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2007

new job (sales)
new apt (brooklyn)
same guy (so far...)
however, not a single entry was written.

however, 2008 shall be more time with friends, less dvr, more phone calls to mom, less 'i'll call you later's', more Prospect Park, less taking the beaten path, more organic food, less hunan munan, more walking, less driving, more leaving the city on the weekends, less 3pm brunches, more beaches, less tanning, more mountains, less elevators, more stairs, less tabloids, more boutique bookstores, less netflix, more concerts, less online shopping, more introspection.

more writing.

mom Steve, Steve mom

Should I warn him about all the jarred foods in the fridge? They're not ready for consumption, they're still fermenting. I believe those science projects have been soaking in vinegar since my 13th birthday slumber party, which created a rubberneck in my kitchen when Megan opened the fridge for a Squirt. Forunately the suitor isn't a nose pincher to ethnic foods, he's New York like that. And like a true New Yorker he likes his shoes. I hope he doesn't mind Mister Roger-ing every time he enters, shoes off, slippers on and a cardigan will be necessary for half of the house. My mother has blocked the vents in the rooms we don't use. Late at night you can hear the tin foil fluttering, as well as garage door from my younger brother coming home late. You'll hear a wizz in the bathroom but the sink never goes on. There's a good chance to we'll wake up to bigbucks holiday lattes on our nightstand, a literal Folders Christmas commercial. But no food griddled, over-easy or toasted. There will always be white rice with purple beans in the cooker. The cooker, unlike the heat, will always be on. So will the guest bathroom radio, it's our security system in case burglars try and enter. Celine Dion should ward them off.

My dad smiles when he can't answer you, understand you or is tired. Asking both my parents for gas money separately works. As they hand over the $20 they will ask why you don't ever ask the other. Like my stepdad's daughter, I just smile. I call my stepdad 'dad.' He calls me 'candy-ya.' We keep the sodas, Prego and 20lb rice next to the fertizlier in the garage. My parents will love that he gardens, they will ask him how to grow sesame leaves, 'pah,' and cabbage, more science project essentials. They will show him my violin and piano and then say, 'Can you believe we purchased the instruments for her, most rent it, yet she never played.' He will shame me not because he's being polite in agreement but because he still rents his cello. Some photographs, blue ribbons, and DVD player manuals might be pulled from shelves. The clock needs resetting every year. Andy programmed radio stations in the car but they still seek manually. Andy wears Eminem hoodies and 'hella, tight and sick' are used like prepositions but after his friends leave from a day of PS2 he'll shower to Bob Seger.

We eat dinner together by meeting each other at this Japanese restaurant that doesn't give us menus because they know what to bring. You will have to break stereotypes and show them that you never order California rolls and love yellow tail. They will try and keep you away from my yellow tail by showing you to your room and me to mine, aka my mom's. I will have to be mindful of this before I come home smelling of smoke. Andy will ask you if you mind that he lights up a cigarette in the car and you'll say no and tell him that you always cough in car rides. I'll tell Andy to put it out and you'll insist that it's fine, that you're just cold. An east coast born-bred guy is cold in California. I'll borrow the car and make sure that we'll get to Zagat noted yummies in SF, a Golden Gate Park adjacent museum, meeting my girlfriends, we'll skip K-town but not J-town, a coastal drive, Blockbuster and twizzlers, thrift stores w/ actual thrift prices, Tahoe, oxtail soup, sheets of seaweed, a lot of red on the table, Costco Christmas cookies, no Earl or Chamomile instead Ginseng and Jasmine and a family that's going to study you the way Megan studied my fridge but that's because I've never been sure of bringing anyone home before and they're thrilled to meet you. It should be a good time Steve-ya.

christmas in new york

Tinsel wreaths and red felt stockings hang cock-eyed on deli bodega windows by strips of Scotch tape. 'HoHoHo' spray painted on Duane Reade display fronts. Colossal snowflakes are strung from street lamp to street lamp creating an overpass over Fifth Avenue. Lamp posts are red twined. Steam clouds entice the crowd at Farmer's market, chowder and chilli brew in slowcookers on top of poker tables. Apple cider is stirred and served from a bent up silver vat by a lady in fingerless gloves, 'one dalla.' Bundled and jittery, lines are snaked in front of the Saks window, Rockerfeller Tree and TKTS window. Seasonal fairs at Union Square and Bryant Park, hand milled soaps, talking stockings and crochet pot holders are bought. Three ice rinks to chose from: skate center stage at Rock Center, pay nothing at Bryant Park or be Serendipity adjacent at Wollman's Rink. Frozen hot chocolate. Puppeteers, lions and Nathan Lane dominate Broadway not Scrooge, Tiny Tim or the NutCracker.

Cablenet, argyle, frayed scarves adorn the city. Bing Crosby tunes are carried over diners and boutiques. Strollers sealed in plastic, dogs jangling from their leash, curious where it's coming from, and SALE signs trim the sidewalks. Coffee beans are grounded by the pound and loose tea leaves are sniffed. Three feet synthetic trees with metallic ornaments sit on studio windowsills, looking out fire escapes. Red and green specs sprinkled on Magnolia's, Billy's and Sugar Sweet Sunshine cupcakes...banana pudding from Magnolia's to go. Snow Angel, literally, on top of the snow-filled fountain in Central Park overseeing canoes on the frozen lake and children clumping snow for throw. Nannies 'borrowing' children's sleds for quick rides down the hill. Company Christmas parties where spouses meet other spouses. Longchamp and Herve Leger overnighters tote through Penn Station and Grand Central. Cordials and chess, Glenlevit and checkmate. 'Neighborly' competition of blinking lights and front lawn stages of the Three Wise Men in Queens. JCrew, LLBean, LandsEnd catalogs.

Cookie Swaps. Misletoes, Santa pins, mini candy cane filled stocklets, proceeds go to City Harvest. Wishlists are emailed. Hovering over kitchen islands to puree pumpkins, cream spinach and bake fruits. Pears, aged cheddar and chocolate covered everything from Harry and David. Flakes feather down, snow concealing curbs of sidewalks, a blanket of quiet covers the city. Cabs make slow turns and faces are mummy wrapped in cashmere. Early museum hours, late shopping hours. Tweed baguettes, shearling trimmed boots, fox stoles. Egg nog, chestnuts, rum soaked cakes. Missing gloves all over the city. Red velvet carriage buggy rides with city guests wrapped in red fleece throws.

T'is the city...
One horse open sleigh.

steve



It's a long overdue introduction. Nonetheless, without further ado, here is my boyfriend.

bacon and coffee

We met almost two Christmases ago. The first year was about courtship, elusivity and waiting by the phone. The second year was more about hardship, exclusivity and him waiting for me to pick out shoes on Saturday nights.

Year one: please, thank you and good pajamas.

One extra ring before picking up. Checking emails minutely. Clever text messages. Secret smoking. Blow drying and Bumble Bee. Shaving. Strategic perfume dabs. Dark socks with dark pants. Two cabs. Carrying gum AND mints. Matching underwear and bra. Friday night dates. Monday emails. Will he doze off or will he scramble for his pants? Zagat Guide. Movie trailer forwards. Kissing. Feeling me up. Feeling him down. Witty repartee. Talking shit. 'Five bucks says you can't...' Clean towel offers. Phone silenced. Sex silenced. New music. His playlist. New shows. My HBO. Meeting his friends. Meeting my friends. Solo wedding attendances. Boys camping trip. Text message from the woods. Girls night out. 2am invitations. 'I'm not looking for anything serious.' Individual travel wishes. Mocking weddings. Mocking marriage. Hands in pocket walks. 'Dating.' 'Hanging out.' 'Chilling.' 'Fun.''Nothing serious.' Candles. Empty sink. Picking out what to wear to bed. Biweekly haircuts. Biweekly mani pedi. Ex girlfriend referred to as 'the ex'.

Year two: adulterated, blissful hypocrisy.

PDHH, public display of holding hands. Granny underwear. Chipped nail polish. Bathroom doors open. 'Do you have any matches?' Calling mulitple times a day. Delievered dinners. Speaking directly to the family. Nail clipping, plucking, q-tipping while the other checks email. Going to parties together to be apart to make out in the elevator ride down. Knowing each other's drink. Being on the phone next to each other in bed. Shushing each other with middle finger flicks to the thigh. Him putting his hand on my thigh at movie theaters. Netflix. He takes cream no sugar. Now, me too. Side order of bacon with pancakes. Now, him too. 'Keep doing it just like that.' Thanksgiving dinner with the family. Helping his mom dry the dishes. Telling his twin brother that they have different noses. Deep crimson roses on Valentine's Day. No more smoking. Lots of candy. Shaving him. Plucking him. Lubing him. Wiping him. Wiping me. Keys were made. Finding his sock under the flat sheet. X-Large sumemr camp t-shirts to bed. Lacies hang on the shower rod. Ex's referred to by name. Wedding rsvp plus one. This tie or that tie. These boots or those boots. He's not a 'arent they the same?' kind of guy. He knows Paul Smith, John Varvatos, Century 21 and he graduated from pink to fuschia. I am not a 'I never cook' kind of gal. I mallot meats, toast almonds, add berries to breakfast and tap confectioners on dark sweets. Pottery Wednesdays. He smoothes, refines, glazes. I make mugs and my name goes on everything. Netflix upgrade. Our friends meeting each other. Plates are shuffled at restaurants. Halves of sandwiches are swapped. Walk outs. 'What the fuck.' Two spoons, one ganache. Two coffees, one cream.

leaves

I'm not quite sure where the rest of summer went. It went from running local to express. Central Park, outdoor cafes and pottery to Atlantic City, Rockaways and Connecticut, summer is complete and autumn in New York is unquestionably here.

Squash, gordes, school bus, plaid skirts, orange, red, yellow, Burberry, leaves, camomile tea, boots, jack-o-lanterns, costume shops, jeans, harvest, soups to go...

This is what we endure through summer and push off winter for. May the leaves fall slowly.

cheers

Like birthday parties, I just want to attend weddings, not plan one. I actually love weddings, the organized effort of food, music and write your name and address at the door are effortlessly enjoyable as a guest. However, the produciton that goes into planning is formidable. To this intimidation, I may have to sit out on sitting down with a florist, planner, baker, tailor, pastor or even worse, a make-up artist who struggles with Asian eyes because she can't find the eyelid to apply the shadow or hair stylist gun-equipped with some kind of freeze-n-shine spray. I can't chose four friends who made the cut, aka the party. I can't create a seating chart because, frankly, the four friends I'm allowed to clad in the same gown will all be up alongside me, leaving it altar-heavy, pew-light. I see newlyweds making their rounds at dinner to every table having to recite the same "can't wait for Bora Bora, haven't slept in three days, it went by so fast" mini-speeches. I would want to eat the filet that I only got to taste-test and I wouldn't want to eat my cake a year later. What a gross tradition. I wouldn't know which dad to ask to walk me down the aisle. I'd rather have a red dress from Vera Wang and white dishes from Crate & Barrel.

I have friends who have expressed the same sentiment yet, in the end, they have cake all over their face. Perhaps, some do it out of appreciation to the ones that stuck by them during the ups and downs of love thus, to that end, the desire to declare love and commitment in front of family and friends. Who knows? It's an idea I might succomb to as well...but it might be minus-guestbook, plus-guest towels...on a remote beach with close friends to serve you mai-tai's at the receiving line.

country air

Returning from his cousin's wedding, it was your traditional lakeside, conga-line, fish or filet, pin-curled bridesmaids, not enough caffeine in the coffee, summer wedding. Followed by a day in his hometown, we spent the weekend in Connecticut.

In the three years I've been here I've changed my mind about zip codes, men, jobs and hair styles. Yet, I've always maintained that I would now and forever be a city person. Time being, I still uphold the declaration however, I do enjoy the country air.

The ease of personal transportation. One main road. One market. One gas station. Waves of hello as you walk through town because you were in the same class. Parents still stay in tune with how the high-school football team is doing who's getting married and who's had kids. First kisses lead to honeymoons and class reunions are every weekend at the local tavern. The only noise is the steady rotary of a lawn mower. Garage doors are left open in trust and only screens are necessary at night allowing summer grass breezes to flow in. Actual blueberry pies sit on window sills and lemons are hand-crushed for refreshment. Dogs are leashlessly trained to stay on the property and hammocks hang still.

Inhaling pine and silence, this city gal slept well.

hold on

The train was sparsely filled. An elder couple, they must have celebrated their fiftieth anniversary not too long ago, sat a person apart from each other slightly dozing off. Both were holding D'agostino bags, one in each hand. As the subway screeched and they got up to exit he reached for one of her bags. It made no sense, or I should say, it made more sense for them to split the four bags evenly yet, he reached for it. With no words exchanged she pulled away but his agression succeeded and he stepped off holding three bags while she stepped off swinging one.

At the outset, the couple appeared detached. However, after all those years, few words are left but the love, the insensible love, is still there...

"When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake, and then it subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots are so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body. For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away." -anonymous.

floating tv's

For advertisers today's a big day. Upfront market opened this morning. In a frenzy that's comparable to the NYSE, commercial time for the major networks will be bought for the 2006/7 primetime schedule. This means networks introduce their potentially biggest shows- dropping names like Perry, Peet, Goldblum and Baldwin. However, for the first time, advertisers are in the up-position due to all the choices. Networks will try not to lose potential advertisers to online, video-on-demand and cellphones. This effort will be met by no-so-subtle methods. Banners will flash across the bottom screen urging television audiences to get online and download other episodes and the show's soundtrack off iTunes.

Upon first thought, the idea is off-putting. Beyond distaste, it's enough to want to turn the channel...to another banner. I don't want to see floating signage across the bottom of my screen. I need to be able to see all of Dr. Sheperd and Jack. Both Jacks. But we, as an audience, get used to new ways of entertainment all the time. We accept musicals on dvd's, shows on our iPods, audio books and missed Idols online. Each time that I think an idea won't fly, it takes off, on planes, with seats that play movies on the back of them.

at least

Average, by definition, is not the best, not the worst. It's in the middle. But by perception, it's not good. We didn't jump for a 'C' in school...for the most part.

Something needs to give. If I'm not going to make lots of money at least let me be doing something more radical. At least let me live with four others in a loft in Williamsburg and splash paint on a canvas or write spoken word lyrics. I won't have much in the bank but at least I'm cool. OR, give me the long hours, an ugly Tumi tote and no time to spend the bi-annual bonuses on vacations. I won't get to go to St. Lucia, but I'll retire in a bungalow there in 20 years.

My classmates went on to practice law, merge and aquire things, or further split the atom. Like Cal, NYU also sprang lots of promising prospects. They went on to make a scene off 42nd, trade on Wall Street or roam ER halls. Both were aggressive, rigorous schools that trained students to do one thing once they stepped out into the world. Compete.

I must have missed that class(es). Rather, I'm smack dab in the middle. I have a job. It's a place to clock in and clock the fuck out. It pays the bills but no bills from any retail off 5th Ave. So, something needs to give. Be poorer but be filled with passion or, have no life but watch your 401k get fat.

This is also true of where I live. If I'm going to live in the upper east side at least give me a door between my bed and kitchen table. Or, sacrifice space and live in the Village. Something needs to give.

I know I know, at least I have work, a roof and my health. I suppose. But, I'm waiting for a Ron Livingston a la Office Space kind of epiphany. Until then, I sit in my shoebox studio watching free movies on TBS.

secret sex

More men have paid for sex than I would have thought.

The stories are similar. "I didn't go out seeking it, it was chance encounter and it was hard to say no." Hard being the operative word. I was traveling through Europe, through Asia, through Canal Street. And bam! There she was. I was asking for directions to St. Petersburg, Bangkok (sorry, couldn't resist), to a foot massage spa. Note- they are not spas in Chinatown, NY, they are ...well, I don't know what they are but they are not spas. It's always described so innocuous. She didn't speak much English. It really started gentle and soft. Note- it always starts gentle and soft and very little language is needed. Men turn on like goosebumps, the slightest blow and everything sticks straight up.

Women don't operate this way. Even if it's a one-off we seek, it's other thrills that excite us. It's not the actual intercourse, it's the attention, the touch, the taboo. A girl has decided early on if she's going to go home with the guy. Some of it has to do with the guy but most of it has been decided before she even met the guy. I just need the weight of a man on me tonight. I need to be felt up. Felt down. And then some.

So, both enjoy a sexual chance encounter however, one has shaved their legs in preparation and the other would rather jump in the sack with an anonymous stranger than ask for directions.

And for the men who haven't solicited sex, they just haven't gotten lost while 'traveling'.

barred

I thought he would have called that night, for sure. Then when he didn't, I thought he would have called the next day, for sure. Then I thought yesterday, for sure. And now the weekend is over and I can't figure out what's upsetting me more, the issue or not hearing from him.

Sometimes I wish he would undermine my words, actions, insecurities. Make light of it by reaching out, chaffing me, while trying to wrap around his arms around my squirmish body. Sure, initially, I'd ask how he dared laugh at my feelings but then his soft smile would strike me deeper and I'd laugh back, shaking my head. Because after all is said and done, fights usually make the issue larger than it was.

Women screw things up by the way they manage their anger not why they are angry. The walk out is a no-no, I know this but in those moments it appears to be the only option. Yes, it's a scene maker but I guarantee sticking around would have been a bigger episode. It's easy to call the girl who got up in the middle of dinner and left irrational, erratic or, the ever so popular, dramatic. That may be so but what pushed her to that point is usually justified, understandable and even expected. Unfortunately, in spite of all those supportive defenses, it results as being unacceptable because the last impression was her misbehavior. I wish I knew how to release my frustrations maturely so that I can make a point without having to apologize first. When a point has to first be prefaced with an apology both are weakened. "I'm sorry but I...". The 'but' conjunction is a cross cancellation to both sentiments. The apology isn't that heartfelt and the point lost some of its importance.

Scene: bar. I don't care to be a part of a couple that is stuck by the sides with their legs crossed the same direction, fingers locked for extra reinforcement. However, I do not care to be a part of a couple that socializes with everyone but each other either. I like you, why wouldn't I talk to you? I feel like there are red lazers weaved between us. Steer clear of one another and navigate around the beams to get to others so that you please the crowd. I want to naturally chat, not run for office. I suppose it would be a waste of time hobnobing with your running mate, their vote is already locked down. Other than hopeful election candidates, it's acceptable for married people. When they get together with friends they seldom mix with each other, 'we live together, we see each other all the time.' All valid. But I'm not married. I'm in a relationship. A good one too. One that I want wouldn't mind displaying in between drinks.

saturday night

Carpal tunnel from the remote. No new Netflix. Only a spoonful of Haagen Dazs left. Gathered all my coats, scarves and mits for dry-cleaning before storing. Painted my toes blue. Put my hair in 17 braids. Experimenting if it will turn out curly for tomorrow if I sleep on it. It'll probably just look kinked though. Nails are buffed. Leg hairs are plucked. I don't shave anything anymore. As I got older my tweezer replaced my razor. I have avocado smeared on my face so I can't chat on the phone. Not supposed to move the cheeks. Can't seem to get more than a chapter past any book. Already flipped through all my magazines. So I look like a green-faced rastafarian doing thumb rotations, clinging onto the remote.

i love getting presence

The best kind of surprise is presence. I attended a book reading tonight and I threw out an invite to the suitor thinking he'd skip. I go to 'mix' and there he is. I like the feeling of proximity to him. Even if we're mixing with others, it feels warm to know he's around. When he's not in sight, my eyes dart around the room. I shoot for casual but I'm sure it reads. Head fixed, eyeballs bouncing. When he returns from the bathroom, I feel relieved. Even if we're with smoozing with others, which we always are. He's great at that. I'm great at that. We're way too great at that. I always think we should be a text message commercial. He's chatting it up with some elder who wants to set him up with their daughter and I'm chatting with the bartender. Simultaneously sending messages: she says I look like her daugher's ex-boyfriend. I reply: the bartender says you look like his ex-boyfriend. Sometimes it's fun to not be with him when you're with him.

four friends, some lovers, playing 69

...last holiday break.

1. What time did you get up this morning?
C: When furry did. 8:04am.
J: 7:45am. Snooze. 8am. Snooze. 8:15am. Snooze. 8:30am.
A: 7:30 from a hotel wake up call
S: 8:04am.

2. Diamonds or pearls?
C: Pearl beaded necklace with a big diamond pendant dangling from it.
J: Diamonds on the fingers and ears. "Pearl necklaces" are kinda nice. Ew. TMI?
A: Pearl anal beads – shoot that’s probably TMI as well
S: Pearls for women. Bling for men.

3. What was the last film you saw at the theater?
C: MatchPoint.
J: The Family Stone
A: The Family Stone – same as Janet - imagine that
S: The Family Stone. Same as.. never mind. Who the hell goes to see a movie alone when you should be in pottery class?!

4. What is your favorite TV show?
C: Six Feet Under. No, Entourage. No, Six Feet Under. No..
J: Prison Break
A: 24 / West Wing / Entourage
S: Charlie Rose Show

5. What did you have for breakfast?
C: A hollowed out bagel with scallion cream cheese and a skim latte.
J: A cappucino and some kind of semi-healthy looking muffin that Aslan bought
A: Protein shake
S: John McCann's Steel Cut Irish Oatmeal with real maple syrup on top and a piping hot cup of Alto Grande coffee with a dash of Soymilk. The oatmeal takes a half an hour to make.

6. What is your middle name?
C: Me Young.
J: I don't have one. Although Janet isn't my "legal" name. Korean name is Joo Yeun.
A: David – named after the hurricane that hit Miami when I was born
S: Ernest.

7. What is your favorite food?
C: Eggs. Poached, coddled, scrambled, over medium, german-boiled. All yum.
J: That would be like asking me to pick my favorite child.
A: Anything from a garden
S: Candy (Big C). And hummus. And Cheese. Not at the same time.

8. What foods do you dislike?
C: Filler foods. Like raisins and peanuts. Their abundance is a turn-off. But I like Spanish Peanuts and dried craisins.
J: I would love ALL of my children.
A: Anything from a cow
S: Raw oysters. (I feel like I'm contradicting myself here.) Mushrooms.

9. Your favorite Potato chip?
C: Kettle chips.
J: Those Hawaiian ones. They're sorta kettle-cooked.
A: Only chips I eat are corn chips with Salsa
S: Lays.

10. What is your favorite CD at the moment?
C: Suedehead, Morrissey.
J: Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits.
A: Bob Dylan huh…funny, she never seems to play it when I am around. I always seem to gravitate back to anything coldplay
S: Supergrass.

11. What kind of car do you drive?
C: A yellow car but I sit in the back.
J: Black Camry LE.
A: Similar car to Candy – but with a more pungent odor
S: I used to pick chicks up in a champagne colored Chrysler LeBaron. Now all I got is the loser cruiser and a subway card.


12. What is the last thing you did before going to bed last night?
C: Gossiped on the phone w/ J. Asked her what to do with a jar of pickle chips (per Stevie). Brought The Alchemist (per Azzie) and chamomile tea to bed then watched Forest Gump on TBS.
J: Private! I'm in a long distance relationship 'MEMBER?!
A: Helped Janet count all the new cash that she is getting
S: Sent a work email. Played Soduko in bed while petting my cat

13. Three celebrity freebies. (It's not cheating if they're famous).
C: Damn J, we got some jungle fever up in here. I like me them funny white boys. John Stewart (smart cutie), Danny Masterson(curly cutie), David Letterman (macho cutie). All bootylicious. Jimmy Fallon will always have my heart though.
J: Hm....Chris Cornell, Johnny Depp in his pirate garbs....or as Willy Wonka! (omg, he was so good in that)...throw in a Brandon Boyd and I'm good to go. (love you Aslan.)
A: Halle Berry, Hulle Burre, Hilly Barre
S: Halle, Chloe, Beyonce

14 Favorite drink?
C: Not a big drinker but for a beer: anything light, for a wine: Shiraz, and for liquor: vodka.
J: I'm partial to anything Ketel based.
A: Water
S: Birch Beer.

15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be?
C: Morocco.
J: I hear Croatia is the new Costa Rica. Right now, I'll take anywhere my passport is needed.
A: Southeast Asia
S: Iceland if I want it meaningful. The island of Ibiza if I don't.

16.What color is your bathroom?
C: The color that it was when I moved in, off white.
J: Ecru.
A: I have no idea. I usually have my eyes closed in order to focus on my task at hand
S: Red and white checkered tiles. My landlord's boyfriend, Kenny, was the carpenter and he was a drunk.

17. Favorite brand of clothing?
C: These days I'm into ironic designs, i.e. Imitation of Christ, Buddist Punk, DSquared, LAMB. It's like Marc Jacobs goes to a funeral or Little Red Riding Whore.
J: Oooooh, I'm not as edgy as Candy when it comes to clothes! I like whatever is affordable - pretty much an Urban Outfitters type of girl...
A: Whatever my girlfriend tells me to wear.
S: Dolce & Gabbana. Paul Smith. Yves Saint Laurent. They're all good Makers and they're all unaffordable.

18.Where would you retire?
C: Hopefully by then a waterfront in Brooklyn will become beach-like and I can live out the rest of my years between two great loves: NYC and the ocean.
J: I don't even know where I'm going to want to be a year from now...come on.
A: Somewhere near the ocean
S: Retire?

19 Favorite time of day?
C: Right after work, right before dinner. That hour or so when you don't know if you'll be ordering in or meeting friends.
J:When my pizza/chinese/thai delivery arrives.
A: When I get Janet on the phone (haha – sorry for the lame answer)
S: After I get off the phone with Candy. Sorry.. said that wrong.. after I get ON the phone with Candy.

21. Favorite sport to watch?
C: Project Runway. It's competitive.
J: Ultimate Fighter.
A: Basketball
S: On TV, Basketball. Live, Baseball, no, basketball. It's those damn cheerleaders.

22. Who do you least expect to send this back?
C: My brother.
J: Between the other two on this email chain?
A: I guess Fu is the only one left
S: What-EVER.

23. Person you expect to send it back first?
C: Me.
J: Dunno about first- last is probably Funaro.
A: Candy is the only logical answer
S: What-Ev

24. What laundry detergent do you use?
C: I have no idea what Lee's Cleaners uses on my clothes.
J: Whatever the cheapest was for Von's club card members.
A: Whatever Janet or Rich has in their closet right now
S: Earthpledge.

25. Coke or Pepsi?
C: Coke. Diet.
J: Either. But has to be Diet.
A: Neither – but if I had to choose - Coke
S: Pepsi growing up. Coke growing old.

26. Are you a morning person or night owl?
C: A night that howls into the morning.
J: A little bit of both - not that excitable any time of the day.
A: Weekday – I am a morning person / Weekend – Night owl
S: Night owl.

27. What size shoe do you wear?
C: 6. For the right designer, 5.5 or 6.5.
J: 8 1/2 but I think my feet are shrinking. And my right foot is definitely bigger than the left.
A: 11 ½ and my left is slightly bigger than my right
S: 13. And I have big hands. What-EVER.

28. Do you have pets?
C: Yep, his name is furry.
J: Hell no.
A: My only pet ever was a goldfish that I won at the fair
S: Two cats. Big Boy and Little Guy.

29. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with your friends?
C: Actually, just today I won 500 bucks from an essay contest I entered. And, I don't feel like saving it so you people should ask me out. My treat.
J: Nothing here. But Congrats to Candy!
A: I have gone almost 2 full months without paying rent!
S: I don't like to share.

30. What (who) did you want to be when you were little?
C: Ramona Quinby.
J: Ramona the Pest? I think I wanted to be Indiana Jones.
A: A yuppie
S: Frank Lloyd Wright. The Architect.

31. Favorite Candy Bar?
C: M&M's. The peanut ones but they're coated so it's not that ordinary.
J: I don't like candy. (Small c not big C.)
A: Any sour candy
S: Snickers.

33. What are the different jobs you have had in your life?
C: Baby-sitter, dry-clean bagger (that's where you bag the the clothes) Spanish tutor, smoothie blender (Jamba Juice- made it to asst. manager), retail, retail, retail, waitress, bartender, media something, teacher.
J: Swap Meat girl with Dad, selling eel-skin hangbags and luggage. Wells Fargo Bank Teller. Lancome Beauty Consultant. Banana Republic sales hag. Entertainment PR intern. Legal Assistant. Marketing Manager/Office biatch.
A: Domino’s Delivery boy (hat and car sign right on the white station wagon), Abercrombie retail biatch, food runner, food server, bar back, tea maker, investment banker intern, management consultant
S: Gas station attendant (self-service). Mowing lawns. Movie theater concession stand, projectionist, and manager. (I had my own red vest) A Carpenter. Moving Luggage in a warehouse for Camp kids. Factory job running a machine that stuffs envelopes full of junk mail. Graphic Designer/Art Director.

34. Favorite season?
C: Fall.
J: Summer!
A: Summer!
S: Fall.

35. Nicknames you've had?
C: My name is a nickname. Ironically, close friends call me Candice.
J: Jolly Green Janet. Shamu. Single White Janet. Pancake Face. Big Girl... Shall I continue?
A: Asi, Chicken Legs, Ass-lan, Ass-face, Ass-pirin, Giraffe, Bean Pole
S: Funaro. Funro. Fun. Fu. 4 O'clock. (And as of last week... Tree, Furry, Sex Tiger)

36. Piercings:
C: Two: one in each ear. Nose piercing and cartilage came out after college.
J: Ears, nose and navel. I got most of them AFTER college.
A: none
S: None. My body is a temple. I did pierce a man once. It was awesome.

37. Eye color:
C: Brown.
J: Omniscient, seething pools of ebony - don't get lost in them...
A: Hazel
S: Hazel Green. Candy can't seem to decide.

38. Ever been to Africa?
C: I wish.
J: I wish MORE than you.
A: No, but I would love to sleep with a black chick
S: Yes. Mmm.

39. Ever been toilet papering?
C: Yes. A lot.
J: No. What a mess - I don't hate anyone THAT much.
A: Yes - once
S: Yes. But that quickly turned into 'golfing' houses.

40. Love someone so much it made you cry?
C: How about, ever love someone so much you didn't cry? Yes.
J: I think so...
A: Yes
S: Was that love?

41. Been in a car accident?
C: Yes. Four, including rear-ending my senior honors English teacher.
J: Yes. Plus 3 DUI arrests - my dad two, me one.
A: Once – not my fault
S: Once while I was driving. Once while I was sleeping in the back seat.

42. What's a question no one has ever asked you?
C: Why do I blog?
J: "Why are you so shy?"
A: How do you get your legs to look to big
S: Why don't you like to suck cock?

43. Favorite day of the week?
C: Thursday. It's like that favorite time of the day, the whole day. Don't know what's to come for the next few days.
J: I guess Fridays.
A: Saturday
S: Wednesday. Pottery class day.

44. Favorite restaurant?
C: I lived in SF and now NY, too hard to answer.
J: Chains. Applebee's, CPK, Tony Roma's. All about it.
A: Ditto candy’s answer
Balthazar. Why not. They make me feel like a movie star.

45. Favorite flower?
C: Mexican lilies. They're sharp not soft.
J: Allergies.
A: Whatever funaro is growing in the garden
S: African Lilies.

46. Favorite ice cream?
C: Coffee and chocolate or mint and chocolate.
J: Ben and Jerry's Mint Chocolate Chip or Dreamery's Tiramisu - both are really hard to find. And I'm lactose intolerant.
A: Haagen Daaz – Cookie’s and Cream or Macadamia Nut Brittle Chocolate.
S: I'm with Aslan on the Daaz.

47. Disney or Warner Brothers?
C: WB all the way.
J: Neither. Pixar...maybe.
A: Disney I guess
S: Disney for the big stuff. WB for the small stuff.

48. Favorite fast food restaurant?
C: Jack in the Box.
J: In and Out & Del Taco.
A: Veggie Burger express
S: Subway.

49. What color is your bedroom carpet?
C: Wood.
J: Shit. I have no idea right now...
A: I don’t have a bedroom
S: Wood.

50. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
C: Zero but I got a 70 on the driving portion (exactly what you need to pass in CA).
J: I got a 92 on the first try. Granted I was almost 20.
A: Appleman fail a test? Ha!
S: I passed. My brother failed. God I felt so bad for him. He didn't see the stop sign behind the tree.

51. Before this one, from whom did you get your last e-mail?
C: Karen.
J: Lee Sargeant. A freelance developer from the UK who does work for us. He's 17.
A: The Accenture tax group telling me they were going to do my taxes for me because I worked in 3+ states last year
S: Kimberley Sanderson-Hutfilz

52. Which store would you choose to max out your Credit Card?
C: I'll do half at Searle and half at ABC Home.
J: Can we not talk about maxing out credit cards? =(
A: I’m too cheap to max out a credit card – But if I had to…probably Barneys NY
S: I'll do one card at a sporting goods store like EMS or Paragon and one card at the Scores or any other strip club. That is a store right?

53. What do you do most often when you are bored?
C: Good answer: blog, call friends in Cali, reorder the movies on my queue. Honest answer: roll a doobie, watch VH1, Nick at Nite, History channel, tweeze.
J: Pick fights with people.
A: Let Janet pick fights with me
S: Call somebody. I'm not bored very often. No time. I'm too unorganized.

54. Bedtime:
C: I don't have one. I aim to get into bed by midnight and fall asleep by 1.
J: Whenever I start drooling.
A: Before 12 most nights
S: 10:30. But I keep missing it.

56. Last person you went to dinner with?
C: Aslan and Rich.
J: My roommate.
A: Janet
S: Candy.

57. Ford or Chevy?
C: Ford. Mustang. Shelby.
J: I like my boys American. Not my cars.
A: If either…it has to be OLD
S: I want the Ford Shelby! Old AND new.

58. What are you listening to right now?
C: Fugees.
J: Mars Volta and Rilo Kiley.
A: The annoying sound of a NC accent talking non-stop in the cube next to mine
S: Leo Kottke and Mike Gordon - Sixty Six Steps.

59. What is your favorite color?
C: Umm...purple? No, green. No. white. Blue has never been a favorite color though I have a lot of blue in my closet.
J: Totally depends on what we're talking about here.
A: I don’t get your answer Janet – don’t think I have one anymore…
C: Blue.

60. Lake, Ocean or River?
C: Rivers look clean. Lakes look calm. Oceans don't look that clean or calm. Ocean.
J: Hehe - I like hotel pools.
A: Ocean
S: River. I like fresh.

61. How many tattoos do you have?
C: None. I want one on my left ass cheek though. A pair of lips.
J: One.
A: None – mom wouldn’t let me get one
S: None. My body is a temple. I once gave a lip tattoo though.

62. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
C: Defnitely the egg.
J: How would the egg have appeared without the hen to squeeze it out?
A: I don’t know – but I sure am glad there are eggs…especially at Brunch on the weekend
S: Egg. Plucky is right.

63. How many people are you sending this email to?
C: Three.
J: Not sending. Only responding.
A: Tres
S: Three.

64. Favorite Cocktail?
C: A medley of sips from others drinks.
J: Is this different from "Favorite Drink"?
A: Kettle one/tonic
S: Pimms and 7-up. It feels yummy in my tummy.

65. Red or White wine?
C: Red, I guess.
J: White lately.
A: Red
S: Rojo. Definitely Rojo.

66. Where would you go for a girls or boys weekend get-a-way?
C: Rio de Janeiro.
J: Somewhere with a hotel pool. Or Guatemala.
A: Come on people – it is only for a WEEKEND. You wouldn’t even get to Rio by then.
S: I would say Vegas Vermont or New Hampshire or Miami.

67. What do you want to be?
C: A writer: novel, screenplay. But not a journalist, I can't write that fast and frequent.
J: I'll tell you when I know.
A: Happy
S: A Shaman.

68. Republican or Democrat?
C: D Party.
J: I'm not politically active enough to claim either. No political posers please.
A: Democratic fo sho
S: Democrat. I feel like Republicans have all the fun though.

69. Favorite Family Vacation?
C: Umm...okay.
J: Seriously. Gay.
A: The one in Ireland where my sister and mom fought constantly and my cousin and I got into a bar fight. Sure you want to borrow that?
S: Disney World! Just kidding. Bush Gardens! It's in Virginia.

vanilla roads

I was walking down 5th Ave headed into work this morning and for a brief moment I experienced something in New York I never have. I was outside and not a single person was in sight. Crossing 5th Ave, in the middle of the crosswalk, I literally stood still looking around for people, for cars, for activity and nothing. Very Vanilla Sky. But the roads weren't blocked for a movie, they were cleared and gated for the St. Patrick's Day Parade and for a mere moment the crew was not in sight. By now, the streets are probably flooded with green. But for a moment this morning, I had the city to myself. What a trip.

single. or. double

Better to be single or play as a double? No, no, no, as if I would write about a topic like that.

Please take a moment and let me know if you single or double space after a period. I've been taught double but recent edition writers' guides say single. Even grammar is recognizing the changing of times. Just want to know if we're all following.

bite me

I'm not convinced. Not in the least. We don't fight.

Certainly, we've had our share of snippy words, lip bites (me) and 'that's not what you said last time's' (him) but we have yet to release the big throw down. We need beenie off, hair tied, sleeves rolled, me standing on a chair, looking right at him in the eyes. We need to start swinging.

This is not at all to suggest perfection on either end. Yes, evidently, in large, we're compatible. This is also not to suggest lack of chemistry. We're chemical. But I need the grrr. Like cereal mascot grrr but it doesn't have to end 'great.' There's having issues regarding the relationship but then, there's the daily stuff. I'm a fantastic arguer. Let's bicker, let's debate, let's shout! Here are some topics of conflict I thought of:

Your black and white movies: I know only bad people say that they don't like classic cinema but I am what I am. No more Citizen Kane or Howard Hughes.

When you place objects right on the edge of tables it makes me uneasy. Scoot it back. Gravitate towards the center.

Do you use my eye cream?

Pottery class ends at 9pm. Smoozing with the teacher, distracting her, to work a bit longer works. Grrr...

Yes, I am over 5 feet. You damn tree.

You yank enough floss from the dispenser to decorate a tree. I will decorate you with it if you keep doing it.

Your ring tone. Birds. No.

Movies don't wait for its audience to arrive.

Hand me the tissue box faster. And help.

Asking me if I cut my hair every week is covering your bases. Cut it out.

As I'm rinsing the soap off my hands you come and place your ready-to-wash hands over mine. That brings me back to square one.

Staying patient while I rant, letting me kick my legs onto the matress (literally)
and putting your arms around me while my arms are crossed. You think you got it all figured out don't you?

Bite me.

golden dresses and tresses...but no stresses

A pal put it best: as minorities, we saw Crash and thought, 'And?' Some strong performances but was it really an 'original' screenplay.
George Clooney, if possible, you became even sexier during your speech.
John Stewart looked comfortable up there. Billy Crystal comfortable. Pimp jokes and Jew jokes at the Oscars, it's about time.
Jessica Alba looked like the Oscar. And everyone wanted to hold her.
P.Hoffy is a rock star. 'See-more' of him soon.
Ang Lee, another rock star. English is his second language and his speech was the most coherent. Mostly because it was short and simple but that's the way it should be.
Looks like Reese was 'elected' this year. In my mind Reese Witherspoon is an Academy Award Winner...not as June Carter but as Tracy Flick.
The suitor liked the memoriam montage of those that passed in the past year- he likes listening to the sound of popularity based on applause.
All in all, the show maintained prim and proper. No crying, no kissing, no chair jumping which is a shame because that's what makes it. Thank G for the anonymous Three 6 Mafia and their fantastic joyful acceptance. They woke everyone up and gave their 'dawg Clooney' a shout out. Then again, at least audience didn't sing 'It's hard out here for a pimp.'

hard kisses

Before a guy cums I dismiss anything that comes out of his mouth. Only problem is that most of them fall asleep right after. So I learned. I learned not to fluff the pillow to chat. I learned to spoon. I learned not to ask the inevitable third date question, when was your last relationship. I learned to stroke. I learned not to ask the inevitable third month question, where is this headed. I learned to hold tight.

Now, I'm learning that a tight grip doesn’t mean that you have a hold on anything.

I need some time to organize my thoughts. That's what I say. Always. In a taxing effort to say only meaningful, relevant words, I lose it all. My mind included. The mouth opens to a gape then lips meet again. No words, just a squirm of sounds. That's my problem. In trying to place my thoughts, my feelings lose rank. But I like and respect my thoughts. It was my thoughts that kept me from chasing wrong men (for too long anyway), from falling for people too quickly or from giving my heart to someone who wouldn't be careful with it.

It is my thinking that says, I don't need to ask about the ex-girlfriend. I'm not that girl. I don't open ex-files. I don't need to know the details of the break-up. But my heart, my heart tells a different story. It pumps. It yells. Everyone has a past but a past like yours is shocking. Uncommon. Nine years. Others mention their lovers' past like it was something they tried, an experience. Like summer camp. Whether the memories are fond or frowned, there's alienation from it. It's from another time. But yours is in your inbox. Has tails and roams around your home. You two named the cats together. You two live in the same neighborhood that you once set up a home in. Put up pictures together. Asi from the corner bodega knows the two of you as two. He sees me with you now and realizes that there's someone new in your life. How long will he see me come around before someone else comes around and asks for Lotto and litter. Do you wait at the bus stop thinking about how the two of you used wait together, holding bags of groceries for dinner. On your way to the park do you pass her place and in passing check to see if her light is on. Are you lonely at the laundry mat. Do you two write to each like summer camp pals. With politeness and care or do you two still talk about you two? Has there ever been talk of me? And you don’t ever slander her. There are never kind words to me of, “She was crazy. Nuts. I learned a lot from the relationship but it’s a closed chapter. We don’t work together.” The lack of these words comfort me in knowing that I might get off scot-free too. Aftermath thoughts like, “She was just another emotionally tight-lipped girl who needed to get over her fears, get over herself” won’t be said about me. But this also puts everyone in their own corners. We’re not on the same side. There isn’t an us.

Slowly my thoughts are leaning and I think I could inquire. Not only to learn more about where you're at but to show you where I'm at. That I'm at a place where I care about this now. All of this. That I'm finally succumbing to my curiosities and uncertainties. Uncertainty. That's a good word for us.

My thoughts also tell me not to engage in a conversation about the future. Goals, dreams and destinations. Moving to another time zone falls under this category. How could I continue with you knowing that every move you make is with a bigger move in mind. But my heart begs the question, how could the T-Mobile guy know more about your life’s outlook than me. He knows your plan to not commit to a one-year plan while I think about you making it out to California next year. To sleep in the room that I grew up in, to watch you get fed eight times a day by a Korean mother who will speak to you in Korean even after you respond in English. What's near the equator that entices you so much. A move that big must entail a lot of research. You must have gathered a lot of information by now. Isn't it hard to conceal your findings about such a life change from me. We email each other pictures from college, Bill Murray movie trailers that aren't even coming out for another year, and indiscriminate video clips as a hello in our day. Do you come across pictures of villas and waters that you can't wait to get to and die to show me but keep from me for the sake of me. For the sake of you. That’s thoughtful. That’s selfish. Do you job search in that country. Do friends and family know your agenda and ask you about it while I’m away, while I’m in the bathroom. How foolish I must look. Does 'she' know what your future plans are and I'm in the dark.

I suppose I chose the dark. You've gone to switch the light on and initiate the talk and I tried to appear dim to your mild efforts. And mild they were, they weren’t assertive which makes someone like me, who’s already diffident, immediately recuperate from the stiff moments with a subject change. Except you’re too smart to fool. Those were the moments I leaned in and kissed you because I'd open my mouth, ready to speak and that's all I could do. Put my lips against yours. Some of the hardest kisses I've ever had.

When we finally have the talk we've both been pushing back for so long will I receive neatly bundled answers? With bows. ‘We're not together but she's someone that will always be in my heart.’ I wonder if I could accept that. I don’t think this is something I could compromise on. I’m thinking no negotiations on this one. I don’t want to share you. Your love has to be all mine. To my knowledge, this the most honest and fair thing I will ever say to you.

I think about the guy who felt bad the entire walk home from pottery to the subway because he forgot someone’s name who said hello to him in the street. How is this person going to ever let down someone he’s known for a third of his life. And I can’t compete with that. I can’t compete with the countless photos. Trips. Arguments. Reconciliations. Apartments. Weddings. Waiting in wait rooms together. Shopping for a bed together. Less explanations are needed with her. You can say Matt Thomas to her. You have to say ‘my college roommate’ to me. I can’t compete with that.

But I am going to try.

I want to fight for it now. I want to fight for us. Even six months ago, I had a different attitude towards it. I would have thrown up the white flag and wished you and your past a brighter future.

I was able to let it all go last year but now things are different and I can’t go back. We can’t go back. I knew in my mind and heart that there were topics to confront. Both my top and center finally agree. But I was scared to ask, to tell. Scared to cause a shift. I wanted to appear unaffected and unchallenged by it. I wanted to appear like anyone but me. In efforts to not lose you, I started to lose me.

Missed moments and looking back on them. My specialty. In spite of you trying to retract it, I wish to go back to when you uttered the three words in a hard breath and hit reply with the same three words so fast that I almost cut you off. But not with a ‘too’ at the end because my love isn’t dependent. I love you because I love you. Not because you sent it first but because I have images of you all day. Your chest that was built for my head. When I’m on my toes. How could I be without your arms. Embrace. Squeeze. Your cunning remarks that make mine seem ordinary. Your single brow-lift to indicate misbehavior from me. The feeling of your eyes on me when I look away.

You told me you weren’t supposed to feel this way. That this isn’t what you were looking for. I know this. You said this from day one. The idea of casual relationships isn’t a novel idea. When was the last time someone refreshingly expressed that they were looking for a relationship. My first reaction is to console you. To let you know that you’re understandably equivolcal. But my heart scolds you. Get over it. Deal. Things change. You changed. Besides, you’re taking away my speech. That’s my line. I’m the one who’s supposed to remain a solo sexy stranger. Be the cool aunt. Be the cause of uneven table seating. I don’t imagine wedding details. I don’t mark anniversaries. I don’t have children’s names picked out. I don’t want a backyard. But I do want to find out what could happen with you.

I love you enough to tell you that you should try living all the lives you want to. That I’d stand by you. That I’d wait. That this is how I define love. No terms, no deadlines, no geographical requisites. But I’m vain. Pride, the purest form of vanity and I’m a victim. But I don’t completely reprimand pride. It is my pride that kept me from pursuing guys that weren’t good for me. It is my pride that kept me from foolishly giving it all away to someone undeserved. It is my pride that has kept me from telling you that you have been to me unlike anyone else. But now, I’d rather let go of my pride than let go of you.

Who knows what could happen. You could win the lotto and become a fisherman alongside Andy Dufrane. I’ll get an occasional post card from you with no return address. But you’ll check into Internet cafes and glance at my blog and see that I got it. I could win the lotto and blow it all on shoes and éclairs and be forced to be go back to waitricing and meet another light handsome stranger. I can safely say his won’t be with milk.

But for now there are still so many movies to be late to. So many reservations to make. So many drunken sex-less nights to make up for in the morning. So many channels to switch. So many debates on who’ll get the water. So many trips to save up for. So many cab rides to kiss in. So many kitchens to fight in. So many I love you’s, I hate you’s. So many more talks like this.


Thanks for the tea,
Candy

pimps and catholics

There was a nightlight in the room. A bright fuschia gleam to go with exalted wall to wall pink. I was lying there in the suitor's guest room, which was decorated for his eight year old niece when she came to stay there for a short while. He was in his old room in the Catholic house probably knocked out from our late night viewing of Hustle and Flow.

My feet were twitching, perhaps from the bottomless pots of tea sipped, sipped, and sipped all day long with his folks and old friends from the 'hood.' It was one of those days that made me feel like both a complete grown-up and a total kid. Sitting down for dinner with the suitor and his 'rents. A proper meal with proper conversations. Pot roast. Steamed greens. Dinner napkins. Harrison Ford movies. Michael Caine. Who's Bruce Campbell? Olympics. Ice skating hopefuls. Dessert, coffee, to be followed by a lazy boy while Mrs F insisted on doing the dishes. Now, you tell me how I'm going to low ride in that chair while the lady of the house, the same lady who made dinner, is soaking and scrubbing. So what do I do? What I do best in awkward moments, stealth. Why don't you two go out and get a movie, she says.

We do. Then we drive thru the golden arches for some of their golden fries. We get back to his place, to an empty sink, centerpiece back on table and beds made to mess up. His dad still looking up Lotto numbers and mom in rollers.

His mom reaches for the DVD and asks if we got a 'rapper movie.' I start to stealth again. We watch hustlers flow and then I return to my pink room. I lay there willing for the light to dim. When you're a kid the dark is scary- you want to be able to see everything. When you're older you want to leave some things in the dark. This past weekend a light shed on the suitor. A light that showed him in a more natural state of being. Laid back in chairs, fixing VCR players (by pluggin it in) and turning chagrin as old friends refreshed stories of naked toothbrushing and second story jumping. Everyone gets to be a pimp when they go back home. In that light was warmth and it's always been there but now I know where it all comes from.

united colors of benito


TURIN, Italy. When "Stati Uniti d'America" was announced during the opening ceremony, I couldn't help but be proud. Albeit, I wish the 'Statis' were more into International sports. I've actually been to the Olympics. My father took my brother and I on one trip growing up. 1988 Seoul Summer Olympics. I suppose a trip like that mounts to a lifetime of trips to Chuck E Cheese. Did I grasp the significance of the event at age 8 when I was running around the stadium with my brother and cousins? No. Do I understand the significance of the 2006 Olympics being the first Olympics in which North and South Korea walked in as one? Yes. Technically, North and South Korea are still at war since a peace treaty was never signed since its divide in 1953. Officials say that as cultural and economic exchanges between the two sides have increased and making arrangements with secretive North Korea has always been difficult due to their complicated political standing. Can a sporting event reunite the two nations? I don't know. But it could be a start.

Here's what I do know: Bob Costas decided traded in his red mop for a brown one. Torino Italia is the world's oldest republic, founded in 301. Norway holds the medal records, 261. Iceland has never medaled in the Winter Olympics. Not so icey. USA sent the largest delegation, 211 athletes. India, the second largest population, sent 4. The stadium was built by Benito Mussolini. And the world instills a little hope in the Olympics to bring us closer to peace and each other. This morning American source news headlined snowball fights in Central Park over highlights in Torino. Hopefully, that storm will settle.

Fly tomato, fly!

Blizzard '06, record snowfall over two feet.

mama nature
Mama Nature got quite a blow. It's like she was holding it in all season. Then just as we thought we were going to coast through winter with mild climates, she let it all out. She puffed out over two feet (they say the last time we hit a record like this was sixty years ago). This weekend felt like a good, solid burp after beer and buffalo wings, it was waiting to happen.

As rough as it is, this feels right.

two sides

It was also this time a year ago when there was heavy snowfall but I wasn't at home watching Heather Graham movies. I was walking through Central Park under orange flags. I remember as I walked through The Gates that I wished I was going in between the orange poles with someone. I wished that someone was there to explain their take on the orange. I wished I was focusing on the art rather than the hand-holding all around. I wished that I was sharing my pretzel (not selling them*). I was also probably thinking about a new job, a new apt, new travels, and a new hairdo, the usuals during a self-reflective walk.

It's been said that when you're single, true introspection can take place. Hence phrases like, "I just need to take some time for myself," "I need figure myself out". Conversely, there's also a sense of reflection that you can't get from yourself or even from family or close friends. The one that you're intimate with will tell you things about you that others haven't seen or had the effort or assertion to say. They'll tell you that you snore. That you have a way of arguing. That you trail off (or on and on) in longer stories. That you brush your teeth funny. That you get defensive. That you need to let things go once you've accepted an apology. They should be telling you these things to try and make you a better person. Or, sometimes, just to tease you.

There are two sides in a reflection, one can't exist without the other. To grow, to change, to be a better me, I need both- me time and he time.

*I saw a post on CL to 'help the arts while being outdoors, meeting great people interested in art and enjoying hot meals'. Translation: Sell Fritos and Snapples at the concession stand by Sheep's Meadow. I arrive, they hand me some fingerless gloves so that I can efficiently work the register. Corn chips and peach iced tea on the house, how could I leave?

two of hards

What's harder? Shopping around for lingerie in an overcrowded Victoria's Fredericks? Or trying on countless teddys because they're too big in certain areas and too small in others? Or putting it on in the bathroom and then standing in front of the mirror wondering how in the world any woman executes a sexy entrance from the bathroom right after a filling Valentine's meal without appearing self-concious or feeling downright silly? "I'll be right back, I'm just going to get a little more comfortable" or "I just need a minute to freshen up" are phrases in a script of a sitcom show.

Heart day. Not hard for only men.

how he

What makes someone sexy? Looks? Skills? Talent? T-shirt and jeans? Try to avoid the obvious attributes and hone in on the habits, idiosyncracies and movements that go unrecognized even by the do-er. That's the sexy stuff- the conscious-less, habitual qualities. People's reflexes.

How he grips objects. How he palms a cup and his fingers wrap around the entire cylinder. How a leg slides back when he bends over to open a bottom drawer and his back slopes long and hollow. How he rubs his head front to back to front as his wooly cap comes off. How it takes a lot to get him to laugh at his own jokes. How a man of his capacity walks the city by getting out of others' ways. How his eyes sit heavy until after breakfast. How his middle finger leads his gesticular hands. How he never smiles when he sings. As if he's serious. How he laughs at my jokes but never really gives it up. How he softly roams a museum. How his hands come together behind his back when he leans towards a piece. How he never starts a phone call with "where are you?" How he could win a staring contest with a statue. How he comes up from behind me but I can see his towering shadow cast over mine moments before causing my body to slightly crouch in preparation. How he leaves a third of a dish then tells me that he saved me half. How he reads four books at a time. How he can only talk to one person at a time. How he looks up from his cello on longer notes. How he picks herbs straight off the bushel, blows, then chews. How he can go without a plate for some foods, how he places crackers right on the tabletop. How he isn't afraid to reach for flowers, jewelry and unicorns. How his body twists when he throws a frisbee. How he crouches with his legs stationed and hand in mit in the in-field. How he smiles more with his eyes than his mouth. How he shoots a smile at you over dinner when there are no words. How he grabs a handful of nuts then cups his face to eat them. How he sends group photos with unflattering shots of himself in it: shaved-head, pony-tailed, mustached, bearded, in a dress, in a uniform but in all of them, I can still see him. I can see what he did to get into that pose, how he chuckled or shook his head right after. How he sees himself in photos, smiling or sighing. When you see someone see themself with clarity and security, that's sexy.

movie blogammentary

Ain't that some sh*t? This years best movie (drama) award is a Western Gay flick by some Chinese guy.

American cinema rules.

Fobs give the greatest acceptance speeches. Terse, extremely grateful, unknowingly funny and whenever the audience laughs, they laugh too. Sweet bunch. Ang Lee, what a rock star.

American cinema rules. Though, I just saw Motorcycle diaries and I haven't seen cinematography like that in American films. Landscapes and horizons like that aren't shot here. Someone in pottery said that the backgrounds in Brokeback Mountain are truly like that in Montana and Wyoming. It was filmed in Canada but I'm Asian and it's a class so I don't speak.

Some of the best American movies were not filmed domestically. Why is that? Money? There was a class at NYU called the Politics in Hollywood, I wish I took it.

American cinema rules. It's the only country so devoted to rigorously categorizing movies into genres. The one thing all American films have in common is that they all belong to a genre. Aside from documentaries (and even they have an identifiable tone), you look up any American movie and it's either comedy, drama, horror, or thriller/suspense. Even biopics fall into one of those as if someone's life was entirely humorous. Lately, due to cable and home box office, the line between comedy and drama is being blurred yet a sense for one still prevails and the movie is labeled as such. We've been conditioned this way that we even movie hunt with the categorical sentiment, "I feel like a comedy tonight." It is an art that we methodically classify. The pure irony of organized art. For people who know little about a type of art, typifying it makes it easier to consume.

Ever look up 'art' in the dictionary? I just did. There were 22 definitions. One of the defintions is: what anyone defines it to be.

No other country is so relentless to presribe a nomenclature to their motion pictures. Cheers, tears, and jeers, a movie is made with less concern which way it will be labeled in other countries. Some people might prefer this type of indiscriminate film making. They're called jazz people. No true understructure of melody, rhythms are flexible, improvisations of chords don't always lead to a pattern yet it all somehow harmonically comes together. And like jazz, foreign films ultimately do fall under a genre but they make it and then label it whereas American films label it then make it.

American cinema rules. No other country incorporates and delivers satirical messages the way American movies do. Our affinity for rancor and wry humor is boundless.

I do, however, also appreciate Bollywood, Hong Kong, and Latin films. I took a one credit elective course in college on Bollywood. Bollywood films, pretty funny stuff. I watched a lot of Hong Kong, Chinese, Taiwanese films growing up, my brother was a fanatic. They're well-crafted in their choreography and their acting is heavy. Latin movies redefine sensualities and what's sexy in a simple existence. They also show shots of The Americas that makes you want to buy a Vespa, some goggles and hit the open road. A major Hollywood producer once said, "if the film has no money, then the actors really have to act."

When asked the ever-so-common question, 'what kinds of movies and music do you like?' There's the ever-so-safe answer of 'I like them all. I listen/watch all kinds.' I do too, however, American cinema rules.

back roads

Ever since Penny Lane took off to Morocco, I've wanted to do the same. Also, Jaime Foxx does a pretty good job of selling 'Africa.' And also like her, I'd want to hit the back roads of America first.

One of these days, I'm going to do it. Load up a car (not RV) of comfort clothes, sunglasses, CD's and trail mix for the mix of trails. Stop by 7-11's to fill up on big gulps then drive to trucker diners to eat at the counter next to a revolving pie fridge. Buy hoodies and hats from gas stations. Drive on highways not freeways. Drive on paths where the horizon is endless. Encounter four way intersections on farmlands that all look alike. See the greenest grass in the Northwest. Check out a plantation and roll with the tumbleweeds in the south. Plow through the Rockies in middle America.

I have yet to travel to Europe or Africa or most of Asia but I haven't even seen my own backyards. People who have done the cross country road trip and back pack trip say that it's incredible what we don't often see of the rest of the states. I have only had bi-coastal residences, it's time that I see the in between that I've made fun of for so long.

memorable quotes

...from books and movies from the past week.

I love you more than one more day. Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking.

How can I feel nostalgia for a place I never knew. Che, Motorcycle Diaries.

I'd rather be lucky than good. Chris Wilton, MatchPoint.

joe schmoe in the city

Fridays at work are group lunches, music sharing, and sharing of weekend plans. From today's Joe's Pizza delivery lunch chat with co-workers I've come to the idea that East coast New Yorkers aren't very New York. East coast New Yorkers regularly dash home on the weekends to Connecticut, Rhode Island, or some other original colony, even Delaware. This is especially true of the summertime. I'm often greeted with blank stares of what I did or will do over the weekend. Bars, restaurants, exhibits, sales don't always ring familiarity. I suppose it's the equivalent of when people came to visit San Francisco and they'd ask me how to get to the Golden Gate Bridge or where to get on a trolley, I have no idea.

I hope I continue to be a west coast New Yorker. I want to live here with the intrigue and enthusiasm of a visitor. Although, I'm starting to get tired of Joe's Pizza and I'm looking out the window right now at Washington Sqaure and the performances appear redundant and there are too many damn pigeons in my view. Maybe I should get out of the city more.

rain rain, come and stay

With all the rain, I'm thinking about museums.

I'm bummed I missed Russia! at the Guggenheim, yesterday was the last day (things change so quickly in this city and with no warning). 'The Palace at 4am' at PS1 is being raved about and 'The Bodies' finally made it to New York from LACOMA (Los Angeles Contemporary Museum)- surprising order. The Met's facelift is finally done and it's handsome. I saw Van Gogh there weeks ago and I've never seen Mr. Vincent's work before that. What an exhibit. What a nut. Kevin Bacon provides audio commentary- he's like the ultimate voice over.

The rain also has me drinking another cup of coffee at brunch, actually hang out at a friends NYC apartment, and wait 20 minutes for a seat at Barnes and Noble in Union Square but once I plop, I have afore me Australian Vogue, special edition Wallpaper, atlases and maps (the more you look at them, the smaller and more possible the world seems), and all of Joan Didion's essays and novels at your fingertips. The rain has got me learning where Brussels is and where the Dakotas are.

hummm...

At a cafe in Cali over the holidays, a conversation from four ladies who lunch.

Girlfriend #1: I always swallow.
Gf #2: I never.
Gf #3: It depends.
Me: On?
Gf #3: On how serious we are.
Me: So if he gives you a ring, you give him one he won't forget?
Gf #3: Nod
Gf #1: Have you gotten a ring yet?
Gf #3: No
Gf #1: Maybe you should reverse your order then.
Gf #2: (shake head)
Me: check please

I miss them.

for the fellas

You'd be surprised what the deal breakers are on a date for women...and how many there are. Seldom done but here are some tips for the fellas. We have Sex and the City, weekend brunches, two hour phone calls, so I'm just trying to balance the universe, align Mars and Venus.

Do not split the bill on the first date. Dutch is such a turn off, might as well tell her that you used to go to that restaurant with your ex-gf. If you must, pay for dinner then let her get drinks or dessert after. (I'm sure this is bonus points for her if she does). I don't care how independent or self-sufficient she appears, we all like chivalry.

Start off the evening with a compliment. She spent a good deal of time picking out that outfit and she used primer, body oil and tweezed, tweezed, tweezed.

See her get in the cab first. If you get into a cab first and she sees you off, I guarantee that she's hailing a cab with one hand and reaching for her phone with the other so that she can call a girlfriend and tell her that she just had another fal (first and last) date.

Emily Post propers no longer prevail but some stood the test of time. Of the past: getting up from the seat when she does. In the present: opening the door for her.

No need to wait a week to call her. In fact, bonus points for calling from the cab right after the date if you two had a good time. True, waiting to call a girl who's not that into you can cause her to think about you...she wonders why you're not calling and then once you do, she stops thinking about you so all you've done is counted 6 days for nothing. In another words, if she likes you, calling anytime is fine. If she doesn't, then playing games will maybe string her along for a couple dates but that usually isn't enough to 'get some' anyway so what's the point?

Tuck her inside the sidewalk. It all gets taken into account.

Reminder of a scarf or gloves during colder months as you walk out the door, well done.

Pay attention for anything new/different, bag, jacket, manicure, and the ever-so-important, new hair style.

Confidence. Obvious? Yes but hard to do. If someone catches your eye, go up to her directly, don't have your buddy, 'the bait', go up to her. The rule of pussy: either be one or get some.

Confidence, incidentally, can make all that you do appear sexy. A sense of self is hot. Audaciously state your interests and you've just made cats, gardening, and the color pink hot for men. But draw the line at pink drinks. We don't like for our men to drink pink.

Ask her about her.

Ask following questions about answers that she gave from previous questions. We can tell if you're listening or not.

Want to to get close? Inhale her. Take a deep breath of her from the neck/shoulder/nape area. "What's that you're wearing?" is titilating.

Be generous. It's not about the money, it's about care and courtesy. If you get up to get another drink, ask if she'd like another even if she's on her first and if her friends are there, do the same for them. All of this is noted by her then acknowledged over brunch by her friends.

Avoid phrases like "I'm the type of person." Okay, maybe this is just me, but it's annoying and makes for a weak start of a sentence. The 'type' of person you are can't be put into a sentence, 'type' is an overall sense. That phrase during the first few dates is the ultimate commonplace for conversation starters. Yawn.

Put the moves on by the third night. No later. After that, we start to realize that we should have known better than to go out with a guy who needed to send his 'bar buddy.' Also, in this city, don't let us wonder if you drink pink. A stand up kiss on the first date, nice.

Recently, I've been asked by friendboys, "how do you know when a girl is into you?" It's palpable. Contrary to popular notion, I think when it comes to dating, it's women who are the assholes. I've seen guys oblige themselves to dates and calls for a short while because they didn't have the heart (more like the balls) to turn them down. Women, on the other hand, make shit up really quickly, "Oh, I'd love to but I'm about to make something up really good, and convincing so that you believe me and I mislead you because that's what assholes do."

It's okay to let assholes walk along the edge of the sidewalk.

gold star for the gold heart



I no longer want the Susie Bake Oven or the Malibu Barbie Dreamhouse or Guess Jeans but I still wanted a gold heart locket. The suitor did good. Merry Christmas to me.