Guest guest blogger

Tony Bourdain...a man for whom I would swim through a mile of Cheez Wiz.

Quote of the Day, Kink Division

"I don't know if I'm a bottom because it turns me on...or because I'm lazy....Thos S&M people, they are bossy!"

- Margaret Cho, "Notorious C.H.O."

Is there really a creepy connection between Star Trek, leather sex, and the Renaissance Faire"? Ha!

"I want a woman who looks like John Goodman. Don't Sharon Stone me to death."

- See above

Ideas: Proposed Writing Projects Yet to Come

Dating the Short
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle: A Field Guide to Men
Seinfeld: The Infrastructure of American Humor
The Great Chain of Tom Fontana
Do I Look that That?: Vanity and Mildly Distorted Self-Image
Yogurt, Nachos and Coffee
Stuff on First Avenue

Disturbing

Tonight on the way home from the office (ungodly hour, dial a car home), the driver slowed down all of a sudden going down Second Avenue. There was a young woman standing in the middle of the street, half smiling and looking dazed. Was she drunk? Ill?

All the cars stopped and honked at her to move out of the middle of traffic (heavy traffic, at that, fortunately. It was slower).

Eventually she made it to the other side. I wanted to hang out at the window and yell to her, but there wasn't time before traffic started moving again.

I hope she got home OK.

I got plenty of nothin'

I'm artistically stunted right now. Work and life are kicking my ass at the moment. I'm too tired to wash my socks (although I did get a load of dishes in last night and cultured some sink mold. fun!). Whine, whine, whine. As a result I've got nothing interesting to say at the moment.

To keep all three of you readers busy, here's some fun facts and places to go.

1. Toasters are neat!



My friend Chris got the Toast-o-lator, an appliance from the late 30s that uses a conveyor to march the bread through the toaster in an oh-so-joyous way! (see a similar one above) If this makes you as happy as it made me, check out Toaster Central. And eat toast! Mitch Hedberg loved toast, you should too!

2. Rachael Mason is super cool, and Superfree! Read her blog about growing up a New Yorker.

3. Sudoku is a good way to numb your brain.

4. Chris also brought my attention to this society site, darling. Read about parties you'll never go to! The shopping section is divinely amusing. Personally, it almost made me buy cashmere socks.

5. I am compulsive enough not to end my lists on an even number; I actually prefer multiples of 5. Hmmmm....Oh, here's one. I was craving English snacks (specifically Ham and Mustard Crisps) so I checked the website for local brit grocer Myers of Keswick. Browse the Brit food and giggle immaturely at 'spotted dick,' 'cockaleekie soup' and, (for an English site they have a TON of typos), 'ass. deoderants.'

Enjoy! See you when I'm not artistically dormant!

Do you know me?

Create your own Friend Test here

Stolen from Dunford, who I don't know all that well.

I wanna know...

One of my favorite cheesy/big video/arena rock 80s cliche songs (don't sell it short, really) was Foreigner, "I want to Know what Love Is."

I dug up the lyrics. Does this make sense?

I wanna know.

I gotta take a little time
A little time to think things over
I better read between the lines
In case I need it when Im older

Now this mountain I must climb
Feels like a world upon my shoulders
I through the clouds I see love shine
It keeps me warm as life grows colder

In my life theres been heartache and pain
I dont know if I can face it again
Cant stop now, Ive traveled so far
To change this lonely life

I wanna know what love is
I want you to show me
I wanna feel what love is
I know you can show me

Im gonna take a little time
A little time to look around me
Ive got nowhere left to hide
It looks like love has finally found me

In my life theres been heartache and pain
I dont know if I can face it again
I cant stop now, Ive traveled so far
To change this lonely life

I wanna know what love is
I want you to show me
I wanna feel what love is
I know you can show me

I wanna know what love is
I want you to show me
And I wanna feel, I want to feel what love is
And I know, I know you can show me

Lets talk about love
I wanna know what love is, the love that you feel inside
I want you to show me, and Im feeling so much love
I wanna feel what love is, no, you just cannot hide
I know you can show me, yeah

I wanna know what love is, lets talk about love
I want you to show me, I wanna feel it too
I wanna feel what love is, I want to feel it too
And I know and I know, I know you can show me
Show me love is real, yeah
I wanna know what love is...

Vroom!

I love my tats. Do you?

Ok, they're fake. From Ricky's. But they're glorious. I'm wearing them to work at the law firm tomorrow, under a smart suit. I wore them to a family party tonight and creeped out my grandmother and stepmom. My other relatives were mildly amused/impressed.

I love them! They don't shower off, either. Fabulous!

Someone must have planted it.

I just found my first gray hair. Sticking at a forty-five degree angle from the very top of my head, like a strange insect antenna. It was weirdly wiry, and had the texture of fishing line.

Upon closer inspection (I pulled it out promptly because it was so fascinating), it turns out not to be gray but white. Bright white.

Why didn't someone tell me

...that Nigella Lawson is ridonkolously hot?

I watched her make Triple Chocolate Brownies on the Food network and almost lost my mind. And I'm not even that crazy about brownies. When she described the sad white chocolate bits as "vanilla," which they are, I fell in love. I can't explain it. I wanted to bite down and taste the oozy hot flowy melty chocolate....with a nice glass of milk.

Oh dear. I'm culinarilly gay.

Culinarilly looks supremely dirty, doesn't it?

Mmmmmm!

More miscellaney

I have disgusting, status-post-nasty-virus, skin. Dry and flaky, especially around my nose and lips. I also have at least one flourishing and one burgeoning cold sore on my face. I am so attractive.

I'm going to try and go back to work today but I'm ridiculously exhausted and have limited voice.

Instead of getting my ass in gear, I'm here typing shit.

I don't even have anything good to wear.

Last night I had the same peculiar recurring exam nightmare. Except it was also combined with a comedy-show nightmare and getting-some-action nightmare. Heck of a trifecta. Guess that happens when you actually turn the TV off before bed.

I can't fathom breakfast right now but it seems inevitable.

Crap.

Should I change my photo?

I'm not a dude.

Update

(in the style of an ancient buried blog)

Number of Claritin taken tonight: 1
Number of hours Claritin should work: 12
Number of hours past proposed bedtime: 1.5
Number of liters of Iced Diet Green Tea with Honey remaining in house: 1
Number of pints of melted frozen dessert in freezer: .8
Number of pillows on bed: 5
Number of adequately stuffed pillows on bed: 2
Desire to sleep: High
Ability to sleep: Low
Amount this is blamed on Claritin: 75%
Number of cans of cat food remaining in house: 0
Time cat will wake up owner for cat food: 630
Condition of throat: Scratchy and swollen
Possibility of taking off work tomorrow: Zero
Level of grouchiness: High
Need to vacuum rugs: High
Bottles of partially drunk whiskey: 3
Countries bottles of whiskey are from: 3
Number of short stories completed tonight: 1
Number of short stories started tonight: 3
Number of poems written tonight: 1
Interest in poetry as an art form: Low

Speaking of compliments....

Here is one of my clients. His stuff is fabulous and his youtube skills are amazing (amusing? Perhaps both!)

We've been working together awhile. He said super nice things about me today.

I decided to enjoy that. (see previous)

And post his video. Enjoy!

An observation about, well, me.

Seriously, I take compliments as well as fine silks take bleach. As well as eggs adhere to a fresh nonstick pan. (Insert a third similie or metaphor here, I can't be expected to do all the work.)

Uh....thanks. But if you're saying something swell about me, I probably will feel weird and undeserving.

Doesn't mean you should stop, though. Cause we all know what egomaniacs* the chronically insecure are.

(*not a show plug but it could be!)

Not quite a rant. I just made a lovely home-made sugar free Chai tea latte (so trendy, with the Trader Joes sugarfree mix) and I'm dangerously mellow at the moment.

It's a helluva town.

Cheesy, yeah, but I love "New York New York." Dancing men in uniform!

Note: there are 6 people in the photo, but only 4 credited names. Hardly seems fair, if you ask me.

Indie-pretty

I don't rely on Yahoo! for my daily Intercrap intake...but these photos from Sundance are completely lovely. Really.

a sweet timewaster for you

Follow up

1. Pretzels don't work. You know, they're not even tasty.

[EDITED again because damn, that's bitchy. But pretzels are still SO NOT WORTH IT.]

Edited to point out the fact that while I am not actually a bitch, I can in fact be bitchy. Enjoy the subtlety!

Edited to point out that I haven't gotten very much sleep lately. And I can't afford to lose any of my three readers. I get the feeling that Reader #2 has been keeping up...!

grumble grumble

Warning to all three of you readers....CRANK ALERT

I have had a splitting headache for 14 hours. I don't care if my blood turns into water, I'm digging up some fucking aspirin.

Of course, it would be fine if I'd made it to the drugstore to get eyedrops Bufferin and my antidepressants.

Or even better, if I wasn't carrying around giant waterballooons on my chest that hurt like a bastard and I wasn't eating chocolate covered salt licks...I'd be dandy.

Or stopped contemplating my 'personal' life. You know, I realized a couple of things. First of all, my ideal man is probably a mashup of two, two and a half guys I know, sprinkled with whiskey and prescribed mild anxiolytics. So much for science. And second, I don't think that I actually know how to properly fall in love with the right person. I know a lot of stuff, people, I'm hella smart (smarter than to use words like 'hella'), but this may be something I can't think my way out of.

Fuck.

Will a pretzel cure all this? And should I find out?

Peyton!

Follow up to yesterday's post.

That was the Best Football Game Ever.

And that Brady guy's no slouch, either. Alas.

Bill Belichek, is kinda creepy.

'Nuff said. I'm sorely in danger of developing yet another guy-like devotion. Looking around, there's a half-full bottle of Makers and a package of Fruit of the Looms lying about.

Who's inviting me to their Super Bowl party? I'll bring the cheeselog rolled in nuts and the cigars.

Yeah...I made plans to hit a cigar bar with a friendly coworker after this project ends. Maybe we'll go trolling for chicks.

Aaaaauuuugh!

Da Bearsssss

Superfans!

Tonight the Bears won the NFC and soon will be the AFC Pats-Colts game.

I'm not a huge football fan - more of a baseball fan, really. I don't know all the arcana, the stats, the penalties. There aren't enough games, the point scoring is weird.

But I can't resist a championship game. Nearly any sport - football, basketball, Final 4, baseball - if it's the end of the road, I'll watch it. The excitement is crazy. Even in this money-hungry, steroidal, badly-behaved era of sports...you can't tell me these guys aren't into it for real. They wouldn't be there if they didn't want to win - cliche? Maybe. But it restores my faith in all kinds of stuff, to see a vat of Gatorade get dumped enthusiastically and lovingly over a coach's head.

The owners, coaches, players, fans...so excited. Until they start flipping cars - well, that sucks. And sorry, but golf will continue to suck.

But for now....Go Team!

Mounds of Fries

Why is it always "Mounds of Fries?"

It makes me think of hot, salty boobs.

Mounds. of Fries.

Inspired by the Tater Mitts, as seen on TV.

They may be too new to have made it to today's Best Site Possible, As Seen on TV. I would be closer to bankrupt if I didn't close it immediately. It's unbelievably awesome. Besides the 'famous' products like the Magic Bullet (the blender shaped like a vibrator!), the self-draining pasta pot and the food dehydrators, it's got shmantastic goodies like chocolate-melting kits, cake decorating packages, stick on lights, herbal 'supplements' and the Onion Blossom maker! On sale! Note the fun juxtapositions, like the "Betty Crocker 100 piece Cake Decorating Set" right next to "Billy Blank's Boot Camp."

I love American style consumerism made overseas and infomercialized/commercialized by the good old USA!

Go amuse yourself. Seriously consider the s'mores maker. and book mark it for the eventual appearance of the Tater Mitts!

Lesser-Known White-Guy TV Supporting Players- Yet Another in the Series

Oh, Q. So pretty, so smug, so pale! Sigh....

Bayliss!

A neat interview with Kyle Secor on the bisexual Bayliss.

Mom got me Seasons 1 & 2 of "Homicide" on DVD. Hooray!

yummy! rub a steak on it...

"Romance to me is fatty and sensual."
- Cliff, "Top Chef"

Tom Colicchio can really be a dick. What a sourpuss! That looked like a lovely dinner. See my new favorite timewaster for great 'cheftestant' nicknames and judge hatin'.

Uh oh....controversy alert! Gotta go.

Tag!

I was tagged! By Maddy, who was tagged by Amanda, who I just delightfully saw today at lunch!

Okay. Here's the swell bloggy game: Write down five things you probably don't know about me.

What about me...don't you know...that I'm willing to put into print...indeed!

Okay, maybe these are mundane but they're TRUE.

1. Even though I'm Jewish by birth (I'm a halfsie), I sometimes if I'm anxious will cross myself, in the Russian Orthodox style. Just in case, and sometimes it's weirdly reassuring.

2. I enjoy tripe, tofu, and tempeh...but not together.

3. I started wearing glasses when I was seven. Possibly related, I have horrible judgment when it comes to colors. I have to ask people in the store "Are these pants black, blue or brown?"

4. I secretly love wearing high heels but don't do it often because of pain and klutziness.

5. My first time on stage was in first grade, when I played the title role in "The Selfish Giant." What a meanie!

Who did I tag?

Stuart
Margaret
Chris
Christina
Dan

Go!

My mood right now can best be described by an episode title from "Mr Show"

Oh, you men.

"Chuch" is a Russian word for "aunt"

Dear Chuch,

Today when I told Nana* about the dress I got at Syms, a stunning Marilyn Monroe-esque cocktail dress, for all of $5, I smiled and said, "Yeah, Chuch was with me yesterday." She said you and she would shop at Syms. Yes, and Marshalls, and anywhere there were good sales.

I remember your CB handle used to be the "Bargain Hunter," and I remember hearing you rattle off CB slang on trips home from the city like it was your second language. "Frankie Louie" was one of the exits on the expressway, Francis Lewis Boulevard, and there was always congestion.

I was talking to a good friend yesterday about weddings, and saying if/when he got married, "I would be there with a hat on." You (and by association, Donna) were the only ones who wore hats to my wedding, where I wore a grand and inspired one myself. I've a picture of us, both in our grand and inspired hats, you with a wig at that time because of the chemo. I loved you with the hat and wig, and I loved you later without the wig, with snappy shortish brownish hair. (? Who knew! Weren't you a 'natural' redhead like Lucille Ball? Indeed!)

I have my $5 dress and countless other bargains, also in a wide range of sizes to account for chaotic weight swings. I have a smallish cabined filled with spare gifts, picked up from discount houses and all over, 'just in case' someone needs a present, or someone extra shows up for Christmas. You were a great and giving hostess, and master of that kitchen with two stoves that always astounded me; two stoves, indeed! You always had the kitchen and basement and fridge stocked, and you could probably live for years, and give Christmas presents, without ever entering a store.

I remember when I was a kid and my parents were fighting - a bad one - and I was scared to go in the house, and you met me outside, big and commanding in your mink coat, and let me hide warmly inside the great dimensions of the coat, and walked me inside to my room yourself, holding me close. That was safety, and love, cause nothing bad could happen if you were protecting me.

I remember going to your house to watch the Islanders-Rangers game with my dad, your house fiercely divided along team lines, and cheering on 'your Islanders' at my peril. So much fun!

I remember you and Uncle Walter coming to my college graduation, so proud. I remember you and Uncle Walter bickering but still being loving. I remember you yelling when you needed to yell, and hugging when you needed to hug. I remember you speaking your mind.

I remember barbecues. I remember playing your piano, shyly. I remember the Real Christmas tree (not at all like our fakey one), the best smell in the world.

I remember you, and I miss you.

Love you, wherever you are,
Mish

*footnotes are a pain...but for those two readers who don't know me, Nana is my grandmother, 89 and kicking, and Chuch was her sister, my late great aunt who died of cancer.

Random New York observations

1. Tonight as I dashed out to the Duane Reade for the umpteenth time today, I looked up and saw the sky; it was that winter blue, finally, that heartbreaking, deep, velvety starless royal-blue that only chilly city winter twilight can achieve. I missed the light, on purpose.

2. When you're down and out, and not a vegetarian, Hale & Hearty Soup's Black Lentil with Double-Smoked Bacon and Red Onions may very well be a life saver. However, dumping on oyster crackers before putting it in the refrigerator (you can't possibly eat the whole large soup) is a bit of a textural mistake. But still delicious.

3. You can get anything you want....at Duane Reade. Anything. Including bald-man head towels, bikini razors and cranberry juice. Holiday candy, baby wipes and shampoo just for brunettes. Panties, lipstick, smokehouse almonds. It's the general store of the 21st century.

A mind is a terrible thing....

Here's a fantastic illustration of how my Expensive Education is Not Wasted:

Today, I had an audition for a pharma ad. Words like 'antibodies' and 'compound' and 'receptors' and such came trippingly off my tongue. The auditor commented that I had no trouble with all the 'science words.' Yeah, that's what I do...

Cool. However, I stumbled badly on 'remaining.'

Biophysics, not speech, people!

Read in Overheard

From Overheard in NY:

Guido on cell: Fucking the shit out of you, lying in bed after, and talking about state capitals! Is that all I fucking am to you? That's the fucking highlight of my life.

--3rd Ave & 85th St, Bay Ridge

Overheard by: punkee

Shuffle, indeed!

Wow. The OhMyBod from Babeland.

Other stupid shit I did this weekend

Got sick (see previous);
Slept through a movie I'd already paid for (@#%@ Fandango!);
Tripped and fell so hard into my bed that I got huge bruises and damaged a couple of blood vessels in my leg;
Closed two of my fingers into my front door;
Ate too much food.

Feh.

Some things don't change. Some do.

I did this little quizlet almost nearly a year ago. So? I don't know, I can't sleep. Deal with it, campers.

Updates in bold.

1. Spell your first name backwards: ellehciM

2. Story behind your journal name: It's a variant of a phrase that my friend Janet and I developed to describe something quite different. In other words, a long complicated private joke that means nothing to you.

3. How old are you: 39

4. Where do you live: NY, NY

DESCRIBE YOUR:

5. Wallet: Black Fossil leather checkbook wallet, stuffed with business cards, receipts, courtesy cards but rarely money which usually goes in my pockets. I'm getting better about keeping cash and cards and change in the wallet, but now the checkbook is getting shredded.

7. Toothbrush: Gray and black Crest bendy ergonomic one. I should get a new one
Cheap green 'crest' toothbrush, from the dollar store (Hence the quotes), not intentionally bendy. I shold get a new one.
8. Jewelry worn daily: Platinum diamond engagement ring on the wrong hand. Weird stone and silver ring I bought at the Clearwater festival. Diamond is in storage.

13. Sunglasses: If I wear contacts, I wear cheap off the street plastic ones. I just busted my $5 oversized '60s ones that I loved. I've worn glasses nearly exclusively this year, so no shades, unless I'm in 'character'

14. Favorite shirt: Either my black vneck sweater or my LL bean grey and green mens flannel.

16. CD in stereo right now: Booty Olympics "Boystyle" Beethoven something, I'm too wrecked to get up and check.

17. Piercings: Two in each ear.

18. What you are wearing now: Above-mentioned LL Bean grey and green mens flannel shirt. Striped high cut briefs. Grey JHU tshirt and Pfizer sweats.

19. Wishing: I could get off my ass and my projects and problems would magically disappear. The same, and sleep.

20. Wanting: Elves. Lots and lots of elves. Smaller tonsils.

21. After this: getting off my ass. taking meds. maybe cereal. Sleep?

22. If you could get away with it and murder anyone who would it be? Can't abide murder, unless someone hurt a friend or family member I would kill to defend them.

23. Persons you wish you could see right now: Hmm, there's a few.

25. Something you're looking forward to in the coming week: My friend Mike is coming to town. Everyone's coming to town. And I have some big shows.

26. The last thing you ate: Last night i had hot and sour soup. Besides Claritin and Klonopin I had a tangerine.

27. Something you are moderately afraid of: Moderately? Uncertainty.

31. Do you believe in love? Yes, much to my detriment.

32. Do you believe in soul mates? Goddamn, I hate that word. No.

33. Do you believe in love at first sight? I'm not sure that's love, but it's something.

35. Do you believe in God? I don't know, really.

38. What is the longest you've ever watched TV? Oh, dear, mindless marathons have trapped me...

44. Who is someone that you really wish was still around? My great-aunt.

RELATIONSHIPS:

45. Who are your best friends? I have a few. Not all of them are geographically close. Some are moving farther away, and that's bumming me out.

46. How many people have you kissed? There's kissing and then there's kissing.

47. Would you be in a long distance relationship? Oy vey. Perhaps. I like space. Not unless I'd fallen madly in love.

48. Still have feelings for anyone you've been in a past relationship with? Oh of course, who doesn't? Although at least one ex says I don't have nearly enough; he tends to hang on to nearly everyone in some form or another, I really don't. Yes.

49. Do you know what it feels like to be in love? I'm pretty sure I do, but recent life events have caused me to wonder. Shit happens. But yes, I think I do. I don't know.

50. Would you sacrifice your favorite possession for your best friends? Of course.

FASHION STUFF:

51. Where is your favorite place to shop? J. Jill catalog. Bloomingdales on sale if I have the right salesperson; otherwise Filenes Basement.

52. Have any tattoos? No.

61. Do you do drugs? Rarely do I do illegal drugs.

64. What are you listening to right now? Oddly nothing, although Foreigner's "I want to know what love is" is going through my head right now. Nothing.

65. Who was the last person that called you? My friend Mike about his travel plans for this week. Frank.

66. Where do you want to get married? Vegas, drunk. Ha! Of course I am still technically married right now. Alas.

68. What would you change about yourself? Be less angry at myself and more focused on positive changes in my life.

69. What are essentials in your life? Cash, family, friends, Internet, carbonated water. No carbonated water, and not in that order.

CURRENT:

71. Hair: longish, curlyish, dark brown, messy

72. make-up: None. I haven't showered yet. Worn off by now.

73. music: Maudlin shit. Just put on Steve Earle. Musicals. Les Mis, South Park, Moulin Rouge.

74. mood: tense cranky

75. State of Being: uncertain fluish

in other news

I'm sick. I went from 0 to fucking sick in an hour. My throat is swelling up, my eyes are burning. And I'm starving, which happens when I start running a fever. Goddamnit. This officially sucks camel balls.

Camel balls?

I gotta get some rest.

TV Women who May be Retarded (with all due respect to the retarded)

1. Kina from "Real World Road Rules: The Duel" and such. "I'd have won that challenge...if it wasn't for my body." Clearly, all her cranial blood supply is cut off at her gums.


2. Rachael Ray. "Yum-O!" And why are her breasts so forlorn?


3. Kendra from "Girls Next Door." Go Kendra, before it gets away!

Another ESPN gem

Lest you think that chick sportswriters can only write about chick stuff, here's another gem from Jemele Hill.

Craaaaaap

Why me? Why does weird shit happen to me?

I'm nursing what I believe is a dislocated jaw. Either that, or a recently relocated jaw that hurts like a bastard. What was I doing to earn this? Street fight? Stage combat gone wrong?

Nope. Chewing.

In my heavily scarred life, I have, among other things -
- run a screen door into the back of my foot
- gotten a shard of cadaver in my eye (while wearing glasses)
- burned my stomach on a cookie sheet
- slipped and fell INSIDE A HOSPITAL dislocating my knee
- fallen down subway steps (6 train)
- gotten a concussion from an improv show
- face-planted while leaving the stage at the Parkside

Now, I've dislocated and relocated my jaw (I think. It's starting to swell, now that I've removed the icepack). I didn't know whether to call the doctor or dentist, so I called the dentist.

I feel like a moron. A moron in huge amounts of pain.

Clam up, noseface!

I really enjoy the Comic's Curmudgeon; so much, that I am considering buying an 'air quotes' tshirt.

It's selective in its likes (Curtis) and dislikes (scathing serial commentary on For Better or For Worse). It's got neat archives that are fun to browse, especially if you are a recovering strip junkie like me.

Sense memory

I never considered myself a touchy person, in terms of touchy-feely-ness. But there are some touches that I remember, years later, so vividly that it makes me shudder a bit from how real and beautiful it was.

The feel of someone's hands on your shoulders as they gaze intensely into your eyes, deeply, perhaps for the first time, as you look up at them. The caress of someone stroking your skin, remembering how soft and pretty it's always been, as trees rustle on the breeze blowing in. The wonderfully uncomfortable sensation of resting your head on someone's shoulder and having a hand play in your hair, absently, while focusing on something else. Having your hand, squeezed, in a gesture of "I'm here and I like this." A leg tangled up with yours as you drift off to sleep.

Quality, not quantity.

arrrrggghhh (a fair amount of time in the making)

I just want someone to fall madly and truly in love with me, and be able to follow through in a way that doesn't make me insane, annoyed or heartbroken.

To quote the legendary Harvey Fierstein, "Is that so wrawng?"

ARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH.

scatterbrained

I started to post about my lovely weekend, and somehow don't remember what happened to the post.

Anyway, it was lots of fun.

But I'm so behind on THINGS.

I also notice that there's a certain lack of personality, or at least consistency, in this bloggero.

Does anyone care? Nah!

Bahahahahah. I'm working too late and have miles to go before I sleep.

Icky in Pink

ESPN, and especially Page 2, are my frequent workday companions. I'm a great fan of Mary Buckheit and Jemele Hill, two fine chicks whose sportswriting I admire.

Today's Page 2 featured them both:

Lighter Reading (Mary Buckheit on sports-'fashion')
Heavy Reading (Jemele Hill on Katie Hnida's rough times in NCAA football)

Great stuff.

Yeah, I'm hot. Or at least toothy!

See previous, or Beauty Products Revisited

Yesterday, I bought Aveeno Exfoliating Body Scrub and Vaseline Intensive Care Firming Lotion.

I have no idea if this stuff works. Yet I felt a profound need for it.

I will keep the public informed as to my smoothness and firmness.

This was the week that was

Let's take advantage of how scatterbrained I am. I kept meaning to post, but it's hard to type unobstrusively here at work (yes, I'm working today) and it's the last thing I want to do when I go home.

Some highlights:

• The world's worst comb-over.


• Don't drink and...drink.


• I am a GrownUp - Shopping at Duane Reade for products by Brand, that May not Be on Sale, and May be for Women over 30.


• Comedy - Oy Vey!


• Obsession: or, why must all my list contain an Odd Number of items?

Enjoy your day! Here's a couple of tapirs for you:

More random uselessness, or useless randomness

I tried to sign on for 10 minutes to let people know that I am wearing an exceedingly ugly shirt today.

It's blue, green, pinkish-tan and white paisely. Under the button placket and cuffs (that are permanently rolled up, a great look if you have long arms), there's a pale blue stripe. The buttons stop short of the top, which means you have to look at the black lace camisole that I incongruously put on this morning.

Not a pretty sight. Trust me.

Hello.

My cat just slid off my file cabinet, taking all the papers and clothes with her.
I've been on the phone for 2 hours.
I've been drinking Irish whiskey, which is very very tasty.
Dr. 90210 is on.
I thought I was going to go out, but I didn't.
I need to bake a pie.
Hooray!

Tenacious D - so cool!

I love funny/funnylooking/musical guys. Don't you? If you do, go see the new Tenacious D picture. Then download the soundtrack. Then continue to be amused and amazed.

"Dude (I Totally Miss You)" is my new favorite love song.

Totally predictable but so fucking hilarious. Nice bits by Paul Tompkins and Amy Poehler.

I don't go to the movies enough, and am ridiculously disappointed when the movie sucks, and ridiculously giddy when it's fantastic.

I can do without the ten previews of shitty movies. Please. Especially when I'm popcorn-and-soda free.

T-day photos

A selection....

Man am I good!

Here's the menu. Remains up for grabs!

Toasted Rosemary Walnuts (from Laurie Colwin, "More Home Cooking")
Wild Turkey (from Quattro's Game Farms, Union Square) with Herb Butter
Turkey Gravy (fresh)
Baked Sweet Potatoes
Green Beans with Orange and Toasted Maple Pecans (from Cook's Illustrated)
Buttermilk Mashed Potatoes
Dressing with Pine nuts and Dried Cranberries
Butternut Squash Lasagne (from Giada DeLaurentiis Everyday Italian)
Cranberry Sauce (berry and the sliced kind)
Pear Chutney (homemade, also from Laurie Colwin, "More Home Cooking")
Pumpkin Pie (homemade)
Pecan Pie (homemade)
Apple Pie (from Black Forest in Lindenhurst)
Butter cookies with frosting turkeys on them.

OK. I'm not perfect. I didn't make the pie crusts. But I did make fresh maple-flavored whipped cream.

I'm SO TIRED!

Haps all.
Thanks for my lovely family for making it all worth it and fun.
Photos to follow!

Obsessive? p'raps.

It bugs me that now that I've switched my Blogger account, my old posts are Not Labeled.

This will take time, that I don't have, to fix. Think I'll attempt it? Bet on it.

Did I just correct the commas in that sentence above? You betcha.

Random walks, continued

Yesterday I walked around my neighborhood. Slightly too chilly for my thermal shirt, denim jacket and corduroys...in other words, perfect. Bright and early in the East Village means a certain level of calm and quiet, with oldsters out buying the Saturday paper a day early, some hungover dog-walkers, store owners sweeping their sidewalk narrowly within the borders of their stores projected on an invisible line to the sidewalk, a few dedicated scribes in coffee shops with laptops, toast and black coffee. Stopped into Odessa to get a light-no-sugar and tasted the sweetness from where the pre-loaded cup had been emptied. Adjusted the brown bandanna (a remnant of a past relationship, if not a remnant then a reminder) that was sliding down over my eyes and hardly sheltering my shower-wet hair. I walked to Tompkins Square, past the homeless group milling about, awaiting the Christian meal truck, past the empty chessboard tables in the area where Tent City used to be. I sipped my coffee and strolled in lazy loops, pausing on a bench, balancing my phone between neck and ear as I wiped the stray coffee from my pants leg. I rounded the large paved expanse in the middle where small film crews and photogs often pause. I passed the playground, the dog run, and found a happy spot in the middle of the park. When the leaves are all on the trees, you feel sheltered, and it's as if there are no buildings surrounding you. Peering through the trees in November, you can see the tenements and occasional high-rise cross-hatched by the bare branches. I happily kicked some leaves, as no pile of leaves should be left unkicked. I passed the Parks Department man who was leaf-blowing and smiled, perhaps too late. At the east end of the park I saw a gathering outside the old church. Was it a wedding? Funeral? Just a Saturday mass? I walked along the eastern edge of the park, passing my family's ancestral home on 7th Street.

It was nice to have company on my solitary walk, even by way of cell phone. I'd have enjoyed it either way, but it was quite pleasant.

Autumn. New York. Cliche? Perhaps. Wonderful.

A huuuuge blow to my self esteem

Not really. According to current standards of bloglebrity, I'm not up to blogging snuff.

So everyone who sees this...love me! At least electronically.

Thanks to Will Hines, everyone's favorite C-list blogger. Of course this will only shoot him straight into the B-list-osphere.

Reproduced without permission...the most brilliant intercontinental conversation EVER.

Originally titled "Cunts x 10."* See if you can figure out why?

read them, count them, and count them again, you cunts:

Scarpe708: This is fun, I like improv with you, you cunt
mir777: You are a good scene partner, for a silly cunt
Scarpe708: The English can be quite fuuny, as we are cunts...
mir777: So can New Yorkers, because we are witty Jewish cunts
Scarpe708: I will ALWAYS love you New York, you're still cunts
mir777: I love England, even though it is full of Cunts
Scarpe708: You are still counting to ten, you clever bitch cunt
mir777: Yes, I am brilliant even when I am a cunt
Scarpe708: I can't keep up now, can I? you funny cunt
Scarpe708: I will blog this, you know that, don't ypu? cunt
mir777: It's getting harder and I'm starving, you distracting sleepless cunt
mir777: Yes yes yes yes yes blog cunt cunt cunt cunt
Scarpe708: And scene, cos we can still end up saying cunt


9 words plus cunt to a sentence. get it? cunts?

*non-Anglophiles should know that the old c-word isn't nearly as BAD in the UK, home of 'scarpe708,' as it is here in Noo Yawk City.

ps - Cunt!

And what's with that hair?

The young....(circa 1985)


















The terrifying...(circa 2001)
















The not too shabby...(circa 2005)

A controversial rejoinder.

Plaid boxers. No doubt.

A controversial opinion.

Republicans. Why are they so darn sexy?

Nyet, nyet, nyet.

Sorry, Billy.

I rented "Gorky Park" because (a) I loves me a good Cold War intrigue novel and this was a fine one, and (b) I loves me some William Hurt.

Wrong, wrong.
What LANGUAGE are you speaking? All the Russians are essentially voiced as working-class Brits, but Mr. Hurt, your accent of faux-Soviet-stilt combined with dialect-tape upper class English, slipping back into American WASP every ten words or so.
Distracting! Arrgh! Arrgh!

I'm waiting for Lee Marvin to appear. Then, back in the red envelope you go!
Arrgh!

Who's your fave Girl next Door?

Holly's the main one. Bridget's the smart one. Kendra's....the blonde one.

Vote for Mark & Ari!

They're good people. Funny people. And the film is friggin' hilarious!

Soundtrack of your life if your life were guided by iTunes "Shuffle"

Blog meme! Stolen from Dunford.

Opening Credits: "Distant Fingers," Patti Smith
Waking Up: "Why you Wanna Treat me So Bad," Prince
An Ordinary Day: "We're Not Gonna Take It," Twisted Sister
The First Date: "What can I Do?," Antony and the Johnsons
Falling in Love: "Javert at the Barricade," Les Miserables Soundtrack
The Rumble: "Already Said Goodbye," Booty Olympics
The Break-up: "La La Love You," Pixies
Getting Back Together: "Maybe This Time," Liza Minnelli
Life's Okay: "Decomposing Composers, Monty Python
The Mental Breakdown: "Love Me till the Sun Shines," The Kinks
Cruising: "Sister Christian," Night Ranger
The Flashback: "Solitary Man," Johnny Cash and Tom Petty
The (Frat) Party: "I Can't Make you Love Me," Bonnie Raitt
Everybody Dance Now: "I Never Had a Chance," Mendoza Line
Regretting: "Tomorrow is Today," Billy Joel
The Long Night Alone: "Uptown," Prince
A Death: "Prelude Act III, Tristan un Isolde," Wagner

My iTunes is a tad hostile this morning, what can I say? (Due to an input error, this is the corrected version and, if possible, even weirder than the first)

What to do, what to do....

I'm fucking hungry.

Breakfast Club is on the TV.

It's not clear whether it's going to rain or not.

I feel somewhat isolated from a community I sort of used to be a part of.

I need to write jokes but my heart isn't in it.

Things are changing. Things need to change more.

Superheroine's Demise, Google and the reluctant feminist.

When CBN's turn misogynistic: a commentary.

From shrub.com, a pretty interesting blog on stuff that I'm only kind of interested in. I generally loathe -ists of any sort, but there's some good, smart and honest writing here. Here too, which appears to be pro-feminist stuff written by a dude.

The world of gender politics and politics in general has always made me itch, but perhaps some stuff is worth looking at.

I don't know exactly what the point of all this is. It's miles away from my original posting idea, which is probably a good thing. Because I believe my original idea was something along the lines of sexuality and difficult relationships. I could be less vague, if I wanted to be. But that's neither here nor there.

One Google leads to another, as you know and I ended up informed, and in a slightly smarter place.

bits of food news

1. Lemon Propel Water is strangely delicious. Usually lemon 'flavored' things taste like cleansers of some sort, but Lemon Propel is ridiculously tasty!

2. BirdsEye makes chopped spinach you can steam in the package for the ridiculously lazy who can't Find a Bowl or a Knife to Chop With. I made a vaguely sushi-restaurant-appetizer, delicious (not for everyone, granted) salad for lunch with some leftovers:

Chilled frozen cooked spinach
1/2 package silken tofu (firm)
1-2 tsp sesame oil
1-2 tb soy sauce
Sesame seeds or gomasio (seaweed/sesame seed/salt combo - reduce the soy sauce a bit)

Mash up the tofu a bit with the back of a fork. Stir in the spinach and drizzle over remaining ingredients. Toss and enjoy!

3. I have a slight crush on the perky outdoorsy Kashi commercial lady. I love her sporty outfits and attitude! But she's not on the website although you can get free Kashi bars and stuff. Darn it!

I'd have posted more pictures and links, but I refuse to go down the product placement road any more than I already have. But if I'd found the Kashi chick, things may have been different!

Meh. Meh. Meh.

I really don't like the word 'meh.' But I'm somewhere between bone-weary and viciously anxious, so I guess it averages out to 'meh.'

Every time I try to type 'meh' I end up with 'men.' Hmmm indeed.

Oddly, I feel fairly well, which I attribute to my new fitness regimen of no crappy food. Fun!

I am so (see above) that the merest idea, whiff of human contact makes me pull the metaphorical pillow over my head.

Although, I have to say that I wouldn't mind some. Pillows. Human contact. Whatever. Meh.

You meh are all alike.

"You don't know how much you're going to miss me."
- Aurora (Shirley MacLaine), "Terms of Endearment"

My oh my, mate

I seem to be flirting, again.

I've filed off a few rough edges, I hope.

Perhaps the sweatpants will be swapped out for a good eyebrow-and-leg waxing.

Indeed.

Simple, really.

Sleep.
Maybe a hug.
New sweatpants.

Fuck it all.

a cliche? Perhaps. But a fucking classic.

Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all come down and did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Herbal Tea: A Rant

As I sit here with great hope and a fragrant cup of Celestial Seasonings "Honey Vanilla Chamomile," plucked from a pretty yellow box with charming bears and sweet quotes abound, I take my first warming sip and feel compelled to pen the following words:

HERBAL TEA SUCKS.

Yep. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Herbal tea fucking blows. Here's a list. A fucking hateful list, broken down at times by flavor.

I'm not much of a tea-drinker to begin with (excepting in certain restaurants when culturally appropriate/interesting, or when ill). And when I try, to foray into the world of the fruity and herby and spicy and smelly and soothy and foul leafy crap-water-tinting foul (did I say that?) excuse for beverages...Ok, deep breath. I will explain, neatly below.

There are limited exceptions, and I will grudgingly admit them at the end. Not even grudgingly, because I can make a case that they're not smug smelly wet-dog chewed-gum herbal....Ok, let's get organized, here.

1. Herbal Tea Often Smells Better than it Tastes (The above-mentioned blend, Harvest Spice, and many promising sounding treats.)

Celestial Seasonings (hereinafter "CS") is the prime culprit here. You want to love these. They promise a wealth of warm, tasty flavors. You read the charmingly wordy box while waiting for the water to boil, dip the super-organic string-free bag (slightly irritating to the burned fingers and a little annoying to retrieve without dripping tea), retrieve (see above) and breathe in the herbs, sweet and reminiscent of Something Else. Generally, you are on a diet and would rather eat Something Else.

Go and eat Something Else. Even if it's a goddamn cranberry muffin.

Because the smell gets progressively more noxious and the taste is of hot water with a cranberry-muffin wrapper wadded up in the bottom.

2. Weird Fruit Flavors. Why?

I once bought some Apple Spice tea. I like Apples. I like Spice.

I do not like them dipped in water. Not even the smell was remotely pleasant.

The box stunk up my cabinet to the point where I had to roach-scrub it (if you've never experienced this, bug-bomb your apartment in the winter and watch the fallout) to remove the sickly fruity odor of Glade Air Freshener lit on fire.

Similarly, any citrus-type tea that I've experienced makes me want to wipe down wood furniture.

3. Mint Tea. Fuck you.

Perhaps if I travel to Morocco, I'll have a proper cup. Maybe it's better there, the way you eat improbable foods while traveling or drunk.

Every time I've had mint tea, it's tasted like diluted chewing gum. And I don't even like chewing gum.

4. By the way, Green Tea is not Herbal Tea.

I love how people are smug about ordering Herbal Tea because it's not coffee. "I'm healthy, I'm pure, I don't do caffeine, I'm a damn hippie." Well, screw you for going to Starbucks and paying $2.00 for a cup of hot water with a sock full of dead leaves in it. (Yeah, I know, I'm a hypocrite because coffee is a bunch of ground beans filtered through a sock. Whatever, I'm on a roll.)

You can, however be smug about green tea. It's good for you. It does, however, have caffeine, and it is NOT herbal tea.

5. "Medicinal" teas.

Often found at health food stores. They are expensive, nasty tasting, and often make you crap. 'Nuff said.

COROLLARY:

There are a couple of "herbal teas" that I will grudgingly admit to enjoying, from time to time.

When I worked up in the Bronx, I was given a blend (1 bag each in a single cup) of chamomile and something called 'tilo' in Spanish after a terribly stressful day. (Badia brand, found in the Key Food). It was astoundingly calming, and ridiculously inexpensive to boot.

I also enjoy ginger tea, but I maintain this isn't truly herb tea. Ginger is fucking magical. It soothes your stomach, gives you a healthy glow, clears your system, and helped me quit smoking.

I promise that I will be eternally smug and superstitious about ginger, just like you damn hippies and your herbal teas.

Obsession with dead TV shows...Is there any money in this?*

I just flipped to "NYPD Blue."

Boy, does it make me appreciate "Homicide" more. Because "Blue" seems hackneyed and trite by comparison. Seriously. And I used to really like that show, up through the Zach from Saved by the Bell years. I had caught re-runs from the David Caruso years, and those may have actually been a bit better, when it wasn't the Show how Intensely Crappy Sipowicz's Life Is Show.

Forgive my poor construction there. But, damn. Even Season 7 (the ostensibly 'shitty season') of Homicide is overall better then the ten minutes of the Jimmy Smits era NYPD Blue episode I just caught. I was quite surprised.


*If anyone out there can answer this question, I'll toss you a percentage of same. But I will not give you the pseudonym "Bayliss" in this journal. For the four or five of you who read this journal, you'll be happy to know that "McNulty" and "Munch" are now, under slight protest, taken.

Details, details

You know what the neatest thing about "The Outsiders" (the movie) is?

The teeth. Yeah. Coppola, that genius, doesn't miss a trick. I mean, what if the greasers had the shiny-white teeth that teen pre-Brat Packers Dillon, Swayze, Cruise, Estevez and the like actually had? No, they're definitely grubby, neglected, too much Soda, soda.

Check out the teeth. And stay gold.

Kinda sets a mood, doesn't it?

The first rule of Fight Club is - you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is - you DO NOT talk about Fight Club. Third rule of Fight Club, someone yells Stop!, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule, only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule, one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule, no shirt, no shoes. Seventh rule, fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule, if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.

- Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt), "Fight Club"

the good, the bad, and the ill-fitting....

I fucking hate women's clothes sometimes.

I got this smart skirt at a fairly reduced price on ebay:




Given clothes I've purchased from this company before (Torrid), and being in possession of a couple of 'kind of fits not really' dresses, I figured sizing up was appropriate. And body image being what it is, I didn't feel so off the mark in ordering the particular size that I did.

Turns out...not so much. At least with a skirt. Low/mid-market fattie clothes, and even some of the pricier stuff tends to be cut flatter on top and bigger in the arse and hips, shortish in the legs (depending on manufacture; I have much better luck with certain vendors, but even my buddy Ralph "Lauren" Lifschitz has been known to let me down, as I am now the proud owner of a polo-shirt/belly-shirt). Even with the neat corsety ribbons in the back, I'm swimming in the waist. And at this juncture, and hopefully far into the future, this is not good. And it comes a time where you have to wonder whether or not you want to invest any money in altering relatively cheap clothes.

Anyone who is handy with a sewing machine in the East Village for whom I can trade favors (resume? nasty letters? a few batches of biscotti?) please give me a shout.

Sigh. In the abstract, it's a cool costumey skirt, no? A couple of notes:
- I think the ribbons belong squarely in the back.
- Although it looks longish in the picture, it's a miniskirt on me.
- This would look snappy with the boots from a previous post and a white stretch shirt. And pearls. But this is not interview wear, folks. At least not for day jobs.

From Homicide: "Night of the Dead Living"

If you spent any time in Baltimore without air conditioning, you know how hot it gets, even at night. This was the story of one night, and wondering about a candle that was always lit in the squad room, mysteriously, and how a roomful of the city's best detectives couldn't figure out how, who or why it was there.

Script quote courtesy of Homicide: Scripts on the Street.

(Crossover note; PO Thormann is played by Lee Tergesen, later Beecher of "Oz.")

Inside the squadroom, Munch blows out the candle. Thormann, wearing a tuxedo, walks over to him.

Thormann: What do you do that for, every night?

Munch: What's with you?

Thormann: I gotta got to a wedding.

Munch: At this hour?

Thormann: It's a long story. The wedding's in Connecticut - Old Saybrook. Eva and I are driving up.

Munch: Uh-huh.

Thormann: I know you're the one who lights the candle.

Munch: Yeah.

Thormann: So, why?

Munch: It's for all the ones who've been killed.

Thormann: Uh huh.

Munch: What I don't know is, who lit it when I was gone?

Thormann: I did.

Munch: You?

Thormann: Yeah.

Munch: Why?

Thormann: I figured it was important to you.

Munch: It's gonna be our little secret, okay?

Thormann: Yeah, sure, okay.

The air conditioning kicks in.

Munch: Air conditioner's working.

Er, how about a hug-

You know, you can diet and exercise to look more shapely, clean up nice, therapize out of a funk, read up and edumacize yourself...but can anyone really make themselves more lovable?

I don't think so, really. Indeed.

**********************

On a semi-unrelated note, I've looked over the scripted characters I've done over the years. Starting in first grade, here's a sampling:

The Selfish Giant - title role. (first grade. Mostly because I could read)

Some play in fourth grade where I was a time traveler accused by historical/literary figures of being a liar. I wasn't a liar, but time travel is cool, and it turned out I really had a head injury. Cool.

Ludlow Fair (Lanford Wilson) - Agnes. Zhlubby single city gal, tough on the outside, with a screwy romantic center that isn't revealed till the final monologue. (College One-acts festival. Of course, I couldn't even commit to rolling my hair during the final monologue, and got the director to let me shave my legs instead, adding comic relief. Note that shaving your legs twice in two days is a bitch.)

An incredibly filthy sketch where I played a racist Ukranian dominatrix. I love this character, I do. She just wants to be famous, is that so wrong?

Glengarry Glen Ross (David Mamet) - This was a reading, to be fair. I played Williamson. In a cast of characters where most people hated each other, everyone hated Williamson. I did a fine job, indeed. I fucking love this play. Typecasting?

no more grilled cheese before bed

I had a "discovery channel health" nightmare that i weighed 402 pounds on a digital scale...like the kid in "I'm 16 and morbidly obese." Scary! Not for nothing, but I was shopping for a digital scale on the Bed Bath and Beyond website before bed. I also bought sheets and a damn bath mat though, so what the fuck!

Come see this.

The Pulp Fiction quiz -

beatles or elvis?
partridge family or brady bunch?
peter strauss or nick nolte?
talk or listen?
betty or veronica?

Great finger on the personality pulse pop-culture quiz. Thanks, Quentin!

Comically simple!

With a nod to John Waters (as I first probably saw this in B-more anyway, and it was just quoted in "Dirty Shame," Waters' last film that's on LOGO now)...

a ridiculously catchy short film made at CalArts in 1974 now on Flash!

Do you like?

hee hee.

I would dedicate this to a friend (I'm sending this entry to), but I don't have a pseudonym yet. Will report back soon!

When lousy sleep happens to good people....

"Us sing, and dance, and holler, just wanting to be loved."
- Shug Avery (Margaret Avery), "The Color Purple" Yeah, I cry like an idiot.

"I've got a husband. I don't need another one."
- Janey Carver (Sigourney Weaver), "The Ice Storm" Now, who inhabits a character better than Sigourney? Tell me, people I don't know!

"You're chewing gum?"
- Miles (Paul Giamatti), "Sideways" I think I finally like this movie.

Broadway Flea Market 2006!

It's already Tuesday and I haven't gotten around to this yet. Every year I attend and rhapsodize about the folks, finds, etc. So here it is!

Sunday turned out not to suck too badly, weatherwise, but since major storms were predicted, the 'let's get there early' strategy didn't work out and the place was thronged at 10 AM, when I met my college-and-theater/market buddy Jessica at the starting point, 44th and 8th. I kind of love meeting at 'the usual place' since there's so few things in life I'm consistent about; I can't remember when we started hitting the Flea Market. Every year, things are a little different, but basically the same...but in that good way. Before I get any cheesier, let's move on.

I think because of the rain, there were way fewer books then last year. Usually we come out with buttloads of dollar books and plays (that's where I scored my highly useful copy of "Glengarry Glen Ross") - I meant to pick up that extra copy of Shurtleff's "Audition" (highly recommended by Billy Merritt, and I've lent mine out twice), but I absently laid it down and forgot. I did grab "Writing the Broadway Musical," as we discussed how all the new ones happen to suck mightily. It's true! Which memorabilia sweatshirts are going to be $2 next year? Hmmm!


We browsed show jackets and bathrobes - nothing as fabulous as the Tony Awards robe she scored a few years ago. I made a huge find at the "Broadway Bares" stripper/fund raiser booth (I've never used the wrapping paper I bought long ago, it's still in my headboard drawer) - gold lame heels, gold sequin wristbands and a blue feather boa, all for $15. Hello halloween! I was highly tempted by the gowns on the "Hairspray" rack, but they were, pricewise (but not size-wise) out of my league. We avoided playbills, pored over kitsch, snorted at inflated prices ($100 for a Sweeney Todd pie plate? Indeed not!) and picked up a few odds and ends. A light haul, overall.

We caught a glimpse of Bebe Neuwirth in the non-cloistered 'celebrity photo booth.'

The quality find this year was post-fair-examine-the-stash breakfast at the coffee shop at the Edison Hotel , which I'd heard about but never seen. Wind your way through the lobby and fabulous heavy-duty old country food awaits you! I'm a sucker for restaurants that still have whiteboard with black letters pressed in them. "I thought the blintzes would be light..." said my dining companion, staring down a Dixie cup full of sour cream. I gazed over my pancakes and dish of bacon and noticed that they never charged me for that coffee refill after all.

Good times, once again. Let's hope they bring the drag queens back to the raffle wheel someday!

Hero Machine 2.0!

You've gotta love this site!

I like that there are two ass-kicking female form options. And lots of hair, boots, sidekicks and accessories for all!

Seriously, deep down inside, this is what I really look like, Ace bandages and all.












Show me your Superheroes!

This post is about me.

I am supposed to be at H&R Block meeting the once and/or future ex to do the taxes. At noon. On 23rd Street.

It is 11:48. I am not dressed. I can't locate the W-2s.

This is not good.

My stomach hurts.

Edit: Meeting Postponed! Meeting Postponed!

This post is NOT about you.

Regarding "Cathouse: The Series"

1. Is Airforce Amy closer to 20, 30, 40 or 50? Yeesh!
2. If you're going to dye the hair that blonde, ladies, how 'bout springing for the eyebrows too? Not a good look, Sunset!
3. Is it just me, or are people shelling out good cash for some pretty tame stuff? I mean really, if you're going to push the limit of your precious University of Alabama Alumni VISA, why spend it just watching your wife get furiously fondled by another woman? Maybe America really is bo-ring!

Pet my pussy, but only if you stimulate me first. It's only logical.

Good lord, what is a pet date?

I'm fascinated by highly specialized dating sites. Even though I'm not looking for anyone lately. It's the same thing that draws me to the clothing racks in vintage stores and tiny dressmakers' shops in the East Village, gazing at 50s crinoline frocks and 60s sheath dresses. Just Not for Me, but the colors and textures are interesting.

For the merely snooty, or the creepily eugenic. these are sites for the intellectual-elitist (GoodGenes is more inclusive than the Right Stuff, oddly enough).

However, this is now my favorite one:

Trek Passions: OnLine Dating for SciFi Fans.

Live Long and Prosper, sex fiends. I'm going to polish off my Bajoran ear cuff and sharpen my bat'hleth*.

I wonder if anyone meets face to face.


*waiting to get spelling correction on that.

"Grrrrreetings Princess Cindy....and how are ya?"

In my opinion, the best "SuperSweet 16" (or as the girl's mom says, Super Swit Sixtin) episode is the Staten Island one. Where did they 'suddenly' get the $14,000 anyway? Did the 'brothers' beat the crap out of Prince Charming behind the catering hall? Will the tiny loud girl fall during the "Dirty Dancing" dance?

Oh, when bad TV happens to good people. I fondly recalled the time I hypnotized an otherwise well-educated culturally literate friend of mine (cable-free, proud Netflixer of documentaries, British public television and the "West Wing") with four or five straight episodes of "Next."

There's a new RW/RR Challenge starting Thursday. I can't wait!

"Peter Jennings Is Dead" - Live at the Monmouth County Fringe Festival!!!

The reviews are in!

"Who ARE these people??"
- Larry David

"Schmaltzy! I LOVED it!"
- Alan Alda

"You have to publish these things in threes, right?"
- Roger Ebert

"Peter Jennings is Dead" is the meta-satirical story of two rising young wordsmiths hurtling towards the center of the sun...one swig of cheap tequila and scathing remark at a time. And they KNOW. Just. How. Amusing. They. Are. Do YOU? Do THEY? DO THEY???

The Monmouth County Fringe Festival is fortunate to welcome these talented and breathtakingly attractive folks fresh from their well-received runs at LiveArts06 in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania and SpringArtSouth in Bel Air, Maryland.

Written by and starring Isabella Bonaventura-Shapiro (Bronx Public Television Seminar Series, SpeedBall HappyTime Theatre, ArtsArena) and Trent Regan Sharpe (Masters of Disaster, SpeedBall HappyTime Theatre, NewArtsFest 2.2). Directed by jean-pette josephson (Shakespeare by the Sea, SpeedBall HappyTime Theatre, Beckett on Beckett).

Showtimes 230 and 430 PM Friday, Saturday and Sundays (630 PM show added!). Tickets $5, $4 with FringePass.

Obsessive much? The beginnings...eh?

I used to really love hockey biographies when I was in elementary school. Any biographies, really, but I went on a mad streak I think, in fourth or fifth grade where I read every single non-fiction hockey book in the school and probably the public library. Books about the 'original' six-team NHL, and every hockey player bio there was. Bobby Hull, Gordie Howe, Rocket Richard. Knew about obscure Canadian towns, helmetless hockey, the absence of the forward pass.

New York Rangers
Montreal Canadiens
Toronto Maple Leafs
Boston Bruins
Chicago Black Hawks
Detroit Red Wings

That was it until the 1960s. And I did NOT google that, suckas!

I actually remember when helmets were optional. Remember hockey hair? Mike Bossy? I remember feeling guilty being a die-hard Islander fan because they were a lousy expansion team. Of course, those were impending DYNASTY years, suckas.

The one actual hockey player in my high school was a buddy of mine, and a die-hard Ranger fan who was five-three and openly ridiculed (actually, mostly for being a Ranger fan if I remember correctly). He got tall and gorgeous shortly after graduation.

I never got an actual Islander replica jersey. Too expensive. I opted for a real-ish Mets jersey, no number (too expensive, and I couldn't decide between 12 - Ron Darling - or 16 - Lee Mazzilli.) It was pinned on my dorm room wall, and I can't find the damn thing now. I never did the girl thing and got a 10K or 14K faceted gold Islanders/Stanley Cup charm at the Tri-County Flea Market. Never.

Hockey pretty much sucks now, though, doesn't it?

Ohhhh CANADA we stand on guard for theeeeeee!

Obsessive much? The beginnings...eh?

I used to really love hockey biographies when I was in elementary school. Any biographies, really, but I went on a mad streak I think, in fourth or fifth grade where I read every single non-fiction hockey book in the school and probably the public library. Books about the 'original' six-team NHL, and every hockey player bio there was. Bobby Hull, Gordie Howe, Rocket Richard. Knew about obscure Canadian towns, helmetless hockey, the absence of the forward pass.

New York Rangers
Montreal Canadiens
Toronto Maple Leafs
Boston Bruins
Chicago Black Hawks
Detroit Red Wings

That was it until the 1960s. And I did NOT google that, suckas!

I actually remember when helmets were optional. Remember hockey hair? Mike Bossy? I remember feeling guilty being a die-hard Islander fan because they were a lousy expansion team. Of course, those were impending DYNASTY years, suckas.

The one actual hockey player in my high school was a buddy of mine, and a die-hard Ranger fan who was five-three and openly ridiculed (actually, mostly for being a Ranger fan if I remember correctly). He got tall and gorgeous shortly after graduation.

I never got an actual Islander replica jersey. Too expensive. I opted for a real-ish Mets jersey, no number (too expensive, and I couldn't decide between 12 - Ron Darling - or 16 - Lee Mazzilli.) It was pinned on my dorm room wall, and I can't find the damn thing now. I never did the girl thing and got a 10K or 14K faceted gold Islanders/Stanley Cup charm at the Tri-County Flea Market. Never.

Hockey pretty much sucks now, though, doesn't it?

Ohhhh CANADA we stand on guard for theeeeeee!

Englightenment comes in the strangest places.

Corollary: Book covers are neat! Remember when you used to have to make them out of paper bags? Which I claimed were cooler anyway, cause you could write and doodle on them, and make hearts you had to cross out, and write the word "KISS" in fun Kiss fonts (of course I didn't know what a 'font' was in 1977) and draw the only doodle cartoons I knew how to (the Peanuts characters; Linus was the hardest cause of his funny shaped head under his spindly hair; Snoopy on his house was the easiest and was extra funny if he was smoking a cigarette). Those glossy book covers with college seals on them were dumb and didn't fit onto science books anyway and would slip off by October anyway and by then nobody cared and they'd end up jammed in the back of your desk to be fished out on the last day before Christmas along with some candy wrappers and some pencils and a torn paperback cover for a hockey biography you forgot to return to the library and that now you were responsible for. Big time. But now book covers come in stretchy fabric, one in a package for paperbacks and make the covers of your book kind of bendy but they're great for covering up the covers of books you don't want people to see on the PATH train. I don't know if that's why I bought them, and I felt ripped off because I thought there were two in the package but there was only one. And I must have bought them with that in mind, because I bought two books, but you can only read one at a time; at least, I can, I don't multitask well when it comes to reading, actually reading, not re-reading or bathroom reading like "Life in Hell" or something.

Forget it. I'm not going to tell you what I was reading on the PATH train. I will tell you, though, it was enlightening. And, at the moment, covered in stretchy blue fabric.


Note to #1 Cousin: You'll be glad I didn't! And don't forget to come for drinks, bring my "little cousin!" too!

(If you're reading this blog, you're probably invited for drinks!)

Anonymous messages about Nothing.

Dear Anonymous,

Thanks.

Love,
Anonymous.

Dear Meldrick,

Nice hat. And, thanks.

Love,
Bayliss.
(Kidding. Someday I'll have that quiz up...but I no longer have Kay Howard hair.)

Fascinating bastard (the title of my short-story collection to be).

"You are a fascinating bastard."
- Blair Brown (Emily), "Altered States"

"Altered States" is an incredible love story. If you're a stupendous nerd enamored of well-turned science-babble and tacky 1980-era (vector-graphics meet Nova meet stop-motion) special effects, that is. And, the debut of William Hurt, creating the first of a string of pale, strong-jawed performances before stoicism and restraint were discovered simply to be Limited Range.

But what a fine looking mad scientist he is. Y'all know I can't resist an irresistable, self-centered whacko, especially one so damn rangy. So pale his rangy naked body (and yes, he is often naked, poor exploited Bill Hurt) glows slightly blue in the darkness. (He spends most of the movie flanked by a couple of shaggy Jews. Guess who's the Jews, youse! Answer at the end of this work of literary art.)

And (spoilers, my Netflixy friends...) Blair Brown, no slouch herself in the brains and pallor department here, sticks with him. Brings him back from the ultimate void. No mere affair, no simple dalliance. The fucking depths of multidimensional space, the beginnings of time, creation, G-d and the universe itself...the terrible, terrible void...

Damn. I love a happy ending. A happy, naked, glowy, ending. And vintage-1980 lasers and mitotic cell slides. The rising-string soundtrack, however, can take a walk.

Who's the Jews? Bob "Great in Everything" Balaban and Charles "Maybe Not a Jew but Looks Like a Damn Hippie aka Renko in Hill Street and Merv Griffin's Cousin" Haid.

Trivia Bonus! Who else makes their movie debut? A very tiny Drew Barrymore!

Yes, I know what day it is

Today I've awoken, annoyed enough that I have to get on a PATH train at World Trade Center to Newark-

Oh, yeah. Damn.

Nothing much else to say, really. NPR is doing the 'creative' take from the Sears tower. Channel 5, the heartfelt take from Long Island. NY 1, straight up from downtown.

Sigh.

...but this amused me a LOT

Meth Mural!

Things that have amused me mildly today

1. An email from a super-high-tech company to me (in response to a job application) addressed: "Dear Sir or Madam"

2. "I was hyperventilating...seriously, it was like the worst day of my life."
- Carmen Electra's personal assistant, when some other celeb turned up with Carmen's dress at a red carpet event because the other celeb, without the PA's knowledge, BOUGHT THE DRESS IN A STORE.

3. My Thomas's lite bagel had no hole. Guess you get what you deserve when you buy lite bagels in a bag.

Yes, I want people to stop reading my blog, I do. I fear it has, up to this point, been far too stimulating.

As flaky as a home-made pie crust

But not one made by me, or that braless whore Sandra Lee, or that toothy twat Rachael Ray, or that bobbleheaded teeth-gritting self-loathing-because-she's-not-Martha Ina Gartner.

Anyway, for several reasons, at least one biochemical and one professional, my sleep cycle is flip-flopped and it is causing me severe distress, so I apologize for actual or perceived flakiness on my part. I shall return, shortly.

Busy, busy. I can't afford to feel this awful and function this poorly right now.

Giada DeLaurentiis is lovely, actually. Her food is nice and simple, her presentation earnest and unaffected. Although, as my friend "Keller"* says, she does appear as if she's "perpetually gazing into a Christmas ornament." And she has old man hands.

*not cause he's crazy but because he's got a crush on Christopher Meloni.

Recipe!! These are for the superlazy, culinarily inept, and to be published in my upcoming volume "Cooking for PUSSIES"

Cans of Chilaquiles - ridiculously easy, and calorically flexible.

Corn Tortillas (cheap ass ones are better, since they're thicker - Goya or Key Food brand)
Can chopped or stewed tomatoes, drained. The kind with chiles are nice.
Can refried beans. I use Old El Paso fat free.
Large (12-16 oz) jar of salsa.
8 oz bag of shredded cheese, some orange kind. I used Kraft Free, actually. Sure, you could go ahead and grate your own. Whatever.
Sour cream.

In a baking dish (I use a 2 quart, or a 13x9x2 may be slightly larger) sprayed with nonstick spray:
Layer the following:
Tortillas (tear some to fit)
Refried beans
Salsa mixed with canned tomatoes
Cheese
The final layer should have no beans and slighly less salsa/tomato mixture, just enough to moisten, and topped with cheese.
(it's roughly 3 layers of tortillas, by the way)
Bake at 375 until cheeze is browned and bubbly, about 20-30 minutes.

Let cool (this is nuclear hot.) Serve with sour cream. (Reduced fat sour cream does not suck. Fat free sour cream sucks greatly).

My my, aren't we cynical?

"I think you should only fuck when you're really in love...of course it could be for a very short time."

- Sam Kinison

From now on I am only going to fall in love in three hour increments, tops.

I had a brilliant IM conversation earlier this evening about love (I never thought I'd say that.) Unfortunately, it's gone deleted.

To paraphrase that old chestnut, "The most wretched way you can get burned, is to fall for wrecks and get wrecked in return."

Like I told another old friend tonight, I'm made of stone. I am, I swear. She didn't believe me. I also told her I am one-sixteenth empath and one-sixteenth retarded. It's true!

Huh?

Attention span: poor.
Nutrional analysis: pathetic.
Bags under eyes: huge.
Self-evaluation: D+ (my favorite grade of all time)

Look, I had this brilliant entry parsed out in my head, about the finer distinctions between "lonely" and "lonesome." Then I got sidetracked by the idea of nicknames, and how I finally decided that, not only should my friends appear in here (the non-bloggy ones especially) in creatively disguised names, that may or may not change, they also may be named after television characters with whose universe I am currently obsessed. Hence, the part of the conversation above (re lonesome, lonely and its sequelae, literary and personal) that inspired that discussion I had with drinks with my longtime buddy, the sharp and snappy "Meldrick Lewis."

I'm sure he'd be pleased with that appellation.

Before I use any longer words or eat another croissant cracker, or browse another stupid web page, or case another airline for cheap fares overseas, I'm going to curl up in a ball and collapse, thank you.

Meldrick. Perfect! Just wait for the "Which Fontana/Simon/Wolf Character Are You" quiz in Salon or some such suitable vehicle. (And of course, who was the most annoying "Homicide" character - Falsone? Mike Giardello? Megan Russert? Brodie? Deep in my heart of hearts, I may covet Tim Bayliss in leather, but I crush hard on Michelle Forbes.)

Ok. Go to bed. For real.

I have just realized I have tied my hair up with a drinking straw.

I am in Oz.

Let's put it this way. I realized this after I got a promotion to work in the Warden's office last night because of my mad skillz.

If life were Oz, right now, I would currently be in a room with Burr Redding, the white small-town sheriff who was in protective custody with "Mobay" and Clayton Hughes (and who also tripped CO Howell down the stairs for O'Reilly), and the rich preppie kid who Beecher tried unsuccesfully to 'save' from becoming an Aryan prag. (Sorry for the inaccuracies, but I want to limit my electronic trail and not go on ImDB.) Augustus Hill's already left for the day.

And I am an unmedicated Miguel Alvarez.

LockDOWN!!!