think I slipped the net / but I cut myself free
Mmm, Friday I went to The Museum of Television and Radio. Doesn't sound that exciting? Probably cause you're a normal human being. But that place is my personal utopia. When I lived in the Bronx I never managed to get out there but from Lincoln Center it only took like twenty minutes on the subway! Victory! Oh man, I love that place. I wandered around their one little exhibit, learning about Leonard Goldenson (the "gentle giant" of ABC... GOD I love this museum) while watching bits of "Roots." And it was "arsingly" cold outside (as one tea guzzling brit I know likes to say) and I was all warm and contented and learning about how ABC stuck it to the KKK. Then I ambled upstairs to the library database thing; a magical place where they sit you at a computer, have you look up a TV show and, if they have it in their collection, print out a receipt for it before sending you on your merry way. Then you give the receipt to the nice lady who shows you to your viewing console thing and are allowed to bask in the televised delight. I especially like looking around and seeing what other people are watching as I'm being lead through the maze of television booth thingies. Mostly I spot old people reliving the television glory days and realize that I am supremely uncool. Anyway, this time I selected the pilot episode of "The Man From U.N.C.L.E." and my lord but it was brilliant. Not to mention the fact that it had like a fifteen minute subtextual sex scene where the hero and this dame were handcuffed with their hands over their heads, being erotically killed by steam, writhing around all moany and sweaty till the man started rhythmically kicking the pipe they were tied to until it broke and spewed liquid all over them. Then they lay around on the ground basking and I needed a cigarette. After that I caught like the last twenty minutes of this "America's Teenagers: Growing Up On Television" documentary they were showing in one of the screening rooms. There was an inspirational montage of teenage triumphs and then Melissa Joan Heart rhapsodized about the meaning of growing up and all was right with the world.
I left the museum and, because the E train is TOTES confusing and appears to only go one direction, I ended up walking home and knew how to get there all by myself! I was so proud! Oh and on the way back I passed the Museum of Modern Art and saw that they were projecting this movie onto the outside wall and you were allowed to stand in this vacant lot and watch it for free. I ended up staying for like an hour and my thighs were completely numb but oh my god, it was so good and arty and at one point an old man got hit by, and then proceeded to dance on, a taxi cab while some young hooligan played drums on a paint bucket. AWESOME. When I finally left, I managed to maneuver my way over to this Indian restaurant I'd looked up on the web and scored some slightly pricey but ZOMG SO GOOD chicken tikka masala and naan bread. I was also like the only person there so I got to hang out, listen to their cool kid Indian music and watch them make my food. Then I took it home and ate it with extreme and vocal pleasure.
The next day I attempted to work on my transfer applications with minimal success and spent most of the day frequenting Starbucks, eating leftover Indian food and reading Sentinel fic. Good times. Oh and my suit mate Kate threw a party, which was fine cause I was sequestered in my room, but lead to a strange moment when I went out to the kitchen and this random drunk guy was sitting alone in the middle of the room, staring at the floor. And I was like "Um... hi, I'm Gabby. I live here." And he was like "Hi, I'm [I don't actually remember your name sir]... I don't." And then I nodded and went about my business.
Sunday was the usual: much sleeping, some homework, yet more coffee. Oh and Colleen had gone home for the weekend so I played loud music and danced about in a shameful fashion.
Today I nearly came to blows with the guy who was showing us the library website for history class when he dissed the separation of church and state and abortion rights. And I was like "BITCH OH NO YOU DIDN'T!" Only, you know, in a more collegiate manner.
This evening I took the ram van into Rose Hill so I could go to one last Pride meeting and track down my roommate to return the video of her peeing herself (which she left in my VCR) and get my Veronica Mars DVDs back. I didn't actually find my roommate but I did manage to almost give myself a heart attack by wandering around campus and thinking Dave and/or his cronies were around every corner. SO GLAD I transferred. But yeah, ten minutes into my search I was like "Screw this, I'm finding the Pride Alliance office and hanging out with the gays until the meeting starts." So I did just that and the gays were all enraged on my behalf and we talked smack about Fordham for awhile and they told me that everyone on campus has been all abuzz about the article The Paper wrote about what went down. Ryan (el presidente of pride) is actually trying to forward the story to the board of trustees, not to mention the New York Times, the Advocate and some other big name publications. We'll see what happens with that. But yeah, the papers went so fast that I had to get my copy from a gay that had stockpiled them. The front page is a big picture of the campus with bars over it that says "Danger Behind the Gates!" and calls the article "a two page exposé!" Hopefully something will happen because of it, it was really well written and really laid out how ridiculously badly the administration dealt with the whole situation. Reading it though, oh man, that was a far-too-vivid blast from the past. The past meaning like a month ago. But still, I got all weepy and tried to hide it behind the newspaper so Colleen wouldn't think I was violating our implicit "we're not the kind of roommates who share emotions" agreement. Then I listened to moody music and thought broody thoughts for while and that seemed to help.
I really should be sleeping now. Important Sociology and philosophizing to do in the morning. Good night and good luck, you heathens.
I left the museum and, because the E train is TOTES confusing and appears to only go one direction, I ended up walking home and knew how to get there all by myself! I was so proud! Oh and on the way back I passed the Museum of Modern Art and saw that they were projecting this movie onto the outside wall and you were allowed to stand in this vacant lot and watch it for free. I ended up staying for like an hour and my thighs were completely numb but oh my god, it was so good and arty and at one point an old man got hit by, and then proceeded to dance on, a taxi cab while some young hooligan played drums on a paint bucket. AWESOME. When I finally left, I managed to maneuver my way over to this Indian restaurant I'd looked up on the web and scored some slightly pricey but ZOMG SO GOOD chicken tikka masala and naan bread. I was also like the only person there so I got to hang out, listen to their cool kid Indian music and watch them make my food. Then I took it home and ate it with extreme and vocal pleasure.
The next day I attempted to work on my transfer applications with minimal success and spent most of the day frequenting Starbucks, eating leftover Indian food and reading Sentinel fic. Good times. Oh and my suit mate Kate threw a party, which was fine cause I was sequestered in my room, but lead to a strange moment when I went out to the kitchen and this random drunk guy was sitting alone in the middle of the room, staring at the floor. And I was like "Um... hi, I'm Gabby. I live here." And he was like "Hi, I'm [I don't actually remember your name sir]... I don't." And then I nodded and went about my business.
Sunday was the usual: much sleeping, some homework, yet more coffee. Oh and Colleen had gone home for the weekend so I played loud music and danced about in a shameful fashion.
Today I nearly came to blows with the guy who was showing us the library website for history class when he dissed the separation of church and state and abortion rights. And I was like "BITCH OH NO YOU DIDN'T!" Only, you know, in a more collegiate manner.
This evening I took the ram van into Rose Hill so I could go to one last Pride meeting and track down my roommate to return the video of her peeing herself (which she left in my VCR) and get my Veronica Mars DVDs back. I didn't actually find my roommate but I did manage to almost give myself a heart attack by wandering around campus and thinking Dave and/or his cronies were around every corner. SO GLAD I transferred. But yeah, ten minutes into my search I was like "Screw this, I'm finding the Pride Alliance office and hanging out with the gays until the meeting starts." So I did just that and the gays were all enraged on my behalf and we talked smack about Fordham for awhile and they told me that everyone on campus has been all abuzz about the article The Paper wrote about what went down. Ryan (el presidente of pride) is actually trying to forward the story to the board of trustees, not to mention the New York Times, the Advocate and some other big name publications. We'll see what happens with that. But yeah, the papers went so fast that I had to get my copy from a gay that had stockpiled them. The front page is a big picture of the campus with bars over it that says "Danger Behind the Gates!" and calls the article "a two page exposé!" Hopefully something will happen because of it, it was really well written and really laid out how ridiculously badly the administration dealt with the whole situation. Reading it though, oh man, that was a far-too-vivid blast from the past. The past meaning like a month ago. But still, I got all weepy and tried to hide it behind the newspaper so Colleen wouldn't think I was violating our implicit "we're not the kind of roommates who share emotions" agreement. Then I listened to moody music and thought broody thoughts for while and that seemed to help.
I really should be sleeping now. Important Sociology and philosophizing to do in the morning. Good night and good luck, you heathens.