Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Now there is a hole where the futon was and the living room echoes. I am on a premature selling frenzy, because I still have a month left in New York and now I have nowhere to sit when I go on my Lost-watching orgies. Now I have to sit on the floor to watch Matthew Fox sucking Evangeline Lilly's face, and the floor is hard and covered and dog hair and little pieces of raw chicken. I just started feeding Boo a raw diet, not because of weird ideas about dog nutrition but because I don't want to buy a 20-pound bag of dog food and have 10-pounds left at the end of the month so I'd rather just buy 5-pound bags of chicken thighs once a week. The math doesn't work out. Also, a raw diet means Boo lifts big pieces of raw chicken from his bowl and then sprays chicken innards everywhere as he chaws it down. So that in turn means that when I procrastinate and resist reading the four months of Tart Law I haven't read, I must sit amongst pieces of chicken and piles of hair and half-chewed rawhide "Retriever" rolls and a pile of homeless curtains to watch television.
I have also run out of things to sell. I am hunting around the house looking for other people's possessions to sell. Stephanie is in Vancouver for the weekend for a conference called "Trans SomaTechnics." It sounds like DJ equipment but it's actually about homos. Stepho said she was intimidated because she kept getting emails from a person who identifies as a "femme gimp" and she worries she won't be able to charm the crowd by being the most outré cool person there, but I have faith in the winningness of her wild mullet and buttonless button-up shirts. Anyway, I'm lonely and I have a take-home final to do in Art Law, the oxymoronic jumbo shrimp of the law school curriculum, which I couldn't care less about, which I forestall by selling things I need to people I don't know. Brusque Bruce from Sheepshead Bay brought a cop friend named Danny and absconded with my beloved amplifier yesterday night with a firm handshake and a pile of twenties; sweet Shawn from East New York with barbered dreadlocks and impeccable clothes bought my zippy gray bike for his lady friend Kiora this morning. How much is my dusty milkcrate filled with salvaged softballs and baseballs worth? Half a jug of Dr. Bronner's soap? "Civilization and Its Discontents" or "The Second Sex"? My Goodwin Proctor deck of cards? I have a pair of needle-nosed pliers that don't close properly...yours for $15. Baby, buy buy buy!
It's finals! It's finally finals! It's finally the final finals! I'm off my rocker! This season I have a new shirt to replace the Super Mario Bros. shirt that I usually spend the week in - Stepho bought me a giant kelly green shirt/pup tent at ComicCon that has a picture of a little frog in red pants on the front. He's saying, "I'm wearing little pants to cover my genitals!" The shirt is a benefit for the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, which we learned about in Art Law, or at least we heard about, or at least I just vaguely recall those syllables emerging from the muckety muck of lecture one day in January. WTFOMG. I expect in four or five days time to be complete free of degree requirements, God Bless America, Peacefully-Blessed, Zaftig blessings, I will see you all in a few.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
I jogged to school today, after vowing to do it for three years. "Jogging" is a euphemism referring to my slow shuffle over the Williamsburg bridge - WHICH, I noticed for the first time today, because I was not frantically biking past all the signs, was engineered by a man named "Lefferts Lefferts Buck"!
I almost died of heat exhaustion. It was 80 degrees in New York today. My mouth was as if stuffed with cotton balls and ceramic bisque. I got sunburnt and was incoherent for the rest of the day. Then I went to Shake Shack for lunch (thanks for waiting in line, Oliver!) and inhaled a cheeseburger and a strawberry shake and then booked it to NYC Costume to buy elf ears for tomorrow's comic con, then biked in a frenzy home and then passed out from too much exertion.
The picture on the front of today's Post was a teddy bear captioned "Islamo-nuts" something something "terrorist." This picture was display on a flatscreen in Madison Square Park behind an image of twitching cartoonish teddy bears. Why?
I love you all! I hate the L train!
But really, I do, I do love you, I do love you all! If we canteloupe, lettuce marry! My dog is crying. Goodbye!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
I can understand the fervor for Obama, since he's charismatic and new, but why would anyone get their tits in a twist for Hillary, that boring old second-run? One can picture Hillary supporters weakly waving index card-sized American flags, but one cannot imagine why they would want to do it with any gusto. And note that I'm not some huge Obama groupie. I was ambivalent about the Democratic ticket until I read this mere months ago. When centrist lawyers suggest abrogating due process for immigrants who have committed crimes, I stop thinking they're executive material.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Last night, Raj rallied his friends to the bi-weekly spelling bee at Pete's Candy Store in Williamsburg, which promised to be nerd fun but was, in fact, terrifying nerd fun. My mind blanked when I got up there to spell my words and I almost misspelled "ascension" - I blame this on my hunger - but I recovered, spelled it correctly, and ended up in third place. (I struck out on "capitatim.") I gave away my sandwich prize to Claire, who returned the favor by giving me her sandwich prize when she won the omniverbal grammar competition that followed the spelling bee. My voice shook! I'm supposed to be a litigator, and my voice shook! I vowed by text message to kill Raj for dragging me out there but in the end it turned out to be great fun. Raj amused the crowd (of his admirers) by declaring that parking on the moon should be legal. His friend Meera wanted polka dots on nachos. Stephanie leapt off the stage and clicked her heels in triumph after "tumulary," and I met a nice fellow named Ari whose grammar sucked, but we were all defeated by a friendless Williamsburgian who outspelled second-place Raj by six words and who, feeling deified by his victory, reached over to my beer as I drank from it and demanded a sip. Excuse me? I refused, even after he declared, "I've been tested!", and was made to feel as if I had denied Jesus his sponge of vinegar.
(Matt, Stephanie, and the judges. Stephanie is declaring that she wishes to be the present incarnation of David Bowie.)
I felt I was at home when I could see the mouths of the spectators silently spelling words that competitors failed to spell, as if it were so disgraceful that such giveaways as "ossuary," "vanadium," and "halophyte" should be so butchered, as if that disgrace could only be redeemed by the spectators' silent correction.
(Matt, Raj, and Meera.)
To the left of this photograph is Elam Blackman, a folk singer from Knoxville who went almost entirely ignored by the eight of us sitting in this room chatting. We felt awkward and impolite, and so we guiltily paused to listen to the guy whenever he addressed his dull folksy commentary at us ("This is a song about a trip I took to Mexico. I ended up sleeping on my ex-girlfriend's floor." It is time for folk music to die.), and then resorted to charades and text messages to communicate across the room without shouting over the music. We left after about an hour of this, and then trooped to the G train to wave goodbye. What nerdery!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Welcome to Hatland (population 1,000), an island country where there are only a few laws. They are:
(1) Everyone wears either a black or a white hat.
(2) No one can talk about the colors of their hats.
(3) No one can see the color of his or her hat. There are no reflective surfaces in the land.
(4) Each person who discovers he or she is wearing a white hat must go to the town square the next day and commit suicide.
(4) is pretty gruesome, but because of (2) and (3), there have never been any mandatory suicides on the island. However, one day, a shipwrecked sailor crawls to shore, and before dying, he gasps these last words: "At least one of you is wearing a white hat!"
Thursday, April 10, 2008
I just learned not to be so cavalier with the feelings of people who mean me no harm.
So, instead, a logic puzzle: one hundred engineers are in prison. They are going to be executed the next day. The executioner will line them up in a column, each engineer facing the back of the head of the engineer in front of him. The executioner will put either red hats or blue hats on all of the engineers, but who gets what color hat will not be determined until the day of the execution. The executioner will begin at the back of the line, and ask that engineer what color hat he is wearing. If the engineer guesses correctly, then his life will be spared. If he guesses incorrectly, he will be killed. The only things the engineer may say are either "Blue" or "Red"; no other words may cross his lips. The engineers meet the night before to strategize about how to save the most lives, but because the prison is a panopticon, the executioner can hear what the strategy is ahead of time and alter his plans to thwart it - for example, if the engineers all agree to say "Blue," then the executioner will put only red hats on their heads. What is the maximum number of engineers that can be saved? (Hints: the answer is a code, many more than half can be saved, and engineers can be martyrs too.)
Saturday, April 05, 2008
- Dog-eared, weatherbeaten, shopworn, unfinished book called "Mensa Sudoku."
- People ignoring or mocking the Bronx Leadership Academy High School French Club (the school I taught at in 2003-2004), whose members walked ten times across the Brooklyn Bridge trying to raise money for a trip to Montreal.
- The human avatar of Comic Book Guy in Forbidden Planet, an NYC comic book store, asking a store clerk not to euphemistically refer to the McFarlane's Mercenary action figures as "independent defense contractors."
- A proto-lesbian shopfest.