How neat! Open Salon has a very robust community of active bloggers and commenters, and although I’ll admit I’m not using it to its full advantage at all, I’d definitely recommend opening an account of your own and checking out their editor’s picks each day.

Other than that, I’ve been blogging at donuts4dinner.com all week, for some reason. You probably don’t care about my new ratings system or burger review, but those of you who have heard my years of cries for dinner at the much-exalted restaurant will be pleased to note that I HAVE EATEN AT PER SE AND AM THE HAPPIEST GIRL ALIVE.

tiny oysters and a big, ol’ pile of caviar

Now I can go back to eating nothing but pizza, assured that I have had all of the good food there is to be had.

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“Um . . . nope,” I said.

“Nothing . . . happen?”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t . . . get anything delivered to you?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously?!”

“Yep.”

So it turns out he actually attempted to send me something to make up for my having to be alone and do laundry on Valentine’s Day. Only it didn’t get to me in time. And then not for two more days.

But still, aren’t they beautiful in all of their sparseness and deadness?

No?

Well, the company rightfully gave Kamran a refund, which he’s adding to my after-bar-exam chocolate fund. And it is, after all, the thought that counts. Which is why he’s still dating me despite the “Jersey Shore” t-shirt I made him for Valentine’s Day.

Also, donuts4dinner post today for all of my commiserators in fish-hate!

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The cars on Tunnel Exit Street got their green light and flew past me in the way that only cars in NYC can when getting stopped by red lights every block, and then the light changed. I stepped out onto the street, and though I saw a cab ready to turn the corner out of the corner of my eye, and even as his bumper literally touched the leg of my pants, I thought, Of course he’s going to stop.

But he didn’t, and before I knew what was happening, I was leaned over the hood of his car, both hands on it like I was going to be able to push it away from me. Without evening thinking, even before I stood back up again, I screamed, “I HAVE A FUCKING WALK SIGN!!”

I never thought I’d be a person who yells at other people. Growing up in Ohio, I never raised my voice to anyone but my little sister, and she totally deserved it. I don’t think I said a single curse word until 8th grade, and even then, I just did it because some kids said I wouldn’t. I was raised to give people the benefit of the doubt, to think before I speak, and to feel guilty when I don’t.

The cab driver leaned out his window and said, “The light! The light!”, pointing to the stoplight above his head. I thought for .02 seconds that he may have had a green arrow, but then I realized that:

1) the sign wouldn’t have turned to Walk if he had a turn arrow,
2) that light isn’t ever an arrow, and
3) I AM A PEDESTRIAN AND ALWAYS HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY.

So even though this cab driver had totally been polite about yelling at me, I looked him in the eye and bellowed again,

And then I crossed the street with my head held high as the electric company crew laughed at me and a couple of guys made fun of me in an Asian language, called Tracey to tell her how I’ve turned into an angry New Yorker, and spent the next 20 minutes hiding out in the grocery store in case he decided to pull around the block and club me with his tire iron.

Have I mentioned I hate cabs?

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It also brought to mind this story:

In 10th grade, my honors English class read The Grapes of Wrath, and although I can’t really remember my feelings toward the book at the time, I now look back at it with this haze of sentimentality. What I do remember was that while tooling around on the Internet one night while we were reading it, I found a Rage Against the Machine song called “The Ghost of Tom Joad” and printed out the lyrics to read to the class. I didn’t know at the time that it was a remake of a Bruce Springsteen song, and I can only imagine what my teacher was listening to at the time, so no one mentioned it.

When my teacher asked what sort of music Rage Against the Machine was, I said, “Heavy metal rap?”, and immediately and simultaneously, my two best friends, whose respect and acceptance I craved more than anyone’s in the world, both looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “NO.”

I still carry that with me. And still think I’m right, of course.

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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.

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And you?

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The cutting up the Rubik’s Cube was the part that really got me.

Thanks to Meagan over at Fancy Island for bringing it to my attention. And by “bring it to my attention”, I mean “putting it in her blog with absolutely no specific intention of my seeing it”.

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NIGROIDS,

the sweet licorice-flavored expectorant throat lozenge from the folks who brought you

The Cadbury Egg, which usually comes in candy form and not truck form.

There’s absolutely no mention of the name being racially-tied at all, but COME ON. And it’s totally not an antiquated product like you’d think; there are several websites offering them for purchase. Don’t you just love the idea of pulling your tin of breath mints from your pocket in public and asking your friends, “Anyone care for a Nigroid?”

Kamran says that their slogan should be “Nigroid Please”, but even with a catchy jingle, it’d be a hard sell once people find out about the major side effect,

Nigroid teeth.

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It’s so easy: you go to the website, sign in with your LJ username, and up pops a list of all your LJ Friends. Click on the Google icon next to the person’s name, and voila!, the journal’s added to your Google Reader complete with Friends-Only entries. Now I don’t have to scroll through my endless Friends page to read the journals that I really want to keep up with, and I can see all of someone’s new entries together if he posts multiple times in one day.

Now that I’m using it, I seriously can’t imagine how my life could get much better. This is one of those things that makes me go, “OMG, the Internet is amazing,” even if the word scatmania has really gross connotations for me.

__________

Update 2010-12-07: Since this service hasn’t worked in quite some time, I recommend Free My Feed instead.

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