Those who know me very, very well will understand exactly why I did a Whiteshoes dance all the way up Grand Street after an hour with nice little Jorge at H&R Block. I don't want to be gross, but I understand why Miss Kitty does a lambkin frolic after spending 10 minutes in the big open box of poop and weewee (hey, that's Dave Barry's name for it, not mine!)
Now I'm back home and have rewarded myself with a beer. Unfortunately I just realized that it's a non-alcoholic Beck's. And I ask myself, as I'm sure you're asking, how the HELL did that get into my refrigerator?
I'm sooooo tempted to crack that bottle of Dom that one of my vendors gave me for Christmas.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Beautiful Saturday
Ay que dia!
For some reason I set my Blackberry alarm to go off every day this week instead of on weekdays only, so I was forced to stumble into the kitchen at daybreak, and I'm glad I did. It is AMAZING outside.
I also realized with one of those mental jolts that I forgot to pay my rent, which resulted in a hasty shower and a mad dash to the Chase Bank around the block to keep a roof over my head for another month. Thank god for New York rent regulations and 5 day grace periods, plus a landlord who knows I usually pay a couple days ahead of time.
Now I'm left to ask myself WHY I scheduled my tax appointment for 4 o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, especially since Roni called last night and wanted me to come to an 11am children's show at the Knitting Factory in Williamsburg. (I know, even the Knitting Factory has been priced out of Manhattan, which is just wrong). Alas I have to spend the next couple of hours sorting through receipts and piles of crap to make sure I don't overlook something like the fact that I bought new glasses for 500 bucks last January.
So, a fresh pot of coffee on, I'm settling in with my big "TAX STUFF" envelope and a bunch of music that makes me happy. (Today it's Ivan Lins because anyone who can sing a lyric like "Here's your chance tyrannosaurus/Maybe we can get it right this time" and make it heartbreakingly poignant is a-ok in my book. Plus, I remain convinced that if I play his cd's enough times, one day I will spontaneously break into song -- in Portuguese! Okay, so it hasn't happened yet, but a girl can dream, can't she?)
Miss Midwesterly, one of my many friends who is WAY cooler than I'll ever be, is off to Haiti today for her Shelterbox deployment. I look forward to her dispatches from that devastated country.
She did make noises about me going to White Plains so we can start riding again. Her generosity knows no bounds, as she equates her not having ridden her bike since the Ironman she did last summer with my not having done a tri since, well, ever. When I told her I broke down and bought a fluid trainer that I haven't yet used, her voice got a slightly menacing edge as she said, "Well, we'll just have to do something about that, won't we?" Oh shit, she is going to make me...play outside! On my bike! Which I love! The horror, the horror.
To be honest, I'm kind of looking forward to those weekend rides up 9W to have lunch in Nyack, and tan lines on my fingers from cycling gloves. To say nothing of having thighs that can snap a person in two.
Final note of the day, did anyone SEE that Rangers game last night? Who were those guys and what did they do with the New York Rangers? Incredible. They shut out the Lightning 5-0, playing the game the Pens SHOULD have played on Wednesday night. My only comment on Mark Messier's presence in the management booth is that I don't think he was really scouting for Team Canada's world squad. Are you listening, Glen Sather and John Tortorella?
For some reason I set my Blackberry alarm to go off every day this week instead of on weekdays only, so I was forced to stumble into the kitchen at daybreak, and I'm glad I did. It is AMAZING outside.
I also realized with one of those mental jolts that I forgot to pay my rent, which resulted in a hasty shower and a mad dash to the Chase Bank around the block to keep a roof over my head for another month. Thank god for New York rent regulations and 5 day grace periods, plus a landlord who knows I usually pay a couple days ahead of time.
Now I'm left to ask myself WHY I scheduled my tax appointment for 4 o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, especially since Roni called last night and wanted me to come to an 11am children's show at the Knitting Factory in Williamsburg. (I know, even the Knitting Factory has been priced out of Manhattan, which is just wrong). Alas I have to spend the next couple of hours sorting through receipts and piles of crap to make sure I don't overlook something like the fact that I bought new glasses for 500 bucks last January.
So, a fresh pot of coffee on, I'm settling in with my big "TAX STUFF" envelope and a bunch of music that makes me happy. (Today it's Ivan Lins because anyone who can sing a lyric like "Here's your chance tyrannosaurus/Maybe we can get it right this time" and make it heartbreakingly poignant is a-ok in my book. Plus, I remain convinced that if I play his cd's enough times, one day I will spontaneously break into song -- in Portuguese! Okay, so it hasn't happened yet, but a girl can dream, can't she?)
Miss Midwesterly, one of my many friends who is WAY cooler than I'll ever be, is off to Haiti today for her Shelterbox deployment. I look forward to her dispatches from that devastated country.
She did make noises about me going to White Plains so we can start riding again. Her generosity knows no bounds, as she equates her not having ridden her bike since the Ironman she did last summer with my not having done a tri since, well, ever. When I told her I broke down and bought a fluid trainer that I haven't yet used, her voice got a slightly menacing edge as she said, "Well, we'll just have to do something about that, won't we?" Oh shit, she is going to make me...play outside! On my bike! Which I love! The horror, the horror.
To be honest, I'm kind of looking forward to those weekend rides up 9W to have lunch in Nyack, and tan lines on my fingers from cycling gloves. To say nothing of having thighs that can snap a person in two.
Final note of the day, did anyone SEE that Rangers game last night? Who were those guys and what did they do with the New York Rangers? Incredible. They shut out the Lightning 5-0, playing the game the Pens SHOULD have played on Wednesday night. My only comment on Mark Messier's presence in the management booth is that I don't think he was really scouting for Team Canada's world squad. Are you listening, Glen Sather and John Tortorella?
Friday, April 2, 2010
The 52-Hertz Whale
I was doing some lazy, Friday nosing around the web, idly looking for more information about the 52 Hertz Whale, which somehow led me to "The Bloop" which then caromed me to Brian Dunning's site, which means that I have effectively lost the next couple of days.
But I want to talk about the 52 Hertz Whale.
This is a creature that the Navy has been tracking in the Northern Pacific since 1989. Its soundings have the sonic signature of a whale, but like no other whale known to science or man. Scientists speculate that it may be a hybrid of a blue whale and another species, or that it may have some physical deformity which causes it to sound at a different frequency than any other whale.
Now imagine. This creature, born with a call that its own podmates don't recognize, gets lost, and wanders the sea for nearly two decades, crying out for something to recognize it. But because no other whales sound at the same frequency, no other whales respond. So the whale swims and sounds, swims and sounds, calling, calling, calling. And there's nothing out there to answer.
Why does the story of the 52-hertz whale make me cry?
But as I read a message board about this whale, one commenter offered something that makes so much sense, that could solve the mystery, that I wonder why the Navy or WHOI or SOMEONE hasn't done it.
Answer the whale.
But I want to talk about the 52 Hertz Whale.
This is a creature that the Navy has been tracking in the Northern Pacific since 1989. Its soundings have the sonic signature of a whale, but like no other whale known to science or man. Scientists speculate that it may be a hybrid of a blue whale and another species, or that it may have some physical deformity which causes it to sound at a different frequency than any other whale.
Now imagine. This creature, born with a call that its own podmates don't recognize, gets lost, and wanders the sea for nearly two decades, crying out for something to recognize it. But because no other whales sound at the same frequency, no other whales respond. So the whale swims and sounds, swims and sounds, calling, calling, calling. And there's nothing out there to answer.
Why does the story of the 52-hertz whale make me cry?
But as I read a message board about this whale, one commenter offered something that makes so much sense, that could solve the mystery, that I wonder why the Navy or WHOI or SOMEONE hasn't done it.
Answer the whale.
Good Friday Afternoon Time Killer
Since the entire world either took the day off or bolted early, today has been an exercise in killing time.
So the world's Catholics are off to the biggest NAMBLA meeting of the year on Sunday, in the expectation that the Easter Bunny will roll back the stone and drag Punxsatawney Jesus into the sunshine, where he'll blink, then predict another six centuries of child abuse, and shuffle back inside, flapping his hand and snarling, "Fuck alla yiz."
So the world's Catholics are off to the biggest NAMBLA meeting of the year on Sunday, in the expectation that the Easter Bunny will roll back the stone and drag Punxsatawney Jesus into the sunshine, where he'll blink, then predict another six centuries of child abuse, and shuffle back inside, flapping his hand and snarling, "Fuck alla yiz."
Thursday, April 1, 2010
I Am Just Pathetic
I am really, really happy to be back at work and talking to humans. And back at a desktop computer. Do you believe I was blogdumping all that crap on my BLACKBERRY? I KNOW!
Took the opportunity to do a linkpurge today.
And for the record, I'm with Stanley Bing on Tiger Woods. I hope he comes back and decimates the Masters.
As for Jesse James, I hope he gets chlamydia.
Took the opportunity to do a linkpurge today.
And for the record, I'm with Stanley Bing on Tiger Woods. I hope he comes back and decimates the Masters.
As for Jesse James, I hope he gets chlamydia.