"Please allow me to introduce myself...."
I know I really need to shake off this current mood of apathy towards damn near everything. There is stuff I need to do, like look into future jobs for myself, research more grad schools, figure out where the hell I’m gonna be at the end of July (wait, didn’t I already do this a couple of times, fucking hell), etc, etc. That stuff is usually not exactly uplifting, so I understand my desire to avoid it. On the other hand, I really need to get back to the things that interest me. There are books that clamor to be read; further avenues of irrelevant research to be done for my personal amusement; emails to be sent out to people I’ve lost contact with; practice on the piano, no matter how silly the exercises may be; and more. Hear that brain? These things are FUN, you like them, stop being so damn lethargic about it.
On the bright side of life, there have been quite a few amusing events recently.
I am on the unofficial thesis committee type-thing of my best bud. And his undergrad thesis is on a book I’ve loved ever since I was a kid, The Master and Margarita. I’ve inherited a penchant for crazy Russian literature from my parents, what can I say. And come on, a story about what happens when the devil comes to Moscow, finds out that everyone’s an atheist now, and decides to show them what the supernatural really is…what’s not to love? There’s a 6 foot cat running around with a primus stove, for christ’s sake. Anyway, re-reading that book for the umpteenth time and helping him out with the outline and thesis has actually been a surprising highlight.
In other news, there is a very gay man in my office. Well that’s nothing too surprising, there’s also a woman who looks and acts like a vulture, one who is a zombie, and many, many fat women stuck in the 1980s. Anyway, he (VGM) is everything you see in the usual stereotype on television: lisp, flailing gestures, butt swish, ad infinitum. Well, turns out this man is a lover of my native city. I find this out when another woman in the office is asking him questions about NYC, and he is giving her some correct information, but mainly gushing and gushing. So I walk by, lean against the door, and basically say with my usual smirk, “I’m from there, whaddya want to know?” I would gladly have helped her with any questions she had to the best of my ability, but whenever she asked a question, VGM decided he had to jump in and answer it first, meanwhile looking at me and nodding his head, as if expecting my support. So I just cross my arms, continue to learn against the door, and quirk up an eyebrow…this should be amusing. Now, there is absolutely no reason that this man should know everything about the city, and had he presented himself in any other way, I would have been less keen to laugh at everything he said. Here are some tidbits:
o “Where do you live,” he asked me. “20th street, by the FDR drive,” I say. “oh, oh, that’s like by 5th avenue,” he says to me. Me: “…uh…no actually I’m about as far east as you can get on the island.” Him: “right, of course, I knew that.”
o “well there’s no reason ever to go up above the 80s,” he says. “I mean Harlem isn’t dangerous anymore…that’s right above the 80’s right?” he asks me. Gee, I thought to myself, I gotta tell all the rich people on either side of Central Park they actually live in Harlem now. No reason to go above the 80s my tuckus…
o The woman’s daughter was planning on taking a trip to the city, so she was asking about transportation, you know, planes, trains and automobiles. Well this is what VGM had to share “Oh yes, the airports are like right there. I mean, there’s a train or monorail thing that takes you right to LaGuardia isn’t there?” He says this while nodding at me, once again. I kinda just smile and say “Really?” Now…the only way you get to a train from LaGuardia is via bus, if you’re lucky enough to get a bus. This is QUEENS, remember?
It continued on and on for about 15 minutes. Sadly I don’t remember much of the rest, but I do know that after about 10 minutes of standing there, they both turn to me and VGM asks “So were you there on 9/11?” Now, I’m used to this, after years of being asked it, no matter what fucking country I’m in. But the thing is, when I reply “Yeah, I was at school, you could see it from some windows,” their fucking eyes lit up and they started chattering like that was the most interesting thing they’d heard. I was standing there, more than a whit disgusted, and then more questions came “Oooh, were you scared?” “I would have been SOO scared…” And the like. At that point, I said my phone was ringing, and I left. Since then, VGM has been friendly towards me, but I return it with normal New York snark.
And speaking of NYC, I just came back from a trip home. It was much needed relaxation and unwinding, although travelling to and from there has become such a fucking pain. I swear, it makes me with that a)I had a car and that b)I could drive. I’d gladly fork over the gas money rather than spend 9 hours of a bus or x number of hours going to and from airports. ANYWAY, it was great being home. Sitting there and talking with my parents for hours about damn near everything in my life, their lives, and the world makes me realize more than ever why I am the way I am, which I struggle with sometimes when I come up against the normal Pennsyltucky attitude. As my dad said, dying of laughter from something I said, “Jesus kid, you’re such a snobby New Yorker.” I struck a pose, preened for a minute, and asked “Is that a bad thing?” And no, as we then discussed, it isn’t. It just means that I expect more of people and of myself than normal people do. I can’t understand people who don’t try to improve their lives when all they do is complain. Or the people who are happy with the incredibly small, inclusive world they create around themselves in suburbia. There’s got to be more to life than working a boring job just so you can buy really big and expensive things. There just has to be. There is a big fucking world out there guys, why not try and understand it, or at least explore it a little? And for months I’ve had to deal with people like this, who observe me like I should be under a microscope or behind glass on exhibit. Their small mindedness limits my ability to handle them, and they have no friggin clue what to do with me. Thankfully my parents showed me, once again, that being a snobby New Yorker and a member of the intelligentsia isn’t a bad thing. It’s better than the alternative, that’s for damn sure. I love my parents. I hope one day that I know as much as they do and have experienced even a quarter of all the stuff they’ve done.
I think that’s about it for now. Ha, if you’ve managed to make it this far down the entry, I congratulate you.
Be seeing you.
On the bright side of life, there have been quite a few amusing events recently.
I am on the unofficial thesis committee type-thing of my best bud. And his undergrad thesis is on a book I’ve loved ever since I was a kid, The Master and Margarita. I’ve inherited a penchant for crazy Russian literature from my parents, what can I say. And come on, a story about what happens when the devil comes to Moscow, finds out that everyone’s an atheist now, and decides to show them what the supernatural really is…what’s not to love? There’s a 6 foot cat running around with a primus stove, for christ’s sake. Anyway, re-reading that book for the umpteenth time and helping him out with the outline and thesis has actually been a surprising highlight.
In other news, there is a very gay man in my office. Well that’s nothing too surprising, there’s also a woman who looks and acts like a vulture, one who is a zombie, and many, many fat women stuck in the 1980s. Anyway, he (VGM) is everything you see in the usual stereotype on television: lisp, flailing gestures, butt swish, ad infinitum. Well, turns out this man is a lover of my native city. I find this out when another woman in the office is asking him questions about NYC, and he is giving her some correct information, but mainly gushing and gushing. So I walk by, lean against the door, and basically say with my usual smirk, “I’m from there, whaddya want to know?” I would gladly have helped her with any questions she had to the best of my ability, but whenever she asked a question, VGM decided he had to jump in and answer it first, meanwhile looking at me and nodding his head, as if expecting my support. So I just cross my arms, continue to learn against the door, and quirk up an eyebrow…this should be amusing. Now, there is absolutely no reason that this man should know everything about the city, and had he presented himself in any other way, I would have been less keen to laugh at everything he said. Here are some tidbits:
o “Where do you live,” he asked me. “20th street, by the FDR drive,” I say. “oh, oh, that’s like by 5th avenue,” he says to me. Me: “…uh…no actually I’m about as far east as you can get on the island.” Him: “right, of course, I knew that.”
o “well there’s no reason ever to go up above the 80s,” he says. “I mean Harlem isn’t dangerous anymore…that’s right above the 80’s right?” he asks me. Gee, I thought to myself, I gotta tell all the rich people on either side of Central Park they actually live in Harlem now. No reason to go above the 80s my tuckus…
o The woman’s daughter was planning on taking a trip to the city, so she was asking about transportation, you know, planes, trains and automobiles. Well this is what VGM had to share “Oh yes, the airports are like right there. I mean, there’s a train or monorail thing that takes you right to LaGuardia isn’t there?” He says this while nodding at me, once again. I kinda just smile and say “Really?” Now…the only way you get to a train from LaGuardia is via bus, if you’re lucky enough to get a bus. This is QUEENS, remember?
It continued on and on for about 15 minutes. Sadly I don’t remember much of the rest, but I do know that after about 10 minutes of standing there, they both turn to me and VGM asks “So were you there on 9/11?” Now, I’m used to this, after years of being asked it, no matter what fucking country I’m in. But the thing is, when I reply “Yeah, I was at school, you could see it from some windows,” their fucking eyes lit up and they started chattering like that was the most interesting thing they’d heard. I was standing there, more than a whit disgusted, and then more questions came “Oooh, were you scared?” “I would have been SOO scared…” And the like. At that point, I said my phone was ringing, and I left. Since then, VGM has been friendly towards me, but I return it with normal New York snark.
And speaking of NYC, I just came back from a trip home. It was much needed relaxation and unwinding, although travelling to and from there has become such a fucking pain. I swear, it makes me with that a)I had a car and that b)I could drive. I’d gladly fork over the gas money rather than spend 9 hours of a bus or x number of hours going to and from airports. ANYWAY, it was great being home. Sitting there and talking with my parents for hours about damn near everything in my life, their lives, and the world makes me realize more than ever why I am the way I am, which I struggle with sometimes when I come up against the normal Pennsyltucky attitude. As my dad said, dying of laughter from something I said, “Jesus kid, you’re such a snobby New Yorker.” I struck a pose, preened for a minute, and asked “Is that a bad thing?” And no, as we then discussed, it isn’t. It just means that I expect more of people and of myself than normal people do. I can’t understand people who don’t try to improve their lives when all they do is complain. Or the people who are happy with the incredibly small, inclusive world they create around themselves in suburbia. There’s got to be more to life than working a boring job just so you can buy really big and expensive things. There just has to be. There is a big fucking world out there guys, why not try and understand it, or at least explore it a little? And for months I’ve had to deal with people like this, who observe me like I should be under a microscope or behind glass on exhibit. Their small mindedness limits my ability to handle them, and they have no friggin clue what to do with me. Thankfully my parents showed me, once again, that being a snobby New Yorker and a member of the intelligentsia isn’t a bad thing. It’s better than the alternative, that’s for damn sure. I love my parents. I hope one day that I know as much as they do and have experienced even a quarter of all the stuff they’ve done.
I think that’s about it for now. Ha, if you’ve managed to make it this far down the entry, I congratulate you.
Be seeing you.