Tuesday, July 23, 2002
HI, I'M WILFORD BRIMLEY
This is what's on my mind today:
Diabetes. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm talking about type II.
Here comes my Andy Rooney voice...
Didjoo ever wonder why young people say "diabe-tees" and old people say "diabee-tis"?
Saturday, July 20, 2002
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Amanda is away at a family reunion, and she's asked me (her fiancee) to step up to the plate and blog a bit for her. Amy usually writes about pet peeves or neat little things she likes; last week my pet peeve nearly bit one of my fingers off, so that's what I'm writing about.
It always irritates me when I'm at work waiting for the elevator, and someone walks up, sees that the "down" or "up" button is already lit, and proceeds to press it anyway. Frankly I find this kind of insulting--do they think the elevator thinks less of me as a person than it does of them and therefore will not stop at my floor unless someone else presses the button as well? I know we're not supposed to let stuff like this get to us in today's fast-paced society, but it drives me nuts. Moreover, I took a defensive driving course last week and my instructor cited "re-pressing" as a sign of the kind of idiotic self-imposed stress that leads to accidents. So really I'm mad at reckless drivers when I'm mad at elevator button re-pressers.
Anyway, last Thursday as I arrived at work, I noticed that one of the two elevators was out of service. This meant that the remaining elevator stopped at practically every floor on the way up and down, since everyone had to crowd on to that one alone. Consequently quite a little crowd gathered in the lobby waiting for that lonely elevator to make its way back to the ground floor. When I arrived it had just reached the top floor, #9. I saw the light was lit, so I stayed put. But the woman who was standing nearest the button pressed it anyway. "One of those," I thought, and paid it no mind...until it stopped at 8, and the girl pressed it again. And then 7, and again. And then 6, and again, and this time she actually sighed and rolled her eyes as though the elevator was taking unreasonably long. And then 5. And then 4. And then 3. Each time, she pressed the stupid button. When it finally reached 2, I thought "she's gotta know it's coming--even if it had ignored her last seven presses (and probably more than that, considering that as the closest person to the button, she was probably the one who pressed it originally--it was like she didn't even trust her own presses!), it clearly has people on it, and will clearly open on the ground floor anyway. But no. Nope, she had to press it ONE. LAST. TIME. Eight times she pressed the button, at LEAST, and she was the one who had pressed the stupid thing in the first place!!!!
Folks, if you see the button is lit, trust the good people who built the elevator and rest assured that it will indeed stop on your floor. This goes double if you were the one who lit the button in the first place. Trust in yourself. You gotta believe.
Tuesday, July 16, 2002
PLAYING WITH MY FOOD
Ever had one of those tapioca teas?
Last Friday, my fiance and I were looking to kill about 4 fours between work and a party, so we ended up at this snappy little cafe called luxus (510 la guardia place...between houston and bleecker). This place has lots of yummy drinks, and an entire menu of sandwiches named after each of the airlines. Cute.
Anyhoo, we were feeling adventurous, so we ordered tapioca teas (his was mango--with milk--and mine was passionfruit--without milk). Okay, we got ours cold, so it's sorta like strong fruit juice on ice (and, in his case, made creamy with milk). The bottom third of the glass is filled with tapioca balls. Brown, gelatinous little spheres that you can suck up through the straw (because the straw is huge) and eat. They have the texture of gummy bears, but no taste.
Anyone who knows me can guess where this is going...
This is the funnest food I've ever had. You can stuff the tapioca balls into the bottom of the straw -- the more the better -- and then blow really hard. When they come out the bottom, they look like the straw is pooping.
Totally, totally awesome.
So after that, we only had about 2 hours to kill, so we went shopping.
Monday, July 15, 2002
IF ...., YOU JUST MIGHT BE LIVING IN THE GHETTO
After a year and a half, it's just starting to sink in that I really DO live in the ghetto. I was always sorta happy about it in a reverse-snob sorta way (especially since my rent is reasonable and my apartment is really nice). I always thought it was ridiculous they way my fiance's mom wouldn't let his sister go there alone, or called three times that time he had the lap top in his (alarmed) car (underneath the seat). Well, I still do, but...
Here are the reasons I might be living in the hood:
(1) First of all, Flava Flave (I hope I'm spelling that right) rapped about it "_____, that's my hood." Good start.
(2) Everyone else said it's one of the three ghettoist places out of this county and a neighboring one.
(3) My car insurance went WAY up when I moved in here -- despite the fact that moving here meant I would be walking to work, not driving.
(4) There are a couple Kennedy Fried Chickens in the area. If it's K..... Fried Chicken, and the K isn't Kentucky, it's ghetto.
(5) There are hookers about half a block away from my apartment. They are definitely hookers, and it makes me feel so sick to my stomach to think that they're so emotionally and financially destitute that they think that's all they have to offer the world...
(6) I'm pretty sure someone tried to proposition me as one of them last summer when I was walking up that street (to my friend's apartment). ? I DEFINITELY don't dress like a slut. I'm extremely unslutty. So if someone thought I was a hooker, it's because that is the designated hooker area, and any woman there is one.
(7) When my car got towed (I forgot to move it on street-cleaning day), and I called the police, they told me that I should NOT walk to the station. It was 1:00 in the afternoon, and it's like a 7 minute walk.
(8) Last week, when there was a dead body in the middle of the street -- the result of a hit and run -- there was a crowd just standing around to look at the dead body. I just think that, in a non-hood, people would leave once they saw that there was a dead body there. I know I high-tailed it once I realized what the white-sheet-covered mass was. (So maybe that's a matter of me being a better person than anyone in my neighborhood. Psyche).
(9) Last night, there was a stabbing in my town. (Shootings are really the more common occurence...maybe I should have mentioned that before. Many of them are gang-related). Apparently a guy got sick of waiting for his quarter-pounder, so he stabbed the counter person. Classy? I think not.
(10) I saved the best for last: CRACK. A few months ago, I saw and picked up a tiny-tiny (probably 1" by 1") ziplock-lookin' bag. And then I realize what was in it and threw it on the ground and started to head in for a long show. Then I got worried that a dog would come and eat it, so I went back and threw it in the trash. Yep. Also, I definitely got yelled at by a crackhead last night. Definitely. Not good.
So whaddaya think? I think I've made a pretty darn good (or maybe bad's a better word) case for my neighborhood. All of this perhaps explains why my landlord didn't end up coming to the apartment on Saturday to show it -- no one must have answered the ad. I'm moving out at the end of the month, anyway. But my apartment complex IS very nice.
My new place has a taxidermist about a mile up the road. Nice. I don't even have to DRIVE my animal carcasses over there.
Thursday, July 11, 2002
THE WEDDING'S OFF!
It's not what you think. You'll have to e-mail me to get the story (oof23@hotmail.com).
Word to your mother.
NEXT APPLIANCE
I would like to tell you about my shower. It used to have pretty bad water pressure...not terribly, but not great. My fiance talked me into thinking I could do better, so one time when I had a maintenance guy up here fixing my moody toilet, I told him about it. He hooked me up with some good water pressure, but...
Now you HAVE to have it turned up pretty much full blast or the pipes make a loud grunting/shrieking sounds. A couple of times I decided I was going to show those pipes that I can take their annoying protests, but then they made this shaky/rattly sound and I was afraid my neighbor would come yell at me.
Also: the drain stinks! I Drano and Drano and Drano, and it's still super slow. In order to avoid having to clean my tub, like, everyday, I have to (1) not use any creamy soaps or bath oils and (2) rinse the tub out 15 minutes later when it's drained.
I actually do love my apartment though. I'm moving when I get married (duh), and my fiance and I will have three whole rooms. I don't know if I can take the excitement--I don't adjust well to change.
TRIX ARE FOR KIDS
Anyone wanna see and old, scary, unflattering picture of myself and my fiance?
Enjoy.
But don't say I didn't warn you.
I HAVE HEARD THE SOUND OF SOMEONE TURNING OVER IN THEIR GRAVE
Why do I even turn this crap on? I'm talking about the Metrochannel (#16 in New York). Used to be a great channel. I love "Subway Q&A," and I obsessed over "To Live and Date In New York" (despite the fact that there were only like 5 episodes in total..I watched it as if it were a new episode each time). Well, I don't know if anyone has noticed this, but somehow...insidiously...over the last few months, the Metrochannel has turned into the "poopy-poop-fashion-channel-for-people-who-have-sorry-poopy-poop-lives" channel. What's up with that? If they had as many "To Live and Date in New York" episodes as they did lame fashion shows and shows hosted by Christina Ha, I probably wouldn't even bother having this blog (I know--NOW you feel the loss).
Yo. Models. It's like anyone who is freakishly tall and freakishly skinny is fair game. They're not even pretty. I like that they're just interesting looking, but I wish the industry would let that transfer into using people with a variety of "looks" and body types as models--as long as they're interesting looking. And the walk...it's like a praying mantis try to stomp around. Just doesn't work.
Where was I? Oh yes. So I find myself this morning (still half asleep) watching a DKNY runway show. I like Donna Karan, actually, and I'll even buy her stuff at Loehmann's when it's marked down like 80%.
The music. Get this: "Smells like Teen Spirit" -- perfectly mixed with "Bootilicious." I kid you not, my fine feathered friends. Whatever demon did this even tinkered with "Bootilicious" to put them in the same key. And (musically and mix-wise) it worked. They edited out all the vocals for "Smells like Teen Spirit" except for this one part:
Hello hello hello hello
Hello hello hello hello
Hello hello hello hello
Hello hello hello
This created a very haunting moment. It was like Kurt Cobain calling from the grave, and reminding us that music on the radio does not HAVE to suck. It didn't, for about three years. People had options in his time.
That is the sound of a very talented artist and sad human being rolling over in his grave. You crappy FASHISTS (that's right - fashion fascists). I don't usually talk like this, get all music snobby, but....
Is anything sacred to you people? Is anything worth not whoring out?
Let the Ferg-Karan feud and boycott begin.
Wednesday, July 03, 2002
PROFESSOR-GRADE-FIGHT UPDATE
Can you stand it? I got an A in that class (see 6/26 posting..."Class Dismissed..."). What the heck? How'd that happen (apart from my superior intellectual stylings, that is). So now I have a 4.0 and one class to go towards my Master's degree. And....AND...even if I get a B in that class, I'll still make summa.
I have unresolved achievement issues from undergraduate school. I only made magna (even though I won the department nerd award) and I didn't make Phi Beta Kappa AND YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHY, DR. HERMAN!!! I'll save that (boring) story for another day. Today --
Today. I rejoice.
SHOULDN'T YOU BE....?
Sometimes, when you have so much to do in the next couple of weeks, or month...it's a waste of time to sit around and make a game plan, or to feel guilty because you're doing "this" instead of "that." As long as it's on your "to-do" list, and you're doing it, you're making progress. I decided it was too hot today to go work on my new apartment, and DEFINITELY too hot to go over to the unairconditioned school where I'll be working in September. Yes, I have to move out by July 27. Yes, I will probably only spend a couple more weeks working on school stuff -- after that I'm dropping it until I get back from my honeymoon (August 25). I'm staying in and writing thank-yous from my bridal shower, typing up the notes I took when I went over to the school a couple weeks ago, and making a handbook for the person who's replacing me at my old school. And then it's grocery shopping for some much-needed food (and stamps and more thank you cards).
I'm still being productive, right? I still feel vaguely guilty, I guess, because what I'm doing is not unpleasant. I did the thank-yous, for example, in front of the tv. That can't be work. And yet, my to-do list is getting shorter.
I thought writing this down would get rid of some of the anxiety. I'm a freak-anal-retentive-perfectionist like that.
SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF DOGGIES
I'm taking a break from sleep. I do this everyday. Everyday I wake up at 7:00, but I get up around 9:00 (if I can stay asleep that long). I think it's the Wellbutrin. If I stick it out, I'll fall back asleep. But I need a break every morning. It makes me enjoy the rest of my...rest.
I had a nice dream last night that I was at a beach with really nice, calm blue (although there was a jellyfish) and my dog was sleeping over. Man, it doesn't get any better than that. I will explain my other obsession another day, but for now: Bobo and Salma. They're my dogs. And they're cute as could be. Since I don't think I can put pictures here: Bobo looks like Wishbone (he's beagle/jack russell) but with bigger ears and more red-brown fur, and Salma looks like a slightly plumper, even less ruly Benji.
Bobo is extremely intelligent and conscientious. When he needs to go out, he doesn't scratch at the back door like the other dogs, no sir. Bobo comes into whatever room you're in, stands in the doorway, hangs his head, and gives you gotta-go-potty look. Here's another example: my mom used to drive me and my friend Lauren to school. We'd bring Bobo, and Bobo would get all psyched when we pulled up to Lauren's house (he loves Lauren). A few years after I graduated -- in other words, a few years after he'd taken that route -- my mom took Bobo with her to drop something off at Lauren's house. She took Bobo, and sure enough...he got all psyched and starting barking when they were a couple houses away.
He is also the snuggliest of the snuggly. He likes to come curl up next to you and rest his head on your legs. What a schmoopie. I was home about a month ago...and the dogs get to sleep with me (instead of in their cages) when I'm home. I woke up and found that Bobo was next to me, head on the pillow, on his side, with the blanket pulled up to his front legs, lookin' like a little doggyman.
Salma is very silly and very hyper but she has a heart of gold. She is a little more brawn than brains though, youknowwhati'msayin'? She likes to play. Like, REALLY likes to play. As my sister said, she'll lay down to rest for a minute, and then jump back up as if she forgot she was supposed to be playing. She also likes to put a toy on the couch for someone to throw, and she'll patiently sit and stare at it until someone throws it.
Even if there is no one sitting there. No one in the room at all.
She is also snuggly once she settles down. She is a snorer though, woolordy-- it wakes me up sometimes. She likes to sleep at the foot of the bed, and sometimes I wake up and find her sleeping on her back.
Okay, break's over. G'night.
Monday, July 01, 2002
I AM GIRLY-WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR (BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU SHOULD FEEL PRESSURED TO BE THE SAME WAY)
I had this epiphany about women the other day. I consider myself an old-school feminist. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Naomi Wolf, Susan Brownmiller...those are the types to whom I can relate. As part of my feminism, I have really tried to de-emphasize the differences between the sexes. As I said, I'm more nurture than nature. So if girls like dolls and planning their weddings, it's because they're taught to do that. If boys are rougher and only think of sex, that's because they're taught that. And I still do think that the sexes are socialized differently. I also still think that you can't say "Women like this" or "Men like that," because you're generalizing about literally billions of people.
Well, I'm a woman with a 4.0 in graduate school (until that grade from my stinking summer session I class comes in, that is). I came out of undergrad school with 171 credits, a 3.83, and a dozen or so awards and honors under my belt. I came out of high school third in my class (a class of 400...and the top 6 ranked were women) and with a 1400 on the SATs. Now, I am a dedicated, hard-working music teacher. I am constantly trying to better myself, and I would say that I just generally kick butt when I feel comfortable with what I'm doing.
In addition to all of that, I really really really wanted to get married. I've even been thinking about kids lately after spending time with my niece and nephews. (Part of that is due to the fact that they're the best-looking little ones in the world...there's definitely no guarantee that I can produce something that charming). I like to cook and clean too. And I'm a teacher. All "women's stuff."
Here's my question: SO WHAT? Is there anything more vital to the survival of our species than raising children? Just try to do that without a woman. We can do it without a man. If that's not a sign of our equality, that we're special, then I don't know what is. Women are made fun of because they are less strong physically. I have two things to say about that: (1) we're not hunters and gatherers anymore, so there is nothing inherently good about being strong. Being smart is much more advantageous. (2) I'd love to see a man go through labor. Enough said.
All of this is leading up to my realization that there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with stereotypical "women's" work. Women's work is extremely important. Sometimes people excuse sexism because women are best (not that I agree with this) at women's work. People can justify making fun of women's basketball (or rolling their eyes at a woman watching "A Baby Story," or joking about how anal retentive their wife is about cleaning the house) because women's things are less important than man's things. There is nothing more important that raising your offspring, period. Women are not marginalized because they are into lame and unimportant and "cute" things -- these things are marginalized because women like them.
I'm not saying that all women should embrace stereotypical girliness, or that it's their job to have babies. Definitely not. If you don't want to get married and have kids, pat yourself on the back for realizing that and saving a lot of pain, and don't do it. I just want women to have a full range of possibilities, and to be respected for whatever they choose to do with their lives. So next time someone laughs about how lame this-women's-sport-or-that is, say "So what?" So what if male basketball players are faster or taller or stronger? Of what importance is putting a rubber sphere in a basket over and over as quickly as possible? Isn't this "men's" thing silly compared to raising happy, healthy, productive citizens?
