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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) rufustfirefly | |
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I learned not terribly long ago that if one beats Beatles Rock Band in less than 24 hours, he or she receives what is known as an X-Box Achievement. These achievements are the bane of any on-line player's existence because a lot of losers will do anything to get all of them for a given game and they don't actually make the game more fun. Last night, Matt and I became those losers. After three straight hours of clicking on Expert guitar and/or bass, as well as Ringoing it up on Expert drums (no official singing, thank god), we succeeded in obtaining the "Daytripper" achievement. But it wasn't quite as easy as it seemed. Both of us are Rock Band veterans, playing more than is healthy (Matt's even won awards for his exceptional guitar playing), but even still, a couple of songs gave us some serious trouble, including Get Back, which was the very last song before earning the award. At any rate, going through the game, it became abundantly clear why the Beatles wanted to kill each other by around The White Album. Matt and I have been close friends since our earliest memories, but we were about ready to tear each other's eyes out by around the time we made it to Birthday. At a certain point, call it the hour thirty mark, the game stopped being fun and most songs were met more with groans than excitement. But we're nothing if not determined and though my arms felt like they would leave my body by the end, we finished in just under 3 hours. Good on us. In even geekier news, the physics/math nerds I know from CSUN all went out with me to Acapulco's for Margarita Monday and woo-wee do I sometimes wonder about these people. The organizer of the event -- the one whose idea it was to go in the first place -- spent the entire time complaining about how bad the service was and that they didn't put any tequila in the Margaritas. Nobody else complained too much. More interesting to me was the other guy whom we didn't stop reaming for failing his Jazz class. Let's call him "Jay." Jay is a guy who's gotten through tough math and advanced physics classes with mostly A's, but failed -- outright failed -- his Introduction to Jazz class which, if not an easy A, is probably a guaranteed B. Additionally, he knows a thing or two about jazz -- I asked him a quick question and he got it correct. But I'm not going to attack Jay for his poor performance in a low-level G.E. class on a subject he was already somewhat familiar. That is to say, I'm not going to reprimand him for going to see the jazz concert but failing to write a report on it (thereby doing most of the work for none of the credit). No, sir, that would be shooting a dead horse or whatever the expression is. What I'm going to attack him for is his pure idiocy when dealing with everyday life situations. At one point during the evening, the manager came over to our table and demanded to see Jay's identification. He's 21, but when the manager asks him his age, he replies, "27." "What year were you born son?" Without missing a beat: "1982." See? Good at math. Bad at life. The manager took Jay's driver's license to the back and did something with it while everybody else at the table tried, to no avail, to explain that the manager was not just making friendly conversation, he was grilling Jay to make sure that it wasn't a phony I.D. and that the restaurant couldn't get in trouble for serving him alcoholic beverages. So Jay's license said 21, but Jay gave his age as 27 -- for no good reason -- and when the manager came back, he grabbed Jay by the shoulder and said, "Son, you need to come with me." Like most stories, this one ends anti-climatically: It turns out he was just joking, but that doesn't change the moral, which is that Jay is an idiot. Tags: beatles, endurance tests, idiots, math, physics, rock band
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Classical on Shuffle
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simpsnsfan | |
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Merry Christmas Eve everyone. Had sort of an interesting, holly jolly experience this afternoon and I thought I'd share. One of my bosses called me last night saying I didn't have to come in to work today-- get some last minute shopping done if I have to, and Happy Holidays. So, you know, I figured the other boss is still out of commission, it's been quiet as fuck around here anyway, why not take the already planned half-day all the way off. I wake up, watch a movie, pack up stuff for the holidays, and start debating what I'm gonna do for lunch. Suddenly I think to myself, "oh, just check for messages anyway. See if anyone called." Well, my other boss called. And she's asked me to find a sheet of paper in her office, and have it signed by her two supervisors (including the CFO of the company). At this point it's like 1:30pm and the offices close at 3. You can bet your ass I floored it all the way into work, called her from an office phone and assured her I was here and would take care of it. I didn't even bring up the fact that I was calling her 4 hours after she left the voice-mail, and she didn't seem to notice. I found the stupid fucking sheet, ran to each office, and hey, guess what, people are already gone for the break. Gee, big surprise. So I called her back, explained the bad news, and wished her a merry christmas. Actually it's just as well I got here because I showed face in front of about 50 people so everyone knows I was here today. As we hung up, I wished my boss a Merry Christmas. Her reponse: "Hey, almost time for you to leave." *sigh* Happy fucking new year to you too. Current Mood:  grinchy
Current Music: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
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spreadsothin | |
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I have always been large. When I was born, I weighed more than eleven pounds. When I was two, I looked five. When I was in seventh grade, my gym teacher published my weight on a bulletin board: the Clinton administration had just changed the obesity standards and I was now officially obese. As an obese person, I was now a member of a club that included many sports figures and celebrities such as George Clooney. I played sports: soccer, competitive canoeing, and fencing. I've taken all kinds of dance classes: ballet, tap, jazz and belly. I have led hikes into the wilderness, I have lifted and carried heavy things, children and adults. I am strong and capable, and I find my body beautiful. I remember losing weight four times. The first time was the summer before junior year: I took a family trip to California where I discovered grilled chicken caesar salad and ate it at every meal. The second time was sophomore year of college, when I did the Master Cleanse. I had so much energy, felt so much lighter, did three hours of dance but missed the social aspects of eating and the taste sensation. (A repeated attempt failed miserably.) The third time was after my trip to China: we walked for hours every day and ate all of our meals communally. I came home weighing 187, my lowest since eighth grade. I kept at that low weight throughout the summer, but when I started an office job and hormonal birth control in the fall, it all came back. That December, my senior year of college, I gave up sweets, fried food, meat and dating for a month, as an experiment. I lost ten pounds. When I am smaller, I am praised. I get more inappropriate sexual attention. More people talk about and touch my body. Shopping is more fun, because I have more options to choose from. I still do not resemble a model, and still wouldn't look conventionally beautiful in a bikini. But it isn't good enough. When I am at my smallest, I am told that I just need to work a little harder, and disappear a little more, and then I will be more socially acceptable. In my adult life, I have never weighed less than 187 pounds. I think it is unlikely that I will ever weigh much less than that. I will never look like the ideal for most designers and directors. And I have to be okay with that. I have to love my body, for it is the only instrument of its kind available to me. I rejoice in my body, I appreciate how strong it is and all the things it does for me. Sometimes I even take pleasure in avoiding much of the inappropriate sexual attention that skinnier women receive. Being healthy is a separate goal from losing weight. I believe in Health at Every Size. There are skinny people who are not as healthy as me, and I am not as healthy as some fatter people. Fat and health are not necessarily correlated the way the diet industry would have you believe. I work and want to do more work in the theatre. Entertainment can be a very vain industry. I am interested in improving my career. One of the first things I am told to do is to lose weight. Last night I was at a holiday party for a feminist theatre company I know and love. I was having a most enjoyable conversation with another actress about the constant negotiation between paying the bills and doing creative work. She mentioned that she was celiac. I mentioned that I was thinking of reducing my intake of processed carbs. Soon, everyone in the room was engaged in a discussion of how I could slim down. A squishy old white woman was telling me that she has yogurt for breakfast, the celiac actress recommended buckwheat and an apple, and her boyfriend was debating the different kinds of oatmeal with a nice old man. The actress and her boyfriend left, reminding me about Weight Watchers (where I had attended my first meeting, at ten). The nice old man and squishy woman kept saying that I had a beautiful face, and such a nice figure if I could just shave some off- asking me if I had ever tried Pilates- and saying that there were so many roles I could play in musical theatre if I was slimmer- but there was one that I could play as I was! The lead in Hairspray, the Token Fat Girl. I am sure they meant completely well. This is what happens when you ask for career advice. You get career advice. The more insulting thing was that, before this was brought up, I was constantly being compared to another fat white actress in the company. She is at least ten years older than me, with children, but because I have slightly reddish hair and because we both have chubby cheeks, we were actually confused. Not to start the oppression olympics, but if we shared the physical characteristic of a different skin color, people would not have dared to compare us so blatantly. I am sick of being told that a fatter person cannot play a love interest. I am a fat person, and I am in the middle of a blissful love affair. I am sick of seeing fat people portrayed as evil, lazy, or undisciplined. We love fat pudgy babies, and fat pudgy animals, but we hate fat adults. I am fat and will probably always be perceived as fat. To succeed in my industry, people recommend getting smaller. I might try that. But I'd rather change the world. Look at the good work that model Crystal Renn is doing! It's a struggle. I want to be a strong example of what a woman can be. I don't want to disappear. But I want to be perform in the public sphere.
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spreadsothin | |
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On Friday I planned to surprise Michael with a trip to the city. We were going to the Tim Burton exhibit at MOMA, and then going to Le Parker Meridien's Burger Joint. Then we would walk down 5th Avenue, sip hot chocolate, and admire the tree. It would be festive and put us both in a holiday mood. It would also create a happy memory in the city, because Michael doesn't like the city all that much.
My replacement at work was a half hour late, so we had to scramble to get to the museum in time to use the timed tickets. While driving into the city, I made some phonecalls, one to the teacher of Shakespeare Gym, thanking him for putting me in the advanced class, and one back to work, where they had more questions. I took the second one on the George Washington Bridge. We finished our call, and I glanced down, away from the road, to press the End button and hang up. And Michael yelled, "Hon, look out!" and we rear-ended the guy in front of us, which caused him to rear-end the guy in front of him.
Freakout. Everything stands still for a minute. Then I put on the hazards, and run up to the first car: Are you okay? I'm sorry, it's all my fault. And run up to the second car: Are you okay? I'm sorry, it's all my fault. Oh, my god, a baby. Is the baby okay?
And satisfied that they're okay, I go back to Michael. He's okay. The front of my car is completely pushed in, and the radiator is leaking coolant. I had just paid 65$ on Monday to get a bulb replaced on the front. That bulb is now smashed. The whole front is caved in.
The second car advocates pulling up and to the side of the road. Michael moves my car. I stand there and cry, feeling horrible for having caused this, for looking away from the road for literally one second. Michael always warned me about texting while driving and its dangerous, and I largely pooh-poohed him. And now, I've caused this accident and this upset and this big monetary loss and we won't get to the exhibit and we won't have a happy memory.
I could tell Michael was upset, because his jaw was set.
And the driver of the first car offered to let us sit in his car, where it was warm. We did. He told us that he was missing his date because of this. I felt like a jerk.
The officer showed up, and led us in an 5mph convoy off the bridge to 178th street. What a decent, respectable officer! Businesslike yet polite. It was really nice. We were a three-car accident blocking the right lane of the GWB on a Friday rush hour, but we were soon out of the way.
And then it took about 40 minutes to get his paperwork processed. We were finally handed a form to fill out for a police report. The police officer told us we could wait there for the tow truck, pointed out the bus station next door in case we needed to use the rest room, made a joke about Tiger Woods and wished us happy holidays.
We called Allstate Roadside Assistance. They told us our policy was cancelled, and since it was an accident, we'd have to call the Claims Department anyway. We call the Claims Department. They tell us our policy was cancelled. We ask who cancelled it. They say that we did. It's getting ridiculous and it's approaching freezing temperatures. At Michael's insistence, we go inside the bus station. He argues with Allstate, I argue with Allstate. Apparently, they tried billing us and the card was declined. They said they sent us five pieces of mail before cancelling our policy. They had also sent us cards saying our policy was good until June, and when I called to update my address, in October, less than two months prior, they had said we were all up to date.
It is no good. We are going in circles. I try to lodge a complaint and they tell me I have to talk with my agent. I leave a phone message and an email for my agent. We are in the bus station, surrounded by the pigeons. It is practically 6pm. The car is still broken on the street.
I remember something and call Volkswagen Roadside Assistance. They promise that the tow truck will arrive in one hour. When I get the automated call that says the tow truck will arrive in fifteen minutes, I call the tow company to ask them to call my cell before they arrive, because we're waiting inside where it's warm. The tow company tells me that they have no knowledge of a tow and need a PO number. I call Volkswagen. I call the tow company. I call Volkswagen. It's figured out. We have to wait another hour.
We buy sandwiches and I drink a beer (dragon stout) out of a paper bag. The pigeons fly overhead. I feel defeated. We don't want to go to the museum anymore, and besides, it would be closed.
The tow company says that they're twenty minutes away. Michael is still upset. I am too. The sign at the deli advertises a drink called "morirsonando" a dream of death? I tell the guy I speak a little Spanish and am curious about that drink. He says it means "latin juice". I know it doesn't. He says it has orange juice in it and is delicious. I google. It's a Dominican drink, it means "to die in a dream" and it's blended orange juice with evaporated milk.
The guy calls, he's fifteen minutes away. Then five. We go wait on the street. Ten minutes later, he finally shows up.
It's after eight. He lets us wait in his blissfully warm truck. Then he tells us that he can't tow us to Rockland. The VW dealership is now closed and he'll have to keep the car at his shop at the Bronx overnight. We'll have to find our own way home. And we have to pay the 16$ toll. Great. We give him 16$, thank him, and go back to the buses.
We take the 8:30 bus to Rockland. Michael bought a magazine, so he has to run and find an ATM before the bus leaves. We make it just in time. On the bus, I call my mother and ask her to drive us from her town (Nyack) to our town (Valley Cottage) so we won't have to walk in the cold. It's really cold and we're both shaken up. My mother says that the bus should drop us close enough to walk.
The bus drops us at the corner. We walk up two hills. I can feel my heart beating through my chest. We sit down on the couch to watch TV and I fall asleep.
xxx
Today, my agent calls me at 9:15am. She says she did everything in her power to contact me. She says she sent five letters. I never got them. She says she can't cover us for the lapse, but we could sign up again today. It's ridiculous. We called to update our information when we moved, they have our new address but not our new phone number. They never emailed us or called our cellphones (which they have). They just let our insurance lapse. The car accident will not be covered. Our insurance is cancelled.
We go for insurance through USAA. It's double what we were paying at Allstate, but USAA is supposed to have amazing customer service. Part of the reason it's double is because I now have two traffic violations (one from 07, which just went to court in 09). USAA insurance starts today.
My car is being evaluated at the dealership. We'll have to pay out of pocket for the repair costs, if it's salvageable.Our insurance is doubled. I don't know what will happen when the other people make a claim against our insurance. I hope we won't have penalties from the DMV. I do have to pay a "Unsafe Driver" penalty of 125$ a year for the next three years because I now have two tickets.
Thankfully, our friend Mina loaned us her car for today and tomorrow. I don't know what I'm going to do on Wednesday, but I really appreciate it. I called the Post Office and filed a complaint. I sent away for the police report. Hopefully this will all work itself out.
Instead of getting in the Christmas mood, we got royally screwed by Allstate. They let us down in our hour of need. ButMichael just called. An Allstate adjuster received our complaint and says that they should be able to reinstate our insurance! Let's hope!
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