I am off, away, far away from the world of binary codes and html. I stepping from my office door into vacation time and planned trips abroad. I couldn’t be more excited by my well deserved time off that I plan to do it justice by filling my days well.

Friday afternoon:
I leave at three. This will be the last time I get to leave a three on a Friday until next summer. I’m already mourning its demise. As alluded to in my post yesterday, the three redheads: Abby, Dana and myself may get together to collaborate on our new musical project: a Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees influenced band (working title: Perfect Strangers.)

Friday Night:
Post laundry and packing Britpop dancing.

Saturday:
Finish The Debutantes demo and hop on a train headed to Washington where friends and a fancy hotel await my arrival. I am taking a super fast, super fancy Acela train that a friend once described as riding on butter. I will have to report on the smooth creaminess of my ride when I return. I plan to inappropriately occupy my time in the bar car and try not to morph into a business men as I will be surrounded by their droning for three long hours.

Saturday Night:
Arrive in DC, meet my friend Brian for dinner with his mom and her new husband and then off to a party hosted by his friend.

Sunday:
Wake up in fancy hotel and visit the restaurant downstairs that boasts having a large oak tree in the middle of the room. I can only hope that the urge to climb the tree does not beat down my inhabitations. I must make a mental note not to visit the tree whilst drunk on gin.

Sunday Night:
See my NYC transplant friend in Macbeth at the Shakespeare Theater. I will be attending the invited dress and feeling very important as I sit next to Kelly McGillis’s husband and Page Davis (both their spouses are in the play) while secretly hoping Kelly doesn’t show (My friend is her understudy). I will spend the night on the town with my friend in the play, which I hear in DC is an early one.

Monday – Friday
I, Brian and his green mini-van are headed to the Outer Banks to meet up with both our fathers, who are already there, separately with out knowledge of each other’s existence.

I plan to make full report when I return.

.

Summer Hours

Perfect Strangers Unite!



Playing music on Friday afternoons away from work is brilliant.

AT ROTHKO: (tonight)
Wed 25 - Two Special Performances BY Vincent Gallo
Two Special Performances In Conjunction With The Release Of His New Movie "Brown Bunny"
Vincent will be performing 2 shows w/ band mate Sean Lennon. This
rare live performance will include music from his Warp Records Release
"When”.
1st Performance Starts At 8 PM SOLD OUT!!, 2nd Performance Starts At 11 PM SOLD OUT!!

I can't help but be excited that we (The Debutantes) are playing Rothko two weeks from today.


My previous post today was very serious...I blame it on the constant Joy Division humming through my computer speakers.

Big Wig and Lots-o-Hair

I’m feeling unmotivated and uninspired today.

The right words remain trapped inside while the wrong ones wage warfare for their escape. I feel it’s best to remain with my lips firmly pressed together. I’m hoping my communication obstacles will not translate into the written word. I haven’t had an opportunity to test this fear. I will be brief. Safety is a measure best employed in these situations. This certainly is not a time to talk to loved ones or people looking for honest answers, regretting the questions. It is a time to be cryptic and mysterious, until one can best express themselves without offense.

It’s amazing how we do not escape the patterns established in early social situations, i.e. elementary-middle school. The dramas people create to satisfy desires to be apart of something bigger than them, even if fabricated. Ah the tedious office drama. The backhanded completments and lines drawn in the sand.

I have had nothing but work projects and obstacles by fellow employees all afternoon. I haven't had time to write emails or get outside in the supremely beautiful weather. Sad. My bosses are on some sort of lunch pow wow...all those figure heads eating at the same time make me nervous and hungry for chocolate.

The Healing Powers of Stir Fry

I’m old.

I used to be able to stay up till 3 am each night and get up the following morning at a decent hour.
I used to be able to spend the day at an amusement park and go out dancing that same night.
I used to be able to carry a bag of laundry home to parent’s house without injury.

I usually make it home to my Father or Mother’s house in Poughkeepsie each month. I ride the metro north with a great big sack of about a month’s laundry. This seems more logical: dragging an enormous sack miles away rather than down the block. This weekend was no different; me, the laundry and the train arrived in Poughkeepsie without incident and would appear to return without incident. I was wrong. I woke up early this morning with the worst neck pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. I couldn’t move my head to either side, making it near impossible to get to the kitchen where the relief could only be found in a large bottle of pain killers and a warm compress. I popped three pills and tried to get back to sleep. I suppose I did because I don’t think I was really climbing a mountain yoked about the neck and shoulders with stacks of hay while a pointy nosed wizard yelled and shot at me from his wand. When I woke up the second time I was in just as much pain as before. I can truly understand the saying: “Such a pain in the neck.” And…getting old, is such a pain in the neck.

Death and Glory: The Same Old Story

After a weekend of death, belated birthday parties, and uncomfortable relatives encounters I am back at work and miles away from the funeral I was semi-obligated to attend. I have an intense aversion to wakes and funerals. I find it hard to control my emotions and I am too often overwhelmed with grief. I have no strong face. My face gives to any pressure; this is why I am not a good card player.

I had the occasion to play Texas Hold 'Em at my Brother's belated birthday party on Sunday. I lost my pile of blue, red and white chips in record time and secretly replenished my pile from "the bank," the cardboard container that held the remaining chips. This method kept me in the game until the other players got wise to my trickery. It wasn't until later that evening, after I had got my hands on my brother's IPOD and created a The Cure/ The Smith's/ New Order/The Clash heavy play list, did my luck change. Doesn't seem like you perform better when you've got good music in your ears?

My father purchased a keg for the occasion and everyone was a little tipsy. It seemed strange to see my relatives drunk. The last time we had a "full" family party I was considerably younger. I probably never noticed how drunk people were then; they just seemed more fun and interested in seeing you do a back flip off the diving board twenty times. Most relatives in attendance were my great aunts, uncles and my Grandmother from Punta Gorda, home of the great hurricane disaster. They are all well into their 80's now with advice continuously rolling from their lips. For example, my Grandmother, who thought my black and white striped top was too sexy, advised me to put on a sweater; I melted in a turquoise sweater in the 85 degree heat to appease her. She is one of 11 (the Italian Catholics and their rhythm method) so there was a great number in attendance. Most of them are in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. There was a lot of identity confusion and older folks shouting inappropriate words. My great uncle called me over, he wanted to say "I want to give you some love" (as in an innocent hug) but the words came out "I want to make love to you." I made some joke about what was in his coca cola and then slinked into the house to sit out the rest of the party.

Everyone left the party early to attend my great aunt Lena's wake. Things were festive considering, festive and uncomfortable. I did eat a year's supply of onion dip in a half an hour's time; that has to be some kind of record...

I'm happy to be back in New York and longing for Saturday nights out dancing to good music.

GYM: I know that guy.

After returning from an awesome stir fry lunch with Abby, a co-worker regaled me with tales from the gym locker room. A women with an obviously expensive breast augmentation refused to put her top on while fannying about in the locker room.

I rarely frequent a gym. When I have had an occasion to enter such an establishment I have been literally bombarded with reasons to leave. My work offers free admission to the neighboring Bally’s. Under false raves by a fellow co-worker, I was convinced to lace up my sneakers and get myself to a treadmill.

Jaime’s First Time at the Gym:
I enter with a keen sense of hope and dread swirling in my stomach. I’m careful not to look any of the stretchy material wearing employees in the eye because I am told the will try to “train” you on the spot. I slinked into a dressing room past a machinery crowed room heavy with sweat and desperation. Not two seconds after breaching the doorway’s threshold, I am face to face with a supremely naked woman applying generous amounts of moisturizer to her entire body; she will remain naked throughout her entire grooming process. There, next to her, sits a suitably large towel, taunting the rest of us from inside the locker. I keep thinking “put on the towel, put on the towel, oh Jesus, just put on the towel and please do not ask me a question.” She asks me a question.

Naked lady: “Excuse me, do you know the time?” She is very polite, which for some reason shocked me, I assumed the naked a rude sort; I was obviously mistaken.

Me (eyes permanently fixed to the floor): “err...ugh…I’m not sure. Sorry.” I ran to the bank of lockers and hid behind an open locker door to begin my Junior High School routine of removing and putting on clothing with out exposing a lick of flesh. In the distance, I could hear the women pose the question two more times until a brave soul answered and was subsequently engaged in conversation. I dodge a bullet.

Feeling confident and full of vigor from minutes of “bullet” & naked people dodging I headed out in the thick air to begin what can only be called an attempt to “exercise.” I tried the treadmill. Apparently I was walking all wrong because I got the attention of many stretchy material employees with helpful advice on how to walk properly. I had tried to explain that it was something I’ve been doing for some time, 25 years to be exact, with much success. At which, point I was then shown how to walk by a very large muscled man in red, who then tried to pitch me training sessions.

My only reply was: “to learn to walk?!” He laughed and continued pitching. Words were thrown around like excessive alcohol, couch potato, not in too bad of shape, full body toning, extreme pain you would never know again (I made up the last one)… In the end he felt that my “exercise prescription” should only be 6 months two times a week and he promises to burn my ass right off my body. I politely decline and continue “walking” the only damn way I know how. This scenario similarly played out each time I tried different equipment, getting chased off as soon as I started.

I haven’t been back to the gym since and my ass is still firmly placed on my body where is belongs.

Revenge: Your Such a Dish

Recently I've been privy to an alarming amount of tales of betrayal, hurt and rejection. If the world curves and swings in a metaphysical flow, we must be in a down swing (hopefully already on our way back up.) Different people handle their pain and healing in different ways (we're all snow flakes or some trite business such as that) but revenge is the most interesting path to discuss:

A list of revenge tactics someone has actually done or wanted to do to another someone:
Unusual or extreme:

1. Filling out many tasteless, the more pornographic the better, magazine subscription cards to be sent to the person's work. (A friend of mine did this to her hateful boss who unjustly fired her.)
2. Posting naked pictures of your ex on the Internet
3. The hurtee calling the hurter's cell phone repeatedly from a pay phone leaving it off the hook (for a quarters worth) draining their minutes and padding their phone bill. (This works best when the person in question is between apartments and jobs.)
4. Making out with someone your heart's killer is currently making out with to spite him.
5. Putting gum in the individual's Disc man.
6. Discarding one sock from each of the adulterer's pairs.

The Usual:

1. Trashing personal property
2. Spreading nasty rumor
3. Going out with the best friend or relative
4. Not caring about the other person.

*List does not represent the views of the management. The management does not condone the behavior listed above. Though Management may have participated in a couple, I like to think I carry forgiveness in our heart.

Mount Olympius

10 Things I’ve learned over wine, watching the Olympics:

1. Gymnastics no longer “stick the landing,” which used to be the benchmark to their performance.
2. Gymnasts’ figures are distracting. While marveling at the short, wide shouldered, heavily glittered, pony tailed, sparkle leotarded muscles I was almost distracted from the not “sticking the landing.”
3. Olympic athletes’ are not what they were; this is exasperated by the Ancient Olympian allusions during the games’ stay in Athens, (and directly related to item 1.) I wanted to see someone jump hard on something sprained for the team.
4. The games were more exciting when the athletes peeked from behind the red curtain to battle the capitalists in a showcase of will and strength. Imagine Rocky IV if Ivan Drago was not a powerful yet arrogant Soviet fighting his own “cold war” in the ring. It would just be two beefy guys bouncing around to “Eye of the Tiger.”
5. The coaches aren’t as scary or loud.
6. The male Swimmers look like exclamation points (this observation was offered by a friend.)
7. I prefer the Winter Olympics.
8. I was even more disappointed in US loses after seeing the athlete’s inspirational short prior to the event i.e. overcome hardship to reach this moment only to fail in front of the world.
9. I outwardly laughed when a young gymnast come off the uneven bars into a mat face plant, and then felt bad about it.
10. I predominantly watched gymnastics and mourned my misspent youth and stationary lifestyle vowing to take up jogging the very next day.

Friday The 13th

Yesterday and last night were madness. I was unable to post yesterday. I'm feeling ashamed of my diligent behavior so soon after my blog's inception. Alas, to over compensate I am attempting to write the longest post I can muster on a Friday afternoon.

The Longest Post Ever

Am I a superstitious person? Well, I don’t find myself readily breaking mirrors, stepping on cracks, spilling salt, walking under ladders or spying black cat crossing my path on Friday the 13th. If there are certain unseen other world powers operating on us without or knowledge why tempt fate?

On this Friday the 13th, with a bomb scare across the street this morning, I started thinking on superstitions; this one specifically. What's its historical reference? Do we will the "unlucky" by looking for it on this particular day? I asked the World Wide Web about this World Wide Superstition…

Friday the 13th
• It is said: If 13 people sit down to dinner together, all will die within the year.
• The Turks so disliked the number 13 that it was practically expunged from their vocabulary (Brewer, 1894). Many cities do not have a 13th Street or a 13th Avenue.
• Many buildings don't have a 13th floor.
• If you have 13 letters in your name, you will have the devil's luck (Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Theodore Bundy and Albert De Salvo all have 13 letters in their names).
• There are 13 witches in a coven.
• It is said: Never change your bed on Friday; it will bring bad dreams.
• Don't start a trip on Friday or you will have misfortune.
• If you cut your nails on Friday, you cut them for sorrow.
• Ships that set sail on a Friday will have bad luck – as in the tale of H.M.S. Friday ... "One hundred years ago, the British government sought to quell once and for all the widespread superstition among seamen that setting sail on Fridays was unlucky. A special ship was commissioned, named "H.M.S. Friday." They laid her keel on a Friday, launched her on a Friday, selected her crew on a Friday and hired a man named Jim Friday to be her captain. To top it off, H.M.S. Friday embarked on her maiden voyage on a Friday, and was never seen or heard from again."

Possible origins
Ancient Egyptians: To ancient Egyptians life was the 12 stage process toward a heavenly afterlife. Therefore, the 13th stage represented death. Scholars believe that this Egyptian idea of 13 was perverted into symbol of death & fear from its original glorious, soul ascension representation

Patriarchal religions: 13 represented femininity; the women’s cycle in a year (13 x 28 = 364 days.) As the solar calendar (12 / male) triumphed over the lunar Calendar (13/ female) 13 became taboo.

Loki: The gods held a banquet excluding Loki, the evil one who attended regardless. He was the 13th guest. He raised hell and turned the affair into a blood bath. Since then it is believed that a 13 guest dinner party is unlucky (associated with death.)

The Bible: The last supper had 13 in attendance with one quest betraying him. The crucifixion was on a Friday.
Eve tempted Adam with the Apple on a Friday.

In Pagan culture, Friday was execution day.

Some thought that unlucky Friday and unlucky 13 became associated on a day of great catastrophe: The legend of the Knights of Templar

Or maybe it’s just that Unlucky Friday + Unlucky 13 = Unluckier Friday.

Some scholars suspect its essentially 20th-century media hype. We are still answering unanswerable questions with superstition.

Much congratulations if you are still reading this obsessive historical/ pseudo-philosophical rambling. I'm not sure if I feel worse or better.

In case of Terror

My place of employment has equipped each employee with the necessary tools to survive a terror attack. Each employees has received a survival kit containing the following:

• 1 liter of water,
• one flash light with appropriate batteries attached by duct tape,
• one filter mask, and
• one can of terrorist repellent.

(I've added one long toothed comb to the zip lock bag)

With such an arsenal I am no longer nervous and can go about my work day smiling and humming.

A Window into the Past

Last night the pangs of my youth struck hard at my adulthood. Warm embarrassment licked me up one side and back down the other, as when you read the pages from your childhood diary or look at pictures filled with inappropriate haircuts and clothing; the words “What was I thinking” fall effortlessly from the lips.

I, in attempts to free myself of excess and plunge head first into a minimalist lifestyle, came across printed electronic mail correspondence from two years ago.

Things that have changed in 2 years:
1. My job: I’ve left my low paying television job for a well paying day job.
2. I am obsessing and not obsessing over different people.
3. My active cast of characters in my life (my inner circle of friends.)
4. Extracurricular activity (exchanging comedy for Rock n’ Roll.)
5. I’m not so nervous about life or preoccupied by things I can’t change.

Things that have not changed in 2 years:
1. Going out too late on a school nights
2. Obsessing and not obsessing over people
3. Misplacing important articles such as wallets, passports and cell phones.
4. Trying to find peace with a minimalist lifestyle and failing.
5. I’m single

Looking in the past, marking my progress has given me a vague idea of where I’m going or, at the very least, how far (or not so far) I’ve come. It may not be the direction or distance I intended, but it makes for a good read. (Especially the something about four of us on a street corner in the wee hours of the night playing “spin the bottle” with a half broken Snapple bottle…serious discussions with a man washing the windows at a diner about volleyball…rooftop parties straight to work…guessing to what’s in a boy’s head [knowing where the relationship is never going]…knowing then the people who matter today.)

In a Small World, We Will be Giants

I have succumbed.

Pouring over pages of web text daily, I've decided it is time to author my own web log, with no great reason and time to kill.

I promise nothing.