LowConcept

Whatever Happened to that Audrey Girl?

2008-06-04T19:12:00.003-04:00

The best way to put it, I suppose, is that I've been expressing myself in the three dimensional world - both in writing and in physical structure - more than I have been doing so online.

The latest project - Emergence: Creative Pioneers in Uncharted Territory. Check it at emergenceshow.org. Yes, has a blog, which also serves as the show catalog. You like blogs. You'll like it. It's interactive. Promise. I curated Emergence with my buddies Joyce, Johan, Elke and Ntd. You'll like them, too.

It is ALSO a participatory art show on Governors Island in New York Harbor, accessible via free (*free*) ferries on weekends from now through mid July. GI is open for a bevy of other art events this summer, including the much heralded David Byrne "Playing the Building" installation on the Manhattan side of the ferry. The show includes over 30 artists and collectives in the visual and performing arts, encouraging audience participation, interaction with the works, and generally unlocking one's own individual creativity. The show actively seeks to break down alienating barriers between people and creative output. It's super cool.

Drop me a line at lowconcept [at] gmail [dot] com for more information or a personal invite. I can be very personal.

xx
Audrey.

I Made You Some Bad Art

2008-04-13T18:58:00.004-04:00

From my many travels throughout the past month, as international art thief, woman of mystery, feasting foodie, advertising mogul, armchair anthropologist and general gliterati /literati /digerati /anything-ati about town* I bring you...

Not much. (I refer you back to the name of this website.)

As I have moved much of my creative process off of the internets and into "reality" in the past few months, I am still cognizant of the power of the pixel, the soapbox of the information superhighway, the bleat of the blog. So - without apologizing for sitting around attempting to be artsy, weird and HighConcept(tm) off of the internet, I do hope to share more of my projects in this uh, "forum" in the near future.

If you want to be artsy with me, please visit www.figmentnyc.org/participate. I'll explain later, k?

And the art I made for you? Unfortunately due to copyright restrictions (or perhaps because I'm not a good enough hacker), I'm going to have to redirect and instruct you how to make it yourself. Go to the Brooklyn Museum website and view the time lapse video of the installation of Murakami's "Mr. Pointy" in the Rubin Pavilion here. While watching it, listen to the Justice vs. Simian song "We Are Your Friends." (Free Youtube video version here, but minimize the window so that you just get the sound and not the visual.)

Well, *I* think it works nicely.

______________________________________
*Please note: lies, exaggerations, fabrications.

A Note on Haiku

2008-02-28T16:23:00.004-05:00

I miss my haikus.

And I'm sure you do, too.

Amanda was kind enough to cry out for them in my comments section the other day, and I realized that I do spend 3 days a week in an "office" at a "computer" - certainly enough time spent at a desk to craft clever words.

Also, I sort of wrote one by accident last night, after my "borrowed" wireless internet went on the fritz while I was talking to someone on Google Chat. Google chat, in fact, goes so far as to FOSTER haiku writing, by the very nature of its cute little boxes that force line breaks into sentences at what I would call "haiku length."

Sorry

stolen internet
is a bit flaky at times
but so exciting!

Do Not Walk This Way

2008-02-24T13:43:00.002-05:00

Apparently, I am bad at walking.

And I'll tell you why.

Several weeks ago, I received a walking ticket from the Environmental Control Board of the City of New York.

I suppose it's less that they did not like how I walked and more that they were not a fan of where and when I was doing it. Returning home from pizza on Houston Street, I crossed through Washington Square Park with a male friend. The park is kind of a mess these days, what with them moving the fountain 6 inches to the left so that it lines up with the arch. Why the city would want to make New York look more like a fake postcard is anybody's guess - but that's a story for another time.

My friend and I walked up LaGuardia Place to the park. As per usual, there were maybe a dozen people milling around. I love Washington Square because it's always a scene - any time of night, any season, any corner of the park. Impromptu street art to organized political rallies, it's representative of New York's cultural climate. (Yeah, I said "cultural climate." I'm a grad student. I can make up phrases.) It was a little past midnight and I was walking home, my friend to the Union Square L train. There were a few police barriers off to the side, but the paths into the park were open. We crossed through the park quickly, chatting quietly, and came out the northwest corner.

We were almost to University Place when a man in a police van called us over. Being the upright citizens that we are, my friend and I headed over to find out what he had to say. As it turns out, there were two cops who wanted to ask us if we knew that we had just crossed through the park, as it was closed (!!!). They claimed that a barrier had been blocking off the pathway we entered. While "blocking off" is somewhat open to interpretation, the barrier that we walked past had been parallel to the grass and pushed to the side. I stated as such, and was accused of "lying to [the policeman's] face." Intimidated by two policemen in a van, I got quiet and my friend got a bit flustered. Unbeknownest to us, as there is no such sign posted on every entrance, Washington Square Park does close at midnight. The time was 12:26 AM and the policemen decided that we had transgressed the law and trespassed through the park.

With that, the policeman (at least, I think he was a policeman. The van said "police," but the tickets we received were from the Environmental Control Board) asked for our IDs. I'm not up on my civilian rights (shame on me), but my friend mentioned that he wasn't sure it was legal to demand identification from citizens in the United States. The policeman said he wasn't interested in having a conversation about the law, he merely wanted to see our driver's licenses. Point taken, we handed them over and both received pink tickets, emblazoned with our driver's license ID numbers. And then they left.

Thus, I am in possession of a ticket for a $50 fine. I can mail in my payment, or appear in court on February 26. I'm planning on paying the ticket, as I don't want any ado when I renew my license in a year's time. But I am considering a few Strongly Worded Letters.

It's so odd - New York City is so safe now, one can walk through the parks in the middle of the night without getting muggged... only to get robbed by the police.

196 Days to Make Good Decisions!

2008-02-16T13:42:00.003-05:00

Guess what came in the mail this week! And I only had to stand on line at the post office for twenty minutes to retrieve it!

Oh yes, we're doing that again. Email me if you want in with our theme camp.

<3
Audrey.

(Not my scan - apologies for the bad image.)

Things I Do Not Want to Hear at 2 am

2008-02-15T01:57:00.001-05:00

1. A ConEd truck in front of my apartment.

2. One of my neighbors and his girlfriend (boyfriend?) being amorous in the elevator.

3. Clanging, hissing radiator next to my bed.

4. Ticking clocks.

5. My cell phone erupting with text messages.

Ad-ditional Comments

2008-02-12T00:45:00.000-05:00

I know it's a bit late for Superbowl commercial-related commentary, given that it's been over a week and all of the ad websites that I like to read basically live-blogged the entire thing. (Twitter apparently exploded with 2,500 [useless] messages on the subject. What a waste.)

What's that? There was Football, you say? It wasn't all raging ad copy? I was watching some "sports?" Oh, but I did watch the "match," and an exciting and unpredictable game it was. But while the game is over, the ads live on, spun into internet immortality by YouTube and every other streaming site. And it's not like the rules of football are changing.

Advertising, on the other hand, has no rules.

It's been a few years since I watched the entire telecast from start to finish - last year I party hopped, 2006 I forget, 2005 I was doing homework and got to the bar late, 2004 I was cooking in Vermont with the game on, and so on and so forth. Somehow, I had forgotten how the whole thing is such a synthetic a production. Sponsorships on the field mirror the ad spots, Budweiser establishes a cohesive storyline through its ads, and generally many of the commercials echo each other.

In particular, I noticed a slew of what I'm calling cobranded ads - spots in which two or more products were advertised. It makes sense to combine ad budgets, obviously, given the extraordinary price of airtime during the Superbowl. But some of the product combinations simply didn't make sense.

There were the clever - Will Ferrell as the character from his upcoming movie Semi-Pro hawking Bud Light.

And the confusing - I didn't quite understand Dorito's endorsement of singer Kina, who I imagine won some contest. Are frat boy chips going indie? Note the iTunes logo that shows up at the tail end of the spot. It's unclear if the ad was actually cobranded or iTunes has an agreement with Interscope records, who appears to be putting out Kina's album.

The predictable - Dell and Bono's (RED) campaign teamed up for that goofy butt-slapping ad - though I wonder if that counts because the whole notion of (RED) is that it appears on products you already buy.

And finally, the last cobrand I happened to catch was Pepsi's "Justin Timberlake gets hit in the head with stuff" (not the official name) spot. Timberlake is annoying me less these days - due in large part to the fact that he gets hit in the head by a car door in this spot. Brilliant. Pepsi teams with Amazonmp3.com to advertise... buying stuff.

(Read more from the commentators who get paid to rant about these ads over at Adage.)

So forget the Giants and the Patriots. I was rooting for capitalism!

A Note to All

2008-02-10T22:37:00.001-05:00

Do not eat an entire jar of Spanish pimento olives for dinner.

DO NOT DO IT.

That is all.

Slacker

2008-01-27T18:14:00.001-05:00

I know, I know, I promised you content. Whatever. Instead of writing it, I've been reading it - via Google Reader. I'm particularly taken by the "Shared Items" function, to the extent that I've delved into the archives of the blogs to which I subscribe to share older posts. Not further back than January 1, though.

Anyhow - if you know me personally and have me on your Google contacts list, surf over to reader and see what junk I'm reading. There are lots of pictures. Promise.

And if you don't use Gmail and don't have a Google account, you can find my RSS over there on the left hand navigation.

BREAKING TOILET NEWS

2008-01-22T12:09:00.001-05:00

As I predicted, I should have waited a few more days before posting two toilet tidbits.

My newly set Google Alert on the keyword "museum" tells me that the TOILET MUSEUM IS LEAVING WORCESTER after 20 years! It is fleeing to Watertown, of all places.

(Please note, both towns are in western Massachusetts.)

I really can't corrupt such mindblowing news with any commentary.

Today in Toilet News

2008-01-15T02:16:00.001-05:00

("Today" is kind of a misnomer, but I couldn't resist the alliteration.)

Apparently, toilets are chic. Not toilet-water perfume, not "the toilet" (the process of getting oneself ready in the morning), nor any of the other wide and varied definitions found in the dictionary. I'm talking about the john. The can. The porcelain throne. Etc. Choose your favorite nickname.

Perhaps I should have waited until the internet yielded even more instances of toilet-aticism, but here are two gems I've seen in the past few weeks:

The first is old news (circa 2005), but new to me - a toilet themed restaurant in Taiwan. The theme of egestion installed in a business devoted to ingestion is quite clever. I don't actually recall what blog I saw it on recently, but here are some old photos. I think it is (a) nauseating (b) hilarious (c) the epitome of kitsch (d) therefore, perfect.

Ew.

The second toilet newslet is about a product that I would actually buy. Behold, the Fish N Flush!

My father's reaction: "But which way are you supposed to face?"

If I lived in a place where modifying the fixtures made sense, I'd buy this in a heartbeat. Yes, yes, go to the website. I'll wait.

There's only one better way to spend $200...

In unrelated news, I'm trying to become a Google Reader power user. Send me suggestions of "content-blogs" you like (Boing Boing, Gawker, Slashdot, Bldgblog, etc.), and I promise to waste more of your time.

I Love it When People Blatantly Lie to Me

2008-01-08T11:20:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, I had my hair cut. I happen to get it cut in a ridiculous, eight story warehouse entirely devoted to the poking and prodding of human hair. (It's free. Don't ask.) Although I love the haircuts I get there, the whole experience is a bit like being a cog in a well-oiled, hair-cutting machine. I should explain a bit: the cuts are free because they are given by hair-cutting students.

To receive a free haircut, one must input the proper set of commands into the hair-cutting machine:

(1) Go to the haircut factory at a set time, in order to be evaluated for eligibility ("Do you have hair? You do! Would you like it cut? You would!")

(2) Allow the machine to tell you exactly what sort of haircut will happen to your head. ("Long Layers Razor Cut with Chunky Bangs." [Don't knock it 'til you've tried it.])

(3) Schedule an appointment many months in advance. (Ok, only about a month and a half. But I would argue that most people who decide they want a haircut tend to want one in a week, not six.)

(4) Confirm this appointment two weeks in advance via email by responding to an automatic reminder.

(5) Receive an annoying phone call reminder two days in advance, from an automatic voice dialer.

(6) Arrive fifteen minutes early for the appointment.

(7) Permit your assigned student stylist and stylist instructor to converse about your hair as if you were not attached to it.

(8) Fill out evaluation forms, fill out forms for another appointment if desired, fill out forms with no obvious purpose, receive forms telling you what products to buy, pick up some forms, etc. etc. ad nauseum.

I hope you understand that I think these are great haircuts and that I don't mind jumping through these unintentionally funny hoops to get them for free. Still, sometimes I forget how uncanny the entire experience is, until I go and throw a wrench in the gears by asking evidently unusual questions.

I happen to have another hair poking-and-prodding appointment on January 16 in the middle of the day (I'm on break from school and bored, don't judge). The relevance of this particular date and time is that tickets for a certain event go on sale on January 16 at 1pm and I'd very much like to have internet access at that time. I thought I'd either change my appointment or see if I could get online from inside the haircut factory. I spoke with the receptionist.

"Would I be able to schedule my appointment next Wednesday for later in the evening, or another day next week?"

"I'm sorry, we're all booked up until January 29."

"Hmm. I'll keep the 16th, then. I kind of need to access the internet for about 5 minutes during the appointment is the thing. Do you happen to have wireless internet here?"

(Keep in mind that I'm staring at the laptop in front of her while asking the question.)

"No, I'm sorry, we do not."

"Ah. Thank you."

...at which time I walked over to one of the couches in the waiting area, pulled out my laptop, and automatically connected to the network - no password required. The network is called "6th Floor," no less - the floor of the building that I happened to be on. (I could have also connected to 4th Floor or 5th Floor).

Was she actually clueless about their wireless network (it's possible the front desk laptops were plugged in to ethernet cables)? Or is it their policy to discourage the freeloader types like myself who comes in for free haircuts from doing disruptive things like opening laptops in the middle of what is actually a class for the student stylists? Or did she lie to me for kicks?

I decided to read the Wall Street Journal online until they called for hair was called. I don't think the receptionist noticed.

My Susceptibility to the Stupid Tax has Apparently Increased

2008-01-05T14:29:00.001-05:00

The Stupid Tax, which I loosely defined through an anecdote about my friend Leeds over a year ago, is an additional monetary fee that one pays due to poor planning or lack of research. You have been stupid, therefore, you have to pay to compensate. The term is widely employed across the internet (widely employed, at least, across the two pages of Google search results I chose to look at) and it generally refers to late fees, priority mail costs, and convenience charges. (The stupid are also often lazy). Wait to send a check that's due in another city tomorrow that you knew you had to send a month ago? Stupid Tax. Buy shampoo at the bodega across the street instead of walking 3 blocks to Duane Reade? Stupid tax. Return rental movies late? Stupid Tax.

You get the idea.

While the stupid always pay the Stupid Tax, it is generally only the smart - the very smart - who occasionally slip up, have to pay it, and then recognize that they are paying it. (These are also the sort of people who go on ironic vacations to places like Graceland and Niagara Falls, but that's another story.) There's no positive correlation between intelligence and the frequency of paying the Stupid Tax, of course. That would be ridiculous. But I vouch that the smarter you are, the more often you're aware that you're paying it. The stupid simply don't notice it.

Now, I could attempt to make an argument about how I may have blindly paid the stupid tax while working in Corporate America last year, my job lulling me into simpleton complacency. But I don't believe that's true. What I do know is that since I've been a student, I've had overdue library book fines of 10 cents a day per book totaling more than $15 in the past 3 months. Yes, the university lets me check out books for 6 months, but somehow the fiction and essays I always want to read for fun are never on the shelf. So I go to the public library, check out eight books and promptly forget that they're due in 3 weeks.

I'm not sure how I fell prey to this particular form of the Stupid Tax - all I can tell you is that I'm the only person I know in New York City who uses the public library, and the only person I know with overdue library book fines.

Draw your own conclusion.

Pseudo-intellectualism

2008-01-03T01:52:00.001-05:00

I've had a surprisingly social autumn and winter, particularly since I'm supposed to be (1) a penniless grad student who (2) studies all the time. So much for stereotypes. Think of the following photo as evidence of my life as a bizarro version of the New York Times' "A Night Out With..." column.

I study museum curatorship and anthropology these days, both as a front for my utter failure as an artist through numerous art-oriented day camps in elementary school and a cover for my packrat tendencies. Oh yes, and because I possess "intellectual curiosity" and stuff. Whatever.

Given that my area of interest is rather specific, it's not surprising that many of my friends don't really know what I "do" with myself, per say. Thus, they feel compelled to ask my opinion of any and all museum exhibits and to suggest museums that I should attend alone or with them. Never mind that I adore these conversations even though I have other interests. I have plenty of opinions on museums and I'm always interested in a field trip with a friend. What I'd like to show you is what happens when these museum conversations cross with cocktails: when Grad Student Audrey becomes indistinguishable from "A Night Out With" Audrey:

That would be an empty pack of gum with the words "Robert Moses" scrawled on it, I believe to remind me to see a still-open exhibit somewhere in Queens, with one of my college friends.

Or perhaps some guy at a bar told me his name was Robert Moses. The world may never know.

Your Face, in 2008

2008-01-01T15:54:00.002-05:00

I'm back. And I have an RSS Feed now. I dare you to subscribe.

Why Thanksgiving and Christmas Generically Annoy Me

2007-11-28T03:37:00.001-05:00

Together, Christmas and Thanksgiving are two of the heavyweights in the American Consumer Holiday Season (the other heavyweight being New Years and the lightweights being Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and everything else that's riding on Mr. Christ's coattails). I actually have no problem with mass consumption: shopping, eating, drinking, etc. I like giving and receiving gifts and I like going to parties. I could sketch out some grand manifesto about how I think advertising has usurped our culture, but eh, whatever.

No, I have more obscure personal issues with these holidays. Rather, I am pained by the atmosphere of the Christmas "season" and I dislike Thanksgiving "food." Let's start with Thanksgiving, since amazingly enough, my issues with Christmas are even weirder than disliking the food served at the Great American Eating Holiday.

There's a bit of background. I have a rather small family and we don't tend to invite guests for Thanksgiving. Turkey Day simply means "dinner at home" but with more restrictions: what we eat, when we eat it, what we wear and where I have to be. Everybody eats at the same time. No wearing the clothes you slept in. Get away from the computer and into the dining room. And eat some turkey.

Now really, I have no problem with turkey as a food (or a pretty amusing animal). I just don't think it's interesting enough to serve as the culinary centerpiece for a holiday, nay an entire *culture.* Turkey is fundamentally bland, particularly when served in the traditional Thanksgiving manner, i.e. with gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. I've eaten at several cooks' tables over the years and it's not them, it's the cuisine. I must admit I feel less constrained by the sweet potatoes, cornbread and pumpkin pie. I'll eat pumpkin in just about anything. But next year, please, someone invite me to a festive goat roast or something.

My Christmas problem actually begins during Thanksgiving and it is ANXIETY about schoolwork. (Yes. That crazy.) For four years, I attended a fine academic institution that scheduled final exams after winter break. (While I secretly loved the calendar, I also secretly love waiting around in airports - just so you know who you're dealing with here.) As a compulsive procrastinator, I would always spend all of Thanksgiving catching up on the work I ignored during midterms. I'd go into full blown study mode, but then let myself sleep for 12 hours on the couch, "because I wouldn't get to sleep that much again for a while." The same thing would happen when I was home over winter break, this time with final papers hanging over my head. To this day, when I hear Christmas carols, I get little pangs of guilt about all the work I need to do that I know I'll put off until the last minute - because of all the parties I'll attend.

This year, however, I'm done with school in mid-December. I am excited to see if I suddenly develop an affinity for "Jingle Bell Rock." But don't count on it.

Clock Day

2007-11-08T00:55:00.001-05:00

As it has been noted in the past, I have "trouble" with Daylight Savings time. I never know when it occurs, although this year I finally remembered which way to turn my clocks (Fall Forward, right?). But I'm proactive - I usually start asking my friends and family if they know when it is going to happen weeks in advance.

Ultimately, it's not the grand, sweeping notion that Time Is Changing that gives me pause. It's the simple follow-up question: "Wait, so then what time is it now?"

Without fail, for at least a week after the switch, I will have no earthly conception of the time. I must have some superhuman, sixth sense that makes me extremely sensitive to circadian changes. I can *feel* 5 pm. I *sense* dawn.

Or maybe I just own too many clocks and I never change all of them at once.

My cell phone and my laptop are well-behaved - they adjust to the new time without even restarting. (The cable box does as well, but considering I don't really know how to use our cable remote, that's not my turf.) My alarm clock, my stereo, my decorative clock, my 3 watches and the microwave all need to be changed manually.* And there's nothing more boring than pressing the tiny buttons on a digital watch 23 times to cycle it forward, in order to turn it one hour "back."

Usually, I get the clocks straightened out by Monday or so. This year, because I am a grad student, because certain universities decided to award Monday and Tuesday as "Fall Break," because I didn't have to be anywhere until 2 pm on Wednesday, I decided to delude myself a bit longer. There's nothing quite like waking up on Monday (at least, I think it was Monday), seeing the clock say 10 am and wondering what that means. Was it really 10 am? Or had I not yet changed the clock and it was 9 am? Was I actually supposed to adjust the clock an hour forward, meaning it was 11 am? Had I already adjusted it forward, translating to an actual time of 8 am? The possibilities are endless.

At any rate, I got my act together today and I am now once again available for time sensitive appointments. I promise.

_____________________________________
*Lest you think I own too much stuff, let me assure you that most of it from tag sales, the trash, or other sources that did not charge me more than $10. So... there's a lot of stuff, but it's cheap.

Trick of the Light? Or Actually Just Ugly?

2007-10-30T01:13:00.001-04:00

Such are the questions I ask myself every time I enter the lobby of my apartment building, in which I have lived for nearly two years. And no, it wasn't always this way.

The answer used to be "Just ugly."

Then they had to go and make everything *complicated* by getting new "art" for the walls and painting the floor. Yes, the floor. Why would they not simply replace the tiles? Or perhaps lay down new linoleum? (I take that back, I hate linoleum.) Why would one take a surface that, by definition, is going to get scuffed, and put a substance on it that, by definition, flakes off?

I come home in search of a respite from the outside world, or at the very least, the opportunity to ask my own questions instead of having them foisted upon me. ("Why is the R train running express today? How can a deli not carry pumpernickel bagels? Who says you can't get refunds for paperback books, even with a receipt? What do they mean by "organic" insecticide?) At home, I like to ask the big questions, like "Where are my pants?" and "Who threw out my stale bread?" You know, the questions with concrete answers.

Did I mention they painted the floor brick red? To uh, match the exposed brick wall? I can't even talk about the "art," it upsets me too much. Suffice it to say that it resembles framed wallpaper, in an aluminum relief that has been painted with shoe polish. The frames are nice, though.

But since this is MY apartment and I make the rules, I'm going to answer the unanswerable questions.

Q: WHY did they do this to my lobby?

A: To raise my rent, I'm sure.

(I'll update you when our lease comes due in February.)

The Stacks Story

2007-10-21T20:36:00.001-04:00

For those of you who don't know, I am now a grad student in a rather heady discipline at an equally heady university. The other day, I went into the library stacks to get a book - fairly standard operating procedure in academia-land. The stacks occupy some ten floors in the windowless core of the building, extending several stories underground, too. They are therefore insulated from light, sound, weather, the passage of time, happiness, humanity, puppies etc. The outer part of the library contains a fine selection of desks, couches, armchairs and other studying options, so you tend not to come across too many people in the stacks themselves.

I entered the stacks on the main floor and snaked my way down to the area where my book was located. When I got to the aisle, I was a little annoyed to find a sheet draped across it. It was definitely a bed sheet, not a tarp or a painter's drop, but I was busy thinking about getting the book and going home. I was quite surprised, then, to pull back the sheet and find five or so people seated cross-legged on the floor amongst a sea of books, notebooks, papers - and a rice cooker.

"Can we help you?" one of them said, clearly irritated that I'd found them. I looked at him blankly. They were probably undergrads and they were trying as hard as they could to look like they were doing work without actually accomplishing anything; I mean, the rice cooker was on. Who in the world has RICE in the STACKS? (I always prefer crunchy foods while studying.) I was confused and a bit stunned by the whole thing.

"I'm just getting a book, sorry..." I mumbled, trying not to laugh as I reached for my book. They were clearly serious about this whole secret-intellectual-rice-hideout thing.

"Well, in the future, could you please knock? Thanks," came the reply.
Personally, I think they should have offered me some rice.

PS - No, this isn't my story. It happened to a friend of mine, but it's a good one, eh?

Attention Ladies and Gentlemen

2007-10-20T14:47:00.000-04:00

The Blog is Back.

News!

2007-08-24T11:11:00.000-04:00

Hello, my pretties. I'm sure you've been wondering about my
whereabouts for the past weeks.

"I know she's a lazy bum who refuses to post daily, but this is ridiculous!"

"Two posts in three weeks? I'm outta here!"

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

I meant to write you this note from work, but I was a lazy bum and now that is no longer possible.

That's right - I finished my job and now it is on to Graduate School and Gainful Unemployment! or something. My last day at work was Friday, August 17.

What does that mean for you, dear readers? Well, it's a bit odd, considering that I started this blog from work, only wrote and posted it from work, and generally observed culture through the lens of work. As I have told you many times in the past, the blog will go on - the tone may change, and the frequency may change, but I'll still be here - ranting, raving, and reading your comments.

For now, though, I have to prepare to leave for Burning Man in 4 days, finish organizing my room (I moved to another bedroom in my apartment), register for classes, and pretend I'm a real person. It's a challenge, I tell you.

Love and Kisses -

Your fearless leader -

Audrey.

Everything I Own is Broken

2007-08-07T15:22:00.000-04:00

Well, almost.

Perhaps it's the late summer humidity and haze. Is bad karma at work? Did I buy all of these things at the same time and simply run them into the ground? Or maybe it's just dumb luck.

Within the past month, the following possessions have done gone broke:

- 1 pair of suede flip flops, strap snapped. Purchased Fall 2003.

- 2 purse handles, come undone. One purchased Fall 2002, the other Spring 2003. Both repaired in the Summer of 2005.

- One bathing suit, disintegrating. Purchased Spring 2003.

It's not just my college clothing. It's also my apartment.

The toilet in our back bathroom is finally committing seppuku. After 3 plumber visits over the past year and a half, countless handle shakings, instructive signs to innocent guests, and tank drainings/top removals, it no longer flushes with the handle. We now leave the top off so that hapless visitors can reach inside the tank to pull the long piece to drain the water. (Yes, those are the technical terms.) I think it's time to get new parts.

We also have ants in the toaster oven in my kitchen.

I don't want to talk about it.

I think I may just need to run off to the desert...

Mid Summer Haiku

2007-08-06T16:53:00.000-04:00

Last Friday, my dear friend the Healthcare Goddess scripted some lovely haiku about how slowly her workday was going. I am reposting them here for your reading pleasure. I think they fit a Monday as well as a Friday.

Friday Haiku

How slowly you go
Languid Friday afternoon
I wish it were five

A glacier must move
Faster than the minute hand
Stupid cubicle

(Of course, my weekend didn't end languishing in the office.)

Friday Night Haiku

Bright lights in the sky
It slipped my mind on that night
Lightning heralds RAIN

Like a caffeine jolt
"In case of emergency,
BREAK DANCE." Check your feet.

Saturday Wasteland

Hurry up and wait
Plumber? Exterminator?
I hate apartments.

Saturday Night

All of the tourists
They hijack my good ideas
Get off my island!

Sunday Sun Fun

Central Park uptown
Just three words: Capture. The. Flag.
Red, blue, run, sweat... bar.

Well-Traveled Tequila

2007-07-31T17:18:00.000-04:00

Two weekends ago, I went to Montauk. I brought a bottle of wine as a host gift. Someone else - and I really don't know who - brought a 1 L bottle of Jose Cuervo. Actually, two someones brought such bottles, as one was left over when I left at the tail end of the weekend.

This bottle of Jose had most likely been purchased in Manhattan or Brooklyn by someone who came out to the beach for the weekend. From NYC to Long Island, it was carried over hill and over dale to the beach - only to be ferried back to Manhattan by me.

...Until a week later when I sent it back to Long Island for a post-kayaking barbecue. I made sure that the bottle was opened, to prevent further tequila wanderlust. Save for the small bit that returned to Manhattan in my stomach, I believe it is safely settled in Rockville Center for the rest of its alcoholic life.

But I Thought Everyone Did That...

2007-07-26T15:33:00.000-04:00

After a long weekend of fun and sun, I decided to spend my Monday evening on the couch. After going to the gym, I plopped myself down - still sweaty, mind you - with a bag of Trader Joe's flax chips in front of a movie. Before long, one of my many, many roommates came blustering in the door. Apparently, her cell phone was broken.

"The condensation from my water glass at the restaurant leaked into it. Can you believe that?"

Indeed, I could not. I'm not sure how she managed to have her phone that close to the glass, but whatever. Still, because her phone was stolen at a club last year, she has insurance on the darn thing. It shouldn't be a problem. I reminded her.

"Yeah, but there's a little dot by the battery that turns red if you get the phone wet. Sometimes they don't replace it if you drop it in a puddle or sink. So I think I'm going to "lose" my phone again."

She took off her battery cover and showed me her red dot (that sounds dirty). She happens to have the same phone that I do, so I removed my battery cover as well. I tend to go easy on my electronics and my phone works well enough - I've certainly never dropped it in water. But oddly enough, my dot was red, too. How peculiar! I looked at the phone, looked at my roommate, and then looked back at the phone. Suddenly, I remembered the cause.

"Oh, that must be from the steam from when I talk on the phone in the shower."

Silence.

Silence.

"Wait, you do *what*?"

"You know, not when I'm washing my hair, but after the gym when I'm just rinsing off. I keep the phone out of the water, of course."

Silence.

"It's not like I've been drinking."

Laughter.

"Dude, no one else does that. Do people you're talking to know that you're in the shower?"

"Dunno."

"Weird."

Apparently.