RFLDoT*, Pt. 1

This day lasted forever, but the drugs helped (thanks John's co-worker) and the view from our dinner table at the hotel made it all worth while.

*Really F*cking Long Day of Travel.

Victory!

I didn't buy a hand-held labeler today!

In other news, I did eat a box of Jordan almonds.

Pumpkin eater

As in: cheater, cheater... Because I don't have much today say today. I am in full-on invented errand mode as we near take-off for Maui (Saturday morning), to the point that my plans for tomorrow now include looking at hand-held labelers so I can identify my travel containers of goo. Must. Stop. Over-thinking.

Anyway, this picture is for Marmee Craft, if she wants to come see it. It's been sitting on my desktop for a while. This beauty's incredibly looooong neck (and something about her smile) reminds me of some of Ms. Marmee's creations.

Hack hack

What did the work/study gig entail today?

Let's just say, if I end up with hantavirus, I'll know where I got it.

Restaurant-quality cooking in the comfort of your own home

I made risotto tonight, and it rocked. I've made it before, and I have customized it to our tastes, namely:

For the corn, I just thaw some Trader Joe's frozen fire-roasted corn kernels. I mix this up into the tomato stuff, and add the zest and juice of one lemon.

I add half a pound of shrimp, which I cook quickly in the hot stock already on the stove, set aside to cool and then slice in half. They can go into the rice along with the vegetables.

John doesn't go for the fromage, so I mix mine in once it's in my bowl. Honestly, he doesn't know what he's missing.

There should be a photo here, but we totally scarfed it.

WWIJD?

The question of the day is, What would Indiana Jones do... to a woman sitting next to him in the theater, narrating the entire movie?

My guess: make short work of her with the bull whip.

Aaaargh.

Mike Birbiglia: not awkward

Mike & Bear, originally uploaded by Birbigs.

Dear Mike,

I saw an ad in Time Out for Central Park Summer Stage last week with your name listed, which led me to look up your tour schedule online. It turned out that we already have tickets to see Sloan at Bowery Ballroom that night, but it also turned out that you were going to be at Union Hall Sunday night. And it also turned out that Eileen and Justin were available Sunday night and willing to take our word for it that you are crazy funny.

You did not disappoint! I laughed so hard that I almost fell down (we had never been to UH before and didn't know we could have come early and had seats). I'm not sure about the rest of the audience, but all four of us agree about marriage having "jumped the shark". (Personally, I got married for the health insurance, another institution which may have jumped the shark.)

Seeing you at Stand Up New York was one of the first things John and I ever did in New York; we went with our friends Jim and Sommer, who wanted to go because they saw you on tv, maybe on The Late Show? Anyway, you were great, we laughed a lot, and we felt like real New Yorkers when we got the enormous bill for the lousy drinks.

I know you have the Google Alert out for yourself, so if you read this, I'd just like you to know that you rocked the house, and looked good doing it.

Thanks for a great night,
Bee

World's smallest dog

So, I'm on my way to yoga this morning, walking east on 51st Street toward Ninth Avenue. It's a quiet, leafy block. There's a small commercial bakery, a place that services institutional coffee machines. There's some sort of MTA office or something. All of this is very quiet on a Saturday morning. Some of the neighborhood stalwarts are already out on their stoops or walking their dogs.

Up ahead of me, on the left side of the sidewalk, there's a guy standing with his back to me. He's got close-cropped gray hair and he's wearing the local old-man uniform of slightly dingy white t-shirt and sweatpants. His left hand is out to the side, holding a freshly-lit cigarette. His right hand is hidden from view by his body, but his elbow is bent and, well, moving. Suspiciously.

I'm thinking, okay. I can deal with this. I've been here five years and the worst thing that has happened is getting half-way groped on a really crowded 6 train. And that time I saw the giant homeless guy in Central Park walking along with his cock out of his snowsuit, pissing. Really, this is just some neighborhood geezer. No problem.

I come up behind him. And I step a little further to my right, closer to the curb. Now I'm even with him. And out of the corner of my eye, I see his right hand, working furiously.

TEXTING.

Not a dirty old man. Just an old guy with texting to do at 9am on a Saturday. Now I just need to tighten up my storytelling, and this will definitely make it into the Times' "Metropolitan Diary."

And now, I leave you with the smallest dog I've ever seen.



Smallest dog close-up!

Expensive art booze: worth it

John left work super early (5pm!) and met me at Neptune Room for $1 oysters. We had three dozen, and I managed to soak the bread basket in prosecco before I'd even had a sip. A quick cab ride later, we were on our way to the Cantor Roof Garden to see the Jeff Koons sculptures and, more importantly, drink the special cocktails.

(I promise, that's the first and only time I'll type something in rainbow letters, but I would make those words blink if I could.)



Sacred Heart: vodka and pomegranate juice.
Maybe a little simple for twelve dollars?



Coloring Book: vodka, rum, gin, tequila, triple sec, Sprite.
Maybe a little gross for twelve dollars?



Balloon Dog: vodka, elderflower cordial, sparkling pear juice.
Just right.

No words

Not my breakfast

They still make these?

Eff you, Robert Sean Leonard

The first time I ever remember crying in a movie: Dead Poet's Society. Robert Sean Leonard as Neil Perry, long before I knew the impact suicide would have on my own life.

Most recent time I've cried watching tv: House, M.D. season finale. Robert Sean Leonard as Dr. James Wilson, absolutely nailing devastating loss. Anne Dudek providing an equally riveting performance.

Also, eff House, M.D. for not ending the season with a corny medical conundrum but actually getting to the real human emotions that most tv dramas (I'm looking at you, Grey's Anatomy) don't have the chops to handle.

Here's a photo of yet another rainy NYC day. Looks like we have a few days' worth coming up.


Chinatown rooftops from the Q train coming back from Brooklyn over the Manhattan Bridge.

Painting again

Only un peu, but quelque chose est meilleure que rien, at least in this case.

Thoughtful husband

Left me in peace to do seven loads of laundry this morning.

All by myself.

At least we won't be sleeping in month-old sheets anymore.

TMI?

PdPd accidentally drinking a swig of barely diluted grapefruit-scented dishsoap

Let's just say, I didn't have this fear before 10pm last night.

And now I do.

I leave the rest to your imagination.

Gotta new haircut, lah-dee-dah...

This day started rough, with crazy rain. But isn't it amazing the way a haircut can make things better?

So, I finally have a New York haircut. Kathy Mecham, now at Woodley & Bunny, has been patiently tending my locks for almost two years. I've cut my hair back to my Austin duck fluff, grown it out, trimmed it up, pretended I wanted it to be all Amelie, accidentally grown it out and finally, finally, I actually let Kathy show me what she's got.

Skillz. Girl's got skillz.

I won't post a pic now, because it would require taking a photo in the mirror, but maybe there will be one soon. So what can I say about la nouvelle coiffure? There are layers, and I've never had layers before. I can pull it back, with whisps framing my face in a delightful way, or leave it long (it's almost to the top of my shoulders). My hair's natural waviness shows. I look older maybe, or just more mature. Both are a good thing.

Whither dosa?

I went looking for M. Dosa today and came up empty.

Eff you, New York magazine.

Thank you, Christopher.

John has been working late, so I've been sleeping poorly. I got up early this morning, because John and I were both getting ready at the same time; I had a gyno appointment scheduled for 9:30am.

Which is how I like to start my Wednesdays.

And the appointment had been scheduled before my work/study changed from Thursday, so I had to worry about whether I would be late.

And as it turns out, I was. And I by the time I got there, I had obviously been crying. Nice.

But let's back up. I woke up, I turned on the computer and it turned itself off. Then did it again. Then John directed my attention to my cellphone, on the kitchen pass-through, covered in cat vomit. I made a genius bar appointment for 7:20pm.

My blood pressure was so high when the nurse checked me in that my gyno warned me she couldn't keep me on the pill unless it came down. Surprisingly, this isn't what made me cry. (Don't worry, it was fine after my exam, before we went back to her office and she decided to get all therapist-y on me and then I cried.)

Fast forward to the genius bar, where Christopher manages to get my ailing 1-year old battery replaced for gratis. So like I was saying, thank you, Christopher. From the bottom of my straining heart. Thank you.

PdPd* scary dreams

When you dream one of your friends wants to hurt another one of your friends? For no apparent reason? And so you go to warn the one friend and you have to break into her house? And then you see on the door are several hand-written notes that say she moved to "Shermantown, TX"? And you've never heard of "Shermantown, TX"? And then you have to wait around to tell the police, who are coming because some sort of alarm is going off, about the other friend? And you literally wake yourself up sobbing?

These dreams: I am tired of them.

*Second in a series in which I explore those subjects which render me plein de panique de...

Graffiti japonais

This gorgeous, hand-painted graffiti was tucked inside an aisle of traffic barriers near the corner of 10th Avenue and 61st Street, nowhere near Williamsburg or Soho. They remind me of the jizo I saw outside of Nikko when I visited Susan in Japan in spring 2001. I'm positive I've seen these particular painted jizo somewhere else, but it was definitely some time ago, and may not have been in NYC. For what it's worth, finding these was the highlight of my day.

Hey, that'll cover lunch...

I just applied for a very cool-sounding job at the special collections library of our local Ivy League institution. It's only 21 hours per week, which might allow me keep doing my work/study gig. So why has it been open since early March?

Maybe because it pays $335 per week, and thanks to my over-achieving spouse, I'd be letting Uncle Sam just hold on to thirty percent of that.

Like I said, that would just about cover lunch, but it would also be twenty-one hours per week when I wasn't watching Law & Order and snarfing Wheat Thins. So let's call it even.

Wish me luck!

Smoking in space

Starbuck, originally uploaded by The Sizemore McCabe Project.

I am pretty up front about how much I miss smoking. Weather like we've been having lately, alternately warm and cool, sunny and gloomy, makes me positively quiver for nicotine. If it weren't for the new anti-smoking PSA running during prime time, with the poor woman who has had all her fingertips amputated, I'm sure I would have given up and broken into the pack of Camel Red Lights that has been sitting sealed in the back of the junk drawer since September 2006. We have tickets to five concerts this summer, and live music is another trigger, so I'm steeling myself for temptation.

So what I want to know is: why are people on Battle Star Galactica allowed to smoke? My only comfort is the suspicion that they will, eventually, run out of tobacco. In the meantime, watching with a glass of wine in the evening makes my fingers itch.

Uncanny

The top of this trashcan (in the public space where I eat lunch when I'm at my work/study gig) totally knows me.

Thanks, bitchcan!

Post-podiatrist tamales

Today I had my first podiatrist appointment. Afterward, because it was lunchtime and my feet were feeling fresh, I walked down to the Mexican consulate and finally found the tamale lady.



I ate them in front of the main library, sipping my iced coffee and listening to Leonard Lopate interview Carol Felsenthal about her new book about Bill Clinton's post-presidency. Good news: he isn't prematurely senile. Bad news: he's a selfish prick. Eh.

The cheese tamale was also eh, but the puerco was muy rico!

Heavy lifting

My work/study day switched to Wednesdays, so this afternoon found me hauling thirty packages in two trips to midtown's saddest post office, struggling six blocks with fourteen pounds of laundry, and coming back empty-handed from a supply run. I finished the day sorting spacing (my favorite job!) and washed my hands thoroughly to remove all the lead dust that had accumulated under my fingernails.

I pass a mango lady on Broadway every time I have work/study, and today I gave in to temptation.



I took it up to the tables and chairs in Greeley Square and ate it all in about 45 seconds.

My mood stayed mango-sunny as I fruitlessly browsed Daffy's for a summer jacket, as I got jostled down the stairs to the subway, as I trudged through Duane Reade to get contact lens solution I ran out of last night, all the way till I was a quarter-block from home and saw that they started on the corner building.



There were all kinds of emergency vehicles and guys in suits at the site when I left the apartment this morning. Maybe one of the long-time neighborhood residents had a heart attack when he saw them start tearing down the water tank.

Wannit!

I want a dress like this.



And sun-striped hair. And a lanky frame. And a trip to the reedy shore..

BSG

We started BSG last night. We'd often heard it mentioned as being right up there with The Wire, but it was a little hard to believe a sci-fi series could pack the same emotional punch.

Okay, we were wrong.

Like yesterday, but without the bbq

We took our books to the park, stopping along the way at Subway. For real. I got a six-inch, but John got the five. Five dollar. Five dollar foot-long.

If you don't know what I'm going on about, consider yourself blessed.

So we spread out the Neat Sheet, which by the way is the best $8.99 I ever spent at Duane Reade, and had ourselves a picnic.

Then we reclined with our respective books.

And I fell asleep.

I woke up when the sun went behind a cloud and it got cold.

Then we went home.

Like most sleep aids, it has some risk of dependency.

That's BBQ I'm talking about. John had the quite smart idea to get barbecue for lunch, so after I got back from yoga and we hauled the last of my old textbooks to the post office* we moseyed down 11th Avenue to Daisy Mae's.

We stuffed ourselves, then waddled home.

I fell asleep on the sofa, reading a book about medieval crime-fighting whores and whining about how much I was craving Archway cookies.

Later, I got up and made caramel corn.

John and I had dinner at our local Ethiopian place again. I mustered the courage to ask the name of one dish I really like from the vegetarian combo, then could not for the life of me figure out what the waitress had called it. The name sounded like a sneeze, and I'm not the kind of idiot racist who says that sort of thing lightly. At least I emerged form the day-long food coma to check what was written on the receipt. It's called butcha, and it's not on the menu, but now I can order it!

We went home planning to play Scrabble, and we did, as I absent-mindedly ate half a pan of caramel corn.

Ugh.

*I'm sending them off postage-due to a textbook buyer, and they will allegedly send me money. We'll see how that goes.

NYC: not for cheapskates

These folks are lined up so they can get in free to MoMA. In an hour. Worth standing out on the street to save twenty bucks? I don't even have a job and my time is more valuable than that.

Still coming down

The sheet flapping in the wind made me uneasy. I'm getting nervous about what it will be like when they start on the taller building to the right.