Well, after the brief flurry of excitement over two jobs in two weeks, I have sunk back into my accustomed habit of casually drifting along. However, I've got one more check coming (the one from Boardwalk), which is at least something to look forward to.
I haven't been entirely a slug; there are a couple more pictures up on my walls, and I actually got out to my lousy grocery store today. I must say that even though they don't carry much of anything in the way of meat for one person (i.e., steak), they really do have a great selection of fruit and vegetables. This is interesting, since I really am living in the housing projects over here, and the received wisdom in New York City is that you haven't any selection of good fresh food in the ghettos. I don't know what this means, exactly...probably nothing more than that my neighborhood is gentrifying, However, since I'm the beneficiary, I have no complaints.
Yesterday I was madly active and focused...it was Sarah's day behind the bar at the Bistro, so I had a list of things to do that would eventually bring me to her...go to Citarella (a lovely gourmet grocery store on 6th Avenue), get my upper lip and chin waxed (menopause makes you look like an aging billygoat if you don't keep track of your fur, and I'm allergic to the home products) go to Barnes & Noble (because I couldn't stand to wait for the new Janet Evanovich book in paperback a second longer and thought I'd splurge on the hardcover), go to the bank to deposit my lovely check from Law & Order ($225 and change...almost worth the cold, wet, and snottiness), and buy cigarettes. And I actually accomplished every single one of those things! I'm quite proud of myself. Tonight I'm going to hang a couple more pictures and take out the garbage, and tomorrow is laundry day. Face it...we party girls know how to live.
I watched the Oscars on Sunday, as I usually do. About the only reason I do this is that I always hope for some sort of nice disaster in either outfits (in terms of bad taste, not nipple slips...I mean, I've got nipples. Who cares what they look like on other people?) or thank you speeches, or something interesting. Everybody's gotten terribly correct, however, so it becomes boring. But, as it IS, after all, my profession, I do feel the need to keep up to a certain extent. I haven't seen any of the movies...I've got The Iron Lady sitting here on the table but I haven't gotten around to watching it. You see, the SAG awards come before the Oscars, and we members of SAG are sent screeners of all the nominated movies. Unfortunately I forgot to change my address with SAG until way after I moved, so I missed getting most of the movies this year. Oh, well. I'm dying to see The Artist and Hugo, so I may just drag myself off to a movie theatre. I also want to see The Descendants, just because I will watch George Clooney doing ANYTHING, up to and including his laundry.
Before the Oscars, of course, I read the Sunday papers, and while the vanity press ads didn't have anything terribly interesting in terms of subject matter, they did yield this little number:
"Does Caleb have the power to take on the enemy and be the bane of its existence? Filled with dark twists and unpredictable turns, The Long Weekend is a gripping book that will keep you at the edge of your seat."
What I like about this is that it gives no clue whatsoever as to what/whom this "enemy" might be. Are we fighting Satan? A next door neighbor in the CIA? The cable company? It might even be alcoholism, given that the title reminds me of that great old movie, The Lost Weekend. Whatever the enemy is, it can't be terribly awful, if it can be vanquished in a weekend, right? However, it caught my eye because the author is a gentleman (I think it's a gentleman) named Ophalandus Brasfield II. What a horrible thing to do to a child. If YOUR name was Ophalandus, would YOU perpetuate the agony by giving it to your son? I say son because I would think that the female would be Ophalanda or Ophalandia. Whatever the sex, it's a terrible name. And what would the nickname be? Opha? Oom pa pa? Yuck.