Occasionally the Somnambulist

Overheard in the Studio

A very brief snippet of “Don’t Stop Believin’” which was quickely turned off.  That should be a shuffle-shame song…

Tonight

Dear Universe,

Sure, you’ve been throwing me things left and right for a few months now, and sure, I’d love to kick back tonight and do nothing more than relax.  But as I’m actually not very skilled at relaxing, I won’t ask for the opportunity to do that.  What I will ask though, Universe, is that you make me be productive tonight.  Yes yes, I’m awfully productive every night, but tonight I do not want to stay up until 5am doing things.  I want to get right to it the second I get home from work which, granted, may not be until 11pm, but even so, please make me work and work and work until I feel comfortable with my progress.  And then put me to bed, please.  I am exhausted.  Funny how two weeks of averaging less than five hours of sleep a night can wear you out.  Even funnier is that it took me two weeks to notice that I was exhausted. 

Thanks in advance,

Maureen

Waiting on David and a Win

So, like, five and a half years ago, I had a dream that the Phillies won the World Series, and I met David Bowie in a hotel bar, and my tooth hurt.

So since my tooth hurts, and the game was rained out, and I’m headed to Berlin tomorrow…

Ahead of the Game

For once in my life, I am packed waaaaaaaaay ahead of time. Was supposed to work until midnight tonight, but looks like i’ll be outta here by 8 at the latest.

But yeah, anyway, I am packed. Leaving for Germany tomorrow evening, after the day in the office.

Am trying to get to an art supply pleace before it closes to get the pens that I need for my trip.

Bought the new Yves Saint Laurent black lip polish because somewhere deep inside of me, there is a goth girl from New Jersey who refuses to die.  Or, well, let’s face it, not so deep.  I mean, hey, I paint vampires.

Traveling Again

Spent the weekend in Kansas City.

Am going to Berlin on Tuesday for the art fairs.

Booked my ticket to Iceland today, Jan. 16- Jan. 25. So excited.

Saw sunn o))) last week. Seriously, best show ever.

I am so giddy

Am going to see MY BLOODY VALENTINE tomorrow! Ohmigod, I’m like the happiest girl on Earth. I’ve been waiting for this since I’ve been, like, eleven. Maybe twelve. I can’t remember if I fell for them when I was going into sixth or seventh grade.

I missed the Brian Jonestown Massacre last week because of work. I suppose I could have made it, but I had a fever and had been up for forever and was exhausted, and wouldn’t have made it to the show on time. One day I’ll see you, Anton Newcombe…one day…

The Cost of Fuel

On weekday mornings, I’ve got a routine: take train to work, walk through the underground maze that is Rockefeller Center, go to coffee shop, get large coffee with soy milk. The baristas know me there. In the winter, they see me and give me coffee. In summer, when I walk in, they simply ask, “iced or hot?” They know the size I want, and that i want soy milk in it. They’re great, the coffee is good, and I don’t know what anyone could possibly do to make me get coffee from anyplace else. It’s not the most convenient coffee shop, but it’s not exactly out of the way either. large (20oz) hot coffee costs $1.75, iced is $2.25.

And then there’s the weekends, where all is not so simple. 

I know that I have a psychological addiction to coffee, and I’m okay with that. I used to think that I was physically, chemically dependent on the caffeine, but not so. I don’t get “lack of coffee” headaches. I’d rather have decaf coffee than caffeinated soda. I just like coffee in the mornings. It’s like five minutes of me-time where I put my thoughts in order and plan out what I’m going to accomplish for the day.

I have a coffee maker, but I no longer make my own coffee. I’ve got nothing against black coffee and I’ll drink it from time to time (usually not in the United States), but I prefer to cut it with soy. I do not have a refrigerator, so I can’t exactly keep soy milk around the house. And if I want iced coffee, forget it. I’ve got no ice, and no way to get the coffee cold. I also live without air conditioning, so the last thing I want in the middle of the summer is hot coffee in my apartment. Plus, even if I had a fridge (which yes, once upon a time I did have—it just crapped out last year and I didn’t replace it), I like getting out of the house in the morning to go get the coffee. It forces me to get up and dressed and ready for the day.

There are two coffee shops in the neighborhood. At one, the large iced coffee costs $3.75, plus an extra $.50 for soy, and it’s only 16oz, and the coffee isn’t great. The other coffee shop has iced coffee in one size only, 12oz, and it costs $3.25. I think that this is insane. To defray the cost of coffee, I’ve been attempting to go to the bodega to satisfy my coffee addiction. The closest bodega does not have soy milk. Fine. The second closest bodega has soy milk, but yesterday was out of coffee and today was out of ice. I got my coffee yesterday from the farthest bodega, but it had grounds in it. Total yuck. And it cost $2.50! Today, I went again to the farthest bodega, and they were out of soy milk. And so, I went to the fancy grocery store in the neighborhood to get my iced coffee. Dude, it cost $3.25 for 16oz of iced coffee that I prepped myself. What the hell? I know that the neighborhood is on the up-and-up, but this is insane.

Last year, iced coffee in the largest size at the bodega was only $1.25.

Teenyboppers

I had some tasks to run in SoHo today. Apparently, so did the Jonas Brothers, and hey, they called every eleven to sixteen year old girl in the city to let her know.

Kittens, you have never seen anything like this. You know when you see footage of girls in the 60s running through the streets of London crying because they saw a Beatle? Welcome to my late afternoon.

When Pigs’ Heads Fly

I trekked to Long Island City in Queens last night for a black metal show at Matthew Barney’s studio. There were three bands. The first band was the best; Krallice—I am in love with you.  The second band wasn’t super. Lots of corpse paint and screaming and nothing either innovative or melodic. Plus, the singer took to the stage with a piglet’s head on a stick. While that does indeed sound awful, perhaps it puts it in a bit of a better perspective knowing that there were pigs being roast over open fire for hours prior to the time the band played, with pork sandwiches available to all show-goers. The last band, Inquisition, was pretty decent, if you like the whole black metal “I heart Satan” schtick.

During Inquisition’s set, which began around 11:40 and lasted until almost 1am, two pig’s heads started to be tossed around by the crowd. Wouldn’t you know it, one of them hit me in the head. I knew it was going to happen. I could feel it all night, me getting hit with the pig’s head. My mother would say that my anxious thoughts were projected outward into the universe and the universe thought that i wanted it to happen so it gave me what I was thinking. I guess it’s the Ghostbusters “choose your destroyer” mentality. But yeah, whether mom is right in her how-the-world-works logic or not, I did in fact get exactly what I dreaded.

On Oversleeping

I rarely oversleep.  It doesn’t matter how late I stay up, I’m usually awake at least fifteen minutes before the alarm goes off.  I might hit snooze every nine minutes for an entire hour, sure, but sleeping past the alarm is an alien oddity to me.

This morning, I woke up feeling confused.  Something just didn’t seem right; it seemed late.  At first I resisted the urge to check my cell phone for the time and thought I’d go back to sleep and wait for the alarm.  But what if this could be the one time I overslept?  What then?  How would a late start affect my day?  A mild and irrational-even-if-true panic set in, and I gave in to temptation and pulled my cell phone out from under my pillow.  It was 9:16, about three hours after I usually wake up.  My alarm had disarmed itself.  In addition to this morning, I can think of only two other instances where I slept through an alarm.

Things to Eat in Midtown

I work in midtown.  I never find anything to eat here, at least, nothing I really want.  Yesterday, when working late and scrolling through seamless web, I found FreeFoods.  Holy deliciousness.  I got the roasted pepper and hazelnut soup, and two slices of raw pizza with macadamia nut cheese and pesto.