Tuesday, May 31, 2011

oh, hey

How are you? It's been awhile. Come here often? You look great. No, seriously. That top looks amazing on you.

I've been a little...sad recently. And the 'sadness' has really curbed my want to write in a public way. I hope you understand. It's funny, the purpose of my blog is basically to write about things that suck, and then when I'm actually feeling sucky, I really don't want to write about it.

So I'm not. I'll talk about what people always talk about in these times: the weather.

It's hot out there. Like, really hot. How's everyone holding up? I would say that I was melting, but I'm actually kind of enjoying it. I know, I know. It's kind of weird, though it might have something to do with the fact that i spend 8 hours a day in a windowless cubicle.

Something about the heat makes everything heat-cancelling feel better: a glass of really cold water, the slightest breath of a breeze, the cool side of the pillow, the shady side of the street. It's a sluggish weather to go with my sluggish mood as of late.

The heat, really, serves as a memory trigger for me (as so many things do, but just go with it for me, ok?). I grew up without air conditioning, and summertime meant everything was hot and just a little damp. When we complained at night, my mom would tell us just to put our heads at the foot of our beds, a change of scenery would help us sleep. And sleep always did come, if only on the breeze that fluttered through the windows and over our cool thin sheets. I loved the heat most of all because cooling off was the most fun part: slipping away into the dark basement to watch a marathon of Jurassic Park (a family favorite), practicing our dives and playing Shark in the neighbor's pool, days at the beach playing in the waves. I'm always relaxed when it's hot out--you have to be.

But what I love the most about the summertime is the way it makes you think about all the other seasons and all the other summers. I love to pit the lush green and humidity of the summertime against the frozen pink and blue winter. Think about it: on the hottest day of the summer, you can't even contemplate the coldest day of the winter, but there they are, both in existence. It's nature's way of showing us that no matter how sad you feel, you will feel happy again, and no matter how happy you feel, you will be sad again. And there's nothing wrong with that. It was intended to be that way.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

smoke signals

i've been in a funk (see last post).
fret not. i'm still here.
big ideas are brewing.

in the interim: listen to this song. it makes me want to be in love.

Friday, May 6, 2011

my week

Guys, I've been sick. No, I don't have a cold, and I don't have the flu. I'm just sick. Exhausted, achy, pounding head, upset stomach, sensitive to light and noise. For like a week--almost 2 now. I've been to two doctors, both of whom listened to my symptoms, took my temperature and shrugged. "Drink fluids," they said (aside from feeling awful, I don't have a fever, so all must be right with my body). "Keep taking those allergy meds."

THANKS, GENIUSES. I STILL FEEL LIKE CRAP. Please explain to me, doctor, why I can't leave the house without sunglasses, and why I can barely be in public for more than 20 minutes without wanting to punch a baby. Please explain to me why I've barely been able to eat and why I have to pop 2 Excedrines almost every day. I DON'T FEEL WELL. DIAGNOSE ME.

I just hate feeling lousy without a concrete explanation. I hate taking 2 hours out of my day to go to the doctor--twice--only to later have to explain to my boss that well, in reality, nothing is wrong with me. I'm just in a black black pit of sickly sadness and generally feeling like I'm about to meet my maker.

Ok, fine. I'm exaggerating a tad. I'm clearly not about to meet my maker. But today while riding the Q train, the jerky motion combined with some kid's 8 AM serenade of hip hop blasting from his head phones and the extra stink of the usual Q-train-stenchiness had me almost on my knees begging for mercy. Seriously--the only thing keeping me at the office is the prospect of having to get back on the train to go home. PLEASE. DON'T MAKE ME.

So to make myself feel better I've been watching bad TV on my computer when I get home from work. Specifically, Glee.

And I can't stop. I won't even try to pretend I don't like it. I'm addicted.

But if Rachel Berry sings one more solo I actually might contemplate suicide. It's gotten so bad that I fast forward through them. She's the only character in that show I really, really hate. Does she irritate everyone else? I can't even root for her and Finn because her voice and stupid earnest faces shred my soul.

Glee crushes? Little gay Kurt. And Puck... there's just something about that stupid mohawk.

Oh no.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

using of the rogaine...check

So there's this commercial that I happen to see a lot while watching TV. Specifically, while I'm watching the Daily Show online (because I don't have TV). It's a commercial for Rogaine Foam (tm?). And it's driving me nuts.

I can't find the particular commercial I want to share with you on youtube (or anywhere, except on the Daily Show website), but I'll sum it up for you. This guy noticed his hairline was receding. He started using Rogaine Foam. It's so easy. Like brushing your teeth. It regrows hair in 85% of guys (notice the real smaht ad execs on the Rogaine account used the word "guys" so it would appeal to the younger age set...real clever, real clever. My advice? Next time also use the word "dudes" "homies" and "brahs" to appeal to all the surfers, black men and lacrosse players that are also scared of losing their hair). This is all good stuff. Seems like a great product. But something's amiss. See if you can pick it out in this version of the commercial I'm talking about:

Why are these commercial bugging me? Because these guys look fucking DEPRESSED and EMBARRASSED. Am I wrong? Their nonchalance, shrugging shoulders, and shifty, downcast eyes read like a tail between a dog's legs. They look more ashamed than the men who advertise Viagara.

Is it true? Are men really more embarrassed about losing their hair than losing their potency?

I was watching the episode of Sex and the City yesterday where Carrie and Aidan have a big fight over each other's clutter inside their small apartment. "Why do you have FIVE half empty SpeedSticks?" Carrie yells incredulously, to which Aidan replies, quite innocently, that they have different smells. She continues to pick through his box of toiletries. "Do you even wear musk? and Rogaine?--wait, you use Rogaine?" She softens her expression, as Aidan looks increasingly uncomfortable. "Are you losing--" but before Carrie can finish her sentence Aidan bursts: "I don't want to TALK ABOUT IT!" Weee...what a nerve! Ouch!

Maybe I don't get it. Women don't usually suffer from baldness of the male-patterned kind (I do know it's possible for a woman to have thinning hair). But, gents, I don't happen to see what the big deal is. Sure, full heads of hair are great. But hair does not a man make. My father is bald, and both my grandfathers are bald (my brothers are screwed). Perhaps other women care about baldness. I don't think it's a deal breaker. There are so many other things that can be/probably are wrong with you.

Bald Heroes you can have: Prince William, Bruce Willis, Kevin Youkilis, Tiger Woods, A-Rod, your dad, your uncle, your brother...

Buck up, guys. If baldness is in your genetics, work it! Just try not to look like George Costanza. And please, for the love of God, avoid a comb-over at ALL COSTS. And if you want to use the Rogaine, be my guest. Just don't be so sensitive about it.