Listography, OR Disjointed Thoughts from the Week of 6/11

Things I’ve learned so far: I’m very bad at guessing the weights of plates of food, so I can never control the price of my lunch at the office cafe. I can’t copywrite about jewelry for shit. I live in a neighborhood full of hipsters with their PBR. In all of Manhattan, there are only two Kmarts. And apparently no Targets and no Walmarts. There really isn’t such thing as total privacy in an ensuite bathroom shared by two dorm rooms. If you’re Asian and you go out to dinner with an Asian friend, the waitress will assume the two of you are siblings. There is apparently no limit to the amount of people who can be crammed into a tiny space. ‘No Honking’ signs at an intersection do not, in fact, help discourage honking.

Seen and overheard on the streets and in the subway these past few days: A street performer (juggler?) telling a passerby in Central Park in a pensive but urgent manner, “Looking at you, I think you could  be a great man.” Adorable, well-dressed gay couples in Greenwich Village. NOT Miranda Kerr, even though she was in West Village at the same time I was. Fewer than four parking lots total. A fabulously preppy couple strolling through Central Park carrying Brooks Brothers bags. A giant British flag flying on Fifth Avenue. Too many people who look like old classmates of mine. Two stick-thin girls looking at pizza in a restaurant, talking about how they were getting full simply by staring at it (they left without eating a single bite). A guy rushing past me in a Princeton polo shirt (woot — school pride) on West 33rd.

Currently on heavy rotation: “Momentary Sanctuary” by Official Secrets Act. “Woke Up New” by The Mountain Goats. “Mother Nature” by Hurts.


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