freedom!

our network is totally fucked. which means that this little ninja's got a get out of jail at 2:45 card.

tra la!

wet wet wet

music that is ideal for today:

adam-meshell ndege'ocello

angeles-elliot smith

in liverpool-suzanne vega

my dark life-elvis costello

walking after you-foo fighters

beautiful girl-pete droge

another girl-pete yorn

rescue blues-ryan adams

falling is like this-ani difranco

the piano has been drinking-tom waits

and there we go. shivery's patented friday morning waterlogged mix (yep, it's still raining, and is slated to do so for the next...oh...four or five days. charming!).

quote of the day

theatre in new york is like a celebrity petting zoo.

if that doesn't just scream quote of the day, i don't even know you anymore.

should i reserve an ark?

today in new york, it's raining cats and dogs. it's raining ibixes and gazelles. tigers and euphrates. rhinos and lions.

it's wet. very, very wet.

for an antithetical pisces such as my self, it's hellish. the rain is going sideways and i hate being wet. there is no escape!

and now, we're coming up on 11:30. i've effectively wasted the morning, and here is my agenda for the foreseeable future:

1. read lots about cowboy bebop. i'm both curious and intrigued.

2. send directions to newroommate as to where we're picking up the table.

3. pray it stops raining by 8pm.

4. continue to ponder this strange quasinarcolepsy from which i seem to be suffering. last night, i passed out on the couch at about 7:30. slept until 10:30. discovered i was still absolutely exahusted and then went to bed. at 10:30. and still slept through my alarm. this is not normal. my thinking is this: i'm either sick, reacting to low light, preparing for winter, finally hitting the bottom of the energy reserves that have been supporting this sleepless lifestyle of mine, or i've been poisoned. options one and four seem the most likely, i think.

in other news... i have a new haircut. i'm quite pleased with it. it's not much of a change--just got rid of the completely fried bits, got some bangs (or a fringe, for those of you yet to master the american language. which, yes, is absolutely its own language bearing only a passing resemblance to english). it's not so bad. the guy who cut it gave me a free blow-dry (ordinarily something like $7 at the astor place hair mecca) because he liked me. always exciting. so now, i've got this sort of shaggy quasi-70's rachel shag feather thing. kind of.

mini-rants: they're great for a snack!

1. those kids still standing on american idol suck. sad truth.

2. leave anna nicole smith alone! so she's a druggy dingbat with a couple extra pounds. doesn't mean she deserves the constant sniping she's getting. if you don't like her, ignore her. bugger off. go torment jennifer ass-monkey hewitt instead.

3. courtney love: will she ever go away?

still approaching

this is going to be one of those slow days. i can feel it in my blood and my bones. but, unlike most slow days...i'm not terribly perturbed. not totally sure why that is. perhaps it's because its overcast outside, and so being inside gives me a strange feeling of security. as though this building is acting as a psychological blanket, inasmuch as a place i detest could ever do. perhaps it's because i feel like i might do something creative today. i might write my great opus. or i might just get glared at by the postman, asi just was. am i on the raft of wrath for the entire USPS? criminy.

i spent a healthy chunk of the morning looking for jobs. i think i found six to apply to. christ in a sidecar. i genuinely fear that i'm not going to find anything. granted, i've not been looking that long, not nearly so long as my last job search was...but i don't know. i'm just so...disillusioned. unhappy. i just want this to end. i want to have something new to look forward to. who knows, that may never be the job. despite my best efforts, i may be stuck here another year or more. and while it will kill my soul, i could handle this. never let it be said that i'm not a bloody survivor. ignoring the fact that i'd probably be earning the same amount of money if they sacked me and i went on the dole. that's right. i will just have to grit my teeth and get even more numb until my mind and my world blur into one great, timesucking reality, ticking off the days until i'm geriatric, crazy and just don't care anymore.

or, just stop giving a rat's ass entirely, and make my world revolve around those things that actually interest me. case in point: i'm in the process of looking for a band. i'm actually talking to some guys about joining theirs...and i found out about them because of a flyer they had lurking on the lower east side. so, it's just random enough to work out. just like going on a date with subway boy. i hope this band thing does actually works out, because then i will have lived a bunch of new york cliches in a scant handful of weeks. fabulous.

fucking work. fucking new york city. i hate one, adore the other and have absolutely no idea what i'm going to do about either.

next entry: secret passages. hold me to it.

two weeks and a day

two weeks and one day until one whole year has passed.

and bugger me if it still doesn't just make me want to curl up in a little ball beneath the credenza.

a word to the wise: on the day, don't go onto the new york times website and have a gander at the issue of the magazine that came out just after.

i'm looking at it now, on a day full of nothing in particular and i have to go outside now and take some deep breaths and just pull myself together.

security, i hope you're resting in peace.

there will be more on this subject at some undisclosed time.

a connection is made

i just made a connection that i really wish i hadn't.

okay.

so: the song in the royal tenenbaums, where gwyneth paltrow and luke wilson have their happy reunion is the same as the song in a series of jcpenney commercials.

that makes my head hurt.

on the 6

so, my quasi-date thing with the subway boy got moved up a couple of days...to last night, actually. the reason being that the mtv video music awards are this thursday. which means that wednesday is bad. why? because apparently david blaine (weird magician guy, froze himself in a block of ice not long ago)will be making an appearance, or something.

and why, i hear you ask, does this affect subway boy?

it's very simple. subway boy apparently moonlights as david blaine's assistant.

yeah.

only in new york.

so anyway. we go out last night. there is libation to be had. there is much nice conversation. it was fun. homeboy's got a brain on him. and some proper southern manners. and boy, can he kiss. wow.

so why am i feeling so verily neutral about it? could it be that i cauterized the wounds self-inflicted through the englishman, the wounds accumulated through the string of fuckwits past, that my scar tissue is impenetrable (shh, you and your dirty minds)? it's kind of upsetting. there's not a single reason that i shouldn't be nuts about this guy. so i don't really understand why i'm not. at least not yet. but isn't the weird crazy lust thing supposed to come first, not be something that you hope develops?

anyway. we shall see. i shan't nip this in the bud before it's had a chance to unfurl its true colors.

in other news... guess which spectre stepped out of the past last night? if you guessed the bass player, you'd be right! swing around to go and collect your $200.

pathologicaly punctual

i've got this thoroughly irritating proclivity towards chronic punctuality. sometimes, this is a good thing. it means that i am rarely late, barring unforeseen circumstances. it's also irritating, because sometimes i get very fed up with the phenomenon of GST (that's gay standard time for those of you playing along at home), because i have no choice but to put up with it and chronic lateness makes me unhappy.

the reason i'm thinking of this right now is that cosmic forces seem to be aligning to get me to the office by 8:30 am. no earlier, no later. i leave my house at 7:40? here by 8:30. i leave my house at 8:10? here by 8:30. it's positively uncanny. and exceptionally irritating, because of late, i've not really found myself feeling the whole "getting into the office early" vibe. it's more like the "let's spend as little time in the office as possible" vibe. so, i'm sure you can understand my distress.

but, you know. i'm making strides. i'm going on the low-key offensive. my resume is out there. i'm poking. i'm maknig inquiries. unless we're living in a justice-free zone, i'll have something new by january. hopefully.

the thing is, though, i believe in the theory so artfully described thusly by bridget jones: "it is a known fact that as soon as one area of your life gets in order, another one falls spectacularly apart." and thus, the dire situation of my working life at the very least gives me hope for the subway boy. but, then , i suppose that's just being realistic, seeing as how the job market is fairly pants right now.

ah, subway boy.

i think that if you're single long enough, particularly in this city, some of the wiring in your head starts to go ping, and you start to automatically assume that there's something horribly wrong with anyone who's interested in you. that's kind of where i am now. i'm intrigued and pleased by this boy. he seems intrigued and pleased by me. so, what's wrong with him? i mean, i've been getting picked over by all members of his gender i've found interesting, because clearly they all can (or believe they can) do better than me. so, what is it about him that he (a handsome boy with big hair and a brain and sideburns and a career in music promotion) couldn't catch one of his own? and just how fucked up is that line of thinking? i should be thinking that he's a more highly evolved member of his species, one at last worthy of my affections, because he saw that i had something to offer, or at the very least liked the looks of me. i should be thinking not that there's something wrong with him, but something right. right? because anyone who gets me, who get my attention like this...has got to be something special. not something screwy.

thank you, real life for skewing my thought processes away from believing that i actually have a chance with someone wonderful and towards believing that only fuckups would want me.

yeah, thanks. you're a peach.

subway story

and it's feeling rather strange this thing that's not quite started but i find right now it's feeling rather fine this story is so strange i'm living out an archetype that story of two strangers on a train.

we'll see what happens next, shall we, possums?

morning of insanity!

i just came off what has got to be the craziest morning i've had in quite some time. first, there was the pilgrimage to midtown to pick up...THE TV. oh yeah. i also scored some lightbulbs and a new hairdryer. one thing to be said about my job: cheap furniture and appliances are occasionally to be had. that part of the morning was suprisingly painless, except for the fact that i feel heinously guilty for leaving newroommate out in the car for about 45 minutes. i owe him the biggest cup of coffee ever. (hey, if you're reading, dear roommate, meet me at the tea at 6 and you'll get that coffee?)

fast forward: planned parenthood. i earned my good samaritan badge today, making a pilgrimage to that fine institution to pick up a prescription for a friend of mine who just moved to california. california, freewheeling rebel and staunch individualist that it is, is the only state in the union that is not on pp's national computer network, so they can't do anythign as logical as...say...transfer the prescription to a branch out there. naaaah. why do that? logic has no place here! so, rather than that, the lovely lady in need had to send a representative; namely, me. and, as these things always do, the whole endeavor turned into a great suckhole of time, involving lost faxes and many phone calls and many altercations with the metal detector and angry boyfriends demanding to know what theyz bitches wuz doin at this sex place. but, you know. i didn't actually mind that much. it meant i was out of the office, and that i was doing something that was going to alleviate a hell of a lot of stress in the life of someone i care about. no problem. she'd do the same for me. for all her flaws (as we've all got them), she's unquestionably the kind of girl you could call up at three in the morning to bail your ass out of jail three states over. that's just how she is. so, frankly, when i can do a good turn, i don't mind doing it for her.

especially because i got picked up by a rather attractive young lad on the subway between midtown (the tv) and bleecker st (pp).

yep.

so, anyway. it's 1:45 (don't be fooled by the timestamp at the top of the screen. this computer just wishes it were in california, too) andi 've just rolled into work. time to push up my sleeves and get down to the dirty business of looking productive.

ps--i'm wearing a hat. it's terribly exciting.

<

briefly

hm. you know things are about to take an interesting turn when you absent mindedly find yourself humming one of your own songs. and it's not done yet.

perhaps that's a sign.

but then, perhaps not. because of all the song embryos floating around, that one is definitely my least favorite.

escapism

i'm experiencing a block. there's something inside my head screaming to get out, and i can't seem to find the edges of the door clearly enough to open it up and let the beastling fly away.

so instead, it's rattling around in my brain pan, making plaintive little whispers of anguish that i can only hear around corners and in the dark and under the eaves and under the bed.

if only it would show itself to me, perhaps we might be able to find an aperture just large enough for it to squeeze through, so it could come out and play with me.

the last time i felt this, i wrote two songs in two weeks. that was rather nice. so i'm sure you understand my desperation to let this little lost spritelet loose in my head out. she'll be free and the hole she's left behind will fill about five others in my heart. somehow.

hey ladies!

ladies, this one's for you!

does it ever just really scape your goat that so many things that are ONLY USED BY OUR GENDER are so bloody expensive?! it's not our fault that we bleed every month and would prefer not to stain everything in our path along the way. are we to be punished with heavy co-pays for pharmaceutical concoctions that prevent us from achieving motherhood before we're ready? why are these, basic necessities of civilized female life, so bloody expensive? why are they not subsidized by the federal government? we pay people to grow dirt, why not use that money to contribute to the antidote to overpopulation?

dammit!

most countries in europe fully subsidize contraception. they know that three hundred bucks a year per female for pills (or diaphragms, or whatever) ultimately costs less than paying the welfare so that an unprepared mother and her surprise child can survive. why don't we, if we're such a bloody enlightened first-world country?

but what about adoption? what about just saying not to premarital sex, i hear you cry! to which i say this: what about them? it's no longer realistic to expect women not to engage in premarital sex. i'm sorry, but it's really not. we can work like the men, we should like to fuck like the men as well. and as for adoption...well..i applaud adoption. i do. it's a wonderful institution.

but sometimes, if you know you're not going to raise it, you don't really want to go through the trouble of birthing it. particularly if you, like me, have a pathological fear of the act of birth.

it should be noted that some advancement has been made of late--most insurance companies now cover contraception (at a high co-pay), whereas they didn't before. but it's not good enough. it's just not. and there's going to be turmoil in the angst part of my brain until something is done about it.

because, frankly, i feel that being on the pill (or whatever) is a public fucking service. by making my womb inhospitable to a fetus, i am keeping one more unwanted child out of the world, out of the welfare system, out of jail, and out of my life. which frankly will do just fine without a larva to call my own, thanks.

and on that note...i draw this rant to a close.

i just had to get out some serious aggression before returning to...snivel...work.

oh, and just as an aside...for everyone who has sent me little messages of support in my rantings over the last few days...thank you. they've been making today much easier to deal with. you know who you are.

pharmacy

i need to go pick up a prescription. but i really don't want to, because i'm really not in the mood to carry on a conversation with the guys at the desk in the lobby. and i have to pass them in order to get out. they're very nice and all...but i just don't have it in me to be cordial while they follow me outside.

ah well. what must be done must be done. buck up, little gipper! let's rock this party!

pharmacy ho! (which is actually truer than you might thing. i have a sick obsession with pharmacies. i can spend hours in them. literally hours.)

further thoughts...

i loathe my job and adore, absolutely adore my immediate bosslady. explain that one.

words to live by today

Your Horoscope for August 21, 2002

PISCES

The most important thing today, and every day, is that you have faith in yourself. Others may ridicule your efforts and ignore your ideas but if you believe in yourself that won't mean a thing. The current planetary setup promises that you are on the verge of a major success, one that will make your critics and rivals green with envy. Be true to yourself.

mmmmmph.

i hate my job.

my job is killing my soul.

my job is making me want to bash my head against the desk.

my job is making me want to cry.

my job is making me feel like i'm utterly incompetent and quite possibly stupid to boot.

one more time: i hate my job.

urban warrior survival gear

items every self-respecting urban warrior should have in their bag at all times (particularly warriors named shivery):

1. wallet.

2. keys.

3. metrocard.

4. smokes.

5. keys.

6. phone.

7. protection (i personally keep both mace and...that other kind of protection).

8. chapstick.

9. a notebook.

10. and a pen.

11. sunglasses.

12. aspirin (or advil or whatever's your poison)

13. something to read.

14. at least three lipsticks and a powder compact at any given time.

15. hair clip.

functional illiterate

i've officially come to the conclusion that our society caters to the functionally illiterate.

i realized this last night while noticing the sexy new pedestrian traffic lights (that's walk/don't walk signs for you playing along at home) in the neighborhood. these zippy little things project superbright images of a red hand and strange walking yellowish white person to govern the pedestrian. at first, i was pretty pleased by this. new! exciting! functional!

and then i realized that there were no words. and then i realized why.

could it truly be that people could not read the words "walk" and "don't walk?"

have we slipped that far in our educational standards? the answer, i fear, is a resounding yes. further reinforced by noticing the signs in the neighborhood. "flowers shop." "we delivery." stuff like that.

"but," i hear you cry,"you live in brooklyn! have you not stopped to think that maybe, just maybe english is not the first language of these people? cut them some slack!"

to which i say: ...to which i say i'm not going to say what i was going to say, because it's actually going to make me sound like a fascist. which is not how i feel.

so, we'll try this again later, shall we?

rantastic!

i'm looking for something, but i don't know what it is. i know there's something out there that will fill whatever void it is niggling at the back of my consciousness...if only i knew what it was. i'm sitting here, poised at the ready, fingertips at the go-get to type into the ether what my heart's desire is, just to punch it into the great cosmic labyrinth and get it get it get it.

but i simply can't figure out what it is.

although, logic would dictate that it's a new job. that would be nice. i'm still smarting from that email of doom from friday. and though we done smacked that monkey up, and got johannesburg into a semblance of order...well...my desire to stay is shrinking. i'd like to try something different, something really different. i'd like to try...pr, or advertising...but from what i can tell, this year that i've put in in marketing has rather screwed me for trying something new. disheartening. i'm going to keep trying, though.

the really annoying thing is that fiscal stuff keeps getting in the way. do i stay on through november, when we get paid three times? do i wait until january, so i can get my end-of-the-year bonus?

of course, this is all wishful. this is all assuming that someone's actually going to want to hire me. and after last summer's experience, i know to tread carefully on that particular hope.

in a perfect world, i'd find something fabulous in november, but they wouldn't need me until the beginning of the year. or the middle of january.

but, to be honest, i know i won't get out of here before january. because i want to build the new site, and because i think my boss (who i like very much)'s head might explode if we hire a new person to support me and then i go gallivanting off. it's just not very nice.

so, i guess i'll go about it this way: travel softly and just apply here and there, starting now...and then go hell-for-leather somewhere in between november and january.

unless, of course, something fabulous happens in the meantime. which is always possible.

hm.

today, biscuit and i both contacted a magazine that needs writers. god, i hope we get it. because i know i need something like that super badly. even without pay, it would be super good for me.

in case you were wondering...

and now that i've kept you all in suspense for several days...the show went really quite well, actually.

no, that's not quite right.

the whole evening was of the sort where i was constantly concerned that i was going to go supernova along the breadth of my smile. i felt like i was generating my own light.

the set went smoothly (minus one song, but that was okay), including the infamous cover--britney spears' "baby...one more time."

yes, i was pleased. very pleased indeed.

just thinking about it still makes me smile, actually. i only regret that i wasn't able to get it recorded--i would have loved to hear it. but then, perhaps it's good that i didn't. doing so might have taken some of the patina off the iris. and, frankly, for my first big show, i'm quite content to just be happy about it.

and now, into the abyss, to show that honcho-man that we don't fuck around here in the GMO. by the time i leave today, johannesburg's guide is going to sparkle like an extremely well-crafted rhinestone. that's right.

friday funhouse

what my inbox gave to me, ten minutes before the end of the working day:

"I note that guides for Johannesburg and Durban are now on line. I must express disappointment though that the material is absolutely void of value. South Africa is one of the countries that could most benefit from a dynamic on line guide and yet, we cannot seem to get but the most rudimentary information posted.

shivery, in the meantime, I would think that even a few hours spent surfing the net with existing information would allow us to post more than the drivel that I seen on our site.

This portion of our site is embarrassing. B, can you not see what is on line in our other guides and does this not give you any clues about the kind of information your office needs to submit? It is not as difficult as you all are making it to be.

signed, super-super-honcho-man (the one of whom i'm so afraid.)"

happy fucking weekend, everybody. yeah, i'm totally ready to rock. seriously. that just clinches it.

who does number two work for?!

it's like an episode of the prisoner outside my office. giant bubbles and all.

but, i ask, where are the attractive, mod-ish guys with turtlenecks, blazers, and number designations? all i've been seeing are the window washers recently dispatched downtown by the city, carrying great swaths of rope and making obscene comments in spanish.

alas!

five hours

a performance day has a very specific feel to it. it's a feel that, in my experience, feels the same no matter what the specific discipline. there's a strange buzz of excitement, and the phone rings off the hook with people asking for time and directions or apologizing for needing to cancel, and there's a feeling of total serenity knowing that you're totally prepared and you're going to rock the hard way, and there's the small voice of fear shaking in the back of your skull that's certain that you're going to do something stupid and disgrace yourself for all eternity, and of course there's the music in your head (or the lines or the picture or what-have-you) that you're running over mentally all day, and your inability to anything that's even vaguely related to your work...

i, needless to say, am having one of those days. i love it. it's a show day, and i haven't had one of these in years. and while i can't say it's better than sex, it's close, and it's the only one i'm getting right now.

word of the day: reprobates.

shivery: so good, penguins ask for her by name.

today is the day.

today is the day my electricity decided to blow.

today is the day i rereddened my hair.

today is the day i came flying into work, only to find a scant two emails waiting in my inbox. at least i'll be able to relax this weekend.

and, of course, last but not least...tonight is THE SHOW, over which i'm somewhere between terrified and thrilled.

wish me luck!

and if you happen to be in the neighborhood, go on and stop on by!

counting down

i've been in practice purgatory all night. i forswore a free concert by TMBG to do this.

and i think it was worth it. i made it through the whole set without stopping once, and did a few spot-checks...i always forget how tired guitaring makes me.

i'm exhausted.

satisfied with my progress.

think i'm ready.

more or less. i still have to decide what to wear, as the skirt i'd planned on just isn't going to work. always a difficult thing.

and the demons are creeping in, as they always do.

what's in a...

you know, i wasn't kidding when i said that i was accepting suggestions for the last name i should adopt. come on now, out with 'em. leave a note. sign the guest book. send an email.

i'm deadly serious. the time is now to alight upon the name i'm going to wear for a time. and harris just don't cut the mustard.

come on, petunias, i'm counting on you!

horoscope of shame

You may be envious of someone's luck and popularity, but don't let it show or they will flaunt it even more than they do now. Console yourself with the fact that we are all born with different talents and abilities and with different life plans as well. Happiness comes from knowing what you are here for and making the best of your lot.

today's horoscope sucks. does it seem to anyone else like it's basically saying: you are destined for mediocrity. get used to it? i feel like horoscopes shouldn't say these things.

turn smile shift repeat

eventually, everything becomes rote. you pick up the rhythm and it's smooth autopilot from thereon out.

i think that i can resonably add the title "secretary" to my resume. oh, excuse me, "receptionist." as you've heard me gripe many a time, we in the marketing department spend as much time answering the phones as we do our own work. an activity which, ostensibly, we on the GMO are not supposed to do. because we have no information that would be useful to the customers. and people get mad when they speak to us in our ignorance of operations.

so, i spend much of my day answering phones, and the proximity of my desk to the front door means i'm the one who gets to deal with ups, fedex, travelling salesmen, couriers, interviewees, and basically everyone who comes through my door. i go on fucking coffee runs.

the insult on top of the injury, of course, is that today the head of IT referred to me as the department secretary. it was a joke, of course, but let me tell you. if he'd been in the room, he wouldn't have left it in one piece.

i'm performing two jobs and barely getting paid for one.

is it any wonder i'm in a perpetually bad mood?

tired. verge of hysteria

i've got to say, i'm pretty impressed with myself for actually making it in today. and not just on time, but early.

hey! who's that playing? hey! the guitar

so, i brought my guitar to work today, because i'm planning on heading immediately to the open stage from this hullaballoo at the stroke of five.

and, naturally, it's taunting me.

i'm reminded of when i was in elementary school, those days when we were subject to show and tell. those days were absolutely awful for me, because i'd bring in something cool and then think about it all day.

all day.

to the exclusion of all else.

and that's exactly what's happening here today. my guitar is sitting quietly in a corner behind me, and it's absolutely all i can think about. it's taking every last ounce of my willpower not to pick it up and abscond to the conference room with it, shut the door and play my little heart out. it's painful, particularly, because i've got so much to do! so much practicing to be had! the cover must be fine-tuned! the old song needs to be remodeled! the songs for tonight must be rehearsed!

i swear, it's like a sickness. this waking fever dream that's making the hours of today drag onward and onward with a drowning and strangely luscious slowness.

my guitar is the closest thing i've had to a lover in ages, and it's just screaming for my attention. all without saying a word. ah, my darling. simply wait, and i will make you sing.

fuzzzzzzzzzzzzz

my brain is fuzzy from all the emails.

my muscles are sore from the kickboxing.

my hair is damp from being hot and sweaty.

my lips are chapped.

and despite all this, i'm feeling pretty okay.

i think ice cream is in order.

god, i hope i don't make an ass of myself tonight or friday.

though if i'm going to make an ass of myself, let it be tonight.

some astral wisdom

yesterday:

You have unique talents, dear Pisces, though you do not always give yourself credit for them. You set extraordinarily high standards for yourself, and can be quite judgmental if you fail to meet them. Step back and try and look at the situation objectively. You have accomplished a huge amount. Any little setbacks you may currently be experiencing are just that--setbacks and not failure. Chin up, dear Pisces.

today:

Friends could turn you on to new opportunities for increasing your income, dear Pisces. Someone close to you could be of great assistance in helping you to attain a longtime goal. Your mind is full of productive ideas today, but careful planning is indicated if you want to succeed. Make a list of proposed projects in order of their workability. It is never a good idea to take on more than you can handle.

this whole week

My first suggestion is that you gently remove your head from the sand. Next, get your hand unstuck from the cookie jar. Then figure out why your shoes are tied together, and do something about it. Finally, Pisces, I'd like you to reach around to your back and rip off the sign that reads "KICK ME," which has been taped there for a while. Before you know it your strength and courage will return, and you'll be primed to fix the less-obvious glitches in your fate. For instance, you could dismantle the trap you set for yourself last February, then move on to dissolving a pocket of unjustified self-hatred.

oh, please please please...

quintessentially brooklyn

i had what must be a quintessentially brooklyn moment last night. it was one of those hot, sticky nights of infinite nastiness, and after several hours locked in my room with the gee-tar, i decided it was "cigarette or die" time. so i trundle on out to the smoking window, light my spirit...and promptly hear a voice from street level.

"hey, you heard anything about timmy?"

timmy is my neighbor, the one from the devonian era. thus, it presumably meant that this voice was directed at me.

"ah...no, not really."

"i hear he's in the hospital. if he is, he's probably not coming out. he's ninety two, you know."

"wow. really?"

and on and on. for the duration of my cigarette, we had a rather nice conversation (at least, as nice as you can get screaming out a second story window to the other side of the street). then i said my goodbyes and went back in.

you know, i once thought it was an exercise in extremism to entertain the notion of conversations yelled up to an open window. obviously, i now know that this sort of thing actually happens. hm!

in other news...

i was looking at one of NYU's new ads on the subway this morning, and i noticed something that bothered me. the tagline on the ads runs a little something like this: "tomorrow's going to be different. so will i."

anybody?

okay, time to bust out the inner grammar snob. were that phrase correct, it would have said "tomorrow's going to be different. so am i."

this is an advertisement for a school.

and lo, i was afraid.

it ain't no powerbar

i just consumed a protein bar. this is the first time i've consumed such an object. "energy bars" are something to which i am no strange--frankly, a clif bar in the morning makes me a happy little camper. this, however, did not.

the protein bar i just had epitomizes, i believe, everything that is wrong with the universe. it is the embodiment of scourge and sediment. it is the evil that dares not speak its name. it was supposed to taste like chocolate, but all i could discern was a strange, ashen, assy taste that continues to linger on my tongue several hours later.

suffice it to say, i've learned my lesson.

i must now go find myself an orange to wipe away the taste before i am sick.

the moral of today's story, sweetlings: if you want protein, eat an egg. or tofu. or cheese. fear the bar. FEAR IT!

must be funny

at this particular moment in time, i am copying all of my files off of my hard drive on to our server. i've railed against taking this step for ages, because i don't trust our metaframe system any further than i can throw it. but, i came in this morning to discover that i could not access my c drive whilst in the metaframe. and all the databases i currently need to get anything done at all are ONLY accessible through the metaframe. and never the twain shall meet.

isn't technology fun?

anyway.

i've been having a lot of headaches recently about money. weirdly, it's almost a relief to have something so definite to fret about, even if it is something i'd much prefer to have clear and easy and sorted. anyway. this is something i've groused about a lot, i know. but that doesn't mean it ever goes away.

new york city is expensive. as in , you-may-one-day-need-to-sacrifice-a-kidney-in-order-to-pay-your-rent expensive. as such, money runs away very, very fast, even when you're doing nothing more extravagant than living. and i'm feeling this hard right now. and it's freaking me out. it's keeping me awake nights. it's making my hair fall out. seriously. the strands i've been leaving in my wake go far beyond simple summer moulting.

and it doesn't help that all of my friends are in computers, and as such making significantly more than i do. having conversations that include phrases like "every month, i'm going to have x amount of money to play with after bills, rent, and going out" gets painful. or discussions of travel when i know for a fact that i'm going to have to sell an organ on the black market in order to ever leave this country ever again.

listening to that sort of talk when you're not sure if you're going to get all your bills paid is not very uplifting.

.

it's bothersome.

i'm basically coming to terms with the fact that i really need a second job. i'm poking my nose around the prospect of picking up a saturday shift at the local coffee haven...though i have no idea if that's going to work out. i really hope it does, though. i need to inquire about the status of that, actually.

so, yeah. on that front, please keep your fingers crossed for me.

and on another front, keep your fingers crossed for newroommate, who's got a job interview today.

bleah.

note to self: i've got to find an amp and find out if the pickup in my guitar is in good nick. soon.

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things that make me insane, part 1

things that make me insane, part 1.

-popup windows that not only advertise things i don't want (no, the amazing x-cam is not for me. no, orbitz, i don't have any money to throw at a vacation. bugger off), but slow down my whole bloody system enough that loading my damn diary takes ten minutes.

-people who let their children run amok on the subway. or in general. but especially on the subway, because i can't run away.

-the total lack of creativity on the part of my company's executive board.

-people who, when i answer the phone, counter my "hello" with "WHO'S THIS?!"

-men who whistle, catcall, hiss, make lewd comments, stare at my tits or otherwise harass me as i walk through my neighborhood.

-the MTA in general.

-goddamn mister softee. 'nuff said about that.

oh, but we do get a special bonus section here: things that most certainly do not make me insane, but make me feel a little better about things:

-people who call me in the middle of the day to give a phone hug. people can do that whenever they want to.

and with that, i'm off to eat mac and cheese and then do several mountains of laundry. myself. i've learned from you, biscuit. and i fear for my underwear.