Because there might be one of you out there who isn’t following me on Twitter, Google Buzz, or Gmail chat:
I updated www.lostandlonelyleftovers.com with a real doozy.
You should be subscribed to the RSS feed and sending me photos daily, anyway, but I understand that I haven’t exactly been as diligent about dropping food on the ground solely to take pictures of it to encourage you as I should have been.
Remember when Modest Mouse was so cool? When they were really emo, and no one you would consider “normal” listened to them, and not even your friends knew who they were?
And you had all of their albums and also all of their pins and also all of these homemade pins you bought off eBay, which you dutifully stuck to your messenger bag so everyone would know how emo you were wherever you went?
“Polar Opposites” came on my Pandora station yesterday, and I about died, so I immediately had to go to YouTube and find the best made-by-a-16-year-old music video for the song I could:
The lyrics are “I’m trying, I’m trying to/Drink away the part of the day/That I cannot sleep away,” and I remember being like, “Oh, my god, Modest Mouse, you totally get me.” Even though I had the easiest life and the strongest thing I was drinking back in 1999 in Ohio was Carnation Instant Breakfast.
I’ve sort of been thinking about changing the layout of my site, because I basically had no idea what I was doing when I chose my WordPress theme and only later discovered that mine was built for WordPress version 1.1 or something and was so messed up that it took the smarts of every programmer at my software company to make it look reasonable. And even now, its a complete wreck internally.
So, I’ve chosen a new layout and done a little work on it to make it suit me more, but basically all of my friends think it’s too emo for my subject matter. I like it, though!
What do you think? You know I can’t make decisions on my own.
Last night on 42nd Street, a girl in green velvet pants with patch pockets on the butt rushed by me, her tote bag full of Chinese paper umbrellas slamming into my messenger bag as she passed. I had purposely taken the uncrowded side of the street, so it was especially bothersome that she’d somehow apparently needed to be in the exact spot I was walking in. Two seconds later, she reached into her bag, and her yellow Vitamin Water popped out and rolled across the sidewalk. My gut reaction was to yell, “HAHA!”
Mentally ill?
My train this morning was not crowded. There was barely anyone on the 4/5 platform at Grand Central, and the few people who were there effortlessly filled the space inside the door of the train that pulled up. A few people were waiting to get on after me, though, so I wanted to move to the center of the car, which was loaded with free room. Two men were blocking my way, though, so I politely said “excuse me” to them as I always do.
One of them moved. He was young, good-looking, and probably has a beautiful penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side full of multiple women who love him and aren’t jealous of each other. He probably has a great job with a boss who allows him creative freedom and doesn’t mind when he comes in 15 minutes late.
The other man did not. He was in his 50s, probably lives in Westchester, probably has a wife who stopped loving him years ago, and probably never gets the promotions he thinks he deserves but all of his co-workers know he doesn’t. He stood right where he was, giant leather shoulder bag totally blocking my way. But I’m a farm girl, and having muscles means you don’t have to wait for people to be nice, so I just pushed his bag aside and stepped past him into acres of empty space.
As I did, though, the guy muttered a mean name* under his breath.
*Exclusive to this blog: that name was ASSHOLE! Unbelievable, right? Girls are not assholes!
Sometimes I look through the folder on my hard drive full of things I intend to post here, and I find screenshots from chats with Kamran like this:
WTF?
I had to Google image search it just to see if I’d ever posted it before, and while I didn’t find it, I did find something else, which I had to post on the new blog Tracey’s graciously sharing with me, because I apparently still don’t have enough of an online presence to suit myself.
New York City in the snow! So beautiful! So innocent and pure!
New York City after the snow. A sullen, sullied slut.
I know this sounds cheesy, but aside from actually needing to write in order to keep all of my feelings from bursting out of me at inopportune times, I like the community that a blog creates. I like having a few people who I can rely on to find something to say about everything I post and who can rely on me to do the same. (i.e. Tracey and Bachelor Girl)
A lot of blogs that I like end up failing, and I think it’s because they never develop a community of people who make them feel as if it’s important that they keep writing. (Not that I think I’m curing cancer here.) Mostly it’s because they never make an effort to reach out to other bloggers, maybe because most writers are insecure yet narcissistic.
What I’m leading up to is that there are a few blogs that I recently started reading and that I’d really, really love you to read, too. Because I like nothing more than to see your comments on other blogs and to publicly mock you for them.
• Feast on Scraps, Tracey’s idea/inspiration blog that’s loosely related to our forays into scrapbooking but is mostly just pretty stuff she likes
• Good Hair, Kim Luck, Kim’s blog about how Jesus has given her great hair but absolutely nothing else good in life
• Sandy Olive, Sandy’s blog about . . . you know, stuff . . . and I’m not even sure why it’s good, but it is, and it’s often very heartfelt
Feel free to comment with any blogs you think are worthwhile, too.
You probably know by now that I hate people who don’t conform to the sorts of etiquette rules that keep society running smoothly, such as waiting for me to leave the train before you enter and giving a friendly wave when I let you turn ahead of me in heavy traffic lest I ram my front end into your brand new BMW.
My big pet peeve as of late are people who walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk. I used to assume, to keep myself sane, that all of the people doing it were from countries where they foolishly drive on the wrong side of the road, but I eventually realized that it’s just a product of living in a city where there way too many people who think they’re too important to follow the crowd and leave space beside them for people to pass.
Kamran thinks I should give couples more leeway when it comes to taking up the entire sidewalk on some of NYC’s teeny streets, but he and I always make a single-file line when we see someone coming so as to not rub it in their face how happy we are holding hands as we walk to the grocery store and how pathetic and meaningless they are as unattached folk. But no. I do not give them more leeway. And I actually hate them more than single people on the wrong side of the sidewalk, because between the two of them, one should have the decency to move aside.
Anyway, I’ve begun implementation of a new method to combat the sidewalk-hogger. I call it The Heedless Gape. When I see someone coming at me on the wrong side of the sidewalk, I simply keep walking at my desired pace and look off into the distance as if I see something so fantastical and all-consuming that other passersby don’t even register with me. Eventually, and usually with an angry huff, the offender will move aside so I can continue on in gawking glee.
I’ve considered what will happen if ever someone refuses to get over, and I’ve decided I’ll just patiently stand my ground until the other person gives up. And you know he’ll give up before I do, because the one advantage to being a very unimportant person in a city full of important people is that I have nowhere to go.
I do not care about the Super Bowl. Aside from backyard basketball games involving the word horse, I think sports are pretty stupid. Especially professional ones.
I went to a Super Bowl party last night, though, and I went all the way to Jersey for it. And by “all the way”, I mean that I took a bus 15 minutes to my friend Jeff’s apartment, but I couldn’t use my MetroCard to pay the bus fare, so it seemed like a big deal. I did watch the game, unexpectedly, and I casually cheered for the Colts simply because Indianapolis is much closer to my hometown in Ohio than New Orleans is.
And also because I thought all of the pregame crap about how much a win would mean to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina–which happened five years ago, people–was unnecessarily sentimental and trying to make a story arc where one wasn’t needed. It’s a football game, and its outcome has nothing to rebuilding a city and everything to do with giving the kind of people who stand behind on-air newscasters and scream and show off their replica team jerseys an excuse to get drunk and light things on fire.
Anyway. I found the bidet in Jeff’s roommmate’s bathroom about a hundred times more interesting than most of the Super Bowl commercials, but there was one that really pulled at my heartstrings, and no, it wasn’t the Budweiser one with the Clydesdale and the cow. It was, oddly, a promo for the NFL itself, telling its fans how much better they are than are than NHL and MLS fans:
Funny what a little well-placed Arcade Fire song can do.
I really need an Amazon Kindle. I’m not messing around anymore.
I took this book, Not That Kind of Girl by Carlene Bauer, out of the library that was supposed to be a really well-written girl-who-wants-to-love-Jesus-but-also-likes-rock-music-moves-to-NYC story, and I was prepared to love it, because I used to be very torn between Jesus and rock music, and I moved to NYC, but I didn’t find the book particularly well-written after having read Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love, and I didn’t find it particularly interesting. Plus, it was a bulky hardcover, and I don’t carry a bag big enough to for it to fit in, so I kept leaving it at home, and it was going so slowly I thought I might finish my own novel before I finished it.
It finally came due, and I was going to renew it just to slog through some more, but someone else had reserved it. So I decided to give up on it rather than deal with the overdue charges, but as I was riding the subway to return it to the library, I got to a really juicy part about this boy who liked her and whom she liked and how close they got without ever touching one another, but then I was at my station, and I felt like I needed to return the book since I had ridden two whole stops, so I did, and now I’ll never know what happened with that boy.
If I had an Amazon Kindle, this would never happen. I’d be able to read whenever I wanted to, because the smaller Kindle can fit in any bag. My books would never have a due date, so I could spend as much time as I wanted daydreaming about the boys I never touched and not worry about how slowly I was reading. And I’d be saving the trees by not reading physical books. Is that a legitimate reason for having an e-book reader? I have no idea. Anyway, I would.
OH! OH! And if I read more books, maybe I’d have more than eight friends on Shelfari. You can understand how embarrassing that is.
I have an English degree, people! I should be reading more than one book per year.
I considered taking a Greyhound bus trip a few years back, but a friend warned me, “You wouldn’t like it.” I didn’t ask questions–just drove myself fourteen hours by car–but I remained curious about what it might be like to travel by bus. Naturally, I jumped at the chance when Greyhound offered me an exclusive ride last weekend on their new Lucky Streak line that travels from New York’s Port Authority directly to your choice of eight casinos. The trip also included a round-trip bus ticket for my guest, lovely accommodations overlooking the boardwalk and beach at the Hilton Casino Resort, a wine reception at the top of the Tropicana Casino & Resort, complimentary spa treatments at Bally’s, shopping certificates for any of the Tropicana’s upscale shops and restaurants, and free slot play vouchers for the Hilton and the Tropicana.
Greyhound’s biggest competitor is the automobile, but anyone driving a car to Atlantic City has no idea what they’re missing out on. Forget navigating, pumping gas, and parking; the biggest draw of public transportation for me is not having to pay any attention to where I’m going, so I loved being able to board the bus in NYC and spend the next two hours doing whatever I wanted, even if what I wanted was to nap. With service right to the casinos, you don’t even need to worry about grabbing a cab once you arrive in Atlantic City.
I don’t own a car, but I’m a frequent airplane passenger and find myself more annoyed with airlines every time I fly. Even before we left Port Authority, I noticed several reasons why I might choose Greyhound over an airline:
+ I didn’t have to arrive at my departure gate hours early just to sit around. There’s no ridiculous security line where you have to remove your shoes, put your laptop in a separate container, and empty your pockets of the dime you didn’t even know was in there. I walked in, walked right up to my gate, and boarded the bus.
+ Once on the bus, I was free to use electronic devices at my leisure. No one told me to turn off my cellphone for takeoff one minute only to inform me that we were actually going to be waiting on the runway for another hour the next.
+ Because there’s no single runway as with planes, buses can leave when they’re supposed to without regard to the schedules of other buses.
+ My luggage was with me through the entire trip. Carry-ons fit beneath the seat and overhead, while bigger bags are stored underneath the coach, so there’s no chance of my suitcase disappearing behind a check-in counter and ending up in Los Angeles when I’m in Boston.
The new fleet of Greyhound buses features free wi-fi and an electrical outlet at the base of the seat in front of you, so it’s easy for the entire trip to slip away as you tweet about how much you’re enjoying the supple leather seats and the smooth ride. The CEO and COO of Greyhound–David Leach and Bill Blankenship, respectively–rode the bus to Atlantic City with us in order to speak with each blogger personally, and I was impressed with their knowledge and passion, especially when it came to the reduced-emission design of their new buses. Truly, now more than ever, taking Greyhound instead of a plane or a car is a great way to lessen your carbon footprint.
The negative aspects to taking a bus are the ones you’ve no doubt heard a million times: it’s slower than other forms of transportation, and the lack of security inspections–while a real pleasure with a group of like-minded bloggers–could be worrisome otherwise.
Fortunately, now’s the perfect time for you to decide for yourself by taking advantage of Greyhound’s Lucky Streak $1 promotion. For a dollar, you can ride round trip between NYC and Atlantic City, and all Lucky Streak schedules have open returns, which means you can stay until your money runs out. Each of the eight casinos Greyhound services are offering a bonus to all Lucky Streak riders, so you’ll be awarded between $25 and $30 to play at the slots. I’m already planning my return.
Kamran’s simulated crash face does not in any way reflect how our trip to Atlantic City on Greyhound’s Lucky Streak Bus went:
However, this is a fairly accurate portrayal of his feelings toward wearing a seatbelt on public transportation:
A full report is forthcoming.
Content © Katie Ett. Proudly powered by WordPress. To bookmark this site, press Control+D.
"Black Hat" theme by Nicki Faulk, modified by Katie Ett. For best results, please view with Firefox. [ Log in ]