Visual For Today

What grosser than gross?

This.

What's grosser than that?

What I saw today: a pigeon humping a dead pigeon.

Sometimes living here is like that.

Dream Beneath A Desert Sky

It's really all about the simple pleasures when you get right down to it. Good friends, direct sunlight, drinking eighty cent vodka cocktails while dancing to Depeche Mode, wine and cheese after shopping and salon time, the bad politics of John Hughes movies, Cubs versus White Sox at Spring training, homemade salsa, a St. Patrick's DAY U2 marathon, a good pool game, a bad movie, and maybe a few doctors to flirt with.

Yep, I'd say it was a damn good Spring Break all the way around

I Heart _______

I've been wondering lately if I'll ever come to love New York in that intense defiant way that seems to characterize die hard New Yorkers. This is a city that simultaneously shocks and awes you with its amazingness and alienates you with its open wounds. It's not exactly easy to love a place that resists intimacy.

Right now, I'm sitting with my bags packed waiting for my cab to take me to the airport so I can run away to the desert for a week. If I don't leave now, I may turn into a puddle of nerves. Yet, I always miss New York more than I expect to when I leave. I miss weird things like the subway and the Greek Coffee cups and the confidence of always having really good sushi within reach. I walk too fast for other cities now. My luck is such that today the weather finally shaped up so being outside is no longer painful. And now I'm leaving. Oh well.

Mikka's Challenge

see: question 27

Challenge is this: Answer each question with exactly 3 words! YOU MUST USE 3 WORDS EXACTLY. (no more no less)
Not as easy as you might think...

1. Where is your cell phone?
on my desk

2. Boyfriend/girlfriend?
boys are stupid

3. Hair?
needs a trim

4. Your mother?
short and loud

5. Your father?
batman of academia

6. One of your favorite teams?
the ORIGINAL Bulls

7. Your dream last night?
likely something odd

8. Your favorite drink?
dirty vodka martini

9. Your dream girl/guy?
Jon Stewart baby!

10. The room you are in?
my tiny room

12. Your fear..?
ending up mediocre

13. What do you want to be in 10 years?
tenure track somewhere

14. Who did you hang out with last night?
my roomie Spence

15. What are you not?
short and squat

16. Are you in love?
not right now

17. One of your wish list items?
new summer clothes

18. what time is it?
seven to one

19. The last thing you did?
brushed my teeth

20. What are you wearing?
pajamas and slippers

22. What book you are reading?
Neal Stephenson's Quicksilver

23. The last thing you ate?
pasta and spinach

24. Your life?
is slightly uneven

25. Your mood?
grumpy and sleepy

26. Have a best friend?
yes I do

27. What are you thinking about right now?
hack cough wheeze

28.Your car?
all paid off!

29. What are you doing at this moment?
surfing the net

30. Your summer?
reading for lists

31. Your relationship status?
perpetually between boyfriends

32. What is on your TV screen?
some dumb rerun

33. When is the last time you laughed?
today I think

34. Last time you cried?
earlier this month

35. School?
here now always

SAD in the City

It's not so much the cold. Chicago's got New York beat there. It's the gray; buildings, pavement, the water, even the people. I look into the mirror and I can see the gray creeping along the edges of my jaw line. I don't exercise for muscles, but to see color in my face.

Is it unique to New York? Probably not. When I lived in the midwest I wasn't immune to the gray. Perhaps, it was because it was easier to stay indoors; more space, regulated heat, and the city didn't seem to mock one for wanting to stay at home.

Everyday is a calculation. How to layer so to avoid getting overheated once in doors; how to map out errands the day before, and then scratch them because it snows or rains and you can't take the shopping cart out. Despite the urban setting, the lack of a car, gives everything this odd man against the elements quality. One carries, hauls, pulls, and trudges to get things done. An hour of multiple errands is equivalent to a cardio workout.

And yet...there's something comforting in knowing that this is the downtime, the reading, cooking, knitting, thinking time of year. The smug cheerful types that never leave California or Florida don't really get it.

Which of course isn't going to stop me from escaping to warmer climes come March.

Quote for Today

"What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say."--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Happy Holidays

Common Cold, Flu, Syphillis, Madcow, and Mono all wishing you a healthy holiday.Toys are from ThinkGeek.

Writing at Bobst

Why don't people shower during finals?

Edited to add: People, put on your fucking shoes! This isn't your mom's house.

Break From Paper Writing

Yes it's that time of year again, and despite the fact that I have about 4 days to throw down a lot of writing, the simple fact that I don't have applications to fill out, and an uncertain future to contemplate, has me in a completely different head space.

I've been making sounds of distress to friends and family about my quickly approaching twenty-eighth birthday, but the truth is I don't have much to complain about. My problems are mostly manageable, and aging a bit is less distressing because I don't that gut-wrenching sense of going nowhere.

The odd thing is that I find myself entering into long conversations with people applying to Ph.d programs. I tell myself that I have to spread what advice I can far and wide because it's part of what one does when gets lucky. But I also feel like I'm actively seeking moments to relive the agony of those weeks, in order to avoid lapsing into smugness.

I used to watch the Ph.D students with this knot in my stomach that was two parts envy and one part resentment. And what all of them seemed to share, despite occasional existential crisis, was at the least the knowledge that they were accepted and had a professional home for the next few years. It was such a contrast to what I and some of my MA compatriots felt that I couldn't conceive of ever having that peace of mind.

The strange thing is, having pierced the veil, I find that the peace of mind is both true and not true. There is no endpoint yet. We're only over the first hurdle. But that first hurdle even after one has cleared it is so very high. And as much as I enjoy having done just that, I feel vaguely guilty, not for having cleared it, but for so happily leaving behind that feeling of uncertainty.

So I talk and I offer advice, and cringe at my own eagerness, because I know, and at the same time I wish I could forget.

NYC is Like Middle School

This is the time of year where to counteract the double-stress of papers and holiday shopping, yours truly turns to odd and varied coping mechanisms. This year, I've taken to holding impromptu dinner parties with friends, drowning my sorrows in butter, fresh herbs, organic veggies, and cheap wine.

Last night we fried up some latkes and roasted a chicken* for an early Hanukkah party and settled in to watch the season finale of the reality train wreck known as America's Top Model. I won't defend this. It is indefensible. Whatever. Caridee rocks and (S)Melrose can suck on it.

After, we picked the carcass of the chicken while watching Sex and the City reruns. Watching Sex and the City when living in New York is an interesting experience. On the one hand there is the obvious separation of fantasy and reality. You also realize that the New York experience transmitted by the show is highly specific in terms of class and race. On the other hand...well...take the episode on Modelizers. On a typical day in Manhanattan, it's not unusual to see a troupe of these





waltzing down Broadway or flitting around Barnes & Nobel. My first year here I had the unfortunate experience of sharing a bathroom mirror with two such creatures. (Shudder).

Living here has raised the "look at me" stakes in a way that hasn't been the case for me since I was thirteen. I've been resistant to it but it's wearing me down. For one thing this town eats shoes every six months so one must have a lot of them. For another, if I am to be faced with models in the mirror, I better have a good shade of lipstick on.

It's silly that this picks at my self esteem but that's not the only part of it. The other part is the single thing. Just typing it makes me squirm, so let me make this as clear as possible. In addition to frequent model sightings, it is also not rare to see one of these



Hanging on to the arm of someone who looks like this.






Yeah. It's enough to make you want to move to Pittsburgh.

*The chicken turned out really great. So great in fact that I simply must share.

ingredients:

1 3-5 pound whole chicken
1/2 cup plus one tablespoon unsalted butter
1-2 tablespoons chopped fresh herbs (the Poultry assortment works fine)
5 springs fresh parsley
1 lemon
3 cloves or garlic, crushed
Salt and pepper
white wine

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Melt half the butter and whisk in herbs, salt and pepper. Cut the lemon in half. Melt the rest of the butter in a roasting pan. Wash chicken, pat dry, and rub salt on outside and in cavity. Rub some of the butter and herb mixture underneath the skin and inside the cavity. Reserve the rest for basting. Put parsley inside the cavity and half the lemon at the opening. Remove roasting pan from oven and add garlic and a splash of white wine. Add chicken and roast for 20 minutes. Baste, lower heat to 350 degrees and baste every 7 minutes until an hour has past. The chicken should be golden brown and juicy.

Funny Items From Last Week

Courtesy of Miks,

Item #1:

On the American Girls Dolls:

"I want them to make a Japanese Internment doll named Mitchiko, with her own apple picking basket and straw mat."

Item #2:

On the state of the bathrooms at Bobst library:

"NYU undergraduates are feral!"

GOOAAALLLL!!!!

I reached a professional milestone on Friday. I gave my first academic paper at a conference.

It's difficult to accurately convey the depth of my anxiety prior to delivering this paper. At best, I was hoping to get through the delivery without vomiting on my myself. At worst...well...it really wouldn't have taken much more than the vague look of disappointment in the eyes of my profs to send my packing back to Chi-town.

But it went well. Amazingly well. I can actually write and deliver a paper with a degree of confidence ands style. Perfect it wasn't but no glaring flaws, and alot of compliments from professors not previously familiar with my work.

The other papers were good too, one on Raleigh's navigational texts which was a nice compliment to my own slave ship theme. And another on automatons in the 18th Century. One additional presenter had a death in her family and did not present, which was a bit awkward for the facult respondents. But it was a nice time. No deer in headlights moments.


So, the professionalization process is in full swing. Next up: term paper topics. Fuck!

This Is Just To Say

Play the game. Feel better.

Best Celebrity Encounter Ever

Since moving to NYC I've encountered my share of celebrities, some more than once:

Chris Noth three times, around NYU;

Molly Shannon also three times, at the Starbucks across the street from Chelsea Markets;

Scott Speedman twice, once outside Space Market and once at VBar;

and one of the Olson twins three times on NYU campus.

All the rest were one timers:

Kanye West at Corner Shop Cafe;

The Gyllenhaals on 9th Ave;

Dave Chapelle on Sullivan Ave,

Sandra Bernhard also at Chelsea Markets;

Richard Dreyfuss at the Union Square Barnes & Nobel;

Chris Parnell also at the Union Square Barnes & Nobel;

and Ana Gasteyer, on the subway.


Today I shook the hand of this man:

I love this city.

Summer's Gone a Summer Song

Summer's Gone a Summer Song

It's the night before classes begin and insead of being a good little organizer I sit noodling about on the computer whilst sipping zinfandel, listening to Calexico, and thinking about random things such as Yahtzee and trips to Queens. This summer? Altogether better. Beats the hell out moving (yes we're no longer moving, issues with asshold neighbor at a detente). Less financially thin although thinner than I would have liked. Sangria, the Met, trips to Park Slope, pedicures and shiny sandals. New music, new people. New York is conquerable and I am on my way.

Where the Hell did July go?

This summer is slipping by in a series of lost evenings at Iggy's, hella hot days, and exploding kitty asses. Yes, there is a story behind that last one. No, I'm not going to explain it. Suffice to say, I rock as a roomie.

Note to all NYC Men

Never ever try to pick me up at 3:00 am on the subway.

Dog Days of Summer

I have a new gorgeous Macbook that is seriously beginning to cramp my social life. I wish I were kidding. New tech toys tend to bring out my not so inner geek. Last night, Spence made me go out to the Laurie Anderson concert in Prospect Park for which I am incredibly grateful. Spence: combating my shut-in tendencies for almost two years now.

The concert was good. A little avant-garde form my taste, but one must expand ones horizons. We've been spending more time in Park Slope on the weekends since classes let out. There's this wonderful German restaurant on 7th Avenue called Café Steinhof which serves a decent and economical brunch. Go for the Kielbasa. Stay for the sour cherry martini. Yum.

In other news, another move imminentent. Sigh. I hate moving. But I hate our downstairs neighbors more. More specifically I hate the husband. He's a bully. There is no justice when bullies win.

Ma Vie En Bleu

Paris Postmortem

Le sigh. A week just ain't enough time. The food the food the food. Cheese to die for, mostly camembert (Sorry Kohlmeister) wine, bread, chocolate. My first night there I had this wonderful cassoulet with beans and choucroute, good hearty Southwestern food, at this place called Chez Papa in Montparnasse. It was across the street from, the Cimetaire du Montparnasse where Baudelaire, Susan Sontag, and others I'm forgetting are buried.

Paris is an interesting mixture of cosmopolitan and quaint. I think that's what separates it from a city like New York where quaint is kind of hard to find. Maybe it's the pink apartment buildings with the wrought iron balconies, or the profusion of flower stands. Maybe's just hearing French, which sounds piquant regardless of the speaker. Maybe it's the fact that nobody seems in a hurry. I was always walking far too quickly wherever I went.

I didn't do much in the way of planned sightseeing. I only went to one museum, the Musée d'Orsay, which I missed back in 2001. I've become hopeless when it comes to the regular tourist things. I just don't have the energy for standing in front of a piece of art and really taking it in. But I did see some fabulous Monets as well as Rodin's scupture of Balzac. Cousin Bette is on my reading list for this summer. I call my myself a Transatlantic 19th century person but my French novels are seriously lacking.

Met up with Stanford Dude on Saturday. And he took me to Montmarte and Sacre Couer of Amelie fame. It would have been more charming without the tourists. First week of May is also unfortunately when the beginning of the American/Australian/German/Canadian invasion. My parents were a little jarred by hearing so much English after 5 weeks of feeling the like only Americans around. Walked through the Jardins Luxembourg and then hung out with Stanford's Parisian Scientologist friends (yup) and had the humbling experience of not being able follow a conversation at all. Luckily the language barrier kept me from saying anything scathing about Tom Cruise.

Sunday and Monday were both rainy and largely working days for me. Oh the joy of carting around library books. Note to self: be a better planner.

Tuesday the parentals had to scramble and pack, but we did make it to the Eiffel Tower which was lit blue. We also had another great meal, at La Coupel also in Montparnasse.

Wednesday, after the museum I loitered around the Latin Quarter, popping into bookshops, buying chocolate, eating gelato. The Latin Quarter is busy but in very non-rushing kind of way. Good place for a coffee or carafe of wine. Sit and watch pretty French men with shaggy hair smoke and talk.

I ended my trip by running into Stanford Dude and tagging along with him to a tango class. Nothing quite like trying to learn a difficult dance in a foreign language, but in the end it was a lot of fun, lack of coordination notwithstanding.

So all in all, not a bad trip. I didn't force myself to do a lot, and in the end there was nothing I was especially dying to see. Staying in one place for an entire week is kind of novel for me. Usually my European excursions involve 2-3 days in once city before moving on. Next summer I will hopefully have the chance to stay longer and really soak up the atmosphere.

Pics to follow eventually.