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    Saturday, December 15, 2007

    the weekend blur

    so many things to do, and yet i can't seem to get started on any of them. during the week, i look forward to the weekend, but during the weekend, i can become paralyzed. to characterize the sensation as suicidal would be hyperbole that even i will resist. nevertheless, there is an unyielding strain of misery that runs like a coarse rope beside my superior vena cava, and i am most aware of it during the weekend when i finally pause. its presence has also started to grow increasingly perceptible during the week, which is a problem.
    --
    my roommate introduced me to Flipping Out, a house-flipping show on Bravo that features an insufferable boss not unlike her own. apparently, she and i have similar bosses.
    --
    watching TV is supposed to be an activity of recreation, leisure, and escape, but when i watch this show, the pit in my stomach that i carry around all day at work quickly returns.
    --
    both my sister and i have been interested in flipping houses for some time, and i see it as a money-making endeavor that is an ideal fit for my sensibilities (unlike my current line of work).
    --
    the silver lining that i'm trying to draw around this dark stormy cloud is that based on this television show, it would seem that working in any field can be as stressful and unpleasant as my job is when you have an outrageous boss. so i guess it might not be my industry that's the problem, but rather my job. this gives me hope.

    Wednesday, December 5, 2007

    buy buy work

    i'm miserable at my workplace and i hate working, so why should i litter my to-buy list with work-related objects?
    --
    corollary:

    Scratch that, all on the floor

    Loyal readers,
    --
    It is with great sadness that I report that I am 86ing my reverse sleep idea (i.e., making the working hours the last hours of my day), as apparently following anything but the suffocatingly rigid awake-in-the-morning-sleep-at-night routine is a carcinogen. Ever the health nut and hypochondriac, I'm extrapolating from the recent alarmist CNN article, "Overnight shift to be classified as 'probable' cancer cause." Notably, it states:
    --
    "[S]cientists suspect that overnight work is dangerous because it disrupts the circadian rhythm, the body's biological clock. The hormone melatonin, which can suppress tumor development, is normally produced at night."
    --
    Oy vey! Another hair-brained scheme bites the dust.
    --
    Yours,
    Me

    Sunday, December 2, 2007

    to buy, edited

    • computer speakers
    • crock pot
    • curtain rod
    • thin belts
    • dress shirts
    • dresses
    • jackets
    • nasty bag for work
    • gloves
    • plastic portable filing system
    • usb cable

    Plans

    • finally grow out Li'l Puff's hair
    • New Year's Resolution
    • more metallurgy
    • travel
    • no adding to "to buy" list

    To Do (Long-Run)

    There are some things I keep thinking about doing that I cannot forget about. To help me remember to look into them, I'm recording them here.
    1. relocating to that beachy area of Thailand that it was said I would enjoy (I think b/c language issues + __?? + low cost of living) - but med care, etc. (Mark)
    2. relocating to India (e.g., Banjara Hills) - but how sustain self, not lose mind, etc.?
    3. living full-time in an RV - ask Ruthie about boatlife b/c is very similar (small space, community); sewage situation; storage
    4. horse as primary means of transport ($200/month to maintain or was it $2k/yr?) (Dead Broke horse farm)
    5. commune - but what members + cult problems
    6. house of extended family/ies (Tom Cruise allegedly, ancient times)
    7. move to Hudson, NY
    8. Gozo, Malta

    Sunday, November 18, 2007

    My Sleep & My Two-Step

    Sleep is very important to me for both health and beauty reasons.
    --
    Always the revolutionary, I've recently been wondering whether I might be better off having my time at work be the last 8 hours of my day, rather than the first. Id est, I would sleep from 6pm - 2am, wake up, tend to my personal life, have breakfast and lunch, and then go to work (and have dinner during my lunch break). Since I'm so tired after work, which can lead to wasted time in my personal life, I thought such a schedule would properly prioritize and value my personal life over my working life. Plus, it would allow me to sleep for over 8 hours and still get to work on time, should I so desire.
    --
    The problem with this proposal is that the rest of the world operates on a different clock, so accomplishing any tasks that involve other people could be hard. The internet solves some of that (I can go shopping anytime), and there is a 24-hour eatery in my backyard, but there still could be some monkey wrenches.
    --
    Choice Excerpts from "The Sleep-Industrial Complex:" A [long-ass]New York Times Magazine Article
    --
    "Sleep hygiene," a concept discussed in the below article, really appeals to me. Like dental hygiene, I aspire to have good sleep hygiene. The article also critically discusses sleep from a historical/cross-cultural perspective.
    --
    About 33% of it focuses on the mattress industry, and 10% focuses on pharmaceuticals. I didn't find those parts to be as relevant, so I cut them out.
    --
    Here 'tis:
    . . .
    Our misunderstandings about sleep have been centuries in the making. As has already happened in the food and nutrition businesses, some sectors of our new sleep-industrial complex will surely find it profitable to clear up our confusion, while others will simply exploit it. But as mattress companies and sleeping-pill makers both barrel into the marketplace to sell us a good night’s sleep, it’s tough to know where in the jumble of science and storytelling the truth about sleep lies.
    --
    All good nights of sleep are alike. Each miserable night of sleep is miserable in its own way. You either close your eyes and, many hours later, open them, or you endure an idiosyncratic epic of waiting, trying, failing, irritation, self-sabotage and despair, then stand up at sunrise racked with war stories you don’t have the energy to tell.
    --
    Sleep research is a young field and still doesn’t have a definitive picture of what “normal” sleep is, making discussions of abnormal sleep imprecise. The National Institutes of Health can define insomnia only very broadly, as “complaints of disturbed sleep in the presence of adequate opportunity and circumstance for sleep.” Insomnia can be transient — a few off nights — or horrifically chronic. Complaints may be about difficulty falling asleep or about waking up during the night. But it’s hard to know exactly what those complaints should be judged against. Nor has research determined which objective measures — total time slept, percentage of time spent in the various stages of sleep, etc. — correlate to a person’s subjective feeling of having slept well or poorly. Some people whose sleep looks normal in the lab complain bitterly; some whose sleep looks terrible never do.
    --
    Even something as empirical-seeming as how long we sleep becomes problematic. In studies, insomniacs almost invariably overestimate how long it took them to fall asleep and underestimate how long they slept; in one, more than a third of the participants consistently thought they’d slept at least an hour less than their brain-wave activity indicated. Yet in a way, this hardly matters. Wallace Mendelson, past president of the Sleep Research Society, explained to me, “When a patient comes to a doctor, he doesn’t say, ‘I’m here to see you because my EEG shows an insufficient number of minutes of sleep.’ He comes to you saying: ‘I don’t feel like I’m getting enough. I’m tired.’ ” Thus, while insomnia is frequently linked to another, distinct physiological disease or disorder, its diagnosis and treatment often remain, much like pain, locked in the realm of our own inscrutable reports.
    --
    Fewer than half of Americans say they get a good night’s sleep every night or almost every night, according to a 2005 poll by the National Sleep Foundation. The N.S.F. is a nonprofit largely financed by the pharmaceutical industry and one of many groups — including the American Academy of Sleep Medicine and the Better Sleep Council, a nonprofit supported by the mattress industry — that have pushed the value of sleep, and the perils of sleep deprivation and disorders, into public view. (You can mark the change in seasons with their press releases. End of summer: “From Zzzs to A’s: Healthy Sleep Is Key for Back-to-School Success.” Daylight Savings Time: “Fall Back Into Bed and Catch Up on Your Sleep.”)
    --
    Some of America’s dissatisfaction likely boils down to poor “sleep hygiene” — basic bad habits like not keeping a regular bedtime; overconsumption of alcohol or coffee; or winding ourselves up with work or television before bed. There is a sometimes-stunning failure to see sleep’s cause-and-effect relationship to what we do while awake. One therapist told me he cured a man’s insomnia by suggesting he stop eating spicy Indian curry late at night. Bils says, “Most sleep problems are self-inflicted by sleepers not knowing how to sleep.” Moreover, doctors have long warned that Americans are suffering from self-caused sleep deprivation without even realizing it. The most damaging and persistent delusion we’ve acquired about sleep is that the vital human function is optional. As one psychologist puts it, “You don’t have people walking around figuring out how to get by on less air.”

    . . .

    The story of our ruined sleep, in virtually every telling I’ve heard, begins with Thomas Edison: electric light destroyed the sanctity of night. Given more to do and more opportunity to do it, we gave sleep shorter and shorter shrift. But the sleep that we’re now trying to reclaim may never have been ours to begin with. “It’s a myth,” A. Roger Ekirch, a professor of history at Virginia Tech, told me. “And it’s a myth that even some sleep experts today have bought into.”

    . . .

    More surprising still, Ekirch reports that for many centuries, and perhaps back to Homer, Western society slept in two shifts. People went to sleep, got up in the middle of the night for an hour or so, and then went to sleep again. Thus night — divided into a “first sleep” and “second sleep” — also included a curious intermission. “There was an extraordinary level of activity,” Ekirch told me. People got up and tended to their animals or did housekeeping. Others had sex or just lay in bed thinking, smoking a pipe, or gossiping with bedfellows. Benjamin Franklin took “cold-air baths,” reading naked in a chair.
    --
    Our conception of sleep as an unbroken block is so innate that it can seem inconceivable that people only two centuries ago should have experienced it so differently. Yet in an experiment at the National Institutes of Health a decade ago, men kept on a schedule of 10 hours of light and 14 hours of darkness — mimicking the duration of day and night during winter — fell into the same, segmented pattern. They began sleeping in two distinct, roughly four-hour stretches, with one to three hours of somnolence — just calmly lying there — in between. Some sleep disorders, namely waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to fall asleep again, “may simply be this traditional pattern, this normal pattern, reasserting itself,” Ekirch told me. “It’s the seamless sleep that we aspire to that’s the anomaly, the creation of the modern world.”
    --
    In fact, many contemporary, nonindustrialized cultures contentedly pass portions of the night in the same state of somnolence, says Carol Worthman, an anthropologist at Emory University who is one of the first to look at how other societies sleep. Sleep and wakefulness are rarely seen as an either/or, but rather as two ends of a wide spectrum, and people are far more at peace with the fluidity in between. Among the Efe in Zaire, and the !Kung in Botswana, for example, someone who wakes up in the middle of the night and cannot sleep “may begin to hum, or go out and play the thumb piano,” Worthman and a colleague have written. Others might wake up and join in. “Music or even a dance may get going.”
    --
    Worthman says, “In our culture, quality sleep is going into a dark room that is totally quiet, lying down, falling asleep, doing that for eight hours, and then getting up again.” She calls it the “lie down and die” model. “But that is not how much of the world has slept in the past or even sleeps today.” In some cultures sleep is more social, with crowds crammed together on little or no bedding, limbs entangled, while a steady traffic comes and goes. And while it all sounds unbearable, Worthman notes that science has never looked empirically at whether our more sophisticated arrangements actually benefit us. For children, learning to sleep amid all that stimulation may actually have developmental advantages.
    --
    Still, we can’t afford the same equanimity about not sleeping through the night as the Efe and !Kung; the flipside is that men and women in those cultures are content to pull a cloth over their faces and doze off during the day if necessary. Our peculiar preference for one well-organized hunk of sleep likely evolved as a corollary to our expectation of uninterrupted wakefulness during the day — as our lives came to be governed by a single, stringent clock. Eluned Summers-Bremner, author of the forthcoming “Insomnia: A Cultural History,” explains that in the 18th century, “we start overvaluing our waking time, and come to see our sleeping time only as a way to support our waking time.” Consequently, we begin trying to streamline sleep, to get it done more economically: “We should lie down and go out right away so we can get up and get to the day right away.” She describes insomniacs as having a ruthless ambition to do just this, wanting to administer sleep as an efficiency expert normalizes the action in a factory. Certainly all of us, after a protracted failure to fall asleep for whatever reason, have turned solemnly to our alarm clocks and performed that desperate arithmetic: If I fall asleep right now, I can still get four hours.
    --
    Nevertheless, while it may be at odds with our history and even our biology, lie-down-and-die is the only practical model for our lifestyle. Unless we overhaul society to tolerate all schedules and degrees of sleepiness and attentiveness, we are stuck with that ideal. Perhaps the real problem is that we still haven’t come to terms with the unavoidable imperfection of this state of affairs.
    Electric light didn’t obliterate nighttime so much as reinvent it. Our power to toggle between light and dark encouraged us to see night as an empty antithesis to day — an unbroken nothing-time that begins the instant we flip off the switch. And this significantly reshaped and rigidified our expectations of how we ought to be spending it. All of this leaves us — regardless of the circumstances or how poor our sleep hygiene is — insisting that we go out, and stay out, like a light.
    --
    Our expectation of perfect sleep may not always be biologically feasible . . . it’s not uncommon to discover that a particularly implacable case of insomnia snowballed out of a single stretch of poor sleep — even one with a clear, unavoidable cause, like stress over a new job. While most people eventually shrug off their trouble, the insomniac “forgets what brought about the sleeping problem in the first place,” Morin said. “They worry about not sleeping and how it will impact their daytime functioning, and they start to do things that make sleep more difficult.”
    --
    They take naps, throwing their schedule out of whack. Or they become too determined — Morin described patients taking a bath or getting into their pajamas at 7 o’clock, “just to get ready” — and that anticipation turns into performance anxiety. Lying there, they may monitor their progress too vigilantly or worry about the ramifications the next day of not falling asleep right away. This can produce a physiological reaction. Body temperature and blood pressure rise. Metabolism speeds up. Heart rate and brain waves quicken. In other words, the body can respond to the threat of not getting a good night’s sleep the same way it does to most threats: by becoming hyperaroused. “It’s a vicious cycle,” Morin said.
    --
    . . . But whatever its cause, this feedback loop of agony, effort and failure plays out like an escalation of the kind of self-sabotage we’ve all probably experienced when we felt pressure to sleep well and be sharp the next day. “Most of the beliefs these people develop and strategies they employ are very logical and sensible,” Jack Edinger, a psychologist at Duke University and the V.A. Medical Center in Durham, North Carolina, told me. But “unlike most things in life where, the harder you try, the better you do, with sleep the harder you try the worse you do.
    --
    Edinger and Morin have been influential in the use of cognitive behavioral therapy, or C.B.T., to treat chronic insomnia. Studies have arguably shown it to be the most successful treatment for the problem and an astonishingly effective method of weaning insomniacs from sleeping pills — even those who have taken them every night for decades. C.B.T. Therapists work to establish good sleep habits but also to rewrite an insomniac’s unhelpful beliefs about sleep. One of the most typical and debilitating ones, Morin explained, is “that eight hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep is a must every night — and otherwise, without it, you can’t function during the day.” Fixating on that as a requirement only undoes a person. Besides, Morin added, a universal need for eight hours is simply “untrue.”

    Friday, November 16, 2007

    friends of friends

    my roommate, whom i enjoy, has friends who don't always acknowledge my physical existence when they enter the apartment. even if they have to pass right by my person in our narrow hallway, and even if i look right at them with a friendly expression, and even if i move my dog/random arts+crafts crap out of their way while uttering an apology. it is very strange, tres impoli, and utterly inexplicable, as far as my mind can think.
    one might postulate that my roommate talks the doodoo about me to her friends, and in their loyalty to her, they wish to snub me. but my roommate and i are amicable and friendly, so what's the proverbial dealio?
    --
    a) immaturity
    b) awkwardness in social skills
    c) rudeness incarnate
    d) a higher level of social evolution
    e) it's not them it's me
    --
    i am inclined to 86 b) and e). b) is out because these are entirely normal, socially mainstream, typically adjusted individuals. e) is out because i radiate pure approachable friendliness to these folks (none of my friends would recognize me!).

    fuzzy

    I feel the need to apologize for the pictures I post on here. Particularly the fuzzy focus ones. I'll properly light my photos and upgrade my equipment one of these days (which means at least a year from now). Until then, I hope you enjoy my rough-and-tumble guerilla shots.

    Thursday, November 15, 2007

    Ice Cube's a Pimp


    Today was a good day.

    And my roommate thought so to! She left this surprise congratulations bouquet for me on my desk when I got home.

    mmmm

    my sister sent me a care package last month. check out the bounty!

    in addition to delectable foodstuffs, li'l puff got herself a fancy necklace (that's what the "monopet" box contained).


    Monday, November 5, 2007

    omg! rsi.

    my right arm and shoulder are totally jacked. while the boss was out, i did a mountain of editing. this means extended hunching over a pile of papers while henpecking for missing italics, (supposedly) unnecessary uses of the words "which" and "since," and (supposedly) incorrect comma usage, while also inserting (supposedly) correct commas and (supposedly) correct uses of the word "that."
    --
    i now have repetitive stress injury (RSI). google confirmed it. i can't lift my head up after lying prostrate, my right arm tingles, and the back of my armpit twangs with pain when i press on it. wikipedia tells me that stress and unsupportive colleagues in the office can exacerbate the condition. poop.

    to buy, again

    i made the below post in mid-october. it's now nearing one month later, and i feel despair knowing that the list of things to buy has grown exponentially in size. as before, those items in yellow are completed.
    slippers
    sharpener
    dog bed
    Danskos

    iPod dock
    tea kettle?
    haircut
    Netflix
    (i don't think i want to reactivate my account anymore)
    curtain rod
    robe
    my sister's winter coat
    socks
    raincoat
    thin belts
    leather jacket
    dress shirts
    pants
    dresses
    nasty bag for work
    umbrella
    gloves
    --
    i made the below list in mid-september. it's now approximately one month later, and i feel accomplished knowing that i can cross (via yellow font color) some of this stuff off the list.
    slippers
    sharpener
    dog bed
    Danskos
    iPod dock
    tea kettle?
    haircut
    Netflix (i don't think i want to reactivate my account anymore)
    curtain rod
    robe
    my sister's winter coat

    Sunday, November 4, 2007

    Responsibility, Again

    Had my first visitors, per se, this past week. My parents! They stayed 1 week, which is 3 more days than my usual limit. I was sad (as opposed to relieved) to see them go. And in true self-alienating fashion, I got a dash misty per my usual post-2003 emotionality. I took the bus/train back from the airport, which took maybe 2 hours because the NY Marathon required us to take a detour into the Bronx. During this time, my disheveled person slept, brainstormed, and gave thought to my sadness.
    ---
    For about 15 minutes I thought it was the dawn of a new era of maturity (read: nasty oldness) in my life, in which I could actually enjoy my parents as people. Then I thought it was instead a reflection of grave immaturity, wanting to forever have the role of daughter/child, rather than self-sufficient adult. With my parents around, I get to assume that role, indulgently and conveniently escaping what feels like the crushing burdens of working life and adulthood. (N.B. I think this is also partly why I turned to my parents after having that bad week at work--desire to re-enter the cocoon of childhood and have the feeling that the realities of my life are not reality at all, but mere dalliances without any real significance). I was going to offer a third theory, but the more I write about the 2nd theory re: the eternal child, the more I think it is spot-on. For posterity's sake, I'll advance the third: it is an indication that I am missing people more than I realize. This is true, I'm sure, and in fact, I think I realize how much I miss people. So that theory can be disposed of quite readily.
    ---
    The important nugget to glean is the following: I see now with pristine clarity that what I enjoyed about my parents' visit was their enormous capacity to allow me the freedom to feel unresponsible. As much as I worry about them, they still manage to give me that luxury. Wearing a suit, for example, loses all importance when worn in the presence of my parents. It becomes a silly and unnecessary costume. "All that fuss," as my mom said. The perspective they give me on the idiocy of my job is much-needed and refreshing, but even more precious is the sense that my entire foray into the working world period, with all its misery and obligation, is pure recreation on my part, rather than a necessity. I was sad to see them go and to know that with them went my footloose and fancy-free psyche. Back to adult professional workhorse, for as long as I can stand it.

    Sunday, October 21, 2007

    Day 3

    my roommate is in portugal for 8 days. having the place to myself for an extended period of time excited me.
    --
    DAY 1: walked into the apartment after work and stripped my clothes off right in the living room. left some dishes on the coffee table and kitchen counter.
    DAY 2: hogged all the bathroom surfaces, walked around naked.
    DAY 3: oppressive loneliness sets in. it would appear that accumulated hours upon hours of non-human interactions have got me down. this city and my current routine probably serve to magnify these feelings.
    --
    the affect of a roommate is now apparent and fully appreciated.

    Sunday, October 14, 2007

    to buy

    i made the below list in mid-september. it's now approximately one month later, and i feel accomplished knowing that i can cross (via yellow font color) some of this stuff off the list.

    slippers
    sharpener
    dog bed
    Danskos
    iPod dock
    tea kettle?
    haircut
    Netflix (i don't think i want to reactivate my account anymore)
    curtain rod
    robe
    my sister's winter coat

    Brand New Bag



    I switched up my doggie bag situation recently, and I've taken to taking Li'l Puff with me on trips big and small.


    E.g., -->
    How handy is that?

    Wednesday, October 10, 2007

    Old Faithful


    Chili!


    This particular batch was meant for a biofuel potluck. Unfortunately, we had to ix-nay the biofuel event from the intinerarr. Fortunately, we still ate the bean extravaganza, which enabled us to make some biofuel of our own.
    --
    Black beans, kidney beans, meatless faux-grilled ground beef, corn, diced tomatoes, and garlic simmered in a dark bouquet of spices. Garnished with hand-cut provolone cheese. Medium Spicy. $6 cup/$8 bowl.

    Friday, October 5, 2007

    Addendum - Cancer or VA Tech

    I thought it went without saying that I found what I was looking for when I called my parents seeking their comfort. Feedback I have received from you faithful readers, however, suggests otherwise. Thus, know this: my parents have made me feel a lot better about my job, both during that initial conversation wherein I spilled the beans and in subsequent conversations.
    --
    My father, in particular, has given me tremendous advice, including such various and sundry anecdotes as: (1) his trials and tribulations on the rugby team that practiced 7 days/week come rain, sleet, hail, snow, or suffocating humidity and (2) the shaolin temple for disciples of kung fu.
    --
    I love my parents and their vivid responses to my life.

    Friday, September 28, 2007

    Responsibility

    I want no responsibility. I'll throw my money away on rent for the rest of my life to avoid the responsibility of home-ownership. I think that puts me in the upper echelon of lazy.
    --
    I'm realizing that one of the most unpleasant parts of my job is being held responsible for substantive knowledge. I absolutely do not want this responsibility. I do not think I care nearly enough about the subject matter to want to master it. And I know I do not care enough about it to put effort in to get it right every time. I'm careless, and I'm lazy. So I'll overlook things just to get them done. The degree of investment and dedication that it would take to try (because you can never be right 100% of the time) to get things as close to right as possible is simply not in me. If it were my own stuff, yes, but anyone else's stuff, no. (I guess that makes me selfish, too.) I cannot surrender myself to the material I am working on, but I think that's what this job entails. I'm supposed to know my stuff, and I just don't want to.
    --
    That said, I think I truly need to re-think the direction of my life. This is not immaturity talking, it's preference. There's other stuff I want to know and master and get right, but the stuff I'm working with certainly is not it. I either need a clerical job, where I don't have to make any decisions, or else I need to be the master of my own domain, where my selfishness will drive me to get things right, surrender myself, and take responsibility. Because I have no interest in assuming responsibility (and thus accountability) for stuff that's not mine.

    Cancer or VA Tech

    It's been a long time since I have felt the need or desire to be comforted by my parents. Swaths of differences keep us emotionally separated, so once my needs evolved from a) a desire for sympathy due to a cold/headache to b) a desire for guidance or wisdom (which was probably around the age of 13), I found myself relying on other sources.
    --
    Last week was extremely difficult at work. I couldn't eat, and yes, I shed some tears. I then surprised myself (this seems to happen often lately - recall: St. John suit) when I decided I wanted to call home at the end of the week to tell my parents about how awful things were going.
    --
    I reiterate that my parents and I are not close--I don't keep them updated on my life outside of the big, completely unconcealable events, e.g., moving out of the state, starting school, etc. and the small, completely meaningless events, e.g., where I buy my groceries, because anything in the middle ground does nothing to my parents (read: my mother) but elicit disproportionate, if not completely unwarranted, worry, stress, or pity. [Note: my mother will find a reason to pity anything.]
    --
    I called and told my mother (my dad gets almost everything 2ndhand) about my working life with uncharacteristic candor and a bit of reckless abandon, since I usually work hard to censor whatever I say to them. It was a time of need, and I wanted to unveil the truth because I was seeking something that I didn't think I could find elsewhere.
    --
    I realize now that I was suffering from the very same feeling of helplessness that I felt as a child when I was sick. I wanted reassurance that I was OK. Unconditional pride in me as a person. It's been 15 years since I've had to turn to my parents, and this recent episode makes me wonder what it all means.
    1. working in this field will turn you into an 8-year-old
    2. that's what parents are for (is it? i wouldn't know)
    3. the more things change the more things stay the same
    Anyway, as to be expected, I, and my job, are now objects of great concern. It's said that a) I am going to turn into the VA Tech guy and b)the job is going to give me cancer.

    Saturday, September 22, 2007

    You Asked for It




    actually, no one inquired about cats electrified by stress. but how could i forego this opportunity to assail you with the hideous sine qua non of visual depections of stress? i wonder if brits working in offices anthropomorphise cats, too.

    Wednesday, September 19, 2007

    Work

    Today at work was a sitcom episode starring yours truly.


    1. wake up late

    2. run around trying to find something to wear, iron something new, it doesn't fit right, so i chuck it and opt for a haphazard ensemble

    3. get to work 20 minutes late. i thus far have no set time of arrival, though i've been getting there by 9:05am. it usually would not matter when i arrive because only the secretary gets there before 10.

    4. as i walk in, gentle awesome secretary breathes a sigh of relief, tells me she just left me a cell phone message because scary boss called before 9am (unprecedented!) looking for me (unprecedented!) to do some urgent things, putting secretary in a panic trying to take care of it since i wasn't there and boss will throw a fit if it's not done

    5. boss breezes through an hour later, leaves, then immediately returns, politely yelling down the hall asking me (again, unprecedented!) if i can take the paper in her hand to secretary. i move to get up from my desk and magically fall while yelping, arms thrown up in the air, due to an unexpected open drawer in my pathway. boss disappears (who needs this degree of incompetence, right?). in severe pain, i regain control of my body and limp after her. 3rd degree brusing down my entire right leg. 12 hours later it still hurts to walk, move, and sometimes simply to be.

    6. 15 minutes to quittin' time, i ask my superior for guidance on something. superior immediately freaks out and calls the boss who is in another part of the building: "is [this] what you were looking for?" ("yes.") "no, [yours truly] hasn't done it; no, i don't understand either why [yours truly] didn't know to do it earlier; yes, [yours truly] will get it done."

    7. get schooled (politely . . . and finally) [upshot: superior takes the blame (and 80% rightly so) when the boss comes back into the office]

    8. stay at work until 8pm.
    Goodnight.

    you're lucky i'm not putting up a picture of an electrocuted cat

    Saturday, September 15, 2007

    Screw!


    In my ongoing struggle to 1) have storage space and 2) get moved in, I managed to a) use my new drill and b) create a huge hole in the wall. I have no idea if I used the drill properly [in the past 3 years I have lost all interest in reading instruction manuals], nor am I sure that making that big hole advances my purpose. But drilling is fun. Plus, that big hole will give me an excuse to one day go to Home Depot to figure out how to patch it up so I can get my security deposit back.


    I went to Home Depot today, in fact, and experienced the joy of the shop class I never took. I asked a fellow customer for assistance with drywall/hollow wall screw toggles or whatnot (look at me, the quick study). He was both knowledgable and obviously a screwing enthusiast. It always tickles me how interested complete strangers (usually men) have in anyone and everyone's building and vehicular projects. I also thoroughly enjoy how these people can have an entire conversation about intentions, specifications, and strategies. I desperately want to join this coterie, but I feel like there are so many fundamentals that I have absolutely no idea about. What is a hollow wall? What is drywall? I need a handymannery for dummies book.


    Anyway, it looks like I got the wrong screws, so I have to go back to Home Depot tomorrow to buy this other type I had my eyes on. And my progress at moving in is once again stalled. Arrgh. With all this trouble I'm going through, I better stay in this apartment for at least 2 years.

    down souf

    Friday, September 14, 2007

    To Do

    1. put up shelves/wall cabinet from Ikea
    2. go to Spence-Chapin store
    3. figure out what to do with destroyed wardrobe (photograph and sell on craigslist?)
    4. buy shoe rack and put in hallway closet (The Container Store?)
    5. research frequently used Hebrew/Yiddish colloquialisms (so as to facilitate my socializing at work)
    6. start looking for smaller dog beds
    7. decide on health insurance. oy.
    8. matzo ball soup
    9. groceries, etc. (slippers, eye pencil sharpener, yadda yadda)

    Thursday, September 13, 2007

    Converting to a Saint

    Whenever I flip through a fashion magazine and see those St. John ads with that emotionally mature blond lady wearing those tedious conservative knit suits, I roll a pair of eyes that I keep tucked inside my brain (right behind my forehead, to be exact) and reaffirm my thoughts on how ugly, repetitive, and utterly incomprehensible the St. John clothing line is. In an equally incomprehensible maneuver, I up and bought a St. John suit this past weekend during my 2-hour wait for a rental car. It's surprisingly sumptuous, and I think I've been converted.

    Update: I decided to pull up this picture to show you all how bad this lady and her outfit suck, but I can't seem to muster up the hate anymore. In fact, horror of horrors, I'm looking at the lines of that jacket and finding them quite alluring.

    Lately, Itzo Notzo Crowded



    Yesterday and today, it's been quiet at the workplace, and the subways have been waay less crowded during rush hour. Everyone's observing Rosh Hashanah! For largely inexplicable reasons, it gives me great pleasure to see how much impact a Jewish holiday can have on the pulse of life here. In celebration of my pleasure, I think I'll make use of some of the grocery items I trucked all the way from home and make a big pot of matzo ball soup this weekend.

    Tuesday, September 11, 2007

    Project Wardrobe

    My gracious roommate and I attempted to assemble and move my 6+foot wardrobe last night. (you'll recall that this is the wardrobe I purchased from the not-projects). Aaanyway, I confirmed my developing belief that Ikea stuff is only good for 1 generation.

    This thing is heavy, tall, and wide. We got it assembled as much as possible outside of my bedroom (where there's room to do so) and then, after great effort to clear a pathway, moved it inside my bedroom . Then we attempted to right it. A crashing buckling was heard, instantly sending mystified question marks through our respective heads as we tried to make heads or tails of what catastrophe was going to result from this uncontrollably collapsing structure. When the noise was over and the dust settled, I found myself sitting under a mountain of wood. My roommate was still standing, holding some parts of the wooden wardrobe in her petrified hands.

    Close inspection revealed the consequences: broken dowels and torn particle board, causing gaping holes where screws were supposed to make a tight fit. This means that I won't be able to give this thing a second try. While I still support bargain hunting and used furniture, perhaps once-used Ikea products cannot honestly be deemed "furniture."
    from this:

    to this:

    so sad!

    Sunday, September 9, 2007

    Glitterati

    On the walk home today, I saw 1) a red carpet rolled out on the steps of a fancy party room and 2) hip film crew members yukking it up during downtime for the shooting of "When in Vegas" (or maybe it was "What Happens in Vegas"). [note: my roommate caught a glimpse of a blond Ashton Kutcher & a gaunt Cameron Diaz.]
    At first, it made me wistful for a career in a flashier industry, but then I remembered how annoyed and irritated I get when I'm in a flashy industry. One bothersome thought that often crosses my mind regarding the entertainment industry, for example, is how much money and talent goes toward the belaboring of an issue that ultimately does little to advance/contribute to society (e.g., how bright the dress should be that Christina Ricci wears as she walks across the street). True, we live in the first world, and thus things like wardrobe colors truly impact our lives, but the sizeable amount of time and energy that goes into considering such matters seems disporportionate to its worth.
    On the other hand, is the laborious work of, say, a major corporate CEO really of greater import? I feel less apt to dismiss it, but I'm not sure why. More than that, I'm worried that my tolerance for corporate endeavors stems from an internalization of mainstream values that I do not wish to accept. Surely a great deal of time and energy goes into corporate decisions. Perhaps more money is involved. Is it this monetary difference that makes the work seem proportionate to the effort involved, i.e., because business generates money whereas the color of a wardrobe generates an aesthetic? This would suggest that I care more about money than aesthetics, which is a rather unfortunate realization, and wholly incongruent with my self-concept and hippie upbringing. If, through active resistance, I can bring a sea change to my thought process, then I think I will have to change my working life.

    My Maternal Grandparentals Were Botanists


    unfortunately, i learned nothing about thumbgreenery from them. do i need a bigger flower pot for the above-pictured plants? please advise--this is only my 1.5th time trying to raise foliage.
    my mother has adopted my 1st plant, an aloe, which i forgot to bring with me when i moved. i'm typically disinclined toward raising anything without a purpose (unlike, e.g., aloe & basil, which are highly utilitarian), but i liked how these plants were called, simply, "tropical plants" (i do so love the tropics). in the middle pot, i will grow grass for Lil' Puff and i to remember the suburbs by (i do so love the suburbs).

    Saturday, September 8, 2007

    Becoming a Regular

    i hate getting called out by a customer service person who recognizes me as a regular. i've made it through a 1-week cycle of workers at my friendly neighborhood falafel truck (from where i've foraged a good 3+ meals already), and now we're on repeats. the weekend falafel guy (my favorite) got personal today.
    "you live around here?"
    "where are you from?"
    with friendliness comes benefits: i got about a serving and a half this go round, plus a bonus side dish. nonetheless, i almost want to stop going there. even if i am doing something on the regular, being recognized for it through recurrent small talk forces me to confront the fact that i'm in some kind of a rut (in this case, street falafel take-out). and i rarely want to hear about my ruts until i'm well out of them.
    moreover, continued patronage could lead to other disastrous consequences. e.g., i continue going, he continues the small talk, and before i know it, i've got smuggled falafels being shimmied up the drainpipe to my apartment window. [recall: samosas in the box office on the lower east side.]
    i'm not quite ready to kick this habit yet, though, and fortunately, i definitely still have a few more weekday visits i can make--those weekday guys were totally in the weeds. but if by then i'm not falafeled out, i'll probably skip next weekend. boo hiss.

    Thursday, September 6, 2007

    hv!

    you know what they say: E = hv.
    i wanted general overhead lighting in my new room. my ceilings are over 11 feet tall, though, so i thought i'd surely fall and bruise myself clambering up my makeshift ladder (comprised of furniture, sheets, and a step-stool) to reach the ceiling. it was nevertheless a risk i took in the name of illumination.

    come visit and see the end result in person!

    Zzzzzz

    Today was my first day of reporting somewhere from roughly 9-5 and wearing a suit. The highlight was getting another photo ID card to add to my collection. It expires in 2013. Huh?!
    I'm going to interact with Lil' Puff and then lay on my bed.
    Blargh.

    Wednesday, September 5, 2007

    "Project Bitch" Redux

    This evening I went to take a gander at an Ikea wardrobe (the piece of furniture) listed on craigslist that I was interested in buying. I misremembered the address and ended up in the projects. In addition to the riffraff that are said to live in such housing developments, there are supposed to be some entirely wholesome people. I had spoken to the seller, a one Ms. Cristina, on the phone earlier because I was of course running late. She sounded wholesome enough. But as I approached her project building, I surprised myself with a newfound disinterest in this highly sought-after item at a bargain basement price. Is a wardrobe a lesser wardrobe just because it lives in subsidized housing?

    I hemmed & hawed and even considered bailing at the last minute. I had to remind myself that she was someone I felt comfortable doing business with--her ad on craigslist was grammatically correct, after all (though her email to me was not), and a lot of the stuff she was selling was right up my alley. Plus, it isn't often that I am granted entry to such buildings, so I figured I should take advantage of the opportunity to see what they're like on the inside (I've heard they can be pretty sweet).

    Before crossing the threshold from the sidewalk to the grounds of the development, I double-checked the address in my datebook. I was one block off. Relief never felt so sweet. I high-tailed it a block north, seized once again with desire for this elusive Ikea wardrobe.

    While it's the fool who thinks that the projects are completely safe or completely dangerous, it's the jerk who devalues something just because it comes from there.

    Inside Job

    The bad thing about moving in with a stranger who works in the same industry is that your early interactions can feel like an extended job interview. Home is where you're supposed to be able to let your guard down. I want a home and a job, but if forgetting to buy more dish detergent is going to jeopardize my career, I think I'd rather be homeless. What I'd pay to take a warp zone past this phase and get right to the point where my roommate adores me and we know we'll part ways as BFFs.

    Tuesday, September 4, 2007

    Settling In

    It is with great pleasure that I report that Lil' Puff, Platypus, and Icee Bear have barely missed a beat in getting settled right in to their new abode.

    OPT

    Living with others necessarily entails looking at other people's things (you down wit OPT?). Just having to look at this every time I go to the sink makes me think twice about living with others.



    What you are looking at is a pair of pink rubber gloves with a large diamonoid glued to the left ring finger. Not pictured are the cuffs, which are even more horrifying.

    Darkness as Creativity Coxswain

    you may have noticed that i am writing entries like i have the idiomatic nothing better to do. this is both true and false. i have a great deal of unpacking to do, which is a something better (i.e., more productive and urgent) to do--indeed, i'd made a to-do list just hours ago today (see earlier entry). but, while i did try to find lighting solutions, i did not succeed in finding even an acceptable temporary one. and so my room is dark. and it is 10pm EST. and i am a recluse. and so i write senseless entries here.
    --
    besides tirelessly documenting my life, my other current distraction from unpacking is dis seduction-in-a-bag rightchere:
    Trader Joe's Papadums chips

    apparently, fingers covered in fava bean powder, yogurt, and dill do not a diligent workerbee make.

    Haste Makes Waste

    one thing i've always enjoyed wherever i am is finding random stuff on the side of the street by serendipity. it's my prissy/lazy/squeamish way of dumpster diving. some of the best finds are made off of the streets of new york city (okay, so there's one reason to like this place). of course, the competition from my fellow cheapskates, hipsters, self-aggrandizing yippies, and the homeless (there's a homeless person inside of me that's just waiting to come out) means i have to act fast if i see something juicy.



    last night, i found this set of linens that, despite their freshly laundered scent, i'm too scared of to treat with any respect.


    i'll either wash them or return them to the streets, depending on how much i start hating them and how bad i feel about taking bounty that could have gone to a homeless person. i'm sure the former will end up being the deciding factor, since i've noticed that i'm starting to lose patience for homeless people.

    What I'm Going For

    Something like dis big over-the-bed shelving system right hurr. Credit: Ikea (Ivar Shelving)

    To Do

    Last night was my first night alone in my new apartment. I've often felt lonely in NYC, and so it was familiar and almost comforting to be here and lonely yesterday.

    1) go to West Elm store in Chelsea to try to buy a bed
    2) figure out a temporary lighting solution
    3) unpack work clothes
    4) (buy iron if necessary)
    5) put boxes into categories
    6) go to Ikea this weekend to purchase more permanent lighting solution

    Since I couldn't sleep last night, I devoured some recent Trader Joe's acquisitions and did a little bit of unpacking of kitchen-related items. I haven't gotten out of bed yet this morning to see my nocturnal handiwork, but I actually think it might now look even worse than pictured.

    I'm going to have to figure out what to do with my precious cast iron pots/pans and other valuable kitchenery--is it indeed time to live alone?

    Soyrizo Tofu Scramble Night

    As wacky as meals get: breakfast food. for dinner.On the menu this mid-August evening was:
    • Soyrizo tofu scramble (soyrizo and seasoned tofu, crumbled and sauteed with onions, garlic, and fresh tomatoes)
    • Hot buttered toast (one slice of sprouted grain sesame bread topped with melted European butter)
    • Cup of fresh seasonal fruit

    Monday, September 3, 2007

    Work Starts Thursday

    after a multi-year hiatus, i am returning to the real world. i approach it with a confounding mix of dread, jade, and optimism at the unlocked potential of being a full-time employee.

    a regular income, retirement plan, and insurance. huh?! are these not merely the petty comforts of the bourgeoisie, too chicken to ride bareback? i'm no chicken! i like riding bareback! yet i want the experience of indulging my bouge background so i at least know what it is that in principal i reject so hard. the problem is that i worry that i'll like it. nay, i know i'll like it because i am but a member of the petty bourgeoisie myself. the question is: do i give in or continue reinventing the wheel [of life] because my everything must be a revolution? [N.B. the revolution is exhausting: i want a prearranged marriage. why wasn't i born into a cultural program?]

    to wit, once i taste the sweet meat of an employer-matched 401k, will i be the adam to their eve? will i decide my idealistic bohemian rhapsody is pure folly? and if so, will that be because i have:
    a) attained a higher level of enlightenment or
    b) become intellectually lazy, hoodwinked into complacency by the man's warm embrace?

    moreover, all of this hullaballoo says nothing of the personal zest that being a "professional" will kill. ((that's right, stalkers, i'm a member of a storied profession! add that to your heart-shaped locket.)) professionals are held to certain standards by their peers and society. these standards help them to earn respect, money, and status. i've always enjoyed reverence, but is it worth sacrificing my inherently unprofessional core? [N.B. the barbie bandits are my friends.]

    Ambition Moved

    [Sunday, September 02, 2007]

    we just finished driving up to nyc last night in a 15-foot moving truck. this is larger than those small uhauls you see people driving around and way too big for my purposes. (note: i drove a budget truck, which was less than half the price of a uhaul). i've driven up on the curb about 5 times but have had only 1 near-accident! ideally i'll ditch this thing today--finding parking with a clearance of 11 feet is difficult.

    those of you who like my detailed planning will share my disappointment in this: ikea's ivar shelves are the solution to my small space storage problem. the pieces i need to build what i need were not all in stock at a single ikea, so i stopped at ikea in virginia and maryland on the way up. the most elusive but critical piece, 89" x 12" side units, was only in stock in maryland per the internet. and yet, the side units were out of stock by the time i arrived. looks like my tiny-ass bedroom will have to remain cluttered for a little while longer.



    i am mostly moved in--just a few boxes and some big items left in my moving truck that i'm going to have to figure out how to sneak into the building--apparently the hoity-toity only move furniture mondays through fridays (today is sunday).

    since i embarked on this move, i have avoided a $300 fine and a $500 fine, but my luck may soon run out. the $300 fine was for bringing Lil' Puff into my hotel room Friday night when pets are not allowed--Orbitz told me otherwise, and the hotel management reluctantly relented. i think the housekeeper ratted me out. the $500 fine, which remains a possibility, is for moving furniture in a non-freight elevator. freight elevators only operate during the week. as it is currently the weekend, you see my quandary. i played the fool and moved a full-sized box spring (that's right - homegirl's finally gonna have a real bed, a high bed, and a real high bed!) up the normal elevator last night. fortunately, the doorman played it cool, but then his shift ended.

    despite the painstaking calculations of my room dimensions and furniture arrangements, with furniture, the place feels incredibly small now that stuff is actually in it. guests, who are warmly welcomed, will be sleeping right by my side. i have an uncommonly expansive view, which helps reduce the cramped feel, though.

    my building is pure yuppie ambition with a hot and fast pulse. it seems to consist exclusively of 24- to 28-year old bankers, brokers, and analysts socializing like they're still in college while each alone is making enough money to comfortably support a family of 4 in middle America. hordes of dudes in the nyc night-on-the-town uniform of straight-legged jeans, dark button-down shirt (untucked, of course), and a touch of gel in the hair. pairs of scantily clad mediocre-looking honies navigating the streets. this was saturday night. i'm expecting all drones in suits during the week.

    i'll email my new mailing address to anyone who wants to send me toenails.