The Movie

Did I go to the HP7.1 opening night? Um...duh. I have an abbrev for it. Of course I went.

My roommate got our tickets to the Zigfeld theater on 54th, a really huge cool old-style theater.

No, this wasn't that night...unfort, people did not go up and duel in front of the stage.

I got there super early (long story, didn't have time to go home after work) at 10, planning to walk around Rockefeller. Luckily I checked out the theater first, because the line was already almost half a block long. By the time my roommate brought me an eggnog latte from Starbucks, I was thinking I might die from cold and the obnoxiousness of the couple behind me. (I was sitting down, and they stood literally right ON TOP of me and started making out. And then no matter what I did, they wouldn't move from standing a couple inches away from me. Even when I stood up and started pacing. I just kept "accidentally" bumping them, hoping they'd get the point. They didn't.)

The nerdocity of cult-followed movie opening nights definitely brought a smile to my face, though. I mean, even though I do know the books as well as most of these crazers in robes with their House signs and wands and drawn-on scars, I would never actually say some of those things out loud.

Want.

The nerdfandom vibe is contagious though. I particularly love how they applauded (COWBOYS & ALIENS!!!) or booed (sorry, Yogi) for the previews. And I felt freed to be more open about my crying and laughing and swearing during the movie.

After the movie on the long hike home-ward (during which I couldn't stop randomly yelling expletives because my mind was so blown from HP7.1), a bum on the street came up to us and asked us for some help as he really wanted a sandwich. At this point, instead of sadly shaking my head and continuing to walk as per usual, I actually said, "Wait a sec." I dug around in my bag, and the first thing I came up with was, unfortunately for me, one of the last Dove bars from the office. "Here, have this."

The man takes the bar from me, looks at it, and says, "Aw man, I really wanted some meat."

Me: "Um...it's a Dove bar."

Bum: "But I'm diabetic. This is bad for me."

Me: "Ok, I'll have it back, then."

Bum: "Nah I'll keep it. But can you help me out so I can get some meat?"

Me: "Sorry."

Can you believe this jerk? And then he follows us for several blocks, asking for money. When he finally gets some poor sap to give him money, he comes back to us, yelling, "Miss! Miss! That dude just gave me $20! See that? He just gave me $20."

Well, good for you.

The Cat

What does it mean when my roommate's cat is taking up my whole bed on a Saturday night? I think it means I need to get a boyfriend. Look out, NYC.

The Recap

Ok, clearly I really suck at working an intense job (which, bee tee dubs (<obnoxious and hilarious), I adore thus far) while blogging and still trying to get an acceptable amount of sleep. So, quickly, a recap of all of the crazy things you've missed in my NY life, fans:

Job rocks. Why? Responsibility. Brainstorming. Chocolate. Corporate Card. People listening to me and appreciating me and telling me I'm brilliant. Traveling (to Jersey...I know, but it's not sitting in an office, AND there are real natural-grown trees in Jersey) twice within my first week of work, being given an AmEx and sent all over the city for things, and going to the NYC Chocolate Show didn't hurt at all. Summary? Love. Also, this week we have a temporary German intern in the office.

Went to Cuse over the weekend for a panel trying to convince freshman to join the Ad department. Loved the Newhouse time (obvs), but it was way too early for me to be back there. I'm not a student any more. The weirdest part was that I actually missed NYC while I was away. The subway, the shopping, even the people -- people here may be rude, but at least they're real.

On a fabulous note: a girl on the train this morning was wearing fake gold giant hoop earrings with the word "Sexy" in fake gold script in the middle. Kind of like this, but actually taking itself seriously:

I want these.

The First Day

New job today. Exhausted. Definitely not cool enough for Soho OR working at a sweet little UK-based insights shop. Will trudge on, however, and refused to be intimidated because of my total Ohioness. This place is awesome. My first week is going to be very chocolatey!

The Connections

Cannot stop reading the "Personals" section of Craigslist. Obviously, my favorite part is the "Missed Connections." It is filled with ads posted by people who, like me, are avid peoplewatchers and like to make up little connections with their poor peoplewatching victims in their heads; however, some of these ad-posters have the additional characteristic of being total nutjobs. They genuinely believe that these strangers they saw are the possible loves of their lives.

The majority of posts pathetically end something like, "I hope you'll see this?" First of all, that is not a question. It is a statement. Your inappropriate use of a question mark is not only grammatically incorrect; it makes you look wimpy and doormat-like. Secondies, SERIOUSLY? There are eight million people living in NYC. How many of them do you think will happen to read some post with a lame subject that you made in the "Missed Connections" section of Craigslist at this particular time? Thirdly, have you ever thought that if he/she is the type of person who would see your post, possibly he/she doesn't have anything more exciting going on with his/her life than sitting around reading Craigslist postings (erm, not to be hypocritical or Woody Allenish or anything...), and therefore isn't the kind of person you'd want to be with anyway? Brutal example: 

Elevator on E 72nd - m4m (Upper East Side)

Rode the elevator yesterday morn-u had groceries wearing gym clothes-wanted to chat more- won't see this but trying!?  

Why? Whyyyyy? But thank you so much for giving me a chuckle.

Another category of poster, which is intensely annoying, is the angry/upset ex. This is not a missed connection, people. You know how to get a hold of this person, but you just want a lot of attention and are a huge pansy. Just pick up the phone and say it. The ads are either furious, like "Devin, you ruined my life," or more like:

Sabrina...Marry Me - m4w (anywhere you want me to be.)

Sabrina please marry me. I know I screwed up. Give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me. I will never hurt you again...Please call me! I love u more then I've ever thought possible....Love you always and forever...James 

Yes, however you "hurt her," this ridiculous post will totally make her not only forgive you but legally bind herself to you for all time. Totally. But then, some of the posts are straight-up hilarious:

The 2 PM Pee-Wee Herman Show - m4m (Midtown West)

We were both at the 2 PM Pee-Wee Herman show...you sat in front of me with your friend. Afterwards we walked down the street and we kept smiling at each other. I wanted to say hi. If you see this please say hi. I have a beard. 

I think his beard is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

However, most of the posts are so simple and wistful that they seem almost poetic. It's funny to think about how many people we pass every day in this city, though we don't usually interact with them. Sometimes those tiny things -- a meeting of eyes; a smile -- can genuinely affect someone (even if that person is batshit crazy enough to post it on Craigslist):

G-train - Court sq to Greenpoint ave - m4w (Greenpoint )

You got on the train at Court Sq and were lingering near the door unsure if you were on the right train, and you came to me and told me that you were going to Greenpoint ave and asked if the train went there. I said yes. Then when you were getting off, we looked at each other and smiled. you had the most beautiful smile I've seen. I know you were just being friendly, but your smile has been haunting me all evening.

Send me a note if you see this.

If I were her, I'd write back.

The Haiku

Hipsters, my dear friends,
Though I oft agree with you,
You're damn pretentious.

The Jazz

Pre-new job preparations have been taking up all my time, but I have to tell you about last Wednesday night. Some of my (previous) coworkers and I joined reps from Pandora at the City Winery for a show of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band from New Orleans. Top night.

The venue itself was a beautiful restaurant, with an interesting menu (I ordered the Lamb Crostini, after asking everyone at the table if they knew what in the world a "crostini" was) and wine to die for. Seriously. I am not a wine gal, but this stuff was delic and more than did the job. Also, the presentation was unique; our house Chardonnay for the table came in science beakers.

Adorable.

The band itself was great. I couldn't stop dancing in my seat the whole time. It was made up, obviously, of amazing old-school Southern jazz dudes who you just want to sit around and talk with because you know they'd have the best stories.

Although I argued that the (in my mind, as a previous sax player) harder-to-play brass instruments such as the trombone were more sexy, my friend insisted that the tenor saxophone in the band was the sexiest addition by far. I don't know how I feel about that, but I do know that the slick-haired, moustachioed sax player making love to the microphone when he sang was definitely a highlight of the night.

Picture by our fellow patron, Feast of Music, on flickr

We both did agree that the pianist seemed pretty BAMF-like.

Toward the end of the show, the band actually began to come down off the stage to walk while still playing. We were sitting right by the stage exit, so as they came down they motioned to us to join them. By this point we'd been there for a few hours and gone through quite a few beakers, and had no qualms forming a jazz-congo line and parading around the restaurant, dancing like crazy behind these jazz-playing men. We ended up joining them back up on stage and dancing around as they played, while the crowd of (much classier) table-sitters took pictures of our, ahem, enthusiasm. Right as I was ready to exit stage right after a song, my friend forcibly grabbed me and began swing dancing on stage. Mind you, I have no idea how to dance. But the music (and the beakers of goodness) inspired me. I've got to say, it was a pretty damn good show.

The Article

If you live in NYC, want to live in/visit NYC, or think you know anything about NYC, you have to read the 50 Reasons to Be Pretty Damn Euphoric You Live in NYC.

One of my favorites: reason number 5, which states, "5. We are, as a group, anti-fanny-pack as much as we are pro-gay-marriage. Hetero marriage, on the other hand, we can pretty much take or leave."

The Meal

As previously mentioned, my parents came to visit this past weekend. They drove here from Ohio, which is kind of like taking the scenic route from a different universe. I think they wanted to be able to see my apartment and reassure themselves that while I am living in Harlem, my apartment isn't quite a dirty harem (see what I did there?). Lucky they did drive though, because in their car they brought me my husband pillow, some Hanukkah presents, and approximately 15 cans of beans. Apparently there was a sale.

At least now I have something easy to make and eat after work when I am all unmotivated, which is not a can of Chef Boyardee. (Although a couple weeks ago one of my roommates asked me if I was gathering the Chef in preparation for the apocalypse, and yesterday a different roommate said that she noticed the Chef Boyardee supply shrinking rapidly and asked how I felt about myself for that. To be honest, I don't feel amazing about it.)

Staci's Awesome Quick and Easy Rice and Beans Recipe:

-Put a cup of whatever kind of rice you happen to have on the stove, following the directions the box/bag gives you.
-While the rice is simmering away, chop up a small onion (or half a big onion) and however much garlic you feel like having.
-Heat up some oil; throw the onions/garlic in. Let them cook, stirring, for whatever amount of time until you think they've been there alone long enough.
-Dump a can of black beans (or other kinds of beans, if you want; be inventive), including the watery gunk, in the onions/garlic. Bring to a boil
-Pour in some red wine vinegar. If you really like vinegar, pour in a lot. If you don't like vinegar, pour in a little. The taste is going to cook down, so wait a couple minutes and re-taste to see if you want more vinegar. If you don't have red wine vinegar because honestly, who has that, use whatever kind of vinegary things you can find. I'm currently using balsamic vinegar and it is delic (note: not vinaigrette. We don't want our beans to be wimps).
-If you have tomato, cut up some of that and throw it in. Not necessary, just a yummy bonus if you've been to the grocery store recently (I usually haven't, and therefore skip this step).
-If you have other vegetable or herby-type things you feel like putting in, like parsley and whatnot, by all means go for it. I think if you are the kind of person who has those things around, though, you should not be taking cooking advice from me.
-Bring beans back down to a simmer.
-Let them simmer for whatever amount of time is good for you. Usually I just let it go until the rice is cooked.
-Throw in a ton of oregano, as well as whatever other spices sound good.
Serves...well...me, for a few meals. Depends on how hungry I am. Good to take to work for lunch; the yummy smells will impress your coworkers with your cooking skills when you obviously actually have none.

The Change

Guys, just so you know, this is my last week at my current job. Just wanted you to know. For future reference. Keep a log.

In the ad industry, especially in NYC, people move around all the time. I guess the creative ad mojo (and the money) just works that way. But then, I'm moving out of the ad industry, into the "innovations" team at a teeny tiny brand strategy firm. As my friend said, innovations just sounds so me.

The less-me part of this whole gig is that the new place is in Soho. That's right, little frumpy Ohioey me, in Soho. Just sitting on the street waiting for my interview, I was completely intimidated by the coolness of people walking down the street. Everyone was so put together, and I don't even blow-dry my hair most mornings. For example,

Soho...

...Me. Sad, but true.

Soho...

...Me.

Soho...

...Me.

Do you see what I'm getting at here?