The MTA

Signs like this make me think that soon my metrocard will go up in price.













I'll be in Newport, RI this weekend. See you Monday!

My Favorite Part of Last Week's Sopranos

was when JT got smacked in the head by a clipboard in the middle of his writing class and dragged outside to Christopher's car. When he comes back to the building, his class is disbanding, gossiping all the way.

"A room full of writers" he says, "and you did nothing!"

The statement is meant to be the ultimate condemnation, but his students don't really react. There's a two-second awkward pause, and then they just keep walking.

I mean, the writers of the show will get the last laugh (or the last gunshot, whichever) but it's a great moment of fun-poking at themselves.

If you've been feeling like the blog is a little boring lately & maybe noticed a complete lack of posting -- well, hey, I'm barely one writer. I'm nowhere near a roomful of writers, and even then: apparently I'd still do nothing.

And Why Not Wander In?

I'm thrilled for any (all) visitors.

Some people get here by searching "tooth pain" -- if they're looking for a solution, this must be a bit of a disappointment.

A few days ago, someone searched "Supergirl Porn" and got to my 'lil ol' blog. Speaking of disappointment...but man, how exciting that I was the number 2 result!

I've been knocked down the search engine rankings by Mischa Barton (oh, she's ever my nemesis) and since I wasn't really trying to get visitors looking for Supergirl Porn, I'm ok with that.

Are You 'Ramped Up' for Monday?

Read the full comic over at Fatal Exception. Click this link if your work bandwidth is full. My god, I've been reduced to work humor.

thanx to the boy for the link.

Seattle

In under a month I will be in beautiful rainy Seattle. (Hooray for a rainy vacation!) Somebody who is Madeleine's brother might think that my obscession with Seattle dates back to Doug moving there. Said brother is incorrect--I am not chasing after Doug.

I am half-convinced, however, that I'll fly cross-country and it will wind up being the '90s and I'll be able to see Nirvana play. This may be a problem.

The Shove

The great thing about Brooklyn is that people aren't afraid to let their emotions out. I'm not talking the kids who are in Brooklyn 'cause their friend from Pratt told them "man, Manhattan's over."

I'm talking about people who are from the kind of Brooklyn where if you want to get someone's attention, you open the window and scream their name. I'm talking about Brooklyn where if you're pissed off, you might want to give someone a shove.

Last Sunday, walking down Court Street, I noticed a couple: late-twenties, mutually good looking. She was dressed up in a skirt and the kind of heels that are hot only when you're standing still; once you start walking, they're just awkward to watch. He was wearing a suit.

I noticed them because they looked like they were about to kiss. Watching people make out in public -- and then pointing at them -- is one of my favorite hobbies. Turns out, I got the scene all wrong. They were in a fight, and she walked away from him. Well, tried to walk away, but her heels were not on her side.

The man in the suit walked fast to catch up, doing that sexy guy thing where he pulled his tie loose around his neck. When he did catch up, the girl gave him a massive show. She was skinny, but the shove: it moved him a few feet at least.

This might not be a public display of affection, but I still feel justified in my pointing. As I'm pointing away, a guy walks past me muttering, "nothing like domestic harmony."

Oh, It's Springderful!

Hooray for lovely weather in ny -- hooray, hooray!

Why God Gave Me Ovaries

but the 'mouse might think I'm using 'em for evil.

You Know What Tastes Bad?

Cement.

Cement does not taste good. Surprised?

So what happened is, I got curious and licked the sidewalk. Just kidding. No sidewalk licking, but the insertion of the permanent crown. It's gold (yup, I have gold in my mouth), but covered in porcelain. (I'm a little disappointed about the porcelain; I was looking forward to getting drunk and showing people the gold tooth.)

So the thing is, to get the sucker to stay in your mouth permanently, they use permanent cement. Which is how I know: Cement? Not tasty.

Here's what happened: the 'ol tooth got covered in wet gloppy cement, and the new crown got plopped on top.

"Stay still," said the dentist, "and don't move."

So I stayed still, thinking about how the wet gloppy cement was kind of dripping down my throat. And, you know, maybe it would get stuck and dry. I am a creative worrier.

Never fear. Cement is not in my throat and all is well. And, not that I'd needed to learn, but now I know that cement tastes like bitter sidewalk.

Vacation: In the Works

Vacations will not be a Disney Land or Disney World because I don't approve of organized fun. Also, I feel like if I've made it this far without going on a Disney-affiliated vacation, it would be silly to start now. It would be like taking up smoking at age 25.

Vacations may be had at St. Thomas and Seattle, because this year's vacations are sponsored by the letter 's'.

Crash Go the Oscars

The Washington Post has a lot to say about "It's Hard Out Here For a Pimp" winning best song. And when I say they "have a lot to say" I mean, they have two (2) articles on the song.

From Picking Up the Lyric But Missing the Beat: (sorry for the long quote):

Curious, then, that as news of the song's big win starting racing around the Internet, there was some confusion about the exact line. An Associated Press report began, "The Oscar people showed they were ready to embrace a song called 'It's Hard Out There for a Pimp.' " But the line was, "It's hard out here for a pimp."

Here, there. Inside, outside. The slip of the pen captures exactly how these things play out when appropriated across class and race lines. No one would ever say, and mean, "It's hard out there for a pimp," which would suggest actually sympathy for pimps, and for people out there, on the outside. But it's hard out here for a pimp, appropriated into white culture, becomes a way both to borrow the outsider's inherently cool status, while completely denying that any complaint from that place has value.

Memo to My Dreams

My last three dreams were:

• a crisis at work.
• a crisis at the assembly line where I was employed. (never in my life have I worked on an assembly line! so this was stressful just 'cause I don't actually know how to assemble cars.)
• a cable bill that arrived with a scary legal note saying that my cable-stealing ways had been uncovered and that I owed $990 in back charges from when I'd first started being a cable-stealer.

These dreams were many things--bizarre in their precision! crisis-filled! frustrating! tiring!--but the one thing they were not is restful. It occurs to me that maybe these dreams are coming from Mao.

Regardless of cause, I would like to request a nice peaceful night. Dreams about St. Thomas, white sands, and blue ocean would be particuarly nice.

Giant Squid!

Watch the British Museum of Natural History preserve a Giant Squid! My favorite part is when 14 British scientists start carrying the Giant Squid! into a different room.

Link via themorningnews.org.