Movie update

The ugly truth? Do not see "The Ugly Truth". Even looking at pretty Gerard Butler can't save that movie, which was badly, badly in need of a script editor. It also perpetuates the terribly misguided notion of what life as a journalist is about...except all the Red Bull drinking. That part is true.

Coming soon, my review of "Funny People" and also of some books I read.

Damn Dirty Machines

Applying for job has become such a soul-less affair. You sit in front of a computer and search for job listings. Then you apply online. There are specific directions not to call, least you be banned forever from ever working for that company. According to the automated response, due to the high volume of applications received for everything from coffee girl at the local hospital cafeteria to content creator at ESPN.com, no one will contact you unless your resume is somehow magically chosen. And now, NOW your resume isn't even viewed by humans any more. Computers look at the experience on your resume and see how it matches up with the job requirements. Can you believe that?

How is a computer going to understand that my decade of experience in the land of journalism is actually very good training for that job in the public affairs office at West Point. That in fact, yes, since I worked as an assigning editor, I do actually know what assigning editors are looking for in a press release in order to turn it into an actual story, in order to get that ink that you so desperately need to justify the entire existence of the public affairs department. That as someone who actually worked as a reporter, I know how important it is to get the releases to the right person and not just assume that someone who worked there five years ago is still at the paper. No. What the computer will see is that I've never worked as a public affairs officer before and therefore must have no idea how the job is done. But do you know who really has no idea how the job is done? Public affairs officers. Because they've NEVER ACTUALLY WORKED IN THE MEDIA AND THEREFORE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT CONSTITUTES A NEWS STORY!!!!

I did actually send my application in for the afore mentioned job at West Point (and ESPN.com — though haven't yet gotten desperate enough to apply for the coffee girl spot....I do like coffee, though). I'm now trying to work out exactly how to get that resume in front of an actual person. My dad had an idea that at first I though was dumb, but now I think might just be brilliant. He said I should write my U.S. Senator and Congressman — and write them all. The ones from New York AND the ones from Mississippi. And you know, he might be on to something. I mean, I don't think there's a snowballs chance in hell that Chuck Schumer or John Hall are going to call up West Point and say, "Hey will someone please just look at this girl's resume." But I do think the odds are fairly good that Thad Cochran might make a move in that direction. I mean, I'm not expecting him to get me a job at West Point, but the man forced the V.A. hospital to take my dad on as a patient after they had told him several times the waiting list was so long it'd be eight years before he might have a chance to get in. He is not above the minutia of his job. And he strikes me as just the type of person to be as pissed off as I am that a computer is picking who gets a job and who doesn't in the federal government.

Didn't we learn anything from "The Matrix," people? We can't let the machines win.

A day in the life of an unemployed journalist

9:15 a.m. Get up. Wander into kitchen. Make coffee. Feed pets. Take dog out to pee. Eat hot cereal even though its 85 degrees outside.

10:15 a.m. Check e-mail, newspapers, etc. Realize with a panic that somehow an hour has disappeared from her life. Give dog his pills.

11:15 a.m. Play tennis. Well, actually, hit the ball against a wall out on the tennis court because there is no one to play tennis with.

Noon: Fed up with playing tennis, retire back to apartment. Change into swim suit, go to pool

2 p.m. Take a shower. Eat lunch.

2:45 p.m. Finally sit down to do something to job search related.

6 p.m. Walk dog.

7 p.m. Wash dishes, fold clothes, do other miscellaneous household chores.

9 p.m. Eat dinner. Watch Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. Complain about how it's not as good as the first one.

9:51 p.m. Write blog.

Sad isn't it.

Apartment blues

My roommate is moving out at the end of August. She's decided she's had enough of New York, long commutes, her ridiculously small salary, living in the living room and dealing with the crazy ex. And she misses her family. So she's quit her job and is planning to go to graduate school, like everyone else without a job in journalism. She seems pretty happy about her decision and I'm glad for her.

Now my problem is what to do. My unemployment is about $400 a week. The federal government takes out taxes, which seems ridiculous, but whatever. Plus I have to pay about $150 a month for COBRA. I'm estimating this will leave me with about $1,250 a month. My rent is $1,050 a month. My cell phone (I have no home phone) is about $100 a month. That leaves me $100 to pay for gas, electricity, internet, food, outstanding credit card bills, car insurance and any other unexpected costs. You don't have to be a math genius to figure out that's not going to work.

My lease, is through the end of April. So I went to find out what it would cost to get out of my lease, because if I don't get a job locally I'll have to move — either for a new job or in with my parents. These are my options: 1) find someone they approve of to sublease my apartment. They have to go through a background check and the apartment complex has to sign off on them, but they keep my security deposit and I'm ultimately responsible for the apartment and its rent or 2) use the "emergency exit" clause, which is a penalty of two months rent (I have about $3,000 in my savings account, so that would wipe that out), plus I have to give two months notice. How can anyone give two months notice when they get a new job in a new city? So if I were to give notice now, I couldn't move out until Nov. 1, plus I'd have to pay two months rent on top of that. What a scam...especially since the apartment complex is always claiming to have a waiting list for its apartments.

The Proposal

Funny. Go see it now, if you have any soul and a secret love of chick flicks.

I'm planning on seeing again with my roommate, who could use a little pick-me-up after she had to call the cops on her ex-boyfriend yesterday. He has been harassing her at work (she blocked him number from her cell and changed her e-mail account). She told him she never wanted to see him again. (Long story short: He cheated on her. She took him. He cheated on her with the same girl. She moved out. She took him back. He cheated on her with the same girl. He begged for yet another chance. While she was considering it, he had the other girl move in with him. She said she never wanted to see him again. Now he says he's changed and can't live without her AND — my favorite part — wants to help HER.) So he showed up at the train station and waited for her to get off. Then started begging her to take him back. When she reiterated how she didn't want to see him again. He started screaming, so she got in her car and drove home. He promptly followed her home. I had previously seen a police officer driving around our complex, so I went to look for him. But it turns out she had called the police and I bumped into a second police officer who was looking for our apartment.

He's been warned not to contact her again or they'll arrest him and he's too much of a wimp to try anything other than a few more e-mails. I'm not worried, though she is. She's all convinced he's going to come over with a shot gun that his dad owns. That, and every time we go somewhere she's looking for his red pickup truck...even when it's some places he's never ever been before and also not any place he would necessarily think to look for us (random deli stop). But I think she secretly likes the drama (which is why she kept making up excuses to get back into contact with him even after she declared she never wanted to hear from him again) and the attention is gets her. That might be a horrible thing to say, and she may not even realize that that's what she's doing, but she is the baby of her family. You know how youngest children are.

Anyway, that's all to say, see "The Proposal." It's very funny.

Update on Media Participation

Even before unemployment I had managed to up my movie intake, due primarily to my dating someone who was 1) unemployed and 2) lover of movies. We have very different tastes in movies. He likes chick flicks ("Devil Wears Prada" is his favorite), bro movies (what's that one with McLovin'? That's his second favorite movie of all time.) and mob movies (He was totally appalled that I hadn't seen "Goodfellas," which he has now remedied.) My favorite genres are foreign and independent films (or as he puts it, subtitle films) and sci fi. This has translated to me going to "The Hang Over" with him and his coming to see "Star Trek" with me.

So below is a summary of the movies I've seen in the last two months or so and a brief line on what I thought:

1. Harry Potter: I didn't read the books, but I have seen all the movies. This is the first one that hasn't felt like a completed movie. It seems entirely dependent on whatever comes next, which bothers me. I like, in a series, when a movie can stand on its own. Also WAY too long. They should have cut it from 2.5 hours to 2 hours.

2. Public Enemies: Again, way too long. The pacing was off and I kept thinking we were at the end, but we weren't. Johnny Depp and Christian Bale - pretty to look at; also very good acting. Marion Cotillard - also pretty to look at; wish I looked like her. Oh, and also very good acting, though her accent bothered me a little. There are a lot of other famous people scattered throughout the cast that you aren't expecting like Giovanni Ribisi, Billy Crudup and Leelee Sobieski. That guy from the first season of CSI: Miami and Diana Krall also make appearances. And Madison Dirks. He has a credited role. When did he start getting in movies?

3. The Hangover: Funnier than I expected; though as you might have guessed, most of the funnies bits were in the trailers and commercials.

4. Up: Probably the best of the movies I've seen this summer. We saw it in 3D, which everyone said was totally worth the extra money, but I wasn't all that impressed with the 3D. The previews for upcoming movies (the one where spaghetti falls from the sky and the one with the hamsters saving the world both look like they're going to be awesome in 3D). I think you'll be fine seeing this one in non-3D. But definitely see it.

5.Duplicity: I went to see this based solely on the fact that Clive Owen was in it and I saw him filming it at Grand Central. It was OK. Better than that other Clive Owen movie with Naomi Watts, which I saw based solely on the fact that Clive Owen was in it.

6. Star Trek: Awesome. The second best movie I've seen in the last two and half months. Even if you've never watched an episode of the Star Treks or seen any of the movies (like my date), you'll be able to follow this and, I think, like it. Of course, if you're a Star Trek fan, you'll like it even more.

7. Wolverine: Meh. You do get to see Hugh Jackman naked, though.

8. Ghosts of Girlfriends Past: WTF? A retelling of The Christmas Carol that was released in May? Who thought that was a brilliant marketing strategy? Who?

Today I'm off to see The Proposal. Look for another update on all the movies I've seen in July and the books I've FINALLY had time to read, soon.

Laid off, Lain off

I recently got laid off at work and then promptly went and spent a week lounging around the beaches of Puerto Rico (thus the lain part of this post). The vacation was planned pre-lay offs and happened two days before I was set to begin my week off. Upon my return, I signed up for unemployment. I could have done it while I was gone, but somehow that seemed very wrong.

Among the things I did for the newspaper as it's assistant local editor (what is known to the rest of the non-Gannett universe as an assistant city editor) was write a monthly column, which ran on Saturdays. My Saturday was up the week I got laid off. Because I had an idea it was coming, I actually wrote two columns: one, which would have run if by some miracle I was not laid off, and one, which was meant to be my last column. Neither ran.

But now, since I have time on my hand and no outlet for my creativity, I've decided to post my last two columns here and then maybe write up some other ones, which I had kicking around in my head, but didn't have the time to write. I will post the final column now. This will probably make no sense to most of you since you've never heard of these people. But some of it will still be funny, I think.

I'm beginning to think that getting laid off is a right of passage for people my age. As if Generation X should be renamed Generation Ex.

The number of people I know who have been laid off now seems roughly equal to the number of those who have not. And I have a feeling that the un- column will end up much longer than the employed one. We long ago gave up on the antiquated notion of "pensions" and "job security" and are starting to do the same with the numbers 401.

And so, as I prepare to join the un- column above, I thought, in this column, I'd share with you the Top Ten things you didn't know about the Poughkeepsie Journal.

10. We have the largest collection of captive monkeys in the entire world. Granted, they are monkeys of the plastic and stuffed variety (some also exist in plate and potato peeler form), but still it's one for the record books. And they all live on the desk of a certain local editor who shall remain nameless. (OK, it's Kevin Lenihan. Please send him all the monkeys you can, c/o the Poughkeepsie Journal, because he's going to need them to stave off loneliness once I'm gone... and he's going to have plenty of extra desk space to keep them on.)

9. The Culinary Institute of America wishes it had the cooking talent of the PoJo staff. All I can tell you is, people will attend the most mind numbingly dull meetings detailing the ins and outs of the new paper shredder if it means there will be brownies from Kevin, zucchini chocolate cake from Barbara or the crack known as rum cake from Kathleen. Seriously, people have come to blows over that rum cake.

8. We sometimes have bats in the newsroom. No. Really. Actual bats. The flying kind. And they are never, ever accompanied by Christian Bale — sadly. John Davis and I had to capture one in a box one Saturday because the entire staff was hold up in the men's bathroom and refused to come out. And since neither of us knew how to paginate, it was either gonna be the bat or a crash course in QuarkXpress. And the bat lost.

7. If you have watched the movies, "Sleepless in Seattle," "The Ring," "Message in a Bottle," "State of Play," or "All the President's Men" you have no idea what the modern American newsroom is like. (Though we do have a blonde on staff.)

6. If you have watched "The Paper," or the third season of "The Wire," ore read Dilbert, you do.

5. I have worked in a college cafeteria, a Wendy's in Baton Rouge, for the Maryland-National Capital Park Police and The Washington Times and never, NEVER in all that time have I seen a more disgusting refrigerator than the one on the third floor of the Journal. Last week I threw out some yogurt from 2006 and something that I believe began its life as a hot dog, but ended it all white and fuzzy. Someone should call Entergy. I think they could heat all of New York City on what's in that fridge.

4. Michael Valkys is the best reporter I've ever worked with. Period. (He's so good, I would have put an expletive between best and reporter, but this is a family paper.) For the last three years I've come in every day marveling at the fact he's still here, covering the town and city of Poughkeepsie — along with the occasional car show and gala — instead of working at the New York Times, where he belongs. Consider yourself lucky, Poughkeepsie. You and we don't deserve him.

3. The Advice Goddess, Kim Commando and that woman who writes the horoscopes do not work in our building. Please stop calling and asking for them.

2. Just because you own a bottle of Tabasco sauce and you dump it on some chicken or red beans or whatever, this does not make it "Cajun." (That actually has nothing at all to do with the Journal. It's just a pet peeve of mine and I thought I'd take advantage of the soap box before I have to pack it full of my books and leave.)

1. The most common second professions for laid off journalists are: teacher and lawyer. And we all know there are enough teachers and lawyers in the world. So, please, PLEASE, do us all a favor and buy a newspaper every day. If you keep a journalist employed, you might just prevent us all from living through a third-grade production of "Les Miserables" done completely in mime and the subsequent lawsuits from those forced to watch it that ensues. Trust me. No one wants that.

Snakes

I hate snakes. I hate them. I HATE them.

All snakes terrify me. Even dead ones. Even shed snake skin. Snakes and heights (or falling, I'm told) are my two greatest fears, and they are paralyzing kinds of fears. I see a snake and I freeze. I cannot move at all. I can't breath. And I certainly can't call for help.

So, of course, I live at Snake Central, where everyday is an adventure in "How many snakes will see on my walk today." At least here, the only snakes seem to be of the gartner snake variety, as opposed to my parents house where they are of the Amazon rain forest/rattlesnake/I will eat your baby for lunch kind of variety.

This summer a snake has moved into my complex. She/he lives below the steps to my apartment. She/he likes to come out during the day and sun her/himself in a little coil by the steps. At first, this terrified me. I was somehow convinced the snake would come into my apartment in the night, get into the bed with me and then slither all over my feet, at which point, I would quite literally DIE of fright. The snake has yet to do this. Instead, a curious thing has happened, I find myself checking in on the snake everyday. I look for it every time I go in and out of the apartment and I slowly realized that I am not afraid of this snake any more. I am not about to touch it as my neighbor was doing the other day. But I also feel a little bit protective of it.

Today I heard some of the guys, who are working on the apartment above mine, out front talking about killing a snake. Before I could yell out the window, "No. No. That's OUR snake." I heard what sounded like a shovel hitting pavement, some laughter and language I can't repeat here, and then a triumphant declaration that he snake was dead. I was heartbroken. Our snake was dead. Little Paulina is dead. (I don't know. The snake strikes me as a female, so I gave it a girl's name.) But then when I left for work today, I saw that the snake was curled up in little sun coil — warming herself as always, and I actually felt joy.

I'm still terrified of all other snakes and I have no idea why this snake has moved me so much. But if a snake and I can become friends, then who knows what will come next. World peace, anyone?

Chi-town

I just got back from a trip to Chicago, which I believe is my favorite city of all. If I had a job to go to, or were to lose my job tomorrow, I would pack up in an instance and move.

I can't exactly explain what it is I like about the city. It's more than just its art and atmosphere, and the fact that I have friends there. I feel some sort of connection with it that seems to reach into my subconscious. There are cities that do that. Places where you go, where you've never been before and yet you feel totally at home there. Chicago is one of those places. I felt that way the first time I went there and I feel it still.

New York is not one of those places. I have never felt at home there. I like it very much. I feel much more accustomed to its ways now. But I would also have no trouble leaving it.

Knock, knock: New neighbors calling with apple pie and a copy of the Watchtower

So, we have Jehovah's Witnesses in our basement.

Two sisters moved in not too long after I acquired a roommate and my stalker downstairs neighbor moved out. My roommate and I were confused at first by the nature of their relationship. Were they poor friends like us and oddly had a similar living situation? Did one girl sleep in the living room? We wondered if they were a lesbian couple or maybe only one lived there and the other was just over ALL THE TIME. But then recently we met their mother and it turns out, they're sisters. It also turns out that they spend their free time knocking on peoples doors with copies of The Watchtower tucked under their arms.

The news of the Jehovah's Witness infestation has been all the buzz at our complex. People are quietly upset because they all think there will now be constant knocking on our doors on the weekends. At first when one of my gossipy neighbors told me, I didn't believe it. The girls seemed too modern, their shorts too short. They had a Yorkie, for goodness sakes! But after talking to their mom, it turns out they are indeed Jehovah's Witnesses. They're from Virginia.

The only other Jehovah's Witness I actually know used to be one of my reporters and I was just as shocked to find out she was a JW as I was about these girls. The ex-reporter was also from the South, from South Carolina to be exact. I'm not sure what it is about the south that breads JWs, but I guess that's where most of them seem to come from. Of course, the ones who used to come to my door on Saturdays looked nothing like these girls. They tended to be frumpy middle-aged women in very sensible shoes. There was a certain look to them and the look did not say Gap.

I have to admit that I don't know much about JW except they don't celebrate birthdays or holidays and I feel they are a little cultish and that bothers me. It bothers me more when they seem so normal, like the girls in the basement or the ex-reporter. But I guess that may just add to the cultishness of it in the end. I mean, who would join a cult of middle-aged frump women? That would just be too sad for words.

Intrepid Sea-Air-Space Museum

So since I've moved here my brother has wanted to go to the Intrepid. I didn't find this out until after he left here the first time. Then he came around December with our cousin. And a big aircraft carrier is not her idea of fun. Especially since they do not sell fake Coach purses on it. Then the next couple of times, it was closed for repairs. But this time...THIS TIME...it was perfect. Almost like he had planned it because it was Fleet Week and that meant all kinds of extras going on. They just reopened the submarine, The Growler, AND there were navy dudes EVERYWHERE.

So here's the best advice I can give you about the Intrepid. And it is seriously good advice. If you want to go, buy your tickets in advance online. You have to do this at least a day before you want to go. But it will save you hours, HOURS waiting in line (or on line, as they say here). I always try to buy tickets in advance online. I did it for the Statue of Liberty when the afore mentioned cousin visited and it saved us a little line waiting, I guess, but we still did our fair share of standing. I expected something comparable — it would save us the time waiting in line to get tickets, but we'd still have to stand in line for the actual boat. But instead, it was like having a Do Not Pass Go card. But instead of going directly to jail, we went directly onto the Intrepid. We waited NOT at all. The only time wasted was trying to figure out where Will Call was, because we could not believe we could just walk up to the front. This line stretched around the block/pier. So, moral here, buy online ahead of time. Also, if you have a college ID, use it. Even if it's from the community college where you only took a Spanish class a semester. Saved me $5.

The boat was pretty interesting. We spent about four hours there, I think, and we still didn't see everything. Block out a day. Especially if you go during Fleet Week when the bands are playing and there is beer being sold and you can just kick back on a nice sunny day outside and listen to music with friends.

Oh, for those of you don't know what the Intrepid is: "In 1943, Intrepid was commissioned and served proudly in World War II. She went on to serve as one of the primary recovery vessels for NASA, three tours of duty off Vietnam, and submarine surveillance in the North Atlantic during the Cold War." It's now a museum.

What? June already!

Hi. Remember me? No, probably not. I just realized I made only one post in all of May and that was a lame shortie about the weather. How did all of May just go by without me realizing it. So let me catch you up.

Memorial Day:



My brother was in town. So me, my roommate and my brother on the spur of the moment dusted off the cooler, which hasn't been used since I left Memphis, dug out the beach towels and Frisbee and went and hung out at the Riverfront Park. It was beautiful weather. I only wish I had planned ahead and gotten, like, a hibachi or something, so we could have cooked out. Then I had to return my brother to the airport that evening. Surprisingly, we had no trouble with traffic.

Winter, redux

I woke up this morning and it was 39 degrees. Right now it's a balmy 59. I had to wear my winter coat and a knit hat when I walked the dog earlier. I'm not sure what the weather is trying to prove right now, but it's very much making me want to move back to a place where summer lasts six months out of the year, as opposed to the six weeks we'll be lucky to get this year.

Stupid New York weather.

Bronx Zoo

So a couple of weeks ago, on a pleasant day (ok it was the Western world's Easter), me and my roommate went to the Bronx Zoo...along with every Orthodox Jew in NYC. We assume they had the same idea that we did — with all the gentiles slung up in church, there wouldn't be big crowds at the zoo.

The zoo was awesome and though we spent four hours there we didn't see everything there was to see on the cheapest ticket you could buy ($15). My favorite parts were the seals, the penguin feeding and leopards playing.



The worst part by far was the polar bear exhibit. I felt so bad for that bear. He looked 100 years old and so sad and lonely laying on concrete by himself. A lot of the zoo has been updated for modern times to put the animals in more natural habitats. His, however, was really old school. It hurt my heart.


And made me especially fond of the Memphis Zoo, which is by far the best zoo I've ever been to. It's habitats are uber natural. And the polar bears in particular seem to be having an incredible time, frolicking around, swimming and charging the glass at little kids/lunch. Plus, Memphis has pandas. Real pandas...not the fake red ones.

Bucky abroad, Bucky hoping to still have a job

Sorry I've been long absent. I was on forced leave by my job — cost cutting measures; we were all required to take a week of unpaid "furlough" — and so I spent it on the couch of my friend who lives in England. This was surprisingly cheaper than you might think. The ticket wasn't much more than what I pay to visit my parents down south and I spent less than I would have if I were at home too.

So upon my return to work, I was told we were being forced to take a second week of furlough (in the second quarter) and they needed to know what week I was taking right away. (Those who make $90,000 and over must take two weeks. I, naturally, make nothing close to that.) I already had a week off for vacation so I just chose that week. We also found out that starting April 1 there will be no more raises, at least through March 31, 2010. My review and thus raise? In April.

Then yesterday we found out that we were being "hubbed" like the company has done to the New Jersey papers and our copy desk and graphics department would essentially be fired and the Journal News in Westchester County would pick up production. There will be a few "new" job openings down there that our people were "welcome" to apply for. Obviously there will be fewer jobs than we have people. That's all they know of for now, but if we go the way of Jersey, then apparently ALL the editing jobs will move to Westchester (including mine) and they'll eliminate the positions of executive editor and publisher at our paper. So essentially they're asking our publisher and editor to help bring to fruition a project that will eliminate their jobs.

For more on this delightful trend, visit the Gannett Blog. (Not affiliated with the company, much to its chagrin.)

Books: March edition

Books bought:
"Middlesex" by Jeffrey Eugenides
"Then We Came to the End" by Joshua Ferris
"Reading Lolita in Tehran" by Azar Nafisi
"Dreams from My Father" by Barack Obama
"Sense and Sensibility" by Jane Austen
"Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen

Books read:

Uh? Reading?

The problem with having a roommate who works part time at Barnes & Noble is the very tempting 30 percent discount. It makes you buy books even when you have so many unread ones you couldn't possibly read them all in the next five years — especially at the rate I read. My roommate, who also has an addiction to books, reads a ton of books. She tears through them to get to the end. Meanwhile, I wander slowly through mine, savoring the words. I actually read every word. I find it enjoyable, but frustrating because I can't read nearly as many books as I would like to.

This is why I've been reading my friend's copy of "Kavalier & Clay" since January. I also read every article in the weekly New York Magazine that I get and, of course, there's all that Spanish homework that isn't exactly reading itself. I'm also frustrated by my reading in foreign languages, as I've been reading "El Leon, la Bruja y el Ropero" for about two years and the first Harry Potter book in Greek for even longer. I'd like to finish both, so I could move on to Harry Potter book 2 in Greek and "El Amor en los Tiempos del Colera" in Spanish. But they just sit there mocking me.

I'm trying to make a little push here to do a whole lot of reading in a short period of time. I plan to finish "Kavalier & Clay" in the next two weeks, in time for my trip to England, where I can take two much smaller paper backs on the plane with me. I plan to finish both on the trip (I'm counting on the 8 hour flight to get me most of the way there — though of course I'll probably just watch movies. And then come home to start "The Brief and Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao" before moving on to a book my roommate would like me to read. (People are constantly loaning me books, which I always return....eventually.)

Of course April will just bring a lot more books I'll buy and won't get around to reading for another six years. Sigh. I think I have an illness.

Taxes!

New York State tax forms are the most confusing, convoluted piece of government form-ery ever created. Every year I finish my federal tax forms in no time. (I have no children, no alimony, no winnings from gambling or anything like that to complicated things — I have two incomes and an education credit and that's it.) Filled with a sense of accomplishment I rush over to complete the NY State tax form and am immediately stymied.

I mean, in what world is the federal tax form easier than a state tax form? This one, I guess.

We pause for a note on Bucky's Spanish class

I am now in Spanish 302. Once again it is three ridiculous hours on a Thursday night. And once again, it may be the worst class I've ever taken. This time there are only five of us in the class. Seven signed up and two dropped out after the first class. Two of the people were in the last class. One is an old Chinese woman who is a space cadet and has trouble understanding Spanish. And English. We have a new teacher. An adjunct. I don't know anything about his background, except that he is Cuban and he insists on speaking English. Only his English sucks. He uses words incorrectly. He told the class for our last test that there would be no cultural readings on the test, so no one studied them. Only what he meant to say was there WOULD be cultural readings on the test. The double negative strikes again. He's much easier to understand when he speaks Spanish. Only he won't speak Spanish.

When I speak Spanish, he says, "OK. Say it in English first and then we translate it to Spanish." So then I say it in English and he pauses and then says, "Oh. No. That was correct." And he'll move on to the next person. It's totally insane.

And though we've had a test and several homework assignments, we've yet to get a single grade back on anything he's given us, so no one has any friggin' idea how we're doing in class. Also every class, no matter what country is the topic of our lecture (Ecuador, Bolivia, Argentina), they all go back to the Cuban revolution. And Che. And the movie about Che.

This class is totally insane. And the only thing I can safely say I've learned in the five weeks or so that we've had class, is the personal "a". I'd never been introduced to that concept and now when to put that with the object of the verb makes a LOT more sense. So there's that. Not quite worth $400+, but it's something, I guess.

The Little Owl

On a recent Sunday I had brunch at a place in the West Village called The Little Owl. I was meeting someone for which there was the potential of playing, "Where do you want to eat?" "I don't know. Where do you want to eat?" For the better part of the morning. So instead I picked up New York Magazine, randomly picked this place out of the brunch offerings and said, "Let's go here. It sounds like it could be good." And it was.

It was tiny, of course. I think they have 10 tables and four bar stools. The kitchen looks like a closet and the prep room and lockers for staff are in the basement. On brunch mornings (weekends and they apparently do a popular President's Day brunch — who knew!) people start lining up outside about 30 minutes before it opens. I know this because I forgot what time they opened and got there earlier than I though I would. The person I was meeting was late. And so they wouldn't seat me until the "whole party arrived," which is understandable when you only have 10 tables and yet it was still annoying. They did however invite me to sit on this tiny elevated lounge area they had (hard to explain) in the corner where they kept the cell phone they use as a business phone and the laptop they use to play music for ambiance.

The music was great - as if they put my own iPod on shuffle. (There's music on their Web site, if you click on the link above. The music and Web site amused me for some reason.) And then they brought me coffee. For this I gave them major, major points, even as I secretly fumed that my brunchmate was 30 minutes late (that's about an hour I was waiting). He walked in right after a couple who took the last open table. So instead we crammed in with the two other people at the "bar". It turned out not to be so bad, though. One of the people left right after we sat down, so it turned out we had plenty of elbow room. Plus our coffee and water always stayed full.

The food was awesome as well. I had the fluffiest French toast ever with whipped cream and fruit and syrup. He had the applesmoked bacon (which apparently just tasted like regular bacon; minus points there) and pancakes. The menu also had heartier options for those who like their brunch to be more lunch and less br. The place was really adorable and I'd like to go back for brunch again and also to try their dinner menu. It looks good as well.

All in all, a happy happenstance find, The Little Owl.

American Museum of Natural History

Last week I finally went to the Natural History Museum. I think I went wrong somewhere in life because I'm obsessed with animals. I love visiting zoos and natural history museums and especially aquariums. I believe that I am actually part fish. (That said, I have I visited neither the Bronx Zoo nor the aquarium. I'm sure it will only take me another three years to get around to that.) I briefly flirted with the following professions in college: Marine Biologist, Archeologist, Astronomer. Seriously. I actually took 16 hours of astronomy before realizing the degree at my college was really just a physics degree with a little star gazing thrown in on the side. My college also didn't have an archeology degree. You had to study anthropology. But I digress.

Anyway, back to the Natural History Museum. This is not a place to visit if you don't have a lot of time. I had five hours and still only saw a tiny fraction of it. It is also an extremely confusing, sprawling place that at times makes no sense whatsoever. You wind up in places where it appears no one has been for many decades. This is what happens when you shun the maps and try to do things on your own. Finally, we went back to the front desk and picked up a map so that we could find the dinosaurs — because like every six year old in the world, I LOVE DINOSAURS. And I wasn't leaving without seeing them...or their bones, I guess would be the more appropriate wording. And in some cases their eggs.

It's ironic, I guess, that I love dinosaurs so much because my mom doesn't believe they ever existed. This is because there is no mention of dinosaurs in the Bible. I found this little fact out from my brother recently who told me my mom thinks people just stuck some old horse bones together to make them look like dinosaurs. I must admit, I was a little appalled.

So, in opposition to that, I give you even more dinosaur bones: