Halloween II (better and bloodier)

The thing I love best about Halloween in NYC is that so many people dress so strangely here anyway, that very often you cannot tell what is a costume and what is their actual clothes.

Bwa-ha-ha-ha!

Happy Halloween (bwa-ha-HA-ha-ha)! I am being a revolutionary this year, so I will have no opportunity to laugh in an evil fashion and must, therefore, get it all out of my system in this blog. I asked my revolutionary expert friend (who brought the beret I am wearing back from Cuba (drink)) what revolutionaries do...all we could come up with was drink vodka and wear berets at a jaunty angle. I hope it is okay if I drink the vodka in the form of a dirty martini.

My boss is not in the office today (again), so I took a nice, long walk around the East Village and had lunch in an Organic Vegan restaurant with aging hippies that could not get over the fact that I had come all the way from Queens for lunch, despite my efforts to explain that, really, I worked just around the corner (also: half a mile is apparently not just around the corner in NYC, the way it is in the country).

This afternoon, I have to hike out to a much nicer section of the city than I am accustomed to (and by hike, I probably mean take the 6 train) and drop off a folder at my boss' place- more specifically, I am to leave it with her doorman. Then all the way back down to Washington Square for class and then my revolutionary side will explode and run amuck all over the Village. Yay!

In posts to come: my reaction to the Cuba (drink) summit. Really. I promise. The sixteen pages of notes I took have to be good for something...

Poetry of My Namesake

A Drinking Song

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

~ William Butler Yeats

Twilight Zone

I can tell I am really getting into a novel when I start having the character's dreams as well as my own...and then when I'm awake, I have a lot of trouble distinguishing reality from fiction...I start wondering if conversations I have in my memory really happened...I'm a walking mess (what else is new?).

I'm very into my new NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) Novel (plotting it, at least- I don't get to start writing until November), and last night I had some very messy dreams that got my past love life all mixed up with my main character's love life...and then I ended up at some sort of reunion that mixed together my middle school, high school and college people with her middle school, high school and college people. The problem was, while everyone at this reunion could remember me/her, what they couldn't remember was all of...our...past failures in life. And they would get...us...into conversations where we had to recount them (Example: Random Person: Wasn't hockey great our senior year? Me: No, remember, I only ever made JV hockey, they cut me junior year. OR Random Person: Wasn't it great to be his date for that music awards ceremony? My Main Character: No, he only invited me as a date for his drummer, he took someone else.)

So that was a fun dream.

Project Runway Didn't Quite 'Make it Work'

Yes, it's true, America.

Uli was robbed.

In the end, the girl from Germany who so adores our country was sold out in favor of a boy who exhibited America's favorite television tendencies: drama and redemption.

Not that Jeffrey's collection wasn't good. I definitely agree with the judges that Uli and Jeffrey both had pretty rocking collections. Some of Jeffrey's clothes were absolutely beautiful...but I didn't want to wear them. I wanted to wear Uli's clothes. I've pretty much ALWAYS wanted to wear Uli's clothes.

And yet, while feeling this sense of betrayal on behalf of Uli and her beautiful clothing, I can also understand the judges' decision...to a point. After all, Uli is set. People want to buy her clothes straight off the runway. And I feel she's already learned the important lessons she needs to succeed in the fashion world (moderation, don't always use prints, variety, etc.). She takes criticism well. Plus, she's bubbily, nice, and pretty and people will always want to work with her.

Jeffrey, on the other hand is kind of scary and intimidating. And he didn't always take criticism well...I feel both Jeffrey and his collection will benefit much more from a design internship than Uli would. Uli doesn't need a design internship (though the money would have been nice). I think the final decision may have come down to Uli is going to succeed in the fashion world no matter what now...but Jeffrey might need a little help.

In other news, my friend saw Tim Gunn on the street this morning and resisted the urge to kidnap him in her shopping cart (she was returning it after purchasing a microwave) and take him home to be her life consultant. If it were me, I'm pretty sure Tim Gunn would be desperately trying to escape a small apartment in Queens right about now...

2 down...

Hello all.

Today is my two month anniversary. I have lived in New York City for two months.

How do I feel?

I'm still shocked by the idea of being 24, so not really older. Tireder. Much tireder, but that has more to do with my grad school workload than the city. I've picked up some of the eyes-straight-ahead, hate-anyone-blocking-the-sidewalk attitude. I know my way from home to work/school- and much of the rest of the city remains a mystery. I'm amazed by the fact that celebrities live among us (the rumors are true- I DID see Daniel Vosovic walking down the street this weekend). I've had the best dirty martini of my life. I've fallen asleep- multiple times- on the subway. I'm much more interested in what other people are wearing than ever before. I'm no longer fazed when I have to change my route because a movie is being filmed on the sidewalk up ahead. I'm in more debt than I've ever been in before in my life.

And most of all, I'm in love with the sparkling, seething possibilities that make up this city.

Happy two months!

Role Call...

3 Negative Ways in which Graduate School has Affected My Life:
- Dirty, Messy Mess. Today was the first time I've done laundry in a long, long time. How long, you may ask? Well, I pulled 27 pairs of underwear out of the dryer (and that answer will teach you to ask such personal questions).
- Extreme Poverty. Recently I discovered how much more money than me my roommates make (how much more money my roommates make than me? I can't structure this sentence properly). I wasn't being nosy or anything- they offered the info. I am poor.
- Exhaustion. Tired from these late nights doing homework, I fell asleep on the subway on the ride home today. Fell asleep sitting with my backpack wedged between my feet, to keep it from getting stolen. Sitting wearing my just below knee length black skirt. I'm sure sometime during that lovely little nap, I flashed a large portion of the N train. So...Exhausted and Accidentally Slutty.

Yes, this was me in high school...

image courtesy of toothpaste for dinner

My father and I attended the same high school and the same college. I was an Honors student and he was the quarterback of the football team. He's always said that if we attended school at the same time, he probably would've tried to shut me in my locker or hang me up by my underwear.

Things I think about when I should be reading late 18th century epistolary novels...

Joey Lucas is a deaf character on The West Wing (was, I suppose, is the proper terminology). She is (was) therefore, mostly voiced by a man named Kenny (the actor Bill O' Brien- thanks imbd!).

I know a man is speaking. Somtimes I even see him speaking. But mostly, I see Joey Lucas with this man's voice coming out of her. And because of this audio/visual oxymoron, I cannot think of the voice as a man's voice. To me, it sounds like a truly feminine voice.

Kind of like Tracy Chapman (shudder), but not really.

Oops, I'm gonna do it again...

While sitting on the couch with my roommate today- a location we have both left as infrequently as possible this weekend- I introduced a novel and fascinating idea:

We should start training for a marathon.

So, I have my beloved 'Marathoning for Mortals' book open on the arm of the sofa and I've started a training schedule. We're going to the Shamrock Sportsfest in March- not sure yet if we'll be aiming for the half-marathon or the whole. Either way it will be terrifically challenging and rewarding. I have hours of sweating and sobbing and aching ahead of me. And I can hardly wait.

Happy reading.

Everybody knows this is Nowhere...

How, how, HOW did it get to be October already?

This means the semester is practically over. Which means, really, my master's degree is almost finished. Which means I seriously have to consider what my next step is going to be...

Seriously.

Anyway, I'm worried about my hair. This morning, I was watching some quality TV during a homework break- the classic film Camp Nowhere to be exact- and I couldn't help but notice shades of resemblance between my style and the boy who played Mud. I have nineties preteen boy hair.

Also, I've taken to dressing in what I call 'Graduate School Chic', which means, when not at work, I wear clothing that just barely identifies me as human.

I am a fetus of unattractive mess.

AND it's October.