Mon
Jul
28
Cool things via BBook this week:
- Bubbly Q tonight. That would be a champagne-cum-bbq party at ICON.
- Diesel Black Gold line debuts tomorrow, checking it out at 11:30.
- INTERVIEWING THE KILLS ON THURSDAY. Translation: my dreams are coming true. Now I’m just waiting for that phone call from Jimmy Page telling me Zep only wants to reunite if I’ll be their roadie… —AG
Plus the awesome sounding barbecue that Cayte has arranged for us this Thursday!
Cyclists in this city piss me off in a way I’ve not encountered elsewhere. They assume all the rights and privileges of cars, driving in the road and keeping pedestrians from scurrying past the DON’T WALK sign. Fine, they are vehicles, they should do what other vehicles do.
BUT then they think they’re entitled to all the rights of pedestrians as well! They won’t just stop at the red light like a car, and they certainly won’t wait for those of us on our feet to cross when we have the right of way. “No turn on red” means nothing to these guys. I can’t count the times I’ve had to jump out of the way—no easy feat when any way you turn there are cars—because some biker is haphazardly wobbling around the bend into MY green light crosswalk.
You think you’re entitled to special treatment because your means of transportation is eco-friendly? Guess what, buddy, so is mine. And I can do it in heels. —AG
Last week for a lot of us. Weird. —AG
Fri
Jul
25
Hello Interns,
I’ve finally nailed down our intern appreciation, end of summer extravaganza. It will be a catered BBQ dinner on a beautiful roof in the West Village. It will be held on THURSDAY, JULY 31st at 534 Hudson Street.
I will have more information to follow, but please clear your schedule!
-Cayte-
Thu
Jul
24
One of the expectations of being an “entertainment writer” is everyone expects you to know every lyric from every Bob Dylan or Patti Smith song and have every shitty indie album hyped by Pitchfork. Not to mention know who the hottest new directors and actors are and have read every book by Chuck Palahniuk or Hunter S. Thompson and know who the fuck Lauren Conrad is and watch every episode of Gossip Girl…. phew! And that’s the easy part. I could even go onto the more obscure names, release dates, meaningless trivia, etc.
I have over 4,300 songs in my iTunes library which apparently translates out to 11.4 days worth of music if I were to play all of my songs continuously… AND THAT’S NOT EVEN CLOSE TO WHAT I WISH MY MUSIC COLLECTION WAS. Shit. So much media, so little time.
Sometimes I find myself wanting to be a proverbial sponge of all of this information, then I’m reminded sometimes getting to know your real friends is all you really need. Yup, sappy indeed.
— KATIE PARKER
update: L and I tried the Flash Power. N told us it had been sent to the office for free and is fair game. You should all try it during your afternoon slumps! Our verdict?
It smells like Red Bull, but tastes like a hugely improved version of it. It tastes less artificially sweet, and more like it has natural flavors. Is that actually the case? Fuck if I know. But it doesn’t make my teeth feel like they’re rotting out, and it tastes more like fruit juice cocktail with sprite than anything.
I actually do feel perked up a bit, too, and that’s coming from the girl who has been caught double-fisting her morning espressos on more than one occasion.
And, if you’re lookin’ for a good time, the company actually lists a cell phone number on the can. Welcome to the new millenium, ladies and gents. —AG
What is Flash Power energy drink?
It looks like the office won a life-time supply. Is it good? Are we interns allowed to try one of the million cans in the kitchen?
And where are you guys—someone other than me please post!
—AG
Wed
Jul
23
Don’t worry, OG Res—we couldn’t remember last semester’s frat parties if you paid us.
One:
Chronologically, it means that I’m older than dirt. It means that I have to strain to remember the frat parties and mixers I attended back when I was in undergrad, when I walked to class—barefoot, uphill, both ways, in the snow. I drown in a wave of nostalgia when I hear the others talk about the ragers awaiting them when they return to their colleges and universities. I can’t even remember the last time I puked at a party and while it’s probably best to remain oblivious of my drunkenness, I’m certain it involved too many gulps of warm Jose Cuervo straight from the handle. I now lack the gumption to partake in libations in that manner. Now, my tequila shots are slung back in dim bars, over-priced, chilled and dressed.
Two:
Professionally, I’m starting over. The hours spent in a dank o-chem lab during my collegiate years isn’t going to land me a cush job writing for a publication, but maybe—just maybe—an internship at Blackbook can boost my resume to hiring standards.
Three:
Financially, I’m broke as a joke. My wallet is weightless. My bank account is as dry Britney’s va-jay-jay. I’ve borrowed enough money from Sallie Mae to buy a small island or support a tribe of malnourished children. What’s my life going to be like after my grace period is up and I have to make ghastly monthly loan payments. Will I even have a life? Maybe I’ll work three jobs, or four. How many hours are there in a week? Sleeping is for sissies anyway; you can sleep when you die.
I do, however, remind myself that grad school is an investment. Just like cutting coasters was time well spent. It’s going to help me in the long run. I’m gonna make it rain, once I land that cush job; and I’m not talking about water either. It’s gonna rain Benjamins, baby.
—Resalin
