Goal Accomplished:
The contents of my handbag remained in my handbag for the duration of the weekend (Friday night pre-party / party, Saturday pre-party/ band watching/ dancing/ bagel store):
cell phone (This is a virtual miracle. I lose one cell phone per 6month span and I’m due. My phone enjoys leaping free from bags and more commonly coat pockets on to taxi cab floors or behind ATMs into glue traps. [I will neither confirm nor deny this ever happened])
ipod (which was thoughtfully removed in case I was not able to live up to my expectations and somehow would lose it in some freak, falling out of a moving cab incident; which I will neither confirm nor deny ever happened)
Wallet (this item was frequently removed and returned to my bag. I am able to recount its whereabouts throughout the weekend but not the money inside; it has vanished completely)
One pair of earrings: given to me by Dana for Christmas (They made it to my ears by Saturday evening after recovering an essential fastening element which had somehow attached itself to the back of my tights.)
Eyeliner/ Chap Stick/ lip-gloss (I frequently used and re-used these item; their location was never a surprise)
Metrocard (The metrocard has a special compartment in each of my bags. I’ve inadvertently destroyed too many monthly passes with irreversibly bending that I make a special effort where it’s concerned. They are also very slippery and prone to falling to unreachable/ unimaginable crevasses.)
Work ID (I must not remove my ID from my bag or I will forget to return it come Monday. Without my ID, I am subject to an intense two pronged security layover; it is annoying and time consuming. The work ID doesn’t play around; I do not touch it)
One Birthday check from Grandma (I need to deposit it in the bank, seriously. Last time I delayed deposit my Grandmother thought I had been killed by the big bad city. Fortunately, I still have it and we are both safe.)
RHTL UPDATE: The arrival of the uniforms marks a blessed occasion.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
Suspended in Last Year
My family has postponed my birthday until February. If I was aware that one could simply postpone their birthday, I would have done so years ago when I was only turning 25; I would still be turning 25 and not a dreadful 28. Ironically, 28 will seem like a youthful dream years from now when I’m staring down 40 and will remark: “If only I appreciated being so young.” Alas, by my twenty something nature, it’s nearly impossible to appreciate anything until it is ripped violently from my careless fingers. So tonight’s homework (since it's a proper weekend night) is to appreciate my youth and set out on the world like a warrior. I will brave, headstrong, into the cold night in search of youthful companions and good times in the wee hours of the night (or morning). The only adult behavior required is maintaining all my belongings; I must come home with what I left with, including my pride. Now come to think of it…I probably shouldn’t drink too much, I have a big day tomorrow…and it will be cold tonight so a local outing will serve me best…and I must remember to feed the cat, turn off the space heater, go to the ATM in case I have to take a car service, eat a proper meal as not to become overly drunk to early in the evening…
I’m so 28.
Rhtl Update: After, coming home from their harrowing blizzard adventures, the rhtl is temporarily down a member. As soon as the trio is restored, exciting times will be abound.
I’m so 28.
Rhtl Update: After, coming home from their harrowing blizzard adventures, the rhtl is temporarily down a member. As soon as the trio is restored, exciting times will be abound.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
It Is Very Cold Outside
I’m staying late at work to avoid the night’s bitter cold reach.
Although, I’m here in my cube, pushing papers from one side of my desk to the other, I am busy being creative: developing a treatment to a small theater production, emailing my favorites, writing lyrics to imaginary songs, praying for friends and relating scanning tales as if my machine were a ninja (silent and effective).
I wish I could scan a copy of myself into my bed and under the covers… right now.
Although, I’m here in my cube, pushing papers from one side of my desk to the other, I am busy being creative: developing a treatment to a small theater production, emailing my favorites, writing lyrics to imaginary songs, praying for friends and relating scanning tales as if my machine were a ninja (silent and effective).
I wish I could scan a copy of myself into my bed and under the covers… right now.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Paranoia
I spent the afternoon looking up symptoms on WebMd.
I think I'm dying.
Please mourn me.
They will say "How could one girl have so many diseases at such a young age."
I've just turned 28, my preoccupation with death and disease has come early.
I think I'm dying.
Please mourn me.
They will say "How could one girl have so many diseases at such a young age."
I've just turned 28, my preoccupation with death and disease has come early.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
2005 Reasons: A Count Down to Happiness
This is the first year in many that I can report money, sophisticated electronics, and a chip (previously removed from my shoulder) in my pocket. We are well into 2005 and things appear to be going well, I will not tempt fate by describing just how well. By this time in 2004 I had already lost two cell phones, suffered a crushing blow to my bank account through identity thievery and had a number of people not speaking to me. As I mentioned, things appear to going well, or at least better.
I’ve just returned from the Fallon Family Annual Ski Trip to Okemo Mountain, this being year 18. We travel every year on Martin Luther King’s Birthday with the same relative-type-close family friends and stay at the same house. Very few traditions remain, it’s nice to still have this one to look forward to…I will try to hold on to it with all I’ve got. We catch up each year like it’s been twenty, and make false promises to get together more often than once a year. The trip used to include the adults and the kids separated by one solid wall. Beyond that wall grew debauchery as the older kids stole alcohol for the younger…giving them lessons and music to take with them into their future. The younger then became the older until they were the eldest. This year, my brother and I were the only “kids” present and we stayed in “the big house”. Our presence was cherished and reward by mother and father type pampering throughout the weekend.
Every year “the adults” get a big kick about how well I can ride that board, (a snowboard, and I’ve been riding since I was 12,) and how I play music in a Rock N’ Roll band. They inquire about our jobs, our lives, paying close attention to the more responsible, grow-up aspects of our accounts searching for hints of marriage, children, promotions with lots-o-money. Even if there is no glimmer, they place one within the context of your uneasy rambling. My Brother and I (who were apart of the “older kids”, my brother being first generation and I the second) are the only ones who have not married or had children. “The adults” try to push children from us with the weights of their stares. Since, no children or spouses are present…we remain “the kids.”
The snow boarding was spectacular…not to say that the conditions were good, or that it wasn’t 10 below on the mountain. It was spectacular because I rarely get to do it anymore and I love it tremendously (the closest thing to flying.) When I was 18 and in college I afforded to go to the mountain 3-5 times a week, and if it weren’t for a devastating fall I might have chosen a snowboard oriented career of sorts. For now, I comfortably slip in to the pale corners of dark bars, avoiding fresh air and the sun. This is why the snowboarding this weekend was spectacular.
I’ve just returned from the Fallon Family Annual Ski Trip to Okemo Mountain, this being year 18. We travel every year on Martin Luther King’s Birthday with the same relative-type-close family friends and stay at the same house. Very few traditions remain, it’s nice to still have this one to look forward to…I will try to hold on to it with all I’ve got. We catch up each year like it’s been twenty, and make false promises to get together more often than once a year. The trip used to include the adults and the kids separated by one solid wall. Beyond that wall grew debauchery as the older kids stole alcohol for the younger…giving them lessons and music to take with them into their future. The younger then became the older until they were the eldest. This year, my brother and I were the only “kids” present and we stayed in “the big house”. Our presence was cherished and reward by mother and father type pampering throughout the weekend.
Every year “the adults” get a big kick about how well I can ride that board, (a snowboard, and I’ve been riding since I was 12,) and how I play music in a Rock N’ Roll band. They inquire about our jobs, our lives, paying close attention to the more responsible, grow-up aspects of our accounts searching for hints of marriage, children, promotions with lots-o-money. Even if there is no glimmer, they place one within the context of your uneasy rambling. My Brother and I (who were apart of the “older kids”, my brother being first generation and I the second) are the only ones who have not married or had children. “The adults” try to push children from us with the weights of their stares. Since, no children or spouses are present…we remain “the kids.”
The snow boarding was spectacular…not to say that the conditions were good, or that it wasn’t 10 below on the mountain. It was spectacular because I rarely get to do it anymore and I love it tremendously (the closest thing to flying.) When I was 18 and in college I afforded to go to the mountain 3-5 times a week, and if it weren’t for a devastating fall I might have chosen a snowboard oriented career of sorts. For now, I comfortably slip in to the pale corners of dark bars, avoiding fresh air and the sun. This is why the snowboarding this weekend was spectacular.
Monday, December 20, 2004
A Holiday Cheer Up
Here it is Monday, December 20, 2004: 10 days after my last post and 5 days till Christmas. I’m feeling delinquent. Christmas is slowly turning into the shopping days count down, as I pop Tums and forge head first into an agitated sea of people.
The Sea, she was angry on Sunday rocking about violently, slamming to and fro. Abby and I took turns commanding a small vessel through the canals, quickly dismissing all Target’s wares. Nothing, not even the affordable allure of the brightly colored products could keep us among the sloppy mess of bodies. Decorative tins, tension rods, make-up, Christmas lights, and candy canes later we escaped outside to safer terrain. We had to sit for a minute, reflect in the brisk air to decompress.
Off again to find holiday cheer we headed toward the Christmas tree lot. When arriving, we were again faced with too many faces and retreated to the open air. The Lot penned in trees and bodies in some horrific corral at an intersection of two busy highways. The bodies and trees fought against each other as two Russian men screamed out prices over euro-techno beats. It was loud confusion; we weren’t really sure who or what was for sale.
We found another tree lot down the street in a good old fashion parking lot. We each bought a Christmas tree from a man who resembled Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer as much as a man can and still look like a man.
Decorative tins, tension rods, make-up, Christmas lights, and candy canes and now two trees, dragging behind us, headed home.
As I raised my mighty little tree in triumph and dressed it in lights, the light rain out my window turned to snow. It finally felt like Christmas. I was happy. I fell asleep with the tree still lit and woke up like a child on Christmas morning.
RHTL Update:
For a detailed description of DC hi-jinks please refer to the following link: http://peppermint-patty.blogspot.com/. The Debutantes played a great show at the Galaxy Hut and were asked back to play at the Velvet Lounge on January 21st. (More info to follow)
The Sea, she was angry on Sunday rocking about violently, slamming to and fro. Abby and I took turns commanding a small vessel through the canals, quickly dismissing all Target’s wares. Nothing, not even the affordable allure of the brightly colored products could keep us among the sloppy mess of bodies. Decorative tins, tension rods, make-up, Christmas lights, and candy canes later we escaped outside to safer terrain. We had to sit for a minute, reflect in the brisk air to decompress.
Off again to find holiday cheer we headed toward the Christmas tree lot. When arriving, we were again faced with too many faces and retreated to the open air. The Lot penned in trees and bodies in some horrific corral at an intersection of two busy highways. The bodies and trees fought against each other as two Russian men screamed out prices over euro-techno beats. It was loud confusion; we weren’t really sure who or what was for sale.
We found another tree lot down the street in a good old fashion parking lot. We each bought a Christmas tree from a man who resembled Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer as much as a man can and still look like a man.
Decorative tins, tension rods, make-up, Christmas lights, and candy canes and now two trees, dragging behind us, headed home.
As I raised my mighty little tree in triumph and dressed it in lights, the light rain out my window turned to snow. It finally felt like Christmas. I was happy. I fell asleep with the tree still lit and woke up like a child on Christmas morning.
RHTL Update:
For a detailed description of DC hi-jinks please refer to the following link: http://peppermint-patty.blogspot.com/. The Debutantes played a great show at the Galaxy Hut and were asked back to play at the Velvet Lounge on January 21st. (More info to follow)
Friday, December 10, 2004
The Young, The Old, The District
At an Apartment on Ludlow:
I spent the evening enjoying life as a college grad. Admittedly, I graduated too early. Not to say that my genius carried me through the course work at an accelerated pace, but that I’ve been out of college and well into my twenties much longer than our hosts, who’ve just graduated and rented their first NYC apartment. They’ve dressed their walls and floors in grown up accessories and filled the rooms with adorable conversation. I was impressed by the feel and look of the “young” apartment. And instead of feeling old, I felt young and ready for anything.
It made me think about beginning life after college and it’s evolution as graduation day sinks farther and farther into the past. Remember when your major talking points were related to life experiences you had while in college, a couple of months ago? When you put your milk crate table on the curb and took your bed down from the cinder blocks and walked awkwardly into sophistication and intelligent conversation? What intelligent conversation? It was amusing to watch people in that tween place, figuring out what sort of adult they were going to be…whether they were going to be an adult (a decision I have yet to make..)
We (Dana, Matt, Andy & I) left the apartment on Ludlow and went to Bowery Ballroom to see some bands: The Bravery and Moving Units. I was disappointed with the Moving Units stage presence. They didn’t have command over the audience who slowly slipped downstairs to the bar as they played. They are excellent musicians with a tight sound, but didn’t enrapture the New York audience there mostly to see the marketable faces of the Bravery Boys (and tight, tight jeans.)
RHTL REPORT: The Debutantes Play DC
The RHTL is headed for the District. Adventures in the Nation’s Capital include: car trips, roadside pit stops, drinking vodka, exploring the suburbs for guitar accessories and music joke books, drinking vodka, playing music (see subject line), keg parties, making it home in one piece.
I spent the evening enjoying life as a college grad. Admittedly, I graduated too early. Not to say that my genius carried me through the course work at an accelerated pace, but that I’ve been out of college and well into my twenties much longer than our hosts, who’ve just graduated and rented their first NYC apartment. They’ve dressed their walls and floors in grown up accessories and filled the rooms with adorable conversation. I was impressed by the feel and look of the “young” apartment. And instead of feeling old, I felt young and ready for anything.
It made me think about beginning life after college and it’s evolution as graduation day sinks farther and farther into the past. Remember when your major talking points were related to life experiences you had while in college, a couple of months ago? When you put your milk crate table on the curb and took your bed down from the cinder blocks and walked awkwardly into sophistication and intelligent conversation? What intelligent conversation? It was amusing to watch people in that tween place, figuring out what sort of adult they were going to be…whether they were going to be an adult (a decision I have yet to make..)
We (Dana, Matt, Andy & I) left the apartment on Ludlow and went to Bowery Ballroom to see some bands: The Bravery and Moving Units. I was disappointed with the Moving Units stage presence. They didn’t have command over the audience who slowly slipped downstairs to the bar as they played. They are excellent musicians with a tight sound, but didn’t enrapture the New York audience there mostly to see the marketable faces of the Bravery Boys (and tight, tight jeans.)
RHTL REPORT: The Debutantes Play DC
The RHTL is headed for the District. Adventures in the Nation’s Capital include: car trips, roadside pit stops, drinking vodka, exploring the suburbs for guitar accessories and music joke books, drinking vodka, playing music (see subject line), keg parties, making it home in one piece.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
My Most Important Brooklyn
Yesterday’s update list failed to include my move to Brooklyn. I moved to Fort Greene to join my friends who wisely migrated east earlier. Though I’m still living out of boxes, eating out of boxes, dreaming about boxes crushing me to death, I'm so happy! Yay Brooklyn!
Brooklyn has unabashedly welcomed me into her arms even while I fussed generously over moving pains.
These are a few of my favorite things:
I inhabit a large room called the Parlor
I live blocks away from my favorite people
The chance of early morning tea over drunken late night gossip
Sleigh riding parties in the park/ hot chocolate in the parlor
A content cat sleeping in front of a very large window
Target (A short walk away)
New bars, eats, people (but not bars eating people or eating people at bars)
Dew drops on flowers and whiskers on kittens...
(Writing lists in a chaotic life provides some semblance of order.)
RHTL REPORT:
Tonight, the RHTL is searching for an alibi…hi-jinks and debauchery are expected to ensue.
Brooklyn has unabashedly welcomed me into her arms even while I fussed generously over moving pains.
These are a few of my favorite things:
I inhabit a large room called the Parlor
I live blocks away from my favorite people
The chance of early morning tea over drunken late night gossip
Sleigh riding parties in the park/ hot chocolate in the parlor
A content cat sleeping in front of a very large window
Target (A short walk away)
New bars, eats, people (but not bars eating people or eating people at bars)
Dew drops on flowers and whiskers on kittens...
(Writing lists in a chaotic life provides some semblance of order.)
RHTL REPORT:
Tonight, the RHTL is searching for an alibi…hi-jinks and debauchery are expected to ensue.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Back From the Brink
Recently, I was told by a great many (two people) that they checked this blog daily in case of updates. As you can see from my last post’s date line it has been a great while since I’ve posted. I was moved to write something today…even if just to give two sentences to two people.
It would be too complicated and too involved to pick up where I left off; pages and pages of boring daily accounts of illness, music and TV would scroll down the screen in dreadful monotony. Alas, I will report the high/ and not- so- highlights in 5 sentences or less.
1. I had Mono. (Lesson learned: Do not make out with fictitious High School boys named Kevin.)
2. I spent 3 weeks in bed. (Lesson learned: Developed life experiences through the subplots on my favorite shows.)
3. Played music/ Saw music (Lesson Learned: Rock shows can be very therapeutic.)
4. Ate too much turkey (Lesson learned: Exercises in stomach stretching is less scientific and more painful.)
5. Participated in Fallon Family holiday traditions: We cut down a beautiful tree and soon it will sit in my father's living room tall, proud and full of Christmas. I walked the equivalent of Texas shopping at the outlets with Mom. (Lesson learned: The supreme holiday joy experienced as a child is overshadowed by adult foot pain.)
RHTL (Red Headed Terror League) REPORT:
The RHTL are working toward bringing music to the masses. Movements toward RHTL DJ nights are progressing…more info to follow.
It would be too complicated and too involved to pick up where I left off; pages and pages of boring daily accounts of illness, music and TV would scroll down the screen in dreadful monotony. Alas, I will report the high/ and not- so- highlights in 5 sentences or less.
1. I had Mono. (Lesson learned: Do not make out with fictitious High School boys named Kevin.)
2. I spent 3 weeks in bed. (Lesson learned: Developed life experiences through the subplots on my favorite shows.)
3. Played music/ Saw music (Lesson Learned: Rock shows can be very therapeutic.)
4. Ate too much turkey (Lesson learned: Exercises in stomach stretching is less scientific and more painful.)
5. Participated in Fallon Family holiday traditions: We cut down a beautiful tree and soon it will sit in my father's living room tall, proud and full of Christmas. I walked the equivalent of Texas shopping at the outlets with Mom. (Lesson learned: The supreme holiday joy experienced as a child is overshadowed by adult foot pain.)
RHTL (Red Headed Terror League) REPORT:
The RHTL are working toward bringing music to the masses. Movements toward RHTL DJ nights are progressing…more info to follow.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
The Day After
I've been trying to blog for hours. I feel dumb and inarticulate today.
The Killers
Irving Plaza
It was a great show with an enthusiastic crowd. I was not disappointed; I was, in fact, impressed. The played my favorite song last. After the show, a well-dressed army filed into the hall and down the stairs. Dana and I detoured to the bathroom area where a tiny drunk girl was screaming at the girls in the bathroom line. “Hey! Hey! Is this some kind of line for America’s Next Top Model? Isn’t this like America’s next top model? I don’t want to alarm anyone but my friend. Him! Him! He is that guy. You know, the guy who picks America’s next top Model.”
After eluding the drunken girl’s observation, Dana and I escaped to the after party.
The Dark Room
Well....It started out fine. We got to the Dark Room early and claimed the booth near the door. The Killers filed in and sat in our oblong semi-circle booth. We looked like Dominos, line up in our white in black uniforms. The lead singer, Brandon, was really nice and introduced himself to us, because we were all sitting there. Dana and I said at the same time: "Great show!" like a good pair of choreographed redheads. It kind of all went down hill from there. I think I only had two beers...but somehow I was wasted. I talked to the lead singer later about the band James after we caught each other bouncing around to “Laid”. I declared that the love of the band was a New York thing...He reminded me he was from Vegas. Later that night I would just grab both his arms and shout “hey!” acting on a bond that did not form.
I was annoyed that no one was dancing at the after party (I think). It was the usual convention for the mutual admiration costumed hipsters gang (MACHG). Although, credit is due to the event for no guest list, no cover, and no VIP section,I would have like to see more dancing…maybe it would have slowed the even, breezy pace of my beer sipping, saving me from the piercing pain pounding in my brain.
I got home at 3:30 slept for 3 hours and ran to work with a pale interpretation of last nights make up and hair. I'm actually sleeping right now as I type.
I didn’t realize how drunk I was until Dana reminded me of events that I unconsciously glazed over in my mind. Http://peppermint-patty.blogspot.com/
The Killers
Irving Plaza
It was a great show with an enthusiastic crowd. I was not disappointed; I was, in fact, impressed. The played my favorite song last. After the show, a well-dressed army filed into the hall and down the stairs. Dana and I detoured to the bathroom area where a tiny drunk girl was screaming at the girls in the bathroom line. “Hey! Hey! Is this some kind of line for America’s Next Top Model? Isn’t this like America’s next top model? I don’t want to alarm anyone but my friend. Him! Him! He is that guy. You know, the guy who picks America’s next top Model.”
After eluding the drunken girl’s observation, Dana and I escaped to the after party.
The Dark Room
Well....It started out fine. We got to the Dark Room early and claimed the booth near the door. The Killers filed in and sat in our oblong semi-circle booth. We looked like Dominos, line up in our white in black uniforms. The lead singer, Brandon, was really nice and introduced himself to us, because we were all sitting there. Dana and I said at the same time: "Great show!" like a good pair of choreographed redheads. It kind of all went down hill from there. I think I only had two beers...but somehow I was wasted. I talked to the lead singer later about the band James after we caught each other bouncing around to “Laid”. I declared that the love of the band was a New York thing...He reminded me he was from Vegas. Later that night I would just grab both his arms and shout “hey!” acting on a bond that did not form.
I was annoyed that no one was dancing at the after party (I think). It was the usual convention for the mutual admiration costumed hipsters gang (MACHG). Although, credit is due to the event for no guest list, no cover, and no VIP section,I would have like to see more dancing…maybe it would have slowed the even, breezy pace of my beer sipping, saving me from the piercing pain pounding in my brain.
I got home at 3:30 slept for 3 hours and ran to work with a pale interpretation of last nights make up and hair. I'm actually sleeping right now as I type.
I didn’t realize how drunk I was until Dana reminded me of events that I unconsciously glazed over in my mind. Http://peppermint-patty.blogspot.com/
Monday, October 04, 2004
I took fists full of water in the face.
Saturday night nipped the air, perfect with a crisp autumn chills. Finally it’s fall. In celebration my family participated in our yearly Halloween tradition this Saturday, the Headless Horseman Haunted Hayride in Kingston, New York. We usually go closer to October 31st, but this was the only weekend my mother could attend. My Mother, with enthusiastic, childlike exuberance literally bounces through each frightful treat. Halloween is her favorite and her enjoyment is a thrill to watch.
This year I took a friend with me. I had hoped to make it grand group affair with newly acquainted friends and old friends scaring up Kingston together, picking pumpkins and apples all the way back to the city. But alas, scheduling did not permit. Perhaps later in the month, Upstate New York has many frightful options in October. As the “new victim,” I was certain my friend’s face would be scrutinized at every alarming turn for reactions.
A tractor pulled hay pile rolled up to our line and we were beckoned on by a misshaped crow character. I did not find the crow or what the crow had to say remotely scary. In fact it was difficult to hear the laborious hayride exposition about some boogeyman scarecrow delivered in failed stand up comedy. What dribbled out of the prosthetic beak was no match for my low grumblings: “shut up, shut up, and shut up stupid crow.”
The highlight of the ride was the terrifying man with the working chainsaw that came at me like I killed his puppy. Though there was no blade, the mechanism had fast moving parts and a distinct gasoline smell. I screamed. I look forward to the rest of the ride, the corn field maze and the two haunted houses with my mother's matched enthusiam. As we were nearing the end of our hay expedition we came upon a costumed young man and a rubber chicken. Unbeknownst to me the young man had filled the rubber chicken with what must have been a gallon of water. He smacked the chicken with a rubber mallet hurling said gallon of water directly into my face. I was drenched. My friend, Brother and a couple of now grumpy strangers were covered in water. It was cold. We were cold and angry. As the hay truck pulled away from this horrible young man I saw him smirking at his wet work. As a true New Yorker I flipped him off as we rolled into the distance.
It was an unmatched feat; it takes a lot for me to flip off a high school student in a goblin costume, but there I was cold, wet, with my middle finger fully extended.
The remainder of the evening was fun and without incident.
Tonight I see The Killers with Dana.
Yay!
This year I took a friend with me. I had hoped to make it grand group affair with newly acquainted friends and old friends scaring up Kingston together, picking pumpkins and apples all the way back to the city. But alas, scheduling did not permit. Perhaps later in the month, Upstate New York has many frightful options in October. As the “new victim,” I was certain my friend’s face would be scrutinized at every alarming turn for reactions.
A tractor pulled hay pile rolled up to our line and we were beckoned on by a misshaped crow character. I did not find the crow or what the crow had to say remotely scary. In fact it was difficult to hear the laborious hayride exposition about some boogeyman scarecrow delivered in failed stand up comedy. What dribbled out of the prosthetic beak was no match for my low grumblings: “shut up, shut up, and shut up stupid crow.”
The highlight of the ride was the terrifying man with the working chainsaw that came at me like I killed his puppy. Though there was no blade, the mechanism had fast moving parts and a distinct gasoline smell. I screamed. I look forward to the rest of the ride, the corn field maze and the two haunted houses with my mother's matched enthusiam. As we were nearing the end of our hay expedition we came upon a costumed young man and a rubber chicken. Unbeknownst to me the young man had filled the rubber chicken with what must have been a gallon of water. He smacked the chicken with a rubber mallet hurling said gallon of water directly into my face. I was drenched. My friend, Brother and a couple of now grumpy strangers were covered in water. It was cold. We were cold and angry. As the hay truck pulled away from this horrible young man I saw him smirking at his wet work. As a true New Yorker I flipped him off as we rolled into the distance.
It was an unmatched feat; it takes a lot for me to flip off a high school student in a goblin costume, but there I was cold, wet, with my middle finger fully extended.
The remainder of the evening was fun and without incident.
Tonight I see The Killers with Dana.
Yay!
Friday, October 01, 2004
The Truth From a Liar
With a very close friend and Grandmother in the hospital battling serious afflictions, I turned to a vigorous foreign policy debate and beer.
I joined a crowd already gathered around the television in a Brooklyn apartment, anticipating the gems that would enviably fall from W’s lips like drool from a baby. I vigorously sipped beer. A room filled to the corners with tipsy anti-Bushers took turns commenting on their favorite Bush debatisms, i.e. spreading liberty, flip flopping, and my favorite: “it’s hard work and people are working hard, I saw them on my TV screen.” Kerry spoke well, thoughtful and well versed. In comparison, Bush was reduced to a riled up little man, angry about people on his lawn.
This morning I dragged my self into the office, cursing my sippy beer and fancying an egg and cheese sandwich. Three co-workers, with inquisitive eyes, took turns alerting me to the lack of sleep written across my face. The comments were followed by good news; I over-looked their prying. There was free breakfast in the conference room! As soon as breached the conference room B threshold, charming aromas combined in my nostrils, spreading a smile across my face. As if lit by angels, the steaming bagels, chocolate covered doughnuts, fruit, and coffee where laid out before me as if gifted by the gods. I ate a bagel with cream cheese and a chocolate covered doughnut. The day then seemed presentable.
More coffee.
I joined a crowd already gathered around the television in a Brooklyn apartment, anticipating the gems that would enviably fall from W’s lips like drool from a baby. I vigorously sipped beer. A room filled to the corners with tipsy anti-Bushers took turns commenting on their favorite Bush debatisms, i.e. spreading liberty, flip flopping, and my favorite: “it’s hard work and people are working hard, I saw them on my TV screen.” Kerry spoke well, thoughtful and well versed. In comparison, Bush was reduced to a riled up little man, angry about people on his lawn.
This morning I dragged my self into the office, cursing my sippy beer and fancying an egg and cheese sandwich. Three co-workers, with inquisitive eyes, took turns alerting me to the lack of sleep written across my face. The comments were followed by good news; I over-looked their prying. There was free breakfast in the conference room! As soon as breached the conference room B threshold, charming aromas combined in my nostrils, spreading a smile across my face. As if lit by angels, the steaming bagels, chocolate covered doughnuts, fruit, and coffee where laid out before me as if gifted by the gods. I ate a bagel with cream cheese and a chocolate covered doughnut. The day then seemed presentable.
More coffee.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Stuck in a Pile
My Blog cries in the corner throwing crumpled up post-its at me inbetween sobs.
I scream "not today, you big baby, I've got much too much work to do."
For a description of my notable weekend activities please see the Bears Will Attack link on the right hand side of the screen; follow the link to the Monday, September 27, 2004 entry; read until you recognize my name.
I promise to write tomorrow after the smoke clears from this dreadfully long pursuit in paper pushing and big man boss town appeasing.
My Blog hushes and smiles a little.
I scream "not today, you big baby, I've got much too much work to do."
For a description of my notable weekend activities please see the Bears Will Attack link on the right hand side of the screen; follow the link to the Monday, September 27, 2004 entry; read until you recognize my name.
I promise to write tomorrow after the smoke clears from this dreadfully long pursuit in paper pushing and big man boss town appeasing.
My Blog hushes and smiles a little.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
I'm in Love with Sun
I was enraptured by the way the sun painted me on the sidewalk, tall and thin like a supermodel. I swung my arms admiring the graceful beauty in the movement of such delicate limbs. I turned the corner. The tall buildings extinguished my magical light and I was stuck between talk on cell phone business suit and coffee drinking newspaper reader for the duration of my commute to the subway. They both took turns bumping into me, as it was impossible for either to walk a straight line. They never looked up.
Tonight the Debutantes play Matchless in Brooklyn. It should be an easy, laid back, super fun show in a new small venue. I’m looking forward to it and will celebrate properly by wearing tall, improper red, high-heeled boots.
Tonight the Debutantes play Matchless in Brooklyn. It should be an easy, laid back, super fun show in a new small venue. I’m looking forward to it and will celebrate properly by wearing tall, improper red, high-heeled boots.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
The Healing Powers of a Pork Quesadilla
Today is the fall Equinox.
"On the Equinox this is the motion of the Sun through the sky for everyone on earth. Every place on earth experiences a 12 hours day twice a year on the Spring and Fall Equinox." (the stick figure represents "Everyone" on Earth. You look good in sticks.)
It is rumored that during the exact minute of the equinox an egg can literally stand straight up without assistance from a human hand. The equinox was today at 12:30pm and me without a raw egg. I tried to balance paper clips, scissors, m&m’s and other assorted office props with complete failure. The egg stipulation seems to be iron clad. With the other objects falling miserably in embarrassed defeat, and never actually seeing this experiment succeed (not even on Mr. Wizard) I confirmed it a myth. As I was mentally jotting down the free standing egg as urban legend I receive a call from my mother. She spoke with hurried excitement. She proudly declared that “Science is Marvelous!” She performed the experiment with her co-workers like children in science period and it did in fact work. The egg stood motionless for a whole minute while the Earth enjoyed the equinox. She quickly dismissed me from the call to call everyone she knew. (The Fallons, in general, tend to over react; we are a dramatic people.)
I can't wait until autumn brings me hot apple cider, pumpkin & apple picking, rust color leaf kicking, haunted hayrides and wooly sweaters. I will wait right here until they come.
XO
J.F.
"On the Equinox this is the motion of the Sun through the sky for everyone on earth. Every place on earth experiences a 12 hours day twice a year on the Spring and Fall Equinox." (the stick figure represents "Everyone" on Earth. You look good in sticks.)
It is rumored that during the exact minute of the equinox an egg can literally stand straight up without assistance from a human hand. The equinox was today at 12:30pm and me without a raw egg. I tried to balance paper clips, scissors, m&m’s and other assorted office props with complete failure. The egg stipulation seems to be iron clad. With the other objects falling miserably in embarrassed defeat, and never actually seeing this experiment succeed (not even on Mr. Wizard) I confirmed it a myth. As I was mentally jotting down the free standing egg as urban legend I receive a call from my mother. She spoke with hurried excitement. She proudly declared that “Science is Marvelous!” She performed the experiment with her co-workers like children in science period and it did in fact work. The egg stood motionless for a whole minute while the Earth enjoyed the equinox. She quickly dismissed me from the call to call everyone she knew. (The Fallons, in general, tend to over react; we are a dramatic people.)
I can't wait until autumn brings me hot apple cider, pumpkin & apple picking, rust color leaf kicking, haunted hayrides and wooly sweaters. I will wait right here until they come.
XO
J.F.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
The Weekend in like a Lion, out like a lamb
Friday:
Knee deep in renovation packages, the stapler jammed and photo copier quit in protest of scanning such boring and tedious material, over and over and over again. I finally completed the work given to me at a tardy hour when my boss proposed a redevelopment with the renovation package rendering the pile of collated, labeled stacks obsolete. It was 6:30 when I finally left the office to head home to the left over pasta I made the night before. I toiled over a homemade tomato sauce, laden with basil and lots and lots of garlic, and was looking forward revisiting it sooner than later. I must admit it was a success and if I could bathe all my food in it for the rest of my life I would be a happier person for it.
A neighbor kindly let me into my apartment building after an awkward time passed between us as I chanted “if got it, I’ve got it” fumbling for my keys. She gave the best of chances and then finally her desire to get into the building over powered her wanting the small victory for me; I didn’t blame her. My small bag’s interior grew as I thrusted my hand inside into each corner pulling out lip gloss, cell phone, bobby pins, wallet, book, weird magnet from Cancun I took home from work a week ago, but no keys. I threw the bag on the floor, got on my knees and ripped it open dumping the contents on the hallway floor. All the while, my starving cat screamed at me from behind the door. Panic stuck, no Keys!
Like a rational, calm person I imagined never being able to get back into the apartment, living life like a vagabond getting by on wink and smile, my cat dying from neglect and loneliness, worrying about the plans I had later that evening and not wanting to wear my work clothes to them, imaging the phone call to the ex-boyfriend who still had a set of keys he was remiss to return, seeing the look on my mother’s face with her daughter’s continued irresponsible behavior as the apartment burned down from the inside as I stood trapped outside the door. I remained on my knees, praying I missed them and if I only reached slowly back in the bag the keys would appear. No keys!
I left the bulk of my packages at the door and set out into the rest of the building for clues, signs of life. I remembered an inspection certificate in the vestibule that included the landlord’s number. Ah ha…the landlord has another set of keys. Brilliant! I placed my foot inside the apartment door and reached my body around to get a look at the Certificate. I didn’t want to get trapped out of the building completely, in case I had to spend the cold night on the hallway floor (these were not rational times.) I got the number and called Joe the landlord who promised to be at the building in a half an hour to rescue me from certain death alone on the streets, vulnerable to wild, rabid dog attacks and muggers.
I had thirty minutes to kill. I called a couple of friends to share with them the “typical Jaime” story. No one was surprised with 1.me locking my keys in the apartment, 2. my gross over reaction. I dreamed of my couch and television as I wandered the streets in pursuit of 20 minutes worth of killing time activities. I ordered Chinese food, waited, bought it, took it back to my stoop to keep me company with my book while I waited for Joe the Landlord who arrived when promised. He had kind, non-judgmental eyes and delivered a set of keys directly into my hand, as if guided by angels.
I was in! The cat was fed! We were happy! What ever happened to that kind landlord during the course of the evening I do not know; I ate Chinese food, sat in front of the television, dressed up in fishnet tights and went out dancing with Dana, Abby and the two Andys. I found I had a greater appreciation for life’s treasures, friends, dancing, music, fishnets having been homeless for a whole 30 minutes.
Knee deep in renovation packages, the stapler jammed and photo copier quit in protest of scanning such boring and tedious material, over and over and over again. I finally completed the work given to me at a tardy hour when my boss proposed a redevelopment with the renovation package rendering the pile of collated, labeled stacks obsolete. It was 6:30 when I finally left the office to head home to the left over pasta I made the night before. I toiled over a homemade tomato sauce, laden with basil and lots and lots of garlic, and was looking forward revisiting it sooner than later. I must admit it was a success and if I could bathe all my food in it for the rest of my life I would be a happier person for it.
A neighbor kindly let me into my apartment building after an awkward time passed between us as I chanted “if got it, I’ve got it” fumbling for my keys. She gave the best of chances and then finally her desire to get into the building over powered her wanting the small victory for me; I didn’t blame her. My small bag’s interior grew as I thrusted my hand inside into each corner pulling out lip gloss, cell phone, bobby pins, wallet, book, weird magnet from Cancun I took home from work a week ago, but no keys. I threw the bag on the floor, got on my knees and ripped it open dumping the contents on the hallway floor. All the while, my starving cat screamed at me from behind the door. Panic stuck, no Keys!
Like a rational, calm person I imagined never being able to get back into the apartment, living life like a vagabond getting by on wink and smile, my cat dying from neglect and loneliness, worrying about the plans I had later that evening and not wanting to wear my work clothes to them, imaging the phone call to the ex-boyfriend who still had a set of keys he was remiss to return, seeing the look on my mother’s face with her daughter’s continued irresponsible behavior as the apartment burned down from the inside as I stood trapped outside the door. I remained on my knees, praying I missed them and if I only reached slowly back in the bag the keys would appear. No keys!
I left the bulk of my packages at the door and set out into the rest of the building for clues, signs of life. I remembered an inspection certificate in the vestibule that included the landlord’s number. Ah ha…the landlord has another set of keys. Brilliant! I placed my foot inside the apartment door and reached my body around to get a look at the Certificate. I didn’t want to get trapped out of the building completely, in case I had to spend the cold night on the hallway floor (these were not rational times.) I got the number and called Joe the landlord who promised to be at the building in a half an hour to rescue me from certain death alone on the streets, vulnerable to wild, rabid dog attacks and muggers.
I had thirty minutes to kill. I called a couple of friends to share with them the “typical Jaime” story. No one was surprised with 1.me locking my keys in the apartment, 2. my gross over reaction. I dreamed of my couch and television as I wandered the streets in pursuit of 20 minutes worth of killing time activities. I ordered Chinese food, waited, bought it, took it back to my stoop to keep me company with my book while I waited for Joe the Landlord who arrived when promised. He had kind, non-judgmental eyes and delivered a set of keys directly into my hand, as if guided by angels.
I was in! The cat was fed! We were happy! What ever happened to that kind landlord during the course of the evening I do not know; I ate Chinese food, sat in front of the television, dressed up in fishnet tights and went out dancing with Dana, Abby and the two Andys. I found I had a greater appreciation for life’s treasures, friends, dancing, music, fishnets having been homeless for a whole 30 minutes.
Friday, September 17, 2004
The Battle of 332
This is the story of the struggle between Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink and Dust Bunny of Undercouch. The prize to the victor was the throne of Apartment 332.
The year was 2004
An event so significant, it completely changed the course of 332 history. To speak of this battle without recourse to the events that came before, would be an injustice to the broom resting perilously in the corner. What makes this event so important to the Broom is the immutable fact that it was the last time any foreign power was to conquer her.
Dust Bunny of Undercouch’s men had been arriving all day in small groups. These men had fought many battles, were haggard, and leaving bits of their dusty bodies about the apartment. Despite the hardships, the troop’s morale must have been quite high. A victory over the broom boosted their confidence, but not their numbers. How many veterans of Undercouch were at the kitchen exchange? It was clear that they would have to reunite in the pass toward greasy sink to wage battle over Dirty Dishes’s men for Apartment supremacy. Dust Bunny of Undercouch knew verbal negotiations would be futile; battle was inevitable
Dust Bunny of Undercouch made the decision to fight Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink before he could consolidate. Dirty Dishes’s numbers were growing and strategically placed about the apartment. Soda glass of the Freewith Pump was stationed high on night stand hill, while soiled plate of bread crumbs crouched over coffee table plains. The location of the battle was chosen with care by Dust Bunny. Floor mat ally in the pass to the kitchen was chosen for a number of reasons:
1. It was well known in the area. 2.
2. It gave a natural advantage because of its natural visibility and it’s easy to cling to carpet surfaces. Dust Bunny’s men could hide easily in the folds.
Why Dust Bunny chose to fight Dirty Dish the next day has always been something of a mystery. If he had waited another day for his full force to arrive, including the rolling hair ball of cat, the outcome may have been totally different. He was impatient and thirsty for the oily residue of death. If he waited he would have been informed of third party troops marching North in from the outside, led by the extraordinary Duke Swift of Black & Decker “The Dust Buster.” On that very day Swift’s armies converged with the already allied General soft Soap and Earl Sponge of Four Pack Package. These three formidably forces were commissioned by the ailing Queen Broom of 332. Together they took down both Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink and Dust Bunny of Undercouch with surgical justice. There remains were not seen for days to follow until small brigades left standing collaborated and united to rise again.
If Dust Bunny of Undercouch was nothing else he was his father’s son, a patriot through and through. His father defied the queen when he refused to punish the people of Undercouch when they were abused by Dirt Dish the second of Sink or “The dust Buster”, and paid the consequences.
The year was 2004
An event so significant, it completely changed the course of 332 history. To speak of this battle without recourse to the events that came before, would be an injustice to the broom resting perilously in the corner. What makes this event so important to the Broom is the immutable fact that it was the last time any foreign power was to conquer her.
Dust Bunny of Undercouch’s men had been arriving all day in small groups. These men had fought many battles, were haggard, and leaving bits of their dusty bodies about the apartment. Despite the hardships, the troop’s morale must have been quite high. A victory over the broom boosted their confidence, but not their numbers. How many veterans of Undercouch were at the kitchen exchange? It was clear that they would have to reunite in the pass toward greasy sink to wage battle over Dirty Dishes’s men for Apartment supremacy. Dust Bunny of Undercouch knew verbal negotiations would be futile; battle was inevitable
Dust Bunny of Undercouch made the decision to fight Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink before he could consolidate. Dirty Dishes’s numbers were growing and strategically placed about the apartment. Soda glass of the Freewith Pump was stationed high on night stand hill, while soiled plate of bread crumbs crouched over coffee table plains. The location of the battle was chosen with care by Dust Bunny. Floor mat ally in the pass to the kitchen was chosen for a number of reasons:
1. It was well known in the area. 2.
2. It gave a natural advantage because of its natural visibility and it’s easy to cling to carpet surfaces. Dust Bunny’s men could hide easily in the folds.
Why Dust Bunny chose to fight Dirty Dish the next day has always been something of a mystery. If he had waited another day for his full force to arrive, including the rolling hair ball of cat, the outcome may have been totally different. He was impatient and thirsty for the oily residue of death. If he waited he would have been informed of third party troops marching North in from the outside, led by the extraordinary Duke Swift of Black & Decker “The Dust Buster.” On that very day Swift’s armies converged with the already allied General soft Soap and Earl Sponge of Four Pack Package. These three formidably forces were commissioned by the ailing Queen Broom of 332. Together they took down both Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink and Dust Bunny of Undercouch with surgical justice. There remains were not seen for days to follow until small brigades left standing collaborated and united to rise again.
If Dust Bunny of Undercouch was nothing else he was his father’s son, a patriot through and through. His father defied the queen when he refused to punish the people of Undercouch when they were abused by Dirt Dish the second of Sink or “The dust Buster”, and paid the consequences.
Fate Smiles
After a number of cheap, happy hour, frozen Margaritas at Harry's Burritos, Dana, Brian and I wandered into a shoe story. I bought boots. That's right the "fat calved Dummy" fit into a stylish pair of low boots. I was so excited! I bought them on the spot. The adrenaline made me do it! (maybe the tequilla)
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Booze and Shoes
In a world of women’s competitive shoe shopping, I am a fat calved dummy.
Katie and I walked into a small room pulsing with affluent young women hoped up on champagne and mushroom tartlets, devouring eyefuls of shoes. The walls were striped in satin; at any moment I would not have been surprised if some greater power peeled the lid from the elegant shoebox we found ourselves in.
We grabbed our complimentary glass of champagne, hugging the corners of the room, scared to swim with the sharks until the bubbles did their trick. With our glasses half empty, we skimmed past the walls admiring pairs as they glittered, shined, laced, pointed and pulled at us, begging to be held, to be worn. We passed quickly commenting in hushed whispers and found the least intimidating sales man in a pink polo to grab the most intimidating pair of shoes/boots in the room. I tried on a pair of high heeled boots that would have made me feel delightfully wicked if they were able to slip past my unusually shaped calves. My calf muscle sit low on my leg, like my father's, making nearly impossible to feel delicate in boots or fit into delicate boots. I thought our kind-eyed sales man was going to cry as he rambled through a myriad of reasons the boots didn’t fit except the obvious one. I appreciated his efforts and made some self-deprecating jokes and moved on to a shorter boot, with the same devastating results.
The salesman responded: “oooooooooh, so sad.”
To which I replied: “It’s ok. I know my place.”
Truth be told, I was pleased they didn’t fit; I had a sound reason for not making a purchase that would have sent my finances in a downward spiral for a very, very long time.
Katie tried on a pair of pink satin low heeled shoes with a wide black ribbon crossed in the front. They increased the net worth of her feet like heaven wrapped packages. We wisely put the shoes back and devised our escape plan.
We looked once again around the room as the frenzy mounted boxes upon boxes. Women peeled off fancy shoes, throwing on new ones, seeing how they feel in conversation. As we looked at these women lounging in $300 dollar shoes, our pretend “fancy” was wearing thin quick. We exited and walked cross town into a two for one happy hour, where we belonged.
What would it be like to have so much money you could command a fancy shoe store?
I will never know.
Katie and I walked into a small room pulsing with affluent young women hoped up on champagne and mushroom tartlets, devouring eyefuls of shoes. The walls were striped in satin; at any moment I would not have been surprised if some greater power peeled the lid from the elegant shoebox we found ourselves in.
We grabbed our complimentary glass of champagne, hugging the corners of the room, scared to swim with the sharks until the bubbles did their trick. With our glasses half empty, we skimmed past the walls admiring pairs as they glittered, shined, laced, pointed and pulled at us, begging to be held, to be worn. We passed quickly commenting in hushed whispers and found the least intimidating sales man in a pink polo to grab the most intimidating pair of shoes/boots in the room. I tried on a pair of high heeled boots that would have made me feel delightfully wicked if they were able to slip past my unusually shaped calves. My calf muscle sit low on my leg, like my father's, making nearly impossible to feel delicate in boots or fit into delicate boots. I thought our kind-eyed sales man was going to cry as he rambled through a myriad of reasons the boots didn’t fit except the obvious one. I appreciated his efforts and made some self-deprecating jokes and moved on to a shorter boot, with the same devastating results.
The salesman responded: “oooooooooh, so sad.”
To which I replied: “It’s ok. I know my place.”
Truth be told, I was pleased they didn’t fit; I had a sound reason for not making a purchase that would have sent my finances in a downward spiral for a very, very long time.
Katie tried on a pair of pink satin low heeled shoes with a wide black ribbon crossed in the front. They increased the net worth of her feet like heaven wrapped packages. We wisely put the shoes back and devised our escape plan.
We looked once again around the room as the frenzy mounted boxes upon boxes. Women peeled off fancy shoes, throwing on new ones, seeing how they feel in conversation. As we looked at these women lounging in $300 dollar shoes, our pretend “fancy” was wearing thin quick. We exited and walked cross town into a two for one happy hour, where we belonged.
What would it be like to have so much money you could command a fancy shoe store?
I will never know.
Monday, September 13, 2004
RECAP
The Republican Conventions:
Stepping off an over priced, extremely long DC train ride into a inexpensive luxurious hotel room, slipping into an enormous king size bed and leaping out into the finest terry cloth robe I never bought, running into the Smithsonian, face to face with giant pre-historic sloths, sitting in stadium seating, watching the lamest T-rex 3D movie ever created, meeting new people listening to Shakespearean actors, visiting friends, driving through hurricane force rain into 5 hours of stalled traffic and a drowning Richmond of Virginia, through the outer banks of North Carolina onto the beach into two bottles of wine on to the Island of Ocrakoke and back home to a lonely cat in New York City.
The Week following the Conventions:
A display of Debutantes, a room full of celebrities, crowded and not-so crowded dance floors, Franz Ferdinand, Britpop, forcing UK Musicians to rub elbows with the like of we three: Abby, Dana and I, wedding anniversaries filled with faces from numerous stories told to me during a course of five months and Jarvis Cocker and no Jarvis Cocker, drunken affirmations, and “rude and nasty” behavior.
Yesterday:
The season finale of a Sunday night tradition with shocking and horrific discoveries and the beginning of a new school year for all of us.
I’ve resigned to abandon my laziness generally associated with my simple life tasks: debt reconciliation, laundry, cleaning the house, leaving the house. With the renewal of the school year/ television season marks the end of summer. I am pressed to make a new year’s resolution early. I’ve found that prior resolutions and desire to accomplish small goals fall quickly as cool autumn breezes chase the leaves from the trees. Adopting a semi-annual resolution program would help bolster my plans. Or…maybe I will just watch television, eat artificial cheese from a can from the couch all winter and call it a wash until the warm weather returns next year.
Currently:
It's back to the old caffeine dispenser for another shot of liquid awake.
Tomorrow:
Booze and Shoes
Stepping off an over priced, extremely long DC train ride into a inexpensive luxurious hotel room, slipping into an enormous king size bed and leaping out into the finest terry cloth robe I never bought, running into the Smithsonian, face to face with giant pre-historic sloths, sitting in stadium seating, watching the lamest T-rex 3D movie ever created, meeting new people listening to Shakespearean actors, visiting friends, driving through hurricane force rain into 5 hours of stalled traffic and a drowning Richmond of Virginia, through the outer banks of North Carolina onto the beach into two bottles of wine on to the Island of Ocrakoke and back home to a lonely cat in New York City.
The Week following the Conventions:
A display of Debutantes, a room full of celebrities, crowded and not-so crowded dance floors, Franz Ferdinand, Britpop, forcing UK Musicians to rub elbows with the like of we three: Abby, Dana and I, wedding anniversaries filled with faces from numerous stories told to me during a course of five months and Jarvis Cocker and no Jarvis Cocker, drunken affirmations, and “rude and nasty” behavior.
Yesterday:
The season finale of a Sunday night tradition with shocking and horrific discoveries and the beginning of a new school year for all of us.
I’ve resigned to abandon my laziness generally associated with my simple life tasks: debt reconciliation, laundry, cleaning the house, leaving the house. With the renewal of the school year/ television season marks the end of summer. I am pressed to make a new year’s resolution early. I’ve found that prior resolutions and desire to accomplish small goals fall quickly as cool autumn breezes chase the leaves from the trees. Adopting a semi-annual resolution program would help bolster my plans. Or…maybe I will just watch television, eat artificial cheese from a can from the couch all winter and call it a wash until the warm weather returns next year.
Currently:
It's back to the old caffeine dispenser for another shot of liquid awake.
Tomorrow:
Booze and Shoes
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