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"Friends with Money"

2006-04-11T03:49:00.000-04:00

I can't believe this movie didn't get better reviews. I really, really liked "Walking & Talking" (1996) and "Lovely & Amazing" (2001), Nicole Holofcener's previous two pictures. I knew I would like this one too, despite (because of???) Jennifer Aniston, because Holofcener's dialog is so fantastic. I mean, the way Catherine Keener (who has appeared in all 3 films) articulates these lines just makes me want to marry her.

But you know who steals this movie and should be this week's Honorary Pedestrian Rager? Frances McDormand. Her character screams at waitstaff, at people who steal her parking spaces, at people who jump in line at Old Navy. She has no fear. And she has a gay husband, just like me.

The moviegoing experience was also the most pleasant we've had in years:

I bought tickets at the box office at noon for a 7:30 show, meaning I didn't have to pay the outrageous Fandango/Moviefone service fees (you're crazy, Nora Ephron!)
We got to the theater early, so we got great seats on the aisle
The popcorn line was short, and the woman didn't follow up her offer of a combo with explanations that I could get 20 ounces more of gut-forming Coke for a mere 20 cents more
By some fluke, our tickets had the wrong theater printed on them, and we ended up in the balcony, which was great because we had a fantastic view and didn't feel like we were lying on our backs in stadium seating
They didn't play the "2wenty" before the show started
No one's cell phone went off
No one talked during the movie

It was a dream, bookended with a visit to the Strand before and dinner at Japonica after. But I'd have liked the movie anyway!

Chocolate, I Wish I Knew How to Quit You.

2006-04-02T22:08:00.000-04:00

Today I went to Jacques Torres Chocolate Haven, the famous chocolate store inches from my house. The shop is filled with Easter bunnies of all varieties, all kinds of Easter baskets, and huge centerpieces, like a 2-foot-tall Easter egg. But this one item made me do a double take: 2 "cowboy bunnies" wrapped in cellophane as a single package, with this sign: "Brokeback Mountain Cowboy Bunnies. All proceeds to benefit the NYC Lesbian & Gay Anti-Violence Project."

How cool is that? I wonder whether Randy Quaid will sue Jacques for a cut....

I went with college friends of mine who are here from Los Angeles and their almost-4-year-old son, who loved the store. Who wouldn't? I brought The Boyfriend back some chocolate-covered matzo.

And They're Motoring....

2006-03-27T09:48:00.000-05:00

Indeed, the front page of today's New York Times features two Sister Christians on their way to the Friday Night Beer Blast at St. John the Divine (see lower right).

I read online that Night Ranger drummer Kevin Keagy wrote the song about his sister, Christy, and that the other band members mis-heard the lyric as "Christian." This site was also so meticulous as to point out that "motoring" means "driving around."

Thanks.

Well, We Did Eat Them in Bed....

2006-03-25T15:47:00.000-05:00

This morning, after I served up some egg matzos with butter and sea salt, I read on the box this little blurb:

ACCORDING TO ASHKENAZIC PRATICE, ALL EGG MATZO MAY BE EATEN ONLY BY THE YOUNG, INFIRM OR AGED. IF YOU ARE OF SEPHARDIC ANCESTRY, CONSULT YOUR RABBI. CHALLAH IS TAKEN.

Since we were in bed and hadn't had our coffee yet, could we be considered infirm? What rattled us the most, I think, was the phrase, "Challah is Taken." At the end of this warning, it sounded like "attendance is taken," like someone up there is writing down whether you're enjoying egg matzo when you're not supposed to be. In fact, we read later, it simply means that a bit of the dough was set aside in the traditional way. Do people really fret over that?

Also, I'm wondering if anyone else has ever thought this: when you break off a little matzo and it doesn't break cleanly, doesn't it look like either Vermont or New Hampshire, depending on which way you're holding it?

Is There Meaning in This?

2006-03-23T12:55:00.000-05:00

As I work from home, I am listening, over and over, to the soundtrack to "Boogie Nights" (Volume 1). And there's this one song that is so beautiful, just so touching, that I can't get it out of my system. I remember listening to it in the 80's and thinking it was so cheesy, but now I love it.

The only problem is, I have no idea what the lyrics mean. Anyone? Anyone?

"Sister Christian" by Night Ranger

Sister Christian
Oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one
To say O.K.

Where you going
What you looking for
You know those boys
Don't want to play no more with you
It's true

You're motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be alright tonight

Babe you know
You're growing up so fast
And mama's worrying
That you won't last
To say let's play

Sister Christian
There's so much in life
Don't you give it up
Before your time is due
It's true
It's true yeah

Motoring
What's your price for flight
You've got him in your sight
And driving thru the night

Motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be alright tonight

Motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be alright tonight (repeat)

Sister Christian
Oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one
To say O.K.

But you're motoring
You're motoring

"In Her Shoes"

2006-03-21T13:18:00.000-05:00

Last night we watched "In Her Shoes," which we had heard was surprisingly good for a studio flick. The Boyfriend watched the whole thing but then pronounced it "sappy;" I cried several times throughout and decided I thought it was great. First of all, I love Toni Collette. That girl can do anything. Second of all, the script was actually literate (well, it is based on a chick lit best seller...) and fairly intelligent, which was nice. The plot was pretty predictable, but for once in a major studio movie the (primary) characters seemed fully-formed. The whole "missing grandmother" thing was a little unrealistic, but whatever. I definitely recommend.

It also has some good and recognized actors in secondary characters: Mark Feuerstein ("Good Morning Miami" -- you know I have a thing for the Jewish boys), Eric Balfour (Claire's boyfriend Gabe on "Six Feet Under"), and Jerry Adler (Hesh on "The Sopranos")....

The only thing wrong with the movie was the farkin DVD: tracks 18 and 19 were damaged, and we had to skip them. This is the first time Netflix has let us down.

In other news, today I caught some of "Sons and Lovers" (1960) with a young Dean Stockwell. Damn, he was hot!

“Vers le Sud” & “The Sopranos”

2006-03-20T16:27:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, The Boyfriend and I went to a screening of Laurent Cantet’s “Vers le Sud (Heading South),” part of the Lincoln Center’s Rendez-Vous with French Cinema series. It had gotten a rave review from Stephen Holden in the Times, and this sold-out screening was packed. The manager of the IFC Center introduced the film and its director, who would be conducting a Q&A afterward, and then he said that the film would have a 60-second intermission in the middle because they would need to change reels….

The film stars Karen Young, otherwise known as the FBI agent Robyn Sanseverino on “The Sopranos” (Adriana’s contact), as an American who returns to Haiti three years after a visit with her husband – a visit during which she had sex on the beach with a 15 year-old boy. The boy is now 18 and a hustler of white women at this particular resort, and his current benefactor is none other than Charlotte Rampling.

Unfortunately, that’s about all I know about the movie. All of a sudden, about an hour into it, the film started running backward (so you couldn’t read the subtitles), with a blue field covering the right side. The projectionist finally stopped the film and raised the lights; I went to the bathroom. When I came back, The Boyfriend told me they’d run another two minutes and stopped. It started again. It stopped again. Finally, the manager came out to explain that the second reel of the film had fallen off the platter, and it would take too long to get it going again, so the screening was officially over. He offered refunds or passes and condolences. The director started a Q&A, moderated by no one, so questions were just shouted out from everywhere – completely chaotic.

The first half of the film wasn’t so terribly exciting, actually. But I can’t really judge, because who knows what the second half would have wrought? As for the planned 60-second intermission and the film falling off the platter, I wonder if any of my dear readers remember the union protests outside the IFC Center when it opened – and I wonder if this is what happens when you hire non-union projectionists…. Maybe the new Balducci’s at Eighth Avenue and 14th, currently the target of similar union protesting, will experience anything similar….

Anyway, the films in Rendez-Vous looked pretty interesting, on the whole – especially this one, called “Douches Froides (Cold Showers),” featuring a 3-way in a shower. Clearly, I would need one of those afterward. (The news from Indiewire is that this particular film has found a US distributor and will be marketed mainly to men who like to watch boys in showers....)

Now, back to “The Sopranos.” I was kinda hoping to have two viewings of Karen Young, but, alas, she didn’t appear in last night’s episode, the second of the new season. What are people’s thoughts about this new season? I’m personally having a difficult time getting back into the rhythm of the series…. Maybe it’s less fun watching them throw all the balls in the air, and more fun watching where they land later.

So Pinch Me Already

2006-03-17T09:20:00.000-05:00

Back when I was in elementary school in Texas, if you didn't wear green on St. Patrick's Day, you would get pinched. And not a gentle, one-time pinch -- hard pinches, all day long. It was sadistic. And so, to this day, as I rebel against St. Patrick's Day and refuse to wear green on purpose, I am still scared that someone is going to pinch me.

I asked The Boyfriend whether this was a big thing when he was growing up in Brooklyn, and he'd never heard of the pinching thing. Was it just my town? Some mean boy just made it up?

"Hustle & Flow"

2006-03-16T01:02:00.000-05:00

Tonight we watched "Hustle & Flow," which arrived right on time from NetFlix. It was surprisingly good! I had heard such great things about it when it was at Sundance, and then it got a little overhyped and there was some backlash, and I came away thinking it was possibly too formulaic or too amateurish. While it was rather predictable (the pacing was straight out of Screenplay 101, and when he goes into the bathroom at the party, I actually remarked, "Something really bad is about to happen" -- a person doesn't just announce he's going to the bathroom and let the camera go with him if he's not about to find a dead person or get beaten up or discover he's given dangerous drugs to his passed-out friend), I was surprised at how fresh it was -- visually very interesting, and the acting was really spectacular. In particular, Taraji Henson, who I think should have gotten a supporting nomination.

So here's the freaky thing about the movie. (I am about to reveal way too much of my identity in what is supposed to be a nameless blog, but I have to blog about this.) Four of the names in the movie -- 3 of characters, and 1 of an actor -- have personal meaning to me. The actress Taryn Manning plays a character named Nola; Taraji Henson plays a character named Shug; and Anthony Anderson plays a character named Key. Ready for this? My maternal grandmother, Nola Manning, was nicknamed Sug (which was pronounced the same as Shug, like the first syllable of "sugar"), and my middle name is Key. "Nola" has recently become a more common name (it was unheard of before the current vogue of very old-fashioned names like "Sophie" and "Sadie"), but "Key" is absolutely not a common name. Where they got "Key" from is beyond me. (I am named after my dad's college roommate, who was given his mother's maiden name, so it was originally a surname.) All this totally freaked me out!

At first, I thought maybe my grandmother had shepherded this movie through production from her gingham slip-covered wingchair in heaven, but then I realized that my grandmother would absolutely not be involved in a movie about a hustler with a rap dream. Then again, The Boyfriend has been calling me "dog" for the last hour, and is now shouting from the bedroom that it is not so easy in there for a pimp....

People on Bikes = Crazy People

2006-03-13T21:59:00.000-05:00

You'd think I'd have learned my lession from this incident, but nooooo. Tonight, walking along Prince Street with a friend, a guy on a bicycle wanted past us. I muttered (really more to my friend), "Bikes off the sidewalk, thank you," and the guy comes to a complete stop, turns around, and lights into me. The only other thing I tell him is that it's illegal. He tells me to go back to the suburbs, he spits at the sidewalk (clearly not at me), doesn't use any foul language but is otherwise threatening. He does eventually remove himself to the street (if only to let us pass), but throws in this gem: "Look at you, with your glasses! Look at you, with your bald head! Why are you smiling, bitch?"

Um, I'm smiling because if the worst insults you can throw at me are that I wear glasses and am bald, that's just kind of sad. You know?

And off he went up Sixth Avenue.

Party On, Sister Mary Louise!

2006-03-10T18:04:00.000-05:00

I got in line at the grocery store behind two nuns. First of all, I have never seen so much pasta in all my life. From the look of their cart, these girls live on pasta, processed cheese and Idaho potatoes.

And then, my eyes spied a 6-pack of Bud Light. When the cashier asked them if it were theirs, one of them replied, "Oh, yes. It's Friday night!"

Renegade Craft Fair

2006-03-07T16:26:00.000-05:00

Hey, who wants to go to the Renegade Craft Fair with me in Brooklyn on June 17 and 18?

Family Visit Recap

2006-03-07T15:58:00.000-05:00

I can't believe how many comments my rant on my sister's visit generated!

Well, now they're gone, and I can tell all. Actually, the visit wasn't that bad. I chalk that up to the fact that they're doing better financially, so crazy annoying things I remember from visits past (extreme lethargy in reaching for the dinner tab, spendthriftiness that led to calculated activity scheduling and then expensive theater tickets for a crap show) didn't even happen. Thank God!

On Saturday, my sister took my 9 year-old nephew to the Intrepid... where they spent 5 hours! Who spends 5 hours at the Intrepid? Are you kidding me? Anyway, I offered to babysit if they wanted to go see an adult play that night, and they accepted. So The Nephew came over to our house and helped me bake for the Oscar party the following night (batter for madeleines, to be made Sunday, and a buttermilk lemon pound cake, which came out perfectly) while he and The Boyfriend watched "Funny Girl." Gay uncles, much? We ordered in pizza and had a really fun time. My nephew is the most darling boy, just so sweet and thoughtful and grown-up and affectionate and funny. He and The Boyfriend are in love. The cats, on the other hand, didn't quite know what to make of this small person running after them.

What struck me most (and made me so happy) was how like a little family we were -- I wondered if that was what it felt like to have kids of one's own. I really liked that feeling. If we had a little boy, I'd want him to be exactly like my nephew. I was baking, The Boyfriend was reading and watching television and doing needlepoint, The Nephew was playing with little metal planes he got at the Intrepid and writing secret things in a little book. It was just humming the way a happy home does and made me really want kids, which I haven't for a long time.

On Sunday, I had the bad idea of suggesting lunch at Balthazar. Honestly, I couldn't think of anywhere else in the neighborhood I'd rather have lunch. After baking the madeleines (which turned out lovely) and making batter for hamentaschen (The Boyfriend thought that since (i) Purim is coming up, (ii) everyone else besides me at the Oscar party would be Jewish, and (iii) I love to make them, they'd be good to make.... He told me this at 10:00 am, and they have to refrigerate and be rolled, and dried fruit has to be stewed and cooled.... No matter, I made them anyway!), we met them at 1:00 at Balthazar, which had a 1-hour wait. We went to a sample sale and the MoMA design store and went back at 2:00. And waited. And waited. And stood by the bar and stood by the hostess table, and shifted positions every 2 seconds because a waiter needed through. Finally, at 2:30, after having waited 90 minutes, we got a table. I was so embarrassed because it was my suggestion. But the service and food were good, as usual, so by the end everything was forgiven. Though they were now 90 minutes off an already tight schedule getting back to Virginia.

In the end, the visit was lovely. I couldn't believe it! There's usually some tension, some old vendettas, some resentment, some fatigue, something said that's instantly regrettable. Whew!

The Oscar party was fun, and all my treats (lemon madeleines from Patricia Wells's Paris cookbook, buttermilk lemon pound cake from Fanny Farmer a/k/a Marion Cunnginham, and fig and apricot hamentaschen from Jewish Holiday Baking) went over well.

New Links

2006-03-07T15:54:00.000-05:00

You may have noticed some new links:

- A friend from chorus has moved to Milan. I hope he writes more about it.
- I sometimes read this cute little blog called Boy's Briefs and figured I might as well link.
- Also, I found through Towleroad a funny blog from Texas. He's my age, and from Houston, and loves Project Runway even more than I do.

Enjoy!

Oscar Wrap-Up

2006-03-07T15:17:00.000-05:00

A few days before the Oscars, Stuntmother asked me what type of alcoholic beverage would go best with Oscar viewing. As I really have only one drink (the Gibson -- or, in the absence of cocktail onions, vodka on the rocks), I really am quite at a loss. Not that it matters now that the Oscars are yesterday's news. But in the future, I would probably go with something golden, in reference to the color of the statuette. Champagne (in celebration), sweet white wine (in honor of the saccharin speeches), mango nectar for the underage.

Now, on to Oscar commentary. I've been reading so many reviews, of the telecast (don't you love the word "telecast"???) and of the fashions, that I fear anything I have to say will be redundant and/or tired. Cbs.com has excellent photo galleries, Towleroad has links to video captures of both the intro and the cowboy homage, Pink is the New Blog has extensive commentary on the fashions. To sum up my own thoughts (which got progressively cloudier as the night wore on, as I helped finish a bottle of vodka):

· Michelle Williams blew me away. Trent at Pink is the New Blog, as well as a ton of other people, didn't like her look, but I thought it was stunning. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.
· What is wrong with Charlize Theron? Oy.
· No still photograph of Eric Bana can capture his beauty. We watched the Oscars on HDTV, on which every flaw is visible, even small moles on people 30 feet away in the background, and the man is a god, simply put. Same for Jakie.
· People at our party griped about Felicity Huffman's gown. I thought it was OK.
· May I please wake up next to George Clooney? I think I gasped.
· Everyone is going on and on about how great Jessica Alba looked. Yeah, she has a great body and can work some Versace, but can she act?
· I think Reese played it too safe with that vintage Dior. But at least she bought it herself, in a vintage shop in Paris. Circa 1955.
· Keira? She was only OK. I thought she was gorgeous before anyone else did, but I like her boyish look from "Bend It Like Beckham" best. Go figure.
· Naomi looked like she had a run-in with Andy Serkis on the way in. Oy.
· Amy Adams looked weird.
· I've been gaining a little respect for Rachel Weiss lately. Dress was a tad boring, though.
· What was J. Lo doing there??? Someone shoot her.
· Uma, Nicole, beautiful but seen it, yawn.

Now, for the show. The opening was a riot, but then the monologue was too safe. That was disappointing. Other pre-filmed skits they did were fantastic, including the cowboy sequence and the fake Oscar campaigns for the leading actresses. I hope they do more of that.

I was disappointed that "Brokeback" didn't take Best Picture, but I can never figure out what's going to win or why. Logic thwarts me. Honestly, If Bush can win a national election, I am not surprised by anything that happens in this world.

Hello, Andy!

2006-03-04T17:05:00.000-05:00

I've checked the Project Runway website about once a week, and this is the first time I've seen this: executive producer Andy Cohen has started his own blog. A little late in the season, for sure, but what-ev! So, how cute is this guy? He has that tanned Jewish look girls can't get enough of. Well, this girl anyway.

This house is split: I'm for Daniel V., and The Boyfriend is for Santino.

Family in Tow(n)

2006-03-03T08:54:00.000-05:00

Some readers may remember my posts about my sister (here and here) from Christmastime. Well, she and her family are in New York for a few days. We've had only a little spot of drama so far, so it hasn't been too bad.

I wish I knew why my sister's behavior annoys me so much. I think it's because I see too much of myself in it. After a couple of glasses of wine, she is way too casual with the waiter. I mean, I'm nice to waitstaff and all, but they're there to do a job, not to be my friend. It's possible to smile and say thank you and be nice but still have a little distance and let them do their thing. I hate it when people keep a waiter at the tableside while they think out loud over the menu, or when they start to have a conversation about something, like this person is another party guest who has all the time in the world to chat before he makes it over to the hors d'oeuvres table. When my sister did this last night at the Oyster Bar & Restaurant in Grand Central, it made me cringe. It's like she's mimicking a movie from the 1950s that she caught that afternoon on AMC or something -- she's all "gracious" and giggly and, well, so obviously from out of town (which isn't that embarrassing, considering that at this particular restaurant, that could describe most of the patrons). The most mortifying thing about observing this, though, is that when *I* have a couple of drinks in me, I am often the same way.

My sister has a different life, and this different life has a different pace. She lives in the suburbs of DC, and she spends a fair amount of "dead time" in traffic or at the grocery store. When we speak on the phone, she is more than likely cruising the aisles at Trader Joe's or cursing at freeway traffic en route thereto. As such, she has this crazy idea that if I am on the phone with her, I, too, must be in a "dead time zone" and can just chit-chat until (i) I reach a parking space, (ii) have another phone call, or (iii) have to go to the bathroom. She used to call me at work and just keep me on the phone until I told her I had to go for whatever reason (the assumption being, I suppose, that I was a passive animal at work, responding to outside stimuli, rather than an actively paper-pushing generator of work product); she even used to call her husband up to 10 times a day until he told her she had to stop.

The reason I go on about this point is that our little "spot of drama" on Wednesday night involved this dynamic. After a cocktail reception given by my high school's NYC alumni association and then the Biennial opening party, I was on my way home in a cab with The Boyfriend and a friend of ours, seated in the middle between them. My phone rang, and it was my sister, who had arrived that day in time to go see "Wicked" and who was waiting for the car to be birthed from a Times Square garage. After a little chat, I told her I was in a cab with other people and asked if we could talk in the morning about a plan to get together on Thursday. She heard, "You are annoying me by keeping me on the phone and I can't believe you didn't realize I am with other people and am being rude," and did this really passive-aggressive thing of saying, "OK, goodbye" and hanging up immediately.

Fortunately, when I spoke to her Thursday, she seemed to have forgotten all about it. She certainly had by the time she got her Chardonnay at the Oyster Bar, anyway.

From Whence came Bruce & Javier?

2006-02-19T17:14:00.000-05:00

After the disappointment of today's utterly freaky New York Times Magazine spread on 26 actors, I turned to the new Vanity Fair. It took a while to get through the vomitous wreck that is the "writing" in this magazine, but at least the pictures were good. Anne Hathaway, for one, looked as gorgeous as ever.

I continued to flip every page until I came to a little piece in the corner of page 353. It looks like an ad, and I think still it might be an ad parading as editorial. For the life of me, I can't really get my mind around it. It's a little story, continued in the corner for 6 pages or so, that follows the break-up and reconciliation of a gay couple. It's littered with consumer reference points, so I thought for sure there's going to be some sponsor or discreet "advertisement" label in the corner, but then... nothing. Can someone fill me in?

Also, anyone know whose dress Reese is wearing? It's so cute, and there's no credit. OK, I'm officially gay.

Odds-n-Ends

2006-02-17T11:46:00.000-05:00

1. Has anyone been watching the Olympics? We have, but only a little bit, and only when more important things, like "Project Runway," aren't on. First of all, does anyone know what the rules for curling are, or how the U.S. women's team got to be so adorable? Second of all, I need Joey Cheek's telephone number if anyone has that handy.

2. So the two persons in this household are a tad confused about goings-on at "Project Runway." As just about everyone knows, New York Fashion Week ended a week ago today, on February 10th. At the end of the February 8th episode, there were 4 left in the running, and only 3 get to go on to Fashion Week. One of those 4 would be booted on the February 15th episode, and the 3 remaining would go on to show. Obviously, the shows in the tents were going to happen before the 4th got booted on February 15th, so how were they going to keep everyone guessing? They let all 4 show in the tents, even though everyone on the show secretly knew one of them wasn't in the running any longer. Thus, the day before Kara Janx got Aufed on February 15, Women's Wear ran a review of the "Project Runway" shows -- all four of them. And who did they say had the best show? Kara Janx. Her revenge, I guess. But do I have this right, that they let her show so that word wouldn't leak out as to who the last three actually were?

3. Am I obsessed with garbage pick-up??? We left our garbage at the curb on Monday night for the usual Tuesday pick-up (or, rather, the "super" did). I figured the Department of Sanitation would triumph over the recent two feet of snow we got on Sunday, which have now largely disappeared. But it's now Friday afternoon, and that same garbage (which has now grown and become untidy from public exposure) is still there. I called 311 yesterday (Thursday), which is a regular pick-up day, to ask when they might pick it up, and I was told that I should wait until after midnight to submit a complaint. This morning I called again, and can you guess what I was told? The Department of Sanitation isn't taking complaints until February 22nd. First of all, I don't even really know what that means, that they can just categorically refuse to hear a complaint. Second of all, when I asked the operator to whom I might speak or write, she had zero answers -- no name, phone numbers, addresses.

Needless to say, I found addresses for the commissioners of both the Department of Sanitation and the Department of Information Technology & Telecommunications (which oversees 311) in about 5 seconds on the internet, and I wrote them a letter. It made me feel better, anyway. I really think that, despite the heavy snow, it's unfair to make us keep a pile of garbage on the sidewalk in front of our house for so long. Our last pick-up was a week ago tomorrow morning!

UPDATE: At 11:00 pm tonight, Friday, a Department of Sanitation truck came through as I was stumbling home from Pravda, and they were picking up almost everything -- and what they missed, I picked up and threw into the truck myself. Fuck 'em.

"The Upside of Anger"

2006-02-17T11:25:00.000-05:00

Last night we watched "The Upside of Anger" on HBO (pre-empting its arrival via Netflix), and I couldn't believe how much The Boyfriend laughed. He hardly finds anything entertaining anymore, but the banter between Joan Allen's and Kevin Costner's characters was really smart and fun. Joan Allen is so great, and I wish she had more parts like this one, and I wish also that she'd been recognized with an Oscar nomination (for a performance that clearly bests those by Ms. Witherspoon and Dame Dench, for two).

It's true that the four daughters aren't fully fleshed out. Keri Russell seemed to be inhabiting the role of wilted lettuce. But Alicia Witt was spirited and fun (and what have I seen her in? she looks so familiar, but none of her credits on imdb.com do), and Erika Christensen was the most likable I've ever seen her -- though, come to think of it, I may have seen her only in "Swimfan," and I was waaaay too distracted by Jesse Bradford to examine her acting. (Evan Rachel Wood does fine. I think she's just waiting for her moment to pop out of the cake in an adult role. She's probably at home tracing out her Scarlett-Johansson-like trajectory as I type.) While I am on the subject of the daughters, I found it interesting that Erika Christensen's character decides not to go to college and is not punished for that decision -- in other words, unlike in most movies, her decision seemed normal and OK and a legitimate life choice. This is pretty unusual.

There are a few flaws with the movie, and, unfortunately, they're pretty big ones. The movie starts with a funeral and then rewinds three years, so throughout the whole movie you're waiting for a peripheral character to die -- unnecessary tension, when there's enough already with Joan Allen's character creating havoc wherever she goes. And the plot twist at the end is so unbelievable it almost undermines the entire movie. But this one's worth a watch, just for Joan.

"Layer Cake"

2006-02-12T20:11:00.000-05:00

Last night we finally watched our latest Netfux movie, "Layer Cake." Finally, I can see why there's such a fuss over Daniel Craig. Turns out he is pretty sexy. Though not really my type, since he isn't Jewish. (He has nothing on, for instance, SNL's Andy Samberg.) This was also my first time seeing Sienna Miller in anything, having skipped both "Alfie" and "Casanova," and it turns out she, too, is pretty sexy, particularly when she is putting on silk stockings with a garter and coaxing her breasts into a black lace bra. Who knew?

The movie is fun and very stylish, but it confused me a little bit. I don't think it was confusing just for the sake of being clever (as I've heard "Syriana" is); it's mostly that I could barely understand what anyone was saying. Finally, half-way through the movie, I decided to turn on the English subtitles, which helped tremendously -- except that the translation leaves out a lot of colorful, fun language (but you can catch some of that if you read and listen at the same time (harder than it sounds)). It was a fun movie, and would probably have been more fun in a multiplex with a bag of popcorn, but home viewing probably lessened its impact. I'm glad I saw a Daniel Craig movie before he starts in on the James Bond, just for comparison's sake.

"The New World"

2006-02-12T20:03:00.000-05:00

On Thursday we decided to go see "The New World." We were both tired from work and wanted to catch a show around 7:00 and then have dinner. The movie was playing at only four theaters in Manhattan, and we thought it would probably be rather crowded, so we did our usual Fandango purchase and early arrival. Fifteen minutes before the show, we walked into a huge theater with only one person in it. What's up with that? About 20 more people showed up by the time the movie started, but I still don't understand why more people aren't seeing this.

I liked it more than The Boyfriend did. (In fact, he slept through most of the first part, and it turns out not only that he didn't care but that he was mad at me for waking him as quickly as I did.) Even though the movie runs 135 minutes, I didn't find it long or boring at all. I thought it was gorgeous and curious and lovely and well-paced. I can't say it was particularly well-acted, and the narrative isn't anything to blog home about, but the photography was just spectacular. I was very moved, and I can't really explain why.

Shoveling

2006-02-12T12:53:00.000-05:00

So now that we have settled the arrangements with the "super," we're responsible for shoveling our own snow. This hasn't been so much of a bother because it hasn't really snowed at all... until today. Two feet in Central Park. So far. My downstairs neighbors did a bunch of shoveling earlier today, and now I've been out twice, at 10:30 and at 12:30. I did run into the "super" on the second shoveling run, and he seemed friendly enough, though I am sure he is secretly plotting to dump some of his building's snow on our side, which is currently the best-shoveled and widest-shoveled path on the block.

I came in just now to check email, and I happened to look at Towleroad, which I do almost every day. I thought, 'Oh, he posted a picture of the snow on his block. I wonder where he lives.' I looked carefully at the photo, and not only did I recognize my own block, but -- ready for this? -- also my own figure, shoveling in dark jeans and a gray sweatshirt (look at the far right). Check it! Now Andy Towle can put a caption on the pic: "Pedestrian Rages Against Snowy Sidewalk."

This comes on top of another really good photo ID yesterday. The Boyfriend and I took the cats to a pet grooming place in Chelsea to have their nails clipped, and as we listened to the screams (of the staff, not the cats -- they were getting a little frustrated, I'm afraid), we tried to zen out by reading the handy copies of the Post and the Daily News. There, on page 4 (or so) of the Post, was an article on the lower left about rising rents, and the accompanying picture was of a house across the street. I'm still so pleased I recognized it. Not a very pretty house, this one, but it is currently being rented by Kate Hudson. The photo credit was to something like celebstalker.com. I can't find the article or the photo owner anywhere on the web today, though. It was in Saturday's Post, like anyone who reads this blog is a subscriber. ...God, I hope not anyway. It's one thing to like the horoscopes (which are excellent), and another thing to hand over money to these people.

UPDATE: I got an email back from Andy Towle, and it turns out he does live down the block. Shazaam!

Mendelsohn piece

2006-02-07T01:00:00.000-05:00

A few notes on the comments to my last post:

Tammara -- I'm so sorry to hear about your brother. Was he in Texas? I've noticed (in myself foremost) how coming out and plunging into the "gay scene" can lead to excesses, mistaken at the time for the Joy of Liberation. A lot of people explain it away by saying gay people have to live out the adolescence they missed, but I see it now more as beating up yourself so others don't get the chance.

Thanks for all your comments, guys, on Daniel Mendelsohn's piece. Isn't he a great writer? I had had unresolved feelings about "Brokeback" -- not so much about the marketing or the talk about it, per se, because I know those things are of-the-moment and recede with time, but really more about what kind of impact the film might have on people, what it was really saying, what it was putting on the table that wasn't being talked about, whether it spoke Truth in a way that hadn't yet been described or maybe even discovered. Just to make me think those things raised the film to great art, regardless of technical mastery and performance (which, because they happen to be so good, allow us to peer through the window at these questions).

I'm sure the article has probably sparked many conversations such as ours, and I'll try to find them when I'm able. In the meantime, I noticed that Towleroad had also linked to it. Here's where to find his post and its attendant comments.

A Brief Summary of the Weekend

2006-02-05T18:37:00.000-05:00

1. Today, on a whim, The Boyfriend and I went to Ellis Island. I had only been once, with a friend from college, and TB had never been at all. I took his genealogical record (I've interviewed his parents a few times, and then I typed it up), and we looked up a few people. I think we found his great-grandfather, who came from Eastern Europe in 1896 at the age of 28. Three of his grandparents were born in Europe (Russia, Latvia, Romania, Poland, etc.), but I didn't know until today that people went straight to Manhattan unless there was a reason for detention. We know that some of his people went through Ellis Island, but today we realized that most may have just bypassed it altogether.

Once you're actually on the ferry, it's a rather lovely daytrip. The harbor is nice, the Ellis Island museum is pretty great and incredibly interesting (old passports, lots of stories, postcards of passenger liners and ship manifests), the views are phenomenal, and even the snack food is good. The only bad experiences we had were before the ferry and after the ferry. The subway wasn't running below Chambers Street, so after we had already paid $4 to get on the downtown platform we decided to take a cab to Battery Park, and then on the way back we nearly got run over and blown around before the shuttle bus arrived. Also, the security screeners at the ferry were the rudest assholes I have ever, ever encountered. I thought about calling Circle Line about them -- I mean, can you imagine what tourists must think of New Yorkers after these people have yelled at them?

2. In movie news, we went to see 2 movies at Film Forum yesterday, "The Spirit of the Beehive" (1973) and "Fateless" (2005). "Beehive" was gorgeous, about a family in Spain in 1940, pretty much told from the perspective of the two darling and beautiful little girls. Though a little long, the film is quiet and intense in a really rewarding way. Though nothing tragic ends up happening, the film slowly builds up a tension all the way through in a really interesting way that not many films have the patience for nowadays. Very modern for 1973, and I definitely recommend.

"Fateless," on the other hand, was a little too "art" minded for its own good. The story is pretty much what you would expect (though I was a little surprised by the reception the kid got -- by both Gentile and Jew -- after he returned to Budapest from the Buchenwald, a lesson for which I'm grateful), and it's well-told, but there are too many scenes in which art direction derailed any genuine storytelling, and that's a shame.

3. In more movie news, my friend Daniel Mendelsohn has written an excellent piece about "Brokeback Mountain" in The New York Review of Books. (Read it now -- I don't know how long they keep things up on the site.) I completely agree with every word, and I am anxious in particular for Stunt Mother to read it. Daniel says that all the talk about the "universal love story" and the rejection of the very specific "gay cowboy movie" moniker actually serve the movie quite ill. I was wondering why I, myself, was insisting on calling it the "gay cowboy movie," and now I know why: I am proud of it. I'm proud that it's a gay movie, and if people have to pretend it's a universal love story about two people who happen to be gay in order to begin to talk about it, I'd rather they just didn't and let me have a gay love story instead.

4. Is there a full moon? Because my hormones are ragin'. Maybe it's all the European tourists on the Miss Liberty ferry I was on, but whoa. I almost jumped a guy in the produce aisle at Citarella. After an email from a friend who called 2006 The Year of the Boyfriend (she's on the hunt), I decided it was time to check out what I'm missing on jdate.com, the online dating site for Jews and the Goyim who Love Them. I've been meaning to check it out since they added a gay and lesbian component to the site. Oy! But the guys on there are superhot! And some want kids! It seems like a whole different world from the other gay sites I, uh, visit. I think they should call it g'jdate.

5. Phone updates: Fixed. The guys came earlier than I had expected (the window was 1-5 pm, and they came at 3), and they were totally nice. All done.

What's That Again?

2006-02-02T16:04:00.000-05:00

Clearly, someone at Verizon misconstrued their tagline as meaning, "Hey, we must demonstrate how we never stop working by keeping everyone on the customer service help line forever." Verizon just shuttles you back and forth and never solves anything, and finally you collapse from the excrutiatingly painful neck cramp you've developed from holding your tiny cell phone to your ear (because, DUH, your regular phone has no dial tone!) while you type in your blog.

I have been on the phone with Verizon for 59 minutes. I am at home this afternoon because I am expecting a Verizon serviceperson to restore a dial tone to my landline service. But I figured that as long as I was sitting around paying bills and whatnot that I would call Verizon billing to see why there is no credit on my bill, as promised, for the 3-day service disruption a few weeks ago.

It took about 25 minutes to get a $10 credit.

I then asked if, while I was on the line, we could take care of a billing problem I've had for some months. On the DSL part of my bill, I have been double billed for the security suite for almost a year, since my old computer died and I had to reload the suite on my new computer. I have called about this, oh, about three times, and I did get a sizable credit. But credit or no, the problem persists and annoys the hell out of me. So far on this phone call, I have spoken to no fewer than 4 people. Right now, I am listening to a tech guy say, "Hmmm," over and over again.

I wasn't even going to write about this trifle except that I read Excellent Walker's most recent post, about her travails with Citibank, and it amused me that while I was reading her blog, I was simultaneously waiting for a Verizon repairman and on hold for a Verizon customer service representative. (I almost called her a customer service "agent," but then I realized that endowing her with any "agency" would imply she can actually make things happen.) Anyway, EW's whole story reminded me of the famous Tarique. I still go back and read that post occasionally, and it makes me laugh every time.

* Update! * The tech guy came back on and said that he's spoken to two customer service reps, and it appears the problem has been taken care of. He says they're "having problems with their phones" -- which I find amusing, being a phone company and all. He wanted to check on it to make sure, and I asked him if I could hang up, seeing as I'd been on the phone for 1 hour and 17 minutes. He asked: "Oh, do you have something you need to do?"

Subpar Subway Manners

2006-02-02T15:19:00.000-05:00

I hardly ever take the 6 train, but yesterday I did. For a long time on this line, they've had signs at the edges of the platforms marking where the doors will be when the train is stopped in the station. As you can tell from the photo above, these markers were intended to improve the rate of egress from a crowded train by organizing people on a crowded platform. Sounds efficient, no?

Even a person who has never been to New York can guess what happens. Yesterday I observed the people around me as the train pulled in. At first everyone was standing on either side of where the doors were going to be. And then one really big, fat slob of a guy came up and parked himself in the middle of the marker. Not surprisingly, it takes exactly one really big, fat slob of a guy to fuck the whole thing up.

Sometimes, when I am getting off the trains I usually ride (the 1 and the E), I discover as the doors open that there are people barricading the exit. I have yet to discover why the subway platform is an appealing spot to play "chicken" for so many New Yorkers. My favorite is when they're mostly to the side, but as soon as the doors open they place a foot inside the train while they wait for people to disembark (as if to say, "Yes, I will wait for you to exit, but I'm reserving my right to charge the train if you take too long"). Needless to say, being the reckless death-wish kind of guy I am, I charge on through, bumping hard into anyone who doesn't have the sense to get out of my way. I realize I could one day face a violent response such as I did with the sidewalk bicyclist, but somehow I feel safer in the subway. I totally shouldn't.

I Ate It When I Got Home

2006-02-01T00:17:00.000-05:00

Pass the Xanax and Zoloft, please....

2006-01-31T10:17:00.000-05:00

This was an ugly way to wake up this morning: a front-page article in The New York Times about Exxon Mobil's $36 billion in income for 2005. Yes, that's 36 billion dollars of profit. This is a 40% rise in profit off 2005 revenues of -- ready for this? -- $371 billion. Meanwhile, its tax bill rose only 14%.

"In one measure of Exxon Mobil's wealth and influence, its revenue of $371 billion surpassed the $245 billion gross domestic product of Indonesia, an OPEC member and the world's fourth most populous country, with 242 million people."

Even though President Shrub is running a record deficit and a war over oil, he has vowed to veto any bill that taxes oil companies any more than they already are. Am I missing something? What is wrong with this picture???

Oscar Nominations

2006-01-31T10:15:00.000-05:00

Yippee, Oscar noms came out this morning!

"Game 6"

2006-01-30T23:41:00.000-05:00

Tonight I went to a screening of Michael Keaton's new movie, "Game 6." I have never liked Michael Keaton, even before being completely grossed out by his obviously capped teeth and ginormous pores in the not-photoshopped-enough close-up that appeared on the one-sheet for "Speechless." Tonight, when I looked him up on IMDb, I discovered that he was born in Crapopolis -- er, I mean, Corapolis -- Pennsylvania. Figures.

My friend lured me in by promising me "Robert Downey Jr.'s new movie," which it is..., though that's not exactly accurate since Keaton is the one on screen 99% of the time. In fact, the film has a great cast beyond these two: Griffin Dunne, Bebe Neuwirth, Catherine O'Hara, Roger Rees, and Ari Graynor (who played Meadow's college roommate on "Sopranos," was in "Mystic River" and is currently in an off-Broadway production called "Brooklyn Boy"). I can even stand to watch Shalom Harlow, former supermodel (who has great scenes in one of my favorite movies of all time, "Unzipped").

This is Don DeLillo's first screenplay ever -- and hopefully his last. I've never read DeLillo, and after this movie, I plan never to read DeLillo. Some of the dialog is good, but mostly it sounds like it should be a play. And the concept is just too lame: a playwright dreads the opening night of his new play, which occurs simultaneously with Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, because The World's Harshest Critic will be reviewing him. Downey Jr. plays the critic, who hides in a loft, wears make-up and wigs to the theater in an effort to disguise himself (...as an 80 year-old harlot???), and brings handguns to play openings. Keaton's playwright skips the opening to sit in a bar and philosophize with the wise Black cabby he's befriended while they watch his Red Sox almost win the World Series. And then,... Wait! Have you already fallen asleep?!?!

It is clear that the only people in the movie who can deliver dialog convincingly (O'Hara, Graynor, Neuwirth and Downey Jr.) were the actors who didn't need direction in the first place. And the signs of directorial misconduct keep popping up: the weird camera sways, the inability to shape this screenplay into something interesting, the biZARRE special effects.... Michael Hoffman's best-known credit is "One Fine Day" (1996) with George Clooney and Michelle Pfeiffer. What happened in the last 10 years to make him so terrible? The most glaring mistake is this time warp back to 1986, which is incredibly ill-conceived. They use the same checkered cabs (there must be 3 in a studio lot somewhere) over and over, and they have the most fantastically unrealistic special effects I have ever seen. A street in midtown is chopped off by a building -- which not only clearly does not exist but which floats on-screen, as if someone were holding it on a rod in front of a blue screen. Later, some manhole blows asbestos (???) all over the street, evidenced by this painfully fake gray crap flying all over the place. I can't even explain it.

This movie must go on my "worst of all time" list, and I am not kidding. I know it's written by Don DeLillo, but this still does not explain why talented people and somebody with money all said "yes." Ouch.

Super Saga

2006-01-30T10:42:00.000-05:00

Briefly, the super story. (And for new readers, click here for the super story that launched this blog.)

Our small co-op pays the superintendent of the building next to ours to handle our trash (put the cans out on the sidewalk and put them back in the holding area), sweep the sidewalk clean, shovel snow, and salt the ice. In mid-December -- after we paid him $600 to drain all the radiators in the building, set them level and replace their filters -- this guy handed me a letter saying that his regular monthly fee for ongoing services was increasing, from $100 to $300.

Now, we have a fairly friendly relationship with this guy, in part because no one in this building wants to be bothered with being responsible for the trash or the snow shoveling. We're just spoiled that way. And besides this guy, there aren't that many other supers around to take his place should we need to switch. But while we're rather beholden to him, this increase came as a bit of a shock. I mean, up it to $150, maybe even $200, but to $300??? This amounts to $3600/year, which is a significant chunk of the co-op's resources.

I tried to talk him down to no avail. Someone in our co-op suggested that this fee was a dare, that he really didn't want to do this grunt work anymore and would probably be just as happy not to do it anymore. So I approached a couple of other supers on the block, who hedged and said they'd get back to me shortly. It was apparent that they were going to conference, and indeed, after much hounding, both of them came back to me with a $300 number. After our super told me he knew I was talking to other guys on the block (frankly, I was surprised he mentioned it -- even though we both knew they would conference, for him to admit it seemed kind of dumb), he also told me that the building on the other side of us, a similar co-op that also uses him, had already agreed to the $300.

In the face of such extortion and collusion, I didn't know what to do. I checked with our sister co-op, and it turns out that they had agreed to the $300 for January only, simply because to come to a consensus and negotiate in the time frame we were given (mid-December for a January 1 rate increase) was too short. I decided to cut a different deal with him. The most important thing for us is the garbage handling. He's never been very good about the sweeping, actually, and even the snow removal was Monday-Friday only, I was surprised to discover one Saturday in December. So I offered $150 for garbage only, which he accepted. So all of us together in the co-op are sweeping occasionally and shoveling when necessary -- which hasn't been at all because that light snowfall in December has been pretty much it all winter.

In the end, it was arbitration around differing ideas of the workload. He clearly saw garbage as 50% of what he was doing, when I saw it as more like 85-90%. In his mind, he got 50% more pay for 50% less work; in my mind, he got 50% more pay for 10-15% less work. So that all seemed to work out.

The reason I write about this bloggy blog blog blog situation is that last week the co-op's accountant called me to ask whether we intended to issue a 1099 for the super's pay. Never having issued one for him, I didn't have his social security number, so I called him to ask for it. I started the conversation by saying I knew we had never issued one before, and if he didn't want one for 2005 that was fine but I really thought that going forward (for calendar year 2006 and beyond) we really should, particularly since our accountant has now called us on it. I thought this was a polite heads-up and certainly respectful -- I mean, I had every right to insist on one for 2005. I also didn't want to be in a position of assuming he skirts his tax liability -- in fact, I just assume he declares everything, since I do, and I don't want to hear about it if he doesn't. Well, he lit into me, saying our negotiations were back at Square One, and if I were going to issue a 1099 then I had to increase the new $150 monthly fee by whatever percentage would make him whole after taxes.

I decided just to drop the 1099 issue altogether, which the accountant cleared, but in my voice mail back to him I stated that the co-op assumes he is declaring his income. Do I even need to mention that our garbage didn't get taken to the curb for Saturday pickup?

Sharmarific

2006-01-30T00:00:00.000-05:00

All day yesterday, there were 2 young women running up and down our block telling people they couldn't park. This was the entirety of their jobs. They had placed orange cones up and down the block and even strung tape in places, and now they just had to hang around all day and night and make sure no one parked. All this for a film called "Good Sharma."

It's not even that they were going to film on our street, as has happened with "Law and Order" (they filmed a criminal running into the alley beside Kate Hudson's house... over and over). No, they needed all this parking for the trailers, and they were actually going to film an interior shot. Where? The house next to ours, the one that has always been inextricably linked to ours for reasons I may one day attempt to explain on here. To summarize briefly, part of the apartment in which they intended to film is in our co-op*, and if they were going to film in the backyard at all, it would have to have been in our co-op's yard. We, as a co-op board, have reiterated to this particular shareholder that any commercial activity in that particular apartment or in the yard has to be cleared by the board and a fee negotiated. Oddly, there was no talk about all this. We heard about where they were filming from the production assistant with the orange cones.

The PA -- in her early 20s, unbearably hip, already gravelly-voiced from smoking, and probably hungover from watching a Truffaut marathon -- was wearing an old sweater with a big A on it, and I asked her if she'd gone to Amherst. She looked at me blankly, I pointed at her sweater, and she said, "Oh, that's for Andover. It's in Massachusetts. My dad went there." My first thought was, Well, he must be so proud to have a pot-smoking PA for a daughter.

IMDb tells me that "Good Sharma" is about a NYC cabbie who goes back to his native India to found a girls' school. Joan Allen is a reporter in the movie. The PA couldn't tell me whether she'd be on set. But I can almost guarantee you that the apartment next door would have had to be "reporter's apartment."

The permit was for 10am - 6pm, but when I got up at around noon (no snickers, please) and looked out the window, everything was gone, and cars were parked all up and down like normal. Maybe the rain we've had produced bad sharma.

* For those non-New Yorkers who aren't clear as to what exactly a "co-op" is, this form of housing exists primarily in New York and is similar to a condo. Condominium units are owned outright; that is, the actual real estate contained in the unit is purchased, and a requirement of the purchase is to contribute monthly fees to a condo association. But the condo association has no approval over buyers. Co-operatives, on the other hand, have very powerful boards that approve or deny prospective buyers. This is because buyers of co-ops don't purchase actual real estate but shares in a corporation that holds the real estate. So when you buy into a co-op, what you're actually purchasing is "x" number of shares (usually proportionate to your square footage but also adjusted according to how high up you are (higher floors command premiums) and whether you have special ammenities like a terrace or nice view) that were awarded to that particular space when the building went co-op. Because of the higher hurdle of the co-op board interview, co-op units are generally priced lower than otherwise equivalent condo units; the trade-off is that when you're in a co-op, you have greater control over who your neighbors are, including whether they have financial assets exceeding mortgage requirements that might make then more stable stakeholders in the long run.

A Must-See Pedestrian Rage Link!

2006-01-29T21:32:00.000-05:00

So I did a little bloggy blog search for "pedestrian rage," just to see what I would find, and I located this video of a guy in a convertible honking impatiently as an elderly woman slowly crosses the street. The pedestrian hits the convertible with the bag she's carrying, and the driver's airbag deploys. It's pretty great. (And don't miss the startled jump after the first honk -- was this woman sleeping while standing up or what?)

Can anyone tell me where the airbag hot spots are? I'd like to try this sometime.

Ah, high school....

2006-01-29T01:56:00.000-05:00

Tonight The Boyfriend and I went to a party on the far Upper East Side to celebrate the recent birth of a baby and the 37th birthday of the father, a friend of mine from high school. At the party was this friend's brother, who was in my class. I had been casually friendly with the brother -- let's call him Mike (pictured, right) -- in high school and thought he was surprisingly nice to me for being one of the most popular guys in school. Granted, it was a small high school (my class had only 120 people), but he was clearly a "star athlete," playing sports every season. I think he was even the football team's quarterback. Anyway, when I think of Mike, the thing that comes to mind first and strongest is a picture of him from the yearbook, which I studied to the point of exhaustion. In the picture, Mike is painting a house as part of a community service project, and he is shirtless. Not only is his body flawless, but his pants are low enough to show that extraordinary line of muscle that descends from the hip to the groin. I don't know what that line is called... but I love it. So now when I think of Mike, I get a little embarrassed.

I hadn't seen Mike since high school, almost 17 years ago. He didn't recognize me at first, but when he did, he smiled so big, and gave me a big hug. He's now a doctor (gastroenterologist?) in Nashville and single. And here's the kicker: he looks as good, if not better, than he did in high school. No kidding. So farkin handsome. So sweet and easy to talk to, just like in high school, and just like I wish all straight boys were.

I couldn't stop talking about how hot he was. The Boyfriend finally had to tell me to shut up.

"Brick"

2006-01-29T01:47:00.000-05:00

Just briefly about a screening we went to for a movie that hasn't come out yet, by a writer/director we've never heard of, called "Brick." A hit at last year's Sundance, the movie stars Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who wowed us in "Mysterious Skin." It took me a while to get into this movie, but I found it actually got much better as it went on, and I imagine they filmed chronologically (it took a bit for the characters to gel).

Set at a high school, it has the tone and language of a noir thriller, and really looks like an update of "The Maltese Falcon" or "The Big Sleep," though we don't think it was based on any previous work. Once you figure out that it's not reality and not supposed to be reality, the movie is surprisingly good and effective. Rather brilliant, actually. I think teenagers and college kids are going to eat it up because it's about kids their age and smart, two things that don't often go together.

In other Sundance news, my friend's movie is getting a lot of press. The film is called "Stay," is directed by Bobcat Goldthwait, stars my friend Melinda Hamilton, and got a distribution deal closed Tuesday night at Sundance. So look for it!

"Grizzly Man"

2006-01-28T21:53:00.000-05:00

After the DVD sat around for a week, we finally watched "Grizzly Man." I don't know that it was as brilliant as I was expecting it to be, but it was certainly interesting. The story is that this guy named Timothy Treadwell went to Alaska for 13 summers and lived with grizzly bears and managed -- up to that last summer -- not to be eaten by them. He took cameras the last 5 summers and made films of himself talking into the camera about how he's there to protect the bears. (He talks a lot about his "work," but I really couldn't see what "work" there was to do -- he lived in a tent, ate God only knows what, made little videos, and shooed away hunters. But that's it, as far as I could tell.)

That last summer, I believe it was in 2001, he took his girlfriend with him. She was, in fact, very afraid of the bears, and I imagine she must have been very into Treadwell and/or his rhetoric to sign up for this. The day they died was a late summer day, and the bears were already going into hibernation. The remaining bears were ravenously hungry, and one bear who didn't particularly like Treadwell attacked and killed him. When the girlfriend beat the bear over the head with a frying pan instead of running away, it attacked and killed her too. The pilot who was supposed to pick up Treadwell and the girlfriend and return them to civilization found only parts of them, and when parks service people came to help him, the same bear confronted them and was shot and killed on the spot.

I would call the details Grizzly, but even I'm not that bad. Treadwell's arm was lying in the grass with the watchband still on it. The coroner determined that the bear first attacked Treadwell's head, trying to rip it open (or perhaps decapitate him), and then his lower torso. Treadwell's remains -- and even the clothes he was wearing -- were still inside the bear. But the creepiest detail is that the entire time of the attack, the camera was turned on. Treadwell hadn't had time to take the lenscap off the camera, but the sound was on.

Werner Herzog pieced together this documentary, using mostly Treadwell's recovered footage but also some interviews he did with Treadwell's friends, the pilot, and others. Herzog listens to the audio of the attack, but we only watch him as he listens and never hear it for ourselves. While I know this is probably for the best, I am so morbidly curious about the audio and strangely disappointed that the damned lenscap was on the whole time. Is it too much exposure to fake violence? That I never watched those videos that circulated in high school of real death footage ("Faces of Death," I think it was)? That leaving the lenscap on always seems an irksome thing, even when it prevents the viewing of horror? (Herzog advised Treadwell's friend and sole beneficiary of his effects that she should not listen to the tape and should even destroy it.)

The funny thing about this movie is that by the end of it, I was totally sick of Timothy Treadwell. You want to think he's a sweet nature lover, a Flower Child who's just harmlessly off in his own universe. It doesn't take long to realize he is really nuts, and then his ranting just becomes tiresome, and you think, "Aren't these bears just sick of this? Don't they just want to scream, 'Listen, Timmy, if I'd wanted this much babble I'd have moved to Anchorage long ago!!!'?" The funny part is that he is sooo gay, like gayer than the gay is long, unavoidably and unmistakenly gay. And yet he has girlfriends, and even talks into the camera about how his life would be so much easier if he were gay. That part was just confusing to me.

Remind Me

2006-01-24T01:15:00.000-05:00

I feel like this blog has veered somewhat from its original mission of being an outlet for all my pedestrian and other rage. I must entertain the troops! Well, it's too late tonight, but remind me to tell you about my latest travails with the super -- yes, the one who started it all back in July with the trash in the can. I am still stressed out! And a little freaked out that he wears a keychain on his belt, pointedly visible, that says: "I [heart] Jesus!"

"Ballets Russes"

2006-01-24T00:35:00.000-05:00

Last week my friend Lisa and I went to the IFC Center to see "Ballets Russes." (I am slowly chipping away at my should-see-before-the-Oscars list....) I knew nothing about this dance group and thought perhaps they were some vague ballet derivative, a bunch of French people dancing away to Tchaikovsky, somewhat like the Les Ballets Trocadero de Monte Carlo is now.

It turns out that ballet as we know it today originated in Russia. After the Revolution, many members of the Russian elite ended up in Paris, and Sergei Diaghilev formed The Ballets Russes. It later became The Ballets Russes de Monte Carlo, and a splinter group became The Original Ballets Russes -- the war between the factions takes up most of the film, in fact. Later tours of the U.S. in the 1930s and 1940s introduced Americans (and the world) to what we now know as ballet but which seemed then awfully strange -- lots of costumes and unfamiliar movements -- and the Ballets Russes produced Balanchine, who in my mind defines ballet. (But four years of dancing in "The Nutcracker" party scene with the Dallas Ballet will do that to a little boy -- and a whole lot more.) The great thing about the film is that they were able to interview a large number of former dancers. These are people who had reached 90 and beyond at the time of filming (around 2000). This is because people joined the corps at a very young age, sometimes as early as 13, so someone joining in 1950 would have been only 65 or so at filming.

My friend Lisa knows lots about dance, mostly modern. The only time I ever went to the Joyce was with her. Now a lawyer and development officer for a social services not-for-profit, she sits on the board of a dance troupe. So she was the perfect person to see it with. She told me that Isadora Duncan and Martha Graham were established dancers well before the introduction of the Ballets Russes to the U.S., which I find fascinating because I had always thought their modern choreographies were a rebellion against ballet.

I wish they had concentrated a bit more on how the Ballets Russes spread across the country, as former dancers started their own dance companies and university departments, and cemented so firmly this form of dance as the standard against which others might be judged. The film concludes with a reunion of the remaining dancers -- though I imagine this was actually a starting off point (i.e., they filmed the reunion, then the interviews, then pieced together historical footage and then mapped it out chronologically) -- and it seems like that might have been an interesting time to throw up a map of the country and little arrows going from New York to everywhere. But maybe that's just my New-York-centric attitude toward cultural proliferation and enlightenment in this country....

And Today I Managed to Do... What, Exactly?

2006-01-24T00:24:00.000-05:00

It's not enough that he's so very handsome. Or that he's articulate and awfully smart. This man is mapping the genealogy of mankind, and he is my age. We saw him on Charlie Rose tonight, talking about how he's traveling the world -- as the "Explorer-in-Residence" (an oxymoron, The Boyfriend pointed out) for National Geographic -- collecting DNA samples in order to map out the history of mankind. I need another nap, just thinking about it.

Oh, and his name. I almost forgot his name. Spencer Wells. I can't even make up stuff like that. He wears a wedding ring but makes crisp little "s" sounds, so we think he's family.

"2046"

2006-01-20T09:57:00.000-05:00

This week we watched Wong Kar Wei's "2046." It had been described to me as a sequel of sorts to his "In the Mood for Love" (2000), which I never saw, but, in fact, "2046" stands on its own. A couple of the characters are the same, but it's a completely different story arc. I still need to see "In the Mood for Love," and also his "Chungking Express" (1994) -- in fact, I think the only one of his movies I'd seen before was "Happy Together" (1997), which was amazingly beautiful.

Interviews in the DVD's extra features indicate that the movie is about finding lost love. I suppose that's true, as sappy as it sounds. The plot is semi-interesting, but the real reason to see this movie is just to immerse yourself in its beauty, and I really regret having missed it on the big screen for this reason. The actors, the production design, and especially the clothes are all so exact and amazing. I am a sucker for good clothes in a movie. (I have been known to see things as bad as "Down with Love" and "Mona Lisa Smile" just for the clothes.)

Do you know what happens to me after watching gorgeous Ziyi Zhang and Tony Leung for two hours? I start looking at Asian men on the street in a new way. I remember after watching "House of the Flying Daggers" and the phenomenally beautiful Takeshi Kaneshiro last year, I had a total heat wave for Asian men for a while. (Ziyi Zhang was also in that, but she was Zhang Ziyi back then, before she hit American shores in this year's "Memoirs of a Geisha." For those of you unfamiliar with Chinese naming conventions, the family name comes first, as in Mr. Wong's case. Ziyi flipped her name last year because she's becoming a bigger, more international star.)

Anyway, the movie contemplates a rather interesting question. A man asks a woman to leave her home to be with him, and she is silent; her lack of answer is interpreted as a rejection when it really isn't (it turns out). The scene is secretly observed by Tony Leung's writer character, who then incorporates it into "2046," a futuristic novel featuring androids. (As the androids age, their response times get slower.) Part of the movie is about what happens as the stretch of time between question and answer becomes longer. Does love diminish? Is hesitation an answer in and of itself?

Signs of Aging

2006-01-19T14:17:00.000-05:00

Now that I have hardly any hair, haircuts are more important than ever. My hair is cut very short -- the only sensible thing to do when one has so little -- and it doesn't take any time at all for it to get bushy and messy. Getting frequent haircuts is so crucial. And I loves me a nice haircut. Especially for $14.

I go to a place on Spring Street, and they wave when I come in. I got seated immediately today, and the guy and I had the usual debate about the caliber of clipper attachment. ("I know you usually want a 1.5, but I think that since it's winter we should try a 2 today.") The actual cutting doesn't take long. As I used to like to say, though it never seemed to get any laughs, mostly because no one who works in a barber shop in New York City has too good a grasp of English to begin with, "If you can find it, you can have it!"

My favorite part of the haircut is the end, when they do all the special extras. The thing is, though, that with each haircut, my guy gives me more special extras, and they increasingly imply that I have old-man hair issues. This is worrisome. I started going to this place because they do the straight-razor-with-deliciously-warm-shaving-cream-out-of-an-electric-pump thing, and that's pretty normal, but lately the guy has taken to combing out my eyebrows and trimming them with scissors -- which I have always associated with my father-in-law, who has noticeably trimmed eyebrows, and his best friend, who doesn't get his trimmed but needs to badly. These guys are in their 80s. To be fair on this point, I must admit that I have always had this one stray eyebrow hair that gets extremely long, and it's good to take care of it.

Today, though, my man went one step further. He actually used the clippers to graze the edges of my ears and then to dab inside my ears. This was followed by a hot towel wrapped around my head.

I really really hope he wasn't cleaning up a new problem and was just giving me special consideration because cutting my hair is an extremely brief exercise in textbook clippery or because I'm a good tipper. But it disturbs me nonetheless.

Ouch

2006-01-18T23:52:00.000-05:00

National television, meet a man who absolutely should not, under any circumstances, be wearing a pink spandex ice skating leotard. Poor Emmet -- voted off because he looked leotarded.

And I was so Angtious!

2006-01-17T00:12:00.000-05:00

Oh, Ang. So glad. And I was kinda rooting for Heath, but after Phil won for "Capote," and I was pressed by The Boyfriend, I had to admit that I wanted him to win only so I could watch him walk to the stage and hear him speak. Hoffman's performance really is the winner.

I find the Golden Globes pretty amusing. It's only about 50 people strong or something ridiculous, and they're not even all foreign -- they're just reporters for foreign papers. Whatever. I do like the fact that everyone's sitting down to dinner and drinking. And I like the idea of film and television mixing -- though it did seem that all the film people were close to the stage while the television people were all up on the next tier.

And I like creative speeches, like Steve Carell's and Hugh Laurie's. Do you think Hugh Laurie talked to Geena Davis and Nathan Lane about their time on "Stuart Little" back in '99? How about to Ang Lee and Emma Thompson about "Sense & Sensibility" back in '95? I spotted Kelly Macdonald a few tables away, too (there for "The Girl in the Cafe") -- think they discussed the time they did "Cousin Bette" together back in '98? Ah, those were the days. I'm glad Hugh's getting some recognition. Even when I saw "Stuart Little," I knew he was a hottie. Actually, he reminds me of my dermatologist, who's also pretty sexy.

I'm going to save a fashion run-down till I can pull some pictures. Like tomorrow. But this I will say now: I hope Rachel Weisz was taken out back and slapped.

Somehow I Always Knew...

2006-01-15T18:11:00.000-05:00

Thanks, Tammara, for the link to this Superhero Quiz. I am embarrassed by how delighted I am with the results:

You are Superman

Superman		70%
The Flash		70%
Wonder Woman		62%
Supergirl		52%
Hulk		50%
Green Lantern		50%
Robin		49%
Spider-Man		40%
Iron Man		40%
Batman		35%
Catwoman		35%

You are mild-mannered, good,
strong and you love to help others.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

Julie Who?

2006-01-15T17:31:00.000-05:00

I have been interested in this book since it came out. It was reviewed everywhere and just sounded so charming. This woman, Julie Powell, decided to make everything in Julia Child's classic Mastering the Art of French Cooking (actually co-written with Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle, but Julia became the most famous) in one year and write about it on her blog. Fame followed, and then this book.

I thought The Boyfriend might enjoy it for Christmas because he has something of a food-memoir-and-cookbook-themed library, but when I hinted at it, he seemed ambivalent. I did flip through it and read a page or two at Barnes & Noble one day while Christmas shopping, and I think he may have been right to nix it. The passage I read was about her friend's sex life, in a way that 20-something women talk about their sex lives, and it certainly didn't have that much to do with souffles. I'm sure if I read it from the beginning I would probably become engaged and end up liking it, but I can see how it wouldn't be The Boyfriend's cup of tea.

Well, the other day my college alumni magazine came, and there was a review of Julie & Julia because she is an alumna from the Class of 1995. Hmmm, I thought, I wonder if I knew her. I peered at the picture. And I thought, Wait, I wonder if Powell is a married name, because she looks a lot like Julie Foster, now that I think about it. I looked on the college website at the alumni directory, and sure enough, there she was. It turns out that not only did I know her, I was her Resident Counselor her sophomore (my senior) year, and we lived on the same floor! I very nearly fell over. In college, she was this skinny thing with very short hair and a wardrobe full of flannel, and she was so sweet, and from San Antonio, as I recall.

All of a sudden, I swelled with pride. My little Julie Foster! A big author!

Just call me Nipper

2006-01-14T17:50:00.000-05:00

I have noticed the last few days that I tilt my head to the side when I am reading something interesting. Leaning one's head to the side when listening has long signaled "true listening" and empathy with the speaker, and I am wondering if I unintentionally exhibit the same behavior when I am "really listening" to what I'm reading. At least I don't mutter under my breath, "Um-hmmm." Yet.

Contemplating this made me think of the dog who listens to the record player in RCA's logo. The picture on which the logo is based is called "His Master's Voice," and the dog is called Nipper. And I learned something interesting via Wickipedia: "His Master's Voice" is the source of the abbreviation "HMV," which became the name of the record store chain. Who knew?

Anyway, I read so slowly and get so tired while reading and have borderline ADD (I think -- but you know how self-diagnosis goes...), I have long thought that I have had my entire life some mild form of learning disability. Today it occurred to me for the first time that I may have all these reading problems because I'm trying to read things sideways.

And they tell me I'm not a genius.

Oscar Noms January 31

2006-01-13T16:35:00.000-05:00

The issue of Entertainment Weekly that came out today (#859) has a sidebar on page 25 called "25 to Watch: The Movies You Need to See by Oscar Night." Though I've only seen 15 of these (that's a measly 60%), there are some on the list that I absolutely don't want to see, like "Cinderella Man" (I can't stand Renee Zellweger), "Memoirs of a Geisha" and "North Country." Nominations are announced on January 31, so mark your calendars and tune in to the Today show that morning to watch them live. (And they'll probably have EW's Dave Karger on to talk about them afterward -- he's such a cutie!)

Last night, I went to see "Brokeback Mountain" again, this time with three girlfriends, all seeing it for the first time. I liked it even better the second time. I also cried more. I need to see it at least once more. Not kidding.

"2046" arrived today, and we'll watch it over the weekend. Yee-haw.

"Forty Shades of Blue" / "Project Runway"

2006-01-11T23:24:00.000-05:00

So Netflix has redeemed itself a little. I returned the unwatched "A Walk on the Moon" on Friday, they received it on Monday, they shipped "Forty Shades of Blue" on Monday -- and I actually received it on Tuesday! Wow, so that's how it's supposed to work.

We watched "Forty Shades of Blue" last night, and I liked it better than The Boyfriend did. I think if we'd seen it in a movie theater with all the attendant Importance the big screen gives independent movies -- it's easier to see flaws sometimes, I think, when you're watching at home, or maybe you're relaxed enough to be truly critical -- he'd have liked it better. I was just really blown away by Dina Korzun. I looked at her previous credits, and they seem mostly to be Russian television, but her movie "Last Resort" (2000) looks familiar. (I just watched the trailer, and I'm going to add it to Netflix....) Anyway, her performance in "FSoB" is so nuanced and lovely. Rip Torn is a great actor and does an almost-over-the-top job, but the guy who played his son, Andrew Henderson, wasn't quite as strong as either of these two, or the movie itself. But I have to cut him a little slack -- it appears this is his first movie ever. I definitely recommend renting this one (and also director/co-writer Ira Sachs's 1996 movie "The Delta"), and I urge you to pay particular attention to the set design and lighting, which are gorgeous. I can't imagine what this lighting would have looked like in a theater.

So I mailed it back today (Wednesday) and await "2046." I'll keep you updated.

In other news, we have become add-ict-ed to "Project Runway." Isn't Daniel V. a beauty???

Is anyone else watching this show? Because it is great fun. Santino is so conceited, and Andrae is just so flaky. Tonight, Marla and Diana (whose cast bio picture I am not including here because I don't think I'd be able to live with myself after having put her picture in my blog but which looks amazingly like a high school yearbook pose -- run your cursor over her face here) lost a Banana Republic competition. We weren't terribly surprised. Marla has been a sweet but timid mouse, and Diana was just born about 200 years before her time -- all she cares about are magnets and shit, and she should be designing for "Battlestar Gallactica." Emmett and Chloe did an amazing job (I thought theirs was the best dress and the best window display) -- not surprising for Chloe, who is consistently good, but I still haven't figured out Emmett. And how sweet is Nick? (Though, c'mon, let's get rid of the fauxhawk already.)

I predict Emmett will be next to be given Heidi Klum's deadly "Auf Wiedersehen" kiss.

Have you Overheard?

2006-01-10T10:58:00.000-05:00

Once again, I must link to this hysterical site. You know when you're watching stand-up and at first you're not laughing but merely amused and as time goes on you laugh louder and louder until you are in tear-inducing hysterics, even though the jokes haven't gotten any funnier in the meantime? Yeah, I thought you knew.

"Paradise Now"

2006-01-07T22:26:00.000-05:00

Tonight we went to see a movie about two Palestinian pals who get called up to do a suicide mission together. They first appear scruffy and rather aimless, working together at a car repair shop, but failing so adeptly at customer service that you wonder how they have been at it for more than a day.

Their names are Said (Kais Nashef) and Khaled (Ali Suliman). Said's mother is a stunning woman who seems entirely too young and sexy to have an adult child, and his father is dead, having been executed when Said was 10 for being a collaborator with the Israelis. Less is known of Khaled's life, but he seems to have a more traditional home, and (at first) seems more blindly into the mission. The rituals that go into their preparation, their contacts, the driving around and around, the aborted mission -- all of this is so tense and full of expectation. The story is handled so beautifully, and these two boys become so real. You forget somewhere in the middle that you're judging the subject matter from an Israeli or American or Palestinian POV and begin to care only that they make decisions they can live or die with. Very worth seeing.

"Transamerica"

2006-01-07T22:09:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we went to see "Transamerica." From everything I had read, I knew that Felicity Huffman's performance, as a male-to-female pre-op transsexual, was phenomenal, but I had also heard that the movie itself was an ordinary, not necessarily interesting road movie. I am glad to report we were pleasantly surprised.

Felicity does indeed turn in a great performance, completely believable and moving. And hers is the best fake penis I've seen since "Boogie Nights." But the tale was also surprisingly good, which I wasn't expecting -- and I was certainly not prepared for the beauty of Kevin Zegers, who plays her son. (I see from imdb.com that I have missed all his previous credits, including "Air Bud: Golden Retriever," made when Kevin was 14 -- Skandar's age now, don't you know. I can only hope that in 8 years Skandar shows as much ass in a movie as Kevin does in this one.) And the scenes with her family are hysterical.

It's nice to have lowered expectations walking into things sometimes. It keeps things fresh. Felicity will surely be nominated for an Oscar, and she'll probably be the odds-on favorite to win, particularly since this year's movies have brought so few best actress possibilities. That'll probably be the only award this movie can chase, but it's worth seeing.

Two questions: How weird is it that Felicity's character in this movie is named "Bree," when that is the name of another character on her show "Desperate Housewives"? (I mean, how common a name is that?) And how disappointing is it that current ads for this movie juxtapose pictures of Felicity in character for this movie and in some glam shot, probably taken on the red carpet? I understand trying to get people to recognize her from her hit television show, but comparing the Glam Felicity to the Dowdy Bree insults both the movie and transgendered people, I think.

Btw, on Towleroad there has been a discussion about the lumping of "Brokeback Mountain" and "Transamerica" together into "gay-themed/interest" films. I have kept my mouth shut on there, but here I will say: I would rather have gay issues and gender identity issues separated. The problem with this particular example is that "Transamerica" features some gay material outside of Bree's character; her son, Toby, is a hustler and at one point in the movie makes money for them by shagging a trucker, among other things. It was very Gregg Araki, and pretty hot. After seeing "Transamerica," I now wonder if the people begging that it be excluded from gay-themed film lists have even seen it.

Netfux

2006-01-06T10:24:00.000-05:00

My bloggy friends who use Netflix need to explain a few things to me.

I have been wanting to try Netflix for the longest time, and after a conversation with The Boyfriend about the list of old movies (i.e., movies that have come and gone from the theater, not TCMesque movies) we need to see, I decided it was high time. I discovered a 2-week free trial on the website and signed up for the one-at-a-time plan.

Granted, this sign-up happened on a Friday night at about 11:00pm. It turns out that nothing goes on at Netflix over the weekend, and then Monday was a postal holiday because of New Year's. So the earliest they could ship was Tuesday, with an expected Wednesday delivery. Wednesday came and went, and then Thursday came and went, and now here I am at Friday again, a week after I signed up, and I still have no movie. We'll see what comes in the mail today.

Well, I was so anxious to have the Netflix experience at least twice by the end of my trial period, so that I would really have a good feel for whether or not I liked using it, that I was determined to turn around the DVD asap. We reserved Wednesday night for a viewing, and then Thursday night. When the DVD didn't arrive on Thursday, I just went to the video store and rented it. We watched it last night.

(For all of you wondering, it was "A Walk on the Moon," which was highly recommended by a friend last weekend. It was OK. I think if we had never seen nor heard of Viggo, we'd have been stunned, but as it was, the movie was good but not crazy good. For one, I have no idea why Diane Lane is abandoning Liev Schreiber and his great nose and sexy bod, even if he can't dance and is awkward in bed. I mean, c'mon. Go take a Calgon and call me in the morning. Plus, I found Diane Lane's performance a little mannered.)

So are there any fans of Netflix out there who can explain to me why it's so great? I had a good time compiling a list of movies I want to see. Their website has virtually everything, and it's easy to use, and I love that. But the thing is, we don't actually rent DVDs that often -- we see almost everything in the theater or on cable -- and when we do rent, we want it right then. If I could predict when the DVD's would show up, that would be one thing, but it's already 2 days late. If it takes a whole week (and possibly more) to turn these things around, and I'm paying over $10 a month for the service, and I can rent 3 movies for $3.50 each just down the street, anytime I want with no wait, what's the deal? Am I missing something here?

If the darned thing arrives today, I'm taking it straight to the post office to send it back. Maybe it'll get there on Saturday and they'll mail me "Forty Shades of Blue" on Monday, and I'll get it on Thursday. Who knows.

More on Stamps, Terrence

2006-01-05T16:20:00.000-05:00

I'm so glad there's a consensus here on the new, hideous "Sickly Green Lady Liberty Spreads Body Odor All Over the World" stamp. I just came back from the post office, though, and am pleased to announce that there is indeed another 39-cent stamp being offered, and it's much better: "True Blue Love."

It's not ideal, but much better, and certainly fine until Hattie McDaniel comes out in February and Judy Garland comes out in June.

In the meantime, I think the 2-cent stamp they're offering (to bring your 37-center up to par) is rather nice:

There are also new stamps for mailing postcards domestically (up 1 cent to 24 cents):

And for mailing postcards to England (up 5 cents to 75 cents) and for mailing letters to England (up 4 cents to 84 cents) (relevant information for the Stunt Mother):

And those aren't so bad either. But really, I want my Judy Garland stamps now.

New Stamps

2006-01-03T23:40:00.000-05:00

In response to the first comment on my last post: you know, Tammara, that the price of stamps doesn't go up to 39 cents until January 8, right? So you can still use your old 37-centers!

Can we talk about how incredibly hideous this new 39-cent stamp is? It's barfalicious! Whoever designed it should be shot.

Rejected

2006-01-03T13:30:00.000-05:00

Would you believe I don't even qualify for this stupid thing? I spoke to "Melissa" today, and she fired a bunch of questions at me, and it turns out I don't have the profile that they are looking for. What kind of stupid focus group wouldn't want me?! I'm a focus group's wet dream!!!

P.S. Did anyone go to the post office today? I just came back -- the windows are firing on all cylinders for a change, and yet the line wrapped around longer than I've ever seen it. The Kool Klicky Kiosk was out of service too, so even the stamp machine had a long line. (The guy in front of me got $4.00 worth of 1-cent stamps. Ten at a time.) And then, Citibank had an awful line and their computers were down for 20 minutes. What happened? It's like the Millennium Bug was 6 years late.

I am just in a pissy mood.

New Year's Resolutions

2006-01-03T10:08:00.000-05:00

I don't normally make New Year's Resolutions. But last year I made some significant changes, rather all at once, around the New Year, and I suppose they could be seen as resolutions. StuntMother's recent post about resolutions made me reflect on where I was a year ago, so I've made a list of the changes I made then:

1. Shaved my beard. I needed a change, and this was a good one. I looked a little shaggy. It was cool that it was this great copper red color, but that novelty wore off.

2. Quit smoking. I had smoked for 12 years and was up to at least 10 cigarettes a day, though I would smoke more than a pack when I went out. Even though I'm only in my mid-30s, I was having trouble climbing stairs and actually doing that horrible wheeze/hack thing in the mornings after waking. The real reason I had to quit, though, was that I was spending (and continue to spend) time with small children, including nephews and godsons, and the stress of a weekend without cigarettes, or even an afternoon without them, and of putting a freshly-showered body into never-smoked-in-before clothing all the time was getting to be too much. I went to a hypnotist and had one session. Done. (It was amazing, and I'm happy to pass on this guy's info.)

3. Decided to drink less. Excellent Walker won't believe this, but I think I did actually manage to drink less in 2005 than I did in 2004. Scary, eh?

4. Started flossing. OK, so this lasted only a couple of months. But flossing every day for a while is kinda great, and I felt so... so... morally superior. While it lasted.

5. Got off my ass and found a real job (well, almost). I decided to shift a job search into high gear, and I networked like I have never networked in my life. I was actually incredibly busy doing this. I met tons of people and felt really productive. Too bad nothing really came of it. Although later in the year I landed my current gig, which is good. I have come to the conclusion, though, that I am really good at getting into competitive schools and totally suck at landing a job. Like, completely suck. Guess which is more important as a life skill.

6. Started singing. It was in January 2005 that I joined the choral group that Excellent Walker was in. Hooray for that!

So what am I thinking about 2006? Hmmm. The only thing I really really want this year is killer abs. I don't go to a gym or anything, but with some sit-ups every now and then, this can't be that hard, right? Anything can happen -- after all, I did tan for the first time ever in 2005.

"The Best of Youth," parts 1 & 2

2006-01-02T16:35:00.000-05:00

After spending much of Saturday catching up on "Project Runway" (Franco! Gone! Can't believe!), The Boyfriend and I decided, rather on the spur of the moment, to go see "The Best of Youth." I had thought we had completely missed this, but it turns out that both parts are playing currently at Cinema Village. We saw them back-to-back, with a 30-minute break in between.

"TBOY" was originally filmed for Italian television -- though it apparently was rejected on completion, for God knows what reason, and then released theatrically throughout Europe and now here via Miramax -- and is a whopping 6 hours long, divided into two 3-hour films with separate admission. Essentially, it follows two brothers from 1966 to 2003.

We had heard A.O. (a/k/a Tony) Scott of The New York Times and Lisa Schwarzbaum of Entertainment Weekly on Charlie Rose going on and on about how this movie was one of the best, if not the best, of the year. And it was good, though it's difficult to judge it next to theatrical releases. One thing I can say, though, is that the 6 hours were completely engrossing, and it held our attention all the way through. The last hour, which tied everything up, was a little stretched out, and some elements of the ending were too neatly resolved, but these things are forgiven because the scope is so great. The movie feels more like a novel. Reviews have been spectacular -- the rating on metacritic is the highest I think I've ever seen -- and the reviews from Scott and Schwarzbaum glow. I definitely recommend.

Now, on a spoiler note, once you have seen "TBOY," I want you to comment on this idea. None of the reviews I've read mention this, and even The Boyfriend was surprised by this idea I had: Matteo is gay. His inability to become intimate with Mirella, his looks of longing at his siblings who have families, his picking up a clearly male prostitute, his passionate friendship with Luigi, his almost anthropological viewing of a strip show on television -- and then, of course, his final scene, in which he does something not so surprising for a closeted macho man. Once you see the movie (out on DVD on February 7, so add it to your Netflix), weigh in.

Please also comment on whether you agree: in the early scenes (at least when Matteo has long hair), the brothers look like Dustin Hoffman and Shawn Cassidy; then Dustin meets Cameron Diaz in Norway; then Dustin couples with Daryl Hannah from "Blade Runner" (who morphs into Judy Davis when her hair goes dark).

Oh, and Happy New Year!

Another Bee in my Yarmulke...

2005-12-31T17:59:00.000-05:00

I don't want to go on and on about my sister and stuff, but....

My boyfriend has not drunk alcohol in about, oh, six years. Six years! No wine, no beer, nothing. And yet, every year at Christmas my sister asks him if he'd like wine with dinner. Usually the conversation goes like this:

"Would you like some wine?"
"Oh, no, thank you -- I don't drink alcohol."
"Oh. Well, would you like some beer instead?"

I'm not even kidding. And this happens every year. On the train down to Virginia, The Boyfriend and I were laughing that she was going to do this again. And then she did! I wonder what part of the "I don't drink" thing she doesn't understand.

The other thing my sister always asks my Jewish boyfriend -- every year -- is whether he eats pork. This year the conversation went like this:

Sister: "Now, do you eat pork?"
Boyfriend: "Sure I do. I don't keep kosher."
S: "So what don't you eat?"
B: "I don't eat mushrooms or broccoli, but that's just because I'm allergic to them. It doesn't have anything to do with a Jewish diet."
Nephew: "What does keeping kosher mean?"
S: "Well, some Jewish people don't eat pork..."
B & me: "Or shellfish..."
S: "Or shellfish. You see, there are different kinds of orthodox Jewish people, and some are reformed and some are strict."

This is where I went a little crazy. I know that my sister isn't as involved in Judaism as I am, and not that I'm an expert, but at least have an inkling about the subject you're talking about before you try to explain it to a 9-year-old, particularly when you have an actual, live Jew at your table!!! We had to break in and explain the reform-conservative-orthodox-hasidic thing. (He's Reform, by the way, and goes to synagogue only on the highest of holy days, to give you an idea of how ridiculous this pork question is.)

And you know what? I bet we'll have to explain it again next year. But first I'm going to hand out yarmukles. (I have a stunning collection.)

Speaking of Movies...

2005-12-31T15:06:00.000-05:00

I am way behind in my movie reviews on here. I am now going to make a list of things currently out, and I may write about them at length later ("Match Point," for instance, was interesting and revealed a new love interest for me, one Matthew Goode -- move over, Skandar!):

MOVIES I HAVE ALREADY SEEN (and may already have blogged about)
"Breakfast on Pluto"
"Brokeback Mountain"
"Cache (Hidden)"
"Capote"
"Good Night and Good Luck"
"A History of Violence"
"The Intruder"
"Match Point"
"Mrs. Henderson Presents"
"Narnia"
"Pride & Prejudice"
"Shopgirl"
"The Squid and the Whale"
"Walk the Line"
"The White Countess"

MOVIES I HAVE NOT YET SEEN (but want to)
"Ballets Russes"
"The Best of Youth"
"Casanova" (just for Heath)
"The Constant Gardener" (maybe)
"Harry Potter and the... um, the 4th one"
"King Kong"
"Munich"
"The New World"
"Paradise Now"
"Proof" (maybe)
"Syriana" (less and less as time goes on)
"Transamerica"

MOVIES I AM IGNORING
"Cheaper by the Dozen 2"
"The Family Stone"
"Fun with Dick & Jane"
"The Libertine"
"Memoirs of a Geisha"
"The Producers"
"Rumor Has It" (based on a truly bad screenplay)

"Narnia"

2005-12-31T14:32:00.000-05:00

On Christmas Day, the whole damned family went to the movies. My family actually does this pretty much every Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day, after eating. I believe this must have begun as a way to avoid having to witness my father completely sprawled across the floor of the living room in a deep roasted-turkey-induced sleep.

The consensus was "Narnia" -- except for The Boyfriend, who chose instead "The Family Stone." I have almost zero interest in seeing "The Family Stone" for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that I feel like I've seen it already in a million Diane Keaton movies and Luke Wilson movies and family holiday movies.... I mean, is there really anything new to be done here? Didn't Jodie Foster's "Home for the Holidays" just say it all? Besides, I'd seen the preview about 10 times before other movies and felt like I'd seen the damned thing already.

I don't really remember that much about the "Narnia" books. I read probably the first three when I was around 10 years old. I certainly didn't remember what is supposed to be blatant Christian metaphor -- but I was in Texas going to church every Sunday, so all the talk about a higher power and good vs. evil and a lion -- a talking lion! -- being raised from the dead after having been sacrificed on an altar may have just seemed as normal as normal can be at the time. I was pretty fresh-minded walking into this.

The production is gorgeous. The clothes are spectacular (until they get into those stupid war-time tunics), the snowscapes are so beautiful, Tilda's bewitching, everything looked amazing. But the story is definitely just for children. This is not one of those children's pictures, like "Shrek," that works on different levels and can be equally entertaining for adults. That having been said, the movie was probably faithful to the book and is a coherent story in and of itself.

The one thing I walked out thinking, though, is that I am in love with a 14 year-old child named Skandar Keynes. He plays Edmund and is one of the most beautiful boys I think I have ever seen. I don't think I'm a pedophile or anything -- I mean, I would definitely wait for him to hit 18 before making my move -- but the kid is just stunning. Those eyes! I found these few pictures on the web, but really, they do not in any way do him justice:

OK, so I'm a total perv. I have looked him up on imdb (he is the great-great-great grandson of Charles Darwin and the son of author Randall Keynes, and he grew 6.5 inches during the production, requiring weekly armor adjustments), and I am contemplating putting his only other movie, "Ferrari" (2003, television), in which he plays the 8-year-old version of the man who founded the car company, on my Netflix list. But really, that's as far as I'm gonna go.

Oh, I Get It

2005-12-30T02:09:00.000-05:00

Wow, it totally just occurred to me that I may be on this list because I responded recently to some Dewar's promotional party thing (and didn't go). Is that what it is? So maybe they're looking for functional alcoholics. OK, I'm in.

The Holiday

2005-12-29T20:10:00.000-05:00

Well, I suppose I can tell you a little about Christmas.

The Boyfriend and I went down to my sister's. The trip was intentionally short, as extended periods of time staying at my sister's have proven to be excrutiating in the past. Our nephew is lovely and wonderful in almost every way, and my brother-in-law is very nice, but my sister just wears us down.

I don't want to go into this too too much, but she has essentially mastered the art of passive-aggressive hosting behavior. She sighs heavily whenever she's upset (i.e., every five minutes), after which there is a silence as everyone waits to see who will take the bait and finally ask what the matter is. On top of this she sneezes constantly -- and has for years (she works at an elementary school and is always getting colds from the kids, apparently) -- and her sneezes are not gentle. They are roof-fraising, high-decibel, wet, nasty things. And my otherwise rather delicate sister doesn't cover her mouth half the time and just sits there sniffling rather than blowing her nose. Believe it or not, this started to get on my nerves.

There were other trials while we were there. For instance, we sat down to dinner in a nice restaurant and she couldn't make up her mind what to have to drink. I told her I was going to have a cocktail but no wine, and she seemed put out by that. She wanted me to share a bottle of wine with her, but she also wanted a cocktail, and her husband wanted to share a bottle of wine with her and suggested they could also buy by the glass. I think it was just too many choices (the menu was a separate but equally perplexing venture), and she ended up sending the waitress away three times before she was finally ready to order. For a drink! I mean, come on.

And then there was my sister's tendency to control the conversation with her own stories, and her inability to let the room be silent when everyone else is reading, and her insistence on talking talking talking even when we're "watching" a movie all began to bug me.... Other than that, we had a great time with a delightful nephew, good meals, nice presents, la la la. I don't mean to vent so much about her. She's really a lovely person, just kind of in her own world. Truly, she does not get out much.

How was everyone else's Christmas?

Strange Phone Call

2005-12-29T19:48:00.000-05:00

"Hi, this is a message for Fred*. Fred, my name is Harry, I’m calling from the Murray Hill Center. I’m organizing a focus group for next week -- next Thursday actually, that’s January 5th -- in the evening, from 7:30 to 9:30, and the topic for the dicussion is ‘Lifestyles and Alcohol.’ It pays a $125 cash gift if you qualify and participate in the group. If you’re interested, please call me back at 212 685 0571. My extension here is 308. Again, my name is Harry, and when you call please let us know that you’re calling for the ‘Lifestyles and Alcohol’ study. Thanks, and hope to hear from you. Take care, Fred. Bye-bye."

...Um, how did you get my name? Am I on some "deviant lifestyle" and "alcohol abuse" matrix somewhere? Scariness.

But hey, it's 125 bucks. Maybe I'll do it and let you know what it's all about.

* not my real name, duh (this was also my Tarique nom-de-blog)

Remember When...?

2005-12-22T17:04:00.000-05:00

Remember when my blog was fresh and new? Remember when I sometimes made more than one post in a single day? Wow, are those days gone. I haven't posted in almost 2 weeks and really hardly at all in the past couple of months. Am I less excited about my blog?

Frankly, I think I kind of blogged out. I've thought about abandoning my blog altogether, but that seems a bit rash. Still, how does one motivate?

I met up with an old college friend of mine on Monday. Andy was a senior when I was a freshman, but we became friends because we were both gay, and I helped him run the gay group that year (and then took it over). (He was in the Excellent Walker's class, actually.) We were incredibly close. And then he graduated, and I hardly ever saw him, and I finished out my college career and moved to New York. So I sent him a birthday card this year (I've remembered forever that it's on Pearl Harbor Day, December 7), and he emailed to say he was going to be in town. It was heaven to see him and catch up.

Unfortunately for him, he arrived in town on the first day of the transit strike. He had come on Metro-North from New Haven, where he had been visiting his partner of two years, and gotten off at Park Avenue and 125th Street. He had had an appointment to see a professor from Columbia, but the professor couldn't get into the city from New Jersey because of the strike, and so Andy was stuck in Spanish Harlem without a plan. So what did he do? He walked to the Village to meet me for lunch at Florent. Yes, that's right, he walked from 125th Street to 14th Street. I still can't get over that. That's over 5 miles. In the cold.

We had a great lunch, and then we wandered around a bit, and then ducked into what used to be called Grange Hall (and is now called Blue Hill or something stupid like that), at 50 Commerce, and had cocktails made with rye. Then Andy went to Citarella with me to get things for dinner, and we dropped them off at my house (and he met The Boyfriend) before going to Jacques Torres to pick up hot chocolate -- the best hot chocolate, I think it can be argued, ever. And then Andy headed off to Chelsea, where he was due to meet some people for dinner before going back to New Haven.

It was funny to talk with Andy about the friends we had had in common. We both dated at various times a good friend of Excellent Walker's named Tom. Tom has recently moved to Portland, Oregon, where Andy is a professor, and not only are Tom and Andy back in touch, but Tom has introduced Andy to a gay Portland couple that I had introduced Tom to. And then there was the subject of a certain Rob, about whom Andy and I, at different times, were completely head over heels. Rob rejected us both. I wish I didn't still think about Rob and how much his rejection had hurt, but I think it set the "rejection pattern" for the rest of my dating career (up to the current BF) and it still upsets me when I think about it. By "rejection pattern" I mean, more accurately, the way that I processed rejection, which was to internalize it in a really unhealthy way. It felt good to talk about Rob with Andy -- especially because I knew he would understand how crazy it makes me that Rob has become a Unitarian minister, is all settled down in New Jersey with a boring banker-type dude, and that they have now adopted a black baby... named Cory. Rob was always so righteous -- I think that's partly what upset me so, that he was so calm and benevolent in his rejection, which only made me feel incredibly unworthy to be alive and oh so grateful that he wanted to be friends nonetheless -- that it is just typical that he would go become a minister, go become a martyr in New Jersey (could there be any other reason to live in New Jersey than a masochistic wish?), and then not only adopt a black baby but a black baby with the extreme misfortune of having been named Cory. I mean, change the name, for God's sake. Like the baby cares? He'll thank you later.

I really love Andy. I don't know why we didn't become a couple really. I can't remember now if the subject ever really came up. I do remember cuddling with him, but I think that's as far as it went. Talking with him on Monday was so easy, like no time had passed at all, and I think that's amazing.

"Brokeback"

2005-12-12T13:24:00.000-05:00

I'm only going to write a little bit about this.

I have been so incredibly excited to see this movie. For months. I had to miss a special advance screening because of chorus. And then we were invited to the New York premiere last Tuesday, and I couldn't go because of chorus. (Damn that chorus!!!) I have checked almost daily to see when moviefone would let me get tickets in advance. Finally, last Monday or so, I saw they were selling advanced tickets, and I got 2 for Friday at 7:00 pm at Loews Lincoln Square.

We got there a little bit before 6:15, and they were already seating for our showtime, so we went in. There were tons of people already there! And most were saving seats. We didn't even get seats on the aisle. We settled into great seats and for the next 45 minutes watched people come in and negotiate seats. (After our recent seat disasters -- against a wall in one of the front-section rows of a stadium-seating theater, which feels like you're in a recliner looking at planetarium stars, for "Walk the Line," and then single seats in different rows but at a better height for "Rent" -- I just couldn't bear the thought of having a seat problem for this movie. For God's sake, you pay $10.75 for the ticket, plus $1.50 for an advance ticket surcharge, and you still have to get to the theater almost an hour in advance of the showtime to get a decent seat. So if your movie is over 2 hours long, as most holiday, "serious" movies have been, you have to schedule your showtime so that you're having meals on either end of the movie. This is serious planning.)

And then the movie started. It was pretty great. Very moving. Heath's performance is incredible. I hope he gets at least a nomination. (Though I would still want PSH to win for "Capote," I think.) The movie had a real effect on me, and I couldn't get it out of my mind, and I went to bed thinking about it and dreamed about it. When we got home, I printed the short story (available at newyorker.com), and it was interesting to compare it.

The story seems a little more realistic -- the guys are ordinary guys rather than the gorgeous pin-ups that Jake and Heath are, and Jake's character even has buck teeth. Heath's character develops an unsightly growth on his eyelid. And as my boyfriend commented, the story implies that they do have some gay mannerisms. Stereotypes don't just come out of nowhere. It's as if Jake and Heath were directed to play it very straight. But in the story, they're supposed to be a little obviously gay -- Heath's character remarks that he feels he's being stared at in public (and gay men know what this is), and Jake's character is hated by his father-in-law because it's clear he's gay (in the movie it seems the hatred stems mostly from class differences). Contrast this to Peter Sarsgaard's performance in "The Dying Gaul" earlier this year -- Peter's character has certain movements, speech patterns, etc., that mark him as gay without being offensive.

The story also just makes you feel like these were gay men born at the wrong time. Had Ennis and Jack been 20 years old now, there's no question (when reading the story) that they would be out and dating. The movie, on the other hand, makes you think that they acted on a specific desire at a specific time. Jack has sex with other men (not really believably, though), but Ennis seems focused on Jack only -- not really gay, just person-specific. I wish the spirit of the story had shone through there.

After I read the story I thought perhaps the film was better, but my boyfriend and my good childhood friend both believe the story is better than the film. I want to read the story again and then see the film again before I pronounce further.

Damn good movie, though.

Forward This Post to 10 Friends...

2005-12-02T11:30:00.000-05:00

Today I got another one of those emails that has a little inspirational story and then, at the end, tells you that if you don't forward the email to at least 10 people within the hour you will suffer some terrible luck. "Susie didn't forward this email, and then she died." But if you do forward the email, "you will get a pleasant surprise within three days."

Who comes up with these things? The more important question, perhaps, is why I have so many friends (and, in some cases, mere acquaintances) who feel compelled to pass these things on to me. It's always in the context of "I need some luck, and who knows!" I am rather inclined to believe that not passing on the email will bring good luck, simply by saving my friends from having to read it.

But then I always wonder: Do I have moments of bad luck, entire streaks of bad luck, simply because I don't forward these emails? And that, my friends, is the conundrum: annoying people vs. having potentially catastrophic bad luck. I live on the edge.

I have other theories about my bad luck, though. Like the time I came home to my apartment in the East Village and saw drops of blood on my doorstep -- I was convinced (and still am) that my downstairs neighbor, who hated me, had slaughtered a chicken on my doorstep in some Santaria ritual. (How does one get rid of a potential Santaria curse? Anyone?) Then there are the days I don't go to church and feel guilty. Or how about every time I am nasty to a stranger, or don't give money to a homeless person, or say mean things about someone behind his back. Or even -- ready? -- when I step on cracks in the sidewalk. I think I am probably the only 35 year-old on the planet who actively -- actively! -- avoids stepping on sidewalk cracks because I am afraid of breaking my mother's back.

My boyfriend has his own set of rules. The two most prominent of these derive, as far as I can tell, from Eastern European Jewish lore. For one, no hats on the bed; any hat on any bed = bad luck. For another, if you leave the house and discover you've forgotten something and go back into the house, you must sit down for a second before going back out. It's just the law.

What can you guys come up with?

Chastise Me

2005-11-29T00:08:00.000-05:00

I was about to seriously reprimand Excellent Walker for having gone so many days without a post ...until I realized I hadn't posted in as many days either.

Let's recount what's happened since November 20:

- I had an interview with a cool place, largely because of the Excellent Walker herself. Thanks, EW!

- I met the Excellent Walker and Stuntmother for drinks (and watched them eat) on Wednesday, November 23. I was so incredibly excited to meet StuntMother I couldn't stand it and almost peed on the way there. Turns out -- you guessed it! -- we had a lot to talk about. She's fab, and we had a great time!

- Thanksgiving happened, on the Upper West Side with the boyfriend's family. All was very nice. His cousin has a new girlfriend, and I didn't take to her, really, but neither did the guy's sister. Seriously hoping I didn't cause any serious waves as I told the sister that I thought the new girlfriend was "inappropriately aggressive." The new girlfriend was very opinionated (nothing wrong with that) and just asked so many damned questions, including questions about my own father's acceptance of my homosexuality -- to a hushed room of 20. I thought that went a tad far. But let's face it, if anyone is going to get away with the phrase "inappropriately aggressive," it would be the only WASP in attendance: me. Food was good -- in fact, the ham was amazing. Yes, ham at a Jewish Thanksgiving -- who knew? (They're Reform.)

- My good college friend came to town for the weekend. We call each other Critter. Critter came to town, she met our cats, we made an attempt at Jacques Torres (it was closed, sadly), we ate at Souen, which she loved. She's been vegetarian since she was about 5, and she's so vegetarian that she doesn't wear or use leather. The highlight of her visit was a visit to a vegan shoestore. No, I'm serious. Of course, it only made me extremely curious to go. By the way, she said the faux chicken salad at Teany was delicious -- despite the fact she's never tasted actual chicken salad.

- I left Critter to go have a drink with another college friend, Tom, who was in Excellent Walker's class. I had a huge crush on Tom at one time -- I thought I was in love with him, actually, and coming home alone after a few drinks would warble to Vanessa Williams's "Save the Best for Last" on the "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" CD, think of him, and cry cry cry. Ah, my East Village Days. Now we meet, have a drinks, and dish. He is friends with the Excellent Walker and remembers Critter, too, because she was a freshman in Pratt when he was a senior in Pratt (a dorm at our College), so he's well-connected.

- The boyfriend and I did a triple feature on Friday (or was it Saturday?): "Walk the Line," "Rent" and "Oliver Twist" (on TCM, at home). If only we'd seen "Oliver!" instead of "Oliver Twist" (1948, directed by David Lean, starring Alec Guinness as Fagin), we'd have had 3 musical movies. "Walk the Line" was a little long, but the acting and the costumes were great. I just wish they had focused a little less on his romance with June Carter and more on his life and career. "Rent" was better than I had expected, having successfully avoided the stage version all these years because I suspected it would be waaaay too cheesy for me. I shed a few tears. "Oliver Twist" was pretty great and made me take the book off the shelf. I'm at Chapter 5, I think. My boyfriend's name is written in high school hand on the inside leaf, and the cover illustration is very 60s.

- And today nothing really happened except that I took out the laundry, picked up the dry cleaning, wrote a thank-you for my interview (finally), sent off my resume, and did a little actual work for about 5 hours.

That's all that's happened really. I mean, that I can tell about. (StuntMother did comment that there's a lot in my life that doesn't get reported here.)

Finding Myself

2005-11-20T17:57:00.000-05:00

I think by now everyone has learned how to self-google. But through this blog, I have discovered the world of google image searches, and today (not for the first time) I searched for images of myself. It turns out there are some fairly handsome devils walking around this world with my name, to wit:

This guy is, I think, very handsome. I'd do him. But I'm into older guys. He is an employee of British Petroleum and had participated in some crazy team-building exercise involving singing. The remark accompanying this photograph is, "I felt a little out of control." He does look like a party animal, no?

This one is a professional singer and looks just as wild:

I like his eyes. There are several versions of this picture on the internet, and he really does look very sweet and intelligent. Just like me.

This one, posing playfully in the wild, comes up a lot on regular google searches because he's written a million papers on genetics:

And this one's a doctor (and looks gay, no?) from Oklahoma:

This one is on an alumni website for Binghamton, remarking how difficult Game Theory had been:

And then there's this guy, who won First Runner Up (men 18-25) in 2003 in a challenge called "Body for Life" -- a little scary, if you ask me:

And, finally, this picture does actually contain me -- and it is the only picture of me found on the internet. This is my college a cappella group (Excellent Walker's brother was in this group, but before I was), posing for our CD's liner notes. The beauty of it is that without the accompanying text, no one can tell which one is me. :)

There are a few others, including one guy just so ginormous and ugly that it's depressing, but I'll spare you.

Special shout out to Excellent Walker, who taught me how to move pictures around on here.

Horoscope Predicts Crazy Conflict

2005-11-17T01:43:00.000-05:00

And only now have I read my horoscope for November 16, from The New York Post, which is always true (see links):

"Sometimes you can be too nice for your own good and it encourages others to take advantage of you, but today you will go right the other way and let whoever is giving you a hard time know that you will no longer stand there and take it. You are under no obligation to be nice to people who are not nice to you - today or any day."

So, um, fuck that guy. Problem is, he's probably a Virgo too.

Pedestrian Rage Gone Bad

2005-11-16T21:14:00.000-05:00

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. But tonight is a must.

On the way to Citarella, there was a slow woman in front of me on the sidewalk, and she suddenly came to a complete stop. I had to swerve to avoid missing her, but I bumped her arm with my bag a little. It's the kind of bump one should expect when one comes to a complete stop on Sixth Avenue at 8th Street, so I didn't think that much about it, except that she said something under her breath to me. I turned around and asked her to repeat it, she told me I had bumped her, I apologized and told her that when one comes to a complete stop on a busy sidewalk one might expect a bump, and she told me she never stopped (oh, I'm sorry, I guess it was a shuffle) and to fuck off and stop talking to her.

I then went to buy tuna steaks, asparagus and haricots verts. (They were delicious, all.)

I had had such a bad day (including a weird work conversation that left me feeling indignant) that I had in mind I needed to get some more vodka. (No snickering, Excellent Walker.) By then it had started to rain, so I took an umbrella and walked up Seventh Avenue. All of a sudden, I hear "on your left" behind me, and it's at a narrow part of the sidewalk, and as the guy on a bike goes past me, I say, as I usually do, "Get off the sidewalk!" (Regular readers, if I have any left at all, will know that the law in New York City, as it is most everywhere else, requires that rider of bicycles on sidewalks be aged 12 or under.) He said something to me in passing that I couldn't understand, but it was clearly dismissive, so I yelled, "Fuck you!!!!!" I had had a bad day, I am sick of bicycles on the sidewalk, it was raining, and -- ready? -- I have pedestrian rage. A lot. Well, what followed clearly trumped me.

The guy got off his bike, hurled it in my direction but not at me, came up to me, took off his glasses (and at this point I could see he looked like a nice Jewish boy, mid- to late-30s, obviously educated, obviously having as bad a day as I was and looking for his "special moment," and -- I'm guessing -- a local theater person (this was directly in front of where "Naked Boys Singing" used to play) -- I mean, if this hadn't been the situation, I'd have thought him really cute... OK, he was cute), and shouted at me, "Do you know who I am???" Well, no, so my answer was, "I don't care who the fuck you are!" He then shoved me so hard I fell onto the sidewalk and broke my umbrella.

OK, so this rattled me, as it rightly should have. The guy just did not stop there, though.

I got up, and he said, "I could be anybody! You should be careful who you say 'Fuck off' to!" And what was my un-panicked response, after having been physically assaulted? I shouted, "POLICE!!!!" This panicked him a little bit. (And yet... no one came. No police, not even a passer-by.) I said, "Do you realize you just pushed me down? Why did you touch me?" And he said, "You shouldn't say 'Fuck you' to people!"

At this point, I think we were kind of at an impasse. I guess I could have punched him or slapped him (more of an impact, I imagine), but my thoughts were running to the police report. "I yelled at him for being on the sidewalk, he threw his bike at me and then pushed me down. Assault. 10 years in prison, please." So I didn't really want to fight back. So what did I do? Threw my umbrella at him, kinda, like, to miss. I walked away. He laughed. He mocked me. He said, "Oh, that was so faggy!" or something like that. "Oh, you're a prissy queen!" And so I turned around, like I'm some Gay Avenger, and said, "What did you say?" And just like the straight guy who has a lot of gay friends and feels comfortable mocking faggotry because he knows they'll understand (except that I was a stranger to him), he said, "That was so gay! Don't forget your umbrella!" or something like that.

I picked up the umbrella, turned, not knowing what to do, threw the umbrella on the sidewalk and walked toward the liquor store, just to get away from him. He started laughing really loud, like the kind of laugh one hears by the giver of a practical joke, but never by the givee. "I love you!" he shouted, "Oh my God, I love you!"

I think he was saying that because he realized (i) I wasn't in a pranky mood, (ii) I was majorly pissed, (iii) under the definition of the law he had assaulted me (he pushed me to the ground! don't rap stars go to jail for less?), and (iv) this argument was RETARDED because we clearly were two intelligent, educated people who had had bad days and were being rained on.

He saw me go into the liquor store. I ordered what I wanted, but I noticed I was totally shaking and hoped it didn't show in my voice or body. This guy actually appeared at the doorway to the liquor store, with a friend, laughing, obviously a little shaken up (this was nervous laughter -- I think because the rational part of him was saying, "Um, yeah, you did actually assault him and call him a fag, so this isn't only assault but a hate crime maybe"), and she was a sweet-looking Black girl, asking him if I had beaten him up. He said no, he thought I was a little shaken by our interaction, though. And then he came in and put my broken umbrella on the counter for me, with words like, "Here's your umbrella."

Of course, the guys in the liquor store were like, Who is this crazy guy yelling at the doorway? He was loud and excited, and I was shaking and low-voiced. They were clearly alarmed, and I asked them if I could stay in the store till he left, and they said absolutely.

On the way home I cried. I cried out of frustration for the day, I cried that I have uncontrollable pedestrian rage. But mostly I cried because I had been called a fag. The above version is a bit condensed, but the real-time version made it clear that my voice, my yelling, my umbrella-throwing, all of it, was faggy. He laughed at me. He laughed because I had a sissy response.

I don't know how to have an un-sissy response.

I threw the umbrella in a trash can at Bleecker and Seventh. I can't live in this city anymore.

2005-11-04T14:19:00.000-05:00

So right now I'm reading Joan Didion's "The Year of Magical Thinking." Her birthday is coming up on December 5th, and I am contemplating sending her a card. She was born five days after my mother. I have all her books in first editions. I love her. (And by the way, something I noticed immediately that my boyfriend did not: On the cover of "The Year of Magical Thinking," there are four letters in a different color. They spell "John," the name of Didion's husband. Just FYI.)

After we saw "Capote," we tried in vain for a couple of weeks to find "In Cold Blood," and we ended up ordering it special from the Lenox Hill Bookstore on the Upper East Side. My boyfriend was completely engrossed in it -- absolutely could not put it down -- and said it was brilliant and one of the best things he's ever read. It's next on my list. I had wanted to read it before seeing the re-release of the 1967 movie version of "In Cold Blood," which stars Robert Blake, creepily, as one of the murderers, but the last day for the re-release at Film Forum is Tuesday. I do not think I will be able to finish Joan and "In Cold Blood" in time, so I'll probably just go see the movie anyway and read the book later.

I still haven't finished that Peter Pouncey book, and I barely got into "Line of Beauty" before I got distracted. I think I have Adult ADD. I have so many things next to the bed that are supposed to be "next," including "My Antonia," "Oliver Twist," a couple of books about Capote, a few Alexander McCall Smith books (the Isabel Dalhousie series), and "Toast" by Nigel Slater, a food memoir given to my boyfriend by my sister for his birthday.

Yes, I have a pulse!

2005-11-04T13:53:00.000-05:00

Lordy, but it's been over a whole week since I last posted. What's wrong with me?

Well, for one, I have been busy with work. Not really an excuse, but there you have it. And, for another, I haven't had that much to bloggy blog blog about, I guess. Except when I think on it for a minute, I can come up with several small items.

Yesterday, the phone rang, and I picked it up. On the other end of the line was someone saying something to another person in the room about how he was going to "have to humiliate" someone else (???), oblivious to my "hello." When he did come on, it was some completely heterosexual guy (you know, that "macho" voice), asking for a shortened version of my name that I do not use and that I refuse even to answer to. So immediately, I figure this person is a telemarketer and clearly does not know me personally. (And even though I am voting for Bloomberg, if I get another phone call from his campaign (I think I've gotten 6), I'll call to complain -- again. ...Yes, I have already called once.) So I ask this Macho Man who is calling. He doesn't want to tell me. When pressed:

"I'm Steve DelMar."
"OK, and you're calling from where?"
"From Washington Heights."
"...That's a funny name for a company."
"No, it's a neighborhood in New York. You've never heard of Washington Heights?"
"Yes, I have, but what company are you calling from? What is this about?"
"I'm calling from Washington Heights."
"What is your name again?" I grab a pen.
"Steve Delmar. Just have him come to the phone. Or I can call back later."
"He's not coming to the phone unless he knows who is on the line."
"Are you him?"
"Yes, it is me. Now, who are you and why are you calling?"
"I'm calling from the Police Blah Blah Blah Fund, and..."
"I'm not giving you any money."

And I hung up. I could hear his protests in the background, that it wasn't a plea for money. But who cares? Who is that much of an asshole to someone on the phone? Who doesn't identify themselves when asked? That's beyond rude; it's creepy. I don't have caller ID, but I do regularly dial *69, and his number was not traceable. I am still creeped out about this.

In other bloggy blog blog news, yesterday while I was eating a slice of pizza at a new place on the corner of Carmine and Bleecker, one of those double-decker tour buses was stopped at the light. A little old lady, seemingly sane, was yelling at the bus, specifically at the driver and the tour guide, who said something on his microphone about her. The tourists were taking her picture, I assume to show people back home what crazy New Yorkers look like. I really felt for her. I'm sure they probably almost ran her over on Bleecker. I felt like chasing her and asking her what had happened so I could be outraged with her, but then I thought, Maybe she is crazy; maybe I shouldn't get involved. And I continued to eat my pizza. I wonder if people ever think that of me.

A loud truck outside our building was loading and unloading large containers -- the kind used to haul away demolition debris -- and the hydraulic arm that lifts these things onto the truck bed broke several long branches off an old tree. I decided to look the other way and not get mad.

I had a 10:00 appointment this morning for some guys to come test our hallway sprinkler system and install a gauge. I had had a very good, intelligent, detailed conversation with this one guy earlier in the week, so it alarmed me when they were late. I called at 11:00. I called at 11:45. Finally, at 12:00, a different guy came, but he was good and finished by 12:30. Still, waiting 2 hours for an appointment that had been made for a specific time (and not a "window," as is usually the case) burned me up. I did use that 2 hours well, though -- I went through my email and deleted over 3300 messages from my in-box.

Something else extremely bloggy blog blog happened to me today, and now I can't remember what it was. But that's a good thing, right???

Too Pooped to Pop.

2005-10-26T00:21:00.000-04:00

Good Lordy, but I'm tired. A few items:

1. Our Bach and Haydn are coming along. Please mark December 14 for the concert.

2. Alice, puh-leeeze. I'm not erasing your comment. SO sorry you can't be in chorus, but you are always my friend! Let's get together, and soon, please.

3. Wilma, double puh-leeeze. It's not like we didn't have rain all last week. It's not like New York hasn't already smashed previous records for rainfall in October. I am sick of the rain. All my shoes are ruined. I've lost 2 umbrellas this month. Get the fark out of here.

4. Speaking of umbrellas (and maybe gay necrophiliacs -- I honestly don't know this woman very well), I was walking up Lexington, kind of in a hurry, since I was heading to meet Excellent Walker (ironically stuck on an uptown bus...), and I was trying to pass this woman with the most gargantuan golf umbrella I have ever seen, and it was impossible to do so. I think you have to be semi-retarded to think you can get away with this at rush hour along Lexington in midtown. I bumped her umbrella with mine (admittedly, rather aggressively -- I mean, this thing had a 6 foot diameter and was keeping dry an area larger than many Manhattan apartments), and she glared at me, and I glared back. Find the bus to Greenwich, lady, and get on it!

5. I found this great political website through Towleroad. A post today that speculates on the upcoming Fitzgerald indictments has generated over 200 comments.

6. Last night we met friends for a dinner in the East Village at a place called Hearth (First Avenue and 12th Street), and it was delicious. Before dinner, I wandered around the East Village some and marveled at how much the neighborhood had changed since I lived there. (My roommate just out of college has been reading this blog, so she'll appreciate all this.) Alphabets was still there, but Stingy Lulu's is long gone. Where I first lived in New York, on St. Mark's Place between First Avenue and Avenue A, there are cute little eateries in the basement levels. There's tons of sushi everywhere. Cafe Mogador and Blue, a dress shop that opened our first year in New York and which is run by a crazy, chain-smoking Greek woman I adore, have both expanded. Our old laundromat is now a copy and print shop, oddly. The pizza place on the corner of St. Mark's and A, where I used to go all the time when I was drunk or hungover, is still there.

7. I was wandering around partly because I have been having a tremendously difficult time finding a birthday gift for my godson, who is turning 2 this weekend. I don't want to get him clothes because he is ginormous and I have no idea what size he wears (plus I think his parents think the clothes I get are too fancy), and I got him some books in August. I had thought about a nice felt puppet or a stimulating game. Stuntmother, any ideas? Or better yet, can you ask your English friend whose blog you link to? My godson lives in London -- maybe it would be best to find a good UK children's toy store with a website and just do it online and have them ship within the country? I've looked at Books of Wonder on West 18th Street, City Cricket on West 10th Street, a new European children's toy store on West 10th Street, Dinosaur Hill on East 9th Street, and Alphabets on Avenue A. I'm tired.

And so to bed.

Speaking of Gay Necrophilia...

2005-10-23T00:23:00.000-04:00

I mean, speaking of Flipbooks....

Bloggy Empanadas

2005-10-21T19:20:00.000-04:00

What a Bloggy Blog Blog Blog day I had.

First off, at 9:00 am, we had to have a co-op meeting because the guy who has use of the entire backyard of our building started re-landscaping without the Board's approval, and we all had to go take a tour and see what he was doing. I really don't want to say too much about our co-op on here, since I'm supposed to be anonymous and all, but I pretty much organize everything for it, including paying the bills and taxes and depositing the maintenance checks. It's a tiny co-op, so it's not a big deal, but we have this one guy who is just a moron. He has never understood what a co-op is and thinks that he owns outright his apartment and can do anything with it. Surprise! Turns out that pouring concrete in a backyard that slopes toward the building -- a building with a history of floods in the basement -- can get people hopping mad. He once turned a bedroom into a kitchen and knocked through an outer wall to put in a window for it -- a window about 2 feet away from the bedroom window of someone else in the co-op. His checks invariably have some mistake about them -- either the check is made out to the wrong entity, or it's for the wrong amount, or the written amount doesn't match the numerical amount, or he's forgotten to sign them, or any combination thereof. He is a disaster. But long story short, I am at the end of my rope with him. I yelled at him once on the street and another time on the phone, in the middle of Citarella, no less.

Later in the day, I had to hand-deliver some stuff for work, and I was going to do it on my way to Nickel Spa for Men for a massage. (My sister gave me a gift certificate for my birthday.) I ended up leaving the office later than I had wanted, and there were no cabs in midtown, and the train took forever to arrive, and then there was no cross-town bus. By the time I got to the building to drop these things off, I was already 15 minutes late for my massage. (This is the same building, btw, in which the Excellent Walker works -- I called her cell, but she was not around at 4:15.) Then there were still no cabs, but I got a downtown bus on Ninth Avenue. There were 2 people in wheelchairs on the bus, and I know this sounds awful, but I was really praying hard that their stops wouldn't be before mine, and they weren't. (This was the only prayer that was answered today, apparently.) So by the time I got to Nickel, it was 4:30, and I had completely missed my appointment. I rescheduled for next Friday, at 6:00.

You know how when you rush, rush, rush, and you're still too late? You're stressed and cross and cranky and running and sweating, and then it just stops. You've missed the train after all. The movie's already started. They can't seat you till intermission. And you're too late for your massage. I was crestfallen. I was mad at having to hand-deliver something to a building that is in the middle of friggin nowhere (sorry, E.W.), mad at the subways and cabs and buses, mad at all the people who got in my way. So I just limped out of Nickel. I almost cried from the decompression. It is fated that I be thwarted!

A few doors down from Nickel is a little bakery, and they had empanadas, and I was a little hungry since I hadn' t had any lunch. So I asked what kinds of empanadas they had and how much they were. I ordered one chicken and one beef at $1.95 each. The cashier then asked me if I wanted "the empanada special." I asked what it was, and he replied, "It's two empanadas for $3.50." Am I daft, or wouldn't a reasonable person just tell me straight up that the empanadas are $1.95 apiece and, today only, $3.50 for two? What if I had said, "No, I would not like the empanada special; I would like instead one beef and one chicken empanada, and I would like to pay $3.90." This was all too much for my weary brain, so I just said, "Yes, I would like the empanada special, please."

I ate them in the park at Eighth and Greenwich Avenues and Horatio Street, and they were delicious. I really like empanadas, especially the beef kind.

I strolled home through the West Village. I just love Bank Street. They're doing a gut renovation on #24, and I think 24 Bank Street would be a lovely address. As I was standing outside admiring that house, a couple walked into #22 with Citarella bags, and the guy looked like Graydon Carter, the editor of Vanity Fair. When I got home, I looked up who the owner of 22 Bank Street is (tax records are all online!), and indeed, it was him. So go forth, ye stalkers.

Flipbook Fun!

2005-10-19T00:04:00.000-04:00

Lordy, but I'll have to do more of this! Inspired by Stuntmother's creation and in an effort to help the Excellent Walker with her chorus-minded artwork, I have created my own flipbook, viewable by clicking here. I need to do more of these!

No Good Deed...

2005-10-15T15:49:00.000-04:00

Today in the mail there was a letter from E-ZPass addressed to someone who doesn't live here. I opened it. The letter explained to this non-resident that a new E-ZPass device would be mailed soon and that this person should return his old device, and a failure to do so would result in a charge.

Being the good citizen I am, I thought I should just call the E-ZPass people to let them know they have the wrong address for this person and should probably check with his credit card company to verify his real address. After waiting 28 minutes on hold ("sunk cost," anyone? I should have hung up after the 10-minute wait I was warned about at the beginning of the call), a customer service rep finally came on. I explained to her that they sent a letter to someone who doesn't live at my address. There was a pause, and then she said, "Well, what do you want me to do?" I thought they might want to locate their customer -- silly me! She suggested sending it back in the mail; I told her I'd already opened the envelope. She put me back on hold; I hung up. I ended up mailing it back to them with a note, which I should have done in the first place.

This is yet another example of my going out of my way to raise my blood pressure.

The Odeon

2005-10-13T09:08:00.000-04:00

Last night I met a friend at the Odeon for drinks and dinner. I love this place -- so reliable, friendly, swank. Kinda perfect in every way. Whenever I need to meet anyone for any reason in or near TriBeCa, this is where I suggest we go, even though I'm sure there are tons of places just as worthy waiting to be discovered.

I found my friend at the bar, we embraced, did our hellos, and then I asked her if the jacket on the stool next to her (the only empty stool in the whole place, as far as I could tell) were hers. She said no, so I turned to the woman on the other side.

"Excuse me," I said, as I lifted the jacket up, about to hand it to her, really. "Is this yours?"

At this point, most people, seeing the bar is crowded and in adherence to the general playing rules, would say, "Oh, yes, sorry," take the stuff and let you sit down. It's just like on the subway: you don't plop your bag down in one of the last seats if you're not willing to relocate your bag to your lap immediately if someone wants the seat. It's just how it's done. So what response do I get?

"Yes, that's mine," with no gesture to take hold of the jacket I am now holding out to her.
"Well, may I sit down?"
"Well, no. I have a friend coming."

Now, this woman had likely had a little wine, and she was in her 50s, she had a huge cast on her arm, and she was sounding just combative enough to me that I decided to back off, mostly because I thought a smack-down in the middle of the Odeon would be frowned on. I didn't even attempt to explain to her that it's a bar and that there is no stool reservation system, besides the fact that we were just having a quick drink before we sat down to dinner (it's none of her business if I'm on the stool for 5 minutes or 5 hours), and instead I looked around for another place for us to sit. She then gave in, I guess realizing how rude and weird she was being (and perhaps sensing that her interaction with me has made me instantly pissy), and offered the seat. I didn't even say "thank you," and just sat down. Meanwhile, I noticed that one of the bartenders had moved in to mediate if necessary.

A few minutes later, I saw this same bartender watching this lady intensely as she rifled through umbrellas near the front door. I could tell then that his attention to the earlier near-scuffle was more about helping me than her, and that made me feel better.

My friend and I had our drinks and then went to a table near the door. Only after we left the bar area did this lady's friend show up (naturally), and I noticed then that the three people with her were really very different from her. They were all in their 30s, professional- and sane-looking, and considerably less drunk/addled. It then occured to me that I've seen situations like this before. My guesstimation is that this woman was a wash-up from the Warhol days, a total drunk and former druggie, and these people were documentary filmmakers or other kinds of story-gatherers, treating this Cookie Mueller to a flattering dinner at the swank Odeon. It all made more sense.

And then, of course, as they were headed to a table for dinner, the lady started screaming at the front desk that someone had stolen her umbrella. No longer angry, I wanted to laugh a little, except that the whole thing seemed terribly sad.

Whoa! I'm a liberal!

2005-10-12T09:50:00.000-04:00

As some of you may know, there's a blogger named Sugafree9 who visits my blog and leaves comments (and vice versa). He recently tagged me and Stuntmother. Well, I was checking out the blogs of the other three people Suga tagged and came across a really nice guy, also from Reno, who posted recently that he had taken a "politics quiz" and turned out to be a socialist. I went to the website he provided and took the same quiz. Turns out I'm a liberal and not quite a socialist, but damn! that was close. Who knew? The reults (assuming I have cut-and-pasted correctly):

You are a
Social Liberal
(80% permissive)

and an...
Economic Liberal
(28% permissive)

You are best described as a:

Strong Democrat

Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

OpenHouseNewYork

2005-10-10T01:50:00.000-04:00

This morning while reading the paper (and by "the paper," you realize, of course, that I mean The New York Times...), I came across an article on page 3 of the Metro section that described something called Open House New York. I had never heard of this thing before, but apparently this one weekend a year over 100 places in New York not normally accessible to the general public open their doors and give tours and stuff for free. Pictured with the article were the stairs leading up to the top of the tower in the Jefferson Market building in the West Village (between Sixth and Greenwich Avenues and West 10th Street). Cool!

So I looked at their website and found all the neat things we could do today, including a tour of Governor's Island, a military base that has always been closed to the public (though I went there once years ago for a Munipal Arts Society function when it was first transferred from the federal to the state government). Unfortunately, Jefferson Market was only a Saturday event, so we chose to go to the Chrysler Building instead. When we got there, it turns out that we could only look around in the lobby and the interior of one elevator, but a really great speaker named Robert Klara, managing editor of Architecture magazine, gave a lively talk about the history of the building's creation and some of the details of the lobby. We had a lovely time. Next year, I really want to do some major planning and visit several sites. There are people who open up their homes and all kinds of stuff that goes on.

"The Passenger" / "Caché"

2005-10-10T01:10:00.000-04:00

Saturday night we saw a re-release of the 1975 Michelangelo Antonioni film "The Passenger," starring Jack Nicholson and Maria Schneider. I don't know why this film is being screened at the New York Film Festival, or at the Telluride Film Festival, which took place over Labor Day weekend. I suppose it's a new print or something. It's a pretty odd story about a reporter who switches identities with an arms smuggler but who ends up running from everyone (from his real and adopted lives both), along with a girl he picks up along the way. If Jack Nicholson weren't in this film, it wouldn't be nearly as interesting, though I can see Lee Marvin succeeding in this role somehow.

Anyway, the chase culminates at a little hotel in Spain, where Antonioni uses a long, sustained boomerang kind of shot to pan away from and then back to Jack's character. The Boyfriend and I disagreed a bit about the ending, and for anyone who has seen this movie, I'd appreciate some clarification. When this pan starts, Jack is lying on his back, and when the pan ends, Jack is lying on his stomach, with his face out of view, and is also dead. I *thought* I saw, for a split second, right before we see Jack's dead body, someone outside the hotel who looked like him. When we get to the dead body, Jack's wife says she doesn't know the man on the bed, and the girl says that she does.

Now, I think the conventional reading of "The Passenger" is that the dead body is indeed Jack, and that out of shock, his wife says she doesn't know him because he's made himself unknowable to her -- that is, he's changed in ways that make him unrecognizable to her. The girl says she knows him because she feels in the few days they've been together that they're soul mates. I would like to offer an alternate reading (and I haven't done any internet reading on this at all and have no idea whether this has been offered previously): just like in Africa, Jack has managed to switch identities, this time with a would-be assassin from the arms dealer's list of enemies, and he walks away. The wife says she doesn't know the deceased because he is actually a different person; the girl says she knows the deceased in order to provide Jack with a clean way out (that is, she tells the authorities the deceased is the arms dealer so that Jack can walk away with a new identity). I would like for my alternate ending to be plausible, so when this movie comes out on DVD soon, somebody rent it and let me know.

And so the NYFF came to a close this evening with Michael Haneke's "Caché (Hidden)." Wow. We had been warned by friends at lunch yesterday that this film packs a punch, and they weren't kidding. There are two shocking scenes that are thrust at you with absolutely no warning, the second of which left me gaping, mouth wide open, for a full minute. Haneke made the excellent "The Piano Teacher" of a few years ago, and I thought *that* picture had some bloody scenes.

This film follows married couple Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche as they try to figure out who and why someone is sending them tapes of surveillance on their house and strange, violent drawings. Honestly, that's all I really want to say about plot, except that those questions aren't really answered in a satisfying way. Everyone walking out of this movie was talking about this and that, who was it, did you see this, did you notice that, la la la. The very last shot contained action I didn't even notice but which is incredibly helpful (or at least feeds the speculation), so train your eyes to the lower left corner of the frame -- I only heard about it afterward and found out everyone had been tipped off by the small write-up in Friday's Times, so I didn't feel so bad.

Anyway, "Caché" is incredibly good -- very suspenseful and exciting, and full of issues. I've been reading online reviews since we got home, and the best things I've read suggest the film gets at the heart of the French guilt over the country's treatment of its Algerian-immigrant population. (Check out reviews by Matt Cale on Ruthless Reviews and Scott Tobias on The Onion's AV Club.) Definitely recommended.

"Gabrielle" / Philistines at the NYFF

2005-10-08T16:21:00.000-04:00

Last night was "Gabrielle," a film directed and co-written by Patrice Chereau, whose "La Reine Margot (Queen Margot)" (1994) and "Intimacy" (2001) were incredibly sexy and intellectually charged. ("Intimacy," in particular, is exactly the kind of porn I like; Mark Rylance, who is otherwise the artistic director of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre in London when he's not an actor, not only submits to full-frontal, erect nudity but to actual, live, not-faked fucking.) Needless to say, I was expecting at least a little flesh.

But "Gabrielle," based on a short story by Joseph Conrad, is more about the absence of sex. It's a slim film, but thinking about it more on the way home, a lot seems to happen. The film is only 86 minutes long but seems longer because of sustained silent camera pans. Every minute that Isabelle Hupert is on screen is electric; less so for Pascal Greggory, who plays her husband, and there is a lot of him alone. In brief, their characters' marriage is in the midst of breaking up. She finds there is no love in the house, and although she leaves him for another man, with whom she is passionately in love, she comes back only hours later -- the passion proves too strong for her, and she would rather live out her days in a loveless house. He is somehow under the impression that there is something in their marriage to save, but when he realizes she will never love him again, it is he who runs away and never returns. Sounds like a one-act play, and it should be, essentially.

While we were watching the movie, the couple on the other side of me was constantly fidgeting. First of all, the man had laid claim to the armrest between us before I even got there, and while I allowed him that victory, I resented his constant need to assert his presence through heavy sighing, chomping of gum (apparently, closed-mouth chewing was not a big thing in his etiquette class), unrolling of candies, and general seat-shifting. He and his companion obviously had no idea what this movie was about, were probably even surprised to find themselves having to read subtitles, and had clearly never been to a screening at the New York Film Festival. My guess is that a co-worker gave them the tickets at the last minute. They couldn't wait to get out of there. I wish they had just left because their fidgeting was distracting, even though I don't think I'd have enjoyed the movie more in their absence.

The word "philistine" comes to mind -- a word, I should add, which figures into the dialog of "The Squid and the Whale," bringing the whole NYFF experience full-circle. I like the word "philistine" mostly because it so completely describes 99% of the population of Tyler, Texas, the town in which I grew up. Previously, I have described Tyler as "anti-intellectual," but I think "philistine" is more satisfying.

4 Short Film Reviews

2005-10-07T17:21:00.000-04:00

I have approximately 5 minutes to post. This has been a busy week, but in a good way. I'm keeping out of trouble.

"Manderlay" was not as good as I was hoping it would be. I had thought, as I posted before, that "Dogville" was just amazing. The main character, Grace, was played in the first film by Nicole Kidman, but here Grace is played by Bryce Dallas Howard (Ron Howard's daughter, previously seen in "The Village"), and she's not as good, though I did like her more toward the end. It is, after all, an incredibly demanding role. She just reminded me so much of my friend Molly that I couldn't get it out of my head. The movie itself starts awkwardly but finds its feet after about 20-30 minutes, all to some interesting effect by the end. I definitely recommend seeing "Dogville" first.

"Through the Forest" was a French film, set up like a dream, that had the potential to be interesting but squandered what looked like some talent, and in a major way. Disappointing, to say the least, and unsatisfying. And generally, I like freaky French cinema.

Next for me was "Beyond the Rocks" (I missed "Who's Camus, Anyway?" on Tuesday night because of choir), a 1922 silent film thought to be lost but found recently in the Netherlands. It stars Gloria Swanson as a girl who marries a middle-aged, wealthy man to please her father, even though she is really in love with Rudolph Valentino, a womanizer but equally wealthy duke. (Ah, choices, choices.) She breaks off with Rudolph, but not before her husband learns of the affair of the heart (never consumated, of course) and decides -- ready? -- that he is a boring old man who is standing in the way of true love and goes out to sacrifice himself by getting hit by a bullet. Wacky story, made even wackier by bizarre sound effects, like doors closing, background restaurant noise, barking dogs, etc., despite the use of a full soundtrack and intertitles. Those Dutchies kinda screwed that part up. (The film is notable in that it has two major stars, one of the first times that was done -- up to then, films usually had one main star.)

And then last night was the 2.5 hour Taiwanese film "Three Times," which I think is supposed to describe how often the actors were asked to speak dialog. It was gorgeous, actually. Three love stories from different years, in this order: 1966, 1911, 2005. With the same two gorgeous actors. My boyfriend LOVED it, which is good, because we saw it on his birthday.

Have to run to "Gabrielle"!

Tagging

2005-10-04T23:45:00.000-04:00

It sounds like something you do in graffitiland, but, apparently, it's something you also do in blogland. I've been "tagged." (Please see comments on my last post.) Here's how I understand this game goes, and in so explaining to you, I must also "act out" the game. Here goes.

First, The Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to it).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same. (This part I'll probably skip -- no offense, Sugafree.)

Shit. My 23rd post was two sentences long, and they're not that interesting. So I'm going with Post #22's fifth sentence instead:
“But then he would shift his weight in the chair, change the direction of his legs, and come back to rest on the our armrest (never the one he shared with his wife)."

Second, The Questions (strangely, this is feeling like a Passover Seder):
1. Legal first name? Name withheld
2. Were you named after anyone? My middle name yes, but my first name no
3. Do you wish on stars? Yes. I pretty much wish on anything I can find.
4. When did you last cry? Saturday
5. What is your favorite lunch meat? Liverwurst
6. What is your birth date? September 16
7. What's your most embarrassing CD? Lawrence Welk (embarrassing to admit, but I love it)
8. Would you be friends with you? Yeah, but not when either of us were sober
9. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Only with friends
10. What are your nicknames? Bean-head, Honey Bun, Yo Bitch
11. Would you bungee jump? No
12. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Yes
13. Do you think that you are strong? No
14. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Vanilla
15. Shoe Size? 9.25
16. Red or pink? Pink for daytime, red for evening (what kind of question is that?)
17. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? My inability to fake confidence
18. Who do you miss most? My potential/future self from when I was 12 years old
19. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Pants? The answer, my friend....
20. What are you listening to right now? My neighbor's air conditioner
21. What did you eat for breakfast? Strawberry yogurt shake
22. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Blue
23. What is the weather like right now? Clear but muggy
24. Last person you talked to on the phone? My friend Chris
25. The first things you notice about the opposite sex? I assume you mean the sex I'm sexually attracted to, which is a different question, to which I answer "eyes"... and then quickly change my answer to "package"
26. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Huge crush. Huge.
27. Favorite Drink? Vodka
28. Hair Color? Hair? I guess I have to say "flesh"
29. Do you wear contacts? No
30. Favorite Food? Bread. Specifically, a chocolate croissant when done well.
31. Last Movie You Watched? "Through the Forest" and I don't recommend it
32. Favorite Day Of The Year? First day of autumn
33. Scary Movies Or Happy Endings? Happy Endings
34. Summer Or Winter? Winter
35. Hugs OR Kisses? Hugs
36. What Is Your Favorite Desert? The one from Gus Van Sant's "Gerry" because that fucker Casey Affleck dies in it
37. Living Arrangements? Apartment with boyfriend and 2 cats
38. What Books Are You Reading? "A Wrinkle in Time," "The Line of Beauty," "On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen," "Conversations with Capote"
39. What's On Your Mouse Pad? N/a
40. What Did You Watch Last night on TV? Nothing
41. Favorite Smells? Onions being sauteed
42. Favorite junk food? Here you have me stumped, because the worst thing I eat is hot dogs from Gray's Papaya, and they're all-beef Kosher. ...Right?
43. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Beatles
44. What's the farthest you've been from home? Germany

That's it? Just 44 questions, and nothing about my favorite/least favorite body part? The age at which I lost my virginity and to whom? The make of my first car? How many miles away my hometown is? Whether my closest friend knows my deepest secret? Number of hermaphrodites in acquaintance? (Not related, those last two!) My drag name (i.e., your favorite pet's name + the street you grew up on)? C'mon, throw me some more, you punk.

When I get quizzes like this in email, I always sigh and think I'm going to just delete them, but then I start reading them and find them rather interesting windows into the souls of my friends. So I end up answering the quiz back to my friend but not forwarding it. So I'm not going to tag anyone. But I do think we should come up with a more subversive quiz.

By the way, I've seen two movies since my last post, but I haven't written about them yet because I've been too busy with work and choir. Especially choir -- just ask Ellen, it's a huge time fuck.

5:45 am Car Alarm

2005-10-02T06:27:00.000-04:00

At 5:45 am, a car alarm woke me up. We have the windows wide open to circulate the cool, crisp, clean (?) NYC air, but they also let in noise, and this car alarm went off for so long that I had time to wake up, get up, print out my "car alarm" sheet, put on flip-flops, and get downstairs in time to see the car pulling away.

So what did I do? I chased the car.

When I got to the guy, stopped at a red light, he was slumped over with his head on the steering wheel, clearly drunk. I put my sheet in his lap and yelled at him. He said, "You scared me," and I said, "You asshole!" and I actually -- ready for this? -- slapped his head in an incredibly girly move. I think he threw my "car alarm" sheet out the window. I walked back home. All of this was done, you understand, in my boxers. (I think sleepwear adds to the "you fucking woke me up" look.)

That was 30 minutes ago, and I can't sleep. It has occurred to me that maybe the car was actually being stolen. I mean, the alarm went off for so long, and then the car drove away. Should I have taken the license plate number and called 911? I think I could've taken this guy and, like, opened the door the thrown him onto the sidewalk. But I think even I am not dumb enough to try this.

Quick UPS Update...

2005-09-30T11:36:00.000-04:00

They never found the package and told me that only the sender of the package could make a claim. So I called Red Envelope, and they were very nice and sent me a gift certificate -- via regular mail. Glory be, but it came. So now I have a gift certificate.

Party!!!!!!

"The Squid and the Whale" / "Breakfast on Pluto"

2005-09-30T09:14:00.000-04:00

Right after we saw "Capote" the other night, we saw Noah Baumbach's "The Squid and the Whale," a story set in 1986 in Park Slope. Jeff Daniels and Laura Linney play a divorcing couple, and Jesse Eisenberg ("Rodger Dodger") and Owen Kline (son of Phoebe Cates and Kevin Kline) are their two sons. Noah's two previous films, "Kicking and Screaming" (1995) and "Mr. Jealousy" (1997), are similar in tone: articulate and clever, more character- than plot-driven, a very New York sensibility. It's unfortunate that we saw this film immediately after "Capote" because the comparison does not serve "Squid" well -- "Capote" is a film meant to be taken seriously, and "Squid" very self-consciously wants you to acknowledge and celebrate how quirky and clever it is.

The acting is all good, though I had the feeling this had to do more with the quality and skill of the actors, including Owen, than with the director. Laura Linney gets to utter lines with explicit sexual content, as she did in "Kinsey;" Jeff Daniels is surprisingly good as a failed father; Jesse Eisenberg is very good at the awkward high-schooler thing; and Owen Kline is just so darned adorable you want to take him home. There are lots of great moments, and, really, the movie is a bunch of moments strung together, from Owen's wiping his sperm all over school and drinking beer, to Jeff Daniels's flirtation with student Anna Paquin. (And don't miss the a cappella version "Kyrie" by Owen's real-life little sister -- it's a jaw-dropper. Or William Baldwin as a tennis pro, doing his best to be a Luke/Owen Wilson for Noah's Wes Anderson....) The movie is worth seeing, particularly if you liked his previous work.

One thing I found interesting in the Q&A that followed the screening was Noah's response to a question about how good a writer Jeff Daniels's character is supposed to be. In the film, the character has published a few novels and teaches, but he is being eclipsed by the career of his wife, who has a novel published by Knopf and an excerpt printed in The New Yorker. The impression is that the Jeff Daniels character is a "failed" writer, but Noah pointed out that he never intended that to be the case, that the character is simply in a fallow period and may, indeed, have a glorious career ahead of him. I found this very interesting, and I think you will too if you see the film.

Just a note now on "Breakfast on Pluto," Neil Jordan's new film, also showing this weekend (and, I think, reviewed in today's Times). We saw this one a few weeks ago at a press screening and liked it pretty well. Cillian Murphy, previously known to American audiences from his performance in the horror/thriller movies "28 Days Later" and the recent "Red Eye," plays a cross-dressed, gender-dysphoric teen who leaves his Irish hometown to search for his mother in London. His performance is really amazing -- so convincing as a cross-dresser, so beautiful. The film wanders a bit, the intertitles are a little cutesy, the religious overtones are a tad suspect (this won't spoil too much, but priest Liam Neeson is his father, which Cillian eventually discovers and reconciles), but it's worth a see if you have any interest at all. I am already dreading comparisons with "The Crying Game," though....

Tonight is "Maderlay," which I'm excited to see. I loved "Dogville" a couple of years ago when almost nobody did -- I thought it was an incredible American fable, much in the vein of Shirley Jackson's story "The Lottery" and made all the more remarkable in that Lars von Trier has never actually been to the United States. But all that is for another post, when I've actually seen this new one.

By the way, there is a strong smell of patchouli wafting through my window, and I cannot figure out why.

Abort All Republicans!

2005-09-30T09:04:00.000-04:00

Today's New York Times reports that William J. Bennett -- former secretary of education, current radio talk show host, lifelong Republican -- produced this gem on his show: "I do know that it's true that if you wanted to reduce crime, you could, if that were your sole purpose, you could abort every black baby in this country, and your crime rate would go down.... That would be an impossible, ridiculous, and morally reprehensible thing to do, but your crime rate would go down."

And if we wanted to, say, reduce the rate of complete assholism in this country, we could, say, abort all the Republican babies. You know, it'd be impossible (not that we shouldn't give it the old college try), but if your sole purpose were to reduce the number of assholes, that would be one way to do it. You know, morally reprehensible -- sure! -- but an option.

Asparagus

2005-09-29T22:07:00.000-04:00

I had always read that asparagus spears have this magical way of snapping in just the right place, between the woody and the tender, and I never quite believed it. Tonight I prepared asparagus for the first time and discovered this is a true thing.

I also made homemade mayonnaise. It came out OK, but was more like hollandaise. I never knew before that it's made with raw egg; I hope it doesn't cause severemalaise.

In addition, we had squash sauteed in olive oil and seared tuna steaks on beds of baby spinach. I am sooooo fancy! (Dessert was orange sections, though.)

"Capote"

2005-09-29T09:06:00.000-04:00

This was another film with great buzz, but I was a little wary. First of all, any historic subject is easily screwed up in a myriad of ways by screenwriter, director, actor, even the DP. Second, there's a history of overwrought performances by Philip Seymour Hoffman ("Flawless," anyone? How about "Love Liza"?), even though I think he is one of the most amazing actors working today (Sam Shepherd's "True West" on Broadway a few years ago, "Magnolia," "Happiness"), and the role of Truman Capote is, let's face it, vulnerable to overwrought gesture, with his over-the-top mannerisms, distinctive voice, and just over-all gayness.

I was surprised. PSH's performance is stellar and incredibly moving. I don't know what Capote's voice sounded like in real life, but I have to imagine this was close because PSH does his research. (Although you want some subtitles at the beginning, it is possible to adjust to the voice and to be able to understand the dialog later.) Catherine Keener is a quiet Harper Lee, looking very plain, even though, in real life, she is anything but. Chris Cooper is stunning, as almost always (I think I'm remembering "My House in Umbria"...). The only weak link in the movie is the actor Clifton Collins, Jr., who plays Perry Smith, one of the two convicted killers Capote researches for his book "In Cold Blood"; there are times when his eye twitching gets to be a bit much for me.

Overall, the movie is polished, well-paced, and gorgeous. The clothes, the interiors, all of the period markers are pitch-perfect. And the story is interesting. I had always thought Capote was such a mess, being a drunk and betraying friends and not being smart about things that get leaked to the public, but I must say I have new respect for him now. He was ambitious and smart and determined, and he was openly, unapologetically gay at a time when that was a very dangerous thing to be.

"L'Enfant" / "The Death of Mr. Lazarescu"

2005-09-26T09:26:00.000-04:00

Briefly, on the two films we saw yesterday.

"L'Enfant (The Child)," the latest film from brothers Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, was pretty great. We've liked all their films that we've seen ("La Promesse," "Rosetta" and "Le Fils"), and they're all pretty similar in style: gritty, no soundtrack, about people on the margins of society and the choices they make. These are not pretty lives. And for American audiences, these films can be hard to watch because they're just so not American -- they're very French (well, Belgian, actually) in tone, style, subject. But wow, what filmmakers these two are. In "L'Enfant," a petty thief reunites with his girlfriend, who has just had his baby (which she names, inexplicably, Jimmy), but because he is hard up for cash, he sells the baby to an underground adoption ring without telling his girlfriend, who later (surprise!) freaks out and reports him. He then runs off, botches a robbery, lands in jail. In the Q&A after the film, the directors described him as an insect to buzzes from one opportunity to the next. Anyway, a very powerful film, highly recommended (as are all of their films -- though I think "Le Fils (The Son)" is the best), and if you guys ever see it, I'll have more to discuss with you. (I should mention that this film won the top prize at Cannes, the Palme d'Or, and will be released soon by Sony Pictures Classics, so you should go see it when it comes out.)

We were told that "The Death of Mr. Lazarescu," from Romania, was the best thing in this year's festival. In her round-up of the Toronto Film Festival in the Entertainment Weekly that came out on Friday, Lisa Schwartzbaum (who also sits on the selection committee of the NYFF) talked about how much she loved, loved, loved this movie. Well, we didn't love, love, love it. Had we seen it without the buzz, who knows. But it's a 150-minute movie that seems to run in real time as a 62 year-old alcoholic with varicose veins, 3 messy cats, a large scar from a past ulcer surgery, and a debilitating headache seeks medical treatment at 4 different Budapest hospitals from 10pm to 4am. Amazingly, he is accompanied on this entire journey by the same EMT team that picks him up at his apartment. The film does an excellent job, actually, of conveying the descent into a medical no-man's-land, where doctors are alternately overworked, dismissive, kind, mean, responsive, and lazy. I can see that if an indictment of the health care system this skilled were to have come out of this country, the film would be a sensation and a huge deal. To see these conditions in Romania is horrifying and deeply sad. But as a piece of filmmaking, it did not change my life.

"Good Night, and Good Luck"

2005-09-24T14:16:00.000-04:00

Last night was the opening of the New York Film Festival, about which you'll be hearing a lot in the next 2 weeks. The opening film was George Clooney's "Good Night, and Good Luck," which stars David Strathairn as Edward R. Murrow. (It also stars George Clooney, Patricia Clarkson, Robert Downey, Jr., Frank Langella and Jeff Daniels.) This is Clooney's second major film as a director -- he also directed "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind," about "The Gong Show" Chuck Barris.

The film has had very good buzz, especially after Venice, so I was expecting a lot. And it mostly delivered -- the actors all did a good job, the black-and-white photography was sensational, and it was interesting to see what working in a newsroom in the 1950s must have been like. But I felt the story, in the end, was a bit hermetic -- the film is shot entirely in interiors and is mixed with actual footage of Senator McCarthy and others (the film is about how Murrow took on McCarthy and his Communist witch-hunt) -- and the effect is one of claustrophobia. I felt that to really understand the dynamics of what was going on, we'd need to get out of this little warren of CBS News offices. The film pits Murrow against McCarthy, shows how the tide turns against McCarthy, and implies that Murrow is solely responsible for America's "waking up" -- which may be a fair conclusion, but how would I know, having only seen Murrow making speeches and nothing else? Anyway, the film is well worth seeing, if only because it speaks volumes about what our government is doing these days.

Before the movie, George Clooney came out and spoke. He was very funny and comfortable in front of the crowd at Avery Fisher Hall. He said his co-writer, Grant Heslov, had loaned him $100 in 1982 to have his headshots done for a role on "Joanie Loves Chachi" -- a role he didn't get (though he later had a role on "The Facts of Life," in 1985). He said he still uses those headshots because he looks very good in them. (Big laugh.) Major cast members were introduced and came onstage -- Patricia Clarkson in a gorgeous white gown that looked like Carolina Herrera.

At the party afterward, I met none of the stars, though I came face-to-face with David Strathairn briefly -- too fast of a pass to say anything to him about how good he is in the film. Mostly, I just talked to friends, including a producer friend of mine who is also from Tyler, Texas, and who has the same birthday I do. She confessed that she had so loved the house I grew up in that she still drives by it every times she goes back to Tyler. Isn't that funny? She said there have been some changes to the house and that she'll photograph them next time she's there.

The Voice of God

2005-09-22T00:22:00.000-04:00

Sweet Jesus, but I thought I just heard voices coming out of my laptop, and I thought, 'God is trying to tell me something!' I leaned in closer only to discover that it was my stomach rumbling. On reflection, I did think it a little odd that God would have an urgent need to tell me, "Gurraaahhh?"

It's kind of funny that people spend so much time trying to figure out what God wants and is trying to say. Even funnier that some people think they have these things pinned down.

Rita

2005-09-21T23:37:00.000-04:00

Hurricane Rita is starting to scare me. It's headed straight for Houston and then will blow up toward Dallas and Tyler, the town in which I grew up. It's already a Category 5, and I read that it's the 3rd most powerful hurricane in the Atlantic Basin... ever.

Shortly after Hurricane Katrina, when my hometown was taking in refugees, a couple of women from New Orleans noticed a sign outside a church in Tyler proclaiming that New Orleans was the "modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah." They confronted the pastor, who explained that New Orleans, New York, San Francisco, and Las Vegas were dens of sin and deserved to be destroyed. I wish this were not a true story. I heard about this first on a blog called Damien's Spot. He talked about it first here, updated the story here, and further wrote about how Pat Robertson has proclaimed that Katrina hit Ellen Degeneres's hometown because of his displeasure with the television industry (read about it here). (Wait, wait, the Ellen thing appears to be a joke -- PTL!) I don't even know where to begin.

But I do know how to bite back, for all 9 people who read this blog. You can even quote me on this: God has chosen to point Rita, the most powerful hurricane ever to hit Texas, at President Bush's home state because he thinks President Bush and his supporters are complete morons. There. I said it. Let them arrest me.

More Birthday Joy "Lost in the Mail"

2005-09-20T17:58:00.000-04:00

There's no update on the UPS situation (Mr. Miller refuses to return my calls, and the package is officially listed as "status: exception" (???) online), but get this: my in-laws sent me a check in the mail a week ago, and it still hasn't gotten here!

It's like my birthday became this big black hole that swallowed up all my potential joy before it even got to me. I believe this may be the over-arching life theme I've been looking for to help organize the things that happen to me.

UPS = Uh, Please Stand-by......

2005-09-20T08:26:00.000-04:00

So it appears that UPS has lost my birthday present. To re-cap:

Wednesday 9/14: I received a first delivery attempt notice at 7:05. I got home after 9:00 and called the 1-800 number to request that the package be held at the UPS center a couple of blocks away for pick-up at my convenience.

Thursday 9/15: I went to the UPS center, where they said the call had come in too late to affect the delivery schedule for that day and that the package was out with the driver for a second delivery attempt. Fine. Although I never received a second delivery attempt notice.

Friday 9/16: I went to the UPS center for a 2nd time, where they advised me to speak to their colleagues at the WTC distribution center. When they got someone on the phone for me, she told me the driver never took the package off the truck. I asked her to have the package at the UPS center on Monday 9/19 for my 3rd attempted pick-up.

Monday 9/19: I went to the UPS center for a 3rd time, and the same thing happened. This time, when I got on the phone with a WTC distribution center rep, I got his name and direct dial number. Mr. Miller (who refused to give me his first name, though he clearly has the advantage of my entire name and house address...) told me he would get in touch with the driver through text messaging and call me back. I followed-up an hour later, and there was no news.

Tuesday 9/20: I called Mr. Miller this morning, and he told me that the driver doesn't have the package and that several people have looked for it. He's going to check with the driver again and get back to me. (...Right.)

My boyfriend thinks I am just getting my blood pressure up for no reason. For me, it has become an exercise in seeing just how stupid UPS can be. I also figure that if someone I know went to the trouble of sending me a birthday present (and I think I know who sent this one), I should be a little diligent in receiving it. It's certainly not my friend's fault that UPS is a total fuck-up. Anyway, I'll let you guys know how it goes.

A Tale of 2 Parties

2005-09-18T18:59:00.000-04:00

In answer to Stunty's comment, yes, the rest of my birthday was lovely (thanks!). My boyfriend arrived home with armsful of hydrangeas and presents, we took a deep nap, and then we went to our favorite seafood restaurant, Pearl Oyster Bar on Cornelia Street, where I had clam chowder with smoked bacon and a lobster roll (and he had crabcakes and bouillabaise). Yum! The only really disappointing part of my birthday is that I did not win the lottery. I thought I had a total lock on that $250 million, it being my birthday and all.

But this post is about last night. I went to 2 very different parties and got very drunk -- probably the result of being more traumatized than I had thought I would be by my birthday.

The first party was given by a friend of mine from grad school, and it featured a lot of his friends from the hedge fund world. In fact, I knew not one single person there, even though they were all gay. I had no idea there were so many gay men in New York I didn't know! It turns out they were mostly young and not very friendly, as far as I could tell, and I felt old. Strangely, I was the only person there in shorts (everyone else was in pants or jeans), which made me feel like I hadn't gotten "the memo." (Really, it just made me feel super un-stylish and overly preppy, but I am often accused of that.) I did have a nice chat with my friend's cousin (at the time, the only woman there), who I also know from school -- in fact, she and I have gone to the same high school, college, and grad school. Then some other friends of mine showed up, and they were nice to see. I ended up having way too much vodka, as happens to me a lot, and I spent a lot of time trying to be interesting. That was somehow a real struggle last night. With most people I feel reasonably interesting, but this particular group of friends (acquaintances, really) uses a lot of coded language, I guess. It was also so farking loud that I almost lost my voice and certainly couldn't hear anything clearly. (At one point, they were all talking about Hamburg this and Hamburg that, and I couldn't figure out why everyone was so opinionated about Hamburg -- until I realized they were talking about the mayor.)

Sometimes I just have an urgent need to evacuate (a scene...), and I did just that and went to another party close by. The second party was given by a filmmaker I know who has the exact same birthday as I do, same year and everything, and his annual birthday party is always crowded with fun artsy types. I ran into a friend immediately, and lots of nice strangers of all stripes (not at all like the unfriendly poseurs at the first party), but I can't really remember a lot of what happened there. I think I wandered from room to room but can't remember really talking to anyone, and I got home at 4 am. I must have been acting a little odd, I guess, because my filmmaker friend emailed me today to see if I was OK. Eeeek. At least I had all my clothes on when I got home -- that has to be a good sign, right?

So on this beautiful Sunday, when I should have been out and about, I was mostly sleeping and popping Advil. I am clearly too old for this kind of behavior, but I had fun. I think.

A Bloggy Blog Blog Blog Birthday

2005-09-16T14:54:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I think I actively seek trouble.

Today is my 35th birthday. It's been a pretty good day so far, too. I had a great meeting this morning and am feeling good. I just had a lovely lunch at Souen, a natural foods restaurant that I love.

But I've also just lost it, twice. The first time was at UPS. I had a delivery attempt 2 days ago and called immediately to ask them to hold the package at the UPS center, conveniently a few blocks away. Yesterday, I went to pick up this (supposedly, birthday) package, and I was told that my call reached them too late and that it was out with the driver for a second attempt. (Btw, I never got a second attempt notice.) Today I went again to the UPS center, eager for my birthday present, and I was told I needed to speak with the UPS center at the World Trade Center (...um, you might want to rename that facility...), and they put me on the phone with someone there who proceeded to put me on hold for a really long time. When she came back on, she took the information and told me the driver never took the package off the truck. She couldn't tell me why this had happened, and then she asked me if I would like it to be delivered. I paused, and then I told her that 2 days ago I had asked that the package be held and that this was my second trip to the UPS center and that this was becoming a big waste of time and that this was NOT how I wanted to spend my birthday. I then asked that if I came to the UPS center for a 3rd time on Monday, could they possibly, maybe have the package waiting for me? I raised my voice so much that everyone in the UPS center stopped what they were doing. Rereading this, I don't think I conveyed the moronic responses she was giving me well enough, but suffice it to say I was justified in giving her a brief earful.

The second blow up came at the bank. I was in a really slow line, and I noticed that one of the customers up at the teller window had a gun on his hip. This freaked me out. I do not need to be near a live firearm when I am at the bank. When I got to the window, I asked the teller about it, and she kind of shrugged and said he was a security guard. I told her this totally freaked me out; that I didn't care who he was; that even if he is a security guard somewhere else, in this bank he is just a customer and he should leave his weapon with the security guard when he comes in or, better yet, not bring a gun into the bank at all. Honestly, the guy had on shorts and some green shirt with a logo I could have painted on in my basement. The reaction of all the tellers at the business windows was a big shrug, so I went upstairs and complained to a manager. That made me feel better.

Could I get some feedback on that? I am aware that I have an irrational fear of guns -- even when I see them in movies, casually tossed around, I get incredibly anxious. I think in a former life I must have been killed by a gun, probably after being extensively pistol whipped. But really, in this day and age, how can a bank allow a customer to walk around with a live firearm in full view in a hip holster??? I am still freaked out about it. Clearly.

So what's waiting for me in the mail when I get back home? An application for a Platinum Visa Card ...from the AARP. I mean, I knew 35 was up there, but that's ridiculous.

Martha's New Show

2005-09-13T11:36:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine who works at Martha Stewart advised me to tune in today to her new live show, that it should not be missed. I did watch it, and it was rather painful. I think what my friend was referring to were the surprising references throughout the show to Martha's time in prison. (I thought Ricky Martin was going to come out or something.)

For instance, one of Martha's friends in prison gave her a crocheted poncho (pay attention, StuntMother!), which Martha wore, famously, on her exit from Alderson. Well, today, in her 2nd live show, she had every audience member and all of the staff -- even her two dogs -- in ponchos, and she had a woman named Lily Chen crocheting like mad, live. Lily Chen, whose name was never shortened to "Lily" by Martha but was always "LilyChen," can make over 100 double something stitches in a 3-minute period, if that means anything to you. LilyChen scared me.

Martha's first guest was David Spade, who had done a spoof of Martha on Saturday Night Live recently, complete with poncho. This whole scenario was just weird. David came on with his hair styled exactly as Martha's and in an identical outfit. Together they fashioned "prison food," and I am not even kidding. Martha taught David how to make baked apples and sandwiches and nachos using only the ingredients and equipment that had been available to her in prison. This was the freakiest thing I have ever seen. Besides the references to plastic forks that wore down within the week, butter that was either old or had to be traded for, grapefruit rinds that were salvaged for zest, and the foraging of "wild greens" around the prison grounds, there was just something so unbearably sad here. I think it was the loss of dignity, in the guise of poking fun of oneself.

In other news, my old love Bob Saget appears in a bathrobe in the new Vanity Fair.