Barney Reloaded

I just made a wonderful discovery: a series of movies made by The White House from the perspective of Barney, one of Mr. President's Scottish Terriers. Briefly obsessed, I made it through the entire series.

My favorite by far is Barney Reloaded. In this caper, Barney is charged with a job to do, and oh, boy, does he do it! You would not believe the hi jinks our favorite canine pulls, but in the end, he is the boss!!

The only way to access these excellent films is through the kids' section of whitehouse.gov, which unfortunately has caused the entire oeuvre to exist in relative obscurity. In an effort to allow these movies to reach a broader audience, here is the link:

http://www.whitehouse.gov/barney/barney-bio.html

These movies are also the closest we may get to a reality show about life in The White House (unless, perhaps, finger-on-the-pulse Obama and the soon-to-be First Mom would like to change that, please), so for that reason alone, they are culturally relevant and required watching.

Dairy Diary

My loss is your gain!

I ate 2-goblets worth of chocolate pudding in a hurry today, only to find myself, 30 minutes later, shuttling back and forth between the bathroom and my office for the next 2 hours in a cold sweat. At times, I was in the stall so long that the motion-sensor lights shut off, forgetting all about the presence of my sentient being. I haven't jacked my system up like that in a while.

I must admit--at first, I thought it might have been that old mushy salmon I ate for lunch. What was I thinking?! It was so obviously the chocolate pudding. And so arrives the debut of . . .

Dairy Diary: Triggers for Toilet Time in the Dark

Entry 1: loads of chocolate pudding eaten quickly in one sitting.

And just because I want to add a "homeless" tag to this entry, I pose the following rumination: what do homeless people do when they get diarrhea? Surely they get sick all of the time eating food out of the garbage. Is the sidewalk the answer? Aside: Now that I'm a dog-owner, I realize how easily a plastic bag can turn into a portable toilet. If/when I am homeless, I plan to excrete my solid waste into plastic bags.

10-year replacement cycle

it seems that several of my major belongings are all coming due for replacement at the same time.

because my mind is boggled and blown by how much of my stuff has literally deteriorated or been used up, i'm going to keep an ongoing list here:

1. sneakers for the exercise
2. digital camera
3. computer
4. summer sandals/flip flops
5. summer dresses
6. nightclothes
7. casual belts
8. casual bags
9. eyeglasses
10. exercise clothes
11. pants to kick around in
12. casual summer shirts
13. nasty t-shirts

do you know how long it took me to build a decent nasty t-shirt collection?!

update (7/30/08):

1. down comforter
2. jeans

update (9/5/08):

1. carry-on suitcase
2. weekender shoulder luggage

update (3/18/09):

1. got a digital camera (thanks!)
2. got a down comforter
   

creative people see more

there was recently a medical study comparing the brains of creative people with those of the non-creative. what i gleaned from the write-up was that creative people are evidently more distractable by the many variables of a situation.

this finding is in line with my own observations. those people i know who i consider to be creative see the many potentialities of a situation, as opposed to one clear path. and that enhanced sight can be a blessing and a curse--seeing the world through a lens of possibilities is both invigorating and paralyzing at the same time. career choice is one obvious example. with an open mind regarding the type of life that could bring joy, the type of goals to strive for, and the ways to achieve those goals, there is often a less clear career path for creative folks than there is for those who are happy as clams if they attain, in any way possible, a) a big house, b) a family, and c) a secure retirement.

ignorance, it seems, is indeed bliss.

Pepper Spray Revisited.

Yesterday at 9am, a non-crazy man followed and talked at me for a few blocks on the rush-hour-filled streets of Manhattan while I was walking Li'l Puff. He followed me, talking on his phone to the police about the bite to the neck my dog had just given him and how I, the owner, was just walking away.

--

Allow me to backtrack.

--

I was walking L'il Puff yesterday morning. Li'l Puff won't walk in the middle of a sidewalk for nothing, so until obedience classes prepare me otherwise, I hug the wall with her to avoid monopolizing the sidewalk. Plus, I think it puts minimal burden on the oncoming traffic of pedestrians to walk around us when we are against the wall. On this morning, while hugging a wall, I was surprised when I saw a man walk directly towards my dog, and then into her, instead of opting to take the more typical route of avoiding an obstruction. But because I know people get frustrated at dog-owners for not moving their dogs out of people's way, I thought little of it. But, then. Then! Then, the man turned into an infant.

--

The man started to cry that my dog bit him. Doubtful as I was, I entertained the notion just in case. He whined about the dog bite for about two minutes, during which time I apologized if that was the case. He then decided to show me the proof--a 1/2-inch by 1/2-inch tear in the denim of his jeans near his knee. This is a mid-20 to -30-year-old man who is about 5'10", mind you, so his knee is over 20 inches above ground, and my dog is about 10 inches tall. I responded with "that is an existing hole," said "this is ridiculous," and walked away. "No, no, it's not an existing hole," he whined, while following me and telling me he's not going to let this go so easily. Then it occurred to him that it's time to show me the actual bite. He lifted up his pant leg and revealed to me a 6-inch by 1-inch swath of scar tissue on his lower shin near his foot, a substantial distance from the tear in his jeans. I informed him that that is a scar, not a dog bite, and walk away. He whined some more that it is so a dog bite and said he's going to ask someone else. He stopped a random stranger who also happened to be walking a small dog (this man has good taste in allies!). The random stranger's dog started yapping like crazy, and the random stranger walked away. I, too, walk away. He followed me down the street telling me he is calling the police. I hear him talking into his phone saying that a dog just bit him in the neck and the woman (that's me) is doing nothing but walking away.

--

I reached my apartment building and briskly walked in, announcing to the doormen that this man (pointing behind me, because the man is now following me into the building) is claiming that my dog bit him. I then rushed into the elevator and disappeared. I felt bad about abandoning the doormen and leaving them to deal with this guy without any further explanation from me, but I was scared and just wanted to get away from him. As I walked into the elevator, I saw that the doormen had created a formidable human barricade, all bouncer-like, to block him from penetrating further. At this moment, I learned the value of living in a doorman building in NYC.

--

I had a casanova over who needed to get out of the building, and I myself needed to get to work ASAP, so I put on big sunglasses, and together we left the building through an alternate door, all secret-passageway-like.

--

Apparently the man came back later in the day asking about me, claiming he had gotten two shots from the doctor, and carrying a doctor's note stating as much. And he called the police over. The doorman rightfully refused to give out any of my information, though, and even denied recollection of the morning's events (YAY, doorman!!). I am not confident that this man won't persist in looking for me, though, especially now that he knows where I live, so I'm henceforth altering my schedules and routes. In addition, I am going to start carrying pepper spray (again). [recall: campus lake/mace story].

--
Much to my dismay, information regarding carrying pepper spray for self-defense in New York state/New York City is inaccessible. The NYC website, which is quite remarkable in other ways, makes no mention of pepper spray rules/regulations, despite the presence of other safety tips. The city's catch-all live information hotline, 311, is also of no use. Nor are the police precincts that 311 operators connect my call to. And so I'm therefore providing the information below in the hopes that it will help other curious and cautious New York residents seeking information about carrying pepper spray:

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Carrying pepper spray in New York is legal (Penal Law § 265.20[14]).

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You must:

• be over 18
  
• not have been previously convicted in NY of a felony or any assault
  
• not have been convicted of a crime outside the state of New York if that crime, if committed in New York, would constitute a felony or an "assault crime"

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Where to buy pepper spray in New York

Pepper spray is hard to find! Officially, only licensed firearms dealers, licensed pharmacies, and other vendors authorized and approved by the superintendent of state police sell it. I hear you can get it other places, e.g., hardware stores, too, though, so you could ask around.

I got mine from a lovely local pharmacy, Esco Pharmacy, 687 9TH Ave New York, NY 10036 (between 47th & 48th Streets), which I was referred to by a nice man (not a robot!) at the phone number for Self Defenses, a New York company that sells(makes?) pepper spray. I bought their "Pocket Pistol, as seen on TV," which is small and permissible to pack into your checked luggage on a flight.

• Unfortunately, pharmacies at our ubiquitous Duane Reade do not seem to carry pepper spray.

This wikianswers, "Is Pepper Spray Legal to Carry in NYC", which I found after much sifting on the internet, was kind of valuable. It pointed me to the Self Defenses website, but I think this wikianswers thing contains inaccurate information. Here's why: (1) I don't think the law requires you to buy it from an authorized/licensed dealer (buy it wherever you can!) and (2) if you do buy it from such a dealer, you will have to give proof that you are over 18 and complete and sign a form saying that you have not been convicted of a felony or any crime involving an assault. The dealer then keeps that form on file and will give it to the police on demand. I did this at Esco. I'm guessing the form is a lesser version of what you have to do when you buy a gun because pepper spray is like a lesser version of a gun.

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As an aside, according to Womens [sic] Defense Center, you want pepper spray that:

• is at least 8% pepper and


• more importantly, has a 1.5 mil to 2 mil Scoville Heat Unit (SHU) rating

--

My Pocket Pistol is 10% pepper but there is no SHU rating. Some say the absence of an SHU rating means the spray is probably a joke and will only enrage an assailant, but I trust the one I bought because of the Self Defenses website and the nice Self Defenses man on the phone.

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Lesson Remembered

• do not allow a stranger to lure me into a conversation that only they want to have

can't stand ya

Last night I dreamt that I was helping George Costanza with his Manhattan apartment hunt. Specifically, I went with him to check out a $1050/month studio broker apartment in my neighborhood with a private balcony and an impossible woodsy view of a Chapel Hill, NC forest. The balcony and view were amazing, but the apartment and the rest of the apartment building were a touch delapidated, which explained the low price but still seemed unusual because of the location and private balconies.

The whole time I was thinking in the back of my head how I was going to feel with George being in my neighborhood. It would mean we would become better friends and I would get scooped up into the Seinfeld clan, which would be pretty neat, I thought, since I had enjoyed their company when they were on television. But then I gave it further thought, and it occurred to me that I probably wouldn't really get along with that group. And George would probably grow extremely annoying extremely quickly.

I can't believe how ridiculous I am. Now, in my waking life, I'm actually kind of bummed at the realization that I wouldn't like Seinfeld and his fictitious buddies. For this bizarre blurring of my boundaries between fiction and reality, I blame TBS.com, which has full episodes online for me to listen to while I mutter and putter around my apartment.

stain of disdain

I have the same job I've had since September, but my boss has changed. My old boss was promoted because she knows people in high places and because people who don't see how she acts behind closed doors respect her. She works hard, is anal, and strives to do the best possible job she can. She does a good job. My new boss works hard and strives to do the best possible job she can, too, but she is not insufferably anal. She is also nice, pleasant, and sociable. She also does a good job.

--

In the past 2 months or so, I've had 2 dreams about my old insufferable boss. They have both centered upon me finally getting recognition and approval from her. In the dreams, she is warm and caring toward me and proud of me. I never realized I cared so much about being validated by her until I started having these dreams. The sense of pride and accomplishment that I feel when I have these precious moments with my old boss is immense. I imagine this must be the way that sons often feel about their fathers in the archetype of the emotionally distant father who the son desperately wants to make proud and hear utter the words, "good job, son."

--

It amazes me that my old boss continues to permeate my psyche when a) I only worked for her for 4 months and b) it's been another 4 months since I stopped working for her. I wonder if her children are similarly starved for her approval. (I know her relationship with them can be rocky.)

--

It also amazes me that my working relationship with my old boss is such that this dynamic exists in the first place. There's something twisted and wrong about a boss-subordinate relationship where the subordinate is made to feel desperately in need of validation from the boss. I'm typically a rather autonomous worker, and coddling from an employer I need not--disinterest is fine. Perhaps, however, it is the unmistakeable air of disdain that she emits to most all of her staff (except the chosen few) that is what engendered such desperation in me. Now, I guess I just need to flip that desperation to disinterest.