I almost-write this post at least once a week.

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized

The following behaviors should be prohibited at the grocery store between 4 and 8 p.m.:

  1. Using a cart.  You do not need a cart to pick up enough items for 1-4 people to eat for 24-48 hours.  If you are shopping for the next two weeks, as some of you seem to be, (a) you need to be realistic about the size of your kitchen, and/or (b) come back later.  If you are disabled or too frail to carry a basket, you should have one of those little pushcart things.  
  2. Excessive dawdling.  You should have a good idea about what you want to buy before you go into the store.  Not that you aren’t allowed to change your mind, but this is not the time to conduct extensive in-store research on all the different meals you could cook tonight. Perfect mental shopping list: cobb salad, Stoneyfield farms single-serving yogurt, Amy’s frozen dinners, popcorn.  Acceptable mental shopping list: premade salad, yogurt, organic frozen meals, salty snacks.  Unacceptable mental shopping list: something to eat tonight, and maybe some other stuff.
  3. Standing in the aisle, taking up space, while you talk on the phone, fiddle with your organizer, or analyze your navel lint.  Step to the side or leave the store.
  4. Bringing more than two children under the age of six.  Nobody can wrangle three small offspring and a basket simultaneously in a crowded store; even two is pushing it.
  5. Spacing out in the checkout line.  This is not daydream time or serious-conversation-with-boyfriend time.  Move forward when the line moves; when you get to the front, go to the first register that opens up.  
  6. Spacing out at the register.  Put your items on the belt.  Accept the fact that groceries  cost money, and figure out how you plan to play.  prepare your money or card.  If you still have time and the checker is not bagging your groceries as she scans them, start bagging.  It will not kill you.
  7. Yelling at the checker.  Yes, she is slow.  They are almost all slow.  But what do you expect?  Her job is to stand up for hours on end and perform repetitive tasks at high speed while people like you harass her.  She is the same age as your children, most likely, but instead of being given a clothing-and-restaurants allowance by her parents while she drinks her way through an Arts and Letters degree at a small college upstate, she is supporting herself bagging your fussy organic groceries, which she most likely can’t afford to buy for herself.  Give her a break.

small question

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized
A little while ago I went upstairs to find some dinner and ended up spending half a hour nodding and inching away while my roommate lectured me on relationship tactics.  Apparently, men do not like it when women are too agreeable (not, I assure you, a trait I am known for) or when you are open to them or try to make them happy.  They like when women start arguments with them for no reason, and when women demand that they provide expensive jewelry, and particularly when women threaten to stop speaking to them entirely if they call two hours later than they said they would call.  When I told TSTM that I was going to strive to be as prickly as possible, according to this advice, he could barely contain his excitement. (that last sentence is a joke.  the rest is true, if presented in a sarcastic tone.)

I know I am not really any girl’s idea of a role model in these things, and I do feel for her but  considering our respective situations (me having by accident met a great guy who buys me ice cream if I mention I am craving it, even if it is two degrees out, and her devoting a significant amount of her energy to dating and still spending most of her time feeling lonely or used) if there is going to be unsolicited boy advice passing between roommates, shouldn’t it maybe be flowing in the opposite direction? 

must. grow. keratin.

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized

I haven't been blogging in part because I've been busy and in part because I'm feeling conflicted.  I am going to say something here that nobody in my real life seems to want to listen to, because people in my real life all think they know what is best for me, and it is increasingly difficult to argue after one has been listening to them for so many years.

Things are happening for me.  I've been invited to visit the department of one of our collaborators, where I will give a talk about older work and discuss current work with the collaborator.  I need to write a proposal for a position at a national lab for which I passed the first round of review.  I also have an interview, which I was not expecting, and which is both exciting and terrifying, because maybe I will screw it up and make a fool of myself, or maybe I will do really well and get a job offer.
You did not read that wrong.  I am half-dreading that I will get a job offer.  This is not a terribly likely occurence, since everyone screws up their first interview and I am sure not to be an exception.  And the job offer is nothing to dread; it is a very good department at a research university in a location not without redeeming features.  As many, many people have told me, one does not look such a gift horse as actually getting offered a job - even if it is a job I only applied for under duress, even if I applied for only a few jobs this year because this was just supposed to be a practice run, and if I had been going on the market for real I would have applied for more, and then there would have been more interviews and more possible offers, even if the chance of actually getting the offer is somewhere around 10% - one does not look this gift horse in the mouth.
Except.  If you have been reading this blog with any attention at all for the past year, you will have noticed I am not nearly as miserable as I had been.  In fact - and this takes me by surprise regularly, at least two or three times a week - I am happy.  If you are a constitutionally happy person this will mean nothing to you and you will say, "of course you are happy, why wouldn't you be happy?"  But I am not and have never been a constitutionally happy person, at least to my knowledge.    And now, suddenly, I find myself coming out of the subway on the way home from work, and the air smells like trash and there are people everywhere shoving me away from the turnstile and when I get home my one roommate will be stomping around trying to put makeup on while smoking a joint while the other roommate watches sports analysis on maximum volume, and yet I feel lucky.  Of course I am not cheerful all the time - I'm still me, and I still complain - but I'm just so much better.  
I know this last paragraph was not convincing, and I really cannot explain it or put it into words.  Maybe it is just that New York is exciting when one is new to it.  Maybe it's that so many things that were so bad for so long have improved and become, if not always perfect, at least okay.  But it is not my imagination.  The other day I said to N, "am I different the last few months?"  And he said, "you are happier".   I asked, "happier than when?"  And he said, "almost any other time I've known you."  N has known me since college, so that is a lot of time.  
And I do not want to let it go.  I don't know what it is that is so good about this life now, or where it came from, or whether it is something that grew from inside me or came from outside.  It might be living in an exciting city, or having a boss who doesn't hate me, or having girlfriends, or friendly work colleagues.  It might be not being isolated on a day-to-day basis - in Massachusetts I could easily go a week without exchanging more than three words with anyone.  It might be all the walking I do, or the constant sleep deprivation.  It might be the guy I'm dating or the roommates or the lights on the trees on campus or sleeping in a basement.  It might be any of those things (with varying probabilities) or all of them together, or something else entirely.  Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised by how good happiness feels, because after all it has to be what people want for a reason, but after being filled with so much misery and anger and hate for so long it is astonishing to feel that slowly slipping away, and parts of myself that had been clenched up so long I'd forgotten them uncurling and letting in the light.  
I have to hope this is not something that has to be temporary, I have to hope there is some way to figure out why everything is suddenly so good so that I can maintain whatever part of my current situation is responsible.  But right now I don't know.  I am like a cat in a cold cave that has accidentally wandered into a sunbeam of unknown origin, and until I figure out where the sunbeam is from and which direction to go to stay in it I don't want to move.  And I certainly don't want to be dragged in the direction everyone is telling me to go, which is how I've always moved and what has kept me in the dark for so long, just when I've finally found somewhere I'd like to stay for a little while.
However, as you'll know if you've ever tried to move a cat that has found a patch of carpet it wants to lie on, cats have claws.  When they don't want to move, they can cling pretty powerfully.  I need to learn from my cat-nature, because as it turns out I like being happy, and nobody is taking that away from me without a fight.

On the way home, I bought a red pepper.

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized

I’ve been to three ballet performances in the last ten days.

The first was last Tuesday.  I went to see Coppelia with three of my groupmates.  It was pretty good.  I loved the first act - it was so witty and funny.  The second act was quite absorbing.  The third act… well, it was nice dancing, but I was sort of getting ballet-ed out, and while I enjoyed it I wasn’t as excited.  
(If you don’t know, this is a very entertaining ballet, funny and charming and comedic (as in, it ends with a wedding) and, best of all, full of sardonic feminist wit.  Brunhilda’s boyfriend falls in love with a life-sized mechanical doll, Coppelia; when he sneaks into the doll’s magician owner/father’s workshop, Brunhilda follows him out of jealousy.  The magician finds the boyfriend and drugs him; Brunhilda pretends to be Coppelia come to life, tricking both the magician and, when he wakes up, the boyfriend.  Then she reveals her trickery and they are shocked; the boyfriend begs forgiveness and they marry, while the magician is suitably miserable.  This is more or less how life is - men are attracted to images of women they can predict and control, until they realize that those women aren’t, you know, real, and it is seems to be the eternal duty of real women to point out to men that part of the beauty of other human beings is that you don’t know everything they will do.)
The second ballet was Cedar Lake, which is a contemporary ballet company/theater.  That had three acts to, but no plot.  The first act was a bit too contemporary for me - it was basically dancing to static.  That doesn’t mean it wasn’t impressive, but it was a bit too aggressive for my taste.  The second act was better, with many interwoven parts.  I wouldn’t have thought so before I moved here and started going to contemporary ballet performances, but male ballerinas (ballerinos?) are quite graceful and beautiful, especially when they dance in pairs.  … The third act of the Cedar Lake performance was amazing, possibly the best part of all three ballets.  Again it had many parts, and sort of a thematic plot that emerged from the parts.  It ended up being absorbing and dynamic and varied, and ultimately very moving (I cried).
Tonight I saw the Miami City Ballet, which is in town for the week.  It was sort of semi-contemporary… the first two acts were choreographed by Balanchine (who did The Nutcracker and Copellia) and the last one was more modern-y… also, the costumes and staging/lighting were very well done.  The first act was almost military, very precise.  It was good but seemed to go on.  The second act, La Valse, was dramatic and beautiful and tragic - it seemed to have at least as much plot as a full play.  The third act was the other candidate for best part of the three ballets… I didn’t think I would like it at all, because the progra made it sound pretentious, and it started out a little weird, but the dance was sort of canon-like, with echoes and interweavings and themes fading in and out, and by the end, a five-minute rapid-fire climax, I had to remind myself not to hold my breath.  We gave them a standing ovation, and they deserved it.

my new suit (boring girly post about clothes)

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized

Just now I finally got around to trying on my new skirt suit.

Yes, I have a skirt suit.
How, you may ask, do I have a skirt suit?  If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you probably do not think I am the type to have a skirt suit.  Ten years, or ten months, or ten days ago, I would have agreed with you.  This is for many reasons:
  • I don’t dress up much, particularly for work.  I have only owned three suits in my life, all pantssuits, of increasing quality, culminating in the black Anne Klein suit I got on sale at Macy’s, that I love.  (I also still have a sort of browny-purple pantssuit that does not look unlike pajamas)
  • I am not the girliest of all people, or at least this is what I always think about myself, although increasingly it is pointed out to me ths is a misconception and I am in fact quite girly.
  • As a scientist, it takes a lot of self-confidence to also try and look like a woman.
  • Skirts are hard to buy if you’re short.

I especially did not think I would be buying a skirt suit last weekend because I wasn’t actually in the market for a suit.  I was in the market for a blazer to wear with my gray pants for an outfit that would be suitable for my non-interview seminar that I just did yesterday.  I had worn the gray pants with a sweater, which I felt was dressy but not super-professional, and my only blazer was a camel blazer (i.e. not wearable with gray) that is more of a man-shape, and that I think henceforth I will only wear with jeans.

So TSTM and I went to Macy’s last weekend (i.e. ten days ago).  Yes, that’s right, I went clothes shopping with a man, and both of us emerged from the experience alive, and still speaking to each other.  In fact, even though the trip was long and filled with obstacles and also sleet, we didn’t fight at all.  We did learn a lot: TSTM learned that I have no idea what looks good on me but have many preconceived notions, that I’m a perfectionist, and that I’m broke and/or cheap; I learned that he is the slowest living creature in the universe (seriously, it takes him about ten minutes to try on a single pair of pants and conclude that, no, it is not made of magic and therefore it does not create the illusion he has an ass, and you feel every second of that ten minutes when you are standing (women’s fitting rooms have benches outside, but men’s fitting rooms don’t, because probably after one trip like this one smart women refuse to shop with their men, or else they do the shopping and leave the men at home to grunt at the computer) outside the fitting room in the Urban department because you are dating someone who believes, counter to all available evidence, that he is a hipster).  (of course, you should not take any of this as complaining.  slow and flat-butted he may be, but that is part of his charm.)
Anyway.  The particular instigation for the trip was the blazer I wanted to buy, except they didn’t seem to have any blazers.  They only had suits.  But the suits were largely on sale, for very reasonable prices, and I thought, well, if I can get a suit for $100, and it has a jacket I can wear with other pants, isn’t that actually better than spending $70 on a blazer?  Because then I have a suit.  And since I have two interviews coming up, and interviews last two days, it will give me an easy answer to what to wear on the second day.
But all the suits were skirt suits.  And who wears skirt suits?  Maybe nobody, which is why they were on sale.  I wasn’t even going to try any on, but TSTM wanted me to (apparently skirts are “cute”, which is not exactly the same thing as “professional”) so I did.
Amazingly, the dressing room did not cave in on me.  Nor did TSTM flee, still holding my coat, in disgust.
However, he did point out that I would look a lot more like a viable faculty candidate, and a lot less like a sixteen-year-old wearing her grandmother’s clothes, if I wore a suit that actually fit (not, obviously, in those words). This meant grappling with the actual size of my body as opposed to just putting on things that were so big that they didn’t really touch me.  We learned that I am an 8 Petite, and that in fact I am smaller than a lot of the clothes that are marked as being 8 Petite.  I am not an 8.  Not a 10 Petite.  Not a 10.  It is amazing how much better clothes look when they are actually the proper size for one’s body. 
The major issues in finding a suit seemed to be that (a) most of them were alarmingly bright colors, and (b) most of them, even in the size that fit me, were apparently designed for old ladies or perhaps cross-dressing men.  They had huge amounts of extra space in the upper back, and lots of extra skirt-fabric (i.e. in the leg area, not the hip and waist area that might suggest I should try a smaller size), and if the skirt fit the jacket was always enormous because dressmakers haven’t caught on to the fact that women who are not models have busts smaller than their hips.
Finally I (meaning, TSTM) found a suit I liked, and it really surprised me because it was not a suit I would have expected to like.  It has a pattern; isn’t that supposed to be fattening?  Also it has this weird unnecessary belt, which I wouldn’t have chosen for myself because I hate fake things and also drawing attention to my waist.  But it works; I think the belt reinforces the idea that I am a person of finite size and not a shapeless lump in shoulder pads.  But then - argh! - the suit was not available in my size, and the regular 8 was too long in the sleeves and skirt and too big in the back.  
Fortunately, I am stubborn.  I ended up buying the suit online from another store (see it here; isn’t it pretty?) and just now I tried it on.  (Yes, I know, its original purpose is past… I wore the black jacket from my other suit with the gray pants.)  It fits pretty well.  The back isn’t too big, and the skirt is only a hair too tight, and the sleeves are too long but they look fine cuffed (I wear many things with the sleeves cuffed because I like the way it looks - in this case, with a skirt suit, I think it reduces the girliness factor), and I don’t know how long the skirt is supposed to be, but it doesn’t entirely cover my knees, so it’s long enough that I don’t have to worry about sitting down, but I don’t think it’s this-is-my-mother’s-skirt long.  So, it’s all good.
Now, I just need shoes.

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized

Item: Economy=crappy; jobs=in toilet.  Just got an email containing the word "sorry" about six times canceling one of my upcoming interviews.  Know I should be really disappointed but am finding it difficult to muster the strength, because last night I got offered another interview.  So still have two interviews, but now they are earlier.  Two weeks.  Is not very long.  Fortunately I have another 18 months here and next year I will go out for jobs for real, and perhaps in between I will have some time to do work and/or sleep.

Item: Have just given myself a haircut.  Not the metaphorical haircut everyone is talking about vis a vis the economy, but an actual cutting of my hairs.  I was getting a bit scraggly, and I noticed last week, in a hotel with opposing mirrors, that there was an alarming differential between different parts of my hair.  This is due, I think, to my last haircut, which was quite expensive and which I did not, actually, like.  I understand that I am probably not the best person to be cutting my own hair, but so far I have found nobody who can do it (a) quicker, (b) cheaper, or (c) with less probability of failure (I have only given myself one haircut that I thought was actively bad, and have received many from other people).  Perhaps haircuts that professionals give are not meant to last for seven or eight months?  But I do not like for my hair to be as short as professionals insist on cutting it.  Anyway, right now it is about 20% from the short end of my preferred length range (before it had been about 10% from the long end - I cut it because it was scraggly, not b/c it was too long, and I didn't want to go too short in case I had to correct it later) and, while I'm sure it looks terrible, I am pretty sure it cannot be as bad as it was (seriously - there were spots in the back that were multiple inches longer than the spots right next to them).

Item: they are trying to poison us.  I am convinced that the air in my office is full of mold or evil chemicals.  I have noticed that very frequently I start to feel sick in the middle of the afternoon, and it always clears up when I go home.  On weekends or when I work from home, this doesn't happen.  Also, I don't usually get watery eyes when I am actually ill.

Item: speaking of the economy, I totally fail to understand.
part a) Bonuses.  Boni?  This is what everyone is talking about now  TSTM gave me a long explanation of how the bonus is actually a part of their pay, just deferred to the next year for tax purposes (which seems like it should be illegal for companies to do), and to not get any bonus at all would be like taking a major pay cut.  Except (a) lots of people have taken pay cuts, and perhaps people in bankrupt companies or industries would normally be among them, and (b) I am having a hard time feeling sympathy for people who need, like, 1/3 of their income so little that they can get it all at once.  Would it work for my employer to give me $50,000 in February and the rest of my salary over the rest of they year?  No, because I would be paying them money most of the time, and I would die.  I understand that my skills are not as valuable as those of the people who destroy the economy for a living, but still.

(This should not be construed as saying TSTM should not get a bonus.  He is not one of the evil ones; he just works there.  And obviously he should get a very big bonus, and also he should get at least half of his boss's bonus for saving his ass pretty much constantly over the last few months, and also he should not have to attend 9 a.m. meetings on Sunday mornings, particularly when I want to sleep in, and somebody should make him leave work at a reasonable hour every day and occasionally take a vacation, or at the very least raise his salary by about 50% because he is brilliant and hardworking and clearly they do not appreciate him enough.  I am talking about the big fish and the brokers and so forth, the people who are getting as bonuses more than normal people make in their entire lives, financed by taxpayers like you and me.)
(Also, I do not really resent my … petite… earning potential.  It is just, I have never known people who made more money than me until now, because I have only known other academics, and if they made more money it was because they were further along.  Nor have I ever really known people who made less.  It is sad seeing people I know who are brilliant and hardworking but, because they are grad students and are trying to support spouses and small offsprings, cannot afford to do things like eat lunch.  I try to help such people when I can, in ways that are not too obvious.  But it does not escape me that monies I consider trivial - $5 for lunch from the cart - are out of their reach.  Nor does it escape me that monies I consider too large to disburse - $250 for a nice, feminine, leather case to hold my laptop on interviews - are considered trivially small by some people, and that I am considered cheap for not wanting to spend them.  I am in fact cheap.  But living here has made me aware of all the pleasant things money can buy and how many people take them for granted and how they can actually be quite nice.  For the first time ever, my cheapness is eclipsed by the fact that I do not actually make all that much.  There are actually things I would like, that don't strike me as unreasonably expensive, that I cannot afford.  It has never happened before, and it is very strange.)
b) (of the economy)  What, really, is the problem?  I mean, I know what the problem is, I have read about it, derivatives built on the back of subprime mortgages that failed, leveraged banks, massive panic.  But I do not, on an intuitive level, understand.  All of these numbers that used to be very big and now are very small (or are very big, but negative) - they are just numbers.  The actual stuff has not changed.  All the houses are still there.  All the pieces of paper with promises written on them are still just promises.  Any money owed by one company or person is owed to another company or person.  All of the physical stuff that people have been buying and selling - it still exists, and its fundamental usefulness to people hasn't changed.  It is still just as nice to have a new laptop or purse or house as it was two years ago.  So I am not sure why the problem isn't in everyone's collective heads.
Moreover, it seems like nothing bad has really happened.  I mean, there were a bunch of worthless pieces of paper being passed around, and some rich people were making themselves richer by being paid 5% or whatever of every worthless-paper transaction.  And now it has been exposed that the pieces of paper are worthless and a lot of people are very upset.  But so what?  Nothing of value has been destroyed because nothing of value ever existed.  The worthless-paper boom was illusory, and the wealth everyone in the worthless-paper business thought they had never existed, so nobody really lost anything; they only realized that they never had anything to begin with.
c) Increasingly I think people should not be allowed to graduate high school without being taught basic financial management or at least subtraction.

Apparently, this sort of mental fuzziness on the part of boys is normal.

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized

… at least according to today's xkcd .  clearly a web comic about math, programming, and geek love is a good arbiter of what is normal, at least in my neck of the mental and emotional woods.

fun fact

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized

Yesterday morning I sent two emails :

  1. Out-of-the-blue note to a second cousin I've met a handful of times in my life, most recently about five years ago, regarding the state of our respective lives.
  2. Email to TSTM about our plans for Sunday, including questions and a specific request in the subject line for him him to reply.

I have received a reply to one of these emails.  You will have no trouble guessing which.

part 1

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized
  • TSTM tells me that once upon a time - i.e., six months ago - investment bankers and their ilk were revered, and that just by working for a company full of them he absorbed some of their deity-like sheen.  I dismissed this as miscellaneous bad-old-days talk (”just so you know, before i met you, i could get laid 365 nights a year!  or, anyway, 3!”), since from my non-NYer perspective, nothing has really fundamentally changed.  Yes, we all kind of think investment bankers and businesspeople in general are chumps, just as TSTM fears (he is a software developer, so not a chump), but this is not somehow new.  They were always chumps.  In college, people who majored in business were people who couldn’t cut it in a hard major, like physics or engineering, and were too personally bankrupt to have anything they really cared about, like history or literature.  So instead they picked an easy major that they knew would lead to an easy, do-nothing job after graduation; most of them even made fun of themselves and their classes (i.e. the non-calculus version of calculus).  Even when I was a kid, everyone knew businesspeople were boring, emotionally stunted, and not actually all that bright; Michael J. Fox made an entire career, in the late 80’s and early 90’s, of playing the only guy in the skyscraper with half a brain.  And hasn’t the slang term “suit” existed for decades, to describe such people as, well, nothing more than their expensive, well-tailored clothing?  But recently I’ve been reading a lot of newspaper and internet articles talking about how we were once so proud of Wall Street (i.e. where morality goes to die) as the crown jewel of capitalism or whatever, so now I’m wondering.  Did I spend my whole life up to now in an alternate universe where people valued thoughtfulness and jobs that contributed to society, and considered blatant purposeless grasping for money, however successful, to be unseemly?  Or is it the newspapers that are operating in an echo chamber, idolizing NYC business types because that’s what they’re paid to do, and finding themselves shocked (and out of a job) when that idolatry turns out to be not entirely justified?
  • (Yes, it is rough for me that I’m dating someone who works for a money company.  We have had arguments about it, cloaked in my objections to how he plays cards “only to win”.  He has tried to explain to me how his company does things that are good for businesses / people / the economy, and obviously these companies in general are not always the evil, money-sucking grubs they currently appear to be, and it is not like he is actually physically kicking old ladies and small children out of their homes, but it is still hard when I hear all day about how the financial bailout is costing us hundreds of billions, or possibly trillions of dollars, and people are unemployed, and there are homeless people on the train asking me for money, and Barack Obama is talking about how we all need to work together to make the world a better place, and I know in my head that, yes, some of the people in the world need to write software to help bankers make money, and also some people need to work at car dealerships, and some people need to sell widgets to Walmart, and some people need to develop ad campaigns for things nobody really needs, and while those people are not contributing in as obvious a way as the people who are helping starving people in Africa grow their own food or the people who are teaching inner-city children how to read, they are contributing nonetheless, and it all fits together - even though I know that, it is still hard to feel like it sometimes.  And I feel bad about my own level of contribution as well, because I am not helping alleviate starvation or illiteracy either, and for every dollar I give a homeless person in the train I spend another dollar on a total non-necessity like coffee, and I am jealous of the people who have real lives that they built on purpose, like the sister of a girl I knew as a kid, who is an environmental and scientific journalist, and she writes articles for magazines you’ve actually heard of, about endangered wildlife and chemicals in your food, and she gets sent places to do research in the field and help develop television shows, and on her web page she is standing in a field of really tall grass, smiling and sort of looking off in the distance and looking so happy with her life, like she walked into this field for a reason, and she is accomplishing what she set out to do.  And all I am doing is flailing about, dragging my issues and my three hundred books to a new state every few years, with time just passing and passing and me not going anywhere in it.  And I know everybody feels like that sometimes, and there are other ways of telling my story that make it sound better, and probably ways of telling this other person’s that make it sound less good, and really I am doing pretty well, which is mostly all one can hope for, and actually so is TSTM, and he is a good person who is good at his job, which is a useful one.  But maybe I should find a soup kitchen to volunteer at.)

what just happened

Author: admin  //  Category: Uncategorized

This has been an eventful day/weekend/week.  In the distant past, i.e. a few days ago, I went to the ballet and a modern dance performance, met a distant cousin for coffee after not seeing him for a couple decades and an old friend/flame for another coffee (at, as it happens, the same cute little place) while he was in town, and spent a great deal of time haranguing a few hundred lines of equation and code into some semblance of functionality.

This morning I went out into a city full of snow.  I decided to spend a couple hours in Starbucks; this is part of a renewed effort to avoid my office, in light of the fact that (1) the air in that room makes me physically ill, and last week I went through an entire box of tissues, and (2) my groupmates are mildly annoying, and since I am going to be spending dozens of hours in close quarters with them soon with no possibility of escape, I should perhaps escape a little bit while I can.
So, I'm in Starbucks.  It is reasonably cozy in there, considering that the entire outdoors is a morass of blowing ice.  With coffee and muffin in hand, I sat down at a table in the corner, ready to caffeinate and get to work.
"Are you Jewish?" asked the gentleman at the table next to mine.  I had not really noticed this gentleman before, which means I've been living in New York for too long, because previously I would have avoiding sitting anywhere near such an individual.  He had all the trappings of a Scary Urban Type, by which I mean a scarf wrapped around his head like a turban and pants that were not anywhere in the neighborhood of his waist.  I was kind of taken off guard by this question, which I regard as a fairly nosy one coming from basically anyone who has no reason to be talking to me in the first place.  I said yes, in a tone indicating (I thought) I had no idea why he was speaking to me and did not care to find out.
"You're sexy," he announced.  It took me a minute to process that information, because it is not really the kind of thing you expect strangers in Starbucks to be saying to you at nine in the morning, particularly when you are wearing clothes that have been balled up on somebody else's couch for two days and have dirty hair and stressy skin.
"Thank you," I said, being very careful to not do anything that might be construed as smiling.  I thought this concluded the conversation, so I sat down and began arranging my things.  Urban Gentleman continued talking.  "You probably don't get told that a lot, but you are."  Hrm.  Maybe this is a "neg", designed to make me feel bad about myself so I will sleep with him?  It is true I am not frequently told I am sexy by strangers in coffee shops, but I do not consider this a bad thing.  And as a matter of fact, I do not feel that there is any particular vast lack of men who let me know they find me attractive, and I am not sure I have felt any particular vast lack in the recent past, and I happen to have standards for who I wish to date-slash-fuck that includes the ability to make intelligent conversation about something other than my alleged hotness.
At this point, UG's companion spoke up.  She was an unfortunate-seeming girl (neither of these two struck me as adults, either emotionally or, really, chronologically - they were maybe twenty, tops) dressed in an ensemble suitable for either a homeless person or a cutting-edge fashionista, which might have been what she was (either one, really).  She told UG to leave me alone, causing him to embark on a monologue about how he is looking for his soulmate, which I am pretty sure he is not, and then after this conversation he said, "excuse me, ma'am?" (i do not think i would ever go out with anyone who had ever called me ma'am) and then he asked if he could take me out to dinner, and i said no, and he asked why i wouldn't give him a chance, and i told him my boyfriend would probably not like it, and then he embarked on a monologue about how my boyfriend is not my soulmate so why does it matter, which i think is pretty interesting because everyone knows that in such a statement the so-called boyfriend does not necessarily exist; he is simply being invoked to avoid having to give an explanation.
Fortunately, UG was soon distracted by a phone call.  It was his companion's boyfriend, and somehow he managed to offend UG.  The girl then embarked on a long conversation in which she repeatedly begged her boyfriend not to come to the Starbucks, which was apparently ineffective, because he did come.  He and UG engaged in some long-winded verbal posturing about how they were going to fight, which the girl tried to stop by pointing out that there was a van full of cops parked outside.  Eventually the girl and her boyfriend left and went into the subway. Ten minutes later, UG went out; when he returned, he boasted to the miscellaneous people around the coffee shop that he had taught the other guy a lesson, which I do not believe for one second.  Then he and another guy at the coffee shop (there seemed to be quite a few miscellaneous types around - they didn't really look homeless, too well-dressed and with not enough stuff, but they didn't seem to have anywhere to be or anything to do, or computers or books or other coffee-shop accessories) embarked on a dialogue about The Man.
Anyway, that would have been a much more interesting story if I had done more showing and less telling, or maybe just less telling.  The postscript is that I got something working that has been broken for months, and that when I eventually left the Starbucks UG was still there, giving anyone who would listen his take on racial politics.  The lesson is that even busy Starbucks near major subway stations can be scary and weird.