Friday: Though no longer feeling sick, my voice is hoarse at the end of the summit, as I'm making my way to New York.
Great Idea: I should go to a party and yell all night, then get late-night pizza with Natalie and stay up until 4 in the morning!
Saturday: I am hoarse all day, but it starts to sound a lot better in the evening after dinner.
Great Idea: I should go out with a group to the neighborhood wine bar at midnight and get myself into heated politics and culture arguments, then go close out Southern Comfort down the street. And then we should all go back to Natalie's and yell about history and politics over more wine, and stay up until 6 in the morning!
So now my voice is really gone. Can't say I didn't ask for it.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
i'm it.
Shonelle tagged my blog. Ordinarily I would ignore the blog-equivalent of a chain letter but she is nice and this doesn't seem so bad. Hers, at least, was very entertaining.
Eight Things You May Not Know About Me:
1. Language - I have massive language issues, which I like to blame on the fact that at 4 years old my parents resisted my switch to English by insisting that they would not speak any English in the house and that I have to only speak Hebrew. As a result I maintained my fluency in Hebrew and am physically incapable of switching languages halfway through a conversation, and have trouble switching accents to say words that don't translate from English.
2. Friends - I have trouble making friends in languages other than English. I feel like a little kid when I speak Hebrew because I basically only speak it with relatives. I feel like a hopelessly awkward, inarticulate foreigner when I speak French (because that is how the French treat you when you have an accent).
3. Dancing - I was on a dance team that competed when I was 11, but I've still never felt like a good dancer when dancing anything unchoreographed. This is because I am hopelessly awkward and don't know what to do with my hands. I made it onto the dance team in high school when I was 15, but quit after 2 months because I didn't like having to be out there with the cheerleaders during football season.
4. Punk Rock - Instead of going to football games in High School, I went to bad local punk rock shows with my friends Emily, Avi, or Paul, et al. Me and Emily had a college radio show on KSCU when we were 17 - we started out playing abrasive punk rock and oi, but by the end of the year we were playing a whole lot of emo and indie rock.
5. Guilt - 40% of my actions are determined by guilt. I like to pretend guilt helps makes me a better person. It accounts for why I work hard, exercise, don't own a car, don't spend a lot of money on luxury goods, and do things I don't want to do.
6. Head to Mouth Filter - I never know when this might work, and it usually doesn't. I try to make up for this by feeling bad and apologizing profusely.
7. Argument Style - I make big, sweeping statements that I don't actually know if I believe, and then argue for them until I make up my mind what I actually think. I'm really open to rethinking my positions, so I can usually be outargued unless I've been researching something for months.
8. Alcohol - I never drank, I mean never, until shortly before I turned 20, during the rise of Charles Shaw. That year I studied abroad in France and fell in love with 2-3 euro bottles of Cotes du Rhone. Alcohol has helped me discover new hobbies I never knew I had, such as meeting new people, dancing, speaking foreign languages, and talking to boys.
I am tagging Elaine because she hasn't blogged since January. Plus, she doesn't have that guilt thing I have, and doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do.
Eight Things You May Not Know About Me:
1. Language - I have massive language issues, which I like to blame on the fact that at 4 years old my parents resisted my switch to English by insisting that they would not speak any English in the house and that I have to only speak Hebrew. As a result I maintained my fluency in Hebrew and am physically incapable of switching languages halfway through a conversation, and have trouble switching accents to say words that don't translate from English.
2. Friends - I have trouble making friends in languages other than English. I feel like a little kid when I speak Hebrew because I basically only speak it with relatives. I feel like a hopelessly awkward, inarticulate foreigner when I speak French (because that is how the French treat you when you have an accent).
3. Dancing - I was on a dance team that competed when I was 11, but I've still never felt like a good dancer when dancing anything unchoreographed. This is because I am hopelessly awkward and don't know what to do with my hands. I made it onto the dance team in high school when I was 15, but quit after 2 months because I didn't like having to be out there with the cheerleaders during football season.
4. Punk Rock - Instead of going to football games in High School, I went to bad local punk rock shows with my friends Emily, Avi, or Paul, et al. Me and Emily had a college radio show on KSCU when we were 17 - we started out playing abrasive punk rock and oi, but by the end of the year we were playing a whole lot of emo and indie rock.
5. Guilt - 40% of my actions are determined by guilt. I like to pretend guilt helps makes me a better person. It accounts for why I work hard, exercise, don't own a car, don't spend a lot of money on luxury goods, and do things I don't want to do.
6. Head to Mouth Filter - I never know when this might work, and it usually doesn't. I try to make up for this by feeling bad and apologizing profusely.
7. Argument Style - I make big, sweeping statements that I don't actually know if I believe, and then argue for them until I make up my mind what I actually think. I'm really open to rethinking my positions, so I can usually be outargued unless I've been researching something for months.
8. Alcohol - I never drank, I mean never, until shortly before I turned 20, during the rise of Charles Shaw. That year I studied abroad in France and fell in love with 2-3 euro bottles of Cotes du Rhone. Alcohol has helped me discover new hobbies I never knew I had, such as meeting new people, dancing, speaking foreign languages, and talking to boys.
I am tagging Elaine because she hasn't blogged since January. Plus, she doesn't have that guilt thing I have, and doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
how poorly run the ron paul campaign was
I got a text message at 9:30 am, an hour after voting, that said:
Ron Paul: the only Republican 4 low taxes, less spending, gun rights, no amnesty, and no UN. RonPaul2008.com Paid for by Ron Paul 2008, PCC, 2 STOP reply STOP
The problems with this:
Text message advertising is dumbed-down, annoying and ineffective
Ron Paul's platform is not compelling in dumbed-down bullet points, and his base is not well-reached in this way
My area code is in the Bay Area - it's unlikely that most of those factors are what would motivate me to vote for Ron Paul
As a working person, this came an hour after I already cast my vote
I'm not sure where they got my phone number, but if it was from a list of likely voters, a text message like this actually makes me view him less favorably
Ron Paul: the only Republican 4 low taxes, less spending, gun rights, no amnesty, and no UN. RonPaul2008.com Paid for by Ron Paul 2008, PCC, 2 STOP reply STOP
The problems with this:
Text message advertising is dumbed-down, annoying and ineffective
Ron Paul's platform is not compelling in dumbed-down bullet points, and his base is not well-reached in this way
My area code is in the Bay Area - it's unlikely that most of those factors are what would motivate me to vote for Ron Paul
As a working person, this came an hour after I already cast my vote
I'm not sure where they got my phone number, but if it was from a list of likely voters, a text message like this actually makes me view him less favorably
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
I tried to talk to her and come to the sort of agreement that people who need to coexist come to after an awkward exchange, where you put the harmless thing that happened aside, and even if you have to be the tiniest bit fake because you think you were in the right, it's what you have to do in order to continue to coexist. Because sticking it to the person gets you nowhere, and is just not worth it.
And we did. I apologized for my reaction and for what I said coming out the wrong way, and the little awkwardness that couldn't vanish right away was minimal. I know I have a lot to work on, and I Monday morning quarterback everything and overanalyze what I did wrong and how I should change. So I do what I can, I make amends and try to be better. She seemed to get where I was coming from. Even some mutual respect despite differences seemed to have been reached.
And then she added, "I was just taken aback, because you were so passionate, your eyes were all serious. I know politics and work shouldn't mix, and I just realized this is someone I shouldn't talk about politics with, from now on I should stick to the weather."
And we did. I apologized for my reaction and for what I said coming out the wrong way, and the little awkwardness that couldn't vanish right away was minimal. I know I have a lot to work on, and I Monday morning quarterback everything and overanalyze what I did wrong and how I should change. So I do what I can, I make amends and try to be better. She seemed to get where I was coming from. Even some mutual respect despite differences seemed to have been reached.
And then she added, "I was just taken aback, because you were so passionate, your eyes were all serious. I know politics and work shouldn't mix, and I just realized this is someone I shouldn't talk about politics with, from now on I should stick to the weather."
Monday, February 04, 2008
Ugh, sometimes I respond in the worst way possible to people with extreme personalities coming at me in an unorthodox way. It would seem like since I have an extreme personality that I would actually know how to handle this, but instead the worst things come out of my mouth.
"He's a Nazi."
"No he's not, that's total propaganda."
"But he took money from Nazis."
"He took money from everyone."
"And he doesn't believe health care is a right!"
"It's not that simple."
"Are you going to vote for him?"
"He's not going to win."
"Ew, you're going to vote for him?"
"Leave me alone, I know a lot more about this than you do..." (oops, where the hell did that come from) "Just kidding..."
"I'm not going to talk to you about this."
"I don't need to take shit for the fact that I think the government shouldn't be in the pocket of lobbyists."
"I'm not going to talk to you about this."
"I'm done talking."
It was all a joke but not a joke, and now I just feel awkward.
And of course now I'm mad at myself for not being able to act like it was a joke and calmly explain that I registered Republican to vote for Ron Paul in the primary to cast a vote against the war and for being fiscally responsible, because the country is on track to go bankrupt and then no one will have health care, social security, welfare or medicare.
But that I want Obama for president because he would take steps to reduce lobbyists' influence, and his health care plan has a more coherent understanding of how free markets actually work, and his voting record shows a more thoughtful, coherent, responsible leadership. And he could actually win. Plus, I drool over his speeches.
And I'm actually a really progressive moderate leaning towards extreme environmentalism, and not ideologically a libertarian at all, but I think package liberalism is really ignorant and dangerous, and a (impossible) Ron Paul presidency would mean cutting military spending and beginning to spend responsibly, and maybe even saving the dollar from catastrophic collapse, not the disappearance of all social services and public funding for education and parks.
This is why I didn't get into Speech and Debate in High School. I am like, the least articulate speaker ever when I'm on the defense.
"He's a Nazi."
"No he's not, that's total propaganda."
"But he took money from Nazis."
"He took money from everyone."
"And he doesn't believe health care is a right!"
"It's not that simple."
"Are you going to vote for him?"
"He's not going to win."
"Ew, you're going to vote for him?"
"Leave me alone, I know a lot more about this than you do..." (oops, where the hell did that come from) "Just kidding..."
"I'm not going to talk to you about this."
"I don't need to take shit for the fact that I think the government shouldn't be in the pocket of lobbyists."
"I'm not going to talk to you about this."
"I'm done talking."
It was all a joke but not a joke, and now I just feel awkward.
And of course now I'm mad at myself for not being able to act like it was a joke and calmly explain that I registered Republican to vote for Ron Paul in the primary to cast a vote against the war and for being fiscally responsible, because the country is on track to go bankrupt and then no one will have health care, social security, welfare or medicare.
But that I want Obama for president because he would take steps to reduce lobbyists' influence, and his health care plan has a more coherent understanding of how free markets actually work, and his voting record shows a more thoughtful, coherent, responsible leadership. And he could actually win. Plus, I drool over his speeches.
And I'm actually a really progressive moderate leaning towards extreme environmentalism, and not ideologically a libertarian at all, but I think package liberalism is really ignorant and dangerous, and a (impossible) Ron Paul presidency would mean cutting military spending and beginning to spend responsibly, and maybe even saving the dollar from catastrophic collapse, not the disappearance of all social services and public funding for education and parks.
This is why I didn't get into Speech and Debate in High School. I am like, the least articulate speaker ever when I'm on the defense.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
los angeles
Driving around with my old roommate in LA is unexpectedly refreshing. I guess I just needed to leave the City for a few days. Hiking up at Runyon Canyon with the cast of The Biggest Loser behind us on one of the clearest days of the year, I started to feel better about life.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
shlamazel
"Um, excuse me? Did you know you had something on the back of your jacket?"
"No...ewww. What is it? What color is it?"
Apparently it was the world's biggest cranberry juice stain on the back of my white coat. The bottle had cracked inside my handbag on the way to work, and the plastic bag I put it in apparently had a hole in it.
Awesome.
This sort of thing seems to happen to me more than other people.
The great wisdom of my ancestors indicates that I am a shlamazel. A schlemiel is the one who spills the soup; shlamazel is the one who gets spilled on. To be fair, I am a little bit of both, and beverage calamities seem to follow me wherever I go.
"No...ewww. What is it? What color is it?"
Apparently it was the world's biggest cranberry juice stain on the back of my white coat. The bottle had cracked inside my handbag on the way to work, and the plastic bag I put it in apparently had a hole in it.
Awesome.
This sort of thing seems to happen to me more than other people.
The great wisdom of my ancestors indicates that I am a shlamazel. A schlemiel is the one who spills the soup; shlamazel is the one who gets spilled on. To be fair, I am a little bit of both, and beverage calamities seem to follow me wherever I go.
Friday, January 25, 2008
the replace a memory game
The concept had existed before, but my friend had actually given it a title.
When your friends are deciding where to eat, you can play the replace a memory game - you go somewhere that makes you sad to think about because of memories you had there with someone who broke your heart, and you create a new memory with your friends.
Since we were already in the neighborhood, and had had a few drinks, I decided we should get burritos and replace a memory, while singing the theme song from the Mary Tyler Moore show.
When your friends are deciding where to eat, you can play the replace a memory game - you go somewhere that makes you sad to think about because of memories you had there with someone who broke your heart, and you create a new memory with your friends.
Since we were already in the neighborhood, and had had a few drinks, I decided we should get burritos and replace a memory, while singing the theme song from the Mary Tyler Moore show.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
wikipedia fun
This unfortunately probably won't be around for much longer.
See Articles for Deletion.
See Articles for Deletion.
Beerluck
- – (View log)
Unreferenced article that appears to be completely non-notable. Quite possibly made up, and clearly unencyclopedic. Pyrospirit (talk · contribs) 20:35, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
- Delete as something made up one day. No sources of any kind to assert notability. DarkAudit (talk) 20:39, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
- Delete per WP:MADEUP. Only about 580 googlehits and most are either blogs or not in english .--Malevious Userpage •Talk Page• Contributions 20:51, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
- Delete. Very few hits on Google, nothing even close to a reliable source to establish notability. Doctorfluffy (talk) 21:47, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
- Do NOT delete. Etymological rules based on pre-existing usage would have preempted a vast majority of words now seen in common usage or idioms (i.e. Rule of Thumb) from entering the English language. While we must consider the negative influence of Recentism, as someone who has attended a beerluck, I can testify to their existence. --ashwin User:ashwinsodhi
- Delete, nonsense. Nakon 22:29, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
- Delete There are reasons that it is not common practice for people to sample a wide variety of beers. Back in 1995, my friends and I had a "beers of the world" party with six six-packs of beers, and it's like drinking different liquors. Instead of Tubthumping, the result is everybody getting sick the next day. At best, this is a variation on BYOB. Mandsford (talk) 01:22, 24 January 2008 (UTC) BTW, What do you call a party where there are different varieties of cannabis? Mandsford (talk) 01:26, 24 January 2008 (UTC)
Monday, January 21, 2008
breakup software
Breaking up is painful and messy enough. Your technology should make it easier to cope.
I submit the following ideas to cyberspace.
1. Facebook Breakup Application
Updates your page to indicate your relationship status as single or hides your relationship status altogether based on your preferences
Notifies your closest friends tactfully of the breakup through their news feed so that they can be sensitive without making you relive the experience by retelling the same story to all of your friends
Archives all photos tagged with both of your names together into a hidden folder that requires password to access when logged into your own account
2. Gmail breakup label
All threads from a sender can be selected and labeled breakup (or breakup followed by .any text i.e. breakup.jeffrey). When archived, all conversations are sent to hidden folder that is protected from user viewing or rereading them by password and mandatory survey that assesses the user's emotional vulnerability (check the box next to any of the following sad thoughts you have had today:).
Label preferences can be custom set to unprotect folder access within 60 days, 90 days, 6 months, one year or never, or to never be accessible between 9:00 pm and 7 am.
3. Gmail chat breakup mode
Contact can be selected as "ex" option under "Show in chat list." Options then appear for the length of time contact should be blocked (60 days, 90 days, 6 months, one year or never).
Editing contact preferences to unblock contact before the defined date requires user to complete mandatory survey that assesses the user's emotional vulnerability (check the box next to any of the following reasons for unblocking your ex:).
If user changes the same contact from "ex" to "auto" back to "ex" more than three times in a one-month period, contact will be automatically blocked for 60 days. To override, user must e-mail "breakup@gmail.com," which e-mails back a lecture about being strong, with links to inspirational articles about starting over, and a link labeled "are you sure you want to unblock this contact?" at the bottom.
4. Mobile WAP breakup application
Application prevents caller from dialing or smsing a selected phone number between 10 pm and 7 am.
Breathalyzer attachment prevents caller from dialing or smsing a selected phone number when blood alcohol content is over 0.1%.
I submit the following ideas to cyberspace.
1. Facebook Breakup Application
Updates your page to indicate your relationship status as single or hides your relationship status altogether based on your preferences
Notifies your closest friends tactfully of the breakup through their news feed so that they can be sensitive without making you relive the experience by retelling the same story to all of your friends
Archives all photos tagged with both of your names together into a hidden folder that requires password to access when logged into your own account
2. Gmail breakup label
All threads from a sender can be selected and labeled breakup (or breakup followed by .any text i.e. breakup.jeffrey). When archived, all conversations are sent to hidden folder that is protected from user viewing or rereading them by password and mandatory survey that assesses the user's emotional vulnerability (check the box next to any of the following sad thoughts you have had today:).
Label preferences can be custom set to unprotect folder access within 60 days, 90 days, 6 months, one year or never, or to never be accessible between 9:00 pm and 7 am.
3. Gmail chat breakup mode
Contact can be selected as "ex" option under "Show in chat list." Options then appear for the length of time contact should be blocked (60 days, 90 days, 6 months, one year or never).
Editing contact preferences to unblock contact before the defined date requires user to complete mandatory survey that assesses the user's emotional vulnerability (check the box next to any of the following reasons for unblocking your ex:).
If user changes the same contact from "ex" to "auto" back to "ex" more than three times in a one-month period, contact will be automatically blocked for 60 days. To override, user must e-mail "breakup@gmail.com," which e-mails back a lecture about being strong, with links to inspirational articles about starting over, and a link labeled "are you sure you want to unblock this contact?" at the bottom.
4. Mobile WAP breakup application
Application prevents caller from dialing or smsing a selected phone number between 10 pm and 7 am.
Breathalyzer attachment prevents caller from dialing or smsing a selected phone number when blood alcohol content is over 0.1%.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
a break, or whatever
I'm fine.
I mean I'm always fine.
But ugh.
It sucks that I have to watch my roommate and her new boyfriend be insufferably adorable around the house. I mean nobody deserves it more than her, and I'm glad not to be home alone.
But ugh.
I mean I'm always fine.
But ugh.
It sucks that I have to watch my roommate and her new boyfriend be insufferably adorable around the house. I mean nobody deserves it more than her, and I'm glad not to be home alone.
But ugh.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
why is it always worse flying back from the east coast?
I arrive at the airport just after 7:00 pm for an 8:10 departure. Having gotten through security, I began rearranging my suitcase and moving certain items into a duffel bag so that my overstuffed carry-on could actually be stuffed into the overhead bin. I am just about to check to see if JFK had free wifi and grab dinner when I discover that my laptop has reached a temperature of approximately 90 degrees, on failing to standby, because I had stuffed it hastily into its case when I got the call that my airport transportation had arrived downstairs, and forgot to shut down some files that were on the network. I spend over twenty minutes trying in every way to shut down Excel and Word so I could get my computer to standby or shut down.
By the time I finish, I realize I only have ten minutes until boarding. I try to visit the ladies’ room but see a dozen or so women in line, so I decide to delay and try to find the fastest food option so I won’t be stuck on a cross-continental flight with nothing to eat when they run out of meatless sandwiches for sale on board. When I am served my two slices of Famiglia pizza, they tell me they are out of boxes.
Now I am really late, so I check the gate on my printed boarding pass, the corner slowly soaking up pizza oil, and run towards gate 22. Apparently, gates 19-24 are a shuttle ride away, so I hurry out to 20 degrees for the shuttle without putting on my coat. I arrive at gate 22 to discover that my flight is no longer at gate 22, and I realize I am a complete idiot for not taking the time to check a screen. I ask an agent at one of the desks to call gate 5 and tell them I am on my way. By the time I am back at the main gates (all the while carrying dripping pizza on a paper plate, passing Famiglia pizza on my way like a confused idiot, now wearing my coat, dragging my unreasonably heavy carry-on) they are calling the final boarding call for my flight, and telling the ‘final passenger’ they must arrive now. I am running as hard as I possibly can, sweating under thick layers of wool and wheezing, just in time to hand the agent my pizza-oil-soaked boarding pass, which he scans. Whew.
Forty minutes later, we are still taxiing on the runway, and are informed that we have conflicted with international departure rush hour, and are 40th in line to take off. I call eight of my friends to chat and reach none of them, but successfully add last names to every contact in my mobile phone contacts. We depart 90 min late.
lessons learned on trip:
Black Cashmere scarf and white wool coat do not mix, resulting in sloppy, dusted-gray appearance despite all lint-rolling
If you are California native, turtleneck, wool sweater, wool coat and gloves are still inadequate on the
Reserving the Sheraton in
At a pool hall in
At a table with a lawyer, do not assume COPA- and COPPA-compliance are different pronunciations of the same online child protection act - they are actually two different acts, one against pornography and the other for privacy
Movie tickets at the AMC in
Friday, December 28, 2007
citling rivalry
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.
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.
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.
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