Running Like a Mad (Wo) Man

It has been really lovely out. I had thought I should get to the park and move around some in the interest of exercising. I wanted to roller skate, but was too intimated to do it alone. The idea of falling and not having anyone hear my nervous laughter was too much to bear.

It’s Wednesday, the mid point to a busy week. Sleepiness has wrapped my brain in a sweater. It’s hard fighting the good fight: keeping my head of my desk. My desk, mind you, is piled high with papers and dust; I just squeaked out the last bit of pressured air clearing crumbs from my keyboard. So, my head will have a soft but dreadful landing.

The Debutantes play Southpaw tonight at 9pm. (news to keep your head upright)

A Letter to my Parents, From my Work

Dear Mr.& Mrs. Fallon:

We are sorry to inform you of our recent filing accident. Jaime Fallon has been pinned under filing F-J since 12:00 p.m. this afternoon; ironically, that is where we would have filed her had she been a hanging folder. We will keep you apprised of any new developments.

Best regards,
RREEF

Epiphany

With the release of a new NIN album, I've read many post, newly drug and alcohol free Trent Reznor interview articles exposing his mental state while writing previous albums. A great epiphany: Trent Reznor was in a dark place.

You think?

PS. His last album was called Downward Spiral. I'm just saying...

Confession: I think Trent Reznor is hot with his haircut. See below.

AA Admin

It's Administrative professionals' Day. As I eat my complimentary tuna sandwich I think, God, I could really use a Diet Coke.

I'm going to see Stars tonight at Bowery and the Debutantes booked a show at Southpaw. I could still go for that Diet Coke.

Bloc Party Was Tremendous!

Rarely have I seen a crowd so eager for a band, and a band so eager for the crowd.

I went to see Bloc Party on Friday, the second night and proudly proclaimed “better” night by everyone in the small audible circle around me. Mind you, the circle was small and rubbing up against me for most of the night.

The crowd was lit up, on fire even and dancing with such charged fury that the scene almost erupted into a mosh pit, reminiscent of shows I attended in H.S. in an abandoned warehouse or Veterans’ Hall. People were moved into excitable trances shaking, thrusting and jumping. There were even reports of a gentleman pleasuring himself in front of the stage. I learned through a very Seinfeldian exchange with a female stranger that she dropped back into the crowd after a man “took it out. Yes, it, out.” I assume he was just a bit more excited than the rest of us.

Our attention was quickly redirected back towards the band. Between each song, they connected with the crowd with healthy doses of British Charm. It seemed as though they were apologizing for their professional, flawless, rock star personas while playing through their humbling witty banter. It was refreshing to see a technically proficient band having the time of their lives, shining like a bright light. Many bands of late have taken themselves much too seriously, portraying an almost sullen, apathetic presence on stage. Bloc party and the crowd were feeding off each other. Everyone was satisfied, (without having to “take it out,” well, with one exception.)

*Cough * Cough

The only thing in my inbox is a box of surplus Angel Soft (standard office issue) tissue.

I’m sick again.

Can you believe it?

I can’t.

People are Nicer than the Sun

People at the office have been inquiring about my “tan.” Where could I have gone to get such a “tan.” Let me clarify, my face is red, looking straight at an apple red. I had to explain that out my front door is where I could have gone to get such a “tan”(or sun burn). The fair skinned do not color well, or too well.

My burn was the result of an afternoon snowboarding. The burn is centrally located on my fore head, cheeks and chin, much like a raccoon. It looks as though the sun forced me into a hat and sunglasses, sat me down in an intense solar chair and colored in the exposed skin with a red crayon. The sun and I are not friends.

Feed the Trees

It is ten days later later, an inch deeper in rain water, and I’ve been punched with a fist full of exhaustion. I returned from an extended weekend in Vermont where I enjoyed times with friends, snowboarding and counting sap spigots in Maple trees as we drove home through the woods.

Opening my eyes, still heavy with sleep, I hoped find snow covered mountains littered with evergreens peering through my morning window panes. Instead I got an eyeful of the cardboard art project I hung carelessly on my wall to cover up the holes left from a failed shelving experiment.

I’m back in New York and back on the subway before I can reflect any longer on tranquil vistas. I’m sharing a subway car with too many people and cringing at the overly boisterous conversations between two lightly accented women who work in healthcare. They’ve only just begun their audible tirade on the “Mexican plague” in NYC when I realize that the subway train is being powered solely on nervous, uncomfortably energy.
This would never happen if I commuted with sap spigoted (non-bigoted) Maple trees.

Addendum: Letter to Lady in the Elevator, dressed all in Black

When you say “My God it’s green in here,” I know you’re talking about me.

A Letter to the Man Standing too Close to Me on the Subway

You are standing too close. If I can smell what you ate for breakfast, you’re standing too close to me. You had an omelet with peppers and onions. You are standing too close.

I am not a pole. You cannot hang on me for support. The train does jostle us about and I am the closest thing to you. You cannot hang on me for support.

You are carrying a bag. When said bag feels lighter, it’s resting on something. It’s resting on me.

When disembarking please do not follow my steps in a body hugging fashion. If the entire front part of your body is not touching the complete back part of my body, you will get out of the train just as fast. I guarantee it.

There is a difference between being aggressive and just being a jerk. I’m afraid you are the latter.

I am not one to hold a grudge, so Happy Saint Patrick’s Day Man standing too close to me on the subway.

Green

After 4 subway transfers, an extremely close encounter with a crazy person with the touchies, and a stubbed toe I emerged from Grand Central. As I turned the corner a stranger handed me a fist full of daisies. My internal New Yorker shifted my gaze dead fast straight ahead while questioning this obvious funny business; my internal girl almost curtseyed while smiling a thanks. What is it about getting flowers? It can melt the coldest disposition and pull hard on both sides of the mouth. It turned out to be some silly promotion for a television show: John Stamos being John Stamos or something. Still, flowers are flowers and I was happy for them. Thank you John Stamos’s peoples’ people’s people.

I spent most of the afternoon sending myself test emails. The number of messages in my inbox would suggest a full network meltdown. Alas, my email was working fine; I just checked.

Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s Day. But, what does that mean, really? An excuse for otherwise tightly tied ex-frat boy turned executives to get pissed and urinate in the streets? Or for the normally very mono-chromed to add a splash of color to their wardrobes? Does anyone remember what poor Saint Patrick did beside die from serosis of the liver?

Off to a work dinner, where I will try not to inappropriately enjoy too many passion fruit margaritas with co-workers. I must remember to eat lots of tortilla chips.

rhtl update: Friday night is alright.
Big party planned.

It's in the Frosting

I’m a great big stress ball wound up in rubber bands bouncing off walls.
I have too much to do list and not enough red checks.
Everything was grating deeply into my nerves this morning. I wanted to poke the man in the shiny loafers who insisted on pushing the elevator call button as each new person approached. He chose to do this repeatedly with his middle finger. Was he an angry man who is used to extending his middle finger? Or was he just trying to impress the ladies he thought he was rescuing from an elevatorless lobby? Either way he was annoying.

I finally got upstairs after hateful weather chit chat and sat down to complication after complication, problem after problem. The day exploded into a brain melting headache.

The smallest gestures can turn an afternoon around. A playful gesture from a neighbor, a green frosted cupcake special delivery, free candy in the vending machine made 5pm arrive with grace sending complicated problems and shiny, pokey man right down the elevator shaft.

rhtl Update: Reunited!

Guinness Speaks

Please enjoy World's Smallest Cat, only three pounds.



Mr. Peebles

A Dull Day in Dullsville

A celebratory dinner centric weekend has landed me back into the work week a few dollars lighter and few pounds heavier.

Riding off an incredible caffeine tidal wave into a large pile of filing has me grumpy and back at the caffeine dispenser once again. Everything is pulsing here at the office. With shoulders thrusted uncomfortably erect and faces shot downward, drones hum to and fro, gurgling at desks and slamming down phones. I’m nervously staring down the clock, challenging the digital numbers to change to 5:00 and praying I don’t here heavy foot steps behind my chair. I can’t concentrate on anything but what it would be like not to be here. If it were not for the delicious cupcake I ate early this afternoon, I would be hiding under my desk humming Pulp songs.

In an attempt to be productive, I tried to make a doctor’s appointment for this week. The receptionist told me that my Doctor was not available; ironically, Journey’s Open Arms was playing when she pressed hold.

It’s already Tuesday and my only plans for the week included cleaning my apartment and making a Doctors appointment. My new plan is to go home and dance around my messy apartment to Pulp and reevaluate my planning abilities.



Rhtl update: Alpha please come home.

Free Music Sounds Better

Interpol at Radio City Music Hall

From the mezzanine, Dana & I watched silhouettes losing themselves on a colossal stage, but witnessed a sound that swallowed the auditorium’s every inch. Everyone sat next to a song. I chose to saddle up next to Specialist, the first encore, sitting breathless until the bass progression toward the end. After which, in poor form, I pumped my fist in the air like I had just won the three-legged race on field day. I was at radio city; I lost myself in the velvet seat cushions and billowing upholstery; my decorum followed.

We missed the intimacy we experienced at smaller venues previously this year, but one can not complain about a free show without sounding bawdy. I’m not complaining, nor am I bawdy (I don’t think). The band grew in the venue’s enormity, introducing choreographed lighting and increasing fog machine production. In the lights, oversize Interpol shadow puppets played against the wall. It was delightfully hypnotic.

Post show we headed to Brooklyn on what Dana cleverly referred to as the Interpol Express, otherwise known as the F train. We followed a mysterious, delicious food scent toward a hipster packed subway car, vowing to raid the refrigerator when we returned our homes respectively.

A small box of Ritz Bits later I went to sleep and dreamed about Interpol shadow puppets.

The Sun Shines on a Girl in Brooklyn

I stepped out my front door into a Brooklyn covered in white. The streets, trees and sidewalks were white washed clean and full of promise. The kind morning sent my favorite music through me headphones and raised my steps a full inch into a skip. I imagined my two dollar bag was a sled and we were bound for the tallest hill the park. As I cut a path through the soft, cold snow I felt as though I was whistling down the slope. I love the snow like a child loves ice cream on the carpet. I was so elated that even the Jamaican woman who evangelizes in the Fulton street stop thought I deserved to be saved. She handed me a prayer pamphlet and a little wink. (She never offers me the literature.)

I won tickets. I won Interpol tickets. I never win. I never win anything I love. I love Interpol and winning so imagine my delight. If I smiled any broader, my smile would literally leap from my face and dance.

What a delightful day.


rhtl update: "Look it stop snowing"

Thar She Blows

Last week the great flu swallowed me whole. I sat in her belly for 4 days dreaming of warm deserted beaches and strong legs to stand on. My savior was a sympathetic boy's kindly generosity and the simple distraction that only comes from 200 channels of television programming that you and pause and rewind at will. A gallon of Apple juice and a box of Pop Tarts later I am back at work staring down three large piles heckling me from the corner of my desk. The piles remain as I continue to work at my now bitten down nails that grew when I was distant with fever.

It's snowing. The newsman would have us believe the end is near...the snow! the snow!
Brave well under grey skies and in white messes.

To The Far East

I’ve forgot to have an interesting life this week. In the meantime, please enjoy the following email from my friend Elena who has quit her job to travel the world:

• Hello friends, family and people that I like and wish I was in bettertouch with so here goes...In less than 12 hours I am due at the airport to catch my flight toBangkok to explore a land known as southeast Asia for a few months. I quit my job, moved my stuff out of NYC and into my little brother's old room at my parents, packed a big backpack and a small backpack and am officially in Bangkok at themoment. Most of you requested that I keep in touch through my travelsand for those who didn't - well, if you were off traveling for a fewmonths, I would hope and love to hear from you. But if you don't wantto hear what I'm up to, no worries mate, just let me know and I'llskip you next time ;)It was a surreal trip. I refused to even think about Texas time sinceI left Thursday 9am TX time (after pulling an all-nighter), andarrived Friday 11:30pm Bangkok time. But it wasn't easy. We flewover Siberia!!! Left Chicago and hugged theAlaskan coastline. Eventually flew over a surface area that I did notknow the earth had - it looked like the moon sorta. At first it wasrolling dark little hills and then they turned into white, ummm notreally sure how to describe. Sorta like how water and oil don't mixbut mostly white and flat. I guess ice because when the map in theplane came up we were over Siberia. It seems a little odd to me thatto get to the other side of the world (just slightly above theequator) I had to fly over Siberia. But anyway...I arrived safely. My preferred/recommended hotel was full along with the next 4 or so Ipopped into (at least I was in the right section of town where hotelsare every couple of doors). I found one open and would've paidanything at that point (1 am or so) and a couple of Japanese girlscame to inquire as well. Only one needed a bed so I asked if shewanted to share the double/triple he was offering me. (I think thatwas the last room and I needed a fellow traveler to brain pick). SoYuki is my first travel buddy. Yuki as in YOU-key, do not confusewith Yucky. Yuki is very nice, learned English in Australia 5 yearsago where she worked for a year. Her English is pretty damn good butwe do play charades at times - a skill that will come in handy as thetrip progresses. Her name means snow but ironically enough she can'tstand the cold. She's been traveling a lot in the last 7-8 months orso off and on. She goes home "for good" on the 18th and has alreadytold me I need to visit her in Japan. She is gonna hit the beachtomorrow or the next day (I think a 6 hr bus ride from here) and I amtempted to join. It is HOT here! Ok, it is more steamy and humidthan hot. No, it is definitely hot, I just checked weather.com and itsays it's 92 degrees but feels like 102! (I cannot believe it isactually that hot!) I am impressed that Yuki still likes me afterwhole conversations with sweat dripping down my face. She's a bargainshopper and so we switched hotels - the first (desperate) night wepaid 325 baht each - I think that is somewhere around $12.10 ($24total) for a private room with bathroom, air conditioning (!) and alittle fridge/mini bar with bottled water for 15 cents. Now we arestaying in a guesthouse (term for something not as nice as a hotel buta little better than a hostel) with rock hard beds and a ceiling fan(no a/c so sleeping is better when you are really exhausted). Communal bathrooms have little tiled closets with a Western toilet anda shower together - literally I could sit on the toilet and take ashower! And then there are the little closets with just showers and adrain (the drain also doubling for an Eastern-style toilet). There isno toilet paper so I've learned quickly to carry a roll in my backpackat all times but I still have not mastered the technique of puttingthe tp in the trash (old habits are hard to break) since the plumbingis old and there are signs requesting you to not put it in the toilet.Fortunately, I have not caused the toilet to overflow yet with mycarelessness and I will be mortified if it happens, especially sincemy room is so close to the toilets. This place is 180 baht so I thinkit's about $4.20 a night. Yuki is cool and fun but I don't know ifI'm on the same travel budget as she is. My body is still adjusting tothe time change/jet lag so I'm not sleeping on a consistent scheduleyet but I am getting plenty of time in the early morning (I'm wakingaround 6:30am these days) to lay in bed and think about sleeping. I've been drinking tons of water and I think it's just getting sweatedout and my nose was vascillating from a lovely faucet to being allstopped up. My sinuses did the same thing when I got jet laggedflying to London years ago. So I just keep drinking more water inhopes of avoiding this thing turning into a cold (which is what Ithought I had for 2 wks after flying to London). I found a place thatlooked like a pharmacy to get some Sudafed and the friendlyEnglish-speaking lady handed me some minimally-marked pills and saidthey were "almost same". I asked lots of questions and decided totake a leap of faith on my friendly drug dealer's recommendations andwas pleased to find I can breathe much better with no other sideeffects! Ok, enough about my body's reactions.I haven't explored much but am about too. Bangkok is definitely aculture shock - fortunately in a charming way. Great peoplewatching! Lots of beautiful, vibrant colors around and intrigingtemples (Yuki is Japanese Buddhist). I have a pretty good sense ofdirection but was completely discombobulated initially. I wouldwander down an alley or two then find my way back to the guesthousethen wander down another street or alley, return to the guesthouseover and over until the sun came out to give me a shadow and let mefigure out where north was. The streets weren't marked well and wereso minor that it took me a while to find a major one that was also onmy map, then another major one on the map to indicate theintersection. But once I figured it out - oh, what an adrenalinerush! REM's "Stand" rejoiced in my head, "STAND! in the place whereyou live. Think about direction, wonder why we have it now. STAND!in the place where you work...If you are confused, check with the sun.Carry a compass to help you along. Your feet are going to be on theground. Your head is there to move you around!" Yeah, I almost feltlike doing a little jig but I didn't want to steal the spotlight fromthe friendly mute who likes to play charades with anyone near. I haveno idea what he is trying to convey with his motions so I just smileand nod then scope out a spot to watch him interact with otherconfused pedestrians. The best things in life truly are free.I am still taking everything in and reading my travel books to figureout where to go, what to see but it is all so foreign and overwhelmingand HOT that I am having trouble retaining all this new info (andcrazy sounding words). Other backpackers remind me of New Yorkers,they keep to themselves but once you break the ice, they are superfriendly and helpful. I've befriended a wonderful couple from NewZealand who had one of their bags stolen 4 days ago and they blow meaway with their attitude about having to replaceeverything...passport, visas, plane tickets, camera, etc. Fortunatelythey had traveler's insurance that is helping but still, such ahassle. Hey, for all those backpackers out there, do y'all have anyrecommendations for travel insurance? I need medical and personalbelonging coverage and did a little research the other day online butseriously, my attention span could not handle it.Speaking of attention span, I'm tired of writing! I just wanted tolet y'all know I arrived safely and that y'all have been on my mind. Don't worry about me, life is good, getting better all the time.Please keep me in the loop with your adventures as well. Thanks toeveryone's well wishes and support!

xoxo,e

The started with Wake Up

The Arcade Fire began late, after the band agreed to play Conan in the 25th hour. With no time to sound check the enormous arsenal of instruments; the band took a devastating long time line checking each instrument. (There was feedback/ volume issues with all the microphones and amps scattered on stage.)
The crowd grew restless with excitement and anticipation. Dana, Matt and I had the undeserving pleasure of standing in front of loud complainers who kept miss-identifying the instruments and the reason for the show’s delay. They obviously thought they were very witty and insightful because they tried to share their observations with an entire auditorium. We received the brunt, directly in our ears at full volume, as they began to even heckle the opening act (who, ironically, they came to learn was in The Arcade Fire.) Dana and Matt tagged teamed an opposition to the wet bottomed cranky babies’ nay saying. To my delight, at least for a short time period, we were standing in comfortable silence once again.

One of the two violinists in the Arcade Fire opened for the band as Final Fantasy. He played 4 originals by playing his violin through a delay pedal, building percussion, bass, melodies and harmonies while singing. It was really quite amazing.

The Arcade Fire was astonishing. They played flawlessly. There was an impressive energy on stage as 8 musicians worked as one; a wonderful representation of the material on the album (& not on the album). The instruments included: a rack of guitars ranging from Telecasters, Gibsons to Danelectros; an electric and upright bass, an accordions, two violins, keyboards and an organ, a handful of tambourines, and a large bass tom marching band type drum. They took turns on the core instruments. I was concerned they wouldn’t represent well live with the album’s heavy instrumentation; I was impressed.

I returned home in the early hours of the morning after Dana and I experienced a life threateningly fast taxi ride across the Manhattan Bridge. While speeding precariously over the water, weaving between cars, the driver screamed into the phone about wanting to be picked up and demanding his twenty dollars back from “the bitch,” who later he said he would slap like she was a bitch. (I assumed he meant to bitch slap a lady.) I quickly removed myself from the vehicle and scurried down the sidewalk. Dana traveled solo for another block and later reported the driver running into another car when he pulled over to let her out. He blamed “the bitch” for distracting him.

I watched The Arcade Fire on Conan before going to bed and dreamed of a rack of guitars ranging from Telecasters, Gibsons to Danelectros.

Futility, and the People who Wear it Well

I’m sad today. I’m preoccupied with doom and gloom. I’ve been sitting in my cubical staring at blank computer screens, as my internet connection fails me, for too long. All day the internet has been floopy, like jumping from buildings into pieces of Swiss cheese; a frustratingly awful impossibility.

I’m filled with worry over world affairs and affairs closer to home. My mind is on sick friends, lost socks and keys I will never find.

I’m reminded of the young, hot cop on the L platform last Saturday night. Coming from a show at North Six, we trampled down the stairs toward the Manhattan bound train coming into the station; it stopped abruptly. A full platform littered with hipsters gurgled, grumbled, and mumbled. Through the crowds, the young, hot cop paced nervously, applying his little flashlight toward the tracks under the train. Assumingly not keen on his crowd control procedures, the cop addresses the crowd as causally as he can afford.

Young, Hot Cop: “Um, by any chance, did, um, anyone, ur, see someone on the tracks before the train pulled in?”

Crowd: “gasp”

I was surprised he didn’t try to misdirect without a harmless question.
Young Hot Cop: “Um, by any chance, does anyone know the time and, um, if, you know, some was on the tracks?” (being crush to death by the train)

He proceeded to pace, talk on his walkie talkie and shine his tiny flashlight here and there.

After another minute, the train pulled completely into the station as everyone, practically fell to their knees to peer under it. We got on the train, so I don’t know if someone really was on the tracks, or if it was some young cop hazing on a Saturday night. What I do know is that as soon as we boarded the train, it was obvious to everyone that the gentleman sprawled out on the seats had crapped his pants. We switched cars and talked about the hot, young cop and crap all the way to Manhattan.

RHTL: Arcade Fire Tonight...not the same without three.