up-to-date

2002
october
september
august
july
june
may
april
march
february
january

2001
december
november
october
september
august
july
june
may
april
march
february
january

2000
december
november
october
september
august
july
june
may
april
march
february
january

1999
december
november
october
september
august
july
june
may
april
march
february
january

1998
december
november
october
september

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

Stalking
Lone Star Thomas
Goodies

phone home

11/25/02
I'm supposed to be leaving for Portland in about two hours. That's fine. But what sucks is that I woke up feeling like I have the flu or something. I can't swallow, my ears hurt, my head hurts and I can't stop sweating. This isn't good. I was going to go to work this morning and cut out around 2pm because I could use the money, especially since I won't be working all week, but I just couldn't get out of bed. I thought I was just tired because I was kept up too late last night watching "Lord of the Rings" on DVD. I don't understand what the big deal was with that movie. I remember last Christmas everyone I knew saw it except me, so no one wanted to see it with me a second time. Now that the new one is almost out, I figured I should see the first one. All that middle earth stuff is creepy and unappetizing, just like sooty, bleak Dickensian England. "Far From Heaven," which I saw Friday night was a little more to my liking. Secrets, tortured souls, small town anguish -- you've got to love it. You know what sucks about this impending trip? That I probably won't be able to write all that I'd like to now that my mom has a computer and reads this site. Same goes with friends, I have a couple funny (to me) stories that I can't really tell because parties involved might be offended. So lame. Has anyone seen white Kit Kats? Have I already mentioned my obsession with finding them? I heard a few months ago they were at Duane Reades here in NYC, but so far I've only seen the limited edition dark chocolate version. It's like those dulce de leche M&Ms that seem to be everywhere but here. This is important stuff. OK, I'm going to try and scrounge up some Sudafed or something, my brain is completely feverish and scrambled and I still need to get ready. I went a little crazy and packed crap like vanilla beans, a tart pan and currants because I plan on baking a Chocolate-Bourbon Tart with Currants and Orange Custard Sauce and a Three-Nut Pie with Cranberries and I want to be prepared. I also managed to cram four mini fruitcakes I made into my suitcase even though no one likes fruitcake. I'm determined to make converts out of people.

11/18/02
"You know that show 'Something About Raymond?'" Uh, no. This was overheard at work the other day and got me to thinking how all movie titles would be better if Ray Romano was involved. (I turned on "Dinner for Five," that IFC thing where celebrities of varying stardom sit around and talk about nothing in particular, and you guessed it, Raymond was on.) Recent hits: "My Big Fat Greek Raymond," Classics: "Whatever Happened to Baby Raymond," Tearjerkers: "Raymonds of Madison County." Are you ever amazed by your own capacity for stupidness? Ok, so people say I'm a hypochondraic (which I'd only half-agree with since I really do seem to have medical problems when I go to the doctor -- it's not in my head), but it's not without reason when you hear stories like this. The week before last, my friend Deann's ankle hurt like it'd been sprained or bumped on something. It was reddish and hurt to walk on. That week she went home to Wisconsin for a wedding and it got bad enough that her mom noticed she couldn't stand on it. By this point her leg was purple and red up to the knee so they went to the hospital and the doctor totally freaked because she had that deadly flesh eating bacteria. I kid you not. That stuff is scary as hell, I remember seeing it on TV in the '80s, some guy's leg all rotted, and how it will kill you in less than 24 hours. Supposedly, she had a slow acting strain, that will kill you in seven days. She'd had it four days when she went to the hospital. They talked about amputating her toes, but in the end were able to give her a hardcore antibiotic shot so painful they have to give you anesthesia first. The whole thing is freaking disturbing. I mean, where do you catch this stuff? (Clearly, she got it here, not in Wisconsin) I thought it was really rare (but then, the other week some couple in NYC contracted Bubonic Plague, so who knows anymore). I scoff at people who use that gross anti-bacterial hand gel, but maybe they're not so paranoid after all.

11/14/02
Yesterday morning when I was leaving for work, the mom upstairs was outside with the baby and a friend (I swear, if I didn't work, I would not be dressed, up, and out by 8 a.m.) and scrunched up her face and said, "I'm sorry." And I honestly had no idea what she was talking about. "My son was having a birthday party last night. I know they were noisy." I was totally dumbstruck, and wanted to say, "Oh really? I couldn't tell, it sounded about as disruptive as usual" but instead just said, "Oh, I couldn't really tell." What are you supposed to say? Have you seen this Googlism thing? I'm not quite sure how it works, but you can find, well, in their words, "what Google.com thinks of you." It combs the internet for reference to yourself or whatever. Of course, I had to type in my own name and came up with two results: "krista garcia is obsessed with henry thomas" and "krista garcia is fun." Uh, well, I guess I am sort of. It's funny because they're not created sentences, they're actual quotes from the web. I know this because I searched on Henry Thomas, who had tons of listings, but one in particular tickled my fancy: "henry thomas is a total racist homophobe." Ha ha, I wonder who'd say a thing like that on the internet. I'm so easily amused that searching on "Walmart" made me chuckle out loud. Highlights: "walmart is against women's rights," "walmart is an important part of the week," "walmart is unaware that it is dead meat because there are so many walmarts and not nearly as many targets," "walmart is run by humans," and "walmart is found difficult due to the dressing room attendant from hell." OK, I need to be more productive.

11/12/02
The dad upstairs five minutes ago: "Hey, keep it down! People live downstairs!!" Amusing, because the enormous screaming and running feet ruckus was in no way louder than it is at any given moment of the day. They're always loud upstairs. It's a mystery what prompted the dad decides to draw the line. I'm constantly on the verge of telling the kids to shut the hell up (it's not normal kid noise -- they are abnormally loud), but that might not be the best solution. I think today was about when to speak up (and when not to). On the way home, I intentionally caught the R because I just wanted to sit, even if it meant the ride would take longer. It was relatively empty, I grabbed a corner seat, part of an orange-and-yellow, Burger King '70s, three-seater next to the door. It was comfy, I put on my Black Lipstick cd and tried to relax by closing my eyes, but not sleeping (I never understood as a kid when I'd ask my dad if he was sleeping, and he'd say he was just resting his eyes. Now that I'm old I see the allure of just sitting with your eyes closed). Immediately, a group of guys loudly singing gospel drowned out my music. I tried really hard to ignore them, but it was tough. Then they moved 10 ft. from me and started singing another song. All I could wonder was why no one tells them (and other performers like them) to be quiet. It's really invasive. I could allow maybe one song per car, then move on to the next, but after that it's abusive. I decided this was an instance where you just have to keep quiet and deal. A couple stops later this beefy guido gets on in the Financial District and squeezes right in between me and the girl next to me, which felt really rude. The train wasn't that crowded, and I hate it when people force themselves like that. I don't know, I'll just stand rather than squishing passengers, but I guess I'm in the minority. So, he's too big for the space, his left elbow is practically in my lap, and he's got this huge leather bag on his lap that's bumping my left leg. I try to block him out, and keep my eyes closed, annoyed that he ruined my peaceful ride. Then slowly, subtly I feel light pressure on the side of my left leg. I'm thinking that had better not be a hand, but it's hard to tell because it's bumpy and it sort of feels like the corner of his bag. Without totally staring I'm trying to see where his right hand is, and I can't really tell, it might be under the bag or it might be at his side. Then the pressure starts increasing in force, but it's staying on the outside of my thigh, and bumping like that is unavoidable when so close (like this morning on the way to work, this guy had a huge backpack that was so tight against my back that I thought my lungs were being punctured, but you'd be freakish to say something rude because everyone's jammed together too). I'm like if that's really a hand, he's dead. This isn't Tokyo for crying out loud. Then it starts inching, it's clearly fingers, and I'm like what the fuck does he think he's pulling?! But I don't say anything and I don't know why. I give him the benefit of the doubt and make it very clear that I'm not sleeping, and start rustling through my bag. It stops for like 30 second and then he starts doing it again, this time more on the top of my thigh, and I don't say anything. I half-shoved/half-elbowed him super hard in his side, he stopped, then I changed cars at the next stop. After I sat in the other car, I was really, really pissed off, like why was I acting like such a victim. I shouldn't have to change cars, he should. I don't think I look like a passive target, so it was really baffling. It was like I didn't know the appropriate thing to say or the tone to take so I just mulled it around in my head while simmering. A couple times I've seen women yell all crazy at guys on the subway, that they've touched them inappropriately somehow, and it's always black women going off on white men, and call me racist and sexist, but my gut reaction is wanting the woman to shut up. I don't want to hear it, to me it seems like an excuse to yell at somebody, an agenda, relishing creating a scene. Now, I'm thinking maybe the guys were fucked up. I can't imagine anyone on that car empathizing with me if I started yelling. Commotion like that always makes people think "what's her problem?" like you're the crazy one. Next time I think it would be wiser to speak up. It's too bad he wasn't hot, it could've been more entertaining. So, it's been raining and storming all day (a Nor'easter?) and I was still totally soaked after spending over an hour at the gym because I didn't want to use my umbrella, even though I had one on me. Now I was sweaty (did you know it was 68 degrees this weekend -- that's insane -- I had to turn my heat back off and put the winter coat back in the closet) and drenched and just didn't feel like walking the 17 blocks home, and luckily a bus was coming (which is pretty unusual). After the stop at 28th I ring the bell for my stop at 30th, get up and go stand at the back door, and the driver just keeps on driving. I'm like I'm going to lose my shit, but I don't say anything because once again, I don't know what to say. I mean, a New Yorker would start screaming blooding murder, maybe "hey!" or "stop!" or I don't know, but they wouldn't stand for it. And once you ring the bell you can't ring it again, a sign "Stop Requested" lights up, and that's it, you can keep hitting the button but it's not going to do anything. So, I just stand there like a retard, once again, totally seething but not saying anything, wondering if I should go up to the front of the bus and say something because I don't want to yell across the whole bus. By then, he's stopped, not because he's aware I want off the bus, but to pick people up three stops past mine. I was so mad, the whole point of catching the bus was to avoid walking in the rain. So, I should learn something from today, right?

11/7/02
OK, there are a million things in the world that don't really matter, but that doesn't stop them busting my chops anyway. Like I'm being driven crazy by my magazines not showing up properly. My Time Out NY is late every single week, and I didn't even get an one two weeks ago, which was irritating because it was the annual cheap eats issue, and well, I'm into cheap food. I don't know if they're not being mailed, not being delivered, or stolen. It doesn't matter because the end result is annoying. I also did not receive my November Lucky. And really, who cares all that much about Lucky, I can't wear and/or afford 90% of the things in there. But I know that November is the coat issue because I've seen it advertised the last couple weeks, and I'm actually interested about what's going on in the world of coats '02. All I see at stores are black or camel colored jackets, yet I see people on the street (not many, but still) with multi-colored tweedy things with high waists, and that's what I want, maybe in a purple or green, but I don't know where they're getting them. You know, I think I had this same where do people get their coats dilemma in Oct. '98. So, I didn't get my Nov. issue and I'm not about to pay $2.95 for one, when there should already be a $1 copy in my apt. I contacted them (as well as Time Out NY) about my missed issue, and the remedy from both companies is to extend the subscription an issue. Fine, but I specifically wanted the cheap eats and winter coats issues. I mean, who knows if I'll give a rat's ass about whatever topic turns up in my extra issue nearly a year from now. Today I broke down and decided to buy Lucky anyway because I'm stupid like that, and you know what? It's nowhere. Nope, it's the first week of November and all the newsstands are selling the DECEMBER issue already. What the hell is up with that? I couldn't believe it. And earlier this week, their website was still highlighting the October issue. Well, I only tried two places on my lunch hour, but that was enough. And did you know that the Barnes & Noble near Grand Central doesn't even sell magazines? How retarded is that. Then, I kid you not, on the subway on the way home, I was standing, hanging over a seated woman thumbing through pictures of coats in a November issue of Lucky. I almost soiled myself, and half considered grabbing it out of her hands when it got to my stop. She was totally taunting me. I then had the brilliant idea of trying the most busted Rite Aid near my apt. because they never change their displays like they're supposed to, and they had exactly one creased-up, bent copy of the November Lucky falling out of a shelf near the photo dept. Phew. Now I'm so up on winter coats it's not even funny. There weren't even any in there I even liked much (well, there was an OK Michael Kors tweed thing that only cost $524) but it was the principle. This is minor like how I couldn't find pinking shears (I eventually did at a craft store in N.J. but they were $38), but I can't find little staples anywhere. I didn't think they were obscure until I recently ran out. I bought this tiny Hello Kitty stapler way back in the mid '90s at the Beaverton Mall and I remember the owner telling me I could buy the staples anywhere, meaning I didn't have to purchase the spendier Sanrio version, but I bought a pack anyway. If I had a time machine I would most certainly go back and buy at least two packs. The ultimate kicker is that even Staples doesn't carry them, at least not at the one across the street from where I work. Um, if a store is called Staples, don't you think they should sell many varieties of staples?

11/5/02
Do you know what a Nor'easter is? I mean, I know it's a storm, but what's the big deal? I imagine I will simply get a bunch of rain blown on me tomorrow. It's the kind of word you'd see in a book as a kid that'd almost be as good as foreign. It doesn't matter how long I live here, I'll never feel any affinity for the Northeast, or the Mid-Atlantic or wherever it is I supposedly live. Words like Pacific and Northwest just feel right. Not that I necessarily want to live there, I just like the idea better. Working backwards, Sunday was a whatever day, but my story with the peculiar topic of drinking during the NY Marathon ran. Sunday was also a weird windfall. I totally have no money even though I've been working at this temp job for like three weeks, the pay period's all skewed. But Sunday I came home and found a check from the NY Post for my Oktoberfest thing that ran a month ago, my jury duty check and a Halloween card with a little spending money in it. Unfortunately, this will all go straight to credit card bills. Then I went to look for scotch tape in this little green, cardboard drawer I got at Target (more about Target in a minute) and found a $50 bill that must've been part of my birthday money that had been pushed against the front of the drawer so I couldn't see it. I thought I'd spent that money by early Sept. It was all strange. So, Saturday we went to try and find this new Target that recently opened in Brooklyn, and got totally lost in the no-man's-land that is Starret City, or Canarsie or whatever the heck you want to call that far Southeast neighborhood. No offense to anyone who lives out there, but I have little faith in any chain store anywhere in Brooklyn because 95% of Brooklyn is totally busted, but that part of the borough in particular seems ripe for half-assedness. It was OK, the ones in Queens are probably nearer, and it wasn't in terrible disrepair with decimated shelves and crap all over the floor...yet. I mean, the place has only been open two weeks -- give it time. The best part was that the cashier forgot to ring up our Journey's Greatest Hits cd. Sometimes half-assedness can work in your favor. Speaking of '80s music (no, I'm not going to go on a diatribe about how annoying all those remakes like Bryan Adam's "Heaven," sung by 20-year old girls are), it makes me crazy when I'll remember a song that I loved in high school by a band that never really made it in the U.S., that I probably saw the video for only once on like "120 Minutes," never bought the record, and now can't find anywhere (well, for a reasonable price), not even audio snippets on indie pop sites, just mentions on Japanese (and oddly, Filipino) websites where you need to download character sets that I don't have time for and can't read anyway. I'm such a nostalgic sucker for that style -- what do they call it? Well, a lot of things, C86, I guess is the more British term. I suppose the quintessential American, Northwest specifically (no, not Northeast, not Mid-Atlantic), version would be K Records et al. (Oh jeez, speaking of K Records, I was totally baffled last week when I read a blurb about a Calvin Johnson show at the chapel in Green-Wood Cemetery. Uh, that's literally on my block. Bands don't play in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, not NW indie stars, and not in cemeteries. The whole idea seemed bizarre. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out who'd arranged such a venue. And I couldn't even go because I already had plans. It's be the first time ever in NYC that I could actually just walk to a show, and make everyone else spend an hour on the subway.) One such song is "Delilah Sands" by Brilliant Corners. I know they were a Bristol band, and my sister lives there, so maybe I should ask her to keep her eyes out. The other one that popped in my head recently was "Let's Make Some Plans" by the Close Lobsters, which I heard at Great Jones Cafe Sat. night at this March Records, CMJ post-party thing. I'm sure that crowd is familiar with the song, obviously somebody put it on (and in) the jukebox, but out in the world it's trickier to track these things down. Friday night I was surprised by a last-minute reservation at a fancy new restaurant, Washington Park. It was really weird that James picked this place because it's not like he's one of those people who reads food magazines and newspaper sections, and is up on celebrity chefs (that aren't on TV), restaurant openings, culinary circle hype, and all that. I don't get all freaky about that stuff either, the word foodie makes me want to puke almost as much as wound or blog does, but I know what's going on like people who might be all up on designers and fall collections and crap, but not wear couture. I know about all the talked about restaurants, I just don't eat at them very often. The waitstaff was all tricked out in Thomas Pink, the linens were Frette, and the silverware was all silver, duh, but I don't think I've ever actually eaten with real silverware. I had red pepper pancakes with salmon and caviar for a starter, then duck breast with acorn squash and chestnut puree. The dessert was something pecany, artfully arranged with a crispy caramelized sugar thing and pumpkin ice cream. Very autumn. I decided I should eat like this every week, or I don't know, every month, er, or when I get a job. Oh, back to Target. I heard on a commercial for the news last week about a Target holiday boat at Chelsea Piers, but didn't catch the actual story. I assumed they meant like a ferry across the river to Edgewater, NJ where there is a Target, which would be annoying because I go there to get away from NYC hordes. But then, I saw on their website and on a subway poster the other day, that they're calling it a Holiday Boat, not a ferry, and the address they give is Chelsea Piers, and it will last from Nov. 15-Dec.1, so now I'm totally baffled. Are they seriously creating a Target on a boat? I mean, what size boat? There are a lot of beastly New Yorkers dying to buy Christmas gifts, and create crowds, and push their fellow man, and spread their grimy holiday cheer around like a case of the crabs. This had better not be some dinghy. If it's not large as the Love Boat, then I'm seriously worried. Not that I'll be shopping there anyway, it sounds like hell on the freakin' Hudson. I'll have to look further into this matter.