My beautiful new shoes...

Here they are!


Exsquisite.

Though these portraits in no way do them justice. My shoes deserve a real fashion photo shoot, not my dinky Kodak, cheap software, and bad overhead lighting.

Check out more Miz Mooz here.

Foot fetishists, I do not want to hear a peep out of you. There will be no feet on this blog. Just shoes.

In a New York Minute...

I have had a fabulous day.

New Yorker Moment of the Day: Stopping on my way home from work to buy a day's wages worth of shoes.

Non- New Yorker Moment of the Day: Apologizing when I hit a woman with my bag as I was sitting down to lunch at Whole Foods. It was so Non-New York that she actually commented on it.

Other Fabulous Moments Du Jour:
- My first full day of work in NYC
- Getting Season 3 of Arrested Development on DVD
- Watching the Pilot of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (this show looks SO GOOD)
- Cooking and eating a FABULOUS curry.

How many more times can I say fabulous in this post?

In other news...

This weekend I saw The Illusionist. And it was fabulous (1). The whole movie is very pretty- much of it done in Sepia, with gentle, lovely accents. Jessica Biel actually managed to hold her own against actors such as Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti- this was surprising. The movie was different and interesting, though adult magic movies seem to be gaining popularity (I cannot WAIT for The Prestige, starring two BEAUTIFUL and fabulous (2) men- Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman).

Yesterday, I watched the entirety of The Flight of Dragons, one of my favorite movies from my childhood. If you were also a fan of this fabulous (3) movie, which is only available to buy on VHS for almost one hundred dollars, the whole thing is on YouTube now. So go for it. It is the best thing I have ever seen on YouTube (except for my sister's Harry Potter video, watch here). Like many kids' movies that I've rewatched recently (ex: The Last Unicorn), there is so much more to it than I knew at the time!

Also realized while watching The Last Unicorn with my roommates this weekend: Schmendrick (a word which means 'fool' in yiddish) the Magician was kind of the animated love of my life as a child. And he has a HUGE nose. Hence the fascination with large-nosed men in my 'adult' life.

FABULOUS (4).

What I'm Doing Today

Snow Patrol's Chasing Cars is an excellent song to feel homesick to on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

Atwood's Brilliance Continues...

I just liked that title because it's all A-B-C.

Today, on the subway en route to an interview, I started Margaret Atwood's The Tent, which was a late birthday present from a fellow Atwood-lovin' friend. I'm still working on The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters (which is HUGE and NEVER-ENDING), but I thought reading Atwood would look more intellectual, in case anyone at the job interview judged me on my reading material.

Of course, no one did.

Most of my experience with Atwood has been her novels. This is a book of short essays, illustrated by Atwood herself. I don't know how it's possible to fill so few pages with such substance, with such beautiful phrasing that it seems almost like poetry. I'm including one essay here, entitled "Encouraging the Young", that I found absolutely chilling. If you want to read more of the essays (and you SHOULD) go out and buy them or borrow them. Here goes:

I have decided to encourage the youth. Once I wouldn't have done this, but now I have nothing to lose. The young are not rivals. Fish are not the rivals of stones.

So I will encourage them open-handedly. I will encourage them en masse. I'll fling encouragement over them like rice at a wedding. They are the young, a collective noun, like the electorate. I'll encourage them indiscriminately, whether they deserve it or not. Anyway, I can't tell them apart.

So I will stand cheering generally, like a blind person at a football game: noise is what is required, waves of it, invigorating yelps to inspire them to greater efforts, and who cares on what side and to what ends?

I don't mean the very young, those who can still display their midriffs without attracting derision. Boredom's their armour: to them I'm a voice balloon with nothing in it.

No. It's the newly conscious young I mean, the ones with ambition and fresh diffidence, those who've learned the hard way that reach exceeds grasp nine times out of ten. How disappointed they are! And if and when they succeed for the first time, how anxious it makes them! They develop insomnia, or claustrophobia, or bulimia, or fear of heights. Now they will have to live up to themselves. Bummer.

Here I am, happy to help! I'll pass round the encouragement, a cookie's worth for each. There you are, young! What is a big, stupid, clumsy mess like the one you just made- let me rephrase that- what is an understandable human error, but a learning experience? Try again! Follow your dream! You can do it!

What a fine, shining person I am, so much kinder than when I'd just finished being young myself. I was severe then; my standards were exacting. The young- I felt- were allowed to get away with far too much, as I had been. But now I'm generosity itself. Affably I smile and dole.

On second thought, my motives are less pure than they appear. They are murkier. They are lurkier. I catch sight of myself, in that inward eye that is not always the bliss of solitude, and I see that I am dubious. I scuttle from bush to bush, at the edge of the dark woods, peering out. Yoo hoo! Young! Over here! I call, beckoning with my increasingly knobbly forefinger. That's it! Now, here's a lavish gingerbread house, decorated with your name in lights. Wouldn't you like to walk into it, claim it as your own, stuff your face on sugary fame? Of course you would!

I won't fatten them in cages, though. I won't ply them with poisoned fruit items. I won't change them into clockwork images or talking shadows. I won't drain out their life's blood. They can do all those things for themselves.

Margaret Atwood. The Tent. Doubleday. 2006.

Puppy Killers!

Dear Scientists of the International Astronomical Union:

No one likes a puppy killer.

As a child in school, I was taught a very important mnemonic device to learn the order of the planets. Now, since the decision that Pluto is NOT a planet, said mnemonic device goes like this:

My Very Extraordinary Mother Just Sent Us Nine.

NO MORE PUPPIES.

I hope you're happy.

Wikipedia lists ideas for non-pluto mnemonics here. It's not the same.

Apparently, this has happened before. Ceres used to be a planet but got demoted (I wonder what mnemonics were used with Ceres and how people coped with its disappearance). What's next? Earth?

Think about what you are unleashing here, oh scientists of the International Astronomical Union.

Also, I bet you're all geeks.

Geeks and Puppy Killers.

Look at what the dog is refusing to drag in...

Tonight I joined two lovely young men for dinner at the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park. I had a chocolate shake (which I’ve been craving for about a week now- I think ever since I watched the scary Johnny Depp and the Chocolate Factory movie) and a burger. Shake Shack does their burgers California style. The jury is still out on what that actually means.

Anyway, it was delicious and lovely to sit out in the park, devouring burgers and chatting. We washed the whole thing down with slurpees from what is, apparently, the only 7-11 in the city. The evening ended up on their beautiful terrace overlooking the Empire State Building, the Chrysler building, and two other big tall beautiful buildings, where we saw five rare stars in the Manhattan sky and discussed such burning issues as coffee snobbery (will people look down on you if you bring a 7-11/Dunkin Donuts cup into work instead of Starbucks), television (and excitement over the new Aaron Sorkin show), and random NYC trivia (the smallest county in the country is New York County, a.k.a Manhattan).

I.love.this.city.

I’m still unemployed, a fact that is probably apparent from my posting at 1:30 in the morning. Nothing to get up for tomorrow. In fact, I may read a little before bed, too. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, people who won’t employ me.

Not that I’m desperate or anything. I started my job search on Sunday evening. It is now Wednesday evening. I quit my old job two Fridays ago. This is exactly eleven days that I’ve been out of work. Hardly a significant number.

The thing that gets me the most is the dog-walking companies. I really want to be a dog-walker. They make decent money, I could do it before classes, I could take an evening job still if I needed to, plus I would totally lose weight. What more could I want? But these dog-walking jobs do not come easy. They want cover letters and resumes and references and experience.

Hi. I graduated Summa Cum Laude. I am very smart. I am in the process of obtaining my master’s degree. I like dogs just fine. I have two years of excellent and irrelevant office experience. I ran a half-marathon in March. Please let me walk your dogs.

Speaking of Conslutting...

During my job search thus far, I have found openings for girls at foot fetish parties, phone sex operators, and something that advertised potential mistresses but seemed to be some kind of non-sex S&M role-playing gig.

No, I have not applied for any of the above.

But they sure do offer a lot more than the waitressing/assistanting type jobs I'm looking at.

Yes, toothpaste for dinner is hilarious.

No, this is not my goal for life in New York.

Weekend Revue

1- Sac's Place

I visited this Italian restaurant with my family and all the roommates (future and present). They're famous for their coal-oven pizza (I tried my sister's and it was delicious). Everything was good: my French Kiss martini, the hot antipasta appetizer, and my pepper and mozzarella ravioli. The only thing lacking was my birthday tiramisu, which was round and liquidy. Will definitely be walking to this Astoria restaurant in the future to pick up some pizza.

2- The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee

Our cheap tickets from the TKTs booth turned out to be very good seats (second row). This show was hi-larious. The best part: my sister was one of the audience members chosen as a bee participant. She spent at least half an hour onstage and, despite her horrendous spelling, got 'indigent' right. Also,
Barrett Foa, who I also saw as Princeton in Avenue Q, is my new, probably gay, celebrity boyfriend.

3- Aliada's

My first authentic Greek restaurant. Now that I live on the edge of Astoria, there are sure to be many more. I tried the Mousaka, which is what lasagna would be if the Greeks had invented it instead of the Italians. It was good but...weird. My fabulous married friends, visiting from New Haven, had the Greek Mixed Grill. Too much meat but all of it very tasty, especially the goat cheese and pork. Delish (I've been saying this 'word' a lot lately, I figure I may as well write it).

4- The Fantasticks

I was definitely spoiling myself with two shows in one weekend- I'm pretty sure this will never happen again. My high school performed The Fantasticks during my sophmore year; I had vague but pleasant memories of it. The show only opened four days ago, but it had everything together. I loved the cast and the simple staging of the production. I'm at an age in my life where I feel this show should be very relevant- it's about growing up and relating to the world. I think. In all honesty, I'm not sure exactly what the intended message of the show is...but I enjoyed it!

5- Rice to Riches

When my roommate said we were going for rice pudding, I was skeptical. I do not remember ever really liking rice pudding. She promised I would, once I tried this rice pudding. This was the Cold Stone of rice puddings. And it was absolutely terrific. I tried the tiramisu with whipped cream on top. And the store itself is adorable, filled with signs saying such things as "We Have a Deal with the Bank- They Don't Serve Rice Pudding and We Don't Cash Checks" and "Eat as Much Rice Pudding as You Want- You're Already Fat". Also delish.

Summary of Revue: I loved everything.

Baby's First Solo Trip

On Wednesday, baby took her first solo trip into the city.

She walked to the subway (all alone!) and picked the correct line going in the correct direction. She got off at the right stop (all by herself!). She figured out which way to walk (without any help!). She arrived at the NYU offices on 12th street and got a very crappy looking ID card.

Then she doubled back to the most magnificent thing she had ever seen, which caught her eye on the way to 12th: The Strand Bookstore.

Baby spent a lot of time in there. Too much time. It is heaven in a store. She should probably never go there again.

Then she grabbed a sandwich and wandered around the Union Square Farmer's market.

Then she got back onto the subway (all alone!) and picked the correct line going in the correct direction. She got off at the right stop (all by herself!). She walked home (without any help!).

I am amazing.

I'm gonna be a part of it...

I’m here.

Still moving in. Still adjusting. My mother is wondering why I haven’t gotten a job yet. I’ve only been here three days.

Last night I had a fabulous New York experience. We went to Magnolia’s for birthday cupcakes (a day late, but just as good) and then to see a fringe festival show…which was sold out because it was an equity showcase. So, instead we went to Dallas BBQ, where we sat around with Texas-sized drinks and played Scrabble...which, believe me, is hard once you have some Texas-sized drink in you.

Tonight we are going to see a show for real. We think.

I’m really enjoying my new neighborhood. I like walking places…to the store, to pick up some lunch, to the subway…everywhere!

And I’m 24. Mid-twenties. Eek.

Still. I’m loving this city.

If that's Moving Up, then I'm...

T-minus (where did that come from) 3 days until I leave for the Big City.

Friday is my last day at work here. In honor of this momentous occasion, I am sharing my phone quotes (I'm a sucker for keeping track of funny quotes, no matter where I am).

My funniest phone experience ever (though also kind of creepy) was when someone called me up at my restaurant receptionist job to talk about my feet (and offer me money to lick them...I considered it). I also had some very funny moments working in the Box Office at Theater on the Hill. And then there were the funny convos at my current place of employment...

Caller: What's your name?
Me: (my full name)
Caller: I hope there's a man deserving of that name.

Caller: Is JR in?
Me: No, he's actually not going to be in until next week.
Caller: That communist.

Caller: Why don't you get up, go down the hall, tell him I'm on the phone, and slap him?
Me: I really can't do that.

Me: Good morning, (company name).
Caller: Hi, who's this?
Me: (my name)
Caller: What's your name?
Me: (my name)
Caller: And you're with (company name).
Me: Yes.

Caller: When you slap somebody, what do you generally do: slap on the cheek or the arm or what?
Me: I don't generally slap people.
Caller: But if you did?
Me: Uh...the cheek.
Caller: Self defense lesson: if you want to slap someone, slap 'em in the ear. They'll go down.
Me: I'm going to see if Bob is available yet.

A couple funny conversations, face to face (funnier, I am sure, if you actually know the people):

JR: Now, who has an adding machine?
Di: An adding machine? It's right next to my abacus.

Me: What do you call the color of that shirt?
Todd: Flamboyant.
Me: I think it's mauve.
Bob: It's mauve. Let me never see you wear that shirt again.
Me: Is that a cheerleader on the pocket?

Jaimie (on phones): How can I hold you?
Caller: Uh...

Me: There's a lot of things you can't take into Preakness that you used to be able to.
Todd: Like guns?
Me: Yeah, you can't take guns.
Todd: Aw, I can't take my arms!

Goodbye, oh office-o'-mine. It's been a good run.

Thoughts for the Future...

Once we get fed up enough with the American government, my cousin T and I are going to open a bar in Australia called 'Why We Left America'. There will be many drink specials, a lot of menu items stolen from Padonia Station (flavored eggrolls), and a two bedroom apartment over the bar.

There are so many alternate realities out there, and I can't live them all.

Quandary of the Day: When did I become the kind of girl who greeted people with a mutual cheek-kiss? I did this a lot at my friend's gig last night, to people I haven't seen in ages. Why? Why is this an effective method of greeting people?

The (first) Requisite Moving Post

everyone else did one, so why can't I?

A successful move, I am beginning to feel, is in the details. The painstaking little tiny details. Anyone can throw junk into boxes and pile it into a truck. It's the details that work.

I've had a list in my martini-covered briefcase for two weeks now. Everything that has to be done moves on and off that list. It's the conveyor belt of tasks. It includes everything from 'sell car' to 'library books back' to 'Kristin's show'. It is the Bible of My Life.

Yesterday's big task focused on the cat.

My cat, Darcy, is not particularly likeable. I wish I had one of those adorable, cuddily kittenish cats who plays with string and only climbs in your lap when you want her to and doesn't shed profusely or scratch. However, I don't. I have a fairly unhygenic fat cat who only wants to hang out when you're working (the other day, I was writing and she pulled the space bar off of my laptop), gets clumps in her fur that make her back half unpettable, sheds, and scratches anything she can reach.

And I'm about to unleash her on two new unsuspecting roommates.

So yesterday was Extreme Makeover: Cat Edition. I knew if I, who kind of love Darcy, was finding her hard to live with, new people would find her intolerable.

First problem: excessive shedding on the furniture.

I know there is only so much cat hair you can tolerate on your furniture. So I decided to try No Stay, which will apparently keep the source of all cat hair, Darcy herself, off of the furniture. I am trying it out with this small black couch in my bedroom that she loves to sit on. So far...well, nothing. But it's supposed to take four days to work...Also, it's organic. I always feel better when I spend my money on organic products.

Second Problem: The CLAWS

Having decided, after much internet research, that de-clawing is in fact inhumane and only to be used as a very last resort, I happened upon Soft Claws. These puppies glue onto Darcy's paw, rather like Press-On Nails, and are supposed to last for three months. A pack contains 4 sets of nails, so that's a year's supply. For twenty dollars. Not bad, if it works. I wanted to get her the pink so she would be totally stylin'(black, white and pink are HOT together), but they weren't available in her size. Maybe next time.

Getting them on her was monstrously unpleasant and took two hours of television watching and a leash. I had to calm her down enough to cut each claw, put glue in the plastic claws and stick them on. She was NOT a happy kitty. But now she is not a scratchy kitty either.

Problem Numero Three: Icky, matted hair.

No one wants to pet a cat with clumps of nasty hair on her backside. Not even her sometimes loving mama. So, I decided to try this, recommended by a friend for just such problems. So far: not working. The rest of her hair is silky smooth, but the clumps remained clumps. So I cut them out. Maybe you have to catch clumps when they are just forming and not when they've been hanging out on the cat's back for a couple of weeks. Ew.

Yes. I was good business for Petsmart yesterday. But now Darcy is ready for her move to the big city and will, possibly, earn the love and respect of my new roommates...if they can get past her many behavioral problems.

Also: waa, waa! I hate packing.

Pieces of Web: Heath, Harry and Hemingway

what I enjoyed on the interweb today...

From my daily newsletter, The Writer's Almanac:
"The greatest gift is a passion for reading. It is cheap, it consoles, it distracts, it excites, it gives you knowledge of the world and experience of a wide kind. It is a moral illumination." ~ Elizabeth Hardwick
"An intellectual is a person who has discovered something more interesting than sex." ~ Aldous Huxley

Heath Ledger will be playing the Joker in the next Batman (Begins) movie...can I handle Heath Ledger and Christian Bale in the same movie? Oh, the beauty! I hope Tom Cruise's child love slave skips this film (she is not yet listed in the cast on imdb.com). Also: how far from Jack Nicholson can the casting agents get?

What will the wine industry think of next? First they started making excellent wines with screw caps (which are much more reliable than cork). Now good wines are being put into boxes and jugs. Pretty soon, wine afficianados (or in my case, wanna-bes) won't have anything to be snobby about!

Grey's Anatomy spoilers(ish) discussed on TV Guide's Ask Ausiello here. Apparently, Patrick Dempsey is tired of McDreamy being so wishy-washy about his women, and Ellen Pompeo is boring. Also, the first episode takes place mere hours after last season's cliff-hanger. I can't wait! Over at Grey Matter, Shonda Rhimes has 1006 comments on her latest blog. If only I had that kind of following.

I wish I could have made it to NYC for this event: John Irving (genius) and Stephen King (blockbuster), acting as 'warm up bands' for JK Rowling (goddess). What I don't understand? How any fan- of the book OR movie- could possibly still think that Harry and Hermione are meant to end up together.

The many uses of myspace continue to multiply: the writers/show producers of America's Next Top Model are using myspace to promote their strike.

Discourse on the main 'curse' word of my childhood. No, I didn't cuss as a child (I still don't use foul language around my parents), but my mother would blanche and yell over the word 'sucks'.

And, just because Hemingway has been popping up so much in my blog lately- here's a bit about his cats. Hemingway's six-toed cats, named after celebrities such as Frank Sinatra and Pablo Picasso are a fixture at the writer's home in Key West. But for how long (cue ominous music)?

And a note from my personal emails: I will have Tivo in the new apartment. It doesn't get any better than that.

Creed

I believe the chicken before the egg
though I believe in the egg. I believe
eating is a form of touch carried
to the bitter end; I believe chocolate
is good for you; I believe I'm a lefty
in a right-handed world, which does not
make me gauche, or abnormal, or sinister.
I believe "normal" is just a cycle on
the washing machine; I believe the touch
of hands has the power to heal, though
nothing will ever fill this immeasurable
hole in the center of my chest. I believe
in kissing; I believe in mail; I believe
in salt over the shoulder, a watched
pot never boils, and if I sit by my
mailbox waiting for the letter I want
it will never arrive—not because of
superstition, but because that's not
how life works. I believe in work:
phone calls, typing, multiplying,
black coffee, write write write, dig
dig dig, sweep sweep. I believe in
a slow, tortuous sweep of tongue
down the lover's belly; I believe I've
been swept off my feet more than once
and it's a good idea not to name names.
Digging for names is part of my work,
but that's a different poem. I believe
there's a difference between men and
women and I thank God for it. I believe
in God, and if you hold the door
and carry my books, I'll be sure to ask
for your name. What is your name? Do
you believe in ghosts? I believe
the morning my father died I heard him
whistling "Danny Boy" in the bathroom,
and a week later saw him standing in
the living room with a suitcase in his
hand. We never got to say good-bye, he
said, and I said I don't believe in
good-byes. I believe that's why I have
this hole in my chest; sometimes it's
rabid; sometimes it's incoherent. I
believe I'll survive. I believe that
"early to bed and early to rise" is
a boring way to live. I believe good
poets borrow, great poets steal, and
if only we'd stop trying to be happy
we could have a pretty good time. I
believe time doesn't heal all wounds;
I believe in getting flowers for no
reason; I believe "Give a Hoot, Don't
Pollute," "Reading is Fundamental,"
Yankee Stadium belongs in the Bronx,
and the best bagels in New York are
boiled and baked on the corner of First
and 21st. I believe in Santa
Claus, Jimmy Stewart, ZuZu's petals,
Arbor Day, and that ugly baby I keep
dreaming about—she lives inside me
opening and closing her wide mouth.
I believe she will never taste her
mother's milk; she will never be
beautiful; she will always wonder what
it's like to be born; and if you hold
your hand right here—touch me right
here, as if this is all that matters,
this is all you ever wanted, I believe
something might move inside me,
and it would be more than I could stand.

~ Meg Kearney, An Unkindness of Ravens
from The Writer's Almanac