Sunday, August 30, 2009
Alas
No matter how singular or magical the moment, I snap back to reality too fast. If I could just hold that back and extend the savor, how cool would that be.
Friday, August 28, 2009
CSSF part 3, post-post
I am partly done with the bedroom. Partly done. pant. pant. sigh. There is a lot of cleaning, moving to clean around, moving back and moving more stuff to make way to do more cleaning. That and the distraction of instant movies on Netflix.
"Am I straight, am I gay?
And I realized, I'm just slutty.
Where's my parade?
What about Slut Pride?" - Margaret Cho
LOL! I have not seen Margaret Cho's act since her TV show. It's damn funny. Her impression of her mother is nothing like my mother but brings on a wave of homesickness nonetheless and makes me want to call home.
Amongst the things watched as a movie called "Trojan War" which is a teen comedy which is a cross between "After Hours", "Adventures in Baby", and "Some Kind of Wonderful". It's a so-so movie. But it does have a beautiful cameo by Anthony Michael Hall. If the whole movie was like that scene, it would have been a cult classic.
When I got back to my house on Friday morning, there was a sunflower hanging from the front door knob. I removed it form the knob. let myself in and put it back. It is only now that I wonder whether it was for me. I assumed that it was for BB or JB. If you happen to have left a fleur for me, I'm sorry that I haven't thanked you. You didn't leave a note, Dork, none of us can thank you. And no. This is not me hinting around for dead vegetation.
"Am I straight, am I gay?
And I realized, I'm just slutty.
Where's my parade?
What about Slut Pride?" - Margaret Cho
LOL! I have not seen Margaret Cho's act since her TV show. It's damn funny. Her impression of her mother is nothing like my mother but brings on a wave of homesickness nonetheless and makes me want to call home.
Amongst the things watched as a movie called "Trojan War" which is a teen comedy which is a cross between "After Hours", "Adventures in Baby", and "Some Kind of Wonderful". It's a so-so movie. But it does have a beautiful cameo by Anthony Michael Hall. If the whole movie was like that scene, it would have been a cult classic.
When I got back to my house on Friday morning, there was a sunflower hanging from the front door knob. I removed it form the knob. let myself in and put it back. It is only now that I wonder whether it was for me. I assumed that it was for BB or JB. If you happen to have left a fleur for me, I'm sorry that I haven't thanked you. You didn't leave a note, Dork, none of us can thank you. And no. This is not me hinting around for dead vegetation.
CSSF part 2 and the Bell Curve
The bedroom closet is wiped out. When dry I will start hanging clothes in there.
While wiping and rinsing and wiping, I thought of a bit from the one-man show The W. Kamau Bell Curve - Ending Racism in About an Hour. He posits that black people are responsible for American popular culture, especially the music. I am inclined to agree with this statement. During this discussion, someone asks about country music and he thanks the audience for that questions and throws a up a slide.
It's a smart, sharp, funny show. And if you get the chance to see it at the New York Fringe Festival in it's last show this Saturday, August 29 at 5pm on the third floor at the Players Loft, 115 MacDougal Street , it will be well worth your time. If you miss that, keep an eye out for it, perhaps he will be coming to a theater near you or head out to SF where he is based.
While wiping and rinsing and wiping, I thought of a bit from the one-man show The W. Kamau Bell Curve - Ending Racism in About an Hour. He posits that black people are responsible for American popular culture, especially the music. I am inclined to agree with this statement. During this discussion, someone asks about country music and he thanks the audience for that questions and throws a up a slide.
"Country music = the blues - slavery."
It's a smart, sharp, funny show. And if you get the chance to see it at the New York Fringe Festival in it's last show this Saturday, August 29 at 5pm on the third floor at the Players Loft, 115 MacDougal Street , it will be well worth your time. If you miss that, keep an eye out for it, perhaps he will be coming to a theater near you or head out to SF where he is based.
Cheese Sandwich Summer Friday
This rainy day is my last summer Friday of the year. *sniff* When the summer Friday part of the season appears, I day dream about a summer Friday in which I do all the daytime things that I always intend to do here - shopping sprees, ride the staten island ferry, visit ellis island, see the northern end of Central Park, do a serious museum tour, see matinee movies or theater productions, read and nap at home, go for sumptuous spa packages, write a scathing political ska opera. It's the summer Friday after time machines are invented.
Last year I did a whole lot of nothing. I think I spent two of them working from home. And this year, one was spent at All Points West, one was spent recovering from my solo show, one was spent cleaning in preparation for a friend's visit. And this one is intended to be spent cleaning and unpacking into my newly renovated apartment. As a girl known for starting her cleaning efforts by balancing her check book and checking her email, you can sort of imagine what kind of a day this might end up being.
But first I took myself for brunch at the Clinton Street Bakery. At the raving of friends, I have tried on two other occasions to get food there. Went at 10am when they opened, was informed that there was a 2 hour wait, and went elsewhere for fud. This time on a Friday morning at 10am-ish the wait for one person was 20 mins. My day off, why the heck not.
The blueberry pancakes are very very good. That maple syrup butter stuff was delish as well. But I was knocked out by the eggs. I got a side of scrambled eggs and they were sublime. Fluffy, tender, and slightly salty. I always get eggs and never notice them. I take them for granted as the morning protein source of choice. These were exceptional eggs. I wanted to walk back into the kitchen and shake the hand of the egg guy. Wow.
I talked to my parents. They have been bugging me about this electronic device they have recently heard of called a "Blueberry." Something that high powered and ambitious corporate types apparently use to stay in the loop at all times. They worry that the lack of a "Blueberry" sequesters me to some kind of corporate ghetto, some little cubicle sized box in which to rot in obscurity. I told them I had no idea what they were talking about and that the blueberry is a nutritious and delicious fruit but certainly not a corporate miracle. They have since called me two more times accusing me of being too stingy, too short-sighted, and arguing that it's the kind of investment that would pay off in the long run. I expect that they will be calling a few more times during the course of the day to further discuss this "Blueberry" question. And I am now dreaming of pie.
On arriving home I find that my newly painted windows are all painted shut. So I went at them with a butter knife. Hacking at the paint in the cracks and wiggling the knife to pry the window away from the sills. In my minds eye, I see Jimmy Stewart laid up with a broken leg watching a short sleepy asian girl with big black glasses making violent stabbing motions through the air right by the window with a red faced, cranky, determined look on her face. He turns to Grace Kelly and hands her the binoculars and the string tremolo swells as they discuss whether what they are seeing is real or imagined and whether to call the cops. In my zeal, I hacked some of the paint off the sills and will try to glue them back - for the sake of appearances - once I find the wood glue.
It's a cheese sandwich blog post kind of day. More updates to come for better or worse. I had thought of doing this on the appropriate forum - Twitter. But I seldom write in 140 character increments. I leave that exercise until my next free Friday.
Last year I did a whole lot of nothing. I think I spent two of them working from home. And this year, one was spent at All Points West, one was spent recovering from my solo show, one was spent cleaning in preparation for a friend's visit. And this one is intended to be spent cleaning and unpacking into my newly renovated apartment. As a girl known for starting her cleaning efforts by balancing her check book and checking her email, you can sort of imagine what kind of a day this might end up being.
But first I took myself for brunch at the Clinton Street Bakery. At the raving of friends, I have tried on two other occasions to get food there. Went at 10am when they opened, was informed that there was a 2 hour wait, and went elsewhere for fud. This time on a Friday morning at 10am-ish the wait for one person was 20 mins. My day off, why the heck not.
The blueberry pancakes are very very good. That maple syrup butter stuff was delish as well. But I was knocked out by the eggs. I got a side of scrambled eggs and they were sublime. Fluffy, tender, and slightly salty. I always get eggs and never notice them. I take them for granted as the morning protein source of choice. These were exceptional eggs. I wanted to walk back into the kitchen and shake the hand of the egg guy. Wow.
I talked to my parents. They have been bugging me about this electronic device they have recently heard of called a "Blueberry." Something that high powered and ambitious corporate types apparently use to stay in the loop at all times. They worry that the lack of a "Blueberry" sequesters me to some kind of corporate ghetto, some little cubicle sized box in which to rot in obscurity. I told them I had no idea what they were talking about and that the blueberry is a nutritious and delicious fruit but certainly not a corporate miracle. They have since called me two more times accusing me of being too stingy, too short-sighted, and arguing that it's the kind of investment that would pay off in the long run. I expect that they will be calling a few more times during the course of the day to further discuss this "Blueberry" question. And I am now dreaming of pie.
On arriving home I find that my newly painted windows are all painted shut. So I went at them with a butter knife. Hacking at the paint in the cracks and wiggling the knife to pry the window away from the sills. In my minds eye, I see Jimmy Stewart laid up with a broken leg watching a short sleepy asian girl with big black glasses making violent stabbing motions through the air right by the window with a red faced, cranky, determined look on her face. He turns to Grace Kelly and hands her the binoculars and the string tremolo swells as they discuss whether what they are seeing is real or imagined and whether to call the cops. In my zeal, I hacked some of the paint off the sills and will try to glue them back - for the sake of appearances - once I find the wood glue.
It's a cheese sandwich blog post kind of day. More updates to come for better or worse. I had thought of doing this on the appropriate forum - Twitter. But I seldom write in 140 character increments. I leave that exercise until my next free Friday.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Once upon time
When my mother was a young woman, she loved ice cream. And so, when my parents were first married, on payday, my father would take my mother to this fancy and expensive ice cream parlor in Seoul and they would eat ice cream for dinner. And at other times of the month, he would buy her ice cream bars. "They were different from scooped ice cream, but they were VERY good," my mother said, a little shy, a little embarassed, but beaming with the memory of that ice cream.
It is a strange thing to consider that once upon on a time the people who are now my parents were sustained by love and ice cream. And honeymooned in their apartment with a newly purchased collection of opera records, because there was no money to travel.
It is a strange thing to consider that once upon on a time the people who are now my parents were sustained by love and ice cream. And honeymooned in their apartment with a newly purchased collection of opera records, because there was no money to travel.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
What you find in the reference room
I have just run across "The Cowboy Encyclopedia" by Richard W. Slatta.
I opened it up at random to page 291 to the entry:
So there.
I opened it up at random to page 291 to the entry:
Pull Leather
To grab onto the saddle when a horse bucks. Pulling leather shows a lack of skill or courage or both.
So there.
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