05.30.03 - 3:42pm
Gosh, it's nice out today.
The youth of museum and I sat in the sun by the Hudson and ate our lunches. The water looked like a sea of extra-virgin olive oil, murky thick and oily green. A man stood by a bench and serenaded us, singing along with the music from his tape player. In the shade, the weather was perfect.

The red light is blinking on my phone, indicating that I have a message. But I am ignoring it right now. Because I want to blog. And because I want to still feel the happiness of the sunshine, even as it peeps in through my window, through my view of those two looming gray buildings, and between them, that swath of water where the Staten Island ferry docks and sets sail.

I am playing a mix CD of rollerskating music that my sister made for me. I love rollerskating music. This may be odd, as I was never very good at rollerskating. And I was often the social pariah at my those rollerskating parties of my peers. In my fantasy childhood, my fantastic ghostly self is a terrific rollerskater. I skim the rink, turning, grape-vining, jumping up and touching my toes, then landing effortlessly, gliding on in infinite circles. Until pizza.

My real life klutzo-self has never even dared try rollerblades. It just looks like a bad idea. I don't sit on chairs with two legs. Why would I ever skate on shoes with one line of wheels? If I can break my nose in yoga, just think what might befall me on those devil shoes with wheels of fiery death.

05.29.03 - 2:35pm
Ah! I live my life to acquire mass transit stories.
On the train today, I sat next to two mildly tough-looking individuals. They were comparing notes on how often they had to meet with their "counselor".

"Man," said the one with the shaved head. "I gots to check in every other week."

"Man," said the one with the ponytail. "I got to see that lady every freaking week."

"Man," said Shaved Head.

"Man," said Ponytail. "But, man, that lady's HOT. I says to the guards there, 'Man, your supavisor is HOT!' and they says to me, 'Don't be saying shit like that 'round here, else you get in some trouble.'"

Their voices dropped a bit, and they spoke in Spanish. Then Shaved Head cried out, "Tiburón!" and the other fellow laughed. The first fellow put one hand on his torso and rakishly cocked the other one fingers-up against his forehead. "They call me the shark," he said.

"The counselor ask why they call you the shark?"

"I gonna tell her, 'Close the door and find out.'"

"I bet she's a shark," said Ponytail.

"No, no. She can't be a shark. She be a sharkette." He put his hand against his forehead again.

"Yeah. A sharkette. The shark and the sharkette." The two men continued laughing and lapsed back into Spanish.

The 5 train delivers some really great chit-chat.

05.28.03 - 11:25pm
Sometimes I forget how much I hate noisy eaters.
But when I am reminded, I morph into my hulk-like alter ego and lob the offending slurper over several rows of cars.

I was on a crowded bus this morning, and there was a fellow discussing the French language with his kid. It was kind of cute. Then the man suddenly produced a thermos of coffee and commenced slurping. Loudly. My whole body tensed. My blood heated. My face made a grimacy-face look.

On this crowded bus, I was not much in a position to lob this villain over several rows of cars. Instead, I turned to him and showed him my grimacy-face look. When he slurped again, I turned and glared again. Finally he stopped. Or I got off the bus. I can't remember which happened first.

This past weekend with my family was both pleasant and stressful. My cousin's wedding was both nice and a bit draining. The food was both attractive and tasteless. The drinks were both plentiful and free. I was both drunk and drunk.

No, I really was not that drunk. But I did cut a rug. In fact, one of my older relatives said, "Boy! Can you wiggle!" I think this was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. I wish somehow had said that when I was in middle school and attempting the "Roger Rabbit" or the "Kid ‘N Play".

Before the wedding, though, my father, sister, grandmother, Brian, and I all went to visit Uncle Ira in prison. His egg drop soup was confiscated by the guards, for fear he would throw it in our faces, giving us third-degree burns. At first this made Uncle Ira very angry, but then he finally calmed down enough to serenade us with doo wop.

05.23.03 - 3:05pm
Nearly an hour!
I was on the phone with my crazy uncle for nearly an hour last night. An important aspect of being a raving lunatic is to actually "rave". My uncle raves for those who cannot. He screams nonsense into my ear for minutes on end. For nearly an hour!

He screamed at me because he called me at 6 o'clock and then again at 6:20, and I hadn't called him back in the interim (I had arrived home at 6:15). Then he talked about the cold war. Do you know what really started the cold war? Star Trek! Why? I am actually unsure, as my uncle's speech grew slurry with excitement. Then I got to hear about how Rose Kennedy had some hand in it. And then there was something about god and the holy bible, and how god is trying my uncle by putting him in jail. But that's the price of free will. Sometimes you choose right, and sometimes you choose wrong. And even though he's in prison now, he would never give up his free will. Oh, and there was some comparing of his plight to that of Frankie Lyman.

Midway through our phone conversation, the prison experienced a painfully blaring fire drill. My uncle had me hold on for 10 minutes as he lined up with the other crazies for general fire drill protocol.

I had a vision this morning. For a sort of public service announcement. There would be a shot of a crowded subway car, the guy with the weird tattoos, the lady with the stroller, the eye-patch guy, the old woman sleeping on the seat. A voice would state, "One of these people is being harassed loudly and often by a mentally ill family member." Then the camera would close in on me. I would look stoic, but a tear would glisten as it slid down my cheek.

I'm not sure what it would be a public announcement for. Maybe something like, "Only you can prevent crazy people from abusing their prison phone privileges. Only you."

05.22.03 - 2:00pm
No more snake digesting a rat!
I got so depressed about my ill-fitting dress that I ran out last night and bought another ill-fitting dress. But this one is less ill-fitting and slightly more dressy. The ill-fitting-ness is in the general rumple area, and since I can't much see my own rump, I could be wrong. It may actually be more ill-fitting than I think.

I dragged the B man to Century 21 department store to find the dress. He was very unhappy. After, we went to a book launch in the East Village. We assumed we would be offered free booze, as is common at like events. While there were some interesting appetizers being passed around, all booze came courtesy of a cash bar. Phooey!

Brian and I finally returned to our abode, where we watched that old standby Shall We Dance. I had seen it several times before and enjoyed it. But this time I was in a bum mood and I felt the film was pointless and silly and racist. When I am annoyed, everything contributes to my general annoyance.

05.21.03 - 3:35pm
Yesterday was beautiful. Today is very gray.
From my window, the Staten Island ferry appears covered in a thin sheet of mist. Like tissue paper. I am tired. No matter what anyone tells you, a nine our day definitely feels longer than a seven hour day.

I was feeling so hungry earlier, but then an odd thing happened to me. Has this ever happened to you? You are ravenously hungry, and you begin desparately gobbling down your food. But then, all of a sudden, you feel so bored and repulsed by your food that you want to vomit. Is this common? It happens to me often.

I spent a bunch of time following student tours in our museum. It was educational. Then I tried to eat lunch, but got annoyed and bored and nauseated. I feel annoyed and bored and nauseated and tired about everything today. Except about the ferry. I love my enshrouded orange ferry. I think I am experiencing my women's special issues.

05.20.03 - 12:40pm
My office has inherited a singing kung fu hamster toy.
When one presses it's arm, it sings, "Everybody was kung fu fighting. . . . fast as lightening . . . ." Music emanates in a high-pitched hamster voice, and the toy waives its nunchucks and wiggles a bit.

My office mates often indulge in that modern vice known as the kung fu hamster break. We will be working, and all of a sudden one of them will scream, "HAMSTER BREAK!" They jump up and press on the little fellows arm. The we are all expected to get up and sing "Everybody was kung fu fighting. . . . fast as lightening . . . ." while dancing in a way that mimics the movements of the mechanical creature.

I love my new job.

This weekend my parents are coming into town. We are all attending my cousin's wedding, which is a black tie affair. I haven't gotten around to altering a dress which I had intended to wear to the wedding. From the front, it looks like a dour black dress, but from the side, I resemble a snake who has half-digested a rat. But this is family, so I refuse to care that I look like an awful frump.

My uncle has been in a horrendous mood lately. He calls me several times a day to complain that I don't call him enough. Then he tells me he is very angry at his mother. He discovered she is leaving him money in the form of a trust fund. The money is his, his, his, and she has no right to swindle him by putting it all in a trust.

I said I thought he needn't worry. My grandmother is still alive and quite healthy. She may be 85, but she has the will of an ox, and will most likely be kicking for another decade or two. Unless, of course, she should get hit by a bus. Which is highly unlikely.

05.15.03 - 2:20pm
Brian is still on break.
And he will be for another eight million years, until after memorial day when his internship begins. In the meantime, he's been going to the grocery store and the dry cleaner. He has also been making dinner, which is ever so nice.

Now here is something that disturbs me. I will now reveal on-air that I am a consumer of Cottonelle toilet paper. This is mostly because their packaging is green, which connotes freshness and friendliness towards one's environment. My own advertiser's dream consumer toolishness is not what disturbs me, though. It is this latest picture featured on the toilet paper package. Look again, and you will notice a cutie tongue-lolling puppy on the package. WHAT EXACTLY ARE THEY IMPLYING? That their toilet paper is so soft, you'll think your cleaning yourself with a cute cuddly puppy

I understand that Charmin and Angel Soft feature pictures of babies on their packages. I believe they are implying that the toilet tissue is so soft, you might even use it on your new born baby. But would you use a nice soft toilet tissue on your dog? Ever?

What aren't I getting here?

05.14.03 - 2:25pm
Today I am actually working.
Now I am tired. And I still have more work to do. I think it is very stressful to talk to people on the phone and not have answers to any of their questions. I try hard not to make up answers. Because that is a bad thing. I try to sound vaguely intelligent. This is sometimes very difficult.

My office is very nice. It looks out on the East River, or whatever body of water is at the tip of Manhattan. On the east-ish side. I can see a ferry come and go from my window. I can see, in the not too distance, a weird kind of roundish whitish building. It looks like a stubby tampon. Then there is some land in the more distant distance. It is a bit ugly, with jagged little buildings all shoved into its uneven green terrain. Maybe this land mass is Staten Island. I hear Staten Island is not winning any beauty contests. I do not have a very good sense of direction.

Oh. The ferry is back. It is bright orange. I can see bunches of teeny tiny people peeping out like little trouble dolls. People are very funny looking from far away. They look like toys. As do cars. And swimming pools as viewed from an airplane.

I will get back to work now, scheduling my little youth groups. Like so many trouble dolls. Truly, though, I keep having this haunting thought that the students are sticking their old chewing gum on the display cases. Why is that?

05.13.03 - 12:35pm
Shalom from the Museum of Jewish Heritage.
I have not gone underground. I was just in Florida. But now I am in Battery Park. This is my first day, so I must be brief.

So far, everything is going well. I have a new ID. It is snazzy, but makes me appear yellow in hue.

Everyone here is super duper nice. I have not yet met anyone psychotic. I get a real lunch and am allowed (though discouraged) to use their computers for my own special purposes.

I have a desk and a computer and a phone. I share an office with three very pleasant individuals. I still do not have much of an idea what I am supposed to be doing. Hence the blog update.

More to come.

05.07.03 - 3:50pm
Tomorrow is my last day at this job.
It is also the day we leave for our trip to Tampa. The day after we get back (Tuesday), I start life at my new place of employment. I am very nervous and worked up about this.

It's kind of funny. I was sure that this last job had put a hex on me. I couldn't sleep. I would wake a ten times during the night, and be exhausted the next day. But when it was time for me to go to bed, I would be wide awake.

I am not superstitious, but I came to believe that my present job was depositing fitfulness into my soul. Like so many cookies and internet temp files cached in my innermost being (Ah! computer language analogies: they sound as stupid as you thought they would).

About two days after I was offered this new job, all of a sudden, I couldn't wake up. I am sleepy all the time now, and I can fall asleep at a moment's notice. It's like I'm high on Nyquil. It's like I look like this genderless white alien body dozing in a crescent moon. Now, you know that's some serious stuff.

Okay. This is stupid. No one cares. As well they shouldn't. Wish me luck on my trip to Florida, at my new job, and in the deepest cookies of my soul.

05.06.03 - 3:10pm
I just wrote an entry, but somehow managed to erase it all.
Now I cannot locate it, even in my temp files.

I just mentioned stuff about my current job, and a little about Uncle Ira. But I don't feel like writing it over again. I don't even think it was that funny.

Today truly is a gray and sleepy day.

Go out and play with heck's kitchen's funny message making device. Go on n' git!

05.05.03 - 2:35pm
I had a very good time with Amy and Scott in Boston.
Good and uneventful.

The Chinatown Express was just fine. I took the Fung Wah Bus, which picks up in the middle of the street right by the Manhattan Bridge. The bus was crowded, but I sat next to a very charming fellow, and we chatted the whole way up.

Amy and I had a fabulous time loafing and making fun of people. She came with me on Sunday afternoon to Boston's Chinatown to see me off. As we turned the corner, several blocks from the location written on the flyer was a big bus, and a woman who grabbed my flyer and ticket and pushed me aboard. That's when I noticed that everything on the bus said not Fung Wah, but Travel Pack USA. Of course, this made me nervous.

The bus appeared to be going to New York, and they appeared to be charging the same $20 round trip fair, with a bus leaving every hour. So I relaxed. But two hours into our journey, we actually passed the Fung Wah bus. This made me panic anew. At the rest stop, I found a Travel Pack bus schedule at the front of the bus. I showed it to the driver, along with my Fung Wah schedule and Fung Wah ticket stub. I asked him sheepishly, "Is this a problem?" And he just smiled and waived me away, saying "Same thing, same thing."

As you could have guessed, they were not exactly the same thing, and I was dropped off in a rather random part of Chinatown. But I found my way back home, and I survived to reveal the truth to you: There are at least two and possibly more Chinatown express buses running between Boston and New York. And they are all cheap and all probably just fine.

05.02.03 - 2:10pm
I am angry at Uncle Ira
I know it is foolish to fight with him. In fact, most of our conversations consist of him yelling at me about how I don't understand the intricacies of the government conspiracy to keep him imprisoned, and that I am just a naivee government pawn. Contrary to what my uncle would believe, I am not a fool. I usually keep my mouth shut and agree with him. If 36 years of anti-psychotic medication hasn't changed this man's mind, I doubt anything I say will.

I just wrote up a detailed account of my telephone altercation with him, but I realize now that it is intensely boring. The man is crazy. He thinks the world is betraying him. He thinks of only himself. End of story.

I, on the other hand, do not think the world is betraying me. Though I am nursing a headache which I've had since yesterday. The headache is making me feel considerably less charming.

I got the nicest email from kind yogi concerning my yoga scheduling problem (once I begin my new job). She says that she has practiced at the same yoga place as me, and writes:

I'm still trying to figure out how you managed to take out a few people when falling out of headstand. I recall you as a rather petite, slender woman, and no one would describe Christopher H. as petite. I guess I don't know enough physics.