Well that's the one that's not a vacation

Oh, did I mention that I'm moving? It's all kind of a messy and crazy sitch right now, because I'm subletting my old apartment and moving and finishing up the semester all at once. But here's what's good about my new apartment:

• My roommates are both "creative types."
  
• Our building has a stoop.
• I get my own bathroom, which has blue tiled walls.
• It's right next to the Brooklyn Academy of Music.
• It's right next to Target.
• It's right next to the LIRR, with AirTrain connection to JFK! What a money saver.
• It's not Morningside Heights.
• It's cheaper than where I live now.
• It's near practically every subway, including the G, which means it'll be easy to visit people in Carroll Gardens and Williamsburg.
• It has a fireplace.
• The landlord has the same name as my dad.
• My bedroom window has an actual view, not just a view into the windows of another person's apartment.
• I have a babysitting job lined up! Weird.
  

I'm moving most of my stuff next weekend and then moving myself the weekend after that! Just in time for a nice vacation.

Anyway, I was looking for "That's So Raven" music videos, but I don't think TSR fans are as technologically advanced as VMars fans, because the most intriguing one I found was set to "Defying Gravity" from Wicked. I love Idina Menzel as much as the next person, but that's just not a good combo. This is better:

In case you were wondering...

Molly had a rad Thanksgiving dinner. There was more food than could fit in one photo. I made the salad in the blue bowl and also the brussels sprouts pictured at rear. It was a real who's who.
We watched this.
Oh no! Not Laura Palmer!
I forgot my cell phone at home so Liza and I had to do Oxygen on-demand rokes. Then I met up with these dudes. We had brunch across from where Karen and I used to get the school bus. We all drank too much coffee. Mariko almost ordered a panini. Here we are after brunch, back for a visit to the rough streets that raised us. Karen lives in Manitoba now! And that is not an African nation, FYI. But I am the only one of us who knows how to drive.

No fake hand?

One of my students asked me to give a presentation to a bunch of high school juniors about "the difference between writing in high school and college." I really have no idea what that means. I asked Liza for help with this right when this kid invited me to do this, and she told me something but we were drunk and now I can't remember what she said. So today I googled "high school writing college writing" and found that I am not the only person to have pondered this question, thank goodness.

In honor of this, here is more "best of my google search toolbar":

fake knee
famous jews andy warhol [it's a real art project, I swear!]
fenestration [is there such a thing?]
figueroa st, los angeles
flights to cuba
frank o'hara
french anagram
ways of knowing
weird war
what is a high angle
what is a script supervisor
what is the meaning of life
willowy
worldly

And here are some boring pictures.

I have a total fear of heights, although I try to keep it to myself, so taking this picture out my bathroom window was slightly freaky.

It's symbolic.

You got some grass on your chif-fon

Fashion is art, and art is fashion.

-- Santino Rice

The experiment has evolved

I only watched three episodes anyway, but did anyone else totally lose interest in "Beauty and the Geek" after Erin and Jesse got eliminated? They were just the heart of that show. The heart and soul!

I know what you need to work on

I'm totally lazy so here are some of my fave emails JUST FROM TODAY ONLY. Wild life, wild wild life.

1.

From: Bla Blablabla@myschool.edu
To: manypeople@myschool.edu
Subject: In the Name of Identity

Hi all -

A copy of Amin Maalouf's "In the Name of Identity" and a couple of
papers have been sitting mysteriously in my box for weeks, if anyone
is looking for them.

Best,
Bla Blablabla


2.

From: somekid@myschool.edu
To: me
Subject: Postpone meeting

Is there anyway to postpone the meeting until tomorrow sometime so I
can revise my draft a few more times, so I truely know what I need to
work on?

Hateration (interlude)

Oh man. today I had the worst meeting ever with one of my students. I know I should not be discussing these matters in a semi-public zone but I can't help it! I basically forced this student to meet with me, because she never participates in class, she never comes to my office hours, and when I have the students do in-class writing she writes two sentences and then just sits there.

I've had shy students before. But this girl, she isn't shy -- she just doesn't care. She does not care. I said to her, "your work suggests that you aren't very invested in this class. Is that the case?" She just shrugged. I said, "your lack of participation is ultimately going to effect your grade." She shrugged again.

I just don't understand how you can get to be 18 or 19 years old and not know when to fake it. I don't mean "fake it" like the way that we're all "performing identity" everyday, I mean fake interest, fake a smile, fake a "what I want to work on this semester" paragraph. Just pretend you're something more than an overprivileged, overeducated waste of space. I bet the students at LACC or Erie Community College know how to fake it pretty well -- and they might even be psyched to take a class at an Ivy League school, who knows -- so why can't you?

Tylenol Cold is great

Today I have to decide what time I'm teaching next semester. This semester I had big plans for a Monday-Wednesday-only schedule, imagining that I would have tons of fun things to do every Thursday through Sunday, but I ended up with classes starting at 10 AM Monday and ending at 6 PM Thursday -- the least luxurious graduate student program ever. Next semester I'm taking two classes: Directing IV, and Melodrama. I think. Who knows, really, right? But that's a Monday and a Thursday again! Why does this keep happening? I guess I could teach Monday and Wednesday mornings, or Tuesday and Thursday nights. But I hate teaching on Tuesdays and Thursdays! It makes the week seem longer. Wah wah wah.

Anyway, I'm trying to focus more on school and less on hanging out, although school isn't really making such a good case for itself. Maybe if I had my own study carrel... But now that it's the pumpkin-y time of year, hanging out seems magical and interesting! This is the best time of year for my hair, which puts me in a good mood, and everyone looks so great in their scarves and jackets. Even "Linus and Lucy" played on the radio in a bakery fills me with happy nostalgia and makes me want to see friends. I even got one of those peppermint mochas the other day! And I've been throwing down the extra dollar for name-brand whiskey lately, although that's probably mostly due to the influence of others -- I don't know if I can really taste the difference! Also, I've been thinking of reading Eat Pray Love. I've had it on my shelf since my birthday! I'm pretty much done listening to Paul Simon and Morrissey for the time being. Lately I've been listening to Beyonce and the Knife and Joni Mitchell, walking around and pretending I'm in an hour-long ensemble drama... it's always the season finale, and it's a cliff-hanger!

on a mission

At the end of my first year in college I was the other woman in a best-friend triangle. Courtney, my new BFF, asked her former BFF Barbara to move out of the apartment they shared so I could move in. 325A Walnut Ave. was a 1 bedroom apartment. Courtney and I went to bed at the same time every night and slept in two little twin beds -- when one of us had a boy over it was always awkward, but that's another story. When I first moved in there were all these used tissues under the twin bed formerly slept-in by Barbara. Courtney reminded me that they were left-overs from Barbara's recent performance art piece in which she saved tissues from when she had a cold, chewed them up, and molded the wet paper into nose-shaped sculptures.

My point is, I'm sick! This rarely happens, but it's really true. Today I went to the gym and I started hallucinating while I was doing cardio -- I guess maybe I was oxygen-deprived, or just tired. Here's what I hallucinated: that it would be a good idea to make a video montage of the movie "Half Nelson" set to the song "Me and Mia" by Ted Leo. I actually listened to the song a couple times in a row, and I guess I was planning the montage in my head even though I can't remember actual scenes from the movie.

That's what makes it a "hallucination," rather than just an "idea."

Let me tell you something, Mel. To know Kelly is NOT to love her.

OMG, I am so hung-over that I just ordered brunch for delivery. All that happened was a 90210 marathon at Matt's house! There's a drinking game that involves Jim taking off his shirt, Brandon leading Andrea on, anyone saying someone's full name, and maybe some other things. I was drinking white wine, and then vodka with Crush.

I threw up twice at Matt's house, then fell asleep on his couch, then Antonia and Eddie and I took a cab back to the west side. I remember Eddie saying "you guys have to get out of there" to Antonia when she told the cab driver "now we're going to Amsterdam and 1xxth St." Maybe I'll be less hung-over in general once I move to Brooklyn! Anyway, there are no pictures, but Antonia videotaped us watching the episode where Mel and Jackie go on their first date. Season 2, those were some good times...

Now I just have to stay awake long enough for my brunch delivery to arrive.

No more white wine in my life, ever, ever.

hubristic

Whoa.

I was on the subway coming uptown from the gym, and at 42nd St a drunk-smelling dude pushed onto the train behind me. I refuse to ride the train with a drunk dude pressed up against my butt, so I moved around so I was looking at him. He was a chubby, middle-aged black guy with a mustache. He was hogging the pole that I was holding on to, so I gave his arm a little nudge -- just a little one, I swear! He said, "Don't fucking look at me. I'm not homeless. I'll punch you in the face. I'll punch you in the face." I said, "Don't say that shit to me." I put on my ipod. He said, "I punched plenty of white ladies in the face before. Plenty." I said, "Yeah, okay." I admit, I got a little aggro, which secretly makes me feel pretty good in those situations.

We rode in silence until 72nd St, and as soon as the doors open he broke. I thought he got off but turns out he'd gone in the other direction. He was getting up in this blond girl's face, and all of a sudden he pulled out a knife -- like a small garlic cutting knife. He waved it around and then waved it toward the brown-haired friend of the blond girl. She immediately started crying and actually I think she puked slightly and then swallowed it. The guy got off the train. He stood right by the doors; no one moved. The doors closed and the train pulled away. This other white girl went up to the targeted white girls and asked if they were okay; they said they were even though the brown haired girl was still crying. I asked if they were okay too -- it seemed like the right thing to do even though I had just heard them say they were.

All the white girls got off at 96th St to wait for the local train. No one else said anything. We all got off at 116th St and walked onto campus and off in different directions, and then I had to go to my office hours, so here I am now.

Are you watching? Are you?

When I was little I used to get annoyed when strangers looked at me. I remember being on the subway with my mom one time, sitting on the corner bench on a crowded afternooon, looking up at the adults benignly watching my (adorable) 4-year-old behavior as they hung on to the strap above us. I told my mom that I hated it when people crowded me, that they should just mind their business, go stand somewhere else and look somewhere else. I can still picture the amused smiles on the faces of those hapless commuters as they looked for something else to look at.

I don't get weirded out as much anymore when people stare at me, but I get curious. You know how some days it feels like everyone you pass on the street recognizes you or something? On days like that I just want to stop people and be like, "What is it? Do I look like your cousin? Do I have something on my face? Did I do something good with my hair? What do you think of me, really?" Or even when it's just one person at a bar or a show or in a class, and you're looking at them and they're looking back, over and over until maybe you talk all night/fool around/spend the next year leaving toothpaste and shirts and books at each others houses and talking about the future... I still want to know (even though I never ask): How did it start? Was it my face? My outfit? My boobs? My crooked tooth? Were you impressed by who I was talking to, or what I was talking about, or what I was drinking? Was it just the fact that I was looking back?

On Monday I went with Charlie to my friends Andrew and Josh's party, HUGS. It's really taking off (there's even a biter party called Hugs in Brooklyn now, I saw a myspace bulletin about it) and this week was proof. The place was packed with familiar faces. There was a band playing downstairs called Realms, and we watched for half a song. I think they sound Thrones-y, but who really knows. Well, maybe the people who were watching for longer could tell you. The themes of the evening were: record release, birthday, going away to San Diego to see about a girl, and why Monday nights are always totally worth it. What else can I tell you, I'm convinced!

In other news, I have this idea for a project, and I need to know: when you are walking around jamming on your ipod/discman/SPORTwalkman, do you picture your fave tunes as a soundtrack to your life? Or is it more like you picture a music video? Or is it a skate video? Or is it actually a soundtrack to some story that does not star you? Or do you just jam on it and not picture anything? Actually, if it's that last answer, you should make something else up because that doesn't really help me.

When you're lost out there and you're all alone

I guess this isn't a coincidence as much as it's just "something else that happened," but I've been watching the 3rd season of Weeds, and last night I got to this episode where Mary Kate Olsen is a guest star! I think she's recurring. She plays a seductive fundamentalist Christian hippie.

Whatever happened to predictability? The milkman? The paperboy?

This is getting a little ridiculous... for the second Sunday in a row, the yoga class I normally go to has been totally full! Today the teacher was turning people away! One girl looked more upset than I was, so you know it was a major situation. I didn't stick around to see what would happen.

I headed for home and on my way I ran into the woman whose two kids I used to babysit. Her son, age 22, is hitchhiking through Mexico after graduating from the University of Wisconsin and going on an anti-war hunger strike for 10 days in Pittsburgh. Her daughter, age 17, is taking book art classes and working at a bedding store after graduating from an alternative high school. Although those seem like normal adolescent behaviors to me, I guess those things are hard for a mom to accept, even if the mom is an artist who rides a bike. But I didn't really know what to say besides, "it's normal that you wish you could go to Mexico and find S., but you know you need to give him space, right?" I mean, that's just how life goes! One day you have some babies and on another day you realize that they're whole people with separate lives than yours.

Anyway, despite the fact that my encounter with her kind of bummed me out, this weekend and week have been pretty rad in general. I feel like I finally have more "me time," and also kind of like I semi-know what I'm doing. Maybe saying "I don't know what I'm doing" enough times just automatically starts to give you ideas. But also I think the 100% best treatment for my freaking out has been hanging out with people (friends, etc.) who are inspiring, caring, and awesome. I know this is just about the corniest thing in the world that I could say, and maybe it sounds like I just went to a Sri Chinmoy seminar, but it is so true.

Everywhere you look! ahhhh ahhh ahhhhhhh... Everywhere you look! shoo ba doo bop ba daaaaaaa!

This is the truth.

I was out with Eddie, TGIF-ing on a weeknight. We were watching these Italian tourists dancing in a circle and singing along to Feist and The Gossip. They were all carrying their bags with them. I guess they heard that NYC can be a rough place! Anyways, this one girl had a really long and flat butt, and it was Eddie who noticed the (anthropomorphic?) resemblance.

Long story short: do you ever think peoples butts in tight jeans look like owls' faces? I asked America, and America spoke. Here are some highlights:

I will now! I always think of those 80s viewfinders

Great mental image. Now I won't be able to look at one without thinking that.

I must have a huge owls face then.

You're so weird ilu

Never thought of it that way before...

Now that you mention it

I see a photoshop experiment in your future!

late addition txt msg:
That had not occurred to me, no. But does it make you want to wear tight jeans so that your butt matches your necklace?
(I say: Yes, it sure does. I want a necklace like a butt.)
And who can blame you? Who? Who?

Hoo indeed.

backstage, underage

Well that was an interesting night, the details of which I will never reveal. Here's what I was doing back in 1996...


I was so obsessed with that photobooth... on 10th and A, right down the street from Brownies. You could choose a background for the photos.

Here's to November!