Sage Advice

Near misses

2006-10-24T23:00:00.000-04:00

A man got his hand caught in the subway door during my commute home from work the other day, the way you do when you're thrusting your arm in, trying to stop the doors from sliding closed. But this man's hand was very stuck. He couldn't draw it back outside the car, and the doors weren't opening to let him slide in. The train sat in the station for a few seconds...and a few more seconds...and the man tugged on his hand and craned his neck down towards the conductor's car, because surely the conductor must see that his hand is caught? All eyes in our car were on this man, who, it suddenly became distinctly possible, might momentarily be dragged off before our eyes. Stop, I wanted to yell, someone's hand is caught! but I knew the conductor couldn't possibly hear me, so all I could do was draw in my breath.

Finally, after an eternity of seconds, the doors conceded and sprang open. The man staggered into the car. Five more commuters piled in behind him.

Riding home around 9PM tonight, the woman across from me was knitting an electric-blue something -- a scarf, it looked like. At 7th Avenue she stood up, setting her work and the ball of yarn in her tote bag, and walked to the train doors. As she walked, the ball of yarn toppled out of her bag and onto the floor, dangling by an electric-blue strand, but she didn't see it. She leaned out of the train doors to check the stop, and the ball trailed behind her -- and then it kept rolling right into the gap, the one you're supposed to mind when stepping off the train. She tried to fish it up by pulling the string, but the ball stayed down below. She tried again -- and now the train doors were about to close on the dangling string. I had a vision of the ball of yarn catching on something, of the force pulling her through the doors, of an arm being caught, a face smashed against the glass. All I could do was draw in my breath -- and the doors started to close, and she let the half-finished electric blue scarf fall from her hands beneath the tracks, joining the ball of yarn.

She walked back to her seat with a funny pout, the same one Sarah made when I told her this story. I know that expression; the one New Yorkers make that says "did anyone else witness this totally bizarre thing that just happened to me?" They had. We pouted with her.

"I'm so sorry," I said when I caught her eye. "Thank you," she said.

Pick your apples, not your nose: a Sage Advice guide to the fall harvest

2006-10-23T21:42:00.000-04:00

On our way home from a wedding in Connecticut this weekend, we took a side trip to Lyman Orchards in Middletown for some apple-picking (and, as it so happened, some egregious kettle corn consumption). We did a LOT of apple taste-testing. Here are a few I brought home with me:

Yellow Delicious: Did you know there's a difference between Yellow Delicious and Golden Delicious? Well, there totally is. In fact, they are two completely different kinds of delicious. While GD is that grocery store apple we all know and love (see below), YD packs a lip-smackin' punch of tartness, like an apple Jolly Rancher. Highly recommended for those of you who like Sour Patch Kids.

Golden Delicious: Many of our party expressed that this is their favorite kind of omnipresent grocery store apple, but they are even better when picked directly from the tree -- unfailingly crisp and delicious, never mealy and mushy. Unless you try to eat a rotten one, but you wouldn't do that.

Jonamac: I heart these the best. They somehow manage to taste like the watermelon Jolly Rancher. Sweet and awesome. Apple-y heaven.

Rome: We had high hopes for the Rome apple. We even skipped down the orchard path singing "Ro-ome if you want to, Rome around the woooorld!" But Rome was a major letdown. Its skin was incredibly tough and it took forever to chew, leaving a mealy taste in the mouth. (I abhor mealiness in apples, in case you can't tell.) And the payoff -- the flavor -- was just not there. Next!

I can't remember the name of this variety (it was either the Macoun or the Empire), so I'll just call it
Red Menace: This is one bad-ass apple. It's dark red -- blood-red, you might say. It's a bit smaller and rounder than those other apples; almost plum-like. A very comely fruit, indeed. It belongs in one of those Lolita Lempicka ads. And the taste is sweet and juicy in an almost magical way.

Thinking way too hard about The Devil Wears Prada

2006-07-12T17:49:00.000-04:00

I skipped the book, but eagerly anticipated seeing the movie over Fourth of July weekend. I can deal with fluffy movies much more willingly than mediocre writing. Life is too short to waste on bad books, I always say -- but for some reason this does not apply to movies. Maybe because movies are shorter. Anyway. Devil Wears Prada the movie was not bad at all, and tons of fun -- perfect vacation flick to see with my mom and sister after a day at the beach (we sent dad to Nacho Libre). Loved the cast, particularly Meryl (of course) and Stanley Tucci.

But, you know. Being vaguely familiar with the publishing industry, there are some details I just can't sit silent on. Curse my liberal arts education for molding me into such an incisive critic. Warning - spoilers ahead.

1. Who, tell me WHO goes on a magazine job interview without bothering to look up the name of the editor-in-chief of said magazine? Especially if the job in question is the assistant to the editor-in-chief? Dear lord, what were they teaching this girl at Northwestern?

2. That isn't how fashion people actually dress. But the New York Times already went over that.

3. Vogue = silly and frivolous. New York Magazine, on the other hand = paragon of intellectual virtue. Wha?

4. Duh! He doesn't want to hire you; he wants to sleep with you!

5. Except for the coat-and-bag-throwing thing, the Devil... not so devilish. OK, maybe a little bit at the end. But still. Andie, you ride around in a town car gratis, for christ sakes, and go home each night to Adrian Grenier -- stop your bitching already.

6. OK, this is the part that really gets me. She leaves the evil fashion magazine because working there is hard, and because she was forced to make a decision that benefitted her while disadvantaging one of her colleagues. And she goes to work at a newspaper instead. Because newspaper reporting is neither difficult, nor does it ever involve competitiveness or backstabbing. Also, newspaper offices are sepia-toned and entirely free of flourescent lighting. Uh-huh.

Speaking of Adrian Grenier (will someone please tell me how to pronounce his last name?) reminds me that my next installment of Entourage is arriving tonight via Netflix. Hoodehooo!

"One mildly bizarre trait of mine is I enjoy being useful."

2006-06-25T22:46:00.000-04:00

Sarah, who's in a position of authority at her workplace, has lately been reviewing resumes for an entry level job opening, and the other night she was entertaining me with tales of cover letters. Writing a cover letter is not easy, as we all know -- I'm pretty sure I still suck at it -- but hearing about other people's cover letters is fun. The standout of this particular group, by far, was the person who wrote "One mildly bizarre trait of mine is I enjoy being useful."

Sarah and I have been mulling over this phrase quite a bit in the last few days, and I think it's safe to say that its joys are endless. It is a true gem of usage and style. "One mildly bizarre trait of mine is I enjoy being useful."

The best part is picturing other people saying it.

"One mildly bizarre trait of mine is I enjoy being useful."

"One mildly bizarre trait of mine is I enjoy being useful."

"One mildly bizarre trait of mine is I enjoy being useful."

"One mildly bizarre trait of mine is I enjoy being useful."

Viva New York!

2006-06-22T21:32:00.000-04:00

Whatever happened to Grimaldi's?

Whatever happened to the West Side bike path?

Whatever happened to five different languages in one subway car?

Whatever happened to "If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere"?

Whatever happened to the descent into Laguardia where you look out the plane window at that amazing skyline and think, "This is the most awesomely beautiful city in the world and I must have done something great in a former life to have the fortune to wake up here nearly every single day"?

NOTHING! NOTHING HAPPENED TO THEM! THEY'RE STILL HERE! I LOVE NEW YORK AND I WILL NEVER LEAVE!

**This post has been brought to you by those annoying Move To Philly "ads" everyone's been talking about.

Really Awesome Things

2006-06-22T16:15:00.000-04:00

It's difficult to say which of these two things I'm more excited about:

NY Times - But Will It Play in Manhattan? (aka, Topshop is coming!)

Variety.com - '80s idols to reunite for 'Coreys'

Truly, we are living in a golden age.

Best. Blog. Ever.

2006-06-14T13:14:00.000-04:00

Cute Otters

Need I say more?

Netflix

2006-06-12T16:24:00.000-04:00

Today I finally joined Netflix.

It's not that I didn't hear about it two years ago along with everyone else; it's just that I'm generally slow to embrace new trends and/or technology, even if (like Netflix) they are the MOST INGENIOUS INVENTION EVER. Also, I'm more of a movie-goer than a movie-renter, because there is no movie theater popcorn in my home, and movie-watching for me is mainly a front for popcorn gluttony. However, I've long loved the idea of Netflix, even though it's taken me so long to make use of it. This is truly what the Internet was meant for: making our lives easier, while enabling laziness.

My first order of business was to queue up Troop Beverly Hills, because we are having a Troop Beverly Hills party this weekend. Next in my queue (queue: funnest word to type? yes.) is Season 1, Disc 1 of Entourage. I already know that TV series are going to make up the bulk of my Netflix rentals. After Entourage, I'm going to blow through Deadwood, Weeds and Season 2 of Veronica Mars. Then, if I don't want to cancel my membership yet, I may start in on the Sopranos, which I have never seen (see "slow to embrace new trends," above; also see "has not had HBO since lived with parents, OK?").

I think it's quite possible that the very first movies one rents on Netflix offer a window into one's innermost soul. Think about it: unlimited access to an entire library of weird wonders that you might not have thought of in years, AND no one ever has to know that you rented them. If ever you were embarrassed to check out "She's All That" for fear your snooty Brooklyn video store clerk would sneer at you over his thick-framed glasses (this is pure conjecture -- my local Extreme Video isn't much for hipster clerks), Netflix offers you a safe haven.

Obviously, my soul is that of a person with '80s nostalgia who lacks cable or DVR. Someone else I know (who lives in my building and shall remain nameless) kicked off his Netflix subscription with Top Gun, Mary Poppins and Dances With Wolves. I'm not trying to judge; I'm just saying. Tell me: what were the first movies you 'flixed?

New to the blogroll: Bohemian On A Shoestring

2006-06-06T12:09:00.000-04:00

My friend Arcadia has a blog called Bohemian On A Shoestring that you should all check out. She'll give you the scoop on cheap and artsy events going on around town, the weirder the better (we at Sage Advice are pro-quirk, as you know).

"Anyone who enjoys checking out downtown theatre, hole-in-the-wall ethnic restaurants, poetry slams and weird robotics competitions knows that places in which one can pop in for free (or, OK, $20 and under, this IS a New York-based Blog) are a gamble. Sometimes you've trekked out to the end of the E line to see a post-punk, musical version of “King Lear” staged by recent NYU Tisch grads, and you're trapped in your misery, wishing desperately for a clean break (or a beer), and sometimes, you've trekked out to see, well, a post-punk, musical version of “King Lear” staged by recent NYU Tisch grads, and lo and behold! it is sublime (or, at least, entertaining, quirky and the source of a good story or a dumb lyric you can impress your hipster friends with)."

Brilliant, no? Give her a look!

Me

2006-05-08T22:10:00.000-04:00

... sort of.

.

...And we're back!

2006-05-08T21:21:00.000-04:00

Not one, but two people have publicly lamented the fact that this poor lil blog hasn't been publishing much lately. Well, flattery will get you everywhere, my friends! Now that I'm surfacing from work craziness and points abroad, Sage Advice might experience a revival of sorts.

Just to briefly catch you up...

1. I've been working on a project for ye olde employer involving hot people. Yes, hot people. You can see why I've been so distracted.

2. The much-anticipated Anthropologie opened up near my office. Predictably, it's both awesome and awesomely expensive. Tangential story: A few weeks before it opened, I was walking through the plaza in an old Anthropologie-purchased skirt, and a nice lady offered me a job at the store. Sadly I had to decline, but I'm told employees get a wicked discount.

3. I passed through the Orchid Show at Rockefeller Center. I took some pretty pictures, and then didn't post them. Here's one of them:

And to think this saucy blossom could have been mine for just $40. It seemed like a high price to pay for something I'd probably kill.

4. ~~Last~~ Penultimately*, but certainly not least, I went on vacation here:

It was amazing. No, make that scrumtrilescent.**

5. I forgot the URL of this blog when I went to check on it just now. I feel like a bad mother or something.

That's all for now. More to come soon, I hope.

* GRE word!
** will be a GRE word in 20 years

Friday Link-o-Rama

2006-03-31T11:32:00.000-05:00

A coworker just sent me this:
Leprechaun in Mobile, Alabama
My question is, what is he planning on doing to the leprechaun with that pipe?!

This is just way too much fun:
The Jenville Show: Cooking With Rockstars

NY Times and Godlight, sittin' in a tree:
Godlight Theater's 'Fahrenheit 451' Offers Hot Ideas for the Information Age
Torching the Library: Different Year, Same Temperature

...yes, that's TWO articles in one week! And yes I'm biased, but go see the show 'cause it's really quite good.

Gunfire in South Slope?

2006-03-28T11:34:00.000-05:00

Riding home in a cab around 1:30 last night, we encountered a police blockade at 7th Avenue and 15th Street. We asked one of the officers (there were several milling around) what was up, and he said "Police investigation. Can't give details."

Posters on Daily Slope had some clues: Apparently there was an attempted robbery on 16th and 7th, and gunshots were fired. The suspects fled to PPW, and were caught by the police.

Here's a link to the official story on ABC news.

Train Talk

2006-03-20T21:48:00.000-05:00

F train at 23rd Street. I select a seat in a row of three. Two seats down from me, a youngish guy reads a green paper-bound booklet that looks like a screenplay. At the next stop, a wiry little man gets on and wedges himself between us. “Excuse me.”

Screenplay dude relinquishes an inch. The newcomer settles in and repeats himself: “Excuse me.”

Is he looking at me? He is. He’s going to talk to me. Wait for it…

“You live in Park Slope. I’ve seen you a lot.”

That’s a nice one. Great opener, guy. Way to sound like a total stalker.

“I’ve seen you on this train. You usually get off at 7th Avenue.”

Really, that’s excellent. Keep going. “Yes, sometimes I do.” Screenplay dude raises his head and sneaks a sideways glance at us.

“I’ve been riding the F train for fourteen years, so I see a lot of the same people.”

I turn to face him. “Do I know you?”

I don’t say it unkindly. Still, a response like that would silence 90 percent of the population. But after nearly four years’ worth of subway riding, I’ve discovered that the leftover ten percent, that small minority, contains all of the world’s subway talkers.

“Are you an American?” Are you still talking?

“Yes, I’m from America.”

Pause. “I’m from India. I moved to New York fifteen years ago.” Smile. Nod.

“What do you do?”

Jesus. “I’m an editor.”

“Edit…?”

“An editor. I edit things.”

“Oh, an editor.” Pause. “I do photography. For advertisements and billboards.” He gestures across the car to an ad featuring Derek Jeter. “Like that. We just did an Estee Lauder. I’ve been doing it for fourteen years.”

“You must enjoy it, then.” And here’s where I start thinking, why won’t I talk to this guy? Is he being creepy -- or am I just being rude? I’m coming from the International Center, where I just spent the past two hours as an English conversation partner – in essence, I volunteer my time each week to talk to complete strangers. And yet, I can’t spare more than a few words for Mr. Creepy here. What’s wrong with me? He’s probably just a lonely, friendly guy.

Whatever. He’s lived here for fifteen years. He must have some friends above ground.

He’s silent for a while, and I think he’s gotten the picture. Then he leans over. “Can I ask you just one question?”

Oh shit. Here it comes.

“Are you single?”

“Yes.” Wait! He didn’t say Are you seeing anyone; he said Are you single! “No, I’m not. No. I’m not.” Now I sound like a big liar. Again, something that would discourage 90 percent of the population. Mr. Creepy nods with an odd smile on his face, then falls silent.

Jay Street. Screenplay dude gets up and moves across the car, but Mr. Creepy stays the course in the middle seat, right next to me. Are you kidding? Everyone knows you’re supposed to move over and vacate the middle seat when the person on the end gets up. It’s an unwritten yet universally known law of subway riding.

Screenplay dude gets off at Bergen Street. After Carroll, Mr. Creepy turns to me again. “Can we be friends?”

“Yes.” Thin-lipped smile.

Pause. “Can I call you sometime?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“I could give you my number, and you could call me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Creepy falls silent again. Now we’re approaching 7th Avenue. Should I get off, or wait til 15th Street? What is he going to do?

The train stops at 7th, and Creepy doesn’t move a muscle. Perfect. I employ the age-old method for escaping subway creeps, whether they be talkers, leerers, drunken name-callers or otherwise: Act nonchalant before your stop, and don’t make any motions indicating your departure – no closing of books, no zipping of bags, no putting on of hats or gloves. You wait until the train stops and the doors open. Sit there for a couple seconds, then, right before the doors start to close, get up and make a calm exit. Your subway creep will be caught off guard and won’t be able to follow – or else hurry after you and risk looking like the creep he quite possibly is (I’ve never seen a subway creep do this).

When I’m halfway down the platform, I glance over my shoulder. No Mr. Creepy. He’s riding off into the tunnel, en route to who knows what, looking for someone else to talk to on the long ride home.

Balls and My Word

2006-03-15T17:51:00.000-05:00

Today I spent a good 45 minutes of company time at batting practice with my corporate softball homies. Indoors. In a conference room.

Sometimes I love my job!

TJ's inspires love, trepidation

2006-03-12T22:07:00.000-05:00

K: But NEXT Friday....
Green beer is great and all, but the real reason to celebrate is the OPENING OF TRADER JOE'S IN MANHATTAN!!!!!!

R: I know! seriously, my office is abuzz about this!

S: Funny--I almost went down there just now to see if it had opened yet--but then I got lazy. Celebrations there will be. Mmm--best gnocchi brand ever.

MTL: Best TRAIL MIX ever!! Really, I should expand that to Best Packaged Snacks that Pretend to be Good for You Ever!!
I do so love Trader Joe's. But I think I might be scared to go there for a while because of the swarms of people that will pick the shelves bare.
We should have one in each borough to minimize the insanity.

R: Only in a perfect world.
I bet even when you think there will be no insanity, there will be insanity.

Karaoke juice

2006-03-12T21:50:00.000-05:00

Oh, the things one finds in Chinatown: most recently, liquid green crack in a cup. We stopped into a tea room looking for a pre-karaoke pick-me-up, and ordered what we (or I, at least) thought was going to be regular black, herbal and green teas. Sarah's was the sweetest-tasting, and purplish-grey in hue. Rebecca's was the exact color and taste of an apple Jolly Rancher. I ordered a matcha green tea and it arrived milky green with tiny gelatin cubes at the bottom. I wish I'd thought to take a picture of it, but here's an approximation:

We each ordered jumbo pots because hey, we had over an hour to kill. Sip and talk, sip and talk. Within a quarter-hour, we were all wide-eyed and jittery, tapping our feet and yammering loudly about our cats.

Even though the sweet taste made our teeth hurt, it was the perfect prelude to a night out. I didn't even fall asleep and drool in the cab on the way home. But I did toss and turn all night (very rare for me), and at one point had a dream that all my female friends were having a writers' retreat in an old Victorian home, and I awoke at 4:30AM with a brilliant idea for a novel, which I really wish I could recall right now. I do know that it was about Sarah, but I was going to disguise that fact by calling her character "Allison." Clever! Four and a half hours later, I lay in bed with eyes wide open thinking, "I should use all this energy to go to the gym. I could just get up and go to the gym right now. Wait, is the gym even open this early?!"

I mean, this is TEA. This is why I don't party Lohan-style.

Ohioans sometimes get it right

2006-03-04T17:08:00.000-05:00

From this week's Cleveland Scene:

If a bill proposed last week by Senator Robert Hagan (D-Youngstown) passes, Republicans in Ohio will be barred from adopting children.

If it sounds like a joke, it's meant to be, but Hagan went so far as to ask fellow senators to co-sponsor it. "I'm serious enough that I ran it through the process," he says.

The stunt is a response to Republican legislation that seeks to ban gays from adopting, an idea Hagan calls "homophobic and immature."

The decision to target gays is particularly weird given that the state has 2,784 children awaiting adoption and another 19,430 in foster care, Hagan says. "I have no empirical or scientific evidence that Republicans are less able to raise a child, just as they have no scientific evidence that gays are less able to raise a child."

Things I like that are a little bit evil

2006-02-28T22:54:00.000-05:00

My roommate recently told me she hates Martha Stewart "because she has taken something I love [cooking, entertaining] and made it packaged and commercial... and she has scary eyes." Huh. I once hated Martha too, back when her first rush of popularity prompted my mom to spray-paint all our holiday wreaths gold and silver and run matching ribbons down the Christmas tree -- sacrelige! But that all passed, and now I kind of like Martha. She publishes one of my favorite magazines. She sells cheap home goods at K-Mart. And, most of all, she gets hilariously angry at the guests on her talk show, making them visibly alarmed. Love her!

But it's not just you, Martha. I have a special place in my heart for all manner of slightly evil things.

In addition to Martha....

there's the Yankees...

Caleb Nichol...

...and Julie Cooper-Nichol, too

Clive Owen in Closer...

Drug lords that are also priests (ex: Mr. Eko)...

US Weekly...

...and last, but never least, bacon.

Slightly evil is just a little more fun. We're Sage Advice. And we're for (slightly) evil.

Here's something else

2006-02-28T00:07:00.000-05:00

Sure, you've done a Google search of your name. But have you ever done a Google Image search of your name?

I know, right?!

OK, it's officially past my Monday night bedtime.

Worst blogger ever

2006-02-27T23:23:00.000-05:00

I haven't been dispensing much Sage Advice lately. Tis sad, I know, for all seven of my loyal readers (plus those mystery weirdos - love ya!).

Until then, contemplate the fabulosity that is Johnny Weir and his Vuitton:

...and read about how Rebecca, resourceful in her latchkey youth, used to rinse spinach in the spin cycle. Aww!

Free thought association

2006-02-14T12:00:00.000-05:00

Been slacking on the blog for the past week. Here's the extremely short version of everything I thought about posting.

- Michelle Kwan, you are breaking my heart. But shake it off, girl -- the medals are ugly this year anyway.

- How cute is Shaun White?

- The proper way to walk through slush is to tread lightly. Never, ever run through slush with plunging steps; it is good for nobody. You will splash yourself and everyone around you.

- Side note: Chelsea/Flatiron district might be the most hellishly slushy part of Manhattan. Thoughts?

- Valentine's Day is kind of silly, but I do like chocolate samplers.

- Making fun of Valentine's Day is much more fun than celebrating it. Therefore, I'm puh-syched that I'm going to see the Mortified anti-V-day show tomorrow.

- Book clubs are mean to Curtis Sittenfeld! I haven't read her book, but this seems like shocking rudeness. I think my own book club would be totally nice to her even if we hated the book, and offer her wine and cheese and Tipton salsa. We're cool like that.

- Five words: Sweet and Salty Chex Mix. Try it. You won't be sorry.

- Saturday afternoon I went into Sotto Voce for brunch, and they sat us next to a table of six early twenty-something girls who were clearly doing the "I cannot conceive of having weekend brunch in New York without inviting every girl who I was friends with in college, just like the good ol' days back in the caf" thing (a stage which I conveniently skipped, since I knew all of two people when I moved here). So anyway, I noticed their chairs were draped with an array of Gap and J. Crew peacoats, and thought to myself "ha, these girls look like they just stepped off the airport shuttle from [my college]." And then they got up to leave, and I noticed that at least one of them WAS, in fact, from my college, and had graduated just last spring seeing as they were freshmen while I was a senior. The dual points of this seemingly pointless tale being, a) The next generation is invading Brooklyn! and b) We are old.

- If you're smart, you'll avoid Times Square (even more than usual) tomorrow and Thursday. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Superfun Death-o-meter!

2006-02-07T23:12:00.000-05:00

Pat Kiernan informed me over my Kashi oatmeal this morning that today's New York Post contains a semi-scientific death calculator (which the Post instructively uses on Paris Hilton). So of course I went and looked it up as soon as I got to work. As it turns out, I am set to live to the ripe old age of

113.5

...which seems a bit generous even for a non-slutty female Scrabble enthusiast such as myself, but I trust that I'm still looking forward to at least a few Paris Hilton-free decades on this earth.

Brooklyn parrots!

2006-02-06T21:53:00.000-05:00

It was shaping up to be a rather dreary Monday until I received this lovely link in my inbox...

...and was reminded that a flock of wild parrots roams Brooklyn. Rock!

I've spotted the parrots myself, while taking a Halloween tour of Greenwood Cemetery a couple years ago. There are a few that nest in the big Gothic arch there. Our cemetery tour guide pointed them out and related the prevailing parrot legend: a shipment of the birds arrived at JFK, they escaped, and the rest is history.

Anyway, excellent Brooklyn lore website.

Do I know it's Super Bowl time at all?

2006-02-04T12:46:00.000-05:00

Kids, come here and sit down, will you? We're going to have a family meeting. Now, I don't want any tears, so just listen while I explain. We're not going to be celebrating the Super Bowl this year. Just -- now, hold on a minute -- I just had a conversation with the Super Bowl Fairy, and she's very sorry, but she's not going to be stopping at our house. It isn't on her route this winter. She has a lot of commercials and halftime shows and flashed nipples to deliver to all the other boys and girls. And we're very happy for them, aren't we?

Yeah. Going to the Jenny Lewis show instead. Woo!

I know some of you non-New Yorkers (ahem, Steph) were disappointed that Ms. Lewis wasn't coming to your city -- but she might be. More dates recently announced [via Brooklynvegan]

Brokeback Top Gun

2006-02-03T12:58:00.000-05:00

For your Friday viewing pleasure...

Brokeback Top Gun [YouTube]

Update: Gawker just posted Brokeback to the Future.

Slippery Slope

2006-01-31T13:31:00.000-05:00

This post, from Brownstoner (coupled with this one from Gawker) draw attention to the winds of change a-blowin' through my corner of Brooklyn. I live in the hot neighborhood du jour? And said neighborhood extends all the way to 24th Street and 3rd Ave.? Jigga wha?

Real estate agents are fond of hyperbole; we all know that. But even provided that fact, this definition is a major stretch. I've always thought of our block, with its charming view of the Prospect Expressway, as the southern tail-end of Park Slope. If you consult maps that are more than a few years old, where I live is not Park Slope at all, but Windsor Terrace: Park Slope ends at 15th Street, or even, on very old maps, 9th Street. And our street does have a borderland vibe: Walk one direction and you're on boutique-hipster-bar-and-restaurant-laden 7th Avenue. Walk the other way, and you're in what a friend of mine terms "vinyl siding land" -- no brownstones, no hipster bars, and a markedly different set of residents (such as FGoaB).

For clarification, 24th Street is nearly 10 blocks south of where I live, and four avenues west. I haven't been down that way in a couple years, but I think I can safely assume that it still looks and feels nothing like Park Slope. And if we want to get technical -- it's not even on a slope. The big hill that supposedly protects me and my neighbors from impending hurricane surge effectively ends at 4th Avenue.

So let's think up a new name for this neighborhood. Apparently we can't just call it Sunset Park anymore. South-South-Slope is silly. "Greenwood Heights," another real estate eupheism I've heard bandied about, is ridiculous because, like I said, there are no heights or slopes on 3rd Avenue. Maybe since my 'hood is no longer called Windsor Terrace, we can start calling this new neighborhood Windsor Terrace, just to keep the name in the family. Suggestions??

Watching The Bachelor

2006-01-24T17:24:00.000-05:00

I realize I'm a bit late to the Bachelor/Bachelorette party, considering this season marks the, oh, eleventy billionth incarnation. I didn't even intend to start watching. It was Monday night, and I was home, and I was trying to give Uncle Jesse's show a second chance, and the Bachelor was on right after. I got sucked in. But hey, it's better than the time I got sucked in to The Real Gilligan's Island, right? Yes, way better.

I get the feeling that this show has already seen its heyday. Last night was only the third episode, and we're already down to just six girls, from 25. It's like the producers aren't even trying to drag out the suspense. But they're milking the most out of the few truly embarrassing moments that have occurred, like the "my eggs are rotting" girl and the "I'm going to fashion an orange peel into fake teeth" girl, as well as a halfhearted attempt to cast Melana as a villain (okay, so all the other girls do sort of hate her. Is it because of her "edgy" skull-and-crossbones shirt?).

Actually, I'm kind of surprised how sympathetic I am to most of the women. I'd always assumed they'd be man-hungry, overly emotional bimbettes, but a lot of them do seem smart and accomplished. There must be something about the promise of true love in a magical, made-for-TV setting that makes emotions run high and reduces at least two people per episode to tears in front of a camera that always waits that extra moment before cutting away. Either that, or -- and here comes my big Bachelor theory -- it's the alcohol. There is not one single scene on this program in which the drinks are not flowing. Seemingly within an instant of arriving on any given location, everyone has a (free, neverending) cocktail in her hand. Which of course leads to things like karate chopping demonstrations, yelling "pull my f*cking hair!" at your fellow contestants, and throwing yourself at a hot-but-kinda-bland guy who probably isn't even your type (actually, he's everyone's type -- that's why he's so bland. Ooh, another epiphany!) -- not to mention a crying jag or two. It's like watching our home movies from college: amusing, occasionally uncomfortable, and not something I'd want nationally televised.

Oh, and someone totally needs to give Ali G. (the my-eggs-are-rotting doctor) her own show, where men compete to fulfill her desire to, as she so clinically puts it, "reproduce." It can be like a reality show version of Grey's Anatomy. Call it... Who Wants to Fertilize a Bachelorette?

"upscale" "modern" "boozin'"

2006-01-24T11:42:00.000-05:00

Holla! It's Restaurant Week! I'm going here on Thursday, and yes, yes we did plan our reservations around the O.C.

As Zagat sayeth, it's "upscale" and "modern." As real people I know sayeth, it has "slammin'" "pomegranate" "margaritas."

Coincidentally, I received my office football pool payout yesterday. What did I tell you?

Case of the Mondays

2006-01-23T13:13:00.000-05:00

Just because... here's the Office Space quiz:

What Office Space character are you? [Quizilla]

I'm Lawrence, the mulleted, porn-watching next door neighbor. F-in' A, man.

I wanna rock your potty **

2006-01-20T15:50:00.000-05:00

The one and only instance in which I would use a Port-a-John:

** shut up. I had to.

Pit Stop [People.com]

Calvin & Hobbes, birth control and RIPSTERS

2006-01-20T13:36:00.000-05:00

It's always fun to read essays that name-check my institute of higher learning -- aka the apparent birthplace of "ripsters." Cue tears of pride.

And for the record, there ain't no "local Blockbuster" in the Vern. You mean the Video Update, beeyatch!

Hips of Steel [Village Voice]

Hey, preppy

2006-01-19T14:25:00.000-05:00

Is it wrong that the very name of Mark-Paul Gosselaar still makes me swoon, in all its be-hyphened and double-aa'ed glory?

He looks a little splotchy here, but you can tell the preppy schemer still lurks within. Congrats, Zack Morris and non-Kelly Kapowski wife!

Mark-Paul Gosselaar & Wife Expecting [People.com]

Unlucky day my arse!

2006-01-13T17:24:00.000-05:00

Be still my yupster heart -- a new Anthropologie is opening in Rock Center, mere yards from my place de indentured servitude!

Heralded by hundreds of levitating marshmallows (no really, that's what those are), it shall serve as a big eff-you to legions of Winnie-the-Pooh-sweatshirt-wearing tourists.

People, it's Midtown. You've got to embrace the small victories. It's better than the friggin Abercrombie!

Update: Yes, I know you can see me in the reflection. It's artsy, no?

It's Friday the 13th...

2006-01-13T11:42:00.000-05:00

...but don't let that get you down. Just focus on this guy and he'll make you happy, I promise.

A Better Body in 64 Payments [NYT]

Thought of the day

2006-01-10T14:46:00.000-05:00

"Earth is a juicy little planet on the outer edge of a ripped galaxy called Ryan Atwood."

Thanks, Mad Libs desk calendar (and by extension, Denise)!

"I wish we WERE yuppies!"

2006-01-06T18:18:00.000-05:00

Ever read the headline of one of those newsmagazine "trend" pieces and go, "oh crap, I bet that's me"?

The Rise of the 'Yupster' - Newsweek Periscope - MSNBC.com

As it turns out, I'm not a yupster. I do own music by Sufjan Stevens, but I've never set foot inside a Land Rover. (Luckily, the article says nothing about Anthropologie.)

"Young, upwardly mobile, professional...those are good things, not bad things!"

Get out of my gym: A public service announcement

2006-01-03T21:51:00.000-05:00

New Year's resolutions are great, aren't they? A whole new year and a fresh start at joining a gym and working all that junk out of your trunk. Aww. That would be really charming and admirable if you were actually going to stick to your resolution past February. But you're not -- you just don't have the willpower -- and in the meantime, you're taking up space on the elliptical trainer.

We all have to start somewhere, and I applaud anyone who makes a commitment to developing even a modicum of physical fitness. I gorged myself during the holidays, too, and the need to work it off is strong. But if you won't be here in March, June or September too, do us all a favor and don't use all the towels in the locker room. Think instead of the time you could be spending at home. I'm sure your couch misses you.

And "I don't know where the paper towels are" is not a valid excuse for not wiping down your machine. Find them. I'll wait while you do it.

Sheesh.

Impulse buy

2005-12-30T13:19:00.000-05:00

So, I just bought two tickets to Jenny Lewis' solo show in NYC. I didn't send my usual go-to-a-show-with-me-pleeeease missive 'cause not many of you are at your computers today!

It's on Sunday, Feb. 5. Email me if you wanna come with (my real email, not the blog's email).

Her new album's comin' out in January: Amazon.com: Rabbit Fur Coat: Music

Ohio report

2005-12-30T12:06:00.000-05:00

Friends with engaged younger siblings: 1

Friends who bought houses this year: 1

Friends who already owned houses: at least 3

Friends who are pregnant: 1

Friends who are very happy they live in New York now: at least 3

I've been back for a day and a half; now it's off to Chicago for New Year's!

Contingency plan

2005-12-20T08:13:00.000-05:00

1. Turn on NPR. Hear news. Sleep in!

2. Wake up. Peek outside window to see anarchy (result: there wasn't any)

3. Work from home in jammies with Pacey.

Futbol American

2005-12-13T14:14:00.000-05:00

I (by some freak of nature*) won $20 in my office football pool today! Wooo! I predict that I will spend it on booze.

Speaking of football:

2. Tostitos Fiesta Bowl, Jan. 2, 4:30 pm ET ABC Notre Dame vs. Ohio State Notre Dame vs. Arkansas State would probably get the highest TV ratings outside of the Rose Bowl, much less a showdown with the Buckeyes. The Irish offense gets its toughest test all year, while Ohio State’s offense will see if it can hang punch-for-punch with the Irish passing game. Yeah, the Buckeyes should have way too much on both sides of the ball for the Irish, but it’s Ohio State vs. Notre Dame. You have to watch.Stars of the show: 1. Brady Quinn, QB Notre Dame, 2. A.J. Hawk, LB Ohio State, 3. Jeff Samardzija, WR Notre DameThe knee jerk, off-the-cuff, initial prediction: Ohio State 38 … Notre Dame 20

*holiday party Thursday times peppermint martinis minus dinner = hangover and excellent NFL clairvoyance

Ranking the Bowls, 1-28 [FOXsports.com]

Steinhof, how we love you

2005-12-10T12:28:00.000-05:00

This article was published way back in June, but Steinhof recently posted it on their door, prompting me to look it up on the Times website.

Normally I get angsty when a favorite restaurant/bar/band/book/younameit is given prominent publicity, because then everyone will discover it and it won't be quite as special. But with Steinhof, I'm not so worried, because everyone already goes there and that's why it's awesome. Besides the beer and gulash, of course.

P.S. We also love Tost, the newish panini bar across the street. They have hot spiced wine for those cold winter nights, and paninis with tasty ingredients that are both cheap and the size of your head.

(In the main college drag of my hometown, there is (used to be?) a burrito hole-in-the-wall place with a neon sign announcing "Burritos the Size of Your Head!" The Size of Your Head will always be an effective marketing campagin where I am concerned.)

Pilsner and Schnitzel Anchor a Neighborhood [NY Times]

Sad

2005-12-10T12:06:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was the last day for Ye Olde Tripple Inn. And at Christmas, too...just when their motley assortment of holiday decorations actually makes sense!

I didn't know that it was such a showbiz legend. But they did have an excellent assortment of post-theatre fried food, and the Yankees on TV. An excellent bar for when your evening plans force you to be in Midtown -- there are so few of these in existence!

In other theatre-district-legend-turned-high-rise news, McHales is closing forever on New Year's day. Gather ye giant burgers while ye may...

Ye Olde Tripple Inn [Felber's Frolics via Gawker]

McHale's Last Call [NY Post]

ughhhhh

2005-12-08T15:02:00.000-05:00

Just back from wading through some paperwork at my bank. Whoever stole my ATM card should drop dead. Hey, I don't ask for blood, gore or lingering disease. Just spontaneous death will do. Though it occurs to me that anyone who spends $30 at McDonalds in a single day might already be headed for an early demise.

In Holiday Memoriam

2005-12-05T21:25:00.000-05:00

I think it's safe to assume that the dissolution of the Simpson-Lachey union means no Nick & Jessica Holiday Special this year. Which means we won't be getting a repeat of the Most Unintentionally Hilarious Interpretation of 'Little Drummer Boy' Ever Performed.

All together now..."paaarumpumpum PAAOOOOOUUMMMM!!!"

If you also watched last year (shut up), you'll remember exactly what I'm talking about.

Down with Christmahanukwanzakah! Up with Christmahanukwanasolstiversary!!

2005-12-05T21:17:00.000-05:00

Virgin Mobile totally stole their new ad campaign, Christmahanukwanzakah, from Cyrus and I. (And probably The O.C., but that's beside the point.)

However, our holiday -- Christmahanukwanasolstiversary -- is different and clearly better, because it also includes nods to Wiccan celebrations and our 16-month anniversary. So screw you, Virgin!

Christmahanukwanzakah

El arbol es en fuego!

2005-11-30T22:17:00.000-05:00

Before (not Christmas):

After (Christmas!):

Thanksgiving weekend movies that surprisingly aren't so bad

2005-11-28T21:25:00.000-05:00

Part one: Rent.

I rolled my eyes when I learned they were making this into a movie -- a movie starring 35-year-olds -- but I actually sort of loved it. To be sure, there are plenty of reasons to criticize both Rent the stage production and Rent the film, some of which hold no water with me and some of which are disturbing and compelling. But in the end, it's about friendship, love, community, energy and some darned catchy songs, and I just can't hate it, or believe that Jonathan Larson did his community a disservice by penning it and putting it on a stage.

I don't think Rent sells out its serious subjects or real-life counterparts any more than any musical ever did. Did soldiers and rebels actually mark the French Revolution with big production numbers? When history books reflect upon the Vietnam War, do they focus on the hot action goin' down at the Saigon strip clubs? If you take issue with Rent on this front, then you take issue with the genre in general (which, I suppose, many people do).

Watching the film from a suburban multiplex, it made me long to get back to New York. Even if it only represents a fantastical, made-for-Broadway version of the city; even though the filmmakers superimposed Mars Bar on the middle of a block, my heart swelled every time the camera panned across rooftops dotted with watertowers. The city, if not entirely accurate, was recognizable. (That includes the late-'80s-even-more-ghetto-than-today F train.)

Also, who is cuter than Anthony Rapp? Practically no one.

Spotted: Sandy Cohen!

2005-11-09T16:55:00.000-05:00

Peter Gallagher (AND HIS EYEBROWS) dropped by my office today!!

He had no business with me, but an intrepid coworker and I did manage to do a walk-by of the meeting and catch a glimpse. He was resplendent in a green mock turtleneck.

Not everyone shared in our display of elation over Sandy Cohen's visit, which is puzzling and sad. If we can't muster excitement over the real-life manifestations of primetime soap opera characters, then what have we got in this world?

Nothing, people. Nothing at all.

(boom) LOST!

2005-11-09T15:02:00.000-05:00

So, public opinion overwhelmingly dictates that bitchy Shannon is the one who dies on Lost tonight. Apparently the answer was posted on some horrendous spoiler-propagating website. Which I DID NOT READ, because I am vehmently anti-spoiler. I prefer to remain blissfully in the dark about my television drama. If being anti-spoiler were a religious sect, I would be part of its Pentecostal denomination.

UPDATE: She died. (Or did she?!?!) I hope that didn't spoil it for anyone.

NY Marathon '05: I saw the balls

2005-11-07T20:03:00.000-05:00

They were running down the other side of 4th Avenue, so I didn't get a picture. Luckily, someone else did!

I, of course, took the requisite fuzzy cameraphone photos.

So when we first got down there ("there" being the corner of 4th and, oh, 13th or so in Brooklyn), just a couple lone runners were striding by and I thought maybe we'd missed most of it. There was a makeshift band set up across the street under that green awning -- a guy, a girl, their toddler, a guitar, a keyboard and an amp -- and they were playing a Radiohead cover. It was all rather apocalyptic.

And then, all of a sudden, runners started appearing in surges.

It was a very cool sight to behold. We were standing at about Mile 8, so most of the runners were still in high spirits. Two French guys linked arms and were dance-running down the street together. ("They're European," someone behind me said aloud.)

The spectators to my left passed out Kleenex for brow-wiping. Radiohead was eventually drowned out by some canned yet festive Ricky Martin. Further down the street, a band of crunchy hippies formed a drum circle (are there any notable civic events that hippies don't see fit to celebrate with a drum circle?) and people hung off their porches and windows and balconies like they were welcoming troops home from war.

I'd never come out for the marathon before, but it might just replace the U.S. Open on my list of warmest, fuzziest sporting events. If only there had been spicy fries...

Bombs over MoDo

2005-11-03T11:56:00.000-05:00

Oh, snap! Slate gets all up in MoDo's business:

Is Maureen Dowd Necessary? - The Times op-ed columnist adds nothing to the debate between the sexes. By Katie Roiphe

Incidentally, this piece nails everything I can't stand about MoDo the columnist. But in defense of MoDo the girlfriend, I must protest that Carrie Bradshaw never had to put up with this shit.

MoDo Rising

2005-11-02T21:47:00.000-05:00

Haven't you heard? It's Maureen Dowd week!

New York Times - What's a Modern Girl to Do?

New York - Maureen Dowd's Dangerous Charm

I've never counted myself as a Maureen Dowd fan; even when I agree with the gist of what she's saying in her op eds, I'm often turned off by the way she says it. The Times Magazine piece was a bit different, though. It was thoughtful (seven online pages' worth of thoughtful, in fact), and it struck a chord with some of the women I know, and it at least makes me feel compelled to steal a glance at her new book, but more than that -- it gave me new insight into the heretofore obscure mind and world of MoDo.

Maureen Dowd was never one of those "grubby, unisex jeans and no-makeup" feminists. Maureen Dowd and her girlfriends have had their share of guy trouble. Maureen Dowd is -- gasp! -- like Carrie Bradshaw!

And then I read Ariel Levy's profile of her in this week's New York, which aroused in me the sneaking -- and not a little unnerving -- suspicion that Maureen Dowd might be kind of awesome. I totally want to hang with her and her NY Times girl gang, cruising the Creme de la Mer counter at Saks and dishing about Pulitzers and ex-boyfriends with Alessandra and "Michi." We'd play practical jokes on John Tierney and guffaw about it afterward while shopping for stilettos!

Alas, MoDo, I never knew ye, and now it's too late. You're behind the wall of Times Select, and I may never get to read your column again. I mean, unless I buy the actual print version of the New York Times (ha!).

In the meantime, can we have a follow-up column on that Times article? I still have no idea who should pay for my profiteroles.

Our Asian hero

2005-11-02T21:39:00.000-05:00

Ever wondered how Hideki Matsui, least ostentatious of Yankee outfielders, spends his hard-earned paychecks? My roommate just wrote with the following:

"Time Magazine's Asian edition recently did a cover story on AsianHeroes, one of whom is Yankee outfielder Hideki Matsui. And let's just say Matsui really apparently enjoys his Cinemax After Dark among American innovations.

" 'Indeed, his only eccentricity, if it can be called that, is his extensive private library of adult videos. His refreshing ability to laugh self-deprecatingly about his porno collection, reporters say, is one reason why fans and even non fans have taken to him so much. Says former reporter Isao Hirooka: 'Hideki just wants to be like ordinary people.' '

"Even odder is that in the very next paragraph, Matsui is described ashaving, "meaty, calloused hands."

Ew. But he's still my Asian hero!

TIMEasia - Asian heroes

Where have I been?!

2005-10-30T10:21:00.000-05:00

All kinds of places. First, to the homeland.

There was mall-going. There was football-watching. I beat my parents at Scrabble. And I'm not gonna lie -- there was some QT with theAmish.

Don't scoff. They cook a mean fried chicken!

On Monday I went back to the godforsaken job, thereby percipitating a bit of a lull until Wednesday, which saw excitement in the form of an International Center training session (I love volunteering there already) and an OK Go concert at Irving Plaza.

OK Go were, quite simply, delightful. Their studio recordings are no match for the live show, at the very least because you're not treated to the sight of their impeccably dressed hipster roadie slinking about the stage when you're listening to a CD. And the band does a choreographed dance to close the show. There is no way to describe the awesomeness of this dance. It must be witnessed firsthand.

Then on Thursday I watched Cyrus carve a pumpkin because I hate using big knives, and then I toasted and ate the seeds. Friday I saw Shopgirl and got drunk and played Skee-ball. Saturday was a day of Brooklyn fun. And that pretty much catches you up to today.

It's very sad, but Halloween shenanigans this year have been minimal. Seems like everyone decided to take this year off -- therefore, there was no point in investing much time and money into costume design and procurement. I did, however, buy the wig portion of my costume before the lack of party options became apparent, so I'll be wearing that tomorrow night.

It's the pause that refreshes in the corridors of power...

2005-10-18T21:47:00.000-04:00

On my way to the office this morning, just as I was surfacing from the subway at Rockefeller Center, this song serendipitously came up on my iPod...

...and I sprang into action as a corporate warrior, dedicated to taking down The Man from the inside!

Seriously. Just try to hand me a TPS report.

Weekend celeb sightings

2005-10-17T15:51:00.000-04:00

Did I see Gilmore Girls prettyboy Milo Ventimiglia (Rory's erstwhile boytoy Jess) kickin' it with some friends at the Musical Box on Avenue B last Friday night? I'm not sure. My vision may have been a little fuzzy after several glasses of Greek wine at that restaurant with the flaming cheese. If it wasn't him, it was his doppelganger, right down to the short stature and gelled hairstyle.

On the other hand, I definitely saw Steve Buscemi in Prospect Park on Saturday afternoon. This is a commonplace sighting for people that live in my neighborhood, but I'd never seen him before. Looks exactly as he does on film, but his hair seemed more grey.

Who knew that Steve Buscemi once fought alongside Vince Vaughn in a bar brawl?! Thanks, IMDb!

Confound You, Keanu

2005-10-14T13:02:00.000-04:00

Just when I'm prepared to write you off, you have to show up in Thumbsucker and completely rock the house as a wolf-worshipping new age orthodontist.

I'm quite the fan of early Keanu. What cold-hearted cynic couldn't love Bill and Ted? (Somewhere at my parents' house, I even own the soundtrack for 'Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey' on cassette tape.) He was also great in 'Parenthood,' where he got to deliver the iconic line: "You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car - hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father."

Oh, and let's not forget his work in Paula Abdul's "Rush, Rush" video. Wooo!

So it's not that he's a bad actor. I think he's just really, really perfect for some roles, and in others the combination of deadpan delivery and earnest expression doesn't play well. However, after 'Thumbsucker,' he's completely forgiven for obliterating my preteen movie star crush with the clunker 'A Walk in the Clouds.'

I'll say it: I like Keanu. Again. In 15 years or so, he'll be a hipster icon a la Bill Murray and we will have a Keanu Renaissance on our hands. Mark my words.

I also really liked young actor Lou Pucci, who played the main character in 'Thumbsucker.' He's got this Wiley Wiggins-in-Dazed and Confused thing going on -- I think it's the hair hanging in his eyes. Wiley Wiggins, where have you been?

(Oh, I just found his blog. Now I know!)

Remember back before it started raining?

2005-10-13T13:05:00.000-04:00

Yeah, me neither. Luckily, I have photographic evidence, taken two weekends ago at the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. Note how the crappy cameraphone lends that sexy, blurred look to each shot. Instant artiste!

The Hudson River, as seen from Riverside Park in late afternoon:

A Sage Advice reader points the way across the Brooklyn Bridge:

Mini bananas at a stand in Chinatown:

Just what I have ALWAYS WANTED

2005-10-07T16:07:00.000-04:00

An intellectual justification for your 17th viewing of Cruel Intentions

Slate, this is why I love you.

That come-on from Sarah Michelle Gellar's character that they won't print? It's "You can put it anywhere."

Oh yeah -- I said it!

We (might) be Strokin'

2005-10-05T14:42:00.000-04:00

A coworker tipped me off to this interesting tidbit from Curbed yesterday:

"The Stroke Heard Round the Slope

As Park Slope spreads its wings and flies, to Fourth Avenue and beyond, a shocker comes in from the South:

Heard this rumor that one of the Strokes (and his black Range Rover) moved to Park Slope (south slope) on 15th Street between 6th and 7th ave...

Now, we have experience in this situation, so before we jump to conclusions we'll just say HOLY SHIT A STROKE MOVED TO BROOKLYN AND NOW THE SOUTH SLOPE IS THE KEWLEST NEIGHBORHOOD IN THE WORLD AND WAY AWESOMER THAN WILLIAMSBURG BECAUSE THE 'BURG IS FOR TURDS. Thank you."

Could it be that a bonafide Stroke is gracing our neighborhood with his greasy, retro-rock presence? But which Stroke?
Is it...

The lead singer one, whose dad owns the modelling agency?

Is it... the Drew Barrymore one? (probably not)

Is it... one of the other three whose names and faces I can't remember? (hmm, not especially helpful for sightings in the ''outdoor seating area'' of Bar 4, or while picking up a six-pack and some hair grease at La Dolce Vita.)

Unsubstantiated rumor or no, one fact emerges with crystal clarity: THE 'BURG IS FOR TURDS might be the best catchphrase ever. Who wants to print t-shirts?!

Le Scandale de Friendster

2005-10-03T19:47:00.000-04:00

I was without computer access on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and within that short time I missed out on a stalkery scandal of sorts. As most everyone who cares must know by now, Friendster -- without any warning -- introduced some new feature wherein you can actually see who's been viewing your profile. Freaky!

I then read that this was an unintended glitch on Friendster's part, and apparently they've since corrected it. Since I logged in on Sunday night for the first time in about a month, I totally missed out on the relevatory bonanza of finding out who's been viewing my profile. So stalkers, rest assured -- I remain blissfully unaware of what you've been up to. Stalk on in peace, I guess!

Of course, this is only one half of the dilemma: I'm now racking my brain trying to remember whose profile I've viewed in the past month, and if they'd be totally freaked out by seeing my photo on the "who's been stalking you?" page. The last time I logged on was probably...early September or late August? And I don't usually venture beyond my friends' profiles, and their friends' profiles, so...?

Damn, look what you're doing to me, Friendster! I'm not a maladjusted Internet perv -- my conscience should be clear!

Bookish

2005-09-29T22:10:00.000-04:00

When your job by definition involves staring at a computer screen for8 hours daily -- seriously, we don't even have paperwork, and my presence is required at very few face-to-face meetings -- every so often, your eyes have to pay the piper. Meaning, I've been suffering from tension headaches come quittin' time most days this week, so for the sake of my prized 20/20 vision I've put a moratoriumon after-work computer use and most extracurricular reading (except for the book of the week on my morning commute. That's sacred). Which is all a very long, drawn-out way of saying that I haven't been updating the blog as much as I'd like. (But that's perfectly OK 'causeI suspect the readership includes only two or three of my friends, who talk to me all the time anyway. Hi guys!)

There are several new books I've been meaning to get my hands on:

Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis I consider myself a Bellis fan, even though I've read only two of his books: American Psycho, which I thought was brilliant although I had to skim over the most graphic parts, and The Rules of Attraction, which was just OK. (Back when the latter was first published, there may have been fewer print columns devoted to exposing the drinking, drugging, rich and spoiled and sleeping around nature of elite college students than there is now inthis I Am Charlotte Simmons age. Am I right? Maybe? And anyway, I read it the year after I graduated from a private liberal arts college, so my reaction was not shock, horror! but more along the lines of "duh." ) Anyway, definitely planning on picking up Lunar Park to hear what the author has to say about the 'burbs, but might not get around to it 'til paperback.

I must also add that I adore watching/reading interviews of Bret Easton Ellis. He speaks incredibly candidly and intelligently, even when the interviewer doesn't deserve it. I really wanted him to stand up and spew blood at Katie Couric, Patrick Bateman style.

On Beauty by Zadie Smith This one I might actually have to spring for in hardcover. Girl's wicked smart.

Indecision by Benjamin Kunkel I'm intrigued by the high-profile raves this has received, but it seems like the kind of book that would ultimately piss me off. Do I really need to read a novel -college ennui and confusion? I get enough of that with my inner monologue, thanks, minus the whining.

Plus, I already have a favorite young-f'ed-up-20-something-guy-in-New-York novel. It is The Frog King, by Adam Davies. Love it!

So long, Vaughn -- for real

2005-09-29T21:01:00.000-04:00

Well, I got my wish! Even I felt a little sorry for poor Vaughn, getting mercilessly machine-gunned into oblivion -- until he SURVIVED to go to the hospital! How is that possible?! Quite the bulletproof vests they're making these days. Of course, then he bit the big one in intensive care. And I almost felt sorry for all those crazy Vaughn fans. Well, almost.

As long as Victor Garber's alive, I'm happy! Sigh.

Alias

I am a do-gooder, and please don't hump near my burger

2005-09-26T21:11:00.000-04:00

I'm going to be a volunteer at the International Center! yaaaay.

After my volunteer interview tonight, finding myself in my old work neighborhood, I decided to hit up the New York Burger Co. for dinner. It appeared in our 'hood right after we moved offices and I'd been meaning to give it a try. Anyway, it was all kinds of yum. The burgers are just the right size, filling without being gut-bustingly huge, and the lettuce and tomato were surprisingly fresh, making it a very pretty burger indeed. I had mine with the NY Burger Co. sauce, which is sort of a thicker version of the brown sauce that the Brits put on everything. As for the fries, they're no US Open spicy fries, but they're crisp and not too greasy.

Having said all that, I have to say one more thing about the NY Burger Co.: it's not especially romantic. The lights are flourescent, it was scattered here and there with remnants of the day's lunch and dinner rush, and it's filled with people in fast food uniforms. Hey, that's cool with me. I'm there to eat my burger and leave. Others, however, come to the Burger Co. to get it on next to the soda machine. I mean full-on making out, in front of me, the line cooks, God and everyone. You're startlingly close to the condiments bar, and I'm scared to go get another pickle for fear I might see something that shouldn't be illuminated by flourescent lighting. In short, I must ask you to contain your mad lust or get your burgers to go. Thankyou.

OCness: The Sexpisode

2005-09-23T16:08:00.000-04:00

Just so you know, I called the whole sex-and-death montage thing. And so it came to pass: while Marissa and Ryan were getting it on in a tiki hut, Jimmy Cooper was getting wacked by the Newport mafia. However, I was wrong about the dying part. Instead he's presumably sailing his busted face away to ports unknown.

Aren't you wondering where you've seen that "dean of discipline" before? Well, I'll tell you: he's "the Gregster" (gay football player who gets used by Pacey) from Cruel Intentions. No, I didn't need imdb for that -- I'm just. that. good.

Thus endeth the self-promotional OC rundown.

That is so Party of Five

2005-09-20T21:48:00.000-04:00

-Watched: new CBS sitcom How I Met Your Mother. It's good, people! I can't remember the last time the first episode of a new sitcom actually made me laugh. And there was a shout-out to the F train. Holla!

-Purchased: Wake Up, Sir! by Jonathan Ames. This, too, is making me laugh -- out loud on the train, twice today.

-Anticipated: cannolis tomorrow evening when I visit the San Gennaro festival. Mmm-mm. And let's not forget the season premiere of Lost, Best Show on Television!

I went to look for pictures just now and found this. What is going on here? Is Jack going blind this season?

Indie guilt

2005-09-16T16:39:00.000-04:00

CMJ is upon us, and I'm wrestling with the fact that I really don't care. To be honest, it sort of snuck up on me -- it's almost a month earlier than it was last year, or the year before that. As much as I love hearing new music, this love is tempered by my distaste for standing packed like sardines in tiny rock clubs (don't get me wrong; I love tiny rock clubs, just not the sardine-packing), when my fellow audience-mates are irritating hipsters and NYU undergrads who talk over the music and spill beer on my shoes. Wow, I sound like such a grumpy old fogey! As I sped down Allen Street in a cab last night, I spied the gaggles of indie rock kids queuing up for the 1AM shows and felt relieved that I'd spent my evening not with them, but in the company of O.C. Season 3, episode 2 at a friend's place uptown.

Because this is New York. All these bands are bound to come back in a month or two, right?

Here's a deep, dark little secret: I sometimes hate going to concerts in New York. I don't mean my friends' bands, of course, or other smaller bands of the CMJ caliber, but if it's a group who's reasonably well-known, I often can't be bothered, even if I like them. For one thing, shows sell out in the blink of an eye here. I'm willing to bet that I could buy my ticket at the door for an Arcade Fire show in my hometown, but here? Scoring a place in the audience involves advance research, and often lots of money (my rule of thumb: no show should cost more than $50, unless it's a) a multiple billing or b) U2). Of course, then I hear how David Bowie showed up to play with Arcade Fire in Central Park last night and I cry sad, sad tears because I wasn't there. Must start doing better research! Must sign up for mailing lists and visit band websites!

Here's another deep, dark little secret: I'm blogging at the office! ooOOOOooh.

Botched Kate Winslet sighting!

2005-09-14T21:43:00.000-04:00

So Cyrus and I were walking down East 68th to the 6 train this evening, and as we were crossing Third Avenue we happened upon a happy little puppy trotting the opposite direction. He was golden and tiny and Pomeranian-ish, a compact ball of fluff bouncing through the intersection. At the other end of the puppy's leash was a tall, sporty-looking guy in what seemed like workout clothes, and next to him walked a woman who I didn't really take a look at. As soon as we passed them I poked Cyrus and was like, "lookit that cute dog!!" And he said, "Yeah. I think the dog's owner was Kate Winslet."

Whaaa?!

I can't personally confirm it was her; we have only one man's account to depend on. What was she doing on the Upper East Side -- I thought she lived in the Village? And who was the dude -- personal trainer? It wasn't Sam Mendes, I don't think.

Well, shoot. I think Kate Winslet rocks, and I would have loved to have seen her in person. She foiled me by deploying her super-cute dog -- a dirty trick, I must say. Ah well.

Stuff and things

2005-09-14T21:21:00.000-04:00

-OK, now the '90s XM Satellite Radio channel is really pissing me off. You have the entire '90s at your disposal... and you choose to play the Sixpence None the Richer version of "There She Goes"? Whatever happened to The La's?? I just double-checked, and theirs was released in 1991.

-Speaking of "There She Goes," it's mentioned in a Slate article in which readers complain about commercials that completely disregard the meaning of the songs they're employing to sell their product. Like "Lust for Life" in those Royal Caribbean spots: "Nothing says maritime comfort like a song about shooting up junk." Well, I suppose it does help with the seasickness...

-And speaking of nothing in particular, I saw a boy in a red Merc t-shirt today! In Midtown, no less! Oh Merc, I'd almost forgotten about you.

I Heart the '90s

2005-09-12T19:46:00.000-04:00

One of my coworkers turned me on to the '90s channel on XM Satellite Radio, and I'm absolutely, completely hooked. I've been listening to it nonstop for the past two work days, to the detriment of all other projects. When they say '90s, they mean it -- the channel is completely exhaustive, from the last throes of hair metal to early-mid Britney. It's been a reeducation of sorts.

In 1990, I turned 10. I started that decade as a fourth grader and lived through middle school, high school and even a couple years of college before the millennium turned. They say that the music playing in the background while you're young is the music that sticks with you forever, the songs you'll love and be nostalgic about for the rest of your life. If this is true, god help all of us '90s children.

There's a classic line in High Fidelity (both book and movie) in which Rob says something to the effect of "I grew up listening to songs about heartache and loneliness -- no wonder I'm a mess. Did pop music make me miserable, or am I miserable because I listen to pop music? Which came first, the music or the misery?"

Well, what about really, really bad music? What of kids who came of age to lyrics such as "Rhythm is a dancer" or "Girl, I know you really love me -- you just don't realize" or "Am I Johnny Ray? Am I Jimmy Ray? Who wants to know, who wants to know about me?" Who, indeed. I applaud those of us who made it through the '90s with any sort of taste at all. Let's all take a moment to pat ourselves on the back, and to remember lessons like "You can buy your hair if it won't grow/ You can fix your nose if he says so."

They play a hit from TonyToniTone and I'm back in my fifth grade classroom, having dance-offs during an indoor recess (we were a funky bunch of suburban white kids). That's where I first heard gems like "Poison" or "Ice Ice Baby" -- which, granted, also see me savoring beer out of plastic cups at college parties in 2002, not to mention a bout of drunken karaoke with the softball team two weeks ago. But every once in a while they'll play a song I literally haven't heard in a decade. It'll be absolutely horrible -- cheesy, club-lite synth beats, meaningless lyrics -- but all of a sudden it's 1992 and I'm comparing tans with my friends at the public pool, or riding through a strip-mall parking lot in the back of my mom's long-gone minivan, or talking about C&C Music Factory during homeroom. (For some reason it's usually summer in these memories, and the sun is bright and hot.) Go a few years later -- Natalie Merchant's Tigerlily album, maybe -- and I'm driving around in my own car, to and from high school practices or through the winding neighborhood streets at night after all the traffic lights have shut off. And the 2005 computer-bound me will be gleefully IMing my office cohorts who are tuned in to the same station, to see if they, too, are bearing witness to "Don't want to fall in love" by someone named Jane Child ("I don't wanna fall in love/ Love is just like a knife/ You make the knife feel good"). Bands I couldn't stand at the time -- I'm looking at you, Gin Blossoms -- are now embraced like prodigal children. How could I ever have switched the station on that song by Sister Hazel?!

Mainly, '90s XM radio makes me feel really freaking old. Have I already reached the age where it's possible to embrace utter crap simply because it's reminiscent of the good ol' days? Like a baby boomer who waxes nostalgic about the Animals or the Beach Boys, I'm inextricably linked to Biggie and Tupac, En Vogue and Sublime, Pearl Jam and Jock Jams ("Come baby come baby baby come come..."). But I'm resigned to my fate. I have lived without my Toad the Wet Sprocket for far too long, and I'm now downloading their entire catalogue.

Criticizing the Critical Shopper

2005-09-07T20:46:00.000-04:00

Every Wednesday when the New York Times Style section email arrives in my in-box, I say a little prayer that there's a Critical Shopper inside. Of all the unintentionally hilarious Times style features, this one is by far my favorite. Even the concept is a little nutty -- writer Alex Kuczynski journeys from store to store, sometimes across the country, and bestows upon us her impressions of shopping there. Imagine if a strange breed of upper-class Manhattanite alien was beamed down to your hometown's mall for a spin around the local Gadzooks, and then filed an article on it (O.K., they haven't yet featured Gadzooks, but I'm patiently waiting).

By far my favorite of recent months is the expose on Kitson, the L.A. boutique much vaunted in the pages of US Weekly and other celeb-centric mags. As it turns out, under Kuczynski's critical eye, Kitson was revealed to be not that cool of a store, full of silly t-shirts and kind of messy to boot. And then the sun went dark and the Earth spun off its axis.

However, this week's exploration of J. Crew is almost as good. I'll break down the most relevatory parts for you:

- Thanksgiving is the preppiest time of the year. Also, gin and tonics are the preppiest drink.

- The other shoppers look nothing like J. Crew models. (Repeat: the other shoppers.) But they secretly want to. Don't you know that's why they're here, poor things??

- Fat children shop at J. Crew. They can only aspire to argyle.

- First rule of shopping at J. Crew: never, ever speak of the fact that your clothing is from J. Crew. If you must, lie and say it's Prada, or an ill-conceived piece from Ralph Lauren.

- If you're a well-known reporter from the New York Times, the sales people might remember to tell you they can messenger over your purchases.

- The key look here is "collegiate good health." If you're looking for college kids with STDs and acne, move it to the Gap, son.

Here. Read and learn for yourself.

Into the great wide Open

2005-09-07T20:39:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Rebecca, we went to the U.S. Open for free again this year. I've never followed tennis as rabidly as some, but I love the Open. It's the most good-natured, civilized sporting event I've ever been to. No yelling "you suck!" at the opponent, no throwing of trash, no conspicuous overconsumption of alcohol. Everyone's just thrilled to be there to watch their favorites slug it out, to dance to the cheesy music in between sets, to laugh good-naturedly at whoever's on the Jumbotron.

At one point, there was a guy sitting behind me who somehow found a way to work the word "service" into every sentence. "Venus Williams just hasn't brought her service today." "Oh, good service." "That service is a little off." "Oh, there's her service!" At any other event, I'd mutter something under my breath like "Say service one more time, beeyatch!" but somehow at the Open, these things make you want to laugh and smile and eat more spicy fries (oh, the spicy fries!).

Probably my favorite thing about the Open is this: If you decide to be a jerk and do something idiotic to distract play -- like yelling into Venus Williams' serve, or throwing a ball onto the court during a tense moment -- you will be roundly booed by everyone in Arthur Ashe stadium. The people sitting around you will obligingly stand up and point you out, so everyone knows where to direct their ire. But of course, the ruckus comes to a stop once the referee silences the crowd with a terse "Thank you." I love it! Can you imagine this happening at a football game? No, you cannot.

(Speaking of football... GO BUCKS!)

Action figures -- now with more action!

2005-09-07T20:27:00.000-04:00

Go see The 40-Year-Old Virgin. For real. It's the funniest movie of the year. But is it funnier than Wedding Crashers? everyone seems to ask me. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. And it's just so sweet, too.

One of the main traits of Steve Carell's hapless character is that he owns a lot of action figures, and they're displayed all around his apartment. He collects them and lovingly refurbishes them when they need a new coat of paint (or when he's bored on a Friday night). This is presented as a corollary to virginity: the amount of action figures collected and displayed around a grown man's apartment is inversely proportional to the number of chicks said dude might bed. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here to tell you this is not necessarily true, and I have heard it disproved with my own ears. Witness the following overheard conversation:

A Saturday night/ Sunday morning at 3AM.

Tipsy girl: Heehee. So this is your apartment.

Friend of mine who will remain nameless: Yep, come on in.

Girl: Wow...you have a lot of action figures.

Friend: Yeah...I have more in my room.
Footsteps, followed by shutting of door.

And it WORKED! Can you believe that? Clearly alcohol was at play, but still. Adult comic book geeks of the world, take heart -- subtle wordplay may be your saving grace.

There now. Don't say this blog never lived up to its name.

Narcissian Tragedy

2005-09-01T17:42:00.000-04:00

I was hopping around on the blogosphere today and came across this item, courtesy of Lindsayism: it seems that well-known blogger Stephanie Klein has accused another blog of plagiarizing her work.

I don't read Ms. Klein's blog. I tried once after she was profiled in the Times, but I found I couldn't get through a single entry -- they're too long and self-analytical and filled with the kinds of things I can't imagine would be of interest to anyone who doesn't know her (though that's apparently not the case, judging from her reportedly wide readership). But it seems to me that she's afflicted by the same misconception that plagues a lot of newbie writers and freelance journalists and gets dispelled very quickly (or rather, it should) once you've been in the game or spent any amount of time on an editorial staff. Quite simply: your ideas, your opinions, even your personal experiences, aren't anywhere near as original as you think they are. If you've thought of an idea for a piece, odds are that someone, somewhere, has also thought of covering the same thing in a similar way. Think about it: we all live in the 21st century; we watch the same TV shows (ahem, Sex and the City, Ms. Klein), have heard of the same bands, read the same books in college, have been to the same places -- hell, many of us media folk live right here in New York. The result? No idea exists in a bubble. It's born of the same influences and experiences that shape everyone else's ideas. To believe otherwise is the equivalent of a first-grader yelling "copycat!!" to the teacher because some other kid also drew a blue house during fingerpainting hour.

I can see why this might have failed to register for Ms. Klein. She hasn't worked as a professional journalist, she's never before had an audience for her written work -- let alone a nationwide following -- and she's receieved a lot of publicity and praise for her blog. But dude, you have got to let it go and stop jumping all over people. If they want to satirize you, let 'em -- it's their right, and face it, you're an easy target. If someone, god help them, really is imitating you... so what? It doesn't matter. It really doesn't. Also, plagiarism is a much dirtier word than you think it is. You don't point fingers lightly. I won't innumerate all the ways in which your case doesn't fit the bill, but there's no way in hell. Sorry. (And not to bite the hand that feeds this blog, but I have to wonder at Blogger for the role they played in encouraging Ms. Klein's unfounded ego-tripping -- namely, shutting down the accused copyright-infringers. Why??)

I'm no self-styled superstar journo-blogger, but I did have the random experience of having a feature I put together at work magically show up on the pages of Reader's Digest. It was pretty clear that they'd seen it, liked the idea, and devised their own little charticle using a lot of the same information I did. And you know what? It was awesome. I got to run around for a week telling my friends how Reader's Digest ripped me off. Hey, I'll take my flattery where I can get it.

Here comes the story of the Hurricane...

2005-09-01T16:25:00.000-04:00

This landlocked-Midwest-raised gal came closer than she's ever been to a hurricane on Monday. We experienced Katrina from the vantage point of our ill-timed four-day vacation in Walton County, Florida (on the panhandle, just east of Panama City). Mostly, this meant a smattering of rain, very high winds for 24 hours, and a beach, already ravaged from the season's previous storms, that vanished as if it was never there. It wasn't particularly dangerous for us. One perky out-of-towner interviewed on the local news actually described it as "totally awesome!" Um, I hope you meant that in a Biblical sense, honey, because the reports coming out of Louisiana and Mississippi are totally horrific and scary. Impossible to wrap one's head around, really, and there's no way I could write anything insightful about it, so here are two links:

Network for Good :: Home

Hurricane Katrina - Slate's take on the natural disaster.
particularly: Jack Shafer

Your Homeland Security at Work

2005-08-31T21:59:00.000-04:00

Scene: Laguardia airport, midnight in late August. Players: Airport employee #1; Airport employee #2 ("Hector"); a large black duffel bag.

Employee #1, walking by: Hey, Hector! Whose bag is that?

Hector, glances at duffel bag sitting unguarded under row of chairs: Umm... I don't know.

Employee #1: How long's it been sitting there?

Hector: Dunno... dunno.

Employee #1: Got something in it? Looks like it.

Hector: Umm...Looks like it. Yep.

Employee #1: Well, ah, better move it over there along the wall or something.

Hector, not moving: O.K.

Scotland the Brave

2005-08-24T17:43:00.000-04:00

I've been back for two days now with nary a mention of my anarchy in the U.K.! Actually, there was no need for anarchy because I love it there. The real anarchic mentality comes from being back in the office when I could be drinking whiskey in a castle. So, to cheer me up, without further ado...

Top Reasons why I love the U.K. in general (and Scotland in particular):

1. At breakfast, you're not forced to choose between bacon and sausage -- you automatically get both. And dammit, that's the way it should be. Our wonderful B&B in Edinburgh even threw in some haggis on the side, which makes for an astounding four-meat breakfast if you count the eggs.

2. REAL BEER. Not Budweiser -- not Coors -- not Miller -- REAL BEER.

3. Despite the penchant for greasy breakfast meats, organic foods are widely available in grocery stores and people seem much more concerned with where their food is coming from. (Well, maybe not compared to some New Yorkers, but certainly compared to people in Ohio, where I'm originally from). I had no idea there was such a thing as "sea salt" until I first visited a Sainsbury's four years ago.

4. Posh and Becks!

5. History. As an American, seeing great stone edifices that have survived for hundreds and hundreds of years completely blows my mind, not to mention being able to walk through rooms where people like Mary Queen of Scots lived, plotted and died. Nothing in the states is that old -- and if it was, it would have been torn down by now.

6. The candy is insane. I'm not much of a sweet tooth, but I can't help being fascinated by the outlandish and quirky array of British candy bars -- Aero, Lion Bars, all kinds of Cadbury -- and the chocolate is rich and creamy, not bland Hershey's swill. It should come as no surprise that this is the nation that spawned Willy Wonka and his magical factory. Plus it's the home of toffee and shortbread, my two all-time favorite sweets (yes, I'm a weirdo). Let's not even get started on McVitie's Caramel Digestives, biscuit of the gods!

7. Topshop. Their flagship store in London's Oxford Circus might be my mothership.

8. David Byrne. David Byrne in a kilt!

9. All museums are free, all of the time. You end up going more often -- at least, I did -- because there's less pressure to set aside an entire day to get the most for your $20 MoMA ticket. If you've got time to kill, you can pop in for 15 minutes, see an exhibit or two, and be on your way.

10. They think Americans are kind of insane. And they're right, of course. But you can tell they secretly love us for it -- without us, the hundreds of comics at the Fringe would have far less fodder for their acts.

And one thing New York has over Edinburgh:

1. Where have all the doggies gone? We couldn't help but notice while strolling the streets of Edinburgh that it was nearly puppyless. How sad! Maybe the dogs left town for the festival season, or maybe they're just inside to avoid getting trampled by crowds of tourists. Or maybe they don't feel the need to strut around in public, showing off their Louis Vuitton accessories like New York dogs. But either way, city walks just aren't the same if you can't indulge your doggie envy by fussing over other people's pets.

The Wrath of Nick Lachey

2005-08-24T14:30:00.000-04:00

Here's something funny: Nick Lachey has a sports column in the Cincinnati Enquirer. Well, one column, for now. Apparently, he "contacted the Enquirer through a representative and wanted to have his voice heard." (Dude, that's totally how I'm sending my article pitches from now on. )

Nick Lachey's take

Thanks to Gawker for pointing it out.

So long, Vaughn

2005-08-23T17:32:00.000-04:00

I came across this website today, courtesy of an item on People.com:

THE MV CAMPAIGN: Uniting fans of Michael Vaughn / Michael Vartan

I'll be blunt: Are you people crazy?! Let's ignore for a moment the obvious facts that "Vaughn" is a character. On a TV Show. A TV show that hasn't been great in recent memory. And that Michael Vartan is a working actor who will, most likely, continue to find more work as the poor man's Ralph Fiennes in J. Lo's next romantic comedy, if that is what he so desires. He is not to be pitied. If he needed an ad in Variety to help his career, his agent would surely be way ahead of you on that.

The real issue: Vaughn needs to die. I've been saying this for over a year. His character doesn't do much of anything anymore except moon over Sydney when there are greater issues at hand, like saving the world from zombies. I mean really, what kind of a spy is this guy anyway? While everyone else is tricked out in fancy outfits, Vaughn's idea of a clever disguise is usually something along the lines of wire-frame glasses and a little fake moustache. (Go check your TiVoed episodes and see if I'm wrong.) And then -- surprise! -- the mission goes awry. Way to go, Vaughn!

With Vaughn out of the picture, Syd would be free to pursue more interesting relationships. Maybe she'd hook up with this guy -- now that would be hot. We haven't seen nearly enough of him lately.

Or they could always bring back Will Tippin! On the other hand... Bradley "Will Tippin" Cooper just appeared in a very funny role in Wedding Crashers. See? There is life after you get written out of Alias.

NoPoo

2005-08-16T19:37:00.000-04:00

I just spent $15 on a bottle of shampoo -- plus another $15 each for the corresponding conditioner and hair gel -- and I'm feeling a little guilty about it. How much is too much to spend on a toiletry that can be purchased for a few singles (and that for a much larger bottle) at Duane Reade? But, then, this isn't just any old shampoo. It's NoPoo -- shampoo without, um, poo. "Poo" in this case being sodium lauryl sulfate, which my new curly-hair-specialist hairstylist Casey informed me is an industrial-strength cleanser invented in the 1950s to make household cleaning products last longer. It produces lots of suds, you see, making all those Eisenhower-era advertisement housewives exclaim "ooh! it's really working!" when in fact it's just sort of zapping the life out of unsuspecting hair. "Are there any drugstore-variety shampoos you'd recommed?" I asked Casey. "No," she said firmly. Oh.

Yeah, yeah. I guess I'd read that somewhere before. But I was getting along fine with my cheap Dove shampoo. I mean, my hair wasn't falling out or anything. Somehow, though, as I sat under the old-fashioned dryer in the salon, I knew I was going to plunk down the dough for the entire NoPoo line. It did make my hair look bouncy and shiny, the waves less frizzy and more perfectly formed. And it smells awesome (scented with Lemongrass and Starfruit Mango!). So I made an investment in my follicular future and left the salon with a bagful of goodies and a sweet-smelling curly 'do such as I'd never had before.

It's not that I don't have $45 to spare. But do I really want to be that girl who indulges in pricey shampoo? Do I need extremely healthy and shiny hair? Do I need jeans that cost over $100, even if they do conjure up a bangin' posterior in a way that the Gap just can't muster? Or takeout spicy crunchy salmon, when there's a perfectly good can of soup sitting in the pantry? It's a finer line with the beauty products, though. Jeans are jeans, but hair and skincare products -- not to mention fresh, organic food -- are put on and in your body. If given an inch, "Is it really worth the money?" quickly turns into "Can I really justify coating myself with unpronounceable chemicals to save a few dollars?"

Feh. I don't know. For this week, I've chosen NoPoo.

and... Scotland! (three days...)

This just in!

2005-08-12T19:12:00.000-04:00

My blog has a fan! Woooo!!

and also...

One week 'til Scotland!

Spotted: Sark!

2005-08-12T14:11:00.000-04:00

There I was, escaping from the heat in the 5th Ave. and 51st St. H&M over my lunch break, when who should I spy (heh) but Alias resident British bad boy, Julian Sark! (a.k.a. actor David Anders; a.k.a. one of few reasons to watch the show now that it's jumped the proverbial shark.)

He was leaning against a wall next to the dressing room line, presumably waiting for a shopping companion to come out. I'm pretty darn sure it was him. He looked thinner, tanner and younger than his TV persona (note: Anders is only 24 and -- gasp! -- not actually British).

Oh, I just saw this (very un-Sark-like) picture online. Yeah, it was definitely him!

Anyway, the whole experience threw me off balance so that I could no longer shop with a ruthless efficiency, but wandered aimlessly in circles stealing glances at Sark until some middle school girls enlisted my tall-person help in reaching a sparkly top.

And no, I don't get this giddy about every celebrity sighting I have. Mike Myers held a door open for me last week and I didn't even bother to mention it. So there.

F.G.o.a.B.

2005-08-11T19:52:00.000-04:00

South Slope today saw the triumphant return of Fat Guy on a Bike. Fat Guy on a Bike and I go way, way back to nearly three years ago when I first moved to the neighborhood. He was a staple of our block then, just like he is now -- a very large man with a very large gut on a very tiny bike, which he pedals at a slow speed, wobbling back and forth as if a slight push might topple him over. Is he swerving because of unfavorable stomach-to-bike ratio, or out of sheer drunkenness? It's hard to say. But he was always silent, a little sleepy-looking, going wherever he was going with a quiet determination (except for one time when I saw him coasting down a hill at breakneck speed. That was scary).

However, at some point about a year and a half ago, I couldn't help but notice that FGoaB was strangely absent from my morning walks to the subway. My first thought was that he'd died. He didn't seem to be the healthiest of individuals, alternately swerving through traffic on the bike or, on some days when the gut got the best of him, just standing, silently leaning over the bike with his head bowed. But no -- just a day or two later, his existence was re-confirmed when he was spotted sitting outside of Mike's Deli Grocery on a metal folding chair that held his weight about as precariously as the bike did.

Fat Guy on a folding chair was not nearly as mellow as he'd been on the bike. Sometimes he'd be sitting silently, but other mornings he'd yell gibberish at no one in particular in front of the deli. Clearly, a symptom of bike withdrawal.

This goes on for about a year, and then, today, just like a miracle, the bike was back. He wasn't riding it, mind you, but walking it, very slowly, up to the front of his house. Did he regain power over the gut and decide to ride again? I'd like to think so.

Ride on, FGoaB. Ride on.

Department of ghetto-fabulosity

2005-08-09T21:14:00.000-04:00

H&M on Lexington: purveyor of fake nails.

Up on the soap box

2005-08-09T01:59:00.000-04:00

Saw Mad Hot Ballroom after work (delightful) and bought Lucky on the way home. This is a magazine I purchase about twice a year at the start of fall and spring, when I'm doing a lot of clothes-buying. The rest of the year my shopping spree instincts tend to lie dormant.

Things not to say to the newsstand guy: "Can I get Lucky?" Whoops. But he was very nice about it.

Read Elizabeth Spiers' article on mediabistro today about the banality of women's magazines. Agreed. I do buy and read women's magazines fairly regularly, but certainly not to be intellectually stimulated, and that's sad. Sad that there are so many of them out there, doing fairly well, and they're all essentially carbon copies of one another. It's a little surprising to me that so many similar products are able to survive in the marketplace.

And why, then, do I continue to buy them? For the record, it's almost always Glamour that I buy, unless someone I really like is on the cover of another one. My reasons for this preference are fuzzy even to me. I guess I'm just more drawn to their layout, the script-y typeface they've chosen to put over their pretty pictures of makeup, their version of fashion spreads, the Do's and Don'ts that are their particular way of filling the back page (hmm, it's like they know that I usually read it back to front!). But these are basically my reasons for choosing to read any women's mag at any given time. They're a chance to allow my brain to check out from the more intellectual pursuits of my day and look at pretty pictures and read charticles that offer advice I can't ever remember taking. I read them for the same reason I'd watch anything on MTV -- can't really identify, but eye candy enough to happily pass a stray hour or two. And while I might one day stop being a cheapskate and spring for cable, I have never subscribed to a women's mag, nor do I forsee doing so in the near future. Like Lucky, they're for once or twice a year.

I suppose it's reassuring to know that there are still outfits that can take a working woman from day to night, that no one has come up with some brand new way to please a man (despite claims to the contrary), that people are still making eye shadow. But I'd love to see one of them turn into something that I'd actually subscribe to -- not just purchase to pass time in an airport.

Cripes

2005-08-08T17:12:00.000-04:00

I just had a Diet Coke with lunch, after drinking a large mug of black tea upon arrival at the office this morning. The last time I did this, my head spun, my heart pounded and I tapped my foot maniacally for the rest of the afternoon. Needless to say, I'm not much of a caffeine person (I dislike coffee and never touch the stuff). Anyway, posting's been light because the parents were in town this weekend. More later...

Mohawk, baby

2005-08-03T22:16:00.000-04:00

In other news, Cyrus writes from Scotland that he's now sporting a mohawk. Rawk!

I imagine he looks like an adult version of this:

Kirsten and Jake have pointy elbows

2005-08-03T21:53:00.000-04:00

I don't know what it is about Kirsten Dunst and Jake Gyllenhaal that makes me like them so much, but I do. They're my favorite celebrity non-couple/couple, and seeing pictures of them in the tabloids makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. So you can imagine the glee that this photo tour produced:

Jake and Kirsten: In Sync?

Best line, courtesy of a body language expert: "Their elbows are out to protect themselves from the paparazzi."

Survival of the fittest, kids. In 50 years, we'll all have pointy elbows.

The Great Cornholio

2005-08-03T14:01:00.000-04:00

...in which Gawker educates me about my home state. I'm from Ohio, but I had no idea this "cornholing" thing existed (outside of that other cornholing to which Gawker refers).

Sure, when walking around Ohio State's campus on a game day, I've seen kids out on their front lawns, tossing beanbags into what appeared to be wooden ramps with holes in them. I just assumed it was some lame drinking game, not a statewide phenomenon to which I was not privy. Is it really that fun? I mean, come on... beanbags? Even hacky sacks are cooler than beanbags.

Must be a Cincy thing.

Feed me, Seymour

2005-08-02T02:23:00.000-04:00

Cyrus is off gallivanting and eating haggis in Scotland for the month and has entrusted me with the care of Lucy and Desi. They're on holiday at my place, and I hope they survive. Here are some "before" shots from Day 1 of their stay.

Lucy has been described as "a pretty green firework" and enjoys frequent admiration and being watered once a week.
But Desi, the ficus, is the real primadonna. He enjoys being spritzed with a spray bottle and being carried out to the roof for sunbathing sessions.

Muy interesante

2005-08-01T12:13:00.000-04:00

Al Gore's new video-clip-mad cable channel:

How the West Was Wonked

Better late than never, maybe

2005-07-30T17:38:00.000-04:00

So I went and got myself one of these "blog" things. Even though I work in media and probably should have been all over that about three years ago, frankly, I'm just a little lazy in that regard. Witness:

circa 1994: Hey, these "CD" things seem like they're here to stay. Maybe I should look into that.

1996: O.K., guess it's time to buy a stereo.

2002: So, the New York Times is a really good newspaper! It's actually a lot better than the hometown paper I've been reading my whole life! I feel so informed right now. It occurs to me that had I grown up reading the Times instead of the Columbus Dispatch, I might have wanted to persue a career in newspaper reporting. A small tear is shed for what could have been.

But then -- Jayson Blair. I might have had to work with him. So maybe it's all for the best.

2003: I start watching Dawson's Creek in reruns after the show has been cancelled. A little overdramatic, but not half bad! Pacey's kinda hot.

2004: I think I need an iPod.

June 2005: I just got a new phone...with a camera in it! Coincidentally, my boyfriend gets a new digital camera and gives me his old one. Not only is this my first digital camera, it's the first camera of any sort that I've owned in three years. Memories will soon be mine!

I'd say I was on a roll, but...

2005: I've never seen Fight Club. Someone is shocked by this at a rate of about once a week. I sometimes feel compelled to say I've been meaning to rent it, but clearly that's not the case. I've also never seen Mansfield Park, but my roommate and Rebecca might be the only people who are truly appalled by that (OK, granted, we do own it).

Someone in a nearby cube at work has the Fight Club soundtrack on his ringtone and it goes off unchecked several times a day, forcing everyone without headphones on to listen to it. That counts for something, right?

allo?

2005-07-30T16:56:00.000-04:00

testing, testing