I think I was vaguely anti-New York after a lifelong fascination/crush on it because I had bad experiences the last two times I visited - in fall of 2000 because my boyfriend at the time sort of broke up with me while I was visiting him, and in fall of 2001 because when I visited I had nothing going in my life and hadn't gotten my first job yet, and was visiting friends who were mostly in transitional phases in their life and mildly unhappy, and I had no money and felt guilty even buying myself so much as an unnecessary cup of coffee.
On that trip, hanging out with an old friend who had gone to school in NYC, I got sick of her telling me New York was the place to be and worth making $27,000 a year in a crappy entry-level job and paying $1,000 a month for a closet in the village and buying designer clothes on credit to look the part, and that it was all worth it because she was in the place to be. I saw that kind of attitude a lot here. Probably worth noting that it seemed to be pronounced in out-of-staters who had moved to New York. But the uppityness and seemingly necessary financial irresponsibility really put me off.
I get protective of San Francisco, because I think it's such a spectacular city and it's the first city I've lived in where I feel like I belong. I get annoyed and overly defensive when people say California is fake and phony and not as friendly, because I've lived in LA, and usually the people complaining were buying into stereotypes that while sometimes true, were so obvious it felt redundant to bring it up and actually showed a lack of imagination - of course there are fake people in the bar scenes on Sunset or Hollywood Blvd. - what the hell did you expect? But does it mean the whole city is fake? Or does it mean they're blowing off the whole city based on a group of people that makes it a point to play into the stereotype in the first place?
Of course San Francisco has obnoxious hipsters, and annoying hippies, and fake former frat and sorority types, and uppity yuppy thirty- and forty-somethings with I-own-this-town entitlement. But I'm not going to hold it against it.
I've only been here since morning and I'm still jetlagged, but New York is growing on me, now that I could see mid-twenties real life here - I could cut it and make friends and make enough to survive and be myself here. And it's nice that getting around and recreating is more convenient. Happy to be here.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I have this thing about myself that I like to pretend makes me a more interesting person or potentially a better writer. It's that I am sometimes so highly aware of words and references and the way they're used in culture that I am constantly finding things trite or insincere, and constantly trying to talk around them or avoid them or barely reference them so I can stay original or convincing or sincere or smart or whatever.
Maybe my saving grace is that I'm protectively accepting of my friends and other people I like when they use words or references or culture that are cliche, and I stick up for their intelligence, sincerity and originality against my own head.
If I were capable of applying half of this self-consciousness towards not saying things I shouldn't because they're inappropriate, or wrong for the situation or might hurt someone's feelings, I probably wouldn't always be getting mad at myself. Though I'd still get mad at myself because it is most likely this self-consciousness that makes it difficult right now to write anything of any real seriousness or length because everything seems stupid or trite or like something no one would care about and isn't even worth doing. So I leave off most projects shortly after I start them, which also makes me mad at myself, because it's one of the few somewhat achievable dreams I still have going, since I'm probably not going to be good at performing or public speaking in the even distant future, and I most likely don't have any usable skills that could be used to actually save the world or anything.
So what do you do if the way you are keeps you from doing things that you want to do, which are also supposed to be what you are? You could approach it as though it'll be even more you once you get over the limitations of the way you are - the real ideal you. Or you could do that whole accepting yourself and your limitations and being realistic and giving up thing. I like to think therapy comes somewhere in the middle, but my last experience with therapy didn't really go that well, since he passed away and I'm still doing the back-and-forth with my insurance company for reimbursement.
An old friend I used to have seemed to care about nothing more than meaningful relationships and love and close friendships, but was so difficult in constantly demanding certain behavior or reassurances that he couldn't help but push people away because it was too much work to be close to him, and almost impossible to love him because he was always expecting you to prove it before you even had a chance to feel it. Okay, I can think of more than one person that describes.
It's like girls who aren't stunning and seem to care about nothing more than being pretty and getting guys. It really makes you think. Not necessarily about what they're doing wrong, but about how sad it is that the one thing a person seems to want most might be impossible because of the way they are.
I'm not sure at what point you can identify that something about you is preventing you from being who you want to be, or whether that's reconcilable. I know that I don't really believe it will come together without me working at it, since I don't believe anything related to bettering onesself comes without working at it. But there is something to be said for being realistic and developing your strengths while accepting your weaknesses.
Maybe my saving grace is that I'm protectively accepting of my friends and other people I like when they use words or references or culture that are cliche, and I stick up for their intelligence, sincerity and originality against my own head.
If I were capable of applying half of this self-consciousness towards not saying things I shouldn't because they're inappropriate, or wrong for the situation or might hurt someone's feelings, I probably wouldn't always be getting mad at myself. Though I'd still get mad at myself because it is most likely this self-consciousness that makes it difficult right now to write anything of any real seriousness or length because everything seems stupid or trite or like something no one would care about and isn't even worth doing. So I leave off most projects shortly after I start them, which also makes me mad at myself, because it's one of the few somewhat achievable dreams I still have going, since I'm probably not going to be good at performing or public speaking in the even distant future, and I most likely don't have any usable skills that could be used to actually save the world or anything.
So what do you do if the way you are keeps you from doing things that you want to do, which are also supposed to be what you are? You could approach it as though it'll be even more you once you get over the limitations of the way you are - the real ideal you. Or you could do that whole accepting yourself and your limitations and being realistic and giving up thing. I like to think therapy comes somewhere in the middle, but my last experience with therapy didn't really go that well, since he passed away and I'm still doing the back-and-forth with my insurance company for reimbursement.
An old friend I used to have seemed to care about nothing more than meaningful relationships and love and close friendships, but was so difficult in constantly demanding certain behavior or reassurances that he couldn't help but push people away because it was too much work to be close to him, and almost impossible to love him because he was always expecting you to prove it before you even had a chance to feel it. Okay, I can think of more than one person that describes.
It's like girls who aren't stunning and seem to care about nothing more than being pretty and getting guys. It really makes you think. Not necessarily about what they're doing wrong, but about how sad it is that the one thing a person seems to want most might be impossible because of the way they are.
I'm not sure at what point you can identify that something about you is preventing you from being who you want to be, or whether that's reconcilable. I know that I don't really believe it will come together without me working at it, since I don't believe anything related to bettering onesself comes without working at it. But there is something to be said for being realistic and developing your strengths while accepting your weaknesses.
Friday, December 14, 2007
seattle adventures
At the bakery this morning with the New York girls, while looking up at the breakfast sandwich offerings, I hear my name called from somewhere by a guy. He calls it a few times while I look around stupidly until I realize it's coming from the baking table behind the counter - it's the first friend I made in college, an English major I met at orientation. It doesn't make sense to me to see him here, since he's from LA.
In college he sort of tried to date me the first weekend of school and I freaked out. Then he and my roommate both joined the men's and women's rowing teams, respectively, and as a result of their co-ed parties had a very brief fling at one point out of boredom that neither of them was that into, around the time at which we drifted apart.
He tells me he's there training for the olympics for rowing, and asks how long I've been in Seattle. I tell him I'm just here for work and for the corporate office holiday party, and sort of feel like a jackass with my black turtleneck and white coat and laptop talking about coming up to headquarters for a party while he's baking by a hot oven and training for the olympics. It reminded me of when I used to think I'd spend my twenties pursuing my dream, until I realized that my dream wasn't really working in publishing or journalism or living in New York anymore than it was working in online advertising in San Francisco, and because of whatever emotional defect I'm still working through I'm not capable of or ready to write things of my own creating for publication, so I figured I might as well choose the latter since it's more fun.
For our Q4 team event we went to an indoor go-cart racing place in Redmond. I didn't expect to be very good at it, and was really just hoping to avoid injury and potentially have fun. Not surprising that I came in last place for lap times in each qualifying round. This placed me in 7th place out of 8 in the bottom tier of the final rounds, where winner was the first to finish. Somehow though, everyone kept crashing and I just kept going around them. I figured I was a lap behind everyone, but somehow I came in first (first of the worst) and received the same shiny trophy with a car on top as the winners of the two higher-tier rounds.
This was followed by a (sinfully) decadent feast at Blue Ginger in Bellevue, where we ate not only Korean barbecue but sashimi too, with both sake and beer. Ten kinds of fish eaten five different ways later, I am back at the hotel, resting up for the holiday party tomorrow.
In college he sort of tried to date me the first weekend of school and I freaked out. Then he and my roommate both joined the men's and women's rowing teams, respectively, and as a result of their co-ed parties had a very brief fling at one point out of boredom that neither of them was that into, around the time at which we drifted apart.
He tells me he's there training for the olympics for rowing, and asks how long I've been in Seattle. I tell him I'm just here for work and for the corporate office holiday party, and sort of feel like a jackass with my black turtleneck and white coat and laptop talking about coming up to headquarters for a party while he's baking by a hot oven and training for the olympics. It reminded me of when I used to think I'd spend my twenties pursuing my dream, until I realized that my dream wasn't really working in publishing or journalism or living in New York anymore than it was working in online advertising in San Francisco, and because of whatever emotional defect I'm still working through I'm not capable of or ready to write things of my own creating for publication, so I figured I might as well choose the latter since it's more fun.
For our Q4 team event we went to an indoor go-cart racing place in Redmond. I didn't expect to be very good at it, and was really just hoping to avoid injury and potentially have fun. Not surprising that I came in last place for lap times in each qualifying round. This placed me in 7th place out of 8 in the bottom tier of the final rounds, where winner was the first to finish. Somehow though, everyone kept crashing and I just kept going around them. I figured I was a lap behind everyone, but somehow I came in first (first of the worst) and received the same shiny trophy with a car on top as the winners of the two higher-tier rounds.
This was followed by a (sinfully) decadent feast at Blue Ginger in Bellevue, where we ate not only Korean barbecue but sashimi too, with both sake and beer. Ten kinds of fish eaten five different ways later, I am back at the hotel, resting up for the holiday party tomorrow.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
not to let a bad morning be a bad day
I wasn't even going to stay over.
BART almost never fails me, which is why I always take it to work from Noe, despite it being a 7-min walk further from the abysmally unreliable J.
The BART train I boarded this morning was right behind a train that had broken down, though they neglected to tell us for like 7 minutes while we stood on the packed train like a bunch of losers believing it was a normal delay. When they told us a technician was on the way I went above ground to get a cab and try to still make it to work without being too late, but of course there were no cabs anywhere. No answer from the boyfriend and no one else to call, and no one to take my money in exchange for transporting me, I took the 14, packed with people and crawling at walking-speed, trying to keep my balance and keep my laptop bag from falling off my shoulder while getting clocked from every direction by angry middle-aged women on crack, the smell of urine aboard unmistakable. I transfer to the 47 and get into work 35 minutes late - total commute time of 1 hour and 10 minutes instead of 30.
It's so stupid how stupid things like that can ruin my whole day, and my entire outlook on life. But in the morning when everyone's a zombie relying on electricity and hot water and traffic lights and transit to work, if something doesn't work it feels like all of civilization is a sham and nothing works and we don't even have control over our own lives. Guess I'm projecting.
BART almost never fails me, which is why I always take it to work from Noe, despite it being a 7-min walk further from the abysmally unreliable J.
The BART train I boarded this morning was right behind a train that had broken down, though they neglected to tell us for like 7 minutes while we stood on the packed train like a bunch of losers believing it was a normal delay. When they told us a technician was on the way I went above ground to get a cab and try to still make it to work without being too late, but of course there were no cabs anywhere. No answer from the boyfriend and no one else to call, and no one to take my money in exchange for transporting me, I took the 14, packed with people and crawling at walking-speed, trying to keep my balance and keep my laptop bag from falling off my shoulder while getting clocked from every direction by angry middle-aged women on crack, the smell of urine aboard unmistakable. I transfer to the 47 and get into work 35 minutes late - total commute time of 1 hour and 10 minutes instead of 30.
It's so stupid how stupid things like that can ruin my whole day, and my entire outlook on life. But in the morning when everyone's a zombie relying on electricity and hot water and traffic lights and transit to work, if something doesn't work it feels like all of civilization is a sham and nothing works and we don't even have control over our own lives. Guess I'm projecting.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
L: That's so weird that they would send you artisan cheeses as a gift.
A: I know, I wonder why.
C: I know why - my roommate works for them, and the girl who buys all their client gifts just quit, so all the reps are going crazy and passing the work around between them, because it's the holidays, and I bet it just got to somebody's turn who said "Artisan cheeses - that's a good idea for a gift."
L: And they're such random cheeses to select, too - sheep's milk, goat's milk and Camembert? Camembert is like the riskiest cheese to give as a gift.
A: I guess they didn't think of bread or crackers either.
L: You better put that Camembert away, that's going to start to smell.
A: I know, I wonder why.
C: I know why - my roommate works for them, and the girl who buys all their client gifts just quit, so all the reps are going crazy and passing the work around between them, because it's the holidays, and I bet it just got to somebody's turn who said "Artisan cheeses - that's a good idea for a gift."
L: And they're such random cheeses to select, too - sheep's milk, goat's milk and Camembert? Camembert is like the riskiest cheese to give as a gift.
A: I guess they didn't think of bread or crackers either.
L: You better put that Camembert away, that's going to start to smell.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
dirty trick
I woke up and looked at the clock.
It said 12:26 pm.
Is it the weekend? I wondered.
No, Thanksgiving weekend just ended, and I've only had...one work day.
No, it's Tuesday.
My body's played dirty tricks on me like this before. It usually involves me staying up a little bit too late, but still with enough time to get my minimum required 6 hours to function, and somehow I wake up 10 and a half hours later with no recollection of turning off my alarm. (Once in high school I woke up at noon, the exact moment of the end of my community college Shakespeare course in which I was supposed to give a presentation on one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I had to grovel to him to let me make it up, and he said I only could if someone else didn't show)
My boss, of course, had e-mailed me several times in my absence and knew I wasn't online, so I had to explain that my power went out and I was sleeping off a cold. He told me to lay off the booze, he doesn't want me to end up on an afterschool special. How embarrassing. I didn't even go out that night! And he totally hasn't done my annual performance review yet.
I guess I've paid the price of staying up until 1:30 watching videos on my laptop, and my featherbed and blackout curtain setup, and I'm going to have to start setting a few backup alarms. On the bright side, I think I might have slept off a cold that might have been coming on, because today I feel super.
It said 12:26 pm.
Is it the weekend? I wondered.
No, Thanksgiving weekend just ended, and I've only had...one work day.
No, it's Tuesday.
My body's played dirty tricks on me like this before. It usually involves me staying up a little bit too late, but still with enough time to get my minimum required 6 hours to function, and somehow I wake up 10 and a half hours later with no recollection of turning off my alarm. (Once in high school I woke up at noon, the exact moment of the end of my community college Shakespeare course in which I was supposed to give a presentation on one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I had to grovel to him to let me make it up, and he said I only could if someone else didn't show)
My boss, of course, had e-mailed me several times in my absence and knew I wasn't online, so I had to explain that my power went out and I was sleeping off a cold. He told me to lay off the booze, he doesn't want me to end up on an afterschool special. How embarrassing. I didn't even go out that night! And he totally hasn't done my annual performance review yet.
I guess I've paid the price of staying up until 1:30 watching videos on my laptop, and my featherbed and blackout curtain setup, and I'm going to have to start setting a few backup alarms. On the bright side, I think I might have slept off a cold that might have been coming on, because today I feel super.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
quarterlife
I want it to be great. Because I love media that deals with the internet generation, and super-high-budget, well-produced web content is so rarely done and so edgy, and I crave free, portable, high-quality audio or video content (especially when I'm getting ready for bed and my apartment's silent since my roommate's sleeping).
It looks and feels like a good show. The characters seem interesting with their smoky, serious attractiveness and their subtle subculture outfits (though they're all so white - I thought this was problematic when I assumed it was set in LA but since the show is ostensibly set in Chicago, maybe the absence of any interracial interaction is normal?). Everyone's gloomy introspectiveness plays the same nostalgic My So-Called Life chords, and they deal with all the right issues.
Maybe the problem is inherent in the 8-minute episode. When you try to pack in that many short cuts and that much plot into that short of an episode, it's bound to feel like it's all a preview, the way watching MTV reality TV shorts cut to music can make you actually wonder whether you're seeing the real show, or just previews of it (until you realize the whole show is a preview for real life as conceived of and sold by MTV). Even though they're flirting with having almost serious conversations, you never catch anyone hanging out or talking before the scene starts - it's never implied that you're missing interactions or parts of conversations - it's as if you're expected to believe everything of any importance that's happening in these people's lives since the first 8-minute episode has all been on camera. And their conversations wrap up so fast and neat. It's hard enough to pull off full characters that feel genuine in an hour-long show.
It's like an episode of the Hills, only acted out by poorly-dressed college graduates who are supposed to be smart and creative, and occasionally say clever things they never bother following through.
Then there's the fact that you can't buy it - this supposedly timid, thoughtful girl doing a video blog and spilling all of her friends' darkest secrets. Real blog - yes. Video blog? If the girl thinks she's a writer, why would she carelessly talk to the camera and never write? Her roommate dates her next door neighbor and his roommate is in love with her and she's in love with him? And their roommate is a bartender taking community acting classes who thinks she's going to make it as an actress?
The real problem though, is in lines like, "I hate not knowing and waiting and finding it so hard to figure out what we're all supposed to be. But what's my choice anyway? I certainly wouldn't want to be anywhere other than where I am now." This is obnoxious not just in that life is what you're doing when you're making other plans cliche. It's the convenient summing up of issues facing twentysomethings without actually engaging with them. Do I need to be hit over the head with the fact that twentysomethings are in a life transition that can suck but can also be great? At least on My So-Called Life everyone was sad and nihilistic because adolescence is such a depressing trap there is no real way to go through neatly, but the twentysomethings on Quarterlife actually think their lives are going to make sense when they become magazine writers and actors and filmmakers and married and adults.
It looks and feels like a good show. The characters seem interesting with their smoky, serious attractiveness and their subtle subculture outfits (though they're all so white - I thought this was problematic when I assumed it was set in LA but since the show is ostensibly set in Chicago, maybe the absence of any interracial interaction is normal?). Everyone's gloomy introspectiveness plays the same nostalgic My So-Called Life chords, and they deal with all the right issues.
Maybe the problem is inherent in the 8-minute episode. When you try to pack in that many short cuts and that much plot into that short of an episode, it's bound to feel like it's all a preview, the way watching MTV reality TV shorts cut to music can make you actually wonder whether you're seeing the real show, or just previews of it (until you realize the whole show is a preview for real life as conceived of and sold by MTV). Even though they're flirting with having almost serious conversations, you never catch anyone hanging out or talking before the scene starts - it's never implied that you're missing interactions or parts of conversations - it's as if you're expected to believe everything of any importance that's happening in these people's lives since the first 8-minute episode has all been on camera. And their conversations wrap up so fast and neat. It's hard enough to pull off full characters that feel genuine in an hour-long show.
It's like an episode of the Hills, only acted out by poorly-dressed college graduates who are supposed to be smart and creative, and occasionally say clever things they never bother following through.
Then there's the fact that you can't buy it - this supposedly timid, thoughtful girl doing a video blog and spilling all of her friends' darkest secrets. Real blog - yes. Video blog? If the girl thinks she's a writer, why would she carelessly talk to the camera and never write? Her roommate dates her next door neighbor and his roommate is in love with her and she's in love with him? And their roommate is a bartender taking community acting classes who thinks she's going to make it as an actress?
The real problem though, is in lines like, "I hate not knowing and waiting and finding it so hard to figure out what we're all supposed to be. But what's my choice anyway? I certainly wouldn't want to be anywhere other than where I am now." This is obnoxious not just in that life is what you're doing when you're making other plans cliche. It's the convenient summing up of issues facing twentysomethings without actually engaging with them. Do I need to be hit over the head with the fact that twentysomethings are in a life transition that can suck but can also be great? At least on My So-Called Life everyone was sad and nihilistic because adolescence is such a depressing trap there is no real way to go through neatly, but the twentysomethings on Quarterlife actually think their lives are going to make sense when they become magazine writers and actors and filmmakers and married and adults.
sweater search off
Last Hanukkah I decided that I wanted a Hanukkah sweater. I love the Holiday season, but not just in that I wish I celebrated Christmas kind of way. While I do love Christmas parties and mistletoe and days off work and It's a Wonderful Life and Christmas decorations, I totally love Hanukkah, mostly because of how all out my parents and their friends went about it when I was growing up. Hanukkah combines all of my favorite holiday elements: fried food, candles, chocolate coins, whimsical spinning tops and like four dozen Hanukkah songs in Hebrew!I do sometimes feel left out - I've never celebrated Christmas or had a Christmas tree, and the PC holiday equality didn't really kick in until I was 11 or so, so I still grew up with Christmas parties and tree ornaments as prizes in cereal boxes (do they do that anymore?). I don't really wish for any of it, but I also don't feel like I have to deprive myself of a holiday sweater - It never occurred to either of my grandmothers to knit me one when either of them knitted - probably because Hanukkah isn't really a big deal in Israel, or because they came of age before irony.
When I looked last year all I could find were dog sweaters, so I guess the selection is expanding, or getting easier to find, but still - it's not quite what I'm looking for. I want a really fun, knitted sweater with a dreidel or menorah on it, that's clearly for kids. Most of them are appropriately awful (and by that I mean awesome) but they're not quite the Hanuukkah sweater I always wished I had.
Sadly the closest I've seen to what I want only comes in Build a Bear size. I guess I'll keep looking. Search off?
Friday, November 16, 2007
blogger for one
A few months ago, when a huge group of girls I know signed up to run a half-marathon, I of course declined to join the fun and sign up because:
a. I hate running
b. I hate waking up early on the weekend
c. I already work out, and even though I want to be in better shape, I'd really rather spend my free time getting better at physical activities that I enjoy and have a chance at getting good at
Some of the girls who signed up worked out even less than me (or didn't work out at all) - it seemed really painful to think about someone who doesn't even regularly work out training to run this kind of superhuman distance. But definitely admirable - I mean good for them if they're really going to take it seriously and train for this great cause.
One of these girls, whose blog I read fairly regularly out of bored curiosity, linked to a new blog she'd started to chart her marathon training progress.
My friend and I checked it every once in a while and found it a little bit funny, since her running blog just kept explaining why she wasn't running. Of course there were even some good reasons why she wasn't running, and nobody really judged her for it, except that it's a really popular half-marathon with a huge waiting list, so you'd think if you were not able to properly train for this really difficult feat you might just drop off and let another runner take your spot, and write off the registration costs as charity. Instead, the girls who didn't train ran the half-marathon anyway, and came in a little slower than a walking pace, and were subsequently resented for bragging about finishing the half by those who had trained hard and ran it in half the time while sustaining horrible, painful injuries.
I guess this girl must have seen that all of the hits on her statcounter were from a single location, because my friend was basically the only one reading her blog who she couldn't identify, so she must have figured out who it was. Of course, there is tons of friction between them from the past. When I randomly checked the final posting I lost it laughing - it was a personal letter to my friend that stopped just short of mentioning her name - it even mentioned the tech company she works at, which she must have seen in the logs. Only about an hour after I sent it to my friend and checked back again to have another laugh, I saw that it had been taken down, which could only mean that she checks her statcounter even more obsessively than I do. It's especially funny since my friend hadn't even seen this personal letter to her, which had been up for weeks, and the moment she read it it was taken down, as if the blogger had been waiting for weeks to do it.
While this is all totally catty gossip, gossip is never really interesting in and of itself - more a springboard for telling compelling stories and analyzing social and cultural patterns, and the psychological analysis of the lengths to which people will go. One day when early cyberspace is studied to examine its social internet behavior, this just might be one of many case studies on the psychological effects of interpersonal friction, female antagonism, and blogging for a perceived audience of one.
stats
My friend told me when we were hanging out this week (at Trad'r Sam's in the Richmond, sipping from a gigantic cocktail in a Salad Bowl with cocktail umbrellas and straws) that he has so much free time at work, his friends can't post blog entries fast enough to keep him entertained, and he keeps up with every single Valleywag post.
That's impossible! I said. That's like 80 posts a day!
It got me wondering who, besides him and my few friends who comment, is still reading my blog, which hasn't really been getting much love from me.
I finally got around to getting the statcounter back up yesterday - it had become inactive when Blogger forced me to upgrade, and I wasn't able to figure out how to get it back up until they redid part of their UI, and then I just forgot for a while as my postings have dropped in frequency and quality. Obviously for personal blogs de-listed from the Blogger directory and as unpromoted as mine, the statcounter is mostly to satisfy my curiosity - because there's only a few dozen unique visits, and I can usually figure out who most of them are by their location.
I have to say I'm flattered with the results so far.
I'm sure most of these are friends reading from multiple computers, or who have me on their RSS reader and maybe can't be bothered to keep up, especially when I'm probably not working hard enough to deserve their regular readership, but I hadn't posted in a day so it couldn't all be RSS hits - anyway it's totally flattering that this many people are still reading my blog, when it could still really improve in quality.
It's like when I get comments on postings from friends of friends like Nato's roomie Joel and find out they're still reading my blog - that's so nice!
I've definitely sometimes given thought to taking down some of my old blog entries, like the more embarrassing or inappropriate ones or just the really stupid ones, but I figure so few people are reading this let alone digging through archives, and they're basically all in my social circle, and nothing in it is that bad. Also, even though this is really flawed logic, I feel like if someone is going to go to so much trouble to find my blog, they kind of deserve to see it. It's hard to imagine it happening, except in pre-dating due diligence background checks (what potential employer would really go to the trouble?), and really - I never had anything to hide, because it's no real secret what a huge nerd I am.
That's impossible! I said. That's like 80 posts a day!
It got me wondering who, besides him and my few friends who comment, is still reading my blog, which hasn't really been getting much love from me.
I finally got around to getting the statcounter back up yesterday - it had become inactive when Blogger forced me to upgrade, and I wasn't able to figure out how to get it back up until they redid part of their UI, and then I just forgot for a while as my postings have dropped in frequency and quality. Obviously for personal blogs de-listed from the Blogger directory and as unpromoted as mine, the statcounter is mostly to satisfy my curiosity - because there's only a few dozen unique visits, and I can usually figure out who most of them are by their location.
I have to say I'm flattered with the results so far.
I'm sure most of these are friends reading from multiple computers, or who have me on their RSS reader and maybe can't be bothered to keep up, especially when I'm probably not working hard enough to deserve their regular readership, but I hadn't posted in a day so it couldn't all be RSS hits - anyway it's totally flattering that this many people are still reading my blog, when it could still really improve in quality.
It's like when I get comments on postings from friends of friends like Nato's roomie Joel and find out they're still reading my blog - that's so nice!
I've definitely sometimes given thought to taking down some of my old blog entries, like the more embarrassing or inappropriate ones or just the really stupid ones, but I figure so few people are reading this let alone digging through archives, and they're basically all in my social circle, and nothing in it is that bad. Also, even though this is really flawed logic, I feel like if someone is going to go to so much trouble to find my blog, they kind of deserve to see it. It's hard to imagine it happening, except in pre-dating due diligence background checks (what potential employer would really go to the trouble?), and really - I never had anything to hide, because it's no real secret what a huge nerd I am.
Elaine's uninentional Haiku
I love sports because
they're so irrational - a
perfect kind of love
She adds:
"they're always there for you and you love them through all their imperfections"
they're so irrational - a
perfect kind of love
She adds:
"they're always there for you and you love them through all their imperfections"
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
how could I not love her?
Another e-mail from my mom:
Your sister is depressed that she ate too much and now she believes that she is fat. Please talk to her.
Love,
Ima
Your sister is depressed that she ate too much and now she believes that she is fat. Please talk to her.
Love,
Ima
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
fall wedding
I love weddings. They are so much fun - the great party, the dressing up, the drinks and dancing and usually good food, and if you're lucky your date wears a tux!
Besides the red-eye jet lag and my pathetically low tolerance for Boston's fall icy wind, it was a great time. I got to see Emily and go to Celtics opening night too. Boston sports are so fun because everybody boos and trashtalks the opponents so hard, and screams so loud when they score. It was really great to hang out with Emily, especially because we know each other so well I don't have to feel bad if I'm jetlagged, or out of my element, or being a jackass.
The wedding was a ton of fun. The bride and groom set the tone of the reception immediately by making a huge entrance to the ballroom for their first dance. You can't see it in this video, but they begin dancing a waltz (I think it was a waltz, my memory fails me after all of the Vodka Jon's really fun Russian friend had us drinking), and then the groom approaches the band to talk to them about the music, until they start playing Let's get it Started, kicking off a So You Think You Can Dance dance. They do things in wedding attire that have likely never been done.
Besides the red-eye jet lag and my pathetically low tolerance for Boston's fall icy wind, it was a great time. I got to see Emily and go to Celtics opening night too. Boston sports are so fun because everybody boos and trashtalks the opponents so hard, and screams so loud when they score. It was really great to hang out with Emily, especially because we know each other so well I don't have to feel bad if I'm jetlagged, or out of my element, or being a jackass.
The wedding was a ton of fun. The bride and groom set the tone of the reception immediately by making a huge entrance to the ballroom for their first dance. You can't see it in this video, but they begin dancing a waltz (I think it was a waltz, my memory fails me after all of the Vodka Jon's really fun Russian friend had us drinking), and then the groom approaches the band to talk to them about the music, until they start playing Let's get it Started, kicking off a So You Think You Can Dance dance. They do things in wedding attire that have likely never been done.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Macy's gaff
I’d been looking for the perfect pair of shoes to complete the outfit I’m wearing to a wedding this weekend, but without much luck. As a last-minute effort, I looked on Macys.com and saw a few cute pairs of shoes on sale, so I decided I’d swing by the Union Square Macy’s on the way home from work before my red-eye at night.
My feet are small for my height, but a little bit on the wide side, so most attractive shoes for women make my foot look like a sad overweight girl trying to squeeze into a tiny dress, and finding great shoes is no walk in the park. I had to have tried on 40 or 50 pairs and it was starting to get late, but miraculously this satin Alfani pump actually looked good on my foot– so I asked the saleswoman to bring me the left shoe and had a seat. And stood up and looked around. And sat down again. It probably took her 15 minutes to come back, but this was understandable since she was slammed.
I walk around the room in them and it feels like walking on an actual cloud, so I drop them in the box and walk to the counter to make the purchase. I feel bad about having wasted over an hour of getting ready time at Macys, but at least I found these great shoes, and I still had just enough time. My mother says a pair of Alfanis is always good to have around (not sure if that’s true if you’re under 40, but these were cute, and on sale). I’m ready to make the swiping motion with my credit card and am just waiting to see the total come up on the screen when one of the two sales girls behind the counter say “Ma’am? We can’t sell you these shoes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“These shoes are supposed to go back to the manufacturer.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“I don’t think anything, but the computer says they’re supposed to go back to the manufacturer. That’s why the price is coming back as $0.01. They don’t have a price in the system.”
“But I saw them on the website.”
“They might only be available on the online.”
“But they’re the only ones that fit me.”
“I’m sorry ma'am.”
“I don’t understand why you can’t sell me the shoes.”
“We’re not allowed to, ma’am. I’m sorry.” The two look at each other, then look at me dumbly, feigning some kind of sympathy.
So I turned around and walked out.
I guess I should have demanded to speak with the manager and refused to take no for an answer, but I was in such shock from the confusion over why a department store would refuse to sell me merchandise they had on the floor and that I intended to purchase for the marked price. It doesn’t make any sense! Plus, I had wasted a lot of time there, and if I was not going to be getting my shoes, I didn’t intend to waste any more time waiting for the manager to show up so I could make a scene, since I was already short on time to finish packing and shower. If anything, they as sales people should have recognized the ridiculousness of the situation and called their manager over to see if anything could be done. Who in their right mind walks away from a sale and turns an eager customer away like that?
I didn’t really feel like giving Macy’s my money at this point (probably ever – is that even too drastic?) – because there is nothing more frustrating than having someone waste your time and then deny you the right to buy something which you want, they have and they should want you to have. It seems like a total failure of capitalism – the store presents the goods for sale, I have the money, I want to obtain the goods, the store will not sell them to me. It’s all speculation, but I suspect this would never have happened at Nordstrom or Bloomingdales: stores where they pull every string to make it work, even when the transaction is a return.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
for one taste of them
Since I apparently lead a charmed life, a spot opened up at the end of the day yesterday to go to Teatro ZinZanni with this ad network. Even though it was my only time to look for critical components of my Halloween costume before this weekend, and I was supposed to meet Elaine later, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to go to the decadent dinner theater and drinks on someone else's tab - I'd been wanting to go for a while, but didn't think I'd do it anytime soon. Plus, I asked Elaine if I should flake on her and she said, "Zinzanni is one of those things everyone should do and not pay for. Like Cirque de Soleil."God, did we eat and drink. I thought it was a hundred times more impressive than the time I went to Supper Club on a publisher's tab - I've heard Supper Club is less impressive on weeknights, but I doubt the same can be said for ZinZanni. The circus tricks were much more impressive, and the food was better too.
I did make the mistake of sitting at the end of the table, most easily accessible by the cast when they come up in between acts to mess with you. Monsieur Verognier kept coming up to me and running his pointed index-finger thimble down my side to my waist, making my fork spin with the magnet in it, making the hairs on my arm stand up on end with it, giving me horrible chills with a giant vibrating monster hand on my head and making a small bird marionette dance on my table. The second time he came over, he concluded the mild harassment by sticking a folded-up note into my shirt, reading:
"Your lips
Are two rosepetAl rivers,
For one tAste of them,
I burn.
-V"
Friday, October 19, 2007
take your time
I've been going to SF MOMA a lot, and finally using that membership I got this time last year, mostly because I wanted to see the Olafur Eliasson exhibit again, and show it to other people. I went again last night with my friend, but we mostly talked and caught up and had more fun talking to each other than looking at the exhibit. I thought that I'd see something new, or that it would be as exciting as it was the first and second times I saw it, but there's something about seeing an exhibit for the first time that's magic and can't be duplicated. Just like how going to the museum by yourself is a totally different experience, or going to museums with Maya when she was visiting was unlike with anyone else (because she's so meticulously attentive, so great to go to museums with).
When I saw the exhibit last week I was by myself, and there were a lot of people there, and everybody was so animated and having so much fun with it. There was a line at one point to look over a ledge, and these two girls were at the ledge laughing hysterically and saying "Aaaauhhhhh. Oh!" and at one point even "Ew!," and everybody in line is just dying to see what it is and wondering what the hell it could possibly be, and then as it became each person in line's turn and they saw how mundane the thing was, they'd start giggling hysterically, like they were realizing how great it was because of the anticipation preceding it. It was so fantastic!
When I saw the exhibit last week I was by myself, and there were a lot of people there, and everybody was so animated and having so much fun with it. There was a line at one point to look over a ledge, and these two girls were at the ledge laughing hysterically and saying "Aaaauhhhhh. Oh!" and at one point even "Ew!," and everybody in line is just dying to see what it is and wondering what the hell it could possibly be, and then as it became each person in line's turn and they saw how mundane the thing was, they'd start giggling hysterically, like they were realizing how great it was because of the anticipation preceding it. It was so fantastic!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
workplace ambush
Web dev dude appears in my cube. We had talked at a drinks thing over a month ago, where I mentioned my boyfriend, staying over at my boyfriend's house, taking BART to work from my boyfriend's house, and my boyfriend at least a dozen times.
"Wow, I didn't know you ever made it to this side of the office."
"I came over here just to say hi to you."
Awkward.
S walks by and I engage him in accounting talk for a few minutes while he notices ominously hovering web dev dude and comes up with an excuse to vanish.
"You guys seem pretty busy."
"Yeah, I'm in a job transition."
Blah, blah, we talk about my internal transfer. Not sure why he would be coming over to my cube during the work day to talk to me a month after the last time we had an actual conversation, when he knows I have a boyfriend.
"So, what are you doing for lunch today?"
I go into some excuse based loosely on true facts about how I'm supposed to call some friend of a friend during my lunch hour.
"Okay, see you later," he says while walking away.
It feels rude that I blew him off and didn't suggest we do another time, because he might just be trying to be friends, and I would have made an effort with someone else, but I'm pretty sure I saw this scene in our sexual harassment training video, where module after module this woman leads the IT temp on until he's totally obsessed with her.
Not that that's realistic, but it would have been easier to say yes to a lunch invite if he was bringing friends, or if it was otherwise disguised it as something not totally inappropriate like trying to date your coworker who has a boyfriend.
"Wow, I didn't know you ever made it to this side of the office."
"I came over here just to say hi to you."
Awkward.
S walks by and I engage him in accounting talk for a few minutes while he notices ominously hovering web dev dude and comes up with an excuse to vanish.
"You guys seem pretty busy."
"Yeah, I'm in a job transition."
Blah, blah, we talk about my internal transfer. Not sure why he would be coming over to my cube during the work day to talk to me a month after the last time we had an actual conversation, when he knows I have a boyfriend.
"So, what are you doing for lunch today?"
I go into some excuse based loosely on true facts about how I'm supposed to call some friend of a friend during my lunch hour.
"Okay, see you later," he says while walking away.
It feels rude that I blew him off and didn't suggest we do another time, because he might just be trying to be friends, and I would have made an effort with someone else, but I'm pretty sure I saw this scene in our sexual harassment training video, where module after module this woman leads the IT temp on until he's totally obsessed with her.
Not that that's realistic, but it would have been easier to say yes to a lunch invite if he was bringing friends, or if it was otherwise disguised it as something not totally inappropriate like trying to date your coworker who has a boyfriend.
Friday, September 14, 2007
when work is slow
Monday, September 10, 2007
L: I want to be perfect.
E: peh, i want to be me
L: I don't. I want to be perfect. fake-me.
E: why- thats no fun
L: it would be fun if I were
E: i'd rather be exactly what i am and live in that, and find people who make me feel ok with it and who complement it
E: then i can stop worrying and just be
L: I'm working towards achieving ideal me.
E: hm
E: i gave up on that
E: its working out really well
L: because I think I'll never find anyone who complements needy-me
E: thats a lie
E: every pot has a lid
L: I wish I believed that
L: I think you can find a makeshift lid for every pot but you're always at a yard sale
L: um. nevermind
E: peh, i want to be me
L: I don't. I want to be perfect. fake-me.
E: why- thats no fun
L: it would be fun if I were
E: i'd rather be exactly what i am and live in that, and find people who make me feel ok with it and who complement it
E: then i can stop worrying and just be
L: I'm working towards achieving ideal me.
E: hm
E: i gave up on that
E: its working out really well
L: because I think I'll never find anyone who complements needy-me
E: thats a lie
E: every pot has a lid
L: I wish I believed that
L: I think you can find a makeshift lid for every pot but you're always at a yard sale
L: um. nevermind
Thursday, August 30, 2007
effortlessly fashionable
Being into fashion never seemed to me like a great way to spend one's time. It's not directly correlated with looking good, it demands a lot of time and money to be into, and it's often totally arbitrary, and by that I mean not directly correlated with looking good, and sometimes even correlated with looking bad, yet fashionable.
Also, I think it's important to do things you excel at, and I've never excelled at reading fashion magazines or spending a lot of money.
But it seems like I'm still sort of expected to keep up appearances and stay moderately fashionable, because even before middle school mean fashionable girls learn to talk trash about girls that aren't fashionable, and even some of the nice, fashionable girls notice when you aren't, and might even talk to the mean ones in the bathroom about your unfashionability at an event. And what's so funny is how something that's supposed come down to subjective taste can turn into some universal discussion of how obviously wrong something is by being last season or a trend you shouldn't follow that says something about you. And the fear is the talk is never just about what you're wearing. It's like a license to trash talk you up and down as if looking good and appropriate and staying current are your only face values.
Even though I love dressing up, It's hard to get into when you actually have hips and waist and thighs, and fashion looks like this:
I'm sorry. I don't look good in maternity wear. You can argue that everyone looks good in these dresses, and I've seen girls successfully rock them, but the ones that are long enough to cover my legs just make me look like I tied a potato sack around my ribs (or am hiding baby weight), and the short ones make those of us who aren't leggy just look as stocky as a dodgeball.
I don't know about you, but I'm sitting this one out.
Also, I think it's important to do things you excel at, and I've never excelled at reading fashion magazines or spending a lot of money.
But it seems like I'm still sort of expected to keep up appearances and stay moderately fashionable, because even before middle school mean fashionable girls learn to talk trash about girls that aren't fashionable, and even some of the nice, fashionable girls notice when you aren't, and might even talk to the mean ones in the bathroom about your unfashionability at an event. And what's so funny is how something that's supposed come down to subjective taste can turn into some universal discussion of how obviously wrong something is by being last season or a trend you shouldn't follow that says something about you. And the fear is the talk is never just about what you're wearing. It's like a license to trash talk you up and down as if looking good and appropriate and staying current are your only face values.
Even though I love dressing up, It's hard to get into when you actually have hips and waist and thighs, and fashion looks like this:
I'm sorry. I don't look good in maternity wear. You can argue that everyone looks good in these dresses, and I've seen girls successfully rock them, but the ones that are long enough to cover my legs just make me look like I tied a potato sack around my ribs (or am hiding baby weight), and the short ones make those of us who aren't leggy just look as stocky as a dodgeball.
I don't know about you, but I'm sitting this one out.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
if you could see me now
you'd see me in the absurdly nice Hotel 1000 in downtown Seattle, where instead of one very large bed, I have two queen-sized beds. What a waste. And a shame I'm only here one night, by myself, and due to a delayed flight can't enjoy the very large bathtub alongside a glass wall (designed so you can watch television in the bathtub!). I love the decadence that could only be conceived of by the hospitality industry.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
coit tower is red
I have no idea why. I just saw it on the way down to the laundry room.
I love my apartment. Even when it's too foggy to see the whole view.
I am exhausted beyond comprehension for no discernable reason. Almost everyone else I've talked to is too, which leads me to believe it's the entre-saison, even though it's only the beginning of August, and feels like November.
My life makes no sense to the point that everything feels like an absurdist joke. Not bad, just hilarious.
Last night Elaine invited me out to North Beach Lobster Shack, but when Natalie and I got there the benches were stacked on the tables and the woman said they were closing because no one had come in in the last hour. Which was surprising, because the place actually got very good reviews, and other restaurants in the area weren't empty either. I called Elaine asking her if she wanted to go somewhere else, but she said she and Mark had been looking forward to it all week! We asked them if they could stay open and they said yes, but they were no longer selling alcohol. But we could bring our own. So Elaine sends Mark to the liquor store, and he comes back with Tecate, so we're drinking our own Tecate on the side of our lobster rolls at an empty restaurant, which is funny for so many reasons I can't even begin. Elaine is like me, and finds everything even slightly unusual to be inanely hilarious, which is one of the best reasons why we get along.
On the way out Mark straggles in the doorway of the bar next door watching the Giants game and we caught Bond's record home run, which seems like it must be important.
Not that now is the time, because I'm too tired to be coherent right now, but I really want to start blogging frequently and in quality again, and not just blogging poorly when I've been out drinking and needing to take down the posts because they're that terrible.
I love my apartment. Even when it's too foggy to see the whole view.
I am exhausted beyond comprehension for no discernable reason. Almost everyone else I've talked to is too, which leads me to believe it's the entre-saison, even though it's only the beginning of August, and feels like November.
My life makes no sense to the point that everything feels like an absurdist joke. Not bad, just hilarious.
Last night Elaine invited me out to North Beach Lobster Shack, but when Natalie and I got there the benches were stacked on the tables and the woman said they were closing because no one had come in in the last hour. Which was surprising, because the place actually got very good reviews, and other restaurants in the area weren't empty either. I called Elaine asking her if she wanted to go somewhere else, but she said she and Mark had been looking forward to it all week! We asked them if they could stay open and they said yes, but they were no longer selling alcohol. But we could bring our own. So Elaine sends Mark to the liquor store, and he comes back with Tecate, so we're drinking our own Tecate on the side of our lobster rolls at an empty restaurant, which is funny for so many reasons I can't even begin. Elaine is like me, and finds everything even slightly unusual to be inanely hilarious, which is one of the best reasons why we get along.
On the way out Mark straggles in the doorway of the bar next door watching the Giants game and we caught Bond's record home run, which seems like it must be important.
Not that now is the time, because I'm too tired to be coherent right now, but I really want to start blogging frequently and in quality again, and not just blogging poorly when I've been out drinking and needing to take down the posts because they're that terrible.
Monday, July 02, 2007
layover land
I am in Frankfurt at a sort-of-French-themed cafe. It is maybe the cutest cafe ever. There are tiny boxes of tea and chocolates, tiny Victorian furniture, a harp, a painting of cakes and tarts, and embroidered blue fabric wallpaper. I would take pictures but my camera is in my checked luggage and I doubt my Razr would really capture it. Also, I still haven't overcome my guilty American tourist awkwardness that I never shook off in a year in Europe. I ordered a slice of quiche and forgot that small pieces of ham go without saying, and ordered a water and forgot that glass bottled goes without saying (ahhh...Europe), so now I am drinking Perrier from a wine glass next to a plate of uneaten pieces of ham. It is Monday, so all of the museums are closed. I still have five hours to kill before my flight, so now I'm debating where and when to drink beer and eat dinner.
Though I have the itinerary from hell with 3 stopovers, it's still been mostly pleasant, besides being hit on by a TSA employee at SFO (it's hard to say no to a lunch date when the guy inviting you is holding you up at baggage inspection). Air Canada runs a tight ship, and on my flight from Toronto to London I was placed in seat 3A, which is a window seat in what would usually be first or business class - they were assigning coach passengers to extra seats in the front, which was kind of like winning a lottery I didn't know I entered. Heathrow was a zoo because of the thwarted bombings two days ago, extra fun with my Benadryl and jetlag hangover.
This middle-aged German man just asked me in German if (I presume) this was an iBook or a Powerbook, and I said Macbook. I think he told me he has a Powerbook at home, but I'm not certain.
It's so strange to be in Europe again, seeing yet another 14th century cathedral, wandering with a heavy backpack trying to decide which cafe to sit at, and tiptoeing around languages I don't understand. I never quite acclimated to being a tourist.
Though I have the itinerary from hell with 3 stopovers, it's still been mostly pleasant, besides being hit on by a TSA employee at SFO (it's hard to say no to a lunch date when the guy inviting you is holding you up at baggage inspection). Air Canada runs a tight ship, and on my flight from Toronto to London I was placed in seat 3A, which is a window seat in what would usually be first or business class - they were assigning coach passengers to extra seats in the front, which was kind of like winning a lottery I didn't know I entered. Heathrow was a zoo because of the thwarted bombings two days ago, extra fun with my Benadryl and jetlag hangover.
This middle-aged German man just asked me in German if (I presume) this was an iBook or a Powerbook, and I said Macbook. I think he told me he has a Powerbook at home, but I'm not certain.
It's so strange to be in Europe again, seeing yet another 14th century cathedral, wandering with a heavy backpack trying to decide which cafe to sit at, and tiptoeing around languages I don't understand. I never quite acclimated to being a tourist.
Monday, June 25, 2007
the summer of Lee
I proclaim this to be the summer of Lee.
That is, this last year has been lovely but felt so unstable and in flux and on the way there but not there, and I thought I'd be somewhere that I'm still on the way to, and I never make time for the projects I say I want to work on and I never blog anymore and haven't revolutionized my industry, and how am I 24 in 3 weeks and I still haven't written a novel?
It must be delusions of grandeur, because I was sure by now I would be this accomplished superhero rather than this normal almost 24-year-old still getting it together. How long can you really get it together for?
My friend Elaine says my heart is always in the right place, but 10 steps ahead of my head, and that is how I end up overextending myself, getting stressed out and being hard on myself. Not untrue. Okay. Very true.
Last spring I turned my life around from broken elbow and unsatisfying social life to awesome in the matter of a month. Maybe it's something about summer.
Life is really good, even in addition to the whole living every 13-year-old girl's dream of riding public transportation to my job at an advertising agency in the City, attending numerous social events and dating someone great.
My new apartment makes me happy on a regular basis. I love walking up the hills to it, I love walking up the three flights of stairs with my legs burning and seeing the bridge and downtown and the bay at the top, and I love having space to stretch out. My roommate is super cool. She is five years older. I am lucky she picked me. I feel like I won the lottery.
I feel like I can't waste my situation in decadent relaxation, casual work, excessive drinking and idle chitchat. I need to earn and deserve it by working really hard, being inspiringly creative and intensely productive and generally become an amazing person. After my vacation, I guess. If nothing else, this is a great place to gorge myself with scenery and luxury and indulgent enjoyment. I could be really good at that.
That is, this last year has been lovely but felt so unstable and in flux and on the way there but not there, and I thought I'd be somewhere that I'm still on the way to, and I never make time for the projects I say I want to work on and I never blog anymore and haven't revolutionized my industry, and how am I 24 in 3 weeks and I still haven't written a novel?
It must be delusions of grandeur, because I was sure by now I would be this accomplished superhero rather than this normal almost 24-year-old still getting it together. How long can you really get it together for?
My friend Elaine says my heart is always in the right place, but 10 steps ahead of my head, and that is how I end up overextending myself, getting stressed out and being hard on myself. Not untrue. Okay. Very true.
Last spring I turned my life around from broken elbow and unsatisfying social life to awesome in the matter of a month. Maybe it's something about summer.
Life is really good, even in addition to the whole living every 13-year-old girl's dream of riding public transportation to my job at an advertising agency in the City, attending numerous social events and dating someone great.
My new apartment makes me happy on a regular basis. I love walking up the hills to it, I love walking up the three flights of stairs with my legs burning and seeing the bridge and downtown and the bay at the top, and I love having space to stretch out. My roommate is super cool. She is five years older. I am lucky she picked me. I feel like I won the lottery.
I feel like I can't waste my situation in decadent relaxation, casual work, excessive drinking and idle chitchat. I need to earn and deserve it by working really hard, being inspiringly creative and intensely productive and generally become an amazing person. After my vacation, I guess. If nothing else, this is a great place to gorge myself with scenery and luxury and indulgent enjoyment. I could be really good at that.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
you didn't really think
somehow it's midnight and I have a 9 am client call I'm not ready for and I went out way too late with coworkers thinking it was a good idea because it's 2007 and I think it's going to be the blogging generation I could sleep through unless I stay up drinking it all up now, anyway somehow I can't turn down a free drinks party hosted by a publisher at 7:30 pm when I've worked till 7:30 pm, a publisher who coincidentally acquired us and may or may not pass through FTC approval, and I stayed at work late doing media analytics pretending like I can write a novel and still succeed at business without really trying and do it all, I always hate people who can do it all but then I wonder if I can be one of those people despite being someone who makes it despite all odds because if I'm nothing else I am hard working.
so I didn't turn down a drink in the Mission with two friends from work, and one asked another if he liked boys which is something I could never do but she was right, and here I was thinking he was just east coast, and anyway, it's not even about knowing the right people in this industry, it's just about the right place. The right people can only help you get to the right place. How is it the internet boom of 2006 and no one told us - we've all been bracing for recession but maybe systems work differently now and you just have to bend your mind the right way or be left behind.
I am moving soon.
To a place with a view.
Where hopefully my boyfriend will actually visit me.
I keep thinking these big thoughts like I could finish that half-written novel or I could live in New York or Seattle or some other great American success City.
I want to start blogging regularly again, and finishing that half-written novel.
It's just so easy to let life eat you. Or think work is enough. Or anything else is.
And God knows my friends from work drink enough to keep themselves busy outside of work.
But I have to start living life like it has a time limit. Otherwise, that's just how people end up 40 without accomplishments that don't fit on their family tree or resume.
Because everyone knows love isn't enough, or that big love, or that perfect resume.
so I didn't turn down a drink in the Mission with two friends from work, and one asked another if he liked boys which is something I could never do but she was right, and here I was thinking he was just east coast, and anyway, it's not even about knowing the right people in this industry, it's just about the right place. The right people can only help you get to the right place. How is it the internet boom of 2006 and no one told us - we've all been bracing for recession but maybe systems work differently now and you just have to bend your mind the right way or be left behind.
I am moving soon.
To a place with a view.
Where hopefully my boyfriend will actually visit me.
I keep thinking these big thoughts like I could finish that half-written novel or I could live in New York or Seattle or some other great American success City.
I want to start blogging regularly again, and finishing that half-written novel.
It's just so easy to let life eat you. Or think work is enough. Or anything else is.
And God knows my friends from work drink enough to keep themselves busy outside of work.
But I have to start living life like it has a time limit. Otherwise, that's just how people end up 40 without accomplishments that don't fit on their family tree or resume.
Because everyone knows love isn't enough, or that big love, or that perfect resume.
Friday, May 18, 2007
microserf?
How is it that I went to bed and woke up a Microsoft employee?
And how long before my department gets sold again?
And how long before my department gets sold again?
Monday, April 30, 2007
why I am canceling my united mileage plus visa card after I redeem my miles
I am on hold trying to redeem my United miles for a trip to visit my relatives. This is the 7th time I've called. My average hold times have ranged from 30 to 50 minutes. I've reached new levels of stunned annoyance I had never thought possible. And it just keeps getting worse.
1. The Hold Music
It is a one-minute long muzak/classical piece that repeats over and over again. A portion of this piece is frequently used in television commercials. It's not so much the repetition of this song 50 to 70 times in a call that is the problem - it's the abrasive, deafening static that accompanies it. There is nothing quite like a horrible, screeching, static-filled, repetition of the same song that you can't turn on too low of a volume because the intermittent informational recording could be mistaken for the reservations agent to make you feel like an appreciated, loyal customer.
2. The Reservations Agents
I believe I am speaking to a woman in India. In fact, I believe every time I call I am speaking to the same woman in India, or maybe one of two women, because they have the exact same voice, but two different temperaments. One sounds mostly unsympathetic without being bitter, and actually tries hard to help me find a reservation that works, and says you're welcome when I say thank you. The other is totally apathetic, annoyed and embittered at my unreasonable requests to know of any return flight at all in the month of July. There may be other women, and I believe this only because each follows a slightly different process of asking me for the details of my account and reservation options - some asking for my mileage plus number first, some selecting a departing flight before searching for a return flight. They are all trained well to tell me they will be silent while searching for flight options, and to apologize for not being able to meet all of my travel needs.
3. The System
Maybe the problem is not the fact that the reservations agents are in India, or that they neglected to tell me it was possible to place a courtesy hold on a partial reservation until my 5th call, or that she (/they?) sounds annoyed at the horrible misfortune of having to assist a moronic American nimrod like myself in redeeming 75,000 miles.
Maybe it's the fact that researching travel options is impossible on the site (it shows an error message indicating that travel to that airport s not available at all for redemption of miles) and that upon finally reaching a reservation agent, they have no way of checking for any available dates, and instead have to check day by day through multiple airlines for any availability of any kind, and you could be on the phone for 20 minutes looking for return trips when there are none available for two months. Sometimes when I call their system is updating certain airlines, and so they cannot tell me what the availability is, and cannot tell me when it will complete updating. One agent says at midnight the system is updated, another tells me it constantly gets updated. Each time I call, even an hour later, completely different flight options are available. And so it's not hard to imagine why hold times can be over an hour.
I realize trying to book a transatlantic flight 2 months in advance during peak season means maybe I should anticipate some inconvenience. But it's taken me a long time to accumulate 75,000 miles - that was a lot of United flights and dollars spent on the United card. And when flights are $1600+ and I have the miles, it would be stupid of me not to try to use them if I can find anything that works. I've never heard of anyone having an experience like this with Continental. And it's not the Bangalorean ladies I blame either. Somewhere on this side of the Atlantic there are people whose job it is to make a tedious process less painful for the customers it is tasked with serving in order to keep them loyal - which is the whole point of frequent flyer programs. And somewhere, somebody's not doing their job.
1. The Hold Music
It is a one-minute long muzak/classical piece that repeats over and over again. A portion of this piece is frequently used in television commercials. It's not so much the repetition of this song 50 to 70 times in a call that is the problem - it's the abrasive, deafening static that accompanies it. There is nothing quite like a horrible, screeching, static-filled, repetition of the same song that you can't turn on too low of a volume because the intermittent informational recording could be mistaken for the reservations agent to make you feel like an appreciated, loyal customer.
2. The Reservations Agents
I believe I am speaking to a woman in India. In fact, I believe every time I call I am speaking to the same woman in India, or maybe one of two women, because they have the exact same voice, but two different temperaments. One sounds mostly unsympathetic without being bitter, and actually tries hard to help me find a reservation that works, and says you're welcome when I say thank you. The other is totally apathetic, annoyed and embittered at my unreasonable requests to know of any return flight at all in the month of July. There may be other women, and I believe this only because each follows a slightly different process of asking me for the details of my account and reservation options - some asking for my mileage plus number first, some selecting a departing flight before searching for a return flight. They are all trained well to tell me they will be silent while searching for flight options, and to apologize for not being able to meet all of my travel needs.
3. The System
Maybe the problem is not the fact that the reservations agents are in India, or that they neglected to tell me it was possible to place a courtesy hold on a partial reservation until my 5th call, or that she (/they?) sounds annoyed at the horrible misfortune of having to assist a moronic American nimrod like myself in redeeming 75,000 miles.
Maybe it's the fact that researching travel options is impossible on the site (it shows an error message indicating that travel to that airport s not available at all for redemption of miles) and that upon finally reaching a reservation agent, they have no way of checking for any available dates, and instead have to check day by day through multiple airlines for any availability of any kind, and you could be on the phone for 20 minutes looking for return trips when there are none available for two months. Sometimes when I call their system is updating certain airlines, and so they cannot tell me what the availability is, and cannot tell me when it will complete updating. One agent says at midnight the system is updated, another tells me it constantly gets updated. Each time I call, even an hour later, completely different flight options are available. And so it's not hard to imagine why hold times can be over an hour.
I realize trying to book a transatlantic flight 2 months in advance during peak season means maybe I should anticipate some inconvenience. But it's taken me a long time to accumulate 75,000 miles - that was a lot of United flights and dollars spent on the United card. And when flights are $1600+ and I have the miles, it would be stupid of me not to try to use them if I can find anything that works. I've never heard of anyone having an experience like this with Continental. And it's not the Bangalorean ladies I blame either. Somewhere on this side of the Atlantic there are people whose job it is to make a tedious process less painful for the customers it is tasked with serving in order to keep them loyal - which is the whole point of frequent flyer programs. And somewhere, somebody's not doing their job.
Friday, April 20, 2007
so over the laundromat
I loathe doing laundry so much that I put it off until the situation is abominable and it is the night before I go away for the weekend.
So I'm there by myself at Brainwash and there's a few dozen people there for spoken word night, which is not as great there as you might think, but getting a great turnout for Brainwash. I go about my business in the room where the machines are, and I notice this guy is getting awfully close to me at the change machines, but I figure it's just a coincidence. He smiles at me and I half-smile back and look busy. He looks like a decent guy, he's black and probably in his 20s, and when he whisper-mumbles something to me which turns out to be could I watch his laptop I said no problem. As I take my clothes out of the machine he asks me in the same half-coherent whisper-mumble how many times a week I go to the gym, and I look at him perplexed as if I can't tell he's hitting on me and say, usually three, and walk away as he says something presumably about my figure that I can't hear and ignore. He keeps trying to talk to me and asks where I'm from, and I say San Jose and look busy, and wonder when it would be appropriate to tell him I have a boyfriend, and he says "I'm glad you're here now with us in the West Bay," and he's hard to hear and very confusing (West bay?), so I figure I will avoid him, but he keeps somehow showing up near where I am.
I go over to the other table and sit and read my book Jon let me borrow about a microlending bank in Bangladesh while waiting for the dryer, and this other guy asks me what I'm reading, which reminds me of a bad come-on at this same laundromat that resulted in one very bad date, but he says, "Oh, that's by the guy who won the nobel prize, right?" and he seems like a nice enough person who actually was interested in the book and he is keeping that other guy from talking to me, he's probably in his late 30s with semi-gray hair and doesn't seem too creepy, but I don't really want to start a full-on conversation with him, especially not when he replies, "So are you going to Bangladesh to do the same thing?" and I try to cut it short, and it is at about this point that I notice he is folding an awful lot of washcloths, and at first I think he must be really into using washcloths in the shower until I see that he is folding like, 400 of these. At this point I figure it can't hurt to ask, "So what's with the towels?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Um, I'm curious."
"Well, you could guess."
"Do you run a giant car wash?"
"Ha ha, no."
"A homeless shelter?"
"No, but that's a good guess."
"Um, a massage parlor?"
"That's kind of in the same realm. You're close."
I'm really over this guessing game but by now I am pretty curious, and what could it possibly be? So I finally just ask him to tell me.
He says, "Did you read the article in SF Weekly last week?"
"No, I think I missed it."
"I'm part of a group just down a few blocks from here that does orgasmic meditation and massage, usually involving a male stroking the female on her genitals, and we use these towels because we practice safe sex. So we wash them after each use. Each one of these towels is going to touch a person."
Whoa.
Although it's going through my head that that's not meditation, it's foreplay, and a towel does not the safe sex make, and these women expose their genitals to towels he's just laying out on the semi-clean table at the laundromat, and it's creepy that he's going into so much detail about this, all I can do is nod, and say "interesting" and try to go back to reading.
"So this is my job," he says.
"You guys take turns?" (I'm not sure why in the hell I asked that)
"This is the job I wanted. I want to touch every person who comes to the center, so I get to touch all of these towels, which are going to be used."
Holy shit.
"I'm Chris. You don't have to tell me what your name is. It's nice to meet you."
Yikes.
"Do you like massage?"
I need out of this conversation.
"Sure...uh-huh."
He tells me they are running a course to teach back massages at the center, and that for only $25 I can have a free massage from one of the students.
"Cool."
He puts all of the little towels into a giant, not particularly hygienic-looking straw bag and tells me to enjoy the book, and to come by the center if I'd like a massage. I wish him luck (what else can you say?) and he leaves.
The mumbling guy comes up to me again.
On the other side of my cart I hear "You whwooo shmooo."
"I'm sorry?"
"You look smooth."
"I have a boyfriend," I say.
"I said, you looked spooked, what did he say to you?"
I feel like a jackass.
"He told me he did some crazy erotic massage with the towels."
"I heard that," he said, and took his clothes and left.
My next apartment is going to have laundry in the building, I swear.
So I'm there by myself at Brainwash and there's a few dozen people there for spoken word night, which is not as great there as you might think, but getting a great turnout for Brainwash. I go about my business in the room where the machines are, and I notice this guy is getting awfully close to me at the change machines, but I figure it's just a coincidence. He smiles at me and I half-smile back and look busy. He looks like a decent guy, he's black and probably in his 20s, and when he whisper-mumbles something to me which turns out to be could I watch his laptop I said no problem. As I take my clothes out of the machine he asks me in the same half-coherent whisper-mumble how many times a week I go to the gym, and I look at him perplexed as if I can't tell he's hitting on me and say, usually three, and walk away as he says something presumably about my figure that I can't hear and ignore. He keeps trying to talk to me and asks where I'm from, and I say San Jose and look busy, and wonder when it would be appropriate to tell him I have a boyfriend, and he says "I'm glad you're here now with us in the West Bay," and he's hard to hear and very confusing (West bay?), so I figure I will avoid him, but he keeps somehow showing up near where I am.
I go over to the other table and sit and read my book Jon let me borrow about a microlending bank in Bangladesh while waiting for the dryer, and this other guy asks me what I'm reading, which reminds me of a bad come-on at this same laundromat that resulted in one very bad date, but he says, "Oh, that's by the guy who won the nobel prize, right?" and he seems like a nice enough person who actually was interested in the book and he is keeping that other guy from talking to me, he's probably in his late 30s with semi-gray hair and doesn't seem too creepy, but I don't really want to start a full-on conversation with him, especially not when he replies, "So are you going to Bangladesh to do the same thing?" and I try to cut it short, and it is at about this point that I notice he is folding an awful lot of washcloths, and at first I think he must be really into using washcloths in the shower until I see that he is folding like, 400 of these. At this point I figure it can't hurt to ask, "So what's with the towels?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Um, I'm curious."
"Well, you could guess."
"Do you run a giant car wash?"
"Ha ha, no."
"A homeless shelter?"
"No, but that's a good guess."
"Um, a massage parlor?"
"That's kind of in the same realm. You're close."
I'm really over this guessing game but by now I am pretty curious, and what could it possibly be? So I finally just ask him to tell me.
He says, "Did you read the article in SF Weekly last week?"
"No, I think I missed it."
"I'm part of a group just down a few blocks from here that does orgasmic meditation and massage, usually involving a male stroking the female on her genitals, and we use these towels because we practice safe sex. So we wash them after each use. Each one of these towels is going to touch a person."
Whoa.
Although it's going through my head that that's not meditation, it's foreplay, and a towel does not the safe sex make, and these women expose their genitals to towels he's just laying out on the semi-clean table at the laundromat, and it's creepy that he's going into so much detail about this, all I can do is nod, and say "interesting" and try to go back to reading.
"So this is my job," he says.
"You guys take turns?" (I'm not sure why in the hell I asked that)
"This is the job I wanted. I want to touch every person who comes to the center, so I get to touch all of these towels, which are going to be used."
Holy shit.
"I'm Chris. You don't have to tell me what your name is. It's nice to meet you."
Yikes.
"Do you like massage?"
I need out of this conversation.
"Sure...uh-huh."
He tells me they are running a course to teach back massages at the center, and that for only $25 I can have a free massage from one of the students.
"Cool."
He puts all of the little towels into a giant, not particularly hygienic-looking straw bag and tells me to enjoy the book, and to come by the center if I'd like a massage. I wish him luck (what else can you say?) and he leaves.
The mumbling guy comes up to me again.
On the other side of my cart I hear "You whwooo shmooo."
"I'm sorry?"
"You look smooth."
"I have a boyfriend," I say.
"I said, you looked spooked, what did he say to you?"
I feel like a jackass.
"He told me he did some crazy erotic massage with the towels."
"I heard that," he said, and took his clothes and left.
My next apartment is going to have laundry in the building, I swear.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
they call this geekery.
All of the sudden I wish I were nerdier.
HTML HEAD Sterling Silver Earrings
"While we cannot ensure that Google will properly index the contents of your brain, these earrings could help."
Also:
Circuit Board Drop Dangle Earrings
"All the style of a circuit board with none of the pesky lead poisoning!"
HTML HEAD Sterling Silver Earrings
"While we cannot ensure that Google will properly index the contents of your brain, these earrings could help."
Also:
Circuit Board Drop Dangle Earrings
"All the style of a circuit board with none of the pesky lead poisoning!"
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
time-capsule
Since I am still oddly "jetlagged" from going staying out dancing until 5 AM all weekend, I couldn't sleep and so I screwed around on the internet and googled myself (oh come on, you know you do it too, and should - regularly) and found all new stuff. Wonder if Google just tweaked their organic search algorithm. Anyway, among other lost items in the negligible time-capsule were my first letter to the editor to my community college newspaper when I was 17 (which had never been digitized as far as I knew) and this, which I can only assume is Melinda from the Daily Bruin's blog from when I was a senior in college. I had totally forgotten about that weirdo Iowan kid who somehow ended up on the hotel bed we were all sharing at the conference and went for it while I was trying to sleep by so-seductively rubbing my arm until I actually asked him to leave. Sometimes I don't miss college at all. I just wonder if she thought I was reading it then - I mean she did use my full name. And it was funny. I imagine she didn't expect I'd be reading it 2 years later.
Monday, March 05, 2007
After returning from Las Vegas
My Coworker:
link
- Have you seen that?
OH MY GOD
the last thing i need is being scanned in the nude by a bunch of highschool drop outs
god i HATE TSA
link
- Have you seen that?
OH MY GOD
the last thing i need is being scanned in the nude by a bunch of highschool drop outs
god i HATE TSA
Thursday, March 01, 2007
poisson.
Coming along at the last minute to lunch with a publisher, it occurred to me that
A lobster potsticker, some ahi sashimi with caviar and a butterfish later (butterfish is so cool, it’s like it serves you as you eat it, like - would you like another bite? and another light layer gently peels down before you) I was experiencing fish-protein overload.
I was worried I might have a stomachache, but I really just feel kind of fuzzy, like there’s water in my ears or somehow otherwise part of my brain is submerged in water. I’ve heard about these protein highs, that people get when they eat meat after being vegetarian for a while.
So now it’s 3:00, I’m behind after a 2-hour lunch, sitting in my office chair feeling like I’m floating-
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
how charmed lives are finite
I've been thinking about looking for a new place to live for a while, not too seriously - I love my roommates and it's such a pain in the ass to move. But I realized while walking home on Sunday afternoon and seeing a plastic bag of excrement on my way home (the second such plastic bag this month!) that it would be nice to live in a neighborhood where the smell of urine isn't so common, because I do enjoy doing errands on foot, and I actually can afford it, and I work in the City now so I could live in a beautiful, enchanting neighborhood instead of the leather & urine district. I guess until now I've been secretly hoping someone would just ask me to move in and make it effortless, but it might be time I actually start looking.
Our friend came over last night. His live-in girlfriend (or rather, he's the live-in boyfriend, since she was there first) told him she couldn't do it anymore, and he stayed the night on our spare mattress on the floor. I told friends over a year ago that I saw this coming, so I'm almost surprised it lasted so long, but I'm not sure what either of them is going to do - because not only do they occupy the same stiflingly tiny San Francisco art scene, but neither of them works more than 3 days a week - when you share a room in a 4-bedroom and your rent is so low you can afford to rent a studio to paint in and still work only 3 days a week, any breakup is a full lifestyle change. So in a way, doing that I'm young and I don't have to have a full-time job or have a lot of money thing puts you a lot closer to a dependency like a 1950s marriage, even if you're not the one with the live-in boyfriend or girlfriend, because the breakup of anyone in the apartment could put the entire household in flux (which could be up to 8 people!) - and then it stops being about relationships and starts being about the money.
Our friend came over last night. His live-in girlfriend (or rather, he's the live-in boyfriend, since she was there first) told him she couldn't do it anymore, and he stayed the night on our spare mattress on the floor. I told friends over a year ago that I saw this coming, so I'm almost surprised it lasted so long, but I'm not sure what either of them is going to do - because not only do they occupy the same stiflingly tiny San Francisco art scene, but neither of them works more than 3 days a week - when you share a room in a 4-bedroom and your rent is so low you can afford to rent a studio to paint in and still work only 3 days a week, any breakup is a full lifestyle change. So in a way, doing that I'm young and I don't have to have a full-time job or have a lot of money thing puts you a lot closer to a dependency like a 1950s marriage, even if you're not the one with the live-in boyfriend or girlfriend, because the breakup of anyone in the apartment could put the entire household in flux (which could be up to 8 people!) - and then it stops being about relationships and starts being about the money.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
the tragedy!
My roommate just called to tell me my bike's missing.
It was just last night we were riding back from the Mission and I said I wonder if it's finally time for a better bicycle. But my 1950s, $15 garage sale bicycle, fixed with 3 Saturdays of love at the bike kitchen, ridden many a Saturday afternoon to the park and many a Thursday night out drinking, which I ride to the gym because I don't want to walk down 9th street in the dark by myself, with its gears I can't quite figure out how to change, my stylin' faded rustcolored bicycle that I never had to worry about getting stolen - I wasn't ready to give up on it yet. Now it looks like it's been stolen. I swear I locked the patio when I left this morning. And our neighborhood really isn't that bad. I mean - I didn't think it was.
Sigh.
It was just last night we were riding back from the Mission and I said I wonder if it's finally time for a better bicycle. But my 1950s, $15 garage sale bicycle, fixed with 3 Saturdays of love at the bike kitchen, ridden many a Saturday afternoon to the park and many a Thursday night out drinking, which I ride to the gym because I don't want to walk down 9th street in the dark by myself, with its gears I can't quite figure out how to change, my stylin' faded rustcolored bicycle that I never had to worry about getting stolen - I wasn't ready to give up on it yet. Now it looks like it's been stolen. I swear I locked the patio when I left this morning. And our neighborhood really isn't that bad. I mean - I didn't think it was.
Sigh.
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