Forgive me for not posting in so long. I moved into a new apartment last September ('04) and it did not (nor does it now) have internet access. [Insert angry comments about Verizon here]. Plus, the Job (more varied if not more interesting these days due to greater responsibilities), the Boy (he finally gave in!) and the Plans (currently applying to various prestigious institutions for the purpose of studying a fairly esoteric subject) have been keeping me very, very busy. I will probably not be posting regularly from now on (as if y'all haven't guessed that already). But thanks for all the comments, linkbacks, etc. Take care :)
Going apartment-hunting tomorrow with Friend-of-Friend. Hoping (against all reason) that this place doesn't work out, as I'm kinda broke right now and--anyway, anyway--not at all ready to fling myself from the parental nest. That is, I have not the time to get my shit together. I own like, one frying pan and two mugs. That's balls. I'm like, 1/4 of a grown-up.
In other news: as I was walking down Market Street with a co-worker (on our way to the Blue Line), I passed local news guy George M-something. First quick glance was due to the windbreaker and height. Second quick glance was to confirm first quick glance.
Was determined to be utterly cool, however, and didn't gawk, though he smiled at me and seemed nice enough. Later explained to the sister that he wasn't worthy of my dropped jaw/frank stare/homicidal intentions (ummm...), being merely a Local News Guy (and with FOX for crying out loud). Maybe Kofi. Maybe Hillary. Maybe Oprah. (I would spit and hiss at John Stossel, however). George M-something? Non.
Which reminds me: Anchorman sucks. Don't go see it. Despite Will Ferrell/in spite of Christina Applegate. I spent $10 on a ticket at the la-di-da Cinema de Lux (har har) in University City and was distressed to find that the floors were non-sticky and that jazz was playing in the ladies' room. Pure decadence! (I don't go to the movies often but the prices seem to go up every goddamned time I do. And why would the the-ay-ter provide wireless internet anyway? To make it easier to pirate movies? Eejits.)
[abrupt end, as the author is sleepy and unable to conceive of a properly snarky/snappy/quippy/dirty thought that ties the above together in a coherent fashion.] <-- Ah, brackets...how marvelously post-modern of me!
So I finally got a cell phone. I signed up for the AT&T deal, just b/c they were offering 700 minutes for the same price ($40) as most of the other companies I was considering (everyone except for Cingular, which thinks it's special and can charge $50 for 600 minutes when T-mobile charges only $40...roll-over my ass. That comes out to a mere 20 free minutes a day.) Anyway, I'm finding it more and more of a pain these days not to have a phone on me. Also, it gives me something to play with on the loooong train rides to and from work.
Yesterday I spent approximately 7 hours 'building' a table in html. Which is exactly what I did (and how long I spent doing it) on Friday. And which is probably what I'll end up doing for the next week or so. This is 'cause the damned table in the medical dictionary I'm working on is more than 60 pages long! Row after row after freakin' row of tiny numbers. All I do hit ctrl+x and ctrl+v all day long. My eyes were blurring up suspiciously today and last week. I think I can actually feel the astigmatism worsening. I'm already going to be blind by the time I ever do get to grad school (and this is before I have to spend my days in dim libraries peering at dusty tomes).
Today I discovered a far easier way to do what I'd been doing. Lovely.
One last thing. To the men of the greater Philadelphia metropolitan area: I am getting real tired of the random hooting, cat calls, wolf whistles, and other animal noises being made in my direction as I walk down the street. Your super suave come-ons are yet another rude jangling on my poor nerves.
Yeah, yeah. You're idiot male creatures who wish to make your presences known to the female in your immediate eyeball range. Dominance, testosterone, chest hair and all that jazz. I get it.
Now please shut the fuck up. Not only are you unlikely to ever pull a bird that way, you're also likely to make us colder and bitchier to even your nicer specimans. Women don't have sex with stupid men. They probably have stupid sperm.
I should like, print up bumper stickers with that. T-shirts and tote bags: 'Get your stupid sperm away from me.'
Went to an Asian cultural festival down by Penn's Landing today. It was okay, though the free food that the City Paper promised was not in evidence. Bubble tea was like, $4.
The show consisted of mostly girls wearing pretty, 'ethnic' outfits and dancing interminably to tinny-sounding music (they have got to get a better sound system set up there). Dull, for the most part.
And somewhat unrepresentative too. Like, it was an "Asian" festival, but the Chinese culture predominated. There was a Taiwanese dance (why are they all 'flower dances'?), a Mongolian dance, and a really cool Fillipino dance with bamboo poles. But that's it. Where were the Japanese, Korean, South Asian, etc., etc. groups? We didn't stay around for the whole thing, though, so maybe they came later. I was getting a little sick of the preciousness, however, mincing dance steps, paper umbrellas and all.
On a random note: Lots of people with their adopted Asian offspring in attendance. Saw one man feeding his infant daughter bubble tea...isn't caffeine bad for babies? She also had a weirdly squashed head. Like, flat. The dad's head was perfectly square from the back.
So that was today. Went out last night with Terri and her friends from BMC. Ate dinner at an Afghani restaurant near Front Street (I think). Good food but way too much of it. My kababs were freakin' monsters. Thriftily took the rest home with me and was rewarded by a pungent odor by my side on the train ride home.
After dinner, wandered through Old City before stumbling across the Real World house. Sat down in front of a Starbucks that's across the street and openly stared at the imposing facade. Nerdily debated about the style of columns used (not Corinthian or Ionic or anything...some odd hybrid) and watched other gawkers trying to peek into the windows.
Were rewarded for our diligence when someone finally came out. One of the notorious non-union camera crews ("Those are totally not union shoes.") ran around to the front door to tape a girl wearing a tired '80s-inspired outfit (who da fuck wears capri pants to go out in?) and a really, really short boy walk out and down the street. I nearly exploded from the excitement.
Talked about how ordinary-looking (i.e. not hot) the Real Worlders were. And thought it'd be awesome if we randomly got together some AV equipment and friends and stalked through Old City, looking properly self-conscious and ignoring the locals. Stage catfights and slapfests and shit in the street (not literally 'shit in the street', though that would be pretty funny too).
Last notable thing:
So I'm standing on the platform, waiting for the R6 (which is late, AGAIN) reading the newspaper. This guy's standing near me. A little too near, I finally realized. So I slowly sidled away, still reading. I look out of the corner of my eye and he still seemed too close. So I slowly sidled away again. He followed. Argh. Finally, he taps my shoulder and asks me my name. I gave him the fake one. Then he told me his, "Rraahb" (that is, 'Rob' with a nasal, Philly accent). Then he asks me if he can call me sometime.
Um, fuck no, man. You're like, 38 and wearing a tank top and have a beer gut. I had a hard time suppressing the urge to bitchily ask, "are you kidding? Do you really think you have a chance with me?" and other rude, rude things that would later make him take out his anger/thwarted desire on his poor mother or mongrel dog or something.
Ew. Sometimes my snottiness surprises even me.
Uf. The job is exactly as boring and tedious as was described to me in the interview. I basically spend 7.5 hours a day staring at a computer monitor, giving myself tense shoulders and weary eyes. Am frightened at co-workers' jokes about the Chicago Manual of Style (which they refer to as 'CMS'). But becoming a bit more savvy about public transportation and getting-around-the-city in general. Plus!
Minus: deadening commute + boring job = looking forward to weekend with intense longing. Even getting together with Terri to merely eat greasy spaghetti at a food court and wander around Old City until I get blisters is a treat.
Am really, really looking forward to going to grad school.