Kenneth?

We just talked about Anderson Cooper, mostly.

I'm just saying there's a resemblance...

SEIZED

The corner bodega is closed. The metal shutters are down, covered in orange stickers that say "SEIZED by the State of New York." Apparently they didn't pay their taxes. I bought coffee there this morning, and when I got home at 7:30, it was over. I don't know what I will do now. Where will I buy my tall boys? My coffee? My pasta? This is a tragedy. So long, my friends. So long.

Who Knew Oceanography Sucked so Much?

Popsci.com has a list of the Ten Worst Jobs in Science. And I thought it was rough cleaning hotel rooms. I didn't even realize people DID these things as careers. My favorite? Just the name alone wins: Garbologist.

What was THAT about?

I had a dream last night where I found a turtle and brought it back to the apartment I'm staying at, only to realize the turtle was obviously a bad idea but couldn't get it out of the apartment. I was stuck, fighting with this turtle, desperately trying to get it back to the outdoors before my friend returned. Then the turtle bit me. It hurt.

?

No Sleep 'til...?

I'm moving into my apartment on the 1st. I have my clothes, some pictures, some books I left in Fort Greene when I moved to Minneapolis, and my computer. I have to procure everything else I need for my bedroom. This presents a slight problem. There are countless ways to get a bed, a dresser, and a desk, but so far I can't think of any way I can transport these things without spending a small fortune that I don't have. What to do? I am at a loss. It is starting to feel like every time something good happens(I find an apartment, I get another job interview), something pops up that leaves me feeling desperate. Much as I would love to avail myself of the magic of Craigslist, I am still lacking a delivery method. Beds are expensive, and not that many people here drive trucks, or drive at all. This vexes me.

I think I'm going to have to buy blankets first and sleep on the floor until I have enough money to buy the bed to go with the blankets. It'll be pallet-tastic!

Feet

Another man complimented my toes this afternoon. Two equals trend! Is it because people walk so much here? Can toes be toned and fit? A friend tells me that Brooklyn is just Australia for foot fetishists. Or toe fetishists. Or whatever they are.

Some Things Never Change

In my experience, people tend to get less intolerable when they get sober. I shouldn't be surprised that I can count on Ryan Adams to be the exception to that. I know I'm probably late to the party on this one, but my God, this interview makes him seem even more annoying than when I saw him play in Chicago in 2002. That was a night he played his entire encore while hiding behind a Chewbacca cutout. I'm not saying I want him back on drugs, far from it. He simply epitomizes why some musicians are best enjoyed with a little mystique surrounding their painfully confessional songs. I should just be happy he hasn't had Jon Brion produce one of his albums. We all know what kind of musical abortions happen then.

So True

(Short conversation about men who cook)

Lauren: All girls really want is to be fucked and fed.

Word, my dear. Allowances should be made for those who sacrifice a little of the latter for skill at the former, however.

Stupid Weather

One major downside to outdoor concerts is their susceptibility to inclement weather. Take yesterday's Summerstage concert, for example. After changing trains three times and spending an hour and a half underground, my friends and I emerged near Central Park to see huge, threatening rainclouds and several lightning bolts. And then the deluge began. Needless to say, we did not see Television like we were supposed to. Maybe they'll play another concert in 25 years.

I did see a giant cardboard box of porn sitting inside the bodega where I bought a Red Bull. It was possibly the biggest box of porn I have ever seen.

Can Music be Ruined by a City?

If it can, then I think I am submitting an essay to Ruined Music about how Minneapolis, all several hundred thousand people and however many square miles of sprawl, rendered me unable to listen to more than five seconds of any Hold Steady song without wanting to burst into tears. When Craig Finn says "Lyndale South" in Hot Soft Light, I choke up, every single time. Isn't that stuff only supposed to happen to dudes?

The Interview Process

Looking for apartments is harder than finding a job. First, it seems that women don't live in two bedroom apartments; they only live in "cute" or "adorable" 3 and 4 bedrooms with other girls and want "fun," "neat," "quiet" roommates. I don't mind having a male roommate, I just wish there were more options, and that I could magically find a place that isn't super expensive and has more than two feet of space. I'll even take the two feet of space if it means I don't have to move to Bushwick. My friends have had great luck, and I worry I'll end up with something gross just because I don't have their magic touch.

Update: I hate this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Too Cool For School

No, it's actually too cold. It's June. It's 60 degrees outside. I know I should be happy that the metal grates aren't melting the soles of my shoes, but this is ridiculous. Why does my time of underemployment have to be so chilly?

The Myth of Myth #3

While I was working at my crappy temp job, I grew quite fond of Yahoo! Jobs articles. Every time I saw a little headline that shouted "Best Careers for Your Personality" or "10 Ways You Fucked Yourself Over at Work Yesterday" I had to read it. Today I saw "The 5 Biggest Workplace Myths" and was intrigued. What could they be, I wondered. You really can take those Hot Pockets?

I should have known. The Biggest Workplace Myth is still that women are welcome in it. Myth #3 says it all:

News flash: If you report sexual harassment it'll probably hurt your career. The law protects companies from getting sued for sexual harassment, and human resources professionals are trained to circle the company and protect it as soon as someone reports a problem. This isn't to blame people in HR -- there's nothing else they can do because the law dictates this behavior.

When you do report harassment, the most likely thing to happen is that you'll lose your job because of retaliation. Yes, that's illegal, but it's pretty much impossible to prove in court. But let's say you can sue and win: You'll get a settlement that's too small to allow you to retire, you'll be virtually unemployable in your field and career, and your harasser will probably do the same thing to your replacement.

Before you accuse me of being indifferent to social justice, please know that I'm not saying this is OK. I'm saying that unless you're independently wealthy, you can't afford to single-handedly face down the injustice of sexual harassment laws. So unless you're in physical danger, figure out how to make the best of a bad situation and move away from the harasser if possible.

As ususal, shut up and take it is the way to go. What if the "best" way to deal with it is to have an affair with the harasser and blackmail him into a promtion to a different department? Of course I don't think this woman is saying she thinks that sexual harassment is okay. I think she is saying that it is not important for women to support each other and create an environment that is legitimately safe and positive for everyone. That attitude is the same one that is threatening women's rights across the board. As long as women accept that the rewards lie in compliance and not organized revolt, we will be on the defensive.

I was glad to hear that gaps in my resume aren't a big deal though. That eases my mind a whole lot.

Small World

After I finished work, I decided I wasn't ready to sit at home, so I went to the movies. As I walked home, I passed a laughing couple. The girl asked me for a cigarette, and as I handed one to her, her eyes grew huge and she shrieked, "Oh My God! I know you!" And she did. We sat next to each other in our literary theory class senior year and spent more than a few hours discussing how totally hot our professor was. And Lacan, of course.

It was a brief encounter, and I spent the rest of my walk home thinking about how terrible I had been in that class, but it was a great way to end my first real day back.

Delirious

It doesn't feel real, and I don't know when it's going to start feeling that way. I feel a little like a kid on their first night at summer camp, sustained more by someone's assurances that everything will be fun than by real faith. That might explain why I keep crying and wailing "I wanna go home!"

No more whirlwind departures. It's too painful, and I'm too old. Yes, too old.

Seasonal Dissonance

Everyone has different CDs for different times of year, CDs that can never be separated from the time they were first heard. My iPod is shuffling today, and it keeps landing on winter songs. Really cold winter songs. Walking to class along Lakeshore Path while fighting the December wind on the way to fall 2000 finals songs. Mostly this just means it's playing too much Kid A and Homogenic, with just enough of Leonard Cohen's first album to remember how much I felt like a character in McCabe and Mrs. Miller every time it snowed that winter.

There is a massive thunderstorm headed towards the city, one that should bring tornadoes and big hailstones. It's supposed to be 80 this weekend. It'll be hotter in New York. It may be summer outside my head, but I'm shivering in my cubicle as if it was 20 degrees outside.

The iPod just warmed up a bit-Summer 2002, Liz Phair, and Fuck and Run. Just as long as it stays away from January 2004. Good music, Bad Times.

The Eli Roth Conundrum

He's a total babe, but his idea of "rescuing the girl" is to get her out of the torture dungeon AFTER her eye is hanging out of its socket. And then to have her jump under a train when she realizes she's not pretty anymore. He made Hostel II, but he hired Heather Matarazzo to star in it. It's such a close call.

Actually, no it isn't. Cabin Fever. "Killing former Boy Meets World stars with nasty flesh eating bacteria" trumps "he might kill me during sex" every time.

No, A.V. Club, Fall Out Boy Does Indeed Suck

Did I miss something? Can someone more knowledgeable about things musical and Chicago-related please explain this article?

I have two questions and one statement for Kyle Ryan:

Q1. Are the "hooks" in the new album's "hook-laden songs" fishing hooks? Because I had to fight the urge to blind myself when I found out that the TITLE of the first single was "This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race." Once I actually heard the song my car almost turned into a scene from Audition.

Q2. Are you married to the sister of one of these guys?

S. I admire your moxie, Sir, for trying to convince people who read your publication to reconsider their hatred of Fall Out Boy. I regret to inform you, however, that Patrick Stump is in the band responsible for bringing "guyliner" into regular conversation, and for the wicked bad haircut and dye job Blake Lewis got before Bon Jovi Week. You need a hell of a lot more than catchy pop songs to make up for that. Lest you accuse me of judging a book by its douchey, douchey cover, I have heard plenty of Fall Out Boy songs. They are not good.

Memo to Patrick Stump: Of course your work is going to be pared down to Wentzitals. Did you see them?

Return to Blogging: The Angry Woman Post

It wouldn't be a "blogging from work" day if I didn't link to at least one infuriating item. Thanks to Salon's Broadsheet for one of those stories that makes me want to take a bleach shower because I share some ancient common ancestor with the dozen or so scumbags who will suffer no consequences at all for what should be executable behavior.

And Just Because

Ren, I just want you to know that when I get back on Sunday, I'm BACK.

Imminent Departure

It's finally time. My last day as a professional highligher/typist is Friday, my flight leaves Sunday morning(7:00 AM?!?!? What was I thinking?!?!?!), and I report to work on Monday morning. What happens in the next week? A jam packed combination of social activity, packing, and panic(both the quiet and not so quiet kinds) awaits.

It has never been this hard to leave someplace before. I had less than a month to prepare the first time I moved to New York, and I moved to Minneapolis with close to the same amount of notice. I shudder to think that this might mean I'm more of a grown-up than I was when I arrived. Life in the Twin Cities has been quite a combination of highs and lows, but I will still miss everyone I know who hasn't started planning their East Coast move(there are a few foolish types who still think they're not included on my list of inevitable transplants).

Please, help me reverse this distressing maturation process. The going away party is Friday. Immature behavior should be rampant.