Weird
Calling a real estate company and talking to Oliver Cromwell.

Weirder
Calling a real estate company and talking to fellow J306er Janelle Cogan.

Not weird, just tasty
Schiller's Liqour Bar has the best fries ever. And some pretty great "decent" red wine. Ooh, and these really fabulous desserts...

Odds and Ends
-The other day I met a woman who used to be Paul Newman's personal assistant.
-I stayed up late to see Cheating Kay's New York concert last week. Sarah looked very rock star. Their music has changed a lot since I saw them at the Chez back in the day. Think less U2, more Radiohead.
-For future reference, leaving New York City on a 5 p.m. bus is a bad idea. Rush hour. Ew. After an hour I could still see Manhattan.
-Hooray for Boston and getting to see Julie for the first time in way too long and sightseeing and Krispy Kreme doughnuts and Magner's and barbeque restaurants that serve white trash sundaes and movies with Jack Black.
-My magazine finally has a new publisher. He starts November 10.

And the winner is ...
If you hadn't guessed already, the Clay Aiken autograph went to Chrissy. Really, the rest of you didn't stand a chance.

Fall is Fabulous
I had the best autumn-in-New-York day on Saturday. It was sunny and just crisp enough to make my big Irish sweater really cozy. I walked over to the Met (a.k.a. the Metropolitan Museum of Art), but when I got there I decided it was just too beautiful outside to spend the afternoon inside. I browsed at a few artists' booths outside the musem. (I found one of those Russian nesting dolls painted to look like Bono.) Then I wandered around Central Park. I discovered so new spots I'd never been to and managed to get myself completely turned around. It all just made me feel really lucky to live here.

Uncle Sam
-I am officially registered to vote in New York City.
-I got the new 20 dollar bill from the ATM tonight. It's pretty bitchin'.

Go, Yanks!
Too bad I didn't get to see the game-winning home run. Stupid roommates and their stupid movies. Unlike Paul, I was, um, annoyed. But I guess you don't care as much about those home runs that make your team lose the championships series.

Lesson: Stay at the bar. They don't change channels during the commercial break.

Oh well, it's not like it was game seven of the World Series. (If it was I would have stayed at the bar.)

We don't want to give you a job, but ...
A couple weeks ago I interviewed for a job at a national women's magazine based in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey. (I'm sure you've seen it at the grocery check-out. It's the one that looks sort of trashy. Long story short, the job was reporting and sounded like a huge headache, so I didn't want it. But at the interview they gave me a test assignment. I completed the assigment more out of guilt than anything. And now they want to buy one of these 75-word "jems" from me for $50. I'm not sure why. They completely rewrote the entire thing in first person. That just seems wrong. So does the fact that the story is about my mom. (I know, I know, not my proudest journalistic moment, but another woman bailed on me at the last minute, and they said family was fair game.) It's probably for the best that they didn't say anything about offering me the job. Those pesky journalism ethics I learned at Missouri would have tortured me every day. I'll probably sell them the story, though. It's $50, and my name won't be on it.

Mmm ... chocolate
Nothing says thank you for doing my job for a week and a half like lots of Kit Kats from the British Isles.

You know it's really fall when ...
The crazy lady at the end of the block who spends her time organizing everyone's trash switches from the usual plaid polyester mumus to gray sweatpants and a big green parka.

He's not "The Shirtless Guy" any more
For one thing, he wears shirts all the time now. And last night while sitting out on my fire escape and talking on the cell phone, I saw him smoking a giant bong. And I didn't think Shirtless Guy was going to do anything interesting. From this time on he will be know as "Bong Boy."

And something that should really be on this blog
I met a reality TV star today. I got his autograph. I felt sort of bad because I never really watched his show and I couldn't tell you the name of his recent single. It was pretty funny to see a room full of adults reduced to giggling star-struck 12-year-olds. And I was one of them. I don't know why I was so giddy about meeting, Clay Aiken. He was at Billboard promoting his recently release album. I feel like I should have a contest so one of you could win the autograph, but I had Clay make the autograph out to one of you specifically. Watch your mail and find out if it was you!

Thanks for stopping by
It was good to see Dave. Come again soon!

No wine
Due to last minute scheduling conflicts, there wasn't a gathering at my apartment. I did go see Intolerable Cruelty. V. funny.

Good things
-Security deposits. Any day you get a $1250 check in the mail from your old roommate is a good day. Thanks, Brooke.

Inspiring
Today one of my co-workers told me that I was her inspiration.*

*I only inspired her to cut her hair shor, but the sentence, "You were my inspiration, Anne" did come out of her mouth.

Tonight
I watched a man stick a needle in his arm and bleed on a sheet of glass and then break the glass with his arm. His act also involved a black light. This was all supposed to say something about the media. I'm not sure what. There were also presentations by the Onion, the Daily Show and the guys who do TV Funhouse on SNL. None of those involved blood. Janeane Garofalo was in the audience. Her hair's bleached blond (with bad roots), and she has a big red tattoo. I almost walked into her when I was leaving (or at least that's what Paul says, I didn't notice at the time).

Tomorrow
Dave will be in New York City. Hooray for visitors.

The day after tomorrow
I'm having my first gathering at the apartment. It will be very small and involve wine.

Dance, dance, dance
Bar None, my magazine staff's occasional after-work haunt and home of $2 Bud Light drafts, has dancing on the weekends. No co-workers this time, and my favorite bouncer wasn't there either. A boy in a red shirt almost danced with me a couple times. (What did I do to scare him away?) And I danced very briefly with a sketchy boy. (I didn't really want to dance with you in the first place, so no, you can't put your hand on my hip or, um, that there. Thanks, bye.) Except for the sketchy boy, it was a high-quality evening.

Good-bye, hair
My hair has never been this short. It doesn't even reach my chin, and it's even shorter in back. It's what the stylists call a graduated bob. But I like it. A woman named Dominique from Downer's Grove, Illinois cut my hair. (She owns her own salon, Sun Moon Earth. My Chicagoland readers should pay her a visit.) Thanks for the free cut, Bumble and Bumble. We'll see if it passes the real test when I have to style it myself in the morning. Gulp.

Where's the third musketeer?
This evening, I was walking home on 86th Street when I heard the thirtysomething white man on my right say the following into his walkie-talkie style cell phone:

"Porthos, this is Aramis. Come in. Repeat. Porthos, this is Aramis reporting."

I had such a hard time suppressing my laughter. I was expecting him to start talking about needing a second for a duel in Carl Schurz Park because one of the Cardinal's guards insulted the King or to tell Porthos that the eagle had landed.

Dreams really do come true
Tuesday I ate dinner at the Chipotle near Grand Central (the only one in Manhattan). I thought to myself, "Gee, it's too bad this is 40 blocks away from my office or I could have Chipotle for lunch. I wish they'd build one in Union Square."

Today I was walking to the New York Milkshake Company to get a grilled cheese and a milk shake (two things that make me really happy) for lunch. I was walking down St. Mark's when I passed a huge sign that said "Undergoing Burrito-fication. Chipotle Coming Soon." And there were lots of construction types hanging around. So soon I will be able to walk two blocks and get cruchy steak tacos. Who cares if my job is sort of boring. I'm really in it for the Mexican food.

And I do my little turn on the catwalk ...
I went to a model call on Monday. No, I haven't changed my life goals and decided to become an aspiring model. I'm just whoring myself out for a free hair cut at Bumble and bumble. My hair passed inspection, and I get to go back next Monday to have my hair chopped off (in an artful manner, of course). The true test will be if it rivals "the Yann cut", my other free New York hair cut circa summer 2001.