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August 30, 2004
RNC: Day 1
On Friday, my office was dead. Everyone had cleared out except for the lowest people on the totem pole, which means first year associates (me and my cohorts), the copy center guys and the woman who changes the toilet paper all day (seriously, that's her job). Today the office is dead-er: haven't even see the toilet paper woman. The F train was down about 75% in ridership--I got a seat the second I got on. Other than that, it was a normal commute. Sixth Avenue is full of Peter Pan tour busses, presumably ferrying delegates around, and CNN studios have moved outside to film the anchors right on Sixth Avenue (no idea why. it's not like they're on a particularly pictureseque stretch of Sixth Ave). Lanes on Sixth Avenue are blocked off. And that's about it.
Exciting, huh?
The hotel right next to where I work is holding a ton of delegates from relatively interesting states, so I'm hoping some shit goes down. There is also supposed to be some sort of protest (I forget what kind. Prostitute Alcoholic Grandmothers of Haitian Origin for World Peace and Free Trade?) going right by my office on Wednesday, so maybe that will kick the excitement up a notch.
God I should be on vacation.
Posted by me at 11:05 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
August 28, 2004
gamerican
three entries in two days. why, it's either your lucky weekend, or i'm a bipolar going through a manic phase.
and now, in honor of our favorite gamerican (or "g'merican", if you prefer), governor (for now) James E. McGreevey of the fair garden state of New Jersey, i present the lyrics to:
Proud to be a Gamerican
If tomorrow the closet was gone,
That I’d hid in all my life.
And I had to start fucking men again,
without my children and my wife.
Girlfriend I’d thank my lucky stars,
to be fabulous here today.
‘Cause the rainbow still stands for freedom,
and they can’t take that away.
And I’m proud to be a Gamerican,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I won't forget the men who still hide,
and sucked my dick for free*.
And I'd gladly stand up under a pink flag
and defend my right to hot anal sex today.
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA.
From the S&M clubs of San Francisco,
to the public park restrooms of LA.
Across all the illegal bathhouses of this great land,
To The Cock on Avenue A.
From Boystown down to Dupont Circle,
and the Castro all the way to Chelsea.
Well there's pride in every Gamerican heart,
and its time we stand and say.
That I’m proud to be a Gamerican,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I won't forget the men who still hide,
and sucked my dick for free.
And I'd gladly stand up under a pink flag
and defend my right to hot anal sex today.
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA.
And I’m proud to be a Gamerican,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I won't forget the men who still hide,
and sucked my dick for free.
And I'd gladly stand up under a pink flag
and defend my right to hot anal sex today.
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA.
*I apologize for rhyming "free" with itself. Suggestions welcome.
Posted by me at 02:56 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
i am lazy
I am. I'm usually too lazy to capitalize my "i's" (see?). I am probably lazier than you, because I estimate that, out of a hundred people, at least 74 of them are LESS lazy than i am. This may suprise you (unless you are C. or my mother, in which case this comes as no great revelation. Oh, and C? I still haven't made the bed and you've been gone for an hour and a half. HAHAHAHA.) I somehow managed to go to college and law school, graduate, and show up at my job on time, if not early! but during college, law school, and my work day, I did/do very little. i surf the web a lot. i play video games. i stare out the window at the corner of rockefellor center i can see. i sharpen pencils (no really, i do. with a normal, crappy little pencil sharpener that a 3rd grader would bring to class on the first day of school). i make rubber band balls, and i stretch my calf muscles under my desk. that's about it.
i am so lazy, in fact, that when we moved on the weekend of the fourth of july i lost my USB cord to my digital camera and then didn't bother to look for it until last week. between july 4th and a few weeks ago when we went on a baseball road trip with D and JT, i'd taken about 100 pictures; before that, I'd taken about 100 more which I hadn't bothered to upload to the computer even when i knew damn well where the USB cord was (why? say it with me--because i'm lazy!). my card is now full. no more pictures can be taken, and it has been that way for weeks. so today, with the republican national convention fast approaching and my office in midtown, i realize i REALLY fucking need to find this cord and get these pictures out of my camera and into my computer, because i need to bring this camera to work to record for posterity any examples of anarchy, terrorism, police brutality and/or dumb republicans i happen to see next week. my grandchildren and you, dear reader, will thank me.
it only took 5 minutes. it was in the first box i looked in. at the top. see, it wasn't even that bad. laziness was not called for.
my pictures are now on my computer. pathetically, most of them are of my cats. the rest of them are of C and, for some reason, a poland springs bottle that C. filled with cran-water.
some highlights:
our williamsburg "backyard" -- the old iron works
yes, he does look stoned like that all the time
playing is sooo tiring
the phillie's new corporate-named ballpark
Posted by me at 02:10 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
August 27, 2004
but you can't be a lesbian! you're so pretty!
There is a lifetime movie (i know, i needn't even go on! but i will.) on right now called "the truth about jane" which is about teenage lesbians, and eerily mimics the saga that my first girlfriend and I embarked on in high school, right down to my character's mother saying things like "i think you're spending way too much time with her! it's not healthy!" and the me-character responding "you just hate her because i like being with her more than with you!" it is so creepily close to what happened that I wonder if my ex didn't write the screenplay. the only things that are different: 1) my mother does NOT, unfortunately, have a friend like Rupaul; and 2) the me-character is not nearly as pretty as the actress playing my ex, which is just wrong. i was the pretty one, you bitch.
and, yes, my brother walked in on us while we were making out just like in the movie. that's why he's all fucked up and can't hold a job.
Posted by me at 07:48 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
August 17, 2004
workin' 9 to 9
C got her job! Thank god--I don't care how much she makes (although I'm sure she does) I just want her to have health insurance. Makes me nervous when the monkey has no insurance.
C is working late tonight! HAHAHAHA. And by "late" I don't mean her usual definition of "late", where late = 5:45. Oh no, she's working until 9pm. And you know what? For some reason it makes my job seem less horrible.
I don't know why, it just does. Sorry monk.
Posted by me at 08:12 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
August 16, 2004
on the ohio turnpike
went to C and D's cousin's wedding. Met many relatives (and was only moderately uncomfortable!). Had only one temper tantrum. Made fun of only one cousin's mother (but I was drunk and didn't mean to...shit. shit. shit.) Saw 10 or so snakes. Rode coasters with JT. Hugged a bunch of old people. drove back and forth (and back again!) on the ohio turnpike (oh, and then we did it again, just because we couldn't get enough of it). Saw my monkey catch the bouquet.
Monkey, will you marry me?
Posted by me at 11:04 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
August 11, 2004
racializationisms
Me too. Although really, I think I'm generally more of an ageist and a classist. I grab my bag on the subway when I see anyone dirty and/or under 19, no matter what race. I'll grab my bag if I see clean black teenagers or dirty white ones. I just hate teenagers. And dirt. And, contrary to popular belief, I do not hate the Chinese. I just hate Chinatown. Why? The dirt, obviously. And that fish juice that runs down the sidewalk and into the grate at the Canal street station, which really can't be classified as "dirt" since it's viscous. Yum. And Chinatown's plan to (drumroll, deep announcer voice) TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!
So sue me.
And, funny, but I've never really enjoyed locker rooms. Only the fat women walk around naked, and there are a surprising number of fat women in gym locker rooms. Shiver.
Posted by me at 03:58 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
timing
I spend far too much time on the internet. Time I could be spending reading, or writing, or doing work. I spend far too much time on the internet because I spend far too much time sitting at work without any work to do. I can't very well pick up a novel during the middle of the work day. I don't spend as much time on the internet at home, because I have tv, and the gym, and books, and C., who, as I may previously have mentioned, is obsessed with yahoo! games euchre. Totally addicted. I never see her anymore, she lies about her habit, and the claims it's not a problem. She also gets the shakes when she can't play, and turns a little yellow.
First step in fixing the problem is admitting you have one, C. "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, and change things like playing euchre 6 hours a day with grandmothers from Akron who talk about sex." You can do it. I'll support you.
I also spend way too much time biting my fingers, worrying, and drinking coffee. I spend too much time thinking about how I really need to get my eyebrows waxed, instead of going out and doing it. I spend too much time staring off into space because I'm tired. I do not spend enough time sleeping. I spend too much time looking for seats on the subway. I spend too much time talking with coworkers. I spend too much time not returning clients' phone calls.
I spend time like water. Like it grows on trees. Like it's going out of style.
I spend too much time thinking about time. And, really, this is probably the biggest and most unhealthy (and unhealthful!) way I waste time. I spend a lot of time thinking about how quickly time pass. I think about how yesterday I was 17 and dating ugly girls with questionable aspirations (and IQs), and the day before yesterday I was 11 and wanted to join the army because the obstacle course at boot camp looked like a lot of fun. I think about how just an hour ago I started law school, and about 45 minutes after that I met C. By this calculus C. and I have been dating for about 15 minutes. God knows it's been the best 15 minutes of my life, but it's so weird that I had a life (a long life. 24 years of life!) that didn't involve her. And with comments like that, maybe I'm not so far away from that 17 year old me. "Like, oh my god, I feel like I've known you forever!" And that silly 17 year old is still around I guess, but the part of her that thinks she'll live forever (or at least it will take a really long time to get old) isn't. Today is gone in an instant. Ten years from now is a lot closer than you think. I know it's a lot closer than I thought--in an instant, I'm almost 10 years removed from 17 year old me.
And, in an instant, time can stop. There's the proverbial bus to get hit by. There's cancer, freak blood clots, AIDs. There's mental illness that can swoop down and stop you short--your body still there, but your mind is lost to time--and anything else, for that matter. Or you could just turn off. Disappear. Time for you would go on, but for others you would freeze at the instant you left, immortal in memory, at least until the people who remember you are gone or have forgotten.
This is going nowhere, isn't it?
Posted by me at 02:03 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
August 08, 2004
hibernation
It's Sunday, August 8th, 2004, and I've slept to noon for the first time in MONTHS. Until I started the Job from the Deepest, Darkets, Most Painful Level of Hell, I could easily sleep to noon on weekends, and almost always did. After I started said job, however, I found myself getting up at 8 or 9 at the latest (often earlier, and often with diarrhea and a cold sweat, but you don't really want to hear about that). How to explain the sleeping in? Yesterday C. and I got up, putzed around, went to Williamsburg to get haircuts (first stopping off at S&B for tuna melts), went to what claims to be the only gay bar in Williamsburg to play photohunt and meet up with some people, went to dinner, came home on the G-train (which was running! frequently!), dropped off laundry for OTHER PEOPLE TO DO (C. has seen the light, and the light is good, and the light's name is Abdul, and he has a crush on her and probably likes washing our underwear waaaaaaay too much, but whatever as long as I am relieved from my laundry duties), went to the bookstore and bought too many books, came home and read, got in bed and ended up staying up until 2am watching "Unfaithful" on HBO. So why did I sleep until noon? I think Richard Gere is a sedative, because god knows the job is still stressing me out.
Posted by me at 12:08 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
August 04, 2004
so help me god.
i do not understand why i can't do any work. my energy level is at an all time low. it's hot out. i'm hungry. i want to go to the gym. people are mean (not all of the people all of the time, but some of the people a lot of the time--including me). this work week is painfully slow.
and now, a way out of leftfield segue:
there is a verse in Isaiah (Ch. 51. Or maybe 60. Or 61. Or 56. Or something.) that, to paraphrase, says something like "'for my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways' sayeth the Lord" which, taken out of context could be read to mean something like "you don't understand why things happen because you're just a human, so don't think too hard on it and just let it happen" but which, in context, actually probablly means something like "god can do anything", which is really much more affirming than the out of context interpretation, and at the same time does not negate the hardwork humans should put in to living their own lives. the "it's god's will" BS that evangelicals take to the extreme is an example of putting the first, incorrect, interpretation into practice and letting things slide, not giving humans any responsibility. and that ticks me off.
i would like to think, however, that it is god's will for me not to work any more on these fucking contracts, and, really, who am i to question the divine?
i bet this was not at all the kind of entry that C. expected when she said my last entry was depressing, and she wanted a fun one.
Posted by me at 05:40 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack