June 2004 Archives

Quite some time ago, I wrote about what I considered The Funniest Work Moment Ever, wherein a co-worker accidentally told me he loved me at the end of a telephone conversation.

Yesterday, the very same co-worker, Dennis, left me two messages in the afternoon while I was on the other line with another co-worker. I *unfortunately* deleted the messages before I could get an exact transcript, but they went something like this:

"Hi, Jennifer. It's Dennis. Remember that debate session we're having at the Annual Meeting? Well, I talked to Susie, and I have this idea for a survey I need your help with. I want you to touch me."

Stunned silence.

Click.

Next message.

"Um, hi, Jennifer. It's Dennis again. If you could, please, um, disregard that last message (nervous laughter). Give me a call."

After I stopped laughing (which, as you can imagine, took some time), I picked up the phone to call him. He immediately launched into a measured explanation of how he had garbled the two phrases, "I want you to call me," and "I want to touch base with you."

He was a good sport about it, but I couldn't help but give him a little bit of shit. "Well, Dennis... since you already told me you love me, I couldn't help but wonder...."

Not a whole lot to say today, although I did write this true story up for the main page. Of course, it's funnier if you actually know my dad, but I think some things are universally funny, like dads/Doobie Brothers combinations.

I just sent this out earlier today. If anybody other than the people to whom I sent the message is interested in doing an interview, please feel free to contact me.

* * * * * *

I would like to do a series of interviews for Gusto about people's "day jobs"
(or preparation for jobs, for those who might be grad students). It's not about
whether your job is particularly glamorous or lucrative (Mine is neither) but
about the idea of working, the variety of jobs people have, and the ways they
make them bearable. Questions would be both serious and silly.

I'd like to include a photo with each interview (interviews are no fun without
a face to go along with them, although I would accept an illustrated likeness
from those artists among you), but I would use only a first name if you're
concerned about being Googlable (and we won't use the actual name of the place you work). The interviews could be in whatever medium you're more comfortable with -- email, phone, in person, IM.

Where: Somewhere in Northern Virginia on church youth trip.
When: Circa 1990.
Description: Friend, goofing around, pulled chair out from under me as I attempted to sit down.
Cause of fall: Lack of chair in posterior vicinity.
Injuries sustained: Bruised tailbone.

Where: Cambridge, MA
When: July 4, 1996.
Description: Tripped over irregularity in sidewalk. Farted from laughing as passersby watched.
Cause of fall: Extreme drunkenness. Boones Farm.
Injuries sustained: Skinned knee, dignity.

Where: Springfield, MA
When: August 2001.
Description: Pretending to tackle H.J. for comic effect as Mom drove away. Onlookers, both Mom and H.J., initially unsure whether fall part of act.
Cause of fall: Tripped.
Injuries sustained: Cut elbow, extremely scraped knees, serious bruises. Much pain.

Where: Richmond, VA
When: Thanksgiving 2003.
Description: Bowling. Fell forward on approach. Guttered.
Cause of fall: Indeterminate.
Injuries sustained: Bruised knees, lost respect of in-laws.

Since I'm in a silly mood today, I thought we'd play a little game. Fill in the following in comments, and I'll post the funniest ones. Don't be shy! The bawdier the better!

Proper Noun (can be made up): _________
Noun that rhymes with proper name: _________
Adjective: ________
Noun that rhymes with adjective: ________
Noun that rhymes with first Proper Noun: __________

I found this little entry in my first diary the other day (covered in flipping teddy bears with purple bowties). Sorry if it's a little saccharine in places, but hey -- I was 12. I was a little taken aback about the New York one, as I didn't remember wanting to go to New York as a kid.

Dear Diary,

I hope...

I hope that Brad likes me.
I hope I get all As.
I hope that I get pretty.
I hope I go to New York.
I hope that Brad will call me.
I hope that it really is November tenth.
I hope that Mrs. Halterman really is my English teacher.
I hope I really don't live on Mars.
I hope that ALF isn't a puppet.
I hope water is still wet.
I hope that cold is still cold.
I hope that rabbits are still furry.
I hope that Larry Hagman really wears BVDs.
I hope that it doesn't rain cats & dogs.
I hope that all my hopes come true...

I don't think I could possibly be more disappointed. So much for living my 1995 nostalgia dreams.

So this weekend my dad took H.J. and me to see Cirque du Soleil on Randalls Island. During one of the acts, I wondered whether trapeze artists cease to have dreams about falling, or if their dreams about falling are more intense than most people's (If any trapeze artists read my blog, please comment).

Cirque du Soleil was a lot more fun than I expected, although H.J. and I noted that it's basically a tarted-up sideshow for the wealthy. They take the most talented sideshow freaks, adorn them in elaborate costumes, play some sweeping new agey music, and rake in the dollars. The biggest illusion is that of class. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it, but I would have equally enjoyed, "Step right up! See the contortionist! Is she a girl or a rubber band? You decide!" (After watching the contortionist, H.J. said, "Forget any sexual fantasies I may have entertained about contortionists in the past. That shit wasn't right!")

Another interesting class-related fact: To get to Randalls Island, you have to take a bus from the East Harlem subway stop at 125th & Lex. Before we got up there, we had checked the info to see which bus to take over, but when we arrived, we noticed that there were two buses -- the regular city bus and a separate (but also MTA) bus with a sign saying "Cirque du Soleil, $4." We were a little confused, so H.J. asked the woman standing at the CDS bus, "What's the deal with this bus?" She said the difference was that on the city bus, you had to pay both ways, but on the CDS bus, you paid $4 up front for the round trip. H.J. looked at her sideways and said, "Yes, but on the other bus, you get a free transfer from the subway." She admitted that he was right, but something unspoken hung in the air. As we boarded the city bus, even my happily-suburban dad immediately understood that what she wasn't saying was that the CDS bus was the "white bus," and the city bus was the "black bus." Shame on the city for both suckering people out of four bucks and pandering to their fears.

Sorry for the rash of negative posts. I really am OK and will return next week in livelier spirits.

Have a great weekend, all.

All day I had been laboring under the misapprehension that today is Friday. I should have known better, but for some reason, it just feels like it.

How sad.

As I just got back from two days at the office and am gearing up for a visit from my dad and stepmom, I'm not going to have time to post much today or tomorrow. Besides, I'm feeling a little down and uninspired this week (two days of mall food didn't help. Blech.) Blogging is starting to feel like just another thing in my life that requires self-discipline, and I'm using up all that energy elsewhere.

Of course I could change my mind in an hour, so I wouldn't worry too much (not that you would).

Oh, the shame.

The day was even better because of we had to work to get there, weaving in and out of the Puerto Rican Day Parade.

Probably no time to do anything today... more work. Have a great weekend, though.

Watch out. I may just become unstoppable. In a strange turn of events, I have discovered strange ropy things within my arms and legs, things that I believe you humans call "muscles."

Tremble, mortals.

Please tread around Gusto very quietly today, as Joe is feeling slightly shaky due to an after-work overindulgence in certain fermented refreshments, abundantly supplied by a media establishment authority figure.

Read Huckleberry Finn in its entirety
Catch up on films from the 70s (The Last Picture Show,
Paper Moon, The Last Detail, Badlands)
Get a new pair of comfy sandals
Join a gym and go regularly
Go camping again
Write letter to friend whose son died unexpectedly
Sell car ("champagne albatross")

Make a dental appointment/go to the doctor
Watch The Godfather, Parts I-III (long overdue)
Dance more often; maybe take a class
Practice my French
Get a passport
Cut down on sugar
Write thank-you letters to older people who've influenced me
Send a gift to college roommate who had a baby
Decide whether or not to have a kid
Stop reading blogs that make me feel empty inside (Lindsay Lohan's nipple? Anorexic show-biz-freak barely post-pubescent twins? You don't say!)
Look for a new job (figure out what I really want to do for a living)
Start liking mushrooms
Learn to drink whiskey straight
Find outlet for singing/Learn to play guitar/Learn to whistle
Go to Shakespeare in the Park; read more Shakespeare
Clean apartment thoroughly
Make some real, lasting NY friends/cultivate current friendships
Learn to draw
Defrag hard drive
Practice thumb wrestling
Banish regret

Or, Another Sign I Might Be in the Wrong Profession

Meeting today. We're talking about hospitals to contact for marketing purposes. Somebody mentions setting up a meeting with a hospital in Atlantic City, and I quipped, "Put your makeup on/Fix your hair up pretty..." which was greeted by an almost aggressive silence, the kind where you can hear only crickets chirping.

Not one person got it. Maybe I'm just not funny, but c'mon... is it that obscure a reference?