...and that's when the C.H.U.Ds came at me.
New York didn't eat me, completely. It just sort of gnawed on my head a few times, then spat me out. Which I've learned is pretty much the best I can expect from New York; this city just does not like me, and it's gotten kind of mutual, to the point where it has eclipsed Sweden on my Nemesis List. But that's not important. What's important is that I missed getting to say happy birthday to eramundo a few days ago, and that is just Not On.
So, happy birthday, Lunar! A few days late! I am extremely sorry I was too sick to come to your party, but since I have made (so far) three people extremely miserable with my cold, I thought it best to keep my Typhoid Mary self at home. And then there was New York, and basically I think you're pretty much one of the most awesome and competent people ever, and I am totally going to bunker down with you in May, while Twig and Flidget are going nuts with their dollfie-related rituals and mating dances. I hope the year is wonderful to you.
When I was in New York several weeks before, it was to attend Louise's famed Halloween party. Despite the fact New York and I don't really get along, I am totally impressed with the fact children can trick or treat in random stores. I grew up in the suburbs, man. If I knew I could have been traipsing into liquor stores or delis and demanding handfuls of mini candy bars, you can bet I would have been there with bells on.
Despite our low budget decorating, it went off very nicely-- we had a Sarah Palin, Harry Potter, Jesus, Robin Hood, bride of Satan, two frogs, and people who showed up in random headgear, which is almost as good. If you're not going for a full costume, a hat is the next best thing. Everyone except me was a grad student from either the Economics or the Finance departments of Columbia. They talked about smart folk's stuff, and I just tried to follow along without too much of a blank expression.
The last people left around half past one in the morning. Louise told me we should kill the rum, so that is what we spent the rest of the night doing, along with watching the Supernatural Halloween episode on Louise's laptop. I think we went to bed at six in the morning. I can't even remember what we did on Saturday. Slept, mostly.
Sunday was concert day, because Louise had tickets to Panic at the Disco and Dashboard Confessional, over in New Jersey. We took the train over there and stood in line for an hour, feeling increasingly old and crotchety. Man, I have never felt so glad to be done with high school as I did while at that concert. The air was thick with youthful hormones.
The show was ear-shatteringly loud. The opening bands weren't too bad-- The Cab and Plain White Ts, and I have found, much to my chagrin, that I actually kind of like The Cab. I've always kind of steered clear of bandom because much of it seemed, you know batshit insane, and I have enough RPF issues already. But I could make an exception for them, even if they are all jailbait. It was a fun show; they brought people up from the audience and played Rock Band on the big screen in between sets.
The lead singer of The Cab kept confusing me, because he looked like a very tiny, sparkly Elvis impersonator in his white jumpsuit-thingy, and I kept expecting him to sound like either Elvis or British. (And of course, I found out later they're actually from Vegas. And they're all, like, named Alex.) And-- you know what? Alex DeLeon's hair reminds me of Russell Brand, that's what was bothering me. It's why I expect him to sound British. Actually, the more I look at him, the more it's like if Bam Margera and Russell Brand had a baby together.
Panic and Dashboard were both fine. I did not know any of their songs except the radio hits ones! Dashboard and The Cab did a cover of P!nk's "So What" that was actually pretty fun. And Panic covered "Shout!" at the end, except Louise made us leave early so we would not miss the train. (Much to my whining. "This is, like, the only song I even recognize," I said. "Shut up," she said. "Okay," I said. She's always worn the pants in our partnership.)
And then we went back, got about three hours of sleep, and took the train back to DC together.
The next trip was a last-minute thing. I got the call that I was going on Saturday night. I left for New York at 4:45 in the morning on Sunday, had a thirty minute stop for gas and breakfast, and still made it there by 8:45, which is the fastest I've ever gotten there via car. Was let into the New York Academy of Medicine by a security guard who was either very stoned, or just not a morning person at all, possibly both.
I spent the morning hauling crates full of delicate electronic equipment around. Only dropped two of them. That's what they get for not sending a rep. Basically spent the rest of the day doing busywork and setting up for the symposium, and waiting around for the various reps from the different companies to show up and set up their equipment. When the guys from Siemens and Philips declined to show, I eventually had to set their workstations up for them, which could have gone horribly wrong, but no one complained afterwards, so I assume most of the wires were jammed in the right sockets.
The room we were using from the New York Academy of Medicine has this decorating scheme that I can only describe as "creepy as fuck." There were all these Vesalius anatomy drawings hung everywhere. Don't get me wrong, I am all for anatomic accuracy. But spending hour after hour staring at these guys and their horribly uncomfortable expressions (posed against bucolic settings!) starts to make one twitchy after a bit.
Afterwards, went home via train. I did get to have a Good Samaritan moment at Penn Station, and help some guy from Philadelphia figure out his ticket. (Louise will laugh at me, because she knows that normally I can't navigate my way out of a paper bag.) Flush with success over not only figuring out where I was supposed to be, but also where a complete stranger was supposed to be, I settled down on a prime bit of floor space against a pillar in order to eat my leftover lunch for dinner, only to choke heavily when the same guy popped out from behind the pillar.
"Are you of age?" he asked.
"Uh," I said, mouth jammed full of sandwich and trying to decide if my hand sanitizer spray could double as mace.
"I'll buy you a beer if you'll tell me where my gate is."
So, you know, I had to go through a lengthy thought process.
First thought: Hooray, people are paying attention to Zoidberg!
Second thought: Okay, so the most recent Law and Order SVU Episode was all about how this chick has a drink with a guy in an airport lounge and he drugs her drink with scary South American will-draining roofies, and then takes her back to his apartment and violently rapes her, and he films the whole thing, and the special drugs mean she has no memory of it, and there's a long messy trial, and at some point in the episode, a guy has sex with a dolphin. Am I gearing up to be the victim found in Central Park by the opening throwaway characters right before the credits and the DUN-DUN sound effect roll on?
Third thought: Free alcohol.
Conclusion: "Beer me, dude!"
So, we talked politics and drank overpriced beer, shook hands, and then I went home and slept for twelve hours. I also sat next to a Pentecostal high school student, who spent much of the train ride telling me about how God had healed her migraine headaches at a revival meeting, but that's kind of a different story.
Anyway. I started listing everything I need to do, both online and meatworld, but that just looks-- uh, overwhelming. So, what I'm going to do is post my stupidly late ficathon piece, work on finding an apartment, and continue one at a time from there.
Still dying of plague. Send Mucinex. I think CVS thinks I am making a meth lab; I am pretty sure they won't sell me any more pseudoephedrine.
So, happy birthday, Lunar! A few days late! I am extremely sorry I was too sick to come to your party, but since I have made (so far) three people extremely miserable with my cold, I thought it best to keep my Typhoid Mary self at home. And then there was New York, and basically I think you're pretty much one of the most awesome and competent people ever, and I am totally going to bunker down with you in May, while Twig and Flidget are going nuts with their dollfie-related rituals and mating dances. I hope the year is wonderful to you.
When I was in New York several weeks before, it was to attend Louise's famed Halloween party. Despite the fact New York and I don't really get along, I am totally impressed with the fact children can trick or treat in random stores. I grew up in the suburbs, man. If I knew I could have been traipsing into liquor stores or delis and demanding handfuls of mini candy bars, you can bet I would have been there with bells on.
Despite our low budget decorating, it went off very nicely-- we had a Sarah Palin, Harry Potter, Jesus, Robin Hood, bride of Satan, two frogs, and people who showed up in random headgear, which is almost as good. If you're not going for a full costume, a hat is the next best thing. Everyone except me was a grad student from either the Economics or the Finance departments of Columbia. They talked about smart folk's stuff, and I just tried to follow along without too much of a blank expression.
The last people left around half past one in the morning. Louise told me we should kill the rum, so that is what we spent the rest of the night doing, along with watching the Supernatural Halloween episode on Louise's laptop. I think we went to bed at six in the morning. I can't even remember what we did on Saturday. Slept, mostly.
Sunday was concert day, because Louise had tickets to Panic at the Disco and Dashboard Confessional, over in New Jersey. We took the train over there and stood in line for an hour, feeling increasingly old and crotchety. Man, I have never felt so glad to be done with high school as I did while at that concert. The air was thick with youthful hormones.
The show was ear-shatteringly loud. The opening bands weren't too bad-- The Cab and Plain White Ts, and I have found, much to my chagrin, that I actually kind of like The Cab. I've always kind of steered clear of bandom because much of it seemed, you know batshit insane, and I have enough RPF issues already. But I could make an exception for them, even if they are all jailbait. It was a fun show; they brought people up from the audience and played Rock Band on the big screen in between sets.
The lead singer of The Cab kept confusing me, because he looked like a very tiny, sparkly Elvis impersonator in his white jumpsuit-thingy, and I kept expecting him to sound like either Elvis or British. (And of course, I found out later they're actually from Vegas. And they're all, like, named Alex.) And-- you know what? Alex DeLeon's hair reminds me of Russell Brand, that's what was bothering me. It's why I expect him to sound British. Actually, the more I look at him, the more it's like if Bam Margera and Russell Brand had a baby together.
Panic and Dashboard were both fine. I did not know any of their songs except the radio hits ones! Dashboard and The Cab did a cover of P!nk's "So What" that was actually pretty fun. And Panic covered "Shout!" at the end, except Louise made us leave early so we would not miss the train. (Much to my whining. "This is, like, the only song I even recognize," I said. "Shut up," she said. "Okay," I said. She's always worn the pants in our partnership.)
And then we went back, got about three hours of sleep, and took the train back to DC together.
The next trip was a last-minute thing. I got the call that I was going on Saturday night. I left for New York at 4:45 in the morning on Sunday, had a thirty minute stop for gas and breakfast, and still made it there by 8:45, which is the fastest I've ever gotten there via car. Was let into the New York Academy of Medicine by a security guard who was either very stoned, or just not a morning person at all, possibly both.
I spent the morning hauling crates full of delicate electronic equipment around. Only dropped two of them. That's what they get for not sending a rep. Basically spent the rest of the day doing busywork and setting up for the symposium, and waiting around for the various reps from the different companies to show up and set up their equipment. When the guys from Siemens and Philips declined to show, I eventually had to set their workstations up for them, which could have gone horribly wrong, but no one complained afterwards, so I assume most of the wires were jammed in the right sockets.
The room we were using from the New York Academy of Medicine has this decorating scheme that I can only describe as "creepy as fuck." There were all these Vesalius anatomy drawings hung everywhere. Don't get me wrong, I am all for anatomic accuracy. But spending hour after hour staring at these guys and their horribly uncomfortable expressions (posed against bucolic settings!) starts to make one twitchy after a bit.
Afterwards, went home via train. I did get to have a Good Samaritan moment at Penn Station, and help some guy from Philadelphia figure out his ticket. (Louise will laugh at me, because she knows that normally I can't navigate my way out of a paper bag.) Flush with success over not only figuring out where I was supposed to be, but also where a complete stranger was supposed to be, I settled down on a prime bit of floor space against a pillar in order to eat my leftover lunch for dinner, only to choke heavily when the same guy popped out from behind the pillar.
"Are you of age?" he asked.
"Uh," I said, mouth jammed full of sandwich and trying to decide if my hand sanitizer spray could double as mace.
"I'll buy you a beer if you'll tell me where my gate is."
So, you know, I had to go through a lengthy thought process.
First thought: Hooray, people are paying attention to Zoidberg!
Second thought: Okay, so the most recent Law and Order SVU Episode was all about how this chick has a drink with a guy in an airport lounge and he drugs her drink with scary South American will-draining roofies, and then takes her back to his apartment and violently rapes her, and he films the whole thing, and the special drugs mean she has no memory of it, and there's a long messy trial, and at some point in the episode, a guy has sex with a dolphin. Am I gearing up to be the victim found in Central Park by the opening throwaway characters right before the credits and the DUN-DUN sound effect roll on?
Third thought: Free alcohol.
Conclusion: "Beer me, dude!"
So, we talked politics and drank overpriced beer, shook hands, and then I went home and slept for twelve hours. I also sat next to a Pentecostal high school student, who spent much of the train ride telling me about how God had healed her migraine headaches at a revival meeting, but that's kind of a different story.
Anyway. I started listing everything I need to do, both online and meatworld, but that just looks-- uh, overwhelming. So, what I'm going to do is post my stupidly late ficathon piece, work on finding an apartment, and continue one at a time from there.
Still dying of plague. Send Mucinex. I think CVS thinks I am making a meth lab; I am pretty sure they won't sell me any more pseudoephedrine.