Blood and gambling

Ever notice how real blood looks fake? I ended up, yesterday, with pools of blood all over my light wood floors and it occurred to me that it looked too red somehow. Like an exaggeration of 'blood red.' Very weird. (Note: I cut my foot, hence the blood. No need to call 911, though flowers would be nice..)

On a completely different note... I'm beginning to understand the national obsession with poker. It always seemed unfathomable to me that people watch it on TV and play it online and that even the Hollywood stars spend their weekends playing (though, I suppose that last one is less mysterious since that's where the serious money's at). But now that I finally succumbed to the temptation and spent an evening playing, I see the allure and it could be addictive (which is really bad news for someone with my personality). Now, I just need to get good at it.

Boys will be boys will be boys

I think what I'm loving most about grad school this semester is that I spend a lot of time just reading amazing books. And I don't have to feel guilty about the hours spent curled on my couch, book propped up against my knees, peppermint tea in one hand and a pencil (to underline my favorite bits -- yeah, I'm that kind of reader!) in the other. I'm actually required to do this!

And when you're reading this much, it's inevitable that things catch your eye. Some of them actually make you laugh out loud. For instance, this quote from a ten-year-old boy:

"I have a lot of girlfriends, about six or so," Japeth said, turning contemplative. "I don't exactly remember their names, though."
(From The American Male at Age Ten, Susan Orlean)

And I'm thinking to myself, Japeth, you're already a man! Kids do say the darndest things..

According to Orlean's article, psychologists say that 10 is around the age "when guys get screwed up about girls."

Hah. What were you like at age 10?

Words..

"The places I've surfed sometimes seem like so many beads on a memory string, a rosary of hundreds of small stereopticons, wherein multicolored waves break in amber."
(William Finnegan, "Playing Doc's Games" in the New Yorker)

That sentence is so beautiful, I swear it almost made me cry. (The day I can describe something like that, I really will cry!) Everytime I think I'm getting closer to where I want to be as a writer, I read something like this and think, man, I have a long way to go. I feel awed and humbled.

I know, it seems a little melodramatic. But it isn't when all you want to do is write -- and write so breathtakingly that people are stopped in their tracks by something you created, even if it's just one sentence. Or one turn of phrase. And then maybe they'll take that sentence and blog about it. Then, you've arrived.

This is New York

So the long weekend is finally at an end. Class tomorrow..

I think what I love most about New York weekends is Sunday brunch. It's like a ritual. And is never boring. That's the other thing about New York weekends -- you go out and encounter all the various species of strange folk that populate this crazy city.

Take this Sunday, for instance. We went to brunch around the corner from my place. It was fairly early (had woken up early-ish with the deluded belief that I would actually "get work done in the morning." Hah!). Anyway, it was past noon but before one. Which meant that the restaurant was buzzing with the over-thirty-fives and under-tens. Most self-respecting 20-somethings were probably just emerging from bed..

We got seated quickly. To the right was an older lady sitting by herself at a table, wolfing down mini muffins. As we looked around for our waiter to get coffee, we noticed this rather interesting phenomenon. Older lady takes a sip from her coffee cup and then summons a waiter. She points at the lipstick mark on the rim that she just left and asks for a new cup. He obliges and brings her a new cup. She takes a sip and then summons him back to point to her newly planted lipstick mark. And asks for a change of cup! And well...you get the picture.

Anyway, much as this was a fascinating scene to watch, I was getting impatient with our waiter. He hadn't come by to get the order yet and the two girls to our left were doing the whole "Omigod, so i totally didn't get laid last night" thing, which was very annoying to have to put up with sans caffeine.

Our waiter finally comes over and practically collapses onto a chair. He takes our order but his eyes are a little glazed over. He forgets to ask Roxanne what sort of tea she wants. About ten minutes later, still no coffee, he comes over again. "Hey guys, I'm sorry. Did I take your order already?" We exchange looks and nod. He starts to make us repeat ourselves and halfway through, goes "Oh yeah, now I remember!" and shuffles off. We never see him again.

A few minutes later, two new waiters come up, retake the orders of all the tables in our section and the maitre d takes off his blazer and starts serving us. Very very weird. And most of this happens with no coffee. Which is really the only thing that fazed me. After all, this is New York.

Beginnings

I never thought I'd blog. Ever. I've always been a pen and paper kinda gal. There's something of the old school romantic about me when it comes to writing. I feel like if I'm going to bare my soul, the medium should be attractive. Preferably pink and scented.

But I've spent the last 6 months listening to a very insistent professor tell me it's the future. And though I've cursed the day he made me start blogging for class (yeah, I have two work-related blogs already), I respect him way too much to be totally oblivious to his insidious suggestions.

So, here it is. The beginnings of a blog -- just for fun. My attempt at catching up to "the future." Call it a momentary flash of insanity..