Lists are on the brain lately. Here are 100 completely random things about me. Enjoy. Or not.
One Hundred Things about Me
1. My family and old family friends call me “Thomas.” I didn’t start going by “Tom” until I started grade school.
2. My first nickname was “Heimer.”
3. My mom had a brother and a sister whom I knew pretty well.
4. My mom’s other sister is mentally retarded and lives in a group home in Wisconsin. Her name is Jean Marie and she can’t speak.
5. I used to be 6”3 ½ but now I’m only 6’2” ½.
6. I was accused of being skinny until I was out of college. Then I grew overweight sometime in my early thirties. I had to have been a perfect weight somewhere in the middle, but I didn’t keep track and didn’t appreciate it at the time.
7. I love all animals, but have a very strong bond with cats for some reason.
8. I’ve had glasses since the third grade. I stopped wearing them in fifth grade, and didn’t start wearing them regularly again until I was in college. Now I can’t really function without them.
9. I’d tell you where I was born, but I’m afraid someone might use the information to steal my identity.
10. I lived in Minnesota for eight years.
11. I lived in France for only one year, but I still speak French.
12. I lived in Russia for four months. I don’t speak Russian very well.
13. I speak Norwegian fairly well.
14. I am currently studying Chinese.
15. I’ve never officially studied Spanish, but I can usually figure it out. Our answering machine operating instructions came only in Spanish, but I was able to figure them out.
16. My first and only dog was a basset hound named Amos.
17. I’ve owned seventeen cats over the years. Never more than four at a time, and that was only because my cat Annie had three kittens.
18. I have two brothers and a sister. My oldest brother became mentally ill when I was only eight.
19. I like Jerry Seinfeld and Rachael Ray. I don’t like Ray Romano or Emiril Legasse.
20. I am not legally married.
21. I thought I wanted to have children, but I feel like I waited too long and now it would be too expensive to send them to college.
22. There is almost no food I don’t like.
23. I get annoyed with picky eaters.
24. I get annoyed by a lot of things, which is one of the reasons I started a blog called Five Things I Hate.
25. My lower back goes out sometimes.
26. I enjoy being fit, but going to the gym is really boring to me.
27. I used to like to travel, but now I find it stressful.
28. The person in my family I had the most in common with died in Iraq.
29. I am ashamed of our country right now.
30. I was very religious for a few years as a child when my parents made me go to Sunday school. I grew up as a Lutheran.
31. When the Lutherans began to annoy me, I fell away from the church. I spent a number of years looking for a religion that really spoke to me.
32. I decided I was a Quaker at heart over ten years ago, but have never officially joined a Meeting because I don’t want to commit.
33. I like talking to people about their religious beliefs.
34. I don’t understand fanaticism about professional sports.
35. I’m very picky about the kind of people I like. But once I decide I like someone, it’s very rare for me to change my mind.
36. I don’t know many of my dad’s relatives very well, except for a few of my cousins and one aunt. The ones that I do know well, I really like.
37. I take after my parents in both positive and negative ways.
38. People tend to think I’m smarter than I am. It makes me uncomfortable. Some people think I’m borderline retarded. Sometimes they’re right.
39. I think my brain functions unlike anyone else’s, which makes it difficult for people to understand me.
40. I’m an introvert on the Meyers-Briggs scale.
41. I express myself better in writing than in speaking.
42. My mother-in-law hates me.
43. I’ve enjoyed watching cooking shows since I was a young child.
44. I barely watched TV at all during high school and college. Now I watch too much.
45. I play the piano pretty well, but regret not working harder at it as a child.
46. My favorite color is navy blue.
47. I like the Pacific better than the Atlantic. I like the West coast more than the East coast.
48. If I could live anywhere in the world I would choose Hawaii. Or maybe France.
49. I want another cat really bad, but I don’t want the responsibility of a pet right now.
50. I love Thanksgiving and Christmas.
51. I learned to knit when I was in college, but I thought it was really boring.
52. I’ve never understood why some people can’t read maps. I’ve always just pretended I was small enough to walk on the map I was looking at, and then it all makes sense.
53. My failure to understand why some people can't read maps is one reason why I would not be a good teacher.
54. I hate the Seinfeld episode where they get lost in the parking garage. I love the one where George and Elaine trade places, and the backwards episode.
55. I fell in love with musical theater when my parents took me to see “The Sound of Music” when I was seven. When we got home from the show, I listened to the album repeatedly and memorized the names of all the kids.
56. I’ve never liked the musical “Guys & Dolls” because this guy in my high school who used to be really mean to me sang “Luck be a Lady” in a school revue.
57. My high school was really, really homophobic.
58. I was really mean as a kid, sometimes.
59. Some close friends of our family died when their house burned down when I was eleven. I’ve been scared of fires ever since. Occasionally, during stressful periods of my life, I wake up in the middle of the night and think the house is burning down.
60. One time when I was twenty-five, there was a real fire in my apartment building in the middle of the night when I was sleeping. When I woke up to the smell of smoke and the sound of the alarms, I was so disoriented that I panicked and busted a living room window with my bare hands. Then I had to go to the emergency room. I still have small scars on my hands & wrists.
61. I once dated a guy who grew up on the Isle of Man. I called him my Manx, tailless boyfriend. He thought I was annoying.
62. I almost never forward mass emails, but I don’t mind getting them.
63. One of my best friends from high school became a Mormon and doesn’t really talk to me much any more.
64. I’ve never been arrested.
65. I think cheap Mexican food is best in California. All my Californian friends who have lived anywhere else agree with me on this.
66. I wish smoking weren’t unhealthy.
67. I’ve always thought life should be like a musical. At crucial moments, people should spontaneously burst into song with background music and everything.
68. I’m not really claustrophobic, but I’m terrified of escalators.
69. I really liked college.
70. I liked high school too, but less than college.
71. I wish I had thought harder about career choices when I was younger.
72. My favorite female prototypes from TV are Mary Tyler Moore and Samantha Stevens. I can’t think of any favorite male prototypes.
73. 2005 was the worst year of my life, seconded only by seventh grade.
74. I have never lost my sweet tooth.
75. I had my tonsils out when I was seven. I always wonder if I’m supposed to list that on medical questionnaires when they ask if you’ve ever had surgery. I usually do, but then feel stupid about it.
76. I try never to lie, partly because I think it’s wrong, and partly because I’m really bad at it.
77. I wholly subscribe to Miss Manners’ theories on modern etiquette.
78. I once had a professional job where I worked some days and some nights. I really liked that kind of schedule.
79. I once worked as a cocktail waiter. I liked that too because it was easy, paid fairly well, and allowed me to have my days free which was nice in the summer. And I never had to pay for alcohol.
80. Now when I drink I mainly do it at home because I prefer to make my own cocktails. And, I can’t stand paying $8.00 for something I can make for about twenty-five cents.
81. I like it when people look in our refrigerator without asking, just to see what we have.
82. I want to move somewhere once and for all, and then stay there.
83. I have about four people I could conceivably call a “best friend.” It would be nice if there were only one and then we could just be best friends, but then what would I say to the other three? Plus, all my “best friends” have people of their own vying for the title as well.
84. I believe we never really leave grade school. See above.
85. I’m not incredibly picky about restaurant service, but I do want my drink served before my meal. I have a policy of not ordering my food before I have my drink in hand, but sometimes I forget and often live to regret it.
86. I like to say “yes” whenever possible. I don’t like “no” people. But I also don’t like it when people say “yes” when they have no intention or ability to follow through.
87. I get mad but rarely hold a grudge.
88. I spend a lot of time regretting things from the past. I keep meaning to stop that.
89. Some people tell me I’m a nice guy, but I don’t always believe they really mean it. How could they, when I feel so mean inside sometimes?
90. I work better independently than as part of a team.
91. I’ve written about twenty pop songs in my life, most of which I’m not satisfied with.
92. I love going to the movies. I would go twice a week the rest of my life if I could manage it.
93. I want to live somewhere very rural, but am afraid I would not be accepted anywhere but in a large city.
94. George gave me tap dancing lessons as a gift once. It was one of my favorite gifts ever.
95. Not many people understand me, but the few who do really like me.
96. If I woke up as a female one morning, I would have no idea what to wear.
97. I used to work with this woman who was really giddy and hyper. I adored her, but everyone else thought she was annoying.
98. I think Cate Blanchett should have won the Best Actress Oscar for “Elizabeth.”
99. I once bleached my hair stark white and wore it that way for about six months. I really liked it, but no one else did.
100. My next list will be my top 100 favorite foods.
COASTER PUNCHMAN'S WORLD: Alarming my readers since 2004
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Monday, April 17, 2006
Coaster Punchman: The Internet's Hidden Horror
In this morning's New York Times, I read the following words:
"Cyberstalking is the hidden horror of the Internet."
I'm speechless.
Well, almost.
Back when I was a kid (like in 1996) "cyberstalking" just meant looking up shit about people. Plugging someone's name into Yahoo! or Google or something. I was a great cyberstalker. I once cyberstalked myself, and located a copy of a memo I had written to the tech support department of UCLA's law school. (They had posted it on their intranet and somehow one of the search engines found its way there.) An example of a great find!
In addition to all the free shit on the Internet, I work for a major online information provider, which gives me even wider access to all sorts of personal shit about people. It's great!
That's what I thought cyberstalking was all about. Plugging someone's name into the Internet. Seeing what you can find.
Apparently, the folks at WiredSafety.org would beg to differ. According to these folks,
cyberstalking now involves "relentlessly pursuing his/her victim online" and is "likely to include some form of offline attack as well." According to its executive director, WiredSafety.org is made up of "a network of 9,000 volunteers who patrol the Web and assist victims of cyberstalking, child pornography and other online ills."
Well, isn't that just great.
I may be a sick fuck, but I'm certainly no child molester.
WiredSafety.org is to cyberstalking what the religious right is to Christianity. These people took a lovely, perfectly harmless word and attached all sorts of ugly meanings to it.
This saddens me. Now I have to change my Blogspot profile. From this day forward, Coaster Punchman can no longer be a cyberstalker. From now on, I will be known as a cyberdetective.
"Cyberstalking is the hidden horror of the Internet."
I'm speechless.
Well, almost.
Back when I was a kid (like in 1996) "cyberstalking" just meant looking up shit about people. Plugging someone's name into Yahoo! or Google or something. I was a great cyberstalker. I once cyberstalked myself, and located a copy of a memo I had written to the tech support department of UCLA's law school. (They had posted it on their intranet and somehow one of the search engines found its way there.) An example of a great find!
In addition to all the free shit on the Internet, I work for a major online information provider, which gives me even wider access to all sorts of personal shit about people. It's great!
That's what I thought cyberstalking was all about. Plugging someone's name into the Internet. Seeing what you can find.
Apparently, the folks at WiredSafety.org would beg to differ. According to these folks,
cyberstalking now involves "relentlessly pursuing his/her victim online" and is "likely to include some form of offline attack as well." According to its executive director, WiredSafety.org is made up of "a network of 9,000 volunteers who patrol the Web and assist victims of cyberstalking, child pornography and other online ills."
Well, isn't that just great.
I may be a sick fuck, but I'm certainly no child molester.
WiredSafety.org is to cyberstalking what the religious right is to Christianity. These people took a lovely, perfectly harmless word and attached all sorts of ugly meanings to it.
This saddens me. Now I have to change my Blogspot profile. From this day forward, Coaster Punchman can no longer be a cyberstalker. From now on, I will be known as a cyberdetective.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
I take my cues from pop culture
I've decided it's really best to make all important religious, philosophical and general life decisions by what you see in the movies, on TV, and by what you read in books of fiction.
I used to be ashamed to admit it, but I've lived most of my life like that already. The only difference is now I'm no longer embarrassed. Why be embarrassed? Life's too short. If it works, stick with it.
Just a few examples:
I used to be ashamed to admit it, but I've lived most of my life like that already. The only difference is now I'm no longer embarrassed. Why be embarrassed? Life's too short. If it works, stick with it.
Just a few examples:
- Emma Thompson played a depressed character in the movie Carrington. She spent at least half of the film getting upset by something her boyfriend said, and then rolling over in bed and just staring, depressed, into space. I was depressed at the time I saw this movie, and decided at the time that I was going to follow her model of depressed behavior. Roll over in bed and stare into space. The only problem is, her character shot herself at the end of the film. I'm not planning on imitating that. But I've done a lot of rolling over & staring over the past decade. Sometimes to the exclusion of many other things. But rolling over in bed is fun! I recommend it to those of you who have not tried it.
- I was obsessed with Shannen Doherty's character Brenda Walsh on 90210. Like me, she moved from Minnesota to California. Like me, she was often both crabby and misunderstood by her friends. So at one point, I decided to emulate Brenda in all ways. Once I even forced a boyfriend to choose between me & Kelly, and then lived to regret it. Yes, I suppose I could have chosen to emulate Brandon, but at the time I felt he was just too much to live up to.
- My latest decision is that I have decided to take everything I read about Jesus Christ in The DaVinci Code as fact. I could research some of the issues in the book just to make sure there's enough of a foundation there, but that would require too much effort. I really think it's best just to find a story you think sounds nice, and go with that one, come rain or come shine. Millions of Mormons did it with Joseph Smith and the gold plates - why can't I? (DaVinci Code = fun read, by the way.)
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Georgio's Pizza
Feeling bad for me that we didn't get Lulu's Pizza that fateful day in New Haven (see March archives for details) . . . George tonight became "Georgio" (his word, not mine) and made me a New Haven pizza at home.
He bought pizza crust dough from Cangiano's, the old classic Italian grocer in the neighborhood.
I am fat. But happy.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Five things you hate
Gentle readers,
The world is full of bile. I hold most of it myself, but I get tired sometimes and need some help. I was thinking that it would be nice if the blogosphere had at least one place people could deposit their bile when they need to. That way, it won't always end up in my lap.
So, I started a new blog to hold in the bile of the world. You can send your bile to me in groups of five. Five people, places and/or things that make you want to hurl. You can email them to me at
fivethingsihate@yahoo.com
Then, your list will be posted on http://fivethingsihate.blogspot.com
Since I started the bile-blog last week, I have had postings by miscellaneous bloggers. It's time to get the word out.
Send me your bile. Then have your friends send me their bile. Then visit 5 Things I Hate regularly and see if you can guess which list belongs to whom.
It's fun! The whole family can play!
note: If something on your list is openly racist, I will edit it. One random blogger wanted me to list that he hated N**gers. Um, no.
But you may note that a lot of people hate religion. I'm letting those postings pass, because there's no First Amendment in Coaster Punchman's World or any of its subsidiaries. People get to be mad about religion if they want. Those of us who are religious can just pray for their depraved souls, and then everything will work out fine.
Thanks for playing!
The world is full of bile. I hold most of it myself, but I get tired sometimes and need some help. I was thinking that it would be nice if the blogosphere had at least one place people could deposit their bile when they need to. That way, it won't always end up in my lap.
So, I started a new blog to hold in the bile of the world. You can send your bile to me in groups of five. Five people, places and/or things that make you want to hurl. You can email them to me at
fivethingsihate@yahoo.com
Then, your list will be posted on http://fivethingsihate.blogspot.com
Since I started the bile-blog last week, I have had postings by miscellaneous bloggers. It's time to get the word out.
Send me your bile. Then have your friends send me their bile. Then visit 5 Things I Hate regularly and see if you can guess which list belongs to whom.
It's fun! The whole family can play!
note: If something on your list is openly racist, I will edit it. One random blogger wanted me to list that he hated N**gers. Um, no.
But you may note that a lot of people hate religion. I'm letting those postings pass, because there's no First Amendment in Coaster Punchman's World or any of its subsidiaries. People get to be mad about religion if they want. Those of us who are religious can just pray for their depraved souls, and then everything will work out fine.
Thanks for playing!
Just a note to remind you....
Don't forget about our old friend, the boring blogger. She really is starting to sound like she needs help. I wonder if she has a job?
Sunday, April 09, 2006
How sick am I, anyway?
I'm not as sick in the head as I thought I might be. But there's always room for improvement!
I'll have to read more about my "moderate" case of histrionic disorder. I wonder if it affects my ability to accept my enchiladas being thrown out?
I also didn't realize I had OCD. I think it might only apply to when "Not Without My Daughter" or a Meredith Baxter CMTVM (cheesy made-for-tv movie) appears on Lifetime, and I am unable to look away. That, and junk food.
(Five minutes later...) OK, STOP THE PRESSES! I just read about my "moderate" case of histrionic disorder, and they tell me I sometimes dress provocatively to seek attention! I have never done that! I am always tastefully and immaculately dressed, and appropriately for the occasion at hand, I might add!
I demand a recount!
(Unless maybe they're referring to that one time George and I were cited for "improper attire" at Jones Beach....)
I'll have to read more about my "moderate" case of histrionic disorder. I wonder if it affects my ability to accept my enchiladas being thrown out?
I also didn't realize I had OCD. I think it might only apply to when "Not Without My Daughter" or a Meredith Baxter CMTVM (cheesy made-for-tv movie) appears on Lifetime, and I am unable to look away. That, and junk food.
(Five minutes later...) OK, STOP THE PRESSES! I just read about my "moderate" case of histrionic disorder, and they tell me I sometimes dress provocatively to seek attention! I have never done that! I am always tastefully and immaculately dressed, and appropriately for the occasion at hand, I might add!
I demand a recount!
(Unless maybe they're referring to that one time George and I were cited for "improper attire" at Jones Beach....)
| Disorder | Rating |
| Paranoid Disorder: | Low |
| Schizoid Disorder: | Low |
| Schizotypal Disorder: | Moderate |
| Antisocial Disorder: | Low |
| Borderline Disorder: | Low |
| Histrionic Disorder: | Moderate |
| Narcissistic Disorder: | Low |
| Avoidant Disorder: | Low |
| Dependent Disorder: | Low |
| Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: | High |
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! -- -- Personality Disorders -- | |
Random Blog of the Week: One-Legged Old Fat Man
One day in 1990, Mindy June, KC and I were all home sick from work on the same day. I had thrown a dinner party a few nights prior, and one of the guests had an infectious streptococcus which he or she gave to all the other dinner guests. Bon appetit!
Anyway, since we were all sick, we decided to hang out together, watch movies and eat comfort food. Mindy's choice for a video rental was, inexplicably, a really stupid movie which she described as being "about a peg-legged violinist starring Kristi MacNichol."
It turns out that Kristi's character was not, in fact, a peg-legged violinist, but rather a flutist with a club foot. But I digress.
This stupid movie became part of our standard film repertoire. And, because we are generally not very nice people, we often find ourselves laughing about poor Kristi and her peg-leg. Imagine my delight, then, when I recently ran across this blog entitled "One-Legged Old Fat Man."
Our new friend, the one-legged old fat man, apparently decided that there needed to be a blog devoted to reporting the weather in northern Florida. After all, as he so succinctly states in his profile, "weather is something everyone talks about, but nobody does anything about."
I'm with you, one-legged old fat man. I promise, from this day forward, that I will turn only to you whenever I encounter a need involving the weather in north Florida. Thank you for tending to this for us.
Anyway, since we were all sick, we decided to hang out together, watch movies and eat comfort food. Mindy's choice for a video rental was, inexplicably, a really stupid movie which she described as being "about a peg-legged violinist starring Kristi MacNichol."
It turns out that Kristi's character was not, in fact, a peg-legged violinist, but rather a flutist with a club foot. But I digress.
This stupid movie became part of our standard film repertoire. And, because we are generally not very nice people, we often find ourselves laughing about poor Kristi and her peg-leg. Imagine my delight, then, when I recently ran across this blog entitled "One-Legged Old Fat Man."
Our new friend, the one-legged old fat man, apparently decided that there needed to be a blog devoted to reporting the weather in northern Florida. After all, as he so succinctly states in his profile, "weather is something everyone talks about, but nobody does anything about."
I'm with you, one-legged old fat man. I promise, from this day forward, that I will turn only to you whenever I encounter a need involving the weather in north Florida. Thank you for tending to this for us.
Diary of Not a Rice Person: Progress in Cantonese
I have completed five classes so far. I'm going to have to take pictures of the school for you so that you can see what I'm talking about. On Thursday, the school decided to let two additional students enroll in my class, crowding our broom-closet sized classroom to six students and a teacher.
I walked in with a hot cup of coffee, which I had so proudly ordered, in Chinese, from the bakery next door. (If it had been a Chinese bakery, the counter clerk might have been impressed.) Anyway, to put down my bag, take off my coat, sit down and avoid scalding my classmates with hot coffee took about 6 minutes of detailed orchestration in which I had to be aided by two other students.
I thought about going out to the office to complain to Johnny, but I've decided to stop being a bitch for about five minutes, lest I develop a reputation. I sat down and just dealt with it.
Luckily, the two new students decided, halfway through the class, that we were too far ahead for them to catch up with us, so they left. Maybe this was my reward for not acting like a bitch.
We have finally moved beyond the bizarre phrases I discussed a few entries back, and have actually started to learn something useful. (Of course, I still committed most of the bizarre phrases to memory anyway. You never know when you might need to request three small bowls of tripe.)
I now regularly use my Cantonese in our neighborhood, where one can often see many Asians out walking around. I'm enjoying a fair amount of success. The other day I encountered a Cantonese family, and we enjoyed the following exchange:
Me: You all to be not to be China Person yes?
Them: To be! (Unintelligible)
Me: I not to be China Person! I to be America Person!
Them: (Unintelligible, and giggling)
Me: Good bye!
Them: (Giggling)
I am SO going to kick ass in China when we visit!
Even so, I have no idea how people deal with this language. It seems like there are only about twenty different words total, and they all mean different things depending on how you say them. For example, the word for Sir, even said with the exact same tone or inflection, can mean any of the following (and this is directly, verbatim, from my textbook):
To give birth to a baby child
To suffer from or to cause some sort of disease such as cancer or boils
Unripe
Raw
Unfamiliar with
No wonder my mother-in-law is such an unhappy person!
I walked in with a hot cup of coffee, which I had so proudly ordered, in Chinese, from the bakery next door. (If it had been a Chinese bakery, the counter clerk might have been impressed.) Anyway, to put down my bag, take off my coat, sit down and avoid scalding my classmates with hot coffee took about 6 minutes of detailed orchestration in which I had to be aided by two other students.
I thought about going out to the office to complain to Johnny, but I've decided to stop being a bitch for about five minutes, lest I develop a reputation. I sat down and just dealt with it.
Luckily, the two new students decided, halfway through the class, that we were too far ahead for them to catch up with us, so they left. Maybe this was my reward for not acting like a bitch.
We have finally moved beyond the bizarre phrases I discussed a few entries back, and have actually started to learn something useful. (Of course, I still committed most of the bizarre phrases to memory anyway. You never know when you might need to request three small bowls of tripe.)
I now regularly use my Cantonese in our neighborhood, where one can often see many Asians out walking around. I'm enjoying a fair amount of success. The other day I encountered a Cantonese family, and we enjoyed the following exchange:
Me: You all to be not to be China Person yes?
Them: To be! (Unintelligible)
Me: I not to be China Person! I to be America Person!
Them: (Unintelligible, and giggling)
Me: Good bye!
Them: (Giggling)
I am SO going to kick ass in China when we visit!
Even so, I have no idea how people deal with this language. It seems like there are only about twenty different words total, and they all mean different things depending on how you say them. For example, the word for Sir, even said with the exact same tone or inflection, can mean any of the following (and this is directly, verbatim, from my textbook):
To give birth to a baby child
To suffer from or to cause some sort of disease such as cancer or boils
Unripe
Raw
Unfamiliar with
No wonder my mother-in-law is such an unhappy person!
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Been on a laptop vaca
Gentle readers,
Sorry for the lack of updates after my recent spate of blog spasmodes. Work's been busy, and last weekend I was on a laptop-vacation (a whole weekend without my laptop!)
In all fairness, I have recently updated our American Idolatry site, so check that out if you're a fan, or if you just like my general snarkiness. And let's face it, if you're still reading me by this point, you're a fan of the snark. I don't have much else to offer the world, unfortunately.
In other news, I have received a small avalanche of private email acknowledging that I was the wronged party in the War of Enchiladas. You are kind and diplomatic folk, wisely endeavoring to stay out of this little hornet's nest between George and me. Not to worry, I will honor your presumed request to remain anonymous. At least until the next coup de grace is needed . . .
TTFN
Sorry for the lack of updates after my recent spate of blog spasmodes. Work's been busy, and last weekend I was on a laptop-vacation (a whole weekend without my laptop!)
In all fairness, I have recently updated our American Idolatry site, so check that out if you're a fan, or if you just like my general snarkiness. And let's face it, if you're still reading me by this point, you're a fan of the snark. I don't have much else to offer the world, unfortunately.
In other news, I have received a small avalanche of private email acknowledging that I was the wronged party in the War of Enchiladas. You are kind and diplomatic folk, wisely endeavoring to stay out of this little hornet's nest between George and me. Not to worry, I will honor your presumed request to remain anonymous. At least until the next coup de grace is needed . . .
TTFN
Monday, March 27, 2006
My poor enchiladas
Tonight George and I dined in a new Mexican restaurant. We ate about half of what we ordered, and I planned to take the rest to work for lunch tomorrow. We gave it to the busboy and asked him if he'd wrap it up.
The busboy never brought our food back.
Finally, when the waitress came over, I told her the busboy took my enchiladas (about half of our dinner) and never came back with it. She said "oh, he's in training, he probably threw it out."
Oh. Well. That was about half of our dinner.
"Well, I'll go check for you."
She came back about 5 minutes later. "Sorry, he threw it out."
Ok.
Duh.
Do you think, like, maybe you could find some more enchiladas back there and, like, just put them in a box for me?
It's a Mexican restaurant. I don't think they were lacking in tortillas and cheese. You order enchiladas from a Mexican kitchen and they're usually on your table in about 5 minutes.
I don't blame the busboy for making a mistake. But now I blame the fucking waitress for not getting off her ASS to try to make amends.
I understand he threw out my enchiladas. I understand it was a mistake. I also understand he works for this restaurant. Last I heard, business establishments take responsibility for the employees' honest mistakes. Just bring me some enchiladas. In a box. I paid for them. This should not be difficult.
Ok, so you could care less that the busboy threw out my enchiladas? You could care less that I paid for this food and you just threw it out?
Damn mad. Mommie Dearest mad.
George is like "Tom, calm down, it's just some enchiladas. Who cares?"
I agree, it's just some enchiladas, but it wasn't my mistake! I paid for them! I don't have to have the exact same enchiladas he took back to the kitchen! It was a mistake! But I'm not the one running the business here! Why should I have to fork over another $12 to get the enchiladas? The kitchen can absorb this error. It will cost the kitchen maybe $1 to replace my enchiladas. No one seems to care. This annoys me.
So I approach the gentleman at the host stand. I tell him that the busboy accidentally threw out my enchiladas and that I'd like the waitress to get the kitchen to give me some to take home.
"Well, English isn't their first language, so you should try to remember that."
???
"Ok, I'll remember that, and I don't want the busboy to get in trouble. But I'd still like some enchiladas. I already paid for them. Is the kitchen out of tortillas and cheese? Can't they make me some more?"
"Ok, I'll see what I can do."
Meanwhile, George is chatting with the waitress now, saying "god, I wish he's just let it go already."
So I left, because a) my boyfriend could care less that the restaurant is screwing me out of my enchiladas, and b) the host, by this time, is surely digging something out of the garbage for me to take home.
I heard George say "hey, where are you going?"
To find someone who understands. It's the enchiladas. All I wanted was another plate of enchiladas.
I paid for them.
I liked them. I wanted them for lunch.
And now I'm sad.
I bet that if a busboy at Uniquely Yours Pastry accidentally threw away my petit four, Jennifer would give me another one. In fact, I bet that even if I dropped my petit four by accident, and it was all my fault, that she would still probably give me another one. That's why I will be a repeat customer.
The busboy never brought our food back.
Finally, when the waitress came over, I told her the busboy took my enchiladas (about half of our dinner) and never came back with it. She said "oh, he's in training, he probably threw it out."
Oh. Well. That was about half of our dinner.
"Well, I'll go check for you."
She came back about 5 minutes later. "Sorry, he threw it out."
Ok.
Duh.
Do you think, like, maybe you could find some more enchiladas back there and, like, just put them in a box for me?
It's a Mexican restaurant. I don't think they were lacking in tortillas and cheese. You order enchiladas from a Mexican kitchen and they're usually on your table in about 5 minutes.
I don't blame the busboy for making a mistake. But now I blame the fucking waitress for not getting off her ASS to try to make amends.
I understand he threw out my enchiladas. I understand it was a mistake. I also understand he works for this restaurant. Last I heard, business establishments take responsibility for the employees' honest mistakes. Just bring me some enchiladas. In a box. I paid for them. This should not be difficult.
Ok, so you could care less that the busboy threw out my enchiladas? You could care less that I paid for this food and you just threw it out?
Damn mad. Mommie Dearest mad.
George is like "Tom, calm down, it's just some enchiladas. Who cares?"
I agree, it's just some enchiladas, but it wasn't my mistake! I paid for them! I don't have to have the exact same enchiladas he took back to the kitchen! It was a mistake! But I'm not the one running the business here! Why should I have to fork over another $12 to get the enchiladas? The kitchen can absorb this error. It will cost the kitchen maybe $1 to replace my enchiladas. No one seems to care. This annoys me.
So I approach the gentleman at the host stand. I tell him that the busboy accidentally threw out my enchiladas and that I'd like the waitress to get the kitchen to give me some to take home.
"Well, English isn't their first language, so you should try to remember that."
???
"Ok, I'll remember that, and I don't want the busboy to get in trouble. But I'd still like some enchiladas. I already paid for them. Is the kitchen out of tortillas and cheese? Can't they make me some more?"
"Ok, I'll see what I can do."
Meanwhile, George is chatting with the waitress now, saying "god, I wish he's just let it go already."
So I left, because a) my boyfriend could care less that the restaurant is screwing me out of my enchiladas, and b) the host, by this time, is surely digging something out of the garbage for me to take home.
I heard George say "hey, where are you going?"
To find someone who understands. It's the enchiladas. All I wanted was another plate of enchiladas.
I paid for them.
I liked them. I wanted them for lunch.
And now I'm sad.
I bet that if a busboy at Uniquely Yours Pastry accidentally threw away my petit four, Jennifer would give me another one. In fact, I bet that even if I dropped my petit four by accident, and it was all my fault, that she would still probably give me another one. That's why I will be a repeat customer.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Random Blog of the Week: Casper DC
I've been cyberstalking Casper for several months. I stumbled across him during my random "View Next Blog" clicking exercise (which, as you may recall, is the only way I'm allowed to find a blog to post in my RBOTW series.) I was treated to pictures of some nice looking men at a pool party.
So I did the only logical thing, which was to launch a "straight or gay?" cyberstalking quest in which you examine other posts in an attempt to determine an orientational leaning. (Yes, I know I'm married, but it's always prudent to keep abreast of one's surroundings.)
Verdict: Casper is probably gay, but possibly just French.
I'm fascinated by Casper's blog because it's just a picture blog. He posts no commentary, so the only way you can tell what the f*ck is going on is just to keep checking back for more pictures.
These pictures make me wonder "who is Casper?" and "what is his story?" From what I can tell, he is a gay-or-just-French guy living in a tastefully minimalist apartment in DC who sometimes goes to IHOP, Rehoboth and weddings, and who recently underwent an extensive and lengthy search for a new car.
He once posted a picture I didn't understand, so I posted a comment. His response was to remove the entire posting, picture and all.
I think Casper wants to remain anonymous. Or maybe he's afraid of being cyberstalked.
Casper, if you ever decide you want to open up and let us know the whole story, we'll be here for you.
By the way, if I had a son, I would not necessarily rule out naming him "Casper."
So I did the only logical thing, which was to launch a "straight or gay?" cyberstalking quest in which you examine other posts in an attempt to determine an orientational leaning. (Yes, I know I'm married, but it's always prudent to keep abreast of one's surroundings.)
Verdict: Casper is probably gay, but possibly just French.
I'm fascinated by Casper's blog because it's just a picture blog. He posts no commentary, so the only way you can tell what the f*ck is going on is just to keep checking back for more pictures.
These pictures make me wonder "who is Casper?" and "what is his story?" From what I can tell, he is a gay-or-just-French guy living in a tastefully minimalist apartment in DC who sometimes goes to IHOP, Rehoboth and weddings, and who recently underwent an extensive and lengthy search for a new car.
He once posted a picture I didn't understand, so I posted a comment. His response was to remove the entire posting, picture and all.
I think Casper wants to remain anonymous. Or maybe he's afraid of being cyberstalked.
Casper, if you ever decide you want to open up and let us know the whole story, we'll be here for you.
By the way, if I had a son, I would not necessarily rule out naming him "Casper."
Mindy is going to hate me so much
I think I might change the name of my "Cuter than Heck" series to the "Mindy is Going to Hate Me" series. For those of you just catching up, Mindy hates kittens and puppies. (I know, isn't that evil of her?) Me, I can't resist them, much in the same way I can't resist a snarky comment.
Oh, and for the record, Mindy REALLY hates squirrels. So this one's going to send her over the edge.
This photo went around on an email chain a while back. There is a whole series of pictures of this injured baby squirrel, Finnegan, who was being taken care of by a lady with a dog who was about to have puppies. The mama doggie ended up adopting Finnegan as part of her own litter.
I'm afraid to Google this story in fear that I may find out the whole thing is a hoax, or that something bad ended up happening to Finnegan. So I'm going to assume that everything turned out happily-ever-after.
Oh, and for the record, Mindy REALLY hates squirrels. So this one's going to send her over the edge.
This photo went around on an email chain a while back. There is a whole series of pictures of this injured baby squirrel, Finnegan, who was being taken care of by a lady with a dog who was about to have puppies. The mama doggie ended up adopting Finnegan as part of her own litter.
I'm afraid to Google this story in fear that I may find out the whole thing is a hoax, or that something bad ended up happening to Finnegan. So I'm going to assume that everything turned out happily-ever-after.
Monday, March 20, 2006
My Trader Joe's Shopping List
We now have a Trader Joe's in Manhattan. Trader Joe's is perfect. There is nothing bad about Trader Joe's. Only good things can happen at Trader Joe's.
There are a lot of happy New Yorkers now that Trader Joe's is finally among us. I went there for the first time tonight, and it was packed to the gills. You could hardly move. Still, people were very polite even as they rammed into each other with their baskets & shopping carts. It's only proper at Trader Joe's that everyone would just get along. We were all so happy just to be there that minor inconveniences (such as it taking over 20 minutes to get down one aisle and the line for the cash registers wrapping all the way to the back of the store) seemed inconsequential. It only meant that we all got to spend more time at Trader Joe's. And that can only be a good thing.
It was all I could do not to genuflect upon entering. Then one of the store attendants ran up to me because I had mistakenly taken a basket that was partly broken. "Sir, here, let me get you a better basket than the one you took." I almost hugged him.
Margaret was our checkout clerk. She was so nice. She said "gentlemen, did you find everything you needed?" I replied "Margaret, all we needed was to be here with you. All we really needed was Trader Joe's. The rest is just icing on the cake." She giggled.
I believe that when good people die, they go to a place much like Trader Joe's.
I had no shopping agenda when I went there tonight. This is what I came home with (and in no particular order):
Whole Grain Salsa Fresca Tortilla Chips made with Stone Ground White Corn
Pita Chips with Sea Salt
Chocolate Raspberry Sticks
100% Wild Blueberry Juice not from Concentrate
Multigrain Crackers
Nuts About Raspberries & Chocolate Trek Mix
Refried Black Beans with Jalapeno Peppers
.75 lb Ghiradelli Milk Chocolate Square
Woven Wheats Wafers
Organic Multi Grain Bread
Organic Brown Rice Spaghetti Pasta
Saint Andre Triple Creme Soft-Ripened Cheese
Organic Whole Wheat Penne Pasta
Turkey Sausage Stromboli
Spicy Italian Fully Cooked Gourmet Chicken Sausage
Madame Chevre Creamy Fresh Unripened Goat Cheese
Carnitas Burritos
Colossal Olives Hand Stuffed with Jalapeno Peppers
Prepared Horseradish
Hot & Smoky Chipotle Salsa
There are a lot of happy New Yorkers now that Trader Joe's is finally among us. I went there for the first time tonight, and it was packed to the gills. You could hardly move. Still, people were very polite even as they rammed into each other with their baskets & shopping carts. It's only proper at Trader Joe's that everyone would just get along. We were all so happy just to be there that minor inconveniences (such as it taking over 20 minutes to get down one aisle and the line for the cash registers wrapping all the way to the back of the store) seemed inconsequential. It only meant that we all got to spend more time at Trader Joe's. And that can only be a good thing.
It was all I could do not to genuflect upon entering. Then one of the store attendants ran up to me because I had mistakenly taken a basket that was partly broken. "Sir, here, let me get you a better basket than the one you took." I almost hugged him.
Margaret was our checkout clerk. She was so nice. She said "gentlemen, did you find everything you needed?" I replied "Margaret, all we needed was to be here with you. All we really needed was Trader Joe's. The rest is just icing on the cake." She giggled.
I believe that when good people die, they go to a place much like Trader Joe's.
I had no shopping agenda when I went there tonight. This is what I came home with (and in no particular order):
Whole Grain Salsa Fresca Tortilla Chips made with Stone Ground White Corn
Pita Chips with Sea Salt
Chocolate Raspberry Sticks
100% Wild Blueberry Juice not from Concentrate
Multigrain Crackers
Nuts About Raspberries & Chocolate Trek Mix
Refried Black Beans with Jalapeno Peppers
.75 lb Ghiradelli Milk Chocolate Square
Woven Wheats Wafers
Organic Multi Grain Bread
Organic Brown Rice Spaghetti Pasta
Saint Andre Triple Creme Soft-Ripened Cheese
Organic Whole Wheat Penne Pasta
Turkey Sausage Stromboli
Spicy Italian Fully Cooked Gourmet Chicken Sausage
Madame Chevre Creamy Fresh Unripened Goat Cheese
Carnitas Burritos
Colossal Olives Hand Stuffed with Jalapeno Peppers
Prepared Horseradish
Hot & Smoky Chipotle Salsa
George's New Word
George has not been happy with some of my recent blogging activity.
"That was really mean spirited, what you wrote about my friends."
"What was mean about that? I said they were lovely people."
"Yeah, lovely people you usually like."
"Well I usually like you, too. And I didn't use any names. They don't even know I have a blog, so why should they care? Besides, it wasn't my fault they were annoying."
"You're annoying."
(Insert picture of me sticking my tongue out and looking petulant.) "And anyway, I was nice to them while they were here. I just trashed them later in print, which is perfectly acceptable behavior for a writer. Everyone knows that. Look at Truman Capote & Gore Vidal."
"A writer?" (Insert picture of George smirking, and me looking indignant.)
"Ok then, a blogger. It's perfectly normal for a blogger to release his or her frustrations in his or her blog entries. "
"Honey, you're no blogger, and that's not blogging you've been doing lately. What you do should be called blitching. And that makes you a blitch."
Well, if the pump fits....
"That was really mean spirited, what you wrote about my friends."
"What was mean about that? I said they were lovely people."
"Yeah, lovely people you usually like."
"Well I usually like you, too. And I didn't use any names. They don't even know I have a blog, so why should they care? Besides, it wasn't my fault they were annoying."
"You're annoying."
(Insert picture of me sticking my tongue out and looking petulant.) "And anyway, I was nice to them while they were here. I just trashed them later in print, which is perfectly acceptable behavior for a writer. Everyone knows that. Look at Truman Capote & Gore Vidal."
"A writer?" (Insert picture of George smirking, and me looking indignant.)
"Ok then, a blogger. It's perfectly normal for a blogger to release his or her frustrations in his or her blog entries. "
"Honey, you're no blogger, and that's not blogging you've been doing lately. What you do should be called blitching. And that makes you a blitch."
Well, if the pump fits....
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Lulu's Pizza
A few weeks ago my friend Steve was here with his sister & nieces from California, and George & I met them all for dim sum in Chinatown. As we were breakfasting together, the nieces started talking about their sister who goes to Tufts. Then Steve's sister started talking about her husband who invented this very cool giant frisbee (which is the reason they were in town - to attend a big toy industry convention.)
Anyway, a strange feeling started awakening in me during this breakfast. I kept thinking "Steve's nieces .... Tufts ..... giant frisbee....." and I knew I was getting rather excited about something that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Steve's niece + giant frisbee
Then Steve said something about his wife Jane having visited the Tufts niece over the summer, and everything clicked into place.
It was the pizza. That blog entry of Lulu's about the pizza.
Although I was able to hide it pretty well from the rest of the table on accounta I'm so used to it and all, I went a little psycho in my head for a few minutes. All I could focus on was that pizza Lulu had written about. Pizza with fresh clams, garlic & bacon. I silently went all Jimmy Stewart for about 5 minutes. "My mouth's bleedin' Bert, my mouth's bleedin'.... Lulu's pizza....Lulu's pizza......Lulu's pizza....."
Lulu's Pizza
Last summer my friend Lulu participated in an NEH seminar at Amherst. One weekend Jane came to visit her, and the two of them took a roadtrip through New England to visit the Niece with the Giant Frisbee among other things.
One of those "other things" was New Haven style pizza with fresh clams, garlic and bacon. The theory was that although Lu had been eating New Haven style pizza for a number of years, she could not be sure she *actually* liked "New Haven style pizza" because she had never *actually* been to New Haven. So they hightailed it to New Haven to find out, a decision I respect.
They ended up at Frank Pepe's Pizzeria Napoletana, a very famous old pizza joint, and supposedly the place where New Haven style pizza was invented.
Shangri-la
I've been lusting after that clam & garlic pizza since I saw the picture on Lu's blog back in July. We had a lot going on at the time, so I put the idea of a road trip in my vault.
Well, yesterday I got up early and did car maintenance and cleaning as pennance for having drugged one of our house guests with my margaritas. When the car was all freshly oil-changed and sparkling clean inside and out, I returned to the apartment and said to George "get yourself cleaned up, we're taking a road trip."
"Where to?"
"New Haven."
"Why New Haven?"
"Because that's where they have Lulu's pizza."
"What are you talking about?"
"Lulu's pizza. It's got clams & garlic. We need to go there. Today."
"We can probably find pizza like that in New York."
"I don't care. I want Lulu's pizza."
"Tom, I can probably make whatever pizza you're talking about. Why do you have to get so obsessed sometimes?"
"Mind your own business. Just wash your face and change your clothes, NOW!" Clearly, he was not understanding the urgency of the situation. He went into the bathroom while I looked up Frank Pepe's on the Internet so that I could call just to make sure they were open. (They were.)
I changed my clothes & got some personal effects together. At one point I walked into our office area to get something and discovered George playing solitaire on the computer instead of getting ready to go. I thought I might have to kill him or go to New Haven alone.
"OK, OK!! God, calm down! I'll be ready in five minutes!"
So off we went to New Haven! I was very excited. I called Lu from the car and we chatted for over an hour while George valiantly weaved in & out of Manhattan traffic to get out of the city & on the road. Lu was very sad she would not be with us to experience our first bite(s) of her pizza. But she would be with us in spirit.
Approaching the Mecca
I had warned George there would be a line outside, but he was crabby after the horrible traffic and wasn't looking forward to the wait.
George, crabby at the line
While waiting in line, we struck up a conversation with a family from Long Island who had travelled even farther than we had for this pizza (although while in Connecticut they were also busy buying half a cow and a pig, but that will be another blog entry.) I asked them if they were going to order "New Haven" style pizza. They were puzzled.
"You know, the white pizza with fresh clams, bacon & garlic."
"Eeewww! No, we're just getting ordinary old tomato sauce pizza." Ok, I thought, well if they're willing to come this far just for tomato pizza, maybe we'll get one of those too and carry it home. Anyway, I went on & on to them about the clams when it dawned on me - what if George didn't want clam pizza?
I began to panic.
"Um, Georgie?" I said in my sweetest voice. "You do realize we're getting clam pizza, don't you?"
"Yes, that's fine, whatever you want." He probably would've agreed to eat a newborn infant if it would shut me up about this pizza.
We only had to wait about 25 minutes, which was fine with me after sitting in the car for two hours. At last we were at our table.
A very crabby waitress approached and said "are you ready to order?"
"Yes!!! We would like the New Haven style pizza with fresh clams, bacon & garlic."
"No clams today."
Just like that, that's all she said, with the straightest, most humorless face I've ever seen. "No clams today."
"WHAT???? How could you not have clams today? I thought this clam pizza was your specialty! We just drove here all the way from Brooklyn to get this clam pizza!"
"Didn't you see the sign on the door? It said "no clams today."
No, I had missed the sign, although I would not necessarily have jumped right back in the car and gone home. I was kicking myself for not having inquired about the clams on the telephone earlier.
"They tried to deliver us some clams earlier, but they weren't good. We don't really want to serve them."
Oh, well.
"We'll need a few minutes then." She scowled. "But we'll have one beer and one coke to drink."
A few minutes later the crabby waitress arrived with our drinks. This made me laugh - this place is so old fashioned that my "coke" came in one of those tiny water sized glasses. Not that I'm against serving cokes that size, because we drink way too much sugar in our culture today. I just wasn't expecting it.
George insisted on placing the quarter on the table for scale
Ultimately we decided on pepperoni, sausage & mushroom.
Not-quite-Lulu's Pizza
Needless to say, it was delicious. But to be honest I'm not sure this "basic" style of pizza was worth a two-hour drive. I would drive probably 45 minutes for this particular pizza. Lulu's pizza will still warrant two hours, though. I'll just make sure to inquire specifically next time before we get in the car.
Pizza in any form still makes me pretty happy
A reenactment of the face George says I made upon hearing the "no clams" news
George with leftovers, and tired of listening to me
We stopped in at the old Italian bakery next door to Frank Pepe's (at the advice of our new friends from Long Island) to get some cannolli and cookies. Delicious. Then, we took the scenic route home along the coast of Connecticut, and George made sure to point out every seafood shack we passed in case I wanted to try again for clams.
All in all, it was a very nice outing despite my having been denied Lulu's pizza. At least I still have one extra reason to keep living!
Did I mention Jane likes donuts?
Anyway, a strange feeling started awakening in me during this breakfast. I kept thinking "Steve's nieces .... Tufts ..... giant frisbee....." and I knew I was getting rather excited about something that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Steve's niece + giant frisbeeThen Steve said something about his wife Jane having visited the Tufts niece over the summer, and everything clicked into place.
It was the pizza. That blog entry of Lulu's about the pizza.
Although I was able to hide it pretty well from the rest of the table on accounta I'm so used to it and all, I went a little psycho in my head for a few minutes. All I could focus on was that pizza Lulu had written about. Pizza with fresh clams, garlic & bacon. I silently went all Jimmy Stewart for about 5 minutes. "My mouth's bleedin' Bert, my mouth's bleedin'.... Lulu's pizza....Lulu's pizza......Lulu's pizza....."
Lulu's PizzaLast summer my friend Lulu participated in an NEH seminar at Amherst. One weekend Jane came to visit her, and the two of them took a roadtrip through New England to visit the Niece with the Giant Frisbee among other things.
One of those "other things" was New Haven style pizza with fresh clams, garlic and bacon. The theory was that although Lu had been eating New Haven style pizza for a number of years, she could not be sure she *actually* liked "New Haven style pizza" because she had never *actually* been to New Haven. So they hightailed it to New Haven to find out, a decision I respect.
They ended up at Frank Pepe's Pizzeria Napoletana, a very famous old pizza joint, and supposedly the place where New Haven style pizza was invented.
Shangri-laI've been lusting after that clam & garlic pizza since I saw the picture on Lu's blog back in July. We had a lot going on at the time, so I put the idea of a road trip in my vault.
Well, yesterday I got up early and did car maintenance and cleaning as pennance for having drugged one of our house guests with my margaritas. When the car was all freshly oil-changed and sparkling clean inside and out, I returned to the apartment and said to George "get yourself cleaned up, we're taking a road trip."
"Where to?"
"New Haven."
"Why New Haven?"
"Because that's where they have Lulu's pizza."
"What are you talking about?"
"Lulu's pizza. It's got clams & garlic. We need to go there. Today."
"We can probably find pizza like that in New York."
"I don't care. I want Lulu's pizza."
"Tom, I can probably make whatever pizza you're talking about. Why do you have to get so obsessed sometimes?"
"Mind your own business. Just wash your face and change your clothes, NOW!" Clearly, he was not understanding the urgency of the situation. He went into the bathroom while I looked up Frank Pepe's on the Internet so that I could call just to make sure they were open. (They were.)
I changed my clothes & got some personal effects together. At one point I walked into our office area to get something and discovered George playing solitaire on the computer instead of getting ready to go. I thought I might have to kill him or go to New Haven alone.
"OK, OK!! God, calm down! I'll be ready in five minutes!"
So off we went to New Haven! I was very excited. I called Lu from the car and we chatted for over an hour while George valiantly weaved in & out of Manhattan traffic to get out of the city & on the road. Lu was very sad she would not be with us to experience our first bite(s) of her pizza. But she would be with us in spirit.
Approaching the MeccaI had warned George there would be a line outside, but he was crabby after the horrible traffic and wasn't looking forward to the wait.
George, crabby at the lineWhile waiting in line, we struck up a conversation with a family from Long Island who had travelled even farther than we had for this pizza (although while in Connecticut they were also busy buying half a cow and a pig, but that will be another blog entry.) I asked them if they were going to order "New Haven" style pizza. They were puzzled.
"You know, the white pizza with fresh clams, bacon & garlic."
"Eeewww! No, we're just getting ordinary old tomato sauce pizza." Ok, I thought, well if they're willing to come this far just for tomato pizza, maybe we'll get one of those too and carry it home. Anyway, I went on & on to them about the clams when it dawned on me - what if George didn't want clam pizza?
I began to panic.
"Um, Georgie?" I said in my sweetest voice. "You do realize we're getting clam pizza, don't you?"
"Yes, that's fine, whatever you want." He probably would've agreed to eat a newborn infant if it would shut me up about this pizza.
We only had to wait about 25 minutes, which was fine with me after sitting in the car for two hours. At last we were at our table.
A very crabby waitress approached and said "are you ready to order?"
"Yes!!! We would like the New Haven style pizza with fresh clams, bacon & garlic."
"No clams today."
Just like that, that's all she said, with the straightest, most humorless face I've ever seen. "No clams today."
"WHAT???? How could you not have clams today? I thought this clam pizza was your specialty! We just drove here all the way from Brooklyn to get this clam pizza!"
"Didn't you see the sign on the door? It said "no clams today."
No, I had missed the sign, although I would not necessarily have jumped right back in the car and gone home. I was kicking myself for not having inquired about the clams on the telephone earlier.
"They tried to deliver us some clams earlier, but they weren't good. We don't really want to serve them."
Oh, well.
"We'll need a few minutes then." She scowled. "But we'll have one beer and one coke to drink."
A few minutes later the crabby waitress arrived with our drinks. This made me laugh - this place is so old fashioned that my "coke" came in one of those tiny water sized glasses. Not that I'm against serving cokes that size, because we drink way too much sugar in our culture today. I just wasn't expecting it.
George insisted on placing the quarter on the table for scaleUltimately we decided on pepperoni, sausage & mushroom.
Not-quite-Lulu's PizzaNeedless to say, it was delicious. But to be honest I'm not sure this "basic" style of pizza was worth a two-hour drive. I would drive probably 45 minutes for this particular pizza. Lulu's pizza will still warrant two hours, though. I'll just make sure to inquire specifically next time before we get in the car.
Pizza in any form still makes me pretty happy
A reenactment of the face George says I made upon hearing the "no clams" news
George with leftovers, and tired of listening to meWe stopped in at the old Italian bakery next door to Frank Pepe's (at the advice of our new friends from Long Island) to get some cannolli and cookies. Delicious. Then, we took the scenic route home along the coast of Connecticut, and George made sure to point out every seafood shack we passed in case I wanted to try again for clams.
All in all, it was a very nice outing despite my having been denied Lulu's pizza. At least I still have one extra reason to keep living!
Did I mention Jane likes donuts? Saturday, March 18, 2006
Oh, dear
We had two fabulous guests for dinner last night and I ruined everything again by making the drinks deceptively strong.
I was out running errands and going to the gym in the afternoon. When I got back to the apartment George's friend Robert had already arrived for a small dinner party we were going to have. Robert was one of George's professors in graduate school. This man is an absolutely brilliant musician and he likes to talk smutty to boot. He's so much fun to spend time with.
I asked him if he wanted something to drink. He said "well, George tells me you are quite the mixologist." Aw, shucks. But really, what would he like to drink?
"I've heard your margaritas are legendary!" Oooh, I started thinking, I had bought this interesting looking Italian lemon liqueur that I thought would help make a delicious margie. "Yes, I have some new stuff I've been meaning to try out!" I set to work squeezing fresh citrus juice from three different fruits. I added just a small amount of sugar to offset the sourness, added some of the liqueur plus some faux Grand Marnier and tequila (the amount I would normally use.)
The result from my test batch was too sweet because of the lemon liqueur & faux GM. So I ended up having to use almost double the amount of tequila I would normally use.
End result: omigodisthisgood!!!!!!!!!!
"Careful Robert, my drinks go down like candy."
Pretty soon we were talking smutty and having such a great time that I made two more rounds. I had squeezed more juice than I needed, so what the hay!
By the time our friend Oddrun arrived we were pretty well soused while theorizing about the sex lives of various members of the cast of Bewitched. What's not to like about that conversation? More drinks!!
Then Robert & George started playing piano/clarinet music for us, and we were in heaven. Robert kept jumping up between movements to grab another nice swig of margie. Oddrun & I were in heaven and practically in tears listening to the music.
Then we sat down to our first course of the night: George's salmon chowder - yuuuummmmm, one of my absolute favorites of his.
Unfortunately, by the time we were done with the chowder, Robert had to go sit on the couch. George cleared the soup bowls and began preparing the main course, flounder in livornaise sauce. Oddrun & I sat at the piano playing & singing scholocky pop songs. Next time I looked over at Robert he had passed out. We were unable to rouse him for dinner.
George, Oddrun & I had a nice time together enjoying the fish, and Robert actually did get up at one point to use the facilities - but was unable to sit back down at the table with us. The rest of us proceeded through desert (homemade coconut custard pie) and tea (camomile for Oddrun and PG Tips for Georgie & me.) More yum.
Oddrun had to leave about an hour later, so George & I cleaned up a little and went to bed. The dinner party ended almost as suddenly as it began.
I got up at 6:15 this morning to check on Robert, and he had left.
I feel really bad - we were having such a good time, and I was just trying to be a nice host. I'm going to have to start pacing people until I know their tolerance level, because this is about the 4th dinner party I've ruined with this kind of behavior. Sigh.
And to think, I took the day off work yesterday to avoid the drunken Irish!
Friday, March 17, 2006
Diary of Not a Rice Person: 101 Rarely Useful Chinese Phrases
My Cantonese class finally started, so I'm not going to have to kill Johnny and collect my $288. I've had two classes so far, and I'm enjoying it despite it being, oh, a bit odd.
The teacher is this diminutive woman named Daisy. She's from Hong Kong, so I like to joke with George that I'm learning "proper" Hong Kong style Cantonese, and not the peasant version from Southern China. Of course it pisses him off, which is the point.
There are three other students. Our "classroom" is just about the tiniest room I have ever encountered. I have seen broom closets larger than this room. There is room for four of those metal chairs with the fold-up writing table attached. (No room for your bag inbetween the chairs, though - you have to cram it under a chair.) There is one metal chair up front for Daisy (no writing table attached) and if someone wants to leave the room, the guy closest to the door has to move his chair.
And there is a chalk board about 12x24 inches. That's it.
I hope that when the weather gets warm we don't get roasted out.
The textbook we are using is odd, to say the least. The examples it uses are either very stereotypically Chinese, or exceedingly bizarre. It's like some college students got together to write a textbook and then smoked grass while they were doing it.
Or maybe it's a ploy. Like they were thinking "let's charge people $288 to teach them Cantonese, but then only teach them very bizarre and rarely useful words & phrases. That way, they'll have to keep coming back for more classes to learn things they might actually need to say."
Every other time I've studied a language, the first chapter in the book teaches you things like "Hello Alice, how are you? I'm fine, thanks, how are you? I'm also fine!"
On the other hand, now that I think about having lived with a Chinese family for a while, maybe the authors weren't so far off the mark. It could be that the authors snuck into the home of a typical Chinese family and made notes on some of the more commonly used expressions.
In any event, as a result, here is what the authors feel you need to learn in Chapter 1. And I am not making this up.
"Who the hell is it? All night long, bothering people!"
"They've been making me angry all night long."
"He always talks mean about people, and there's definitely no reason for it."
"Although there's no reason for it, he just blamed you."
"We've already opened the store, but there's no business."
"Let me pay no matter how much it costs."
"Three small bowls of tripe, please!"
"There are too many people in the hospital."
"It's not easy to recover from athlete's foot." (Isn't that pleasant.)
"This fried chicken & vegetable has absolutley no flavor!"
"You can buy milk at the perfume counter." (Having lived among the Chinese for a while now, this one just doesn't surprise me.)
And my personal favorite......
"It's not normal for a cow to be able to climb a tree."
I'll keep you posted and will let you know when we (hopefully?) get around to discussing the weather & ordering dim sum.
The teacher is this diminutive woman named Daisy. She's from Hong Kong, so I like to joke with George that I'm learning "proper" Hong Kong style Cantonese, and not the peasant version from Southern China. Of course it pisses him off, which is the point.
There are three other students. Our "classroom" is just about the tiniest room I have ever encountered. I have seen broom closets larger than this room. There is room for four of those metal chairs with the fold-up writing table attached. (No room for your bag inbetween the chairs, though - you have to cram it under a chair.) There is one metal chair up front for Daisy (no writing table attached) and if someone wants to leave the room, the guy closest to the door has to move his chair.
And there is a chalk board about 12x24 inches. That's it.
I hope that when the weather gets warm we don't get roasted out.
The textbook we are using is odd, to say the least. The examples it uses are either very stereotypically Chinese, or exceedingly bizarre. It's like some college students got together to write a textbook and then smoked grass while they were doing it.
Or maybe it's a ploy. Like they were thinking "let's charge people $288 to teach them Cantonese, but then only teach them very bizarre and rarely useful words & phrases. That way, they'll have to keep coming back for more classes to learn things they might actually need to say."
Every other time I've studied a language, the first chapter in the book teaches you things like "Hello Alice, how are you? I'm fine, thanks, how are you? I'm also fine!"
On the other hand, now that I think about having lived with a Chinese family for a while, maybe the authors weren't so far off the mark. It could be that the authors snuck into the home of a typical Chinese family and made notes on some of the more commonly used expressions.
In any event, as a result, here is what the authors feel you need to learn in Chapter 1. And I am not making this up.
"Who the hell is it? All night long, bothering people!"
"They've been making me angry all night long."
"He always talks mean about people, and there's definitely no reason for it."
"Although there's no reason for it, he just blamed you."
"We've already opened the store, but there's no business."
"Let me pay no matter how much it costs."
"Three small bowls of tripe, please!"
"There are too many people in the hospital."
"It's not easy to recover from athlete's foot." (Isn't that pleasant.)
"This fried chicken & vegetable has absolutley no flavor!"
"You can buy milk at the perfume counter." (Having lived among the Chinese for a while now, this one just doesn't surprise me.)
And my personal favorite......
"It's not normal for a cow to be able to climb a tree."
I'll keep you posted and will let you know when we (hopefully?) get around to discussing the weather & ordering dim sum.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Random Blog of the Week: Ask the Pope
I realize I'm a few days late with my new RBOTW, but people were just having so much fun with Ms. Boring Blogger (and yes, it appears to be a female - if you read the commments you'll see that a cyberstalker-in-training opened enough of her archive links until she found an entry discussing menses.)
Anyway, here's another gem I stumbled across. Fitting for St. Patrick's Day, coming up tomorrow (and which I'm dreading since I work on the parade route - a guy threw up in front of my building last year....)
Anyway, here's another gem I stumbled across. Fitting for St. Patrick's Day, coming up tomorrow (and which I'm dreading since I work on the parade route - a guy threw up in front of my building last year....)
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
George People
For the past 8+ years, I've been coming to the sickening realization that if left to my own devices, I run the risk of repeating the patterns of my parents' own marriage.
Those of you who know me are already cringing in horror.
But take heart - it will never be that bad, partly because I tend to be hyper aware of things like this, which lessens the chance that I will succumb totally to that biochemical urge to imitate my parents. And it pays to be vigilant, believe me.
Over the past 8+ years I have refined the concepts, in my own twisted mind, of "Tom People" and "George People." George and I are different on so many levels that it can be challenging for us to find mutual friends who appreciate both of us. With the occasional exception rearing his or her head, our social life as a couple tends toward spending time either with Tom People, who appreciate my peculiarness and find George to be slightly abrupt, or George People, who adore George while not-so-secretly wondering what value I could possibly be adding to the relationship.
I hate to be identifying with my mother in this respect, since I am in almost complete disagreement with her on how she handled the personality differences between her & my dad. Yet, since both my dad and George are professional musicians, I do sometimes find myself complaining about the same sorts of things my mom complained about when having to spend large amounts of time with his musician cohorts. Many artists can be self-centered at times, and hard to converse with unless you stick to topics that are of paramount interest to them.
Needless to say, we have a lot of George People artists around us. We hosted a dinner party for some of them last night.
These are actually lovely people that I usually like quite a lot, but they are undeniably George People.
Everything started out nicely enough. I mixed some cocktails (clearly the value that I add, although once everyone is drunk my importance tends to diminish substantially.) We chatted. We sat down to dinner.
Then the conversation turned to opera.
The conversation never got off opera, except for when it turned briefly to symphonic music.
They were here for almost 5 hours.
I don't currently possess the ability to discuss anything about opera or symphonic music for maybe more than 10 minutes. I've seen the major Puccini works. Know a bit about the Ring cycle. And sure, I've heard a lot of the major symphonies. The point is, I just don't really have much to say about any of it. It's just never really taken hold of me as is has to some.
Like to George People.
I felt like such a rube amidst these highly cultured folk. Surely I have enough education, and was well brought up enough, that I should have enough interest in these things to learn to say something intelligent about them. Right? (Nope, guess not.)
At one point, one of our guests told us he had walked out of a perfomance of Parsifal at the Met when he was 12 because he just didn't appreciate the staging.
Another guest commented that he's just never been satisfied with anything presented on stage since he attended a production of Alban Berg's Lulu. (And no, he was not talking about the singer of To Sir With Love, which actually took me a minute to figure out.)
Still another guest took it upon herself to change the CD I had put on only five minutes before, afterward sarcastically commenting "loved it!" in reference to the pseudo-jazz recording made by my Finnish friend Kati. (At one point, while our literati were discussing Sibelius, the subject of the Finnish language came up, and I thought it would be interesting to hear some actual singing in Finnish. I guessed wrong, apparently.)
I was virtually silent for about 2 1/2 hours during this. I simply had nothing to add, and they weren't about to open the floor to other topics.
And then the piece de resistance.
I'm sitting there like an uncultured rube all night. All night long these people are discussing every composer ever born. Wagner, Hindemith, Bruckner, you name it. I have nothing intelligent to add to anything all evening. I make one attempt to present something of interest to the group and I'm publicly rebuked and humiliated in turn.
I'm basically feeling like a total loser. And then George says it:
"Tom, did you remember to tape American Idol?"
It's official now. I'm going to kill him.
Those of you who know me are already cringing in horror.
But take heart - it will never be that bad, partly because I tend to be hyper aware of things like this, which lessens the chance that I will succumb totally to that biochemical urge to imitate my parents. And it pays to be vigilant, believe me.
Over the past 8+ years I have refined the concepts, in my own twisted mind, of "Tom People" and "George People." George and I are different on so many levels that it can be challenging for us to find mutual friends who appreciate both of us. With the occasional exception rearing his or her head, our social life as a couple tends toward spending time either with Tom People, who appreciate my peculiarness and find George to be slightly abrupt, or George People, who adore George while not-so-secretly wondering what value I could possibly be adding to the relationship.
I hate to be identifying with my mother in this respect, since I am in almost complete disagreement with her on how she handled the personality differences between her & my dad. Yet, since both my dad and George are professional musicians, I do sometimes find myself complaining about the same sorts of things my mom complained about when having to spend large amounts of time with his musician cohorts. Many artists can be self-centered at times, and hard to converse with unless you stick to topics that are of paramount interest to them.
Needless to say, we have a lot of George People artists around us. We hosted a dinner party for some of them last night.
These are actually lovely people that I usually like quite a lot, but they are undeniably George People.
Everything started out nicely enough. I mixed some cocktails (clearly the value that I add, although once everyone is drunk my importance tends to diminish substantially.) We chatted. We sat down to dinner.
Then the conversation turned to opera.
The conversation never got off opera, except for when it turned briefly to symphonic music.
They were here for almost 5 hours.
I don't currently possess the ability to discuss anything about opera or symphonic music for maybe more than 10 minutes. I've seen the major Puccini works. Know a bit about the Ring cycle. And sure, I've heard a lot of the major symphonies. The point is, I just don't really have much to say about any of it. It's just never really taken hold of me as is has to some.
Like to George People.
I felt like such a rube amidst these highly cultured folk. Surely I have enough education, and was well brought up enough, that I should have enough interest in these things to learn to say something intelligent about them. Right? (Nope, guess not.)
At one point, one of our guests told us he had walked out of a perfomance of Parsifal at the Met when he was 12 because he just didn't appreciate the staging.
Another guest commented that he's just never been satisfied with anything presented on stage since he attended a production of Alban Berg's Lulu. (And no, he was not talking about the singer of To Sir With Love, which actually took me a minute to figure out.)
Still another guest took it upon herself to change the CD I had put on only five minutes before, afterward sarcastically commenting "loved it!" in reference to the pseudo-jazz recording made by my Finnish friend Kati. (At one point, while our literati were discussing Sibelius, the subject of the Finnish language came up, and I thought it would be interesting to hear some actual singing in Finnish. I guessed wrong, apparently.)
I was virtually silent for about 2 1/2 hours during this. I simply had nothing to add, and they weren't about to open the floor to other topics.
And then the piece de resistance.
I'm sitting there like an uncultured rube all night. All night long these people are discussing every composer ever born. Wagner, Hindemith, Bruckner, you name it. I have nothing intelligent to add to anything all evening. I make one attempt to present something of interest to the group and I'm publicly rebuked and humiliated in turn.
I'm basically feeling like a total loser. And then George says it:
"Tom, did you remember to tape American Idol?"
It's official now. I'm going to kill him.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Thursday, March 02, 2006
American Idolatry
Min started a blog for those of us who want there to be an appropriate American Idol winner this season. Currently the panel consists of Min, George and me as commentators, but you are welcome to join. Just visit Melinda June and email her a comment asking to join in the discussion. You may need to explain to her why you feel you deserve to sit amongst us as we tear the hopes and dreams of America's Least Talented to shreds.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
This morning on the subway
I think it's important to note odd occurences on the subway when they occur. What a mix of humanity I am treated to every day on the way to and from work! It's a far cry from listening to my self-help tapes in the car during my commute in Los Angeles, but it's fulfilling in its own way.
This morning I was standing by a woman who reminded me of this girl I kind of knew as a kid, Mary Ellen. Mary Ellen was a nice enough girl - sunburned knees, kind of nerdy, the kind of kid who rarely has a bad word to say to or about anyone, and who also has one of those piggy faces. I don't mean fat. I just mean a face that is slightly jowly, with wide cheeks and a pug-nose. You all know her. Everyone knows a Mary Ellen or two.
So I'm standing next to Mary Ellen with her piggy face and she is quite obviously listening to Neil Diamond on her Ipod. (I say "quite obviously" because the volume was turned up very loud.) I think it was his "Greatest Hits" or something. Mary Ellen seems wholesome. Quality people, as my grandma used to say.
When the subway train left the underground tunnel and moved into the outdoors on the Manhattan Bridge, Mary Ellen promptly turned off Neil Diamond, ripped open her bag, yanked out her cell phone, dialed a number and began screaming at her secretary.
Oh, Mary Ellen.
I believe in humanity just ever so slightly less now.
This morning I was standing by a woman who reminded me of this girl I kind of knew as a kid, Mary Ellen. Mary Ellen was a nice enough girl - sunburned knees, kind of nerdy, the kind of kid who rarely has a bad word to say to or about anyone, and who also has one of those piggy faces. I don't mean fat. I just mean a face that is slightly jowly, with wide cheeks and a pug-nose. You all know her. Everyone knows a Mary Ellen or two.
So I'm standing next to Mary Ellen with her piggy face and she is quite obviously listening to Neil Diamond on her Ipod. (I say "quite obviously" because the volume was turned up very loud.) I think it was his "Greatest Hits" or something. Mary Ellen seems wholesome. Quality people, as my grandma used to say.
When the subway train left the underground tunnel and moved into the outdoors on the Manhattan Bridge, Mary Ellen promptly turned off Neil Diamond, ripped open her bag, yanked out her cell phone, dialed a number and began screaming at her secretary.
Oh, Mary Ellen.
I believe in humanity just ever so slightly less now.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Random Blog of the Week: Badger Claire's Amazing Llama Loving Website
Something about this girl's blog just cracks me up. I've been cyberstalking her for a few weeks. At first she just had a few posts, one of which proclaimed her love for llamas. I was drawn to this idea because it's just so Napoleon D. that you have to love it. (I miss Tina!) Anyway, she's just kind of silly and posts a lot of pictures.
She's also a "Technical Internet Wizard." (I think that means she figured out how to create a blog.)
And now there's a cat involved. Must-not-look-away..........
She's also a "Technical Internet Wizard." (I think that means she figured out how to create a blog.)
And now there's a cat involved. Must-not-look-away..........
Diary of Not a Rice Person: All that I need is just $288 Bucks, Johnny....
A few hours before my first Cantonese class was supposed to start, I received the following voice mail from the director who had first emailed me her half-answers to my questions about the class:
"Hello Tom, this is Julie from Wossing calling about Cantonese 1 which was supposed to start tonight. So far you're the only student enrolled, so we had to postpone the class. It will probably start next week. We'll be in touch."
Johnny, I'm afraid you're going to have to die.
And of course, he already has my $288, which I went down to Chinatown to hand over to him in person while he was lying, lying and lying some more to me about the class already having additional enrollees.
I want my $288, and I want it now. I'll be happy enough to give it back once I know I'm getting a class out of the deal, but I no longer trust these people.
I keep picturing Roz Russell walking in to Johnny and singing "I had a dream, a dream about you, Johnny! And all that I need is just $288 bucks, Johnny! Just $288 bucks, Johnny!"
(Sorry, I spent 5 hours belting out show tunes at Marie's Crisis last night, so I still have Gypsy on the brain....)
"Hello Tom, this is Julie from Wossing calling about Cantonese 1 which was supposed to start tonight. So far you're the only student enrolled, so we had to postpone the class. It will probably start next week. We'll be in touch."
Johnny, I'm afraid you're going to have to die.
And of course, he already has my $288, which I went down to Chinatown to hand over to him in person while he was lying, lying and lying some more to me about the class already having additional enrollees.
I want my $288, and I want it now. I'll be happy enough to give it back once I know I'm getting a class out of the deal, but I no longer trust these people.
I keep picturing Roz Russell walking in to Johnny and singing "I had a dream, a dream about you, Johnny! And all that I need is just $288 bucks, Johnny! Just $288 bucks, Johnny!"
(Sorry, I spent 5 hours belting out show tunes at Marie's Crisis last night, so I still have Gypsy on the brain....)
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Finally, I've found the perfect website
This site is perfect: a cat, a silly song and a ukulele. What more could a guy want?
Min, will you PLEASE learn this number for us?
Min, will you PLEASE learn this number for us?
Monday, February 13, 2006
Diary of Not a Rice Person
After living with George for seven years, I decided it was an abomination that I haven't officially started studying Cantonese, since a) I'm a language junkie and b) George speaks it fluently, providing me the possibility of a 24-hour a day tutor and vocabulary sparring partner. So for the new year I decided I would look for an evening class in Cantonese & get busy with a new project.
Last weekend I spent several hours on the Internet looking for classes in New York, both for myself and for George, who wants to study Mandarin.
It's insane what they charge at universities like the New School, NYU and Columbia. I'm talking over $500 for 12 classes. Although at $40 a class it doesn't sound like much, and I wouldn't want to begrudge a struggling professor the money. Nonetheless, Barkis is just not willin' to shell out $500 for a general interest class. Not now, anyway.
After surfing for a while, I found this school which looked pretty cool, and the website invites you to sign up for classes online via PayPal at $288 a pop. Before deciding whether to shell out the money, however, I had a number of questions I wanted answered. So I decided to email them.
I sent an approximation of the following questions, clearly numbered so that it would be apparent what I was asking.
1. Are your classes live or online?
2. Does the class start Tuesday 2/21 or Thursday 2/23? (since the website says "Thursday 2/21" which is obviously incorrect.)
3. Where do I buy the required book?
4. Does the class include writing or is it just speaking?
I recevied the following reply from the school's director:
"The class starts Thursday 2/23, pending a minimum of 2-3 enrollment. There are textbooks assigned to the group classes. We do not offer online classes."
Ok, pet peeve #1: I asked four distinct questions. I even numbered them to be clear that there were four distinct questions. I do this all the time in business emails, and generally find it an effective way to get all my questions answered.
She answered questions 1 and 2.
She vaguely acknowledged question 3, although "there are textbooks assigned to the group classes" does not really answer the question "where do I buy the book?"
Question 4 she simply ignored.
Annoying. But anyway.
I didn't want to go paying them $288 on PayPal when I wasn't sure if the class was going to happen, since there was apparently a requirement that 2-3 people be enrolled. The director's inability to answer my questions did not inspire any confidence that I would receive a refund in case of a cancellation. And I certainly didn't have the impression that she'd be able to handle an additional question along the lines of "how many people are currently signed up?"
So I decided to call them.
"Hello, I'm interested in enrolling in Cantonese 1 which is supposed to start Thursday, February 23. I wanted to know if the class is going to take place because I understand you need at least two or three students."
A youngish sounding male voice with only a hint of an Asian accent answered, "Yes, the class will be taking place."
"The class that starts next Thursday?"
"Excuse me?"
"I understand the class starts next Thursday. Apparently there was a typo on the website, but the class is supposed to be for Thursday, February 23."
"Oh, right, the website says 'Monday.'"
???
"No, the website says there are two classes. One already started. The website also says there is a class that is supposed to start 'Thursday February 21' which is obviously incorrect because there is no 'Thursday February 21.' There is no mention of a Monday. I emailed your director, Julie, and she said the class is for Thursday, February 23. Is that what your records show?"
"I guess."
I guess? It was a yes or no question.
"Ok, well I do want to enroll in the class but I understand that you need at least two or three students before you decide if the class will take place."
"Yes, that is correct."
"So, I'm calling to find out if you have any other students signed up yet."
"Ok, can you please hold?"
"Certainly."
I wait for about two minutes.
"Sir? Yes, we will have the class starting on Thursday, February 21."
Ok, this is not going well.
"Do you mean February 23?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, as we reviewed a few minutes ago, there is no Thursday, February 21. So it's either Tuesday, February 21 or Thursday, February 23. Which is it?"
"Thursday."
"February 23?"
"Excuse me?"
Get me a gun. I'd almost rather commit suicide than continue this conversation.
"The class starts Thursday, February 23?"
"Yes."
"And you have other students enrolled?"
"Yes."
Great. Now we're getting somewhere.
"Ok. I would like to register for the course."
"Ok. Would you have time sometime before the start of the class to come to the office and enroll for the class?"
Well, since email didn't work out so well and we were having telephone communication problems as well, I was not adverse to the idea.
"Certainly. When would you like me to come in?"
"What time is good for you?"
"Well, what time do you close?"
"Close?"
"Yes, how late would someone be there for me to drop by?"
"Can you hold again?"
"Yes."
I wait another two minutes.
"Sir, can you come down tonight?"
"Yes. How about 6:00?"
"Would 6:15 be ok?"
"Certainly."
"Great, just ask for me, my name is Jimmy."
6:15? I'm wondering why Jimmy needs such an exact time for me to come sign up for a class and write a check. I'm starting to think that NYU would have been worth it even if I'd had to take out a student loan to pay for it.
I had a short conversation with my boss on my way out the door, and then jumped on the subway to Grand street. I made it to the school at 6:15 on the nose for which I was glad since showing up at any other time would have surely confused Jimmy.
Jimmy buzzed me in.
"Hi, I'm here to sign up for the class."
"Oh, yes, hi."
"Are you Jimmy?"
"Johnny." Ok, so I'm a little hard of hearing. But I'm reasonably certain this is the person I had the phone conversation with. He seems nice enough, although he looks like he's about 12.
He invited me to come sit at his desk.
"Ok, so you were interested in Cantonese 1?" Oh no, I'm thinking, do we have to go through this whole discussion again? He knows exactly why I'm there. Cantonese I. Starts Thursday. February 23. There are at least 2 people signed up. Which means the class will take place. $288.
"Yes."
"Great. So, why do you want to study Cantonese?"
Ok, now I'm getting annoyed again. Is my money not green enough for these people? Do I owe them an explanation on why I want to take the class?
"Because I know a lot of people who speak Cantonese and I would like to learn it."
"People? Like friends?"
"Yes, friends. This is just so I can learn social conversation. Nothing business related."
"So where do you live?"
???
"Brooklyn."
"Oh really? Any chance you're anywhere near 18th Avenue?"
"No, Bay Ridge."
"Really, Bay Ridge?"
"Yes."
I'm starting to feel like he's stalling. It reminded me of how my friend Michael went to get his car from a garage and the guy in charge of the keys just kept chatting, chatting, chatting until Michael realized it was because they had lost his car and the guy was trying to buy some time before the cops were called.
"So do you know of a restaurant called 'Banana Leaf?'"
"Yes, it's Malaysian and it's really good. I've been there many times."
"So where is it exactly?"
"Right at the subway stop at Bay Ridge Avenue. You should go."
"I'll be sure to try it."
"Great. So what do you need to sign me up for this class?"
"Wow, so you want to study Cantonese?"
No, you *sshole, I want to study Irish Gaelic. That's why I came down to Chinatown to your office after spending thirty minutes having a maddening 'Who's on First' telephone discussion with you about class dates.
"Yes I do."
"So who will you be speaking Cantonese with?"
I could just tell him "my partner speaks fluent Cantonese along with the rest of his family, and I really feel it's a language I should know more about." But I'm starting to get pissed. It's really none of his God damned business who I want to speak Cantonese with. They offer language classes for a fee, I'm ready and able to pay. That should be the end of the story as far as I'm concerned. It's not like I'm going to take my new-found knowledge of the seven tones or whatever you call it and use it to fly planes into buildings. I'd like to get better at ordering Dim Sum and maybe learn to discuss the weather. Jesus Mary & Joseph already. I decide this kid has no need to be in my business.
"I live with several people who speak Cantonese, so I'd have people to practice with."
"People?"
"Yes."
"So, do you like share a house or something?"
"Yes."
"Wow, that's great. That's something I should do."
Yes, and you should also just sign me up for this f*cking class. What is your problem?
It felt like he was interviewing me, trying to make sure I was going to be right for the school. I find this offensive. Geez Louise, I'm thinking that if I owned this school I'd be signing up anybody with a pulse and a checkbook. This is not a multimillion dollar enterprise here. An extra $288 could only help this organization.
Unless they're trying to keep out the riff-raff. Or government inspectors. Or something worse.
The rice queens.
It finally dawned on me. This kid is interviewing me to see if I'm a rice queen.
For those of you not up on your contemporary racist terminology, a "rice queen" is a Caucasian person who harbors a certain fondness for Asians. I didn't know much about this population until I met George, but apparently there is an abundance of gay rice queens, usually older men who hang out in bars frequented by younger Asian guys.
It's probably not unheard of for rice queens to sign up for Asian language courses to enhance their stalking skills, or perhaps to prepare themselves for lucrative careers in human trafficking. So I guess the schools maybe would like to know exactly who they're dealing with when random men with no apparent Asian ties (like a wife) come in off the street to sign up for classes.
The phenomenon of rice queens is a complicated one. There are certain people who are attracted to certain races, just like someone who would prefer blonds over brunettes, etc. Although that is not how I ever looked at my pool of potential dating partners, I suppose it's just a personal preference that each person is entitled to.
But then there is a kind of rice queen who sees a white-on-Asian relationship to be about power & control. These men view Asians as meek, submissive, a bit exotic, and they tend to go for recent immigrants who don't speak very good English and who don't currently enjoy positions of power and prestige in our society. This is where the rice queen thing gets a little creepy.
Needless to say, many Asians have a negative view of rice queens. Especially the latter kind, but sadly even a little bit of the more innocuous kind. There's a sense of inner conflict, from what I gather. On the one hand, who doesn't like to be admired? If someone likes me because of my race, well then at least they like me. On the other hand, and especially depending on the flavor of rice queen you're dealing with, it's not necessarily a great feeling to think that you're being fetishized like a pair of shoes. Or that someone likes you because they think you'll submit. Or because they want to take advantage of your lesser station of power in society.
And then it turns into a self-esteem issue. I've met my fair share of gay Asian men who on the one hand date rice queens because they like the admiration, but on the other hand feel scorn for the rice queen, as if to say "God, he's so pathetic that he preys on Asians - no one else will date him."
George is the first (and only) Asian-American I've ever dated. I don't particularly like or dislike Asians or any other race, thankfully. I just happened to like George. I didn't even know the term "rice queen" when I met George in 1997.
Sadly, during our first year together when I was getting to know his friends, I became more familiar with this whole rice queen issue because many of George's friends assumed I was one. At first I found it puzzling. Then it was amusing. But when I discovered how much contempt they hold for rice queens, I found it offensive.
Whenever someone makes a comment about my supposed preference for Asians, I usually try to correct them, gently, by explaining that George is the first Asian I've ever dated and that I was not targeting any particular race of men when I was still single. That usually clears up the confusion.
Occasionally, I have to use stronger language to make myself understood.
This all came to a head with a large group of George's friends at Gay Pride in NYC about five years ago. We were gathered on the lawn of a park in the Village waiting to see the fireworks, when someone brought up the subject of "the Web."
"What's the Web?" I asked. From the context I could tell they weren't discussing the Internet.
Brandon replied "you've never been to the Web?"
"No. What is it?"
"Hey guys, did you hear this? How could a rice queen like Tom not know what the Web is?"
Apparently, the Web is a bar favored by rice queens and their admirees. Needless to say, I was not happy with Brandon's rejoinder. I felt my face start to flush. I didn't know what to say.
In fact, I was starting to get mad.
Damn mad.
I'm talking Mommie Dearest mad.
I was so mad that I practically started spitting. I stuttered and stammered until I was finally able to blurt out the following sentence:
"I .... AM .... NOT ........... A RICE PERSON!"
Silence.
Then laughter. A lot of it. Loud, hearty, belly laughing.
"Rice person? Did you hear that? Tom's not a rice person!"
"Rice person? Where'd he come up with that? Is he trying to be politically correct?"
"Tom, I believe the correct term is "rice queen."
Ok, ok, I told them and tried to explain that it makes me mad to be called a rice queen, that I hate the idea of it, and I even hate the terminology so much that I try not to use it. Which launched us into quite a discussion, one I'm glad we got to have.
Brandon, a self-avowed rice queen, was utterly confused. "But Tom, I thought you liked Asians! I don't understand! What is this thing with you and George for five years?"
"Well, I love George. But not because of his race. I just like him for who he is."
"So you're not a rice person? You're a George person?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
Brandon was just floored by this concept. Don't get me wrong - we adore Brandon. He's one of the nicest guys you'd ever meet. And, as far as I can tell, even his Asian friends don't begrudge him his fondness of their race. He's definitely a rice queen of the former variety.
Which brings us back to my "interview" at the Chinese school. I've decided I was being interviewed to ensure that I was not a creepy trollish rice queen signing up to learn Cantonese so that I can travel to Hong Kong and lure young girls back to the States with me. Their extensive questioning has put me on the defensive, and so I've decided they have no need to know anything about my personal life, my relationship with George or my living arrangements. The last thing I need is these people accusing me of being a rice queen.
Just the same, I might ask George how I would say "rice person" in Cantonese should the need ever arise. Or maybe I should phrase it as a question?
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Random Blog of the Week: It is a Numeric Life
I was going to link to a guy who is obsessed with his own poop (he posts pics of it and everything) but I decided it was a little too gross for now. Instead, I'm featuring this delightful site filled with random factoids & statistics. Plenty of fodder for Lu to absorb before her next go at Jeopardy!
In other news, we have a foot of snow in New York and it's still coming down. Mama Gin came down at 8:00 am to make sure we have food.
In other news, we have a foot of snow in New York and it's still coming down. Mama Gin came down at 8:00 am to make sure we have food.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Is it just me?
I feel like I have so liittle energy these days compared to 20 or even 10 years ago. I am ill today, so it's not a perfect example of how I normally feel. But every little thing I have to do feels like it takes an enormous effort.
It could be because I have a "fun" job that I usually like, but it's also one of those jobs that is literally impossible to do "perfectly." Which means that if you have any hint of a perfectionist in you, you'll drive yourself crazy thinking about all the things you "should" be doing.
At the end of the week, I am officially "done" and am ready to sit on my couch. I used to look forward to going out after work, and it was always very important to have at least two social outings arranged every weekend. Now I feel happiest when I have nothing planned.
I'm not sure if I'm OD (officially depressed) or if I'm just old. 2005 did suck very badly, so maybe I'm still rebounding. But I seem to remember the low energy thing coming on in late 2004 when I moved to the job I have now. Maybe it's the job.
Isn't it weird to think that a job you like might be the thing dragging you down?
Maybe I don't really like this job but am trying to convince myself that I do. Hmm. Entire lives have been constructed on that premise.
It could be because I have a "fun" job that I usually like, but it's also one of those jobs that is literally impossible to do "perfectly." Which means that if you have any hint of a perfectionist in you, you'll drive yourself crazy thinking about all the things you "should" be doing.
At the end of the week, I am officially "done" and am ready to sit on my couch. I used to look forward to going out after work, and it was always very important to have at least two social outings arranged every weekend. Now I feel happiest when I have nothing planned.
I'm not sure if I'm OD (officially depressed) or if I'm just old. 2005 did suck very badly, so maybe I'm still rebounding. But I seem to remember the low energy thing coming on in late 2004 when I moved to the job I have now. Maybe it's the job.
Isn't it weird to think that a job you like might be the thing dragging you down?
Maybe I don't really like this job but am trying to convince myself that I do. Hmm. Entire lives have been constructed on that premise.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Mother's Special Words
I started thinking about the fact that there is at least one minor who occasionally visits this blog, so I decided it's not always necessary to use words like H-E-doublehockeysticks and worse. Hence the renaming of my Cuter than **** picture series.
I had a rather Christmas Story upbringing where my mom was the notorious potty mouth of the neighborhood. The funny thing was that I somehow knew I wasn't allowed to use same bad words that flew out her mouth with alarming regularity. I don't even remember being punished or reprimanded or anything - I just knew that those were Mother's Special Words that only she got to use.
With the exception of a brief period when I ran around with some wild 9 year olds (I was 7 and 8), I didn't start using Mother's Special Words until I was in college. Even though I was a pretty good kid most of the time, it wasn't the worst thing in the world not to have June Cleaver for a mother. It was like being given a secret stash of weapons you only had to take out very occasionally, like when you were being bullied.
Speaking of bullies, I found out a few years ago that something terrible happened to one of my childhood nemeses. I'm never happy to hear sad stories, but it stuck me as a reminder of the whole what-goes-around theory.
That's it, good night. Oh, and for anyone who watched the Grammys, I saw Kelly Clarkson win one of her awards and found it odd that she didn't thank her American Idol friends. I didn't see her acceptance speech for "Since You've Been Gone" though - so maybe she thanked them then? Oh no, I feel another entry coming from the Post Traumatic Etiquette Wh*re..... (do I have to change that one too? Maybe I should be Net-Nannied.....)
I had a rather Christmas Story upbringing where my mom was the notorious potty mouth of the neighborhood. The funny thing was that I somehow knew I wasn't allowed to use same bad words that flew out her mouth with alarming regularity. I don't even remember being punished or reprimanded or anything - I just knew that those were Mother's Special Words that only she got to use.
With the exception of a brief period when I ran around with some wild 9 year olds (I was 7 and 8), I didn't start using Mother's Special Words until I was in college. Even though I was a pretty good kid most of the time, it wasn't the worst thing in the world not to have June Cleaver for a mother. It was like being given a secret stash of weapons you only had to take out very occasionally, like when you were being bullied.
Speaking of bullies, I found out a few years ago that something terrible happened to one of my childhood nemeses. I'm never happy to hear sad stories, but it stuck me as a reminder of the whole what-goes-around theory.
That's it, good night. Oh, and for anyone who watched the Grammys, I saw Kelly Clarkson win one of her awards and found it odd that she didn't thank her American Idol friends. I didn't see her acceptance speech for "Since You've Been Gone" though - so maybe she thanked them then? Oh no, I feel another entry coming from the Post Traumatic Etiquette Wh*re..... (do I have to change that one too? Maybe I should be Net-Nannied.....)
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Cute as Heck series: Morrissey
Since losing Betty last summer, I live vicariously through the cats of others.
My friend Arvid has acquired a new "roommate" - Morrissey!
Sharon & Emma, if you answer the many demands of your readers & give your fans more pics of Edward, I might have to swipe them for my own blog!
CP
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Random Blog of the Week: Tokyo
I've been cyberstalking this guy for a while. He's kind of a cute geek-boy computer scientist living in Japan for work. He writes these kind of geeky but entertaining little entries about his expat life, with lots of pictures. I was wondering why the comments are usually in German until I figured out, duh, that he's GERMAN. That would explain the geek-boy thing - I find Germans to be simultaneously geeky and charming, with very strange senses of humor. I always think of an old SNL sketch on "Sprokets" where some German lady was describing some "absolutely hilarious" performer she'd seen, who turned out to be an ordinary old circus clown. Apparently she'd been quite moved by it.
I guess our new computer scientist friend blogs in English because he used to live in NY and probably has a lot of English speaking readers. What do I know, I'm just a geeky NY cyberstalker.
I guess our new computer scientist friend blogs in English because he used to live in NY and probably has a lot of English speaking readers. What do I know, I'm just a geeky NY cyberstalker.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Bloggers by Subway Stop!
I love this site. It's a list of NYC bloggers indexed by our local subway stops. I'm R line, Bay Ridge Avenue. Maybe I'll make some friends in my neighborhood? I've always felt like a fish out of water here in Bay Ridge. There are a lot of Brooklyn toughs here, the kind of guys who look like they might punch your lights out if you look at them the wrong way or something. And secretaries with big hair. Very "Working Girl." (Well, we are just one bridge away from Staten Island....)
If I were really clever I'd do a theme-blog about being a midwestern guy in Brooklyn. Fortunately for you, I'm not clever.
If I were really clever I'd do a theme-blog about being a midwestern guy in Brooklyn. Fortunately for you, I'm not clever.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
What Kind of Soul am I?
| You Are a Visionary Soul |
 You are a curious person, always in a state of awareness. Connected to all things spiritual, you are very connected to your soul. You are wise and bright: able to reason and be reasonable. Occasionally, you get quite depressed and have dark feelings. You have great vision and can be very insightful. In fact, you are often profound in a way that surprises yourself. Visionary souls like you can be the best type of friend. You are intuitive, understanding, sympathetic, and a good healer. Souls you are most compatible with: Old Soul and Peacemaker Soul |
Friday, January 27, 2006
Random Blog of the Week: The Company Bitch
This is the best blog I've seen in a long while. CB reads like a serial, and consists of an ongoing tale of a New York twentysomething's adventures in the workplace. Interspersed with her office escapades are stories of Ex-Boyfriend, with whom she enjoys a dysfunctional, sexually charged relationship that won't die. The blog features several recurring characters, including the annoying colleague Perky (we all have one) and a scary boss. I recommend starting at the earliest entry in her archive & reading backwards.
I feel lucky to have stumbled across this gem during "View Next Blog." Enjoy!
I feel lucky to have stumbled across this gem during "View Next Blog." Enjoy!
Thursday, January 26, 2006
I fixed my links with a new template and ain't it purty!
So now ALL of you (IE and FF users) should be able to see my links. It was very upsetting trying to fix what I must have screwed up on the old template, so I just got a new one. A thrilling blog entry, I'm sure.
In other news, I spent yesterday evening preparing for, and today having, a camera shoved up my butt. (When you're 40 you can get a doctor to do this to you for free, instead of paying for it like some perverts I know.) It was fun! And I feel so close to Katie Couric now that I may even stalk her!
In other news, I spent yesterday evening preparing for, and today having, a camera shoved up my butt. (When you're 40 you can get a doctor to do this to you for free, instead of paying for it like some perverts I know.) It was fun! And I feel so close to Katie Couric now that I may even stalk her!
Monday, January 23, 2006
For anyone who cares to know
I use Mozilla Firefox at home and IE at work. My blog looks normal on Firefox but on IE the contact info & links etc. appear all the way at the bottom of the screen. Frustrating. If anyone has any words of wisdom, please share.
CMTVM Alert!
Many of you know of my obsession with the CMTVM (Cheesy Made-for-TV Movie) as discussed in my January 2005 archives.
So, you can only imagine my excitement when I read in today's New York Times a review of yet another television dramatization of the life of Sante Kimes, the crazy woman who enlisted her son's help to kidnap and kill a Manhattan socialite so as to take title to her apartment building.
I already discussed the wonderful CMTVM about this from a few years ago made by Mary Tyler Moore. Apparently this story was just too good for Lifetime to pass up, so they went ahead and made their own version, starring Judy Davis. It airs tonight!
I am so excited, I can hardly stand it! I already informed George that this is what we are doing this evening!!!
Oh, and what is with my profile & links now being all the way at the bottom of my blog? I don't understand!
So, you can only imagine my excitement when I read in today's New York Times a review of yet another television dramatization of the life of Sante Kimes, the crazy woman who enlisted her son's help to kidnap and kill a Manhattan socialite so as to take title to her apartment building.
I already discussed the wonderful CMTVM about this from a few years ago made by Mary Tyler Moore. Apparently this story was just too good for Lifetime to pass up, so they went ahead and made their own version, starring Judy Davis. It airs tonight!
I am so excited, I can hardly stand it! I already informed George that this is what we are doing this evening!!!
Oh, and what is with my profile & links now being all the way at the bottom of my blog? I don't understand!
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Random Blog of the Week
Coaster Punchman's World's first 2006 program launch is "Random Blog of the Week." We will (endeavor to) highlight a random blog found during "View Next Blog." One of the important aspects of being a good cyberstalker is the willingness to select random bloggers and then keep tabs on what they are doing even though you have no idea who they are. You find them, you read them, you bookmark them and then check back regularly as if you're best friends.
Our first selection is this blog maintained by a self-desribed "shoe addicted quilt artist." I sensed a kindred spirit in her when she wrote "my blog, my rules." I am SO signed onto that!
Our first selection is this blog maintained by a self-desribed "shoe addicted quilt artist." I sensed a kindred spirit in her when she wrote "my blog, my rules." I am SO signed onto that!
Finally!
It took me a long time to post the following entry because I was having a lot of problem spacing the pictures with the text. Blogger now lets you post pics directly to your blog without using a 3rd party program, but to include captions to multiple photos that follow each other you have to put about 1,000 carriage returns between each photo or else they start overlapping. Then I kept losing all my changes.
In any event, please note that there is sometimes A LOT of BLANK SPACE in the entry, so be sure to scroll all the way to the end! (God knows you wouldn't want to miss one word of my barely coherent ramblings.)
In any event, please note that there is sometimes A LOT of BLANK SPACE in the entry, so be sure to scroll all the way to the end! (God knows you wouldn't want to miss one word of my barely coherent ramblings.)
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