"I think you just got married."

A broken mirror means bad luck, but what does a broken light bulb mean?

Herbivorous: An addendum

Today at lunch I had a half a pastrami sandwich. I looked at it and thought, "Vicky, you're going to pay for this later." Two hours later, I was running to the bathroom in tears.

I'll make a post that is longer than three sentences soon.

Quote of the Day

"Mom, when it's cold and it rains, it's called snow."

Praying for good weather tomorrow.

Bad Behavior

Tonight I took the subway home, carrying my grocery bags. The trains were crowded and running behind. I got on the train when it did come and had to stand in the middle of the train without holding on to anything. When it got to the next stop, the man who had been standing behind me shoved me aside. I elbowed him; it was probably a bad idea, but I did it on impulse. He turned around and shoved me. He got all up in my face and yelled, "Take it easy lady!" I was shocked, because he pushed me but also because I think "lady" is usually reserved for woman older than me. I heard a few "Whoa"s behind me. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, but he was gone.

Irony Alert

I can't tell the difference between sincerety and sarcasm anymore. We spend so much of our time being brash and cynical, that when people put on their serious faces I don't know when to stop laughing.

I think it started when I read McSweeney's tribute to Amanda Davis, and thought it was a witty little satire. Yeah, asshole.

But today was a cavalcade of profound obtusity and galling ignorance.

First from Jezebel's post about Donda West. Look, she was by all accounts a great woman, amazing scholar and devoted mom, but when did not speaking ill of the dead become lauding them in (embarrasingly) extravagent ways? Why, as a society, do we have to canonize the recently deceased? It just rings hollow. How many of these people even knew her name yesterday or could identify her picture?

Then on a forum that I occasionaly read, I ran across this gem in a thread devoted to current events:

The other thing, that I think bothers people is the fact that many immigrants from Mexico in particular refuse to learn English. In some cases they get huffy if you don't speak Spanish. I think it is about more than just race, a lot of it has to do with what many see as lack of assimilation: many Mexican immigrants don't come here to become Americans. At least this is what I read in my local paper practically everyday.
I'm all for people speaking multiple languages, but one should not have to learn another language just to get by in ones own country. And honestly I think we are doing our children our huge disservice - the language of the future is clearly that of the Chinese and that is the language we need to be learning.

Um, I was nodding along "ignorant bigot, ignorant bigot" and then, bam, China's taking over! Now I don't live in along the U.S./ Mexico border in one of these towns where you allegedly can't tell what side of the Rio Grande you're on, but New York has it's share of legal and illegal immigrants. I have never had any expect me to be able to speak their native. Also, I don't think being able to say "comprende, ese?" is exactly being fluent in Spanish. But this is a joke, right? Right!?

Back to Jezebel, later this afternoon in a comment about the Angelina Jolie-penned article being published in The Economist, I read this:

I don't understand the Angelina hatred. I only wish I had the money and time to learn more about all the horrible things going on in the world so that I could help in some way. Good for her for caring and wanting to help. Give her an A for effort at least...

Haha...ha? Can we give the United Nations a C- for aptitude?

Meat Manifesto

I don't like meat, and while that sentiment may keep me from ever getting a date again, I'm willing to make it. I'm not sure what motivated me to finally make a serious committment, but now after ten years of flirting with going veg, I think I might actually go through with it.

I remember sitting on my grandmother's couch when I was five years old, eating bologna and being completely disgusted. I'd overheard that in some factories, they used toilet paper (I'm guessing unused) as filler in the bologna, and I tore the slice into pieces to see if I could find it. But the toilet paper didn't bother me nearly as much as the idea that I was eating flesh.

When I was twelve, my sister and I started the non-egg eaters club and loudly refused to eat scrambled eggs at the dinner table. When I read Jude the Obscure, and Jude became revolted by killing and eating a pig, I seriously considered forgoing meat. It wasn't just a twentieth-century hippie notion, the Victorians thought so too. I announced to my parents that I wasn't going to eat meat anymore. I was met with laughter (my dad) and shrieking (my mom.)

I didn't seriously stop eating meat until college; unfortunately cheez-its and diet coke, while meatless, is not balanced and healthy. So I went back to eating meat, not because I like it, but because it was easy. I don't remember the last time I cooked meat at home, but when I go to restaurants or get take-out, it's all meat all the time. The vegetarian options are usually about as delcious and exciting as dirt.

People have many reasons for not eating meat: religious, political, environmental, and while it's true that meat is cruel, environment unsound and possibly unhealthy, I can't profess any of them. I just don't want to.

Is it rude?

Questions.

I am, by nature, curious and gossipy. I want to know the things people don't want to say outright about themselves. I want to burrow into the sticky soft core of their psyche and find out what makes them so sickening and strange. But it's rude to pry. When you meet a middle-aged man who lives alone, you can't ask, "So you're divorced?" When you meet a 22 year old woman who lives alone in a one bedroom in Chelsea, you can't inquire "Do your parents pay your rent?" When you meet a thirty year old multi-millionare, you can't probe, "Aren't you worried the SEC will investigate you?" So I smile and nod, but inside my mind is whirring. I'm putting together clues, constructing my own dossier.

Time to get out

This evening I found myself sitting at a bar on the Upper West Side waiting for some friends. Next to me were two middle-aged woman sharing a meal. They're tone of voice should be familiar to anyone who has spent an extended amount of time in New York: nasal, bitter, whiny. Tonight, remarks Alec Baldwin had made on NPR had drawn their particular ire. He had disparaged the many middle-class establishments on the UWS as "dirty." "They're trying to push people like us out," one remarked. "I don't know what people are going to do," the other replied. Their conversation had the desperation of people who do not have regular social interaction.
Just then a pair of blond moppets in the corner of the room began squalling. Nearly everyone in the room gritted their teeth, but the parents seemed to be frozen by their embarassment and frustration. "There are two good reasons for Planned Parenthood," said the first woman.
I realized that this is who you become when you stay in New York too long.

Fall Back

My favorite day of the year, an extra hour of sleep.

Trend-oid

I've been going to the same hair salon for almost three years; ever since I came back from Italy recovering from the worst haircut ever and four months of chlorinated tapwater. I loved it, the space was cool, the stylists, receptionists and hairwashers were always friendly and professional. Despite being in a "trendy" neighborhood, it was never pretentious. I was always greeted with a smile by the people behind the counter, usually languid model types, too tired to be bitchy. K, my stylist is super cool and can translate my requests of "lots of layers, something fun around the face but not too poodley" into awesome haircuts. Plus, it's cheap! I mean not super cuts cheap, but it doesn't break the bank.
But yesterday, after another truly great hair cut, I heard a bunch of the stylists and the owner discussing a DJ. A DJ! Truly unneccessary. Then they tried to push products on me. Has the trendoid hit?

That explains it.

This week I've been feeling pretty gross: can't sleep, don't want to eat and wanting to cry all the time. I had no idea why until I read this.

Michael Jackson was in Brooklyn. That's what's giving me the heebie-jeebies.

Karma

Three years ago, on a Metro-North train, I sat next to a frazzled businessman. He got off a few stops before me, and a few minutes after he left, I noticed that he had left his wallet behind. I considered giving it to a conducter but when my stop came and one hadn't walked through my car, I decided to take the wallet with me. When I got home we googled the guy's name from his license and found his number. When we called, he hadn't even noticed that it was gone. He showed up at our house in half an hour and gave me $25 for my trouble.

Since then I've lost a lot of things: my passport, my cellphone (twice), and last Saturday, my wallet. Each time, I wonder when I'll get my karmic payback and have my lost item returned to me, but each time, Karma didn't smile upon me.
This past Saturday, after a disastrous and fruitless trip to a T-mobile store, I realized that my wallet was gone. When I went back to the store, the salespeople claimed not to have seen anything. It had my credit cards, my bank card, cash, and my ID. The only card I had at home was my frequent buyer card from the liquor store, oddly fitting. I cancelled my credit cards and chalked it up as lesson.

Today when I opened my mailbox, I noticed that my new insurance card had come, and that there was a large manila envelope in the mailbox too. "I'm not expecting anything," I thought. Then as I clutched it in my hands, it dawned on me that this was wallet. A little thinner, all the cash, even the change was gone, but everything else was there. So thank you, nameless Samaritan. You have restored my faith in humanity. Almost.

My first papparazo sighting

Earlier this evening, I went to Shalom Auslander's book reading at the Barnes and Noble in Chelsea. I got there late, and the crowd had already spilled over into the aisles and stacks of books. Auslander read from his book, "The Foreskin's Lament" which details the terror he experienced growing up in an Orthodox Jewish family. The crowd, mostly apostates looking for absolution or at least commiseration, laughed at the most heretical parts. People from other parts of the store kept drifting over but didn't seem to get the dead baby jokes. The archetypal crazy cat lady found at all New York cultural events hovered around the edges of the crowd.

Finally, during the Q&A a Euro-looking guy loped in. "Who is this?" he whispered excitedly to the man standing behind me. "Shalom Auslander," the man answered annoyed and a little embarrassed.

"WHO?"

"Um, he's a writer."
"Like a, like a novelist?"

The man standing behind me shrugged his shoulders and exhaled loudly. It was only when he turned away to talk to the cop guarding the door that I saw the camera with the 70mm lens. Are they going to let him take photos in the store?, I thought. All those times I've walked around Soho or the Upper East Side and this is the first place I see a papparazo?, was my second thought. The papparazo came back with a handler whose was brusque and accented. "Excuse me!," she said while shoving me out of the way to show the pap the promotional poster.

"Oh." The paparazzo was disappointed and headed out into the night to stalk more famous prey.

Breakneck Ridge

Did I go rock climbing?





On Saturday, I took the train up to Breakneck Ridge, a mountain between Beacon and Cold Spring right on the Hudson. It was the perfect late summer/ early fall weather for hiking. The views were beautiful, but in parts the hiking was much more like rock climbing. I wasn't sure what to expect on the way there, but the hiking was both fun and challenging. Scrambling over boulders 1500 hundred feet over the Hudson was a little nerve-racking, but the views from the top were totally worth. I still have bruises three days later! At the summit, I sat with my feet over the edge and watched the hawks gilde over the river. It's a really great day-trip from the city that I definitely recommend.

Strange Happenings on Canal Street

For the past two weeks, they've filmed two different television shows on the block I work on. I guess with the Canadian dollar being even with the American dollar, Toronto isn't going to be standing in for New York anymore.



The Lulav and Esrog market on Canal and Essex. There's been a market here before Sukkot since the neighborhood was primarily Jewish.

My life in pictures

When I was little, and someone would say "a picture is worth a thousand words," I always thought it demonstrated a certain laziness on his part. Words were intellectual, descriptive, analytical. Pictures were merely informative, and didn't show demonstrate any intelligence on the part of the creator or the viewer. But there are some pictures for which there are no words.

But also I've learned to embrace my laziness.


I went to a Mets game. I felt like I was in enemy territory, but I had a good time even though they lost.


I saw a crazy guy climb up on the globe outside the Trump Tower. He was wearing rollerblades and smoking. Pretty awesome.


And I made a delicious tomato paella. Sooo good.

Modest Mouse at McCarren Park Pool

My recovery from Hell Week:

Perfume from Santa Maria Novella:


Gold musk, by the way. Really classic and light, but a little spicey too.

3:10 to Yuma

Mmm, Christian Bale. The movie was pretty good too.

On Saturday, I went to get fitted for a bra at Town Shop.


I was wearing a 36C when I walked in, and I walked out with a 32D. Wow.

Last night, I went to see Modest Mouse at the McCarren Park Pool.


The domes of the Russian Orthodox church through the entrance arch.



I have to be honest, the acoustics in there are not the best. It is pool after all; all that concrete kinda deadens the sound. Still Johnny Marr! (all the way on the left)

Screaming the words too "Paper Thin Walls" with a couple hundred (thousand?) people is pretty awesome.

The Most Awesome Thing I Have Ever Seen

Seriously:



Harry Potter Dance Team

Leper Event

A few weeks ago, a blog I read regularly, let's call it Metropolist, had a post for a singles event that it was holding. It was being held in a store that we'll call Complete Edibles. My immediate reaction was "Ha, ha! This is for losers!" But then I thought, maybe this could be fun, cute fun people shop at Complete Edibles.
I asked my co-worker X is she wanted to go. "Free food!" I said after I saw her horrified reaction. "What are you guys talking about?" asked our other co-worker, A. "Um, nothing. It's, uh, a singles event," I managed to choke out.
"I feel like a have a terrible disease. It's like I'm a leper," I said to X. She didn't want to go, but I told her it was too bad because I knew her name, birthday and email address and signed her up.
Today after work, I didn't feel like going. But when I showed up there was already a long line, so I decided I wouldn't be suffering alone. Of course the people in front of me and behind me were both women. In fact it seemed like the whole line was women. "I'm treating this like a sociological experiment," said the girl in line in front of me. After signing in, I introduced myself to a girl I recognized from NYU, I'd seen her at the Okkervil River show too. At the mixers table, I talked to another girl. "You're supposed to be talking to guys, not girls!" her friend admonished her. I felt like damaged goods, but she was right. I looked across the street at the basketball court, a group of 5 girls and 2 guys were playing. Are there any guys in New York? NYU girl and I ran into each other again at the alcoholic sorbet cart. We discussed the Richard Serra show at Moma, NYU, and New York was full of women. At least I got my grocery shoppind done.

Doesn't remind me

I've been really bad at both updating this and my real-life-pen-and-paper journal for the past month or so. I meant to post about my trip to California but haven't. I'll get around to it.

It's getting to be that time of year again. The humidity that hangs over New York is being blown out to sea, and soon the serene crispness of autumn will blow through the city. It'll be the high holidays, and my birthday, a time to take stock. These past five years I've changed so much that I'm almost unrecognizable to myself and yet there are still things I can't change.
I went to a show tonight at a bar in Williamsburg. Everyone there seemed to be exactly my age. Slowly sipping our beers, no whispering about fake IDs or hastly downing rum and cokes. Everybody clapped politely and rocked gently to the music. There was no pushing and shoving, and we would move out of the way quickly and quietly to let people pass. Whispered apologies were exhanged if the maneuvers did not go smoothly. It was genteel, and almost, even...mature. At one point, I found my self standing next to the the oldest person in the room. Late thirities, he'd pushed his way across the room and somehow finagled a bar stool. He carried a nervousness about him and seemed to take up twice the space of anyone else there. I wondered how many more years of youthfulness I had to be seen in places like this.
I'd been planning on going to grad school next fall. It seemed like the logical next step. It'd be a way to get out of the working world and back into the sleepy arms of academia. But I realized that short of buying stationery, I have no interest in going back to school. Everyone I've told my plans to has made a face, and told me that they can't see me doing that. I really can't either.
So all this indecision had made me fairly cranky. I've been particularly judgemental lately. All around me I see examples of how I don't want to live, and very few of how I do.

Pictures from Prague, Vienna and Budapest

Resolutions

Seeing as how the year is half over, I thought I would make a list of mid-year resolutions.

1) Get 8 hours of sleep a night. Since about October, I've been a ridiculous insomniac. I've probably only gotten 14 good night's sleep in 8 months.
2) Stop reading so much internet gossip. A few years ago, I was at this tiny bar/ dance club in the east village, and this bald guy started chatting me up. I told him that I was a photographer (and that my name was Micaela...) He told me that his friend was a paparazzo and could get me an in. No, thanks. I just like to watch. But seriously, I think I know more about Lilo's life than mine. Sad.
3) Let it go. I have a tendency to get really annoyed and frustrated, and then it just eats away at me. So, breeeathe.
4) Run more. I don't really care about losing weight, but I feel better when I run every day. I have this feeling of accomplishment.
5) Eat less sugar. I ate a whole box of Chips-ahoy and a quarter gallon of ice cream in the last 12 hours. Blaaargh.
6) Enjoy the moment.

Yum

Sometimes, I get hungry. Really, really hungry. And there's only one thing that hits the spot.

Corned beef hash from Junior's.

A Photo Essay:


When people think Junior's, they think cheesecake. But Junior's is so much more. It's diner food at it's best.


The pickles and beets are seriously delicious, and the cornbread is some of the best I've ever had.


But the highlight was the corned beef hash. Made with real meat, not the canned stuff and topped by a over easy egg. Mmm. Yes, I did eat all that.

Meet/ Cute

One of my favorite scenes is from When Harry Met Sally when the old married couples describe how they met. The one that sticks with me is the old man who says that he saw his wife in a crowded cafeteria, told his friend that he had seen his future wife and married her two weeks later.
I know that movie is supposed to explore the eternal question can men and women every be friends? Hemingway says no; Nora Ephron says...no. But I think the real question it asks is whether or not how you meet will determine the longevity of the relationship. If you don't have a meet/ cute is there anything to go from?
But in the age of the interet are were ever going to meet cute again? I mean telling people that Dr. Phil matched the two of you up is never going to sound good.

Graduation

One year ago today, I graduated from college. Since then:

1) I started a new job, which ended up sucking big time.
2) I had to pack up my apartment and find a new place to live in two weeks.
3) I had to put all my stuff in storage and live with my grandparents. I was commuting 1.5 hours each day.
4) I moved into my new apartment, which is still totally awesome.
5) I got left behind as my family went to the French Riviera. Still not forgiving them for that one.
6) I quit my job. I highly recommend doing this.
7) I started a new far more awesome job!
8) I turned 22.
9) My good friend died. I really miss her, and it makes me really sad that I'll never see her again.

I've been out of high school for five years! A part of me still feels likes it's there.

Always

There's two very important things to know about me:

1) I grew up in New Jersey.
2) I spent huge swaths of my childhood sneaking MTV (I wasn't allowed to watch it) when my parents weren't around or at friends' houses.

When I think back to that time, I think of this:

Bon JoviAlways

Music Videos And Lyrics On Demand

It's everything a music video should be and more.

Worst. Movie. Ever

I watch a lot of bad tv. I've asked, "Ohmigod, did you see I Love New York last night?" to many times ony to be met by blank stares. But on Monday I think I may have seen the bottom of the abyss. I came home from work, and collapsed on the couch. Too exhausted to change the channel, I was accosted by Undiscovered a movie staring Ashlee Simpson and bizarrely Carrie Fisher.
I missed the first half hour, and thank god for that. I mean, when I saw the trailers for it last spring, I knew it was wasn't good, but I had no idea it was this bad. It has all the hallmarks of a truly bad film: trite dialogue, two dimensional characters and incomprehensible pacing. Unfortunately, it doesn't have any of the enthusiasm of say, Carlito's Way. What this movie does have is Simpsons. It was produced by Joe "Pa" Simpson as a vehicle for Ashlee Simpson. Ash plays the semi-lesbionic Clea who is friends with Brier, a model. Brier, is played by Pell James, and I am shocked to learn that she has continued to get acting jobs after this film came out.
Carrie Fisher plays Brier's agent/manager/ surrogate mother. It's at this point that I guess I should mention, most of the dialogue was extremely garbled. I felt like the movie was either in a foreign language or I was just trying to decipher scenes by going on facial expressions. When you consider the caliber of acting, that wasn't much. I'm not sure in exactly what capacity Carrie is connected to Brier, and I believe several other salient plot points may have escaped my attention.
When I turned the movie on, Brier and Luke were falling for each other. Unfortunately, Luke played by Steven Strait, is totally unconvincing as anything other than a Chelsea rent boy. To show her appreciation, Brier gets Luke a record deal. Which in my opion is kinda overdoing it for the second date. Stalker much? But it's not all rainbows and kittens for our young lovebirds. See, both Briar and Luke have baggage. Briar's comes in the form of Mick a possibly British, oily, aging rock star, who flys cross-country to stalk her at the batting cages. No seriously, that's where she likes to hang out. And at the trapeze school.
Luke has Josie, played by Shannyn Sossamon, best known for naming her child Audio Science. To portray Josie, it seems like Shannyn woke up one morning, decided she was Al Pacino and took a bunch of quaaludes.
Luke also manages to blow the record deal, and go into hiding in his apartment. Where none of his friends think to look for him. Brier decides to move back to New York, because it's real and edgy, and nobody in LA understand her deep and artistic soul.
Mercifully it's almost the end of the movie and time for the big showcase. Carrie show's up with her ex-husband, none other than RoboCop's Peter Weller. RoboCop is supposedly some kind of legend in the music industry.
After Luke and Clea sing their absolutely dreadful songs, it's time for Robocop to drive Brier to her flight to New York. Luke decides it's his turn to be scary stalker and gets his brother to drive him to the airport. His brother, Euan, is probably the creepiest part of the movie, and this is a movie with Pa Simpson involved. See, Euan likes to dress up like a reject from Sly and the Family Stone and give off a Chester the Molester vibe. I haven't mentioned him yet, because he hasn't been important to the plot. But he is useful for driving Luke to the airport in his VW van (great for both 60s wannabe rockstars and your neighborhood sex offender.) I think he also deals weed on the side, because at the airport he gives Luke a whole wad of cash to buy his plane ticket with. After getting through security with the help of RoboCop, Luke is ready to declare his love for Brier...by asking the flight attendant to throw a dirty glove at her. They are about to make out in the galley, when they are interrupted by RoboCop who delivers a lecture on the profitabilty of music publishing. The movie ends with Brier and Luke frolicking in the surf in Jamaica.
And everyone gets a record deal.
Undiscovered is playing on TMC all this week and next, so please go watch it. I want everyone to suffer like I have.

Cherry Blossom Festival

Last night, Susan and I went to the premiere of Suburban Girl at the Tribeca Film Festival. The movie was really cute and frothy, and the clothes and the shots of New York were gorgeous. It was so cool to be at a premiere and watch the limos pull up. While we walked into the theater we actually got to stand on the red carpet. We both felt like we were at the coolest place on earth. Sadly, Alec Baldwin didn't show, but there were some scenes that erm, mirrored his current situation with his daughter and there was some nervous laughter from the audience. Afterwards we went to the Tribeca Tavern, which despite being in a such a trendy and ritzy neighborhood was totally unpretentious and fun. Plus, so many cute guys!

Today I went to the Cherry Blossom Festival at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

All kinds of gorgeous cherry blossoms. The weather was perfect for it too.

People were camped out all over, and there was music and food in those tents. Tons of kids, all of whom were suprisingly well-behaved and actually cute. Or maybe I was just in a good mood.

Bizarre fountain. It's a girl riding a dolphin, but it looks...obscene, somehow.

Little red riding hood. There were quite a few interesting looking people/ bizarre outfits out today, but this one was the best.



More cherry blossoms.

M

Leave a comment and I'll give you a letter. Then you list 10 things you like starting with that letter. Post them in your journal and give out new letters to your commenters in turn.

M:

1) Mozzarella. Of course my first thing would be cheese, and mozzarella is what makes pizza so delicious.

2) Manicures. I probably like pedicures better, but they don't start with M. I love them both; it's like a mini-vacation.

3) Manhattan. All I wanted growing up was to live there, but now I like living in Brooklyn better. Most of the ammenities and none of the hassle.

4) Mooshy. My nickname for Dugan, the most awesome dog in the world

5) My Morning Jacket. Awesome band. Really want to see them live.

6) M. Judi Dench is bad ass. I've been watching Bond movies with my dad since I was a little kid, and I love them.

7) Malayasia. I'm having malaysian food tomorrow for lunch. It's supposed to be yummy.

8) Motor City. Detroit is not my favorite place, but I love seeing my family and eating Red Robin.

9) Meatballs. My mom and I (and my sister) used to make spaghetti and meatballs when I was little. I have really great memories of being in the kitchen with them. And smushing all that meat and eggs and breadcrumbs is lots of fun.

10) Match.com So I was concvinced to sign up by a certain former roommate. It's not one of my favorite things, but I have a date tomorrow and possibly another this weekend so I will definitely keep you updated.

The Tyranny of the Ballet Flat

Ballet flats are in. When I saw them in the fashion mags a few months ago, I thought there was no way they'd catch on. But walking around New York yesterday, on one of the first spring-like days we've had this year, I realized how mis-guided I was. There were ballet flats everywhere. With skinny jeans, cute dresses and a-line skirts. There was no way I could get through this spring in last year's pointy flats, no matter how cute I told myself they looked with skinny jeans. When my friend and I were turned away from a Soho restaurant because we didn't have a reservation, I secretly blamed my shoes.



A few months ago, I was fully prepared to resist the lure of the ballet flat. In theory, they're cute, conjuring images of Degas's dancers, Audrey Hepburn and effortlessy chic and wide-eyed school girls. When I was eight, I begged my mom for a pair from Nordstrom. I'm sure I would have worn them to school with my tutu if I hadn't realized how uncomfortable they were. They never even made it out of the house.

But there are few articles of clothing with as many caveats as the ballet flat. On girls with long legs and slim ankles, they will only make her look longer and leaner. Something else I learned at the age of eight: skirts and flats are for the select few. As many girls as I saw yesterday pulling off the ballet flat, my mind is repeatedly drawn to one poor creature. Low slung skinny jeans that made her hips look as wide as a sequoia and zebra print ballet flats that made her look about as tall as an Olsen but ten times as dumpy. And animal print? There is no faster way to evoke both a New Jersey housewife and a wildebeast.

This seems to be the season of the unwearable clothes. Maybe we've moved on from midriff bearing tops and jeans low enough to require a wax, but we're not done making normal girls look fat. But don't say the designers didn't warn you. It's in the name. Skinny jeans are just that. They don't make you look skinny, they're only for the skinny. I thought we covered this last year? Ballet flats are for girls who have the legs of dancers.

But if you leave here with only one piece of advice, remember this; the stirrup pant is for no one.

I hate your kids

I solemnly swear that if I should ever find myself knocked up, I will promptly move to the suburbs. I will not crowd New York sidewalks with a MacLaren stroller. I will not take my baby/ toddler/ small child to quiet coffee shops, nice restaurants or R-rated movies.

Today on one of my rare days off, I decided to get a cup of tea at the local cafe. I was quietly reading my book, everyone around me also working or reading, when two SAHMs entered. For those lucky enough not to know, SAHM stands for Stay-at-home-mom. Otherwise known as women whose husbands make enough money that they neither have to work in or out of the home. This gives them plenty of time to drag their children to tens maybe even hundreds of innapropriate locales all over Brooklyn. Like the local cafe. Which is not an inappropriate place, per se. When I walked in a young mother had been sitting near the entrance with her toddler, and I didn't hear a sound from either of them. About fifteen minutes after I sat down, walked in the SAHMs. They made sure to announce their arrival. Their MacLaren strollers blocked the narrow path to the door. And they babbled over their sleeping children as they unzipped them from the strollers. They had the unmistakble self-satisfaction of people who had managed to procreate in brownstone Brooklyn. They continued to talk twice as loud as anyone else there. But the real kicker happened on their way out, after both children had begun crying. They noticed a flier for the annual house tour of brownstones and mansions in the neighborhood. "Ohmigod, we should totally do that," SAHM 1 announced in a tone more appropriate for a football game than a coffee shop. "I've never tried taking the stroller up all those stairs," the dowdier SAHM replied, and I realized with horror that these two planned on shlepping their teething, drooling toddlers through meticulously restored 19th Century homes. I looked up and stared at them. "I guess that's more of a carrier day," Frump continued. To which the first SAHM replied, "Yeah I've wanted to do it every year! We should totally get Michelle and Alex and Stephanie and Mike to come, too!" Guess where I won't be that day.

And I guess, that the children themselves weren't so bad. Sure they fussed and cried, but if these people were my parents, I'd be crying too.

Radical Politics

I had my day yesterday all planned out. I was going to go to yoga before work, and then go to a documentary screening/ protest of the Atlantic Yards project at night. It was in the auditorium of the local high school and was sure to bring out a good number of indignant housewives, ambitious local politicians and over-involved retirees. In my neighborhood there would probably be some crunchy granola-y yuppies too afraid of what the basketball arena would do to their property values. I've always wanted to be a community activist. Like that woman in Buffalo who took a Federal employee hostage when the city had failed to disclose that the land her subdivision had been built on a toxic waste dump. Love Canal. True story.
Anyway it was not be. As much as I dislike the Atlantic Yards project and think it will fail financially and destroy several quiet Brooklyn neighborhoods and their family owned businesses, standing in the way of real estate development in New York is a little like being that guy holding a flower in Tienneman Square.
Plus I woke up an hour later than I had planned and ended up going to yoga after work. At least I know I'll see some results from that.
Speaking of results, my dear Alma Mater, ole NYU, has managed to spark international controversy today. The NYU College Republicans was planning to stage a "hunt the illegal immigrant" game in Washington Square Park. This was the third most read story on the BBC's website. A person previously selected by the venerable College Repbublican would be set loose in the park with a sticker designated him/her as the "illegal." Anyone with an NYU id would be able to search for the illegal, and the winner would receive a prize of approximatetly $100. Bigoted? Inhumane? Just plain stupid? Well then you just don't understand Repbublican political discourse.
But hey's it's been pretty much working for them for the past 13 years. Look at the swiftness and ease with which they've gotten Hilary and Obama and David Geffen to argue about...well nothing. I know I'll never vote for a Republican, but I'm beginning to wonder if I should vote for a Democrat. Why don't they get that they would save so much face if they didn't respond to these schoolyard taunts?

I'm back!

Apparently, I have a fan. Hola, chica.
I stopped writing back last summer, because frankly my life has sucked. I used to laugh at those frat boys who stay in college for ten years, but now I see that they are the genuises and we are the idiots. The transition to a 9(ish) to 5(ish) life has not been easy. I'm finally a sort-of adult, and I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I've realized my childhood dreams aren't coming true, and now I have to figure out what else I'm going to do with my life. I've kinda felt that way since I was 17 and applying to college. If there was anything I learned from that experience, it's that what I really have to figure out what to do with the next day, the next week, and forever will take care of itself.