I'm two weeks behind.
I am aware of this.
But you're hardly hanging on my every word regarding Tila Tequila anyway. Right?
Saturday, May 31, 2008
The movie! The movie!! The movie!!!
OK. Sex and the City is in the bag. Mind, blown. Cooing over love and labels, check. Crying, done. Champagne, drank. Go see it. Peace out, bitches.
Ladies? Go see it because ... you know you want to.
Gay dudes? Go see it because ... you know you want to.
Straight dudes? Go see it so you see how to win a way to the ladies' hearts. And do NOT EVER show up on Valentine's Day with a velvet box of chocolates from a drugstore. That is all I have to say.
(If I manage to upload the pictures from my camera any time soon, you can see how gussied up we were too.)
Ladies? Go see it because ... you know you want to.
Gay dudes? Go see it because ... you know you want to.
Straight dudes? Go see it so you see how to win a way to the ladies' hearts. And do NOT EVER show up on Valentine's Day with a velvet box of chocolates from a drugstore. That is all I have to say.
(If I manage to upload the pictures from my camera any time soon, you can see how gussied up we were too.)
Friday, May 30, 2008
No Man's Land: Sex and the City.
The “Sex and the City” movie premiere has, as my wife astutely noted, the Internet all abuzz about love, the single girl’s life, and New York city. Not that I’ve been following the buzz; I’ve actually been enjoying nearly a week’s respite from most things Internet—ok, ok, I still checked my gmail once a day and mini-blogged three times, but that is a serious break for me—because I was off in Montreal, celebrating my one-year anniversary of marriage.
Today I was back in the (home) office, slogging through American Anthropologist’s June issue page proofs and in short breaks starting to work through the backlog of other people’s blog entries I missed during the last week. I’ve got quite a few more to still read, and quite a few blog entries I’m hankering to type up as well, but first things first: The movie! ACKCKCKCKCKCK. We’re going to a show tonight with, like, thirteen other people. (And by “we’re” I obviously mean my wife and not, in fact, my husband.) I AM DYING OF EXCITEMENT, PEOPLE. We’re gussying up, we’re having pre-show dinner & drinks, we’re doing it proper.
And second things ... uh, second, I guess: The series and/or movie’s reception by (some of) the Internet (that is, the part I read). Julia Allison comments that she wanted Carrie to “Stop looking for love. Love yourself. Love who you are. Not some transitory passion a man can give you, then take away!” She goes on to say, “I actually wished that instead of ending the series with her taking a call from Big, they had finished with her walking down the street alone, strutting in her fabulous shoes, smiling, happy to be home in New York, her city. Finally at peace - and most of all, happy to be herself again.”
Meghan Asha discusses how “The SATC premiere gave all of us ‘New York Girls’ a new take on Manhattan. I think it has vastly changed the way women date and have relationships. Like the movie, I came to Manhattan three years ago looking for L-O-V-E (i.e. a banker wrapped in fancy suits). That being said over the years and through the hard cold reality of the city, my thesis has undergone a complete overhaul: New York is a city that helps one looking for love, love themselves…”
And Wife Herself wrote an impassioned entry regarding how instead of “looking for love amidst the cocktails, just like Carrie Bradshaw and Co.,” “don’t count your cocktails before they hatch.” Wife goes on in a vein akin to JA, saying:
Unlike Wife, I do wholeheartedly believe that Carrie and The Girls were looking for love: Perhaps Charlotte was looking the hardest (as evidenced by her two marriages); Carrie sought it (but not necessarily with a big diamond ring attached) while also questioning her need/desire for it; Miranda was so scared of it she pushed it constantly away until she met non-threatening, non-flashy Steve; and Samantha slept her way around, avoiding it, but finally found a boy/man who pushed his ahem into her ahem and then his way into her heart without subsequently betraying her.
And unlike JA, I think that Carrie would never be happy to just have New York, just have her career, and just have her friends. I think Carrie—with or without Big—would keep on searching for love, and I also think there is nothing wrong with her for doing that. Why should we be seen as incomplete for wanting love? Why should we said to have poor self-esteem if love is something we genuinely need? When in the series finale Carrie strolls down the street by herself then answers a call from Mr. Big, I think she is doing exactly as JA dreamily wishes: “strutting in her fabulous shoes, smiling, happy to be home in New York, her city. Finally at peace - and most of all, happy to be herself again.” As Carrie herself says, "The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous."
Do I hate a little that it always seems to come down to The Single Girls versus The Marrieds, with enemy lines seemingly drawn and a no man’s land in between? Hells-fuckin-yeah. Do I presume at all to tell any of my single friends that the grass is greener on this here side of the field? No way, Jose, because, dude, it, like, depends. But do I “get it” nonetheless? Uhhh, yeah. Maybe not 10 years ago, or 5, or now, but eventually we will be in our thirties, and then pushing forty, and I think love and/or marriage will have at least crossed The Single Gals’ minds—even if it is an idea quickly discarded.
I know I, for one, want and need love. And I have been fortunate enough to find it. And I just celebrated it: a year of marriage, eight years of dating, and eleven years since we really “registered” at all on each other’s radars (in Iolani Orchestra, circa 1996–1997). Last year we got a leetle too carried away with the stress of the wedding to write our own vows, but I got around to vowing this year. I vowed to take him always as he is—loving what I already know about him, trusting and looking forward to what I will still learn. I vowed to commit my love to him; promised to always respect his individuality; swore to have faith and pride in him; resolved to be with him through all of life’s changes and to continue to strengthen our love and relationship for as long as we both aren’t “make die dead,” as would be said in the Hawaiian vernacular. Or, in the immortal words of “Shall We Dance” (English version w/ Gere and Lopez), “Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice everything. Your life will not go without witness because I will be your witness.” I vowed to be with him, always, the wet season, the dry season, richness and poorness, sickness and health, the dream chasing and reality, the achievements and despairing, through the births and the deaths and beyond, because I will so follow him into the dark.
Or, more likely, he’ll follow me. Because I’m bossy like that.
Today I was back in the (home) office, slogging through American Anthropologist’s June issue page proofs and in short breaks starting to work through the backlog of other people’s blog entries I missed during the last week. I’ve got quite a few more to still read, and quite a few blog entries I’m hankering to type up as well, but first things first: The movie! ACKCKCKCKCKCK. We’re going to a show tonight with, like, thirteen other people. (And by “we’re” I obviously mean my wife and not, in fact, my husband.) I AM DYING OF EXCITEMENT, PEOPLE. We’re gussying up, we’re having pre-show dinner & drinks, we’re doing it proper.
And second things ... uh, second, I guess: The series and/or movie’s reception by (some of) the Internet (that is, the part I read). Julia Allison comments that she wanted Carrie to “Stop looking for love. Love yourself. Love who you are. Not some transitory passion a man can give you, then take away!” She goes on to say, “I actually wished that instead of ending the series with her taking a call from Big, they had finished with her walking down the street alone, strutting in her fabulous shoes, smiling, happy to be home in New York, her city. Finally at peace - and most of all, happy to be herself again.”
Meghan Asha discusses how “The SATC premiere gave all of us ‘New York Girls’ a new take on Manhattan. I think it has vastly changed the way women date and have relationships. Like the movie, I came to Manhattan three years ago looking for L-O-V-E (i.e. a banker wrapped in fancy suits). That being said over the years and through the hard cold reality of the city, my thesis has undergone a complete overhaul: New York is a city that helps one looking for love, love themselves…”
And Wife Herself wrote an impassioned entry regarding how instead of “looking for love amidst the cocktails, just like Carrie Bradshaw and Co.,” “don’t count your cocktails before they hatch.” Wife goes on in a vein akin to JA, saying:
I find it’s the same with this City. You may or may not find love, and most of the love I’ve found has more to do with the awesomeness of my friends than with a shiny banker riding a gilded towncar (which was never my dream guy anyway). Everyone around you may or may not be looking for love, but in most cases they’re really looking for their launch, and they’ll put that before you, because it’s what we all came here for really. I never really bought that Carrie and the girls were really looking for love. I always thought it was an entertaining and metaphoric conceit - that relationships and the search for “love” are the things we all distract ourselves with, what we use to learn about ourselves, and what bonds us with other sojourners on this crazy journey towards our dreams. So if you really are looking for love, go somewhere else, somewhere people go to settle down. Because if I know anything about this City, it’s that no one here likes to settle.”And I couldn’t help but wonder ... Really? Do you ladies really mean that? Do you actually not care about ever finding love? I’m not saying now, but ever? Really?! I’m sorry, I could pretend to be PC about this, and I do realize this may make me look like an asshole, but maybe, deep down, I just don’t get it. While I don’t judge others’ actions, I also don’t envy them. I honestly cannot fathom having sex with a near to complete stranger, or dating without keeping an eye on the prize of a serious, monogamous relationship. Perhaps, in this way, I’m much more Charlotte than Carrie, maybe even more Charlotte than Charlotte. I get my feelings hurt a bit when single friends of mine obliquely discuss how they see marriage as "settling," even when I know their comments are not directed at me. I have what I believe to be a pretty healthy self-esteem, I have a career of my own, I have dreams I work actively to fulfill, and I have friends who have changed my life with the depth and breadth of their friendship. But that was never enough for me. I always, always, always wanted and needed LOVE. I didn’t want and need it to the exclusion of my self-esteem, career, dreams, and friends; but I steadfastly considered (and still do) a life in which I couldn’t also have Love the worst compromise of all. In fact, Carrie herself wonders in one episode: “What are we going to do? ... Sit around bars, sipping cosmopolitans and sleeping with strangers when we're 80?”
Unlike Wife, I do wholeheartedly believe that Carrie and The Girls were looking for love: Perhaps Charlotte was looking the hardest (as evidenced by her two marriages); Carrie sought it (but not necessarily with a big diamond ring attached) while also questioning her need/desire for it; Miranda was so scared of it she pushed it constantly away until she met non-threatening, non-flashy Steve; and Samantha slept her way around, avoiding it, but finally found a boy/man who pushed his ahem into her ahem and then his way into her heart without subsequently betraying her.
And unlike JA, I think that Carrie would never be happy to just have New York, just have her career, and just have her friends. I think Carrie—with or without Big—would keep on searching for love, and I also think there is nothing wrong with her for doing that. Why should we be seen as incomplete for wanting love? Why should we said to have poor self-esteem if love is something we genuinely need? When in the series finale Carrie strolls down the street by herself then answers a call from Mr. Big, I think she is doing exactly as JA dreamily wishes: “strutting in her fabulous shoes, smiling, happy to be home in New York, her city. Finally at peace - and most of all, happy to be herself again.” As Carrie herself says, "The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous."
Do I hate a little that it always seems to come down to The Single Girls versus The Marrieds, with enemy lines seemingly drawn and a no man’s land in between? Hells-fuckin-yeah. Do I presume at all to tell any of my single friends that the grass is greener on this here side of the field? No way, Jose, because, dude, it, like, depends. But do I “get it” nonetheless? Uhhh, yeah. Maybe not 10 years ago, or 5, or now, but eventually we will be in our thirties, and then pushing forty, and I think love and/or marriage will have at least crossed The Single Gals’ minds—even if it is an idea quickly discarded.
I know I, for one, want and need love. And I have been fortunate enough to find it. And I just celebrated it: a year of marriage, eight years of dating, and eleven years since we really “registered” at all on each other’s radars (in Iolani Orchestra, circa 1996–1997). Last year we got a leetle too carried away with the stress of the wedding to write our own vows, but I got around to vowing this year. I vowed to take him always as he is—loving what I already know about him, trusting and looking forward to what I will still learn. I vowed to commit my love to him; promised to always respect his individuality; swore to have faith and pride in him; resolved to be with him through all of life’s changes and to continue to strengthen our love and relationship for as long as we both aren’t “make die dead,” as would be said in the Hawaiian vernacular. Or, in the immortal words of “Shall We Dance” (English version w/ Gere and Lopez), “Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice everything. Your life will not go without witness because I will be your witness.” I vowed to be with him, always, the wet season, the dry season, richness and poorness, sickness and health, the dream chasing and reality, the achievements and despairing, through the births and the deaths and beyond, because I will so follow him into the dark.
Or, more likely, he’ll follow me. Because I’m bossy like that.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
a considerably upscale "treehouse."
The New York Times featured Victoria Redel's gorgeous apartment in their real estate section. And having been fortunate enough to enter her digs a time or two, let me tell you: it ain't exactly a "treehouse."
"Sex and the City: The Movie" the magazines!
If you are as obsessed with the movie as I am--and why wouldn't you be--check out June's Vogue (fantasy shoot of Big and Carrie, photographed by Annie Leibovitz) and Entertainment Weekly (entire special issue devoted to Sex and the City: the film, the tv show, the cast, etc.).
Friday, May 23, 2008
Oh, Canada!
We decided that--cancelled Hawai'i trip be damned--we would make use of Dave's time off and celebrate our one-year wedding anniversary. Based on whatever Delta flights looked promising for standby travel, we toyed with ideas of hitting the Caribbean (but the hotels were overbooked), Greece (too far), Milan (bad weather), Barcelona (bad weather), Amsterdam (we don't do drugs), Puerto Vallarta (too many connecting flights), and Montreal/Quebec. After a whole day of mulling it over, researching, and watching the flights, we decided it would be the best use of our time and money to head for Montreal.
With the short notice and our limited means, we headed for Montreal this morning, grabbing the last two seats on a 9:30am flight. We walked from our hotel to old Montreal/old Port and through downtown Montreal via such winding paths that in the end we walked about six miles, without having meant to (check out the neighborhoods here). We also had a damn good Italian meal (at Trattoria Trestevere) in the middle of a very French city (Montreal) in Canada. Go figure.
I was also thrilled to receive another stamp on the old passport because we flew instead of training it or driving up. (Go ahead, laugh all you want, but it's the simple things that keep one happy.)
Also on the agenda? Wide tasting of ice wine!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
new at cynematic: shopping karma.
Cynematic recently posted a hilarious entry on the "moral bargaining" she goes through when shopping.
My own rules are much more simple and can be boiled to my supersecret and silent internal promises I made to myself as a child when I didn't get what I wanted: When I'm a grown-up and can buy whatever I want, I'm going to buy St. Ives shampoo-and-conditioner sets. Remember those? They were bundled together by plastic and thematically paired: aloe and jojoba, for example, was one set, priced at around $8 a set (pretty outrageous for the 1980s). I thought that the day when I could buy those shampoo-and-conditioner sets, I would have arrived. Nowadays getting shampoo and conditioner for $8 is a deal, and every company tries to lure you with choices for your head of hair (redhead, blonde, brunette, dandruff, etc.) and with the luxe elements like crushed pearl, cocoa powder, rare fruits or vegetables, or exotic flowers in them. Crazy.
But basically I think my rules are this: I can justify pretty much any purchase. However, luckily for my budget, my tastes run to the more eclectic than name-brand.
My own rules are much more simple and can be boiled to my supersecret and silent internal promises I made to myself as a child when I didn't get what I wanted: When I'm a grown-up and can buy whatever I want, I'm going to buy St. Ives shampoo-and-conditioner sets. Remember those? They were bundled together by plastic and thematically paired: aloe and jojoba, for example, was one set, priced at around $8 a set (pretty outrageous for the 1980s). I thought that the day when I could buy those shampoo-and-conditioner sets, I would have arrived. Nowadays getting shampoo and conditioner for $8 is a deal, and every company tries to lure you with choices for your head of hair (redhead, blonde, brunette, dandruff, etc.) and with the luxe elements like crushed pearl, cocoa powder, rare fruits or vegetables, or exotic flowers in them. Crazy.
But basically I think my rules are this: I can justify pretty much any purchase. However, luckily for my budget, my tastes run to the more eclectic than name-brand.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
ultimatefares.com can kiss my a$$!!!!
DO NOT EVER BOOK PLANE TICKETS WITH ULTIMATEFARES.COM. We just found out, tonight, about 10 hours before we were supposed to be AT the airport that the ticket confirmation--complete with flight numbers and ticket price--that they sent us was not, in fact, a ticket confirmation. It was a confirmation of itinerary (despite being called a ticket confirmation), which was supposed to be followed by another e-mail confirming that they were actually confirming our flight and payment.
Why the hell would you ever send a flight confirmation that did not actually confirm a flight?!
Anyway, after two hours of searching every travel site known to man and realizing we cannot get home for less than $3600, we are totally crushed. We are missing out on the wedding of two of our very close SF friends, the opportunity to party with our SF friends, the chance to celebrate our one-year anniversary with our families, enough delicious homemade Filipino food to feed a small army courtesy of Hilo Gramma, and parental bonding time.
Moral of the story? DO NOT EVER EVER EVER USE ULTIMATEFARES.COM. Unless you have an electon microscope and a law degree to decipher the fine print.
Why the hell would you ever send a flight confirmation that did not actually confirm a flight?!
Anyway, after two hours of searching every travel site known to man and realizing we cannot get home for less than $3600, we are totally crushed. We are missing out on the wedding of two of our very close SF friends, the opportunity to party with our SF friends, the chance to celebrate our one-year anniversary with our families, enough delicious homemade Filipino food to feed a small army courtesy of Hilo Gramma, and parental bonding time.
Moral of the story? DO NOT EVER EVER EVER USE ULTIMATEFARES.COM. Unless you have an electon microscope and a law degree to decipher the fine print.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Obama lived here!!!
. . . okay, just for three months, but still! Presidential hopeful Obama lived in Brooklyn Heights, which makes me even more smug about the nabe. OK, I'm being an asshole, it's 3am, and I'm calling it a night.
(Thanks to Brooklyn Heights Blog for the tiperoo.)
(Thanks to Brooklyn Heights Blog for the tiperoo.)
mediabistro circus-induced bad ideas.
If you're trying to carve out more time in the day to write creatively and edit because it's your paying-the-bills job, it's probably a bad idea to start a twitter account, right?
Right?!?!
PEOPLE, STOP ME BEFORE I DO SOMETHING I TRULY REGRET!!
Right?!?!
PEOPLE, STOP ME BEFORE I DO SOMETHING I TRULY REGRET!!
Mediabistro Circus Day 1, initial musings.
All day today Wife and I were (happily, willingly) entrenched in day 1 of the Mediabistro Circus conference, which was self-touted as the place to “change the way you think about media.” The events technically ran from 8am into the wee hours of the evening—including morning check-in with continental breakfast-type pastries and the all-important coffee and an evening networking event at a bar. However, as artistes content with our “nontraditional” workplace (home in pjs) and hours (start at noon), Laura and I could hardly be expected to physically be anywhere—nevermind actually functional— by 8am, so we skipped the 8am mingling and the first conference on “Publishing: From Print to Digital,” because (a) the topic didn’t interest La, (b) let’s just say I’ve got that topic already heartily covered at my job (check out AnthroSource via Wiley-Blackwell for proof), and (c) as aforementioned the session started at 9am, people, and that’s rough.
What we did go to:
* COFFEE AND CHECK IN. Schmooze with one person, who seemed horrified when Laura admitted we had skipped the first session that she walked away, effectively ending the conversation. Making new friends? Uhhh… Check. Recognizing of any faces? Uhhh, check: Meghan Asha, Julia Allison, and Mary Rambin. With their dogs in their arms, nokiddingyou. (And Khaliah, we really wanted to go get a picture with the ladies for you, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to do so, seeing as how in the past we’ve each semibashed on JA and Mary. Not sweet Meghan, though. We sort of play favorites at May in the Bay and The Famous Chronicles. Oops. We here at May in the Bay will be rectifying this immediately in the interests of “playing nice” on the Internet, as we were exhorted to do by Chris Anderson.)
1:00am-12:30pm: Blogging, with Elisa Camahort, Co-founder and COO of Blogher; Anil Dash, Vice President and “Chief Evangelist” of Six Apart; Eric Hellweg, Editorial Managing Director of Harvardbusiness.org; and Noah Shachtman, Contributing Editor to Danger Room Blog @ Wired Magazine.
FREE LUNCHY GOODNESS: a lunch buffet in which I took every.single.thing.offered because, like, it was free.
1:15pm-2:15pm: Keynote with Chris Anderson, Editor-in-Chief of Wired Magazine and author of The Long Tail.
2:15pm-3:30pm: Video, with Dina Kaplan, Co-founder and COO of Blip.tv; Jim Louderback, CEO of Revision 3; and Robert Scoble, Managing Director of Fast Company TV.
MORE COFFEE AND MORE COFFEE. More networking, here and there.
4:15pm-6:00pm: Social Media, with Kate Everett Thorp, CEO of Real Girls Media; Shawn Gold, CEO of Social Approach; Steven Johnson, author of Ghost Map and Everything Bad Is Good For You; and Steve Rubel, Senior Vice President of Edelman PR.
All in all, I learned a lot today but also surprised myself with how much I already knew. I definitely know that some of these discussions today will affect the way I view the focus and “raison d’être” (to borrow Chris Anderson’s key phrase of the day) for my online presence, in general, and my blogging, in particular. Perhaps at some point I will explore more specifics about what I learned today in another blog post, but rather than putting off the whole entry until I get around to doing that (which, let’s be honest here, might never happen), I decided to just provide this sketch of my initial reactions to the event. Hopefully as I begin to revise/remodel my online presence, you will see the difference here on my blog.
Perhaps the biggest issue I am left wrestling—and it is a biggie—is what is the point? And, more specifically, what is my point?
To generalize quite widely, I find that there are two kinds of bloggers in the world: knowledge bloggers, who propagate a specific, narrow body of “knowing” that they post consistently about (cooking/recipes, fashion, DIY origami, jogging strategies), and life bloggers, who write about aspects of their own lives, from dating to fashion to books read to sex had to … well, you get the point and see quickly the category into which I fall. And the more I listened today, the more I heard that there is room for growth for the former and less so for the latter.
It all comes down to what I see as “the point” of my blog. Initially, when I started it on Friendster in 2006, it was because I had moved across the country to California and was far removed from a great many people I loved and missed dearly. I started the blog first to stay in touch, to make sure I didn’t fall off their radar, and to prove to myself and them that I hadn’t gone “boring” on the west coast. I started the blog second because I hoped to make new connections, perhaps even in California, and in any case to start building an audience of fans of my writing style and voice, an audience that perhaps someday, if I ever wrote and published a book, would want to buy it because they already knew my writing and liked it.
Now I’m back in New York near all those people I had hoped would read the blog, so busy having wonderful adventures with them I can’t find the time to blog about them (Hi, Shaun and Rachel: I had a superswell time with you at the Brooklyn Flea Market *AND* in Long Island City and I sincerely hope I actually blog about this soon, but for now I hope this shout-out will make you smile!). And a ton of them have blogs now as well (check out my "daily cuppa" for links). And I have new beloveds that are too far away, like SurfRunner and Sidewalk Monkey and Jules at A Candid Life. I’ve “met” (ok, whatever, I use that term loosely) incredible new people, like Cynematic, le Cassandra, and Jen at Quarter-Life Crisis. I’ve refound other friends via the blogosphere, including The Milkman’s Daughter who is all the way over in Thailand, not to mention the handfuls of others part of my daily (& increasingly long; I must be distance training!!) jog around Blogland, as I like to call it. I’ve used my fascination with writing blogs to feed into a fascination with reading blogs, and then vice versa. I’ve been able to participate in conversations with people who are wildly different from me, others who wildly share many of the same interests, some who agree with me, and some who violently do not. And for the most part it’s been refreshing and continues to shape me as a writer and as a person interacting with the world.
That all said, if I really mean to use my blog and online presence as a tool to “launch” myself as a writer, I can see pretty plainly that my blog should be more of a content-driven/ knowledge-providing model of blogging. This is what gets you increased traffic. This is what occasionally generates a few hundred dollars of revenue. This is what more importantly increases your traffic to the people who could help launch you in different ways: For example, Eric Hellweg talked about the concept of “Blog 2.0,” which was the idea that a successful blog with narrow content could potentially lead to a column in more traditional media, which could potentially lead to a book of columns, which could potentially lead to a book tour, which could potentially lead to you having actually made somewhat of a living as a writer, despite all those naysayers along the way.
Aye, then. There’s the rub. What do you all think? Questions? Answers? Comments from the peanut gallery? Please?
video conferencing.
Last night Wife and I wanted to video-conference so that we could visually approve and coordinate our outfits for our all day Mediabistro Circus conference today about the future of traditional and digital media. But I couldn't figure out my laptop's video camera.
I might need more help than Mediabistro Circus can give.
I might need more help than Mediabistro Circus can give.
Friday, May 16, 2008
last post. promise.
These are very close to what I want--and have been wanting for the last, oh, eight-plus years--except I want the center simpler, without the little hearts and shit, and less shiny. I want a more matte gold. Please, any and all suggestions for where to get them in New York cheap but good quality appreciated!
(Thanks to Khaliah at The Indulgence of Self for the tip.)
(Thanks to Khaliah at The Indulgence of Self for the tip.)
New Writing Rule.
Khaliah (of The Indulgence of Self) and I were having a great g-chat this morning, about the Sex and the City movie, how SatC made ghetto gold jewelry "okay" for white girls, gossipy and incestuous MFA programs, the writing life, Philly cheesesteaks, how to work your babydaddy, and how the Internet is the downfall of writers the world wide.
During the conversation, Khaliah made a new rule, which I promptly announced that I'd be stealing: Only blog after having gotten some real writing done. She added this helpful caveat: If you think of something you have to blog about, make a note of it but then keep writing your fiction. This is an amazing rule that is going to change my life--as soon as I actually follow the rule, which clearly is not working out so well, considering the fact that I have written 0 words of fiction today and am on Blog Post #4 of the Day. Whatever. The Rule is totally about to change my life, guaranteed.
I leave you with highlights of the writing life chat, as I strenuously attempt to disengage from the Internet:
Khaliah: my plan is to be out and writing at 12:30
me: out? at your cafe perhaps?
Khaliah: yep! no internet makes it ideal
me: totally thats what i need otherwise i get addicted to wikipedia
Khaliah: internet is my downfall
me: like i need to know everything about something before i can write about it
Khaliah: wiki..hulu, youtube
me: wikipedia is my downfall when im already writing and have closed youtube, gmail, myspace, facebook, etc. because i think of it as "research."
Khaliah: ha!
me: im a damn liar, even to myself
Khaliah: its not reasearch when you are looking up episodes of a tv show
me: true dat
Khaliah: and all the characters in narnia...or ANTM
me: hahahaha
Khaliah: its a problem
me: totally.
During the conversation, Khaliah made a new rule, which I promptly announced that I'd be stealing: Only blog after having gotten some real writing done. She added this helpful caveat: If you think of something you have to blog about, make a note of it but then keep writing your fiction. This is an amazing rule that is going to change my life--as soon as I actually follow the rule, which clearly is not working out so well, considering the fact that I have written 0 words of fiction today and am on Blog Post #4 of the Day. Whatever. The Rule is totally about to change my life, guaranteed.
I leave you with highlights of the writing life chat, as I strenuously attempt to disengage from the Internet:
Khaliah: my plan is to be out and writing at 12:30
me: out? at your cafe perhaps?
Khaliah: yep! no internet makes it ideal
me: totally thats what i need otherwise i get addicted to wikipedia
Khaliah: internet is my downfall
me: like i need to know everything about something before i can write about it
Khaliah: wiki..hulu, youtube
me: wikipedia is my downfall when im already writing and have closed youtube, gmail, myspace, facebook, etc. because i think of it as "research."
Khaliah: ha!
me: im a damn liar, even to myself
Khaliah: its not reasearch when you are looking up episodes of a tv show
me: true dat
Khaliah: and all the characters in narnia...or ANTM
me: hahahaha
Khaliah: its a problem
me: totally.
For the dudes: the get out of SatC free card.
We know, we know, we know already . . . manly men don't go to watch Sex and the City: The Movie--even if, ADMIT IT, a few of you actually enjoyed watching some episodes of the show.
Well, gents, no one can say my blog coverage isn't comprehensive: Here's your free pass to get out of the movie with your ladyfriend, wife, sister, best lady friend, etc.
(Thanks to Jules at A Candid Life for the tip.)
Well, gents, no one can say my blog coverage isn't comprehensive: Here's your free pass to get out of the movie with your ladyfriend, wife, sister, best lady friend, etc.
(Thanks to Jules at A Candid Life for the tip.)
walk of no shame.
This post is for my blissfully single friends. You know who you are.
LOVE THIS COMMERCIAL. My favorite line is "You cannot find your shoe and your hair smells like ... a bar." Also? I totally think the commercial was filmed in Brooklyn Heights. View and judge for yourself.
LOVE THIS COMMERCIAL. My favorite line is "You cannot find your shoe and your hair smells like ... a bar." Also? I totally think the commercial was filmed in Brooklyn Heights. View and judge for yourself.
I believe in California.
Have you seen those "visit California" commercials starring the likes of Clint Eastwood, Teri Hatcher, and the Governator and his wife? You know, like the one where the Gov. says "you'll be back" and you the viewer has a good giggle?
Well, California may have just provided another reason to head west: Yesterday the California Supreme Court overturned two state laws that banned gay marriage. The decision "becomes effective in 30 days unless the court grants a stay, according to the New York Times. This would make California the second state (after Massachusetts) to see the light.
This makes my heart so glad. I have gay friends who should be allowed to be legally wed, to not have their devotion to each other reduced to a "spiritual"--but not legal--union.
FUCK YEAH! If it weren't, you know, 10 am, I'd totally be drinking Napa wine to California's greatness. But yeah. Guess I'll wait a few hours.
Well, California may have just provided another reason to head west: Yesterday the California Supreme Court overturned two state laws that banned gay marriage. The decision "becomes effective in 30 days unless the court grants a stay, according to the New York Times. This would make California the second state (after Massachusetts) to see the light.
This makes my heart so glad. I have gay friends who should be allowed to be legally wed, to not have their devotion to each other reduced to a "spiritual"--but not legal--union.
FUCK YEAH! If it weren't, you know, 10 am, I'd totally be drinking Napa wine to California's greatness. But yeah. Guess I'll wait a few hours.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
TONY on SatC: we're all about acronyms at May in the Bay.
The SatC reposting madness continues, with the special section at TONY. See, especially, the clever article, "Sloppy Seconds," on updating your SatC references for Cool: Magnolia Bakery cupcakes, Sushi Samba, Tao, Manolo Blahniks, the club Bed, name necklaces in ghetto gold, and Cosmos (the cocktail) are all on the outs. Read the article to see what is "in."
so much for foresight.
My prediction abilities suck.
It's down to Bo, Brittany, Chad, Jay, Kristy, Lisa, Michelle, Glitter/Samantha, Scotty, and Sirbrina.
From the episode 4 "The Hangover," it seems Bo ends up going to the hospital, so I'm going to go ahead and predict that's he's bought himself safety for the next elimination round. Brittany, Kristy, and Sirbrina are hot, so I think they're safe for now. I hope Chad gets eliminated for head-butting Bo and sending him to the hospital, and perhaps Jay will get eliminated for starting the fight and egging Chad on. That leaves Lisa, Michelle, Glitter/Samantha, and Scotty. Lisa is a champion competitor, but where does she stand with TT emotionally/sexually? Michelle I just don't find attractive. Glitter is a cry-baby. Scotty can be cute, I guess, but hasn't really gotten a lot of alone time with Tila.
Which TWO CONTESTANTS do you think will be eliminated next? I'm gunning for Chad and Glitter.
Vote in my poll!
It's down to Bo, Brittany, Chad, Jay, Kristy, Lisa, Michelle, Glitter/Samantha, Scotty, and Sirbrina.
From the episode 4 "The Hangover," it seems Bo ends up going to the hospital, so I'm going to go ahead and predict that's he's bought himself safety for the next elimination round. Brittany, Kristy, and Sirbrina are hot, so I think they're safe for now. I hope Chad gets eliminated for head-butting Bo and sending him to the hospital, and perhaps Jay will get eliminated for starting the fight and egging Chad on. That leaves Lisa, Michelle, Glitter/Samantha, and Scotty. Lisa is a champion competitor, but where does she stand with TT emotionally/sexually? Michelle I just don't find attractive. Glitter is a cry-baby. Scotty can be cute, I guess, but hasn't really gotten a lot of alone time with Tila.
Which TWO CONTESTANTS do you think will be eliminated next? I'm gunning for Chad and Glitter.
Vote in my poll!
A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila: season 2, episode 4.
Here we are again, folks. I'm armed and ready: TT2 in one window, Blogger in another, and a huge cup of coffee at hand. I'll see you on the flipside.
6 guys, 6 gals, and Tila Tequila.
With the count down to 12, the game is getting more serious, and Tila needs to know everything about those who are left. So, TT kicks off the episode by leaving a questionnaire game in the living room for her remaining contestants to play. The game begins innocently enough with silly questions like "would you have sex with Tila in front of your parents?" and et cetera, but then begins to really delve into the deep end with "Do you believe gay marriage should be legalized?" If Chad doesn't get himself kicked off by the end of the episode, I'll know TT wasn't watching, but as this is reality TV and cameras are everywhere the contestants don't want them to be (incl. night vision on the giant shared bed, ala season 1) I find it doubtful that TT doesn't know everything that is going on in her house. She's the Ultimate Big Brother. Chad continues to dominate the conversation as Lead Asshole, with such brilliant insights as everyone and their brother will get married just to get benefits, and don't you think children deserve to have a normal upbringing, one with a mother and a father? Which pisses all the lesbians off, notably Lisa, who retorts that if Chad is the product of a normal upbringing, she hopes the whole world will turn into lesbians. As evidence of the Important Knowledge Passed Down from Father to Son, Chad asks if Lisa will teach her sons about basketball and football.
Let's review. Chad asks a question (don't you think children deserve a normal upbringing with a mother and a father), which although it pisses everyone off is--in and of itself--at the very least an interesting question. First of all, how necessary are the gender roles played by both a mother and a father? What affect does the absence of one or the other have on children? Second of all, is this something that gay parents should even consider when preparing to have a family, in that many children who are products of a heterosexual marriage do not even grow up in such an environment because of the rate of divorce in this country? Third, what is with America’s obsession with the fixed nuclear family of mommy, daddy, and 2.5 kids? Why is that the model that we should all look to for guidance? What about non-Western community-wide based models wherein a child doesn’t necessarily distinguish his mother and father from the generation-wide group responsible for raising him? What about more interesting, and recent, models even within the United States such as the extended nuclear families constructed by American couples who are gay, gay/straight best friends, straight friends but not in love, and so forth who have made the most important commitment of all: one to the child. What about the somewhat accidental superextended nuclear families constructed by Americans, in which spouses divorce, remarry, divorce, and remarry, until a child ends up with a mother, a father, a stepmother, a stepfather, and eight siblings (a mix of the biological, step-, and half-sibling varieties)? Can anyone actually prove that any of these models are superior to the others? Which brings us back to the Ultimate Question: nature or nurture? How would you even study such a thing when a child’s well-being (health, mental health, “success” in life) are determined by so many things, only one of which is the environment in which she was raised?
Instead of plumbing the depths of this at least somewhat interesting question, Chad undermines it by asking who will teach the children about basketball and football if men are abolished in the American family by lesbians. Ummm, I’ll take a stab at that: lesbians like Lisa who teaches softball and might even understand the intricacies of other sports involving balls as well.
Um. Do they pay these people to act like assholes, or are there really such ignoramuses living in the United States?
Anyway, back to the show …
Next up is the First Annual Backyard Bi-nanza. Two comments. First of all, we get it already, you’re bisexual. Second, when looking for love, is it bad luck to keep naming all your events “annual,” as if every year you will be hosting another quest for love? A Western theme is being emphasized: Cowboy hats and plaid shirts, a fake Western town, and a mechanical bull-riding competition. Teams are broken up by assigned colors (green and yellow) rather than gender, because the boys’ team has been losing at everything on the show—short of, I guess, the panty-raid. Perhaps the winning yellow team had a little extra help in that team-member Sirbrina actually rides mechanical bulls for a living?
The triumphant yellow team heads off for a saloon date with TT, including Samantha/Glitter playing bull to TT’s cowgirl. George gets some alone time, wherein TT tries to wade-through his sweetness and find his sexual side. But when she asks him point blank “Do you have sex?,” his mouth about drops open and he stammers, “W-what?” while blushing. Both Michelle and Sirbrina get some private time with TT, which involves a little bit of talk and a whole lot of making out.
Meanwhile the losing green team heads to the kitchen to cook her up a chili dinner, with Bo bossing everyone around. (Too bad they couldn’t just smuggle in some chili, because I guarantee that if Kyle brought some Zippy’s chili from Hawai’i, TT would have been toast.) Bo dominates the whole effort, including introducing the others as “sous chefs” and “managers” when TT arrives to eat their chili. Once the “good nights” are said, Bo also steals TT away from the rest by “escorting” her back to her room, which really means cuddling by the fireplace to “warm her up.”
The next day, TT decides to have a pool party to give everyone a break from all the competitions. TT cuddles with Chad—eww, yuck, and why?!—which includes him groping at her breasts and trying to eat her bikini bottoms, in front of jealous everyone else. Then, Kristy decides to get TT’s attention by flashing her breasts. Which leads to all the girls flashing their breasts. As Kyle appropriately puts it, “Once the breasteses came flying out, it was one heck of a party.” TT explains that the party became “this bonding moment,” where they all got to “feel comfortable” with each other. Translation: TT made out with three girls at once—Sirbrina, Kristy, and Brittany—while the dudes looked on, open-mouthed, until Jersey Jay sweeps in to make out with her himself. Which she excuses herself from to sit and cuddle and make out, instead, with Bo, totally bypassing and ignoring Kyle, who is directly to Bo’s left in the hot tub. (At this point, things are not looking bright for Hawaiian Kyle. I think he’s maybe a little too metro for her. And maybe his local-boy courting methods have rubbed her the wrong way, because I think he’s coming off too intense to TT.)
The final competition before elimination is the “Downpour Derby” in which TT intends to find out “who can get wet the fastest.” (My gawd the sexual innuendos are thicker and stupider in here than in all the eighth grades in America combined.) It involves one-on-one male-and-female teams pumping water on each other for the last two-on-one date with TT before elimination. Kyle wisely chose Lisa as his partner, and indeed with their combined musculature they got each other wet the fastest.
While Kyle and Lisa got along fine while wetting each other, once on the date TT reignites their animosity from the poker night date, in which Kyle kept creeping in on Lisa’s alone time with Tila. Lisa instantly latches back onto those feelings, rolling her eyes and calling him “creepy Kyle.” But Kyle does not exactly react well. There is a way to laugh off an insult and make the other person look like an asshole, or to even acknowledge one’s hurt feelings and keep it real in a moment. If he had turned to Lisa and TT in that moment and said, look I’m sorry that you felt I was horning in on your alone time in that date, but I’m not a stalker and I’ve been branded as such just because of that one stupid night. I’m just a guy trying to figure out which tactic will best win TT’s heart, and it seems to me that allowing others to have alone time with TT is not going to win it. And I am in it to win it. Is wanting to be near you any more creepy than Jay sweeping you out of the lesbian make-out session or Chad trying to nearly go down on you through your bikini in front of everyone? he might have saved himself.
Honestly though it just becomes painful to watch Kyle. After the awkward moment of anger and hurt between Kyle and Lisa, TT gives Kyle a break and takes him off a ways for some alone time. This would have been another great moment for Kyle to keep it real and make a great impression on TT before elimination, especially if he had used his time wisely and addressed the stalker comments. Instead, they sit on a swing and the first thing Kyle says to TT is “Have you ever done it on a swing?” TT tries to laugh this off, but it is a little weird. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle . . . when you have TT alone, you have to strike the balance of being sexy and sweet, vulnerable and domineering, and don’t ever make the mistake of playing one when she’s expecting the other. If he had only been vulnerable in that moment, he might have saved himself from elimination that night. But, no. Sigh. So TT trades Kyle in for Lisa alone time, and at the end of the date kisses Lisa instead of Kyle. At which point maybe Kyle could have gone after her. There are not many rules in reality television, and any person could see that Kyle (a) had bombed on that date and (b) was about to be eliminated unless he did something drastic to prevent it. But Kyle, ever the gentlemen, lets her go.
Now to elimination … On the chopping block are Kyle and George, Glitter and Lisa. Seriously how can TT keep Chad and Jay?! I would have sent them and the sniveling Glitter home first off, but instead TT keeps all three and eliminates Kyle and George, two of the nicest guys left. TT needs some serious therapy.
When George is cut, TT breaks down crying, exhorting the rest to be true to her and not make her regret eliminating George. This emotional scene is followed by Glitter breaking down in tears (big surprise), by Sirbrina sharing a tearful goodbye with George, who had been her best friend in the house, by Scotty joining that tearful embrace, and finally by everyone outside drinking and crying. George is angry that “nice guys always finish last” and that he was sent off with a “little sympathy hug I’ve been getting my whole life.” George adds that “I think its bullshit if you’re a nice guy, you do nice things, and you get fucked in the end, you get fucked now, and you’re going to get fucked the rest of your life. That’s been the story of my life and this just proves it to be true.” George says that TT made a mistake and he hopes she realizes it.
The episode draws to a close with Bo trying to comfort Sirbrina on her crying over George’s elimination. Everyone is emotionally exhausted at this point, but Jersey Jay cannot stop pushing people’s buttons and so begins interrupting Bo and Sirbrina’s conversation, even as the others exhort him to cut it out. This leads to shouting and masculine posturing between Bo and the tag-team of Jay and Chad. Everyone is separated and Jay and Chad head to the lobby to push each other around and blow off some steam, when Bo follows them daring them to start something. Chad headbutts Bo, and the screen cuts to blank with TT’s voice cheerfully saying, “Tune in to see what happens next week!”
The head butting and testosterone-filled fights pretty much highlighting the bad choices she’s made in her quest for love. Tila Tequila, just go gay already!
SatC, the movie, the website.
Sweet, sincere, scruffy Steve is a romantic who prioritizes your relationship over his career and his wardrobe. He's content having you be the breadwinner in the relationship, and he's even willing to be bossed around a little bit. Although at times he lacks maturity, you have a hard time resisting his boyish charm. Steve has contagious optimism and is always there when you need him.So proclaims the Sex and the City: The Movie website, which has determined Steve to be my man. Not too far off the mark, though really I think Aidan is for me. Anyway, the site is really fun. You can figure out which SatC man is for you, get pretty SatC themed wallpaper, download a screensaver, read The Official Blog, and all in all "Get Carried Away" with the countdown, which is now, I believe, Officially, down to 14 days (it premieres at midnight on Thursday, May 29).
Wife and I are rallying the troops (these are very frilly and pretty troops, indeed) for a show sometime on May 30. (Because some people have real jobs, and Wife and I are sensitive like that.)
Monday, May 12, 2008
"Sex and the City" countdown continues!!
Sex and the City: The Movie, based on the treasured series, has premiered in London, to much ado and fans chanting, alternately, "Carrie! Carrie!!" and "Sarah! Sarah!" et cetera. BBC News has a great article about the premiere. The article includes a video interview with Sarah Jessica Parker, in which she is incredibly and even surprisingly humble about the whole phenomeon. According to SJP, who spends the entirety of that interview looking flush with joy, "To experience our first audience this way is really more than a person should ask for."
I will freely admit that I totally teared up and gave one tiny sob when SJP explained that although Frontline Cinema chose to premiere in London, despite the series and film being set in New York, "Then we get to bring it home to America and to its birthplace - the city that we love, the fifth lady in the movie, and so we think of it as an exclamation point at the end of a glorious sentence."
All I can say is: Can't hardly wait!
I will freely admit that I totally teared up and gave one tiny sob when SJP explained that although Frontline Cinema chose to premiere in London, despite the series and film being set in New York, "Then we get to bring it home to America and to its birthplace - the city that we love, the fifth lady in the movie, and so we think of it as an exclamation point at the end of a glorious sentence."
All I can say is: Can't hardly wait!
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Quote of the day: on ambition.
So writes Free Will Astrology, for Taurus, this week:
Alison Covarrubias is a mentor for female entrepreneurs. Her "Ladies Who Launch" program inspires women to be brave and brazen as they develop their own businesses. One of Covarrubias's prime pieces of advice: "If you don't feel like you're going to throw up, you're not taking enough risks." That's also my message for you, Taurus. In the name of smart gambles and tricky success, I dare you to push yourself way out of the comfort zone.
Alison Covarrubias is a mentor for female entrepreneurs. Her "Ladies Who Launch" program inspires women to be brave and brazen as they develop their own businesses. One of Covarrubias's prime pieces of advice: "If you don't feel like you're going to throw up, you're not taking enough risks." That's also my message for you, Taurus. In the name of smart gambles and tricky success, I dare you to push yourself way out of the comfort zone.
Friday, May 9, 2008
unrelated.
Someone in the Financial Aid Office at Vermont College/Union Institute & University just sent me an e-mail.
And her name is the best name in the world: LaDeirdre Mango.
I mean, c'mon. How COOL is that?!
And her name is the best name in the world: LaDeirdre Mango.
I mean, c'mon. How COOL is that?!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila: season 2, episode 3.
Tila Tequila, 8 guys, and 8 girls.
Time for the Second Annual Bi-Athalon (haha, get it?). And, for the second year in a row, the ladies win! The winning prize is a classroom lesson with Ms. Tila, while the losers put on their formal wear to attend Loser Prom. (Personally, though, I'd take the prom over the classroom.)
In the classroom, the ladies are challenged to write "I love Tila" twenty-five times for some alone time in the "teacher's lounge" with TT. Lisa wins and spends her alone time letting TT know why it's hard for her to open up (cuz the TT is so famous and she doesn't want to get hurt), but that TT should prepare herself because Lisa is a fierce competitor and she plans to win this thing. Back in the classroom, there are blow dolls and spanking toys and a lot of flashing of T and A. Lauryn finally gets some alone time as well, but unfortunately squanders it telling TT what a good and loyal friend she can be. That's all nice and good, but TT ain't looking for a friend, she's looking for a loverrrrr.
Meanwhile, unfortunately, the boys are back at the house passing the time with "a good old-fashioned panty raid." Not only did they string up all manner of underwear above the shared bed, they also wore the girls' panties and bras and ran rambunctiously around the house saying, "Whose house?" "OUR house!" and "PANTY RAID! PANTY RAID! PANTY RAID!" Sigh. Men have no appreciation for the fact that all those cute panties and bras they just callously stretched out were worth hundreds of dollars combined. Seriously. Men. Learn this. That lacy and silky stuff ain't cheap.
Predictably and understandably the girls flip their shit. All the girls start yelling at the boys that they've gone too far. Samantha/Glitter totally flips out about everyone being mean to each other and starts sobbing hysterically. Kristy nearly kicks Jay's ass, and he wants to kick hers back after she calls his momma a ho. Watch out, now, we've got the whitest players of the dozens, ever, now going at it.
Meanwhile, it's time for Losers Prom. Which actually looks to be superfun! This is what Wife's and my birthday party should look like, for reals, but seeing as how it's supposed to go down in two weekends from now, I'm sort of doubting we'll pull it off. Tila starts taking prom pictures with everyone, but ends up pulling a Britney when Ryan lifts her up for a picture and her dress comes up too ... flashing her (blurred out) cooch for all of prom to see. Not exactly a dream prom night. But in Ryan's defense, Tila, maybe you should try wearing some underwear. On an unrelated note, why the hell do women go commando anyway? I mean, sure, if you're wearing a tight dress and you don't want pantylines, I see the logic, although I personally think no underwear is an accident just waiting to happen. I mean, you kind of deserve whatever you get. But especially Miss Tequila, here ... I mean shit, she was wearing a bubble hem dress. It wasn't exactly skintight at the hips! She could totally have afforded to wear at least a g-string or something. Nevertheless, Ryan and TT seem to have good chemistry, despite the cooch flashing, until his kissing sucks and that brings the errr festivities to a screeching halt.
Back at the house, Samantha/Glitter is still bawling about people being so mean. What a babe in the woods! You'd think she was Bambi and she just watched her mother get shot, the way she was carrying on. Eventually, Lisa had to take her outside to cry. Proof that Lisa is a nice person? She didn't just take Samantha/Glitter outside and leave her there, which would have been my inclination.
Unfortunately, up next is another "annual tradition": Let's-test-my-potential-lovers-with-whom-I-want-to-build-a-lasting-relationship-with-trust-and-power-equality-by-making-them-stick-disgusting-things-in-their-mouths-and-then-laughing-hysterically-at-them-because-this-shows-what-a-good-and-compassionate-life-partner-I-would-make. Can I just say that after watching a vegetarian drink blood and try to eat bull penis last season, I started to question the morality of this show big-time. Why would anyone audition for Season 2 knowing that the producers were definitely going to plan for them to eat something worse than bull penis and balls? Last episode, Tila quipped to Fame that "This isn't American Idol" before eliminating her. Well, could someone please also notify Miss Tequila that it's hardly "Fear Factor," either?
Anyway, the trick up Tequila's sleeve this time was The Conveyor Belch. Girls and guys lined up to take mystery shots, including but not limited to cannola oil, hot sauce, teriyaki sauce, lemon juice, etc. And for some reason everyone started throwing up, leading Jay to proclaim grandly but not so clearly, "I am throwing up my life!" Pussies. I think I could have actually done that challenge. Maybe not cannola oil. But fucking hot sauce, shoyu, teriyaki, baby sign me up!
The girls won the shot taking contest, giving them the supreme pleasure of heading onto the next competition for a one-on-one date with TT: the eating of a pig's vagina. Why, TT, why?! As V. says succinctly, "I have never felt worse about winning something in my entire life." And for the men's part, they were to cheer for the girls, because the winning girl would pick one loser to go on her one-on-one date with TT. Why would any of the girls after having ingested disgusting shots and a pig's privates want to let any of the men's deadweight accompany them on a date?! Ridiculous! Lisa again won; the outtake interview with her has her hardcore devil signs raised high in the air as she proclaims, "I won the pig vagina eating contest. WOOO!!!" (I'm betting that's the first time those words have been uttered in the history of the world.) Lisa chooses Twin Dominic to go on the date with her and TT.
Lisa and Dominic go get cleaned up, then meet TT at her suite. Lisa takes an agressive tactic with TT, moving in for the kiss. Dominic sort of sits there, until he asserts himself with the ladies and demands "five minutes" with TT. At which point he pretty much guarantees his own elimination when he explains to TT that "there's no such thing as a bisexual" and that she's just "going through a phase." Riiiiight.
In the end, Dominic, Ryan, Lauryn, and V. are sent packing.
Time for the Second Annual Bi-Athalon (haha, get it?). And, for the second year in a row, the ladies win! The winning prize is a classroom lesson with Ms. Tila, while the losers put on their formal wear to attend Loser Prom. (Personally, though, I'd take the prom over the classroom.)
In the classroom, the ladies are challenged to write "I love Tila" twenty-five times for some alone time in the "teacher's lounge" with TT. Lisa wins and spends her alone time letting TT know why it's hard for her to open up (cuz the TT is so famous and she doesn't want to get hurt), but that TT should prepare herself because Lisa is a fierce competitor and she plans to win this thing. Back in the classroom, there are blow dolls and spanking toys and a lot of flashing of T and A. Lauryn finally gets some alone time as well, but unfortunately squanders it telling TT what a good and loyal friend she can be. That's all nice and good, but TT ain't looking for a friend, she's looking for a loverrrrr.
Meanwhile, unfortunately, the boys are back at the house passing the time with "a good old-fashioned panty raid." Not only did they string up all manner of underwear above the shared bed, they also wore the girls' panties and bras and ran rambunctiously around the house saying, "Whose house?" "OUR house!" and "PANTY RAID! PANTY RAID! PANTY RAID!" Sigh. Men have no appreciation for the fact that all those cute panties and bras they just callously stretched out were worth hundreds of dollars combined. Seriously. Men. Learn this. That lacy and silky stuff ain't cheap.
Predictably and understandably the girls flip their shit. All the girls start yelling at the boys that they've gone too far. Samantha/Glitter totally flips out about everyone being mean to each other and starts sobbing hysterically. Kristy nearly kicks Jay's ass, and he wants to kick hers back after she calls his momma a ho. Watch out, now, we've got the whitest players of the dozens, ever, now going at it.
Meanwhile, it's time for Losers Prom. Which actually looks to be superfun! This is what Wife's and my birthday party should look like, for reals, but seeing as how it's supposed to go down in two weekends from now, I'm sort of doubting we'll pull it off. Tila starts taking prom pictures with everyone, but ends up pulling a Britney when Ryan lifts her up for a picture and her dress comes up too ... flashing her (blurred out) cooch for all of prom to see. Not exactly a dream prom night. But in Ryan's defense, Tila, maybe you should try wearing some underwear. On an unrelated note, why the hell do women go commando anyway? I mean, sure, if you're wearing a tight dress and you don't want pantylines, I see the logic, although I personally think no underwear is an accident just waiting to happen. I mean, you kind of deserve whatever you get. But especially Miss Tequila, here ... I mean shit, she was wearing a bubble hem dress. It wasn't exactly skintight at the hips! She could totally have afforded to wear at least a g-string or something. Nevertheless, Ryan and TT seem to have good chemistry, despite the cooch flashing, until his kissing sucks and that brings the errr festivities to a screeching halt.
Back at the house, Samantha/Glitter is still bawling about people being so mean. What a babe in the woods! You'd think she was Bambi and she just watched her mother get shot, the way she was carrying on. Eventually, Lisa had to take her outside to cry. Proof that Lisa is a nice person? She didn't just take Samantha/Glitter outside and leave her there, which would have been my inclination.
Unfortunately, up next is another "annual tradition": Let's-test-my-potential-lovers-with-whom-I-want-to-build-a-lasting-relationship-with-trust-and-power-equality-by-making-them-stick-disgusting-things-in-their-mouths-and-then-laughing-hysterically-at-them-because-this-shows-what-a-good-and-compassionate-life-partner-I-would-make. Can I just say that after watching a vegetarian drink blood and try to eat bull penis last season, I started to question the morality of this show big-time. Why would anyone audition for Season 2 knowing that the producers were definitely going to plan for them to eat something worse than bull penis and balls? Last episode, Tila quipped to Fame that "This isn't American Idol" before eliminating her. Well, could someone please also notify Miss Tequila that it's hardly "Fear Factor," either?
Anyway, the trick up Tequila's sleeve this time was The Conveyor Belch. Girls and guys lined up to take mystery shots, including but not limited to cannola oil, hot sauce, teriyaki sauce, lemon juice, etc. And for some reason everyone started throwing up, leading Jay to proclaim grandly but not so clearly, "I am throwing up my life!" Pussies. I think I could have actually done that challenge. Maybe not cannola oil. But fucking hot sauce, shoyu, teriyaki, baby sign me up!
The girls won the shot taking contest, giving them the supreme pleasure of heading onto the next competition for a one-on-one date with TT: the eating of a pig's vagina. Why, TT, why?! As V. says succinctly, "I have never felt worse about winning something in my entire life." And for the men's part, they were to cheer for the girls, because the winning girl would pick one loser to go on her one-on-one date with TT. Why would any of the girls after having ingested disgusting shots and a pig's privates want to let any of the men's deadweight accompany them on a date?! Ridiculous! Lisa again won; the outtake interview with her has her hardcore devil signs raised high in the air as she proclaims, "I won the pig vagina eating contest. WOOO!!!" (I'm betting that's the first time those words have been uttered in the history of the world.) Lisa chooses Twin Dominic to go on the date with her and TT.
Lisa and Dominic go get cleaned up, then meet TT at her suite. Lisa takes an agressive tactic with TT, moving in for the kiss. Dominic sort of sits there, until he asserts himself with the ladies and demands "five minutes" with TT. At which point he pretty much guarantees his own elimination when he explains to TT that "there's no such thing as a bisexual" and that she's just "going through a phase." Riiiiight.
In the end, Dominic, Ryan, Lauryn, and V. are sent packing.
A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila: season 2, episode 2.
Tila Tequila, 9 guys, and 9 gals.
What's hard about watching is having to be constantly pounded upside the head by the "fact" that, allegedly, TT's heart was broken by season 1's Bobby Banhart. But you all know what I think of that (see also here, here, here, and here). I hate that I don't believe in reality TV, don't believe a word coming out of TT's mouth, and don't believe any of "The Cast" are looking for love, least of all The Tila. Don't talk, woman, just get on to the chocolate pudding wrestling already!!
Venezuelan Christian reveals himself to be a big drunk, and the lasting half of the supertwins Dominic reveals himself to be a real asshole when he comments that lesbianism is "just a phase." Brittany faux-bonds (tongue firmly in cheek) with Kyle: in answer to his question about whether or not she had ever been with a guy, she asked if he had. Kyle, to his credit, does not take offense and hides his surprise, and Brittany closes the conversation with the comment that she didn't want to "try" guys out either, so they're definitely on the same page. At the casino night, though, Kyle unfortunately is not able to keep his cool when it comes to Tila and starts coming on waaaay too strong: following TT as she tries to have one-on-one time with other people and watching her obsessively. Kyle, calm down, baby, calm down! She ain't goin' nowhere and if you play it cool neither will you! Casino night quickly leads to a giant domino strip game. (Side note: Is anyone else vaguely upset for the gay ladies, having to strip down in front of straight dudes? I find it really offensive.) Everyone sucks it up, though, and George and Kristy emerge victorious, winning alone time with Tila in her "club"/lounge (complete with bar and stripper poles, naturally). The rest of the crew soon joins them, and the party is even broken up, for like 10 minutes, by the police with neighbors' noise complaints.
The next morning starts off mellow, everyone recovering from hard partying with smoothies and omelettes and an oxygen bar. George pours his heart out to (I think) Lauryn about it being his dead mom's birthday. Right around that tender moment, a food fight erupts, pitting guys against girls wtih some rather heated rivalries emerging (esp. Samantha/Glitter and Scotty). Next up is a cash-grabbing wind booth, which Fame, V., and Brittany win, leading them to a hot-tub date with TT. Brittany impresses TT with an impersonation of her, so they get some extra one-on-one time on the bed, thinly veiled from the other two girls. Brittany attempts to reenact the sexy grape scene from Season 1 between TT and Dani, and fails miserably--especially when interrupted by Fame's serenade. Which is not at all appreciated, poor gal. Finally, with elimination coming up, TT sits down with George, who uses his "get out of jail free card": Once I had a mom, and she had a birthday, but now she's DEAD. (I mean, really, how do you eliminate someone after they've just told you that?!)
At elimination, Kyle is lightly teased for basically stalking the TT. Kyle retorts, "Can you blame me for always wanting to be near you?" Tila admits she likes being the center of attention, so Kyle stays, while the hard-partying Christian is sent back to Venezuela. Meanwhile, Lisa is admonished to let her guard down with TT, but she stays, while Fame is sent packing with the unkind admonition that "this is not American Idol." Wow, TT, that was kind of bitchy. What, you think you can sing so well?
In the role of big, not-dumb blonde, aka this season's Amanda, is Kristy. In the role of dude from Hawaii, aka this season's Eddie, is Kyle. All in all, I maintain that Season 1 was hotter.
What's hard about watching is having to be constantly pounded upside the head by the "fact" that, allegedly, TT's heart was broken by season 1's Bobby Banhart. But you all know what I think of that (see also here, here, here, and here). I hate that I don't believe in reality TV, don't believe a word coming out of TT's mouth, and don't believe any of "The Cast" are looking for love, least of all The Tila. Don't talk, woman, just get on to the chocolate pudding wrestling already!!
Venezuelan Christian reveals himself to be a big drunk, and the lasting half of the supertwins Dominic reveals himself to be a real asshole when he comments that lesbianism is "just a phase." Brittany faux-bonds (tongue firmly in cheek) with Kyle: in answer to his question about whether or not she had ever been with a guy, she asked if he had. Kyle, to his credit, does not take offense and hides his surprise, and Brittany closes the conversation with the comment that she didn't want to "try" guys out either, so they're definitely on the same page. At the casino night, though, Kyle unfortunately is not able to keep his cool when it comes to Tila and starts coming on waaaay too strong: following TT as she tries to have one-on-one time with other people and watching her obsessively. Kyle, calm down, baby, calm down! She ain't goin' nowhere and if you play it cool neither will you! Casino night quickly leads to a giant domino strip game. (Side note: Is anyone else vaguely upset for the gay ladies, having to strip down in front of straight dudes? I find it really offensive.) Everyone sucks it up, though, and George and Kristy emerge victorious, winning alone time with Tila in her "club"/lounge (complete with bar and stripper poles, naturally). The rest of the crew soon joins them, and the party is even broken up, for like 10 minutes, by the police with neighbors' noise complaints.
The next morning starts off mellow, everyone recovering from hard partying with smoothies and omelettes and an oxygen bar. George pours his heart out to (I think) Lauryn about it being his dead mom's birthday. Right around that tender moment, a food fight erupts, pitting guys against girls wtih some rather heated rivalries emerging (esp. Samantha/Glitter and Scotty). Next up is a cash-grabbing wind booth, which Fame, V., and Brittany win, leading them to a hot-tub date with TT. Brittany impresses TT with an impersonation of her, so they get some extra one-on-one time on the bed, thinly veiled from the other two girls. Brittany attempts to reenact the sexy grape scene from Season 1 between TT and Dani, and fails miserably--especially when interrupted by Fame's serenade. Which is not at all appreciated, poor gal. Finally, with elimination coming up, TT sits down with George, who uses his "get out of jail free card": Once I had a mom, and she had a birthday, but now she's DEAD. (I mean, really, how do you eliminate someone after they've just told you that?!)
At elimination, Kyle is lightly teased for basically stalking the TT. Kyle retorts, "Can you blame me for always wanting to be near you?" Tila admits she likes being the center of attention, so Kyle stays, while the hard-partying Christian is sent back to Venezuela. Meanwhile, Lisa is admonished to let her guard down with TT, but she stays, while Fame is sent packing with the unkind admonition that "this is not American Idol." Wow, TT, that was kind of bitchy. What, you think you can sing so well?
In the role of big, not-dumb blonde, aka this season's Amanda, is Kristy. In the role of dude from Hawaii, aka this season's Eddie, is Kyle. All in all, I maintain that Season 1 was hotter.
A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila: season 2, episode 1.
Tila Tequila, 15 lesbians, and 15 dudes. All in all? Not hot people. Hot pink and electric blue house. TT freezing her ass off in booty shorts. Dance off in giant cages, girls vs. dudes. Girl dances topless (Samantha), dude flashes penis (Nick). Ladies win and go in the house; dudes lose and stay outside in the cold, still locked in the blue cage.
Tila parties with the ladies. Some try to win her with what they are looking for in a love, by making out with her, by climbing on top of her, by talking about themselves, by professing to be her biggest fan, ever, and finally by having a good old-fashioned "let's talk about your feelings about when Bobby dumped you"-cum-cry session. Then ensues The Lamest Talent Show on the Face of the Earth ("Tila's Titillating Talent Show"), in which the ladies that shake-shaked it clearly outpaced those who attempted to show any sort actual talent (playing an accordian, acting, stand-up, etc.). Perhaps Tila should have called it "Tila's Show Your Tits and You Win Talent Show." After the talent show, the ladies await elimination while TT deliberates. While they all nervously wait, Serenity is shaken by her bad comedy performance and is sure she is going home. Stupidly Lilli tries to cheer her up by making out with her. In what Universe, ladies, do you think that a REALITY TELEVISION SHOW would not make sure that Tila catches you?! HELLO! Reality TV = the Ultimate Big Brother.
Sayonaras were said to Lilli, Serenity, Tarra, Janny, Tashi, and Rada.
Onto the dudes ... TT lets them in the house. While the other guys are getting drinks, Kyle from Honolulu (what! what!) has TT "show him around the house," which is of course code for I'm trying to get you alone. It totally works and he gets the first kiss. Playa! He even gives her one of those little pursed-lips headbobs that we all know is the mark of a Bad Boy. There's the dude that showed his penis (Nick) and even some twins (Greg and Dominic)! Bo of Ohio and Jay of Jeresy come thisclose to a throw-down: typical testosterone boys that they are.
TT got rid of Nick, Greg, Jeremy, Chris, Mason, and Matt.
Sigh. I do not have high hopes for a season full of this. But my picks for staying power are Sirbrina, Brittany, Kyle from Honolulu, and Bo.
Tila parties with the ladies. Some try to win her with what they are looking for in a love, by making out with her, by climbing on top of her, by talking about themselves, by professing to be her biggest fan, ever, and finally by having a good old-fashioned "let's talk about your feelings about when Bobby dumped you"-cum-cry session. Then ensues The Lamest Talent Show on the Face of the Earth ("Tila's Titillating Talent Show"), in which the ladies that shake-shaked it clearly outpaced those who attempted to show any sort actual talent (playing an accordian, acting, stand-up, etc.). Perhaps Tila should have called it "Tila's Show Your Tits and You Win Talent Show." After the talent show, the ladies await elimination while TT deliberates. While they all nervously wait, Serenity is shaken by her bad comedy performance and is sure she is going home. Stupidly Lilli tries to cheer her up by making out with her. In what Universe, ladies, do you think that a REALITY TELEVISION SHOW would not make sure that Tila catches you?! HELLO! Reality TV = the Ultimate Big Brother.
Sayonaras were said to Lilli, Serenity, Tarra, Janny, Tashi, and Rada.
Onto the dudes ... TT lets them in the house. While the other guys are getting drinks, Kyle from Honolulu (what! what!) has TT "show him around the house," which is of course code for I'm trying to get you alone. It totally works and he gets the first kiss. Playa! He even gives her one of those little pursed-lips headbobs that we all know is the mark of a Bad Boy. There's the dude that showed his penis (Nick) and even some twins (Greg and Dominic)! Bo of Ohio and Jay of Jeresy come thisclose to a throw-down: typical testosterone boys that they are.
TT got rid of Nick, Greg, Jeremy, Chris, Mason, and Matt.
Sigh. I do not have high hopes for a season full of this. But my picks for staying power are Sirbrina, Brittany, Kyle from Honolulu, and Bo.
"okawari": round two of Miss Tila Tequila. sigh.
Hey, Internet. You gotta know I love you if after my vehement protestations regarding the lack of reality in reality television, I reluctantly subject myself to "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila: season 2."
I'm already behind by three episodes, so this afternoon I have cleared space in my schedule to navigate the strange jungle of Miss Tequila's supposed quest for "love." "Love" may hereafter be used interchangeably with the terms "fame" and "booty." WHO'S BITTER?!
Right off the bat, I have to say this batch of lovers is not as cute as the first, at least from the sweeping crowd shots. Especially the lesbians. CHRIST! There are some hot gay and bi women in the world, but it does not appear that any of them wanted to be on Tila's show. So far, no Danis to be seen, and by that I don't mean no "butch lites" or "futchs" (femme + butch, as Dani called herself) as much as no ladies I find unquestionably hot.
Second, Miss Tila is more full of herself than ever. I liked the vulnerability she had or at least affected in season 1, but whatever doubts she had about her person last season seem to be long gone.
What will TT have in store for her unwitting lovers this time around? More food wrestling? More obstacle courses? More modeling shoots and music recording sessions? Definitely a lot of skimpy bathing suit time. Let's just hope there's no bull privates involved.
Stay tuned!
I'm already behind by three episodes, so this afternoon I have cleared space in my schedule to navigate the strange jungle of Miss Tequila's supposed quest for "love." "Love" may hereafter be used interchangeably with the terms "fame" and "booty." WHO'S BITTER?!
Right off the bat, I have to say this batch of lovers is not as cute as the first, at least from the sweeping crowd shots. Especially the lesbians. CHRIST! There are some hot gay and bi women in the world, but it does not appear that any of them wanted to be on Tila's show. So far, no Danis to be seen, and by that I don't mean no "butch lites" or "futchs" (femme + butch, as Dani called herself) as much as no ladies I find unquestionably hot.
Second, Miss Tila is more full of herself than ever. I liked the vulnerability she had or at least affected in season 1, but whatever doubts she had about her person last season seem to be long gone.
What will TT have in store for her unwitting lovers this time around? More food wrestling? More obstacle courses? More modeling shoots and music recording sessions? Definitely a lot of skimpy bathing suit time. Let's just hope there's no bull privates involved.
Stay tuned!
graduate school (MFA) update.
The results are in:
1. Vermont College = accepted
2. Antioch University = accepted
3. Bennington College = waitlisted
4. Warren Wilson College = rejected
5. Brooklyn College = rejected
The sum total of the experience is [checks herself, head to toe]: definitely broke from the application fees and deposits, unsure how to pay for the privilige of getting a degree that may never pay for itself, elated about the choice between Vermont and Antioch, depressed about being rejected from Warren Wilson and Brooklyn College, but all in all not traumatized for life.
I went with Vermont.
And today I sent off my 20 pages of fiction to be workshopped at my very first graduate residency at the end of next month (June). Holyshit, this all happened fast. As soon as I finished my AA deadline yesterday, I was polishing and polishing my fiction last night and this morning, but eventually had to call it "good enough" and stick the sucker in UrgentUrgentExpress mail so the package arrives by the tomorrow deadline.
And now? I'll be quaking in my booties until June. Or at least until I receive my fellow workshoppers' and can judge myself against them. Haha!
1. Vermont College = accepted
2. Antioch University = accepted
3. Bennington College = waitlisted
4. Warren Wilson College = rejected
5. Brooklyn College = rejected
The sum total of the experience is [checks herself, head to toe]: definitely broke from the application fees and deposits, unsure how to pay for the privilige of getting a degree that may never pay for itself, elated about the choice between Vermont and Antioch, depressed about being rejected from Warren Wilson and Brooklyn College, but all in all not traumatized for life.
I went with Vermont.
And today I sent off my 20 pages of fiction to be workshopped at my very first graduate residency at the end of next month (June). Holyshit, this all happened fast. As soon as I finished my AA deadline yesterday, I was polishing and polishing my fiction last night and this morning, but eventually had to call it "good enough" and stick the sucker in UrgentUrgentExpress mail so the package arrives by the tomorrow deadline.
And now? I'll be quaking in my booties until June. Or at least until I receive my fellow workshoppers' and can judge myself against them. Haha!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
SF hearts Mother Earth.
The city of San Francisco already recycles 70% of the waste it produces, but Mayor Gavin Newsom says it isn't enough. Newsom proposes making recycling (of cans, bottles, paper, yard waste and food scraps) "mandatory instead of voluntary, on the pain of having garbage pickups suspended." This is awesome but also funny. What about the rest of the Bay Area?
I guess this is a question/job for the Governator, or the Burlingame-specific mayor, not Handsome Mr. Newsom.
Where we were on the peninsula for the two years we were out in California, we were barely not in the city. But, as much as I loved loved loved our last apartment on Primrose Road in Burlingame and the excellent management of the place, they didn't recycle! In the middle of bourgeoisiest California, they did not recycle--even after I called the state department of recycling, gave them my landlord's number, and asked them to coerce him into recycling, which they agreed to attempt, with pleasure. With the amount of paper I go through at AA, and haha the amount of wine we were drinking while living in proximity to Napa, my environmental guilt was pretty high. But that was the one flaw of the Primrose apartments: they, for whatever, reason recycled nothing aside from cardboard.
In my humble opinion, though, this is the answer: don't ask people to recycle; force them to with costly consequences. It's not like we can afford to have people choosing anymore.
I guess this is a question/job for the Governator, or the Burlingame-specific mayor, not Handsome Mr. Newsom.
Where we were on the peninsula for the two years we were out in California, we were barely not in the city. But, as much as I loved loved loved our last apartment on Primrose Road in Burlingame and the excellent management of the place, they didn't recycle! In the middle of bourgeoisiest California, they did not recycle--even after I called the state department of recycling, gave them my landlord's number, and asked them to coerce him into recycling, which they agreed to attempt, with pleasure. With the amount of paper I go through at AA, and haha the amount of wine we were drinking while living in proximity to Napa, my environmental guilt was pretty high. But that was the one flaw of the Primrose apartments: they, for whatever, reason recycled nothing aside from cardboard.
In my humble opinion, though, this is the answer: don't ask people to recycle; force them to with costly consequences. It's not like we can afford to have people choosing anymore.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Oh, California. (again. sorry.)
Truman Capote, early in life, claimed one "lost an IQ point for every year spent on the West Coast."
Whether or not this is true, I cannot say for sure. I do know that out West, for every year spent there, I gained hours of creativity, perhaps for having sheer stretches of time uncluttered by other temptations, and a slowly but steadily growing mutual fund of pure and simple happiness.
{whine, whine} Why can't New York be uprooted and moved to the ocean between Hawai'i and California, goddammit? Then I'd live in the Bay Area, but visit my two great loves (NY and HI) all the friggin time. I'd have the alone time I need to produce writing (CA) but also the friends I need to nurture and workshop the writing (NY). And I'd have beaches (HI) and great weather (CA, HI).
And I promise you, if I could still find something to complain about then, I'd slap my own self.
Whether or not this is true, I cannot say for sure. I do know that out West, for every year spent there, I gained hours of creativity, perhaps for having sheer stretches of time uncluttered by other temptations, and a slowly but steadily growing mutual fund of pure and simple happiness.
{whine, whine} Why can't New York be uprooted and moved to the ocean between Hawai'i and California, goddammit? Then I'd live in the Bay Area, but visit my two great loves (NY and HI) all the friggin time. I'd have the alone time I need to produce writing (CA) but also the friends I need to nurture and workshop the writing (NY). And I'd have beaches (HI) and great weather (CA, HI).
And I promise you, if I could still find something to complain about then, I'd slap my own self.
bored outta my gourd.
I just commented at Wife's blog, The Famous Chronicles, but really this goes for all y'all out there in Blogland:
BOOOORRRRINNNNG.
Post something new. I've checked your blog like 50 times since May 1, to no avail!!
xoxooxxoxo,
Your Wife Who Is Under Deadline and Needs Some Quality Distraction, Having Already Jogged Around ALL of Blogland Twice Today
bein' too smart might kill ya.
. . . according to an article in the Science section of The New York Times reviewing the studies of Dr. Kawecki with flies and flavored jelly. According to Kawecki, evolution is a strange alchemy of knowing when to learn and when to stop learning. But humans, he says, "have gone to the extreme." We are so smart, so learned, but we're also so screwed. "There’s no absolute optimal level"--that is, no reason to stop learning--"You just have to be smarter than the others.”
Monday, May 5, 2008
Quitting is for Quitters.
In the May 5th, 2008, issue of The New Yorker, David Sedaris writes about smoking, quitters, and what you can tell about a person by what they choose to smoke:
I like Sedaris’s line about the Camels. For the brief, glorious, irresponsible moment in time that I was a smoker—start to stop, about a year, but really if you boiled it down to actual smoking moments, it likely would have added up to less than a week, circa 1999-2000—I smoked Camels. I smoked Camels, I think it was even Camel Lights, because I didn’t know better. I smoked them because the first time I smoked I had bummed a cigarette off a friend, and that friend smoked Camels. I smoked them because when you were standing at that Yonkers gas station at the foot of the hill, asking off-hand for a pack like it wasn’t the first time you were doing it, it was easy to remember their name and their logo, what with those inexplicable pyramids and the camel standing by placidly, without judgment, as you prepared to blacken your lungs. And I smoked them because, as it turned out, for that one year, I had excellent free cigarette karma. I only bought a pack a few times because I was endlessly finding clean, fresh, sometimes even unopened packs around campus. Fresh from a childhood in Hawai'i, I had this sweet and really naïve outlook that did not allow me to think that life was out to get me. Cigarettes, when smoked socially and occasionally, were not going to blacken my lungs, and smoking an already opened pack you found abandoned on your college campus was totally safe. While I’m sure there are possible scenarios that end really badly, I still don’t want to think about it, and so I won’t. Nothing bad ever happened to me; in fact it felt like a gift, like the Universe was condoning this act, it was personally bequeathing to me the privileged act of smoking.
Come to think of it, the Universe gave me another gift: I was never addicted. In fact, I barely understood why anyone smoked—least of all myself—even as I stood there, dragging on a cigarette. Unlike a true devotee, I did not enjoy the taste at all. I didn’t like the smell, how it permeates the fibers of your clothing, the mass of your hair, the pores of your skin; in fact, nowadays, I am one of those assholes who actually holds her breath and speeds up to pass a smoker, turning around to give a dirty look. (Yes, smoker friends, sorry but I am that asshole.) I didn’t like New York winter mornings when you feel like coughing up your lungs anyway, just from the cold, but having smoked the night before you instead sounded like you were dying of consumption. I especially hated the heightened hangovers that followed a night of drinking too much + smoking too much. And worst of all, I couldn’t feign ignorance: In ninth-grade speech class, my verbal presentation of our assignment to make a “convincing argument” was “don’t smoke.” I did hours of research for an under-ten-minute presentation, made colorful posterboards, and best of all brought in three actual human lungs, triple ziplocked, which I passed around the classroom. One was a healthy, tender, pink lung of a child who had died; the second was the lung of someone who had smoked, slightly more hard, grey, and accompanied by some mysterious juices; and the third was the lung of someone who had died of emphysema, grey and rockhard sitting in a pool of yellowish liquid. My classmates were sold, I was sold, and I totally got a A+.
Why did I smoke then? I like habit, I like tradition. I like having something you are accustomed to doing, kind of like how I believe in Weekend Brunch or that hallowed time of the day that is Cocktail Hour. I liked the ritual of it, the buying of the pack, the pulling on the tab which lead to the unraveling of the plastic, the crinkly noises it all made, the thumping of the carton against the heel of your hand to pack the cigarettes, the first cigarette emerging, and the inevitable searching about your pockets or purse for that elusive matchbook. I liked the accoutrements: collecting matchbooks from restaurants knowing that you’d put them to use, or purposefully not carrying matches or a lighter, therein enabling you to use the cigarette as a social tool of introduction and ice-breaking while “bumming a light.” I liked being part of the society of smokers, that group of outcastes that cancer cure advocates and Nicoderm advertisers were always trying to “reach”; I liked being exactly there, with them, on the outside not bothering to look in, because we, unified, had something we liked that was better. But most of all, I think, I liked the image in my head of how I thought I looked, standing there, smoking: someone who had crossed the naughty line and gone over to pure Bad, someone who smoked and drank and wrote terse and nonsentimental fiction not-so-loosely based on her own life, someone who went to a liberal arts college where all the kids had been tortured by their high school experiences, someone who was artsy and dark, someone who was able to lose control of herself. If you know me, you’re laughing at this image, because I am still none of those things. But that, nevertheless, was the image in my head. Here’s the math: Smoking = bad, ergo I should stop, but because I am pretending that I can’t stop, because I am inventing an addiction, I am therefore wild and interesting and out of control.
Really, you’re reading the words of the Advertising Executive’s target audience. I started smoking because it was cool, and I smoked a certain brand because their image was easy to remember.
Probably the closest I came to addiction was cloves. You read that right. Hi, my name is Mayumi Shimose Poe, there were lots of hippies at my college, and therefore I on occasion smoked cloves. I loved their fancy packaging, loved the long, thin, brown line of the clove cigarette, which I found impossibly elegant, loved the smell, loved the taste, and also—confessions of honesty hour—loved making out with people who had smoked clove cigarettes. My cigarette karma failed me here, though. I never found packs of cloves lying around; I had to trouble myself in going to actually purchase them, at if I remember correctly something like seven dollars a pack. Which meant I could not afford to smoke them very often.
I wrapped up that brief chapter in pretending-I-had-an-addiction while dating Dave, my now hubba-hubba hubby. He was utterly disgusted and confused and irritated at me for smoking. At the time, I wanted him to lay off and just relax; looking back, it’s a pretty good sign that someone cares about you if he wants to prevent you from slowly killing yourself. Dave would try to reason with me regarding the health risks. He would tell me he could smell it on me, that he could taste it when we kissed, and he didn’t like either. And then he pulled the ultimate clincher: Every time I smoked in his presence, he would also smoke. He hated the smell, the taste, the health risks, and yet every time I chose to indulge in this one vice he would be right there with me, along for the whole ride. I couldn’t just fake enjoy my fake addiction, I hate to take him down with me. This was such infuriating, backward logic, but well, of course it fucking worked. And the stopping was quick—there was no crabbyness, no withdrawl, no shakyness, no headacheyness, no jonesing—it just was done, probably because I was only pretending to be addicted from the start.
This may be one of the more retarded things about myself that I share with you. Cherish it.
Kools and Newports were for black people and lower-class whites. Camels were for procrastinators, those who wrote bad poetry, and those who put off writing bad poetry. Merits were for sex addicts, Salems for alcoholics, and Mores for people who considered themselves to be outrageous but really weren’t. One should never lend money to a Marlboro-menthol smoker, though you could usually count on a regular-Marlboro person to pay you back.” (34)
I like Sedaris’s line about the Camels. For the brief, glorious, irresponsible moment in time that I was a smoker—start to stop, about a year, but really if you boiled it down to actual smoking moments, it likely would have added up to less than a week, circa 1999-2000—I smoked Camels. I smoked Camels, I think it was even Camel Lights, because I didn’t know better. I smoked them because the first time I smoked I had bummed a cigarette off a friend, and that friend smoked Camels. I smoked them because when you were standing at that Yonkers gas station at the foot of the hill, asking off-hand for a pack like it wasn’t the first time you were doing it, it was easy to remember their name and their logo, what with those inexplicable pyramids and the camel standing by placidly, without judgment, as you prepared to blacken your lungs. And I smoked them because, as it turned out, for that one year, I had excellent free cigarette karma. I only bought a pack a few times because I was endlessly finding clean, fresh, sometimes even unopened packs around campus. Fresh from a childhood in Hawai'i, I had this sweet and really naïve outlook that did not allow me to think that life was out to get me. Cigarettes, when smoked socially and occasionally, were not going to blacken my lungs, and smoking an already opened pack you found abandoned on your college campus was totally safe. While I’m sure there are possible scenarios that end really badly, I still don’t want to think about it, and so I won’t. Nothing bad ever happened to me; in fact it felt like a gift, like the Universe was condoning this act, it was personally bequeathing to me the privileged act of smoking.
Come to think of it, the Universe gave me another gift: I was never addicted. In fact, I barely understood why anyone smoked—least of all myself—even as I stood there, dragging on a cigarette. Unlike a true devotee, I did not enjoy the taste at all. I didn’t like the smell, how it permeates the fibers of your clothing, the mass of your hair, the pores of your skin; in fact, nowadays, I am one of those assholes who actually holds her breath and speeds up to pass a smoker, turning around to give a dirty look. (Yes, smoker friends, sorry but I am that asshole.) I didn’t like New York winter mornings when you feel like coughing up your lungs anyway, just from the cold, but having smoked the night before you instead sounded like you were dying of consumption. I especially hated the heightened hangovers that followed a night of drinking too much + smoking too much. And worst of all, I couldn’t feign ignorance: In ninth-grade speech class, my verbal presentation of our assignment to make a “convincing argument” was “don’t smoke.” I did hours of research for an under-ten-minute presentation, made colorful posterboards, and best of all brought in three actual human lungs, triple ziplocked, which I passed around the classroom. One was a healthy, tender, pink lung of a child who had died; the second was the lung of someone who had smoked, slightly more hard, grey, and accompanied by some mysterious juices; and the third was the lung of someone who had died of emphysema, grey and rockhard sitting in a pool of yellowish liquid. My classmates were sold, I was sold, and I totally got a A+.
Why did I smoke then? I like habit, I like tradition. I like having something you are accustomed to doing, kind of like how I believe in Weekend Brunch or that hallowed time of the day that is Cocktail Hour. I liked the ritual of it, the buying of the pack, the pulling on the tab which lead to the unraveling of the plastic, the crinkly noises it all made, the thumping of the carton against the heel of your hand to pack the cigarettes, the first cigarette emerging, and the inevitable searching about your pockets or purse for that elusive matchbook. I liked the accoutrements: collecting matchbooks from restaurants knowing that you’d put them to use, or purposefully not carrying matches or a lighter, therein enabling you to use the cigarette as a social tool of introduction and ice-breaking while “bumming a light.” I liked being part of the society of smokers, that group of outcastes that cancer cure advocates and Nicoderm advertisers were always trying to “reach”; I liked being exactly there, with them, on the outside not bothering to look in, because we, unified, had something we liked that was better. But most of all, I think, I liked the image in my head of how I thought I looked, standing there, smoking: someone who had crossed the naughty line and gone over to pure Bad, someone who smoked and drank and wrote terse and nonsentimental fiction not-so-loosely based on her own life, someone who went to a liberal arts college where all the kids had been tortured by their high school experiences, someone who was artsy and dark, someone who was able to lose control of herself. If you know me, you’re laughing at this image, because I am still none of those things. But that, nevertheless, was the image in my head. Here’s the math: Smoking = bad, ergo I should stop, but because I am pretending that I can’t stop, because I am inventing an addiction, I am therefore wild and interesting and out of control.
Really, you’re reading the words of the Advertising Executive’s target audience. I started smoking because it was cool, and I smoked a certain brand because their image was easy to remember.
Probably the closest I came to addiction was cloves. You read that right. Hi, my name is Mayumi Shimose Poe, there were lots of hippies at my college, and therefore I on occasion smoked cloves. I loved their fancy packaging, loved the long, thin, brown line of the clove cigarette, which I found impossibly elegant, loved the smell, loved the taste, and also—confessions of honesty hour—loved making out with people who had smoked clove cigarettes. My cigarette karma failed me here, though. I never found packs of cloves lying around; I had to trouble myself in going to actually purchase them, at if I remember correctly something like seven dollars a pack. Which meant I could not afford to smoke them very often.
I wrapped up that brief chapter in pretending-I-had-an-addiction while dating Dave, my now hubba-hubba hubby. He was utterly disgusted and confused and irritated at me for smoking. At the time, I wanted him to lay off and just relax; looking back, it’s a pretty good sign that someone cares about you if he wants to prevent you from slowly killing yourself. Dave would try to reason with me regarding the health risks. He would tell me he could smell it on me, that he could taste it when we kissed, and he didn’t like either. And then he pulled the ultimate clincher: Every time I smoked in his presence, he would also smoke. He hated the smell, the taste, the health risks, and yet every time I chose to indulge in this one vice he would be right there with me, along for the whole ride. I couldn’t just fake enjoy my fake addiction, I hate to take him down with me. This was such infuriating, backward logic, but well, of course it fucking worked. And the stopping was quick—there was no crabbyness, no withdrawl, no shakyness, no headacheyness, no jonesing—it just was done, probably because I was only pretending to be addicted from the start.
This may be one of the more retarded things about myself that I share with you. Cherish it.
Spring hath sprung, it's true.
. . . and the "Montague Street waiting game" is over. Both Korres and Dashing Diva are finally open! SUPER YAY!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Tribeca, Shmibeca.
I really, really wanted to hit the Tribeca Film Festival this year. I've lived in New York for (total, combined) about eight years, not counting our two-year hiatus in the Bay area, and I have never before gone to any of the films, whether from lack of knowledge or lack of interest. But this year, as aforementioned, I really really wanted to go.
I even prepped for the experience. I wasted an entire morning and afternoon reading through every.goddamned.single.film.description, literally from numbers to letters, from The 27 Club to Zoned In, on Time Out New York's extensive website coverage of the event. We're talking summaries, reviews, director's comments. It was a serious investment of time, concluding with a top 16 list, which got narrowed further to a top three when I realized how damn expensive the "privilege" of attending was going to be. Here were my top picks, in alpha order with my notes scrawled on a stray piece of paper transcribed as originally scribbled:
57,000 Kilometers between Us (if nothing else, see this film!!)
Ball Don't Lie (dance + basketball?! holyshit!! Love and Basketball has a baby with a dance movie. Dying of excitement!)
Before the Rains (something about India)
Eden (gourmets, gourmands, fancy food, and love? fuck yeah!)
Flight of the Red Balloon (France, nannies, a haunted balloon)
Love, Pain, & Vice Versa (dig the title!)
Milky Way Liberation Front (Korea, end of a relationship, depression, trying to make a film)
Newcastle (D: surf!)
Night Tide (sailor-siren myth)
Savage Grace (Julianne Moore!!)
Simple Things (Russian)
Strangers (potential, like a Iraq-Palestinian West Side Story, but also could be really bad)
Three Kingdoms (D: Chinese bloody martial arts but bleeding-heart, charging action like Braveheart, D's favorite)
The Wackness (both Ben Kingsley and Mary-Kate Olsen. Which is weird!)
The Zen of Bobby V (baseball, Japan)
So. How many of these gloriously diverse and interesting films did I get to see? NONE OF THEM. Because evidently it's kind of hard to go to Tribeca. Evidently tickets sell out and you actually have to plan ahead and buy passes and stand in long lines. Whoops.
Would have been good to know beforehand. Maybe I can find the films on blockbuster.com?
I even prepped for the experience. I wasted an entire morning and afternoon reading through every.goddamned.single.film.description, literally from numbers to letters, from The 27 Club to Zoned In, on Time Out New York's extensive website coverage of the event. We're talking summaries, reviews, director's comments. It was a serious investment of time, concluding with a top 16 list, which got narrowed further to a top three when I realized how damn expensive the "privilege" of attending was going to be. Here were my top picks, in alpha order with my notes scrawled on a stray piece of paper transcribed as originally scribbled:
57,000 Kilometers between Us (if nothing else, see this film!!)
Ball Don't Lie (dance + basketball?! holyshit!! Love and Basketball has a baby with a dance movie. Dying of excitement!)
Before the Rains (something about India)
Eden (gourmets, gourmands, fancy food, and love? fuck yeah!)
Flight of the Red Balloon (France, nannies, a haunted balloon)
Love, Pain, & Vice Versa (dig the title!)
Milky Way Liberation Front (Korea, end of a relationship, depression, trying to make a film)
Newcastle (D: surf!)
Night Tide (sailor-siren myth)
Savage Grace (Julianne Moore!!)
Simple Things (Russian)
Strangers (potential, like a Iraq-Palestinian West Side Story, but also could be really bad)
Three Kingdoms (D: Chinese bloody martial arts but bleeding-heart, charging action like Braveheart, D's favorite)
The Wackness (both Ben Kingsley and Mary-Kate Olsen. Which is weird!)
The Zen of Bobby V (baseball, Japan)
So. How many of these gloriously diverse and interesting films did I get to see? NONE OF THEM. Because evidently it's kind of hard to go to Tribeca. Evidently tickets sell out and you actually have to plan ahead and buy passes and stand in long lines. Whoops.
Would have been good to know beforehand. Maybe I can find the films on blockbuster.com?
My new "it's like crack" blog.
Ryan-and-Jenn bid us to become addicted to them, and I did. If Julia Allison is going to leave us hanging with cryptic statements and opaque references to TV shows and fashion shoots she may or may not be having, fine, bitch, I'm leaving.
I am now addicted to Choose Our Own Adventure instead. Take that, JA, haha!
The best part? Ryan-and-Jenn blog often, but even when they don't, it doesn't matter because they've amassed such an incredible trove of archives that one could spend days in it without finding one's way back out.
Here's some truly Greats:
The Thanksgiving Fuck-You Song
and The Baggage Series, especially ...
Jenn's explanation
and Ryan's video explanation.
I am now addicted to Choose Our Own Adventure instead. Take that, JA, haha!
The best part? Ryan-and-Jenn blog often, but even when they don't, it doesn't matter because they've amassed such an incredible trove of archives that one could spend days in it without finding one's way back out.
Here's some truly Greats:
The Thanksgiving Fuck-You Song
and The Baggage Series, especially ...
Jenn's explanation
and Ryan's video explanation.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
mayumi, in her 28th year.
Sometimes, yes, i am sprinkling lavender salt on chicken bathed in brut champagne and folding napkins into shapes and making basil syrup for the lemonade-iced tea I serve you
but
othertimes i actually manage to burn instant ramen.
but
othertimes i actually manage to burn instant ramen.
hanami matsuri.
Unfortunately, I am loathe to upload pictures right now or post anything longwinded or of even shallow-to-medium depth.
Today, Dave and I hit Brooklyn Botanical Gardens for the first of two days of "Sakura Matsuri," the BBG's adoption of the Japanese rite (hanami matsuri) of celebrating Spring's advent. The absolute riot of all these heavily budded cherry trees is like to the gorgeous pictures I've been seeing all over the Internet of the ridiculously gorgeous tulips of Washington state. In short? My husband is great. The trees were pretty. The freaks (read: non-Asian teens dressed as anime and manga characters) were flying their flags bigtime. My Wife and Our Luke joined me later. I enjoyed all of the above immensely.
And let me just say that there is nothing like hanami matsuri to make you understand what Neruda meant when he said "I want to do with you what Spring does with the cherry trees."
Today, Dave and I hit Brooklyn Botanical Gardens for the first of two days of "Sakura Matsuri," the BBG's adoption of the Japanese rite (hanami matsuri) of celebrating Spring's advent. The absolute riot of all these heavily budded cherry trees is like to the gorgeous pictures I've been seeing all over the Internet of the ridiculously gorgeous tulips of Washington state. In short? My husband is great. The trees were pretty. The freaks (read: non-Asian teens dressed as anime and manga characters) were flying their flags bigtime. My Wife and Our Luke joined me later. I enjoyed all of the above immensely.
And let me just say that there is nothing like hanami matsuri to make you understand what Neruda meant when he said "I want to do with you what Spring does with the cherry trees."
O(c)D'ing.
You know you're just this side of crazy when the thing you invented to do (blogging) to avoid the rest of the things you're supposed to be doing (editing, writing) has become just another thing on your To Do List that you avoid.
Is this sad or funny?
Is this sad or funny?
Friday, May 2, 2008
Yearning.
Have you ever been filled with a terrible yearning to become something new? Do you know what it's like to be racked with a ferocious hunger to change your life? Speaking from experience, I know that such a state can sometimes feel heavy and dark. But I'm here to tell you that it can also be a tremendous asset. The key to transforming it into a gift, ironically, is to see it as a gift. So your assignment, Taurus, is to interpret your ache for transformation as a potent blessing. To do so will give you the power to perform magic you can't even imagine yet.
To which I can only say: Yes. Yes. And Yes.
(Horoscope reposted from Free Will Astrology, with thanks.)
10 more reasons to go TEAM OBAMA!
Obama does the "top ten list" for Letterman: top ten campaign promises.
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
I heart you, Barack Obama. I truly do. You are my president, already.
Also? He was just funny in general when he went on the Late Show to talk with Letterman.
And? Then last night he did another top ten for Letterman: top ten surprising facts about Obama.
(Check out, especially, #5. Fuckyeah!)
Forget about hungry orphans & world peace!!
I've got some better causes for you to support with your hard-earned money.
1. The Bye-Bye Booby Fund.
My dear friend Roman, the artist formerly known as Delia, is beginning a joyful--yet very expensive--transition into the man he always wanted to be. We're talking thousands of dollars out of pocket, even if health insurance does end up kicking in and covering part of it. Roman is a talented comedian/improv actor, a maker of the best birthday cards in the world, and a deeply and truly awesome friend. He has a Paypal button up on his blog now. Give whatever you can give, and know you've done something amazing for someone who will cherish the love/support.
The Paypal button is step 1. Roman may also be throwing a fundraising party, for those of you in the NY area . . . maybe. I wanted Wife and I to do a walkathon and resurrect our old cowalking team, Babes for Boobs, only this time we'd be Babes for No Boobs or something. But unfortunately, the surgery itself is coming up around the corner, scheduled for early May, I believe, and there's not enough time to get an event of such magnitude planned, advertise, get pledges, et cetera. So, please, for now Paypal instead.
Therefore, in conclusion: If you really love me, you'll donate to The Roman Fund!!
2. Fuel a Road Trip for Worlds' Most Appreciative Adventurers.
I just stumbled on a new blog, Choose Our Own Adventure, by way of NaBloPoMo. Or, actually, that gives me too much agency; unfortunately, I cannot take credit for "discovering" them. Jenn and Ryan found me, but I am the richer for having been introduced to their blog. That said, they are prolific motherfuckers, and it is going to take me a while to make any significant entry into their substantial archives, thereby further erasing the hours in the day not spent jogging around Blogland. Sigh.
Anyway, the point, the point. They are currently unemployed adventurers traversing the United States for the enormity and possibility of experience. Their point is to get nowhere, and everywhere! And you could help them get there, by way of their Paypal button.
3. I'm starting to wonder if I should have a Paypal button to raise funds to pay for my MFA.
Ha ha?
1. The Bye-Bye Booby Fund.
My dear friend Roman, the artist formerly known as Delia, is beginning a joyful--yet very expensive--transition into the man he always wanted to be. We're talking thousands of dollars out of pocket, even if health insurance does end up kicking in and covering part of it. Roman is a talented comedian/improv actor, a maker of the best birthday cards in the world, and a deeply and truly awesome friend. He has a Paypal button up on his blog now. Give whatever you can give, and know you've done something amazing for someone who will cherish the love/support.
The Paypal button is step 1. Roman may also be throwing a fundraising party, for those of you in the NY area . . . maybe. I wanted Wife and I to do a walkathon and resurrect our old cowalking team, Babes for Boobs, only this time we'd be Babes for No Boobs or something. But unfortunately, the surgery itself is coming up around the corner, scheduled for early May, I believe, and there's not enough time to get an event of such magnitude planned, advertise, get pledges, et cetera. So, please, for now Paypal instead.
Therefore, in conclusion: If you really love me, you'll donate to The Roman Fund!!
2. Fuel a Road Trip for Worlds' Most Appreciative Adventurers.
I just stumbled on a new blog, Choose Our Own Adventure, by way of NaBloPoMo. Or, actually, that gives me too much agency; unfortunately, I cannot take credit for "discovering" them. Jenn and Ryan found me, but I am the richer for having been introduced to their blog. That said, they are prolific motherfuckers, and it is going to take me a while to make any significant entry into their substantial archives, thereby further erasing the hours in the day not spent jogging around Blogland. Sigh.
Anyway, the point, the point. They are currently unemployed adventurers traversing the United States for the enormity and possibility of experience. Their point is to get nowhere, and everywhere! And you could help them get there, by way of their Paypal button.
3. I'm starting to wonder if I should have a Paypal button to raise funds to pay for my MFA.
Ha ha?
Thursday, May 1, 2008
The Birthday Queen deigns to respond.
Ladies and gentlemen, I stand totally shamefaced and corrected. My darling and yours, Laura von Holt, actually went to bed at 11pm last night and was up at 6am today to greet her birthday properly. Now she's actually waiting for ME to get up & showered & caffeinated to take her out to birthday brunch. This is an absolute outrage. :)
Here are her Very Serious Responses to my Very Serious Questions for the Birthday Queen.
1. What was the best thing that happened during your 27th year?
I was nominated for a Pulitzer, you moved back to New York, and Liz and I came up with the concept of Scott Baio (as in you have to be our own life coach). Ok, I nominated myself for a Pulitzer, and then I lost, but when it comes to my wife, I always win. My fake wedding in Michigan was rad and I took a lot of road trips. Even though I didn't find Baby Jessica, I learned that sometimes, not only do you have to throw your own parade, you have to get yourself out of the well.
In all seriousness, my friends are the best thing that happened to me. There were a lot of people this year who fucked my life up rather intensely (ahem, Vassar. ahem, strangers with broken legs living on my couch), so I learned a lot about surrounding myself with people who are good for my Baio, and kicking the soul suckers to the curb.
Ooo, also, I learned how to make these: &heart; (if that doesn't show up, it's an html thing that makes black hearts) and I started a rather successful campaign at The Dove to get a cocktail named after me.
2. What do you hope to accomplish in your 28th year?
World Peace and Global Literacy, duh. Little children all over the world will learn to read just by visiting von Oracle. After I achieve that, I want to be confident enough on my roller skates so I can leave the Swiffer behind and roller skate outdoors.
It's my mission in my 28th year to show up for myself. I dream big, but I don't have the best follow through, probably because not only do I dream big, I dream a lot, hence the number of blogs I keep. I spent much of my earlier twenties doing things because other people wanted me to do them, and I'm over that. It's not about being selfish, it's about being self-actualized.
My friends tell me I'm pretty fucking rad and I'd like to make money off my radness, which also includes giving myself a big kick in the pants and demanding payment from the world. Hot cha cha. Lick it!
3. What is your favorite thing about yourself?
I dream big. No one can accuse me of being dull. For some people, standing on a street corner in a bathing suit sounds like their worst nightmare. For me, it's a dream come true. I mean, who does that? Me! I do! I'm good at weird stuff! Celebrate celebrate!
4. What's the one thing you want most in the world? Besides a new iPod?
I want Manhattan to migrate itself over the Hawaiian archipelago. New York is awesome and so is my family. Can't we all just get along?I want adequate rainfall on the Big Island so the grass will grow and the cattle will be fed and my dad can sleep at night. What's good for beef is good for me. I want to live alone like a big girl. I want to ask the question, What am I doing with my life? and not be afraid of the answer.
5. What would be your superhero power, if you could really have one power?
I would lactate at will, and my breast milk would have the ability to freeze things or set them on fire. If I were on a train and someone got mugged, I would aim my breast at the perpetrator, give it a good squeeze, and the robber would be frozen in mid-air, connected to me by an icicle-y line that not only fights crime but provides global nutrition.
6. What have you learned about yourself or life in 27 years that you would like to impart to your constituency?
I'm going to quote Liz Wexler on this one:"You wanna make it? Make it happen. You wanna win a Pulitzer? Nominate yourself. You wanna be a pinup? Make a calendar. You wanna eat cheetos and hummus? Go to the fucking deli."
See, people, my friends really are the best thing to happen to me. They interview me on my birthday and give good advice. Jealous much? You should be! Hot cha cha!
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