Cabbies



This morning, as I got into a cab, the driver said, "Good morning. Where are we off to today? If you would like a copy of The New York Post, you're welcome to take this one. I've already absorbed all the information that a curiosity-seeker could possibly desire." He then proceeded to tell me, in very descriptive words, that Manhattan was going to be crowded today, because of the Gay Pride Parade, and how as a student, he used to go out of the laboratory to watch the parade of "exuberant, fun, sprightly" people. It reminded me of another interesting cabby who brought us home from Grand Central a few months back. My cousin was carrying a guitar, and when he asked about it, we told him we were a travelling band, that all of us in the family played instruments, and that we had just come from a gig. Of course, it was all an outrageous lie. And so he tells us that he likes country music, and can we sing "Home on the Range" for him? No brave soul would, and so he said, "All right, maybe you don't know that song. It goes like this." And then he proceeded to sing with a rich voice that filled the tiny cab. It turns out he was an opera singer, and had been to the Philippines as a guest of Imelda Marcos. I tell you, there is nothing like driving across the Brooklyn Bridge at night with a cabby singing songs from "Carmen".



{Eleven to Your Seven, Hey Mercedes}

Flight



Yesterday, while slicing a melon, I looked out the window and saw four fighter planes.



{Que Shiraz, Hey Mercedes}

Discovering



Number of books bought at Borders since it opened: 6

Number of magazines bought: 6

Number of cookbooks bought: 2

Lunch hours spent browsing: 5

Hours spent in graphic design section: 3

Number of graphic novels read in store (woohoo! because they're so damn expensive!): 2

Number of magazines read in store: 5

Number of times head was hit by falling book: 1



I love that they opened a bookstore right by my office building but I hate that I'm there all the time. Apparently, so is everyone. I brave the rush hours, the long lines, the narrow aisles, the cashier who asks me the same question everyday (would you like to receive coupons in the mail?) because they've got a great selection. I got two cookbooks and a Far Side book for $6 each, plus a nice, hardbound copy of Tale of Genji, which I've been looking for forever. Monday, not surprisingly, dozens of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for the taking (in exchange for $20).



Due to a strong urge to take good advantage of the cookbooks, I've been visiting the fruit and vegetable stand down the block quite frequently. I buy the ingredients for the day's recipe and take note of possible vegetables or fruits I can use for the next day's dinner. Today, the artichokes and baby potatoes seemed to be beckoning. (Did you know there are at least five kinds of pears?) So far, I've made lemon and garlic chicken, beef with a kind of spaghetti-like mushroom sauce, stir-fry pork chops, and calamari. As a child, I was a very picky eater (I'd have rice with liver spread for dinner, and I could never really eat a banana without cheese), but one of the things they could get me to eat and actually enjoy was calamari. Unfortunately, no one ever taught me how to cook squid. Well, no one ever taught me how to cook, period. So I have to make do with step-by-step recipe cooking. I'm not very good, and sometimes it doesn't taste quite right but I've sworn to just keep trying until I can cook without my head buried in a cookbook.



Last Saturday, I had lunch with my old college housemate Master, her sister, and her sister's husband. She was the only one taking her masters in a house of undergrads, so we called her Master, and the nickname stuck. Master was the one who remembered to pay the bills and the rent. She was the responsible one who sort of pulled everyone together. It was great to see them again; I had met her sister about five years ago. They were in town to watch a show and had an hour to spare. She's scheduled to leave for the Philippines tomorrow, having spent six months in Rock Island for an exchange program. We talked about old roommates, and where they were, and the apartments we had lived in. It brought back memories so vivid sometimes I still can't believe I've been out of school for two years.



{All You Get, The Red Hot Valentines}

Twisting the truth



Right now, where I'd really like to be is in a Death Cab for Cutie song, driving down the 405 to a brownstone up three flights of stairs or in Coney Island at closing time.



{Photobooth, Death Cab for Cutie}

Mundane



I read a lot of people's blogs. Mostly, I don't let them know I read their stuff because I'm just horribly shy, even online. I almost never comment or tag, and I link sparingly. But I just thought to myself today, oh what the heck. So I was reading her blog and I chanced upon an entry about Lolita that reminded me of something that happened at work. I was reading the book during lunch hour and my officemate asked, "What are you reading?" "Lolita." "Is it a love story?" Afer a long pause debating on whether to bring pedophilia into the conversation and deciding on the negative, I said, "Um, kind of." My sister and I just about killed ourselves laughing about that one.



Which reminds me. I had a fight with my sister (We always tend to have a fight when we do the laundry.) so I'm locking myself in the computer room with a TV dinner to avoid having to sit with her on the couch. Those Stouffer's things are amazing. Of course some of those pop-in-the-microwave meals taste horrible and are stuffed with sodium, but come on, if you're too lazy to cook, you don't really have a right to complain.



I got this link from cheesedip and I've spent more or the less the past hour looking over Toby Morris' personal page and my absolute favorites are the ones of Jesus, Washington, and Lincoln and the two Egyptian guys pretending to be mummies.



Today, I am sleeping at 10 o'clock (and am already late) because tomorrow, tomorrow I'm waking up at 6 a.m. to go to the gym! I met with my personal trainer (I never thought I'd one day say that word) yesterday, and today I told her I'm meeting with her for the last time next Saturday because I can't afford any more of this personal trainer nonsense (I didn't tell her that last bit, though). This is totally out of character for me (and thus I find the whole thing somewhat funny) and I'm actually terrified at the idea of being toned (ew!) but I thought it would be good for the huffing and puffing on subway transfers and the wimpiness. And also it would force me to wake up earlier and maybe I'll finally be able to get to work on time.



Wish me luck!



{When the Wind Blows, Dear Nora}

Lest anyone think it actually works



I did not cry my way to a bigger paycheck, and certainly not during my review. I think it was really just ironic timing.



{Nothing Better, Postal Service}