Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Lapsed Manners

I got a "so nice to see you" email from V this morning and I have yet to send her a thank you note for lunch!

Crap! Crap! Crap!

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

Brit-knee

So, Britney Spears had to cancel her latest tour due to a "severe knee injury". What they didn't tell anyone is how she received it.

Greg ran into a guy in a bar on Saturday night who was a lighting tech for the video shoot at which she was injured. Evidently, she wanted these flat light gels (they give a disco floor effect) all over the floor of the set--it would be funkier that way. The lighting people tried to dissuade her because they're very slippery and it's quite dangerous if people are attempting to dance on them, but she'd have none of it. Then she decided they should be all over the stairs too. Now this is where they really tried to stop her 'cause if every surface is covered with flashing light squares, you lose all sense of perspective. But she was insistent that it would be all be fine. Well, evidently she stepped off into nothing because she couldn't tell where the floor was, thus falling and hurting her knee, requiring surgery, a three-month recovery period and the cancellation of her tour.

And this is why it pays to pay attention to the professionals.

Monday, June 14, 2004

Mr. Jack done me wrong...or maybe it was right...

Wandered solo over to Madison Square Park late on Saturday (Greg was in the Bronx) where the Big Apple Barbecue Block Party was going on--big fest with barbecue champions from around the country with proceeds being split between the Park and VH1's Save the Music. I had a little pulled pork, listened to some New Orleans style jazz. Lovely way to while away an hour or two.

Sunday I dragged Greg out at noon to go back. He was less than happy waiting in line for the first round of 'cue, but once we had food it was all good. We sat on the grass in the shade and listened to jazz all afternoon while critiquing the parenting styles of those around us/being amused by a toddler with a balloon tied to her shoe laces and sipping Lynchburg Lemonades from across the street, getting up only to sample another type of 'cue. Lovely, lovely afternoon.

Unfortunately the lemonades packed quite a punch and things did get a little ugly. Greg came back with our second drink and dropped the comemorative shot glass into my bag directly on top of the first, shattering it. His phone rang and he answered as I started fishing the shards out, I yelped, pulled out my bloody hand and he was forced to say, "I have to call you back, I just cut Tina with a shot glass." The bleeding stopped fairly quickly and Greg sanitized the wound by sticking my hand in our drink. Fortunately, the lemonades packed quite a punch and the pain didn't interfere with the last hour or so of the music.

More amusing yet: when Greg returned the abreviated phone call, I heard him respond matter-of-factly: "What do you think happened? We're at a Blues Fest and my woman done me wrong so I had to cut her with a shot glass."

Yup, we had 3 drinks between the two of us and we were in bed and asleep at 8pm. Of course, we were up at 2 watching Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, eating dried apricots and drinking a LOT of water.

V update

So, I went to lunch and it was rather pleasant, despite the fact that it was two hours of dodging probing questions about others while at the same time being uninteresting enough that it was impossible for her to listen to a full sentence about my life without breaking off on a tangent. Hmmm, usually that was Mr. Harrell's domain.

As for V no. 2: I vacuumed under our bed for the first time since we moved in 2.5 years ago, believe it or not, I had to empty the trap several times. To save time I kept pulling the plastic dust catch off of the machine and taking it out onto the deck to empty it. As I was doing it the final time, I stuck my hand in to scrape out some dirt that was stuck to the bottom.

Ummm, did you know that lightning is really just static electricity? I certainly didn't because had I known, I really would not have stuck my hand in a plastic container in which dust and synthetic carpet fiber cyclone around. I got a shock in my right hand that I felt go through my upper chest and out my left. My right hand tingled for the next half hour. It was absolutely crazy. As I was talking to a neighbor later, she asked if I'd heard a scream shortly before--she'd looked out, but didn't see anything. Um, yeah, that was me.

Tuesday, June 08, 2004

A Voice from the Past

Okay, so I'm having lunch this Friday with my high school honor's English teacher from junior and senior years.

Last Saturday, the phone rang. A woman said, "Tina? This is a voice out of your past. Do you recognize it?" Ummmm, no. "It's G. V." "Omigod, Mrs. V.!" At this, Greg, in the living room, makes "symbolism" hands.

The long and short:

My mom ran into her a couple of weeks ago at the Gilded Lily (now under the sole proprietorship of Marilyn) and the chit-chatting commenced. Gladys was deLIGHTed that I live in New York, and wondered if she might have my number. My mother reached into her bag and pulled out my business card. (I'm a bit flummoxed by the fact that my mom carries around my business cards--I don't carry my business cards.)

She's in town for a week starting Thursday for Maris' 50th birthday. She'll be meeting me at "Steak Frites" for lunch on Friday. "Old age has been good to [her] except for [her] back; so it's better if [she] can just walk in to the restaurant." I chose the place: moderately priced, good wine list (I'm gonna need some wine), good classic and modern bistro fare, interesting architectural design, close to my office and best of all, the pretention of an entire menu in French (and we know how much she dislikes the French) even when describing the "Union Square Farmers Market salad of the day".

I must say I'm a bit nervous about all this--it took two hours to compose the email about the reservation and then I had Gillespie review it. It's rather difficult writing in a professional and grownup manner to someone who knew you before you were either. I chickened out and invited both Susy and Jennifer to join us. They both declined.

To be sure I don't run out of subject matter, I've been printing out copies of key writings in my life lately: 1) the revised vision statement of derision; 2) Greg's Face for Richard Grasso in which he alluded to Julius Caesar so he could slam the guy without getting in trouble; perhaps David's description of his landlord's father killing caterpillars. Hey, she's going to tell me all about Debbie Yates' journal from India and I was never even friends with her--I'm hoping beyond hope that Mrs. V. got it wrong and it's Anne's journal or it's going to be excruciating.

Alas Maris and his wife will not be joining us although they live in Chelsea only 8 blocks from us, but dare I dream of accompanying Mrs. V to Steuben glass to pick up his present?

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

"I saw a sailor and thought of you..."

Okay, so it was Fleet Week here in New York--all the ships come sailing into the harbor (quite a sight) and all the sailors come skipping through the City (also quite a sight). Think Gene Kelly, Donald O'Connor and Frank Sinatra, but without the singing in harmony.

Now, as you can imagine, most New Yorkers and the military NOT on particularly good terms at the moment. Kinda tensed for ugly scenes for most of the weekend. Let me take you to Washington Square Park--traditional home of the anti-war movement--on Sunday night: As Greg and I are strolling through we see a Navy officer approaching the circle of 70s/80s musicians who jam there every weekend. An aging hippie moves to intercept the officer. We start moving away, bracing for the "baby-killer" confrontation. The exchange:

AH: You want a cookie?
NO: Thanks, I'm from NYC you know.
AH: Well, I just wanted to say THANK YOU for what you're doing. Oh, I'm against this war, you know. But you're putting yourself on the line for the country and you should know that we do appreciate that.

Damn near fell over in shock.

Now a question, most likely for Mephisto: He may have been from New York, but his country of origin was someplace else. This guy was not in a US Navy uniform--he had light blue epaulettes. What country would that be for? I don't think it was fake either, 'cause he walked like a sailor.