Monday, August 29, 2005

To the boys who live behind me

"He was no more... than a baby then
Well he... seemed broken hearted...
Something within him
But the moment... that I first laid...
Eyes... on... him... all alone...
On the edge of... seventeen"
-Stevie Nicks (Edge of Seventeen)

Why, are there 5 cute art boys living in a house whose windows look right into my kitchen?
Oh boys who live behind me, why are you all under the age of 21?
Why do you throw rediculous parties that you make flyers for and charge $5 for keg beer?
Why do you play ping pong on your "patio" with no shirts on?

Boys....sweet young boys.....why has the cutest among you learned to jump on the roof of the nail salon, so as to vist me faster?

"Young boys, get out of my mind, my love for you is way out line better ruuuunnn boy, you're much to youuunnng boooyyyy."

Young boy with the floppy hair, must you sit in your window with the red light on, playing your guitar as you gaze out at my windows with that torched art school student look in your eyes?

Young boys, please don't invite me to your rediculous keg parties.
Please don't do stupid ping pong tricks to get my attention.
Please don't leave your windows open when the five of you play music together.
Don't play Bell and Sebastian and Radiohead back to back, then put on Bush.

It confuses me.

Oh young boys, you are much to young boys, for I am slidding down the slope to 30, while you are on the edge of 21, still excited to get drunk, still at the age were a girl in her mid 20s is kind of exciting.

Don't tempt me with those tattoos and piercings art boy, my little sister is the same age as you.

Why do I walk a little slower past those kitchen windows, I move a little diffrently, I slink a little more, I linger a little more.

I need to get curtians.
Black shutters....

"Young boys, get out of my mind......."

Sunday, August 28, 2005

They call me the Lone Cowgirl......except that I don't wear a hat...or boots....Maybe its just the "lone" part...

That's right Dottie. They call me the Lone Cowgirl.

I'm a loner. A solitary kind of gal. I follow the the winding road and change with the wind. Every year my feet start to ich, I start to resent the walls that are containing me, the ones I carefully decorated and painted.

"Time to move Adelaide" I tell my cat. She picks up her mouse toy in definance, but she knows that it must be done. Sometimes its a new city, other times its just a diffrent apartment in the same neighboorhood. Either way its solitary adventure. I move alone. I travel alone. I sit in the park alone and contempate my gypsy feet.

I spent a lot of years fighting my own nature. "If only I could settle down and acutally unpack." Its never happend. I grew up in partially unpacked houses. Why bother to take everything out if your just going to move again? We lived like squatters, carting the same worn furniture around since 1977. Every year it was time for "a change", big house, small house, it didn't matter. And you know what? I liked it that way. It made life interesting. Comfort was boring. Moving was fun.

Now I've inherited my father's gypsy blood. I've been in NYC for two years, lived in two diffrent apartments (very normal for NY, I understand..)and am already looking west. I've reached my "I have to get the hell out of the country" quota, as I every do every 6 months, but alas am bound to NYC by monitary need.

I used to think I'd become "settled" if I just got a boyfriend. It looks nice. The couples shopping together, makeing decisions together, having someone to come home to. Some you have to call if your running late. Someone to wake up with in the morning....I like the idea of it. I tried it once, and found that the "sharing" my life bit was actually really hard. I'd like to try it again, but I seem to be perminatly in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't meet people. Perhaps its because I move so much.

One must resign to thier own fate. I am a loner. Not to say I don't have friends, I do. The odd thing is I change friends every few years. Even my relationships with other people are transient in nature. I have one or two that have lasted through the years, but these are girls I can walk away from for a few years and come back to. I guess that's just part of my nature as well. And I've become much happier knowing this.

Revelations in Union Sq. I sit with my own thoughts and think things through. I feel peaceful with my revelations. It is fun to watch the interactions other people have. What are thier relationships to eachother? Loners can sit alone for hours and be entertained. It is the art of being comfortable with your own thoughts. The NYU kids moving in packs with maps drive me back home, I hate being mistaken for one of them. I look young, but I like to think I don't look lost.

I think on these things on Sundays, when the world moves a little slower, which seems to be my pace, at least mentally. I think its time for some humus and crackers......

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

To The Attorney's I work with

Mr. Herman H. Bottomham-Levine III Esq
Head of Litigation at Flom, Flom, Flom & Sniggit

I am writing this letter, the 5th reminder letter in the reminder serious that I have sent out over the past 2 months along with the polite reminder phone calls, to remind you in the most senior way possible that the materials you promised us are really and truely due on August 4th, which was about three weeks ago.

Your assistant's assistant's temp informed me that you are currently unaviable for the month of August, seeing as though you and the wife are on a cruise. You have indicated from the Blackberry that you have recived my series of notices and are "on top of" the materials for the program you agreed to participate in. The program on Tax litigation and ethics, which you have already included in your bio of personal acomplishements.

Mr. Bottonham-Levine III Esq: I do not think you are "on top of the matierals" and do not what to officially say what it is I beleive you are acutually on top of. I do not beleive the note sent from the Blackberry. You do not care about the materials. Mr. Bottonham Levine III Esq, I don't think you truely care about Tax Litigation and Ethics and I would just like to say, that those of us working on this program at the Bar do not give a flying fuck either.

This is my day job sir. It is my job to collect the materials for the program on Tax Litigation and Ethics. If you do not submitt these materials, the book will not be able to be completed and this will make my life much harder. This will limit the time I have to write my blog, surf the net and look for jobs that do not require any day to day interaction with "lawyers." I can not risk this. Turn over the materials, Mr. Bottonham-Levine III Esq, or I will have to empliment an unusual amount of force. I have managed to bribe your temp into telling me where your cruise ship is headed and lets just say, those of us in the temp and entry level world "know people."

May I humbly suggest that you have your temp gather the materials for you since I know for a solid fact she does nothing but write her own blog and surf the net all day. I do not think you have accesss to information on Tax Litigation and Ethics off the coast of Bimini Island.

Please keep in mind that all materials gathered that are copyrighted will need to have permission granted in order to include them in your official materials. Your assistant's assistant's temp has this form because I sent it to her.

Do not mess with us Mr. Bottonham-Levine. Those of us with considerable skills dweling in the cubicle wonderland of corporate America who consider our 9-5 live to be "stupid day jobs" are amazingly creative. And we have nothing to loose.

I expect to see those materials in my in box by the end of the week.

Sincerly

The Program Coordinator.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Air Conditioning Fugative

Yesterday was hot.

I know I'm not supposed to talk about it.

But I am.

Hot. Damn hot. Like surface of the sun, my body is shriviling I wish I had less body mass to be hot I want to take off my skin and dive into an ice cube, hot.

I don't have air conditioning. At first it was a monitary issue. I could barely affoad ice for my lemonaide, not alone a $100 A/C unit and the energy bills that came with it. Then I got a stupid day job, and sit in the glorious artificial A/C from 9-5 every day. Why would I need an air conditioner? I'm from Arizona. You don't know what hot is until you've gotten 2nd degree burns on your hands from the steering wheel (This happend to my mother when I was 10.)I was acutally proud not to own an A/C, like not owning a TV, I was roughing it. Not starving for my art, but doing without.

Then this weekend happend. I couldn't find releif anywere. My cat was melting into a puddle of fur, flopped over a chair with her paws over her head "its hot!" She seemed to blame me for this heat. She was right. It was my fault. My pride had caused this, we were turning into loosely formed puddles due to the principal of the idea.

I became.....an air conditioning fugative. I left all the windows open and abandoned my cat (who spent the day in the bathtub) in search of the great indoors. I ended up in a little, air conditioned coffee shop in the East Village, were I, along with others, spent the entire weekend. We were writers, artists, avid readers all collecting in this one coffee shop with one goal in mind "A/C". We did everything we would do at home. watched DVDs on our laptops, wrote, read, talked on the phone, chatted with eachother, ran errands and came back, we lived at Drink Me on 3rd between B&C for two days.

So much for my principals. Everyone has thier breaking point and Saturday was mine. I grew up in a bubble of A/C, drove in a bubble, went from bubble to bubble, only to move to NY, and once again, seek out the bubble.

I suppose we just sweated before the invention of A/C, though I have a feeling its getting hotter as a result of all our energy use, our need for A/C.....

Ironic, isn't it?

Friday, August 12, 2005

Work is hazardous to your soul

3:27 on a Friday.
I'm the new kid at work, which means that most of the office has torn out of here like thier asses were on fire, leaving me and a couple other "new kids" to hold down the corporate fort. If there was no one left on Friday afternoons in the corporate offices of the world, would anything really happen? I mean come on, I'm sitting here writing a blog, I think the corporate world would continue to turn, even if we all left early on Friday's in the summer.

I've become an official member of the artist sell out team (my friend gave me this tittle. She is currently going hungry in Arizona for her art) for a whopping 3 weeks. It feels like I'm spying on alien life forms. I find the way people comunicate here very interesting. For instance, everyone askes how your weekend was on Monday, but no one sticks around to really hear HOW your weekend was. The proper response is "It was good. How was yours?" People often start conversations by talking about the weather. "Its soooo hot out, isn't it?" is currently a popular line. My tendancy to start conversations mid-thought seems to jolt my coporate friends a bit. As does the way I talk back to NPR on the radio, or kick off my shoes under my desk. I'm still learning not to address lawyers by thier first names, which in theatre is a sign of respect. Here tittles are very important. Its not who you are, its what you do. This job is not who I am. Its barely what I do. My day begins at 5:00pm. The hours between 9am-5pm have been a vivid dream I can't seem to wake up from.

I don't like that time speeds up here. Time is so precious as it is. I want to enjoy my life, not pray for it to speed up, because were is it speeding to? What is at the end of this super highway, another weekend that goes too fast?

I'm not on the company phone tree list. The official reason is "I"m still a temp" which means that I don't officially exsist. This threw me into an existential crists for a good 15 minuets. Is my existence in this world dictated by a phone number? If my name doesn't appear on a list, do I then cease to appear? If I go up to Human Resources, would they see me? Then my phone rang and I got over it.

3:44pm.
Time slows down when you don't have anything to do. I started to picture my co-workers as puppets and the lawyers I work with as giant walrus type creatures not unlike Java the Hut in the star wars movies. They leave a trail of slime were ever they go with the faint sent of coffee and toner. I don't mean any harm by this, it just helps pass the time. Oh, I hear one coming, you can tell by the soft "squish" noice they make as they decend down the rows of cubes. Time to put up the "I am working" screen.

Peace Out.

(I can't believe people read these things, is this stuff really interesting?)

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

blog, what?

Blog? Isn't that a thing that happens deep inside your nose that forms into a kind of greenish (or in Manhattan, blackish) glob that you later blow out in the morning, or comes flying out during "breath of fire" in yoga class? Welcome me to the 21st century, everyone, because I have created this "blog" thing for the very first time. I hear these things called "blogers" are changing the face of politics, the art world, and the world of publishing. I might as well jump on the band wagon.

I understand this is were I post things that come into my head, so welocome to the messy file storage house that is my brain. It looks a bit like a room with the files dumped all over the floor. There is a system at work, and given time I can usually locate the file I need, though random ones tend to surface. I have so much useless stuff to say, I can't wait to start posting, though there's this part of me who thinks I'll be the kid that wrote a blog, and no one looked.