I Pity The Fool

I did a good deed tonight.  Lately, anytime I come home with an unlimited daily MetroCard (aka "FunPass"), I sort of hang around by the token booth and wait to give it to someone.  Last time, I waited for someone who looked like they might need it…most people ignore me, but one older gent came over and was concerned that I might be lost or have some other problem.  I explained what I was doing, told him that he was the first/only person who spoke to me, and gave him the MetroCard.  He was, needless to say, pleasantly surprised.  Then tonight, I was standing around, being bypassed by the usual self-absorbed hipsters, when I noticed a woman frantically attempting to wrangle the MetroCard machine.  She kept turning around to seek guidance from the token booth clerk, who waved ministerially back in the direction of the row of machines.  Sensing a mitzvah* opportunity, I went over and asked her if she needed help.  After meeting with the same touch-screen problem as she did, I noticed she was waving around just $2 (the cost of one ride).  I said, "Do you just need one ride?"  She answered in the affirmative.  Happily, I pulled my FunPass out of my pocket and offered it to her, explaining that it was good just for today, and I no longer needed it.  She was astonished, and asked me a few times if I was sure.  "Yes," I told her, "I’m just going home.  It’s only good for today.  Take it!"  She smiled, and said to me, "You’re blessed.  Good karma, good karma, thank you!"  She hit the nail on the head- I wouldn’t say I’m a superstitious person, but in the past couple of years I’ve been making more of a concerted effort to live according to the principle of adding more positive energy to the world.  I believe or hope that by helping others when possible, you may be more likely to have good things happen back to you…and if not, at least you’ve brightened someone’s day and spread the love, so to speak.  I honestly do hope for good karma, consider "do unto others," etc., which is why I try as often as possible to do things like giving my cold medicine and tea to a sick coworker, leaving my number on the windshield of that car I accidentally scratched (when I could easily have gotten away with it) and paying the repair bill, etc.  I never actually saw that movie, Pay It Forward, but I certainly understand and attempt to live by the general principle…almost went so far as to say to the lady at the train station tonight, "Just pay it forward!" when she actually called down the stairs after me to see if I wanted her $2…but I thought that might confuse her.  Instead, I shook my head, smiled, and waved at her as she scampered off with my MetroCard, her $2, and a moment’s worth of human kindness.
I like doing good unto others.  Maybe that marginally improved karma will help me get my landlady to install that extra electrical outlet she promised, or help find $15 at a karaoke bar again, or help get someone I love to notice me more…  At least, it seems like a better strategy than hanging around underneath birds’ nests…but either way, I feel good for helping a stranger tonight.

* mitzvah = Jewish word for a good deed.

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It has indeed been awhile since my last post, and I’ve given up on making promises to recount the tales of this or that excursion, amusing anecdote, or what-have-you.  At the risk of disappointing my readers a bit, I’m just going to provide a couple of news updates in short form:

• I had a great time in Chicago, being taken care of by two of my dearest friends in the world.  They’d never met before, but I was glad they got along and I was able to spend time with both of them.  Most importantly, I got some much-needed down time away from work/summer in NYC/etc. with two loyal friends who really know how to take care of me…with the possible exception of attention to sun damage.
• I somehow made it to the end of the summer school session.  Actually, in some respects it went quite well, and it’s hard to imagine how exactly I would have passed the time without that structure…plus extra money’s always good.
• After this I visited one of my favorite cousins, Dave, out in California with his wife Becky and son Dean.  I’d never met Dean before, though he’s already 16 months old.  Click here to see evidence of his budding comic genius, and try to ignore my maniacal laughter.  Over the course of the 5 days I was there, I saw everything from kids in cowboy outfits riding bucking sheep in the bullpen of the State Fair; to hiking a poison oak-lined trail along a cliff while my cousin was getting paid to take work-related phonecalls on his two cellphones; to about 2000 rubber ducks being dropped off a bridge for a "race" (aided by boats with water guns) while a wacky marching band from UC Davis (my pics aren’t uploaded yet, but their website is here) danced and rolled around on the ground, all while playing tubas and glockenspiels.
• I made the most of my remaining vacation days here in NYC: seeing friends, visiting museums, attempting to further modify my surroundings (apartment), etc.  Going back to work still felt like I never left, though.
• A couple of friends are in from out of town, and I’ve been traipsing all over the place with them.  Helen (a fellow shrink and Flickrite from England) accompanied me to the ever-delicious Shake Shack the other day.  Then today, I went to Coney Island and Brighton Beach with James, who was my penpal of sorts back in high school…he says I should just call him my friend (less complicated), but I kind of like the old-skool connotation of having communicated with him by post for a few years…despite the fact that we fell out of touch and reconnected a couple of years ago through the modern miracle of Friendster.  Anyway, James was dealing with some post-festive bodily complaints, but he gamely agreed to sample a Nathan’s hot dog with me. He passed on the Cyclone, though.  This being the potential last summer that this landmark (and historically deadly!) attraction is actually open for public use, Karin and I decided to take our very first ride on it (we are lifelong Brooklynites, by the way).  So yes, folks, among my many accomplishments today, I can announce that I have officially lost my Cyclone virginity.  And I will never go on that terrifying old beast again!  Pics (naturally) to follow.

That’s all for now, I think.  I’ll spare you the descriptions of exciting (to me) Target purchases, songs remembered from childhood (perhaps next time) and recent meals I cooked (Last night was a success, but the night before was gross- who ever thought you could screw up a soup?  Yet due to my obsession with not wasting food, I didn’t throw it away…instead I left it at my family’s house today, knowing someone will eat it at some point). 
Hope you are all well, if anyone’s actually reading this.

Actually, getting out of Cali wasn’t the problem at all.  My cousin’s wife drove me to the airport in Sacramento this morning, where I had plenty of time to browse the gift shop and ultimately pick up a "Governator" t-shirt, all while talking to my dad on the phone.  I flew to Denver, trying out my brand-new earplugs (also bought at the airport), and discovered that there really is a ton of noise on airplanes when you compare earplug-wearing to non-earplug wearing. 

I dealt with the awkward issue of knowing someone nearby is doing something inappropriate, but not wanting to be the jerk/party-pooper/OCD-ish nerd who has to point it out…  Specifically, the girl next to me was actually trying to use her cellphone, over and over again, while we were in flight.  She was around 16 or 17 years old, I think, and appeared to be traveling with her grandma.  One or both of them should absolutely have known better.  I sat there agonizing over whether to say something, and how that might adversely affect the remainder of the flight time spent right next to them…praying that one of the flight attendants would see it and say something, so I wouldn’t have to do so.  Why has our society degraded to the point where those of us who *know* we’re right are afraid to comment on those who are doing something wrong?  I know in my case, it’s usually because the person misbehaving strikes me as equally likely to do something combative, violent, or otherwise disturbing…making me weigh the pros and cons of whether to say anything at all.  I guess it also depends on whether whatever the person is doing is harmful, or basically harmless (even if rude).  In this case, I observed that the girl sort of hid her phone under her tray table when the flight attendant gave us our drinks…in other words, she obviously knew what she was doing wasn’t cool.  I rehearsed in my mind the argument I imagined might result from speaking up:

"I’m not a pilot or any other kind of expert, but there’s obviously a reason why people are not allowed to use devices that can send and receive information…I’ve heard it can interfere with the pilot’s system…if everyone was doing what you’re doing, we’d all have to suffer through a hundred people’s mindless phone conversations…You must be aware that this is not okay, since this cannot possibly be your first time on an airplane -your Southern accent reveals that you’re not from Sacramento- plus they announced it when we took off, I heard them and so did everybody else…etc., etc., etc."

But, as luck would have it, I didn’t really have to defend my position.  Instead, I took up courage (I mean, what’s a 17-year-old white girl really going to do to me in mid-air, in front of her grandmother and dozens of other witnesses?), and looked directly at her.  I said something like, "You know, you’re really not supposed to be using your cellphone while we’re in flight."  She looked the tiniest bit sheepish, and actually answered, "Yeah, actually I’m not really getting a good signal up here anyway."  Firmly (i.e., without too much quavering in my voice -why the hell should I be afraid of this teenage girl?!?), I responded along the lines of, "Well, actually you shouldn’t even have it on at all while we’re in the air."  With a barely perceptible eyeroll, she more or less admitted I was right.  A moment later, she turned off the goddamned phone.  She did, however, continue to play with it, opening and closing it, etc., for the remainder of the flight; I kept watch out of the corner of my eye, but didn’t really make eye contact after that, despite the fact that I basically won. 

I felt like telling her, "We don’t have to be sitting here like this- I don’t like being *that person,* but honestly, you made me be that person.  I’ll even give you a piece of gum if you just accept the fact that you do not have the right to endanger the lives of everybody else on this aircraft.  Seriously!"  But instead, I said nothing, and hurried off the plane in Denver as soon as I could get out of there.  Incidentally, I wondered if I was overreacting on the safety issue- it’s possible.  I looked up this question on the internet just now, and it seems that information sources disagree on how dangerous it is or isn’t to use cellphones during flight.  That said, I have to point something out: even when a rule may need to be changed or updated, based on more current data, I don’t feel like the musings of a 17-year-old girl count as fighting oppression.  I honestly believe that unless a rule/law is actively hampering your safety/well-being, you should just stick with it until it changes…this is, essentially, the social contract by which we should all agree to live.  Unfortunately, less and less people give a flying f–k about the social contract.  Coincidentally, many of these people are the ones having the most babies…which is why this movie is funny AND scary, and also why I will probably NEVER be out of a job.  I suppose that wha may have bothered me almost as much as the potential safety hazard is that once again, someone with a completely unjustified sense of entitlement decided that rules don’t apply to her, because she’s just such a special individual…and for once, not an individual who scared me enough to make me keep quiet.

***Hey folks, I’m just warming up.  It’s 1:23 AM here, but I’m still on West Coast time!***

So anyway, once I got to Denver, I had time to eat the sandwich I’d brought with me, plus buy a cookie, and stretch my legs a bit before my boarding time…at which point I learned that due to inclement weather in New York, my flight home would be delayed an extra 90 minutes or so.  Argh!  In case you’ve ever wondered, Denver does not have a very interesting or exciting airport, especially when you’ve been told not to stray too far from the gate in case anything changes.  You want to take the opportunity to walk around and get the old blood circulating, but you’re afraid of losing your precious seat, on the off chance that you wind up with further delays.

You have a magazine, most of which you’ve already perused, but you don’t want to buy another book and you’re too annoyed to read, anyway.  When we finally did board the plane, they apologized and declared that the Direct TV service, normally priced at $5 (the free headsets are just to tempt and sucker you in) would be provided free of charge.  The movies, on the other hand, would still cost $8.  Yes, $8 to watch a movie on that little seatback screen, $8 I’d resisted on my trip out to CA because I thought it seemed like highway robbery.  However, since I’d finished my book on the trip out, and had five or so days to think about it, I’d already resolved myself to shelling out the $8 sometime yesterday.  I chose Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End, because I guess I would have rented it eventually anyway, and at 160 minutes, would last almost the entire duration of the beleaguered DEN-LGA flight.  It was long-winded (sort of like the majority of my blog posts), at times confusing, and far from perfect…however, it kept me completely occupied and that itself was rather a blessing. 

Incidentally, I also decided to shell out for a cab home, since I knew I wouldn’t even be leaving the airport til 10:30 or 11.  At least now I know that even with a nighttime surcharge, and a decent tip, the cab fare from LaGuardia to my new ‘hood nearby is only $13: $11 more than bus/train, but faster, door-to-door, and at 11 PM, a mere week after a sexual assault two blocks from my house (also at 11 PM), and in the context of my almost year-long gainful employement…it’s well worth the comfort and peace of mind.

***Switching gears once more before I go to bed.***

The following is a fair representation of what was on my mind during much of my trip to California.  I wanted to post it on Monday, but couldn’t get my cousin’s internet connection to work.  I’d like to post it here now, and then continue on with an overall account of my three trips this summer…next time…though I realize that however small my readership is, it must be vaguely annoying to you (if you care) that I keep promising something along these lines, and failing to deliver.  Hope I’ve provided some amusement in the meantime.

Now here’s the bit that I wrote on Monday, edited somewhat since it came from a letter I was writing to my friend, C.  The title would have been something like, "On Parenthood," except hopefully more clever:

I’m actually in California now, at my cousin’s house, while
he and his wife are both at work. Their
16-month old son, Dean, is at childcare- I could have watched him if necessary,
but it’s sort of nice that they didn’t want to make me do it. I have been having a lot of fun with him
over the past few days, but it’s definitely taught me that I am not ready to be
a parent! Even having been a long-term
babysitter (for a school-aged child, though), not to mention a child
psychologist (who had to take all those classes in development)- these things
aren’t quite the same exposure to babies as actually living with one. I don’t think I’ve spent more than a couple
of hours with a baby since my brother was one, and he’s 25 now.

Living here for the past few days has really brought home
the point of why everyone always says young parents look “happy, but
tired”…also why the ones who are actually good parents seem to rarely get the
chance to go out and do something for themselves. Of course, intellectually I knew this…but actually seeing it in
person really brings the point home. Becky and David are every bit as wonderful as parents as I knew they
would be. They always seemed like my cousins
who were fun, and close to my age, but just a bit older and wiser. Now, in spite of parents, they seem more
like peers (they’re about 2.5 and 4 years older than me, respectively, but once
you’re adults it doesn’t make such a big difference), in spite of having
already accomplished two major life milestones (i.e., getting married and
becoming parents).

On the other hand, now that I’m around the same age she was
when she got pregnant, I can understand much more her uncertainty, anxiety, and
self-questioning. Personally, I never
thought that the two of them should worry about whether they’d be great
parents, because to me it seemed obvious (though of course, the hubris of
anybody just assuming from the get-go that they would be great parents, would
almost surely preclude them from actually being great parents!). At the same time though, I had some
understanding about the important sacrifices any great parent would have to
make for the benefit of a child…albeit solely intellectual understanding, not
experiential. Now that I’ve been here a
little while, I have an inkling of the true sacrifices to your personal,
marital, social, financial, and overall life that are necessary…delicately
balanced on the belief that it will all be worth it, that your child will grow
up to be a wonderful person and an active participant in a strong, happy
family.

Now as most people know, especially those who work with the
population that I do, such forethought/insight/philosophy/deliberation rarely
factors into childbearing (I was going to say family planning, but “planning”
is really not an issue in many of these cases) for a substantial proportion of
young parents in the U.S. today. Many
people become parents who are not at all prepared to make even basic sacrifices
to their selfish lifestyles…sometimes (especially if there are other, more
mature role models and caretakers around), their kids turn out okay
anyway. Conversely, there are families
in which the parents seem to have done everything right, but their kids
inexplicably hate them, go down the “wrong path,” etc. Parenting is such a gamble…yet, in my
opinion, there are still things you can do to improve your family’s odds. I can honestly say that D. and B. are really
doing an amazing job- I’m proud of them, and inspired. That said, they’ve also shown me the truth
about parenting. It is not easy, even
when you have two stable, educated parents, adequate resources, a spacious
home, and a loving marriage. I think
that if they hadn’t been together for so long beforehand (they’ve been married
for five years, but were together almost continuously since high school!),
parenthood could have put much more of a strain on their relationship.

Among other things, it’s reinforced the point to me that if
I ever do get married, I want to spend a few years just enjoying the time spent
with my husband, and not jump headlong into raising a family. I think I’ll be ready for it someday, but
for now, I want to enjoy the opportunity to do things just because I feel like
doing them, without worrying about the effects on another, tiny human
being. Like so many other middle-class,
bourgeois young people, I have worked hard for my accomplishments, and I want
to enjoy them for now…while I can.

***One last, unrelated thing.***

A classmate/reunion-planning buddy of mine recently referenced my blog on his own (check it out, he’s a good writer…and much more succinct than I am!).  He also pointed out the utter hideousness of the ads that Friendster tacks on, particularly the irritating voices that tell you about emoticons, free i-phones, or what have you.  All I can say is, I’m sorry about that.  In fact, a year or so ago, when Friendster first started doing that, I actually used to add a little apology/disclaimer at the end of each post…til I just got fed up with the redundancy.  And speaking of redundancy, all I can say is, I’m sorry…

A woman was attacked two blocks away from my house last night.  When I got home this evening, I was carrying three bags and hastening to get my keys out.  Unfortunately, the bag I dropped on the sidewalk was the one containing my poor, now-pulverized bottle of Kindzmarauli.  I bought it at this Brighton Beach liquor store* while on my Andrew Zimmern-inspired gastronomic mini-tour of the area.  Click here to see my photos!
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Last night, it’s entirely possible that I might have been around on the street to be victimized, but instead of having a lengthy, solo train ride, I was lucky enough to get a ride home.  I’d been at a barbecue in Farmingdale, Long Island, since about 2:30 PM.  It was organized by one of my coworkers, and her brother and his family felt that driving me home was a better choice than dropping me off for a three-train trip home.  The party was a very Long Island-type of celebration**, reminiscent of barbecues I’ve attended with my own cousins who live out there.  The conversations are pleasant, but completely apolitical; people compliment each other on their expensive (whether authentic or not) jewelry/watches/leather goods/home electronics; everyone eats until digestive consequences are *imminent.*  There were definitely a few people there who didn’t listen to a word I said, as well as incredibly spoiled children (since when does a 12-year-old need his own cellphone?  Or get to use the word "shit" multiple times in conversation with his parents, aunts, and uncles?).  However, I have to acknowledge that nobody made me feel the least bit unwelcome; no one was pretentious or affected; certainly no one above the age of 13 acted like you’re an idiot if you don’t like the same bands as they do.  There’s something about people who are just simple and genuine, no matter how different their individual tastes/politics/background may be from your own, that can be refreshing…especially compared to the often tiresome experience of trying to meet new people my own age in this big damn city who don’t need to feel superior in some way.
That said, I still felt the need to recount my surreal ride home last night.  After they were essentially volunteered to give me a ride back to NYC, my coworker’s brother C. and his wife M. talked right through my awkward attempts at conversation, in between yelling at their kids in the back of the SUV.***  Mercifully, M. cranked up the radio, sparing me from any further inclination toward small talk…I was grateful despite her choice of KTU (even her daughter objected, though her request for Z100 would not have made much of a difference).  M. was basically on edge for almost the entire car ride, although she chilled out a bit when quizzing us on trivia gleaned from one of those spam emails that’s been going around for about a million years (e.g., a pregnant goldfish is called a twit…).  But once again, I really did overlook the social awkwardness of the atmosphere in appreciation for the goodhearted and sincere offer of a ride home: to my door, in fact.  All differences aside, some people are prepared to offer kindness and help someone who needs it; I’ve certainly encountered others with politics or education more similar to my own, who would have been much more reluctant to go out of their way to help.
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Speaking of my home, I’ve continued to have somewhat frustrating interactions with my landlady.  I no longer find her quite as alluring as Little Orphan Annie (remember that?) ; in fact, I’m still trying to figure out whether the issue is that she’s ditzy (as I’d presumed), or duplicitous, or both.  I have definitely noticed that communication with her is much more effective in person than over the phone (much less, laughable attempts to convey information to her via notes that she almost certainly does not read).  She did indicate awareness of my question (via voicemail) about when someone is coming to measure the windows…however, she feigned total ignorance regarding installing a new electrical outlet (something SHE originally mentioned to ME!), among other issues.  And a week or two ago, she tried to convince me that the "waterbugs" I’ve observed are due to the fact that we live near the park (yet not as close as I lived to Prospect Park for approximately 24 years of my life).****  On the other hand, she is genuinely ditzy- she left her phone up here today, for example.
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I still haven’t told you about my trips to DC and Chicago.  Thursday, I leave for California.  This post is long already.  I don’t know how many of you honestly care that much about what happened on my trips, but then again, you’ve read this far. ;)  I’ll try to post an amusing anecdote or two, unadulterated by talk of SUVs, roaches great and small, or Landlady.  Coming soon.
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Notes:
*Check out their sign:

If you look at the photos, you’ll see more pics from the liquor store, including booze bottles shaped like Santa.

**before any Long Island people get insulted, notice that I compared the partygoers to MY OWN RELATIVES.  And I am perfectly aware that not everyone from Long Island is like that!

***Why do Americans need to purchase 7-seater, gas-guzzling cars for a family of four?  When my parents got a new car in late 1985, I remember finding it luxurious due to the fact that it had four doors, back windows that could actually roll down, and plush seating instead of the vinyl that burns your ass in the summertime.  Not to mention the fact that today’s children are too unimaginative to even look out the window on cartrips anymore; instead, they all need their own personal DVD players, handheld game systems, or what-have-you.

****The situation continues to be traumatic.  Tonight there was one crawling around by my showerhead.  It escaped my frantic spraying of household cleansers by crawling behind the sink.  I sprayed around the whole area and emptied out the cabinet down there…I’ve been resisting buying Raid, or any other truly poisonous materials (the nontoxic choice is mint oil, but I don’t know where to get it), but when you’re at the point of spraying ammonia-based glass cleanser in the same vicinity as your toothbrush, what difference does it make?  Either that, or I have to buy that giant box of Borax I saw in the supermarket, I suppose…
Worst of all: last week, I got out of bed one morning, sent off a quick message to my carpool buddy, and walked over to the dresser…where I felt something WARM and CRUNCHY underfoot.  Horror of horrors!  The bug flipped over onto its back and waved frantically.  I ran for the orange-clean spray and Oust, and sprayed it, suppressing my screams.  It continued to wiggle.  I got into the shower and scrubbed my foot three times or so.  The damned thing was still alive when I got out!  In the end, I got a handful of paper towels, squished it, scooped it up, and threw it in the trash (then scrubbed the floor).  I don’t know how I deal with this, other than having to recount it to as many people as possible.  Taste my pain!

I just ate ten (10) "Light, Flaky, Buttery…CLUB crackers."  It’s getting harder and harder to wait for K. to get here to have lunch, but I guess I should be happy that any one is willing to trek up to Astoria at all…particularly in light of this morning’s freak storm.  Did you hear that there was a tornado watch in BROOKLYN, of all places?!  Of course, now that I live 5 minutes away from work, it’s both a blessing and a curse…virtually no excuse ever to miss work due to weather or transportation delays.
As a matter of fact, my carpool buddy picked me up right in front of my house, and we got to work earlier than usual.
We were the only ones there.
We sat around wondering what would happen, answering the phone, and wishing we’d brought a DVD.  Then, about an hour later, our supervisor Ms. T. showed up.  I was pretty sure I’ve mentioned her previously in this blog, and…yep, apparently I christened her "Shelob" at one point.  Over the course of the year, my working relationship with her has actually improved/mellowed quite a bit.  However, this does not make her any less bizarre, overbearing, or obtuse than she was all along…it’s just funnier now. 
For example, let’s discuss our end of the year party for clinicians; she refers to it as a "meeting," supposedly so we can have it during school hours…but really it’s so that she can mandate our attendance…yet I had to pay $10 anyway!  She handed out notices/invitations a couple of weeks beforehand, with the name of the event in big letters across a flier that must have taken her hours to create.  The name, without any intentional irony, was Afternoon Delight (!)…this of course immediately set my mind racing to THIS, not to mention compelled me to show the flier to pretty much everyone else at work.  The party was supposed to be a luau, complete with lei-wearing (no roast pig, though), as well as gift-giving and announcements.  Ms. T. referred to me as "the baby of the group…who took our hearts by storm this year!"  I felt like I was winning an Oscar.  She also thought I was turning 22 on my last birthday…when I pointed out that I would have had to have been a child prodigy of some sort to have received my doctorate at age 21, she told me that she herself was a prodigy.  I resisted the urge to verbalize my conjecture that perhaps she meant a savant…although then again, savants have to be especially good at something.
But, as so often happens, I digress.
The point of this story was to tell you what happened when Ms. T. tried to illustrate her point about disliking crossword puzzles.  Arbitrarily, she picked a clue which she must have thought would be difficult to solve: "42. Erect…I don’t know what that is!" 

"How many letters?" I asked, carefully.  She said there were five, and I immediately responded, "Build."  She seemed surprised, but my colleague J. agreed with me.

Moments later, when Ms. T’s attention was diverted, I passed J. a note that said the answer might alternately have been "Boner," and WHY of all possible clues did she have to pick that one?!?  Needless to say, everyone else will hear this anecdote as well…it’s a small reward after having spent possibly the longest 2.5 hours of my life trying to participate in conversation with Ms. T. this morning.
In other news, I finally finished uploading my photos of Hungary from last summer.  This leaves Vienna and Italy, plus the rest of the pictures from my trips to the Netherlands and Phoenix this year.  And speaking of trips, I recently visited friends in both DC and Chicago.  I keep saying I’m going to post about these things with further elaboration, but my thoughts are not yet coherent.  Perhaps it’s sunstroke!
K. just called and I’m starving, despite having eaten at least 4 more of those crunchy sticks of butter that pass for crackers.  I’ll post again later and share with you all the gory details of why I need to buy some mint oil…
Ciao for now!

1. Thanks (Miss Banks), Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin.
There is one person I’ve met recently who made me feel good about myself.  Should I be worried that this happens to be a 50-year-old black lady with a bouffant who works at the women’s prison?  I say no, not at all.  The phenomenal Miss Banks has consistently treated me with dignity and charm since I met her at a picnic table in front of her worksite about 3 weeks ago.  I was eating breakfast, she was chainsmoking, and we both admired each other’s panache.  Miss Banks wanted to know if I have a boyfriend, and when I responded, she was shocked.  "Why not?!" she demanded, and when I told her that I’m constantly asking myself the same question, she laughed.  Her prescription: put on a bikini, paint my nails (all of them) red, and hit the beach.  She also couldn’t believe I was baking my own birthday cake, but admired me for doing so.
Miss Banks is exactly the kind of sassy older woman I hope to be someday (well, perhaps minus the diabetes and nicotine addiction).  Having a sweet, total stranger relate to me in that way (and in that place) is a momentary distraction from this mortal coil.
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2. Mortal Combat*
I got home last night and spied another one of what my Italian grandmother used to refer to as "uninvited guests."  A week or two ago, there was one on the kitchen floor.  I employed the dual techniques of squishing and poison-spraying: there was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide.  Its demise was lengthy and unpleasant.  Then last night, horror of horrors, there was one on the floor of my *bedroom.*  I made a sound like a puppy caught under a rocking chair, profoundly startling my mother, and was unable to catch it, kill it, or see where it escaped to.  Panic.  My only recourse was to spray the same combination of orange-antibacterial cleanser and Oust odor eliminator as before, on the floor and at the perimeter of the room.  Before leaving, my mother ever-so-helpfully reminded me that "they’ve been around for millions of years longer than we have, and they’ll be here when we’re gone."
Fast forward to today, I was napping on the couch, and when I woke up, I noticed a suspicious little carcass by the door.  Upended roach (or according to my landlady, "just a waterbug…yes, they can fly!").  Definitely from the same family as the others…hopefully the same one from last night.  I scooped it up with a paper towel and decided it was a great time to take out the garbage.  My house is clean, so I suspect migration from downstairs or next door, both of whom are doing renovation…on the other hand, my mother seemed to think that roaches like clean places (I said, "What do they eat?" and she said, "Soap."), so I guess you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
My landlady’s advice was to not open the windows without screens…these would be the windows she’s supposed to replace anyway, but that’s another story.
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*Should I add this to my Amazon Wishlist?
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3. The Devil’s Work is Never Done.
As if the casting of John Travolta in the role immortalized by DIVINE wasn’t proof enough, check out what’s coming down the pike.  Ugh.  And, need I mention the Bratz movie?  Not a joke, sadly.** 
At least they’re bringing It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (go here and scroll down, if you aren’t familiar with it) back again!  And, now that I have DVR (wonderful invention that can record a whole series, and even be set to record an extra minute at the beginning or end of a show), my early-to-bed/early-to-rise job won’t prevent me from following along.
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**The only amusing thing about that is that according to IMDB: "Paula Abdul was
originally hired as the movie’s Executive Producer, Fashion Designer,
and Dance Choreographer. During an episode of her reality TV series, Hey, Paula (2007), she found out that she had been fired from the
movie through an e-mail message on her Blackberry."
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4. Krazy Tip
For the second time in as many weeks, I got Krazy Glue on myself.  At least this time, I didn’t actually krazy glue myself to myself: last time, it was my thumb to my index finger, on both hands…pulling my fingers apart was not the most comfortable sensation.  Also, unlike last time, I already had a bottle of acetone nail polish remover on hand.  I guess putting it on right away may have helped lessen the effects of the glue, and I certainly don’t mind using a bunch of the remover in one go, since I rarely paint my nails.  The glue thing hopefully won’t become a regular occurrence, either…but here’s a (krazy) tip: if you’re planning on using the glue, you might want to buy some acetone nail polish remover to keep on hand (and try not to glue your hands together!).
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5. Last, But Not Least
I had an excellent time out of town this weekend, visiting folks in DC.  I will write more about that when it’s not bedtime.  Then this weekend, I will be in Chicago.  I will write more about that after it actually happens.

Time Warner Cable came today; I am officially reconnected to the world of the interwebs, plus have a fancy new cable connection (HDTV, DVR, plus the challenge of choosing an aspect ratio that doesn’t stretch out everyone’s faces) to play with.  As I type this, I’m sitting at my table in my underwear, with nary a concern about frappucinos or signal loss.  If I want to, I can peruse IMDB at 3 AM, say, to look up a certain film (see below) I’ve been compulsively watching over and over again…not to mention delete spam while waiting for my dinner to cook, finish uploading the "cookies against the war" pictures I mentioned in my previous post, you name it.

*

Incidentally, the film to which I was referring, The Holiday, is a romantic comedy that came out just before last Christmas.  Those of you who know me well may understand why part of me feels the need to cringe (or shower) when acknowledging my affection for a "romantic comedy."  On the other hand, those of you who know me even better know that my personal movie collection includes well-worn copies of Moonstruck, Betsy’s Wedding, The Wedding Singer (in fact, an astonishing/embarassing number of movies with "wedding" in the title), Amélie, and other, less-traditional fare that nonetheless has something in common: happy endings.  I admit it, despite my cynical and even at times, faux-frosty exterior, I can be a bit of a sucker for them. 

…Maybe it’s because I am living vicariously through them…

The truth is, despite the various things in my life for which I am grateful, the good fortune of which I may even be somewhat undeserving, and the amazing daily miracles that I try to remember not to take for granted…I’m still not happy.  Or rather, not content.  I still feel like there is more out there for me, and there’s no reason I shouldn’t have it.  Specifically, I am not happy about the one area of my life that makes watching those films rather bittersweet…the area that, regardless of all the other successes and luck I’ve experienced, feels empty.

In case it isn’t obvious enough to you what that area is, rent The Holiday.  I saw it for the first time over Memorial Day Weekend, after choosing it as likely to be a crowdpleaser for the group of 5 adults over the age of 50 who were all upstate with me (my dad, somewhat egocentrically, chose Babel- I was indeed interested, but it’s absolutely not the kind of thing my mom enjoys).  I had no interest in it when it came out last December, and held similarly low expectations for the rental version. 

However, it completely surprised me.

Then a month or so ago, I spied a previously-viewed copy of it on sale at Hollywood Video, and scrounged up 3 other DVDs to get the 4/$20 sale price…convinced Jackie that she needed to see it as well, then at some point invited her over to watch it together.  That was awhile ago.  Now that I’ve moved into my new place, by chance (or not) it was the first movie I put into my new (well, used) DVD player…and it’s been in there ever since.  I’m ever-so-slightly sheepish about admitting that I have watched some or all of this movie *every day* since then.  Yet I figure at this point, I’ve confessed enough here already that it’s hardly going to tip the embarassment scale…

Why am I so drawn to this film?  I think, besides the happy ending, there are two other main/related reasons.  One is that the narrator, Iris, reminds me tremendously (and in some ways, painfully) of myself.  The other is that Iris + happy ending = hope for me.  I feel like going into any further detail here will just be beating a dead horse, so all I will add is that if you still don’t get it, but really want to understand…rent it and see.

See me.

By the way, in my previous post I neglected to mention precisely what was so special about my ill-destined birthday cake.  See that picture I drew on it in green gel?  That’s a person being boiled alive in a cauldron, in keeping with the zombie/tiki/tropical island theme.  Naturally, I was upset that no one got to admire my handiwork in vivo, so to speak.
*
Who remembers the sad fate of the honey bunny?  Bear witness to the chocolate bunny’s funeral (though the pics will appear in reverse chronological order).
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This is the sluttiest vegetable I’ve ever seen in my life.
*
These cookies are against the war in Iraq.  I will actually have more pictures of them, as soon as I upload them from my camera to my computer, and then put them online.
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I spent the night at my family’s house last night, taking advantage of the free laundry and internet…my parents are out of town, but I hung out with my brother.  It took an extremely long time to get here from my new place, since the N train went local through Manhattan and the first 4 stops in Brooklyn…then went express at Pacific, forcing me (and my large bags) to get out and wait for the R local…for what seemed like eons.  Allow me to advise you that even if you do decide to stay up late watching amusing British cop movie spoofs, it is still probably not a great idea to have seconds on your spicy Chinese food, plus a chocolate cake chaser, around midnight.
Breakfast this morning?  Pepto Bismol and an Excedrin chaser.
*
It’s striking how much bigger and cleaner my house seems now that I don’t live in it anymore.  Striking and slightly sad.  I head back to my apartment tonight, and the shifting mounds of cardboard boxes, cookware, clothes to be ironed, et al.  Living alone is taking some getting used to, as I expected.  On a related note, I scheduled cable installation today.  I’d had difficulty deciding whether to get TV (internet being an absolute given; how else can I look things up on IMDB in my underwear at 3 AM?), but ultimately decided that I like TV enough to splurge.  I’ll probably really appreciate it when it gets cold outside…plus maybe fall 2007 will be the breakout season for new, ultrahip, non-reality sitcom!!!  Not.  I’m not going to lie to you, I plan to use my fancy new flatscreen, HDTV and DVR to tape Kathy Griffin, movies shown at 2 AM, SNL, and Reno-911!, plus re-watch things like "I Love the 80s" and "Awesomely Bad Celebrity Hair."  And I’m comfortable admitting that.
As for the internet, I must say I’ll be relieved when I can rely on having it available anytime.  Until then, darlings, any urgent matters (ha) should be taken up with me by telephone.  TTFN…

Life has been full of excitement and ch-ch-changes.  For starters…
I live in Queens now.
Yes, the life-long Brooklynite has packed up and been sent "up top" or "up north."*  I must admit feeling a bit weird after re-leaving the nest…I’d been there since graduating from OC in 2001.  I didn’t really prepare well, in terms of packing ahead of time (this makes me wonder how important so much of my life-s detritus could possibly be- the papers, mainly).  My dad kept asking when I’d spend my first night here at the new place, whereas my mom was much more chill (but admitted her ambivalence to other people).  Then again, my dad has been calling me at work and on my cellphone more than ever, it seems…enough for my coworkers to notice!
Couldn’t help but feel a bit sad myself, as I got ready to become head of my own, one-person household for the first time ever.  I thought about how, when my mother left her home, it was to get married (not to mention the fact that she was younger then than I am now…actually, she was younger than I am now when she had me!)…then again, she was Catholic, and also didn’t have a doctoral degree…and it was the 70s.  I digress.
My parents have of course been invaluable in this whole process, in spite of also driving me crazy half the time.  But what else is new?  I don’t want to bore you with the whole story, but let’s just say it’s involved a lot of shopping (Operation Target Storm was last weekend, took up a ton of time and energy, but at least was most likely more successful than certain other Operations with "Storm" in the title), furniture assembly, and discussions of temperature/humidity.  Certain friends have contributed valuable advice and gently-used housewares.  My grandmother has contributed the latest of a lifelong series of inappropriate/poorly chosen/useless gifts, but this has also been exchanged for housewares.
As I settled myself in to this new home of mine, I realized the full import of getting my own place.  For the first time in my life, everything in my home belongs to me (hello, history of dorms and weirdly furnished rentals).  Following that logic, if there’s anything I don’t like in this house, it’s my own fault and I can’t blame it on anyone else!
Well, except maybe the gigantor roach I spied on the kitchen floor last night.  That cannot have possibly been my fault!
I’m messy, but NOT dirty- I clean anything remotely bacterial immediately, never leave food out, or any other materials that can grow their own ecosystem, etc.  The downstairs neighbors/landlady/broker didn’t strike me as unclean, but I smell their cooking all the time (in spite of the air freshener I covertly put at the foot of the stairs) and wonder if they’re leaving food around.  Shudder.
Side note: speaking of shuddering, I saw a girl on the train whose t-shirt definitely made me shudder.  She couldn’t have been more than 18, tops, and had a sleeping toddler in a stroller with her.  Her t-shirt said, "My boyfriend’s babymama can’t stand me."  Nice.  Go ahead and pop another one out…with any luck s/he WON’T be one of our students in 17 years or so…  Like I said: shudder.
Moving on.  The next section deals with my Return of Saturn in a different way.  For those of you unfamiliar with astrology (not that I’m such an expert), the first Return of Saturn happens when you are about 27 or 28 years old, and is apparently associated with major life changes , important decisions, and more or less your arrival at personhood after prolonged adolescence of some sort.  Mind you, I learned about this from an unusually friendly MidWesterner who worked at a dress shop.  Other people have admitted to me that they believe in it, though.  Regardless of what the stars may portend (and, honestly, it’s difficult for me to imagine that everyone born around the same as I was in 1979 -Mike B. and Ayca come to mind- has the same destiny), there have been some big changes in my life of late.  And now concerning the birthday itself:
Okay Smarty, go to a party…**
my birthday party was on Friday the 13th, and as befitting a classy occasion, the theme was zombie, tiki, tropical-undead kind of affair.  Wouldn’t have it any other way.  Intimate gathering, intimate friends- I told people that if they couldn’t come, to send apologies and a piece of their brain. 
For the second year in a row, an important aspect of the festive comestibles fell unceremoniously to earth…to be specific, I made a beautiful cake, and fortunately took a picture of it before leaving the house:

When I got out of the train station, loaded down with birthday-related goodies and accessories, disaster struck.  My purse strap broke.  I had the brilliant idea of using birthday candles to make flames around the cauldron, and actually managed to find some at a store!  Unfortunately, when I arrived at the bar, it was locked.  In juggling items and packages, I dropped my purse…and the cake.  It didn’t touch the sidewalk, so it was still technically intact…unfortunately, it was intact in the form of a Jabba-the-Hut-like blob, with no recognizable picture anywhere except possibly on the aluminum foil I’d used to protect it.  Le sigh.  Needless to say, I made everyone admire the precious photo on my digital camera’s screen throughout the evening.
Well, that’s enough for now.  I do have more I could say, but this is getting lengthy and I’m also worried that the internet signal I’m currently "borrowing" could stop working at any moment (which is what happened the other day).
Signing off, from Saturn (or Queens, whichever is closer)…

*those are jail slang terms for having to go serve out a sentence at an upstate New York prison, for those of you non-correctional folks.
** words of the estimable Young MC- an alum of my very own high school, incidentally!

This is the couch left behind at my apartment by the previous tenant.

This is the staircase that someone needs to negotiate to take the couch off my hands.

I suspect that the landlady/broker (aka Little Orphan Annie) was being flaky (rather than manipulative) and may have promised the previous tenant that I would buy the couch from her…whereas I said I would only even consider it if the couch was a sleeper sofa.  As a matter of fact, I have a general policy on not accepting hand-me-down plush furniture or other items that cannot easily be disinfected.  In any event, it is a moot point, because the girl left the couch there and refused to come back and get it.  Then Little Orphan Annie tried to convince me to keep it anyway, even though I explained that I was planning on buying a new (SLEEPER) sofa and have no need or desire for a cramped, two-sofa living room set-up.  Ultimately, she asked me if I could arrange for my mover to take the old couch out, and tip him extra (which she’d theoretically pay me back).  I was annoyed enough to just tell her it would be taken care of.
Other people pointed out that I may as well keep it until my new couch arrived, and then my brother and dad both said that they could help me move it out if necessary.  But still other people had a much better idea: if the previous tenant was too lazy to sell it herself, there’s no reason I shouldn’t try to sell it.  Therefore, it’s now up on craigslist, for sale to the highest bidder who can get it down the stairs.

I’m going to be pissed at myself tomorrow for yet another night of <6 hours’ sleep.  However, I can triumphantly drift off into dreamland, resting secure in the knowledge that:

• I finally found a "man with van" available on Saturday, who actually answered the phone (while not in the movies), and can come during the daytime.
• I discovered an airline I’d never heard of, which appears to be the only one that can get me in and out of Sacramento at normal times of the day (Sidestep.com pointed me in the right direction; it’s called Frontier Airlines and I don’t give a crap that I won’t be earning double Orbitz points on this one)…thus, I will finally get to lay eyes on my cousin’s now-14-month-old baby for the first time (before he becomes a big brother in 6 months…damn, that was fast).
• I found $5 crumpled up on the floor of my new apartment…this doesn’t *entirely* make up for the annoying amount of hair also scattered around on the floor, nor for the annoying non-sleeper-sofa abandoned in the living room (at the top of a double flight of stairs), but I felt I deserved it nonetheless.
• I’m only slightly ashamed to admit a guilty pleasure in the thought that the $5 might have belonged to my landlady’s bratty kid.

Tomorrow I head for the women’s jail for the first time ever…luck be a lady… ;)  Seriously, please be a lady, and not a lady with a beard and a switchblade.
You think I’m joking???
P.S. Did you notice that my previous IPTF posting was #150?  I did, but chose not to mention it because I was still wallowing in self-pity…whereas now, I’m too busy to wallow, but I’ll acknowledge that I’m still dipping my toes in a small puddle of it from time to time.
P.P.S. Shout-outs to those of you who did not allow me to wallow too much (or at least gave me proverbial waterwings.  Silly-looking waterwings that we can all laugh at).  You know who you are.