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By Corinne Flax
November 21, 2005
Unlikely Subject Matter
It's 11:40 and I'm contemplating the future. Wondering. Currently I'm listening to a cd that was given to me by a little person. He didn't tell me what was on the CD, just gave it to me. The Cd has PJ written on it in sharpi marker. I heard, from a co-worker, that the CD would contain crappy rock music. The music is very light, and if light rock is your idea of crap, this certainly fits. It's sort of like the Eagles. I certainly don't like it, but so far it's mostly inoffensive.
The little person in question is a guy in his thirties, and he stands about three feet tall. He clearly has a lot of time on his (tiny...oh lord they are tiny) hands, because he hangs out at my Sbux all the time. He asked me today if I had hooked up with my Assistant Manager. I had to make a joke out of it. Just laugh and smile, say something saucy back. Of course I felt grossed out. Like I had in some way left myself open to his advances. Luckily with my size advantage I'd be able to pin him if he ever got to forward.
My new CD is sucking more and more now. It really sucks. The songs are all about finding love, and are sung in a yodeling style. Now I could be wrong about this but the CD sounds very well recorded, as if studio time had been spent mixing it, whatever that means.
-completely off the topic, but relating to mixing albums-
-A few weeks ago I listened to some original tracks off of the White Album that had been recorded Mono-
www.beatletracks.com/btwhite.html
Regardless of how well mixed this CD is, it really is awful. The lyrics are hackneyed and the music is maudlin and tear jerky. Perfect music to be played during a flash back sequence detailing a romance on a daytime soap opera. Except that it's not even that good, really.
Tomorrow the little person will be at my work again. He'll be there any day that we're open, which is 365 days a year. 365 days a year and he has nothing better to do then sit in Sbux, drink coffee, talk in his cell phone, and try to pick up whatever stays still long enough. It just seems like such a bleak and empty life. In fact this person, who clearly I talk to on an almost daily basis, is constantly full of complaints. Nothing seems to please him, probably in part because his advances are frequently rebuffed, or at least I assume they are. Perhaps I should be flattered that he is interested in me?
Regardless, I don't like the CD very much. I am not impressed by his musical taste, and that's very important to me. Music is important, like Art or Food, or Writing.
Actually the music kind of reminds me of this band called Somah that I liked when I was 13. A local band that played at the local concert hall The Globe. I loved Somah, but I was also thirteen and loved really thick black eye liner and Marilyn Manson...so...my point is....
Alright it's midnight. Enough midget music and writing. I hope I've gotten my point across somewhere in here. I'll edit in the morning.
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DNovember 17, 2005
BIG News
Here's what I've been doing two or three nights a week while driving home from work. I imagine that it's two months from now. I was rejected by all four of the schools I applied to. Despite this fact I still move to New York with my sister. I'm working three jobs to pay for our apartment, and I'm drinking a lot. My family is disappointed, but hopeful I'll figure something out. After imaging this I get teary eyed and upset. Thankfully this fantasy will no longer take place, because....
I got into Steinhardt, WOOOO! After I opened the envelope I jumped all around my house, ran down stairs and told my father. Then I proceeded to call all the people I knew; nobody answered their phones. Don't worry about my needing attention though. I was actually on my way over to my friend's house when I got the news, and after that to another friend's, and after that to O'Neil's for karaoke. What I'm trying to say is that there were plenty of friendly faces around me, congratulating me on my accomplishment and offering to buy me drinks.
I cannot begin to express my relief in words. I just can't explain how important it was to me to get into at least one of my schools. Bank Street is where I really want to go, but I didn't apply anywhere I didn't think would be an excellent fit. It would be funny if I finally went to NYU though. All through college I had tons of friends there, and would visit them all the time. Sometimes former (and current) NYU students think they remember me. They ask me "Weren't you in such and such a class with me?" which I always find amusing. My sister, as I've probably mentioned, is an NYU student currently. We could go to the same school again, for the first time since elementary! I did actually take one summer class at NYU with Professor Nettie Jones, it was a writing course called Writing the City, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.
Everything seems to be going well, which is always scary for me. The only strange physical problem I've had lately is having my finger crushed in refrigerator door at work. I still have to find an apartment, sell my car, transfer my job, pack up my room, and move; but at least I know for sure I'll be attending classes come Spring. The apartment search is what I worry about the most right now. Every day I go onto craigslist.org and search. I'm seeing a place (maybe two) on Saturday, but I doubt I'll end up in either one. My friends tell me it's the three weeks before your moving date that are really clutch. I've talked to a few people on the phone. One very strange man named Solomon who has a loft in Williamsburg .
Apparently Solomon was in the woods of Vermont for the last five years, but then moved back to the city. He got a huge loft in Williamsburg and lived there with five other guys for a while. Then he kicked them out, for being messy, and converted the six rooms into three. Currently two Swedish models have moved into one of the bedrooms, and he's looking to rent the other. He plans on installing central heating and darkening some of the windows so that the Hasidic Jews who live next door won't be able to look in. I told him I'd have to talk to my sister about the apartment, and that I'd get back to him, which is definitely not the case. As if he could hear the lie in my voice Solomon began telling me that he's looking for some genuine, down to earth, nice people. It's a jungle out there I'm telling you. Wait until I have to sell my car! In the words of my mother, a wise and understanding woman, "If it's not one thing, it's another."
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November 14th, 2005
Physician, Heal Thyself
Lately I haven't wanted to write anything. I haven't wanted to blog, haven't wanted to write short fiction, haven't wanted to look at my computer at all. I've been forcing myself to write, and the product is continuously terrible. I've actually loaded AOL Instant Messager to my computer, something I swore I'd never do because "It's such a time waster." Now I find myself hoping to waste some time. Of course there's tons of stuff I should be doing right now. Writing this blog is actually at the top of the list, so I suppose I should congratulate myself on getting something done. I always feel better about things after I write them down.
Thursday through Sunday of last week were incredibly hectic, and as I look back Wednesday wasn't really much more relaxing. Wednesday I was at Sbux till 3am putting up the Christmas decorations. Decorating the store was actually a lot of fun, but going in the next morning at 9am wasn't. After work on Thursday I picked up Anthony and we drove up to New Haven . There we picked up V, a friend from college, and went all the way up to Hartford . My friend Bobby (a sculptor) was having an art opening at a small gallery that is in some way attached to Trinity. The gallery is called the Broad Street Gallery, and if you want you can contact them at (860) 297-5232. The reason I had to go to this show, other then my deep devotion to my friends and the arts, is that I wrote Bobby's artist statement for him, and I love to see my work out in public.
On Friday I took my charge (the kid I babysit for) into the city, and then met up with T and Joey to go back up to New Haven . We spent the night at V's house and then went on to MA for Bree's 25 th birthday party. Bree was my roommate in college, and she turned all old this weekend. We bought her Depends and Metamucil to help her with the transition from early to mid twenties. Today is her actual birthday but she (like me) subscribes to the two weeks of birthday school of thought. To celebrate her birthday went out to Hibachi, drank scorpion bowls, went to some random hip-hop club in Worcester and broke onto the roof of her building It was all the usual birthday shenanigans plus the fun of seeing people I hadn't seen in a year or two, like Bree's brother.
Then on Sunday I drove my car full of friends back to New Haven and I left them there so I could continue on to work. I was so sad to see them receding into the background as I headed for I-95. I'm not sure how I got so lucky in the friend department. I can honestly say that my friends are the best friends in the whole world, and that if I could encapsulate them in bottles or bell jars so that I could keep them with me always, I would.
Anyway now I'm home and I'm so tired it hurts. Despite sleeping for nine and half hours I feel like someone has been smashing me in the head with a brick. My nose is clogged up, my throat hurts, my eyes are itchy, and I don't know where I'll be in two months. This whole past weekend people kept on asking me what I was going to be doing in a few months. They would lean in and say 'Have you heard from any of those schools yet?' All I could say was that I was still waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
I hate waiting.
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November 9th, 2005
Definitive Autumn Leaf Explanation
It's time. Time to talk about shushing* through leaves. I love swishing and shushing through big piles of leafs. My affection for piles of leafs goes back to my childhood. My grandfather dumps all of the leafs from his yard in one central location. He did this for years. Imagine, a decades old leaf pile. I'd guess it was about twelve feet deep. When I first discovered this pile of leafs I was about eight. That pile of leafs was one of the coolest things I'd ever found. I would literally dive into it, sliding around freely, safe in the crunchy embrace of fall.
These days I generally do not actually dive into piles of leafs. Either because I don't want to get all wet and dirty, or I feel like I'd be embarrassed if I was caught. My grandfather's leaf pile is (I assume) still in his backyard, which abuts my parent's yard. I haven't gone out there and checked recently though. I'm pretty sure that the twelve foot tall deer fence he installed bisects the pile pretty neatly, making pile diving a risky business at best.
So I content myself with shushing through the piles of leafs that I find on the sidewalk. There is a critical mass that each leaf pile must reach for maximum shushing pleasure. At the beginning of fall the leafs are few and they are still fresh and moist. They lie flat and boring on the ground, glorious in color, but imperfect for shushing. When there are not enough leafs you swish, not shush, and swishing isn't as fun. Right now, the middle end of fall, is the perfect time. The leafs have dried out quite a bit, but are not disintegrating yet. Also there are enough leafs on the ground that leaf drifts are inevitable. When you walk into a pile of leafs and you can actually feel the tiniest bit of pressure from the weight of the leafs, that's when you know it's time for leaf shushing.
I know that I am not alone in my love of fall and the pleasures it brings. Ian Fraiser, in this week's issue of the New Yorker discusses his love of stomping acorns in "Pensees D'Autmone" which I suppose is French for thinking in autumn or something like that. Check out his article here. I found it a pleasure to read.
The apartment hunt is in full swing now. I'm making phone calls, talking to weird guys named Sababa on the phone. Trying to make appointments to come and view apartments. I think I'll probably be killed by one of these supposed renters, but then who knows. I went to Barnes & Noble to try and find a book about looking for apartments, but apparently none have ever been published. If I wanted to buy an apartment building there would be tons of books for me to choose from. Apparently renters don't need instructions, just brokers, and I don't want a broker.
*Shushing through leafs is when you walk through a leaf pile in such a manner that the leafs seem almost to build up around you. This is caused by your kicking the leafs as you walk. In this case shushing is pronounced sh-ooo-sh-ing
Send comments to: corinne@college-admission-essay.com
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