"What kind of Asian am I?" the game.
Do you know you’re bloodtype? Seriously. I don’t and it’s definitely something I should. Leave a comment if you do.
Saturday afternoon Union Square was filled was artists, gardeners and cheese makers selling their wares and conversing passersby. I met an artist who bummed a cigarette from me and told me step-by-step how he created a lot of this works, which were mostly photo transfers and other manipulations. It inspired me so on Sunday I took my Canon A70, my dad’s old camera, out to Brooklyn and we’ll see what comes out. I really don’t want to get film developed here though because I like the way Woodman’s in Rockford prints their film, but I think I’m going to have to give in and find someplace.
My weekend actually started out pretty slow. I kicked it off with a veggie burrito and a couple of dos equiss in the back room of a NYU Mexican joint that was crawling with a mélange of NYU students, families and tourists. While the front of the place is well lit with round wooden tables and bar stools, the back room, the bar room is covered in neon paint lit with glowing black fluorescent bulbs. Music cranked through the nearly blown speakers but I can’t even remember what it was because it just sounded like noise. Damn good burritos though. And cheap.
The night eventually took me, along with two other girls, to the Beauty Bar. I like that place – it’s cute and trendy but not too cute or too trendy – hipsters without the attitude, only the style. Their music is always good and their drinks are reasonably priced – and there’s always interesting people to talk to although this particular venture didn’t exactly bring about the most fascinating company. First, let me say that I don’t know how I’d get along without Tiffany’s “How to tell apart different Asian ethnicities” lessons. For the third time in NYC, an Asian guy asked me “What kind of Asian do you think I am?” And honestly, this was the first time I was wrong – and that’s because he was half-Philipino, half-Indian and the Indian blood definitely dominates his genes. He then wanted to play the “guess how old I am” game, which is so fucking lame (and I have no idea why so many people I meet in NY ask that damn question). So anyway, this half-Indian, half-Philippino dude—Dave, 26 years old—comes up to our table and starts talking about David Bowie—he said his 18-year-old sister just came back from her first year at college and hung a huge subway poster of David Bowie in her room, even though she’d never listened to him before college. We explained to him the hipness of liking David Bowie in college and he took that as an invitation to sit down.
Right then, as if sitting down was the cue, his two buddies came and sat down and each paired up with one of us girls … 1-2-3 let’s swoop in for the kill! But the best is yet to come: Dave starts launching into this spiel about how he’s a goal-oriented person, works hard for what he has, blah blah. He was, like, pitching himself to me. But that’s STILL not the best part. Meanwhile poor Kristen, right next to me, is getting personality tested by one of the other dudes:
Turns out the cube represents how you view yourself; the ladder, your friends; the horse, relationships.
So after about five minutes, when we realize that these guys are not just being friendly, hell, they’re not even looking for some quick ass--they want lifelong relationships--we bail. We didn’t even get free drinks out of the deal (they were drinking Red Bull because they don’t drink alcohol). Please put me out of my misery if I'm in my mid- to late- twenties and trying to meet people by discussing my work ethics.
Saturday, ha. Well Saturday was an utter failure, at least the first half. All week long the weather forecast called for sunny skies near 80 degrees. Perfect beach weather. Saturday morning, 8:00 am rolls around. I wake up to my text message beeping because I was supposed to meet Kristen in the lobby at 8—turns out my alarm was still set for M-F only and I was lucky she thought to try to wake me up. We run to Whole Foods to pick up $1.50 muffins for breakfast and do $80 cash back (haha love the $200 cash back limits in
Manhattan) before hurrying to catch the R train to Harold Square where we then had to run over to Penn Station to find Emily at the Long Island railroad and before boarding the Long Island Rail Road to Jones Beach.
This whole time, the sky is grey and not looking very promising, but we all assume (hope) it’s going to burn off as the sun comes out. No such luck. After the $15, subway/train/bus hour-and-one-half-long commute out to the state park/beach created by Robert Moses (bad-ass mother fucker) in the ’20’s, the skies were still gray and the airs were much cooled by the shores of the Atlantic. We tried to tough it out, laying out with blankets covering our bodies to keep warm, but once the pesky drizzle started we were done. Back on the LIRR, back to Manhattan.
Of course, once back in the city, the fucking sun comes out and it’s hot as hell. That’s when I went to the art festival in Union Square where I also picked up some veggies and cheese to finally make a real dinner. Molly was with me and we had a deal worked out—she got the wine and desert, I made the dinner. I made pasta with onions, garlic and green peppers in the sauce (let me tell you – its hard to make pasta and sauce with only one, tiny sauce pan. I had to leave the noodles heaped and overflowing on a double thick paper plate on the counter as I cooked the sauce) and we had a grand ‘ol time. After some wine and pre-partying with the roommate and her friends, Molly and I went down to Bleaker Street in search of some good comedy over which we could enjoy our buzz.
That we found … and some other stuff as well, but I have to get to bed.
Till tomorrow….
Saturday afternoon Union Square was filled was artists, gardeners and cheese makers selling their wares and conversing passersby. I met an artist who bummed a cigarette from me and told me step-by-step how he created a lot of this works, which were mostly photo transfers and other manipulations. It inspired me so on Sunday I took my Canon A70, my dad’s old camera, out to Brooklyn and we’ll see what comes out. I really don’t want to get film developed here though because I like the way Woodman’s in Rockford prints their film, but I think I’m going to have to give in and find someplace.
My weekend actually started out pretty slow. I kicked it off with a veggie burrito and a couple of dos equiss in the back room of a NYU Mexican joint that was crawling with a mélange of NYU students, families and tourists. While the front of the place is well lit with round wooden tables and bar stools, the back room, the bar room is covered in neon paint lit with glowing black fluorescent bulbs. Music cranked through the nearly blown speakers but I can’t even remember what it was because it just sounded like noise. Damn good burritos though. And cheap.
The night eventually took me, along with two other girls, to the Beauty Bar. I like that place – it’s cute and trendy but not too cute or too trendy – hipsters without the attitude, only the style. Their music is always good and their drinks are reasonably priced – and there’s always interesting people to talk to although this particular venture didn’t exactly bring about the most fascinating company. First, let me say that I don’t know how I’d get along without Tiffany’s “How to tell apart different Asian ethnicities” lessons. For the third time in NYC, an Asian guy asked me “What kind of Asian do you think I am?” And honestly, this was the first time I was wrong – and that’s because he was half-Philipino, half-Indian and the Indian blood definitely dominates his genes. He then wanted to play the “guess how old I am” game, which is so fucking lame (and I have no idea why so many people I meet in NY ask that damn question). So anyway, this half-Indian, half-Philippino dude—Dave, 26 years old—comes up to our table and starts talking about David Bowie—he said his 18-year-old sister just came back from her first year at college and hung a huge subway poster of David Bowie in her room, even though she’d never listened to him before college. We explained to him the hipness of liking David Bowie in college and he took that as an invitation to sit down.
Right then, as if sitting down was the cue, his two buddies came and sat down and each paired up with one of us girls … 1-2-3 let’s swoop in for the kill! But the best is yet to come: Dave starts launching into this spiel about how he’s a goal-oriented person, works hard for what he has, blah blah. He was, like, pitching himself to me. But that’s STILL not the best part. Meanwhile poor Kristen, right next to me, is getting personality tested by one of the other dudes:
Q:You’re in a field . There’s a cube in the field. Describe the cube
A:uhhh, weird but ok. It’s silver and shiny and rotating on one corner. Each face is divided into a 4 x 4 grid.
Q: Now there’s a latter in the field. It can be anywhere. Where is it?
A: Uhhh….lying on the ground next to the cube. It’s on of those great extendible ladders that fold up into itself.
Q: Now there’s a horse in the field. What’s he doing?
A:Ok, no more, This is fucking weird.
(ps those were the answers I gave when Kristen gave me the test on the walk home
Turns out the cube represents how you view yourself; the ladder, your friends; the horse, relationships.
So after about five minutes, when we realize that these guys are not just being friendly, hell, they’re not even looking for some quick ass--they want lifelong relationships--we bail. We didn’t even get free drinks out of the deal (they were drinking Red Bull because they don’t drink alcohol). Please put me out of my misery if I'm in my mid- to late- twenties and trying to meet people by discussing my work ethics.
Saturday, ha. Well Saturday was an utter failure, at least the first half. All week long the weather forecast called for sunny skies near 80 degrees. Perfect beach weather. Saturday morning, 8:00 am rolls around. I wake up to my text message beeping because I was supposed to meet Kristen in the lobby at 8—turns out my alarm was still set for M-F only and I was lucky she thought to try to wake me up. We run to Whole Foods to pick up $1.50 muffins for breakfast and do $80 cash back (haha love the $200 cash back limits in
Manhattan) before hurrying to catch the R train to Harold Square where we then had to run over to Penn Station to find Emily at the Long Island railroad and before boarding the Long Island Rail Road to Jones Beach.
This whole time, the sky is grey and not looking very promising, but we all assume (hope) it’s going to burn off as the sun comes out. No such luck. After the $15, subway/train/bus hour-and-one-half-long commute out to the state park/beach created by Robert Moses (bad-ass mother fucker) in the ’20’s, the skies were still gray and the airs were much cooled by the shores of the Atlantic. We tried to tough it out, laying out with blankets covering our bodies to keep warm, but once the pesky drizzle started we were done. Back on the LIRR, back to Manhattan.
Of course, once back in the city, the fucking sun comes out and it’s hot as hell. That’s when I went to the art festival in Union Square where I also picked up some veggies and cheese to finally make a real dinner. Molly was with me and we had a deal worked out—she got the wine and desert, I made the dinner. I made pasta with onions, garlic and green peppers in the sauce (let me tell you – its hard to make pasta and sauce with only one, tiny sauce pan. I had to leave the noodles heaped and overflowing on a double thick paper plate on the counter as I cooked the sauce) and we had a grand ‘ol time. After some wine and pre-partying with the roommate and her friends, Molly and I went down to Bleaker Street in search of some good comedy over which we could enjoy our buzz.
That we found … and some other stuff as well, but I have to get to bed.
Till tomorrow….
posted by Erin at 1:36 AM
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