1. The tree actually looks really gorgeous and special. I can't wait to ice skate in front of it. I didn't mean to in any way negate the the tree is big and sparkling and big and sparkling is a nice thing.
2. This picture below is so great. I need to figure out how to make it a permenent blog fixture. I cannot think of a better summation of how I act than the face I am making at Andrew in this picture, and how cute is he in that hat?!
Thursday, November 30, 2006
An enormous tree between more enormous buildings
Well, the tree has been lit. It was the major event of the last few weeks here at work -- the tree... inviting people to come see it be lit, answering calls regarding the lighting ceremony. Now it's done.
People love this tree. I don't like Christmas so much. I like Thanksgiving and I like Three Kings Day with my Puerto Rican non-blood relatives. Christmas is ugly if you ask me. A) The consumerism B) The whole concept that NOW we believe in good will and some kind of unity of all, some common denominator idea, that is supposed to SUDDENLY arise in us all - for about four weeks. I think this is moronic. Sorry. It's necessary to have a winter holiday so everyone doesn't shoot themselves. But am I wrong that it's moronic how people get about large lit up trees and plastering flakes and santas all over things? Maybe I'm deficient. These things don't bring me joy. The Nutcracker is good at Lincoln Center. Holiday cheer is alright but coming to Rockefeller Center every day will scrooge you. I don't know how it couldn't.
So I'm thinking this must be so with lots of things that bring the massess happiness. Or all. Like everything that's supposed to basically make nearly everyone in America happy... say, theme-parks, blockbuster movies, radio call-in contests.... do the people who make these things reality hate them, or at least get very far over them. Yes. Everyone who works at the theme park probably hates everyone who comes to the theme park. People who make movies... God help them. etc. My thesis here: the little "magical" things you like were orchestrated by someone who doesn't think it's magical at all. You have to be as crazy as me for that to bother you.
People love this tree. I don't like Christmas so much. I like Thanksgiving and I like Three Kings Day with my Puerto Rican non-blood relatives. Christmas is ugly if you ask me. A) The consumerism B) The whole concept that NOW we believe in good will and some kind of unity of all, some common denominator idea, that is supposed to SUDDENLY arise in us all - for about four weeks. I think this is moronic. Sorry. It's necessary to have a winter holiday so everyone doesn't shoot themselves. But am I wrong that it's moronic how people get about large lit up trees and plastering flakes and santas all over things? Maybe I'm deficient. These things don't bring me joy. The Nutcracker is good at Lincoln Center. Holiday cheer is alright but coming to Rockefeller Center every day will scrooge you. I don't know how it couldn't.
So I'm thinking this must be so with lots of things that bring the massess happiness. Or all. Like everything that's supposed to basically make nearly everyone in America happy... say, theme-parks, blockbuster movies, radio call-in contests.... do the people who make these things reality hate them, or at least get very far over them. Yes. Everyone who works at the theme park probably hates everyone who comes to the theme park. People who make movies... God help them. etc. My thesis here: the little "magical" things you like were orchestrated by someone who doesn't think it's magical at all. You have to be as crazy as me for that to bother you.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Constants
Everyone knows death and taxes
I have three more:
* Picking my clothes for work based on what tights are cleanest.
* Only leaving for work after speaking out loud some variation of "Alexis, you have to leave now. Just leave now."
* Spilling coffee somewhere, usually on myself, every single day.
Stayed up late last night contemplating my last post and how cool it is that I can't slut effectively any more. I'm all grown up and covered in coffee.
I have three more:
* Picking my clothes for work based on what tights are cleanest.
* Only leaving for work after speaking out loud some variation of "Alexis, you have to leave now. Just leave now."
* Spilling coffee somewhere, usually on myself, every single day.
Stayed up late last night contemplating my last post and how cool it is that I can't slut effectively any more. I'm all grown up and covered in coffee.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I was a slut when I lived in LA. Looks like those days are over.
Prologue: When I was a florist there, somehow my florist connections (i.e. giving daisies to the House of Blues security guard who drank on a regular basis at the bar next door) got me free passes to see MosDef. I brought Jessica and Clare, and it all ended in me going back to the hotel with the tour DJ... this idiot. I slept with him (yup - I was only mildly irritated with my friends for turning me over to him drunk in fact. It just wasn't a big deal to me back then) but then the next morning, he wanted me to screw him again... of course. And I didn't want to -- I was hungover and not ready to wake up. At this point he put his hand in the air parallel to the ground just above his eye level and announced "My respect for you used to be about here..." Then, he lowered his hand to below his waist, "Now it's about here." I said something like "You're telling me you respect me less because I don't want to have sex right now. What a crock. This isn't about respect. " Then he called me ugly names. I went home and crawled in bed with Jessica and I think this is probably the morning that we began calling eachother "Bunny" and "Muffin." I am embarassed by this story. I would never have brought it up since it's a blessing how my frivolity didn't cost me any more than names but...
AS IT RELATES TO...: So before I left LA, I started sleeping with a DJ/producer who's now super famous except I was then a teacher not a florist, and I had already had a few LA sex experiences, like the one above for example, and I thought this person with this just-hit amazing album seemed sweet and different, but I still knew enough to be uninvested. And I'd just broken up with someone with whom the sex was great and close so I wasn't really feeling it with DJ anyway. He was pretty inexperienced. And he was impressed by my not expecting a relationship just because we occasionally got together. I usually went to his place because he lived down the street from the shcool where I taught. We got a hotel for our last date and watched the Olympics, ate take-out. I was a little put off by him to tell the truth... he'd do things that reminded me of that other MosDef's DJ asshole, eventhough he wasn't idiotic or mean like that guy at all. But sex-wise, he was very non-communicative and sort of just nudged me toward what he wanted, and I was sorta "yuck" -- but it got better; it even got good... and I totally admired his talent.
2 years later... two and half, we get reacquainted and... can I keep this short and just tell my epiphany? ... eventaully he disses me in a hotel room too, certainly not with ugly names; he just told me that he didn't think about me, really. And I tried to stay calm but didn't fool anyone.... but it was much worse than with MD DJ, because, thanks to a night together on ecstasy (last done in you-know-where), I thought big star and I were friends (and that I was in love with him, which felt stupid as soon as I felt it.) I've been feeling shitty about this hotel diss for WEEKS.. but the major epiphany is OH MY GOD.... this is the whole reason I left LA and, okay, eventhough he has fame and fortune, and certain insight you wouldn't expect from him necessarily, I don't even want to have sex with people who think they have the right to determine how it all goes down in a hotel room! I was very upset thinking I forgot all the lessons I learned in LA, but I guess I didn't forget as much as he just changed, or became what he was already on the way to becoming. You can't expect anything else from him. God knows to acheive all that your ego has to be huge and if it were me I'd be the same. And I've changed too. But fact remains, now that he's big, he thinks he calls all the shots in the hotel room. (for your pleasure, some sample hotel breakdown dialogue. Me: "See the thing is you're famous." He: "Don't call me famous. Because that makes me think..." Me: "But that's reality!" <--- things degenerated from here into massive neediness on my part and major fear on his.) The thing I forgot was that it was obvious that he would change this way. I knew this when I was 23, and I'm 26 now, but whatever. There's nothing so awfully wrong about remembering the danger inherent.
I have to get back to work. But I'm so happy right now realizing all this.
AS IT RELATES TO...: So before I left LA, I started sleeping with a DJ/producer who's now super famous except I was then a teacher not a florist, and I had already had a few LA sex experiences, like the one above for example, and I thought this person with this just-hit amazing album seemed sweet and different, but I still knew enough to be uninvested. And I'd just broken up with someone with whom the sex was great and close so I wasn't really feeling it with DJ anyway. He was pretty inexperienced. And he was impressed by my not expecting a relationship just because we occasionally got together. I usually went to his place because he lived down the street from the shcool where I taught. We got a hotel for our last date and watched the Olympics, ate take-out. I was a little put off by him to tell the truth... he'd do things that reminded me of that other MosDef's DJ asshole, eventhough he wasn't idiotic or mean like that guy at all. But sex-wise, he was very non-communicative and sort of just nudged me toward what he wanted, and I was sorta "yuck" -- but it got better; it even got good... and I totally admired his talent.
2 years later... two and half, we get reacquainted and... can I keep this short and just tell my epiphany? ... eventaully he disses me in a hotel room too, certainly not with ugly names; he just told me that he didn't think about me, really. And I tried to stay calm but didn't fool anyone.... but it was much worse than with MD DJ, because, thanks to a night together on ecstasy (last done in you-know-where), I thought big star and I were friends (and that I was in love with him, which felt stupid as soon as I felt it.) I've been feeling shitty about this hotel diss for WEEKS.. but the major epiphany is OH MY GOD.... this is the whole reason I left LA and, okay, eventhough he has fame and fortune, and certain insight you wouldn't expect from him necessarily, I don't even want to have sex with people who think they have the right to determine how it all goes down in a hotel room! I was very upset thinking I forgot all the lessons I learned in LA, but I guess I didn't forget as much as he just changed, or became what he was already on the way to becoming. You can't expect anything else from him. God knows to acheive all that your ego has to be huge and if it were me I'd be the same. And I've changed too. But fact remains, now that he's big, he thinks he calls all the shots in the hotel room. (for your pleasure, some sample hotel breakdown dialogue. Me: "See the thing is you're famous." He: "Don't call me famous. Because that makes me think..." Me: "But that's reality!" <--- things degenerated from here into massive neediness on my part and major fear on his.) The thing I forgot was that it was obvious that he would change this way. I knew this when I was 23, and I'm 26 now, but whatever. There's nothing so awfully wrong about remembering the danger inherent.
I have to get back to work. But I'm so happy right now realizing all this.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Imaginary baby
Let's play imaginary baby. She, she's a a girl, really really wants a Barbie. Where have you gone wrong? Maybe it's the adorable wardrobe you've been dressing her in all the time. Maybe she's just internalizing the vanity she sees in you, you being her primary role model. In any case, she's six, and she wants a Barbie. Can she have it for Christmas?
I don't particularly love Christmas. Thanksgiving yes. A holiday designed around excessive amounts of food and a re-imagined slaughter. And tryptophan. So much good food. I love Thanksgiving.
But Christmas feels foreign, I was just telling my co-worker in the bathroom... it's not exactly because I'm Jewish, although that may figure, because we celebrated it, both families, one way or another... I guess getting presents just felt weird... and the kids in Ptown used to behave worse on Christmas than any other day... I don't know, Christmas was strange.
But I remember such elation the year I finally got Working Girl Barbie.
The thing about this is that Working Girl Barbie was a whore -- HER DESK TURNED INTO A BED. HER SUIT TURNED INTO A SEQUIN MINI DRESS.
I would get imaginary baby a microscope. Really. She can have a whore dress of her own when she's whoring age.
Glad I solved imaginary baby dilemma. Back to the filing.
I don't particularly love Christmas. Thanksgiving yes. A holiday designed around excessive amounts of food and a re-imagined slaughter. And tryptophan. So much good food. I love Thanksgiving.
But Christmas feels foreign, I was just telling my co-worker in the bathroom... it's not exactly because I'm Jewish, although that may figure, because we celebrated it, both families, one way or another... I guess getting presents just felt weird... and the kids in Ptown used to behave worse on Christmas than any other day... I don't know, Christmas was strange.
But I remember such elation the year I finally got Working Girl Barbie.
The thing about this is that Working Girl Barbie was a whore -- HER DESK TURNED INTO A BED. HER SUIT TURNED INTO A SEQUIN MINI DRESS.
I would get imaginary baby a microscope. Really. She can have a whore dress of her own when she's whoring age.
Glad I solved imaginary baby dilemma. Back to the filing.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Regarding my angry poems
Okay... that "fuck magazines, fuck everything" poem was wrong on two key levels.
I) It was Time Out New York not New York magazine
II) It was a pretty good quiz really. I just skimmed through it at the hair place. Lots of subway knowledge and building knowledge and Woody Allen movie knowledge required.
At the time of scrawling I felt that the mark that I'm a real New Yorker is that I'm so angry all the time. It's an imperfect idea.
I think the thing about me the that's the most real New Yorker is that I talk about sex audibly in restaurants. I think this is not the best trait, but it's very easy to do in New York and when it comes to talking about sex, I am so easy. What's to be done?
I) It was Time Out New York not New York magazine
II) It was a pretty good quiz really. I just skimmed through it at the hair place. Lots of subway knowledge and building knowledge and Woody Allen movie knowledge required.
At the time of scrawling I felt that the mark that I'm a real New Yorker is that I'm so angry all the time. It's an imperfect idea.
I think the thing about me the that's the most real New Yorker is that I talk about sex audibly in restaurants. I think this is not the best trait, but it's very easy to do in New York and when it comes to talking about sex, I am so easy. What's to be done?
Friday, November 10, 2006
2 things that happened in two days
1) Propositioned from a car -- offered money to "lick" guys on my street, very nearly home, I was drunk and wound up shouting obscenities in the street for few minutes. Not exactly "empowering" but a significant release of anger.
2) Cup of coffee fell on my head on my way to work. My coffee, which I had placed precariously on top of a learning annex cubby-thing while I went through my bag to find headphones. I didn't mind the guy watching the whole thing laughing. but he could have gotten me a paper towel. As it was, the bodega next door, gave me a single sheet. As I'm typing now, I smell like coffee... you can dry half a cup of coffee from your hair okay with one sheet of a paper towel, but you will continue to smell like coffee.
Oh and the girl next door lied to me about Charlotte's Web. Last time I saw her she told me she was over a hundred pages in, but I guess it was just to please me... because when I saw her last night, she informed me that UPS had come but I wasn't home, which I knew (as I'm on a campaign to try and get UPS to communicate better with me, by means of a nail in the door and a note expressing my need for more information when they drop by than a ripped up piece of paper lying on the floor with... none. Success! UPS guy whoever he may be responded with a very clear note on the nail!) So I said "yes I know... thanks. So did you finish the book?" and she said yes, (last tiem we had this conversation she claimed to be ovr a hundred pages in so...) but then when I said "Wasn't it sad?" she said, "yes... the father wanted to kill the pig because he was small..." and I was like "Yes, at the beginning....but then all that other stuff happens...but at least there's the babies..." And she said "yes, the pig had babies." I said "You didn't get to Charlotte yet?" Maybe I'll read it with her sometime. This blog is about me displaying the most pathetic elements of my life. Obviously.
2) Cup of coffee fell on my head on my way to work. My coffee, which I had placed precariously on top of a learning annex cubby-thing while I went through my bag to find headphones. I didn't mind the guy watching the whole thing laughing. but he could have gotten me a paper towel. As it was, the bodega next door, gave me a single sheet. As I'm typing now, I smell like coffee... you can dry half a cup of coffee from your hair okay with one sheet of a paper towel, but you will continue to smell like coffee.
Oh and the girl next door lied to me about Charlotte's Web. Last time I saw her she told me she was over a hundred pages in, but I guess it was just to please me... because when I saw her last night, she informed me that UPS had come but I wasn't home, which I knew (as I'm on a campaign to try and get UPS to communicate better with me, by means of a nail in the door and a note expressing my need for more information when they drop by than a ripped up piece of paper lying on the floor with... none. Success! UPS guy whoever he may be responded with a very clear note on the nail!) So I said "yes I know... thanks. So did you finish the book?" and she said yes, (last tiem we had this conversation she claimed to be ovr a hundred pages in so...) but then when I said "Wasn't it sad?" she said, "yes... the father wanted to kill the pig because he was small..." and I was like "Yes, at the beginning....but then all that other stuff happens...but at least there's the babies..." And she said "yes, the pig had babies." I said "You didn't get to Charlotte yet?" Maybe I'll read it with her sometime. This blog is about me displaying the most pathetic elements of my life. Obviously.
3 on New York
Maybe you need to think more Alexis? Anyway, 3 poems...
I
New York Magazine is asking
Are you real New Yorker?
Pave an island
If you walk that pavement
New York pavement
to get somewhere
in New York...
Need you buy a coffee?
Need you be demanding about it?
What can their criterion be?
Need you read New York Magazine perhaps?
II - Something Bums say
Thank you for smiling
III
I hailed a miraculous cab driver
The night you kept me
from getting my things from your hotel room
held at the desk
the next day
I so wanted to tell you
how he treated me
posted by alexis | 6:40 AM | 0 comments
I
New York Magazine is asking
Are you real New Yorker?
Pave an island
If you walk that pavement
New York pavement
to get somewhere
in New York...
Need you buy a coffee?
Need you be demanding about it?
What can their criterion be?
Need you read New York Magazine perhaps?
II - Something Bums say
Thank you for smiling
III
I hailed a miraculous cab driver
The night you kept me
from getting my things from your hotel room
held at the desk
the next day
I so wanted to tell you
how he treated me
posted by alexis | 6:40 AM | 0 comments
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