Moved by Jay and Silent Paul

I hereby inform all and sundry (that would be you, dear readers) that last Friday I was moved from Park Slope, Brooklyn to West Midwood, Brooklyn by two adorable Ukrainian movers by the names of Denis and Paul. And that they resembled Jay and Silent Bob so much, I wish I'd taken photos.

Jay and Silent Bob / Denis and Silent Paul

These are two characters invented by writer/director Kevin Smith, who is behind Clerks (good movie), Mallrats, Chasing Amy, Dogma (in which a brilliantly casted Alan Rickman plays the voice of God), and, surprisingly enough, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. Smith himself stands in as Bob, who says nary a word but follows Jay's lead. Jay is portrayed by Jason Mewes, a former roommate Smith's who is said to basically be the inspiration behind the character. He's described amusingly and accurately in one review as "an appallingly rude former dope dealer and self-styled ladies man." The two make a hilarious comic duo.

Scarily enough, in searching for pictures of the two, I came upon a little online quiz to find out "what Jay and Silent Bob character are you?" And... I'm Jay...

Leaving Park Slope: Introduction

I had some nice closure on my last day in the Slope. On my way home to pack, I bumped into all the random strangers of the neighborhood whom I've come to recognize by sight and illogically like, and we said "hi." *awww* This includes: 1) the bookstore clerk, 2) the grocery store lady, 3) the grocery store manager, 4) the Middle Eastern restaurant cook, and 5) the hospital resident neighbor guy. *awww*

Now that I'm moved, I'm cutting my costs dramatically. Instead of paying an exorbitant amount of money for a studio, I am paying about half to share the first floor of a house. It's a great place. My roomie is great, she has two cats that have infected me with an odd disease of talking nonsense out loud, and...and--there's a kitchen. That's right.

Read it again, girls and boys. I have a KITCHEN. In which I can cook, sit, listen to music, eat, say strange inanities to cats, and...just stare out the window. Which is truly bliss.

Plus a porch, on which I've spent almost every evening I've been home. Gorjuss. Plus the neighborhood is very mixed, so one can buy real Indian spices, Jamaican jerk chicken, Middle Eastern cheeses, and Russian everything. People seem to be predominantly Muslim, Russian, West Indian, and white. I think my landlord thinks I'm weird or salty or something, though, but perhaps that's just an impression that'll pass.

Leaving Park Slope: Implementation

So, I naturally called the Russians to move me. I had left a lot of the packing till the last moment, having been pulled into work, the situation that required the police (mentioned obliquely in my last post), and of course, reading Harry Potter. And so it came to pass that when I went to bed at 3am the morning of the move, I'd run out of boxes.

JB was kind enough to come help me pack/move in the wee hours of the morning. Poor girl, I was inadvertently guilty of false advertising: "Come," I'd said, "we'll drink beer and watch the Russians move me." Truthful advertising would have been: "Come. We'll sweat and stress and push my belongings into banana boxes you will fetch from the grocery store, and will finish packing in time to let the Ukrainian movers in. There will be no air conditioning."

I also woke the poor girl up at 6am to tell her about my dream. She's forgiven me since, or perhaps simply taken revenge: at midnight a few days later, she woke me up to tell me Ralph Fiennes will be playing Voldemort in Goblet of Fire. Both of us have clearly no conception of which of us exactly is the morning person and the night person, nor what constitutes important information to be relayed immediately to a sleeping interlocutor.

The move itself went fine, until we tried to get my couch in the door. It's large, apparently. The boys pushed and pushed, but it just wouldn't happen. Then Silent Paul points to what seems to be a microscopically tiny window in comparison to the door, and suggests they can get the behemoth in through there. I whip out my best Russian (in fact, the correct version of my first Russian sentence in Russian soil all those years ago), and inform the movers that they are, in fact, crazy.

That said, sanity is not a necessary prelude to success (nor of fun), so I drew back to watch the fiasco. And it worked. Insane. (I, of course, then whipped out some mediocre Russian to let Jay and Silent Paul know that they were crazy, but geniuses.) (At least, that's what I hope I said.)

End Result!

1) I got to learn a lot of awesome Russian words and phrases that I can use next time I am futilely pushing a huge object into a small space.

2) I have a new home, more money to save, a lovely large porch, a kitchen, a really nice roommate, an expanded Russian vocabulary, and, thanks to another dear friend...AIR CONDITIONING.

As Jay would say, "Snooch to the booch!"


And of course, it wouldn't be kosher if I didn't end this long post with a gratuitous picture of Alan Rickman as the Voice of God...

Dorkus Patronus and the Disorder of the Police

Man, it has been FOREVER since I updated this blog. My month of report cyclones is on the cusp of over, so ... maybe I can finally stop dreaming about reports. Last night was another reportmare, followed by a short disjointed dream of me being chased by a Slytherin rat in my bedroom. And having to clean its pee. Seriously.

And on that note, I am attaching the article below for fun. It came out the day after Harry Potter did. The same day I did as a Harry Potter fan, thanks to Ed Wyatt. That's right: for those of you who didn't know it, I was in the closet before then.

Dorkus Patronus

So, you're wondering what this new fame has done for me?

Well, how many of us have had the chance to say, coyly, fingers lingering on a cocktail glass, “Oh, perhaps you read about me in the New York Times?”

Okay, that's not exactly what happened. However, I did attend a networking party where the above did happen, only I was so exhausted that I was avoiding alcohol at all costs, so the glass nonchalantly tilted contained only cold water and ice. Not quite so chic an image, but I'm not so chic a girl.

:)

Oh, and to keep the tone of this blog update chirpy...perhaps I won't mention my ...less than thrilled impression of our NYPD in recent weeks. *eyeroll*

Why I Come To Work Early

(An update on my office flooding situation of last week)

So, I come into work today at 6:40am. I'm wondering if my office will be a) flooded, b) stinky, or c) fine. I smell a beauteous scent wafting through the corridors. I begin to worry that my office will be overwhelmingly beauteously scented, such that I will asphyxiate at my computer. I unlock the office door.

No worries about overwhelmingly beauteous odours, ladies and gents. The stench of the day before was back. This is after a carpet cleaning the day before, and with a whole night of three fans blasting on the carpet to dry it. As my two windows don't open (they're painted shut), the stench just lingers and festers and begins to seep into my neighboring officemate's offices.

Well, after I picked my semi-conscious self up from the doorway, I staggered over to the kitchen, where I blearily made myself some coffee and decided whose desk I would invade for the day.

Eventually my boss gets in. He says he doesn't smell anything at all. I lead him to my office and guide him to my chair. "What about there," I suggest. The world always seems bleaker from behind my desk, I figure. But no, he still smells nothing. Now I'm wondering if my symptoms are psychosomatic. He sniffs deeply. Shakes his head. Puts his coffee down. And then gets down onto the floor to sniff the carpet.

"Well," he cedes, "if you put your nose in the carpet then it smells."

I tell him I frequently work that way, and replace my would-be gales of laughter with a mild, teary grin. It's still too early in the morning to subject everyone to my humour and cheerfullness.

I return to the other wing of the office. A few minutes later, he admits that he smells it.

I continue with my work, tapping away at a colleague's computer. I hear the footfall of my boss, striding down the corridor.

"Do you know where the hammer is," he asks, "I want to open the window."

Now I'm one chuffed early-riser. I've never seen anyone open a window with a hammer, you know, leave alone the only person in the office who can't be fired for it.

I follow him back to my office. He's managed to grab a hammer and a box cutter. This is the most entertaining morning ever. I stand behind him and wonder how safe this is. I figure that my staring at the proceedings will protect him from some nasty accident.

Well, it doesn't work.

When I talk to maintenance about it, I get two surprises.

1. The maintenance guy admits that my office stinks like ****. He then volunteers to get carpet cleaners in here again, for the second time in two days. I collapse in shock.
2. The maintenance guy says opening the windows is a bad idea. Firstly, there are fumes in that part of the building (not a beauteous odour). Secondly, and I quote, "the windows don't work."

I hadn't realized windows could "work" or "not work." Other than the Gates version, naturally. Apparently these windows don't close once they're open.

I don't know anymore...

By the day's end, when the carpet cleaners had come again, the maintenance guy was here again. Mind you, this is the same guy I had to corrall into my office and forcefully jump on the splashing carpet for to convince that there was a real problem here outside of my head. He sniffed the air, which I was breathing in happily by the gallon, and announced that it smelled. He thinks we'll know for sure whose nose is right in the morning.

I expect he's right. In other words, expect an update in the morn!

See all these adventures you too could have if you came in to work at the crack of dawn? I leave you now, 12 hours of joy over. :)

Soggy Bottom

Some of you might not know this yet, but this week my office reverted into its probably prehistoric habitat. That is, it became a swamp.

For some ungodly (and as yet unexplained) reason, when I came in at 6:30am on Tuesday, all excited for a productive day, I found that my office carpet was wet. Soaking wet. Puddle wet. No random mild carpet sweat here, no siree.

And of course I did not realize this as a normal person would, by hearing their shoes squelch and noticing their carpet was ten shades darker than the carpet in the corridor. Oh no, not I. I noticed it by deciding that my shoes were wet, and taking them off. And then having the office floor puddle creep up my socks and into the very core of my bones. And then by staring at the ground. And pressing it with my hands. That's right. And I paid $35K for my Master's Degree. Plus interest.

I, of course, then spent the next five minutes scouting out the neighboring offices on my haunches, pressing my palms into their floors. Not on my initial to-do list. But done. (I obviously added it to my to-do list post-facto, and checked it off.) (This was my only sense of accomplishment that day.)

Apparently maintenance didn't take my early reports ("Erm, my office is flooded.") very seriously, because no-one bothered to dry the swamp for days. Only after I finally cornered one hapless maintenance guy and corralled him into my office and then forcefully jumped up and down on my carpet to show him how it splashed, did they finally figure out that I meant it when I chose the word "flooded" and not "damp."

I have the fan blowing on it right now. Now it's damp. And it smells. Stankelicious. Pee-euw.

Ahem. And so I found the comic thing below pretty damn hilarious. :)


What I don't have to do:


And just because I expect you sorry lot haven't read this yet... ;)

Flag Day

Interesting logic that goes into our national symbols. And I picked three flags based on yesterday's bombings in London, American sympathy, and the murder of Ihab al-Sharif, Egyptian ambassador-designate in Iraq.




Commonly referred to as the Union Jack, the Union Flag only becomes a "Jack" when flown from a ship's jack mast. Its symbolism: it brings together the red cross of Saint George (the patron saint of England), the diagonal red cross of Saint Patrick (the patron saint of Ireland), and the diagonal white cross of Saint Andrew (the patron saint of Scotland). Apparently (and do correct me if I'm wrong), the Welsh flag was never incorporated into the design as Wales had been annexed so very much earlier.




The thirteen stripes represent the original thirteen colonies, and the fifty stars represent the current states of the United States. The name Old Glory was most commonly used for the flag between 1912 and 1959. The Stars and Stripes is another name for the flag. Its colors also signify purity and innocence (white); hardiness and valour (red), and vigilance, perseverance and justice (blue).




The Egyptian flag here depicted was adopted in 1984, replacing the 1923 flag which was green and featured three stars in a crescent, representing the peoples of Egypt--Muslims, Christians and Jews. The Egyptian national emblem, the golden eagle of Saladin, graces the center of the flag. The colors of the flag signify (according to "the rules of Heraldry" which all modern flags follow) peace and honesty (white); hardiness, bravery, strength and valour (red), and determination (black). Wikipedia notes that the colours of the flag are Pan-Arab.

National Emblems

And now onto a tangent, based on some amusing national emblems (as per Wikipedia):

Estonia: Chimney Swallow
England: Lion or Bulldog. Yes, bulldog.
Moldova: Auroch. ("Conservation status: extinct" says the caption. Apparently ITIS disagrees.)

Then again, Russia and Serbia go for mythical creatures in their two-headed eagles, and Wales and China in dragons.

How fun, fantastical and magical we country-folk are!

The Auroch


And finally,

The History and Evolution of Flags, according to a site I just lost sight of (on the Egyptian flag):

* The idea of flying a flag grew from the requirements of ancient warfare and the battlefield
* Shields were painted with emblems to identify Friend or Foe
* Warriors needed to know where their leaders were - the custom of carrying a pole was adopted
* An emblem such as a shield, animal or religious device was attached to the pole for identification
* The emblems were also used for identity and to cover suits of armour - Coats of Arms were born
* These emblems were the forerunners of modern flags
* The Romans were the first to use a cloth flag - they were square and fastened to cross bars at the end of spears - the idea of fastening a flag to the side of a pole soon followed
* The strict rules of Heraldry are still used when designing an emblem and creating a modern flag

Interesting, no?

On Bombings, Near and Far

First off, obviously, I hope that anyone reading this who might be in London is safe and well, and that all of our loved ones are safe and well.

I'm also wondering if anyone in any other metropolises have noticed heightened security on public transport in recent days. I was just talking with a colleague, and she and I agreed on seeing a "coincidence" in the recent heightened security presence in our subway system and the bombings in London today. She believes she's noticed the increase in security personnel in our subways over the past week. I know I've been seeing a much more visible presence in the past two or three days.

Just yesterday, leaving work, I bumped into not one, but four cops at just one entrance to the 34th Street subway station. And saw firemen (yes, FIREMEN, wtf?) at another station we passed. Maybe it's just a coincidence.

But I think they had an inkling something was going to happen, somewhere. Who knows. Maybe something else is going to happen, somewhere. Lord.

So, any DC similarities? Anyone else in NYC notice the increase in cops? Any other cities?