Home again March 30, 2005 ~ 10:41 pm
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Millions of people come to see the Gates. Because 26 miles of orange…excuse me, “saffron”…flags are exciting.
I’m typing this with a cat sitting on my lap while his front legs are draped over my right arm. Do you know how hard it is to type like this? But I’m not going to kick him off my arm…oh, yes, I am. Little fucker weighs a ton. And he just farted. Nasty little sumnabitch. Oh, Goddess, the stench. He’s missed me, though, so I won’t kick him off my lap yet.
Why did he miss me? Because, my friends, I haven’t been home since yesterday morning. I’ve been at (get this) a national conference for Registrars that is being held in Manhattan. Not kidding. I couldn’t make that up. Hundreds of Registrars from around the country, going to seminars about Registrar business. In the past two days, I’ve been to such interestingly titled seminars as “Intranet as a Management Tool,” “ID Theft and Record Fraud,” “Making Registration Smarter,” and “FERPA 101: The Short Version.” And I’ve gotten a ton of swag from academic vendors. A messenger bag, three pop-up frisbees, two stuffed lions, three kangaroo pins, two water bottles, two t-shirts, some blue and yellow M&Ms, some mints, more pens than I can count, several notepads, a post-it note pad, and a magnifying glass. For the record, Rick’s kids like swag. Actually, so do Rick and I. Oh, and I’ve entered a shitload of drawings, but do you think I’ve won even one iPod Shuffle? No. I have not.
In between being at the conference, I’m helping Rick move the small stuff from his old apartment to the new apartment and putting some of it away at the new apartment. I feel for the new owner of his old place, by the way. When we went over tonight, we found a mess of baby silverfish that had run riot over the unoccupied apartment. That will be fun to deal with. We killed at least ten, but you know there were more waiting in the wings. Tomorrow night will be the big push to get the last of the crap stuff treasured possessions out, and then we’ll probably spend all weekend setting the new place in order. If any of you ever meet Rick, be sure to tell him how lucky he is to have me. No, seriously. The man dropped a table on my head Sunday. Accidentally, while trying to disassemble it, but there was still table/cranium contact. And did I leave? No. I just kept packing. I am the best girlfriend ever.
I have learned a lesson from these events, though. I’m so not moving for at least another year. I’ll just sit here with my farting cat, grateful that he didn’t pee all over the house while I was gone. And for that reason alone, he will be allowed to stay on my lap. Because my house is neat, settled, and cat piss free. And full of swag.
The Contender March 25, 2005 ~ 10:11 am
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Upper West Side skyline through the Gates.
Let me tell you how miserable I was yesterday. I came in to work, because I figured if Chatty McChatster could do it with a cold, so could I. I sat at my desk, going through Kleenex after Kleenex, with my left eye watering so bad that I had to wipe it with a Kleenex every thirty seconds, trying to concentrate on my computer. By 3 in the afternoon, my eye was so swollen from the watering and the wiping that I looked like I’d been in a prize fight. Seriously, my eyelid was red and at half-mast. I was Contender Julie. I’ll let you in on a little secret, when your face has betrayed you like that, there’s no way you’re going to get any degree audits done or Word documents edited. Ain’t gonna happen. I threw in the towel at 3, went home, and spent the rest of the day on the couch, alternately dozing and watching TiVo out my right eye. Good times.
Today I’m feeling better. My eye is still a little sore, my nose is still running occasionally, but I really think the Zicam is working. My reason for thinking this is that at no time, even when I was miserable yesterday, did my mind leave my body. You know what I’m talking about: that fuzzy, floaty feeling you get when you have a head cold. I always get that. I’ve become a connoisseur of that feeling. I somewhat enjoy it. I didn’t get that at all this time. I kinda miss it. It’s like being drunk without the alcohol, you know? Like whichever Higher Power came up with the idea of a cold said “Yeah, this is gonna make them miserable. I might as well give them something good to get them through the misery. Hey! I’ll give them a natural high!” That’s my kind of Higher Power, baby.
So today I’m at work, actually getting stuff off my desk, whereas yesterday I just let it pile up and laughed at it. One of the women in my office (no, I haven’t come up with a nickname for her yet) lost her hundred-year-old mother this week, so we’ll be going to the funeral services in another hour or so. Might as well get the work done while I can.
And as a warning, I’ll be helping Rick move this weekend, so computer time will be at a premium. I’ll blog if I can, but it’s doubtful. But hey, most of you won’t be checking blogs either because you celebrate Easter, so I guess it works out nicely. Have a good holiday!
Thanks, Ma. March 23, 2005 ~ 10:58 am
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The Gates, looking suspiciously like orange dominoes from afar.
I woke up this morning thinking “Damn, my allergies are acting up,” which is really unusual when I’m at Rick’s, since there are no cats. On the subway ride to work, I went through almost an entire pocket pack of Kleenex. And when I got to work, that’s when it hit me. “Dumbass, this isn’t allergies, this is that cold that Mom had this weekend.” Thanks, Ma. The last time you came up you gave me and my cats the flu, this time you gave us a cold. Next time you come up, we’re enclosing you in a plastic bubble or something.
To be fair, it might not have been Mom’s fault. Chatty McChatster who sits across from me here is also sick. I thought my mini-cube wall barricade would be enough to keep the germs at bay, but I guess not. Stoopid germs.
And Rick, honey, I’m sorry if you get this cold. But I’m not sorry for any of the activities that might have led to you getting this cold!
Splinter March 22, 2005 ~ 2:31 pm
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Everyone in NYC out seeing the Gates.
I just got a splinter-ectomy, performed by one of my co-workers. Picked up the splinter at lunch on some wooden bench, the same bench I sit on every nice day. I think the last time I got a splinter that had to be dug out of me with a needle and tweezers, I was 8 and my grandmother dug it out. And she wasn’t exactly gentle about it either.
This time I was determined to dig the fucking thing out myself. I got out my little work emergency sewing kit, I took a needle in my left hand (I’m right handed), and proceeded to dig a little at a time. I removed most of the skin that was above it, but realized I was going to have to find some tweezers to pull it out. That’s when I surveyed all my co-workers to find out who had some. On a side note, in Brooklyn, we don’t call them tweezers. You ask “Do you have a tweezer?” or people don’t understand you.
I finally found “a tweezer” after asking eight people. We just aren’t that in to brow grooming in my office, apparently. Person number eight not only had the tweezers, she pulled the splinter out, after a little more digging with the needle. She was lot more gentle than my grandmother, by the way.
The alcohol still stings the same, though.
Of human bondage March 21, 2005 ~ 10:38 am
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Today I start giving you The Gates. Just because.
I’m more than just a little pissed off at Dubya and Congress today. Why they felt the need to inject themselves into the Terri Schiavo case is beyond me. It was a family matter that was ruled on by a court, there was no need for them to pass a bill allowing another court to intervene. I think the Bush family (ie, Jeb and Dubya) are viewing themselves as Terri’s saviours when in fact no one asked them to be. The life of one person is not the concern of the government. I don’t see them rushing out to do anyone else any favors, they just want to play the martyr. And what the hell, baseball steroids and this woman have taken hold of a government who can’t be bothered to find Osama, or deal with the human rights violations that occurred in various Iraqi prisons? I know, I’m a heartless bitch, right? Read on, it gets better.
I know the arguments, people. I know that people say you can see life in her eyes. Yes, she is alive. But she is not the Terri Schiavo she was. And she wouldn’t be alive but for that feeding tube. What kind of quality of life is that? And I know people who say, “Well, her husband could divorce her”. But then those same people would crucify him for that, crying out “Why did he leave her?”. Her husband loves her. He wants her to have some dignity instead of living out her days as a vegetable. I think he has the right to decide for her. At some point in all our lives, it becomes a fact that our parents and families don’t know us as well as our spouse or significant other. We cease to tell our families everything - we save that for our best friend, our partner. It might be painful to the parents, but it’s a fact of life. He knows her better than you do. And do you think that your daughter wants to spend years of her life sustained by a feeding tube, being cared for by others, unable to do the simplest things for herself? I don’t know of an independent woman who would. She isn’t coming out of this vegetative state, and she would have died but for those machines years ago. Isn’t the quality of her life important here? Because from what I’m seeing, she has none.
Don’t give me that “She’s alive, that’s the important part” spiel, I won’t go for it. I’ve told everyone I know, repeatedly, that if for some reason I am ever in a situation like that, I want to die. Pull the plug, because the Julie you know isn’t there anymore. And now all of you know that, so if you ever see Congress or the President making a move to “save me” in years to come, you know what I want. I don’t want some yahoos in office deciding my life for me when they don’t even know me. Would you?
Erin Go Bragh March 17, 2005 ~ 11:00 am
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Julz the leprechaun, taken by JMBella at a Geocaching event Tuesday night.
I think the above picture is one of the few taken of me where I’m not blinking. There were so many flashes going off, it was hard to figure out when to blink. Maybe that’s a good thing. Thanks, Joe, for a good picture of me - they’re very rare.
Today I could write about my mom’s upcoming visit (she’ll be here this evening), or about Tuesday’s “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” Geocaching event (where I met some great people who knew exactly what I was talking about when I said “I found Froggy Bottom!”), but I think instead I’ll give you one of my favorite St. Patrick’s Day memories, from the first year I lived in New York.
My friend Kim was here for a visit, and she and I and my old roomate Shawn decided that we were going to go to the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. What the hell, it has to be experienced once, right? We went, and it was all the chaos you would expect. It was 11 AM and people were drunk off their asses. Pipe and drum bands were taking over the streets, and the Guinness was flowing freely from paper bag covered cans in the crowd on the sidewalks (we have open container laws here, you know). After about two hours of the insanity, we decided we were hungry and left in search of food. Got some Thai food because that was the only non-crowded restaraunt in midtown, and then went out for beer.
We ended up at Garvey’s Pub, also known as the Martini Bar, down the street from the Royale Theatre. (If I have ever told you the story of my first trip to New York, you’ll know why I give the location that way. If not, I’ll tell you that story another time.) We ordered beers, and soon after the first round, members of New York’s Bravest wandered in and immediately immersed themselves in their own drinks. Soon, they were drunk, and celebrating the holiday by singing “Danny Boy” alternating with “That’s Amore”. On St. Patrick’s Day we’re all Irish, but some of us are still more Italian than others.
Around 4 PM, Shawn and I realized we were drunk, marking a new “Earliest in the Day We’ve Ever Been Hammered” record, a record which has been smashed several times since then due to SuperBowl parties and September 11, 2001. So there we were, drunk, sitting on a pool table in a madly crowded green-decked bar, singing “That’s Amore” for the 700th time with our new best friends from the FDNY, and in walks a bagpiper in full Celtic regalia, spurring us into the 701th chorus of “Danny Boy”. All was right with the world.
May your St. Patrick’s Day be as joyous and hazy in your memory as that one is in mine. Alcohol is a wonderful thing.
Political Reflections March 15, 2005 ~ 3:03 pm
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The Ramble, Central Park
That’s right, it’s a political post. If you don’t agree with my general political stance, I doubt you’re going to after this one, either. Actually, it’s more of a political plea. And some of you got this plea via email, so I apologize if you got this twice.
As I mentioned two posts ago, I’ve gotten involved with MoveOn PAC’s Operation Democracy, a grassroots movement dedicated to making sure the Progressive voice of America is heard. Tomorrow, we’re starting out the movement with a bang, having a massive call-in to our Senators and urging them to oppose what the Republicans are calling the “Nuclear Option,” a plan to change Senate rules that have been in place for centuries in order to push through Bush’s right-wing judicial nominees. You can read more about the Nuclear Option here.
What I’m asking you to do is to join me tomorrow as we flood the Senate with calls opposing the Nuclear (not pronounced “Noo-Q-Lar,” btw) Option. You don’t have to be an expert to call them. All you have to do is tell whoever answers (or tell the machine, if a machine picks up) : “Hello. I live in ______, and I would like to urge Senator _________ to oppose the ‘nuclear option’ and support requiring judicial nominees to have broad support in the Senate. Thank you very much.” filling in the blanks with the appropriate info. Here is a page that will help you locate your Senator’s contact infomation.
I’ll be calling on my cell phone during my lunch break tomorrow, but if you can’t call until you get home, that’s okay too. Every call, whether answered by a person or a machine, will be logged by your Senator. And if you live in the middle of Specter/Santorum land or someplace similar where you are the only bright blue dot in the middle of an otherwise red state, CALL ANYWAY! We need to let our government know that the recent election isn’t the “mandate” Dubya would like to think it is. Let your Senators know just where you stand, and remind them that our government is supposed to be “by the people, of the people, and for the people,” not “by the biased, of the oil companies, and for Dubya’s cronies.” Call, please.
And get ready, kids. Everytime Operation Democracy is doing something, I’ll let you know. It’s important to me, and by the looks of the comments I’ve gotten in the past year, it’s important to you too.
Oh, and if you want to see if there’s an Operation Democracy team in your area, click here. Chances are that there is, but if there isn’t, why don’t you start one? This is our country, too, dammit!
Nothing March 14, 2005 ~ 3:18 pm
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Woodstock, NY
I’ve been trying all day to think of something interesting to post. And while I was doing that, I actually got work done. Who’d have guessed that would be a side effect?
I had a meeting with the playwright and director of the next play I’m dramaturging last night. I’m between a rock and a hard place, since the theater company is worried about the main character having an arc (why did they choose to produce it if they’re that worried?) and told me in so many words that it’s my responsibility to make sure that happens. Again, why do you fucking pick a play if you’re that worried???
I saw a car accident last night. Tell you what, those Lincoln Navigators take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’. The little four door that rear-ended the Navigator? Not so much.
I walked about 7.5 miles this weekend while I was Geocaching. So I’m getting exercise from this little hobby, which is great. Tomorrow we’re having a meet-up of NYC area Geocachers, which should be fun but causes undue stress, because I might have to go do laundry tonight if I don’t have anything to wear to it. And fuck, Mom’s coming here on Thursday, and why take crap to the laundromat tonight if in three days I will have a car to do so? See the stress? No? Okay, see the laziness?
Mom’s going to be here for the weekend for a protest on Saturday afternoon. Which means that I won’t see her that much, because I definitely have a meeting to go to Friday night, and am not sure what Saturday is shaping up to be, and she’s leaving Sunday. At least the cats will get to see her.
Rick made me forget about my dearly departed vibrator this weekend. He’s good like that. And then this morning we had a good conversation about the difference between his generation and mine, politically and ideologically. I love that we can do that. I have to be with a guy who is my intellectual equal as well as being good in bed. One without the other just doesn’t cut it. Rick makes me think about things in a different way. And that he can wake me up out of a sound sleep and get me to start thinking about what defines my generation first thing in the morning…well, I’ve got the perfect guy, people. Now if only he would think before he sticks his hands into possible rat holes/syringe graveyards while we’re Geocaching…if I said “You’re going to get tetanus and I’m not taking you to the hospital” once this weekend, I said it a thousand times. (Love you, baby.)
That’s right, I can make a whole post about nothing. Now back to work, all of you!
Tonight, I got off my ass. March 10, 2005 ~ 10:49 pm
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Snowman, W. 74th Street between Broadway and Amsterdam
Might not sound like much, but I feel better. That’s because tonight I took a walk to a place in my neighborhood I’d never been to, sat down with a group of strangers, and listened to a speakerphone call to the founders of Moveon.org. We talked, organized a group, and made plans for what steps to take next to combat the Bush/Cheney regime. And I made a committment to do this every month, which is great, because if I’m committed to something, I’ll do it. Without the committment, I’ll just think about it and not do anything, because I’m lazy. Tonight I took a step away from laziness.
And in other news, my vibrator broke. Tragic.
Got ‘em March 9, 2005 ~ 1:16 pm
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Two tickets to the Saturday, July 9 Def Leppard show at KeySpan Park. It’s going to be weird to see the Leps perform in daylight - it says the show starts at 6:30 and that night Bryan Adams closes, so it will be bright and early when Joe and the boys take the stage.
So, anyone else coming up for it? You know you want to join Lep Trek ‘05.
