Funny haha and strange

I have recently encountered a string of fellas who don't think that I am funny. They don't even break a smile for me much less volley a return to what I lob at them. Lovely guys, but clearly we don't share or even overlap in our sense of humor. The effect created in their company is that of the "Fun Sponge" a term coined by SD and several of his friends in grad school. The Fun Sponge is the humorless person who sucks all of the fun out of a situation.

I used to mock guys who said that they were looking for a girl with a good sense of humor. "You mean, she laughs at your jokes," I would say. Because that seems to be what most guys mean when they say she has a good sense of humor.

But of late, I am thinking that having someone really laugh at your jokes would be great. As opposed to having them say, "That's funny," or kind of barely smirking.

Sharing a sense of humor, sharing laughter is a great thing. At least as good as hooking up, sharing a great meal or kisses under the covers. And you can keep your clothes on while doing it, if you want to....

Laughter is a dimension of compatibility that I have not given much consideration up until now. But if I think about dating as a search for a life companion, I should consider it more. After all, who wants to spend the rest of their life with a Fun Sponge.

note to self and others

When you mean to say "A Clockwork Orange" which you have not seen, which Stanley Kubrick directed, you should not say "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" which was directed by Milos Forman and starred Jack Nicholson who was also in the Stanley Kubrick movie "The Shining."

It may be that I have lost two too many neurons...

Cheap Thrills

Today, I have the worst craving for sweets. I could dive into a vat of cotton candy, eat my way to the bottom, and then eat my way back up. If that doesn't sound disgusting, you must be under the age of 9 in which case, you probably shouldn't be reading this blog.

Today, I have been stuck on the song "Build Me Up Buttercup" by the Foundations. I have listened to it at least seven times in a row. It's making me feel giddy and giggly, like my heart could burst into a shower of colored confetti.

If my life were a movie I would bounce out of work and run smack into someone very cute, who gives me a big old smooch and the two of us would walk away from the camera holding hands and talking as the music swells and the camera rises up and out into a view of the city at night.

If I were still in an a cappella singing group, I would give my left ventricle to sing the baseline.

In real life, I am dancing in my chair at the office and making a list of things to do for the rest of the week.

Hey hey hey! Hey Hey Hey!

The way you hold your knife

Reapply your lipstick, adjust the stockings, and let us raise our glasses in a toast to dangerous women.

Santa Baby, a roomba and a kitty

Roomba Driver @ Yahoo! Video

Well, maybe a creature was stirring

My landlady and my downstairs neighbors have been hearing this scrabbling noise in the walls. Being understandably creeped out by this, they called in pest control.

And so, a gentleman bearing the implements of rodent control came up into my apartment. The only man to see the place since the LYM decided that he needed to be away from me. In fact, the disasterous and mortifying state of my place has been my excuse to not bring any men home of late. And while I was mortified, Mr. Pest Control assured me that in his work, he has seen it all.

He walked around with a flashlight looking for holes, for signs, for droppings. And when he looked in my closet, jackpot.

When I first moved to Brooklyn, my parents had driven out bearing gifts of ramen, canned goods and two bags of rice. One regular white rice, which I kept out in the kitchen area. The other a bag of sweet Thai rice, which I kept in the closet undisturbed and forgotten. I basically opened an all you can eat sweet rice buffet in my closet and the mice came to partake. How could they not.

Despite this smoking gun, Mr. PC went through the rest of the rooms in an effort to identify all means of entry.

He walked into another room and saw a sign that I had taped up from last year that said: "Yoga twice a week."

"Does that help?" he asked.
"It's great," I replied, "although I haven't been to yoga in a very long time."

He asked if going to yoga would be my New Year's resolution for next year. I replied that my resolution for next year is: To love my life.

He grinned and said that that was his resolution for 2008. I asked him how that went and he said that he was going to make it his resolution for 2009 as well, along with being less picky.

Which also sounds like a good resolution to make.

All is calm, all is bright

It's snowing. Big fat fluffy flakes that drift softly, so softly. A soft touch to your hair, face, shoulder, the tree, the ground.

And the quiet that settles, surrounds and embraces.

Almost as good as a Vodka Gimlet as a recipe for happiness.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Despite my timid, introverted, shy, repressed, bashful, uptight personality, I do on occasion make an ass of myself in public.

On some days it doesn't even take alcohol to do this.

This leads the people who witness it to state the obvious to me. "I saw you out there on the dance floor all by yourself during that Beyonce song."

"Ah. Well yes. You did indeed."

They are just lucky that I didn't drop my pants first. I couldn't, I was wearing a dress.

------------------

More things are filtering through my memory and the memories of others about Friday.

Apparently, someone got sent home in a cab after having a scene with her ex. She woke up in her own bed four hours later and called me, confused, disoriented and with no memory of how she got there.

Apparently, someone woke up the next morning at home with a black eye and no memory of how it happened.

Apparently, I was smacking people on the ass on accident all night. I don't recall this but I was scrolling through my text messages and this was apparently my update to CK about how the party was going.

Deja vu but not

While in Champaign Urbana, a fella invited me to drive up to Chicago with him for a party. I asked if I needed to dress up and described two dresses that I owned. His reply was, "Pick whichever one has the shorter skirt."

I foolishly did and ended up being his date for a co-ed bridal shower in an inappropriately short skirt. I draped my cardigan over my lap for the better part of the night.


Today, I emailed CK to ask about what to wear. "My chubby valentine" or "Do the cha-cha in a haltertop." CK replied "Halter top. The more skin the better."

The situation may call for a cardigan. It may, in fact, call for two cardigans.

Has skin become the new black? It's getting a mighty chilly for that kind of thing. Madness.

Haute Cature

My parents bought Kitty a sweater.







I could barely take these pictures with my cell phone, I was laughing so hard.

Bluer than Blue

I just watched Wong Kar Wai's film "My Blueberry Nights."

It's frickin' gorgeous. And by that I mean that beyond having an extremely good looking cast, the look of the film is painterly and almost distractingly beautiful. There were shots that had these compositions that had the feel of still lifes ( still lives?), scenes shot through windows and doorways framing the action, delicious and drenched in color.



It is a mood piece. You see, you hear, you pick up the vibe, you imagine, you dream. It transmits frequencies - love, lostness, connection, uncertainty, strength, desire, floating, seeking, loss, alienation, buoyancy, the curious intimacy that you can only share with strangers.

Sometimes you sweat the small stuff

I am going through one of those "for want of a nail" periods in my life. It's not that a kingdom, my kingdom, is on the verge of being lost.

The scenario is more that there are things that I want to get done. They seem to be simple things. At least they seem simple until I actually try to accomplish them.

My options breakdown to: A. throw money at the problem, or B. solve a series of very small interdependent problems that lead to other interdependent problems that eventually lead to the ability to get things done.

And the internal dialogue goes like this: "Ok. Deep breath. This is totally doable. If I want to save the kingdom what I really need is to win this battle which requires me to have that rider which means getting this horse which means getting that horseshoe replaced. Yeah, I'd better get online and find a blacksmith to take care of this. Am I bringing my own horseshoes? Maybe I'll bring one just in case. And if I don't end up replacing them all, I really should ask him to check the nails on the rest of them, I wonder if yelp.com has any entries on blacksmiths ..."

I will try to talk about other things after this, I promise

On Wednesday, I went back to Momofuku with CK, SD, and PD. This is the Momofuku Ssam Bar. It was pointed out to me that there is more than one Momofuku in this city. I was a little worried that it would not be as good as I remembered it.

I was ecstatic to be proven wrong. The pork buns - this time I found myself licking my hand to catch the juices running out from the bun. I didn't realize that I was doing it at first. It was an instinct. And when I did notice, that did nothing to stop me. Love has no pride.

SD and PD love food. They eat with real passion. When the first few dishes came to the table SD partook and said positive things. But when the fluke arrived at the table, she was utterly won over and from then on you could tell that she was hooked.

They make a Brussel sprout dish that has changed my mind about Brussel sprouts. I won't eat them anywhere else, but I could eat them by the bowlful there.

The Brisket, my God, the Brisket. There were times during the meal where I couldn't make eye contact with other people. The experience was too personal to share. The Brisket was one of them.

The Spicy Pork Sausage with Rice Cakes were ordered on my account. Crunchy and chewy and flavored. This is not your run of the mill Rice Cake. If the chef will not have me, then I will offer myself up to the one who works the Rice Cake station. *swoon*

As I got full, I started to feel a little bit sad, because it meant that I would have to stop eating.

And as happened the other time, no one wanted dessert. We were so blissed out that sweets seemed so - unnecessary, though I can only imagine how they must be.

SD was beaming for the rest of the night. She would turn to me and say, "I'm happy. I'm so happy right now." I could only nod in agreement.

A little smooth music to take the edge off, Pussycat?

Yesterday, while FM was noodling around on the piano I was reminded of "Minute by Minute" by the Doobie Brothers.

Before I pegged it there, I thought it was "Biggest Part of Me" by Ambrosia.

And now, I've caught the fever. I want to rollerskate on the boardwalk in hot pants and drink pink champagne from those flat glasses.

*flutter*

We Are Family, My Kangaroo Sisters and Me

I am not sure to what degree this article: "Kangaroo Genes Close to Humans" is new newsy news. It's one of those things where, had it gone the other way, we'd all be ooo-ing and ah-ing about the amazing genetic diversity of life. Having it go this way is alright too, although slightly less novel and spectacular. You just don't know until you do the experiment, right?

The quotes are just so good, who could resist running with it ...

"Australia's kangaroos are genetically similar to humans and may have first evolved in China, Australian researchers said Tuesday."

This work was done by the Centre of Excellence for Kangaroo Genomics, in Australia which is now the site of my dream job.

"There are a few differences, we have a few more of this, a few less of that, but they are the same genes and a lot of them are in the same order," centre Director Jenny Graves told reporters in Melbourne.

"We thought they'd be completely scrambled, but they're not. There is great chunks of the human genome which is sitting right there in the kangaroo genome," Graves said

Humans and kangaroos last shared an ancestor at least 150 million years ago, the researchers found, while mice and humans diverged from one another only 70 million years ago.

Baby it's truuuuuee, me and yooooouuu, we are kangaroooooo!

Just makes me want to hop with joy.

what rhymes with oven

I fell asleep last night thinking about rice cakes and woke up thinking about pork buns. *sigh*

At the greatest meal of my life, before the food arrived, FC told us of how bringing baked goods led to proposals of marriage, while wearing sexy and revealing clothing did not.

Curious.

Then again, I suppose one appetite can be gratified in a variety of places, while the other requires large appliances and oven mitts.





Try this for oven rhymes

This website makes me happy

http://www.newyorkontap.com/subways.asp

What you ask for

When I first told PJS that I thought I might want to stay in New York for a while, she chalked it up to Stockholm Syndrome. I laughed about that. But there are days here where I wonder if that is true. My life here is pretty silly, to be sure. And yet it does not give me quite the pleasure that I would expect such a silly life to deliver.

I get restless and dissatisfied, cranky, tired and bummed out, lost, overwhelmed, and lonely, so so lonely. This would be true anywhere, I am sure but while here, I can conveniently blame it on this place. People in response to my belly aching often ask, Why do I stay? What am I waiting for? Questions that I ask myself at least as often.

I thought I was waiting to get successful. I was waiting to prove my worth to myself and the world. I thought I was waiting to come into my own, to find myself, to find my purpose, my calling. I thought I was waiting to crack the code of this city and conquer it. I thought I was waiting to fall in love with someone or some idea or something. Or some such clichee. But actually none of that is true.

I was waiting for two things:

1. To have the greatest meal of my life.

Now, I have to say that I have actually had the greatest meal of my life six times in this city. But tonight was the first time that plates of food inspired in me a love for the universe and a singular passion for the chef. The pork buns at Momofuku are love, plain and simple. Our party of six proposed to him right after the appetizers were served. It will be a small private ceremony. A simple affair, with a few members of our immediate families present.

2. To be in the presence of someone famous who I like and greatly admire.

We were sitting there and WC's friend J pointed to a gentleman at another table and said, "I think that man over there is famous. He looks like the kind of person who does a show on PBS, like Charlie Rose." I carefully turned to look and it was Charlie Rose. (!!!!) Charlie Rose!!!!!

We finished our meal and went out and I tried to steal another look at him but didn't manage it. There were too many people obscuring my view.

Our dinner party was milling around outside. Some of us smoking, all of us chatting and watching the rain, when who should leave the restaurant, but the man himself. J exchanged pleasantries with him. Some girls came up and asked to have their picture taken with him and he agreed. He has a great smile. He was so affable, so warm. The charm he projects in person is magnitudes beyond what you get off the screen, if you can imagine.

I cannot speak to famous people whom I admire. Even quasi-famous local people. I get super shy. I am a blathering idiot. It's terrible. So I don't even try. Everyone laughed at me and teased me for not talking to him. But I couldn't, I just smiled.

The thing about living in New York is that there is always so much going on. And I always have this feeling that I am missing something. I have not seen everything, met the key people, nor accomplished much. "I'm not internationally known" or "known to rock microphone." I have not been to all the cool bars, I have not had the best meals, or worn the best clothes, I have not seen Ellis Island or been on the Staten Island Ferry.

But as he walked off I felt like what I have seen and experienced is enough. I had seen everything I needed to see here. I have had the greatest meal of my life and I have been in spitting distance of a famous person who I respect and admire. And he seemed very much in person as he was on TV. I could leave without regret.

Of course, if tomorrow I run into Chuck Klosterman, Malcolm Gladwell, Peter Gabriel and Travis Morrison and they invite me to join them for beer and popcorn, I am not going to sniff at that. Nor have I packed my bags to leave.

Here's the funny thing. On Wednesday, I was out with History Guy and in the course of conversation with him I said: 1. I was surprised at how rare it was for me to have an incredible meal in New York. 2. I said that the two people in all the world who I wanted to meet were Malcolm Gladwell and Charlie Rose.

Go figure.

Or a Dance to a Constantly Surprising Refrain

Recently while I was out and about I ended up in a conversation with a young man, very young, 23, about life. At some point during the evening he asked me why I wasn't married, why I was single and why I lived alone. Maybe this is a Long Island thing. Off the island I am a curious creature to live as a do...

I didn't have much of a reply. I said nothing had really worked out for me up to this point but there was always the chance that it would in the future.

In conversation with CK it occurred to me that maybe the reason is: I want love to be like "The Very Thought of You" ignoring the fact that it's actually like: "My Romance".

As I sit here now, I realize that I've actually loved in both ways, sometimes simultaneously and it was great. Just great. And then one day it wasn't.

I guess I'll stick with my first answer and say, nothing has really worked out for me up to today but there is always tomorrow.

The Heart Has a Sense of Place

I want to dream of Oleanders in June.

Freedom, Freedom to, freedom from, and Zombies

"We helped them reclaim their nation, and they helped us reclaim ours. They showed us the meaning of democracy ... freedom, not just in vague, abstract terms, but on a very real, individually human level. Freedom isn't just something you have for the sake of having, you have to want something else first and then want the freedom to fight for it."

-Max Brooks, "World War Z"

GRCH is lending me the book "World War Z: an Oral History of the Zombie War." And while I was initially skeptical about it, "Ooooo zombie novel ...." It's really damn good.

I am sorry to hear that a movie based on this book is in the works for either Brad Pitt or Leonardo Di Caprio. If the movie ends up being the Zombie version of "The Longest Day" or more, I will be mollified. Anything less and I will be beyond furious. If Pitt or Di Caprio saves the world from Zombies with the aid or their girlfriend, played by Jessica Alba in the movie I will be spitting mad.

a Hug with a Hoodie

I have been walking around today with the strangest sensation. I feel like someone somewhere loves me. Not someone that I can name. It's kind of a freefloating sensation. It's not the first time I have felt this way since moving to NYC. It's always kind of strange.

I was telling CK about it. It feels so great. And yet, weird. As I was describing the sensation to her, what I came up with is that I feel like I am getting this really great hug.

And then it occurred to me. Maybe it was my sweatshirt. I am wearing this rust colored fleece sweatshirt today that my mom bought me. It's super warm and a little heavy. For the first time since the change of season, I am sitting here feeling not cold.

It must be the sweatshirt. I am wearing the sweatshirt of love. It's a gift from my mother.

People get ready

"This victory alone is not the change we seek -- it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you ... in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people." - President Elect Barack Obama

There is important work to be done. As always.

What indeed ....

"Everybody loves white women except white women. White women are the majority of the country and they've had the right to vote for almost a hundred years. And still they've never elected a white woman president. What are you bitches waitin' for?"

-Chris Rock

LMFAO

"Dignity is more important to the human spirit than wealth." - Jacqueline Novogratz

I am home visiting my parents. I've mentioned before that they grew up during the Korean War and every once in a while one of them will tell me a story from childhood. This time we were sitting at lunch and my dad told me this one:

His family was making a very long journey by foot. It was my dad, his brother and his parents. They had no food and they had no cash. They were far from home and far from friends and family. My dad, a small boy at the time, was so hungry that he couldn't walk any more. He sat down and refused to move. The whole family was so hungry and tired. They were a days walk away from their final destination and wondered whether they would make it. Perhaps this would be it.

A man on a bicycle rode by carrying a bag of rice. As he rode by the bag split open and rice started to leak out on to the road. My grandmother had a needle and thread and offered to sew up the hole. They helped the man scoop up the rice off the ground and put it back in the bag and he was off again.

As they sat there, my uncle noticed that there were still grains of rice on the ground and started to collected them. They collected the rice and he took it to a public fountain and washed it until it was white. My dad says that it was the most delicious meal that he has ever had. My grandmother thought it was the fates lending a help hand where most desperately needed.

I've dated a lot of guys who are poor or broke. There inevitably comes a point, usually during a fight, where they mock me for my soft middle class life of privilege. They tell me that I don't understand poverty. I don't understand the first thing about deprivation. They are right about this. That was not my experience. It was the experience of my dad. My parents and their families has done everything in their power to make sure that it would not be mine. Can you blame them?

It's Blog Action Day today. The theme for this year is Poverty.

I was not going to participate because as my ex's have said, what do I know about poverty? Added to that my energies and attention have not been focused in that direction and I couldn't really think what I would contribute to the day. But Blog Action Day people sent me a very effective reminder email that did more than remind me of the day, it also reminded me of some really amazing ways that people are fighting poverty right now.

Just imagine how the world would be doing if some of that global pool of money went here:

Kiva

MicroPlace

The Grameen Foundation

The Accumen Fund whose founder, Jacqueline Novogratz, gave this TED talk. She says, "Dignity is more important to the human spirit than wealth."

Hell, Charles Schwab Charitable is now getting into the act, using a portion of their Charitable gift accounts to guarantee microfinance loans.

Give someone a goat or a chicken:
Heifer International

If you want to kick it old school:
UNICEF

Oxam

Habitat for Humanity


If you are concerned with Hunger:
Food Not Bombs

The Burrito Project

Feed Just One

Feed My Starving Children

Share Our Strength

City Harvest

If you want to sit on your butt:
Free Rice

TED.com has some really interesting talks by really interesting people about interesting subjects. Among the subjects that have been discussed -


Paul Collier has a very interesting take on how to help the "Bottom Billion" on our planet.

Andrew Mwenda's TED talk about the effect of aid in Africa

Majora Carter, environmental justice activist in South Bronx

Hans Rosling has given
two amazing talks on statistics and the state of the world today.

Perhaps at some point in the very near future we will be done fighting poverty and will move on to illiteracy or discrimination or totalitarianism or rudeness or poor personal hygiene.

From the AP newswire

Chicago's Cook County won't evict in foreclosures

"Dart [Cook County Sheriff] said that from now on, banks will have to present his office with a court affidavit that proves the home's occupant is either the owner or has been properly notified of the foreclosure proceedings.

Illinois law requires that renters be notified that their residence is in foreclosure and they will be evicted in 120 days, but Dart indicated that the law has been routinely ignored.

He talked about tenants who dutifully pay their rent, then leave one morning for work only to have authorities evict them and put their belongings on the curb while they are gone.

By the time they get home, "The meager possessions they have are gone," he said. "This is happening too often."

In many cases, he said, tenants aren't even aware that their homes have fallen into foreclosure."

"...there are more than 1 million U.S. homes in foreclosure — with about a third of that number occupied by someone other than the owner."

I may have to take back whatever smack I was perpetrating on Chicago. I am very impressed with this Sheriff. Thanks, Don Babwin!

Humans are friends. Not food.

The Emotron played a show in Brooklyn on Friday with Mose Giganticus and Belly Club. the show was at a place called Surrealestate in East Williamsburg.

I got there at 8pm but the show was not to start until 10pm. They were still building a stage and speakers for the big event. Time to kill.

Around the corner in the middle of what seems to be a warehouse district, there was a coffee shop/movie rental joint and tiny corner granola grocery.

Time to kill.

I chatted with CK. Time to kill.
I got some california roll at the grocery and inspected their granola organic wares. Time to kill.
I looked at all the titles at the coffee shop. Time to kill.
I got some hot chocolate. Time to kill.
I read a book in the stairwell. Time to kill.
I took a walk around the block in the dark.
I read on the street. Time to kill.
I went back and had some tea.

Time to kill.
Ah yes.

At last, they arrived in their short bus fueled with veggie oil, full of gear, a mattress, six sleeping bags, band boys, and god knows what else.

The show was like nothing I have seen at a ticketmaster venue these days. The Emotron bringing his technicolor electro-shock-strip-punk gospel, Belly Club a rap duo with a fella at the laptop and a lady rapper channeling the Beastie Boys through a veggie fueled, pro-bike, granola feminista point of view, and Mose Giganticus rocking the keytar heavy and hard. Exactly, what's been missing from my life.

I sat on the couch after and caught up with KK. The life of a starving artist is hard knock indeed. Full of hunger and hustle, shady characters. Gawd. CK reminds me that these are his choices. And to be fair, he looks good.

It was good to see him. I am glad that he is still alive and shiny, whole souled. Were I a praying women I would ask that the road be merciful enough to keep him that way. As it is, I know that he can do this for himself.

Two people had their bags stolen at the show that nights, a purse and a fanny pack. It was my first exposure to crime in New York.

One of them was CF, roller derby queen and also of Sonic Death Rabbit, whose phone is gone but fortunately her gameboy was left behind. The gameboy is her instrument of choice for music. She had tales of being trapped in New York, shady promoters in LA, doormen who run off with the money, and the cutest little bike I've seen.

I also met MG. He asked me about my life and what I want for my life. What my ideal and happiest version of my life would be. I have been asked this often and asked this of myself as well. But so far have no satisfactory answer. He asked me what I have done with my life so far. I told him, only to have him ask me if I was lying. Apparently, the true story of my life is improbable. I asked him to tell me a tall tale version of his life which he did with great ease after which I had to agree with him that my life up to now has indeed taken some curious turns.

From that point on he would request lies of me only to find that I am terrible at it. Despite the interrogations and accusations of the brilliant and the powerful, I am not as skilled at it as I once was. These things take practice.

I slept on the floor with them. Cuz, I am not very smart. Ach. Sleeping bag on a cold concrete floor, I have not missed you. My hip bones have certainly not missed you. And you probably contributed to the plague that has since settled on my lungs. I don't really have the constitution of one who tours hardcore like that.

I got up eventually and met the girls for boozy brunch the next day. From one world to another and then back to my current reality, whatever/wherever that happens to be.

If you fall, say you'll fall for me, when autumn leaves are falling from the trees.

a. I saw Built to Spill. I only recently discovered them through various young men that I have been meeting. They were a bunch of regular looking guys who played wistful melodic music and could jam on and on forever. They only played one song that I actually knew but it was a good one and really, I didn't care. It was like sunshine radiating from the stage. It felt so good to be there and bask in the light. I felt pieces of myself temporarily fall into place. TBW, who went to the show with me, apparently didn't feel the same and left before me without saying good bye, not even a tap on the shoulder.

That was the last time I saw TBW, who has moved to SF and back into a life of research. He was my bitch and moan about work buddy. Probably best for the morale of both of us to be separated. I am hopeful that the move back to the bench and a change of scene will bring him greater happiness.

b. I found my NYC bar. The first bar that felt like home to me in the City. It was lost but now it's found. On off nights when I have nothing to do, that is where I intend to be.

c. After a summer together, the LYM asked to take a break. I think that I kinda know what that means but not really. It may mean that he needs some time to himself and then we will resume our particular acquaintance. It may mean that he is trying to also leave me without exactly saying good bye. Good bye is hard. I am not so good at it. I am not sure that anyone is, besides Phoebe Buffay-Hannigan (of Friends). We will see.

My abandonment issues are coming into play here. He asked for this right as I was leaving for a work trip. He asked for this six days before my 38th birthday. His timing is impeccable. Makes me think of that blues song: "Nobody love me, but my mother. And she might be jivin' too." Very young men are bad news. BAD NEWS!


d. I was in Chicago for work and got to hang with EH, see my parents, and many a blast from my scientific past. I felt very sheepish that I have not done a post-doc. It was good to see everyone, though.


e. I tried to OD on cable TV, leading to much sleep deprivation. The Sheryl Crow cover of "Here Comes the Sun" in "The Bee Movie" is gorgeous and the whole premise of "Open Water 2" is hilarious, and "Almost Famous" is even better than I remember it.

I used to only like the movie for the "Tiny Dancer" scene but now, there is so much more to love. Perhaps in part due to my tour nostalgia.

Quotes:

"The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you're uncool."

"Now go do your best. 'Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid.' Goethe said that. It's not too late for you to become a person of substance..."

I want to become a person of substance. I think that I kinda know what that means too, but not really.

And when Penny Lane turned to William Miller and twinkled her fingers saying "You are home." I felt so homesick. I cannot tell you.


f. People in the conference industry in downtown Chicago are damn good at their jobs. Damn good. They are may not be the nicest and you may be asked to pay for each and every calorie that they expend on your behalf. But they reach a level of excellence in execution that is a real delight. Totally worth the expenditure.

g. Which brings me to what I've been obsessing over off and on, the economy. What is selling short? Why would anyone do such a thing? And why is it a good thing? Who is too big to fail? Why has the price of oil been so high? What is a financial derivative? Why did Lehman Brothers tank? Why would AIG's financial status be of national concern? What is commercial paper? Is anyone making money right now?

I stumbled on this audio piece on "This American Life" titled: "The Giant Pool of Money." Which basically describes the story of subprime loans and the housing bubble. *Ach* Makes me mad and heartsick.


h. It seems that for many of the single women in the circle of my acquaintance that love is going awry. Lotta guys out there who apparently need a break. Poor babies. Is it the market?

the Summer of Bugs

I turned 38 last week. I have been trying to figure where the time has gone. That would be a pretty long post. So we could start with, where the heck did my summer go?


I met the LYM.
I visited Champing-Banana.
I went to Paris for work.
I went to PS1 over the summer.
I saw Michael Pollan give a talk.
I saw Sonic Youth for free.
I saw Yo La Tengo for free.
I saw "Powasquatsi" accompanied by the Philip Glass.
I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge.
I took Summer Fridays. They were delicious.
I saw "Enter the Dragon" with Karsh Kale's soundtrack.
I got bit to hell by bugs. You have no idea. They were out to get me. I think I spent the better part of my economic stimulus check dealing with the itchiest bites I've ever had.
I went to two weddings back to back.
One in Brooklyn and one in Toronto. I was a minority at both.
I went to Toronto. My first visit to Canada since reaching the age of reason.
I worked a lot and very late.
I went to Boston for work.
I slept on an air mattress all summer.
I visited MomVee and her family for a day at the Shore.
I saw the Cloisters.

And then it got colder.

In years passed, I loved the Fall. Years and year of schooling cause me to usually associate it with a fresh start, new beginnings, new school supplies and lots of stuff to learn.

This year not so much. This year I wanted the Summer to keep on keeping on. Except for the bugs. I am glad that they are gone.

Tale of Two Cities

Chicago is big and grand, modern, urban and beautiful - so impressive. But I love New York. The people are nicer.

Meaningful national investments

Education, Infrastructure, Innovation

bag sculpture

Cute video from www.zefrank.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PH6xCT2aTSo

grooves in the brain caused by the news

David Foster Wallace died on Friday. Probably by his own hand.
I was recently introduced to his writing while attempting to date online. In preparation for the date I read DFW's essay on usage in the English language (his recommendation).

The first date did not lead to a second but I came out of it with an interest in usage and a great admiration for DFW. The guy's fucking brilliant. He's insightful and a hell of a writer.

I was pointed to his commencement speech at Kenyon College. Reading the line about choosing what you worship and how besides some concept of God or spiritual principle "pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive." felt like getting the wind knocked out of me. The capital-T Truth.

Another piece I was pointed to was this parody of his writing in the Onion. Perhaps I will devote a chunk of my life to reading "Infinite Jest." There may not be a movie out that can kill you through sheer entertainment, but I am starting to think that the time management computer games like "Diner Dash," "Wedding Dash" and "Cake Mania" might be addictive enough that I could see myself playing them to my death, if they had infinite levels.



Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy. The government would not bail them out. Freddie and Fannie Mac, yes. The Brothers, no. I am the first to admit that I don't understand economics. I am very interested in it of late, but I don't understand it. Near as I can tell, people were worried that The Brothers didn't have the money to back up all the of the wacky financial shenanigans that they (and we the investors whoever and wherever we might be) were involved in. They claimed that they were fine but apparently not. And some folks who lent to them, wanted their money back. The government did not want to cover their asses, and no one wanted to buy them and their mysterious "financial" what's-it-hoozies. No one wanted to know what was behind the curtain.

And now everyone is waiting for my bank to fail. I chose this bank because they sponsored a really amazingly great free Yo La Tengo show two years ago at Prospect Park. And now the money guys are gleefully waiting to hear about a run on the bank. The trouble with marching right over there for your money tomorrow, is of course well described in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life." They claim to be good for it in the long run but the money is not there. The money has been lent to all kinds of folks regular and corporate with the idea that they will pay it back, with interest.

We'll see if they are good for it. Is the trick of it to hang tight and weather this. Or will my fellow depositors rush in a drain my bank into the ground with me left getting my money from the FDIC insurance which must come from us as taxpayers or something.... There is a whole government vs. private sector argument that is screaming for it's own post, along with a screed about how regulation is a good thing. I am suddenly glad that I did not move my saving to a high risk uninsured money market account with a brokerage.

I cannot help but wonder whether before all this is over, Walmart will be nationalized by the US government, only to transform it from within, leading to a dramatic changes in our bureaucracies as they bargain ruthlessly for crazy low prices, streamlined "distribution" and "supply chains," and Elderly greeters in blue vests.

If my bank weathers this, I respectfully would like to request that they sponsor a free Bjork concert at Prospect Park with a river of booze and the Tuba guy as one of the opening acts. Making it to the other side calls for a proper celebration.


There is more news, I am sure but I just read waaaaay too slowly. Someone did something somewhere for some reason.


"This is water.

This is water." - DFW

lesson for the day

I used to be very interested in meeting famous, powerful and influential people.

But after today, I have no interest at all.

It's only worth meeting them if you are in a position to tell them that they can go fuck themselves.

When you are not and they are shady, arrogant, pushy, mean or rude, it pretty much sucks.

Highlight of Saturday night

Saturday evening I tagged along for a pub crawl with the LYM and his friends. During the course of the evening we stopped into Pianos. (My first time there.) Strangely, four different men commented on that fact that I yawned. Is this the new Indie Rock pick up line?

We arrived right in between sets and sat around waiting for the band. Lucky for us, the next act was Wolff, a man with a tuba.

In his own words:

"The concept I'm working with is that all the sounds are generated by, with, and through the tuba itself with the help of numerous guitar pedals and other sundry looping devices. Singing is through the tuba. Percussion is banging on the tuba. I play the tuba and beat box through it as well."

- Brian Wolff

The drummer was closing his shift at a nearby bar so while we were there it was just Brian Wolff with Tuba and effects playing while David Attenborough's "Planet Earth" played silently in the background. It was trippy. The sound in the room was really loud but not so clean, so it was also a little soupy. But I think part of that bleedy watery-ness might have come from the tuba itself.

His myspace.

Official band website.

We left after a few songs. I really would have liked to stay for his set but when you are not the head of the pub crawl, you don't call those shots. If it was my friends I would have offered to catch up to them later. But as it was, I put money in the tip jar and left with the pack.

I am going to plan an outing dedicated to one of his shows.

Vitamins in the morning

I was looking for a cartoon this morning. In this cartoon a little baby chick in a sailor suit keeps showing up in situations and singing "Good Morning to You" to the tune of "Happy Birthday" which is so annoying and yet perhaps in keeping with the original lyrics to the song, at least, according to Wikipedia.


Instead, I found this blast from the past.

Much better.

I remember the first time I saw this as a kid.

The part where Daffy Duck sings, "and on this farm he had an igloo ..." was so unexpected. His reaction is priceless. I laughed so hard as a kid I about pee'd my pants.

Fortunately, this morning I am home where I have a change of clothes.

It's in the transitions

I woke up this morning and thought to myself, "I'd really like to take a yoga class. It's been forever. I wonder if A. is still teaching at Laughing Lotus."

A. is my favorite teacher in NYC. To be fair, I've only interacted with about 11 teachers since moving here. He has great taste in music. He gives great talks and puts together graceful, dancerly, butt kicking, mind boggling, sweat drenching yoga practices. And he has a beautiful holy essence.

I checked the Laughing Lotus site and he is there no more.

Life moves fast, my friends. In New York, especially. When you encounter a magical moment, stop and savor it completely. Because there is no way to know how long you will be there or whether you will encounter it again. If you do, it probably won't be the same. At the very least, you won't be the same.

Ariel Karass, Namaste. Thank you.

Lyric for the day

"And I'm reading more into your words than you have put into them
and that's my problem, but you tied these knots,
now you undo them, you undo them."

- Everything But the Girl, "Troubled Mind"

Apropos of nothing ....

travel by donkey

This is my two wedding weekend. I got up early greeted by CK in a cab from Manhattan then bound for the first in Brooklyn. After the ceremony I had to scurry off, walking several blocks to find a car to take me to the airport to catch a plane to Toronto for the second. I am waiting on a shuttle to take me from the hotel to the airport where I can catch a bus to a subway to downtown Toronto to a rental car place for a car which I will then drive up to the banquet hall.

Good times.

I think the Universe is trying to tell me something

It is a natural tendency to think that the Universe makes sense, that there is an order to it and that things happen for a reason. While some might argue that this is the natural inclination of the religious, it is also a firmly held conviction in science too. The answers to the question: why and how and who might be very different but the underlying belief, that sense can be made of the world around us, is shared.

In the case of religion perhaps, there is a desire to see the Universe as displaying a level of intention, of consciousness. A desire for the Universe to, like each of us, have an identity and a personality. Where in science, there is, perhaps, less of this.

(Although speaking with people in ecology and evolution is fascinating. For some of them, any and all observations, immediately merit speculation as to why and sweeping generalizations about the nature of the nature of life. Large conceptual jumps are made to the point where the conclusions are like "Just So" stories, origin myths, or creation myths. This seems to happen to a much greater extent than their colleagues in more reductionist branches of Biology who are bound by the demands of controlled reproducibility.)

Mind you, I have little success at making sense of it, myself. But I do feel the yearning for some understanding of the world around me and my place in it, a desire for a purpose and a sense of belonging. As a self-confessed superstitious person, I look for signs.

When I stand at the train platform, I think to myself that at that moment the City is either working with me or not. In moments when the subway doors open right in front of me, it is confirmation that the City is working with me. And in moments that it doesn't, clearly, the City is not.

Of course, it is more likely that the City is always uncooperative. Added to that, in actuality the positions along the platform where the subway doors open are pretty consistent. They have to do with the length of each car and the relative position of each door on the car and so on. Fate and the mysterious hand of the Universe have nothing to do with it.

I could figure out exactly where the doors will open for each car of a subway just by lining them up to key landmarks at each stop. And then the City would always appear to be working with me. Or more precisely, I would be working with it.

It is only a sign because I am looking for signs and am too lazy to approximate subway door positions relative to subway platform landmarks at the stops that I frequent.

But I digress. Yesterday, while walking home, I started to think about all my stuff. In particular about things that I have lost, tossed or left behind.

I lose things all the time. Clothes, books, CD's, money, time, boyfriends, friends, memories, documents, umbrellas. I used to lose my keys all the time (knock on wood). Sometimes they are misplaced. Sometimes they are left behind. Sometimes they grow legs and walk away.

In moving away from CU, I got rid of many things. I sold them or just threw them away. There was no time, I had no space. It was what had to happen. It was just heartbreaking.

In moving to New York, I brought two suitcases and a backpack. My parents drove out a few times and brought me things. A winter coat. A TV. Ten boxes of chicken flavored ramen. Twenty cans of creamed corn. And in living here I have accumulated some things - books, skincare products, socks, a CD here and there. There are days, though, that I miss my stuff. I forget the days that I spent in my overstuffed super cluttered place feeling oppressed by all the things that had no place, and me with no time to use them. They all sat around and reminded me of the things that I wasn't doing and the life that I wasn't living. Physical souvenirs of longing and regret. But oh, what a glorious life it would have been.

The other day, I discovered the loss of an entire email account containing ten years of emails from Grad School.

Before that, I had my computer hard drive at work catastrophically crash. Nothing was recovered. And my machine's contents were not backed up anywhere. Over a year of information and templates and archived documents and emails - gone. They were files that represented what I had done and learned in my first year in the corporate world. And the entire email correspondence between me and The South which I am sad to have lost.

I let the LYM use my phone with his SIM card which wiped some aspects of the memory of my phone. So I lost cute text messages from friends and my call record.

The desire to keep everything is combination of a poor memory and sentimentality and while I am loathe to admit it, perhaps a little stinginess too.

I think the Universe is trying to shove me out of dwelling on the past and into moving forward. Out of potential and into action.

What matters in the end is not what you have or how much of it you have. What matters is having what you need and having enough of what you need. The root of that is figuring out what you need, how much is enough, and how to go about getting it.

Not quite what the doctor ordered

I'm feeling a little stressed, a little rushed, a little harried today. It's probably a case of the Mondays or caffeine overload.

I decided that the best thing for stress is, of course, pictures of kittens. I went to Google and typed: "pictures of kittens" and got this:





Yeah, so, I still feel a little stressed but take comfort in knowing that I am not alone.

Yahoo Mail is not data storage

When I left CU, there were emails that I wanted to keep. I couldn't find a way to download them onto my computer and burn to a CD or transfer to an external drive, so I opened a yahoo email account and forwarded all of those emails over.

Do not do this.

If you do not log in to your yahoo email account for 4 months, they inactivate it. They delete everything. Everything. And they bounce any incoming emails.

So 10 years of email in my life are gone. Because while I thought I had read the fine print, apparently I didn't.

I suppose it's all for the best. Did I really want to look back on anything that happened during that time in my life?

That was 10 years of my life. Actually yes. Now I need to look into better data storage methods. Methods better than Yahoo Mail.

Home sweet home

I'm in. The lock out is over. First thing to do, take a shower.

Yay!

Less lucky than some, but more than most

My landlady, her daughter and her son in law all went on vacation together for 10 days. They are the other people who live at my house. J, the guy she hires to do maintenance, came over today to take care of some things. He had a key so I said hello and made a little small talk and then left.

I came home tonight to find that both of the front doors were locked. J had used locks on the doors that we, residents, never use. Locks to which I do not have keys. I suspect that my landlady doesn't have keys to these locks either. I don't understand why he did this. He's worked at the house countless times in the two years that I have lived here. And I have never come home to a situation like this since moving here.

Of course, this being a house in Brooklyn, I can't get into through the back. I can't get into the back. I can't get in through a window (they have bars). I can't climb up to a floor where I could get in through a window. And with all my misspent years, i never learned to pick a lock.

So I am now at the LYM's house for the night for an impromptu sleep over. Meditating on my fears of homelessness, couch surfing.

And tomorrow, I will call a locksmith and wait on the stoop, or in a park or at the library or in a coffee shop until it's time to meet up.

Grrrrrr.

Round round get around, comment on get around

There are obvious things that are different about being in Paris vs. New York. For example, everyone is speaking French and the streets are paved with pastries (in a manner of speaking).

There are surprising differences that, perhaps, should not seem so surprising. The alphabet on a French computer keyboard is laid out differently from a US computer keyboard. The concierge at the hotel I was staying at asked me if he could try something on my laptop when I had trouble accessing the wireless internet. The whole time he kept asking me where the "M" key was. And I didn't understand why. Until I went to an internet cafe later in my trip and found myself asking the exact same question.

Yes, they have buses and we have buses.
Yes, they have cars and we have cars.
Yes, they have the metro and we have the subway.
Yes, they have bikes and we have bikes.

But. They also have the Velolib:




In Paris there are several bike stations at which you can rent a bike with a swipe of your card or a pass. You can ride the bike wherever you want around the city and simply deposit it at another bike station. Like the metro, you can either purchase a pass that allows you to use the bike whenever you want over a set period of days or you can pay as you go. And overall it seems to work. Somehow the bikes get distributed around town.

I very much wanted to try it unfortunately, the stations could not process my US credit card. Damn regional banking! Interestingly, every time I got tired and was not near a bus line or metro stop, there a velolib station would appear. So to my mind, they were excellently placed, at the very least.


They also have the minicar:



Which is indeed a mini car. I tried to get a poodle or a pug to sit still in the shot so that you could get a send of relative scale, but you know how hard it is to get those critters to sit still.


They also have this semi-covered scooter thingy:




I did not see any Pedicabs. But apparently there is a proposal to roll out electric car sharing, the Autolib. I can't wait to go back and see them and have my credit card rejected yet again!

Great deterministic force in history #12

Oh, Michael Lewis, how is it that I keep forgetting how much I love your work.


"Privacy is no longer a right but a wasteful luxury. The Internet has not merely suggested new weapons for the Invasion of Privacy. It has created terrifying economic incentives for people to abandon their charming old attachment to their privacy. Privacy is newly inefficient if the larger social goal is to get the most stuff to the most people at the cheapest prices. And who would deny that the consumer demand for ever more stuff at ever cheaper prices is one of the great deterministic forces in history? Any technology that gives the consumer what he wants, when he wants it, at a better price, is likely to succeed, in spite of a lot of objections from hoary old privacy nuts.

Of course there are cultures on earth famously less enamored of consumer goods and more wedded to privacy than American culture. Too bad for them! Consumerism isn't a luxury; it is the necessary behavior underpinning any successful modern economy. It is one of those horrible American traits that other societies have been adopting because they need to adopt it if they wish to remain competitive."

- Michael Lewis "Next: the future just happened"



Gosh. Who knew?

Just one of those days

The greater half of my brain (my laptop) has decided that the CD burner needs to go on strike and now will not release my most recent reproduction of my album. The disk is trapped in my laptop and today I would trade the sleekness of apple's design for a CD tray and a physical eject button in a heartbeat. I will pay a visit to Tekserve and throw myself at their feet beeing for their help..

I got into work today and promptly knocked over a glass of water, spilling all over my computer keyboard. Lucky thing, I always keep a giant stack of napkins and paper towels at my desk. All of which I used.

My right arm has swollen to the size of a watermelon from two bug bites that I got at a concert at the park on Friday. This has been the summer of insufferable and extreme skin reactions to the bites of bugs. I have thought more about scratching and itching than anything else all summer. The LYM could avert conversations about "us" by asking to see my bug bites and commenting on how itchy they must be.

I lost a library book. For the first time in my life, I lost a book and for the life of me could not find it. And after posting a sign and asking around and looking high and low at the office, I finally went to the main library and confessed to my sin. They entered the book as lost, demanded monetary reparations and slapped me on the wrist. And today, two days later, reception emailed me to let me know that my lost library book was found.

So now I am going to call the library and see if they will accept the book and give me back the money. If it were me I'd say: "Too late for that Solo." But we will see what their take on it is.

Yes, today is a cheese sandwich post kind of day.

Kisses!

GIRLS DO MATH AS WELL AS BOYS

Say it loud and say it proud.

Quote from the NYTimes today July 25, 2008:

Although boys in high school performed better than girls in math 20 years ago, the researchers found, that is no longer the case. The reason, they said, is simple: Girls used to take fewer advanced math courses than boys, but now they are taking just as many.

“Now that enrollment in advanced math courses is equalized, we don’t see gender differences in test performance,” said Marcia C. Linn of the University of California, Berkeley, a co-author of the study. “But people are surprised by these findings, which suggests to me that the stereotypes are still there.”

"Math Scores Show No Gap for Girls, Study Finds" By Tamar Lewin

I could sit here and type out (or cut and paste) the entire NYTimes article but hey, why don't I just give you the link.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/25/education/25math.html

And now I'm going to go do the "Yes Ma'am, Girls can do math" dance, all over the room.

Yes we can!

Ganked from Poetryslam

I am breaking the embedding barrier for this one. Hee hee.

I'll gladly pay you tuesday ...

I've been reading a bit of pop-economics lately. It's probably "a sign of my declining mind" and shriveling soul. But since money does make the world go round, it might be worth taking a crack at understanding it.

Thanks to the reportage on NPR, a few articles in the NYTimes, conversations with friends, and reading Charles Wheelan's book "Naked Economics," I've been thinking about credit.

Credit is about the future. You borrow money now for things that you can't afford at this moment but believe that you will be able to afford in the future.

1. You may believe this to be true because you are planning to spend the money on something that will help you be more productive and earn more money. Like money to go to college, or to train in a new profession, or buy a new interview suit that will help you make the right impression, or buy a new tool or machine that will increase your productivity - say, a new laptop or another hard drive.

2. You may believe this is true because you have a steady source of income and know that you can, over time, pay off the thing that you are currently purchasing. You could wait and save the money to buy or you could borrow now and have it.

3. You may have hit some tough times and you borrow to tide you over now knowing that these times will pass and you will recover and then thrive.

These are all the forward thinking reasons to borrow.

4. You might also borrow because people keep offering you loans. The money is there, so why not spend it. In the end you pay the piper, but maybe you'll have a little fun while it lasts. If you end up in deep debt, the bank might take away your things. Your house, your car, your boat, whatever it can get its hands on. The bank might garnish your wages, hound you and your loved ones on the phone and through the mail, endlessly which may or may not cause you stress.

Back in 18th century Britain, they might have thrown you in jail for being unable to pay off your debts. I did not know until I read the Australia chapter of Jared Diamond's book "Collapse" that a portion of the convicts were sent to Australia for being in debt. I somehow always imagined that all the convicts sent to Australia were murderers, pirates, highwaymen and seditionists. It's the romantic in me.

But I digress.

The irony of all of this, is that of the motivations that I have listed here for borrowing money, the one that I am least familiar with, the one that has only recently occurred to me is the first.

The greater irony of this is that the first motivation is pretty much what makes many aspects of the economy keep on trucking. Borrowing money on the premise that the loan will enable you to get wealthy and make the lender wealthy as well.

Why is growth so important? It's important for a lot of reasons. But among them, as an individual or entity in debt, you need to keep growing and making more money so that you can pay the people who work for you, pay the people who supply you, pay the people who invest in you, maintaining your business, invest towards the future, pay your debts, and attract more loans.

Credit in itself is not a bad thing. It can be destructive, it can also be a powerfully good thing. The whole microfinance movement is built around the idea that small small amounts of credit can do enormous good for some of the poorest people in this world. Having access to credit is a powerful means by which they can improve their living situation and their livelihood.

And so I sit here after all of this and ponder what debts are worth taking on. Which ones lead to the creation of wealth and which ones lead to greater consumption and future deprivation.

Perhaps, too casual for business?

During a meeting today I looked down and realized that I had put my pants on inside out. They are black linen, with a draw string, no tag, no pockets, and no lining. Kinda like fancy pajamas. I am hoping that no one else caught it.

I take comfort in knowing that I have certainly worn worse to work.

Dr. Horrible

"I hold a PhD in horribleness" - Dr. H

You need to see this. There's not a lot of time. It won't be available for free for very long. Go now.

Industry and Intentions

G sent me a postcard from Saipan. Snail mail. I love snail mail.

Most of what I get by snail mail is bills, sale circulars, catalogues, and credit card offers. But every once in while even a poor correspondent like me gets a treat.

When I send a postcard there is only room to express one idea. Sometimes an idea and a half and then I am writing cramped illegible chicken scratches in places that post offices stamp and sticker. But G, so lovely and talented can legibly do much more with the space alloted. From her card, I share the following:

"The garment factories shut down by the likes of Corporate Watch have unleashed a host of Chinese laborers who have since turned to prostitution. I think liberals should know that."

I think we should too. It would appear that good intentions can lead to unfortunate and unintended consequences. I recently read something similar in Charles Wheelan's book "Naked Economics."

He quotes Paul Krugman:

"In 1993, child workers in Bangladesh were found to be producing clothing for Wal-Mart and Senator Tom Harkin proposed legislation banning imports from countries employing underage workers. the direct result was that Bangladeshi textile factories stopped employing children. But did the children go back to school? Did they return to happy homes? Not according to Oxfam, which found that the displaced child workers ended up in even worse jobs, or on the streets -- and that a significant number were forced into prostitution."

In his own words Wheelan says:

"There is nothing pretty about people willing to work long hours in bad conditions for several dollars a day, but let's not confuse cause and effect. Sweatshops do not cause low wages in poor countries, rather they pay low wages because those countries offer workers so few other alternatives."

I am not convinced that all of this means that we should write odes to the sweatshop or celebrate their horrible work conditions. But economists in their dismal abstracted and brutal way of thinking will point out that one works in a sweatshop when it is the best alternative available. It may be exploitation. But if workers had nothing to gain, they wouldn't do it. And boycotts lead to a further reduction in alternatives. A bad situation can certainly get worse.

What if people could build their own alternatives, more alternatives, in a scalable way? What kind of investment and return would that offer?

Deadhead sticker on a cadillac

The LYM and I were having a conversation about bands that are big now that we haven't heard and probably wouldn't like, which for whatever reason led to the Ataris, who are not to be confused with Atari Teenage Riot.

He doesn't like the Ataris but he does like their cover of the Don Henley song "The Boys of Summer."

After some conversation we agreed that the Ataris' cover is good and DJ Sammy's cover is too.

But neither cover can touch the original.

It's entirely possible that a pig with an inner tube could do a good cover of that song. It's that good.

I am trying to think of something in life as foolproof as covering "The Boys of Summer" - a man in uniform, a little black dress, free beer, complimenting a girl on her shoes. These things are pretty solid but compared to that song, I waver and wonder. Today, it's Death, Taxes, and "The Boys of Summer."

Who says that learning is not fun

There is a species of fish called the Oriental Sweetlips. I don't know about you, but if anyone were to call me that I would blush, slap them and then laugh.

There are a lot of tiny, little, swimmy things that live in the ponds at Central Park. In light of this, I would not advise drinking or bathing in them.

Coral mate through a mass timed release of eggs and sperm into the water.
We could call that the oceanic equivalent of group in vitro fertilization or a collective coral spankfest.

There is a species of fish in which a school will have one male amongst many females. In the event that this lone male dies - is lost - gets sick - eaten - the largest and most dominant female will undergo a gender transformation and become the male of the school.

Bugs are arthropods. Crustaceans are also arthropods. When Jimmy dares you to eat that worm beetle, think of it as shrimp sushi. (edit with humble thanks to Kat E)

The Blue Whale is 23 feet long at birth. They grow up to be about 2-3 school buses long.

Chocolate is a food brought to us by the fermentation of the Cacoa bean. Another great food enabled by microbial beings.

These facts are brought to you by a visit to the American Museum of Natural History.


The LYM and I went to the Museum of Natural History to look at bones. I have been there twice. Once with ZS and her friends and another time with BBFK, Noel and Lever.

It's kind of a strange place. It's not a science museum. It's not an anthropology museum. It's not an art museum. It's not a zoo. And yet, it's all of those things (except for the having living animals on display part).

Most of the time, I run straight up to the dinosaur section. Which is awesome. Being up there and seeing them bones up close is a humbling experience. Some of them creatures have jaws large enough to snap me up in two quick bites. Humbling.

But this time the LYM and I came in through the subway entrance which brings you in on a lower level and went to the Whale room.

The Whale room is incredible. It's dark and blue and enormous. The ceiling has "windows" on which are shifting patterns of colored light. Most importantly, there's a giant model of a blue whale suspended in the air. I'm not sure that it's 2-3 school buses long but hugantic nontheless.

On the walls on two levels there are displays about oceans and ocean creatures and what not. Walking around and looking at all of it, I realized that impressive as Cai Guo-Qiang's Guggenheim exhibit was, he is not the first to do such things. He is just a more fanciful practitioner of the art.

They even had a room devoted to meteorites. All this time I thought that we had no plan in the event that a giant meteorite was spotted on a collision course with our fair planet. Fear not friends, a few solutions have been proposed. One of them is to paint the meteorite white and have light from the sun deflect it from its course. White paint will save the universe!

I am relieved. It's good to know that someone is on this problem.

A buh buh buh buh

I came home today to a letter. A letter from the very popular paid online dating site (VPPODS) that I did time on a few months back.

They have changed. They have made changes and improvements. They have added new features. And they want me back.

I am touched beyond words.

Compelling reason #65 for going into scientific research

My friend JP sent me a link to this video in response my emailing him the Bio-Rad video.



I sent the link to CK which precipitated the following chat:

Me: if only science were really like this
CK: oh my god
Me: I know.
Me: I would have 10 phd's by now or have died of laughter. literally.
CK: Oh. My. God.
CK: oh my god. I LOVE it!!!!!!! you wouldn't have 10 phD by now you'd still be working on your first one
CK: you'd never leave grad school and about now, AM and I would be joining you

When you need to recombine ...

I was going to leave a cranky nasty post here but instead I offer up this beautiful song about DNA amplification. Sent to me by the lovely and talented RM.

Let's all hold hands and sing along.

If I had 600 dollars ...

I got a letter from the IRS today. Says that the government is going to send me a check some time between July 11th and September 5th. Yee Haw.

So what do I do with it?

Years and years ago, I used to run. I ran a little and miserably, mostly to keep BBFK company. Mostly, I thought about how much it hurt, and how much the flesh on my face was jiggling, and wondering how many laps I had left before I could keel over. Sometimes, while I ran I would meditate on the question: "What would I do with a million dollars?"

Give it away? Give how much of it away? Give it to who?

Buy a truck? Buy a house? Buy a condo? Buy a horse? Buy a hybrid? Buy audio and studio equipment? Buy a rickenbocker guitar and a Marshall half stack?

Start a business? Philosophy shop? Poetry nook? Curio store?

Take classes? Intensive martial arts? Pottery? French cooking? Spanish language immersion? Dance? Yoga teacher training?

That's a million. $600 is a different story altogether.

It's enough money that I think twice about spending it on a nice meal and some clunky shoes. But not enough that I feel like I want squirrel it into a Roth IRA or an S&P 500 Index Fund. Which is probably why I am not rich.


Okay - $600.

I could ...

- go see 5 Broadway shows. I haven't seen Spring Awakening, Wicked, Passing Strange, Avenue Q, and ... one more.

- get a 3 day pass to see All Points West and have money left for beer, food and merch.

- go to Madison, Wisconsin for the National Poetry Slam 2008.

- buy a really, really nice acoustic guitar.

- hang out at a fancy spa day and refuse to leave until they make me look like Gong Li.

- see $600 worth of movies or buy $600 worth of music.

- take a lot of yoga classes.

- fly home to see my parents and chill with them.

- donate it to a worthy cause.

- buy someone a heifer.

So many options. Especially for an event junkie like me.

I'll have to mediate on this.

What are you going to do?

so long rest stops, good bye gas station snacks, farewell truck stop souvenirs

The price of gas affects everything. Even indie rock.

At least according to this npr piece.

With the high cost of gas, fewer bands are taking their show on the road. Makes sense. It's a big country and much mileage must be covered to get from show to show. Most bands need a big vehicle to lug all that gear around. Not to mention the merch, the merch girl, the costumes, the grumpy band mates, the fanboy who is tagging along because he "just loves you guys" and has always wanted to see Omaha and other random memorabilia picked up along the way.

As a show goer, this is tragic. But I understand. I know that I'd be breaking out in hives right now if I was planning a tour. Might as well burn money on the street and play songs while skipping around it, this summer. It would cost less.

Since the Mystechs are taking a break, none of this effects me. I don't have to sleep on the floor in the homes of kind strangers. I can sleep on my own floor this summer. But as I sit here, mired in drama of office wage slavery, I feel this urge to put on a costume and run around shoving people while screeching like a demon.

Might have to try out for the roller derby. After I learn to rollerskate.

New Favorite Website

It's a website where you can search for a song or artist and then get a list of tracks that you can play right there on the site. Instant gratification.

http://songza.com/

Now, you can't download the song, they don't have everything and the sound quality is not always so hot But you browse and listen to as much or as little of a song as you want. And you can play the songs for free.

I'm sure that there's more to it, but that's what's got me all happy.

New Jugs?

This the second day I've seen media coverage on these new milk jugs. Big big news. They are apparently, weird but superior in every way imaginable except that people don't like the way they pour.



Here's what I don't get. They already put all that effort into the redesign. Why can't they go through one more design iteration so that the milk is easier to pour in the ways that people are accustomed to pouring it? They could add a lip or a spout to the opening or they could put "chop" the corner opposite the handle and add one of those round spouts that they now have for the juice cartons. I don't see why they can't add ergonomics to the list of great things about this new jug. Someone please explain.

Ze Politics

For whatever reason, I have been mildly obsessed with this ancient youtube video for a few days, "End of Ze World."

The LYM introduced me to it and in a tragic moment of not remembering, I played it for him having forgotten.

Someday, we will reminisce to our grandkids about how we used to gather around the computer to watch youtube videos together, much like people reminisce about gathering around the fire to swap stories, or gather around the television or the radio. The media and the means are different. But the desire to gather and share stories is the same.

He died yesterday

My first year as a grad student I got a free ticket to see George Carlin at Assembly Hall.

He started off with bit where he said, "When you buy a pet, you are bringing home a little piece of death." Because there's no way that your pet will outlive you. You have brought a living thing into your life, into your home to hug and love and hold and play with, to care for and take to the doctor, a cute furry adorable little new member of your family who you know without a doubt is going to die first.

I have often thought about that bit since then. Pretty much whenever someone tells me that they just got a pet.

He went on to touch all manner of topics. Some of them offensive and sharp to the point that S who came to the show with me wanted to leave. But I couldn't. My ass was glued to the seat. And after some rough social satire and commentary he changed gears and spoke seriously and technically about farts. About how you had a choice between letting a fart out all at once and letting it pip out a puff at a time, about the sound of the walking fart.

He was funny, biting, insightful, and kind. His kindness radiated all the way from the stage to my craptastic nosebleed level seat.

I didn't know him, but I miss him. I am so sad that he died. I say it that way because, as is mentioned in the yahoo article, that's how he would have said it, only funny.


Note the day after:

My friend Mythworker has pointed out that being heartfelt is not quite in keeping with the essence of George Carlin. The links on his LJ post are very in keeping with George Carlin.

He's famous for "The Seven Words You Can't on TV."

And I like this.

Listening to a number of his routine on youtube, ... okay, maybe he wasn't always kind. Maybe he wasn't always funny. But listening to him and thinking about what he had to say will wake you up.

That, and chickens are good people.

My own personal chaos

Today while looking for my giant crochet hook under the couch cushions, I found 36 cents and my TV remote which has been missing for months and months. But no crochet hook. Maybe I'll have it by Fall.

Sleepy, thirsty, hungry and itchy

Bugs have been biting me in my sleep. Last night they bit my feet and the itch was so bad, I woke up at 5am.

I hate when that happens.

Pi to thirteen places

Yesterday, I told the LYM that my favorite Stooge was Moe. It's an appalling thing to admit. I have never been proud of this fact. Especially with my lingering suspicion that everyone else's favorite Stooge is Curly. But there it is.

I consider this to be a flaw in my character because, Moe was mean. Moe was a bully. Always pissed off, always hitting or slapping someone, taking joy from cracking someone on the head with a hammer or a mallet. But I always felt bad for Moe. Moe had ambition. Moe had a plan, something that he was trying to accomplish or some catastrophe that he was trying to prevent and there he was, surrounded by Stooges. How could he get anything accomplished under these conditions?

Though I, like everyone who's seen them, have a favorite Stooge, as a child I never liked the Three Stooges. (How can you not have a favorite Stooge?) All that violence and nonsense never appealed to me. I never laughed at their antics. I never thought that they were funny.

And then yesterday, during this conversation the LYM pulled up this movie on youtube.

And in watching it, I must share with you that I have crossed yet another barrier in my life. I actually laughed.

The lion hunter part just kills me. The timing is so sharp.

But you have to wonder, who on earth needs to have that many pies on hand for a dinner party?

Le Blame Game, Le Sigh

I don't like idiot proof systems. When dealing with an idiot proof system you feel like an idiot and are treated like an idiot. When things go wrong, as they often do, you can't adequately express the problem and no one helps you. Instead they treat you like an idiot. But that's the problem to begin with and it's not getting your problem solved, now, is it?

I want my money back.

Tenderize the Night

The heart is a very tough muscle. It has to be. It works very hard for you. It has to keep you going regardless of your preference or intention.

Tenderizing is the process of breaking down collagens in meat (muscle) to make it more tender.

In cooking, there are three common ways in which muscle is tenderized: Mechanical - you can pound it, Temperature - you can cook it, and Chemical - you can add enzymes that will break it down.

In life, there are any number of ways in which to tenderize the heart. Babies, cute little fuzzy creatures, simple acts of kindness, Hallmark cards, certain particularly manipulative TV commercials, crushes and first kisses, unexpected displays of vulnerability, nostalgia, alcohol. Mind you, not all of them are universally or consistently effective.

Yesterday, I was grappling with a song and the Lionel Richie/Diana Ross duet, "Endless Love" came to mind. Nothing will wreck a songwriting session faster than a quick meditation on that tune. In my youth, I expended a lot of energy hating that song. Passionately, hating that song. And in my advanced years, I feel pang in my chest as they sing, well, pretty much every single word.

"'Cause nooooo one can denyyyyyy, this love I have insiiiiiide. And I'll giiiiiive it all to yooooouuuuuu, my love (my love, my love)." -Lionel Richie

And I have to wonder, what the hell happened? Is it the Lionel, finally breaking down the walls of my heart? Have the trials and tribs leading to these middle ages tenderized my heart to the point where I am receptive to every silly and heartfelt declaration of the Lionel? Is it the early flush and then slow burn of interest radiating from making the acquaintance of my new friend, the LYM? Has someone been slipping papaya or pineapple enzyme extracts into my meals?

It might be all of the above. If this is what it means to mellow with age, in the words of CK, "I don't like it."

Or maybe it's just acid reflux.

I take comfort in the fact that the swell of emotion brought on by "Endless Love," led to a meditation on tenderizing meat. I can only hope that this is a phase and that it will pass. That or I am going to blast Lionel Richie songs whenever I cook a steak.

Le Pew

For whatever reason the previous post reminded me of a quote from Pepe Le Pew:

"Ze moon! Ze June! Ze spoon! C'est l'amour!! C'est toujours!" - Pepe Le Pew

Which lead me to a forum with a thread devoted to Pepe Le Pew quotes.

Which in this day and age are pretty much an invitation to a great big sexual harrassment lawsuit or a restraining order. The key to such ardent wooing is the perception of the receiver and the ability of the wooer to correctly interpret his or her reception. What is romantic to a receptive party is harassment, stalking or at the very least an annoyance to the unreceptive.

Back in the day I felt so bad for the poor little kitty. But today in the moments in which I can stand back from the chase, I find these quotes to be pretty hilarious.


"Permit me to introduce myself. I am Pepe Le Pew, your lover."

"She want to play eet zee lover's chase. Eet ees the leetle girl in her. C'est l'amour."

*after getting clubbed by the cat* "The one in zee middle may remain. The rest of you.......... another day."

"Zee cabbage does not run away from zee corn-beef."




The oblivious confidence, the sunny love-drenched optimism, and the irrepressibleness of Pepe Le Pew are so charming on screen as an innocent, disinterested bystander.

But for the sake of my nearest and dearest, I think my advice would be to leave that crap to the cartoons and take all the hints that are given. Especially when she or he hits you over the head with a giant mallet.

I love Paris in June

At the intersection of Paris, New York, the month of June, and making the acquaintance of a lovely young man - I am reminded of one of my favorite movies, "Sabrina."

In particular of her time in Paris at cooking school.

"The souffle, it must be gay. Gay. Like two butterflies dancing the waltz in the summer breeze. Tra la la la la" - Ze Chef

or this meditation on ze egg.

At this particular intersection of time, being, place, and memory - I hope for sunny days with mild weather and picnics in the park with someone really nice.

Thinking inside the bottle

After a meal one might enjoy a glass of Eau de Vie, Poire William (the water of life, a brandy made from bartlett pears).



That's not an optical illusion. That's a real pear in a glass bottle of pear brandy.
It's magic. A wonder to behold. How on earth did they squeeze that thing into a bottle through that tiny opening?

Rest assured that they didn't. As described at www.cookthink.com and www.bkwine.com, the Eau de Vie makers put glass bottles over pear branches with blossoms or tiny growing fruit and leave them there, waiting until the pear grows big enough to harvest.



Low tech but ingenious, imaginative.

I wonder what possessed Jean-Francois or Jean-Henri to try this. What dreams did he have that resulted in such a fanciful thing? How long did it take him to convince his pere and grandpere to let him keep the bottle on the branch and just see what would happen. Or did he just tie up a bottle in a far side of the orchard and come back with it containing a whole fruit to the delight and amazement of his friends and family?

I was off key, a little sharp

I decided after three months not to renew my subscription to one of the very popular paid online dating sites (VPPODS). This is my last week there and today I decided to clean house. I took down most of my pictures. Left a little message on my profile and closed communication in its various stages with some dudes.

It might appear to the outside observer and most of my friends that I was not taking the process seriously. And in a sense this is both true and not. I did sincerely try to think about the questions that were asked of me and answer them honestly. I had considered offering up some of my excruciating attempts at serious, sincere, self-expression but I will spare you the nitty details.

I spent hours and hours pressed up against the computer screen looking for something. Looking for a sign of life, of heart, of humor, of vitality, a spark, recognition of singularity. It's my excuse for not blogging. (as if one was needed)

To begin, I answered the question: what are you most passionate about?

"Learning new things, being exposed to new ideas, making connections. The point at which you gain a deep understanding of a person or an idea or a process. Situations and relationships that liberate and empower people and individuals. Live music."


Pretty vague, eh? As I thought about this, I realized that of late, passion and inspiration have been lacking from my day to day. I don't have an all-consuming passion in my life. It seemed somehow dishonest to leave my profile as it was. So I changed it to:

"I am most passionate about lunch. I get an irrepressible yearning for it every day."

Which is true. Everyday, I think about lunch all morning. I don't stop thinking about it until I have it. And the next day the process begins anew.

I explained myself this way:
"Most of the multiple choice boxes don't seem to express anything that I would say to describe myself or anyone else. My job is the thing that takes up most of my time but it is not who I consider myself to be. Who am I? I am a petal in the palm of the universe. Who are you?"

The profiles on VPPODS, my own included, made me think of that line from the Smiths (this reused from my myspace):

"You shut your mouth
How can you say
I've gone about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does"
- The Smiths



We all do. And there's nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with the need to love and be loved. There is nothing wrong with feeling lonely and admitting to that fact. Somedays, New York feels like the loneliest of places. But it can happen anywhere, even in a big crowded room.


Today, I spoke with a fella who believes that sex is like glue. Having it binds to people together emotionally. He thought that you needed to be careful about sex because you might get stuck to the wrong kind of person and when the glue wore off you would be really stuck.

Not always, but yes, sex often does facilitate emotional attachment. There are chemicals in the brain that help facilitate this.

Upon later reflection, the glue analogy strikes a chord with me because for months and months I've felt like I am meeting people but they don't make an impression on me. They don't stick. I have become teflon or rubber and someone else in the room has figured out how to be glue. It goes both ways. I'm pretty sure that I am not inspiring all that much gluey-ness in others. When I meet someone I want to get sticky with they can't get away from me fast enough. (Okay maybe my concept of glue is a bit different from his, but you know what I mean, right? Right?)

Sometimes even sex is not enough to make a connection sticky. And in this city, there are so many forces at work to pull two people apart.

To find someone who sticks, would be amazing. To find someone who could be the cheese to my macaroni. Yeah.

So as part of cleaning house today I put up this:

"The course of true love never did run smooth..."
This little black cloud in a dress is letting her subscription run out this week. For the usual reasons: match never responded to my request for communication, I'm taking a break from dating, I'm just not ready to take the next step, I think the distance between us is too great, I think the difference in our ages is too great, the dog ate my homework, I've fallen and I can't get up, I've got an early squash game, I am allergic to the phone, and the ever popular - Other.

Take care of yourself and good luck in your search.

I'm relieved to be off the site. But also sad. It was a hopeful thing to do. And it was fun to get all that email from the VPPODS and the dudes who hang out there.

But here I am again in the regular world. Itching for a reason the throw my heart out ahead of myself, not knowing if I can beat the throw and run fast enough to catch up to it. But maybe it's not about having a reason. Maybe it's about doing it and coming up with that reason as you try to beat the throw.

Maybe the first step is to seek passion and inspiration.