it's new year's eve. somewhere.

greetings from gate 50 of the edmonton "international" airport. i am awaiting a red-eye flight to toronto. as i sit in the lego-land environs of this airport, i ruminate on why, exactly, did i stop blogging here on the eve of the us presidential election? so much has happened since.

the mcpain went away. sort-of. palin is going to be interviewed new year's eve on "the hour with george stroumboulopoulos", turkeys were senselessly slaughtered behind palin's back. literally. and bristol and levi are proud parents to a bouncing baby boy named Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston (yes, f'real!) (i find the close proximity of eaSTON and johnSTON to be an aural affront). obama won the presidential election with authority. stephen "lego-hair" harper prorogued parliament. (and internet searches for "prorogue" hit an all-time high).

through all of this, i remained unblogging. apart from the foibles of politics, many whine-worthy things happened to me. so many, actually, that they have all blurred into one big whine-and-sourkraut sandwich. and yet, no self-inflated, run-on ruminations from me.

i don't know why i stopped. i think it's like the gym. i didn't go one day and then i didn't go for three months. but instead of the "exercising more" resolution i made which may or may not have aired on "good morning america"*, i am resolving to blog.

blog loud. blog proud. blog it out.

* this did in fact happen. d.b. and i were on our way to see a show on broadway. we were in the thick of time's square. we were stopped by a camera crew and interviewer. she asked me if i had time for an interview. of course i had time for an interview. i always have time for my public. she asked me what i was planning to resolve to do. i said the usual -- going to the gym, taking better care of my health. she offered me one of two props: 1) a jump rope and 2) a barbell. i took the barbell and was asked to get an "early start" on my resolution. so there i was, pumping iron (or maybe just hard plastic) on the air. i looked straight into the camera, slowly curled my bicep and said "feeeeeeel the burnnnnnnn, feeeeeel the burn." just ask d.b. she was there.

make the mcpain go away!

john mcpain got me out of my too-busy-to-post mode. loads going on. the rehabilitation through the arts fundraiser is tomorrow night. there's still time to join us. www.rtaontheriver.org. and if you haven't heard, i'm collecting $33 buckaroos from my friends for my birthday. one buck per year of my livin'. the money will go to rta. it's a birthday cause link from my facebook account. go to it!

but, the thought of this morn:

so mcpain finally hit where he said he wouldn't. right in the reverand wright! the "for 20 years" refrain of the latest ill-advised republican national trust PCAC "campaign" ad rings ridiculous. the camera pans past photos of the obamas and moves on to clips from wright's sermons, with a side-profile obama looking on. the choice, usual suspect "god damn the united states of america" & the "us of kkk" clips are highlighted. the ad ends with "barack obama. too radical. too risky."

i have a question for republicans:

i thought you guys said this guy is a muslim. so is wright an imam or a mullah? or was obama a closet muslim for 20 years, sitting at church secretly wishing he could just out himself as a muslim? and how much influence could a christian church leader have over a muslim man anyway, especially one with "hussein" as his middle name (cue dramatic music here). was obama's membership in wright's congregation a huge red herring!?

ai-ai-ai.

why i love tv!

tv has everything. everything? yes, everything. take, for instance, the history channel's new series: "Jurassic Fight Club". ah-maze-ing!! this is really fascinating stuff. taking forensic files / tru tv to the next level, merging it with animal planet. tv really is the best.

Here's a blurb about the show from the history channel website:

Groundbreaking Forensic Evidence Leads to Breakthrough Discoveries in Understanding How Dinosaurs Battled for Supremacy

A dinosaur’s life was not easy. Volatile pre-historic terrain, harsh climate conditions, insufficient food and water, as well as unrelenting enemy predators made survival anything but a given. With cutting edge forensics leading to new discoveries every day, researchers are gaining remarkable insight into the psychology and physiology of these ancient beasts. The new series JURASSIC FIGHT CLUB, premiering on History, Tuesday, July 29 at 9pm ET/PT, brings the history of dinosaurs and their epic encounters to life like never before seen with astonishing CGI, illustrating the characteristics that made some the hunters and others the game.

The latest tested evidence suggests that our planet’s first fighters were more than just brutes. CAT scans of fossils allow us to peer inside the bodies and minds of dinosaurs giving clues to their behavior, thought process, ability to strategize and work in groups, as well as their vision. It is even believed that Raptors possessed night vision.

How dinosaurs lived and how they fought has never been clearer. Leading scientists and experts, offer play-by-play commentary to battles that occurred 70 million years ago and CGI imagery depicts the ancient beasts sizing up their opponents and flexing their prehistoric muscles. Jurassic Fight Club illustrates in fantastic detail the crucial evidence found and the scientific research conducted, illuminating the possible motivations for engaging in combat.

Each episode showcases thrilling dinosaur confrontations, all of which are based on recent paleontological findings. There is a potential mating situation between two Majungatholous that went awry; a gang of Raptors that stalked and killed a large herbivore; a pair of Ceratosaurus who ambushed a Allosaurus but soon discovered they were on the defense; a Nanotyrannus, a mini-version of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, invaded a nesting area where two juveniles had been left on their own while their parents were on the trail for fresh meat; and more.

formula

palin - p + st = stalin

early morning thoughts as i listen to NPR.

my brother is a married man

haven't been much on a computer lately. my kid brother got married this past saturday. wow. punjabi wedding madness. i arrived in vancouver tuesday and it was a non-stop extravaganza of family, food, music, dancing, whiny children and family members commenting on how "healthy" i look (translation: you've gained weight). i have the additional pleasure of hearing about how much my hair is thinning (yes, i do see it every day, but thank you for noting that i've ended my chances for beauty contest eligibility by studying too much (clearly, the only reason why my hair could be thinning and why in a few years, i will be able to go as kojak for halloween). anyway, the wedding is over & it was wildly successful. guaranteed every shot of me in the video will be scowl-y & furrowed brow-y. also, i'm sure my shiny bald head will be prominently on display. we packed my bro & his lady love on their honeymoon monday evening.

will report on the wedding soon. short of a few "omg. we forgot what?" moments, all was without incident. of course, we were late for all the ceremonies. but whatcha gonna do. of course, i was not blinged out enough for my relatives. i dropped many many many dollars on an outfit for the reception that i am now going to wear for the next 10 years of weddings. yes, it seriously cost that much.

more later. i'm at s'bucks paying for internet. bah.

interesting law article in NYT

just wanted you to see this article "u.s. court is now guiding fewer nations". major refs to the supreme court of canada. woohoo.

breaking news!

the new york post is hard hitting. i was at oslo getting coffee this morning before my hair cut and i spotted a copy of the new york post to browse while i waited for my latte. what do i see on the cover page. this was one of the cover page news items. really? really, this is news? last time i checked, the u.s. government was planning to revamp the financial regulatory market (hello!) and an election is going on. but who am i to know. yuck. ewww. i dodge doggy 'do on a regular basis and no one has bothered to ask me about it. because i have words about this issue! anyway, i'm posting the picture. because i saw it, and now so did you.

no shame, no blame right?

this is a link to an opinion piece on salon.com about the palin yahoo account emails that were hacked into and then circulated on gawker (and maybe other sites as well).

the indignation of many conservatives and bat-shit insane right-wing nuts who were unusually quiet when it was revealed that the US state apparatus was spying on its own citizens and violating any concept of their privacy or of those who justified such state incursions by such non-sensical bunk as "if you don't have anything to hide, you shouldn't be worried" is making me barf in my mouth.

please consider donating to planned parenthood's site "in honor of" sarah palin. they will send her a card informing her of your generous donation. the idea was written up on salon.com's broadsheet - where i saw it and went promptly to donate. (i don't get all my news from salon.com -- in case you were wondering -- i do mouthpiece them a lot though).

golden forks!!

a few weekends ago, my firm took me and others to a weekend getaway in a chocolate-obsessed paradise in pennsylvania. as a part of this weekend, we had a night of fancy food + karaoke (classic combo, like burger & fries, p.b. & jam). apart from the company at my entirely partner-free, cool-people heavy table, the food was notable. the chef worked as the white house top chef (this would be a reality tv show about food i'd actually like to watch) for 11 years (clintons & the bushii). he had anecdotes about the food & working for first families.* j.s. and i were assigning golden forks to the food (on a scale of 0-10). it was truly a team effort, but the idea of golden forking the courses -- a truly inspired idea -- belongs to d.g. the results of our review are below:

1) sesame wasabi crusted halibut (w/ red curried sweet potato soup) (aka "chelsea's soup" served with a side of "added for tony blair"). prepared by the chef and chelsea as a food she could make for herself when she left for college. rumour has it that the scent of this soup stirred the stiff upper lip of tony blair to inquire after it. a version of it served with halibut was prepared for a tony blair state dinner. ask and ye shall get, at least if you are a head of state. of a true ally. who sent soldiers to iraq. when the canadian, french & german state dinners took place, it was KFC all the way (dark meat only, though. and small sized pasta salad).

REVIEW: best of the bunch, 9 golden forks!!!! recommended to a.w. (vegan-extraordinaire).

2) tequila glazed smoked angus tenderloin with warm fruit salsa & chipotle corn sauce(aka jenna bush pool party bash '08!! first daughters gone wild!!) apparently jenna bush has an annual pool party, which is typically a low-key affair at least insofar as the menu is concerned. basically, nibblies poolside. one year, ms. bush told the chef at approximately 2 pm the day of that there would be 80 guests (double the usual amount) and that the dinner would be a plated steak dinner). thanks for the heads up. the apple doesn't fall far from the bush. the chef prepared what food was available at home and reduced tequila until it was a glaze. ms. bush: "what a waste of a perfectly good margarita". what a gourmand!

REVIEW: 7 golden forks. recommendation: an audit of the white house kitchen.

3) manchego tamale tart (basically a quiche) with avocado orange and sweet onion salad (aka the closest dubya's been to a salad). president bush's palate is less refined than most. not terribly surprising for a texas transplant desperate to fit in. this dish was prepared as texas style food for a state dinner for vincente fox.

REVIEW: 7.5 golden forks. recommendation: america-wide refusal to vote republican until bush clears his plate of veggies. no, freedom fries don't count.

4) chocolate extravaganza (with dark chocolate mousse layered with coffee cream, salted peanut caramel, chocolate kahlua sauce). this is a combination of choco-holic first ladies' picks. funnily enough, mr. president is allergic to chocolate. ha. like me, the first lady bush II loves lattes.

REVIEW: 8 golden forks. recommendation: can you really go wrong with chocolate?

First Palates:

both first ladies have eclectic palates and are keen on spicy, ethnically diverse and organic foods. both are health conscious. both first mans would rather go to TGIF. president bush pooh-poohs "green food". green food is unamerican and invites terrorists to strike america down.

Best Visitors:

nelson mandela -- probably the most popular guest at the white house. he asked for an audience with all the staff serving the white house; said he felt more comfortable with the service-class.

helmut kohl -- heaviest eater -- easily could down 8500 calories in one meal and then go out for big macs afterwards. actually complained that the servings were not large enough and that he left hungry. really out to get that tape worm situation checked out, helmut.

Comfort Foods:

post 9/11 the menu turned back to good ol' american comfort food, though there was no real decision to do this coming from the top. the mood seems to dictate how adventurous the white house kitchen and its diners feel.

Most Awkward Moment:

protocol dictates that food is served by importance of the diner, so the president is served first and then the food is served in descending order. during the first official function bush hosted as president, the first course was a green sorrel soup. president bush pushed his soup to the side moments after it was put before him. this precipitated a domino effect whereby all the other butlers took the dish away before it was served.

Weirdest Food:

apparently, president clinton hosted a lot of arkansas-ians at the white house. one of the ewwww-factorest foods the chef recalled preparing was "fried baloney tra-la-la", an arkansas delicacy that the president insisted ought to be served to his fellow state residents. the tra-la-la is a baloney loaf, with a donut-like hollow center. the baloney is grilled and an egg is cracked into the donut-hole and fried. gross.


* accuracy of anecdotes has not been verified.

why do all the wrong banks go down?

as many of you know, i work for banks. investment banks. and big insurance companies too. big woolly mammoths of capitalism that have been feasting on the world forever. or at least since i can remember. as a further commentary on just how awful my luck is, all the wrong banks (i.e., the banks i don't work for) are shrinking, bankrupt-ing or being folded into others, while the right banks (i.e., the ones i do work for) are going to emerge from the smoke bigger, bolder and more in need of legal assistance than ever. egad! this further fuels my fears of a global conspiracy to keep me down. or grumpy. or working, anyway. it's just not fair: mooooooooooom, the world hates me!

incidentally, who doesn't want a bail-out? as my colleague s.b. points out, we'd totally be willing to low-ball ourselves. i would be happy with a scant $10 billion. i'd like to think that i'm "too big to fail" though not in a body-mass-index sort of way. i'm no financial commentator. rather, i sit at my desk and do chair exercises refreshing my inbox and hoping the phone doesn't ring.

new conspiracy theory: did the republican party create financial woes to deflect attention from sarah palin's appalling lack of experience. you know they'd do anything. another theory: is the refusal to bail out lehman anti-semitic? p.s. i am not serious about these theories. i just want you to hear them here first.

my heart does go out for employees of lehman and those who are indirectly working for lehman (and others on the street). on npr this morning there was an interview with a livery driver who was expressing concerns about his ability to pay his mortgage since lehman was one of his biggest clients and he expects all the other car services to descend like locusts to service the remaining banks. a smaller share of a dwindling pie. maybe someone is eating up a piece of humble pie.

tropical storms & hurricanes

have you ever wondered how and who decides what to name hurricanes and tropical storms? guess what? i have.

apparently there are several lists of tropical cyclone names. the lists vary region by region and are drafted a couple of years in advance. the lists are decided upon either the world meteorological organization or by national weather offices involved in the forecasting of the storms. Side note: for anyone who got television from spokane, washington (KXLY): i wonder if meteorologist steve mumm is a member of the WMO. i hope so. steve mumm put in his time.

so i was wondering why there weren't ethnic names for storms off the coast of north america. hurricane kenji, hurricane imran, tropical storm mohammad, tropical storm bhupinder? hmmm.

but i have learned that there are ethnically-diversely named storms in other parts of the world. india's contributions, for example, have been: Agni (fire), Akash (sky, or ether), Bijli (lightning; electricity) Jal (water), Leher (wave, billow or zephyr), Megh (thunder, dark clouds), Sagar (ocean or sea) & Vayu (wind, god of the wind).

so now we know. yay.

one more new culinary find in the FinDis

First, an aside:

I'm trying to come up with a trendstery name for my work 'hood. The financial district doesn't roll off the tongue like SoHo or Dumbo or NoLiTa or TriBeCa.

A few thoughts.

(1) FinDis
(2) FiDi
(3) 'Cial (pronounced 'shl')
(4) The District

Please add better suggestions. These suck.

Second, the main point.

Hot on the heels of hearing about one new culinary delight in The District comes another. Crumbs has arrived at 87 Beaver Street (between Hanover & Wall). !!! Delicious cupcakes a short jaunt away. Watch out waistline!! Again, another place where D.G. can eat away his depression at returning to the starship in October.

http://www.crumbsbakeshop.com/

[All these fine foods are arriving shortly after fance shopping has hit The District. Yes, in recent times, a Thomas Pink, Hermes & Tiffany's opened on or around The Street. I have always loved working in The District because it has a crazy, awesome history. Forget MidTown. The only thing worth exploring there is the Conde Nast cafeteria, which a schlub like me couldn't access anyway. The District is where Manhattan was born. Two complaints I hear from people working down here is that there are (a) less than prime eats (especially post 9/11. as K.R. and I were discussing, the Al Quada effort was to hit New Yorkers where it hurts most: their guts. But, I digress) and (b) no places to shop (though, heads up people: there is an outpost of the Strand not far on Fulton Street). So I suppose these new businesses in The District might chip away at those complaints. All I can say is: FroYo and Cupcakes!!!!]

olympic mascots through the ages

atlanta, 1996, named izzy for "whatizit?" 'nuff said. even the mascot for the 1986 chernobyl nuclear reactor accident was better.



los angeles, 1984: more like the mascot for a patriotic chain of greasy fried chicken joints.



Check this site out for a gallery of olympic mascots. the first official mascot was 1972, munich. there was also an unofficial mascot for the 1968 winter games in grenoble.

olympic hopeful cities

hosting the olympics is a pain in the a**. you have to spend ooodles of money preparing your bid, political capital trying to get your long-suffering population to get behind the idea (or at least some portion of your population), promise the IOC all sorts of venues and infrastructure you can ill-afford, move homeless people / alter regional topography to give those venues & that infrastructure birth, make your population somewhat presentable, promise all kinds of security that god herself couldn't provide, wine & dine IOC officials ... and all that before you even win the bid.

winning the bid is a huge nightmare: everyone has some sort of diametrically opposed opinion about your hosting of the olympics. it's a great boon to the economy or it's a money suck used on frivolity when there are urgent human needs to be met. or it's some local political hack trying to bump up his or her profile. regardless of whether you want the olympics in your town or not, hosting the olympics (even trying to host the olympics) is a colossal migraine. plus, you open yourself up to massive criticism -- who needs that? what's wrong with just slipping below the radar? do governments really want to open themselves up to that kind of scrutiny? alas.

but, if you do get to host the olympics, you get to have mascots!! i love mascots! there's nothing more adrenaline-pumping than a human being sweating it out in a plush costume, while acting so goofy. funny stuff. but i am sort of crushing on the vancouver 2010 winter olympic mascots: sumi, quatchi & miga. they don't represent anything particularly canadian. i guess sasquatch is canadian. maybe they are japanese-canadian. anyway, they are hella cute!!

fro-yo in the 'hood

the latest development in the financial district is the opening of a place called yorganic. a fro-yo place!

this is a watershed moment. for those of you not in the know, dining down here is equivalent to searching for the holy grail. there are a few okay eateries, but the quest for an appetizing lunch begins around 11:30, as i compile options.

there is always the well-subsidized cafeteria, which is not a bad option most of the time, but gets a little tired. the highlights of the cafeteria, however, are: good views (but i miss out on these, since i eat at my desk, hunched over the NYT, reading the news by the time it's over), freshly squeezed orange juice & butterscotch pudding. i don't think anyone else eats the butterscotch pudding, but they have it there every day of the week. god bless.

other options go two ways: cheap & less cheap. best of less cheap is all on stone street, my favorite (if you have an hour or three) is a "fancy" pizza place (i use the word fancy loosely; we're not talking babbo here). there are also some good steak places around (dining at which is sure to result in frantic blackberry checking & post-lunch slumber under one's desk to be followed by frantic blackberry checking). the cheap options range from au bon pain to subway to streetcart vendors. i like to change it up. but still, this is not an ideal lunching situation. nothing is appetizing after 4 years of lunching in the same locale.

the summer associates who flock our ranks to be wined & dined all summer long offer a semi-legit opportunity to dine outside the nabe, but those lunches tend to go for hours & also result in frantic blackberry checking. i have bad nerves, so frantic anything is not a happy situation. but, lo & behold, something new to munch on is now around the corner (practically). yorganic just opened at 3 hanover square. here's a link to their site: www.eatyorganic.com.

i went there with E.H. yesterday for a post-lunch snack. the fro-yo was delicious. i had a plain green-tea fro-yo and really rather quite enjoyed it. E.H. topped her green tea fro-yo with pineapples. the operation is still ironing out some kinks:
(1) slooooooooooooooooowest service for fro-yo. seriously, what's the difficulty level on fro-yo? this is not iron chef people! there should be no mystery ingredient. (2) they are still doing some construction on the place. there was a large ladder with a man atop right near the entrance way. hazardous. especially since the man on the ladder dropped something (like a clunky drill) and it landed about a hair's breadth from a patron. there was a collective gasp in the restaurant. i hope they got their fro-yo free. i don't think they did.

so that's the new food buzz in the 'hood. i am somewhat comforted by the fact that fro-yo might be healthier than some of the other crap i eat. i credit this new culinary discovery to Time Out New York, which i read cover to cover on the subway, being between books. any recommendations for my next read?

P.S. D.G., when you return to our humble digs in NY, you will have a new dining experience awaiting you!

this cute doll

is named raji. 'nuff said.

second generation spam

spam has reached a zenith. now, not only do i get the routine enlargement of manhood emails, but i get emails in asian languages. this isn't the first international spam i've received. no doubt many of you get that urgent message from a shady operation in nigeria looking for cash upfront for a larger payoff later. HA.

whenever you hear about people being scammed like this, it's always the elderly. look, i'm not always the number one fan of the elderly, but i think they deserve more credit in this area. the elderly were once the not-elderly, the yous and mes of this world. competent, dubious individuals (obvs there were outliers, as in any generation). how is it that they lost that perspective as they got older?

is it senility creeping in? it greed for a 500% return on their "investment"? is that their grandkids don't call or visit so they are just seeking correspondence with someone? someone attentive? young people pay for all sorts of sordid things. in the grand scheme, what's a couple of thou for the attention & pseudo-friendship of another. or maybe it's an adventure? something to brag about at bingo. <; .

whatever the reason, i prefer to think that the SAME elderly people are getting duped over and over again. it's one couple living in brighton, with hearing aids, a rudimentary grasp of the internet and ungrateful family members. no doubt they have some sucky-faced brat grandkids looking for a pay-off when the grandparents depart this world. ungrateful. so maybe, circling back it's actually a good thing that this couple is getting ripped off. serves those grandkids right.

shiatsu

i had written a wonderful post and it somehow got zapped into cyberspace and not posted here in this virtual journal-y thing. i hate when that happens. i could replay it. it was basically about my (well-documented) insomnia & a shout-out to my 4.5 (on average) readers. 0.5 because i am counting L.A.B.'s and J.B.'s children. don't laugh. they aren't going to grow up to be illiterate or anything. in fact one of them is named holden (i hope it's okay that i put that in there). eep.

so, the sentiment above does not apply to my current readership.
the writing is backwards, but it says: "no one was visiting her blog" - a card i found at barnes & noble the other night.

the insomniac's dilemma

+ to concede defeat and find a mindless task that will keep you occupied and feeling a little productive, while others are slumbering and getting that desperately-necessary recharge time you covet; OR
+ to fight the insomnia with everything you got. lying in bed, tossing, turning. wondering if it's too late to take a sleep-aid because if you take one now, you won't get up until 2 pm.

my sleep problems are well-documented on this blog. but the main issues are: occasionally, not being able to fall asleep (like tonight) but mostly it's that i can't stay asleep. i'll wake up at 4 am routinely fully awake and full of energy. maybe the crazy anxious knots in my stomach are a real pick-me-up.

[this is the post i thought i lost. but i didn't lose it. so smart interwebs designers]

has IKEA improved ...

or:

(1) i have low expectations.
(2) i was wowed by the ample parking & shiny, gleaming new IKEA in red hook. brooklyn
(3) i found this duvet cover and will now sleep (when i'm not insomniac-tic like tonight) in grandeur.
(4) i want to relive undergrad and my IKEA book shelf that was ultimately held together with duct tape.

J.H. and i made a spontaneous plan to go to the new IKEA in brooklyn. J.H. just moved into his new place & needed a book shelf. i needed to spend money. i bought a bunch of things, including a bowl i have dedicated to microwave popcorn. i had chicken tenders & fries in the IKEA restaurant. they were fantastic!! they ripped the hide of the UBC chicken strips and fries at place vanier cafeteria. those hard, full of fat door stops do not hold a candle to IKEA.

J.H. found a super bookshelf. & we saw really fancy "show-home" style displays that caused me to be both joyous and dismayed.

okay, i've given up on a photograph of my new duvet cover. it's going to be annoying to shift the computer camera around. or i am lazy. it's not much value-added.

my bike, mathilde

this is my bike, mathilde. she's super-rad:

apologies to the entire cow i ate tonight

i don't ordinarily glorify my carnivorous tendencies, but tonight i went out to peter luger steakhouse with work friends and it was a tribute to bovine. the steak was cooked to perfection; you could literally make it as medium medium rare as you wanted it by turning it over and flipping it onto the sizzling side of the platters the steak is brought out on. a-ma-zing.

the mta brings people together ...

... in their mutual mta-directed ire.

so rare is it for an organization to take such a leading role in bringing new yorkers of all stripes together daily to share their mutual hatred of said organization. the mta goes the distance in creating frustration, anxiety, disapproval, approbation, scorn, etc. to unite new yorkers.

this morning, i was waiting at franklin ave for the 4/5. a 4/5 arrives and people file on. there's no way i can fit on the train, so i wait for the next one. i can see that there's one behind the full train, so i'm anticipating a sweet 20 minute ride into the city in my air-conditioned chariot. but the 4 on the platform won't move. people are crammed in like sardines. and probably smell just as bad.

of course there is no explanation of the hold-up. of course the conducter doesn't tell people when (or IF) the train will ever move again. the doors remain open and people remain crammed. on the other side of the platform a manhattan-bound 2 train comes into the station. a bunch of people get out and wait for the next 4/5. the 2 train speeds off - giving anyone who wanted to get on a nano-second to do so. last time i checked no one on the platform was carl lewis, so no one makes it onto the train.

we're still waiting for this 4 train to shove off. no messages, nothing. no one wants to be the fool who squeezes his or her way out of the train, only to see the doors close and the train speed off. so everyone remains on the train waiting. note: in the meantime i have lost 25 pounds of water weight sweating on the platform. humidity 1; deodorant 0.

another train comes by - a 3 train - on the other side of the platform. finally, people get out of the 4 train and run over to the 3. i'm one of the people who squeezes onto the 3. just as the 3 is leaving (doors closed, it's moving down the track), the conductor of the 4 makes the announcement that the 4 train is out of service. oh goody. people shuffle off the 4 train and watch the 3 (that i'm on, thankfully) rumble out of the station.

the mta sucks ass.

the 3 train is abuzz with complaints about the mta. soon, it's an mta-complain-a-thon. i'm heartily participating. soon, i've got a gang of ladies around me in my circle of complaint. it's awesome. never have i let off so much mta steam in such a fun way! hooray. when wall street arrives, i get up to leave. all my new friends wish me a great day. what a nice start to the day. ordinarily, i'd have had my nose in a book and no consciousness.

thank you mta.

my rub'n'snug idea on meth

07.16.08

After a long hiatus, I had to post about something that caught my eye this afternoon on salon.com (broadsheet). As several of you know (I am going to indulge myself and believe that several of you continue to check in here), I have had the idea of a "rub'n'tug" like service for women -- a "rub'n'snug" - the "rub'n'snug" (patent pending) is essentially a massage for women + some. The plus some I had originally envisioned was some cuddling, making-out. I was not thinking of genital-contact at the "happy ending". I was thinking more warm & fuzzy thoughts. If men get their release through the tug post-rub, why not women enjoying some post-rub friskiness / comfort. Receiving a massage is an intimate experience already; why not make it something more?

Someone took my "rub'n'snug" and ramped it up. Alas.

Read below:

So much for my happy ending

Tango magazine has a story this week about "happy ending" massages for women -- just in case you thought men (and "Sex and the City" characters) were the only ones having all the icky, anonymous sex along with their Enya and incense.

Says one veteran: "Initially [the masseur] kept it very clean, but I was really turned on, and I let him know it by moaning and saying how good it felt. He started slowly touching my thigh, then going higher, and it turned into a game of how far each of us would take it. One thing led to another and he ended up finishing me off, which was great."

Did it just get really Penthouse forum in here or what? Tango even sends one eager beaver (Haha, -ed.) into the field to report on the trend. She shoots, and she scores: "I considered giving him a blow job, but then I was like, 'I'm paying for this!'" Yah! And massages aren't cheap! (Sheesh, last time I checked, a pocket rocket cost $13. Seems like the more affordable option, no?)

Normally I really don't care where people get their zipless fucks, as long as they're not impinging on anyone else, but something about this skeevs me out. I guess it's because I've had friends over the years return from massages semi-traumatized that their massage therapist was getting a little too intimate. So I hate to be a buzzkill, but listening to women say things like, "My nipples got erect, so that must have sent him a signal," is kind of horrifying. I mean, sheesh, it can get drafty in there!

haven't posted in so long

i owe oooodles of love to this space. alas, i have been killer busy at work. but i did come across something that i wanted to put down for the avocats in our midst.

it's from "bartleby the scrivener" by melville. apparently, melville didn't get much respect for this novella. people are just haters.

"Imprimis: I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been filled with a profound conviction that the easiest way of life is the best. Hence, though I belong to a profession proverbially energetic and nervous, even to turbulence, at times, yet nothing of that sort have I ever suffered to invade my peace. I am one of those unambitious lawyers who never addresses a jury, or in any way draws down public applause: but in the cool tranquility of a snug retreat, do a snug business among rich men's bonds and mortgages and title-deeds. All who know me consider me an eminently safe man."

will write real posts soon. sware.

caught in a trap

In lieu of an actual post, I provide you with the following musical interlude about the workplace situation at the moment for your poor correspondent:

Ode to my job:

I'm caught in a trap
I can't walk out
Because I love NY too much baby

Why can't you see
What your doing to me
When you don't believe a word I say?

We can't go on together
With this pace of work
And we can't build our dreams
With this pace of work

So, if another opportunity maybe
Drops by to say hello
Would I still see benign neglect in your eyes?

Here we go again
Asking where I've been {procratinating on a break, jeez louise}
You can't see these stresses are real
I'm crying {in the fetal position under this stack of spreadsheets}

We can't go on together
With this pace of work
And we can't build our dreams
On this pace of work

Oh let me survive
Or stop with these inhumane demands
Let's don't let an okay-sorta situation die

When honey, you know
I've never missed a deadline for you
Mmm yeah, yeah

when madness is nigh

signs you might be heading for a swift leap off the deep end:

(1) you've begun talking to your emails. case in point: in response to a "special invitation" from citi bank to consolidate my debt, i spoke out loud: "thanks but no thanks." why do i give the secretaries outside my office another reason to exchange knowing glances when i dare to leave the safe space of room 2937? indeed.

(2) my glasses purchasing assistance might spin off into a side business. first, i helped D.G. buy a stellar (even if i do say so myself) pair of eyeglasses from oliver peoples. then, i helped J.P. with the same, at the same place (at the very least, oliver peoples should be giving me a commission) and then, taking my mad skillz extra-jurisdiction, i helped J.F. look up pairs in victoria. wonder if he actually bought the one that A.C. and i signed on to. hmmm. J.F., what's the word? he puts J.P. and D.G. to shame in terms of eyeglasses purchasing indecision. he might as well start living at the opticians, since he passes by there about 6 times a day to try on the pairs they've set aside for him. i pray the place won't go out of business before he decides upon a pair.

that's the news. snot-nose is less snotty.

struck down in the prime of my life

by the wretched curse: seasonal allergies (shudder)

i haven't been in the world much at all lately. except to buy kleenex (puffs ultra being the tissssssss-ew of choice), go see an allergist, get acupuncture & make use of tickets to see satyagraha at the met opera.

la-di-da, i have become so cultured. 2 operas in one season! mon dieu.

anyway, i will post about satyagraha soon-ish. but first i must shake the cobwebs from my head, drain my nose of mucous, delete 94 new messages in my inbox and curse nature.

adieu bitter-sweet world. adieu.

where's the pro in procrastination?

I am legend when it comes to procrastination. P.S. Yeah, I'm still working on a birthday gift for you. Really, I am. Just haven't found the just-right item.

I have been sitting on (well, not literally) 3 pairs of shoes that are in dire need of repair. They are 3 shoes I really love. For those of you with 3 pairs of shoes total, this post might not be all that interesting.

When I realized they were in need of repair, I researched cobblers - the best place, where Marc Jacobs sends his shoes to be repaired. Where supermodels flock when a heel has fallen off after a night of drunken & coked-up revelrie in the meatpacking district. I found the place I will use. Yes, I found that place. 2 years ago. I have the address, I called for their hours of service. TWO YEARS AGO.

Why do I bring this up now? I am going through that emerging from the winter spring cleaning fiesta that I love so much. And I found the shoes again. Tucked guiltily in pockets of my shoe wheel. Shoe wheel - check it out here. Best internet purchase ever.

Please help me make this shoe repair a reality. Hassle me, threaten me. Do what it takes.

P.S. To the sh*thead who wouldn't move over 2 cms to make room for me on the 2/3 this morning, happy phuckin' wednesday. assface.

the pope hearts new york

[pope benedict XVI & guru nanak dev]

the pope arrived this morning at the south street heliport which is obscenely close to my office. it's the pad where the president launches when he's town. launches, not lunches. when i arrived at work, a big-gish group of people were waiting for a glimpse of divinity at the courtyard in front of my building. there was coast guard, NYPD & helicoptors crawling around everywhere. quite a spectacle. i joined the pope-watchers and saw someone descend from the helicopter. it could have been anyone from my vantage point. a decoy pope? the helicopter pilot? vatican officials?

will the pope heart new york? i hope so. a lot of new yorkers seem to heart him.

it sort of reminds me of when i was living in toronto and pope john paul II came to town for catholic world youth day. a be-jillion catholic youth were in town, easily identified by their world youth backpacks. clogging up subways and what not, standing around outside zanzibar (exotic dance locale) on yonge street, maybe praying for the souls of those inside that den of iniquity. i went to the huge papal mass that took place at downsview park during that visit. in the pissing rain.

the rain put a damper (haha) on the event to some extent & getting to downsview park is a schlep even on the best of days, but it did get me thinking. is there anyone in the sikh community i would go to see? short of guru nanak arising from the dead, no. in a word. i suppose the closest figure to the pope in the sikh religion is is the jathedar of the akal takht. the akal takht is the seat of the supreme religious clergy of the sikhs. the jathedar of the akal takht (there are 5 takhts) is one of the ordained leaders of the faith. the jathedar of the akal takht is currently sardar joginder singh vedanti.

i have been to the akal takht. it's part of the golden temple complex in amritsar, punjab. it was part of my self-discovery / mother-daughter bonding trip to punjab & delhi.

anyway, that's a huge digression on the main topic: the pope is in town!!

p.s. this picture of guru nanak is similar to the one we had prominently displayed in our family room. watching over us, one might say. it's also the picture i would tell everyone [okay, every whiter person] was of my grandfather. until we got a family picture with my grandfather at the portrait studio. the ruse was up.

take mortality & shove it

L.B. works with Gins & Arakawa, the masterminds behind Bioscleave House in East Hampton. The NY Times recently wrote an article about Gins & Arakawa & Bioscleave House. The link to the article is here.

Gins & Arakawa have, for some time now, been working on what they call reversible destiny. Reversible destiny is against death. The contours of the philosophy are thus (quoted directly from the reversibledestiny.org website):

"That human life is expendable as a matter of course, that we are mortal, that life comes thus blighted as a matter of fact, as a matter of hideously brutal fact, is antithetical to any ethics putting the highest value of all on the preserving of life. An ethics that fails to take a stand against what counters it must be seen to have been subverted by it. It is illogical (and arguably unethical) for an ethical system that values life not to see mortality as fundamentally unethical. In thus arguing it would seem that you wish to make a mockery of our ethics, a critic might reply. There is death and then there is death. That life must not be extinguished, yes, that is our teaching. But when it comes to mortality itself, to try to uphold that standard would be equivalent to trying to stop a flood with a finger in the dam. No, no, one must give up on that score. And so, most ethical codes simply put to one side the issue of mortality and proceed to go on, we put it to you, quite unrealistically from there, starting off on the thither side of the crucial fact, and so, going along always to one side of the facts as they stand.

An ethics that permits no category of event, not even mortality, to be set apart for special treatment, and that considers there to be nothing more unethical than that we are required to be mortal shall be called a crisis ethics."


I wonder what they think about euthanasia.

Here is a picture of the man, the woman & the house.

the pope is in town; bless your bike.

in nyc, having your bike blessed may not be such a kooky idea. i'm still (after 3 plus years of being here) freaked out by the thought of riding my bike on any major streets (even ones with bike lanes). of course, my bike is a low-to-the-ground bmx but still. taxis swerve, people don't bother to signal, helmets are a rare sight. scary.

so the bless your bike event held at the NYC's cathedral church of st. john the divine sounds pretty sane to me.

anyone (any faith, no faith, anti-faith) can bring their bike in to have it blessed -a sprinkling of holy water & a blessing from reverend canon thomas miller. awesome.

the event's traditional reading is ezekiel 1: "wherever the spirit would go, they went and the wheels rose along with them; for the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels."

really awesome.

check it here

zz top spake no wrong

at least when it came to sartorial splendour:

"Clean shirt, new shoes
And I dont know where I am goin to.
Silk suit, black tie,
I dont need a reason why.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl crazy bout a sharp dressed man."

at least this girl is.

i woke up this morning with this song bobbing around in my head. weird. since i haven't actually heard any zz top, let alone this song, in about 40 years.

brunching with J.P. today, visiting from t.dot. i will report on any brunch-related celeb spottings today, though 2 days in a row would be unbelievable. wouldn't it? this is NYC, though.

my celeb spottings have been mostly (ha ha) spotty. at best. apart from waiting for someone outside a theatre on broadway alongside kyle mclachlan (aka AGENT COOPER!!) and unknowingly sitting beside the original "average joe" of reality tv fame at a show, i haven't been in true awesome gawking distance of anyone, not unless you count the time i stalked johnny depp for about 10 minutes in yorkville. (okay, it was more like 20 minutes and it would have been longer if i didn't outwalk his pace.)

oh wait, i was a few people behind monica lewinsky once at a bodega in chelsea. i am 94% sure it was her. not absolutely positive. she was not wearing a blue dress.

ok. i have to run. i wanted to fire this off before i forgot the dream about zz top (o god, i hope the dream was about sharp dressed men & not about zz top).

omg. omg, omg, omg. omg.

best celebrity sighting ever!!

who: me, P.T., J.P. & A.B. (aka adrien brody)
what: kicking it
when: 04/12 - some time around 1 pm
where: zaitzeff, avenue b
why: that's how we roll
how: right place, right time

yes really.

the deets:

i met up with J.P. & P.T. for brunch today at alias. we brunched it up & then headed north on clinton / avenue b in search of bloody marys. we landed at zaitzeff, sat at the bar & ordered bloody marys x 3 (spicy!). we chat, we crack nuts.

all of a sudden, i spot a lil piece o' heaven sitting further down the bar. is it, could it be, omg -- adrien brody! i ask J.P. to confirm if it is (in fact) A.B. it is.

THEN i officially turn into a puddle of drool. P.T. comments on just how cute my massive melt-down is. man alive. no, hormones alive! A.B. sat at the bar drinking a juice and checking his phone / blackberry.

some of you may not know but i have a long-standing thing for this particular citizen of hotttistan. yeah. when he used to tout for zegna, i actually went up & down the escalators on the menswear floor at holt renfrew on bloor because there was an absolutely gorgeous poster of him at the bottom of the escalator. uhm. yeah, seriously.

before leaving to go hit up paragon sports (where i did some plastic damage), i went to use the washroom. in doing so, i had to walk right past him. my arm brushed his chair!

i do my business & emerge from the washroom [picture my hair blowing in a breeze that conjures only for me]. he happens to be looking in my direction. we make eye contact. he smiles his incredible smile. i smile my dorky-cute smile. i am now officially having "a moment" with A.B.

hello heaven!

we are going on a [manhattan] holiday (part 2 of 2)

yes, finally. part deux.

i told you all about tristan und isolde. incidentally, during a subsequent performance, a part of the set fell and tristan slid down stage. awesome.

L.B. and i stayed overnight in our swank hotel - having negotiated the "late" checkout of 1 pm. woohoo. we slept in, lounged about, read the paper, gazed out the window at our "park view" (!!) & generally acted the part of decadent youth. we even trashed the hotel room to keep it real.

we bad like that.

anyway, most of the saturday reverie escapes me. two things are amazingly memorable:

(1) so the hotel (le parker meridien) has a gym. the gym has book-marky things they leave in the hotel rooms to entice people to pay some ridiculous fee to use the gym. the advertising is hi-larious. prominently written at the top of the bookmark is: "there's nothing like a gentle pounding to calm your nerves". & "gentle pounding" is bolded. excuse me! how is that going to calm my nerves! aggravate them maybe. of course, it's a plug for the roster of world-class masseuses they have on hand. but talk about innuendo-driven advert. sex sells everything. including the gym at the parker meridien.

(2) we wandered a bit looking for food. found a mexican place quite near the hotel. the decor was kitschy-cute. the food wasn't so cute. it was fine. fine meaning we were mostly too hungry to care. for the most part. we felt ripped off though by the "mexican hot chocolate". which was weird tasting hot chocolate (not nearly chocolate-y enough) with a rainbox sheen on the top. the sort of sheen one identifies with oil mixed with puddle water. it looked like they'd put a pat of butter in the cup. ewwwww. L.B. had an explanation for this phenom, which is apparently de rigeur at india cafe (the cafe i went to in calcutta, where the "special coffee" also had this un-delightful sheen to it.) barf. double time.

we did salvage that experience by walking around in central park & climbing up on rocks & generally being a little bit silly. or a lot bit silly.

that's really all i have to say about saturday (aka day two of my manhattan holiday). super fun!!

yes, yes

i know.

today is april 11. march 19th is the date of my last post. i have a post out there in circulation characterized as one of two. two is nowhere to be found.

i'm working on it.

the cheque is in the mail, people.

a cruel & unusual punishment

argh. work disabled gmail chat. my social life is going to suffer a major blow. so annoying. we can't access webmail from our usual network anyway. we have to log into a special segregated server that allows access to webmail. according to the homepage for that server, it's being offered as a courtesy. the server times out after 20 minutes. webmail can only be accessed for 20 minute intervals. so, is disabling gmail chat really necessary? at most i could chat for 20 minutes at a time.

anyway. the battle against IT wages on.

quote of the day ...

...heard by someone else, nevertheless reported here.

Intern #1: This job blows.
Intern #2: Yeah, today I felt like an Enron employee... I shredded documents for like three hours.

--Broad & Stone, Financial District

[i saw this on overheardinnewyork.com & i could not resist putting it here. tee hee. enron.)

we are going on a [manhattan] holiday (part 1 of 2)

well, we did. go on a manhattan holiday. L.B. and me. splurged on tickets to the opera: tristan und isolde. having spent the equivalent of a week's worth of grocery money for a family of four on the tickets, we decided to do it up high class. for us that meant dressing in clean clothes (L.B. wore a suit & tie. i wore a dress with boobage!) and staying overnight in a hotel! with views of central park! wowza.

03.14.08:

Act I:

there was a teeny bit of stress (it wouldn't be nyc otherwise) since L.B. had to work in east hampton on friday & the opera started early - at 7 pm! it runs just over 5 hours, so we were anticipating a midnight-ish etd from the lincoln center. would L.B. get back to manhattan & changed in time? would we miss Act 1? would the waning battery life of my cellphone be our downfall?

alas. it all worked out. L.B. made it back in time. we had time to spare. we changed at the parker meridien (the hotel we stayed it: my parents taught me right, since i had a hotel points card). viva la points.

prior to L.B.'s arrival back to civilization, i had an emergency moment. last minute run to bergdorf's (see? it was a fancy weekend) to buy new stockings. mine (last brought out in the 1990s) had a run in them.

all this preparedness & what to do for food? i hate to admit it, but my planning does have limits. we stopped at columbus circle for a snack at a kiosk. L.B. had sfiogliatella (how sophisticated). being the plebe i am, i hadn't even heard of that particular pastry. i had tiramisu. 1 sfiogliatella + 1 tiramisu + 2 coffees = dinner. we scarfed down our food. being decadent people of leisure, we left our cell phones (and me, my blackberry. L.B. was so proud. in my defense, i am not addicted to the crackberry like the rest of ny.) the unexpected consequence of such wild abandon was the fact that we no longer had ready access to the time. fortunately, the CNN clock came to the rescue. we ran to the lincoln center at 6:41 pm.

i wish i could paint a picture of us running to the opera house, being ushered in and whisked to our seats. but when we got to the opera (having oodles of time to spare), there were a bunch of people standing around outside. smoking. of course. L.B. had to light up because he is addicted to cancer of the lungs. me, judgmental? whaaa? while he smoked, i coveted the macdonald's food (there's a first time for everything) that the couple beside us had the foresight to bring with. damn. why didn't i think of that?

Act I:

let me set the scene. we were seated at row P, seats 9/11. yes, 9/11. we are two brown people seated at 9/11. this amused L.B. more than it amused me, wary as i am of the constant threat of deportation. our seats were in the prime orchestra section and we were surrounded by people in the "opera know" and some other odd characters.

in our immediate environs:

* behind us was "old man rehnquist" ("OMR"), my nickname for the 103 year old, sallow-skinned, half-corpse sitting behind us. OMR (kind of like OMG when is this man going to die. in the next 10 minutes?) appeared to suffer from advanced tuberculosis, since he would start a cough marathon. not only would he cough for 5 minutes straight (not mean feat; there's a risk of lung collapse) but he would start a "wave" of coughing around the auditorium. damn man. buy a losenze or something.
OMG's best quote: "this is a really dramatic scene." spoken out loud during, you guessed it, a really dramatic scene.

* next to us was boss hogg. also old. notable for a connect the dots of liver spots on the side of his face. he gave L.B. a dirty look when L.B. giggled (oh, what a giggle!) during a funny moment. but L.B. thinks he came around to us in the end due to our incredible, patent-pending cuteness.

* grumpy mcgruff in front of us. who also liked to look back & askance at us, shooting dirty looks. L.B. thinks he thought we were talking, when in fact OMR was the motormouth. i think he was just jealous of our better seats.

* herr opera was seated at the aisle of our row. he was standing in our spot when we arrived, making "in the know" chitchat with a legion of his lackeys situated all around the prime orchestra seating. opera man was really an insider. he seemed to know everyone. EVERYone. bald, bespectacled, enthused. over-stimulated? knew the biodata for all the opera singers in the audience.
best quote: in response to a query about who was heading up to the front to make chat with some famous opera singer, "just a member of the pooo-blique."

as for the opera itself. DRAMA. squared. the first drama was that benn heppner (the only opera singer still alive that i've heard of & a fellow canadian) was sick & recuperating at home. in canada. did i mention that ben heppner is canadian? so his understudy, gary lehman was on the spot.

the other two dramas will be revealed after this intermission.

1st intermission:

L.B. MUST smoke a cigarette, as though he has an addiction or something. we go out to the terrace overlooking the lincoln center courtyard. i am shivering. my teeth are actually chattering. along with boobage dress, i did have a shawl. but a shawl is not a parka. and it was cold. L.B. (typically) expressed absolute SHOCK that i could possibly be cold. this statement is made by someone wearing an undershirt, heavy-cotton dress shirt, woolen suit & tie. excuse me. i go on a rant about how men are always dictating whether it is cold or not. L.B. looks border-line amused, but mostly just wishing i would shut up.

we decide to spend a mini-fortune on champagne & beer during the intermission. i have champagne because i have class. L.B. takes a beer because it was a german opera. this is consumed on practically an empty stomach. the tiramisu long ago was absorbed into my gut.

Act II:

the second act is all drama! what didn't happen in the second act? the first scene stars the original isolde. the second act is basically an enormously significant love scene, which has a powerful duet. enough foreshadowing. tristan is singing. isolde dramatically exits stage right. abruptly too. tristan continues to sing for a while. the orchestra plays on. the curtain goes down. tristan is still singing. finally the orchestra stops.

OMR says: "This is haaaaaaarible. I think she refuses to sing with him."
Herr Opera is alarmed, but also not-so-secretly delighted. this is unprecedented opera news. he whips out his cell phone and merrily starts telling the operati what's going down. L.B. thinks he pressed the direct line he has to the NYT arts section: "Stop the Presses."

the director of the met opera comes out and tells everyone that isolde has suddenly taken ill. her understudy will fill in. when he mentions that isolde is ill, there is a collective gasp in the audience. but people, the show will go on! some people get up to leave anyway. L.B. says that these are the ungratefuls who have corporate seats & no culture, & who were going to leave after the second act anyway. maybe they were of the "i demand my money back" crowd or maybe they were about to pass out from hypoglycemia. who knows?

the audience is all atwitter while we wait about 20 minutes for the curtain to go up. opera man is in his element. his various admiring legions are all after him for deets. he's shouting across the house to all. he's running up & down the aisle, like the social butterfly he is.

the show goes on. curtains up. they rewind a little bit & pick up a few lines before original isolde dropped out. Note that Lehman was weak in the first Act, but he really did shine on the duets.

and oh the duet with Isolde nummer zwei. oh the chemistry. undeniable. tristan and isolde number 2 were on fire! the romantic scene coupled with their intensity on stage was amazing. & more than made up for his lacklustre first act. L.B.'s theory is that, instead of falling ill, isolde nummer eins feigned her illness so that her understudy would have a met opera premiere with the tristan understudy.

another intermission, another cigarette:

i amuse myself by walking my breasts around the lobby. deliberately i walk past two corporate-looking indian guys just to see if they'd notice. they did. L.B. shares his theory of isolde's departure with two english people on the terrace. they said it was a romantic theory. L.B. said that romantic theories should be entertained during "tristan und isolde". they conceded. (L.B. made me write about it.)

i brave pneumonia and head back to the terrace. L.B. is standing near a huge posse of opera-types: opera singers & wanna-bes. a rotund indian man from england wearing a nehru suit is holding court. "I've only just arrived for the third act from dinner & I'm only just hearing the story." Someone else: "I tell you, I almost peed my pants." L.B. is having an aneurism from laughing silently. i arrived just as this conversation had already taken place (what i get for NOT being a smoker.) L.B. is still giggling when i show up. i am immediately impressed by the girth of the indian opera singer and how proudly he wears his brown man's burden. a source of inspiration for my peoples.

we scarf down a sandwich, another champagne & a beer. back to the opera!

Act III:

tristan really needed to shine in this act. oh well. but guess who was shining! opera man. he was really alit, he liltingly remarks to his friend seated behind us: "And she didn't even say, "Ich kann nicht mehr singen." or something like that. in german anyway. oh how droll.

the third act is basically a lot of tristan going on and on and on. he finally dies. did i mention he was stabbed in the body 45 minutes ago! it takes the man 45 minutes to die from a deep stab wound. this is SO bollywood. i half expected his long-lost twin brother, twistan, to show up at his deathbed and his mother to reveal that the man he'd been on a quest to put behind bars was actually his father. [dramatic music here.]

this tristan did not shine. & it was sleep city. i fell asleep. L.B. dozed. but woke me up in time to see that isolde's "der schiff" had finally come in. king marke & isolde had shown up to forgive tristan. too late. should have taken the express. just then, he dies. & then isolde dies too.

& that's it.

no, that's not it. how could that possibly be it. there were still 20 rounds of applause to go through.

who do we applaud? who DON'T we applaud? of course, we applaud the understudies (it was their premiere. they got a standing ovation. L.B. pulled me up, I was still semi-asleep.) my take on it: "this is so hypocritcal. all these people were asleep 10 minutes ago and now they are shouting "bravae, bravae" like a bunch of stinky poseurs. after the cast get half an hour of applause, finally, james levine (the conductor beloved by met opera audiences) comes out (with his hairstyle a cross between "young einstein" & don king) for his requisite 45 minutes of applause. the people love james levine. & who wouldn't? the man looks like a leprachaun and it is SO close to st. patrick's day after all.

i'm complaining about the applause and L.B. tells me that if this were an Italian opera they would not only be applauding ALL throughout the performance, but people would be taking off their underwear and throwing it at the stage too. & flowers. & loaves of bread. & goats. & god only knows what else.

at this point i turn to L.B. and tell him how much i wish i could get applause & standing ovations for just f*cking doing my job. just like james levine. don't get me wrong. he was fine as a conductor. his orchestra did not muck up. but c'mon. i fall into a reverie thinking about how partners would leap out of their chairs shouting bravae, bravae when i submit my section of a brief.

but now is my time for a rant about how nyc audience are really all about themselves.
i have been to so many performances in all genres of music, in all sorts of venues where a standing ovation is not optional, or a matter of preference or personal experience or whatever but MANDATORY. why? why is every performance in nyc the greatest? I used to think it was because the audience was packed with people from des moines who were delighted not to be at regional community theatre but now I realize after 3.5 years of living here, that no. It is not the outsiders that leap to their feet at the end of a performance, but the locals. The locals are just SO impressed with whatever they had the good taste to go see, that it simply MUST have been amazing.

but the opera was a truly spectacular night. a met premiere for two opera singers and even though occasionally they could barely be heard & tristan put everyone to sleep in the third act, they did deserve something special to mark their performance. so bravae.

check out this link in the NYT the next day:

my aggro morning & also

On my way out the 2/3 at Wall Street Station, I was trying to move past someone on the stairs. There was ample room to do so. Ample. She turned around and said (in the most snotty voice possible): "Why don't I let you pass, since you're obviously in a rush to get somewhere." Super snotty voice. So, I retorted: "And you're a painfully slow walker. And your point is ... ?" Then I sort of muttered under my breath, "f---ing moron." To which she said, "I heard that." Then I said, "goody." Wow, aggro morning. I was, in my defence, super tired. I stayed up late last night, and by late I mean 1:30 am! (whoa!) Where has the dynamo gone who used to be able to pull 2 all-nighters in a row and still manage to write 50 christmas cards the next day?

Ah. Now I'm old. And tired. And drooling.

& also: Today I am wearing my hair in a side pony. Why does this matter? It doesn't.

job offer: sight unseen

my roommate, K, went to the container store the other day (a veritable mecca of all things organizational and a wonderland of uselessly usefully useless plastic bins & sundry, many of which - overpriced & -hyped - fascinate me to no end). he offered to bring back/order something for me. my request was simple & written on a piece of paper. before i go further, i must note that K mentioned to me that i would be wise to add the item numbers corresponding to my desired items. moving on. toting my list, K went off to the container store. the container store has -- an aside -- a wondermachine that lets you walk around the store zapping the barcodes of things you want. it's like you are registering for your wedding, but you're not. you're choosing plastic bins & accrouements to organize your laundry room (don't have one? no problem. surely you have a gift-wrapping room.) it's magic. it is like being harry potter playing that sandwich game they play in those books (i read a sum total of one harry potter book, borrowed from C.H. & F.H.) - its some game that sounds like sandwich and cribbage. anyway, you know it. but whatevz. so when K returns triumphant, he hands me my list & tells me that one of the salespeople at the container store, upon seeing my list, offered me a job! sight unseen. apparently, so impressed by my list-making skills / penmanship (and no doubt in large part the impressiveness was enhanced by K's suggestion i add item numbers), i was offered a job. wowza. if only a job i want would come my way through such little effort. though a whopping 40% employee discount sounds tempting. K told the woman i have a job already, and she suggested that maybe i'd be looking for seasonal work. ideally, if i could work seasonally (only), i'd be delighted. but i think it will be tough to get a visa to work at the container store. just a smidge.

it's tough being a resident alien with no recourse to state funds & the ever-present potential of deportation.

sigh.

election election

this election is drumming up some major conversation. people seem politically aware/engaged. more so than usual. maybe it is the just the limited pool of people i know. but i think not. this morning on my way to pilates, i overheard a young woman (maybe early 20s) talking on her phone about the latest obama & clinton debate. intelligently. with concern. with some passion. wow.

this year's election will give u.s. poli sci profs a lot of fodder for discussion: young people caring & voting? media coverage? inter-sectional identity politics? there is a lot to talk about. frankly, i only have a broad brush understanding of the issues. & i don't see that changing much over the next 6 months, unless i really make efforts to dig under the babble. doubtful.

for any voters born in 1981 or after, there has been a bush or a clinton on the ballot. surprising but not surprising.

1981-1989: ronald reagan & george bush
1989-1993: george bush & dan quayle
1993-2001: bill clinton & al gore
2001-2008: george w. bush & dick cheney

too bad jeb bush isn't running this time around. jeb bush v. hilary clinton would be a mind-blowing cross-dynastic battle.

my interest in the election has been primarily media-coverage related. despite personal feelings about hilary, she's faced some mean (personally mean) criticism. but she makes an unlikely victim, doesn't she? so not many seem sympathetic. i just don't think her crow's feet, shrill voice, man-like pantsuit wearing, helmut-hair, crying or not crying, cheating husband-taking back, etc. matters. in terms of P.R., the woman can't win. she wears a v-neck and omg she might have breasts. she wears another pantsuit, and she's not feminine enough. she doesn't cry. she cries and she's a manipulative jerk. not quite a man, not quite a woman. maybe the U.S. population isn't ready to elect someone transgendered. or maybe it does matter. it's not like stephen harper, with his lego-man hairstyle & too-short pants, really exudes a personality. i think charisma matters. charm matters. it matters in everyday life. of course it matters. obama has it in spades.

p.s.

for reasons inexplicable, i'll always have a soft-spot for paul martin, though. his wrinkled brow, weight of the world on his shoulders look reminds me of my dad. even his laugh is dad-like. i bet he tells corny jokes and his kids roll their eyes when he hits the dance floor. he still keeps an ugly three-piece suit in the recesses of his closet for old time's sake. he's loaned money to his good-for-nothing brother who will never pay him back. his kids don't call. come home late. smell like cigarette smoke. paul martin's time in office was a disaster. scandal after scandal. mishap after mishap. but i still have warm feelings towards him. would i elect him? nope.

morning malaise

aka "don't really want to go in to work"-itis.

this week is a short week. we had monday off for presidents' day. in alberta, presidents' day coincided with the bizarre family day, a holiday of much ridicule among friends here. family day? huh? frankly, i'm of the old-school where any reason for a long-weekend is a valid one, whether you celebrate presidents (which is actually officially called "washington's birthday") past or the conclusion of the race for presidents future or your "family" or nothing, who cares. most holidays are equal in the eyes of me. well, except halloween gets special props for being extra cool.

i skipped my sleep lab follow-up appointment for more pressing business. so i have to wait on the results for maybe another week. i'm nursing a malingering back injury which occurred (seriously) due to over-stretching! yes, such a thing exists. the left-side of my back aches in fits & starts all day long. i'm not exactly motoring into the day, as a result. i should go claim my roommate's WSJ and FT from the front door. yesterday, only the FT was there. i suspect someone nicked the WSJ (hopefully accidentally).

anyway, the big news was fidel. DB, we could go to cuba? i could sneak into cuba via canada and ask for no stamp cause of my us-based domicile. hmmm. ok, that's a happy motivation to go to work for money to go to cuba.

oh i forgot the best thing

the best thing about vlad, the sleep-lab tech, is that when i told him my family is originally from india, he got all excited and started telling me about all the bollywood movies he would watch in russia. apparently, the only movies he could get as a kid were russian or bollywood. so, he told me that his favorite actor was mithun chakraborty, which is half-parts a crying shame and half-parts wonderfabulous.

mithun's classic film is "disco dancer". The best line from that movie -- You ba-a-a-a-astard!" -- was routinely a part of my daily banter. Also, "you dirty son of a gun."

Thank you wikipedia.

sweet slumber eludes me

there is a banal scientific explanation for my stigmata. bah.

maybe you know, maybe you don't -- but i have been having some sleep issues: can't fall asleep, can't stay asleep, wake up ridiculously early. anyway. to (hopefully) deal with it, i went to see a doctor at a sleep disorder clinic. they set me up for an overnight sleep lab observation. monday night, i trudged through the cold (it's cold here now / cold, snowy, rainy) to ny presbyterian for my sleep observation appointment. my sleep room left much to be desired - namely, a prison cell.but, after living at UBC housing & partaking in extremely cheap accommodations on the road, not much fazes me.

my appointment was scheduled for 10:30 pm. i didn't get to lie down in the grungy bed until 1:00 am. already things were not looking so great for a restful sleep, since the technician wakes you up at 6 am. the technician setting me up for observation (which requires attaching a series of electrodes & monitors to my head, face, neck & legs.) is originally from russia. vladislav took his technician-ing very seriously. he explained everything in excruciating detail. when i jokingly asked him if he was going to test me on it later, he looked at me blankly and said "no test".

as he continued to tape wires to me, he explained that they had to use extra wires on me because they were running a "seizure montage" study on me as well as the regular sleep study. goody. while he was hooking me up, i watched BBC news on the television in the room. in the midst of a lecture on sleep apnea, vlad would throw in some political non sequiturs and some politically incorrect non sequiturs. for instance, vlad hates doing sleep studies on orthodox jewish people (though he is quick to explain that he is jewish himself). hmmm. okay. also, most of vlad's patients are large, overweight black men with no hair. the no hair part of it makes vlad's job much easier, since there is no hair getting tangled in the wires and getting gopped up with paste.

oh yes, paste. the stuff vlad uses to stick the electrodes to my head comes out of a tube like toothpaste and then solidifies like liquid cement. i imagine this is how people feel when they are getting dreads.

anyway, vlad finally finishes and helps me get into the bed. an ordeal, since i am hooked up from head to toe (well, almost toe). vlad covers me up with a blanket and leaves the room. we communicate through an intercom to make sure the set-up is working: look left, look right, look up, move your legs, breathe deeply. vlad comes in to the room again and fusses around my face. he clips two electrodes onto my chest. oh, was something malfunctioning? no, he says. i forgot to clip these on. the monitor inside the observation room shows you as flatlining. great.

good night to you too.

i lie in bed wide awake. they ask you to try to fall asleep on your back since that's the best way they can observe any problems you might be having physiologically. but i can't fall asleep on my back. i curl up into a weird fetal position when i sleep. i decide to try sleeping on my back. an eternity seems to go by. i wonder how skewed the data from this study will be, since i am in no way comfortable. i finally turn over to my side (with my back to the video camera) and try to fall asleep. after all, it's not called a lie in bed all night, tossing and turning, wide awake study.

i am not sure i slept at all. i have a lot of memories of not sleeping. if i did sleep, it was very light and not at all restful. at 6 am, the morning technician came in to wake me up. i bolt up, pulling at all the wires (which, emanating from my head, make me look like medusa). (oh, vlad took a polaroid of me with all the wires attached. it's pretty funny, actually.)

the tech disconnects me and shows me to a shower. it takes forever to wash the paste out of my hair. the paste is water soluble but it's also mega thick! it's like someone took a tube of crest and swirled it into my hair. i finally finish in the shower, pack up my stuff and leave the sleep lab.

time (at) sleep lab: 9.5 hours
time asleep (at) lab: 0.45 hours (maybe)

stigmata

i have stigmata.

well not really. they're not at the sites of christ's crucifixion wounds, but still. eerie bodily markings, indeed.

my funny valentine

i took down my bitterness-laden valentine's imagery because even i am not that bitter.

traveling blues

my friend, D.B., who works in a wonderful organization generous with holidays is taking 3 weeks off work and traveling with friends to morocco & spain. i wish i could go with, but due to capital w, Work, it's not to be (at least not now). D.B. will have one more week of time to spend with me, in fantastic destination yet to be determined.

but all this travel and frankly, some disenchantment with nyc right now, has me hankering to travel. the world. or some discrete corner of it, anyway. my list of places yet to be seen is dauntingly long. and, while i thought poring over travel magazines, would quench my thirst, it has actually whet my appetite (can you mix metaphors like that? meh.)

K.R. and his friend, M.L., might be jetting off to africa this spring. i've never ever been to africa. and J.M. and M.R. are going to travel south american on their way back to north america. sometime this spring, guys? i think P.S. is going on an across the states road-trip. all of which sounds fascinating. can you believe the "south" i've seen is houston, tx. that's just wrong.

so. maybe you have travel suggestions for someone full of wanderlust. even if i can't go, i can dream.

photog link

check out this link to world press photo, which has photography award winners in different categories.

i would love to put the pictures up here (with attribution of course) but they are all copyrighted.

i still haven't figured out the full extent of what i can do with blogspot, so there must be all sorts of bells & whistles i'm missing out on.

but anyway.

here are some pictures i can post since i took them.

canku

** i'm on a blogging spree! wheee! **

canku = canada + haiku.

way back in the summer of 2004, cbc radio 3 had a web'zine that rocked. they put up a call for canku submissions, haikus that captured canadian moments.

i submitted one. it was one of the few that they published. i am proud. so i found my haiku again, on a piece of paper stuck inside an old wallet. i reprint it here for your enjoyment.

Burning sky, prairie
dusk corner store candy smokes
girls wave, cars go by

doubts & serious thoughts

I've had a lot of time to think about things lately. And something I've thought about came about because of an unsettling incident with someone I deeply care for. I reacted very defensively to something I'd written a while ago that he'd found. He was probing my opinion - as written in the piece - and I responded by taking it very personally. I thought long & hard about why that would happen. I can (and do) take constructive feedback, challenges to my opinions, doubts people have about what I'm saying. That happens all the time. My beliefs aren't universally held, even if that universe is just the gaggle of friends in my orbit.

So I thought & thought. And I realized that I have never written something serious that I didn't *have* to write. By have to write, I mean, wasn't for a class or to finish the requirements for a grad degree. I have never written to express my opinion in any public fora. Pieces written for courses or for work are only seen by a small number of people, maybe only one other person. Portions of writing for briefs and other filings are sometimes so diluted by the time they see the light outside the firm, they don't reflect any one person's written work. I have written all sorts of fun things. This blog-writing is fun. I am a vociferous writer of letters to the government, to companies, complaint letters, commendation letters. I've even had fun writing cover letters.

So.

The really scary part of this observation is that it is calling into serious question my belief that I should or could enter a career in academia. Professors write. They lecture too. But they write. About what they believe. And they publish it, so others can read it. Engage in their ideas, refute, agree, criticize, expand upon. This is what academics do. This is what they are excited about doing.

Am I excited about doing that? I don't know. Can I do it? I don't know.

The idea of an academic career has lurked in the recesses of my mind since undergrad. I would leave a lecture thinking about how I might teach the subject matter, what I would say about it, how I would get people to think about the issues. I have been told by many people that I would make a great professor. I love to learn. I am so very comfortable in an academic setting. It's like a home-coming of sorts.

But do I know what it would mean? What a career as an academic would mean? Or is just something that feels like a better fit than what I do now. Would it be a better fit? Would I be mediocre? Would I fear my ideas? Or worse, have none at all? Would my work be entirely derivative, unoriginal, wholly devoid of relevance? Would I be consumed by self-doubt & insecurity?

Sometimes we walk a path and it becomes so comfortable, that path. We see others on divergent paths, and we smile. We see how great that path looks, but we're comfortable on our path. Our path seems like the right path. But then the path gets more and more sparse. It's laden with twigs and rocks and ruts. Is this still the path, we wonder? Have we stepped off the path? We look back to see where we left the path. We don't know. We're confused. We hear the sounds of others on their divergent paths and we worry that we won't get to where we need to go because we've lost the path. Others will get there. We will be stuck in the forest & night will come. We won't see what we're doing, or where we're going. There is confusion: was this the right path to begin with? Were we supposed to go right at that last crossroads? Is this the terrain we were supposed to traverse?

Oh, ponderous thoughts for a Wednesday.

Peter the Great

I have been reading a great, thorough, dense book about Peter the Great. It's really quite a fascinating read, given how fascinating he was. The author of the book took 10 years researching & writing, and it covers Peter the Great's entire life, along with information & background to all his relevant contemporaries.

I've always wanted to go to St. Petersburg, but after reading about the history of the city, I'm really keen to go. Any takers?

An interesting aside about this book: I was at the gym one evening and I had the book with me. There was a woman at the class who I recognized from another class at the same gym. At the last class, she had told me that she finished reading a book on Peter the Great. She saw the book in my hand, that wasn't just a random thing she said. And, how fascinating he was. All that. Then when she saw me again, she asked about the book, and the author, etc. She was talking to her friend about how she is leaving soon for the Sudan.

Of course, I got nosy and asked why she was going, etc. She works for the UN, and so does her friend. When they asked me what I do for a living. I gave my usual answer of dominatrix. No. I told the truth. The woman from the previous class said: I would never have guessed it. A lawyer who reads about Peter the Great!"

Either she doesn't know many lawyers, which is likely. Or she only knows lawyers with no interests, which is equally likely. Or I'm special, which is most likely.

Anyway, I present the man I've spent many nights curled up with in bed:

interesting signage

but seriously, pimp my head.

when american toast is a ... cheese

Why, yes, I would love some "American Toast" with my breakfast. I'll take some "Clever" orange juice with that, as well. Thanks.

American Toast cheese was found at the place that L.B. and i were staying at in Linz. We were put up by a lovely lady, who is a friend of a friend of L.B.'s. her apartment was great. she told us to help ourselves to whatever was in the fridge. we found American Toast in the fridge. Delish.