Cien por cien

Our network server at work is corrupted and our internet access is sporadic. It is a productive day in the neighborhood. Ha ha.

No one is happy today. The Hispanic guy at the diner went off on some little immigrant, who didn’t know how to order his food. The little Mexican guy seemed to have suggested that he was trying to order in English, which he doesn’t speak, because he thought maybe the worker didn’t really speak Spanish. The suggestion that his Spanish might not be up to par prompted the worker to go into a diatribe in Spanish that went something like this,  “If you want to order in Spanish you come in and order in Spanish. I can’t guess by looking at you whether you speak English. Nothing annoys me more than having to guess. And I speak Spanish 100%. Go ahead…place your order in Spanish.  What do you want?  [silence]  I’m waiting for you, go ahead tell me your order in Spanish and I’ll put it in for you…what are you…Puerto Rican, Mexican…go ahead tell me what you want.”  There were lots of silent “mother-fuckers” in the tantrum.  Meanwhile, because I’m a bad person, I was working hard not to laugh. I had to turn my back to avoid it.  The object of the tantrum didn’t fight back–he must be VERY new to NY.  Personally, I thought the appropriate response for the object of the tantrum would have been to walk out of the diner.  But he took it.

Meanwhile, I seem to be compensating for this iliacus injury still.  Nothing hurts, but I had a tough time climbing the stairs of the subway until I consciously lifted my left knee higher than was comfortable.  I have a race in five days and I should revise my goal to just crossing the finish line. But I don’t WANT to just cross the finish line.  What’s the point of that. Oh right…I don’t want to re-injure myself.  I’ll try to keep that in mind.

Bed of lettuce

It’s the weekend before the Brooklyn half.  Yesterday we ran 8.35 miles in a 13:10 pace.  Today we ran 3.35 miles in a 12:30 pace.  My iliacus problem is nagging at me.  I finally realized this morning that I am not lifting my left (problem) leg that same way I am lifting the other leg.  At home, I can’t replicate this problem, but in the park it was clear that I am not bending my left knee much and when I do I feel a twinge. It’s going to be tough to finish faster than last year.

I had a funny dream on Friday night. I dreamed that I was running the race around mile 10 running up the hill and all of a sudden a glazed doughnut appeared in my hand.  I was about to take a bite of the doughnut, but then I realized that I want to go faster than last year and I said, “I can’t go faster if I eat a glazed doughnut when I run!”  So it disappeared. Glad I fixed that.

It’s raining out. I love these chilly rainy Sundays–the park is quiet, people stay indoors, it’s a great day to read, rest, nap.

Meanwhile, this WordPress spell-check doesn’t recognize the word “doughnut” and it is driving me up a tree. “Donut” is OK, though…grr.  MS-Word recognizes both.  It’s a mystery.

Vee

It’s Friday.  Yup.

Last night we did 4 miles in a 11:38/mile pace–faster than usual. We were all huffing and puffing and wearing our summer gear.  It sucked during the run, but I felt good afterwards.  I ate two red velvet cupcakes yesterday so I needed to work some of that sugar off.  I have 8 days until the Brooklyn Half.  I really want a PR for that race, but I’ll settle for having a decent run.

Meanwhile the verdict just came in for the murder of S3an Bell.  Not guilty.  One of the mailroom guys is hoping for a riot.  I am very sad for Bell’s family that the killing of their son will go unpunished. Glad I’m not a cop.

Paul!

I loved the Paul S show last night.  It was fun and raucous and interesting.  I was thinking of you because there were so many different styles of music in evidence, it would have been a great class.  I wish that it were clearer in my mind because my thoughts are a bit disconnected.

The guests included Olu Dara, Gillian Welch, Amos Lee, the Roches, Josh Groban and a group called Grizzly Bear.  They all took a couple (or more) Paul songs and made them their own.  I won’t too much about the Roches–as K said, they were there playing the part of Art G and they harmonize beautifully.

Olu Dara is a group I had heard of but never seen.  They sang 50 ways…and Slip Slidin’ away in a funky, bluesy, jazzy style.  It was in a very oral tradition–the songs became stories.  During 50 ways, he said, “Make a new plan, Stan?  Who’s Stan?  I ain’t Stan…what’s this woman talkin’ about?”  My personal favorite was the riff on “Ya don’t need to be coy, Roy.”  He said, “Coy?  What’s that?  So I went to the dictionary and look it up  C–O–Y…thas a cute little word.”  They got big applause.  After the applause, Olu Dara looks into the first couple of rows and says to someone, “I heard you lean down and tell your girlfriend  ‘that’s not how the song goes…that ain’t the fuckin’ song’  –but you just applauded…so…does that mean we OK now?”  The whole thing was fantastic.

For me, a painful part of the concert was J0sh Gr0ban.  Ick ick ick.  All these 50 and 60-somethings, who seemed to have come expressly to see him, were there screaming like he was the Beatles or Elvis.  He’s so icky.  He sang America and Jerusalem in that overly techniqued (new word) pseudo-operatic style that I dislike so much.  The woman to my right was totally swooning over every word.  K and I were being snide.

Josh:  The reason I love Paul’s songs is that they are still so relevent and meaningful…

Me:  As opposed to relevant and meaningless

K: [giggles]

J0sh fan to the right:  [shoots daggers at me from her eyeballs]

Another home run performance was Gillian Welch, who sang a few selections with her musical partner and then with Paul.  They sang the Boxer and Mrs Robinson together.  Her voice is stunning and she does great harmonies in that country/bluegrassy style.  Watching her perform made me want to get all her music.  And she’s beautiful too.

I can’t remember what Paul sang alone with his band…I think it was Me and Julio at the beginning and 4 or 5 selections at the end.  It was a great concert–there was much applause and cheering–we cheered them, they cheered us.  It was lovely.  I wish I could go get some Olu Dara and Gillian Welch CDs and listen all day long.

Has the moon lost her memory

Tonight I go hear Paul S1mon and friends at Br00klyn Academy of Music.  I am excited! 

I am feeling a bit better today.  I must admit that watching [Lord] Andrew Lloyd Webber give advice to the American Idols gave me several big laughs.  He was aghast that a dude in dreadlocks would be singing the song “Memory” from Cats. The singer was no Betty Buckley.  He made one of the guys sing soulfully into his eyes, as though “he were the most beautiful 17 year old girl in the world.”  The contestant noted that being 25, 17 was a bit young for him.

I am not fond of the music of ALW and I wonder what he intends to perform tonight on the AI results show. I’ll have to watch it when I get home from Paul S.  I must admit I was shocked to read that Lord whoziwhatsis has been married several times.  Wowsers.

I set a day next week to meet the next guy–the guy who has a lot of words.  I told someone at work that he is 5′6″ (and I’m 5′9″).  She snorted:

Coworker: So he’s the same height as S.

Me: S is 4′11″!

Her: If a guy admits to 5′6″ there’s no way he’s taller than 5′3″…so OK, maybe he’s the same height as T.

Me: Oy.

I get lots of encouragement–I love encouragement. 

 

Many concessions

Someone was giving me advice about dating or meeting people or SOMETHING.  The gist was that I should be polite, interested, sociable and not diffcilut to get along with.  I was aghast, “I go to work, I’ve remained employed, I am polite to my colleagues, I get along with the people there, and now you tell me that in addition to doing that I have to be friendly and helpful and polite to MORE PEOPLE?”

She said, “oh…I didn’t realize that so many concessions had already been made.”

I’m having one of those days (months, years, lifetimes) where I want to subject even the most reasonable request to a negotiation.  Today I am at the Korean War and I WILL not let talks continue unless the damn table is round. I am Den1se Rich and I won’t sell any more of my multi-million dollar songs give money to the presidential library until some president pardons my gonif of an ex-husband.

During these times I find solace in fiction, televised or on the page.  I need a new book, so yesterday I watched several hours of TV, including three episodes from the second season of the Wire and last week’s episode of Survivor.  I say to the most recent bootee, “hahahahaha” and many other things. 

My holidays have left me a bit depressed. I am trying to shake it off.

 

$30,000 walked into a bar…

I have returned from the Passover extravaganza. Much chicken soup, matzo balls, and pot roast were eaten. Tonight I will eat borscht.

In addition to the usual Passover stuff, my theme for the weekend was $30,000. Apparently the daughter of a friend of my mother is planning to have some type of fat r3moval surgery which is not liposuction. According to my mother, she will be spending $30,000 on this endeavor. I only met this person once…and when I met her I think she was my size. She wasn’t thin, but she was not seriously overweight. So…$30,000. Every time I took my wallet out to pay for something my mother tried to argue with me and I kept telling her that since I’m NOT spending 30k on surgery…that I had the $6.25 to pay for her sandwich. I’m a very generous individual.

Right now I’m just glad to be home. I was able to see my chiro about my left leg pain, which is apparently due to my Iliacus muscle. I have not run since last Tuesday and I am worse for the lack of physical outlet. But tomorrow I will run and hope that my Iliacus cooperates.

Oh, and I read a book which I loovved. I highly recommend it.

Pesach!

In yesterday’s posting, I mentioned that I had received a real reply from em dot com.  I e-mailed the individual in question to say that I would be in touch when I returned from celebrating Passover.  I received another response from him.  It was a long reply.  My first (unfortunate, sexist) thought was, “what are you…A GIRL”  because I consider these verbose replies the purview of women (or the unemployed).  Word Count reveals that this gentleman wrote me 462 words!  To a stranger!  Now I am afraid that he is manic or bi-polar.  I feel that my space has been crowded.  Go away with your words!  Your letters are oppressive!  Apparently I have issues–who knew?

Much of the e-mail covers his fondness for old standards.  but then he also goes into his philosophy of dating, “I do not just write because I like a picture, but to be fair and compliment you, I do find you very attractive physically.”  All right then…um…thanks?  God this stuff is SO AWKWARD. 

In any case, I have a bit of a respite from everything while I visit my mother for the next four days to prepare for Passover.  Yesterday I had the opportunity to taste and critique a friend/co-worker’s (Protestant) boyfriend’s matzoh balls and chicken soup.  When I e-mailed him my feedback he was surprised that I could tell that they hadn’t been made with chicken fat.  I also had to inform him that the poultry seasoning spices he used in the soup were unacceptable, since there were no fancy schmancy herbs in the land/s of my ancestors.  He took it very well–he is apparently responsible for all the cooking for a Passover seder and, not being Jewish, he is struggling.

I will not be struggling–just helping my mother to prepare for two seders.  Read more about Passover here.  Later.

I wanna cry

I am in a killingly bad mood today.  The most likely culprit is the pain I have that I thought was a psoas problem. Now it’s seeming more like a pulled groin muscle.  No problem, it only hurts when I move.  I really want to be at home alone in the dark.  Ok, writing that sentence made me want to cry.  But I won’t.  My closest co-workers are women and are understanding of moodiness.  Good thing.

I received a real response from em dot com.  It actually refers to what I wrote in my profile. He is Italian-American, lives far away, close to Philly, but I’ll e-mail him next week after I return from the great Passover extravaganza.  I leave tomorrow.  We will be making chicken soup, brisket, potatoes, brownies and eating a lot of matzah. That’s the plan.

I must go and re-group.

Poonilda Devine

I just spent $75 on a “hair iron” because with the coming of Spring I get obsessed with my hair. I would like to get it cut much shorter but for now, I will settle for something a little different. There is no evidence that I will be able to straighten my hair since I am impatient about such girly things, but I am going to give it a try.

I would also like to try something like this.  A BOOTCAMP!  To get me to exercise more! And do strength training!  Of course, the problem is that If I did a morning class I would have to get up at 5AM three days a week.  And if I did it in the evening I would be either running or bootcamp-ing every weeknight.  Either scenario sounds like a recipe for a tired, irritable me.

Speaking of irritable, this weekend I had a coffee incident.  I asked for my coffee “dark” and got it “black,” which is becoming more prevalent.  Is this a regional problem?  Are dark and black synonyms in…say…Ohio and then the Ohioans come here and give me their snotbag attitude when I try to patiently (ha!) explain that I said dark…NOT BLACK.  Soon I’m gonna sound like one of the Bev3rly Hillbillies when I order, “Honey, could y’all just add a tetch of milk to ma’ coffee…thanks a bunch!”

And, to add to the list of names for my cat, a new one is Poonilda Devine.  I sing her a song that goes with the name and she seems to like it.  And I like it too.