Is this my mother’s way of saying she’s proud of me?

Since I live in the suburbs and rarely get together with my city friends since that trivial time I lost my job, because I’m a cheap bastard, no one may have noticed that I’ve been in New York City for the past three weeks.

I’ll get into the reasons why I ended up here, later. For now, let it be known that I’ve been looking for a job in NY. Therefore, I haven’t been in much of a creative writing mode, as I’m focused on finding substantial employment.

The Hatchery I currently go to has a cut-off age of 31. That means, come November, my egg donation days are over, as I’ll be 31 and “suddenly” my body “knows” I’m “too old.” In fact, I’ll go ahead and say I am retired– they aren’t putting anymore into the egg bank the rest of the year, and there are no potential matches for me. Unless something pops up between now and November, I’m done. It makes me a little sad, because I genuinely enjoy doing it.

My eggs, age 31.

Synecdoche in science: A mathematical explanation on why I favor the paisley pattern

Not long ago, I’d described an abstract concept to a guy– whose cute face and presence I liked very much at the time — about the universe. (9/14/09 update: Holy shit. He looks like a scabies-infested, sewer-dragged rat hung out to dry in the middle of winter in downtown Chicago. I wouldn’t touch that bedraggled, self-destructive mess even if he were to be quarantined by the CDC, gilded by the Department of Treasury, and delivered to my doorstep via Air Force One.)

I very rarely “go there” with people, because, hey, what’s the point– the last time I displayed beyond-basics scientific knowledge, I was looked upon negatively: I was accused of cheating at Trivial Pursuit because I legitimately identified the six flavors of quarks.

Geez, I was just answering the question put to me. I took two years of Physics in high school, so I might know a little bit about quarks. I don’t claim to be a physicist or mathematician, but I think I can grasp an abstraction and terminology without knowing how to work a formula. I didn’t know I was supposed to play dumb. I digress…

There was a reason I brought up such lighthearted conversation with a practical stranger (aren’t I fun!), which will be apparent by the end of this post.

I said to him, “The universe is just matter being pushed around. It’s like that numbers puzzle with the tiles: you move them around, trying to find order. And each tile has another set inside it, and so on.”

This represents 1/∞ of the universe. Don't forget to apply multiple dimensions to it, too!

Little did I know that what I expressed to my once-rapt audience is a property of fractal geometry called self-similarity.

Bye-bye, boring, boring brown

My natural hair color hadn’t made a fully headed appearance since the 10th grade.

All the other girls in school were dabbling with the hardcore shit Sun-In. And some of those girls had no business going blonde, because it didn’t complement their skin tone or eye color. I had enough sense to know that Brittany and blonde wouldn’t go together.

I did the unthinkable: I bought f… f-f-f… I can’t even say it!

There are two clothing items that exist in this universe that I loathe, that I’ll never be caught dead wearing. So when I’m dead, watch my family bury me in the non-NASA-approved get-up I’m about to describe.

“She was The Unconventional One anyway, so this is what she’d want,” they’ll say.

I’m also The Private One, so they won’t know my wishes anyway. Better make sure no cameras are allowed, or keep that casket closed.

To offset the horrors that follow, here is a picture of Levin looking like the Cobra Snake caught him on the verge of passing out with his pants down in a bathroom stall at the Viper Room.

Move ova, bitches

If we consider semantics, the answers to these questions could be interesting:

“Do you have any children?”

No. Well, yes… technically. I mean… no… Biologically yes, physically no…

“Have you ever been pregnant?”

No. Well, yes… technically. I mean… no… Physiologically yes, biologically no…

“Have you ever had an abortion?”

No. Well, yes… technically. I mean… Biologically yes, physically no…

Hey, don’t yell at me. Can’t keep all the female reproductive follicles in the world steaming freezing. This is the science of egg donation. And it’s just as good as pregnancy.

Scatterbrains!

The Absent-Minded Professor is in the house. I’m sharp, but am I also absentminded and scatterbrained, which could be disastrous… yet hilarious.

The day started out fine. Woke up on time, gave myself an injection per The Hatchery’s instructions…

Is there life after Sony Music?

I was asked this  yesterday. I went to a cookout at the house of my former boss (18- year record industry veteran, laid off). His father (30-year vet, known as The Führer, laid off) presented the question to me.

Still on a block schedule

No writing today. Yesterday, I put a lot of energy into a piece for a [paying] job that I kind of have at the moment. It’s for a non-profit organization with a neat concept. I’ll talk about it later at some point. I wrote some copy for their website. It wasn’t lengthy, yet it took everything out of me… because I like to do top-notch work and assume that the end user’s eye is as critical as mine– even though I know that, really, the end user isn’t looking at it the same way I am.

And today I went to The Hatchery and had five vials of blood taken, with additional pokes and prods.

Ultimately, all this activity has left me very tired. The “nap” I went down for at 12:00 p.m. ended up being over five hours. So here is a cell phone photo from back in the day (two months ago), when Levin had hair. He’s with my nephew whose mother swears she didn’t name her son after Nick Saban even though she is a University of Alabama fanatic. Levin LOVES this baby. Nicholas can’t utter a sob without Levin going apeshit and alerting the universe that “his baby” is in distress.

Nicholas will be a year old in August and Levin has been in more pictures with him than I have (ZERO). Maybe someday I’ll have the privilege of sharing some camera time with this BALL OF CUTENESS!!!

Stuff white people don’t like: white people

This is shocking.

After I titled this, I did a Google search to see if Stuff White People Like has an antithesis site. I wouldn’t know offhand, because I’m not up on all the Internet-cultural-viral crazes (I have a feeling I’m ten years too late on SWPL). Come to find, there is was a Stuff White People Don’t Like site. Kind of, back in early 2008. The author kept up with it for only two months– a total of six entries! Which is too bad, because the site’s sort of funny.

I’m surprised no one in the world has picked up the still-burning Torch of Xeno-”faux”-bia off the ground and stuck it underneath, or up, his own ass. Please, don’t… make… me… do it. Resist… But come on, white people dislike more than just six things!

Well, here’s #7: white people don’t like white people. This has nothing to do with sub-categories of white people, that other white people dislike (i.e. white trash). This is about good old-fashioned skin color.

*knock-knock* Housekeeping! Moving in from MySpace.

Who are we kidding. Hotel housekeepers never knock on the door. If they do, it’s that half-rap/barge-in move. And it always seems to happen on check-out day, while you’re still in bed. So, before you can even open your eyes and say “yes?” or “one moment,” security has been breached. At that point you think, “Forget it,” and pretend to be asleep until the interloper leaves. That’s what I do, anyway.