I just saw a mouse run across my bedroom floor.
Better a mouse than a cockroach, I guess.
Please God don't let me get roaches ...
Monday, April 14, 2008
mini-updates and coffee. And an emo rant.
The other night I met my first white cabdriver who, incidentally, also lived in central harlem. He said he was Israeli and that he'd gotten into cabdriving two weeks ago because his friend told him he could make a lot of money, but that so far he hadn't found that to be true.
The landlord yelled at my next-door neighbor for playing his damn music so loud into all hours of the night. Finally a little peace and quiet on that side ... but the church partiers across the street are another story.
Currently I'm reading "Mortified! Real Words, Real People, Real Pathetic." Basically it's a bunch of grown-ups who sent in entries from their teenage diaries, and what results is bloody brilliant because it's so true. When you *are* that age, you think that you are a huge dork and that everyone is judging you and that no one could possibly be as emo as you secretly are, until you grow up and realize that everyone, to some degree, was once a huge emo dork. (In my diary I had a running section on the "7th Grade Soap Opera," where I would give the rundown of who was dating whom that week. And of course it changed every week, sometimes multiple times).
Lately Starbucks has gotten a lot of publicity for their new plan to make coffee that, like, tastes good. which only serves to highlight the point that plain old starbucks coffee is, in fact, absolutely terrible. There are rumors in some circles that it's bad on purpose so customers opt for expensive girly latte drinks instead. I mean, seriously — you have to dump at least three sugars into it just to curb the bitter taste, and the utter futility of adding skim milk to it gives me an excuse to put whole milk in my coffee.
Mind you, the fact that it's terrible doesn't stop me from drinking it. Hell, Starbucks coffee got me through many, many morning college classes and post-obscenely-late-deadline Spectator workdays. I think the bitterness and rocket-fuel consistency give it a kind of placebo effect where it makes me feel a little extra buzzed.
I miss Holiday coffee. On that note, I miss my Holiday gas station and the man who was always behind the counter when I came in at 6:47 a.m. before every single Leader-Telegram shift, without fail, except for the ones where I overslept. (I don't miss working at 7 a.m.) Every time I fry eggs I miss my kitchen on Menomonie Street where the floor was so slanted that both eggs would slide to one side of the pan. I miss making pancakes the morning after a crazy night. I miss dancing in front of the mirror that was in Nikki's room that makes you look skinny. (I don't miss my 7x12 bedroom.) I miss the ho box and redundant water street bars and kicking it with whoever happened to be in our living room at the time. (I do not miss the living room furniture). And I miss Jeff and Jim's. No slice of pizza in this city will ever be Jeff and Jim's.
The landlord yelled at my next-door neighbor for playing his damn music so loud into all hours of the night. Finally a little peace and quiet on that side ... but the church partiers across the street are another story.
Currently I'm reading "Mortified! Real Words, Real People, Real Pathetic." Basically it's a bunch of grown-ups who sent in entries from their teenage diaries, and what results is bloody brilliant because it's so true. When you *are* that age, you think that you are a huge dork and that everyone is judging you and that no one could possibly be as emo as you secretly are, until you grow up and realize that everyone, to some degree, was once a huge emo dork. (In my diary I had a running section on the "7th Grade Soap Opera," where I would give the rundown of who was dating whom that week. And of course it changed every week, sometimes multiple times).
Lately Starbucks has gotten a lot of publicity for their new plan to make coffee that, like, tastes good. which only serves to highlight the point that plain old starbucks coffee is, in fact, absolutely terrible. There are rumors in some circles that it's bad on purpose so customers opt for expensive girly latte drinks instead. I mean, seriously — you have to dump at least three sugars into it just to curb the bitter taste, and the utter futility of adding skim milk to it gives me an excuse to put whole milk in my coffee.
Mind you, the fact that it's terrible doesn't stop me from drinking it. Hell, Starbucks coffee got me through many, many morning college classes and post-obscenely-late-deadline Spectator workdays. I think the bitterness and rocket-fuel consistency give it a kind of placebo effect where it makes me feel a little extra buzzed.
I miss Holiday coffee. On that note, I miss my Holiday gas station and the man who was always behind the counter when I came in at 6:47 a.m. before every single Leader-Telegram shift, without fail, except for the ones where I overslept. (I don't miss working at 7 a.m.) Every time I fry eggs I miss my kitchen on Menomonie Street where the floor was so slanted that both eggs would slide to one side of the pan. I miss making pancakes the morning after a crazy night. I miss dancing in front of the mirror that was in Nikki's room that makes you look skinny. (I don't miss my 7x12 bedroom.) I miss the ho box and redundant water street bars and kicking it with whoever happened to be in our living room at the time. (I do not miss the living room furniture). And I miss Jeff and Jim's. No slice of pizza in this city will ever be Jeff and Jim's.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Hooty hoo!
It's spring in the 'hood ... which means that about half of the locals are no longer in winter coats and hats. I myself walked to the gym in capri pants and a sweatshirt, because I just can't pretend it's cold out anymore.
Also, I need some new music. What are you all listening to?
Monday, April 7, 2008
Look at this picture. What do you see?
This image ran in the paper with a book review on "Bonk: The curious coupling of science and sex." When we picked this story for the Large Print Weekly, the graphics editor didn't get it and vetoed it in favor of a stock photo.
Turned out to be a good call on her part — there was a crap-pile of letters from readers who were completely confused and chemistry nerds who were outraged at the graphic designer's ignorance of the fact that the above is totally implausible as a proper organic molecule.
Oh, and the molecule? If you can't see it (I couldn't at first), it spells a word. With three letters in it.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Midtown Beyond the Clusterfuck
Today I accidentally went to work early. So I walked around midtown and took some random pictures.
Also, I have now caught two different instances, on different desks, in which I have had to call editors after seeing stories ready for print that mistakenly called the National Republican Congressional Committee the RNCC (Not to be confused with the RNC. I swear those republican bastards did that to confuse people). So I'm using my dirty past in service to the big bad liberal media.
Also also, I miss trees.
Also, I have now caught two different instances, on different desks, in which I have had to call editors after seeing stories ready for print that mistakenly called the National Republican Congressional Committee the RNCC (Not to be confused with the RNC. I swear those republican bastards did that to confuse people). So I'm using my dirty past in service to the big bad liberal media.
Also also, I miss trees.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Some random words of wisdom
Sometimes the only sane answer to an insane question is insanity. — Fox Mulder
It's not that I'm weird. It's that everyone else is so damn normal. — Jenny
Keep knocking on doors and eventually one will open. — Someone from salt-n-pepa
Never turn Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd off the radio. — Dad
When you've lost all hope and excuses
From the cheapskates and the losers
Nothing's left to cling onto
You've gotta hold onto yourself. — Green Day
The wrong guys won't hurt you. It's the right ones that are the killers. — Ally McBeal
Thongs are the answer! — A former MHS cheerleader
You know what they say about women and trolley cars - there are plenty of them in the sea. — William Lichter, "Can't Hardly Wait"
If you think you suck, then you are going to suck. — Lynn Schommer
In college you pay to be miserable. In high school it's free. — Sra. Munig
You know what they say about corporate art - it needs to be smashed. — Dave Jacobs
Babies are highly overrated. They're not that cute, and they smell. — Norgon's take on abortion
The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do. — A fortune cookie, on the wall above the copy desk at The Country Today
Never end a story with a fart. — Julian Emerson
All except the last few are from the quote book I just found that I kept in high school. Now all my words of wisdom get posted to facebook, where they are ultimately lost to everyone except the people who archive our profile information for marketing purposes.
It's not that I'm weird. It's that everyone else is so damn normal. — Jenny
Keep knocking on doors and eventually one will open. — Someone from salt-n-pepa
Never turn Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd off the radio. — Dad
When you've lost all hope and excuses
From the cheapskates and the losers
Nothing's left to cling onto
You've gotta hold onto yourself. — Green Day
The wrong guys won't hurt you. It's the right ones that are the killers. — Ally McBeal
Thongs are the answer! — A former MHS cheerleader
You know what they say about women and trolley cars - there are plenty of them in the sea. — William Lichter, "Can't Hardly Wait"
If you think you suck, then you are going to suck. — Lynn Schommer
In college you pay to be miserable. In high school it's free. — Sra. Munig
You know what they say about corporate art - it needs to be smashed. — Dave Jacobs
Babies are highly overrated. They're not that cute, and they smell. — Norgon's take on abortion
The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do. — A fortune cookie, on the wall above the copy desk at The Country Today
Never end a story with a fart. — Julian Emerson
All except the last few are from the quote book I just found that I kept in high school. Now all my words of wisdom get posted to facebook, where they are ultimately lost to everyone except the people who archive our profile information for marketing purposes.
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