may 04

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phone home

5/30/04
Alright, I can probably squeeze one last entry into May while the houseguests are out on their own exploring the neighborhood. It kind of goes without saying that VH1’s upcoming I Love the ‘90s was bound to happen, shouldn’t effect my live, yet is still disturbing on some level. I can’t wait until “I Love Today” comes out. They can have a staff working around the clock, keeping up, reporting on and being witty about all the pop culture trends, and media happenings of that very day. Oh right, they call those blogs. I don’t know that I’m a very good host. So far, we’ve taken my sister and her boyfriend to Chinatown for vegetarian dim sum, to Red Hook where we found a bar that lets you smoke, and to Philadelphia where we watched tourists ogle the Liberty Bell, shopped at Old Navy (this was their idea, I swear—they love the place) and grossed them out by eating cheesesteaks (you can’t please vegetarians all the time). I’m just pleased to have a six-day weekend. I last worked Wed. and don’t work again till next Wed. Yes, it might be wise to supplement my newly freed schedule (no more internship) with some sort of additional part-time work, but so far I can’t be bothered (well, I’m a little bothered, but job prospects haven’t exactly been panning out as I’d envisioned).

5/24/04
Wow, I never cease to be amazed by new candy bar flavors. It seems like everything was staid for so long, Hershey was chocolate (or chocolate with almonds), Reese’s was chocolate filled with peanut butter. Simple. And now there’s this limited edition bonanza forcing me to buy new candy when I already have a fully stocked fridge. Tonight I saw pina colada Almond Joy. That’s white chocolate with pineapple-flavored coconut. So crazy trashy (now that I think about it, on two separate occasions this weekend I had drinks made with Malibu, and I haven’t done the fruity frothy thing in eons. Speaking of drinks, I also found out what’s in a Thug Passion, this charming cocktail I saw on the menu at Junior’s recently. It’s a fine blend of Alize and Hennessey—I should’ve known.), and yet so good. And the white chocolate isn’t even white, it’s this buff pale yellow color. It seems like I can’t read any magazines or newspapers or watch TV and be reminded that it’s wedding season (or grilling season depending on the periodical. Not to forget "chain snatching season" as the MTA calls this fair time of year). I’m so out of touch with these things. All the articles are about what to wear for your millionth time as a bridesmaid or how weekdays are the new weekends when it comes to planning wedding dates or how so many women are getting fed up with spending all their time and money on traveling and buying gifts for weddings and baby showers. I honestly don’t hang around any married people or couples with kids, I’m totally out of the loop. And practically everyone I know has been attending weddings recently too. In the past ten years I’ve only attended two weddings: my sister’s in ’95 (she’s visiting from England this week sans husband, she never divorced but has been living with the new guy for a couple years) and James’s sister’s in ’02. That’s it. There’s that slew of people who get all middle American and have families and own homes by 25, then the other tier gets caught up in education and career building and goes crazy reaching of all life’s milestones in their early-mid 30s. I don’t think I’m in either camp, not that that’s a big deal. But it might start getting weird when friend friends start getting domestic. But if there’s anyplace you’re going to be aged or aging and not getting wrapped up in creepy conventions, NYC is probably a decent place to be. I was amused to see that my old (as in senior and former) boyfriend is engaged. My mom sent me this freaky profile of him that was in the Oregonian recently (he didn’t have long hair when we were seeing each other--I don't abide any of that hippy shit). I have no idea who he’s marrying, but it did crack me up that her last name is Ankeny because that’s totally a historic Portland name, like there’s a street and fountain named after Ankeny. And this guy is an insane Northwest history buff, so it makes one wonder if this surname had any bearing on his interest in her. We’d go to desert cities in Eastern Oregon so he could track down old photographic negatives. I’d end up having to chat for hours with scary wives of middle-aged Native American and wild west memorabilia collectors. For fun, I’d sneak off and shop at Wal-mart and eat at Indian casinos. At night we’d drink lots of whiskey and watch shows like ChiPs in generic motels (that was a hoot because he didn’t own a TV, and didn’t grow up watching TV because he was raised in an orphanage till her ran away at 13. I’m not joking. You could mention Jennifer Aniston or Robin Williams, or whoever, and he’d have no idea who you were talking about. Like if it were present day, talk of The Swan or American Idol would totally draw a blank stare.) Tom could totally be a character on Deadwood and not even have to act much. So, he’s 51 and just heading down that matrimonial path, there’s something heartening about that. Not that he finally found someone, I mean that he wasn’t in any hurry, it wasn’t some unfulfilled dream. Of course he happens to be a total kook, so he might not be the best example. I’m just saying marriage ain’t no thing.

5/17/04
Really, there's no better way to spend a Saturday evening than cruising the aisles of a home improvement store. Even though I would've preferred the Ikea that was originally proposed for the spot, I am enjoying the new Lowe's that just opened in the neighborhood (the only other NYC location minus Staten Island, which may as well be New Jersey). I still think it's odd that they'd put it so close to the Home Depot, like there is such a glut of home improvers in the area that it necessitates two stores with almost the exact same inventory walking distance from each other. An aside, but related: I can never figure out why Home Depot is like 85% filled with Hassidic Jews whenever I visit. Are they especially handy fixer-uppers? I'd read in the NY Times last week that the new Lowe's is going to conduct their how-to clinics on Sundays, as opposed to Saturdays like in the rest of the country, to capitalize on the Jewish consumer. Anyway, so far Lowe's beats Home Depot. It's still clean and orderly and there's even a greeter at the door, which is a little disconcerting, but not intolerable. Even more off-putting is how whenever you pass an employee they say "hi" like they've obviously been trained to do. It's suburban cheesy, but better than the I-really-don't-like-white-people glare or refusal to make eye contact you usually get from the surly Home Depot staff. But the best part of the Lowe's experience is the urban greenspace they've created on the perimeter of the parking lot. They've crafted this concrete promenade complete with park benches flanking the nasty Gowanus Canal. There's a lovely view of a garbage heap and some sort of large metal structures housing gas. Even better are the benches that face an empty fenced lot filled with trash under the gloomy shadow of the Smith and 9th St. F train station. I need to take pictures, but I'm so not one of those "photobloggers," you know? I thought getting a digital camera would get me to take more photos, but I'm so much more about capturing words (and not all that eloquently) than images. It's always felt obtrusive and I'm too self-conscious to let other see what I'm interested in.

5/10/04
Jesus Christ, how is it already the 10th? My life is speeding by. I've realized a dangerous trend since moving in March: I'm definitely watching more TV, eating more crap and smoking more than I should be. How do you cohabitate with a bad-habited individual, when you, yourself have zero self-discipline? I'm still acclimating to the whole set-up. I'm trying to put my finger on why I'm so anti blog, or rather why I don't consider this to be one, and I think that in my head the difference between a journal and a blog is that a journal is obviously about things of a personal nature, though not necessarily exclusively. And blogs tend to be more about commentary and eliciting response. Hell, I don't want to interact with anyone. Any media commentary I feel like making always ends up being written about by Gawker that same day, anyway, so why bother. I mean, where's the fun of being disgusted by fluff NY Times crap like "Seventeen" editor Atoosa Rubenstein's soft spot for chain restaurant battered, fried shrimp, and pointless profiles of adorable East Williamsburg loft dwellers, when it's already been succinctly summed up and nicely packaged on a "professional" blog? No fun, you know. So, there's this Sunday hipster kickball thing that's recently started in a park on the Williamsburg/Greenpoint border (depending on your perspective--I've noticed this trend towards people proudly saying they live in Greenpoint to differentiate themselves from the bad Williamsburg reputation, like they're keeping it real. But it's all the same, duh.) and is becoming all the rage (it's be in the NY Times any day now, believe you me). A bunch of my friends are doing it, and to be honest it actually sounds fun, but I just can't let myself get sucked into these sorts of antics. I don't know, I'm just against it on principle. I have a hard time with the concept of joining and teamwork socializing. Just attending that Scrabble night one time was very tough (though alcohol tends to help smooth things out). I want to start my own team and call it the Carroll Gardens Babymakers. Our uniforms would be flesh colored, of course. This is totally not related, but it reminds me of when I was in high school when N.W. grunge was totally burgeoning in the late '80s and me and my sister had this crystal meth addict friend, Amy, who had an abusive boyfriend, Ron who was always getting arrested. Ron was retarded and totally worshipped his older brother (whose name I can't remember) who lived in Seattle. Portland was alright, but Seattle was the shit, a total grunge Mecca, see? And the brother was all into the scene and good looking and had great tattoos (in Ron's mind, I mean. I didn't think he was hot, he sort of looked like a Mexican Tommy Lee). Sometimes Ron would drive up to Seattle (we'd give him money for Manic Panic hair dye because they didn't sell it in Portland yet. Damn, the kids have it easy these days, what with the internet and living in a global village and all) and report back on all the amazing things that were happening up north. My absolute favorite Ron quote, his example of how fucking cool it was in Seattle, "they walk around with their dicks hanging out." He meant that literally, which totally cracked up my sister and myself, like there was an entire city filled with grungers whose penises were flapping out of their pants. And if that were even true, that it could somehow be construed as cool. But according to Ron, 40 oz. fueled punk rock baseball was the thing. All the cool kids were playing. I didn't think much of hipster sports in 1988, and in 2004 I still don't know that I'm convinced. What a killjoy party pooper, right?

5/5/04
Ok, ok, I'm seriously going to be in trouble if I don't buckle down and finish my take home final and research paper that are due tomorrow, but I've felt so neglectful with May I'm compelled to at least put some scary candy party images up from Sat. Unrelated, but being Cinco de Mayo and all, does anyone other than myself see anything wrong with Hotmail's homepage today? Not to be overly P.C. or anything, but a tease for "Trace your Mexican roots" with a Mexican flag positioned directly above the spotlighted link "Can you afford a maid?" illustrated by a uniformed woman holding a stack of towels, seems a bit dubious. I mean, why not ask if you can afford a gardener or a customized low rider while you are at it.

The B.Y.O.C. bowl of goodies

Battered, deep-fried, powder-sugared Cadbury egg

Leftover "raw" candy (thank goodness for the second refrigerator--who says two fridges are excessive?)