Kitlab 4.0

NEW BLOG

2010-03-31T13:07:00.001-07:00

Less about me, more about everything else. http://kitaliana.com

Enough about me

2010-03-28T15:06:00.001-07:00

New blog! Less about me, more about us. That means you, Manhattan. Island of my dreams. Source of my nightmares. Island in the stream... jewel of the mighty Hudson... center of the known universe. More: Kitaliana

What Up

2010-03-25T09:50:00.000-07:00

Since my privacy setting are generally set to "stalk me now," I thought I'd add my calendar to this blog. I figure I'll probably make 1 our of any 5 listed events so I should be okay. It's just an experiment anyhow.

Update...

2010-01-23T19:43:00.000-08:00

Highlights from solo Bahama trip: eating lunch at Skans on West Bay St. (ok food, great local atmosphere, surly waitresses) I heard, behind me, a sonorous and beautiful male voice singing Sinatra, softly. All through my meal (1/4 of a chicken club sandwich), he sang. When I left, I said hello and thank you. A handsome older man -- could've been 60 or 70s) who looked pretty much exactly like I thought he would -- or should -- sat with his friend. According to his friend, he had been tapped to sing for.. the movie Jaws! Okay, Jaws 4, but so what.

Will also always remember Max (pictured), aged 9, selling his mother's homemade soap outside her shop on Bay Street. Max is a soccer player (but really should be in sales). He warned me not to eat the soap (which really did smell eatable) because it would "put chemistry into my body."

Treated myself to a meal at 5-star restaurant Graycliff, just up the hill. Lots and lots of old-world atmosphere, most deferential and friendly staff, and good food. Not good enough for what I paid, but hey. I paid for an experience. Which was great - but needed to be shared. Oh well.

Funniest conversation involved miscommunication with my friendly cabdriver. I asked about the zoo (a ticky tacky but still wondrous place). He told me it had burned down. I proceeded to express way too much horror and shock ("Oh my god, what about the animals?!") until he told me that he was talking about The Zoo, a popular nightclub.

Bahamas Bound

2010-01-22T17:39:00.001-08:00

Yes, it's been a while. Just remember, this is a log, not a blog. So. I flew alone today on JetBleu which I love to Nassau, Bahamas. Why? Because I was cold and lonely. I'm still lonely but not cold. So that's good. Actually I'm not lonely either.

Back when I booked, I thought I was sooo smart to get on first flight out, to be able to be on the beach by 11 am. Well. I plum forgot how hard it is to wake up at 4 am. Hard as in I couldn't do it. But I've done the trek to JFK so many times now (going to Maine) that I just thought I'd be fine. Totally forgot, also, that international flights require at LEAST one hour before boarding. Oops. I had to wheedle and plead and do my kewpie doll sad face to get them to let me even get a boarding pass. Phew!

Then 2.5 hours, window-seated, next to I swear one of the Jersey Shore couples. We landed, got through customs, found a working ATM, found cab, got to hotel, sweating gently. Then I hit the beach, swam for nearly 40 minutes and luxuriated. Then had to eat at the outside bar (great burger) and met a nice woman from Atlanta who had been to Maine! In her childhood! At a camp for underprivileged kids! Just like my dream Frog Pond Fund project. We drank guava margaritas and chatted until the sun came back out. I told her there were many more black people there now, which is good. Damn, she said, pissed that she wouldn't be special there anymore.

Notes on hotel: still love it (British Colonial Hilton) with its rich history and great private beachfront. Did not like the concierge (hello, you've never been asked where a girl can get a pedicure? really?) and the hotel's messed up wireless system (2 out of 5 floors have it in-room. Huh?). But that's okay. Tomorrow it's back to the beach and meditating and reading (Let the Great World Spin, which is oh so very good).

Update: Watching Hope for Haiti program on the teevee. Amazing. I never watch this kind of thing but the twitterverse compelled me and I'm so glad. So moving, so well done. 50 hankies for this production. I hope everyone who watched has or will give to help Haiti.

I've also fallen out of love with my netbook which is NOT all that light and too damn small and just today lost its magic ability to transmit my voice so goodbye Skype and for pete's sake. It's yours if you haul it away.

Kerkyra

2009-11-24T08:45:00.000-08:00

Wow, just when I thought I was done, done, done with Corfu. My neighbor (who I barely knew) moved out and left some crap in the hallway. I picked up some old foreign bills thinking what the heck. They sat, somewhat crumpled, on my desk for a while and I went to get rid of them, noticed the denominations (100, 500!) and hesitated. Then I stared at them for a bit and suddenly gasped -- seeing a perfect etching of of the stunning and unforgettable view of Corfu's Old Fort on one of them. example Wow. I don't normally attach meaning to this kind of coincidence. So... I won't. Yet.

Today's Dog!

2009-10-23T16:23:00.000-07:00

Random Notes

2009-10-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

So, another Sunday. Spent time at the Lighthouse yesterday going over use cases for software engineering: requirements gathering, UML (Unified Modeling Language), etc. It's moderately interesting, in that it can be applied to anything. (I've modeled a use case on my cat's eating behaviors... that's one complicated, ugly chart). Last week it was iterative and agile frameworks for software development - again, all very theoretical if you ask me. But kind of intriguing -- unless you are actually forced to use it, like, for work or something. Ew.

Google finally waved at me (thanks, B. Green) and I'm still trying to figure the thing out. Maybe I need more friends. Not sure it can help with that...

That's it for the tech front. I'll have more next week after Pop!Tech and trip to Maine (please let there be some foliage to ogle).

Happy Birthday, Monica McLeod* (Oct. 22), wherever you are.

Trip to Athens is back on. Yay.

* from Pilgrim Lodge summer camp, 1975.

Corfu Again

2009-10-12T16:24:00.000-07:00

I guess the reason it took so long to post this is that much of my trip to Greece felt so quickly like a dream. A good dream, yes, but a dream. Hazy, not quite real and, in retrospect, really hard to capture.

Maybe it's the light, maybe it was the book I was reading*, maybe it was the too-good-to-be-true encounters... Who knows. I think what I'll do is just transcribe the notes I took from my little blue notebook bought in the only deli-type storefront mini-market I found in Old Town Corfu.

Lawrence Durrell's Prospero's Cell -- a "guide to the landscape and manners of the island of Corfu"

First, though, the romantic and true beginning. I'm not exaggerating and while it now feels really like a dream, this is what happened. After uneventful flights JFK to Paris to Athens to Corfu (phew) I dropped my bags at Hotel Astron (near the New Fort) and walked up through somewhat familiar windy streets to the cafe I thought G (from last trip, captured somewhere in this blog, nothing terribly important) might be. He was there, standing at the cafe where he works, back turned to me. Almost exactly like I had left him a year before.

I called his name and a little later we were zooming via scooter to Kanoni, arguably one of the more romantic places in Greece, a little island with a little church under the moonlight in a huge bay.

We canoodled for a bit and took off again through the streets of Corfu.

Because my friend worked a lot (mostly at night) the rest of the trip revolved around my obligatory solo site-seeing day trips (including to what --I was told -- is one of the most beautiful beach areas of Paleokastristas, which was ... nice.. pretty. Hills tumbling into the ocean. That kind of thing. Lovely.)

I'm not sure that the best part (worst? well, most real) for me wasn't trying to find the bus station (Blue. Or... Green. Can't remember but just that wonderfully simple) in the seedier, "realer" part of Corfu... downtown, perhaps? And then traveling with the locals, with stops to pick up and drop off piles of newspapers. The ticket man smelled quite ripe but won me over with his astonishingly impressive knowledge of NYC (he'd never been there but knew all the boroughs by name and racial makeup). All in all, a nice day trip (and for under 3 euros vs. 25+ for a cab. Yay me.)

There was also a super-long walk to what I was told was a very interesting historic place, the birthplace of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh and father of Prince Charles, a mansion poised above the large harbor of Corfu). The place was nice but nothing rivaling the Spreckles (sp?) in SF or a million French chateaux... But the Corfiots do seem very proud that PP was born there... and good on them.

As a side note, I nearly died there. The sidewalk ended at one point past the long and beautiful curve of the harbor and walking up a curvy road at twilight meant cars came THISCLOSE to wiping me out, for nearly half a mile, so... not so fun.

The best night for me began with G and I and three of his friends (truly nice guys). I found myself with them zooming by car to god knows where (and yes, I had a moment of wtf am I doing?) but we ended up in a bar featuring the most amazing George Michael impersonator. So dancing, drinking... what more could an American girl possibly ask for on a warm, starry night in Corfu?

Solo meals were a delight and a trial (see notes below) and usually centered around La Spianada, the expansive esplanade that serves as the focal point of Corfu Town, with its Italianate architecture and French-inspired boulevard-ness). Moments of pure touristic wide-eyed wondering combined with inward-looking moments of vacation-tempered contemplation. How happy I was.

High points of my al fresco dining included dealing with stray cats (one actually jumped on my table as I tried to eat sardines). Pigeons were also a problem, as were wasps, and ubiquitous African peddlars of bootleg DVDs. No biggie though.

RANDOM NOTES.

Breakfast - Greek salad (they contain no lettuce! and believe it or not, too much feta. Oh, but the olive oil... mmm)

Dinner: Resto Rex on Kapo St. Very good. Taramasalata! Finally! I thought there might be a shortage.

Changed hotels from Astron to Cavalieri (more stars, for whatever that's worth) as the former smelled bad. Sorry.

I try so hard not to be perceived as an Ugly American that I sometimes forget to have fun. Hey, look at my shoes, people! Not ugly. And NOT American...

Definitely hearing a few American voices (nice, actually). Wonder if I'd ever recognize a solo female U.S. traveler like myself. Sad that I'm not sure I would. Or that there ever are any...

Great mussels a la Grecque (tomato base with melty feta). Waiter spilled water on my iPhone. Insult to probably imagined injury.

What to do with myself tomorrow? Albania?

Had to ask for water again It's ok. I need to cultivate 3 new attitudes while dining alone. 1) I'm alone. I'm that cool and I know it. 2) I'm alone and I don't give a shit. 3) I'm simply superior to you because of either #1 or #2.

Serbian beeyotches at next table. Older man with stance and pants. Cream-colored jeans take some balls to wear at that age.

Americans ARE loud. Wine + jetlag = BAD

One night. Amaze (think that's the name of the place) on the water in the shadow of the Old Fort. Lights glimmering on rippling waves. A moon. Sitting on outdoor couch overlooking a small section of what is the Ionian sea. Idle talk, questioning glances.. filakias.. moments I'll never forget.

Neat to meet M. on Hotel Cavaliere balcony. 70-something man from DC (wife, Carol, inside getting ready for bed). He'd wisely purchased a small, plastic (4 euro!) chair for the tiny balcony he and C had enjoyed every year for the past 10. He apologized for his bare knees; he wasn't wearing pants. (!)

How much to tip. "Whatever you want" is NOT helpful. I settle on 10% or slightly more for waiters if they are nice. Cab drivers are NOT to be tipped. I hear. However, I tip Mario because he's nice. Though I thought maybe he'd pick me UP from the beach he dropped me off at (a sad beach, nice water but sad slightly dirty sand). It was a nice dream.

Met an ex-Air Force guy, 55, on the magical and deserted (that night) rooftop restaurant of hotel when I thought I was alone. A simple cough from the far corner of the roof and an amber glow alerted me to him. I called out hello and he invited me over to chat. He flies Gulf Stream planes now, for a very wealthy Lebanese fmaily.

He showed me cell-phone pics of his knee (he'd had a recent operation to repair it following a series of combat wounds. It was fixed up to the tune of a quarter million $ of government money with titanium rods and a ball and socket mechanism.) So I got to see the inside of a man's knee under operation (graphically) and after. Cool. Gross but cool. He's a walking modern medical miracle, actually. A mere 90 days after this amazing operation he had hiked up to the top of Corfu's Old Fort. Incredible.

Maybe the most interesting thing, to me, was the man's utter amazement at his own life. He was humbled, he said, by his own fortune and nearly overcome, every day, at his luck. He was quick to point out, however, that it didn't come overnight. He had worked hard for many years, had sacrificed family time and personal safety and .. was honored to be able to pass that experience and wisdom to his daughters.

I climbed up to the top of the Old Fort, too, alone on a clear blue day -- and with inappropriate high-heeled sandals. So there! Neat views, lots of tourists, quintessential Kerkyra experience.

Beware: it's much harder coming down.

More pictures here

Kerkyra: Part One, Preparations

2009-09-13T15:03:00.000-07:00

This missive will serve as the first installment of my essay on my trip to Corfu. Sounds pretty boring already, right? Well, it's getting better. I booked the trip in my usual haphazard way, in a fit of feeling sorry for myself and thinking of G. in Corfu last September, the only man who has shown the fortitude to accept my wonderfulness with enthusiasm, waiting for me until the wee hours of the night outside my hotel even after I'd promised I wouldn't come out. Okay, I don't know if he really waited but who cares? I lost his number (he wrote it in my copy of Henry Miller's The Colossus at Maroussi, which I lost somewhere at the airport) but I expect him to still be there. Or not.

My last trip to Corfu was wonderful and convoluted and disappointing in many ways, documented here, somewhere, if you care to feel my pain. This time, I thought I'd go alone and check out the place again and maybe find some sunny sliver of happiness to carry me through another New York winter.

Reading:

The Rough Guide to The Ionian Islands
"Dangling between the southern tip of Italy and the west coast of mainland Greece, at the point where the Adriatic meets the Ionian Sea, the lush green sickle of Corfu was one of the first Greek islands to attract mass tourists in the 1960s. Since then it has acquired the sleaziest reputation among the islands, although much of this is exaggerated and due more to snobbery than actual fact."

Okay, note to self: Read guide books BEFORE traveling. Eh, who cares.

My Family and Other Animals, by Gerald Durrell, brother of Lawrence. So far, an extremely amusing account of an Augustin Burroughs-meets-David Sedaris' family that leaves damp England for the sun-soaked climes of Corfu.

SayIt In Greek
Χάρηκα για τη γνωριμία Χάρηκα για τη γνωριμία

The Greek Islands, Laurence Durrell. No excerpt can do his writing justice but as he harkens back to Homer and winds back to present-day Greece, he provides a sensuous tone-poem to Corfu; one gets it: the place is an endless series of contradictions.

"Another thing becomes clear as you sit over your afternoon ouzo watching the sunlight decline among the green cones and vales of the Ten Saints Mountain. If the scenery has a certain plumpness, a Venetian rotundity (this is what the Athenians will always say about Corfu: but they are jealous because here is limitless shade and water)... On the light: "It has a queer x-ray impression, as if the sea were really a dark negative of itself against which the swimmers move..."

I leave for Corfu in 10 days. PS. I'm going to go to Albania too. If it's possible.

More from Maine

2009-08-23T06:39:00.000-07:00

Dang. Blogger blurred my photo. Oh well, you get the idea... One other thing from Maine trip. There was a mysterious occurrence of a multitude of small holes made in our lovely lawn. We speculated: moose! Gophers a la Caddyshack. P. the expert concluded skunks. I was like, yeah, right. Then one night I awoke to a most horrible smell, overwhelming powerful and putrid. The dog was sleeping in my room and the smell was coming from her, poor dear. I smelled her furry head and recoiled in horror. Skunk!!! I didn't sleep much that night and by the next day the smell had dissipated from both my room and the dog. A Have-a-Heart trap set by my dad has yet to yield a single skunk.

Plenitude. And more dogs.

2009-08-22T12:59:00.000-07:00

I totally get this dog. You can't see but he was wagging his tail. Not at me, I'm sure, but happy to be in the air-conditioned entryway to the Food Emporium on Greenwich Street. More photos.

Had a great time in Maine with perfect weather and great food and kayaking off Boothbay Harbor, swimming in the pond. . I seem to have lost my "voice" and so ... more pics than words. I think it's the heat/humidity.

Had great fun with the splashy painting below (wherever it lands) which is on a wall near the Highline. It generally takes people 14 minutes to figure out what it actually is. It took me 13, but that was in person.

The ferris wheels (!) were in Bath, Maine. The surreal curve of the Bath Bridge courtesy my iPhone.

I don't watch much dance, though I like it and have danced myself a bit way back when. But I was blown away by the Mark Morris Group performing as part of Mostly Mozart series, with YoYo Ma. Fantastic and inspiring and really not apropos to any photos here but I needed to report.

Today's Dog! Worrywart Walter

2009-08-10T12:09:00.000-07:00

I love this dog, man. I was so smitten I forgot to ask what his real name is or what the hell kind of dog he is.
The full dog run here.

Today's dog! Learnings and Apologia

2009-08-04T12:21:00.000-07:00

I'm not on hiatus but am taking the dog days of summer to its logical extreme. I'm going to focus on dogs I see and photograph in and around Manhattan's West Village. If I feel like writing about something else, I will. See you in September.

Well, shoot. The really interesting thing about this dog was how BIG he is (XXXL). I need to carry around some object that will serve to indicate the size of these creatures, as it's one attribute that would qualify a lucky canine to be part of this collection (others include odd heads, missing tails, exceedingly large ears, quirky, sad, gnarly, perplexed, bored, giddy or nonplussed expressions, big butts and funny feet). See, I'm not that picky. What will NOT qualify a given dog is "cuteness." That's what the interwebs are for. I'm all about interestingness.

Most people I accost for pictures are very, very nice. None of them so far have looked like their dogs (which is good). I try to project friendliness (easy) and dogged enthusiasm (easy) as well as a love of dogs (I like them okay). I never approach if a dog is doing his business -- and won't even wait for it to be over; I just move on and pretend that sort of thing just doesn't happen in a civilized society in the 21st century.

So far so good. The west side of Manhattan seems to have a preponderance of interesting dogs, which does reflect well on its renowned diversity.

New Dog! And the Highline

2009-07-25T10:18:00.000-07:00

Quick blog post here, as I'm off to the Lower East Side in the hot heat in search of a new dog. Not for me, but for here, of course. This one I found last weekend in Union Square Park. Again, NOT Photoshopped but certainly a ... mix.

Below (or wherever they land) are some photos from an early morning walk near and on the famed Highline, which is definitely a bit magical.

Dog Days

2009-07-12T15:08:00.000-07:00

Today's Dog!

2009-07-11T09:16:00.000-07:00

This dog has not been Photoshopped (though he might wish he had been). I believe his name is "Tiny." He's a shivery little thing but he did try to climb my leg (like my cat does) which I believe indicates some level of happiness. At least I'd like to think so. The funny thing is, so many of these dog people know each other. I showed Tiny's owner a picture of the last dog (I forgot his name so we'll call him "Cookie") and she's like, "oh yeah, that's Sam's dog, Cookie!" Something like that but it made me feel like part of a community (without having to deal with doggy business).

Wrapup from Maine coming soon.

Going with Google.. for now

2009-06-27T07:34:00.000-07:00

We did an experiment today comparing Bing and Google. We searched for "Mouse Island Maine." Pretty straightforward, right? Bing returned 2,750,00 results, with the second one being "Naked Photos in Mouse Island, Maine, United States - World's Largest Site for Sex Seekers, Swingers, & Adult Dating!" Um, ew.

Google returned 271,000 results and all on the first page are about, well, Mouse Island, Maine.
Going with Google. For now.

Plus one link led to MyTopo, which seems cool if you're into custom maps.

* * *

Spent last two of a four-hour stint (the last until Fall) reading at the Lighthouse -- another lovely session with Dr. Richard Smith, noted African musicologist. I might have encountered him in Brooklyn if I'd managed to attend the Fema Kuti (son of Fela) concert this week, as he did and I had meant to. Darn. We went over latest pages of his book (nearly up to 300 pages) which is just fascinating and really well written. I volunteered to help with the second-phase editing process and he noted my interest on his ever-present tape recorder -- so here's hoping; I'd be honored.

First two hours were spent with W. and his new iPhone. The accessibility features (Apple's VoiceOver) are rather impressive. We also explored how to develop iPhone apps.

Bought a copy of Italo Calvino's The Baron in the Trees to re-read so Sunday is: laundry, gym, and arboreal fantasy.

Today's Dog!

2009-06-14T07:44:00.000-07:00

I can't bear how I can't make this page not look like something the cat threw up. I know I could if I tinkered with the html but I just don't have the patience. Apologies... again.

You know when I post just pictures of dogs that I'm not really inspired or happy. And, unlike most people around here it's NOT the weather. My newfound paparrazo friend has disappeared but I did meet a very nice man after finding his license on the street and googling him and finding his old hedge fund company and leaving a message which was passed on to him post-haste. Love that.. He's Iranian and likes to party. Hence the lost (and found) license.

Found a great clothing boutique, Runway Soho (425 Broome St.) where they will alter designs to your liking (at least, in my case, remove epaulettes and make a medium shirt) for the original price and done, supposedy, within a week or so. How cool!

Read to W. yesterday about algorithms and sorting: bubble sort and selection sort and insertion sort. It's all very, very theoretical to me (which I like) and I think I've learned the best way to sort my books and socks, algorithmically speaking. We avoided the actual code (which I don't like so much, especially reading aloud). We tired of sorting after a while so we browsed through audible.com's selection of spy novels (Vincent Flynn, Gayle Lynds). I tried to talk W. out of applying to the CIA before he gets his masters but he's chomping at the bit.

Listening to: Markus Shafer, Miene Seele ruhmt und preist: Aria. Just beautiful.

Sunday: SoHo Streets

2009-06-09T07:43:00.000-07:00

Wednesday Morning, 3 am

2009-06-03T04:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, 6:00 am. Morning run and promised morning photo. Note to self: don't run with camera anymore. I started a new regimen today, which has only one rule: sweat before 7 am. Every day. Today it was a run up along the Hudson, not terribly far, and then a long walk back through the far West Village. Tomorrow it could be jump roping inside ... you get the idea.

There's something really empowering about feeling like you've actually done something before 7 am. The rest of the day is gravy. Photo: from the weekend, drinks and french fries and friends at the Frying Pan boat/restaurant on the Hudson. Jeff Goldblum made an appearance, though not at our table exactly. Just... past it. Didn't matter -- the view is spectacular, with the Statue of Liberty in the distance, down river. The other photo is from morning run.

Two weekends in NYC

2009-05-31T09:46:00.000-07:00

I'm learning how to just "be" thanks to friends in the neighborhood who are really good at it. Just "being" means going to a cafe and just sitting around talking... for hours at a time. I generally get antsy after about twenty minutes but I set a personal record this last weekend. We normally go to Oscar on Sullivan Street, which is convenient, comfortable and has the nicest staff. The food is pretty good but the sidewalk tables are the big draw.

We also were treated to brunch on S. rooftop where we fried under the spring sun and drank champagne and ate bread and cheese and lovely omelettes (how on earth does one spell that?). Good fun and another exercise in just being (and being hot, to boot).

After being for some time, we got off our butts and checked out the renovated Washington Square Park. It was marginally nicer, though it got mixed reviews from the group.

Okay okay

2009-05-31T07:24:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been a while. That's because I was just having too much fun. I'm throwing in pictures of the fun, from a weekend in Maine to two weekends in NYC. The time in Maine was really nice, good weather and a fun time with P. & J. and T. and of course the parents. Who were learning their new computer. From scratch. I heartily applaud their concentration, patience and equanimity as they struggled to master the universe of Windows. Having a Mac helped but it wasn't easy. I didn't make it easy for them, either, starting them out on email with Gmail. Yikes. But I think they're getting it.

Other highlights included watching a humming bird, rescuing a bird who hit the window (P. kindly gave it a moment to clear its little bird-brain of its concussion, verify that its little neck or legs weren't broken and well, watch the video to see the outcome. More highlights included ice-cream at Round Top and wonderful vacation food (hamburgers, hotdogs) at the great Larson's Lunchbox in Damariscotta.

Mom made a lobster feast, of course, but I didn't have any and T. ate all the Dinosaur Chicken Finger things. Oh well. Good diet. Plus I ran a few miles (that's "ran" not walked, thank you very much).

I love how Obama keeps watch over the Thompson family kitchen.

Ann in the Morning

2009-05-13T09:10:00.000-07:00

So here's yesterday's picture from the morning, before I passed my neighbor Ann but after I had almost made my new neighbor cry (mentioning pets; he had to leave his dog behind when he moved). Ann takes care of my cats when I'm away. She's a pip. She has more energy than most people I know -- and that's after being run over by a minivan a few months ago.

Can't wait to get to Maine tomorrow. I know we're doing the lobster thing on Saturday (nobody ever remembers I don't like lobster but that's okay. I like it ... enough.) If I'm lucky we'll go kayaking with Pete and I must walk the land to figure out where I'm going to actually build my treehouse house.

More on Paris... pics uploaded

2009-05-10T06:53:00.000-07:00

Someone asked me yesterday if I'm a "visual" person or a "word" person. I couldn't answer. But I found while starting this post that I was at a loss for words until I stuck a picture in.

That was one mean waitress. I ate the best steak entrecote of my life while she ignored me the entire time and when I left it was the first time I was sad in Paris. Dining alone isn't that fun.

Now I'm back in NYC eating cold edamame on a beautiful Sunday, delaying the weeks of laundry I need to deal with.

My new goal is to post a picture a day, one taken while walking to work through SoHo and Tribeca. Here's one from last week. Keith Hernandez weirdly painted on some scaffolding.

One more picture from France (Versailles)... and many more here.

Paris

2009-05-06T18:02:00.000-07:00

Paris this time around was wonderful. Traveling alone is the way to go: no pressure. It was a true vacation: woke up late, had coffee on the terrace of my dear friends P. and S. apartment, wandered all over at my own pace.

Had some good meals, ate and drank and talked with good friend and amazing woman (and now Parisian) E. for the last (late) night out, took a train to the mind-altering Chateau Versailles (wow, just, wow), caught a Calder/Kandinsky exhibit at Beaubourg, explored a new neighborhood (Bastille and north), bought tons of cool things (nothing terribly expensive), can say I've been to Dublin (the airport), flirted with one guy (I need the practice!), did not find mon amour and that's okay. Saw Victor Hugo's old place, drank too much wine and felt misérable until the sun came out and the sky turned a true French blue and the clouds were impossibly white and puffy and I thought, wow, I could totally live here.

Notes: There's as much bad fashion in Paris as in New York. Possibly more, given the Parisian : tourist ratio. Also, the French produce more over-the-top cuckamonga advertising than even America.

The French inexplicably drink instant coffee.

The French can be incredibly generous and good-humored.

May Day is to be avoided, unless you have something to celebrate or protest. Shops closed, museums closed. My favorite day. I spent it just walking with no agenda whatsoever. Thought about Sacre Coeur but... too far. Wound up having a phenomenal lunch north and west of the Louvre somewhere (salmon carpaccio and green salad). Discovered my new favorite designer-I-can't-afford: Anne Fontaine. In a funny coincidence, I just found her SoHo store today by accident.

Five years ago I bought my favorite earrings (green resin circles on pewter) in a tiny storefront in Paris somewhere near my all-time favorite department store, BHV. It's no longer there (the little store), not surprisingly. On my walking day (logged about six miles) this time I passed another tiny jewelry store in the Marais district and something caught my eye in the window and when I walked in I discovered it was the same store -- Tam Tam -- in a different place, still owned by the same woman). Sweet.

My French is infinitely better than I thought. One just has to pronounce properly, thoughtfully and con brio. It helps to sound a little desperate and exasperated.

Best area for last-minute gifts: Rue de Rivoli east of St. Paul metro stop on south side.

That's all for now. If you more details, you'll have to offer me a nice glass of Côtes du Rhône. Check back.. Flickring photos soon. A bientot.

Random Reportings

2009-04-17T15:37:00.000-07:00

Finally, Friday. Though it just means that more work looms on the horizon: moving the 300+ books my mother painstakingly dusted and moved and organized, since the new sofa is unlikely to be squeezed past the near end of it. DANG.

Painting the bathroom again in that lovely shade of sunny yellow that makes me look like I'm 37% better-looking to myself than I really am (don't want to think too much about that.)

The only music I can listen to while doing all this stuff is the Beatles and James Taylor's funkier stuff ("Honey, Don't Leave L.A.")

I didn't even mention the coolest thing, from a couple weeks ago. Was lucky enough to attend the Food & Wine magazine's 2009 Best New Chefs event at the great City Winery space. Star sightings: from Top Chef, that cute Italian guy and the bald guy who won and his gal-pal on the show. Plus Harold Dieterle from Season One and Ethan Suplee, the ... slow guy from "My Name is Earl." The food was ... there aren't words. You can read more at the Food & Wine page or New York magazine.

My life in bullet points

2009-04-14T20:00:00.000-07:00

Oh shut up. Just be glad it's not another freaking PowerPoint, right? Okay. Going backward... tough day with Tribeca Film Festival and total, massive online rejection of any ticket-buying joy.

Current guilty-pleasure reading: The Straw Men by Michael Marshall. "Brilliantly written and scary as hell" -- Stephen King.

Easter in Harlem: wow. just wow. Riverside Church is gorgeous. But you knew that. Mom dragged me there and for me just being in an above-ground subway train in Harlem was WAY COOL. I know I sound like I'm 12. But that's what church does to you. The waaaaay long service was oddly punctuated with opportunities for people to grab your hand and that would've been jake if the lady next to me hadn't grabbed a mini -bottle of hand sanitizer right after giving me my paw back after three verses of Amazing Grace with totally made-up lyrics. No disrespect.

Maine in March...

2009-04-05T15:17:00.000-07:00

Plus ca change....

2009-03-22T10:40:00.001-07:00

Instead of going to the gym I'm scanning old photos. It's very.... aggravating and slow, truth be told. My scanner is my non-printing printer which is ridiculous since its such a behemoth.

Meanwhile, it's a cool, sunny Sunday and I'm in the middle of renovating my apartment. Step one: move ginormo bookcase that I found on the street (how on EARTH did I get it home alone? I'm so impressed!) out of the bedroom and into the livingroom where it looks very nice against the dusky blue wall. Next step: move all the books (around 350) and arrange in the way that makes me look the smartest.

I do not know why my mother thought it was okay to send me off to first grade in a dress that short. I guess that explains why I was so popular. I remember that pencil-box with such fondness. The shoes? Not so much. Yikes.

Birdland

2009-03-15T16:15:00.000-07:00

So, yeah, I've not posted in a while because I went to Maine and wanted to post photos but couldn't find my camera so bought two cheapy throw-aways and took great pics but haven't gotten them processed. "Processed." Can you imagine.

I'll highlight the highlights from my most recent Maine trip. I spotted a mink. No, in the wild! In the front yard! Well, more like "over yonder" and I didn't really know it was a mink at the time. I thought fox, first, then otter. It sinewed blackly on the white expanse of snow about 200 yards from me, went down to the pond but not in, and then silkily scurried back up the hill and away. P. informed me, after my description of the creature, that it was a mink, though it might have been a fisher (the woodland animal that ate some of our cats in my childhood. We think.) I

I thought I had another moment of nature's miracleness when I watched a wood pecker in the tree I used to climb (it got so tall! I got so old!!) and then observed a bunch of chickadees also pecking, at the lilac bush in front of the house. J. informed me that that's normal, they're just also pecking for wood bugs. Like there's not a totally full bird-feeder right there on the terrace. Hello? Greedy little bastards.

Okay, I'll Make This Quick

2009-02-23T16:27:00.000-08:00

An exercise in brevity. Highlights of the last week included getting a new person to read to at the Lighthouse (one time thing) who truly inspired and even got me out of the house. We'll call him Dr. R.S., a highly-respected world music expert. He's (I'm guessing) 70, completely blind and is writing a book. He hung out with Fela Kuti (!!!) back in the day and because of him I ended up at SOB's last night to hear Jamaican reggae/hip hop star Sean Paul. Who knew?

Star sighting: the young guy from tv's Criminal Minds on Sixth Avenue with his posse. I actually recognized his voice before I saw his face.

I bought a couch (ouch) from Room and Board. The color scheme for my apartment is gonna be dusky blue, flannel gray accented with chartreuse. La di da.

The only way to watch the Oscars is afterward, same night, DVR'd and fast-forwarded. Makes for a late night but totally worth it.

Quantum Convulsions

2009-02-15T07:03:00.001-08:00

The sloth of my writing life is apparently cyclical, corresponding to the arrival in my perpetually unlocked mailbox of Harpers and Atlantic Monthly magazines. They tend to arrive together in an overwhelming embarrassment of reading riches. And they never fail to inspire me. Not every article, no, but usually at least one that has me rapt and joyous (the dryly hilarious "Findings"* in Harpers or depressed (the amazing writing power of Edward Hoagland, in his current essay, "Curtain Calls*) in a good way -- the way that the colorful universe of books in Barnes & Noble makes me want to write, too, and also stops me dead in my literary tracks.

* From "Findings" this month: Australian researchers were trying to solve the problem of humans outliving their eyes; scientists found that brownsnout spookfish grow mirrors to reflect light into the retinas. Gu Gu, a panda in China, bit his third human... Physicists looking for gravitational waves may have discovered instead the noise of space-time breaking down into individuals grains; these quantum convulsions, said one physicist, would confirm the theory that the universe is a blurry holographic projection of a distand two-dimensional plane. .. Coca-Cola is not an efective spermicide."

And Hoagland's essay made me envision my own inevitable "twilight years" and death in a strangely comforting pastoral and amoral (in the best sense) way. His writing is alive with metaphor and simile: "Believing in life, I believe in death as well, and at seventy-six look forward to my immersion in the other plane of the see-saw also."

He has little patience for regret: "Memories, thank goodness -- not omissions -- make me wistful... As for the graph of my behavior zigzagging behind me through my places of residence like a snail's faintly luminescent trail, arrogant, dunderheaded embarrassments do prickle some of my memories, but no indelibly shameful acts."
_________________________________________________

In other news, my brother the professor joined Facebook. And a Friday night with A. drinking wine at Cercle Rouge and later Oscar included the horror of a sloppy-drunk possibly retarded and dubiously groomed stranger fingering my iPhone at the bar. Note to self: carry anti-bacterial wipes in purse at all times.

Backyard Snow

2009-02-03T14:10:00.000-08:00

Mohawks and Lemon Drops

2009-01-27T14:49:00.000-08:00

Wow, it's been a while. No wonder I have exactly zero members of the Kitlab Club even though it sounds fun and porny (see left sidebar. Please.) Highlights of this weekend included going to a party (gulp) in Queens (gulp). Yes, I'm very proud to have again gotten not only out of my house but out of the borough. Typically, that involves effort and lots of money and a plane ride. This, however, was relatively easy. Jumped on the R train with E. and got off in Forest Hills (I think), walked for what seemed like forever to finally arrive at the wonderful Chinese New Year party of kooky R. and J. (that's them, pictured)

It involved lots of amazing and occasionally scary real Chinese food, a guy with an actual spiky FOOT-HIGH mohawk, a hookah (that happened after we left), some Rock Star game via video (way beyond me) and shots of tequila (how that's appropriate I don't know but it was fun). I do lament the last lemon drop we downed at the club we dropped by just because we couldn't get enough of Queens.

At the Lighthouse this week I read aloud for two hours about Java and parallelism and object-oriented programming. Fun! And JUST the cure for a tequila-lemon drop hangover. All this tech reading is going to my head and making me a bigger (and more annoying) nerd than I was. I'm not a geek (I'm just not that adept at the tech stuff or too lazy to really learn/apply), just a nerd.

I love reading about technology, understand at least 5.3% of what I read, can use pretty much NONE of it except for cocktail party chatter or this blog... I even read tech blogs, but not even the cool ones that would stand me in good stead with my geeky friends and colleagues but the more obscure ones (today it was Life in the Startup Lane, stumbled upon through the vagaries of Web wandering). I like that the fellow is from my original hometown of Boulder. Oh, it's all so random.

Goodbye, John Updike.

Happy MLK Day

2009-01-19T06:52:00.000-08:00

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Hey, and I live on King Street! How cool is that? Okay, kinda cool, once a year. Allow me to enjoy it.

I'm growing weary of winter. In my head, I'm in a sun-dappled garden planting peonies. It's 75 degrees and I can hear bees. In reality, I'm boiling eggs and preparing to tackle paperwork. Last week, I performed Step 1 in my new cleaning regimen: put all paper (everything) in a paper bag. Put the bag under the desk and leave it. Step 2 (which took a full week to get to) is actually going through all the paper in the bag. Brilliant. Painless. So far.

Redux

2009-01-14T17:11:00.000-08:00

Okay, that last post was titled "Liquidity" because I had meant to mention the weirdness that was the occasion of me going into old standby National Wholesaler Liquidators on lower Broadway because I needed some cheap hand towels (cat-related; don't ask). That's right, folks, NWL is... liquidating. What do you do when your liquidator... liquidates?

Well, you buy a whole lot of things you really REALLY don't need (I'm talking questionable surge protectors and old lipstick) for really cheap. Note: sorry I had to link to consumeraffairs.com but I couldn't locate a better link. And it's funny, if you have time. Especially the guy who feels the need to use a portion of his obviously precious time to post:

unfornately it was night time so i could talk to any body so i had to impatiiently wait for dawn to broke so at 9;15am i called and explained to the manager who told me i must come to the store with the receipt unfortunately for my i had misplaced the receipt and 2ndly i had a very busy week-end so i had to take the entire saturday and sunday to look for the receipt and finally i found inside my trash can.

I have to go now. I succumbed to a nasty cold/flu/wtf that has me feverish and dizzy and achy and the only respite is bed. I hate this. I do have to say that the outpouring of offers from outer borough friends to bring me soup and stuff warmed my heart. Which I needed (at least during the cold, shivery phase of my ailment). Winter sucks, no? But friends make it all worthwhile.

Liquidity

2009-01-11T18:07:00.000-08:00

Anticipating a morning of reading aloud at Lighthouse Int'l. from a third edition textbook on Java, I was apprehensive. However, even reading about an object oriented programming language can provide some poetry and some needed connecting of some of my lazier components of my own neural network. Java (from Sun Microsystems). From Wikipedia (since I can't exactly ask to take the textbook home):

Java uses an automatic garbage collector to manage memory in the object lifecycle. The programmer determines when objects are created, and the Java runtime is responsible for recovering the memory once objects are no longer in use. Once no references to an object remain, the unreachable becomes eligible to be freed automatically by the garbage collector. Something similar to a memory leak may still occur if a programmer's code holds a reference to an object that is no longer needed, typically when objects that are no longer needed are stored in containers that are still in use....

Now that's very nice for a computer program. But I'd like to see it applied non-theoretically to one's brain (or the brain of any aging relative). It just sounds cool ... and effective. The photo? My 74 year old dad shoveling snow of the roof of the little house he built for my grandmother. Wow. Just... wow.

In other news, I'm still recoving from a wonderful night in Brooklyn, celebrating A.'s birthday at Union Hall. Great to see old friends and just hang out. Naturally, since I was with S., we continued the convivery (is that a word? If not, it should be) at Oscar on MacDougal Street, where I met the owner, a wonderful, brilliant man who is going to hook me up with the architect I need to build my treehouse. Well, we'll see about that but hey. Good times...

Note: D. Leshem. Where ARE you?

Paisley

2008-12-28T13:00:00.000-08:00

That's right, paisley. There simply doesn't seem to be enough of it around these days. Wow, since I was bored and needed some... paisley, I googled it and landed on the End Times Deliverance Ministry, a site that seems to be run by crazy people who think paisley is the devil's work. Yes! And I quote:

"Paisley print is something you see on ties, shirts, blouses, dresses, curtains, rugs, furniture, etc. If you wear it or have it, you may be carrying around and attracting some demons, which could be the cause of some of your "problems".

Okaaay. Useful information, that. Anyway, Christmas in Maine was nice and low-key this year. No singing poinsettias, alas (mom had given it to B., J's father-in-law, who took it to the cape and then put it back in J.'s car, if I have the story straight.) I learned that if your dear, dear relatives ask you what you want for Christmas and you say socks, you WILL GET SOCKS. Which rocks, since I needed them.

I flew Delta this time -- and for the last time. It began with the too-loud bad holiday music blaring into the tiny cramped plane owned and operated by Freedom Air (whatev) who apparently "Support our troops in the Middle East." Um, okay. Does that really need to be on the side of your plane? I mean, I support each individual troop and wish them all well, but don't exactly support them being there. Okay, so then the radio/tape player whatever goes kerflooey with static and skipping and I actually have to ask the stewardess to turn it OFF. I'm also not enamored of the JFK Delta terminal at ALL, with its nine miles walk to the gate. On the way back, our checked-in luggage awaits us... at an entirely different terminal! JetBlue, I'm back, I'll never leave you again.

That said, I hope every one I know and love had a wonderful holiday. Happy New Year... and not a moment too soon.

Thin Ice

2008-12-19T16:22:00.000-08:00

We had our first major snowstorm here today and people are just as wimpy as always in New York City. The newscasters wax hysteric, everything closes early, etc. No biggie. But I hate being one of the casualties. In the rain and muck and snow and sleet and darkness I decided to run about 20 errands after work. Glutton for punishment, I know. UPS came through with 1 out of 2 packages I need (yay), the item in the store I'd been eyeing for X was still there (yay) and THEN I fell down.

Trying to magically run through a puddle in the dark crossing 6th Avenue at Spring Street. It looked to be 2" deep, then soon proved to be more like 4" with a nice little layer of ice on the bottom. Down I went with a muddy splash and unrepentant and really loud "Shit!" Sopping gloves, bruised knee, I carried on.

Homebound at last, I amused myself with the TV weather reports and how racist they can be. "There's a lot of black guys covering the Henry Hudson, dangerous black guys." They were saying "black ice" but I kept hearing it wrong. "Slippery black guys is the cause of more than 50 accidents so far on the LIE..." "Black guys, as always, is a danger in the city and on the highways tonight."

Bangor, Maine to the New York Island

2008-12-16T08:45:00.000-08:00

Cool beans! The state of Maine represents on the cool WORLD HUM "Travel Dispatches from a Shrinking Planet" site, which in a recent feature maps songs to cities around the world. Maine gets Roger Miller's 1965 classic "King of the Road" (#14 on the site's top travel songs)..... “Third boxcar, midnight train, Destination, Bangor, Maine.”

New York gets an moldy-oldy but a goodie: Woody Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land" (# 8)...... “This land is your land, this land is my land.. From California, to the New York Island.”

And a shout-out to Buffalo from... The Grateful Dead! You should be able to figure that one out..

Other personal faves include Ireland (Irish Rover, by the Clancy Bros) and Istanbul (Istanbul by They Might Be Giants). Okay, maybe the songs aren't exactly cutting edge but... then there's "When I Paint My Masterpiece, Bob Dylan: “Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble, Ancient footprints are everywhere.You can almost think that you're seein' double, On a cold, dark night on the Spanish Stairs.” Don't know the song but love the lyrics. Thanks, Bob.

More cool things from the site: Ry Cooder's "El Mirage and Los Angeles"... via the NY Times, with a neat slideshow... "When Ry Cooder and I got to El Mirage Dry Lake, it was 110 degrees and heading to 117, hot enough to cook your head inside your hat. The Mojave Desert in daylight will cut the gizzard right out of you, Tom Joad once said, which is why the Okies crossed it at night."

Blogger's Block and My/OurSpace

2008-12-11T17:56:00.000-08:00

No, I haven't flown the coop. I've had blogger's block. I still have it but pledge (again) to post every day once more starting next Sundary since exactly 2 of you seem to think I have something of interest to say.

Favorite item of interest today: Harper's Magazine's cuckamonga "OurSpace" paean to the recently released Oxford Comprehensive Atlas of the World. (Psst, it's a "fifteen-pound, six-hundred-page, gold-gilt-edged, three-red-ribboned feast." Christmas is coming!

From the inspired article:

"...As a means of finding out about the world, the web is, in one way, without peer, but the narrowness of self tends to misdirect our use of that broad thing: our use of it mirrors our own constriction. MySpace indeed......

But the atlas, contributing editor Wyatt Mason posits, is:

More than merely being about the world, it bounds—binds—the world, and in a way that’s freeing. An atlas, any atlas, commands our interest, directs it outwards, forces us, agreeably, usefully, not to see ourselves, for once, as central to our world. We search an atlas for ourselves in vain: always, it exceeds us. This formal difference is productive. To be forced to encounter the world not on our terms but on the world’s terms teaches us a kind of intellectual and social humility.

My excerpting does the article little -- or no -- justice, by the way.

Juxtapositions

2008-11-29T16:50:00.000-08:00

Feeling queasy over TV-watching this weekend: juxtaposition between shadowy terrorists and horrific killings in Mumbai and the manic consumers who trampled the poor soul at a Long Island Walmart on Black Friday. I THINK I know which is ... worse ... but. I spent way too much time on Twitter #mumbai just watching the news roll in, mesmerized, saddened, amazed.

A long walk (50 blocks and 4 hours) with S. today to hit nearly every floor at Saks (wtf?) somehow helped. I didn't really buy anything, just ogled the madness. Done. No more shopping for me.

Plus I already have my magic stone (thank you, FD) plus books (among them a couple of Arturo Perez-Reverte's -- good stuff) and a plenty of fodder for the new project.

The Dark Side

2008-11-26T09:58:00.000-08:00

Now here's an intro to an article I can sink my teeth into. Utterly intriguing. In case you missed it...

A concatenation of puzzling results from an alphabet soup of satellites and experiments has led a growing number of astronomers and physicists to suspect that they are getting signals from a shadow universe of dark matter that makes up a quarter of creation but has eluded direct detection until now. read more from the New York Times

Where the Mozzarella Grows

2008-11-22T18:18:00.000-08:00

Clearly, in Maine. I took this on a leisurely drive from Edgecomb to Damariscotta. I refuse to believe, as my sister insists, that these not mozzarella but mown hay wrapped in plastic. This mozzarella farm is located just south of Sherman Lake, the lake that is not a lake anymore.

What happened? Well, a crazy rain a couple years ago washed away the 71 year old dam that had kept the seven mile long lake ... a lake. So the lake went tidal, and is now a salt march. Fascinating stuff -- here's a really nice summary from Ethan Nedeau of the Gulf of Maine Times.

While I personally get that a salt marsh is a good thing for the ecology, I do miss the lake. I remember a truly magical night of ice-skating in the dark (you could go for literally miles on the glassine stretch) with ice-sailboats shimmering under the moon all around us, back in the years when lakes actually froze properly and the wind kept them properly swept of snow.

There is also the lovely creepy story of the Island of Lost Dogs, a miniscule hump of land in the middle of the lake, from which at night one could hear the baleful cries of the lost dogs trapped for all time on the little island.

I neglected to mention my birthday and how lovely it was. I got the best presents -- including a piece of art by my insanely talented sister-in-law, B. The photo above doesn't do it justice of course -- I'm still trying to find the best place to hang it. It's so cool -- and, as a present, is a nod to my endless eye problems. I also got a really nice book of poetry from P. and much more cool stuff. The best present of all was seeing T. again and watching him eat a popover.

Datagram!

2008-11-15T16:20:00.000-08:00

Not a lot to report. I read to W. today at Lighthouse International about NAT. Network Address Translation vis a vis IP datagram packets. It was pretty boring (especially the reciting of IP addresses number by number over and over, as examples,) but I did learn about the interesting dilemma of IPv4 and its meager 4 billion addresses capability.

Since the textbook we're reading is from, like, 1997, I'm sure this problem has been solved but since I don't know that, I can imagine an exciting and tense Y2K scenario before full implementation of IPv6. Ask me what happened to IPv5!

By the end of this reading relationship, I'm pretty sure I'll be qualified for a job at the Internet Engineering Task Force, a dream job for any modern woman.

I'm heartbroken that I can't find the thing that connects my digital camera to my computer, hence no good photos from Maine. Where I went for my birthday. Which was very nice. My iPhone pics don't do justice to the magic that is autumn in New England justice, but I tried..

Brain trust... not

2008-11-04T12:54:00.000-08:00

Wow, the brain trust at GOPTrust are running horrible ads of Obama gazing at that angry minister guy... on TV in New York City! Are they crazy, desperate, or just trying to use up all their money? How lame.

The Tide IS Changing!

2008-11-03T16:08:00.001-08:00

... At least in Maine coastal towns right near my hometown of Edgecomb. From the Associated Press on October 30, 2008:

BOOTHBAY HARBOR, Maine -- Meteorologists are baffled by rapid tidal changes along the Maine coast, which damaged some boats and piers.

Witnesses say low tide turned and became high within a matter of minutes on Tuesday afternoon. The changes occurred six or seven times. The National Weather Service says reports from several locations indicated that water levels fell and rose from 4 feet to as much as 12 feet during the event.

In a public information statement, the weather service says the cause "remains a mystery and may never be known."

It said significant rapid rises and falls in tide levels were observed around 3 p.m. in Boothbay Harbor, Southport and Bristol. The statement said rapid surges can be caused by the underwater movement of land, most often due to an earthquake, or due to slumping of sediments along a steep canyon or shelf, but no earthquakes were reported in the area Tuesday.
A similar event occurred on Jan. 9, 1926, in Bass Harbor, the statement said.

Best online comment (via Wooden Boat magazine's online forum): Maybe Obama changed the tide?

Thank you, BrianW.

Favorite new word: Seiche

Boo

2008-11-02T07:51:00.000-08:00

Don't know why I haven't posted lately. Maybe it's the economic turmoil. Scary enough, but Halloween was pretty darn scary in my 'hood. The Greenwich Village Halloween parade lures thousands of people from god only knows where to my neighborhood, and half of them end up on my stoop. And I caught four French people (guys and gals) peeing in my building's garbage area. Mon dieu!

Best costume: a simple Barack Obama mask, grinning from ear to oversized ear, atop the head of a very unsmiling tall black guy. Odd and cool at the same time. Pictured, left: friend F. and werewolves on Bleecker Street.

Embarassing Moments and Transport Layers

2008-10-18T17:40:00.000-07:00

First for me: forgetting how to spell the word "embarassing" (still not 100% sure). Then Googling it and getting so many funny responses that I forgot what my own hilarious tale would have been... So, my findings. Not linked, so that you too can search for other people's embarassing moments and be amused. Note: according to one source, the top embarassing things are: shyness, baldness, acne, and sex. Phew. I'm doing kinda okay. Top Google results (omitting YouTube for obvious reasons):

How to escape embarassing situations by using your mobile phone. ...

Information and excerpts from the book to help you deal with health problems that are difficult to discuss, including shyness, baldness, acne, and sex.

Embarassing. Victory_2_tiny by mlmintampa on Sep 27, 2008 4:11 PM EDT in Football. My head is literally fuming. I feel heat coming off my head right now. ...

Oct 9, 2008 ... Google just rolled out a new set of ads making the total number of ad-based revenue streams roughly equal to.

The last one I do link to as it looks kinda interesting (no, I didn't read the whole thing).

Anyway, today's topic as I read to W. at Lighthouse International was "Transport Layers." Which, for you uninformed means: a group of methods and protocols within a layered architecture of network components, within which it is responsible for encapsulating application data blocks into datagrams (packets) suitable for transfer to the network infrastructure for transmission to the destination host, or managing the reverse transaction by abstracting network datagrams and delivering them to an application. Such protocol are also referred to as "transport protocols."*

Got it? Good.

* Thank you, Wikipedia, for explaining it, like 68% better and more succinctly than the poor dude's 1994 textbook.

Eggs

2008-10-12T19:37:00.000-07:00

I boiled my first egg ever today. I'm so very proud.

Sunny Saturdays [w/ video]

2008-10-11T13:03:00.000-07:00

Sunny Saturdays are not my cup of tea. Too ... wide open and relentlessly ... upbeat. I know the burden's on me to fill up that time, to breathe and explore and for god's sake get some fresh air and sunlight. Well. I'd prefer a rainy, windswept day with a book any time.

Anyway, I DID have plenty to do, starting with getting up to 59th and Lex before 10 am to volunteer at Lighthouse International, the leading nonprofit resource organization for the visually impaired. I love the place... it oozes goodness, somehow, proximity to Bloomingdale's notwithstanding. Light, modern, airy, the building welcomed me back after a long hiatus.

Obviously, any volunteer work will provide a sense of having done something right and good. I lucked out, though, and also got to meet a cool guy and learn some stuff about Internet protocols. Two hours of reading a textbook on all things Internet just flew by. Today we focused on SMTP, POP3 and IMAP, syntax over Telnet, getting into P2P file-sharing (Napster through Gnutella only). The guy, W., is a very bright, relatively young African American grad student at Brooklyn Polytech. He has some sight but not enough for reading. He's been essentially blind since age 10. He lives in Brooklyn and has a really long commute to the Lighthouse. He's not sure what he's going to do with his graduate degree. He may teach but thinks that might have its own challenges and annoyances. He has beautiful eyes.

Later, I got my hair cut.

Below, a slice of what seemed like possibly tens or hundreds of skateboarders zipping down Broadway. In traffic.

Fish in a Barrel

2008-10-06T15:18:00.000-07:00

So I'm a week behind. I think I'll always be a week behind, after last week. Meaning, I (and everyone else) has sort of lost time... at least in terms of our 2 and 5 and 10 year plans, thanks to the clowns on Wall Street and in Washington.

Anyway, I caught the Intrepid museum ship on her way back to her berth alongside Manhattan. Kinda historic and kinda cool to see in person, if fleetingly.

Weekend highlights included watching In Bruges (great small funny movie -- and I'll watch anything with Ralph Fiennes in it. Plus that Colin Farrell is exquisitely amusing when he plays dumb). A low point was seeing Religulous with S. It was Michael Moore lite... and -- somehow apropos -- shooting fish in a barrel. Making fun of religious fanatics is waaaaay too easy. And this just after what I felt was the best Real Time I'd seen, with Alec Baldwin, Gary Shandling and Christiane Amanpour. Great stuff. Catch it if you can...

Frog Legs and Watermelon Soup

2008-09-27T13:44:00.000-07:00

Wednesday night found me at a cocktail reception for the Museum of Arts & Design (what a great acronym!) on Columbus Circle with Stash. Now that makes it sounds like I have a life, doesn't it? Well... the jury's still out on that one.

Last night I was out until the wee hours with E.B. after a concert -- Jackopierce, a nice harmonizing guitar-playing duo, a smidge too country-sounding for me but easy on the ear and enthusiastic and sweet -- and then a nice dinner and wine at a little French bistro in the bustling Meatpacking District (with B&T'ers and transvestites and youngsters and omg I'm so old :) I had frog legs with watermelon soup. Seriously.

To celebrate dropping another size (yay) I ate a piece of Joe's pizza while watching the first show of this season's ER this rainy afternoon. Tragedy! Makai Pfeiffer's character died on the operating table. {{sob}} Okay, maybe I'm not so old. Maybe I'm actually incredibly immature. So be it. He's a hot tamale and ER won't be the same without him.

Tonight I watch the debate. Since I missed it last night. It won't be easy, even having heard what I've heard so far. That McCain is being considered as a viable candidate for our President, along with that joke from Alaska, hurts my heart. It actually hurts to imagine that our country is so damnably messed up that there are people who want more of what we've gone through in the last eight years. To imagine that actually happening is, well, unthinkable. As I've said before, I don't talk about politics much here, since there are so many more articulate people out there on the subject. Maybe it's time to do some talking anyway. Stay tuned.

Back in the real world

2008-09-21T07:59:00.000-07:00

Spent yesterday on the flip side of the neighborhood street fair, assisting neighbor Ann at a table at the popular 10th Street Fair. It's an interesting position, deciding how you're going to sell -- friendly? Hard sell? Ignore people until they want a price or have a question? I mostly went with the latter. Street fairs (like extended stoop sales, not the ubiquitous smoothies and socks affairs) attract the most interesting people. I met a few, including a guy who got really riled that a videotape of A Streetcar Named Desire demanded $3 not $2.

As a buyer, I got in a tiff with an obnoxious and possibly insane woman over a very cool jewelry set (clear marbles set in thin black metal as 2 necklaces, a ring and drop earrings). Right before I claimed them, she grabbed an earring and said she wanted it and the ring and then dropped it and pretended she couldn't find it. The seller agreed that I was the first to claim the set and then the woman offered me $100 for it. I declined and got the hell away from her.

Captured below: the coat I coveted. I watched from across the street all day (a plush, rose-colored fake-fur Fendi) and kept thinking I'd buy it -- and then suddenly Sarah, who had been volunteering with me -- was wearing it. She who hesitates... loses the fake-fur Fendi. Oh well.

Sailing off Meganisi

2008-09-14T10:41:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm lost when it comes to posting videos. But I tried. Here's one. Click on "watch in high quality" under controls, otherwise it looks bad.

I'm Hungry

2008-09-14T09:14:00.000-07:00

It's funny -- I was posting my lame Greece videos on YouTube and stumbled across this one, at Yanni's restaurant in Paxos. We were right there! Same guy! Same restaurant! Like it was yesterday...

Notes on Greece sailing trip

2008-09-13T13:51:00.001-07:00

Travel tales -- unless you're a Paul Theroux or a Bruce Chatwin or a Henry Miller, etc. etc. -- are like dreams: no one REALLY wants to hear them. The best tellings come out in dribs and drabs, detail by detail over a lifetime of recounting. So I'll keep it short. Pictures here.

I chose to go to Greece on somewhat of a whim -- an email from a stranger in NYC about a sailing opportunity in the Greek islands. I'll give you a few highlights but not everything here. I won't talk about my traveling companions much but can tell you I learned from them and am grateful. I learned that I'd rather travel alone. No indictment implied, just the certaintly that I'm at my best with companions who, like me, have an insatiable curiousity about others, about history, politics, literature and who can talk all night with passion and yet know exactly when to enjoy the silence.

Notes:

Greece in early September is hot. HOT HOT HOT HOT. The kind of hot that makes your face sweat and rivulets run down your back.
Athens is sprawling and not terribly pleasant, with pockets of wonderfulness. The view of the Acropolis is everything it's made out to be: indelibly memorable and not to be missed at night.

We took a bus across Greece to the Ionian and it was fine. One bathroom stop in 5 hours -- loved that! The bus station in Athens is like bus stations the world over: sad and dirty and fume-filled and confusing but this one had stray dogs to look at and the best coffee we had in Greece, bar none.
In the tiny town of Vounitsa, we had to ask for a ride from a stranger who had wild hair and was covered in grease (ha). He turned out to be educated, bright and sanguine and a lovely man who drove us 14 kilometers and refused our money when we reached our port town.
Our sailboat at Vounakis on the Ionian Sea was lined up with twenty or thirty or forty cookie-cutter boats and I didn't -- and never did -- feel its soul. I'm spoiled by a lifetime of learning appreciation for the "authentic" from my parents and carried with me an unfortunate sense of loathing for the fiberglass, everything-automatic, overly electronically-equipped vessel.
Our one night in the port was a blast. After the rest of the crew (who had rented a car for the ride to Vounakis) left us (E. and I) I befriended two chaps from Manchester on a nearby boat who were finishing their own adventure (as part of a flotilla of sailboats -- something I'd not heard of). We spent most of the night with them, met the rest of their friendly flotilla-mates and generally drank too much and had more fun than I've had in nearly a year. Cheers, Philip and Patrick from Manchester -- and thank you.
Our crew was eclectic and generally kind. Our conversations (for the 3 nights I spent on the boat) were completely forgettable. No books, no politics, no poetry.
We got in some sailing and it was great. We averaged a paltry 3 knots, unfortunately, and had to motor, mostly, to our first stop, at the beautiful island of Meganisi.
Swimming was a highlight: the water was warm and clear and an otherworldly blue (cobalt and seaglass green). Unfortunately, it was too warm for me (not refreshing, really) and the amazing cobalt blue reminded me of 2000 Flushes from my childhood.
I left the boat at the island of Paxos (where I also left my heart). I needed to go to Corfu (had always had a thing in my head for the island) and the crew was experiencing some dissent and I was too hot and needed some downtime. I figured this out after a hot hike up the highest hill to a lighthouse that I couldn't access (Greek Army/Navy, I was told). I had meandered up, up, up and found myself gazing at the ancient olive trees and the winding paths and zigzagging stone walls and felt an incredible peace for the first time since leaving New York.
Corfu. I felt very much at home there, despite the heat. It's an amazing place, with an Old Town like most Old Towns that charmed immediately. Our hotel, Hotel Astron, was perfect: not too expensive but newly renovated with a cool marble lobby and even cooler room looking out to the sea and the New Fort. I highly recommend it.
A highlight of Corfu for me was a solitary afternoon. I decided to visit Kanoni, mentioned in The Colossus of Maroussi by Henry Miller which I had been re-reading (or trying to). Another was a late night of wine and music near the top of the New Fort with a couple of local boys.
After 2 nights in Corfu, we flew back to Athens to start our long trip home. We had a scary time in the taxi on the way from the airport to our hotel near the Acropolis: the car died, right in the middle of a tunnel, with a blind turn behind us, motorcycles and Mac trucks whizzing by at 90 miles an hour. I really thought there was a good chance we'd be killed. But we weren't.
The flight from Athens to JFK is an appalling 10.5 hours. I can't recommend Delta for a trip this long (horrible in-flight entertainment, so-so food, expensive drinks).
Finally, I don't know that I'll ever set foot in Athens again but plan to (god willing) return to both Corfu and Paxos in the off season one day soon. Yassou!

Paxos

2008-09-10T01:40:00.001-07:00

Walked alone up the hills above Lakka harbor on the wonderful island
of Paxos. The hills are covered with winding 4' stone walls and olive
trees. Very "Secret Garden" looking." Lighthouse at the top was my
destination. I made it.

Spartakhori

2008-09-08T04:01:00.001-07:00

Best fish in tiny Spartakhori harbor, Meganisi (southern Ionian) after
hours-long swim. Heading north toward Anti-Paxos,Paxoi, Corfu..Dolphin
following. Many thx to FD (for my healthy mindset), Cleo (great Athens
tips), JT for helping me pack and keeping me sane), M and L for being
shanghai-ed into watching cats.C - wish you were here...and a happy
shout-out to P from Manchester for making first night in port such a
blast.Filia!

Athens!

2008-09-04T22:26:00.001-07:00

I'm surprised to see mountains. I may be hallucinating. Good landing..
Itchy eyes.

Off to Greece

2008-09-04T10:11:00.000-07:00

In a hot cab to JFK.Thank you JT for helping me pack. Bye, cats.

Anagramalicious

2008-08-29T09:11:00.000-07:00

McCain/Palin

CLAN CAMP IN
CALM CAN NIP

Obama/Biden

A DEAN BOMB I
ID BONE A MBA

Clearly, it's the doggiest of dog days in August. I'm still formulating my astute and perceptive political analyses. Please stay tuned.

Okay, I admit I'm home and have CNN on in the background. I was chatting with K., who's at work, the poor dear, and I was put on hold and tuned my ear in for a moment to John McCain's speech about his new running mate and all I heard was "I found a partner who will help me stand up..."

Yup. We Can.

2008-08-28T20:11:00.000-07:00

Observations (with a video)

2008-08-24T15:30:00.000-07:00

Just a few quick things to share, as I am a VERY BUSY WOMAN these days. Someone in my building was moving out this weekend. First there was a tell-tale "Ab Rocket" (whatever that is) -- or a piece of it -- in the vestibule. The next day, there was a dusty VCR (picture, right). Later that afternoon, a framed black and white poster from the movie "Swingers." I tried in my head to put together a "profile" of the person(s) in question but I was laughing too hard to get anywhere.

Today, I exit my apartment and am confronted (well, they were down the hall, near the vestibule and I'd need to walk by them) by the two most enormo guys. Not scary-big or pudgy but FAT as all get out, with gigantic twin beer bellies. Now, you know I don't like to make fun of others less svelte than I, but.... Later on, the poster was gone (!) but there was another (supposed) piece of the Ab Rocket laying there for the super to haul away.

Observation: at 9 am on a Sunday it's just too early to see a young black man singing Tommy James and the Shondells' "I Think We're Alone Now" (we're talking 1967 here, people) at full volume, completely out of tune, while walking briskly up the street.

And I'm playing with some new software to get "the Ken Burn's Effect" (ha) with still photos in video format. You'd never know I went to film school. But it's not horrible for a first try. Well, now that I've seen it posted, it kinda looks like crap. I don't think I'll ever get the optimization right. Oh well.

Goodbye, Bear

2008-08-12T19:02:00.000-07:00

Made it back from a beautiful weekend in Maine. It rained 24/7 and averaged about 63 degrees. Delightful. Even better, a watershed event: my 74-year old dad finally sold his wooden boat after years of trying. The weight off his shoulders, measured in sweat and frustration and money, equals the boats tonnage, I swear.

But I'll miss her, Bear, very very much. I teared up several times as we contemplated her absence as a family. She was no slick yacht but had her charms and well, I actually can't reminisce now, or I'll cry. Here's a nice picture and details, and no, she's not for sale anymore. A nice couple from Vinalhaven now owns her. Enjoy.

Highlights of this trip included the birthday party for my dad, seeing the rest of the family and the good food and downtime. Someone unearthed an old photo of me. Wow. Happy kid. At least I think I was happy.

Wow, I look good all blurry (new blog photo). But enough about me. I hope the 18 gabillion viewers of the Olympics this summer are as inspired and awed as me. Wow. Most exciting one I can remember. Michael Phelps, you rock.

Oh, and after all my bitching about "losses" (see below, or ... don't) well, things to turn out okay sometimes. Trainer is all the happier for being outta my gym and working with me and others at a different, smaller place in the far West Village. Just as good, different and I'm so so happy to be able to keep going. And supposedly Geraldo Rivera works out there too. Um, cool. I overheard that.. and that he likes to listen to ~~heavy metal~~ house music while training. Um. Okay.

Backtracking

2008-08-03T15:44:00.000-07:00

I've been reading backward lately. Backward and forward and back again. I begin New Yorker stories toward the end, read to the end and then go back the beginning. And I'm starting to do this with novels. It's completely unintentional but somehow rewarding. I'm sure the writers wouldn't approve but too bad.

I didn't update last week and I know you're all bereft. I was processing the wonderful 4-hour lunch I had with my two new buddies (from the gym). We sat outside at Bar Pitti and I felt like the luckiest girl on the planet.

And celebrating the successful outcome of C.'s scary operation. That is one strong, cool chick. I spoke to her while she was at the hospital and she sounded so... normal. In pain but truly sounding like herself. Which, of course, she is.

August in New York. Hm. No one's gonna make a song outta that one. And if I see one more girl wearing a skirt and boots in 90 degree weather, I don't know what I'll do. Nastiest trend EVER.

Okay. Counting the days until Maine on Thursday for Dad's birthday. I got him a vintage breadmaker on eBay and will pitch in for a slick automated wood-splitter. In return, I hope to get a boat ride.

Here's what sucks. Well, for me anyway. One of my few good girlfriends left in NYC just got a new job. In BEIRUT. Teaching at an American University. Good for her... "Sure, I'll visit you!" Well, you never know. If I make it back from Greece, I may have the travel bug bad. And according the fabulous Travel + Leisure, Lebanon is a cool place to visit. Most of the time...

Oh dear. My doppleganger Facebook friend, Kit Thompson in Brighton and Hove, UK, has listed her status as "is a tremendous ball of lesbian fail." That can't be good, whatever it means.

Scaffolded: A Pity Party

2008-07-23T18:49:00.000-07:00

I don't believe in signs. Or horoscopes or hope or prayer or karma. But waking up today to find scaffolding shrouding the lovely landmarked building on a quiet tree-lined street that I call home seemed, at least, portentious.

I've always hated scaffolding. Some may see it as a sign of progress and renewal but to me it's urban blight, an old dame getting one more facelift before the end. I almost died, once, on a claustrophobically scaffolded block (Parade of Heroes or whatever, 19-- or 20-- whatever when the Yankees won the World Series for the second or third time in a row and I felt compelled to join the crowds on lower Broadway. I -- and dozens of others -- nearly suffocated when the police way up ahead stopped the crowd and the thousands behind us just... kept going.)

Today, after heading to work from beneath said scaffolding, I felt bowed by the heat and humidity -- and like I was walking under a ladder I couldn't avoid. Work was work... good distraction and I got a lot done but felt like I was surrounded by sensitive, angry porcupines.

Excuse me, I have to go find some Tarot cards.

Summer Doldrums

2008-07-22T18:40:00.000-07:00

So humid I can barely move my fingers over the keys... Just got back from the gym, a late session. Ooooch. Many weird new exercises involving strength and balance. I pretend I'm on a balance beam over the Grand Canyon as I stand and swing one leg straight up 15 times and touch my outstretched hand. Luckily, I didn't fall in. Then I did pull-ups over a piranha-infested pool. You get the idea. Mind over matter. Mind over misery.

Over the weekend, I went with CC (the NYC one) to NYU's gym for a swim as it was really the only thing to do in 90+ degree weather. Very nice. I might join up again, though it would be a luxury I can probably ill afford.

Lost my non-license ID. Oh nooooooo. Hello DMV. Signed up for a kayak trip up the Hudson. Yay. Still feeling discombobulated. Had a horrible nightmare last night where my family had a barbecue and no one liked me and my mother was grilling a gigantic rodent. Nice!

NPR Gets All Widgety

2008-07-18T07:39:00.000-07:00

Ew

2008-07-17T18:28:00.000-07:00

Anthony Bourdain, man. What is his deal? I love the guy, want to BE him, with his good looks and travel bug and curiousity and good nature and everything. Plus, if I've ever EATEN a book (devoured, happily) it was his Kitchen Confidential. Really, he (like Paul Theroux) is kind of a hero of mine.

But. Every single time I watch his "No Reservations" I get sick to my stomach. And this from a girl who almost never has an issue with queasy-making things. I watch dispassionately as I get blood drawn at the doctor every year (yawn). I care not if I realize that the sushi from last night wasn't exactly refrigerated properly as I pop raw fish into my mouth for breakfast. I truly hope to one day eat the deadly blowfish. And I never get sick. Unless it's from a sneeze in the elevator (I'm not special, not impervious to the science of sickness).

I need to really analyze what about his TV show invariably makes me nauseated. I hereby pledge to watch this season's adventures and figure it all out. This week: Columbia. Cool! Different! No longer dangerous! LOVE the idea. And yet, and yet. AB eats a nearly raw turtle egg, and the turtle turns out to be endangered. Oops! Oh well. And I was doing pretty well until.... "Crispy fried poop shoot." You heard me right. And I can't explain what it was because I had to just... walk away. More to follow. (And yes, I know, I should get a life).

Mashed Potato Wrestling

2008-07-14T19:14:00.000-07:00

Well, this is just great. Just when Maine is starting to get a reputation as a cool place, where smart people go to get away or to live a life of simplicity, honesty and beauty, along comes mashed potato wrestling to ruin it. From Boston.com:

Mashed potato wrestling is making its return to this year's Maine Potato Blossom Festival in Fort Fairfield. The festival in northern Maine's potato country is now in its 61st year paying tribute to the state's most valuable crop.

It's almost official. On Wednesday I can book my flight to Athens for the week of sailing the Greek Isles in mid-September. Yikes! It's gonna break the bank and I have no idea how long I'll actually be gone (I think it's stretching beyond my requested vacation week -- oops). But oh well. The nice captain sent the funniest e-mail, apologizing that there's only 2 heads on the boat, instead of the advertised 3. Not knowing him well (or even having met him yet) I refrained from the obvious joke(s).

Recap: 4th of July in Maine

2008-07-13T06:07:00.000-07:00

Another summer weekend over Fourth of July in Maine. This one was different, though. Definitely more special. CC. picked me up at the Portland International Jetport. It was so good to see her, one of my oldest friends, and one whom unfortunately is battling a very scary health problem. She's strong, though, and full of life and hope.

Highlights of the visit included sailing with Dad out from Boothbay Harbor. CC. and I both jumped into the ocean (I was in my underwear!). It wasn't as freezing as I'd anticipated but we wanted to get out almost immediately. Oops, no ladder. We had to fling our cold, wet selves into the dinghy and then climb back up onto the boat. Yowch. I have a great bruise on my leg as a lingering memento.

We also stumbled upon the Glidden Point Oyster Farm on River Road. I'd been blown away by their oysters at Blue Ribbon Sushi (!) and was thrilled to be at the source. CC. bought two dozen oysters and we enjoyed them with the most amazing (what do you call it? Not "sauce," but the slight spoonful you dribble over the creatures. Anyway, it was made with white balsamic vinegar, finely chopped shallots and miniature sprigs of green onion. Delectable. More pics here.

I'm incapable of making Blogger do what I want. Even in html. It's making me nuts. Oh well. Just understand that I KNOW my layout is retarded.

Speaking of things online, I'm pleased that my little experiment (befriending another Kit Thompson on Facebook) is turning out so well. My young friend in the U.K. is rad. Check her out:

Interests: Alcohol, dancing, gaming, music, music, music, philosophy, pie, sandwiches, shoes, socialising, TV.

Favorite Music: Ryan Adams, Alias, Apparat, Between the Buried and Me, Bloc Party, Callisto, Converge, Cult of Luna, Daft Punk, The Dillinger, Escape Plan, Dredg, Hot Chip, Interpol, Intronaut, Isis, Jakob, Junior Boys, Khoma, The Knife, Mastodon, The Ocean, Opeth, The Postal Service, Rosetta, Shinichi Osawa, The Smashing Pumpkins, Tegan and Sara, Thrice, Vitalic.

Wow.

Oh, this is kinda cool. Too bad I don't have an iPhone! In my Flickr mail:

Back in 2007, you kindly gave us permission to include your credited photo in our Schmap New York Guide.This is just a quick note to let you know that Schmap Guides have now been released for the iPhone and iPod touch.Your photo in the iPhone version of our Schmap New York Guide is at.....

The Carless Life

2008-07-01T17:45:00.000-07:00

Yes, I said "carless" not "careless." I might be needing a hyphen there but I'm not sure. Anyway, I was thrilled to read a great article in the New Yorker on Keith Olbermann, "One Angry Man," this week. Not least because it was a really informative and kind of inspiring article on a man I knew little about, as I don't watch MSNBC much. Beyond his obvious passion for spot-on political commentary (not to mention sports, etc.) and great vocabulary and style ("acid caricature," "demonic mimicry" and a "lacerating indictment of Bush" included, according to the piece by Peter J. Boyer), he also DOESN'T DRIVE. Yay. I'm not alone.

I thought I'd found the only other kindred spirit in friend G., who, over drinks the other night, also confessed (wrong word: reported) that he doesn't drive. And now Keith (who doesn't because a head injury caused some vertigo or something that affects his balance at car speed). As for me, well, I CAN drive (stick but not automatic, comfortably) and kinda of really love to (as long as I'm in the only other car on the road). I took the bus living in LA and San Francisco, walk and, if forced, ride the subway in NYC, and depend on others in most other instances. My carbon footprint, by the way, is way smaller than my increasingly back-to-the-earth parents in (very) rural Maine. I'm not really patting myself on the back here, just trying to feel like less of a freak in this car-centric world.

Lots of Rain.. Star Sighting.. More Rain... Gymboree

2008-06-29T15:38:00.000-07:00

So I just dropped an entire can of garbanzo beans on the kitchen floor. I just watched as they ran away, under the oven, under the fridge, over hither and yon. What can you do?

Saw Wylie Dufresne or his twin walking north on Laguardia past the B. Fuller thingy (see below).

Went to the gym, no trainer today. Had to kick my own ass... and did. Later, on the treadmill, I watched the Hudson River and some sailboats, as the sunbathers in front of me through the window were 74% old men with potbellies. Ew. What's up with that?

Like I'm one to talk. I don't have one but could at any moment. Hence the 45 sit-ups (hey, I'm working up to 100). I look forward to training with F. a lot. He put me through my paces with a non-cardio, practically static yoga-like session that had me sweating like a pig and nearly dying of exertion. He seemed impressed that I'd once done 20 push-ups (a few years ago) so I'm going to do some stealth training and work back up to at least 15 so he won't think I'm a liar.

Becoming One with the Tabbouleh

2008-06-28T13:20:00.000-07:00

This time I harken back to Tucson, Arizona. I lived there for about eight months, sometime in the very early 90s. I was on my way to live in LA (Venice Beach) but didn't know it yet. Tucson was a blessing of ordinariness and suburbanity -- so far removed from my hometown in Maine. I needed a job and wound up at a Lebanese (!) restaurant, the name of which I forget. The memory that sticks with me is the time the two fat-bellied owners, knives in hand cutting mountains of parsley, told me I'd better be a good waitress or they'd cut me up into the tabbouleh and I'd never be heard from again. Good times. I think I lasted three weeks and made about $11.

The Odd Moment

2008-06-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

Funny how the mind retains some memories, no matter how mundane, forever. I'm going to try to capture some of them, here, before they are finally whisk-broomed away. As I drank my orange juice this morning, I remembered (or... re-remembered) a moment in the deli when a beautiful young French woman bought a small carton of OJ and, at the counter, couldn't open it.

She seemed very thirsty and frustrated, in a quiet, French way. She kept pulling at the carton and the deli man finally reached out to help her. He had what looked like very dirty hands with bitten and discolored nails. I watched silently, in horror, as he grasped the little mouth of the carton and pulled, totally mangling it but getting it open. The girl smiled, uttered a charming and heavily accented "thank you," took the carton and walked away. I never saw her actually drink from it and would like to think that she dumped it in the nearest trash container. But I'll never know.

UPDATE: I love JetBlue again. I half-heartedly filled in an email form on their site explaining how a service rep in Salt Lake City had told me my flight back from Maine to NYC was delayed by two hours, only to find out it had left on time without me (see below). I expected nothing. But they wrote to me after a few days, sounding horrified that I'd been inconvenienced and told me they'd refund that portion of my trip. YAY! I should have asked to be reimbursed for the second ticket I'd had to buy but I didn't want to seem greedy.

Have the aliens finally landed?

2008-06-24T17:38:00.000-07:00

No. This is Buckminster Fuller week in the city. Panel discussions at the Center for Architecture, the opening of the Dymaxion Study Center, an installation of an authentic Fly’s Eye Dome in LaGuardia Park, and exhibitions at the Max Protetch Gallery and the Whitney Museum are just some of the happenings celebrating what would have been the architectural master’s 113th birthday. Go to the AIANY Calendar for more information and event listings. (from the AIANY website). How cool!

Oh. One more thing. Some of you know my ... unhealthy attitude toward walking and cars. If I have the right of way (walk sign) I walk. Regardless. Well, that changed today. I was on Sixth Avenue and crossing the street at Charlton when I truck made a left and came at me. It didn't slow down whatsoever and I literally had to leap (a grand jetée, if you know ballet) and the truck (a nasty old big one) missed me by millimeters. I yelled a suitable profanity mid-flight at what turned out to be a woman in the truck's cab. I was shaking as I continued my walk to the shoe repair place. So... you'll be relieved to know I've changed my tune and developed a healthy fear of motor vehicles and will never assume they don't want to kill me.

Superhero

2008-06-23T06:30:00.000-07:00

I am THE FLASH. "Fast, athletic and flirtatious."

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

Whitewater!

2008-06-22T12:31:00.000-07:00

I went whitewater rafting yesterday. I'd been looking forward to it with trepidation for a while and when the day came, I was up and out and ready to meet the strangers with whom (through Meetup.com) I'd be rafting with. We met at the corner of 86th Street and Central Park West at 8:30 am. Ouch. It was so early on a Saturday that I didn't even care that nearly all my compatriots were women who'd also never rafted before. We met up with our affable, smart, witty and loquacious host, R. and his lovely wife J. Then we, along with E., a wonderful young geneticist from Ft. Lauderdale, drove three hours (ugh!) to the Lehigh River in the Pennsylvania Poconos.

The cognac-colored river was beautiful, surrounded by high lush green hills. The weather was nearly perfect, if a tad warm. What I didn't like was the preponderance of people. I guess when they open the dam for one weekend (which allows for the whitewater) everyone turns up. Frat boys, kids, young couples, grizzled adventurers. Our group was likeable, heavily weighted to Asian women and definitely made for the best rafting team. The official leaders, who raft for a living in the summer and area ski instructors in the winter, were annoying: yelling like drill sargeants and attempting to be comedians at the same time.

There wasn't enough actual whitewater, but we did have moments of exhileration -- and dismay when our boat got stuck on rocks. We "saved" two men who had fallen into the rapids, which was cool. And we got drenched from passing boats and their water guns (not as cool). The paddling was fine but I overdid it (naturally) and now feel like I was run over by a Mack truck. Oh well. The problem with whitewater rafting is simply that it takes too long. Not the part on the river (that was 5 hours) but getting there and back. It makes sense -- the best (hardest) rivers are far, far away from NYC.

Maine. Again. But with new video and wild things

2008-06-17T19:43:00.000-07:00

Spent a long weekend in Maine. So full and tiring that all I could do, for now, is one video. About a turtle, and its heroic rescue by P. That was one very, very lucky reptile. The sad thing is that after THIS video was taken, we kept driving, onto Spring Hill Farm Road and there were ANOTHER two ginormo turtles! P. AGAIN picked up the one in jeopardy and this one REALLY freaked, stretching his neck out and back and hissing and then he PEED fiercely on P.'s leg! And I thought I had it all on tape, but. But in my excitement I guess I'd pushed "record" twice. Devastating. Oh well.
.

And this is the long one... My attempt at filming with both my little Sony digital and my new Flip, which is kinda spastic and results in a sort of (kind of) cool-in-a-nostalgic-way 8mm shaky effect. Neat! Long and kinda boring but hey. There IS singing involved. Um, and a lighthouse. And my ever-profane sister, the movie star.

The trip was great -- perfect weather and all. Plus my Dad's amazing presentation to the kids (yeah, us) on the land we can build our future homes on (three lots chockfull of nature and 100' trees and hills and rocks and sun and shadow and even the odd, endangered ladyslipper. He even made a topographic 3D map out of sand and yarn in a huge shallow box. Very impressive, while also homespun and quaint (for an engineer). Then again, he's never seen Google Maps.

Adventures included a lot of falling down (first fall happened when the doorknob came off in my hand on the stairs leading up and into the kitchen from the "shed" (a huge room full of "antiques" and lots of scary tools and broken chairs and stuff. )I fell backward and landed on a staple gun. No kidding. Luckily it didn't go off, or I wouldn't be sitting here typing. Then I fell again, ass over elbow, on the steep boat-launch ramp covered in seaweed on Ram Island. Oh well. I survived.

I almost didn't survive flight home. Bad, bad, bad. I called my [formely 2nd favorite airline] JetBlue early in the morning to confirm flight as it was raining cats and dogs and was told by a nice customer service lady in Salt Lake City (hmm) that it was 2 hours delayed and "scheduled" for 1:20 pm. Cool. Great! More time to spend with family (actually spent shopping at Reny's). When I got to the airport an hour+ early, I was told the flight had left on time -- at 11:20 am. And the next flight out was at 6:30 pm.

Great! As my sister-chauffer looked on in bewilderment, I zipped to other airline ticketing desks and settled for buying a new ticket (ouch) on Continental into Neward (instead of my usual JFK). I LOATHE Continental for many reasons. And now, I loathe them more now, if that's possible. Even if it isn't quite exactly their fault that I finally was in the air at 7:50 pm. Then we had the pleasure of sitting on the ground (landed) in Newark for another half an hour waiting for the super-specialist who could actually get us off the plane and into the airport. Is that even a job?!?And Newark Airport is THE WORST. Had to walk about seventeen miles to find the exit to the grossest airport ground transport area ever and then into the mile-long taxi line and then into a Newark cab that didn't take credit cards with a driver who railed about everything under the sun the ENTIRE way (but did, to his credit, take that shortcut to the Holland Tunnel, saving us at least another hour).

It didn't help that I had a mandatory department-wide ALL-DAY meeting the next day (with no bio breaks, for real). I just love my life.

98 in the Shade

2008-06-07T16:04:00.000-07:00

It's hot. I trekked to Modell's to buy water shoes. And a baseball cap (Yankees). And a non-cotton T-shirt and shorts. All for the upcoming white water rafting trip in a few weeks. Now I guess I'm really committed. $80 worth of committed (plus the $76 to get there, get in a raft, and get back). I guess it could be worse. I could have taken up golf. (No. I couldn't.) And at least I didn't get all snobby and go to Paragon Sports. The selection at Modell's wasn't that great but the retail workers had lots of patience and were very nice. Unlike Sports Authority nearby, where there's lots of attitude (IF you can find a salesperson) and god forbid you don't bring your license with you when you return something. Ugh.

Maybe we CAN

2008-06-03T19:00:00.000-07:00

Wow, I just wrote (and erased) eleven sentences that tried valiantly to sum up my sense of, yes, hope. That Barack Obama is our potential next president (oh yeah, and he happens to be black) and that Hillary is getting a good share of well wishes for trying (I send my own). Bygones, Hill, bygones. I can't wish for the dream ticket, of the two together yet, but might accidently actually dream about it while asleep.

Our lame national networks are showing prime time repeats (huh?) and CNN has a miserable audio lapse (what's the word for that?) during Obama's nomination victory speech (I guess we can't quite call it that yet -- what's the phrase for this? Pre-nomination?) and I myself am of course distracted momentarily by the amAzing PBS presentation of Cuban singer Willy Chirino celebrating his 35th year in show business in Miami ("Never Go Back to Georgia" caught my ear and held it... LOVE that song.) I digress.

Nope, that's all I had. What plays out in the next four months will be very, very interesting. I'm in no way qualified to speculate so I'll shut up now. And go and just be happy for a little while.

No Recount

2008-06-01T17:51:00.000-07:00

Well. Okay. Paris it is. (See below, you slacker non-voters.) And Brooklyn too. So there. Last night I watched Recount, with well-founded trepidition. I knew that to relive the horror of the Bush/Gore vote count would be depressing (though the movie was kind of riveting, in a train-wreck kind of way and what's not to love about any Kevin Spacey role?) but I didn't expect having to go to sleep listening to NPR and the whole Hilary/Obama Michigan/Florida (Florida!) craziness being dissected all night. It was disconcerting to say the least.

Rabbit rabbit. June means summer in NYC, and it's already started. I busted out of my cocoon to go to the gym and actually worked out (last week, I went there and signed up, phew, what a workout!). Jello-legged but feeling righteous, I spent a nice couple of hours with S. for a late lunch at a new find, Oscar Cafe, right there on MacDougal Street south of Houston. Delightful menu. A nice, light (kind of) avocado crab salad pleasantly filled my gym-flattened stomach, while a cool fat bulldog drooled onto my sandaled feet as we sat in the sun/shade outside. S., as usual, knew everyone on the street, and those whom he didn't, he befriended right then and there. Amazing. I took many mental notes.

Weekend ends with watching Crooklyn, which I assumed I'd seen way back when, but it turns out I had only listened (and owned, and relistened to) the soundtrack, which is great. I found myself really giving a nod to Spike Lee (one of my heroes in film school) whom I had kind of written off, don't know why.

Au revoir, YSL.

Where in the world...

2008-05-31T20:14:00.001-07:00

more at twiigs.com...

Here's a story...

2008-05-28T09:28:00.000-07:00

No, no story today. Just the fact that to relax I like to (gulp) watch The Brady Bunch. There's something very soothing about that suburban ranch house, the 70s muted Technicolor, the antics of those earnest Brady's, the dog even. Alice.

Other recent television delicacies include the perfectly good and awful "Killer Wave" (manmade tidal wave hits coast of Maine!) -- Hallmark Channel (!). So well done in an awful way or awful in a really well-done way... There's nothing like a good disaster movie to make you feel better about your own disastrous self. Not that I'm disastrous. Distressed, depressed, disturbed, dismayed, maybe. Yes.

The best so-bad-they're-almost-good disaster movies have a few things in common: a beginning so banal that its portension of disaster is in equal measure chilling (think moving shot down tree-lined suburban street, extra points for mother in car humming to the radio with kid in the backseat); lots of cut-aways to newscasters; and scientists (but not jawing on for too long -- just for a touch of exposition and a stab at credibility). Throw in the actual disaster (manmade or otherwise) and Anne Archer and you've got yourself a hit. Whoa. That's one disaster of a website there (best viewed 800 x 600!). Note to self: spruce up blog with my own face tiled as background.

Tidbits

2008-05-26T09:34:00.001-07:00

According to my hair stylist, using Pantene conditioner is like putting floor wax on your hair.

So we can put something on Mars (!) but my parents still don't have the Internet in Maine. Hm. (Congratulations, NASA!).

Best first movie I've ever seen: Reprise, from Norwegian Joachim Trier. Cool, engaging, sad, hilarious. Films about writers (would-be or otherwise) usually make me nervous but this was just a joy. Catch it now at the Sunshine Landmark (best theater in town).

Had a nice dinner with C. and her friend H. at Mogador (hummus, goat cheese salad, halloumi). C.'s struggling with her novel; H. is in a band and is a freelance publicist, though he turned out not to be the one who posted flyers all up Sixth Avenue (how strange).

Discovered a treasure trove of clothes that didn't fit me last year -- the motherlode. Next stop, about eight hours of ironing.

Had a terrible dream in which this guy got mad at a bunch of birds making noise in a tree so he threw a rock really hard and all the birds flew away but also stones fell, hard, from the tree and some landed on O. Henry (my cat) and he was bleeding and stumbling and cross-eyed. I started beating up the guy but then asked my mom to take O. to the vet. Then I woke up, felt around the bed for O. Henry and accidently punched him in the eye. WTF? Spent from 2:45 am to 3:30 am comforting him (he wasn't hurt, just perplexed).

Ah, the joys of spring. Went out early this Memorial Day for coffee and counted at least four females doing the walk-of-shame, hobbling home on nightclub heels and blinking in the sunlight. Ha! Can't tell if I'm repulsed or jealous.

Now, later, there's a young girl actually selling lemonade from a stoop on my block. What is this -- frickin' Park Slope? I crossed mid-block to my side of the street to avoid her. I had thought about telling her I was diabetic or something and couldn't have sugar. Surely her lemonade was too sweet. It would undoubtedly disturb the delicate balance of nutrients I'd ingested in preparation for the gym (dried apricots, yogurt, a few cashews, a "corn thin" (yum) with scallion tofutti, orange juice and brewers' yeast). In any event, I didn't have any change.

Peace.

Okay, So...

2008-05-18T10:46:00.000-07:00

This will undoubtedly be one of those "yeah, so what?" posts, leaving my legions of fans to mutter, "faaascinating....," and click back to Gmail or the now-not-ever-just-Sunday Times online or wherever people go to escape reality. This is reality, man.

I awoke today with great hopes for accomplishing a lot. By noon, I'd figured out, philosophically, that there's a lot of value in doing nothing, for nothing's sake -- especially when forced into productivity by our capitalistic society and my company's insane mandate for its workers to actually work for a full 35+ hours a week. Monday looms, so accomplishing nothing in a sort of Zen way seemed to be the right thing to [not] do.

I ate a couple of Turkish apricot pieces, a slice of sharp cheddar, a half-handfull of cashews (which I read somewhere are good for your teeth) a slice of apple and a slice of Asian pear with a sprig of fresh basil, and called breakfast over and done with.

I then ruined yesterday's haircut (so perfect, so soignée!) by washing it (things started downhill then, I think). Thought I deserved a break so I cracked open Kate Atkinson's Case Histories, which is pretty good ("Case Histories is so exuberant, so empathetic, that it makes most murder mystery page-turners feel as lifeless as the corpses they're strewn with." - New York Times Book Review). It's good... but why do sentences like this bug me so much: "Victor had long since given up maths." Why do the British sometimes make my teeth curl?

By the time (page 68, 1:20 pm) I looked up, the sky had darkened and my grand plans had evaporated along with the sunshine that had so bouyed me on my 9:30 am trip for skim milk and apples. (Ew, I'm starting to sound British myself!)

For the record, I have plans tonight to see friends play acoustic guitar(s) at the Greenwich Village Bistro and have signed up for whitewater rafting* in June. So there. What are you doing?

* I'm serious.

Mostly About Food

2008-05-17T15:27:00.000-07:00

Okay, so my friend B., who's generally a terrific source for random nuggets of news from the blogosphere (especially if it will debunk anything I've said) suggested that the doomsday scenario referenced in my last post got the chances of an impending astroid hit wrong by a factor of around 30. He also mentioned that it was some high school kid who said NASA got it wrong. Something like that. Well, I couldn't find anything about that kid so I put it all aside.

Then I was reading in this week's New Yorker a well-written article by Bee Wilson (what a great name!) who poses the question "Is the world's food system collapsing?" -- and culls from the recent (and not so recent) publications some illuminating answers from books, from Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation and back to the grim predictions of Thomas Malthus.

"Our current food predicament resembles a Malthusian scenario --- misery and famine -- but one largely created by overproduction rather than underproduction. Our ability to produce vastly too many calories for our basic needs has skewed the concept of demand, and generated a wildly disfunctional market."

Depressed yet again by my leisure reading, I headed up to Citarella where I spent way too much for an Asian pear. No locavore, I. I did, however, refrain from buying a big box of California strawberries, alas. They smelled so good, just like fake strawberry jam. Yum.

Speaking of food, I finally made it to Nobu with B. last week, apparently a good ten years too late. While inventive, it was slightly disappointing. I wanted the omakase, since I get so indecisive when ordering Japanese food, but it takes an hour to prepare (I guess the chef has to spend some time thinking about me and what would please me the most). The sushi I ordered was the size of my little toe (which is very, very small) and the salmon was pale, tasteless and (shudder) farmed, to boot.

We were both very annoyed at a couple next to us from Long Island (hadda be) who felt it was fine to set a video player of some sort right on the table in front of their squirmy seven-year old son who made faces and let food fall from his mouth on at least one occasion. Anyway, the tempura (pumpkin) and desserts were really, really good. That said, I won't be going back, even if I could actually afford to.

This just in (to me, anyway). And now I really really hate global warming.

Photo (salmon tartar) courtesy B.'s cell phone

Chicken Little?

2008-05-14T13:45:00.000-07:00

"The odds that a potentially devastating space rock will hit Earth this century may be as high as one in 10. So why isn’t NASA trying harder to prevent catastrophe?"

Interesting -- if frightening -- article in this month's Atlantic Monthly. Great. So now I have to keep my eyes on the skies while simultaneously watching out for dog shit on the streets of Manhattan?

Pulp Fiction

2008-05-11T09:02:00.001-07:00

In the spirit of pith (or is it "pithiness"? I know the former is part of an orange, but still) and brevity, I'll keep this short and bulleted.

Observed a motorcyclist doing a wheelie up Sixth Ave. That was kinda cool. But from the look on his face, I'm not sure it was intended.
I have a neighbor who always does laundry when I do, regardless of time or day. He's a big guy who always wears shorts, has a pleasant demeanor and doesn't have too much to say.
I'm going to start making my own sushi again, as Kirara on Carmine closed and Yama is icky and Koo is weird and Blue Ribbon is only for special occasions.

What Not to Do

2008-05-10T08:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I promised a post a day and too bad for you all, all I have so far is my dream. I should never wake up and then go back to bed. I gotten up at 7:00 (ugh! on a Saturday!), finished reading P. Petit's "To Reach the Clouds" and went back to sleep listening to NPR.

Okay, so in the dream, I was with a bunch of new people, atractive men and women, young. In a very cool restaurant. They befriended me and suddenly started talking about Paris. I was thrilled to say, "oh, I've just been there." Which I haven't, by the way, not for a while. I tried to compare the lovely restaurant we were in to one I knew and loved in Paris but couldn't remember the name (kept thinking "Landmarc... no. That's in New York City.") I got rather riled up and couldn't even remember the neighborhood, and they were still indulging me but started to get distracted.

I finally remembered the neighborhood, Le Marais, and spent priceless moments trying to get the French accent right. Now they were really distracted, and talking about dinner.

I found myself sitting with them and a young man who told me he'd dine with me, as he stroked my hand. "Come on," he said, "I'll show you to the best table." We then had to slide down a winding, wooden track and I got claustrophic. At the bar, my new fellow unfortunately started throwing up so we left him there.

Then I was with another group and my ex-personal trainer, all laughing about how I'd just found someone else's cell phone in my purse. We all fell into paroxysms of hilarity as apparently I was well-known for constantly finding other people's mobiles as well as losing my own. M. (the ex-trainer) speed dialed our company's entire Global Management Team to figure out whose phone it was, as I looked on horrified and then he disappeared so I made it my mission to find him. By the way, the phone I had found was made of gray rubber and star-shaped and could do anything... just... anything.

But then I was back in the restaurant, still determined to try borscht for the first time (forgot to mention that that's what I had been flirtingly discussing with the throw-up guy). But the bartender told me dinner was over and I should have this entirely weird cocktail instead. I kept asking her what the strange ingredients were ("Cano?" Is that dog something?") but by then her head had turned into Robert Downey Jr.'s helmet from his new movie. But then Woody Allen and Bing Crosby pulled up barstools next to me. Bing was bright-eyed and friendly but Woody Allen looked like he was decomposing. Then I woke up. Okay, time to do laundry.

Ship's Log

2008-05-08T16:22:00.000-07:00

The nano-crumbs of feedback I've received have telegraphed to me that my blog is boring in a way not even I could have imagined. But I get it: a good (journal-like, as opposed journalistic, or focused on a meme, theme or political viewpoint) blog needs daily updates. Not just "What I Did This Weekend," or "Look at All the Cultural Activities I Engage In" or even the overly-wrought experiential or fascinating (to me!) internal debates, no matter how amusing or poignant.

Furthermore, if it's a "log," as I've called my collection of words for years, then it should be taut, like a ship's log -- and updated often.

Over the years, I've read nearly every extant account of sailors -- men and women -- crossing unimaginable distances under extreme circumstances. It began in my father's library with Gypsy Moth Circles the World, by Sir Francis Chichester (he, my father, inexplicably holds onto three copies, one in paperback and warped by salt air from his own journeys) to the Hollywood-ready The Perfect Storm.

What I mean to say is these books contain logs that are pithy to the point of absurdity (out of necessity, but still...):

"Jesus, what an effort. Hand-steering all day."

"Snowing hard, -2 degrees C. , big tabular berg to port."

"Sleep has been interrupted by token lookouts." *

I'd like to say I live a life that allows for such encapsulization. So far, not so much. But in undertaking a daily missive, I hope to find adventure in at least the retelling -- and be inspired to find adventure in even the smallest of things. This effort (like re-joining my gym and quitting cheddar cheese) will start tomorrow.

* From Ice Bird, by David Lewis, who tells of a singlehanded circumnavigation of the Antarctic continent (1975).

The Secret of the Grain

2008-05-04T11:40:00.000-07:00

Sunday was filled with La graine et le mulet (The Secret of the Grain), an amazing French film (part of Tribeca Film Fest). I say "filled" because my day started off thinking of it, realizing it started at 11 am and that one was supposed to arrive early. Oops. I also hadn't heard from ex-colleague friend E. whom I'd invited. Oops again.

The line, at the theater on 19th and Broadway, was very long but I got a good seat. I unfortunately hadn't eaten breakfast and when I overheard the popcorn-munching girls next to me say that the move was two and a half hours long, my heart sank as my stomach started growling.

Filled though, also, because it's the kind of film that really lingers in the mind, the characters so real you can conjure them up completely at will. It was... long. Interminable at points, but interminably enjoyable, tense, and erotic.

To be honest, it was slightly torturous, too. There was a family dinner scene in which the characters ate and talked and yelled and laughed -- all with their mouths full of couscous. Ew. And a belly-dancing scene that went on forever. The film's ending, however, when it finally arrived, was perfect: perfectly unexpected and perfectly executed.

I walked home in the suddenly hot sunshine, alone, and only for a few minutes felt a sharp, brief sorrow that comes of having no one with whom to discuss the movie. Luckily, I had remembered my sunglasses.

Weekend Update: Colors and Pain Perdu

2008-05-04T06:45:00.001-07:00

Well, my weekend began on Thursday, at a cocktail party thrown by F. and her husband, G. on 9th Street. I almost didn't go, as I was exhausted, but marvel at how I almost missed such a great time. P. from France was there -- my old roomate on St. Marks Street from NYU days, a very dear friend with whom I'd sort of lost touch for a while (like 15 years). His wife, S., was there as well and she's one of the warmest, sincere and attractive women I've met in a long time. There were others there as well, from my past (well, more like P.'s past but tangentially mine). It was a lovely evening of just mingling and drinking red wine, all very mellow, and musings over the view of Washington Square Park at night.

Yesterday, I met A., a woman I met seven years ago, on grand jury duty. Fun times! We met up at Landmarc at the Time Warner Center (not half as cozy as the downtown one) and reminisced about how we (the jury) first acquitted an obvious drug dealer (he had some story about a teddy bear) and, later, feeling we'd shirked our duty, sent a very old and pathetic crack whore (self-described) to trial.

Anyway, the food was ok, not great. I had salmon tartare (half the size as downtown, and twice as oily) and an undercooked cheeseburger that one could find pretty much anywhere. A. is a hoot, though. A dance instructor and theater buff, she has a million stories that meander all over, in a good way, ending with her recent friendship with an aging film star with the initials S.M. A good pairing!

I left her at the Columbus Circle subway stop and decided to go to MoMa since I was in the neighborhood. For some reason (the crowds?) I wasn't feeling it -- took in a sorta cool nano-art exhibition and then the much-anticipated "Colors," which I didn't find particularly... colorful. Oh well.

Down with the Downtown Alliance

2008-04-30T08:49:00.001-07:00

After work yesterday, A. and I walked from the World Financial Center to Wall Street to check out a networking event from the Downtown Alliance at at Haru Sushi. Nice place. Nice people. Met a hairdresser from KK Salon, a director from Trinity Church and a director of sales for the Ritz-Carlton. When our drink tickets ran out we realized we'd not eaten, so we left and wandered up through Tribeca to drink a little more. We ended up at the bar at Cercle Rouge, a favorite restaurant in the lovely little triangle just south of the Renaissance revival American Thread Company building on West Broadway near Beach St.

On another note, my mother found a family of mice living in the engine of her Saab, discovered when the car caught on fire. Mother and mice are reportedly unhurt, though Mom now drives a Subaru.

New All-time Favorite Film

2008-04-27T15:18:00.000-07:00

This weekend ended so nicely, with a last-minute mad dash to see "Man on Wire" (a Tribeca Film Festival offering) in the East Village. I had a voucher (8 actually, thanks to a kind colleague) but still had to wait in the "Rush Tickets" line (what an odd name, since all it means is, like, "stand by," and... wait -- after getting there 45 minutes early).

I knew the film was a relatively short feature documentary about Philippe Petit, the high wire artist, who I knew of mainly because I once met a woman whom I remember to have been a girlfriend of his, through my lost-lost friend Janine. (And you can't call me a name-dropper since I don't remember her name, though it might have been Sabine. I can't help it; I just love the serendipitous if meaningless magic of those six degrees...) So anyway, I felt I had a tenuous connection -- but more than that, this film is about Philippe walking -- in mid-air -- between the two World Trade Center towers, in 1974.

I waited in line listening to Charles Aznavour and Edith Piaf on my iPod, with plenty of time, I feared, to start feeling sorry for myself again. But then a man behind me asked if he was in the right line. He was interesting-looking, if a tad affectless. After a few more questions and answers a friend of his arrived, a striking young Indian (possibly) fellow. We chatted about movies and the nutty TFF rules, regulations and experiences, as well museums. A really nice diversion. So I gave each of them a voucher (I couldn't possibly use them all).

We had to enter separately, as they counted off in tens and I was number 10.

But the film! I laughed, I cried and was moved beyond my expectations. I think the filmmaker, James Marsh, did an amazing job of seamlessly melding old footage, interviews, and recreated moments of pure exhilaration. The TFF's quirky characterizations for its movies this go-round were actually spot on here: "Elegant." "Iconic." "Inspirational." "Irreverent." "Playful." "Transgressive." Visceral." Check, check, check, check, check.

Just imagine, looking up from the street and seeing a person, clad in black, outlined in miniature against the sky, seeming to walking on thin air. Incredible.

As I was one of the last ones in, I had to sit in the very front row, in the middle. While that made the movie pretty off-kilter (and made these wonderful French people look short and squat) when the lights came up the MC introduced the British director (wow) and... Philippe Petit! About eight feet from me!

The audience rose as one when Philippe appeared and the standing ovation lasted forever. Philippe, as funny and smart and real as in the film, answering a few pretty good audience questions, looks just like my brother, except with a French twist.

Philippe Petit will make another appearance, next week in Washington Square Park. He doesn't know how long he'll be performing, since, as he said with a grin, the police usually arrest him before he does anything really crazy. I think you know where I'll be next Saturday... hoping (and expect) to see my two new friends there, as well.

Oh, and can I just say how much I love the Web, which connects me when I feel so unconnected. Can't even remember how I came upon Michael Sporn Animation. Oh, right, Wikipedia) and this page on his blog in which he talks about his own (animated) "The Man Who Walked Between the Towers ." And my connection to this extraordinarily talented fellow is that nearly every day I walk past his basement-level studio on Bedford Street and note his hand-scripted sign and always read it as "Michael's Porn Animation." Sorry, dude. Much of his artistic works are renditions of beloved children's stories, including "The Little Engine That Could" and "Jabberwocky."

Spring in Maine

2008-04-17T18:44:00.000-07:00

Maine in early Spring is always a challenge... a test of faith in nature. (see vid below). I had such a great time this go-around, easy flight, then working outside the Portland, Maine International Jetport (PWM) in crazy 65 degree sunshine waiting for J. to pick me up. I listened to the other waiting people who made such easy conversation... "How ya doin? Where'd ya come in from? Live nearby?"

I just sort of encloaked myself in work paraphenalia and marveled in the hot sun, alone.

Highlights of the trip this time included bonding with Sascha (parent's dog) and actually not feeling afraid; observing an all-day cooking affair (mom trying duck a l'orange for the first time -- with 2 ducks! Crazy! And one duck had its head and feet on! Oops. It also outweighed the other duck by a good 2 lbs., so... much discussion about that particular math/cooking problem.

So good to see P. and J. Happy couples make me equally happy and sad, generally, but they (as well as Mop and Pop) just make me happy.

A few more pictures here.

Some random thoughts: Finally ordered from Gobo (W. Village veggie place). Really yummy.

Finally got tickets (only 2!!!) to Tribeca Film Fest. One must be super dooper fast (and an Amex cardmember) to have any hope. So.. no Baby Mama and Tina Fey (rats), but The Secret of the Grain. Details to follow.

It's 68% Better In the Bahamas

2008-04-06T17:30:00.000-07:00

Definitely time to upgrade publishing mechanism. I'd written a more thoughtful and detailed account of my and J.'s and my recent trip to the Bahamas. But something went wrong with blogger and even though it'd been saved.. it disappeared... Whatever.

I'm way too tired to detail AGAIN so will just post my boring pictures and thank my sis for coming with me for some much needed down-time. Highlights included the sad, scrubbly but still interesting Aradastra Zoo; the freakishly white-bread hell that is Paradise Island; the cab fare to BOTH Poop Deck restaurants -- neither of which turned out to be the one I had gone to with C. (on the water, wooden picnic tables, great ambience); the sad "Bible Boat," (we'd been told it was a "floating bookstore," conjuring up images of wonderful used books on an historic yacht or barge. Alas, no. It was an un-air-conditiouned mini-cruise ship full of crappy remainders and way too many Christian tracts...).

High marks for the British Colonial Hilton, with its rich history and just slight shabbiness. The private beach was just perfect and we swam until our arms were sore.

Another Major American Holiday

2008-03-23T14:48:00.000-07:00

Much of blogging is driven by the desire to make one's life sound interesting, full and exciting. Well, I'm here to tell you that the vast majority of MY life's moments are not only deadly dull but actually worse: they're spent agonizing over the very dullness that dulls my existence.

So, Happy Easter.

My dad sent me a bunny. I'm thrilled to say I haven't eaten or even unwrapped it. It's a dark chocolate (hmm), hollow (hmph) Russell Stover confection and it's very much appreciated. Other than a few whacked-out hats spotted on dubious characters during my Sunday walk, it didn't feel like Easter that much.

I spent much of the day backing up my iTunes, preparing for my personal musical Armageddon (when some new fabulous invention renders my Tunes obsolete). Then I attempted to return a shirt from that nasty discount-designer-label store at Sixth and 20th than I won't name.

How dumb is this: I found that the shirt (midnight blue cotton button-down) that I purchased last week still had the damn security tag on it. Great. So I walked the twenty blocks up and into the store, setting off the alarm that as usual no one cared about, and while going toward the cash register picked up a few more "must-have" items.

At the register, I paid for my new stuff and then asked that they remove the security tag from my shirt from last week. I was asked for the receipt and presented one that I thought MIGHT be the right one.. but of course it wasn't. "Oh well," I said. "Whatever. Just please remove the tag."

Of course, she couldn't. Oh noooo, not without the receipt. I said, "well, that's dumb. This was your store's mistake, not mine." A "manager" appeared instantly (I have a feeling there are "conflicts" a lot here in this store). He also demanded a receipt and we argued pointlessly for a while. Then he was stuffing my shirt into the bag and saying "Well, it IS your shirt." And I'm like, um yeah, but I can't exactly wear it now, can I? And he said, not without the receipt. And I'm thinking, wow, good for you I'm not a professional shoplifter because you just gave me a shirt without a receipt AND with a security tag intact. Dumbass.

So I walked out, forlorn except for my new DKNY trenchcoat, of course setting off the sad security alarm that no one even noticed.