Saturday, December 07, 2002

Nothing seems more fun than eating breakfast on a Saturday morning. I've walked the dog, slipped back on my robe, made some coffee, and now I'm scanning for some cartoons. Damn. Where have all the good cartoons gone? I miss the Cartoon Network, Bugs Bunny, Dexter's Lab, the PowerPuff Girls. I remember waking up in the wee hours with a frantic sense of urgency, racing to the television to watch hours of cartoons. Not necessarily good, but still my favorites. Space Ghost, Thundarr the Barbarian (with Ookla the Mok!), the Superfriends, and the constant familiar comfort of Bugs. Most people my age know they can solve any mystery with a girl named Velma, learned their classical music from Bugs, and their Constitutional Preamble from Schoolhouse Rock.

Now that I'm pretending to be a adult, I still watch some fun shows. Prehistoric Planet on NBC is amazing. It is the perfect educational show, showing all the dinosaurs, ancient mammals, explosions, that sort of thing. I love the digitized animals, the attention to detail. Today they showed the first real ancestor of the whales, even making sure that the mammal still had vestigial whiskers. Speaking of doomed dinosaurs, Christian Slater is the narrator. I hope he gets good and drunk after doing each show. Maybe his role on West Wing can redeem his last few years of career suicide.

The other show of note is Bushnell's Secrets of the Hunt. Go to the website, check out the wall of death. When did hunting become such an expensive sport? It is similar to the Harley phenomenon, watching as baby boomers fly into a spending frenzy. These hunters have all the high tech goodies- night vision goggles, GPS locators, laser distance finders to gauge their shots, even laptops. Every show then has the wonderful conclusion where some silent boy points the dead animal's head towards the camera while his father bonds with him. I want to see a slightly different show, one where they use the technology for the flip side.

They should do one of those junkyard wars, except arm the herbivores with remote control non-lethal weapons. Secretly find out where this Bushnell show films, then film this Terminator-style turkey taking on these poor boomers in camouflage. At the end of the show, the turkey holds the neck of the limp father, gobbling in a sinister manner, while the boy weeps in a cage. No death, just Deer with sonic stunners! Stealth turbo turkeys! Maybe the bull with the rifle tail from Bugs Bunny. I'd like that.

Friday, December 06, 2002

From my amazing sister, the DJ goddess in Dallas:

"Here's a funny. One of our interns asked my real name. I told her Bonnie
Curry. She got offended and said, "You know, just cause I'm young doesn't
mean I'm stupid. I'm not gonna tell my friends".
To which I replied, "My name really is Bonnie Curry".
She said, "Wow... I would have thought you would have picked a better name
than that.".

I'm going with young AND stupid.
Yup. Going insane. Day two of basically no talking, and I'm chewing the older exposed wiring for stimulation. Help!

Since I'm not going home or to some place tropical for the holidays, this is an official 'fishing for invites' for Christmas. Anyone doing anything interesting, want some company? I'm up for anything in the Northeast.

Thursday, December 05, 2002

My dog is some kind of pee-holding animal deity. She nobly sits there with all four legs crossed until I'm ready to take her out. My throat really hurts, so I was postponing the trip outside into the snow for as long as possible. I finally noticed urine shooting out of her nose, so I decided it was overdue.

It is brilliant outside! Bear was leaping about, the drowsy snow waking up in her black coat from all of her frolicking. I forgot how much she likes snow. I forgot how much I like clean, crisp snow. All the sound freezes except for the scrunching underneath your shoes. Even that isn't a sound, more a feeling transferred through the soles of your feet. My peppered dog keeps racing around me, ears flat against her head, imagining herself some kind of superdog. I want to see my city draped in my first snow here, towers hunched down to keep warm, steam rising from the grates.

I think this takes me one step further towards being a New Yorker. I know I don't qualify yet, as I still think most people live in small closet spaces, and I still don't take taxis. But I now can say things like "That knish was merely decent" with some kind of authority.
It's Thursday morning, I'm sitting here in my Uzbek chopon robe, and my poor dog is stoically waiting for me to take her outside. The snow is making the city as silent as my vocal chords, both situations benefitting from my hot tea, laced with a shot of Jack.

It's the end of Ramadan, and it amazes me that over two years have passed since I was in Uzbekistan. Two years ago, I was teaching in an unheated school, living in an unheated apartment, but looking quite svelte at only about 135 pounds. I look at my expenditures here in NYC in absolute amazement. Texas Chris was here this weekend, and I spent about $150 in only three days. Three days. In Samarkand, I was living on a Peace Corps stipend of only $28 per month, and that paid for my housing and most of my food. We had a miserable sodding idiot for a country director, the most nightmarish combination of hippie and bureaucrat ever inbred for government service, and so our country's volunteers basically were starving because our stipend didn't keep up with inflation. Even then, I supplemented my stipend with my own $20, and was able to buy beer on the weekends.

What happened to that person? For a short time in life, I was ecstatic about being able to buy basic foodstuffs. The amount of money I spend in a month now would have shocked me two years ago. I think it has to do with economies of scale.

Wednesday, December 04, 2002

My roommate is having an un-wedding to the Rooster. I received this bit of news via a message on the answering machine from one of his friends. Had a huge panicky moment, as I thought this meant he was moving out. Went immediately to his blog to find out the news, it said he's not planning on moving. Whew.

Best wishes. Proud to call you a friend.
I've temporarily lost my most valuable asset- my voice. A nasty combination of cold weather, a sinus infection, and tons of yelling in my class have disabled my larynx. One would think I could simply post a 'do not disturb' sign on my mouth, but I CANNOT STOP TALKING. I've found another voice in this blog, but I also prefer to talk to the point of babbling. I made it through today, but it is almost impossible to teach if you can't speak. I don't think I'm going in tomorrow, but I bet the enforced silence will drive me to blogging insanity.

I had fun with Sparky's family at Thanksgiving last week. He has this pangaea-sized family that scares normal-sized families in theaters, restaurants, and tables. It was so much fun to watch the ten different conversations lobbed across the huge dining table. There were no polite conversations with the person next to you. Everyone basically found the person at the most distant point of the table to be the most fascinating conversationalist. I was expecting some kind of angst filled family that repressed everything, but they were all scary-good. The food was good, the atmosphere was good, the weather was good. There were some scary obese rabbits in poop filled cages in the garage, but that's merely evidence of teenagers in the house.