fuzzy sweater.

Monday, September 30, 2002

Heroes are born every day, people. Every day.

Take for instance, yesterday. I was sitting in the train station waiting for the F and generally staring out into nothing while holding a book on my lap which I didn't bother to pretend to read. I am typically very interested in checking out the people around me, so I did a little of this, too. There's a man belting out off-pitch ballads down the tracks... there's a woman corralling her twelve children on the other side... there's an old guy staring at some teenaged girls... all of them typical subway characters. They make the everyday patterns of life so much more irritating, god bless 'em... but there are many normal people, too. A normal looking woman next to me was reading a book. I looked to see what it was, as I always do, and it turned out to be one of our titles. I always like to see this. But as I continued staring over her shoulder, I saw that right there on the page was a glaring spelling error! Chapter "THRITY-ONE"? What?! I daresay not! I couldn't stop looking at it! It might as well have been a spot of blood on the page!

The train came and I made a mental note. Marched in to my friend in managing editorial this morning, pulled the book off the shelf, and pointed directly at the error. She said it had probably been printing like that for years and years, seemed stunned that it could have escaped unnoticed before my sharp attention to detail brought it to light, and declared that I should pat myself on the back. So I am! What an eye! What a catch! I have done what so many before me have neglected to do, found an error, saved the company from further humiliation! It's the little triumphs. Heroes are born every day. Like I said.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:20

Sunday, September 29, 2002

Well, perhaps this Saturday night / Sunday morning posting thing is my new "thing"... because here I am again. But how can I not post when I've had such a fantastic day! Really just plain old straight up goddamn fabulous.

After lazing the morning away sleeping, my mid-afternoon was met with some anticipation and excitement, for I was to group with young Liz for a very particular shopping mission which supports a creative project upon which Interstate and Fuzzy Sweater are collaborating. I am not at liberty to discuss the nature of said shopping trip at present, but I will tell you that it ultimately involved a great deal of delighted squealing, a sewing shop, a large amount of creative ingenuity on both our parts, photobooth photos, a mall, quite a bit of walking and smirking, and lengthy but timid discussion about whether or not we might possibly be the biggest spazzy dorks on the planet. [Tune in for further revelations about our super project!!!!! if you want.]

After parting with the formidable Elizabeth, I went to visit my former roommates, Maps and Kadie. They just got a place in Park Slope-- their big move from Manhattan to Brooklyn... I went after offering to help, but hoping that I'd procrastinated long enough so that all the major furniture had been properly placed. It had been. Their apartment... don't get me wrong, I love my own new place, but I am fucking envious. It's like a real, grown-up apartment. With lighting fixtures and stuff.

After calling upon them, I came back to my neighborhood and stopped by a favorite falafel place. Best falafel in the world: Fatoosh. Go there. Today, I took out. Whereupon I brought home, ate, vegetated and watched a spot of television for about three hours, worked on the aforementioned top secret project to be named here in future [watch this space!!!], and ruminated on exactly what to wear for my night out on the town. I decided upon the new shirt I purchased today on my first trip to Old Navy in about two years. Really though, when I saw this shirt, I knew we were meant to be together. It's that surprisingly unique, it's that cool. And that cheap. And that produced by child laborers in China.

After a spell, I left to meet Mary Anne at Buttermilk (jukebox, yeah yeah, we know.) It was meant to be a group thing, but in the end it was just the two of us. And we ladies had a nice, long night talking together, and we enjoyed it. Fresh pick-up line of the week: "Excuse me, but why did you change your shirt?" Thought I was someone else. Slunk away, embarrassed. I thought he wasn't bad looking but Mary Anne said he had stupid hair. Later, a frat boy in full greek letter t-shirted regalia (aside: after mistakenly typing "fart boy", I'm laughing) settled himself a little too close for comfort and asked me if we could hang out sometime. I don't know how they know, but they know. About my greek past, I mean. A curse! Forever. [Aside from these two yokels, real life friends Christopher, Jamieson, and co. were also present, so that was nice.]

Anyway. Now I'm home at 3:30 and in a fine mood, and loving on my catty. She's so beautiful! I swear she sometimes communicates with me with her eyes and implies to me that she's really a human trapped in a cat's body and is actually highly intelligent and sensitive and comprehends everything I say and appreciates me for exactly who I am and needs nothing more from me than mooshing and water.

Christ. I gotta get to bed. I shouldn't do this Sunday morning thing anymore. And I know tomorrow I'll edit the hell out of this post, even knowing that nobody really gives a crap apart from me. BlahblahBLAHBLAHblahblahblah.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 03:33

Friday, September 27, 2002

There is a pregant woman in the office who is suddenly SO very pregnant... I just saw her and my eyes couldn't even comprehend the entirety of what they were seeing! How much more of her there is now! I'm so far removed from anyone who is pregnant, has been pregnant, or has actual children, that it feels like I'm witnessing an experiment of some kind here. For weeks I've been crinkling my nose in wonder about what exactly is goin' on inside this coworker's stomach... That whole thing, the birth thing, just blows my mind completely. Not so much the "where do babies come from?" part of it-- I'm not twenty anymore, you know-- but in general, birthing? It really DOES seem miraculous. Or more like dumbfounding. Like for starters, how the whole ball gets rolling, that whole chemistry experiment there... pretty unusual, no? And then from that tiny little fluke cellular interaction, a woman has to lug this thing (or things-- don't get me started on multiple births!) around IN HER BODY for almost a year! And then get it OUT of there! And then there's a baby. And then eventually the woman stands, walks around, does her everyday routine, has this whole new life wiping stuff up, eventually gets pregnant again and the whole thing is repeated. Meanwhile, this thing she and her mate have spawned is turning into another person whose behind needs to be wiped for awhile but who will eventually grow up, walk, read, sass back to the woman who did this fucking incredible thing for it, learn how to make decisions, become smarter than her, and decide to undergo the same whole bizarre process itsself. Freakish, really. Beautiful, sure. Awe-inspiring, most definitely. But mostly just hella freaky weird.

No, I never did very well in Bio. But I did pay attention in Sex Ed, thank you.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:54

Thursday, September 26, 2002

A great idea: It's a mixer for mix CD mixers! I will be participating.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:30

this is unbelievable... that sebastian kitty, the one i mentioned a few days ago who's up for adoption? he was just attacked by anna's dog (the woman who found him) and is now on life support in an animal hospital and will probably die! that poor little guy has some really awful luck... especially because he almost had a home with my friend rebecca, but then this random kitten just jumped over her fence and crawled up into her lap and she decided she should keep it instead. and now sebastian's probably not going to make it. apparently he looks terrible. poor little biscuit.

my face is all crumpled. i shouldn't share this kind of news.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:58

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

Well, I don't know exactly why, but I'm walking around today like I have Mister goddamn Bluebird sitting on my shoulder. Smiling, singing chirpy hello's at people, laughing at stupid stuff, being wholly cheesy, (though not, I don't think, false)... Surprising, considering the way things started for me this morning. Basically, I woke up two hours early and lay in my bed paralyzed by thoughts of all the bills I have to pay this month. Electric bill from my OLD apartment which somehow totals $200, even though I paid every month on time... renewing my computer warranty will cost $250 but I have to, since it's dying and I'll never be able to afford another one... cell phone bill, fuckin' A... renter's insurance, another $200... paying off that credit card fraud thing as quickly as possible since they obviously aren't going to take it off my bill... not to mention rent, food, current bills... I can forget any pipe dreams I've been cooking up about going to Iceland or Sao Paolo this year. I was thinking about it. Now I'm not. (...I guess this sounds pretty spoiled, eh? I know renter's insurance and computer warranties and trips to Sao Paolo are not things I ought to be whining about... I don't have to feed three hungry kids or pay hospital bills or anything. But still. Stressed me out.)

Then my alarm kicked in, and I lay there listening to Radio 880 AM for awhile. I heard the most bizarre story, about a 65 year old man who had been found afloat in a small boat in the Pacific. Apparently he'd been out there for FOUR MONTHS, floating around in his boat, eating fish he caught with his hands and the occasional unfortunate seagull, and drinking rain water from a bucket. FOUR MONTHS on the open sea! Absolutely unfrickinbelievable. So I lay there daydreaming for a little while about whether or not my natural sensibility would kick in if I were cast to sea in a little dinghy. Frankly, I don't think it would. Though my pirate name is apparently Black Mary Vane, I really don't feel after thinking about it this morning that I deserve a respectable pirate name like that. I'm sure I wouldn't catch some bird with my hands and eat it raw. I would probably sit around and weep and hallucinate and eat my clothes or something. I would deem myself Shitty Pirate Wimpybones or something.

Anyway, as noted, now I'm in a perfectly fine mood. Haircut tonight! I am putting Kelly of Mousey Brown securely in the past. This is what pirates must do when they are getting over the loss of a matey or important crew member. Then I am getting a toasted sandwich from Pete's Candy Store. I hear that's what pirates eat when they aren't stranded at sea eating raw birds. Even if I know I'm a faker, I still have appearances to uphold.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:22

Tuesday, September 24, 2002

That Poop is Wack.

Against my better judgment, and the laws I have always adhered to regarding things I put in my body, I have just eaten a brownie made with coffee beans which have passed through the bowels of a monkey. Monkey Poo, they call it. Don't believe me? See this: "Rich coffee lovers are going crazy for a new kind of coffee, made from the coffee beans that have been through the alimentary canal of the Indonesian monkeys...." and then let your jaw drop freely.

Now that it's all gone down (and we agreed, it was shamefully tasty), I feel a little guilty. What if they have these monkeys chained up in Indonesia just eating beans and pooping them out 24 hours a day? I think monkeys are great! So then, by eating this bean which some Indonesian monkey had to swallow and then crap out along with handfuls of other beans, I fear that I have just contributed to the degradation of one of the animal kingdom's most highly evolved creatures. I'm not kidding here, I really wish I hadn't. Plus, it's a disgusting idea altogether. Who thinks of this shit? No pun intended.

Update, one hour later: ...What does dysentery feel like?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:02

Further proof that blogging about the most mundane and irrelevant things that flow through one's brain can get one far: Yesterday's mention of Aimee Mann has netted me two tickets to see her sold out New Yorker Festival event on Friday night! Thanks in many different languages to Katie for reading closely, and for being a thoughtful friend and calling me first, and for telling me she thinks I ought to be a McSweeney's contributor (blushing), and for offering me the chance to see Aimee interviewed by another person I like very much, Ben Greenman! What a lovely, lovely night that will be.

While I'm waxing lit geek... I'm also going to see everyone's favorite martyr / guru, Dave Eggers, on Thursday. Huzzah! And I just started DFW's A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again. Huzzah! And I just finished Everything Is Illuminated --and unlike most people, it seems, did not love it. Rather, I practically detested it for the simple fact that Jonathan Safran Foer was 24 when it was published and I, as stated yesterday, will be 25 in ninety eight days and have not, as stated yesterday, written so much as a short story in ages and ages. Maybe next week I will (snorting).

But Huzzah! anyway. Will be dusting off the black framed glasses and practicing my disaffected look in anticipation of upcoming events.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:30

Monday, September 23, 2002

true statements and sentiments.

i can't wait for snow. my desk smells strongly of feet. an apple on my desk has odd gray spots all over it. life goes on. i look at my own handwriting and think, "perfect!" i often crave the feeling of fingernails scratching down a book page. surveys make me happy. aimee mann makes me happy. i like nicknames. i don't have enough nicknames. i would like to have more hobbies. i wish i could play the guitar. i despised playing the violin. bright yellow is such a lovely color. dan gave me "a supposedly fun thing i'll never do again". i hate it when people ignorantly put book titles into quotes (quotes are for short stories and plays, and poems maybe. definitely not books). i try not to be a hypocrite, but sometimes we all are. i have never much cared for madonna. or prince. i have sent out fifteen vintage postcards. sending postcards makes me happy. i grind my teeth constantly. liz phair's "whip-smart" reminds me of my misunderstood-bitter-genius-rap-loving-football-player-high-school-boyfriend-of-two-years aaron, who gave me her tape for our annivesary over macaroni and cheese and herb chicken breasts which he prepared himself. song titles also go into quotes. in ninety nine days i will be twenty five years old. in thirty eight days my blog will be one year old. in case you have forgotten, as i did until yesterday: salinger is a real genius. i consistently think that when people use spanish words in flat american twang intermingled into english slang sentences, such as "hey, chica!" or "adios, buddy!" it sound just wrong and dumb, and am annoyed to sometimes catch myself doing it. i can't write a short story to save myself anymore. i need a muse. i need a massage. i have never had a massage. everyone's walk sounds unique. the phrase "pigeon-toed" makes no sense, because pigeon's feet go out, but the term is used to mean "inwardly-pointing feet". when i walk, my feet go out like a pigeon's. i love the word "milquetoast" more than most words.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:43

Sunday, September 22, 2002

so here it is, Sunday morning at 2 a.m. and I’ve just arrived home… and because, for some reason, I’ve been mentally compiling a list of (questionably) blog-worthy topics for the past half hour or so to keep myself from falling asleep on public transportation, I shall go ahead and put them down and lay bare the inner workings of sarah’s quarter-drunk mind for your reading pleasure.

..: you know how you’ll have a day every once in awhile where everyone you pass on the street seems to look alike in a sci-fi-movie kind of way? like maybe sometimes they’re all bald, or sometimes everybody looks like morgan freeman out of the corner of your eye? well, tonight in my lower east side pursuits, everyone reminded me of this kid, del, who I went to school with. who I haven’t thought about in six years. he was on the golf team in high school. maybe it's similar to biting one's cheek, in that after you've done it once, you can't stop biting it over and over. tonight i saw del like seven times.
..: thank you thank you thank you to joey for the cd booty! i love mail. especially mail that comes with bundles of "i heart slatch" stickers. or "i heart anything" stickers, really.
..: I’m going to applaud my own intuition for choosing exactly the perfect cd to listen to on my subway ride home tonight. because it ended up being longer than I expected (though not as long as last night’s, fucking train that never showed and fucking cab driver who didn’t know where he was going even though he claimed he did) and I was praising myself to no limit for choosing to bring along a tribe called quest: anthology. fucking perfect. oh, you’re surprised? you were questioning whether or not I can kick it? well, the answer is quite plain: yes, I can.
..: laaast night. went to scalp tix to the bright eyes show? couldn’t get in. it was perhaps relevant that I was above the apparent requisite maximum age limit of seventeen and completely disregarded the requisite “ironic t-shirts-only” mandate... alas. so instead, I went along with my friend mike to see this country singer he was raving about named laura cantrell. and since seeing her last night, I’ve been haunted by this fantastic song,“two seconds”… I don’t know why it stuck better than the others, because all of the songs were amazing. her new album is coming out… next week, I think? I’m getting it. so should you.
..: related: I wish I could write love songs. country love songs.
..: related: I wish I was in love. in tennessee.
..: related: I am beginning to question whether or not it’s even possible to meet a person and fall in love in new york city if you don’t exist solely as a character in a movie. it hasn’t happened to me… and by and large, it doesn’t happen to even the most wonderful and relationship-ready people I know. they always say “new york is a great place to fall in love…” hence, I want to know: who is “they”? and where does “they” live, exactly? and what kind of mind-altering substances are they taking? and where can i get some?
..: unrelated: I’ll be in the office for five hours tomorrow, as I’ve said. which probably means that shrewd sweater-watchers will get not only one weekend treat, but two!!! oh, this is the rich life, baby. grab a spoon.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 02:40

Thursday, September 19, 2002

Hot dog, this has been a nice day...

I bought this sweatervest thing at Beacon's Closet last weekend and even though it threatened to be warm today, I decided to wear it. Little black and red number over a white buttondown. Dickies. Ponytail. Glasses. Nothing extraordinary, right? And no fewer than EIGHT coworkers (an actual count!) have come over today to remark on my cuteness! Yes, I'm absolutely bragging. But isn't my conceit just so darn cute?

Also, it's a spectacularly nice day outside today.

Also, it's Talk Like A Pirate Day today. Avast ye, mateys! Swab the poop deck and hoist the mains'l or I'll make ye walk the plank, arrrrrgh!

Also, I get paid tomorrow. And am going to buy lots of things. Actually, I might buy lots of things tonight. What the hey.

Also, a very kind and generous friend (who shall remain nameless so as to prevent people begging pathetically the way I just did) has all but gotten me a free press pass to CMJ! Sweet doesn't even begin to describe the mental image I am having of me holding up my laminated pass on a shoestring and waltzing in to see Brendan Benson, Aisler Set, I Am the World Trade Center, etc. etc. etc. ETC!! Wicked.

But my life is not perfect. Nay, far from it. One problem I'm having? The cats. My little gray cat and Barbara's little orange cat are still hissing at each other and threatening to chew ears off, even after living in the same apartment for two weeks! So damned annoying. We have this intricate system of locking one cat up and letting the other roam, then letting them mingle for maybe an hour or two until one appears to be on the verge of attacking, and then locking up the other cat. It's ridiculous. Any suggestions on how to get them to love each other, you let me know.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:11

Wednesday, September 18, 2002

Okay, people. Anyone need or want a cat? An adorable little guy cat? See the email I just got from a vet acquaintance:

"The poor guy was lying dazed in a gutter (aw!), so I think he may have been hit by a car. But a thorough vet exam found that he's totally healthy, so he must have just been stunned by the car (if that's even why he was there). Sebastian is around 1 yr old. I've had him neutered, and he's FeLV and FIV negative. He's small, all white, and has pale blue eyes. So cute! He's affectionate, chatty, goofy. Cool with dogs. I think he'd be especially happy in a home with another young cat, because he's friendly, energetic and playful, and he likes a lot of attention. "

If you're interested, or want to see pictures, email me at beezernut@yahoo.com and I can email you pics and more information.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:36

right, so NOW the greatest thing, at THIS point in time in this space in the history of the world, which is by my clock 2:08 EST, is stereolab: dots and loops. what can i say, my senses are primed today.

Also: If anybody wants to get in on a season-long, roundtable vomit-fest about The Real World: Las Vegas, I'm all over that idea. Did you see that last night? I can't believe people would be stupid enough to act that way! In front of the whole damn world and their mothers on national TV! I'm hooked.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:06

Right here, right now, in this moment, at this point in the history of recorded time in this universe, there is nothing, NOTHING so good and perfect as my peanut butter, jelly and Dorito sandwich.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:57

Tuesday, September 17, 2002

Take a walk with me for a moment, if you have the time. I'm chomping at the bit to bullet point! And so I will.

A. Last night? Le Tigre? Le Tigre! Le Tigre! Le Tiiiiiigre! Thanks to Alissa, Abby, and Andrew for gathering to share the fun and make like feminazis for a few refrains. So much energy... the floorboards at Irving were waffling so hard I thought we might all perish. Luckily we didn't. (Northern State and (International) Noise Conspiracy were also highly bitchin').

B. Prior to the show, I was at home watching the season premiere of 7th Heaven (and is there anything in the world more beautiful than the hypocrisy of this woman's tastes in entertainment? I really don't think there is) and I had this realization come over me like a shaft of light: This show is the worst show in television history. Well, that I already knew... but here's the realization: Are you aware of the term"jumping the shark?" The term stems from the episode of Happy Days where Fonzie waterskiied over a bunch of sharks, an attempted ratings jiggler... and it signifies the moment in a show's history where the decline steepens so much and the show becomes so ridiculous that it has to die. Old people have a baby (Growing Pains), or somebody gets married (every show), etc. And on 7th Heaven... Every Single Episode is a Jump the Shark Episode. I realized this as I watched Ruthie set the dinner table with the help of a chimpanzee last night. They are all bad. Beyond cliche. The freaky thing here is that THIS show seems to gain in momentum with each asinine plot line. I so fucking love that show. And it keeps coming up at parties!

C. Back in May, somebody apparently used one of my credit card checks to take out $600 in cash. I only just noticed today. I called the credit card company, asked them what I need to do to get it taken off. They tell me it's too late, that I can't do anything and there's no one I can talk to who will tell me any different. So now I'm out $600, plus the other $600 it will cost me to pay off the amount stolen from me over the next year. I was hysterical on the phone. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thought how strange and terrible it is that I couldn't cry for 3,000 dead people, but I can cry for myself when I've lost a paltry couple hundred bucks. I wonder what that says about me.

D. Happy Birthday, Bill (again)! If I had all the money in the world, I would buy you one of these. But I don't have any money (see: C) so you're out of luck, bub.

E. I am going to get my hair cut somewhere else. I can't go back to Mousey Brown... not with all the memories. Plus, I hear at the Beehive they have Entemann's!

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:02

Monday, September 16, 2002

a cutting (cut and) blow.

i have been dumped. dumped by my hairdresser.

so like, kelly is no longer working at mousey brown! since i have referred many people to her, many of you in fact, you can all feel free to wail with me. i tripped happily into the salon yesterday to make an appointment, giddy with the prospect of another collaboration between my difficult hair and kelly the be-scissored fabulous. i did feel a bit thrown upon stepping into the shop, thinking it odd that kelly wasn't there on a sunday, which is when she usually works... and when i approached the receptionist, my stomach-wrenching fears were confirmed. my hairdresser is fucking GONE. no trace! no note! nothing.

the haircuts she's given me... i've never been so satisfied! never felt so good! why would she do this to me?? how could she just go like that??? who will know that i like a little bit of a flip, but not too much, and to go easy with the razor cut??? who will understand my bangs the way she did??? oh, woe, kelly, you terrible, wretched, talented hair genius! i hate you! i need you! oh, weeping now... weeping.

for any of you who are sitting there thinking this is shallow, that i need to just buck up and shut up, well, to you i say step off! you can't tell me that you haven't suffered the loss of a haidresser, barber, tattoo artist, or manicurist if that's your thing... we all have. it's just, nobody talks about it. it's the pain that goes unexpressed. you know it, too.

man, do i need a haircut.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 14:14

Friday, September 13, 2002

As I sometimes do, I feel like bullet-pointing a few disconnected thoughts and notes.

- This morning on the train, a woman and her husband were standing together near me. They were holding hands and gazing into each others' eyes, as you would if you were in love. Happy, enchanted, satisfied. I watched as he reached out two fingers, quick as a wink, and touched her stomach for just a second, and I realized that she was pregnant. Maybe two or three months at most. This tiny, barely perceptible gesture made me think (again) of being in love, of being with someone... it made my heart sore. As I've said before, a lot of my emotions have been numbed for the past year, unable to express themselves to me or anyone else. Thus, this heart hasn't felt much in the way of that particular brand of love lately, so I sometimes wonder if it's still capable. I suppose it must be. I guess the whole love thing has been on my mind for awhile (try since age 15), but various recent discussions and readings have reminded me that a heart is allowed to feel something, painful or exilhirating... and that mine doesn't very often.

- As I was waiting to cross the street in front of my building, listening to my mix tape, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was an angular looking man I often see in the cafeteria. He said good morning, and asked me if I work for __. I replied that yes, I do. Did he? No, he said, the bank. But he's seen me around. His name is Adrian. I told him that my name is Sarah. I am awed... this is unusual. We discussed the annoyance of the traffic situation outside, which is all jumbled because of the UN Summit this week. Entering the building, he asks me if I am from England. No, I tell him, Indiana. He sounds to be from Europe, possibly Germany. He told me that my voice has a certain tonal inflection that reminded him of the English. I told him I was flattered that he would think so. We then swiped our cards and wished each other a good day. This is the second banker in two years to approach me like this at work. I wonder if it happens to other people in my company, too. The first approached me at the elevator bank and told me I looked exactly like his cousin and asked if I would like to get lunch sometime. I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that I am dressed very anti-banker today, in my Dickies and a red and black striped tank top with pigtails. Maybe my aura speaks to their hidden alternative underbellies.

- One of the guys in the mail room has replaced his front tooth with a big gold cap that has an "R" etched into it. I found it really sort of endearing. I wished I could remember his name, and if it starts with an R.

Perhaps more later.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 12:02

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

First, a positive. You know what day I always love? The day I discover that my hair has grown long enough to pull back into pigtails again. It happens four, five times a year... and today one of those days. Pigtail buns, no less! I just wasn't paying attention! It just makes me happy. Never mind that when I pull it back, all the gray hairs just spring to the forefront. I have a lot of them now.
....
On to timelier matters. This day, for me, has been good. Very peaceful. I woke up at 8:46 this morning exactly, and although I hesitated, I did turn on the television to watch the reading of the names. It was hard to take in at first, and then still harder as I realized I found it less painful to watch as the list went on and on. Still, so many people... so many people whose grainy little pictures are all that's left, whose names were grossly mispronounced to an insulting degree... and that's the residue, that's the end. Fin. I don't know quite how to absorb that.

I had a hard time deciding what to wear today. I felt that it was very important, what I wore, expressing __ to the world as if the world cared. For a second, I thought of wearing the same outfit I wore a year ago, though I determined this to be sadistic and stupid. Why would I do that? Quickly vetoed. Then my thought was, well, it's a long shot but what if something crazy should happen... maybe I should wear something comfortable. Also, I wanted to wear black. So I am wearing comfortable black today. As usual.

After watching the end of the name reading, I left the apartment with an apple, my walkman and a good mixed tape I've been stuck to lately. I walked up the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, which goes along the East River, and took some black and whites. I looked at people's faces. People looked at my face. And it was okay.

I made my way up to the Brooklyn Bridge (by way of the Jehovah's Witness compound— found myself following a guy who out of the corner of my eye, looked kind of cute... until he turned into one of the buildings into a room full of a bunch of other guys with ties and I put two and two together. That place is creepy).

On the bridge, there weren't really all that many people. The people I did see all seemed content. Glad they came up with the idea of walking across the bridge, like me. Possibly thinking of themselves walking across that bridge a year ago, trying to get home to their families with a million other people. I took my time, wandered around carelessly, noted the beautiful shining sky and thought to myself how identical it was to the sky I saw last year from the roof of my friend's building as I looked north towards the Bronx, minus the fighter jets. Because I couldn't stand to look south into the black smoke and chaos anymore. I sat on a bench and listened to Yo La Tengo... mm.

I've been in the office all day, effectively blocking out the world whether I wanted to or not. And the tonight I'm meeting up with some friends for a nice family dinner.

Overall, it's been a lot easier than I thought it would be, this day. I feel happy and relieved and just glad. I hope you are well, too. And thank you for reading all of that, or even for skimming it.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:55

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

I don't know what all I've been doing today. In part, I have been the diligent worker, designing sell sheets and running important things to important people. But primarily, I have been enjoying lengthy streams of email banter with the ever-so-lovely Liz and the consummately trucculent Erica. Not to lessen the confidence of any of the other people I have emailed with today... you're all great, too. Really. But these guys really passed the bar today, you know? Excellence in Emailing. Thanks, you two.

And tonight I go for drinks and free chicken fingers (err?!!) with coworkers. A normal enough day by all accounts. But tomorrow I will wake up in a media blitz that has nothing and everything to do with me and everybody. I'm not sure how I feel about stepping out the door, but since I did tell my boss I'd be in to work, I suppose I will be. Barring any high alert security breaches. Did you see that they've got a color coded "terror-o-meter"? I can't get a link going, but it's on CNN.com today. I don't mean to belittle the fact that this is a scary time, and I AM scared (although every day I'm scared, so really this is old hat for me) and I know that the levels each stand for a heightened step in the security plan and aren't just there to freak people out... but with the colors coupled with these very serious names for each level ("elevated" "severe") ...it just seems to me to be straight from a bad movie about the Commies or something. Designed to freak people out.

I would like to skip tomorrow altogether. But since I can't, you will probably hear me chiming in at some point about the absurdity of the media coverage or the asininely patriotic outfits worn by tourists on the street.

Still, if you don't check in tomorrow... I hope you spend the day well, with people you care about. However you need to spend it.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 18:02

Would you hire a girl whose bra strap was being held together by a very visible safety pin? Just a hypothetical question.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:16

Monday, September 09, 2002

It's 4:19 on September 9, and I just caught the mail guy a good two verses into "Deck the halls with boughs of holly." When I called him on it, he said "Hey, Christmas is only three (sic) months away." This interaction has, understandably, made my afternoon.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 16:20

Out of the Loop.

I can't help but pity people who miss belt loops. I don't know what it is, exactly... it's just such a simple thing, threading a belt through four little loops, and to not achieve that and THEN to be unaware of that failure which is obvious to the world... it's just a little bit pathetic. I mean, the point of wearing a belt is either to make ones' self look a bit more spiffed up or to hold up pants, no? Either way, the belt-skipping-one-loop is failing at its simple goal. And in that, is a sad reflection on the wearer of that belt. I'm very serious.

So if you're wearing a belt today, please run your hand around your waist right now and make sure you're all systems go. For me.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 13:37

Sunday, September 08, 2002

this may be a weird post. i don't know what i'm going to write about... could be lunchmeat, could be peaches. who knows.

1. i am hung over. i'm hung over from LAST night, nearly 24 hours after getting home at 3 a.m. after my first night out in my fantastic new neighborhood. after downing two glasses of red and six or seven mix drinks and sucking down some cigarettes i had previously sworn up and down that i wasn't interested in. after drunk dialing bill with the rationale that "it's only midnight in california" so therefore it made perfect sense. after waking up at 9 to wait for the cable guy. after a whole day of keeping my eyes closed because every light was too bright. so, yes. still feeling pretty shitty, thanks.

2. cool: the tv in my bedroom, which is older than i am and comes from the era of dials and wood-alike side paneling, has taken to cable! i always just assumed that it was too rickety and antiquated for the ways of the modern tv watcher. but the cable guy fitted it with one of those ohm things that you screw into the back, and hey presto, here i am watching the independent film channel! of course, i pretty much ONLY get the independent film channel. and a spanish channel, the weather channel, some sort of 24-hour off track horse betting network, and the food network. the rest of them come in poorly. but i'm still quite happy.

3. cool: calling.
3A. not cool: not calling.

4. even less cool: "patriot day"??! what the hell? do we really NEED to affix yet another terrible name to an already marred date? in my opinion, we do not. also, calling it "patriot day" will not automatically make me patriotic. if anything, we should call it "it's okay to pretend to be from canada day". pass it on. george w., are you listening?

5. i kind of miss williamsburg and greenpoint. i know, i know... i wanted to move. but i just do. part of me would rather still be the least retro kid on the subway platform or the most bourgeouis person on the block. down here i have "williamsburg hair" and am def-i-nite-ly in the bottom tax bracket. people in greenpoint walk pitbulls on chain leashes; down here it's practically a poodle parade. though if you ask me, it won't be too too long before the poodles are parading around the bedford stop as well. sigh.

6. [confidential, to alissa : shit, i forgot to get the tickets this weekend. email me.]

7. my friend mary anne is going to need a place to live come october 1. a share or a studio, i guess. if anybody has any tips, pass them on? you were so good to me when i needed help myself... so i thought maybe.

Okay, so I'm going to bed now. Going to doze off to the sounds of this old Kim Basinger movie (and did anyone else read that she's been linked with Eminem?! what in the hell??) dubbed in Spanish.

Night.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 00:31

Thursday, September 05, 2002

Okay. In case you aren't yet aware... September 11, 2002 is approaching with alarming speed. Like everyone else, I'm totally dumbfounded by how quickly it's come back around. For the past few weeks, people have been murmuring among themselves about taking vacations to get away from the hubbub, throwing parties in an attempt to stave off the grief of the rest of the city, not coming in to work, coming in to work... but I've just chosen to ignore the red circle on the calendar for the most part. I figured I would leave the TV off, keep my head down, try to avoid looking at the blaring images and headlines on every newspaper and magazine... and otherwise try to carry on as if everything was normal about the day. No reason to be afraid, I thought.

Of course, I can't really do this. I'm a feeling person, and a sentimental one. This week I've been reading the newspaper on the subway now that I've moved to a neighborhood that requires an hourlong commute... and every day they're running follow-up stories and noting commemorative ceremonies and exhibits and things, and I keep finding myself tearing up in the middle of a train full of people. I thought to myself how glad I am that my office would certainly be closed on September 11, because I wanted to be anywhere but here, where I was a year ago, alone at my cubicle while the world grieves right outside the door.

Yesterday, I received an email from some old corporate curmudgeon or another. We will, in fact, NOT be closed on September 11. Anyone choosing to take the day off is free to use a personal day. Business will continue as usual, less two solitary minutes of silent observation and reflection. Instead of a day off, the company will be handing out red, white, and blue ribbons at the door to anyone who wants one. Ribbons! Now those will surely be a comfort to all of us who would rather be with our loved ones than sitting at a desk formatting budget sheets. Excellent idea.

Amber will be on vacation that day. She says that I can have her ribbon, too. This eases my mind more than you can ever know.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:58

Wednesday, September 04, 2002

Next time I take a vacation, star in a p0rn film, or or meet my married lover on the sly, folks, I'm going to the Madonna Inn. I will travel with my box of White Zinfandel under my arm (as usual) and rest comfortably in the plush splendor of the "Barrel of Fun" suite, I think. Or maybe the "Ren" room. Oh, go on, you try to pick a favorite! Darn near impossible.

If all us maniacal dissenters are wrong and it turns out there is a heaven, and I somehow end up getting in, I pray that it will look exactly like this.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 15:36

My eye hurts.

the words spilled out effortlessly at 10:59

Tuesday, September 03, 2002

Swooooooooon: I just met the lovely and talented Arthur Bradford. Love the book, love the dog thing, even love the hair. Really don't love the new cover, but hey. That's just boring publishing blechy blech and really, you can't win 'em all. As I told his publicist, "if Arthur wants me to go out with him, please tell him that I will."

the words spilled out effortlessly at 17:08

Monday, September 02, 2002

I spent three hours of today sitting willingly in the pouring rain.

My mother bought me a ticket to today's US Open matches, and though it threatened rain, I went to meet her and her friends around one o'clock today. When we met at Shea Stadium, it was raining lightly but steadily. Their thinking, determined by a comforting voice on the loudspeaker implying tennis come hell or high water, was that it would definitely stop raining at some point in the immediate future. We chose a table with a feeble umbrella whose chairs protruded out into the open air and sat down to wait out the storm.

THREE HOURS LATER, the rain hadn't stopped and my ass was soaked thoroughly from rain runoff. I held in my hands a sopping wet copy of this week's New York Times magazine, which I had read cover to cover, and before me sat two empty coffee cups and a half empty cup of bad wine. My mother and her friends were convinced at every turn that the sun was "about to peek out!" and "was that a rainbow?" and etc. etc. etc. The announcer kept sweetly dictating that they would most certainly open the main court "twenty five minutes after the rain stops falling". And did it ever stop? It fucking did not.

It's funny. I've never, ever seen my mother with her friends around her... and I see now that when she's with them, she's a completely different woman. They bring out a sense of humor in her that I didn't know she had. She reminded me of... me. And not in a scary way! Which is scary. I realized with some surprise that, husbands and kids and generational age gap and location aside, I would definitely hang out with my mom and her friends. For fun. Seriously. I hope this doesn't mean I'm morphing into a grownup without any say so. Oughtn't I have say so?

Totally fucking weird.

My new bedroom gets zero tv reception... how am I supposed to live like this?

the words spilled out effortlessly at 22:04