OTAS, you found it

I’m feeling I’m falling further and further out of touch with people lately. I rarely speak to friends from back home, am horrible about getting back to people when they call, and when I do all I want to do is get the Reader’s Digest version. . . “Yea, that’s great. Do you want to go out for a drink?” Imagine my embarrassment when I was told their dog just died. “Oh, sorry. Yea, I’m insensitive, yea, but shit; I got problems of my own.”

Speaking of which, I seem to have gotten the mouse situation under control. After my rodent genocide, having carpenters come in to fill holes and put in new wall board, a massive poisoning of the walls, threatening letters to my landlord, etc., etc., I can say that it seems – for the time being – are under control. Not a sign for quite some time now.

But what threw me over the edge was a letter from my landlord explaining “offering” a lease renewal AND AN INCREASED RENT. You can imagine my reaction: LIVID. I believe the words “slap across the face” and “absurd” were used a number of times in my subsequent conversations with them.

But all is peaceful now. I think.

Had some houseguests last weekend. . . someone I went to Georgetown with. He happened to have brought his girlfriend (incidentally, my old TA) Olena with him. So it was a painful trip down memory lane before finally heading downtown to a fusion Sushi-Brazilian restaurant, then to Rose’s Turn.

Now I drink. All of you know that. So when I tell you I have no idea how much I had that night, you know even I was in rare form. We stayed out until 5am. It was an act of God that got us home in one piece.

Saturday was a wash. I didn’t leave the apartment.

Summer in the city. God help

I have to say that work is really something else. I’ve not been blogging about it because the situation there has bordered on the absurd for so long that it’s difficult for even me to believe.

For the most part, the universe of this company revolves around the CEO, the one who hired, me and all his eccentric tendencies. For example, I found that we have a major recruiting problem by looking at attrition rates immediately after hire and suggested the solution of an “emotional” test to identify if people are cut out for our harsh environment and the collections business. So I brought in a bunch of existing EQ tests to his office.

Me: Here are the leading EQ tests that exist today that we can purchase for our exam.

He begins to leave through the pages of questions without saying a word to me. Finally he breaks the silence:

Him: “Matt, have you ever gotten a bouquet from a European florist?”

I being to answer before being immediately cut off (and realizing it was a rhetorical question).

Me: “Actually, I. . . .”

Him (interrupting): “Let me tell you what the flowers are like. There hundreds of flowers, dozens of varieties, shades. They are large and varied.”

Me: “Okay, um. . . “

Him (interrupting): “Have you ever gotten a bouquet from a Japanese florist?”

Me: “Well, um. . . “

Him (interrupting): “There is no such thing as a bouquet in Japan. Because there’s only one fucking flower. The perfect flower. Find me the Japanese solution!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Him: “Give me that one fucking question that opens to key to their soul; one fucking question.”


A low-pressure job, that’s what I love about working in New York.

Dear God, what happened to my nice cushy government job.

The greats in the operatic world seem to be dropping like flies. Tebaldi died two years ago, Nilsson, and now it appears Pavarotti has, if not left, been given his hat.

Pavarotti Has Pancreatic Cancer, which basically means he's going to die in a year or so. My God, he was really something -- the most famous of the Three Tenors, he had a beautiful voice that could reach the stratosphere. As a member of the orchestra recalls:

"As a violinist in the pit, I heard Luciano Pavarotti belt out those high C's in his 1972 debut in Donizetti's ''Fille du Régiment'' at the Metropolitan Opera and almost fell off my chair.
Even my jaded old European colleagues were ecstatic and raved (in three languages) about his sheer power, lush tone and flawless intonation.

If you are unfamilar with opera, check out the Met's website, which still has has a recording of him as Pagliacci, the pitiful clown who discovers his wife to be unfaithful (just listen to the music).

Fat? Yes. Lazy? Yes. But it matters little the second the first note is hit: The drama is in the music.

For as bad as my romantic squabbles may be, at least my house is still here. Leave it to my fellow man to upstage my altercations.

If you haven't heard the story, a guy blew up his house here on the Upper East Side --with him in it-- to prevent his wife from getting part of it in a divorce settlement. Now that's a bad break up.

What's wrong with these people!

My romantic roller coaster continues. After a rather dramatic Friday night I find myself single again. My problem: I cannot seem to find someone right. Passive-aggressive doesn’t work with me. And after a day of irritation on Friday, I’d had enough. And when we went out for a couple of drinks, I exploded.

“Can I just give you my ten cents?” Rob said. “I knew it wouldn’t work from the first day. He’s too needy” He’s right. In my defense, it’s difficult to see the forest through the trees. More and more I realize that falling in love with love is playing the fool.

It’s weird not having someone around all the time. He was so imbedded into my life for this last couple of months. He practically lived here, for God’s sake. The sex was great. Now it’s gone. I can’t help but think that I made a mistake, at least momentarily. In the long-run, it was for the best. It was, at the end of the day, simply a bad match.

“I see you more with Max than him.” Rob said. God, if he only knew. But at least Max had a spine.

Other than that, nothing else is going on. Work is weird as hell. I’ve been working with mathematics and economics professors from Columbia on a number of problems. I have to say this work is more interesting than anything I did at Mercer. . . the problems in this business are totally fascinating: Real mind-fucks.

And the mice problem still continues. It’s getting kinda fun killing them, though: A battle of will that I’m determined to win. Great. . . $2,100 a month for an apartment with a mouse problem. Only in New York.

Well the romance that seemed to be over is now back on. We've decided to work through our issues. Which, actually, aren't that big. It's funn about dating and love, it really test who you think you are and what you can tolerate.

And god knows, I'm not exactly a paragon of tolerance.

I you're thinking that I don't know what the hell I'm doing: that's absolutely right. But does anyone really know what they're doing when it comes to matters of the heart? I doubt it (I certainly don't know of any.) There comes a time to no be so judgemental and work things out.

Did I just say that?!

OMG: My God, my parents are going to be here in two hours. Gotta get going. First, a drink!