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06.30.03 - 3:35pm
I will tell you that the wedding was very nice, that we did the hora to Al Green's Let's Stay Together, a drunk man played the bag pipes, and the groom had a near-identical twin brother who was the recipient of many elbows to the ribs and rather blue remarks.
The crappy part of it all was that we had rented a car, and was caught in such traffic that we did not get back into the city until the rental car place had closed. So we were forced to pay for an extra day, as well as the fee to keep it in a garage overnight (with our luck, if we had parked it on the street, it would have gotten broken into.
I will post many wonderful pictures tomorrow.
My mother was my only entrant in the Debcentral "weird but cool sounding eastern european names" contest. She writes:
06.27.03 - 1:40pm
She ran around the office making loud observations and telling dirty jokes. I found this both psychologically disturbing and emotionally draining. She hung around for a couple of hours, but even after she left, I still felt tremendously jumpy and agitated.
Susan Johnson wrote me a fan letter. Yes, it is true that Susan is actually a friend of mine dating back to ye olde college days. Still, it was such a nice message, and I am going to post it. For those of you who do not know Susan, she is a charming and vibrant creature who is a magnet for very weird happenings. She is also very observant and funny. So I am constantly stealing her stories and trying to claim them as my own.
Several weeks ago, she was sitting in a subway train during rush hour when the man standing up in front of her began flashing her. When she related this story, she prefaced it with. "And now I've seen everything!" Somehow, knowing Susan, there is still more to come.
The nice email is as follows:
If there are links, I follow them. If there a photos, I download them, save them onto my computer, and use them as wall paper. If there is advice I take it. If there is sadness I cry, if there is Joy I laugh. If I practiced Yoga, you would be my inspiration.
You are loved, darling, by fans around the world.
Thank you.
06.25.03 - 5:22pm
From behind the fax machine, I heard one of them saying, "And have you seen Michael Jackson lately? He looks like someone ran over him with a truck."
"And that LaToya."
"LaToya? She looks so awful. She should kill herself."
"Janet doesn't look so hot either. She looks like Michael with tits."
"She's not even a good singer. She's a good performer, but not a good singer. Sometimes, I don't even think she knows what she's singing about. She should kill herself."
This was the highlight of my very hot day.
It is very hot here. I couldn't find any appropriate looking tank tops, so I'm wearing a plain black yoga top today. What a looker I am today.
I have to go help my officemate stuff envelopes, now, but please send me more fan mail. I have been feeling kind of low lately, because my hits are down. Soon, the evil other Debcentral will surpass me in hits. Don't let this happen. We must be vigilant. If you let my hits go down, the terrorists win.
06.24.03 - 4:15pm
When we got home last night, I got on the trusty Internet and found that Jenny Miller had posted all manner of vacation photos, and I got all jealous. So I stayed up until past midnight uploading and resizing these suckers. I hope you enjoy them.
In the end, the weekend was good fun. The girdle was very useful. But when I had drunk a little more than I should have, it smooshed my stomach in such a manner as to make me feel as if I were going to vomit.
Marc and David kept us laughing all weekend. They're making-fun-of regimen is a good deal stricter than mine. They make fun of strangers, animals, and inanimate objects with the same verve I usually reserve for people against whom I have personal vendettas. The too often target of many of their comments was one poor wedding guest who had the misfortune of wearing what appeared to be a large cloth napkin instead of a dress.
On the eve before the wedding, many old school chums were assembled at the out of town guests dinner. Marc and I made up a trivia game which we made everyone play, and in which we revealed embarrassing facts about the future bride and the groom. The bride-to-be announced that the reason she was losing was due to her fiancé's non-communicativeness. I feel we did a good job.
Brian and I bought our plane tickets through Orbitz, and wound up flying Delta's new low priced shuttle Song home. It was a bit troubling, as they made you pay for your own crappy airplane snacks, and it looked as if their seat covers were on loan from a traveling circus.
But we are home, safe and sound. And here I am with you right now.
06.20.03 - 3:15pm
By Monday, though, it will all be over. And my friend Amy will be an old married frau like myself. Lifestyles of the coupled and dumpy. Can't beat that!
I have been writing poems to go along with my weekly statistics reports to the kind lady in charge of visitor services. This week's poem was a villanelle, and I am kind of proud of it. So here is a reproduction:
We're on Orange Alert, they sometimes say.
And soon the heat will set and stay,
Zina & Joyce still laugh and play.
We two remain, long hours, poor pay.
But if we wait patient, soon comes the day
06.19.03 - 4:25pm
But now I want to visit small Easter European cities which are chilly in the winter and where the people are small when they are fed poorly, and fat when they are fed well.
I am feeling rather dull today. Both short and fat. Bleh.
I'm reading Mr. Kafka's The Trial, and all I keep thinking about is K. looking at Leni’s webbed hand and saying "What a pretty little paw!" Maybe this is why I want to go to Prague. To see how many people there might kiss a stranger on his or her birth defect.
I feel this is a special talent reserved only for Eastern Europeans. I also hear that Prague is a "writers’ city". Literary types have told me this. I’m not exactly sure what this means. Maybe it means that I will be able to trade character sketches for small hot meals. Or maybe it means that in order to blend in, I will have to flounce around in a beret and black turtleneck, cigarette hanging precariously from my down-turned mouth. While I wait for someone to present me with a stump to kiss.
I could be blasé if I really wanted to.
06.18.03 - 5:10pm
We had a fire drill today. The fire warden was very nonchalant about the prospect of escaping from the smoldering wreckage of a building. It made me quite nervous. We were advised simply to move down the stairway from the 25th the 20th floor, and wait for further instructions.
When I worked at "Here Is New York", I saw countless 9/11 videos taken of the twin towers opened like gaping mouths, smoldering black and red before they collapsed in on themselves. I heard many stories about the disorganization of the fire and police departments as they warned people to stay put, so as not to cause mass hysteria in the streets.
I asked the fire warden if, in the event of a fire, I could run down all 25 flights and into the streets of the financial district, screaming like a lunatic in mortal pain. I was told that this would be fine, but that this could be more problematic, as people did this when they rang the alarm during the Anthrax scare, and people were more at risk as they fled the exits in the lobby than had they stayed on their respective floors.
And it could always be a false alarm. Then wouldn't I feel foolish.
I have just become, believe it or not, busy. So I will go now. But I'll be back again tomorrow.
Same bat time. Same bat channel.
06.17.03 - 4:50pm
Second item: I had a terrible dream last night. I dreamt that I was somehow thrown back in time to Memorial Day weekend, which was my cousin Tracy's wedding. I got to the synagogue, only to learn that I was in the wedding party. I ran around the social hall trying on dresses. But they were all too tight. I finally found one that fit. But then my cousin and her mother came in and noted that the affair was black-tie, and the dress I had chosen was not nearly dressy enough.
Yes, now that I looked at it, I realized that it was far too casual. Especially for someone who would be in the wedding party. I began looking all over again. I tried on the same ill-fitting dresses on the rack in the social hall. Nothing looked good. My cousin's mother came in to warn us that I had missed the rehearsal and had five minutes until the actual ceremony was to begin. I had not done my hair nor put on any make up. I looked terrible, and was going to shame my family with my frumpy and inappropriate appearance. Feverishly, I search the rack again.
At this point, I believe I began to wake up, because I noticed that I was wearing a ring that slowed down time. Perfect! I could now conduct a cool-headed search for a suitable dress. Then I would still be able to make myself up nice and look appropriate for the event. Time-slowing rings are the best!
Third and last item on the agenda: Consider the following facts . . . 1) I have my friend Amy's wedding this Sunday, for which I am a bridesmaid. 2) But I have gotten too big for the bridesmaid's dress, which causes me shame and embarrassment. 3) I received a nice thank you note from my cousin yesterday. 4) This was in reference to the gift we gave her for her wedding, which was on Memorial Day. 5) Yesterday evening, I finally purchased--not one, but three--girdles.
06.16.03 - 2:05pm
Sure, the bus ride was gross. We had the mandatory person slobbering over a basket of spicy chicken wings sitting directly behind my ear. But we didn't let that stop us from wishing we had taken Amtrack.
We spent Friday night with Bob Brumfield. Bob might be nominated as valedictorian of Drinking School if he would hurry up and graduate already. I will go ahead and nominate him as a wonderful host. He made us coffee and told us jokes. He blew his cigarette smoke away from our faces and even bought us a whole pitcher of mimosas.
Saturday was supernaturally hot and sticky. I was often under the impression that I might shrivel to a moist and unhappy raisin in the oppressive heat.
Despite adversity, we still had a pleasant day. We brunched with the sassy-tongued Sarah Loffman, who does a job very similar to mine, but at the Corcoran.
We later met up with Duncan and Charlie and I got a ride to Clare's bridal shower. To the naked eye, Clare appears to be a very sweet and even-tempered person, but if she is pumped full of a gallon of sangria, she will swear like a sailor. This is why I love her.
I was given a ride back to the district, but only made it as far as Duncan and Charlie's. They, my husband, and Clare's betrothed, Stephen, had been out being generally raucous, and as the Metro had long-since stopped running, we got stuck there. Without a toothbrush!
This disturbed me greatly, and caused me to sleep fitfully, imagining Mr. Toothdecay despoiling my teeth, which I had brushed only with toothpaste and my finger. Brian slept like a drunken infant.
The next day, I was reunited with my toothbrush, and we met up with friend and one-time co-worker Jen Patterson. Before we left for the bus, we got to say hi to Bob's roommate Caryn, who had been out of town at her high school reunion. This all made for a wonderful weekend, until the person sitting behind us on the bus pulled out a basket of spicy chicken wings and began ravaging them.
Here are some pictures I took during our voyage. I actually took quite a few pictures, but we got in rather late last night, and I guess the sizing is a little off as well. I'll fix it up when I get some more free time.
06.12.03 - 3:35pm
My friend Amy's wedding is in two weeks, and I will be in her wedding party. I will be wearing a dress specific to the task. I purchased the dress in January, and I have somehow managed to expand in girth in my lower regions, causing the dress to appear tight and unflattering. This is a unending source of shame and embarrassment for me. Now I have exactly two weeks and two days to lose the excess girth and look not like a bizarre parody of a size four bride's maid.
The task will of course be very easy. I will simply drink lots of water, eat only fresh fruits and vegetables, cut out beer sometime, eat chocolate, and feel guilty about not exercising enough. Then I will buy a girdle. Then I will meditate until I become completely detached from the bottom half of my body. Then I will pretend that I had actually been much heavier when I purchased the dress, and have slimmed down considerably, but not yet reached my goal weight.
On a less-depressing note, my department is going on a field trip tomorrow to the Brooklyn Museum of Art. On a more depressing note, we are seeing an exhibit called "The Last Expression: Art and Auschwitz". This ends moments before I am to jump on a bus headed for DC.
This all causes me some consternation, as I still have yet to pack. And find lodging.
06.11.03 - 10:42am
Half an hour later, there came an announcement over the phone system. "The network is back up. I repeat: the network is back up." Once again, the papers exploded up and flittered down. We were all so happy to get back on the internet, and to have access once more to email and FreeCell. The office itself breathed a sign of relief.
It was revealed to me yesterday that one of my co-workers is a good friend of one the editors of Heeb Magazine. As you may already know, I have been rejected by them twice already. My coworker told me this at a museum event, at which I had consumed several glasses of wine. In keeping with the somber gravity of our museum--which is a living memorial to the Holocaust--I yelled out, "You tell that guy he rejected me twice. Twice. Debcentral-dot-com. DEBCENTRAL-DOT-COM!"
I’m not sure what I had hoped to accomplish by loudly announcing my url. It made more sense at the time.
One last item. Many moons ago, when the seas boiled and the Earth was still young, my good friend Marc Rothschild had told me he had seen Liza Minelli and had his picture taken with her. He promised to email me the picture. Only his scanner was broken. Of course, like any good friend, I doubted his sincerity. But two days ago it happened. Marc emailed me the image in question.
I guess I’m convinced.
06.09.03 - 2:35pm
I first met Bob on a dusty road on a cold damp night when the light from the stars bled as if it were cut with rusty knife. My coach had broken down, but then Bob happened by. He dusted me off and gave me a ride on the back of his cigarette. He spoke with an accent. He did not have a mustache.
Together, we talked of movies, made fun of people, and doused ourselves in fake blood. For my birthday, Bob gave me a large beetle with babies inside. When I left Maryland, he drank my beer and wept. And I wept too, though it was raining. Today, it is fairly sunny, and Bob has turned 29. But to me, he will always be an adolescent. Happy Birthday, Bob!
In other news, our weekend was uneventful. Except for our Ira visit, which was unpleasant. When my parents were here a few weeks back, we visited Uncle Ira and my father took pictures. These are them.
06.04.03 - 3:12pm
I am lucky, though. I am told by my officemates I just missed the department retreat, which took place in a claustrophobic conference room, and which occured this past April. Phew!
This week is a visit to Uncle Ira. Next weekend we are traveling to Washington for a friend's bridal shower. I am bummed. I had wanted to travel on the NYC<==>DC Chinatown Express, but there are no buses leaving at a time which is convenient to me. It looks like we'll have to go with the old standby. The Port Authority Bus Terminal is so dirty and horrible. It is a place of imminent evility and stinky urine in the corners.
And yet, if someone offered me their private jet, I would have to refuse.
This just in: Sarah L offers Debcentral some movie suggestions:
Have you seen "Where's Marlowe?" It's a mockumentary starring Miguel
Ferrar and Mos Def. It combines a lot of my favorite things. 1) It's a
movie about making movies. 2) It's got a slew of film noir references.
3) It's funny.
I also saw "All Over Me" recently, and thought that was nice little
coming of age movie -- for lesbians and the people who love them! And an oldie but goodie, "Now Voyager" starring the
indelible Betty Davis. I got my book/movie club to watch it last year
-- it sparked many a fun conversation with our respective grandmothers.
There's nothing hotter than a man who can light two cigarettes at one
time.
Two other classics that are great on rainy days: "Gun Crazy" (the film
noir that does NOT star Drew Barrymore) and "The Day the Earth Stood
Still," which is especially appropriate considering our current
political climate. In theaters: "Down with Love" and "Bend it Like
Beckham." They'll make you laugh, they'll make you cry -- but only
because all your fancy NYC theaters will charge you nine dollars to see
them.
The apartment I live at one time housed my uncle. Then it housed my brother, who had a similar "low-rent for nut-house visits" plan. Then my brother moved to Israel for a spell, and Brian and I moved in on that sweet deal.
The scene is set. Almost two weeks, a letter came for my brother inviting him to his ten year high school reunion. Then a phone call. A young woman left a message saying she was trying to track down my brother to invite him to his high school reunion. Hearing this has sent me into a panic. How did these people trace my brother from Hollywood, Florida to Uncle Ira's apartment in New York City? Two years from now, will they be able to find me? Will they flood me with phone calls and mailings trying to get me to my reunion? Help! I do not ever ever want to meet up with my compatriots from high school and compare life paths?
That has got to be the most uncomfortable conversation. Speaking with people you knew during puberty, with whom you have nothing in common but a couple of Spanish classes, chatting about their jobs and their houses and their babies. About godknowswhat they've been doing for the last ten years. What kind of awful perversion of a social gathering that would be. One would think that in this modern day of internet searching, if there was anyone from my Spanish class with whom I wanted to reunite, I would go and google them, by gum!
I don't know why this causes me so much anxiety. But I like the idea that I have moved and moved and moved, each time making new friends and forging for myself a new identity. In the smithy of my soul. Like an artist. Or a hobo.
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As I have said before: this sidebar is well-overdue for a change. july begins "shiny new sidebar" month. Stay tuned for such changes. Your ad here.
we saw the shop around the corner. apparently, this was the inspiration for the insipid hollywood hit, you've got mail the Ernst Lubitsch film was charming and funny. it takes place in depressed Budapest on the eve of a world war. I have actually never seen you've got mail, but I understand it takes place in corporate american. hm. I'm intrigued. I think "Ernst" is a great name. also, "Zishe" is kind of cool, as far as eastern european names go. I am compiling a list of the top ten weird but cool sounding eastern european names. send in your entry today. also, this just in: we kind of know this guy. how campy.
send me some fan mail let me know how much you like my site. or how much you disapprove of it. or that you know that I've been overhearing your copy room conversations as I have and posting them on my site.
drop me a line. you'll be happy you did.
but she sent me this link today. thanks, mom. we have one more wedding to go. this one's in charlottesville, virginia. we will be renting a car and driving down on friday afternoon. wish us luck. by the way, the high today was 90 degrees. tomorrow, it will be 94. what happened to spring? I think I missed it completely.
I got a nice email from yoga Mark, mourning my recent absence from the ashtanga yoga scene. for anyone who cares, I have been self-practicing. which is very difficult for someone as unmotivated as I am. but you can send me fan mail and make me feel loved. from my mother: will that dern liberal media finally get some real live liberals. from heck's kitchen: awards yourself your own girl scout badge. now you can be one smart cookie too! thanks, girl scouts even though I never joined you, because I thought wearing that little green uniform looked too goyisha.
and Jenny took a short hiatus. but now she's back. and badder than ever. also, coworker Zina sent me this. if only democrats would pull themselves from the pestilential conservative quagmire with the same aplomb with which they create Flash animation, we’d all be fine.
this makes me very sad, as they are some of the most funny, laughing, and danciful coworkers I have ever worked with. here is a shout out to Zina and Joyce. I hope my new officemates will be funny and danciful. B & I saw The Oyster Princess and Carmen at the film forum's Lubitsch film festival. they were both silent and kind of pre-code sexy. all the woman danced the fox-trot like they were made of rubber. war-crushed germans could be quite funny. blood-thirsty xenophobic facists: what a comedy killer.
regular debcentral reader Nick Kocz took issue with debcentral's reference to "spicy chicken wings". mr. Kocz writes: "You must know that I was born in Buffalo. As such, small town boosterism requires that I reprimand you for your slighting references about chicken wings. In Buffalo, chicken wings are viewed as God's Ambrosia. As such, they must be viewed with reverent awe, even when consumed on a bus by swarthy types." thank you, mr. Kocz, for sensitizing us to northern new yorkers loud and sometimes sloppy devotion to the chicken wing. please send all listener questions and comments to . emails are chosen at random to be read on air.
she has earned a master's of psychology and is on her way to a doctorate. she got a promotion. at the end of this month, she will head to London for a vacation with a friend. I am very jealous. our friend Heather Scott has been reading my blog. still, Heather prefers visiting match.com and laughing at other people's inner pain. this is why I like Heather. college friend Megan Newcome's father entered her name in google and linked to my site which he thought was funny. he wrote me a very nice email, and gave us this in-depth look into Megan's history: "Megan['s] grandmother, my mother, escaped to the city from rural Kentucky in 1932. She lived in Manhattan and Forrest Hills, Queens until 1941. Megan is now following up on that heritage. There may be a story there." Megan was born in Kentucky, went to college in Florida, and now lives on the lower east side and works in Chelsea. yes, I hear a story.
that dream where I accidentally run into that that couple which I had been avoiding since I graduated college. in this dream, we moved into a new building, and they moved into the same building, on the same floor. we realized this at the complimentary continental breakfast our apartment provided. this is the fourth such dream I've had since I last wrote about it. is this couple symbolic? am I trying to avoid my past, but keep moving into the same building with it. or meeting up with my past on a couples game shows?
sadly, I have not been able to get the same results in a similar search. so, kudos to you, sexy-india-housewife-looker for making it happen. a search for "nude yoga classes in N.Y.C." produced a link to my site. I'm also on the charts for "cottonelle puppy commercial" and "’old soul’ sensitive disorder" we just received word that Heather Scott got into columbia for grad school. mazel tov, Heather! now you can hang out with us more. Mr. Geller blogs in again. phew!
so it is not too much fun. I recently became the benefactress of a new shiny dell. my photo editing is much faster now. though the internet connection is still rather slow. you will hopefully see an increase in images in the near-future. hold on to your hats!
my father used to repeat to us, “klaatu barada nikto” which is why all his children are so well adjusted today. thank you, Sarah L. thank you, dad. heck’s kitchen raises the important question: is it art, or it it plain old crap? George Williams’ site was down. but now it’s back up, and in a new location. but before it came back up, George wrote me this nice email: "Alas, my blog is down, so I am taking this as a sign that I need to do more commenting on other people's writing. "I think you will shortly become famous by discovering that by combining yoga *with* rollerskating, awkward rollerskating-averse kids will be able to get down to ELO along with the rest of their friends.” George is very nice. presently I am been neither rollerskating, nor practicing yoga. mostly, I’ve just been bum. oh, and co-worker Joyce sent me this link: spikybras.com co-worker Zina found this on her own, but I heard it first from heck’s kitchen.
she wrote: "i was on your website and am quite sure that mr. fame is two blocks from your house, quickly approaching, and he's lookin' to knock." Caryn, by the way, was recently interviewed by heck's kitchen, telling how she foiled a would be mugger. her secret: redneck sass. hey, Caryn. you go, girl! ps: that's one sassy picture. by the way, Caryn AND Bob are planning on attending their ten year high school reunion. as they are two very cool, sassy, metropolitan people who hail from west virginia, this event could turn out to be either very funny or scary.
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