Eighteen sugars. That is what I counted as the stranger behind my little Starbucks table, as he shook packet after packet of raw sugars, dumping them all into his Tall cup of coffee.
There is no reason any human needs that much sugar. And after shaking loud packet after packet into that cup (must have totalled more than a cup total), he then attacked the creamer.
He spent over five minute preparing this one beverage, making me wonder, why not just order a fancier drink that comes pre-filled with sugar and fat? Is he trying to save a few cents here? Or just trying to annoy people who work from cofffee shops like me by shaking packets next to my ear?
I'm guessing he had a dinner-sized amount of calories in that one little cup.
Let me tell you, these raw sugar packets are loud. Go shake your sugar somewhere else, buddy.
Okay, next. The other day, I had to venture into a bad part of Brooklyn. A really bad part.
On the way back (and it took over an hour) I sighed when I finally saw the "to manhattan" sign in the station and didn't breathe a sigh of relief until I saw those annoying little dogs that mean I'm back to a safety.
I overheard a very cute guy's conversation -- as I wondered if he was single -- and by the end, decided I would never, ever go out with him, even if he talked to me. Despite his cuteness, I would run away.
1) His thighs have not been hurting, but they've almost been hurting. What does that mean?
2) He thinks he may have restless leg syndrome because his legs almost hurt.
3) The restless leg is probably due to stress -- since the chick he was dating stopped calling him back, right after he decided such and such (a decision she did not know about).
4) His X-Box ate his one and only X-Box game.
5) This guy is a (fill in the blank here with your favorite word).
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Sometimes the office does bad things to people
So you know those little things you type in when you enter a password that look like a preschooler scribbled some letters? Well they're getting harder. At first, they were words like "cat" and the "a" was maybe a bit fuzzy. Now they are like "GARGANTUINPRINCIPLEDCAT." And the letters sprawl across the screen like they were drawn by Picasso. Is this art? Or just a way to ensure I don't get too cocky about my ability to spell? Either way it takes me about three tries to get it right. I could have sworn that was an "2" not a "7."
Also, it seems here, like anywhere, people enjoy breaking out clothing that is slightly inappropriate for the weather. It will be about 85 degrees with a breeze and half the people are wearing sweaters! Come on. Cardigans galore. Layered looks. OK, OK...I know we all bought some awesome stuff on clearance right before the season changed, but aren't you sweating in all of those stylish layers there?
This little boy in central park was trying to drink from his sippy cup. His mom laughs and says "you can't drink it like that! It's closed silly!" The boy continues to throw his head back trying to drink....again, and again. Then he took a few steps and fell. Let's just hope he was having a bad day, because in kid world walking and drinking from the sippy cup is all the child needs to do. I think part of my mean little reaction was that I was jealous of his stroller after walking for hours and hours. If someone would just push me...
Also in Central Park, a little toddler kid whose parents were walking him like a dog. There was no leash, but the same general feel. "Over here, over here!" They absent-mindely called after the maybe 1 year old? They continued discussing their weekend plans as he toddered towards the busy street. They didn't chase after him like "omg our child is going to die." Instead they meandered in their khaki pants, as if the dog would know to stay out of the street. Luckily the child was okay.
Then on the train, a businessperson couple. She says "taking this train saves me two minutes." He says, "It saves you 10. We've discussed this before." "No," she says, shaking her head calmly.
What argument is that? Seriously! Have they analyzed their transportation to that extent, and perhaps prepared conflicting power point presentations? Do they really time their activities? I can see them graphing this out once they get home to prove their point. Sometimes the office does bad things to people.
One homeless guy asked if he could crawl into my duffle bag and I could take him home. My first thought was maybe I should have purchased the smaller bag for soccer. My second though was, I'd better move quickly just in case. My third, wow, I've really adjusted to this city. How sad.
I've never been one of those people who can lose a candy bar in a drawer. I have never said "Oh look! I had a candy bar stuck away in here. I completely forgot I had that." Never. I have perfect memory for where any item of candy is, and that piece of candy doesn't remain there long. A few hours max. Well today I found something. A remnant of brownie in a Starbucks bag hidden in the inner pocket of my purse (put there to protect it from NY grime stuff like the subway). Today I happened upon it and though...wow! I'm one of those people now. Yeah me! But then, instead of say, hiding it away in a drawer, I of course ate it. Even better a bit melty.
Also, it seems here, like anywhere, people enjoy breaking out clothing that is slightly inappropriate for the weather. It will be about 85 degrees with a breeze and half the people are wearing sweaters! Come on. Cardigans galore. Layered looks. OK, OK...I know we all bought some awesome stuff on clearance right before the season changed, but aren't you sweating in all of those stylish layers there?
This little boy in central park was trying to drink from his sippy cup. His mom laughs and says "you can't drink it like that! It's closed silly!" The boy continues to throw his head back trying to drink....again, and again. Then he took a few steps and fell. Let's just hope he was having a bad day, because in kid world walking and drinking from the sippy cup is all the child needs to do. I think part of my mean little reaction was that I was jealous of his stroller after walking for hours and hours. If someone would just push me...
Also in Central Park, a little toddler kid whose parents were walking him like a dog. There was no leash, but the same general feel. "Over here, over here!" They absent-mindely called after the maybe 1 year old? They continued discussing their weekend plans as he toddered towards the busy street. They didn't chase after him like "omg our child is going to die." Instead they meandered in their khaki pants, as if the dog would know to stay out of the street. Luckily the child was okay.
Then on the train, a businessperson couple. She says "taking this train saves me two minutes." He says, "It saves you 10. We've discussed this before." "No," she says, shaking her head calmly.
What argument is that? Seriously! Have they analyzed their transportation to that extent, and perhaps prepared conflicting power point presentations? Do they really time their activities? I can see them graphing this out once they get home to prove their point. Sometimes the office does bad things to people.
One homeless guy asked if he could crawl into my duffle bag and I could take him home. My first thought was maybe I should have purchased the smaller bag for soccer. My second though was, I'd better move quickly just in case. My third, wow, I've really adjusted to this city. How sad.
I've never been one of those people who can lose a candy bar in a drawer. I have never said "Oh look! I had a candy bar stuck away in here. I completely forgot I had that." Never. I have perfect memory for where any item of candy is, and that piece of candy doesn't remain there long. A few hours max. Well today I found something. A remnant of brownie in a Starbucks bag hidden in the inner pocket of my purse (put there to protect it from NY grime stuff like the subway). Today I happened upon it and though...wow! I'm one of those people now. Yeah me! But then, instead of say, hiding it away in a drawer, I of course ate it. Even better a bit melty.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Overheard
I was leaving the bathroom at the Barnes and Noble in the Time Warner building at Columbus Circle, when a middle-aged woman walked in on her cell phone.
"Really? So he was into S&M!?" she says, laughing.
"Oh! so it was just S, no M." She casually says.
I pretend to not hear. She looks completely conservative and older and I wonder if she has watched too many episodes of Sex and The City and thinks its cool to talk about such things?
"Well I'm in the bathroom, so we should probably finish this call later."
I guess that's not quite as weird as the guy I over heard at an East Village hipster-ish cafe called Cafe Pick Me Up. He ran into a girl he knew and after lots of gushy kisses on both cheeks, he sat down and solemnly said that things weren't going well with the GF.
"All of her sexy "dress up" lingerie looks like something my mother would wear -- you know, bright green with little pink accents, or way too frilly."
"Yeah, yeah yeah, I see what you mean," the girl said empathetically.
I'm sitting head-turned slightly to the side like a confused dog wondering how this guy knows so much about his mother, but some questions are best left unanswered.
"Really? So he was into S&M!?" she says, laughing.
"Oh! so it was just S, no M." She casually says.
I pretend to not hear. She looks completely conservative and older and I wonder if she has watched too many episodes of Sex and The City and thinks its cool to talk about such things?
"Well I'm in the bathroom, so we should probably finish this call later."
I guess that's not quite as weird as the guy I over heard at an East Village hipster-ish cafe called Cafe Pick Me Up. He ran into a girl he knew and after lots of gushy kisses on both cheeks, he sat down and solemnly said that things weren't going well with the GF.
"All of her sexy "dress up" lingerie looks like something my mother would wear -- you know, bright green with little pink accents, or way too frilly."
"Yeah, yeah yeah, I see what you mean," the girl said empathetically.
I'm sitting head-turned slightly to the side like a confused dog wondering how this guy knows so much about his mother, but some questions are best left unanswered.
Hot off the press...
My friend Rachel's husband, who won a National Press Club award last year for his investigation into corrupt community colleges, just finished an amazing series of investigative journalism stories for the newspaper he writes for, The East Valley Tribune. He and another journalist investigated Sheriff Joe Arpaio (yes, the guy who started Tent city -- an outdoor prison with tents, pink underwear and bologna sandwiches for food). This series focuses on Arpaio's anti-immigration efforts.
To read the first part of the series, click here. There is tons of great information and interactive maps, etc. I really hope this improves things in AZ! You can leave a comment on the story too.
To read the first part of the series, click here. There is tons of great information and interactive maps, etc. I really hope this improves things in AZ! You can leave a comment on the story too.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Because I'm obsessed
with personality types. This is "the dream" of my personality type.
..."To the dream, I would like to add a light-hearted games of chess, wine and cheese night, one person reading and another working on a project (mostly silently, but with an occasional quiet remark), jogging/hiking/or taking walks, a mostly grounded and stable life, but one in which there is freedom to think or do things in a new way if, no stagnation, constant self growth but in a way that support eachother, like two plants thriving in sunlight but still intertwined. knowing exactly what to expect from someone, yet being surprised occasionally by their brillance or their outlook or opinion, things being pleasant in general. People you don't ever have to explain yourself to twice, who probably know what point you're trying to make before you open your mouth.
A place that when you're away, makes you feel warm and you don't know why, but don't care why either. An effortless understanding of others in a deep way that doesn't require "work" but feels like you're accomplishing something great just by understanding eachoher's quirks.
Also, playing sports badly but for fun. And flowers."
..."To the dream, I would like to add a light-hearted games of chess, wine and cheese night, one person reading and another working on a project (mostly silently, but with an occasional quiet remark), jogging/hiking/or taking walks, a mostly grounded and stable life, but one in which there is freedom to think or do things in a new way if, no stagnation, constant self growth but in a way that support eachother, like two plants thriving in sunlight but still intertwined. knowing exactly what to expect from someone, yet being surprised occasionally by their brillance or their outlook or opinion, things being pleasant in general. People you don't ever have to explain yourself to twice, who probably know what point you're trying to make before you open your mouth.
A place that when you're away, makes you feel warm and you don't know why, but don't care why either. An effortless understanding of others in a deep way that doesn't require "work" but feels like you're accomplishing something great just by understanding eachoher's quirks.
Also, playing sports badly but for fun. And flowers."
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Fireworks
We went up to the roof and watched the fireworks on the East River last night. Great view, even if the sky did become smoke and look strange and red. It was raining and with all the umbrellas it looked like Mary Poppins.
Got up way too early again today to play soccer. The "dust bowl" was now a mud pit with all of the rain. I fell once and luckily was just dirt, not mud! I surprised myself by rolling forward over my shoulder -- I was just telling my dad that I didn't know how to do that kind of roll. Now that I'm thinking of rolls, I really want sushi. Mmmmmmm. Anyway, didn't hurt at all this time which was nice.
Then at one point I did fall (and was standing in a big mud pit) but luckily I fell on my hands and didn't sit down. It would have been tragedy if I'd fallen into the mud, because taking the train back through the Upper East Side would have been hideously awful.
Nonetheless, I did have mud on my face and neck and all over my legs, and no one told me about the two "moles" on my face until I noticed them at home.
With all of my bandaids from last week (on my shoulder and knees) some street men asked me about them as I waited for the 6 train with a few soccer guys. They were joking that I was in Fight Club, but we really shouldn't be talking about it.
I wish I didn't keep getting huge scars, but oh well.
Got up way too early again today to play soccer. The "dust bowl" was now a mud pit with all of the rain. I fell once and luckily was just dirt, not mud! I surprised myself by rolling forward over my shoulder -- I was just telling my dad that I didn't know how to do that kind of roll. Now that I'm thinking of rolls, I really want sushi. Mmmmmmm. Anyway, didn't hurt at all this time which was nice.
Then at one point I did fall (and was standing in a big mud pit) but luckily I fell on my hands and didn't sit down. It would have been tragedy if I'd fallen into the mud, because taking the train back through the Upper East Side would have been hideously awful.
Nonetheless, I did have mud on my face and neck and all over my legs, and no one told me about the two "moles" on my face until I noticed them at home.
With all of my bandaids from last week (on my shoulder and knees) some street men asked me about them as I waited for the 6 train with a few soccer guys. They were joking that I was in Fight Club, but we really shouldn't be talking about it.
I wish I didn't keep getting huge scars, but oh well.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Sketching, scrapes, salsa and waffles
I've been spending a lot of time in Central Park, and I'm not sure why. It's hot out and muggy, but just like in winter, I'm determined to experience everything here. So while my roomates sit inside complaining of the heat (as they did in winter, complaining of the cold), I've been roaming the streets. Working in just about every little or big coffee shop I can find. I often wish I had purchased a lighter laptop, but I figure at least this is exercise, since I no longer lift weights at the gym.
I started organizing a soccer group and soon found out how soccer-crazed people really are. The group grew to 164 people in just over a month. I've been spending hours every week answering emails, and dealing w/ more issues than I thought possible -- I assumed we'd just show up and play. I'm now trying to figure out if I should purchase vest things so people don't have to bring their own colored shirts, cones, goals, permits, arg.
I'm still quite a beginner, but playing with some of the better people is starting to rub off. The only problem is, I'm still getting knocked down. Last Sunday we played in "The Dirt Bowl," a soccer-sized field of hard-packed dirt in the park. It's flat though, unlike the hills and trees that occupy most other areas, so we were lucky to play there. Still, I was running towards the ball when a guy (who didn't notice I was there) came barreling into me at a high speed. He wasn't a huge guy, but still bigger than me and knocked me down really hard.
Usually if it's just a little slip, I play it off and get up right away, to not draw any attention to it.
But this time I rolled about 4-5 times to the side. I don't remember learning to roll. But after falling so hard and feeling all that momentum still in my body, i do remember thinking, hmm...really should keep moving as not to break anything. I ended up scraping my right shoulder and both knees. The dirt (since there was no grass) got kind of packed into the scrape.
After the rolling stopped, I laid there on my side for a few seconds thinking "um...oww" as I was covered in dirt and scrapes.
I'm not one to usually have any injuries, so when I got home -- after taking the 6 downtown surrounded by the Upper East Side girls in pretty summer dresses checking out eachother's style, with attractive guys shooting glances at all of them like pool balls shooting around a table -- I sat sweaty, covered in dirt and scrapes (I was tempted to just ask for change to complete the image) -- I looked at my cuts and noticed that they had dirt in them. I then recalled a friend years ago who looked like he had dirt on his elbow, but he explained he'd gotten dirt in a scrape and so it stayed in there.
I had an image of myself wearing a nice dress with permanently dirty knees and shoulders. At home, I took a shower, a bath and then took a loofa to the scrapes, which hurt like...well it hurt a lot. Then there was still dirt! I read online to use tweezers to remove dirt. Ouch. I tried my best and hopefully got it all out.
A lovely image of the scrapes after a few days. Is this the equivalent of a kid showing off their scraped knees? Probably. Guess I share this need with 8-year-olds everywhere.
Then I also went to Central Park for a drawing group (much less impact than the soccer). It's fun. You just sit there on big rocks and draw the lake with a bunch of strangers. It's good motivation to actually try, since everyone puts their drawings in a line when you're done and you stare at them. Unlike my art major stint in college, the other people do not have a right to one-by-one voice their criticism of your work. I used to hate that. Hour upon hour of "well, I don't really like butterflies, and why did you use purple? And I'm not sure the composition works, but I can't quite say why..." and other such useless and critical comments devoid of any helpful, positive messages or instructions to improve the drawing. Ick. (end rant). This was just "ooh. pretty. That guy drew a nice tree!" And the lesser drawings were politely skimmed over. Nice.
While we looked at the drawings, one stood out. Everyone was "ooing and awwing" at it, and it was very well done. Then I noticed, it was a drawing of me! A nice old man had drawn me drawing, as I apparently hadn't moved, while I tried to figure out how the heck you use perspective to draw those buildings and all of those brushy trees around the lake -- nature is hard.
Here is the awesome drawing, done by someone named Jon. Not sure of his last name, which is too bad as he's obviously a great artist.
Then back in the East Village I saw the Waffle Cart and attacked it. I usually pass by thinking "ah, I could get a waffle, but I'm really trying to work out more." Not tonight. "yes, whipped cream and strawberries, and..." I tell the guy as he piles on the topings and instructs me to carefully hold the bag horizontally as I walk. So I carefully carry it back to my rat-infested apartment.
I started organizing a soccer group and soon found out how soccer-crazed people really are. The group grew to 164 people in just over a month. I've been spending hours every week answering emails, and dealing w/ more issues than I thought possible -- I assumed we'd just show up and play. I'm now trying to figure out if I should purchase vest things so people don't have to bring their own colored shirts, cones, goals, permits, arg.
I'm still quite a beginner, but playing with some of the better people is starting to rub off. The only problem is, I'm still getting knocked down. Last Sunday we played in "The Dirt Bowl," a soccer-sized field of hard-packed dirt in the park. It's flat though, unlike the hills and trees that occupy most other areas, so we were lucky to play there. Still, I was running towards the ball when a guy (who didn't notice I was there) came barreling into me at a high speed. He wasn't a huge guy, but still bigger than me and knocked me down really hard.
Usually if it's just a little slip, I play it off and get up right away, to not draw any attention to it.
But this time I rolled about 4-5 times to the side. I don't remember learning to roll. But after falling so hard and feeling all that momentum still in my body, i do remember thinking, hmm...really should keep moving as not to break anything. I ended up scraping my right shoulder and both knees. The dirt (since there was no grass) got kind of packed into the scrape.
After the rolling stopped, I laid there on my side for a few seconds thinking "um...oww" as I was covered in dirt and scrapes.
I'm not one to usually have any injuries, so when I got home -- after taking the 6 downtown surrounded by the Upper East Side girls in pretty summer dresses checking out eachother's style, with attractive guys shooting glances at all of them like pool balls shooting around a table -- I sat sweaty, covered in dirt and scrapes (I was tempted to just ask for change to complete the image) -- I looked at my cuts and noticed that they had dirt in them. I then recalled a friend years ago who looked like he had dirt on his elbow, but he explained he'd gotten dirt in a scrape and so it stayed in there.
I had an image of myself wearing a nice dress with permanently dirty knees and shoulders. At home, I took a shower, a bath and then took a loofa to the scrapes, which hurt like...well it hurt a lot. Then there was still dirt! I read online to use tweezers to remove dirt. Ouch. I tried my best and hopefully got it all out.
A lovely image of the scrapes after a few days. Is this the equivalent of a kid showing off their scraped knees? Probably. Guess I share this need with 8-year-olds everywhere.
Then I also went to Central Park for a drawing group (much less impact than the soccer). It's fun. You just sit there on big rocks and draw the lake with a bunch of strangers. It's good motivation to actually try, since everyone puts their drawings in a line when you're done and you stare at them. Unlike my art major stint in college, the other people do not have a right to one-by-one voice their criticism of your work. I used to hate that. Hour upon hour of "well, I don't really like butterflies, and why did you use purple? And I'm not sure the composition works, but I can't quite say why..." and other such useless and critical comments devoid of any helpful, positive messages or instructions to improve the drawing. Ick. (end rant). This was just "ooh. pretty. That guy drew a nice tree!" And the lesser drawings were politely skimmed over. Nice.
While we looked at the drawings, one stood out. Everyone was "ooing and awwing" at it, and it was very well done. Then I noticed, it was a drawing of me! A nice old man had drawn me drawing, as I apparently hadn't moved, while I tried to figure out how the heck you use perspective to draw those buildings and all of those brushy trees around the lake -- nature is hard.
Here is the awesome drawing, done by someone named Jon. Not sure of his last name, which is too bad as he's obviously a great artist.
Then back in the East Village I saw the Waffle Cart and attacked it. I usually pass by thinking "ah, I could get a waffle, but I'm really trying to work out more." Not tonight. "yes, whipped cream and strawberries, and..." I tell the guy as he piles on the topings and instructs me to carefully hold the bag horizontally as I walk. So I carefully carry it back to my rat-infested apartment.
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