Quickies

So exciting that Serena is gaining a spine and bringing it to Blair on Gossip Girl. Incidentally, I don't think that Josh Schwartz and the CW had a 38-y.o. curmudgeonly New Yorker in mind when pitching the show's target audience to advertisers.

Sex And The City the movie was awful beyond words. It made my eyes bleed and it was fucking three hours long or something. It did not make me hate myself because those characters are so hateful that not even I could hate myself that much.

And OMFG, my favorite primates! In China!! SUPER CUTE!!!

Fiscal Crisis!

Technically, I am not allowed to chew gum because I already grind my teeth all night long, resulting in jaw stiffness and headaches. But I was bored and needed something to keep me focused and awake, so, lacking a source of crystal meth or White Cross pills, I popped out to get chewing gum. When did the price of a pack of Trident reach $1.50 (not including tax)?

Help Me Understand: "David Foster Wallace"

Can you explain the appeal-slash-genius of David Foster Wallace in three sentences? No, seriously. Okay, never mind, I'll shut up and read.

Timing is Gold

I found it entertaining that NBC's Today Show chose to air its little tribute to that cinematic masterpiece Airplane yesterday, September 10.

I still think that dozens of photos of ham is excessive, though.

I found that this article did shed some light on the "Why" question I have had about microblogging (in particular, Twitter posts, but also other forms that people engage in, such as broadcasting glamour shots of every meal you eat on Flickr). However, I'd argue that although the author, Clive Thompson, puts forth that one consequence of microblogging is the risk of spreading one's emotional energy too thin and in this context, quotes Danah Boyd of Harvard's Berkman Center for Internet and Society as saying "They can observe you, but it’s not the same as knowing you," Mr. Thompson fails to mention that the converse risk is falling prey to the illusion that one can sufficiently know a person from his or her online presence alone to make judgments about that person.

You know you're asking for trouble ...

-- when you end a conversation with your boss with, "Well, there's only one of me."

When it rains ...

I'm tired and cranky and I got in to work late.

I work in a goddamn cubicle and not six feet away, my colleague is running the xerox machine non-stop and compiling dozens of binders of materials to send out for a meeting. The copier/printer is jammed, so she is angrily opening and slamming every single fucking door attached to the machine in a futile search for the offending piece of paper.

Meanwhile, as is always the case by definition, when she is under deadline to send out meeting materials, I am simultaneously under deadline to give our boss her presentation for same meeting.

And on top of it, I got an email from the boss asking me when I would be able to clean out her file cabinets of 15 years of accumulated papers and clippings, in anticipation of an office move that will not occur for more than another month.

I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea not to take a vacation this year.

Alert: Blow Job Joke!

I can think of at least one person who'd like to meet this Elizabeth.

Are these concoctions serious and accomplished and bound to be the envy of pastry chefs from the East Village to the Upper West Side? No. But they’re undeniably amusing, and they go down pretty easily in the end.

The same can be said of Elizabeth.

Miao?

In less than five years, I will qualify due to age (and age alone) as a "cougar." Of course, I have already caught my prey so I'm not exactly a threat to young cubs any longer. Again, not sure how I feel about this (except OLD).

The Obscure Object

Standard disclaimer applies.

And my baby says,
"It's a lie, it's a cop-out and I know you know I know why
You won't try, cause you're scared and you're weak
And you don't give a fuck about me
And I do believe that you hate yourself
And I knew you'd never stay forever
Holding it together, making songs for me
And all right forever's on your side
Oh it's only time
It's longer than you think."

Heaven's Angels

This sort of thing fills my heart with joy.

Unlikely Pairing

This Barbour/Chalayan collaboration perfectly rocks my UES/Linda Dresner world. It's fugly but I'd almost buy it just for the concept.

Pause for a moment, please.

So, all of those inane cameraphone pictures that people obsessively take of themselves throughout their important and very busy days as they go from hair appointments to spin class to Soho House for "business" meetings, that they then immediately send to their Tumblrs? My favorite ones are those that involve someone with her eyes closed, "napping" in the back seat of a cab at night, with a caption like "So. Very. Tired." Because let's just think about it -- in order to capture that shot, she had to lean her head back, close her eyes, hold out her cameraphone and take probably 5-10 pictures until she got one that she liked well enough to post, with the lighting just so and the angle just right. It's preposterous.

Midwest

We will be swinging by this place for lunch on Friday and I am so freakin' excited.

Another iPod-inspired Post

Did anyone except me like Beck's Mutations?

I cannot resist posting lyrics. It's the nearly 40-y.o. tween in me. [UPDATE: These lyrics should not be taken to indicate anything other than the fact that I brought the iPod in to work today to help me focus and I put it on Sebadoh, as my music library begins at 1972 and ends at around 2005. And who the hell is reading this blog anyway? (UPDATE #2: No one.) Good grief.]

It's all a matter of soul and fire
Infatuation or true desire
The thrill of discovery, divine intervention
Cruel, cruel change, pain of rejection
As you walk away, think of all the joy we shared
If you decide you need me, I'll be wondering if I care
Not there to soothe your soul, friend to tender friend
I think our love is coming to an end
King persuader, congratulations
Share her heart, you bought her soul
Princess confusion, come to me again
Saying goodbye was so much fun
When you walk away, feel the freedom in your heart
There's a joy in letting go, free to find a love apart
When I lose control, I need a kind, forgiving friend
But I think our love is coming to an end
I know our love is coming to an end

Announcement

The upcoming six months will bring the launch of two major new ventures in the Ctbrd household (and it's not twins, ha ha). It's very exciting and hard for me to keep under wraps, but all in good time.

This is one of those useless days where I've completely disengaged from any conceivable work ethic and would prefer that no one have any expectations of me that require effort on my part.

There's a trustee of my company who I think would be perfect for this club.

Breaking News!

Okay, neither "breaking" nor "news", but: There is a new wealthiest ZIP code in town!

People who are important to me in one way or another seem to be pissed at me today, which isn't unusual because I can be an officious bitch, except that this time, I'm not sure what I did wrong. For example, yesterday and today, I happened to be unavailable to my boss at the exact fucking moment she needed to speak with me about something. For perfectly good reasons, mind you -- yesterday, I had a one-hour, work-related conference call, and today, I got in at 9am (but not at 830am, when I guess the boss was looking for me). Now, there is no expectation that I get in before 9. In fact, I have to say that 9 is pretty fucking good for me -- usually, I sneak in between 930 and 10. But anyway, because I inconvenienced Miranda Priestly/Mr. Burns, she was all passive-agressive-like, saying (on both mornings, when I popped my head in to service her), "Well, I can't meet now, I have a meeting to go to." Yeah, lady, guess what? SO DO I. Remember, you make me go to the same fucking meetings as you. Anyway, I am back to wanting to quit. Good thing I just managed a promotion. My master plan to milk the organization for what it's worth and then cut and run should come to fruition in about 12 months, I predict.

He's onto something.

After I finished reading this feature on Genesis P-Orridge, I was struck by how well-written it felt. It left me wondering, why does it feel that way? It's more than just the sum of its parts -- an interesting and compelling subject, strong research, smartly-phrased sentences -- but what is it? What is the IT that I recognize immediately that defies deconstruction? As someone who has to write a lot for work, I want to know. So I posed the question to a person whom I trust to know these things, and he answered, "Lack of irony."

New Favorite Characterization

"Apatovian."

UPDATE. Where have I been in the past two years? Oh yeah, working at a job that actually challenges me. And frustrated me, in equal part, though it has gotten better.

I woke up a number of times throughout the early morning, convinced it was Sunday. It's going to be a long week, I predict.

Household Conversation

RC: If there were a reality TV show about gutterpunks, they could call it Project Runaway.

Me: Yeah, and if there were a reality TV show about steampunks, they could call it Project Stupid.

GODDAMNIT.

Why did All the Sad Young Gossip Girls have to be an n+1-connected affair? While I suspected that to be the case all along, the confirmation only serves to send me into a spiral of self-loathing and shame all over again.

Breakfast of Champions

For the last few months, I have almost-exclusively been eating full-fat Greek yogurt and Balthazar granola (nothing beats it), sometimes with blueberries and a dollop of jam or a bit o' honey, for breakfast. First of all, it tastes fucking amazing. But more importantly, did you know that dairy calcium helps to reduce absorption of fat and crap it out? Can't beat that! This actually may explain how my five-years-and-running habits of going through a pint of premium ice cream every few days and having cheese-and-affetati plates for dinner have paradoxically resulted in me maintaining and even lose some weight. [Aside: I wonder if Radaronline could perhaps start an investigative series on various foods and their effects on what shows up in your "faeces"?]

Delia Brown, Morning Conversation, 2001, Oil on canvas

A while ago, I discovered that the first childhood friend I can remember, Delia Brown, the girl who lived in the house directly across the street from me, has grown up (I knew her when I was five so how else should I put it?) to be quite a well-recognized artist. Pretty darn impressive. I like the L.A.-realism (yes, that is an oxymoron) of the paintings. I hope to catch her new exhibit before it closes on June 21.

This print, courtesy of RC, was a gift to my Pa for Father's Day 2008.

Heat Wave

Yeah, we cool with it.

Six-Month Report

When we made the move from downtown to uptown Manhattan, I didn't know how I would survive the change in scenery and whether my heart would ache for the neighborhood in which I (we) had had so many adventures and memories and favorite spots that felt, by necessity, like an extension of our (350-sq. ft.) home. I was certain that I would miss that feeling of adversity that so many immigrants (in the late 19th century) and so many gentrifying interlopers (in the late 20th century), such as myself, faced when they descended upon the Lower East Side.

It has now been six months in the new apartment, and I have to admit that it did not take long to appreciate the joys of living in essentially the cultivated suburbs of the island. The apartment is bigger. The animals (including the humans) are happier with the larger, sunnier space. The take-away sucks but we are saving a lot by cooking at home and the kitchen is usable. I get to walk to work in the morning ... on the wide, decorated-at-Christmastime boulevard of Park Avenue. The neighbors and management are fairly hands-off. The main downfall is that Barney's is five blocks away and tends to serve as my overflow closet, with clothes and shoes that I can lease-to-own when the urge calls.

However, one of the great perversities of Manhattan real estate is that the more you pay for it, the less service you get. This leads me to the fact that we were left to install a casement air conditioning unit on our own over the weekend, a Herculean task that required removing a pane of glass, drilling into brick, and a trip to Home Depot for lumber and miscellaneous hardware items. Thankfully, it's done, and rather well, I might add. Consequently, I have rediscovered my love of the coping saw, nails, and sanding.

We are also now a little safer from mosquito terrorism, though the odd one slips through the unsealed windows now and again. This morning, I sighted one in the bedroom (I could have sworn that I heard the tell-tale, high-pitched whine last night, as I fell to sleep, but then decided my paranoia was simply setting in) and smacked her upside her billowy ass, leaving a bloody smudge on my hand and the wall. That's MY BLOOD, bitch. My god, that was satisfying.

And Then We Came To Our Senses

Over the weekend, we thought about catching SEX AND THE CITY, the movie. You see, I have had an uneasy relationship -- extremely peripheral, mind you! -- with the show. I have seen a few episodes, yes, and found plot points to be quite similar to situations in which I, myself, have been. However, it pains me to think that I could be as one-dimensional as any of the characters, or so cliche'd that my life could be packaged up into 30-minute bites of entertainment with ease. I was resentful that I might become even more filled with self-loathing than usual (or, at least, usual for the late 90s and early-to-mid 00s). Also, I haven't been able to read any of the reviews and pop culture commentary on the movie, for fear that my ability to "enjoy" the movie (should I desire to actually see it in a theatre) would be compromised and clouded by these other viewpoints. I don't much care about this phenomenon occurring if I only plan to see a movie on DVD, but in Manhattan, at $11 a ticket, I care. So, a slight morbid curiosity and the feeling that I was missing out on some excellent and giggle-inducing writing propelled me to consider actually shelling out the money and suffering through the discomfort of being stuck in a crowded theatre with all manner of strangers, for 2+ hours, without an internet connection or reasonably-priced and healthy snacks or a 100% hygienic bathroom. Public bathrooms -- they freak me out and I avoid them at all costs. So, on Saturday, I wandered by the theatre at 59th and 3rd to get tickets for a later show. And I took one look at the crowd standing in line and immediately turned around and knew with certainty that I definitely didn't need to see SEX AND THE CITY in the theatre. Whew! For a moment, I almost had to admit to having mass-consumption tastes. Now, I can go back to feeling imperious!

Animal House

Tonight, Biley Cyrus threw up wads of partially-digested greige food, several times in a row. Baby the Cat wandered over to one of the piles, took a simultaneously ennui-filled yet curious sniff, and then dry heaved.

Notes: UES

Yes, I admit that this will probably keep me highly entertained, now that Baugher is dormant. OMFG, &c, &c.

Linda Dresner is the best.

As I work among many consulates and diplomatic offices, I have decided to lobby to change my job title from project manager to attaché. I think that's a little more accurate.

Fameball?

That Lulu, she's such a fucking failball.

Mis-spent Youth

Yeah, what this person writes.

I am certain that most of the individuals in my generation who will become recognized as 21st century movers and shakers simply started their ascent onto career ladders a little later in their lives (late 20s to early [or - :::sigh::: - late] 30s), and that by the time our whole cohort is at least 40, we will have made a collective mark on society and culture that far exceeds the "mark" of the millenials.

Speaking of M. LeMay ...

Whoa.

I guess I will admit that I am a quiescent obsessive. [Via]

Hold on.

Why do both of my parents have Facebook accounts?

Outlast

M. LeMay told Dan Bejar about these. Bejar's response: "I give the marriage six months."

Beets, Redux

Yesterday morning, on her walk, Lulu ChiRussell peed out what looked like a ton of bloody red urine. I totally freaked out, imagining that she is dying of a massive kidney infection, and thinking that I have to rush her to the ER, and kicking myself for being such a bad ani-mom for not noticing that she is sick. Then, I remembered that I had given her a few roasted beets as treats the night before. It was beet pee, thank goodness!