I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
Today was a long day. I woke up, typed a blog entry, talked to Chen, and plodded about in far too few clothes. I’ve officially shut both windows in my room, which is of important meteorological significance Texans cannot fathom. Fall is here and winter isn’t far behind! It’s exciting, but I know I’m going to shiver like crazy for the rest of the year.
It’s cold in here! The rain has stopped, but now it’s cold and gray. Of course, it’s probably cold because I have a window open and I am only wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. After last night’s cold medicine, I woke up throughout the night talking to myself in a weird haze. Great… I haven’t been able to accomplish anything since waking, because honestly, I don’t want to get dressed.
From yesterday evening to this very second, it has been raining here in NYC. Sometimes piercing sideways rain that attacks even people with umbrellas. Sometimes gentler drops steady as a heartbeat. I love the rain, as long as I’m not too dressed up or in a hurry. I went to the post office after work yesterday in the rain and spent the rest of my happening Friday night straightening up my room and reading to the rhythm of the rain.
I call it “Frosting Poetic in Inwood.” The cupcakes are delicious. Thanks, Bobby, for letting me lick the big bowl!
I can’t think of anything interesting to write in here.
I am currently reading the much-banned book The Price of Salt, which was Nabokov’s inspiration for Lolita. I finished Janice Dickinson’s second memoir Everything About Me Is Fake…And I’m Perfect last night. Janice Dickinson amuses me the same way Mae West, Loretta Lynn, Zelda Fitzgerald, and Shirley Maclaine amuse me. Would I totally trust them? No. Are they totally admirable? Not always. Would I invite them to dinner and be a good friend to any of them? Yes! Everything About Me… mostly comes across as text diarrhea. Dickinson likes to set each chapter up with some namedropping and one-liners, promising some important revelations…and then the chapter is over. Finished. Her work is unfocused and poorly edited. However, I learned she washes her face in plain nonfat yogurt. And Sylvester Stallone paid for one of her breast augmentations. Clearly, I’ve taken something from the book.
Bobby has shared some pictures from his cell phone and I feel obligated to post these, especially because I never took lots of pictures of the big ole city of New York the way a good Southern girl would do. I actually didn’t even bring a camera with me, because I wanted to pack more clothes. Sigh. Priorities…
Robert Fulghum wrote that you know you’re a grownup when you bury your dead pets and pull out food particles from the sink drain with your bare hands (bare hands!). He’s right about the burials, I think. I have yet to bury a dead pet, though I have flushed some fish.
“Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away…”
They were. Bobby, my teacher friend from I.S. 666 has been suggesting we hang out since school started. It hadn’t happened until yesterday, though. One weekend he went to Florida. Other weekends I spent alone, recovering from a week of school. Yesterday, we finally met up on the Upper West Side, ate at Koronet, and ventured downtown. Bobby jokes that the farthest downtown he goes is our West Harlem school, because he lives all the way uptown in Inwood. He could gallop to the Bronx in mere minutes…if he ever wanted to. (I’m kind of an NYC geography snob. The Bronx and Queens have nothing going for them, as far as I’m concerned. Oh wait, the Bronx has a Target. That’s it).
I could and should write all about the fun day I had, but I’m sleepy and have a book to read. Also, tonight is apparently the season premiere of Saturday Night Live.
This morning I woke up with a purpose. Of course, I suppose I always wake with a purpose. I have fifty-two kids to deal with every weekday, but they tend to disgust me so much that I really consider staying in bed. (I should give them credit, though, they’ve been pretty good the last two days. I’m especially referring to my homeroom/ELA/SS class).
