More importantly (how could I forget), the Olymics are here. Now, is anyone actually really watching the Winter Olympics? Not me, it lacks my favorite sport - anything that involves short swimming shorts, shaved chests and water - that's when the high definition TV comes in handy. But the Latvians (who strangely looked like Pilgrims in the opening ceremony) already won a medal so hats off to them. And watch for the Latvian hockey team - this year will be the year to break the top 10!

it started snowing in NYC around 6pm on feb 11; on feb 12 around 3pm, it kept on snowing. this is what i saw in greenpoint on the way to feed a cat. and i think i am one of very few people who loves snow, it's the latvian in me. (for the more "romantic" manhattan pictures, go to nytimes.com) 

dig baby, dig 

too bad it's Sunday rather than a Monday 

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McGuinness ave 

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my Polish buddies 

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greenpoint bank 

manhattan avenue 

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pride of greenpoint 

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Babies, babies, babies!

So to follow up on my Stylish Trends posting, MSN has compiled a website with all the celebrity moms to be! So sit back, relax, enjoy the show and start thinking about ordering that fake belly. I'll give you a special price (man, am I gonna be rich!.

This reminds me of the time when I lived in a room that was 7ft X 8ft

From NYTimes

February 3, 2006
Talk About Renting a Hole in the Wall
By JANNY SCOTT

So you think your place is small? One night recently, a group of architecture students staying up late in a loft in Brooklyn took to amusing themselves by stuffing a mattress into a hole cut into the wall above a bedroom door. Then they tried the mattress out for comfort. Not half bad! It occurred to one of them, Nick Freeman, that people might pay money to call that elevated mattress home.

So Mr. Freeman posted an ad on the Web site Craigslist: "$35 — elevated mattress-sized space between rooms." He used a minimalist pitch. "Opening between hall and room available for long/short-term use, accessible by ladder, sheets and pillows not provided." The ad went up around noon, and by the end of that day, Mr. Freeman had a dozen potential takers.

"I was actually surprised with the amount of places that fall into that category — kind of like 'I'll rent a corner,' " said Drew Hart, who answered the ad. "I went to look at a place recently in Queens; I wasn't aware until I got there that it was a cloth shower curtain separating part of the living room."

Into the six-ring circus that is the housing market in New York City — where a house can sell for $40 million, an apartment can rent for $25,000 a month and extended families sleep in shifts in single rooms — came the airborne mattress, at least briefly.

As real estate prices remain stratospheric and people keep pouring into the city, some housing experts believe the market for space within other people's space is on the rise.

On Craigslist alone, one can find hundreds of ads for rooms within apartments, beds within bedrooms, even the occasional couch — if not living quarters, then living eighths. Some are available from Monday evenings through Friday mornings, some only on weekends. Some exclude kitchen privileges, request teetotalers, insist upon plant care, limit sleepovers.
A few will take some of the rent in trade.

"The regular value of this studio is $2,000 per month," one recent ad seeking a roommate for a West Side apartment said. "Your share of the rent is specially reduced to only $250 per month for a female in exchange for doing small chores a few hours a week (i.e. cooking, cleaning, answering phones, massage, etc.)."

The ad suggested helpfully, "Perfect for a student, tourist, actress, etc."

What, no cabdrivers?

"You're in the subterranean world in this particular issue," said Frank Braconi, executive director of the Citizens Housing and Planning Council, a policy research group in Manhattan. "So little of it is aboveboard and legal and monitored, nobody's counting anything. You're inevitably going to be in the realm of anecdote rather than data."

He added, "Anecdotally, it's overwhelmingly the case that it is going on more and more."
Caroline Adalian, a 33-year-old "child life specialist" in a Queens hospital who figures she has lived in 10 different places since college, recalls being required in one New York apartment to say she was a friend of the family and never mention rent. Another woman was told to say she was the cleaning lady.

A few years ago, Karen Falcon, whose family owns a brownstone on Broadway at 152nd Street, tried to find a family to rent the three-bedroom upstairs apartment. When her ad went unanswered, she tried advertising the rooms separately instead.

They went almost instantly, she said; so she turned herself into an informal rental agent for a friend with a 60-unit building full of large apartments nearby.

"We were inundated," said Ms. Falcon, who said tenants in the building now affectionately call it a dorm for adults. "Because young people are pouring into New York City. It's like we are such a magnet. I really feel I'm on the front lines of this."

The mattress episode began sometime before dawn on Jan. 16. John Ivanoff, a 22-year-old architecture student at the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, who shares the 1,500-square-foot apartment on Taaffe Place with five others — the person with the only room with a real window pays an extra $50 in rent — said he and his roommates and Mr. Freeman, a friend, had stayed up drinking and suddenly decided to stuff a spare mattress into the rectangular hole cut into the wall above one bedroom door.

"There were three of us up there at one time," Mr. Freeman recalled. "All three of us hung out there. After the night was done, I said it would be funny if I put this on a room-share thing on Craigslist and see if anyone responds."

One who did was Adam Kriney, a 29-year-old experimental jazz drummer "looking for living spaces for under $200, if possible," as he put it later. He had given up his share in an apartment in Williamsburg and had been staying on various couches of friends.
"Look, I'm looking to live in a crawl space," said Mr. Kriney, who said he spent his money on rehearsal space. "What do I really need besides my laptop, a sleeping bag and a suitcase?"
The mattress ad caught his eye.

"I kind of thought it was like a cubby cubbyhole where I could hang out," Mr. Kriney said in an interview. "I didn't realize it was suspended. Which isn't a problem. That wouldn't be a strange thing. It's just where I lay my head. I'm only here to do my music."

Tywan Williams, a 27-year-old "celebrity hairstylist" at a beauty salon in Queens who had found an apartment but could not move in until Feb. 1, answered the ad after sleeping on the A train the previous night.

Another response came from Melissa Sanfiorenzo, a 25-year-old photographer just back from Spain and trolling Craigslist for a room for $400 to $500 a month.

"When I saw the ad, it's like, 'This is really nuts,' " Ms. Sanfiorenzo said. "I figured being there, with time maybe something would open up. Maybe someone will move out — of, like, the room. I mean the bed is on top but maybe there's a table or a big space."

Mr. Hart, a 19-year-old student from Manasquan, N.J., returning to New York after a semester of travel, fired off an e-mail message to Mr. Freeman: "well O.K. I already know I'm crazy, but . . . if that bed's really for rent and you're all really as crazy as you seem as well (and those strings are strong) I'm there."

He added, "Will also sleep in corner, in tent, etc. etc."

An open house for the mattress was scheduled for that Saturday, Jan. 21, between 6 and 9 p.m. Mr. Hart arrived, checked out the real estate and was willing to give it a shot. But, according to Mr. Freeman, the existing inhabitant of the bedroom in question was unenthusiastic. "Pretty much that was the point where it fizzled out," Mr. Freeman said.

Mr. Hart ended up finding a berth in a small bedroom in Woodside, Queens. He said he was sharing a room with another man in a four-bedroom apartment — "kind of like a dorm situation." The rent is $250 a month.

As for the mattress, Mr. Hart has only one regret. "I think I would have done it," he said. "Because it's, like, a good story to tell your kids."

Whoa!

What could be a more perfect Valentine's Day present???

Here is the much needed info from
http://www.herringtoncatalog.com/w370.html

"I remember as a teenager pretending to break an egg on my girlfriend’s head. Using my finger tips, I then tried to simulate egg whites dribbling down the sides of her scalp. It wasn’t very convincing, but it sure helped break the ice! But the Tingler is no mere ice-breaker. Ten flexible copper tendrils glide through your hair, penetrating right through to your scalp. Smooth tips stimulate sensitive nerve endings, giving you a major-league case of goose bumps — and a rapid release of endorphins that relieve stress, kill pain, and awaken your brain. I tried it on my wife — her body shook, her toes curled, tears came to her eyes, and after an involuntary shiver — she gave me exactly 1/2 hour to stop! Gently raise and lower the Tingler on your partner’s head, and you’ll produce moans of ecstasy that seem almost, well, orgasmic! New battery powered model adds vibration for multiple pleasure!"

Stylish trends

One of the side-effects of watching too much TV is that I am getting sucked into the world of celebrities. Obviously, since they are all so fabulous, I should make them all my demigods and tailor my life to reflect theirs.

According to the current celebrity trends and keeping in mind the statement above, there are two things that I could do to be stylish – get pregnant or get a divorce. Think about it, who isn’t getting a divorce or has gotten pregnant??? If I had really nothing to do, I would list a number of celebrities who fit into these categories but since I have to write two papers for school, I’ll leave it up to you to do all the research.

Optimally, I really should do both – get pregnant and get a divorce. But since there is no one to get a divorce from, my only option is to get pregnant. Now, since I have about a billion other things to do than get pregnant, I’ve thought of a grand solution. For a more natural look, I could drink a lot of beer but it’s not the best solution since it’s hard (especially in this old age when my metabolism rate is visibly slowing down) to get rid of a beer belly. Alternatively, I could just get myself a detachable belly, the kind that was issued to the Human Sexuality class in my highschool. The purpose of it was to learn what it is like to be pregnant and as much I remember, everyone complained that it was really heavy. Mine detachable belly would be squishy and light, no suffering here, only style. Of course, first I would have to take proper measurements and make sure that it’s a cute belly – the kind that would make me look pregnant rather than just fat. At the same time, it shouldn’t be too big otherwise I would look really lopsided; after all, I am kind of frail and small. I would guess somewhere around 6-7 months would look pretty damn good. Since this pregnancy thing is quite a trend, I could also market the detachable belly. There are plenty of hipsters in Williamsburg wobbling around with their (what I assume) real pregnant bellies, if I sell it to the right store, it could become a fashion item for the non-pregnant hipsters. Or it could be one of those ironic items, sort of like the trucker hat trend that was so popular a year or two ago. This way, I could finally fulfill my dream of leaving social work and selling beer on a beach in Costa Rica. Yea, it always goes back to the beer…

Back to the good ol' days

No wonder Putin and Bush are such great friends, they have a lot in common.

From today’s Moscow Times http://www.moscowtimes.ru/stories/2006/01/18/002.html

Putin Quietly Signed NGO Bill Last Week

By Francesca Mereu

Staff Writer

President Vladimir Putin last week quietly signed into law the bill that will increase state control over nongovernmental organizations, but the news was not made public until Tuesday, when it was published in the official government newspaper.

The seven-day delay appeared to be an attempt to avoid embarrassing questions from new German Chancellor Angela Merkel, who made her first visit to Moscow on Monday and met with NGO leaders after her talks with Putin.

The bill flew through both houses of parliament amid mounting public criticism late last year, and Putin approved it on Jan. 10 -- exactly 14 days after it reached his desk. By law, Putin has only 14 days to decide whether to sign a bill.

The law will come into force April 10.

The notice about Putin's signing was published in Rossiiskaya Gazeta on Tuesday.

A similar notice could not be found in the section of the Kremlin web site devoted to new laws on Tuesday night. The presidential press service explained that the web site was reserved for laws that the public needs to know about, Gazeta.ru reported.

Asked why Rossiiskaya Gazeta had waited a week to publish the announcement, the newspaper's deputy editor, Timofei Kuznetsov, said, "This is not a pressing law. It does not come into force from the moment it is published, but within 90 days [of being signed]," Gazeta.ru reported.

In actuality, Kremlin watchers said, the presidential administration has developed a practice of being secretive about controversial legislation.

"In this case, the reason was simple: It was clear that Merkel was going to raise the NGO issue, and the Kremlin tried to avoid giving her the occasion to do so," said Yury Korgunyuk, a political analyst with the Indem think tank.

Lev Ponomaryov, head of For Human Rights, a leading NGO, said the Kremlin had succeeded in avoiding a possible confrontation. "The bill got only mild criticism from Merkel," he said.

At a news conference after Monday's talks with Putin, Merkel noted the "many objections among the public" to the legislation and said Germany would "closely monitor how it is observed in practice."

German Embassy spokesman Brett Wolfgang declined comment on the issue Tuesday, except to reiterate that Merkel would wait "to see the practical application of the new legislation."

Putin stressed at Monday's news conference that "no harm will be done to NGOs that operate in accordance with their stated goals."

The law establishes a new agency to oversee the registration, financing and activities of the more than 400,000 NGOs that operate in Russia. The agency -- not the court -- will determine if an NGO should be shuttered for offenses such as using foreign money for political activities and engaging in activities unrelated to its stated goals.

After vocal protests from Russian and foreign NGOs while the bill was still in the Duma, Putin ordered deputies to remove a requirement that foreign NGOs reregister as Russian entities and become subject to stricter rules -- a rule that would have closed all foreign NGOs.

The legislation followed a warning by Putin last summer that Russia would not tolerate NGOs that used foreign money to finance political activities. The Kremlin is worried about the key role that NGOs played in the peaceful election-time uprisings that ousted regimes in Ukraine in 2004 and in Georgia a year earlier. Duma elections will be held next year, and the presidential election will take place in 2008.

Yelena Yershova, the president of the Consortium of Women's NGOs and a member of the newly formed Public Chamber, expressed dismay that Putin had signed the bill before the Public Chamber had had a chance to weigh in.

"We had a lot of remarks concerning that bill," she said.

"I don't understand what the president is doing. On the one hand, he takes steps to reinforce civil society and creates the Public Chamber. But on the other side, he backs that terrible law that would restrict NGO activities," she said.

Yershova said Public Chamber members would raise the issue when they met with Putin during their inaugural meeting on Sunday.

Putin ordered the chamber set up after the Beslan hostage-taking in 2004, ostensibly as way to give civil society a voice in government affairs. Critics call the chamber toothless. It can offer nonbinding recommendations to the government and the parliament on domestic policy, weigh in on legislation, request investigations into possible breaches of the law and request information from state agencies.

Alexander Chuyev, a Rodina Duma deputy, predicted Tuesday that no more than 5 percent to 7 percent of NGOs would be closed under the new law, Ekho Moskvy reported.

But Ponomaryov of For Human Rights warned that the consequences would be grave for many. "NGOs will become like Soviet dissidents: They can criticize the Kremlin only from home and not publicly," he said.

Human rights group Amnesty International, which had urged Putin to reject the bill, said in a statement that it regretted his decision and repeated its concern that the law gives the authorities excessive powers of scrutiny and discretion, which could be abused.

Russia's ombudsman, Vladimir Lukin, acknowledged that he had concerns about the law but echoed Merkel in suggesting a watch-and-wait approach.

"Let's wait and see how the law works," he said. "I will report any human rights violations to the president."

Dear Diary

I realized that in the past couple of weeks I’ve been in this pseudo-melancholic slump. Much of it has been propelled by a horrific (that is, in my opinion, although I am sure it went better than I think) out-of-nowhere over-the-phone job interview, a traumatic (although in general lovely, but for me, a traumatic) baby shower, and too much free time on my hands. Ongoing obsessions with Bonnie Prince Billy, Cat Power and Johnny Cash (of the American edition) haven’t helped much. Add on the weirdly warm then freezing cold yet still gloomy weather and a killer headache which made me miss a Jack Rose show and that’s the formula for melancholy.

But then talking to my mother over the weekend, it hit me. It’s not really the baby shower, the job interview, too much free time, killer headaches or wacky weather. It’s the fact that every aspect of my life, from personal to professional (or unprofessional, really), is completely on hold for the next few months. And that’s what’s creating this brain fuck.

Typically, I am the kind of person who can make a decision quickly and I rarely think back and regret my decisions. There may be a moment when I think that my choice is not necessarily the wisest but I accept it and move on or deal with it. I don’t sit around, wallowing in indecisiveness, waiting for things to fall in their place. Not that I go out of my way to control the outcome of things but still, when presented with choice A or B, I can make up my mind fairly (or comparatively) quickly.

So essentially, today and for the next few months, I am that person who will be sitting around, twirling my proverbial thumbs, waiting in complete and utter uncertainty. Don’t get me wrong, I am fairly active, running around town looking for pocket organizers and trying to finish writing research report among other things. But this uncertainty and inability to do anything to resolve any aspect of the ambiguity is killing me. I guess there is some level of anxiety and hope that things will fall in the right (or desired) places but it all comes down to having to sit and wait around. I can’t make any decisions as there are no decisions to make nor can I speed up anything or anyone. I have no idea how people deal with this; I suppose that’s why self-medication (yes, of that kind) is so popular.

Well, back to wallowing in my melancholy.

I can't believe this!

Columbia Book Store
2 Ivy League Stationers
1 random card and calendar store

None carry the 3.5" by 5.5" Moleskine Weekly Planner. Although one of the Ivy League Stationers had the larger Moleskine Planner but it has columns with sections for each hour of the day. I don't have enough appointments in a day to buy it. Plus, it's big.

Now, the cherry topper - even the Moleskine website (moleskineus.com) lists the small weekly planner as out of stock! It's a conspiracy, I am meant to be lazy and disorganized for 2006.

An apology to my high school English teacher

Dear Mr. Cummins,

I am not sure if you read this blog, I think I may have included you in the mass email which accounced the debut of the blog. Which, of course, doesn't mean that you read it. But nevertheless, I want to apologize for all the spelling and grammar mistakes. Sorry for the misuse of commas (I love them), sorry for the really long sentences, fragments, incorrect syntax, and sentences that make no sense. Fortunately I can say that English is my third language, but that's no excuse. I promise I paid attention in your class; I am just careless when it comes to writing in this blog. And I still have troubles with the correct use of all the articles - I have no clue where "the" is more appropriate than "a" or perhaps an article is not necessary at all.

And I've lost my Strunk and White.

But I remember you said that it is important to write something every day. So here I am, writing something once a week or so. Plus, I haven't bought my 3.5" by 5.5" Moleskine weekly planner, perhaps once I own one, the postings will be more frequent.

Thanks for reading,
Betty McBoob

This is why I hate shopping

For the past few days, I've combed New York City (well, Manhattan, or lower Manhattan to be exact) for the 3.5" by 5.5" Moleskine 2006 weekly planner. Although generally I am not particularly attached to labels - to me, $30 Levi's jeans look just as good as $180 Seven jeans, the un-attainability of the Moleskine planner has made me want it more and more (I am only being a human!). Also, deep inside, I feel that if I purchase a 3.5" by 5.5" Moleskine weekly planner, my life will be uber-organized and, as a result, I will procrastinate less and do more meaningful and productive activities.

I went to several stationary and art supply stores in the Union Square area where I discovered a variety of different planners but no Moleskine ones. There were also a ton of other Moleskine products but no planners. Then I made it to not one, not two, but three Barnes & Noble stores and all had an abundance of planners but alas, no Moleskine planners. Of course, there were tons of Moleskine notebooks. Then I stopped by Pearl Paint on Canal Street where I found no planners of any kind but a display, which covered most of the wall, with different Moleskine products. As I looked at the display with disappointment, a nice sales clerk told me to go to the Container Store where one can buy the much coveted Moleskine planner. So I gathered the remainder of my strength, buckled my boots, tightened my scarf, took a deep breath and ventured out on the streets of Manhattan to the Container Store, which, unfortunately, is located near Union Square, about 15 blocks from Canal Street.

It was a lonely journey. Thanks to electricity, New York City streets are lit with overhead streetlamps and displays advertising trips to warm lands and post-holiday (not Christmas, of course) sales at Old Navy, yet January evenings in Manhattan are dark and dismal. It's cold and the holiday (not Christmas) cheer is gone, people bundle up, brace themselves against the bone chilling wind which makes 35 degrees feel like 25 degrees and scurry down the street. Since I've been walking for about two hours already, my feet were killing me and every step was permeated with pain. Hunger pangs were torturing me and I salivated every time I passed a pizza shop. My body was losing its energy fast. Yet I was determined to make it to the Container Store to buy my soon-to-be most prized possession.

Once I got to the Container Store, I felt a surge of excitement and energy as I stepped into its warm sales floor. A cheery greeter asked me if I needed help and I quickly described what I was looking for. She looked at me, turned around, and told me to walk to the back wall, turn left, walk to the end and take a right. As I followed her directions, I almost ran in excitement and anticipation. As I turned right, I saw a display of what looked like planners and notebooks and planner refill pages and other variety of products which would enable people to be organized. I was so happy. Well, that ended really quickly when I realized that the display was full of planners and notebooks and other random and useless stuff. But no Moleskine planners.

Of course, I can always order one online. I may, I plan to go to a couple stores near Columbia and then a stationary store near Columbus Circle. The $10 shipping charge and the 1-2 week wait may be worth it. In the meanwhile, I shall continue to procrastinate and write stupid blog entries.

Oh, and if anyone knows of any stores in Manhattan that sell Moleskine 3.5" by 5.5" 2006 weekly planners, please, please, please let me know. I promise I will credit and thank you when my first book gets published, I find cure for AIDS and solve world peace.

Updates

I am sure everyone is sitting, impatiently awaiting the blog’s update. The blog has been quiet lately, what is Inga up to? I bet she’s living it up, having little time for trivial things like her blog…

Well, in fact, I have been living it up. Mainly in the form of eating and sleeping. And watching useless television. In addition, I’ve:

* had a great New Years party. New Years parties are generally a tricky thing. Once in a while, I feel like having a gigantic bash, but most of the time a low key event with friends feels much more appropriate for me. I think age plays a factor in this as well, I (not so fondly) remember going to some New Year’s party in 2001 where I drank too much champagne which caused me to leave a trail of vomit from the Upper West Side all the way to Sunset Park, Brooklyn. The worst part of that New Year’s was waking up in someone’s apartment (luckily my friends were with me the whole time) still dressed in my winter coat with vomit all over it. I was so hung over that day (or really, still totally drunk) that I, very slowly, walked for about 30 city blocks to sober up so that I could get into the subway at Columbus Circle and make it to Sunset Park without throwing up. I think the rest of the day was spent in my bed, barely moving. Oh, I also omitted the part where I vomited in the subway. Yes, I was one of those annoying people who vomit in the subway and leave it all stinky. The following couple of New Years weren’t so memorable, although I vaguely remember showing up at some party in Park Slope, using the toilet (not to vomit this time) and promptly leaving. There was another New Year’s party where I inhaled too much smoke (yes, that kind) and felt so out of my mind that I sat on the balcony for an hour, trying to avoid talking to people and hoping that the car would come soon to pick me up. This time, my walk home (which lasted a good 30 minutes) was much more sobering. Fortunately for me and my aging friends, the past two New Years have been spent eating tons of food and drinking in the company of 10 or so good friends while counting down to midnight. Then the dancing would start. And all this would happen within walking distance of my apartment so I would be golden.

*watched the movie Munich. There is a small caveat to this story. When I first saw the poster for the movie, one of the letters was obscured by a column so when I looked it, I saw “unich” with a picture of a man with his head hanging low. Now, I realize that “unich” is spelled “eunuch” but at the first glance, I thought that Steven Spielberg has made a movie about eunuchs. Incidentally, the New Yorker had article about male baldness this week and according to it, castration has a 100% guarantee of prevention of baldness. Anyways, originally we tried to go see another movie but it was sold out so Munich was the only one that seemed most interesting. Well, let me tell you – don’t go see it. Unless you are willing to sit in a movie theater for 3 hours, it’s just not worth it. Even if you have great interest in Israel/Arab relations, don’t go see, you’ll be bored because there isn’t that much political analysis. There is tons of action in the movie (somebody gets blown up pretty much every 3 minutes) but it gets really boring after 2 hours of watching people getting blown up. Also, Spielberg tried to intertwine an emotional story about a sensitive family man with morals (blah blah) yet either the acting was poor or the story line was so boring that I did not care for the hero with morals nor did I identify or care for any of the characters in the movie. And (now, if you don’t want for the ending to be given away, don’t read the rest of this), the uber cheesy cheap shot at the very end was ridiculous. I rolled my eyes and laughed. The “hero” of the movie says something along the lines of, “if we keep killing them, they will find more evil people to replace the killed ones and where will it all end?” (or something along those lines) Cue crappy sappy music and pan camera to a background shot, focus on the World Trade Center Towers. Yes, that’s how crappy the movie was.

*read Freakonomics. So my friend told me earlier about Steven Levitt’s argument that the reason for low crime in 1990s was due to the abortion rates among poor disadvantaged women. Levitt argues that people who were more likely to commit crimes, those of low socio-economic ranks, lack of education, lack of supportive parent(s), etc, were effectively killed before they were born. Ok, an interesting argument. Yet, I wasn’t blown away. Or “dazzled” as Malcolm Gladwell’s blurb says on the cover. Once Levitt makes his statement, the rest of the chapter peters out. Or he switches to a more conventional topic. In general I think Levitt tends to make a statement that shows some correlation yet there is little convincing evidence for causality. He addresses this in a chapter by providing an example of snow and temperature. He says that there is correlation between cold weather and snow yet this correlation does not provide evidence that cold weather causes snow or that snow causes cold weather. Which is exactly my point since snow, a type of precipitation, is caused by the hydrologic cycle, while changes in weather, including Earth’s temperature, is caused by the heat from the sun (whew, finally, all those years spent around astronomers has come in handy). As a current researcher, I have (actual) authority to say that Levitt doesn’t self-criticize or acknowledge the weak points of his argument, something every good scientist would address. Without addressing holes in his arguments, in my eyes, Levitt’s book is not “dazzling.” Just “interesting.”

Happy New Year everyone!

I roll my eyes at you

So what bothers me a lot, and several people have heard about this already, are people who walk around with t-shirts, caps, coats, and other articles of clothing that have some sort of symbol of communism, more specifically Soviet communism, on them. I noticed in the past few days, there has been a re-emergence of caps and hats that have a red star sewn in the front. A few years back, there was a trend to wear Bolshevik-style military coats. And once in a while, you see some twit, wandering around in a USSR t-shirt. Or, CCCP, that’s a special t-shirt for those who really know.

One time, I think about two-three years back, I was at an art opening, walking around, feeling a little bored, not really fitting in with the rest of the people attending the opening. Thanks to my peripheral vision (yes, you’d think I am Wonder Woman), I spotted a kid in a green, ankle length military coat with a variety of Soviet-looking insignia on it. At that moment, I’ve had several drinks already so I felt ballsy enough to approach him and inquire why he wore that coat. I felt a little bad because the kid felt really uncomfortable and said to me in the most pitiful voice: “I don’t know, leave me alone.”

This brings me to my point. Most of these twits don’t know anything about communism. I doubt many of them would be able to compare and contrast the difference between socialists-who-became-communists-but-then-were-classified-as-socialists again, Marxism, Leninism (or, I guess, Marxist-Leninism, pending whom you ask), Stalinism, Glasnost, China and Cuba. Those who can speak at length in an intelligent manner most likely would not wear ‘stylish’ outfits with pre-sewn emblems.

Someone told me that kids wear that crap because they’ve been taught that communism is bad, thus wearing communist symbols would lead others to believe that these kids are ‘bad’ and ‘rebels’ against the establishment. Now, I may be totally wrong on this one, but I just don’t know that many 20-somethings today whose parents repeatedly warned them about the evils of communism. Most of them grew up in the 80s and they got to see the more fun (relatively speaking) parts of Soviet communism. I am sure pictures of smiling Gobachev made everyone feel fuzzy inside (ah, the fuzzy theme again).

Not to mention that a whole lot of people suffered under communism. And still do. Let’s not forget people being forcefully moved or deported, people dying in labor camps, people being overmedicated in a psychiatric hospital because they said the wrong thing. I don’t see anyone wearing swastikas in public, yet a CCCP t-shirt is OK? Why did all the Solidarity-type movements cropping up all over Eastern Europe? Why did the Wall get smashed into pieces? Communism may be fun to read but living in a communist state is another thing. And it shouldn’t be idolized the way it is by a bunch of ignorant twits. If they were sent to present-day China (and I mean China, not the fancy luxury hotels built just for foreigners in Beijing), I am sure all these twits will change their mind and move onto something else to wear.

Finally, it’s all finished

So the good news is that I am finally finished with the semester. The whole ordeal was painstaking. School of Social Work makes sure that everyone’s is on her last straw at the end of the semester by not giving time off during finals week (note that I wrote ‘her’ since the school is full of about 782 women and 13 men). So everyone was writing papers while going to classes and work. I’ve been writing frantically every day, writing so much that my 20 page paper became a 30 page paper and my 10 page paper became a 12 page paper. By the end of the week, my brain was completely fried, I would mumble something to people and no one understood anything I was saying. Not that anyone ever understands me but this time it was extra bad because even I wasn’t sure what I was saying any more.

In all this paper-writing delirium, I also had the weirdest and most intense dreams. Last Monday, in my dream, I was sitting in a New York City bus on the way home from the North 7^th stop on the L and all of the sudden, these two men broke out in a fight. They were really punching the crap out of each other and everyone around them was shrieking and scrambling to get away. And although I was scared and I kept telling myself that I really should get away as soon as possible, I didn’t budge. But the fear and panic felt real and I may have been screaming while dreaming. Not that there is anyone to verify my screaming but that’s a whole new post I am not going to dwell into. I am not sure why I dreamt about a fight although I did take a bus from my yoga class earlier that evening. So Freudian dream interpreters, fire away!

On top of this dream, later in the week, I had a weirder dream. I was at work in a conference room on the 8^th floor a building. Instead seeing the Upper West Side of Manhattan, I saw water that came up to the 8^th floor with snowcapped mountains in the background. At some point, rockets started flying around and planes started exploding into the mountains. At the same time, these cranes emerged from water and started swinging around for no reason. And a group of old people came out of an exit to the side to take a dip in what seemed to be freezing cold water. When they realized that the world was going bonkers around them, they all decided to swim back to the building. I am not feeling super descriptive today so instead, I doodled a lovely picture for you below. I just realized that I forgot to add this creature that popped out of nowhere and started climbing up the window, staring at me and my colleagues. Judging by the expression on its face, it seemed really angry and it kept jutting its sharp tongue over its spiky little teeth. I could even see its little suction cups that attached to the glass so that the little creature wouldn’t fall off. I woke up, feeling really confused.

And then, I had another weird dream where I was scared crapless as well, but I forgot it the minute I got into the shower.

But I am glad the semester is all over with. My plans for the break are to eat, sleep, and finally get back to all the people whom I haven’t seen in weeks. So if you’re one of them, call me! I’ll pick up this time, I promise.

This is what my mind comes up with when I am delirious 

Oh My God!

Someone shoot me! I've been listening to Cat Power for days now...

At least, I am not paying to see her live, now, that would be a disaster!

From the Washington Post

Katrina Victims Testify on Racism's Role

By LARA JAKES JORDAN
The Associated Press
Tuesday, December 6, 2005; 8:06 PM

WASHINGTON -- Black survivors of Hurricane Katrina said Tuesday that racism contributed to the slow disaster response, at times likening themselves in emotional congressional testimony to victims of genocide and the Holocaust.

The comparison is inappropriate, according to Rep. Jeff Miller, R-Fla.

"Not a single person was marched into a gas chamber and killed," Miller told the survivors.

"They died from abject neglect," retorted community activist Leah Hodges. "We left body bags behind."

Angry evacuees described being trapped in temporary shelters where one New Orleans resident said she was "one sunrise from being consumed by maggots and flies." Another woman said military troops focused machine gun laser targets on her granddaughter's forehead. Others said their families were called racial epithets by police.

"No one is going to tell me it wasn't a race issue," said New Orleans evacuee Patricia Thompson, 53, who is now living in College Station, Texas. "Yes, it was an issue of race. Because of one thing: when the city had pretty much been evacuated, the people that were left there mostly was black."

Not all lawmakers seemed persuaded.

"I don't want to be offensive when you've gone though such incredible challenges," said Rep. Christopher Shays, R-Conn. But referring to some of the victims' charges, like the gun pointed at the girl, Shays said: "I just don't frankly believe it."

"You believe what you want," Thompson said.

The hearing was held by a special House committee, chaired by Rep. Tom Davis, R-Va., investigating the government's preparations and response to Katrina. It was requested by Rep. Cynthia McKinney, D-Ga., a member of the Congressional Black Caucus.

"Racism is something we don't like to talk about, but we have to acknowledge it," McKinney said. "And the world saw the effects of American-style racism in the drama as it was outplayed by the Katrina survivors."

The five white and two black lawmakers who attended the hearing mostly sat quietly during two and a half hours of testimony. But tempers flared when evacuees were asked by Rep. Jeff Miller, R-Fla., to not compare shelter conditions to a concentration camp.

"I'm going to call it what it is," said Hodges. "That is the only thing I could compare what we went through to."

Of five black evacuees who testified, only one said he believed the sluggish response was the product of bad government planning for poor residents, not racism.

I think I am in love

Well, maybe not in love per se, but it’s definitely a gigantic crush. Unfortunately, the guy is not from here so I don’t see him very often, which is a little sad. In fact, he won’t be back until spring; at least, that’s what he said, so it’s going to be a long and lonely winter. I may as well stock up on chocolate ice cream and DVDs now.

But he’s thoughtful and really nice. And he’s got a beard! He’s also a musician, and for those who don’t know me too well, I’ve always been a sucker for the musician/writer types. He’s brilliant - the one time I heard him play, I was a little mesmerized. Just a little - I was sidetracked by some guy who spilled his beer while chatting up a girl and I was watching him desperately soak up the spill and make it look cool. It didn’t work out; she turned around and cackled with her friends for the rest of the show.

Anyways, back to my crush. Truth be, he’s drinks a whole lot (it’s a little scary) and he’s married. So there isn’t much hope for me but everyone has secret crush. It just happens that mine is not on Brad Pitt or Jake Gyllenhaal (fortunately for me, my roommate has a magazine for gay men which features an article on Brokeback Mountain so I was able to refer to it to spell Gyllenhaal – whew!). My crush is on none other but the super-dreamy Jack Rose.

I am sure you’ll say: “well, Inga, how do you know that Jack Rose is thoughtful and really nice?” Well, let me tell you. I went to Tonic to see Jack (or as I refer to him – Jackie-poo) play. Now, Tonic listed him first on fliers and tickets. Other Music, a music store on West 4^th, didn’t even bother list other performers, they called the entire thing a Jack Rose show. Now, when a performer is listed first, that usually means that he will play last. Being cool, I showed up at 9pm, rather than at 8pm when the show started, expecting to wait several hours to see Jack Rose play. Well, unfortunately for me, Jack Rose played first and I missed the entire performance. And to make things worst, Tonic wouldn’t refund the $15 tickets even though Ticket Web, which also sells tickets for shows at Tonic, refunded tickets to its customers because Josephine Foster, who also scheduled to play that evening, cancelled.

But, thanks to the addictive nature of nicotine and current anti-smoking laws in New York City, after his performance, Jack Rose bolted outside for a smoke. During this time, I took the opportunity to whine (heck, I am a pro at it, why not?) about missing him play. I even pointed out that I had his show on my calendar for weeks. Jack was really nice, he apologized and ran back into Tonic. After a little while, he came out with a tote bag and gave me a t-shirt. Ok, so I suppose a t-shirt is not really the same as getting to see him play but I don’t care, he didn't have to give me one. So, Jackie-poo, I luv you!

Killer chipmunks and squirrels

I couldn't resist... and I would second the existence of killer squirrels. I've seen several squirrels attack humans on my college compus a few years ago. And these were civilized american squirrels.

Russian squirrel pack 'kills dog'

Squirrels have bitten to death a stray dog which was barking at them in a Russian park, local media report. Passers-by were reportedly too late to stop the attack by the black squirrels in a village in the far east, which reportedly lasted about a minute. They are said to have scampered off at the sight of humans, some carrying pieces of flesh.

A pine cone shortage may have led the squirrels to seek other food sources, although scientists are sceptical. The attack was reported in parkland in the centre of Lazo, a village in the Maritime Territory, and was witnessed by three local people. A "big" stray dog was nosing about the trees and barking at squirrels hiding in branches overhead when a number of them suddenly descended and attacked, reports say.

"They literally gutted the dog," local journalist Anastasia Trubitsina told Komsomolskaya Pravda newspaper. "When they saw the men, they scattered in different directions, taking pieces of their kill away with them."

Mikhail Tiyunov, a scientist in the region, said it was the first he had ever heard of such an attack. While squirrels without sources of protein might attack birds' nests, he said, the idea of them chewing at a dog to death was "absurd". "If it really happened, things must be pretty bad in our forests," he added.

Komosmolskaya Pravda notes that in a previous incident this autumn chipmunks terrorised cats in a part of the territory. A Lazo man who called himself only Mikhalich said there had been "no pine cones at all" in the local forests this year. "The little beasts are agitated because they have nothing to eat," he said.

Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/europe/4489792.stm

And I thought I whine a lot

So thanks to my friend, who is sorely missed, I am posting a story from the New York Times, which accurately describes the trials and tribulations of using the G train. And I gotta meet this Emanuele Zanet, I think there is a talk in order.

December 6, 2005
No Respect (and Soon, a Crew of One)
By SEWELL CHAN

It is the only major subway line in New York that does not enter Manhattan. Its route is short: 16 stations at peak hours. Its trains, 4 cars instead of the usual 8 or 10, seem oddly truncated. Even the color of its route symbol, a sickly lime green, suggests unease.

It's the G line, which rumbles between Queens and Brooklyn, and has never been much loved by subway riders. It does not have the multiethnic charm of the No. 7, the iPod-hipster bustle of the L, the quaint charm of the 42nd Street shuttle or the romance of the A. It has not been immortalized in song.

And now, perhaps, the final indignity: starting this month, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority plans to remove all conductors from the line. Since 1998, the line has been conductorless on weekends - the first line, other than shuttles, to be run under a program known as one-person train operation. (On a one-person train, there is only an operator at the front.)

The authority says that conductorless trains save money and are widely used in other cities, but some riders view the impending change as only the latest slight for a line that too often seems forlorn and neglected. No other line seems to have riders so aggrieved, and their criticism so vituperative.

"Just put lights on the tracks and we can walk - it'll be faster," said Jonathan Lovett, 46, a letter carrier whose house is a few steps from the Clinton-Washington station in Brooklyn. His advice to the G-line neophyte: "Bring an extra battery for your MP3 player."

But the line does provide a vital, if erratic, link between the city's two most populous boroughs, and G detractors may be surprised to know that weekday ridership has risen 10 percent since 2000. Much of that has resulted from residential growth in neighborhoods like Long Island City, Queens, and Greenpoint, Williamsburg and Fort Greene, in Brooklyn.

Mr. Lovett was worried that the removal of conductors might complicate a practice that some riders call the G-line sprint. If they hear the train coming and find themselves at one end of the platform, they will make a mad dash to the short train. "Often, the conductor will keep the doors open if he sees you running for the train," Mr. Lovett said. "I don't know if the motorman will do that - or if he can even see you running, since he's in the front of the train."

From its southern terminus, at Smith-Ninth Streets near the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn, the line meanders north, east and then north again. At peak hours and midday on weekdays, it serves 16 stations and ends at Court Square in Long Island City. In evenings, at nights and on weekends, it serves 29 stations and ends at 71st Street-Continental Avenue in Forest Hills.
But even that irregular plan is not often followed. Service has been particularly erratic this year, because of an array of construction projects, including a $47.9 million effort to rehabilitate structures, repair leaks and replace incandescent lights with fluorescent ones along five miles of the line.

For 42 weekends this year, the train is ending at Court Square because of various subway construction projects. For 14 weekends this year and late nights for half of the year, the line is operating in two segments, one from Hoyt-Schermerhorn to Bedford-Nostrand in Brooklyn and the other from Bedford-Nostrand to Queens. And for 10 weeks, the G line is running express in Queens on weeknights.

The constant service changes have created confusion. "Even on a good day, it's chaotic on the G train," said Brenda L. Carpio, 28, a telephone operator who leaves her home in Red Hook, Brooklyn, at 5:30 a.m. to reach her job at a car service company in Sunnyside, Queens, by 7. "On weekdays, it can be pretty reliable, but on the weekends, not at all."

The G line's performance was defended by Emanuele Zanet, the G line superintendent at New York City Transit, the transportation authority subsidiary that operates the subways. "It operates quite efficiently, on time and on schedule," he said.

Statistics show a mixed picture. From 9 p.m. to 6 a.m., en route schedule adherence - a measure of nighttime service reliability - improved significantly, to 80.6 percent in the third quarter of this year from 61.3 percent in the same period last year.

But from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m., when most trips are taken, the wait assessment - the percentage of times that the wait between trains falls within acceptable limits - dropped slightly, to 91.6 percent from 85.9 percent. Both of the G indicators are comparable to those of most of the other 25 subway lines.

Mr. Zanet, who has overseen the line since February, attributed the slippage to signal and switch malfunctions, police actions, stops to wait for help to arrive for sick customers and other disruptions.

The G line has been renamed and reconfigured several times since it was born as part of the Independent Subway System in 1933, but probably the biggest change came in 2001, when the 63rd Street tunnel was completed. The F was rerouted through the tunnel, which would have left the E as the only line leading into Manhattan under 53rd Street. To relieve crowding on the E and F, the V was created to run from Forest Hills to the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
Because there were only so many trains that could use the station stops in Queens, New York City Transit proposed permanently shortening the G, so that its last stop would always be Court Square. Otherwise, officials said, the G, R and V lines would get backed up in Queens.
An uproar ensued, and the agency agreed to keep running the G line to Forest Hills - but only in evenings, at nights and on weekends. The change never sat well with riders. "The V wasn't really necessary," said Mildred Powell, 45, a housekeeper who used to take the G directly to her job at Elmhurst Hospital Center in Queens. Now she must use three lines a day, instead of two.
Many riders today say the subway map is misleading because it depicts the G line from Court Square to Forest Hills as a dotted line - a tantalizing representation of what the line used to be and now so rarely is.

Kenneth K. Fisher, who represented most Brooklyn neighborhoods along the line as a City Council member from 1991 to 2001, said the G has long lacked powerful supporters. "It served a largely poor and working-class constituency," he said, "and it traveled through some neighborhoods that didn't have a lot of residents or were perceived as high-crime, which kept ridership down."

That may be changing. Neighborhoods around the G line have been bustling with luxury high rises, art studios and new restaurants. Greenpoint has become a hub for independent filmmakers, loft condos are proliferating in Fort Greene and residential towers are going up in Long Island City.

Ridership has climbed. The G line now delivers an average of 38,869 each weekday, up from 35,227 in 2000, not counting stations south of Fulton Street that are shared with the A, C or F lines. That means more riders are learning the G-line sprint.

"I don't like to see people running after the trains," said John M. Kinyk, a train operator on the G. "It's not safe. The people ask, 'Where's the rest of the train?' "

Oh the horror!

I was sitting in a hole-in-a-wall diner today, eating my two eggs over easy with sausage and I overheard people behind me talking about the Times article on bedbugs. They’re not just taking over our beds - they’re taking over our minds! People are eating, sleeping, dreaming, thinking, and scratching bedbugs!

Not a slightest bit of fuzz

Lately something really weird has been going on. It left me confused, perplexed, and I have no rational explanation for any of it. Perhaps the Apocalypse in nearing or something has been slipped into the New York City’s water.

For some reason, wherever I go, someone calls me “honey” or “sweetie.” And I am not talking about someone who has meaning in my life, because then I just feel all fuzzy inside; I mean people at the deli, the cashier at Duane Reade, random person asking me for directions to Fordham. And there are definitely no fuzzy feelings on my part. I cannot explain this at all because usually I look like crap and most of the time, I am pissed off at some moron who cannot get out of the way quickly enough. Lately, thanks to the never ending papers that are all due in the next two weeks, I look double crappy and triple exhausted. Yet the other day, a guy behind the counter at a deli gave me a cup of steaming hot peppermint tea and said: “here you go, sweetie.” I am sure I rolled my eyes and then when I turned toward to cashier, she said: “would you like a bag for you tea, honey?” I don’t know, maybe the guy behind the counter and the cashier lady had some lovin’ the night before but then a few weeks ago, a cashier at Duane Reade called me “sweetie” when I thanked her. Since the deli and the Duane Reade are fairly far apart from each other, I doubt there was any sort of a connection between all three.

On top of this, all of the sudden, once or twice a day someone asks me for directions. And I checked, there isn’t a sign anywhere on my body that encourages people to ask me for directions. I remember a few years back, someone was telling me that I don’t look very approachable and that I need to smile more. I told that person that I am fine with not being approachable. So if I am not that approachable and I am not all smiles, why are all these people asking me for directions?

I am sure this makes sense to people in the South or Midwest or something but in New York, it just doesn’t make sense.

Enough of procrastination. I wish papers wrote themselves.

Is that little dot on my sheets moving?

Due to a variety of rather pleasant circumstances, for the first time in several years, I read the Sunday’s Times while sipping (or trying to sip) coffee while lying in bed. To my horror, one of the front page stories, which then continued onto several other pages deeper into the A section, I read a story on bedbugs, which, apparently, are taking over New York. Now, we all know that the front page stories are fluff stories accompanied by a dramatic picture of a malnourished child or a dying “peace keeper” in the Middle East - sort of like fluff stories you get on the Fox 5 Channel. But the reason why I was so horrified is that I’ve always had a fear of bedbugs and they made it to the front page of the New York Times!

It all started when a few years back my friend announced that her roommate had bedbugs. After telling me about her roommate’s repeated attempts to get rid of them, I was traumatized (I am sure) for life. That evening I ran home, tore off my sheets and, while shaking in fear of what I may find, I inspected every crevice of my mattress. Fortunately, there weren’t any visible creepy crawlers. Nevertheless, that night was followed by my tossing and turning and scratching while imagining tiny little buggers crawling all around my bed. Later on, say a year or so, my roommate started to complain about bites on her arms and chest which, to my paranoid and untrained eye, looked pretty much like bedbug bites. Then again, it was the year when construction started in our backyard and there were puddles of rain everywhere which would have easily lead to an infestation of mosquitoes. Yes, swarms of mosquitoes in Brooklyn. Haven’t you heard of the West Nile virus on the Fox 5 Channel?

The other thing is that in my previous life, I traveled in the US and to several countries and I managed to stay in a variety of fancy and not-so-fancy hotels. According to the bedbug article, that’s where a lot of people have gotten their bedbugs. So, according to it, I’ve managed to place myself in several high-risk situations – my friend’s bedbug infested apartment and somewhat seedy hotels. Not that the hotel in Mongolia was seedy, but judging by the amount of black hair left by the previous occupant of my bed, I doubt the sheets were changed carefully or regularly (hmm, wait, should I have someone inspect my head for lice?).

Despite some comforting words and assurances that this is probably a ploy set up by some bedbug fumigation company which will soon reveal a brand new bedbug killing machine, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ll probably toss and turn all night tonight while scratching every part of my body. I should just stop reading the Times; really, it’s day old news anyways.

Loins on fire

I would imagine an average reading is thinking that I’ve been spending a lot of time writing about the New York City subway lines. The problem is that I take the subway almost every day of the week (that is if the L is working on the weekends, but that’s a whole new post) so I can’t help but spend a lot of time thinking about it. Plus, since I’ve fallen into this slump of not doing any school-related work any more, there is not much to do in the subway but stand/sit, listen to my iPod and ponder.

Anyways, the guest of honor for today’s post is an average man who takes the subway in New York City. It’s your typical, average, non-descript man who sits on a really crowded subway seat, smushed between other riders, perhaps wishing he was still in bed or somewhere completely different. So no big deal, right? Well, the thing is that about 90% of the time, this typical man would sit with his legs spread so far apart that he takes up about 2 seats therefore causing further smushing of seated passengers around him.

When I see such a man, the only thing that crosses my mind is that he must have enormously gigantic genitalia. I mean, if you can’t keep your legs closer together, there must something special going on in your pants. Alternatively, this man is on fire and the spreading of his thighs will cool his loins.

Otherwise, I just don’t have any other rational explanation for lack of any awareness of his inconsiderate actions that lead to discomfort (and, on my part, bewildered wonder) of anyone around him.

It was NYC marathon today. Guess who won the women's race? A Latvian, of course!!! Wooohooo! 

(Smelly) Ode to Greenpoint

I’ve been reading everywhere that sometime last week parts of New York, mainly Lower East Side and apparently some parts of Brooklyn such as Williamsburg and Greenpoint, smelled like maple leaf syrup. Um, wait, I think I mean to say maple syrup. It doesn’t matter; the point is that it smelled sweet and syrupy. Which is quite unusual for New York because usually it smells like garbage or bus exhaust. Sometimes you get a whiff of someone’s body odor but usually happens when you standing in a crowded subway car.

Well, whoever wrote that it smelled sweet and syrupy in Greenpoint which is where I live, must have gone bananas.

Greenpoint has its great spots, there are parts of the neighborhood that still have old brick mansions and some parts of the river have amazing old factories with spiraling stairs that lead right to the water so that a ship can unload. Major streets are named after families who were big in merchandise and trade. Also, some of the architecture in Greenpoint is really beautiful. My friend who is Irish told me that her aunt in her childhood days would go to Greenpoint to see the shops and go to the movies. Apparently, Manhattan Avenue used to be a bustling shopping district with movies theaters and there was a trolly that ran up and down the street. To this day, when you walk down Manhattan Avenue, you can still see intricate decorations carved into buildings and there are remnants of trolly tracks at the very end of the avenue.

There are also remnants of the McCarren pool which was built during the Depression and apparently had floodlights that illuminated the whole pool at night. Also, judging by the size of the ruins, it must have been one gigantic pool.

I don’t live in the historic part of Greenpoint. I live in the shabbily built buildings that barely comply with the NYC construction code. All the buildings are uniform and none are decorated in an interesting way. That is if you find an American flag a boring decoration. It did not smell like syrup where I live. In fact, there is a sewage processing plant near by which is located right next to a garbage processing plant. And when the wind blows in the right direction, my neighborhood smells like a combination of shit and garbage. There was definitely no syrupy smell.

Hahahahahahahahaha

This is the funniest thing I've read to today:

From NYTimes

Vice President Cheney said in a statement that he had accepted the resignation [of Lewis Libby Jr.] with "deep regret."

"In our system of government an accused person is presumed innocent until a contrary finding is made by a jury after an opportunity to answer the charges and a full airing of the facts," the statement said. "Mr. Libby is entitled to that opportunity."

Um, so what about all those people in Guantanamo Bay?

Choo choo trains

So I have this gripe with the subways. Well, not the subways particularly but a phrase that I heard someone say. I can’t remember when this happened or who said it, but a person once told me that subways are a true form of socialism because everyone rides the subway and it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or not, everyone is equal.

Well, I would like to offer my counter argument.

First of all, not everyone rides the subway. The truly filthy rich people have a car with a driver. After all, parking spots on the streets and garages are not that easy to find nor are they cheap. Also, it’s a pain in the ass to drive around the city, especially during rush hours. It’s not the slowness as much as having to watch out for annoying cabbies, messengers on bikes who tend to squeeze in everywhere and those pesky pedestrians.

Actually, let me back up, the truly truly filthy rich have helicopters.

So back to those suckers who have drivers. Well, the layer below those with drivers are those who driver their own cars. But chances are they pay for a spot in a garage which are expensive. Then there are those who drive cars to work but park them on the streets. These are mainly people who live and work in Brooklyn and Columbia students who drive late afternoon for evening classes (I don’t think I’ve seen so many luxury cars on one street before).

Then the following layer is those who can hire a car or cabs. Ok, maybe these people don’t cab every time but during those times when having a cab is crucial, like say late at night or during a fire that shuts down all major subway lines, they can afford a cab.

Then we have walkers. These people are just as irritating. Mostly because their jobs, grocery stores, bars, favorite restaurants etc etc are within walking distance of their apartments. Being able to walk to a place that requires you to be there daily is a luxury in New York. Of course, these people also take a subway but maybe once or twice a week.

I am not sure where to put bus riders but I am sure they would fit above regular subway riders.

And then you have regular subway riders. These are the people who don’t have a car or cannot afford gas/parking spot in the city in order to drive their cars. These are the people who cannot afford to take a taxi when something is happening that disrupts their morning commute. They are the ones who are stuck waiting on a platform for 30 minutes at 11:30pm on a weekend (a fairly reasonable time for somewhat regular subway service!).

Now, even among subway riders, there are social layers. On top, you have the ones who have to take only one subway to get somewhere and it takes them less than 30 minutes. Then you have those who live on shitty subway lines and they often require 2-3 transfers but can still make it to central spots within 45 minutes. Although if you live on the G** train, which runs never from nowhere to nowhere, I’ve created a special category just for you. Then you got suckers who live in bumble-fuck Brooklyn and Queens and it takes them an hour to get into Manhattan alone. Of course, then you have people who are even worse off, they have to take a bus to a subway stop. And then there are suckers who live in Staten Island and gotta take a boat. And, last, although I suspect not the least, you have people who can barely take a subway and limit their trips on the subway for essentials only.

Oh, I almost forgot. Train conductors. Those people must think they are czars of the world or something. I am not talking about the people who drive the train, I mean the ones who press a button to open/close doors and they make station announcements. How many times have they shut the door right in your face? For those who live on the G, how many times have you seen them snicker as you dash down the platform at world breaking speeds and they still shut the door in your face? I would comment about their announcements but I don’t understand them half the time so when they make one, I pray to God that the train won’t run express out of the blue. Or worse, just stops running.

**The G train is really not a subway train, it’s only four cars long instead of the regular eight cars. It’s some sort of little choo choo train that thinks it can. That is if it ever comes. They train conductors on that thing. So it takes them extra long to figure out what button to press to open the door. Argh!

Meningitis? Nope. Flu? Nope. Hmm, I guess a cold.

Yea, yea, I know I haven’t written in a while. I blame it on never ending midterm papers, feeling sick and plain ol’ laziness.

Believe it or not, I really was sick for a few days. This happened a couple of weeks ago. I was heading to Brighton Beach with a friend to a Georgian food restaurant and during the trip, these mysterious lumps developed on the back of my neck. They weren’t huge or anything but noticeable enough that I started to freak out. My friend inspected both and refreshingly assured me that they weren’t tumors. The following day, a Saturday, I woke up, sweating profusely. It was weird, I sat by my desk in a long sleeved cotton shirt and shorts and my face was covered in sweat and my shirt was soaked. Being a trooper, I went out that night and I am sure drinking didn’t help because the following day, a Sunday, I woke up shaking. And I continued to shake for several hours. On Monday, I woke up feeling really dizzy and nauseous but since the communists engraved forever their work ethic in my brain (which actually doesn’t make much sense - despite all the communist or socialist messages about how work does a person good didn’t penetrate most of the population in the Soviet Union as the majority lingered from day to day in their factory jobs while drinking home-made moonshine – no wonder communist planned economy failed miserably), I headed straight for work. I am not sure how I managed the hour long subway trip, several times, I really wanted to jump out of the subway and sit on the platform so that I would feel less dizzy. I also contemplated passing out on the floor of the subway but then I realized that I would probably mess up the morning commute for hundreds of other miserable subway riders. So the combination of being a nice fellow subway rider and communist work ethic lead to my arrival to work. Which lead to me sitting in on a two-hour conference call to Kazakhstan during which I fidgeted non-stop and drank insane amount of water so that I wouldn’t pass out. Then I went to the student health center where the doctor’s diagnosis changed from meningitis to flu to a cold with flu like symptoms. Yea, I have no idea what a cold with flu like symptoms really means, but heck, he told me to stay in bed, and I happily followed the doctor’s orders.

But that’s all a side note. Because the true story is that Georgian food really wasn’t so good. We ordered salad Olivier which had egg in it! I’ve never seen salad Olivier with egg in it! The khachapuri (bread with cheese baked into it) tasted like a grilled cheese sandwich and the khinkali (meat-filled boiled dumplings) must have sat out for a while because the part that rested on the plate was really mushy. Needless to say, don’t go to the Georgian food restaurant in Brighton Beach. There is another one on Kings Highway, called Tbilisi, one of these days, I’ll make my way there.

Um, him. Wait, no, never mind. Ok, well, him, I guess

Last night, my friend and I played my recently most favorite game called “You have ten seconds, quick, pick a person you would sleep with.” The rules of the game are as follows: (ideally to be played on the L train as it is packed with hipsters, some who tend to be somewhat cute and most are fugly) your partner counts off to 10 during which you look around and pick a person with whom you would sleep. The trick is that you need to spend all 10 seconds looking for a person even if you spot someone attractive right away. You keep that person in reserve in case you find someone hotter and if by the end of 10 seconds you are unable to find anyone hotter, you can go back to your first choice. But in order to keep your first choice, you need to look at that person again. So if that person walked away and you cannot see him/her, you start freaking out, scrambling around to find him/her. The fun of the game increases proportionally to the amount of alcohol you had ingested previously.

We were returning from a rather overpriced bar in midtown therefore our route back to Williamsburg was to take the E or C to the L. Since the E and C pass through Chelsea, I was syched as I thought the train would be packed with hot gay boys. Unfortunately, it turns out that around 10pm, the E was marginally full of the ugliest men I’ve seen in my life. I am not sure if it was direction that we took or time of our travel but my choices consisted of either short Italian types or fat balding Queens types. It was horrible. I think I settled with some Euro looking dude who kept running his hand through his shoulder-length hair while he kept flashing his smile at the girl sitting next to him. My friend settled for a woman who, judging by the amount and color of the make-up that she was wearing, clearly was legally blind.

The L train platform brought me a little more luck, although it seemed that most of the riders from the E transferred to the L as well; fortunately, there was a somewhat good looking guy. He needed a little of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” action but overall, cute as a dickens. I spotted him right away but since I had another 8 seconds, I walked around the platform a bit. Unfortunately, Friday night at 10pm seems to be a bad time for spotting hotties so I went back to my original choice and looked at him again. The worst part was that every time I looked at him, he was looking at me so I must have looked like a psycho, running around a platform while saying: “ew, no. Oh, maybe him, oh wait, no. Definitely no.” My friend picked a girl who, at a closer look, turned out to be like 40. That really confused me because all of the sudden, I started to wonder what kind of girls he liked. I guess old ones. Anyways, we got tired of playing the game and proceeded to have a debate whether it is possible for a guy to get crabs in his beard if he goes down on a girl who has crabs. Any thoughts?

Robert Zimmerman

Any guesses on how many people are listening to Bob Dylan today? I am one. Then again, I’ve been listening to Another Side of Bob Dylan for the past week. It’s comforting at 8:30am when the G is not running and I am way late.

Bob’s a funny man. I must admit, I didn’t want the whole 2 hours, around 10:30 I got really sleepy and needed to go to bed asap. But nevertheless I was highly amused at his attempts to say something deep and profound yet after a pause of thought, he would just say “…or something.” Except that one time, when he was describing his first two girlfriends and he said something along the lines of: “They brought out the poet in me” which was followed by him looking straight into the camera with a playful smirk on his face. It was almost startling and hilarious after watching him for an hour with a dead-pan stare to the side while he spoke.

Boring McBoring

I am afraid that I am becoming really boring. And I don’t mean it in the context of this blog (which, I am sure, is quite boring), I am talking about me being boring in general. I realized the other day that my pop culture knowledge has dwindled to two recent facts – that Renee just got a divorce and Britney gave birth. The thing is, no one really cares so it’s not like I can sit around, shoot shit (is that even a saying) about recent pop culture events. When my friends start talking about some band, everyone chimes in with some opinion. I nod and smile politely, pretending like I know what they are talking about. And it hasn’t been always like that, I remember distinctly being able to chime in myself.

I can’t talk about politics because I’ve lost track of what is going on. And I stopped reading the Times about five months ago. Mostly because it’s a repetition of the same news and there is no progress. Well, I check the front page of nytimes.com but that’s not really being on top of the current political events. Although yesterday I heard about North Korea’s disarmament agreement. Very exciting. Wonder how long that will hold up in this administration.

I can’t even talk about the weather any more because Sam Champion keeps blabbering about some tropical storm off of Cuba. Who cares, I live in New York, gimme New York weather!

The only two things that I can really talk about are merits of buprenorphine program over a methadone program. And how sex workers are always looked at in the context of public health, as if once they step off the streets, they magically become like anyone else. The thing is that I don’t have any friends who are looking for a drug treatment program and whenever I talk about sex workers, everyone starts the “sex worker or prostitute” debate. Or ask me for their numbers. Now, I can imagine that who ever is reading this is already dozing off or hitting the next blog button.

There is this person that I know. Secretly, this person has been voted the most boring person in the world. When I am with this person, I get bored. And I wonder, is this what it is like to hang around me? It’s really kind of depressing. Hmm, I should go out and buy the latest Spin to read up on Chuck Closterman’s skewed and not so interesting or even funny pop culture observations. And then buy a latest edition of People’s magazine.

Then again, maybe I got it all completely wrong and in reality, I am just bored with everything. I noticed the other day, there was a conversation going on and I was listening to it but it was kind of boring so I had nothing to say. There was an awkward pause, followed by a silent moment which felt like a signal for my turn to speak. So instead, I turned around and walked away.

oh man

it's friday night at 11:30pm and i am sitting at home, writing my report on sex workers. i am such a loser.

Call me Carrie

So I am really confused about “dating” etiquette in New York. Well, not even ‘dating” as much but I’ve noticed that there is discourse on when sex should occur.

You have your school of thought that states that a girl should never sleep with a guy on their first “date” or meeting in a bar. Apparently this gives the couple a chance to get to know each other and also it makes the girl look less slutty. For example, I know someone who said that he sleeps only with girls once they have become friends. But apparently, oral sex is not part of the sleeping deal, it can occur whenever. Then someone else said that he sleeps only with his girlfriends. What defines a girlfriend, I have no clue. I am not sure if oral sex is ever involved in this situation.

Then there are others who think that if mutual sexual attraction is there, doing it right away is just fine. This, although fine with me, sounds way too optimistic because it seems to me that people who sleep together right away generally don’t end up seeing each other again. Then again, I am not sure if this is due to the fact that either party is so horny (or read drunk) that he/she fails to notice the night before that the person next to him/her the following morning is physically repulsive or, even worst, turns out to be a Republican.

Then again, I remember talking to a Swedish girl who told me that in Sweden, it’s quite normal to sleep with someone the same night you meet. And apparently this often results in people seeing each other again. Somehow of my own experience of “dating” outside of United States brings me to the same recollection – there were never wishy washy lame excuses.

So the question really is – is this city full of freaks who are just too afraid to show their sexuality? And in order to preserve their own integrity or embarrassment, do they wait a certain amount of time to sleep with the other person? Am I not aware of these norms/rules that people follow? Or is there an intricate hierarchy of horny winners and losers (people who can separate sex from affection/love, people who associate sex with affection/love etc) who have repeated one night stands?

Ok, this post merits a lot of eyerolls. Clearly, it’s a manifestation of my own insecurity (Oh, crap, am I too slutty? Was this too soon? Will he call again or was that a one night stand? Am I a horny loser?). But I just don’t understand why sex has become such a big deal.

Actually, my own admission of my insecurities is a lot less embarrassing now that I realize that this post is an emulation of some lame Sex and the City episode.

if you're offended by shit or maggots, don't read this

I am beginning to realize that since my return back to the city, this blog will become extremely boring. There is not much write about. And I am not sure if I want it to become one of those stupid philosophical crap blogs that everyone tends to have. Then again, there are people who care for that.

Anyways, for something completely different, I will carry on with a continuation of my previous theme – shit. So my stomach is still feeling funky and in order to figure out whether I have maggots living in my stomach, I decided to go to a doctor. The lady ordered me to collect samples of my shit before any diagnosis. And I am not allowed to eat dairy for about five days. So, following the doctor’s orders, I proceeded to head to the laboratory where a nice lab technician with a Caribbean accent told me to: “take da poop and put it on da plate. Then take da spoon and scoop da poop.” I left the student health center with seven (!) shit vials in a brown bag. As I crossed Broadway with my shit bag, I started thinking about scooping da poop with da spoon and I could not stop laughing. I must have looked like a total moron, waiving a brown bag of vials for shit, laughing hysterically.

That evening, after harassing my friend about the content of the Korean dinner which he made for everyone, I made sure there was no dairy in my food and explained my shitty situation to everyone around me. Then for dessert, I asked for extra ice cream. Of course, only after I finished my two scoopfuls of ice cream did I realize that ice cream has dairy as well. So there went my ‘no dairy’ diet.

Fortunately since my stomach is going topsy turvey (hmm, is that spelled correctly?), I have had no problems filling seven vials. So I have a brown bag full of shit sitting in the bathroom, waiting for its trip on the subway, back to the upper west side.

Ugh, it’s the first day of school. The round trip subway ride to school will be as lengthy as my only class today. I wish I could stay home and not put up with awkward intros: “Let’s have everyone go in a circle and tell us your name, what you are studying and what you did this summer. Yey, social work!” Actually, I take that back. I don’t want to stay home. I would rather spend another week in Montauk. Sleeping in until 10 (I don’t know what’s going on, I’ve been waking up before noon lately), rolling onto a beach, rolling off the beach to an ice cold beer and a lobster roll. Hmm, I don’t know what else a human being really needs. Well, maybe a surfing lesson because laying on a beach gets a little boring after a while.

So what did I say? 

Oh Katrina

What annoys me the most about the Katrina devastation is that media is comparing the disaster area and its inhabitants who were unable to leave in time to a third world country. I think it's a shame. Mainly because when one refers to a third world country, most don't think of white people. And the people shown in New Orleans, for example, who are now stuck and trying to leave are mostly not white either. I can see how easy it is to make the comparison to a third world country but it also shows how racist media is.

I am also not sure why all these people are referred to refugees. Yes, they are seeking a refuge but generally, when people are called refugees, it's because they are fleeing from a war, political oppression, or religious persecution. Call me crazy but there must be another word to describe people seeking a shelter.

And, of course, the last point - so why is Bush appointing Bush Sr. and Clinton to head the recovery effort? Can't he appoint them to run the country instead?