Cinematic Correlations #1

Didja ever notice that movies involving marital infidelity have the following characteristics:
1 - Bad lighting
2 - Absurdly large houses/apartments
3 - One funny looking kid?

Just saying, that's all. Perhaps if there were 2 or 3 kids, or more cramped quarters, they'd all just learn to Get Along!

See: Fatal Attraction, Unfaithful, Eyes Wide Shut


Do I hate Valentine's Day? You betcha. But I've always hated it. No bandwagon-jumper, me!

Even back in college, when I was engaged (not to the current F-X) and the fiancee gave me as a gift (I was on a weight-loss program) the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue as a VD gift..."for inspiration."

Fuck off.

Anyhoo...Valentine's Day to me has always been a Hallmark holiday, an excuse for people who are already getting laid to smugly celebrate that fact, an excuse for florist price-gouging, stale-chocolate-pushing and restaurant-overbooking. And for the single and singlish (how long do you have to date before you get a dust-collecting teddy-bear gift?) to feel bad, awkward and mildly queasy?

And it's initials are VD. What else do you need for maximum hatin'?

So it's always been Anti-Valentine's day for me and my gal pals. Either live and in person for drinks or on the phone, bitching about guys and the society we live in. Although the actual activity diminished over the years, the sentiment was the same. And even married and seriously coupled, my sentiment and behavior remained firm, and my husband was secretly relieved. No satin-bowed chocolate boxes for me, no sir! No fuzzy-wuzzy bears! Buy my flowers next week, damnit!

I still resolutely think it's a stupid, annoying and purposeless holiday.

Still.....I dunno. Am I missing something?



Linkage, not shrinkage!

I am contemplating linking my other "comedic" blog to this one, but the intimacy of the connections frightens me a bit.

If anyone has an opinion, please let me know. That one is linked to this one, but this one is not linked to that one.

Way to make sense, doobster!

I also haven't disclosed this one to lots of people.


I'd like some new readers (I think the same old people are reading this one as the old ones), and I wonder if I want my other friends from other orbits checking it out. New strangers would be cool too.


"This Town" by the Go Go's is on right now.
I am enjoying a wee nip of scotch
I am wearing pants.

Exciting, no?

I am not, however, going to publish the contents of my grocery receipt from today's shop. That would just be darn silly. Darn silly indeed.

Baba ghanoush in a can, two pounds salmon, scallions, sugar free meringue cookies.....

Devo? How did Devo get on my iTunes? Girl U Want?

Real time slice o'life!

Pear sauce, mango salsa, white asparagus, bread crumbs, Greek feta with herbs, brick of romano cheese (ungrated), chicken breast, bunch of fresh dill, Greek fat free yogurt with cereal and fruit, Kosher hot dogs (lowfat, awesome), Zabars yogurt cole slaw (Surprisingly good. Oh - in case you couldn't tell it was fancy-store shopping)

Wind Beneath my Wings - ouch, okay, fine - the song that made my future-ex automatically make the pistol-in-mouth motion!

Hmmm, is that really it? Zabars on Saturday is a fucking zoo, might be all.

Oh - Parma ham. Incredible with asparagus.

You are the wind beneath my wings....

Enough! Basta! This is NOT Blog O' the Year Material! This is Avoiding Laundry while sipping Scotch material!

Thanks you..thanks god for you the wind beneath my wiiings.....

Signing off to "Everybody wants to rule the world"

Welcome to my life....

Letter to My Recruiter

Dear Mr Blank: I accept accept the fact that I sacrificed a whole chunk of my career in public service, and in contract work, and in solo practice, for pursuing whatever it is I thought would make me most happy and satisfied, but I think you're crazy for making me write an essay telling you who you think I am to deserve a junior associate position at a New York megafirm.

You see me as you want to see me: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions.

But what I found out is that each one of us is an evening law student who actually worked for a living and held down a city job giving her invaluable (to her) and useless (to you) experience; a loser contract attorney who chose not to pursue a large firm associate's position; and a selfless solo practioner who happily gives away tons of free and low-cost advice to amazing deserving people; and a licensed patent attorney who got her USPTO number in October 2001; and a brilliant, talented, ambitious, fast learner with a science degree from a major university who needs but no one will give one year of experience that you find so necessary. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, Distinguished Counsel to The Breakfast Club.

La la la la la la la la la la.....

PS - Piss off. I'm going to write more parodies.

deconstructing doobie

1. Remember Romper Room? The show for kiddies? Remember the Do-bee? Be a good Do-Bee!
2. There's the obvious reference to the marijuana plant. Drugs are bad! M'kay?
3. For those who can't or choose not to pronounce my last name, it's a fast and easy alternative.
4. A memorable line from "Strangers in the Night" and a great story to go with.
5. Why not? All of the above!



A Modern-day Drawing-Room Tragedy

"You know, darling, our relationship can never be." (crosses over to the bar, pours a drink) "Whiskey, darling?"
"Why yes, with a splash, you know how I like it. Yes, I know, I'm the one who pointed that out to you." (Takes glass)
"For it is true, I realize, the distance between us is insurmountable. You, an Upper West Sider, me, in...." (choking back sobs)
"Yes, my darling, you in...I can hardly bear to say it.....Kew Gardens. Cigarette?"
"I thought you quit" (takes one shakily from the pack)
"So did you, my love, so did you." (Takes one for himself, lights both with an impressive silver lighter. Exhales slowly, head tilted skyward) "That's at least two trains....service disruptions, that could be three....a bus, for God's sake, we have to be realistic, lovely."
(sighing) "I know...these last few days at your apartment have been perfect...I love Zabars, and Fairway....but Queens, Queens is a part of me." (She throws down the cigarette, flinging herself into his arms) "This is futile! This can never be! I am marching on to that 1 train, to the E train, to the - the hell with the bus, I'm walking - and you will NEVER see me again! Never, I tell you!"

(She pushes him away, turns on one heel and marches down the hall way, tripping on the bundled Sunday Times, catching her Gap sweater on the hanging bicycle rack on the wall, tearing a huge hole in the shoulder as she disentangles herself, lurching forward. A small cat screams bloody murder as she steps on its tail in the dark hallway. She screams and kicks the cat back into the living room. Meanwhile, her tossed cigarette has started a small fire in the Pottery barn woven dhurrie rug and he is beating it out with his Timberland boots and pouring the leftover morning coffee onto it. Fortunately it is an earth-toned rug and the coffee stains don't show. Chaos ensues.)

Come see my funny shit!

1/31 (Monday) @ 900 - Stand Up New York
78th Street & Broadway
$12 + 2 Drinks
New Talent Night

2/6 (Sunday) @ 700 - Improv
West 54th Street @ 8th Avenue
$12 + 2 Drinks
Funniest Lawyer Show

Come support the shit out of me!

Make Reservations and tell them you're there to show ME the love!
People who have power over my "career" will be there checking my shit out, so to speak.

thank you, and good night!


It's me.

What a steaming pile this blog's turning out to be. I'd hate me too!

Remind me to include more bits and less hatred towards humanity.

Or amusing links. Or references to bunny rabbits.

Love and bunny rabbits,

PS - I did not get drunk last night.


sniffing the proverbial pits, or is it me?

So my best friend is leaving NYC and moving back to the DC area. And I am fucking pissed off, without the slightest right to be.

There are perfectly valid reasons for this, for him wanting to move. I still fucking want to nut punch him, though, and make him cry too.

Anyone I care an ounce about is nowhere near where I am.
There may be some proportionality involved, too.
Why the fuck does everyone want to be so far away from me?

song cue...Fuck Carole King.

..but just as cheesy! Har!

from the hearts and voices of sixteen-year-old auditors, circa 1983....I know these chords still, as Bethpage High School's accompanist extraordinaire.

I am waiting for this number to come up on a karaoke-bar song list. I will humiliate everyone around me. Just you wait. Beats the fuck out of "Memory" from Cats.

"Out Here on my Own" - Fame (Irene Cara)

Sometimes I wonder where I've been
Who I am, do I fit in.
Make believin' is hard alone
Out here on my own.

We're always provin' who we are
Always reachin' for that risin' star
To guide me far and shine me home
Out here on my own.

When I'm down and feelin' blue,
I close my eyes so I can be with you.
Oh, baby be strong for me; baby belong to me
Help me through, help me need you

Until the morning sun appears
Making light of all my fears,
I dry the tears I've never shown
Out here on my own.

But when I'm down and feelin' blue
I close my eyes so I can be with you
Oh, baby be strong for me; baby, belong to me
Help me through, help me need you.

Sometimes I wonder where I've been,
Who I am, do I fit in.
I may not win, but I can't be thrown,
Out here on my own
Out here on my own

I am not drunk. Yet. But goddamnit, I'm sure I will be, mark my words. I had the best intentions of being sober and behaving myself tonight, but I have changed my mind.

a stab at fiction...which blog does this belong in?

She was tired.

How many more underpaid hosting gigs, late late shows, overpriced beers, angry drunks, boob jokes, and furtive unisex-bathroom handjobs can one woman take? Apparently, plenty. Was this how Laura Kightlinger got that Will and Grace gig? How Janeane Garofalo got, well, nowhere fast at this point....but she did have half an SNL season. Half. Who the hell had ever heard of Maya fucking Rudolph? Seriously. Women fucking standups without a gimmick or a guitar or a great rack-n-ass....she hated her fucking life right about now, which was two forty-five am, not even a handjob to her credit. Which would have gotten her one back, inept as it may have been, but it would have woken her up enough to go home and write some, maybe clean her bathroom. Fucking pathetic. Do girls get “handjobs?” Is there a joke in there….Always thinking….Write it down in the cab.

She studied the pileup of comics outside the club after the late late show...the funniest and most desirable (some overlap in that Venn diagram, albeit not total) having filtered out some time ago; some pathetic pairings being attempted, awkwardly, as even the manliest and studliest of male comics were never, ever candidates for the James Bond award. The rest stood in a half-circle of indecisiveness and overtired buzz-weariness, smoke circling, being bumped by coked-up Canadian and Mittleuropean tourists, replacing the usual crush of NYU assholes who were shipped back to their native counties on holiday break. A superstretch limo, apparently abandoned by all but their driver, attempted to drum up business from the underemployed clot of them, and they just laughed and waved him off, his pathos not even bit-worthy.

She waved, shook hands, back-slapped the rest of them, after gear-spinning in her head for the briefest time and remembering the laundry on her bed, and the plane tickets to LA awaiting her at LaGuardia. Everyone wished everyone else a pleasant, drunken, non-suicidal New Year's and started to peel off gradually, and she hopped a cab – alone - to her dismal nth floor walkup on the Lower East Side.

She wasn't going to watch the ball drop this year, because it would just be wrong. Wrong. Not on time, no Dick Clark, too late, too early....wrong.


My Current Playlist, or the Laziest Post Ever

It's even alphabetical. A to Zzzzz.

And When I Die - Laura Nyro
Ave Maria - Michael Wolff & Warren Zevon
Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell
Cowboy Romance - Natalie Merchant
Crazy For You - Madonna
Dear Prudence - Beatles
Doll Parts - Hole
Get Off My Back - Afroditee
Guitar Town - Steve Earle
I Don't Know How to Love Him - Yvonne Elliman (Jesus Christ Superstar)
I Thought You Should Know - Steve Earle
If We Only Have Love - Cast (Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris)
In my Life - Beatles
Jack and Diane - John Cougar Mellencamp
Let's Get it On - Jack Black (High Fidelity)
Miles from Here - Paul McCrane (Fame)
Out Here on my Own - Irene Cara (Fame)
Songbird - Fleetwood Mac
Spend the Whole Night with You - Kristina Olson
Taxi - Harry Chapin
There's a Fine Fine Line - Stephanie D'Abruzzo (Avenue Q)
They Don't Know - Tracey Ullman
This Must Be the Place - Talking Heads
Werewolves of London - Adam Sandler

What does it all mean?
- I like show tunes
- I'm stuck up at the 80s and a wee bit obscure besides
- I'm a bit maudlin at the moment

Available on CD eventually...see what it's like to Be Me! Or at least have Aural Relations. Har!


"Quotes of the Day"

M: Well, you certainly never wanted to be married to me.
G: Well, I certainly didn't want to be divorced!

You can't make this shit up, people. People!


Long long long distance job search

Perhaps I'm not casting my net wide enough.

Perhaps I should seek to relocate to the polar station in Antartica, away from most civilized folk, family and friends. Which is probably where I should be. They must need someone with my special skills, experience and training.

Wherever it is, it's got to be out of cell phone range, at any rate. No incoming or outgoing service, that's what I'm looking for.


grrr! And a message for visitors!

grrrr! Fuck 'em! grrrr!

oh, just stop being such an incredible pussy, and just be an Incredible.....!

ya know.

Today I yelled into a cellphone at him from stage (granted, just in practice, but still.) Fucking liberating! Hoo ha.

It's a bit liberating being away from the old blog hometown. I'm sure some will follow (some have, I know). So, it shouldn't be much different. But, it is.

No more journaling for tonight. Job applying, resume fixing, other exotica.....Peace Corps anyone? Hoo ha!

(Oh, and FYI, I noticed that you can post comments anonymously, w/o joining up with this site.)

Also, I'd like to find out how to put in links. Maybe I'll link back to some....or not. Jury's still out on that. Working on it.

Hoo ha! (That was solely for the Rule of 3s. Everyone knows that one. But do you know the Rule of 37? Betcha don't!)

quiet snowfall, murmuring mind

I am a bit sad at the moment. The snow is so pretty, and I miss my snow-player, if not my snow-fighter.

But when I think back, he may have seen the gulf between us as insurmountable.

For those who dont' read my "other" journal, my ex and I liked to run around in the snow, especially late when it was quiet quiet quiet....He wouldn't have a snowball fight with me, though. He saw it as too competitive. I tried to let it go, took his hand, quieted my frustration, and built snow faces on trees instead, which we liked lots. We looked pretty and snowy and happy.

I knew we were different. Jeez, it was just a snowball fight, or so I thought. Maybe it went far deeper than I ever imagined.


Tonight at midnight or so, it will be still, quiet, except for the few cars spinning their tires on the underplowed streets. And our paths will be little plowed, not until it slows down, which it won't for a while....and believe me, at 1230 or so, I would want desperately to meet someone downstairs and play. But I won't.


I miss some things. This is one of them.


I am actively resisting the idea of being in love, for many reasons. Necessity being one of them. Sanity, another. Puzzlement is a surprising third. At times, I wonder, what's it like? There's that whole love/infatuation thing. And, I don't remember being in love since I've spent so much time falling out of it. Was I in it? Can you control how you feel? You can control your behavior, your actions, yes. Can you read minds? I'm having enough trouble reading my own. Hell, I'm having enough trouble reading the Times every weekend.

Love, in love, love ya, I love you.......

I'd love some ginger tea right about now. That's as far as it can go.


black box warning.....as required by the FDA, MDPhD, JD, BA........

When you read other people's journals, you're reading into the hearts and minds of everyone they've ever journaled with, or for, or about.

Be safe, people. Don't be sorry!

Wear protective clothing. Use a condom on your mouse. Shield yourself from unnecessary rays of enlight. Do not look directly into the sun; use a pinhead camera. Do not taunt Happy Fun ball.

Don't say I didn't tell you. I'm just sayin', is all.


Meant to post this yesterday, but the electronic forces conspired against me and I was too busy to worry about it.

I had some other things to say about it. Things about children. What the hell were they?

I tried to call and chat with my nephew the other day but the line was busy. I think I'll get him his own phone. He's two, he's ready. He might need to reach his aunt, you never know.

He's quite brilliant. Smart enough to know that "Garfunkel" sings all the melodies and Simon does not, by the way.

Children, yes....

Try not to be happy when singing this song.

I love it when anyone sings around me, to me, with me. Sometimes, the worse, the better, cause then you just gotta wanna do it. you know?

Here, have a song. Happy Friday!

"Sing" - Joe Raposo

Sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things, not bad
Sing of happy, not sad

Sing a song
Make it simple
To last your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Sing a song

La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la

Sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things, not bad
Sing of happy, not sad

Sing a song
Make it simple
To last your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Sing a song


Meta posting

I will slow down the post rate once I lose interest, I swear.

- I am annoyed that my browser(s) aren't supporting different fonts and stuff and I don't have the time and patience to figure it out.
- I wonder who comments on this kind of stuff. And why no one's commented on me? Huh?
- Are there weird networks of bloggity-bloggers like there are on livejournal? Just wondering, although it is kind of odd.
- I really love that photo. So windblown and dramatic. And I'm a bit tickled that if you click on it to see the rest of it, you can't, because it's insanely closely cropped. Har! Expectations, dashed! I'm a head in a jar suspended over the river...

Bye for now, loved ones, random ones, zeroes and ones.

I am fifteen

Here's why:

1. My face is breaking out (sort of, really)
2. I am eating weird foods, and want to drink and smoke up lots
3. I am raging against my parents in a huge way
4. Boys are a huge pain in my ass right now. (In fact, I think most of them still act pretty much like fifteen year olds, don't they?? Ahem.)
5. I'm kind of into clothes right now
6. I'm keeping a journal (or two)
7. I'm writing reams of bad poetry and prose
8. I'm slacking when I should be working
9. Nobody understands me, man....Nobody gets it.
10. I'm sleeping with a cute and cuddly stuffed puppy whose name I won't share.

When I really was fifteen, I had a couple of part time jobs, school, tons of activities, and I was busy taking care of my family and ducking abuse. No time for rebellion, young lady!

I am not, however, drawing hearts with initials in them on my legal pads. I swear.

And, I think there's like, this guy, who like, maybe kinda likes me a little. (Disclaimer: I'm sure it's nobody you know, or think you know, so just stop it. Cut it out. Seriously.) And he's like totally not my type but he is kinda cute. Too young, too much hair. Whatevs.

Big Whiny Baby In the Room

"Why doesn't anyone cut me any freaking slack?


I spend my entire life putting up with criers and whiners and depressives and drunks....am expected to solve the problems of my friends and family in the blink of an eye...and get my wrist slapped when I show the slightest bit of crankiness with my place in the world.


- Some Big Whiny Baby, I don't know who, has hijacked this Blog.

"Hey...cut that out....whaaaahahahahhhhhhh!"

- Big Whiny Baby is safely in their crib where they belong.


FYI, nosybodies

Gary slept over, he didn't "Sleep" over.

He was summoned in a burst of "that scene in Annie Hall after they break up and she needs someone to kill the giant bug in the shower." You know that scene.

So lay off and don't tell the attorney. I was feeling pretty low, to call him, and he did show up, which was cool.

But that was it. I crashed on the couch, he crashed in the bed, where I crawled in, but that was it.

No worries. I made sure he didn't miss his morning train.
But I did clear up the house pretty well before he came over, I think. Trip residuals and all. Photos, logged off email. You know.


Standards and Practices

Someone told me (okay, the man I'm divorcing) that my standards are just too darn high.

I don't get it. Is it wrong to expect common courtesy from people, support, anything I would give to others? Or I am I the schmuck in the room?

I think about this every time I remember who hasn't called to check in, who hasn't returned a phone call, dropped me a line lately, rambled on about a broken nail when I'm about to climb on a ledge.

Then again, maybe I haven't made myself crystal clear about what an episodically needy bitch I have become, hopefully temporarily. People assume I'm ragingly competent and self-sufficient. Which, to a large degree I (modestly) am. But right now I crave guidance, support. Or maybe just a little chat, where I am reassured that yes, someone in the universe gives a rat's behind. And, unrealistlcally, answers to all my problems and a million dollars, yes. But sometimes I just like to know someone is there if I need them, those mythical people we call "friends."

Fuck 'em.

It's entirely possible it's me. Apparently I suck at "reaching out."

Fuck it.

I'll take the million dollars and a cheap roll in the hay. Where in new york do you find hay?

This journal is rated R for Ridiculous!

what is this thing called love

When I was in high school band (ca 1981-85) my High School band teacher's favorite joke involved leeringly repunctuating or re-emphasizing words in this sentence, above. Apparently, it's a song title - "What is this thing called love"

(Damnit, I thought there were more fonts and shit on this site. Why can't Johnny italicize?)

As you can see, most of them are prurient. Totally appropriate for a bunch of precocious nerdy 15 year old girls, who at least knew enough to say eeeeewwwww. Unlike the kickline team (cheerleaders who didn't have to remember words), that he coached.


What is THIS thing called, love?
What IS this thing called, love?
What is this THING called, love?
What is this thing CALLED, love?

And the worst of all.....

Fuck if I know.

More later,
doobie out.

Next: Deconstructing Doobie (if I'm in the mood)


An Experiment

This is an experiment.

Trying to separate the bits from the bits and pieces of my emotional, comedic and other facets of my life is going to be an intriguing experiment. Kind of like untangling lots of different wires behind your computer, or unwinding your knotted phone cord, or some such linear-literary nonsense. I'm going to give it a go for exactly one month (until February 17, 2005) and see what happens.

Bit-free zone!


Last night I let Gary sleep over because I was tired, sick and shaky. And afraid. It wasn't easy, that's for sure.

Next question - Do I link these puppies?

Confessionals to the IRC yet to come.

Note: Unexpected Errors kept me from publishing this right away. Is the Internet sick of me already?


the doobster.


Well, isn't this the prettiest looking blog site y'all ever did see?

More resoundingly original bullshit later!