I Have Officially Run Out of Space on Every Bookshelf in My House

Anyone have some shelves they would like to get rid of? Because I don't see myself giving away my books any time in the near future.

Mreh, Christmas

I wasn't feeling Christmas this year.

I woke up, feeling kind of off (I've been eating whatever I want lately, which means things that I usually avoid like the plague, like sugar and fat) and queasy. I asked mom if I looked like I gained weight since I got home, and she answered yes, a bit, so I weighed myself and it was the truth. Oh well. I knew it was gonna happen over the break. I'm considering my relatively chill reaction to be a sign that I'm getting a lot better, and that's I've pretty much left my eating-disorder days behind. I was prepared to gain the weight, and after Christmas I'm prepared to lose it.

I think I'm past the days of really loving Christmas. In fact, I'm pretty sure I was more excited to see Slumdog Millionaire last night than for Christmas to come. Probably cause our traditions are all different this year because Nonna can't travel, and because this semester was so stressful I never got to do the Christmas-y things I usually do, like see the tree or go to a show or see the Nutcracker. Or, maybe I'm just getting older.

On a less emo note, Slumdog Millionaire was SO GOOD. Like, indescribably good. It was one of those movies that makes you feel hopeful and happy and didn't even make you feel slightly cheap for loving a movie with such an unrealistic plotline. And the soundtrack was absolutely amazing. M.I.A. collaborated with AR Rahman on a few of the songs (O...Saya), and it reminded me why I liked her so much when she first started, before the schizophrenic, coked out, overproduced mess that was the majority of Kala (Paper Planes and 20 Dollar being my two exceptions). It hearkened back to the good old Arular days, and to Sunshowers in particular.

So go see it. I'm off to do Christmassy things.

My (Ideal) Christmas List

1) The book 2666 by Roberto Bolano.
2) This: http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp?itemdescription=true&itemCount=60&startValue=1&selectedProductColor=&sortby=&id=15956956&parentid=W_ACC_SCARVES&sortProperties=+product.marketingPriority,-product.startDate&navCount=288&navAction=poppushpush&color=
3) A ton of money for Italy.
4) This: http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp?itemdescription=true&itemCount=60&startValue=1&selectedProductColor=&sortby=&id=15439060&parentid=W_APP_VESTS&sortProperties=+product.marketingPriority,-product.startDate&navCount=60&navAction=poppushpush&color=
5) A new perfume, preferably Bond No. 9's Bleecker Street, or, for a slightly less damaging-to-your-wallet choice, L'Occitane Amber travel sized ($17! Secret Santa !!!)
6) A life time supply of Edy's Slow Churn, with a handy new refrigerator to put it in (Still need to try the Samoas flavor, that Maddy so kindly texted me two days ago to tell me was HEAVENLY - with REAL pieces of Samoas!).
7) A recording of the complete works of Ernest Bloch.
8) While we're on the topic of Ernest Bloch, the sheet music for Bal Shem. I want to learn a lot of small pieces next semester. So add Clair de Lune by Debussy to that list. And I'll find some other ones.
9) An A in all my classes except Not-for-Profit-Management, cause even Christmas Miracles aren't that miraculous.
10) A good Italy guidebook.
11) Dinner at Momofuku Ko. Oh wait, none of you have $200 dollars for both of us? Cause I'd expect someone to come with me.... sigh, why are we so resolutely middle class?
12) Fun headbands. A few thinner ones I can wear around my forehead.

Umm yeah I think that might be it. So get to it, kiddies.

Jk, jk.

(maybe)

Alex's Packing Strategy.

It's simple, really. Just follow these steps!
1) Survey all items in apartment.
2) Put all items on bed.
3) Stare.

Hijinks

I didn't leave the room once yesterday. Actually, I went downstairs to get the paper. So I left the room once, but I didn't leave the building once. I spent the whole doing work and when I wasn't doing work eating ice cream and watching Carnivale on the internets. I'm completely addicted to that show now, which is a bit unfortunate due to my inclination to watch it a) instead of writing my final sociology paper that is due thursday but that I have to finish before wednesday night because I have a take home final wednesday night and b) right before bed, which makes it difficult to sleep when the last image left in my mind is a dancer from the carnival who was lynched by crazy miners who then carved HARLOT into her forehead (just like in the Bible!). So I had to get in bed and listen to some happy music (Fairytale of New York, which for some reason always makes me happy even though it's definitely not a happy song) and read for a bit, and by the time I calmed down enough to go to bed it was 12:30 and I was too fucking cold to fall asleep. So after covering myself in 50 million blankets, I woke up at 5:00 burning up. I took off all but one blanket, was comfortable, and fell asleep for a remaining one hour. I'm now so, so tired.

Things Finals Week Means I Can Do:

1) Let the room become unbearably messy, because stress = inability to move my shoes 10 feet from in front of the couch to my closet.
2) Not wash dishes until I need to use one and all the silverware is gone and I realize it's really hard to eat ice cream with a knife.
3) Eat ice cream. All the time. Speaking of which, I'm out and should probably go to the grocery store while Edy's slow-churn is still on sale for $3.99 instead of $6.99 (!!!)
4) Eat whatever the hell I want. Yesterday that included pho (in a bowl that probably holds an entire liter of soup), ice cream, an Italian pastry (my mom came to visit and went to Ferrara right when it opened, so my sfogliatelle was warm right out of the oven), brussels sprouts (mmm dinner), and loads of chocolate. And then I weighed myself this morning because I'm a masochist but I didn't gain any weight so I was happy.
5) Sleep late. Aka 7:30.
6) Not go to the gym. It's cold, my unlimited metrocard finally expired, and I HAVE TOO MUCH TO DO.
7) Not bathe. Hey, I'm not sweaty because I never go to the gym. So who cares if I don't wash my hair for three days? No one has to smell me but my roommates, and they don't count.

J-Date Dreamin

Is it bad that I sometimes really wish I was Jewish so I could join J-Date? It just seems like a less sketchy, less Christian (obvi) version of eharmony. Which I also sometimes wish I could join. The people on the commercials just look so damn happy.

Yesterday: Hour by Hour

7:47 AM: Wake up, with the distinct feeling that I haven't moved once, even an inch, all night. Realize I am still wearing a bra. And leggings. And socks. And that there is a trash can next to my bed. Mercifully, I note that it is empty. I get up, pull pajamas out of my drawer, stumble to the bathroom and put them on. Wash my face, which seems to be covered in dried tears.
8:15 AM: Survey the complete disaster that is our kitchen. Every single dish we own seems to be piled on the sink or on the counter, along with a multitude of beer bottles in varying stages of fullness. At least the wine bottles made it to the recycling bag. Clear off a bit of space and make coffee. Wonder if my stomach will feel better if there is something in it, so I have an english muffin. Not satisfied. Have another english muffin. Still not satisfied. Find leftover lasagna. Ahhh, perfect. I eat it cold, cutting off bit sized pieces right out of the pan and eating with my hands.
9:00 AM: Sit on the couch and call my mom to tell her I feel like death and want her to come make me soup. She laughs at me for a while and tells me it serves me right. She then tells me all about the new paint in the kitchen and living room and how it's beautiful. I get as excited as someone who feels a pounding headache coming on can get.
10:00 AM: Maddy wakes up. Laughs at me. Then goes back to bed with Logan. I find Monsoon Wedding on the internets, and watch it while Sonia stumbles into the common room. Thank her for putting me to bed last night and holding back my hair while I threw up. Oh, the wonders of being my friend.
10:15 AM: Sonia says toilet is clogged again. I stare at the sky and skake my first, cursing NYU. NYU has replaced God with the thing I curse most frequently.
12:00 PM: Finish Monsoon Wedding. I always forget how much I love that movie. Spent the next couple of hours wishing I was Indian and being really happy that the main characters in the film aren't at all skinny.
12:15 PM: Finally take shower. It doesn't make me feel better.
1:00 PM: Finish rest of lasagna with Maddy and Sonia. Still not satisfied, and worried that I will throw up if there is nothing in my stomach, I make pasta. Settle down on the couch to watch Shaun of the Dead.
2:00 PM: Shaun of the Dead over. Turn channel to Hotel Rwanda and try to do music homework. Epic Fail.
3:30 PM: Start watching army movie with Denzel Washington. Only continue to watch it for the beatifulness that is Howard E. Rollins Jr. in an army uniform.
4:00 PM: Get bored, wonder back into the bedroom. Change sheets, realize that my music homework actually isn't due tomorrow. Score one for the hungover girl! Work on transposing and harmonizing my song instead.
6:00 PM: Eat leftover tofu straight out of refrigerator. Not satisfying.
7:00 PM: Somehow end up downstairs for the book club meeting. Sit on floor in corner and only offer one lame comment on the census despite Brian Waterman being like "Alex, if you guys in the corner have anything to say just shout it out, we can't see you." I eat their pizza instead. Mmmm, cheese.
8:30 PM: Finish transposing my song. Decide I'll do the rest of my homework in class instead of paying attention.
9:00 PM: Finally tackle the dishes. By now I've taken several advil, something I probably should have done in the morning. Feel much better and don't want to vomit at the smell of the sink.
9:30 PM: Pajamas. Book (The Arsonist's Guide to Writer's Homes in New England).
10:00 PM: Bed. Fall asleep in seconds.

Total:
Advil Taken: 2
Movies Watched: 3 1/2
Homework Done: Next to Nothing
Calories Consumed: More Than Those Consumed During Entire Weeks
Days Til Thanksgiving Break: 3

And I Will Watch the World Burn From My Ivory Tower

For the past year, every time I have sat at the breakfast table, with my oat bran cereal and mug that holds 4 cups of coffee (give or take a quarter cup) and looked at the front page of the New York Times, I have felt a knot in my stomach. Because barely a day has gone by when there hasn't been some sort of ominous story about the economy. Last year about this time it was the decline of the dollar, and then it was a rise in unemployment, and then it was the mortgage crisis, and then the folding of Lehman Brothers and the government takeover of AIG and Fannie May and Freddie Mac and the layoffs on Wall Street and suddenly the world seemed to be crashing down around me, a feeling no doubt made worse by the fact that I had only a superficial knowledge of investing and Wall Street and the economy to begin with. It's true that the things you don't understand are more scary than the things you do. I feel as if I had a thorough knowledge of what was going on I wouldn't sit at the table paralyzed by fear for my generation's prospects and the idea that we are going to have to deal with the serious, serious mistakes of our parents.

My fears about the economy in general have only been made worse by the fact that until recently I've been having a sort of quarter-life-crisis (thank you, John Mayer, for giving the sudden feeling of having no clue where you are headed at the age of 20 an actual name!). This semester has been really formative, because it has shown me that two of the careers that I had been tossing around really aren't for me. First, taking this class on the business of not-for-profit management has shown me that I'm really not cut out for business. I don't have the slightest bit of business sense, as shown by the fact that my teacher's comment on my midterm research paper was essentially "You missed the point of this assignment, but great sociology paper" (I got a B, which although lower than what I usually get, I'm ok with, because I let myself get a B in one class per semester and this one is definitely it). And I honestly don't have any interest in getting better at it. Cash flows bore me to tears. So do business models of all kinds. I'm practical, but I don't feel intellectually stimulated by numbers.

I've also realized that I don't think that I'll be going into arts administration either. I love my internship, but mostly for the people who work there. Everyone is wonderful, but honestly I can't see myself going there day after day and doing that sort of thing. I need ideas and theories and to feel as if the things I'm doing are making a difference to the world on a grand scale, that I'm helping people.

Which leads me to what I think I've decided to do. I've been looking up public policy graduate programs, and I came upon social policy, which is a sort of boutique strand of public policy that focuses on, surprise, social issues like health care and poverty and the arts, and basically anything that affects people's daily lives. It's not as economics-driven (hooray!) as public policy. And as I was investigating different programs, I found that both Harvard and Princeton have dual phd programs in sociology and social policy, which is pretty much a dream come true. NYU's program (at the Wagner School for Public Service) beats out Princeton's (Harvard is first, obvi) by a lot. So I honestly think that's what I'm going to do.

With the economy showing no signs of getting any better, I might as well go get myself into a 7 year phd program. I mean, I love to learn, and thinking is kind of my strong point. And maybe 7 or 8 years from now the economy will be on the upturn and I'll be able to get a good job with the government, or even better, a think tank, and then I'll be able to make a decent if not extravagant living and actually be challenged by my work.

So maybe the paralyzed feeling I get at breakfast is a good thing. It'll drive me to do something that I might not have otherwise, had the economy still been getting better. And ultimately I think I'll be happier.

Furbies! Are! Real!

Bahahahahaha. I really don't know if I'm horrified by these creatures or if I want one as a pet. They're called pygmy tarsiers, and scientists thought they were extinct until a few days ago when a scientist from Texas A&M found one in Indonesia. They measure only about 4 inches long (!!) and weigh only about 2 ounces (!!!). If you want to read more about them, here's the website: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/27786771/

An Ode to the Friendly, Unpretentious Hipster Bar

A contradiction in terms? Yes, I thought so too. But continue to read about my Friday:
Came home from work, after a pretty easy day. Decided that although I wanted to do something, it would probably be better if I didn't spend money on going bar-hopping. Put on my pajamas to ensure that I would spend the night in front of the television. The following conversation ensued:
Sonia: Pajamas already?
Me: Yeah. I gave up on tonight.
Sonia: Well, I guess that's for the best.
***Ten Minutes Later***
Me: So...do you want to go out?
Sonia: Kind of, you?
Me: YES.
So I put clothes back on and we watched Arrested Development and drank beer until it was late enough to go out. We decided to try this new bar (for me at least, Sonia went once before) on the LES called Happy Ending, which we decided to go to because it has a dance floor. After the bouncer almost turning Sonia away because he thought her id wasn't her (it wasn't, but it's real, and who is he, her father?), we went in, and hung around until we decided that it totally wasn't out scene. Far too many yuppies in work clothes and girls in cocktail dresses. And no one was dancing! So we just went to our beloved default neighborhood bar, Botanica. It's probably my favorite place ever. It's small and the drinks are dirt cheap, and best of all, the people are so fucking nice. Like, no other bar has the kind of clientele that joke around with you on the (massive) line for the bathroom, or bouncers who chase after your id when you (me) accidentally throw it down the stairs and when you apologize smile really wide and yell "No problem!" And the men are absolutely gorgeous, and there's plenty of them. Which is always important, even when you're not interested in actually picking one up (which is me, always). In short, I love Botanica. I don't know why we ever try to go anywhere else.

Thursdays are Never Productive

I always make grand plans for Thursday nights. I'm always convinced during the day that I'm going to get home from work and immediately get started on my homework so I don't have to do it over the weekend. Today I even went so far as to make an hour by hour schedule for myself. It was:
1:00-7:00 WORK
7:00-8:00 DINNER
8:00-8:30 PRACTICE TRIADS
8:30-9:00 RESEARCH OBAMA CAMPAIGN'S USE OF TECHNOLOGY
9:00-Bed CATCH UP ON SOCIOLOGY READING
And um...yeah. I ate dinner and practiced triads. I then proceeded to clean my room, which is at least something, I guess. I've been letting my shit get too messy lately. It got to the point yesterday when I kind of felt like I was having a minor panic/claustrophobia attack and I actually had to open the window wide and stick my head out to get some air and calm down. But anyways, my little space is much cleaner and I feel much better for it.

It's finally beginning to register with me that oh hey, I'm actually going away next semester. And I'm getting SO EXCITED. Handing in all my visa information did it, really. And now all I can think about is where I want to go, what I want to do. I've decided what I want to do for spring break is go to Barcelona via the south of France. So I'll probably take the train, cause the Eurorail goes straight through Nice and Marseilles. I also really want to make it to Amsterdam at some point, and Vienna as well. I want to go to the opera in Vienna and Milan and go to all the museums everywhere. I got dinner with a friend and her roommate a few nights ago, and the roommate had done the NYU in Florence program last semester. She said she loved it, but only after a few months. She made the point that a lot of people have warned me about, that it's very very small, and very very touristy, and far too many NYU kiddies are happy to just go to the American bars and drink all the time. And that's pretty much the exact experience I don't want to have. I'm going to try my hardest to become fluent in Italian, and I want to actually use this semester to experience everything I possibly can. I want to be so tired by the time I get home I can't leave my house for a week. I've been less stressed about the money aspect of it lately too. My mom has told me that she's getting me my plane ticket for Christmas, which lifts a huge burden off my shoulders ($900 ticket=less fun things Alex can do), and my nonna has promised to help me out. I'm also being a huge miser this semester and barely spending any money at all.

In other news, JIM KIM IS COMING TO VISIT THIS SATURDAY! Then I'm cooking dinner and watching Newsies with Jade. Then on Sunday Mom is coming in to do some shopping, so we're going to have a girls day. I miss her a lot lately. I think it's just getting to that time of year. But it's going to be a fun/busy weekend. Which is probably why I should have done homework tonight?

I need a new novel, preferably one that has nothing to do with child molestation. For some reason, the past three books I've read have all had a plotline that revolves around a child being abused and its consequences on the child and the people around him or her. And honestly, it gets me down. I don't pick up books being like yes! Child abuse makes for a wonderful read! I just pick books that look interesting and then when it gets obvious that the child in the book was molested I'm just like Fuck. Not again. So...any suggestions? I really want to read Roberto Bolano's 2666 but I don't have the time right now to read a book that is 1000+ pages of hardcore Literature. But I don't want to read something airy superficial either.

Testament

It says a lot about my social life when Tarik, my friend the night security guard, says "Wow, I don't usually see you at night!" when I walk into the dorm at 11:00.

New Secret Crush

Or not so secret. And a little creepy. A lot creepy. Kind of?



You got to admit, the man is pretty attractive. And forceful. And when he gets mad he stabs the table. With knives! As Mitch pointed out when I was telling him all about my love for Rahm Emanuel, he's basically Karl Rove, except attractive and a democrat. Weird how the exact same qualities that make Karl Rove scary as fuck make Rahm Emanuel really sexy.

AHHHHHHHH

HE DID IT HE DID IT HE DID IT

AND THE USA IS NO LONGER ROYALLY FUCKED AND I AM SO HAPPY AND THIS IS WONDERFUL

Surprising Discoveries

Today I was sitting in the bathroom at work being all nervous and tense about the election when I looked at my underwear and noticed for the first time that they say things like "Color Outside the Lines!" and "Laugh at the Rules!" and "Let Yourself Daydream!" and I was like Wow, Thanks, Underwear! Who knew that inspiring words of wisdom would present themselves in the bathroom?

The Lord Will Prevail (right?)

Just so that no one can claim the republicans have a monopoly on praying for Political Change:

Dear God Please please please let Barack Obama win the election tomorrow because if he doesn't you know as well as I that this country is going to Go to Shit since John McCain will probably die of his melanoma (which never goes away but just lays dormant until it reoccurs but you already know that because you're God and all-seeing and knowing and stuff) as soon as he's in office leaving the country in the hands of that Insufferable Bitch Sarah Palin whose religion ACTUALLY BELIEVES that God (not you, I'm sure, but some hard, illogical, unforgiving God) will make money "flow from the coffers of the unbelievers to the believers" which if you take it to it's logical conclusion pretty much gives her and every other so-called "Christian" in her sect free reign to lie and cheat and steal from people as long as they are HEATHENS which pretty much means everyone outside of fucking Alaska which is just one more reason why we're Royally Fucked another one being the fact that it will be a return to back-alley-coat-hanger-abortions because John McCain doesn't believe in "The Health of the Mother" but I'm sure you know, God, that abortion doesn't end because it's illegal but it just gets more bloody and dangerous and disgusting, and speaking of blood and how if McCain gets elected the whole world will just decide right then and there that although we've been heading down this road for a long time the USA is finally just one big fucking joke and be even less willing to do things like help out in Iraq or Afghanistan which is another place that is royally fucked because we took our troops out to invade an occupy a country that had nothing to do with 9/11 in the first place and are now in such a morass that You Only Know how the hell we'll be able to leave and our soldiers who come home are mentally ill and until the democrats in congress stepped in WERE BEING DENIED HEALTH CARE AND MOST OF WHAT THEY DESERVED (like a college education! and why do you think you're average poor kid from the Bronx joins the army? so they can go to college, not because they have some great urge to Fuck Up Iraqis) UNDER THE GI BILL and wow let's talk about being Christian.

So in short, dear God (the God that I, and most rational people believe in, and sure as hell NOT the God in whom Sarah Palin and her fellow "Christians" believe), you know as well as I do that Barack Obama is the right choice for this nation. Please throw around your influence up there just a bit.

And to close, IF ANYONE HAS NOT ALREADY VOTED OR IS NOT PLANNING TO VOTE I WILL PROBABLY STOP BEING YOUR FRIEND. And please vote Obama/Biden. I won't stop being your friend if you vote McCain, but I may not speak to you for a few months/years/decades.

Top 10 Places I Want to Go

I've been thinking about everywhere I want to visit lately. Although that list pretty much encompasses everywhere, there are some places at the top of my list. And Italy is at the top of my list, but I'm not including it because I actually am going there!

1) India
I've wanted to go to India since some time in early high school when I went through an Indian-Authors phase and read tons of novels by Indian authors set in India. I'm not sure exactly where I'd want to go while I was there yet, but I know it will take several trips. Which I'm totally cool with.
2) Barcelona
Another place I've wanted to go since mid-high school. This time I read The Shadow of the Wind and fell in love with how the city was almost a character, it had so much life to it. It just seems beautiful and gothic and fascinating, and it's where I want to go for spring break next year.
3) Greece
I want to see the white houses. And the blue sky. And Greek men. And eat lots of dolmades.
4) Mexico City
Last summer I read The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano, Mexico City was the main setting, at least for some of the book. The book left me with the impression that Mexico City was this lively place teeming with ideas and literary movements and romance and sex and all of these wonderful things that I usually feel are lacking in New York. And it's beautiful and colorful and it's going through this art renaissance.
5) Oaxaca
No, not because of La Catrina. But because it's Mexico's version of Napa Valley, or Italy's Tuscany, where they have the most complex and wonderful food.
6) Portland and Seattle
I feel like I could live in one of these cities if New York doesn't work out. They have wonderful food scenes, they're cheaper than New York, and they are huge classical music cities.
7) France
I want to go to Paris, I want to go to Nice, I want to basically go everywhere.
8) Cuba
Mostly if I could go back in time and see it before it became a broken down time warp.
9) Dublin
Yes, I've already been. But I don't consider spending a day shopping really experiencing Dublin. I should have seen a few plays, and walked around the old section a lot more. I'll do one of those literary tours where you read James Joyce and Oscar Wilde then visit all the places referred to in their books.
10) Laos
Yeah, this was an Anthony Bourdain inspiration all the way. It looks beautiful and so foreign and wonderful.

Who's coming with me?

Addition to Things I Don't Understand

11) Why I'm getting red bumps all over my face that itch.
Don't have much more to say about that. I cover them with concealer. I just don't know why they're happening.

12) Why Men Insist on Thinking That Mustaches are a Good Look
They're coming back. I haven't seen so many hipsters with mustaches in forever. And they're gross. They're universally unflattering. At best they look ridiculous and at worse they make you look like a creepy child pornographer from the 70s.

13) Why My Weight Shoots Up When I Eat a Cookie but When I Eat Rich, Catered Food For Two Weeks In Napa I Don't Gain a Pound
That one is pretty much self-explanatory. And explained in detail in my previous post.

Hallowe'en!

Happy Halloween!

This week has pretty much been utter hell. I had a massive paper due on Wednesday (15 pages! On how nonprofits get funding!) which led to lots of nights with Minimal Sleep and Maximum Stress. I didn't even have time to think about or work on my Halloween costume until Wednesday night. But work on it I did, to the extent of making a lot of tea to dye a white blouse I bought. Now it's beige and tea-colored. It looks like it's been sitting in someone's attic for a while, which is what I was going for. And that's exactly how much effort I'm putting into this costume.

Don't get me wrong, I like Halloween. I just like it a lot more when I have more time to prepare. And to have some idea of what we're going to do.

Last night Maddy and I went to the apartment of one of the faculty-in-residence for a cookie-decorating contest that his daughter held. We understood the email invitation to say "Come decorate cookies that will then be judged" instead of, correctly, "Bring decorated cookies to be judged." Sooo yeah. We showed up, saw lots of great cookies already made and presented, and were like "OH SHIT." Oh well. The family made us vegetarian chili (for which I want the recipe so bad) and then let us eat the cookies. And eat the cookies I did. I honestly felt sick afterwards (I probably had the equivalent of one big cookie. But I don't think my body is used to that high amount of fat or sugar in one sitting). After eating disgusting amounts, we watched the movie Nadja, which was this crazy black and white art film about vampires on the Lower East Side. Great soundtrack. And it was an ok movie, and even pretty funny if you just accepted what was going on and said "Whatever" to anything that made no fucking sense. There was quite a bit of blood though. And even in black and white, copious amounts of blood tend to make me feel weak and giddy. So there was a lot of me shuddering and looking away from the tv.

Afterwards Sonia texted us and asked if we wanted to go to this warehouse party in Brooklyn. Randomly, I said yes, and we got ready and schlepped to Red Hook. By the time we got there, though, it was full. So we schlepped back and I got to go to sleep. Wooo.

This morning when I woke up I made the mistake of weighing myself for the first time in like over a month. And what a mistake it was. I'm up to 127, which is not good considering the fact that I ought to be getting back down to 123 instead of rocketing ever upwards. I'm hoping it was the cookies from last night, and that with a few weeks of dieting I can get it off. It sucks that I feel like I can gain weight in two days that it takes three weeks to get off. So needless to say, I'm not drinking tonight. Or eating candy, but that's usually pretty easy for me to turn down, as long as it's wrapped. Loose candy in a bowl in front of me, not so easy. It's probably for the best, anyway. I'm going home for a haircut tomorrow, and it'll be nice not to be hungover for once.

Ugh. I feel really gross and low self-esteem now. This is why I hate weighing myself. I used to love it, when I was 118 and I could weigh myself every morning and feel skinny, then not eat for another day and be 118 again the next morning. Now whenever I weigh myself I feel like a whale.

Woo Halloween

So Halloween is two (three? four? I lose track) days away and until yesterday, I had no idea what I wanted to be. But yesterday Maddy came up with an idea that I really love and know I can get into because it doesn't require me to be scary (I hate being scary) or sexy (I can't be sexy) and it just reminds me of my childhood soooooo

I'm going to be a porcelain doll!

It's really perfect you see, because I can indulge my inclination to look old fashioned all of the time. I found a blouse on the Forever 21 website that's really satiny with puffed sleeves and a scoop neckline so I'm going to get it and dye it sepia colored with tea and then wear a black skirt with a pair of shoes (heels! WITH SPATS) also from Forever 21 (read: cheap and uncomfortable) and wear makeup to make myself look pale and doll-like and it will be wonderful.

Now we just have to figure out what we're doing on Friday.

Things That I Do Not Understand

1) The Stock Market
I don't really understand how the stock market works. I do, however, know enough to get ridiculously nervous every time the newspaper says the market has fallen (but what market exactly, I do not know). I know enough to feel comforted when the stock market is doing well. But how the stock market functions is still a bit of a mystery to me.
2) Why Whenever I Go Into a Subway Station My Sense of Direction Gets Totally Fucked Up
Seriously though. Why do I always feel like the downtown 6 is coming from the wrong direction?
3) Girls Who Wear Ugg Boots with Short Skirts
No one wants to look like a tacky-ass bitch. Take off the Ugg boots. And burn them. Throw Crocs in too, while we're at it.
4) Why No One Wants to Date Me
Jk, jk, don't want to get into that right now.
5) Why Being an East Coast Liberal is Suddenly Such a Terrible Thing

East Coast Liberals are, as a whole, much more sympathetic to Middle Americans than Republicans. Even if we are very far removed from Middle Americans, in terms of religion, distance, and pretty much everything else, our policies are exponentially more beneficial for them than anything Republicans do. Yes, Republicans say they're going to cut taxes. Neat. But when those taxes go away, so do all of the things the government does to help people out. And that's only if those taxes really do get cut. Unfortunately, most middle Americans don't make six figures, which to the Republicans, means they are Unworthy of getting tax cuts. Which leads me to the next thing I don't understand....
6) Why Those Who Are Already Well Off Get Rewarded While Those Who Need Help Get Royally Fucked
It happens in so many situations. The multi-millionaires get tax breaks. Non-profit agencies that are financially well-off get donations and grants while struggling ones are passed over. I mean, I do understand that they're viewed as better investments. But it's just not quite fair.
7) Why More People In My Life Don't Read Poetry.
This is purely selfish: I like poetry. But it's always more fun when you can discuss it with someone.
8) People Who Have Over-Emotional Facebook Statuses
Do they realize that saying that they are "...sad, heartbroken, and confused" just makes people giggle?
9) Why Fashion Is So Damn Expensive
I want to wear Valentino too!
10) Calculus
Never did. Never will. Thank god Seipp arbitrarily added 25 to 30 points to my grade every semester in high school or I would probably not be at NYU.

Diet = Epic Fail

So the first two days of my diet went horrifically.

Yesterday wasn't too bad, really. I did an hour of cardio in the morning and actually did things like measure out my pasta and stuff. But today was kind of a disaster. I didn't work out today at all, and then I went to get sushi with Lauren for lunch. And ugh, being on a diet is so frustrating. Cause when I go out for sushi I want to actually eat sushi, right? Not just have a vegetarian maki roll and call it a day. And then tonight I just ate dinner cause I was hungry and then had two and a half bowls of ice cream. It was non fat sugar free ice cream. But still. I ate about 22 points when my limit really should be 19.

Ugh, I'm so bad at dieting this year. I think it boils down to the fact that I don't hate myself nearly as much as I did freshman year. I had a really, really awful experience with a boy during welcome week, which pretty much set off a Why-Am-I-Not-Good-Enough-To-Date cycle which manifested itself in me blaming my weight and dealing with it by working out an hour a day (every day) and eating like 1200 calories. For months. By the end of the year I had lost twenty pounds, yes. But my period stopped for a year afterwards. My hair fell out. I wouldn't leave the dorm room to do fun things because I was afraid I'd eat something. And I still thought I was fat. I felt worthless because I couldn't lose those three pounds to reach 115.

I've honestly always hated when girls obsess about their weight, or call themselves fat or ugly. I honestly think that as long as someone is happy with the way they look and who they are as a person weight doesn't matter at all. I don't like people because they are skinny, and I don't think that other people do either (or at least not anyone that I want to be friends with). So why do I have two sides of my personality like this? Why does one half of me hate the media and the fashion industry for portraying anorexic, drug addicted 14 year olds as the image of womanly perfection while the other half of me berates myself and feels completely unlovable for gaining 7 pounds since freshman year?

I really can't answer that. I know that I've always had hang ups about my weight, even as a child. I don't think I ever thought of myself as fat until two of the boys in my second grade class made a "Fat kids" list and I was on it. Doing ballet for years didn't help either, watching all of these skinny little girls prance around just emphasized the fact that I definitely did not look like them. And then, of course, there was the time that my Nonna told me that I "had a very nice figure, even if [I was] big around the bottom." It's not easy to disregard something your peers say about your weight. It is far, far more difficult than that to disregard something your own grandmother says.

I know I have to somehow get rid of this mindset that I'm only lovable and datable when I'm less than 120 pounds. I have to remind myself that oh hey, I never got asked out that short summer when I was 118 pounds, either. So maybe the reason why boys don't like me isn't my weight. But I honestly really don't know what the real reason is for the fact that I get asked out so, so infrequently. I think I'm nice, and funny, and smart, and I have a cute haircut. I'm a damn good cook. I dress well. Yes, I weight 125 pounds. But I work out five times a week and do yoga. I'm stronger and in better shape than I have been in my entire life. I'm a champion multi-tasker, I can never imagine myself becoming clingy, and I realize everyone needs alone time. I think I'd be an excellent girlfriend.

I like enjoying my life. I hate feeling worthless because I was hungry and ate one apple too many and went over my weight watchers points allotment for the day. I hate constantly thinking about food and all the things I wish I could eat but can't because OMG THE CALORIES. I mean, yeah, the two and half bowls of ice cream probably isn't the best thing. I might stop buying ice cream for good starting tomorrow. But I think the moral of this whole post is that I feel way better about myself this year than I have in a really long time. And I don't know why I still have days and weeks where I still loathe everything about the way I look. Because other than that, I'm totally confident about myself and my abilities. Sometimes I'm a little over-confident, a little too convinced of my own cleverness. I just wish my perception of my looks would catch up to my perception of my abilities. Cause frankly, nothing that I want in life requires me to be skinny. It certainly doesn't require me to develop an eating disorder and a coke addiction.

I think I'm going to sign off on this blog post and go to bed (I have to wake up ridiculously early to drive my mom to work tomorrow so I have a car, then somehow do my homework, get my passport, and get a haircut before 2:00) with a shout out to the Little Anorexic Girl who lives in my head: Shut the Fuck Up and Leave Me the Fuck Alone.

So there.

Early New Years Resolution

So after a week during which the Little Anorexic Girl who lives in my head was particularly vindictive, I think I'm going back on a diet. I'm at 125 now, and I want to get back to 121. It seems kind of pointless, but at least it will shut her up for a while. And I think it's a lot healthier/more realistic than trying to get back to 118 (which was when I stopped getting my period and my hair fell out in clumps...yeah not so great), or god forbid, hating myself for not being able to get down to 115.

Anyway, I feel like my jeans haven't been fitting as well as they did a month ago. I got too busy to work out much over the past month and didn't really cut the amount of calories I've been eating to make up for it, and I feel like it shows in my upper arms and my face. It's kind of a drag that my body has gotten so used to being on weight watchers and eating only 19 points a day (About 1500 calories). I'm going to have to cut back to 17 and increase my workouts to 45 minutes. Oh well. I'll just have to get to the gym at 7:30 instead of 8:00.

Home, glorious home.

It's gotten to that time of year again. Around this time no matter how much I'm enjoying my classes, my social life, the city itself, all I want to do is go the fuck home. I think it's something about the air, really. The crispness makes me yearn for the train ride home, admiring the changing leaves bordering the Hudson. I find the metronorth ridiculously and inordinately comforting. Maybe it's the fact that the Hudson River Valley is one of the most beautiful places on earth, and even though I have no real love for my hometown (my love is for the people who live in it and the memories that are set there), I really feel blessed to have grown up in such a picturesque place. But every time the train gets past Yonkers I sigh and turn on either Miles Davis or Nico Muhly (for some reason those two have become my go-to music for train rides) and stare out the window feeling incredibly happy and at peace. It might also be the knowledge that either direction I'm traveling, from Fishkill to New York or vice versa, I'm going home. Because if this year has shown be anything, it is that I feel completely at home in both places.

NYU has really stepped up to the plate this year, giving us an actual Fall Break (Tuesday off! As well as Monday!!!). According to one of the girls in my soc theory class, NYU wants to take the pressure off us due to the wave of college-suicides that usually happens around the country at this time. I wasn't aware of this trend, but hey, if it means I get to go home and do fun outdoorsy stuff (apple picking, anyone? Trip up to Rhinebeck? Cold Spring to sit at the waterfront and drink coffee?) I'm all for taking the stress off.

Oh, hello

So yeah, long time no blog post. I've been ridiculously busy the past few weeks. I've been working every day of the week except wednesday (and weekends), and the past two weeks were the first time I felt slammed by homework. I've also been trying to get to yoga and the gym regularly, which is hard. But I decided this week to start going to 7:00 AM yoga on tuesdays and thursdays. It means I have to wake up at 5:45 to get there. Yes, it sucks. Yes, I hate myself every time my alarm goes off. Yes, today I didn't realize I missed the Astor Place subway stop until the train was pulling into Union Square because I wasn't totally awake yet, and then had to practically run down to St. Marks in 5 minutes in order to get to class on time. But God, I feel so good afterward. Yoga is just one of those things that makes me feel healthy and happy and good about myself all at once. It completely wipes my mind by the end, which is something I really need. Usually I'm so stressed out about everything I have to do that my mind runs a mile a minute, so those three minutes of final relaxation are a blessed relief. Yoga to the People actually has teacher training pretty regularly, and I was really tempted to do it until Maddy pointed out that I already have no free time. And due to her practical and true observation, my dreams of being a yoga teacher must be deferred.

So as a quick round-up of the last week or so:
-Sonia's friend Nico came to visit from Germany. We took him to Botanica, which turned out to be really fun. It was just a bar, but the ratio of men to women was almost 2 to 1, a phenomenon that seems positively heavenly to any NYU girl. And they were fairly attractive too, even though in general I don't go for hipsters. As Sonia was being chatted up by a sleazy Cornell drop-out who had a girlfriend I talked to this chemist from Hoboken. He seemed pretty cool, but he ruined it all by trying to kiss me and forcing me to drunkenly explain that I think that kissing strangers in bars is a) gross (who knows where those lips have been?) and b) heartbreakingly desperate/cliche, and therefore I don't ever do it. After that I figured that even though I was having a good time talking to him, I should probably give him the chance to actually get laid so I took off to find Sonia and Nico.

-Finally got the Bartok Rhapsody out of the library. It's fun. And easy. I should be finished with it soon, and hopefully Insun will be like "wow she doesn't suck at all, why am I so judgmental to make her play something so clearly below her skill level?" Yes. Exactly like that.

-Yesterday I went to the Greenmarket and found these beautiful rainbow carrot. (The picture above is not of the carrots I bought. it's off the internets). I was too excited to take a picture of those carrots, and immediately peeled them to make saffron glazed carrots. It was the most delicious thing I've eaten in weeks. And so easy! Peel and slice the carrots, then saute them in butter (or butter spray, which is what I use since calories are my enemy), add a pinch of crumbled saffron, some lemon zest, salt and pepper, and a half cup of water. Then just cover and let cook for 5 minutes until the water evaporates. It's from a recipe I cut out of the NYT magazine ages ago, but never made because I thought I hated carrots. Turns out I don't.

-Yesterday as I was walking out of the Kimmel Center a delivery man for All About Food held the door for me.
"Thank you"- me
"You're welcome." (I start to walk away) "Keep that pretty smile. It's a good one."
And who says New Yorkers are unfriendly?

Forgive the Pedantry

A few days ago when I was talking to one of my friends who is studying abroad in China, he mentioned how he finally understands what I mean when I say that it's very easy to feel alone in the city. I told him about a quote that has stuck with me since tenth grade, from the story that inspired the (horrible) movie AI. The story is called Super Toys Last All Summer Long, by Brian Aldiss. The quote reads: "She remained alone. An overcrowded world is the ideal place in which to be lonely."

That quote has been etched in my memory since then. For its aesthetic value to begin with, really. It's a very well-balanced sentence. If you cut it down the middle, say, through "ideal," it seems to weight the same on each side. And it just seems like such a paradox. The world is overcrowded, so one ought to be able to find plenty of people to be friends with, or to be in love with. And yet, the sheer amount of life is so crushingly overwhelming sometimes that it just increases any feelings of loneliness one might feel.

Early sociologists who studied the effects of the city on humanity in general came to the conclusion that city life is unnatural. They felt that the constant stimulation, the barrage of people, noise, sights, smells forces people to retreat inside themselves. But by cutting themselves off from the intense stimuli coming at them from all directions, they are also cutting themselves off from other human beings. The danger in this is that it can soon lead to antisocial behavior and anomie, causing the eventual breakdown of society.

I never really bought into that theory of how City Life affects people. I don't think that the city is naturally a corrupting force, any more than I believe life in the mountains or the country side is naturally cleansing. Since humans first came to be, they have been forming groups, families, tribes. I think there's something to be said for the fact that as soon as humans discovered agriculture, they started settling down in large (relatively large) groups. Humans in general have always needed and indeed sought out the company of humans. So it follows that if anything at all could be considered "natural," it would be life in the city.

And yet, whether city life is natural or unnatural, it can be very easy to be lonely here. I think it has a little more to do with ennui than anomie, however. The loneliness is not of the antisocial sort. It leans more towards the self-pitying and even the self-indulgent. After all, when one reflects on how many people there actually are in the city, one tends to start questioning his or her own self-worth.

I've been listening to a lot of Satie lately. Erik Satie was a French composer from the early 20th century, a contemporary of Debussy and Ravel. He's very well known for his use of repetition and stark, almost perplexing simplicity. Whenever I start to feel lonely or sorry for myself I put either his Gymnopedies or his Gnossienes on. Played on solo piano with no accompaniment, the melodies are haunting but hummable. At first it seems like there's almost nothing to them, but as they progress one comes to the realization that their hollowness, their other-worldly quality is the truly spectacular aspect of the pieces. In the thread-bareness of the melody lies something more comforting than a down blanket. In their loneliness lies complete perfection.

"Who's that?"

"Oh, that's just my friend, Jesus."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1iUU6jTqB6k&eurl=http://www.eonline.com/uberblog/the_soup/index.2.html

Don't ask questions. Just go to the website. And I'm sorry it's not a link. Blogger is being a dumb bitch and none of the links I embed show up, and I'm too lazy to figure out what's wrong.

But seriously, do it. It'll make your day a million gazillion times better.

Poetry Moment of the Day

From the poem "Poem Read at Joan Mitchell's" by Frank O'Hara

If Kenneth were writing this he would point out how art has changed
women and women have changed art and men, but men haven't
changed women much

That section is short. And the whole poem is glorious (one of my favorites) but I can't find it online and it's far to long to type out for you guys. But look it up. It's basically a congratulatory poem to two of O'Hara's friends who have decided to get married, and it's just so full of hope and anticipation and happiness. I alternate between feeling really safe and warm inside and being overwhelmingly jealous whenever I read this. But I just love that section, because it is kind of true in a way. And I do like to think that no one can really change me, or should ever be allowed to do so. It also plays to my, and I think most women's desire to be someone's muse. Even if you're creating art yourself, wouldn't it be wonderful to inspire someone to create some artistic masterpiece?

I mean, I'm not saying I want to be someone's Zelda Fitzgerald. I like stability and well, not being an alcoholic a little too much for that. But it would be lovely to inspire a poem or a painting. I hope this doesn't come off as terribly narcissistic, because that's not how I mean it. And I also don't mean it as wanting to inspire someone else to great heights instead of achieving those great heights myself. But there is something romantic about being the Mona Lisa, no?

Ambivalence

So....maybe I won't throw caution to the winds.

Cause frankly, I don't want to throw caution to the winds. I want someone to throw caution to the winds for me.

Mreh. Fuck my life.

Love on the F train

So I think I fell just a little bit in love on the subway today. On the way back from work today, I got on the train at 57th street immediately plunked down in the first seat I could find (I was wearing heels for the first since last winter, and they hurt like a bitch and cut my ankles), which happened to be next to this guy writing furiously in a notebook. He was ridiculously cute, just my type: Indian, with some serious stubble and glasses wearing a plaid button-down and gray jeans. He was solid without being stocky, which is always pleasant to see in a city where most of the men look like anorexic 14 year old girls. I decided to let myself be a creeper and try to read what he was writing. It was completely illegible except for a sentence in capitals saying FIND A WAY TO REPHRASE WITHOUT SO MUCH REPETITION and my first thought was OHMYGOD he's a WRITER which naturally made him about a million times sexier. But anyways I took out the book of new and selected poems by David Kirby that I just got out of the library (and that I absolutely adore) and started reading and all of a sudden he looked over and asked "What are you reading?" And of course, I got ridiculously flustered and just showed him the cover and said "uhhhh David Kirby." And he was like "Ok," and I just prayed to whatever higher power may or may not exist that he would keep talking to me. But to my disappointment he just turned back to his notebook and went on writing. But it was Love. Love, I tell you!

Anyways, every once in a while when I'm reading poetry I find a line or stanza that I just love so much and just seems so prophetic I have to share it. Today it was this stanza from the poem The House on Boulevard Street by David Kirby:

I was also reading the great Marina Tsvetaeva
who wrote there was no approach to art,
that it was instead a kind of seizing,
and I thought, why shouldn't life imitate books?
Why shouldn't I reach out
and take what had already taken me?

And when I read that I thought, you know he's so, so right. Why, for once in my life can things not work out like they do in novels? I mean I realize that novels are escapist and idealized and well, fictional, but they must have some basis in fact to have been thought of at all, no?

So I kind of figured that I should throw my pride and caution to the wind for a little bit and see what happens. I need to stop being so afraid of being hurt. Because I've been hurt many, many times before but I'm still here and kickin and somehow still pretty optimistic a lot of the time. So I'm taking a chance. Let's hope it works.

On Sex Diaries, Hot Messes, and Tasti D-lite

"12:37 a.m.: Get a text from work crush!! "Are you out tonight." Hmph. What is it with guys under the age of 25 and their vague booty-call text messages? If you're really interested, call me a day in advance when I’m not trashed in a pencil skirt and French-cuff shirt." (http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2008/09/the_overserved_ivy_banker_chic.html)

Um... has a truer statement ever been written?  It's just another reason why I wait eagerly and impatiently between each episode (or whatever you call them) of Daily Intel's Sex Diaries.  They make me realize that I am definitely not alone in feeling as frustrated with my love life (or current lack thereof) as I do.  And they're damn funny.  After each one I want to go write one myself, until I remember oh hey, if I'm going to write something for a column called Sex Diaries, I should probably, oh I don't know, be having sex.

So, in other news, I adored my outfit today.  It was a white with yellow striped shirt tucked into the super tight pencil skirt that makes me feel like Joan Holloway from Mad Men with my long multi-colored pearls.  It was great, until I got to work and looked in the mirror and thought OH SHIT YOU CAN SEE EVERY DETAIL OF MY BRA.  White with black polka dots, black lace edging, even the seams.  Usually that doesn't bother me.  I've been known to wear see-through shirts without a camisole underneath on more than a few occasions.  But never, ever, EVER to work.  Then somehow in the time between sitting at my intern-cubbyhole on the computer and running down to DROM on Ave A to pick up James Galway's sheet music (Flight of the Bumblebee.  Come on, I realize it's for an encore, but can we be less original?) the seam at the back of my skirt split.  Like, it wasn't anything indecent really.  It was the seam right on top of the zipper where the fabric meets.  And the skirt is lined, so there was no ass/underwear peak-age.  But still.  Combined with my obvious black and white polka dotted bra, I was such a hot mess.

Later on, when I was on the way back from tasti d-lite (yes, I sometimes do go out with the express purpose of going to tasti d-lite.  Especially now that Maddy got me a gift certificate, even if it is for the tasti up by union square, which is like, 20 blocks away.  I just think of myself as a intrepid explorer, fighting my way through hordes of tourists like Lewis and Clark fought their way through grizzly bears and mountain lions.  Except my reward is not the sight of the Pacific but a cup full of green-tea flavored, chemical laden pseudo-dairy product.) a man stopped me on the road:

Man: Miss!  Miss!

Me (stopping, because I had just given another man directions to Joe's Pub and I figured he needed directions too): Yes?

Man:  You are very beautiful.

Me:  Ummmmm....thanks.

Man:  What's your name?

Me:  Uhhh...not giving it to you.

Man:  Ohhhhh you're scared of black men, aren't you.

To which I proceeded to walk away.

Like, come on.  

Upon which I ruminate on birthdays, Sarah Palin, and Italians

So it's incredible how fast my weeks go now that I have no free time to speak of.  I wake up, go to the gym, go to class, go to work, come back, do homework (which I have had almost none of so far), sometimes do yoga, then fall into bed dead tired.  And the weirdest thing is, I'm actually enjoying this.  I like having a busy schedule.  I like to feel productive, and staying busy is one way to distract myself from the lack other things (romance?  money to go shopping? ) in my life.  But anyways, I like my internship a lot.  My classes are easy if not terribly interesting, my music TA is the coolest person on the planet (he plays accordian!  Has a fro!  Is 6'5'' and probably weighs 120 pounds!), and my soc theory professor is an Elderly British Gentleman who taught at Oxford and who is thoroughly puzzled as to how anyone could take Sarah Palin seriously.

But Jesus fucking Christ, the more I learn about Sarah Palin the more I fear for the future of this nation.  She doesn't believe in abortion, even in cases of rape or incest.  She doesn't believe in global warming.  She thinks that attacking Russia would be a good idea if they don't stop fucking with Georgia.  She likes guns and shooting endangered species.  And she likes the Jesus a little too much for comfort.  Basically, she embodies everything I think is wrong with the American people. 

In other news, my birthday came and went.  I wasn't really into my birthday this year, as shown by my conversation with Sonia monday night:

Sonia: Tomorrow's your birthday! What are you going to do???

Me: Ummm....go to yoga?

So needless to say, I wasn't really feeling it.  I actually think I might have outgrown birthdays a bit.  But I did get lots of nice birthday wishes and calls and tasti d-lite gift certificates, for which I thank everyone.  I think I'll try to celebrate this weekend or the next, whenever Sonia can find a halfway convincing fake id.

The Festival of San Generro started today.  So far I have avoided it like bubonic plague infested bodies rotting in the canals of Venice.  I was all excited last year to be living next to Little Italy just for the San Generro festival.  Now I just fucking hate it.  It's loud.  There are drunk people everywhere.  It smells like sausage and peppers all the fucking time, which just makes me hungry, until after a while it starts to turn my stomach.  It's basically like the Week of Hell.  And in a way, it just enhances stereotypes of Italians as these gluttinous mafiosa types.  Not all Italian Americans are the Sopranos.  

That's one of my biggest pet peeves, which I was totes planning on elaborating on tonight.  But I'm just too tired.  So I'll save that rant for another time.

This is My Year?

I'm falling into it again.  That cynical, bitter old-maid feeling that inevitably seems to develop when I come back to New York in the fall and walk around seeing all the skinny model-couples holding hands in Nolita talking about jetting off the to Hamptons for the weekend and looking happy and in love and glorious.  And then I come back to my room and stare out the window at all the young-professional couples who seem to live at Bar Martignetti and wonder why, in a city of 8,250,567 people (according to the most recent US census, which does not count illegal residents if they can't be found, so probably even more) is it so damn hard to find a boyfriend?  Somewhere in this huge sprawling city there has to be a man who would consider dating me, and who would be able to deal with the fact that I'm ambitious and hard working and even that I'm a little emotionally inaccessible a lot of the time.  Maybe my exasperation is slightly premature.  It is only the second week here, after all.  But my classes are already a wasteland, and everyone at work is either gay or married.  Yay.  

Whatever.  I will not let myself start out this year feeling defeated and unattractive.  Sketchy men on the street think I have Great Legs!  It's a start.

Anyways, enough.  Last night Sonia and Maddy and I finished off two bottles of wine and had a girly gossip/spill-your-guts fest (does anyone else hate that phrase as much as I do?  It's just so vivid.  And kind of gross.  Like if you opened your mouth to say something and your stomach lining and intestines spilled out instead of words.  Actually, that's kind of what's been happening to me lately, in a figurative sense.  I've almost completely lost my filter and have put my foot in my mouth more than a few times lately) and then woke up late this morning and got brunch at the Waverly diner, where Maddy and I waxed rhapsodical about diner coffee and Sonia drank tea out of this glass mug that I immediately wanted to steal.  It's really one of the most comforting places in the world.  Then we walked around enjoying the beautiful weather and street fair on University Place and spending an obscene amount of money on text books we went home cleaned and re-arranged, and I spent a few hours trying (unsuccessfully) to understand Comte while trying to stave off a post-wine headache and the feeling that someone punched me in the kidneys.  I don't know that that is attributable to the wine.  Or even if it's my kidneys.  But still.  It hurts!

Maddy just told me I'm a tortured genius, listening to Schoenberg and blogging away.  Oh, if only.  I'm just a little college girl who needs to be self-indulgent and pitying every once in a while before I can snap out of it.  Which I have now done.  Sorry for dragging you through the mire with me.

Fuck Sarah Palin

I was going to write a whole diatribe explaining why Sarah Palin makes me physically ill, but then I started to feel physically ill.  Sufficeth to say that if I was ever tempted to call someone the C-word, it would be her.

(Let it be known that I was going to use an unflattering picture of her.  I found quite a few.  But then I decided no, I'm better than that.  I don't take low, vicious jabs at people who I don't know.  Unlike Sarah Palin, as it were, who believes that community organizers have no purpose and that poor people can just go suck it, or that women [except her daughter, of course] shouldn't have any right to choose whether or not to have a child.  But ugh, I feel the gag reflex kicking in.  Must stop writing about Sarah Palin before I cry or vomit or both.)

Cure-All for Low Self-Esteem or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Catcall

I've been collecting catcalls again.  This inevitably happens when I'm feeling down on myself for one reason or another and need a general, albeit sort of sleazy emotional pick-me-up.  But today I was wearing my high waisted shorts with a white blouse and a blue scarf around my head (I looked quite the 50s housewife, but really, when don't I?), took off my ipod, and went to the Greenmarket for vegetables.  And lo and behold, I got two "beautifuls" within the first 20 minutes, and the piece de resistance, a "Great Legs!"  The trick to really appreciate being catcalled is to totally ignore the person who made the comment to begin with.  Never look at their face, because they are inevitably gross and sleazy.  Rarely does an attractive, well dressed man catcall.  But rest assured believing that if the creepers say it, then the attractive, well dressed men think it.  I suppose you can judge by Looks, but I never make eye contact with anyone on the street, so that doesn't work for me.

Now, this might be the most anti-feministic thing you will ever hear me say, but every once in a while I need this.  I'm very used to being liked and respected because I'm intelligent, and I'm very happy about that.  But honestly, very rarely does a member of the opposite sex tell me I'm attractive.  So every once in a while it is nice to have outside assurance, from someone who isn't my mom.

90210 = Worst Show Since One Tree Hill

Not to insult all you lovely people out there who still watch One Tree Hill.  I'm sure it's just for nostalgia for six years ago when it started, or because you still have a creepy crush on Chad Michael Murray, or because you like innocent tales of fratricide, stalkers, and marriage at 16 (she wasn't even pregnant!).  But honestly, in my humble opinion One Tree Hill just fucking sucks, and so, sadly, does 90210.

I was really looking forward to 90210.  I wanted (at best) for a version of Gossip Girl for the West Coast Set, where I could really care about the characters, or at least hate them enough to keep watching.  A show where (usually uncomfortable) societal truths are raised in witty and infinitely quotable banter by characters wearing dresses that my entire savings account couldn't buy.  Or at least a complete guilty pleasure that I could watch after class and work with a glass of wine (or a bottle) for a good soporific effect.

90210 was not that show.  In fact, the only reason I watched the first (two hour!) episode in horror was because as bad as it started, it just. kept. getting. worse.  Why?  Well:

1. Every Single Female Character Was Underweight

 I realize that 90210 is not trying to create a set of role models for today's middle school-aged girls.  If they were, they would not have their 15 year old characters doing pills, or stealing, or any of the other stuff that makes for Good Teen Drama.  But seriously, did the producers go out of their way to find underweight actresses?  Like, did they put on the description "No one with a BMI over 15 need apply?"  I remember back to my 10th Grade Experience, and I don't think I knew more than five or six girls who were as skinny as the actresses on 90210 (one of whom I know for a fact was anorexic).  But most of my class mates were feeling the effects of puberty.  What bothers me most about the 90210 actresses is that young middle school and younger girls will see them, think "I guess that's what high school girls ought to look like," and end up with the sort of unhealthy and unrealistic body image image problems that I, and so many women my age, have to grapple with to this day.

2. They Weren't Even Well Dressed

The actresses who looked like Holocaust Survivors weren't even well dressed!  Seriously, they looked like they entered Charlotte Russe blindfolded and somehow ended up with the tackiest items that they then proceeded to put on all at once.  Part of the fun of Gossip Girl is being like OMGZ I SAW THAT DRESS IN THE PRADA STORE WINDOW WHEN I WAS WALKING ON BROADWAY YESTERDAY.  90210 should learn from that.

3. Cyber-Bullying is Bad.  But No One Could be Insulted by the Cyber-Bullying on that Show.

For real. Even back in high school, if someone made a badly animated video of me dancing with a cow and put it on the internets, I would have looked at them in disgust and thought, that's the best that you can do? I can hurt myself better than that.

4. Beverly Hills 15 Year Olds do NOT Listen to Tilly and the Wall

Now, I adore Tilly and the Wall. They have graced my ipod for several years running now, and I think their new album is terrific. But no one would have them play their Sweet Sixteen. If you're that rich, you're getting Chris Brown, or Rihanna, or whatever emo pop-punk band kids are listening to these days.

These points, plus the terrible dialogue and acting, mean that this show was a complete failure that I will

not be watching again.

Goodbye Summer

So my pre-classes/internship New York City comes to an end tonight.  I'm actually really happy that I decided to move in early.  I always doubt whether I really want to move in early, whether I'll be ok without a schedule and set things to do.  But I ended up really enjoying my week here.  I did a lot of things alone, which is always ok with me.  Here's the rundown:

- wandered around Soho and got sushi with Sarah

- went to Ikea with Sonia, and while I came to the conclusion the Swedish Utilitarianism isn't really my thing (I prefer Anthropologie Frivolity), the ferry ride back to Wall Street made it worth the trip.  I'll leave the Grand Canyon and the Badlands for other people.  There's nothing more beautiful than the New York skyline at night in the world.

- Saw the Waterfalls at night

- Wandered around the Greenmarket pretending to be Alice Waters and "letting the produce speak to me."  Unfortunately, everything at the Greenmarket Speaks To Me.  So I ended up with way more vegetables than one girl can realistically eat and ended up throwing some of them out.

- Went up to the MET on a Monday only to remember that most museums are actually closed on Mondays, revised my plans and wandered around the UES until I remembered exactly why I don't like it.  Grown men really shouldn't wear yellow pants with pink polos and purple sweaters.  It's hot on Chuck Bass though.

- Had a cute Vassar guy ask for my number on the train.

- Walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, and learned that it's not really all it's cracked up to be.  Conclusion: Ikea Ferry > Brooklyn Bridge on a Fun-ness scale, mostly because there are no irate cyclists who scream at you (aka me) for stepping into the bike lane on the Ikea Ferry.

- Went to Brighton Beach, laid out with Maddy and Sonia until we decided that, as we forgot sunscreen, no tan is worth the inconvenience of sun poisoning and subsequent skin cancer.  

- Walked the boardwalk to Coney Island, which is becoming a Labor Day tradition.

So all in all, a good week.  Certain things bothered me quite a bit, but I've already decided to Chill The Fuck Out and Get The Fuck Over It (GTFOI? Not as good an acronym as CTFO).  Because it's certainly not my fault.  But classes and my internship start tomorrow, so it shouldn't be hard.

Inaugural Post!

So I write my first blog post evaaa achy, tired, and hungover.  It feels kind of appropriate in a way, because I live a life of debauchery where I go out, get drunk, have Crazy City Fun, and then wake up at noon and blog all about it.  

That's a total lie.  But it was nice to go out last night before classes and my internship begin and by the weekend all I can do is bunker down with Weber and Durkheim.  I went to a friend-of-a-friend's housewarming party, and it was really fun, except for the fact that I forgot that five foot one, 125 pound girls who drink maybe once a month probably can't handle three shots of vodka in five minutes + a vodka and coke + a whisky and coke.  Sooo needless to say, while everyone else was socializing and walking around, I was in a bedroom next to the air conditioner struggling to stand up straight.  But Maddy and I did have a riveting conversation with freshman with headphones around his neck:

Maddy:  Nice headphones

Freshman:  Thanks, they're not actually attached to anything.

Maddy (incredulous):  Wait, you wore headphones as a necklace?

Freshman:  Yeah, I thought it looked cool.  I just wore them on the way here pretending to rock out.

Maddy (trying to comprehend):  Do you even have an ipod?

Freshman: No!

Maddy (disgustedly):  God, you are such a freshman.

We proceeded to call him Phones for the rest of the night.  

And so that was the night.  It was fun, even if it did remind me that I have more fun at parties when I can understand what is going on around me.  So today I'm taking it easy, resting the foot that I'm afraid I may have irreparably damaged from walking miles in sandals a few days ago, applying to study abroad next semester, and maybe venturing to Sur La Table to buy a cast iron skillet.  No kitchen is complete without one.