I hate being on time to work. It just makes the day that much longer.
Also the subway's more crowded.
It's 9:30, and I've done a lot. Usually I'm just walking in around now.
Ok, maybe I'm not THAT late all the time. Still, I'm already hungry for lunch.
Why do people choose to be responsible? It sucks.
Maybe I'll go home early.
Lately, the only thing I've wanted to do (besides sit on my couch and watch Charmed) is read the Harry Potter books. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I've already read them all 2, 3, 4, or 5 times depending on how long they've been out. But I want to do it again, ok?
I believe this represents a major shift in my general disposition and level of motivation that's occured this past... I dunno... month. Let's review my drives and desires from then and now and see what we can learn:
A month ago I wanted to...
Now I want to...
You may have noticed that the entire current list can be performed on my couch. Yet, this isn't me just falling into laziness by default. I actually strongly desire to do these things. Today, I am going to a pride party at the JCC. I'm meeting someone I used to know in high school there, and it will be a great opportunity to make friends (gay Jew friends, the best kind). Ok, great! I don't want to go. If it weren't for the fact that I had to pre-register and it cost me $20, I would probably skip it in favor of the third Charmed disc and the remainer of my Pepperidge Farms Soft Batch cookies (there are only two, this is not a pig-out thing.)
Being fat and lazy is nothing new to me. I can't even count the number of hours I spent watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer when I was in Indiana. But there, I had nothing else to do a lot of the time. And I always felt guilty about it. But now, the active drive to be passive makes it feel nothing but right. Unfortunately, I'll never make friends this way, and as my drives will undoubtedly shift again in the future to something more like last month, I really need to get on that so I have people to do stuff with when the time comes and I have conquered 6 novels, 15 episodes, and who knows how many Katamari stars.
But maybe if I take care of finding friends tonight, I'll be ok. That's it! I'll meet someone or sometwo tonight, right, and on the way home I'll get some kitty litter. And then my responsibilities will be out of the way, and I can sit alone in my apartment was much as I want! If the party is supposed to be fun, I won't want to go, but I'll just think of it as a chore that allows me afterwards to do everything I want to do! I'm such a genius, it's a shame my goal in life right now is to waste away all by myself because I could make such a great thinker.
UPDATE!
Since writing everything up there, I have taken an hour-long break for lunch where I sat in Bryant Park with my sushi and overheard three poorly-groomed young men enthusiastically discuss their latest joint session of World of Warcraft. From what I could tell, two of the boys played characters that were some variety of female homunculus. As they snorted and guffawed (this was the first time I had heard an actual guffaw, which I had previously thought a myth) their way through a retelling of some epic battle against the Archmagelords of Tuatha de Danan or something (I made that up), I felt my very brain chemistry changing. Maybe it was the unsettling gleam in their eyes. Maybe it was the occasional whiff of their intoxicating* musk. But suddenly video games and television don't sound so appealing anymore, and my mind has reawakened to the merits of making friends (though, I should add, in-person interaction) and learning something actually useful from a quality work of adult literature.
By the way, I have nothing against gamers. Really, some of my best friends are MMORPGers. But they also shower, leave the house, compose sentences not of the formula "[Magical battle move] was totally sweet", and do not trim their facial hair into weird shapes. There's a difference. You know the type I mean, so don't go getting all defensive.
* Emphasis on toxic.
I believe this represents a major shift in my general disposition and level of motivation that's occured this past... I dunno... month. Let's review my drives and desires from then and now and see what we can learn:
A month ago I wanted to...
- Learn Japanese
- Read a (grown-up) book a week
- Make my apartment totally awesome and clean
- Meet tons of people, go out all the time, and discover all the awesome things the city has to offer
- Volunteer or get a second job
Now I want to...
- Read Harry Potter again
- Finish Season 5 of Charmed so I can get to reading Harry Potter again
- Play video games (a lot! Give me Katamari or give me death!)
You may have noticed that the entire current list can be performed on my couch. Yet, this isn't me just falling into laziness by default. I actually strongly desire to do these things. Today, I am going to a pride party at the JCC. I'm meeting someone I used to know in high school there, and it will be a great opportunity to make friends (gay Jew friends, the best kind). Ok, great! I don't want to go. If it weren't for the fact that I had to pre-register and it cost me $20, I would probably skip it in favor of the third Charmed disc and the remainer of my Pepperidge Farms Soft Batch cookies (there are only two, this is not a pig-out thing.)
Being fat and lazy is nothing new to me. I can't even count the number of hours I spent watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer when I was in Indiana. But there, I had nothing else to do a lot of the time. And I always felt guilty about it. But now, the active drive to be passive makes it feel nothing but right. Unfortunately, I'll never make friends this way, and as my drives will undoubtedly shift again in the future to something more like last month, I really need to get on that so I have people to do stuff with when the time comes and I have conquered 6 novels, 15 episodes, and who knows how many Katamari stars.
But maybe if I take care of finding friends tonight, I'll be ok. That's it! I'll meet someone or sometwo tonight, right, and on the way home I'll get some kitty litter. And then my responsibilities will be out of the way, and I can sit alone in my apartment was much as I want! If the party is supposed to be fun, I won't want to go, but I'll just think of it as a chore that allows me afterwards to do everything I want to do! I'm such a genius, it's a shame my goal in life right now is to waste away all by myself because I could make such a great thinker.
UPDATE!
Since writing everything up there, I have taken an hour-long break for lunch where I sat in Bryant Park with my sushi and overheard three poorly-groomed young men enthusiastically discuss their latest joint session of World of Warcraft. From what I could tell, two of the boys played characters that were some variety of female homunculus. As they snorted and guffawed (this was the first time I had heard an actual guffaw, which I had previously thought a myth) their way through a retelling of some epic battle against the Archmagelords of Tuatha de Danan or something (I made that up), I felt my very brain chemistry changing. Maybe it was the unsettling gleam in their eyes. Maybe it was the occasional whiff of their intoxicating* musk. But suddenly video games and television don't sound so appealing anymore, and my mind has reawakened to the merits of making friends (though, I should add, in-person interaction) and learning something actually useful from a quality work of adult literature.
By the way, I have nothing against gamers. Really, some of my best friends are MMORPGers. But they also shower, leave the house, compose sentences not of the formula "[Magical battle move] was totally sweet", and do not trim their facial hair into weird shapes. There's a difference. You know the type I mean, so don't go getting all defensive.
* Emphasis on toxic.
Bounce your Bubis
Another rampantly immature day befalls me as I catalog music by Anton ("One Ton") Titz and books of the photography of Bubi Heilemann. All I need now is more vocal music by Richard Cumming, and the years will just melt away. I know there's a certain age when we're supposed to get over such stupid, juvenile, peverted humor, but apparently that age is not 23. Then again, I'm also not laughing or really finding it funny.... just noticing. Does that mean I'm humorless?
Is that why I don't have any friends? Right, so despite what I may have said in the past, I don't really have any friends out here yet. Whatever, I'm not really worried about it. Plus, things are looking up because a guy I didn't know in high school called me out of the blue, and we're going to a Gay Jew Party on Thursday. Hopefully I won't get asked out by a guy with a name from a fantasy novel and a guy who is entirely too obsessed with Sylvia Plath like I did at the last gay function I attended. Though I plan to wear the same outfit because I looked super cute. I hope eating an entire meat lovers pizza in one sitting last night doesn't have an effect on that.
Making friends is harder than it looks on TV. I thought my life would be just like that show... what's it called... I dunno, something like "Hot 20-somethings in New York Who Are All Friends and Date a Lot and Have These Awesome Apartments Even Though They're Just a Waitress". But instead, it's more like the show "I Guess I'll Do My Laundry Tonight and Maybe Rent a Movie Again."
Nah, I'm kidding, I go out. I've met lots of people, I just don't stay in contact with them. It might be a pickiness issue, but it might be also because I'm humorless and boring now that I'm a real librarian with bills to pay. I need a haircut. Maybe if I get a haircut and look prettier, I'll have more friends. Last time I got a haircut.... oh right, I was dumped. But I also slept with this really really beautiful and charming man afterwards (not like right after, I'm not that pathetic, it was a few days). He looked like a rockstar. I'd give him a call, but he was kind of a weird kisser and he bit my ass, which was jarring and strange if not entirely unpleasant.
Maybe it's a pickiness issue after all. Whatever, who needs friends NOT ME! I like being alone with my cat watching Charmed and eating ice cream every night. Whine bitch complain, why don't people like me?????/ omgwtf avral sucks at least my blog reeders wil alwayz b my friends 4-eva! i <3 u guyz!!!1!
Don't you like the way I transitioned from people with boob names into not having friends into talking like a r3t4rd? Seamless! I'm such a genius writer. I think I'll write a poem about that and about how you should read my blog every day even when I don't write in it.
Untitled
I am such an awesome writer
I spin webs better than a spider.
I know all of these great words
That you don't know because you are nerds.
But I don't use them so you don't feel dumb
And then go home and drown your sorrows with rum.
You may think I write really crappy
But at least I don't go on about my stupid, sappy
Feelings unless I'm being ironic.
Those lame-ass blogs make me want a colonic.
I have so many important things to say.
You should read my blog every day.
My blog is green, pink, yellow, and blue.
And it tastes just like beef and vegetable stew.
If you do not read all of my blog now,
I will stampede you with a flock of cows.
No, of course I did not read your sucky blog today.
I am too busy for something so gay.
L'envoi
Read my blog, it is the very best.
It will put lots of hair on your chest
Kinda like tabasco sauce.
You will look like Who's the Boss.
So don't shave it.
I'm your favorite.
I am fun.
Git 'er done.
Is that why I don't have any friends? Right, so despite what I may have said in the past, I don't really have any friends out here yet. Whatever, I'm not really worried about it. Plus, things are looking up because a guy I didn't know in high school called me out of the blue, and we're going to a Gay Jew Party on Thursday. Hopefully I won't get asked out by a guy with a name from a fantasy novel and a guy who is entirely too obsessed with Sylvia Plath like I did at the last gay function I attended. Though I plan to wear the same outfit because I looked super cute. I hope eating an entire meat lovers pizza in one sitting last night doesn't have an effect on that.
Making friends is harder than it looks on TV. I thought my life would be just like that show... what's it called... I dunno, something like "Hot 20-somethings in New York Who Are All Friends and Date a Lot and Have These Awesome Apartments Even Though They're Just a Waitress". But instead, it's more like the show "I Guess I'll Do My Laundry Tonight and Maybe Rent a Movie Again."
Nah, I'm kidding, I go out. I've met lots of people, I just don't stay in contact with them. It might be a pickiness issue, but it might be also because I'm humorless and boring now that I'm a real librarian with bills to pay. I need a haircut. Maybe if I get a haircut and look prettier, I'll have more friends. Last time I got a haircut.... oh right, I was dumped. But I also slept with this really really beautiful and charming man afterwards (not like right after, I'm not that pathetic, it was a few days). He looked like a rockstar. I'd give him a call, but he was kind of a weird kisser and he bit my ass, which was jarring and strange if not entirely unpleasant.
Maybe it's a pickiness issue after all. Whatever, who needs friends NOT ME! I like being alone with my cat watching Charmed and eating ice cream every night. Whine bitch complain, why don't people like me?????/ omgwtf avral sucks at least my blog reeders wil alwayz b my friends 4-eva! i <3 u guyz!!!1!
Don't you like the way I transitioned from people with boob names into not having friends into talking like a r3t4rd? Seamless! I'm such a genius writer. I think I'll write a poem about that and about how you should read my blog every day even when I don't write in it.
Untitled
I am such an awesome writer
I spin webs better than a spider.
I know all of these great words
That you don't know because you are nerds.
But I don't use them so you don't feel dumb
And then go home and drown your sorrows with rum.
You may think I write really crappy
But at least I don't go on about my stupid, sappy
Feelings unless I'm being ironic.
Those lame-ass blogs make me want a colonic.
I have so many important things to say.
You should read my blog every day.
My blog is green, pink, yellow, and blue.
And it tastes just like beef and vegetable stew.
If you do not read all of my blog now,
I will stampede you with a flock of cows.
No, of course I did not read your sucky blog today.
I am too busy for something so gay.
L'envoi
Read my blog, it is the very best.
It will put lots of hair on your chest
Kinda like tabasco sauce.
You will look like Who's the Boss.
So don't shave it.
I'm your favorite.
I am fun.
Git 'er done.
Tags:
shitty poetry
Two for the show
Never take the second urinal.
There are three urinals. One, two, three. Pretend you are a man. You can be Man A. Man A (you) needs to pee. As Man A approachs the set of three (3) urinals, he must choose which one is right for him. During this approach, Man B (let's use me) enters the restroom. Man A's (your) choice has just been made quite a bit easier because of the Rules of Urinal Selection that every human male is born understanding. I provide here the relevant rule so you don't need to look it up at your local library:
As a whole, this set of rules emphasizes distance and privacy. Choosing the second urinal means the person behind Man A (Manet... wait, no, I mean you) must choose one immediately adjacent to him. Unpleasantness like that can be avoided.
Perhaps you have seen through my clever charade of the hypothetical Manet and Man Bee to realize that this happened to me today, and I was Man B. Good on you. I don't get why people do this, but it freaks me out. I always pick the urinal farthest from anyone, and if that is impossible, the one nearest the person who looks like he's closest to being done. When alone, I choose one in a corner, preferably a corner furthest from the stalls. Urinal selection is a delicate process, but there is a clear correct answer to any given bathroom layout and occupation status. Today's Man A failed.
It is easier when a failing Man A is some icky man because I can just sort of go into myself, hunch my shoulders, and get it done. (I'm really good at peeing in public, by the way, no matter what this little diatribe might imply. Pee shy? Psh, why? Peeing is super fun, I'd never be scared of it. But that doesn't mean I like other people doing it near me.) Ok, what was I saying? Oh, right, so with icky guys it's ok. But today's Man A was this really hot blonde guy with awesome skin and perfect arms. So being right next to him was this major willpower challenge. "I wanna look.... I wanna look... I wanna look...." I mean... I had to see if he had a piece to back up his pretty face. But I resisted, and he went away.
Anyway, learn the rules, guys. Google them, I'm sure there's something there.
There are three urinals. One, two, three. Pretend you are a man. You can be Man A. Man A (you) needs to pee. As Man A approachs the set of three (3) urinals, he must choose which one is right for him. During this approach, Man B (let's use me) enters the restroom. Man A's (your) choice has just been made quite a bit easier because of the Rules of Urinal Selection that every human male is born understanding. I provide here the relevant rule so you don't need to look it up at your local library:
Section IIa, Rule #5
When choosing a urinal:
a) from a set of three available and consecutive
b) when those three are the only three in the restroom
c) in the company of other men,
this is one case where second is not the best.
As a whole, this set of rules emphasizes distance and privacy. Choosing the second urinal means the person behind Man A (Manet... wait, no, I mean you) must choose one immediately adjacent to him. Unpleasantness like that can be avoided.
Perhaps you have seen through my clever charade of the hypothetical Manet and Man Bee to realize that this happened to me today, and I was Man B. Good on you. I don't get why people do this, but it freaks me out. I always pick the urinal farthest from anyone, and if that is impossible, the one nearest the person who looks like he's closest to being done. When alone, I choose one in a corner, preferably a corner furthest from the stalls. Urinal selection is a delicate process, but there is a clear correct answer to any given bathroom layout and occupation status. Today's Man A failed.
It is easier when a failing Man A is some icky man because I can just sort of go into myself, hunch my shoulders, and get it done. (I'm really good at peeing in public, by the way, no matter what this little diatribe might imply. Pee shy? Psh, why? Peeing is super fun, I'd never be scared of it. But that doesn't mean I like other people doing it near me.) Ok, what was I saying? Oh, right, so with icky guys it's ok. But today's Man A was this really hot blonde guy with awesome skin and perfect arms. So being right next to him was this major willpower challenge. "I wanna look.... I wanna look... I wanna look...." I mean... I had to see if he had a piece to back up his pretty face. But I resisted, and he went away.
Anyway, learn the rules, guys. Google them, I'm sure there's something there.
Rhythmus and blues
This is another boring post about Being a Librarian, so you might just wanna move on to the next blog in your list.
Ok, I specialize in music and my primary secondary language is German. So apart from doing scores, they send me music books in German (and English) to do original cataloging. They say I'll get other stuff later, but for now I should stick with what I know (German (and English)) since I'm a new cataloger. Ok, whatever, thanks for your good faith. Well it turns out they have a point, and the reason I know they have a point is because I've been totally over my head when it comes to original cataloging of books. This is because a) I have not cataloged a book in like a zillion (that's one with a zillion zeros) years, not since my intro to cataloging class in library school, and there I wasn't even doing it alone. Also b) despite what they said, not a single book I have gotten has been in German. Or English.
I'm not sure who's in charge of sorting all this shit out, but somebody needs a crash course in What Is Not German. For starters, here's a handy quick reference guide:
The Following are NOT German:
And yet, I have accumulated 12 books in these languages that are stowed away in a secret place because I don't really fancy going up to my boss and saying "I'm too stupid to do these." I mean, I may be good at music, but that doesn't mean I can tell you what these crazy books are about. One has a violin on the cover. One has the word "Finnish" in real big letters. That is the only word in English, the rest is in (wonders behold!) Finnish.
So today when I received a book in German titled "Rhythmus", I was totally excited to be able to do something right for a change. It's a collection of essays. Ok, great, essays about rhythm, this is easy! So I read the back of the book and discover, much to my dismay, how much different German is from Smart People German (Smartpeopledeutsch). "What are these words???" Every word was hyphenated because it took up more than one line, and none of them were or contained "Musik" or "Komponist" or "Theorie" or anything. I saw "Kunst", which was kinda ok because it means Art.... and something that looked suspiciously like Krebs Cycle, which certainly didn't belong. Certainly, right?
Well, it turns out it was Krebs Cycle. I went back and focused more, and I did better this time. The back of the book translated essentially to: "There's rhythm in everything! So this is a book about everything! Nobody else has cataloged it, so I guess it sucks to be you, ha ha! You should have studied harder in German 203 and not quit like a quitter. Ach!"
So basically, I looked at all the little essays inside. There were some about music, specifically rhythm in music. So I used that as a subject heading. I saw one on Paul Klee, so I found a heading about rhythm in art, which redirected me to Composition (Art). I was like "Great, that makes me look kinda smart. I was afraid all my headings would have 'rhythm' in them and everyone would know that an ignorant loser cataloged this book." Then I saw in the book what looked like "Circadian rhythm" and a couple essays with diagrams of light spectrums, so I decided to go with a general "biological rhythm" type heading. One said "Mesopotamia" in it. I pretended not to see that one. One section of one essay was about day and night, so I decided to round it out with "Cycles", which it seems is a subject heading. And then I threw in "Rhythm" for good measure. It put that one on top.
Then I looked at my record and thought "Hey, this looks super good! I really, nobody's REALLY going to know if I completely screwed this up, I bet librarians bullshit knowledge all the time!" Nevertheless, I opted not to update the record on OCLC (the big ol' database every library ever uses) and just put it into our own. So that's what I did.
All in all, I felt good about how it turned out. I picked up the book and started taking it to where it needs to go to be bound, feeling light and happy with a sense of accomplishment. I felt empowered. Then I dropped the book and accidentally stepped on it and bent the cover and kinda tore the title page and all my good feelings went away, but whatever, nobody will know it was me.
Ok, I specialize in music and my primary secondary language is German. So apart from doing scores, they send me music books in German (and English) to do original cataloging. They say I'll get other stuff later, but for now I should stick with what I know (German (and English)) since I'm a new cataloger. Ok, whatever, thanks for your good faith. Well it turns out they have a point, and the reason I know they have a point is because I've been totally over my head when it comes to original cataloging of books. This is because a) I have not cataloged a book in like a zillion (that's one with a zillion zeros) years, not since my intro to cataloging class in library school, and there I wasn't even doing it alone. Also b) despite what they said, not a single book I have gotten has been in German. Or English.
I'm not sure who's in charge of sorting all this shit out, but somebody needs a crash course in What Is Not German. For starters, here's a handy quick reference guide:
The Following are NOT German:
- Dutch
- Danish
- Finnish
- Czech
- and especially
- Swedish
And yet, I have accumulated 12 books in these languages that are stowed away in a secret place because I don't really fancy going up to my boss and saying "I'm too stupid to do these." I mean, I may be good at music, but that doesn't mean I can tell you what these crazy books are about. One has a violin on the cover. One has the word "Finnish" in real big letters. That is the only word in English, the rest is in (wonders behold!) Finnish.
So today when I received a book in German titled "Rhythmus", I was totally excited to be able to do something right for a change. It's a collection of essays. Ok, great, essays about rhythm, this is easy! So I read the back of the book and discover, much to my dismay, how much different German is from Smart People German (Smartpeopledeutsch). "What are these words???" Every word was hyphenated because it took up more than one line, and none of them were or contained "Musik" or "Komponist" or "Theorie" or anything. I saw "Kunst", which was kinda ok because it means Art.... and something that looked suspiciously like Krebs Cycle, which certainly didn't belong. Certainly, right?
Well, it turns out it was Krebs Cycle. I went back and focused more, and I did better this time. The back of the book translated essentially to: "There's rhythm in everything! So this is a book about everything! Nobody else has cataloged it, so I guess it sucks to be you, ha ha! You should have studied harder in German 203 and not quit like a quitter. Ach!"
So basically, I looked at all the little essays inside. There were some about music, specifically rhythm in music. So I used that as a subject heading. I saw one on Paul Klee, so I found a heading about rhythm in art, which redirected me to Composition (Art). I was like "Great, that makes me look kinda smart. I was afraid all my headings would have 'rhythm' in them and everyone would know that an ignorant loser cataloged this book." Then I saw in the book what looked like "Circadian rhythm" and a couple essays with diagrams of light spectrums, so I decided to go with a general "biological rhythm" type heading. One said "Mesopotamia" in it. I pretended not to see that one. One section of one essay was about day and night, so I decided to round it out with "Cycles", which it seems is a subject heading. And then I threw in "Rhythm" for good measure. It put that one on top.
Then I looked at my record and thought "Hey, this looks super good! I really, nobody's REALLY going to know if I completely screwed this up, I bet librarians bullshit knowledge all the time!" Nevertheless, I opted not to update the record on OCLC (the big ol' database every library ever uses) and just put it into our own. So that's what I did.
All in all, I felt good about how it turned out. I picked up the book and started taking it to where it needs to go to be bound, feeling light and happy with a sense of accomplishment. I felt empowered. Then I dropped the book and accidentally stepped on it and bent the cover and kinda tore the title page and all my good feelings went away, but whatever, nobody will know it was me.
Open letter to Claudia
Work is getting most seriously annoying as somebody is tuning a piano in the lobby (an unbearable process to sit through and one that I thought I would never have to again) and then stupid things keep happening that I have to fix, the most recent being that the Los Angeles Public Library, in their infinite wisdom, when cataloging the guitar music for Story of the Year's first album Page Avenue decided to classify this "screamo" punk rock band as "Contemporary Christian". I'm not entirely sure what gave them this idea, and after investigating the lyrics to some selections (namely "Swallow the Knife" and "Razorblades") I deduced that this was perhaps not an accurate classification. So I was stuck searching the internet for information on this group on a website that would not play crazy music out of my speakers, for you see, I have no control over my computer's volume here at work. It took me quite a while to find a website that was all of silent, void of uncloseable floating ads for various products obscuring the information, and not written by a 13-year-old who thought these lyrics that I read actually had some literary value to someone not angsty and/or suicidal. I finally landed mtv.com, which I had skipped at first thinking it would be loud and ad-ridden. Turns out it's just kind of annoying because it reloads a lot and sometimes the buttons don't work. Anyway, I ended up choosing the subject headings "Emo (Music)" and "Punk rock music". (This whole process would have been made much easier had "Screamo" been a valid Library of Congress Subject Heading, but alas, the closest the database could suggest for that was "Screech owls".)
But I digress. The point is that I wish to avoid work for a moment by writing the following open letter to my friend, Claudia, as I most certainly owe it to her. Hem-hem:
Dearest Claudia,
I am SO so so so so sorry I have not responded to your e-mail from way before and also the myspace message you sent yesterday. You lamented that the only thing you have heard from me is what you read here, and that is why I am responding in the form of an open letter... because of the irony or something, I dunno. I hope you are well.
Things are great here, camp is fun. We made decoupage boxes and macaroni pictures, and I saw a really bad French movie called La Moustache the other day, but I think it might have actually been good and not bad. You can never tell with French movies.
I was thinking of you the other day because I was on a date with this charming Greek boy who will be a rich lawyer within the year, and he made a comment that British people are not "real" Europeans. I did not understand it, but I thought to myself "I wonder if Claudia thinks British people are 'real' Europeans."
Mostly what I do during the day is go to work and then go out and wander around except on the rare days I actually have a friend. It may sound really arrogant to say it, but I'm having trouble making friends because they keep wanting to date me. At this point, the only person I feel really comfortable hanging out with is the guy who broke up with me a couple weeks ago. Also my friend Jerry, he's pretty cool. Anyway, after I'm done hanging out or wandering around, I usually go home and neglect to go on the internet and just sit there with my kitty and read and watch TV. It's pretty nice.
I'm also super good at my job. Today I found out that "screamo" is not a real genre of music, at least according to the Library of Congress.
Come visit soon like you were planning, I definitely have time. We can go to Nintendo World and piss off all the 12-year-olds by hogging the the womb chairs and playing Lego Star Wars over and over again even though the demo time keeps running out. ...Or not, I mean whatever you want to do is fine.
Anyway, I'd better get back to work because I go on break in a couple minutes, and I don't want to miss that. Today I am buying a lock for my gym locker just in case I have to straight there after work because I neglected to in the morning like today. My cell number's the same.
Let me know what is new in your life plz n ty. Even though you are all the way over there, I remain most
Faithfully yours,
~Too Hotty~
But I digress. The point is that I wish to avoid work for a moment by writing the following open letter to my friend, Claudia, as I most certainly owe it to her. Hem-hem:
Dearest Claudia,
I am SO so so so so sorry I have not responded to your e-mail from way before and also the myspace message you sent yesterday. You lamented that the only thing you have heard from me is what you read here, and that is why I am responding in the form of an open letter... because of the irony or something, I dunno. I hope you are well.
Things are great here, camp is fun. We made decoupage boxes and macaroni pictures, and I saw a really bad French movie called La Moustache the other day, but I think it might have actually been good and not bad. You can never tell with French movies.
I was thinking of you the other day because I was on a date with this charming Greek boy who will be a rich lawyer within the year, and he made a comment that British people are not "real" Europeans. I did not understand it, but I thought to myself "I wonder if Claudia thinks British people are 'real' Europeans."
Mostly what I do during the day is go to work and then go out and wander around except on the rare days I actually have a friend. It may sound really arrogant to say it, but I'm having trouble making friends because they keep wanting to date me. At this point, the only person I feel really comfortable hanging out with is the guy who broke up with me a couple weeks ago. Also my friend Jerry, he's pretty cool. Anyway, after I'm done hanging out or wandering around, I usually go home and neglect to go on the internet and just sit there with my kitty and read and watch TV. It's pretty nice.
I'm also super good at my job. Today I found out that "screamo" is not a real genre of music, at least according to the Library of Congress.
Come visit soon like you were planning, I definitely have time. We can go to Nintendo World and piss off all the 12-year-olds by hogging the the womb chairs and playing Lego Star Wars over and over again even though the demo time keeps running out. ...Or not, I mean whatever you want to do is fine.
Anyway, I'd better get back to work because I go on break in a couple minutes, and I don't want to miss that. Today I am buying a lock for my gym locker just in case I have to straight there after work because I neglected to in the morning like today. My cell number's the same.
Let me know what is new in your life plz n ty. Even though you are all the way over there, I remain most
Faithfully yours,
~Too Hotty~
What have they done for me, huh?
It's pouring rain, I have no umbrella, and I'm late getting back to work. In front of the library, this girl with a clipboard says "Excuse me!" Oh Christ, here we go.
Now that ain't fair. What kind of question is that? "No, of course I don't want to help babies. I want them all to perish because I am evil. Listen to this evil, baby-killing laugh: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!" No. Babies are fine. I just can't do that right now. Why? Well, I'll tell you.
I have $X in my bank account. After I pay my bills this afternoon and get food for myself, i will have X - (what I just spent). Let me grab my calculator... doo-dee-doo, OOOOH single digits YES! Don't stop me in the rain, tell me falsely what I can afford, and then whine when I don't fill out your little forms. Yes, whine.
I was nice to you, and I even told you to walk with me so I could hear what you were about. I could have blown you off. So don't put on that pathetic face and make me feel like some sort of horrible alien motherlord baby-eater. People can only have so many issues. They can only help with so many things. If I gave money to every organization and homeless person who asked, I'd be poorer than they are. I sponsored a friend on his AIDS run. I donated to an animal shelter. I climbed down a bridge and almost killed myself on slick rocks to save a baby duck separated from its mother and stranded on a rock in a swift current. (Some thanks I got for that. The mommy duck tried to peck out my eyes.) So maybe that's not a lot, and I'm certainly not gloating... the point is people do what they can when they can, and if they can't, they can't. It's not that we don't want to help babies. It's not that we like seeing kids in Impoverished Country of the Moment fighting to survive. But I'd like you to know, [Who cares], that copping a childish attitude with people who don't give you money is mroe assuredly not the way to encourage us to look to Children International for possible future contributions.
But here they are: Children International Help out if you can.
Do you have a minute?
-- Actually, it's raining and I'm late getting back to work.
Aw, come on, get wet with me.
(Yuck.)
-- I can't, really.
Awww, c'mon please?
-- .... fine. Walk with me.
Sure!
[We do not walk... very Waiting for Godot.]
My name is [who cares], and blah blah, spiel, Children's International, 16 cents a day, you can help a baby.
-- No, I don't think so.
Aww, c'mon, it's nothing, don't you want to help babies?
Now that ain't fair. What kind of question is that? "No, of course I don't want to help babies. I want them all to perish because I am evil. Listen to this evil, baby-killing laugh: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!" No. Babies are fine. I just can't do that right now. Why? Well, I'll tell you.
I have $X in my bank account. After I pay my bills this afternoon and get food for myself, i will have X - (what I just spent). Let me grab my calculator... doo-dee-doo, OOOOH single digits YES! Don't stop me in the rain, tell me falsely what I can afford, and then whine when I don't fill out your little forms. Yes, whine.
What? C'moooon, no saving babies?
[My shrug says "Guess not"]
No saving babies???? (Said as if I just killed and ate a live puppy in front of her. And now I'm done. No means no.)
-- Nope! No saving babies. They'll be fine!
I was nice to you, and I even told you to walk with me so I could hear what you were about. I could have blown you off. So don't put on that pathetic face and make me feel like some sort of horrible alien motherlord baby-eater. People can only have so many issues. They can only help with so many things. If I gave money to every organization and homeless person who asked, I'd be poorer than they are. I sponsored a friend on his AIDS run. I donated to an animal shelter. I climbed down a bridge and almost killed myself on slick rocks to save a baby duck separated from its mother and stranded on a rock in a swift current. (Some thanks I got for that. The mommy duck tried to peck out my eyes.) So maybe that's not a lot, and I'm certainly not gloating... the point is people do what they can when they can, and if they can't, they can't. It's not that we don't want to help babies. It's not that we like seeing kids in Impoverished Country of the Moment fighting to survive. But I'd like you to know, [Who cares], that copping a childish attitude with people who don't give you money is mroe assuredly not the way to encourage us to look to Children International for possible future contributions.
But here they are: Children International Help out if you can.
Catalogtistic
I'm feeling totally autistic today, and I can't snap out of it. So I'm sitting here at work with a really interesting pile of scores to go through, but all I can manage to do is stare at my fixed field reading the same letters over and over again, processing them in any but a productive way. It's unbelievable, I've never zoned out so uncontrollably or with so much focus. My mind is going, but it's like not part of my experience of the world right now. For my next trick, I will gaze fixedly at a subject heading for six straight hours while simultaneously drooling and calculating pi.
I thought some coffee would help, but it just made me jittery and anxious. It would seem that the only thing that snaps me out of it is writing in my blog, mostly because here I can channel my retarded thoughts without any responsibility to importance or cohesiveness.
In unrelated news, somebody took a pencil from me while I was gone, and I feel like fucking Milton. I understand that it's an expected consequence of having the office phone at one's desk, but if it keeps happening, I won't have any penicls at all! And it was my good one, too. So I noticed there's a little space to write on the pencil cup I bought at Staples after my first day, and I wrote on it. I wrote "Pencil Cup." in regular pencil. And then I wrote "For me." in blue pencil. And last, I wrote "Mine." in red pencil. So hopefully, it will deter any future thievery.
Happy 6-6-6, by the way. I think there's a movie coming out, but I'm not sure. It might help if on every construction site, subway, and billboard in all of New York there were a cryptic sign that said 6.6.06 and didn't say what it was about so you think it's a stupid death metal band releasing an album or hey, maybe the real apocalypse, but you don't really care, and then suddenly you find out "Ohhhhh, it's a movie with Julia Stiles, I guess all that unnecessary vagueness was supposed to make that interesting." ...for instance. That's just an example, I mean there are other ways to advertise.
I thought some coffee would help, but it just made me jittery and anxious. It would seem that the only thing that snaps me out of it is writing in my blog, mostly because here I can channel my retarded thoughts without any responsibility to importance or cohesiveness.
In unrelated news, somebody took a pencil from me while I was gone, and I feel like fucking Milton. I understand that it's an expected consequence of having the office phone at one's desk, but if it keeps happening, I won't have any penicls at all! And it was my good one, too. So I noticed there's a little space to write on the pencil cup I bought at Staples after my first day, and I wrote on it. I wrote "Pencil Cup." in regular pencil. And then I wrote "For me." in blue pencil. And last, I wrote "Mine." in red pencil. So hopefully, it will deter any future thievery.
Happy 6-6-6, by the way. I think there's a movie coming out, but I'm not sure. It might help if on every construction site, subway, and billboard in all of New York there were a cryptic sign that said 6.6.06 and didn't say what it was about so you think it's a stupid death metal band releasing an album or hey, maybe the real apocalypse, but you don't really care, and then suddenly you find out "Ohhhhh, it's a movie with Julia Stiles, I guess all that unnecessary vagueness was supposed to make that interesting." ...for instance. That's just an example, I mean there are other ways to advertise.
Maybe it's the government interfering...
Oooh, I'm so aggravated. So my phone vibrates at me, and I think "Oooh, a text message!" So I peek at it (highly illicitly, I might add, because I am at work), and it's all "Ok, if I tell you something, you have to promise to not get mad." What, phone? What did you do? "Well, ok, so I totally forgot to tell you, but you have 10 voicemails that have been accumulating since Monday. I was kind of in a mood all week, and I haven't been ringing except sometimes, and I just forgot about the messages PLEASE can we still be friends, I promise I'll never do it again. Oh, and I don't know who they're from, I haven't been logging your missed calls."
What the fuck, man? We're totally in a fight.
I haven't listened to these messages yet, but I'm pretty much certain they're going to be from just one or two people saying like "Why haven't you returned my calls, where are you, I hate you, you are ass!" All in a sentence like that. I'm kind of afraid to listen to them at all, but then I'm sure one would be about "Ooh, I've been kidnapped, and they only allowed me one phone call! Please save me by Tuesday!"
My phone's name is Marge, but from now on, I'm calling her Bitchface. I just bought it a couple weeks ago to replace my lost one, and it was working just great! I dunno, maybe it's a reception thing... and I NEVER have it. But I somehow doubt that.
I'm fairly certain this is why I haven't heard from my mom in days. Also, if you're one of my devoted fans and I haven't called you back, that's why. Please forgive Marge.
In conclusion, technology sucks and we should go back to carrier pigeons.
What the fuck, man? We're totally in a fight.
I haven't listened to these messages yet, but I'm pretty much certain they're going to be from just one or two people saying like "Why haven't you returned my calls, where are you, I hate you, you are ass!" All in a sentence like that. I'm kind of afraid to listen to them at all, but then I'm sure one would be about "Ooh, I've been kidnapped, and they only allowed me one phone call! Please save me by Tuesday!"
My phone's name is Marge, but from now on, I'm calling her Bitchface. I just bought it a couple weeks ago to replace my lost one, and it was working just great! I dunno, maybe it's a reception thing... and I NEVER have it. But I somehow doubt that.
I'm fairly certain this is why I haven't heard from my mom in days. Also, if you're one of my devoted fans and I haven't called you back, that's why. Please forgive Marge.
In conclusion, technology sucks and we should go back to carrier pigeons.
Jewn
I went to lunch and came back tan, though one might also suggest that I went to lunch and came back with sun poisoning. I'm still harboring hopes that it's just dry skin. Either way, it's not on my face, so who cares NOT ME! I'm feeling adolescent today, and I want to indulge that as much as possible.
I'm wearing a loud shirt. I sun bathed. I stared at men sunbathing. (Bryant Park is the best place to work next to. It's better than what you work next to, I bet. Unless you're a lifeguard.) I'm cataloging a score for a cello piece by Lars Klit, and the S is written such that it looks like a G. Everything about today is either fun, tan, nostalgic, hormonally stimulating, or immature, and I love it. I slept in. I dressed to Britney Spears. I ate pizza for breakfast. And I really really want to have sex (specifically, with the man on the red towel with the cool sunglasses... I wonder if he's still there....)
Furthermore, tonight I am going to some comedy group thing, after which I will meet one of everyone's favorite bit players in a movie: The Bend 'n Snap Guy from Legally Blonde! The more I think about it, the excitinger it is. He's in the group, and he's friends with my friend who I'm going with, so we're going to be bffs I just know it.
Today is 2 kewl + 2 B = 4-gotten! HAGS everyone!
I'm wearing a loud shirt. I sun bathed. I stared at men sunbathing. (Bryant Park is the best place to work next to. It's better than what you work next to, I bet. Unless you're a lifeguard.) I'm cataloging a score for a cello piece by Lars Klit, and the S is written such that it looks like a G. Everything about today is either fun, tan, nostalgic, hormonally stimulating, or immature, and I love it. I slept in. I dressed to Britney Spears. I ate pizza for breakfast. And I really really want to have sex (specifically, with the man on the red towel with the cool sunglasses... I wonder if he's still there....)
Furthermore, tonight I am going to some comedy group thing, after which I will meet one of everyone's favorite bit players in a movie: The Bend 'n Snap Guy from Legally Blonde! The more I think about it, the excitinger it is. He's in the group, and he's friends with my friend who I'm going with, so we're going to be bffs I just know it.
Today is 2 kewl + 2 B = 4-gotten! HAGS everyone!
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