Yeah, I managed to wake my sorry ass up at six thirty to watch Germany vs Brazil this morning, barely. I watched it from bed, but I did watch it. I enjoyed it, although I was sleepy enough to want to catch the replay later in the day, except it didn’t seem to be on my local ABC station. Oh well.
At the moment I’m caught up in tinkering on some freelance work and a couple projects of my own.
I’d forgotten about it until the mail showed up today, but Skyy vodka is giving away twenty five free posters a day (which means it’s pretty easy to win one). Mine is this one. My new roommates are even cuter in print than I thought they would be, and they seem happy enough pinned up next to my desk.
It’s been sort of a quiet weekend so far - I wandered down to the beach earlier before it got hot in a rare display of summery tradition, et cetera. I’m not really a fan of the beach and its attendant joys of sun and outside. I’m particularly keen to avoid sand in most situations, but all in all I’d call the excursion a successful one. I do, after all, like the water. I don’t like it this much, maybe, but it’s not bad.
The summer reading list continues: I’m just now diving into The Name Of the Rose on a friend’s recommendation. I think I saw the movie years ago, on PBS or something, but I don’t really remember it at all so I’m sure it will be a great read. Also picked up Your Blue-Eyed Boy at the Strand, also on a recommendation. I haven’t finished either yet so I can’t give either one a definitive thumbs up, but I’m enjoying both so far. After I finish these, there’s another stack waiting next to the bed. Mmm, more books.
I’ve been toying with the idea of watching Germany vs Brazil tomorrow morning but do I really want to get up at 6:30am to watch soccer? I suppose I could watch the replay at 12:30 but that’s definitely cheating. We’ll see how much enthusiasm I can muster when my alarm goes off in the morning.
(May be quite continental, et cetera)
Regarding the ring: no, I’m not getting married but yes, it’s the prettiest thing I’ve been given in a while. Are chicks just genetically wired to like diamonds? I never would have pegged myself as a sucker for this shit - I don’t sit and design engagement rings at adiamondisforever, nor do I window shop at Tiffany’s despite my affinity for Truman Capote - but it’s so sparkly. It was tricky enough getting a picture as demanded by all of my equally susceptible chick friends that found out about it (and Scott, but he’s special) - most of the ones I took involved lens flare. I’m not kidding; we’re talking seriously shiny.
Regarding the new design: I know it’s a little alarming. I know. Really I do. Take a deep breath, get a cup of coffee. You’ll be fine - perhaps you’ve noticed that my hair’s not pink anymore, either. I know it’s less punky than it used to be but - here’s a secret - so am I. Don’t worry, though - these things are cyclical. I’m thinking blue or purple for the fall.
Regarding the new, new design: Yes, it’s really that easy to change the color scheme. I’m actually thinking of following qat’s lead and making it theme-able. Soon, perhaps, you’ll be able to make it whatever color your needy little heart desires, just like this.
Apparently almost all of you have your new shirts, which is great. Mine actually hasn’t arrived yet, but in the meantime you should all send me action shots, like last time. A few of you have already done so (thank you, my darlings) and I’ll stick them in a directory shortly, don’t you worry. You’ll all be stars. STARS.
As I predicted, by the way, there’s been precious little vacuuming and not even a little bit of fridge cleaning so far today. And while I’m not about to go to bed, there’s something very strange and alarming about cleaning the kitchen at night. Perhaps it’s just the terror inherent in being alone with my fridge - it seriously looks like it could eat me. If I don’t come back, you’ll know what to tell the cops.
I will endeavor to explain (but never excuse) my absence yesterday by saying mean things about Earthlink, and also with the following, excerpted from my msg log: [joel(joel@cloaked.nyc.kbcfp.com)] IF YOU ARE COMING HOME DRUNK AND READING THIS THEN THE TERRORISTS HAVE ALREADY WON
What I really ought to do today includes action items as appealing as Cleaning Out My Fridge and perhaps Doing Some Vacuuming Already For Crying Out Loud, but I think it’s safe to say neither of these will get done before the end of this particular gem of a Friday. Once I stagger my way through a faintly hungover morning I think I’ll end up repeating yesterday, with regard to soaking up what little air conditioning I have and working until oh hey it’s two am again.
Maybe not, though. There’s been talk of a movie (oh yes) and very possibly Mexican food. Seriously, I cannot overemphasize my fondness for Mexican food. While the weather remains vile and inexcusably moist, spicy food and air conditioned movies might just be enough to lure me out. Today’s supposed to be not quite as bad as yesterday, which is sort of like saying “Oh don’t worry, the rack won’t be quite as bad as that unfortunate disembowelment incident earlier, you’ll be fine.”
Oh yeah, and there’s a new design. Et cetera. Let me know if anything seems broken, with one exception: Netscape 4.x users are cordially invited to upgrade to something that wasn’t written in 1996.
Is it bad that once in a while I want very much to be a total chick and buy something completely frivolous but so, so pretty? Now that I’m starting to get roots (my natural color, oh no) I think that would look awfully good with my hair.
It’s disgustingly humid again this week so I’m holed up with my pitiful air conditioner doing its pitiful best to keep me cool while I work on a number of design projects that have suddenly coalesced at once. Not that I’m complaining; when the weather’s this gross there’s really nothing better than drinking endless pitchers-full of Brita water and working in a place where I’m not required to wear clothes, exactly. By which I mean my apartment. One track mind, you people, I swear.
Update: In case you were wondering, this (not even vaguely worksafe) is what happens when you use an image on my server within the design of your site. Especially when I find out from my logs rather than, say, from you asking permission. Apologies to amibearornot for borrowing one of their images for this worthy endeavor. Kisses!
Having hit the Strand used book racks last week and also coming home from my parents’ with a pile of things they recommended, I’ve been reading a lot lately.
The New Yorker: My fabulous mom got me a subscription a few months ago and while they’re pretty quick reads, the fiction’s good for a train ride or whatever. Apparently it’s nowhere near as good as it used to be, but as I didn’t read it regularly then I wouldn’t really know.
Dave Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius: Like Infinite Jest, this is one that people have been recommending to me for a while. Although I was initially put off by the self-conscious artiness (witticisms extending to even the copyright page, for chrissakes), once I got into the meat of the book itself I really enjoyed it. When I like a book I tend to just read it straight through, ignoring any other obligations I might have had, and I read this one in about a day.
David Foster Wallace, Girl With Curious Hair: Speaking of Infinite Jest, this is another by the same author. It’s a stories collection, purchased by a sweetheart reader from my list. I’m saving a couple of them for future commutes and such, but I tore through the first two thirds or so immediately and really liked it. It’s pretty much what you’d expect from Jest or any of his other work, but as I like everything else I’ve read of his that’s not a bad thing.
Calvin Trillin, Family Man: Not the sort of thing I would have picked out for myself - not being all that fond of children et cetera - but recommended by the parents and it weren’t bad. I think I read some of Trillin’s columns way back in the day and this was light but entertaining.
William Gibson and Bruce Sterling, The Difference Engine: I hate to speak ill of Gibson, but I picked this up months ago and only finally made my way through it. Bit of a disappointment taken in the context of his other work. Maybe it was the co-authoring thing, but I couldn’t seem to really get caught up in it at all and having finished it now I wonder if it was worth the effort.
Granta: Have loved it for years, still love it. I supplemented my subscription issues with a stack of old ones I picked up at the Strand. Absolutely delicious.
(Or: I Am Too God Damned Hot And Sticky To Write A Real Post)
1. In my twenty-one-and-a-half years I’ve managed to learn a lot of things - other languages, how to drive, why it is that people as pale as me should probably just avoid the sun altogether - but I can’t for the life of me blow a god damned bubble. I’m fond of gum, sure, but bubbles? Completely beyond me. My mom left a whopping great bag of Dubble Bubble here the other day and I worked my stubborn way through five or six pieces with no success whatsoever until the aftertaste encouraged me to give up and brush my teeth.
2. Trying to teach myself to blow bubbles is reminiscient of when I was trying to learn to swallow pills. I didn’t actually manage this until maybe my sophomore year of high school - whenever I got strep or whatever they had to give me those chewable antibiotics that resemble chunks of compressed kitty litter in both taste and consistency. This went on until I was what, fifteen or sixteen. I remember hours standing over the kitchen sink trying to force the god damned Advil down my fucking throat already, with any onlookers offering the most frustrating advice you can imagine. “Just sort of toss it to the back of your mouth! Now swallow!”
3. I’m now really, really good at swallowing pills. I take a few vitamins every morning, and at the moment also a couple of generic and weirdly oversized ibuprofen (throat, wrists). I pop all four or five of these giant horse pills at once and wash them down with a mouthful of tap water. If this were a marketable skill (swallowing pills, you pervert) I’d seriously be all set.
4. After all those Red Sox games we went to and all the team sets I faithfully collected when I was younger and unaware of the inherent dorkiness of baseball cards, I feel my brother is completely justified in proclaiming me the spawn of Satan for having become a Yankees fan. I have no excuse except for the completely inadequate moving-to-New-York thing.
My darlings: Sorry about the downtime the past couple of days. Everything is back now (including irc)!
The next best thing to visiting someone else’s city (which I hope to do a little later this summer) is having someone come to visit mine (which is what I’ve been up to the past few days). As I mentioned earlier, my mom was in town this week, which meant I got to play the tourist in my own city. Aside from galleryhopping like you wouldn’t believe, we did all the sorts of New-Yorky things I never get around to doing on a regular basis because I live here - after all, if I could go anytime, there’s no particular reason to go now. It’s been hot lately but it turns out to not be so bad if for every few hours you spend going from gallery to gallery you also spend an hour or so eating ice cream with huge amounts of fruit or espresso. Hunting the fifty cent and dollar racks at the Strand and eating fantastic Thai food are both good ways to kill an hour or two before seeing a movie, especially if that movie is Sunshine State (we loved it; definitely recommend it). Also caught The Importance of Being Earnest, which was exactly what you’d expect it to be (Rupert Everett is perfect for Wildean stuff like this, as always). Then an early lunch at a seafood place here in Brooklyn and Mom headed home. Not bad as far as vacations go, considering the fact that we stayed at my apartment every night.
This weekend calls for a lot of iced coffee, some more freelance work, and possibly going out tomorrow night. Death to summer.