thoughtcrumbs : january 2000

If there's a fire, it's the grad students that will die

Every day I enter Newell-Simon Hall at the ground-level floor. There are at least three floors below, and the stairs are gated counterintuitively to prevent panicked people from rushing underground in an emergency. So every day I approach this gate, think, and pull it open. (Crowds tend to push, not pull, which is why emergency exits always open outward.) However, I've become so inured to the inconsistency that I naturally pull the gate without a second thought now. Hopefully I'll forget all this priming in a fire.

More New York photos

Because I feel especially guilty for saying Kiran looked like a used car salesman, I've finished posting a few more pics from this summer, and I think you'll agree that none of my roommates fits that description.

Why it's nice to have friends over

Because one of them will tactfully explain the reason your Brita pitcher leaks is because you've been putting the lid on backwards.

Me and You

Erstwhile Portlander Miranda July's first feature length film, Me and You and Everyone We Know is a charming, if slightly off-putting portrait of ten neighbors. Two characters are darling: First, July herself as a quirky performance artist pursuing an optimistic shoe salesman. Then there's the five year old attempting to hold his own in an adult chat room conversation, overcoming his fledgling typing skills by cutting and pasting snippets from the other person's message (sort of a juvenile Turing test, which is not surprisingly very effective).

In one scene, a little girl matter-of-factly asks a department store saleswoman whether a particular immersion blender will go out of style in twenty years.

Saleswoman: Twenty years is a long time. Everything will probably be digital by then.

Girl: Soup won't be digital.

Saleswoman: Why not?

Girl: Because it's liquid.

Oh, and then there's the ASCII art with both scatological and sociological interpretations. ))<>((

Settling in culinarily

Yes, you can make an adverb out of culinary, though I'm probably one of a rare set to ever try it. Grammar tangents aside, I made my first real meal in my new apartment tonight. Some friends-of-a-friend went on vacation and left me their crate of farm veggies, so I made my best attempt to use most of them. On the menu this evening was:

• Zucchini frittata with basil, scallions, and parmesan-reggiano
• Steamed cabbage with fresh dill
• Slices of yellow tomato

And I ate it with a real plate and fork. But I was sitting on the floor.