when i got to work this morning i discovered a big brownish-yellow stain on the side of my blue corduroys. this stain, invisible in the yellow light of my apartment, is glaring and gross in the fluorescent light of the office. mmm, scary to think what i would find if i systematically wore my entire wardrobe to work. i just hope no one notices, because any attempt to explain it would land me in the slob's catch-22. either i know about the stain and a) don't care or b) none of my other pairs of pants is any cleaner OR i have revealed myself as someone who thinks i can get away with avoiding laundry even when i have spilled coffee all over myself.

nothing to be done but eat cookies for breakfast.

last night i went to a book party i was invited to through class. my prof edited this book, food for the soul: selections from the church of the apostles soup kitchen writers' workshop, which has an intro by ian frazier because he runs the workshop. a bunch of the writers read, but it was hard to understand them without a copy of the book because they either stood too close to the mic or too far away, had thick foreign accents, or were retarded. the stories were pretty much what you'd expect from a soup kitchen's writers' workshop, except for one woman with this beautiful voice. she was a tall, striking, mulatto ex–manic depressive alcoholic drug user who was sharp. perfect for an oprah segment only much deeper and more real. she sang her own song about hard times and grace and god in the soup kitchen and everyone cried.

mainly i went to the party to confirm that there was no point in going; otherwise i would've convinced myself that i had missed my chance to meet X harper's or new yorker editor, or at the very least, my mom's friend's writer son who told me about the prof whose class i'm taking now. being connected with him seemed to offer some promise last november when i called him for advice (he said he got my prof her job at the new yorker), and i've felt really stupid for never following up and sending him the piece i said i would. so i was looking forward to asking my prof about him and maybe finally meeting him. after spending most of the reception talking to other students of limited interest, i found my prof and asked her if he was here, and she was like, 'oh him? he's nutso! i love him to death, but last time i saw him, he showed up to a thing with his dog and was flipping out about how the world was going to end.' she then introduced me to a retard writer and moved on.

awesome.

born-again ankle

i just got back from the orthopedist's, where the nurse removed my bigheavy splint and gave me a cast. she tore apart the splint and the buttload of cotton i had sort of suspected was in there, and afterward it looked as if my foot had very forcefully hatched itself out of a giant cocoon.

there were all kinds of crazy used casts lined up on a shelf. there was a little mermaid, a kermit, a green cast with googly eyes and a tongue flap just where the toes come out, and a virgin mary done in sequins. i chose baby blue for mine. if i were a cast-plaster manufacturer, i'd sell wraps in stripes (brown and baby blue, of course) and license designer logos like luis vuitton and the burberry plaid so that sufferers of orthopedic trauma no longer must give up their brand loyalty in such difficult times. when you can wear only one designer shoe, you've got to make up for it somehow.

i just looked at my insurance website and discovered that i have a $6,000 tendon in my foot. whoa. it was itemized under 'prostheses.' my ankle has become my priciest accesory.

first day back at work and it is quiet. i'm the only one who didn't leave for lunch. it's usually the opposite. i didn't expect this, but crutching around the office makes me feel sort of pathetic. something to do with the way the crutches blend in with all the gray plastic in here. and how their rhythmic creak can be heard over the hum of computers and kitchenette appliances.

last week's recovery was an excellent break from work. i got my harper's intern app done friday (ed took it down there for me and, through an entertaining series of snafus in their office's system for receiving packages, actually ended up putting it in the hands of the man who will read it), which astounds me, because i never really believed i would hand it in. this weekend i had dreams about telling my boss i'm leaving. in between dreams involving accidental walking and what my stitches look like.

here you can see a video of jon stewart's appearance on crossfire.

if that link doesn't work try this one.

another friend getting married! let's see, now that's one from childhood, one from high school, one from college, and one from study abroad. i find this awfully...symmetrical. i don't keep up with anyone from summer camp, so who's it gonna be next?

arise, frankenfoot!

is my daily incantation for keeping my new, post-operative ankle elevated. for those of you who knew i was going to have my right ankle surged upon by an orthopedic surge-on this thursday past, i am ok and my new clubfoot and i are getting on fine. on those of you who didn't know, i bestow the relief of never having worried.

the surgery was for ligament repair (i had ligaments so stretched and barely there i needed a tendon transfer, i.e., a tendon from a dead person, hence the frankenfoot nickname, coined by greg, to give all credit where credit is due), took four hours, and will keep me on crutches for 6 weeks. the foot is bigger than my face and will be pacified by narcotics (great buzz when combined with coffee, fyi) for a few more days. i'm taking the same class of hydrocodone that got rush limbaugh in trouble...it was that or the robert downey jr–endorsed vicadin, a prescription i could still fill if i were into spending a week of my life doing some truly mind-bending dvd watching. in all seriousness, i think skipping work, lying around my apartment, and taking federally controlled substances is just the break i need to attack that harper's internship application i keep saying i'm gonna do.

leave comments with netflix recommendations or costume ideas for my foot and me for halloween.

apples without stickers

is just one reason farmers markets are great. another is that they are reliable mealiness-free zones.

although i am glad for the chickens and cows who range free and grass feed, i am disappointed by the absence of organic, which is to say conventional (as opposed to poisoned), foods.

purchased:
one vegan granola raising cookie (immediately consumed)
four punkin scones
raspberry-currant jam
small bottle of cider
three macintosh apples

they also had some goodlookin muffins and pies and whatnot, but renting another stomach is a bit out of my price range. maybe that is the answer to world hunger--if americans could rent space in starving africans' bodies to store their extra flab, everyone would win. instead of exporting mcdonald's and burger king, we could just unload our fat directly on the rest of the world. tho i guess there'd be problems in the event of a fat-transfer defrauding scheme. if the same pounds get bought for multiple people, credited to them, but then taken away months later when the error is discovered, the africans could potentially owethe world pounds, and *poof* they are gone!

uh-oh. i think this plan would actually be very attractive to our goverment. you mustn't let this very workable proposal fall into the wrong hands. it could turn into a vast pound-indebtitude disaster on the scale of subway's notorious diet campaign, which contended that you could have lost 73 pounds last year if you had eaten a turkey sub every day. which translates into 146 pounds if you ate two every day, and so on...

i just walked past a group of black people protesting how rolling stone/miller beer's eight-can series of rock musicians 'white washs' music made great by blacks. they were outside a big business center, which i entered for its starbucks, where i found a black man behind the counter and asked him to make me a white hot chocolate.

behavioral finance?

i just ran across this term in some verrrry interesting media-bigwig bios i'm editing, and it sounds very, very creepy. creepy as in let's take advantage of the way this term mimics the credible-sounding behavioral science, and then let's sock 'em with our catlike cataloging skills when their pants/defenses are down.

praytell, what is behavioral finance? is it the prediction of consumers' spending patterns w/r/t our biological and social profiles? this sounds scary. or could it be the more straightforward practice of giving people money when they behave a certain way? like, prostitutes are financed when they behave in a blowjob sort of way around certain men.

i've been to two doctors today and have two more to go. needless to say, there have been/will be more post-physician icecream treats. well, the chiropractor doesn't count as a physician. have i mentioned i'm going to a REAL spine m.d. next month? i am stoked. smoked. lately i've been asking every m.d. i go to if i can blame this-or-that problem on the chiropractor. they always smile and say sure.

the last doktor i go to tonight is the shrink. yay! i have been waiting for this for a while. and really, it was easier than my insurance-phonecall-avoiding mental block told me it would be. i hope this woman is cool. over the phone she sounded a bit dull. but no worries if we don't work out...there are more shrinks in manhattan than there are people.

this morning the warmly paternal yet brusque orthopedist (#1) diagnosed me with patella-blahblah syndrome, so i am skipping happily (he told me i can skip) back to physical therapy, and tomorrow i will finally achieve what i have been lovingly referring to as my epantsipation (he told me i can wear my mary janes instead of sneakers).

greg is having a dance party on sept. 11. there will be twin kegs. rob is coming up. everyone else come! you can stay with me.

it's time for a haircut when

an intern mistakes you for an older, heavier, blander person she has already met.

my hair has gotten too long to wear down, so i've had it back in boring buns and ponytails, but this is the last straw. why couldn't she have confused me with someone better looking?

really i don't begrudge new people their confusion; i have been guilty of fusing plenty of very distinct faces in my effort to absorb the large amount of information they take for granted. when i was new this older lady would confuse me with another new and unfortunately frogfaced girl with a mop for hair and BANGS, but i got back at her by confusing her with a really spacy older lady who works on the same floor.

if there is an edge, hyphens will push me over it.

and i hope there are a lot of phoebe's bran muffins on the other side.

october 22

i have just been informed in pleasant, measured tones via modern telecommunication that this is the date on which my right ankle will surge. it's a little too close to thanksgiving for comfort, since holiday airports are already a nightmare when i have two functioning feet, so i asked them to call me if they can work out anything sooner.

for now, there will be lots of fun and revelry-making: kt's tennessee lakehouse with the rest of jam304 for labor day, homecoming maybe, and medonna III (new york) with brewton as choreographer in mid-october. then the Punishment arrives, with lots of hobbling and whining to follow.

for right now i am excited because rania, my favorite person from high school, is coming to nyc to work at the human rights watch! rania is one of the frankest, most refreshing people i know, and in high school we had lots of fun cutting each other's hair and dancing in the rain. we even had a crush on the same egomaniacal (to us, 'inspiring') boho-boy, and only now are we wise enough to know that we two make far better company than he.

so rania's coming over for dinner tonight, and she is going to meet ed, and we are all going to drink wine and eat this chick-pea and spinach stew i have yet to make, as well as a key lime pie that ed and i made last night while drinking brazilian sugar cane liquor and taking turns shouting over the phone with russ, who is moving to chicago in a week and whom i've just realized i can't visit when emily does because duh, that's in the middle of the week and some signs i'm picking up from my environs (gray desk, plastic 'walls,' staples catalogs 2002 and 2004) are suggesting to me that i just might have a job.

the point of copyediting is to keep people from sounding stupid. there are some people whose stupidity i am tired of concealing from the world.

this article makes me want to cry. it's one of those life-is-shit-but-so-and-so-overcame gigs. but it's so true! life is shit! i am lucky to have what i have, but i have nothing if i am shitty to myself all day, which is harder to avoid doing than it sounds.

do we need the possibility for advancement and future comort for happiness? for acceptance of the shit we are doing in the present? e.g., can communism work for regular people, not just monks (who are capitalists anyway because they brew beer)?

ok, everyone go read the article mr. fridrik posted in the comments to my entry on 7.14. it's about the wars on obesity. normally i pity the pro-fat wing of opinionators as both misguided AND unstylish a la the ugliness-as-conscientious-dissent soapbox occupied by BUST, bitch, and other dubiously feminist publications whose editors make a profession of marginalizing themselves, but this article makes some sense in concept, even if some of its numbers aren't so credible (an 80 pound range of 'healthy weight' for anyone, no matter how big-boned or hairy, seems unreasonable).

last night dorothy said on the phone (best read in dreamy dorothy drawl): 'i've been having fantasies about going grocery shopping with my mom, where i pick out things i want and she pays for them, and she picks out things that i wouldn't have thought of.'

my goals for the weekend are to heal from my various injuries, buy a new glug-glug jug of tangueray, read more book than news, and see the metallica movie. and maybe write a long soulful email to my brother, king of the long (and short) soulful email, and a long intelligent email to the only contact i have in the world of Jobs I Want.

don't wake that life

last night i fell asleep to waking life, which, now that i've seen it semisober, i've decided really is best watched stoned. lots of half- (or totally) baked ideas from philosophy one-oh-point-five. ed and i decided that an animation overlay of one of dr. robb's classes would be much better, and his sweaters would look faaaahbulous.

iron-maidenform girdle?

man, i can understand how people get fat working these desk jobs. food is about all you can look forward to in the course of the day, especially when svelte coworkers abandon delicious chocolate cheesecakes in the fridge in effort to offset the caloric danger to themselves and their own. the cheesecake was lunch yesterday, and i have just eaten a banana on the verge of overripeness to prevent the cheesecake from being breakfast too. also, i am trying to avoid learning too much about the scrumptious and expensive offerings of 52nd street, because lately i have been venturing out to get black coffee and just happening to run into other delectables in the process. like the $1.75 oily kindergarten-birthday-style cupcakes in a deli just a few doors down and the chocolate-covered grahams in the starbucks housed protectively by the financial center across the street. if i try the $3 pizza-by-the-slice from global kitchen, i'm afraid i will find myself living on (and for) it for the next month. i am, however, particularly thankful for the proximity of midtown's best gyro cart on hangover days.

boring old job and exciting new knee condition!

everyone i talked to this weekend about feeling restless in my job said i should get out before too long to avoid being pidgeonholed as a copyeditor. i feel like i'm starting all over again, like last summer, and i've just managed to keep myself taken care of for the past year, though that counts as a worthy goal in itself. it's tough. it's tough to think of giving up health coverage and working for free at harper's or the voice just so i can have a gamble at doing the thing i want to do. but that's why i'm here living in this expensive supercili-city to begin with. if i wanted to just support myself, i could do a much better job of that somewhere else, like, while frying fish on the beach.

tentative plan: stay at work and in apartment through christmas and have surgery on the company plan; apply for grad school for next fall and internships for this spring; consider moving to brooklyn once off crutches and if an ok situation comes along.

state of knee tendonitis: bearable and improving. the weather is too nice to miss running outside. the plan for today is walk-run intervals followed by the rolly thing (i am obsessed with this, my hard-foam cylindrical physical therapy device--much easier to manage than sitting on a tennis ball, miss kt!) some knee exercises with ankle weights, and ice & ibuprofen.

had some wacky dreams this weekend. they rely on aural puns, tho, so i'll refrain here. if you want to witness the verbal stretches my sleeping mind finds hi-larious (thomas ward would be proud), the phone will have to be your medium.

it's one of those 'what do i do with my life?' days. it started as a busier-than-usual day at work, the drudgery levels of which are usually manageable, if not nearly suppressable, but then it came roaring to the surface when an all-staff email was sent out about the open position for a curatorial assistant. i read the description with a clenched stomach, hoping hoping hoping that it's low-level enough not to require a master's degree (it doesn't), desperately wanting to surround myself with interesting people thinking about ideas, which would be a nourishing environment for my brain, as opposed to interesting people keeping track of facts and versions of pieces of paper, which seems harmless on the surface but is mentally debilitating when you really think about it. but then there's the whole politics of even asking to change departments within the museum, of abandoning the people who so carefully taught me their...paper-shuffling techniques (ok) and who generally are charitable enough to ignore the way i slink into work late in the mornings and even later after a mysteriously long lunch. all this got me curious about what jobs are available outside the museum, which, by the way, is a very efficient way to further torture someone already deep into the let's-throw-my-whole-life-into-doubt game. i really didn't want to know that i could make $16 an hour freelance editing tv trivia questions until as late as 1 a.m. on weeknights and work weekends too, even on top of my current job; or that the magazine looking for a copyeditor whom they insist shouldn't harbor affection for the serial comma (wtf?) is, as revealed by some web investigation, an 'uplifting' christian magazine with sayings of the day and drop-down prayer menus; or that martha stewart magazine wants a copyeditor and pays much better than i currently make but still probably not enough to make it worth working there. or maybe not. does it matter, really, when the people at the top of my workplace are just as crooked and fake and vain and clueless as i imagine the people at the top of martha stewart co. are? and it's not like i'm at my job to get better at the job itself. i'm there because it's a particularly low-pain version of a profession i'm good at but not much interested in. and because it sounds much cooler than it is and could get me in the door somewhere else that's actually cooler. not so with uplifting christian mag, tv trivia, or martha stewart.

so where am i trying to go? what to do with this restless engergy?

well, for now, the answer is run. run run run, tendonitis or no.

a free REED'N. (but not the miss cleo kind)

i saw david foster wallace and george saunders last night for free at the public theater. ed's roommate jake really wanted to go, so they stood in line for an hour and a half, and i left work just in time to cut in line and consume a powerbar before they let everyone in. dfw & gs were amusing and did the usual 'writer talk' gig, shifting between clever cynicism and warm fuzziness. i was curious about how dfw would look and sound in person, and here is the consensus we arrived at by the end: math nerd who discovered weed.

seriously. he was like wayne and garth, only with these little effeminate gasps and cluck-clucks and choo-choos in between the stoner-droner stuff. and fidgety. brought a plastic fork onstage. and was dressed in (somehow) mismatched all white. he did give a refreshingly honest monologue on the franzen/oprah hooplah. one notch closer to the heart than the uge.* 'refreshingly honest' writer talk.

i'm having a birthday party at my place most likely friday the 9. more info to follow in traditional mass email form. would do it the 10, but cousin rodney's baby's christening is at a brooklyn episcopal church at 8:30 sunday morning, and it's a bit too sinister for my taste to be hungover for/puking after a christening.

this day at work has been another example of the many ways in which the president of our museum is a total fucking dunderhead. more on that later.

*is there any good way to transcribe this conversational abbreviation for 'usual'? i think we need a new character in the alphabet. same thing happens to snappy casual. it ends up looking like 'snappy cash,' which sounds like something advertised on the subway. how about a z with a little notch over it, like in czech?

reading materials

i envy alain de botton a lot and nicholson baker maybe just a little.

also i want a birkenstock tan.

good hippie snack reminiscent of preschool gooey snack

hungry for sweet crunchy sustenance? like to play with your food? need food NOW without jeopardizing your sincere intentions to eat dinner?

try HIPPIE SNACK!*

all you have to do is happen to be the kind of damn fool hippie who would actually have on hand things like this:

hippie peanut butter (concession: other peanut butter will work too)
wheat germ
grape nuts
hemp granola
maple syrup for enhanced gooeyness

directions:

1. assemble ingredients in bowl
2. moosh ingredients together (fingers work best but fork will do)
3. shovel in mouth while making 'mmm mm' noises

probably is also very good with sunflower seeds, which is the gooey preschool snack ingredient most prominent in my memory, other than sugary kid peanut butter. this snack appeared in ball form.

*to be distinguished from the hippie snack promoted by the healthful and exuberant appearance of ms. dorothy

bonus: like a diy energy bar, but looks like dog food, so no one will want to eat it up before you get home