How Tim Gunn Saved My Life

Well, maybe he hasn't exactly saved my life - YET. But with his classic "Don't bore Nina!" nugget of wisdom a-joggin' through my head (it's too full right now for anything to run through), he'll at least be saving me from writing (and hopefully by extension, my professors from reading) some godawfully boring philosophy papers. Thanks, Tim! I think.

Vindication for the Haters

Pretty much everyone I've shared my packing woes with has said to me "You're getting rid of stuff, right?" Another version of that would be "Your wardrobe could use a culling." I like my stuff, dammit. Every last worthless bit of it. But especially my pretty dresses.

Nevertheless, I did some wardrobe culling about a month ago in anticipation of the big day, the day of moving. Some stuff I hadn't worn in a while, some stuff I'd never worn, some stuff was too well worn. I thought I was done with the wardrobe culling. But as Doomsday approaches and I start to pull bags and boxes out from under/behind/within/on top of things, I find items that make me say "What the fuck was I thinking?" Not in the sense that these items could never have had any fashion value for me (or others), but in the sense of, why the fuck have I toted this thing around from Tampa to Philly back to Tampa then to Brighton Beach to the LES? WHY?

Maybe it's because of the late hour. Maybe it's because I'm starving. Maybe it's because all these boxes seem to be closing in on me. Or maybe the heady cocktail of these ingredients has lead me to a mystical epiphany that these items MUST GO. So go they will. There will be no regrets.

Civil Disobedience?

I usually avoid newspapers and gossip rags like the Post and the Daily News, as I prefer to avoid the sensationalistic "news" contained therein, but I had a copy of the Post in my apartment purely for box stuffing purposes, and the headline "Gotham-to-Ohio Vote Scam Eyed" caught my attention. It seems that several New York City livin' Democrats rented a house in Ohio and registered to vote there. Some would call this illegal. I call it brilliant! We all know New York is gonna go Obama, and fools in Ohio don't know what they're doing, as they've given evidence for in the past, so why not go help them out a bit, y'know, give them a push in the right direction? And with the potential disenfranchisement of recently registered Ohio voters, they may really NEED those extra voters.

See You Next Tuesday

"C" is a great letter. It's situated at the beginning of many important and fun words: Cassandra, Complex, Carina; and here's a classic:



Look at the way Cindy cocks her head. There's another "c" word!

Wordsmith

I made up a new word just now; I was inspired by what I was eating. It's not brand spanking new; technically it's already in the lexicon (according to a google search), but it's new to ME. It's like when scientists independently but concurrently discover amazing new things - that's like me and this word: DISGUSTINGLICIOUS. I thought of it as I ate my American cheese (of the orange, pasteurized process variety), mustard, and ketchup sandwich. It was sooooo goooood. Yet, the concept repulsed me even as my taste buds were savoring.

Recently I had a memory of a "sandwich" I used to eat for dinner regularly (when I wasn't trading heaping ice cream cones for pizza) when I worked at an ice cream shop on the beach in 11th grade. We also sold hot dogs and little bags of chips (and Beanie Babies??). Being a vegetarian, I had to improvise (and I know in this I am not original; I'm sure nearly any vegetarian can vouch for this "desperation sandwich"). Hot dog bun + doritos + ketchup + mustard = disgustinglicious. I've found myself reliving this sandwich of my youth even now; sometimes at a BBQ, though in New York, in this day and age, there are always veggie burgers to be had, I will opt to have a disgustinglicious chip sandwich. If I'm feeling adventurous, I might throw a pickle on there (though the pickle/american cheese/mustard sandwich on wonder bread is another matter entirely).

When I walked by the refrigerated goods section of my local supermarket, I could not resist the soft cry of the 12oz. package of Kraft cheese singles (on sale for only $2.99!). I now feel shame. A disgustinglicious shame.

I'm a Single Lady

My friend Amy, who lives in an apartment three blocks from where my shiny new apartment is situated, suggested that after I move there, me and her and her sis should start doing a workout routine together. She suggested dance routines. She suggested THIS dance routine. I suggested we do this in McCarren Park, in bodysuits. Consider yourselves warned!

Litter Lament

Wouldn't it be nice if shopkeepers, rather than sweeping refuse from the sidewalk in front of their establishments onto the street, instead swept it into a trash container? I mean, if they're going to the trouble to take out a broom and actively sweep? Couldn't they sweep it into the trash?

This can be filed in a category alongside "why do shopkeepers waste water by hosing down the sidewalk?" and "why do residents of Little Diomede throw their trash bags directly into the ocean?"; that category being a very wide umbrella encompassing items of the "why do people hate the environment/earth?" variety.

I'm no saint; I sometimes take long, hot showers. I don't bring a reusable mug to the cafe every day. Occasionally I forget to bring my own shopping bag to the grocery store. But come on now, sweeping trash into the street?? Hosing the sidewalk down every day (maybe twice a day, or more if you're Congee Village and have a very greasy, filthy sidewalk)?? For shame!