The got a lot, a lot, a lotta great desks and chairs

Thunderstorms are on the way.
San Francisco, California - February 2005

Am I the only one who thinks it's odd that Red Lobster needs to have a Lobsterfest every year?

"The Office" debuted on NBC last night, and I watched it more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. After seeing the two full seasons of the BBC series (I haven't seen the special yet, so if anyone dies or invents a time-travelling DeLorean, please, oh massive reader base, don't say anything), I couldn't really imagine much of a point of covering the series. I coudln't imagine anything could be funnier than, or even approach how great the original was, even if Rickey Gervais was actually involved in the new series. But, Steve Carrell is a pretty funny guy. So, even though the ads were about as funny as a grown man in need of a haircut yelling "PANTS!" as he runs down the street with his arms flailing, I figured I had a half hour to devote to this, let's say, experiment.

I don't feel like writing a long, annoying review of the show, but I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. It's not as good as the BBC version, but it's pretty funny. Tanja and I both wondered if we'd like it more if we hadn't seen the original first.

It's worth giving a shot.

I confess

Homer Simpson saves the game.
San Francisco, California - February 2005

Last night, Tanja and I met up with some friends for dinner at a nearby Thai restaurant. The place is quite tasty and, even though I've only been there, I think, twice, it's probably my favorite Thai restaurant in San Francisco. There's a bigger story there, but that's another show. The curry is spicy, the steaks meaty, and the pad thai is... noodly. Like I said, I've only been there twice; not nearly enough.

Before I go any further, have you ever heard REM's cover of "Pale Blue Eyes" by the Velvet Underground? It's on the "Dead Letter Office" B-sides thing. If you haven't heard it, do yourself the favor of not going out of your way to hear it. I used to love this song, before I really knew the Velvet Underground's version, but now that I know that one, it's amazing how bad REM's is. It's good and twangy, sure, but there's a certain something, a certain innocence a certain depth in the original that Stipe just took and replace with whiny emptiness. Oh well.

Anyway, after dinner, we headed home, flipped on the TV. "Ah, my show's on in 15 minutes," Tanja said. "My show." My grandmother used to say that to me, but that was usually about some soap operas, and oddly enough, "The Gong Show." I think she had a thing for the Unknown Comic. In Tanja's case, "my show" refers to the reruns of "Sex and the City" on TBS. She's got DVDs, posters, the lunchbox, but she still likes to watch the edited for TV version. Fine with me. That's usually my queue to go upstairs and relaminate my fake ID, but flush from dinner, I decided to stay downstairs. Besides, that's where my glass of scotch was.

It was the episode when Miranda does something she shouldn't have done, Samantha sleeps with the guy she's dating, Charlotte wished she was with Harry, and Carrie gets dumped by a post-it. Before I knew it, I laughed. Several times.

I know I know. Your whole impression of me has changed. I don't know myself anymore either. But, what's fair is fair, it was an honestly funny episode.

I feel so... cold.

-=-

Happy Anniversary, Tanja. I hope you like the flowers.

Pigeon

His technicolored toothpaste.
New York, New York - November 2000

Not a lot to say today. I was going through some old photos, and I found this one. I've always liked it a bunch, though lots of people have told me they don't, that they're nearly viscerally offended by it. But I like it.

I took this one in November 2000, at the top of the Empire State building the morning after I got back from my big bunch of travelling. I was supposed to still be on the road, but I wasn't, so I came back to New York and spent that whole first day being a tourist. This was the first time in my life I'd been to the top.

Things sure have changed since then.

Doomed!

I don't think you'll survive.
San Francisco, California - June 2003

Sigh. I buy one friggin' pack of Lever 2000 (now with Aloe!) from Amazon one friggin' time, and now I'm the proud recipient of daily emails from them telling me what other great deals on personal care items.

Q-Tips: 500 for $1.89. Hempz Herbal Moisturizer: 18oz for $10.50. Papmers Easy-Ups: 29 for $7.99. Hmmm... I always figured diapers to cost more than that. Sounds like a deal. Tempting...

No, I don't really know why I needed to buy my soap online. There are some things that are better left unsolved.

Invisible

There's nothing left by Iowa.
San Francisco, California - January 2005

It happened again today.

Over the last year or so, starting when I went to New York for a wedding last summer, I've been having trouble staying, well, visible.

I know, I know. If you're male you're probably saying, "So, find yourself a gym, go into the women's locker room, and stop complaining," but it's not that simple. I only wish it was as easy as saying some magic words, trying really hard, doing the best I can, and becoming invisible. In fact, it's been just the opposite. I'd be going about my day, actually doing my best to NOT become invisible, figuring there are times in which it's best to be able to be seen by as many people as possible, and still, invisible. I don't mean it's best to be seen by lots of people in that same old, "HEY, LOOK AT ME!!! I CAN SWALLOW FIRE AT A BOWLING ALLEY!!!" way, not that I've done that. What I mean is, it's sometimes good to be able to be seen, for instance, when you're carrying a bowl of soup or are surrounded by crazed shopping cart pushers in a supermarket.

But here's what's been happening.

July 2004: Standing still outside a store on 5th avenue in New York, a hurried woman walks into me, causes me to drop my backpack, and tells me to watch where I'm going.

December 2004: Shopping for lunch at the Trader Joe's in Emeryville, againm, stopped trying to decide which was the best bottle of cheap wine to go with my sandwich, a woman plunges her empty shopping cart into my left leg. "Watch where you're going!"

January 2005: At the Emeryville Public Market, just as I was leaning in to lift my fresh bowl of wonton soup off the counter, woman number decides the best place for her curry to go is on my sweater. Fortunately, the box doesn't open, even as it plummets to the floor. Still, the woman insists I walked into her, and demands I buy her a new lunch, though nothing spilled. Seems more like a bit of buyer's remorse than anything else. Wonton cashier backs me up. I do not buy woman new lunch.

Today: On the way back from the Public Market, at the corner of 64th & Christie, a well-mustachioed man who should just accept the fact that he's simply not a run of the mill "large" anymore, walked headlong into me. "Watch where you're going," he instructed me.

The real trouble here, I think, is not the fact that I've been turning invisible at all these odd times, but my inabilty to remain invisilbe for a safe amount of time afterward. My becoming visible again immediately after being walked into is, probably the entire root of all of the my navigational trouble.

There's got to be a way to harness this power, for good or for evil. I don't care. But, dammit, I'm going to find it.