Quit Hating on My Choice Seating

Me: Great news! I just signed in to my flight online and I got the BEST SEATS. The whole airplane is full, but for some reason the row by the emergency exit is empty. You know, the seat with no seat in front of it? With the leg room? So I got them.
Co-worker: Oh God, I hate that seat.
Me: What!?
Co-worker: I'm always afraid I'll flip out and try to open the door.
Me: You can't open the door, actually, but I was thinking more along the lines of leg room...
Co-worker: I'm just sayin'.

Later:
Me: Hey baby--great news! I got us awesome seats on the plane tomorrow.
J: Ok.
Me: You know the seat by the door with no seat in front of it? That's where you're sitting.
J: ...
J: I don't think I understand. Is it near the front or the back?
Me: It's in the middle.
J: Am I next to you?
Me: Of course, you're next to me,
J: I really think I'd prefer an aisle seat.
Me: No, you want this seat. Everyone wants this seat. It's the best seat in coach. It has the most legroom.
J: I guess I'll have to see it. I sort of had a plan. I--no, it's fine.
Me: I guess you'll be thanking me tomorrow, then.

Hey readers! I got these awesome seats! The whole PLANE was full except for the bestest, most choice seating on the plane. And this is from someone who flies A LOT. I know all about the seats in the back that don't recline and smell like toilet, I know about the seats in front of the emergency doors that don't recline, and I know about the short emergency row and the lucky bastard who gets to take advantage of it. Which should be Jason, tomorrow. Unless I kick his ass first.

We All Feel Like This Sometimes

Leo: I'm hysterical!
[max splashes him with water]
Leo: (pauses) I'm wet! I'm wet and I'm hysterical!
[max slaps him]
Leo: (pauses) I'm in pain! and I'm wet and I'm still hysterical!
-from The Producers, with Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder

Some of us just can't identify our physical and mental state-of-being quite as easily.

What Kind of Day Has it Been

Whether you're an anchor for a sports recap tv slot, a White House Deputy Deputy Chief of Staff, or a sketch comedian on Studio 60 Night Live, the answer is probably... not good. And if you're a fan of any of the aforementioned tv shows, it's probably not a good day, either (because you have to wait all summer for new episodes).

Aaron Sorkin recycles all his actors and his episode titles. Like most of his plot devices, I imagine this self-reference is designed to make his fans feel just a little bit smug(ger).

And actually, coming on the tail end of a conversation about creative expression, let's look at the artistic lesson here:

Do one thing.
Do it well.
Do it over and over, and change the scenery each time.

Dear Proletariat,

Hello. It's been awhile.

You're looking slightly worse for wear. Your red walls (which used to intimidate the hell out of me) are looking a little grimy. Your furniture is still chic, but I saw it once in daylight and, goodness, we could use a little steam cleaning, no?

It's ok, this place is about the people. The musicians, artists, and occasional singing fratboys who fill the place on Friday nights for karaoke. The hipsters who lurk, drink, smoke, play Pacman and pool, and play the Postal Service and Bjork from the jukebox. (Let's not forget, it was Bjork and a birthday that saw the birth of this blog.)

I've met, dated, and to various degrees formed relationships with at least a dozen people as a direct result of you. Um, thanks. For all of them, really, though some more than others.

I've laughed, drunk, lost my temper, danced, cried, sung, been moved, been inspired, graded papers, spent too much money, been undercharged, given and received gifts, made resolutions, made out, made things worse and and made things better within your walls.

I am especially grateful for the shows: Crooked Fingers, Ted Leo, the Kimonos, the Watermarks, Spain Colored Orange, Meowcifer, Ume, the Singles, Kiss Kiss Kill Kill, American Analog Set, Stars, Broken Social Scene, Two Star Symphony, Sharks and Sailors, Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, and all the ones I'm forgetting. Even when the sound was crappy.

I don't know how much longer we'll get to see each other, because your crowd keeps getting younger and I keep getting older. I don't do a lot of stuff I used to do when we were pals. A friend posted recently about the direct correlation between TV watching and happiness. If I'm watching TV instead of going to bars, how does that impact my overall happiness?

I don't have an opinion on this, really, although caring for my liver and lungs is indisputably a smart move. So here is my open-ended question: how do I incorporate the people I used to share this space with into my non-Proletariat life? What if those people live hundreds of miles away? What if they live only a few blocks?

These are some things I am trying to figure out, Proletariat. Picking up the phone is probably a good start. I hope we bump into each other again, maybe after the smoking ban goes into effect.

With love,
Mary

Your food is ready, and you need some paper towels...

Here is another thing that I don't understand.

We've all likely experienced the vibrating coaster, yes? These are used by food establishments to tell you that your food is ready, that your table is ready, that you are being summoned. And they vibrate. If they vibrate as strong as my phone vibrates, they can shake themselves right off your couch arm and on to the floor.

Except that they are shaped like, and billed as, COASTERS.

Does anyone actually put a drink on these things? Has anyone tried? You let me know how that works out...

New Guy Collides with Soup Night

The scene: check-out line @ Fiesta, new cashier. My basket contains milk, wine, bread, and about a dozen odd vegetables for making Pho.

Ronalfo: [Holds up produce bag] What are these? Are these onions?
Me: Green onions, yeah
Ronalfo: Hey, Tiffany! What's the code for green onions?
Tiffany: 4592
Ronalfo: Ok, and these?
Me: Bean sprouts
Tiffany: 2395
Ronalfo: ??
Me: Oh lord... baby bok choy. You are going to hate me by the end of this transaction.
Ronalfo: Are these "snap peas" or, uh, snow peas?
Me: Ummm...
Tiffany: 3892

Later:
Me: Those are jalapenos.

Still later:
Me: That is cilantro.

This lesson in produce brought to you by the fruitcake brigade. We're coming back for veggie tacos. Study up, Ronalfo.

One Step Closer...

I was pretty nervous about this thing tonight... without giving too much away, there was a person, presenting an award, for which I coordinated, with the presenter having little to no background knowledge about the award/context he was presenting.

So I prepared him the best I could over email in advance.

Meeting him tonight, we walked through the set-up and I asked if he had any questions.

"Who wrote this speech? It's terrific--I didn't have to change anything. Did you write it?"

I'll never be a CJ Cregg, but maybe a Sam Seaborn? Maybe a surly Toby Ziegler? Bring me your states of the union, your states of the state. I'll settle for a state of the block or a "state of my fridge." Hell, we could do a "state of my pocketbook" and I'll tell you about the collection agency burning up my cell phone minutes. But I'd rather write for someone else. The state of this ghostwriter is strong. Here is where you applaud. Not for me--for that guy, up there. Clap for him.

Let's make a resolution to do this every day. Ok, every week. Let there be inspired writing, and let it be delivered by someone else.

Decision Making, Reality TV Style

American Idol/Dancing with Stars: the viewers pick
Project Runway/Top Model: the judges pick
The Bachelor/Bachelorette: a dude/chick picks
Survivor: some jerks on an island pick
The Biggest Loser: the scale picks
Amazing Race: last one home's a rotten egg
Wifeswap/Trading Spouses: everyone wins/loses
Extreme Home Makeover: the producers pick

She Saved Me; He Made Me Bawl

I'd like to make a pact that I will listen to the Writer's Almanac every day, that I will be on the road every morning by 8:40am to catch it on NPR and get to work on time.

Because every now and then they roll out something like Mrs. Krikorian, which wakes me up and reminds me why I do what I do.

Better than coffee; more hazardous for driving.

EDIT: Also, somehow related, but with no additional commentary, this citibank commerical.

EDIT2: Apparantly this post is now about making connections. Louise Gluck.

Crowdy

me:
i am prejudiced against families who can't give their children new names
uh, crap
like mine
if we have a child
we could name him j--- d-----
after your dad AND my dad

Jason: awwww.

me: AND my brother

Jason: weird.

me: yeah

Jason: weird.

me: that's too many people in my kid

Jason: get out!
gtfo!

You Expect This Kind Of Shizzz From Buffalo Wild Wings...

It is so rare to find a free parking spot in a popular lunch destination strip mall, one that isn't reserved for Darque Tan or Neighborhood Cleaners or Fed-Ex. Every now and then, in a bright & shiny moment of serendipity, there is a beautiful gap, and it is for you! Because it is "Reserved for Peppertree Customers"! You will be, in just a few delicious minutes, a Peppertree customer! Without having to hike for it! The parking spot beckons: YOU are the one I have been waiting for--park into meeeeee! Exclamation points!

And then a little man steps into the spot and refuses to move, because he is saving it for his wife. He is standing in your reserved spot. And you can't even bring yourself to put up much of a fight, because it doesn't seem like a very vegan thing to do.

I May Never Buy A House

Hey, people.

You people who know things. Riddle me this:

How much trouble can a person hypothetically get into by ignoring a collection agency that hypothetically is hell bent on collecting a nominal lab fee from a previous doctors visit that I--a person--decided he/she ain't gonna pay? Hypothetically.

I decided I wasn't going to pay it shortly after they started sending me letters that said, "We TRUSTED your doctor when he asked us to run these labs--YOU are a VERY BAD PERSON. Pay Up."

Like. Hell. I. Will. Go whine to my insurance company.

So, people who know things, what's the worst that can happen here? I get a bad smear on my credit report? I get arrested? I get phone calls every morning at 4am for the rest of my life? I marry my equally creditless boyfriend and we live out of a box? What?

Jury of Your Fears

My jury duty started out a-ok, despite the fact that my number qualified me for a day in criminal court #230, vying for a spot of 12 out of 65. Police Officer "Call Me Carl" was jovial and reassuring, cracking jokes with the jurors ("Do you want your pen back?" "You paid for it--you keep it.") and promising a swift and painless day.

Then "Call Me Carl" left us standing in the hallway for two hours outside the courtroom, while a variety of interesting people paraded up and down the hall, and I got chatted up by Roberto who told me how much he loves America.

Two hours, folks... no chairs. By the time he lined us up by juror number, lunch was fast approaching and pissed-off juror stomachs were rumbling.

They finally called us inside ("sit anywhere") only to reveal that we could all go home--in the two hours we were waiting, they had settled 6 out of 7 cases, and the 7th had more work before it would be seen by a jury. Turns out that a lot of these folks, when they realize that a jury is actually lined up and ready to go, decide its in their better interests to let the lawyers settle it up.

I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that process--the psychology at work: "Don't make me bring those jurors in here--did you see them? They look mean and uncomfortable. But I'll do it, if that's what you really want..."

So this is how justice works. A game of chicken.

Clubs I Am Going To Join

1. The Labyrinth Society
Not, as one might first imagine, devoted to the David Bowie movie of the same name, but PEOPLE WHO WALK IN CIRCLES, FOR FUN AND HOBBY. These are MY people. Plus, there are two of these labyrinths in Houston, and one looks very cool.

The Laby people argue that the labyrinth is symbolic of life's journey. One may choose to walk, skip, twirl, move quickly or stop often for meditation. When I think of all the time I have wasted walking in straight lines, it just makes. me. sick.

2. Raw Food Diet
This is relatively self-explanatory, right? I may never have to cook again! Plus--this gives me a great excuse to buy a juicer. One of the expensive noisy piss-off-the-neighbors juicers.

Upside: OMG crunchy vegetables
Downside: moist nuts? urrrghh....

3. Cartographers for Social Justice


Ok, like most clever things that come out of my mouth, I yoinked this one from the West Wing, and, it doesn't really exist. Which is ok, because I'm gonna be spending a LOT of time on Labyrinthing and not cooking my food (but three seemed like a nice solid number).

Spam-a-Lot

Occasionally, in my work I will be called on to send out mass emails. I don't do it so much anymore, but I used to email 400 people a monthly newsletter and it would freak the heck out of me.

What if there's a typo?

What if I'm sending to someone who requested no mail?

What if they yell at me?

I'm awfully sensitive to not wasting people's time or filling up their inbox with unwanted mail. I'm also very aware that every single recipient is going to have some sort of reaction to my email, whether it's ignoring it, deleting it, reading it, taking action, unsubscribe, forwarding to a friend. I'm aware that some will think I'm crazy, some will think I'm right on, some will be annoyed and many, many will be indifferent.

But, this is important. And so today I sent out 700 emails. 700 reactions. 700 possible responses.

And then, as I always do after hitting "send," I got up and took a walk.