September 1, 1999. Wednesday.
 

    So I'm here in lovely Park Slope, in Brooklyn, NY.  I've been moved into my apartment for about 12 hours now. But I'm still getting settled in.  The apartment is quite nice.  As Rick might say, "eh... Me likey..."   Anyway, I left home at about 8:30 am today, and of course i hit all sorts of traffic on Rt. 222 in PA.  So I was late meeting my prospective roommate Howard. I eventually found him at the front door of the building.  After parking my car, an annoying chore itself, i got into the apartment and started moving my shit in. There were still some guys here painting the place, but I just kept moving while Howard chatted it about with the guys about the neighborhood and real estate and New York City in general.  Then howard and I grabbed a bite at the sushi restaurant down the street, and I finished moving in. I also ordered a bed. From 1-800-MATTRES.  When I lived in DC, I'd always here their little jingle, sung by theses annoying Hanson-esque boys.  But boy, was it catchy. Berry and I used to sing it.  So I had absolutely no problem remember the number, even though it was missing an "S."  I even got them to gimme something of a discount. But when the bed showed up, I did't get the discount. I gotta sort that out tomorrow, which is really annoying.

    Anyway, after moving in, I hopped on over to the Village, where I had to go to the orientation program for new grad students.  I was a little edgy about it all morning, and I think at one point it actually made me sick to my stomach. But it wasn't too bad.  There's 90 other graduate Journalism students, but only 12 in my program.  After the orientation program, which was largely "Hooray for you! Hooray for us! Hooriay for NY!" I was actually kinda pyched to get started with classes. I really am kind of excited to see what this program is all about. Cos I kinda forgot. I've been so preoccupied with other things since almost the day I got into the program that I haven't really figured out what it is that I'll be doing.  The only disappointing thing about the orientation was the lousy food at the reception. Besides that, it was allright. I'm not too sure about the people in my program. But I shoudn't say too much, since I didn't even talk to them. That, and of course they may find this page someday.  The only person I talked to was this girl from France. I was just standing there eating my cheese, feeling a little awkward, as I normally do in these situations.  I guess she was suffering from the same thing, but decided to do something about it. the conversation was pleasant enough. I mentioned to her that my girlfriend,  Rodzilla, would soon be going to France, then I violently shook my fists at her, scring "Whch makes me  hate the French!"  She actually took that pretty well.  I normally wouldn't do that to a stranger from a far-off land, but she didn't seem like the type that would be offended by such a thing. Of course, she i probably set American  and Sino-Franco relations back a few years.  To hell with 'em, that's what i say. Yeah! take that, Frenchy  Where'd they be without us? We saved their butts in WWII.  They'd all be speaking German now otherwise.  Anyway, enough of that.
    So after that reception at NYU, i went over to see my old friend Jen Murphy. She's also newly enrolled at NYU.  It was really nice to see her. I hadn't talked to her since before the whole blowout with Berry.  we emailed a few times, but never really discussed anything.  Anyway, she's living in the beautiful building in the Financial District, near Wall Street.  When I first went into the building, I thought I was in the wrong place. Well, actually, the first building that I went into was the wrong place. But the building she actually lived in was really too nice.  I couldn't believe it. There are two revolving doors in the front, and a doorman who just stands there, and when someone approaches the doors, he starts revoloving them.  The point it, it's a really nice place. Nice kitchen, great bathroom, lotsa closet space. The worst part about it is her microwave. For some reason, I can't seem to operate any microwave built after 1994. For some reason, the every manufacturer of microwave ovens in the world decided that the "cook time" button was completey unecessary.  On my microwave at home, I just press "Time," then the time I want, then "start."  simple. Now, they've go things like "Express," where you just hit the "1" or the "4" or whatever, and it'll cook for as many minutes as the number you hit. But you can't type in 32 seconds. Even worse, the 7,8, and 9 buttons seem completely superflous.  You can't use them for the "Express' function. So obviously, we're missing something here, because there's got to be a way to make this thing do 14 seconds or 7 minutes. Anyway, it's  befuddling and frustrating, and it makes me feel dumb and old.
    Well, it's late, and I'm all grumpy now. I'm gonna go to bed.
 

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