I can't adjust to this disgust, we're done, but I wish I could just stay.

New drink of choice: a side car. I had one years ago, at a cocktail party thrown by Andrew K. (you know who, wearemany) and hadn't had one since yesterday at lunch when I indulged on the company tab. I also had beef tenderloin, partly because I was hungry as hell and thought I deserved the extra three dollars on my entree. It was lacking. Not in taste, but in quantity. I do well with delicate food sometimes, but not when I'm ravenously hungry. I ended up polishing off the entire plate, then helping Slim eat her french fries.

Speaking of Slim, she commented on my t-shirt yesterday and we ended up having a long discussion on writing and novel-writing -- seems she's been working on a legal thriller for the past two years or so and has about 150,000 words but isn't done.

At lunch we were having a follow-up conversation from the previous staff gathering about people running for president and who we would vote for. Apparently, Slim and I are the only ones who would cast a ballot for Oprah Winfrey. One of my co-workers said she wouldn't, in part because she's a megalomaniac. Hello, isn't that the requirement for a good president? Anyway, at lunch yesterday I said anyone who disparages Oprah can only be a player-hater. Slim needed a definition.

We have an ongoing discussion about how I tease her about not really being from New York because she's unfamiliar with most of the slang coming out of my mouth. Yesterday, she explained to our new co-worker that I'm constantly saying things that she needs explaining, and then said "yeah, last week he used the phrase 'rolling with this enterprise' and I had no idea what THAT meant." I gave her a blank look, confused as to what she was talking about. Then I remembered.

Last Friday, three of us were headed out the back door after work on our way to see the Star Trek movie. I thought one of my friends was standing in the doorway of Slim's office discussing the evening's plans, so when I walked up to say goodbye, I asked if she was "rolling with this Enterprise", as in, is she boarding this train to go to a movie (but sense it was a Star Trek movie, I substituted the train imagery for the well-known spaceship). I explained this to Slim. She said, "oh, I think I didn't realize you were going to the Star Trek movie until after you made the comment. I thought it was another new slang phrase or hip hop lingo I didn't understand. Now I get it." She pauses. "Oh, that's really funny."

Thanks. I try.

Over here is the wall of pictures. You may recognize this guy from the Nobel Prize awards.....

I would say my favorite television show ever is MTV's Cribs, but that's not exactly true. It's just my favorite show to imagine I'm participating in, either because I'd like to be part of the crew who sees this person's house, or if I'm acting out like the MTV crew is getting a tour of my future home when I'm wildly or moderately rich and/or famous. Their selection of people on Cribs is sort of sketchy in the definition department.

For those who just woke up from a time capsule (and/or don't have cable), this show is 30 minutes long and they visit three people's homes. No one appears on camera except the famous person, with the possible exception of celebrity walk-ons. There's no host or prompter, though I'm sure they're told ahead of time to do such things open up the fridge and bounce on the bed and walk through the closet and dip their foot in the pool.

The show also appeals to me because I'm a voyeur. This is obvious since I'm on livejournal. My favorite livejournalers are the one's that share the most information, even if it's not scandalous or controversial. I love seeing into people's homes and imagining how they live in general -- when I go to parties or get invited over, I study the CD collection, the bathroom cabinet, what books on the bedside table, what they stick on the fridge. I love knowing about these tiny bits of someone's life that don't get revealed in casual conversation. I guess I'm a nosy snoop to some, but I never actually do anything with the information. I don't run around talking about the prozac in the cabinet or the vodka on the dresser or the cheap porn inside the entertainment center. Sometimes I even forget the salicious details right away and instead remember years later about their subscription to National Geographic.

I think about these things in my own home. I assume people might open my bathroom mirror and see my hormones and nail clippers and eyeglass cleaner and nail polishes. I assume they'll pick up the prescription bottle by the toothbrushes and wonder what Zocor is (it's a cholesteral medication). I assume not only will they examine my entire CD collection, but also they'll pay special attention to the ten discs sitting next to the stereo which are obviously the most recent things I've heard or with which I've been obsessed. I assume if I leave my computer on and my e-mail open, it will be read.

But somehow, I'm not sure any of these things happen. Maybe that's why I want to be on Cribs. Then I can hold things up and say, "see! See this! This is something I use! Isn't this process inane and boring but filled with common humanity? I find it fascinating, too."