Provocateur

Levi Johnston in Playgirl -- Yeah OK....

2009-10-07T09:58:00.001-07:00

Levi Johnston keeps talking about how he is working out so he's ready for his big Playgirl shoot. He even said he isn't sure what issue it will appear in.

Oh boy.

I worked there...for years and years. And it doesn't exist anymore. Shuttered in December of 08 or January 09. Sure, there's an online version, but posing naked online and being a featured nude in a magazine are two very different things.

I'm confused over why the very same media outlets who reported that Playgirl magazine is gone is also reporting that Levi will be in an upcoming issue. Are they that clueless?

Or maybe the joke is on Levi?

Michael Jackson Ruled

2009-06-26T12:48:00.001-07:00

I still can't believe he's dead. It just doesn't seem real. But a lot of things in Michael Jackson's like didn't seem real. Like his talent -- it was outer-worldly.

His work as a kid with Jackson 5, Off the Wall, Thriller...such a big part of my childhood.

My mom's best friend Regina even made me a white glove like his because she knew how much I loved him.

My friend Colleen and I had a dance school for the neighborhood kids (when we were 11, I think). We charged kids 50 cents to teach them dance moves. Thriller was our first one. I studied that video and taught the kids every move.

Rest in peace, Michael Jackson.

I Wish I Could Afford McQueen

2009-06-05T10:02:00.001-07:00

Oh Alexander McQueen RTW, you are so beautiful, feminine, and so very me. If only I had a ton of money.

As seen on Gilt.

Early Marilyn Monroe Photos

2009-06-02T11:00:00.001-07:00

She's breathtaking.

From CNN

Gorgeous

2009-05-01T11:25:00.000-07:00

Everything about this photo, or really still from a film, is gorgeous.

The color.
The lush woods.
The girl.
The dress.
The mood.

It's from the film The Fish Child currently being shown at the Tribeca Film Festival. Written by Lucia Puenzo, The Fish Child is based on a short story with a dog as the narrator. It's about two women in love. It's funny, dark, and mysterious.

I can't wait to see it!

Opposites Attract

2009-04-24T14:01:00.000-07:00

Tiger: You know how much I love you....

Monkey: Baby, you're the best.

Blue Suede Shoes, I Love You

2009-04-10T10:37:00.000-07:00

I wish I was a size 6. I would buy these.

Size 8 isn't a good size to be when shopping for vintage shoes. People had smaller feet.

I wonder if that means that in 30 years our feet grow even more?

Fuzzy Love

2009-02-25T08:40:00.001-08:00

Honduran white bats...cute while sleeping.
A bit scary looking head on.
Still love.

People Are Getting Sloppy...

2009-01-23T13:21:00.000-08:00

...or maybe careless or maybe it's just me...maybe I just respect the art of grammar too much.

I was reading a magazine that I really like -- a fashion glossy -- and they described a product that's name was clearly a French phrase as Spanish. The product was even from a well-known French company.

I know this magazine has a ton of editors. Many eyes see this copy before it goes to print. So how does it slip?

Then...something even worse happened.

I was reading a book by one of my favorite authors, published by a company I hold in high regard, and there it was...a spelling error.

I feel so let down.

I'm not perfect...I've made grammatical errors here and there (never hear and their). But it's usually on something only my eyes saw before publishing...like this blog. But even if I do make a mistake, it pains me.

It's a good thing there is only one way to spell "change."

Mating Game

2008-11-04T12:27:00.001-08:00

What do you think about my little new baby Dale?
MakeMeBabies.com - What will your baby look like?

From Reality To A Run For Congress

2008-09-08T16:05:00.000-07:00

I'm old enough to remember when MTV's Real World was something exciting—a reality show never before seen. And the token black guy on the first ever premiere of that show was Kevin Powell. I remember him being a poet. He's done quite a lot since then, including some really great articles, and he's now running for Congress representing the 10th District in Brooklyn, which just so happens to include my birthplace of East New York.

Real World: Red Hook's "job" should be to work with Powell on his bid. He's a Democrat so it could cause strife if some of those seven strangers were Republicans. It could open up a discussion on politics and increase political awareness in those young whippersnappers, but I doubt that will be their task. They're probably all in a bar right now getting hammered and complaining about their lame job at an online upstart or internship at a music magazine.

I Am Right Handed

2008-09-05T07:12:00.001-07:00

McCain deserves to be President. The USA deserves Obama.

McCain represents incredible courage, he is a strong man, a war hero, and when he spoke at the RNC I was moved. He showed his family side, the pride he has in all seven of his children, and the faith he has in Sarah Palin. I was impressed with Palin. For the first time ever speaking in front of an audience of that magnitude, on the heels of the personal matters revealed in the press, she was terrific.

Obama was magnetic. At the DNC, he captured the hearts of so many, including mine. He spoke with authority, yet had a softness, he showed the love he has for his family, and the trust he has in Joe Biden. Biden was good, and you can tell how happy he was to be selected as Obama’s VP.

McCain deserves the honor of President. I have faith he would be incredible and his against-the-republican-grain ideals would fare well. I have always liked the man and when they discounted him out of the race before the primaries, I was disappointed. But a man like McCain cannot be held back from realizing his goals. I mean no disrespect by saying the USA deserves Obama—we would be lucky to have McCain as well. It’s just that McCain’s life has truly led him to deserve this honor. And he would treat it as such.

The USA deserves the promise of Obama. While I do feel McCain would change things, Obama is the symbol of change and yes, it has a lot to do with the fact that he is a young African-American man who embodies the characteristics of JFK. Does Obama deserve the presidency? His experiences haven’t taken him there just yet, but there is great promise. People rise to the occasion all the time. It’s America, the land of opportunity.

I feel we would be well-served from either of these men. And that’s a first.

Also, check out my post from January 2007

Deflated

2008-08-12T07:56:00.001-07:00

Never order from Virtual Florist dot com. Never!

They were supposed to deliver me balloons for a photo shoot.
I called to stress the importance of on-time delivery.
They were really nice, promised it wouldn't be a problem.
Time came.
No balloons.
I called. They said it was on the truck, "should be there any minute."
Half hour goes by. I call back.
I suggest she calls the truck to see where they are. Time is ticking, I needed to be at the shoot with the balloons.
She calls back twenty minutes later.
No balloons, no trace of order even though I got two confirmations (through email and verbally).
Disappointed, I still understand. Things happen.
So I tell her to credit my card. She assures me it was never charged and apologizes again.
I did my bills last night and there it was $45.90 from Virtual Florist charged to my account!
I called but it was ten at night and the kid answering the phone couldn't do anything for me.
This morning the woman called me. I'm being credited.

This is a dumb rant, I know.
I just needed to let it out.

Like Wow

2008-08-08T06:58:00.000-07:00

Judging by the crowds in Bryant Park for their Summer Friday music series with GMA, Jonas Brothers are way more popular than Miley Cyrus.

Happy Birthday Duchovs

2008-08-07T13:06:00.001-07:00

You hot, sexy man, you!

Rated PG

2008-08-05T08:28:00.000-07:00

I heard. I know. Playgirl is folding. It’s going to be online only.

Kind of funny since when I worked there the company’s web presence was revoked. Big scandal. Arrests. Including Bruce Chew, a crusader and a man who called me a company person. He was awesome—tanned and toned and always smelled great. When we would have to have the cover approved, the last stop was Bruce. To earn his “BC” on the glossy was always a feat. Chew liked my ideas, but then he was locked up.

I was left with Carmine Bellucci, the Publisher, who caused his own bouts of scandal within the company. He didn’t like me. He used the word “cock” a lot. One day he went to Germany or Poland or somewhere like that to work on the production of hardcore videos in conjunction with one of the company’s other titles (High Society or Cheri perhaps) and he never came back. Word was he fell gravely ill, was flown home on the company owner’s private jet, and was “retired.”

Sometime in 2004 that owner, the man whose bust statue ominously peered at you when you stepped off the elevator to his office, took an unprecedented interest in Playgirl. Carl Ruderman took a trip to France, saw some chic gay mags, and came back with an idea: to make Playgirl more like “Sex And The City.”

It was something I fought for since I started there sometime in 1999, though I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way.

The prototypes we created were some of the best Playgirls I’ve ever seen, save for the days of the 70s. Too bad they weren’t approved. We did manage to get one issue out and the higher ups weren’t happy with the lack of penises—they weren’t on every page anymore. There was more mystery, romance, sensuality. Four more issues came out with my imprint and then I was “retired” in my own way in 2005.

“We’re taking you off the magazine,” “I warned you about them,” “I tried to tell you not to push your ideas,” were some of the comments I heard from Ken Kimmel, a cherubic man who served as Creative Director. Ken discovered Jenna Jameson, but he never got any credit for that. He’s a man with great ideas that nobody listens to.

These men, the final say behind Playgirl, were all straight men (as far as I knew). Most of them married with kids.

Why do I think Playgirl failed? Well, when I was there was told it broke even. There were hardly any ads. I don’t think much had changed in those three years. And that’s the problem.

Straight women in middle America loved it for the hunks. Gay men in the metro areas liked it sometimes and they fantasized about turning the straight models gay. Others thought all the guys were gay and hated it. It’s hard to be a magazine hoping to satisfy so many. But it’s even harder to be a magazine about sex for women when the final approval must be made by straight men.

Playgirl started as a nightclub for women in the LA area. It was a response to the women’s movement in the early 70s. A magazine was created for those feminist gals who wanted to express themselves sexually. The magazine cost one dollar—every last one sold out. There was no nudity then, just crossed-legged poses. Lyle Waggoner was the centerfold.

Women complained and wanted to see more. They got what they wanted. But they won’t anymore.

Despite it all, I am really sad it’s not going to exist anymore. But maybe I am more sad about the idea of it or rather my ideas for it (and the team that I had), and all its promise, never being able to come back around and be what it once was.

I used to be Playgirl's Editor-in-Chief.

An addition:
I just thought of something...
Playgirl was a raging success in the 80s, and in that era, men were buffed, oiled, and all "Let's Get Physical" style. The problem with the higher ups at the mag is that they knew this and maybe thought that look was what was needed to make it successful again. Chances are that is when these higher up men were also in their prime. So that "look" was "hot" to them.

Still...a losing battle of the sexes.

Like Lionel Richie

2008-07-18T07:38:00.000-07:00

There are times when I am just sitting and thinking, like when I am on the subway or in the back of a cab, and I am alone with my thoughts and my mind runs. Today I thought about my aunt Tina, who died many, many years ago. She is one of my very favorite people, on this earth or in it. She was actually my great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister. She never had children and she always told me that I was like a daughter to her. Today I thought about when she used to take me to Green Acres mall when I was just a kid. I remember when we would go in summer and drive in her car with the radio blasting singing as the hot air blew in from the windows. She was like Lucille Ball meets Wilma Flintstone. I often think of her in times when I wish I could get her advice or just hear her Forbell Street, Brooklyn-twang.

I still remember her phone number, but I can’t call.

Which makes me think of people who don’t call, don’t respond to emails or texts. But not because they don’t want to, but because they don’t have time or are not in the right frame of mind to talk.

I’ll admit; I hate the phone. Mostly this happened at the onset of cell phone-only use. I used to love it. Talked for hours sometimes. But not since I’ve gone cellular.

Why do we put off calling, meeting, talking in person? I wish I could talk to my aunt Tina. I wish I talked to her more when she was alive. I was in college when she passed away. Busy. Didn’t call a lot. Until her cancer returned some twenty-odd years later.

Then I called a lot. Visited her and brushed her hair. Fed her. I had major guilt that I was too wrapped up in my own life to be there for her more. To have her enrich my life by just talking more to her as an adult. She was an amazing woman. She always made sure my uncle had my favorite foods in the house when I stayed over—especially Entenmann’s Chocolate Chip cookies. I liked them before they had the new recipe, so it was always the original. Like her.

So call. Make time. Return that email.

Trash Talk

2008-07-17T12:01:00.001-07:00

Garbage men are curious creatures. They are always nice to me when I see them in the morning. Yesterday one said to me that I looked very pretty today and he followed it up with “but I bet you look pretty every day.” It was nice to hear.

When I lived on Eagle Street in Greenpoint, I would see this one garbage man often. He would always say hello or comment on the weather. I would smile and say hello back, make small chat, you know the kind you can only have while walking past someone without stopping.

I moved away, three years passed, and then I saw him again randomly outside a diner. He remembered me, even saying “you used to live on Eagle.” What a great memory.

My uncle Ronnie was a garbage man. He found two puppies inside a thick Hefty bag on the streets of East New York. He heard whimpers just before the metal thing smooshed the contents of the bin.

Lifesaver. This is funny if you knew my uncle Ronnie.

He brought them to my house and my parents let my sister and I have one. We named her Pookie. I watched her give birth to five puppies five years later. And three years after that I locked myself in the bathroom in hysterics when I found out my dad gave her away after she bit a couple of neighborhood kids.

That was really mean.

Not Pookie’s actions, but dad’s.

I’ve never seen a garbage woman. Yet, by the law of averages, it’s safe to say that men are the ones who most often take out the garbage. But essentially garbage men are part of a clean up, which, again, by the law of averages, isn’t most men’s specialty.

And maybe my view of men is a little messed up. Not all, just some.

And you know how if you do something all day at work, it’s often the last thing you want to do at home?

I wonder if garbage men take out their own garbage.

I would ask but it would require me to stop.

Eva Mendes Is Gorgeous

2008-07-07T12:53:00.001-07:00

She's like Cindy Crawford meets Sophia Loren.

Coffee Talk

2008-07-02T11:24:00.000-07:00

I am never cursing Starbucks again.

And this has nothing do with the closing of 600 stores.

Yesterday after work I wanted a little coffee delight and thought about trying Dunkin Donuts’ Coolata instead. The Coffee Coolata was my favorite frosty drink before Starbucks moved conveniently to every corner.

I was denied.

Apparently they didn’t have Coolatas even though the signs floating overhead were boasting their photos. The service was less friendly than the people on my overly crowded train this morning and a medium was going to set me back $4.79! More than a Grande Coffee Frappucino at Starbucks. And this wasn’t my only bad experience at D’n D—I have had countless negative experiences there and they always seem really dirty.

Sure Starbucks has sometimes left me waiting for my drink because someone forgot to yell it out (or forgot to hear) and the lines are sometimes out the door. But the people who work there are always nice. Maybe it’s because they hold the title of barista.

Maybe it’s because they don’t need Rachael Ray to get you to try their products. I can’t stand her, so it actually was a deterrent.

On a brighter note: The chocolate cake they have at Pret A Manger is heavenly.

Rhymes With Leslie Mann

2008-06-25T11:48:00.000-07:00

For some reason I just remembered a guy I used to know whose name was Spam. Not his real name, obviously. But it was the boyfriend of a girl I was friends with in college (I cannot recall her name, though). They were ravers (did not approve) and this was before the Internet was as popular as it is now, so he was really nicknamed after real spam, which is fake ham. I guess calling the Internet popular isn't the right wording. Weird. Just like Spam.

Reasons For Our High Unemployment Rate

2008-06-25T08:32:00.000-07:00

Newspapers are laying off workers and outsourcing to other countries!

OC Register to outsource some editing to India
From Business Week
Some highlights (or lowlights):
An Indian company will take over copy editing duties for some stories published in The Orange County Register and will handle page layout for a community newspaper at the company that owns the Pulitzer Prize-winning daily, the newspaper confirmed Tuesday.

The company has been through three rounds of layoffs in the past year, most recently in April when up to 90 employees lost their jobs. Employees were also offered a voluntary severance program in 2006.

Other newspapers also have outsourced some work to India. Mindworks began copyediting and design of a weekly community news section and other special advertising sections at The Miami Herald in January. A month earlier, the Sacramento Bee, also owned by the McClatchy Co., said it would outsource some of its advertising production work to India.

Loving Otis

2008-06-23T11:13:00.001-07:00

Many moons ago, when I was in college, there was this open-all-night mini-market that sold Otis Spunkmeyer chocolate chip cookies. There were certain times of the day that they would bake them right there and when you got on that was fresh out of the oven it was pure heaven. The middle was gooey and not well-done, yet the outermost part was slightly crispy...perfect.

I used to buy four for a dollar and go down the street to the diner's vestibule to play Mortal Combat...or is it Kombat? I hate when people misspell on purpose. Maybe even more than when people misspell accidentally. Maybe. And maybe sometimes I even bought eight instead of four. Cookies for breakfast!

Did you know that Subway sells Otis Spunkmeyer chocolate chip cookies?!

Yum.

Junior Wins!

2008-06-16T11:00:00.000-07:00

Dale Jr. wins! And I got weepy.

From Yahoo Sports

In two ironic twists, Earnhardt Jr.'s winless streak ends at 76, the same number of races his late father won in his Cup career. And the winless streak was snapped on Father's Day.

"It makes me feel good, even though I know I can't tell my father Happy Father's Day," Earnhardt said. "But I get the opportunity to wish it upon all the other fathers out there, and I genuinely mean that when I say it because that's what today is all about."

Friday The 13th

2008-06-13T09:35:00.000-07:00

From Diane:

This is how my day started: I got up early to go to the gym only to find a drunken man outside my apartment door (my door - not the building door!) in a semi passed out state. And while I was trying to decide what to do, he manages to fall down the stairs and then just passes out where he lands. So I call 911 and have to wait for EMTs to arrive (15 minutes!). Then I have to go downstairs to let them in, meaning I have to step over his passed out body (I don't think he was really hurt, I just wanted him out of there). I open the door for them, ask if I need to stick around, they say no, so I went straight to gym and by the time I was back everyone was gone. All this before 6am!

Love

2008-06-13T09:05:00.000-07:00

An Affair To Remember
She was 82. He was 95. They had dementia. They fell in love. And then they started having sex.
By Melinda Henneberger
from Slate

Great article...here are some highlights:

"He was going, 'She had her mouth on my dad's penis! And it's not even clean!' " Bob's son became determined to keep the two apart and asked the facility's staff to ensure that they were never left alone together.

"We're all going to get old, if we're lucky," said the daughter, who is a lawyer. And if we get lucky when we're old, then we need to have drawn up a sexual power of attorney before it's too late.

One day, the staff noticed that they were sitting together, then before long they were taking all their meals together, and over a matter of weeks, it became constant. Whenever Bob caught sight of Dorothy, he lit up "like a young stud seeing his lady for the first time." Even at 95, he'd pop out of his chair and straighten his clothes when she walked into the room. She would sit, and then he would sit. And both of them began taking far greater pride in their appearance; Dorothy went from wearing the same ratty yellow dress all the time to appearing for breakfast every morning in a different outfit, accessorized with pearls and hair combs.

Crazy Love

2008-06-12T14:12:00.000-07:00

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles.
And when I come to her that's where I belong
Yet I'm running to her like a river's song.

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love.
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love.

She's got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down
And I come to her when the sun goes down
Take away my trouble, take away my grief
Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief.

Yes, I need her in the daytime.
Yes, I need her in the night.
Yes, I want to throw my arms around her
Kiss her hug her, kiss her hug her tight.

And when I'm returning from so far away
She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day.
Yes' it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole
Yes' it makes me mellow down into my soul.

First dance, Van Morrison

Miss Mrs.

2008-06-12T10:05:00.000-07:00

I wore my wedding shoes to work today...with jeans. Rose gold heels by Bettye Muller. I wish I could wear that dress again. Vintage-looking, A-line, sweetheart neck, lace, pleating, romantic.

I miss it.

I'm a Mrs.

Four Weddings And A Funeral

2008-05-14T09:37:00.000-07:00

I'm always in awe of women who just exude glamour. Who seem to wake up with sunshine on their face and rosy glow on their cheeks, a subtle smile that makes the day better because she is a part of it. Women who are women, a feminine beauty so undeniable that no matter what age, what ailment, what sorrows of time, it's always evident.

My Aunt Eileen was one of the most incredibly beautiful women ever to grace this earth. She had a rasp to her voice that was both sexy and smart, a way about her that was endearing, yet fierce and strong. She was glamour. She was 67. She died on Saturday. Today I will mourn her.

I am finding it hard to face my Uncle Gene, my godfather, an equally elegant man, a man whose love for his wife was so apparent and enchanting. A man whose pain is beyond words.

Thank you Aunt Eileen, for making this world a more beautiful place.

The Return Of Brown Bear

2008-04-25T06:56:00.001-07:00

Found in the kitchen area. Brown Bear is back.
Safe.
Who knows what mental trauma he may have been through.

The Doodie

2008-04-24T13:46:00.001-07:00

So I am in the stall, going pee.
It's "Take Your Kids To Work Day" remember?
And two of them walk in. Mumbled talk...one boy, one girl.
She has to pee.
I'm done and washing my hands now.
She's undoing her diaper, he's standing right next to her in the stall, taking bites of his bagel.
She keeps saying, "That's a doodie."
I left.

The Teddy

2008-04-24T07:51:00.000-07:00

Today is "Take Your Kids To Work Day" at my job. I don't have kids, but 99.999 percent of the people I work with do. It's a zoo in here. A menagerie of whiners from toddler to ten.

One stole my bear. She saw it as she was walking by and asked about it. I had my back to the opening of my cube and tried to ignore her. Kids don't play like that. Louder, she asked what his name was. He doesn't have one. She told me she had a bear just like him at home, but he's bigger, and his name is Brown Bear.

OMG...as I type one of the women I work with burst into tears and ran into the CEO's office. I don't know why.

Anyway...back to the kids.

I suggest naming my bear Brown Bear Junior. She says, no. He's just Brown Bear.

OK.

She asks if she can play with him today. No problem. He actually isn't really mine. He was already in my cube when I started working here and had on a promotional life insurance t-shirt. I took it off. He wasn't naked though...I tied a ribbon around his neck.

So little girl leaves with Brown Bear only to return about ten minutes later and asks if she can take the bow off.

Odd. He's so much cuter with the bow on.

I say yes. She leaves.

I wonder if I'll ever see him again.

Penis De Milo

2008-04-23T10:17:00.000-07:00

"Police in Congo have arrested 13 suspected sorcerers accused of using black magic to steal or shrink men's penises after a wave of panic and attempted lynchings triggered by the alleged witchcraft."

-Penis snatching are not uncommon in West Africa.

-Beware of fellow passengers in communal taxis wearing gold rings.

-Sorcerers simply touched them to make their genitals shrink or disappear.

-In Ghana a decade ago, 12 suspected penis snatchers were beaten to death by angry mobs. Those who were jailed have been released.

From a witness: "It's real. Just yesterday here, there was a man who was a victim. We saw. What was left was tiny."

From Reuters

An Echo, A Stain

2008-04-22T09:52:00.000-07:00

Most of the music I like is sung by men. That’s not to say I don’t like female singers, I do, just not that many of them—particularly when it comes to music released within the past ten to twenty years. But when I do like them, it’s like an obsession. When PJ Harvey’s Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea came out, it’s all I listened to…on repeat. And roll your eyes all you want—Tori Amos is amazing. “1000 Oceans” makes it into my favorite songs of all time list.

I went to my friends wedding this weekend. Dan and Tracy danced to Bjork’s “Come To Me.” It was gorgeous, enchanting, sweet, delicate. I remember when I bought the album, Vespertine—I was visiting my friend, Kathleen, in San Francisco for a weekend and I was flying home, alone, listening to it on the plane. Massive turbulence. Flying through a wicked storm. I saw black clouds. Lightning. Scariest flight ever. Oddly, it was September 2, 2001. I thought I was going to die and Vespertine was my soundtrack. Not a bad way to go, I suppose. I could’ve been listening to The Strokes’ Is This It, the other album I bought at Amoeba Music that weekend. It was the cool cover with the naked chick that ended up being banned so they changed it. Oh yeah, they weren’t albums, they were discs. I was still listening to my SONY Walkman from college. What a great electronic device—lasted me until I bought an iPod…in 2004.

Kathleen flew to NYC a few days later to visit her family. She was booked on United Flight 93 to return to San Francisco. Thank god she changed her plans and went home the 9th instead. I don’t talk to her anymore, which is sad. I met her in high school.

I hate flying.

I saw Bjork at Radio City with my sister in support of that record. She was amazing. Had a choir of kids who sang like angels. It brought tears to both our eyes. It enveloped us, seduced, intoxicated. One of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

Bjork’s on repeat…going through her whole catalog...on that same iPod.

The Heart Never Forgets

2008-04-08T14:02:00.000-07:00

I read this on Drudge's headlines: Man With Suicide Victim's Heart Kills Self

Twelve years ago, Sonny Graham received a heart transplant from a donor who died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Sonny killed himself on Tuesday in the same way. But get this...

Sonny was married to a woman named Cheryl, as in the former Cheryl Cottle, widow of Terry Cottle, the man whose heart was beating in Sonny's chest.

After he received his transplant, Sonny wrote letters to Terry's family. He eventually met Cheryl and fell in love with the woman, thirty years his junior.

"I felt like I had known her for years," Graham told The (Hilton Head) Island Packet for a story in 2006. "I couldn't keep my eyes off her. I just stared."

Wow.

Annoying

2008-04-04T10:48:00.000-07:00

Today is annoying.

So is the use of the phrase "not to mention." Like if you were to say: "I really find Jimmy's habit of smoking in the house annoying, not to mention the fact that he always leaves the toilet seat up."

Why "not to mention" when you are in fact mentioning it?

I also get annoyed when people say "I could care less" as in "Dick and Jane are moving, thank God, because I could care less about those two losers!"

It's "couldn't care less" because if you could care less, well then you wouldn't be caring the least about it and apparently that's the point you are trying to make.

Also in the annoying category are people who smoke outside of a restaurant and then come in when they are done, but exhale that last long puff they took once they get inside. Gross.

Total Swoon

2008-04-03T07:55:00.001-07:00

Josh Brolin is hot. I just saw No Country For Old Men last night. Great movie, but dare I say it...his performance was better than Javier Bardem's. I loved them both in it, but Brolin...damn he was good. Man also loves cooking and racing cars.

Littles

2008-04-01T08:10:00.000-07:00

Babies are cute...especially baby possums and baby bats.

I want one of each, but I would want them to stay this size forever and carry them around in my bag.

Congestion Pricing BS

2008-03-31T08:10:00.001-07:00

The Congestion Pricing plan is being hugely hyped today and there is a possibility it will be passed. This means $8 toll to cross over bridges south of 86th Street between 6am and 6pm. While this all sounds great for the environment and traffic, it is a major issue for those living in Brooklyn and Queens, deeming those lesser citizens and not allowing them the same luxuries as those who live in Manhattan. Anyone in Manhattan can take a cab during those hours without any fee, but those who are in the outer boroughs must pay $8? What kind of fairness is that? The MTA is not prepared to take on extra traffic—it can barely hold the riders they currently have. And what about when it rains a little bit and subway lines are deemed out of service? Those of us forced to cab it have to pay an extra $8? This will also affect the number of cabs available in Brooklyn. Yellow cabs will no longer want to travel in the outer boroughs because of this fee. This greatly affects quality of life. The city says, "only 5% of commuters in Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island and the Bronx commute to the Manhattan CBD by private car." This means it mostly affects the taxis.

They say "the revenues collected through the charge will be used solely to fund expansions and improvements to our regional transit system and acheive (sic) a state of good repair on city streets and on the transit system." (Idiots.) But what about the money they do have? Where is the money from the raises in the cost of taking public transportation? Weren't they supposed to fix the system with that money? Plus, wasn't there was a surplus last year? Where is that money going?

I find it humorous that they mention they will make biking and walking safer. That's great...but why the hell would I ride my bike to work? I don't work at a sports facility where biking clothing is acceptable at the office...and I am not peddling in to go to college, so that's out of the question.

The main issue with this is that it deems anyone who doesn’t live in Manhattan second class citizens who are not allowed the same privileges. That’s some major BS.

Spitzer's Pussies

2008-03-28T10:11:00.000-07:00

Oh Eliot!

Mmmustachios!

2008-03-28T06:40:00.000-07:00

Emperor Tamarin monkeys. Oh la la!

How About Them Apples

2008-03-28T06:33:00.000-07:00

Hans and I were walking to the train this morning and saw a truck that said, "Johnny Rotten's Produce."

So we were coming up with better names.

Freddy Fresh's...
Fresh Prince's...
No.

Sid Delicious'!

Aye Aye Aye

2008-03-27T06:59:00.000-07:00

Poor little lemur! This Aye Aye Lemur is just a baby and is super rare. They were hunted in their native Madagascar because they were seen as bad omens. This one looks like my cat, Lil Louie Monster...if he was wet.

Question

2008-03-27T06:57:00.000-07:00

How do you throw a garbage pail away?

Ouch

2008-03-20T12:48:00.000-07:00

We Are Family

2008-03-14T12:35:00.000-07:00

Meet the Marmoset family.

Hey, Hey We're The Monkeys!

2008-03-14T12:32:00.000-07:00

Monkeys get married too!

Extra Extramarital

2008-03-10T13:06:00.001-07:00

First New Jersey's Governor McGreevey, married to a woman and thought-to-be straight, had an affair with a man.

Now New York's Governor Spitzer, thought-to-be shady (by me), admits to getting it on with a prostitute.

Look out Connecticut...these things happen in threes and you complete the tri-state area.

UPDATE: Former Connecticut Governor John G. Rowland was sent to the slammer back in 2005 for corruption! He wasn't having sex with high-price call girls or men with names like Golan, which is why I probably forgot about this dousy.

Whoa, Man!

2008-03-10T12:30:00.000-07:00

The moment I realized I was dating a guy who was also dating someone else was a weird one. I was twenty-three and been with Joe LaDouche (my sister's play on his real last name) for about seven months. I had suspected something wasn't right and I found a number in his wallet. (A snooper always finds what she is looking for.) I wrote the number down and called it. When a woman answered, I introduced myself as Michele, Joe LaDouche's girlfriend. She said, "What?" I repeated myself, and she told me to hold on that her sister was on the other line and she had to get off that call.

She came right back and what could have been a verbal cat fight turned out to be one of the greatest moments, where two women came together in a situation that could have turned them against each other.

Her name was Bernice and she didn't know Joe had a girlfriend. She was pissed he had two of us. She told me that Joe, a pizza delivery guy, was going to come over her house after he got off of work. She wanted me there too. So I went.

Bernice was beautiful. She had deep olive skin and super short hair that showed off her perfect cheekbones. I possessed no hatred for her. We were quite different in style and look, but we had Joe in common, as well as the desire to call him out on his betrayal.

Her plan when Joe was to arrive was different than the one I would have orchestrated, but I was on her turf, so I complied. I was to hide in the closet until he came into her apartment. She was going to start asking him about me and it was up to me when I wanted to pop out.

When I heard Joe respond, "She's my crazy ex-girlfriend who won't leave me alone," I opened the door with the question: "Your ex-girlfriend?!"

He was startled, started heading for the door, and shouted, "You bitches are crazy!"

Yes...we were, but Bernice then took out a bat and blocked him from leaving. She demanded to know details—the why, how could he—but it really didn't matter. Bernice wanted nothing to do with him and neither did I—she and I had formed a bond perhaps far greater than anything Joe and I experienced in those seven months. We were women, being women to each other.

She didn't hit him with the bat or anything. He left shortly after. Her first words to me were: "Are you OK?" Then we counseled each other on how we both deserved better.

Today I was encountered with a similar situation—not involving me, but someone I love more than life itself. The other woman was nothing like Bernice...in fact, woman is too good a word.

I thanked her so many times all those years ago, but this experience made me think of her again.

Thank you, Bernice.

Woman On Top?

2008-03-05T10:24:00.000-08:00

Maybe Hillary and Barack should just decide who is going to be on top. Joining forces could make them the ultimate force to reckon with.

I wonder who is going to be McCain's running mate? If he gets Ron Paul, he may have a fighting chance.

Kissing Like Bret Michaels

2008-03-05T06:42:00.000-08:00

Lemur! So cute!

Doing It For The Cause

2008-02-29T11:14:00.000-08:00

I am an activist. There is a cause I am willing to sign online petitions for. A fight so good that I will boastfully declare it's valid enough for a blog in hopes to rally others to speak out and stop the atrocity.

Polaroid...please don't go.
We always look good on you because you wash out our flaws.
You make us want to jump on the bed in our undies amongst a splay of prints, camera in hand, snapping, laughing.
You are like a photobooth in the privacy of our own home.
You provide us with the ability to take naughty photos with instant printed satisfaction.
What will Dash Snow do now?

The petition is here. Your help is needed!

A Southern Man Tells Better Jokes

2008-02-28T08:06:00.000-08:00

I have such an affection for a Southern-style of life. I'm talking taking a hollow-wheel pickup to the local store, spreading chicken feed on a farm, three-wheeling in the woods, dirt bike racing, and being able to stare up at the stars from a porch with nothing around for miles. Someday, I hope to drive my RV all over the country following the NASCAR circuit. I want to have a '77 Nova in starlight blue parked in the barn next to my tractor. But I will never give up my heels...ever. I can do all those things in them...and if there's mud, there's always Frye boots.

What's odd though, is that I grew up with concrete. My first house on Forbell Street in East New York, Brooklyn, maybe had one tree on the block. I spent most of my years on 77th Street in Ozone Park where I vividly remember the day the Parks Department came and planted trees in front of each row house stoop. They looked like sticks, held up by other sticks. I don't ever remember seeing leaves. We had a yard, but it was Astroturfed.

When my parents took the family upstate on a trip to the Catskills, my sister and I were in awe of the mountains. We went on a kids outing with the hotel to a bowling alley and I remember being on the bus and the other kids started moaning about how they smelled manure. We figured it out from the odor, but we had never heard that word before.

Later that year, when I was twelve, we moved to the "country" to a small town called Montgomery in Orange County, New York. I hated it. Oddly I didn't feel safe. I was scared of the vastness, but I didn't feel secure in Queens either since our home was broken into while we were there. I also didn't like the way the locals said "orange" and "banana." There was a twang to it, and I didn't understand why since we were further north. Something happened, albeit briefly, that I started to tell my parents that I didn't like the South or Southerners, and I honestly don't know why. It may have had something to do with a girl who had just moved from Tennessee and was new at my school. I didn't like her...but I can't remember why.

I eventually went to college further upstate, but then moved back down to Brooklyn, my birthplace, where I still live and where I dream of driving a '54 Chevy truck. I am engaged to a Southern man who was born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and spent most of his life in Savannah, Georgia. I am a member of Earnhardt Nation and I think Cooley is a stand-out on the new Drive-By Truckers record...but I do wish Isbell was still in the band, though "Chicago Promenade" off of his solo album gives me chills.

I'm getting hitched in the French Quarter of New Orleans and I love reading this Kentucky man's blog who I don't even know. My neice's name is Tennessee and she is the most amazing being I have ever met. To see her grow and learn with my own eyes is bigger than Jesus, and it taught me that there are things in this life that really don't matter and there are other things that really really do.

*Art by Wes Freed. He's amazing.

Easy, Heart

2008-02-13T13:15:00.000-08:00

We give hearts filled with chocolate, we nibble on sugary heart-shaped candies, we draw hearts on cards, and we cross our hearts…but we really don’t hope to die. And we really don’t treat our heart, or the hearts of others, as good as we should.

People die of broken hearts. They really do. It happens a lot in the elderly. When a significant other dies, the other one, even if not ill, dies soon after.

If someone is going through great pain in matters of the heart, it can literally kill a person.

Two people in my life are going through a tremendously tough time right now. I love them both with all of my heart, and they are both in so much pain that I wish I could put a bandaid on the situation and make it all better. But I can’t. And now tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and the waves of pain will rise perhaps higher. The heart monitor will probably indicate increased levels, the stress will go higher and higher, things will be consumed in hopes to make the feelings all go away, but they won’t…it will all still be there in the morning, only with more stress, more strain, more pain.

Every time we hurt another person, and I mean hurt deeply, it’s like taking a piece of their heart, chipping away at its health, causing profound hurt and harm.

This Valentine’s Day, I hope we all treat the hearts of others with kindness.

Texas Treat

2008-01-31T13:52:00.000-08:00

I recieved a press release today for PickleSickles and yes, it's what you would think...a frozen popsicle that tastes like a pickle. Made in Texas, this treat is, according to the PR company, super popular and even has health benefits. There's also a song devoted to this product on their site, PickleSickle.com. Wow.

Note: Don't the singing pickles look like condoms?

Giants!

2008-01-20T19:15:00.000-08:00

"It's About Tynes." (My headline.)

"Third Tynes A Charm." (Jens' headline.)

I wonder what The Post will come up with.

Wacko Detox

2008-01-18T14:34:00.000-08:00

Breaking up...it's hard when it's your significant other, but may be even harder when it's a friend. I've touched on this subject before (yawn...haven't we all), but I just got a press release for a new book called Wacko Detox 2008: Six Ways to Remove Problematic People from Your Life This Year, and it got me thinking.

From the release:
"Are the Wackos in your life bringing you down? Why not make this the year you get rid of them once and for all? Author Christina Eckert explains how ridding yourself of toxic acquaintances is your smartest goal yet."

When Eckert talks about tell-tale signs of a "Wacko," I will admit I fall into some of her stereotypes (I love a good grudge), but I think all this wacko talk is a way for the person who wants to end the relationship to feel better about themselves. In this me-me-me look-at-me self-absorbed society, it's fitting. But must we resort to calling another person a wacko just because we don't vibe with them as a friend anymore? People change (it's not a bad thing), lose touch, and sometimes don't feel the need or yearning to reconnect or continue with the friendship. It can be a big blowout that ended it or a slow fade, but sometimes friendships are irreparable...like a lot of romantic ones are. There doesn't have to be ill will, the nostalgia of the good times is still there, but it’s over, and it will never be like it once was. And that's OK.

Ouch! Holy! Dung!

2008-01-10T19:08:00.001-08:00

John Kerry is supporting Obama. What a diss to his old running (and "great hair") mate John Edwards.

And why is the media calling John McCain's win in New Hampshire shocking? He won there last year. Now Giuliani winning there? That would be a sensational uproar similar to the one the former mayor caused at the Brooklyn Museum in 1999.

Bloody Hell

2008-01-10T18:49:00.000-08:00

Sandwiched between two feminine hygiene commercials was a moment on "Celebrity Apprentice" when Gene Simmons mouths off some machismo remark about Ivanka going to tell her “sisters” what the men were up to. It was classic Simmons, but what disgusted me more were those commercials.

First up was Tampax. The commercial features young women in their home in Africa with a narrative about how x amount of girls miss school because they have their periods and have no protection. I’ve missed work because of crippling cramps, but thankfully have always had the proper barriers to both allow me to get my period and let me to function when Flow arrives. The ending slogan? “Use your period for good.”

Um…what?

While still wondering why Tampax just doesn’t donate a ton of tampons to these girls, another commercial similar in nature comes on. This time we see the African girls in school and it’s the brand Always conveying the same message. Their tagline? “Have a happy period.”

I’m all about the cause—no woman should have to go without at least a panty liner, but I don’t like how Tampax and Always incorporate this need into an ad to supposedly do good, yet it manipulates consumers. When I am in the store buying these products, it’s bad enough I have to choose between plastic and cardboard applicators. But now I need to think about using my time of the month for good? Isn’t it already good in its own bloody way? Besides, if people cannot afford or do not have the stores to acquire pads or tampons each month, we should be donating the washable, more practical cotton cloth re-usable pads. Makes more sense for the menses.

By the way, Nadia Comaneci looks fantastic.

No, I Don't Want To Call Now

2008-01-10T08:42:00.000-08:00

Every weekend morning, while sitting half comatose drinking coffee and watching NY1 even through the repeat loops, The New York Times commercial comes on telling me to pick up the phone and order my Sunday Times. I'm a sucker for buying things seen on TV (Kinoki Foot Pads and Miracle Putty are on the way), but I am not interested in smug yuppies trying to push this tired and tarnished newspaper on me. As if they didn't learn from Jayson Blair, the pub is at it again.

From Guardian UK:

The Sunday Times inadvertently ran an article at the weekend that plagiarised material from a US magazine, it has emerged.

A piece headlined "50 Reasons Why You're Still Single" appeared in the Sunday Times Style magazine, bylined to the title's deputy editor, Camilla Long.

The feature was a humorous miscellany of men and women's irritating personal habits, such as "use the word babe" and "posed with your cat on your Facebook profile".

However, more than 15 of the Sunday Times' 50 entries were substantially similar to a list, "100 Reasons Why You're Still Single", that appeared in US pop culture Radar magazine last September.

The Style magazine editor, Tiffany Darke, confirmed that the magazine's deputy editor, Camilla Long, penned the piece.

Darke also confirmed that many of the items were the same as those included in Radar's list.

She told MediaGuardian.co.uk that Style magazine had decided to run a piece on the theme and invited contributions from friends, contacts and colleagues.

The Sunday Times' "50 Reasons..." piece had separate men's and women's lists with 25 items each, while Radar had a single list with 100 entries.

Darke said the items that were the same as on Radar's list came from an unnamed contributor and the magazine ran them without checking.

Some of the listed items the Sunday Times ran were adapted for the UK.

Number 58 on the Radar list, "Have taken more than one cell phone picture of your genitals", becomes on the Sunday Times men's list, at number 21, "Have ever taken more than one mobile-phone photograph of your genitals".

Similarly, number 78 in Radar - "Own all 24 volumes of Now That's What I Call Music!" - becomes in the Sunday Times women's list "Own 27 volumes of Now That's What I Call Music!".

The Radar magazine executive editor, Aaron Gell, said: "Although we never like to pile on when one of our fellow hacks gets in a jam, we'll take it as a sign we need to dust off our plans for Radar UK."

Compare and contrast: The Sunday Times' "50 Reasons Why You're Still Single" v Radar's "100 Reasons You're Still Single"
Radar: 5. Are only gay when you're drunk
Sunday Times: 16. Are only gay when you're drunk

Radar: 38. Refuse to remove your Bluetooth earpiece during sex
Sunday Times: 18. Refuse to remove your Bluetooth headset before making love

Radar: 52. Have more than zero stuffed animals on your bed
Sunday Times: 3. Have more than zero stuffed animals on your bed

Radar: 37. Prefer the "fist bump" when meeting strangers and always insist they "lock it in"
Sunday Times: 12. Prefer the "fist bump" when meeting strangers, and always insist they "lock it in"

Radar: 55. Think the energy crisis can be solved with crystals
Sunday Times: 19. Think the energy crisis can be solved with crystals

Radar: 58. Have taken more than one cell phone picture of your genitals
Sunday Times: 21. Have ever taken more than one mobile-phone photograph of your genitals

Radar: 78. Own all 24 volumes of Now That's What I Call Music!
Sunday Times: 22. Own 27 volumes of Now That's What I Call Music!

Radar: 13. Use emoticons in handwritten letters
Sunday Times: 18. Write in coloured ink and/or use smiley faces in handwritten letters

Radar: 70. Sold your forehead to goldenpalace.com
Sunday Times: 10. Have sold your forehead to an internet advertising agency

Radar: 8. Have a ferret on your shoulder
Sunday Times: 23. Have a stuffed parrot on your shoulder

Radar: 97. Phone in long-distance radio dedications
Sunday Times: 22. Have telephoned in a late-night radio dedication

Radar: 30. Own a calendar featuring babies dressed as cowboys
Sunday Times: 1. Have a calendar stuck to your wall with pictures of babies in plant pots

Radar: 47. Have a five o'clock shadow, on your ass
Sunday Times: 16. Have a five o'clock shadow

Radar: 99. Believe the mouth is self-cleaning
Sunday Times: 6. Believe that certain things are self-cleaning

Radar: 6. Have written poetry inside a Starbucks
Sunday Times: 8. Have written poetry in Costa Coffee

Radar: 57. Own a 60-inch flat-screen plasma television but sleep on a broken futon
Sunday Times: 5. Have nothing but a broken sandwich toaster, a camp bed and a 60in plasma screen in your flat

--------End Piece.

The Times should stick to the news...the hard news. Forget the flawed book lists and Sunday specials—they should spend time paying attention to the reporters who are supposed to be putting forth originial and reliable copy.

Reasons I Don’t Like This Warm Weather In January

2008-01-09T07:25:00.000-08:00

-You add a little heat and everything smells worse. Winter’s chill keeps things crisp, frozen, nearly scentless.
-It’s too warm to wear gloves and I don’t mind having to hold the subway polls with this shield to protect my skin from touching the poll. No one wants subway hands.
-There were rollerbladers on the sidewalk…on Broadway…in NoHo…at 6:30pm.
-I can see sweatness on others.
-The birds and little woodland creatures get confused.
-I finally got my landlord to turn up the heat after freezing last week and now it’s hotter than David Duchovny in my apartment.
-People are riding bikes, but really they take the subway most of the way….during rush hour.
-Some aforementioned bike “riders” also decorate their “transportation” with stickers that say “Terrorists Ate My Homework,” carry a big drum (on way to protest rally, perhaps?), and sport a lick ’n’ stick tattoo of a happy looking bat on bicep…during rush hour. (Related to warm weather due to bike and bicep exposure.)
-I’ve heard others say, “Ahh…Al Gore was right!”

Besties

2007-12-19T13:23:00.000-08:00

While reading a bunch of recaps of the year in music, I realized I haven’t been that excited about a lot this year. The White Stripes’ Icky Thump was…well, kind of icky. It was too stadium-rock, like you can only listen to it if it’s on 11. Feist had some strong points, but overall as an album I can’t put it in a best list. And even though Paul McCartney’s one-off “Dance Tonight” was utterly adorable (guilty pleasure), I had no interest in putting any more money into Heather Mills’ pocket. Paolo Nutini sounded better unplugged and live, and Ryan Adams may make better music in between speedballing.

I have yet to hear Iron & Wine’s new one, but I bet I would love it and I had no idea that Elliot Smith has a new one out or maybe I did and would just rather enjoy the songs he released while he was alive—XO is a gem.

So, with all that, here are my thoughts on the best of this oh-so fantastic year…even if I didn’t think it earned that title musically.

Best Albums Of 2007

Spoon Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
Jason Isbell Sirens of the Ditch
Beirut The Flying Club Cup
Wilco Sky Blue Sky
Band of Horses Cease To Begin

Mr. Meow Meow

2007-11-18T13:27:00.000-08:00

One year gone. I miss you more everyday.

Everyday Hero

2007-11-16T09:24:00.000-08:00

Eduardo Arias is a hero.

Bitch Is Too Good A Word

2007-08-16T10:02:00.000-07:00

When Teresa whatever-her-last-name-once-was married Dale Earnhardt in 1982, she lined herself up with a legacy. It could have turned out to be what the late-great Earnhardt always wanted—to secure a future for his family. The same family he was unable to provide for as he had wanted…that is, until his success at NASCAR.

Dale Earnhardt died in the final turn of the final lap of the Daytona 500 in 2001. He was defending position for his son, Dale Earnhardt Jr., who was running in second place and his teammate Michael Waltrip, who was leading. They had a one-two finish.

The elder Earnhardt has “defended position” for his son, for his family, on and off the track. It was something he strived for his entire life and putting Dale Earnhardt Inc. (DEI) together was something to help those goals. Teresa took over after his death.

When Dale Jr. expressed concern with the quality of cars he was getting, Teresa didn’t listen. Senior's children, Dale Jr. and Kelley, wanted majority ownership of DEI so they can make the right changes to better the company. It seemed like the natural thing—what Dale Sr. would have wanted. But instead, Teresa fought them, offered 51% ownership for an astronomical fee (even for a millionaire), leaving the real Earnhardts with no choice but to leave the company their father founded. Teresa “defended” her position there. It’s a shame it wasn’t the position we can assume Dale Sr. wanted.

Dale Jr. has signed with the supergroup of Hendrick Motorsports, and his last request from Teresa was to let him keep his number, the 8. The same 8 his grandfather, Ralph Earnhardt, his namesake (Junior’s full name is Ralph Dale Earnhardt Jr.), used to drive. Hendrick even offered money, he has lots of it, but in the end, once again, an agreement could not be reached and the 8 stays with Teresa. Everyone wants to know why, but Teresa is silent most times, only opening her mouth to criticize her late husband's son. She's hardly ever at a race, which is rare for a car owner. There are many other curious things. In the days following Dale Jr.’s tough decision to leave DEI, Teresa's people announced a new venture with Childress to improve their motors, something Junior has asked for but never received. It’s funny how last week Junior’s engine blew up (when he was running in the top 5 most of the day) for the fifth time this season. Adding more insult is the fact that his engine was not a DEI-Childress information sharing motor. So Junior has been given the old crap, unlike his teammate Martin Truex Jr., who while a good racer in the Busch series, didn’t make much of an impression on the Nextel circuit until this motor-merger happened. Truex finished in 6th last week (and is 11th in points overall to Dale Jr.’s 14th). Something really stinks, and it isn’t the fact that a legion of Junior’s fans has 8s inked into their skin forever—blood is not something to be messed with.

*Note: Photo is not of me. I've got a 3.

Nothing "Junior" About This

2007-06-13T08:19:00.001-07:00

Dale Earnhardt Jr. is going to be racing for Rick Hendrick in 2008. I knew it the minute he sat in Kyle Busch's car when Kyle left the racetrack a few months ago and Dale was already out of the race. (Kyle is moving on in '08.) This is huge. This is terrific. At the conference today, Rick Hendrick said he has known Junior since he was a "puppy" and that Senior must be looking down and smiling. Apparently there was a "napkin contract" between Rick and Junior when he was a kid where they signed it saying they would race together someday. It's finally coming true.

If Not For You...

2007-05-22T07:31:00.000-07:00

My mother inched behind him, and with her frail frame, she overpowered the moment with a shriek. We locked eyes, my father and I, and for the first time I sensed his calmness. I aged a dozen more years in that one moment, boldly walking away toward my bottom bunk. Laying on my side with a bird’s eye view of the door just in case, I pulled my blue, floor length Smurf nightgown over my knees, taking solace in the synthetic.

Revved Up History

2007-05-10T12:54:00.000-07:00

Dale Earnhardt Jr., my favorite driver in my favorite sport, is leaving the company his dad founded for him due to him and his step-mom's inability to reach an agreement on the terms of his involvement. It's so much more than that, I am sure, as I am sure it is and will continue to be a difficult time moving forward for him. But I am so excited to see how this transpires, and know this will only help him to win more. Let's start with this Saturday. The future, and Darlington under the lights, never seemed brighter.

Doppelgangbanger

2007-05-07T13:19:00.000-07:00

If Not For You...

2007-02-02T07:58:00.000-08:00

There are things that go through your mind when you are staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Especially if it’s your dad with his finger on the trigger.

I was calm. I felt the blood seemingly trickle from the top of my head draining downward—a numbness with a hint of cold taking over my cheeks. He was postured, with a Vietnam stance, flashbacks from 1970 in his eyes.

I was the enemy.
I was twelve.

A Mid-Winter's Nightmare

2007-01-13T07:54:00.000-08:00

All is fair in love and war.
But is it?
As a society, we chastise those whose opinions differ.
We rally for what we believe will bring change.
And we dare to berate women who are childless.
Well, one woman did. One Barbara Boxer.
A democratic junior senator from California, Boxer said when debating with Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice about Bush’s plan to send more troops to Iraq, "Who pays the price? I'm not going to pay a personal price. My kids are too old, and my grandchild is too young."
Then came the left hook: "You're not going to pay a particular price, as I understand it, with an immediate family. So who pays the price? The American military and their families."
Fox New’s Tony Snow said it best: “Great leap backward for feminism."
Apparently, Boxer thought this would help Rice see the impact of this war on military families, as if Rice has been shielded from reality. Boxer apparently doesn’t realize she stepped into a ring with a pro, a woman who has spent countless hours with our troops and military families. You can’t play mind games with a someone with this kind of intelligence.
After this bout, Boxer was asked if she regretted her comments and she replied that she was saying that the two are in the same position because neither will pay a personal price for the proposed escalation in Iraq.
Personal price? There certainly is a lot more on the line in this war with issues that are not exclusive to those who have children directly fighting this war.
It’s very hip to be anti-war right now, but I’m with Senator John McCain who said, “I’d rather lose a campaign than lose a war.”

True

2006-12-11T09:05:00.000-08:00

A memoir is how one remembers things, often with embellishment. Like remember when your dad yelled at you when you were five and he seemed like he turned into the big bad wolf and had fire coming out of his mouth when he screamed “Don’t ever touch what’s in my top drawer again!” while you stood there with his loaded gun in your hand?

That’s how you remembered it.

That gun may have actually been your mother’s dildo.

Main Coon

2006-11-29T09:13:00.000-08:00

Animals are enchanting. I saw a baby black bear a few weeks ago outside of a Catskill rental home when I was there vacationing. I’ve seen possums on my parents’ deck in upstate NY. But never have I seen a raccoon in Brooklyn. Until Sunday. On that night, there he was on my third floor fire escape peering into the window. I have a rug out there that I set out there to dry, but never brought back in. He was sniffing it and sat down for a minute. He didn’t stay very long—long enough for us to snap some photos and short enough for me to think that maybe it was my cat, Mr. Meow Meow, who died last week, re-incarnated as this adorable woodland creature. So we put out some cat food in hope of his return.

I got home last night around 11:30pm and checked the bowl on the fire escape. No trace of “The Cooner” (my name for him), no sign he ate any of the Iams. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and just before going to bed, I looked out the window once more. There he was...eating. I had to watch him finish every last bite, his paws were monkey-like as he scraped the bottom of the bowl and brought the bits to his mouth. After he was done, he pawed at the rug like he wanted to lie down and sleep. He looked up at me often; his eyes were sweet, like Meow’s. I felt so lucky to be able to watch him. He stayed for about fifteen minutes, until he walked away, but not before looking back at me once more as if to say goodbye.

November 18, 2006

2006-11-20T07:58:00.000-08:00

My heart is broken. When someone leaves your life like from a breakup or an ending of friendship, there is sometimes something romantic about it, like breaking your heart leads to inspiration or creativity. You can think of that person moving on, as you move on, but you know they are living their life and hope they are happy. You know somewhere they are smiling, living, doing. Your heart mends. But losing someone to death is entirely different. You don’t know where they go; you just know they are no longer with you, no longer of this earth. You hope they are in a better place, but you are devastated because never will they smile or cry or do whatever it is they do that you so loved about them again.

Mr. Meow died on November 18, 2006. He lived 15 years, all of them save for about his first six months with me. I rescued him from the Humane Society the day he was to be euthanized. Four years ago, he had surgery to remove a cancerous mass which was attached to his spleen. They didn’t expect him to live a year after that. He gave me four. The cancer returned, this time attacking his liver, and he couldn’t fight anymore.

People who don’t have pets may not understand, but this cat was everything to me. I have never been this sad. I’ve lost a lot in my life, but there was something about this cat that gave me strength, made me calm, helped me smile, he was like a part of my family. He was my family. I feel like my heart is being clenched, and it comes in waves. It’s a soft squeeze, like the way his little paws used to knead on my chest when he was getting ready to go to sleep.

Filthy White House

2006-11-10T11:58:00.000-08:00

Al-Qaida says they are happy the Democrats were successful this election. And tickled pink (my words) Rummy is out. Is this good?

Kerry’s The Joke

2006-11-01T12:39:00.000-08:00

Once again, Senator John Kerry has put his foot in his mouth. Today he is apologizing for what he is calling a “botched joke.”

Politics and comedy do go together in some instances, but I don’t want my politician to be a comedian. Maybe he just got riled up after watching that Robin Williams film.

Something very important that is so often overlooked in politics is respect. Yes, overlooked by both parties. (Note to John Spencer: Saying Hillary had plastic surgery was a low blow. And has anyone seen his wife?)

Kerry, the Democrat’s questionable sweetheart, spoke at a college Monday and said that young people might get "stuck in Iraq" if they don't study hard and do their homework.

Apparently, Kerry just doesn’t forget his Swift Boat ordeal, but delivery of his speeches as well. The comment purportedly was supposed to convey something more to the effect of "if you're intellectually lazy, you end up getting us stuck in a war in Iraq - just ask President Bush."

Um…who is intellectually lazy?

With rumors saying he’s eyeing Bush’s seat in 2008, Republican Senator John McCain, a Vietnam vet, said he had no idea "how you could construe" Kerry's comment as a joke.

Neither could I.

But I will get my real laughs from all those die-hard Kerry supporters who still walk around with their blinders on wondering why he wasn’t elected.

Cock-a-brooches

2006-10-26T09:53:00.000-07:00

I would rather kill them than wear them, but for Halloween, aside from being spinach, I think the scariest costume isn’t really some put together ensemble with fake blood and guts, it’s a cockroach accessory.

My sister “wore” one once when a water bug decided to nestle itself in the towel she used after her shower. She was naked, save for the two-inches of black that crawled up her spine after the towel was flung off.

I have fought them in some of the most frightening battles involving a can of Oven Off to a soundtrack of my screams I never thought humanly possible. I may have won, but there is never a victory celebration. The fear stays with you forever.

And so, why anyone would purposely wear a giant Madagascar cockroach ($80) that hisses is beyond my realm of understanding, but it strikes such fear in my heart and soul, even if the thing is in a leash, pinned to my clothing and decorated with Austrian Swarovski crystals.

Only the brave and truly demeted would wear this. And I pray to Anton LaVey that some freak has one of these on a leash on Devil's Night.

From my blog at Shecky's

Not Sew Quick

2006-10-04T06:26:00.000-07:00

I just got chills…I am so nervous. I was reading the news. Could it be? Please dear Lord no.

Jeffrey Sebeila of "Project Runway" is being accused of cheating and hiring helping hands to sew his clothes for the collection shown during Fashion Week.

Now we all know we cannot believe everything we hear and deem it to be true, right? Right. What’s worse is that it is supposedly some of that “your mom told my mom” type of chit-chat supposedly involving the moms of Jeffrey and Laura.

Jeffrey lashed back saying, "…be careful of what you read and also of what is presented in the press. Those people take any information they get (usually unfounded rumors) and just print them in order to bolster their own readership with no regard to the person they might be slandering. They are just doing their job as bottom feeding, sludge dredging, no-life having journalists."

Ouch.

God I love Jeffrey.

American Boys Don't Like To Lose

2006-09-22T07:06:00.000-07:00

I went to see the Drive-By Truckers last night. They played for three and a half hours at Webster Hall and, in my opinion, are one of the best bands around. I think Jason Isbell is one of the most amazing singer/songwriters of our time. His songs are just so incredible...they actually hurt me in my heart. There is a song on their website that isn't on any albums save for a Neil Young "protest" record called "Dress Blues." Instead of tired rhetoric on why we shouldn't be in Iraq, Isbell's song is about a Marine who was 22 and died over there. The high school stadium is now filled with mourners, and he hasn't met his baby, and how he joked with his wife about being there two weeks, once saying she would barely miss him. The line "American boys don't like to lose" breaks me.

Relax

2006-09-13T13:55:00.000-07:00

The Beauty Of Sardonicism

2006-09-10T14:07:00.000-07:00

I don’t trust people who talk too much all the time. They don’t listen, hardly reflect, and barely seek out reality in its entirety.

There is so much weight in the follow through, so much importance in not just believing the bits that you read or hear, so much in seeking out the full truth yourself, just like so much can be heard from silence.

I finally read Forbes.com’s much talked about article “Don’t Marry Career Women” and it seems everyone has missed the point. They read the title, then the opening paragraph, but fail to ingest the rest.

Your opening sentence needs to be outrageous in some fashion—that’s how you draw people in to read further. Start flat, and the page gets turned. But I do think that what happened here was that people weren’t reading Forbes.com, they were reading Gawker.com or whoeverdotcom’s salacious bit on the article, which drew solely on the opening. Those who went on the google the piece in its entirety and then went on to bitch about the article’s horrendous sexism probably didn’t really read it in full. There are facts here, statistics gained from credible sources, and the author, Michael Noer (who I feel is getting a bad rep for doing something really good—getting people to talk about Forbes who normally wouldn’t know a thing about it) is taking this information and encouraging people to think. Yes, THINK.

I am writing a piece on the correlations between sex and power, in women, and in my research, I wanted to delve deep in this whole “Don’t Marry A Career Woman” article. While Noer’s opening statement makes me think he is furthering the fear that men have of a woman in power, my conclusion of the piece is quite different. It makes me think of how in the past, women got married young, had kids, stayed home, and raised them while dad went to work. This was the norm. Now, as women have gained more power in the workplace (and sexually of course, but I’m saving those thoughts for the New York Moves piece), the typical family structure has changed causing disruptions in traditional roles and most importantly, how to adjust to these roles in reflection of today’s societal norms. Simply put, we are not adapting well. Who’s watching the kids? Who should stay home if there’s not enough money to pay a sitter to watch the baby during the 9 to 5? Can couples even afford to have kids anymore when both incomes are needed to pay the bills? All of this contributes to having kids later, trouble in the marriage, and more.

Noer states, “women’s work hours consistently increase divorce, whereas increases in men’s work hours often have no statistical effect.” The man didn’t pull this info out of his ass; it’s from the Survey of Income and Program Participation. And it directly corresponds with the fact that we, as a generation of 20 and 30-somethings, are struggling with what we knew as tradition, the pressures from our elders to uphold those traditions, and creating a new tradition that is acceptable in both our own eyes and in society.

There are so many other gems in this piece for me to go on and on about, but instead, here it is, so you can have your own debate once you are fully educated on the full story. Sadly, even his colleague Elizabeth Corcoran gets it wrong. While her counterpoint is, um, funny, she misses the entire point. And she almost lost me by addressing women as “Girlfriends”. I never met you Elizabeth.

I also cannot help but see some similarities about what “went wrong” with this article and the public’s perception of it to my own debacle last year due to people not seeking out the entire story. Why is it that the entire story is too often overlooked? Well that's as good a question as to why women aren't making as much as men for the same job with the same experience or to why 99.94 percent of the CEOs and 97.3 percent of the wealthiest people in America are men. Yes, we still have a long way to go...girlfriend.

Being upset about this piece is like protesting the show "Desperate Housewives" because of its title and content.

If Michael Noer is a misogynist who spreads his brand of hate speech by saying not to marry a career woman, then I am a vacant, right wing conservative.

Seems Like You're Lucky If It Ever Change From Red To Green

2006-09-07T07:23:00.000-07:00

You know when you have that feeling that decision you are making isn’t the right one, but you really have no other choice, so you have to go with that decision? Your back is against the wall (not in a good way), your options are null, you don’t want to do it at all, but your body goes through the motions, you get on that bus, walk a few blocks to the subway, through the tunnel to the transfer, up the stairs, then down again. The solace is in what the flat screen monitor delivers, the fact that your iPod on shuffle is amazing, the bright florescent array of highlighters and Post-Its, and the Pure Indulgence Shea Brulee ultra rich cream for hands and cuticles because the water is so harsh on your hands.

You have work to do. And the only decision that isn’t right is the fact that you are neglecting your own work, your own projects. The projects funded by lofty dreams in an empty piggy bank from Switzerland.

I went to New Orleans last week for six days.

Neglect. Wrong decisions. No options. Harsh water. Lofty dreams. Empty piggy banks.
Everything has changed.

I Remember A Soldier Sleeping Next To Me

2006-08-24T12:54:00.000-07:00

“I saw Berlin last night,” I told the people I work with. They were amazed, and didn’t know they were still together even after that VH1 reunion show. I meant to say Beirut. They start with B, are six letters, and are capitals to countries that have had their fair share of strife. Or maybe I am just (too) old, or old enough to be around when the former was topping the charts. I think I had the 45.

Beirut played fairly private show at Spin magazine’s offices. They are what I call “gypsy folk” with their vagabond chic and nomadic-like swagger. Devendra Banhart and Sufjan Stevens, and Neutral Milk Hotel fit into this genre. It was NMH’s ex-drummer that helped the masses see the force of this Beirut.

The “stage” at Spin was adorned with horns, ukuleles, a violin, packs of American Spirit with cell phones resting on top, a pair of black wire-rimmed glasses, pachuco type matching Dickies outfits with bandanna headbands, and a slightly aloof fluffy-haired, regular looking kid leading the madness with a steadfast tenacity.

During the show, one of them tapped the drumstick on his bottle of beer for a song; they harmonized and enchanted, danced around and got spastic, all while Zach Condon stayed calm, his feet moving anxiously, but with caution. He apparently has had some failed attempts at wowing an audience. That was not the case here. At 20 years old, this “one man band” reminds me that feelings are free; it’s the expression that might cost you. But contained in his spot, Condon’s control over the frenzy of sound was liberating and fresh. I just hope the hype doesn’t put this Beirut in ruins.

Pretty Like A Primate

2006-08-24T08:30:00.000-07:00

These are Pygmy Marmoset monkeys, the smallest simians in the world.
Often they are twins, but now in albino!

So, Should We Now Link Moore With Al Qaeda?

2006-08-18T07:18:00.000-07:00

From Reuters:
"The Code of Silence" was posted on the Internet by the Rashedeen Army, thought to be a relatively small Sunni group which has produced videos in the past of attacks it claims to have carried out.

At almost an hour in length, it is the longest and most professionally made of recent postings by mainly Sunni militant and insurgent groups fighting the U.S.-backed government.

The U.S. military said earlier this week that recent intelligence indicated al Qaeda in Iraq was refining its strategy by producing propaganda and adding a political base to its violent campaign of suicide bombings.

Lifting scenes from Michael Moore's anti-war film "Fahrenheit 9/11", Rashedeen's narrator taunts President Bush in softly spoken English over graphic images of Humvees being blown up by roadside bombs, and purportedly dead U.S. troops.

Sounds Better In The Song

2006-08-18T07:11:00.000-07:00

I work in a room with three others. We bring in our iPods, hook them up to my iTrip, and listen to music all day. Since the radio is on my desk, I usually play DJ with my iPod, but the others just put it on shuffle—that’s where you hear everyone’s guilty pleasure music. We’ve be subjected to everything from “I’m A Barbie Girl” to Michael Buble. The other day, I thought, why not, I’ll put mine on shuffle too and so what if My Chemical Romance and Kelly Clarkson happen to infiltrate the mix. That’s when I really realized that most of my music is really sad.

I went to listen to Iron and Wine play last night. Sad music.

Ray LaMontangne. Sad music.

Ryan Adams. Sad music.

Son Volt. Bonnie Prince Billy. Brandon L. Butler.

The saddest song from Drive By Truckers and Wilco are my favorites.

Possibly, my affection toward sad music is because inside we are all bruised. And we have all beaten others as well. Hearts have been tattered and torn, stepped on and crushed, from mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends, lovers, personal disappointments, failed triumphs, and unfulfilled hopes. It makes us real. Or really insane. It makes us learn. We should appreciate those times. Often, those who can cope with these sad occurrences have the most character and understanding. They are never boastful or adhere to a soapbox mentality. They are quietly strong. Silently intense. It’s okay to be sad sometimes, in fact, I think it is healthy. It’s the people who walk around overly happy all the time that you have to be worried about. They are dead inside.

Sad music is hope. “1000 Oceans” just played. And I hope that after the song “Trouble” finishes, another sad one plays again.

Real Knitting Circles

2006-08-16T08:20:00.000-07:00

I’m reading the August issue of Real Simple where my friend Valerie has a great piece on sewing for all levels called “A Stitch In Time.” In the Life Lessons section, there is a piece by Merrill Markoe, who I have (embarrassingly) never heard of before. This terrific piece on spotting narcissists (and dealing/coping with them) is full of everything I love about the style of my favorite writers. Turns out, Markoe used to be a writer for Late Night with David Letterman and other similar shows. (I’ll forgive her for her workings with Michael Moore, but it was pre-Fahrenheit Moore so….) She’s also a novelist and is a contributing bloggist on Huffington Post.

Here is a snippet of her piece in Real Simple:

What is a narcissist? Any time you find yourself living inside that classic cartoon where two people are dining and one says to the other, “Well enough about me—let’s hear what you have to say about me,” your narcissism alert bells should be ringing.

Narcissists are people who cover up shame and self worthlessness inflicted during their own screwy childhoods by doing whatever it takes to maintain the false sense that they are very special and therefore not bound by ordinary rules. This requires them to surround themselves with people who will continually pump them up by agreeing with them about everything. …“Feeding their grandiosity.” Narcissists, because they never fully outgrow a phase of infantile behavioral development, essentially live in a world that is one-person big. Therefore, when a brilliant, charming, elegant, and grand narcissist honors you by allowing you into his or her very elite cadre, it is kind of like being annexed by an imperialist country. Your borders have now been erased. The subtext of all future interactions will be “What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine. Welcome to a world where there is no you.” When you are with a narcissist, his needs must become your needs. It’s not enough for a narcissist to be the center of his own world; he must also be the center of yours. If you are not mirroring him or praising him, you are proving you are a separate person, and thus a threat.

…How did I get in the middle of this stupid fight when I am not even angry? The answer: I am probably hanging out with a narcissist.

[Solution]…Maintain emotional distance.

-More in the issue.

Tidy. Smart. Thought-provoking. Silent, but loud. Nuance. Love it.

So Does That Make Me A Queen?

2006-08-10T13:43:00.000-07:00

My mom sends me these quizzes and such via email. I did one the other day that told me I was like Debbie Reynolds. The description read: You are cute and everyone loves you. You are a best friend that no one takes the chance of losing. You never hurt feelings and seldom have your own feelings hurt. Life is a breeze. You are witty, and calm most of the time. Just keep clear of back stabbers, and you are worry-free. Hilarious. My mom got the same result. We are totally different. She said, “Well maybe there is a part of you that is a Debbie Reynolds.” That’s deep.

I got a new one today and it’s called Feng Shui Horoscope. It told me the following:
You are conservative and aggressive.
You try to enjoy your life to the maximum and your love life is soon to blossom.
Your love life will be great; you will find your soul mate.
Your life will take on a different direction, it will be the best thing for you, and you will be glad for the change.
Jennifer is your best friend.
You will have 8 close friends in your lifetime.
You are a laid back person.
You are loyal to your friends and your lover, and are very reserved.

Hmmm...a bit more like it.

Speaking of my BFF, Jennifer, who doubles as sister, just won a clothing design and marketing contest sponsored by the fashion house she designs for. The line is called Cherry Pop, and she collaborated with Leila and Eriko for the win. Melody and I were their models.

How very Debbie of me.

Made In China

2006-08-08T11:10:00.000-07:00

I want to squeeze this until the umbilical cord bursts.

It's a half pound newborn Panda, and the heaviest cub ever born in captivity.

Blacking Out

2006-08-03T13:16:00.000-07:00

There is something about this heat that is making some people very generous. I got my free Starbucks iced café con leche today and the owner of the company I work for bought the entire office pizza, and also invited everyone to a BBQ, cocktail-infused party tonight at his apartment. (There are cases of liquor and booze outside my office waiting for transfer.) My boyfriend just told me that his company got them all smoothies.

While this is all terrific, it is God-awful hot outside, the kind of hot that if the only place in the entire NYC-area with a/c was at an Elizabeth Hasselbeck praise-party, I would suck it up and attend. Although that bitch was on Survivor, so maybe she’d rough it like the rest of us with our not-fully-functioning “cooling appliances.”

Bloomberg said we should turn our thermostats to 78 degrees. I know we are all listening. I wonder how cool it is in Mike’s house?

Definitely not as frigid at it is between Hasselbeck’s legs. Ice. And I'm being generous.

By the way, it is snowing in South Africa.

Finally...

2006-07-28T07:23:00.000-07:00

...a new band bringing back the true spirit of rebellious rock. I haven't heard their music (yet) and I may not even like it, but with all the pre-fab, formulaic sounds, regurgitated ideology, and mindless trend followers infiltrating this scene of music today, Avenged Sevenfold may be the most punk yet.

Quote fromg singer M. Shadows in AMNY:
In fact, "Blinded In Chains" is about the philosophical war between Republicans and Democrats. The former are excessively closed-minded, says Shadows, 24, and the latter are "a bunch of -- idiots where everyone looks at Michael Moore and does what he says." If from that statement you can't glean the band's politics, consider that Avenged Sevenfold sells American-flag T-shirts proclaiming, "Love It Or Die."

"Most people know we're kind of one of the only bands around right now that will admit that we're Republican," says Shadows, who performs at Saturday's Ozzfest on Randalls Island. "When we went on the [punk-rock] Warped Tour last year - all of those bands, they're not only anti-war, they're anti-everything our country stands for. We were like, ' -- this.' We're going to wear our America shirts."

Crazy Diamond

2006-07-14T13:37:00.000-07:00

I find it kind of odd that Syd Barrett’s death was announced on the very same day Pink Floyd’s new DVD was released. “Pulse” came out on 7/11, the very same day the world found out Barrett’s pulse stopped. (It was reported that he died several days prior.)

Also oddly coincidental, or not, I lost my virginity to the song “Comfortably Numb.”

The Kitten's Roar

2006-07-14T10:42:00.000-07:00

At least he didn't kiss the kid's belly....

Uptown Locals

2006-07-11T13:13:00.000-07:00

Heard on the uptown 6 train, while leaving Bleeker:

Man (white, 50-something, well-dressed) in stern voice: “I wish you wouldn’t drink and drug in my house!”

Woman (white, 50-something, well dressed) in very matter-of-fact kind of tone: “Well I wish you wouldn’t beat and strangle me in the living room.”

Over Troubled Water

2006-07-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

As a kid, growing up in Ozone Park, Queens, there were certain structures that were signs of sophistication for me. They were the Triborough Bridge and the Twin Towers.

From the corner of Pitkin Avenue, I could see the towers perfectly, and depending on the sun and the time of day, there were moments they looked so close I could ride my bike toward them. Truth was that they weren’t far as in miles, but they were still a journey away into Manhattan. And if you lived in NYC in the 70s and early 80s, you would know that the subways aren’t as accessible as they are now. In fact, I was forbidden to ride them. Even today, I am amazed when I see twelve-year-old kids without their parents on the subway. (I am also amazed when I hear immigrants complain about their life in this country, but that is another blog.)

I remember the very first time I went to the Twin Towers—it was a P.S.64 class trip (one of the few), and we ate our sandwiches packed and prepared by our moms in one of those seats right next to the window on one of the top floors. I recall pressing my body against the windowpane and looking down, feeling safe, but still sensing risk. I was in awe.

As a family, almost everything we did was in Queens and Brooklyn, except when it came to the holidays. That’s when my parents packed us in the car and over the Triborough Bridge, we ventured into the city. We visited Rockefeller Center to ice skate, Macy’s to see Santa, and we ate hot pretzels from the street carts illuminated by the white lights in the small barren trees, which only heightened the feeling of elation when we saw “the tree” next to the rink. Everyone looked more sophisticated when we went to the city, especially my mom, who was often adorned in her fox fur coat. I’m sure my dad wore his initialed diamond pinky ring.

Today is the 70th birthday of the Triborough Bridge. It’s amazing to think that when my grandparents were kids, it didn’t even exist. Instead, people were grateful when they came through Ellis Island on a boat from wherever. But then again, MTV wasn’t around until I was in my teens, and the Internet, well, let’s just say that while I was given an email account in college, I had no interest in using it. I thought it was a fad, like CDs.

Things certainly change, as my beloved skyline has, and the one remaining thread of my thoughts of sophistication is the Triborough Bridge. Happy Birthday.

I'm Like, "No, You Are So Generic."

2006-07-07T14:39:00.000-07:00

I guess Williamsburg is the new Hamptons.
Does that make the B61 the new Jitney?

I'm going to be, like, killed.

He Must Like Blonde Russians

2006-07-06T11:50:00.000-07:00

Maybe Russians express themselves differently. In the United States, kissing a five-year-old boy you do not know on the belly (after lifting his shirt) is an action reserved for priests (and they sort of know the little fellas since they usually are alter boys). Putin himself even said he couldn’t control himself when he encountered the “defenseless” (his words) boy. "I tell you honestly, I just wanted to touch him like a kitten and that desire of mine ended in that act." The kid now refuses to wash the spot where Putin’s lips once rested.

Perhaps even more disturbing is the low-cut blazer the newscaster is wearing who reported on the event.

Cummuting

2006-07-06T07:09:00.000-07:00

On the bus this morning, there was a blue-collar kind of dad who told his two kids (both under ten), “In the mornings, people are mean and stupid.”

Then on the train, there was a burly guy wearing skull rings, who I could swear was fondling the pole as if it was his penis. He was short stroking it up and down as the train barreled through the tunnel.

Apparently, in the mornings, people are jerks too.

The Heart Wants What The Heart Wants

2006-07-05T09:50:00.000-07:00

Facing the rest of his life in prison, Kenneth Lay, one of the bad guys in the Enron debacle, died of a heart attack today. Back in January, during the trail, Lay’s lawyer, Michael Ramsey, was hospitalized due to a heart ailment.

There are some things the body simply cannot take.

When The Dog Bites, When The Bee Stings...

2006-07-05T06:52:00.000-07:00