Okay…that's what I started writing thurs. morning and now it's mon. 7/24/00. I was going to start talking about my job and how I never discuss it much because I'm afraid of someone potentially reading it, but that it was starting to get to me and how there's always this subtle high-strung, creepy vibe in the air. At most jobs there are people I really like and people I loathe and that keeps things interesting. There are people you do things with outside of work and maybe you'll get drinks once a week or something, but these people are all total sticks in the mud that I don't click (or is it clique? I've never been sure) with on any level. No one is mean or horribly unbearable, but it's a very anti-social environment where no one talks about anything personal and works long hours and it seems like everyone is always walking on eggshells and it was starting to bum me out because I actually like the work I do, but it sucks to spend 45+ hours a week of your life with such bland, unstimulating coworkers. Well anyway, that's all been solved because later on thurs. me and about 75% of the staff were let go. Yes, so lucky me, now I have all the free time I'd so desperately wanted. Nevermind that I no longer have an income and I have no savings to speak of. Who cares that tomorrow is my birthday and it's a likely candidate for shittiest birthday ever. And so what that I haven't been back to Portland even once in over two years and had made plans to visit in Sept and now I'll have to start over accumulating vacation at a new job (assuming I'll have one by then). And it's ok that my whopping $128 in birthday money will now be spent on bills instead of some new clothes and a haircut that I'd been wanting for months. Let's not even talk about furniture or a new apt. because that obviously isn't in the cards, period. So, I'd really like to say a hearty fuck-you to just about everyone and everything right now, but that's not very nice, is it? So, anyway, I did a little this and that this weekend. Saw some movies, "Chuck and Buck" which was a disturbing, super funny film about a mentally stunted adult who stalks his childhood friend and "X-Men" which wasn't really my thing, but it was something to watch. Sat. I went out to The Hamptons and Montauk (the furthest point east on Long Island) and saw how the other half lives. I saw some deer, about 500 Mercedes SUV's and a handful of limos, a raccoon in a garbage can, ate an overpriced ice cream cone, walked on some scary rocks overlooking the ocean by a lighthouse and had a panic attack, and almost saw Jerry Seinfeld. We went out to dinner at this place, Gosman's, that's on some bay (or maybe the Atlantic) and everyone was all freaking out because Jerry Seinfeld had just been there. But I was more impressed with the woman at the table next to us who stood up and passed out and hit her head on the floor. Everybody went all nuts and the paramedics had to be called in, but I did not let this detract me from eating my soft-shell crabs. I also really liked the young tan couple at the other table next to us where the guy kept asking the waiter what Jerry Seinfeld's girlfriend (he's married, duh) looked like and if his girlfriend was hotter than Jerry's. So, it was quite the fun-filled weekend. Now it's mon. and I haven't done shit. I woke up at 11:30, ate some Chinese steamed buns, updated my resume, watched TV, listened to some music, smoked lots of cigarettes, called the unemployment office, took a shower around 4:00, then ate some homemade hummus. This is the life.

7/17/00
People (well, not very many people) have asked me what I'd like for my birthday since it is less than ten days away. And truthfully, I don't know. I can't even think about wants and fun things when there are so many neccessities that I've been meaning to do something about for two years. My apt. is really becoming a source of unhappiness. I want nothing to do with it and try to spend as little time there as possible. Of course, the argument can be made that if I spruced it up, I'd be happier there. But I think that if I spend time and money making it homey then I'm resigning myself to staying there for an indefintely long period of time. I feel like if I do nothing to it, I'm not really tied to it. Meanwhile, it's the sparsest, miserable apt. you've ever seen. Things this apt. needs to make it semi-livable:

*a couch (not a futon, which I don't have either, but if I'm going to break down and buy furniture I want real things not dormroom, bachelor stuff)
*a bed (I was going to say that I haven't had a real bed since I was in grade school, but then I realized that that bed wasn't even all that real. My dad made bunk beds out of some cheap wood and when me and my sister got too old to share a room, he just cut them in two)
*drawers that actually open and close and don't fall out of the runners.
*counter space. That's not something you can pick up at the store so I'd settle for a kitchen table.
*a desk
*shelves (I've been living surrounded by piles of crap on the floor for far too long)
*air conditioner
*mini-blinds that open and close (I bought $9 ones when I first moved in and my friend Jessica managed to knock down and bust 2 window's worth and I've been too cheap and disgruntled to bother replacing them)

I guess that's it. That's the bare minimum, not including any wants like a turntable, food processor, or a VCR (I guess DVD's are what everybody's buying now anyway). I wouldn't mind having a comforter (or duvet, if that 's what you like to call them) rather than the one blanket and sheet combo I've been using, but it's too hot to worry about that right now. That doesn't really seem like a lot of stuff, but I just don't see myself buying any of it any time soon. I wish I wasn't born such a cheapskate. The ability to mindlessly blow wads of cash and not stress about it, would be beneficial, I think.

7/13/00
I don't know why all these reality-based shows like "Survivor" and "Big Brother" are so freakin' popular. I love voyeurism as much as the next person, but it's all so forced and contrived. The only one that's even remotely amusing is "Making the Band." If you get a kick out of seeing a bunch of teens bawl, brawl and bond, all while trying to become members of the new boy band, O Town, this is for you. Actually, they already pared down the intial group to the final five and it wasn't like it was hard to figure out who'd get the axe and who'd get to stay. The two blond New Kids on the Block types were instant keepers and the black guy and the asian kid were doomed from the get go. Watching young men fighting with their girlfriends on the phone and hugging their creepy fat manager is all pretty good, but if you want a the real shit, you need to check out "The 1900 House," public programming's answer to all this hidden camera nonesense. Actually, I think the series is already over since it wasn't on last mon., but they'll probably re-play it. The premise is putting a modern family in an authentic, Victorian home from 1900 and recording their trials and tribulations. This is good stuff. They must dress in the period, only use foods and medicines availiable in 1900, and live on what would be a typical middle-class income of the time. You get to watch the family fight and become hysterical when the rhubarb burns, the teens are always upset because they can only take one bath a week and the water won't get warm, one of the family members is vegetarian, but fresh frut and vegetables are too expensive on their income, toothpaste and tampons haven't been invented yet. Forget all those major network shows, this is the real thing.

7/10/00
Sometimes I don't know whether it's a shame or a blessing that I don't have the time to think about un/stalkables that I used to. I feel like I've been in a whirlwind of un-idle hands for at least the past 6 months. I guess since I now sort of have a real job and sort of have a real relationship, I've been all too grounded to think about those celebrities out there crying for attention. I don't know why, maybe because I'm not usually home on saturday night, but I'd never seen "Freaks and Geeks" before and I had no idea how funny it was, which is tragic since I guess it's been canceled. I think I'd just had my fill with too much retro, too much nostalgia, all that gimmicky crap. "That 70's Show" seems to be doing fine, and it's ok for what it is, but "Freaks and Geeks" is much sharper (and dare I say poignant?). There is no resisting Martin Starr's character, Bill Haverchuck. He's one of those good old fashioned dorks that seem to be an endangered species these days. Not one of those faux dorks who wears horn rim glasses, has an Asian girlfriend and plays in a band. I mean the ones who wear wire frames, jack-off under the covers and don't know any better than to listen to top 40 music. These guys don't go on about the man and their crappy day job and how they're going to make it big some day--they're smart non-slackers and likely to be well-paid. They don't feign an "aw shucks" demeanor and wisecrack left and right. Genuine dorks may be cynical due to years of being trampled down, but they retain a sense of humor and don't have to pretend to be nice and gracious. It just comes naturally. Ok, of course this kid is a character, not a real person and the actual actor may be a bratty full-of-himself teen, but I can dream, can't I? He fits so many of my favorite categories: baby, misfit, freak, weak, tard...and on and on. But I know these genuine dorks exist in the real world and it keeps me strong. Tracking them down and making them mine, is well...it's my life's work, dammit. All good must be tempered with some bad and that's where Rick Rockwell comes in. Lordy, lordy, is this man UNSTALKABLE. He's a self-promoting, attention-starved comedian, for crying out loud. There's nothing funny about that.

7/6/00
A four day weekend is hard to beat. I managed to drive (well, part of the drive) over 1100 miles in mere days. The plan was to go to Buffalo sat. night and eat Buffalo wings at their birthplace, the Anchor Bar, go to Niagara Falls sun. just because it's an hour away, then go to Toronto mon because it's a foreign country and my money actually is worth something there, then come back tues. Usually I'm the planning type, but I didn't think it would be necessary to make reservations for a nowhere town like Buffalo. In fact, I made a fuss about how stupid it would be to call around before leaving. This would be a mistake. It's about a 10 hour drive up there and it wasn't terribly unpleasant, we went through the Catskills, got some blue soda, pizza and ice cream in some little town, saw lots of nature and eventually ended up in Buffalo around 10 pm. I had joked earlier how cool it would be to find a hotel next to a Wal Mart (part of joy of this trip was planning to find Wal Marts around the state), then decided that that would be pretty pathetic. Well, I had no idea Buffalo was such a hot spot. There was not a single vacancy in the entire city, not even on the outskirts. I mean, after spending 10 hours in a car, you just want to unload somewhere and relax and watch cable and use the tiny soaps. The thought of having to stay up all night or sleep in the car just completely would not do. After driving around til midnight (in a procession of the same cars and mini-vans also looking for places to stay), we ended up at TGIFriday's, the only place that seemed to be open relatively late (til 1am). Now normally, I'd be the first person to get excited about TGIFriday's, but this just wasn't the time or place. I was totally losing my shit and the restaurant was attached to a Radisson Hotel so you could see all these obnoxious college kids walking in and out and you knew they had hotel rooms, and even though I had a plate of Buffalo wings and chili poppers (which I've been talking about for months) in front of me and was being treated to wonderful '80's tunes like, "One Night in Bangkok," General Public's "Tenderness," and "True Faith" by New Order, I couldn't muster up a smile. It was so not cool that I started blubbering like a baby. Why don't they put phone books in phone booths anymore? I never realized how lost I am without the internet. How are you supposed to call hotels (or any business) without phone numbers? You can't just call 411 and browse. Last year when I was locked out of my apt. in the middle of the night on a Sunday, I called and wanted a number for a locksmith (that was sheer desperation-I'm way too cheap to call a locksmith) and the operator couldn't give me a number unless I knew the name of a specific business. So, we had to call chain hotels and the closest one we could find was the Holiday Inn in Rochester, which was an hour back on the highway (and not cheap at all) we'd already come in on. We checked in at 3 am and then all was fine. After that, we decided we would stay at Holiday Inns the rest of the trip. Suburban family luxury at its finest. King size beds (actually 2 of the 3 hotels we stayed at had 2 double beds), pools, saunas, bad art, mini bars--good stuff. As we approached Rochester, I couldn't help but notice the glow of a Wal Mart off the highway. My dream had come true--a hotel next to (well, a few blocks away) a Wal Mart! The lord sure works in mysterious ways. I started off Sunday with a "French Slam" at Denny's then proceeded to check out the strip mall scene in Rochester. It was happening, they had like every chain restaurant and store known to man in a 5 block radius. I even bought a swimsuit at Wal Mart (I haven't gone swimming since I was 16) since I thought I should make use of the hotel pool, misbehaved children running rampant, or not. Later that night we went to Niagara Falls and it wasn't anything special, but I'd already been warned of that. I just read something recently describing it as "the first disappointment of married life," but since I'm not married it didn't phase me much. Interestingly, there was a wedding chapel in the hotel. I can't even imagine who would think to get married at a Holiday Inn. The entire city was overrun with and gnats and Indian families with digital cameras and camcorders. I took a few snapshots, and that was that. Later that night we went back into Buffalo and got our goddamn wings and were subjected to non-stop salsa music on the jukebox. James put Bon Jovi on, but the only people who seemed to appreciate it were the biker couple next to us who kept groping and spanking each other. The next morning I had the "Dutch Apple Pancake Slam" at Denny's and almost barfed from all the fat and sugar (never mind that most of the time in car was spent eating beef jerky and Crunch & Munch) Now I was fueled for crossing the border. Once we got to Toronto, I immediately headed for the Chinatown, which was very cool and actually much more like a Vietnamtown. I went crazy over the produce stands and I don't even like fruit. But they had the most amazing exotic fruit-things you never see in Chinatown here. Nothing was marked in English and it was a total mob scene. There were these crazy red prickly fruits that looked like sea creatures/Koosh balls, which I finally found out were rambutans and little brownish balls called longan. I bought a bunch of these and then saw they had durian, which I've never seen in person, but have heard stories about since they're supposedly so rancid smelling that hotels in s.e. Asia put up signs not allowing them in the building. I didn't buy a durian because James was scared we'd get into trouble at customs (we did for other reasons--the guards were incredibly nasty [I thought Canada was supposed to be peaceful]. On the way in we got reprimanded for not staying behind the yellow line [I never saw a yellow line] and said that we could've been shot. On the way back we got into trouble for buying 2 bottles of Absolut Vokda at duty-free [it worked out to less than $10 a bottle, which was hard to pass up]. I guess you're only allowed one liter per person if you've been in the country for more than 48 hours, but how would you know that?) I didn't see any signs about not bringing perishables over the border, but I decided to play it safe and stick with the rambutan and longan. I bought all sorts of goodies like neon green glutinous rice cakes and "Saigon Subs," which I'd always known as French Sandwiches--maybe you're familiar with them--french rolls with a meat of your choice (usually bbq pork), marinated carrots, pate, mayonnaise, hot peppers, and cilantro (these didn't have cilantro). They sound gross (I hate mayo, but there are exceptions to every rule), but they're pretty tasty and for $1 Canadian, hard to beat (actually, I let mine sit in the car for hours and it was a disgusting goopy mess and I felt ill knowing I was swallowing hot mayonnaise, but ate it anyway because I hate wasting food and money and bit into a pepper so hot my ears started burning and I had to throw out the last 1/4 of the sandwich and was really mad that I wasn't hungry enough to eat it when it was fresh). They were also these guys selling fresh coconuts out of the back of trucks with the tops chopped off so you could stick in a bendy straw and have a drink. I'd only seen those at Malaysian restaurants here so it was a mildly rare treat. All in all, Toronto wasn't bad, though I didn't really see that much of the city. The next morning on 4th of July I had to eat at a Tim Hortons since there seems to be one on every freakin' block. It's some donut place that also offers some soups and sandwiches, but every combo comes with a donut and coffee. Canada seems to be very much about donuts. I knew there'd be an 11-12 hour drive to go, but that didn't stop us from tracking down a Wal Mart in Mississauga, Canada. I mean if the prices are cheap in the US, wouldn't they have to be even cheaper with the Canadian exchange rate? This was a theory worth testing out. We got lost and didn't end up on the road til 4 pm, but it was ok. My only regret is not breaking my 11 year non-swimming streak. I never ended up making it to the pool.