...i gave up on 'moll flanders'. damn if she wasn't the most boring character i have encountered in a long long time. she was completely colorless! i stuck with her through to her, what, her FOURTH marriage? or was the last one just another affair? i lost track of the number of children she didn't seem to bother about, none of them had names. the incest, while admittedly a surprise, was a bit contrived.
so, i gave up.
another thing i give up on? the show 'house'. i mean, really, it's way too convoluted and far too pleased with it's own tiny bizarre details. as for hugh laurie, i prefer 'jeeves and wooster'.
Monday, June 30, 2008
i can't move my arms.
i can’t move my arms.
i moved yesterday. and now i fully understand why people used to stay in one house for their entire lives. it’s also probably why a lot of people stay together even though the relationship is plainly over, because a little tension is preferable to taking all of your worldly possessions out the door and somewhere else. in fact, i’d say a LOT of tension is preferable.
the moving van one has to drive is scary as well. it’s heinously noisy, and not really what you’d call a smooth ride, although one does get the feeling that, as the biggest thing on the road, everyone else is going to have to get out of your way. this may be an erroneous feeling, but, since my day with the truck is over and i didn’t hit a thing, i’m going to keep feeling it.
packing is brutal as well. i repeatedly hit these walls while packing where i think, ‘that’s it. i’m finished. i can’t do one more thing. i’ll just have to go like this, with only a fraction of my stuff.’ i would do that every year going back to college. when i went to school in dublin, flying over, british airways made me unpack my trunk in line, because it was too heavy. i dunno, i’m a pretty small girl and i’d managed to heft it around so far. they were nice enough to give me a free duffel bag, though.
by far the worst part of yesterday, and this includes driving the 12-foot truck on the bqe in a violent rainstorm, was ikea. i developed a theory yesterday while there. we had to wait in line for forty-five minutes, it was as good a time as any. ikea is like childbirth. soon after the event, the actual memory of it fades. if you could remember the whole thing clearly, there is no way you’d do it again.
they didn’t have the mattress i needed. or any mattresses the correct size, for that matter, that weren’t laughably out of my price range. i asked an employee if i could order an out-of-stock item for delivery when it came in. he smiled and said no, but i could always come back tomorrow and check. i then said a very bad word not-so-under my breath. delivery charges for purchases made on the internet carry a fee of at least 110 dollars. my only choice, apparently, is to come back, either with a rented conveyance or with 50 bucks or so for home delivery. BUT I’D HAVE TO GO BACK.
there was a lady in the line next to ours, a line that was actually moving, that had bought hot dogs for her family. she’d bought an extra and was asking to see if anyone on-line wanted it. apparently, i need to hone my skills of looking as hungry as i feel. She forced it on a little girl who very plainly stated that she did not want it.
i encountered one poor lady in bed linens who just couldn’t work out what was going on, and why didn’t the sheets say whether they were for deep pocket mattresses? she said she felt like her brain was going. i told her that that was completely normal for ikea.
it always seems like such a good idea before you go. even driving up, you feel this surge of affection for sweden that it usually only felt by actual swedes. and at the beginning, with naught but your empty yellow bag slung jauntily over your shoulder, it seems totally doable. you just need a few things, right? some sheets, curtains. and you can get a cart at the end in the warehouse. but then you realize how heavy 2 sets of sheets and 4 sets of curtains can get. and a duvet cover. and oops! you picked up a queen size that was in the full size rack so you have to trot back over there. and you have to carry it all back upstairs to the extremely unpleasant children’s department, where you need fourteen sets of heavy metal wall fixtures. and someone keeps intermittently yelling “olivia!” and would it really be all that hard for an engineer somewhere to come up with a cart that doesn’t list severely to one side? it’s hard to go straight when you’re constantly aiming to the right.
i would have felt sorry for the huge number of pregnant ladies who were walking around, but then, it seems to me that they had the perfect excuse to stay at home.
i moved yesterday. and now i fully understand why people used to stay in one house for their entire lives. it’s also probably why a lot of people stay together even though the relationship is plainly over, because a little tension is preferable to taking all of your worldly possessions out the door and somewhere else. in fact, i’d say a LOT of tension is preferable.
the moving van one has to drive is scary as well. it’s heinously noisy, and not really what you’d call a smooth ride, although one does get the feeling that, as the biggest thing on the road, everyone else is going to have to get out of your way. this may be an erroneous feeling, but, since my day with the truck is over and i didn’t hit a thing, i’m going to keep feeling it.
packing is brutal as well. i repeatedly hit these walls while packing where i think, ‘that’s it. i’m finished. i can’t do one more thing. i’ll just have to go like this, with only a fraction of my stuff.’ i would do that every year going back to college. when i went to school in dublin, flying over, british airways made me unpack my trunk in line, because it was too heavy. i dunno, i’m a pretty small girl and i’d managed to heft it around so far. they were nice enough to give me a free duffel bag, though.
by far the worst part of yesterday, and this includes driving the 12-foot truck on the bqe in a violent rainstorm, was ikea. i developed a theory yesterday while there. we had to wait in line for forty-five minutes, it was as good a time as any. ikea is like childbirth. soon after the event, the actual memory of it fades. if you could remember the whole thing clearly, there is no way you’d do it again.
they didn’t have the mattress i needed. or any mattresses the correct size, for that matter, that weren’t laughably out of my price range. i asked an employee if i could order an out-of-stock item for delivery when it came in. he smiled and said no, but i could always come back tomorrow and check. i then said a very bad word not-so-under my breath. delivery charges for purchases made on the internet carry a fee of at least 110 dollars. my only choice, apparently, is to come back, either with a rented conveyance or with 50 bucks or so for home delivery. BUT I’D HAVE TO GO BACK.
there was a lady in the line next to ours, a line that was actually moving, that had bought hot dogs for her family. she’d bought an extra and was asking to see if anyone on-line wanted it. apparently, i need to hone my skills of looking as hungry as i feel. She forced it on a little girl who very plainly stated that she did not want it.
i encountered one poor lady in bed linens who just couldn’t work out what was going on, and why didn’t the sheets say whether they were for deep pocket mattresses? she said she felt like her brain was going. i told her that that was completely normal for ikea.
it always seems like such a good idea before you go. even driving up, you feel this surge of affection for sweden that it usually only felt by actual swedes. and at the beginning, with naught but your empty yellow bag slung jauntily over your shoulder, it seems totally doable. you just need a few things, right? some sheets, curtains. and you can get a cart at the end in the warehouse. but then you realize how heavy 2 sets of sheets and 4 sets of curtains can get. and a duvet cover. and oops! you picked up a queen size that was in the full size rack so you have to trot back over there. and you have to carry it all back upstairs to the extremely unpleasant children’s department, where you need fourteen sets of heavy metal wall fixtures. and someone keeps intermittently yelling “olivia!” and would it really be all that hard for an engineer somewhere to come up with a cart that doesn’t list severely to one side? it’s hard to go straight when you’re constantly aiming to the right.
i would have felt sorry for the huge number of pregnant ladies who were walking around, but then, it seems to me that they had the perfect excuse to stay at home.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
sitting at work, reading 'moll flanders', as one is wont to do.
that might be the actual opposite of the true definition of what you’re supposed to be doing at work. but. it was what i was doing.
here’s the thing. every day i dream of this life, this life wherein i don’t have to work in an office. most importantly, where I don’t have to answer the phone. that is my biggest and stupidest phobia. i can’t even explain how nervous i get when faced with a time slot when i know i have to call someone, or someone will call me. ior days, my stomach gets churny where i see it written down.
but i dream of this officeless life free of telephone commitments. i have all of the time (and money) that i need to write all over the stories and essays that i’ve ever wanted to write. i can go wherever i want with a trusty laptop, or a notebook and a pen, and write to my heart’s content, everything spilling out that has been building up while i sit in my cubicle, day after day.
but then. when i DO have free time, do i write? sometimes. but by no means always. and as i sit here in the slow season for academic texts, i could be writing in the down time. i could have filled pages upon pages every day. i haven’t. i’ve done a lot of crossword puzzles. i’ve read the bbc news site until my eyes crossed. i started at the bottom of the arts and letters daily website, and worked my way quickly to the top. today i happened upon classic literature in free e-book form. i’ve read two guy de maupessants, a really good robert louis stephenson, and realized that i really DON’T like chekov, it wasn’t just a hunch all these years. and now i’ve started ‘moll flanders’.
maybe it’s the workplace environment. the constant fear that your supervisor is standing just behind you, or that i.t. is compiling a report of the numerous websites that you shouldn’t be looking at. no music, no pajamas. no chance watching tv for half an hour.
i suppose i might just have to dream about this life until that inevitable day that someone gives me a massive cash advance to write my epic novel all….day….long…..
here’s the thing. every day i dream of this life, this life wherein i don’t have to work in an office. most importantly, where I don’t have to answer the phone. that is my biggest and stupidest phobia. i can’t even explain how nervous i get when faced with a time slot when i know i have to call someone, or someone will call me. ior days, my stomach gets churny where i see it written down.
but i dream of this officeless life free of telephone commitments. i have all of the time (and money) that i need to write all over the stories and essays that i’ve ever wanted to write. i can go wherever i want with a trusty laptop, or a notebook and a pen, and write to my heart’s content, everything spilling out that has been building up while i sit in my cubicle, day after day.
but then. when i DO have free time, do i write? sometimes. but by no means always. and as i sit here in the slow season for academic texts, i could be writing in the down time. i could have filled pages upon pages every day. i haven’t. i’ve done a lot of crossword puzzles. i’ve read the bbc news site until my eyes crossed. i started at the bottom of the arts and letters daily website, and worked my way quickly to the top. today i happened upon classic literature in free e-book form. i’ve read two guy de maupessants, a really good robert louis stephenson, and realized that i really DON’T like chekov, it wasn’t just a hunch all these years. and now i’ve started ‘moll flanders’.
maybe it’s the workplace environment. the constant fear that your supervisor is standing just behind you, or that i.t. is compiling a report of the numerous websites that you shouldn’t be looking at. no music, no pajamas. no chance watching tv for half an hour.
i suppose i might just have to dream about this life until that inevitable day that someone gives me a massive cash advance to write my epic novel all….day….long…..
Sunday, June 22, 2008
what to do when it happens, because it will...
...and of course, the 'it' of which i speak is the day on which your regular coffee-cart man finally asks you out.
i have always enjoyed popularity with the numerous coffee-cart men of my acquaintance. i don't know what it is, i show up to the same one twice and they smile broadly and yell 'my friend!' when i was a nanny on the upper west side, i was sick with strep throat one week. my coffee-cart man said he had been so worried he didn't know what to do, and if i was sick, why didn't i call hime? he would have brought me chicken soup! i mean, other than the phone number logistics, the fact that i didn't know his name, me being in brooklyn...apart from that, it honestly just hadn't crossed my mind. i almost wish it had. waking up horrifically ill, unable to drag myself too far from my bed, suddenly realizing, 'wait, i can just call my friend at the coffee cart!'
i've been worried about this one for a while, though. things quickly progressed from 'my friend', to 'sweetheart'. he's been awfully attentive to my schedule, and definitely chastises me when i'm late. he can't seem to fathom those days when i get tea instead of coffee, or, horrors, a bagel.
but last week. he asked me what i was doing at the weekend, and i said, well, i'm not really doing anything. he wanted to know, didn't i go to parties? i said no, i really prefer reading (and believe me, if i wasn't fully aware of the fact that i am a total loser, dork, etc., i would have realized it with that statement). he said, 'what, don't you like the movies?' i didn't think it was the time to get into the fact that i actually have a master's degree in film studies, so i just said, 'yeah, i really love movies.' that's when he said, 'why don't we go to the movies?'
it was really incredibly embarrassing. luckily, there was a line behind me, so i did a sort of a charlie chaplin-esque exaggerated shrug and waved goodbye for the day.
even more awkwardly, circumstances were such that i didn't go the next day, but when i did go back, he didn't mention it, and believe me, neither did i. i mean, it would be horrendous to have to change coffee cart allegiances at this point.
and it's right there on the corner....
i have always enjoyed popularity with the numerous coffee-cart men of my acquaintance. i don't know what it is, i show up to the same one twice and they smile broadly and yell 'my friend!' when i was a nanny on the upper west side, i was sick with strep throat one week. my coffee-cart man said he had been so worried he didn't know what to do, and if i was sick, why didn't i call hime? he would have brought me chicken soup! i mean, other than the phone number logistics, the fact that i didn't know his name, me being in brooklyn...apart from that, it honestly just hadn't crossed my mind. i almost wish it had. waking up horrifically ill, unable to drag myself too far from my bed, suddenly realizing, 'wait, i can just call my friend at the coffee cart!'
i've been worried about this one for a while, though. things quickly progressed from 'my friend', to 'sweetheart'. he's been awfully attentive to my schedule, and definitely chastises me when i'm late. he can't seem to fathom those days when i get tea instead of coffee, or, horrors, a bagel.
but last week. he asked me what i was doing at the weekend, and i said, well, i'm not really doing anything. he wanted to know, didn't i go to parties? i said no, i really prefer reading (and believe me, if i wasn't fully aware of the fact that i am a total loser, dork, etc., i would have realized it with that statement). he said, 'what, don't you like the movies?' i didn't think it was the time to get into the fact that i actually have a master's degree in film studies, so i just said, 'yeah, i really love movies.' that's when he said, 'why don't we go to the movies?'
it was really incredibly embarrassing. luckily, there was a line behind me, so i did a sort of a charlie chaplin-esque exaggerated shrug and waved goodbye for the day.
even more awkwardly, circumstances were such that i didn't go the next day, but when i did go back, he didn't mention it, and believe me, neither did i. i mean, it would be horrendous to have to change coffee cart allegiances at this point.
and it's right there on the corner....
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
more city, less sex, please
i just read the review of the 'sex and the city' movie in 'the new yorker'. it's always nice to know that there are other people that express the same unpopular views that you do. i'm tired of hearing about how it's really not about the clothes or the shoes, but the RELATIONSHIPS.
two points. one. much is made of the fact that these women are simply doing what men have done for years, being free with their sexuality, free to do and say and sleep with whoever the hell they want to. but...isn't that why women usually hate men? because they do and say and fuck whoever the hell they want to?
two. if you ever had the incredibly poor luck of being cornered by these four aging whores with expensive shoes at a cocktail party....you would run screaming out of there. i have a pet theory that they are the kind of women that are only friends so they can keep an eye on one another, and make sure that they aren't all sleeping with the same guy.
also, with the spectacular amount of work that the writer one doesn't do, how does she afford anything more than shoes on a payless sale?
two points. one. much is made of the fact that these women are simply doing what men have done for years, being free with their sexuality, free to do and say and sleep with whoever the hell they want to. but...isn't that why women usually hate men? because they do and say and fuck whoever the hell they want to?
two. if you ever had the incredibly poor luck of being cornered by these four aging whores with expensive shoes at a cocktail party....you would run screaming out of there. i have a pet theory that they are the kind of women that are only friends so they can keep an eye on one another, and make sure that they aren't all sleeping with the same guy.
also, with the spectacular amount of work that the writer one doesn't do, how does she afford anything more than shoes on a payless sale?
Saturday, June 7, 2008
shower thoughts
i have some of my best thoughts in the shower. sometimes i wonder if i should stay in there full-time, like that episode of 'seinfeld'. but the other day my thought was this -- every one of those directors that make those shit blockbusters should be sat down and made to watch krsysztof kieslowski's 'the decalogue'. then maybe they would think twice about the way they all love to bandy about the word 'epic'.
just another thought, courtesy of the shower.
just another thought, courtesy of the shower.
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