wanna cracker

Serenity Rocks

2005-09-25T10:18:00.000-04:00

I'm going to a free screening of the movie Serenity. It got great reviews on Rottentomatoes.com.

Here's the synopsis:

Joss Whedon, the Oscar - and Emmy - nominated writer/director responsible
for the worldwide television phenomena of BUFFY THE VAMPIRE, ANGEL and
FIREFLY, now applies his trademark compassion and wit to a small band of
galactic outcasts 500 years in the future in his feature film directorial
debut, Serenity. The film centers around Captain Malcolm Reynolds, a
hardened veteran (on the losing side) of a galactic civil war, who now ekes
out a living pulling off small crimes and transport-for-hire aboard his
ship, Serenity. He leads a small, eclectic crew who are the closest thing he
has left to family -squabbling, insubordinate and undyingly loyal.

Leaving On A Cruiser

2005-01-12T01:00:00.000-05:00

I just found out my brother is going to Iraq. What do you say?

Dream about the days to come
When I won't have to leave alone
About the days when I won't have to say
Oh Kiss Me and Smile for Me
Tell Me you won't have to wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go
Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again

I never wanted to be one of those melodramatic sisters with a military brother, but I can't help it. When I hear these reports from Iraq, it all feels so far away. But how far away can it be - when your brother is there?

world wide webb

2005-01-11T01:11:00.000-05:00

This is a pic of my friend Kristy who is moving here.

Look closely - this face may be on a TV near you one day.

I don't think she'll like this photo- but she'll get over it.

IMG_0072.JPG

Tell Us About Yourself

2005-01-07T17:27:00.000-05:00

I'm applying for writing colonies and dealing with writing endless amounts of essays about myself, my work and what I will accomplish at the colony, blah, blah... and I realize that I hate that statement: Tell Us About Yourself.

How do you answer that? Well, I have freckles. I'm about 5'8" depending on which doctor's office. I live alone. I want to buy a dog, but I don't think I'm responsible enough (wait- that's bad? right. I should say I'm VERY responsible). I've been writing since I was eight. My first full length novel was twelve pages and called, Daddy and Me Play Golf. I illustrated it myself. When my dad left my mother for a 28 year old - the only copy was destroyed by yours truly. I write every morning for about two to seven hours depending on the day and the level of my hangover or non-existence of a hangover. I'm somewhat neurotic. But hey? Who isn't? I grew up in a small town drenched in secrets and scandals - none of which I'm allowed to write about until my parents are dead or so they threaten. Though I wonder if they would give up their social status for a New York Times Best-Selling author/daughter. I read a lot. In fact, I read so much that if you ask me that horrible question, "Do you remember what you were reading when..." questions - I'd probably look at you like you had a third head that was blue and had two flaming red eyes. I don't read. I devour.

You think they'd like that?

The Good, The Bad, The Not-so-Ugly Phantom

2005-01-06T13:27:00.000-05:00

Okay, my amazing friend Kristy was in town and we had too much fun together. I'm psyched because she found a place in New York and will be moving here in February. I met Kristy at camp when I was like 8, but we weren't good camp friends until we were like 13. She was always much cooler than me. When we were 10, she was the goose in the big camp production of Charlotte's Web and I was a non-speaking local photographer. (Play production at my camp was cut throat and competitive and many a girl had to be led away in tears from the dining hall when they announced the cast.)
She took me to see Born into Brothels at the Film Forum. It was an amazing documentary about these Indian children that are born into the brothels (hence the title...) in Calcutta's red light district. But unlike every other documentary of this sort that leaves you reeling in tears and promises to join the Peace Corps - this is uplifting. The woman who made the documentary taught the children to use cameras and from their photographs made their plight known and helped get them into boarding schools. See it.
On the other hand, we went to see Phantom of the Opera. Maybe it was a repressed adoration of Andrew Lloyd-Webber. Maybe it was because we hoped we would be the only people in the theater and therefore be able to sing along with the movie at the top of our lungs... Whatever our reasons, they were dashed to pieces when we watched the Phantom take Christine down into the underworld of the Opera and wondered if we were watching some bad B movie. I swear I've been on that ride in Disney world. The one with the fake moss and plastic caverns. The boat is dragged along a track. Then just when we thought it couldn't get worse - the soundtrack started skipping. They fixed it about 20 minutes later. But somehow I just kept remembering my cousins mantra about Joel Schumacher, "That's the man who gave Batman nipples!"
This blog probably only makes sense to me. I'm so sick I think I'm delusional.

i'm back

2004-12-30T09:23:00.000-05:00

When my mother woke me up at 7 AM yesterday to catch my flight back to New York, I felt like I'd just crawled, wet and tired, out of a bottle of chardonnay. My holidays were liquor soaked and sleep deprived and full of activity. My days were regiments of lunch dates, shopping trips, holiday parties, dinner parties, after-dinner parties - my mother's unfailing effort to make every moment of Christmas vacation action-packed and funfilled. My favorite moment though was completely unscripted. When the young owner of the new posh country club in town (who is friends with my parents) took a select few of us back to the club on X-mas night- opened up the bar and let us drink our spoiled selves silly on the back porch. The club house was empty and dark, and I felt like we were all orphans breaking into a mansion.
Today I'm off again to Vermont. Where I will attempt to snowboard again- though I'm still not sure which way I used to stand on the board (right foot forward or left foot forward?). I'll probably come back in a full body cast. Pray for me.

Shout Out for My Sista

2004-12-17T08:09:00.000-05:00

My sister and I were talking the other night. Though we talk all the time, so I can't say exactly what night, but she said to me:

"I was talking to this woman at the conference. The woman had just had her third kid. She said that she was fine with only having two kids, but her husband really wanted three. So she said, 'Fine. We'll have three.' And proceeded to get preggies and give birth."

"Cool," I said.

"But Polly," my sister said. "I kept thinking what if mom had stopped at two? I can't imagine what my life would be like."

If our mother had stopped at two kids - I would have been non-existent.

"I can't imagine either," I said.

Anyway - it was sweet and I got all teary-eyed and we told each other for the 1,234,562,342,951th time that we love each other. Then I reminded her to send me the Bumble and Bumble hair stuff she wasn't using anymore. Oh- and to also send the sweaters.

1950's Housewife Style

2004-12-13T13:36:00.000-05:00

My head is still pounding from the three glasses of wine I slammed while my dinner cooked in the oven and my dinner guests - Anne, ,Conor and Kat chatted away. I joke that I feel like a 1950's housewife, drinking my way through the appetizer hour - but I had a great time- as my guests obliged me by reading poetry aloud and complimenting my cooking. It was the perfect end to a weekend of boozing and partying and not enough sleep. It started with a party in Chinatown where turducken was served and I had an utter failure of a conversation with a cute lawyer. I wisely left a bit early. Then Saturday was spent wedding dress shopping with my cousin. A great experience that ended with me (the non-engaged) trying on a $7,500 dress that had a fully swan-feathered bodice and rhinestones sewn into an insanely large tulle skirt. I'm calling it "The Ugly Duckling" dress. I passed out after that and got up around ten in time to attend a birthday party in the West Village where much fun conversation was made: loud sex in a coat room, lost love in Kansas and six month marriages. Sunday, I tried to sleep late, but kept wanting to get up and read more of Chang Rae-Lee's "ALOFT". Then I had to go out and forage for dinner ingredients at Tops - the worst grocery store in the world. I wouldn't complain about it so much if they would just do something about the horrible mold smell in the produce section. Then before I knew it, I was three glasses of wine into it and the timer went off and I was serving Aunt Ann's Chicken and Shrimp to my three kind friends. Is it really Monday again?
Next time I might hire this girl to make my dinner.

sicko

2004-12-10T08:55:00.000-05:00

I've been a bad blogger since I've been sick all week and whenever I'm awake and not working - I've been writing or revising. I hate being sick. I'm pretty fiercely independant, but when I get sick, I feel like my mother should immediately fly up here and take care of me. She did that once when I was in college - I was deathly sick with bronchitis and she stayed with me and doled out all my albuterol which had to be kept in the refrigerator and taken through this insanely large inhaler.

I guess I still have mom to thank- she sent me some sweet prescription drugs last year and they're working their magic as I blog.

Subway Code of Conduct

2004-12-02T13:49:00.000-05:00

I found out that the MTA is updating their rules of conduct. Apparently they are now outlawing turnstile jumping (because apparently it used to be okay?) and if you have bags on a seat that is blocking another person from sitting or if you put your feet on a seat - you can get fined. There is also a new "service animal" rule. So all the UESiders with toy poodles will now have to justify exactly why they can't ride the subway without Muffy and Muffy's Vuitton carrying case that is taking up an empty seat.

But I felt there was one new rule that the MTA seriously should consider:

1. Unless you are a certified rapper with more than one hit single on the top twenty pop charts - you are NOT allowed to rap on the subway. Period. The other riders do not appreciate hearing your version of "Its Getting Hot In Here" which you do not have to hear since you have headphones the size of saucers covering your ears. This rule applies to not only on the train but also in the subway stations. Especially on the stairways of the subway stations when your loud voice can cause other customers to jump in alarm and drop their packages.
Even mouthing the words whilst making large arm and hand gestures is strictly forbidden. Other riders feel that you are taking up too much space with your cliche Eminem-style movements.
The first infraction of this rule is a $50 fine. The second is a mandatory two-hour easy listening session. If there is a third infraction it could result in either the loss of your subway riding privileges or a mandatory five-hour new country listening session (and yes, we will make you listen to Dwight Yoakam) depending on the severity of your case.

And thank you for riding with MTA New York City Transit!

Secrets of a Dork

2004-12-01T11:03:00.000-05:00

There are a few things I don't like admitting:

1. I'm a huge Indigo Girls fan. And its not because they are lesbians - that actually makes me like them more - its that you were supposed to be really into the Indigo Girls when you were 13 and heard Galileo. I have proceeded to stay a die hard fan and just recently bought their new album on i-Tunes.

2. I followed Widespread. This is a badge of honor in Colorado, but in New York - it is cause for many people to say, "NO! Really- are you f*in serious?"

3. I was in a sorority and loved every gossipy/evil minute of it. I even flash the secret sign when I see a girl wearing an ADPi anything and sign Pi Love at the end of e-mails to old sorority friends.

4. I've been planning my wedding since I was a flower girl at age four. I've got it down to who will give the toasts, but I'm still searching for the perfect song for the "Father and Daughter" dance. Oh- and I kinda need a groom. But please - a small detail.

5. I'm a techie nerd. This became apparent recently when I found myself offering to design a website and dispensing advice about .tmp files. (And back in the old days when my blog was doing funny things - I made a horribly dorky joke - I invited a certain Mr. Weiner to poke around in my template.)

The last two secrets are the only ones I really needed to tell for this post, but I like telling secrets. Anyway, my cousin got engaged! Yeah! And I was so excited yesterday when I received an e-mail from her titled: DO YOU WANT TO GO WEDDING DRESS SHOPPING WITH ME. That was the actual title. She's a VP at a big bank - very efficient. Of course I wrote back, OF COURSE! I mean, she's a VP at a big bank - which means lots of money to spend on a wedding dress which means designers and Vera Wang, specifically.

She's got "appointments" at three places next weekend. I just like the sound of "appointments" in conjunction with shopping. It makes me think- champagne! Hors d'ouevres! Little crackers with cheese ensembles atop them!

The only thing is, I can't wait until next weekend to see the ring. I'm a sorority girl for Christ Sake (I guess three of the secrets were needed)! But she is busy being engaged and a VP at a big bank, so we can't meet sooner than that. But today she e-mailed me and said her friends in California wanted her to take a picture of the ring and send it out! How amazing. I love modern technology. I love being a techie nerd. And don't worry, I'll definitely post the pic of the ring if and when I get it.

doh!

2004-11-23T11:20:00.000-05:00

So aren't I the blogging jackass- we lost to UF.

On happier things. My sweetest friend Darby has started a blog. And he said sweet things about me, which makes this blog a must read.

GAMEDAY

2004-11-20T16:23:00.000-05:00

Its the waiting that kills me. The wanting, the write-ups, the never-ending examinations, the line-ups, the who's-who for all the idiots who don't understand what tradition really is. Who don't understand that this is a game that can't be viewed in the terms of skill or home team advantage or a Heisman candidate -this is pure and simple war.

And fucking Lee Corso and his never ending quest to prove that he's not gonna vote for FSU on GameDay EVER just because he went there. Fine Lee. Thats just fine. We don't want your goddamn curses on us anyway. We don't even want you or your money. Don't come traipsing back to us when your ESPN career is over. If I see you in the President's box- I'll throw my beer at you! Ungrateful nuisance. Thats what you are. Thats how we feel about you.

In three hours, three long grueling hours- the FSU-UF game will commence. Chief Osceola will ride out onto the field atop Renegade and in all his cheesy glam throw down a burning spear and The Seminoles will proceed to kick the living shit out of the Gators. And I will watch with a six pack and some cheap Mexican food and cheer my boys. My boys. Thats right. I claim ownership along with hundreds of thousands of other fans whose lives are upilifted or downtrodden after each and every game. My heart runs out on that field with those garnet and gold uniforms and therefore I am privileged with the honor of speaking about the Florida State team with "WE" and "MY" and "US". My mother sews Bobby Bowden's belt for Christ Sake.

And I refuse to acknowledge how utterly ridiculous I soud right now, because I've got too much pride. I want to be one of those women who wear the cheesy garnet and gold hats and embroidered, bedazzled belts when I'm sixty. I've told my dad the only thing he has to leave me in the will is ownership of his box at Doak Campbell Staduim and enough money to pass it on to my kids. I want my son or daughter to one day don the FSU uniform. I want my father to be able to look down on that field and say, "There's my grandson. Right there."

And what makes today even more wonderful, what really makes the ice pick in the heart of the Gators dig in that much further, is that Spurrier is going to USC. HA! Take that you illiterate rednecks! Your golden boy is going to be kicking the shit out of you next year too! Your man. Your leader. Your perfect Steve Spurrier spurred you. How does that feel? I hope it hurts. I hope you wake up every day and feel that sharp pain in your ass when you think of Spurrier sitting in an office next year watching game tape of your pathetic team and with his shrewd football skill- proceeds to pick it apart just like he used to pick us apart. See how you feel when Spurrier throws his visor in victory when it is your team he's just beat. See it. Know it. Succumb to it. Let me tell you with all humility - it really fucking hurts. Buy some bandages and steal some oxycontin my dear enemies because that is the pain of legends and storytellers. Pain that can't be killed with whiskey or sex or even a good dosage of la coca. He will burn his icy smile into the soft skin between your eyebrows and never leave. And I can't wait.

Okay. Two and half more hours...

How They Feel About Us

2004-11-19T12:41:00.000-05:00

We all know how we feel about the blue states. Rednecks, hicks,
christian right idiots voting against their own welfare. Well this sure
made me feel like I was right. The greatest irony of this- a Republican
sent me this picture.

And She Said She Wasn't a Pound Puppy

2004-11-16T15:57:00.000-05:00

So, when I was in college, there was a group of guys I hung out with who had all been friends in high school and had been known as THE DOG POUND. Apparently it was a combo of their ability to drink forties and bag women that awarded them the honor of this name. Their girlfriends were then known as POUND PUPPIES. So, of course it follows that whenever any girl I knew in college hooked up with one of them (which there were quite a few, sadly... i myself even succumbed...) they were branded a POUND PUPPY for about 36 hours or however long it took them to hook up with someone new.

One of my still-closest friends who I met in college - went to highschool with these guys. We once got wind that she was an original Pound Puppy - to which she retorted, "In their wildest freakin' dreams..".

I only think of all this because she has (YEAH!) started blogging. And her blog is called DoggieParkFun.

Which is actually a super cute name because it is all about (imagine a hand held over my heart) my most precious Maggie-May and her adventures in the dog parks of Denver. So now I'll get to start each day with a new story of the light of my life. Maggie has admirers scattered all over the globe (really she does - from Australia to Miami Beach) and we have all been begging for more Maggie! That and my friend is really funny and made fun of one of my evil-ex-boyfriends in her most recent post .

Fight the Man

2004-11-15T15:05:00.000-05:00

george_bush_golf_tee
Originally uploaded by pollybrew.

I haven't seen a good fight for a while. Thats what I was thinking Saturday night as I watched a friend's drunk friend get in a fight on the street in the West Village.

I remember the fist fight I ever saw - it was my first day at the public high school, I watched five black guys jump a white guy. Then at a party, I was standing next to T.P., my best guy friend in H.S., and out of nowhere, a fist came flying through the air and landed on T.P.'s jaw. I remember my step-sister's boyfriend pulled me out of the way- it was so fast it was like he had Inspector Gadget arms.

Then there were all the normal frat fights when I was in college - the ones that spread all over the entire porch at Potbelly's until there was not one plastic piece of furniture or wrought iron table standing upright. What always surprised me was the outcome, no matter if they won or lost - they almost seemed exalted by the fight. It was like threrapy.

Maybe that is what women need: to throw a punch now and again. Men have this ability to completely ignore what is happening or what should be happening and just dive into action, while I think women are more careful because we worry about the after effects, the shock waves. We're scared of losing the fight. This isn't really going anywhere and it doesn't really make sense, but I do know one thing. When I play golf, somehow I always hit a better drive when I imagine the ball is George Bush's face.

At the Laundromat.. YEAH

2004-11-13T18:33:00.000-05:00

So I'm one of those people that believes in dropping off their laundry. I'm assured by the idea that I can have someone else perform the service that my mother did so well for eighteen years. My mother is addicted to laundry, when I'm home she is constantly sticking her head into our rooms to ask, "Dirty? Anything dirty?" Actually, the majority of our conversations take place in the laundry room where my sister and I laze around while my mother dutifully moves hoards of laundry from the washer to the dryer, irons clothes with her industrial sized iron (that has numerous wires and water pipes attached to it) and constantly has something soaking in bleach.
I went to the laundromat and wandered around like an idiot for a good fifteen minutes trying to find the machine where I could buy a card to put money on so I could work the washer and dryer. Then I started a washing machine without any of my clothes in it. Finally, a guy came and asked if I needed help. HELP! What sort of idiot needs help at a laundromat - well, me.
He showed me how to correctly put the money card into the machine, not to close the washing machine door before my clothes were in it (I didn't understand the difference between side door washing machines and the top door machines I know and love) and where to buy detergent. Finally I felt like an old pro watching my clothes whip around in the dryer.
The one good thing- I figured out that they have televisions in laundromats. So I actually got to watch college football without sitting in a bar.

what to say

2004-11-12T11:37:00.000-05:00

First off, anyone in NYC in need of a quick, easy $25 bucks, do this. I did it yesterday. You should do it today. It is very satisfying.

I hope my friend doesn't mind, but I couldn't help posting a parts out of this insane e-mail she sent me about a shipwreck. I had to give my commentary along the way:

We went to bed early,
but were woken up at 1:30 by an insane storm.
I heard Doug and Peggy working on something up
above but decided to stay in
my stateroom to stay out of the way. Finally at
1:53 am I got up to go up
to the deck to see what the heck was going on.
As soon as I opened my door
and stepped outside, the boat made the loudest
crunching sound you have ever
heard and things (including mysef) went flying
all over the boat. Shit! We
have hit the reef.

My comment: This is where I would go immediately back to my stateroom and get in a fetal position.

With the waves
at this point crashing
over the canopy top above us (that would make
them about 7-9ft waves) Doug
lowered the dingy into the water and got himself
in.

My comment: "A dinghy! You want me to get in a dinghy?!"

This is where it got really scary.

My comment: Darling it was f*in frightening about two paragraphs back.

But since the
dingy had been getting yanked around so much, the
ropes were in such tight
knots that Ross and Peggy could not get them
untied. Doug went up to try to
help and promptly came back to the dingy
screaming that he had cut his
finger off.

My comment: Okay. This is really scary.

Finally Ross and Peg found
the knife and as Peggy was getting onto the
dingy, a huge wave came and
knocked her into water. Her head popped up in
between Mariah and the dingy,
and Mr. Miller pulled her onto the dingy. Ross
got on and within 3 strikes
of the rope we were free of Mariah.

My comment: Wait! The boat was named Mariah - well of course it was bound for disaster!

Because making it to shore was only the
beginning. We were on a secluded
beach.

My comment: This is the first time I've heard someone say "secluded beach" not in conjunction with a sex story.

So Ross went into boyscout mode and
wrapped his dad's finger up
with strips from his t-shirt, using a twig as a
splint.

My comment: Marry this Ross. Any boy/man who can splint a finger with a twig is worth his weight in alimony.

Anyway, we were safe enough, still
wearing soaking wet clothes
and shoes, but we were all alive. Doug finally
got out of the police
station and to a hospital where they put pins
into his finger to keep it
there. We shopped and bought new clothes and
flipflops and eventually made
it to a hotel and showered and passed out.

My comment: Gotta love a girl who can follow "pins into his finger" with a light hearted comment about shopping. Makes me even more happy that she is still here and healthy with all ten fingers. She outsmarted the water gods - not surprising since she's been outsmarting the alcohol gods and cellulite goddesses for years!

When Love Goes Wrong

2004-11-09T15:30:00.000-05:00

So I feel I need to conference call all my friends who ever dated
younger boys and ask what they did. How did they control them? What did
you say? How did you explain it to them? I mean, I thought I had
Michael pretty well trained at this point. We had gone over most of the
basics. Here are a few:

1. Acknowledge that besides the gold medals, and maybe your mother, I'm the best thing that ever happened to you.
5. Don't touch any other females.
12. Realize that without me you'd be nothing.
15. Don't let the fame go to your head.
27. Don't look at any other females.
And then this! What's really sad, is he called me from the party and I told
him, "Don't drive." I told him that. I guess he didn't understand that
whole other rule:

6. I'm always right. If you don't listen to me, everything goes to shit!

Alright, as my grip on unreality slips, I'll just look at this picture
of my boyfriend. It makes me okay with everything again. Makes me want
to forgive him one day.

A Line in the Tradition of our Great President

2004-11-05T15:24:00.000-05:00

Well, this is the best news I've heard since the election. The Colombians have developed a new coca plant that is resistant to Round-Up (the herbicide our government currently spends $150 million/year to spray over the coca plants in Colombia). Which means more coke at lower prices. Get excited kids. We can just spend the next four years blowing lines and enter rehab just in time to vote for Hillary in 2008.

The new plants goes by two nicknames: supercoca or la millonaria.

The official name: Boliviana negra. (Say it out loud and it sounds like a classy hooker...)

And even better - the Round-Up our governement is still spraying is actually helping the druglords clear out the old coca plants. Basically, the Colombians finally have American gardeners.

Check out this dream come true for yourself.

My Official Transcript

2004-11-03T13:10:00.000-05:00

Here's how I imagine the phone call from Kerry to Bush to concede the election:

Bush: Howdy.

Kerry: Hello Mr. President.

Bush: Well, hi.

Kerry: This is John Kerry.

Bush: Who?

Kerry: John Kerry.

Bush: (Pause) (Says into the background: Who's John Kerry. Dick, Dick? Who's John Kerry?)

The Dick: Your opponent.

Bush: I thought I was running against John Kennedy?"

The Dick: Kennedy-esque. Kennedy-esque - god you're an idiot!

Bush: (Back to phone) Hey there loser.

Kerry: Well, I was calling to concede the election.

Bush: What?

Kerry: I was calling to concede.

Bush: Hold on let me get my translator. (Says into the background: Dick- I think he's speaking French? What's concede mean in English?)

The Dick: It means he's giving you the election. He's saying that you won.

Bush: (Back to phone) Golly, Mr. Kerry - I'm sure glad you called to say you're a conceder.

Kerry: That's not a word.

Bush: Sure its a word.

Kerry: You can't just take any verb and turn it into a noun. It doesn't work like that.

Bush: Conceder! Conceder!

Kerry: Ask Dick. Put Dick on the phone!

Bush: Why's everybody wanna talk to Dick? Always callin' to talk to Dick.

Kerry: I can't believe I lost to you.

Bush: Me neither.

The Dick: What are you saying. Give me the phone!

Bush: Don't wanna! You said I got to talk on the phone today.

The Dick: George, do you want to play "Laugh at the Blacks" again today?

Bush: Yes.

The Dick: Then give me the damn phone!

(Bush hands phone over.)

Kerry: Dick. I'm calling to say I'm conceding and I hope this can be seen as a move toward bi-partisanship. I hope that our parties can work together this year to end the divide between the parties. I still believe in a united America.

The Dick: John, I'm gonna say this to you because I think you're a good man.

Kerry: Thanks Dick.

The Dick: We're gonna kill all the poor people.

Kerry: What?

The Dick: Yeah, then we're gonna turn all the homos into slaves cause you know- they're so funny.

Bush: They are funny!

The Dick: Then we're gonna draft all the Democrats and send them to Iraq, cause like you said, we need more people over there. Tell your kids to start packing.

Kerry: You can't do that! This is a democracy.

The Dick: Was. Was a democracy.

Kerry: I'm calling the media.

The Dick: They're already being interned. Don't worry, we put lots of tetherball things up at their interment camps.

Kerry: Even Fox?

The Dick: Now, I think we all know that ain't no media.

Kerry: I have to go.

The Dick: Oh, and anyone not born in this country has to be out by 3:00 PM tomorrow, so tell Teresa we said, FUCK OFF!

Kerry: You'll burn in hell. (Hangs up.)

The Dick: Alright George. Let's get back to it. Bend over!

CAN.. NOT ...STAY..UP

2004-11-03T01:18:00.000-05:00

Lord I lay me down to sleep
I know my head, the pillow will keep
And if Bush still preside when I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take

GO KERRY.

please come to new york

2004-11-02T14:55:00.000-05:00

so i'm not gonna blog about the election. though- either way it goes, i'll probably need a drink tonight...either a celebratory drink or a we're-so-fucked drink. try to guess which drink matches which candidate??

no. what i want to blog about is the fact that once upon a time in a county far up in the mountains, i lived with this awesome girl who somehow put up with all my ridiculous immature druggie bullshit for two years and never stopped being a great friend. now she is considering moving to new york which would basically make me the happiest chick in nyc. and with her will come the light of my life: her dog maggie. the coolest, smartest mutt to ever walk the earth on four legs.

so- thats what i want to talk about. how awesome it would be if she moved here. how much she needs to move here because everyone should live in new york at least once in their life. how often i would take maggie to the dog parks in williamsburg where she will reign as queen over the wussy city dogs. how i won't bitch about having to pick up maggie's poop with plastic bags. how i am really starting to sound like a needy bitch right now and should probably stop before i sound like a stalker.

okay. please come to new york. bring your sister too. i'll make room.

Welcome Cyrus

2004-10-25T15:39:00.000-04:00

Can I just say that this is the cutest picture I've ever had in my
possession? That is Milo (the little boy I sometimes get the privilege
of baby-sitting) with his new little brother Cyrus. Just look at the
love in Milo's eyes, the way his hand is touching his little brother's
like, "Don't worry Dude. I'm gonna be here for you. Just don't touch my
toys." And if you look close you can see that Cyrus is looking back as
if to say, "Yo big guy. I'll be here for you. Peace out."

back in the day

2004-10-22T13:48:00.000-04:00

Remember in high school, when you would stay up late at night talking to a boy on the phone? You were hemmed in by curfews or the lack of a driver's license - so you sat at home, the oversized cordless phone attached to your ear and talked about the most inane stuff you could possibly think of.

"How was soccer practice?"

"I think Jeff is running for student government."

Because lets face it, you spent the entire day at the same school with the same people. (Though I just read that a Japanese kid will send like 80 text messages a day to their friends. I wrote a ton of notes in high school, but I never got near 80.) But you talked because he was trying to get in your pants and you were seriously thinking about letting him or had let him and there needed to be this useless dialogue to justify it all. (This of course would change in college when "hook-ups" began, but thats a whole other thing.)

What I'm trying to get at, is how I now use the phone more as a way to schedule meetings with boys. Of course you exchange pleasantries and maybe a quick tidbit about your day, but in my experience - its more like, "Hey, how are you? Are we going there? Do you still want to go? We could go to the movies. Yes, I agree, she's a bitch." Thats pretty much it.

The only time this changes is when you meet a boy who doesn't live in the same town. Suddenly you're back on the phone for like two hours at a time because you can't go on a date with him. And it's so weird. Because though you feel closer with them by the end of the talk, you don't have any of that physical date stuff. And I am way too much of a prude to try phone sex. Not happening. I have only recently learned to say blow job without giggling.

Here's some advice though for any highschool boys who are about to pick up that phone and dial.

I drunk I'm still think

2004-10-20T13:20:00.000-04:00

Feeling manic and completely hungover. Running out of coffee so I want to get this out before I lose all clarity.

Jon Stewart befuddling Crossfire.

A Pynchonesque Movie Review in the Village Voice. If anyone could explain what this guy is saying. Please pass it on.

This insanely astute essay on memes. I just found out about memes. Which is code for beings that some people think will live in our minds and make us basically cyberbots. Do you want to be one with technology?

I'm worried that this site has personal knowledge of all of us. When I entered in my best friend's name it came back with BAZOOMBAS. If you've ever met her, you'd think the same.

Okay, I thought I had more, but now I'm forgetting it all. I'm not sure why I'm so manic this morning. Maybe its because the Red Sox won. Maybe its because I'm still high off a late night call from a boy in Boston. Maybe its cause my cousin had a great birthday last night and I got a whole bar to sing him Happy Birthday. Maybe its cause I've got another reservation at Peter Luger's for lunch. Oh, well. I'm happy. Thats all that matters.

Un-Important Politico Dines Out

2004-10-19T11:04:00.000-04:00

I saw Tom Ridge! Can you believe it! With my own two eyes! He was
right there - boring and stolid and totally uninteresting - and right
there! At my restaurant! Where I work! I mean - I've seen Metallica and
Bette Midler. Candice Bergren was a frequent diner at another place
where I worked - but none if it prepared me for TOM RIDGE! I mean this
man is a dynamo. He actually sputtered out a: "Hello." and "Do you know
the score of the Yankees game?" to the staff as he entered and exited.

As the euphoria washed over me last night and I chatted with the Secret
Service detail (they knew people who were on the Bush daughter's detail
and they had all been to Crawford, Texas), I thanked the Gods that I
finally got to see Tom Ridge!

I can die happy now.

In the Wake of Abu Gharib: Soldiers Learn to Make Decisions

2004-10-15T17:52:00.000-04:00

Apparently a small unit of soldiers was arrested for refusing to follow orders in Iraq. Apparently they disagreed with some of the miltary intelligentsia who ordered them to deliver OIL and other supplies without any protective escort. Basically sending them on a suicide mission. I should insert some sort of sarcastic joke here, but its just too frightening.

Can this war get any more f*in ridiculous!

Read it all for yourself.

I Heart Mom

2004-10-14T22:30:00.001-04:00

My mother asked me that fateful question yesterday that I instructed her to never ask me: What do you plan to do after grad school. Then moved on to the even bigger question: What do you want for your life? Proceeded by this predictable fastball of a recommendation: I think you should write it down.

So for mom (who doesn't read this blog)...

I want to write. I want to write well. I want to write things that will change the way someone looks at the world. I want someone to put down a book of mine and say, "Wow. That was a great book."

I want to fall in love. I want to fall in love again and this time for real and marry him. I want the wedding to be a classy affair where everyone is drunk by the end of the reception. I want my friends to be so drunk they can't throw bird seed at my husband and I as we rush out the door to our honeymoon limo. I want the cake to be fucking tasty.

I want to be informed. I want to be an avid NPR listener until the radio is a discontinued form of media. I want to send more money to NPR. I want to have more money in general. I want to have enough money that I don't have to check my balance after every ATM withdrawal. I want that money to come from sources that are not funded by sweatshops, labs that test animals or anyone involved in the Republican party.

I want to write more. I want to write the screenplay for my second novel. I want to win the Oscar for Best Screenplay. I want to write a funny political column that would be a parody of Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal" that will assert that we must eat the elderly in order to fix social security. I want to call it "Old People: Do They Stew" or "A Recipe for Alzheimers". I want to always and forever follow politics. I want to end the situation in Darfur. I want there to be more firewood in the refugee camps in Chad. I want to not throw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge after hearing that 1 million people will die in Darfur by Christmas. I want to enjoy Christmas.

I want my children to believe in Santa Claus until the LSD that is childhood wears off. I want to have children. I want to raise those children. I want to write a novel while baby #3 crawls around beneath my feet. I want to not screw those kids up past the point that can be fixed by a good psychotherapist or a run-in with the law. I want to dedicate a novel to the man who helped sire those children. I want that man to be my husband. I want to thank him for all his love and support. I want to think about having sex with him as I write that dedication to him. I want the sex to be damn good. I want the sex to be that damn good because I love him that damn much.

I want to drink wine. I want to drink wine and travel around Europe. I want to have the money to drink wine and travel around Europe. I want to see Africa. I want to see the ravaged and the war torn. I want to see the world in the most peaceful period it has ever seen. I want to look back on the ravaged and war torn as only a memory.

I want my parents to live forever. I want to give amazing eulogies at their funerals explaining why exactly they should have lived forever. I want to see my father, who is actually my stepfather, hold my first child. I want that to be a moment where he realizes without a doubt that I see him as my father.

I want my sister to be happy. I want my brother to be content in who he is. I want both of them to know they are my heroes.

I want to win the Pulitzer Prize for Literature. I want to say in my acceptance speech, "Really.. I don't deserve this." I want my sister to win the Nobel Prize that same year. I want to pop that big bottle of champagne to the sound of my sister laughing.

I want John Kerry to win. I want George W. Bush to burn in hell - live on C-Span.

I want to never regret the way I lived my life. I want to forgive myself for all those regrets.

I want to meet Grace Paley. I want to tell her, "I'm obsessed with you, but not in that weird stalker way." I want her to laugh at that. I want to then say, "I am obsessed in that way that makes me want to follow you home, sit at your knee in front of a fireplace and listen to the sexy details of your life that you don't tell interviewers." I want, basically, for her to like me. I want her to be proud of me. I want to publish a book before she dies so that she can write a review of it for the NYTimes Book Review. I want her to trash it.

I want to teach writing. I want to tell funny stories that make my students laugh. I want to be funny again. I want life to be a series of funny anecdotes. I want to look back on the sad parts and laugh. I want to look back on the funny parts and cry. I want mystudents to write like they have never written before. I want them to thank me in their acknowledgements. I want there to still be books when I have students.

I want to have lots of friends again. I want life to be like college when I was surrounded by people I knew and went to eat lunch at the sorority house to catch up on gossip from the night before. I want to never say that college was the best time of my life.

I want my best friend to live in the next house over. I want that "over" to be a two mile drive. I want my other best friend to live in my backyard. I want to have to pick up my best friend's son because she forgot that he had ballet lessons. I want all the funny situations that we dreamed about late at night after too many drinks to come true. I want both of them to be sitting here now.

I want the silver lining. I want to live in the mountains with the big sky full of stars. I want one boy to love me even though I'm hard to love. I want to be irresponsible. I want to do the things you're not supposed to do and get away with it. I want to be able to afford a Gulfstream Jet and not own one because it is bad for the environment. I want to own it anyway.
I want my world to be the place I imagined it would be before I knew what the world was all about.

I want and I want and I want.

Photos from Home

2004-10-13T11:50:00.000-04:00

>
> This is a photo of my street. This was once a hammock road. Which
> means for me that I've never seen sunshine on this road unless it was
> small fractured pieces of sunlight that somehow weaseled its way
> through. I've never been able to stand on my street, look up and see
> sky.
> The house with a red roof that you can see through the trees on the
> right side is my parents' house which luckily got through the storms
> with no problems. But check out the big pile of broken trees also on
> the right.
>

2004-10-13T11:44:00.000-04:00

This is a country club called the Moorings. The name now strikes me as
somewhat ironic...

No worries. All my country clubs got through unscathed.

2004-10-13T11:33:00.000-04:00

This is a photo of the local electric plant. As you can see - the
siding didn't hold up so well.

Sometimes its a little surreal when I think about the fact that two
hurricanes went through my hometown this summer. I lived in that town
for eighteen years and only got a few strong winds off Hurricane
Andrew. My mom said that people call Vero - "the tent city" because
there are so many houses with those blue construction tents over them.

Caught Red Handed - I think...

2004-10-12T13:07:00.000-04:00

At some point I posted something about a blog I loved. I did then make a few disparaging remarks about this girl and her naivete. Anyhow, today when I did a random check on my sitemeter, I saw that someone had flat out googled "dixiesweetie" and found my blog. Now we all know - only we google our own blog name.

She made no comment. Did not send me some irate e-mail blasting me for being so pessimistic about the future prospect of she and her highschool boyfriend getting back together. No angry- "You don't know me! You don't know about the undying love that exists between me and my ex. It's the stuff of Celine Dion songs and stay the %$#@ out of it."

So if you come back dixiesweetie - I encourage you: Let me have it!!

Theme Music Needed

2004-10-08T18:13:00.000-04:00

I have made a vow for the past two years to make a theme music CD for each year of my life. But surprise - haven't done it. Today as I walked over the Williamsburg Bridge - I resolved again to do it. All because I was listening to Modest Mouse's Workin on Leavin' - which might sound depressive if you know the song, but I put into a context of my life which is cheesy - but admit - we all do it. The song reminds me of leaving Colorado which might have been one of the saddest things I've done to move back to New York to start grad school.
I thought everything would be wonderful again, but its actual been hard. A lot of struggling. Wondering if I was really meant to be a writer or if it was a pipe dream from youth - something to hold onto because I've never wanted anything else.
This blog is beginning to sound sad and I'm actually a very happy blogger today.
So I'll just end this with one line and a big shout out to CO!!!

I'm working on drinking, I'm workin' on driving, I'm working on driving my dreams. Loved you more than everything, loved you more than anything, loved everything more than anything...

Trial post run

2004-10-08T10:41:00.000-04:00

So I'm trying to put a link on my site. Woow! So check out a good This American Life episode. David Sedaris tells a great story.

Studies show: Debates go down better with bottle of wine

2004-10-06T10:17:00.000-04:00

Let me just say one thing. When the debate moderator Gwen Ifill asked Cheney and Edwards about gay marriage - here is how they should have answered:

Cheney: I believe in gay marriage because I have a gay daughter who I love. But since I work for an idiot who has to garner the majorty of his support from rednecks and the Christian right - who barely understands the basic concept that he is the president then again that marriage rights are left to the states - I will be a complete wuss and say, I am for civil unions.

Edwards: I too believe in gay marriage. Though as the VP said, its a matter left to the states. And like abortion is does not belong in a Presidential or Vice Presidential debate.

I have one friend who is a gay Republican and it always baffles me, but last night I saw why it didn't matter what party he is in. Neither party has the balls to stand up for gay rights.

And in honor of the moderator Gwen Ifill who unfortunately resembled a google-head doll because of that completely strange setup, I am posting a section of a commencement speech she gave in 2001. I like especially her skunk reference:

"One thing I would advise you all to do when you undertake your new roles as employed, tax-paying, hard-working citizens-yeah, I know it's lurking right around the corner, but once you take that up, I'd say after one more night of partying, wouldn't you? You will discover that you are citizens that want the world to be the way you want the world to be and therein lies responsibility. Former Speaker of the House Joseph Cannon has a nice big office building named after him across the street from the Capitol in Washington. He once said, and I quote, "Sometimes in politics one must duel with the skunks but no one should be fool enough to allow the skunks to choose the weapons." Letting the skunks choose the weapons is what Americans do when we don't participate, when we don't vote. When we don't realize that government still has an effect on our lives."

LOGO

2004-10-04T13:10:00.000-04:00

Do any of you remember LOGO from computer classes when you were kids? It was a super basic drawing software. There was an arrow that was called the turtle and you gave it basic commands like FORWARD 40 RIGHT 45. I came across this link where you can play with LOGO again! Its like playing the original Super Mario Brothers.

If you're feeling nostalgic or if you went to a crappy grade school where they didn't have computers and now feel cheated - check this link out:

http://homepage.mac.com/troy_stephens/TinyJavaLogo/

Hometown Hero

2004-10-03T17:03:00.000-04:00

This here's Chauncey Stovall. He's from my hometown and yesterday he
made two touchdown receptions to help the Seminoles kick the criznap
out of UNC.

Chauncey had a little trouble getting 750 on the SATs, so he had to
spend 2 years at community college in Mississippi as punishment. My dad
and a few other boosters tried to pay someone to take the SATs for him
(I volunteered, but they didn't think I could pass for Chauncey), but
it must have never panned out. The NCAA must have gotten wind - I swear that organization is more informed than the CIA.

Anyway- he's already a senior and this is his last year of eligibility.
It's been a long time since a Vero boy has played for FSU. I already
miss him.

please let fall be here...

2004-10-03T16:39:00.000-04:00

The weather last night was so wonderful - that after rain heaviness, the smell of wet leaves, a crushing FSU victory it all adds up to the start of fall. In honor of the chagning seasons, I dropped off some old clothes at Beacon's and picked up a super sweet cropped black sweater, 3/4 sleeves and jackie-o type buttons.
Went to a rooftop party in the burg with a great view of manhattan, reminded me that i needed to spend more time on my roof and outside enjoying this weather.

out on a ledge

2004-09-30T14:14:00.000-04:00

You can't quite get the beauty of this photo. I'm actually out on a
ledge about five stories up. One misstep- and it could have been ugly.
I was trying to be courageous. I'm not. I'm a wuss.

As you can see, I'm holding on to the roof- pretty tightly. The true
courage award goes to my compatriot who is standing on one leg.

cousin rivalry

2004-09-30T11:29:00.000-04:00

My cousin moved to town like four months ago and we hang out a lot. He's made me a big SF Giants fan (just what I needed more sports to watch and the SF games guarantee a hangover since like none of them are aired on normal TV).

But I feel like there is sort of this strange rivalry between us about hooking up/meeting members of the opposite sex. We were both in a dry spell for a while and a few weeks ago - I won. I hooked up before him.

Last night while watching the SF Giants try to hold off an inevitable loss to the Padres, my cousin and I both sort of met people. I met a hot chef visiting from Seattle who just got a job in Nuevo York. My cousin met a woman who plans her vacations around ball parks and roller coasters (okay- she was sort of cute, but she wore gold rings on almost every finger). Anyway- as the game ended I stayed at the bar to talk to my chef. He left with goldfingers, but I didn't think he was actually going to hook up with her.

This morning I got the - "So how did it go?" e-mail. I was honest - the chef was dull and I left after half of a beer and a promise to hang out with him when he gets here.

His reply: "I hooked up on the roof..."

I know I shouldn't feel this sense of defeat. But I do.

to be 18 again

2004-09-29T11:41:00.000-04:00

I have a new favorite blog. Its not well written or funny, but its so damn honest. I love the that this girl is still so young and blind to the facts of life. She's a freshman in college and that alone makes it avid reading. She thinks she will still marry her ex-boyfriend from highschool.
Check it out: http://dixiesweetie.blogspot.com

a coach's kid

2004-09-27T09:53:00.000-04:00

You're not supposed to be happy when a coach's kid is your QB. It's
always assumed that he got the position because of who his father is,
but I think Wyatt Sexton might prove the skeptics wrong. His dad is
FSU's running back coach, but Saturday he did a great job. And he's
definitely hotter than Rix.

What I did

2004-09-27T09:15:00.000-04:00

Friday night: Went to a play written by a friend called Straight on til Morning. It was good, funny - it was set in Williamsburg, so it was kind of cool how only half of the audience got the humor at some points. Then I met my cousin and watched a heartbreaking Giants game. Bases loaded, bottom of the ninth - Giants were up, only needed one hit - Popfly! And he's out!

Saturday: Once again completely aggravated with regional television. ABC had the FSU game, but was showing the Michigan-Iowa game for this region. Finally got to a bar in the second quarter. Great news! Rix got hurt! Dreams come true! But had to run since my cousin and I were attending a barbecue and had to pick up some things for the hosts. The bbq was worth it. Might have been the most amazing bbq I've ever been to - amazing food, great views from their roof in Chinatown, great food, cool people, the Giants and the Seminoles won, did I mention the food?

Sunday: Worked at Atlantic Antic for my friend Andy (check out his t-shirts at www.tastyinc.com). It was fun, but it got pretty hot. Ate fried fair food, enjoyed every minute of it. Sold a ton of t-shirts. I must have said, "The t-shirts are fifteen dollars or two for twenty-five." - about a million times.

I love him

2004-09-25T09:23:00.000-04:00

This is Xavier Lee. Our five star QB recruit. He's gonna be the next Charlie Ward, or dare i say it - even better...

A little info on his high school career:
* Florida's all-time record holder for passing yards (9,082), completions (549) and touchdowns passes (98).

I hate him

2004-09-25T09:18:00.000-04:00

Above is FSU's QB Chris Rix. I hate this man. For four years he's been making us lose - but never losing that horrible buzz cut or shit-eating grin.

durst_het.jpg

2004-09-24T17:13:00.001-04:00

So, on my second attempt to attend the Jane Pauley show, I was
successful. And I got to see Metallica. They were on the show because
of their new documentary where they all did group therapy and learned
to talk about their feelings. I don't think rock stars should talk
about their feelings or join any weird religions. Keith Richards should
serve as a role model for all of them: do enough drugs that you're body
is immune, never do something wussy like rehab or AA and wake up every morning looking like you're at death's door.

But anyway- I saw them and it was pretty cool. I never realized how
freaking hot James Hetfield is and he was sporting this awesome
rockabilly look. Too bad he doesn't drink anymore. (Though the best
part of the whole show was when the new bass guy said he remembered
James as the Whiskey Warlord.)

Lars was totally annoying. He obviously has a compounded Napoleon
complex because he's short and he's a drummer. Can he even see over his
drum set? He was totally kissing Jane Pauley's ass and saying things
like, "Well, we in Metallica prided ourselves on never having a set
image." What? And why would anyone, especially a heavy metal drummer
kiss Jane Pauley's ass? His next tattoo should be, "Please, please like
me!!!"

The two other guitarists were awesome. Mainly because they actually
acted like rockstars. Especially Kirk who kept staring at Lars and
James like, "You two are such pussys. I can't believe I know you."

not off to a good start

2004-09-24T10:41:00.000-04:00

This morning I dragged myself out of bed to figure out if I had tickets to a Jane Pauley show. (Yes- I'm trying once again to go to one of her shows. I couldn't refuse. Today she has Metallica and their shrink coming.) I had an e-mail from my friend telling me when to show up, but no actual e-mail ticket. Tried to call her. No answer.

Then I decided I wanted to do try to download a new web browser so I could have all those fun little buttons at the top of my blog posting center (is that what it is?). Downloaded something. When it launched - the icon for the program started literally breeding on my toolbar. One icon would appear then two more would appear, disappear then reappear. At one point there was like six of them. I felt like one of the icons should have stood behind the other and said, "PUSH! PUSH! Now breathe."
I called mac support. Got a heavy breather for a helper. He kept asking me to repeat myself, then his breathing would get heavier. I was like, "What the hell is going on in your cubicle?"
He did fix it though.

A few minutes later in a rare act of daughterly concern - I called home to check on my mom. There is another hurricane headed toward my home town. She didn't seem too concerned. She spent more time telling me about the other couples they ran into at the Ocean Grill last night than about any hurricane preparations. Then I made the mistake of asking whether or not I could get box seats for the UVA-FSU game.

"You're still thinking about going? I thought we had spoken about this and decided it was a bad idea. You just started that new job. I thought we had spoken and decided no. No, you were not going. Why are you even still considering this? Obviously I can't stop you. But I think this is a bad idea."

My mother's voice has this ability to go from calm to cutting and shrill in milliseconds. I've tried to mimic it and can't. But I hope that if and when I become a mother, I learn how to do it because it strikes fear, kids. Strikes fear. Pure and total fear. I thought it would wear off by now, but no.

I'm still reeeling and thinking about going back to bed.

much love to popbitch

2004-09-23T13:40:00.000-04:00

If you're not signed up for the popbitch e-mail then do so immediately:

www.popbitch.com

In their most recent e-mail they had a link where you can check out Tommy Lee's malibu home. For a moment there - when they are panning the outside, I actually thought Tommy Lee might have taste. And actually, I was still a believer when they showed the entranceway. It wasn't until I saw the foosball table in the livingroom and the ornate throne-like chairs around the diningroom that I lost all hope. Once I saw the upstairs: purple velvet screening lounge and the bedroom complete with black velvet couches - I was once again reminded that this man did marry Pamela Anderson.

Check it out:

http://www.malibuvilla.com

This just reconfirmed my bellief that a man with true taste won't stand for fake breasts.

return of the marine

2004-09-21T13:34:00.000-04:00

I meant to mention that my brother got back from Afghanistan. We spoke on the phone for the first time in a few months. (He claimed I wasn't reliable enough to call from his SAT phone. Translation: I wasn't worth calling.) It took about two minutes for him to remind me that he's an idiot.

He thinks Jeff Bowden is a good offensive coordinator. What kind of dumbass thinks Jeff Bowden - a man who took FSU's offense from #3 in the country to #117 - is a good offensive coordinator? My brother blames the crappy QB Chris Rix, but he's so wrong. A QB is only as good as his coaching staff. Chris Rix has been our QB for 4 years - and we still haven't taught him to stop throwing off his back foot or how to read the backfield with better precision.

We fought for a good fifteen minutes about this, before I asked, "When are they sending you back?"

Damn - the Marines made him stupider.

drunk banging

2004-09-21T01:19:00.000-04:00

So Saturday, after hitting brunch and downing some mimosas (they gave me my own little champagne bottle - that was great) and then on to a sports bar where I tried to watch games on televisions that were way too far away, I went home to nap before heading back out.

The place where I get my hair cut is right below where I live. On my happy-drunk walk home, I stopped to chat with my hair stylist who was outside enjoying a cigarette. I think I said something along the lines of, "I think the front needs something..." - I try to pretend like I actually know shit about hair. Which I don't. (I've literally had my hair shampooed, cut and blown out in the time it took some hipster band boy in the chair next to me to discuss "his hair options" with his stylist.)

My hair stylist then said, "Let's just cut some bangs. Its part of your haircut. I'll trim your bangs no charge." My hair stylist is very bubbly and cute and in my drunk state I couldn't turn her down.

When I woke up Sunday, I was pretty pissed at myself. I think they look okay - but the problem is, and how was my sweet hairstylist to know this - bangs are just too labor intensive for me. I've finally resigned myself to the fact that I'm not very skilled at being a girl. So whenever I get these stylish bangs, they end up plastered over to the side. By the end of the day, I have something resembling a cowlick sweeping ungracefully across my forehead.

Well as one of the great minds of our time said, "Oops! I did it again!"

Write or Die!!!

2004-09-17T09:31:00.000-04:00

One of my literature classes meets at my fellow student's house. After class, I get to walk with my professor back toward the subway. I love this professor. He's large and loud and full of that strange warmth that comes from men who have faced utter disillusionment in the face (he's the child of famous English actors), laughed and then married a beautiful woman from South Africa and landed happy and healthy in Woodstock, NY.

Anyway. He asked me to send him some of my work. He likes to know what his students are working on. It is part of his whole belief in the shared educational experience between professor and student (they have just as much to learn from us, blah, blah, I live in Woodstock, blah, blah).

I told him I was at a weird place. I wasn't all that into what I was writing. And I was really starting to hate the stuff I once thought great.

He told me not to worry. That it was better not to get published too early (So many professors says this. I want to believe it - but I can't. Many of the greats published young: F.Scott, Joyce, Updike... and it certainly didn't hurt them too much - okay, it may have hurt their livers...). Then he said, "One day a story will come along that you have to either write or die. And all the writing you've done up until then will have prepared you to write that story."

That was pretty great.

in america

2004-09-16T23:31:00.000-04:00

If you haven't seen In America - then run, don't walk - to the video store and get it. It is one of those heartbreaking movies where you cry, but then you have to laugh. And as Dolly Parton states so well in Steel Magnolias - "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."

Good Advice

2004-09-15T11:41:00.000-04:00

I think I've spent the majority of this month drunk (and having a great time of it, but...). That doesn't really concern me so much as why- I've been stressed out about my writing and my life. I had to tell an ex-boyfriend to basically stop calling me forever even though that was the last thing I wanted to do. I spent way too much money. I miss having a best friend where I live. My sister has been in the process of moving - so therefore out of touch- which for me is like emotionally tying my right hand behind my back.

Anyway- my gym is closed. For the week. For cleaning. So I had to go over to the west village and use the city gym over there. When I went into the locker room, there was a gaggle of old ladies all flaunting that old hippie lived in west village since god was a boy attitude. They were all changing into swimsuits and discussing how Bush is evil. It was all very Grace Paley to me. I thought it lovely. I thought one day I'll be their age and all these stupid problems will only be things to laugh about.

Well, when I came back to the locker room later. Two of the women were holding each other and bawling. Full on weeping. And I looked at them and thought, there will always be things to cry about. Things that require a strong drink. A long talk with your best friend in Denver.

It was sad, but somehow it made me feel better.

from karaoke to connecticut

2004-09-07T21:30:00.000-04:00

I went to camp for an insanely long time. Something that at times fills me with embarrassment - except when I actually hang out with my camp friends and remember why I went to camp for so long. Two of them came into town this weekend. One brought her new hubby and the other brought her hilarious cousin. We went to dinner with some other friends and then headed to a place in the East Village which I probably should have known about where you can rent your own karaoke rooms. Its also BYOB. Huge plus.

We had an amazing time and stayed until 3:30- but it was partly the cast of characters that made it work. How often do you have three straight men in one room who know the soundtrack to RENT by heart and can sing solos from Les Mis? While we all admitted to complete dorkery - we sang till our throats hurt. The next day I could barely whisper. We also did great renditions of Gloria in honor of Laura Brannigan and a few too many Dolly Parton songs. Our sober and Mormon ringleader Tom (by far the funniest Mormon I've ever met) ended the night with - New York! New York!

The next day sans any voice - I joined my cousin, aunt and uncle on an outing to CT. My other cousin was having a joint BBQ with her boyfriend in his new house in Connecticut. There was a lot of green. And a lot of people I didn't meet. But the beer was good. I enjoyed watching my cousin and his dad (my uncle) fight over the usage of my uncle's Palm Pilot. Also my cousin has this insane friend Kate who has three kids and is pregnant with a fourth. She kept saying things like - "Where are those kids? I'm 0 for 3." I told her she was the most reproductive white woman I knew. She said a mail guy in her office said she and her husband needed to buy a TV.

U.S. Open and other thoughts

2004-09-02T23:01:00.000-04:00

I heard early this morning that there were free tix to the U.S. Open available (thru a Goldman Sachs hook-up) and basically devoted another hour to finding someone who was also unemployed who could attend. I don't want to go far into detail - b/c it isn't that interesting. But I ended up going with Ann and it was great and we drank gin and tonics and cheered for the opponent of Agassi - a man named Mayer - who was very cute and tall and thin. Mayer ended up defaulting due to an injury. We both agreed we would happily be the consolation prize.

The thing that weighs heavy on my brain is the fact that i feel somewhat surrounded by expecting mothers. I worry that I will not fair well in this capacity. Here is how I see my after birth moment:

Nurse: You can see your baby soon.

Me: Who wants to see that again? I want to see a big glass of wine.

Nurse: Oh, when you cradle it in your arms it will be different.

Me: The only thing I wanna cradle right now is a chilled bottle of chardonnay. And it better be Cakebread or better!

Reading, reading

2004-09-01T17:16:00.000-04:00

Whenever I get back in school, I always go on reading binges. I've read about six books in ten days. My current insomnia problem is helping in all this. The problem I encounter though is that after all this reading, someone will ask me for book recommendations and I blank. So, I'm making a little recommendation list for my own sake. I'm trying to suggest novels people may not have heard of before.

The Solace of Leaving Early by Haven Kimmel (Its bit sappy in the end, but the vocab is top notch)

Tumble Home: Short Stories + Novella by Amy Hempel (The craft involved in these short stories is pretty remarkable. One sentence: "If I had a baby, I would change overnight from a woman who worries about the calories in the glue of an envelope to someone who goes to the corner for a cup of coffee, a nightgown showing beneath my coat, the hem of that gown clawed to shreds by a cat.")

The Executioner's Song by Norman Mailer (A fictionalized version of a true event. A man in Utah who fought for his own execution. Reads like a fantastic soap opera.)

Quarantine by Jim Crace (A writer who does not believe in research. Quite unbelievable when you read this novel which is Crace's own re-telling of Jesus's forty days and nights in the wilderness.)

Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker (Let's just say, its about a man taking a lunch break to buy shoelaces and there are footnotes...)

A Gesture Life by Chang Rae Lee (Very cool and calm prose that almost hides the horrible history of the narrator. Contains a pretty haunting lesson about the Japanese treatment of Koreans.)

That Night by Alice McDermott (About that night.)

Property by Valerie Martin (A look at slavery from the eyes of a plantation wife.)

The Known World by Edward P. Jones (Can I be totally dorky and recommend reading this before/after Property. Then you are completely absolved in my eyes from reading another book about slavery.)

Everything in This Country Must: Short Stories + Novella by Colum McCann (Surprise, surprise. Its a bit o' Irish literature. I met this writer at a cocktail party and then saw his book at the Strand. When I saw the title, I thought- god, the Irish. Everything is so damn oppressive isn't it? But it is really good.)

Reproduction is the Flaw of Love by Lauren Grodstein (Not exactly National Book Award material. This is kind of intelligent chick lit. Good quick read.)

Okay. I feel better now.

Marching Madness

2004-08-30T13:13:00.000-04:00

It is one of those horribly hot and humid days in NYC that we've somehow avoided until now. I spent this morning babysitting for Milo- my friend Karla's fantastic 2 year old. Milo proved to me again this morning that he's a genius. He figured out how to put his sunglasses in the velcro side pocket of his shorts AND after Karla told Milo that I had been in the march yesterday - he went to the issue of the NYTimes on their kitchen table and pointed at the picture of the marchers on the front page - "You were there!" he said. Genius!

When I left Karla's though - I felt seriously fatigued again. The march yesterday was amazing and I felt very empowered and part of something, but it was seriously hot (we all chalked this up to the Republicans - they go somewhere, the fires of hell follow). And about three blocks from Madison Square Garden - I stepped on a steaming pothole. Then I couldn't move because the crowd was so thick around me - I didn't want to just jump and push the people in front of me. So I ended up burning the side of my foot. Not a huge injury, but I was wearing flip-flops and it became kind of tough to walk right.
The heat combined with my injury and the fact that I was still worn out from the pro-choice march on Saturday, helped me to decide to cut my march short. After we passed MSG, I and a few of my other marching friends ducked out and headed home.

There were some great signs though. My favorite:

HOW DID OUR OIL GET UNDERNEATH THEIR SAND?

well, i'm off

2004-08-28T10:19:00.000-04:00

I'm heading out to go march for women's rights. We are marching over the Brooklyn Bridge. (I've never walked over it, figured I might as well march over it.) Pray we don't get arrested like those pesky bicycle protestors!

my gym

2004-08-27T16:56:00.000-04:00

So, I go to the local gym in my neighborhood. It is city funded and only costs $75/year, so I admit that I have no room for complaints. You want something cheap- you get what you pay for, etc. But sometimes it is just ridiculous what goes on there. When I walk up there will be two or more employees out on the steps of the gym smoking, then another inside on the phone. And these are not your happy gym employees trying to pawn off PowerBars. These are surly, unhappy people who like to bark things like, "SIGN IN!" and "WHERE'S YOUR PASS?"
The fitness area is a box shaped room with low ceilings that has four cross-trainers (but 2 are broken), five treadmills, four stationary bikes and four stairmasters and an area that is smaller than a subway car. The weight room looks like a long wide hallway. In both the weight room and fitness area there are signs posted with rules. First off, I'm amazed that someone actually got one of the employees to actually post something. Second - it was a waste of their time because no one ever plays by the rules. This is one case where a smoke break might have been more productive.
Today the weight room was actually full. If one looked at the rules though - I could have expelled half the people in the weight room out. Rule: You're supposed to be older than 16. This means the three pre-pubescent kids trying to build a rowing machine out of the lat pulldown and a few reebok step blocks should not have been there. Rule: No Jeans. So the old man on the bench press needed to go. Rule: (And this really is all in caps on the sign) DON'T TOUCH THE STEREO! So the three hoods that keep changing the radio stations and pumping up the volume until it feels like my skull is going to crack open should probably leave right?
To top it all off, there was a gym employee in the weight room. This guy is actually really nice and I've spoken with him before, but when I pointed out the kids, he just shrugged.
The other thing that pissed me off was that all these guys stare at me like, "What are you doing in here?" Like women don't lift weights. Please. I got up off a bench to grab a larger weight and this young guy just sat right down.
"I'm using that," I said.
"So am I," he said.
I swear I almost rammed 25 pounds on his gel-covered head.
Luckily, there was a big guy there who I see a lot when I'm working out. This guy is really huge.
He told the little dork to get up. "She was using that man," he said.
I thanked my friendly giant, but really - that should not have happened.

Random Side Note

2004-08-27T00:18:00.000-04:00

I just got home from the bars and there was a REMINDER in my mailbox about the Jane Pauley show tickets for today/yesterday. It was sent at 8:00 PM today. Whaaa?

Defeated by Jane

2004-08-26T16:23:00.000-04:00

So my friend is a page at NBC and she e-mailed me to say that I should sign up to get a ticket to view today's Jane Pauley show because they were going to give out free MP3 players. I e-mailed her right back and got on the list. Soon after an e-mail confirmation came wizzing into my mailbox. I thought I was golden.
I wasn't really psyched about going to Jane Pauley's show, but I was psyched about the MP3 player. And I have never been to a live taping. So, I figured why not?
Now let me preface all this with the fact that I had heard from other NBC pages that the whole audience experience is not all fun and games. You have to wait a long time to get in. There are repeated complaints from audience members about bad customer service from the P.A.'s. It can get hot in the waiting area.
But I'm a pretty patient person and for a free MP3 player, I'll wait a long time. So, I showed up at a little before 2:00 PM as instructed. There were lines. They weren't bad and since I already had a confirmation - I was directed to a special line. We were all assembled in the mazzanine level of Rockefeller Center.
There were three or four efficient-looking NBC personnel (all women) wandering around. Some dressed in horrid navy blue suits and black shoes. About forty-five minutes into waiting, a few people started to sit down. The horrid navy suits swung into action. "No sitting," they yelled. "I'm sorry, but you can't sit."
If anyone questioned them they pointed to a big gold sign that said (among a few other things):
NO SITTING
I thought it was a bit controlling, but I figured they had some reason and there was a sign. We all kept waiting and standing. At around 3:00 PM though - most of the older women in the lines couldn't stand it anymore. They would seek out the navy suits and ask when exactly we were being let in. The navy suit would say she didn't know, that we all had to wait. So the old woman would then seek out another navy suit until she had talked to every navy suit in sight.
There was one woman who was extremely more vocal than the rest. She was wearing a pink striped tanktop that didn't belong on anyone over 17, a black pair of capris and really, really bad white pump sandals. I named her Dolores. And Dolores just wasn't having it. She wanted to know when, where and what they were going to do about it.
Then the line started to move. But not our special line. I guess there was a more special line. Finally my line started to move, but they stopped about seven people in front of me. At this point a girl in a flowered peasant shirt broke out from the fray of navy pantsuits. I think it was bad idea on her part, because now Dolores knew who was in charge. Dolores was savvy and she realized that people in uniform are just flunkies.
There was one other line than mine. The girl in the white top sent them away with many apologies. Our line got nervous. This is when the navy suits began to explain that a ticket did NOT guaranteee you a seat. Our line get even more nervous. Dolores got even louder. Dolores and her compatriots were now basically following around the girl in the white peasant top demanding answers.
The answer white peasant top gave to every question: "I don't know ma'am. I have to wait until they tell me."
I knew taping started at 3:30. So at 3:25 - I figured I wasn't getting into the show. I wanted to leave and go find a seat somewhere, shed a tear for the lost MP3 player, but I just couldn't bear not to stick it out until the end. There was so much rumbling among the line. So many angry women. And what if I did get in? I suddenly began to know what it felt like in communist Russia. Waiting in long lines with no idea if there will be bread when you get to the counter.
At 3:45, they spoke.
The girl in the white peasant top, with a grim, slightly frightened face announced that they could only let 3 more people in. There were at leasrt forty people waiting. The three women at the front of the line cheered. I was number seven! Damn!
But it was then that the whole line basically turned into barracudas. They descended upon the NBC employees- who literally formed a kind of shield, lining up shoulder to shoulder in front of the entrance to the show - demanding some sort of compensation. And tickets for tomorrow's show were not enough for these people.
I thought of yelling out, "How about MP3 players. I know you're giving them out free at the show." But it would have been too cruel. I did feel sorry for these poor NBC girls. And if Dolores had found out about that MP3 player give-away - she would have gone for the girl's throat.
So, another interesting human experience - almost worth an MP3 player.

Pogo-you go

2004-08-25T22:35:00.000-04:00

On my way home today. I saw two girls pogo-ing (is that the right?). They were competing against each other. Who could pogo more. It was cute. Two girls, a sun shiny afternoon in Brooklyn, a classic toy being put to great use.

But then I accidentally got in the way. Ruining one young girl's fantastic pogo streak. I felt horrible. I was trying to do too many things at once. I was carrying groceries, talking on my cell phone, searching around in my purse for chapstick.

Then I hear this: "The bitch got in my way." The girl yelled this to her friend.

In my defense, that girl was pogo-ing all over the sidewalk. A twig blowing in the wind could have gotten in her way. I kept walking because I hate confrontation. But now I wish I had said something witty, like, "I was a moving obstacle you twit! God, a real pogo-er could have gotten around me."

2004-08-25T19:56:00.000-04:00

Not much to say today. I realized this morning that I forgot to pay my tuition for school. I had to haul myself all the way down to Brooklyn College, stand in an abnormally long line and pay my tuition. Then go to another office, stand in another abnormally long line and get re-registered for all my classes. The whole time I was berating myself for being such an idiot. Who forgets to pay tuition? Me - obviously.

At least the Absolutuely Fabulous DVD showed up in my mailbox today. I do love Netflix.

sad

2004-08-23T21:57:00.000-04:00

I found out today that I didn't get a job. I had interviewed at a new men's magazine. I thought the interview went well, but alas! No job. So I think its back to hostessing I go.

The news tailspinned me into a depressive spell. It happens. I hear one bad thing then I think about all the bad things and next thing I know I'm crying on the phone to my sister about how horrible my life is and trying to rally up a drinking buddy to drown my sorrows away. No drinking buddy emerged for this evening - though now I have plans for every night this week. It always seems to happen this way. Now I'll be out drinking every night, spending too much money and wishing I could just be at home writing. But I fear if I don't go out that these friends might not be there next time I get depressed and start calling every one in my phone book.

I love all my friends. Don't get me wrong. I just wish that sometimes, one of them upon hearing my wimpy-weepy-i'm-a-failure-and-i-know-it voice would say, "Polly- Stop with your hands up and put down your cell phone!"

hmmmm...

2004-08-21T13:10:00.000-04:00

I decided to google "wanna cracker" to find out if my blog would pop up. I've been somewhat secretive about the blogging - so i guess i wanted to see how easy it would be for someone to find it. Guess what came up?

Maybe I am way too naive. Probably. I never thought about the fact that wanna cracker - meant "want a whitey". But that was what became very clear to me. Every website that google came up with was a website for blacks trying to find white partners - gay, straight, bi - didn't matter.

It was quite the revelation for me. To be honest, I like my name. But the only downfall of it is those annoying people who cannot control themselves and must, must, ask - Polly wanna cracker? These people are mainly old white men at the country club who thought themselves pretty darn funny for making that supra witty comment. Now I finally have a good retort.

Old man in whale patterned navy pants: Polly wanna cracker?

Me: Sure, but I like black guys too.

Poor old guy will probably choke on his gimlet.

Recall

2004-08-20T17:58:00.000-04:00

So my brother is headed for home. He and 22,000 other Marines have been placed on aircraft carriers and gunships and are being transported back to the US. Of course, there had to be some sort of wrench thrown in the plans. The military demonstrating its fuckshow abilities...

He wasn't on the boat for more than a day when he e-mailed us to say that the boats were being held in the Middle East. Orders had been passed to keep the soldiers and the boats floating a hundred miles or so off the sandy shores. Of course, we all knew what this meant. Shortage of troops. Increase in fighting. Send in more Marines. My mother was a basket case. We thought we had dodged the Iraq bullet and here we were looking down the barrel.

Then, three days later. Matt e-mails us again. No worries. Orders didn't go through. We are headed home.

What? Orders didn't go through? You mean they loaded 22,000 Marines onto boats and then decided to order that the Marines not leave. Then after you keep them stuck on boats for three days in the sweltering heat instead of letting them stay on land inside air-conditioned tents - you tell them - oops! Just kidding. Move along as planned.

I'm glad my brother is coming home if for no other reason than idiots will stop being in charge of his safety.

pat's e-mail

2004-08-20T09:06:00.000-04:00

As promised here is Pat's funny e-mail - published entirely without his consent or knowledge:

unfortunately im not going to be home tonight.
but if you want you can come
watch me swim some time if you want. i think im
just as fast as phelps.
pat

I think next time his girlfriend is in town - I'm going to pop some popcorn and fill a cooler with beer and she and I will go down to the metro pool and loudly critique his swimming. I will make scorecards and signs like, "Swim Faster Lazy Ass!"
Only downfall - they probably won't let me smoke inside the pool area. The beer I don't foresee being a problem though.

Hooray for Kat

2004-08-19T20:48:00.000-04:00

After being stymied at every turn in my attempt to watch the Olympics, my friend Kat came through. She had a date planned, but had already considered canceling. I guess my pitiable plea swayed her. My friend Pat ( a swimming afficianado who I was sure we'd come through with an available television - admitted he was staying in Manhattan to watch) did send a pretty funny e-mail though. And once Yahoo Mail is back up and running - I'll post it here.

Meanwhile, I've been sitting in my apartment reading and doing everything in my power to stay off the NBC sports site. I turned on NPR for a split second and they were announcing the results for today. I nearly knocked over a table trying to rush back in my livingroom and turn it off.

I must see Michael

2004-08-19T17:16:00.000-04:00

Feeling like a big dork today. I don't own a television. This is never a problem for me except when I want to watch sports. Tonight I want to watch Michael Phelps swim and I can't get a hold of anyone with a television. It's like all my friends with televisions know that I'm trying to scam off them and will not answer their phones or check their e-mail. That and I don't have a ton of friends.
I'm supposed to go to some fundraiser party at a bar on the lower east side, but I'm scared the bar won't have a TV and I won't get to watch my boyfriend Michael swim. I know he's nineteen and all, but I can't stop myself. He's hot, but goofy, apparently so clumsy on land that his coaches will not let him run or play basketball with his friends. Thats so sexy.

back in the burg

2004-08-18T11:10:00.000-04:00

I used to have serious opposition to flying in and out of LaGuardia. The flights always seemed to be delayed and it just wasn't as pretty as JFK. Though I have taken a new stance. First off, I forgot how when you fy into LaGuardia, you often get to fly right over Manhattan and then double back around. There is nothing like seeing Central Park from the air. It is almsot more unbelievable then when you see it from the deck at the Met. Second, LaGuardia has that crazy flight control tower - the seventies thing with all the porthole windows. I think it would be great to spend a day at one of those windows, watching the planes come in and take off - they should serve boat drinks and make it a tourist attraction.

My trip home was pretty enjoyable. I have taken to calling my house - Spa Bailey - due to all the perks. There is a golf course near by and a golf cart at the house so you can play golf till your arms fall off. Then there is a new gym at the country club down the street that is stocked with new equipment and towels in a basket when you enter. I went to two pilates classes there and no one else showed up for the classes - so I got 2 personal Pilates classes. Those would cost me about $120 smackers in New York. Then - my mother has taken to having a personal trainer. Apparently being a size four is just not good enough for my 58 year old mother. She wants to look even better. So, I got to tag along. I'm a workout junkie so this was all super-exciting for me - a girl who goes to the local city gym that costs $75/year. The place only has two working cross trainers and a weight room the size of a Park Avenue closet.

The only thing that sucked was the weather. It rained everyday and there were the hurricanes on the other side of the state. Hate fuckin hurricanes. When I was in seventh grade, my sister bought me tickets to Lollapolooza for Christmas and we didn't get to go because of Hurricane Andrew. This time - I was supposed to drive over to Tampa and party like it was 1999 with my best friend - and Hurricane Charely had to hit.

The bad weather really worried me. I used to be one of those people who always got amazing weather wherever they went. I spent a summer in Ireland and it only rained ONE DAY. (Of course, when it did rain I was on a bike on a deserted road and the next town was 10 miles away. Bloody hell.) When I spent another summer in Europe, the only place it rained was in Paris. (Though this for me is a tradition now. I have visited Paris three times and every time its fucking rained. Oh well - just more reasons for me to sit in a cafe and gobble down croque monsieurs and pain du chocolat.) This year though my luck hit a dead end.
When I went back to Colorado to visit, it alternated raining and snowing the whole time I was there. This is the worst possible weather. You can't snowboard because the mountains shut down when it rains and you can't hike cause the rain makes the packed snow on the trails like a goddamn slip and slide. I was forced to spend the entire vacation drinking Fat Tire and lamenting my shitty luck. The Fat Tire being the only highlight.
Now this rain-drenched vacation at Spa Bailey. Apparently I really pissed of Howie the Vacation God. I think I need to burn some Bahama Joe shirts in his honor or something. Maybe make a statue of him out of frozen margaritas.

Bush Country III - Book Group

2004-08-10T15:43:00.000-04:00

You know how you get older and you realize that some of your parent's friends are not just cardboard cutouts with fresh gin and tonics in their hands and patterned pants? They are actually people. And some are cool people like my Mrs. Hamner - who now asks me to call her Toni.
To name one of her accomplishments - she started the Planned Parenthood in my town. One of her favorite hobbies is letting the door-to-door religious people come in and give her "their recruitment schpiel".
Anyway - while I was home in Vero she asked if I wanted to go to her book group with her. I had shown interest on another visit home just because I am curious to see first hand these Oprah-inspired book groups that are popping up all over the US.
This one I was glad to learn was not Oprah inspired and I don't think their was a Bush supporter in the group.
Halfway through the night, I remembered what an insanely large dork I am since I was totally enjoying it. I had read the book, A Known World, that they were reading so I discussed it with them. Then I threw in my totally ego-polishing comments about, "As a writer, I was really impressed by...".
It was a group of about five older ladies though the group is actually larger, but fluctuates in size depending on the season. (My town is kind of a snowbird haven.) And they were from all different walks of life and social circles.
This story isn't really that good or interesting, but I just wanted to remember it. I was excited to see these suburban women breaking out of the mold for one night and getting together to talk about literature. The chatter defintiely strayed away until we found ourselves discussing the recent slavery (the book is about slavery) convictions that happened in the town right next to ours. (Two men were convicted of slavery after it was proved that they were basically enslaving Mexican immigrants that they smuggled into Florida.)
Also, we discussed how we remembered slavery being taught to us as children. This book focuses on a black family that owned slaves in the South and we all agreed that we had never been told in school that some freed blacks had owned other blacks. Then we agreed that this is not a fault of the history books since it was such a small percentage - and I would never want my child to come home from school and say it wasn't the white man's fault that there were slaves since black men owned slaves too. That would just be wrong.

bush country - part II

2004-08-08T11:58:00.000-04:00

Because of a phone call that was made to my parents house this morning, I am now able to utter the phrase, "Daddy, Ron done called cause his tractor is missin'" - and it will be an informative piece of news that could set police wheels into motion.

Last night I hit another town with some old highschool buddies. We went to a super tourist bar called Captain Hiram's that sits on the waterfront in beautiful Sebastian, Florida. It's our version of Sloppy Joe's Bar.
After the security roughed us up for taking our beers out on the dock and the husband-wife musical duo sang a frightening renditon of "Closer I Am to Fine", I realized that the place had no air conditioning and wondered if Communists had finally come to Sebastian.
Air conditioning is like a primal element in south Florida. I don't care what kind of trailer you're passed out in - its got air conditioning. Doesn't matter if a place has no walls or every window is open - there is still gargantuan amounts of air-conditioning being pumped into the place. I will readily admit that its a total waste of energy, but for some reason its just accepted. Even the ultra-environtmentalists I know down here never question the air-conditioning mantra.
So when I realized that a landmark place like Captin Hiram's had no air-conditioning, needless to say I was befuddled. I forced myself to drink even more beer so I could stop questioning and enjoy the evening.

From The Poisoned Heart of Bush Country

2004-08-06T20:55:00.000-04:00

So I've gone on vacation from Brooklyn. I'm at a writer's retreat. Solitude, a laptop, luxurious accomodations, free food, free board in a cozy beach town with a gym, swimming pool and golf course within walking distance. Oh, but I forgot to mention - its my parents' house and my mother kind of ruins the solitude thing and there are absolutely no liberals. (I wasn't lying about the golf course though - my parents have their own golf cart parked at the house.)But really there is little to complain about now. They are out of town for the weekend and left plenty of good wine and a stocked refrigerator behind them.
A few things I must remark on though that ruin the blissful idea of a writer's retreat. First, i know my mother is an amazing and competent women when I, one of her two daughters, is not at home. Yet somehow I wonder how she ever survives when I am not here. Because when I am here, she has lists upon lists of inane chores for me to do. Last night, she came out to the guest house, where I stay, to ask me to turn on the oven for her. And then asked me to fill a pot with water to boil something. I don't mean to sound harsh - I worry that you all are imagining some old woman who shuffles around in pink slippers - but my mother is barely over fifty, has a personal trainer and is damn well skinnier than me and in better shape than me. She can damn well turn on her own oven.
Second, The Bush factor. Last night, and really this shouldn't surprise me, BUT, we pull up in front of the country club and its literally a line of SUV's broken sometimes by a Mercedes or BMW - and every single one has a W'04 sticker in the lower left hand of their back window. As if the night when they all got together to talk about more ways to screw the poor, they also did a yea/nay vote on where to put the W'04 sticker.
Frightening isn't it? And even more frightening - the guy who was telling us that he didn't care if the W'04 sticker depreciated his Porsche Boxster - it was worth it!

2004-07-27T22:12:00.000-04:00

". . . that's her day, her way-past-any-sane-control day,
which indeed began with a dog, a dowdy terrier from out
of the cloudy blue, which she ran over with an ugly, endless
crunch, and stopped to cuddle, and rush to the only nearby
vet she knew of, who happened to be her ex, and that began
an afternoon of sex and quick regret Shakespearean
in its thundering, and SWAT team in its overall effect."
- Albert Goldbarth from his poem THE SPICES

Not much happening today. I'm listening to the Democratic National Convention coverage on NPR again. Though I might shut it off and turn it back on at 9:00 PM when Howard Dean comes on. Right now its just Brian Lehrer digging at the bottom of the barrel for anything interesting to talk about. He's talking to some woman no one has ever heard of about the non-existent protesting in Boston.

I actually got some work done today though. After yesterday which was basically a waste, it felt good to actually accomplish something.

Though yesterday was fun. I started out by heading to Carrol Park to hang out with my friend Karla and meet her kid Milo. It was pretty easy to see the inherent differences in the life of a mom versus my life. She kept comparing all the different parks - "Oh, the park by my house is mellow. This park is always crowded. That park has a great view." I realized if you just substitute "bar" for "park" in all her sentences - you had my life. The park we went to was a busy park. I chased Milo around a water fountain about a thousand times and helped him make mud. I noticed a few hot guys, but realized - they're kind of off limits.

Then I came back to the burg for my first ever Luger's experience. I met two friends outside the hallowed steak eatery. We all got the $6.95 burger special. Amazing. Had two beers at lunch though which sent me straight to my bed for an afternoon nap that lasted until 8:30 when I got up to listen to the Democratic National Convention and blog about my scary Kerry dreams (which i didn't have last night - thank god).

monica dreamin'

2004-07-27T00:42:00.000-04:00

So - I'll just get straight to the point. I've had dreams where I'm dating John Kerry. They're recurring dreams and they are grossing me out. And its not romantic or hearts and flowers, its honest, bold-faced extra-marital affair dating. Not that I've ever been involved in that, but this is how I imagine it. And in the dreams - I am some sort of campaign worker. I'm totally Monica.
For example, we'll get into fights because he has to leave and they will go something like this:

Me: Where are you going?

Kerry (my boyfriend - echh!): You know I have to leave. I told you I had to leave.

Me: But I don't want you to go.

Kerry: You have to be reasonable. Understand that I have reponsibilites.

Me: Don't you want to stay here with me, a little longer?

Kerry: Of course, but I have a meeting. There are important things I have to do today. You of all people should understand why I have to go.

I know these conversations aren't exciting, but that's why they are frightening. If we were having surreal or strange conversation where Kerry offered to buy me a herd of rabbits or build me a castle in Siberia - then I wouldn't be worried. But this grammatically correct, polite conversation is just eery. In my dream last night, Kerry told me that he loved me and then I had a face-to-face run in with Teresa. She knew or something. She gave me these evil eyes.
I'm guessing that these dreams are do to my complete and utter gung-ho attitude. I read so much about John Kerry that my mind must have gone into overload and had to start storing some of the info in my dream crater. (As I write this, I'm listening to the live coverage of the Democratic Convention on NPR. I'm thinking it's a bad idea. This certainly won't help end the dreams.)
I've never had dreams with stars or politicians in them. I've had the regular casts - the weird girl from second grade, the bartender from the other night, my dead grandmother - so this Kerry phenomenon is a whole new dream realm for me. And its starting to make me feel dirty. What is wrong with me? Why can't I just have dreams with Hugh Grant like normal girls?

saturday note

2004-07-24T16:05:00.000-04:00

in response to this rainy, shitty weather, i'm wearing white linen pants (i wore them yesterday too). its my "Can I Get A Fuck You" shout-out to the rain god.

My Little Red Book

2004-07-24T12:18:00.000-04:00

"There was a fatal flaw in his character: Nobody was ever as real to him as he was to himself." - William Maxwell from his story OVER BY THE RIVER, which is an amazing story about a family on the Upper East Side. I'll probably quote from it again.

I have this little red book that I cart around in my purse. It's for everything - lists, story ideas, random thoughts, class notes, phone numbers, addresses - whatever. I like it. And its fun to flip through every once and a while and look at what I've written. I'll let ya share in the fun!

Need:
- rat traps
- wipes
- equal
- coffee filters

I don't know how I feel about my life after looking at that list. Something about having rats and equal in the same space. Rats won't eat equal - so why are they in my home?

This is a note from a workshop:

Love: a moment, a detail - some physical thing that marks the moment of falling in love.

On the opposite page (dear god help us! I must have felt inspired...):

During these past few months-
when we've pretended that we lived in diffrent cities
so far apart, that meetings must be pre-arranged -
arrived at with the delicacy of a train ride or a plane ticket
i've realized that you
mean more to me
than i mean to you.
its an easy conclusion,
but one my friends
refuse to believe.
they tell me
things
things things

This thing above was written in GRADE A drunken scrawl. I think I can recall writing it on the subway after a few too many cocktails.

This is a series of random things on one page. I now have absolutely no idea what they are about or why I wrote them down:

E-train downtown conductor screaming everyone laughing together

ME-ME BIRD
-can't imagine my daughter
-no published pro-choice arguments
-get on waiting list for two week now

"I hear the brisket's good..."

In the little red book, I often will write a short passage that I want to add into the story that I'm currently working on or thinking about. I found this the other day and I know that it was a passage intended for a story - but I don't know what story:

"What were you supposed to do? Surrounded by so much furniture - there were chairs you'd never sat in, never seen him sit in. Then the table on your side of the bed and that rolling baker's rack, all the extra plates (you only ate out of bowls).
They looked happy by the side of the road - as if they'd been liberated. And you told him so. You'd started wearing sandals, wasn't that enough?"

Yeah, don't know what that was all about.

Bout that time

2004-07-23T02:45:00.000-04:00

This is a long quote from a tribal chief in Afghanistan. "How was I supposed to know (that Bin Laden was hiding in his territory)? If he's there, why don't they go catch him? I have nothing to do with it... Geroge Bush was elected President by the state of Florida. His brother is governor of Florida. George Bush knew there were terrorists training in Florida?"

I found this pretty humorous considering I'm from Florida and moreover - from Vero Beach where the terrorists were trained at a place called Flight Safety. Flight Safety is also where JFK Jr. learned to fly. (My parents are also friends with the people who used to own Flight Safety, but lets not get into that - too creepy.)

So, I am interning this summer at a glossy fashion magazine. The internship was supposed to be indefinite. It was also supposed to be unpaid. Well, turns out, Legal sent down the word to Fashion - no more unpaid internships. Unpaid internship = slavery. Unless of course you're getting credit for a class. I'm not. So they had to pay me and, therefore, my intership is getting cut short.

I can't decide if I'm happy or mad about this. I think what's pissing me off is the sneaky, sneaky way they're going about getting rid of me. The only reason I even know the internship is ending is because the receptionist came by my cubicle one day to ask me to give her a description of my job.

Why do you need that? I asked.

For the interviews, she answered.

What interviews?

The interviews for your replacement.

I'm being replaced?

Obviously one can see from this short converse - I was pretty much in the pitch, pitch dark about this.

On the other hand, I hate the internship. When I leave most days, I leave feeling very unfashionable and poor. (Poor - not in a "homeless poor" way, but in a "daddy cut you off at the country club didn't he?" way.) And my cubicle is situated in such a way that I am completely cut off from any sort of social interaction. I'm in a corner cubicle on the way to the bathroom. Do you want to talk to anyone on your way to the bathroom? Or after you're done? Not so much.

Some other night I'll tell all my stories of crazy editors and the bitchy acts of self preservation that they thrive on. But tonight - I'm ready for bed. I have to go be fashionable tomorrow.

writing crap

2004-07-21T23:50:00.000-04:00

"When did the writing we enjoy doing become crap and the writing that is hard, that is painful and makes us hate ourselves become the good stuff?"
- my friend Amy Fox said that on the phone today

I was telling her about my dirty, dirty secret. That I'm writing this horrible novel with all sorts of flat characters and bad plot twists. And I love it! (It's really not much of a secret anymore since I keep telling everyone.) One of the characters got whacked in the back of a van today. Well, actually he got injected with something - but no matter - he's dead now.
I am also dutifully working on my short story collection, but it's not as much fun. I have to think all the time. I have to overanalyze and ask - why, why is she or he doing this? Does this sound believable? Would she really pose nude? Is it possible that he flipped like a fish when the truck hit him? Sounds good, but is it real? Should she really being making bran muffins? Could anyone hit someone making bran muffins? Maybe they should be blueberry muffins... with fresh blueberries...

almost in bed

2004-07-21T02:45:00.000-04:00

"But as for you, it's too late. You'll always want nothing." - Grace Paley, from her story WANTS.

As I get older (i am presently 25), I become more and more afraid. I'm frightened that I'll never make it as a writer. That if I'm not a success by now, then I never will be. Which is even more frightening because I have no back-up plan. There is no safety net to catch me.
I told my friend the other night that I'm looking for a way to sell out. It's the most desperate thing I can say to explain how I feel.
"I'll be Danielle Steel," I cry out. "I'll be John Grisham."
Just don't let me be poor.

celebrity sighting

2004-07-19T19:22:00.000-04:00

I had one of my best celebrity sightings ever. I saw Yoko Ono getting out of a car and entering her building, The Dakota, on the Upper West Side. I'm not a big Beatles fan or anything - but the whole historical impact of it and all - seeing Yoko enter the building where her husband was once shot.
She definitely wasn't impressive looking or well dressed. She had on a tight black sweatshirt tucked into tight jeans, clunky high heels and those signature circular, wire-rimmed Lennon glasses. To be honest - she looked like she should be wearing an "Over Fifty and Foxy" pin.

lazy sunday

2004-07-18T16:10:00.000-04:00

"Souls have their own force of gravity: they dislike high speeds, open air, anxiety." - Tomaas Eloy Martinez

Thats a quote from the book I'm reading, SANTA EVITA. Its about what happened to Evita's body after she died. Cause you know - they preserved her body, but apparently the taxidermist became super obsessed with her body and made like three replications of it. Its a good book so far.

So I found out the other night about a track and field event that i never knew existed - the steeplechase. Thats right, its not just for horses. This is the official dictionary description of the track event:

A footrace of usually 3,000 meters over a closed track with four hurdles and a water obstacle.

I was at the bar talking to this guy and my eyes kept straying toward the TV screen above the bar (as they always do because i don't have a television at my house and so when i see one i become like an ADD-infected child who can no longer keep her attention on anything for more than a minute). I realize its tuned into the Olympic Track and Field trials. Finally I'm like why is there a big puddle of water on the track? That's pretty sloppy. I pointed it out to the guy I was with and he says, "No, no, its supposed to be there."
I'm like, "No, no its not. We're not watching the swimming trials."
"It's the steeplechase," he says.
I was totally left out of the loop on this one. Who knew that there are track and field events with "water obstacles"? Granted - the Olympic committee doesn't take it too seriously. While steeplechasers get to participate in the Track and Field Official Trials, they can't dream the Olympic dream. It's not an Olympic sport.

getting started

2004-07-17T19:25:00.000-04:00

"I think I feel as Goldsmith must have done, that any money I get is spending money, and the grownups ought to pay the big ugly bills."

Thats a quote I read this morning by Maeve Brennan. She was an Irish writer on the New Yorker staff in the sixties. (I don't collect quotes, but I wish I did. And I think I'll put one in every post.) I liked it. I think I feel the same way. I've always been bad with money. Always been broke and stretching my dollars as far as I could. I got in big time credit card debt for a while, but finally bailed myself out. Now I have one credit card and it has a $500 limit. I keep it at my house in a little chest and only take it out when I really need it. I've admitted to myself that I have little if any self control.
But the quote - back to the quote. I think it sums up my money problems. I think all the money I have should be for fun stuff - H&M, the bar, a bottle of wine and so I spend it - not thinking about the fact that I have to buy shampoo, pay my electric bill, buy an air conditioner. Money for that stuff should just drop out of the sky right at the cash register.

Well- on to other things. My brother is an officer in the Marines. I mention that he's an officer not to be snobby, but to point out that he's not one of these soldiers who signed up to get a free college degree and then ended up with a warmonger of a President who sends them into battle. No, no - my brother had already gone to college when he decided to sign up for OCS (Officer Candidate School).
Now he's in Afghanistan. And I'm thankful for that. Back in February when he told us he was being shipped over - he didn't know where he was going. So he was on this aircraft carrier for two weeks before finally we got the word that he was going to Afghanistan and not Iraq.
It is totally true that you never know how much you love someone until you realize that you might lose them. My brother and I have one of those stormy relationships where we fight and he threatens to tell my parents that I did cocaine. He used to beat the shit out of me when I was a kid.
Once he hid in my closet for two hours with a Freddy Kreuger mask on. He kept rattling the doors. I hid under my covers and finally got up and opened the sliding closet doors. He jumped at me in that mask and I think I pissed myself.
Anyway - he's in Afghanistan and its pretty safe. They have air-conditioned tents and internet. He shops at the bazaars in Kabul. He's got a SAT phone that he calls home with endlessly. (My parents pay the bill - I wish they paid my cell phone bill.) He has a digital camera and posts pictures on line. If you want to see them go to:

http://f2.pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/wmbrew02062001/my_photos

Supposedly he is coming home soon. I freak out a lot though. I'm scared they will move his unit to Iraq. There is a shortage of troops.
Geraldo Rivera went to Afghanistan like a month ago and interviewed soldiers from my brothers unit - the 22nd MEU (military expedition unit - pretend you're a strangled cow and thats how you pronounce it). And Geraldo, the fucker, had the nerve to report that my brother's unit was bound for Iraq soon. I guess he wanted to look like there was actually a real purpose behind his story - beef up the ratings a bit. My mother had a heart attack in her kitchen.
My brother called home on his SAT phone and told my mother to calm down. They weren't going. But he has admitted that there is always a possibility. I don't know what to think when he says that. There is this scary tone of underlying hope in his voice. I think he wants to go. He's really into the military. And I think he wants to see some action. He's gotten to play with all the toys, the guns, the night goggles, the helicopters, but he hasn't been able to get in the real game.
But I wake up every morning and listen to my NPR and hear, "And in Iraq, five American soldiers were killed...". And I think what that would be like if my brother was in Iraq. If every time I heard that, I had to wonder if it was my brother. Then I cry because I'm a total sap and I think of the other girls who did lose their brother. Ever since the kid left I've been on a permanent PMS trip - emotional and unhinged.
Okay - enough for today.

P.S. - this is the most updated list of casualties i could find: http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2003/iraq/forces/casualties/

test 1.. 2... 3

2004-07-17T14:42:00.000-04:00

just seeing if this works...