On Democracy in Action

The people have spoken. In response to whether or not I should password-protect this sucker:

And I have to admit to being surprised that the vast majority of the people who responded were people I've never, ever met. Nor heard of. Nor suspected existed.

Go figure.

On Endorsement

Although it shows of their technical prowess, this video doesn't really capture the boundless joy and crazy energy of a Rodrigo y Gabriela performance. If you ever have the chance to see them live, do so:

On Being Guilty, Sometimes...

...but not of the cell phone thing. Actually, I use umbrellas a lot less than you might think. I dig my slicker and my rain coat, I won't deny.

Maybe I'm not so guilty. At least of this.

On Stumbling Upon Coolness

Sometimes, just aimlessly browsing the iTunes store turns up a bit of a find. Depending, of course, on your tastes:

On Reuniting ('Cuz It Feels So Good)

You know what I find most shocking about having returned to The Spawning Ground for my 25th high school reunion? How much I really loved it.

Not, mind you, that I expected it to be a torturous affair or anything. But I didn't really expect myself to go back and have such a sense of attachment to so many people that I haven't seen in 25 years.

There were a lot more people there than I'd actually expected. Almost half of my classmates returned, this despite a large number the reunion committee were struggling to locate at the last minute. When spouses were added in, we ended up with a great party.

The reunion Committee, by the way, deserves a lot of credit for throwing a kick-ass party.

I'm a little taken aback by just how much we've all changed, and by how little we've all changed.

I have this curious reaction when I see my mother after not having seen her in a long while. I strikes me how old she's gotten, since, in my head, she's perpetually the woman she was when I left Pittsburgh – the woman she was before life threw her some serious curve balls, like several spills that have damaged joints and given her constant pain, or the loss of her husband of fifty-five years. Those sorts of things age a person, no matter how spry they are.

It's that way with my friends. They've all changed physically, despite my thinking of them as perpetually eighteen years old. But it seems to me that they haven't really changed that much on the inside – at least insomuch as I can suss out what they're like in the the brief contact I had during the reunion. The one great truth I've learned in the intervening years is that you just can't ever know what's going on inside someone's head. There's, no doubt, sadness and anger and joy boiling in these people that I'll never see, but on the surface they don't seem terribly different than the seemed to me twenty-five years ago.

Ultimately, I think I find that kinda comforting.

Granted, some of the people I thought were assholes twenty-five years ago turned out to be exactly the same, too, but I think I saw them through a filter of compassion that I've acquired (I hope) since the good old days, so they're not so much changed as understood a little better?

I don't know. The only thing I do know is that I can't ever know, really. There's an old saying:

A thinking man is, by definition, uncertain.

So, not knowing, I still insist that my friends and classmates, though not the same teenagers they once were, are the same people I knew.

On Trepidation

I've got a long weekend furlough from The Velvet Prison to go home for my twenty-fifth high school reunion.

The idea that I've been out of high school for twenty-five years is, somehow, deeply disturbing. It kinda derails the obviously-baseless-but-ever-so-hard-to-dispel idea I have of myself as the perpetual 23 year-old. Well, that and the fact that I ache like such a freak after an 8½-mile bike ride.

Did I mention that I bought a new bike last weekend and I've started biking to work again? Yeah. I did.

I went with the recommendation of a dear friend and went to On the Move Bike Shop in Park Slope. I got a pretty good deal on a Giant Cypress, but I especially liked how the knowledgeable sales staff helped me pick out the right bike for me right now. I haven't had the best of luck with that sorta thing, so I'm glad that it worked out.

Anyway, I'm not twenty-three anymore, which sucks, but is also kinda great. I was a bit of a dipshit at twenty-three, as I suspect most twenty-three year-olds are, so I'm glad that I'm past that.

There are, of course, those who would argue that I'm every bit the dipshit now that I may have been when I was twenty-three, but we'll skip that for now.

So I'm heading out for a big adventure. I'm going to be seeing people I literally haven't seen in twenty-five years. I wonder how many of my classmates will be there?

On Soliciting Input

So, here's the deal:

I'm thinking of taking the Blog underground.

That is to say, I'm thinking of making it password-protected, so as to make sure I can be as vitriolic and mean-spirited as I'd like while being assured that only people I approve are reading my diatribes.

I'm actually of two minds about it, really. On one hand, I think to myself, "It's not like you censor yourself that much. Why the need to go private? Just for a few cursewords?"

Then I think, "There are a lot of things I don't say in this blog 'cuz I'm wary of offending people who, while not necessarily central to my existence, it mightn't be politick for me to piss off."

So I'm torn.

What do you think? Tell me. How would you feel if I made you log in for the privilege of being a regular reader?

On Cinematic Surprises

One of the perks of internment at The Velvet Prison is the occasional invitation to view product before The Masses.

One takes what opportunities one can, of course, to feel a little superior.

Last night I dragged Betty Boop along with me to a booze-filled reception and a screening of the the movie-musical version of the Broadway play version of one of John Waters' films.

Having never seen the actual Broadway musical upon which it's based (in the most delightful of Freudian Slips, I just typed "basted" before correcting it and typing "based"), I can't speak to comparisons, but I have to say:

I loved it.

This, in spite of the fact that I (and, I think, I alone in my party) hated the former Grease star's turn in one of the leading roles. Bring on the Harvey Fierstein or Divine, say I.

Still, in spite of the aforementioned Star Turn, I just found the rest of the cast, and the story and the direction and the performances, just entirely delightful. Could be I'm full of shite and have no taste, but I liked it.

I imagine that if, indeed, my judgment about the film is flawed, it's due, for the most part, to two reasons. First, I had three glasses of free wine at the reception and, second, it was free. Honestly, though, I don't suspect I'd have felt differently if I'd had to pay for the movie.

In any case, I urge you to go see it, and let me know what the eff you think of it.

On Befriending the Camera

This past Friday I took the day off and spent it with Topher, trying to coax him into loving the camera.


Actually, he's been wanting to repeat our attempted photo fun from October of 2005, and we finally managed to get it done.

The day started out in his apartment, where the light worked really well in our favor. On the whole, I think we did pretty well. At the end of the day, I ended up burning him a CD of over a hundred images. Of course, we shot nearly five hundred images, so were were bound to get a couple good ones.

Still, I think we did okay.

Strangely, although I don't think they ended up on his disc, a couple of the shots I took after our session ended up being among my favorites. Like this one:

On Translating Neil Gaiman to the Screen

I well and truly love me some Neil Gaiman, but I'm always suspicious when I hear someone wants to make one of his books (or short stories) into a movie.

And as much as I really wanna see this, I'm worried.

Really worried.

Still, at it's worst it'll probably be like a train wreck away from which I cannot look.

We'll see.

On Seminal Dates in Comedic History

Fifty years ago this week, genius was created. I, who wasn't even born at the time, wouldn't discover it for, probably, a decade at least, but still would be ruined forever for inferior cartoons:

On The Success of The Secret

So everyone I know is all about The Secret, to which I can only say this:

"Trust in God... but tie your camel. "
- Arab Proverb

On. The. Best. Weekend. Ever.

Okay, so I engaged in a little bit of hyperbole. But just a little. Okay, maybe more than a little. Still.

Having missed the company of The Cajun on Wednesday evening – the Font of Dionysus being closed for the holiday and all – I rolled into the bar after work and had a couple of glasses of wine. I do so love that place. I stayed out a little too late and drank probably one too many to make getting up on Friday morning easy, but I needed something to settle my urpy stomach, and strangely, red wine has that effect. Go figure.

Friday evening, Topher, Betty Boop, Sky Captain, The Tall Actress and I met at the Rubin Museum for cocktails in its lounge. The joint offers two-for-one mixed drinks during its happy hour, and then the galleries are free from 7 to 10 p.m.

Who doesn't love free culture and booze?

The Rubin was a little bit of a revelation. I had no idea it was there, and that it has such a lovely collection of Himalayan art. There's currently a really great exhibition of the photographs of one of my favorite photographers, Lynn Davis. If you're in New York, you should try to catch it. It's only there, though, through July 16.

Saturday morning, Betty Boop and I hosted The Elf and Sunshine for omelets. This to return the good deed of their having hosted us the Saturday before for pancake breakfast.

During the course of our breakfast, the boys mentioned that they were going to take their two dogs, Chloe and Bree, to the dog park, and The Elf asked Boop and I if we'd like to come along.

I have to admit to having a complicated relationship with the boys' dogs. I'm not the biggest fan of small dogs, but Chloe and Bree are pretty freakin' adorable. I probably prefer Chloe to Bree only because she's moved out of her yappy puppy phase, which Bree – the latter of the acquisitions – is still going through.

Still, there's nothing I love more than hanging out with a bunch of dogs, so I jumped at the chance to accompany the boys. Besides, you never know when you're going to meet your future husband at the dog park. I mean, I watch movies, yo.

The girls were hilarious, and we had a delightful time. Check 'em out:

After the dog park, we walked down to the Brooklyn waterfront. The day was unbelievably beautiful!

All in all, it was a pretty spectacular weekend. I was a bit of a couch potato on Saturday evening, but I managed to catch up on my Netflix rentals, and retired early.

And Sunday was a fairly good day, too, though I did go into work to pick up some stuff I'd left there on Friday.

Life, dear friends, is pretty darn good.

Just remember, though: When you least expect it, like Boop to her innocent cat, Life can do this to you:

I'm not sayin'. I'm just sayin'.

Oh, and by the way, I did meet my future husband at the dog park:

On Getting Fat

When the hell did this happen?!?

On a Midweek Holiday and Accompanying Light Show

I'm gonna come right out and say it: I don't dig a mid-week holiday.

We were given furlough from The Velvet Prison for July 4th, which was nice and all, but made for a difficult time renewing my dedication and zest for a return to work after the day off.

Still, the day was swell.

I pretty much laid around like a slug for the whole day, stuffing my face with whatever was at hand. Kinda gross, if you think about it.

I did manage to get some photos of the East River fireworks, though we were way too far away and hidden behind too many buildings to get a really good look at them.

There is, however, something to be said for finishing watching the fireworks and then making the three-step trip back to your living room.

On a Happy Birthday

It's not lost on me that today's special Google logo image the eagle is holding an olive branch.

Here's hoping the people in charge get the message.

On the War Between the Sexes

Hee hee hee:

On Enjoying the View

One of the nice things about having picked up the new camera and enjoying the summer weather is views like this one from my fire escape.

Obviously, I've been experimenting again with HDR photography. I'm not that good at it, but that doesn't diminish my pleasure at it.

On Enjoying the Simple Things

I've had a little more time lately to reconnect with people I enjoy but don't get to see as often as I'd like. Yesterday, Betty Boop and I had breakfast at the home of The Elf and Sunshine.

The boys and Betty had had dinner the night before at Burrito Bar, and decided to make a weekend-spanning activity of it; they kindly invited me along.

It's nice to get a chance to spend time with The Elf, who I've known since shortly after my move to New York City. He's among the most interesting of my friends since, on the surface, we seem to have so little in common. He runs in crowds that I wouldn't be caught dead in, mostly 'cuz being among them fuels whatever deeply-rooted sense of inadequacy I harbor but claim not to.

But the thing about him is that he's never not been interested, accepting and genuinely concerned about what's going on in my life. If we're being honest, I think it'd be safe to say he's a better friend to me than I am to him. Something I should correct in the near future.

The Elf and Sunshine are great hosts. The set a mean table and make some luscious blueberry pancakes.

But more than that, they're genuinely nice people. I could actually learn a thing or two from them about letting go and enjoying life.

Maybe, in the end, that's what friends are for; to teach you lessons about life that you might've otherwise missed. To lead by example on the things that seem trivial but are actually enormous.

In any case, thanks for the pancakes, B & E. And for the sympathetic ear.

On Holding Onto Things

Some people I know (not least of whom is me) could learn a lot from this quote Kenjiman paraphrased for me recently:

Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

Carrie Fisher
US author & movie actress (1956 - )