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?"


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

thilly thurthday thtuff

it's amazing how a horse and a golden retriever can add a little perspective to your day.

i was running hurlaciously late this morning, but luck be a lady, i caught a cab and we were flying. the yellow sea never parts in times square, especially on a rainy morning, but today it did. all of a sudden we come to a halt. i look to my left and there's a horse literally galloping down broadway. not trotting. not cantoring. galloping. maybe you had to be there, but i thought it was a pretty ridiculous event.

tonight, on my way home, there was a fat and happy golden retriever being combed on my stoop. he was all paws and sleepy smiles, and parked beside him was a small red radio flyer cart. like, he's so fat that he can't walk, and he's so happy because his bitch carts him around. either way, i'm pretty sure i had an abnormally extreme reaction, because i laughed so hard that i snorted and eight people acted weirded out by me, including the dog, the driver, and my doorman.

the point of this story is - well, there isn't really a point - except to say that even though it was a kind of crappy day, and i really didn't feel very well, and i didn't get enough sleep, and it was a monsoon, my day started and ended with a horse and a dog.

i fucking love this city.

coupla things

a very old homeless man mimicked me on the street today. i must have been passing him on the sidewalk when i said "YO!" loudly into my cell phone, and he repeated it, but even louder and in a silly cackly way that cracked me up. it's funny how the smallest things are the ones you remember most about your day.

something significant did happen this afternoon. i shook bill clinton's hand. i went to an audemars piguet watch press conference at the Four Seasons, because they unveiled a new timepiece that is only - get your checkbooks out NOW!! - $137,000 in platinum, and they donated money to his foundation. i darted out at the end because i was running late. as i exited the building, he was on my right, and i couldn't help but stop and stare. it was fascinating to see grown men bow before him; cabbie's sideswipe each other to get a glimpse. he smiled at me. i held out my hand. he is very tall and handsome and charming. he is also a good man with great intentions. i hope he wins. well, not him, but you know what i mean.

TELL ME YOU LOVE ME

i am three years older than china's richest lass, who is worth $6-oops HAHA dropped the one!-$16 billion.
it really is a beautiful rags to riches story but i'm too tired to attach the link. it just takes SO much work, but you can go to reuters.com and figure it out.

anyway, so hi. today was my first day back in the office and that's always a bit of a laceration, but it could have been worse. plus, i have ithaca to look forward to this weekend. we're going up for a mere two days and one night, but it's worth it because it is PEAK season, and you know what that means - FOLIAGE! it's supposed to be 50 degrees on saturday, just in time for our visit. i'm happy it's going to be frosty. it wouldn't be the same experience any other way.

i am looking forward to the following things, but if they don't happen it doesn't matter because they will:

-buying major amounts of candy at wegman's
-driving in the car with my lady friends
-touching the native american's wooden arm in micawber's
-having a nice cold one in micawber's
-driving up to campus and laughing at the ithakids
-running over a couple of them
-haha i'm joking, only PR girls do that!
-and so many more things but didn't you hear me when i said I'M TIRED?

before i say до свидания, how do we all feel about HBO's new series "tell me you love me"? do you like it? do you love it? do you find it uplifting? i especially like the woman who pulled the paper towel dispenser out of the wall at rite aid. wowee. you shouldn't rush motherhood anyway. look at this picture and TELL ME YOU LOVE ME! TELL ME! LOVE ME! DAMNIT, TELL ME!

p.s. i didn't sell out and buy a television if that's what you're thinking. stop judging me, GOD.

the beach

there is something about the beach - i could run for miles. on friday morning, i ran and ran and ran and when we drove the length of it before dinner, we discovered that it was 6.6 miles. i think that's the farthest i've ever run. it's nice to know that my arms and legs still work in my old age. it is strange though, because this morning i ran around a park in nyc and even though i only did about 3 miles, i was d r a g g i n g. i'm telling you, it's the breezy beach and the salty air. maybe it has electrolytes in it.

julie left a day earlier than i did for a wedding in d.c., so at dinner on friday night, it was just me and my parents and my aunt and uncle. i asked my mom what she liked most about turning 60. this led to a discussion about everyone's happiest day(s) and decade(s). although the baby boomer's spoke fondly about certain periods in their lives (having babies, going abroad, etc.), none of them wished they could go back to a different time. my mom said turning 60 last month was the best. "you really know who you are and you're much easier on yourself." she said the same thing when she turned 50. my dad's happiest moments are all about surprises. surprise parties, surprise gifts, etc.

and i can relate to that. not to the surprise part - i kind of hate surprises. but i guess i like the unexpected positive turnaround, like when i found out i got my job. it was almost two years ago, and i was at a career low point. i was picking up a frame in the west village, and when i found out i got the job, i was so shocked that i turned around and hugged the store owner. also, i don't think i'd ever want to go back in time. who wants to be a teenager again? who wants to go through heartache and loss? of course, i'd love the clear skin and bright eyes of a kid, but i do believe in moving forward.

other vacation highlights:

sitting on the beach with my dad and watching the sky turn purple
walking on the sand
millions of clear jellyfish
marathon games of boggle
bowls of manhattan clam chowder
eggplant rollatini
eggplant parmesan
spicy seafood jumbalaya
this isn't all about food
i promise
sleeping in a bunk-bed for the first time since i was 12
long beach island in october - empty beaches for miles
long beach island, period.
it's only 2 hours from nyc.
and i'm not mad at that.

i hope we can do another trip soon. maybe next year we'll go back to sandbridge beach in virginia, like old times.

*photos by howie

so long farewell

i am leaving for the beach today thru saturday.

have a great rest of your week and try not to stare at people when they are working out. it's weird.

no news is not news

good afternon.

i am on vacation and it is great. i woke up late, ran a bunch of miles, and met a friend for a platter of food in the west village.

so.

i am no longer going to read cnn.com and if i do, it's purely for entertainment purposes. when five of the top news stories make you go "ohhhhh yay!" and "he totally IS adorable!" and "awwwww..." and there is nothing that makes you go "shit, "damn," or "FUUUUUCK" like this one:

pages/science/index.html

then it's time to move on.

sorry for whining.

nobody likes a whiner.

look at the pretty shoes. do you like them?

the day the music (industry) died

this is kind of wonderful:

2007/10/02/an-album-that-costs-what-you-want-it-to

how much, if anything, would you pay for radiohead's soon-to-be-released album?

pigeon update

omg, did you see the dow hit a record high today? I KNOW, i was totally beside myself too.

so the new plan of attack at paul brown stadium in cinci is that employees will now be allowed to shoot pigeons with laser guns.

2007/football/nfl/10/01/bengals.pigeons.ap

i know what you're thinking and i agree that it makes one-hundred percent perfect sense because now instead of poop pellets, the pigeons will actually fall out of the sky, and only a handful of people will be blinded at each game, so it is DEFINITELY a win win situation!

thank GOD peta got involved.