Soy Un Perdedor

Today was a lonely day, as Christine is gone and I'm all by myself in the dorm room. The threat of a transit strike and the crunch of finals have made it difficult for friends to come play with me in the evening, so I was left with the prospect of taking myself out to dinner, since supplies in the kitchen are low this week.

But before you cue the violins and break out the hankies, I did manage to have a pretty entertaining night, and was able to embarrass myself without anybody's help.

I decided to take myself to TeaNY, the vegan cafe/tea shop owned by one Mr. Moby. It's been awhile since I was there last, and since they have a marvelous selection of teas and it's within walking distance, I went by myself to get some dinner. I took some Christmas cards and my journal to keep me busy while I waited for my food.

It wasn't busy at all when I went in, and eventually I was the only patron in the place, munching on a fake turkey club and key lime tea (I know, I know. But since I'm only in Lower Manhattan for a few more days, let me indulge in some hippie dippy goodness while I can). Suddenly, Mr. Moby and some of his pals bound into the place and sit directly behind me. All of a sudden, I'm in the ninth grade again, sitting next to a kid I have a crush on but am too scared to talk to, let alone keep my hand steady enough to hold a teacup.

So not cool.

In the end, I didn't wind up talking to him at all. Which is okay in that I've talked to him before and he was with his friends and all. But I did feel like I should have capitalized on the moment. So I grabbed one of my Christmas cards, scribbled something about how I appreciated his music and the role that it's played during my time in New York and that I'm super-sorry about your recent beating, and when I finally left (which was a good hour or so after Moby & Co. did), I left it on my seat and fled into the night.

Needless to say, I feel less than super cool now. Especially when I realized that I slightly under-tipped my nice waiter. Sheesh. But that's okay. Because I'm never ever ever going back there. At least not for a good few months.

Incidentally, I discovered that vegan cheesecake is actually quite good and that eavesdropping on rock stars and their friends can be surprisingly boring when all they're doing is singing along to the New Wave tape that's playing in their restaurant.

Robyn

Rotating the Pants

Christine thinks I may be a bit anal-retentive.

She thinks I may be somewhat less than spontaneous.

She says this because she caught me in my rotating the pants ritual, wherein I transfer the pants that I did not wear this week to a different hanger, to make room for the freshly clean pants, who must wait their turn.

I just want my pants to have equal wear.

Is that really so wrong?

Time to alphabetize the pantry.

Robyn

Another Routine Wildly Life-Changing Adventure

It is a very bad thing to waste a day in New York City. Under any circumstances. Especially when it is 80 degrees and sunny.

But alas, I feel I have done just that today.

I arrived back in NYC yesterday, and am delighted to be in an interesting neighborhood on the fringes of Little Italy, Chinatown, and SoHo. I believe the hipster slang for the area is NoLiTa (North of Little Italy), but since I am decidedly unhip, I really shouldn't throw that around in everyday use. Neither should you, if you know what's good for you.

So after spending all of yesterday unpacking and the early part of today stocking the pantry, I collapsed on my bed with a very old magazine and whiled away the afternoon.

There are better ways to piss away an afternoon. I could have read that old magazine in Battery Park. Or the very nice playground around the corner that says "Play!" on the wall.

But the bed just looked awfully appealing.

It won't happen again, but NYC is going to have to wait for me to atone for my sin. Tomorrow I set off for another wildy life-changing adventure when I fly to Dallas to drive halfway across the country to assist Jeffrey in finding a new home in Washington, which is destined to be another regular urban haunt.

The wildly life-changing adventures seem to be occurring rather frequently, don't they?

Maybe an afternoon reposing on the bed was the proper thing to do after all.

Robyn

Misplaced Priorities

Everyone at NYU-London seems to in a state of perpetual frenzy and anxiety. So I guess that means we're nearing finals.

A lot of our professors figured that we would have a lot of work to do the last week of classes. So rather than being stuck with three papers on that week, they decided to be nice and make many of our final projects due in two weeks time.

Which means I now have three papers due in the same week anyway, so I guess their charitable measure failed. It was nice of them to try though.

And since it seems that the royal family is well and truly done with the Queen Mother and have gone back to the palace, or Scotland, or wherever it is they hide out, I can commence with my work without distraction.

Now if it would only rain. It's friggin' England, and we haven't had a rainy day in about a week and a half. It's been relatively gorgeous. Very vexing when you have to hole up in your room writing four papers simultaeously, three of which are due in the same week.

Of course, if I wasn't in such a situation, it would negate the "Study" aspect of "Study Abroad."

Going to royal funerals is a lot more fun though. You should try it. It's a nice pastime.

Robyn

Social Creatures

Friday night was one of those nights when you feel like the biggest loser in the world and you're incapable of experiencing joy and you're going to die alone and afraid surrounded by seventy-two cats.

You know what I'm talking about.

But I'm happy to report that things are faring much better on the social front. My best friend from high school has been living in London for a couple months now, and was only too happy to show us around, take us to the theatre, and introduce us to her groovy Dutch roommate. Christine and I are now relatively comfortable with our small circle of friends.

And the navigation thang is slowly going better as well. We took a coach tour of London's Greatest Hits yesterday, so at least we know where most of the districts and landmarks lie with respect to our humble flat.

And I must be going because there is an ever constant line of NYU-L'ers who are lurking in the doorway coveting my computer. I must yield it unto them.

Robyn

Caution: Quasi-Self-Righteous Tirade

New York smelled like burning building again today. It hasn't done so in awhile, but I think that the warmer weather today had something to do with it. It's not a good smell. It's an odd smell. It's definitely a burning smell of some kind, but acrid. Sort of like burning rubber, but not quite. I doubt it's going away any time soon. It will probably smell like that when I get back from London in May.

Too many sad days in New York. Too many hysterical newscasts. The poor news stations seem so disappointed at the prospect that Flight 587 wasn't blown up by terrorists.

It's a very interesting -- and at times, disheartening -- time to be a journalism student. On Monday we had a guest speaker from Newsweek come into one of my classes. He expressed his disappointment with his publication for propagating a vapid sense of jingoism. And I'm inclined to agree with him.

Don't get me wrong. I love my country. I love this city. Osama Bin Laden is a bad, bad person. And I'm happy that the Taliban seems to be out of business.

I'm just not entirely convinced that the ends justify the means. Should we have been over there for the reasons we were? Should we have gone in a long time ago to help the people in Afghanistan? Will abolishing the Taliban help us find out who crashed those planes? Is the Northern Alliance much better than the Taliban? They've been known to execute dissenters as well. It's just that we're more inclined to agree with the Northern Alliance's political views, so Peter Jennings glosses over the fact that they killed 100 Taliban sympathizers yesterday (not necessarily soldiers mind you, just sympathizers).

It's all very confusing.

I'll get off my soapbox now. Anyone else want a go?

Robyn

"The Thing That Was Bad"

Everything's back on track again. The lovely phone people hooked the phone back up, and my computer decided to function normally again, so I can re-join the 21st century.

Otherwise, situation normal -- or as normal as one can ask for given the shenanigans and goings-on. Roommate Christine and I are tired of the euphemisms for September 11 ("the events," "the tragedy," "the bombing," when it wasn't really a bombing to begin with). We prefer to call it The Thing That Was Bad, and leave it at that.

Of course, we're both not sure that we've fully dealt with it yet. Our semi-flippant attitude may be an indication of some greater distress, which will probably rear its ugly head a few months from now in the form of a meltdown in the produce section of a British supermarket, causing much embarrassment to ourselves and many peas to be thrown about. Maybe all we need is to distance ourselves from it.

I have not yet been to Ground Zero (two miles south), and I'm not entirely sure whether it will help or hurt. It's not like I need to go see "proof" to assure myself of the reality of the situation. I saw (and smelled, and inhaled, and choked on) enough for that. But I do need to cross 3rd Street sometime before I leave. Bobby's coming up Thanksgiving weekend, so we'll try then.

On the upside of things, it looks like the country's returning to "normalcy" (a wonderful buzzword, might I add). Rather than jeopardize their "Survivor" and "Friends" ratings, CBS and NBC did not air Bush's comments to the CDC. Bless them for reminding us of what's really important. Or something.

Robyn

Technologically Stranded

You never really fully appreciate the benefits of the modern world until you're deprived of them.

Last night, my computer decided not to start and my phone went dead, leaving me with only a cell phone with a Philadelphia area code to defend myself. It may not be the biggest problem in the world, but it is a trifle unpleasant.

So if you've tried to reach me and wondered why I haven't called or e-mailed back, I apologize. I'm currently taking advantage of the lovely NYU Journalism lab facilities at every opportunity.

No phone, no computer, no microwave in the dorm -- it's kinda like pioneer days, without all the cholera. And with cell phones. And cable TV.

I guess it's not like pioneer days at all.

Talk to you soon, I hope.

Robyn

Froggy Funeral

Alas, a beloved member of our humble household here at Apt. C1-4B has passed on to that big lily pad in the sky.

Nikki's frog Mona was discovered this evening reposing at the bottom of her bathroom-situated fishbowl (Mona was moved to the bathroom after she started making noises like an electric razor, keeping Nikki and Arielle up).

Mona was three years old, which is a respectable froggy age. We're not quite sure if she was even a she, but we do know that she was a good, faithful frog.

She really looked funny lying at the bottom of the toilet before we flushed her.

Good night sweet Mona, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

Robyn