Friday, September 28, 2007

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.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

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.


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.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

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.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007


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.


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.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

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.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

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.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

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."

Friday, September 07, 2007

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."

Thursday, September 06, 2007

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?

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

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.