Just over a week until I close on the new house. Part of me is super excited, and part of me is completely freaked out. I suppose it's good that as of this week, I'm more frequently excited than freaked out.
Also, I made the mistake of looking up the sellers on facebook to see if they had any comments about the house. The wife seems cool. But, the husband had a few bad comments about the neighborhood, selling the house, and whatnot. Sounds like he couldn't leave fast enough. It makes me anxious, thinking "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" On the other hand, the guy seems like he may not be cut out for city living at all. Plus, he loves the crap out of McCain. An unreliable narrator, as they would say. So, I'm trying to ignore the random stuff he said -- it's not like it's stuff I didn't know, anyway.
It does raise the question, though -- In the internet age, is there ever such a thing as too much information? I'd usually answer the question, "No." I think being well-informed leads to better decisions. On the other hand, maybe there comes a point when it's just too much information. For a deliberate person like myself, all that info can leave your brain running in circles.
In any case, it will be good to own a house, have cookouts, and get out of this apartment building.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Sit back and relax, enjoy the show
I went to a concert last night, for the first time in ions. It was good, but nothing exciting. I can't decide whether that's because of the artist -- Jason Mraz -- or that I'm just old. Probably both. His songs are mellow, which led to a downer kind of mood. And, I'm just too old to be at a concert unless I'm jamming out having the time of my life...like all the teenyboppers were last night. I realized that I'm closer in age to the parents outside waiting in cars to pick up the kids, or sitting in the lobby trying not to feel slighted when their kid pretends that he doesn't know his parental escort.
Also, I'm a little spoiled from the many Ben Folds concerts that I've been to. Now I know the world seems to be divided into two camps -- Pro=Ben and anti-Ben. I don't know too many people who are just blase about the man. You love him or hate him. Fortunately, a few of my friends happened to like him and forced me to a show at the 930 club, some 10 years ago. You may not like his music, but his shows are super energetic. Always had the best time dancing and singing. Immediately after the first concert I wanted to go out and buy all his old albums -- a sign of a good show.
If I weren't broke to the wind this week, trying to save for my new house, I might be persuaded to hit a second concert this week -- Ben Kweller at R&R Hotel. (I enjoy Bens.) Also, Ben Kweller is less a concert, and more of a show. I'm not sure what qualifies as a concert these days, and what's a show. But Kweller is a show, which offers much more indie yupster street cred.
Whatevs. Surely there must be some concerts that offer street cred. U2? Have been trying to go for years, but luck never seems to be on my side. Pixies reunion? The Stones? Guns & Roses? I just don't know any more. Maybe none of the above.
Also, I'm a little spoiled from the many Ben Folds concerts that I've been to. Now I know the world seems to be divided into two camps -- Pro=Ben and anti-Ben. I don't know too many people who are just blase about the man. You love him or hate him. Fortunately, a few of my friends happened to like him and forced me to a show at the 930 club, some 10 years ago. You may not like his music, but his shows are super energetic. Always had the best time dancing and singing. Immediately after the first concert I wanted to go out and buy all his old albums -- a sign of a good show.
If I weren't broke to the wind this week, trying to save for my new house, I might be persuaded to hit a second concert this week -- Ben Kweller at R&R Hotel. (I enjoy Bens.) Also, Ben Kweller is less a concert, and more of a show. I'm not sure what qualifies as a concert these days, and what's a show. But Kweller is a show, which offers much more indie yupster street cred.
Whatevs. Surely there must be some concerts that offer street cred. U2? Have been trying to go for years, but luck never seems to be on my side. Pixies reunion? The Stones? Guns & Roses? I just don't know any more. Maybe none of the above.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Dangermouse...
Caught another mouse tonight. I guess it's the fact that the apartment building is in the midst of renovations, or maybe the change in weather, or probably both. But I'm so over the mouse.
Why do the mice follow me around? I am the Pied Piper or Piper Peraboo of nothing. When eventually I'm famous - or even better, notorious -- and someone writes a thinly-veiled novel about my life, they'll throw in stories about the mouse, and people will think it's made up, and book groups will form and talk about what the mouse means. Is it a symbol for how small and insignificant we can feel in the face of a huge and senseless universe? Is it a symbol for the dark side in all of us, capable of killing (by glue trap) when adequately provoked (as symbolized by mouse poop on counter)? Is it an esoteric literary reference to the Gunther Grass' novella Katz und Maus, which I was forced to read in college, in its original German? (I use the term "read" very liberally, since I was never as good at the reading of the German as I was at the drinking of the German beers.)
Man I hate the mouse.
Why do the mice follow me around? I am the Pied Piper or Piper Peraboo of nothing. When eventually I'm famous - or even better, notorious -- and someone writes a thinly-veiled novel about my life, they'll throw in stories about the mouse, and people will think it's made up, and book groups will form and talk about what the mouse means. Is it a symbol for how small and insignificant we can feel in the face of a huge and senseless universe? Is it a symbol for the dark side in all of us, capable of killing (by glue trap) when adequately provoked (as symbolized by mouse poop on counter)? Is it an esoteric literary reference to the Gunther Grass' novella Katz und Maus, which I was forced to read in college, in its original German? (I use the term "read" very liberally, since I was never as good at the reading of the German as I was at the drinking of the German beers.)
Man I hate the mouse.
Friday, October 3, 2008
The Bitch is Back
I pulled out my passport again. It's been so long since I've traveled out of the country, I almost forgot to pack my passport for this trip. Of course, it's just Mexico, which is connected, so perhaps I'm forgiven if it seems like I'm traveling within the country.
So I'm off for a few days of R&R on the beach in lovely and beautiful, Cabo San Lucas. (Please pronounce that part like you are announcing the trip on the Showcase Showdown on The Price is Right. Of course, that prompts me to tell the story of when I went to LA to try to get on The Price is Right, some 13 years ago...but perhaps that's a different blog post.)
So, as I was saying, I'm off to Mexico. After my travels last year, this is pretty easy. No shots, no malaria pills, no Cipro prescriptions. Of course, no elephants, no dinners of impala schnitzel, no huge glaciers. Just easy, breezy traveling.
Which is good, since I spent all night hanging on to every word of the VP debate. I've got election fever, coupled with financial crisis OCD. Needless to say, between those two things, and my love of all things frivolous, I'm getting very little done, what with all the good stuff to read on the internet. And that's not even counting all the house buying minutia that occupied the majority of my September.
It's hard to believe that with all these great things to talk about that I've neglected writing on the blog for so long. So I'm back. Prepare for excruciatingly boring details about paint chips and hot water heaters, coupled with the occasional rant about political b.s. Prepare for details about my trip to Mexico and my upcoming trip to San Fran. And prepare for diatribes about how difficult it is for me to dress fashionably in the shoulder season, and how much I hate giving up flip flops. In short, if I may paraphrase (Sir) Elton John, the bitch is back.
So I'm off for a few days of R&R on the beach in lovely and beautiful, Cabo San Lucas. (Please pronounce that part like you are announcing the trip on the Showcase Showdown on The Price is Right. Of course, that prompts me to tell the story of when I went to LA to try to get on The Price is Right, some 13 years ago...but perhaps that's a different blog post.)
So, as I was saying, I'm off to Mexico. After my travels last year, this is pretty easy. No shots, no malaria pills, no Cipro prescriptions. Of course, no elephants, no dinners of impala schnitzel, no huge glaciers. Just easy, breezy traveling.
Which is good, since I spent all night hanging on to every word of the VP debate. I've got election fever, coupled with financial crisis OCD. Needless to say, between those two things, and my love of all things frivolous, I'm getting very little done, what with all the good stuff to read on the internet. And that's not even counting all the house buying minutia that occupied the majority of my September.
It's hard to believe that with all these great things to talk about that I've neglected writing on the blog for so long. So I'm back. Prepare for excruciatingly boring details about paint chips and hot water heaters, coupled with the occasional rant about political b.s. Prepare for details about my trip to Mexico and my upcoming trip to San Fran. And prepare for diatribes about how difficult it is for me to dress fashionably in the shoulder season, and how much I hate giving up flip flops. In short, if I may paraphrase (Sir) Elton John, the bitch is back.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
They Say We're Crazy But I Just Don't Care
It's been a low-key weekend here, the first of three three-day weekends in a row.
After three days of so much me-time, I'm bored, kind of lonely, and a little tired of Law & Order.
Which is when I remembered the fun that the internet can bring. No more boredom or loneliness. I've been reading various news websites, im-ing with a friend, contemplating how far Sexiest Man Alive Matt Damon has fallen as of late, and checking out the old You Tube in the hope that there would be new sketches with Micheal Cera reenacting important moments in history.
And then I stumbled upon one of my favorite songs from when I was growing up -- you just can't help but smile and sing along. Okay, maybe I just can't help but sing along and smile. Before the internet and itunes and ipods, I went maybe twenty years without hearing this. Now I could listen every day if I chose. (I don't though, because I don't want to get tired of it.)
Enjoy!
After three days of so much me-time, I'm bored, kind of lonely, and a little tired of Law & Order.
Which is when I remembered the fun that the internet can bring. No more boredom or loneliness. I've been reading various news websites, im-ing with a friend, contemplating how far Sexiest Man Alive Matt Damon has fallen as of late, and checking out the old You Tube in the hope that there would be new sketches with Micheal Cera reenacting important moments in history.
And then I stumbled upon one of my favorite songs from when I was growing up -- you just can't help but smile and sing along. Okay, maybe I just can't help but sing along and smile. Before the internet and itunes and ipods, I went maybe twenty years without hearing this. Now I could listen every day if I chose. (I don't though, because I don't want to get tired of it.)
Enjoy!
Monday, April 28, 2008
The Truth is I Never Left You
It's two weeks into my so-called "normal" life, and I've got a mild case of the blues. It could be the rain, it could be that it's Monday. But, really, I think it's all Matt Lauer's fault.
It's that time of year again, when Matt Lauer jettisons around the globe, and thousands of Today viewers are left with the Where in the World Is . . . Matt Lauer song running through their heads all day long. Sure, the song alone is reason enough to be angry with Matt Lauer. But that's not it. I'm jealous.
I'm jealous that Matt Lauer started his whirlwind tour in my beloved Buenos Aires. (I use the term "my" as if I were a porteno myself, instead of an erstwhile visitor.) My heart was crying this morning as I watched Matt Lauer tooling around town. Eating steak and empanadas. Basking in the sun. Narrating footage of El Perito Moreno (the giant glacier I visited) and Ushuaia (the town in Tierra del Fuego where I was marooned). A year ago that was me. In fact, a year ago that was me, strangely obsessed whether Matt Lauer was going to show up for WWML 2007. (We heard a rumor.)
And so I moped about the rest of my day, so very sad that my vagabond days in Buenos Aires are over, and Matt Lauer's are just beginning. The thing is, if I were Matt Lauer, I would quit my Today show gig and buy a place in Palermo (Soho, not Hollywood) and spend my winters in the southern hemisphere. Of course, if I were Matt Lauer, there are a lot of things I'd do differently. (Although not the Tom Cruise interview where ML was glib. I wouldn't change a thing -- I'm proud of him for that one.)
But alas, I digress. Fortunately, tomorrow Matt Lauer moves on to some other place in the world, that most certainly won't fill my heart with wanderlust and wistful memories. (He's already done South Africa and Buenos Aires, so I'm safe.)
It's that time of year again, when Matt Lauer jettisons around the globe, and thousands of Today viewers are left with the Where in the World Is . . . Matt Lauer song running through their heads all day long. Sure, the song alone is reason enough to be angry with Matt Lauer. But that's not it. I'm jealous.
I'm jealous that Matt Lauer started his whirlwind tour in my beloved Buenos Aires. (I use the term "my" as if I were a porteno myself, instead of an erstwhile visitor.) My heart was crying this morning as I watched Matt Lauer tooling around town. Eating steak and empanadas. Basking in the sun. Narrating footage of El Perito Moreno (the giant glacier I visited) and Ushuaia (the town in Tierra del Fuego where I was marooned). A year ago that was me. In fact, a year ago that was me, strangely obsessed whether Matt Lauer was going to show up for WWML 2007. (We heard a rumor.)
And so I moped about the rest of my day, so very sad that my vagabond days in Buenos Aires are over, and Matt Lauer's are just beginning. The thing is, if I were Matt Lauer, I would quit my Today show gig and buy a place in Palermo (Soho, not Hollywood) and spend my winters in the southern hemisphere. Of course, if I were Matt Lauer, there are a lot of things I'd do differently. (Although not the Tom Cruise interview where ML was glib. I wouldn't change a thing -- I'm proud of him for that one.)
But alas, I digress. Fortunately, tomorrow Matt Lauer moves on to some other place in the world, that most certainly won't fill my heart with wanderlust and wistful memories. (He's already done South Africa and Buenos Aires, so I'm safe.)
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Kiss Today Goodbye...and Point Me Towards Tomorrow
So, I knew it was too good to last. It had to come to an end. By this time tomorrow, the hiatus will officially be over. After a year of fun, travel, sloth, and spiritual recuperation, tomorrow if my first day at my new job, and back in the rat race.
As years go, this one would be pretty hard to top. Eleven countries visited. (Fourteen if you count layovers in airports.) Dozens of bottles of Argentine wine. Many, many great memories with friends and family, both new and old. And, literally hundreds and hundreds of photographs -- although most are too reminiscent of Cliff Claven's Florida vacation slide shows to be shared.
When I look back at where I was this time last year, I cannot help but feel joyous at where I am now. My five plus years in New York City definitely offered some good times, but also way too many gloomy times for my liking. New York is such a tough city to live in -- you have to really love it to stay. By the end of my time in NYC, my soul felt beaten down. I was bored with work and the social side of life, but even more bored with myself. I felt incapable of carrying on a normal conversation with life long friends, let alone anyone new you might meet.
Leaving New York, my job was like dropping the sandbags from a bright rainbow-colored hot air balloon. (Bad metaphor -- I hate heights and rainbow-colored hot air balloons, and I don't want to be a hot air balloon. Plus, it then just leads me to think about that movie The Red Balloon, and that poor little French kid who ran around in a gray outfit on a gray cityscape chasing the wiley red balloon. Oooh. I like that.) Ahem. Leaving New York, my job was like when the child in The Red Balloon finally catches the balloon and is joyous, after an eternity of chasing that pesky balloon through the mean streets of Paris while wearing gray and saying nothing.
Whatever the metaphor, like the balloons, these days I feel light and carefree. Well, most of the time. Tonight I'm kind of nervous about starting my job and being the new girl. I hate being the new girl. You'd think after moving seven times before my eighth birthday I'd have learned how to be the new girl. It doesn't mean I have to like it.
But back to light and carefree. The traveling was great. Really exceptional. But I also enjoyed the down time. I liked reconnecting with friends again. I liked trying to be a better friend, actually. I've really enjoyed the feeling on a Sunday night, when instead of dreading going to work, you only worry about whether you missed this week's episode of Rock of Love 2 with Brett Micheals. Similarly, I also enjoy the decadent feeling of waking up and seeing that an all day marathon of ANTM is playing, and you have nothing to do that day but catch up on America's Most Tired Model Wannabes and their latest Tyra Mail.
Also, I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE hanging out with my nephew. The first six months of his life, I was living in NYC, and saw him only a few times. But, I've been around the last year, and have earned status as his most favorite person -- except when Grammy is around to buy his love with toys. He is so happy and innocent and smart. At the risk of sounding more than incredibly hokey, I am surprised at how much joy it brings my heart just to be around him. (Not surprised at the joy it brings me to hand over responsibility to my sister, his mom, when he starts throwing a tantrum because you don't have a copy of The Backyardigans cued up for him to dance to.)
Anyway, in sum, and with no great measure of mature reflection, it was a bitchin' year. I can't believe it's over. I can't believe I didn't write a best-selling novel about my year, like the Coyote-Ugly author turned spiritual Eat, Pray, Love-self-actualization-book-whore. (The story about the porcupines in Botswana was pure money, or it would have been if I had included the part about me swilling moonshine and vomiting before said porcupine incident.)
Thanks for reading, friends. And with that, I'm off to watch the season finale of Rock of Love 2, a fitting denouement for the last night of my sabbatical.
As years go, this one would be pretty hard to top. Eleven countries visited. (Fourteen if you count layovers in airports.) Dozens of bottles of Argentine wine. Many, many great memories with friends and family, both new and old. And, literally hundreds and hundreds of photographs -- although most are too reminiscent of Cliff Claven's Florida vacation slide shows to be shared.
When I look back at where I was this time last year, I cannot help but feel joyous at where I am now. My five plus years in New York City definitely offered some good times, but also way too many gloomy times for my liking. New York is such a tough city to live in -- you have to really love it to stay. By the end of my time in NYC, my soul felt beaten down. I was bored with work and the social side of life, but even more bored with myself. I felt incapable of carrying on a normal conversation with life long friends, let alone anyone new you might meet.
Leaving New York, my job was like dropping the sandbags from a bright rainbow-colored hot air balloon. (Bad metaphor -- I hate heights and rainbow-colored hot air balloons, and I don't want to be a hot air balloon. Plus, it then just leads me to think about that movie The Red Balloon, and that poor little French kid who ran around in a gray outfit on a gray cityscape chasing the wiley red balloon. Oooh. I like that.) Ahem. Leaving New York, my job was like when the child in The Red Balloon finally catches the balloon and is joyous, after an eternity of chasing that pesky balloon through the mean streets of Paris while wearing gray and saying nothing.
Whatever the metaphor, like the balloons, these days I feel light and carefree. Well, most of the time. Tonight I'm kind of nervous about starting my job and being the new girl. I hate being the new girl. You'd think after moving seven times before my eighth birthday I'd have learned how to be the new girl. It doesn't mean I have to like it.
But back to light and carefree. The traveling was great. Really exceptional. But I also enjoyed the down time. I liked reconnecting with friends again. I liked trying to be a better friend, actually. I've really enjoyed the feeling on a Sunday night, when instead of dreading going to work, you only worry about whether you missed this week's episode of Rock of Love 2 with Brett Micheals. Similarly, I also enjoy the decadent feeling of waking up and seeing that an all day marathon of ANTM is playing, and you have nothing to do that day but catch up on America's Most Tired Model Wannabes and their latest Tyra Mail.
Also, I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE hanging out with my nephew. The first six months of his life, I was living in NYC, and saw him only a few times. But, I've been around the last year, and have earned status as his most favorite person -- except when Grammy is around to buy his love with toys. He is so happy and innocent and smart. At the risk of sounding more than incredibly hokey, I am surprised at how much joy it brings my heart just to be around him. (Not surprised at the joy it brings me to hand over responsibility to my sister, his mom, when he starts throwing a tantrum because you don't have a copy of The Backyardigans cued up for him to dance to.)
Anyway, in sum, and with no great measure of mature reflection, it was a bitchin' year. I can't believe it's over. I can't believe I didn't write a best-selling novel about my year, like the Coyote-Ugly author turned spiritual Eat, Pray, Love-self-actualization-book-whore. (The story about the porcupines in Botswana was pure money, or it would have been if I had included the part about me swilling moonshine and vomiting before said porcupine incident.)
Thanks for reading, friends. And with that, I'm off to watch the season finale of Rock of Love 2, a fitting denouement for the last night of my sabbatical.
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