WANT NOT, WASTE SOME

Since Sam and thecomicman both came down with a mysterious illness simultaneously, K. and I went to see "The Aviator" instead.

Actually, we had Indian food for dinner, then went to see the movie. And I almost ruined the entire night by obsessing about WASTE.

See, my major thing today was to visit a former professor at NYU during his office hours. This professor, who will remain nameless, enthusiastically agreed to write a recommendation letter for me, sometime around mid-November. I dropped off a packet of papers, forms, and other info two weeks later. The man has had two months to write the letter for me, and despite regular phone messages and e-mails from me urging him on in his letter-writing process, it turns out that HE DIDN'T WRITE THE LETTER.

The letter must be in by next Friday. All the professors have been out for the last month on winter break, of course, so today was his first day of office hours for Spring 2005. I showed up at his office at 3:45 pm, fifteen minutes before his office hours start. 4:00, he's still not there. 4:15, still not there. 4:45, I'm still waiting.

By 5:00, the professor's still not in. He played hookey for his own office hours! Now, I don't go back to NYU very often, and I would rather have spent this afternoon doing other stuff than making the trip to campus, and waiting in vain. I skulked away feeling like I wasted the entire afternoon. This probably had something to do with walking away empty-handed and great worried. But nonetheless, I had the shadow of WASTE looming over me.

So then I met K. and we bought tickets to see "The Aviator." Then we ducked into a restaurant for Indian food. You readers will be happy to know that I didn't waste time eating Indian cuisine, only money. That's right, I really should have known the rules of ordering food there.

See, I figured I was only allowed one starch, either the flat bread called "nan" (?) or white rice. When the guy behind the counter asked me if I wanted both, I assumed I was substituting an extra starch for a vegetable dish. Then he asked me if I wanted some cabbage cooked with potato. I thought, "Oh. Maybe they sell by weight." I asked only for a little of the cabbage, and in hindsight, I shouldn't have let him pile on so much. Finally, I added a bottle of water to my order, but that's okay because I've been using the last bottle for more than a week.

The grand total for the dinner: Over $9.00! I honestly thought the guy had charged me and K. together, and said as much. "That's for both of us, right?" But it wasn't. It was only MY food. You know, I really hate ordering food anywhere I can't just point to a color photo with a corresponding number. Why couldn't that place have been more like McDonalds? "I'll just have the number 3, but supersize the white rice." Still, I will admit that their chicken masala was good, and not too spicy.

So I spent a few bucks more than I expected for a meal. Or should I say, I WASTED a few bucks more? You could say I was preoccupied. The entire walk over to the theater, I kept thinking Waste waste waste. So much waste today. Time. Money. Waste. Nothing got done. I doubtlessly mentioned some of these feelings of waste to K., which probably got on her nerves after a while.

Luckily, we saw "The Aviator," a great movie about a man (Howard Hughes) with real problems in his head. Hughes had his share of obsessions and phobias, and while his phobias ultimately crippled him, his obsession with building perfect planes saved him from men who wanted to bankrupt his airline.

I felt happy as I left the movie with K. Hughes' story made me wonder if my obsessions about wasting time, money, the future, could seem sick, but ultimately be my salvation. If not, well, at least I'm not going to the bathroom into empty milk bottles.