Summer 2008 Day Three: Bang on a Can Marathon

Tonight was a quiet night. Certainly quieter than last night. Perhaps because I'm still slightly deafened by that SL cluster...
Headed down to the World Financial Center (which, if you've never been there, is just across the street from the WTC site). It's lots of marble, lots of shops, and a huge atrium. It's lots of cool. I was there for the Bang on a Can Marathon which is self-operating, but is this year a part of the river-to-river festival.

It's very eclectic and, if you stay for the whole 12 hours (6pm Saturday to 6am Sunday), I'm sure you can hit just about every kind of music. But I was there from about 8:40 to 11:30. I walked in during Caleb Burhan's _no_ ...which was...interesting. The Hartt Bass Band was awesome, but then I'm a sucker for string instruments so......yeah. My friend Philly bo Billy Gutierrilly joined me then and we got to watch the Young People's Chorus performing "Every Stop on the F Train" which was pretty neat.

Then the Bang on a Can All-Stars performed some pieces just as Philly's boyfriend joined us and we moved up to the back of the atrium. The atrium is beautiful. The geometric design of the glass along with the marble pillars and palm trees make it kind of surreal and a very interesting venue, although it lacked the appropriate acoustics, to be sure. The All-Stars took a break and Owen Pallett took the stage. Owen Pallet is an incredible performer. Philly and Garth were very excited to see him onstage again and this heightened my anticipation of his performance but nothing could have really prepared me for the magnitude of his genius.

Of course, as I've stated, I'm a helluva sucker for string instruments so...anyone with a violin is gonna get me good, but this guy was really really amazing. After his solo performance, Owen played violin for an All-Stars performance, ending the number by looping all of the instruments and, for a good 2.5 minutes, there was simply Owen on the pedals, and no one else onstage moved. Really really amazing. We stuck around for one more All-Stars performance and then headed out.

All in all, a wonderful experience and a very new one, at that. I think maybe next year I'll bring a pillow and wait it out a little longer. Although, i have to say, the discovery of such a fine establishment as Thunder Lingerie (see very blurry picture above) was certainly worth leaving when we did!

Summer 2008 Day Two: Wire

Day Two was significantly better! Once again I turned to the River2River festival to find entertainment, and I found it in the form of a free concert down at the South Street Seaport, featuring an opening act called Die Die Die (a punk band from New Zealand), and Wire (probably one of the most influential British punk/rock bands over the past 30 years). Let it be known: I was going to see Wire. I was not going to see Die Die Die. This is important to know, lest I be associated with actually enjoying Die Die Die as a band. This is incorrect. Die Die Die....has some interesting songs and some alright compositions....but the talent isn't exactly...there. The vocals were pretty hideous. I chalk part of it up, of course, to nerves and such. I will say that I loved the bassist, though. Lachlan Anderson? He's kinda cute. And kind of awesome with the bass. Yeah. But seriously. They had this song ...that I can assume is titled "Attitude"...I'm assuming this because the majority of the song was Andrew shrieking out "ay tee tee aye tee you dee Eee!"...which can get pretty fucking annoying when his voice can't be withstood.

Finally Wire played and they were AMAZING. It's probably my favorite thing to do: watch rock stars who've been goin' at it for 30 years STILL rocking the fuckin house. Colin Newman is INCREDIBLE and Lewis is kinda creepy and kinda the awesomest person in the world. Not only that, but they had Margaret McGinnis with them on rhythm guitar. They had a girl with them! Do you know how many points that upped them? a LOT.

Anyway, the bands were not the only part of the experience, of course. The crowd was, as expected, pretty interesting. I think the best part was seeing all these east coast punk kids mixed in with west coast punk kids, mixed in with people like me who don't wholly adapt themselves to it, mixed in with some CUNY Professors with their grey hair, dockers, and Bill Blass shirts. Seriously. Hilarious. This is why I love New York.

#47

I get asked what my favorite season is a lot. Especially on those stupid Myspace surveys that I give in to constantly. My favorite time of the year has to be, as a rule, summer-into-fall. It's warm, it's beautiful, people are happy, and you can just begin to get away with wearing a light scarf. Just don't wear a fringed black and white scarf or, like Rachel Ray and Dunkin Donuts, you'll end up on the Conservatives' DO NOT RESUSCITATE list.

But I seriously love that time of year. In New York, though, summer has to be the very best season. Yes, it's hot. yes, it smells something like urine on crack. Yes, it's rainy and, yes, 2 fans are not enough.

But do you understand how amazing summer in NYC is regardless of these things? First of all, something like 1/3 of the population of residents either goes on vacation or to summer camp. Secondly, the tourists find better places to go for extended periods of time. They mostly visit NYC when the Brazillian tour groups visit Disney. Yes, it rains, but it's that perfect warm thunderstorm rain, perfect for puddle-jumping, fishball, and making out--all in the middle of the street. It's colorful. Anyone who does or does not give a shit (everyone) manages to wear color (compared to all-black-all-the-time-down-winter-coats, this is heaven). Everyone is somewhat care free. One night stands are certainly on a rise in the summer, as are bar-hopping, park-sleeping, and street fairs. Speaking of street fairs: FREE STUFF.

Holy Crap. Free stuff is the key to a good NYC summer. Check out the event schedules on Bryantpark.org and rivertorivernyc.com and Central Park's website...you can reculture yourself after 17 years of hibernation by simply attending one or two events per week, which is my goal for the summer.

Right now, I'm heading down to lower Manhattan for the second night in a row. On my way to see Wire (for those of you who don't know, Wire is a British punk rock band...probably one of the most influential over the past 30 years. They're awesome. And they're playing the seaport. For FREE.)

Summer 2008 Day One: She Wolves

Okay, so summer's starting a little bit ahead of schedule. But with the arrival of free summer concerts and events in May, what's a poor...literally poor...girl to do? Start summer early, that's what.

Day One: She Wolves

This proved to be somewhat disappointing. Perhaps, if I hadn't missed the first installment on Wednesday and then skipped out on Friday's this would have made more sense, but I'm not sure how. The idea was that there would be a colaboration of light, sound and water. Projections, music and....some kind of water. I figured hey--it's like a chromolume (Sunday in the Park with George Act II, anyone? No? okay then). So I head down to Battery Park and wind away through the scary late-night death-of-civilization financial district to get to Castle Clinton. The show was supposed to last I think an hour and I stayed maybe half an hour. It was simply disappointing. The projections were juvenile and poorly illustrated, the music never came on (instead we listened to the tour bus at the back of the castle revving up), and there was no water that anyone could see. Honestly, the best part of my evening was leaving She-Wolves and walking back through Battery Park and stumbling on a happy little fountain that looked like a faerie land.

Mammy Two-Shoes

My co-worker/roomate/co-star/co-founder of Schneider's Skivvies, Ben, was in the other room earlier this evening (on the only tv we currently have) watching an episode of Tom & Jerry on Boomerang (a network that only cool kids with cool cable get). The episode he was watching caught his attention because it was one that he remembered from his childhood (I remember no Tom & Jerry from my childhood, only TMNT, Doug, Eureka's Castle, David the Gnome, et al).

This particular episode is titled "Dog Trouble" and features Spike the Dog, and Mammy Two-Shoes, a stout black woman in slippers and an apron whose body from the waist, up, is never seen. Now, the version that Ben remembers has said woman marching into the room at the end of the episode and dragging Spike out in classic Hattie McDaniel-to-Vivien Leigh fashion. In 1942, this was acceptable. Apparently, in the 1980s it was still acceptable even though the studio had begun censoring the cartoons in the 1960s. That's right. Censoring Tom & Jerry.

Apparently, in many instances, "these versions used rotoscoping techniques to replace Mammy on-screen with a thin white woman, and the voice on the soundtracks was replaced by an Irish-accented voice performed by white actress June Foray." Now, maybe it's me...but it seems like switching it to a white woman was a bit....MORE racist than just utilizing the Mammy archetype. In the mid 1990s, according the wikipedia, (so, after Ben was really a CHILD), the ownership of the cartoons changed, and the original imaging was retained...but Mammy's voice is replaced with a less... "offensive" voice and dialect.

I don't know, it all seems silly to me. It's a children's cartoon. Seriously? Seriously. I managed to find the two versions that have the original Mammy character, but with two separate voice tracks;


Tom & Jerry " Dog Trouble"
Uploaded by LibertedExpression. - Watch more music videos, in HD!


Version 2...which is so obviously dubbed and cleaned up and ridiculous that it makes me want to throw up.

I mean...it's not like the behavior and attitude and dialect portrayed in the original do not exist today. They do. They exist in the apartment upstairs from us, on our stoop, on the 2 train, down in Battery Park, on OBT in Orlando, etc. The character is meant to be over the top and a soul to be reckoned with. So....why the clean up? I just don't get it.

NOTICE

Would the owner of a large elephant that happens to be sitting in the room please come claim it? Your brake lights are on.

#46

Disclaimer:
I have to apologize. This isn’t really an entry deserving of a number. It should have a title. It shouldn’t be used as part of a series. But this has been bothering me a lot, especially when I’m traveling, and I feel like if I were to title it instead of numbering it, that would be like giving this person permission to keep this bullshit up. But by putting a number on it, I’m allowing everyone to take a step back and actually think. I hope it works.



As a friend, I’m a fantastic listener. I’m usually pretty good with advice, but my listening is much more important, both to me and to my friends. That being said, I hope that when the time comes for me to do the talking, or for me to have an issue or need a sounding board, that those same friends that I’m there for will have some kind of response. It doesn’t have to be great, but one would hope that they would at least try to listen. So why is it that one of my closest friends, one with many, many problems and in need of a lot of support, cannot even bother to listen when I just want to talk? I usually don’t even COME to my friends with my problems. I internalize WAY more than most of my close friends and when I do have something to say it’s usually a sharing experience, not a cry for help. So why all the avoidance?

How can you, as a friend, take take take all the attention you can, and give little to none? I mean, even when I’m sick or busy or tired I still try to be there for my friends and I still listen. So how can you talk and talk and then the SECOND that I have ANYthing interesting happening in my life, you shut off. You’ve got a headache. You can’t really listen right now. Your mind is totally elsewhere right now. How selfish can you be? Maybe I’m wrong here, maybe I’m just seeing the situation in this light because I’m the one affected by it, but I’m not exactly a greedy friend. I don’t demand attention (for the most part. Everyone, as I’ve said in the past, has their moments. But it’s not like I badger people into being my friends and then badger them into being my shoulder to cry on. No. I don’t do that); I don’t demand your ear. So when I do have the inclination to actually share something I’m going through (not even a cry for help or advice!), your ability to switch off like a light is unnerving and I’m not really sure what to do with it.

I’m sorry that my address seems incoherent and that I seem to be switching from 3rd person to 2nd to 1st to 3rd. But my inability to be grammatically consistent is an effect of my being completely bewildered by this situation. I’ve learned to accept that we all have our own lives and can’t always be there for one another. I know that we can’t all always be completely responsive. My best friend lives fucking upstate! I see her SO rarely. So yes, I know that lives cannot be parallel and overlapping at all times. I GET that. I get that I can’t EXPECT the support to be there every time I need it. But how about ANY of the times that I need it? Could we stop talking about YOU for one bloody second?!?!

I know that people get busy. As I said, my best friend lives upstate. Two of my best friends live in or near the city, but I’ve only gotten to see them 2 or 3 times in the past year. One of my friends from college thought I had moved out of state. My friends from high school either don’t live in New York, or do but I haven’t seen most of them in 5 years. Even my friends at work (which is where I spend most of my time) and I don’t hang out outside of Roundaparties and the occasional goodbye party. It is so hard to even get the time to call people in this freaking city, let alone SEE someone. But we were fucking walking down the street together in midtown. You weren’t busy. You just didn’t want to listen. You wanted to plug yourself into those earbuds as fast as you could and walk the fuck away. God forbid you should actually give a shit.

Contrary to my mother’s belief (I must have been a selfish little girl growing up) I’m a very giving person with my time and attentions and affections, so the balance will always be slightly off because I’m usually more giving than most people. I’m not saying that I’m a terribly nice person. I’m really not. But I’m nice to those I know and love. And that’s…all that should really matter. I mean, I’m not running the U.N. or something. But the balance right now with this one person is nil. This friend has not even shown up at the scale. . I’m sorry that you’re going through a lot of shit right now, but if you’re going to be so completely depressed every second of the day and so completely unresponsive, then why should I bother? Maybe I’m just a self-righteous bitch. I don’t think that’s true…in fact, I’m told that that’s not true at all, but I find it hard to believe that I’m so consistent in finding people like you to piss me the fuck off.

I actually looked up FRIEND in the dictionary, since I thought that maybe I was missing something. Microsoft Word 2003 (perhaps not the best reference, but certainly the closest one I had at the time) says the following:
Friend
1. someone emotionally closer; somebody who trusts and is fond of another
2. acquaintance; somebody who thinks well of or is on good terms with somebody elese
3. ally; an ally, or somebody who is not an enemy
4. advocate of cause; a defender or supporter of a cause, group, or principle
5. patron; a patron of a charity or institution. Friends of cultural institutions often receive privileges such as invitations to special events and the opportunity to order tickets before the general public

Based on the preceding definition, the only thing keeping us friends at the moment is the fact that I don’t think of you as an enemy. Everything else is rocky. You can’t expect to just take and not give at some point. Any relationship like that is not worth retaining, on either end.

#45

Today, at work, I decided that I needed Coca-Cola-like refreshment so I went to the vending machine and decided that regular old Diet Coke was the answer...I went to select it once I'd put my money in, and the slot I was about to select was C4. Now, I don't know a whole lot about C4 but I know it's an explosive. I was kind of uncomfortable selecting a drink that was labeled "C4." I checked and double checked the rest of the machine to see if there was diet coke anywhere else, but alas. Only C4.

So I stuck with it. Took it back to my desk, poured it into my empty McDonald's cup that had ice from the kitchen fridge in it, and drank. Now, I don't know if it was the coke, or the ice, or the cup, but by the time I got down to the last third of the drink in said cup, it started to taste funny.

And when I say funny, I don't mean flat or watered down...I mean...I mean it started to taste like plastic pool toys. I know that sounds ridiculous and how the hell would I know what those chlorinated plastic goodies taste like, etc. but that's definitely what I tasted. I think it was the C4. This message will self-destruct.

(side note: Safari is telling me that destruct is not a word. *Puts Safari on the bad list*)

Also on the bad list: Pillsbury (Safari recognizes THAT as a word) Pizza Crust. Now, I don't expect any non-homemade crust to be wonderful, but I expect passable from a brand like Pillsbury (note: Pillsbury is not actually it's own thing now. Instead, it's owned and licensed by General Mills and Smuckers. The refrigerated and frozen foodstuffs, like said pizza crust, is sold by General Mills under the name of Pillsbury). But it's not passable. It's pretty gross, actually. It's salty, it came apart before I even opened the can, It didn't bake evenly, it thinned out while baking so that the cheese burned onto the pan...it's a mess. All I wanted was a homemade white pizza. I got homemade oven-baked gravy-looking slop. I'm going back to Boboli.

#44

Friday night I was pretty impressively drunk and did not have a pen, nor pencil in my bag to entertain my thoughts while waiting for the long-overdue G train, and trying to avoid a strange Indian man who was hitting on me at the station. Not even an eyeliner pencil or eyebrow pencil (I don't use those) or a crayon or half dissolved Ricola. All I had on me, in terms of a pointed, inked tip, was a purple liquid liner which, in the hands of a drunk, didn't do anything too wonderful. Besides, it wasn't staying very well-inked.

I have no idea what I was writing...it seems to read..."such a fucking ________, it's like 5am and ________ for the G in Bklyn." You know....depending on what that first blank is, you could read anything into my experience in Brooklyn. "waste" "wait" "night" "tool" who knows? no one cares. not even me. nom nom.

The hangover is just now hitting me now at 7 freaking PM. Actually, I don't know if it's the hangover, or the lack of sleep. 2 hours of sleep followed by 10 hours of work, but preceded by 6.5 hours of drinking, falling, being utterly ridiculous, laughing, etc. = tired girl.

Once again, I've forgotten a freaking pen, but at least now my phone is charged so I can just type shit into that. But, of course, now I don't recall why I wanted to continue this entry. Anyway. Oh, let's go back to my sleep habits, shall we?

No...no...wait, an actual subway THING happened in the middle of that sentence...a 2 train pulled in on the local track. Expecting this, I huddled close to where the doors would be so that I could get on, get a seat, be happy. But the crowd was taking forEVER and this one man had decided (obviously) to piss me off by advancing in my direction instead of using the right-hand side, like all the other silly Americans. dammit. So there I was, perched for a flying leap into the bench closest to me. It had emptied, and the end was available so I was gonna be real happy.

He finally moved, I bounded to the seat, slipped into the corner spot. done. I love the corner seat on any of the benches because then i've got control over the end of the bench. I'm not trying to squeeze my voluminous hips in between skinny bitches or other fat women. A couple who entered from the other doors also saw the opportune bench and decided to also run for the corner. Unfortunately for them, I'm much more limber and much more spry than I look (seriously, though. have you ever seen me run or do a split? no? then shut up!) Now, even after I sat down, there was plenty of room for them. You could fit the two of them, twice. But that's not what they wanted. They wanted a corner dammmit and they were none too happy that I'd taken it. Bitch looked like she was gonna slug me.

So they made a leap for the bench caddycorner to mine, just in time to see a skinny little boy slip slyly into the spot they wanted. None too happy. They then took the seats next to the boy and were subsequently squished by other riders, whereas the man who sat next to me is now pleasantly situated between space and space. Like choosing a 2BR when all you need is a studio. yes.

Requiem for #43

It just wasn't that good. I'm omitting #43. I'm invoking the write of the blogger, dammit!

^^ "write" of the blogger. haha. who the hell do I think I am? obviously not a writer LOL!

#42

I was almost sure that the Ninja Turtles (or, if not them, then Casey Jones...please) had ended the reign of subway criminals who snatched purses and then made a clean getaway by escaping "into dark and dangerous subway tunnels"...but apparently not. According to Metro on 5/22, a 25-yr-old East Villager when on a brazen 11-day snatching spree. I have 2 questions: 1. where do people get the idea that they can still run away down a subway tunnel? and 2. how do people (read: women) still get their purses snatched? I mean, perhaps I'm just a careful commuter and either clutch my bag tightly or surround myself with friendly yet burly men who'll protect me (read: not my roomate. sorry, Ben.), or carry a bag that cannot be snatched. I mean, hello, between the Ninja Turtles, and messenger bags, I assumed that the 1990s had this covered. What the hell happened? I wonder if the guy had a secret subway lair or domain...or a sensei...like Splinter. I was going to make a reference here to the TV show Roswell from like...2000...but never mind.

I totally wanted to be April O'Neil, man. And I was in love with Leonardo, but totally having an affair (at 6 or 7 years old) with Rafael. Because he was the bad boy. And I was not a good little girl. Apparently. Speaking of that... ... ... on second thought...no. Never mind. You don't need that part of my history right now. Let's just say...I wasn't a very good teenager, either. But then, who is?

When I was 6, I was living in Peekskill, NY and in 1st grade at Van Cortlandtville Elementary, I picked the backpack that I wanted. I tried to find a picture online, but it would be from 1991 and I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who owned one. It was purple and green. And it had the Ninja Turtles on it. And it was a big ugly rectangular backpack with like...a separate section for a lunchbox and stuff....obviously too large for a 6 year old, but I had it all the same and I loved it. And I got made fun of, for it, every single damn day. I was a girl, and was a. not allowed to like Ninja Turtles, and b. supposed to like pink things. Needless to say, I didn't like the color pink until I turned 20.

#41

I see, in the paper, that our media has so little to do (not like there's a war, or natural disasters, or Brangelina children to cover)), that they've begun diagnosing gamer injuries. I'm referring to an article in Metro by Jennifer L. Deleo (apparently with contributions by PC Magazine, but not by an actual doctor) titled: "Ouch Potato: Keep Fit While you Game." This isn't about WiiFit or some other game that'll actually keep you fit (note: I'm not denying the health benefits of Dance Dance Revolution, I'm just saying that's not what the focus of the article is, despite the title).

Instead, the article focuses on the detriments to one's physical comfort by playing such games AS Dance Dance Revolution, RockBand, and the Sims. This is all well and good, but I'm almost concerned that this is where our focus, as a media-junkified country, is. After all, where is the section on the hip surgery that must be necessary after too many girls tried playing that Wii Wee simulator? Or the need for prescription lenses after playing Super Nintendo for 20+ years (hey, that's what I blame!)
Completely separate note:

Going back to souls are not science, since I have the oportunity. I ran across a note that I'd written a few months ago...the subject and context are not requirements for potentially understanding the following: Souls are not science, and their actions are not dictated by a set of laws or rules. I used to believe that, by placing the ends of two wires next to one another, a spark would be inevitable (like on the Jetsons, or Tom & Jerry...), but since then I've come to realize, that instead of a spark there is energy that finds a way to course through both beings at once.

Even if there's no visible connection, the energy is still there, they feed off of one another. These energies lend a kind of bliss to our human existence, and it's what has comforted me every time I've settled for second place, read: always. That sounds sad, but this is a really happy way, for me, to end this chapter.

PS did you know that...that fruity dessert often called sorbet, but many people say..."sherbert"? it's actually Sherbet. Not sherbert. There's no second r. Can I tell you, all of my preconceived notions from my childhood have just vanished. I want that R back.

#40

I have to say, I'm impressed. Once the rain died away I took my receipt over to the laundromat. I determined that it would make more sense to do it then, than to attempt laundry pickup after 3 or 4 drinks tonight. Ever see me drunk? Good, then you understand. Anyway-impressed.

I take my bag o' clothes home, assuming that it's all there, and assuming that it's clean...I have to say, my blue hoodie never looked that clean NEW and not only that, but my underwear was folded. I never fold my underwear and, yet, there it was, clean, bright, ready to be thrown into my unmentionables drawer. Of course, since I just mentioned them, that seems silly. We'll disregard. I don't even have drawers....but that's a story to be told another time.

Anyway, just the thought of touching someone else's underwear kind of makes me barf, so the fact that they do so, AND wash/dry/fold is pretty darn impressive. I'm glad it stopped raining. I can't tell you how tempted I was to bring my poncho with me and throw it over the bag as rain-cover. And by poncho, I mean a hefty bag with arm holes, a clear plastic hood, and an advertisement for the Broadway production of Chicago on it. And you thought you were cool? Psh.

Souls are not science....more on that later. It's a mere afterthought.

#39

Whoa. I just had some weird déjà vu...like in the middle of going to sit this down, I just had some freaky déjà vu.


Anyway. ugh.

Okay. So back to what I was actually going to write about: It may surprise you that, in my 5 years of living here, I've never had to do my laundry at a laundromat. I've been very fortunate in the past to be in a such a situation where it was not necessary. For the first 4 years (college) I was in the dorms, and we had free laundry. You had to make sure you were there to move your shit right on time so, in a way, it was LIKE being at a laundromat. But you didn't have to sit there, and it was free, and it was in the building. For the past year, I was in an apartment that had a washer and dryer in the kitchen. They were little, but they did the trick. Again, free, in the same APARTMENT, and you didn't have to sit there.

Now that I'm in my own apartment where we can neither afford, nor are allowed to have, a washer-dryer on the premises, my situation has changed. Fortunately, we've got 2 laundromats within a 3-block radius. Also fortunately, both of them have drop-off service. Which is great. Since I don't feel like sitting there. Now, I AM spending about $1/lb for the service, but considering that I haven't paid for laundry for the past 5 years, I think I'm doing pretty good. Plus, I don't have to sit there. The only catch, now, is that my laundry is ready for pick up. But it's raining. And I'd have to get to the mat, pick up the laundry, and walk back the 3 blocks with it in the rain, which kind of defeats the purpose of having had them dry the clothes, right?

Never having had to use this kind of service, I'm almost curious as to whether or not they're going to hate me for not picking up my laundry just yet. I mean, they've got a business to run, and I'm upsetting their pattern, right? I'm sure. On a semi-related note, there are a couple of services in NYC that will actually PICK UP your laundry and DROP IT OFF for you. Of course, the turn-around time is a slightly larger margin, but you don't really have to do anything. Some of these services (if you want to go really high-end) will even package your clothes in little department store boxes with scented tissue paper. I'm serious. But I have neither the funds, nor the patience, nor the lack of self-respect to actually use something like that. For now. See me after I've won the lottery and have less self-respect.

#38

It's driving me nuts that I've forgotten my notebook for several days in succession. I've resorted to writing in my books and, at the moment, on the inside of an Orbit Gum package....which must have my curious train companions in both awe and confusion. But I mean, why else would the inside of gum packaging be plain white, but to be the recipient of my increasingly-worn-down pencil?

And now for something entirely different: Last year, on May 20, I started Twenty Years After. Today, a year later, I finished The Sword in the Stone...50 books later. That may not seem like a lot to some of you (and maybe it does, to others) but for me, that's quite an accomplishment (now I've moved onto a WaMu receipt...at least I'm recycling). I feel very accomplished and satisfied. Fifty books in a year is quite good for someone who has spent the last 8 years reading only what school let her because that's all she had time for. And the 3 years before that were spent in Catholic School, reading Church-y books and the occasional "reading program" books, and sneaking 4 or 5 Redwall books. As someone said the other day--Oh yeah, Lives of the Saints again. Woohoo. Running out of room again...

This is pathetic. I'm writing on my friend's business card. And I'm two stops from home...I hadn't even noticed. So...anyway...books. It's a lot, and they weren't all little books, either. Dumas, yo. Represent. Okay, going home now.



For those interested:
Twenty Years After - Dumas
An Assembly Such as This - Pamela Aidan
The Dharma Bums - Kerouac
Kingdom Keepers - Ridley Pearson
The Princess Bride - William Goldman
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Duty and Desire - Pamela Aidan
These Three Remain - Pamela Aidan
Agnes Grey - Anne Brontë
The Professor - Charlotte Brontë
Little Black Book of Stories - A.S. Byatt
Gramercy Park - Paula Cohen
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - J.K. Rowling
Angels & Insects - A.S. Byatt
Sibling Love & Incest in Jane Austen's Fiction - Glenda Hudson
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling
Jane and Her Gentlemen - Audrey Hawkridge
Notre-Dame de Paris - Hugo
Ragtime - E.L. Doctorow
The Vicomte de Bragelonne - Dumas
Mansfield Park - Jane Austen
Mystery on the Moors - Barbara Michaels
Save Me the Waltz - Zelda Fitzgerald
Louise de la Valliere - Dumas
The Man in the Iron Mask - Dumas
The Secret History of the Pink Carnation - Lauren Willig
Lies My Teacher Told Me - James Loewen
Vanity of Duluoz - Kerouac
The Gun Seller - Hugh Laurie
Mr. Knightley's Diary - Amanda Grange
The Knight of Maison-Rouge - Dumas
The Black Tulip - Dumas
Stiff (The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers) - Mary Roach
Interruption of Everything - Terry McMillan
Atonement - Ian McEwan
Peter and the Starcatchers - Pearson & Barry
Peter and the Shadow Thieves - Pearson & Barry
Peter and the Secret of Rundoon - Pearson & Barry
Peter Pan(novel) - J.M. Barrie
Big Sur - Kerouac
A Kiss for Cinderella - J.M. Barrie
Escape from the Carnivale - Pearson & Barry
What Every Woman Knows - J.M. Barrie
Peter Pan (play) - J.M. Barrie
Seduction & Betrayal - Elizabeth Hardwick
The Book of Lost Things - John Connolly
East of Eden - Steinbeck
The City as a Work of Art - Donald James Olsen
The Neverending Story - Michael Ende
The Sword in the Stone - T.H. White

#37

I have this bad habit...maybe it's not a BAD habit, but it's surely an impractical and silly habit...of hoping when hope is not enough. Perhaps it's human instinct. Perhaps it's animal instinct. Perhaps it's the way we're brought up. Or, perhaps, it's the last remnant of my childhood. Like adults who pick their noses or use too much toilet paper, or still pronounce their older siblings' names incorrectly because when they were young they couldn't pronounce their R's o their I's or their L's.

Everyone has a quirk or two. The guy sitting across from me still doesn't tie his shoelaces properly. There was a woman on the platform who was standing there, biting her nails. Why can't I have my hope, right? Isn't that what stories...almost all stories, I guess, are about? hope? Surely Jason hoped that Medea would leave them alone, just as Medea hoped that Jason would take her back and not allow her to resort to killing her children. Jane hoped that Rochester would not send her too far away when he married Blanche. Blanche DuBois hoped that the Kowalskis would not investigate into her past. Aramis hoped to serve God and king and friends all at once. Mattimeo hoped to be great like his father, and like Martin.

So, why can't I have my hope, even though I know it's futile? Is it desperation? Is it a perverse need to be pathetic? no. I don't think so. I think that...without hope, what do you have? I give a short-term hypothetical: I hope that the 2 train tomorrow morning is mostly empty so that I can get a seat and possibly nap on the way to work. Even though I know that the train will be crowded, I keep to my hope. At least I recognize that I could be, and very likely will be, disappointed.

But who wants to be entirely pessimistic, right? Without hope, why go on? Everyone gets some kind of pleasure out of life. Mine has yet to arrive. But I know it's coming. Just like a crowded 2 train.

#36

I consider myself a pretty laid-back person (note: everyone has their moments...I have quite a few...if you only know my moments, you're not going to understand), when I'm on my way home and don't have something incredibly pressing (i.e. left the iron on, or Ben lit the apartment on fire) then I let the traffic happen and don't worry that I don't get a seat, and don't let the rain bother me. On a Sunday, you would figure that most people are in that situation. Just went to church, brunch, whatever and are now heading home to sleep.

I finished the AIDS Walk this afternoon and headed to Best Buy. Then I got on the M7 bus to go home. I figured the route would be detoured slightly and that I'd probably spend more time on the bus, but my foot was killing me (7 miles on a possibly-partially-dislocated foot = pain) and I felt like the bus was the easy, smooth, friendly way to go. Unfortunately, the entire population of bitchville was on my bus. Their Sundays are obviously more stressful than mine. "Why didn't the AIDS Walk just go around the park instead of out of it and across town?" "Why do all these gay people need to be out and about on a Sunday?" "Why do these parades have to happen right in the middle of my bus route?" Obviously, the answer to all of the above questions, is "to piss you off." OBviously. And it's not like their lives are very hard on a Sunday. No. The first woman simply got on the bus because it was raining, not because she was in a hurry. The second woman was on the wrong bus, so that was her own fault, not to mention the fact that she's apparently stupid. And the third woman was lost and trying to find her sister, with no motivation, and with no evident idea of where she, or her sister was...were.

Seriously? Seriously. Are you, as a New Yorker, by definition: impatient, crude, haughty and dense? I didn't think so. I thought, for sure, that us city folk were worth more than that. But please, you keep that up. It makes every other individual feel better as a person.