Thursday, June 30, 2011

Things I Love Thursday

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MARRIAGE EQUALITY
"Love, love love! The Beatles had it right. Shakespeare had it right. Jesus had it right...
all those dead guys were right."

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For The Bible Tells Me So
In case you're wondering, Senator Ruben Diaz, it's available to be watched instantly on Netflix.

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Thai Food
Third time's the charm!
Bangkok Heights and Massaman Curry changed my mind about Thai food after two bad previous experiences.

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Sweet Red Wine
Do I have to explain?

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Hot Town, Smells in the City

It's a simple biological fact that heat makes smells more intense. In New York City, the odorous capital of the world, summertime means a cornucopia of unexpected odors, some pleasant and some...unpleasant. Here's a handy guide to a few of the most notorious:

Pleasant Unexpected Smell #1: Food Cart
Bringing "meals on wheels" to whole new levels of awesome, New York City's various food trucks ranging from push-carts peddling pretzels to roaming trucks of bona fide gourmet cuisine.

Unpleasant Unexpected Smell #1: Bacon and Eggs
Argue with me if you want, but this smell instantly makes me want to throw up.

Pleasant Unexpected Smell #2: Swimming Pools
Clean, chlorinated water - there's a building on Fifth Avenue that sends up these fumes through the basement vents.

Unpleasant Unexpected Smell #2: Sweaty Men
If the population of New York is estimated at 8 million people, according to a show tune I once heard, then there are 9 million sweaty men in New York City at any given time.

Pleasant Unexpected Smell #3: Sunscreen
The chemical, coconut smell wafting off sun-warmed skin is a surefire herald of the summer season.

Unpleasant Unexpected Smell #3: Flowers
Spring flowers in a cool breeze? Mmm, lovely. Heavily fragrant blossoms in oppressive, dense heat? Migraine-inducing.

The Power of "Love"

Big announcement: I'm not saying "bitch" anymore.

I believe, as a lover of words, that words have power. Of course they do! The perfect word can bring absolute clarity, can encapsulate an entire concept, can bring a new level of understanding to a stranger so they can meet your mind. Even the simplest, smallest words I've seen the word "hate" make a hardened old man cry, and just ask any schoolgirl with a crush how powerful the word "love" can be.

What does the word "bitch" mean? Female dog, yes. That's the thrill of watching dog shows, waiting for the announcers to toss around the phrase "That's a fine bitch right there". When we call a woman a bitch, are we saying she's a dog? No. We're saying we disagree with what she says, she's argumentative, we don't like her, or most often, that we just have no way of dealing with her, but generally, that she's a mean person. When we call a man a bitch, we're saying he's female, inferior, weak, womanly?

I think the opposite is true. I think a woman who calls a woman a bitch is a mean person herself. I think a man who calls a woman a bitch is weak. I think, in the most apt words possible, that when you use the word "bitch", it is rubber, and you are glue, and it bounces right off it's intended target, and sticks to you.

But then, I'm just a lover of words. And people. And bitches!

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

BRIDEZILLAS!

There are certain things I love about visiting my parents' house. Dogs. Cheap shopping. Home-cooked meals. Wide, open spaces. And cable TV. More specifically, BRIDEZILLAS.

Oh, basically any show about weddings is fantastic. It follows the same logic as why wedding magazines are so appealing: the most dire tragedy that surrounds a wedding, at least as it is presented on glossy paper or through the lens of the TV, is "what color scheme best compliments your personality????" and other such serious affairs. It's like a hot chocolate for your brain.

But Bridezillas goes a step further in placating my inner demons by feeding directly into my self-confidence. The outrageous behavior displayed on that programs proves to me, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that I am a decent human being. It's 16 and Pregnant, with better dresses (usually)!

If you've ever felt unlovable, or guilty of being a horrible person, just watch an hour of that show and know that if there's someone out there willing to commit themselves for life to ANY of the people on that program.

Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting

While I do love a good kung fu movie myself, I don't know if I will ever understand the male (Jewish) obsession with marital arts.

Currently, Eels is splayed out on the couch, watching the 3-hour epic Ip Man II, in which a man named Ip, apparently, is an unbeatable fighter. Basically, the same situation repeats itself over and over: Someone tries to step to Ip, or Ip sees someone in trouble and goes to their rescue. The challenger spouts a good rhetoric about how he's so tough, and Ip is just a guy who wears the same outfit over and over (thank God, too, or I would NOT be able to follow this movie, there are like a billion characters and they all fight each other) and they're going to kick Ip's ass and then mail it to his mama. Ip brings out the furious fists and those thugs are eating their words. Also, Ip's fists. Yadda yadda yadda, fists fists fists, and some Australian dude kills Ip's dad in the boxing ring. Ip is displeased. Aussie calls a press conference to talk about how he is so tough (see the pattern? Only now it's a press conference, oooh scary) and he will fight like, literally anyone and kill them too. Uh oh. Ip is pissed. Also, Ip's wife is pregnant and goes into labor. And now, Ip is about to fight the Loudmouth from Down Under, who is not even that good looking with his shirt off.

Which brings me to my point. Dudes eat this stuff UP! There is no plot, every cliche you can imagine, and this Australian boxer is such a broadly drawn stereotype that he might as well fight Ip in a kangaroo costume. I could have written the screenplay for this movie during the time it takes to eat a sandwich. A SMALL sandwich. You've seen one, you've seen them all. And trust me, I've seen a fair amount of movies like these.

And it's not just the movies that has guys transfixed! The study of martial arts seems to appeal to young Jewish guys in a way that football appeals to Southern male youth. It's their athleticism! I was out last night with Eels and one of his peers and the subject of martial arts fighting came up no less than three times. THREE! It's their fish stories, their "bottom of the ninth...", their common heritage.

What's the appeal? Is it the tradition? The honor and discipline? The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Certainly, they will never need to roundhouse kick a bully for stealing their lunch money. They won't need to fight the quarterback of the varsity football team for the return of their village's sacred Buddha statue. They won't ace their LSATs by fighting a foreign challenger.

But maybe the violence in these movies is BETTER than it is in others? Instead of watching spy movies and chasing friends around the yard with pretend guns, maybe it's better to watch the hero use his fists and his strength to fight for his honor, his family, his heritage? Do Kung Fu movies instill pride? And really, what could be more satisfying than watching a cocky Australian jerk get grabbed by the neck, flipped upside-down, and punched in the face a thousand times?

Start Your Engines, Michele...

Can somebody PLEASE explain Michele Bachmann running for president to me? This is a woman who QUIT working for the IRS to raise a baby. Family values and all that crap. And WHY is she running for president?

Um, isn't the idea of women working outside the home contradictory to her theology? What is she going to do when she gets elected, let her husband make all the decisions and bake pies? Or is it okay to work from home if your home is the White House? I don't understand.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Soundtrack of a Sunday

Whenever I recall a particular sweet, odd, or fond memory from my childhood, I can almost always tell you with certainty whether it occurred on a Sunday, thanks to the (then) modern marvel of radio.

Oh sure, there have been fantastic radio memories of my childhood that did NOT occur on Sundays. The freak coincidence of the Cleveland radio station playing "Me and Bobby McGee" as we pulled away from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, following a visit that had me firmly hooked on Janis Joplin (I saw her car, and it was OVER). There are memories of visiting family in Buffalo and the fantastic oldies station they had there. And who can forget Solid Gold Saturday Night (certainly no one who's ever heard the jingle: Solid Goooooooold Saturday Night!), that fantastic oldies' countdown show? I haven't. Yes, radio - OLDIES radio, mostly - shaped my childhood.

But back to Sundays. The reason Sundays always stick out in my mind is because the local radio station for years would play the "70's on Sunday." From the moment I was roused from sleep and dragged to church, my school research projects, clothes shopping, family brunches, holiday decorating, all the way up to my evening bath and subsequent hair detanglement (a major ordeal, I can assure you!) was punctuated by the bizarre dichotomy of classic singer/songwriters and top 40's disco hits. Whether the mood was jubilant or reflective, the 70's on Sunday served up it's very best. I remember exactly where I was when I first heard ABBA's "Fernando" and a small part of my heart opened forever - and I can tell you with all certainty, it was on a Sunday.

I felt as if I was born in the wrong decade, surely I belonged in the 70's! If I had to pick a soundtrack to my life, surely it would be a mix of upbeat, frivolous dance music and contemplative guitar ballads of self-reflection. The 70's saw the birth of punk, and the fall of the Beatles, the rise of pop and a wave of new social consciousness in music (okay, that started in the 60's, but for the time, it would still have been considered "new"). Think of it! ELO! The Tapestry album! Queen! ABBA! Jim Croce and James Taylor! Cat Stevens and the Sex Pistols! The Pretenders and the Velvet Underground! Blondie! Joan Jett! If any decade in music can fully encapsulate my tastes in music as a whole, it could possibly be the 70's.

And if any type of music can instantly summon up the zeitgeist of my childhood, it's a classic Janis Ian hit - or Anita Ward. Or better yet - is anyone old enough to remember "8 Track Flashback", that amazing retrospective show on VH1? That was a double hit of 70's nostalgia for your Sunday afternoon. If I could save time in a bottle, I would have a shapely lavender one for those days inspired by innocence, wistfulness, and rebellion.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Boscov's

When I was a child, Boscov's was this endless, amazing temple of a department store. Five floors, endless racks of clothing to hide in, hours of wandering and shopping. Sundays as a young girl were spent in the petites department, shopping with my mother. It was in Boscov's that I discovered I had an allergy to eggs, due to the stomach cramps I would experience in said petite's department, following a brunch of scrambled eggs. Mixed memories, but still.

Then there was the parking garage. This was the first ever parking garage I'd ever experienced, ever (At least, the first one that I remembered). It was endlessly tall, and thrillingly urban. Being in that parking garage, with the tall, decrepit buildings all around, was like being in West Side Story, my ultimate preteen fantasy. I remember dreaming of a fire escape - or at least a romantic balcony. Total metropolitan decaying perfection. That's what I wanted.

I visited Boscov's again today. Leaving at twilight, the buildings were just as I remembered them - lonely but bright, with river peeking through in between like a gap-toothed smile. The town I longed to leave, was really the one I loved all along. And though at heart I feel like I'm a New York Girl, I will always know the quickest route to the Town Square Mall from my house. And the best Chinese place in town. And which movie theatre has comfiest seats. Where to hang out in Barnes & Noble! When the Salvation Armies have half-priced clothing sales. How long the library video rental is for. Which Price Chopper grocery store is better. The Southern Tier runs through my blood like the Susquehanna River runs through it. Hills and trees and strip malls and oh yes, dreams of something bigger, taller, more urban as well as dreams come true. You can take the girl out of her hometown...but will she ever really leave?

Not if her parents still live there, probably.

Marriage Equality!

I watched LIVE as the New York State Senate - in my home state, the one I've lived in all my life, home to the town I grew up in, the area most of my extended family lives in, the state named after the greatest city in the world and therefore THE BEST STATE...

made it legal for all people, regardless of sexual orientation, to MARRY THE ONES THEY LOVE.

How proud am I???

You can pretty much assume.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Summer of Unsolicited Love

Sorry to harp on the same subject over and over, but that's how it is now, apparently.

On the train into midtown today, I sat across from a girl and her friend speaking rapidly in Spanish. She was wearing a high-necked white t-shirt and blue beads, ring, bracelets and sandals, as well as denim Bermuda shorts. She was actually dressed fairly conservatively, and I assumed it had something to do with the fact that she was rather busty and she was trying to stay covered up.

She obviously didn't succeed as well as she thought she did, however, because the well-dressed (I incorrectly assumed they were gay, at first) pair of men to my right kept stealing not-so-secret glances at her and laughed as they not-so-subtly mocked the poor girl in English...

"...put my face between those..."

"...shake that jelly..."

"...blood on the sheets..." (I didn't even understand this suggestion, but I posted it on the off chance someone could explain it to me?)

I was so angry and hurt that these "normal" guys would be so careless about hurting a human being's feeling like that, that I was intensely on guard while waiting for my uptown train home later that night. Luckily, the return trip was salvaged by the life-affirming awesomeness of a lesbian couple making out on the platform while nobody said a thing about it.

Sorry, I missed the memo...

The one that made it obligatory to draw women's attention to their bodies and/or clothes ALL SUMMER LONG!

THANK YOU, guy who shouted "NICE LEGS!" at me when I was walking home after dark. After all, I do have a pair. And I plan to put them to GREAT use, RUNNING AWAY FROM YOU.

And congratulations, guy who yelled "SOCKS" at me that day I thought I looked cute in my knee-high socks. Had you not made me feel ashamed of my manner of dress, I might have gone on to continue to express myself sartorially. Phew!

Also, I want to take a moment to shame all the kids who tormented me in high school by calling me "freak", "faggot", and "thing". I just want to point out that my life has changed SO much for the better, now that strangers from the peanut gallery approve of my appearance, unlike you did ten years ago!

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Reasons NOT to Be Pretty

Dear Guys (and girls! But mostly guys): when you whistle at a girl on the street. When you say "Hey, Beautiful!" to her in passing from your stoop. When you mutter "Sexy ass" under your breath in the direction of the girl you're walking by.

You DO NOT MAKE HER FEEL GOOD ABOUT HERSELF.

YOU MAKE HER FEEL SCARED!

And more importantly, you're not telling her she's pretty. You're trying to find out if you have a chance at her. And that is NOT COOL.

How about this. If you see a pretty girl in the street, approach her like a human being. Say hi. Lamely comment on the weather. Compliment her outfit or her hair or her smile. Ask to buy her some coffee. Get rejected. Take it bravely. Return to your stoop.

Or better yet, LEAVE HER ALONE.


Thank you.

Signed,

"Hey Mami" a.k.a. "Gorgeous" who sometimes goes by "Sexy Ass Lesbian"(?) who does not respond to honks, whistles, or meows of ANY KIND.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Whoooooo Are You

I just realized I have no idea who half the people on my facebook feed are. I see their names, but there are only pictures of babies there, and I get confused. It's almost impossible to follow these people when they refuse to stand up and be counted as adults and masquerade as infants. Who are these children? Who the fuck are they? Who are these people now?

Can You Ask For Better Neighbors In The City?

Across the hall from us lives an adorable young couple, Chance and Ray.

They are the perfect Manhattan neighbors! Not only do they have the SWEETEST big, beautiful dog Rex, who shyly lopes over to me and sniffs my hands and licks the lotion off my legs, but they are also friendly and AWESOME!

However, we are now deeply entrenched in a KINDNESS WAR with our sweet neighbors.

Last week, when I was out, Chance signed for a package for me, and slipped a note under the door. It was Eli's long-awaited new magic book!

To repay him, Eli invited Chance over to see the apartment, for a private magic show, and gave him some magic paraphernalia to show off to his students and to Ray.

In return, Chance sent over a thank-you card, AND last night, they dropped off a big, moist loaf of carrot cake (which I am currently enjoying very much!).

We are in a holding pattern! Now I must bake! What a beautiful feud to have with neighbors!

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Movie Review -- Failure to Launch

The biggest failure of this movie was not cutting out the SJP/McConuaghey plot entirely and focusing the whole movie on Zooey Deschanel's character. Are we supposed to assume that she's Sarah Jessica Parker's DAUGHTER???

One Handed


I have finally been able to successfully achieve this summer's hottest nail trend: Leopard! I also learned how hard it is to photograph your own hand.

The ingredients: Sinful Colors' Why Not and 24/7, and a nice, big Sharpie. Even I, with the art skills and hand-eye coordination of a toddler withdrawing from crack was able to accomplish a fairly decent and convincing looking leopard print. Convincing, that is to say, if leopards came in neon colours, which I believe only occurs in nature in the state of New Jersey.

Two coats blue, tiny dots of pink, and then put each dot in parenthesis (that is to say, outline it on the sides, like this clause). So easy, even I can do it while watching ridiculous romantic comedies!

Movie Review -- Good Luck Chuck

The best part about this movie is the proliferation of penguins. Luckily, there's a lot of penguins. Basically, it saves the movie. If you like penguins and enjoy sitting in on Intro to Acting classes, this is the movie for you.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Movie Review -- The Hangover 2

How on earth can you enjoy the shenanigans of Zack Goldfinakinises and a monkey when some poor teenaged boy could be lying somewhere in a ditch??

Movie Review -- Bridesmaids

Hollywood should just make a franchise of movies based on the friendship between Melissa McCarthy's and Kristen Wiig's characters.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Hit Me Up On Facebook

Guess what! Shortline/Coach USA buses now come equipped with Wifi! That means you can be cruising on facebook at the same time as...

...your driver?

What IS the proper social protocol in this situation? Do I:

a. "Poke" him?
b. send him a friend request "from the backseat driver in the aisle seat, passenger side, front row"?
c. Invite him to facebook chat, and then yell at him "EYES ON THE ROAD, BOZO!"

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Let's Start By Not Calling It "Weinergate" Anymore

Okay, I'm just a weak-minded little woman who needs big, strong white men to tell her what to do with her body. What is this "Weinergate" all about?

Does it have something to do with the Watergate Scandal?

Hmm, thanks for clearing that up, Wikipedia. Normally I just pray to Google and God, but all Google is telling me is that he has some close-up pictures online of his body...on Twitter? Doesn't he have a MySpace for that sort of thing? Doesn't he know that the shirtless look is SO over, along with the career of Taylor Lautner, DUH.

So what did he do? Did he cheat on his wife and father a love child and use campaign funds to cover it up or something? Start a war under false pretenses and send thousands of American soldiers to their death in a political quagmire sparked by fear and pandering to the lowest common denominator of the public? Deny welfare benefits to anyone who can't pass a mandatory drug test and take money out of their pockets to pad his own? Cut taxes to billionaires to cut benefits to the poor, reverse-Robin Hood style? Did he spill tons of oil into the Gulf of Mexico and leave us with an environmental crisis?

Can somebody please explain to me why we're so upset at him?

I'm too busy slut-shaming Rihanna, Blake Lively, Vanessa Hudgens, Miley Cyrus, Emma Watson, Selena Gomez, Leighton Meester, and half of the Disney channel for having NUDE PHOTOS online. Eeeeew!


The Lost Art of Scrubbing Toilets

I will judge you based on the cleanliness of your bathroom.

Visitors and tourists who visit me often refer to my jaunts about town as "Bathroom Tours of NYC" because I take them to all the best spots - Bryant Park, Columbus Circle, the special 2nd Floor North Wing Port Authority ladies' room (nicer than you'd expect, and seldom any line!), hell, even Union Square Barnes & Noble. I am particular about knowing where the good bathrooms are. When I was in college, I used to sneak off to the Engineering building to use their barely-touched 2nd Floor Ladies' Room - modern design, apathetic student body, jackpot.

As the older sister to two brothers, 2 and 9 years my junior, sharing a bathroom growing up was a never-ending struggle. Mud on the floors, toothpaste left uncapped, and I'll spare you the horrendous things they'd do to the toilet thanks to their high-protein-and-junk-food diets. If I wanted a peaceful, clean oasis, I had to create it myself. And I did! While in high school, I stripped the wallpaper, painted the walls a crisp glossy white, even hand-stenciled a border of seashells to create a beachy Art Deco feel. Living at home, living with roommates, the onus of a clean bathroom has always fell on my shoulders. I would even spend afternoons at my boyfriend's college dorm, scrubbing tiles and introducing him to antibacterial soap (Seriously though, what is WRONG with dudes?).

I am now the proud owner of my own bathroom - mold-free, pure white, TINY, but mine. If I can only manage to Eels to put the seat down, it would be heaven. And for the first time in a long time, I am the sole person responsible for creating AND cleaning the mess in my bathroom! Joy! Twice a week, I brush the toilet and wipe down the sink. Once a month, I scrub the tub and replace the blue tab in the toilet. It's a labor of love, because I know that I have a clean and sanitary bathroom, all to myself!

Which is why I judge terrible bathrooms so harshly. It doesn't take much to take care of your bathroom, people! And are you really trying to force your guests to use the gross bar of soap that's cemented itself to your sink in it's own soapy crud? Here's $5, go to Duane Reade, get a Method foaming hand soap. Honestly!

The worst offender, however, are TOILETS. I know, it can be laborious for a busy person to find a drugstore, buy a toilet brush, and scrub it out when it starts to get those pink streaks down the sides and the black ring around the top. But do you want people to think you live in a bus station? I mean the THIRD floor of Port Authority...I have no complaints with you, Second Floor North Wing Ladies' Bathroom. Get a clue, people. Join the human race. Clean your damn toilet and grow up.

Things I Love Thursday

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Reese's scented lip balm

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My geek glasses

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Ramen noodles

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The Mighty Boosh

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Febreeze Spring Renewal scent

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Law & Order: SVU

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GIANT Twizzlers

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Sea of Shoes's blog

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Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Of New Yorkers, By New Yorkers, For New Yorkers

Thanks to the awesomeness that is Instant Netflix, I have been hiding out in air conditioned comfort watching old reruns of Law & Order: SVU. Clearly the best of the Law & Order franchise, I have been a fan for almost ten years (earlier today , I recounted having watched a specific episode following my first High School play, Harvey, in 2001, and having been instantly inspired).

As a young teen, I was transfixed by the danger and thrill of the big city, and these exotic locations that I had no way of knowing about - Battery Park! Astoria! Greenwich Village!

After moving to the city, I was terrified to watch the show. One specific episode had a deadly fighting match go down in Union Square Park - and at the time, I was convinced that was possible! And was terrified to set foot there, even in the daytime. Eventually I calmed down, and came to realize that being smart in the city would protect me quite a bit. Like, not venturing into the middle of Central Park at night. And take last weekend, for example? There was a rave just up the street from our apartment, and New York's finest dressed me down before letting me go anywhere NEAR my apartment. There's construction every night, and we're in the most upcoming affluent neighborhood. It's hard to be scared here, even with twelve seasons of ripped from the headlines cases trying to prove you otherwise.

But my enjoyment lately has been increased by my knowledge of New York - I've learned interesting things about the city! Such as, your MetroCard can betray all your movements. No sneaky shopping trips unless you walk there! Also, I like that the random locations that flash across the bottom of the screen MEAN something to me. A child gets abducted near West 72nd Street? Great restaurants there! A perp lives in Astoria? Figures! Teen runaway raped in DUMBO, Brooklyn? Take that, hipsters! This just proves to me that though Law & Order: SVU has widespread mainstream appeal, the best way to enjoy it is in the best city on Earth.

Like White On Rice

Confession: I have never liked white rice.

Whenever I have Chinese food, I eat fried rice. Risotto? Grazie. Pilaf? Oui. But plain white rice? Unaccompanied by red beans? No. Way.

But I have discovered a craving for white rice - smothered in salty, delicious soy sauce. Makes a great snack - but don't eat it too fast!

Living Orgasm

Well, it's summer in the city. Temperatures are reaching into the low 90's and with all that heat, it's the perfect time to stay in, catch up on some classic vintage Law & Order: SVU, order delivery, and collage your bedroom wall.

When I was an awkward freshman in high school, I would doodle on my hand during lunch period, 5th period. My sixth period class, Earth Science, assigned lab partners and seating according to alphabetical order of last name. This put me, Ms. Ka, with Mr. Ku, the class's biggest pothead. He, too, had 5th period lunch, during which time he binged himself on cannabis, to join me in what was probably the most boring/least useful class of all of high school (truth! Sorry!) high as the proverbial weather balloon. Through his haze, he noticed my hand doodles getting progressively more intricate day by day, and commented,

"Wow! It's like a living orgasm!"

Not the brightest shale in the box. He was, however, carelessly cruel (as most high school boys are) and used his mistake to coin an unflattering nickname for me: Orgasm. Yes, I was the 14-year-old virgin nicknamed "Orgasm". Luckily, the pot-smoking damaged his short-term memory, and the nickname didn't last past 9th grade - incidentally, I don't think he lasted past the ninth grade, either - but the Freudian slip stuck with me and ladies and gentlemen, behold My Living Orgasm of Art:

The wall opposite the bed
(Shown closed: the closet door which is also lined with my
fashion-inspired collage, the one that started it all)

Close up:
A postcard of Charlie to the right of a picture of some flowers
and a quote from a Vogue UK interview with Patti Smith

Where the orgasm ends...at least for now.

Up close on the lightswitch area, clockwise:
postcard of Ashton, postcards from 2 shows Eli and I were in, respectively, Muppets Take Manhattan, a Metrocard, map of NY districts, business card from a bakery in Forest Hills, another postcard of Ashton, and a postcard of Charlie.

Close up on Janis, Monet, Far Side, and a Beatles-inspired cake.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Cavorting around NYC - Memorial Day Weekend

A timeless classic - Breakfast at Tiffany's.
As I recall, we both kind of liked it.

The elevator ride up to Top of the Rock -
I won't spoil the surprise, but let's just say it's like an impromptu dance party!

Uptown Girl!
View from Top of the Rock

Carousel in Central Park -
playing hits from the 60's

The two adventurers in the park together, by the lake!

Talk Nerdy To Me

My eyesight is 20/20, but everyone in my family (extended too! Many generations!) has glasses or contacts. Switched at birth? Maybe. But I never got to experience the accessory most dreaded by most girls: GLASSES!

Fortunately for me, as an actor, I can become a chameleon and try out many different looks. When the opportunity arose to purchase a pair of prop glasses, I knew exactly what I wanted: sexy librarian hipster bookworm Liz Lemon black plastic frames. This is what I got:

And here's the outfit I put together using two sheer tops from H&M, my favourite jeans (thanks to a nice cold spell!) and a wide belt. Shoelaces in my hair too!

DIY Trashy T-shirt

Ahh, the too-tight t-shirt. Thank you, Strawberry, for making me think I'm twelve again, and can pull off this look.

Well, it got too hot in the city early again and I thought, "Why not?", grabbed a pair of scissors and ended up with this:
Before you tell me it's a little extreme, I know. But a gal can only sweat it out in tank tops and hide in the air conditioning for so long. How anyone dresses in suits in the summer I'll never know!

Sunday, June 5, 2011

You Ever Been Rohypnol-ed By A Swan?

Summer colds are the worst. They sap you of all your energy, you can't tell if your symptoms are from pollen or illness, and everything's happening at once. When you've got a fever, it feels like your entire existence is on fire because you can't cool down between the hot temperatures and your own body! Take yesterday at work, for example. Runny nose, cough, one ear popping and the other ear buzzing. I couldn't tell how loud I was talking because I couldn't hear myself, and my stuffiness made every laugh come out loud a scary bewitched elf.

That is why I am home today. Kicking the cold until rehearsal, at least. And indulging in one of my favourite sick-day pastimes: watching TV.

This probably hearkens back to sick days of old, when staying home and watching daytime TV was the only silver lining to a sick day. Of course, it's not really possible to do here with the whole "no TV signal" thing (we almost get one Spanish channel), but I have stockpiled 3 DVDs from The Mighty Boosh box set from Blockbuster online to watch and that is making things slightly better. I mean, besides sleeping for almost 13 hours.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Ode to the Supermarket

One of the things I really miss, now being an official city-dweller (denizen of Manhattan, albeit the "most-suburby area" of north Manhattan), is that amazingly huge time-suck of suburban living:
the grocery store.

Don't get me wrong, or thing that it means I love Jin's Superette (the tiny store the size of our living room packed to the roof with most of your shopping needs) any less. I just miss strolling around a building so big it needs its own zip code, scanning 7-foot high shelves for the best bargain. Comparing and contrasting cottage cheeses. Not being able to find cornstarch.

Take, for example, the Stop & Shop back in Forest Hills. Not only did it have an attached parking garage (with a liquor store and A.C. Moore to boot!), but the store ITSELF contained its OWN Starbucks! The produce department was the size of a city block! There were apathetic deli counter employees! A REDBOX!!! You could easily spend HOURS trolling up and down entire aisles devoted solely to things like cookies, or cereal - things I don't even WANT but would be organized tantalizingly with shiny desirous packaging. We had our own traditions: When we reached the soda aisle, we would both race to the Smirnoff Ice at the opposite end to be the first to "ice" the other one. Like you don't do that!

Fresh Direct is convenient and all, but it has NO charm. It's as impersonal as looking for porn on the internet. Type in what you want, click on it, it shows up, you ingest it. No thrill of the hunt! Grocery shopping in person is more like dating. Classier. More respectable. More likely to take home something you wouldn't have otherwise.

Of course, I may just be over-glamorizing the whole experience. Whenever I've been away from my hometown too long, I always miss the Wal*Mart. WAL*MART!!!! As a kid, Wal*Mart was an adventure: go in for milk, leave with eyeshadow, hair dye, a new shirt, patterned underwear, yarn, a $5 DVD, batteries, car freshener, a board game, Twizzlers, nachos, a mop, and - if you were lucky - milk. I could spend hours walking around Wal*Mart, looking at all the new books, watching the big-screen TV's, fishing for fabric remnants, trying on dresses, scavenging for bargains. And yet, whenever I return to Wal*Mart from my city home, I get sooooo tired after barely making it past the pets aisle. It's so big! There are so many things! How do the suburbanites do it! (The same, it should be noted, does NOT hold true for Target. Target is always awesome and NEVER tiresome.)

I always thought I would feel 100% at home in the city. And while I do - I have no trouble navigating public transportation, walking 80 blocks for fun and exercise (and shopping) and know where to find the best of whatever at the cheapest price, perhaps there will always be a part of me inside that will yearn for bargain shopping under florescent lights.

Hitting the Big Time - Dreams Do Come True

It's every actor's dream to get cast in a show. Me, I dream small I guess...unless aided by ClarDrylQuil, my new best friend for attempting to sleep through my terrible allergies. Here's an example of what I dreamed last night:

I had just been cast in one of a series of religious plays that required full nudity (it may happen, basically everything does these days) and found myself trying to back out of the project, when I was cast in another show: a kabuki reinterpretation of a Neil Simon play, costarring with a former business associate.

My nerves about preparing for that role were put on hold when the bus we were all travelling on broke down near a ditch where the high school marching band and colorguard were practicing for their show in big red bathrobes - it was a tribute to Auntie Mame.

And then, basically, I woke up.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

YESYESYESYESYES

The following is not my original content, but borrowed from The F Word's blog, and has been passed around the internet - but not enough! Please pass it on!

Please distribute this list. Put it up in your place of work, in your university’s library or wherever you think they might be read:

1. Don’t put drugs in people’s drinks in order to control their behavior.

2. When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone!

3. If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them!

4. NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.

5. If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, DON’T ASSAULT THEM!

6. Remember, people go to laundry to do their laundry, do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.

7. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.

8. Always be honest with people! Don’t pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the other person may take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.

9. Don’t forget: you can’t have sex with someone unless they are awake!

10. Carry a whistle! If you are worried you might assault someone “on accident” you can hand it to the person you are with, so they can blow it if you do.

Things I Love Thursday



*~*~*~*~*

AIR CONDITIONING OH DEAR GOD AIR CONDITIONING DID I MENTION AIR CONDITIONING????

*~*~*~*~*

watching Glee
(but skipping through all the songs)

*~*~*~*~*

spending all day in pajamas
& ordering food to be delivered
(every Manhattanite's right!)

*~*~*~*~*

debuting my summer dresses,
minus last summer's 15 extra pounds!

*~*~*~*~*

Being able to pay rent on my swanky Manhattan piece of land
for the SECOND month in a row!

*~*~*~*~*

MINT BLUE
a shade nestled perfectly between Tiffany Blue and Seafoam Green

*~*~*~*~*

Pregnant Teenagers on Cable TV
Thank you, 16 & Pregnant and Secret Life of the American Teenager,
for validating my life choices.

*~*~*~*~*

and Eli,
for seeing how I suffered through the heat in the bedroom,
and taking a taxi to and from Rite Aid
to buy a fan
at 2:30 in the morning.

*~*~*~*~*

Jasmine in my mind....

Last night, I had a terrible night's sleep. I was gorked out on Benadryl, Claritin, and NyQuil aka MY NIGHTCAP, but faced with sore throat and sinus pressure, I woke up approximately every two hours:

10:17 PM - fall asleep.

1:30 AM - Eli wakes me when he comes to bed.

3:00 AM - wake up from dream where my uncle had placed a curse on my father's golf clubs, and they attacked us (the golf clubs, I mean) from where they were being stored in the basement, until I was able to lift the curse, the clubs returned to normal, and my uncle was grateful for freeing him.

5:00 AM - wake up from a dream wherein I had woken to discover that a group of Hasids had rented our apartment to throw a wild party in the living room. I was livid, until Eli told me that he moved all the furniture out and charged them $400 for use of the space. I thought he could have gotten at least $600, but they probably haggled him down too low.

6:04 AM - Eli wakes me in a panic, asking me to read the clock. "It's 6:04," I reply as calmly as one can at 6:04 in the morning. "Why does it say that?" he panicked. "Because that's what time it is." "Is that okay?" "Yes," I lied, even though everyone knows that 6:04 is NOT okay. EVER.

And from there I just keep dozing off until my alarm at 7:00 AM. Kind of eventful. Kind of not. Can't wait for the summer heat/my allergies to drive me COMPLETELY insane.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

I'd Like To Teach The World A Thing Or Two

Seems to me that all the news "for women" is obsessed with weight, sluttiness, and rape. I just want to clarify a few things.

1. The only diet that works is m o d e r a t i o n.

2. There is no such thing as dressing "too sexy" as an invitation to rape. Leave the clothes alone! They don't deserve the blame oh and neither does THE VICTIM.

3. No matter what you do with your private life, someone will always think you're too extreme, so if you can't please everyone, you've got to please yourself.
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