Me: "I just added 'digital recorder' to my list of depressing things I asked for for Christmas."
Intern: "What else is on the list?"
Me: "A jogging armband. Luna Bars. A frying pan."
Intern: "Um, a frying pan is important."
Me: "Don't patronize me."
Thursday, 12 November 2009
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
Camping!
I turned 24 surrounded by drag queens at Halloqueen, and I turned 25 somewhere in Delaware on a seven hour bus ride from DC back to New York. Progress! I will probably turn 26 under a bridge.
But the upside is that camping was a blast - with enough fire and carbohydrates, you can withstand a surprising amount of cold. The campsite was like if Burning Man mated with a bear, and that bear was a member of a frat. We got out to the campsite and they were dishing up scraps of the 300 pound pig they had ordered, and they were like, "here, have the remains of this barrel of coleslaw and this massive pan of beans" and instead I had cake and s'mores for dinner. (The cake had bacon in it, which I studiously and successfully avoided.) We played some harmonica, I bumped into a guy I went to college with, we hung out around the fire and made s'mores, there was a bluegrass band, and there are photos of us riding a rocking horse at some point? The cake was half buttercream, and I woke up in the middle of the night and was torn between getting out of my sleeping bag and being exceedingly cold and staying put and possibly being $3 wine and s'more sick in a tent full of people. I decided on the sleeping bag and just focused really, really hard on contracting my stomach muscles selectively and eventually fell back asleep, and then in the morning we packed up the tent and had avocados and chevre and flax bread, because a) it turns out that we can put together a tent, which surprised me, and b) it turns out that it was the yuppie tent, which did not. (I had a tiny packet of Via and a couple of emergency packets of Sweet n' Low in my jacket that I did not have to use. I am a well-educated MacGyver.)
But the upside is that camping was a blast - with enough fire and carbohydrates, you can withstand a surprising amount of cold. The campsite was like if Burning Man mated with a bear, and that bear was a member of a frat. We got out to the campsite and they were dishing up scraps of the 300 pound pig they had ordered, and they were like, "here, have the remains of this barrel of coleslaw and this massive pan of beans" and instead I had cake and s'mores for dinner. (The cake had bacon in it, which I studiously and successfully avoided.) We played some harmonica, I bumped into a guy I went to college with, we hung out around the fire and made s'mores, there was a bluegrass band, and there are photos of us riding a rocking horse at some point? The cake was half buttercream, and I woke up in the middle of the night and was torn between getting out of my sleeping bag and being exceedingly cold and staying put and possibly being $3 wine and s'more sick in a tent full of people. I decided on the sleeping bag and just focused really, really hard on contracting my stomach muscles selectively and eventually fell back asleep, and then in the morning we packed up the tent and had avocados and chevre and flax bread, because a) it turns out that we can put together a tent, which surprised me, and b) it turns out that it was the yuppie tent, which did not. (I had a tiny packet of Via and a couple of emergency packets of Sweet n' Low in my jacket that I did not have to use. I am a well-educated MacGyver.)
Saturday, 7 November 2009
The More You Know
B: "So where are you guys going camping?"
R: "I don't know, somewhere in rural Virginia."
B: "Didn't you learn anything from Eliza Dushku in Wrong Turn?"
R: "Honestly, no."
B: "It's Appalachia. The Hill People lay barbed wire across the road and then kill you when you walk for help."
R: "I'll keep that in mind."
B: (Sighs.) "If you blow out all four tires, call me immediately for help. Do not get out of the car. I'll be in the city, where it's safe. Hill People don't go into the city."
R: "Thanks."
B: "Oh, yeah, and have fun camping."
R: "I don't know, somewhere in rural Virginia."
B: "Didn't you learn anything from Eliza Dushku in Wrong Turn?"
R: "Honestly, no."
B: "It's Appalachia. The Hill People lay barbed wire across the road and then kill you when you walk for help."
R: "I'll keep that in mind."
B: (Sighs.) "If you blow out all four tires, call me immediately for help. Do not get out of the car. I'll be in the city, where it's safe. Hill People don't go into the city."
R: "Thanks."
B: "Oh, yeah, and have fun camping."
Friday, 6 November 2009
Things You Do Not Remember
I've watched V for Vendetta on both of the last November 5ths, but I blanked on Guy Fawkes day this year - partially because I met Emma for dinner at Roots and Vines and then saw Jemina Pearl and Islands at the Bowery Ballroom, and partially because I wasn't helpfully reminded by fireworks exploding directly outside my window. Literally the only thing you are supposed to do on Guy Fawkes Day is remember it, and I couldn't even do that. Sorry, Natalie Portman.
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Seasons Change
I went to Starbucks on my way home from work, a focus group, and a very long and ambulatory conference call that I was on from 29th and 5th to 56th and 9th, and I looked around and all of the cups had turned red. And I realized that one year ago, I was walking back from a celebratory breakfast feeling good about the country but upset about a certain referendum repealing same-sex marriage, and realized that the cups had turned red. Well, turn, turn, turn.
I've thought about not blogging anymore, partially because doing fieldwork at a 9-to-5 job and writing a dissertation by night leaves precious little time for snarky updates about my life. And I feel like this blog has served different purposes throughout my life - exhibitionism, vengeance, bragging, self-promotion, preserving memories, communicating with friends, etc., etc., but I'm finding that as I grow older, I'm finding more nuanced and mature strategies for shameless self-promotion. It's been such a huge thing over the past few years that I'm not really ready to cut the cord yet, but I do always wonder why I keep blogging on the rare occasions that I go a week without it and don't miss it at all.
(In that week, I finished tons of stuff at work and I was a zombie for Halloween and there was sweat and glitter and blood and I saw a female Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ironically almost die in a sewer grate and I found a library to work at and wrote an pointed letter to the New York Times and was sad about the elections but still hopeful and today, I saw red cups. That is all.)
I've thought about not blogging anymore, partially because doing fieldwork at a 9-to-5 job and writing a dissertation by night leaves precious little time for snarky updates about my life. And I feel like this blog has served different purposes throughout my life - exhibitionism, vengeance, bragging, self-promotion, preserving memories, communicating with friends, etc., etc., but I'm finding that as I grow older, I'm finding more nuanced and mature strategies for shameless self-promotion. It's been such a huge thing over the past few years that I'm not really ready to cut the cord yet, but I do always wonder why I keep blogging on the rare occasions that I go a week without it and don't miss it at all.
(In that week, I finished tons of stuff at work and I was a zombie for Halloween and there was sweat and glitter and blood and I saw a female Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ironically almost die in a sewer grate and I found a library to work at and wrote an pointed letter to the New York Times and was sad about the elections but still hopeful and today, I saw red cups. That is all.)
Monday, 26 October 2009
Learning to Embarrass Yourself in Public
Man: "You two really know Chicago."
Me: "We spent most of the summer of 2001 practicing approximately 400 times."
One of the skills that Brady and I did not expect to acquire at debate camp in Iowa was the ability - eight years later - to flawlessly and show-stoppingly belt "We Both Reached for the Gun" in a piano bar in Manhattan. Very marketable! (I'm including the James Naughton clip because we both do it so much better than Richard Gere.)
Me: "We spent most of the summer of 2001 practicing approximately 400 times."
One of the skills that Brady and I did not expect to acquire at debate camp in Iowa was the ability - eight years later - to flawlessly and show-stoppingly belt "We Both Reached for the Gun" in a piano bar in Manhattan. Very marketable! (I'm including the James Naughton clip because we both do it so much better than Richard Gere.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
