skin, pine, and pitt

so today i am going to talk about facials.
do you ever get facials?
do you think they're an imperative part of your regime and if so, do you think your face will curl up like a sunbaked orange peel if you don't?
i have two theories on facials.
one part of me is like anyone who rubs four different kinds of fancy lotions on their face for a whole hour in a counter-and-counter-clockwise movement will leave the bathroom feeling like WOW my skin is softer than it was an hour ago!
the other part of me believes something totally different, but only when i am given a gift certificate to a spa. suddently i'm like WTF was i thinking? these are totally CRITICAL! especially when i am lying there in the dark and they turn the fluorescent light on your face and run their index finger judgingly over your pores and you think about all the times you got crispy in puerto rico.

anyway, i woke up stupid late for my appointment at great jones spa. it was a gift certificate, as discussed. i need to talk about great jones spa. as you can imagine they are on great jones street, but also, they are great! they are very accomodating because i was 15 minutes late and they didn't glare or throw an organic cleanser in my face! and i didn't even have to make up an excuse. the spa smells like a swimming pool beause maybe there is a swimming pool on the premises unless there is a soy candle on the market called "chlorine." the flip flops were soft, unlike the ones at cornelia, and made my feet look nicer cause they covered up my ugly toes. they only use naturopathica and jurlique products and jurlique makes my favorite lotions in the world, so that was an added bonus. the only bad part was when she put cookie batter on my face - oatmeal raisin to be precise - and that's not cool. she said it was "pumpkin lotion" and she looked at me and i looked at her and we had a moment. people should get their xmas cookies done at home, not on the job. one highlight was when she put this mask on my face and then massaged my hands with a warm lotion and put them into these plastic gloves and covered the gloves with a hot terry glove. at the end, she told me i have combination skin which i gather is very rare, and that i'd be MUCH better off with the entire line of products she used. i was so sure.

it really was a nice experience though, and my skin looks clear like it would look if you washed your face five times in one day and smeared vaseline on it and of course i am convinced i need to go back every two weeks, so i'll be needing a lot of gift certificates. you can just make them out to my name and send them to me in the post. that would be great, thank you.

since i'm on vacation, i did a bunch of other things that are not very thrilling to report, although i will tell you i was probably the most christian jew on the block today because i bought a 3-footish christmas tree and carried it four blocks and when i got to the apartment, my fingers were sticky. i imagine lovers of christ know how to get sap off their hands, and also not to buy net lights because that is borderline reta$@#%ed. why did i buy net lights and why do they sell net lights anyway? on the package, it shows a woman throwing them on a bed of pine. we're in manhattan, who has a bed of balsam? and if you do, please call me immediately so i can come hang out in your huge plot of land. i will bring you my LOVE TRAIN.

finally, at the gym today, there were four or nine people, ranging from a brooding NYU kid in a tragic fluorescent American Apparel ensemble, to an ancient bespectacled man whose t-shirt was tucked into his sweatpants, and amazingly we were all watching the same program (because yes, i stalk people to see what they're watching and then i judge them based on those decisions). it was brad pitt on PBS. what does that say about the power of brad pitt? or the unfortunate reality that is daytime television?

who cares.

good night and good luck.

Candyland

YO! gingerbread making was fun. i made a love train. jess made an airplane, maya made a sex house, and meg made a house with a reflecting pool. i think next year we may do an animal theme.






i learned 11 things during the house-making that i didn't know before:

1- graham crackers are the best substitution for gingerbread and you don't have to bake them.
2- trans fats make phenomenal binders, so use vanilla pillsbury frosting because it sticks to your grahams and your arteries.
3- you may have chest pains the next day.
4- it's better not to eat it while you're making it.
5- you may have an obscenely bad stomach ache.
6- you need a lot of time.
7 - you may get competitive. it can get ugly.
8- you need to listen to really bad christmas music, like "mommy's shoes," on a lite-FM station.
9- you need to get really emotional when a josh groban song comes in, but not mean it.
10- don't mean it.
11- no matter how badly you want to eat it the next day, and all of the candy that you didn't use, try not to or you will repeat numbers 3 and 5.

anyways, sorry for being a weirdo. we had a tremendous time. and jessie is the best host from the west to the east coast. the highlight was when she gave us these gold and silver grillz and we took an obnoxious amount of pictures because we were all into it. maya is sending ones of us tomorrow, so i'll post more then. what's weird is that i honestly thought we looked kind of amazing with them. it could just be me.



it is probably just me.

the second best part of the night was when buzz's sister made an appearance. for those of you who don't know Buzz, he is a large stuffed animal that creepily came onto the scene a few years ago. he doesn't have nipples and he scares me. every year at thanksgiving or xmas, he makes an appearance. well this year, maria found his sister and it was an equally traumatic experience.



and finally, this has nothing to do with the weekend, but check out this sky that we enjoyed from our office on friday. it looks like someone took a giant eraser to the clouds. strange and beautiful.


ps - screw inside out junior mints. my new obsession is mint eminems. i'm beside myself over them.

little boxes

i'm going to jessie's tonight for our annual holiday domestic sleepover and this time we are making gingerbread houses.
i am in charge of the dec-a-cake. someone told me red dec-a-cake is elves blood, do you think that's true? that would suck. do you think their blood is the same type as ours? because that would be great if you ever needed a transfusion you could just show up at the hospital with a case of dec-a-cake. it's not really funny but deep down you kind of think it is.

there is nothing better than girlfriends because you can put on elastic waisted pants, get frosting in your hair, and they will still like you alright. that's how you know a true friend from a falsie. like yesterday at work, i put a large narrow cardboard box on my hand and when peter walked by, i held it out and he high-oned me and acted like it was totally normal that i had a box hand.

"hey narnia."

"hey. if my hand really looked like this, would you still be my friend?"

"yes."

"really?"

"it's cool. i wish you always had a box hand."

he didn't say that last part but i know he was thinking it. or maybe he did.

it's hard to say.

tick

do you like watches? no, i mean, do you REALLY like watches? i like watches so much that i don't even wear one because i can't afford the one i really want and i probably won't ever be able to, so i may never wear one. but i will always admire them. from afar. which one do i want? about five of them. which one do you want? they are beautiful and complicated. look at this one here. spectacular. i am starting to sound like david byrne in the film "true stories," so i will stop. i just got back from an A. Lange & Sohne luncheon at le bernadin, and while we didn't get a watch, we ate, in one sitting, olive bread, foie gras, sea bass, and a creamy mushroomy brothy saucy kind of pasta. i actually didn't eat the foie gras because i don't like foie gras and the manager came over in the middle of the meal and looked really horrified by me and sort of turned towards me with a scowl and then looked away and then cleared the plate and looked up at the sky. it was awkward. on the way out, they gave us a box of chocolates because we definitely needed more food. but i would kill for one of their watches. did i already say that?

feelin fine

here is a picture of the cookies. do you like them? our family hanukkah party was sunday and it was super fantastic. and big. there are so many little munchkins running around these days, banging on pianos, walking on those cans attached to ropes (remember those? only now they're not cans, they're foam cushions, cause everything is safer unless it's got lead in it or it's from china, so mostly everything is not safer). we did a grooming closet cleanout the other week, so i brought up lots of lotions and creams and gels, etc. and everyone got really into it. my mother put the terra cotta menorah that julie and i made when we were little on top of the fireplace and we ate latkes and brisket and roast chicken and i could go on for an hour about the food but i won't.

yesterday, i was buying my breakfast at work and the woman at the register asked me how i'm doing.
"a bit under the weather," i answered.
as i was pouring my soy milk, i thought about this expression some more.
"under the weather."
it doesn't make much sense, does it? we're all technically below the weather, unless we're flying Jet Blue to Vegas through an ominous pile of cumulonimbus. who knows. maybe they mean, like, it's sleeting and you're below it? also, who even says "under the weather" anyway?? it's kind of rude. the woman at the checkout doesn't need to hear about my problems, she's got her own. just say you're fine and BRING IT IN!

but anyway. since i can't let it go, and since these are the things i think about throughout the day, i googled it and here is what i found:

UNDER THE WEATHER:
Colloquial expression for sick or ill as, for example, to be under the weather with the flu. The phrase "under the weather" came from British sailing ships. When a sailor became ill he was confined below deck out of the weather, so it was said that he was under the weather.

see you on deck very soon!

THE DOLLAR IS WEAK AND THEIR BAGS ARE HEAVY

the europeans have descended on fifth avenue, a swarm of fedoras, fur, and cigarettes, their wet j.m. weston footprints branded onto the avenue like cigar stubs in a dunhill ashtray. jovial, whiskered men in long double-breasted polo coats pause outside bergdorf goodman while their frosted, coyote-trimmed wives walk up to the windows and sigh, overwhelmed by the possibilities, reminding me of what it must have felt like to be an american in paris in 1984. when the stuff was cheap; when you could actually afford it. it's been so long since i've visited, and it will be so long until i go again.

but let's not dwell.

i mean jesus christo, i aint' starvin'. i just ate two cupcakes at an office birthday party. sometimes duncan hines is better than the real thing. sometimes.

anyway, do you like salmon?
CLICK HERE

it's cold and there are robots

so i stayed in tonight because the pavement is shivering and i think i just heard a pigeon cry, so i made some of this hot chocolate which - and i HATE to sound pushy - but you really need to be drinking it if you're not, because it will make you feel warm and light even though it's filled with fat. so i curled up with the latest issue of Oprah [insert joke here]* and there was a story about deja vu and how it is not really that you are in some kind of twilight zone or lived in a past life, but in fact, you likely have done something similar before. are you surprised? do you believe in past lives? i don't, but even if i did, i wouldn't say so, because then we would see each other at parties or in barnes and noble next sunday pretending to buy fiction even though we are buying self help, and you would go, "oh yeah, see that girl with heels that are too high? she believes she was important in a past life." i'll just say that i want to believe in them so that i can pretend that i was really somebody, you know? wouldn't it be great to find out that you were super important?

i have another thing to say. i was on an appointment at around 3:00 today, and i was talking to a PR woman about how there are all of these cashmere airplane sets that you can buy now, like a kit that comes with a face mask, slippers, and a throw and it's super luxe but we both decided that that is a retarded thing to buy yourself unless you're christina aguilera or you have three first names or one of your names has a symbol in it, so i told her to tell my boss that i'd like it, and she said No.

so then at 4:00, i received a gift and do you know what was inside? a monogrammed kit! exactly what we had discussed, minus the slippers. isn't that ridiculous? if i received this gift three months from now, it would feel like deja vu, but since the events happened one hour apart, it was just really fucking cool and my name isn't even P!NK.

and finally, did you see this thing in the news about the robot that can play the violin? he's five feet tall, white and, according to CNN, "plays a pretty solid pomp & circumstance." so basically every child in my building.



*isn't it obnoxious when people write that?

Non Stop

heyfolks. do you ever have a day where you didn't plan on a particularly good outfit but once you got to work, people seemed to really like it, whereas on other days, you think that what you're wearing is a smash hit but it's not so sensational with anyone except yourself?

here is a conversation that took place in my fashion closet this morning between me, two interns, and our fashion assistant mike.

Intern A: "nina, your outfit today is NON STOP."

Me: "what?"

Intern A: "NON STOP."

Me: "that actually doesn't make any sense."

Intern B: "he's trying to make Non Stop happen."

Intern C: "but we don't really understand."

Me: "oh. but i'm queen of not making sense."

Mike: "yeah, she makes things up all the time that no one gets. like TIDAN."

Me: "exactly."

Intern A: "oh cool. basically it just means that it's so good that it's non stop."

Me: "like one long flight."

Intern A: "no."

Silence

i love my interns. i do. they're young and eager and bubbly and easily-excitable. and while i don't miss being an intern, i miss being their age, when you could say things like "i'm gonna go to europe. kick it. maybe take an art course. do some light reading. visit my aunt. eat a baguette." now it's all so heavy. literally. have you felt the weight of my handbag? my cab fares were $400 last month. that's like eight pounds in receipts. roughly the weight of a newborn child. did you hear me? the receipts in my bag ARE THE SIZE OF A BABY BOY NAMED ABRAHAM.

last weekend, i read this article in the NYT about a lounge opening in west chelsea called "1 OAK." have you heard about it? yeah? i'm sure you eventually did, after you wrestled your significant other or cat for it because it's jumping off THAT much. it's basically NYC's "dream team" (gagging) of nightclub owners uniting (choking) on one project and pretending that it is any different because they operate on "velvet egalitarianism" (i can't breathe) at the door, where "people will have to earn their way past the ropes" (call 911) "with an appealing personal style or disposition." (i died). i can only assume this means if, oh i don't know, heidi klum arrives, and she's in front of me and i feel that she's not turning it out, i can and WILL suggest that they don't let her in because she's not NON STOP and i am because my intern said so. sure. anyway, the point of this is not about the club which, may i add, DOES need to TIDAN, it's about the fact that while i was reading the article, i realized - holy shit - i'm old. the lounges they cited, like Life and Moomba, were hot almost 10 years ago, but it feels like last year, and if i mentioned them, my interns would think i'm referencing a dance step. now i'd rather stay at home, watch hitchcock, and bake. no, seriously. NO. SERIOUSLY. the last two weekends i made these and then i baked and decorated, YES, DECORATED christmas cookies. i'm a jew, but i appreciate christ, and i even made a menorah and used yellow M&M's for the flames.

happy hanukkah, l'chaim, shalom, mazeltov. amen.

oh, one last thing. i forgot to mention - if you're at a loss for what to get me for the festival (of lights), i wouldn't mind grace kelly's Rear Window wardrobe. and please don't feel badly if it's terribly expensive, it's for a good cause: my Non Stopedness and Appealing Personal Style so that i can get into a lounge that i don't want to go to.

rain and big big MAJOR home improvement news!

is there ever like a teensy weensy trapped in the closet part of you that comes a bit unleashed when it is raining so hard you can't hear yourself think because it's just pouring out of the sky? it sounds like someone just dumped a warehouse of paint outside my window and i don't know if it will ever get cleaned up. it is kind of scary and soothing - a white noise maker and the end of the world all in one.

speaking of spilled paint, there is currently a show on HDTV called "DECORATING CENTS." maybe you know it. don't get confused, though, because the name of the program has nothing to do with the idea of the program, which is that a couple of home decorating "experts" are given $500 to refresh a room in someone's home.
the star of the show is a woman called joan steffend who i call stoffensive.

stoffensive & co. do it all, from nurseries to bedrooms and they do it with cheap stuff that they've found on the side of the road and then they use things like masking tape and staplers to put it all together and it adds up to $500 and they act surprised and really proud which is the best part. have you seen it? you would know if you have because they are very smart and stylish. especially when they walk into a room with white walls, a brown leather couch, and new hardwoord floors and go, "OH NO!!! this room needs A LOT of HELP!"

first they interview the people:

her: "what do you want to do?"
them: "well, anything as long as it's not pink!"
her: "okay great kathy. mike, any requests?"
them: "well, i like everything except this carpet."
her: "FANtastic! we've got tons of options to make this couple happy. let's get started!!"

and then they make the room bright pink and they conceal the carpet by leaving it in the middle of the floor. it's definitely a great show because sometimes at the end the people cry when they see the changes, but stoffensive thinks it's tears of joy, and quite possibly the producers, so i get to keep watching it like twice a day, because every time i turn on the DVR, there are about six to 12 episodes. it airs more than the news so it must be important! bye!

a fun thing i like to do

i am a hair-twirler. always have been, thanks to my nervous energy and easily-accessible hair. twirling calms my nerves. it feels good. the only people who have ever really acknowledged it are my boyfriend who finds it endearing and my grandma who despised it. i briefly lived with her in nyc for a few months after college. i would come home from work, change into sweats, and head down to her room where she was sitting on the warm beige herringbone couch with her crossword and magnifying glass and a news program turned all the way up. she had dark curly hair like mine, but hers was short and she would look at me with disdain through her red-rimmed reading glasses.

"why does it bother you so much?"
"do you think hilary clinton twirls her hair?" she would say shaking her head, wincing.
"what does this have to do with hilary clinton?"
"refined ladies do not play with their hair."
"you don't understand, grandma. hilary clinton totally twirls her hair off camera."

it was a constant battle and i would generally stop touching my hair long enough to tell her about my adventures at the teeny bopper magazine and swear up and down that Yes, grandma, Yes, i ate enough for dinner and No i would not like blueberries and cottage cheese, but thank you.

i have a fascinating relationship with my hair. i guess you could say it's my signature and yet i often want to just cut it all off and start fresh. i don't, however, have a craving for it like THIS WOMAN. just like it takes all kinds, apparently there are all kinds of hair relationships, and some involve dinner. it's really hard to say why she did it, although i can only imagine that it tasted like chocolate or she saw it on an episode of Dallas. who knows. i can only tell you that if you want to lose 10 lbs really fast and make headline news and force people who were enjoying a bowl of edy's slow-churned french silk ice cream to lose their appetite, then definitely start twirling and swallowing real fast. you will deliver a beautiful hairball this time next year and you will look FANTASTIC in your party dress.


**this entry is dedicated to my dear friend jessie who has enviably long, nice-smelling hair that is neither twirled nor eaten. happy birthday.**

The NYC Hairathon

i'm in training, did you know?
well i am.
i'm training for the hairathon.
do you know what the hairathon is?
i didn't either until two saturdays ago.
it's kind of a big deal.

i found out about it during a trim with my mane man cipriano.
cipriano is tall, furry and full of attitude.

"how are you feeling?"
"feeling?"
"how are you feeeeling about your hair."
"bad, it's too curly."
"so you want a little LESS curly."
"yes."
"you want to RELAX the curl."
"yes. but not straight."
"it will be curly but LESS!"
"cool, can i do it now?"
"no, you go home and you TRAIN."
"train?"
"yes. it is like the marathon. you don't go out and run it one day. you TRAIN for it!" he said, pumping two bottles of deep therapy mask high above his head and slamming them down on the counter.

that's all there is to this story.

things that are too bad

besides cankles, the only other thing that sucks in my mind today is STILL not being able to find inside out junior mints and people who tell you that what you're buying is bad for you.

cankles (exacerbated this season by the unfortunate reintroduction of the black ankle bootie) are self-explanatory, but i believe that self-righteous people are more royally screwed than kate middleton. if i want to buy a small bottle of diet dr. pepper, i know it contains chemicals that might shave nine weeks off my life, but that's okay because i don't want to live to be 105.6 years old anyway. you don't need to tell me not to buy it while you stand in line sipping your hurl gray tea. i don't tell you that your face is fat, so why judge? maybe i have just had butt implant surgery (thanks for that, peter) and it is the only thing the doctor has ordered.

so tell me.
what do you do when someone confronts you in line at the checkout?
do you:

tell them they're ugly
punt them to sixth avenue
get down on one knee and ask for their hand

i did all three and the wedding is next march!

literacy at the lady doctor

when i go to the Lady Doctor (LD) i am immediately uncomfortable because 97% of my reading options feature a drooling child dressed as a felt pumpkin with questionably long eyelashes who may or may not be wearing mascara and a woman who is about 15 pounds lighter than i was at 16 in her 40th week of pregnancy.

first i think - her belly is totes fake - but then i think - no it's not, but her teeth are. don't even get me started on the child wearing makeup. you don't want to go there with me.

most of us have three options for reading material at the LD. well, four.

the first is motor trend, which is always lying in-between the pretty babies on a crumby table. if i felt i would be driving anything other than the backseat of a cab for the next 10 years i would maybe be interested in this publication but i'm not.

the second option is business week. does anyone read this? i'm sure they do. in fact, i am willing to gamble that a lot of people read it, because how else would we know that toys are being recalled and gas prices are high? this is the only place to find out these kinds of things and for that, we should all be grateful.

we all know the third option. if we read the baby and the parent magazines, it looks like we're having the baby or that we HAVE the baby and we, well, i, am not having a baby and i don't have one TO MY KNOWLEDGE.

finally, the fourth is the STD pamphlets and we all know what it looks like if we're engrossed in those, yes?

so basically to sum it up, bring your own entertainment to the LD unless you A) don't drive a cab from the backseat, B) put makeup on your child, C) buy toys in china, D) have syphillis.

that's all.

these with a side of eggie-wegs please

as some of you know, i am kind of obsessed with sunglasses. some of you also know i am picky about how they fit, and once i find the right pair, i am very loyal. and then i wear them to death, like my costume national's, until they are so scratched up i can barely see straight.
well, it's almost time for a new pair and while i am loving the autumn chill, i am already looking ahead to spring for THIS reason (see pic). raf simons has collaborated with linda farrow on a sunglasses collection and it is badder than ass. linda farrow was a huge deal back in the 70s when she introduced a collection in london and it took off in a big way. not sure how many people knew about it here, but it was major there (she pioneered yoko ono's signature wraparounds, and was an eyewear wholesaler for designers like sonia rykiel and balenciaga).
anyway, about five years ago her son found about a thousand of them in an attic somewhere (or something like that) and they were rediscovered and here they are.
i'm sure they're like $600 and belong in a case in which case -ha- i'm not sure i'm worthy.
they would look ridiculous on me, but they're fantastic. very Clockwork Orange. would you like to buy them for me?
THANK YOU and you have a lovely sunday, too.

perspective from the 21st floor

last friday we were in the middle of a run-thru. it wasn't going well. it never goes well on fridays. it's always raining, the lunch line is long and slow because friday is burger day and people are hungover as hell, something is always stuck in customs, usually a pair of shoes for a cover shoot, a metal clothing rail comes apart and smacks me in the head, an intern returns a ralph lauren suit...to kilgour...in the UK...and it's my boss's.
you know - the usual.
anyway, it was a particularly bad day and i went back to my desk to re-group, when suddenly a golden glow was cast on my monitor. the fashion "closet" (which is actually twice the size of my studio) is behind me, diagonally to the right, and i turned around and this is what i saw through the doorway. i was mesmerized. we all were. people filed into the conference room to get a better look. we all stood there together and stared at the orange sky.

This Time Next Year

chytridiomycosis (a cute little pet name i just made up) will NOT be running for office.

can you handle it?

sent from my carpal tunnel

i am retiring Dear Old Orange Pebl (DOOP) tomorrow and i am getting an iphone, thanks to that special someone.

this is the last time we were photographed together, me and DOOP. i don't look happy, do i. what can i say? the love faded.

here's the thing. i've said it before and i'll say it again: i think iphones are kind of toolish. when you get an email from them, it says "sent from my iphone." last i checked, my emails don't say "sent from nina's bitch." it would be a bit douchy, yes? oh well. i'm getting one anyway because my ipod was stolen and because a day without music is like a day without music.

so DOOP, if you see me on the street someday, and you don't know what to say, look away baby look away.

speaking of that, watch THIS. it's totally depressing but her purple gloves are FIERCE AS HELL!

as if we don't have ENOUGH to worry about

it looks like our worst nightmare has finally come true:

SETTING BACK THE CLOCKS CAN BE A KILLER

did you set yours back?
i didn't. is it mandatory? oh well. instead, i have been leaving every day at 3:30 p.m. EST to prepare for the pending pedestrian outages. you know, like run-overs. i had to work late tonight so i wore one of these and one of these and i suggest you do, too.
let me tell you something. this flourescent jumpoff may slightly detract from your new fall coats, but it gets dark, like, real dark, like, NERVOUS dark in manhattan, and you wouldn't want to be caught dead without these or you could die. and don't quote me on this, but i think they come in other colors so you can coordinate and then have them monogrammed which i'm not gonna lie is very special.

good lookin out, right?

WRONG. i told you. GET INSIDE. ride it out. march is just around the corner.

CURLS GONE WILD

hiya, i ran out of my favorite hair stuff this morning which is/was a real fricking bummer because A) apparently i have curly hair and B) i didn't have time to stop at my hair dresser, christo, to buy more, and i am kind of obsessed with both christo and his products. i haven't really had to substitute in like three years, so i had to figure out some shit tonight at this neighborhood store called "essentials" (if you want to call a store that sells mostly jigsaw puzzles and soy milk in a box "essential") on my way home from a highly enjoyable buzzed run (which may or may not be highly recommended by the medical community).

i combed the store and found the pantene section, which is basically the entire aisle (if you haven't noticed, pantene is kind of DOING it), and within the pantene "area," i found the curly beast products and within the curly beast products i found the right looking one. and then i found it again. and then i found it AGAIN.

they all looked exactly the same, smelled the same, had the same ingredients, but had different but not really helpful ENOUGH descriptions for curly hair.

the first one said:
volume and lift for body and fulnesss

the second one said:
long lasting control and shine

the third one said:
helps create and define curls and waves to control frizz

so i bought all three and mixed them up.

no, just kidding. i didn't buy any of them. i wigged out and bought cadbury christmas chocolate balls (like cadbury mini eggs but christmas ones- OH HOLY NIGHT!) and a poland spring instead, and peaced way the fuck out of that joint.

what's my problem? well since you asked, what ISN'T my problem?
i want it ALL!!!! i want body, i want shine, and i want to control frizz! AND I WANT IT ALL IN ONE BOTTLE!
people with curly hair SO don't make curly haired products because if they did, there would be one that also gives you stronger nails, a new ipod, and ten thousand dollars, if you're into that kind of thing.

BANANAS OR APPLES, WHAT'S IT GONNA BE?

just now on GOOD EATS, the leader of the show who kind of stresses me out in a big way said bananas are the most popular fruit. i think WOW, i mean, some people might disagree and say apples are. i personally think bananas are the most popular fruit ALSO and want them to win, so let's see how they break down:


here is a quick breakdown:

APPLES:
pie
crumble
computers
gwyneth paltrow's baby

BANANAS:
as shoe polish
pie
cream pie
the movie
stefani shoutout
frozen
covered
split
ice cream
sorbet
boat
peel
baby food
foster

and i didn't even try that hard. i mean, i barely spent 12 seconds on this and i came up with ALL of these, so it's clear after breaking it down that bananas ARE in fact the winner.
congratulations.
you win.

**FOLLOW UP**
upon doing some research, i found THIS, which makes me question everything - my life, my fruit, my card. just eat what you want, it's NOT a popularity contest. and buy me this ugly bracelet. i like it.

some big ass news

CLICK HERE

YES!

at leat we're only 20-24% obese in new york. it must be the healthy drinking water they're putting in our schools, and i WOULD like fries with that.

what women are talking about now

yesterday morning, the elevator doors opened and two professional women in their late 40s, who may or may not clip Family Circus cartoons, entered:

"it's supposed to cool down a lot."

"i heard the same thing. they said it's really going to be a cold one."

"looks like our indian summer is over."

"you're ABSOLUTELY right barbara. well, at least it's friday."

"oh, i know. for me, it felt like thursday all week. every day i would wake up and say, 'is it thursday?' but it was only tuesday! isn't that funny?"

"that is so funny! see for me it was really fast monday through wednesday but then the week just slowed down the last two days."

"that happens to me a lot too!"

the sweater sets exited, a woosh of perfume and nail polish remover. the doors exhaled.

had anyone else noticed the Al Rokerfication of their conversation? do you? do i need a little less Tell Me You Love Me and a little more Today Show?

don't answer that.

halloweve

good evening, britney spears was ordered to childproof her house, so i guess this means she wil be moving out?

today i resigned my lease and revisted maremma. maremma is a restaurant on west 10th street that is roughly two doors down from where i used to live with my ex. in case you're wondering that means, basically there are two doors and my ex lives behind one of them.
we ate here once when it first opened two or three summertimes ago. it was better this time around, mostly because the bar looks smashing with pumpkins and gourds. also, they serve a particularly spicy bean dip and gooey molten chocolate cake, and i'm not mad at that. it was the men's mag family, plus ali, michael, and david grieco. david created this line called Justice Bodan and it is really gorgeous. if you don't believe me, ask her because she thinks it's great, too, and i happen to think she's rad. speaking of which, i got stuck in an elevator yesterday with four interns. i couldn't make out most of what they were saying because they had too much gum in their mouths, but i think they were talking about how they are going to bring back the word "rad." i wanted to say "how can you bring something BACK when you never BROUGHT it?" but i was afraid they were going to bitch-clock me with their juicy couture bags, and we all know the reality of being blasted with 50 pounds of metal, so i cut them off at the salad bar instead.
i don't have much else to say because it is quite possible that i shouldn't have had that last macallan. but i will say that tomorrow is halloween and while i am not stepping up my costume game, i will be watching it from such great heights.
peace with your lease,
ninJa

the incredible inedible egg

yesterday, i had an omelete for brunch. it cost $7.50 and it was the worst omelette i have ever eaten. i truly believe that it is hard to make bad-tasting eggs, especially when they are cooked in a vat of grease with fried vegetables and served with nice bread and butter, but it was awful and i considered sending it back which, in my culinary career, is something i have never done. this, however, was a special case. the omelette appeared flattened by a giant timberland boot and the vegetables tasted like a duck pond. it was inedible. it broke my heart. despite all of this, i saved the receipt and i grabbed a business card on the way out.

which brings me to this.
have you heard about it? it's a traveling exhibit and people can donate things that remind them of relationships gone bad, like an axe or a blackened liver. at first i thought WOW, i totally don't relate to this, but then i remembered, WhatTheFuckEver, you have the largest psychotically captured memento museum of all. somewhere in a crawlspace in my childhood home lies a barely-post-WWII trunk with a large shoebox inside that may as well be a withered organ. the withered organ contains things that make you want to weep, like a little pink spoon from baskin & robbins and a birthday candle and several gatorade bottle caps that say things like "bulls in five," and mix-tapes and a finger puppet made out of newspaper and about 246 match books and 369 restaurant business cards. i don't remember the significance of about 98.4% of these things, but i'm quite certain they meant something at the time.

i guess i hold onto these things more for the breakup than for anything else. i sit indian style on my bed sifting through little scraps of paper, blubbering, "we shared an apple on that bench." "it was cold in that movie theater." "that omelette tasted like feet." it's not like i would save them if the relationship actually worked out. i sure as hell don't need that kind of fire hazard in 25 years. maybe i should have a little more faith, and stop hoarding scraps of paper. maybe i should donate the shit to a museum. or better yet, here.

TYPICAL

tonight, i stopped at duane reade to buy unscented lotion, eyeliner, and inside-out junior mints, because i saw them on the show "unwrapped" and they're limited edition and they're awesome. anyway, i'm over at the maybelline section and i hear someone yelling:

"YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS NOW! YOU'RE THE MANAGER, DO SOMETHING! THERE'S A LINE NOW AND YOU NEED TO TAKE CARE OF THIS. NOW!"

my initial reaction was that an employee was yelling at the manager to open up another register because the line was too long, and i thought it was pretty ballsy and kind of great, because as we all know, DR is notoriously slow as hell and i have always dreamed of unleashing my fury when there are four registers open, two people on line, and it still takes 45 minutes to complete a purchase. but as i got closer, i could see the the man was not, in fact, an employee. he was all sorts of crazy wrapped up in an enormous maroon sweatshirt and topped with an olive fishing cap. he stood to the right of the register and continued to scream.

"DO SOMETHING, YOU NEED TO TAKE CARE OF THIS CAUSE I'M GONNA STAND HERE ALL NIGHT! I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE, I WILL STAND HERE ALL FUCKING NIGIHT, THIS IS WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!" he said, jumping, jumping, jumping!

had the man been robbed? was someone lying in a puddle of blood in aisle 3? the manager continued to ring customers up as though this was nothing out of the ordinary. people in line looked bored and perplexed like all new yorkers do when someone is having a rage.

"WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT TWO FOOT MAN? HUH? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?!"

i imagined him pulling out a gun and shooting all of us, eating a box of junior mints, and calmly exiting the store.

a big hipped earth mother walked over to him.

"what is with all of the racket? are you okay?"

"NO! i am TRYING to buy a glue trap."

"oh?" she said stifling a laugh. "that's not such a big thing now, is it?"

"YEAH, but because there is no BAR CODE on it, he won't just RING ME UP! AND I HAVE been to every duane reade in the city and i FINALLY find it and he won't sell it to me. AND I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE! I LIVE THREE BLOCKS FROM HERE AND I CAN YELL ALL NIGHT!!! I CAN YELL ALL NIGHT LONG TWO FOOT MAN, ALL NIGHT!!!!"

earth mother shrugged. i was next in line.

i paid for my things, trying to avoid the spit storm.

then, a security guard entered the store.

"oh good," i thought." someone is finally here to take care of this."

he sized up the situation. he looked at the man, the manager, and the line of people. and he walked past ALL of us, to buy some doritos.

facehookers

on thursday, i had lunch at "Grayz." it is opening next week. the name is bad but the bread is crusty and the butter is creamy with fennel-laced oil in the middle. i usually don't like fennel, but in this particular case it worked. as i'm standing there trying to hail a cab, a bike messenger comes flying down the street and high fives me. it was fantastic. a real exchange. we need more of these and less of facebook.

facebok is a make-believe land apparently worth $15 billion and it scares the hell out of me. in particular, i am talking about the boys and girls who are in high school and college posting pictures of themselves throwing back shots and snorting lines and dancing half-naked and thinking these things will not come back to haunt them when they try to get a job at an ibank in 15 years. or maybe try to be the president of the united states, although i don't think that has ever held anyone back.

i am also baffled by the "mood" board, where iPeople update what they are iFeeling on the hour. "jenna is bored," it says. why not just BE what you are, where you are, with whom you are spending time with? and finally, you are not "poking," "licking," OR "touching" these people, and you never will, because you are relying on your computer to have a sex life for you.

do you remember the scene in Minority Report where tom cruise is walking through the mall and all of the stores are communicating with him because he has a chip planted in his eyeball? "welcome back, mr. anderton," they say.

i fear we are becoming robots and facebook is only the beginning.

fun fact

do you ever get so into brushing your teeth that you push up too hard and scratch your cheeck? no? well, i do it quite frequently with my electric toothbrush, usually when i lean over to turn on the faucet. i think it has something to do with my inability to multi-task. i can't do two things at once.

for example, being sick and working out. here's the thing. normally i would be plowing my ass to the gym in a blizzard if i felt it was going to save my life, however, i recently discovered that it's not. if you belong to a new york sports clubs then maybe you know what i'm talking about. they have a "clubcom" channel that plays videos by the great musicians of our time like nickelback and hinder, plus "fun facts." the videos are too loud, so i am deaf three minutes into the workout, but the fun facts are silent, like a well behaved child. one of them says:

"women live an average of 1.3 years longer than women who don't work out."

that's all?!?!! i'm sorry, but in the world that i come from, which is not real, i get six months younger for every six months that i work out, so that by the time i'm 85, i'm 25*. would it kill them to say we live, like seven years longer? it's only a little white lie and then more people will sign up to go to the gym and everyone wins. sometimes honesty destroys me. i mean, what's the point?

*you know i can't do math. we've discussed this before, so why would you ask me to do a really hard equation, especially when i'm sick?!

my rhino will kick your rhino's ass

good evening, i have rhinovirus. do you know what that means? it means your nose runs fast like a rhinoceros and you use tree bark with aloe to stop it.
some people refer to this as a "common cold."
there are 345,945* tips on how to treat a "common cold."
some advice is particularly helpful, especially the kind that comes from doctor's.
they like to say "the best way to treat it is to prevent it" when they are getting smart with us.
i know i will remember that the next time a 465 MPH* gust of mucous blows over.
someone else said to run a steamy shower while sitting on a nearby chair taking a sponge bath.
i don't know about you, but sitting on a cold toilet bowl sponging myself down while water runs "nearby" is something i regularly like to do.

the truth is, i know who made me get rhinovirus. it was the fancy fashion woman who sat next to me in a car last week.

my boss said "oh are you sick?"
and she said "yes."
and he said "well then why are you riding with us?"
and she said "because you said you'd give me a lift."
and he said "not if i thought you were sick."
and she said "well if i get you sick then you know who to blame."

so i am blaming you, fancy fashion woman. i am blaming you, your germs, your $658* haircut, and your $14,456* wardrobe, all of which put me in a bad mood, thereby weakening my immune system and causing me to get sick. you stink, and i will trample you with my rhinoceros the next time i see you so you better re-stock your tree bark.

*i may or may not have made up these numbers.

the gentrif-erosion of manhattan

i have lived in eight apartments in five years.
in five years, i have had one flood, one fire, two mice, and three breakups.
it's not a lot, but it's something.

have you ever lit a piece of newspaper on fire and watched All the News That's Fit to Print brown and curl at the edges? sometimes i feel as though the city is doing this very thing at a rate in which i can actually see it happening. maybe it's an epidemic. i feel it getting smaller and smaller and i don't know what bloomberg is going to do about it, but since it effects me directly maybe he will want to step in. i'm sure it's at the top of his to-do list, along with banning chewing gum and cancer-causing agents like oxygen and trees. or maybe i need to stop moving. if you connected the dots to all of the memories in all of the neighborhoods in which i have lived, it would spell something really twisted. or maybe not. it would probably resemble the shape of an apple, since i kind of moved counter-clockwise. how fitting.

i am most nostalgic when i am driving through old neighborhoods and scenes-of-crimes. my ribs fuse, my fingertips go numb, and i can feel the drumbeat on my neck. not necessarily in a bad way. not always. but i become so overwhelmed by sights and smells that take me back to exactly what i was doing at that moment. i can't drive by 20th & 1st without feeling this way. or 23rd & 3rd, or bleecker & 10th, or 16th & 7th...

if you hit "star D" on my life and add seven years, it is the summer of 1986 and i am sitting in the backseat of the blue volvo listening to my walkman. the FDR feels about 50 miles long. we exit the 20th St. ramp into an army of brick buildings with hunter green windowsills and i know grandma's apartment is near. i feel safe because i am with my mother and father and sister, but once we say goodbye, and i am all alone in the guest room and the lights are out and i see the gray shadows chasing each other along the walls like cops and robbers with sirens as my soundtrack, it is a different story. i am scared. i am on mars. the next day, in broad daylight, standing in the peter cooper oval underneath an outdoor shower in rubber jellies with "true blue" playing on repeat in my head, i feel safe. but 10010 still feels like the whole wide world to me. in my mind, all of manhattan takes place on that one beating block. everything is experienced for the first time during my stays there. the first bialy. the first blue whale sighting. the first "little brown bag."

then i grow up and i move in. and with each address, i acquire a new bodega, a new shoe repair shop, a new dry cleaner, new memories, and new sets of problems. we all do. that's life. but sometimes i feel like we're running out of neighborhoods. have you ever noticed that every time it rains, diversity and record stores flow down the street, and when the sun shines and the pavement dries, another banana republic has sprouted?

i wish the city could grow neighborhoods the way it grows duane reade's, and delete the parts of the old hoods that make it so hard to be here, but it can't. besides, they say the rotten parts are what give you character. they make you smart and analytical and tough and funny. and even if they sometimes ruin your coat or break your heart, they leave you with great restaurant recommendations and the reminder to never put plastic in the oven again.

untitled

"is it going to kill me?" she asks as she bites into a piece of sea urchin.
she doesn't hear the answer because she doesn't care. she is dizzy; she could be anywhere. it is her third mojito medley of the night, or whatever it was called. it had a ring to it, that much she remembers. there was grapefruit, mint, and some kind of berry. "is pomegranate a berry?" someone had asked and she is quite certain it is not. she had wanted it without a lot of sugar and they must have listened because it is tart and the first sip stung the soft flesh of her inner cheek where she had accidentally bitten herself too hard earlier in the day.

to her right is a group of young asian men in suits celebrating and taking pictures of themselves. the flash is jarring. several ashy blonde women of a certain age are drinking wine and laughing too loudly at another table. they are from the south and they are tourists. she doesn't know this to be true, but she assumes it based on their fingernails, florals, and updo's. she is acting like a judgemental elitist bitch. she hates herself for this. she looks down at the edamame. they have forgotten to bring a wooden bowl to dump the empty pods into, and her water hasn't been refilled all night. she is sitting at the end of the table with the younger perkier girl. the children's table, she thinks. she says it out loud and the girl agrees and they sort of laugh.

several older men who make more money and who have bigger jobs are also seated at the table. when she speaks, they kind of listen. the restaurant is downtown in a sprawling space of white and wood. there are all sorts of unmarked doors and staircases and rules for the order of ordering and yet it strikes her when a new party walks into the room, the waiters stop what they are doing in order to yell something like "ha-YAH!" and the grating noise is beginning to sound like rush hour in penn station and she doesn't like penn station at rush hour or at any hour for that matter. someone at the table says it's a common japanese greeting. she's not so sure. she eats another piece of sushi with too much wasabi and it goes up her nose.

the girl had been here before, a few years earlier, with a friend and the friends' boyfriend for a tasting. she had taken pictures and rolled her eyes deliriously with the passing of each plate and had stayed until the very end and then, high on food and the newness of exclusivity, she had spoken on the phone with her then boyfriend who was in a far away land about all of the things she had eaten. it was nighttime and she was in a cab going home and he had called her a big shot and she was satisfied. he always called her that when she had done something he deemed cool or important, even if it wasn't.

now she stares down at her plate and stabs at the ginger rose. nothing is new. she feels empty. the only thing new is this empty sensation, which she finds terribly unsettling. it won't go away and she suddenly feels old.
they pile into a cab and ride to the fashion show. she holds her breath like she always does when the models walk down the runway. tonight they are wearing skinny pants and skinny ties and everything is white! white! white! and the backless gowns skim the same girls' tailbones that skimmed their tailbones a month ago in bryant park. afterwards, everyone steps on the backs of each other's hems and heels to get to the champagne.

the girl can't breathe and her feet ache. she surfs the black wave, kisses the air, and hails a cab for the fourteenth time that day. she takes off her shoes, slides down the seat, and opens both windows. as they turn up the west side highway, the hudson river smells like the ocean and a blast of cold air catches her hair, blowing it off her face. she likes it.

loose change

when an apple, an orange, and a small bottle of water cost $6.12 at the corner store, i wonder if i should buy the Extra Value Meal for half the price and get fat. and yet, instead of cutting my losses, i round out the $10 bill and buy a dark chocolate ritter sport with marzipan for $2.69. less change that way.

i hate change, but you'd never know it.

underneath my kitchen sink, there is a gallon-size ziploc bag with maybe (rough estimate) $179.50 in quarters, dimes, and sacagaweas. although sacagawea is strikingly wholesome with cheekbones that could cut tofurkey, i am not a fan because, like Wu-Tang, cash rules everything around me (c.r.e.a.m.). or maybe i have a thing for george washington. it's the curly white locks and ruffled blouse. very lagerfeld-esque. perfection.

have you ever been to the penny arcade in commerce bank? it stresses the hell out of me.

i've only been once, way back when i lived in chelsea. first of all, you have this gigantic bag of change in your purse, so you sound like a janitor or santa. then you throw out your back, because you have also decided that it would be a good idea to bring your laundry in at the same time, because you generally like to kill six birds with one stone. then you tell yourself to bring it in. then you get there and it's not in a private little coin dumping room like you thought it would be. no. it's in the main part of the bank, so everyone is standing in line getting ready to deposit big money - upwards of thousands of dollars, maybe even millions! - and they are watching you with your busted bag of change and silently judging you because you look ridiculous and it's four o'clock in the afternoon and you are hungover and your hair is everywhere because it's mid-july and you are wearing a too-big stained sweatsuit, because, LIKE I SAID, you are doing laundry and you're lucky to even have the damn sweatsuit and underwear for that matter. you may or may not have had underwear on actually, it's hard to say. then the machine begins to talk to you and make announcements in a really embarrassing way that is very Price is Right and you have to dump the change in and the coins go all over the place and lint and dust come flying out.

WHAT. A. RACKET.

on an entirely new reservation, since i seem to have gotten off the last one, i am kind of obsessed with this particular ryan adams song that he recorded with the cardinals a couple years back on "jacksonville city heights." the song is called "the hardest part," do you know it? maybe it's old news, but i am in love.

"i could stretch that penny like a silver line
rolling through the pages of my life
underneath your name where it's underlined
i've been turned around
i've been mystified by a true love
and that ain't the hardest part"

*happy 19th bday jaimer the flamer*

city of enlightenment

i took a picture of this plant - let's call him henry - on a windowsill in ABC Cafe yesterday morn.

"i don't want my stem to rot," he said. "please don't let water touch my stem, love u."



the fragile girl who took our order - let's call her moonshine - had porcelain skin, flaxen hair, and marble eyes the color of midnight.

she ambled s l o w l y over to the table and sort of asked us if she could get us anything.

"i'd like a cup of organic coffee please."

nothing.

"see, right here on the menu?"

no recognition.

"it says that you have organic coffee on the menu. right?

her marble eyes rolled from me, to meg, to jess, then back to me.

i felt confusion. then doubt. then shame for silently berating this delicate ivy league(?) flower.

i pointed to the menu, which offered only two kinds of coffee - HOUSE and ORGANIC - and i gently shook it, hoping the words would detach from the page, float through the air, and melt onto the palm of her hand, since she held no tablet or pad of any kind.

suddenly a faint light danced around her glassy eyes. she nodded slowly and coffee was produced, along with two saucers of soy milk.

moonshine delivered.

this is the ithaca i know and love. the real ithaca. you experience these kinds of things everywhere you go: the plant with the feelings of its own; the half-stoned, half-genius girl with no common sense; the embracement of whole foods.

being around these things makes me want to bathe in vat of patchouli oil and knit big woolen sweaters and have a compost pile in my yard and tote organic produce in a canvas sack made out of bamboo and ride around in a chariot with my first born, Sage.

ithaca is enlightened.

i could live in ithaca. the girls think i would go crazy after a few weeks, but i do believe that i am a hippy at the core.

even if i don't nest-up there, i know i will make that trip forever. or at least until i am so old i can no longer climb on top of a barstool and order a maker's mark for $2.25 at micawbers. or act like an idiot at iron kettle farm. or act like a poseur in front of my school. or take the same pumpkin picture that i take every year. but that day will never come, because i have my lady friends.

the one train

i entered the subway car tonight with a cold nose and dry hands. i was enjoying an andrew bird song when, several stops into the ride, a homeless man got on and started yelling about this and that. i turned up the volume like i always do when someone potentially(?) crazy joins us.

"this isn’t our song
this isn’t even a musical
i think life is too long
to be the whale in a cubicle"

everyone ignored him. everyone except the girl with the red hair sitting across from me. she turned toward him and scrunched up her face like she was going to either cry or make out with him. i wondered "What is wrong with her? why is she making funny faces at a strange man? is she bipolar?" i stared at her purple sneakers and blue tights. i pretended to read an advertisement.

then i heard something too random to ignore:

"ray charles rode in a cadillac, know why? because he was a romantic!"

rainbow brite laughed. everyone laughed. and just like that he had an audience. he talked about how we should "smile at each other," and "be kind," and "stop looking so angry all of the time." yes, it was a bit trite, but it's nice to brush up on the basic rules of humanity from time to time. and the fact that it was perspective coming from someone who appeared to have nothing made it all the more intriguing. it made me want to hug him. the man sitting next to me got so choked up he had to put his head down. then he handed the guy a couple of bills, stood up, and partially mooned us.

it's easy to find warmth underground.

to grandmother's house we go

a few weeks ago i had rosh hashana dinner at my grandma's house.

i wrote:

"i walked around her house tonight taking photographs of the random things that remind me of my childhood: the precise thickness of the blue/green carpet in the living room; the beige patterned curtains in the basement; the ancient readers' digests collecting dust on an end table; a rusty old stationery bike; the ever-so-slightly cracked tiles."

i am attaching some of the photos. they are mostly trinkets from her basement, which is where i spent much of my time in-between teeth-cleanings with dr. grandpa and being a brat on holidays. we played a lot of pool. a lot. i was a shark at seven and now i can't even break. and yet. these pix are very special to me. i am happy to share them with you.

do you walk to school or bring your lunch?

i may as well write a book about my cab experiences. upon exiting the empire state bldg earlier today, i hailed a cab.

"where to?"

"57th & eighth avenue please."

"five seven?"

"yes, five seven."

silence. we drove half a block. he turned around.

"okay m'am i'm going to give you the option to get out now."

"why?"

"i can't go straight."

"okay?"

"so i have to go south two blocks before i can go west."

"okay?"

"so would you rather get out?"

"and walk?"

"i just want to give you the option to get out."

"but i don't want to get out."

"where do you want to go?"

"to 57th & eighth avenue. as planned."

"how would you like me to get there?"


-------------------------------------------------------------------
*title inspired by wayne newman and his 7th grade history(?) teacher