Two things on television (as portrayed by my computer) made me happy today.
“It seems that quite a few of you, for instance, like how Dan and I dress on the air, and you should know that we’re dressed by Maurine Gates and Joseph Revetto (sp?). Maurine and Joseph are assisted by a young woman named Monica Brazelton, and Monica is not to be trifled with.” – Sports Night, 1:11.
I’ve just reconciled my bank statement from December against my receipts, and found a mismatch from a meal at a chain restaurant.
I suspected at first that a dishonest server had raised the tip amount, hoping I’d never consult my statement. Not so. On closer inspection, I discovered they’d just eliminated the tip entirely, billing only the cost of the meal.
Sealing up my amusement was the realization that my tip was only 10% in the first place. I always tip well, so this suggests the service (which I do not remember at all, apparently) was so terrible it deserved special penalty. It’s appropriate that the server was then so incompetent as to incorrectly process the check, and thereby forfeit the entire amount.
On the one hand, I wrote down the wrong address for the Music Box Theatre, where Aaron Sorkin’s play (“The Farnsworth Invention“) is running on Broadway. I feel appropriately silly for hailing a cab to go three blocks, only to end up two minutes late anyway.
Now I have to go again, just to see the beginning of the play.
However, I redeemed myself by appearing so familiar with my surroundings in New York throughout the day that no fewer than four people separately stopped me to ask for directions. I answered all four correctly.
1. “Where’s the zoo?” – from just north of the zoo in Central Park.
2. “Where’s Broadway?” – standing in the middle of Times Square. Dude, even if you’re from West Nowhereville, Montana, it’s Times Square. You can find Broadway with a blindfold. You’re on it.
3. “Where’s the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts?” – I should get major points for this one, even if I couldn’t name the exact subway line that stops there
4. “I know we’re at 42nd and Eighth, but where does the bus to the airport stop?” – again, I should get some huge points for pinpointing the exact part of the intersection where the bus stops. That’s not something you get off a map.
Now we just have to stop to reflect on how many things are wrong in the universe when I can pass for a New York City directions-giver. I think it’s the white cashmere scarf and the briefcase that really did the trick.
Since I began working here, I’ve received occasional voice mail messages from someone, all saying essentially, “This is Frank. I got paged here. Call me back.”
Now, I have absolutely no idea who Frank is, and I have never paged anybody in my entire life.
If I ever spoke to Frank myself I could assure him that I will never page him for any reason, so he can safely ignore “me” from now on. However, these pages only ever seem to reach him when I’m out of my office. Sometimes it’s lunch, sometimes a meeting, sometimes I’m just in another office, but it’s always, always, a voice mail.
So the question is: how many times does this have to happen before I begin to suspect someone’s been playing a very poorly executed prank on Frank and me for a couple years?
Since I moved to Massachusetts partway through 2006, I filed my 2006 taxes using form 1-NR/PY – the form for part-year residents. This is perfectly logical, if rather more inconvenient than taxes usually are.
I just got my tax forms in the mail for 2007. The federal government sent me a copy of Ye Olde 1040, since that’s what I filed last year. And the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts sent me 1-NR/PY… ’cause that’s what I filed last year.
That’s right: because I only lived in Massachusetts for part of 2006, the state has concluded I’ll live here for only part of 2007 too.
Sure there are people who did leave the state a year after moving, but that’s surely not the norm. And it’s true that 1-NR/PY is for non-residents as well, but as they’ve mailed the form to me at my home address (in… wait for it… Massachusetts) it’s unlikely I’m in that demographic.
So Massachusetts? When in doubt, just send a Form 1.
After watching the entire run of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (thrice, historically speaking), I plugged in an episode of Scrubs called “My Unicorn.”
There’s a scene where Matthew Perry, as an air traffic controller, is watching an old episode of “Wings” on TV.
Then and only then did it hit me: the guy who plays Jack Rudolph on Studio 60 (i.e., Steven Weber) starred in Wings!
It took me over a year to connect an actor with… himself. I have no hope of ever winning the Kevin Bacon game.
At about 11pm yesterday I woke up to the sound of a slowly wailing emergency siren and the sound of a recorded voice murmuring instructions.
First thought: Great. The building is on fire. I jumped out of bed, but realized the sound was coming from outside. The voice was repeating:
“This is the Boston Police Department. At midnight tonight a snow emergency will be in full effect. All cars parked along the snow routes will be ticketed and towed. This is the Boston Police Department.”
Now that it’s morning, I can point out two things. First, it’s not snowing. Second, all the cars are still right there on Comm. Ave where they’ve always been.
So basically, the message could’ve said, “This is the Boston Police Department. Wake up! Okay, go back to sleep now.”
I walked down the street to get a snack. Keep in mind it’s “late” at night, and colleges are all shut down for winter break.
The convenience store that’s always open ’til 1:00 am? Closed.
The doughnut shop? Closed.
The deli and the two coffee shops? All closed.
But the ice cream store? Still open ’til midnight seven-days a week. Not even the 35° weather can stand in the way of some good ice cream around here.
At around 8:00 a round of frantic screaming wafted into my apartment from down the hall. I figured this was just another emphatic greeting of unusually large proportions.
Then, some time later, another round of screaming began. And another. Each separated by some twenty or thirty minutes. By the ninth round (seriously) I figured I should find out what was going on.
I learned three things.
First, these screams each came from different groups (usually pairs) of people. Second, these groups were independently discovering that a mouse was romping about the hallway. Third, none of them (until the ninth) thought this was an event worth mentioning to anybody else.
Personally I think if you encounter a critter in your house you should either get rid of it yourself or call someone else who can. In this case, it took nine rounds of discovery and reaction to reach such a conclusion.
For the record, I haven’t seen so much as a mosquito here until now. We don’t get a lot of non-human visitors this high up the building. And if we didn’t have elevators I doubt we’d even have many of those.
When I first signed up with Zipcar they had cars parked literally right next to my building. Then they got rid of those.
So I switched to driving the Prius that’s actually a bit of a walk, but, hey, it’s a Prius.
Now I went to reserve it… and it’s not there anymore. It’s been replaced by a Honda Civic – a model that’s already parked about half the distance from here. That doesn’t seem entirely fair.
I approve of relocating cars to where they’re more useful. I just don’t approve of relocating them, ya know, away from me.