I recently moved in with my parents in the vain attempt that if the Universe or the Gods KNOW that I am serious about wanting to move to New Zealand and I actually do all the work to get there that the skies will open up and a miracle will burst forth and some fucking company will offer me a GODDAMN JOB ALREADY!
Sorry, my bad. I am getting grumpy with this process of applying for jobs and waiting and applying for jobs and waiting and applying for Visa stuff and waiting and I am freaking waiting and waiting and I am just tired now. I would really like to take a nap.
I am also in Brooklyn today, the Mecca of Crack. Seriously, you need some? I think I can get it cheap on the corner.
Mom suggested that I take the bus instead of doing the drive, so I can relax. Apparently my Mom has never taken mass transit into the Port Authority. The word relax doesn't really ring on their slogan. So yes, this morning this was a big mistake, not only is it more expensive then it would be to continue parking at my office in Jersey City, but it sucks the cat's ass because as I relayed to Mom "If I don't freeze my ass off because the bus's AC is set to Antartic Sub Freezing and I don't get elbowed by some women wearing way to much pommade... to the point that I can SMELL IT! "
I am not a happy camper today. Camp was way better than this. At least at camp I got a snack.
25 August, 2005
13 August, 2005
The Dork Brigade!
Conversation that I JUST had with Mike, my ever dorky friend who I LOVE, but G-d bless him!
Mike informed me that I thwarted his opportunity for two alternate plans for this evening. If he was not joining me to see "The Wedding Crashers", he would be either catching a rather gory 1970's Vietnam flick by himself in some Midtown theater OR buying a new book in his favorite bookstore about Abe Lincoln.
To which I responded "Gee Mike, no freaking wonder why your single. You are actually upset that you are joining a hot chick for a movie and drinks and would rather spend a quality Friday evening by yourself holed up in a tiny bookstore happily jacking off to Abe Lincoln!".
Our Russian co-worker; that we never hear from, laughed. OUT LOUD. And hard.
Mike's response: "This is why I love you. Everything I say can be made fun of and you never miss an opportunity".
My response: "Get a clue dude. If not, you will never get laid".
Mike informed me that I thwarted his opportunity for two alternate plans for this evening. If he was not joining me to see "The Wedding Crashers", he would be either catching a rather gory 1970's Vietnam flick by himself in some Midtown theater OR buying a new book in his favorite bookstore about Abe Lincoln.
To which I responded "Gee Mike, no freaking wonder why your single. You are actually upset that you are joining a hot chick for a movie and drinks and would rather spend a quality Friday evening by yourself holed up in a tiny bookstore happily jacking off to Abe Lincoln!".
Our Russian co-worker; that we never hear from, laughed. OUT LOUD. And hard.
Mike's response: "This is why I love you. Everything I say can be made fun of and you never miss an opportunity".
My response: "Get a clue dude. If not, you will never get laid".
NO. SLEEP. TILL. Broooklllyyynnnnnnn!
Spending a rather large portion of my work time at the Brooklyn office as of late. By the way; time that I am thoroughly NOT enjoying. It's not that I don't love Brooklyn. I do. Certain parts.
Parts that I appreciate: My Dad's neighborhood in Sheepshead Bay, Coney Island and the rickety wooden roller coasters that give you whiplash, L&B spumoni Gardens, Rollin Roaster, Marine Park, walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and actually READING all the plaques and signs, the little old Italian dive coffees shops where little old Italians drink coffee and argue, All the songs from Really Rosie that pop into my head when I am in Brooklyn, and last but not least being a little kid at my Grandmother's kitchen table and being reminded of what Brooklyn really is served with homemade ziti with LOTS and LOTS of sauce.
But the part they have me working in, is the part that I loathe. In less than one week's time I have witnessed a crack deal less then a foot from me, got heckled by a Spanish women who said something nasty about my pants, and watched a cop in the subway end an argument with a man and his obviously high-as-a-kite wife by cuffing and hog-tying him in less than 2 seconds flat.
My company, my BAG-A-ZILLION dollar company, bought property and space or rented or what ever in the WORST freaking neighborhood in this area of Brooklyn. Don't even try to tell me that I am safe or that I should feel safe because you've posted a company security guard every 1/2 a block around the perimeter of the office. Please, I saw that girl security guard yesterday, are you kidding! I COULD TAKE HER! Like this chick is going to stop a crime against me. Ah, no.
How I long for an office in Midtown.
Parts that I appreciate: My Dad's neighborhood in Sheepshead Bay, Coney Island and the rickety wooden roller coasters that give you whiplash, L&B spumoni Gardens, Rollin Roaster, Marine Park, walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and actually READING all the plaques and signs, the little old Italian dive coffees shops where little old Italians drink coffee and argue, All the songs from Really Rosie that pop into my head when I am in Brooklyn, and last but not least being a little kid at my Grandmother's kitchen table and being reminded of what Brooklyn really is served with homemade ziti with LOTS and LOTS of sauce.
But the part they have me working in, is the part that I loathe. In less than one week's time I have witnessed a crack deal less then a foot from me, got heckled by a Spanish women who said something nasty about my pants, and watched a cop in the subway end an argument with a man and his obviously high-as-a-kite wife by cuffing and hog-tying him in less than 2 seconds flat.
My company, my BAG-A-ZILLION dollar company, bought property and space or rented or what ever in the WORST freaking neighborhood in this area of Brooklyn. Don't even try to tell me that I am safe or that I should feel safe because you've posted a company security guard every 1/2 a block around the perimeter of the office. Please, I saw that girl security guard yesterday, are you kidding! I COULD TAKE HER! Like this chick is going to stop a crime against me. Ah, no.
How I long for an office in Midtown.
11 August, 2005
Little Old Men Impart Wisdom
During my mad dash to make my appearance at two offices this morning I ended up on a PATH train heading into the World Trade Center at about 10:30 am. What strikes me as sort of sad is the fact that I make the run on this particular train with this particular view 3 to 4 times per week. And it never ceases to amaze me that my reaction is always the same. I look up, take a deep breath in, breathe, ponder the world for a moment, take notice of everyone else around me, curse my luck for both being here and not being here and then I get off the train and walk to the subway. A memorial unto it’s self. This pit of dirt and steel and rubble is. Perhaps instead of building a new monolith to revere the dead, the politicians would be better off leaving the big sucking hole in the ground, a constant reminder to everyone of what we lost here.
This morning the train was empty and I sat across from a rather lithe 85 year old well dressed man. He sported a blue blazer, a starched shirt and tie combo that would rival any Harvard grad, pressed pants and nice shoes. He was reading the paper and making notes to himself. I imagine he was on his way to met his partner on Wall Street somewhere. Probably has a seat on the Exchange that he will pass on to his son and together they will build an empire in futures. I am probably giving this little old man way to much detail, considering that we didn’t utter a single word to each other.
But this morning my back was to the inside of the World Trade Center Big Whopping Hole In the Ground. And I didn’t see it. But I saw him. I saw his face change and become sad and then he crossed himself. And for a moment, I could have sworn I saw his lips move, in some kind of reverent prayer.
For all the hatred and killing that is taking place in this world, this little old man took a moment from his trading paper and said a prayer.
It was nice.
This morning the train was empty and I sat across from a rather lithe 85 year old well dressed man. He sported a blue blazer, a starched shirt and tie combo that would rival any Harvard grad, pressed pants and nice shoes. He was reading the paper and making notes to himself. I imagine he was on his way to met his partner on Wall Street somewhere. Probably has a seat on the Exchange that he will pass on to his son and together they will build an empire in futures. I am probably giving this little old man way to much detail, considering that we didn’t utter a single word to each other.
But this morning my back was to the inside of the World Trade Center Big Whopping Hole In the Ground. And I didn’t see it. But I saw him. I saw his face change and become sad and then he crossed himself. And for a moment, I could have sworn I saw his lips move, in some kind of reverent prayer.
For all the hatred and killing that is taking place in this world, this little old man took a moment from his trading paper and said a prayer.
It was nice.
02 August, 2005
Career Opportunity
During a kind of lame and non-eventful weekend, after a beach burn and way to much sun, I rented a bunch of DVD's and junkfood and headed over to a friend's house where many non-eventful things were going on with non-eventful people. Plus beer.
During the 3 course evening meal of Hitch, The Pacifier (which blew chunks by the way, but was worth the 1 min Vin D. shot in a towel), and one really bad Katie Holmes flick I was informed by a male friend that "You have an ass like Eva Mendes, you could probably be an actress too!". As exuberant as that may sound, and although I was so not offended, I can honestly say that a) why is it always about my ass? and b) really if that was all it took to become a high paying actress sign me up.
And then of course I look at the raw talent (ahec-hack) that Hollywood is spitting out these days and wonder, hell is that all it takes?
Ponder that, while I sit here and channel some Puerto Rican ancestor that I am SURE is lurking in my family history, but no one has fessed up too yet.
During the 3 course evening meal of Hitch, The Pacifier (which blew chunks by the way, but was worth the 1 min Vin D. shot in a towel), and one really bad Katie Holmes flick I was informed by a male friend that "You have an ass like Eva Mendes, you could probably be an actress too!". As exuberant as that may sound, and although I was so not offended, I can honestly say that a) why is it always about my ass? and b) really if that was all it took to become a high paying actress sign me up.
And then of course I look at the raw talent (ahec-hack) that Hollywood is spitting out these days and wonder, hell is that all it takes?
Ponder that, while I sit here and channel some Puerto Rican ancestor that I am SURE is lurking in my family history, but no one has fessed up too yet.
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