Never before has our freakishly high rent ever seemed so worthwhile...
Most of the people we work with are spending 2-3 hours walking into work, over BRIDGES, when the temp is below freezing. Greg and I are keeping our heads down when anyone talks about the commute.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Thursday, December 08, 2005
I'm totally conditioned...
I see black and white footage of battleships burning and I immediately think:
"There should be cake!"
"There should be cake!"
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Sigh...
He's broken.
That's right. Married for less than 2 weeks and my husband's already broken. He reached sideways for a t-shirt on Monday morning and herniated a disk. It's a mild herniation according to the doctor, but a herniation nonetheless.
No surgery in the offing, just physical therapy, but at the moment, he has more freakin' prescriptions than an addict. It's unbelievable. Two types of steroids, two muscle relaxants (one for day, one for night) and oxycotin (a.k.a., hillbilly heroin, of course, it's really only called that when you chop it into powder and snort it--NOT on his agenda).
Luckily, his work is being fairly cool. They sent him home early yesterday with orders to not come back until he'd seen a doctor. When he called to say he'd probably be back in on Monday, his direct boss told him just to let her know--'cause you can't mess with the back.
So, my second weekend as a married woman will be spent with a man hopped up on muscle relaxants and thus, most likely snoring and drooling a lot.
That's right. Married for less than 2 weeks and my husband's already broken. He reached sideways for a t-shirt on Monday morning and herniated a disk. It's a mild herniation according to the doctor, but a herniation nonetheless.
No surgery in the offing, just physical therapy, but at the moment, he has more freakin' prescriptions than an addict. It's unbelievable. Two types of steroids, two muscle relaxants (one for day, one for night) and oxycotin (a.k.a., hillbilly heroin, of course, it's really only called that when you chop it into powder and snort it--NOT on his agenda).
Luckily, his work is being fairly cool. They sent him home early yesterday with orders to not come back until he'd seen a doctor. When he called to say he'd probably be back in on Monday, his direct boss told him just to let her know--'cause you can't mess with the back.
So, my second weekend as a married woman will be spent with a man hopped up on muscle relaxants and thus, most likely snoring and drooling a lot.
Friday, November 04, 2005
On a happier note...
We got married a week ago today at 3:05 PM. That's the pronouncin' time. Just like when you die, they pronounce a time of marriage...
Crikey...
So, I was supposed to represent at an interview today at 12:30. Got there an hour early, was supposed to meet my group at 30 XXXX Street according to the phone instructions I got from the prime last night. No one was in the coffee shop of rendezvous. Went into the lobby. The reception desk said that the floor of the meeting was closed off. OKAY.
Went out to call the prime on my cell. Battery's dead. No access to his number. Find a payphone, have someone at BFJ come up and find my notes from the conversation. Yup. I'm at the right place. Go back to the building. Have the receptionist run through the names of every single person on the team that I know. No dice. It's now 12:25--I call my office from the lobby in hopes of having a message from them. Nada. Keep doing that until 12:45 (15 minutes into the scheduled interview). Give up. Go back to the office.
Just now I went through all the back emails. The interview was at 30 YYYY St. The numbers were the same, so it didn't throw up any flags.
My boss said that obviously there was a mix-up and I shouldn't beat myself up about it. Yeah, 'cause I'm not still beating myself up about something semi-mean I said in front of Tabitha Pugh in the 7th grade.
Went out to call the prime on my cell. Battery's dead. No access to his number. Find a payphone, have someone at BFJ come up and find my notes from the conversation. Yup. I'm at the right place. Go back to the building. Have the receptionist run through the names of every single person on the team that I know. No dice. It's now 12:25--I call my office from the lobby in hopes of having a message from them. Nada. Keep doing that until 12:45 (15 minutes into the scheduled interview). Give up. Go back to the office.
Just now I went through all the back emails. The interview was at 30 YYYY St. The numbers were the same, so it didn't throw up any flags.
My boss said that obviously there was a mix-up and I shouldn't beat myself up about it. Yeah, 'cause I'm not still beating myself up about something semi-mean I said in front of Tabitha Pugh in the 7th grade.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Being a Good Neighbor
You know when you're so tired you're just stupid? Most of our neighbors are really great--very considerate, polite if not friendly. One apartment is the exception, "the strippers" as nicknamed by a former resident. (They're all in their early twenties and really pretty, but have voices like they've been smoking cigars for 30 years.) Last night, the strippers had a party until 4 in the morning. REALLY loud. Lots of drunken idiots yelling in the hallway. But we were so tired, we didn't even think to get out of bed to tell them to shut up or we'd call the police. Greg finally did get up, but they heard the lock turn and immediately ran into their apartment.
As I was staring at the elevator through gritty eyes this morning, I was really regretting not having done something about it sooner last night. So in the end, I decided to go for vengance. I was having a tough time facing this morning without having had a ton of liquor, so it struck me they were REALLY having a crappy start to their day. I decided that it was fair to make it that much crappier--on the way out of the building, I leaned on their buzzer for about a minute.
Petty, mostly harmless, but I feel like I won't be forced to have a screaming fit the next time I see them.
As I was staring at the elevator through gritty eyes this morning, I was really regretting not having done something about it sooner last night. So in the end, I decided to go for vengance. I was having a tough time facing this morning without having had a ton of liquor, so it struck me they were REALLY having a crappy start to their day. I decided that it was fair to make it that much crappier--on the way out of the building, I leaned on their buzzer for about a minute.
Petty, mostly harmless, but I feel like I won't be forced to have a screaming fit the next time I see them.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
We're the Oddities...
Greg ran off new "playbills" for the show yesterday since there's a new cast member and director and all. After all the stuff in Greg's bio about him and who he's performed with, he's added a line: "He thanks his lovely bride for her not-so-silent patience." I laughed so hard I cried. Plus, it was very sweet to be personally acknowledged. (I already get an official makeup credit.)
On another note, we received a cast iron reversible grill/griddle--it's way cool. Plus, it's so freakin' heavy you can use it for strength training. The enclosed card said: "Congratulations, but be sure to use this for its intended purpose and not to resolve marital disputes." It came from Greg's brother and his girlfriend. In the thank you note, I responded that I couldn't make any promises and Greg drew a picture of himself eating pancakes with a giant lump on his skull.
I begin to believe that we're not just oddities, but freaks.
On another note, we received a cast iron reversible grill/griddle--it's way cool. Plus, it's so freakin' heavy you can use it for strength training. The enclosed card said: "Congratulations, but be sure to use this for its intended purpose and not to resolve marital disputes." It came from Greg's brother and his girlfriend. In the thank you note, I responded that I couldn't make any promises and Greg drew a picture of himself eating pancakes with a giant lump on his skull.
I begin to believe that we're not just oddities, but freaks.
Monday, October 03, 2005
A family of killers, and proud of it.
As some of you know, we currently have a problem with our accommodations. We’re in the midst of a NASTY influx of roaches. The last three weeks have been atrocious. In the course of this, we’ve watched them parade like ants under the front door from the hallway. Shy, they are not; one night, I made a lamb curry and they actually congregated on the walls and watched me cook. We’ve gone upstairs to bed to find a couple dozen of the bastards on our white bedroom curtains. We’ve done some basic remediation—no food is left out, dishes are washed and every surface in the kitchen is covered with baking soda because it does discourage them. But still, the disgust level knows no bounds.
Why haven’t we had an exterminator in you ask? That would be because for the past month, the management company has been negotiating with a new exterminator, and nothing can/will be done until they have a signed “action plan”.
In the course of this, we’ve had company. Bill and Brenda were here two weekends ago and Bill had one crawl across is shaved skull in the middle of the night. Dear God, the horror for him, the embarrassment for us. Usually before company, the main objective is to clean the linens and the bathroom. This time it was to be sure we’d vacuumed up all the corpses. There are so many kills in a given night, there’s no point in sweeping them up one by one.
After they left, we purchased expanding foam to fill the gaps between the windowsills and panes as well as those around the doorframes. This has helped a LOT. Twenty-to-thirty sightings a night is now down to three or four. Still gross, but tolerable.
This past weekend, my mom came to visit. She really hates bugs. Doesn’t even like hearing about them. It wasn’t bad for the first couple of days, but then, I made a huge mistake. I forgot to close the deck door while heating up a snack. I turned around and about a dozen were working their way down the wall next to the stairs, with another dozen on the floor approaching me. I got most of them, but we spent the rest of the weekend picking off stragglers. Sunday morning, we heard a crashing while she was in the bathroom—she came out shouting, “I got one!!!!” For the rest of her visit, she too was on the hunt. I was rather proud of her.
However, the situation remains completely intolerable. Our rent is due. We’re weighing our options. Currently, we can’t cook in the apartment without inch-long dinner guests and our walls are in desperate need of repainting. Going out on the deck is right out, because I swear to you, it’s like they’re circling to attack. We’re thinking that we’ll pay half the rent and tell them to charge each of our 1,225 guests a dollar a piece for their share.
Why haven’t we had an exterminator in you ask? That would be because for the past month, the management company has been negotiating with a new exterminator, and nothing can/will be done until they have a signed “action plan”.
In the course of this, we’ve had company. Bill and Brenda were here two weekends ago and Bill had one crawl across is shaved skull in the middle of the night. Dear God, the horror for him, the embarrassment for us. Usually before company, the main objective is to clean the linens and the bathroom. This time it was to be sure we’d vacuumed up all the corpses. There are so many kills in a given night, there’s no point in sweeping them up one by one.
After they left, we purchased expanding foam to fill the gaps between the windowsills and panes as well as those around the doorframes. This has helped a LOT. Twenty-to-thirty sightings a night is now down to three or four. Still gross, but tolerable.
This past weekend, my mom came to visit. She really hates bugs. Doesn’t even like hearing about them. It wasn’t bad for the first couple of days, but then, I made a huge mistake. I forgot to close the deck door while heating up a snack. I turned around and about a dozen were working their way down the wall next to the stairs, with another dozen on the floor approaching me. I got most of them, but we spent the rest of the weekend picking off stragglers. Sunday morning, we heard a crashing while she was in the bathroom—she came out shouting, “I got one!!!!” For the rest of her visit, she too was on the hunt. I was rather proud of her.
However, the situation remains completely intolerable. Our rent is due. We’re weighing our options. Currently, we can’t cook in the apartment without inch-long dinner guests and our walls are in desperate need of repainting. Going out on the deck is right out, because I swear to you, it’s like they’re circling to attack. We’re thinking that we’ll pay half the rent and tell them to charge each of our 1,225 guests a dollar a piece for their share.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Online Transactions
I've been a big fan of the online financial transactions. Until today. I did a quick check of our accounts and noted that for some reason, our last credit card payment, which incidentally had paid off the account, had been "reversed" a.k.a. "returned".
I called the credit card company, explained the situation, mentioned that I had just signed up for the payment service, perhaps there was a problem there. They, said "no", and told me that I had to call my bank. (One and the same company by the way.) But first, he tried to sell me account "insurance". Yeah, something just went wrong with a transaction and you want me to BUY something from you idiots.
I called the bank number and explained the situation. They told me I had to speak to an online account specialist and I was transferred once again. Umm, if you have to speak to a different department regarding online transactions, why do they post the standard number on the webpage? The woman I finally got there told me there was nothing wrong with our account (i.e., plenty of cash) and she had no record of the transaction at all. She then said I needed to speak to the credit card company--back to the very beginning--however, she was able to transfer me directly to "collections".
After 10 minutes on hold, I got another guy who asked if I'd spoken to my bank. I think I deserve massive credit for not screaming obscenities into the phone at this point. He pulled up the transaction histories and asked me to confirm the account number from which the cash was to be drawn. I had dropped a digit in the middle of the account number when I entered it. It took all of 15 seconds for him to discover and fix the problem after I'd spoken with 4 separate people over the course of 30 minutes.
Thank God I wasn't making a last minute payment for which I would have been charged for missing it.
I called the credit card company, explained the situation, mentioned that I had just signed up for the payment service, perhaps there was a problem there. They, said "no", and told me that I had to call my bank. (One and the same company by the way.) But first, he tried to sell me account "insurance". Yeah, something just went wrong with a transaction and you want me to BUY something from you idiots.
I called the bank number and explained the situation. They told me I had to speak to an online account specialist and I was transferred once again. Umm, if you have to speak to a different department regarding online transactions, why do they post the standard number on the webpage? The woman I finally got there told me there was nothing wrong with our account (i.e., plenty of cash) and she had no record of the transaction at all. She then said I needed to speak to the credit card company--back to the very beginning--however, she was able to transfer me directly to "collections".
After 10 minutes on hold, I got another guy who asked if I'd spoken to my bank. I think I deserve massive credit for not screaming obscenities into the phone at this point. He pulled up the transaction histories and asked me to confirm the account number from which the cash was to be drawn. I had dropped a digit in the middle of the account number when I entered it. It took all of 15 seconds for him to discover and fix the problem after I'd spoken with 4 separate people over the course of 30 minutes.
Thank God I wasn't making a last minute payment for which I would have been charged for missing it.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
It's the big one!
I've decided several of the principals at this firm must fear earthquakes. It's the only reason I can think of that they INSIST on standing in the doorways of high traffic public areas.
Monday, August 15, 2005
When you got it...flaunt it!
Jen came to Greg's show on Friday night wearing a really low cut top. It's too bad that she didn't understand the power she possessed and then, after far too short a time, gave away...
When we went down to the piano bar after the show, the 60-ish woman with Mike Ditka's haircut tending bar gave us the happy hour discount while pointedly asking who we were--it was reminiscent of the good ol' days at the Racc on the upper east side. Alas, silly Jennifer didn't realize how very abruptly happy hour would end when she announced that I was Greg's fiancee.
Well, at least the younger boy in Greg's show remained attentive--but a 24-year old actor isn't in any position to be buying the drinks.
When we went down to the piano bar after the show, the 60-ish woman with Mike Ditka's haircut tending bar gave us the happy hour discount while pointedly asking who we were--it was reminiscent of the good ol' days at the Racc on the upper east side. Alas, silly Jennifer didn't realize how very abruptly happy hour would end when she announced that I was Greg's fiancee.
Well, at least the younger boy in Greg's show remained attentive--but a 24-year old actor isn't in any position to be buying the drinks.
Whappo!!!
At the farmer's market on Saturday, I ripped a new one in a political flunky for a democratic mayoral candidate. This guy, and his entourage of 8, was working the farmer's market. It was like watching the Red Sea part as people stopped shopping at the stands and ran away from him. I couldn't get near the candidate, but I did yell quite loudly at the campaign guy on his disregard for working people trying to make a living. His response: 1)I was accused of "not understanding how politics work" 2) I was accused of being a Republican.
The summary of my shopping trip:
Eggs: $3
Peaches: $4
The look on the guy's face when I said I hate the current administration and am a registered democrat, but I wouldn't vote for anyone who was showing himself to be just like the president in his lack of understanding of what it takes to make a living: Priceless.
The summary of my shopping trip:
Eggs: $3
Peaches: $4
The look on the guy's face when I said I hate the current administration and am a registered democrat, but I wouldn't vote for anyone who was showing himself to be just like the president in his lack of understanding of what it takes to make a living: Priceless.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Just wacky!
There is no law against first cousins marrying each other in New York State. All familial prohibitions are based on the ancestor/descendent and sibling relationships:
"A marriage may not take place in New York State between an ancestor and descendant (that is, a parent, grandparent, etc. and an offspring (child)), a brother and sister (full or half blood), an uncle and niece or an aunt and nephew, regardless of whether or not these persons are legitimate or illegitimate offspring. There is no legal bar against marriage between cousins."
This may explain a lot...
"A marriage may not take place in New York State between an ancestor and descendant (that is, a parent, grandparent, etc. and an offspring (child)), a brother and sister (full or half blood), an uncle and niece or an aunt and nephew, regardless of whether or not these persons are legitimate or illegitimate offspring. There is no legal bar against marriage between cousins."
This may explain a lot...
Friday, August 05, 2005
Passing Judgement
This morning I realized that I should write out the makeup instructions for Olga and Rustini, 'cause there's no guarantee I'll get to the cabaret tonight in time to do all three of them. I also packed up the recycling and said goodbye to my fiance (he has the day off). Thus, I left the apartment at 10:30.
I dropped the recycling in the basement, walked up to leave and Mr. Henry, our grandfatherly Jamaican doorman was at his post. He looked at me sternly and said reprimandingly, "You slept late dis mornin', didn't you?" "Well, no. I had a lot of chores to take care of in the apartment." "Okay den. You have a package." There was the definite implication that I wouldn't have been given my package had I slept in.
He does not approve of laziness and you can hear his scorn whenever he announces that we have a grocery delivery. Luckily for us, I get up very early on Saturday mornings to go to the farmer's market--it counters the occasional delivery.
You don't mess with Mr. Henry. (Yes, Henry is his surname.) He's very old school--he takes his job very seriously and you'd better treat him and what he does with respect. If you do, he's absolutely great. If one is snobby or too familiar...he can and will make one's life difficult. I've heard prospective tenants ranting in the elevator about how it took 5 minutes to get the keys to see an apartment. My immediate thought was: "If Henry doesn't want you living here neither do we."
We love Henry. Greg's giving him the engagement news today. He'll be just as pleased as my mom and Greg's grandmother.
I dropped the recycling in the basement, walked up to leave and Mr. Henry, our grandfatherly Jamaican doorman was at his post. He looked at me sternly and said reprimandingly, "You slept late dis mornin', didn't you?" "Well, no. I had a lot of chores to take care of in the apartment." "Okay den. You have a package." There was the definite implication that I wouldn't have been given my package had I slept in.
He does not approve of laziness and you can hear his scorn whenever he announces that we have a grocery delivery. Luckily for us, I get up very early on Saturday mornings to go to the farmer's market--it counters the occasional delivery.
You don't mess with Mr. Henry. (Yes, Henry is his surname.) He's very old school--he takes his job very seriously and you'd better treat him and what he does with respect. If you do, he's absolutely great. If one is snobby or too familiar...he can and will make one's life difficult. I've heard prospective tenants ranting in the elevator about how it took 5 minutes to get the keys to see an apartment. My immediate thought was: "If Henry doesn't want you living here neither do we."
We love Henry. Greg's giving him the engagement news today. He'll be just as pleased as my mom and Greg's grandmother.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
And they say romance is dead...
So Monday night, due to some workplace angst, I was feelin' the need for some cheesy comfort food while Greg was at rehearsal. The only deep dish place doesn't deliver, so I went for the cheesy spinach artichoke dip and a salad from a southern place. Perhaps a bit too cheesy. Half the dip and 1/4 of the salad later I was in a world of hurt. By the time Greg got home at 10, I was out of the bathroom, but at the computer concentrating intently on a game of freecell 'cause it distracted from the stomach cramps while still being in immediate proximity of the loo. He was so informed.
I got the "Poor Schnoodle..." head stroke and then..."so would it make you feel a little less adrift if we were to get married?" Probing look. "Um, I'm good with the married, I just don't think feeling insecure is the reason to do it." "Well, of course that's NOT the reason, and I will ask again in a more traditional way, but I was thinking we should probably do it this year anyway..." We grinned, made a face and I went back to concentrating on ignoring the cramps.
Tuesday night we went to our regular pub for dinner, and over our cheddar burgers we talked some more and he officially proposed. No, no bended knee, no flowers, there was candlelight, but then the place is so dark you need the candles to read the menu.
My brother was appalled by the lack of romantic gesture...but really, the fact that he wanted to ask me to marry him even when I was in intestinal distress is better than flowers any day.
I got the "Poor Schnoodle..." head stroke and then..."so would it make you feel a little less adrift if we were to get married?" Probing look. "Um, I'm good with the married, I just don't think feeling insecure is the reason to do it." "Well, of course that's NOT the reason, and I will ask again in a more traditional way, but I was thinking we should probably do it this year anyway..." We grinned, made a face and I went back to concentrating on ignoring the cramps.
Tuesday night we went to our regular pub for dinner, and over our cheddar burgers we talked some more and he officially proposed. No, no bended knee, no flowers, there was candlelight, but then the place is so dark you need the candles to read the menu.
My brother was appalled by the lack of romantic gesture...but really, the fact that he wanted to ask me to marry him even when I was in intestinal distress is better than flowers any day.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Okay, does this really still need to be there?
We had dinner with our old neighbors on Saturday. They moved two blocks away, so travel was convenient. He's from Wales, she's from North Carolina. They're getting married in South Carolina in November and had the wedding regs at the apartment.
Did you know that if you were living together by choice before emancipation, you are considered legally married in South Carolina? However, this rule is void for couples who didn't start living together until after August 19th, 1872--then it is required that they be married by an official.
Yes, this is still on the books.
Did you know that if you were living together by choice before emancipation, you are considered legally married in South Carolina? However, this rule is void for couples who didn't start living together until after August 19th, 1872--then it is required that they be married by an official.
Yes, this is still on the books.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Comments on the trip home...
So, Greg and I were in the homeland for my mom's 70th birthday last week. (I'm sorry to those of you we didn't see, but we were in intense family mode and by 10 pm were generally asleep.)
I knew what I was getting my mom for her birthday, I went in to pick it up only to discover they didn't carry it any more.
Thus, on the day, Greg and I are running all over town to find a gift, leading to the most amusing run-in of the trip. We had been to Great Estates earlier in the day and my mom was enraptured with some crystal pitchers. There was a large one that was gorgeous, but she'd freaked over the price (my mom has some money issues) so I was looking at a smaller one that I didn't like half as well. As I was checking out with one S.W., I was explaining the situation. Her words: "It's her 70th birthday! What's the matter with you?!"
I'm glad she did. My mom was quite pleased with the larger vase, and so was I.
I knew what I was getting my mom for her birthday, I went in to pick it up only to discover they didn't carry it any more.
Thus, on the day, Greg and I are running all over town to find a gift, leading to the most amusing run-in of the trip. We had been to Great Estates earlier in the day and my mom was enraptured with some crystal pitchers. There was a large one that was gorgeous, but she'd freaked over the price (my mom has some money issues) so I was looking at a smaller one that I didn't like half as well. As I was checking out with one S.W., I was explaining the situation. Her words: "It's her 70th birthday! What's the matter with you?!"
I'm glad she did. My mom was quite pleased with the larger vase, and so was I.
My skeletal struggle...
Yesterday I had a headache at the back of my head. At first, I thought I was having a stroke. Then I reached behind me to rub my neck. The muscles didn't give at all. Seriously, I have relatively strong fingers and I couldn't even dent my skin. I walked out of work to the local nail salon for a 20 minute chair massage. It helped some.
Fast forward to last night: I'm taking my bowl to the sink (after a lovely chicken paprikash on rice with a dollop of Greek yogurt and sliced cucumbers from the deck) and my back spasmed so hard that I swear my ribs were jerked out of their sockets. I've had spasms before, but always little twinges in the lower back, this was a really long contraction of the big muscle on the right side of my spine. It actually hurt my ribs to breathe for the next half hour--scared the hell out of me until I realized the cause:
Saturday night we went to see Wedding Crashers (hysterical, by the way) and as I was crossing the street, I turned to see what was holding Greg up as he paid for the cab and tripped on a plastic barrier. My mistake was not letting myself fall, but jerking myself upright.
So my words of wisdom: choose the scrapes.
Fast forward to last night: I'm taking my bowl to the sink (after a lovely chicken paprikash on rice with a dollop of Greek yogurt and sliced cucumbers from the deck) and my back spasmed so hard that I swear my ribs were jerked out of their sockets. I've had spasms before, but always little twinges in the lower back, this was a really long contraction of the big muscle on the right side of my spine. It actually hurt my ribs to breathe for the next half hour--scared the hell out of me until I realized the cause:
Saturday night we went to see Wedding Crashers (hysterical, by the way) and as I was crossing the street, I turned to see what was holding Greg up as he paid for the cab and tripped on a plastic barrier. My mistake was not letting myself fall, but jerking myself upright.
So my words of wisdom: choose the scrapes.
Monday, June 27, 2005
The Ghosts Strike again...
Saturday night's show: Olga came within an inch of totally losing her top. I'm tellin' you, there's something weird going on there... They've had several dozen shows, but this series, in this space, is the only one with wardrobe issues.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Ghosts of Strippers Past...
So Greg has a show running in a new space. A renovated strip club in Times Square that has been purchased and is being set up as a general theater space. The new owners have pulled out the old fixtures and repainted, but I don't think they've entirely managed to exorcise the past.
We were there for rehearsal on Sunday. I sat in the audience observing, occasionally getting up to fetch something. EVERY TIME I got up, I noticed that the strap on my right sandal needed to be refastened. Okay, it's just velcro, but it was the first and only time it's ever happened. (And no, I was not cricketing my feet together.) I joked about ghosts wanting a little more action.
Then came last night and the wardrobe malfunction to end all wardrobe malfunctions.
There's a fan dancer in the show. She comes out in a white ball gown with giant fans, dances about to a waltz and eventually drops the dress, but remains primarily covered by the fans, deftly switching them to expose her feathered pasties and g-string for a split second with each switch. Well, during last night's show she'd dropped the dress, continued the dance and then she suddenly froze. The chain on her g-string had come undone. She couldn't refasten it without dropping the fans and if she dropped the fans she'd be naked. Conundrum, indeed. In the end, Gabi saved the day by coming over and reattaching the chain so she could continue. In five years as a burlesque dancer, this woman has NEVER had a costume fall off.
My ghost theory is gaining popularity. Wonder what's going to happen tomorrow night...
We were there for rehearsal on Sunday. I sat in the audience observing, occasionally getting up to fetch something. EVERY TIME I got up, I noticed that the strap on my right sandal needed to be refastened. Okay, it's just velcro, but it was the first and only time it's ever happened. (And no, I was not cricketing my feet together.) I joked about ghosts wanting a little more action.
Then came last night and the wardrobe malfunction to end all wardrobe malfunctions.
There's a fan dancer in the show. She comes out in a white ball gown with giant fans, dances about to a waltz and eventually drops the dress, but remains primarily covered by the fans, deftly switching them to expose her feathered pasties and g-string for a split second with each switch. Well, during last night's show she'd dropped the dress, continued the dance and then she suddenly froze. The chain on her g-string had come undone. She couldn't refasten it without dropping the fans and if she dropped the fans she'd be naked. Conundrum, indeed. In the end, Gabi saved the day by coming over and reattaching the chain so she could continue. In five years as a burlesque dancer, this woman has NEVER had a costume fall off.
My ghost theory is gaining popularity. Wonder what's going to happen tomorrow night...
Monday, June 06, 2005
Maybe we aren't doomed after all...
I was taking the PATH train to a baby shower in Jersey City this weekend. I'd been waiting in an airless filthy station for 25 minutes for the train along with about 30 other people. Among them was a group of 4 kids, ranging in age from 10-14, with a small, beaten up boom box playing old school rap--it wasn't that loud, but it really echoed in the tunnel.
The train finally pulled in, we piled on, and the group of 4 was split up. The youngest asked the one holding the boom box to turn it up so he could hear it across the aisle. The response from the adolescent in question: "People are trying to read. And sleep. We don't want to bother them. Turn it up?! That's just ignorant!"
The train finally pulled in, we piled on, and the group of 4 was split up. The youngest asked the one holding the boom box to turn it up so he could hear it across the aisle. The response from the adolescent in question: "People are trying to read. And sleep. We don't want to bother them. Turn it up?! That's just ignorant!"
Friday, May 27, 2005
I may have to start watching Law & Order again...
Did you all see that Tom DeLay is up in arms about the "unflattering" reference to his name in the season finale of "Law & Order"?
From the Reuters article by Steve Gorman:
"DeLay's name surfaced on Wednesday night on the show's season finale, which centered on the fictional slayings of two judges by suspected right-wing extremists.
In the episode, police are frustrated by a lack of clues, leading one officer to quip, "Maybe we should put out an APB (all-points-bulletin) for somebody in a Tom DeLay T-shirt."...
Producer Dick Wolf, creator of the "Law & Order" franchise, took a swipe at DeLay in his own statement on Thursday, saying, "I ... congratulate Congressman DeLay for switching the spotlight from his own problems to an episode of a TV show."
From the Reuters article by Steve Gorman:
"DeLay's name surfaced on Wednesday night on the show's season finale, which centered on the fictional slayings of two judges by suspected right-wing extremists.
In the episode, police are frustrated by a lack of clues, leading one officer to quip, "Maybe we should put out an APB (all-points-bulletin) for somebody in a Tom DeLay T-shirt."...
Producer Dick Wolf, creator of the "Law & Order" franchise, took a swipe at DeLay in his own statement on Thursday, saying, "I ... congratulate Congressman DeLay for switching the spotlight from his own problems to an episode of a TV show."
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Only in the homeland...
Excerpt from an Oshkosh Northwestern obituary for a 28-year old:
"Unfortunately he was an avid Chicago Bears fan."
"Unfortunately he was an avid Chicago Bears fan."
Monday, May 09, 2005
Not-so-high light of the weekend.
Saturday evening we got a mayday call from a friend that woke us from a wine-tasting afternoon inspired nap. We were out the door in less than an hour.
This past Thursday a process server arrived at his door--he's being sued for child support. He has a 7-month old son. He's absolutely devastated, 'cause he probably won't have much or any say in the upbringing of his child who's being raised in a house of lunatics (grandpa dons protective gear to open the refrigerator--I kid you not) and there's little he can do about it 'cause paternal rights are relatively limited if you don't have the resources to flat out sue for custody, especially if you "haven't shown an interest" for the first months. It was a wrenching evening. Sometimes-bitter venting was interspersed with things like, "Do you think his eyes are blue or brown?" and on the lighter side, comments like "Why the hell did she have to name him that?"
Really glad Mother's Day was postponed to next weekend...a day in the Bronx after that would not have been pleasant.
This past Thursday a process server arrived at his door--he's being sued for child support. He has a 7-month old son. He's absolutely devastated, 'cause he probably won't have much or any say in the upbringing of his child who's being raised in a house of lunatics (grandpa dons protective gear to open the refrigerator--I kid you not) and there's little he can do about it 'cause paternal rights are relatively limited if you don't have the resources to flat out sue for custody, especially if you "haven't shown an interest" for the first months. It was a wrenching evening. Sometimes-bitter venting was interspersed with things like, "Do you think his eyes are blue or brown?" and on the lighter side, comments like "Why the hell did she have to name him that?"
Really glad Mother's Day was postponed to next weekend...a day in the Bronx after that would not have been pleasant.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
I have "humours" all right!
I've scheduled my Spring reflexology treatment for tomorrow morning. The change in season makes me feel off and discombobulated and this gets me all adjusted/restores the balance of my humours. I only wish I were going tonight so I'd sleep better.
Monday, April 18, 2005
On the need for a hall monitor...
Saturday night we held the elevator door for Arash, our neighbor. As we were going down, we asked if they'd seen the action on Thursday night. He and Yasmin totally slept through it, but he had noticed the damage to the door. In fact, he'd intended to knock and point it out to them so they could have it fixed. He was very relieved that he'd been spared that incredibly awkward exchange...but then noted that perhaps we should have a hall monitor. Visitors or residents get loud in the hall at night, the appointed monitor comes out with a bat and grunts like Billy Bob Thorton in Sling Blade, "Go inside and hush up! Uuhhhh-yuuhhhhh."
Sunday morning, a chat with Yasmin on the deck began, "Good Morning. Did you happen to lose a pink feather boa?" "Why yes, yes we did." She was most relieved it was mine. Evidently, at some point on Saturday, someone reached into their bedroom (deck door was open to ventilate after the exterminator came) and stole all of her bras from a clear plastic chest of drawers next to the door. At the same time she realized they were gone, she found the boa outside on the deck. As it is, having one's underwear stolen is creepy enough; to have a boa exchanged for one's bras would be cause for moving.
Sunday morning, a chat with Yasmin on the deck began, "Good Morning. Did you happen to lose a pink feather boa?" "Why yes, yes we did." She was most relieved it was mine. Evidently, at some point on Saturday, someone reached into their bedroom (deck door was open to ventilate after the exterminator came) and stole all of her bras from a clear plastic chest of drawers next to the door. At the same time she realized they were gone, she found the boa outside on the deck. As it is, having one's underwear stolen is creepy enough; to have a boa exchanged for one's bras would be cause for moving.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Domestic Disputes
This morning, 100 o'clock-ish, Greg and I wake up to hear a slow steady REALLY LOUD thump against a door. Not ours, mind you, but a door down the hall. What the hell? If you're in the entryway, you can hear what's happening in the hall, but if you're in the bedroom, generally NOT. Then we hear a calmly angry voice, "Let me in!" "I am NEVER going to forgive you for this!" The entire time the thump continues. Shortly after the "Never going to forgive you..." our door buzzer rang for a split second and then stopped, then he stopped shouting.
I'm pretty sure Cada's (the dog) parents aren't going to be together any more--at least based upon the fact that the bottom corner of the door was kicked in about 3 inches when I left for work this morning. Strong door though, the rest of it held, no cracks or anything, but I digress...
I'm thinking that he came home late, she locked him out and wouldn't let him back in. In the end, the door buzz was probably the police who'd been called by the neighbors. For some reason, perhaps because we were so deeply asleep when it happened, or subconsciouly recognized the voice or perhaps because there was no frenzy in it, neither of us felt compelled to actually get out of bed--and really, Greg jumps out of bed immediately if the roof alarm goes off and that's often the wind.
I guess I'm not more concerned about it because they have something of a twisted relationship. Greg actually did go to their door once because he heard her screaming bloody murder, but while standing there, he realized she wasn't being hurt, she was in a screaming rage. The conversation heard through the door: The GUY was saying, "Go ahead, call the police, YOU'RE the one hitting ME..." followed by a pause and HIM saying "Yes, I'd like to report a case of domestic violence..." They've had some hellacious fights, generally with her (she's a nice neighbor, but quite the Princess) as the antagonist.
So unless they're the best actors in the world and he's a completely twisted psycho in the Hannibal Lechter sense, I'm pretty sure it wasn't going to end with anyone being hurt--of course the more I think on that this morning, the more concerned I become.
Crap.
I'm pretty sure Cada's (the dog) parents aren't going to be together any more--at least based upon the fact that the bottom corner of the door was kicked in about 3 inches when I left for work this morning. Strong door though, the rest of it held, no cracks or anything, but I digress...
I'm thinking that he came home late, she locked him out and wouldn't let him back in. In the end, the door buzz was probably the police who'd been called by the neighbors. For some reason, perhaps because we were so deeply asleep when it happened, or subconsciouly recognized the voice or perhaps because there was no frenzy in it, neither of us felt compelled to actually get out of bed--and really, Greg jumps out of bed immediately if the roof alarm goes off and that's often the wind.
I guess I'm not more concerned about it because they have something of a twisted relationship. Greg actually did go to their door once because he heard her screaming bloody murder, but while standing there, he realized she wasn't being hurt, she was in a screaming rage. The conversation heard through the door: The GUY was saying, "Go ahead, call the police, YOU'RE the one hitting ME..." followed by a pause and HIM saying "Yes, I'd like to report a case of domestic violence..." They've had some hellacious fights, generally with her (she's a nice neighbor, but quite the Princess) as the antagonist.
So unless they're the best actors in the world and he's a completely twisted psycho in the Hannibal Lechter sense, I'm pretty sure it wasn't going to end with anyone being hurt--of course the more I think on that this morning, the more concerned I become.
Crap.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Fruit Compote update
I tried making the fruit compote from the cooking class and made a couple of discoveries:
1) They gave us a dry white wine in the class by mistake--Sancerre instead of Sauternes--that's why it took so long to get the correct flavor. (No, I'm not the one who opened the bottle, I would have noticed.)
2) Making it with a dessert wine does only take 20 minutes, but the flavor isn't nearly as good.
3) In class we used mission figs--calmyras don't work nearly as well.
1) They gave us a dry white wine in the class by mistake--Sancerre instead of Sauternes--that's why it took so long to get the correct flavor. (No, I'm not the one who opened the bottle, I would have noticed.)
2) Making it with a dessert wine does only take 20 minutes, but the flavor isn't nearly as good.
3) In class we used mission figs--calmyras don't work nearly as well.
Hi-Ho Haru!
My mom stopped by my aunt's house this morning to drop off some pictures. She noticed a large number of suitcases sitting out and asked about them.
Haru is leaving this morning for two months in Japan and didn't mention it to anyone. Well, I'm guessing that my cousin knew, but I'm not really sure about that.
The woman didn't go home for a single visit in 30 years and is now starting to split her time.
Haru is leaving this morning for two months in Japan and didn't mention it to anyone. Well, I'm guessing that my cousin knew, but I'm not really sure about that.
The woman didn't go home for a single visit in 30 years and is now starting to split her time.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Ferocious Felines!
I forgot to mention the close calls of our Seaside Safari!
Susy was attacked this weekend not once, but TWICE by roving felines! Once on the way to dinner and again on the way back. Okay, so "attacked" may be a little strong...more like "startled". Especially the first time when a gray tiger appeared out of nowhere and ran across her feet. The second time around it was an act of retribution: An orange tiger was trying to get us to pet her/let her into the B&B and when it became obvious we would do neither, she too turned across Susy's feet, hissed and ran off into the night.
Perhaps the cat-hunting lobby in the homeland has the right idea...
Susy was attacked this weekend not once, but TWICE by roving felines! Once on the way to dinner and again on the way back. Okay, so "attacked" may be a little strong...more like "startled". Especially the first time when a gray tiger appeared out of nowhere and ran across her feet. The second time around it was an act of retribution: An orange tiger was trying to get us to pet her/let her into the B&B and when it became obvious we would do neither, she too turned across Susy's feet, hissed and ran off into the night.
Perhaps the cat-hunting lobby in the homeland has the right idea...
Monday, April 11, 2005
LI Wine and Cheese
Just had a lovely weekend on Long Island with the Boy, and young Gillespie and her husband, a.k.a. Scott.
Rented a car Friday night (40 minutes to find a parking space at rush hour) and left early Saturday morning to pick them up at the airport in Ronkonoma at 10. Did a leisurely and sometimes hilarious drive out to Greenport on the North Fork, stopping at several vineyards for tastings and driving out to Orient Point to look at the ocean.
Stayed at a Stirling House, a lovely B&B that I'd highly recommend (most are too fussy and this one, although it has a high Victorian parlour, wasn't overwhelming) and had a really good dinner in a rather upscale restaurant called the Frisky Oyster in a very quaint tourist/fishing town.
Sunday we wandered Greenport stopping to ride the 1920's Carousel in a Missile Silo (a.k.a. The Futurodome) and assorted shops. Then we took off for the airport, stopping at another couple of vineyards for tastings.
We tried 5 of the 34 vineyards on the North Fork: Paumanok and Lieb Family Cellars were our favorites by far. Jamesport is probably really good, but you really have to think about the wine, something I'm not willing to do. Pellegrini has a gorgeous tasting space and was the most pleasant tasting experience if only 'cause you take a silver tray with your flight(s) and sit at a table, so you don't need to think up something intellectual to say/hide the fact that it disgusts you about each wine to the person pouring it. It also had a couple of nice wines, including the Scott described "church wine". It doesn't taste like communion wine, it smells like an old Catholic Church--sweet wax and incense. The best thing we could say about our final stop at Martha Clara's winery is that it had a nice gift shop, oh, and the tastings are free.
Our big wine lesson of the trip: Merlot on Long Island tastes/looks/smells absolutely NOTHING like a Merlot from California.
We had such a good time, we intend to do it again in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley this fall.
Rented a car Friday night (40 minutes to find a parking space at rush hour) and left early Saturday morning to pick them up at the airport in Ronkonoma at 10. Did a leisurely and sometimes hilarious drive out to Greenport on the North Fork, stopping at several vineyards for tastings and driving out to Orient Point to look at the ocean.
Stayed at a Stirling House, a lovely B&B that I'd highly recommend (most are too fussy and this one, although it has a high Victorian parlour, wasn't overwhelming) and had a really good dinner in a rather upscale restaurant called the Frisky Oyster in a very quaint tourist/fishing town.
Sunday we wandered Greenport stopping to ride the 1920's Carousel in a Missile Silo (a.k.a. The Futurodome) and assorted shops. Then we took off for the airport, stopping at another couple of vineyards for tastings.
We tried 5 of the 34 vineyards on the North Fork: Paumanok and Lieb Family Cellars were our favorites by far. Jamesport is probably really good, but you really have to think about the wine, something I'm not willing to do. Pellegrini has a gorgeous tasting space and was the most pleasant tasting experience if only 'cause you take a silver tray with your flight(s) and sit at a table, so you don't need to think up something intellectual to say/hide the fact that it disgusts you about each wine to the person pouring it. It also had a couple of nice wines, including the Scott described "church wine". It doesn't taste like communion wine, it smells like an old Catholic Church--sweet wax and incense. The best thing we could say about our final stop at Martha Clara's winery is that it had a nice gift shop, oh, and the tastings are free.
Our big wine lesson of the trip: Merlot on Long Island tastes/looks/smells absolutely NOTHING like a Merlot from California.
We had such a good time, we intend to do it again in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley this fall.
Monday, April 04, 2005
FINALLY: La Cuisine Provencale...
Dateline Friday: I had been waitlisted for a spot in another session of the cooking class Greg got me for Christmas.
10 AM: I called in to see if there was any chance of getting in. I made sure to mention that I worked only blocks from the school, so a last minute call would be fine.
2:30 PM: The office phone rang. Two people had canceled. I was IN!
6 PM: Arrived at class, 45 minute orientation/lecture (with snacks) began.
6:45 PM: Broken up into groups of 4. 12 people, skill levels all over the map with the low end being a guy who's never tried to cook and a woman who so has never WANTED to cook in her life--we're talking thick makeup and 2 inch nails--both there with significant cooking others to the high end: general foodie types to an elderly Cubano who's the personal chef for a modern artist who lives on the upper west side (he takes classes to expand his cooking horizons).
I learned a few things technique wise (I can now properly dice an onion with minimal effort, peel 30+ cloves of garlic in 1 minute and know how to french lamb chops (not that I ever will)), as well as culinary historywise.
The complete menu for the night:
1&2) French olive tapenade and Dried cod/potato spread (no, really, it was really good) both served with homemade garlic toasts.
3) garlicky bean and pasta soup with basil pistou
4) daube de boeuf (essentially LARGE hunks of beef, stewed with vegetables and then the veggies are removed)
5) roasted rack of lamb with herbes provencale
6) braised fennel
7) tian of roasted eggplant, zucchini and tomato with homemade croutons
8) fruit compote for dessert
Some of the recipes were to DIE for...but generally only after the chef who was subbing for the class made some adjustments:
The rack of lamb with herbes provencal. He added a honey dijon base that made it one of the best things I've ever tasted. Other than the flavor, I'm fond of the lamb 'cause it made me the class hero: it was the last thing into the oven so it wouldn't be overdone, so we'd started to eat the other 6 non-dessert dishes and drink LOTS of wine before it came out. We were chatting up a storm with the chef (people were describing their favorite restaurants in Chianti) when it suddenly struck me, "Excuse me, but isn't the lamb supposed to come out?" I got halfway through the word "lamb" and it turned into a total cartoon moment: the chef jumped up, chair literally flying and crashing to the floor, RAN across the room to the oven, ripped it open and pulled out the baking sheet with 4 racks of lamb, apologizing profusely for having forgotten it and that it was probably ruined. Luckily, it was fine, still very pink and absolutely incredible. The class toasted me and the old Cubano rapped me on the shoulder and rasped out "good!" (Something told me this was a massive complement from this guy.)
The other thing was the dried fruit compote: sauternes, thyme, lavender honey with dried: cherries, golden raisins, figs, dates, prunes, and apricots. The recipe said to simmer for 20 minutes. Well, after 20 minutes the Turkish woman and I who were making it, tasted it: cough syrup. Called the chef over and in whispers "This is absolutely terrible, what can we do?" He tastes it, cocks his head and says: "It needs to cook for at least another hour so the sugar can seep out of the fruit." Well, it simmered for another 2 hours and ended up tasting like fruit stewed in huge amounts of brown sugar, and spooned warm over vanilla ice cream may well be one of the best desserts I've ever had.
10:30 PM: Out, stuffed and very pleasantly drunk. Greg finished work at the same time, we met on the street and he carried the leftovers home, upon which he promptly dined. He too ended up being very glad he gave me the class for Christmas.
Overall awesome experience. I'd highly recommend it, so the next time anyone's coming to visit and wants to do a little cookin', let me know!
10 AM: I called in to see if there was any chance of getting in. I made sure to mention that I worked only blocks from the school, so a last minute call would be fine.
2:30 PM: The office phone rang. Two people had canceled. I was IN!
6 PM: Arrived at class, 45 minute orientation/lecture (with snacks) began.
6:45 PM: Broken up into groups of 4. 12 people, skill levels all over the map with the low end being a guy who's never tried to cook and a woman who so has never WANTED to cook in her life--we're talking thick makeup and 2 inch nails--both there with significant cooking others to the high end: general foodie types to an elderly Cubano who's the personal chef for a modern artist who lives on the upper west side (he takes classes to expand his cooking horizons).
I learned a few things technique wise (I can now properly dice an onion with minimal effort, peel 30+ cloves of garlic in 1 minute and know how to french lamb chops (not that I ever will)), as well as culinary historywise.
The complete menu for the night:
1&2) French olive tapenade and Dried cod/potato spread (no, really, it was really good) both served with homemade garlic toasts.
3) garlicky bean and pasta soup with basil pistou
4) daube de boeuf (essentially LARGE hunks of beef, stewed with vegetables and then the veggies are removed)
5) roasted rack of lamb with herbes provencale
6) braised fennel
7) tian of roasted eggplant, zucchini and tomato with homemade croutons
8) fruit compote for dessert
Some of the recipes were to DIE for...but generally only after the chef who was subbing for the class made some adjustments:
The rack of lamb with herbes provencal. He added a honey dijon base that made it one of the best things I've ever tasted. Other than the flavor, I'm fond of the lamb 'cause it made me the class hero: it was the last thing into the oven so it wouldn't be overdone, so we'd started to eat the other 6 non-dessert dishes and drink LOTS of wine before it came out. We were chatting up a storm with the chef (people were describing their favorite restaurants in Chianti) when it suddenly struck me, "Excuse me, but isn't the lamb supposed to come out?" I got halfway through the word "lamb" and it turned into a total cartoon moment: the chef jumped up, chair literally flying and crashing to the floor, RAN across the room to the oven, ripped it open and pulled out the baking sheet with 4 racks of lamb, apologizing profusely for having forgotten it and that it was probably ruined. Luckily, it was fine, still very pink and absolutely incredible. The class toasted me and the old Cubano rapped me on the shoulder and rasped out "good!" (Something told me this was a massive complement from this guy.)
The other thing was the dried fruit compote: sauternes, thyme, lavender honey with dried: cherries, golden raisins, figs, dates, prunes, and apricots. The recipe said to simmer for 20 minutes. Well, after 20 minutes the Turkish woman and I who were making it, tasted it: cough syrup. Called the chef over and in whispers "This is absolutely terrible, what can we do?" He tastes it, cocks his head and says: "It needs to cook for at least another hour so the sugar can seep out of the fruit." Well, it simmered for another 2 hours and ended up tasting like fruit stewed in huge amounts of brown sugar, and spooned warm over vanilla ice cream may well be one of the best desserts I've ever had.
10:30 PM: Out, stuffed and very pleasantly drunk. Greg finished work at the same time, we met on the street and he carried the leftovers home, upon which he promptly dined. He too ended up being very glad he gave me the class for Christmas.
Overall awesome experience. I'd highly recommend it, so the next time anyone's coming to visit and wants to do a little cookin', let me know!
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
You know you're tired when...
I saw a bouquet on the front desk this morning. It had a "Happy Birthday" balloon tied to it. I wondered if it were for me. Yeah. A little more coffee's gonna be required.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
You Can Go Home again...
This morning I had to do a site visit in Sunset Park, my old neighborhood in Brooklyn. (By the way, harborfront industrial property is not necessarily where you want to be when it's 20 degrees and the wind is gusting to 50 mph.) However, after we finished walking the area we went up to 39[th Street] Donuts--coffee shop of fame which I believe several of you may have visited when visiting me, if only because Jen and I ate there 4 times a week. I was a little afraid it would be different and in a couple of ways it was: there are new menus and new waitresses, but the chopped steak sandwich tasted just as delicious as always, Mike the fry cook was still there AND he RECOGNIZED ME after 5 years. There were kisses, a chopped steak to take back for Greg and free donuts for my colleague and me. I'm still tickled to no end that he remembered me!
Anyway, I'm off to the homeland tomorrow...I have a flight booked for 7:30 pm (no, I have no idea what I was thinking) so I'll be attempting to fly standby on an 11:15 flight. Cross your fingers for me, folks.
Anyway, I'm off to the homeland tomorrow...I have a flight booked for 7:30 pm (no, I have no idea what I was thinking) so I'll be attempting to fly standby on an 11:15 flight. Cross your fingers for me, folks.
Monday, March 07, 2005
"Historical Context," ever heard of it?
So, this guy from Entertainment Weekly, Chris Nashawaty, reviewed the new release of "Bambi" for NY1, the local news station. He goes off on how it's a wonder that we all weren't scarred for life given the darkness of the movie even before Bambi's mother is shot offscreen (wolves attack, bucks fight, there's a forest fire) and he can't imagine what the Disney people were thinking when they decided to show this much bad stuff to little kids.
Bambi was made in 1942. Ummm, it's pretty likely that the kids in the theaters already knew that the world was a pretty freakin' dark place. After all, a good number of them were living with the definite possiblity that they would have a parent killed, by a gun, offscreen. The point of Bambi is that even when terrible things happen, you can survive and be okay.
Bambi was made in 1942. Ummm, it's pretty likely that the kids in the theaters already knew that the world was a pretty freakin' dark place. After all, a good number of them were living with the definite possiblity that they would have a parent killed, by a gun, offscreen. The point of Bambi is that even when terrible things happen, you can survive and be okay.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Flummoxed once again...
I went to book group last night (I don't know why they changed it to Thursday either.) and the book discussion was fine, but then we got into the "New Super Strain of HIV" discussion--HIV is often a topic when you have an AIDS researcher in the group. Anyone has a question or Rowena does a new conference and we're off and running.
We're all fairly well-educated individuals so imagine the reaction when the one guy in the group asked how women got it if they didn't shoot up since it can only be transmitted through blood. Ummmm...and semen. "It's not in semen!" he exclaimed with belligerent certainty.
I thought the researcher was going to cry simply because this 39-year-old attorney didn't understand what "sexually transmitted disease" meant. Oh, and then, because women are more likely get it than men from heterosexual sex he compounded his stupidity and asked if that's because we have an "open wound".
Suffice it to say, I now know an incredible lot about virus tissue preferences, cell layers in delicate areas, micro-frissions caused by intercourse and the virus killing action of saliva.
Mockery from everyone but the researcher aside, and there was quite a lot of it, it was not one of the more uplifting endings to a book group.
We're all fairly well-educated individuals so imagine the reaction when the one guy in the group asked how women got it if they didn't shoot up since it can only be transmitted through blood. Ummmm...and semen. "It's not in semen!" he exclaimed with belligerent certainty.
I thought the researcher was going to cry simply because this 39-year-old attorney didn't understand what "sexually transmitted disease" meant. Oh, and then, because women are more likely get it than men from heterosexual sex he compounded his stupidity and asked if that's because we have an "open wound".
Suffice it to say, I now know an incredible lot about virus tissue preferences, cell layers in delicate areas, micro-frissions caused by intercourse and the virus killing action of saliva.
Mockery from everyone but the researcher aside, and there was quite a lot of it, it was not one of the more uplifting endings to a book group.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Friday, February 25, 2005
The Balance Struck...
Rehearsal in the apartment last night. Thank God for earplugs...I was totally able to read my book club book (I'm struggling with it) without being distracted. I could only hear them when the pitch became very high or something sounded wrong, which in the end, was a good thing. My "notes" were based solely on things that broke the sound flow--it was a kind of interesting experiment.
I must admit, I like the current situation: Greg's gotten over his possessiveness of the show, and I've proven in the past that my criticisms are sound, so now they both ask for my opinion of how things are working or not. Whereas for the first show, Greg didn't want to hear anything I had to say about it. At one point, they went to a professional whose critique ended up being almost identical (with a few additions) to my own. Greg told me how great the pros comments were and I laughed and laughed. He was confused, I explained. It eventually sunk in, hmmm, despite not being an "actor" Tina has tons of experience with stage shows--oh, and she's free. So now I comment when asked or something sounds very wrong, they listen and use or discard as they will.
I must admit, I like the current situation: Greg's gotten over his possessiveness of the show, and I've proven in the past that my criticisms are sound, so now they both ask for my opinion of how things are working or not. Whereas for the first show, Greg didn't want to hear anything I had to say about it. At one point, they went to a professional whose critique ended up being almost identical (with a few additions) to my own. Greg told me how great the pros comments were and I laughed and laughed. He was confused, I explained. It eventually sunk in, hmmm, despite not being an "actor" Tina has tons of experience with stage shows--oh, and she's free. So now I comment when asked or something sounds very wrong, they listen and use or discard as they will.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Hmmm...
This morning on my way to work, I saw a woman come out of the "Teddy Roosevelt Birthplace". She was wearing leggings and a shiny metallic green puffy coat, was overly made up, and the true oddity, she was carrying both a camera and small sledge hammer.
I'm still trying to figure out the circumstances under which that would be appropriate attire.
I'm still trying to figure out the circumstances under which that would be appropriate attire.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Today in NYC History
I was reminded this morning that on this date in 1997, the early afternoon sun was suddenly covered by very heavy clouds (at least given the tiny view from our 75th St. window) thus causing Ms. Weber and I to cancel our plans to go to the Empire State Building observation deck.
The shooting started a mere 2 hours later.
The shooting started a mere 2 hours later.
Friday, February 04, 2005
A request from my mom...
Medicare no longer covers mammograms or checkups. It also does not cover hearing aids or glasses. Budget cuts you know.
Know what it does cover? Viagra.
Evidently the health/safety aren't as important as getting laid.
Her request: "Will you get up on your high horse and send some emails for me?"
Know what it does cover? Viagra.
Evidently the health/safety aren't as important as getting laid.
Her request: "Will you get up on your high horse and send some emails for me?"
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
What are the odds?
My brother was called in for jury duty Monday. Exactly one week after I was. Guess what trial he was interviewed for?
The Hirte murder trial.
He was found unsuitable and excused.
Both of us, 1000 miles apart, called for jury duty within one week, interviewed for a murder trial and excused.
The Lund kids are doggin' legal bullets right and left.
The Hirte murder trial.
He was found unsuitable and excused.
Both of us, 1000 miles apart, called for jury duty within one week, interviewed for a murder trial and excused.
The Lund kids are doggin' legal bullets right and left.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Mark Green's a Prick
Monday, reported for jury duty. Criminal court. NOT a lot of fun. Called to the box twice to be questioned by the judge and attorneys.
First case: felony murder, not a capital trial. Double homicide for pay with a physically unharmed 3-year-old witness. Based upon a question that was asked before we'd heard the full circumstances of the case, I said that I felt that being the lookout (the defendant) and being the trigger man were two different things. I was so out of there at that point, the defense didn't bother questioning me.
Yesterday's case: 3rd degree possession and sale of cocaine. Really thought I was gonna be on that one, until some guy in the jury pool said that he'd spoken to the defendant in the case in the men's room during the break. Not sure if it was that, or the general dislike in the pool of the Rockefeller drug laws that got us all sent home.
Interesting psychological and sociological event. Monday, I was actually rather proud of the system--the group I was with seemed to comprehend the import of having someone's life in your hands and people were taking the questions really seriously, with the exception of the titular public official who threw a fit (slamming his papers, etc.) after being told that he couldn't be excused from a 3-week trial because of his job. Tuesday, I was sickened: both by people who suddenly didn't speak English any longer (after having overheard complex conversations in the jury room) and the guy who sought out the defendant in order to be excused, but more so by the people who thought they were "fantastic" for having come up with the excuses. The system is messed up enough as it is...you don't need to make it worse.
Came back to work to smell a dead mouse somewhere under my desk. It may have been removed, but I've got the sneaking suspicion it's still behind the file cabinets or something.
First case: felony murder, not a capital trial. Double homicide for pay with a physically unharmed 3-year-old witness. Based upon a question that was asked before we'd heard the full circumstances of the case, I said that I felt that being the lookout (the defendant) and being the trigger man were two different things. I was so out of there at that point, the defense didn't bother questioning me.
Yesterday's case: 3rd degree possession and sale of cocaine. Really thought I was gonna be on that one, until some guy in the jury pool said that he'd spoken to the defendant in the case in the men's room during the break. Not sure if it was that, or the general dislike in the pool of the Rockefeller drug laws that got us all sent home.
Interesting psychological and sociological event. Monday, I was actually rather proud of the system--the group I was with seemed to comprehend the import of having someone's life in your hands and people were taking the questions really seriously, with the exception of the titular public official who threw a fit (slamming his papers, etc.) after being told that he couldn't be excused from a 3-week trial because of his job. Tuesday, I was sickened: both by people who suddenly didn't speak English any longer (after having overheard complex conversations in the jury room) and the guy who sought out the defendant in order to be excused, but more so by the people who thought they were "fantastic" for having come up with the excuses. The system is messed up enough as it is...you don't need to make it worse.
Came back to work to smell a dead mouse somewhere under my desk. It may have been removed, but I've got the sneaking suspicion it's still behind the file cabinets or something.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Education I wish I'd had...
We watched a documentary last night about Albert Cullum, a man in Rye, New York who was a totally innovative elementary school teacher. In the 60's, he taught through games, acting and most of all, through the three "Ss": Sophocles, Shakespeare and Shaw.
He had 3rd graders performing Julius Caesar and 4th graders performing Romeo and Juliette. Evidently "age 10 is the best time for a girl to play St. Joan" because "she can still hear Sts Mary and Margaret talking to her". They had footage of a lot of the performances and they were astounding. What was really amazing is it was obvious they understood what they were saying. He'd start by telling them the basic story and then would have them learn the vocabulary by using the words in place of more common ones (e.g., instead of saying something "stinks" it "reeks to heaven") and they'd get it.
His theory was that they hadn't been taught to be afraid of it yet, so they completely embraced the melodrama of the stories and that once they'd played these heroic characters, it couldn't help but make them feel heroic themselves.
And yes, he was a failed actor.
He had 3rd graders performing Julius Caesar and 4th graders performing Romeo and Juliette. Evidently "age 10 is the best time for a girl to play St. Joan" because "she can still hear Sts Mary and Margaret talking to her". They had footage of a lot of the performances and they were astounding. What was really amazing is it was obvious they understood what they were saying. He'd start by telling them the basic story and then would have them learn the vocabulary by using the words in place of more common ones (e.g., instead of saying something "stinks" it "reeks to heaven") and they'd get it.
His theory was that they hadn't been taught to be afraid of it yet, so they completely embraced the melodrama of the stories and that once they'd played these heroic characters, it couldn't help but make them feel heroic themselves.
And yes, he was a failed actor.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Weirdslo (part 2)
Sunday I returned. This time with Greg.
I had told him about the experience, but not where it occurred. We'd been through 7 floors by the time we got there, so he'd forgotten about it and I honestly didn't remember exactly which room it was. He went into 1119 ahead of me. I followed and experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach (really quite mild by Friday's standards). I was barely through the door though when he spun around and said, "Maybe it's the light, but I DON'T like this room. Let's go." He grabbed my arm and walked me out.
He later likened the experience to being outside the door of the hospital room of someone about to die. (He worked in a couple in college, so he's very familiar with the premonition/event.) I can't tell you how vindicated I feel. The other woman on Friday could have been crying about something entirely different, so it could have been just me. We discussed at length and agreed paranormal or physiological, (some type of mold?) but whatever it was, it was definitely very real.
Now it's time for fun research on the event! I have high hopes for the suicide of a "woman editor" in 1957.
I had told him about the experience, but not where it occurred. We'd been through 7 floors by the time we got there, so he'd forgotten about it and I honestly didn't remember exactly which room it was. He went into 1119 ahead of me. I followed and experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach (really quite mild by Friday's standards). I was barely through the door though when he spun around and said, "Maybe it's the light, but I DON'T like this room. Let's go." He grabbed my arm and walked me out.
He later likened the experience to being outside the door of the hospital room of someone about to die. (He worked in a couple in college, so he's very familiar with the premonition/event.) I can't tell you how vindicated I feel. The other woman on Friday could have been crying about something entirely different, so it could have been just me. We discussed at length and agreed paranormal or physiological, (some type of mold?) but whatever it was, it was definitely very real.
Now it's time for fun research on the event! I have high hopes for the suicide of a "woman editor" in 1957.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Weirdslo
Walking past the Gramercy Park Hotel this morning, I saw signs all over the place for a public liquidation sale in their annex. Evidently the hotel, a City Landmark, is being gut-renovated, so they're selling all of their furniture, fixtures, everything. I went in.
In 10 floors of shabby, slightly dilapidated rooms, most of it was pretty crappy stuff--60's to 80's cheap hotel furniture--but here and there, there were just beautiful deco fixtures and occasionally, nice period furniture. You could see how great the hotel must have been in its day and it made you sad to see the condition it is in now. So despite the sense of camaraderie amongst the intrepid folks going through the rooms on each floor and three really cool pieces of cobalt glass I left with, the overall experience was slightly depressing.
But on the 11th Floor, it got weird. Came out of the stairwell, went through a couple of rooms--same as all the others--then I got to one at the end of the hall. I went in and after looking around for a minute, suddenly felt an almost overwhelming sense of sorrow and loss. You know the crushing feeling in your chest that you get when someone you really love dies? That was how it felt--it hurt to breathe. I left the room, and while the general melancholy remained, I was totally fine. I continued through other rooms on the floor without incident. However, on my way back to the staircase, I passed a woman (I'd her seen several times over the course of the walk-through and even chatted with her in passing) coming out of the sad room. She was crying. Hard. I didn't say anything to her, but saw her a couple more times on other floors and she seemed okay. So, my question is:
What the hell happened in that room, that it had such an emotional effect?
Would it be too bizarre to stop by the hotel's concierge desk on the way home and ask about the room? Or, perhaps, if Greg is feeling well enough tomorrow, we'll go through it together and we'll see if it happens again with him there--I just have to remember not to tell him about it in order to not influence the outcome.
Regardless of what happens, I'm still going to the main hotel liquidation February 3rd.
In 10 floors of shabby, slightly dilapidated rooms, most of it was pretty crappy stuff--60's to 80's cheap hotel furniture--but here and there, there were just beautiful deco fixtures and occasionally, nice period furniture. You could see how great the hotel must have been in its day and it made you sad to see the condition it is in now. So despite the sense of camaraderie amongst the intrepid folks going through the rooms on each floor and three really cool pieces of cobalt glass I left with, the overall experience was slightly depressing.
But on the 11th Floor, it got weird. Came out of the stairwell, went through a couple of rooms--same as all the others--then I got to one at the end of the hall. I went in and after looking around for a minute, suddenly felt an almost overwhelming sense of sorrow and loss. You know the crushing feeling in your chest that you get when someone you really love dies? That was how it felt--it hurt to breathe. I left the room, and while the general melancholy remained, I was totally fine. I continued through other rooms on the floor without incident. However, on my way back to the staircase, I passed a woman (I'd her seen several times over the course of the walk-through and even chatted with her in passing) coming out of the sad room. She was crying. Hard. I didn't say anything to her, but saw her a couple more times on other floors and she seemed okay. So, my question is:
What the hell happened in that room, that it had such an emotional effect?
Would it be too bizarre to stop by the hotel's concierge desk on the way home and ask about the room? Or, perhaps, if Greg is feeling well enough tomorrow, we'll go through it together and we'll see if it happens again with him there--I just have to remember not to tell him about it in order to not influence the outcome.
Regardless of what happens, I'm still going to the main hotel liquidation February 3rd.
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