what's that smell?

oh, wait, i know. 

THE YANKEES.

right now the team is reminding me of that certain type of person who wants something very badly—a significant other, say, or a job—yet they have no idea why they want it, so it never comes to fruition. 

you know that type. they go about life emitting a scent of desperation and fear mixed with l'eau de lame ass. you feel sort of bad for them because, wow, if only they could get a clue—life would be so much easier. if only they realized that pulling their heads out of their big fat overpaid rear ends is really the only way not to miss the playoffs for the first time since 1995, things might fall into place a little more easily.

but no. they just keep on keepin' on, flailing about as they do, talking about succeeding but sorely under achieving when push comes to shove. or, you know, when the bases are loaded.

this had to happen sometime. i only turned obsessive where the Yankees are concerned in 1996. not because that's when they started winning—i promise you—just because that's when my brain finally finished developing and the part that comprehended and appreciated and loved with all its might the sport of baseball finally popped into place. 

i mean, yeah, 2001 nearly destroyed me, and every postseason since has taken an emotional toll—some years worse than others (dear god, 2004). but this—this season—this takes the cake. in my career as a fervent, borderline psychotic Yankee fan, this season is a horse of a different color. 

this season, i finally know what it's like to be a Mets fan. 

mb

i knew it would happen

i have a problem. it's not uncommon, but it's still embarrassing. 

i'm addicted to Facebook. 

last fall, on this very blog, i went off  on MySpace and all the sites like it, which i guess would include Facebook. but then the girls at work convinced me i had to join —everyone was posting their vacation pictures there, and engaging in all sorts of fun procrastination. i just wanted to belong! 

so i broke down. and i'm beyond glad that i did. i'm just...not getting much work done this week because of it.

in my defense, i joined a few months ago and hadn't experienced this level of obsession prior to this week. i was way too busy, i guess. but there really isn't a lot of work to be done right now (praise Jebus) and the work i do have is dreadfully boring, which makes me much more prone to distraction, which is where Facebook comes in handy. (or not, depending on your perspective.) 

but really, this site is nothing like MySpace (so i do not, in fact, recant my rant from last year). it feels far less skeevy, i'm pretty sure it's considered the "cool" social networking site, and i get to fling food at my friends (watch your back, Geev). if you need more evidence, get this: last week i reconnected with a friend i had when i was, oh, about four years old. we used to play Star Wars together and ride our bikes and wreak general havoc on the neighborhood. i hadn't talked to the kid in probably 20 years, but now we're "friends" on Facebook. 

a regular Interweb miracle! 

i've been making a concerted effort every day not to log on too often. (i think right now i'm walking a fine line between "distracted at work" and "full-on loser.") maybe i'll actually be relieved when things pick up at my job and i only log on 10 times a day rather than, you know, 6,000. 

it all makes me wonder, though—how did people squander time at the office before the internet? don't tell me they actually worked all day. that's just insane.

mb

sixth period lunch

this is going to sound crazy, i know, but right now my office smells like my high school cafeteria. 

do you ever smell something—even something completely strange and random—and bam! you're right back to a really specific time and place in your life? and you let your mind just roll around in it a while? just for kicks?

well, that's where i am now. my high school cafeteria. the smell is obviously food-related: faintly greasy, a strange hint of soft pretzel (yes, they have a very specific scent) and... condiments. yep, condiments. i remember certain days i would get the chicken patty sandwich (sounds so appetizing, doesn't it?) and there were pathetic, limp pickle slices mashed between the chicken patty and the roll. of course i ate them, i ate the whole thing, after i squirted a sufficient amount of ketchup in all the right places. 

anyway, i can smell those pickles right now. and it's making me wistful. i know i've said here before how much i loved high school. some memories i think of as warm blankets that you cuddle up in when you're chilly or not feeling well or down in the dumps. high school is, go figure, one of my blankets. i can easily get lost in reveries of my AP English classes with Miss Fagan; how Mr. G would make delinquent boys shave any visible facial hair with a disposable razor—and no water or shaving cream; how we always had to sell candy bars each autumn, but i tended to just throw a $20 in the envelope and eat them all myself; how Mr. Donahue made us say the Serenity Prayer every day before Theology class (it only dawned on me later that perhaps he'd done some time in AA); all those weeknight and Sunday afternoon play rehearsals that i lived for, the way i'm sure so many of my friends lived for parties. 

i just said to Michael the other day that i seemed to be getting through this back-to-school season without getting my annual itch to become a teacher, or an urge to buy a lot of new pencils and notebooks and, what the hell, a funky lunch box too. perhaps that's not so true. perhaps i'll always want to go back to school when the summer starts winding down. i mean, really, you spend how many years of your life in that same school-summer-school-summer cycle, it must take more than nine years to get over it, right? 

right?

mb

stress shmess

sometimes after vacations i slip into a sort of funk: 'oh, wait... that lovely week with no responsibilities and no guilt about eating six meals a day wasn't my real life? this crappy thing is my real life? please pass the wine, stat...' 

other times after vacations—such as the one i just took—i am able to retain the inner 'wheeeeee!' feeling and let it permeate. real life doesn't get me down so much, i don't descend into the vortex of anxiety i had to climb out of just to go on vacation, etc etc. 

did i mention it took me a good three days to shake leftover work tension and job stress once i actually started my most recent vacation? i found it alarming—i've just never been that kind of person, at least not where work is concerned—and made a mental note to do things differently when i got back. 

so far, so good. 

i am even more committed to my decision after reading an article in the latest issue of Glamour. i was flipping through it while i ate my Cheerios this morning and found a story about autoimmune diseases. they include MS, type 1 diabetes, rheumatoid arthritis. they're on the rise in younger women—and stress is a major factor. not very surprising. 

what is surprising is that i think, until something bad happens, until the real negative effects show up, many people enjoy being stressed. it makes them feel important and worthy to be so ridiculously busy that they have no time to do things like, say, take a deep breath once in a while or look at the sky on the way to work or just sit for five minutes doing nothing—no e-mail, no cell phone, no television, no iPod. (god forbid their world is silent for a few seconds, they might actually think about something they've been avoiding, ignoring, afraid to confront.) 

it just seems to me that the body must crave stuff like that—moments when it's required to do absolutely nothing except keep ticking. and when it's pushed to the absolute max—fed crappy food, slogged with caffeine, deprived of sleep, forced to stare at a computer screen for hours on end, blasted with music right in the old ear drums—of course it's going to go haywire. 

i'm just speaking from experience here. i've done all those things and i've felt all the effects. i know how i felt at work last month, and i know how i felt down in Disney World two weeks ago. surely there's a happy medium between the two, and i'm determined to find it. that's all i'm saying. 

one more thing: yesterday i was walking back from the grocery store and i saw a guy pushing a stroller. i was walking behind him and the stroller kept veering to the left of the sidewalk, almost to the curb. i thought maybe something was wrong with the wheel, but then i caught up with him. he was pushing a newborn—no older than two weeks, really teeny-tiny—all the while trying to drink a Starbucks, dial a cell phone, and hold onto his iPod. he was failing miserably. 

"dude," i wanted to say, but didn't. "you realize that baby is real, right? you can't be doing eight other things if you're taking your kid for a walk. just walk the kid. enjoy it. make your call later." 

but people love to multi-task. people need to be stressed out. it's the only way to survive, right? i say: not so much. i may have been that way once, but i'm way over it now. there's nothing wrong with one thing at a time.  

mb

good news!

i finally got my act together and called my cable company to upgrade my plan—i will have internet service in my apartment as early as next week. which means, my dear patient readers (the four of you who've hung on), that i will be writing more often and hopefully with more vigor than i have the last several months. 

now, come on—doesn't that put you in a good mood just in time for the weekend? i thought so. you're welcome.

as for me, i'm sitting in my office, which is deathly quiet even for a Friday in August, with a god awful crick in my neck, watching the minutes tick by at a snail's pace. i can't focus on anything because i'm eagerly awaiting 7 o'clock, the time when i'll arrive at Lauren's apartment for a much-needed girls night. the usual suspects are converging on her roof this evening to consume much vino and catch up on everything that went on over the last few weeks. which, when you're us, is a lot. 

OK. writing this killed six minutes. only 227 more to go.

mb

remembering the magic

we're back. 

sigh.

it was a really fun trip. i laughed almost the entire time. (the few exceptions: when Ghirardelli's in Downtown Disney neglected our sundae order and took more than 30 minutes to give me my ice cream; when a [crotchety, mean] Disney merchandise hostess actually yelled at me for something i didn't do; when Michael started asking me questions about our hotel bill at 7am on Friday—i can't do math well at all, let alone before a shower and caffeine.) but, really, most of the time we laughed. 

i, for one, needed it.

rather than bore you with a day by day, hour-by-hour recap, here are the top 10 things we saw, learned and/or did on our third trip to Disney World together:

1) do not go there in August, no matter what, but especially if you have kids. you will hate yourself, your life and, quite possibly, your kids. 

2) Europeans are having their way with our country right now. again, i mean no disrespect, i love Europeans with all my heart, but they are crawling all over the place, kind of like the ants i saw this morning swarming over a stray piece of pepperoni on the sidewalk. they also have no idea how to navigate strollers through large crowds.

3) the World Showcase at EPCOT is even more fun and impressive when you drink your way around it. Michael and i did just that last Monday and it was quite possibly our best day of the trip. not just because of the alcohol involved (i mean it!), but it was also much less crowded and a nice, slightly more mature break from the rest of Disney World. there's something to be said for sharing wine and cheese in (fake) France instead of scarfing yet another burger and fries in, say, Pecos Bill's in Frontierland. 

4) ideal places to take much-needed mid-afternoon naps: Ellen's Energy Adventure in EPCOT (it's a little outdated and too long; it's also very cool and dark) and the Walt Disney retrospective in Disney's Hollywood Studios (genius or not, i defy you to keep from nodding off during the movie of his life story). we managed to stay awake through Hall of Presidents in the Magic Kingdom and the American Adventure in EPCOT—we do have some class, thank you. 

5) lines are long and tedious, but sometimes you luck out. for example, we saved Big Thunder Mountain Railroad for last one night, and got to ride it twice in a row because everyone started chanting "one more time, one more time" as the "train" pulled into the loading zone. because it was late (and one of the ride operators' birthdays) they let us, which was pretty damn cool. (in Disney World, that's what they call a "magical moment." you can go vomit now, it's OK.) then, at the end of our day at Animal Kingdom, Michael and i rode the new (to us) Expedition Everest rollercoaster about five times because there was no line. we rode in the front, the back, the middle. we totally conquered Everest. 

6) expecting to eat anything close to healthy on vacation—especially in WDW—is just insane. we both arrived not wanting to overdo it or go completely hog wild. then Vacation Hunger set in. you know what i'm talking about—the ravenous appetite that takes over as soon as you're a certain number of miles away from home. your stomach abandons all dignity and restraint and wants everything in sight, including a rice krispies treat on a stick, in the shape of mouse ears, dunked in chocolate. even as you're shoving it down your throat, you know it's a bad idea. yet even the subsequent stomach pains won't prevent you from consuming something equally horrifying the next day. there is no controlling the beast.

7) if you must get stuck on the Tower of Terror, try to be in the same "elevator" as a young, British girl. our experience trapped inside a rather small and stuffy box (on a ride that actually simulates a broken elevator, oh the irony) was made almost pleasant—and definitely entertaining—by a 12-ish-year-old girl with an English accent who nearly had a nervous breakdown. "are we going to die?" she kept asking her mother, and: "why has the ride broken down?" when her older brothers started to make fun of her, she turned to them and said, so evenly and spot-on, "i hate you." her antics distracted me from my own near panic attack, god bless her, and we all got off the ride unscathed.

8) searching for Hidden Mickeys can quickly turn from a fun diversion into a full-blown frustrating obsession. it's a very fine line. just letting you know. 

9) meeting Mickey Mouse is always a little magical. we waited close to 45 minutes to meet the big cheese this time, and it was worth every second. what's a trip to Disney World worth if you don't get a picture with Mickey? i know the deal, i've been behind the scenes, i know how it all goes down. still, walking into a room to find Minnie and Mickey there, waving at you, giving you hugs—i won't lie, it's just fun. it's good for the soul. 

10) no matter how many times i go or how old i get, i don't think i'll ever get tired of going to Disney World. i know i'm flying my geek flag way high and way proud, but we all have our "things." (and it's not like i watch "The Hills" or plan on voting for McCain. my "things" could be much worse.) 

- mb

covered in pixie dust

we are here and we are appropriately exhausted and overwhelmed, but we've been having a blast (despite the hordes of crazy, overzealous Europeans - no offense, but they're seriously intense).


the internet access in our hotel is not free, as i thought, so i'm logging on just this once lest you think i fell off Space Mountain or got trapped in the Tower of Terror (oh, wait, that actually happened yesterday...).


we've put in two full days and have four more to go. i'll write again with highlights next weekend. in the meantime, remember... it all started with a mouse.

mb

zip-a-dee-doo-dah

perhaps just in time to save me from my hopeless, jaded outlook on life in the city, i'm heading to Walt Disney World tomorrow. Michael and i wanted to take a vacation this summer, but Europe made no sense, considering the pathetic dollar, and our dreams of San Diego were dashed by ridiculous airfares. the Magic Kingdom has always been good to us (well, except for that one time when Mickey Mouse fired my ass, but that's a story for another day) so it was an easy decision. 

i couldn't be more excited to get away (for a whole entire week!) and decompress and ride Splash Mountain 12 times. (i told my boss yesterday where i was going and she looked at me like i said i was heading to Guam, or Ohio. i suppose if i'd told her i was planning to sail around the Mediterranean on George Clooney's yacht, she would have oohed and aahed.) i'm planning to write from Orlando and post embarrassing pictures of me posing with Eeyore and Buzz and Woody and all my old friends, so keep an eye out. 

and let's hope the pixie dust does my poor, cluttered head some good.

xo

oy, the humanity

last night i went to the Eddie Vedder solo show with Michael. he got tickets and wanted me to come along and since he'd taken me to see "Damn Yankees" a couple weeks ago, i figured it was only fair. the show was at the United Palace Theater, up on 175th and Broadway, so it was no small feat just getting there (especially because the A train was seriously behind schedule and the platform at Columbus Circle was toasty 170 degrees). 

the show itself sort of sucked—even Michael thought so—but i was less frustrated with Eddie's self-indulgent performance than i was with the crowd. i have this thing lately where i can't stand most people in this city. i don't like feeling that way, it's totally non-productive and a little depressing. but it's like the more i look around, the more i see a bunch of fake, clueless, phony baloney people. they all strike me as caricatures—of the kind of people they think live in New York City—and bad imitations of characters they've seen on television or in the movies. 

i don't know why i find this so distressing.

anyway, last night people were getting hammered on small plastic cups of bad beer that cost $7 and high on joints that were being passed around the theater. when we first sat down, the opening act was just finishing up and thank god we hadn't sat down any sooner. there were two people on stage, a guy and a girl, and they were screaming into a mic and spazzing around on stage as if they were being continually struck by lightning or poked with something sharp in their rear ends. 

the audience loved it. 

it only got worse when Eddie finally came out. he sang a lot of (bad) political songs and at one point told the crowd he wasn't going to share who he'll be voting for this fall—"i'm keeping my politics to myself," he said. then right on cue, stagehands walked behind him holding up a big Obama banner, which sent the audience into a frenzy. 

ugh, like half of them even know what Obama is about! as Michael said afterward, "they probably won't even remember to vote." 

and speaking of afterward—as we were leaving our seats, an older woman came tumbling down the balcony stairs as we passed by. Michael bent down to help her but her shoes had no traction so he was really just pulling her along as her butt dragged across the (sticky, filthy) floor. she finally got herself up and he asked her if she was all right. "of course i'm all right," she replied, though her words were heavily slurred. yeah, sure you are, lady. 

we finally got out of the theater and were soon standing on the platform at 175th, waiting for the A with almost everyone who'd just been at the show. i noticed a woman standing nearby with a group of guys. she was drinking a Coors 40 in a paper bag (doesn't get much classier) and smoking a cigarette. on the platform. i heard her start a conversation with a stranger: "were you just at the show? yeah, wasn't it amazing?" 

and again, this filled me with a mix of anger and hopelessness. i wanted to shake her by the shoulders and scream, "are you for real? do you even know where you are right now?"

yeah, i know. something is seriously wrong with me. i'm trying not to lose faith in humanity, i swear. but it didn't help that the first thing i heard on the news this morning was that Paris Hilton had made a short film responding to the fact that John McCain used her image in his anti-Obama ad. and that she'd discussed both the energy crisis and choosing Rhianna as her running mate. while lounging in a cut-out leopard print bathing suit. 

you can't tell me the country isn't going to hell just a little bit when Paris Hilton is even remotely involved in the most important presidential election we've had in decades. 

we're so screwed.

mb