Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Me and Hello Kitty Down by the Schoolyard

Trying to blog more, even if it's just silly little things. I have a bunch of photos on my phone I'd nearly forgotten about. Here they are!

Car full of puppies!

Saw this mural in a Northern Blvd. schoolyard the other day and thought it was awesome in its strangeness. I'm not sure what the benefit of a flying 7 train would be, especially if it had to stay near the tracks like that. But if it's faster, I'm all for it.
For any non-New Yorkers out there, it's grammatically correct; that's the borough/county of Queens, and it is confusingly singular. If it said "Queens are the future," it would mean something totally different - but no less awesome!

Walking down Park Avenue last week, I passed these metal Hello Kitty statues in an office building plaza. These would be strange and out of place enough on their own, but they're also fountains. Yes, that's not a trick of the light: Hello Kitty is weeping. And the one that's not projectile-crying looks like it's about to attack Manhattan.
The hell?

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Things that disturb me:

The way they've started dressing all the girls on MTV's Legally Blonde casting show in matching grey hoodies, as if they're in some sort of cult.

Though I suppose a mass suicide would make the show more interesting.

Best Blonde Maria

High School Tony Awards Honor Nation's Biggest Drama Club Nerds

Sunday, June 15, 2008

With great appliances comes great responsibility

Boy and I are the proud new owners of a beautiful dishwasher. Except for a few weeks each of the summers I worked at Undisclosed Location Summer Theater, I have never lived anywhere with a dishwasher, and I'm extremely excited. But why the fuck is it so complicated? At this point, I feel kind of like an old hand at purchasing appliances, and the dishwasher is like no other.

I suppose even if I'd had one before I wouldn't have realized that dishwashers come naked. Unlike every other major appliance I can think of, they do not come with any sort of shell around the top and sides. You have to have a spot under your kitchen counter for it. I just don't get this. In case this is all news to you too, here is the naked dishwasher:

You'd never buy a refrigerator that way, and have to put it in a closet. (Okay, as someone has pointed out in the comments, you MIGHT do this - there are such things as built-in fridges - but the point is you'd still have options!) Even clothes washers, seemingly the dishwasher's closest relatives, come fully self-contained, with a plug that sticks in a wall outlet. Oh yeah, that's the other thing: There's no plug. It has to be wired. What the fuck? AND, Home Depot will only install a dishwasher if they're replacing your existing one. So you pay them 60 bucks to remove the hoses from one and attach them to the other. If it were that simple, I'd have no problems! (And yes, I knew all this before we bought it, it wasn't like a scary shock when it arrived in the apartment, but that makes it no less annoying.)

I'll spare you the details of this bizarre DIY project, but I'll definitely post more pics when it's finished. If today's trip to Home Depot for supplies is any indication, it may be a while. In the meantime, if anyone can explain to me why dishwashers are retarded, I'd love to know!

Oh, and on the same day we bought the dishwasher, Boy and I went to Queens Borough Hall and got officially domestic partnered. Since neither of us is a City employee or a fishmonger, this doesn't really do a whole lot for us, but it has a few legal perks, and there's something nice about making it a little bit official after almost 7 years. Now if that piece of paper could wash our dishes for us, I'd've led with it.

This photo nicely sums up the wedding at city hall experience:

Friday, June 13, 2008

What a twist!

Dear M. Night Shamalayan,

Don't call your movie The Happening if nothing really happens in it.

Monday, June 09, 2008

Dear Steve Jobs,

Please call the new version of OS X "Tabby."

Sunday, June 08, 2008

The more things change...

At my 10th high school reunion, dinner was held out on the athletic field, and it rained all day. There were tents, of course, but the ground was very muddy, and most of the girls had worn cute little shoes and were quite pissed off.

So I'm convinced that, as revenge, the ladies of the class of '93 chipped in for a weather dominator to make it obscenely hot for our 15th reunion yesterday, so they could parade around in their little sundresses while the boys sweat like we were in hell – actual hell, not just high school.

Heat wave aside, the event made me nostalgic. Not for high school, but for my 10th reunion. I guess I was trying to manufacture some nostalgia for the early 90s by making a playlist of songs that made me think of school, and what I actually thought was, "Wow, five years ago I didn't have an iPod." This got my brain going on a stream of consciousness about the many ways my life was different just a short five years ago. And isn't that why blogs were invented?

In June, 2003...
...I didn't own an iPod. cell phone, a Motorola StarTac, had a black and white, text-only screen, and no camera or text messaging. camera, for that matter, used film. computer was a purple clamshell iBook.
...I lived alone.
...I rented.
...I had never had a pet.
...I was 2 years away from going to Undisclosed Location Summer Theater, and 4 months away from meeting the man who would take me there.
...I was working at an Off-Broadway theater that has since been torn down.
...I believed my stage management career was starting to take off.
...I was a stage manager. (Oh yeah, I still haven't blogged about that whole new job thing, have I?)
...I had blonde highlights.
...I couldn't conceive of the American people being stupid enough to re-elect George W. Bush.
...Buffy and Dawson's Creek had only been off the air for a month.
...the WB was still a network.
...Logo was not.
...Facebook and YouTube didn't exist.
...I didn't have a DVR.
...I wore glasses
...I didn't have a blog.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Note to self: Don't be passive-aggressive with the person using sharp objects on your head

After work today, I had an appointment to get my hair cut at the salon I've been going to for years, by Janet, a woman who's cut my hair at least two or three times before. After a series of transit mishaps that included my just-purchased new kitchen toy from Williams-Sonoma falling onto the tracks, I miraculously arrived 2 minutes early for my scheduled slot. I checked in at the desk and was told that Janice would be with me in about 10 minutes. Uh, but my appointment is in 2 minutes, isn't it?

A few minutes later, my appointment time now passed, Janet walked in from outside carrying a bag that clearly contained food, and disappeared into the back of the salon. A few moments later, it was 10 minutes past my appointment, and I walked up to the front desk and said, "My appointment was at 6:45, right?" Now, this was deliberately passive-aggressive. I cop to that. But I was also fully prepared for the answer to be, "No, it was at 6:30 and when you were 15 minutes late she gave up on you and went to get dinner since you're her last client before break," or "No, it's at 7:00, so sit your impatient ass back down." But the receptionist confirmed, and said someone would be out to wash my hair in a minute.

That "someone" was Janet, obviously pulled away from her meal, still with onion breath. As she briskly shampooed me, she asked me if I had another appointment. "No," I said calmly, knowing full well why she was asking. "Why?"

"Oh, I thought you were in a hurry," she said. I'm not the only one who studied abroad in the mystical land of Passive-Aggressiva.

"No," I said, really annoyed now for the first time, "it's just that I had an appointment here and you were eating a sandwich." My point made, I added helpfully, "Did you get backed up with clients earlier?" I wanted to give her an out, a chance to say, "Yeah it was crazy and I missed my break, I'm so sorry." But she didn't reply at all, and I'd swear the water got a little bit hotter.

It's worth mentioning at this point in the story that I have a history with this woman. And she is not, in fact, a woman. She revealed this fact to me after I mentioned "my partner" in conversation the first time she cut my hair. She was new at the salon at the time, and told me no one there knew she was trans and she was nervous about it. Given this, it's not clear why she told me – she's petite and on hormones and passes extremely well, and I really wouldn't have guessed – except that I guess she needed to share with someone and decided she could trust me. (I realize a hair salon seems like it would be the gayest place on earth, but I'd say 99% of the people who work in this one are women... women with vaginas.) It was very sweet and sort of fun and also kinda inappropriate. It also put me in the awkward position of feeling like I had to see her again, regardless of how well she cut my hair, lest she think I was avoiding her because of her confession, or become paranoid that I had "told on her." I've consistently liked the staff at this place, so I generally just go whenever it suits my schedule and see whomever is available, but Janet has cut my hair a few more times since then, and her chattiness has decreased while her skill has increased, and I feel like I'm supporting a fellow person of queerness, so it's all good.

Anyway, over in the chair Janet had moved from passive-aggressive to just plain aggressive. On the bright side, I've never had my hair cut so quickly. On the down side, I'm not sure that's a good thing. Scissors. Moving very quickly. Very close to my face. I repeatedly asked her to slow down, said I wasn't in a rush, attempted small talk, tried to be kind and soothing. No luck. A couple of times, I got genuinely nervous and imagined a scenario in which I'd have to ask her to stop and have someone else finish my haircut. As if there was any doubt after our first meeting, this person is far too high-maintenance for me. I don't want to have to be responsible for calming down the person wielding scissors near my face.

There's no clever ending to this story. The haircut is okay, no blood was drawn, and Janet and her penis remained angry throughout. On my way out, I complained to the woman at the desk about the experience, but I tipped Janet as usual anyway, just in case our schedules dictate that I get her again even though I'd rather not. Lesson learned: There are some things you don't complain about. I will keep this in mind next time I'm at the dentist or proctologist.