Yasmine’s Neighborhood

On Wednesday I went out and ended up accidentally drinking way more than I should've and then walked home with a dead mp3 player but a fully charged phone. 

This was the end result.

Pray for humanity.

Turns out there is a pretty affordable and reliable NJ Transit bus out of Port Authority in Manhattan to Six Flags Great Adventure, a theme park that I'd seen advertised endlessly in both the Philadelphia and New York markets but in my time living in both places never got a chance to visit.  Most of the rides are movie or theme based, but unlike Paramount King's Dominion, it appeared that someone actually had the budget to put a decent theme park together and wasn't full of rednecks, a win on both fronts.  A few friends and I, all made up of hearty roller coaster stock, decided to make the trek yesterday-- a day that some might call the most relentlessly unpleasant day to be in the sun all year (I would) and a day filled rain that really didn't need to happen when I was wearing jeans that were about eight inches too long and hadn't even dried when I poked at them this morning (I was). 

The total for the day was pretty impressive.  In roughly 8 hours we did 6 coasters, the gondola ride across the park, lunch where no one was particularly assraped by the prices and ate some awesome ice cream.  I also did not get into any fights with line budgers, a feat which I always consider a success.  Like all ridiculous adventures I go on, there was of course a horrible twist.

ElToro

2 comments

El Toro was the most ridiculous nightmare of a wooden coaster, primarily since the entire time we spent waiting in line we were also unable to see that it had about nine more giant hills than it actually did (this was good and bad--no anticipatory fear, but then again, no anticipatory fear).  Compound this with the rickety feeling that wooden coasters tend to have and this set the standard for the most pants wetting ride of the day.

Superman-ultimate-flight20

Superman was great in that it was remarkably chill-- a floorless roller coaster that tips you so that your stomach is parallel to the ground, giving you the feeling of actually "flying" which was both terrifying (omg how could the physics of this possibly work how how how) and outstanding.  It also spurred a conversation about why Superman would possibly travel like this, and how he definitely needs to invest in a reliable and fuel efficient car.

Nitro-rollercoaster

Nitro is on my short awesome list for two reasons:  look at that shit, the ride was amazing.  But it was also the one that wrenched my cell phone out of my jeans pocket and deposited the little device with roughly three years of unsaved phone numbers, emails and text messages somewhere in the wasteland of gravel and river under the tracks, never to be seen again.

Seriously, fuck dude.

• clean up the kitchen
• mop the floor
• do the laundry
• get lettuce
  
• figure out what you're doing with your life.
  

While scanning the Chinese papers for noteworthy stories to translate, I also read some of the English Hong Kong papers. In one of them, in an otherwise forgettable column about the difficulty of translating science to print, the writer summed up the problem by quoting the phrase "scientists can't write and journalists can't do science".

I laughed. Such a thing only a newspaper writer would say. As if a scientist and your average reporter are in any way comparable. Replacing the entire editorial team of a typical newsroom with a group of scientists might well improve the quality of the product. I suspect putting a bunch of reporters in a laboratory wouldn't work out so great.

A pair of wedding bands. An interior designer. A dowry. A nice hotel room. A tailored suit. A marrying man is a man with a light wallet. At least over here. The date's 16 Jun. Then it's official. I'll be single no more. I'll have a wife. I'll be able to have sex that's moral in the eyes of God and other obnoxious people.

Woah. That's fast. Before I know it shopkeepers would stop saying: "Boy, what you want?"

Because when you have considered plonking down $40,000 for renovation, you are no longer a boy. Once you bust that credit limit, you are no longer a boy. Once you have to answer to a woman who's not your mother, you are no longer a boy. You are a slave.

Hopefully a happy one.

There are no two ways about it, I love working for my DudeBoss.  He's a mostly humourless, straightlaced, serious, shoot-first-ask-questions-later-three-piece-suit-every-day kind of guy.  I believe he was a mechanical engineer by trade, and if you've met engineers, you know what this implies--very rigid standards for quality and poor capacity for change or adaptability and rarely shows his cards.  But, I like him.  He makes me want to work very hard and learn a lot and very few people inspire that feeling in my lazy, lazy soul.

Every Wednesday DudeBoss brings LadyBoss and I muffins.  DudeBoss is very into health (I think); he orders the same thing for lunch every day from a health food restaurant (the 'Lean and Mean': steamed chicken and broccoli, dry, no sauces flavors tastes salts, etc, served with a whole wheat pita.  Every day.  It looks like sadness in a little black bucket). 

But anyway, I'm not sure where he finds these muffins, but I'm sure they are healthy, and I'm positive they are terrible.  They are 98% grain/flax/seeds/nuts/twigs and 2% other assorted flavours that I hate.  But, as he is a very serious guy, out of a feeling of obligation and token appreciation, every Wednesday we pick a muffin and choke it down or at least make a good attempt to pick at it.  One week when I ended up with a cranberry-orange (the perfect storm of horrible) I ended up gagging and secretly disposing of it in the bathroom garbage.  While I have had no proof that he investigates whether or not we eat the muffins, I am pretty sure he at least does a rudimentary survey.

This morning LadyBoss deposited the muffin tray on my desk to choose one promptly as I got buried in an avalanche of work for the next few hours and they remained there neglected.  DudeBoss rarely ventures into Cubes, but he was pacing anxiously on a cell phone call and happened to notice the muffins chillin out. 

"LadyBoss, didn't you want a muffin?"  We both then make noises about how we had forgotten them and oh yeah, and oh I'm sorry for keeping them and we divvy them up quickly.

DudeBoss proceeded to retreat to his office, kind of joking but mostly kind of not shouting, "GIRLS, EAT YOUR MUFFINS OR ELSE!"

I have no idea what to make of this, but I am quietly adding "Diligently ate terrible muffins" to my resume as soon as possible.

• 09:11 I had a dream about you last night. #

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I am paranoid. See the last time the office asked for a declaration of all blogs I declared this blog which of course is the right thing to do - I think? Do they have any right to demand such a thing? Why is it that rightness so often equals submission? But obedience is reflexive.

So this blog is probably is in some file, readily accessible - but is it often read? I doubt it. Still, it means I can't say much of anything about my work, that insatiable wolf that chews up all my time and essence and youth. It also means that I can't really say anything of a truly private nature, things that really matter, because who wants the bosses to read it every once a while when they are idle.

There leaves only politics and God and TV but who cares.

Well, I do play lots of computer games. Maybe I should change my subject to that: Adventures in virtual space.

Shit boy.

I just realized exactly one year ago today I moved from my lovely 4th floor garden apartment in Fairfax, VA to my Upper West Side apartment in Manhattan.  It was hot that day, the movers were incredibly quick, and opening the door to the apartment I'd rented sight-unseen was the most amazing feeling I'd had that day.

I can't believe I've been here a whole year--even more so, I can't believe I've been out of college a full year either.  I feel really, really old.  I wish I had something incredibly funny and insightful to say but there isn't much that goes along with these weird sort of imaginary milestones.  The adjustment has been easier and more expensive than I could ever imagined.

Thanks for not mugging me, New York (not in the illegal sense, anyway), thanks for not making me feel like I was too ugly to live here, thanks for making me walk miles and miles every day, thanks for all the amazing food; and thanks New Jersey for taking me in when I just couldn't fucking afford to keep living on the UWS anymore.  I look forward to as many years here as I can tolerate before I see something shiny and pick up and move again in its pursuit.

Anteater-1