Hey, check it out! There's a blog here. Who knew? Apparently not me, for a while.
At first it was pure laziness, because I did have plenty to say. Thanksgiving break was absolutely lovely. It started off with a perfect meal with V at Jean-Georges--I was dreaming about that foie gras for days afterwards. Fuck you, geese. Revel in your hideous pain. Your liver is delicious beyond belief. Seriously, now; have you had foie gras? It's unbelievable. It's, like, several cuts above any other food in the world. I can't even describe it...it's like a warm chocolate truffle that isn't overwhelming in its richness and has the natural hearty feeling of meat. The texture...Christ, it just melts. And then later that weekend I had my H.S. reunion, which was lovely. I said hello to my homies and found out what's been up with them (one even reads the blog; woot!). Afterwards (Much afterwards, actually. As is my way, I left around 11 pm, and this happened after 1:30.) I went to Therapy with Mike L. and Alisa. That was fun and relaxing and had the space and lack of ear-busting noise that the reunion wanted for so badly.
Since vacation, well, life's seen its better days. I've been operating on the "If you don't have anything nice to say..." principle, which is why you haven't heard much from me. Suffice it to say my family and friends and my relationships with them are all doing just dandily, and I haven't been sick. Infer away.
In any case, it's Daily Show time. I'll try to be better in the future.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Not-Real Death
I know at least one or two people were upset by the story in my entry 'Tis the Season, where I saw a man passed out on the street who may or may not have been dead. Well, I have a (possible) follow-up.
Today I was leaving The Coffee Pot, walking down 9th, when I saw a man sprawled out under the phone booth. His posture didn't look like he was just sleeping, and it was only 4 pm, so I was concerned. And hey...he actually looked a bit like the guy I had seen about a month ago. I mean, they both looked late 50s, white, light hair, red-faced, and, well, passed out in not-entirely-lively positions. Since no good Samaritan was on the phone calling, I took out the cell phone, dialed 911 (I should probably put the EMS in there, too) and told them a guy was passed out and looked like he could use some help. While I was on the phone, the unconscious guy coughed a little: good sign. The emergency crew came in a fire truck (slow fire day in new york?) and went over to the guy. One of the firemen told me that the guy's name is Richard, and he's a "regular." So I guess that means he was likely the same guy as I had seen before, considering he was passed out only about a block away from the first guy's spot.
On one hand, it's nice to know that the first guy probably wasn't dead and that this guy will live to see another day. On the other hand, it's just depressing to know that this guy keeps passing out in Hell's Kitchen and getting picked up and brought to St. Vincent's. He's probably an undernourished alcoholic, and really, what are the chances he'll get his life even vaguely together? Much more likely that one day he'll drink a little too much and pass out in a place that's a little too cold. I even wonder: can you collect welfare with no permanent address? I guess you go to a shelter and then collect from there? There was that passage in Howards End about the very poor just slipping away. You can be fairly poor in America today without that really happening, but there is a threshold, and there are plenty of people below it.
Today I was leaving The Coffee Pot, walking down 9th, when I saw a man sprawled out under the phone booth. His posture didn't look like he was just sleeping, and it was only 4 pm, so I was concerned. And hey...he actually looked a bit like the guy I had seen about a month ago. I mean, they both looked late 50s, white, light hair, red-faced, and, well, passed out in not-entirely-lively positions. Since no good Samaritan was on the phone calling, I took out the cell phone, dialed 911 (I should probably put the EMS in there, too) and told them a guy was passed out and looked like he could use some help. While I was on the phone, the unconscious guy coughed a little: good sign. The emergency crew came in a fire truck (slow fire day in new york?) and went over to the guy. One of the firemen told me that the guy's name is Richard, and he's a "regular." So I guess that means he was likely the same guy as I had seen before, considering he was passed out only about a block away from the first guy's spot.
On one hand, it's nice to know that the first guy probably wasn't dead and that this guy will live to see another day. On the other hand, it's just depressing to know that this guy keeps passing out in Hell's Kitchen and getting picked up and brought to St. Vincent's. He's probably an undernourished alcoholic, and really, what are the chances he'll get his life even vaguely together? Much more likely that one day he'll drink a little too much and pass out in a place that's a little too cold. I even wonder: can you collect welfare with no permanent address? I guess you go to a shelter and then collect from there? There was that passage in Howards End about the very poor just slipping away. You can be fairly poor in America today without that really happening, but there is a threshold, and there are plenty of people below it.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Real Smooth
I was walking along, minding my business, when love came and hit me in the eye.
OK, it wasn't love at all. I was buying a chocolate croissant at a cart (I'm out of cereal; don't you dare tell me I should "just buy some more") and I turned around to continue my walk to work, when this girl says, "Hi."
Uh, hi.
"How are you?"
I'm good...
She was holding a thick blue binder, so I figured she probably wanted me to sign a petition or give money or something. She was also wearing scrubs...maybe she wants me to donate to her hospital? But there was no form on her binder, and she didn't look like she was getting any paper out.
"You're pretty."
Woah...WTF, as the kids say. Was she actually hitting on me? Do GIRLS actually hit on people in the middle of the street? I thought this was more or less the best thing our sex had going for us (besides not starting wars): We don't annoyingly cat call or hit on people. Maybe she just really wanted that croissant? I mean, it did look like a good croissant.
"You busy?"
Gee, I wonder. I mean, certainly most people clear their schedules around 9:30 AM. I find it's generally the best time to schedule my social events, and, really, if I'm walking outside at 9:30 AM, I'm probably just waiting for someone to pick me up. I find the walks invigorating and quite relaxing after a long, hard night's sleep.
I managed to break off and continue walking, when the girl's much butcher friend cuts me off.
"She says you already have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend?"
Um...no? I don't want to be that total douche who goes "WoahwoahWOAH, I'm not into THAT! You can do whatever you want in the privacy of your bedroom, just keep it away from me!" Really, is there anything douchier? More evil, perhaps. But that's more or less the peak of douchedom. And even just saying, "Sorry, I'm straight" has a hint of that ughly insecurity. Although I think bumbling and looking scared really didn't do my image any favors.
If they were dudes, they would be in such trouble...dudes can't follow me and hit on me for two minutes when I'm clearly not interested. But chicks can get away with anything. And I wouldn't give up all the times I've used that to my advantage to lose a few minutes of early morning awkwardness. Heh heh.
OK, it wasn't love at all. I was buying a chocolate croissant at a cart (I'm out of cereal; don't you dare tell me I should "just buy some more") and I turned around to continue my walk to work, when this girl says, "Hi."
Uh, hi.
"How are you?"
I'm good...
She was holding a thick blue binder, so I figured she probably wanted me to sign a petition or give money or something. She was also wearing scrubs...maybe she wants me to donate to her hospital? But there was no form on her binder, and she didn't look like she was getting any paper out.
"You're pretty."
Woah...WTF, as the kids say. Was she actually hitting on me? Do GIRLS actually hit on people in the middle of the street? I thought this was more or less the best thing our sex had going for us (besides not starting wars): We don't annoyingly cat call or hit on people. Maybe she just really wanted that croissant? I mean, it did look like a good croissant.
"You busy?"
Gee, I wonder. I mean, certainly most people clear their schedules around 9:30 AM. I find it's generally the best time to schedule my social events, and, really, if I'm walking outside at 9:30 AM, I'm probably just waiting for someone to pick me up. I find the walks invigorating and quite relaxing after a long, hard night's sleep.
I managed to break off and continue walking, when the girl's much butcher friend cuts me off.
"She says you already have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend?"
Um...no? I don't want to be that total douche who goes "WoahwoahWOAH, I'm not into THAT! You can do whatever you want in the privacy of your bedroom, just keep it away from me!" Really, is there anything douchier? More evil, perhaps. But that's more or less the peak of douchedom. And even just saying, "Sorry, I'm straight" has a hint of that ughly insecurity. Although I think bumbling and looking scared really didn't do my image any favors.
If they were dudes, they would be in such trouble...dudes can't follow me and hit on me for two minutes when I'm clearly not interested. But chicks can get away with anything. And I wouldn't give up all the times I've used that to my advantage to lose a few minutes of early morning awkwardness. Heh heh.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Celebrities! I Want Celebrities!
Despite having a monster of a headache (if I actually vomit soon, I'll stamp it a migraine), I'm in quite a good mood. Tonight I met two of my favorite celebrities. Well, maybe "met" is a stretch, but I had contact with two handsome, smart, successful, opinionated-to-the-point-of-arguable-dickishness men in two VERY different professions. I stood within mere feet, nay inches, of Richard Dawkins and Michael Lucas.
Dawkins (young, studly, and pixellated here) was giving a talk at the New York Academy of Sciences on his new book, The God Delusion. I know a bunch of his arguments, so he didn't say too much that was new, but his deadpan-ish humor works very nicely in his voice. So that was a plus of seeing some of the more colorful passages performed live. Perhaps the greatest benefit was the conversation with some of my work buddies both before and after the talk. Lee and I discussed the differences between agnosticism and atheism and whether atheism is an arrogant position and any more tenable than religious belief. It was a good discussion, and I feel my brand of Godlessness and Dawkins's were expressed fairly well (they're not identical, but they certainly have common aspects). And Lee proved a very solid conversation partner. The dear-departed-boss was there with his very cool gf, so it was good to see and chat with both of them. I got Dawkins to sign my book, but as I was at the end of the line, he was a little grumpy by the time I got there. Still, I congratulated him on a good showing on the Report.
Michael Lucas (barely safe for work) was a more casual encounter. Greg had already informed me that he was to be leading gay men's chorus bingo a couple of block from where I live. I was walking back from the subway, and a cab turned, and the profile I saw in back was unmistakable. I did what any red-blooded internet-raised kid would do and followed that cab. He got off at the wrong corner and started looking around a little aimlessly. I tried to direct him, but by the time I got near, he was already getting directions on his cell. When he got off the phone, though, I introduced myself. I told him I was looking forward to his new film. I wonder if it freaked him out that I knew he was going to host bingo at the 9th Ave. Bistro. I kind of hope so. I like freaking people out that way.
And to add, um, compliment to physical intactness, one of the chicks from inkycircus left a positive comment over here. Check 'em out...they're one of the best science blogs out there. Although if you like science blogs, you've probably already seen a link to them from one of the folks at the Site of Power. Must always plug the site of power.
Dawkins (young, studly, and pixellated here) was giving a talk at the New York Academy of Sciences on his new book, The God Delusion. I know a bunch of his arguments, so he didn't say too much that was new, but his deadpan-ish humor works very nicely in his voice. So that was a plus of seeing some of the more colorful passages performed live. Perhaps the greatest benefit was the conversation with some of my work buddies both before and after the talk. Lee and I discussed the differences between agnosticism and atheism and whether atheism is an arrogant position and any more tenable than religious belief. It was a good discussion, and I feel my brand of Godlessness and Dawkins's were expressed fairly well (they're not identical, but they certainly have common aspects). And Lee proved a very solid conversation partner. The dear-departed-boss was there with his very cool gf, so it was good to see and chat with both of them. I got Dawkins to sign my book, but as I was at the end of the line, he was a little grumpy by the time I got there. Still, I congratulated him on a good showing on the Report.
Michael Lucas (barely safe for work) was a more casual encounter. Greg had already informed me that he was to be leading gay men's chorus bingo a couple of block from where I live. I was walking back from the subway, and a cab turned, and the profile I saw in back was unmistakable. I did what any red-blooded internet-raised kid would do and followed that cab. He got off at the wrong corner and started looking around a little aimlessly. I tried to direct him, but by the time I got near, he was already getting directions on his cell. When he got off the phone, though, I introduced myself. I told him I was looking forward to his new film. I wonder if it freaked him out that I knew he was going to host bingo at the 9th Ave. Bistro. I kind of hope so. I like freaking people out that way.
And to add, um, compliment to physical intactness, one of the chicks from inkycircus left a positive comment over here. Check 'em out...they're one of the best science blogs out there. Although if you like science blogs, you've probably already seen a link to them from one of the folks at the Site of Power. Must always plug the site of power.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Exposed
I was at the coffee shop, attempting to read a beautiful book, which is beautiful more because it's insightful and thought-provoking and less because it's a fascinating story. Unfortunately, insightful and thought-provokig doesn't work that well with a deadline.
I looked up at the man sitting in front of me—white, 30-something, sexual orientation non-obvious—and saw that he was making a list. I couldn't read his monitor that clearly, but I saw that the list heading was "My fxxxx." What was that second word? It looked most like "fiance," but that didn't seem like a very good list title at all. So I looked at the items. The first one I saw was #13: "Age." What kind of list would have "Age" as an item? Then slowly, I began to make out others. #14: "Work." The first item started with an A and was a long word. #1: "Abandonment." #15: "Ugliness."
Ah yes. "My fears."
Good to know.
I looked up at the man sitting in front of me—white, 30-something, sexual orientation non-obvious—and saw that he was making a list. I couldn't read his monitor that clearly, but I saw that the list heading was "My fxxxx." What was that second word? It looked most like "fiance," but that didn't seem like a very good list title at all. So I looked at the items. The first one I saw was #13: "Age." What kind of list would have "Age" as an item? Then slowly, I began to make out others. #14: "Work." The first item started with an A and was a long word. #1: "Abandonment." #15: "Ugliness."
Ah yes. "My fears."
Good to know.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Slapstick is Dead?
Yesterday, life accidentally imitated art. Low, low art. We had a working brunch at the über-boss's swank apartment in the WV. Number one rule in your boss's swank apartment: Don't mess anything up.
Anyway, it was a lovely affair, and before leaving I headed to the bathroom, as I tend to do post-coffee + cider + mimosa. As I headed in, the intern coming out mentioned that the toilet was in a sort of continous flush spiral. There are worse things than I continuous flush, so I headed in. The toilet didn't seem to be flushing anymore, but as I went to flush, the handle wouldn't engage. I turned it in a few different directions, attempting to get it to catch, but after a few tries, it came off in my hands. Then the handle broke apart into two pieces. I screwed the top on and, realizing I couldn't screw the handle back onto the toilet, just stuck it on, figuring that's how it was to begin.
So I decided to flush the toilet manually. I lifted the porcelain top and tried to find the chain you pull to start the flush. But I hit something else first. A plastic tube snapped out of place and started SPURTING WATER ALL OVER THE BATHROOOM. I stuffed it back into place but it kept flipping out and spraying the floor. I creeped out of the bathroom and whispered to our branding guy to come help me. We eventually figured out how to get the tube snapped in, the toiled flushed, and we left the bathroom quietly. Hopefully the boss didn't suspect a thing...or at least understands. I hope. Yikes.
Anyway, it was a lovely affair, and before leaving I headed to the bathroom, as I tend to do post-coffee + cider + mimosa. As I headed in, the intern coming out mentioned that the toilet was in a sort of continous flush spiral. There are worse things than I continuous flush, so I headed in. The toilet didn't seem to be flushing anymore, but as I went to flush, the handle wouldn't engage. I turned it in a few different directions, attempting to get it to catch, but after a few tries, it came off in my hands. Then the handle broke apart into two pieces. I screwed the top on and, realizing I couldn't screw the handle back onto the toilet, just stuck it on, figuring that's how it was to begin.
So I decided to flush the toilet manually. I lifted the porcelain top and tried to find the chain you pull to start the flush. But I hit something else first. A plastic tube snapped out of place and started SPURTING WATER ALL OVER THE BATHROOOM. I stuffed it back into place but it kept flipping out and spraying the floor. I creeped out of the bathroom and whispered to our branding guy to come help me. We eventually figured out how to get the tube snapped in, the toiled flushed, and we left the bathroom quietly. Hopefully the boss didn't suspect a thing...or at least understands. I hope. Yikes.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
'Tis the Season
Autumn is a very precious time. It's the shortest of the seasons, with the possible exception of spring. OK, technically they're all the same length, but you know what a season feels like.
Winter lasts from mid-November to the end of March, more or less. It can come as early as late October and end as late as the beginning of May. Winter is the time when you're uncomfortably cold outside and the trees are lifeless. The air is crisp to the point of unable to carry smells. It's a huge portion of the year.
Summer lasts more or less from late June through the end of September. It can start as early as early May and can occasionally push itself through the first week or two of October. Summer is short sleeves. The air is hot enough that normally innocuous smells reek, hanging heavy in the air.
Spring and fall get pushed in the cracks. Usually during spring I'm just so excited for summer that I rush it a little. The most fun part of spring is seeing trees flower before they grow their leaves. The second most fun part of spring is beginning to smell the sweetness of plant life. It's always a little unclear whether you're smelling it because things are actually blooming or because the air can hold smells again. It's both, of course, and it's fabulous.
Fall...well, fall is awesome. I could never really appreciate it in school because I missed the freedom of summer and was still adjusting to the year, unable to believe that I hadn't gotten more of the year over with yet. Which isn't to say I didn't like school...I just liked summer a little better. And I was stressed. Now that my workload doesn't change between summer and fall, I can appreciate how beautiful the season really is. The air is wonderfully crisp but filled with wonderful smells: apples and burning wood. Trees change colors; is there anything more beautiful? Fashion is great...light jackets are so hot, and I'm still comfortable going outside in them. And the featured holiday of the season is Halloween. Halloween! It's the best holiday ever! Sure it has weird-ass religious origins, but right now it's sheer fun. All about creepiness, but not about REAL death, just about vampires and zombies and other forms of fake death.
Oy, speaking of real death. There was a man lying on the sidewalk by my apartment as I was coming home today. It was wholly unclear whether he was still alive. His face was red, which I guess was a good sign, but really, he didn't look too good. Luckily for my moral confusion, a man was already calling an ambulance. I never know when it's appropriate to interfere. I guess if someone's passed out at 6:30 pm, when it's still light out, and he's not a "usual" in a spot, it's probably time to dial up 911. The ambulance came after I got home, and I couldn't see whether he was conscious when they loaded him in. Upsetting.
Winter lasts from mid-November to the end of March, more or less. It can come as early as late October and end as late as the beginning of May. Winter is the time when you're uncomfortably cold outside and the trees are lifeless. The air is crisp to the point of unable to carry smells. It's a huge portion of the year.
Summer lasts more or less from late June through the end of September. It can start as early as early May and can occasionally push itself through the first week or two of October. Summer is short sleeves. The air is hot enough that normally innocuous smells reek, hanging heavy in the air.
Spring and fall get pushed in the cracks. Usually during spring I'm just so excited for summer that I rush it a little. The most fun part of spring is seeing trees flower before they grow their leaves. The second most fun part of spring is beginning to smell the sweetness of plant life. It's always a little unclear whether you're smelling it because things are actually blooming or because the air can hold smells again. It's both, of course, and it's fabulous.
Fall...well, fall is awesome. I could never really appreciate it in school because I missed the freedom of summer and was still adjusting to the year, unable to believe that I hadn't gotten more of the year over with yet. Which isn't to say I didn't like school...I just liked summer a little better. And I was stressed. Now that my workload doesn't change between summer and fall, I can appreciate how beautiful the season really is. The air is wonderfully crisp but filled with wonderful smells: apples and burning wood. Trees change colors; is there anything more beautiful? Fashion is great...light jackets are so hot, and I'm still comfortable going outside in them. And the featured holiday of the season is Halloween. Halloween! It's the best holiday ever! Sure it has weird-ass religious origins, but right now it's sheer fun. All about creepiness, but not about REAL death, just about vampires and zombies and other forms of fake death.
Oy, speaking of real death. There was a man lying on the sidewalk by my apartment as I was coming home today. It was wholly unclear whether he was still alive. His face was red, which I guess was a good sign, but really, he didn't look too good. Luckily for my moral confusion, a man was already calling an ambulance. I never know when it's appropriate to interfere. I guess if someone's passed out at 6:30 pm, when it's still light out, and he's not a "usual" in a spot, it's probably time to dial up 911. The ambulance came after I got home, and I couldn't see whether he was conscious when they loaded him in. Upsetting.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Merry New Year!
Very satisfying weekend. Going back to Westchester always centers me. It's like I get to retreat back to high school or something. Go to simpler times. Well, actually, much more complicated times. More fulfilling times. I completed the regression by inviting V over for Rosh Hashanah, which was great because I a) got to hang out with V and b) had an excuse to avoid potentially awkward coversations with relatives. I love the relatives, but sometimes it's nice to laugh about stupid stuff. Like, when I was telling him about the movie "Shortbus," where all the sex scenes are filmed with people actually having sex. I got as far as the title and "all the sex scenes are filmed with..." when his eyes went wide and he covered his mouth in disbelief. I shouldn't even say where he thought that was going, but the title of the movie should give you a clue. Before he came, I told V to BHOB if he wanted potable wine, but apparently my Dad just stored it away without serving it, sticking V with the Jews' Booze. He was perhaps less than pleased.
Natalie brought half of Barnard, which was nice. It's good to introduce some new life into family dynamics, and a bunch of 20 year olds certainly accomplish that. They also asked to see my Mom's pictures, which she was more than happy to provide. Natalie and I were very proud of Mom for not spending the whole night snapping photos. It must have taken a lot of restraint.
I slept for about 11 hours that night, which was excellent, and I skipped temple on Saturday morning. I had better places to be, namely in bed and then at Slave. V was there (so I crashed his one free weekend between the beginning of school and thanksgiving, sue me...) and I sat with him as I read Howard's End. For about 15 minutes. He whipped out the Friday puzzle, and we tore through it, getting through all but one quarter of Saturday before splitting up. With my Mom at home, we managed to conquer the remainder. Put me with any of the brilliant peeps in my life, and we are unstoppable! Woot!
Dinner #2 was lovely as well...Mom made kickass glazed corned beef. Crazy delicious. I got to see my cousin Elliot's apartment building when we drove back into the city. It was a somewhat bizarre experience: He lives two blocks from where he works, in what can only be described as a corporate apartment building on the Hudson. It's, like, the Merril dorms. The neighborhood's fairly sterile, too. But the building does look really nice, and the convenience to work has to seriously pay off, considering the obscene hours he puts in. So obscene. They shouldn't show that to kids.
Today I did some work for GreGAMES! sitting in the Coffee Pot. Because I was on the comp, I sat by the window, where there's a long shelf for computers and such. The whole world went by. First, I saw Katherine (from work) with her roommate and friend. She lives nowhere near me, but they apparently wanted to take a bus from the Port Authority, missed it, and decided to wander around Manhattan instead. Excellent decision. Then I thought I saw this kid Jonathan Meier pass by. He was in Candide with me back in the day, but I haven't seen him since. I tried to catch his eye, but to no avail. Then Hannah passed by on her way home (no surprise). The whole world...by the coffee shop.
Tonight I saw Science of Sleep with Brad. The movie definitely hit me the right way. First of all, I love any movie that has a unique aesthetic. I appreciate being drawn into someone's world. Also, it was reasonably funny, and a bunch of it resonated with me, partially in universal ways, partially in very specific ways. Hm, there was more I wanted to write about my evening, but I'm doing too many things at once now. Perhaps more later.
Natalie brought half of Barnard, which was nice. It's good to introduce some new life into family dynamics, and a bunch of 20 year olds certainly accomplish that. They also asked to see my Mom's pictures, which she was more than happy to provide. Natalie and I were very proud of Mom for not spending the whole night snapping photos. It must have taken a lot of restraint.
I slept for about 11 hours that night, which was excellent, and I skipped temple on Saturday morning. I had better places to be, namely in bed and then at Slave. V was there (so I crashed his one free weekend between the beginning of school and thanksgiving, sue me...) and I sat with him as I read Howard's End. For about 15 minutes. He whipped out the Friday puzzle, and we tore through it, getting through all but one quarter of Saturday before splitting up. With my Mom at home, we managed to conquer the remainder. Put me with any of the brilliant peeps in my life, and we are unstoppable! Woot!
Dinner #2 was lovely as well...Mom made kickass glazed corned beef. Crazy delicious. I got to see my cousin Elliot's apartment building when we drove back into the city. It was a somewhat bizarre experience: He lives two blocks from where he works, in what can only be described as a corporate apartment building on the Hudson. It's, like, the Merril dorms. The neighborhood's fairly sterile, too. But the building does look really nice, and the convenience to work has to seriously pay off, considering the obscene hours he puts in. So obscene. They shouldn't show that to kids.
Today I did some work for GreGAMES! sitting in the Coffee Pot. Because I was on the comp, I sat by the window, where there's a long shelf for computers and such. The whole world went by. First, I saw Katherine (from work) with her roommate and friend. She lives nowhere near me, but they apparently wanted to take a bus from the Port Authority, missed it, and decided to wander around Manhattan instead. Excellent decision. Then I thought I saw this kid Jonathan Meier pass by. He was in Candide with me back in the day, but I haven't seen him since. I tried to catch his eye, but to no avail. Then Hannah passed by on her way home (no surprise). The whole world...by the coffee shop.
Tonight I saw Science of Sleep with Brad. The movie definitely hit me the right way. First of all, I love any movie that has a unique aesthetic. I appreciate being drawn into someone's world. Also, it was reasonably funny, and a bunch of it resonated with me, partially in universal ways, partially in very specific ways. Hm, there was more I wanted to write about my evening, but I'm doing too many things at once now. Perhaps more later.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Eek!
Clement and I had a little problem tonight.
Like, two inches little.
It's a very bad feeling to walk into your kitchen and have your eye caught by distinctly mammalian motion. Once it hit me that, yes, that was a mouse in the corner and, no, it wasn't going to work to scoop it up in the dustpan and drop it outside, Clement went to the deli and got glue traps, the only kind they had. After about an hour, we checked back on the traps and saw that one had caught the mouse. I googled "glue trap" and found lots of advocacy sites telling me how glue traps are the single least humane way of catching a mouse. Great. But one of them did say that if you have a live mouse in a glue trap, you can dissolve the glue with vegetable oil and push the mouse off with a pencil. So we took the entrapped mouse outside and did just that. Amazingly, it worked, and there's now an oily mouse with post-traumatic stress disorder roaming the streets of Hell's Kitchen.
this post excerpted from an email to mom
Like, two inches little.
It's a very bad feeling to walk into your kitchen and have your eye caught by distinctly mammalian motion. Once it hit me that, yes, that was a mouse in the corner and, no, it wasn't going to work to scoop it up in the dustpan and drop it outside, Clement went to the deli and got glue traps, the only kind they had. After about an hour, we checked back on the traps and saw that one had caught the mouse. I googled "glue trap" and found lots of advocacy sites telling me how glue traps are the single least humane way of catching a mouse. Great. But one of them did say that if you have a live mouse in a glue trap, you can dissolve the glue with vegetable oil and push the mouse off with a pencil. So we took the entrapped mouse outside and did just that. Amazingly, it worked, and there's now an oily mouse with post-traumatic stress disorder roaming the streets of Hell's Kitchen.
this post excerpted from an email to mom
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The Mob?
Outside the front door of our apartment buiding is a large tire on its side. In the tire is a decapitated (or, rather, decorpitated) doll's head, scalp up, hair sticking off to the sides, looking like it has drowned.
I'm half-convinced we're living with the Middle Eastern mafia. I mean, our landlord is the nephew of a major Arab New York real estate king. They could easily be running this area from the underground. OK, maybe not easily, considering the landlord has a full-time job, a building to run, and a daughter. But possibly. The intrigue remains...
I'm half-convinced we're living with the Middle Eastern mafia. I mean, our landlord is the nephew of a major Arab New York real estate king. They could easily be running this area from the underground. OK, maybe not easily, considering the landlord has a full-time job, a building to run, and a daughter. But possibly. The intrigue remains...
Sunday, September 17, 2006
McGrievous Errors
Apparently NJ's old governor Jim McGreevey has a coming out memoir coming out entitled The Confession. He's talked about it on Oprah, in an episode to be aired this Tuesday, the same day the book comes out. The Advocate ran this story on Friday: "McGreevey tells Oprah of gay affair while wife was giving birth." Apparently while his wife was in the hospital, in labor, giving birth to their daughter, McGreevey was seducing Golan Cipel, the man who now claims he never had sex with the good gov'nor. This is how McGreevey describes it in the book:
It partially bothers me that he did it, acting like a 13-year-old boy while in his 30s or 40s. When a husband cheats on his wife with a woman, he's being an inconsiderate asshole, but when a gay husband cheats on his wife with a man, he's really being a 13-year-old boy—placing other people's rights and needs behind his own desire for self-exploration. And this is all fine when you're 13, it's to be expected as part of adolescence. But when you're an adult? I understand that society's expectations are why he never got to grow up during growing-up time, but that doesn't mean it's ok to pose as an adult toward people who care about you when you're reall not, thereby screwing them over. And I think that's why it bothers me so much that he was doing it: When you're wife is giving birth you are in the epitome of manhood, becoming a father, heading up a family. So it seems like the absolute worst time to show that you are ready for none of it. You are not ready for the responsibilities of parenthood. Your wife thought she was marrying a man, but she's married an adolescent. It seems very desceptive. Whereas if he were cheating on her with a woman, well, we could have discounted that douche a while ago. I don't think I'm being very articulate here. I'm just trying to figure out why this creeped me out so, so much, moreso than other creepy things.
The second aspect that bothers me is that he wrote about it. I almost don't feel like that's his secret to share. I feel like that's something so bad, so horrible to his wife, that it's her place to come forth with that information, not his. Does he have permission to incite that much pity?
I don't know what to do with this...we have this whole irritating "dual fault" thing going on...which is really how it is with most situations. A poor urban kid kills another in gang violence. Is it his fault or the fault of a society that does nothing for its poor? Well, both. But the fact that society should change doesn't let him off the hook, and I don't think it lets McGreevey off the hook either. He is really responsible for screwing people over.
Maybe this all comes from my grand fear of marrying a gay man. I don't think it's THAT unlikely.
Bah, bad mood today.
We undressed and he kissed me. It was the first time in my life that a kiss meant what it was supposed to mean — it sent me through the roof...I was like a man emerging from 44 years in a cave to taste pure air for the first time, feel direct sunlight on pallid skin, warmth where there had only ever been a bone-chilling numbness.Aw, how moving. And really, I'd be moved. Touched. Perhaps a little wooed, as is my way. Were this not happening while his wife was in labor. Really, there are many evils in the world far worse than cheating on your wife, even at an inopportune time, but this just rubs me like a deep-tissue retinal massage: the wrong way.
It partially bothers me that he did it, acting like a 13-year-old boy while in his 30s or 40s. When a husband cheats on his wife with a woman, he's being an inconsiderate asshole, but when a gay husband cheats on his wife with a man, he's really being a 13-year-old boy—placing other people's rights and needs behind his own desire for self-exploration. And this is all fine when you're 13, it's to be expected as part of adolescence. But when you're an adult? I understand that society's expectations are why he never got to grow up during growing-up time, but that doesn't mean it's ok to pose as an adult toward people who care about you when you're reall not, thereby screwing them over. And I think that's why it bothers me so much that he was doing it: When you're wife is giving birth you are in the epitome of manhood, becoming a father, heading up a family. So it seems like the absolute worst time to show that you are ready for none of it. You are not ready for the responsibilities of parenthood. Your wife thought she was marrying a man, but she's married an adolescent. It seems very desceptive. Whereas if he were cheating on her with a woman, well, we could have discounted that douche a while ago. I don't think I'm being very articulate here. I'm just trying to figure out why this creeped me out so, so much, moreso than other creepy things.
The second aspect that bothers me is that he wrote about it. I almost don't feel like that's his secret to share. I feel like that's something so bad, so horrible to his wife, that it's her place to come forth with that information, not his. Does he have permission to incite that much pity?
I don't know what to do with this...we have this whole irritating "dual fault" thing going on...which is really how it is with most situations. A poor urban kid kills another in gang violence. Is it his fault or the fault of a society that does nothing for its poor? Well, both. But the fact that society should change doesn't let him off the hook, and I don't think it lets McGreevey off the hook either. He is really responsible for screwing people over.
Maybe this all comes from my grand fear of marrying a gay man. I don't think it's THAT unlikely.
Bah, bad mood today.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
I Claim This Land...
The building next to the Seed offices is being converted into luxury lofts. It took them forever to get the scaffolding down (at least 11 months), but now the lofts are looking very spiffy. Still, half of the first floor is a wreck. The lobby only takes up half the building, which left a sizeable space filled with boards and building block. I wondered if this was going to turn into the boiler room or a storage area or some functional common space for residents. But this week we found out exactly what is to become of the space. Going into the office on Thursday morning, the building looked normal, but when I stepped out for lunch, there it was on the side of the building, just one sign heralding passers-by: Starbucks.
If you turn the right at the corner from my block to Sixth Avenue, there are two Starbuckses (starbuces?) on that block. TWO! On the same block. But that's not enough. We need one right next to our building. Apparently. I have the image of two guys racing down my block toward the empty lot, one with a Starbucks sign and one with a Duane Reade sign. Apparently the Starbucks guy stuck his in the wall first. Ah, me. At least they're also opening a Café Grumpy in Chelsea soon. If it's anything like the Times described it, I'm psyched.
I just saw an ad for Jeanine Pirro's Attorney General campaign. So funny. The message was theoretically the appopriate "Pirro has more experience than Cuomo." OK, fair enough. But it was really "Pirro: Not THAT Republican." The last light of the ad was something like, "For the last bladiblah years I've been protecting women from domestic violence, children from pedophiles and gays from hate crimes." See!? Pirro hearts the gays. This probably rubs me worse than it should because of my personal pet peeve against nouning adjectives that describe people. Gays? Blacks? Not my phrasing of choice.
All right, back to watching the Wolverines slaughter the Irish. Sounds like some twisted version of Roman entertainment...and it more or less is.
If you turn the right at the corner from my block to Sixth Avenue, there are two Starbuckses (starbuces?) on that block. TWO! On the same block. But that's not enough. We need one right next to our building. Apparently. I have the image of two guys racing down my block toward the empty lot, one with a Starbucks sign and one with a Duane Reade sign. Apparently the Starbucks guy stuck his in the wall first. Ah, me. At least they're also opening a Café Grumpy in Chelsea soon. If it's anything like the Times described it, I'm psyched.
I just saw an ad for Jeanine Pirro's Attorney General campaign. So funny. The message was theoretically the appopriate "Pirro has more experience than Cuomo." OK, fair enough. But it was really "Pirro: Not THAT Republican." The last light of the ad was something like, "For the last bladiblah years I've been protecting women from domestic violence, children from pedophiles and gays from hate crimes." See!? Pirro hearts the gays. This probably rubs me worse than it should because of my personal pet peeve against nouning adjectives that describe people. Gays? Blacks? Not my phrasing of choice.
All right, back to watching the Wolverines slaughter the Irish. Sounds like some twisted version of Roman entertainment...and it more or less is.
Monday, September 11, 2006
The Five Year Mark, Etc.
I doubt anyone's manage to miss the fact that today is the fifth anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center (and Pentagon (and Flight 93)). It was, unequivocally, a bad, bad day. Everyone has his or her own 9/11/01 story, so I might as well tell mine.
September 11, 2001 was the day I had the best callback of my life. The fall musical my freshman year (it was only the second week of classes, I think) was to be Candide and I was just destined to play the old lady with one buttock. Really, there are a few parts that are totally perfect for me, and that's one of them. After auditions the day before, we had callbacks on Tuesday. I sort of knew I had it in the bag, especially during callbacks, when I was explaining the jokes in the monologue to the other people called back for the part. I spoke to quickly, sure, and my singing is passable at best, but I sailed into that role. Such sweetness.
And frankly, it was exactly what I needed. Like everyone else, I had been sitting around campus all day glued to the news or wandering around feeling like there should be someone to comfort or blood to donate or something to do besides check in with my parents that they (and more relevantly my uncle, who worked at the WFC) were ok. Some skinny barely post-pubescent femme gay boy is clutching his cell phone to his ear screaming that his sister has an internship at the world trade center and he can't reach her. What do you say? "I'm sure she's OK?" Um, that would be dumb. And after a while, shock and sadness just turn to restlessness. You can't smile, but it's hard to maintain one emotion for hours on end. You need to relax, fall asleep, let your brow ease up. So going to an audition, where I had to be funny for a director whose boyfriend lived three blocks from the WTC. And being forced to be funny was perfect in every way.
Oh, and totally off topic, the facebook news feed has informed me that my ex is in love and he has posted cheesy (and seemingly inapt) French quotes about it. My own browsing (read: stalking) has informed me that he has taken his name off of the picture that Dave G. posted of us at prom and that the girl seems pretty cool. And by cool I mean dorky. Which is cool. I'm happy for him and all, but the old feeling applies: you want your ex to find someone absolutely wonderful...after you do.
September 11, 2001 was the day I had the best callback of my life. The fall musical my freshman year (it was only the second week of classes, I think) was to be Candide and I was just destined to play the old lady with one buttock. Really, there are a few parts that are totally perfect for me, and that's one of them. After auditions the day before, we had callbacks on Tuesday. I sort of knew I had it in the bag, especially during callbacks, when I was explaining the jokes in the monologue to the other people called back for the part. I spoke to quickly, sure, and my singing is passable at best, but I sailed into that role. Such sweetness.
And frankly, it was exactly what I needed. Like everyone else, I had been sitting around campus all day glued to the news or wandering around feeling like there should be someone to comfort or blood to donate or something to do besides check in with my parents that they (and more relevantly my uncle, who worked at the WFC) were ok. Some skinny barely post-pubescent femme gay boy is clutching his cell phone to his ear screaming that his sister has an internship at the world trade center and he can't reach her. What do you say? "I'm sure she's OK?" Um, that would be dumb. And after a while, shock and sadness just turn to restlessness. You can't smile, but it's hard to maintain one emotion for hours on end. You need to relax, fall asleep, let your brow ease up. So going to an audition, where I had to be funny for a director whose boyfriend lived three blocks from the WTC. And being forced to be funny was perfect in every way.
Oh, and totally off topic, the facebook news feed has informed me that my ex is in love and he has posted cheesy (and seemingly inapt) French quotes about it. My own browsing (read: stalking) has informed me that he has taken his name off of the picture that Dave G. posted of us at prom and that the girl seems pretty cool. And by cool I mean dorky. Which is cool. I'm happy for him and all, but the old feeling applies: you want your ex to find someone absolutely wonderful...after you do.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
The Trouble With Facebook
Never has the Web 2.0 community been in such a fury. Facebook, the homegrown, elegant alternative to such shitshows as Friendster and MySpace has made the hideous mistake of including an RSS feed on the front page of everything your "friends" have recently done. The elegant design looks cluttered, the move reeks of corporate misstepping, and the beautiful illusion of privacy facebook once gave (by not allowing you to click on the profiles of people you aren't in a network with) is shattered. The verdict is more unanimous than a Cuban election: The feed sucks.
But why does the feed suck? Sure, the clutter may be objectively unsightly, but it's not like any information is there that wasn't available before. Why does everyone complain about privacy? Well, in my opinion, it's because privacy is less about what information people can know and more about how that information is presented, whether it's presented with the respect it deserves. You can easily invision situations, I'm sure, where you know gossip, and you can tell all of your friends individually, but it would be tactless to tell them en masse. The same information gets conveyed, but the information seems graver and more important when it's presented personally. It actually feels like privacy was maintained, at least partially because the people you've told likely don't feel they can gab about the gossip to each other. The new facebook announces all information blaringly. Alex Kelston has made a slightly brilliant mockery of this by changing his marital status to every possibility over the last day. But on a serious note, if my friends break up, and they change their profiles, I don't think they'd want that announced on the facebook home of everyone they barely know. People self-censor. I only look at the profiles of people I'm interested in, and while I don't consider that information confidential, I do consider it personal. And worthy of some modicum of respect.
Also, there's an "opt out" box. The opt out box is the worst part of this whole experiment. First of all, it smells like the Friendster travesty where they created a new feature where you could see who looked at your profile. People didn't even realize this until they had done some stalking and later found out the person they stalked knew of their visit. You could opt out of this (and be unable to see who viewed your profile), but everyone was automatically set to the less private setting. This made people, especially me, feel violated. While this move isn't nearly as bad (again, it doesn't make new information available), it does just feel like privacy is something you have to opt into, not assume.
Also, if people opt out, the feed becomes totally useless. Everyone will still go to each section to see who's updated their profiles. They're not going to remember who opted in and who didn't, so they'll just check on people they're interested in. No time is saved. Frankly, I like to go to each section. Facebook is a time waster...extreme efficiency isn't a plus. The site runs cleanly, and that's what I want. MySpacesque technical disaster isn't a good thing, but a few buttons can be nice.
On the other hand, I kind of like the mini feeds. They shouldn't be in people's profiles, that just looks ugly, but they'd be nice on the sidebar to show us what people we're already stalking have updated.
All right, I'm done ranting for the night. No spell check or grammar check this evening. Later, kids.
But why does the feed suck? Sure, the clutter may be objectively unsightly, but it's not like any information is there that wasn't available before. Why does everyone complain about privacy? Well, in my opinion, it's because privacy is less about what information people can know and more about how that information is presented, whether it's presented with the respect it deserves. You can easily invision situations, I'm sure, where you know gossip, and you can tell all of your friends individually, but it would be tactless to tell them en masse. The same information gets conveyed, but the information seems graver and more important when it's presented personally. It actually feels like privacy was maintained, at least partially because the people you've told likely don't feel they can gab about the gossip to each other. The new facebook announces all information blaringly. Alex Kelston has made a slightly brilliant mockery of this by changing his marital status to every possibility over the last day. But on a serious note, if my friends break up, and they change their profiles, I don't think they'd want that announced on the facebook home of everyone they barely know. People self-censor. I only look at the profiles of people I'm interested in, and while I don't consider that information confidential, I do consider it personal. And worthy of some modicum of respect.
Also, there's an "opt out" box. The opt out box is the worst part of this whole experiment. First of all, it smells like the Friendster travesty where they created a new feature where you could see who looked at your profile. People didn't even realize this until they had done some stalking and later found out the person they stalked knew of their visit. You could opt out of this (and be unable to see who viewed your profile), but everyone was automatically set to the less private setting. This made people, especially me, feel violated. While this move isn't nearly as bad (again, it doesn't make new information available), it does just feel like privacy is something you have to opt into, not assume.
Also, if people opt out, the feed becomes totally useless. Everyone will still go to each section to see who's updated their profiles. They're not going to remember who opted in and who didn't, so they'll just check on people they're interested in. No time is saved. Frankly, I like to go to each section. Facebook is a time waster...extreme efficiency isn't a plus. The site runs cleanly, and that's what I want. MySpacesque technical disaster isn't a good thing, but a few buttons can be nice.
On the other hand, I kind of like the mini feeds. They shouldn't be in people's profiles, that just looks ugly, but they'd be nice on the sidebar to show us what people we're already stalking have updated.
All right, I'm done ranting for the night. No spell check or grammar check this evening. Later, kids.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
28 26 27
Tonight, I ate well. Really well.
Yesterday I was sitting at work, writing my column, reading up on science news, and trying to rope V into hanging out with me this weekend. After some indecisiveness he had an idea: Great food. This may not sound brilliant, but in New York, there's good food, and then there's great food. Good food is all over the city—semi-fancy spots, cozy corners and solid burger joints dot every area, especially my very own Ninth Avenue. But there are a few restaurants that are GREAT. Leading the list are Masa, Per Se, and Le Bernardin; also up there are Daniel, Alain Ducasse, Bouley, Union Square Cafe, Jean Georges and Gramercy Tavern. We went to the last. The numbers titling the post are Gramercy Tavern's Zagat ratings. Read it and weep...with envy!
Metro North conked out on V (oh, the rain...), so at 5:30 he left Westchester in his car for our 6:00 reservation. And he made it. OK, so maybe it was 6:02 when he got there, but I was impressed, and he was clearly adrenaline-pumped from his success. I don't want to imagine the driving he had to do to get there, but he arrived in one piece, so all was well. Since the restaurant is business casual, I had an excuse to wear the cute dress Mom got me for my birthday. It's not my usual style, and it doesn't bring out the best in my sizable thighs, but it's pretty snazzy.
We were seated in the back (the real restaurant), and as we walked through the place, the whole thing smelled like burning wood. It has a delightful lodge-like atmosphere. Very not Manhattan...in a good way. All through the meal, we got little "compliments of the chef" palate cleaners and supplements. They were pretty damn delicious, every one.
We ordered drinks: I got Chianti (shocker), and V got a cobbler martini thing. Both were excellent. Then we began to pick out the components of our $76 prix fixe meal. For an appetizer, I got the oyster stew, which consisted of fried oysters, fava beans and summer truffles in some sort of consumme/chowderish broth. It was delightful, and it had the bonus feature of allowing me to say I've had "fava beans with a nice Chianti." I mentioned that to V, and he was insulted when I asked if he got the reference. Great line, great line... V got a corn chowder, which is what I had planned on, until I saw the oysters. It was frothy. Mmm.
Second course was, for me, lamb shoulder with ministrone and goat cheese ravioli. I've certainly never had lamb that good before...Even the fat was totally edible and delicious. And how can you go wrong with goat cheese ravioli? You can't, and I didn't. V got the sirloin—three perfect slices of meat—with sides that for some reason I can't remember offhand. One was bone marrow. It looked good.
After our entrees, we ordered a cheese course. I posed Brad's question to V: If you had to give up one for life, which would it be: oral sex or cheese? By the end of the night he still didn't have an answer and looked like I had stabbed his mother every time I posed the question. Really, it's a horrifying Sophie's choice. In any case, while we retain the right to all of life's great pleasures, we had 5 cheeses selected by our waitress. All were lovely, except I've never been a huge fan of bleu cheese, so I didn't love that one. We savored every bite, no less, and I left the majority of the most intense one to a very happy V.
For desert we split the chocolate cake and the chocolate/hazelnut mousse. Oh Lord, we have sinned. SO good. Even their coffee was magnificent. Especially the pre-desert treat of cinnamon creme fraiche and raspberries was magnificent. Just heavenly. And they gave us muffins for the morning, so the experience can continue until tomorrow. Yay, Gramercy Tavern. We're buds, now.
V was kind enough to drive me back to my apartment, and he came up, as I promised him some fine, full-bodied, judgment-clouding-yet-legal, 18-year-old scotch.* We broke open the Macallan and hung out until he decided to beat the theater crowd out of midtown. Thus officially ended a pretty much perfect evening. V's always great company and good food makes anything wonderful. V's also not afraid to rave about things he likes, which makes every enjoyable experience so much better. It's so much nicer than ranking things or listing pros and cons during this sort of activity. The more you rave, the more you savor, the more you'll enjoy. And that's really the point.
As things go, the evening didn't actually end there. Adam gave me a call saying he was in the area, and he came over to work on the Saturday puzzle with me. He had already done a fair amount, but together we finished it (more or less...about 2 letters were off). Go us. We chatted for too long, and here I am, verging on two o'clock and typing away. It's time for a sure-to-be-sound night of sleep. Sweet dreams. Sweeter desserts.
*The joke never gets old. And given V's occupation, I should probably clarify: No, the double meaning doesn't apply. He's very age appropriate. I just like the line. Carry on, now.
Yesterday I was sitting at work, writing my column, reading up on science news, and trying to rope V into hanging out with me this weekend. After some indecisiveness he had an idea: Great food. This may not sound brilliant, but in New York, there's good food, and then there's great food. Good food is all over the city—semi-fancy spots, cozy corners and solid burger joints dot every area, especially my very own Ninth Avenue. But there are a few restaurants that are GREAT. Leading the list are Masa, Per Se, and Le Bernardin; also up there are Daniel, Alain Ducasse, Bouley, Union Square Cafe, Jean Georges and Gramercy Tavern. We went to the last. The numbers titling the post are Gramercy Tavern's Zagat ratings. Read it and weep...with envy!
Metro North conked out on V (oh, the rain...), so at 5:30 he left Westchester in his car for our 6:00 reservation. And he made it. OK, so maybe it was 6:02 when he got there, but I was impressed, and he was clearly adrenaline-pumped from his success. I don't want to imagine the driving he had to do to get there, but he arrived in one piece, so all was well. Since the restaurant is business casual, I had an excuse to wear the cute dress Mom got me for my birthday. It's not my usual style, and it doesn't bring out the best in my sizable thighs, but it's pretty snazzy.
We were seated in the back (the real restaurant), and as we walked through the place, the whole thing smelled like burning wood. It has a delightful lodge-like atmosphere. Very not Manhattan...in a good way. All through the meal, we got little "compliments of the chef" palate cleaners and supplements. They were pretty damn delicious, every one.
We ordered drinks: I got Chianti (shocker), and V got a cobbler martini thing. Both were excellent. Then we began to pick out the components of our $76 prix fixe meal. For an appetizer, I got the oyster stew, which consisted of fried oysters, fava beans and summer truffles in some sort of consumme/chowderish broth. It was delightful, and it had the bonus feature of allowing me to say I've had "fava beans with a nice Chianti." I mentioned that to V, and he was insulted when I asked if he got the reference. Great line, great line... V got a corn chowder, which is what I had planned on, until I saw the oysters. It was frothy. Mmm.
Second course was, for me, lamb shoulder with ministrone and goat cheese ravioli. I've certainly never had lamb that good before...Even the fat was totally edible and delicious. And how can you go wrong with goat cheese ravioli? You can't, and I didn't. V got the sirloin—three perfect slices of meat—with sides that for some reason I can't remember offhand. One was bone marrow. It looked good.
After our entrees, we ordered a cheese course. I posed Brad's question to V: If you had to give up one for life, which would it be: oral sex or cheese? By the end of the night he still didn't have an answer and looked like I had stabbed his mother every time I posed the question. Really, it's a horrifying Sophie's choice. In any case, while we retain the right to all of life's great pleasures, we had 5 cheeses selected by our waitress. All were lovely, except I've never been a huge fan of bleu cheese, so I didn't love that one. We savored every bite, no less, and I left the majority of the most intense one to a very happy V.
For desert we split the chocolate cake and the chocolate/hazelnut mousse. Oh Lord, we have sinned. SO good. Even their coffee was magnificent. Especially the pre-desert treat of cinnamon creme fraiche and raspberries was magnificent. Just heavenly. And they gave us muffins for the morning, so the experience can continue until tomorrow. Yay, Gramercy Tavern. We're buds, now.
V was kind enough to drive me back to my apartment, and he came up, as I promised him some fine, full-bodied, judgment-clouding-yet-legal, 18-year-old scotch.* We broke open the Macallan and hung out until he decided to beat the theater crowd out of midtown. Thus officially ended a pretty much perfect evening. V's always great company and good food makes anything wonderful. V's also not afraid to rave about things he likes, which makes every enjoyable experience so much better. It's so much nicer than ranking things or listing pros and cons during this sort of activity. The more you rave, the more you savor, the more you'll enjoy. And that's really the point.
As things go, the evening didn't actually end there. Adam gave me a call saying he was in the area, and he came over to work on the Saturday puzzle with me. He had already done a fair amount, but together we finished it (more or less...about 2 letters were off). Go us. We chatted for too long, and here I am, verging on two o'clock and typing away. It's time for a sure-to-be-sound night of sleep. Sweet dreams. Sweeter desserts.
*The joke never gets old. And given V's occupation, I should probably clarify: No, the double meaning doesn't apply. He's very age appropriate. I just like the line. Carry on, now.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Man of the Hour: Michael Lucas
I should do more Men (and Women) of the Hour posts. I totally missed my chance with Julian Bond when he was on the Colbert Report and signed a petition in favor of gay marriage within one week. He's got an admirable sense of humor, a strong focus on civil rights for all people, and, heck, he's a bit of a looker for a man his age. Anyway.
This week, Michael Lucas—the gay porn producer/actor/director I so admire for living the American Dream and being reasonably upstanding—is in Israel doing a live sex show. I don't know if it's one performance or many, but in any case, he's over there for a performance, and the media's gone a little crazy, reporting on something they'd normally ignore. People are condemning him, Israelis are telling him to get out of their country, blah blah blah. I think it's great. As he points out, Israel bests most countries, including the USA and especially Israel's neighbors, when it comes to gay rights. They allow gay men in their military (then again, service is mandatory), and they allow these live sex shows and other free expressions of sexuality. Michael's mentioned on his blog that when customs asks him why he's in Israel, he tells them he's an adult performer in for a sex show, and there's never any question or problem.
Israel certainly has issues. It wasn't created under the most morally unambiguous of circumstances, and the strong military presence leads to some horrible, horrible shit. But I do think it's important to remember that the values of the country are just, well, better than the values of surrounding countries. (Yes, I understand some will disagree with me, but I doubt any of my friends will disagree on that point, and the blog is primarily written for people I know.) Does that give it more of a right to exist? Probably not...I don't think they're directly related. But I would be very happy to support a country that lets Michael Lucas do live sex shows. That's more of an American value than America can muster.
This week, Michael Lucas—the gay porn producer/actor/director I so admire for living the American Dream and being reasonably upstanding—is in Israel doing a live sex show. I don't know if it's one performance or many, but in any case, he's over there for a performance, and the media's gone a little crazy, reporting on something they'd normally ignore. People are condemning him, Israelis are telling him to get out of their country, blah blah blah. I think it's great. As he points out, Israel bests most countries, including the USA and especially Israel's neighbors, when it comes to gay rights. They allow gay men in their military (then again, service is mandatory), and they allow these live sex shows and other free expressions of sexuality. Michael's mentioned on his blog that when customs asks him why he's in Israel, he tells them he's an adult performer in for a sex show, and there's never any question or problem.
Israel certainly has issues. It wasn't created under the most morally unambiguous of circumstances, and the strong military presence leads to some horrible, horrible shit. But I do think it's important to remember that the values of the country are just, well, better than the values of surrounding countries. (Yes, I understand some will disagree with me, but I doubt any of my friends will disagree on that point, and the blog is primarily written for people I know.) Does that give it more of a right to exist? Probably not...I don't think they're directly related. But I would be very happy to support a country that lets Michael Lucas do live sex shows. That's more of an American value than America can muster.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Earth to Pluto
Turn around, bee-yatch, and get your icy ass out of the solar system. Oh, wait, you hardly need you. You're six frickin' light hours away from the sun anyway. You probably haven't even heard the news yet: You're no longer a planet! You're a "dwarf planet." And don't go thinking that's like a regular dwarf--human, just small--you're in a totally separate classification. It's kill or be killed around here, and until you accrete or knock out your neighbors, you are killed, killed, killed. So go join your mini-buddies in the Kuiper belt. Go back with your own kind! Because you're not one of us, you eccentricly orbiting block of ice. Leave the planeting to the big boys.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Voyeurism 2.0
I don't even need to admit it; you already know exactly what I'm doing right now. Yup: I'm analyzing the AOL searches of the 650,000 unfortunate (and rather silly) AOL customers who had their search data accidentally released by their ISP. Oh, AOL...keep digging. Just keep digging.
I've thus far been pretty disappointed with the AOLers...well, maybe disappointed's the wrong word. I have a pretty low opinion of most AOL users anyway. But still. Most importantly, nobody searched for me! Come on people. I know you're all grandmothers who can barely figure out how to use the internet, but please, learn a little about my awesomeness. It couldn't hurt. And forget about the fact that nobody serched for Seed Magazine. With that attitude towards learning about science and culture, it's no wonder you're getting ripped off. However, there are a few redeeming/amusing people, and I'd like to tour through one of them. Just to profile a random dude.
5278294
This fellow starts out nice and easy with searches for "citibank" and "palm springs," moving quickly into searches for "frank serio." Damned if I know who he is. Searches follow for "vegan new york" and different travel planning sites. He goes to craigslist a bunch (throughout the whole search list) and then looks for "gay hotel south beach miami." Sounds like a good time, 5278294. "William Mann:" Wikipedia tells me he's a gay author and historian. Then we start on Israel searches, culminating in my favorite, toward the end of the search period, with inquiries on "gay sherpa." Oh, now we find out that the infamous frank serio died in palm springs and appears to be having a funeral there. That would explain the hunt for the gay hotel, I suppose. Now he's searching for "tattoo" a lot. Unclear whether he wants one or likes them on other people. We get into searches for "nude male models." I think 5278294 and I have a lot in common. Ooh, and he likes "alex lundqvist." EXCELLENT taste. He looks for "the honeymoon is over musical." It looks (from my own searching) like that's a song from a Bert Lahr vehicle called "Foxy." For whatever reason, he looks up about 20 different rivers. He looks up "1945 andrews sisters hit song" (again, great taste). "The owl and the pussycat poet" (edward lear), "homeric sea," "swiss child psychologist jean." He goes on to search tons of people who seem to photograph male nudes (still very nice) and finally goes for "bath house san diego." Please be safe, 5278294.
And then that's just about it. There you go...a few months of someone's life in searches. I feel like I know this guy. He's gay, cultured, probably a little on the older side, web savvy. Be my friend, 5278294.
Now I'm going to see if I can hunt for a sicko. Voyeurism 2.0! Woohoo!
By the way, this is the 100th post on this blog. Rejoice.
I've thus far been pretty disappointed with the AOLers...well, maybe disappointed's the wrong word. I have a pretty low opinion of most AOL users anyway. But still. Most importantly, nobody searched for me! Come on people. I know you're all grandmothers who can barely figure out how to use the internet, but please, learn a little about my awesomeness. It couldn't hurt. And forget about the fact that nobody serched for Seed Magazine. With that attitude towards learning about science and culture, it's no wonder you're getting ripped off. However, there are a few redeeming/amusing people, and I'd like to tour through one of them. Just to profile a random dude.
5278294
This fellow starts out nice and easy with searches for "citibank" and "palm springs," moving quickly into searches for "frank serio." Damned if I know who he is. Searches follow for "vegan new york" and different travel planning sites. He goes to craigslist a bunch (throughout the whole search list) and then looks for "gay hotel south beach miami." Sounds like a good time, 5278294. "William Mann:" Wikipedia tells me he's a gay author and historian. Then we start on Israel searches, culminating in my favorite, toward the end of the search period, with inquiries on "gay sherpa." Oh, now we find out that the infamous frank serio died in palm springs and appears to be having a funeral there. That would explain the hunt for the gay hotel, I suppose. Now he's searching for "tattoo" a lot. Unclear whether he wants one or likes them on other people. We get into searches for "nude male models." I think 5278294 and I have a lot in common. Ooh, and he likes "alex lundqvist." EXCELLENT taste. He looks for "the honeymoon is over musical." It looks (from my own searching) like that's a song from a Bert Lahr vehicle called "Foxy." For whatever reason, he looks up about 20 different rivers. He looks up "1945 andrews sisters hit song" (again, great taste). "The owl and the pussycat poet" (edward lear), "homeric sea," "swiss child psychologist jean." He goes on to search tons of people who seem to photograph male nudes (still very nice) and finally goes for "bath house san diego." Please be safe, 5278294.
And then that's just about it. There you go...a few months of someone's life in searches. I feel like I know this guy. He's gay, cultured, probably a little on the older side, web savvy. Be my friend, 5278294.
Now I'm going to see if I can hunt for a sicko. Voyeurism 2.0! Woohoo!
By the way, this is the 100th post on this blog. Rejoice.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Extracurriculum Ridiculum
I have begun a new extracurricular activity. These are the things that get you into college. However, since I've already graduated from college, it won't do me any good in that regard. And it would take a very special institution of higher learning to admit me based on my new hobby.
I am photographing penises. Yup. Got that right.
A few months ago I discovered a website, where "Mrs. Candy," a "56 year old former head mistress on a mission to find the perfect phallus," reviews pictures that men send in of their penises. I like this site not just because of the pictures of penises (I'm super-female in that regard—visuals are never nearly as arousing as a good story), but because of the approach the site takes to erotic material. There's so much talk about exploitation and objectification in pornography, and this site defies both. Submissions are totally voluntary, and nobody gets paid for submitting. Submissions are pretty much anonymous, especially if the "phallic patron" has a fairly common name...although an 'Aloysius, 18, Katonah" might not fare especially well. It's just for people who want to show off their penises. As for objectification...well, I feel the real problem with that is objectifying the whole person, not the body. Pornographic films where women are just used as sex toys strikes me as much more objectifying than lots of pictures of boobs or, as the case may be, pictures of penises. It's not saying that the person is an object...it's saying that individual parts of the body can be beautiful and arousing. My favorite aspect of the site is that it's entirely positive. There are no bad reviews. If Mrs. Candy doesn't love your phallus, she doesn't review it. Also, I suspect she deletes all negative comments, because I've never seen one. While I'm generally not in favor of censorship, I feel that a private site where men put out their penises for criticism is a clear case of "Oh, come on, get over it." There's much benefit of a purely positive site, and it's not the government; it's just some lady.
So, anyway, a few weeks ago, I realized that there were probably men who wanted to submit to the site but didn't own digital cameras or know how to take a good phallic self-portrait. So I volunteered my services. Mrs. Candy kindly posted my contact information on her site, and within a few hours I had heard from two men! In total, I've had responses from four, but only one has thus far had the initiative to actually try to schedule a time. And he was the focus of yesterday early afternoon.
Scott is a 26-year-old starting his residency in dentistry. I may write a guest post for Mrs. Candy on my experience, so I won't go into too many details here, but in a nutshell, he's a friendly, normal (but not TOO normal), chill and gentlemanly fellow with a nice body and a very nice penis. We had a pretty easy time talking and an only slightly awkward time shooting. He brought an atrocious porno (NB: judgment based on occasional glances as I changed angle) in an Ella Fitzgerald case. Nice. He's also a good Jewish boy—and a doctor, if of teeth—so you could bring him home to mom...if these things matter to mom. The lighting was decent in my living room, so the shots came out pretty well. Overall, a very positive experience. Now to see if they make it onto the site. I hope they do. If so, I'll link to them...even though the vast majority of the people who read this blog like men (if not only men), you didn't come here to see penises, so I won't put them here. Right-o.
I am photographing penises. Yup. Got that right.
A few months ago I discovered a website, where "Mrs. Candy," a "56 year old former head mistress on a mission to find the perfect phallus," reviews pictures that men send in of their penises. I like this site not just because of the pictures of penises (I'm super-female in that regard—visuals are never nearly as arousing as a good story), but because of the approach the site takes to erotic material. There's so much talk about exploitation and objectification in pornography, and this site defies both. Submissions are totally voluntary, and nobody gets paid for submitting. Submissions are pretty much anonymous, especially if the "phallic patron" has a fairly common name...although an 'Aloysius, 18, Katonah" might not fare especially well. It's just for people who want to show off their penises. As for objectification...well, I feel the real problem with that is objectifying the whole person, not the body. Pornographic films where women are just used as sex toys strikes me as much more objectifying than lots of pictures of boobs or, as the case may be, pictures of penises. It's not saying that the person is an object...it's saying that individual parts of the body can be beautiful and arousing. My favorite aspect of the site is that it's entirely positive. There are no bad reviews. If Mrs. Candy doesn't love your phallus, she doesn't review it. Also, I suspect she deletes all negative comments, because I've never seen one. While I'm generally not in favor of censorship, I feel that a private site where men put out their penises for criticism is a clear case of "Oh, come on, get over it." There's much benefit of a purely positive site, and it's not the government; it's just some lady.
So, anyway, a few weeks ago, I realized that there were probably men who wanted to submit to the site but didn't own digital cameras or know how to take a good phallic self-portrait. So I volunteered my services. Mrs. Candy kindly posted my contact information on her site, and within a few hours I had heard from two men! In total, I've had responses from four, but only one has thus far had the initiative to actually try to schedule a time. And he was the focus of yesterday early afternoon.
Scott is a 26-year-old starting his residency in dentistry. I may write a guest post for Mrs. Candy on my experience, so I won't go into too many details here, but in a nutshell, he's a friendly, normal (but not TOO normal), chill and gentlemanly fellow with a nice body and a very nice penis. We had a pretty easy time talking and an only slightly awkward time shooting. He brought an atrocious porno (NB: judgment based on occasional glances as I changed angle) in an Ella Fitzgerald case. Nice. He's also a good Jewish boy—and a doctor, if of teeth—so you could bring him home to mom...if these things matter to mom. The lighting was decent in my living room, so the shots came out pretty well. Overall, a very positive experience. Now to see if they make it onto the site. I hope they do. If so, I'll link to them...even though the vast majority of the people who read this blog like men (if not only men), you didn't come here to see penises, so I won't put them here. Right-o.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Out of Style
It's time for a bitch post! Here's one of my pet peeves: People who correct grammar incorrectly. Well, perhaps incorrectly is the wrong word: People who correct grammar ungenerously and uncreatively. Sure, everyone's annoyed with people who say "between you and I," that's nothing new, but here are some of my annoyances:
"Ugh, I don't feel well."
"What? Are there no nerve endings in your fingertips? Are you somehow just untalented or unskilled at feeling? I think what you meant is 'I don't feel good.'"
No, motherfucker! "Well" can mean healthy. It's an adjective in addition to an adverb. Yes, it also can be a noun or a verb (how versatile!), but that's not what's at issue here. What's at issue is that "wellness" means "health," and it is perfectly acceptable to say "I don't feel well."
"I'm so happy; I am literally on cloud nine."
"Really? Is that where we are now? Or is it just you there and I'm not there, too. How can you be...OH, you meant you're figuratively on cloud nine. That's what you meant, right?"
No, sugartits! Your friend didn't mean figuratively. He was using the word 'literally' as hyperbole. He was exaggerating. He was trying to make a point by taking an expression that's lost a lot of its power back to its etymology by reminding you of the meaning. Sure, it's a strange technique—the exaggeration is actually a flat out lie—but don't think the diction is incorrect. It's just bizarre.
Anyone have anything to add?
"Ugh, I don't feel well."
"What? Are there no nerve endings in your fingertips? Are you somehow just untalented or unskilled at feeling? I think what you meant is 'I don't feel good.'"
No, motherfucker! "Well" can mean healthy. It's an adjective in addition to an adverb. Yes, it also can be a noun or a verb (how versatile!), but that's not what's at issue here. What's at issue is that "wellness" means "health," and it is perfectly acceptable to say "I don't feel well."
"I'm so happy; I am literally on cloud nine."
"Really? Is that where we are now? Or is it just you there and I'm not there, too. How can you be...OH, you meant you're figuratively on cloud nine. That's what you meant, right?"
No, sugartits! Your friend didn't mean figuratively. He was using the word 'literally' as hyperbole. He was exaggerating. He was trying to make a point by taking an expression that's lost a lot of its power back to its etymology by reminding you of the meaning. Sure, it's a strange technique—the exaggeration is actually a flat out lie—but don't think the diction is incorrect. It's just bizarre.
Anyone have anything to add?
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Advocate Sex Survey Results
I want to comment just a bit on the results of the Advocate's sex survey. The reason I'm commenting just a bit is because, well, they're exactly what one might expect. No real surprised. The only surprise, I'd say, is their choice to emphasize the total answers on each question instead of answers for men and women. For each response, they give the total number of people who checked the box, then how many men did, how many women, and the percentage of all people who gave that response, irrespective of sex. That gives some pretty skewed percentages.
For an example, let's look at question 9: During your lifetime, how many different same-sex partners have you had sex with? These are the percentages:
None: 5.60%
1: 6.95%
2-5: 20.24%
6-10: 12.72%
11-20: 12.18%
21-50: 14.44%
51-100: 9.92%
101-300: 9.58%
More than 300: 8.40%
Aw, how...conservative! The most popular category is 2-5 sex partners. That's not unreasonable at all! I have straight male friends who've had sex with more parters than that. Nearly a third are less-than-fivers. And people say that gay men are promiscuous...
But look at the percentages (they show you raw data, but not the percent) for gay men alone:
None: 4.51%
1: 3.42%
2-5: 14.32%
6-10: 11.46%
11-20: 13.28%
21-50: 17.32%
51-100: 12.50%
101-300: 11.98%
More than 300: 10.76%
The numbers themselves aren't THAT different, but there's a clear skew upwards. The most populated category now is 21-50 (I can only think of two friends who may fall in this category or above, and they ain't straight). Not even a third are less-than-teners. Over 10% have had more than 300 partners! Crazy mo-fos.
I actually wonder what these answers look like for straight people. I mean, given this isn't a scientific survey, but I think the Advocate's readership is probably fairly representative of the gay community. Stick this survey in Maxim, and what are the results? As I mentioned in a recent entry, I have a bit of a Jesus/Solomon complex (the male version of the Madonna/whore complex), and I want to know how Solomony these straight boys actually are.
One more weird result: Over 40% of male respondents said they had their first same-sex sexual experience before they turned 15. 18.75% had their first experience before they turned 12. I don't really know what to make of that. Hmph. Brain dead today.
For an example, let's look at question 9: During your lifetime, how many different same-sex partners have you had sex with? These are the percentages:
None: 5.60%
1: 6.95%
2-5: 20.24%
6-10: 12.72%
11-20: 12.18%
21-50: 14.44%
51-100: 9.92%
101-300: 9.58%
More than 300: 8.40%
Aw, how...conservative! The most popular category is 2-5 sex partners. That's not unreasonable at all! I have straight male friends who've had sex with more parters than that. Nearly a third are less-than-fivers. And people say that gay men are promiscuous...
But look at the percentages (they show you raw data, but not the percent) for gay men alone:
None: 4.51%
1: 3.42%
2-5: 14.32%
6-10: 11.46%
11-20: 13.28%
21-50: 17.32%
51-100: 12.50%
101-300: 11.98%
More than 300: 10.76%
The numbers themselves aren't THAT different, but there's a clear skew upwards. The most populated category now is 21-50 (I can only think of two friends who may fall in this category or above, and they ain't straight). Not even a third are less-than-teners. Over 10% have had more than 300 partners! Crazy mo-fos.
I actually wonder what these answers look like for straight people. I mean, given this isn't a scientific survey, but I think the Advocate's readership is probably fairly representative of the gay community. Stick this survey in Maxim, and what are the results? As I mentioned in a recent entry, I have a bit of a Jesus/Solomon complex (the male version of the Madonna/whore complex), and I want to know how Solomony these straight boys actually are.
One more weird result: Over 40% of male respondents said they had their first same-sex sexual experience before they turned 15. 18.75% had their first experience before they turned 12. I don't really know what to make of that. Hmph. Brain dead today.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Starchild Gets Earthly Medicine
A few days ago, a judge ordered that Starchild Abraham Cherrix receive traditional chemotherapy against his will and the will of his parents. Abraham is a 16 year old from Virginia with Hodgkin's. He wishes to receive alternative treatment in a Mexican clinic, because the first round of chemo he endured was too painful and draining. He believes the alternative treatment will cure him. Right.
The judge has received a lot of shit for his decision to force Abraham into conventional therapy against his will. The only guy who seems to be in favor of the decision is Orac. In his post responding to the blogger response to the ruling, he poses a few questions for those who oppose the decision. As my instinct says the decision is wrong, I want to look at those questions (and probably, in the end, concede that the ruling was the right one):
1. If Abraham and his parents chose crystal therapy or, like Christian Scientists, decided that they would use prayer alone to "cure" Abraham's lymphoma, would you be as adamant in your belief that the state should not intervene. If not, why not?
Yes, I see no difference between the alternative treatment he plans to use and truly bizarre forms of treatment. As far as I'm concerned, this is about the right of an underage patient and his parents to refuse treatmet. I'm assuming he's not using public funds for his alternative treatment, because in that case the ruling would be much more obvious.
2. If Abraham were 14 years old would you still think that the state has no business intervening in his care? (Consider the case of Katie Wernecke, which is often mentioned in the same discussions as Abraham's.) What about if Abraham were 12 years old? 10 years old? 8 years old? In other words, is the right of parents to decide medical care for their children absolute, and, if it is not, what are the specific situations in which the state is justified in intervening to overrule the decision of the parents?
This is really the key question here. It's also why I think, in the end, Orac is right. I do think Abraham is old enough to make his own decisions. If he wants to slowly kill himself (really, why is suicide illegal?) that should be his perogative. Unfortunately, whereas I think the age of consent for pretty much everything should be 15 or 16, the law thinks it should be 18. They err on the side of caution/dickishness. I disagree with our cutoff, but we need a cutoff. We can't evaluate every case on an individual basis and decide whether the candidate is mature enough to sign his own permission slips. So, before he's 18, we can't assume Abraham is giving consent to be killed. In that case, the parents are guilty of neglect, abuse, whatever. So, with annoyance at the age of consent, I concede that this means the judge was probably right.
3. Are there any circumstances you can envision in which the state should intervene to direct the medical care of a child against the parents' will? Please give a specific hypothetical example of such a case and explain how that is different from that of Abraham Cherrix.
This is another good question. The obvious issue is the child's consent. I'm sure many of the same people who are objecting to the decision would be equally upset if the judge ruled the other way, but Abraham did not agree with his parents' wishes. In other words, if the child desperately wants to live, but his parents are forcing him into slow suicide, this would be pretty bad. But, as discussed in post 3, the child can't actually consent. Therefore, any case that could be considered abuse--anything that's bad for the kid, independed of whether he wants it, because his wants have no legal standing--is cause for government intervention.
4. For those who think that the Hoxsey treatment is a valid medical option for the treatment of relapsed Hodgkin's lymphoma, please provide valid scientific and/or clinical evidence that it is any better than doing nothing. Testimonials do not count.
N/A, as is the case with #5.
So there it is. It's a boring answer perhaps: Kids should be able to sign off earlier, but since they can't the judge was justified. All right, Abraham. It's going to hurt. I'm sorry, but maybe because of it you'll live to see a day when you can legally kill yourself slowly.
The judge has received a lot of shit for his decision to force Abraham into conventional therapy against his will. The only guy who seems to be in favor of the decision is Orac. In his post responding to the blogger response to the ruling, he poses a few questions for those who oppose the decision. As my instinct says the decision is wrong, I want to look at those questions (and probably, in the end, concede that the ruling was the right one):
1. If Abraham and his parents chose crystal therapy or, like Christian Scientists, decided that they would use prayer alone to "cure" Abraham's lymphoma, would you be as adamant in your belief that the state should not intervene. If not, why not?
Yes, I see no difference between the alternative treatment he plans to use and truly bizarre forms of treatment. As far as I'm concerned, this is about the right of an underage patient and his parents to refuse treatmet. I'm assuming he's not using public funds for his alternative treatment, because in that case the ruling would be much more obvious.
2. If Abraham were 14 years old would you still think that the state has no business intervening in his care? (Consider the case of Katie Wernecke, which is often mentioned in the same discussions as Abraham's.) What about if Abraham were 12 years old? 10 years old? 8 years old? In other words, is the right of parents to decide medical care for their children absolute, and, if it is not, what are the specific situations in which the state is justified in intervening to overrule the decision of the parents?
This is really the key question here. It's also why I think, in the end, Orac is right. I do think Abraham is old enough to make his own decisions. If he wants to slowly kill himself (really, why is suicide illegal?) that should be his perogative. Unfortunately, whereas I think the age of consent for pretty much everything should be 15 or 16, the law thinks it should be 18. They err on the side of caution/dickishness. I disagree with our cutoff, but we need a cutoff. We can't evaluate every case on an individual basis and decide whether the candidate is mature enough to sign his own permission slips. So, before he's 18, we can't assume Abraham is giving consent to be killed. In that case, the parents are guilty of neglect, abuse, whatever. So, with annoyance at the age of consent, I concede that this means the judge was probably right.
3. Are there any circumstances you can envision in which the state should intervene to direct the medical care of a child against the parents' will? Please give a specific hypothetical example of such a case and explain how that is different from that of Abraham Cherrix.
This is another good question. The obvious issue is the child's consent. I'm sure many of the same people who are objecting to the decision would be equally upset if the judge ruled the other way, but Abraham did not agree with his parents' wishes. In other words, if the child desperately wants to live, but his parents are forcing him into slow suicide, this would be pretty bad. But, as discussed in post 3, the child can't actually consent. Therefore, any case that could be considered abuse--anything that's bad for the kid, independed of whether he wants it, because his wants have no legal standing--is cause for government intervention.
4. For those who think that the Hoxsey treatment is a valid medical option for the treatment of relapsed Hodgkin's lymphoma, please provide valid scientific and/or clinical evidence that it is any better than doing nothing. Testimonials do not count.
N/A, as is the case with #5.
So there it is. It's a boring answer perhaps: Kids should be able to sign off earlier, but since they can't the judge was justified. All right, Abraham. It's going to hurt. I'm sorry, but maybe because of it you'll live to see a day when you can legally kill yourself slowly.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
What's the Big Deal?
So, Bush vetoed the embryonic stem cell bill. What's everyone so worked up about? It's just a piece of legislation that would have increased the size of government and OH MY GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE HE VETOED THE STEM CELL BILL. It's possibly the most worthwhile piece of legislation that's passed through Congress in Bush's six years. It's true, I don't think the bill went nearly far enough—we really need therapeutic cloning to achieve the greatest promise of stem cells—but it would have allowed for much expanded research that could eventually create therapies and perhaps even cures for some of the most widespread and horrible diseases we face. Sure, those therapies are a ways away, which is exactly why we need to get cracking now. So by the time my parents are old enough to be at serious risk for a lot of these illnesses, and if not then, by the time my friends and I are, we will have some embryonic stem cell-related options.
I'm truly horrified by this veto. I'm horrified that the government won't fund research that could help and save so many people.
On to the self-centered part: Why am I so much more pissed off by this than I am by anti-abortion legislation? The basic reasoning is the same: A life is sacred as soon as it is conceived. I wholly disagree with that, but that's the argument, so why does it piss me off much more in one circumstance than in another? There are a few reasons I can pinpoint, some of which I'm OK with, and some of which I'm less proud of:
The Stakes are So Much Higher
According to the senators, therapies developed from embryonic stem cell research could help 100,000,000 Americans. That's a third of the country. I doubt that means now...I assume that means over the course of life. But in order to get those numbers for abortion, two-thirds of American women would get an abortion at some point in their lives. I don't know the exact stats, but I doubt the number is THAT high. Also, while not being able to get an abortion can ruin your life, hey, it's not Alzheimer's. Your ambitions could be shot, you can end up in the poorhouse, and you can be totally emotionally drained (I can't find the study, but research shows even people who want children are less happy after they've had kids. Seriously.) but you can control your limbs. You can remember who your parents are. You probably won't die. I'm cool with this reasoning...this isn't one I feel too guilty about.
Abortion's Currently Legal
So the threat doesn't seem THAT real. On the other hand, embryonic stem cell research really, really isn't happening. There's not a fight against it; there's a fight FOR it, and the burden's on us to save people. Great. This doesn't sound like reasoning I should feel bad about except for one thing: Abortion is illegal in South Dakota. In fact, embryonic stem cell research isn't illegal per se, it's just crappily funded. So there's really some parallel. And I just don't care that much about people in South Dakota, because I don't know them. I know that's not very good reasoning, but it's how I feel, because I'm only human. And on that note...
Madonna/Whore? Aren't We So Over That?
Why, yes, we are. But "if you have sex, what do you expect?" isn't the same thing as a Madonna/whore complex. OK, I should definitely back up a little: I believe—firmly, mentally, but perhaps not quite internally—that people deserve no less sympathy because they "brought something on themselves." I'm just as sad that you died because you stuck a fork in a socket as I am that you died because a stray bullet hit you. If you have a heart attack, I don't care whether you weigh 500 pounds or you run five miles every morning and eat naught but health food. I'm really sorry you had the heart attack. At least that's how I'd like to believe I feel. But there are some aspects of being human that suck—the need to divide the world into in-groups and out-groups is a biggie—and this impulse toward desert is one of them. Another study I can't find shows that people are much less likely to give charity to someone with an STD than they are to give charity to someone with a genetic disorder.
This is the reason I'm ashamed of. In the vast majority of cases, a person who got pregnant had some hand in that. On the one extreme, she very willingly slept with someone without any birth control while she was obviously ovulating. On the other extreme, she was raped. Most cases probably fall somewhere in the middle, with people being slightly negligent about their birth control...either not using it, possibly because they were drunk or misjudged timing, or being spotty with it or using condoms that were kept at the wrong temperature or moisture level or something. Should this matter that a woman had a hand in getting pregnant? No, it shouldn't at all. Once she has an unwanted pregnancy, she is a woman in need of a medical procedure. No questions about the past. But does this mitigate my anger relative to babies with type I diabetes, teenagers with MS, and 50-year-old with early onset Alzheimer's? Sadly, it kind of does. Ugh. I need to wash myself; I feel dirty.
The point is: This bill should have gone through. Blastocysts are not people. Not even close. And Sam Brownback insulted the intelligence of every member of the Senate. You go find the clip on YouTube. I can't bear to watch it again.
As a sidenote on the Madonna/whore complex thing. I've realized I actually kind of have one, but for men. Let's call it a Jesus/Solomon complex. I only deal in Jesi. And there aren't many of those. You know that. You've met men.
I'm truly horrified by this veto. I'm horrified that the government won't fund research that could help and save so many people.
On to the self-centered part: Why am I so much more pissed off by this than I am by anti-abortion legislation? The basic reasoning is the same: A life is sacred as soon as it is conceived. I wholly disagree with that, but that's the argument, so why does it piss me off much more in one circumstance than in another? There are a few reasons I can pinpoint, some of which I'm OK with, and some of which I'm less proud of:
The Stakes are So Much Higher
According to the senators, therapies developed from embryonic stem cell research could help 100,000,000 Americans. That's a third of the country. I doubt that means now...I assume that means over the course of life. But in order to get those numbers for abortion, two-thirds of American women would get an abortion at some point in their lives. I don't know the exact stats, but I doubt the number is THAT high. Also, while not being able to get an abortion can ruin your life, hey, it's not Alzheimer's. Your ambitions could be shot, you can end up in the poorhouse, and you can be totally emotionally drained (I can't find the study, but research shows even people who want children are less happy after they've had kids. Seriously.) but you can control your limbs. You can remember who your parents are. You probably won't die. I'm cool with this reasoning...this isn't one I feel too guilty about.
Abortion's Currently Legal
So the threat doesn't seem THAT real. On the other hand, embryonic stem cell research really, really isn't happening. There's not a fight against it; there's a fight FOR it, and the burden's on us to save people. Great. This doesn't sound like reasoning I should feel bad about except for one thing: Abortion is illegal in South Dakota. In fact, embryonic stem cell research isn't illegal per se, it's just crappily funded. So there's really some parallel. And I just don't care that much about people in South Dakota, because I don't know them. I know that's not very good reasoning, but it's how I feel, because I'm only human. And on that note...
Madonna/Whore? Aren't We So Over That?
Why, yes, we are. But "if you have sex, what do you expect?" isn't the same thing as a Madonna/whore complex. OK, I should definitely back up a little: I believe—firmly, mentally, but perhaps not quite internally—that people deserve no less sympathy because they "brought something on themselves." I'm just as sad that you died because you stuck a fork in a socket as I am that you died because a stray bullet hit you. If you have a heart attack, I don't care whether you weigh 500 pounds or you run five miles every morning and eat naught but health food. I'm really sorry you had the heart attack. At least that's how I'd like to believe I feel. But there are some aspects of being human that suck—the need to divide the world into in-groups and out-groups is a biggie—and this impulse toward desert is one of them. Another study I can't find shows that people are much less likely to give charity to someone with an STD than they are to give charity to someone with a genetic disorder.
This is the reason I'm ashamed of. In the vast majority of cases, a person who got pregnant had some hand in that. On the one extreme, she very willingly slept with someone without any birth control while she was obviously ovulating. On the other extreme, she was raped. Most cases probably fall somewhere in the middle, with people being slightly negligent about their birth control...either not using it, possibly because they were drunk or misjudged timing, or being spotty with it or using condoms that were kept at the wrong temperature or moisture level or something. Should this matter that a woman had a hand in getting pregnant? No, it shouldn't at all. Once she has an unwanted pregnancy, she is a woman in need of a medical procedure. No questions about the past. But does this mitigate my anger relative to babies with type I diabetes, teenagers with MS, and 50-year-old with early onset Alzheimer's? Sadly, it kind of does. Ugh. I need to wash myself; I feel dirty.
The point is: This bill should have gone through. Blastocysts are not people. Not even close. And Sam Brownback insulted the intelligence of every member of the Senate. You go find the clip on YouTube. I can't bear to watch it again.
As a sidenote on the Madonna/whore complex thing. I've realized I actually kind of have one, but for men. Let's call it a Jesus/Solomon complex. I only deal in Jesi. And there aren't many of those. You know that. You've met men.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
On Barres On Women in Science
Stanford professor Ben Barres has an editorial in Nature this week arguing against what he terms the "Larry Summers Hypothesis:" Women don't make as strong a showing in science because of innate ability.
First of all, I think it's more than a little unfair to term this the Larry Summers Hypothesis. Summers said in his notorious speech, "different socialization and patterns of discrimination in a search" is the third most important factor in why women aren't achieving. He also said the most important factor was the "high-powered job hypothesis:" Men are prepared to commit more hours to their jobs, at least partially because women have to choose between high-commitment jobs and family life. The middle factor was intrinsic aptitude, and he frames the difference in aptitude as a difference in standard deviation, which only affects the extremes to a severe extent. He doesn't deal with average differences. So that's why I think the name of this hypothesis is unfair.
Briefly, dwelling on Summers, Barres indirectly acknowledges that Summers is on target with his MOST important reason why women aren't achieving: "Women faculty, in particular, need help from their institutions in balancing career and family responsibilities." This means there is a real effect of women not being able to commit time. Great. You two boys are in agreement.
Barres spends relatively little his space actually arguing that the data say intrinsic aptitude is not a factor, although some of his numbers are compelling. A third of top Putnam scorers are women, and a study of 20,000 kids showed no difference in math scores between the genders. I'm a little suspicious of that because, again, we're not looking at means, just extremes, and there are about 5 kids in that 20,000 who fit our definition of extreme. Finding no difference there is still not really significant. (Someone tell me if this is flawed statistical reasoning) [Update: I realize in the morning light that this is, indeed, horrible reasoning. With 20,000 subjects you can easily determine a curve and a standard deviation and extrapolate this to the extremes, even if your extreme data doesn't match this perfectly. Still, I would like to see that these curves and not just their averages are identical.]
Most of Barres's essay is showing evidence that there is real, real discrimination. This is nicely underscored by his personal story. Ben Barres was Barbara Barres until only about 10 years ago, and so he is a unique (read: rare) position to compare how people treat men and how people treat women. Admittedly, it's not a scientific comparison...the difference between Barbara and Ben isn't PURELY gender; how a personality and set of mannerisms interact with one's gender is a strong, strong factor in how a person is perceived. Still, his position is special and should be considered. So after he transition, people treated him and his research with an obscene increase in respect. The money quote from the editorial is from a professor who saw him give a talk right after he transitioned, "Ben Barres gave a great seminar today, but then his work is much better than his sister's." Ooh. Zing.
The most persuasive part of the essay, I'd say, is the evidence that women face discrimination, "one study found that women applying for a research grant
needed to be 2.5 times more productive than men in order to be considered equally competent." There is perhaps too little statistical evidence in the editorial, but there is some.
And some of his studies are a little shaky, "A 2002 study did find a gender gap in competitiveness in financial tournaments, but the authors suggested that this was due to differences in self confidence rather than ability." Suggested? I don't yet know why to take his word on it. Even if the problem is self-esteem, I don't want to take anyone's word that this is caused by discouragement and not by nature. Gimme more info.
In sum, he convinces me that there is legitimate discrimination, but I am not totally convinced that both ability at the extremes and willingness to forsake family to commit are not equally important factors. If that study on productivity is totally legit, that would strengthen his claim a lot. I'm just initially wary. It's a decidedly important editorial, and I think this conversation should be ongoing. I'm glad he's kicked it up again.
First of all, I think it's more than a little unfair to term this the Larry Summers Hypothesis. Summers said in his notorious speech, "different socialization and patterns of discrimination in a search" is the third most important factor in why women aren't achieving. He also said the most important factor was the "high-powered job hypothesis:" Men are prepared to commit more hours to their jobs, at least partially because women have to choose between high-commitment jobs and family life. The middle factor was intrinsic aptitude, and he frames the difference in aptitude as a difference in standard deviation, which only affects the extremes to a severe extent. He doesn't deal with average differences. So that's why I think the name of this hypothesis is unfair.
Briefly, dwelling on Summers, Barres indirectly acknowledges that Summers is on target with his MOST important reason why women aren't achieving: "Women faculty, in particular, need help from their institutions in balancing career and family responsibilities." This means there is a real effect of women not being able to commit time. Great. You two boys are in agreement.
Barres spends relatively little his space actually arguing that the data say intrinsic aptitude is not a factor, although some of his numbers are compelling. A third of top Putnam scorers are women, and a study of 20,000 kids showed no difference in math scores between the genders. I'm a little suspicious of that because, again, we're not looking at means, just extremes, and there are about 5 kids in that 20,000 who fit our definition of extreme. Finding no difference there is still not really significant. (Someone tell me if this is flawed statistical reasoning) [Update: I realize in the morning light that this is, indeed, horrible reasoning. With 20,000 subjects you can easily determine a curve and a standard deviation and extrapolate this to the extremes, even if your extreme data doesn't match this perfectly. Still, I would like to see that these curves and not just their averages are identical.]
Most of Barres's essay is showing evidence that there is real, real discrimination. This is nicely underscored by his personal story. Ben Barres was Barbara Barres until only about 10 years ago, and so he is a unique (read: rare) position to compare how people treat men and how people treat women. Admittedly, it's not a scientific comparison...the difference between Barbara and Ben isn't PURELY gender; how a personality and set of mannerisms interact with one's gender is a strong, strong factor in how a person is perceived. Still, his position is special and should be considered. So after he transition, people treated him and his research with an obscene increase in respect. The money quote from the editorial is from a professor who saw him give a talk right after he transitioned, "Ben Barres gave a great seminar today, but then his work is much better than his sister's." Ooh. Zing.
The most persuasive part of the essay, I'd say, is the evidence that women face discrimination, "one study found that women applying for a research grant
needed to be 2.5 times more productive than men in order to be considered equally competent." There is perhaps too little statistical evidence in the editorial, but there is some.
And some of his studies are a little shaky, "A 2002 study did find a gender gap in competitiveness in financial tournaments, but the authors suggested that this was due to differences in self confidence rather than ability." Suggested? I don't yet know why to take his word on it. Even if the problem is self-esteem, I don't want to take anyone's word that this is caused by discouragement and not by nature. Gimme more info.
In sum, he convinces me that there is legitimate discrimination, but I am not totally convinced that both ability at the extremes and willingness to forsake family to commit are not equally important factors. If that study on productivity is totally legit, that would strengthen his claim a lot. I'm just initially wary. It's a decidedly important editorial, and I think this conversation should be ongoing. I'm glad he's kicked it up again.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
I ♥ NY
Judge R.S. Smith, your ass is mine.
(No, NSA, I don't mean that literally. More to the point, I don't mean that seriously. I very clearly don't mean it literally. Anyway...)
Today the highest court in my favorite state in the land ruled against gay marriage. Now, when I saw the verdict, I was only minorly pissed. I'm not intimately familiar with our state constitution (heck, I could barely tell you how a bill becomes a law...or how a bill becomes a bill, for that matter). It was entirely possible that sending the issue to the states was the best step. That is, it was entirely possible, until I started reading the decision. Motherfucker! What a douche. I really just disagree with most of his premises, his methods, and his conclusions. I'll go through them until I feel like stopping, which will probably be after the "can rationally believe..." section.
OK, Domestic Relations Law implies clearly that marirages are to be between members of the opposite sex because of terms like "husband" and "wife." I buy that. Moving on to the Constitution...
The plaintiffs want to say the law goes against both the Equal Protection Clause ("No person shall be denied the equal protection of the laws of this State or any subdivision thereof") and the Due Process Clause ("No person shall be deprived of life, liberty or property without due process of law"). Judge Smith (hereafter Jud Smee) acknowledges the many benefits of marriage.
He writes, "The critical question is whether a rational legislature could decide that these benefits should be given to members of opposite-sex couples, but not same-sex couples." So this is what he wants to figure out. Is there any possible rational reason for denying these benefits to same-sex couples--or, to phrase it in the way he seems to think of it, to grant them only to opposite-sex couples. First of all, I think that's a major distinction. He really seems to see marriage not as a fundamental right at all, but as something the state can choose to grant to someone if it foresees state benefit. I don't really think this is the right way to look at it...marriage, as the conservatives tell us, is an institution that has been around for a very long time. We expect marriage. It's not a privilege the state decides to grant...it is an expected part of adult life. Moving on...he concludes that there are two rational reasons why the state would support marriage for one kind of couple but not the other.
"First, the Legislature could rationally decide that, for the welfare of children, it is more important to promote stability, and to avoid instability, in opposite-sex than in same-sex relationships." What's his reasoning for this? The "vast majority of children" are born in heterosexual relationships. It's true. But since when do we oppress the minority of children? There are children regularly, if not frequently, being born into gay relationships. He says that the legislature could find that the unions that bring about children (straight ones) are too unstable, and it is to the benefit of children to stabilize them via the tool of marriage. Since gay couples don't have kids by accident, this doesn't apply to them. I suppose this could be rational...if we were just coming up with the idea of marriage today. "Hey, there are too many babies without fathers. Maybe if we provide an incentive for them to stay, they will!" Does he really think any rational person TODAY thinks of marriage solely as an institution to give love children stable homes? To protect kids born as a "result of accident or impulse?" Because people can't control their genitals, when they fuck and fuck up and have kids, we need to bribe the parents into taking care of them. Is it just me, or is this part of the reasoning astoundingly odd?
"There is a second reason: The Legislature could rationally believe that it is better, other things being equal, for children to grow up with both a mother and a father." Oh, this old saw. I need to let Jud Smee continue here, for just another sentence: "Intuition and experience suggest that a child benefits from having before his or her eyes, every day, living models of what both a man and a woman are like." Oh, well, if intuition and experience say so, then it must be rational to believe it. First of all...intuition? Aren't we sure intuition is frequently mistaken. I'm sure I intuit many wrong things...first impressions of people, physical laws, etc. The only way intuition gets any credit is if it's based on experience or research, so let's turn to that. What experience does he mean? He talks about a "general rule" that this is so. Where does this come from? Has he really compared and contrasted living situations? Does he think most people have? The experience that YOU benefited from both of your parents doesn't count. One example is not enough to base a rational decision on. And just because many people make irrational conclusions, doesn't make those conclusions rational. (Plus, every adult I know is messed up. Every day, living models are most likely mediocre if not downright bad every day, living models.)
He goes on to talk about social science studies: "[T]he studies on their face do not
establish beyond doubt that children fare equally well in samesex and opposite-sex households. What they show, at most, is that rather limited observation has detected no marked differences." I've looked at these studies and, yeah, they're based on small samples. But they're based on statistically significant samples and they do show no marked differences. While this may not be totally conclusive, it does mean there's no scientific reason to think kids will do worse. Jud Smee acknowledges this but says the lawmakers could proceed "on the common-sense premise that children will do best with a mother and father in the home." It's not common sense...it's totally unbased! Since these studies show kids do as well, if people had any experience with kids raised by two moms or two dads, they'd know (collectively) that those kids do just as well. Intuition or "common-sense" without this experience is meaningless and not a basis for a rational decision.
OK, that's all the Jud Smee I can take for now. His decision just irked me. I'm not editing this, so there may be random errors...sorry for those. And, yeah, it's annoying how he talks about "sexual preference." That's poor form, Jud Smee. Poor form, indeed. Well, hopefully if/when Spitzer's in charge of this state he'll push gay marriage through the legislature. It's time we realize we're fucking people over and not helping anyone. No, legally it's not a PERFECT parallel to Loving v. Virginia and all the interracial marriage stuff, but I'm convinced the emotions behind it are the same. Gay people are a convenient "other." Come on, kids. Gay people aren't the other...they're not exactly like straight people, but I think if the crazy right people got to know a few, they'd realize they're just people...as fucked up as straight folks, but just as great, too. (And occasionally, just a little bit greater. Shh.)
(No, NSA, I don't mean that literally. More to the point, I don't mean that seriously. I very clearly don't mean it literally. Anyway...)
Today the highest court in my favorite state in the land ruled against gay marriage. Now, when I saw the verdict, I was only minorly pissed. I'm not intimately familiar with our state constitution (heck, I could barely tell you how a bill becomes a law...or how a bill becomes a bill, for that matter). It was entirely possible that sending the issue to the states was the best step. That is, it was entirely possible, until I started reading the decision. Motherfucker! What a douche. I really just disagree with most of his premises, his methods, and his conclusions. I'll go through them until I feel like stopping, which will probably be after the "can rationally believe..." section.
OK, Domestic Relations Law implies clearly that marirages are to be between members of the opposite sex because of terms like "husband" and "wife." I buy that. Moving on to the Constitution...
The plaintiffs want to say the law goes against both the Equal Protection Clause ("No person shall be denied the equal protection of the laws of this State or any subdivision thereof") and the Due Process Clause ("No person shall be deprived of life, liberty or property without due process of law"). Judge Smith (hereafter Jud Smee) acknowledges the many benefits of marriage.
He writes, "The critical question is whether a rational legislature could decide that these benefits should be given to members of opposite-sex couples, but not same-sex couples." So this is what he wants to figure out. Is there any possible rational reason for denying these benefits to same-sex couples--or, to phrase it in the way he seems to think of it, to grant them only to opposite-sex couples. First of all, I think that's a major distinction. He really seems to see marriage not as a fundamental right at all, but as something the state can choose to grant to someone if it foresees state benefit. I don't really think this is the right way to look at it...marriage, as the conservatives tell us, is an institution that has been around for a very long time. We expect marriage. It's not a privilege the state decides to grant...it is an expected part of adult life. Moving on...he concludes that there are two rational reasons why the state would support marriage for one kind of couple but not the other.
"First, the Legislature could rationally decide that, for the welfare of children, it is more important to promote stability, and to avoid instability, in opposite-sex than in same-sex relationships." What's his reasoning for this? The "vast majority of children" are born in heterosexual relationships. It's true. But since when do we oppress the minority of children? There are children regularly, if not frequently, being born into gay relationships. He says that the legislature could find that the unions that bring about children (straight ones) are too unstable, and it is to the benefit of children to stabilize them via the tool of marriage. Since gay couples don't have kids by accident, this doesn't apply to them. I suppose this could be rational...if we were just coming up with the idea of marriage today. "Hey, there are too many babies without fathers. Maybe if we provide an incentive for them to stay, they will!" Does he really think any rational person TODAY thinks of marriage solely as an institution to give love children stable homes? To protect kids born as a "result of accident or impulse?" Because people can't control their genitals, when they fuck and fuck up and have kids, we need to bribe the parents into taking care of them. Is it just me, or is this part of the reasoning astoundingly odd?
"There is a second reason: The Legislature could rationally believe that it is better, other things being equal, for children to grow up with both a mother and a father." Oh, this old saw. I need to let Jud Smee continue here, for just another sentence: "Intuition and experience suggest that a child benefits from having before his or her eyes, every day, living models of what both a man and a woman are like." Oh, well, if intuition and experience say so, then it must be rational to believe it. First of all...intuition? Aren't we sure intuition is frequently mistaken. I'm sure I intuit many wrong things...first impressions of people, physical laws, etc. The only way intuition gets any credit is if it's based on experience or research, so let's turn to that. What experience does he mean? He talks about a "general rule" that this is so. Where does this come from? Has he really compared and contrasted living situations? Does he think most people have? The experience that YOU benefited from both of your parents doesn't count. One example is not enough to base a rational decision on. And just because many people make irrational conclusions, doesn't make those conclusions rational. (Plus, every adult I know is messed up. Every day, living models are most likely mediocre if not downright bad every day, living models.)
He goes on to talk about social science studies: "[T]he studies on their face do not
establish beyond doubt that children fare equally well in samesex and opposite-sex households. What they show, at most, is that rather limited observation has detected no marked differences." I've looked at these studies and, yeah, they're based on small samples. But they're based on statistically significant samples and they do show no marked differences. While this may not be totally conclusive, it does mean there's no scientific reason to think kids will do worse. Jud Smee acknowledges this but says the lawmakers could proceed "on the common-sense premise that children will do best with a mother and father in the home." It's not common sense...it's totally unbased! Since these studies show kids do as well, if people had any experience with kids raised by two moms or two dads, they'd know (collectively) that those kids do just as well. Intuition or "common-sense" without this experience is meaningless and not a basis for a rational decision.
OK, that's all the Jud Smee I can take for now. His decision just irked me. I'm not editing this, so there may be random errors...sorry for those. And, yeah, it's annoying how he talks about "sexual preference." That's poor form, Jud Smee. Poor form, indeed. Well, hopefully if/when Spitzer's in charge of this state he'll push gay marriage through the legislature. It's time we realize we're fucking people over and not helping anyone. No, legally it's not a PERFECT parallel to Loving v. Virginia and all the interracial marriage stuff, but I'm convinced the emotions behind it are the same. Gay people are a convenient "other." Come on, kids. Gay people aren't the other...they're not exactly like straight people, but I think if the crazy right people got to know a few, they'd realize they're just people...as fucked up as straight folks, but just as great, too. (And occasionally, just a little bit greater. Shh.)
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
A Weekend in the Country
BEST WEEKEND EVER. No, I really mean it. I actually don't think I've ever had a better weekend, both in terms of actual happenings and my spirits throughout the three and a half days. I mean, I wound up on all fours in the dirt vomiting into the side of a mountain and it was STILL the best weekend ever. I don't recommend that particular activity—I recommend drinking lots of water before the hike and avoiding the migraine—but I do recommend going to your friend's family's place in the Adirondacks with a bunch of your favorite college pals for a long, July 4th weekend. And while I'm recommending, I recommend keeping sexuality out of the whole thing and concentrating on fresh air, great scenery, physical activity and amazing friends. Rock the fuck ON.
Friday after work I took the PATH to Hoboken to meet Vijay at Stevens, where he's currently post-docing. I definitely heart the PATH...cheaper than the subway and just as fast. We met up with Emily and Haninah and hit the road with some shockingly good Greek food. When we got to the cabin in bustling Keene, NY, it seemed like nobody was there. We walked in, dropped our stuff on beds and followed faint laugher to the bunkhouse where lots of wonderful people (I believe at that point it was Becky, Dave, Brad, Casandra, and Sarah) were finishing up a highly competitive game of Monopoly. We grabbed beers and just a few minutes later, Jen and Lee walked in, bringing our number to a respectable 11. We chatted and joked until about 3 am and all crashed for the eve.
Saturday morning we all convened outside for breakfast. Whereas the night before we were stunned by the stars, then we were stunned by the mountain view. I played a mean game of Bocce with Jen and Dave, who then had to leave for his grandfather's funeral. Yeah, not the highlight there. We also got introduced to the awesome dog, Lulu, pictured with Brad at right (I really like that shot). We, now Daveless and Leeless due to the funeral and general exhaustion, respectively, took a short hike. The top of the mountain was just about the windiest place ever, so we didn't spend too long up there, just long enough to let Cas celebrate Canadia Day (that's that weird moose-ish country, right?), as you can see below. Saturday evening we stopped at the deliciously neighborhoody Noon Mark Diner before a great fireworks display. The friends devised a firework rating system that eventually had to be normalized. We said the newly rated fireworks must feel like people from our grade who got 1600s on their SATs and will now be thought less-than-brilliant students when they attempt to boast. Poor newly marked 7s on the firework scale. Woe to the firework of moderate size with only one explosion.
On Sunday more people arrived. Woo! Alexandria showed up, Hannah in tow, and Brad went to grab Daniel Effon and came back with both him and Noa Wheeler: two great surprises in the "people I've always really liked but never spent quite enough time with" category. I went with Jen, Lee and Alexandria to ice skate at the Olympic arena, where there were four rinks, none of them open to the public. GREAT. So we went to the lake next to Lake Placid and played word games with Daniel and Noa. Much fun. We headed to a great place called Caribbean Cowboy where I had a totally rockin' blue cheese burger and sat with Brad, Cas and Daniel (who has one of the world's winninger smiles). Good table. Good times. That night was hanging out in the pavilion, a wood gazebo about 50 yards from the cabin. Alexandria did some mad fiddling to Hannah's guitar background and we roasted s'mores in the fire.
Monday was a mad rush to get crepes for Jen, who'd been wanting them bad since two years ago when she visited the same place. We made it by noon, when they'd told us they stopped serving the day before, but it turned out that on Mondays it was 11:30. Well fuck you, too, crepe place! So Lee, Sarah and I headed back to go hiking (Jen kindly drove us), while Alexandria stayed with Brad's car, which dropped off Cas on her 18 mile run (training much?). We hiked up Cascade, one of the 46 Adirondacks over 4000 feet. Things got so sweaty Dave and the other guys had to take their shirts off. What a shame. Can't you feel my salty, wet tears? Right. The climb was harsh, and on the way up, I realized my head started throbbing every time we stopped, but I didn't think much of it...heads will throb. Besides, we were playing some serious Botticelli. 
Apparently Sarah Gustafson is the most cultured person in the world. We spent an hour getting her down to "Renaissance Italian man involved in music, but not mainly a composer, player or commissioner, starts with S ends in US." She kept fending off our stumpers! But really, can you get that? It wasn't until Becky said "maybe an instrument maker?" that we all simultaneously turned around and screamed "STRADIVARIUS!" By that point we were victoriously on the glorious summit. Woohoo! And that's when the headache started to kick into gear. About halfway down the mountain I told them I needed to stop: My stomach was NOT doing well. After a few minutes, I told them to head up a few yards, I'd be there soon. Which is how I wound up on my hands and knees in the dirt, vomiting in the woods. My entire body buzzed afterwards. My limbs felt ridiculously light, like I could hardly control their movement. I did the vomiting thing once more, but we made it down, and when we got back into the house, despite being as sweaty and dirty as I've ever been, I crashed on my bed and slept for an hour.
When I got up and showered, the bbq in the pavilion was ready. The food was great and the migraine proved to be excellent X-treme catharsis. I felt buzzy but totally calm. After dinner we gathered round the fire (of doom!) and sang folk songs, including my new favorite, "The MTA Song," a political ditty about a man who gets stuck on the Boston subway for life due to a sudden fare increase. The only way to prevent yourself from ending up like poor Charlie is to "Vote for George O'Brien!" It's pretty hilarious. The other song I'm obsessed with post-trip is Silvia Nott's "Til Hamingju Island," the Icelandic entry in Eurovision 2006 that Vijay played in the car. Totally awesome. After dinner it was to bed, Alexandria now next to me, thanks to Haninah's unexpected (HA) absence.
The following morning was all about waffles, packing up and heading back. And that's all there is to tell for now folks. The best weekend ever concludes. Now to make it the best week ever: Hey, NY Supreme Court...want to rule for gay marriages? That'd be good.
Friday after work I took the PATH to Hoboken to meet Vijay at Stevens, where he's currently post-docing. I definitely heart the PATH...cheaper than the subway and just as fast. We met up with Emily and Haninah and hit the road with some shockingly good Greek food. When we got to the cabin in bustling Keene, NY, it seemed like nobody was there. We walked in, dropped our stuff on beds and followed faint laugher to the bunkhouse where lots of wonderful people (I believe at that point it was Becky, Dave, Brad, Casandra, and Sarah) were finishing up a highly competitive game of Monopoly. We grabbed beers and just a few minutes later, Jen and Lee walked in, bringing our number to a respectable 11. We chatted and joked until about 3 am and all crashed for the eve.
Saturday morning we all convened outside for breakfast. Whereas the night before we were stunned by the stars, then we were stunned by the mountain view. I played a mean game of Bocce with Jen and Dave, who then had to leave for his grandfather's funeral. Yeah, not the highlight there. We also got introduced to the awesome dog, Lulu, pictured with Brad at right (I really like that shot). We, now Daveless and Leeless due to the funeral and general exhaustion, respectively, took a short hike. The top of the mountain was just about the windiest place ever, so we didn't spend too long up there, just long enough to let Cas celebrate Canadia Day (that's that weird moose-ish country, right?), as you can see below. Saturday evening we stopped at the deliciously neighborhoody Noon Mark Diner before a great fireworks display. The friends devised a firework rating system that eventually had to be normalized. We said the newly rated fireworks must feel like people from our grade who got 1600s on their SATs and will now be thought less-than-brilliant students when they attempt to boast. Poor newly marked 7s on the firework scale. Woe to the firework of moderate size with only one explosion.
On Sunday more people arrived. Woo! Alexandria showed up, Hannah in tow, and Brad went to grab Daniel Effon and came back with both him and Noa Wheeler: two great surprises in the "people I've always really liked but never spent quite enough time with" category. I went with Jen, Lee and Alexandria to ice skate at the Olympic arena, where there were four rinks, none of them open to the public. GREAT. So we went to the lake next to Lake Placid and played word games with Daniel and Noa. Much fun. We headed to a great place called Caribbean Cowboy where I had a totally rockin' blue cheese burger and sat with Brad, Cas and Daniel (who has one of the world's winninger smiles). Good table. Good times. That night was hanging out in the pavilion, a wood gazebo about 50 yards from the cabin. Alexandria did some mad fiddling to Hannah's guitar background and we roasted s'mores in the fire.
Monday was a mad rush to get crepes for Jen, who'd been wanting them bad since two years ago when she visited the same place. We made it by noon, when they'd told us they stopped serving the day before, but it turned out that on Mondays it was 11:30. Well fuck you, too, crepe place! So Lee, Sarah and I headed back to go hiking (Jen kindly drove us), while Alexandria stayed with Brad's car, which dropped off Cas on her 18 mile run (training much?). We hiked up Cascade, one of the 46 Adirondacks over 4000 feet. Things got so sweaty Dave and the other guys had to take their shirts off. What a shame. Can't you feel my salty, wet tears? Right. The climb was harsh, and on the way up, I realized my head started throbbing every time we stopped, but I didn't think much of it...heads will throb. Besides, we were playing some serious Botticelli. 
Apparently Sarah Gustafson is the most cultured person in the world. We spent an hour getting her down to "Renaissance Italian man involved in music, but not mainly a composer, player or commissioner, starts with S ends in US." She kept fending off our stumpers! But really, can you get that? It wasn't until Becky said "maybe an instrument maker?" that we all simultaneously turned around and screamed "STRADIVARIUS!" By that point we were victoriously on the glorious summit. Woohoo! And that's when the headache started to kick into gear. About halfway down the mountain I told them I needed to stop: My stomach was NOT doing well. After a few minutes, I told them to head up a few yards, I'd be there soon. Which is how I wound up on my hands and knees in the dirt, vomiting in the woods. My entire body buzzed afterwards. My limbs felt ridiculously light, like I could hardly control their movement. I did the vomiting thing once more, but we made it down, and when we got back into the house, despite being as sweaty and dirty as I've ever been, I crashed on my bed and slept for an hour.
When I got up and showered, the bbq in the pavilion was ready. The food was great and the migraine proved to be excellent X-treme catharsis. I felt buzzy but totally calm. After dinner we gathered round the fire (of doom!) and sang folk songs, including my new favorite, "The MTA Song," a political ditty about a man who gets stuck on the Boston subway for life due to a sudden fare increase. The only way to prevent yourself from ending up like poor Charlie is to "Vote for George O'Brien!" It's pretty hilarious. The other song I'm obsessed with post-trip is Silvia Nott's "Til Hamingju Island," the Icelandic entry in Eurovision 2006 that Vijay played in the car. Totally awesome. After dinner it was to bed, Alexandria now next to me, thanks to Haninah's unexpected (HA) absence.The following morning was all about waffles, packing up and heading back. And that's all there is to tell for now folks. The best weekend ever concludes. Now to make it the best week ever: Hey, NY Supreme Court...want to rule for gay marriages? That'd be good.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
For Which It Stands
Bravi to the 34 Senators who saved us from the worst amendment of all time! Boo to the 66 who thought it would be a good idea to amend our Constitution to limit our freedoms. To outlaw flag-burning/defacing would be the least American thing in the world. This country is so great because we're allowed to speak out against our leaders, allowed to speak out against our laws, and, yes, allowed to speak out against the principles this country was founded on, even through the fairly offensive means of flag-burning. The soldiers who fought under our flag didn't fight for the Stars & Stripes, per se, they fought for what they stand for: freedom, justice, and democracy.
If we should allow Nazis to march (we should), if we should allow Pat Robertson to say Ellen DeGeneres caused Katrina (we should...she didn't...or I'll never believe James Hansen again), we should allow people to burn the flag. And the fact that most people supported this amendment reminds me how much I disrespect the average voter. All these mofos with their "us-them" mentalities. Our goal in life is not to squash the enemy...it's to strive toward better things. Sure, that sometimes involves squashing the enemy, but that's not the end, just a means.
In any case, here are the 34 Senators (including Joe) who aren't a disgrace to America:
Akaka (D-HI)
Bennett (R-UT)
Biden (D-DE)
Bingaman (D-NM)
Boxer (D-CA)
Byrd (D-WV)
Cantwell (D-WA)
Carper (D-DE)
Chafee (R-RI)
Clinton (D-NY)
Conrad (D-ND)
Dodd (D-CT)
Dorgan (D-ND)
Durbin (D-IL)
Feingold (D-WI)
Harkin (D-IA)
Inouye (D-HI)
Jeffords (I-VT)
Kennedy (D-MA)
Kerry (D-MA)
Kohl (D-WI)
Lautenberg (D-NJ)
Leahy (D-VT)
Levin (D-MI)
Lieberman (D-CT)
McConnell (R-KY)
Mikulski (D-MD)
Murray (D-WA)
Obama (D-IL)
Pryor (D-AR)
Reed (D-RI)
Sarbanes (D-MD)
Schumer (D-NY)
Wyden (D-OR)
If we should allow Nazis to march (we should), if we should allow Pat Robertson to say Ellen DeGeneres caused Katrina (we should...she didn't...or I'll never believe James Hansen again), we should allow people to burn the flag. And the fact that most people supported this amendment reminds me how much I disrespect the average voter. All these mofos with their "us-them" mentalities. Our goal in life is not to squash the enemy...it's to strive toward better things. Sure, that sometimes involves squashing the enemy, but that's not the end, just a means.
In any case, here are the 34 Senators (including Joe) who aren't a disgrace to America:
Akaka (D-HI)
Bennett (R-UT)
Biden (D-DE)
Bingaman (D-NM)
Boxer (D-CA)
Byrd (D-WV)
Cantwell (D-WA)
Carper (D-DE)
Chafee (R-RI)
Clinton (D-NY)
Conrad (D-ND)
Dodd (D-CT)
Dorgan (D-ND)
Durbin (D-IL)
Feingold (D-WI)
Harkin (D-IA)
Inouye (D-HI)
Jeffords (I-VT)
Kennedy (D-MA)
Kerry (D-MA)
Kohl (D-WI)
Lautenberg (D-NJ)
Leahy (D-VT)
Levin (D-MI)
Lieberman (D-CT)
McConnell (R-KY)
Mikulski (D-MD)
Murray (D-WA)
Obama (D-IL)
Pryor (D-AR)
Reed (D-RI)
Sarbanes (D-MD)
Schumer (D-NY)
Wyden (D-OR)
Monday, June 26, 2006
We Are Family
Since the last post was depressing, I'll follow it up immediately with something lighter. Yet another study came out today (done by the same people who've done all the previous studies to the same effect) showing that men who have multiple older brothers are more likely to be gay. With every older brother, your chances of being gay increase by about a third. Interesting stuff. One theory for why this is the case says that mothers eventually develop a certain immune response to all the foreign testosterone in the womb. So the boys don't get the typical amount of androgens at the point where the brain might develop an interest in the fairer sex. Nobody claims this accounts for the entirety of homosexuality (I mean, there are TWINS who have different sexual orientations...albeit fewer identical pairs, so genetics are involved). Still, here's a question:
Of the gay men you know, how many fit this pattern? When I mentioned this to V a week ago (before this specific study came out) he said it fit very well with the guys he knows. I'd always thought it didn't really fit, but then I realized, while I do know a bunch of gay men without older brothers, I can't think of any that have straight younger brothers. Maybe I'm not thinking of someone totally obvious, but here's the round-up, as far as I can think in this tired state:
Gay men I know with no straight younger brothers:
Greg
V
Mike L.
Lebowitzes
Perhaps other twins
Eric H.
Eric S.
Romero
Sergi (gay enough for my data)
Billy R.
Trevor McG.
Gay men with younger brothers whose s/os I don't know:
Jason F.
Chris P.
Steve B.
Assuming all three "don't knows" are straight (no idea), that probably means nothing. If only one is straight? I don't know. There are also a lot of gay dudes I know from college but don't know their sibling situations at all. Oh well, please let me know of gay men you know with definitively heterosexual younger brothers.
Of the gay men you know, how many fit this pattern? When I mentioned this to V a week ago (before this specific study came out) he said it fit very well with the guys he knows. I'd always thought it didn't really fit, but then I realized, while I do know a bunch of gay men without older brothers, I can't think of any that have straight younger brothers. Maybe I'm not thinking of someone totally obvious, but here's the round-up, as far as I can think in this tired state:
Gay men I know with no straight younger brothers:
Greg
V
Mike L.
Lebowitzes
Perhaps other twins
Eric H.
Eric S.
Romero
Sergi (gay enough for my data)
Billy R.
Trevor McG.
Gay men with younger brothers whose s/os I don't know:
Jason F.
Chris P.
Steve B.
Assuming all three "don't knows" are straight (no idea), that probably means nothing. If only one is straight? I don't know. There are also a lot of gay dudes I know from college but don't know their sibling situations at all. Oh well, please let me know of gay men you know with definitively heterosexual younger brothers.
Well, Bah
First, a question: Given everything we know about the NSA domestic spying program, is it unethical to bait them? I mean, sure, it's probably totally unconstitutional (blah, blah, blah), and sure, there's a good chance they may eventually use the information they've gleaned for matters other than national security. But assuming their intentions are pure (you can do it!), should we really be wasting their time by writing emails saying, "Crusaders for Zion are da bomb!" Because it really is so tempting, but given that this program may actually help national security, I think it's wrong to bait them. But we can see how seriously I take this by, oh, the presence of this blog entry. By the way, I'm convinced that every terrorist emailing in English (why?) has put the word "bomb" back instead of whatever codeword they were using and preceded it with "da" and followed it with several exclamation points. They're totally going to blend in with the 14 year old girls in the minds of the government. God, I hope not...
Second: I was groped on the way to work today. ARGH. I was walking along, admittedly spacing out a little more than is perhaps prudent (but it was 9:15 am, not exactly a crazy hour), and all of a sudden there's a hand on my breast. I flicked it off with my wrist and gave the guy the same "what the fuck?" look I give to cars that cut me off when I have a walk signal. I kind of wish I had, like, stood up for womankind and done more (e.g., broken his arm, told the traffic cop, etc.), but I was mostly just embarrassed that I looked vulnerable and interested in getting to work and reading about science. I was minorly shell-shocked for the rest of the walk.
In any case, it didn't improve my view of men at all. I'm not entirely convinced men don't walk around wishing they could touch anyone they find the remotest bit attractive. Clearly they don't touch them, because they know that's very wrong and inappropriate (and even the ones who do only do it when they believe they're not going to get into trouble). But that doesn't convince me that they don't all have that impulse. I kind of think they do. And it made me realize more than ever that I'm not with the vast majority of people who believe your goodness should be judged based on how adept you are at overcoming your sinful impulses and living ethically. I think your goodness is determined by whether you have those impulses or not. Your ethical character is how you act, but that's not what I look for in people, at least people I want to be close to. I want the people on the streets to be ethical, but I want my friends to be good. I want to like most of their impulses.
This is, I think, why I'm generally repulsed by most men (at least the straight ones). I don't care how they actually treat me as much as what their ultimate goal is...what they're aiming for. And I feel like every guy I've ever met has a big sign on his head saying "Looking to hook up," "Will make small-talk to make out," "Will buy dinner to get laid," or whatever. Ew to it all. I think I make fun of asexual people so much because in some weird way I know I'm one of them. No, I'm not actually asexual, but if I'm not interested in having sex (or anything approaching it) with any real people, I'm not THAT far off.
All right, this entry has far surpassed the TMI level, considering everyone I work with has this url. GREAT. Don't mention it at the office kids. Right-o.
Second: I was groped on the way to work today. ARGH. I was walking along, admittedly spacing out a little more than is perhaps prudent (but it was 9:15 am, not exactly a crazy hour), and all of a sudden there's a hand on my breast. I flicked it off with my wrist and gave the guy the same "what the fuck?" look I give to cars that cut me off when I have a walk signal. I kind of wish I had, like, stood up for womankind and done more (e.g., broken his arm, told the traffic cop, etc.), but I was mostly just embarrassed that I looked vulnerable and interested in getting to work and reading about science. I was minorly shell-shocked for the rest of the walk.
In any case, it didn't improve my view of men at all. I'm not entirely convinced men don't walk around wishing they could touch anyone they find the remotest bit attractive. Clearly they don't touch them, because they know that's very wrong and inappropriate (and even the ones who do only do it when they believe they're not going to get into trouble). But that doesn't convince me that they don't all have that impulse. I kind of think they do. And it made me realize more than ever that I'm not with the vast majority of people who believe your goodness should be judged based on how adept you are at overcoming your sinful impulses and living ethically. I think your goodness is determined by whether you have those impulses or not. Your ethical character is how you act, but that's not what I look for in people, at least people I want to be close to. I want the people on the streets to be ethical, but I want my friends to be good. I want to like most of their impulses.
This is, I think, why I'm generally repulsed by most men (at least the straight ones). I don't care how they actually treat me as much as what their ultimate goal is...what they're aiming for. And I feel like every guy I've ever met has a big sign on his head saying "Looking to hook up," "Will make small-talk to make out," "Will buy dinner to get laid," or whatever. Ew to it all. I think I make fun of asexual people so much because in some weird way I know I'm one of them. No, I'm not actually asexual, but if I'm not interested in having sex (or anything approaching it) with any real people, I'm not THAT far off.
All right, this entry has far surpassed the TMI level, considering everyone I work with has this url. GREAT. Don't mention it at the office kids. Right-o.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Wordplay
Just saw Wordplay with Brad and Adam. Those people put me and my mad x-word skills (finished puns & anagrams last week!) to SHAME. Now I'm inspired to write, although I have to think of a great theme and go from there. But first, today's puzzle while watching my funny news. I feel like a loser for not doing them every night. Yay, puzzles!
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
How To Be A Thrifty Addict
Prices vary from place to place...we've all seen gas in rural America or even New Jersey and nearly wet ourselves. Prices can also vary within one area between items of different quality. A couch, for example, can cost anywhere from, oh, $100 to $10,000. Then again, depending on the price, you'll be getting a vastly different couch. The $100 couch, if it's not used, will be ugly, small, uncomfortable and it will probably fall apart in two weeks. The $10,000 couch will be obscenely luxurious and every time you sit down you'll fall asleep. If the rest of your living space isn't beautiful, it will stick out like a sore thumb. But is there really THAT big of a difference in quality between different varieties of drip coffee? I've made up a bar(ista) graph for Manhattan:
Since the names are a little hard to see in the jpeg, I'll review: Gray's Papaya: $.25, Cart at 42nd and 9th: $.50, Cart at 22nd and 5th: $.65, Tartare (an independent shop on 9th b/w 45th and 46th): $1.00, Slave to the Grind (best coffee shop everrrrr): $1.50 (I think), Starbucks (in Manhattan): $1.79.
This is a pretty serious gradient of coffee prices! The most expensive (but really nothing special) is over 7 times pricier than the cheapest! That's over 3.5 times more expensive than the cheapest one that isn't a "special deal."
You may have seen the New York Times article on saving money post-college. It says to cut out your $3.50 latte in the mornings. Well, you don't need to cut it out to save money...just switch to drip coffee, preferably of the fitty-cent kind. And even if you're stuck on quality coffee, get it at an independent place, if you can find one near you. The $1.79 at the 'bucks is simply absurd. And so not worth it.
That's the most domestic advice I've ever given. Tally-ho, my sweeties!
Since the names are a little hard to see in the jpeg, I'll review: Gray's Papaya: $.25, Cart at 42nd and 9th: $.50, Cart at 22nd and 5th: $.65, Tartare (an independent shop on 9th b/w 45th and 46th): $1.00, Slave to the Grind (best coffee shop everrrrr): $1.50 (I think), Starbucks (in Manhattan): $1.79.This is a pretty serious gradient of coffee prices! The most expensive (but really nothing special) is over 7 times pricier than the cheapest! That's over 3.5 times more expensive than the cheapest one that isn't a "special deal."
You may have seen the New York Times article on saving money post-college. It says to cut out your $3.50 latte in the mornings. Well, you don't need to cut it out to save money...just switch to drip coffee, preferably of the fitty-cent kind. And even if you're stuck on quality coffee, get it at an independent place, if you can find one near you. The $1.79 at the 'bucks is simply absurd. And so not worth it.
That's the most domestic advice I've ever given. Tally-ho, my sweeties!
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Statues
On Sunday, the American Theater Wing gave out the Tonys...to many of the wrong people. A jukebox musical (although supposedly the best of the genre) won for best original musical, and Michael Cerveris and Patti LuPone got dicked over by the dude who plays Frankie Valli and LaChanze. Admittedly, I haven't actually SEEN Jersey Boys or The Color Purple but, first of all, I'm so sick to death of people winning for impersonations--fuck Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote, fuck Jamie Foxx in Ray...hell, fuck Johnny Depp in Pirate of the Caribbean; they're all great actors, but why give them their top accolades for channeling real people?--and second of all, I hear from my most trusted sources that neither of them was as awesome as the Sweeney Todd folks.
But despite the slightly unfortunate outcome, the evening was stellar. I dragged V and brought Adam to Greg's party in his apartment. The guest list was: Greg, me, V, Adam, Megan (Greg's roommate), Mike (Greg's other roommate), Rob (Mike's boyfriend), Ashish and Rachel (Greg's friends, a couple), Stephanie N. (awesome glee clubber whom I don't see enough...and Greg's friend), and Courtney and Marcello (roommates, and friends of Mike and Rob). I think that's it. It was great...what can I say? Watching theater with some of my favorite dorky men...making brilliantly hilarious catty comments with Greg and Vaughan...eating the delicious finger foods...staring at Mike's seriously overpumped arms...what else could one ask for in an evening? Well, deserving winners, I suppose, but not much else. Good times, great oldies.
But no KOOL 96.7! It's gone with the wind (say it with the long I). There is now no New York oldies station, and that's really, really depressing. I suppose my classic rock station is now as oldies as it gets. Shame, that.
So, today's been one of those hideously annoying days of perpetual pseudo-deja vu. About once every 45 minutes my mind quickly remembers a scene...whether it's from a dream or real life, I can't quite tell. But before I can actually place it or absorb what it is, it's gone, and I can't remember the glimpse I got. It's really quite frustrating. I know from experience (this happens from time to time), that try as I might, I will never be able to figure out where the scenes are from (they're all from the same thing, I think). I just need to accept it for the day, and I'll wake up feeling normal. Still, it's always disturbing when your body or mind betrays you. It's like feeling seriously nauseated...a constant you always count on is suddenly disturbed beyond your control. While the snippets feel intimately familiar when they come into my mind...who's to say they're actually from something, even a dream? It's wholly possible that they're just made up but have familiar feelings associated with them. It gives you perspective on how much of consciousness is controlled by hormones and not by actual thoughts. Creepy.
But despite the slightly unfortunate outcome, the evening was stellar. I dragged V and brought Adam to Greg's party in his apartment. The guest list was: Greg, me, V, Adam, Megan (Greg's roommate), Mike (Greg's other roommate), Rob (Mike's boyfriend), Ashish and Rachel (Greg's friends, a couple), Stephanie N. (awesome glee clubber whom I don't see enough...and Greg's friend), and Courtney and Marcello (roommates, and friends of Mike and Rob). I think that's it. It was great...what can I say? Watching theater with some of my favorite dorky men...making brilliantly hilarious catty comments with Greg and Vaughan...eating the delicious finger foods...staring at Mike's seriously overpumped arms...what else could one ask for in an evening? Well, deserving winners, I suppose, but not much else. Good times, great oldies.
But no KOOL 96.7! It's gone with the wind (say it with the long I). There is now no New York oldies station, and that's really, really depressing. I suppose my classic rock station is now as oldies as it gets. Shame, that.
So, today's been one of those hideously annoying days of perpetual pseudo-deja vu. About once every 45 minutes my mind quickly remembers a scene...whether it's from a dream or real life, I can't quite tell. But before I can actually place it or absorb what it is, it's gone, and I can't remember the glimpse I got. It's really quite frustrating. I know from experience (this happens from time to time), that try as I might, I will never be able to figure out where the scenes are from (they're all from the same thing, I think). I just need to accept it for the day, and I'll wake up feeling normal. Still, it's always disturbing when your body or mind betrays you. It's like feeling seriously nauseated...a constant you always count on is suddenly disturbed beyond your control. While the snippets feel intimately familiar when they come into my mind...who's to say they're actually from something, even a dream? It's wholly possible that they're just made up but have familiar feelings associated with them. It gives you perspective on how much of consciousness is controlled by hormones and not by actual thoughts. Creepy.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Pull the Switch
So, we got new interns at Seed this week. I'm pretty sad to see the old interns go...they were a very cool crowd, and hopefully I'll keep up with at least one or two of them. Anyway, one of the new interns is none other than Emily search foil Anthes, former Editor-in-Chief of the YDN. This is frickin' hilarious. In theory, I have a higher position at this company than a girl who spent her entire college life competently slaving over an (I'll admit it now) high-quality daily paper. Of course this is all a big farce...she just needs an internship to get her MIT science writing master's degree, and Seed has a very active internship. But it's still kind of funny.
So, when I was in Florence, I bought a tiny leather journal to write spare thoughts in...things I want to use for songs/plays/whatever later on. I left it at home, so here's my spare thought today: I think there should be a character who's confined to a wheelchair but has otherwise made himself so physically outrageous, through tattoos, piercings, etc, with the singular goal of having that be the first thing people say about him, instead of "he's confined to a wheelchair." I guess in my mental image of him, he failed.
So, when I was in Florence, I bought a tiny leather journal to write spare thoughts in...things I want to use for songs/plays/whatever later on. I left it at home, so here's my spare thought today: I think there should be a character who's confined to a wheelchair but has otherwise made himself so physically outrageous, through tattoos, piercings, etc, with the singular goal of having that be the first thing people say about him, instead of "he's confined to a wheelchair." I guess in my mental image of him, he failed.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Does Anyone Else...
Monday, May 29, 2006
The Great, Ambitious, All-In-One Italy Post!
[Update 06/04/06: Now with all three cities!]
I just flew in from Italy, and boy...ah, forget it. It's about 10 bajillion (10umpteenth) degrees in here—ooh, aren't these south-facing windows lovely?—and I have no patience for frivolity! Still, I plan to write a blindingly witty post that encompasses an entire week of traveling around Italy with my family. This will mostly be accomplished by putting in lots of pictures with clever or meaningful captions. You will be able to see all the beautiful things I have seen on the days when I felt like dragging my camera around. And so it begins.
See my last post for all the gritty details on my false start. After a hellish night of walking around my house alone, failing to form coherent sexual fantasies in lieu of general anxiety, and ending up at the piano only to find myself belting "I'm Still Here," I made it to JFK again. Everything went so shockingly smoothly on the second attempt that I was at the gate for my 1:30 pm flight at 10:20 am. Great.
On both of my flights I sat next to Europeans currently residing in the US: First a British artist who could got a job as an art/art history instructor at a college in Columbia, South Carolina (not his first choice of locale), and then an Italian gentleman currently residing in Virginia and only returning to Italy for business. I finally got to see King Kong on the flight to Italy and we only experienced a few minutes of insane turbulence or, as the pilot called it, "rough air." I adore the names they give painful flight..."We're going through a patch of rough air," "Please fasten your seatbelt, we're going to experience some weather," etc.
We landed, and Angelo drove me from the airport to the Hotel Britannia. He took the scenic route (of course...a stranger in a strange land doesn't know squat re cab fare) and I got to see a pit of the city, including the Colosseum, which the fam had seen while I was trying to sleep the night before. I also saw a sign that said (in Italian), "Catena: Quality Meat Since 1936." I didn't get to take a picture for Jen. Aw.
I only took one day of pictures in Rome, and that was the first day at the Vatican. Here we see light streaming into St. Peter's. Aw, God's smiling! St. Peter's is a rather vain little church, as it has markers on the floor showing where all other major cathedrals would come up to, were their entryways aligned. St. P's B is bigger than all of them. Much bigger.
We took a small, personal-ish tour around the Vatican with Hillary, a Brit currently living in Italy (and with a strange distaste for the UK) who gives lots of tours. She was occasionally discombobulated, but fun, entertaining and informative, and she couldn't stop talking about Rafael. "He was just gorgeous!" She made it sound like Rafael was so popular with the ladies, he died because he had an excruciatingly exhausting night of wild sex and fell so stricken that doctors did a blood letting and killed him. It sort of sounds like a load of crap to me, but I like the idea of Rafael being too hot to handle. She also ardently defended Michelangelo against charges of misogynism. I mean, I always thought he was just a huge homo, but apparently lots of people think he was really anti-women. I don't know...if I could make men as hot as Michelangelo's, I don't think I'd do many pieces of chicks either.
Ooh, there's the fam in the Vatican! The Jews are invading. Watch out...
Oh, I also committed a ridiculous faux pas by, um, lying down in the Sistine Chapel. I was called up immediately, but jeez louise, don't they realize that a packed room of cocked heads isn't the best way to appreciate art? And it's nice that they want everyone to be quiet, but the constant sushing is a little much. The chapel's pretty awesome, though. I liked the pairs of little gold men surrounding pillars...very theatrical and enticing.
I saw a hot priest as we were leaving the Vatican and tried to take a picture, but he stared me down. I did, however, find and purchase a "Hot Priests of Rome" calendar. To see it you'll have to visit me in my apartment.
On my first night in Italy I had a horrible meal. The concierge at the hotel sent us to, like, his friend's restaurant where my pizza had unripe (wan green) tomatoes and the house wine paled in comparison to Franzia. At least the meals got better. Best meal, in fact, was shortly after in the Jewish ghetto.
We got a tour of the old Jewish ghetto by this fun young Roman Jew named Micaela. She was very knowledgeable and very upbeat and went on a few rants about politics (the government is fascist, the church is a joke and a shame, etc). We learned quite a bit about the history of Jews in Rome, and the tour was a good chance to walk around a nice area of the city that wasn't a traditional tourist hot spot. For lunch we ate traditional Roman Jewish food (after we got closed out of our first choice restaurant because of my dad's attire: "I'm sorry sir, but...your shorts!"). We all had fried artichokes and I had a great pasta dish with dried meat. Mmm.
Also in Rome, we went on a hunt for the Pinko Bag. Eh? Pinko Bag? Natalie, far more fashion conscious than I (the best I can do is make fun of V when he wears more than three articles that scream Abercrombie...that was Saturday before I "left"), noticed that a bunch of hip looking gals in Rome all had black bags with "Pinko Bag" written in sequins. There were even knock-offs that just said "Pink Bag." So we went on a hunt for the store Pinko. First we walked down the main shopping street, passing the world's smallest sovereign nation on the way...no, that's not the Vatican, it's the Sovereign Military Order of Malta, or, SMOM. It's located at Via Condotti 68, and it's a Knights Templar sort of thing. Very fun. The girl who had given Natalie directions to Pinko Shop was horribly mistaken, so we wound up taking the bus across the river, through a good part of Rome to the OTHER shopping district, where after about 45 minutes of walking, we found Pinko Shop and bought Natalie the last black sequined authentic Pinko Bag in Rome. Victory!
OK, that's all I feel like writing about Rome for now. I'm going to publish this and take a few minutes to break...will continue with Firenze shortly. For now, enjoy the Italian countryside, as experienced on the train between the two cities. Take a few minutes to experience inner peace, as if you, too, are riding on a train through Italy. Pretend there aren't tunnels ever mile that put extreme pressure on your ears. Just imagine you're listening to your awesome "Two Nouns" iPod playlist, hearing songs like "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk," "Comfort and Joy," and "Zak and Sara" all the way to Florence.
When we arrived in Florence, our cab driver knew exactly where our hotel was, offhand. It would have been less surprising were our hotel not a tiny converted convent outside the super-touristy area of the city. We stayed right by the (out of session) university and Piazza SS Annunziata, which came to be known as the "sketchy piazza" as the walk from the Duomo through the piazza to our hotel included passing three drunken homeless men on the corner who would frequently mumble at us and give us the finger.
We headed over to our reservation at the Uffizi Gallery and ran into Jake Weissman (sp?) of Scarsdale High School fame. He was there with a friend from work, and they heartily recommended we see the David. This was good, as we had tickets for the David, and Brook The Subletter had said the David wasn't worth it. Jake said the David was SO worth it. Right on. Anyway, the Uffizi Gallery kind of blew, through only minimal fault of its own. It was PACKED with tourists and tour groups and we had to fight to see every painting. See enough Baby Jesuses who look like Yoda, and the fight just doesn't seem worth it any more. We did see the Major Botticellis, which were refreshing partially because they were famous, and there's always a rush in that, but mostly because they depicted Greek/Roman mythology which meant they were livelier, looser and, most importantly, entirely free of ugly-ass Baby Jesuses. There was also a cool Leonardo Da Vinci exhibit, mostly on his scientific thought. By the time we got down there, we really weren't able to give it the proper time.
We had a hard time escaping the tourism of Florence. Everything within half a mile of the obscenely huge duomo (see right) is packed with tourists and street vendors selling imitation leather to tourists. Now might be a good time to touch on the ever-relevant subject of race. Wow. And we think we have racial issues in America. I don't think I saw a single black resident who wasn't on the streets selling cheap shit. Admittedly, they all seemed to be from Africa and therefore are more "The Immigrants" than "The Black People," but still, we recognize visual cues. I didn't get to talk to any actual Italians about race, but I'd be curious.
I got a hot, hot leather jacket in Florence. Too bad it's unbelievably hot here in NYC. I have no occasion to wear it. Maybe some enchantedly cool evening I can put it on and strut around looking like the bad girl I'll never be. (Oh, off-topic aside: I was looking at a scientific paper today I'm going to be reporting on, and I saw the English translation of the questions on sex they gave to the college-aged subjects. For the questions about experiences with intercourse, they had, as option number one, "Have not attempted intercourse" and then all of the options assuming the responded had had sex. Um, where's the "attempted intercourse but failed" option? This is a serious scientific flaw. I'm, like, reporting them. Or something.) Anyway, back to the important things in life: my kickass new jacket. I'll find a way to wear it before late October...you'll see!
We ate what was possibly our best overall meal (rival will come in Venice section) at Antico Noe, a small restaurant on what Fodor's described as one of the more unsavory half-blocks in Florence. They gave us this incredible bread to start with, just dripping in olive oil and salt. Oh, man, was it good. I got pasta with truffles, which wasn't quite as heavenly as I'd imagined, but what still very good.
On the last day of Florence, we saw the David. He didn't seem to want to go out with me, but I totally have a crush on him. So hot. So perfect. So immobile. And so huge! I had no idea how big this thing was. He's big. His expression is also far more worried/contemplative than I had realized from the pictures. I also hadn't really realized that he's holding the slingshot across his back. It all makes sense now. Anyway, that museum was otherwise mediocre...some cool unfinished Michelangelo sculptures and instruments. Oh, instruments! There was this bowl filled with water and two handles you could rub with your wet hands to generate a sound. This German dude was so excited he just stood there, eagerly rubbing the handles, showing everyone else how to do it, and beaming in his pride. He could make the sound! Do you people not understand? He made the fucking sound! So, yeah, as we walked through that exhibit, we heard naught but the wailing of the bowl.
After that museum, we walked across the river and up to the Piazza Michelangelo, a beautiful place that overlooks the city. The first photograph in this post is brought to you from there. Passing through that side of the Arno we got a little taste of what non-tourist Florence is like. Finally, we saw some outdoor cafes, with people just sitting and hanging out. As my mom pointed out, all the plazas in Spain have coffee shops around them, but in Italy there's pretty much no place to sit with a view of the piazza. Here there were little gathering areas; it was adorable. The hike up to that Piazza also got us some welcome fresh air and exercise, and it was one of my favorite parts of Florence. Not my favorite part of Florence: ridiculous crowded streets. I don't know how the cars wind through those things. Maybe that's why most people seem to be on motorcycles with a few on old bikes (there, I tied in the picture).
Traffic was, however, not a problem in our final destination.
Who in God's name thought this would be a good idea? I'm just imagining the board room, "OK, so it's going to be a city...ON WATER. We go out into the sea, stick some wooden poles into the floor, wait for them to petrify, and then build an entire city on top of it. WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?" Apparently this was the idea of some early Italian group who were invaded by another early Italian group and decided that their only escape was the sea. So they erected Venice. Ta-da! So now it's here and its absolutely gorgeous.
Whereas in Rome and Florence we just generally did a bad job of finding the non-touristy areas, at least in Venice we could take comfort in knowing there were really no non-touristy areas to find. Only 68,000 people actually live in Venice...that's smaller than New Rochelle. So while there are a few excruciatingly pretty residential areas, most of the people there won't be there for long. And aside from the fishy smell, it's super Romantic. That's what happens when you have an organic version of Disney World or Las Vegas. It's totally an amusement park...but it's the whole city, and it's not a cheap fake.
This fine gondolier was stationed right by our hotel. You're pushing the mullet, dear, but otherwise, lovely.
So anyway, the first night there (we only were there for a little over a day, and frankly, as much as I loved Venice, that was probably enough) we had a reservation at La Zucca (the pumpkin) at Jess Rivkin's recommendation. We didn't quite realize how long it takes to get around Venice, so by the time we got from the train station to the hotel and back to the shore by the restaurant, we were an hour late. And we didn't know where the place was, and Venice isn't exactly a grid. In fact, it's really, really hard to get around. So we asked people for directions, but the first few attempts failed to find us La Zucca. So then my dad had the bright idea to ask this totally crazy looking dude who was being followed around by two dogs of extremely different sizes. He began to lead us through deserted alleys (of which there were many) and Natalie and I were half-convinced he was going to mug, and perhaps kill, us all. He just kept walking and muttering, and petting the dogs until he led us straight to La Zucca. Stunning. As was the food. Once they got a table for us, we had probably the best meal of our trip in a homey wooden room overlooking the water (what isn't?). I had a stunning pumpkin-ricotta flan. Wow.
The next day we were tourists in St. Marks. You may have heard that there are pigeons in this famous Piazza. You're right. Wow, are there a lot of pigeons. This young fellow was clearly worried about picking up The Avian Flu (he had no reason to fear). It was all beautiful, anyway, although the touristiness was a bit overwhelming. We headed out fairly quickly to explore the rest of the city, via a walk to the Jewish ghetto. The ghetto in Venice was actually the first, and the word "ghetto" comes from the name of the area, "campo gheto." What else did we do? Really, little else, just walked around frickin' Venice, bitches!
The restaurant on our last night was high quality (had a zucchini and cheese appetizer that was just to DIE for, dahling), but the waiter clearly hated us. Like, when we were ordering desserts, he started to leave after the first person ordered and then, when the second started, looked at us like, "Oh, you wanted more?" Pshaw! Did I mention that we spent almost every dinner shamelessly talking about other Scarsdale people? It's just a little embarrassing, but what the heck, it was so much fun. We had one night talking about whether certain parents participated in a swinging circle...I didn't know those were actually the rumors, but apparently, they are. Oh, the craziness of the hometown! Somehow the fact that a 2004 SHS grad was recently Playboy's Cyber Girl of the Week seems rather tame (props to her, by the way...although I question the decision to use her real name).
The next morning we took a water taxi (so cool!) to the airport. I was scared to death the whole time that my precipitously balanced, wildly rocking suitcase was going to fall overboard. Luckily we arrived safely and, after a bit of confusion, we got a ride to the new airport, which turned out to be steps from the old one. We flew home on a fairly uneventful flight (although I gained a strong appreciation for this Onion article). We arrived home to our sweltering house, and I went to my apartment shortly thereafter, only to find I had just missed Fleet Week. Damn you, fate!
So that's it for the Italy post! I hope you've enjoyed it. Now back to my irregularly scheduled blogging. Ciao!
I just flew in from Italy, and boy...ah, forget it. It's about 10 bajillion (10umpteenth) degrees in here—ooh, aren't these south-facing windows lovely?—and I have no patience for frivolity! Still, I plan to write a blindingly witty post that encompasses an entire week of traveling around Italy with my family. This will mostly be accomplished by putting in lots of pictures with clever or meaningful captions. You will be able to see all the beautiful things I have seen on the days when I felt like dragging my camera around. And so it begins.
Prologue: All Roads Lead To Rome, Change In Atlanta
See my last post for all the gritty details on my false start. After a hellish night of walking around my house alone, failing to form coherent sexual fantasies in lieu of general anxiety, and ending up at the piano only to find myself belting "I'm Still Here," I made it to JFK again. Everything went so shockingly smoothly on the second attempt that I was at the gate for my 1:30 pm flight at 10:20 am. Great.
On both of my flights I sat next to Europeans currently residing in the US: First a British artist who could got a job as an art/art history instructor at a college in Columbia, South Carolina (not his first choice of locale), and then an Italian gentleman currently residing in Virginia and only returning to Italy for business. I finally got to see King Kong on the flight to Italy and we only experienced a few minutes of insane turbulence or, as the pilot called it, "rough air." I adore the names they give painful flight..."We're going through a patch of rough air," "Please fasten your seatbelt, we're going to experience some weather," etc.
We landed, and Angelo drove me from the airport to the Hotel Britannia. He took the scenic route (of course...a stranger in a strange land doesn't know squat re cab fare) and I got to see a pit of the city, including the Colosseum, which the fam had seen while I was trying to sleep the night before. I also saw a sign that said (in Italian), "Catena: Quality Meat Since 1936." I didn't get to take a picture for Jen. Aw.
Rome Is Where the Reart Is
I only took one day of pictures in Rome, and that was the first day at the Vatican. Here we see light streaming into St. Peter's. Aw, God's smiling! St. Peter's is a rather vain little church, as it has markers on the floor showing where all other major cathedrals would come up to, were their entryways aligned. St. P's B is bigger than all of them. Much bigger.We took a small, personal-ish tour around the Vatican with Hillary, a Brit currently living in Italy (and with a strange distaste for the UK) who gives lots of tours. She was occasionally discombobulated, but fun, entertaining and informative, and she couldn't stop talking about Rafael. "He was just gorgeous!" She made it sound like Rafael was so popular with the ladies, he died because he had an excruciatingly exhausting night of wild sex and fell so stricken that doctors did a blood letting and killed him. It sort of sounds like a load of crap to me, but I like the idea of Rafael being too hot to handle. She also ardently defended Michelangelo against charges of misogynism. I mean, I always thought he was just a huge homo, but apparently lots of people think he was really anti-women. I don't know...if I could make men as hot as Michelangelo's, I don't think I'd do many pieces of chicks either.
Ooh, there's the fam in the Vatican! The Jews are invading. Watch out...Oh, I also committed a ridiculous faux pas by, um, lying down in the Sistine Chapel. I was called up immediately, but jeez louise, don't they realize that a packed room of cocked heads isn't the best way to appreciate art? And it's nice that they want everyone to be quiet, but the constant sushing is a little much. The chapel's pretty awesome, though. I liked the pairs of little gold men surrounding pillars...very theatrical and enticing.
I saw a hot priest as we were leaving the Vatican and tried to take a picture, but he stared me down. I did, however, find and purchase a "Hot Priests of Rome" calendar. To see it you'll have to visit me in my apartment.
On my first night in Italy I had a horrible meal. The concierge at the hotel sent us to, like, his friend's restaurant where my pizza had unripe (wan green) tomatoes and the house wine paled in comparison to Franzia. At least the meals got better. Best meal, in fact, was shortly after in the Jewish ghetto.
We got a tour of the old Jewish ghetto by this fun young Roman Jew named Micaela. She was very knowledgeable and very upbeat and went on a few rants about politics (the government is fascist, the church is a joke and a shame, etc). We learned quite a bit about the history of Jews in Rome, and the tour was a good chance to walk around a nice area of the city that wasn't a traditional tourist hot spot. For lunch we ate traditional Roman Jewish food (after we got closed out of our first choice restaurant because of my dad's attire: "I'm sorry sir, but...your shorts!"). We all had fried artichokes and I had a great pasta dish with dried meat. Mmm.
Also in Rome, we went on a hunt for the Pinko Bag. Eh? Pinko Bag? Natalie, far more fashion conscious than I (the best I can do is make fun of V when he wears more than three articles that scream Abercrombie...that was Saturday before I "left"), noticed that a bunch of hip looking gals in Rome all had black bags with "Pinko Bag" written in sequins. There were even knock-offs that just said "Pink Bag." So we went on a hunt for the store Pinko. First we walked down the main shopping street, passing the world's smallest sovereign nation on the way...no, that's not the Vatican, it's the Sovereign Military Order of Malta, or, SMOM. It's located at Via Condotti 68, and it's a Knights Templar sort of thing. Very fun. The girl who had given Natalie directions to Pinko Shop was horribly mistaken, so we wound up taking the bus across the river, through a good part of Rome to the OTHER shopping district, where after about 45 minutes of walking, we found Pinko Shop and bought Natalie the last black sequined authentic Pinko Bag in Rome. Victory!
OK, that's all I feel like writing about Rome for now. I'm going to publish this and take a few minutes to break...will continue with Firenze shortly. For now, enjoy the Italian countryside, as experienced on the train between the two cities. Take a few minutes to experience inner peace, as if you, too, are riding on a train through Italy. Pretend there aren't tunnels ever mile that put extreme pressure on your ears. Just imagine you're listening to your awesome "Two Nouns" iPod playlist, hearing songs like "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk," "Comfort and Joy," and "Zak and Sara" all the way to Florence.Wash Your Face And Drive Me To Firenze
When we arrived in Florence, our cab driver knew exactly where our hotel was, offhand. It would have been less surprising were our hotel not a tiny converted convent outside the super-touristy area of the city. We stayed right by the (out of session) university and Piazza SS Annunziata, which came to be known as the "sketchy piazza" as the walk from the Duomo through the piazza to our hotel included passing three drunken homeless men on the corner who would frequently mumble at us and give us the finger. We headed over to our reservation at the Uffizi Gallery and ran into Jake Weissman (sp?) of Scarsdale High School fame. He was there with a friend from work, and they heartily recommended we see the David. This was good, as we had tickets for the David, and Brook The Subletter had said the David wasn't worth it. Jake said the David was SO worth it. Right on. Anyway, the Uffizi Gallery kind of blew, through only minimal fault of its own. It was PACKED with tourists and tour groups and we had to fight to see every painting. See enough Baby Jesuses who look like Yoda, and the fight just doesn't seem worth it any more. We did see the Major Botticellis, which were refreshing partially because they were famous, and there's always a rush in that, but mostly because they depicted Greek/Roman mythology which meant they were livelier, looser and, most importantly, entirely free of ugly-ass Baby Jesuses. There was also a cool Leonardo Da Vinci exhibit, mostly on his scientific thought. By the time we got down there, we really weren't able to give it the proper time.
We had a hard time escaping the tourism of Florence. Everything within half a mile of the obscenely huge duomo (see right) is packed with tourists and street vendors selling imitation leather to tourists. Now might be a good time to touch on the ever-relevant subject of race. Wow. And we think we have racial issues in America. I don't think I saw a single black resident who wasn't on the streets selling cheap shit. Admittedly, they all seemed to be from Africa and therefore are more "The Immigrants" than "The Black People," but still, we recognize visual cues. I didn't get to talk to any actual Italians about race, but I'd be curious.I got a hot, hot leather jacket in Florence. Too bad it's unbelievably hot here in NYC. I have no occasion to wear it. Maybe some enchantedly cool evening I can put it on and strut around looking like the bad girl I'll never be. (Oh, off-topic aside: I was looking at a scientific paper today I'm going to be reporting on, and I saw the English translation of the questions on sex they gave to the college-aged subjects. For the questions about experiences with intercourse, they had, as option number one, "Have not attempted intercourse" and then all of the options assuming the responded had had sex. Um, where's the "attempted intercourse but failed" option? This is a serious scientific flaw. I'm, like, reporting them. Or something.) Anyway, back to the important things in life: my kickass new jacket. I'll find a way to wear it before late October...you'll see!
We ate what was possibly our best overall meal (rival will come in Venice section) at Antico Noe, a small restaurant on what Fodor's described as one of the more unsavory half-blocks in Florence. They gave us this incredible bread to start with, just dripping in olive oil and salt. Oh, man, was it good. I got pasta with truffles, which wasn't quite as heavenly as I'd imagined, but what still very good.
On the last day of Florence, we saw the David. He didn't seem to want to go out with me, but I totally have a crush on him. So hot. So perfect. So immobile. And so huge! I had no idea how big this thing was. He's big. His expression is also far more worried/contemplative than I had realized from the pictures. I also hadn't really realized that he's holding the slingshot across his back. It all makes sense now. Anyway, that museum was otherwise mediocre...some cool unfinished Michelangelo sculptures and instruments. Oh, instruments! There was this bowl filled with water and two handles you could rub with your wet hands to generate a sound. This German dude was so excited he just stood there, eagerly rubbing the handles, showing everyone else how to do it, and beaming in his pride. He could make the sound! Do you people not understand? He made the fucking sound! So, yeah, as we walked through that exhibit, we heard naught but the wailing of the bowl.
After that museum, we walked across the river and up to the Piazza Michelangelo, a beautiful place that overlooks the city. The first photograph in this post is brought to you from there. Passing through that side of the Arno we got a little taste of what non-tourist Florence is like. Finally, we saw some outdoor cafes, with people just sitting and hanging out. As my mom pointed out, all the plazas in Spain have coffee shops around them, but in Italy there's pretty much no place to sit with a view of the piazza. Here there were little gathering areas; it was adorable. The hike up to that Piazza also got us some welcome fresh air and exercise, and it was one of my favorite parts of Florence. Not my favorite part of Florence: ridiculous crowded streets. I don't know how the cars wind through those things. Maybe that's why most people seem to be on motorcycles with a few on old bikes (there, I tied in the picture).Traffic was, however, not a problem in our final destination.
We Open In Venice
Who in God's name thought this would be a good idea? I'm just imagining the board room, "OK, so it's going to be a city...ON WATER. We go out into the sea, stick some wooden poles into the floor, wait for them to petrify, and then build an entire city on top of it. WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?" Apparently this was the idea of some early Italian group who were invaded by another early Italian group and decided that their only escape was the sea. So they erected Venice. Ta-da! So now it's here and its absolutely gorgeous.Whereas in Rome and Florence we just generally did a bad job of finding the non-touristy areas, at least in Venice we could take comfort in knowing there were really no non-touristy areas to find. Only 68,000 people actually live in Venice...that's smaller than New Rochelle. So while there are a few excruciatingly pretty residential areas, most of the people there won't be there for long. And aside from the fishy smell, it's super Romantic. That's what happens when you have an organic version of Disney World or Las Vegas. It's totally an amusement park...but it's the whole city, and it's not a cheap fake.
This fine gondolier was stationed right by our hotel. You're pushing the mullet, dear, but otherwise, lovely.So anyway, the first night there (we only were there for a little over a day, and frankly, as much as I loved Venice, that was probably enough) we had a reservation at La Zucca (the pumpkin) at Jess Rivkin's recommendation. We didn't quite realize how long it takes to get around Venice, so by the time we got from the train station to the hotel and back to the shore by the restaurant, we were an hour late. And we didn't know where the place was, and Venice isn't exactly a grid. In fact, it's really, really hard to get around. So we asked people for directions, but the first few attempts failed to find us La Zucca. So then my dad had the bright idea to ask this totally crazy looking dude who was being followed around by two dogs of extremely different sizes. He began to lead us through deserted alleys (of which there were many) and Natalie and I were half-convinced he was going to mug, and perhaps kill, us all. He just kept walking and muttering, and petting the dogs until he led us straight to La Zucca. Stunning. As was the food. Once they got a table for us, we had probably the best meal of our trip in a homey wooden room overlooking the water (what isn't?). I had a stunning pumpkin-ricotta flan. Wow.
The next day we were tourists in St. Marks. You may have heard that there are pigeons in this famous Piazza. You're right. Wow, are there a lot of pigeons. This young fellow was clearly worried about picking up The Avian Flu (he had no reason to fear). It was all beautiful, anyway, although the touristiness was a bit overwhelming. We headed out fairly quickly to explore the rest of the city, via a walk to the Jewish ghetto. The ghetto in Venice was actually the first, and the word "ghetto" comes from the name of the area, "campo gheto." What else did we do? Really, little else, just walked around frickin' Venice, bitches! The restaurant on our last night was high quality (had a zucchini and cheese appetizer that was just to DIE for, dahling), but the waiter clearly hated us. Like, when we were ordering desserts, he started to leave after the first person ordered and then, when the second started, looked at us like, "Oh, you wanted more?" Pshaw! Did I mention that we spent almost every dinner shamelessly talking about other Scarsdale people? It's just a little embarrassing, but what the heck, it was so much fun. We had one night talking about whether certain parents participated in a swinging circle...I didn't know those were actually the rumors, but apparently, they are. Oh, the craziness of the hometown! Somehow the fact that a 2004 SHS grad was recently Playboy's Cyber Girl of the Week seems rather tame (props to her, by the way...although I question the decision to use her real name).
The next morning we took a water taxi (so cool!) to the airport. I was scared to death the whole time that my precipitously balanced, wildly rocking suitcase was going to fall overboard. Luckily we arrived safely and, after a bit of confusion, we got a ride to the new airport, which turned out to be steps from the old one. We flew home on a fairly uneventful flight (although I gained a strong appreciation for this Onion article). We arrived home to our sweltering house, and I went to my apartment shortly thereafter, only to find I had just missed Fleet Week. Damn you, fate!
So that's it for the Italy post! I hope you've enjoyed it. Now back to my irregularly scheduled blogging. Ciao!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)