A number of months ago Mark mentioned that he had lost some of the Colombia pictures permanently when a mistake was made while he was changing the operating system of his laptop. It wasn't until today, while trying to upload some pictures onto Facebook (new member!) that I realized some pictures I really like were some of the victims of his carelessness.
While he might become really pissed that I'm posting this I have to let it out. I'm like...really sad! I feel a little emptiness in my chest. There are some pictures that I really liked, that really sealed a memory in a little digital file. I don't know what else to say.
My only thought is that the phrase "Don't fix what's not broken" couldn't ring more true right now. Why change operating systems?! Why lose precious photos! My suffering in Colombia was wasted!
Sigh.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
That "Healthy" Crap
Okay, we all are now fully aware that fast food is bad for you. It's no secret anymore. As a matter of fact anything that is bought at a franchise should be considered suspicious. That's why people were shocked that they were getting chubby when all they did was drink large "fruit" smoothies from Jamba Juice or eating yogurt parfaits at McDonald's. Or how about all those news exposés about how the new salads at Wendy's are really packing 600 calories.
Now, at least in NYC, we get to stare at how many calories our favorite coffee drink has since the NYC Board of Health required chain restaurants to post calories on their menus. If you feel like treating yourself after dinner you discover that the tiny scoop of ice cream you want to pick is competing with your meal for 'most calories contained'.
I'll be honest, while it's not stopping me from buying treats it is at least changing what I ultimately end up ordering.
However one thing that annoys me, and it's not the loss of my 'ignorance is bliss' routine when it comes to food, are these ridiculous commercials that tell us that now your favorite franchise is offering a new healthy line of food. Yeah, right.
Take, for example, Dunkin' Donuts new campaign for DDSmart. It's food 'reconfigured' to be healthier. Clusters of fresh spinach and bright peppers float through the air in a tantalizing fashion. Am I really supposed to believe that while MTA workers and home health aides line up for their coffees in the morning that the Indian dude who runs the place is in the back chopping up some fresh veggies for our flat-bread sandwich?
I hate these commercials! Do not let them seduce you! You are smarter than that.
Now, at least in NYC, we get to stare at how many calories our favorite coffee drink has since the NYC Board of Health required chain restaurants to post calories on their menus. If you feel like treating yourself after dinner you discover that the tiny scoop of ice cream you want to pick is competing with your meal for 'most calories contained'.
I'll be honest, while it's not stopping me from buying treats it is at least changing what I ultimately end up ordering.
However one thing that annoys me, and it's not the loss of my 'ignorance is bliss' routine when it comes to food, are these ridiculous commercials that tell us that now your favorite franchise is offering a new healthy line of food. Yeah, right.
Take, for example, Dunkin' Donuts new campaign for DDSmart. It's food 'reconfigured' to be healthier. Clusters of fresh spinach and bright peppers float through the air in a tantalizing fashion. Am I really supposed to believe that while MTA workers and home health aides line up for their coffees in the morning that the Indian dude who runs the place is in the back chopping up some fresh veggies for our flat-bread sandwich?
I hate these commercials! Do not let them seduce you! You are smarter than that.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Job Announcement
I have three more working days at MoMA and then I'm done. I'm experiencing a mix of happiness, excitement, nervousness, panic. You know...all the standard Jamie-traits.
MoMA was great because it came right when I needed a confidence booster to show that people do think I'm a qualified worker. It's interview process wasn't pretentious. I was called on a Sunday and offered the job. I got paid money that I desperately needed. I got to see a world-class museum and some of it's inner workings. I made some nice co-worker friends.
MoMA sucked because it is the most insanely busy place I've ever worked at. MoMA sucked because even people who think they are so cultured because they are spending the day at a museum can be the rudest, meanest, most impatient assholes IN THE WORLD. I'll miss the work friends I made. I don't think I'll miss MoMA.
Next Wednesday I will begin life as a teacher's assistant for a nursery school in my neighborhood. Nervous? Me? YES!
I'm going from a job where I get called an ass by a grown man to where I might be wiping asses. (Okay, probably will be wiping asses) I'm going from a job of telling adults who refuse to read signs where the bathrooms are, to taking little humans to the bathroom. I'll be going from Monet and Picasso to fingerpaint and apple juice.
I'll be making more money (not tons but more is nice), actually getting health coverage (union), I'll have weekends off, and I won't have to take the subway as it's a 10 minute walk from my house.
I mean the only downside I think is that the friends I made at MoMA will be really hard to keep. Let's face it, when you can't commiserate about the old lady who insults everyone at the information desk on a daily basis, what is there to talk about. They all gather to drown their MoMA sorrows right after work. What are they going to do? Call the nursery girl and ask how my day at the playground was? I'd like to think it'd work, but who knows? The concern grows as I'm pretty certain that all of my future coworkers aren't spring chickens. There goes my mini social life I was trying to create.
But here is to my new future, working with our future!
MoMA was great because it came right when I needed a confidence booster to show that people do think I'm a qualified worker. It's interview process wasn't pretentious. I was called on a Sunday and offered the job. I got paid money that I desperately needed. I got to see a world-class museum and some of it's inner workings. I made some nice co-worker friends.
MoMA sucked because it is the most insanely busy place I've ever worked at. MoMA sucked because even people who think they are so cultured because they are spending the day at a museum can be the rudest, meanest, most impatient assholes IN THE WORLD. I'll miss the work friends I made. I don't think I'll miss MoMA.
Next Wednesday I will begin life as a teacher's assistant for a nursery school in my neighborhood. Nervous? Me? YES!
I'm going from a job where I get called an ass by a grown man to where I might be wiping asses. (Okay, probably will be wiping asses) I'm going from a job of telling adults who refuse to read signs where the bathrooms are, to taking little humans to the bathroom. I'll be going from Monet and Picasso to fingerpaint and apple juice.
I'll be making more money (not tons but more is nice), actually getting health coverage (union), I'll have weekends off, and I won't have to take the subway as it's a 10 minute walk from my house.
I mean the only downside I think is that the friends I made at MoMA will be really hard to keep. Let's face it, when you can't commiserate about the old lady who insults everyone at the information desk on a daily basis, what is there to talk about. They all gather to drown their MoMA sorrows right after work. What are they going to do? Call the nursery girl and ask how my day at the playground was? I'd like to think it'd work, but who knows? The concern grows as I'm pretty certain that all of my future coworkers aren't spring chickens. There goes my mini social life I was trying to create.
But here is to my new future, working with our future!
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
I'm Playing My 'A' Game
Here I am, minding my own business, in my own world, walking into the subway station. I walk through the turnstile and BAM! rejected. I laugh, embarrassed, and the MTA worker watching the whole thing is polite enough to look away even though I know he's thinking something ridiculous about me.
"That's all right darlin'."
It's gonna be a good day.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
What I Did
Being exhausted at work all week has somehow inspired me to get out on my days off and actually do something with myself. Mark and I, for the second time, went all the way down to 14th street just to run errands. More food for Vinnie, a visit to the CRAZIEST Trader Joe's in the United States, a little wine spritzer in the evening, some color despite sunblock, and maybe a little dehydration as well.
The next day we hung out with Diana. We had planned on going to see the Dark Knight all together but neither one of us really felt like committing to that plan. Instead we hopped into the car, spent more money on Vinnie (which I believe was truly wasted), and more money at a nice, calm Trader Joe's bringing our collective TJ bill to over $100 this weekend.
After sharing what turns out to the the fattiest pizza in the world, the Numero Uno, at an Uno Chicago Grill we made it back home.
I need another day off.
The next day we hung out with Diana. We had planned on going to see the Dark Knight all together but neither one of us really felt like committing to that plan. Instead we hopped into the car, spent more money on Vinnie (which I believe was truly wasted), and more money at a nice, calm Trader Joe's bringing our collective TJ bill to over $100 this weekend.
After sharing what turns out to the the fattiest pizza in the world, the Numero Uno, at an Uno Chicago Grill we made it back home.
I need another day off.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Good Morning
This morning I stepped into the subway car and sat down in a seat. I sipped on my iced coffee and I was busy digging through my bag to find my iPod. There was only one other person in the car, an older Hispanic lady was sitting diagonally from me.
Suddenly she was plopping down right beside me talking to me, maybe mumbling is more like it. Instinctively I grabbed my bag tighter and hugged my iced coffee closer, a usual reaction when someone suddenly approaches you on public transportation.
I could hear "very tired" and a bunch of Spanish words. I realized that she wanted to chat it up because she was trying not to fall asleep. It's pretty common for older working ladies in my neighborhood to save seats for each other on the Bx12 bus and chat it up like school girls but I had never been approached by someone myself.
I was hungover, maybe still a little drunk, tired, and was looking for my iPod to zone out for the ride. I told the lady "I'm sorry I don't speak Spanish."
"Oh", a pause. "Where are you going?"
I didn't answer right away. Still thinking this is some kind of con. You don't need to know that. But she was trying to make conversation. "I'm going to work." She stares at me, demanding more. "I work at a museum."
"Where do you work?"
"Downtown."
Another pause.
"Where you from?" "You American."
Ah. There it is. The disdain. Here you are you Spanish looking girl with the American accent and you can't even participate in Spanish-as-a-second-language conversation. This is the look from strangers I've always received. From the shops in my neighborhood. From fellow students who bond by speaking their parents language against the teacher's wishes and therefore left out of the cliques.
"Yes, I'm American." She stares at me. Trying to understand the dark hair, tanned skin. "My grandparents are from Puerto Rico."
"Ah. P'rico." She nods, defeated she gets up to walk away.
"Have a nice day." I feel the need to call this out. I feel like I've hurt her feelings. I feel like I disrespected my elders. I watch her move away. Sit down. Look exhausted, rub her face.
Ironically a Spanish-language song comes on my player. I know it's about a woman named Maria, who gets no rest, who always works, always working for someone else. Great, now I feel horrible.
Suddenly she was plopping down right beside me talking to me, maybe mumbling is more like it. Instinctively I grabbed my bag tighter and hugged my iced coffee closer, a usual reaction when someone suddenly approaches you on public transportation.
I could hear "very tired" and a bunch of Spanish words. I realized that she wanted to chat it up because she was trying not to fall asleep. It's pretty common for older working ladies in my neighborhood to save seats for each other on the Bx12 bus and chat it up like school girls but I had never been approached by someone myself.
I was hungover, maybe still a little drunk, tired, and was looking for my iPod to zone out for the ride. I told the lady "I'm sorry I don't speak Spanish."
"Oh", a pause. "Where are you going?"
I didn't answer right away. Still thinking this is some kind of con. You don't need to know that. But she was trying to make conversation. "I'm going to work." She stares at me, demanding more. "I work at a museum."
"Where do you work?"
"Downtown."
Another pause.
"Where you from?" "You American."
Ah. There it is. The disdain. Here you are you Spanish looking girl with the American accent and you can't even participate in Spanish-as-a-second-language conversation. This is the look from strangers I've always received. From the shops in my neighborhood. From fellow students who bond by speaking their parents language against the teacher's wishes and therefore left out of the cliques.
"Yes, I'm American." She stares at me. Trying to understand the dark hair, tanned skin. "My grandparents are from Puerto Rico."
"Ah. P'rico." She nods, defeated she gets up to walk away.
"Have a nice day." I feel the need to call this out. I feel like I've hurt her feelings. I feel like I disrespected my elders. I watch her move away. Sit down. Look exhausted, rub her face.
Ironically a Spanish-language song comes on my player. I know it's about a woman named Maria, who gets no rest, who always works, always working for someone else. Great, now I feel horrible.
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