Isn’t it ridiculous how something as simple as a reference to a seriously old TV show on a dinner reservation can totally make my day?
Although Matthew Fox is alive and well in my heart thanks to “Lost” marathons at Tracey’s apartment when I’m visiting Ohio and should be, you know, spending time with my family and changing out of my pajamas at some point in the day.
I saw Harold and Maude in Bryant Park on Monday night. And when I say I “saw” it, I mean it, because I heard exactly three lines in the movie:
1) “Sagging breasts and flabby buttocks.”
2) “Do you enjoy knives?”
3) “I love you.”
And actually, I didn’t even really hear the second line; Beth had to tell me what it said. See, I arrived at Bryant Park for this week’s installment of the Summer Film Festival a full hour and a half before the movie started, but when I met up with my co-worker Steve, he said the place had already been packed for a while. There was absolutely nowhere to sit in the grass, so Steve, Beth, Emily, Jeff, our new German intern Niko, and I ended up on the concrete stairs, miiiiiiiiiiiles away from the screen with our view partially blocked by the motorhome that the movie was being projected from.
I’ve never seen Harold and Maude, but even without being able to make out any of the dialogue, I thought I’d pieced the story together pretty well until I got back to Kamran’s apartment. It was then that he said, “Yeah, wasn’t it totally crazy how [that really important thing] happened?”, and I said, “Oh, I had no idea [that really important thing] happened.” And now the movie’s ruined for me. But not for you, because I save spoilers for the comments section. Love you!
From what I gathered, though, it’s a really lovely movie. Both because Harold is uber-hot in a pasty white boy way, and because Cat Stevens does the soundtrack. The audience was swooning all over the opening credits:
It felt sort of magical, I’ll admit, listening to Cat and watching Harold reject all of the college ladies who want him, surrounded by these giant buildings with the lights from Times Square reflecting off of them. The only problem I had was that there were homeless people there. I felt sort of weird for hating them, because I generally try pretty hard to keep my feelings toward the less fortunate in the neutral to hopeful range. And, like, the outdoors belong to these people, you know?, so it’s almost like I was watching my movie in their living room. But I pay my taxes and patronize summer film series sponsors, and therefore I deserve things like a decent seat away from the less hygienic, am I right?
I know you’re supposed to be all happy for other couples when you’re in love, but yesterday, I found myself watching this commercial and thinking, “My greatest hope is that their relationship will end in a bitter, drag-out divorce”:
It’s the “I didn’t need the Internet back when I was into scoring random hos/hoes at bars, but my mom told me I need to keep it in my pants now” line that really makes me want to see him unhappy, I think.
Of course, I’ve always wanted to see these two fail miserably, but only because their painting o’ love is so sad. It includes a handprint, for God’s sake:
I swear I’m totally happy myself, though.
Last week, I walked into the ladies restroom at work and saw a black cardigan sweater draped across the back of one of the toilets and spilling on to the floor. Just looking at it sort of made me sick to my stomach, and in order to keep from vomiting, I had to stop myself from picturing some woman coming in, realizing it’s hers, picking it up off the back of the toilet, and putting it back on.
I swear, I’m about ten seconds away from putting a hazmat suit on every time I go in there, and someone’s taking her clothes off to pee?
I may be biased toward my own misery, but I always think it’s ridiculous when people in other cities complain about the weather. Vermont can get 12 inches of snow, and I’m going to think that the 2 inches in NYC is 100 times worse. Texas can be 115 degrees, and I’m still going to think NYC at 85 is more unbearable.
Yesterday was the first really hot day we’ve had here, with a disgusting humidity to boot. Kamran was working late, so I asked myself what I truly, truly wanted for dinner without him there to judge me. I chose pizza, of course, and stopped at the Two Boots in Grand Central, because they’re the only ones in the entire city making pizza with any flavor, as far as I’m concerned. As I waited in line for my two slices of Sicilian, all four people in front of me asked the cashier for napkins, and he apologized to each one and explained that they unexpectedly ran out. When I got to him to pay, I of course said, “I have two slices of Sicilian. And can I have that with a lot of napkins, please?” He made a gun with his fingers and said, “Good one.”
I stood back and waited for my slices to come out of the oven, and when the other counter person handed them to me, they were on two plates. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but after I’d taken a few steps, I realized that it was going to be kind of awkward carrying them allllll the way back to Kamran’s like that. It would’ve been so easy to turn around and ask for a takeout box, but the place was so busy, and I didn’t want to be a bother, and every step carried me closer to the sidewalk. (Kamran says this makes me very pathetic.)
So I just held my pizza in front of me, out in the open air for all of the dust and cab exhaust to settle on. People kept looking at it jealously as I passed, and a couple of deliverymen even asked if I’d share. “It’s too good to give up!”, I said. I’d unfortunately started out on the far end of Grand Central, so three avenue blocks later, I was finally at Kamran’s apartment on the waterfront, and I was hot.
I thought about how if I talked to Tracey for a third time that day, I’d complain to her about the heat, but then I realized that it’s probably been hot in Ohio for two days now with the way the weather travels so slowly to NYC. But then I realized that she’d say, “But the weather always feel worse in New York because you have to walk around in it instead of driving through it in your air-conditioned car.”
And that’s what best friends are for.
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