Who is Luckier Than I Am?

This is an article from the New York Times. Why, you ask, does this make me lucky?

One -- my friend Vickie gave me the coolest box of bacon band-aids ever.Two -- last week, my dermatologist took a mole off of my arm."Minor Surgery" he calls it. Know how to care for a wound incurred through minor surgery?

Three -- cover it with a band-aid for two to three weeks.

Presents for the Homeless?

I've thought about this a lot, so when Jay made this comment, I decided to address it in a post and put it to a vote so that you, my public, can decide what I should do.

As you've read (if you read this blog, I mean) there is a woman who spends a good deal of her time sitting on a suitcase in the 7th Ave and 9th Street station on the F Line. I've actually thought about getting her presents before. In fact, one day I bought her a couple of bananas. When I came up to her she was looking down and when I stopped and tried to get her attention, she didn't look up at me. I freaked out and ran away with the bananas.

I haven't tried to give her anything since.

There's another woman who I see on a regular basis. She sits outside the Jay Street - Borough Hall stop. Every time I see her she is either smoking or writing in her little notebook. Though, this woman isn't writing words, she's just making tiny, perfect, marks in some pattern. She usually has about 5 or 6 different pens -- ballpoint -- in different colors. I've often thought about buying her a new notebook, some multi-colored pens and a pack of Newports and wrapping them up like a birthday gift.

I'd make it beautiful and special and tell her, "Happy Birthday," even though I don't know when her birthday is. And I'd explain that although it may not be her actual birthday, I think that everyone deserves a birthday present so I wanted to give her one.

But then I worried. I can't decide whether giving a homeless woman a wrapped gift would seem pretentious. Or maybe she'd find it condescending. Would I really be being kind or would it be presumptuous?

In New York some homeless people tend to stay in the same areas, or ride the same subway lines. So, when you see them every day, you tend to have a sort of relationship with them, the way you do with the guy at the corner deli or the mail person. I don't know these two homeless women at all, but I see them practically every day and have noticed things about them. Like one loves soda and the other draws tiny lines in her notebook. I've developed a fondness of a sort for them and if I ever got the nerve up to give either of them a gift, it would definitely have to be in some anonymous way otherwise I'd totally chicken out. I guess I'd have to write my "Happy Birthday" message on a card.

So, whaddya think? Should I do it?

Books That I Love

If you look over to the right, you will see that I've added a new list called, "Books That I Love."

I get into these conversations with people about books and so frequently we'll end up making the book list, or at least discussing it. You know -- "What are your favorite books?", " Is there anything I should read?" -- what have you. For some reason I usually choke when I'm asked.

I have read hundreds of books and have loved so many of them, but under pressure, I can't think of any of them. So, I'm putting them down here.

I'll be adding to the list as I remember more books, or perhaps, even read new ones. Please don't ask me why I love them, or what they're about. I have an issue with retention and can usually just remember whether I liked a book or not. In this case, these are all books I have loved and even though I can't recall the plot details of many of them, when I see their covers in Barnes & Noble, I have a moment remembering that they were special.

For some reason or another.

The White Rabbit

I knew it would happen some day.

I have finally smoked myself retarded.

So, I'm sitting here watching America's Best Dance Crew. The routines are amazing and (AND!) JC from N*Sync is one of the judges and everyone hates him. He's the Simon. And he is such a douche. I mean, he is so ridiculously arrogant, but like Simon, he's usually right. ... I love it. One time this kid was screaming at him. It was something along the lines of, "Who the hell are you to tell me I suck at dancing?"

I'm an internationally known pop star who sang and danced with the most successful boy band in history. And I'm rich, bitch.

Then he did a little Z snap in the air.

Fuck yeah, JC.

(He didn't really do the snap. And I paraphrased what he said. But it was still a nice smack down.)

Anyway, I have a computer addiction so I no longer watch TV without my laptop open. I'm developing some serious carpel tunnel syndrome and have chronically stiff fingers from typing or using the track pad. But I feel so much more in tune with the world. At least the world of trashy pop culture and the occasional foray into macgamescafe.com.

So, as I'm watching the show and fucking around on the internet I come across this nutty clothing store. And
I caught myself wondering whether I could pull these off:Over pants. Obviously.

But still, I was considering them.

Network: sugarbutt, Password: N/A

What is it with wi-fi network passwords? Is there something that can happen to you if someone piggybacks off of your wireless internet? I'm not aware of any dangers, so as far as I can see, it's just selfish. Like, "Fuck you. If I have to pay, everybody's got to pay."

I refuse to put a password on my wi-fi. And I gotta tell you, I feel pretty self-righteous about it. Like those hippies who are so proud of the fact that they have zero carbon footprint and only eat food that they themselves have planted, watered, nurtured and fertilized with their own composted feces so that they have as little impact on the planet as possible.

While we're on hippies. I told you about Woodstock. Remember? So you know how I feel about hippies. Patchouli and feet. Anyway. To me, hippies are as offensive as Republicans. And by hippie I mean a person who is so extremist left wing as to be as comical and insane as Dick Cheney and that gay guy preacher who vomited his no-gay agenda all over his congregation like a crazy person until he got caught blowing some fag in a rest area, or whatever the story was.

I agree that we should be conscious of our impact on the planet and make an effort to not fuck anything up too much. But, I do believe that we should have an impact on the planet. We don't ask donkeys to stop grazing and shitting everywhere. That's what donkeys do.

Sidenote: On Nevis donkeys will also wake you up at 3 AM by screaming, "Hee HAAAAWWW!" in your window. But that's a story for another time.

The point is. I think it's stupid to not want to impact the planet. I want to leave a mark. I am here for a reason and I am significant.However, I don't believe our impact should be toxic or cancerous. Like, we shouldn't cause undue damage to the Earth, but that doesn't mean we should go without toilets or cable.

What the hell am I talking about? I know I had some reason for writing. What was it?

Oh.

Wi-fi.

When I check my airport there is a list of available networks. I'm listed (sugarbutt) as well as Amy, Beer Table, Belkin54g, and Hand of Glory.

For a long time I fantasized that Hand of Glory was some crazy pentecostal church in the neighborhood and I would make up stories about what they were googling. Then I realized that "Hand of Glory" is the name of the tattoo shop downstairs. A crazy church. Not pentecostal.

And of all these networks, I am the only one that doesn't have a lock icon next to its name. So, there's a part of me that worries that there is some crazy risk I am taking with my wireless network. Will I be tied into one of my neighbor's crazy kid porn scandal because he's using my wireless internet to send his garbage to some undercover cop? Or, as I suspect, is there absolutely no danger in sharing my internet waves with the world? (Or at least Park Slope in the general area of 7th Avenue between 14th and 15th streets?)

I'm going with my theory. And I hope there are people sharing my internet. I know that when I was in Carroll Gardens, I got a lot of happiness from using Betty (front of apartment ) and Pepe's (back of apartment) networks. And I silently thanked them every time I signed on. And I know that people who may be using sugarbutt are thanking me.

And they're laughing at my network name. Which makes it even better.

She's Back!

I know you've all been worried, so I wanted to let you know that the Sitting Silent lady is back in her spot at the 7th Avenue and 9th Street stop on the F train.

She was there this morning as I went to work, back on her suitcase, with her cigarettes and her 2 Liter bottle of orange soda.

I almost hugged her.

Help Me, Goddammit!

I just got up from one of those nights where you don't get rest because you spend all your dream time fighting battles or arguing or whatever unpleasant experience it is that keeps you from having a good night's sleep.

For me it was my wedding.

It's the day of my wedding -- my partner-to-be was unspecified in the dream, but I was wearing a huge peach dress and I was marrying a man -- and all of my old friends are there to help me get ready. Cara Lee from 7th grade was going to do my makeup. HeatherJeanne was going to do my hair. Another friend from early elementary school was there to help me get dressed and finish up any last minute things I needed. My ceremony is at 7PM and when the dream starts it's about noon. Plenty of time. But then the race begins. I can't find anyone. I'm checking into a hotel and staying on the 11th floor and I have to keep riding up and down in this elevator looking for people and my room and my room key (which I of course lost several times during the course of the fiasco). Turns out Cara Lee is sleeping in a car in the parking lot. She sees me running by in my dress with no makeup, no shoes and my hair has fallen out of it's curls and I'm completely frantic and as I fly past her she shouts, "We'll still be friends, right?"

"As much as we ever were," I reply with as much sarcasm and venom as I can muster in my panic.

Next thing you know it's 5:00, I've got two hours to get to the ceremony, I've just run back into my hotel room where my groom-to-be is having a party with all of my friends who offer no support, they just scream that he can't see me in my dress. Then I'm out of my dress, in the shower and attempting to get myself ready for the biggest day of my life while everyone else is outside the bathroom partying. HeatherJeanne comes in to tell me that she'll help me bleach my hair and Erica shows up to tell me that she hates my makeup.

All throughout the dream I kept waking up and thinking how exhausted I was and how I just wanted to get some rest. And every time I'd go back to sleep I'd be right back in the dream, frantic and frustrated and panicked. Finally I got up because I couldn't take the stress anymore.

Is it just me? I swear, I have dreams like this all the time. I don't get rest because in my dreams I'm panicked and frustrated and feel so helpless and no one seems to understand me. Most of the time these are the dreams were I'm rushing somewhere and all of a sudden my knees stop working.

And now, I'm awake and cranky and I have, "Get Me to the Church On Time," looping through my head.