Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Celebrity Mad Libs
Check out this Lindsay Lohan story that just moved. Does the lead totally sound like something out of celebrity Mad Libs, if such a thing exisited?
***
Lindsay Lohan was treated at a London hospital last week after she cut her leg in an accident at Bryan Adams' home, according to published reports.
The 19-year-old "Mean Girls" star had 10 stitches to close a gash on her shin after she slipped on a set of stairs Friday. Lohan was released from the hospital later that day, the reports said.
***
Then, weirdly, Lohan's mother Dina goes on to explain to strange detail how the accident happened. She also points out it was an accident.
"She and her friends were preparing breakfast, with eggs and everything, and Lindsay was going up the stairs, carrying a ceramic teacup," her mother, Dina Lohan, was quoted as telling Star magazine.
"She had just come out of the shower so she was still wet and had some lotion on, and she completely flipped on the stairs since it was slippery. The teacup went flying, it was shattered, and one of the pieces cut Lindsay in her shin. It was an accident."
Ladies, if dating men has taught us nothing else: If someone starts going into great detail about something that already seems unlikely, they're most likely lying? N'est pas?
So, dear readers, how do you think Ms. Lohan really cut her leg? Were too many early morning mimosas to blame? Let's let the conspiracy theories fly...
Furthermore, why was she at Bryan Adams' house?
The Raconteurs
Remember when I interviewed Brendan Benson, back in 2003, back when he was on Startime Records?
He has a new band now called The Raconteurs, (with Jack White!)and they have a very cool website. Children of the '80s, unite.
He has a new band now called The Raconteurs, (with Jack White!)and they have a very cool website. Children of the '80s, unite.
Yo.
I would very much like to crawl into a paper sack today. I had to get up extra early this morning to work on some Oscar stuff here at The Job. There are doughnuts and croissants a-plenty lying about. It's a carb overload that seems to have sent me into a carb coma. Too many carbs plus rainy weather equals me dreaming about my down comforter and a bed.
Yesterday I also faxed in the invoice for another big magazine piece. This is the part of the equation where I get nervous. I like researching articles, any article, and I like writing and doing the first rounds of edits. Then I hand it in and get that scary feeling of worthlessness. After all, who is to say that what I just wrote is any good? Then I fax in the invoice.
The invoice is key because that's how a writer gets paid. Generally speaking if you hand in something, anything, the mags are contracturally obligated to sending you the agreed upon fee. But until I get that check, and until it's nestled into my bank account, I can't stop thinking about whether or not I paid the cabe bill. Are the student loan people going to come chasing after me, with knives? If I am paranoid, then I am paranoid about being kicked out my Gramercy bunker and being being forced to sell pencils in the street.
In all liklihood this will never happen, but still. While other people fear airplanes or heights or clowns, I fear being kicked out of my building and being unable to afford my weekly manicures. I guess it's a good motivator.
In other news, today will be spent writing a review of an Ella Fitzgerald DVD. I'll post it up once it's out and spinning around the globe.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Idiotarod, I Hardly Knew Ye
Last year I ran the Idiotarod with some friends. For those of you unfamiliar with the race, basically you get a team of 5 runners (and I mean runners) and a shopping cart and you race from Brooklyn to Manhattan via a 5-mile route. Costumes and being generally insane help.
It sounds bizarre, but it is more fun than you can imagine, especially if you keep liquor in the cart to keep warm/warm the cockles. Afterwards, everyone piles into a bar for more booze and some merriment. I believe there are prizes as well.
I had to miss this past Saturday's race because of the aforementioned dinner with Clan Millard. Luckily, I found a bunch of photos on La Flickr.
I'll be there next year, shopping cart in tow.
City Mouse/Country Mouse
This morning I came back into Gotham after spending the weekend in Connecticut with Doug. As usual, the two of us amused ourselves, mostly by watching movies and cooking of some sort. (I made my signature choco chip cookies from scratch.)
Doug and I saw Annapolis yesterday, (you don't have to ask Doug twice to go see a Navy movie) which is a good enough film, though it's devoid of any surprises. Late last night we also caught Fargo the IFC channel. I realize I am the only person on the planet who had never seen this film before.
Saturday afternoon I exposed Doug to Clan Millard at a dinner at my Aunt Sue's house. I think there were about 15 or so people around the dinner table and we both came out relatively unscathed. The food was great and it was fun seeing all the little cousins. Everyone liked Doug a lot. Whew. This was not the first time some of them had met him, but still. I like getting good reviews.
Since I was out in CT I missed quite a few birthday gatherings and outings, including two for two different co-workers. Apologies all around to anyone I missed. I did manage on Friday night to make it out to the Blacktable party. I was there early, but met some nice peeps and chatted a bit. Good times.
I'll update if anything bubbles up today. It's looking like it's going to be a little slow. I reviwed Dog Days by Ana Marie Cox this week. I'll attach a link as soon as I find a link to someone who picked it up.
Friday, January 27, 2006
A Strained Apology to Irving Place
Irving Place, you're a great street. You've been around for hundreds of years and many a countryman as well as celebrity has walked your stately promenade. That said, I hope that my friends and I did not sully your esteemed reputation with our outing last night.
You see, we hadn't seen Julie in a while. She lives down in Orlando now. But since she was in town we felt a big dinner was in order, and who doesn't love sushi? Choshi is one of my favorite sushi place, so I suggested we go there. No matter that the listing on Citysearch.com said that it wasn't great for groups. Is six people considered a group?
I realize that surfacely we may have been a little off-putting, what with all the furs coats and some of the diamonds. But you don't undersand, Melissa's dad is a furrier, and he does good work. A few of the gals have bought coats from him. Another girl's dad has a jeweler in the family. Sure, we're a little bling-y at times, but need I remind you that diamonds are a girls best friend? And in some cases, heirlooms?
I realize this isn't helping the situation, especially after the volume of our conversation and some of our topics. Two girls tried to determine if they had ever hooked up with the same guy in college. Another girl admitted that at times she couldn't remember her phone number. The teenage girl at the table next to us probably got a wide glimpse at what adulthood held in store for her, much to the chagrin of her mother.
But look, we're actually very fun girls. Kooky, even. Allison and Kristen are really into football and baseball and can talk trash about teams with any guy. Melissa donated a hunk of her hair to Locks of Love. Cara and I used to routinely visit a Denny's in Syracuse and call it "The Club."
So next time you see us yapping and carrying on, be kind. We're nice girls who just really like each other's company. Sometimes we're a little loud and oblivious to the waitstaff, but in the end, you know we'll leave a good tip.
Spill Some for The Black Table
The Black Table is closing up shop today. It was the only place on the web, that I knew of, that offered a great recipe for pruno.
Show your true appreciation at their party tonight.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Ah, Chick Lit
A story I wrote about Jessica Jiji's new book, Diamonds Take Forever, just came out.
Please read it and behold my never-ending fascination with chick lit.
Oh, and best story ever: The Observer interviewed that artistocratic Italian guy, Cody Franchetti, from the Born Rich documentary from 2003. He makes some pretty outlandish statements, but it's all so pompous and overly intelligent that I couldn't help but be intrigued. Maybe the bougeois just isn't ready for him?
Like Sheep, All of You
This morning I freaked out a little en route to work. I come in around 9:00 AM, when it seems the rest of my enormous building is also arriving. The sidewalk leading to the building is narrow and everyone has to queue up, single file. This morning I looked up and we all looked like a bunch of ants scurrying in.
This bothered me because a) I am not and ant and b) it reminded me a lot of school, even though I liked school. When one is younger and in school, lines and obedience are the order of the day. As an adult, I pride myself on being able to make my own decisions. Filing into an office building at 9:00 AM with hundreds of other drones shook me. I felt like I wasn't making my own choices.
So what to do? Yesterday I was reading the new issue of Yoga Journal. There was an article about improving one's diet. The point of the article was not to do things out of habit, but rather to listen to your body and proceed from there. They used the example of breakfast. Just because you've always eaten granola and banana in the morning doesn't mean you always have to or that you should. The article encouraged yogis to listen to their bodies and make decisions from there.
That said, there may be a few changes over here on Planet Pauline. The rat race isn't pleasing me all that much, even though I like my job a lot. The act of being told where I have to be and when disturbs me, and I don't think it neccessarily jives with my natural rhythms. After all, I'm a writer, a creative sort. There must be a way to be a functioning adult but not be a slave to conformity.
I'll sort it out, no worries.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
More Random Press Releases
Sometimes January can be a little slow when it comes to the new and exciting. Nevertheless, publicists seem to enjoy sending me things. The best part is that they don't seem to check out my website to see what I'm really into. (Books, fashion, music, New York City etc.) and instead I get things like this:
*A press packet about Amazing Hot Dog, a restaurant in Verona, NJ that specializes in, you guessed it, hotdogs.
I offer a small soft spot for the place because one of the owners is a 1996 graduate of Syracuse University, the place responsible for my poor relationship with alcohol. But come on, Verona, NJ? Where is that?
*Yes, I like fashion and I like news about it. But when I say news, I mean things like invitations to shows or a heads-up about a sample sale.
I do not want to read about something called folliculitis. Apparently it
is a skin disorder that occurs in winter, when skin is dry and women wear tight clothes, such a tights and long johns to keep warm. It causes little bumps on the skin that usually go away on their own, but severe cases need the magic of a dermatologist.
Hmmm...dry skin? Tight clothes? I don't even want to know where this type of rash would creep up.
Cabbies Really Are crazy!
Remember how I got clipped by a cab about a week or so ago, and how mad I was? OK, well it seems that a woman was killed by livery cab yesterday, uptown. Late Saturday night a 25-year-old woman was killed by a former MTV actor also in my 'hood. (He had a history of drunk driving and was DUI at the time of the accident.)
What is going on here? I feel like the drivers in this town have completely gone nuts. For instance, this morning I was walking to the N/R. My block has two schools and crossing guards yet people whip around the corners like they're in the Indy 500.
What's the rush, I ask you?
In other news, Verne Troyer [Mini-Me] is having a press conference today in Santa Monica, Calif. to discuss the anullment from his wife, Genevieve Gallan, a model and yoga instructor.
Who knew he was even married?
Monday, January 23, 2006
Mini's 100th Day!
You have to admit, my little nephew, who we all call Mini, is pretty darn cute. He's half Korean, and in the Korean tradition you have a big celebration to mark his 100 days. The whole family came out of the woodwork for it. Here are some pics:
Andrew Checks Out Mini's Grip. (We think he's a lefty.)
We All Dote on The Kid (Rob, the proud papa, is on the far left.)
La Madre and Le Hound
A female cabbie in New York is blogging about her experience. Her blog can be found here.
Rain Does Not Inspire...
A lesson was learned yesterday afternoon. Doug was busy watching the football game so I decided to make some chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I am actually quite good at this and I brought all the ingrediants from NYC to Greenwich.
The one thing Doug didn't have was a proper cookie sheet. He did have a grill from his broiler, so I just covered that in aluminum foil and figured it would work. Strangely, all the cookies came out flat. They tasted great, but they just looked a little strange.
Then I realized that the grill was jagged and wasn't distibuting the heat evenly. Talk about a total science project. It has now become my business to make sure Doug has proper cookie sheets, at all times. (I may not cook a lot but I do like to bake.)
It's a lazy, rainy day here in New York. I can see everyone kind of dragging.
Here are some links:
Tired of going to Aruba every winter? Me, too. Maybe a dog sledding tour is a better idea.
The real "O" of approval is not Oprah, it's Osama. This man sold more copies of his book because Osama gave it a mention.
New York is a funny place. You can sleep on the subway, you can pandhandle on the subway, but you absolutely must wear pants.
Friday, January 20, 2006
There Still Are Good People in the World
Last night, as I do many nights after work, I went to dance class. Last night it was jazz and although it started out slow at first we ended with an awesome routine to that song everyone knows from "Hustle and Flow".
The class ran late and the next teacher was ready to come in. Out in the hall there were people everywhere, all waiting for the assorted hip-hop classes that all seem to start after 9:00 PM. I scooped up all my gear, bag, coat, clothes and all, and headed up to the women's locker room.
In the locker room I started sorting through everything and I realized I didn't have my jeans. I figured I probably dropped them en route up to the locker room. But when I retraced my steps, they weren't there. All I found were about 40 or so young dancers, splayed out all over the floor, waiting for their classes. It was obvious that I dropped the pants, but had someone picked them up? Were they buried under someone's enormous puffy coat?
I went back and forth between the studios and the locker room, at one point announcing to the entire locker room that I was missing a pair of Citizen of Humanity jeans and a spiky black belt. I actually elicted some pity once the girls heard they were Citizen jeans. But still, no acutal pants.
Someone suggested that I check the Lost and Found, in case someone turned them in. I thought that was impossible, because I had abrely been missing them for 10 minutes. Plus, these were Citizen jeans in a size that pretty much anyone could fit into. At $200 a pop, I doubt anyone would return a missing pair.
Nevertheless I went to the front desk and told them I was forlorn because I lost my pants. The young guy at the counter said, "What kind of belt was on them?" When I said, "Spiky!" He pulled my jeans out of a wooden box.
My Citizens and I were reunited...and it felt so good. (Mostly because I knew I wouldn't have to buy another pair!)
Anyhow, on the way home I noticed something: I noticed the calm that had overcome my body, and it wasn't just because I had my pants back. It was the same kind of calm, high, if you will, that I used to feel after running. After running five miles or so I would shower and wash the sweat from my eyes. In the summertime I would often curl up in my apartment, AC blaring and eat cucumbers while watching movies on HBO. No one was around to bother me and I kind of liked that.
I came home last night, poured myself a bowl of raisin bran and sat for a while, just me and my flakes. You don't always need the TV on in the background or a magazine to flip through. Sometimes eating cereal in a sweaty tank top is enough.
Back when I first hurt my back I thought I would get fat and puffy because I wouldn't be able to exercise as intensely as I did while running. After getting better at dance, I'm realizing this is balderdash. The better I get at it, the more I'll sweat and get stronger, just like I did when I was running.
And the better I'll look in my Citizens.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Coffee Talk
It's 4:30 PM which means that many of you may be looking into a coffee break. Back in the day (1999-2002) at this time I was either en route to work or setting up camp in a coffee shop to do some work.
I think you've all picked up on my obsession with lists and places on this blog. This list is the best places to get caffeinated and write, based on my own experiences.
DTUT: They're uptown and downtown now and I highly recommend the dark interiors and lumpy couches for reading and writing. I've even interviewed people at the one on 83rd Street.
The DTUT on Avenue B is slightly newer and doesn't have the grimy but cozy dorm room feel that the one uptown does. But the downtown DTUT has a back patio which in warmer weather is a great place to enjoy some Darjeeling tea.
Fix: I discovered this place in 2003. For $2.00 I could get a huge coffee and a bagel and cream cheese. It's a big, cavernous room on N.12th and Bedford and if you're not looking close enough you could miss it. (Technically it's on N. 12th Street.)
Tom's Restuarant: I've mentioned it as a great diner but the coffee is worth hanging around for. Grab a table and one of the matronly waitresses will take good care of you as you wax poetic. Need an English muffin? No problem. want to try the pasta? They'll bring it right out.
The Pink Pony: Since the Lower East Side has become a tourist attraction, I feel kids of silly putting this one down. After all, it was in a Moby video. But the food is great and the music is always good. The waitresses will pretty much leave you alone, since isn't almost everyone south of Houston a tortured artist of some sort?
Paul's Boutique: It's on the same corner that's on the cover of the Beastie Boys' album of the same name. And you know what? It's actually pretty good. The prices are low and you can sit alone without feeling like a social outcast. The coffee is strong.
Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Pauline...
Yesterday I was bellyaching about getting clipped by a cab, but today is better. I spent last night with a pile of sushi and the Style network and got some decent sleep.
This morning I saw that this interview with me on the website toobeautiful.org is up. Enjoy!
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Cabbies Are the Devil
Last night after coming out of the a party for that new show, Love Monkey, I got clipped in the arm and shoulder by a cab.
I was standing on the corner of Third Avenue and 26th Street. The walk light came on and as I stepped onto the pavement the cab, carrying three passengers, swerved around the corner like bat out of hell. I shouted, "Hey! You hit me!" over and over, but the cab kept coming. He got stuck at a light about a block away, and so I ran in the rain and in my three inch heels and banged on the window with my palm.
"Hey! You hit me! You hit!" I yelled, yet he looked straight ahead and didn't even open the door. It was dark, my glasses were foggy, and since his light was off, I couldn't read his medallian number.
It took at least a good hour before my heart stopped beating in my throat. I realized I was extremely lucky to only have gotten clipped in the arm. Had I been standing at a different angle, he could have hit me head on.
At this point I could say really mean things about cabbies, but after a good night's rest I realized this: Karma is a bommerrang. All that guy had to do was stop the cab and see how I was, but he didn't. Instead he sped off, leaving me in the rain with a night of anxiety and anger.
Luckily, though, the universe has a way of evenng itself out, and for that I am grateful. It's out of my hands.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Fan Mail?
Remember that column I wrote for The Simon last week about James Frey? (Of course you do.) Well, it got a little feedback.
Check it out.
And by the way, Mary Karr agreed with me in her editorial in The New York Times
Monday, January 16, 2006
A Random Roll of Film
January being what it is, it lacks a little excitement. Sure, there are parties and such, but it's cold, few good movies are being released and my skin is quite dry.
Nevertheless, I take photos. Here is a random roll I just got back. Hope you like them.
La Madre Never Leaves Without Her Leopard Print Coat
An Inviting Fire
Caution, Wind Surfer Crossing
Cara and I at Keck's Reading
Kevin Keck and I
La Madre and Robbie Rob
As for me, I've spent this long weekend back and forth from New York and Greenwich, trying a new French restaurant, shopping, buying one hell of a new bra, watching the premiere of '24' and reading Ana Marie Cox's Dog Days. I have to review it this week.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Eyeballing the Weekend
I only have a few hours before I take off for the weekend. I'll be gone for a while, since I don't have to be back until 5:00 PM on Monday for the Golden Globes.
Some links, etc.
David Hasselhoff is getting divorced. And we should care because....?
I just got my hands on a copy of the Morningwood album. It's awesome.
Speaking of tunes...
Today I was talking to a coworker about how I used to work in a record store back when I was in high school. However, I totally date myself when I say that it was a sliver of a store called Tape World in the Stamford Mall. The walls were lined with cassettes (which I alphabetized ad nauseum) while the center was bins of CDs.
Working in a record store is a great experience for a kid, mostly because it exposes you to things your friends might not be into.
Here is a small list of albums I listened to while manning the register at Tape World in 1994. Some are cool, some are lame, but I still hold a soft spot for all of them.
Fields of Gold: The Best of Sting: As a 17-Year-Old girl, this album is a musical verison of everything you want in a guy: Sweet, sensitive but complicated. "Why Would I Cry For You" is the ultimate anthem for teenage angst, in my humble opinion.
Eric Clapton, From the Cradle: Sure, I knew Clapton, but I had never heard him so bluesy. I was mesmorized, if not a little confused.
Frank Sinatra, Duets II: I've had to purchase two different copies of this album, because in college I kept losing them/lending them out. "Fly Me to the Moon" is the money track on this one.
TLC, Crazy, Sexy Cool: The day that I got my acceptance letter to Syracuse I was listening to this album while on a bus en route to a basketball game that I had to cheerlead at. I told myself that if I didn't get into Syracuse I would go to California and go to Santa Barbara Junior College for a year, then transfer to UC Santa Barbara. (There was serious, serious doubt I would get into college after scoring a 380 on my math SAT.) Guess what? I got into Syracuse. The rest is history.
Ol Dirty Bastard, Return to the 36 Chambers: We had to keep this one behind the counter because people used to try to steal it. You know what? I still like it raw.
Dinner With the Russians
Last night my Uncle Edu was in town from California (he literally lives in the OC!) and so my mom and brothers and I met up at Moran's for a long, large dinner with plenty of liquor.
Edu is completely Americanized as well as a very successful businessman here in the States. He also speaks good Russin and, apart from the relatives who literally came here off a boat (like my mom), has a great link to Russia. He knows where all the cousins and aunts and uncles live, visits and writes them regurally and, in true Russia fashion, is always generous.
In a way I feel sorry for the waitress who had our table because we were there for over four hours, talking and drinking. (At times we were quite loud.)Usually a visit like this would take place at someone's house, so we could stretch out with the food and the liquor. Since neither Andrew nor I could really accomdate four people comfortably in our studio apartments, Moran's it was.
Last night's dinner made me realize my New Year's resolution: To learn Russian. It's a sad state of affairs when I have relatives in Moscow, St. Petersburg and Novosibirsk and yet I can't even write a letter or an e-mail to them. So, learning Russian it is...
I know I said last year that I would learn Russian. Since I spent 2005 becoming a better tap dancer, like I said I would, I think it's time to move on to the next challenge.
Nazdrovia!
By the way, La Madre is a total quote machine. At dinner she had two gems. For greatest effect these need to be read out loud, in a Russian accent:
[I sat down at the table and I didn't have a drink. I said I needed to think about what I wanted.]
La Madre: (worried) Why won't you drink? Are you in AAA?
*****
[My brother Andrew was talking about sharing some of the old photos from Russia, etc., with the rest of the family]
Andrew: (who is a very tech-savvy guy) All those photos you have, you should burn them onto a CD.
La Madre: Burn them? Are you crazy?!?!
Thursday, January 12, 2006
New York Is to Writers What Los Angeles is to Actresses
...shake a tree, and ten fall out.
Here is my latest column on The Simon about the James Frey/JT Leroy debacle.
The Black Table has a similar, and very funny, story
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Diners, As a Concept
The subject of diners came up on a friend's My Space blog. (Yes, not only am I on My Space, but I read other people's blogs.) He was a big fan of diners and gave some tips about how to enjoy them more.
I love diners. I love them not for the food, but for the convenience. Remember, I'm a writer. I've always been a writer. When I first started in this twisted game back in 1999, I had no money. None. Yet I needed to eat, and usually something besides mac and cheese.
Enter the diner. Eggs and coffee were always cheap in diners, as were burgers if I had an extra five bucks. Eventually the diner became less of a place to eat than as a place to decompress. I wrote many an article and brainstormed many an idea while leaning back against some vinyl booth. Hell, I even interviewed people in diners, just so that I wouldn't have to leave my natural habitat.
This afternoon I put together a list of some great New York City Diners. Please visit them, but only carry $10 in your pocket, like any young, self-respecting writer would do.
Buffa's: Prince Street and Lafayette. Still grimy, still dark, still vintage NYC.
The Pancake House: Broome and Centre Street A diner right in the middle of Chinatown. If you go there enough times, they'll remember you, your order and bring you coffee as soon as you sit down. Ridiculously cheap.
Tom's Restaurant: Broadway and 112th Street. Seinfeld made the facade famous but it's best known as a hang out for tired, hung over Columbia students. I've spent many an afternoon at the counter, gnawing on burgers and eyeballing a handsome Greek waitor.
Cheyenne Diner: 9th Avenue at 33rd Street. It looks like something straight out of 1945: Chrome, Neon lights and a long line of booths and counter. It's very popular with the media types who lurk on 33rd Street.
Jerry's: Prince and Broadway. This is a fancy diner. It looks like an old school diner, if an old school diner served $14 salads and had racks of wine on the wall. Go there for brunch and feel like you're somebody.
Feel free to send me more.
La Wednesday
Last night was spent doing little other than going to Pilates and eating hummus. That said, I have little to report thus far into the morning. So here are some links.
Angelina Jolie is having Brad Pitt's baby. Hoorah! I've also been on Team Angelina. Jennifer Anniston was always too wholesome for me.
A study says that 7 percent of worker drink on the job. Bottoms up!
Sorry, Tubby...you can't be fat and healthy at the same time.
Finally an explanation for that one-eyed cat everyone's seen photos of on the internet. Weirdest part: The owner is keeping the kitten's corpse in her freezer.
There are books covered in real human skin.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Office Bathroom Etiquette
The issue of office bathroom etiquette came up today.
The issue was that sometimes, even in one's place of business, they will need privacy when dealing matters of digestion. In a communal bathroom environment, this can be tricky.
Among my pool of friends it was generally agreed that if you see someone in a stall, especially a back stall, for more than a minue or so, to leave. Clearly this person needs some privacy. As a decent human being, you should give it to him/her.
It was also pointed out that some people, mostly women, don't understand this, and insist on lingering around the commode, usually applying make up. For the person in the back stall, this can be maddening.
What are your thoughts?
The Keck and Other News
Keck's reading last night went really well. That bookstore on Prince and Mulberry is really great. I think I saw a few other Syracuse people there, but I wasn't sure.
The big shock of the evening was Keck showing up with his wife. Yes, Kevin Keck got married. It was a small ceremony in North Carolina over Thanksgiving. Anyway, Keck looked very happy and healthy. I was very happy for him and I really like Patrice. So all is right in the world.
Most shocking was realizig that I had known Keck for 10 years. 10 years! I'm starting to feel like a Golden Girl being able to say I know people such as Keck and Cara for 10 years. I've known Jen for over 20 years, Christine for almost 15. Pass the Geritol, please.
How about some science links today?
An article about how doctors, specifically oncologists, learn how to dole out bad news.
The North Star might have a companion.
And good news for the Russians. That $40 million mansion on Fifth Avenue was sold to a Russian immigrant who used to drive a cab. He's going to use part of the building to show off his collection of European ivory and faberge eggs, naturally.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Monday Linkage
Crazy day in the world of writers.
The bizarre ordeal that is the JT Leroy story heats up with a piece in today's New York Times. It claims to identify the actress who poses as JT in public.
JT Leroy's agent then adds a few thoughts over at Mediabistro.
James Frey also turns out not to be the forthcoming guy on the planet, according to documents on The Smoking Gun. I intviewed him back in the '03.
Is this necessary? A concert that going to last 639 years? And the second chord is scheduled to be hit soon.
This one-eyed cat (!!?!) will totally freak you out.
Manic Monday
Dean sent me over a few shots from our photo shoot for his headshots. He finished off a roll by taking a few of me. Here are a few. Perhaps more to come.
Gotcha!
And don't forget that tonight is Kevin Keck's reading. Rachel Kramer Bussel did a write-up of his book on her blog. Buy it, already.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Chez Moi
I was clicking around the internets and I found a link to Property Shark. They have photos and info on every building and block in Manhattan. It's pretty cool. Look up your house.
Here is the first place I lived in NYC, 302 E. 94th Street. (Apt. 1A!) It was a pretty dumpy place, and the diner didn't look that nice when I was there from September 1999 to March 2002. There was none of that fancy, outdoor seating. Hrmph.
There was no photo for 50 Bayard Street, the amazing apartment I lived in in 2002 in Chinatown, just south of Canal of the Bowery.
Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!
You may remember my friend Tom. He's written a few books. The building that he lives in, 126 Rivington, and its inhabitants are profiled in today's New York Times Sunday Styles section. Apparently it's like a Lower East Side Melrose Place. Who knew?
A friend of mine from Columbia, Liel Leibovitz, has written a book called Aliya: Three Generations of American-Jewish Immigration to Israel. Check it out.
...and Kevin Keck's reading is tomorrow down on Prince Street and Mulberry. Be there or be square. Drinks to follow.
Pookie was never really into it (he was too fat to jump up to the toilet, let alone the vanity) but apparently loafing in sinks is huge with the feline set.
Last night Doug and I had a Date Night and we went over to Chelsea to see Brokeback Mountain. I think it's a shoo-in for the Cinematography Oscar. However, a theater in Utah decided at the last minute not to screen the film, re-negging on their licensing agreement. Curious, indeed...
Yes, I'm working again today. This is seven days in a row, with five more ahead of me. Maybe that's why this blog has been just a smattering of links lately...I'm not doing much in the way of recreation. But that will change...soon! There are many social plans this weekend (Read: Photo ops!) and a possible Valentine's getaway to an undisclosed location. Stay tuned.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
A Cold Saturday
It's a little cold outside, even by January standards.
Here are some links to amuse you as you gnaw bagels, etc.
A female journalist was kidnapped today in Iraq. Her sister has been keeping a blog of her journey.
Albert Hoffman, the man who invented LSD, is about to turn 100 years old. He calls the hallucinogen his "problem child."
Random: Missouri lawmakers hope to ban cold beer sales.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Some Notable Links
It's almost the weekend...whoo ha! Here are a few things to chew on before taking off for Happy Hour.
Tyler Azelton, a gal I used to sing with is making music. Check out her tunes here. (She's in L.A.)
Apparently Nick Lachey liked to wear Jessica's heels. Okaaay...whatever works. (Sounds like someone's bitter about getting the old heave-ho...)
The Black Table is closing up shop come the end of January. Be sure to go to their party.
An Open Letter to My Herniated Disc
All this time I've been playing by your rules. I stopped running. I let a doctor stick needles full of cortisone into my spine. I doused my bloodstream full of painkillers in an effort to keep you quiet. I even stopped traipsing around town in the stilettos that I love so much.
But yesterday you took it too far. Due to the ridiculous tingling and numbness you have caused in my foot and calf, I had to go see a doctor. While we talked pain managemnt, the visit ran long and I missed my 6:00 PM tap class. Grrrr.
You know how much I like dance class. It's one of the few joys in my life besides the Style Network, raspberry sorbet and John Mayer albums. And you stopped me from going to it.
However, Herniated Disc, it's time I nipped you in the bud and stopped your totalitarian control. You see, I've got a secret weapon. It's a micro surgery that I can get, which will cut your offending parts in half. It's not the major surgery that would remove you from my life completely and render me useless for a month, but rather a small slip of a scalpel that should muzzle you for some time.
You won't know when it's coming, but I assure you it will. And then vengence will be mine. Muuuuhahahahaha!
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Yes, There Were Jazz Hands
Last night I went to my regurally scheduled Theater Dance class. As skeptical as I was two weeks ago when I first started taking it, I realized it was a great class and I could totally dig the choreography. It wasn't too over my head and I felt like I got a good workout.
Last night's class was especially full...at least 40 people. It was fine until we started a drill on pique turns, and everyone was falling on top of one another. I realized that my pique turns, particurally on the left side, need some work. I feel a ballet class in my future...
Most people who know me know of my obsession with A Chorus Line. It's my favorite muscial, I saw it on Broadway back in 1989 and I still harbour delusions of being in it.
Last night in class we worked on the choreography to "Music and the Mirror" which is the part of the show where Cassie tries to show Zach, the director and her former lover, that she still has her dancer's chops. It was surprisingly easy, but with 40 people in the room I had to be aware of what I was doing. Banging into someone while attempting a shanay turn is pretty gauche.
Anyhow, the routine involved all sorts of wacky jazz hands, and as I've alluded to in this blog before, without irony. There were also all these dramatic lunges and pauses. It was 1970s schlock at its finest.
I hope this doesn't turn into too much of a dance blog. That might turn some people off. But tonight I have tap with Germaine Salsberg. Should be good times.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Pimp My Friend
There are days when I'm honestly not sure why I'm a writer. I have no idea how I fell into this professoin, this job, this lifestyle. (And yes, being a writer is a lifestyle, just like being a rock star or a Hare Krishna is a lifestyle.)
When I was 18 and a clueless freshmen at Syracuse, I randomly signed up for section 100 of a mandatory writing class. It was taught by a 22-year-old graduate student named Kevin Keck who always wore a backwards Chicago Cubs cap. He was from North Carolina and fancied himself a poet.
The class was called The Rhetoric of Counter Culture and in it we read books by Ken Kesey and William S. Burroughs, among others. We were also supposed to keep a journal of everyday of our lives that semester. Being the obedient student that I was, I did just that. At the time I was also going through sorority rush, and thus drama ensued.
Long story short, Keck liked the journal so much that he didn't make me write any papers for the rest of the semester. I didn't even have to read anything if I did't want to. All I had to do was finish the journal and turn it into a readable manuscript. The project lasted through that May and into the summer.
If people wonder why I'm a writer and not social worker or a publicist, it can all be traced back to that spring semester of 1996. An unsuspecting graduate student told me he liked my work, and so I sallied forth.
In a feeble effort to return the favor, I must tell everyone about Keck's reading this coming Monday, January 9th, for his book, Oedipus Wrecked.
7:00 PM
McNally Robinson Booksellers
50 Prince St.
(212) 274-1160
Buy his book here or at the store.
The Quest for the Perfect Headshot
My friend Dean [Constantine] is an actor and he needed some new headshots. A few days ago we descended upon Nolita and took a few, moving around the streets as the sun did. It's all about good light.
Here are two shots. They're not exactly right for headshot material. The light is a little uneven and a little hot in some parts of his face. But all in all I think it was a good start.
And if you ever need and actor, singer or even a waitor, call Dean. To sweeten the deal...He's Greek! Oh-Pah!!
Is he a Young Al Pacino or a Greek Ralph Macchio?
Take Two
Here are two shots. They're not exactly right for headshot material. The light is a little uneven and a little hot in some parts of his face. But all in all I think it was a good start.
And if you ever need and actor, singer or even a waitor, call Dean. To sweeten the deal...He's Greek! Oh-Pah!!
Is he a Young Al Pacino or a Greek Ralph Macchio?
Take Two
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Taking Out the Tree
Last night I had the joy of taking down my Christmas tree. A few weeks ago I was so excited when I got the real tree and bought all the ornaments for it. But after all the merriment, the thing has to come down.
The thing about Christmas trees is that after a month or so, they get really dry and really droppy. This makes taking the ornaments off difficult, not to mention the lights, which are all twisted around. More of a pain, is getting the thing out the door. When you buy a tree, it's all closed up and opens up to it's fullness once it's inside and sitting in a pot of water. Once it's open and dry, matters are complicated, particurally if you have narrow doorways, comme moi.
Long story short: After fighting to get the tree out of the apartment and out onto the street, (ever fight with a Douglas fur? I have...) I had the immense task of cleaning up no less than 19,000 little pine needles that covered my floor from living room to front door. I left the ones out in the hallway, figuring the super could get those. Watch me get yelled at for that.
The lesson learned from all this is that taking out a Christmas tree is not a job for one person, especially when the Style network is on in the background. I kept getting distracted by "How Do I Look." I also realized I need a vacuum cleaner.
Yesterday I picked up a copy of The Elements of Style Illustrated. It's a great book from what I've flipped through thus far. I was particurally drawn to one passage about the exclamation point.
In my humble estimation, I feel that this is one of the most commonly abused pieces of punctuation, as opposed to the question mark, which I have tattooed on the small of my back. (If that's not abusing punctuation, I don't know what is.)
Anyhow, here is Strunk and White's take on use of the exclamtion point. Please make a note of it, particurally if you write Christmas letters. After getting cards and letters this past month, I'm really starting to wonder if English is some of friends' and relatives' first launguage.
"Do not attempt to emphasize simple statements by using a mark of exclamation. The exclamation mark is to be reserved for use after true exclamations.
What a wonderful show!
Halt!
...and that's my grammar lesson of the day. Perhaps there will be more to come as a get more into the book.
Interesting links for today:
Fred Savage is acting again, although not in angsty, Kevin Arnold style.
There's a two-headed snake for sale on eBay for a cool $150,000. I'd buy it for $100,000, for $150,000 is just a rip-off.
Cheerleading injuries are on the rise, which should make all you nay-sayers finally accept that it's a sport.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Why Am I Here?
...at work, I mean. It seems that the entire universe knew that today was a national holiday and I forgot to ask for the day off.
So...what to do? Work is slow and this is the second time I'm updating thsi blog...I guess I can offer some things for you guys to do, since you seem to have been smart enough to get the day off.
Go see Munich. I reluctantly went yesterday and I ended up loving this film. There's a bit of violence but Spielberg moves the stroy along quickly...at least for the first two hours./>
Read Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities. I realize this book came out about three years ago but I found it in paperback and have been reading it on the train back and forth from Doug's. It's especially fascinating if you were in a sorority, because, at least based on my experience, they are all the same. The same guys, the same parties, the same twisted relationship with alcohol, etc.
Get some exercise. I snagged some Pilates sessions at Sal Anthony's as a Christmas gift from my pop. It's great exercise. If you need something more upbeat, try my second home, Broadway Dance Center.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
