I Pity The Fool

There are a couple of things I meant to discuss in previous posts, but never thought about it while sitting in front of the computer.  The first thing should have gone with my 5/21 post, Things I Saw This Week:

1. In Repose

I saw these two Chinese guys in the park, sleeping head to head on a bench.  A bicycle was chained to the back of the bench behind them.  What was funny (and made me wish I had my camera) is that both were trying to get comfortable in different ways: the one on the right had merely removed his shoes; the one on the left, however, was wearing a full helmet (like the kind that goes all the way around your head and chin), but using a stack of menus or flyers as a pillow.  Definitely a New York moment.

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2. Hipsters’ Teefs; Fanny-WACK.

The second item happened a long time ago, and concerns Hipsters.  My friend Lisa had attended a social gathering that was rife with these creatures…in and of itself, it might not have been notable, but for the fact that EVERY SINGLE ONE of them was wearing a FANNYPACK.  While certain people have pointed out that I myself may share some traits with these folks, in areas such as musical taste and choice of corrective eyewear, this is one trend I will never embrace.  Fannypacks look good on precisely NO ONE.  It doesn’t matter if you got it from the dollar bin at the senior thrift store or from a hot new designer that you hope no one discovers.  It doesn’t matter if you pair it with zippered jeans under white go-go boots, a Pucci original, or nothing at all.  Fat or thin, short or tall, hairy or bald as a newborn babe, it will do you NO FAVORS. 

But that’s not all.

Lisa also told me that the person who’d invited her to this shindig became greatly aroused by the sight of a young hipster lad sporting a fake mustache.  "I think fake mustaches are so hot," she sighed.  Lisa asked her how she felt about real mustaches.  "Oh no..Not so much," was more or less the response.  Does anyone else feel like the ridiculousness is WITHOUT END?!?!?  I even heard that there was a party at which every single guy was wearing a fake mustache, and supposedly the weird effect of having a mustache sans beard is totally intentional (i.e., the creepy pervert look), or even sought after by certain nubile hipster females.  Are you frickin’ kidding me?  Personally, I think very few men under the age of 40 can carry off facial hair in the first place, though I’ve met a few guys who were pretty well-groomed and looked nice that way.  My dad has had a mustache since before he met my mom, but thatwas in the 70s, and he’s now almost 55 years old…  Whereas somewhere, some scrawny little dweeb in a fannypack is deliberately and painstakingly endeavoring to adopt the barbershop quartet/pedophile look, to the delight of his fannypack-wearing girlfriend.

I want to start a hipster trend, just to see how far these freaks will go.  I decided that I will start telling people that it is really HOT to wear nightgear.  You know, those retainers that go all the way around your head by means of a stretchy band.  It will be super sexy to wear one even if you’ve never had to have orthodonture.  Lots of kids won’t have to spend so much money on expensive hair products that make them look like they just woke up, because the elastic headgear band will be smack in the middle of their coiffure, drawing all the attention. 

The hardcore, authentic hipsters will dig through cardboard boxes of juvenilia at their parents’ homes, searching for old skool nightgear that belonged to them or their siblings during the awkward years.  Every new band that has an exclamation point in the middle of its hard-fought name will need to wear headgear to establish hipster credibility.  Creative art students will construct and decorate their own sets.  Meanwhile, those who were cursed with perfect teeth from birth, yet lack the DIY spirit of the artists, will have to beg, borrow, or steal.  Lock up your supply cabinets, orthodontists…

For trends of the future, I’m thinking bloomers.  Oh yeah, under those micromini skirts, they’ll be killer.

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In Other News: Pomp and Circumstance.

The last thing is not something I forgot to mention, since it only happened on this past Wednesday.  I have now been officially hooded!  No, this doesn’t mean initiated into a gang of malicious 13-year-old street rats…it means that I attended my graduation ceremony and received my doctoral academic attire.  Although it felt a little anticlimactic, since I still have another month of the internship to go, it was nice to go through the experience with the majority of my classmates.  Now all I have to do is survive another 23 workdays (and counting!), plus submit 5 or 6 copies of my dissertation to the psych dept.  All but one of these have to be on special paper- it’s like one final kick in the nuts to my bank account from the university.  After that, I’m free, free, free…and I’m DR. Liz to you!

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Ode to Public Transportation.

Yes, many bizarre and unfortunate things have happened to me whilst in transit.  On the other hand, plenty of fodder for creativity has sprung from NYC’s seamy underground underbelly.  And in a certain strange way, comfort.  If you’re interested in reading a paean to my personal favorite subway line (hint: the color of this section’s title!), go here.

Have a great holiday weekend, all who were kind enough to read through to the end!

That title is a reference to Matt Groening’s seminal cartoons, in case you didn’t realize.

Anyway, I’m actually off from work this week.  And you’re about to see just how valuably I’m spending my free time (well, some of it).  I finally pieced together a couple of photos I’ve taken of the eensy weensy office, for those who are curious.  The shape is so awkward that you can’t get the whole thing in one frame, despite its small size.  I also just realized that you can’t see exactly how low the ceiling is. 

One strange advantage we have over many of the other workers in this group of offices is that we actually do have windows, and a bit of natural light.  That is, whatever light manages to find its way down below street level, through two small holes…  Using my awesome Paint skills, I’ve added the window areas (complete with sprayed in plants and lamp on the deep ledge, plus dirt and stuff outside the window in the holes). 

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(Click photo to see full size.)

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Note that you can also see my stalwart companion C. on the right, at her desk.  Between her desk and mine is a giant wooden filing cabinet which contains NOTHING of ours.  On top of it, among other things, is a computer belonging to our supervisor (who quit months ago), from the Jurassic era of neuropsych research.  Very useful.  You can also see that weird niche in the back corner where there’s another filing cabinet and a mini-fridge donated about 15 years ago by Hadassah or something.

Any thoughts now about my stress-related illness?  The enigma laid plain (actually, this picture makes it look nicer than it is).

Bless This Mess.

1. I saw a man save a bird.

He was running across the street towards Central Park.  He was wearing a suit and leather gloves, and holding something in his hands.  He ran right up to the stone fence around the park, then carefully placed something on the ledge.  What was it?  A bird!  A very surprised-looking little bird that he must have saved.  I didn’t see where he came from or where he went, but I wondered what happened.  Maybe it had flown into one of the nearby buildings or against a window.  I smiled at him and he smiled back at me.

2. I saw something shiny.

It turned out to be a pretty chandelier-style earring that must have either fallen apart, or gotten pulled until its pieces scattered.  I hoped that the wearer would come back and find it, though probably not, since it was in the park.  I wished I had my camera, since it looked neat there.  But also, I didn’t want to hang around there longer, because of something else I’d seen nearby: two teenage boys, one of whom was peeing against a tree by the park transverse.

3. I saw someone I try to avoid.

Specifically, I saw the creepy guy who may or may not have been watching me for the past several years.  He often hangs out at the Tea Lounge near my house, with or without his creepy friend.  He asked me for my phone number once around 5 or so years ago, despite the fact that he is probably older than my dad.  I don’t go into the Tea Lounge very often, especially not when he’s there (which is frequent)  I’ve seen him staring at me when I’m on my way home from the train station, and try not to make eye contact.  I worry about him figuring out where I live.

Anyway, yesterday I was taking some photos around the block from my house, and someone walked right by me, saying, "hi."  I started to say respond, reflexively, but then I realized who it was.  The word sort of died on my lips and became a groan.  But THEN, I think he took that as a sign that he could continue talking to me!  I was so shocked, that even though he must have said something like, "How are we doing?" I blinked and went back to my photography.  He got mad!  This creep angrily pointed out that he had just said hi to me, and snapped, "Are you MUTE?!"  I was so flustered that I didn’t know what to do or say.  He started off down the street and then kept turning around and looking at me again. 

I felt menaced- I had been standing there, minding my own business, and I had no responsibility to talk to some random person on the street.  When I told my parents about it, my mom was understanding, but I was disappointed in my dad’s reaction.  He’s a friendly person and he tends to give others the benefit of the doubt, so his response was to tell me that when someone says hello to you, you should say hello back.  I pointed out that this was unwanted attention from someone who I intentionally avoid.  I don’t know if the creep remembers the specific reason why I don’t talk or make eye contact with him, but it’s not like we know each other.  I’m sure if I wasn’t alone, he would never have felt so bold.  There are some people in the neighborhood that I would have no problem greeting, but this man is not one of them.

I guess I won’t be going to the Tea Lounge again anytime soon.

ONLY READ THIS POST IF YOUR OPINION OF ME WON’T CHANGE

after hearing about my gastrointestinal ailments…I’m not easily embarassed, but maybe my readers are…

Monday night was ugly.  I’ll spare you the details, but it involved multiple incidences of waking up to excruciating abdominal pain.  By 6 AM I couldn’t even sleep anymore, yet I reasoned that if I didn’t even go in to my office at all, no one could telephone my patients in time to cancel their appointments.  Perhaps this was overly martyr-esque thinking on my part, but since they live pretty far away from the Hospital, I didn’t want them to have to shlep there for nothing.  So, at 6:30 I went to the train, and somehow kept myself from becoming "The Sick Passenger" who holds everyone else up on their morning commutes.

I don’t know what time my building officially opens in the morning, but I was glad that I was right in thinking it’d already be open at 7:30.  I went in, found my patients’ numbers, and began telephoning.  One of them was sleeping when I called, and not too happy, but I’m sure that was better than having to take a futile 40-minutes-each-way train ride after school.  Unfortunately, I had already planned on taking next week off, so I won’t see any of those kids for another two weeks instead of just one.  But it’s not like I could have realistically sat there in gut-wrenching agony while continuing to function as a mental health professional…

Originally, I meant to come back to my neighborhood and go to the ER at my local hospital, so I could be closer to home.  My stabbing pains informed me otherwise.  I checked myself in at the hospital where I work, and my mom ultimately made the trek to come and join me.  If you’ve read this far, there’s no turning back.  I’ll spare you most of the details, other than a moment of humor that will just prove to you that in sickness and health, the punchy Liz always manages to squeeze in a joke.  During my first alien anal probing (I had THREE different G.I. exams yesterday that involved going in through the back door), I somehow pulled it together enough to ask the cute ER resident if he found my missing keys up there.

Anyway, I’m home again today, still under the weather but improving.  According to the gastroenterologist that I saw in the afternoon, I have ischemic colitis.  It mostly affects old people, but apparently, I’m special.  The good news is that in theory, it goes away in a fairly short period of time and is not chronic.  Between now and that point, I’m on Percaset and anti-inflammatories.  So if anyone is bored today and feels like giving me a call, go for it.

My aunt came over for dinner last night, and for anyone who doesn’t know, my aunt is crazy.  Not the fun kind of crazy, like people who make up their own words to Christmas carols (so that Jingle Bells becomes a celebration of interplanetary travel- this happened in the waiting room at my old job, btw).  No, my aunt is the bad kind of crazy: like people who lose their eyeglasses in the train station because they think someone’s spying on them; like people who can’t fully open any of the doors inside their apartment because they’ve compulsively hoarded so much stuff that it’s in the way; like people who can’t follow the thread of a conversation and start screaming at you in a restaurant.  So anyway, the only way some of us can cope with this is by having a sense of humor about it.  In this case, my aunt was almost an hour late for dinner, and then when she got to our house, she spent most of the time ignoring our conversation.  Whenever she wasn’t shoveling food into her mouth, she often muttered angrily to herself.  This led to a series of amusing jokes after she left:

Me: "Angry muttering: entertaining families at dinner for over 6,000 years!"

Justin: "There’s no muttering like angry muttering."

Lauren (later, when told about the original conversation): "It’s just not family without angry muttering!"

We could go on and on.

Before my aunt left, she also got in a fight with my dad about what Turkish people look like (incidentally, he had only repeated something my grandmother said earlier, as she got home from her trip there yesterday).  She also got irritated at me for not making coffee, since the rest of us had only had tea.

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Oh, and by the way: I realize you might be sick of hearing about my spam, but I need you to know something.  If you want information on Vlipagra, Levitsra, or Cialpis [sic], just tell me.  I’ll forward you the message I got from "Lockjaw C. Liquidizing."

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Lastly, did anyone else see Mr. T. on Conan O’Brien last week?  CLASSIC.

Is it wrong of me that I’d like for Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas to be in some sort of horror movie or TV show, so I can see something bad happen to her?

I’m not saying something bad in real life.

It would be great if they showed that part in the commercial, so I wouldn’t even have to bother to watch the actual show or movie.

I don’t know why.  She just bothers me.

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Actually, when looking for a suitable image to link to this post, I discovered that she has apparently been featured on The Sopranos, as well as the upcoming remake of The Poseidon Adventure.  So maybe this was already in my subconscious?  Nevertheless, I have felt this way about her for a long time.  I was reminded of it by inadvertently seeing the Black Eyeed Peas on TV last night, performing a slightly off-key rendition of a classic Latin song.  And Lisa knows who does the best version of a certain provocative ditty…

http://www.maratechnology.com/fergie/

I think spammers are either losing it or getting more creative.  I just wanted to share some of the names in the recent "From" fields of my spam:

                                       Liesl Diaz

                                       Itzhak Browning

                                       Chauvinist A. Spline

                                       Beck B. Druid

                                       Tuomo Stolle

                                       Subsisted M. Mansard

                                       Budgerigar H. Marked

HUH?

[Addendum, Monday afternoon: a spammer called "Zeru Roache" just wrote me a message "Re: the AMBtexN" (presumably, Ambien).  Without opening it, I can read the first few lines of text.  They looked somewhat familiar.  Googling it, I discovered that it was a section of The Hobbit...

Addendum #2, Tuesday evening: just got a message from "Jayson U. Neurons"...he wants me to know about $tyles of RePLIcA -ATCHES!  Sweeeet...

Addendum #3, Wednesday morning: there's a treat in my inbox from "Ridiculous U. Celibacy."  I'm so glad he knew how to reach me.]

Actually, this blog is not going national by any stretch of the imagination, other than the obvious fact that anybody with an internet connection can see it.  No, instead my brother forwarded me this link today, about Mr. T’s new advice show of the same title, "I Pity The Fool."

So what’s next for me: a name change?  Probably not.  My readership is small and of sufficient intelligence not to confuse my self-centered ramblings with the magnanimous mission that a certain well-regarded (and emulated?) celebrity has undertaken, of dispensing carefully thought-out advice to the masses.  I have no such noble aspiration here; rather, I attempt to amuse anyone who is bored enough to keep reading.

So in short, I think this mighty nation is big enough for TWO IPTFs.

Stay tuned…

This post has nothing whatsoever to do with the 80s hit of the same name.  It’s only that I couldn’t think of a better way to describe my emotional rollercoaster of today on the phone with various entities related to the $1300+ (!?!?!) health care bill I recently received.  I opened it on Saturday and got extremely stressed out to begin with.  I’ll spare you the details of my conversation with my dad, let’s just say he meant well but was not exactly a comfort.  Yesterday it sort of ebbed; between that and some other issues I was totally depressed, so I decided to go out and try to distract myself by petting as many peoples’ dogs as would let me.  Life just seems a little less horrible when somebody is licking your hand.

Anyway, this morning after shelling out for certification-related money orders (the most annoying form of commerce as far as I’m concerned) and getting fingerprinted (narrowly avoiding fingerprinting my jeans as well), I got on the phone at work.  I think the total number of calls I made was 6, three of which were to the billing dept. of the hospital where I used to get allergy shots, one to the allergy clinic itself, and the other 3 to the offices of my former health insurance provider.  I was dreading this all weekend, as insurance is definitely the worst form of bureacracy I’ve ever had to deal with.  While 6 of the 7 calls were not too bad, there was one that was just brutal.  This evil insurance lady who talks at the top of her voice really did her best to make me feel like an ignorant turd.  And she’s probably the employee of the month over there.

At the end of the ordeal, I seemed to have reached something of an impasse; a different insurance lady told me that I had no responsibility for the issue, and the hospital biller told me that I should call back in 2 months to find out what happens. But I still felt like I had given myself an ulcer, at the very least.  I managed to pull myself together to finish up my other responsibilities of the day, but allow me to illustrate what the physical manifestation of my psyche would look like:

(If you’re curious, that’s Malachi from the Lenore comics.)