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Coercion Makes Me Angry
We’re sitting in the jury waiting room, a little collectively buzzed but quiet after the news that we may just get to leave here, duty complete, at 1:00. So we’re all sitting here thinking hoping praying to the jury gods to get out of this unscathed. And since we’re in school mode (attendance taken, instructions followed, at the mercy of authority figures) the room is quiet, still. As if the judges won’t remember they need jurors if we’re silent.
And then the man in the crisp white hat still sporting a virgin brim prances in on shiny white sneakers, bouncing visibly, arms swaying just so without wanting to appear to be dancing, moving awkwardly to the fluttering beat of that music they blast from the cars after the Puerto Rican day parade.
Music playing loud enough to hear through his headphones from across the room. Almost as loud as that shirt he wants us to look at.
I’ve been racking up quite a few Louis CK style “now I have to know you exist?” moments lately. He’s number three.
Number two was the slimy rock-headed snakeoil salesman of a defense lawyer from yesterday. Leading non-questions and general assholery and fluff on top of pea brainedness, all well-deserving of a slap in the face.
Number one was the nebbish jerk with his pleated pants and his mommy-ironed dress shirt who coughed in my face during dinner (a tasting menu during which we matched our neighbors’ schedule) on Saturday. Yes, the air from his mouth and all its disgusting, tiny particulate flew through the air and collided with my eye, cheek, and mouth. And then he continued to cough in my direction without apology. He still takes the prize.
And a new contender is entering the ring as I type. Shut up, faceless yelling woman in the other room.
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Showing How Funky Strong Is Your Fight
I’ve been listening to the Michael Jackson-provided soundtrack of my young life all morning. Stuff like Beat It (attached to so many good memories) and The Way You Make Me Feel (which is actually a really creepy video, story-wise), Smooth Criminal (Annie, are you okay?) and Thriller (naturally).
As the beat pops up and down, I’m feeling sad that the guy who made the music I danced to as a funky seven year old is gone, that another era is ended. And I’m overwhelmed at the power of a single man to have played this big a part in so many lives. Like him or not, you know who Michael Jackson is.
There weren’t many people I wanted to imitate as a kid, but Michael was evidently one of them. I think my husband said it best. And as soon as I can find the photo of me and my inseparable one glove, it’ll be here.
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Horticulture
In case you were wondering, this is how medians get watered in NYC.
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Notes on Some Things
1. Yesterday, Eric and I decided to venture out to the High Line, which I thought wouldn’t be too crazy an idea because of the planned bad weather. But apparently people read weather.com, or, I guess, look out their windows, so everybody beat us there. With their children. So instead we walked through Chelsea Market, hoping to find my favorite blood orange deliciousness juice at Buon’ Italia, but came out empty-handed and frustrated again by the sheer number of heads and arms and legs in that place. So, we walked up to 17th Street and looked up like sad puppies at the High Line people above, and walked away thinking that a park that took ten years to build should not also take ten years to visit. We might get to walk up there without a crowd by December. Maybe. And frankly, no park is worth any kind of wait to get in, let alone a supposed hour long one (according to Ms. Employee of the Park). She said it was roughly the same at all the entrances. So yes, my frustration with my beloved city is growing. The world of New York is simply too crowded to do anything. “Nobody goes there no more; it’s too crowded.”
2. I just watched a dad squeeze a game of frisbee with his son onto a tiny plot of Union Square pavers at the edge of the farmer’s market with a million frowning commuters wandering into their throwing space. It makes me sad that city kids don’t get to run and play with room to breathe. I must be getting old.
3. I fantasize about moving all the time now. To a place with grass (the kind of thing that used to terrify me – that we would have a thing to mow) and an extra room for an office/ studio. Then again, how would I exist without NYC shopping? Yesterday, I was lucky enough to have found my perfect long summer dress. One that doesn’t make my hips look like hippos. It’s cute and colorful and comfortable. Just one C away from being just like a diamond.
4. It’s been a busy week, only ten hours in. And a busy last week. And I really like to be busy, but I’ve found these past few weeks to be slightly more annoying than buzz-inducing as usual. Working on getting it together today so this busy week is less of a [literal] headache and more fun.
5. I want the Iran thing to work out. Is that a broad enough statement for you? (Don’t want to get political here.)
6. One time, I was going to be a baker. With a cute little online storefront to start me off. My little home-based baking business. It was all so pristine. I took immaculate, sparkling photos of my confections and had my poor husband create for me another beautiful website, complete with credit card processing. I would finally be an entrepreneur. Until I realized I didn’t like to bake. And certainly not enough to do it twelve hours a day to turn barely more than minimum wage. Thus was the end of that one time.
7. I am in awe of all the food bloggers out there who make beautiful food and beautiful photos that accurately show how beautiful the food is. On Wednesday I attempted to document the preparation of my grandmother’s famous potato croquettes, and since I couldn’t choose between priorities – making good food or cleaning my hands sufficiently enough to take good photos – I defaulted to the delicious and the photos look like crap. Anyway, bravo to all who make it look easy; in this department, I need to be a one trick pony.
8. I just saw an incredibly beautiful family being sweet to each other and it made me smile like the Cheshire cat (except I hate cats). The dad stopped to kiss the mom out of nowhere (and they weren’t Brangelina-type hot, so that kiss spelled l-o-v-e) and then boys both wanted out of the stroller for a hug from dad, which was happily obliged and turned into a hug from mom, too. Also, I like them because they pulled over to do all this sweetness, instead of blocking the sidewalk like assholes.
9. I’ve come to accept the fact that I just can’t wear skirts. Sure, I can wear them. They look fine, I like them, and they’re pretty. But for me, a skirt has an expiration date. And that is roughly three hours after I put it on.
10. I hate the kind of weather where you’re cold if you’re sitting still, but really could use those short sleeves if you’re walking at a decent clip. Brrr.
11. Heavy rain is so transfixing. I like to imagine that it was the maryjane of the caveman era. And now I have to put on a suitably-warm-something to head out in it.