Unapologetically Mundane

Sick and Lonely in NYC

Posted by katie ett on January 22, 2013 – 12:00 pm

Filed under funner times on the bus, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality, why i'm better than everyone else

I work for the one company in NYC that didn’t take yesterday off, so I was riding the bus home as usual last night. Across from me was an elderly Asian man who had loped onto the bus with heavy plastic grocery bags covered in Chinese writing hanging off of his arms, racing invisible passengers for the many seats that were available. He coughed continuously and unabashedly onto the back of the neck of the woman in front of him while I did my best to hold my breath for the entire trip.

In the East Village, the doors opened at one of the stops, and he turned, paused to make sure no one was coming in the door, and tossed a used tissue out onto the sidewalk. ANIMAL! I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by this after almost eight years of seeing people throw their Doritos bags onto the subway floor, tuck their coffee cups into the space between the seat and the side of the bus, and aim their gum generally toward the trash can without any actual worry about whether it makes it in or not, but as a country girl raised to respect the environment, this stuff kills me.

The idea that this guy couldn’t just tuck his tissue into a pocket for the three stops burned me so much that I had to say, “Wooooow. Unbelievable.” He looked over to see who I was talking to, and I met his eyes and said, “You’re awful.”

Read the rest here!

Jury Duty in NYC with No Mob Bosses in Sight

Posted by katie ett on January 21, 2013 – 12:30 pm

Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, living in new york is neat

I was horrified when my roommate brought up the mail and my jury summons was inside. I love my desk job with its endless supply of Internet and bathroom breaks, and I hate any sort of disruption to my daily routine that doesn’t include a couch and some HBO. “How could this happen to ME?” I kept asking. My annoyance was alleviated a bit when I remembered that the courthouses are just a few blocks from my apartment and that there’s a combination Pizza Hut/Tim Hortons across from one of them (what?), but I still had fears of being placed in a criminal trial and having threats to my life made by mob bosses.

On Thursday morning, a couple hundred of us were seated in an auditorium with floral-fabric-covered seats spaced farther apart than any I’ve ever seen in cramped NYC. We were shown a video starring Diane Sawyer that started with a series of New Yorkers talking about how annoyed they also were at getting summoned for jury duty, but it then went on to talk about medieval punishments for crimes, how lucky we are to have the modern court system, how valuable it is to have a group of people deciding your fate versus just one judge, and how “Law & Order” ain’t real life. At the end, the video showed different New Yorkers talking about how jury duty isn’t so bad and how they’re proud to participate in a system they believe in. My heart surged with municipal pride. I started thinking, “If I had to go to court, I wouldn’t want my life in the hands of a single judge. I can convict some perp AND walk home to take a crap at lunch! This is awesome!”

But about ten seconds later, I remembered that everyone else in NYC is an idiot. The clerk who was giving directions to us on how to fill out our summons (which had directions on it already and was to be filled out prior to arrival) said that anyone whose summons wasn’t dated January 17th should come to the podium. A line of at least twenty people formed. Exactly two of them actually did have different dates on them, and then eeeeeeeeeeveryone else was sent back to their seats with their appropriately-dated summons. “Well, this is going to be a long day,” the clerk said.

It went like that all morning, with people either not listening or not reading and then throwing hissy fits and stomping back to their seats when the clerk had to point out this or that to them. I’m generally annoyed at myself for my overly-prepared, overly-concerned nature, but you can bet I had read the rules on my summons enough to have brought my kid’s birth certificate with me had I been trying to use my status as a caretaker to get out of serving my time. The worst part was the guy next to me who had come in late and was unknowingly complaining about the exact same things the people at the start of the video had been. Like, “why should I be allowed to judge someone else?” and “why don’t they just let a judge decide the cases?” He kept muttering under his breath about what a waste of time it was and was making me feel stupid for laughing at all of the clerk’s jokes while he sat there moping.

Luckily, my name was called as soon as the clerk finished, and I was put in a room with nineteen other people to be questioned about a particular case to see if we were unbiased enough to serve on that jury. It happened to be a personal injury case I was suuuuuuper interested in because I already blog about the topic, but I wasn’t called up for questioning in the first set of ten potential jurors and had to spend the day listening to the lawyers ask them one by one if they could be impartial to a person who had to speak through a translator, if they liked their jobs, if they had ever been taken to court, etc.

The whole process really appealed to my natural desire to talk about myself and impress people. After one guy in the room was asked about his regular job but then admitted that he’s really in NYC to work on his sculpture, I couldn’t wait to talk about my own art of photography and blogging. When I heard the intelligent people in the room talk about their feelings on personal injury award caps, I couldn’t wait for my turn to sound intelligent. Because of course I assume I sound intelligent.

Some of the people in the room depressed me when they didn’t know what credibility meant and asked if we could find for the defendant but still award the plaintiff money just to be nice, but one of my favourite moments was when a foreign-born woman was asked if she would have a tendency to side with the plaintiff, one of her countrymen, because of national pride. She said, “I love this country. We have the best judicial system in the world, and I’m happy to be in a place that has these laws.” And a little tear came to my eye.

In general, I was amazed at how many people there were originally from another country and spoke another language. When we were filling out our jury summons with the clerk that morning, he had asked anyone who didn’t have a basic understanding of English to come forward, and I just expected that no one would, because this is ‘MERICA, people. But a whole stream of adults had formed a line, some of them with children in tow to act as translators. I wanted to be like, “FER’NERS!”, but instead, I’d felt a sort of pride that my beloved Brooklyn is full of such diverse people. Eww, I know.

Although one of those people was a woman behind me in the security line, which never had more than a few people in it and just involved us putting our bags on a foot-long conveyor belt to be scanned and then casually walking through a metal detector. It was about the least amount of security possible next to making no effort at all, yet this woman behind me complained, “This is one step away from a cavity search!” And then I whipped out my concealed pistol and clocked her.

By noon on Friday, the lawyers had chosen their six jurors and two alternates, and I was released back into the main juror pool without ever having been questioned. On my way out, I said to one of the lawyers, “I’m sad I didn’t get chosen. I’m dying to know how this case turns out.” He looked at me like I was such a freak and said, “Oh.” And then went back to his paperwork. It felt like being in high school again, when I actually liked biology and geometry and band but learned to be cool about it so I wouldn’t be made to feel like a loser. I wanted to be like, “It’s a good thing I wasn’t chosen for the jury, jerkoff, because I’m totally biased and would’ve ruled against your client.” This was the same guy who had warned us that as jurors, we couldn’t award his client money just because we liked him. NO PROBLEM.

In summary: jury duty is nothing to be afraid of, and lawyers are all awful.

Les Miserables: Pores, Poo, and Hugh Jackman Hitting One or Two Powerful Notes

Posted by katie ett on January 10, 2013 – 12:00 pm

Filed under there's a difference between films and movies

I went to see Les Miserables last night with my friend Ash and thought it was well-acted, entertaining, not nearly as cheesy as I expected, and not even close to deserving a Best Picture nomination at the Oscars this year when you compare it to a film like The Master. I did almost cry once during it, though, so that’s something. I think I also almost cried during Looper with my friend Kim the night before, though, so maybe it’s nothing.

Anyway, here are my spoiler-free thoughts about Les Mis:

• I can’t believe there was a character named Cassette.

• Watching a preview for the movie a few days ago, Kamran pointed out that the scene with Anne Hathaway singing “I Dreamed a Dream” all close up with her shaved head looks like a reference to the 1920s silent film The Passion of Joan of Arc, which was a big deal because of its extremely intimate zoomed-in look and stark background that made the actor the whole point of the thing.

Joan of Arc looks way cooler, am I right? I thought this particular Les Mis scene with its teary, snotty close-up was pretty powerful, but in general, the filmmaking seemed pretty sad and uninteresting, and I’m not surprised that Tom Hooper wasn’t nominated for Best Director at this year’s Oscars. The background of the movie was a French uprising, and yet France played absolutely no character in it; I can literally think of one bit of French architecture that was showcased. The rest of the backdrops were filmed entirely out of focus, the shallow depth of field trained solely on whichever actor happened to be singing at that point. All of the budget must have been spent on big-name actors, so there was nothing left for scenery. Anne Hathaway’s skin was never meant to be seen at that distance, godblessher.

• Sometimes the camera’s precise focus was amazing, and sometimes only Eddie Redmayne’s ear was in focus.

• Some of the singing felt raw and impassioned, and some just needed enough Auto-Tuning to make the notes even remotely correct.

• The all-sung dialogue was awkward at times, especially when there was no background music and the actors didn’t know the tune they were supposed to be singing.

• The live recording of songs didn’t work when actors were physically separated; Amanda Seyfried’s notes from the carriage seemed to physically bounce off of Eddie Redmayne’s from the center of town when they were supposedly harmonizing.

• The plot wasn’t boring, and the eight hours or whatever it lasted didn’t seem long.

• They actually showed the body hitting the water! And it thudded!

• The “Red and Black” song was my favourite of the film.

• I agree with everyone else that Eddie Redmayne has a great voice, but I liked Aaron Tveit singing as Enjolras better. And I also totally didn’t hate Russell Crowe’s vocals, though Tracey said it sounded like he thought he was in a rock opera, and Ash said it sounded like he has fat on his vocal cords.

• The little Cockney kid, Gavroche, was uh-maaaaazing. But why was there a little Cockney kid in France?

• So much poo in people’s mouths!

The poo is the really important part.

Totally Legit Wedding Photographer

Posted by katie ett on January 8, 2013 – 12:00 pm

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, everyone's married but katie, photography

This is how behind I am in my blogging:

Last October, my very excellent blogfriend Cassie‘s sister got married and invited my very excellent blogfriend Jessica to photograph it. Not to be left out, I somehow weaseled my way in to the shenanigans as Jessica’s second shooter and scored myself a weekend of being taken care of by Cassie in Pittsburgh.

She and Jessica picked me up at the airport–and by that, I mean they parked in the parking lot and came and met me–with pumpkin-flavored treats from Oakmont Bakery in hand and drove us to her sister’s house to start the festivities. Jessica, who is from Louisiana and only sees one season per year, was almost breathless over the rolling hills flooded with fall colors:

And if she loved the trees, she loved the country barns even more. So much so that we went out in the rain to get a picture of her in front of one of them:

Cassie’s sister, Carly, is one of those down-to-earth people you feel close to as soon as you meet her, and she wasn’t freaking out about anything, which made this, my first time photographing a wedding, so relaxed and fun. And having Jessica there as the first shooter couldn’t have been better: she knew what she was doing, she didn’t mind a zillion questions from me, and she never made me feel like I was in competition with her for the shot. She also took the responsibility of all of the important pictures so that I could focus solely on Cassie having a hissy fit at the hair salon at 8 a.m. the day of the wedding:

No, just kidding, she was hitting the bottle hard to keep herself calm:

No, just kidding, she’s pregnant. And this was the kind of classy affair where pregnant women stayed sober and everyone else drank champagne out of McDonald’s cups:

Cassie’s oldest daughter, Claire, was a total delight despite being a child and spent all of her time either entertaining the adults or taking care of her brother and sister, although I have no idea where she gets her good manners. I was in the back seat of the car with her as we were leaving the salon, and she asked why I didn’t get my hair done like all of the bridesmaids; Cassie turned around in the driver’s seat, gave my hair a disapproving look, and said, “Katie will . . . brush hers . . . before the wedding.” Harlot! Brute! Meaniehead!

I kid, I kid. Cassie, aside from hating my hair, was as good a host as the first time I met her and super-generous to boot. The weekend was a great mix of Cassie, Carly, and their charming mother enchanting us with stories from their childhoods and Jessica and me sharing a hotel room and having important conversations about politics, religion, love, books, and her hot husband. Thanks for the memories, ladeez.

Here are a few of my favourite shots from the wedding reception:

Jessica at work

Cassie in front of the awesome-for-photos light wall in Carly and Ben’s reception hall

Cassie and Jessica, being adorable

Carly and her bridesmaids

Cassie, blowing bubbles

Ben and Carly and a whole lotta Photoshop

I die.

Christmas in Ohio

Posted by katie ett on January 4, 2013 – 11:30 am

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, holidays don't suck for me, no i really do love ohio

My BFF, Tracey, picked me up from the airport on the Tuesday night before Christmas, and we touched boobs while modeling the new chevron necklaces she bought us:

This is us trying not to smile.

My parents were out of the state until Sunday, so I spent the rest of the week at Tracey’s, watching “Sex and the City” for the first time, finding out that it’s teeeeerrible both fashion-wise and supposedly-portraying-women-as-independent-but-actually-portraying-them-as-lonely-and-shallow-wise, cleansing my palate with the muuuuuch better “Girls”, crying over every episode of “Enlightened”, taking pictures of Tracey’s cats, eating all of the fast foods, reliving our childhoods with Return to Oz, The NeverEnding Story, and Labyrinth, wishing we had the RiffTrax version of Twilight, and making fudge. Cake batter fudge.

I got to do a photoshoot with Tracey’s brother, his wife, their toddler, and their brand new baby at the Franklin Park Conservatory. This is not a picture of them but of a piece from the Aurora Robson exhibit made, basically, of trash:

We tried the famous meatloaf at Cap City Diner and ate ice cream at Jeni’s partly because it’s splendid and partly because every food blogger on the Internet is obsessed with it, and I can make them jealous since Jeni’s only has physical locations in Ohio and Tennessee:

My first Christmas party began on Sunday afternoon with my cousin Bethany and me making chocolate peppermint rolls and ended with my cousin Keith and uncle Bob flashing me while I was innocently trying to take a family picture:

My dad’s side of the family gathered on Monday night, and chaos ensued when we moved the festivities to the basement, where the children were allowed to don their Iron Man masks and take boxes for hands. We used to hand out gifts one at a time, with the youngest person unwrapping a present first while the rest of us sat on our hands and so on until the oldest person had opened a gift and then back to the beginning, but it’s a free-for-all now, as the wrapping paper shreds on the floor would indicate:

Tuesday was lunch with my stepmom’s family, where all of the food used to seem so strange to me (corn pudding?) but that I now look forward to all year. I swear my stepbrother Josh and my stepsister’s twins, Hanna and Hope, were displaying this much familial love without me having to prod them:

Tracey and I and her husband, Dan, went to play cards with our friends Erin and Jenn as an excuse to see their new house, which is actually a very old house with tons of tiny, hidden doors leading to nowhere. They found the plans for the house in the basement which included a provision for only allowing white people to live there. Unapologetically racist!

We also saw our other-best-friend-from-high-school, Katie, and her kids, Maria and Evelyn:

We’d been trying to convince Katie to leave the girls with her husband so we could all get crunk and hit on boys at The Cheesecake Factory, but Katie somehow tricked us into coming to her house instead. I wanted to be mad at her, but dammit, I like those kids:

It snowed on Christmas Eve and was frosty enough that the snow stuck around the entire time I was there, creating some annoyingly picturesque views from our house:

Less annoying once my dad got out the Bobcat and found our driveway again:

My stepmom keeps the loveliest, most comfortable home full of antiques arranged in ways that would make magazine editors pee, and even her Christmas tree is always a sight to behold:

But it ain’t all classy:

My parents were about to have the floors redone in two of their rooms, so as I was saying goodbye, they were moving everything into other rooms. Not my dad’s hunting boots, though. They’ll construct the new floor around those. j/k. I’m just trying to lighten the mood light to keep myself from crying over the loss of the old floor.