The Eyes Have It

Everywhere there are eyes watching me. Bright are the whites, infinite are the pupils. When I move, the sheer disturbance of air makes them shake, ever so slightly. When I reach out to push them away, the black dots move askew, sometimes left, sometimes right - and not even in tandem.

I'm having a bit too much fun decorating my apartment and my cubicle with googly eyes. A thoughtful birthday gift from Patel.

Happy Halloween!

In Which No One Wears Their Own Clothes

Ah, Halloween weekend. As per usual, a fair amount of my clothing is currently scattered throughout the five boroughs in the hands of friends. (I'm lying. It's just Brooklyn and Manhattan. But it sounds so much more exciting when I exaggerate.)

Unlike other years, I sported some borrowed piece - on Saturday afternoon - after my weekly museum shift. And what a Saturday. It had been a beautiful fall afternoon - 65 degrees, sunny, crisp and delicious. When I emerged from the R train, the sky was purple and it felt as if the whole world was standing on its toes on the edge of a precipice, ready to plunge into the unknown. I call this dramatic weather, because it feels like something is about to happen. That "something" is always torrential rain. I got caught in a torrential 15 minute downpour that left me looking like I'd crossed the Red Sea, not West Street.

Once at the museum, I squelched through the gallery, up to the office where I was greeted with the requisite laughter. After a fairly predictable conversation with the other two kids who work on Saturdays ("How are you?" "Wet. Yourself?" "Dry." "Well that's fabulous."), I proceeded to remove my shoes, socks and jacket, walking around the office barefoot so that these items could dry. Talk then turned to Halloween. I went as The Bride from Kill Bill on Friday night, but my friend the gallery manger was still planning his costume. "I have this antique baseball glove and catcher's mask," he told me. "Do you have a uniform?" I asked. "Well, I have sweat pants and some baseball socks... and actually the shirt that you're wearing right now would be perfect."

Five minutes later, we're taking turns going into the back of the office to switch shirts. Mine was a pseudo vintage baseball t-shirt with the number 13 on the chest that probably hails from Hot Topic in the Danbury, CT Mall circa 1996. I got to go home wearing the gallery manager's undershirt. Later, when the curator showed up, she took one look at my bare feet and offered me some socks as mine were still wet.

I leave you with the following foul-weather advice, in haiku form:

Gift with Purchase

Free red Strand tote bag
Beautiful in the sun, but
Come rain, it cries blood

Is There Any Sound More Romantic than a Pounding Subway Train?

Dreamer that I am, the short answer is no. Certainly not when I'm heading out to a night full of possibilities and new adventures, or when heading home after a delightfully crisp autumn afternoon. The train's rhythmic song signifies freedom - I can go anywhere and do anything in this glittering city.

However, when I am on my way to work in the morning, I'm not really turned on by the subway's cacophonous clattering.

Apparently, some people disagree.

A few weeks ago, I witnessed a rather dopey-looking man try to blatantly pick up an attractive woman on the F train. I was on my way home from work and the train was crowded, so I couldn't help but overhear.

Dopey: Nice blouse.

Woman: Thanks.

Dopey: It's very artistic, are you an artist, or in some creative business?

Woman: [briefly, but courteously] Advertising.

Dopey: Wow. That's really interesting. So, you have a boyfriend? [pause] No, you don't have a boyfriend?

Woman: I do have one.

Dopey: Ah. [pause]. Well, it was nice meeting you. [pushes through the crowd to the other end of the train].

For the record, she did have an interesting blouse. Sort of black and drape-y.

And then there was last week. I took the Q to work in the morning. Nothing unusual. It runs express to 34th street and then I exit at 42nd. My mind was elsewhere that day and I accidentally got off at 34th street. I had walked a few paces down the platform before I realized where I was, so I continued walking to re-enter the subway car I had left via a different door.

Now, when I ride the NRQW to work, I always travel in the head two cars. I live and work near the northern entrances of both stations, so there's no reason for me to trek back any further. At 42nd street, there is a staircase at the front end of the track near these cars. At 34th street, there is a large wall between the local and express tracks by the first car. Essentially, when there's no train in the station, there's sort of a hidden spot behind this large chunk of wall from which the rest of the platform can't see you.

That's right, I exited the train and almost walked into not one but two canoodling couples on the narrow strip of platform between the wall and the train. They were both doing the same things - not really kissing, but holding each other *really* closely with their arms inside of each other's jackets. I didn't get a good look as I was completely busy being grossed out and trying to gracefully get back on the train I just exited, but they seemed to be short and of Latin American descent. They seemed very, very interested in each other's company. On the Q platform. At 34th Street. During rush hour. On a Tuesday morning.

Hey, whatever gets you going.

Halloween Countdown

I just can't get enough of this ridiculous holiday. Since childhood, I have always loved dressing up in costumes - for Halloween, or really any reason at all. I tend to favor punny or clever costumes over scary ones. I went through a phase during which I always invoked heavy face paint, but since drinking became a part of my All Hallow's Eve plans in college, I've favored simpler fare.

As I've lamented before, last year I had no Halloween plans. In order to make it up, I'm wearing a different costume every day during the week leading up to Halloween. Oh yes.

Tomorrow, I will be clad in tan pants and a red jacket. I will be a matchstick.

On Thursday, I will be wearing brown corduroys and a green sweater. I will be a tree, or perhaps a small shrub, if you'd prefer.

Friday, it's blue jeans and a black shirt. I'll be a bruise, often described as a black and blue mark.

Saturday, I'm going to take it up a notch and wear a post-it note inscribed with the words "Go Ceilings!" Of course, I will be a ceiling fan.

Sunday I believe I shall take a more athletic approach, with a quarter affixed to my shoulder blade. Yes, I'll be a quarterback.

Monday I'll be wearing my favorite "Devil is #1" button as I will be the Devil's advocate.

And on Tuesday, I shall culminate my festival of costumes by reusing an oldie-but goodie from a couple years ago. It's true, it'll definitely make an appearance on Friday and Saturday nights as well - and I won't spoil the fun of you who I'll see while out this weekend.

I signed up for Dodgeball.com

I'm convinced. I'm not sure why, as the most recent Dodgeball-related story that I heard involved vomit and a sink. What a pitch! I can't wait! Hit me. And have some haiku with your coffee.

Scarf Smells

Friday night perfume
Saturday night beer, stale smoke
Sunday morn' coffee

ARRRR Train

I heart my museum
Down to Battery Park, twice
I must like subways

Love Me Two Times

Friday, Saturday
The same two LES blocks
Why ruin perfection?

Friday

A "happy hour"
Extended itself til 4
I don't ask questions

Saturday

Harlem tapas fete,
Photohunt, karaoke,
The order of things.

Ice Ice Baby

A cold autumn night
My building thinks it's summer
Please turn on the heat

Ominous Omens

I am not a superstitious person. I'm not a religious person. However, there are two events that have happened with some frequency over the past 10 months that seem to occur in conjunction with good or bad fortune. A sign? Unlikely. An interesting correlation? Probably. Am I crazy? Definitely.

The Oracle at Toilet - Glad Tidings

I am fortunate enough to live in an apartment with two bathrooms (and a total of five women). I use the larger bathroom in the back of the apartment. As I've told you before, the toilet is notoriously finicky. Last February and March, we had to call the plumber on three separate occasions to plunge the damn thing. There was one notable incident that occurred minutes before I was set to go on a much-anticipated dinner date. The water in the toilet had drained and me, curious thing that I am, decided to flush it to fill the bowl back up. Lo and behold, it overflowed and I had to mop up the water while wearing a suede skirt. Luckily, the toilet was empty at the time, but it was still gross. The date went well and generally, my social life and professional life in New York City finally got going.

But the toilet was quiet for most of the summer and early fall. Then, in the past two weeks, the chain started coming off of the floater. That's right, it wouldn't flush again. We have to either reach into the back, into the tank water and grab the chain and rehook it - or turn the water off to drain the tank, rehook and then turn it on and wait for it to refill. It doesn't merit calling a plumber, but perhaps a trip to Home Depot is in my future. This time, the toilet has heralded my promotion, a renewed devotion to planning future adventures, and maybe, just maybe, a new prospect.

Carded - Down and Out

Sure, I'm carded at bars now and again, but that's not what I mean. I mean credit cards, metro cards - really any type of cards that one can lose.

Those who know me know that I never lose anything. I've never lost a cell phone, a wallet, a purse, a jacket, keys... you name it, I still have it. Until I went to San Francisco a month and a half ago. As I related when I returned, I left my ATM card in one of those ATM machines that eats them while you withdraw money. It was completely out of character for me and I obsessed about it to Patel for the entire plane trip back to JFK. Less than a week later, my social life took an unexpected turn and I briefly lost my footing. I began to question my current surroundings and think about the things that I wasn't doing right now - the adventures, all of that. But ultimately, it was for the best as I have become proactive.

Unfortunately, I lost my 30 day Metrocard yesterday. Nothing strange has befallen me yet, but I'm keeping my fingers and toes crossed that the toilet is stronger than the wallet. If that makes sense.

I'm Busy, let the Internet Entertain You

Hello there - as I'm still learning all about my new job, I invite you instead to check out some of those links on the right. In particular, McSweeney's. Specifically, their lists. I was reading them last night when I was supposed to be reading other things - you know, the books that go along with the expensive class that I paid for.

But you know I love lists. I make lists. I don't have the time to link to all my previous list posts right now, but be a dear and do a search. McSweeney's has published some outstanding lists (none written by me, but then again, I've never submitted), some of which I've posted below. Enjoy!

Jewish Holidays for Hipsters.
BY MICHAEL SCHULMAN
- - - -
iPurim
Yom Hipper
Pabstover
Ironukkah


World Leader Fonts.
BY MICHAEL MEILAN
- - - -
Lincoln Sans Hat
Nelson Mandela Black
Ulysses S. Gothic
Boutros Boutros Wingdings
Thatcher Old Style

Ikea Productor Lord of the RingsCharacter?
BY CALEY FELDMAN
- - - -
1. Faramir
2. Freden
3. Grundtal
4. Boromir
5. Molger
6. Galdor
7. Freda
8. Agerum
9. Babord
10. Frodo
11. Grima
12. Akurum
13. Brunkrissla
14. Sultan Hagbo
15. Deagol
16. Grimbold

Lord of the Rings characters: 1, 4, 6, 7, 10, 11, 15, 16.
Ikea products: 2, 3, 5, 8, 9, 12, 13, 14.

New Year's Resolutions.
BY TEDDY WAYNE AND GREG WAYNE
- - - -
640 x 480
800 x 600
1024 x 768
Get into jazz

Jumpy

I'm still a little jumpy today because of my new job responsibilities. Things seem to be moving right along, though - which is nothing but good news.

In the meantime, Haiku, for you. I'd like to give this weekend a theme: Five.

Overnight Guests

My mother in town
Good company, her visit
Leads to free dinner!

Change of Plans

Planning to stay in
Roommates would not allow it
My mother stayed home.

Out

Pleasant company
Time flies, and suddenly, it's
Five am, again.

Saturday

Five hours of sleep
"Phantom of the Opera," I
Am a good daughter.

Saturday Night

Much as I enjoy
The Lower East Side Bar Scene
I was exhausted.

Sunday

Downtown CultureFest
Five hours, Battery Park.
Outside, I was cold.

Aftermath

Come Monday morning
Sore throat I didn't deserve
Or maybe I did.

Eau D'Office

The kitchenette in my office often has a distinct odor. In fact, it's quite a bad odor, as it stems from the uncapped pipe under the sink. I'm not entirely sure why the pipe can't be fixed. Not my problem.

At any rate, the smell fluctuates between deep undertones of garbage and high notes of nothing at all, depending on what's stuck in the drain. This morning, I saw one of my coworkers pouring hot water into the open pipe - a trick which helps push the offending material away from the opening. I stopped just short of asking him why in the world he was bothering.

The thing is, sure, the hot water helps get rid of the smell. But why put so much effort into eliminating but one stench of many? Of course the kitchen smell bothers me - for the 5 minutes or so I'm in the kitchenette getting coffee in the morning. I'm simply assaulted by so many other smells and dust particles throughout the course of the day that I can't devote all my attention to one single whiff. It wouldn't be fair.

To be completely honest, I can't smell it from my desk, so I don't think about it much. Again - not my problem.

Overwhelming

Dearest Readers,

In a surprise turn, my responsibilities at my job are shifting - for the better. Yes, I got promoted - right smack dab in the middle of all of my tumultuous life-planning. The learning curve is going to be steep, as the person whose job I am assuming is leaving the company, oh, tomorrow. Needless to say, I am Busy and Important. Thus, it may be reasonably quiet over here tomorrow and much of next week as I get up to speed. I promise to post, but I don't promise quality content.

How is that different from usual? It's not.

Love and Kisses,
Audrey.

Mass Inquiry

Some blogs encourage you to ask the questions, promising answers. Unfortunately, I can't provide you with such services, as I don't have a clue. Instead, I will ask you questions, in hopes of finding answers.

Why is it that when I read an issue of Flavorpill at the beginning of the week, there's nothing I want to do - and when I read it even one day late, I always miss something interesting? Case in point: last night's McSweeney's talk at NYPL. Do you know what I was doing last night? Trying to get my money's worth out of my gym membership and a certain test prep book.

Why am I not, "near the Mongolian border, [renting] horses and [galloping] across the steppes?!" There's no excuse, really, save for the flimsy explanation that it takes a year to plan an adventure.

Why am I writing
My weekly Monday Haiku
On a Wednesday?

That's for me to know
(Was I sick? Out? Making "plans?")
And you to find out.

Why do hotdogs come in packs of eight and hotdog rolls come in packs of 10? Age-old Animaniacs question. I'm still looking for the answer.

Why don't I have more questions? I'll probably add more during the day.

Coffee House Appreciation Update (CHAU, or "see-how")

McNally Robinson Bookstore - lovely selection of books, interesting space. Still haven't been there to sit at the cafe and read/study/converse, but bright and friendly when I went for an author talk. I have yet to try their beverages/wireless/daily culture.

THINK Coffee - Went on a Wednesday. Coffee was sub par and their music was a bit loud, but they have a cavernous space filled with tables, couches, and several big wooden library tables. They're also open til midnight, a definite plus. You're supposed to pay for their wireless, but I picked up the signal of a neighboring network for free.

Housing Works - In fact, they are open until 9pm on weekdays. Limited menu offerings, but impressively good coffee. Quiet and therefore conducive to actual study, not just "I've set up a bunch of books in hopes of attracting an attractive paramour" study. 100% free, no-strings-attached internet and a few of the tables are even located near wall outlets.

Cafe Esperanto - Purports to be "always open." I haven't put that claim to the test yet. Good tea, and tasty, inexpensive panini sandwiches (~$5 and filling enough for dinner). Attractive pastries and coffee that I have yet to sample.

Taralucci - continues to serve my favorite coffee in New York, but I haven't made an attempt to camp out there yet. I'm sure I could pick up free wireless there.

Tourists and Turnstiles

I try not to write too many "tourists do the darndest things" anecdotes, but this time, I seem to have stumbled across a unique problem. In fact, I think it surpasses "tourists don't understand NYC or the subway," and lands full on in "people are stupid." My favorite kind of story.

This tale takes place in the Rector Street RW stop, specifically on the downtown track on Saturdays. Why oh why am I ever at Rector Street? On a Saturday (morning) no less? Because I volunteer at a museum downtown and the R train is one of the few ways to get to the west side of lower Manhattan on weekends, until they finish puttering around with the 4, the 5 and the 1.

R trains do not run very frequently on weekends. There is no W, either. I usually wait for 15 to 20 minutes at Union Square for an R train, letting its brethren, the N and the Q pass on by. I allow them to go on their way without me, lest I end up soaring over the rooftops of Chinatown, prematurely on my way to Brooklyn instead of lower Manhattan.

Yes, I've made that mistake before.

The R train lumbers slowly south - past 8th street, Prince street, Canal, City Hall, closed Cortlandt street - finally wending its way to Rector Street. The Rector Street RW station is long and narrow, as it is a local stop with accommodations for only one uptown and one downtown train. The doors open and the train exhales the crowd onto the narrow, low-ceilinged platform. Honestly, it's no better or worse than any other local stop in Manhattan, but after the wait, the long ride and the crowds, I'm eager to exit. The passengers who emerge from the head 5 cars turn right and head back towards the 24 hour booth located at the middle of the platform.

They pass a locked HEET. (High Entry/Exit Turnstile).

And then another.

By the time they get to the third one, they're ready to get the heck out of dodge. And so they line up to exit the station, one by one...

...Ignoring the row of four empty, waist height turnstiles not 10 feet away from where they stand.

Every weekend, it's the same. They see me walk to the other turnstiles. They see me appear on the other side of the fence. They are not all tourists. But they are all stupid.

Habits of an Old Woman

I am not turning into an old woman. I am not aging quickly. I am not an old woman trapped in a young woman's body.

I merely have the habits of an old woman.

- On the rare occasions that I use cash, I use the change in my wallet. Item costs $3.56? I hand the cashier a five and 56 cents - with a smile.

- I tear pieces of gum in half and save the rest for later. Why use an entire stick of gum when you want to freshen your breath for 10 minutes? It's a waste. Note - I only do this with stick gum, like Extra, not smaller pieces like Trident or Orbitz.

- I keep tissues in my purse. If asked nicely, I'd be willing to spit on one of them and then use it to wipe something off of your face.

- I recently thought the music in THINK coffee was too loud. However, I later realized that I had been sitting directly under a speaker.

- My hair is going gray. True! I've been told it looks like blond against the rest of my darker brown/red hair.

I merely have the habits of an old woman - or a crazy woman. You be the judge.

Want Attention in Washington Square Park?

I recommend saying things like:

"He said that the US government is controlling the states of mind that we experience by making psychedelics illegal."

I was quoting Daniel Pinchbeck after he spoke with Douglas Rushkoff at the McNally Robinson bookstore last week. I didn't think anything surprised New Yorkers, but a couple of heads snapped to look in my direction.

I want to come up with more material that generate such a reaction in our jaded neighbors. I suppose everything on Overheard in New York qualifies, but it never hurts to have a few good stock phrases.

Any thoughts? Abortion, AIDS, crack, rape - these topics no longer raise an eyebrow in the City. I'm looking for ideas that break the conventions of what "shocking" even means. Reimagined reality that no one has imagined before. I suppose it doesn't have to be true - but it has to be arguable.

Another example:

A mutual acquaintance of Pinchbeck and Rushkoff's believes that psychedelic mushrooms are intergalactic intelligence, deposited on earth by a passing meteor before higher life forms walked the planet. Here they have taken root, regenerating for millions of years and waiting until organisms sophisticated enough to understand their message evolved.

Now if anyone else has heard that one before, I'll eat my hat.

The Great NYC Hair Scam

"You have hair."

Such were the words spoken to me in Union Square earlier this summer by a scrappy, poorly aging frat boy of a man carrying a clipboard.

Well, he was right. I do have hair. It happened to be up in a messy pony tail at the time, but it was there.

"Yes, yes I do."

"It's very nice. How much do you pay to get it cut?"

Ah. Now I saw where this was going. Another episode of the Great NYC Hair Scam had blindsided me. But I was in a good mood. I played along.

"Oh, about $60. But it's worth it."
[Lies. I go to the Aveda Institute near the Holland Tunnel and pay a cool $21. I highly recommend it.]

"Really now. Well, what would you say if I told you that you could get an even better haircut, an image consultation, a color consultation, a mini facial, a manicure, a makeup application, a brow wax, a lip wax, and a massage, all for that same $60?"

"How interesting."
[Are you trying to tell me that my upper lip is hairy? It isn't.]

"Yes! One of the premier midtown day spas is offering this exclusive offer to new customers. Look at the brochure! But you have to buy it here, now, and not in the salon."

[There are just so many things to say to these people.]

"Oh, a Day spa? That's too bad. I work during the day. Bye."

Yes, I actually said that. And walked away.

For those of you who haven't seen the young marketers at work in Times Square, Union Square and, I imagine, many other squares, they sell a spa/salon package for $60 that does indeed include all of the services I mentioned. They're nearly always for midtown East salons. I bought one of these packages once, as I love a good bargain. You pay the marketing kids on the street and receive a receipt and pamphlet. It's perfectly legitimate.

But there's no such thing as a free lunch - or $600 (purported) worth of services for $60. First sign - the one time "materials fee" of $15 that I was charged when I went to the salon. It was outlined on the pamphlet, so I wasn't surprised. I also realized that "color consultation," "image consultation" and "skin analysis" aren't real services.

But I wasn't prepared for the upsell.

Approximately 30 minutes elapsed between the time I sat down for my haircut with the stylist and when she began cutting my hair - or rather, applying a moisturizing treatment. For 30 minutes, she tried to nudge me, convince me, cajole me and finally, flat out argue with me that I needed $75 highlights, $200 coloring, or a $60 moisturizing treatment. We "compromised" on the $30 moisturizing treatment, as I was beginning to realize that I might be stuck in Midtown East all afternoon if I didn't buy *something*.

In short, the haircut was lovely but it wasn't worth the effort. My theory is that the marketing company keeps the entire $60 that you pay them on the street. It's up to the salon, or Day Spa, to squeeze more cash out of you each time you walk in their door.

So... just tell them that you work during the day.

Missing Monday Haikus

I was off from work being Jewish yesterday, but prior to that, I had a fairly eventful weekend. Here you are, some haiku:

Friday 1

Bloggers in a bar
I should do this more often
Without other plans

Friday 2

It shouldn't surprise
Cupcakes and booze go quite well
In the LES

Saturday

Patel, Zach and me
French toast, Burning Man movie
Still a hot topic.

Sunday

Some errant errands
Train home to the Bestchester
Happy Yom Kippur?

Monday

For the second time
Pet beagle ate cosmetics
He wasn't fasting.