In other news, I still haven't seen that Harry Potter movie, or Star Trek, or the Woody Allen movie with Larry David! I'm annoyed by everyone who tells me the Woody Allen movie is terrible when I tell them I want to see it. To me, that's like if you were eating Cheetos and you offered me some, and I said "ugh, Cheetos are gross." Or if you offered me a sip of your Coke, and I told you that it contains high fructose corn syrup.
Um, another thing that annoys me are those blogs about misspelled signs. "Panini's" is not funny. It's nice that you're good at noticing spelling/punctuation errors, but taking pictures of them and then writing captions like "oh, you have panini's? Do you also have salad's and soup's?" makes you sound like a proofreader who just got laid off from their job and is angry with the world. The only part of it that is funny to me is that the people who made those signs probably don't care about spelling as much as the spelling bloggers do, and would probably actually think it was weird or even funny that someone else was making it into a big deal. In your FACE, spelling bloggers.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Seven weeks of reading papers, seven weeks of feeling guilty
This summer I have a job that is lucky but at the same time boring and annoying. I guess that's how it's been with all my summer jobs, but this time there are no friends to bet on horses/sing karaoke/eat tapas with... just co-workers who gather once a week, when we're all in town at once, to eat nachos and drink pinot noir and complain about students.
The job is in New Jersey, and at first I was planning to stay there for the whole summer, but after one weekend in an empty dorm building, having ghost-y nightmares and irritable days (possibly fueled in part by the new antihistamine I was taking), I realized I couldn't handle a summer of silent contemplation in the Garden State and became a weekend commuter, staying with my dad or friends and toting my laundry around to wash for free in the basement of the dorm, right next to the university's radio station.
I thought it would be relaxing not to have to worry about having an apartment, but it's annoying. I feel like I'm forgetting something, and I kind of feel like I've already forgotten something. My stuff is stored in four places, so I'll probably never know for sure. When I left for Paris, I was in a hurry. Last week I looked for my mom's wedding ring and couldn't find it, but I didn't really get too worried. I'm sure it's in some other jewelry box inside some other carton in some other closet. I found my French press instead, and made some coffee.
I'm staying at my dad's this weekend and I've been cleaning out the kitchen. High up on a stepstool-accessible shelf is cookware that my mom packed up in plastic bags, to keep away the greasy kitchen dust, and labeled: juicer, ice cream maker, ceramic dishes, birthday napkins, espresso machine. I think she always imagined that someday she'd have a kitchen big enough. Now, my juicer is up there next to hers, unbagged, gathering dust and I'm using a vegetable brush to scrub the smudged fingerprints my dad never notices off glasses and plates, scrape the tea stains off spoons and mugs.
The disappointing unremarkable-ness of this summer is a letdown. I was hoping it would be something that it's not -- I was hoping I'd get swept up. I keep hoping for something really fulfilling, maybe even amazing, but I keep ending up on the train, by myself.
If there's such a thing, I'm an expectation addict. I love to dream about the future -- it makes me feel creative and focused. I like to believe that someday I will have a big enough kitchen, or even if I don't, that someday after that, I will. I like to think that everyone will get along in the future -- not, like, worldwide, just the ones that are around me. I've been trying to live in the moment, on the couch, out of a suitcase, not knowing where I'll be in one month or six months or a year, but I don't think like it. It scares me. It bores me. Spontaneity is rad, but is it really spontaneous if it doesn't interrupt some plan that you thought you had?
On Wednesday I bought a plane ticket, out of New York. The idea is, I'll be gone for the year. The idea wasn't mine, but the plan is mine now. My plan is, I go away to Europe for a year, and when I come back, maybe I won't come back to New York at all. Maybe I'll go to Los Angeles, or New Orleans, or some pond upstate. Maybe I've got it even more than that all figured out already, but I'm just not going to tell you. It's all gonna go down the way I figured it out, or maybe something else will happen. I will try to keep you posted.
The job is in New Jersey, and at first I was planning to stay there for the whole summer, but after one weekend in an empty dorm building, having ghost-y nightmares and irritable days (possibly fueled in part by the new antihistamine I was taking), I realized I couldn't handle a summer of silent contemplation in the Garden State and became a weekend commuter, staying with my dad or friends and toting my laundry around to wash for free in the basement of the dorm, right next to the university's radio station.
I thought it would be relaxing not to have to worry about having an apartment, but it's annoying. I feel like I'm forgetting something, and I kind of feel like I've already forgotten something. My stuff is stored in four places, so I'll probably never know for sure. When I left for Paris, I was in a hurry. Last week I looked for my mom's wedding ring and couldn't find it, but I didn't really get too worried. I'm sure it's in some other jewelry box inside some other carton in some other closet. I found my French press instead, and made some coffee.
I'm staying at my dad's this weekend and I've been cleaning out the kitchen. High up on a stepstool-accessible shelf is cookware that my mom packed up in plastic bags, to keep away the greasy kitchen dust, and labeled: juicer, ice cream maker, ceramic dishes, birthday napkins, espresso machine. I think she always imagined that someday she'd have a kitchen big enough. Now, my juicer is up there next to hers, unbagged, gathering dust and I'm using a vegetable brush to scrub the smudged fingerprints my dad never notices off glasses and plates, scrape the tea stains off spoons and mugs.
The disappointing unremarkable-ness of this summer is a letdown. I was hoping it would be something that it's not -- I was hoping I'd get swept up. I keep hoping for something really fulfilling, maybe even amazing, but I keep ending up on the train, by myself.
If there's such a thing, I'm an expectation addict. I love to dream about the future -- it makes me feel creative and focused. I like to believe that someday I will have a big enough kitchen, or even if I don't, that someday after that, I will. I like to think that everyone will get along in the future -- not, like, worldwide, just the ones that are around me. I've been trying to live in the moment, on the couch, out of a suitcase, not knowing where I'll be in one month or six months or a year, but I don't think like it. It scares me. It bores me. Spontaneity is rad, but is it really spontaneous if it doesn't interrupt some plan that you thought you had?
On Wednesday I bought a plane ticket, out of New York. The idea is, I'll be gone for the year. The idea wasn't mine, but the plan is mine now. My plan is, I go away to Europe for a year, and when I come back, maybe I won't come back to New York at all. Maybe I'll go to Los Angeles, or New Orleans, or some pond upstate. Maybe I've got it even more than that all figured out already, but I'm just not going to tell you. It's all gonna go down the way I figured it out, or maybe something else will happen. I will try to keep you posted.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Arts In Review
You know that Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon Levitt movie that's all about how their characters' relationship doesn't work out? (In case you haven't heard of it, that's not a spoiler, that really is, supposedly, what the movie is all about.) Well, I just don't understand why anyone would waste Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon Levitt on a movie about BREAKING UP.
It is almost as bad as how that movie "Pumpkin" used every single Belle and Sebastian song from "If You're Feeling Sinister," and now every time I hear those songs in other movies I think of special needs athletes.
It is almost as bad as how that movie "Pumpkin" used every single Belle and Sebastian song from "If You're Feeling Sinister," and now every time I hear those songs in other movies I think of special needs athletes.
Monday, July 13, 2009
I heard this song was about art
The year was 1999.
Fringe, cowboy hats, and bedazzled clothing were making heads turn.
Bill Clinton was getting good press despite his recent impeachment hearing.
The Yankees swept their second World Series in a row.
Hilary Swank was in the prime of her career.
People really liked "American Beauty."
The music world seemed lost (well, except for that one Smog album). But then, as 1999 drew to a close, America witnessed a musical event that held all the promise of the new millenium:
Now, I am not trying to dispute the fact that Christopher Cross is an amazing musician, or that he has a voice of gold. But please, just watch this and try to tell me that the cover is not a worthy tribute to the original. First of all, look at J.C. Chasez jamming with C.C. at 2:00... you know he is a fan. Second, the Jesus poses. Third, how awesome were the late 90s? The Billboard Awards had so much money that they could just fly everyone over the audience... twice.
This one goes out to the haters, and the lovers. You know who you are. And so does J.C.
Fringe, cowboy hats, and bedazzled clothing were making heads turn.
Bill Clinton was getting good press despite his recent impeachment hearing.
The Yankees swept their second World Series in a row.
Hilary Swank was in the prime of her career.
People really liked "American Beauty."
The music world seemed lost (well, except for that one Smog album). But then, as 1999 drew to a close, America witnessed a musical event that held all the promise of the new millenium:
Now, I am not trying to dispute the fact that Christopher Cross is an amazing musician, or that he has a voice of gold. But please, just watch this and try to tell me that the cover is not a worthy tribute to the original. First of all, look at J.C. Chasez jamming with C.C. at 2:00... you know he is a fan. Second, the Jesus poses. Third, how awesome were the late 90s? The Billboard Awards had so much money that they could just fly everyone over the audience... twice.
This one goes out to the haters, and the lovers. You know who you are. And so does J.C.
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