A Weekend Away and Various Other things

If, like me, you are too broke to fly or take the train to major cities on the East coast, then you have to rely on buses. I would love to take the Train absolutely everywhere, but train tickets tend to start around the $100 mark, while buses start at about ten. So there we are.
I have now taken the Chinatown bus to Philly, to Boston and to Washington, DC. Here is a rundown:

The Boston <---> NYC Chinatown bus is lovely. It's cheaper than Greyhound, gets you there faster, and I have never once had to share a seat with a woman and her child who have been on the bus since somewhere in California. On top of everything else, it now drops you off exactly where the Greyhound does. It's a win win situation.

The Philadelphia <---> NYC Chinatown bus is kind of...meh. It's relatively quick (after all Philly is only about 2 hours away), but the smell. Holy GOD the smell. The bathroom reeks, people bring on all different kinds of stinky food and it smells awful. Other than that, no complaints.

But holy shit. The DC <---> NYC Chinatown bus is mindblowingly terrible. This is a trip that should take 5 hours at most. But noooo...both going down and coming back up this weekend I was on a bus for well over six hours. Man that sucks. The particular company I was using, Tony, seems to do everything in their power to get their buses full. So on the NYC side there are three stops to pick people up, and on the DC side there are at least two, plus a stop in Baltimore, plus pulling over to pick a random person up on the side of the road. I am not joking. So while I plan on going back to DC in the not too distant future, I do not plan on using that bus company ever again. Ever. Holy God. Oh, and it was the only bus out of the three that made me actually fear for my life. I thought on more than one occasion that we were going to roll over and die. Effing awful.

Other than the horrible bus rides, my weekend was spectacular. I got closer to my family. Confirmed my fears about a thirteen year old girl, and got free sushi. Pretty sweet, huh? Crap she's tall. And redheaded. And such a teenager. Sc-a-ry.

In other news it was the first time in a long long time that more than half of the eleven grandchildren were together in one place. So that's...something. Right?

In other other news: I got my first anonymous comment! And it's MEAN. Which means that strangers (or perhaps just people who hate me) are reading the blog. Yay! Please see my last post (Guess what! I still hate clogs. and Crocs) to view the comment. Aren't people just the nicest?

So thank you, anonymous poster. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Kisses! ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Guess what! I still hate Clogs...and Crocs.

Taken from The Best Page in the Universe:

Before I begin, I should warn you that I know dick about fashion. It's not just a clever title to get your attention, though it's admittedly clever (I'm honest enough to admit when something is brilliant, even when it's my own writing).

You shouldn't read this article if you're a woman with low self-esteem. I don't need my inbox filled with emails from teary-eyed women reaffirming how astute my observations are by shrieking at me for ruining their lives.

Women get away with murder in our society, especially when it comes to the visual pollution they call fashion. So I'm going to do what few people—few men—have ever done by criticizing you. Sure, you may be thinking "but Maddox, people criticize women's fashion all the time!" Yes, but not men, and definitely not badasses like me.... Until now.

Crocs look like shit and they make your feet smell.

When I see people wearing Crocs, I know immediately that we have nothing in common, and that we could never be friends or have any meaningful kind of relationship. They come in every color imaginable yet look bad with every other article of clothing ever created. The only thing that goes with Crocs is social ostracism.

To their credit though, Crocs serve as an excellent idiot barometer; you can tell a lot about people wearing them. For example, Amazon.com suggest products that other customers have purchased based on the item you're shopping for. Here are the suggestions for Crocs:

When it comes to shoes, there are usually three deciding factors: quality, price, and style. Some shoes are cheap and stylish, but poor quality, while others are stylish and durable, but expensive. Crocs usually go for $30-$60, which doesn't sound like much for a shoe, until you consider that what you're really paying for are melted pellets squirted into a cast-iron mold in some province in China. Crocs have the rare combination of being expensive, poor quality, and ugly. It's quite a feat for one shoe to suck this bad.

People who wear Crocs go on and on about how comfortable they are, and how it's supposedly odor resistant because it's made out of some kind of anti-bacterial foam. Great point, dipshits! You know what else it's resistant to? You getting laid. Then as if the shoes weren't disgusting enough, Crocs introduced a product called "Crocs butter" that's supposed to restore that illustrious injection-molded sheen to those gaping holes they call shoes:

You know that feeling you get when you're full and slightly nauseous and you burp and you can taste the partly digested food in the back of your throat? There isn't a word in the english language to succinctly describe it, but I will hereby refer to it as: croc-butter.

Thank You, Internet. And thank you Best Page In The Universe.

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Old News

I was raised agnostic with a hint of quaker (I came very close to typing "quacker" there, hmmmm). There was never any question about God existing, just as there was never any question about being nice to people. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Is very simple. Plus Quaker meetings are so lovely. Quiet and peaceful and usually in a nice sunlit room. There is no singing and no one makes you do anything. You can just sit and think for an hour or so and it is nice nice nice. As such, whenever someone asks about religion I usually reply "Quaker!" Because it is easier. This, unfortunately, tends to bring on the following questions:

1) Do you eat a lot of oatmeal?
Har har. Yes, but it has nothing to do with religion.

and, my personal favorite:

2) Are you Amish?
Why yes! I knitted this outfit myself! Zippers and all!


Anyway, I went to a Quaker sleep-away camp between the ages of 13 and 16, but because it was sleep-away camp everyone was Jewish. Go figure. I found a conversation I had with one of my friends from camp on AIM a couple of years ago, and thought I would share. Because I still think it's funny.

[05:06PM] Sarah: GOD CAN'T TYPE
[05:06PM] Emily: god can do anything he wants
[05:07PM] Emily: blasphemy
[05:07PM] Emily: god can too type
[05:07PM] Emily: you're going to hell
[05:08PM] Sarah: HAHAHA
[05:08PM] Sarah: you know what I mean!
[05:08PM] Sarah: AND You'RE A JEW
[05:08PM] Emily: HEATHEN!
[05:09PM] Sarah: JEW
[05:09PM] Emily: yeah what you gonnna do about it quaker? fight me?
[05:09PM] Emily: PACIFIST!
[05:09PM] Sarah: DAMN YOU
[05:09PM] Emily: go make some oatmeal


The End. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Stupid Effing Chest Cold

Remember the flu of death? I completely convinced myself that that would be the extent of my sickness for the year because oh my GOD it was terrible. But guess what? I was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

I woke up yesterday morning coughing up gobs of green shit, but not in a scary way. In a "Oh, well, the weather's changing, let's get it up" kind of way. This morning (at 5am or something equally terrible) I rolled over in my sleep and woke myself up with a horrendous coughing fit, complete with bigger, brighter chunks of slime. FUN. Then, I went back to sleep and woke up at about eight with a headache and more coughing. Fun.

So I'm home. And I wish I wasn't because as far as I can tell the first nice weather of the year is happening today. And I'm missing it. And I'm sad about it. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Grumble

Dear Everyone,

• If you have a gut, please do not wear jeans that are four sizes too small.

• If you live in a shitty neighborhood (ahem, Bushwick), do not walk home after dark with your headphones blasting. It is really stupid.

• If you don't hear me when I say "excuse me" on the subway, it is not my fault and it does not warrant a snotty conversation with your friend that I can hear. Very clearly. Because you are all of six inches away from me. Asshat.

• Please, PLEASE learn how to use a computer. For my sake? I never signed up to be IT.

• I'm sorry I have a cough. Please stop looking at me like I have fifteen heads. I am coughing into my scarf AND my hand. It's not going to get on you and besides, I don't think it's contagious. Seriously. Stop LOOKING at me.

I think that's it for now.

Love,
Sarah ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

OH NO!

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My Mom RULES

That is all. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

On being afraid of a thirteen year old girl

If for some reason you didn't know: I have a large, weird family.
I'm not very close with my mother's side of the family, because she was an only child and no one (except for her first cousin who lives with her and drives her nuts) lives near New York. But my father was one of five. And everyone had children. So I have (bum bum bum baaaaaaaah....) ten first cousins. Not to mention the fact that everyone is cousin, whether they are second or fourth or seventy-seventh. Freakishly huge family. Seriously.

ANYWAY...

I am the oldest of my generation (all eleven of us)*. By almost exactly six years. My parents had me and then no one else got around to having children for another six years. After those six years, people kept popping out boys, so it was not until July 14th 1994 that I finally got a girl cousin. I am going to see this girl cousin for the first time since she was eleven in a few weeks and I am scared. Absolutely fucking terrified. And it is for quite possibly the stupidest reason in the world: My itty bitty baby girl cousin is now taller than I am.

I have finally gotten used to the boys being taller than me, I have even accepted the fact that they are teenagers. (When they aren't being dicks about it.) But baby girl cousin? Who was a child approximately ten minutes ago? Hold up. No no no no no. I think it plays on the fears I mentioned in this post, namely that HOLY SHIT I'M GETTING OLD. And also - Gah! I was the biggest and the strongest for so many years. I am used to being smaller than everyone, but not everyone that I spent so much time being bigger than! Blah.

My aunt apparently shares (or at least understands) my fear about these people getting taller. A couple of months ago she wrote me this in an e-mail (about her three children):

Bill** is taller than me, by at least 2", which has the strange affect of changing our relationship. If he says no to me about something I simply comply because otherwise he could hurt me. Quite simple, law of the land and all. Brawn trumps brain. Tots** too is springing forth, disturbingly. Emerald** remains shorter than you.

My grandmother, on the other hand, continues her unwavering sunny outlook on the subject:

You'll just have to remember that you have age, wisdom, and experience on your
side, and all your younger cousins look up to you mentally, even if they are looking down physically..

I suppose it's a pretty good way of looking at things.

But seriously? I really ENJOYED being the biggest!

*On my branch of the family. My grandmother was one of four and all of THEM had children, which is where I get second cousins.
**names have been changed. (Well DUH. No one names a kid Tots)

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Knocked up

Last night I had another dream about being pregnant. This time with twins. (Seriously, what the fuck? Is my womb craving babies? I am far FAR too young for babies!) Seth was very sweet about it and kept sewing hounds-tooth pockets on to all of my tops so I could comfortably rest my hands on my pregnant belly at all times. My very very large pregnant belly. Yeah, it was weird.

I'm all for getting pregnant (at some point) and having babies. (I think it's one of those hardwired things about being a lady) But have you every really sat down and thought about it? You are growing a tiny person INSIDE OF YOU. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Seriously, put in those terms it gives me the heebiest heebie-jeebies ever. Tiny person. Growing. Inside? ::barf:: I don't even want to get into the shooting out of my girl bits part. Gahhh! ::barfs. again.::

So...yeah...my brain is apparently focused on babies. Help?

Maybe I need a puppy.

When I do get pregnant I am wearing this every day.

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I Love This Man

I don't want to get all political on you. This is supposed to be a lighthearted, day in the life, random rantings kind of blog. I know that. But seriously:
If you haven't seen this yet, please watch it. I don't know how many of you will have 40 minutes to spare, but please, please make the time. Barack Obama is an honest, wonderful, inspiring breath of fresh air.



Amazing.

Update: Or follow this link for a transcript of the speech. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

"Precocious Child" or "What happens when you spent far too much time watching fantasy movies as a child."

P.S.41.....................................................Sarah Booz
4-409................................................March 23, 1994

Buffkaboo

The Magic One

.....Once upon a time, there was a man called Buffkaboo. For some reason, everyone called him the Magic One. He figured out why when he was five. The reason was because if he looked at something and thought about something else, that's what it would turn into. How he figured this out was because he looked at his mother; he was thinking about a frog, and that's what his mother turned into. The next day, he tried something on his father, who he turned into an ant. And then he had the castle all to himself.

.....After a while, he started getting bored. Of course, he kept the frog and the ant in his house, so he looked at them and turned them back into his mother and father.

.....Eighteen years had passed, and he decided to leave home. So he started on his magic quest. He got a castle of his own and whenever he got bored with something and wanted a pet, he turned one of the chairs into whatever he wanted.

.....This was very good because if he wanted food or money, he didn't have to work. He just had to look and think. But after a while, this got boring too. So he got the address of Toa, the head wizard, and asked him why these magic powers have been put upon him. Buffkaboo asked, "Was it you who put these magic powers upon me, or was it one of your worker wizards?" The head wizard answered, "You just looked like a wizard to me," and Buffkaboo replied, "I turned my mother into a frog, I turned my father into an ant, I really do not enjoy these powers. Take them off." This time the head wizard replied, "Nobody knows how to take the powers off. So, you're stuck." Buffkaboo started screaming, "I hate these powers! I'm going to destroy you and your castle! You have to take them off!" Then as loud and as hard as he could, he thought of the place being demolished, and that was the end of the head wizard, which meant all the spells he had put upon people were broken. And Buffkaboo could live a peaceful life.

.....But soon Buffkaboo got bored with that too. And since for a while he had been a wizard himself, and he could still remember some spells, he turned himself back into a wizard, and started having a lot of fun with his powers. He started turning winter into spring, and spring into summer, and fall into spring (he didn't enjoy winter that much). He was a very nice wizard; he never put spells on people unless they really wanted them, like he wouldn't turn someone into a butterfly for fun, he'd only turn them into a butterfly if they wanted him to turn them into a butterfly. And then he lived a very happy life, but after a while he died and that was the end of Buffkaboo.

THE END

I like how obvious it is that my mother typed this story for me. Semi-colons? From a fourth grader? Come on. I don't think she did it on purpose, I think her grammar fingers could not be stopped on the old electric typewriter. I just can't believe my teacher didn't mention it. She certainly didn't teach us about semi-colons. I am still slightly confused by semi-colons!

So yes, I spent far too much time as a child watching The Princess Bride, Labyrinth, and Willow. Cary Elwes! David Bowie! And...Dwarfs? I suppose the dwarfs are less sexy than the first two, but I love them all equally? Or something? This post has taken a turn for the strange. I'm out.

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I ARE PRETTY

The Ski Suit in all of it's glory.

You're welcome. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Buffkaboo

When I was in the 4th grade I wrote a story called "Buffkaboo the Magic One". I do not remember what this story was about, but I remember that I wrote it and that I was pretty damn proud of it at the time. A couple of days ago I got an e-mail from my grandmother:

Dear Sarah,

I was rummaging through some old files, searching for something for
Paddy, when I came across a remarkable piece of literature: a short
story written by you in 4th grade (dated March 23, 1994) titled
"Buffkaboo, The Magic One." It is hilarious, and I think it should be
kept safely in your possession, perhaps waiting for inclusion in your
first volume of Collected Works.

So my grandmother is sending me my fourth grade masterpiece. I completely convinced myself that when I got home today it would be in my mail box. And then it wasn't. And I was sad, because my original plan was to post the story in its entirety in this entry, instead of just being all, "woo, yeah! Fourth grade me RULED!"

Basically, sometime in the next few days I will be posting Buffkaboo and it will be wonderful.

Okay? Okay! ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Blergh

"Blah blah blah never updates blah blah blah"

Shush. I've been busy.

Also - it is approximately 3,000 degrees in my office right now. But this morning, when I woke up? It was cold. Actually, it was freezing. 32 Degrees! So I put on corduroys, a thermal shirt, and thick socks. Plus a thin sweater. And a hoodie. And now? It's not that cold out and the heat seems to be up all the way and I am SWEATING and it is making me GRUMPY.

Gah!

Don't you love how my posts never make any sense? Ever?

I
have
nothing
to write.

I'm sitting here and drawing a complete freaking blank. My coworkers and I just had a mini orange break. Three of us stopped working for 5 minutes to peel and eat oranges. It was lovely. And also? BORING.

But, it did go better than the Tigerlily's Orange Fiasco. So that's something. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Snot the color of Mountain Dew

On Saturday night Seth and I went to Studio B in Brooklyn to go dancing with some of his friends who were in town. When Seth and I first got there it was almost completely empty, which was fine with us because it gave us plenty of room to dance. I hate going out to a place that is so cramped I can barely move, let alone get my freak on. (Yes, I did just say "get my freak on." Shut up.)

Anywaaaaaaay...

As the night went on more people showed up, including Techno Viking. Well, someone who danced and looked almost exactly like Techno Viking at least. Don't know who Techno Viking is? Prepare to be amazed:



That, my friends, is Techno Viking.

At Studio B Seth accidentally bumped into Techno Viking 2.0 and he GRABBED SETH BY THE ARMS AND MOVED HIM. So. Effing. Scary. We also watched him work his way through the crowd sort of picking up and moving anyone in his way. The animal!

Aaand...that's about it.

About the title of this post, I woke up this morning and blew my nose and it was a horrible shade of neon green. Just like Mountain Dew!

Yum! ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Dear New Yorker Cartoonists,

Thank you for living inside of my brain.

Love,
Sarah Booz ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

Like, I have, like, a Salad Spinner!

So remember how I got a Salad Spinner for Christmas? I would just like to reiterate that it is one of the most magical inventions ever. What can I say? I love dry, unsmushed lettuce. Also - because I am I dumb - the Salad Spinner only just made it back to my apartment. Christmas was a while ago. I am really lazy.

But it's here now! And I love it! And my lettuce is dry! And yay!

Moving on...

Long long ago, when I was going to school in Boston, I took an amazing class on the Sociology of Deviance. My professor was spectacular, the material was spectacular, and most of the students in the class were really bright and had intelligent things to say. Most. There was this one guy (I forget his name but remember exactly what he looked like. He had this really curly blonde mop of hair and I am almost positive that he wore clogs. CLOGS!) who insisted on speaking at least once during every class period, which is normally dandy, but he was one of those people who said "like" every. other. freaking. word. ('It's like, like, when you, like, go to a place and like, there is, like, stuff there and like..." STAB STAB STAB) It got to the point where I would look around during one of his little rants and see that not only I, but numerous other people in the class, were making tally-marks in their notebooks to count just how many times he said it. I wanted to kick him.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, my current class has one of these as well. She is a very pretty girl, but she talks in class CONSTANTLY and today I started my tally. She spoke three times during class today. I zoned out during the first speech, but during the second she said "like" eighteen times, and during the third fifteen times.

Fucking A, people. Learn how to speak!

On top of everything else, in the first week of class I singled myself out as a talkative person in class and now it seems that my professor intentionally ignores me. Man is that fun. Especially when we are supposed to be talking about literature from the Middle Ages and he wants to talk about the Holocaust. Can you blame a girl for wanting to get back to the material we are studying?

Grumble grumble grumble. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

My memory, she needs to be shot.

You know that feeling you get when an old song comes on and you get a little nervous twinge in your stomach and you go, "Hey! I was _______ when this song came out."? Or perhaps "This song reminds me of being at _______ with _______ when we were ______."? You know that feeling? And how it can be really exciting? Well it has been hitting me like nobodies business in the last few days and it is no longer exciting, it is infuriating. I haven't been able to decide what to listen to on my iPod, so I've just had it on random and it's putting my stomach in knots.

::hit "Shuffle Songs"::
Hey! I'm in the 4th grade.

::next::
I'm living in Boston.

::next::
It's my second summer at camp!

::next::
I'm in the 8th grade and feeling AWKWARD.

::next::
I'm in Portland.

::next::
Paris
::next::
London
::next::
High school
::next::
Philly
::turns iPod OFF::

What I'm trying to say is that I need new music.

Please suggest some in the comments.

I am losing my freaking mind over here. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

I Love The Museum

This is actually an entry I wrote yesterday, but in the middle of posting my internet connection went ::kablooey::, so here it is now instead. Enjoy.

I love the Brooklyn Museum. It was there that I saw Sensation, saw a huge exhibition of Ron Mueck's work, studied African and Eastern Art in high school, doodled boys names in my notebooks, got cursed to have cramps by an crazy old lady, and had my high school graduation. I have spent so many hours at that place and I still love it love it love it. It changes and they do renovations and bring in new works and I get lost lost lost. (I love getting lost in museums, it's part of the reason I insist on going back to the Met on a semi-regular basis.)

Today Seth, his friend Josh and I all went to the Brooklyn Museum to see the photographs of Coney Island they have up through April 6th and I have to say I was a little disappointed. I think of Coney Island as this sort of magical iconic place, (they have rides and games and lights and fireworks every Friday night!) but the exhibit was tucked away in the corner of a back room. At the Brooklyn Museum! On top of that the exhibit was tiny, only about 60 small shots. The pictures were great, and I advise everyone to go check them out, but don't go expecting a huge show. You will be bummed. I know I was.

We also saw a piece that I've seen before (though I can't for the life of me remember where) called "The Dinner Party" by Judy Chicago. It's a huge form feminist piece that is pretty interesting once you get past the "OH MY GOD THIS ENTIRE ROOM IS FULL OF VAGINAS" thing. There is a lot that is reminiscent of Georgia O'Keefe, who I think sucks, but all in all it's great. In a room adjacent to the table there is a video playing that explains the process of it's creation. The whole thing took a number of years and ended up including collaborations with hundreds of other people including Chicago herself. Again, go check it out if you have a chance to pop down to Brooklyn.

Basically, the whole point of this post is that I love the Brooklyn Museum. I did an internship there in my junior year of high school teaching 6th graders about Egyptian Art (they have an AMAZING Egyptian collection) and in my senior year of high school I participated in the Student Guide Program. Going there today made me realize that, "Hey. I'm still a student. I can totally do this again!" So I'm going to. Every Saturday morning come September I will be down at the Brooklyn Museum wandering around, talking about art and enjoying myself. I can't wait! Oh, and if nothing has changed in the last six years or so, this program also means the following things:

1) I get show catalog's.

2) I get into special exhibitions for free.

3) I get a Brooklyn Museum ID.

Do you know what a Brooklyn Museum ID entitles you to? Getting in to any of the museums in the city for free, usually with a guest (or FOUR!) as well.

Oh yes...this is something I need back in my life.

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GAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH

You know those days that just inch by?

I swear it has been 5:3-something for the last three years.

I am going to be in this office for the rest of my LIFE. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves