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"maybe it's the weather or something like that" home write to me currently reading: The Moviegoer by Walker Percy currently listening to: Under Cold Blue Stars by Josh Rouse OED Word of the Day yesterday's news: the regulars: druzblog that you new topography fuzzy sweater lot vogue que sera sera meaningless my next trick mighty girl sarah hepola distraction amusiac catwoman slatch text obscured affordable justice every little thing electric honey a girl named bob this fish complete square helenjane shampoo solo randomness wheelbarrow le petit hiboux inspiration geese aplenty the safeword urban ephemera pink and fluffy markand(erson) pineapple? the 3rd rail roxy the whit with crayons pretty teeth meet george dictionary captions further reading: open letters the morning news mcsweeney's pitchfork tomato nation me head fametracker tv without pity pindeldyboz bust onion useful info: words grammar movies music city search spanish soundtrack: le tigre sleater-kinney belle and sebastian lucinda williams white stripes bjork gillian welch elvis costello elliott smith radio radio: morning eclectic this american life national public radio wnyc
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Friday, August 30, 2002
An amazing limited-time offer
If you come over to my desk in the next fifteen minutes with a boom box held over your head and "Bang the Drum" blasting from the speakers, I swear to God I'll marry you straightaway. I mean it. I need to hear that song. Now. Thursday, August 29, 2002
I forgot to take pictures
Today, I met Lee and Amy for lunch at Chat n' Chew, home of NYC's best mac and cheese. Now, amazing mac and cheese aside, this would not have been a particularly noteworthy occasion had it not been Amy's first trip to the Big Apple and her first in-person meeting with yours truly! Needless to say, comfort food was consumed, stories were told, laughs were had. And yes, in case you were wondering, Amy is as neat-o a person as her blog would indicate. (Lest you underestimate the power of the word neat-o, it is high praise in Jackie-O-speak). Sadly, the title of this post is true. I didn't remember to bring my camera. Next time. (Amy, I hope you had a safe trip home. And I'm not kidding about those books, you know. I expect a full report on my desk Tuesday morning.)
Smart like a cookie
So remember how I said it was going to rain and that carpeted sidewalk was going to be transformed into a swamp o' nastiness? Yeah, it happened. Wednesday, August 28, 2002
The new plan
Buy a guitar and start writing country songs. When I was a kid, I used to croon along with Patsy Cline with an obviously affected twang. I had daydreams about singing at county fairs and ending up at the Grand Ole Opry. I still prefer drinkin' to drinking. I am oddly drawn to cowboy boots. This plan could work, don't you think? Monday, August 26, 2002
Swept under the rug
One of the hotels around the corner from my office building seems to be housing the U.S. Open players. Every morning last week there were Official U.S. Open Vehicles parked in front of said hotel. There was also a temporary walkway set up so as to route sidewalk traffic around the entrance to the hotel, where there seemed to be renovations going on. Today, when I walked past, I saw the end result of these renovations. They have carpeted a fifty-odd-foot expanse of sidewalk directly in front of the hotel entrance. Yes, folks, you heard me correctly, these crazy people have covered a New York City sidewalk in thick pile in order (I would assume) to impress tennis players. This idea is a disaster in so many ways. First, the carpet is a beige-ish color. Already it is scarred by black marks from luggage cart wheels and dirty footprints. In addition, the sky is currently threatening rain, at which point the rug will undoubtedly become a soggy swamp into which the stilettos of some of the non-tennis-affiliated hotel guests will sink, possibly resulting in turned ankles, not to mention unsightly water spots on expensive leather. Second, this is a temporary venture and thus a huge waste of materials. In a week or two, it will all be torn up and scrapped, revealing the familiar worn concrete beneath. Third, it doesn't make any sense. If you were really trying to impress tennis players, wouldn't you install a temporary walkway covered in grass or clay? You know, to make them feel at home. Finally, they have to think of average workers like me, unsuspectingly stumbling upon this plush sidewalk on their morning stroll. Do they have any idea how jarring it is to take one step and be transported from pounding footsteps and deli-meat-scented air to soft strides and new-carpet smell? I mean, I can handle such an interruption of routine, sure, but there are others who might not be so stable. I worry for them. Thursday, August 22, 2002
"I can't believe that!" said Alice.
"Can't you?" the Queen said in a pitying tone. "Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes." Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said. "One can't believe impossible things." "I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass are childhood favorites of mine. And no, I'm not one of those people who likes it because of the drug references and such. I own no black light posters or mushroom-shaped candles. I am simply in love with the magic of the stories. Lewis Carroll was brilliant. I can recite Jabberwocky from memory. All you have to do is ask.
I am not doing so well with words at the moment, so there will be a vacation photo instead.
Yes, it's dark and grainy. I like to maintain an aura of mystery. (Thanks to Liam for sending along a big batch of photographs.) Tuesday, August 20, 2002
I, Ms. Jackie-O, have arrived safely back in the city. You may now rest easy.
There will be stories, but there is currently too much to process for me to craft a quality post. Be patient, please? Thursday, August 15, 2002
Why I left upstate New York, a short essay by Jackie-O
Every once in a while, when it's ninety-nine degrees in Manhattan and I'm fighting my way past the idiots on the unbearably hot subway platform only to be pushed out into the polluted air and honking horns at street level, I wonder why I moved to the city. Then, I come back to central New York, and it all becomes clear. Today I took a bus to Syracuse, where my friend Julie was so kind as to pick me up. We decided to have dinner there before driving the forty-five minutes to her house. She suggested Thai food, which made me happy, as I like Thai food very much. We drove to the Thai restaurant, only to find the parking lot beyond full. This surprised me a little, so I asked Jules what was going on. She informed me that the Trans Ams and Camaros flooding the lot were spillovers from the Bennigan's next door, which has a happy hour special on Thursdays. For those of you not familiar with Bennigan's, it is not a fine dining establishment. I was having trouble understanding the appeal. That is, until I saw the clientele stumbling back from the tent (oh yes, there was a tent set up in the scenic Bennigan's parking lot) to find their badly parked cars. A sampling: Guy with white (yes, white) mullet; woman with big, permed blonde hair behind wheel of ugly white sportscar, scary overtanned woman making out with scary bald boyfriend in muscle tee against hood of ugly teal sportscar. You get the idea. After we had circled the same small patch of concrete for about ten minutes, a helpful man in white knee socks pulled all the way up rapped on Julie's window and told us "they" were making everyone leave the parking lot who wasn't supposed to be there. We kindly informed him that we were actually trying to go to the Thai restaurant, at which point he looked perplexed and walked away. Finally, we were able to pull into a space and enter the restaurant, where all of four tables were occupied. After a nice meal, we retunrned to our own personal yellow-lined hell. The plaintive wail of Alanis Morrissette's "You Oughta Know" floated on the breeze from the beer tent. Ah, we thought, what a perfect after-dinner serenade. No, that's not true. We actually had to resist the urge to press our hands to our ears. Just as the ears were about to begin bleeding, we noticed something strange. In one of those truly magical moments where the crowd comes together to form one cohesive voice, the Bennigan's folk were crowing along with the song. Alanis, they seemed to be saying, we, too, have crosses to bear. We, too, are here to remind you. And yes, he really oughta know. Dumbstruck, Julie and I stared at each other in open-mouthed horror as the crowd burst into applause. Was it possible that we had somehow missed the news of Alanis's Bennigan's tour? Or was it just that these people were too drunk on two-dollar Pabsts to realize that the radio can't hear them? Let me tell you, we peeled out of that parking lot as fast as we could, all the while wondering how we managed to turn out semi-sane after being raised in such environs. I say semi-sane because the car conversation included talk of Jules's obsession with Peter Cetera...but that's a post for another time. Wednesday, August 14, 2002
Wisdom from the roadside:
Driving through Millport, New York on Route 14, there are some interesting signs to be read. I think I've already written about the Taxes + Taxidermy sign (although it's certainly worth mentioning again). Well, today, as we drove through, I noticed a sign next to a greasy diner. The sign read: JESUS LOVES YOU. I have a fondness for reading messages such as these out loud, in the most deadpan voice possible. Today I was feeling particularly inspired, so I turned to Beth, my faithful traveling companion, and said: "Jesus loves me, this I know, because the billboard tells me so." Laughter ensued.
Jackie-O Returns (briefly)
I am in the midst of a short stopover at the parents' house before continuing on my journey to Maine for Jeff and Amy's wedding. I couldn't resist an update. My vacation (thus far) in numbers: Days on vacation: 5.5 Bus trips taken: 1 Bus trips remaining to be taken: 2 Hours spent in car: approximately 10 Hours remaining to be spent in car: approximately 18 Allergic reactions to sunscreen: 1 Benadryl tablets swallowed: 4 Mosquito bites incurred: 6 New people met: 11 Wine tastings attended: 4 Wine glasses broken: 1 Speedboat trips taken: 4 Sailboat trips taken: 0 Falling stars seen while lying on dock: 12 Books read: 2.5 Hours slept: 38 Dollars spent: 54 I think I like the looks of most of those numbers, don't you? Monday, August 12, 2002
This post is dedicated to the word Moist.
This morning was my first back in the New York commuting melange after ten days of relative calm in the Midwest. I suppose it's always hard, adjusting one's self back into the speed and abruptness of subway survival... this morning I almost ripped a few people New Ones before even getting onto the damn train. Add to this the fact that I'm staying with a friend for a few weeks and today was my first time trying out a new route. So I hopped on the L train at Lorimer and found myself standing with my ear directly in front of the open mouth of a young man of Eastern European descent. He and his friend stood conversing loudly (and of course I neurotically suspected them of saying lewd things about me in whatever language they're barking on in) in an otherwise quiet car. Then one of them pulled out a pack of gum and offered a piece to the other. They commenced chewing, still open-mouthed, still maintaining full volume in their conversation. Now they're barking in Yugoslavian and chomping on their gum, loudly and with total disregard for my delicate and rapidly-growing-more-and-more-annoyed ear canal which was one foot away. Like old senile people without teeth smacking their gums, only they were young and had all of their teeth. Absolutely the most vile sound I can imagine. I'm imagining it now, and... ugh, UGH. I edged frantically away as soon as space opened up, but it felt to me that there was just nowhere to go in that car that the moist, sloppy sound of their gum chewing wouldn't follow me. It was on me. At Union Square I bolted from the train, the echo of their saliva-laden cud swishing in my sullied ears. I settled onto the 6 train because the 4,5 had just left and I figured I had the time. And just as the train doors are closing, who jumps onto my train? Into MY car? The fucking Europeans! Two stops later (fucking six train! fucking dead batteries in my Discman!), one of them had settled into the seat next to mine (of all the seats!) while the other one stood holding the bar to my right (of all the fucking bars!). My eyes were clenched shut as I sat there praying that I could will myself into temporary deafness. Punishment? Is this some sort of punishment? Just as I found myself at the threshhold, unable to keep my upper and lower palates from staying locked together any longer, the fucking Europeans ambled off loudly at the 33rd Street exit. Sanity restored itself quickly. The End. -Sarah postscript: I really don't have a problem with Europeans in general. I know lots of nice ones, actually. In the current world climate, being an American, I suppose I shouldn't be throwing stones. But I'm still a little pissy about this, so there you have it. Friday, August 02, 2002
Status report
Physical state: a little sleepy Emotional state: happy but for brief waves of ire directed at a certain author who shall remain unnamed (much the same way I remain unnamed in the acknowledgments section of his book, despite the fact that I have read and line-edited four drafts) Song playing in head: Rebel Rebel Song playing on speakers: I Saw Reflections Looking forward to: leaving the office, seeing Signs Dreading: walking through unbearable heat to the subway Chuckling to myself about: a certain scene involving a romantic moment and an intrusive horse in The Lady Eve Wishing you all: a lovely weekend < # blog girls ? >  
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