Today, the Idiot in question is me.

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

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

However. Yuck.

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

Attila the HUH?!!!

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

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

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

Beelzebub's Oral Fixation

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

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

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

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

Bronx Bombshell...

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

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

Old Money's not what it used to be.

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

Welcome to the Zoo

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

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

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

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

Sad...

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

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

It's Started...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Idiocy...patriotic and otherwise

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

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

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

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

My landlord is grateful too...

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

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

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

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

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

Shyamalamadingdong...

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

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

Much Better Now

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

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

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

Five Rules

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

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

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

 

Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!

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

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

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

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

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

 

Dilemma -- NOT the Ultimate One

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

Bereft

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

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

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

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

Star Sighting!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lapsed Manners

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

Crap! Crap! Crap!