New route to weight loss...

Post-root canal, I have a temporary filling until the 28th of June--granted, it's been less than 24 hours and the area may become less sensitive--but for now eating is almost more trouble than it's worth.

It's not that it hurts, it just feels wrong. Evidently I've needed the rc for a very long time. The dentist's comments included: "We gave you a shot of novocaine just in case, but I don't really think you even needed that--this nerve is obliterated."

The root canal itself went very well, (I got to see the before, during and after x-rays) it's just that there's so little left of the tooth wall that it's very susceptible to fracture (thus the odd sensitivity) even when filled with cement--so it's quite possible that I just spent $900 only to have my tooth pulled anyway.

So until that crown is fitted on the 28th, I'm chewing slowly on the right side of my mouth and drinking a hell of a lot of V8.

Sendin' shivers up and down my spine...

Guess who I ran into in the elevator again on Saturday? The father of the girl next door. That's right, Princess' parents were back for the 5th time. She got a grill and they had to drive down from Boston to put it together for her. You'd think someone with a law degree would be able to follow simple instructions, but evidently not.

I actually laughed in his face when I said, "My God! You're back again?!!!" He looked a little chagrined. I think he gets that I think they're all pathetic.

Seriously, I love to hate this girl with an obsessive passion that knows no bounds, not even that of neighborly civility.

Hi!

Just wanted to say hello. Nothin' more than that goin' on really. Highlights of a not terribly exciting week:

I've spent a lot of time looking for my book club friend Rowena on tv. Given the anniversary of AIDS, she's been doing lots of press, including the Sunday morning news shows. She's the research grants director for AMFAR and currently, according to her speaking schedule at international conferences, the world's current expert on the potential of the not-yet-existent anal microbicides. (NOT what she's been talking about on American tv.) Seriously, she shows up at a conference and people say, "Oh! I know you, you're the anal girl!" She brings back cool presents too--last year it was a jingly elephant coin purse from Thailand, this year, a leather rhinoceros bookmark from Cape Town.

I got the puppy next door in trouble last night--I pet him when he was out on the deck alone, he got riled up and started to bark when he went back in. Princess is evidently training him not to, 'cause all we hear is a mantra of "No BARK!" coming through the wall. She's even drowning out the parrot!

Also made a kick-ass dinner last night: sauteed raddichio and speck with onion and garlic and tossed it with fettucine. The purpose of the meal was to go with an odd regional Italian wine that we got at the grand opening of a new wine store--it was from Northern Italy, an uncommon grape and they said it would go especially well with speck (smoked prosciutto, essentially) and grilled radicchio. They were totally right on, it was awesome.

See, told you it wasn't much...

Princess gonna be kicked out on her ass...

Saturday entailed more amusing chatting with the parents of the princess next door -- her father was back for the full three-day weekend (the third time) to do more installations (of what, I don't know). Her mother has been there for a week to get her settled, because she "has to! Poor Jen didn't get a single day off between graduation and her barr exam study sessions. She has those three days a week so there's no way she could possibly unpack her own boxes." Her mother also flies to Arizona every 2 months to cook and clean for her son for two weeks before returning to Boston. In the elevator, I told her father that they were absurdly nice to keep doing this. He took it to mean my parents were bad parents--I really meant that he and his wife are bad parents. (My wacky belief that a parent's job is to teach the child to be self-reliant.)

I don't think she'll be our neighbor for long though--they've installed tons of stuff (lease technically doesn't allow nails to hang pictures); put up permanent fencing on the deck completely blocking the required fire access between apartments; and have a freakin' DOGGY LITTER BOX on the deck.

Often, the first two would be overlooked, but throw in the fact that her mother has been calling the management company every day to complain about things like "flowers should really be planted around the base of the trees by the entrance" and, my favorite, "you need to do something about the garbage in front of the building three days a week". Ummm, you mean the garbage that's out to be picked up by the sanitation department? Believe us, you want it to be picked up that often instead of remaining in the building's storage. You really, really do!

Arash and Yas complained about a hell of a lot less and were evicted; as was Kate, the older woman who lived down the hall. We're not going to say anything to princess...we've already tried and been blown off, anything more and we'd just sound like the cranky neighbors.

However, once the "litter box" starts to smell, the complaining Greg and I are going to do to the management company is going to be staggering.

Four year drought...

and this Thursday I'm going to the dentist.

Why so long you ask?
1) No dental insurance.
2) I've always had good teeth.
3) My last trip was to the NYU Dental School and after spending 20 hours in the chair over the course of 3 trips I finally got a cleaning--although only 'cause I was REALLY insistent.

Why now?

I think I need a root canal. Very, very unhappy about it. Very, very.

However, the place I'm going to claims to have a "painless" procedure. Also, it's the same dentist who does the dental work on ABC's Extreme Makeover!

'cause it's really the Artful Scheme of Pestering...

What to report?

Friday my friend Stephanie had her bag snatched from the back of her bar stool while we were hanging out--didn't notice until much later. Greg and I considered sleeping on the street for Kevin Spacey hosting SNL--it was too wet and blustery. We were very happy with our decision, we turned it off after watching only 20 minutes--it blew.

Saturday I went to the farmer's market for my final plants of the spring gardening season and even the "crazy" farmer was very nice to me. He has piercing blue eyes, a beard down to his chest and when once asked (not by me) if his produce was organic, flew into a rage and ranted at length about how government standards of "organic" mean shit 'cause they allow more and more chemical treatment each year. (Evidently, you just have to complement his fava bean greens and he's all happy. He suggested mixing them with arugula to cut the richness. I responded by saying I'd done that last week on his son's recommendation, but this week I was going to use my own nasturtium to give it a kick. Growing my own nasturtium really raised me in his overall ranking of useless New Yorkers.)

That afternoon we went to the 9th Ave International food fest. Walked 5 miles, over the course of which we split a spit-roasted pig sandwich, sourdough olive twist, jambalaya, greek egg custard pastry, key lime pie, corn on the cob, cheesecake and copious amounts of sangria. Okay, we didn't split the sangria. Plus we had various bites of other people's food. (People we knew, thank you.)

The best thing about 9th Ave is it's still a neighborhood event--lots of old time Hell's Kitchen residents--it's kinda like a parish picnic. For example: the priest from Holy Cross makes meatball parm sandwiches, lots of neighborhood gossip and issues being discussed. Best overheard was at the Greek pastry place: "SO, one of the old-timers came in to warn us that a Turkish restaurant was going in next door. She asked if we'd be okay. NO! We're gonna shoot each otha! RELAX, they're young people, it'll be fine..."

This inspired a conversation about the kind of licensing required from the Restaurant Board in order to perform an armed takeover of the kitchen next door. If only the Armenian and Azerbijiani places would move down onto that block too. THAT would be a hoot!

Sunday: Thank you notes (I still have a week to finish according to Emily Post.), wholegrain rhubarb pancakes and naps.

Ongoing news: My husband is being stalked by the idiot fans of a morning talk radio show, which shall remain nameless, by order of one of the hosts. Thank God the phone is in my name. This way he just gets an unending stream of emails calling him a "douche-bag". To give you a hint as to which show, they were kicked off the air for a while for paying a couple to have sex in St. Patrick's Cathedral while mass was being performed. They were caught 'cause they had a sound guy there so they could cut live to the scene.

Not terribly exciting and a bit rambly, but are you happy NOW?!!! ARE YOU ART?

Natural foods, you are mein enemy!

We found this great cereal at Trader Joe’s. Soy and flax flakes with soy nut and flax seed clusters. Sweet, whole-grainy and delicious. Only problem: have you ever seen a flax seed?

They actually are shaped in the sleek but evil-looking manner of any number of African river parasites that are able to swim up one’s urine stream, puncture their way through the kidney walls into the blood stream and then infest whichever organ they prefer. It should go without saying that flax seeds are NOT currently pooling in my retinas, laying eggs, but I wouldn't put it past them. What they have done, is worked their insidious deviltry on the gums on the left side of my mouth. Two seeds, one up top, one on the bottom; both were wedged in for two days--poking their evil spines into my tender sub-gum tissues. Thankfully, yesterday, after much probing and salt-water gargling I got the damn things out, leaving my mouth very sore but on the mend.

This morning, I decided to be smart and got oatmeal for breakfast. Oatmeal topped with almonds and hazelnuts. Yup. They may not be pointy, but it’s still not terribly bright to chew hard things when one has giant oral hematomas.

Birds are chirping, the sun is shining, but the REAL sign...

You know it's spring when the mentally ill homeless guy crushing Entemann's donuts in his fist before tossing the crumbs to the wind says "Morning, Bitch." in the sweetest, friendliest tone.

Marriage and Honeymoons...

Well folks, as of last Friday, we're officially married. Yup, that's when NYC registered our license--just short of five months after the wedding. Woo hoo! And since we're thinking of such things, I've started to plan our theoretical honeymoon. Tell me what you (especially those of you with more Euro-travel experience) think.

Fly in to Paris, spend 3-4 days acclimating to walking more slowly. I've learned from past experience that NYC boy doesn't make the transition easily.

Take the train to Marseilles, spend a day checking out the old port with perhaps a trip to Chateau d'If before taking the ferry to Corsica.

Wander Corsica for a few days before taking the ferry to Italy.

Rent a car, spend 5-6 days touring about...possibly Sienna, Florence, the Amalfi Coast...

October/November would be the time frame...not only our anniversary, but hoping for a little medieval All Saint's Day action.

He's agreed in theory, now, if only I can get Greg to go along with it in reality!

Mmmmm....chocolate....

Saturday night after a sensible vegetarian stir-fry dinner, we had the desire for cake. Greg was going to go to the store for an Entemanns, but I thought of the new chocolate bar at ABC Carpet and Home.

We went there instead, it was candlelit, filled with beautiful Parisian chocolates, an underlit bar, mellow music, laughter filtering in from the two restaurants on either side...fantastic ambience. We sat at the bar and ordered a 6-piece sample plate to share and two glasses of port.

Our waitress went to get the chocolates and the manager went to get our port--he couldn't find what we ordered, so he upgraded us to the more expensive variety at the same price. Very nice. We sipped, nibbled and chatted for about an hour.

As we were finishing our drinks, a conversation from behind the bar broke out among the staff about an extra chocolate tray that had been put out for the hour long sampling (someone hadn't shown for the reservation and they couldn't put the chocolate back). The manager shrugged and presented the 10-piece tray to us with his compliments. We actually couldn't handle consuming that much more chocolate, so we had a couple, gave some to the girls sitting next to us, stashed some squares for home and left a couple more.

As we were working on that, the bar manager placed tumblers in front of us--"we're testing this cocktail for the menu, could you give us your feedback?" Hazelnut and walnut liquors with brandy and chocolate to cut the sweetness, frothed and shaken with ice so it wasn't thick--fantastic.

We stumbled out after 11, buzzing from the chocolate and mellow from the booze. It would have been good with what we'd actually intended to order. With all the extras, it was most excellent! When you take "your trip to New York", I'd highly recommend it.

Party Maven

After a four-year hiatus from the party throwing scene, we're back.

Now, you may be thinking, "How is it that you throw no parties when you have a roof deck with grill in Manhattan?" The answer to that is the May 2002 housewarming party we had that ended up with crossed wires and a guest who invited everyone she knew--end of the night, we had 40 drunken people in our apartment and knew three of them. It was not good. Since then, we've had the occasional couple for dinner, but nothing beyond that.

Saturday night, we returned to the scene with a small (dozen or so) group of people from Greg's show and their significant others. I must say it was a success. The time was set for 6. We were ready by 4 so there was even time to get a little lie-down in. People started arriving at 6:30 and with the exception of a couple of people who had to work until 8, everyone was there by 7. My bi-polar American BBQ/Mediteranean Grill menu was a huge success. Everyone found at least something in the appetizers they liked and there was dead silence in the room when the chicken and lamb came off the grill as they wolfed it down. The Englishman in the house dubiously eyed the mango salsa, but once it was in his mouth, he looked as if he'd found religion. The entire tray of brownies was wiped out as was the lemon sorbet which went equally well with vodka AND prosecco.

It was so cold that we were forced to stay inside instead of having the appetizers outside as I'd schemed before sundown, but 12 people fit comfortably in the living room. It was suitably relaxed for us and it also helped that most of our guests were ridiculously grateful for a home-cooked meal. All in all, it made me believe we can do a larger party without outright destruction. Wooo hoo!

Home Invasion

Friday night, 'bout 11:30, I'm sitting home alone playing solitaire on the computer. (Greg's still at work.) All of a sudden, I hear a shuffling noise upstairs. The terrace door is open 'cause it's a beautiful night and now someone is in the bedroom. I reached over and unlocked and opened the front door. Then got up and slowly stuck my head around the bottom of the staircase. I can see a dark shape at the top of the stairs, as I lean farther around it becomes clearer and I realize that its tail is wagging.

There's a 50 lb black lab I've never seen before, tongue lolling, tail wagging, ears flopping, standing in my bedroom. Huge sigh of relief.

I closed the front door and then went up to remove him. Just as I got him outside, a streak of reddish brown goes for the bedroom--this dog I know. It's Kada from down the hall. Just as I grab both of them, my neighbor comes around from the other side of the roof. Cowboy boots on and glass of scotch in hand. "Sorry, that's my dad's dog. I'm havin' a drink with my dad." Given the redness of his cheeks, I do believe they were havin' more than one. I laugh, no problem, and go back in.

That's when the adrenaline rush near hyperventilation commences.

I have a new boyfriend...

and his name is Genghis Khan. I'm reading Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World by Jack Weatherford. It's FANTASTIC!

Sure he was ruthless, but he was fair. No nepotism, religious freedom, monarchs subject to the rule of law just as their subjects were, total meritocracy, free trade, diplomatic immunity, people who performed civic/public services (doctors, teachers, scholars, lawyers, religious leaders) didn't have to pay taxes.

Of course, in the course of his conquests, if you didn't accept him, he had no qualms about boiling you alive. But everyone has their quirks.

Just 'cause I'm 35, straight and a number-cruncher doesn't make me dull...

In the course of last night's dinner conversation, because of one of the plays we'd just seen, the topic of canabalism came up. I started laughing 'cause of course, I have ingested human flesh.

Greg looked at me in shock, as did the artsy theater kids at the table. I had to qualify and admit that it was more like "remains" than "flesh". Seeing that Greg was confused, I reminded him of the unfortunate powdery mushroom cloud of his mother's ashes, which both his brother-in-law and I inhaled when transfering the ashes into the little momento jars for him and his siblings. Hilarity ensued as I gave the blow-by-blow of the incident.

We then progressed to my dad's funeral, at which my throat became very dry from all of the condoling. Thus, having asked my mom if it were okay, I approached the casket and removed a hard candy from the pocket of my dad's jacket and the ensuing shock on the face of the honor guard fireman who saw me reach into the coffin, pull something out and pop it in my mouth.

Greg then pointed out that I'd done two of the most taboo things in our society--ingesting human remains and robbing the dead.

I retorted that 1) the former was unintentional and more of her ended up in my sinuses than my stomach, and 2) the man carried the candy just in case someone had a dry throat. No crimes there.

Klassy with a "K"

So Greg was in a One-Act Festival in the last few weeks. They didn't make it past the semi-finals, but last Friday we discovered that he'd been nominated for best actor out of the 50 plays shown. Thus, last night we had to attend the black tie awards ceremony...

The epitome of self-promotion presented with the seriousness of the Oscars and the class of a high school drama club. All the "i"s have been replaced with asterisks so this doesn't come back to haunt anyone.

Van D*rk F*sher's R*ant Theater presents a Van D*rk F*sher Production of Van D*rk F*sher's Strawberrry Fest*val Awards Show written, directed and hosted by Van D*rk F*sher with musical interludes written and performed by Van D*rk F*sher. No, that is not an exaggeration.

He also had a completely out-of-place musical interlude performed by a gospel singer with the worst voice of all time as well as another by a woman with a beautiful voice (performing one of his works, of course) but perhaps the worst spoken word actress of all time.

The extravaganza included performances of the 4 top vote-getting plays. Three of which were pretty good. One was absolutely brilliant. Neither Greg nor Monica, their director won their categories.

Oh, the best part. We were all given goodie bags. These contained 2 strawberry hard candies, 1 small heart shaped box of drugstore chocolates (yes, on sale after valentine's day) and last, but certainly not least, 1 bottle of strawberry margarita flavored wine cooler. Now that's class!

Medicine

First thing this morning, my boss asked if I were getting enough sleep 'cause I looked awful. Well I was feeling a bit run down as well, right up until I discovered the cure at one of the expensive food places around my office:

Rice Krispy treats with Froot Loops.

I feel fantastic! And so much energy!

Additional Stuff and Nonsense Pertaining

Yesterday after work I went for a reflexology massage 'cause I've been just not right and I've discovered it's a good non-invasive, drug-free way to "balance my humors".

Now, you may not believe that it could ever possibly work, but I've always been foot-centric, and not in a fetish sort of way. (Ask Art, I've always cricketed my feet together to relax.) So the first time I went, I thought, "worst case, I get a one hour foot rub". Little did I know what it would be like. In some areas, it is just a foot rub, in others, namely those that correspond to other parts of ones body that are having problems--it's really freakin' painful. I've had varying results depending on what kind of a "state" I've been in--physical or emotional.

Last night, I came out with 20 times the energy I had when I went in. I walked the 2 miles home in roughly 25 minutes. Got upstairs and promptly voided my entire system. Felt like crap all night. Still have huge amounts of energy though and my lower back no longer feels like it's on the verge of being injured.

To go along with the intense urge to purge, our first grocery delivery in 2 months arrived. As far as I'm concerned, you just can't ask someone to carry boxes of canned goods up 7 flights of stairs--it's just not right. Thus, I went a little overboard when I restocked the pantry. For the next week, we'll be designing menus based on bulk. Most of the stocking was canned goods. But I also got the 10 lb. industrial pack of chicken thighs (normally, we prefer breasts, but these are great for grillin' and incredibly cheap) . Imagine if you will, repackaging raw poultry into smaller bags when you're completely sick to your stomach.

It was an interesting night.

JUBILATION!!!!

I got home at 10:45 on Wednesday night to discover a wonder, a miracle, a JOY!


THE ELEVATOR WAS IN SERVICE!!!!

By the time I got into the apartment, I found myself singing "Oh What a Beautiful Morning". Listening to others as they alighted, my response was not at all unusual. There were several other songs and much giddy glee.

Goodbye forced 7th floor walk up! Hello, grocery deliveries!!!!

Relationships

So, it was quite the couples weekend...We're all quite happy for Art here at Weenies and Idiots. Yay! For once Happiness for the Artful Scheme! Plus, oh my God! think of all the free massages!

However, we advise him to be cautious when entering any relationship. Why you ask? 'Cause it's been one fucked up relationship weekend:

We begin with Greg's brother--his girlfriend dumped him, but that's okay 'cause she's taken to throwing stuff at him (books, glass paperweights, etc.,) and given her particularly fine aim, it was becoming difficult to not defend himself --given his very strong anti-girl hitting feelings, the situation was untenable.

But really, the winner of the psycho-award goes to a former roommate and her husband who are in the process of splitting.

Friday, he started emailing me with a psychiatric diagnosis of his wife (my friend) 's behavior. (Evidently he came up with it himself, as well as the probably far-fetched causes for it.) I told him that his theory was far from an actual diagnosis by a professional and he should really stop sharing his ideas with all and sundry. Fine. He apologized. In the meantime, the wife called to see if I wanted to get together over the weekend. Great, tentative plans made.

Saturday at noon, about an hour before we were going to hook up, she called to say she was in Dallas visiting her family, 'cause he was too bizarre to be in the same apartment. No problem.

Two hours later, she called again, could we pick up the dogs in Hoboken and take them to a doggie spa in Chelsea? Evidently her husband's committed himself to an AA facility and "the two men who brought him home to pick up some stuff left the keys with a neighbor". A neighbor that she doesn't have contact information for--she's left a message with a second party, asking them to leave a note with the first neighbor to call her. Once that's taken care of, she can make the boarding arrangements.

In the end, at 5:15, she calls to say that everything was set: only problem, the neighbor with the keys is available only after 6. The doggie spa only accepts drop offs until 8. We need to travel, in a huge thunderstorm, to and from a different state, with animals, in less than 3 hours.

We got to their building at 6:30, luckily the storm has subsided. The neighbor let us in. Played with the dogs for a while, gathered their stuff, called the car service she normally uses. They have a new policy, they don't take dogs anymore. The clock's ticking. It's now almost 7--we have an hour to get to Manhattan. We find another car service--the very large driver is VERY concerned about the dogs scratching his leather seats and has Serpico playing on the backseat DVD: this is more than a little disturbing.

Ride into the City, the dogs are fine, no damage to the car. We get the dogs checked in, and go outside. The storm has kicked up again; it's a nor'easter. Greg's umbrella is bent in half and there's horizontal hail. Through sheer force of will, we make our way walking bent over double most of the time, to a Mexican restaurant on the Lower East Side. As we sit, finally warm again, with a pitcher of sangria between us, discussing the insanity of his brother's situation and the one we've just played such a role in I lift my glass toasting him with the inevitable conclusion:

"If you didn't look good before, you're looking absolutely FANTASTIC by comparison!"
"Here, here, Baby! Here, here!"

There's lots of loons out there...be careful.

It's true.

I had a migraine last week that morphed into a sinus infection--generally just an issue of being run down and susceptible to everything. But then, a realization struck. I have the Black Death. That's right, the Bubonic Plague.

How exactly did I come to that conclusion you ask? It might have something to do with the giant bubo on the left side of my neck. It's really quite vile. Greg thinks its just a Vesuvian zit, but I think we all know better. I've also had signs of acral necrosis of the toes, but "Mr. Naysayer" claims that's just because I wore new black leather shoes in the rain.

Fairwell my friends, farewell. I guess I'm going the way of 25 million medieval peasants and innumerable southwestern ground squirrels.

Wow

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.

I'm totally conditioned...

I see black and white footage of battleships burning and I immediately think:

"There should be cake!"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

Why

does the restroom in my office smell like strawberry toaster strudel when the kitchen does not?

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.

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.

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...

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!"

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."

Only in the homeland...

Excerpt from an Oshkosh Northwestern obituary for a 28-year old:

"Unfortunately he was an avid Chicago Bears fan."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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!

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.

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.

"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.

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.

Alas, Babylon...

Mr. Ivey died last Thursday. He was 66.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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..."