Tuesday, July 22

Because I Am 5

There isn't any part of me that's mature enough to handle even the possibility of NYC having a Mayor Weiner.

Wednesday, July 16

Tomorrow I could see Mamma Mia or Dark Knight at a midnight showing. Whichever should I choose?

Monday, July 14

May I Suggest an Improvement?

Don't we all agree that the world would be a better place if all cameras used the same type of memory card? I just can't see the logic for needing a different card just because I switched from Casio to Sony. Except for the memory-card-makers. I can totally see the logic for them.

My other technical suggestion is that there should just be a place on the computer where I could shove in the memory card. Kind of like a floppy disk ('member those?) only wee and tiny. The cord seem unnecessary, and also are inevitably left behind at hotels. Again, great news for the cord makers; bad news for Madeleine.

This post marks the official moment when I became Andy Rooney. Next I will be complaining about the senseless cotton that's stuffed into pill bottles and talking about kids these days.
If or when I am ever feeling down or disappointed at work, it helps to get on the elevator.

My office is on the second floor, but the stairs are locked (for fire safety? it confuses me) so I get to ride with the uber-corporate people who work for a different company, on a different floor. I work in editorial. At an internet company. So I'm generally only a smidge away from wearing pajamas.

People from other floors, though, have shiny shoes. Nearly reflective. On days when they're not wearing a suit, they're wearing business casual. They're often talking about meetings, thumbing their blackberries, and groaning about how late they are on their boring sounding project, involving lots of Excel and culminating in a deck shown at a meeting. Today, the men of the elevator were talking about golfing, and their lives, and seriously: I was in a bad mood when I got on that ride, but when I got out to go for my lunchtime walk, I felt 50% better about my life. Maybe even higher.

Sunday, July 13

...nothing touched me as much as the arrival in September 1981 of Sandra Day O’Connor.... The first time I looked up from the press section and saw a woman sitting on the bench, I was thrilled in a way I would never have predicted. Her presence invaded my subconscious. I had recurring dreams about her. In one, she asked me my opinion on a pending case (something no justice ever did in real life). But mostly, she just had walk-on roles in ordinary nighttime dramas, her presence signifying what it meant to me to know that there was no longer a position in the legal profession that a woman could not aspire to.
~Linda Greenhouse (I'm sad she took the buyout)

Friday, July 11

If At First You Don't Succeed

...the city is creating a public esplanade along a portion of one of its most prominent streets, Broadway in Midtown, setting aside the east side of the roadway for a bicycle lane and a pedestrian walkway with cafe tables, chairs, umbrellas and flower-filled planters.
If you're Mayor Bloomberg, you just try again. Nicely done.

Tuesday, July 8

The best part about the FAQs on Bravo's website is the lead-off question: Why has Bravo stopped airing Columbo? Ha. I picture thousand of plaintive viewers emailing them that question daily.


PS: There would have been a screenshot of the faq page, but I had technical difficulties. Sigh. It's a hard world for a lazy blogger.

What I'm Reading

I've hit a reading sweet spot recently, after a long stretch of nothing but dull & tedious books. Every book I pick up lately feels new, revolutionary, relevant to my life, and beautiful. It's pretty damn satisfying, as you might imagine. So let me pass along some recommendations to you:

1. Dawn Powell. This doesn't happen often, but I'm ready to just call her a favorite author, based on having read just one of her books, Angels on Toast. I wanted to show you a snippet of what makes the book so pitch perfect, from the dialog, to the characterization, to the situations, to the period era details. (I'll assume those are correct.) Flipping through random pages of the book, looking for a good chunk to show you, I found myself rereading instead of selecting a blurb. Here's one:
The Olivers started their fight at a brisk tempo at four-thirty--the hour when Flo had summoned Jay to Marshall Field's for ominous reasons--but by six-thirty they were running out of material and on the ride to the Donovans it looked as if there would be no photofinish at all, merely whimpers and "Oh, is that so?"s, and "That's what you thinks!"s, and "Oh, for crying out loud!"s. As the Donovan house hove into view there was one brief moment of complete rapport when both Olivers joined in a vast rage at the Donovans and a mutual silent vow to get stinking as fast as possible.
2. Linda's new (first) blog. If you know Linda, this blog is just what you might expect: funny, quirky, weird, obsessive, and with great taste in music. If you don't know Linda, please enjoy the near-knowing that is reading her words.

3. Other books I am currently reading / have just finished: Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth. (Did you hear that she was just flat out given a prize for best short story collection of the year without even a pretense of a short-list? The prize committee was either overwhelmed with the wonderful, or didn't feel like reading shorts on the beach.)

BUtterfield 8 (John O'Hara): also amazing. I'm trying to read as slowly as possible. Whenever I read things that take place during prohibition, I get nervous that if I'd lived back then, I wouldn't be let into any of the secret speakeasies for drinking. I picture myself wandering the city, peering in random windows, uttering random words in the hopes that they were the secret password. Let's all take a moment to be grateful to easily accessible dive bars.

Sunday, July 6

Weekend Realizations AKA I Have Given Up and Now Write Only Listicles

  1. I am 27 years old and sleep on a futon. I really like sleeping on my futon, but still, that first sentence reeks of failure, doesn't it?


  2. It's been over six months since I've eaten meat. (The sea world is still not safe from me.) Your burger meat officially looks gross to me, both raw and cooked. To be honest, it looked gross even when I was eating the meats.


  3. B & H has some of the nicest, most helpful salespeople that I've ever met. No one seemed to care that I asked billions of questions, and then didn't buy anything due to painful indecisiveness. I'm going to switch my former fervent endorsements for J & R over to B & H.


  4. My body now thinks that "time to wake up" = 5AM. Thank you very much; what other new betrayals will year # 27 bring?


  5. I'm thinking of changing the font on my blog -- suggestions?

Wednesday, July 2

Top 3 Reasons I Can't Be a Shoe Saleswoman

Don't know what to be when you grow up? Flip that and reverse it, cause it's way easier to think of things you can't be when you grow up. Another potential profession knocked off the list -- here are the top three reason I can't be a shoe salesperson when I grow up:
  1. I hate feet.
  2. Club music makes me all weird and twitchy (and not even rhythmically twitchy).
  3. I am a terrible recognizer. True story: I once didn't recognize the first person I made out with in college. Years later, we became friends, and he told me he'd spent at least 25 minutes wondering if he'd done something horrific to piss me off & make me ignore him on campus. Nope. Just had no clue who he was, or that we'd ever canoodled.

I Don't Mean to Call You A Liar

I simply do not believe that the people on this commercial are real New Yorkers. Especially the woman who is so overcome with shock that she covers her face and davens.




Related: Other pizza places I'm in a fight with, also for NY-related reasons.