Blogging Unplugged

So I am kind of a dork, right. I wrote this entry yesterday in my little notebook in a cafe because I didn't feel like reading my book. Here it is transcribed for your pleasure:

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At Barnes and Noble, killing time, watching an attractive young med student study an anatomy book and lingering just a bit overlong at full-color drawings illustrating the penis and testes, I was happy. Stifling a giggle, I admired nerd glasses, sexy forearms, and most importantly, big, solid hands.

Digging into my bag, I inserted my iPod ear buds (a term I hate, like they're gonna make my head sprout flowers as if I weren't girly enough) but I didn't turn the device on. It's my secret eavesdropping technique, shhh, nobody knows.

Then he started talking to the guy next to him and the magic was gone. Sure, his voice was sexy enough... but med student he told me (or suggested by his choice of literature)? Ha! Med student my ass!

He just loves the human form. Looking at a model is one thing, but to see the inside gives a whole new perspective and blah blah unoriginal blah.

Turns out his fat, sour-looking, slightly dirty friend is the med student, so after Forearm Boy returned the anatomy book and commenced highlighting some standard art history tome, I turned my iPod on for real hoping my Mendelssohn piano music would sufficiently drown out the boring REM album playing. Oh, how disappointing that was too.

(REM, though admirably persistent in cultivating their every-song-is-the-same sound, will never surpass U2 in that respect and is therefore not even worthy of my contempt.)

I don't hate artists, I'm just tired of the cookie cutter conversations lots of them have, just like I'm sick of hearing freshman music students thinking they're intelligent for adoring Mahler and respecting Bach... or forward-thinking because they own a recording of Lulu.

Seriously, Forearm Boy, there is no beauty in cartoon diagrams illustrating testicular descent unless you count the years you can spend playing with them afterwards.

There's an artform I appreciate.

Dammit, I have an hour to kill before my author comes out to do his talk, and my pumpkin spice frappuccino is almost gone.

That's the only reason I'm sitting here writing in a little notebook in nerd glasses and a hoodie as if I were, Lord help me, some sort of artist.

It wouldn't be the first time I was mistaken for a writer. A kid in Florida thinks I am because he reads my blog (Hi Ian!). A drama teacher from Indiana U did too because he read my now defunct Livejournal of all things, like that's such a swirling miasma of artistic expression.

And pretty much anyone who reads my gay.com profile thinks so too, but mostly I think they just wanna fuck me.

So maybe I will be a writer... I've already got the image: glasses, scrappy appearance when I want it, no money, little notebook. All I'm lacking is talent and inspiration, but can't you get those from a workshop or something?

Now Asshole Cell-Phone Guy is talking real loud into his cell phone like some sort of asshole. He sells insurance, which is appropriate, and he's probably cheating on his wife. Pig.

It's all about sex for him. That's so typical. When we starving artist types cheat, it's only out of out passion for descending testicles. You wouldn't understand.

But I could never be a writer because all I can think of to write about is my life. And all the things in my life I can think of to write about I don't want my mom to read like about the time my friend tried to choke me while we were having sex or the time my other friend bit my ass during sex so I punched him in the face or the time the Republican brought his gun on our first date in case I was a psycho... we had sex anyway.

Don't read my blog either, ok Mom?

Computer Viruses Created By Dateless Nerds, Studies Suggest

My computer at home was broken again this weekend, but I fixed it, thereby proving myself $1000% superior to the asshole that decided to spend the time writing it. I started to wonder, as I've wondered before, what exactly drives a person to create a computer virus... not because they're so malicious or evil or anything.... but because they're so lame. I mean, it can't be only friendless losers who do this kinda stuff, right?

So I asked Google, and it turns out I was wrong, it really is just friendless losers. (Here's a longer version.)

I never made fun of anybody in high school because I was in band and on the lit mag staff and took calculus my sophomore year, so I wasn't allowed to. It wasn't until I went to music school and EVERYONE was an artsy geek that I learned that I'm cooler than a lot of people.

Now that I'm in my mid-twenties, I'm finding that "cool" isn't so important anymore. Being together in a gigantic workforce kinda evened the playing field because everyone's underpaid, everyone wears stupid ties (except me, which rather gives me a leg up if the Cool Factor ever becomes important), and everyone rides the smelly subway.

That's probably why virus creators are primarily under 25 -- because they've spent too many Friday nights playing World of Warcraft with 13 year olds to realize that the rest of humanity isn't talking about them and that even the football jocks are losing their hair and carrying Blackberries.

So, to all the current and ex-losers out there, I just want to shout out a big "Get the fuck over it already!" Everyone gets made fun of, like your life is really so hard.

Also, by the way, the renaissance of geekdom was featured in Time Out New York last month. Now it's "cool" to be a loser, so go jump on that deluded bandwagon and stop fucking up my computer!

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Ok, now I'm gonna contradict myself about "cool" not being important anymore because I was hit on by this TOTAL loser over the weekend. I told him his job was boring, and I told him he was "kinda socially awkward" and that he looked different (read: way better) from far away, but he didn't get the hint. But I let him buy me a drink anyway before telling him I had to leave (immediately) and that I had a boyfriend ("Oh, I thought I mentioned it before"), so don't worry, your technology is safe.

They were all really pretty, too

So, I was having lunch alone at this little Japanese place just now. It's like a market or something, real loud, not some sit-down place and harass your waitress place. You get your stuff at the counter, and it's super cheap. But there are tables.

And I'm reading my book, which isn't even good but I can't stop even though it's 807 pages with tiny print. I'm on page 400 now and I'm afraid that when I finish it, I'll feel compelled to purchase and read the following three 800-page monstrosities, kinda for the same reason I keep seeing M. Night Shayamalan movies.

Anyway, after 40 minutes, I hadn't paid any attention to the table next to me, but I looked up to find them all looking at me expectantly, and I was totally creeped out until I realized that they must have addressed me and I didn't hear because I was so absorbed in my crappy book.

So I said "Hi" and then proceeded to have the best lunch ever.

Closest to me were two Japanese girls, and they wanted to know what book I was reading. I was really embarassed even though they would probably never know how bad it was, but I covered my ass anyway by saying "Oh, it's just this some novel, it's really bad." The other two people were an American girl and a Taiwanese boy. And suddenly, we were all talking and exchanging e-mail addresses, and it just totally made my day.

The Japanese girls are here studying English. My cell phone was dead, so at some point I asked "Do you have the time?" which ended up being this great experience for them because they learned that "Do you have the time?" is the same as "What time is it?" And then we discussed the difference between it and "Do you have time?" and I was like "English r0x0rz!"

The American girl speaks fluent Japanese, which I don't at all even a little except "Konbanwa!" and "Sumimasen!" but I decided to not showcase my talents. She is awesome and likes Diana Wynne Jones just like me and went to Brown like I maybe should have. Also, she knows a girl I TAed for even though I only remember her handwriting. The Taiwanese boy didn't say anything, but he had cool hair.

So hopefully I have a bunch of new best friends but keep the old.

I think I will e-mail them later and tell them they made my day. Oh, and they all loved my stupid Harry Potter e-mail address. The American girl is reading it in Japanese, and the Japanese girls are reading it in English, so I think I'll order the UK editions so I can read them in English too.

Stereotypes True: Florida Filled With Sunshine, Fogies

So I took this super long 3-day weekend to visit Coral Springs, Florida. I saw Brian, which was kinda the point and everything but the other point was to see The Kid From Brooklyn, his show, which is super good and you all have to come to New York and see it when it comes here.

It's about Danny Kaye, so B had to dye his hair this lurid shade. When I saw it, I remembered that I had forgotten to pack my Natural Citrus Listerine, and I contemplated licking his head to freshen my breath, but instead I didn't and only pretended to in my head.

The show was full of Danny Kaye songs, and they're all really neat. It was real weird because I had cataloged a couple of them in the weeks leading up to the trip, and I came across another one today in one of 4 (count 'em 4) fucking autoharp method books (for self-instruction) that I had to go through today. a) Boring. b) Who gets up in the morning and thinks "Today I must learn the autoharp! To the library, for Lord and Land!"? Nobody.

In Florida, I learned that old people basically just get in the way. If they're not standing around blocking your aisle and ignoring you, they're sideswiping your car, harassing your waitress as if she didn't have 9 other tables that needed her attention, or singing along to every fucking song in a show just to prove that they know them just like my least favorite immature high school friends used to do. Back on the subway in New York, I looked around and realized how young everyone was and was happy until I realized that everyone was standing around blocking my exit and ignoring me, but at least here you can swear at people and tell them to move and sometimes even push them a little bit without having to worry about paying for hip replacement surgery.

Also, drag queens in Miami Beach are pretty (like prettier than most girls) and all have real boobs, but nobody is as skinny as Vicky St. James. ...Or me, I'm a size 8, which I think is pretty good for being both 6'4" and a guy. I wore my new girl jeans out on Sunday night, and I got spoken to inappropriately by two attractive Miami boys, so I'd consider that a success.

Dear Neglected Blog,

I am going to Miami today and I'm not bringing you. There's some old pizza in the fridge. Don't feed the cat.

I promise when I come back we'll be best friends again.

Boring birthday weekend wrapup

My birthday was fine except for the suck parts. I got food poisoning or something like it. It was after eating some really good Thai food; I threw it up an hour later, which was real sad because it was super tasty. I was sad to see it go. Nobody else in my family had a problem and we all shared food, so maybe my stomach just didn't feel like Thai that day.

Chicago was amazing. Usher was surprisingly awesome. I thought he'd suck because I hate when they import people to do theatre, but he was all good at acting and has a pretty voice, so I was kinda mad that I had nothing to be mad about.

Also, he was throwing roses to the crowd during the curtain call, and none of them made it past the third row, but in a moment of total hotness, he produced one more rose from inside his jacket, presented it to the amazingly talented girl who played Velma, and she threw it right into my sister's hand.

I didn't get a rose.

Nobody else has mistaken me for a model, but I feel smart again, so I'm calling it a win.

Insignifican't

My parents are here. I met them during lunch, and my mom mentioned again that it must be so cool to live here and be so close to all these things that are going on. Yeah, I guess it's cool... but eventually, you start to realize that there are lots of things going on, and you're not a part of any of them.

I work at a high profile place where lots of stuff happens. Between the library itself and Bryant Park, I never go a week without seeing some sort of neato cool event. Today, there was some sort of Fashion Week event going on in a tent beside the Bryant Park Cafe. People were crowding around and peeping through a little gap to see what was going on inside and who was talking, I dunno, I guess someone famous was in there or maybe just someone pretty. Maybe the people were just hungry.

Anyway, when I walked out of the library to get my morning coffee, I started to approach this area, and a photographer rushed up to me and started to put his camera to his face only to immediately lower it and spin on his heel when he realized I wasn't who he thought I was. I never thought I much resembled a model, but I'm wearing a tight black shirt today, so maybe it's because I'm skinny and have good posture and long legs and would probably make a good model were it not for the pesky rest of me.

But in that one moment, I felt totally lame. I mean, whatever, I'm not a model who cares. But this photographer was a total nobody, I mean photographers are the ones on the periphery spending their entire lives one-off from their subjects who are leading the real glamorous life.

So I didn't get an excuse me or a sorry or even an accidental shutter click, he just sorta turned around as if he imagined me and realized "Oh, it was just a trick of the light, that person with the cool pants doesn't really exist, and he's certainly not a model." And I was like "Bitch, you're not even allowed in the tent!" But I didn't say that because I was too busy feeling rejected by stardom.

Then during lunch I went to Lord and Taylor to see Sarah Jessica Parker, and apparently you have to buy something from her line to meet her, so my mom bought the Lovely gift set because she was going to anyway, and she got a little passcard to wear and we got in line. Apparently my sister and I weren't supposed to be there because we didn't buy Lovely gift sets for ourselves, so the guards were all "Stand to the side of the line so we can shorten it", which was retarded times infinity because then we were in everyone's way, but whatever, we were still going. Another guard tried to get us to leave, which wasn't going to happen so my mom was like "They're my kids, they're just waiting with me, geez" and we walked by him, and when he scowled I said "Oh get over it" and my mom was all "What's with all these crabby jerks?"

This will come as no shock, but I've found that since I moved here, being mean expressing my feelings to people makes me feel good about myself.

In conclusion, I went back to work before we got to the front of the line because it had been an hour and a half already, but I'm sure I wouldn't have been permitted to accompany my mom to see Sarah anyway. My sister look like a young kid, though, and gets overwhelmed in crowds, so I'm hoping they didn't make her wander off alone and wait at the exit because if I find out they did, I'm bombing Lord & Taylor so much you'll think it was Muslim burial ground.

So all I want to say is that I'm sick of being dissed and pushed around by one-off nobodys today. One day I'm going to be on TV and people will wait in line for 2 hours to see me at a department store, and all the guards and photographers from today are automatically banned for life times infinity and can't come and they especially can't bring their daughters to see me even if they bought my perfume because they are nobody and I bet no photographer ever mistook them for a model.

Past Present Present Present Future Present

Today my first birthday present to myself was a 2 hour lunch break. I ate at 44 Restaurant and why is it called that OH because it's located on 44 W. 44th St., yeah clever right. The service, in retrospect, was extremely slow but the conversation was good. That's why 2 hours could happen with nobody noticing.

My second present to myself is to go home after work and cock around and do nothing. I'm really looking forward to it. I know I do it every day, but this will be an extra special birthday cocking around extravaganza with cookies AND tea AND crackers.

Right now, my present to myself is not working for the rest of the day and only surfing the Internet and writing in my blog.

Tomorrow, my present to myself is to go meet Sarah Michelle Gellar, no I mean Sarah Jessica Parker with my mom during lunch because she is going to be at some store promoting her new fragrance. After we're best friends, I'll know all the hot gossip and my mom will have a new bottle of her favorite fragrance.

Also, you can totally cancel that request for validation that I put up yesterday because someone in my department just came to me with a question (me, meaning not the other music woman who trained me and has 20 years experience, me) and it required a bit of thinking, but I knew the answer right away and was super suave and closed it out by referring him to a website with more information, so I feel like the total king of the department right now, hail to the king!

So instead for my birthday I want Damian Kulash, here he is on a treadmill, thanks:

OK Go Treadmill Video

You were what by two men?

Defend yourself with English

I know I've already obsessed about this video to a lot people, but whatever, go watch it. It's filled with Japanese girls in tight outfits, but it's not porn please, as if.

Fuh fuh fuh fuh fuh

Ok, so I'm smart, right? I mean, I never knew a lot of facts like who's who in politics and where's Oman on a map and what Catherine the Great did to get her name, but I learn to do things fast (like how I learned some French today), I can figure out computery problems, and I understand how there are different sizes of infinity and stuff, so I still get to be smart even if I don't know which president was which, right?

I have this friend who invented an electric candle that turns on and off when you blow on it. Apparently there's a better way to do it than the way he did it because apparently it also turns on and off if you scream real loud, but he knows the better way and could do it if he wanted. (Personally, I'd rather have the screaming version.)

I have another friend who's going to Harvard medical for free. And I have other friends who can sit around all day arguing about international politics while kicking my ass at Trivial Pursuit while I'm all "No, I don't know anything about France but did you see Famous It Girl's dress at That Awards Ceremony last week, I think she's had work done."

Whatever, so I've been feeling dumb lately. And by "lately" I mean the past 2 years or so, but that electric candle thing kinda topped it off. Jenga I'm a retard!

Maybe I should go back to school. I always felt smart in school, mostly because I had people telling me so. I write papers real fast, and they're super well-organized. And once in library school, I gave a project that after the colon was called "The Future of a Domain Specific Data Model" and I used big words with small meanings, so everyone was impressed because they didn't really get it even though it wasn't hard at all.

But school costs money, so maybe I'll just find some dumb people to hang around with sometimes. Then I can get my intellectual snobbery on... or at least find some kindred spirits. I'll bring a big rubber ball so we all have something fun to play with.

Ok, now everyone comment about how smart I am and be sincere because my birthday is tomorrow, and I want my present to be lots of praise and adulation.

Rhapsssssody in Blue

Nobody's pretty anymore

I don't normally go out of my way to say things like this, but the world really needs to know that Scarlett Johansson looked a-fucking-mazing at the Black Dahlia (whatever that is) premiere. Look!

There's nothing like it.

Also, I'm really pissed that it's zero degrees outside. There are seriously no degrees. I blame Florida for having all those damn hurricanes.