Sunday, September 30, 2007

There's a Joke in Here Somewhere

Gay-themed love song?

Andy Samberg dressed as Justin Timberlake?

Adam Levine?

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

The Sum of the Parts

equals one BIG HOLE

Even when this 2-years-in-the-making obsession:

is wrapped in this package:

and paired with the latest trend:

this movie:

still sucks.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Hello, World

Today was a good day. I did homework for the first half of the day, mostly re-checking the fact-checking I'd done over the weekend for my presentation tonight in my Media and Culture class. The presentation seemed to go well, which is a huge relief becuase it was the first one I've done as a graduate student, and I really wanted to start the season off with a hit. (Batting 1.000 for now. Next at bat one week from tomorrow.) After I finished the finishing touches, I went down to the handball court, planning to play tennis against the wall for a little while before I needed to shower and get ready to head into Manhattan to meet up with my partner from class. Much to my surprise, there were kids playing handball non-stop from noon til 4:00, when I walked by the last time on my way to the subway stop.
Why weren't they in class? I know they were in high school because, well, they hit on me, and the only time I get cruised by boys with no shirts on is when it's a felony. There are at least two high schools on the block between my apartment and the courts, so that means at least two principals and plenty of teachers and/or security guards that should have stopped them from skipping class. And then there's common sense that should have stopped them from skipping class on the same block. But regardless, I'm getting up at 8:40 in the morning to see if I can get some time on the court tomorrow. My reasoning is that slackers who don't go to class also don't get up before 10:00 to play handball. There's really no logic to it, but I'm hopng that I am right.
In case I am not, I posted an ad for an activities partner on Craig's List to find someone that isn't a wall to play tennis with me at Fort Greene Park. "Anna" replied and wants to meet up this weekend to hit around. I'm kind of excited. It will be good for me to meet someone that I've never met before. And it will be good for me to exercise (I read that tennis is the best non-gym activity for love handles). And it's good for me to make a plan and follow through on it every once in a while. I was hoping to find someone to play in the middle of the day on weekdays, but then again, I kind of have a hunch that a nice employable person who would be unavailable at those times might be a safer bet for me in the long run. There's a little logic wrapped up in that one, but I'm still left hoping that I am right til I meet her.
The ball is in my court as to day and time. I'm not exactly sure how to arrange it. I want to allow for a good time (Read: Hangover) hanging out with Vikas and his crew on Friday night and for the possibility of Oktoberfest on Saturday afternoon/evening. And should I buy two tickets to Oktoberfest in case "Anna" is really cool? Or in case I hear back from Glen? or Marissa? Could this potentially be the first scheduling crisis of my New York life? Could this be the first signs of a New York life? Ahh, the possibilities.
When it rains, it pours I guess. Maybe I should consult the weather forecast before making any solid plans?

Monday, September 24, 2007

May He Be Buried in the Box

...that he could never get out of.

I don't usually go for the death jokes. But Marcel Marceau dedicated his life to entertainment and to amusing people. And me? I just want to be liked--want to be funny--too.
We all come to the end of our ropes eventually, and it doesn't matter if that rope was invisible or not.
We will all miss Marcel Marceau, (OK, maybe not the dog he'd always walk in the tsunami-force wind...) even if we did only know who he was because Chandler told Joey that his impression was getting really good.
Regardless, rest in peace, Sir...and quiet.

Friday, September 21, 2007

When Life Comes at You...Fast

Good yontif.


Oh, I get it now. That's Kanye's ego blasting off into orbit after selling 957,000 copies of his new CD in its first week. Not only did he beat Curtis at the cash register, he beat Barry Bonds' homerun ball and Lance Bass into space in equally uninteresting, no-contest competitions.

his ego from a different angle


Oh, I get it now. That's Kanye's ego blasting off into orbit after selling 957,000 copies of his new CD in its first week. Not only did he beat Curtis at the cash register, he beat Barry Bonds' homerun ball and Lance Bass into space in equally uninteresting, no-contest competitions.

his ego from a different angle

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Happy "National Talk Like a Pirate Day"!

from Aaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhh. Kelly

looking to BeLOnG

So I actually said the words, "I have it posted on my blog..." in class yesterday (I was talking about Pop'd Culture, not this one.) while the teacher was looking for the link to the John Kerry/Taser clip on YouTube. I have been avoiding that sentence like I avoid Manhattan in my car-- and for a lot of the same reasons. 1. It's scary. 2. It's the symbol of looming death (literature rather than my passengers in this case.) And, 3. I'm really not sure I want to be 'that person' participating in completely unnecessary acts of pollution in an already oversaturated environment. But, nonetheless, the words came blurting out after 12 seconds of thoughtful consideration in an attempt to be social/helpful. In the end, we watched an unedited and terribly bumpy version of the clip from another source (which is lucky because I would have given this sight and been embarassed), and I faded back into the table of faces without being any more awkward than usual. (I might have even come out under par.)
I don't know why it seems lame to admit to blogging, especially since I dedicate a good half hour or so a day to various blogs that I've come to check regularly and enjoy immensely. I think it goes back to a general fear and over-protectiveness of my writingl. I also think it comes from the idea that blogging seems like some sort of pseudo-intellectual masturbation for people who don't get to talk to humans as much as they'd like. Or, maybe, it's that I feel very self-involved and then immediately self-loathing for getting excited when people leave comments and/or fulfilled when they give kudos. (What, wrong blog? My bad.)
Anyway, what brought the whole thing up is that I got my very first comment on my blog for the last post by J. Elliot. Like I said, I thought it was very cool that someone read it, which gave me the confidence to talk about it in class, which made me examine all of these just-below-the-surface feelings that I have now stretched into multiple droning yet self-pleasuring paragraphs. As it turns out, J. Elliot's game is to post on blogs in order to have the authors feel appreciative enough to check out his own blog in return. He is a musician that posts a song a week that he has written and recorded in the closet studio of his studio apartment. Evil or Genius or a combination of the two? It's unclear. But what isn't undecided is how I feel about his music: it's good. I like it a lot.
So even though I feel a little bit manipulated by the whole thing, I'm not a loser in his mad game because I found a few songs that I really enjoy, especially "The Easy Way Out", which is the first one he posted.
Subtlety isn't really my best character trait, so I've inserted about as many links to his site as I can without seeming pushy. (Oh, I do seem pushy? My Bad.) You should check him out. He's good and obviously has the ruthless cunning it takes to succeed in Venice Beach. (I've seen Californication and don't know exactly what I am talking about.) Or leave me a comment so that I will check out your blog. Yeah, I might think you have a crush on me or something, at first, but I won't hold it against you if you don't hold it against me.

Monday, September 17, 2007

A New Year

I didn't exactly party like it was 5768 last week, but I did take a walk to the East River and symbolically empty my pockets of all my worries last Thursday. And I ate a peanut butter and honey sandwich, which is probably on par with my 1/4 Jewish heritage. Oh, and I didn't let Cohen eat any Beggin' Strips...for all he knows, they're bacon.
The week was a good one but not filled with a lot of to do's because of classes and alternate side of the street parking being cancelled. Incidentally, I found a website called that shows movies and tv shows online, so it was, in turn, filled with a lot of Todou. HA!
The weekend was tons of fun though, kicking off on Friday with a visit with my friend Rebecca who was in town from Boston. She has way more friends in Brooklyn than I do (yet?) and invited me to go see a show by Eliza B., another University of Alabama alum at the Velvet Lounge in Williamsburg. Eliza B performed some of her poetry to the accompaniment of Ben War, a 4-piece jazz ensemble. It was very cool to meet another Damn Yankee in the land of the damn Yankees (who took the series 7-1 in Boston), and the crowd loved her poetry, which was really cool too.
Saturday was Cohen's birthday, so we went to Fort Greene Park in the early afternoon to check out Circus Amok and eat a hot dog to celebrate two glorious years of not being a girl with a cat. I hated to leave him at home by himself afterwards, but I had to get to the Mercury Bar early enough to get a table for the Alabama v. Arkansas game at 6:45. By early enough, I mean that I got there at 5:00 and still only barely got the smallest table in the bar, but it was worth it to have front-row TV seats to watch the Tide comeback and win for the first time in years. And with 8 seconds was the best ending that I can sort of, barely remember in all of my football-watching career. And, the cool thing about watching the game here in New York is that random girls from Connecticut wander in for an afternoon drink and get totally swept up in the fanaticism and, after gathering some composure and courage in the restroom, ask where they can get shakers-- the box at the door-- and then for cues on when to shake them--any time at all as long as we are winning. (Yeah, I tagged shakers in this post. It's not that it's that big of a deal in relation to the story, but I really wanted 'movers' and 'shakers' to show up in the topics archives.)
Sunday was spent re-watching those final eight seconds, watching the movie 8 Seconds, and then, by way of stream of consciousness hitchhiking, thinking about the rodeo. I didn't make it to Broadway on Broadway or to Tompkins Square Park, but I did have a lovely day reading the Times and eating takeout. I did dress as my favorite Broadway character though, but it was an accident because I think everyone just kind of looks like that when they are mooing. Long story for another time.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

I Shall Be Released

Yesterday I had a day chock full of things that made me remember I was living in New Yok now. I know it seems like such an obvious thing--the city where a person lives-- but I am in and out of places so often, and often times not necessarily quickly, I guess it is taking me a little while to get the hang of things and settle into a routine that's going to last more than a month or so. Also, I've been waiting fo rthis for so long that it just needs to sink in. Also, I haven't gotten my diploma yet from UA and I sort of feel like it's all going to be yanked out from under me any minute like a huge concrete rug.
But yesterday was great. It was just my third Monday in town, so really just any other Monday, and this is what I did.
I took the metro into Manhattan where I stopped at Union Square to take care of some stuff at the New School, went through Penn Station to catch the train to midtown, where I strolled Madison Avenue to visit a subsidiary of the credit union (I bank here now.), and then went to grab a prime spot in line for the afternoon taping of The Daily Show!!!. (By the way, Jon Stewart was amazing, Jeff Garlin was hillarious and is making a movie about cheese {can we say soulmate?} and Rob Cordury was there!) After the show, Glen and I went to dinner with his girlfriend Michelle near Times Square before heading downtown to the South Street Seaport to see Old Springs Pike at Spiegelworld Tent, a very cool venue on Pier 17. I hope I'll get to see shows there pretty regularly. The tent itself is awesome, and not just because it was home to my very first NYC celebrity sighting: Joseph Gordon Levitt was the opening act! I'm not sure if JoGo is going to be the next J T-lake (I'm not positive he wasn't the next Britney Spears comeback.), but the crowd seemed into it, and he seemed like a cool guy. (I'm a HUGE fan of Manic, Brick, Angels in the Outfield, etc., but even I found it hard to focus on the serious stuff from the guy who logs deposits in his Spank Bank thanks to Alex Mack.)
But, yeah, it was an awesome day that turned into an awesome night. And while it wasn't the first I've had in New York, it was a nice change of pace from last week and a great way to start this week. The concert ended with the band covering Bob Dylan's "I Shall Be Released". The four singers harmonized the chorus in a way that made me realize I'd be humming that song the next day my life as a native doesn't go down quite as well as this one.

Seriously, the only thing better than a great show out of the blue like this is heading the right way (or left, if that is correct) out of a subway station or being able to give directions when someone asks me on the street.

OK, so neither of those things has happened yet, so the OSP show is the best thing around right now.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Camping is the New Pain in the Back

Tonight marks #15 of my Guinness Book of Records-seeking quest to become the world's most ludicrous camper. That's right, I'm (still) sleeping on an air mattress in a two-room-studio-sized tent in Fort Greene. Sure I have running water and thermopane windows, but as a Girl Scout, I know that if I want to build a fire, I'm going to have to un-brick the fireplace, and if I want to appear like a pro, I'm going to need one of those collapsable cups.
The movers called Thursday (one week later than anticipated) and said they'd be here 'tomorrow'. So the charade continues on Monday (the tomorrow after that...after that...after that). The new twist? $450.00 more than the maximum guaranteed amount quoted at pick-up.

But on a brighter note, I'm going to see a taping of The Daily Show tomorrow afternoon. #1 on the list of TV shows (still on the air) that I want to see live, I will undoubtedly come home to an empty apartment tomorrow night with a huge smile and sense of long-term goal accomplishment.

Friday, September 7, 2007

Might as Well Start Here:

When I first got Cohen, I was fooled by his serious face and his compassionate (I know they look disinterested in this photo, but TRUST me, they used to seem concerned.) eyes. I thought he might be a genius, seriously. I taught him to use a litter box and how to high five and how to catch his treats in his mouth.
As it turns out, he was a puppy, and by definition, well, you can teach new dogs new tricks. It's the law.
So all of the excitement of having a genius dog has waned a little bit over the last two years, and I have come to terms with the fact that I just have a thoroughly entertaining, average smart dog. But he makes me smile a lot when he chases his tail or when he sometimes falls down in the middle of running around in manic circles because he gets tired or, most recently, when he jumps like a hurdler when he cosses over the the threshold of the hardwood living room and tiled kitchen in the new apartment. By now, I'm think Cohen is nuts and giving Paul Anka a run for his idiosyncratic money.
Anyway, we've just moved to Brooklyn and have been park hopping all over DUMBO, Fort Greene, and Park Slope. Cohen is about 50/50 on his Pro/Con tally for the City. He likes that there are 8 million people in the vicinity to tell him he's the 'cutest little thing.' But he does not like double-decker tour buses. He does like the plethora of smallish bushes (which he thinks are trees because he is a 'giant pug'), but he does not like the subway grates and manhole covers. He likes for homeless men and gangbangers to pet him, but he hates children. (Hey, I never said he didn't inherit some of this.)
Today, he goes for an interview at Monster Mutts, a doggie daycare where, if he passes, he can play with other dogs when and if the movers ever deliver my furnture. Don't you think Miracle Mutts is a beter name? You know, like the Mets?