Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Guesthouse
Oh, craigslist. Always good for a laugh or 30. Having spent the last couple of days trolling the sublet listings in pursuit of a solution to the blindness I've recently come into, I'm still holding my belly. There was the 'vegetarian studio'; the storage closet as bedroom substitute (still $550!); the longwinded post, all capitals (exclusive caps make me pass out every time, if only for a few seconds), that concluded w/ an earnest 'this is not a game'; the 'you must be shorter than 5'4" due to extremely low ceilings'... Goodness!
So anyway, yeah, it's time to flee the cave (sublet it), if only temporarily--as in, a month. My current thinking: flee the cave every three/four months for the period of one month. This way, I guard against insanity and physical wasting w/ the added benefit of experiencing bold and exciting new neighborhoods. Yeah! Of course, I'll be taking out single rooms, not whole units as I have now. But hell, meeting new people ain't such a bad thing, eh? And by re-welcoming roomies into my realm, I should be able to afford the high life, as in Brooklyn Heights, DUMBO, maybe even Nolita. What fun awaits this girl!
Thing is, I'm definitely for a non-permanent scenario, as I really do like living alone. Took awhile for the weirdness to wear off, and it's still strange sometimes, but overall it's a good move for me. The privacy thing. And Park Slope--Park Slope, my heart! Still more, I'm mighty fond of my cavemate across the way: I've come to embrace his nocturnal behaviors, grateful for the unspoken compromise we've managed to strike, noisewise. Friends? Friends.
Actually, change is fast afoot. I'm at a favorite e-cafe at the moment, but an hour from now I'll be back underground, hostess to a series of potential spelunkers, including an artsy Swedish pair good for, in the very least, some embarrassing language blunders (my end). Seriously, it's wild (or not, considering) how many responses I got to my cl post--I have a half-dozen interested parties en route. I'll probably adopt an 'earlybird gets the cave' strategy, considering I need to get a check to my own supplier (Van Brunt/Pioneer: prime Red Hook territory! huge room! storybook backyard! my own little tea/wine/book/journal-ready patio!), like, yesterday. It's looking like a pretty sure thing, though...
On a completely different note, who knows what's come over me, but I finished my latest RW story in record time--like, three hours. Even got it into my editor a whoppin' two days ahead of deadline--unbelievable, for me. Also unrelated to anything, I've developed a strange indifference to (fondness for?) bugs. Of course, it's the bitsy ones I refer to, but man, even the microscopic used to get me sweatin'. Not anymore though, not anymore. These days when I spy a freshly hatched roach or some spindly no-namer, I gently raise an eyebrow and say--I mean, think--to myself, "Why, my home is your home, my desk your desk, my food your food. Have it at, little guy(s). And say, as long as you're here, care to stay for supper? Rainbow trout's the word(s)..."
Seriously, I promise I don't talk to myself too much, though I did excuse myself after sneezing this morning, something I felt vaguely uncomfortable about.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Oh, cruel world
Oh, Sweet Petey, your family sent you packing just in time. Y'see, they really did have your best interest in mind...
kiss kiss. Here's hoping it won't take a court order for me to see you again...
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Conundrum
Please, someone teach me how to be a lady. Post-shaving, my legs are--yet again--covered in Band-Aids (plain ones, no wacky designs here).
I don't know...
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Straightup
Pizza for breakfast
Just saw a dude standing outside my building, one of those Hello My Name Is tags affixed to his breast pocket. In the space provided, he'd written TROUBLE. What fun.
Speaking of trouble, I fear I'm headed toward it. Since adopting the subterranean lifestyle, I've grown so pale--and blind. In lieu of vision, I've taken to navigating by sound, distinguishing up from down by the sound of the fans, north from south by the bleeping of my laptop, my music, Tray's ceaseless rambl--I mean, philosophizing.
Thus it's in hopes of regaining what I've lost that I shall begin the long, slow ascent toward the land of sun-kissed faces, of serviceable eyesight, of the vigorous life. Out by October at latest, mark my word, w/ (a) roomie(s) to boot. Speaking of, know of anyone(s) who might be in want of a nice, neat rent helper-outer? I may be prone to fits of spastic dancing, but I'm otherwise pretty tame. Keep me posted, kids.
xo.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
'cause you got strange powers...
Up there, that's the weather today. Doesn't look so menacing in thumbnail format, but it was downright hostile during the latter part of my a.m. run. Golly, w/ less than a mile to go, I figured I was good as homefree, no matter the rapidly darkening conditions overhead. But hey, what fun would that've been? So yeah: crack went the sky, down came the wet. The first 30 seconds: completely tolerable. Thereafter: Heavens to Betsy! I'm sure I've said it before, but I don't think I've ever run through this kind of wet. A solid sheet, it was. W/in a minute, my shorts were sticking to my legs like Fruit Roll-Up on plastic, my contacts swirling about my corneas like ships lost at sea, my ponytail whipping my cheek like a belt against an unruly child's bum. (Not a proponent!) Bedlam! Seriously, I couldn't see w/o shielding my eyes w/ both hands, and even then times were rough. I did get an offer for a ride home, which I promptly refused. ("Hardcore! You're the best!") Anyway, I was so close to home, and any opportunity at catastrophizing, I'm hard-pressed to turn down.
Speaking of running, it continues to go mighty well. The bouts are still very short, but I've been plugging along at sub-8:00 pace, which feels faaaantastic. I love flying down Third Ave., stride long, sun on my forehead, shoulders thrown back (forever working on the posture thing), while red brick buildings w/ faded lettering pass by on either side. I'm pretty into my street routes these days, favoring the clanking and rattling of auto shops and mattress factories, the shouts of Carhartt-clad workers, the smell of deli coffee and toasted bagels, to the rustling of trees in the park. Running in industrial settings makes me feel like I'm in on some secret, adding to the magic of the sport.
Mine mine mine! I cannot overstate the immensity of my latest crush. I'll never date again, 'cause w/ this hot little number around, who needs a heartbeat? Really though, so much fun, not sure why I waited so long...
He who has yet to be named (currently taking suggestions--must evoke images of manliness, brute strength, hardcore demeanor...) came into my life by accident, sorta. I was supposed to ride home a modest personality available via craigslist, but he (or she, considering the metallic purple frame) amounted to a sorry pile of garbage. Was it the rusted-over chain that would've cost me $70 to replace? The gears that stuck hard w/ each click? The inch-thick coating of dust that suggested several decades spent in retirement? Yeah. Said the owner of the bike shop located just down the street from this lady's Bay Ridge apartment (upon seeing the shop while trying out the bike, I hauled it in for a quick opinion): "Don't do it." I didn't--instead returning to said shop for a look around and, in the end, a crazy-good deal on the sweet piece of a*s you see above.
Since riding it home from the shop, I've taken it out twice, and I cannot believe how hooked I am. So far, I haven't fallen off, nor have I gotten run over.
Not cupcakes. Not a baking pan, but a roasting pan w/ corners snipped for maximum flattening effect. The dough itself was pretty conventional, save the inclusion of every kind of M&M found in a three-mile radius of my lair. Regular, peanut, peanut butter, dark chocolate, Reeses, almond, crispy, the color-themed ones associated w/ all the Pixar characters... I drew no lines. [Hmm. Vaguely reminiscient of another catch-all, albeit much zestier, concoction.] What a mistake this was. Upping the 'chips' quantity in order to accommodate everyone, I wound up w/ dough that transcended baking. I can only assume it was the candy-to-batter ratio that was wildly off. Especially problematic were those damn peanut bits--so plump they left nothing behind w/ which to lock them in place. In some instances, the things took up half an entire cookie! Hogs.
Basically, a failure.
T paid me a visit over the w/e. This is my block. We're eating lunch.
Coney! T & M.
I told them, warned them all. Imagine, then, my dismay when one of them held me accountable for his "stiff back," his "achy neck," his "feels like it's broken!" knee. Whatevs.
One trippy Ferris Wheel. The compartments not only turned circles and rocked back and forth, they scooted laterally. Didn't ride.
Someday I will caption this fully. For now I'll leave it at: wrong on so many levels.
Hello.
Bumper cars! We rode them twice--my first time behind the wheel in almost three years.
So close to swimming, but... nah.
In addition to that pictured above; a swing through one of several C.I. arcades (basketball! Let's Make a Deal!); a paralyzing stint at the Nathan's stand; and a troubling episode involving B's questionable humor, my cellphone battery, and a rather large gap in the promenade, there was a trip to the aquarium. Now, it was smooth sailing (sorry) as we oohed and ahhed over a pair of kissing gourami, a little clown fish batting at some anenome's tentacles, a frisky sea otter, rays--even a Japanese crab--larger than my apartment... But then the darkness set in. To illustrate, here's a rough transcription of a recent call I placed to the aquarium's P.R. department:
Me: Hi. I was at the aquarium yesterday, and some of your animals were looking pretty dead. Just thought I'd call...
He: Oh? Which ones are you referring to?
Me: Well, two in particular: an isopod [note: check out this big guy] and one of those gigantic sea turtles. The turtle was floating at the surface, never budged, all the others were kicking around all over the place... Then the isopod--you know, the cockroach-looking thing--he was flat on his back, legs up, also unmoving...
He: Really. Well I can guarantee that all of our animals are checked in on routinely--at least every couple of hours. If there's a problem, staff catches it quickly.
Me: Hmm.
He: And actually, I'm sure everything's fine. That turtle, I'm pretty sure I know the one you're talking about. She was a rescue--ran into a boat--and is probably around 80 years old. She just requires more air than the others, that's all.
Me: Hmm.
He: And the isopod--I'm sure that what happened was he climbed up the wall then fell, landing on his back. Those guys are really tough and can hang out in that position for some time. I'm sure it wasn't long before our staff came by and flipped him rightside up.
Me: Hmm. But no part of him was moving, and he looked shrivelled compared to the others.
He: Well, I can assure you, if there was a problem, it's been addressed by now.
And there ya have it.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
For Tiffy.
Mr. Smart, who grew up in Birmingham, England, home of the chocolate manufacturer Cadbury-Schweppes, is a Flake man himself. The Cadbury Flake, a crumbly bar of compressed ribbons of chocolate, was invented in 1920. It is thrust into swirls of soft ice cream at parks all over London, creating a dessert called a 99.
Give up your job, squander your cash
Whoa. My friends are fantastic.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Blog? What blog?
I saw Billy--er, Bill--Stone! What's that, you're not familiar? Your loss, man. No, for reals, though, ol' Billdozer (old nicknames die hard) entered my life somewhere in the vicinity of five years old, and while he's more reserved, these days, than he was in the age of Monday Marriage Day, Friday Flip-Up Day et al., he's still a ham.
B's here for good--or a few years, anyway. He's currently doing his internship (emergency medicine) at a hospital on the exotic Isle of Staten, and next year, will finish up w/ a residency in the Bronx. Then, as if this screwball personality weren't enough, a couple more 98204 (that the Jefferson-area zipcode?) kids are due east in August, which should be good for plenty of adult-sized shenanigans. Can't wait.
So anyway, B and I joined forces on Saturday, starting off w/ a trip to MOMA, where we wandered through the Richard Serra exhibit, passes courtesy of my ever-generous boss/pal. Impressive stuff--sturdy, industrial, sensual, sexual--though my reccuring urges to a) deliver swift kicks to the steel waves (ow!), or b) hurl myself against them (oww!) made the experience a little worrisome.* Thanks to B for doing the very least in daring to reach out and touch one of the pieces, which earned him a sharp reprimand but did have the effect of dampening my own appetite for unlawfulness.
Post-museum, we hit up the pub attached to the St. Mark's Hotel, pairing tireless conversation (w/ more than a decade to cover...) w/ 1/2-lb. burgers (ohh) and frosty pints. Then it was on to Mo's for, if you ask this girl, some pretty lackluster comedy (too much yelling, though there was a funny Scooter Libby segment and a fairly convincing Bill Gates impersonator), and then, then I went home. We plan to do it all over again this w/e, Tiffy in tow.
Oh, Sunday night I finally experienced UCB, which was not lacking in luster. Amy Poehler was there (is always), as was Seth Myers and a handful of others. I guess I'd never really done the improv thing before, and it's definitely something I'd like to see more of.
What else... I'm still spelunking (Tara, the game--when can we revisit??), recently turning up a few bugs (negligible ones, though--nothing so menacing as our old Sixth Street buddy). I'm still writing, albeit sorta. Thanks to someone good, I've been thinking about playing around w/ fiction again. We'll see.
Oh, and running: ! Finally--finally--some enthusiasm. It's all about having a plan, I've determined, something to shoot for. I suppose I already knew this about myself/my running, but having gone so many months w/o a regular regimen, I guess I'd forgotten. So yeah, I'm training for something--a half marathon end of September. The schedule I'm going by is pretty rudimentary, but I figure better safe than sorry if it's a full twenty-six point two I hope to complete early 2008. Ran a short tempo this a.m., which went pretty well, and pleasingly fast. But the most joyous part of my last few runs has been the fact that zero pain has been involved. Fantastic & new. Gosh, maybe these last few months of erratic exercise have actually been just the thing, considering the continued discomfort I was feeling early on. Thing is, I do miss the long lopes through my Brooklyn, those runs that took me through Bay Ridge and Midwood, Coney and Brighton Beach... I miss this, miss the shifting scenery, the placid think-time. Which is why... I'm getting a bike! All the cool kids in my life have got one, and damnit, I figure it's high-time I jump on board--I mean, on a banana seat. (The only kind I know! It's just been that long.) And while I've got no designs on Manhattan (want to live), I plan to zip all over Brooklyn, preferably on surfaces that don't allow cars. I'm eyeing a $40 craigslist number, which I will of course have checked out first by someone who knows about this sort of thing.
What else... It's hot here. Scary hot. H-O-(infinite number of) T hot. Whine whine whine, I know, but when one is forced to consult sources like this one (still one of the funniest blog posts of all time), listen: times are ugly. Hell, even my rat hole is in need of supplemental cooling--on the year, a novel concept.
Where I'm concerned, the main problem w/ 95 degrees & humid is that it leads me, and I quote (see 2.), "to exude moisture, as green plants piled in a heap or cheese." But while leafy greens and smoked Gouda maintain their beauty in the face of moisture, I do not. And while for many people a solution exists, I am not one of them. Because post-run, not only does the sweat not stop at the front door, it doesn't stop after the shower, either. Oh no. Clingy as a kindergartner on the first day of school. Not even ten minutes spent w/ head jammed as far into the freezer as neck allows, not even this helps. I don't know, maybe I'll buy a vest. Or better yet, embrace it. Bleh.
Still going, I can't stop listening to this band. Okay, to one song by them, over & over & over & over.
*This may well be related to various other random urges as of late. For instance, the not-so-out-there urge to break into song on the train, or the relatively frequent urge to get up on my desk and jump/dance, or the urge--a new one--to quickly lay down then stand back up while in an occupied elevator.
