Brought to you by me and edited by c-belle

One big glass of wine,
Not that much sleep,
One meal before above mentioned glass and New Year's happens in NOVEMBER.

Two hours of singing along to Hall and Oates greatest hits which have the best vocal embellishments of the 80's and I don't know why the new year is running late!!!! (early?!)

Hope yours is right on time to the dot.

Loves and stuff.

Apparently, friends do let friends blog drunk.

Slow, slow, quick, quick

At some point in my life I might want to learn to dance with a man.
I cannot for the life of me figure out how this is done.

It's happened a few times that I can remember. My problem is that my ability to dance with a man seems to entirely depend on the man.

AG is a brilliant dancer who can make anyone look like a total star.
PR makes dance into a fabulous and deranged athletic event.
Dancing with BC was pure chemistry without words.

And there was a swing dance savant I met at a wedding. He was tall and delicious and he made up these fantastic moves on the fly that I had never followed before and have not since. After three songs we stepped breathlessly off the dance floor and parted company because we had each come to this wedding with other people.

In swing dance, I don't know the steps but I can follow a good lead, meaning that he and I are in agreement as to where the beats fall.

In a more "modern" setting it pretty much doesn't seem to work. I know it's just a full contact sport in which you try to fit body parts together and move. Sounds simple, but I can't seem to get the hang of it.

I think, again, it's a disagreement about where the beats fall.

I don't follow properly. I have too many of my own ideas about how the music feels and how we should move in a situation in which the music is really not supposed to matter at all. But if that is true, I wouldn't really call it dancing.

Then again, maybe it's not me. After all I hear that it takes two to tango.

Atmosphere said it better

To get there and back again, I took the mta, the cta, two cabs, three planes, a train, a super shuttle, and a ride from EH, two rides from my parents one in the Corolla and one in the Suzuki Swift.

On the way there I stopped in Chicago and noodled around a bit for the next Mystechs album.

I saw two movies with the folks, "Juno" (previously discussed) and "Atonement." I think the main guy in Atonement is dreamy. To say more would be a spoiler. Let us just say that the movie reminds me of "AI" and I am not sure how I feel about that. It's a gorgeous film and I enjoyed it. But Friends, it ain't no "English Patient."

I got many sweaters, a few books, some yarn and a very big crochet hook.

After a couple of anxious days in which I could not sit still long enough to read anything, I settled in and read "The Golden Compass." It was kind of grim and I quite enjoyed it.

My mother had natto in the house. So I got to try it. It's a sticky thready gooey mass of bean that tastes like a cross between, fermented bean paste, salt, ammonia, other unidentifiable potentially toxic chemicals and beans. There is not enough rice in the world to dilute that out. It's pretty gross.

I attempted to learn the Soulja Boy dance and took a crack at the Napoleon Dynamite dance. (at least an attempt at the arm movements)

And crocheted the better part of a scarf.

My father thinks that I need to learn to read more slowly, the better to read philosophy books. My mother thinks that I need to lose five pounds. Kitty thinks that I need to scratch behind her ears and under her chin more often.

They are probably right.

It was good to be in the Lou. It was good to have a string of days in which the concerns of the office were not my concerns. It was good to sit at the kitchen table with my two favorite people in this world and share food and talk and laughter and cups of tea.

Now, I am back and basking in the afterglow of this. I feel like I have been pieced back together. I wish I could put this feeling in a bottle and carry it with me for times of need.

"If the people laugh and giggle when you tell them where you live say: Shhhhh ....
-Atmosphere

"He is the cheese to my macaroni."

As is our tradition, we went to the movies this evening after stuffing our faces with much food. We saw "Juno" a quirky little comedy about teen pregnancy. Ellen Page does an amazing turn as Juno MacGuff. She is tough and funny and tender. She is a smart ass, a wise child and a lost dumb kid all at once. The soundtrack of the film has songs by Kimya Dawson. And if you know who that is, you pretty much understand the aesthetic of this movie.

The rest of the cast is super too: Jason Bateman, Jennifer Garner, That cool chick from the West Wing, the dude from the movie "The Mexican", Michael Cera better known for his turn in the movie "Superbad," here as there he is so very endearing.

The movie somehow is about a teenage girl who becomes pregnant without becoming an afterschool special on teen pregnancy, without becoming a morality play, without flattening anyone into two dimensions and with a kindness towards all involved. It maintains a human scale and has a lot of heart.

I might need to buy this when it comes out on DVD.

on the eve of christmas pt. 3

My parents grew up during the Korean War. This has informed their world view in ways that I cannot entirely understand.

My father essentially believes that if a person is not starving or bleeding, he or she is happy.

Today at breakfast my father in telling me how happy my life is says, "Edith Piaf sings that she has no regrets but C'mon! She's got to have more regrets than you do."

on the eve of christmas pt. 2

My mother in trying to get me out of bed this morning tells me that this year we should perhaps try to celebrate Christmas properly, as the Christians do. We should pray to God to forgive us our sins.

And as I slowly come to a waking state, in between giggles I reply that while I am no religious scholar, she may be confusing the traditions of Christmas with Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement which happens in the fall.

on the eve of christmas pt. 1

From the time I started school, my mother has come into my room in the morning to wake me up. I, now, realize that I did not own or use an alarm clock until I moved away to college. And as anyone who has shared a bed, dorm room, hotel room, suite, or apartment with me can attest to, I have never quite gotten the hang of the whole alarm clock thing. But if you were to call me and chat with me for two minutes or more, I would be up for the day.

When I come home to visit the Folks, my mother does as she always has for much of my life. She comes into my room to wake me up.

This morning she says that Christmas is sweeping Turkey and India. In both of these countries they are buying Christmas trees (made in China, of course) and plastic Santa statues that play "Silent Night" at the press of a button (also made in China). The Plastic Santas are a hot item this year, they are flying off the shelves in Turkey.

When asked by reporters why two countries that are not essentially Christian would celebrate this most Christian of holidays, the reply from the locals was along the following lines: while they are not Christian, they love Santa Claus. Which frankly, might be the same sentiment for a lot of people in the US who celebrate christmas as well.

And you cannot deny that "Silent Night" is a pretty rockin' tune.

food for thought with beers

She brought us a third round of beers. And we put down a few bills as tip which she picked up saying, "Thanks." My reply was to automatically, unthinkingly say, "Your welcome." His response was to say, "No. Thank You." With the difference in our replies and the implication behind each, I was humbled.

war is over if you want it

What if I was to tell you that today: Saturday, December 22, 2007 at 06:08:00 UTC time, people around the world will be attempting to achieve synchronized non-procreative orgasms for world peace?

Don't believe me?

Check out the website for the Global O.

That's all I really wanted to say on that subject.

In a season of giving

In conversation with BG the other day he said (and I am paraphrasing here) that the best thing that you can do when someone helps you is change your life for the better. Take the boost that the help gives you and make something of it.

Getting a gift or drinks, cards, hugs, a nice dinner, or effusive thanks is all well and good but next to useless to him. Because that's not why he helped to begin with.

Which pretty much knocked me out.

A Happy Thing

This youtube video made me really happy today.

So happy that the realization that HR saw me watching and bopping to this video in my cube did not freak me out as much as it probably should have.

Big ups to Mike Long.

And for the record I like the Knife version sooooooooooo much better than the acoustic guitar version.

it was a reflex

Since moving to NYC I have on more than one occasion had someone I barely know grab an inappropriate part of me in public. And my reaction has been to act before thinking. In one case, I smacked a guy in the nuts. In another, I slapped a guy's face. This unthinking reaction surprises me. I would have thought of myself as more of a deer in the headlights kind of person.

The thing that always concerned me in the self-defense classes I took was that it seemed like you had to be able to react without thinking and react with utter commitment to hurting that person who means you harm usually with the aim of getting away.

I worry a little. I would like to think of each of these as isolated incidents. But they may not be. Which would suck. It would mean that someday, someone will hit me back. And I will need a different kind of self-defense course to help me get out of that situation.

All that education put to good use

rough approximations of life

Friday
- was the company Christmas party. I woke that morning remembering the numerous beers from the night before and got up late. It was one of those mornings where I woke up repeatedly trying to remember / relive something, convinced that the best way to accomplish this would be through more sleep. It's a tactic related to the mornings when I wake from a really nice dream and I go back to sleep trying to pick up where waking up left me. These are the games my sleepy brain likes to play on me.

On finally dragging my carcass into work the next order of business was lunch. Lunch with MomVee. It felt so grown up. Not in that "Oh my god I'm so old" way that everything else feels grown up in my life. More like a fabulous adult version of those tea parties that little girls on TV and in the movies dream about - only hip and sophisticated, with much better conversation and more stylish outfits. A cross between Holly Golightly and Doris Day with a dash of Dorothy Parker. It felt grown up in the way I used to daydream about being grown up when I was a little girl.

HR suggested that we wear something festive, so I wore a too-tight-for-me sundress in bright red Hawaiian print and a black shawl - as if a shawl over my shoulders could do anything to hide my panty line. I had several Grey goose and tonics and kicked up on the dance floor. Also known as shaking my thang in front of the entire office. Which is not necessarily the kind of thing that mortifies me, but perhaps should. There may have been others present who were mortified on my behalf. What can I say, when the DJ plays Bobby Brown's "My Perogative," one must dance.

From there people went to a bar called Antarctica where there was drinking, drink spilling, and fraternizing with co-workers. I "borrowed" someone's coat to walk KM to her subway stop. Causing much consternation which I tried to mollify with hugs and the liberal application of top shelf vodka. Wisely, I left early in favor of a slice of pizza covered in ziti and ricotta.


Saturday
There was a breakfast of SPAM, eggs, toast, and many glasses of V8. A 3 hour phone conversation with CK and the weekend ritual of the washing of the clothes.

The first outing with Banjo Guy was fun. And in a moment in which I was not using the part of my brain that thinks, I broke all of the meaningful rules about dating that exist. I called him up and invited him to come over and hang out. Which seemed like a good idea until I looked around my house and realized just how disgusting my living conditions are. There are no words for it, Friends. There are no words. *shudder*

I piled everything, and I mean everything into the bedroom, vacuumed, swept, took out two bags of garbage, remembered to scrape the scary unidentifiable things off of the toilet bowl, hid as many incriminating things as I could (I did not quite manage to get all of them.) And then I hit a problem: the place smelled like SPAM. I lit two pumpkin spice scented tea candles in the hopes of masking this. Which didn't work. The place still smells like SPAM.

My mother has often told me that if only I would clean the house, cook, and dress pretty I might find a nice Korean doctor to marry me, start a family with, and take care of me. I am starting to suspect that the contrapositive is also true and I may grow up to be the perennial bachelor girl.

The activity for the evening was to bake cookies, eat lime flavored chips and drink PBR. (I am one hell of a hostess, no?) We baked over 6 dozen cookies. Mostly chocolate chip and a batch that were peanut butter with peanut butter and chocolate chips. I had promised to bring baked goods or a cooked bird to CKn's party and decided that cookies might be easier to transport. Banjo Guy was highly amused by the old fashioned activity for the evening. The beauty of cookie baking is that you just need to follow directions and learn to tell time. After the burning the first batch to go in the oven, things got better.

The last time I suggested to a fella that we bake, I suggested baking a pie and he didn't call me for a month. Pies are apparently very scary. Scarier than cookies?


Banjo Guy reminds me of about ten different people that I have known in my life. I have to tell myself that I do not really know this person and there is much to figure out. It's anything from his posture, to the way he gestures, to the intonation he uses when ranting about something - like how much he hates pigeons or the apple computer company, to how intently he inspected my books.


Sunday
CKn threw a party in honor of buying a new couch. To this party I went bearing cookies. The couch is this comforting sage green retro thing which has me wanting to buy a new couch too. There was food and folks. I had a small world moment in which I walk into the kitchen and run into DF, a college classmate of mine who married a college classmate of CKn's. Which was kinda cool. And I had the great pleasure of seeing many a small child walk around the apartment nibbling on one of my cookies until there was nothing left.

Left the party to meet up with SW for a sing-along Messiah event at the Borough of Manhattan Community College. This is the 20th year they have done it. There was a small orchestra, 4 soloists, a choir sitting out the in audience. And if you wanted to sing along, you could come on down, grab a score and do that. It's been years since I have sung chorally, years since I have tried to sight sing. And I am now convinced that I have actually never heard the Handel's Messiah in its entirety. The experience overall was a little raw and on my part more than a little cringe-worthy. At the same time, it was very engaging. I might need to learn it proper for next year and do it up at Avery Fisher Hall. Hells yeah.

Later that evening, missing the bird I never cooked, I picked one up on the way home and had it all to myself.

What was missing here was knitting and a mosh pit, but Friends, let us not dwell on the glass half empty. Let us rather give thanks for the little things.

Heart like a cactus

1. The next time you are downstairs at the Cake Shop, if the bartender is a very young, very tall, burly gentleman of hispanic or latino origins, ask him to make a shot called the Chiparita (pronounced cheep-arita). It's a concentrated upscale high octane margarita and it will smack you across the room with tenderness.

This I had with the guy who used to be mine when he came into town last night. We sat in the bar and listened to Shipwreck, one of my favorite bands from Urbanana (I seriously love this band and such lovely people.) and I felt almost like I had stepped backwards in time.

It was an echo to another lifetime and the girl I was when I started first started loitering here.

She got drunk when she drank. Cause, there wasn't much else to do. In so many ways, they were not good times and yet I miss them.

It was no more than two years ago and yet it seems a lifetime ago.


2. LW and I were all set to reschedule our date. But made the mistake of revealing too much about ourselves online before our first face to face meeting. On the day of our date we were chatting online and he irritated me to an excessive degree. To the point where I told him that I didn't want to see him. I didn't care how cute or smart or funny he was. (his claims) I didn't care how good a kisser or lover he was. (his claims) And so perhaps due to the limited capacity that one has to communicate over IM, I cancelled my first date with the man of my dreams. But I seriously doubt that. His parting remark to me was "Good luck finding a guy who isn't an asshole."

Right.

Next!?!

3. I have a date tonight with Banjo Guy. Also met online. He doesn't tell me that he is funny. He has actually written and said funny things when we have chatted on the phone or IM. He has not promised me that he is smart, cute, a good kisser or a great lay. (shall I brace myself for the worst?) And he has not insisted that we schedule time to make out during this meet up, nor has he sent me any pictures of him self in his underwear. Of course, he as also mentioned that he has OCD qualities and can rant until the cows come home. We shall see.

4. The Men of New York keep calling me a crazy lady. I have no idea why.

5. I have deleted the Vine's number from my cell phone to stop myself from drunk dialing him. Oh. Maybe that's why.

modern love and book lust

I have transitioned from shopping online for men to trying to meet them. And last night I was chatting with this guy, LW, who was raving about the way you date in NYC: you meet someone, have sex, date them for 2 weeks and then move on. He thinks it is awesome. I said that sounded depressing to me. It sounds kind of soulless and empty. And he suggested that I move to Kansas or Ohio. He pegged me as a Midwesterner in a heartbeat. But wrong part of the heartland, hello!? *prickle*

But his description of things, if true, could explain a lot about the degree to which my love life has been mostly theoretical since I moved here. To the point where I would describe it as a lack-of-love life. I say this in an observational and bloodless way, not to elicit sympathy or words of encouragement. This place is so distracting and tiring that I mostly can't recognize the soul in a person anyway. That would take time and attention and openness. Things no one in this place ever has enough of. My gambits must make no sense to the locals.


I was stood up by LW yesterday. Stood up on the first date, surely a bad sign. Almost as bad as my first internet date which lasted exactly one hour. He turned to me as he finished his beer and said, "I'm done. Are you done?"

So I went by myself to an event that I suggested that he and I attend. It was a thing on bookmaking. The actually making of reading materials. Which many a person has mocked me for. I thought I was going to be a lecture but it was actually a book selling, book signing, book exhibit. And it was really cool. I put on gloves and handled and inspected many hand crafted books. They were soooo cool.

While there, I got a powerful case of book lust for an out of print book called "Colorful Tales" by Paul Cherches from 1983 Purgatory Press. It's a book in which there are one page, short short stories or exerpts except that for each expert parts of the text have been replaced by bars of color. Like a censored letter with black covering sensitive information only in yellow or green. There was something so charming and engaging in the decisions that were made with regard to what was there and what was not. It was curious that a book that was obscuring its story could be so compelling.

We could each fill in the blanks for ourselves. Would we each come up with the same story? How much information do you need to have a narrative? It is true that there are a limited number of stories to tell with endless variation on the details associated? Are the details the most important part or can they be dispensed with entirely?
And so on.

I crave this book from 1983. I have hunger for it that spurred me to buy other books. To try to settle the pang. Brilliant on the part of the organizers.

I walked around and kept trying to remind myself to not forget. To take what was there and what I experienced and carry it with me. But I think this story is all I have managed to take away. Oh, and a couple of books.

it's all smoke and bones

There were chicken bones on the steps in the train station as I walked from one platform to another last night. Remnants of a meal? Voodoo spell? Voodoo curse?

a longing song

I want to fall asleep to the sound of your voice
with the weight and warmth of your arms at my waist
I ask for what you cannot give
and offer what you will not take

feelings. nothing more than,

feelings.

Too often, I lose sight of how fragile people can be. Despite the feeling of being strong and vital, despite the feeling (at times) of being invincible, we are flesh and bone. We are skin and nerves. A certain gentleness, a sensitivity, a kindness in handling each other would be good.

And really, no one needs the level of shit-talk that I am, by nature, prone to handing out.

Well, it could always be worse

I lost a library book that I was reading and recently found it under a pile of dirty laundry. This book and I are "reunited and it feels so good." And we chill on the train.

Today at the West 4th stop, I came across this within its pages:

"His [Bill Eberhard's] argument is eloquently laid out in a book I have heard described by some as the most stimulating they have ever read. However, with a title like Sexual Selection and Animal Genitalia, it isn't the sort of book you would read on the train."
-Tim Birkhead
Promiscuity: An Evolutionary History of Sperm Competition

Had a good loud laugh over that on the platform.

I suppose Birkhead has a point here. Perhaps it should come with an optional plain and anonymous brown paper dust cover.

A bakers dozen on my return

1. If a cute boy recommends that you read a book do you have to actually read the thing before you try to meet up with him again? If I go about this honestly, I may need to take a speed reading class ...


2. I ran across this youtube video of snails racing. How do people come up with these things? The creation of the racetrack must have taken some effort. Although in some scenes it looks less like a race and more like an orgy. How did they get snails to move about on an oval?


3. My congratulations to those of you who wrote a novel in the Month of November. You rock!


4. Next fall I will need to renew my driver's license and decide what state I am voting in. Illinois or New York?

I am so clearly not a New Yorker that it seems deceptive to make the switch. My Midwestern-ness is so firmly ingrained. However after my visit to Seattle I wonder whether this coast is starting to rub off on me. Seattle was lovely. The people were soooo friendly. But so laid back. Way too laid back for me. Working out there was at times frustrating. I did not raise my voice. But I thought about it more than I should have.

5. There is something excessively, disturbingly virtuous about Seattle.

6. I did not see the Space Needle or the Pike St. Market while it was open or the ocean or anything else. I did not go shopping, although everyone recommended shopping as the thing to do in Seattle. I don't think I even had seafood. I did walk around a little part of the downtown area passed some little teriyaki joints. And as chance would have it, I stumbled upon a venue, The Crocodile Cafe. There was a sign on the door that said that they do not tolerate bigotry, sexism, or racism. This sign prompted me to go in even though I didn't know who was playing or what kind of music there would be. Back when I was in a booking collective, we had long discussions about putting up a code of conduct or a similar kind of sign at our shows.

So in I went for to see: PWRFL Power, Facts about Funerals, and The Elephants. I missed The Birthdays.

I did not meet any of the cute boys in the cute bands.

Instead, I met L. She and I chatted, danced to the music, had beers, and exchanged phone numbers at the close of the show. Years and years ago that would have been me and BBFK. We would have been out at a show, dancing to the tunes. Rather, years and years ago that would have been BBFK. She's the one who would talk to strangers.

The lesson learned here is that I am apparently a creature of habit. "Went to the show, did X, went to the show, did Y."

The Crocodile Cafe is the type of venue that I love. It's not The Empty Bottle or The Milestone, still, were I in Seattle long term I would probably while away many an evening there.

7. At one point someone out there told me that I did not seem like a New Yorker to them. I had no accent and for all intensive purposes could be from the Northwest. It was, I think, meant as a compliment. It didn't feel like a compliment but I can only assume that it was meant as one.

I was so happy to come back East and contend with my cranky grumpy irritable New Jersey cab driver. I could have hugged him.

And today, a stranger grabbed me by the arm and saved me from getting hit by a car that was running a red light. Brooklyn saving my life again.


8. I work with French woman who is tireless and whose work is impeccable. Her habits and attention to detail are impressive. She attends to the smallest things imaginable. And while you might think that they do not matter, you would be mistaken in thinking that way. She says that she likes to wear both belt and braces (aka suspenders). I didn't understand this until now. You wear belt and braces to make doubly sure that your pants don't fall down.

At one point I was labeling positioned items to ensure that the banquet staff did not move or clear them and she told me that I was now wearing belt and braces. Which from her I took to be a great compliment.

I laughed and told her that someday, if I was to do this for long enough I might take to wearing a jumpsuit with my belt and braces.


9. With regard to wireless access at airports, SEATAC sucks compared to ORD and STL because at SEATAC AT&T will provide you with wireless if you get a monthly subscription by which they can bleed you continuously whereas Boingo gives you the option of subscription or paying too much for a one day wireless pass at ORD and STL. The committment-phobe in me prefers this one day overpriced option.


10. Recently I met up with a friend from high school who I have not seen for 14 years. And this evening I got to see a friend who I have not seen in about 10 years. Having done this long lost friend thing twice I've got to say, I really like this. RR and KD have each gotten more beautiful and fabulous with the years. And it is such a pleasure to behold.


11. Today, I lost the train game. I fell asleep on the way home and woke up in Coney Island extremely disoriented and had to ride the train back 15 stops.


12. As might be appropriate, I read a few chapters of Joseph Stiglitz's book "Globalization and Its Discontents" on the flight from the Lou to Seattle. And it made me so furious.


13. My Dad told me that there is a Korean belief that a pregnant woman must have any food that she craves. If she does not, the child will be born with one eye smaller than the other. My Mother craved foods that she loved as a small girl in Japan. She craved Natto.

(Brung to you from the ramblingspoon)

Which just looks like the grossest thing ever. My mother couldn't buy Natto at the stores back in the day in Buffalo, NY. So she improvised. She bought soybeans and wrapped them in foil and put them on the radiator under a damp towel for some days. It was close but not quite right. And there were consequences to this.

Y'all may not know this but I have two different prescriptions for my eyes, one of them is lazy and will wander off to look at random things of it's own accord, and one of my eyes is smaller than the other. *insert spooky music*

Kat E, do not deny yourself anything your heart, stomach or palate desires.

worth 354 words

I have noticed lately that there are cameras in the cabs of New York. There seem to be cameras just about everywhere else around me too - my office, the elevator, on the street, in the shops, hotel lobbies, entrances, behind fast food counters, hallways, ATM machines, Walmart and Walmart like places. In some cities they post signs to let you know that there are cameras on the streets around you. In others they don't.

Chicago and London come to mind as two cities that each have a lot of cameras.

I used to be bummed that I take more pictures than are taken of me. But I now realize that in fact there are a whole lot of pictures being taken of me all the time and of you too.

It all seems kind of creepy, really. The State or your boss watching you at all times. Someone official, yet potentially questionable, recording you every move and storing it somewhere. It's not that I have anything to hide. It's just that I like to be the one who examines my life.

But as with all things there is a flipside.

I was in a cab in Seattle with a camera. The cabbie pointed out an particular intersection in the downtown with four cameras. He said that lots of people got speeding tickets mailed to them based on footage from those cameras. He also told me a story of a drunk guy who got in a cab and badly beat up his Sikh driver. The footage from the camera in the cab was used as evidence against the attacker.

And today I was watching this TED talk by Peter Gabriel about his involvement in human rights advocacy and a human right organization he helped found called WITNESS which provides cameras to people to document human rights abuses internationally.

What might in one case seem bad can be used in another to do good. The camera is powerful but it is in itself neutral.

What matters is your motivation and intention in picking it up and how you use the images you capture.

is it too late for that, Solo?

I tell people that I like punk shows and ska shows and the reaction is a smile and the reply, "I used to do that."

The report from the sticks

1.
Thursday as I am peeling potatoes for mashed potatoes, my mother broaches the subject of crazy things that New Yorkers do. She says, "Emo (that's Korean for mother's sister) told me that EH (my cousin) pays other people to do his laundry and she was shocked." I admit that I can't bring myself to pay another person to warsh mah drawrs. To my surprise, my mother sides with EH and suggests that in New York where time is in such short supply, having someone else warsh yer drawrs might not be such a bad thing. I think she's concerned that I am going to work in smelly socks (or drawrs). Which at other times in my life would be a valid concern.

2.
My mother has been obsessively watching this 20 episode Korean love story. Clearly, we are related as this is something I would do. It's pretty delightfully overwrought stuff. There's a piano player, a girl with serious glasses, and a handsome Korean American dude who doesn't speak much Korean. All of his dialogue is in English while everyone else speaks Korean to each other and to him. So his understanding of Korean is apparently perfect. The soundtrack is so painfully sentimental. It's killing me. The best part: I started mocking the goofy hairdo of the leading boy, insisting that he needed a haircut. And my mother defended him saying in all seriousness, "It's his style!" Such a role reversal between us. I love it.

3.
My father has become a huge Jorge Luis Borges fan. HUGE. I can't even explain to you just how huge. He has decided that Borges is a greater writer than Brecht, Kafka, and Joyce. I forgot to ask him whether Borges beats out Thomas Mann, Stendhal, and Flaubert.

4.
There are throngs of disappointed search engine users who wander over here seeking advice on finding things to do - things to do in the Winter Season or crazy things to do in the office after hours, etc. All I will say on the second matter is check to see if there are surveillance cameras or a late night cleaning crew and be sure to clean up after yourself (especially if it's not your office or desk). Right.

5.
It was snowing in Chicago while I was there changing planes. The snowflakes were fluffy, fat and drifty. At first they floated down and then they started to fall faster and faster. And then they vanished. It was so pretty I wanted to call someone. But it was frightful early to call anyone just to say, "Snow! Pretty!"

6.
On my way home from work on Wednesday I walked by a man carrying a guitar on the subway platform. I sat down and he circled back and offered to play me a beautiful song. "No financial obligation." He leaned in and played "Dream a Little Dream of Me," a song that I love. He did a lovely light version on the acoustic 12 string in a lovely light voice and I sang along with a little harmony. After which he offered me a second song. I asked him to play me a song he had written. It was this great slidely, slinky girl-I-gotta-get-with-you tune at which point my train arrived. I found a couple dollars which I put in the sound hole in his guitar as requested and went on my way. As the train doors closed he said that I have a beautiful vibe. To my mind it was his beautiful vibe not mine.

7.
I've been looking for a version of the song, "Dream a Little Dream of Me" to share with you on youtube only to discover the youtube fan montage.

Montage #1

Montage #2

A practice that I find strange and charming and in each of these cases quite impressive. I am surprised to say that I now find the gawky skinny Henry Thomas kind of dreamy.


8.
The other thing that I discovered (a while back) on youtube is that dancing to Thriller with Thriller choreography is something of a wedding reception mini-phenomenon.

The bridal party learns the dance and performs it for the rest of the reception. Search with the terms: thriller wedding.

Who on earth dances to a song the refers to "the thing with the 40 eyes" at their wedding? Who on earth dances like a zombie to such a song at their wedding? Although I'd have to say that the dancing in most of the videos could use more zombie-ness.

Where is the sense of decorum and appropriateness?
Do lyrics count for nothing nowadays?

That being said, I am now daydreaming about getting married in a theme wedding based on the Thriller video as a bloody zombie bride, groaning and limping my way down the aisle to the dead one that I love. My mother would kill me.

I wrote a joke last night

"Did you hear? 9 out of 10 people think that censorship sucks. The other one doesn't want to hear about it."

to the matter of age defiance

This past weekend CK and I were in Bloomingdale's and each tried a dab of pricey eye cream. I was dabbing mine onto the skin under my eye when the woman behind the counter told me that I was not supposed to dab it up so high.

"You don't need to do that, it will creep up there on its own," she said. And I thanked her and walked away.

On further reflection I am not comfortable with things that will creep up my face. I might have to forgo the eye cream thing.

A reminder for all of us looking for love

Have you ever read "The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing"? I love the last story. It's warm and hopeful and funny and sweet. The following passage is one I have often thought about.

I say that we met after college in New York, and that over the years we had a succession of boyfriends but weren't so happy with any of them. We were always asking each other, "Is this all we can expect?"

"Then, I say, "there was our sea-horse period, when we were told that we didn't need mates; we were supposed to make ourselves happy just bobbing around in careers.

"Finally Sophie met Max," I say and turn serious. I look over at him. I think, He has a nice face. And I say this into the microphone. "He gets how funny and generous and wholehearted she is. He understands what a big person she is, and yet he doesn't want to crush her." I get some blank stares here, but Sophie's laughing. I say, "Max is the man Sophie didn't know if she could hope for."

- Melissa Banks

Saw "American Gangster" today with TB. It was really good.

I could not decide who I was rooting for in the movie. I found both main characters compelling. But now that I am home the afterimages in my head are all of the scenes of junkies and the effects of the drug trade on human lives.

It has been too long since I last saw a movie in theaters. I can tell because when it's been too long, all the previews look good.

prelude to holiday cheer

I can't get this song out of my head. I blame CK.

The Job of a Lifetime - Why did I not major in Weed Science?

Weed Ecologist

ANNOUNCEMENT NO:

RA-08-034H
POSITION:

Ecologist
LOCATION:

Urbana, IL

DESCRIPTION OF DUTIES: The position is located in the Invasive Weed Management Unit, Urbana, IL. The incumbent will conduct quantitative risk analysis of the invasive potential of bioenergy feedstock species. Complementary risk modeling approaches will be used, including, but not limited to: empirical estimates of dispersal probability, integrodifference equation models, and population viability analyses. Measurements of demographic rates and of the probability of vegetative and sexual dispersal and establishment of Miscanthus x giganteus will be generated in field and laboratory experiments and used to parameterize risk models.

QUALIFICATION REQUIREMENTS: Recent Ph.D. in Plant Ecology, Weed Science or a closely related field is required. Experience in mathematical modeling, ecological statistics and field experimentation in plant demography are desirable.

INFORMATION ON SALARY AND APPLICATION PROCEDURES FOR POSTDOCTORAL POSITIONS is available at: http://www.afm.ars.usda.gov/divisions/hrd/hrdhomepage/vacancy/pd962.html


Just think, someday cars will have bumper stickers that say
"This car runs on Weed" or "We don't run out of grass."

investing for the future

This past weekend I was in Texas with the Mystechs. We were in Austin, Denton, and Dallas. While in Texas I made my first investment into the my dream career.

That's right, friends, find me some virgins to hire cause I've taken my first steps towards owning and running my very own:



Unicorn Ranch!

After some deliberation I decided that I would need to raise both good and evil unicorns. How does one distinguish one type from the other before they are old enough to start showing the rainbow or skull pattern on the flank?

The box suggests asking the unicorn following questions:

1. Do you like to prance through meadows?

2. Have you ever spent all day chasing butterflies and rainbows?

3. Is your favorite sound a laughing brook?

4. Do you believe the children are our future?

5. Are fairies your friends?

6. Do you go around impaling Teddy bears and baby seals?

7. Have you ever dreamed of ruling the underworld?

8. Are you still bitter you weren't invited on the ark?

9. Have you ever used you hooves to bludgeon the weak and innocent?

10. Do you occasionally breathe fire?

I leave it to you to figure out what kind of unicorn you are. It's a question each of us has to ask ourselves in a private moment.

Free Rice

I was about to go to bed when I came across an entry on JV's lj in which she said that she had spent part of the day on FreeRice.com And as this is the second time I have heard tell of this site, I wandered over to check it out for myself.

From October 7 to November 13 the site has donated through the help of web advertising: 1,712,371,750 grains of rice.

How many bowls or bags or pounds do you think that is?

And so, Dear Employer,

I am weary today because at a very early part of this morning which was for me, yesterday night, I reached a vocab level of 42 and donated 560 grains of rice. Perhaps I should just send money or bags of rice to the UN World Food Program directly in the future.

Hugs and Rock,

Me

such a late update

So. I did learn the choreography. And I slapped on some zombie makeup and went out to Tompkins Square park and took part in Thrilling the World.

And according the website, at least unofficially, a new world record has been set. 1,722 people in 52 cities on 5 continents danced simultaneously to "Thriller" at the same time.

There is Youtube video but I was in the very far back corner of the formation so there is the occasional glimpses of my hair or my elbow but very little else. Alas.

Having a goofy thing like this to prepare for, focus on, look forward to. Having an excuse to dance around the house. Taking time to actively connect my brain to the coordinated movement of my body. Having "Thriller" be my internal soundtrack for a week. And doing one of the many ridiculous things that appeal to me that I usually find out about after the fact - well I tell ya, it was grand. Really grand.

I think I am starting to get the hang of the zombie makeup. Now I need to work on the bloody gaping wounds. Next time.

Thrill the World

On Sunday I watched the movie "13 going on 30" which I liked very much. But more on that later. Among the many scenes that I love in the movie, I loved the Thriller dance scene at the party. It got me thinking about great dance scenes from movies. But more on that later.

Thriller doesn't happen to be a video that I remember all that well because as a child I did not have cable. In fact, as an adult I don't either.

So I went to YouTube to try to find the video for study because it seems like I cannot actually call myself a child of the 80's if I don't know how to do the most influential dance sequence of my generation.

And there I stumbled across a 40 part instructional series on doing the Thriller dance.

Someone is trying to set a new Guinness World record for most people simultaneously doing the thriller dance at once. The current record is 62 people in Toronto, Canada.

And they are trying to beat that this year. The project is called: Thrill the World. For the 25th anniversary of the release of the album people will convene globally to dance for 5 minutes to the radio version of Thriller - all dancing the same agreed on choreography at times that synch up to 6pm Sat Oct 27, 2007 Toronto time.

Of course I hear about this at the last minute and am trying to figure out if I can locate a Guinness registered location near me and if I can learn that choreography in three days.

If you've heard the details of an event in the NYC let me know.

Shaking it off - the old and new

Strangely I have been in New York long enough that I describe certain modes of being as reminiscent of my "Old New York Life." My old New York life had a lot in common with the way I felt on my first Mystechs tour.

I don't know where it went.

The little things have been all that my life is about. The little things are not my strong suit. At the start it was kind of interesting. A challenge. After about a year it feels like death by a thousand papercuts. The little things have been tripping me up and getting me down.

It was one thing when I felt that I was teeming with money, my every free moment was spent in the pursuit of happiness or at least distraction.

And now I feel broke all the time and I pack a lunch to bring to work. I feel tired all the time and all I want to do is sleep late, sit at home, watch TV, and fall asleep on the couch.

Oddly, while I have been feeling broke I have taken to going to the Farmer's Market on the weekends. It's mind bogglingly expensive. And the bags I walk back with are mindbogglingly heavy. But walking around and touching produce and then buying it is fun. Very different from the grocery store. Although, you know how I love that too.

And I tell myself that I am doing something good. Reducing the miles on my food. Supporting local growers. Getting out into my community. And all that good hippy stuff.

Mindbogglingly expensive produce offers it's own powerful incentives to cook or some other form of food preparation. I bought a loaf of bread for $5 on Saturday - mindboggling.

And I made the most amazing grilled cheese sandwich with that bread. It may very well have been the best grilled cheese sandwich of my life. My soul felt nourished with its consumption. This experience may be irreproduceable. Especially considering that dire and desperate hunger probably played some role in my perception of the deliciousness. But seriously I think this might be my greatest accomplishment since moving to NY.

Inevitably the purchase of produce on Saturday leads to a mad late night effort to cook a little something on Sunday. Tonight it was blackeyed peas with stewed tomaters and brown rice. Also a can of creamed corn + frozen corn.

Later this week hopefully some ratatouille 'cause I bought eggplants and perhaps tilapia tacos 'cause I saw someone make them in TV and they looked gooooood.

Among the issues in my life I have been searching for a dentist. It's a dire need. Not knowing how to go about it, I have been trying to comb through doctoroogle.com in search of a dentist.

I started knitting my second sweater (the first one was a total fiasco and is still unfinished.) only to find after finishing the front part that None of the rest of the yarn I own matches what I have used. So I am now seeking a yarn shop to buy a bunch of skeins of some complementary or close to matching and compatible stuff. Apparently, my second sweater will also be a total fiasco, though I hope to finish it.

Went to the Mustard Plug show on Saturday. I had it in my head to be up front next to the stage. Lots of shoving and bruising and pushing and leaning. Lots of idiots crowd surfing. It was great. Somehow spiritually purifying. Plus, there's no time to think about the little things when you are trying not to get knocked down and trampled. At last - distraction.

another talented bastard

Andrew Mall has a new issue of livingproof. Issue #5: Rapprochement

"These words used to be songs, songs that we screamed along with on the way home from a show, dark highway behind and the future, bright and clear and mysterious, ahead. I knew all the words once, and while that is no longer true, I still instinctively retain the triumphant choruses and the painful confessions, no matter how much time has passed in the interim.

The bands that sang these songs are no more, and in many ways neither are those of us who sang along. We are different people now than we were then, but we also have the luxury of memory and nostalgia to remind us what it once felt like to care so muhc for a single thing that the pain was palpable. This zine is dedicated to the people we used to be, and the bands we used to love." - Andrew Mall

"Sure there are sections that may not appeal to those of you who are unfamiliar with Rainer Maria, but I think most everyone can appreciate the kind of love for a band that results in the type of self-flagellation on display in these pages. So please, do your best to read beyond the words: think about your favorite band, the lessons you learned from them, the ways in which you've built your life around these lessons, the memories they inspired, and how it felt when they broke up." - Andrew Mall


And I am a puddle to the words on his pages and not even halfway through the thing. Talented bastard.

His site is here.

serious questions

If I choose to spend time with the one I love rather than the one that loves me, does that make me a masochist?

The other way to summarize my resume

In conversation with SE, I admit to the fact I am 37 and the job I have now is really the first proper job that I have had. I have only been working in the real world for a bit over a year.

And his reply was that he thought this was something to be proud of having accomplished in my life. A comment which certainly gave me pause.

I can bring home the bacon

As a child I watched the Enjoli perfume ads.

"I can bring home the bacon
Fry it up in a pan
and never let you forget you're a man
'cause I'm a woman, Enjoli."

Somehow despite my best efforts it's one of those things that lodged into my brain as a model for womanhood.

And now I am at the point where one is unlikely to call me a young woman or girl and would likely consider me to be in the category of woman. I find that I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan and make an effort to try to make a man feel like a man. The problem is, I haven't figured out how one manages to do all three simultaneously. I can bring home the bacon but that means I don't have time to fry it. And with the addition of interacting with the other gender - well - how does anyone manage to get any damn sleep around here?

There must be a trick to it. SD recently showed me a trick to dealing with those plastic grocery bags for produce. They are so difficult to get open sometimes. "Lick, pinch, and twist." Seriously it's that easy. One might think that this series of verbs would help in other endeavors but I think that varies widely in the population.

So there must be a trick to it. Maybe one of you out there knows it. Maybe it's as simple as three verbs in a row. Maybe it comes in a bottle, like it did in the 70's.

My other model for womanhood was the Charlie ads.
"Kinda young kinda now, Charlie
Kinda free kinda wow, Charlie"

Y'know wearing pants suits and being sassy and flirty.

It was all kind of muddled and confusing yet so heady and glamorous to try to imagine emulating.

What do young girls today see in the media and envision to be their models of womanhood? The Pussycat Dolls? Skimpy outfits, pelvic thrusts, and booty shaking. It's a whole new world. A bit beyond me, really. Let us offically stop calling me girl or young woman, then.

looking back

long ago
long long ago
when we were young and foolish and open hearted
we used to walk and talk and laugh and dream
we used to believe in love and trust everything
it was all good. it was going to be fine

long ago
long long ago
we used to fall in love so hard that we didn't recognize our own faces in the mirror.
we used to suffer the loss of love as starvation of the body and lay alone in our beds like they were rafts afloat on a sea of sadness.
we used to go to parties that weren't parties until a window was broken.
it was all good. it was going to be fine

long ago
long long ago
how I wish my arms reached far enough to wrap them around us back then.
we didn't need it then as much the need i feel to do it now.
it was all good. it was going to be fine.

it still is.

this post might make me a hater

I don't know what irritates me more:

A guy who worships a woman as a goddess because she knows how to make a casserole or a woman who will let a guy worship her for knowing how to make a casserole.

Puh-lease!

Don't get me wrong, I love a good tuna casserole as much as the next Midwestern philosophers daughter.

But let's face it, if you add a can of cream of mushroom soup, no one cares what else is in that baking dish.

Too much sleep too much drink

The King of Brooklyn deigned
to let me to sit beside him on the train.
His tattoo artist has a lovely cursive hand.
Sprawled all across his body and on limbs

Publicly visible.

I thought to ask him for a referral
but thought it wiser to hold my tongue
and let His Majesty enjoy a ride through the bowels of his County unfettered.
Royal and proud he sits in green robes and black hood
listening to songs of his minstrels echoing through from the very recent past.

At the end of the day no matter the hour
I take the train back under ground,
under water
over land

I ride

And tired and weary as I may be
no matter the day

As I step out and walk up the stairs into the County of Kings
I feel the weight of the worry, the wary, the doubt,
the anxiety,
the rush, the noise, the volume, the density,
the intensity,
the rage, the smell - all of it

melt away

And walking home I hear a song I have never heard by a band I didn't know I loved

And I skip and dance around drunks and dog walkers
under the trees on the sidewalk
along the width of the numbered streets and avenues
marveling at the mysterious ratio of this width to the height of the brownstones of my neighbors - aged hipsters, former philosophers, peaceniks, smart investors, the dog and stroller crowd, and the original authentic locals.

A weight is lifted and I can feel my heart, my breath, the sweat, the whisper, the laughter. A smile spread from the corner of my mouth.

I have come home at last to myself.

the danger of books

I get off the train and onto the street on my way to the office when I see a young man walking towards me who looks very familiar.

This is because he is familiar. We went to college together. And so I said hello. Which is unusual for me. I am generally the type to slink into the corner and hide, pretend that I don't know a person. Because in truth, I am hopelessly shy.

We spoke ever so briefly for maybe 10 seconds. Blah blah blah.
I notice that he keeps looking down at the book I have in my hand.

It's an evolutionary biology book about reproductive strategy in all manner of organisms - from fruit flies to flatworms to chickens to humans - specifically looking at differences in strategy between males and females, more specifically with a particular emphasis on the question of whether non-monogamy has any evolutionary benefits for females. There's some crazy stuff going on out there outside our own species, kids. And apparently, for some organisms, the battle is not necessarily won upon consumation of "desire" ...

So any way, this is my morning train reading these days. Cool.

But back to the appearance of this book. The cover of this book is hot pink and the title emblazoned along the spine in large curvise text is: "Promiscuity"

There was no time to explain the whole title: "Promiscuity: An evolutionary history of sperm competition" although I doubt that would have helped.

There is no time. No time to discuss. No time to explain. No time for much beyond our simple exchange. We are each headed in opposite directions. We say good bye and part company.

And I walked away wondering how one might judge a person based on judging the title and spine design of her book.

SWAN!

I watched "Hot Fuzz" last night.
Loved it.

Intensely gross in parts like "Shaun of the Dead."
The twist at the end is ridiculously hilarious.

I have a crush on Simon Pegg.
Y'know what else ... he's my age.

*flutter*

Sunday in the Nabe

In my hood there is a place called Bonnie's Grill. Bonnie's has a reputation for serving a hell of a burger. Last Sunday I took myself over there to check it out for myself. Long counter, some tables, the football game - Bills vs. Patriots.

I got seated in the back and read "Good Omens" (Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman) and had me a cheddar burger medium with lettuce, tomato, red onion, ketchup, spicy mayo, mustard, a bottle of Lone Star, and a side of fries.

The burger was fresh off the grill. Charred and Black on the outside like a soul in hell yet bleeding. As I ate it I started watching the game and ... for the first time in my life I understood what was going on.

It was great. But I'm sure my cholesterol level and my waistline wish I had more cravings for fresh vegetables.

same as it ever was except without the empire waist

Seems like every time I go to a party, happy hour - any kind of largish social outing I feel like an extra in a Jane Austen novel.

There's just so much going on. A rich cast of characters each with their own backstory and their own particular motivations and foibles. If you are new to the situation, you watch and try to suss out what's what. If it's your crew, you sit back and enjoy the show or maybe reach in and stir the pot. If you have a guide, he or she will give you the inside track on the comings and goings of the evening. (my fav)

Under the right circumstances it's better than TV.

saving and cravings

For the past week or more I have been thinking about money. And feeling like I need to worry about my lack of it. Simultaneous and probably related to this I have been feeling horrible food cravings.

I get all kinds of impetuous notions about what I want. But usually in regard to purchasing things or food or drink - I can talk myself out of it for a spell. Sometimes long enough that I forget for extended periods of time.

This has not been of those times.

The money situation is actually not bad and I was fretting about the fact that it is not better. Fretting instead of acting. There's a lot of financial jargon out there. I think it's all there to obscure the facts. And for lack of one definition or another, I am mired in confusion. What I have started to notice is that the articles on money management and the pamphlets from the company that handles my 401k are remarkably specific about some of the factors that I should consider up until the part where they say I should invest the money in a mutual fund or stocks or something. And from there they get remarkably vague.

Which is a bit troubling because that is the part where your money is supposed to be doing something for you. That is the part where the risk is. That whole past performance is not an indicator of future returns - blah blah blah mess. Added to that I am getting the distinct impression that investing is about making money from debt. Well, okay so far in my web surfing investing seems to be about debt, the perception of the value of a thing and speculation on the future perception of the value of that thing. Such that a company can be making money and growing but be considered an utter disappointment because while growing and making money it performs below expectations.

And on the food side. I have craved and then gotten:

Fried chicken from Dirty Bird To Go. That's some damn good chicken. The buttermilk dipped aspect is a world apart from KFC (which I also love). Fried chicken with mac and cheese and broccoli.

A mango lassi, Saag Paneer, and Naan. I can think of few things as comforting.

Sticky toffee pudding ice cream from Haagen Dazs. The cake pieces are amazing. Because in ice cream form the cake bits are my idea of ice cream cake. Rich cake drenched in ice cream and then frozen. The cake pieces are not blended in, they are integral to the structure and consistency of the ice cream itself.

Raspberries are not in season and at the Farmer's Market they cost an arm and a leg. Would that I had more limbs to surrender.

Someone in a food lab somewhere has engineered a seedless personal sized watermelon. Even in this reduced form I eat it for days. Days of welcome fruity leftovers.

My last recent craving has not been fulfilled properly. I have been craving steak. The trouble is that I have not a clue what to do with red meat. So I bought a steak and fried it up. Had it with broccoli and a microwaved potato and a beer. Had I been watching Monday Night Football and grilled it - I would have been the very model of those strapping manly Midwestern fellas that I left behind. There are days where I miss them too. That's a different category of craving ....

The steak didn't do so well. But I am happy to report that my ability to make a gravy of the drippings has greatly improved. If I use chicken broth or cooking wine and avoid adding balsamic vinegar next time, I think I will be on to something very lovely.

The cravings have settled down for now. And the worries about money as well.
Of course, I had to spend money to accomplish this so who knows, this whole thing might just bounce right back at me.

I needs a brand new bag

I have been too moody to post. But it seems that this is where I am at right now so I might as well go with it.

With the chewing gum incident I have been using my alternate backpack and a teeny tiny bag in place of my purse.

Today the strap broke on my teeny tiny purse. So I am in a quest for the perfect purse. It needs to be light and sturdy. It needs to be big enough to fit:

Wallet, keys, cell phone, map of Manhattan, subway map, work ID, a pen, a book of matches, a minipad, and chapstick.

An even more perfect purse would also fit my datebook, ipod, a comb, 1-4 hairpins, a change purse, eyeliner and a tube of lipgloss.

And even more perfect it would also fit a book for the train, a peanut butter sandwich, a box of raisins, and perhaps even a light sweater.

Purses are a very big deal in this city. You seen all kinds of bags worn by all kinds of women here. With all the commuting I think some of us live out of our bags, at least during the work week (and sometimes on the weekend as well). Giving the term "bag lady" an slightly different spin.

Fashion statement, means to transport, additionally, a purse can be used to create a zone of personal space around you. That's what the really big bags are great for.

I discovered this for myself one day on a museum visit with a friendly young man. I was carrying a fabulous bag that the RM had given me for my birthday. A stylish, hip, and enormous green bag from Brooklyn Industries so large that I could carry what I have listed above in scenario three, a Thanksgiving turkey with all the trimmings, and a pony keg.

The friendly young man would move in close to me as we stood looking at this painting or that sculpture only to be thwarted by my bag. He would bump into it and I would step slightly to the side saying, "Oh. Excuse me."

Almost as good as wearing a hoop skirt with sensitive touch sensors all around it that triggers a very loud personal alarm. "Oh. Excuse me."

killed my yoga buzz or why singapore is cool

Today I wore a favorite shirt and some favorite pants to work. Towards the end of the day I discovered that I had someone else's chewing gum on the back of my backpack, on my purse, on the back of my favorite shirt and my favorite pants.

Gross. Way gross.

They are all sitting in the freezer where I hope the gum will harden and crack and be easy to get off of everything.

The weird thing is I can't remember it happening. I can't remember a moment in which I said to myself, "Shit. I just got gum all over myself."

we have no Mandala today

Over the weekend I met up with CK. We ordered ourselves a three curry sampler at a local joint and then went to the Rubin Museum of Art. It's a museum dedicated to Himalayan art. I went because I had heard that there was an artist, Tenzing Rigdol, creating a Giant Sand Mandala in nine days with a ceremonial destruction on the last day.

I really wanted to see it. Lately, I have been noticing a lack of compassion in myself. I have been feeling restless and impatient and anxious and I thought maybe being witness to this ritual would do something for me. Being in its presence might be cleansing. But for every one of the nine days of the Mandala I was an utter spank and never manged to see it.

The day CK and I went to the museum, Tenzig had left for the day and the room where the Mandala was being created was being used for the screening of a movie.

So we just wandered around the museum. CK told me stories about Butan and about some of the art that we were wandering around. There was an exhibit up called "The Missing Peace: Artists consider the Dalai Lama." There's a neato virtual tour of it online. I was very struck by the piece by Jenny Holzer "It Is in Your Self Interest to Find a Way to Be Very Tender."

There is something about a statement that is chiseled into marble. Forgive the pun but in that medium I found myself giving the words greater weight. And thinking about them more slowly and a lot more carefully.

The Rubin has a really lovely lounge area. Perfect for a first date.

But alas, no Mandala for me. On telling this story to KS, he came up with the idea of making a Mandala myself.

Here is what I could find on the topic of "How to make a sand mandala." I am intrigued by this prospect.

Wanna make a Mandala with me?

please hang up and try again

First the upper right button started to flake out.
Then the "3" key started to give.
Now the end call key is starting to flake out.

I cannot hang up on people now.
I have to wait for them to hang up on me.

Makes me wonder if there is a lesson that my cell phone is trying to teach me while on its last legs.

ears tuned slightly to the left

Despite my disappointment with my late night screening of Xanadu, the radio in my head was blasting that movie soundtrack last week. And today for some reason the internal music network is fixated firmly on that song by Belly: Feed the Trees.

Except that I have been mishearing the lyrics in my head.

The song goes: "I know all this and more."

In my head the lyrics are: "I want all this and more."
That's been my problem all along. I want all this and more.
Probably exacerbated by the fact that I don't really know what I want and so I ask for everything.

And those of you who know me, know that I really have a hell of a lot. Too much, even.

But my desire stretches beyond things to intangibles.

I turn 37 in a month. Mortality pokes me in the ribs and reminds me that time is short and I am no spring chicken and what the hell have I been doing lately anyway?

I am not comfortable with this number although MH told me yesterday that 37 is good a number numerologically. A prime number whose digits are also prime numbers. The thought gives some comfort to my noisy head. A prime number. Not a multiple. It is indivisible into equal integer values. It is a number to be considered as a whole as an irreducible factor in itself. Looked at from that vantage, maybe it won't be so bad. But it just seems like a grown up number. A big number.

No one was more surpised than she to discover

Your Score: All-out Cynic

You are 57% absurd!

You are a cynic at heart. On the grounds of cold, harsh logic you are critical of ideas such as predestined fate and the afterlife. You have most likely had an experience of the Absurd - a realisation that in the absence of any fathomable purpose for our existence, everything we do is ultimately futile. You see this as a depressing but unavoidable fact.

But don't turn in to a total nihilist yet! If life is random and absurd, then there can be nothing more absurd than trying to fight against it. Try to go with the flow and accept the way things are - who knows, you might even enjoy the ride. And what's to stop you making your own meaning out of whatever it is you enjoy in this crazy world?

Link: The Absurdism Test written by Three-Fifteen on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

This is just a thinly veiled attempt to lure you onto my online dating site.

the late night observation

I was talking to a friend of mine last night who said that the curious thing about publishing is that it is an industry in which is it very easy to shift blame. Because of this it is a very political business.

I could spell out the implications but I won't. Suffice it to say, I think he might be right.

She wikipeed on me. It was way cool.

KS and I were discussing the transition Google made from being a proper name to a verb. Somehow the word lends itself well to being made a verb. From there it occurred to us that lots of people use other website but these sites don't have names that become verbs. When's the last time you yahooed anything? Or hotmailed to your hearts content?

The site that we felt might be worthy of becoming a verb was wikipedia. The problem is that this word does not immediatly lend it self to a verb-like conjugation in the english language. So we came up the word wikipee - a verb meaning to look soemthing up on wikipedia.

Example: I can't chat with you, Ze. I am wikipeeing the word "microfinance."

Exmaple: Can't remember Godel's Theorem? You could wikipee it.

Exmaple: I am so tired. I started wikipeeing the history of the pencil last night and I couldn't stop.

We also thought a second usage of the verb wikipee would be to create or ad to an entry on wikipedia.

Example: Someone wikipeed on Rick Johnson, professional musician. There was some discussion as to whether it was appropriate to wikipee on him. Some in the community feared that his entry was trivia. I haven't wikipeed him lately to see if the entry still exists. Must put that on my do to list for tomorrow.

Great moments in legal speak

"our long-standing company policy does not allow us to accept or consider creative ideas, suggestions, or materials "

So there.

I know, I know, they mean unsolicited creativity. Which is just as good a message: Only give us the creative things that we ask you for.

"A loaf of bread, a stick of butter, and a container of milk"

Today, I left the house twice. Once to do the wash. 'twas a madhouse at the Space Age Laundromat today and I was in everyone's way the whole time. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Exasperating.

The second time was to pick up a book that I ordered from the Community Bookstore and to buy toilet paper. Picking up the book, "Globalization and Its Discontents" was the easy part. It was so easy in fact that I bought a second book. On the way back I could not remember what else it was that I needed to get. I walked into a grocer and bought a nectarine. Half a block later I walked into a nother and bought a loaf of bread and some milk. And finally at the next place I bought toilet paper and a bottle of orangina. It occurred to me on the walk back how lucky it was that every street block in my Nabe seems to have at least one little deli or grocery. Lucky for the absent minded impulse shopper.

After all of that activity I needed a nap and now I can't sleep. For inexplicable reasons today I feel a bit like myself again. Haven't felt like myself since May. I'll have to ruminate on why that is.



Yesterday, I puttered around the house savoring the feeling of just being there. I have recently become obessessed with the TED conference. Crack for an idea junkie, really.

Grandma verified statistics - This talk in particular which you must see in video is pretty fucking astounding.

I went to a benefit show called After the Jump Fest. There was a free daytime portion and a nighttime portion. I went to the free part. Don't worry, I was not a total freeloader, I bought raffle tickets. The two bands that I liked best played the small stage in the back. It was small crowded and not air conditioned but fun. Apache Beat and Goes Cube. Does that make me a rock dinosaur?

A bunch of music bloggers got together and organized this thing. The organization benefited is called DonorsChoose.org. Essentially it is a place where public school teachers can post proposals for what they would like to do and ask for donations to assist them.

They range from simple:"Where Did All the Pencils Go?" ($60)

To something like: "Cooking Across the Curriculum — Cook books, bowls, mixers, and a mini-refrigerator are sought by a 3rd grade teacher who writes: Cooking incorporates all the curriculum areas in an engaging and memorable way. In science we experience how matter changes as we watch batter bake into a cake. In social studies we follow the path of an apple from a tree to our table in the form of a pie. In math we add fractions and follow directions in sequence. In reading, stories come alive as we cook the very food we just read about. Our writing and art reflect vivid personal experiences after participating in a cooperative cooking project ($1,100).

The organizers chose a music education project in the South Bronx. Here here.

And I got to chat on the phone with the RM. She is getting ready the wrap up her Montana summer and prepare to fly over to Scotland for grad school. Mega cool. I am so psyched for her.


Seeing "Xanadu" was not as delightful as I had anticipated. In part because a lot has happened in my life and the world since 1980 and also in part because I drunkenly sat in the wrong theater and sat through reviews and opening credits for the wrong midnight movie. So I missed the big production dance number at the beginning to the song "I'm Alive." So the spell was cast incomplete for me. I find it funny that back then I loved the old timey stuff and this time I was most moved by the sappy love songs. Probably because I am a sap. And surprised to see how fluid and sassy a tap dancer Olivia NJ was. She and Gene Kelly did a really nice sequence together. Gene Kelly was one of my earliest crushes. Along with William Holden.

But that evening had other moments to recommend it.

Propagate some positive vibes today kids. NSTL is getting surgery today. A neck dissection and we want it to go off without a hitch.

with the bath water

"It's like riding a biker." -Faith (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

I relived a part of my geek past today. I ftp'd files today using the old school unix function. No gui's for this girl today. Just technodinosaurs in the hizouse today. Woo Hoo!


"Just a slob like one of us" - Joan Osborne

Walking to work on Friday I passed a man who said, "God talks to you all the time." I don't know if he was speaking to me, himself, or someone else. He didn't seem to have a cell phone or bluetooth with him. But there it is. Which somehow reminds me of the words from Walt Whitman:

"I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd by God's name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go
Others will punctually come for ever and ever."

Comforting if you believe that sort of thing.



Drinking on Mars

Smoked my second cigarette. I have taken a puff here or there. But yesterday for only the second time in my life I smoked a whole cigarette. I know not why. It was awful. I don't know how you smokers do it. The South and I were wandering about killing time before I went to see Xanadu-u-u. (The South politely declined to accompany me to that.) On the way to some bar or another we walked by this graffiti covered soon to be condemned looking place and peered through the door. We were backing away when an effusive young Albanian man gave us cigarettes and invited us to come in and hang out insisting that the Mars Bar is great. I smoked the cigarette he offered b/c I didn't want to be rude. It's dark crowded and beyond being a dive it was completely bombed out. Covered in graffiti and strange little pieces of art. But I kinda liked it. It brought back the memory of the Barclay house and the Myrtle Morgue and the Spazzatorium Galleria. And the regulars knew each other pretty well giving this dark chaotic scary place a strangely friendly feeling. The beers however were not cheap.

1am count up

1.
Remember the boys in school who would give you a back rub that would turn into serious massage and when you seemed to be really relaxing they tried to transition into something - else? Someone reminded me of that whole strategy today. How could I forget.


2.
"How can our love succeed, a miracle is what we need. And so I appeal to yo-o-o-ou"
-Olivia Newton John

I am going to see the movie Xanadu at a midnight showing this weekend. A time machine taking me back to 1980. I am so psyched.


3.
I went to see "Stardust." A Fairy Tale so cute. There is much more to say on the subject but let us start there.


4.
I have had a few vegan meals this week. Fancy ones at that. Not bad. Not bad. I am surprised to feel very full when done eating. But for some strange reason, I am left feeling very full but craving cheese.

5.
Looked up CK's free will astrology horoscope and ran across this "Sacred Advertisement"

"Charles Darwin said the "survival of the fittest" is a central factor in the process of evolution. What exactly did he mean by that? He makes it clear in his book, The Origin of Species: "It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the ones most responsive to change."

The quote of a quote is from Rob Brezsny. The bolding is mine, thank you very much.


6.
On my walk home tonight I kept hearing the Beatles song "Blackbird."

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arrive."

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free."

I am waiting for a moment. Sometimes I fear that it came a went without me.
Sometimes I wonder what I will be when it arrives.


7.
BRB

Funny how things change

This 1994 interview with Dick Cheney is a bit of a shocker to me.

Scrapbooking the tour

I looked up today and realized that this summer went by really quickly, as if it had never happened at all.

This summer, life had two modes - touring and not touring.
Which is odd considering that I only spent about 19 days existing in any kind of touring capacity this summer.

But there was the time spent prepping for touring. The time spent recovering from touring and the all things that I told myself I would put off until after I was done touring. Many of which I have conveniently forgotten.


I did not take video, audio or pictures on either tour. Or as E recently said, the pictures that I took from tour give a very oblique impression of what happened.

Taking in my performance through media I am definitely not as I imagined myself to be. For better or worse. I am a good deal dorkier.

We looked like this.

In motion we looked like this.

In interview and live rebroadcast, the band comes off like this.
I was the silent Beatle and then little miss shouts a lot.

If you saw me live I might have pushed my fist into your face or shoved you or crawled under your table or pretended to blow my nose on your shirt sleeve. I might have.



The East and West Coast tours were so different. Obviously in where we went and who we played with. They were also different in what I carried with me into the tour.

Around the time of the East Coast tour I was nursing psychic wounds - heartache, self-doubt, anger, frustration and disappointment. I couldn't let any of it go and it colored the whole experience on that coast. A lot of it was about the heartache.

And on the West Coast I had the self-doubt and the anger and the frustration but less heartache and a bit less disappointment.

I had recently had a conversation with a friend who was very concerned with turning 37. Which made me realize that I am going to turn 37 too and that in the Great Game of Life it may very well be too late for me to catch up to my peers.

And rather than despair I figure that I might as well stop worrying about it and get on with doing whatever I'm doing right now.

Added to that I was bathed in the reflected glow of DD having met this really awesome girl. It was so great to be around someone who was unabashedly googly about who he was with. Kinda restored my faith in wuv. They might not be writing songs of love for me. But I'm really glad they are being written.


On my return I am still using my outside voice indoors, speaking scatologically, swearing like a sailor, and feeling more than a little unruly - lingering traces like the scent on the sheets after he leaves.

Don't fence me in

Well Friends, last time I was touring the East Coast and this time I am touring the West Coast with the Mystechs. If you feel like it, come on out and say howdy, pardner.


8/3/07
Starry Night
Freedom & Central
Provo, UT 84601
8pm

8/4/07 sunny
Club Underground
555 E. 4th St. B
Reno NV 89512
9:30p 21+

8/5/07
Club Fred
1426 N. Van Ness Ave.
Fresno, CA 93728
8pm 21+

8/6/07
The Jumping Turtle
1660 Capalina Rd
San Marcos, CA 92069
8pm

8/7/07
Safari Sam's
5214 W. Sunset blvd.
Hollywood, CA 90027
8pm

8/8/07
Vega's Sports Bar
910 2nd st.
Sacramento, CA 95814
7pm

8/9/07
Diablo's Downtown Lounge
959 Pearl St.
Eugene, OR 97401
10p

8/10/07
Caterina
905 N. Washington
Spokane, WA 99201
9pm

8/11/07
Myrtle Morgue
210 Myrtle St.
Boise, ID 83702
9pm


www.mystechs.com
www.myspace.com/mystechs

there's more pretty girls (and boys) than one

I think I might have discussed this with you before. I've certainly discussed this with BBFK before. I bring it up again because I was at the bookstore and ran across a book called "Chance: A Guide to Gambling, Love, the Stock Market and Just About Everything Else," by Amir D. Aczel. I had read it a few years ago. It's sort of a street level mediation on probability.

He has one small chapter in which he claims that probability can be brought to bear on the matter of finding Mr. / Ms. Right.

"How do we know when to stop looking and choose?" Aczel asks.

The answer that he says the mathematicians have come to is: "You will maximize your probability of finding the best spouse if you date about 37% of the available candidates in your life and then choose to stay with the next candidate who is better than all previous ones."

He claims that this is true in looking for the right house, or job or puppy too.

I am sitting here trying to remember who all I have dated. My memory is proving to be embarassingly weak. I have been alive for 36 years. I had a "boyfriend" in kindergarden and then nothing until about my senior year of high school.

Since the age of 17 I can recall going on dates with about 33 (?) people.
Some for the blink of an eye - some for over a year. It averages to about 1.7 people a year. Let say I live another 54 years. At that rate I might go on dates with about 91.8 more people. Making a total over my lifetime of 124.8 people.

37% would be about 46.17 more first dates.

So maybe 13.17 first dates from now (at my going rate that translates to about 7.75 years from now) when I am 43.75, I am going to need to start looking for the person I like better than the 46.17 that went before and ask that person to marry me.

Hopefully, that person will either be nearing their 37% point or foolish enough to allow themself to be overwhelmed by the force of my certainty that we are meant to be. Up to now this has not been the case. And hopefully this person will be interested in the option of adopting kids.

Having done these rough calculations it occurs to me that I have probably been on more first dates than I have listed here. And as I get older and stranger and wrinklier and saggier I might not manage to maintain my grueling schedule of 1.7 first dates a year. Maybe I am at 37% already or way past it.

Then again, it's good to take on the attitude that you don't want to settle. That what you want is to be with someone really neato, someone you like better than all the other people that you have been with up to this point. This would not be a terrible thing. It might even be a good rule of thumb to work with. For instance, when working your way past a bad break up.

On my to do list

Long long ago in my early 20's I dated a young poet scientist medical student. After being together for a while he turned to me after I said something disparaging about myself and said, "You really need to stop beating yourself up like this. There are any number of people out there who are eager to do that job for you." He was so right.

To beat yourself up does not prevent others from beating up on you too. You end up twice bruised and more beaten down than you have to be. Because there are plenty of people out there who are more than happy to make you feel bad to make themselves feel better.

You need that energy you have expended putting yourself down. You need that energy to take care of yourself and protect yourself in dealing with these people. You need that energy to be alert to the times that you are in those situations and to get yourself out.

Taxi Theories

The cab driver said to me, "There are two things that cost in a cab ride: Time and distance. You cannot change much about the distance that you travel. But you can do something about the time it takes to get there."

He argued that it is important to take traffic and construction into account during your cab ride.

"Each red light in Manhattan lasts about 52 seconds - about a minute. The difference between taking four stoplights and taking eight of them is about 40 cents."

His theory was that going that four blocks out of your way might actually save you time and money if it allows you to avoid a particularly difficult intersection or part of town because being stuck in gridlock for 30 minutes will cost you more in the end.

Time and Distance
Time and Money
Time and Memory

This was the most insightful cab ride of my life. I tipped the guy 30%. I should have tipped more.

while whiling away the time

Lunch
After my great train debacle I met up the next day with an interesting fella for lunch. He is, perhaps, too interesting for me. A thought which was confirmed by an email fron him saying how nice it was to catch up with "an old friend." Right there, I was slammed right into the Friend Zone. We move onward.


Ratatoullie
After this lively lunch I met up with CKE and we went to see the movie Ratatoullie. Which is adorable and good fun. Truth be told my anti-rat prejudices were not overcome by this movie. I thought the little chef was adorable but I gotta say that the rat colony cooking scenes made me feel a little queasy. That being said I loved the movie - it had a lot of heart. Plus the character Collette has the haircut that I was trying to get. (didn't quite work out, and I haven't colored it purple yet.)

The movie does have within it a really beautiful little essay:

"In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. "
-Anton Ego

"In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto: Anyone can cook. But I realize that only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere."
-Anton Ego


Space Age Laundromat
I found a new Laudromat with a super grumpy proprietor and the most high tech and modern washing machines that I have encountered and right here in my Nabe. I think there is a secret button sequence on them that will turn back time in twenty minute intervals.


Idiocracy
I rented the movie and it had some pretty funny moments. The evolution of the Starbucks business plan was pretty funny. Still, I am kinda pissed that in the future everyone is colossally dumb and they are for the most part fat and brownskinned with long hair. Where are the dumb yellow people? And where are the dumb skinny people? And the dumb pale skinned people? And the dumb people with glasses and the dumb people with short hair? I feel somehow slighted by the future.


Picking up old habits
On Sunday I revisited to one of my favorite pastimes. Knitting while watching public affairs programming on PBS. I bought a bunch of yarn and some knitting needles at a stoop sale down the block a few months ago and on Sunday decided to start knitting a really basic sweater. Ended up knitting until 3am while watching several documentaries. One on corruption in the Dade County government. The government was raising all kind of money to build affordable housing in Miami. Money that ended up lining the pockets of shady shady officials, consultants, and contractors. Interestingly, there is finally some afforable housing being built in the area but it is not being built with government money nor is it being done by the private sector. It is being built by Habitat for Humanity.

Also saw a documentary on the effects of the prison industrial complex on a small rural town called Susanville. The documentary makers were trying to make some kind of a connection between the coming of the jails and the decline of the local economy but it didn't seem like they made their case all that well. After all, there are any number of rural towns that are also in economic dire straits with the Walmarts rolling in, the fast food joints providing the only new jobs, and the mill and factory work being lost to automation and outsourcing.

The argument that they can make is that having a prison is not the answer to a community's economic troubles. Which kinda makes sense. Banks hold the things that people value and hopefully appreciate in value. Schools hold kids and hopefully educate them and provide the skills that allow them to be productive. Jails are places where we hold people that are bad. They cost and do not produce. Well, perhaps they produce safety by preventing dangerous people from hurting others. But I think that is an indirect argument to be made.

The toughest stories was about a guy who was sent to jail for 15 months for stealing a can of tuna, a loaf of bread, and some mac and cheese to try and feed his wife and two kids. He had been laid off from his job and they were driving across country so that he could interview for a job. They had money for gas for the trip and nothing else. Like Jean Valjean in Les Mis or something. The story of this family is wrenching starting from his wife and kids waiting for him to get out, to the time spent in Susanville struggling in a economically barren place to get by, keep the family together and make rent while he served out his parole. At one point he has no work, they can't make rent, and the landlady sends a five day eviction notice. Watching his wife break down frightened and at her wits end was so hard. It made me angry to see it on film. Angry that it was happening and a little angry that someone was rolling tape and not putting down the camera and trying to help this woman and give her comfort. I suppose that is the struggle of journalism.

There were so many painful realities and hard choices playing out in people's lives in this movie. Points at which what was happening just made my heart sink.

Also saw most of a documentary about the plan to build a new capital city in Ras al-Khaimah. They were talking about how the region has Free Trade zones in which there are no taxes for businesses and a significant part of the workforce is South Asian. I really know nothing about this area but I do wonder sitting here right now, what a nation gets out of having a Free Trade zone. While I suppose it would create jobs and bring technical expertise into your country it seems risky to me. How does a nation provide services and protection, create and maintain infrastructure, and educate and care for their people without taxes? I suppose there are Libertarians and Free Market gurus out there ready and willing to answer this question for me. "Exactly the point," they might shout with glee.

Missunderstanding
While dancing with a fella at Splash he said, "you are very good at the game."

*?*

I don't even know what he means by that. If he means the dating game he is woefully mistaken or worse even than me.