I hate hypocrites.

Did you all see that the House wants to "relax" its ethics standards? Here's the link to the Washington Post article. Gee, they feel it's their right to tell the rest of us how to live our personal lives--they just don't want to be able to be censured for things like embezzlement and fraud.

Oh, they also want to be able to have any family member accompany them for free on official trips. How many "nieces" do you think will be going on humanitarian missions to Aruba?

Holiday Delirium!

Yes, it's time for the holiday update!

I went home for Christmas while Greg stayed here to hang with his grandmother. Sucky, but understandable. He truly missed me though--not only did he get an absolutely inspired gift, but he swept and dusted his "den" AND cleaned out the refrigerator.

The trip home was nice, but it always seemed like we were 15 minutes away from more people coming over. Plus my sinuses completely floored me on Christmas Eve morning. Luckily Ann and Jordyn rode to my rescue, picked up some drugs and after a quick nap, I was right as rain.

Some good gifts, lots of Tom and Jerrys, it was a nice time. Best part was probably watching "The Canterville Ghost" circa 1944 with Mom and Kari and partially Haru. Very mellow and VERY cute. I'd highly recommend it.

Oh, other wackiness to report: my brother, Scrooge Incarnate, showed up with a Santa hat on for Christmas Eve--cohabitation obviously agrees with him; and Aidan Kropidlowski (son of Stacy Ertmer Kropidlowski nee Verwiel) is doing very well, is VERY cute and, while the spitting image of his father, does have the Verwiel cleft in his chin. If you can see the dent in the very round face of a 3-month-old, how deep is it gonna be by the time he's an adult? My guess: through to the other side of his neck.

Got back Monday, whirl of work craziness which will continue through New Year's Eve. Somehow, we're squeezing in Greg's brother-in-law's gig in the Village tonight, dim sum with Eric on Saturday (our little New Year's tradition) and I'm making a birthday dinner for Greg's younger sister on Sunday. I have book group on Monday and then drinks with Jen on Wednesday.

I'm feeling quite popular, yet quite exhausted. I wonder if the little elves will come to do my laundry? Regina's back on Monday too. I wonder what she's going to say to David and I taking the rest of the month off?

Happy New Year!

Greg and Tina's Birthday Extravaganza

The restaurant is Fleur de Sel, fairly near our apartment, and I've wanted to try it for ages. This year, Greg made the reservation. By the time Saturday night rolled around, we'd been looking forward to our birthday dinner for 3 weeks and expectations were terribly high. The restaurant itself was incredibly warm and we were there for almost 4 hours. In the end, we spent just about TWICE our monthly grocery budget on one meal--a somewhat daunting amount and we've regretted spending less than half that on a birthday dinner.

This meal, this experience, was totally and completely worth every penny.

Six course tasting menu with wine pairings. Two choices for all but the cheese course. Between us, we tried everything on the menu--11 different dishes. 11 different wines. The food itself was very, very good. The food in conjunction with the wine pairings was absolute genius. The wine brought out the best in the food and vice versa. (Even the way dessert wines were excellent with the food and we hate them as a rule.) I won't bore you with the complete run-down of all 11 dishes, but will give some of the highlights:

Spanish makeral tartare, creme fresh, American paddlefish caviar with a french white--the combination of tartare, creme and caviar was really great.

Fluke with couscous with dried cranberries and pine nuts with port sauce, Chateauneuf-du-Pape--absolutely brilliant.

Wild Striped Bass with spinach and fingerling potatoes with balsamic sauce, something also red--also incredible.

New Zealand Venison (medium rare) with a smoked sausage/celery root gratin that was completely inspired, served with a red wine sauce. With this there was a Long Island Cabernet franc that was unbelievable, really herbal/piney smelling, with an incredibly buttery mouth feel.

Cheese Course: Vermont cow's milk cheese (very Manchego-like) with quince paste, seriously aged balsamic and caraway toasts--I remember nothing about the red that accompanied it other than it was very good. Oh, and the caraway toasts arrived in bed--seriously, they were lying on a folded napkin on a plate that made it appear that they were tucked between the sheets. It was quite adorable.

Dessert Course:
Tina: banana mouse and cafe creme. Totally covered with whipped cream, so you never knew what flavor you were getting next--wine was a semillon that was standard dessert wine (yucky) on it's own, but when sipped after a bite of the dessert, tasted like liquid caramel.
Greg: dark chocolate gaufrette (crispy cookie) with chocolate ganache and chocolate ice cream. Here too there were different areas of flavor in the creams, some sweet, some bitter/savory, so you never got used to the taste. His dessert wine was a red that seemed like an extension of the chocolate when they were consumed together.

We left pleasantly full, but not stuffed, and quite happily drunk. Hopefully, this will give you some idea of the glory, but after two days, the details of a meal that lasted 4 hours, included six courses, not to mention six glasses of wine, become foggy. Really, really foggy. We got home after midnight, drunk as lords, contemplating giving up all other food for two months at a stretch so we could afford to do it again on a regular basis.

Minor Coronary Episode

After my last blog, I decided to check my tickets, to find out my arrivals/departures for sure. I logged into Orbitz. They had no record of my trip. I went to the DinersClub site. They'd paid Orbitz for my trip. There was a ticket number. I went back to Orbitz and logged in again. Guess what? I have two different Orbitz accounts, one for each email address. Guess I'll be canceling the one, now that my hearts beating again.

Question for the dear, but not so near.

When are you all going to be home for Christmas?

I think I arrive the night of Wednesday the 22nd and leave Monday morning. And no, I don't know for sure.

Announcement!

We are NOT moving.

After looking at any number of apartments in our neighborhood, we've yet to find anything in our desired price range that has a layout as good as the one we currently have, let alone a roofdeck. Our current rent may be more than we should be paying, but the value is astronomical.

So, in short, WAHOOOOO!!!!!

I just cashed in

...on one of the few benefits of being an adult. I had a chocolate cupcake for lunch.

I also purchased a grilled salmon sandwich, but for some reason, it's lost its appeal.

It's not 'cause I'm just ill-tempered...

I was going through the details of renting in Manhattan on the phone last night with my mom.

She had to hang up because it was depressing her. Evidently the concept of 15% broker's fees, two months in advance plus deposit, and 50-75x income requirements for teeny-tiny spaces were too much for her.

I finally got to say, "NOW you understand why I've been so tense and cranky?"

Here we go...

Druggists refuse to give out pill
Tue Nov 9, 6:54 AM ET Politics - USATODAY.com

By Charisse Jones, USA TODAY

For a year, Julee Lacey stopped in a CVS pharmacy near her home in a Fort Worth suburb to get refills of her birth-control pills. Then one day last March, the pharmacist refused to fill Lacey's prescription because she did not believe in birth control.

"I was shocked," says Lacey, 33, who was not able to get her prescription until the next day and missed taking one of her pills. "Their job is not to regulate what people take or do. It's just to fill the prescription that was ordered by my physician."

Some pharmacists, however, disagree and refuse on moral grounds to fill prescriptions for contraceptives. And states from Rhode Island to Washington have proposed laws that would protect such decisions.

Mississippi enacted a sweeping statute that went into effect in July that allows health care providers, including pharmacists, to not participate in procedures that go against their conscience. South Dakota and Arkansas already had laws that protect a pharmacist's right to refuse to dispense medicines. Ten other states considered similar bills this year.

The American Pharmacists Association, with 50,000 members, has a policy that says druggists can refuse to fill prescriptions if they object on moral grounds, but they must make arrangements so a patient can still get the pills. Yet some pharmacists have refused to hand the prescription to another druggist to fill.

In Madison, Wis., a pharmacist faces possible disciplinary action by the state pharmacy board for refusing to transfer a woman's prescription for birth-control pills to another druggist or to give the slip back to her. He would not refill it because of his religious views.

Some advocates for women's reproductive rights are worried that such actions by pharmacists and legislatures are gaining momentum.

The U.S. House of Representatives passed a provision in September that would block federal funds from local, state and federal authorities if they make health care workers perform, pay for or make referrals for abortions.

"We have always understood that the battles about abortion were just the tip of a larger ideological iceberg, and that it's really birth control that they're after also," says Gloria Feldt, president of Planned Parenthood (news - web sites) Federation of America.

"The explosion in the number of legislative initiatives and the number of individuals who are just saying, 'We're not going to fill that prescription for you because we don't believe in it' is astonishing," she said.

Pharmacists have moved to the front of the debate because of such drugs as the "morning-after" pill, which is emergency contraception that can prevent fertilization if taken within 120 hours of unprotected intercourse.

While some pharmacists cite religious reasons for opposing birth control, others believe life begins with fertilization and see hormonal contraceptives, and the morning-after pill in particular, as capable of causing an abortion.

"I refuse to dispense a drug with a significant mechanism to stop human life," says Karen Brauer, president of the 1,500-member Pharmacists for Life International. Brauer was fired in 1996 after she refused to refill a prescription for birth-control pills at a Kmart in the Cincinnati suburb of Delhi Township.

Lacey, of North Richland Hills, Texas, filed a complaint with the Texas Board of Pharmacy after her prescription was refused in March. In February, another Texas pharmacist at an Eckerd drug store in Denton wouldn't give contraceptives to a woman who was said to be a rape victim.

In the Madison case, pharmacist Neil Noesen, 30, after refusing to refill a birth-control prescription, did not transfer it to another pharmacist or return it to the woman. She was able to get her prescription refilled two days later at the same pharmacy, but she missed a pill because of the delay.

She filed a complaint after the incident occurred in the summer of 2002 in Menomonie, Wis. Christopher Klein, spokesman for Wisconsin's Department of Regulation and Licensing, says the issue is that Noesen didn't transfer or return the prescription. A hearing was held in October. The most severe punishment would be revoking Noesen's pharmacist license, but Klein says that is unlikely.

Susan Winckler, spokeswoman and staff counsel for the American Pharmacists Association, says it is rare that pharmacists refuse to fill a prescription for moral reasons. She says it is even less common for a pharmacist to refuse to provide a referral.

"The reality is every one of those instances is one too many," Winckler says. "Our policy supports stepping away but not obstructing."

In the 1970s, because of abortion and sterilization, some states adopted refusal clauses to allow certain health care professionals to opt out of providing those services. The issue re-emerged in the 1990s, says Adam Sonfield of the Alan Guttmacher Institute, which researches reproductive issues.

Sonfield says medical workers, insurers and employers increasingly want the right to refuse certain services because of medical developments, such as the "morning-after" pill, embryonic stem-cell research and assisted suicide.

"The more health care items you have that people feel are controversial, some people are going to object and want to opt out of being a part of that," he says.

In Wisconsin, a petition drive is underway to revive a proposed law that would protect pharmacists who refuse to prescribe drugs they believe could cause an abortion or be used for assisted suicide.

"It just recognizes that pharmacists should not be forced to choose between their consciences and their livelihoods," says Matt Sande of Pro-Life Wisconsin. "They should not be compelled to become parties to abortion."

Jesus

He's conceded. I'm gonna throw up.

Even worse, control of the House and Senate remain Republican. I started watching 1776 last night and couldn't do it. It was way too depressing watching them sing about fighting to be free when 200 years later those sames freedoms are being disgarded left and right.

The purpose of the Constitution was to establish rights and rules for governance, not to take rights away, for God's sake.

What's the adage? You get the government you deserve? Well the next time I'm in the homeland and someone bitches about how fucked up the healthcare/employment/world situation is, I'll remind them of that.

Mr. Pollex once told us that succession was treason, but...When in the Course of human events...The Declaration of Independence. You should read it. It's really quite the document. The National Archives website mentions that the original, in the Capitol rotunda, is in terrible condition . They say it's because of poor preservation techniques, I think it's because of being shit on.

4:30 and all's nerves...

Greg and I had a voting date this morning and were able to run through in a mere 15-20 minutes. Another district in our polling place had 100 people in line easily. We had about 15 in ours--oddly all of whom had last names in the A-L range. So the question is, were we total slugabeds for our district or were the rest of them?

Other reports involve an hour for Stephanie and Shani (West Side and Greenpoint), 90 minutes for David (Fort Greene) and an unprecedented 2 plus hours for Brian and Jen in Hoboken. My mom in Wisconsin got through fairly quickly, but heard from a neighbor working the polls that they were lined up far into the parking lot when the doors opened at 6:30. Susy reported the same in Arlington--big lines at 5:50 am.

My coworker David again suggested the National holiday approach to Election Day. It's just really hard for anyone working long shifts or two jobs or having to pick up kids to do it. It does make quite a lot of sense....

Meanwhile, work is impossible, and the knots in the stomach begin. It's all a big crapshoot at this point and I feel like there's some really intense quote I should be using from the end of "1776" but instead all I can think of is "Too many flies, too many flies. And it's hot as hell in Philadel-phiaaaaa."

GENIUS!!!

You MUST, I repeat MUST, go to ifilm.com and watch the Jon Stewart Crossfire interview as well as his Monday night spin of it.

I know I need to let it go, but...

I cannot have any respect for someone who has made it past the age of 30 and has never supported herself. The fact that everyone gushes over how freakin' brilliant she is drives me crazy.

I doubt there are any of us who couldn't be academically brilliant if they never had to work for a living.

Depression...

I've just read two news stories that have completely killed my budding good mood. Bush is ahead in the polls by 4 points. US software programmers should start looking for different jobs now.

I just don't understand how people would vote for a party that:
1) Gives tax breaks to companies who send jobs overseas for doing just that
2) Votes to give MORE power to HMOs
3) Won't agree to any international treaties on anything...including limiting pollution.
4) Votes to take away the rights of more than half its' citizens. It's starting to look like it's going to be illegal to be gay OR a woman pretty soon.
5) Wants to mess with the Constitution! (Mr. Pollex, where are you when we need you?!) Ammendments to the Constitution have been to establish the rights of citizens and define government, not take those rights away! The one instance that this was not the case was Prohibition, which then, embarrassingly enough, had to be repealed 14 years later.

By the way, what the hell ever happened to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" referenced in the Declaration of Independence? Of course, the Declaration isn't the Bill of Rights, so I guess it doesn't count for anything... (Along those lines, the right to bear arms is in the context of a need for a "well regulated Militia".)

I pulled up the Declaration by the way, you'd be amazed at the reasons for schism that were given, and how very similar you'd find them to current foreign affairs.

PS Mephisto, this is a rant, not a well-thought out argument, so cut me a little slack.

PPS Gee, now I'm angry instead of depressed, so I guess that's somethin'.

La La La La

I'm quite bored. Nothing of great interest to report. Nothing of great interest to do. Not that I don't have tons to do... My boss' daughter is leaving for a 3-month intensive language course in Germany in a couple of weeks, so for the first time in a couple of years, I've been given work that will require thought. I'm really not used to it. At first I resented it quite a lot. Now I've become resigned to it being a good thing. But really, the transition from data drone to project management is really quite difficult.

Went to see "Shark Tale" last night. Wow. It sucked. We walked out after 30 minutes. There was NOTHING at all redemptive about that movie--it was much like watching "Kill Bill Vol. 2", an unending loop of movie references with nothining of substance to fill in the gaps. Our general concensus was that we'd wasted 3 hours of our lives at a friend's play on Saturday night being, because of said friend, unable to leave. There was no need to waste another hour so soon when we could take off without hurting anyone's feelings.

Other than that, attempting to put together a Halloween party and you're all invited. No really, I'm sending out invitations regardless of the logistical logic. We're being rather crafty about it too: it's on Halloween itself, which is a Sunday, so we really don't want it to go too late. Thus, we're making it a "Pre-Parade" event and encouraging guests to drop by between 4:30 and 8 for mephistophelian munchies before going to the Parade/moving on to the Gramercy Park Hotel bar. Less fuss, less muss, and the neighbors won't hate us for having a party on Sunday night. However, given the number of parties Saturday night and the fact that it's Sunday...we're thinking if we invite 100 people, about 15 will show up.

Wow, for nothing to report I've prattled on at length... La la la la...

New Drinking Game

Greg and I sat down and watched CSI NY last night. I must say, it may well be the most poorly written show on television. After the first 10 minutes of outrage over the blatant NY bashing, it became absolutely comical. Next week, we intend to take full notes on the errors and compare at the end. Whoever has the most, wins. Here are just a few from last night's episode that I can remember off the top of my head:

1) It was assumed that because a book was published in 1984, it was purchased in 1984.
2) Said book, about "how the City destroyed" a guy with big dreams is about a broker with a coke habit that almost destroyed him.
3) A body has been in a storage room in Port Authority for 15 years, and no one's noticed it. Especially AFTER 9/11 when every building of import was searched with dogs. (Okay, they were bomb-sniffing dogs and not cadaver dogs, but I given the stench, I still think someone would have noticed. Plus, opening the door and seeing it.)
4) Melina Kara...whatever picks up the pipe, says it could be their murder weapon, puts it down and THEN photographs it.
5) The discovery of an old body would never make anything but the police blotter of any City paper, unless it was a small child or something infamous like "Headless Body Found in Topless Bar".
6) The reconstruction chick drew a complete, detailed picture of what the face would look like after only looking at the skull and knowing it was a caucasion male.
7) Assumptions on hair type? Ummm, last I noticed, there's lots of different hair on white people. Don't even get me started on the ears...
8) The sketch of the desolate landscape looking out to see "couldn't be in the City, there are no buildings" could be at any one of about 50 waterfront parks or neighborhoods.
9) The sketch of Grand Central had a giant flag hanging from the ceiling, that was not there until September 12, 2001. (Also, it was the renovated lobby.)
10) How did the guy smuggle a skeleton unto the bus?
11) How could he think it was fake with the decaying flesh attached to the rest of it?
12) The incredible bending of the laws of physics that a straight-on camera's film could be adjusted to see not only a panaramic view of the entire pawn shop, but THROUGH another counter.
13) I'm pretty sure you'd have to be bleeding or have a really serious skin condition to leave enough DNA behind for testing when just plucking the strings of a guitar.
14) How did the parents from Minnesota hear about/get to the City to look at the body the same day it was found?
15) Oh, and the moral of the story of the kid from Minnesota, who came to the City and was broke and a junkie in one week, murdered his supplier, got clean, changed his name, disappeared from his family and worked the last six years in a shelter as penance or even the supplier who lived in a supply closet in Port Authority, wandering the City and sketching, is NOT "Live life to it's fullest".

I know a lot of the errors are local knowledge things, but you'd think they'd have some sort of consultant to deal with such issues. I wonder if Vegas or Miami residents have the same problems with shows shot there. But you'd really think they'd have a consultant to deal with police procedure.

Okay, maybe a drinking game based on this would be a bad idea--you'd die from alcohol poisoning by the end of the first half hour.

Things that make you go "Eeeew" in the Night...

Last night we saw Shaun of the Dead, quite amusing if occasionally absolutely disgusting. All in all though, not half so frightening as Monday night in our apartment.

It was a little after midnight. I was sitting in bed reading when I heard an oddly pained yowling sound. It was repeated several times at intervals and I assumed that Eunice, a woman down the deck, had accidently locked her aging feline outside and he was mewling to get in. The noise continued, so I stuck my head outside to look for the cat. Hmmm. You couldn't hear the sound out on the deck. That can only mean it's coming through the wall from one of the adjoining apartments, well maybe there's a new kitten on the block...

Then the noise became more frequent. Oh. My. God. At this point, music started pounding through the wall from the apartment behind us. Hipster guy across the hall has just had the same realization that I have: It's a human making the ungodly racket. Not only that, it's the very nice woman who lives next door to us in the throes of passion.

By the time Greg came up, the sound was almost constant, with an odd rhythmic lull to it, not at all unlike a European police siren. As he entered the bedroom, at first he could only hear the bass of Hipster Guy's stereo and exclaimed, "Oh No!" I rolled my eyes and informed him he'd yet to hear the worst. His eyes got wide as he realized exactly what and who he was hearing.

His final comment: "Well, at least [our neighbor] doesn't have to worry anymore about any guy on the floor coveting his girlfriend..."

Today, the Idiot in question is me.

So. Sitting in the living room this morning watching the weather with Greg. We suddenly hear a loud scratching noise. Yes, I knew that leaving the flour on the counter was tempting fate. This time, Fate took me up on the offer. Mouse. And while Greg and I differ on this: I really think it was a pet. It was larger than the standard apartment mouse and it was also much lighter in color. No, it was not a rat.

I do think this is day one of the infestation however, because there were no droppings when we went to bed last night. Now the draw has been removed--hopefully the mouse will remain gone as well.

However. Yuck.

PS. It went for the white flour, totally ignoring the corn and whole wheat. What does it think it is, human?

Attila the HUH?!!!

Have you ever been at dinner with someone who, kinda out of the blue, brought up the reasons why her grandparents joined the Nazi party? That was last night with Greg's scene partner from Gregor & Olga.

To throw in another set of oddities from the past 72 hours: 1) I did really well on the math section of the GREs and totally bombed the verbal--this makes no sense whatsoever. 2) One of the clients at my work meeting this morning drew a parallel between getting trial software and a first free snort of cocaine.

I'm just living in freakishly surreal world. If I weren't so tired, I'd be sure I was dreaming.

Beelzebub's Oral Fixation

Last night I thought I'd prepare a little high vitamin grilled repast for the boy and myself before we were off to rehearse and study respectively.

The keynote event was the sicilian peppers I grew on the deck. Lipstick red, round, the size of golf balls, they don't look particulary hot. I stuffed them with little balls of mozzarella as is evidently traditional and threw them on the grill.

Well they may look innocuous, but the Italian name for the variety is baci de Satana (Satan's Kiss). I should have paid heed to the colorful name. My first was no big deal--I think it was on the greener side--a minor demon gave me a peck. The second was unbelievable. It felt like the Satan himself had not just kissed me thoroughly, but then had stuck his tongue down my throat. I swear blisters rose on my esophagus. I can't imagine that I would ever eat them again.

But I can't wait to try these on the boys at our next grilling...

Bronx Bombshell...

Okay, so there's one thing I LOVE about going to the Bronx. Walking down Pelham Parkway (strip of park that's about 1/2 a block wide and a mile long) is great for the self-esteem. If it's a warm day, it's almost a sure bet that I'll be ogled by old immigrant men. This past Sunday was truely the piece de resistance: two ancient formerly Yugoslavian men actually stopped mid-sentence and dead in their tracks to look at me and respectfully congratulate Greg on his good fortune, while I demurely lowered my eyes. Of course, had I been walking alone, their reaction would have probably been a bit scary--it's all just a matter of circumstance.

But given the circumstances as they stood, while MY reaction to it is not terribly feminist, I really don't give a damn, 'cause it did loads for the ego. As good as girls night out at an Italian restaurant staffed by actual Italians.

Old Money's not what it used to be.

On my way past Gramercy Park this morning, I saw an older woman dressed elegantly in white and tan: white ducks and ballet neck 3/4-length sleeve shirt, straw hat with a white silk scarf tied on it and tan espadrilles. She was walking a total of six puffy little dogs, Bichons or perhaps just a hardier version of the miniture poodle: 5 white and one charcoal gray. As I passed, she bent down, and congratulated the gray on "a very respectable poo-poo".

Welcome to the Zoo

Amy H. was just telling me that NPR makes NYC sound like it's a police state at the moment. In response, well, it kinda is, but it's not bad during the day...at night, it's a bit freaky with the sirens and the streets closed, so we're stayin' in--no dance class, nothing that takes us to a different neighborhood and can end up with us stranded. So it sounds kind of bad, but unlike Letterman's monologue claim, there's no tear gas in the air either--NYPD does not use tear gas, the area is too densely populated. Pepper spray, but no tear gas.

The thing is, you really can't blame the cops, and I don't think many residents do. They've tried to be nice and allowed a protest without a permit go through and one of their guys got his face kicked in--no more exceptions. Throw in the fact that they're working without a contract, a situation that could be directly linked to the administration not coming through with the rebuilding funds promised after 9/11...and God knows they're not paying for the extra security the convention is requiring. They're unhappy and nervous, we're unhappy and nervous, there's lots of tension...it's just not good. Nervous people do things calm people wouldn't. I know if I had a billyclub at the moment, I'd be swinging it at the next person who screamed in my face.

On the funny side, I met up with Jen on Tuesday night for drinks. Two guys came in to the bar saying they had just been let out of a dragnet--literally, a big orange dragnet--'cause as they were walking down the street, they were caught up in a flash protest. They immediately found a cop on the back edge, explained and the guy gave them the benefit of the doubt. After this news, I mention that I've gotta eat something, we leave, walk to 3rd Ave (away from the action) and there are cop cars with sirens every minute or so. Jen's looking jumpy. At the point that a helicopter is called out...Jen bails, she needs to go home 'cause this is too much--sensory overload if you will. Oh, how the tables have turned...I used to be the nervous visitor and now I'm thinkin' it's not half so bad as Friday, we should pick a restaurant, have dinner and by the time we're done, things will have died down. But she needed to go home and I can't blame her.

It's pretty safe to say that I'll be doing a jig when they all leave tomorrow--Republicans and protestors alike--maybe we can finally have groceries delivered again.

Sad...

James Doohan was given a star on Hollywood's walk of fame today--evidently just in time. His family announced that he has the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. He attended his final Star Trek convention last weekend at which the keynote speaker was Neil Armstrong. According to the NY Times:

Ending a talk full of "Star Trek" references, including a wish for a Federation starship for his next command, Mr. Armstrong addressed Mr. Doohan: "From one old engineer to another: thanks, mate."

It's Started...

The conventioneers start arriving today. The imported protestors have already arrived and have started to get busy. Me, well, I'm preparing my defensive plan.

Traffic started getting really nasty about Wednesday, everyone is tense because the news media (a.k.a. the rumor-mongering bastards at CNN) keeping saying that somebody's gonna blow something up...so no matter what side you're on politically, you're constantly looking for trouble, and if you're looking, you'll find it.

This is wearing on the nerves, but what's really becoming difficult in my office is the pressure to protest. I mean seriously, when I say I'm not planning to attend any rallies, I completely get the cold shoulder.

I disagree with 99% of the current administration's policies. (I couldn't tell you what the 1% would be, but you all know how much I hate absolutes.) I write hate-email to the Whitehouse on a regular basis. But I just can't agree with the majority of protestors either. (By the way, the rallies are all anti-war, they don't have time for gay or reproductive rights...if they did, I'd be there.) And it's not only anti-war, but that with a freakishly simplistic and irrational point of view: All troops should come home, from EVERYWHERE, right now.

It must make life really easy to see unique and incredibly complex situations in the same entirely black and white manner. (And that applies to both sides.) I sometimes wish I had that ability.

Oh, and listening to professional protestors/NYU students on the street talking about how they intend to taunt cops in hopes of the clubs coming out so they can sue, is NOT making me want to join in. Of course, since the big Sunday rally now loops around my entire neighborhood, I may not have a choice. Right now I pretty much hate them all, Republicans and radicals.

Greg and I have tickets to see a Fringe-festival play on Sunday afternoon. It's called "Golden Prospects" and is a comedy in the style of a turn of the century melodrama. The audience is encouraged to boo and hiss at the characters. We should have lots of practice by then.

Idiocy...patriotic and otherwise

So, yesterday, I was invited to go with Greg and Eric out to Joe's in Jersey City or perhaps Hoboken for the "lamest one-block Italian street fair ever". I decided to pass and let it be boys' night. Mistake.

Greg came home at 12:30, at first very quietly, and then, once he established I was awake, yelling at the top of his lungs, "I love you and the Constitution of the United States of America!" "It's you, Baby and Thomas Payne!" That's Jefferson. "Him too!!!!"

This was all well good and cute. I forced him into the shower 'cause he was soaking wet and freezing. He continued his protestations of love for me and of course, the Constitution, John Adams and the Thomases as I poured him into bed. He was absolutely adorable...up until the vomiting session that went on for several hours. There's no escaping the sound in our apartment. Once again, I've had about 3 hours of sleep.

I'm soooo not happy. But on the bright side, at least no one is in the office this morning.

My landlord is grateful too...

A guy in the office just told me that Laura Bush and daughters are in town. Mrs. Bush was interviewed, during which she said she was "grateful that New Yorkers had come in to work despite the orange alert". Ummmm...yes, 'cause who was gonna pay us for the last THREE YEARS if we didn't?

Plus, "grateful"? Why would she be grateful? 'Cause the stores are open?

I know she meant well, and I don't expect everyone to know our "terror alert" state, but you'd think she might have a little bit of information the rest of the country doesn't.

You know, I think I may have posted almost this exact text before. If only because it seems like this is the second time I've edited a post to NOT be titled "ignorant slut".

P.S. What makes this even more interesting? I mentioned it to Greg and he said that he'd seen it online at both the NYTimes and Yahoo News. The story is nowhere to be found any more. Completely gone and not even in the archives. If Hugh didn't have the printed story in the Post (it's not in their online archives anymore either) I wouldn't believe that it existed. So who do you think made THAT phone call.

Shyamalamadingdong...

Greg and I went to see The Village last night. It was odd...we saw many of the flaws that the critics talked about, yet at the same time we were indeed tense and frightened by the build up--the cinematography is incredible and the music really heightens the mood. We knew there was a twist and looked hard for it. To some extent I suspected, but I never suspected the full thing--once it was revealed in its entirety, everything that had gone before made sense. Every perceived flaw of the film or the acting had a purpose and made total sense.

I really think that had the critics stayed to watch the very end, they wouldn't have panned it so badly. Or maybe if they'd ever been in a situation that would make one consider it, they wouldn't find it so far-fetched either.

Much Better Now

Sunday was...well, you know how they say there are the "stages of grief" and sometimes it takes a while to get through them all? Well, with a little push from the latest terror alert, I hit anger with a vengence yesterday.

Let's just say that we now know that if you throw a bottle of Sam Adams hard enough, glass shards will stick in the door frame. I'm just relieved I chose the bottle over the baseball bat--washing everything that was splattered is one thing, replacing smashed stuff is another.

Then we went to dinner--it was very nice to get out, plus I owed Greg a beer--and watched The Mask of Zorro, ever a fine flick.

Five Rules

We went to see Dodgeball last night--it was my turn to choose the movie--and I can honestly say I have not laughed out loud at a movie so much in years.  WAY better than Anchorman, and not  only because you don't have to remember 1970s newsrooms to get the jokes.  While they're often running, Dodgeball has more than one and they are of various levels of humor/degrees of funny--there's some "Something About Mary" stuff, but luckily there's much more than that.  If you enjoy watching people being hit by flying objects, this is the movie for you. 

The ADAA sportscasters played by Gary Cole and Jason Bateman are hilarious--Cole drops inappropriate historical/political references into his commentary such as: "The German team just blitzkrieged onto the court, trying to extend their dodgeball empire to the U.S.--Appeasement be damned!" and my favorite: "It looks like they've really dropped the A-Bomb on the Japanese team!" 

The cameos are freaking brilliant including gems from William Shatner and several others that, like a red rubber ball, hit harder if you don't know they're coming.   So as you go about your day, remember people: Dodge, Duck, Dip, Dive and...Dodge.

 

Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!

So after a really crappy start to my Tuesday involving losing a contact behind my eye, white flies on my tomato plants, getting cursed out by a crazy homeless woman and two work crises, one of which required defending myself at length, I received a phone call.  From SuJi.  My long lost college friend.  Okay, she wasn't lost, she's just been living in Seoul for the past 10 years.  She's calling from a payphone at the Met Museum of Art.  She's in town for 36 hours, do I want to have lunch tomorrow?

The answer to that is YES in spades!  This is so cool, I've got to tell Bda.  So I email her the news and then as an afterthought ask if there's any way she could ditch work and join us, really not believing that this is going to happen, not with a seriously demanding job, two small boys and the expense of the train up from D.C.--but the effort has to be made.  90 minutes later she responds that both her boss and her (happily) most benevolent and beneficent husband have agreed to her day of playing hooky. 

Bda arrives around 11, walks to my office.  We go to meet SuJ at Barnes and Noble.  SuJi does not know that B is joining us.   I approach her, give her a hug and tell her that I hope she doesn't mind, but I invited someone else to lunch.  She pulls back and says, "Oh, your boyfriend?" I step back and B steps forward.  There were many shrieks in the B&N.

Great afternoon: good lunch/crappy sangria at Pipa, lots of chatting/catching up, wandering to Washington Square Park,  took B to Penn to catch her train back.  SuJ and I then wandered up to Bryant Park and hung out for another couple of hours before she had to meet up with her host and I went home.

Awesome afternoon.  Awesome surprise.  We'll have to try another mini-reunion like this in another 10 years, or hopefully a little sooner.

 

Dilemma -- NOT the Ultimate One

Did anybody see that Bush&Co stopped for a cone at Leon's on his swing through the 'hood on Wednesday?  (That question was not directed at atom--I'm sure he somehow heard.) 
 
My question:  Can I still get my traditional turtle sundae the next time I go home, or do I have to avoid the place forever?   After reading about it in the Northwestern online, I also read about it in the NY Times and I'm sure it made the Washington Post too.  My fears are as follows: 
 
1) The place will be mucked up with Republicans on pilgrimage to visit the shrines of Bush-dom.  (I know the majority of the regular patrons are Republicans, but they live there.) 
 
2) The custard may well have soured. 

Bereft

Over my lunch hour I finished the final book in a King Arthur trilogy (The Winter King, Enemy of God, and Excalibur written by Bernard Cornwell) that I've been reading over the last month. It was a bloody, bloody series, filled with action and adventure and I've enjoyed it immensely, but the end has me absolutely devastated. My chest hurts from the sadness. I choke on it.

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck...

The editor of Forbes-Russia was murdered Friday. Forbes and the editor had just been acquitted from a British liable suit for implying that a certain Russian businessman was a mobster. Even the British courts had to say that nothing in the article/book in question was unsubstantiated. He was shot 4 times, execution style, as he left his office on Friday.

Steve Forbes himself wrote the story about it. I overheard that the order came down that absolutely no one on the payroll was to touch the copy or even open the file. It was edited by a freelance editor and was put through the system by an independent contractor at the .com. Evidently they were going to be very careful that no one else directly connected to the company was going to be involved.

Star Sighting!!!!

I saw Julia Roberts this morning on my way into work. Dear God, the woman has a big mouth. Seriously, if she could unhinge her jaws, she could ingest an elephant.

I'm sure you're interested in my weekend, so I'll tell you...

Friday night: Greg went to a play with Joe, I stayed home and did very little. This was good.

Saturday: Cleaned out the refrigerator, did dishes, exterminator came, went to Farmer's market, evacuated the apartment for rest of day: stopped in a vintage clothing store that Greg decompresses in on our way to the subway--stayed for over an hour. Then continued our journey up to Natural History to see "The Lost City of Petra" before it closed. (You know, the sandstone buildings in Jordan carved into the cliffs.) REALLY cool exhibit. First good temporary exhibit I've been to there. After we grilled out. Really nice day.

Sunday: Made brownies for Joe's cookout while watching Secondhand Lions and crying. How is it the sum of all the ingredients was not half so heavy as the final pan? Was it my tears, like "In Water for Chocolate" or was it the almost two pounds of Ghiradelli chocolate melted into the things?

At four went to our neighbors' cookout, having spoken to them every other day for over a year, we finaly introduced ourselves. He's Welsh/British and speaks entirely in British slang--no clue what he's talking about, but she's way cool, I could definitely see hanging with them in the future.

Went to Joe's in Jersey City, mostly really nice time, fireworks a little disappointing (plus seeing smoke pouring from Lower Manhattan is still disturbing), cats a little wheeze-inducing. He has a really cool "mountain climbing" exercise machine that was tons of fun to use--that's right, burgers, dogs and exercise machines. Overall fun. Home at 3 AM.

Monday: slept WAY in. Humid, rainy, mellow in house day. Went to see De-Lovely last night as mystery shoppers for Loews. I'll never hear a Cole Porter tune again without crying--sobbed through most of the movie. Greg did too. Overall, I thought it was a great movie, other than the casting of a guy who couldn't dance to play Nijinsky. Greg thought it was well done but hated it for the emotional manipulation. (He doesn't like the crying in the slightest.) "Kiss Me Kate", the musical he wrote while his wife was dying, now has entirely new meanings. Came home and watched Uncle Buck to recover.

Tuesday: Here I am and there you are...fascinated and relieved I've posted once again.

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!

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.

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.

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?

"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.

Fieldwork again...

So, we've finished taking photos of the entrances of each building on 42nd Street for our Vision42 project. (Actually a cool premise, take a look.) Next step, clocking the time it takes to get from the street to subway platforms along the same route--it all goes into the travel time savings for workers if they can just step on a street level light rail vs. going down into the subway.

Fine, we can start on it next week, but there's only one problem: SECURITY. A couple of my colleagues were detained for some time while doing a landuse survey around the entrance to the Queens/Midtown Tunnel and Naja and I had a bit of a brush with the police when photographing an area around Grand Central, in fact, we were told "NO PICTURES" and to leave. This was on the street, can you imagine what it's going to be like IN the tunnels? However, the work still needs to be done.

Now, don't get me wrong--I'm really glad security is as tight as it is. It really should be given the world situation. I'm just not looking forward to a task that is not going to be enjoyable in the least in the first place, coupled with the potential for unlimited detention as possible under the Patriot Act.

Hmmm...maybe I'll have Naja do the subway timing.

Field work in New York F***in' City

So yesterday, Naja and I got tired after 4 hours of looking for freight entrances on 42nd St. in the blazing heat, so we decided to time off-peak bus travel (another project requirement). Well, you think wandering around Port Authority with an exposed digital camera is dangerous? Try riding the damn bus.

We're sitting there, stop watch and notepad in our respective hands, and a rather obese woman with a metal cane sits behind us, one leg up on the seat beside her because, as she tells everyone, she just left the hospital after some surgery on her foot. A child with a coloring book sits next to her (small enough to fit on the leftover seat) and the woman spends the next leg of the trip sweetly commenting on what a gifted artist the child is--beautiful colors, composition, yada, yada, yada. The child and her mother leave a couple of stops later.

By the next stop, it's started to rain and the bus is suddenly jammed with people--mainly older tourists looking to escape the downpour. Well, an older, kinda scruffy looking guy takes offense that this woman is using two seats. She offers to move her leg over so he can sit on the edge, but he wants the whole seat. As they're talking, she becomes aggitated and is tapping her cane harder and harder on the back of our seat. Then it gets ugly. He's screaming, she's screaming back and suddenly, she's up on her knees swinging her cane at him with a LOT of force. The guy in the single seat across the way jumps up just in time to avoid the cane coming down on him. She's slamming the cane against her seat and the now-empty one across from her, making as much noise as she possibly can while she screams obscenities and some rather interesting insults at this guy. My favorite was "unwashed toothless bitch". Then she jumps up and starts jumping up and down (on both feet, mind you, despite her supposed surgery) while threatening to splatter his brains against the bus walls out with her cane/smash his remaining teeth up into his head/shoot him with her gun, if only she had it with her. At this point, I had to stop paying attention to what she was saying and pay attention to the cane: the follow-through on her swings had the thing coming within a few inches of my skull. There was no where to go. I had one arm up for protection and was actually touching her tricep at one point to make it NOT hit me. The guy ran off at the next stop--along with a large number of the tourists. She sits down, still screaming threats out the window about how if he ever shows his face on 42nd St again, her "bloods" will kill him.

She starts to calm until some woman sits on the edge and starts comisserating with her on how stupid the guy was--speaking of stupid... She starts to relive it all and the cane starts slamming on the back of our seat again. Then some idiot in the back of the bus loudly says "Gee, well this is New York City--more entertainment on the bus than in a theatre!" Okay, true, but you DO NOT say it within earshot of the crazy woman... She starts in again with "Entertainment!!! I'll give you EMS! This is fuckin' New York fuckin' City! Fuckin' entertainment...and the summer's just starting..."

I've never been so glad to see someone leave a bus in my life. I've never seen anyone freak like that. Naja said that since she's been riding the bus alone (since she was 10) she's never witnessed anything like it--and she was living here in the bad old days.

What the Hell?!!!

Okay, about the pictures from Iraq:

I know that I've never been in the situation where I'm constantly under fire, so I cannot know the context for those actions. However regardless of circumstance, the primary question that came to mind when looking at the photos was:

Are we freakin' Nazis?!!!

'Cause really, while I don't think we're going for all out genocide, the similarity to photos at the Holocaust Museum in DC was really disturbing.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh

So here I am at 10:30 on a Thursday morning, typing from the comforts of home. I'm taking a personal day a.k.a trying to retain sanity. I've been thinking about it since finding out that Greg had this whole week off 'cause of holiday days that needed to be taken, but finding out at 3 yesterday that about 3 weeks worth of fieldwork needs to be finished next week pretty much capped it.

Oh, you may ask why I'm not getting started on it now. Well, the work entails mapping and taking digital images of all the primary and freight entrances of every building on 42nd Street. That's 13 LONG blocks through the very heart of Manhattan. It's something that one person cannot do well alone (lots of stuff to handle/keep track of) and since my partner for this is my boss' daughter who is out more often than in until next week due to finishing her latest Master's...

The one thing I could do alone, is time the walks from subway entrances to platforms for each entrance on the street, but I refuse to do that without a letter of explanation from the client. Unusual activity in the subway can cause some uncomfortable questioning and after some people I work with and their clients were detained by the police for 90 minutes because they were taking photos of the entrance to a tunnel... I'm not going in until my bases are covered.

But really, on to the sanity restoration...last night, we went to our favorite neighborhood Italian for a fabulous meal with a fabulous bottle of wine--Le Solive Connubio--lovely. It was amazing, rainy, romantic, the food was excellent, the music was mellow.

And today I intend to putter about, do a few chores, do a little smoochin', go to a movie at the Tribeca Film Festival, come home for the final episode of Friends...bliss.

To my friends: Enjoy your crappy workdays! HA!

Better places?

Once again the insanity of this place boggles my mind. The HR director is interviewing candidates for a janitorial position today. At an open table in the lobby. On the other side of the half-wall of our area.

Um....shouldn't an office be used for the interviewing process? Wouldn't the interviewer AND the interviewee find it distracting to be doing this within sight and sound of the lunchtime comings and goings of the 300-odd office staff? Also, shouldn't there be some consideration for the staff who work in the vicinity who are being subjected to really stupid questions repeated over and over again very slowly and, of course, very LOUDLY because few of the interviewees have English as their primary language?

Idiots abound. Truly.

Where's MY maid?!

I was just in the pantry here at the office and one of the new partners spilled milk all over the floor while getting his coffee. His reaction: "Wow. What a mess." Then he put the milk back in the fridge, picked up his coffee and went back to his cube. Um, crazy concept--clean up after yourself you freaking slug!!!

The guy behind him at the coffee maker just kinda stared down at it for a minute before stepping over it to the refrigerator.

I walked the two steps to the sink, got a paper towel and wiped it up. Sometimes it seems like I'm the only person in the world (or at least this office) who didn't have a maid following them around and cleaning up after them their entire life.

More movie nonsense

Watched an entire movie last week: Close Your Eyes. Okay, I spent a fair amount of time with my face buried in Greg's shoulder, but that was not due to a poor film. Very creepy, very suspenseful, and surprisingly violent for a BBC production. I must say I found a man being strapped to a table, his belly sliced open and having a live rat sewn inside to eat his entrails quite disturbing. Of course, no one used a gun, so I guess it's not really violent then.

All in all, a very interesting premise, especially if you're into the 16th Century French occult. I'd actually recommend it rather highly, I just wouldn't recommend eating right before.

Kill Quentin...

Last night I went to see Kill Bill Vol. 2. After 40 minutes of being sickened yet incredibly bored, I walked out. Every other line was emphasized with a dramatic pause and super-closeup, which stretches out each scene ENDLESSLY. Somehow Quentin didn't get the memo that that device is really only effective when it happens to underscore dramatic moments. I know that the film is supposed to be an homage to other, older films, but if you're just going to lift the settings and cobble them together, what's the point? Along that line, if you're going to do scenes in black and white, one should really shoot with black and white film--the movie's black and white scenes looked like I'd hit the BW option on my DVD player--no depth in the medium range shots, but every pore and wrinkle in the closeups.

I do have to say that no one else shoots violence the way he does--thus the "sickened"--but without a modicum of dramatic tension (something that Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction were loaded with) Kill Bill was nothing but self-aware drek.

The night wasn't a total loss however, I greatly enjoyed the previews for the coming attractions.

I'm BAAAACK!!!

So my little trip to the homeland is being referred to by Greg as an "Amish Vacation". But, just because I spent the better part of the trip doing heavy labor in the yard is no reason to mock my trip... I'm telling you, digging out sod is a really zen activity, slow, methodical, empty your mind--it's really quite nice.

The key factor in accomplishing anything in the yard is the amount of help you get from others. My niece Jordyn, age 4, was quite the helper, especially when Grandma was gone on an errand. She really wanted to be digging with me, so Ann and I finally decided that she could dig in the vegetable garden. It's yet to be tilled, so no big deal. I used a hand rake to make "Xs" in the soil to mark the spots she could dig. Well, one thing led to another, and soon she was being encouraged to dig deeper and deeper, then to bury her little feet in the dirt as if she were planting herself. That is when inspiration struck, my friends. Struck with the force of a pickax. (No, I didn't get to use one of those, I'm sorry to say.)

"Perhaps, she'd grow if she were watered?"

I looked at Ann, she looked and me, shrugged and said, "What the heck, I used to play in the mud all the time." I went and filled the watering can and returned to water Jordyn's buried toes. When I returned with the second can of water, she was pretty coated from the shins and forearms down. When I returned with the third, she was jumping up and down, shrieking like a banshee and splashing thick black mud all over, including into her newly cut and styled hair. By the time Grandma got home, she was covered from biceps and thighs down. Then came the moment we'd all been waiting for...the wipeout. She was mud from mid-back on down, half an inch thick and peeling off in strips as it started to dry.

In the end, Ann had to strip her naked under the outdoor faucet because she was just too muddy to be carried through the kitchen to the bathroom. Ann and I thought the whole thing was hysterical from start to finish. We were laughing almost as much as Jordyn and while my mom kept shaking her head at the whole mess, it didn't stop her from taking lots of pictures of the little wallower.

PS. I didn't really do any more yardwork that day.

"Baby, no one deserves to end up on my table..."

So, I'm walking to work this morning and there are tons of production trailers set up near Gramercy Park. No big deal, they're always shooting Law and Order in some incarnation or other in the neighborhood. But then I saw Radioman, a semi-homeless guy with a radio around his neck featured in the NY Times this weekend who's known for getting bit parts in movies/autographs of "big" stars. Hmmmm...this is NOT going to be Law and Order.

I walked over to the no parking posts and discovered that the shoot is for "CSI: Miami". Huh? Last I heard, this is New York and there's no way they're gonna make it look like Florida. Kyle mentioned that perhaps they're chasing a criminal to New York. Yeah, 'cause law enforcement EVER crosses jurisdictions. But you know, it's just another example of the blatant disregard for reality that makes the show so fun.

Admission of lameness: I walked through their food area in hopes of seeing David Caruso--I really wanted to ask him if he'd been attending the Shatner school of acting during the 10-year period he had no work. "Tell me.....did you test to see IF...our victim's blood...was the only BLOOD...on the knife?"

Alas, no luck, only a few techies and the clean-cut white guy. Another little note, they should tell them in contracts when they get a big job that wearing wraparound sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled down way low on a really overcast day just makes you even more obvious.

Haunted, we've got to be haunted.

Last night we were sitting in the living room watching an intense episode of CSI. All of a sudden there are steel drums playing a really menacing tribal rhythm in the entry. Not out in the hall, but IN the entry. It took us a minute to figure out that an update was available from Compaq and this was simply the notification alarm. Deep breaths, shut the computer down, go back to watching.

Fifteen minutes later, there's a whoosh and a crash in the living room closet. The end bracket that holds up the clothes bar split in half and the whole load of clothes, etc. came crashing down.

Now, to have these things occur within such a short time was just a little too odd to be mere coincidence. But the real capper is, the first couple of times I've tried to publish this post, it's blanked out.

Freakin' ghosts.

Haunted, we've got to be haunted.

Last night we're sitting in the living room, watching a very intense "CSI" when all of a sudden, there are steel drums playing LOUDLY in the entry--a menacing tribal hunting rhythm. It took about a minute to figure out that a new Compaq update was available and this was the notification noise. Shut down the computer, went back to watching.

About 15 minutes later, there's a whoosh and a crash in the living room closet as the bracket holding up the clothes bar breaks and the entire load of clothing collapses. Once again, we jump out of our skins.

The two incidents occured just a bit too closely to be mere coincidence. Freakin' ghosts.

Will it be the Secret Service or the FBI?

I've sent what I believe is my hundredth hate email in the last year to the Whitehouse today. Actually, it was to the Chair of the 9-11 Commission, but cc-ed to the Whitehouse. If it's not directly to the president, will it count toward my eventual investigation/arrest?

You've seen all the news about Condoleeza Rice testifying next week before the panel? Well, what they're not mentioning is that it's conditional testimony--IF she testifies, no other member of the administration's senior staff may be called. How DARE they?

It's nothing but a token gesture to pacify the public. She's very smart and quite adept at stonewalling. It accomplishes NOTHING.

It is a travesty of justice, it is a betrayal of the public faith and it is yet another slap in the face to families and survivors alike.

She wouldn't recap a bottle of Windex, either--it's wet.

Greg had a show last night for his Reform School improv group (made up from the performance class students) at a new comedy venue a mere two blocks from our apartment--it doesn’t get more convenient than that. We see two other groups and Reform School’s show goes well. Very funny, almost everybody’s on. Great new venue, convenient location, decent space, all goes really well, quite the enjoyable evening. Then comes the bill.

There is a two drink minimum for non-performers. Standard stuff. Now, I had two jack and cokes, which were a mere $6.50 each. This is REALLY good for a comedy club—this place is getting better and better.

Slight problem in that someone else was put on my tab—a friend of Gabi, another performer, who had two bottles of water at $5 each. I approach her about her part of the tab and she’s completely unresponsive, so I go up to the waitress, explain that we’re NOT together and pay my portion of the bill. The waitress approaches this woman, they have a heated chat and then they go out to the front of the club. Five minutes later, the waitress re-enters the room, REALLY upset and yells that someone from Reform School had better get out to the bar, because someone from their entourage is refusing to pay their check and SHE’s certainly not going to pick it up ‘cause she’s got kids to support. Everyone’s very confused, so I fill Gabi in about what’s going on as far as I know. She’ll take care of it while the rest of us exit.

Well, as we pass, this woman is out front throwing a SCREAMING fit about the cost of the water. She’s not going to pay and they can call the police if they want to—they should be arrested for charging so much. (Granted, $10 for two tiny bottles of water is freakin' ludicrous, but welcome to a comedy club in Manhattan, honey.) I continue to walk out—more people involved cannot make this better. Greg and Joe stay behind because they’re in charge of the troupe.

When they exit, they’re totally grim. Evidently, when Gabi and Joe tried to pay, this woman continued her fit—no one should pay this much, it’s ridiculous. In total, the scene lasted for almost 20 minutes. Neither Reform School, nor any member of the troupe, will ever be allowed to play there again.

A really good night, with a lot of potential, is totally ruined, by a haughty self-righteous bitch who can't see beyond her own outrage.

"L" is for "Loser"

So, in an attempt to return to healthfulness, I misguidedly stepped up the exercise program last night and took a "Beginner" jazz class instead of my standard basic. The Basic class is really good in a strengthening way, lots of barre work, and balance stuff, but not terribly aerobic and I'm needing a bit more cardio. Plus, as a rule, the combinations (the treat at the end of the class after 75 minutes of exercise) are no longer terribly challenging. Using this logic, it makes total sense to make the step up, right? Wrong!!!!

The class was REALLY crowded even though the teacher was a sub. The warmup was definitely more aerobic than I'm used to, but in a good way. Oddly, there was much less ab work than I'm used to as well. All in all, it was fine, lots of sweat, but fine. Then came the combination. Total nightmare. I was already physically tired from the prep and mentally tired from thinking too much in the effort to catch on to the unfamiliar routine, but that doesn't excuse the complete lack of instruction that followed.

She ran through each segment of the combination once at high speed and then the group was to catch on. Of course, the regulars in the front of the class had no problem, but the group was so huge that if you were in the back, you couldn't see a thing and that, combined with the speed and unfamiliarity with her style, led to disaster. (Did I mention that it was kinda hiphop-ish?) I'd say that about a third of us still didn't yet have it when class ended and left with the proverbial "L" tatooed to our foreheads. It was still a positive experience, but I must say if I had any less self esteem I'd have left in tears.

One happy discovery was made after though--Badger Balm works wonders for post-exercise muscle aches. My feet and ankles were already cramping up only a couple of hours after class and rubbing in the balm worked wonders; i.e., I walked down the stairs this morning instead of doing my usual post-class hobble.

The Greatest Thing EVER!!!!

You know those annoying scuff marks that end up on the walls? You know, the ones that are caused by passing leather bags, thrown shoes, etc.? Well, I've finally found something that takes them off: Mr Clean's Magic Eraser!

It's brilliant!!! All one has to do is run the eraser under water, squeeze out the excess and then start rubbing at the marks. They come off with very little effort and once the wall dries, you'd never know it was there. After using it, it looks like we'd had our apartment repainted! I love it, it's the best cleaning product EVER! Even better than the Swiffer! Go out and get a box today!!!

But for those of you unable to enthuse over cleaning products, you may be amused by the trick-of-vision that happened while I was in the buying them: The pharmacy now has cute little round signs every three feet identifying the product on the shelves. I was at such an angle that the sign for "facial cleansers" and that for "ethnic hair treatments" ran together and I read them as a single sign for "Ethnic Cleansers". Yes, that's right, you can buy just a bit of Milosevic in your local CVS! Once I realized I was mistaken, I giggled, or perhaps, chortled. But it was definitely one of the two...

Despair for the species...

I heard an ad last night for a new "reality" show on FOX. The premise is a bunch of unattractive women undergo plastic surgery to improve their looks and afterwards they have a beauty contest to pick the winner. Is this not one of the sickest friggin' things you've ever heard of? They have themselves CUT because they don't feel attractive and then all but one is told SHE'S STILL NOT PRETTY ENOUGH and you know what they're calling it? "The Swan".

It's morally reprehensible that they're exploiting a group's really freakish insecurities. I mean, I can understand plastic surgery if one is badly deformed or injured, but undergoing the risks just because you're average looking is really damn insane. Then to subject yourself to a beauty contest afterwards? The need for psychiatric counseling for anyone who would want to be on the show is astounding.

Oh the weather outside is frightful...

It's snowing, and it's snowing HARD. In Manhattan. In March. That's just not right. However, in honor of the odd climatic occasion, the boy and I met up for lunch. We went to Eisenberg's Sandwich Counter on 5th Ave at 22nd and managed to score one of the six tables. It was like being on the set for a depression-era film--I didn't think they made legal restaurants that are only 10 feet wide anymore. However the matzoh-ball soup was fabulous and the pastrami sandwich we split was lovely as well--not too fatty. By the time we finished, we were full, warm and contented. Then I destroyed it by saying those fatal words, "Wouldn't it be nice...No, never mind." But it was too late, Greg already knew what I was going to say. "...if we just went home, crawled into bed under the down comforter and watched the snow fall outside on the deck?"

A mere six blocks from home, yet unable to return for another 5 hours. Life is too cruel sometimes.

but the lions come at night...

I woke up at 5 this morning to Greg physically holding me down and repeatedly saying "it's okay, it's okay"...evidently my thrashing and screaming "NO" over and over again woke him.

I was dreaming that my mom's friend Gert arranged a vacation for us and we were staying in a haunted B&B. There was a lion-skin rug on the bed complete with head. I thought it would be funny to use the head as a pillow--that's when the lion came to life and clamped its jaws on the back of my skull my skull. I was thrashing around like a fiend to pry it off when the boy woke me..

I was ready to drop back to sleep immediately, but poor Greg was really concerned 'cause we both tend to have really terrible emotion-laden nightmares that linger for days. I finally roused myself enough to give him the dream-plot synopsis--and after a few giggles at the ridiculousness of the whole situation it was back to sleep. I mean really, who would put a lion-skin rug on a bed in a New England B&B? That's just crazy!

PS. Perhaps the big-cat attack was my punishment for being too lazy to email Artful Scheme yesterday to wish him a Happy Birthday?

Don't get it...

How is it that I managed to get the office dribble mug? As I returned to my cube from the kitchen I left a wet trail of everyone's favorite legal work drug the entire way. The weird thing is...I never saw any splash over the top, it just seemed to flow out through an opening unseen.

Is this a sign of the apocalypse or do I just need more caffeine?

Intro Redux

So, you may be wondering why "Replete with Weenies and Idiots" is the title of this blog. Well, I'll tell you.

First off, credit must be given to Laura Blackwell who commented "the world is replete with weenies" long ago at Grinnell College. It's been a decent truism and has been resurrected quite a few times in the last 15 years as the situation necessitated. I added the "idiots" part a few weeks ago. Look around you--you know that this is true as well.

I really believe that most of the world's conflicts would not exist if the individuals involved were not one or the other. "Weenies" are those who are afraid of confrontation and let a situation slide in hopes it will go away--almost invariably, the situation worsens and by the time it absolutely MUST be addressed, the consequences are exponentially worse than they would have been had the situation been handled at the outset. "Idiots" is really a label of frustration used for those who behave in such a logic-defying way to the extent that they must be judged mentally deficient. (For the record, those who are genuinely mentally challenged are never "idiots" in this sense for there is a reason behind their actions.)

So, now that you know my definitions I'm sure you can thing of MANY people you know/work with who fall into these categories. Don't you think life would be easier if they threw off their mantles of wimpiness and stupidity? Of course, then what would I have to blog about?

Strange Intro...

Somehow it escaped my notice that the Republican National Convention is being held in New York City this August/September. I think perhaps I was trying to ignore the fact, but it's been brought to light by the Bush ads being run around the country with him at the World Trade Center site. I find it absolutely abhorent that these photo op shots from 9/11 are being used for his political campaign and I'm obviously not the only one. I find it interesting that he hasn't run them in New York as far as I know. Perhaps it's because anyone here would find the idea as disgusting as I do.

I was in Manhattan those weeks with the heavily armed National Guard, buzzing fighter jets and the smell of chemical smoke that was inexorably linked with the idea of burning flesh, where the hell was he? Absolutely nowhere to be seen. Not on tv and surely not here with the exception of a single photo op. The only politician in the world who could even remotely use that period of time on his resume is Rudy Giuliani, and even then the flag-waving ads would be disrespectful. I'm torn between going home to Wisconsin for that long weekend to avoid the chaos, or being the first in line for the "human shield" protecting the Site from the further desecration of political opportunism.

It's kinda funny, I've always hated politics and political involvement of any kind, but I find I've written more damn email to the White House in the past year than I ever dreamed possible.