spot on post from gawker. loved it. there’s the “if it’s not perfect all the time, and if it means i have to work at it, i do not want to try” mentality. and then there’s this- in reality, personal fulfillment is about the journey you take to seek it. meaning, there is no magic cure-all that takes you to a fantasy finish line where perfection lies. that’s for when you’re dead. if you believe in that sort of thing.

Studies About

Happiness Fail to

Make Us Happy

Us humans are a fickle bunch. Take Eliot Spitzer: besides the receding hairline, the guy had everything going for him. And yet he threw it all away to make the career of some hot piece of Jersey trash. And we’re always trying to figure out what makes us happy. There all always studies coming out about how religion makes up happy, how cats help your heart and whether cigarettes can do anything for your psyche. And that’s just this week’s batch of articles. Cigarettes, sex, and meaningless studies aren’t doing it for us apparently. So what does make us happy?

Fuck if I know. I saw the Kids in the Hall movie, Brain Candy, and I know that a magic pill doesn’t work. To be happy overall, you have to be a little miserable sometimes. It’s just the rules.

It does seem like Western society is obsessed with the search for happiness. So maybe like Huckleberry Finn, its all about the journey, and we find happiness in the fruitless search for it. Who says Sisyphus was miserable, pushing that rock up the hill only to have it fall down the next day? It’s honest work. As Albert Camus put it, “The struggle itself is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

Here are three things that make me happy. They might not work for you.

• Buying the paper and a banana for my roommate on Sunday mornings.
• Looking at Facebook pictures of people I haven’t seen in 15 years.
• That Asian guy who runs around Prospect Park the wrong way every morning usually with his dog, but sometimes with his friend. Today he was with his wife, which also made me happy.

And here are three things that make me sad:

• Empty “Happy Birthday!” wishes on Facebook walls.
• The Bowling Green stop on the 4/5 line.
• That everyone thinks Curtis Sittenfeld is chick lit because she writes about the human experience from a female perspective. No one calls Philip Roth “dick lit”. And while we’re at it, why isn’t “dick lit” a popular phrase?

if you have to have a survival job…

….at least you should be able to do it in a space you like right?

a hammock, and a cooler in my cubicle? um, yes please totally.

oh wow.

unfunniest comic

this is hysterical. the following is the current standings, but check this link for updates! although i wasn’t aware that paul reiser did comedy; i thought he just authored life experience books or something.

my new favorite site

ok, i’m probably waaaaay behind the learning curve here, but in the rare instance that you don’t already know these sites, i’d hate for you to be missing out.

slashdot.org is my new favorite site. it’s techy geeky stuff, and i think it’s amazing.

taking a close second is boinkology.com. it’s sexy geeky stuff, and i think it’s amazing.

enjoy.

the empire state building

i can basically see it from like, everywhere. i look down the avenue, it’s there. i’m waiting on the train platform, it’s there. lit up with pretty white lights, when the lights aren’t correlating colors to whatever holiday it happens to be.  isn’t that wonderful?

sort of, i guess. a buddy of mine, who holds the firm belief that the esb is pretty much the most awesome building ever, seems to think so. and it is pretty amazing. until you have to go there to go to work everyday. then you just want to kind of forget about it. . so when you’re on your balcony, a place of solace, and you can still see work, it’s a little irritating. my perception of the building is tarnished some by this fact, unfortunately. nonetheless, the following little green speck is a pisspoor photo of said behemoth taken from my balcony, on st. patty’s day (of course). objectively speaking, it did look pretty.

locked out!

ok so technically it happened a couple of weeks ago, but i’ve been meaning to relay the story for a while now, its merit being that it culminates with one perfect photo.

so i lost my keys. don’t ask me how, i don’t know, and anyway it’s not the important part. the point is, they were totally gone. and of course, as luck would have it, my roommate had gone to a.c. on a whim which like, never happens. and no one else has keys. what to do? i call up everyone i know, looking for a couch to crash on and cannot get one goddamn buddy on the line. so i’m practically in tears, exacerbated by the fact that i share my plight with mi amor and get no response. now granted, without getting into too much detail it was not possible for the knight in shining armor to come racing to the rescue, nor was this my expectation. sometimes, you just need a sympathetic ear, ya know?

anyway, i’m in my foyer but the lady downstairs keeps inviting me in and that was super sweet but i really don’t want to go in because then i’d have to make conversation with a language barrier on top of it, which i wasn’t really in the mood for. so i find myself hanging out in the laundromat, wondering if i indeed would have to check into la quinta or something for the night. i think about playing ms. pacman but remember that the last two times i tried to play the game it just ate my quarters. i can’t understand what’s going on on the t.v. because it’s all in spanish, all the time.

enter my buddy jz, my hero, ring ring ring. with an offer to crash on his couch, god bless him. i make the trek in what feels like 0 degree kelvin (it always is when shit like this happens- freezing cold, raining, or both) and upon arriving, find that my gracious host has already begun the process of doing up the couch for me. and we catch up a bit and what have you, and then the calls start coming in from everyone else, and i’m feeling more secure in my little nyc network. by 11 i’m wiped out.

i sleep fitfully. nightmares about i don’t even know what but no doubt they could be attributed to my anxiety of staying somewhere else, not having keys, sleeping in my clothes, and knowing i’ll be wearing said clothes again the next day.

and i wake up,  and i’m groggy, and what i think is my traps feel like a brick wall. the light is streaming in from behind me and when i open my eyes the first thing i see- and notice this for the first time actually- is this above me:

 

bob.

maybe he’s not so good at keeping morpheus in line, but it’s a new morning and i take comfort in him looking down on me. and i think i’m gonna be just fine. and after the biggest cup of joe you can buy at dunkin’ donuts, indeed i was.

you know, i never did that “about me” opening post.

so anyway, here goes. i’m not going to get into work, education, vital stats, etc. i’m just going to focus on the important stuff. so here’s a little about me.

first of all, to me, creativity and self-expression (not just myself, but everyone’s self) are everything. i see them as ways to connect to other people and to improve upon current methods. and i figure if we don’t know why we’re here in the first place, these seem like worthwhile things to do while we’re on the planet.

other stuff i love: theater, film, music, the dancefloor, puppies (i want a weiner dog someday), kitties. outdoorsy things like hanggliding, rock climbing or climbing just about anything really, jet-skiing and kayaking. 

i have to get into specific on music ’cause i love it so much. all electronica, but especially drum ‘n’ bass, big beat, indie electronica and disco house. jangly guitar rock, piano driven rock, still in love with 90’s rock, punk, powerpop, shoegazey stuff. soul, funk, blues, motown, old skool hip-hop. french torch singers, jazz, classical. and i do often like straight up top 40.

tv- i don’t watch it much but honestly i’d like to be a little bit more up on it- i do know there’s alot of decent stuff out these days. of course, with some of this epic clusterfuckery going on in plotlines (i.e. lost), i suppose i’ll have to rejoin netflix and get caught up to even have a clue what the f is going on. i’d like to read more than i do as well.

i adore philip seymour-hoffman, jon stewart, james, daft punk and all people who are constantly creating and who inspire me.

moving on. i love dylan’s candy bar. love burlesque, trapeze. i love the keytar. i think i could live on wine, bread and cheese for a good long while. i’m starting to notice what sneakers a guy has on. pumas on a guy? sexy.

though breathing hard with a racing heart and being completely relaxed are on opposite ends of the spectrum, it’s in those two opposing states that i feel the most alive.

i’m big on fairness, creating beautiful things, and exploring all possibilities.  i like challenges and going places and doing things i’m not supposed to.  doing things differently than most people- not for the sake of being different, but to do it better or at least have more fun doing it. i’m real big on fun.  i like to look at the city as a big ol’ playground. but as much as i love it, nyc and me aren’t exclusive and so i relish the opportunity to see- and possibly live in, though that’s a tough call!- other parts of the world.

to get a little Bevalaqua here, things i do not like:

“what can i do you for”, “working hard or hardly working”, “take my wife please”, “i am x years young”, “life’s a beach/party/beachparty etc., and other old-manisms, unless in a completely ironic context.

no, but seriously- limitations. fatigue. rigidity. quitting too early, and quitting too late. giving up because something is difficult- not because it’s wrong. poor communication, or flat out no communication based on the theory that things will solve themselves if one pretends they don’t exist. sorting out personal matters over email. an ok place to start, but nowhere to end. that’s just lame. doing all the work. fear that keeps us from doing what we should be doing. and the pesky fact that for the most part, things that taste so good are so, so bad.

ok. that’s live journal-y as it’ll get i think. just thought i’d give you an idea about the voice behind the blog.

until next time.

there’s not too many good things about working on saturdays

but, there are a few. such as?

1. wearing denim, otherwise known here as the devil’s cloth.
2. wearing beer t-shirts! (stay classy, mar).  as long as they’re cut sort of cute, the logo is subtle and the beer is just enough on this side of obscure that your boss doesn’t know of it, it flies. in this case, it’s magic hat.
3. if you work in the esb- king kong! yep, he was here today.

 i’m kicking myself for not having brought my camera today. always, always have the camera on you. if you live in a city like this, you just never know when it’ll come in handy. in this case, a photo with king kong, while wearing a beer t-shirt, at work, would’ve been brilliant.

but mr. kong said he’ll be here next saturday so i’m gonna do my damndest to recreate the moment.

The very necessary play-by-play of my attempt to get hot chip tickets

 As I need a place to vent my frustration. Thanks.

And I’m up for the challenge of creating an interesting post centered around an utterly mundane task.

11:15 A.M. I put out one last word to the group that pre-sale starts at noon.

12:00 P.M. Log in to ticketmaster.

12:15  P.M.: Approximately a dozen unsuccessful attempts.

12:30 P.M.: Manny’s got a ticket.

2:10 P.M.: Countless tries. Consider posting angry rant here, think better of. Post on other blog out of frustration instead, cursing the gods for making an already frustrating day that much more frustrating. Except I don’t use the word frustrating. I use the word shitty.

 2:15 P.M. : Mind is going numb from entering an incalculable amount of words in the security box. I enter the words “slow” and “scoreless”, which I think may sum up this computer, and my current status. I laugh.

2:20 P.M. : Email! Manny’s saying he got me one? Nope. That’s Manny saying no luck.

2:25 P.M.: Minimize screen for umpteenth time. Boss would not understand magnitude of procuring said tickets, or the fact that when certain aspects of your job are such that a chimpanzee could do them, it’s not all that difficult to multitask.

2:26 P.M.: Concerned that readers will think I’m cracked.

Seconds later: Cease to care what readers think.

2:27 P.M.: Spot boss passing by for third time in half hour in rearview mirror. Considering investing in trip wire.

2:28 P.M.: Suffer wee breakdown, resulting in consumption of girl scout cookie. Ok, resulting in girl scout cookie dipped in whole milk.

2:29 P.M. : Begin to wonder what the big fucking deal is with this band anyway.

Seconds later: Recall the sheer delight that is getting stoopid fresh at a live show with Manny. Resume undertaking.

 2:29 P.M. : Look at following photo to lift spirits.

2:30 P.M.: Check out who else is playing. Oh look! Duran Duran!

2:31 P.M.: Note option to request handicap seats. Briefly consider submitting.

2:32 P.M.: Remember that sometimes dudes post on craigslist at last minute with extra ticket to good shows, looking for hot girl to go with because they just got dumped or whatever and/or need ego boost, etc. Sense of urgency somewhat diminishes at safety in worst-case-scenario-option, and lunch break becomes a distinct possibility.

2:34 P.M.: Take moment to briefly marvel at ability to try to score tickets, blog during wait times, and somehow manage to get good deal of work done as well.