Oughts and Ought Nots

I recently bought tickets to a Passion Pit concert ... in 2010. It freaked me out a little, because the idea of the year 2010 seems so space age-y. Shouldn't we be commuting on hovercrafts, alongside intelligent androids, while downloading information straight into our brains?

But, here we are, just a couple months away from 2010. The Oughts (the Ohs, the 00s, the 2000s, whatever) are almost over. God, time flies. Doesn't it feel like the Millennium was yesterday?

Well, 2009 (aka Year 30) sure passed by in the blink of an eye. The list probably won't get completed, but ... hey, if people can roll over their vacations days and cell phone minutes, I can roll over list items. Year 31, here I come!

To add:
28. Get plants, keep them alive
29. Kiss someone under mistletoe
30. Learn to drive a stick shift

To cross off:
21. Finish reading 'The Grapes of Wrath'
Finally! And it didn't appeal to me any more than when I was 16. I don't think I'll be cracking open 'The Scarlet Letter' or 'The Crucible' anytime soon.

Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed

I was hanging out with a friend tonight, one who's much younger than me at the age of 23. He's sort of the younger brother I never had. We were discussing our romantic travails --well, mostly, his romantic travails as I have none -- and it struck me, forcefully, how very differently we look at life.

For him, every door is open; everything is possible. Every girl he meets is a potential future waiting to unfold. For me, the paths are narrowing, the options growing fewer and every guy I meet is a confirmation that the pool is ever shallower. I mean, I've always been a pretty cynical SOB (some of my readers have known this for years), and I don't regret any of these past 7 years of my life -- high points and heartbreaks alike. But as my friend and I zipped down Manhattan in a taxi, and I looked out at the lit and unlit windows, and all the untold stories within, I envied that wide-open feeling, that sense that anything could happen.

Is that what growing up is -- confinement and shuttered doors and practicality? What is, instead of what if?

Last year, around this time, I had dinner with a a friend of mine, his new girlfriend and another mutual friend (my gay "date"). It was just before the election. My friends and I were all 30 or on the verge; she was 24 or 25, new to New York. I remember thinking she was just so young and naive and silly; she didn't even plan to vote, in what I considered one of the most important elections we might face in our lifetimes. She was very passionate about her work at a gallery, but she really felt destined for something "important" -- like, marketing for a foundation or designing a charitable T-shirt line. My equally-sardonic "date" and I looked at each other in horror. Who was this newborn creature and why was our friend dating her?

Later, her boyfriend asked for my opinion (though, of course, he wasn't really asking me; he would've still dated her, regardless of what we said). And I replied, tactfully, "She seems nice. Very bright eyed and bushy tailed."

Now, though, it sounds less like the veiled insult I meant it to be. Now, that very optimism and openness sounds appealing .... I could use a little less cynicism, a little more bright-eyed, bushy-tailedness. Couldn't we all?

Boo

Halloween's coming up and people invariably ask what costume I'm planning to wear. To which, I respond: Sigh.

I don't do Halloween. I place it in the same category as New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day and my birthday -- pseudo holidays I don't care about. But people always expect you to "do something" and express profound disappointment when you don't.

Halloween falls on a Saturday this year, which means more parties and such than usual. And I'd like to attend -- except I'll look like a sourpuss if I don't dress up. Sigh. I just want to go to see a concert and have fun my way. Is that such a great offense?

Apparently it is.

(Aside: I think Halloween falls just behind NYE as the most pressure-filled "You Must Do Something Or Else You're Lame" holiday of the year. Most people are sympathetic to the single person's plight on Valentine's Day, and you can usually find a friend or two in the same situation. And birthdays of non-numerical significance generally get a pass. Luckily, I've done the big 30 thing, so I'm probably safe for another decade.)

So, I'm wracking my brain for a costume that a) isn't unbearably stupid or slutty, b) fun enough to pass muster at a party (so no "going as myself" or "I'm an undercover spy"), and c) won't look ridiculous at a concert later. Wish me luck. Sigh.

• My first attempt at homemade pie crust today did not go well at all. I didn't even bother with filling and baking it, I just trashed the whole thing. I don't think the butter was chilled enough and the dough sort of fell apart. On to the round 2 ...
  
• This is the worst sports time of year for me because I don't follow baseball or football, tennis is pretty much over and college basketball hasn't really gotten underway. I think I've settled on adding hockey, but it's incredibly difficult to get into any sport just like that. In any case, this doesn't solve my problem of feeling left out of the collective sports conversation because nobody follows hockey.
  
• I've seen the end of 'The Office' wedding episode way too many times to be healthy. If you didn't happen to catch, go watch it now. It's cued up; make sure to wait around to see Jim's last expression, around minute 17:50.
  

Mishap City

I'm writing this from home at 10:30AM, instead of busily working at the office, because I woke up to no hot water this morning.

This has happened to me before, of course (I live in New York), and actually happened with some frequency at my West Village apartment. This is the first time it's happened here in Carroll Gardens, though.

What's noteworthy, really, is that it happened right now. It's been a week of mishaps for me. I've become a klutz -- slipped down the stairs last Wednesday, ate it on the sidewalk Saturday, fell off a bar stool last night. I apparently can't even cross the street, since I've almost gotten run over by bikes twice recently. I messed up a friend's vacation dates -- also the second time I did that lately.

My co-worker thinks this is her year of technical difficulties (seemingly every electronic device she owns has broken). This and my string of calamities makes me wonder whether bad luck reproduces. I was joking to her that, since she's had to get so many new gadgets, she won't have to worry about them for years. So maybe I'm just getting all the mishaps out of my system. At the very least, I know I'm prone to them right now and can watch out. I should feel lucky that I still haven't ever broken a bone or gotten stitches.

Knock on wood.

Money Matters

So, I'm poor. I mean, broke-ass poor. I haven't been in such a bad financial state in five or six years. Guess if you live like your in your early 20s, you also have to deal with the consequences (aside from the wicked hangovers).

I actually brought my lunch to work almost every day last week. I've cooked dinner, or had leftovers, nearly every night. I probably indulged in a few too many drinks on Friday, but hey, can't be perfect. I'm even staying with my parents and brother over Thanksgiving -- in the same place, under the same roof -- to save on a hotel. Seriously, I'm at Defcon 1 here.

As much as it sucks not to have any money, it's interesting to see what really matters to me and what doesn't. Haircut? Nope. Clothes? Eh ... can make do with current wardrobe. Home furnishings? Certainly not. An HDTV, sound system, PS3, iPhone? Ha, please.

What won't I skimp on? Good food. Good friends (which usually involves drinks, of course). Good music. And I'm trying to build up my savings again, as well as a travel fund. Not sure if I'll be able to jet anywhere before the end of the year, but it's better to have a goal than not, right?

Bits and bytes:

• Man, I love the fall. Honeycrisp apples FTW!
• Braised beef short ribs this weekend, had leftovers tonight. Pretty darn good, if I do say so myself. I'm going to make chili this weekend (for real), and may even tackle pie crust. Wish me luck.
• T-minus 11 days until the Duke basketball season officially begins.
  

Cook Cook Cook

Cook is kind of a weird word, isn't it? I mean, look at it for a few minutes; say it aloud or in your head a dozen times.

Cook cook cook cook cook cook cook ... weird.

Aaaaaaanyway ....

I've been a homebody of late and cooking dinner (this also helps me save money, which I have none of anymore). I could only bestir myself to heat up soup this weekend, but I made an excellent tuna/white bean salad yesterday and ate the leftovers for lunch today (more frugality, yay!).

And tonight, I tackled the simple yet dreaded staple of dinners across America: marinara sauce. I figured, what could be so hard? A little mirepoix, a can of tomatoes, some herbs, good olive oil. Tonight, add a bit of meat to make Bolognese. Stash the leftover sauce for lunch.

Easy, right?

It was, sort of. I realized how quickly you fall out of the habit of cooking. The little things -- like dicing carrots -- don't come to hand so easily anymore. Every task takes longer. You can no longer season by instinct; you have to taste assiduously and adjust often. In the case of my marinara, I probably ought to have minced more garlic and added less basil.

Still, it feels really good to cook. Sure, I get a bit frantic while trying to chop, stir, rinse and peel simultaneously, but there's a sort of peaceful mindlessness to it. After a day -- a life -- filled with endless choices and directions and possible routes, it's nice to come home and only have to ask myself: does this taste good?

And if not, well ... just add a little salt. It almost always does a dish good.