Adventures, Come Hither!

Good morning, world! I have so much to share with you today, so there's a lot going on in this post. Fasten your seatbelts and hold on tight.

It was only yesterday that I was silently bemoaning my recent lack of adventures. But things are on the up and up and I have a small collection of stories that when strung together, constitute a moderately amusing day. I promise to do things like getting on the subway with no money for a return fare and ending up in Queens again, soon.

For no particular reason, I have taken the F train to work three times this week and I like to think that the magical Brooklyn pixie dust has stirred things up. What remains unclear is whether this same magical pixie dust is what's making me have sneezing fits in my office. As I only sneeze in prime numbers, there have been several bouts of 5's, 7's and one tremendous 11 on Wednesday afternoon. It must be the vent above my desk, as I sure don't pass any plants on my way to work. Ah, sweet city life.

Taking the F train with all that Brooklyn dust does involve fraternizing with all the Brooklyn residents, but I do have a soft spot for them. I regard Brooklyn as a child might regard a toy - entertaining one minute, forgotten the next, and back again until it's broken.

But really, it's not the F train itself - it's the path I take to get to the stop, past the Barnes and Noble on 5th Avenue and 18th St. That Barnes and Noble is more of an NYU textbook center and pure bookstore than a three-ring circus like nearly every other location. A few times a week, they throw out real, live books. They toss out books that look used, as if students had sold them back, and new books on random subjects, like a 500 page history of Peru in the 18th century.* They put them out on the street in big, wheeled bins. If I get there at 8:40 am, I'm late enough to have let the (homeless?) guys who sell books on Waverly get first pick, but early enough to beat the garbage men who come to take them away. If you're picturing me doing something like dumpster diving for books, you're wrong. It's not something like that, it's exactly like that.

If you decide to engage in this activity and find yourself in the company of a street bookseller looking for new wares, please heed my advice and do not go through a bin he hasn't examined yet. The dirty look I once received was enough to have me taking the Q train all these weeks.

After yesterday's haul (I was running late and only grabbed a short book on the Frankfurt School and its critics), I headed to the train. I got to travel to work sandwiched between two French guys with impeccably artsy suits who hadn't shaven in at least a week and a guy testing himself with Sanskrit flash cards. Work was low stress and I celebrated Thursday with $3 margarita night at very amusing watering hole with a stuffy dress code. I was in the company of Cardinal, the Private Eye, and a few others who have met the criteria for receiving dopey nicknames, and who were complaining last night that they didn't have them yet. Coming up with these names is holding up publication of today's entry, so they're going to have to wait for them on Monday. The names will be revealed in haiku if they're lucky.

Finally, I have two more top five lists that I'd been saving for today, in case I didn't have anything else to write about.

Top Five People You Think Are Dead But Aren't

5. Beverly Cleary
4. Walter Cronkite
3. J.D. Salinger
2. James Watson (of Watson and Crick)
1. Zsa Zsa Gabor

Top Five Things I'd Really Like to Like More

5. Kaluha
4. Poker
3. Fabric Softener
2. Big Dictator
1. Politics

As I'm always open to new experiences, I'll be washing my clothes with fabric softener on Saturday night before heading to Big Dictator's show at Arelene's Grocery, where I will drink a White Russian. I suggest you follow suite and do the same - I'm sure all of you need to do laundry. And that will surely be an adventure.

____________________________
*Of course I took the Peru book.

MetaBlog

Today, I am going to blog about blogging.

As my blog's one month birthday approaches,(May 2! Presents accepted! I have considered creating an Amazon wishlist, though honestly what kind of megalomaniac would do that?) it comes time to think the big thoughts and blurt the big blather.

Dear readers, I have so many questions for you about your activities.

First, I want to thank all of you for visiting my blog and mocking me incessantly. It's people like you who make the world go 'round. I use Sitemeter tracking and it tells me that I'm averaging 29 visitors per day. And I have a hunch that only half of those visits are me, fixing my typos and reloading the page over and over again.

Am I bragging? Yes.

And now, my questions.

Why does my traffic always peak on Tuesdays? Why is this day different from all other days? Last week, I figured it was because I was extra-funny. This week, not only did I not get my post up until 4pm, but it involved sheep and it wasn't that funny. I encourage you to share your stories.

Where do you come from? I don't have much in the way of referrals, which leads me to believe that you come to LowConcept based on its notoriety alone. Bravo to that.

Where do you go? Likewise, I don't see that many outclicks. Once I get ads, you'd better click on them - they're not going to click themselves. Noonan got ads for his blog - go click his until I decide to put some up.

Where did you come from, Cotton Eyed Joe? Sorry. Best Bar-Mitzvah song-and-dance ever.

General comments:

You people have the oddest internet service provider domain names. RR.com? RCN.com? Mindspring.com? I've heard of Comcast, Verizon etc. But Walrus.com? And who will admit to being Cox.net?

Only 2% of you live in Canada. How sad. I would have thought I would have wider appeal north of the border.

Some of you are hiding in Brooklyn. You're the ones who use walrus.com internet. Weirdos.

Other odd locations: Memphis, TN? Tulsa, OK? Jonesboro, GA? Astoria, Queens? Who are you, even if you're not regular readers? I'm so curious.

In closing, a general note to anyone who thinks that I might not know that they read my blog: Please comment. Please email. I'd love to hear from you. Particularly if I don't know you personally, because that would be kinda cool. A hello to the one regular reader that I know does not know me in "real life," GothamGirl. The rest of you - get crackin' on the comments.

Am I growing up, growing down, or not growing at all?

In maturity, that is. I dearly hope that I'm not shrinking. 5'4" is short enough.

Several events in the past two days have led me to ask the question you see as my title of myself, time and time again.

Earlier this morning, free food appeared in my office on top of a file cabinet that does not frequently bear food. (There is another file cabinet, located on the west side of the floor, that coincidently does sprout sundries.) My continued collegiate lust for free food (and free booze - let me make that perfectly clear to anyone who might be listening/offering) caused me to announce to no one in particular, "Awesome! Now I don't have to buy lunch!" And that was a sincere exclamation point, unlike nearly every other one I've used on this site.

As I sit here, munching on my mini bagel with cream cheese and my artfully sliced cantaloupe, and chewing my orange juice, I have to wonder idly about the state of my life. Don't get me wrong - I'm not overly concerned, because frankly, I'm not overly concerned about anything - but it is interesting to muse nonetheless. Wait - take that back. The pulpy orange juice that I'm chewing is beginning to concern me, because I can't stand orange juice with bits. Bits are exactly what I called them when I was five years old, and that's exactly what I'm calling them now. It's like drinking a glass full of dead tadpoles. But it's free. I think I'm having an existential crisis here.*

Honestly, it's not (just) that I'm cheap. Besides, I'm more of a bargain hunter than a garden-variety cheapskate. I also have an innate sense of fair play, meaning that if you take me out to dinner and you're not a multi-million dollar corporation or someone I want to spite, I'll probably take you out in return. I suppose part of it is that I'm just kind of weird. Yesterday, I got lunch with my boss at the salad place across the street from my office. Nothing fancy - people get food together all the time and I frequently step out with my boss. I bought my usual salad by the pound, totaling $3.30. Only my wallet contained naught but two singles, a dollar in change, two dimes and a Canadian penny that I think I received as change at the same eatery earlier in the week. I had to ask my boss for a dime. He gave me a quarter from his change. Kind, no?

Why, you may ask, was my wallet so empty? Because I have this nasty habit of only getting $20 out of the ATM unless I know I'm going to need more cash that day. If it dispenses tens, I might get $30. Or I'll get $10, twice, just so that it's broken into change. Needless to say, I avoid out-of-network ATMS at all costs. Literally.

But I should shape up, as I'm an adult now - sort of. I hold down a job, I pay my rent, I pay all my bills on time - to the extent that I'm self-sufficient. I get up at 7:45 am 5 days a week and put on different clothing than I would wear on a weekend. That's not to say it's "business attire," but it's different. On second thought, my clothing may be a strike against my adulthood on some days. I'm a bit, shall we say, chromatically challenged. This morning, I left my apartment wearing cranberry-colored pants and a green shirt/jacket ensemble. Those colors just barely match - until you factor in my bright red corduroy jacket, which is the only thing that I own that's appropriate for this weather.

Really, though, I am very thankful that I have managed to avoid at least a few of the trappings of yuppie-dom. I am, after all, an aspiring Grup. And who wouldn't be, if it means holding onto your passions as you grow up?

But if it means you're going to ask me stupid questions like "When is a chair not a chair?", you can just forget it.

___________
*In case you were wondering: I drank half the orange juice, but the remainder in that half empty glass sits upon my desk and mocks me.

I do too have friends!

See?

Dutch Sheep with ads from the NY Times

Ok, I'm done now. Sorry.

But seriously, there are several people who comment on my blog that haven't been introduced through one of my inane stories. Plus, between the Duchess' visit last weekend, the visit of another former roommate, the Cheese Princess, and her triumphant return with Moonshine this coming Sunday, you need a bit of context.

Also, you'll notice that I've added a few new blogs to the "People I know" section. None of these individuals have asked me to link to their blogs. In fact, it's quite possible that they may ask me to remove the links. Such is life.

It should be stressed that just because I didn't mention you by name in this field guide, it doesn't mean that I don't love you, or that I won't mention you in the future. Getting mentioned on my blog requires three things:

1. Participation. Comment or email me, and you're automatically up.

2. Action. Do something wonderful or awful to me, and if it's a good story, I'll write about it.

3. Bribes. Did I say bribes? I meant um, scribes. I don't have nearly enough slave labor to keep this thing up and running.

Without further ado, I present my cast of characters, past, present and (some) future:

The Duchess

The Private Eye

Bricabrac

Rachel or Research Science: Rachel has used her name on the comment board quite extensively, but I may occasionally refer to her as Research Science. This name hails from the bonds of our friendship forming in high school during the infamous Intel science research course. That course ate up three years of my life that I can never reclaim. I don't particularly feel like writing about the course now; suffice it to say that I was a big dork, I am a big dork, and I remain, always, a big dork.

Mac the Knife or Castro: Mac the Knife is one of my crazy college friends. I was going to give him another name, but he's used this one so extensively on my comment board. I may still decide to refer to him as Castro, the name his three partners in crime called him due to his dubious background. I will be using the names of the other three guys - two more are outlined here.

I happened to meet Mac the Knife the second week of freshman year in the dining hall. I believe our first conversation involved the Purity Test (100 point, I think). We became such fast friends that that very evening, I went out on the town with Mac and some of his friends, soon to be mine: Bricabrac, the Cheese Princess(see below) and Patrick (I am not even going to attempt to give him a nickname). Dear readers, feel free to recount the details of that night, as I can't recall if it was the blue punch party, the tie-dye shirt punch party, or what.

Margo, now Bedtime: An individual who is not about to get away with such a tame name. Along with Mac the Knife, one of the first people I met in college. His given name, by that band of four boys, was Bedtime due to his superhuman ability to sleep for any amount of time, nearly on command. Five hour train ride? No match for Bedtime! Bedtime had the room next to mine senior year and we liked to refer to each other as "womb-mates" (say it out loud).

The Cheese Princess: The Cheese Princess hails from the great state of Wisconsin. For the longest time, I actually thought that she once held that very title (the corollary being that I believed the title "The Cheese Princess" even existed). She is another one of my long-standing, and likely long-suffering, college roommates.

Cardinal: The final female roommate from college and a devout Cardinals fan, it was very amusing to watch her attempt to peaceful coexist with Boston residents in the fall of 2004.

Moonshine: The third of the four Guys with Stupid Nicknames for each other. He is from Tennessee, he did distill his own moonshine once - and it was awful - and I also know him from school. I hear he's got a fantastic story about spending four nights in jail that I will hear on Sunday. I'll hold off on any more details until then.

Twitch: The fourth guy. I don't think I'll say much on him until he decides to read my blog.

Ben, or whatever name he chooses today: He has his own blog. He can explain himself.

Another friend of mine, whom I have known since we went to nerd camp together in high school, also likes to comment but always anonymously. I'll refer to him by his surname, Patel, as it's funny on its own.

Please print out this guide and keep it handy at all times. Thank you.

HHM

Guess what? It's Monday! And you know what that means - haiku haiku! For some reason, it also means that I have a raging headache, so bear with me. Yes, I do want your sympathy. No, it is not a hangover, unless there was a pocket of alcohol hiding in my stomach from Saturday night. Actually, that's a compelling scenario. Anyhow, one of my college roommates, the Duchess, came to visit this weekend and a good time was had by all - until right now, when I seem to be feeling the ramifications. Or something.

Gastronomy

World's greatest combos
Wine and cake, pizza and beer
Such was my weekend

Apocalypse from San Francisco

Nice New York weather
Coincidently ended
Devil girl brought rain

Dinner Plans

Forty minutes late
They wait in the rain for me
Why do I have friends?

Birthday

Cab ride to midtown
East side: like college - but worse
Pouring rain and cash

Awake

In the rain again.
Noon is too early for brunch
Next weekend, later.

College memories

I'm not usually one to post or link to a news article and then comment on it, because frankly, you can get that kind of service on 90% of the other blogs on the internet. My goal is to provide you with specialized niche content and premium services that you can't get anywhere else on the web.

I'm going to make an exception because yesterday, my college newspaper published an article that was truly special. As I don't have much time today due to the toilet in my apartment throwing a temper tantrum, I will simply link you to that article, and to a four part series of gems from my junior year. I think they speak for themselves to the quality of journalism being produced at my dear alma mater.

The Times, they are a-Changin'
I can feel its presence.

Yes, We Have No Tomatoes.

"I honestly didn't even notice that there weren't any tomatoes," said Theresa S. Chan '06. She said that she does not normally include tomatoes in her salads and is indifferent to the shortage.

And then they wrote another article.

And then the salsa suffered.

But the tomatoes returned and all was well.

If you are wondering what emotions you should be feeling after reading these articles, may I suggest "flabbergasted," "awestruck," and my personal choice "dumbfounded."

I am a talentless hack

Or at the very least, simply a hack. But you love me anyway.

To prove my status, today I am going to write about what is likely the most popular topic in the New-York-based blogosphere, the NYC Subway.

Did I just use the word blogosphere? Ugh.

The F is for "Freaky-Deaky"

The big lie in my life right now is that I take the F train to work. Let's face it, I haven't taken the F train more than twice in the last month, and that was on my way home. I'm just not enough of a hipster. I've been taking the Q train, as that block between 5th and 6th avenue is huge. HUGE.

Look! No Hipsters!

While the NRQW stop is significantly closer to my apartment than the FV, it has the drawback of forcing me to pass through the Times Square stop before reaching my office. Now that spring is upon us, the tourists are out in full force. Even at 8:55 in the morning? Particularly at 8:55, because I have the misfortune of walking past the Good Morning, America studio. On Monday, the theme was "little girl dressed like a princess," - I kid you not. I actually stopped and asked the security guard what was going on because I was so baffled. He just shrugged, but the pain in his eyes made me pity him.

But I'm an agreeable person. I do not harbor any malice against the poor fools who choose to stand on the line that goes out the door at Starbucks when there are two more literally around the block. I feel no ill-will towards those who decide that the crosswalk is the perfect spot for a photo-op. I did the same thing in Europe, it's cool.

No, this morning, the target of my animosity was a real New Yorker (I presume), who was leaning on the subway pole. On a crowded, rush hour train, usually at least 3 people will hold on to each pole, particularly the ones in the middle of the car. But not today. I had my hand on the pole and Mr. Salt-and-Pepper-Hair-with-Dandruff-on-his-Suit comes up and decides to lean on the pole with his back, with his hands clasped behind him. His shoulder collides with my knuckles wrapped around the pole. (He wasn't very tall.)

I gave him the benefit of the doubt and simply moved my hand further up the pole, above his head (as I said, not so tall). Maybe he didn't see me, but I'm sure he felt me move my hand. Usually when people accidentally bump into you on the subway, they apologize. Not Dandruff. He didn't seem to notice, to the extent that after about a minute had passed he straightened up so that his dandruffy, salt and pepper hair brushed against my hand. Then he turned his head to look at his watch and when he finally stopped twitching, his head was in a position in which his hair would remain in contact with my hand.

Thouroughly grossed out, I moved to the door and welcomed the Time Square sh*tshow with open arms. Yuck.

Top Five

Glorified in High Fidelity and practiced by drunken men everywhere, the Top Five list is an art form. I happened to be trolling around the internet looking for an obscure quote about dream jobs from High Fidelity, when two things occurred to me:

1. I love lists. I made a 400 item spreadsheet of things to pack for college the summer prior. (Available upon request.)

2. I love things that come in fives. Toes on a foot! Fingers on a hand! I mean, who doesn't love having five fingers?

Thus, for your reading pleasure I have decided to create some brand spankin' new Top Five lists. I encourage all of my readers to submit their own lists, as I am far from the best Top Five author.

Top Five Improper Nouns that Start With B

5. bread
4. beach
3. brouhaha
2. baseball
1. beer

Top Five Smells I Dislike

5. Root Beer
4. Expensive "unscented" face soap in a glass bottle with rumored pharmaceutical properties owned by a friend who has NO SENSE OF SMELL
3. Tuna Fish Salad
2. Cheerios
1. Steamed Broccoli

Top Five Movies I'm Embarrassed to Like, to Varying Degrees

5. Dude, Where's My Car
4. The Fifth Element
3. Hackers
2. Bring it On
1. The Wedding Singer

Top Five Things I Don't Understand

5. The Platypus
4. Jagermeister
3. Thomas Hardy fans ("Tess of the D'Urbervilles"? No.)
2. Metallica
1. Jello Salads

Top Five Opening Scenes in Movies I've Seen that Stuck with Me

5. Pulp Fiction
4. Psycho (original)
3. Scream
2. Fight Club
1. Reservoir Dogs

Blog Birthday

It occurred to me this morning that I've been writing this thing for an awful long time. Since April 2 - almost a month. Practically forever! Can you remember your life before LowConcept? I sure can't. (I also have a poor conception of the passage of time.)

At any rate, the one month birthday of my blog is fast approaching - and we simply must do something to celebrate. Since I began writing on April 2, the joyous day will be on May 2. As I was rolling that date over in my mind in the shower this morning (indeed, dear readers, I think only of you when I am soapy and naked), I realized that something else is happening on that very day.

My credit card bill is due.

And so, in the spirit of giving to the arts, I am going to give you the unique opportunity to sponsor all or part of an item on this month's bill. It's like sponsoring miles in those charity races, only with 90% fewer good deeds. I did put one $25 contribution to a technically nonprofit cause on my card this month - and I gave $25 to another that's even more selfless, but that didn't make it on to this month's statement.

What exactly can you sponsor? Well, I'll tell you, in lurid detail. Yes, that is a real screen shot of my credit card bill and yes, these are all individual line items on my statement. And now, in chronological order:

The Transaction Period Beginning 3/13/2006 and ending 4/13/2006

Metro North train ticket back to NYC from my parent's house in Westchester - $8.75

Starbucks Espresso - $2.32

Strand Bookstore - $7.58

Home Depot box of nails, rubber disks that go under my bed feet, and likely one other item that I don't remember - $11.72

Doctor Visit - $20.00

Donation to my Alma Mater - $25.00

Walgreens paper towels - $2.17

Food Emporium 2 half gallons of orange juice - $6.00

Rite Aid toilet paper (24 pack) - $11.91

Duane Reade prescription - $8.00

Duane Reade laundry detergent and something else - $11.89

Starbucks tall flavored coffee - $2.98

Whole Foods Chelsea chocolate sauce - $3.69

Bed Bath and Beyond dry rack and coat hooks - $19.49

Diner 24 Sunday brunch with Donsky, I believe I had pancakes, the waiter took forever to bring coffee, but they had real cream - $27.50

Cafe Manhattan lunch at work, I was too lazy to go to an ATM and get cash - $3.76

Food Emporium cookie baking supplies including chocolate chips, brown sugar, molasses, eggs and butter - $20.64

Cafe Manhattan lunch at work again, same reason - $3.79

Metro North train ticket home - $8.50

Metro North train ticket back to NYC - $12.25 (I use two stations)

Zaro's croissant - $1.80

Astor Wine 8 bottles for my party - $56.81

Food Emporium cups, dip and crackers for the party - $13.81

Whole Foods guacamole, salsa, chips, fancy cheese, and crackers for the party - $33.38

MTA Vending Machine 30 day Metro card - $76.00 (ouch)

Food Emporium beer and cupcakes for the party - $14.46

Whole Foods beer and baguettes for the party - $12.02

Cafe Manhattan lunch, again, same reasons - $4.80 (it was lavish and decadent, I assure you - a dollar more than the other days!)

Pearl Paint two pieces of foamcore - $8.85

Pearl Paint frame kits - $22.70

Food Emporium celery to eat with leftover party dip - $1.99

Pearl Paint repositionable spray mount - $7.01

Pearl Paint Acetate and more foamcore - $24.21

Home Depot 14 light bulbs for my parents - $20.33

TOTAL: $459.10

Keep in mind that I already returned the spray mount, my parents paid for the train tickets and their light bulbs, and I split the toilet paper, detergent and paper towels with my four roommates. So we're really only looking at $376.29.

I anxiously await your pledges! I won't consider anything officially claimed until I receive cash, check or the equivalent in goods or services. (Dinner anyone? I'm an excellent conversationalist.) If any particular item is in high demand, I will conduct an eBay-eqsue auction and award sponsorship to the highest bidder.

If no one decides to sponsor my purchases, I will be forced to sell out and turn on the despised Blogger ads. Yes, I'm threatening you with commercials. Act now or be victimized by Google AdSense and Corporate America!

"Borrowed" with love from the New Yorker Cartoon Bank

Or something. I'm actually deathly curious to see what sort of targeted ads the blather I spew forth will attract, so the temptation may overwhelm me sooner rather than later. Keep an eye out.

Haiku Haiku Mondays

Due to the overwhelmingly positive response to last week's haiku, including specific requests, I have decided to make them a fixture.

I would like to announce the debut of Haiku Haiku Mondays here at LowConcept.

Why "Haiku Haiku?" Because it's funnier if you say it twice. More "Japanese."

I now present to you, a few weekend highlights* in my crappy version of everybody's favorite ancient Japanese poetic form:

Tourists

It's called a turnstile
The New York Subway has lots
Get away from mine

Death (Edited: Local. see comment.)

You must walk faster
I do not like local trains
It's your fault I'm here

Pain

Framed posters, hung up
It only took me four hours
I am pathetic

*Caveat

Carefree weekend days
Are not good material
For whiny haiku

More Haiku available upon request.

"I am what they think I am"

(Ellison.)

I can already tell that this is going to be a lame blog entry because the draft has been sitting on my "edit posts" page for a week, just waiting while I write about subjects that, at the time, struck me as more interesting. But here goes nothing.

I love costumes. Absolutely adore them. They have to be somewhat unexpected - I'm not talking about Leprechaun socks for St. Patrick's day or a pink-and-red ensemble for Valentine's day. Aside from being a huge Halloween devotee and overly-enthusiastic theme party guest, I enjoy what one might term "stealth costumes".

For example, this Monday, I dressed as a tree and went to go vegetate in my natural habitat.(Impressively enough, I am not on acid.)

No, I wore green and brown to work, ate lunch in the park, and was generally pleased with myself. Oddly enough, several others in my office did the same on that day, which leads me to believe that there was a subconscious memo sent around.

This past Halloween, I was invited to a party and specifically told not to dress up, much to my disappointment. It was a friend's birthday and she is not a fan of costumes. This particular friend has the most fascinating job - that she hates - so I'm going to call her the Private Eye.

So I wore blue jeans and a black shirt to the Private Eye's birthday -- and called myself a bruise. Oh man, am I funny.

In college, my large band of roommates and myself loved to throw theme parties - and they were all the better when they involved extensive costuming. Highlights include a Valentine's Day Massacre, a Black and White Party, a Pirate Party, a Mexican Bar-Mitzvah (best if you don't ask) and our crowning achievement, the artsy-and-high-concept, party-within-a-party:

Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Junior High School presents,
the Fall 1996 Harvest Dance:

"A Night Under the Stars"

Tickets can be purchased at lunch in the school cafeteria, from your classroom representative, and at the door. Please bring a can of non-perishable food to be donated to St. Anne's Parish Food Bank.

Remember that only students who attend Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Junior High School are permitted to come to the dance - no high school students allowed.

The dance will begin promptly at 10:00 PM, and DJ Phat will be spinning all the hits from the past few years until Principal Sullivan kicks us out.

here's the real deal:

who. you, in all of your middle school glory
what. a party
where. dunster b-21
when. tonight, 10 pm
why. "if the glove doesn't fit, you must acquit"

*Note: The Duchess was the co-author of this email, back in fall 2004. Ah, memories.


In related news, this weekend, I will be wearing a character costume of Digit the Cyberchase bird while serving as a volunteer at one of the many museums that let me hang around. Apparently, I'm too old to have watched the show on PBS, but I'll be teaching children about taxes! The bird has already been mistakenly called "Zippy the Tax Chicken" by another friend of mine. (As long as I'm assigning friend names with no particular regard to the stories I'm telling, this friend will be called Bricabrac, for her obession with the decorative arts and E-bay.)

For those of you familiar with Digit, no, I will not be doing voices. And it will be at 10 am. On a Saturday. With small children.

What can I say, I love costumes.

A Completely Unrelated Aside

Though what a "related aside," would be, I know not.

There is a television in my office hanging from the ceiling. The Newswires guys used to sit where my group now has our cute little cubicles and they had TVs for monitoring, I don't know, stocks or something. I can see this television out of the corner of my eye without even turning my head away from my computer screen. I am the only person in the office in such a "coveted" seat.

This television has hung there, blank and lifeless, for most of my tenure in the office. However, early last week, in a move that coincided far too closely with the start of baseball season, one of the directors decided that we needed some "background media." (Keep in mind that I sort of work at a dot-com, the director is female, wears Doc Martens to work, isn't my boss, and is awesome. Let's call her The Chief in case she comes up again.)

I must admit I'm kind of enjoying all the bowling, pool and competitive poker on ESPN-whatever at 11 am. The bowling shows have shiny gold pins! It's fabulous. And I need not even mention the baseball. The increased popularity of my desk with my coworkers means I have a more visible reason for getting less work done than this blog.

Still, I thought having a job would allow me to escape from mindless daytime television. And I'm not talking about soaps - I'm referring to the crap they play on CNN during the day, coming out of the mouths of the most plastic news anchors I have ever seen. Fake ones included. Who are these women and can we please send them back from whence they came? And what passes for news! American Idol eliminations? All sorts of crazy. I have never seen such a compelling argument against constant 24-hour news coverage as simply watching it.

What confuses me most are the bizarre daytime cable ads, from magical pet odor sprays to the "Fitness Personality" types on whom you can almost see the line of the head grafted on to the body. Aside from the fact that the spots are cheap, and I suppose they are on CNN, I don't understand the demographic at all. Unemployed fat people with smelly pets? Wait a minute...

Functional, if Nothing Else

I would like to begin today's post by saying, "Ouch."

"Ouch," is the sound I made this morning when I woke up, as if I had tossed and turned in my sleep and hit my brow bone on the corner of my nightstand. Though I don't remember it, I'm guessing that's exactly what happened.

But, "ouch," is also the sound my soul is making right now - and it is the ache of one whose ability to conduct DIY projects has failed once again, to the extent that I did not sleep well. Such are the perils of being a cheapskate perfectionist with poor fine motor skills.

This time, it's poster frames. Last time, it was window shades, complete with mismeasured drill holes, fabric caught in a screw and placement too high above the window so that they don't descend to the ledge. Before that? Ill-fated collages, decorative paintings, pants hems, elementary school and summer camp art projects, and two separate but equally abominable hair dying and hair cutting episodes. I'm sure there are more instances of my complete and utter lack of artistic skill, but I've blocked out the memories at this point.

My most recent disaster involves trying to frame two movie posters that I used to attach to the walls of my college dorm room with sticky tack. I decided to class up my act and put them in frames now that I hold a college degree and pay lots of bills. Due to a cruel twist of fate, both my posters are slightly larger than the standard poster frame size of 24" x 36". Bed, Bath and Beyond sold a cheaply made monstrosity that would have fit both my posters for $30, designed to hold a collage of photos peeking out through cut-out rectangles. I could have easily removed the piece of paper for the photos and inserted my posters. But I couldn't justify spending $60 on poster frames with no further research.

So instead, on Monday, I went to Pearl Paint in Chinatown in search of the elusive frame kits. You can buy both dimensions of the frame separately in any size and screw them together to create a custom fit. Excellent. After the guy at the counter scared me with stories of $44 a piece custom cut plexiglas, I found a brand of frame kit that was on sale, for 60% off. Brilliant! Of course, they didn't have the pieces in exactly the right sizes, but what would it matter if I had a slightly bigger frame?

Mistake number 1.

Next, I went to another floor of the store to buy 3/16" foamcore board for the back of the frame. They had it in a slightly smaller width than the frames I had purchased.

Mistake number 2.

I decided not to buy a roll of acetate, because really, these movie posters had been exposed during four grand years of collegiate life - why did I need to start protecting them now? The frames are for aesthetic purposes. I also decided not to buy spray mount.

Mistakes numbers 3 and 4.

How I managed to even think that I could get a poster to magically stay up on a piece of foamcore, without any means of support in the middle of a frame is beyond me. Still, I went home and assembled the frames with little difficulty. It became clear that there were a few issues when I went to insert the foamcore.

Did I mention the 60% off frame kits were non returnable? I'm breaking my own rules here.

Undeterred, I returned to Pearl Paint on Tuesday to buy repositionable spray mount (should I ever need to roll the posters up again for transit), acetate, and appropriately sized foamcore board. I'm currently in the midst of deciding how I'm going to manage to cut the acetate to the proper size without getting it dirty on my floor and/or cutting it crookedly. But that project will be for another day, as I gave up and went to sleep last night, after briefly thinking about using sticky tack to attach the posters to my wall and simply hanging the frames around them.

I'll get them up eventually, but like my window shades, I will go through a few stages.

1. Frustration. Why won't this work? Why?

2. Anger. I spent so much time acquiring these frames and schlepping them on the train. And I can't even return them.

3. Sadness. I hate my life.

4. Self-Pity. Why can't I do anything right?

5. Denial. There's really nothing wrong with them. I'm so smart, of course I can frame posters.

Sometimes, I will cycle back to phase 1 from here a few times before progressing to phase 6.

6. Acceptance. Screw this, it's good enough. No one will notice if I don't tell them.

Oops.

I Enjoy Getting in Your Way

Yesterday I added another item to the long list of Things I have Hauled on the Subway: 32" x 40" foamcore board! It joins the distinguished company of a shoe rack, an ironing board, Ikea boxes and 7 bottles of wine. Also, because I am incompetent when it comes to spatial reasoning, I get to go back to Pearl Paint today and get a bigger board.

Regardless, I hope to someday outdo the man I saw with several 8-foot-long tree branches on the subway. Unfortunately, I did not snap a picture, but I get the feeling that the film would have refused to develop anyhow. It was one of those Zen moments that isn't meant to be shared by any one other than those present.

I should also add that I am particularly pleased with myself, as I made my foamcore board fit through one of these babies:

A HEET (High Entry/Exit Turnstiles) on the NYC Subway system, for the uninformed.

Why do I do this to myself? Well, for one, I kind of enjoy it. I also have a monthly metro card and the trains are much faster than cabs during rush hour. More importantly, I do not take cabs except in emergencies, which are more along the lines of running late for social events - as opposed to when I'm being pursued by rapists/murderers/scientologists. But seriously, I do love public transit and New York City has arguably one of the best systems in the world. It's extensive, it's efficient, it's delightful, it's delicious, it's de-lovely... and it's ever so egalitarian.

Until tomorrow, when I hope to be standing in the doorway of the F train with a cheap rug from the Home Depot and preventing a woman whose yappy dog is wearing clothing from exiting --

By Popular Demand

Because why I am here, really, if not to entertain my dear readers?

Drink

Sweet Friday Riesling
On Saturday, it's hidden
Only for a few

My Digital Life is Entirely Uninteresting

I find myself with nothing to post about today. As this is only my second week as a blogger, I presume that's a bad sign. But I promise you great things in the future! Apparently, such promises are becoming a bit of a theme. Hmm.

However, my real life is fascinating. I had a few (read: around thirty) friends over to my boxy apartment on Saturday. I would like to share the highlights of my fete, along with my weekend, with you using my preferred form of easy poetry: the ever-popular haiku. This exercise does double duty, as one of my more vocal readers requested some intentionally bad writing (as opposed to my usual unintentional dreck.)

Friday

Store's free wine tasting
Leads to tipsy wine shopping
Spent too much money

Saturday

"Up eight flights of stairs!"
"Take the freight elevator...?"
"Your building is weird."

People

Hungry hipster friends
Sometimes don't understand food
Guac on a baguette?

Sunday

Present from a boy
Thoughtful Texan token glass.
Mistaken for weed

Cleanup

White chair with red wine
Bathroom bleach removed the stain
Along with my skin

The Second Day in A Row I Write About Food

Maybe I should stop posting right before lunch. But I digress.

Unbelievably, my office resembles college. But it's true - aside from the five day weeks, the early mornings and the disposable income.

I became convinced of this fact by the abundance of free, bad coffee, pretzels, jelly beans, and the pregnant women. (Just kidding!)

It's not just the presence of the food - it's the form that it takes. These aren't mini bags of pretzels, or individually packaged jelly beans. These are the big, communal, stick-your-hand-in-and-get-everyone's-germs jars that we bought for our common room in college. Rather, I believe my college roommate Mary's mother bought them for us at Costco, along with a very gooey chocolate cake junior year that spawned the phrase, "I have a frosting problem," and its corollary solution involving lots of cheap whiskey and licking.

[An aside - it has occurred to me that I would like this to be one of those blogs in which I refer to all my friends by stupid nicknames - not for their privacy, but because it makes them memorable. That means that if you know me, be prepared to have an embarrassing nicknamed bestowed on you. It's like being knighted, but with fewer swords and much less Old Queen Smell. Likewise if anyone has a website or a blog, I'll probably link to it.

Mary, I dub thee the Duchess of Oysterland, for your valiant efforts plotting a coup against practicality. Ok, get out of my brackets.]

But just as the Duchess' mother bought us junk food in useful containers, so the office manager buys the same for my group. We haven't taken the pretzel container to the cafeteria to fill with stolen ice and/or drink mixers, but I assure you we're working on it.

Pure Luxury

This morning, I ate a Zaro's croissant. If you're not jealous, you should be. The crumbs are still all over my desk and I am loath to clean them off as they foster such pleasant memories of my breakfast. At the risk of sounding cliche, I think Zaro's does offer up some of the best baked goods in the city, particularly when one is spat out of a train in Grand Central at 8:42 am.

And Kosher, too!

No, I am not a commuter - at least, not since I moved out of my parents' house and into my so-many-roommates-it-could-be-a-dorm apartment in January. But last night, I ventured up to Westchester (hereafter known as The Bestchester. Yes.) to visit my dear parents and younger siblings on the occasion of some school event of my brother's. I'm such a good daughter.

After waking up this morning an hour and a half before my usual 7:45, my mother drove me to a train in scenic New Canaan, Connecticut - where the mansions (no McMansions in classy Connecticut, people) are almost as impressive as the surnames on the Wall Street Journal labels. As per usual, I passed out asleep against the window on the 60-plus minute ride and woke up just in time to get hit in the face with some suit's briefcase falling off the luggage rack. God, I love Metro North in the morning.

But after stumbling off the train and into Grand Central's lower level, I found myself eye to eye with a very strategically placed Zaro's concession - one of at least three in the station. The instant the clerk noted my gaze, I was a goner.

"Yes Miss?"

"A butter croissant..." but then I remembered my empty wallet. "Oh wait, I'm sorry, I don't have any cash."

"Charge! We take charge! Yes?" I was informed in broken English.

Awesome. Grand Central is so fancy that I can charge my decadent butter croissant, which, by the way, cost me $1.80 including the tip. Tip? On a baked good? There was a line for a tip on the receipt I signed. I felt guilty and added a quarter.

I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Deflated

So I actually posted something yesterday. A real, honest-to-goodness blog entry. I felt super cool.

But I'm not that happy with it. I swear I'm funnier in person. But all of you know that as I doubt anyone who doesn't know me personally has happened upon my fair domain as of yet.

I could dwell on my skills as a writer, delve deeply into my psyche and question my purpose in life -- or I could take the easy way out and attribute my shortcomings to the lack of pictures on my blog thus far. (Duh.)

Look! They have apocalypse weather in Newark!



Man, this is easy.

Many Happy Returns

Or, how I am going to Ruin It For Everyone.

I don't consider myself an indecisive person. I can select menu items at restaurants without too much difficulty. I have specific taste in music, movies, clothing, art, etc. But when I exchange money for goods and services, I need to hear those magic words:

"We guarantee all of our products. If, for any reason, a product doesn't meet your expectations you may return it to us. We will happily refund your money, exchange the item at your request, or issue a credit if you do not have a receipt."

Not to say that I've never bought something non-returnable. It's more that, technically, "non-returnable" doesn't exist.

While I openly admit that I inherited my return habits from my father, lately I have been sinking to new lows by returning products that I have already used. First, it was a wrench at the Home Depot. I bought it to turn the stubborn knob on my radiator. The knob turned. I had no use for it anymore. So I taped it back into its package and, receipt in hand, got a full refund.

I was hooked.

Valuable lesson learned, I repeated the same exercise with a hairdryer from Bed, Bath and Beyond that I had used for two months but decided I didn't like, a pair of boots from Old Navy that I bought while stomping around Brooklyn during the snowstorm, and a book from the Strand that I read and returned.

I fully blame Bed, Bath and Beyond for being so overwhelming in the first place as to inspire such renegade behavior. It is really their fault, and not Home Depot's. If I had not been so confused by their hair dryer offerings during my initial visit, it obviously would not have taken me two months to realize that I disliked my purchase and wanted something else. Too many times, I have entered the Chelsea store with one specific product in mind - the one item that I am positive will transform my apartment from whitewashed box to airy palace - and come out not knowing my own name.

While Old Navy would probably let you return clothing you bought elsewhere as long as you had a receipt from their store, The Strand was out to rain on my unshopping trips. They have some kooky rule about returning books within three days because apparently, people try to use them like a library (imagine that). But throw the word "gift" around a bit and anything's possible. Lo and behold, I was issued store credit "effective immediately" - I could choose something else of equal value from the store that day and the clerk begrudgingly agreed to an even exchange.

It's not that I'm out to defraud the fine stores of America. I just can't bear the thought of keeping something I don't want. And it's like free money! There was a notable article on the subject in The Wall Street Journal back in December - I've lovingly provided the full text for your perusal below in case you decide to engage in any full-frontal returns of your own.

Taking Back
That Bathrobe
Gets Harder

Sears Is the Latest Retailer
To Tighten Returns Policy;
How to Avoid Being Refused

By Amy Merrick and Ilan Brat
Staff Reporters of the Wall Street Journal
December 15, 2005

This Christmas, don't expect many happy returns.

Retailers are further clamping down on return policies, imposing penalty fees and using sophisticated computer databases to flag serial returners trying to game the system. Some are also adding exceptions and caveats to their return policies -- for instance, making it particularly hard to return certain kinds of products, such as electronics.

In October, Sears began to impose a "restocking" fee amounting to 15% of the purchase price for some products that are returned used, or with missing parts or manuals. The new policy covers electronics, home appliances, tools, lawn and garden merchandise and automotive items -- though not clothing or home furnishings, among other things.

Earlier this year, Sears also tightened its time frame for returns, specifying that electronics and mattresses had to be returned within 30 days, while all other merchandise had to be brought back within 90 days. Previously, Sears simply said all goods had to be returned within "a reasonable period of time."

The move by Sears is only the latest crackdown. Retailers have been tightening up return policies for several years -- making returning goods an increasingly complex process for consumers to navigate.

Stores are trying to target customers who abuse the longstanding practice of legitimately returning goods. Retailers estimate return fraud costs them $16 billion a year. Their goal in identifying specific goods in return policies is to concentrate on the areas where they suffer most from fraud, says Joseph LaRocca, vice president of loss prevention for the National Retail Federation. For the holidays, these include electronics such as camcorders and digital cameras. (At other times of year, Halloween costumes and prom dresses tend to be used and returned.)

But consumer advocates worry that loyal customers will get caught up in the sweep. To avoid problems, shoppers may want to check the exact policy for the products they're buying. For instance, return policies for a company's stores and Web site may not be the same.

During the holidays, shoppers should ask when the time limit for returning purchases begins. Some stores will extend their 30-day rule for gifts bought early in the holiday-shopping season, so that recipients have time to return gifts after Christmas. But there are exceptions. Best Buy Co., for example, will allow most purchases between Nov. 1 and Dec. 24 to be returned until Jan. 24. But some common gifts, such as digital cameras, must be returned by Jan. 8, and computers still have to be returned within 14 days, no matter when they were purchased.

The move by Sears is only the latest crackdown. Retailers have been tightening up return policies for several years -- making returning goods an increasingly complex process for consumers to navigate.

Stores are trying to target customers who abuse the longstanding practice of legitimately returning goods. Retailers estimate return fraud costs them $16 billion a year. Their goal in identifying specific goods in return policies is to concentrate on the areas where they suffer most from fraud, says Joseph LaRocca, vice president of loss prevention for the National Retail Federation. For the holidays, these include electronics such as camcorders and digital cameras. (At other times of year, Halloween costumes and prom dresses tend to be used and returned.)

But consumer advocates worry that loyal customers will get caught up in the sweep. To avoid problems, shoppers may want to check the exact policy for the products they're buying. For instance, return policies for a company's stores and Web site may not be the same.

During the holidays, shoppers should ask when the time limit for returning purchases begins. Some stores will extend their 30-day rule for gifts bought early in the holiday-shopping season, so that recipients have time to return gifts after Christmas. But there are exceptions. Best Buy Co., for example, will allow most purchases between Nov. 1 and Dec. 24 to be returned until Jan. 24. But some common gifts, such as digital cameras, must be returned by Jan. 8, and computers still have to be returned within 14 days, no matter when they were purchased.

If a store won't budge on its time limits, and you suspect the recipient might want to return the gift, then it's actually a good idea to procrastinate and buy later in the season.

Restocking fees are increasingly becoming standard. A spokesman for Sears\'s parent company, Sears Holdings Corp., based in Hoffman Estates, Ill., said the restocking fee brings Sears in line with its competitors, which have levied such fees on electronics and other products for some time.

Another way stores try to target people who abuse the returns system is by tracking the return habits of individual shoppers. The cash registers at Wal-Mart Stores Inc. automatically flag a customer who tries to return more than three items without a receipt in a 45-day period, the company said. A manager then has to approve the return. The cash-register messages disappear after six months if a shopper makes no more returns without receipts during that time.

J.C. Penney Co. says it uses an internal database for tracking returns, especially if the customer doesn't have a receipt. A spokeswoman says the system occasionally flags customers, based on the frequency and dollar amounts of returns, but she declined to be more specific.