walk-by

In college, you were always walking past people you vaguely knew. It was kind of inevitable that a trip outside meant strolling past a kid who lived on your hall freshman year or that chick from section who was either named Marie or Mary. There was really nothing to do in these circumstances other than glide by with an added bounce in your step and give a quick glance up, perhaps with the slightest of smiles. If you were feeling all crazy and caffeinated, maybe a smiling head nod.

After graduating college, these sorts of "walk-bys" (yes, I am linguistically equating fatal shootings with walking past acquaintances) happen less and less. I guess sometimes I walk by a co-worker I don't really know in the office kitchen, but generally in those cases I just force a smile because people look down on people who are more Bella than Berry in the work place.

On Saturday though, I was walking down 59th St., outfitted in a giant sweatshirt, and jeans that were noticeably rolled-up at the bottom (it was raining is my excuse). I looked up and saw that a girl who I went to college with was fast approaching, sporting a fancy red trench coat.

Here are some facts about this girl:

a) We spoke once or twice freshman year, for a total of maybe four minutes. I think one of the two times was when she asked me to let her into her entryway because she had forgotten her key at her boyfriend's or something.
b) We are friends on Facebook, obv.
c) The last time I saw her was probably mid-senior year (= approx. two years ago)?

Would we stop and chat? Would I ask her about the one mutual friend I was pretty sure we had in common? Would she call me the wrong name?!

Of course, knowing me as well as y'all do, I doubt it will surprise anyone how this played out. I kept my iPod earbuds in (of course?) and did a sort of half-smile/furtive glance in her direction. In response, she smiled brightly, waved (!!??!), but did not slow her pace whatsoever and continued to just walk (I am actually kind of sure she sped up) past me.

As I descended into the subway, I was wondering about so many things, friends: Had Red Trench Coat not stopped because she was weirded out that I hadn't taken my iPod out? Was it because she really couldn't remember my name? Had she not recognized me? Or, most horrifying/probable of all... was it the rolled-up jeans?

the fall of a queen

So there's this girl who works at the Starbucks on my block who is like the Barista Wunderkind. The third or fourth time I stopped in for my morning fix (man do I hate the jargon commonly associated with coffee drinking!), before I could even open my mouth she was coolly reciting my order from her perch over by the stand where they leave your drinks. The other baristas at the register all kind of nodded their heads blankly as if it is just understood in this particular Starbucks that she is the queen.

This morning, eager to get that ole' cup of joe (ugh), I stopped in to Starbucks; as soon as the queen saw me come through the door, she was in motion. I watched rapturously as she effortlessly prepared my iced coffee, like some sort of Starbucks Fairy, her blonde hair the perfect amount of messy in her black cap. But my luscious piece of Starbucks Heaven was about to become as stale as a Starbucks bagel (hay-o!). As the queen delicately handed me my drink she paused and grinned. . . and then pointed at the iPod earbud in my right ear (I always take one earbud out when I'm in Starbucks because I am so courteous).

"What are you listening to?"

I felt as if someone had just broken into my apartment, or stolen my journal. Her seemingly innocuous question was like a MENTAL SUCKER PUNCH to my emotionally fragile self. I stammered for what seemed like ages while she KEPT HER HAND CLASPED AROUND MY DRINK, as if this was some sort of test I needed to pass to earn my FRENCH VANILLA ICED COFFEE.

In some situations I would have tried to think of the most "oh yeah, no big deal, it's just a Kraftwerk Hot Chip remix" or "you know, just some jazz I'm really into" kind of response I could come up with, but I was too shaken to even muster that sort of fibbing. Instead I just told her the truth: "Umm, it's just this, uh, indie cover of a T.I. song... that my brother sent me." I really can't even describe how IDIOTIC and TALL I felt. It was like I was in a commercial for some sort of TMI Disorder. THANK GOD SHE KNOWS MY BROTHER SENT IT TO ME.

I am guessing it will be at least two months before I step into that Starbucks again.

a goddess, a model... and dry cleaning guy

Living in NYC is strange. Even though I technically live within like a 20-minute subway ride of pretty much everyone I know, I still see most of my friends way less the following crop of characters, each of whom has emerged as a pretty significant presence in my life. Of course, even though I see these folks like once or twice a week, I don't even know their names (= so New York right now).

1. Salad Goddess. Most of my lunch breaks are spent across the street from my office at this small, sterile deli place. I whip through the make-your-own-salad line without a word (the guy knows my order by heart - cute, right?) and then I bring my concoction over to the check-out area. There are two lines: one belongs to Salad Goddess - a cheery plum of a woman - and the other to Evil Bland Chick. Even though EBC will typically have no one in her line, I always wait in Goddess', which is kind of awkward because EBC will like look up at me exasperatedly. "I might as well give up!" she says with her eyes.... and she's right, she should. Because SG is on a different level. First of all, SG always deducts $.90 from my salad cost. I have NO IDEA why, but it's just always been the case and I obv have never asked for an explanation -- don't shoot a gift horse in the mouth, is what people are always saying (but which I never say because I am always worried I have it slightly off). SG and I have wonderful and inane convos marked by constant SMILING as she pushes buttons on the register:

Me: "Nice weather, huh?"
SG: "At least it's a Tuesday"
Me: "Seriously! When will this week end?"
SG: "Right, so chilly!"

Seriously the two weeks she was out visiting her family in Brazil I went somewhere else for lunch because I just couldn't deal.

2. Model Runner. Literally EVERY TIME I have gone to the gym in the past three months, this preternaturally attractive guy has been running on the fourth treadmill from the end. It doesn't matter which night of the week I go or at what time, he's always there, dressed in the same garb: black baseball cap, white V-neck t-shirt, short black shorts, iPhone attached to bicep. Despite all the seemingly toolish elements of this gym attire, he manages to look like a hundred times cooler than anyone else you have every seen. (The first time I saw him I BBMed my roommate: "I am pretty sure the guy running next to me is a Calvin Klein model" to which she responded "Touch him!" which somehow seemed totally appropriate at the time.) ANYWAY, the other day, MR picked up my towel for me when it fell off the side of the treadmill and kind of gave me a head nod (I'm pretty sure this interaction is the gym equivalent of a Facebook poke) and now we have a kind of head nod thing going on. I'm hoping this all pays off when I see pictures of him on Perez Hilton squiring Leighton Meester around town or something and then can use our bond for my PERSONAL GAIN.

3. Dry Cleaning Guy. This guy may be my fave. He's like 27 and has this improbable set of braces and he kind of seems like a hybrid between your 10-year-old cousin and an owl. He calls me "Joshy" which is like typically the #1 way to get me to act icy toward you but for some reason in this case is endearing. He is always acting all paternal ("How far are you going to have to carry these heavy shirts?!" "Long day at work?"). Once he asked me why I hadn't been in for a while and I kind of stammered like a schoolgirl and then he was like "We've been pinning for you." (Yes, "pin-ning" instead of "pie-ning," and the "we" referred to him and the old Asian man who has never said a word who leers in the back amongst the clothing). Once I came in and Air Supply was blasting over the speakers. I kind of did an imperceptible "well, that's weird" look and he just shrugged. "It's the only CD I've got, Joshy."

things i should really try to stop doing (but def won't)

1) Deciding which bottle of wine to buy based on how "cool" the design is.

2) Using the construction "It's not that I'm trying to say she's Adjective X, but she's kind of, you know, Toned-Down-Version-of-Adjective X." (I always mean that she's Adjective X.)

3) Telling people the "hilarious" story of how I dramatically failed my first driver's license test... while I am driving them.

4) Sending e-mails that begin with "Heyo!"

5) Watching Grey's Anatomy.

bettering the world one wall post at a time

There really are no updates/adjustments to Facebook that don't irreparably shake the foundation of how we social network the fabric of life. And since I am basically a Facebook beat reporter when it comes down to it, I feel it my duty to cover the serious ramifications of this latest change.

For one thing, now that the news feed (which previously just served as essentially a Twitter-style list of Facebook status updates) now includes errrything (new friendships, event RSVPs, new group affiliations, etc.), your friends' more embarrassing Facebook habits have now become readily apparent. One of my friends confirmed she was attending five events in a rapid-fire 3:34am spree Saturday night... DRUNK MUCH OMG?!?! Another became a fan of so many embarrassing groups Sunday afternoon (i.e. Ashlee Simpson and Equinox). Serious social networking suicide going on, you guys.

More amusingly, Facebook has decided it will now take on the role of your mother ("Hey, do you still keep up with that really nice girl... you know, she always wore those big sweaters?") and is suggesting Facebook friends whom you might want to "reconnect" with. For me, these people have rotated between a co-worker I see every day, a girl who went to high school with someone I am no longer friends with, and my father. It's too bad that whatever algorithms they're using here aren't being applied to like build spaceships and break secret codes -- share the wealth, you Facebook guys!

And the phrasing!! "Help make Facebook better for her"?!?! I could get behind "Distract her from work" or "Reference an inside joke that neither of you will remember in two weeks." But this just seems like an over promise.

this picture is basically porn for a germaphobe

I'm always going on with people about how I'm so OCD blah blah blah, it's my act. And if I get on the subway with a friend and have to touch a hand rail, I'm always like "OMG NO!" etc.

But today I get on the subway and see this plastic glove action going on. You know how your blatantly skinny friend complains all the time about being "soooo fat, it's gross" until she finds herself in the presence of someone who's actually, you know, kinda chubbs? Yeah, I feel like I'm going to have trouble committing to my OCD shtick from now on.

the stalker's gold mine

I can't tell you how many times I find myself on a Facebook profile page and need to quickly assess what I'm looking at (so many times is what I am trying to say). "So what do you think?" my roommate will ask as she watches me anxiously. When I need to make that quick appraisal, I always hit up one spot first: the "profile pics" album. It's a gold mine!

1) First question you've got to ask yourself: how many profile pics has the person cycled through? If it's just one, you've potentially got an issue: Does he never use Facebook? Does no one take pictures of him? Does he just not care? ALL PROBLEMZ. However, if there are more than like 30 profile pics, that's just TOO OVERZEALOUS. Perfect range is 8-12. (I am just laying down the law right now, huh? I think this is what happens when I blog after being hypnotized by Don Draper's swagger for an hour.)

2) If someone has put up the same profile picture twice, with a slight crop maneuver or adjustment done to the shot, THAT'S A DEALBREAKER, LADIES. Why the Zuckerberg didn't you just delete your first attempt?

3) If the person looks so different in every profile pic to the extent where your roommate asks, "wait... which one is him?" when looking at one of the selections, you've got trouble. Alternatively, if none of the profile pics actually feature the person's face, that's kind of mysterious... in a good way! (controversial perspective, I know)

4) A couple of group shots is OK, but get nervous if you see the same person showing up in more than a few: POTENTIAL COUPLE ALERT! (Ha, I feel like I'm writing a column in one of those women's magazines...)

5) If the person gets more attractive as time goes on, this is reason for optimism! It's like how colleges are all jazzed if your grades steadily rise over the four years of high school. In this case, the girl with the improving pics probs doesn't even realize yet how hot she has become so she is still so nice to everyone! (I learned about life from television.)

Emailing Eddie

So I know this guy, let's call him Emailing Eddie -- "a friend of a friend" is I guess the best way to describe him. Eddie, as you might guess from his name, is so in love with writing e-mails. He sends out these long-ish personal BCCed mass e-mails once or twice a month. Nothing too personal, but maybe a description of an event he's hosting that he wants you to go to or a YouTube link he wants you to check out or a bland life update (i.e. "I'm moving to the East Village, you guys!") I guess this kind of thing would annoy a lot of people, but - perhaps surprisingly (?) - I kind of don't really mind them. (I think it comes down to that the pleasure I get from receiving new e-mails trumps all else.)

But there is one thing Emailing Eddie does that just totally CMU (= Cracks Me Up). At the end of each of his electronic discourses, he includes -- in super small type -- one of those disclaimers that you see at the bottom of like an American Eagle promotional e-mail or a TrendSpotting Newsletter (how weird is my brain for thinking of those two examples first?). He literally writes: "If you would prefer to not receive these e-mails from me anymore, please notify EmailingEddie@gmail.com." It's just his e-mail address!

I am totally amused by the idea that someone would write an e-mail to this guy and just tell him: "Yeah, so... I don't want to get e-mails from you anymore." It's like calling up your friend and stammering: "Yo, man, uh... not so interested in your antics anymore. Cool it with the text messages?" What gets me smirking even wider (yeah, don't try to visualize that) is someone trying to unsubscribe from Eddie's e-mails in a nice way. Like, "Heyyyy Eddie! How's the East Village treating you? So, you know, I get so much e-mail every day, and I was just wondering..." BOTH WAYS ARE SO CRINGE-Y.

(I'm pretty sure my impulse to write this post was derived from my (not so) secret desire to write "celebrity blind items" for a living.)

such a funny post LOL

Last night, gchat with brother Sam:

12:37 AM Sam: it was a joke josh
me: always so bitchy when ppl put someone's name in
i get it sam
whatever you say liz
it makes it like SO MUCH BITCHIER
if that's ok with you andrew
can't we just get the brownies david?
Sam: yes, that's a true thing lol
me: i know!
Sam: obviously josh
me: i thought you would respond initially with a "josh"
but instead you did a "lol" add on
the most tame kind of add on
the opposite of putting a name in fact
12:40 AM Sam: not true
lol can be super passive aggressive
like--i know how you feel about alice lol
i hate when you wear those pants lol
etc

And later...

Sam: i'm v pleased w myself! lol
(note how the lol allows me to say something arrogant)

deflating

Since I do have a blog and all (cat's out of the bag now!) I have taken to whipping out my trusty 'berry whenever I see something that amuses me. Often times, I will later blog about these images. On Wednesday morning, I woke up 30 minutes late, didn't have time to shower, threw on a starchy pair of recently-washed jeans and an itchy sweater and got in the elevator feeling awful, yo. I lumbered out of my front door, made a groggy right, and looked up to find... these GIANT BAGS OF BLOWN-UP BALLOONS. Briefly stunned, I decided this was a totally Hopeful Sign, as if I was being told: "Yeah, itchy sweaters suck but C'MON, JUST WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT THERE ARE GIANT BAGS OF BALLOONS IN YOUR FACE AND THAT IS WHAT MAKES LIFE OK."

With an added bounce in my step, I felt that this Wednesday would be different and special and unpredictable. I hopped on the subway ready to strike up a chat with an appealing stranger or sing along to my iPod for all to hear (of course I did neither thanks to the nearby attractive couple that put me on nervous edge).

But I soon forgot about the balloons (post-lukewarm coffee, post-morning of only 2 e-mails) and my day was actually pretty standard, subpar even. I saved the photo on my phone just in case I wanted to blog about it later in the week. Little did I know Thursday would be like the MOST FAMOUS DAY FOR BALLOONS IN 4EVER. . . it's as if my balloon sighting was like this magical crystal ball vision, a glimpse into the future. It seems my Hopeful Sign was nothing hopeful at all; if anything, I find the whole "balloon bags in my face the day before #balloonboy" thing sort of chilling now. Maybe there are no such thing as Hopeful Signs. I had wanted to hold on to the string and let the balloons take me away, but instead, I now feel more grounded than ever.

the filler

More often than not, when I'm talking to someone who has just seen a movie and unloading my typical Journalist Josh litany of questions and quips ("How was it?" "Was it actually funny?" "But I love Rachel McAdams!" etc.) I've noticed that I generally - without even thinking about it - work in a "was the theater crowded?"

This is almost always met with a quick double take before I get the "uh, kind of" response (seriously, that is the response you get 9 out of 10 times when you ask). I don't know why I keep asking the question. I really do not care about the answer, nor do I remember it a second later. Most of the time I am barely even watching your lips move as you answer (yep, I'm talking about you now) - my head is nodding but I'm dreaming about Eric and Sookie or about how I need to remember to buy more gum (my thoughts = where fantasy and reality be intersectin'!).

These are the questions we ask, the filler, the episodes between the premiere and November Sweeps when nothing much is happening as the plot moves predictably along. You ask if she liked the exhibit ("oh, it was really interesting") or how the drive was ("pretty smooth, thankfully") or if the water in Bermuda was warm ("it was actually surprisingly cold!"). It's how we proceed. The answers never surprise, yet we keep asking for 'em. Because, um, if we didn't, what would there be? Lots of long pauses and stuttering and avoiding eye contact, probs. And how would we ever get to find out what happens in November Sweeps?

nod and smile

It's weird how often the following happens to me:

Someone will say something to me that I can't quite make out (at a concert, on the subway, huddled next to each other on a helicopter) and I'll be like "Wait, what did you say?" (you know, because I can't hear them) and then they'll repeat whatever it was just as unintelligibly... and I'll just nod real jerkily and say (softly) "Ohhh, yeah" and smile pretty broadly. And somehow, at least based on how I'm interpreting the facial expressions I generally receive back, this seems to pretty much always be the reaction they are looking for.

the NDD

One of the best parts of going to a party with your friends is the Next Day Debrief. Less anxiety-inducing than clicking through tagged pics the next day and more fulfilling than hung-over-ish-ly lying in bed waiting for Hulu to load, the NDD is all about savagely "evaluating" the previous night's partygoers. After years and years of NDD experience, I've noticed a few archetypes who seem to emerge during nearly every Sunday afternoon NDD session.

1) There's always someone who showed up totally unexpectedly/uninvited and everyone is all "WTF?!" about it. ("I turned around and I was like: 'Is that Jason?!' And then he sort of tried to talk to me...? It was so weird.")

2) There's always someone who everyone decides "seemed miserable." (The evidence is usually circumstantial at best: "I asked her if she liked her job... and she kind of just stared off into space.")

3) There's always someone that "no one got to talk to." And everyone says it as if it's somehow that person's fault. ("Yeah, it was so bizarre, she was always busy talking with someone else or something.")

4) There's always some weird duo who spent an inordinate amount of time talking and, inexplicably, everyone noticed them embroiled in convo. ("At first I thought they were flirting but then I heard him talking about, like, whitewater rafting or something and she was just sort of asking him questions about it." . . . "OMG, I heard that, too!")

5) There's always someone that may... or may not have been really drunk. It's this weird thing where one NDDer is all "100% sure" that the guy was completely messed up ("Did you see how he started dancing during 'She-Wolf'?") and then someone else jumps in with a "But he seemed pretty cogent when he was talking to me about how things were going with Monica." And then there's a pause as everyone considers.

apple jack

Apparently when my 7-year-old cousin was "discussing religion" with her parents a couple of months ago, her 9-year-old brother butted in when he heard the word "belief" being tossed around and announced that he "believed in two things: Santa Claus, and that the dinosaurs became extinct when a giant meteor struck Mexico." To this Julia responded, with the sharp sting of a Blair Waldorf some fifteen years older, "Where did you learn about religion, Jack? The back of a cereal box?"

Jason!

People love to talk about how "gmail changed everything" and how it's our new currency or whatever (metaphors that are just slightly off!) and how it dictates our lives and keeps all of our secrets (only gmail gets to read all the angsty draft e-mails I write but never send!). I shifted from "web mail" to gmail my junior fall of college, about when everyone else did. Yes, it was revolutionary, and yes, discovering gchat was like jumping into one of those ball pits at Chuck E. Cheese (though, like gchat, those ball pits were tons o' fun at first but then after a few years you got kind of tired of getting assaulted by the annoying kids who threw balls at you). Yes, eventually gmail lost its sheen. I started to take it for granted. My mom had it; my grandmother had it; people who didn't have it seemed immediately suspicious. A gmail address became as common as a cell phone number (this is some incisive social critique happening before your eyes, folks).

Anyway, last week I was jolted out of my 3pm post-lunch/pre-Sour Patch Kids stupor by this dramatic warning on the top of my gmail screen. Yep, that's right, I was almost out of room. I had no idea that could even happen. My first instinct was to panic: I am only 23 and I'm already out of space?! I have so much life left to live! So many pictures to send and mindless chains to respond to! I frantically searched for every mp3 and mp4 I've ever sent and deleted them, and that took me down from the emergency level of 95% full to a still alarming 86%. A week later, I'm already back up to 89%. I sort of feel like I'm in one of those movie scenes where the heroine is trapped in a room with water pouring in -- slowly rising to fill the space and drown her -- as she repeatedly shrieks "Jason!" at the top of her lungs. Am I destined for a life of deleting a whole swath of e-mails every two months? A life of anxiously watching a percentage gradually rise? A life spent constantly wondering if this one forwarding of the new Carrie Underwood song is going to push me over the brink? A life enslaved to the e-mail system we all blindly worship?

Meh, probably not. My brother told me I can pay like 20 bucks and get more space, so I'll probs just do that in a few weeks.