Kiwi

This past Friday I had to move my desk at work. This is the third cubicle I've worked in at this office, and I really must admit that this cubicle isn't positioned in the best part of the office. Imagine a corner cubicle surrounded by the offices of the higher level executives. Now imagine it without any natural light. Add in an average temperature of "cold enough to use your coffee mug as a source of warmth".

When my boss asked me how excited I was about the move, I shared my opinion on the lighting concept. I threatened to line the walls of my desk in yellow wallpaper, and our COO suggested aluminum foil. I thought about it for a bit, hoping that in some miraculous way I might be able to get a tan by doing so, but I decided against it. Upon moving in on Friday I set up shop with two lamps and a jade plant. It a plant can live here, I guess I can.

One of my colleagues, who had just started that week, stopped by to ask if I needed anything, and we got to talking a bit about various things and the discussion turned to a Kiwi on my desk.

I started to explain that I've had the Kiwi on my desk all week, and whenever I got to thinking about breakfast or lunch I never really wanted to eat it. And the fact is, I had actually gotten this Kiwi at the grocery store two weeks before that and had failed to eat it then. The excuse at the time was "it wasn't ripe enough" so I decided to bring it home for Thanksgiving. It made the trip home to Delaware with me on Amtrak, safely kept in a plastic bag. On Monday morning, while getting ready to go back to the city, my mom asked me if I wanted to take the kiwi back with me. And back it went to the city, when it sat (in the plastic bag) on my desk for a week until it was shuffled into the dark corner cubicle.

Suddenly, I realized that this poor girl had just listened to my five-minute rant about this kiwi. She was polite about it, and we finished our conversation shortly after. I stuck it out in the dark until 6pm, when I organized my desk, turned off my lamps and tucked the kiwi into my bag to bring home.

4th Day of NaNoWriMo

Today is the fourth day of November and the fourth day of NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. In short, it is an attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in just one month. For this project, quantity most certainly trumps quality.

I'd very much like to be a November "Wrimo" as they are called but I've already let three days of writing slide by. I never thought I'd ever say this but, in doing the math... 50,000 words over 30 days is roughly 1,666 words per day... minus three days amounts to almost 1851 words daily... and subtracting my time spent vacationing on a Mediterranean cruises (10 days) and stuffing my face over thanksgiving (5 days). I am down to 50,000 words in 12 days... 4,100 words a day. Just to check, I looked back on an 8-page essay that I wrote in college which was roughly 3,000 words? I think? So let's call it 10 pages a day... for 12 days... 120 pages. That seems like a novel to me, surely of no "epic" proportions.

I do not like math. After receiving a 4 on the AP Statistics exam during my Senior year of high school, I never took another math course again. My junior and senior year of college I had filled my course schedule with English and creative writing courses. Waitressing during the summer was about as far as I got with percentages... within a few weeks I could tell you 20% of anything. A few months into my new job my boss asked me to find the growth rate percentage of spas, and I looked at her for a moment for calmly telling her I don't know how to do math. That was that, and I went back to editing.

I also haven't been much of a political fan, and since today is also election day (which is also about numbers) I would feel completely apathetic to the discipline if I didn't at least mention it. This was the first election that I actually voted at the polls (in 2004 I voted absentee while at Gettysburg), and there were about 100 or so people in line with me at 7:20AM at 45 Wall Street. And in fact, I have actually warmed-up to politics during this election. I've registered to vote in the state of New York, aligned myself with one a party, and was excited this morning to pull the red lever to the right and be part of the ± 60% of those who voted today.

Merriam Webster's Word of the Day: Extricate

Bottom of the 7th

Today I left work at 6:01pm. I went to the grocery store, snacked on pita chips while cooking dinner, watched a few episodes of Law & Order and read an essay about Babor the Elephant and French society in a September New Yorker before settling in to watch the Phillies play in the word series.

Watching the game tonight reminded me of how into baseball I once was, and how on Saturday night I had no idea what game of the series it was. While attending Bayard Intermediate School (grades 4-6), I loved the Atlanta Braves. I had David Justice's card hanging up on my wall, and the newbie Chipper Jones had stolen the spotlight. Later I come to find out that Chipper Jones wasn't all that impressive, considering he had an affair with a hooter's waitress, but at the time it didn't matter to me - at 9-years-old, how could I really know what baseball players' lives were like outside of the diamond? We didn't have Google yet.

In 4th grade I was given an Atlanta Braves Starter jacket for Christmas, and I loved it. I felt so cool, a true fan. I walked proudly into class after the Christmas holiday to find that one of my classmates, Brad, had received the exact same gift. But not to worry, I had the almost-complete set of Upper Deck baseball cards.

Marketing

My headphones only play music in one ear, and I have been walking, traveling, running, etc. with music in one ear for many months - before August to be sure.

I surprised that I haven't been more annoyed by it and even more surprised that I've gotten comfortably used to my device. I think of them as the opposite of noise-eliminating headphones. The thought has crossed my mind to counter-market this pair of headphones to the percentage of the population who wants to stay semi-alert without looking like they are constantly plugged into their bluetooth. Speaking of marketing, now that I have spent two years learning to think, breath, sleep, and eat (maybe a few other vitals) marketing, and I can't help but put together an assessment of various advertisements on the subway, streets, and just about everywhere else. I think the most memorable subway advertising campaign was Intercontinental Hotel Group's Grand Central shuttle ads - which took up more than a few panels. The subway walls were covered in a decals of different geographic locations (think beach, rain forest, urban metropolis) that covered every inch of the car, like giant life size decals for paper airplanes.

On a more somber note, I think one of the reasons that I've decided to eventually market my passive aggressive one-sided-looks-like-I'm-intently-listening-in-both-ears headphones is because I work too much. Whenever anyone asks me what I've been up to lately, all I can say is I go to work, come home, and go back to work. Someone in the office asked me if I slept at the office last week. Another person told me that they had a discussion with someone on how many minutes of the day I didn't spend working. I didn't switch over my rental insurance to my new apartment for seven months because I kept forgetting to call during working hours. The same goes with the Doctor, dentist. I've recently decided to go to a food allergist but haven't made the appointment and probably won't until I finally decide enough is enough... I'd like to know whether my stomach has caught up with the gluten bandwagon.

However, not all hope is lost in the self-improvement section. I do notice that my ability to "tough it out" has improved since I began my office lifestyle. Today I made it through the entire without my chapstick.

Wikitaxi

Instead of taking a cab last night on the way home from the bar, we hailed a black towncar instead, whose driver agreed to take us downtown for $20. I considered it a deal, especially now since the weather is starting to get a bit colder and people don't want to walk or take the subway, myself being one of them.

About halfway through our ride we came to a stop near City Hall and heard some shouting from the right side of the street, where a group of guys were about to start a fight. It was three against one, the one having already taken off his shirt and swing it around his torso to appear more aggressive or threatening. It reminded me of those fighting beta fish that, when you put their bowls next to one another (or a mirror if you were slightly cruel-minded), puffed up their fins to reveal colorful iridescent blues, greens and purples to warn the challenger. Sadly, the young mans t-shirt was a common grey which did nothing for his image. The opposing party of three walked away, towards the subway entrance across the street, laughing and joking with one another. The young man followed and weaved through the traffic which had now congregated at the halted intersection. Behind our car, he had stopped after treading about 60% of the way across the street. Green light. We drove on, the honking cars behind us finding it a bit more difficult.

Our driver shared our amusement, but added that he "had seen everything, and this was nothing." Perhaps it wasn't really anything, I mean, they hadn't thrown punches or pulled out weapons.

Considering it lucky that the scuffle hadn't been more serious, I did realize that I've been in this situation before. Where the driver knows everything. I honestly think it is a job qualification, or a goal to achieve when signing on as a cabby. I've only been in one cab in the last two years where the driver admittedly said he had no idea where he was going. We came to find out that he had just started his taxi career, and although he had no idea how to get us to Alphabet city, he explained the entire procedure for becoming certified as a taxi driver, getting your car, and so on. On the occasion that I did question a cabby on where we were going, I either had to sit and listen to the lecture on why we were going this way and how rude it was that I doubted his knowledge or in the extreme case, get out and run.

As a pedestrian, I've lived here for two years I hardly ever find myself giving directions. Ironically, when visiting a few summers ago and out on an interview I was asked six different times for directions, without knowing where I myself was headed. I've never been in a taxi where I thought that I might know more about the city or have seen more of New York than the driver, but since I moved downtown I have taught several cab drivers how to find William Street and consider that a small contribution to the wealth of their knowledge.

I took OzoCar, a green limo company to LaGuardia Airport, on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend this past summer. I didn't leave myself much time before my flight and the only way I knew how to get to LaGuardia was on the highway. However, no fear, we turned off the highway and wound around the broken streets in the outskirts of Queens. He must have know I was restless when he said he had been driving for 20 years, which did make me feel better, although I have no idea how he knew where he was going.

When taking a car to Westchester this past winter, our driver explained to us how he used to drive for Martha Stewart, has lived in over 20 countries and speaks five languages. I can't recall where he said he was headed next, I do believe it was India, but I do know that he can't get there by driving.

Box Office

Today Margaret and I watched three and a half movies. The first was Sweeney Todd, only the first half-hour, since the disc was too damaged to play entirely. We thought that the movie would be quite perfect for the day, since it was rainy and uncomfortable outside and having been gone since Saturday morning at a wedding outside of the city, the thought of the pull out couch, Chinese food and a sweatshirt couldn't have been more appealing.

The second movie we put in was Michael Clayton, and even though I was napping during the 10 minute scene in which one of the main characters was murdered, I found it to be a solid movie. The third movie on the agenda was 21 grams, of which I had no idea what it was about, nor did I expect a jigsaw puzzle of a story which finally connected three strangers after a series of sad, raw and twisted events. After two thrillers and an Spiderman intermission we settled on a comedy, Run Fatboy Run.

The main character was an "un-fit"middle-aged man, Dennis, who couldn't quite seem to be able to get it together. To win the respect and favor of the woman who he left on his wedding day (pregnant), he declares that he will run a marathon which is only three weeks away. Although I am not running a marathon or trying to win favor or respect, I have been running for thirty minutes once or twice a week, and I am finally back at yoga, sweating for 90 minutes and calling it detox.

It's amazing that something like Bikram yoga, which is about as uncomfortable as the weather today, could make someone feel good but it really does. The first class I took this month was absolutely brutal. I felt weak, pathetic and frumpy. But after a few classes, I began to win back some of the progress I had made in the earlier winter months of this year. When describing it to some people, I feel as though I do have to defend the investment of my resources in Bikram, like someone who got into one of those pyramid schemes. And although it's 90 minutes long, and when I do go I'm never home before 9:30pm, I like just really like it. I also enjoy the instructors, mostly because of their "talks" at the end of class when we are all lying, flat and dehydrated, while we listen about determination and discipline like kindergarten kids winding down for nap time after a firefighter or policeman's lesson on safety.

The other day he was explaining the notion of coming to terms with yourself and "giving back" something that wasn't helping you. His example was his mother's habitual "you must finish you plate" mentality as that contributed to his unhealthy food habits. My friend and co-worker recently came back from a spa seminar in Utah, where she participated in an awareness hike and buried something that she wanted to leave behind in the Utah mountains. Lately I've been hearing a lot the "rid yourself" scenarios. Next time I'm lying flat on the yoga mat, hopefully Tuesday, I'll anticipate another healing mental exercise which might dangle self-satisfaction just ahead of my reach and shine a spotlight on it. It's not that I'm not a believer in the mind's wondrous and unforseen powers, I just believe that hard work might get you there too. Wherever there is.

At times, I feel like the un-fit-middle-aged Dennis, who wants so desperately to triumph in such little time. After all I've grown up in a time when immediate results are expected, as in Michael Phelps one-minute commercial on learning the Chinese language through Rosetta Stone. After two weeks of yoga and more than a month of twice-weekly 6:30 runs all of my pants are still too tight (even my safety pair that always fit), I still love french fries, salt and bacon (not together), and still need to take a breather after walking up and down five flights of stairs in 10 minutes and possibly eating a banana afterwards to avoid leg cramps. As always, I have a few more miles to run.

Chocolate

When I was very young, maybe two, I ate an entire basket of chocolate on Easter. Although I don't remember doing it, I honestly believe that on that day I had consumed 95% of my lifetime's ration of chocolate. I would say on average that I'll eat a tiny chocolate bar or snack on some chocolate ice cream once every 3 months or so.

In Las Vegas there was an office at the conference which seconded as a candy store. My boss Sallie had gone for a demo on their software only to come back with twenty chocolate bars wrapped in the company's logo. After one of their company executives came over for a massage he promptly returned with 60 more chocolate bars. Excess.

I think because I was a little bored that day I ate one of the twenty chocolate bars... paired with a Diet Coke. The massage therapist told me I was poisoning my body. I assured her calmly that I hardly ever have either substance, and that I was no means at risk for over exposing my digestive system to sugar or artificial sweetener. If there is anything I should be worried about it is my obsession with salt.

Yesterday at work, not even a week after Vegas, Ann came by eating a piece of chocolate, and I needed a piece. She had gotten it from her boss's office. At the moment, her boss was in a meeting. Without asking I ran to her office and started fishing through her shelves for hazelnut chocolate. Thankfully, she had been ordering samples of chocolate over the course of several weeks (as possibilities for inventory in the company's online store... think spa certificate enhanced the "gift" with chocolates). I'd prefer a salt scrub. But anyway, the chocolate supply was ample and I quickly snatched three small round pieces of chocolate and shimmied back to my desk.

I don't even remember eating the chocolate but when re-telling the story to a friend I used the phrase "I stole chocolate from an executive's office" which, really, is a bit out of character for me. But so is gambling by myself at Caesar's Palace.

Anniversary

A few calendar things I thought I would bring attention to:

I have successfully owned a living plant for one year. This is big news considering there has been more than one occasion when I've come home from work or vacation and came back to it completely wilted. After a full cup of water and a few hours, the plant rebounds and it's back to normal once again. I desire it's revitalization skills - as I would certainly not be able to recover quite as gracefully from a five day water/food fast. Better yet it has bloomed! The single white flower which presents itself (hmm twice a year?) has come into view. Too bad that this Friday I am heading to Las Vegas which...

Marks the date of my first business trip. I am going to Las Vegas for six nights with two of my company's top executives. This will be my first trip to the strip and I'll be camped out in the Planet Hollywood, where they offered me a room with a bathtub that overlooks the strip. The conference, which is centered around 6,000 travel agents, gives me the chance to learn a bit more about the travel agent industry and how we can better improve our business rela... the more important thing is, I am going for six nights. Isn't there a rule about three nights in Vegas is more than enough? Or maybe it's two?


Which reminds me, shortly after Labor Day I will have reached my two year milestone at work and will be celebrating my two-year-anniversary as a city-dweller - although I still haven't gotten an official NY ID or changed my phone number to one of New York's three codes (keeping in mind that Delaware has one). And I don't dwell so much and rush and run from place to place and go to bed at 10:30 on weeknights, but the Blackberry is part of my entourage and I'll be the first one to argue that New York is better.

Batman's Voice is Scary

The other morning I was drifting away from work for a few minutes, reading the "most viewed" articles on CNN. Scanning the list I immediately clicked on What's with Batman's voice in 'Dark Knight'? and I could not have been more excited.

After seeing Batman Begins that was my ultimate question: Dear Christian Bale, Why are you talking like that?

His Batman voice is far beyond deep... it's startling how ugly it is. Of course his voice is enhanced by sound technology used in movies, but wow. In Batman Begins, Batman's lines were short and to the point but in The Dark Knight, there are scenes where Batman bellows for a bit longer than expected. Today I walked by a duo of jackhammers in the street which reminded me of the article and my intention of blogging about it.

My favorite part of the article speaks to other people's critiques of the voice: "Why does Batman talk like the offspring of Clint Eastwood and a grizzly bear?"

Why?

Wii Fridays

A few weeks ago my boss bought a Wii. She then brought it to the office and it's become part of the repertoire of conference room technology. Shortly after it was set up she sent an official office wide email announcing the Wii, and it's introduction into office society would be celebrated through Wii Friday.

Employees were invited to come play the Wii that Friday in blocks of time, one around noon and the other in the late afternoon. Since then, people have made Miis, sounds of the video system can be heard over the ipod, and there is talk of a Wii Tennis Tournament (which should rival the Biggest Loser challenge in terms of blog-worthy material). My boss has even blogged about the "Wii Shoulder" ailment which plagues the players after several intense rounds of 5-game tennis.

I've played but I haven't gotten the moves down and I'm certainly not able to ace the serve each time. I am no means addicted or advanced. The backhand always seems to give me the most problems. As the ball slowly lofts towards me I usually swing too early and my little Wii body swivels around and wobbles like a weeble.

This morning on the subway I found a seat. At Fulton St. the commuters piled on as usual and a tall man in a suit, who reminded me of the crazy alien scientist from Independence Day, grabbed the pole next to where I was sitting. He realized the seat was open next to me and turned to sit down. As he was sitting, mid-squat, the train began to move and he began to topple over. Without realizing it my hand jerked out to shield my body but in a perfect back-hand Wii Tennis move! I knew I did it right, and smiled to myself as the man regained his balance. My shoulder hurt.

Harry Potter Night Caps

I've seen all of the Harry Potter movies, but until July 4th weekend, had not read any of the seven book series. I flew up to Martha's Vineyard to spend the holiday weekend with my roommate Margaret who had been reading the sixth book over the course of the previous (vacation) week. She finished the 600+ page story the day before I arrived and promptly went to get the seventh book. I was lucky enough to have the sixth book gifted to me for the weekend.

Unlike my time spent in the city, which is mostly time at my desk looking at a computer (with two monitors) which pulls the energy from my eyes, the vineyard was perhaps the most laid back place I have been to in quite some time. I finished a hundred pages in several hours and was completely transfixed on finishing the book by the time I left. Not because it was a challenge but because it was (gasp!) fun.

I think my eyes have gotten anxious, sending a Run! Hide! message to my brain when they look at something for too long. It's probably why I am so inconsistent about writing on my blog... my eyes absolutely refuse to look at a computer again after doing so all day. It's funny how the TV doesn't bother me too much, except that I can't read the guide since my eyes are now fixated in a near-sighted position. I'll take the time to mention here that my eye doctor told me if I switched careers, and didn't work at a desk/with a computer, my eyes would go back to being 20/20. I am still trying to decide what I would be when I decided I wanted my eyesight back - I thought about a pilot for a while, but someone brought to my attention that my vision (if not repaired) would make me an inviable candidate. I've yet to find something else, but have thought of moving to a place with a weak population of computers, perhaps some tropical island where Verizon fios isn't wired through sand.

But back to Harry. I've since finished the sixth book (that holiday weekend) and the seventh, which served as my nightly fix before bedtime. I felt like I was part of the Readathon and Reading Rainbow, two things which I loved so much during my childhood, much more than David the Gnome. Althought I finished Harry the 7th a little over a week ago, I have re-instituted a little place for books by my bed and have stacked a few novels including my next book The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters (which I received at a bridal shower). We'll see what comes of this daily habit.

Analytics

Every Monday I receive a Google Analytics blog report. Beside the obvious reasons for receiving it (the fact that I like to know the details of a week's worth, or 12, blog visits), I feel joyous when I open the report to see a number higher than 0 - similar to the way I felt when receiving graded papers in Geometry class.

Since work has been a bit less hectic than 70 hour weeks and Saturday pit-stops, I've taken some time to ponder over things that might have been, well, neglected from March to June... one of them being my blog. Of the 12 people who visited my blog last week, one was from Italy and one was from Belgium. The top sources for my blog are Google (50%) and Facebook (33%). And most intriguing, one the frequent keyword searches which led to my blog was Red Bull Ice Cream. What?

I had worked out this morning, and was tired. So by the time I had gotten to reading this report around 3pm this afternoon, I spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out when and why I had written about Red Bull Ice Cream. I thought for a while about my favorite ice cream place off of 4th avenue (on 9th or 10th I think) which showcases such flavors as sweet corn, wasabi and sesame. My favorite is orange creamy which is not a blend of the two, but a mixture of orange sherbet and cream. It's perfect.

This place didn't have Red Bull flavored ice cream... and I had a hard time believing that anyone really searched for Red Bull Ice Cream. So I typed it into Google search and my blog was listed third in the results. Ah Ha! I hadn't really written about it, but just used drink and dairy together in a blog title post - about the movie Knocked Up. Mystery solved.

An Eye and an Ear

Since I now how have my headphones, ipod and sunglasses to make me appear almost completely submersed in my own world of inner reflection, I've started to actually pay attention to who is on the subway, street and sidewalk with me during my commute. I must say I favor the morning, as by the evening hour I am usually tired and void of energy to spend on deciding who around me has the most interesting thing to say about themselves without saying anything.

For one thing I've now ridden in the same train car as a young couple from Union Square to 23rd street, and each time I've seen them they've managed to get the same spot - standing near the door, nestled up against the railing with his back to the door. Neither are extremely tall, but he's always looking down at her, adoringly of course, and the like - but that isn't the point. What puzzles me most is how they always find the same spot - mid-train, front of the car on the local-side doors - perhaps they get on at the first stop, wherever that might be. I find myself always trying for the same spot, against the door as he has conquered... but almost always never get there. I dread the subway when I get stuck in the middle and have to reach up for the railing - inevitably having to mess up my "unaware" stance to allow my wrist to brace myself, while watching people sitting below me, half-asleep, necks tucked inwards to their chest like dozing pigeons.

My most favorite moments are when people miraculously "re-appear" on the street, when I had seen them walking six blocks away in the opposite direction. This almost always happens when you catch yourself staring for a bit too long at someone's hacky-sack hat or bright blue pleather pants. Moreover, they always - in one way or another - are in front or me, or passing me. I thought at one point I was a quick walker, but either the stoplights are in their favor or I've lost pace.

What I have found pleasantly amusing is the expressions on people's faces who are moving around me, and what on earth they might be thinking with their face scrunched, brow furrowed or mouth gaping. Some look like they are conducting an orchestra playing a Beethoven's symphony, and I wonder, if they eventually soften once their destination has relieved them of their commuter strife. I give them a short story as I try to look as placid and comfortable as I can without appearing too blank... or more importantly narcissistic... when staring at my hair or shoes in the windows of the subway. I walk deliberately but daintily in and out of trains, through turnstiles and past taxis.

Lately, it is the mornings in New York that seems the most real for me, fresh and invigorated.

One of Those Days

I've been working a lot recently, and working late... as today marks just one month and three days out from the big Spa industry event I am managing at work. The past two Sundays I've spent several... many hours in the office and lately I've left around 7:30 or 8:00pm on average. I'm certainly not the most hardworking person in the world. There are a few out there who seems to never stop working, but I've given myself a bit of credit.

Today was one of my first days back at the gym and I've been listening to a book by Bill Bryson on Shakespeare. Since I've started listening to my Ipod during my commute to and from work, I needed a bit of a change in what went in one ear and out the other. It was my Dad's suggestion to listening to a book while at the gym, and surprisingly I liked it. The TV monitor stayed off the entire time, and I found myself concentrating on Mr. Bryson's narration of the early years of Shakespeare's life and the different diseases, dyes and discretion of Elizabethan England.

On the days that I head to they gym in the mornings (somewhere between 6 and 6:30) I always feel like the work day is just a bit longer - for one reason or another. Surprisingly, it's not long in an exhausting or frustrating way while I'm at work. It never feels long until I get home and feel too exhausted to cook, read, write or think.

It's mid-April and almost as beautiful as mid-April should be. I was lucky enough to leave the office today and even luckier to spend two-and-a-half hours at lunch exchanging ideas with the owner of a five-star luxury resort in Switzerland - who loves pasta. Today I dressed-up, in a professional way and wore brand new shoes. I walked to and from work with my Ipod and took it to the gym - where I learned how many times Shakespeare used the word "sheriff" in his plays. After two-hundred odd emails over 11 hours, two episodes of Law and Order and a staple order of Chinese food I've decided to get back to my blog.

Hibernate

I am not particularly interested in politics or the debate and gossip surrounding the presidential race, but occasionally something will resonate. On Martin Luther King day, many weeks ago, Bill Clinton was filmed "resting" at an event... it wasn't till his head fell off of his hand before he woke himself up to join the celebration. Obama fans faint. Hillary gets emotional. I think I like to see these things in the news, about these political figures and their family and followers, because it’s real. Without analyzing, we see that they are as plain-tired, extroverted and drained as the rest of us.

While making dinner the other night, I had the TV on as background noise. Hope Floats with Sandra Bullock was on, the part where she returns to her small town after a failed marriage. She sits, sleeps and drags on and around the house, completely ignoring her daughter, family and the many routines of life. I'm not particularly fond of the movie, but the point is that this is a similar scene in many movies, where characters rest for days on end, forget what day it is, build a pile of garbage around the chair they haven’t left in weeks. Usually, with the help of a montage, they pull themselves out of their situation, emerging triumphant.

But what I remember most about these characters is the desire that I have when I watch them drag through their relapse into limbo - the desire to find myself in the situation of having...wanting... nothing to do. Having the ability to lie around, stay in one place, forget work entirely, feel nothing and do nothing. Many times I wish for the solitude and even emotional numbness that one can find during “hibernation”. To play devil's advocate, I've always told myself that I'd never been quite satisfied if I found myself asleep for days on end... thoughts of the things I might miss, or what I could have done would always undoubtedly circle my mind. The waste would drive me crazier.

Sometimes I surprise myself with how much I think of solitude... not just laying around my bedroom... but thoughts of sabbatical, vacation, work from home, space and time. One of the prizes for the biggest loser competition was a week away at a spa, by yourself. Many people in the office said how they wouldn't even want to do that. I couldn't wait to go.

Lately I have been listening to the Boondock Saints theme on my Ipod. Not because of the movie or really anything to do with it. When I listen to it, I get this picture of myself standing with so much space before me that I can almost get lost just thinking of it. It might be in Ireland, who knows, but while listening to that song I can almost convince myself how that space and solitude might fill whatever it is that's missing.

Rocky

Every now and then there is an afternoon that I spend reading the NY Times online. I usually start with the list of most popular articles - the top emailed list or the most popular blog list. Either way, I usually end up reading something about the newest thing to cause cancer (which is vitamins by the way, and I am not quite sure I am ready to give up my Flintstone’s chewables) or a recent movie or in many cases politics.

In recent browsing I learned that the states of Ohio and Kentucky have bestowed fame onto A rock. This particular stone made its home, once, in the middle of a river bed which served as a natural state line between the two states. Resurrected in the summer of 2007, the rock has been catapulted into the news, thrown into a riveting custody battle and subjected to a wide-variety of physiological and psychological examination.

When I was in third grade, we had an "economy" project that lasted several weeks, where each student started a business, sold a product, spent money on the things he/she liked and “learned to save”. I sold rocks. Blue Rocks (as they were the mascot of the AAA baseball team in Wilmington, DE). I painted the rocks blue, gave them little eyes… and they sold. I gave my rocks identity. They wore it proudly and before long, each classmate had a little Blue Rock of their own. I am sure that lucky stones, pond-skipping rocks and like felt threatened, but each had their fare share of dresser, drawer and pocket space.

It’s sometimes hard to remember, in the complex midst of something like a political race, how ordinary everyday things can foster success, pride, debate or emotion in people. And like the caption says in this article, "It loves to be the center of controversy".

I’d like to share my favorite passages from the article below:

I’ve been distracted by war, recession and a presidential campaign, so forgive me. But are we fighting over a rock?

In the late 1960s, though, an Ohio Valley schoolboy read of the Indian Head Rock in a musty book of local history, and he never forgot it. That was Steve Shaffer. He grew up, studied historical interpretation at Ohio University, developed an interest in prehistoric rock carvings, and quietly resolved to find the rock.

He and some divers began the hunt in 2000, using clues in old newspaper accounts about the rock’s location. He remained in the boat, though; he had lost 70 percent of his hearing to Meniere’s disease, and diving could cause further damage. But when the expeditions of 2000 and 2001 found only abandoned cars and dumped refrigerators, Mr. Shaffer earned his diver’s certification and joined the search — at great risk to his hearing.

The risk paid off. In September 2002, a diving buddy rose to the surface to exclaim: That’s it!It’s got initials all over it! Mr. Shaffer immediately went down to see for himself. There, amid the river’s murk: the Indian Head Rock.

Nearly every summer after that, Mr. Shaffer dove down to pay his respects to the rock. “Just to check on it,” he said.

Then, late last summer, and almost on a whim, he and some diving friends resurrected the boulder with a harness and some barrels and air bags. They soon reported to Portsmouth’s mayor, James Kalb, that they had something to show him — and it’s bigger than a breadbox. The stunned and grateful mayor thanked them, saying a piece of Portsmouth’s past had been salvaged.

Some said the rock should not have been disturbed because that Charlie Brown-like face was an American Indian petroglyph. In November a delegation from Kentucky — with Dr. Fred E. Coy Jr., a prehistoric carvings expert, in tow — visited the Portsmouth municipal garage and waited anxiously while the doctor conducted his examination. His expert opinion: “I can’t tell.”

No matter. Jagged verbal stones continue to be tossed from either side of the river.

Dangerous Encounters

Around 5:15pm today I decided that instead of waiting to take the 8:00pm Yoga class I would quickly change, wait to see if I received any emails between 5:15 and 5:30 and then scoot out unnoticed around 5:40. Well it's 5:56pm and I am still at the office, just finished answering a slew of emails. Ugh.

If there was a class at college, solely dedicated to how to behave and operate in an office, I would have taken it. I could fully function and communicate with my boss and my colleagues but I did not, for the first months of work, understand how the fax machine worked nor could I remember the protocol for conference calls, international dialing and so on. (This is a bit of a gross overstatement, as I am quite the fast learner, and it only took a few weeks to get the basics under my belt. Furthermore, I have now become the go-to person for all of the "office" questions: where are the fax cover sheets, how to make color copies, whether or not we have salt in the kitchen, if someone came to work that day regardless even if they didn't work in my department, how to check voicemails, what button to push to transfer calls, what drop down menu allows you to adjust the reading pane on Outlook, where to find a piece of paper that someone had in their hand yesterday... among others.)

I am an honorary member of the IT team. I have two monitors on my desk. I will need thicker glasses.

This brings me to my next point, that I have time to kill before going to Yoga. So bring myself down from the awkward rush of energy that comes with trying to "rush" out of office I choose, today, to write about nature documentaries.

Dangerous Encounters

This topic comes from the replaying trailer of the upcoming movie, Strange Wilderness. Anything, or anyone, that makes a shark laugh like a goofy Santa Claus has my heart.

I can't say I wasn't surprised that the group had chosen to mock this genre of film - the people's infatuation with the series Planet Earth and the like has made it so obvious. Sunrise Earth is a show, which despite its name plays throughout the day on the HD channels, about the the sun, rising. Time is not elapsed.

Herpetologist Dr. Brady Barr circles the continents in his show Dangerous Encounters, airing on Thursdays at 8pm on the National Geographic Channel. I've caught the commercials, and I can't say I have watched the show. Nevertheless, away with classic and traditional observation, Dr. Barr outfits himself in the best form of camouflage. In a head to toe crocodile suit, Dr. Barr gets down and dirty on riverbanks to well, chill, with something which might have the strongest bite force on the planet.

I learned from my cousin, on Saturday, that there are over 3500 alligators living in a lake in Southern Florida. The lake is large - but 3500 alligators? I remember visiting the Everglades National Park when I was young, scanning the surface of the water with my eyes, looking for theirs or a scaly tale.

What really caught my attention on the National Geographic Channel that evening was the trailer for "Undercover Hippo" episode of the 4-part Dangerous Encounters series, in which he dons the leathery suit to frolic with fellow members of the hippo community and as we see to left here, elephants.

It has come to my attention, after doing a bit more research (too bad I don't have my Zoobooks anymore), that hippos kill more people than any other animal in Africa. And although this fact may be quite startling, I have seen a YouTube video of Jessica, who sleeps in a purple sleeping bag after taking a leisurely stroll through the house. It'd be safe to say she doesn't wipe off her feet after exiting the pond.

Croc-suit, sleeping hippo, overpopulated alligators, goofy sharks. I'm struck by the juxtaposition of fierce and docile. And the levels at which animals need to become anthropomorphic or humans bestial in order to understand one another.

A Quick Update

Marvin the Martian strikes back. This time with a pair of Vail sweatpants.

***

I have completely abandoned ketchup as a condiment, and hopefully french fries along with it. Between last Friday and the Friday before that (between the 18th and 25th) I lost six pounds. Four of which were water weight, because on the 18th, I drank two nalgene bottles of water before stepping on the scale. To lose it, I went to Bikram Yoga.

For those of you who might not know, Bikram Yoga is a 90-minute class held in a room set to 105 degrees. It's hot. And really uncomfortable. As a beginner I have settled into a corner spot near the window, which appears to perspire as readily as the people in the room. The window is opened after the class has ended, and the cold air frothed into the room, spilling over the resting weary souls. Before leaving the instructor said the room looked like a graveyard. I did feel almost dead. Not quite, but almost. I'm headed back tomorrow.

***

I had 18 visitors to my blog last week and I didn't even write anything! The NaNoBloMo is almost over. I've written well, 11 times. This isn't quite half. But hey, there is always February.

***

Upcoming events (hopefully this doesn't remind people of an AIM profile)

Samuel Waxman Fashionably Charitable Fundraiser
Spice Girls Concert at the Nassau Colosseum

The Hamburglers

My office developed their own version of the Biggest Loser TV show, complete with teams and clever nicknames, vote-offs, and the grand prize of a week at a destination spa... airfare included. I'm part of the Hamburglers. Except McDonald's will be no part of it.

When making up nicknames for each other, I could only come up with something along the lines of "the girl who loves bacon and french fries almost as much as shoes... or maybe more than shoes".

The first weigh in starts tomorrow. After a hearty dinner of vegetable and chicken stir-fry and a second dinner of Stouffer's french bread pizza(s)... I'll plan my water rations for the morning hours. 1 nalgene bottle. As someone at the office said, "it's not cheating, it's cunning".

Last year's weight loss challenge resulted in a lost of 8 pounds by April. By December I had gained it all back... and a few-extra-pounds buffer to last me through the cold ones. Here's what helped:

bacon
carbs
french fries of any kind
real butter (is that a carb?)
mayonnaise
salt
creamy soups and salad dressings
chicken salad
gluten... yes beer
soda
Chinese combination platters
caffeine
bologna
midnight pizzas
and many processed foods which I have not mentioned...


My plan is to take the natural approach - follow the foods that work best for my blood type (the book was a fast read on the train home one weekend). And run, to train for the marathon - which if I'm lucky I'll win the lottery and make the event. Never thought I'd use win the lottery and marathon in the same sentence.

Tomorrow after 12pm... and a water detox.

Granduer

I am proud to say that (after studying my Google Analytics report for the past weeks web tracking statistics on dulciepie.blogspot.com) my blog has had ten unique visitors in one week!

Hopefully I will gather enough visitors to have 50 or maybe even a 100 unique visitors per day, but this will most likely be after, or maybe right before, I publish my first collection of personal essays. This is slated for somewhere between 2010 and 2012, depending on what interesting experiences I may have to write about.

Recent news? Aside from the fact that I have seen Marvin the Martian several times since the evening of limited clothing... a friend's boyfriend brought me flowers at work to apologize for his behavior to both me and my friend. What's better was the explanation (well actually the reaction) that I had to give when people asked who my secret admirer was.

Well in reality there isn't much to share... I've also thought of changing the title to my blog. My roommate suggested Count Blogula, but alas it is taken.

Any suggestions? I mean, ten visitors a week - perhaps I'll get a comment or two!

Would You Like Fries With That Ketchup?

This evening I was too tired to cook, enough so that I couldn't think of heating things up in the microwave either. We ordered from the Gold St. diner, which is always an event because they mix-up the order 100% of the time. Included with my omelet (which contained bacon and tomatoes instead of ham...peppers...and onions) was a side of fries which are, quite frankly, hard to mangle - well at least I'd hope so.

French fries are, in fact, one of my favorite food - aside from salt - which pairs quite nicely with the latter. Turns out, that many people fancy ketchup instead of (or in addition to) salt. I've recently noticed the sea salt shaker which I bought four months ago is almost empty. Remembering that I've asked friends to dig their salt supply out of cabinets and attic storage. Obviously, there is a degree of overuse - which is the reason why... today... I reached for the ketchup packet instead.

It's quite possible that I've only opted for ketchup over salt three or four times in 23 years. 2 of them were most likely because there was no salt available within miles, or in reach of the couch/table. Today I had ketchup and salt readily available... and like chocolate... I've had my fill for at least six months.

Thanks to About.com and the Culinary Sleuth I was able to learn a bit more about ketchup this evening:

• Kids eat 50 percent more ketchup than adults.
• 97% of American homes keep ketchup in their kitchen.
• Each person eats about 3 bottles a year.
• In 1992, ketchup sales were $723 million.
• As with wines, there are good and bad ketchup years depending on how sweet and flavorful the tomato harvest.
• The world's largest ketchup bottle is proudly displayed in Collinsville, Illinois. Built atop a water tower in 1949, it stands 170 feet tall.
• Fast food ketchup junkies may be interested in condiment packet museum collection of individualized ketchup packets.

(Untitled)

You will hear from me tomorrow morning...

that's all.

Marvin the Martian

I thought Marvin the Martian was trapped in Looney Toones TV or with Tai's sitting-in-a-classroom-bored-out-of-her-mind notebook drawings from the movie Clueless. But no, a pair of martian Marvin's live on my apartment building floor.

The past two nights, while returning to my apartment after taking the dog on her 9:30pm bathroom break, I find them in the hallway - halfway between the elevators and my apartment door. They only stand a few inches above the ground and are a bit fuzzier that I had remembered from early-childhood Saturday morning's but nonetheless, they were there.

These Marvin's of course are a pair of fluffy, snug bedroom slippers, and aside from the surprise of finding them in the hallway, they were not abandoned. They did not crawl out of the refuse room either. There is a man wearing them! Each time I have seen this man he is talking on his cell phone and each time I've seen this man he is wearing fewer and fewer articles of clothing!

The first time he was fully clothed. Today he lacked a shirt. Tomorrow our dog might be going out at 9:00pm, although it might be cutting it close.

Sunday Sleep

Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, but that night is by far the worst night's sleep of the week. I know I'm anxious because of the work week ahead of me, but no matter what I toss and turn - my mind moseying about the daunting halls of Park Avenue South.

Last night I had a dream that I hadn't ordered stamps for an event invitation yet. I was sitting at my computer, trying to format the logo onto the little miniature space between the left side of the stamp and the $.41 marker. Wait, $.41? Our invitation is square, it surely weighs more than an ounce and worst of all it's being sent domestic and internationally!

It's 4:30AM and I've awoken, sweating in secure flannel sheets.

This dream parallels others about my teeth falling out (and having to serve hot dinner plates to 30 tables simultaneously) which I haven't had in several years. On the one hand I am happy that I no longer fantasize about my teeth breaking, crumbling or being pulled out of my mouth, but for some reason or another, I am not sure that having nightmares about stamps, staplers and spreadsheets is all that more assuring.

On Saturday I dreamt about a grey puppy that lived in my apartment with me. Sunday? Well, proof enough.

January 5, 2007

Five days into January - I forget to write on my blog. Only five days into the blog month challenge, I've slipped up.

And speaking of challenges, it seems to me that our society has placed significant responsibility into the hands of "the challenge", with which it has infiltrated into our television programming, educational systems, corporate offices and so on. Last spring I participated in my office's rendition of the Biggest Loser, a weight-loss challenge of our own accord which awarded people not only for the most pounds lost, but the percentage of their body-weight. I didn't win and couldn't remember their trophy, winning stats or their life "after the show."

A friend of mine wants to run the New York city marathon. To qualify he needs to run nine sponsored races - 5k, 10k or half marathon. I wasn't surprised when he said that I should do it to, and I wasn't surprised that I said I would try. A few months of training in the gym, then a few races a month. Who doesn't love a challenge?

Dance-Off

Where was I?

From the headphones came a monstrous sound, the quality of a pawn-shop boom box... and his legs were moving. Dancing, shaking, trembling to the beat, which slipped out into the thick air of the car through the crevices between ear and accessory.

The train lurched forward and made its stops, but the man didn't mind - nor did his music. The train passengers shuffled around his swiveling body, whose gyrations met the bass line with syncopated jerks.

Unfortunately my trips on the subway weren't as entertaining today. This morning an emergency brake incident caused a delay in trains, mine ended up at all of the local stations and at each there was no room for the dancing man and in fact, there was very little for me.

Tiny Dancer

Today I was fortunate enough to find something fabulous just only five minutes after stepping out of my apartment building. Settled in on the subway, resting lightly against the side railing of one of the benches, I began my usual routine of looking around.

This environment was different. There was so much noise! It came from an enourmous pair of headphones, titled backwards on the back of a head upon which sat a black suede hat with a feather on the side; the tall body of which was outfitted in a green and black checkered suit. A black leather briefcase slouched at his feet. One arm held a lenthgy jacket of a similiar fabric. The other stretched outward to the subway car's wall; the hand spread naturally on it's surface. Five feet back was where I stood; from there his nailbeds looked green.

From the headphone came a monstrous sound, the quality of a pawn-shop boom box...

Everyday Food

Two out of three meals that I have eaten today were take-out/delivery. The first one - which came from my personal-zip-lock-bag-full-of oatmeal. The second was soup and salad from a favorite deli. The third, chicken parm and spinach from Mangia.

In recent months I have acquired the affinity for cooking my own dinners, packing my lunches (whether they be leftovers, deli-sandwiches and fruit and vegetables). Instead of attending a party or joining the bar crowd on New Year's eve, I stayed in. To make butternut squash soup, fresh pasta and baked chicken. After sampling my own cooking, I am satisfied. Never too full.

Two out of three meals that I have eaten today have made my stomach hurt. My stomach has hurt for years. The hollow leg my Granddad used to tease me about has long since been filled, replaced with angry acids and gurgles that leave me often sleepless and cranky. Doctors, ultra-sounds, friends, family and x-rays can't decide what it is that irks me.

Tonight is shaping up to be one of those restless nights - when the osmosis of the bitter cold through glass windows urges me bundle up in covers and quiet the mind.

One Month, Two Month, Three Month, Four...

I will be writing on my blog everyday for the month of January. To risk sounding quite predictable and rather cliche, I have (obviously) announced these future efforts in this first posting of the new month - and year. It is my intention that this will continue in the months to come.

Starting anything after ten days away from the city - and from work - is seemingly difficult. Like most, who have taken the liberty of napping one or twice a day and sampling their favorite shoppes and flavors of home on vacation, I find tomorrow's day anxiously anticipated but accepted. It is likely that I will be tired from spending eight or nine hours back in the office, and it is likely that I will explore my fatigue in tomorrow evening's post.

I think that I have proclaimed predictability due to a growing insecurity that my month of writing will be just that. With only 17 prior posts to support this endeavor, it will take just over two weeks to surpass this creative sprawl of 2007 (and 2006).

Today my mother wished me a Happy New Year with Thoreau: If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.

Leaving predictability, I find a further assertion that what I have presented this past year has no sturdy foundation, and in many ways, I have felt this about my life - in it's entirety. Each component is represented, yet they don't seem to go quite right with one another... Perhaps I'll find the thought or two to settle a lofty crowd.

Bottom's up. Good morning 2008.