Wednesday, July 28, 2004

Jaws of life

Very little happens when you are between paychecks, for money makes the world go round, and keeps you flush with starchucks mocha light frapuccinos and "souvenirs" of your day's travels, which is how I like to think of all the random and by-and-large unneccesary miscellany I tend to buy every time I leave my apartment. Did I need sushi stationery? No. Did I buy some anyway? Of course. It was there. Since last week's adventures, I have had to pay student loans, alas, which means I've had to entertain myself on the cheap since last Tuesday. It shouldn't be so hard in this city, since there are plenty of other broke-ass folk and broke-ass folk sympathizers--er, purveyors of culture--to drum up free or cheap activities: Shakespeare in the Park (check), NY Philharmonic in the park (check), First Saturdays at the Brooklyn Museum (check) . Since I had already worked my way through those options, I had to get more creative with this last week's jollies. So far I have scammed a discount admission to the Met through use of my old student ID card (I am ghetto enough to scam a discount, but not so ghetto as to refuse to pay at least some of the "suggested" admission price. I would be too ashamed, and paranoid enough to think the guards were radioing to each other as I approached each new exhibit: "The cheap heiffer's coming, look out, she might try to pocket a Louis XV necessaire." Then again, have you seen those things? Some of them are the isht. If Diddy gets a look, you know they'll be making a comeback, and next season it'll be all about the Sean John platinum engraved grooming kit. But I digress.) And the lie-berry is always the hook-up. But I have finally surrendered to the wave of peer- and media-pressure that is the Netflix revolution. For two weeks I get movies delivered free to my door. Well, to my building mailroom, at least, since my mailman refuses to believe I live there and leaves my very clearly addressed letters sitting out on the refuse counter with question marks written all over it despite the fact that I put my name on the box in his presence and we are about to have words....but anyway, 'til next week, it's free. 'Course, come next week they'll take $22 a month from my bank account unless I cancel, but we'll see how much I likes it, first. Netflix is nice. And so is Maxilla & Mandible, the nifty store I discovered near the American Museum of Natural History, where the bio/geo/paleo/entomo geek can satisfy almost any "I must own latinized dead things" whim. (451 Columbus, between 81st and 82nd. If you feel the need to casually drop words like "ungulate," "coleoptera," or, for that matter, maxilla or mandible, you will like this place. I do. Nothin' says lovin' like a gift of dead beetles in a box. Mmmmmm, shiny.) So go there, if you have a chance, preferably with small children, and see if the clerk will still buzz you in. Oh, that's the other thing, you have to be buzzed in. 'Cause if I was a coked-up armed-robber on the UWS, I would hit the skull-and-stones store first. Wouldn't you? All those uncut hunks of chalcedony might be worth some serious green on the black market. Anyway, they do have a small selection of dead creatures (ladybugs, scorpions, spiders, beetles, etc.) cast in lucite (bangles, key-chains, rings, etc.) for the fashion-minded, but somehow things like that make me very sad. I would much rather have a pretty replica, perhaps crafted from precious metals and sparkly stones. Anyone know where to find things like that? Want to buy me some?


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