IM Logging and other Waves of the Future

A familiar scene in movies and books goes like this: an old woman unwraps stacks of letters tied with string, triggering a flashback. Variations have intruders upon an expired person's estate coming upon these brief snippets of someone's life and piecing them together.

Tonight I did a Google desktop search for a paper I wrote in college, wanting to recall its title ("The suburbs as a site for deviance and criminality" for my television class Junior year, Laura that is for you). That was the fourth hit. Before that, I discovered thirteen months of IMs logged between an old 'lovah' (do I want to call him that? only in this context.) and myself.

To read through months of contact in minutes was odd. I could barely recognize myself in the words I wrote - could not remember the reasons I apologized for being away from the computer for so long; did not recall the ennui I described experiencing over my winter break. At times I seem posturing, other times I revel in my biting wit or astonished with my ability to be mean and nonchalant.

What put me in that ambivalently sentimental mood even more was not reading between the lines in the conversations, but trying to fill in the gaps between the conversations. Unanchored by text, I have only wispy recollections of what occurred between these conversations, and a sense that what happened was both worth remembering and much too painful (in that shallow, angsty way) to bother. At times our attitudes toward each other change in tandem, as we both respond to some particular event, but other times our conversation remains the same, even as I remember a marked change in our standing with each other. College was an intense blur - parties then studying then parties, so much fun yet so stressful at the same time.

I find it interesting that after centuries (millenniums!) of letters being the primary personal record left behind, AIMs are coming into the equation - I personally started logging my AIMs so I could remember what it would be like at X age, in case I ever wanted to write something about this time period. There's definitely some incriminating content on those logs. I'm sure should I ever get famous or some nonsense like that, what I wrote would quite possibly be the downfall of my career (full disclosure: I have never hired a prostitute a la Spitzer), but I think that would be the result of whatever I've written getting miscontrued and blown out of proportion, not because I would have done something truly reprehensible. So I can sleep at night. In fact, that's what I'll do right now, sore throat and post-nasal drip notwithstanding...

Ze Weekend + Ze Week

Friday night I stayed in. I guess the week was a little too much for me. I ate delicious food and watched TV and went to sleep, all rested up to run my million errands the next day.

Saturday night Jess and I went out. As usual, we stayed too long in her apartment drinking and taking silly pictures of ourselves (and looking at MY blog). At midnight, we were shocked to be rejected from Bar Martignetti, where Jess hoped to find yet another one of those gorgeous preppy boys they keep on the shelves there.

The one bouncer Jess was friends with said he would get us in but then this another owner-looking fellow came out. Another couple had just approached, and he looked up and down at the guy before saying, "nuh-uh. not in those jeans." The guy was wearing medium-wash jeans. I thought that was kind of hilarious so 'private parties' be damned.

Made the rounds to Gatsby's, Sweet and Vicious (always too crowded), the place across the street from Sweet and Vicious (that I really like and we got to go in when other people were being rejected).

We went to Shark Lounge, where some random guy started talking to Jess. I was kind of bored, so I made her not reject him :) . Turns out they worked in sales/account team for some internet companies (I think Microsoft for one). Since I work with Sales Reps all the time I got really excited and made them answer all these questions about commission structure. We had just made a budget cut at work and some people got really grumpy with us and others not at all, so I was wondering about their commissions.

Turns out often 60% of salary is guaranteed, 40% is if you meet your quota, then you can go above that. Other times, you work with base salary + straight commission (7%). These are two examples.

Meanwhile, we went to Firefly Lounge, which Jess had previously refused to go since they are right below their apartment and frequently play loud music. They bought us more drinks and the guy was effing BALLROOM dancing with me, doing dips (which I had never done before but according to Mr. Twinkle Toes I was quite the dipper). It was so bizarre. Someone must have had a party there with glow stick necklaces, so we put them on our head hipster-style. We finished off the night by finally ditching those guys and going over to Gatsby's for last call.

I hopped on the 6, caught it IMMEDIATELY! (a miracle at 4am). The L was not going to happen (I checked) so I walked home from Union Square. It snowed lightly.

At home I did a little Raid Parade to kill all those nocturnal bugs that crawl out of our kitchen drain (I was kind of giggly and drunk and felt like I was playing a video game)

Sunday? Did I do anything? I think I went grocery shopping and went to PinkBerry. I bought a rotisserie chicken at the grocery store, among other half baked ideas. I am a terrible grocery shopper, I buy everything that's on sale.