Friday, June 30, 2006
Buffy Season 2 and Buffy Season 5 ended the same way.
and Season 2 and Season 3 pretty much start the same way.
Well, that week went well.
I didn't think about poker once!
I didn't watch a hundred hours of poker on the TV and internet.
I certainly didn't desperately try to put a game together two days before the week was up.
No sirree, Bob. I did not.
Instead, I finished two books. (Three Junes and Rule of Four, two ehs and a blah apiece.)
I did laundry myself! How boring was that? Figured out that the dryer costs .032 a minute.
I watched an inordinate number of Buffy The Vampire Slayer DVDs and watched a couple of Netflix movies (Has anyone else managed to find random black and white WWII movies in their queque?)
And...drumroll, please...even went to the Gym. THE GYM.
So, experiment tried, ruled a moderate success...but we now return to our previously scheduled poker playing.
Buffy, Dawson and Felicity Bid WB Farewell
Thanks to some fancy licensing-rights footwork by bossman Garth Ancier, WB will end its 11-year run on Sunday, Sept. 17, by rebroadcasting the pilots of signature series Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Felicity, Angel and Dawson's Creek, Variety reports. The net's five-hour farewell package will also include promos from years gone by and a tribute reel recounting the famous faces who have graced its broadcast signal. Says Ancier, "This will be an homage to our shows." Gripes Michigan J. Frog, "I'm still unemployed, ribbit."
But she said "I will not be in a catfight ... Women professionals need to perform as women professionals."
"I will not denigrate Ms. Walters ever, that's not who I am," Reynolds said, adding that she considered the broadcaster a mentor.
On her replacement, Reynolds said, "It would be nice to see another African American professional, not an actress or comedian."
Star, actually has handled her firing very well. Her interview today with Al Roker struck the perfect balance of "mistakes have been made and I will not dignify their comments with a response."
I also love the seed of discord she sowed by mentioning that Elisabeth -- the one co-host without any loyalties to Rosie O--sent her a "lovely letter."
Of course, somewhere Debbie Matenpoulos is laughing her ass off.
Lil Kim to be released for Fourth of July.
Lil' Kim says she'll be celebrating Independence Day early this year. The rapper, who was sentenced in September to a year and a day in prison for lying about a shootout outside a hip-hop radio station, is being released Monday, the day before July Fourth.
"I am thrilled to be coming home," Lil' Kim said Thursday in a statement issued by her publicist, Tracy Nguyen. "I thank all my fans for all their letters, as well as my family and friends for all their support throughout the past 10 months."
How on earth did you think "hmmm...I'll just put on Buffy season two in the background while finishing up this memo," was a good idea?
On a completely unrelated to my totally being up at 3 a.m. finishing this memo, BUFFY ROCKS.
Oh, they were sooo young. And angsty. And her mom was so alive.
That is all.
Will TV ever be this good again?
Snyder: "There are some things I can just smell...it's like a sixth sense.
Giles: No...that's one of the five.
Giles: Punishing yourself like this is pointless.
Buffy: It's entirely pointy.
Buffy: I'm an old fashioned gal. I was raised to believe that men dig up the corpses and women have the babies.
There was a lot of saving Cordelia's ass in this season.
Seriously, so when I get fired, do you think Joss Whedon will take me in?
Absolutely, positively the last thing Ima say about Buffy...
I always thought I wanted to know the future. But watching season two...knowing how it all ends for Jenny and Buffy and Willow...it's kinda sad. Knowing but not being able to do anything.
Glory was not as bad as I remembered.
OK...now this is the absolutely positively last thing: Dawn wouldn't have been such a bad character if she didn't have a voicebox...or lungs...no lungs Dawn would have been great.
Bawling "She saved the world. A lot. /Bawling
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Israel hits ministry; Hamas offers soldier
Gotta say...there is a lesson to be learned from the fact that the most famous pacifists in history were shot to death.
I am so over juice in a bag.
Dawn (3:55:44 PM): what day is it?
GirlWent2HiSchoolW (3:55:48 PM): Thursday
Dawn (3:55:55 PM): man...
Dawn (3:55:59 PM): when will friday get here???
Dawn (3:56:09 PM): it's been not friday FOR FREAKING EVER
GirlWent2HiSchoolW (3:56:12 PM): tomorrow, probably
UHH...ONE OF THESE THINGS IS NOT LIKE THE OTHER
A dancer and actress who claimed she was harassed for having large breasts and a serious toe injury while performing for the touring version of Broadway's "Movin' Out" musical is suing a stage actors' union for more than $100 million.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Today is F-train’s birthday and I am finally, blissfully free.
Last year, my poor Uncle Fredo had a fishing accident and I was unfortunately unable to attend F-train nee asphnxma’s birthday party.
And although I may not have remembered the specifics of it all, he was right there to remind me at least once a week for a year, up to and including a email for this year’s party which included a link to this.
So, umm, good luck, Chugarte and Alceste, good luck.
I was the first one to arrive at F-train’s 30th…as per my penance agreement and let me tell you, getting there was pretty awesome.
According to travel sites, I could either take the 5 to Borough Hall or the F to Bergen street.
Now, for you non-New Yorkers (or non Brooklynites) those directions are about as helpful as someone saying to get to Cincinnati you can either fly into JFK or Palm Beach.
Doesn’t matter, you’ve got a looooooong walk ahead of you.
But never mind, hot bartender kept my attention until till Kaz and F-train arrived.
Now, I could write about being squashed by Sonar, who responded to warnings that I do not like to be touched with a cavalier "ah, she's just never been touched in the right way." Or about giving DJ Howard the very easy choice of saying that he didn't care about the World Cup and staying in my good graces or choosing the World Cup and being dead to me...DJ Howard who? Or about being chastised for violating the Mardi Gras code...but it's not my birthday, so that would be pretty selfish.
So, in honor of F-train’s big day, I present to you, F-train: the man and the philosophy.
“Thanks Dawn. For your disgustingly generous gift.”
On assisting those in need:
“I hate helpless people.”
“It gives me such a warm feeling to see you get "wtfpwn3d."
“Is she gone? Can we talk about her breasts now?”
On mixed company
“I lost my last boa…but it’s sort of an X-rated story that I don’t think Dawn wants to hear.”
“I like kids. But they look like a lot of work.”
F-train: “I’m not that much of a crackhead that I want to stay over in AC.”
Me: Uhh…I’d say that driving down and playing until your eyes are bloodshot and then taking a bus back at 6 a.m. has to register high on the crackout scale.
On snappy comebacks:
After JCN told a pretty ribald story of hot gay sex, Mint Julip and I called F-train over to save us with a new conversation topic.
“How ironic that we’re turning to you for good clean conversation,” she said when he sat down.
“Heey, when did you become a bitch?”
On putting blame where it belongs:
After Mint Julip left:
“Dawn Summers!!! What did you do to drive away the hottest girl at my party?”
On not valuing his life at all:
(To me, Kaz and Elba)
“Where are the hot girls?”
Girl: If I make out with you, will you give me the boa?
Girl: There. Can I get it now?
Girl: I feel so used...wanna keep making out anyway?
On birthdays (external):
"Birthdays are the Earth's equivalent of passing the starting tower on Lap 198 of the Indy 500."
On birthdays (internal):“OK, now I have to make a list of all the people who aren’t here.”
Guy: Yeah, I asked him which baseball team he rooted for and he said 'oh, the Yankees and the Mets,' and I was like whatever, no way is he a real New Yorker.
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing
There is a field. I will meet you there.
Ok...well, it was also my first, but still.
In celebration of the future Lee Stevens offspring, his sister in law organized a dimsum brunch square in the heart of Whiteyville.
It was pouring on Sunday and after an evening of drinking and taxi cab driver vengeance planning, let's just say they haven't yet made the alarm clock that could wake me before noon.
Unfortunately, baby shower started at noon.
I jumped in the shower, threw on a suit and put the pedal to the metal.
I did, somehow, find time to stop off at a bakery in Red Hook to get breakfast (yes, I know I was going to a brunch, but...still.)
Sadly, the cupcake was not very good at all. Despite the fact that the place scored very well in our unscientific cupcake taste test.
So, by the time I made to the restaurant, I was wet and still starving.
Plus, I wasn't sure if we would be paying for our meals and I didn't have anything other than a fistful of credit cards and Casino membership rewards cards.
Besides the father and mother to be, I only recognized one other person in the dim sum hall.
She tilts her head to the side and gives me a disapproving look.
"Dawn, fix yourself...you're all crooked..."
I readjust a strap or two and pull my suit jacket shut --- this is going to be a loooong day.
Still half-asleep, hungry and worried about the deadbeat Dawn bill paying moment to come, I order a cup of tea.
Kaz and F-train arrive shortly afterward and we all take a seat at the first table. Captain, Lee's high school friend, sits with us.
Since all of these people had been at F-train's birthday party the night before, except Anna, who was not invited, conversation was a bit lacking.
Especially since I kept thinking "hmmm...the last time I saw F-train and Captain, they were both sucking some girl's face in a bar."
Not baby shower fare to say the least.
So, I managed to muster a good "anybody got Fourth of July plans?"
"Yeah, Kaz and I are going to Nantucket with my roommate...There promises to be one wedding and one funeral," Captain offered.
Food. Where oh where was the ---
Oh, here it is!
Is that all?
Damn, dim sum.
I began to practice my best "Oliver" impression as I scoured the crowd holding my empty plate.
Hungry Dawn = Sad Panda.
"Pssst...ok...what if I went and got a take out menu and ordered some pork fried rice...would that be bad form?"
Man, all these people do is stare at me. Do I have something on my face?
Our table was complete when Kaz's friend from law school, who left New York to work for a judge on an island in the South Pacific joined us.
She is currently working on a novel about a girl who leaves New York to work for a judge on an island in the South Pacific.
She sat down as they were handing out the second course.
"Man, the last baby shower I went to we had to play all these awkward games...like guess how wide the mom to be is, using toilet paper to measure, and this game where they put clothespin on the women and blindfolded men have to pull them off..."
"Yeah, I had to play that one with a judge."
"How do you avoid touching in ...inappropriate ways?"
Anna then told this story about her law school profs asking her to judge which of their chests was better. She did so very animatedly and well, I would say F-train was not so much listening to her story as watching her stand up and down. And by "her" I mean "her boobs."
"I'm so distracted," he whispers to Elba, the novelist.
"How do you manage to function everday?"
ooooh, oooh, pick me, pick me!
Anyway, so when Lee's sister in law stood up and clinked the glass...I panicked.
Either this was the moment when we'd be asked to contribute twenty dollars for our meal and I'd have to sneak out through the bathroom or she'd be handing out clothespins and, well, I'd have to sneak out through the bathroom.
Happily, the first "game" involved naming as many children from various TV sitcoms as you could in two minutes.
"Dawn, if you don't win this, I will be very disappointed."
Everyone was supposed to keep their papers face down, until she started the official two minute countdown.
Some people had already started writing.
"Dawn! No cheating," Lee said pointing an accusing finger at me and my still face down paper.
"Hey, good instincts, my friend. But, no, I am innocent this time." Man, you cheat once or twice at Uno on game night and they never let you forget.
When time was called these were the chosen sitcoms:
Everybody Loves Raymond
And for extra credit there were three other shows, only to be counted in the event of tie.
I whiffed on the middle brother on the Brady Bunch, forgot that Growing Pains added the annoying curly haired child in the last season, and called Andy "Adam."
Oh well, but yes, at the final tally, I won.
The prize? For the girl who watches too much TV: A set of bookmarks.
The next game we had to name the baby animal to match the adult animal listed.
As you can imagine, I did less well on this one. In fact, I resorted to writing the name of the adult animal in Spanish whenever I didn't know it.
F-train decided to put an "ie" after the adult name.
Our respective sheets would look something like:
After the games, we had cake (mmmm...delicious, delicious, delicious cake and just to complete my day of disproving our unscientific taste test, the cake was from Buttercup which fared extremely poorly in our test.) and the mom to be opened up our presents.
She'd open a box and hold the items up for everyone to oooh and aaah.
"Uh oh...my gift is not very "ooh"y or "ahh"y," I said to the table.
"What did you get? A power drill?"
Earlier that week I had emailed Kaz to find out if the couple was registered anywhere. She said they were, but asked if I wanted to get in on the gift she and Captain were buying -- punk rock clothes for babies.
You know shirts emblazoned with "AC/DC" or "daddy drinks because I cry" or "I live for titties."
No, No. I kid you not.
I politely declined saying "well, when Helen runs out of her shower crying, I will point out that I bought a gift off the registry like I was supposed to!"
But here the gifts all were, being judged by the judging eyes of the shower guests and I doubted myself.
"Is it too late to put my name on the card," I pleaded as Lee picked up the very cute Spiderman bag from Captain and Kaz.
Kaz said "Suck it!" or something like that.
When they finally got to my gift, I basically apologized in advance.
"I'm sorry my gift is not any good at all. I am not creative in anyway and I am socially awkward."
My gambit worked and my gift got more sympathy applause than anybody else's!
After my third piece of cake, on not that full a stomach, I was starting to feel queasy. I had thought that I could get someone else to drive back to Brooklyn, but the rest of the law school folks decided to go get drinks.
So, I dropped them off and prayed that I didn't retch until I made it home...after all, I've already got to pay to get mildew and chocolate out of the backseat.
Happily, I didn't hit any traffic on the way home and was safely back in bed within minutes.
And I could say that I successfully made it through yet another one of life's little rites of passage: the baby shower.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Me: I'm good with people, too.
Pi: Well...I don't know about that. But you're not annoying.
I finally finished "Three Junes." It's not as sucktacular as it was in the first thirty pages, yet that really is the best I can say for it.
But this passage really resonated with me:
Pull yourself together and live. Live: a command I received explicitly some time ago and try to respect for all the privilege it gives me. Never mind that it often feels like a burden I'd rather stow in an attic with the rash luxury, the true luxury, of saving it for some undetermined season in the future.
More and more often lately I've been beseiged by the same impulse. As I fritter away the last days of my roaring twenties decade, the call to get up, grow up and get a life has gotten just loud enough to break through the sounds of Britney Spears on my ipod. The second album, naturally.
All my friends are off and coupled, some have even multiplied. But, Dawn, as ever remedial in mathematics, struggles on with her own schizophrenic, frivolous demands with little care for others. But I know it cannot always be this way.
Nor do I wish it to be.
I want the successful, fulfilling career and the family of my own choosing and the children and the home and the SL 500.
I just need another few minutes or so.
Just a while more of sleeping until 11, playing card and board games until the sunrise, catching up on a Season's worth of Smallville and turning the AC up to the maximum setting, so that I can still wrap myself up in my comforter even on the hottest summer nights.
What I wouldn't give for just a couple more days of memos dashed off in the middle of the night to meet the final, final "first thing in the morning" deadline of irate bosses and the mindless monotony of document review for which I am paid blindingly handsomely.
Yes, I want to live. I do. Just, not right now.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Girl on girl fight delays flight.
Police detained one woman and questioned two others early Sunday after a fight broke out in the first minutes of a flight to Puerto Rico, causing the plane to be diverted to John F. Kennedy Airport in New York, officials said.
Say what you want about bottle tricks and in depth knowledge of drink ingredients, but I have seven drinks –including two “I don’t know, make me something interestings,” and forty bucks that says the most important feature in a bartender is hotness.
Good thing I don’t get drunk and I’ve given up poker for a while, cause I’ll be buying lots of drinks at the Last Exit this summer.
Lately, I have taken to describing sucky situations as “awesome” --- emphasis on the “awe” as in “awful.” However, I also describe great situations as awesome and I am starting to confuse myself.
Which is, of course, awesome.
I will be making yet another complaint against a cabdriver who sped off on the wrong black woman. Why don’t they have a network that distributes my picture with the phrase “if you don’t want to end up at a hearing before the TLC don’t mess with this chick”?
I don't make many promises, but when I do, I keep them.
Soooo many memories...sooo few blogs.
Where are my pajama pants?
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Aaron Spelling is Dead.
Poker has been good to me.
And not just financially.
I have finally found something that motivates me to leave the house and TV...to, dare I say, even venture out to Jersey City.
I have met a dozen new totally cool people...ok, maybe nine totally cool people.
It confirmed for me that I am, at my core, a writer. As much as I love poker, I love running home to the laptop to tell all my sorted stories from the felt to those precious few who read the poker blog , even more.
It has been great combining my passion for storytelling with my newfound passion for Hold 'Em and sharing it with who read the poker blog.
Poker all day, every day makes Dawn a cracked out crazy person.
So, we're taking a little break.
(And I wish I could say you heard it here first, but those who read the poker blog already got the scoop...Did, I mention I have a poker blog?)
Just a little one.
A week to be exact.
But that's longer than I've gone without poker all year, so we'll see if I can be as good to myself as poker has been...at least for the next week!
Friday, June 23, 2006
I made brownies last night and was thinking of you. Mostly, I was thinking "Good thing Dawn's not here, or I couldn't put these walnuts in my brownies. Mmmm, walnuts." -Pearatty
Claydes Charles Smith, a co-founder and lead guitarist of the group Kool & the Gang, has died. He was 57.
Smith died Tuesday in Maplewood, New Jersey, after a long illness, his publicist said.
Kool & the Gang grew from jazz roots in the 1960s to become one of the major groups of the 1970s, blending jazz, funk, R&B and pop. After a downturn, the group enjoyed a return to stardom in the '80s.
I can't even think of how any of their songs went...
Except Joanna. I love you. You are the one. The one for me.
A teenager who flew to the Middle East to be with a man she met on MySpace.com said Friday she intends to marry him.
"I love him very much," 17-year-old Katherine Lester said of Abdullah Jimzawi, 20, who works in his father's business delivering goods to West Bank convenience stores.
Lester appeared on ABC-TV's "Good Morning America" with her father and stepmother. Jimzawi also spoke with ABC during a taped portion of the segment, describing how the pair "can't live without each other."
But here's my favorite part:
"Our initial reaction was to isolate her, to lock her up and just keep her safe here in America," said her father, Terry Lester. "But that's unrealistic because you can see the love they have for each other."
Indeed. You can just seeeeee it in the positive pregnancy test.
via Girl I went to High School with
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Does a bottle of soy sauce, really need a separate warning tag that says "Product contains soy?"
Really? It's not like we're going out and purchasing a bottle that just says "sauce."
U.S. soccer did, what U.S. soccer does.
Man arrested on bestilaity charges.
A witness called a Martin County deputy who arrived to find Junio Trenta, 31, having anal intercourse with the dog amid the woods in the 3200 block of Southeast Dixie Highway about 12:11 p.m. Monday.
My favorite part of the story:
Upon being seen, Trenta said, "It's my dog," and, "What's the problem?" The male dog ran and hid behind the deputies, according to a report released Tuesday.
What? It's my dog, man!
I know you can't see it. But my face totally doesn't look like a face that would lie.
I mean, it would lie, of course, and does with alarming regularity -- but you'd never know it to look at me.
I think the cleaning lady is starting to be hip to me.
A few weeks ago, my mom and my aunt arranged for this lady to come once a week to clean up my messes. (And, no I don't know exactly when I turned into this woman with a car and a coop and a lady that cleans up her messes, but here I am.)
However, while she comes once a week to clean up my messes, turns out I make messes every day! Sometimes twice or three times a day...certainly everytime I go into the kicthen (which, thank the lord, is finally finished.)
But, since I am a frugal bastard and lazy as all get out, I figure I can leave the mess. After all, a lady is coming...in six days...or four days...TOMORROW!
But when she comes, and sees days' worth of dishes and trash and grime and strewn paper...I panic.
"Oh, big party last night."
The grill still all sooty from my barbecue..."uhh...yeah, decided to fire it up yesterday."
Apparently every Wednesday is mardi gras in the Summers' apartment!
Of course, as I slink out the door and hear her picking up the mail, I wonder if she suspects the truth...
Nah...just look at this face!
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
He expressed love to his mother and to relatives of the murder victims as they watched from separate windows nearby.
"I do not know all of your names and I don't know how you feel about me," he said, addressing the victims' relatives. "And whether you believe it or not, I did not kill them."
As the drugs began taking effect, he said, "This is some nasty." Then he gasped.
At that moment, his mother, Brenda Reese, began pounding with her fists on the chamber window and began screaming repeatedly, "They killed my baby."
She kicked two holes in the death chamber wall and eventually was taken away. She sobbed and nearly collapsed as she reached the prison administration building across the street.
Oh my God.
Racist white girl: I prefer Dom Perignon [to Cristal].
Ari: That's funny. Cause they prefer you.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Someone has sent F-train a cease and desist Dawn Summers' related material order:
Do us all a favor and start a F-Train - Dawn Summers Banter Blog.
World Cup content good.
Poker content good.
Social Retardation content good.
I've had my fill of Dawn.
I really don't know what to say, I figure something appropriate will come to me in the coming weeks, but for now, welcome Chilly to the blogroll.
I want to be able to complain about my job. I mean, come on, it's the right of associates to complain about their law firm jobs. I've done it on the pages of your blog before. I should be able to do it again. Many of my friends are lawyers at Biglaw type firms. They all complain. They look to me to join in because I had so much to complain about at OldLLP.
But I can't. I love my job.
I'm not kidding. I *love* my job. The issues are fascinating. The people are nice. The partners know how to manage. The staff is helpful. Paralegals are capable. My secretary gives me good-natured grief (which I deserve), but always does the work well.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. But I've been here three months. Nothing's dropped. (Except maybe my weight. By like 15 pounds. Because I've had time to work out, to go home and cook meals, to be healtier. I lost half of my OldLLP weight. You know, the Freshman Fifteen? Well, I had the Law Firm 30.)
I guess I should pose a question to all the law firm associates in blogworld. When does the shine wear off? When does reality set in? It's possible that I was so beaten down by OldLLP that any improvement is forever welcome. Or, it's possible NewLLP is just a great place to work. I'm just trying not to get my hopes up.
* The views of my guest blogger do not reflect those of the decidedly fat and miserable Dawn Summers, please address all hate mail to DRobbski@gotohellyoubastard.com
Umm...so the Stanley Cup champion is North Carolina? Really?
Do they even have ice down there...I mean...outside of the Mint Julips.
It would be awesome if "No, I have time. I just don't want to," was a valid response to the work availability request.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Today was my employer's annual morale boosting day out of the office for its employees.
A fine twelve hour day of barbecue, golf and tennis was planned.
Now, while I enjoy a good 'cue. I certainly didn't need twelve hours of it and goodness knows I don't golf or tennis.
To Tennis (v): I Tennis, You tennis, he,she, it tennises.
Dawn does not tennis.
But I had to put in an appearance of some kind, so I informed the good planning committee people that I would drive myself up.
So, I woke up at 11, made breakfast, putzed around and left for the outing around 1:30.
I made it up there in record time, leaving me with six and a half full hours of barbecue, golf and tennis with a hundred strangers that I would have to see again.
I made my way to the bar and got a frozen lemonade. mmm...first downside to driving.
I walked around the pool and wondered why attorneys would allow themselves out in public in such states of undress.
I walked out by the golf courses, but I was wearing inappropriate flip floppy footwear.
Just as I was about to declare this the worst outing ever and openly pine for the days when I showed my mad basketball skills at Old LLP's outing, I discovered the magical room of massages and manicures!
Surprisingly, no one was in there, so I got like two hours of massages, did my fingers and toes and made lifelong friends with the frozen lemonade guy.
I then spent eighteen hours watching the Tunisia/Spain soccer match at the bar.
Guy: What does 12 to 4 mean?
Other guy: Nothing really, but if you get two yellow cards, you are ejected and if you get two red cards in two games in a tournament then you can't play the next game.
Guy: How many fouls make a yellow card?
Other guy: That's not how it works.
Guy: So what do the fouls have to do with the cards?
Other guy: Nothing.
Guy: So why do they count them?
Other guy: Cause if you get a card, they eject you.
Then we had dinner, I got firm golf balls and a beach towel...and went home.
The drive home was fairly straightforward until I decided to follow the Mapquest directions, instead of going the way that I had taken a million and one times.
Of course, after almost an hour of driving, I find myself twenty minutes away from where I started, so I exit off the highway and drive into Bronx.
That's right. Bronx.
I don't live in The Brooklyn, so I didn't exit into The Bronx. Suck it.
I drive and drive and drive.
Now, I hate getting lost when other people are in the car. Either it's because they are the ones that told me to make some turn or another that has gotten us lost or they are making incessant annoying suggestions.
However, when I get lost alone, I need to have more fun, lest I panic and drive my car into things.
I hereby present to you: An imaginary conversation. Well, real, but in my head. So...umm..to the extent that is crazy, then it was imaginary.
Dawn's crazy sense of adventure: Hmm...we could just take the streets through Bronx into Manhattan...I think 138th street ends up in Harlem.
Dawn's sound reasoning: You do realize that Manhattan is an island.
DCSOA: But no man is an island...hey, what's that from?
DSR: John Dunne...For Whom the Bell Tolls.
DCSOA: OH MY GOD...that's right...ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee. I canNOT believe I still remember that from SI.
DSR: 'Rif. Now, do you understand what it means that Manhattan is an island?
DCSOA: Yes! Manhattan is not a MAN! Get it? MAN hattan. No man is island?? HAHAHAHAHAHAH
DSR: I. Am. Going. To. KILL. YOU.
DCSOA: OK, OK. Sorry. Island...we're driving to an island....ohhh...can't drive to an island.
DSR: Ding, ding ding.
DSR: Let's go ask at a gas station.
DCSOA: OK. Treat it like boxing: stick and move, stick and move/ Nigga, you ain't got to explain shit/ I've been robbin motherfuckers since the slave ships/
with the same clip and the same four-five...
DSR: Dawn! Ease up on the robbing people song...how bout you turn the volume down...say to zero.
DSR: Let's find a different gas station...people here are looking at us funny.
DCSOA: Ok! "Where the stash at, where the cash at?"
DCSOA: Ooh! A cab! I bet it's going back to Manhattan. Let's follow it!
DSR: Ok, you have been tailing this cab for ten minutes...a livery cab, I might add, so for all you know it is going back to its Bronx base.
DCSOA: mmm...Fort Greene put your lighters up/Flatbush keep putting your lighters up
DSR: Yes, I would like to put my lighters up in Flatbush sometime today. Let's ask someone!
DCSOA: Sir, how do I get to Manhattan?
Man in car: What part?
MIC: Make a left at the light and take the Bruckner to the 3rd avenue bridge.
DCSOA: Ok, thanks. A Bridge! Did you hear that, there's a bridge into Manhattan! Put your lighters up!
DSR: Kill. You.
You could pull into a gas station in the South Bronx to ask for directions while blaring B.I.G.'s "Gimee da loot" on your car radio. (Sample lyrics: Big up, big up, it's a stick up, stick up and I'm shooting niggaz quick if you hiccup/ Don't let me fill my clip up in your back and head piece/ The opposite of peace sending Mom Duke a wreath You're talking to the robbery expert).
So, again, you could but I'm not so sure you should.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Paul ''Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64?'' McCartney turns 64 on Sunday and is getting a divorce.
When Kaz wants something to happen, it happens.
It's probably because when Kaz says jump, you jump, and then ask how high and then apologize profusely if your jump was either too low or too high.
A couple of weeks ago, she suggested that we all have a cupcake tasting contest. We all nodded, of course. Who doesn't like to taste cupcakes, after all?
But then came the follow up email.
Bring Magnolia cupcakes to the Magnetic Fields at 8:30 on Wednesday. Or else.
So, I drove to the downtown bake shop that I love so well and prepared to pick up a few.
There wasn't a line, but there was this middle aged couple paralyzed in front of the cupcake table.
"No, but how about the chocolate?"
"Cake or frosting? Both would be too much."
"Well, I think the cream tastes better on the vanilla cake."
On and on till I wanted to asphyxiate each of them in the cupcakes. With no care about the frosting type.
When they finally got the hell out of my way -- a couple of well timed throat clears seemed to do the trick-- I grabbed one of each type and two of the white frosted vanillas for myself and headed to Brooklyn.
I got to the judging station well before anyone except DJ Howard. Over the next half hour a few other entrants trickled in.
"Hey, where'd you bring yours from?"
"Magnolia. How about you?"
"Two little Hens. They suck, I'm not even going to have one," said Kaz's friend who I only remember as the guy who hates his birthday.
By the time Kaz reached, we decided to get some real food before scarfing down cupcakes.
Hmm...guess I should have thought of that before eating two Magnolia cupcakes on the way over here...
We had pitas at this pita serving place while Mint Julip and Dr Cracker lamented about the whiteness of the area.
"Seriously, I have never seen so many white people just...congregated like that."
"Me either! I grew up an hour from Mexico and I swear New York has more white folks than I've ever seen in my life."
My PC spidey sense was tingling. I know I am supposed to say something here....defend the white people...somehow...except DJ Cracker is white...soo....umm....
"Does the pita place take credit cards?"
Yes. That'll do nicely.
Turns out that didn't take credit cards, though, so I had to run back to my car for cash.
After stuffing our face full of pita -- it was time for cupcake tasting.
Or so we thought. Kaz had disappeared!
Half an hour passed.
Guy who hates his birthday's friend had arrived, and the three of us and Mint Julip started chanting for cupcakes.
Cup-cakes. Cup-cakes. Cup-cakes.
Apparently, we were waiting for a girl who wanted to chronicle the moment on film.
Nuts to that, we said once we found out she was still about an hour away.
So we lined up about thirty cakes from seven or nine locales and began our taste test.
A place called "Baby Cakes" won for prettiest cupcakes.
However, since it specializes in vegan, no sugar, no gluten, no wheat cupcakes (to which Dawn responded, "What the hell? Might as well just have a glass of water and call it a day.") they really didn't stand a chance in any of the other categories.
"It takes like a muffin. Not bad though. But different."
(I actually agreed with that assesment.)
Two Little Hens tied with Magnolia for the "ooey gooey, I want it now" appearance category.
But on to the eats.
A place called "Baked" -- a bakery in Red Hook next to my favoritest brunch spot, tied with Magnolia for best tasting*
Although it had a weird green icing that looked freaky...it was hella delicious and everyone was like "wait? where was this from again??"
Magnolia is Magnolia and they do what they do. What can I say, I had the easiest assignment.
Third place, because this is MY blog, beetches, goes to Crumbs. They had a deliciously moist offering with flawless frosting.
Kaz said it "tastes like sheet cake more than cupcake," but I say, "mmmm sheet cake."
There were some specialty cupcakes from A place called "Sugar Sweet Sunshine."
The pistachio and pumpkin cakes were ranked high...but my nuts allergy prevented me from partaking...so I'll take their word for it.
I had the Crumbs caramel toffee and it was off the heeezy.
Now onto the worst categories.
WORST CUPCAKE EVER
Well, just like the guy who hates his birthday said: Two Little Hens was just plumb awful. The cake sucked and the icing was like this flavorless whipped cream gunk. All around baaaaad mazel, yo.
Close second in the craptacular cupcake category was Buttercup.
It was dry and the icing was bland.
I generously said "Well, Buttercup was rather disappointing."
Mint Julip flatly said "Buttercup sucked and I'm done with them."
Also, despite performing well in the specialty cakes contest, Sugar Sweet Sunshine's control group cupcake was noooo good.
Had to follow it with another bited of Baked to wash away the badness.
By the time we had gorged our faces of the control group and specialty cakes, we were still left with a bench full of chocolate cupcakes to try.
"GOOD GOD. NOO. If I put one more bite of anything into my mouth, the entire night's worth of eating will be making an encore appearance," I said shaking my head fervently as Kaz offered up bits of the chocolate ones.
She was also done.
"This is either my best idea or my worst."
You have made me say no to cupcakes.
Mint Julip was more circumspect.
"I am not ashamed of anything that happened here tonight."
Oy...it'll take a gallon of water to dilute the sugar in my body...was really all that I could think of.
That and...but I don't have room for a gallon of water.
Up next ice cream tasting contest! :-)
More Kazeriffic photos.
*We tasted a vanilla frosted,vanilla cake cupcake from each place as the "control group." Although Mint Julip didn't get that memo and so from Buttercup we had a vanilla cake, chocolate frosted one. But I have had their vanilla/vanilla ones previously and the taste was about the lacklusterly same.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
When I refused to leave my house as my high school and college graduations approached.
I just knew I'd end up the subject of a story that started "just a week before graduation, Dawn was stabbed/shot/killed by drunk driver" and then they'd use that god awful high school yearbook photo.
Some turds need a couple of flushes.
I found this story a few weeks ago, but I figured now that you all knew about SI, I'd share it.
President Bush will create the world's largest protected marine area today, designating as a national monument a 1,200-mile-long chain of small Hawaiian islands and surrounding waters and reefs that are home to a spectacular array of sea life, senior administration officials said last night.
Eh. What am I saying? Halliburton probably already checked.
TIED FOR QUOTE OF THE DAY
"This is either my best idea or my worst." -Kaz
"I'm not ashamed of anything that happened here tonight."-Jula
Let your imaginations run wild!
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
"To whom much is given, much is required." - Luke 12:48
My college roommate, Binda, and I have known of each other for a long time. We've never confirmed it, but doing a bit of math suggests that when I graduated from a program for gifted students in 7th grade, she was the one that handed me my certificate of completion, having finished the same program a year earlier.
Six years later we'd be sharing a dorm room in New Haven our sophomore year and laughing at the chances that we'd both end up together. (Actually, and you all know how AWESOME I am at math, but the odds had to be freaking high since my freshman year roommate also graduated that same program with Binda a year before I did.)
In fact, that was the very point of that program--which, I'll call Success Inc. to protect the innocent and the guilty.
Success Inc.'s premise was simple.
There were brilliant students in New York's inner city and there were amazing private schools looking to diversify their student bodies while maintaining their hundred plus years of academic excellence and exclusivity. (And no, it wasn't a race based program, it was a poor kids program, so my class had white immigrants, welfare cases, Asian students, Latino kids and black kids.)
Enter Match.com...er...Success Inc.
SI administered a test to students about to graduate from public elementary school. Standardized math and English tests and an IQ test. Provided you achieved above a certain cutoff score on all three, you were invited in for an interview and a written essay test.
Assuming you did well there, you were offered admission.
Accepting admission meant that in addition to regular school, you also took classes at Success Inc. for a year and a half in math, science, literature, Latin and research. You took these classes twice a week during the school year and then everyday for two summers.
Shortly before graduation, SI would send you on interviews at various private schools. Those schools would pick which SI kids they wanted and you'd go there.
Done and done.
SI would provide you with whatever support you needed to succeed at private school (for me that meant a math tutor every year till I quit math classes in 11th grade...but they also did cool stuff like send us skiing and hiking once a year, so we didn't feel left out of the activities that our wealthier classmates were partaking in. They also found us awesome summer jobs.)
In 11th grade, SI paid for us to go on college trips to the 20 or 30 best colleges in the country and paid for us to take the Kaplan courses for our SATs.
Success Inc., as its name implies was all about making the 120 select kids in each of its classes as successful in the world as possible.
My public school didn't recommend me for the program due to my previously discussed...er...behavioral issues. But my mother found out about it through other channels and I applied for it on my own and was accepted (thus, I was a year behind the other people my own age.)
In addition to academics, which were college level despite the fact that we were 10 and 11 year olds, Success Inc. was all about promoting self esteem and pride in your individual cultures.
Time and again we had lectures about not losing yourself as you made your way through Success and ultimately in private school.
However, it always seemed to me that SI's whole stated purpose was to get you the hell out of the ghetto and on the slopes of Vail.
"How can you tell me it's great to be who I am, while at the same time insist that we all learn Latin because that's what "private school kids" do?"
"Dawn go see Mr. Savage."
I did mention that I was a brat, right?
But I was a smart brat and did well jumping through all the hoops that SI put out for us -- except in...well...I'll let you guess.
I was accepted to my second choice private school. And did very well there.
In tenth grade, I won a national speaking award and SI invited me to come "perform" for the Board of Trustees.
The SI board consisted of the wealthy-ratti of NYC society.
They were dressed in dark Armani suits and had deep throated laughs and the highest heeled high heels, I ever did see. I squirmed in my ill-fitting handmade suit and when I was introduced as "Dawn, a young lady who came to us in the 7th grade from East Coco Beach," I stood up, did the speech that had won me the award, accepted their applause, thanked them and left.
I felt dirty and I didn't go back to any SI things for years.
But when I got into Yale early, once again, SI was knocking at my door.
Fourteen students had been accepted to Ivy League schools early in my class and SI planned to trot us all out for fundraising purposes.
"Eh, it's a free dinner," my mom said when I was reluctant to go.
Free...mmm...I do like free.
The fourteen of us went out to a fancy restaurant with select members of the board and a few other huge donors and we told our "how SI found us little diamonds in the rough and scrubbed and scrubbed until we sparkled our way to the Ivy League."
Some were nudged to tell the board what they had gotten on the SATs.
Shower. Immediately. Please.
Binda and I would have late night conversations about the ambivalence. On the one hand, there was definitely a certain truth that without SI we might not be where we were; on the other hand, it's not like we were chosen by random lottery -- we were already smart and driven and may very well have achieved the same level of success on our own. And -- because all arguments come in threes, who is to say private schools and ivy leagues were the best measure of success. She had siblings who didn't do SI and were perfectly happy playing with friends during the summer instead of breaking their ass trying to write a thesis on Richard Wright's "Black Boy."
She handled the ambivalence by trying to quit; I went the smart ass nearly got kicked out route.
But ultimately, we both decided that a world with Success Inc. in it was better than one without.
Tis far better to have a little black girl from Brooklyn and a little Chinese girl from the Bronx bemoaning life paths while sitting in a dorm room at the best college in America -- than have them never know that such a place exists as they crank out hours at fast food restaurant or community college.
Choices are always better than no choices.
And so I donated to Success Inc. Got my law firms to sponsor tables at the SI events and hired SI kids for the summer whenever I could swing it.
SI thrives and is now in its 27th year.
So it was, that I got an email from Binda saying she was going back for the annual "salute to SI seniors."
"Alright, I'm in."
We were both asked to be "alumni hosts" to the "honored guests."
I started to get that nauseous feeling again.
At the reception, we pinned our scarlet A's to our shirts and were told "to go mingle. Introduce yourselves as alumni."
Alrighty then. Of course, now, I could do something I couldn't do then. Drink.
Oh and drink, I did.
For some reason Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" was running through my head and every now and then I would just start singing parts of the chorus and dancing around.
Binda was much better at the whole "mingling" thing than I. She brought business cards and a big smile and lots of enthusiasm.
I brought my glass of wine.
At one point, I look up and see a familiar face. A wholly out of context familiar face.
"Oh my God! That is either my high school computer teacher or Vickie Laurence...(cause my high school computer teacher totally looked like Vickie Laurence from Mama's Family.)"
"Where?," Binda asked.
Not wanting to deal with high school and SI on the same night, I chose to believe it was Vickie Laurence.
"But just in case, let’s move to the other room."
On our way through the lobby I see my freshman year roommate.
We did not have a good relationship.
Long story short, she had a dance party, with DJ, in our suite and not only didn't invite me, but wondered if I could stay "somewhere else tonight."
"FUCK! OK, let's go back to that room, but head for the opposite end from Vickie Laurence."
As soon as we made the 180 degree turn back, I bumped smack dab into another familiar face.
"Binda, this is my high school English teacher, Tim Ranton."
Yeah, so not Vickie Laurence.
Apparently, SI was honoring my high school as one of the largest feeder schools for SI kids.
I chatted with Mr. Ranton.
Binda and I were to meet up with another Yale alum and so went excused ourselves and went to find her.
"This is sooo gonna suck," I said glumly into my second glass.
We decided to go find some more honored guests and "mingle."
We hit up a couple standing uncomfortably in the corner.
Yeah, they look up for some mingling.
We had an awkward conversation with them until we figured out we had all worked in the Clinton white house at the same time (another SI opportunity).
After we left them we met with an SI teacher and then went in to dinner.
The honored guests at our table turned out to be a friend of the other Yale girl we were meeting -- so, it wasn't so bad.
Right before they lowered the lights, I turn around and realize that they have seated my High School at the table right next to mine.
The room goes black and I grab the wine bottle.
The inspirational film is a "year in the life" of a kid at my high school now (about to go to college) and a 10-year-old SI kid who desperately wants to get into my high school.
They show her sleeping on the floor of her dad's shop, until the SI bus comes to pick her up (SAVED! AMEN! SI is here.)
She says that since her family were slaves, her dad thinks SI is very important for her education.
Binda passes me her glass of wine.
After the film (the little girl gets into my high school. YAY! No more sleeping on dad’s floor!) they honor the year's biggest donor by having students at every level of SI (just started ten-year-olds, high school grads, college grads and parent of a Rhodes Scholar) get up to the podium, tell their rags to SI stories and all end with "thank you Mrs. So and So for giving us the opportunity to do this." The mom of the Rhodes Scholar actually hugs the donor lady.
The donor lady turns out to actually be cool and gives a funny speech that starts with "all the great people know how to take credit for other people's success" or something like that.
She is honest and witty and I don't want to vomit at any point during her speech.
The lights come up and they start serving dinner.
I think it was salmon, but who knows, I get up to say hello to my high school history teacher, someone that I did like a lot and she totally gasses my head by introducing me to the new headmaster of my high school as
"One of the smartest people to ever graduate from [my high school.] Dawn was so full of confidence and talent. I knew that she would be an incredible success. She was always following her own path."
"Aw shucks...of course, I was really just following the money."
I am funny.
Not drunk. Just funny.
Turns out there are other SI alums sitting at that table, one guy works for my high school as a guidance counselor and the other woman is married to a coach.
I go back to my table -- an inch away -- they hand out the "scrolls of achievement" to the graduating SI seniors as they read out their colleges of choice.
We hiss the Harvard kids and cheer wildly for the up and coming Yalies.
(My year there was one girl who was "undecided." SI was very unhappy with her and almost didn’t let her participate. In the end, they read her name and said something like "still weighing her choices.")
After the reception, I talked to the guidance counselor guy, who had graduated from SI with Binda. We talked about our ambivalence -- he said that when he went through it, he thought this ceremony was like a "look what your donations paid for parade."
"HA! You are more generous than I was, I likened it to a slave auction."
We laughed and he said that since entering his business, he understands how important fundraising is and events like this are the only way to show people why they should donate to a program that only benefits 150 kids a year.
(A few years ago I attended the event with my law firm, and one of the women at my table, an African American woman, who was also from Brooklyn, but had been rejected from SI as a kid, said that she didn't see the point in supporting such gifted kids who needed it least. Of course, while I can be critical of SI, I will eat alive any strangers who attempt to do the same and gave her a piece of mind. )
At the night's end, I may have promised the headmaster and his wife that I would go back to my high school and "talk to the student body."
Ok, maybe I was a little drunk.
We danced with the graduating seniors for a bit...yes, definitely for sure drunk...and then I went home.
I went out on the balcony and looked out into the Brooklyn night.
It hasn't been such a bad life, I thought.
It hasn't been a bad life at all.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Gladys Julien, to hear her family tell it, was a nervous Nellie.
The gentle widow would cross the street rather than pass someone who looked troublesome. She'd voice concern if traveling in a car going a mile over the speed limit.
The 49-year-old nurse's aide certainly wasn't the type to even think about walking between cars of a moving train.
But police believe that's what happened when Julien was found under a No. 2 train in Manhattan, mortally injured.
Her loved ones aren't buying that explanation and are looking for witnesses - and answers.
But since the police do not believe foul play was involved, the family will be left to its own devices to figure out what happened.
This story got me thinking that it would be prudent if I left behind a detailed tome of seemingly accidental deaths that are most definitely murder most foul!
1. Pet owner claims that I tried to pet the [insert animal] and that's why it lunged at me and ate my face. NO WAY!!
2. Choked to death while eating a Snicker's bar! Dust for prints on that wrapper immediately, officers!
3. Heart attack while jogging through the park. Uh uh, I don't think so...test for poisons!
4. Pretty much any death that starts with the phrase "Dawn was killed while trying to help..."
5. Drug overdoses of any kind...but especially ones that are administered intravenously.
6. Drunkenly playing football on skis? Nope. Not me.
7. "Hunting accident."
Monday, June 12, 2006
In yet further testament to my high alochol tolerance, I have not eaten much of anything in 26 hours (Waldorf salad my ass), and managed to drink a bottle and half of wine today, with no effects deterimental.
My shirt in the dessert plate, does not count.
Nor does heckling the ten-year-old keynote speaker and the inspirational video.
Would have done that anyway.
Well, since it seems Ari needs a bit of cheering -- I thought I'd write the post that I've been putting off for a weeks.
Besides being browbeaten into reading Alarming News every once and again, AriGoesDown was probably the first blog I read with any regularity. I loved her tagline "**When I was younger, I stole t-shirts and other various garments from the boys I had been with," cause I used to do the same thing and it was funny to find out that I wasn't crazy.
Well...ok, probably still crazy, but at least not alone.
Ari's archives alone was so impressively daunting that when this girl I went to high school with, said she had met Ari for drinks, I was totally like "NO WAY! The Ari...from AriGoesDown??"
Yes, was the reply. Followed by "you have no idea what her blog title means, do you?"
"Of course, I do. Like that movie with the Culkin boy."
As Ari herself says: "A keen eyed reader will notice my site begins way before Igby Goes Down came out.I know, I know...how hip am I?!"
Uh...so not so much with the keen eyes and with quick fingers in ears and a loud verse of "la la la la," the conversation was over.
I got my own chance to meet Ari a couple of months later when I was hanging on the UES and she came over with Jessica and Lisa. They were all gonna...umm..."chill out," and Ari asked me if I wanted to "chill out" too. I declined and made one of my patented "leaving without saying goodbye to anyone" exits when they went out on the balcony.
Later, I was told that Ari thought I was a kid that Karol was babysitting and felt badly for trying to get me to chill with them.
Of course, I was 26 or so at the time.
I managed to bribe my way into her VIP room reading list to mooch off that crazy Ari blog traffic within a few months. (She says that she would have eventually added me anyway...however, she keeps sending monthly bills for $50 with very threatening notes attached, so...I'm not so sure.)
After we started playing poker, Ari was my number 1 rival. She would literally call any bet I made just cause I made it.
And I would have to keep betting cause I knew she was just calling just because I was betting and then she would have all my money. And I was sad.
You know, until the next time when I got it back. Then Ari was sad.
Until, you know, the next time when she got it back. Then I would be sad.
Until...oh, you get it? Enough already? Sheesh, you people are rude.
Anyways, this post has nothing to do with the fact that Ari's family have a phat newly remodeled summer home with a plasma TV in every room. Nor does it have to do with any plans on my part to weasel an invite and then hide out in the basement for the rest of the summer, stealing food and watching plasma-riffic television from my bed.
Nope, it's all about how funny and nice Ari is and how if you are or know a great single guy, you should send him her way.
Oh, and while you're at it if you know a great single girl you should send her F-train's way. He is also funny.
There, that should be enough good relationship karma so that when I mature past the emotional age of 11, I will find me my own great single guy.
Though, I cannot promise that I will not steal his stuff when it's over.
There will be NO World Cup coverage on Clareified. I don't know a damn thing about soccer, well, I know that the ball is way too hard for sane people to be hitting it with their heads.
Arrggghhh..."Italy, Czech blah blah blah Argentina." All my usual blog reads are taken over...I scream.
Our forefathers fought a war with Britian so that we would have the God given right as American citizens never to give a flying crap about soccer ever again.
I question all of your patriotisms.
Now, on to sports that really matter:
Which team is leading the NL East? Which?
Sunday, June 11, 2006
From 2 a.m. - 7 a.m. on Sunday the FDR becomes a one-lane bottle neck of traffic congestion.
Finding that out at 5:41 a.m., after being up for 20 hours, when your "twenty minute drive" comes to a screeching halt...Awesome.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Me: "Does his set have the English on it or should we use my set?"
Pi: NO! You're going to learn Chinese.
Me: Uhh...I don't think either of us has that kind of time.
"I did a good job," said Mr. DeLay, the linchpin of the House Republican majority for the last decade and the mastermind of a formidable political operation that melded legislating, fund-raising, conservatism and business advocacy as never before. "I helped build the largest political coalition in the last 50 years. The K Street project and the K Street strategy I am very proud of."
Waaait just one gosh darned minute!! BUSH is the decider! He'll decide whether or not Tom DeLay did good job.
What's that? Oh...well...as you were.
I'M NONSENSE BLOGGING AT 1:41 AM?
I definitely think my employer is behind blogger's weeklong spazziness.
Most disgusting ingredients ever mixed together on paper or in glass.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
A woman angry that her new puppy had died pushed her way into a dog breeder's home and repeatedly hit her on the head with the dead Chihuahua, authorities said.
The 33-year-old woman told police she had taken the puppy to a veterinarian, who said it was only 4 weeks old and needed to be returned to its mother. But before she could return the puppy, it died.
Woman assaults breeder with dead puppy.
* QUICK! Close your eyes, Jake.
8:03 Oh crap...they're starting...no warning whatsoever!! Cellphone...oops...better turn it off.
8:04 What'd I miss? Where'd the boat go??
8:05 THAT WAS FREAKING AWESOME (There were these cool special effects where you saw the people drowning in the ocean -- like they were all floating on stage...but not on the stage. Floating...you know. In water. But it was on a stage. But not on it. Shut up.)
8:06 (Woman behind me) "Oooh, are you looking, Timmy? Hooww dooo they doooo that?
8:06:03:(Very matter of factly) Ropes, mom.
8:06:05: (Dawn) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAH
8:06:06 (Dawn) Sorry. Yes, they're drowning. Not funny. Sad....so...ropes! hahahahahahaha Sorry.
8:10: VERY COOL!! (Drowning couple walks with baby out of the ocean into the jungle...But the way they did it, the beach was vertically against the wall and they walk down the wall onto the horizontal jungle stage. Shut up.)
8:12: (Woman looking around holding baby as husband scouts out a good location.) I have a veeery baaaad feeeling something is going to happen to that baby.
8:14: I wonder when Tarzan comes and takes her into that castle.
8:15: (Couple up in tree singing to baby) Oh, wait! The baby IS TARZAN. What the hell is the one with the lady and ape man in the castle??
8:17: (Parents put baby in the trunk.) A TRUNK???!!! What the helll...a trunk doesn't have airholes!
8:20: Wow. Those parents got dead real fast.
8:21 COME ON. A...what kind of animal is that supposed to be...can't open a trunk...pssahhh. How will I believe anything else this show tries to show me.
8:32 Oohhh...apes?? They're supposed to be APES?
8:35 I cannot believe I got two tickets yesterday.
8:41 Oh yeah! Beauty and the Beast is the one with the ape man and the castle...is he an ape? Or a Lion-man...no...that's Lion King.
8:43 This guy sounds like Javert from Les Miz. I miss Les Miz. Now, THAT is a musical.
8:50 Uhhmmm....a finger shadow show? How much did my firm pay for these tickets?? I could do this shit myself in my room. You know...if I knew how to make finger animals with my shadow. Which I don't. So I better watch and enjoy.
8:50:17 Dear Lord, how much longer can this go on??
8:52:00 You people are fucking kidding me.
8:53:00 DUUUUUDE. I know you have to age little Tarzan, but no need to age Dawn while you're at it.
8:53:00 Hmmm...am I really thinking about myself in the third person?
8:54:00 WHOA! Adult Tarzan is HOT!! DYYAAAAMMM.
8:55:00 Yah. Still hot. I guess when you've got a basically nekkid man on stage, Hot is probably one of the top job qualifications.
9:00:00 I gotta pee.
9:05:00 So bad.
9:06:00 Holding it.
9:10:00 YES! Intermission. Do you think you could take any longer getting up grandma?? Do YA!!!???
9:15:00 Wow. This line's not too bad.
9:16:00 Yeah. Awesome timing. I could not have waited not one more minute.
9:17:00 (I snake past a line for the women's bathroom that extends up past two levels and around the lobby.) Suckers!
9:23:00 (Winded) I.AM.GOING.TO.DIE. Frigging stairs.
9:25:00 (Eavesdropping on summer associate converstion) "Oh my God!! An open marriage?? So does she even know for sure if the baby is her husband's?
9:32 Whoa. Again no warning before they start. Dimming lights people, look into it!!!
9:35 (Now, some of my best friends are gay, but...) This is the gayest show on the face of the Earth. I'm talking 3 minutes on Brokeback gay.
9:41 Oh right...Me Tarzan; You Jane. I remember this now.
9:46 This is horrible. Just horrible.
9:48 Heeey, it's kinda like the Helen Keller story, no?
9:50 Father of Jane says: "The most savage thing in the jungle turns out to be human greed." Two hundred people throw up in their mouths just a little bit.
9:52 Ratio of Tarzan hot to This Show Sucks spiralling out of control.
9:53: If I could just get the Playbill to stop bending so much....I...know...I...can...slit...my....wrist...open...DAMN IT!...Trying...again.
9:57 What's that sound? It's over!! HALLEUJIAH. (There's a J in the somewhere, I just know it. -ed.)
9:58 Umm...why are you people standing? And compressing your hands in rapid succession? What the hell? If you're standing and not running the hell out of this theater, it better be because you physically can't.
10:01 Sweet Jesus. I WANT OUT!!!!!
10:02 Sound of weeping.
10:11 Oh freedom...sweet, sweet freedom. Oh eyes, and ears, I promise I will never do that to you again.
I'll try to write a review of the musical tomorrow and let you guys know what I thought of it.
Terrorist leader Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the coalition's most wanted man in Iraq, was killed in an airstrike near Baquba, jubilant U.S. and Iraqi authorities announced Thursday.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
There are worse things than
In the rear view mirror is the mother fuckin' law
I got two choices y'all pull over the car or (hmmm)
Bounce on the devil put the pedal to the floor
Now I ain't tryin' to see no highway chase with Jay.
Plus i got a few dollars i can fight the case
I was actually listening to that very verse on Jay-Z's "99 problems" when I got my first ticket –natch-- two tickets.
I can’t get into the specifics of what happened due to contemplated litigation, but here’s what not to say when the driver, who is giving you a lift to Brooklyn, has gotten a ticket –no, no, two tickets – on the way to pick you up.
“Wow. You are taking this well. Wait till you find out how much it is. Plus, it’s a moving violation, so that’s points on your license and your insurance will go up.”
Oh, also, when the driver is lamenting her misfortune, you should not respond with:
“Well, you chose to drive today and you chose to make an illegal turn.”
You know what else is no good:
“Look, we can’t make the ticket go away. So, no need to try to keep convincing us that you didn’t see the sign.”
But, of course, I have no one to blame but myself for not following my own advice.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
CARRIE UNDERWOOD BLOGGING
OK, so I got sucked in. After her performance on the AI finale, I ordered her album.
Just finished listening to her big breakthrough single "Jesus, Take the Wheel."
Umm...and really, I just have one wee little question.
This is the first verse (same as the first!):
It been a long hard year
She had a lot on her mind and she didn't pay attention
She was going way to fast
Before she knew it she was spinning on a thin black sheet of glass
She saw both their lives flash before her eyes
She didn't even have time to cry
She was sooo scared
She threw her hands up in the air
Jesus take the wheel
Take it from my hands
Cause I can't do this all on my own
I'm letting go
So, that's like a "metaphorical" hands in the air throwing, right?
Cause...if not, I'm guessing Jesus is gonna be sticking his sandaled foot up her ass when she meets him.
Is anyone else compulsively listening to James Blunt's "Goodbye My Lover" on their ipod?
His voice is sooo compelling. I can't stop.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
Figure it out, Dawn.
Cause you can't spent the rest of your life hiding in bathrooms from partners.
Monday, June 05, 2006
COME ON BABY LIGHT MY FIRE
Picture = Thousand Words
Next thousand to come, in, you know, words.
A 30-year-old law student was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver in Harlem while helping a friend on crutches cross the street, police said.
The accident happened at abut 4 a.m. Saturday as Kris Bellamkonda, a second-year student at the Benjamin N.Cardozo School of Law, was helping a female friend, who was on crutches because she was recovering from surgery, cross Lenox Avenue at 122nd Street.
Witnesses said a gray sport utility vehicle slammed into Bellamkonda and then sped away.
Don't help people. Ever.
For the past...um...I dunno...seven years or so, I have been earning miles on my American Express card.
It's one of the few cards where miles don't expire, so I thought it was the best one for me since I hate to fly and voluntarily fly domestically maybe twice a year and internationally, when a relative dies.
Of course, I also hate to carry cash with me because I feel like when I have it, I invariably end up spending it on stupid things like cabs and candy just because. Thus, I end up using credit cards for everything and now I have like 80 million miles.
I had planned to go out to Vegas for my birthday and the World Series of Poker this year, but tickets are insanely expensive.
Hmmm, I thought to myself, why not just use your miles for it.
Why not, indeed.
"Hello, American Express, I would like to use my miles to go to Vegas."
"Ok, well, we have a relationship with three carriers in the U.S.: Alaska Air, Continental and Delta."
"Well, I want to leave from New York."
"Ok, then you'll have to contact Delta. Tell them you want to use your miles, set up a frequent flier program with them and then contact us to have us transfer the miles to you."
After twenty minutes with Delta's AWESOME (and by AWESOME, I mean, root canal/rectal exam awesome) automated service, I finally get an agent.
"That flight will be $418.60."
"Oh, but I have miles."
"Please hold, let me see what we have available."
doo doo doo doo
"Yes, ma'am. We do not have any milage plus seats on that flight, however..."
"...we can get you on a flight on August 14th. Would you like that?"
How is "I can get you on a flight in August" a permitted response to "Can I pay for my July 7th flight with miles?
"No, dude. I am going for an event in July. The date is not flexible."
"Then, I am sorry, ma'am you cannot you use miles for that."
"Ok, well, can I use miles to upgrade to first class?"
doo doo doo doo
"I'm sorry ma'am. That flight does not have a first class. However,"
Ok, less excited about this man's howevers.
"I do see that if you are willing to pay triple miles, we can get you a seat on the July 7th flight."
"Umm...is that the same flight with no mileage plus seats?"
"So, you do have mileage plus seats?"
"Yes, but it will be 75,000 miles, instead of 25,000."
"That is what the computer says ma'am."
Well, and if the computer said to jump into the Ganges bucknaked and blindfolded, would you do it?
"Isn't that enough for an international flight?"
You know, saying I wanted to fly January and called around Mother's Day.
After ten more minutes of this, I ask him to put the seat on 24 hour hold for me.
"I'm sorry ma'am. Delta does not have a 24 hour hold policy. You will have to book the ticket with a credit card and you have the option to cancel by midnight tomorrow."
I tell him what he and Delta can do with their policies and August triple mile tickets and hang up.
Of course, after calling three more airlines and finding no tickets lower than $489...
Well. Girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
But I am never using that American Express card again.
So, basically this season was just a montage of loosely connected, beautifully shot vignettes signifying nothing.
Oh, but that HBO commercial they ran before the Sopranos was hilarious. "Get the hell out of my house!"'
"No. Irresponsible would have been getting high first and then asking if you needed me to drive."
Saturday, June 03, 2006
I am sitting in my bedroom in complete darkness, listening to a compilation of the most depressing music known to man, as rain pounds against my windows.
And I couldn't be happier.
Pajama. That's a funny word. When you think about it.
Friday, June 02, 2006
And boy does he like to blog about beer. Not this post though. This post is just funny.
"He'd gone there to rob the home and decided while he was there to execute everybody at the same time, unfortunately," Sgt. Matthew Mount, a police spokesman, told The Associated Press
And the winner of the understatement of the year award goes to...
I had my really creepy nightmare last night. I can remember having it as early as the fourth grade. And it's always eerily exactly the same.
Not anything I'd ever put in writing, of course.
(Lest the trained professionals in the audience figure out exactly how disturbed I am and have me locked up before I get my chance to take over the world.)
I wake up, freaked the hell out, eyeing my furniture suspiciously. I start thinking back to all the other times I've had the dream and get scared further and further awake.
I then spend the next hour watching Simpsons episodes on the DVR. It' 2 a.m. and I'm bitter because I have a meeting at 10 a.m.
And there's no way can I go back to sleep in that bed. But wait!
I have another bed! Another whole room, without murderous furniture.
I grab my pillows and trudge to my guest room.
I put on an "On Demand" episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm ("CYE: for when it's too late to take Tylenol PM") and I am asleep in minutes.
My guest room bed is AWESOME! That is the best night's sleep I have had in ages.
I may have to buy a DVR box for that room so that I can stay in there more often.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Which means Ben Affleck is pretty much a lock to play her romantic lead in the movie.
Drobbski was emailing with a law school classmate who works in Baltimore, hilarity ensues.
My friend made a reference to an old classmate of ours and how he still carried a torch for her. I emailed back that she never did it for me, she was just too nuts. About 5 minutes later I get a phone call from my classmate who is laughing so hard he can barely get out any words. Apparently, he was typing a response to my "she was just too nuts" comment when a D.C.-area code number flashed on his caller ID. He answered the phone not with "hello" or any other typical greeting. No. Thinking it was me calling, he answered the phone, "I was just typing you an email. Just so you know, if I limited myself to the pool of women who aren't nuts, I'd be in big trouble." Voice on the other end of the phone pauses, and says, "uhh...why?" Law school classmate replies without missing a beat, "because sane chicks don't dig me." Long pause. Voice on the other end of the phone says, "what the fuck are you talking about?" That's when my classmate realized it wasn't me on the line, but a partner from his firm calling from home. Bwaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahaha.
And yeah, I think you get CLE credit for reading that post.
Cerak's family was told their 18-year-old was among the dead. VanRyn's parents were told their 22-year-old daughter was alive but seriously injured and in a coma.
Identity Mix-Up Stuns Crash Victims' Families