It was getting dark in the park. Soccer games were coming to an end and strollers were finally being pushed home. Two boys, around 7 or 8 years old, were riding their bikes. The older boy was waiting at the top of the little hill under the big trees for the other boy to catch up.
As he pushed his bike ahead of him slowly, the younger boy called out, "Hey Harrison, close your eyes!" The older boy closed his eyes. Then the younger one called out, "Don't you have darkness in your eyes when you close them?"
The older boy said with a little laugh, "Um, I always see darkness when I close my eyes."
But the younger boy couldn't hide his excitement, as though he had just had a Eureka moment. "Harrison, there's darkness in there when you close them!"
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Story: Announcements
Monologue for Male, 20/30
---------------------------------
Hello?...
Testing?...
Can you guys hear me? Feinberg? Can you hear me? Yo! Feinberg! You're not gonna get her number man, so please do a mic check for me, will ya? ....Thanks, buddy, I owe you one. So does she.
OK, so hey! Hey everyone. How are you doing tonight? Welcome to tonight's synagogue soirée. Our annual fiesta. The summer's end rooftop gala at Congregation Beit Ahava for the kids of the house. Casa De Love, as I like to call it. The one event where we young Jews actually get to bust it out with or without our yalmukas, depending on your preference, whatever that may be. We'll love you just the same.
...Seriously, Feinberg, you're not gonna get her number, let the poor girl get back to her friends. She came with, like, 10 of them so guys like you wouldn't talk to her.
Where was I? So, Miri is in Israel today, as many of you know, doing something with, Ethiopians? No? Palestinians? No? ...what was it again? Her cousin's getting married? Daniel, why is she there? ....OK, apparently no one knows. But does it matter? No, it does not. What matters is yours truly was asked to fill in for her as the "end-of-evening-announcements" MC. And again, once again, I apologize for my public statements at last month's Shabbaton. Like I said, I did not realize the Torah was miked, so I certainly would not have... Anyway, Ben, thanks for giving me another shot, for thinking of me. Really, it's an honor. I haven't had this many eyes on me since my bris, so thanks. Did that just make everyone look at my nether regions? Alana, I saw you peaking, eyes up young lady. Don't worry, it was a success.
So, let's see what is on the agenda.... Before I get to that, in a minute, I have to say, you all look beautiful tonight. Honestly. Some real lookers out there. You know who you are. Hotties in the house of God, that's what I like to see. J-date live, I call this. Look at all of you. Show of hands, how many of you like staying in for a blockbuster night AND going out on the town? Come on, I know you're out there. Ladies, ladies, tell me, does this count as one of those nights when you opted to wear heels as opposed to your sneakers? Was that tonight's choice? Because I've read your J-date profiles, and you're always talking about how you're the kind of girl who can wear heels AND sneakers, and I'm just throwing it out there, just a suggestion, you might not want to wear those heels to a Jewish singles mixer. Ladies, look around you. We are a vertically challenged people. Please, please be kind and put on the flats. Thank you, I always wanted to say that.
.....What? I'm getting to it, Shlomie, hold your tzitzi's. So, what's on the list of upcoming events this Fall?.... Oh, one more thing...Hanni....you look great tonight, honey. Really. I tried talking to you by the cous-cous but you ignored me, so I thought I would take advantage of my volumized voice and give you a shout out. Look at that folks, she's still ignoring me.
Moshe, again, great tie. I like the way you tucked it into your pants. That's money. Really, man. OK, back to the topic at hand.
Fall events. Ah! Here's a good one. September 8th, Dov and the gang are planning a wine and cheese soire. 5 pm at Sips on Delancey street. That sounds hot. Nothing like learning, drinking and nibbling at the same time to make the chosen people come out of the woodwork. What else? The Sukkah Swing is coming up! Who doesn't love the Sukkah Swing. Shake it like a lulav, ladies... Hey! I heard last year someone under the age of 45 showed up, so things are looking up. See girls, and you said all the good ones were taken.
...What? Ok, fine, fine. I'm being told to hurry it up. The benchers are being passed around, so that means you know what time it is... Last call! That's right, yeladim. Everyone to the Manishevitz table for a Dixie cup. This is your last chance to ask that cutie with the chamsa what's she's doing for Shabbos next week. I'll tell you what she's not doing, holding your hamotzi. Yeah, I'm talking to you Feinberg, give it up. Ladies, the man is hung like a mezzuzah, someone be kind to the boy tonight.
...OK, OK, I'm out. Party at Shlomo's house Tuesday night. That's not on the events list, I'm just throwing it out there. Bring your sister and all your sister's friends. Just please, whatever you do, don't invite Shlomo. Thank you New York, I'll be here all week.
---------------------------------
Hello?...
Testing?...
Can you guys hear me? Feinberg? Can you hear me? Yo! Feinberg! You're not gonna get her number man, so please do a mic check for me, will ya? ....Thanks, buddy, I owe you one. So does she.
OK, so hey! Hey everyone. How are you doing tonight? Welcome to tonight's synagogue soirée. Our annual fiesta. The summer's end rooftop gala at Congregation Beit Ahava for the kids of the house. Casa De Love, as I like to call it. The one event where we young Jews actually get to bust it out with or without our yalmukas, depending on your preference, whatever that may be. We'll love you just the same.
...Seriously, Feinberg, you're not gonna get her number, let the poor girl get back to her friends. She came with, like, 10 of them so guys like you wouldn't talk to her.
Where was I? So, Miri is in Israel today, as many of you know, doing something with, Ethiopians? No? Palestinians? No? ...what was it again? Her cousin's getting married? Daniel, why is she there? ....OK, apparently no one knows. But does it matter? No, it does not. What matters is yours truly was asked to fill in for her as the "end-of-evening-announcements" MC. And again, once again, I apologize for my public statements at last month's Shabbaton. Like I said, I did not realize the Torah was miked, so I certainly would not have... Anyway, Ben, thanks for giving me another shot, for thinking of me. Really, it's an honor. I haven't had this many eyes on me since my bris, so thanks. Did that just make everyone look at my nether regions? Alana, I saw you peaking, eyes up young lady. Don't worry, it was a success.
So, let's see what is on the agenda.... Before I get to that, in a minute, I have to say, you all look beautiful tonight. Honestly. Some real lookers out there. You know who you are. Hotties in the house of God, that's what I like to see. J-date live, I call this. Look at all of you. Show of hands, how many of you like staying in for a blockbuster night AND going out on the town? Come on, I know you're out there. Ladies, ladies, tell me, does this count as one of those nights when you opted to wear heels as opposed to your sneakers? Was that tonight's choice? Because I've read your J-date profiles, and you're always talking about how you're the kind of girl who can wear heels AND sneakers, and I'm just throwing it out there, just a suggestion, you might not want to wear those heels to a Jewish singles mixer. Ladies, look around you. We are a vertically challenged people. Please, please be kind and put on the flats. Thank you, I always wanted to say that.
.....What? I'm getting to it, Shlomie, hold your tzitzi's. So, what's on the list of upcoming events this Fall?.... Oh, one more thing...Hanni....you look great tonight, honey. Really. I tried talking to you by the cous-cous but you ignored me, so I thought I would take advantage of my volumized voice and give you a shout out. Look at that folks, she's still ignoring me.
Moshe, again, great tie. I like the way you tucked it into your pants. That's money. Really, man. OK, back to the topic at hand.
Fall events. Ah! Here's a good one. September 8th, Dov and the gang are planning a wine and cheese soire. 5 pm at Sips on Delancey street. That sounds hot. Nothing like learning, drinking and nibbling at the same time to make the chosen people come out of the woodwork. What else? The Sukkah Swing is coming up! Who doesn't love the Sukkah Swing. Shake it like a lulav, ladies... Hey! I heard last year someone under the age of 45 showed up, so things are looking up. See girls, and you said all the good ones were taken.
...What? Ok, fine, fine. I'm being told to hurry it up. The benchers are being passed around, so that means you know what time it is... Last call! That's right, yeladim. Everyone to the Manishevitz table for a Dixie cup. This is your last chance to ask that cutie with the chamsa what's she's doing for Shabbos next week. I'll tell you what she's not doing, holding your hamotzi. Yeah, I'm talking to you Feinberg, give it up. Ladies, the man is hung like a mezzuzah, someone be kind to the boy tonight.
...OK, OK, I'm out. Party at Shlomo's house Tuesday night. That's not on the events list, I'm just throwing it out there. Bring your sister and all your sister's friends. Just please, whatever you do, don't invite Shlomo. Thank you New York, I'll be here all week.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Video: Martini Commerical
This was the commercial I got to see over and over in Italy. Thanks goodness for youtube or else I would have had to reenact this for you over and over. ...Oh, wait. I did that already, didn't I?
Story: Wednesday
INT - NONDESCRIPT BAR IN NYC - MIDDLE OF THE DAY.
[The bar is not well-lit, but sun through the windows shows that its probably somewhere around 4 pm. There's a group of women, about 10 of them, in the corner, laughing and sharing pints. A few men sit around the tables in the back of the bar. One guy, in his mid-thirties, Jeremy, is sitting by himself at the bar on a stool. He's drinking a beer. He looks dejected. After a while, one of the women from the group comes up to the bar. She orders a drink.]
Mae: Hi. Corona, please?
Bartender: Sure.
[Bartender walks away to get drink. Mae takes a seat on the stool and sneaks a peak at Jeremy, who doesn't look up. He's staring, in a mopey sort of way, into his beer. Mae looks like she wants to say something to him, but she's not sure what to say. She plays with a few random items on the bar, like matches or a paper coaster. Jeremy still doesn't look up. Bartender comes back and places the beer in front of Mae.]
Mae: Thanks. Can you just put this on the tab that we started?
[She motions to the group of women in the back without even looking at them].
Bartender: Yup.
[Bartender walks away and makes a note on a slip of paper near the register. Then disappears in the background of the bar. Mae stays on the stool. She looks back at the women, since they have just burst out laughing. Mae rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Jeremy]
Mae: It's sort of a cliché, don't you think?
[She's speaking to Jeremy, but he doesn't respond. She pauses.]
Mae: Don't you think?
[She takes her beer bottle and taps it on the table in front of Jeremy's face to get his attention. He seems to jump out of a daze]
Jeremy: Huh? Sorry, what?
[Mae eyes him suspiciously now that she has his attention]
Mae: It's sort of a cliché?
Jeremy: What is?
Mae: The whole brooding man at the bar thing, in the middle of the afternoon?
[Jeremy looks around, trying to figure out who she is talking about]
Mae: You, man! I'm talking about you.
Jeremy: [He stifles a laugh] Huh. Yeah. You think?
Mae: Well, aren't guys your age normally at work or something?
Jeremy: Aren't women your age usually at work? Or something?
Mae: Flattered, thanks.
Jeremy: Sorry, you're right. My mother raised me better than that.
Mae: Well, I had no choice. I'd rather be at work. I had to go to this... [she looks back at the women] bachelorette party... lunch thing.
[This catches Jeremy's attention. He looks back at all the women.]
Jeremy: Really. Huh. [He seems to ponder this] Shouldn't...?
Mae: What?
Jeremy: I don't know much about these things, but shouldn't that be taking place at some sort of night club or something? And not on a Wednesday afternoon?
Mae: We're starting early. It's a rare phenomenon, you realize, women in their thirties getting married in New York.
Jeremy: Is it?
Mae: No one gets married anymore. Not necessarily by choice. But just, you know, they can't really fit a husband into their schedules, in between business meetings and manicures and the gym. At least not in this city.
Jeremy: Interesting. So the celebration started early because, someone's getting married and you all are so impressed with the concept?
Mae: [smiling] Exactly. [She leans in close and says in a whisper] And you know what I've learned?
Jeremy: What's that?
Mae: It's a crock of shit. It's all a crock of shit. Did I mention the crock of shit part already?
Jeremy: No, I don't think you did. A crock of what now?
Mae: Those women aren't happy. They're faking it. They're raising their glasses, shouting things like, "woo hoo, congratulations!" but all they're really thinking is, "you dumb bitch, I spent way more hours than you on the treadmill, how did you get the fiancé before I did?"
Jeremy: I see, so they're a supportive bunch.
Mae: Viciously so. Marriage is a trap, a trophy that people want, thinking that it will make everything better if they can just have it, own it, put it on the mantle. And here we all are, celebrating the conquest. It's ridiculous.
Jeremy: Maybe you should just tell them you have to get back to work.
Mae: We all work together, in the same office, so I'm stuck here. My boss just bought the last round. [Pause] So that's my excuse. What's yours?
Jeremy: Excuse for what?
Mae: For being here. At 4 in the afternoon. On a Wednesday.
Jeremy: Self pity.
Mae: Attractive.
Jeremy: Ya think?
Mae: Oh, totally. Manic, self-loathing, drinking problem. All signs of a man you want to bring home to mommy.
Jeremy: If I were an alcoholic then I would at least be way cooler than I am now. I've been sitting here for an hour and all I've had is half a beer.
Mae: A light weight! Even sexier.
[Jeremy laughs]
Mae: I have to say, you look, for some reason, familiar. Not in a generic sort of way, but like, I've actually seen you before.
Jeremy: That's an acute possibility. [He takes a drink]. I'm insanely famous.
Mae: Are you?
Jeremy: No, I am not. I am quite, not, insanely famous. But yes, there is a chance you have seen me before. Do you have a pet, by chance?
Mae: I do, actually. A dwarf hamster.
Jeremy: Perfect. Do you ever line your dwarf hamster's cage with newspaper that you don't want to read? You know, old boring articles that seem irrelevant?
Mae: I do.
Jeremy: Yes, well, the next time your dwarf hamster takes a piss and a thousand little turds on one of those papers, look closely. And you just might notice a photograph of yours truly.
Mae: [She gasps] You're that guy! [She points at him suddenly, happily, recognizing him]
Jeremy: Wow. I'm glad my reference to hamster piss joggled your memory.
Mae: I've seen you! You're that guy! That guy that wrote that movie!
Jeremy: Well, I'm not sure which movie you're referring to, but if it's the one that I wrote, then yes, I wrote that one.
Mae: Dweebs! You wrote Dweebs! I saw it, like 3 years ago? Wow, I can't believe I remember this. It was great, I loved it. Well, not really. I'm just saying that because you're in front of me. It's not really my kind of humor. But I heard everyone else loved it. People talked about it forever. I can't tell you how many bad dates I went on that year with guys who would immitate that character, what's his name, any time we needed to hail a cab.
Jeremy: Igor.
Mae: Igor! Right. Or was it? I don't know.
Jeremy: I'm pretty sure that was his name.
Mae: Right, that scene where he hails the cab.
Jeremy: With his ass.
Mae: Riggghhht. Right. Yeah, not really my style. But boy, people were obsessed. Wow. So, now I really want to know, what are you doing in a bar at 4 in the afternoon?
Jeremy: Joe public has a short attention span.
Mae: Hmm. Yeah.... [she takes a long look at him]. Shouldn't you be driving around L.A in a Mercedes or something?
Jeremy: I drive an Accord.
Mae: And you live here?
Jeremy: I do.
Mae: Well, hey. That's cool. Yeah, I remember your face. I remember seeing some interview with you on Extra. You were talking about, hot dogs, was it? Something about hot dogs and bullemia. I think you called it the perfect accessory. A two for one.
Jeremy: That sounds like something I would say.
Mae: It wasn't very funny. I felt bad for you that you thought that was funny. That's why I remember it.
Jeremy: Yes, well, I did write a movie called Dweebs, remember. So prolificacy isn't really my thing.
Mae: You still haven't told me why you're here. I'm guessing it's not for a bachelor party. And I already know you're not an alcoholic.
Jeremy: I am here because. Because.
Mae: Because.
Jeremy: Well, I had a bad day. A bad week, actually. No, more like a bad year. And so, I thought. I thought, why not get a drink.
Mae: Well, what happened on your bad day, in your bad week, in your bad year.
Jeremy: Do you really want to know?
Mae: Always.
Jeremy: Darling, I have come to realize, that I am not the great writer people think I am.
Mae: Get out.
Jeremy: It's true. Sure, I've cranked out a few fart jokes in my career. And really good ones, I might add. How do you think I paid for that Honda? But, sadly, it seems the world doesn't want fart jokes from a 37-year old man anymore. They want to hear it from 17-year old punks that never even went to college. The market is infiltrated with these... actual dweebs now... these brilliant, funny, can't dress themselves dweebs who are writing this great material and giggling like girls on TRL. And for some reason, god only knows why, when I walk into the studios now, me, the KING of the dweebs, the man who put these little fuckers on the map in the first place, they look at me, like, shouldn't you be writing for CSI now? Shouldn't you be, like, hanging out with Alan Alda on PBS? 37 is old in this business. O-L-D. And if all you know how to do is write jokes about farting, and penises, and cheerleaders, and you've banked your CAREER on this god-given talent.... Well, well... well.... Well.
[Mae doesn't say anything. She sits silently and the two of them stare at their drinks for a while.]
Jeremy: See, I told you I'd be cooler if I was an alcoholic.
Mae: So that's why you're here. Because no one likes your writing anymore.
Jeremy: No, actually. I'm here because I have this band. Because, you know, when I'm not writing fart jokes I dare to dream that I could be a rock star one day. And I have this band, and we played last night at this club. And someone wrote a review about it. And it wasn't good.
Mae: What did they say?
Jeremy: That I was a cliché.
Mae: Where have I heard that before?
Jeremy: And that I shouldn't quit my day job.
Mae: That's encouraging.
Jeremy: For the day job, sure. Except the day job doesn't really want me anymore either.
Mae: So now you want to be a rock star.
Jeremy: Yeah, but not till I'm 40, though. Y'know? I don't want to loose out on my youth. [He smiles]
Mae: Funny. [she laughs] Hey! That was a joke and it wasn't even about farts!
Jeremy: Wow, you're right. Look, there's hope for me yet. [They clink glasses] So. Tell me. What do you do and are you brilliantly successful at it?
Mae: I don't want to depress you even further. But yes, yes I am. Brilliantly.
Jeremy: Are you making a difference in the world, young lady?
Mae: Absolutely not.
Jeremy: That's what I like to hear. [They clink glasses again]
Mae: I work in real estate. I sell ridiculously priced apartments to ridiculously rich people. It's utterly fulfilling. One client, this guy I've been working with for a few months actually, just bought the perfect 3-bedroom apartment, overlooking the Hudson. Gorgeous. We closed at 3.5 last week....
Jeremy: Wow, now I feel a lot better about myself.
Mae: You should. Guy was a total, asshole. Total asshole. His money is wasted on him. He wanted one room for his gym, another one for his office, and the other one, he said, would be his meditation room. Meditation, can you believe it? If I spent 3.5 for a meditation room I'd be having anxiety attacks about it every night. [Jeremy laughs]. Plus, the thing that gets me is, what the fuck does he need an office for? The guy was an idiot. He made fast money like all the rest of those egomaniacs on Wall Street, and he's not even, remotely interesting. He had not one interesting thing to say. So I just picture him now, in his office, looking at porn all day and IMing underage co-eds on myspace. You know?
Jeremy: Wow. Yeah, I'm not like that at all. Puritan, all the way.
Mae: And the thing is, these men hit on me every time. Every time...
Jeremy: That's rough for you.
Mae: And I have to play along with it, you know, flirt with them a little. Make them think there's a chance they're gonna get some, but they're not of course. All I want is their signature. Sign the papers, asshole. Make the deal happen. Close, close, close. So I can get the hell out of here.
Jeremy: Hmm.
[They're silent again. Then they look at each other and smile]
Jeremy: We are something else.
Mae: Totally.
[They're quiet. Suddenly Jeremy starts shifting a little bit on his stool, and seems a little awkward. He looks like he wants to say something. Mae notices.]
Mae: What?
Jeremy: No, you know, I was just wondering.
Mae: What?
Jeremy: I was just thinking. You know. I was thinking I should ask you for your number. You know, just in case, I wanted to buy an apartment one day. With an office.
[Mae smiles, laughs a little, and looks down uncomfortably at her hands]
Jeremy: Or. Or, we could get a drink sometime. Which, apparently, we're already doing. But a more official one. [He notices Mae's silence, and tried to make a joke] How's that for a segue? I'm so suave.
Mae: Wow.
Jeremy: What's up?
Mae: Nothing, it's just. [She looks back at the women who are still laughing in the corner, oblivious to her absence]. Well, those women over there?
Jeremy: The ones who secretly want to kill the bride-to-be?
Mae: Yeah. Well. [Pause] I sort of, AM, the bride. [pause] To be. [pause] That everyone wants to kill.
Jeremy: [He looks back at the group of women. Then he looks at Mae again] No shit.
Mae: Yes, shit.
Jeremy: Well. Hmm. OK, then. [He takes a drink again] So, I don't mean to be a girl about this, but, shouldn't you be wearing one of those big shiny rings or something?
Mae: I should. But I'm, adjusting? Still. To the concept.
Jeremy: Or, maybe it's just a survival tactic.
Mae: Meaning?
Jeremy: You know, so other thirty-something single women on the streets of New York won't jump you for getting hitched before they do.
Mae: Funny. Very funny. See? You've still got it.
[Jeremy smiles and looks down at this drink, a bit shy. Mae sits silently, a bit awkwardly. She looks back at the women and sees that they're all starting to put on their coats and getting ready to leave.]
Mae: It looks like my party is over. So, I should probably...
Jeremy: Yeah! Right. Sure.
Mae: It was, it really was, a pleasure talking to you. I promise not to let my hamster shit on your face anymore.
Jeremy: That's kind. That's very kind, thank you. I appreciate it.
[Mae gets up from the stool and faces Jeremy. He faces her and they pause in front of each other. Smiling a bit.]
Mae: You know, I don't actually know your name, now that I think about it.
Jeremy: Jeremy. Jeremy Kohl.
Mae: Jeremy Kohl. Pleased to meet you. I'm Mae Gordon.
Jeremy: Pleased to meet you too, Mae Gordon.
[They shake hands, slowly. Then Mae turns quickly and walks back to her friends who are walking out the door. She stops at the door and turns back to look at Jeremy, who is still watching her. She ties the belt around her coat, smiles, waves, and walks out the door]
[The bar is not well-lit, but sun through the windows shows that its probably somewhere around 4 pm. There's a group of women, about 10 of them, in the corner, laughing and sharing pints. A few men sit around the tables in the back of the bar. One guy, in his mid-thirties, Jeremy, is sitting by himself at the bar on a stool. He's drinking a beer. He looks dejected. After a while, one of the women from the group comes up to the bar. She orders a drink.]
Mae: Hi. Corona, please?
Bartender: Sure.
[Bartender walks away to get drink. Mae takes a seat on the stool and sneaks a peak at Jeremy, who doesn't look up. He's staring, in a mopey sort of way, into his beer. Mae looks like she wants to say something to him, but she's not sure what to say. She plays with a few random items on the bar, like matches or a paper coaster. Jeremy still doesn't look up. Bartender comes back and places the beer in front of Mae.]
Mae: Thanks. Can you just put this on the tab that we started?
[She motions to the group of women in the back without even looking at them].
Bartender: Yup.
[Bartender walks away and makes a note on a slip of paper near the register. Then disappears in the background of the bar. Mae stays on the stool. She looks back at the women, since they have just burst out laughing. Mae rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Jeremy]
Mae: It's sort of a cliché, don't you think?
[She's speaking to Jeremy, but he doesn't respond. She pauses.]
Mae: Don't you think?
[She takes her beer bottle and taps it on the table in front of Jeremy's face to get his attention. He seems to jump out of a daze]
Jeremy: Huh? Sorry, what?
[Mae eyes him suspiciously now that she has his attention]
Mae: It's sort of a cliché?
Jeremy: What is?
Mae: The whole brooding man at the bar thing, in the middle of the afternoon?
[Jeremy looks around, trying to figure out who she is talking about]
Mae: You, man! I'm talking about you.
Jeremy: [He stifles a laugh] Huh. Yeah. You think?
Mae: Well, aren't guys your age normally at work or something?
Jeremy: Aren't women your age usually at work? Or something?
Mae: Flattered, thanks.
Jeremy: Sorry, you're right. My mother raised me better than that.
Mae: Well, I had no choice. I'd rather be at work. I had to go to this... [she looks back at the women] bachelorette party... lunch thing.
[This catches Jeremy's attention. He looks back at all the women.]
Jeremy: Really. Huh. [He seems to ponder this] Shouldn't...?
Mae: What?
Jeremy: I don't know much about these things, but shouldn't that be taking place at some sort of night club or something? And not on a Wednesday afternoon?
Mae: We're starting early. It's a rare phenomenon, you realize, women in their thirties getting married in New York.
Jeremy: Is it?
Mae: No one gets married anymore. Not necessarily by choice. But just, you know, they can't really fit a husband into their schedules, in between business meetings and manicures and the gym. At least not in this city.
Jeremy: Interesting. So the celebration started early because, someone's getting married and you all are so impressed with the concept?
Mae: [smiling] Exactly. [She leans in close and says in a whisper] And you know what I've learned?
Jeremy: What's that?
Mae: It's a crock of shit. It's all a crock of shit. Did I mention the crock of shit part already?
Jeremy: No, I don't think you did. A crock of what now?
Mae: Those women aren't happy. They're faking it. They're raising their glasses, shouting things like, "woo hoo, congratulations!" but all they're really thinking is, "you dumb bitch, I spent way more hours than you on the treadmill, how did you get the fiancé before I did?"
Jeremy: I see, so they're a supportive bunch.
Mae: Viciously so. Marriage is a trap, a trophy that people want, thinking that it will make everything better if they can just have it, own it, put it on the mantle. And here we all are, celebrating the conquest. It's ridiculous.
Jeremy: Maybe you should just tell them you have to get back to work.
Mae: We all work together, in the same office, so I'm stuck here. My boss just bought the last round. [Pause] So that's my excuse. What's yours?
Jeremy: Excuse for what?
Mae: For being here. At 4 in the afternoon. On a Wednesday.
Jeremy: Self pity.
Mae: Attractive.
Jeremy: Ya think?
Mae: Oh, totally. Manic, self-loathing, drinking problem. All signs of a man you want to bring home to mommy.
Jeremy: If I were an alcoholic then I would at least be way cooler than I am now. I've been sitting here for an hour and all I've had is half a beer.
Mae: A light weight! Even sexier.
[Jeremy laughs]
Mae: I have to say, you look, for some reason, familiar. Not in a generic sort of way, but like, I've actually seen you before.
Jeremy: That's an acute possibility. [He takes a drink]. I'm insanely famous.
Mae: Are you?
Jeremy: No, I am not. I am quite, not, insanely famous. But yes, there is a chance you have seen me before. Do you have a pet, by chance?
Mae: I do, actually. A dwarf hamster.
Jeremy: Perfect. Do you ever line your dwarf hamster's cage with newspaper that you don't want to read? You know, old boring articles that seem irrelevant?
Mae: I do.
Jeremy: Yes, well, the next time your dwarf hamster takes a piss and a thousand little turds on one of those papers, look closely. And you just might notice a photograph of yours truly.
Mae: [She gasps] You're that guy! [She points at him suddenly, happily, recognizing him]
Jeremy: Wow. I'm glad my reference to hamster piss joggled your memory.
Mae: I've seen you! You're that guy! That guy that wrote that movie!
Jeremy: Well, I'm not sure which movie you're referring to, but if it's the one that I wrote, then yes, I wrote that one.
Mae: Dweebs! You wrote Dweebs! I saw it, like 3 years ago? Wow, I can't believe I remember this. It was great, I loved it. Well, not really. I'm just saying that because you're in front of me. It's not really my kind of humor. But I heard everyone else loved it. People talked about it forever. I can't tell you how many bad dates I went on that year with guys who would immitate that character, what's his name, any time we needed to hail a cab.
Jeremy: Igor.
Mae: Igor! Right. Or was it? I don't know.
Jeremy: I'm pretty sure that was his name.
Mae: Right, that scene where he hails the cab.
Jeremy: With his ass.
Mae: Riggghhht. Right. Yeah, not really my style. But boy, people were obsessed. Wow. So, now I really want to know, what are you doing in a bar at 4 in the afternoon?
Jeremy: Joe public has a short attention span.
Mae: Hmm. Yeah.... [she takes a long look at him]. Shouldn't you be driving around L.A in a Mercedes or something?
Jeremy: I drive an Accord.
Mae: And you live here?
Jeremy: I do.
Mae: Well, hey. That's cool. Yeah, I remember your face. I remember seeing some interview with you on Extra. You were talking about, hot dogs, was it? Something about hot dogs and bullemia. I think you called it the perfect accessory. A two for one.
Jeremy: That sounds like something I would say.
Mae: It wasn't very funny. I felt bad for you that you thought that was funny. That's why I remember it.
Jeremy: Yes, well, I did write a movie called Dweebs, remember. So prolificacy isn't really my thing.
Mae: You still haven't told me why you're here. I'm guessing it's not for a bachelor party. And I already know you're not an alcoholic.
Jeremy: I am here because. Because.
Mae: Because.
Jeremy: Well, I had a bad day. A bad week, actually. No, more like a bad year. And so, I thought. I thought, why not get a drink.
Mae: Well, what happened on your bad day, in your bad week, in your bad year.
Jeremy: Do you really want to know?
Mae: Always.
Jeremy: Darling, I have come to realize, that I am not the great writer people think I am.
Mae: Get out.
Jeremy: It's true. Sure, I've cranked out a few fart jokes in my career. And really good ones, I might add. How do you think I paid for that Honda? But, sadly, it seems the world doesn't want fart jokes from a 37-year old man anymore. They want to hear it from 17-year old punks that never even went to college. The market is infiltrated with these... actual dweebs now... these brilliant, funny, can't dress themselves dweebs who are writing this great material and giggling like girls on TRL. And for some reason, god only knows why, when I walk into the studios now, me, the KING of the dweebs, the man who put these little fuckers on the map in the first place, they look at me, like, shouldn't you be writing for CSI now? Shouldn't you be, like, hanging out with Alan Alda on PBS? 37 is old in this business. O-L-D. And if all you know how to do is write jokes about farting, and penises, and cheerleaders, and you've banked your CAREER on this god-given talent.... Well, well... well.... Well.
[Mae doesn't say anything. She sits silently and the two of them stare at their drinks for a while.]
Jeremy: See, I told you I'd be cooler if I was an alcoholic.
Mae: So that's why you're here. Because no one likes your writing anymore.
Jeremy: No, actually. I'm here because I have this band. Because, you know, when I'm not writing fart jokes I dare to dream that I could be a rock star one day. And I have this band, and we played last night at this club. And someone wrote a review about it. And it wasn't good.
Mae: What did they say?
Jeremy: That I was a cliché.
Mae: Where have I heard that before?
Jeremy: And that I shouldn't quit my day job.
Mae: That's encouraging.
Jeremy: For the day job, sure. Except the day job doesn't really want me anymore either.
Mae: So now you want to be a rock star.
Jeremy: Yeah, but not till I'm 40, though. Y'know? I don't want to loose out on my youth. [He smiles]
Mae: Funny. [she laughs] Hey! That was a joke and it wasn't even about farts!
Jeremy: Wow, you're right. Look, there's hope for me yet. [They clink glasses] So. Tell me. What do you do and are you brilliantly successful at it?
Mae: I don't want to depress you even further. But yes, yes I am. Brilliantly.
Jeremy: Are you making a difference in the world, young lady?
Mae: Absolutely not.
Jeremy: That's what I like to hear. [They clink glasses again]
Mae: I work in real estate. I sell ridiculously priced apartments to ridiculously rich people. It's utterly fulfilling. One client, this guy I've been working with for a few months actually, just bought the perfect 3-bedroom apartment, overlooking the Hudson. Gorgeous. We closed at 3.5 last week....
Jeremy: Wow, now I feel a lot better about myself.
Mae: You should. Guy was a total, asshole. Total asshole. His money is wasted on him. He wanted one room for his gym, another one for his office, and the other one, he said, would be his meditation room. Meditation, can you believe it? If I spent 3.5 for a meditation room I'd be having anxiety attacks about it every night. [Jeremy laughs]. Plus, the thing that gets me is, what the fuck does he need an office for? The guy was an idiot. He made fast money like all the rest of those egomaniacs on Wall Street, and he's not even, remotely interesting. He had not one interesting thing to say. So I just picture him now, in his office, looking at porn all day and IMing underage co-eds on myspace. You know?
Jeremy: Wow. Yeah, I'm not like that at all. Puritan, all the way.
Mae: And the thing is, these men hit on me every time. Every time...
Jeremy: That's rough for you.
Mae: And I have to play along with it, you know, flirt with them a little. Make them think there's a chance they're gonna get some, but they're not of course. All I want is their signature. Sign the papers, asshole. Make the deal happen. Close, close, close. So I can get the hell out of here.
Jeremy: Hmm.
[They're silent again. Then they look at each other and smile]
Jeremy: We are something else.
Mae: Totally.
[They're quiet. Suddenly Jeremy starts shifting a little bit on his stool, and seems a little awkward. He looks like he wants to say something. Mae notices.]
Mae: What?
Jeremy: No, you know, I was just wondering.
Mae: What?
Jeremy: I was just thinking. You know. I was thinking I should ask you for your number. You know, just in case, I wanted to buy an apartment one day. With an office.
[Mae smiles, laughs a little, and looks down uncomfortably at her hands]
Jeremy: Or. Or, we could get a drink sometime. Which, apparently, we're already doing. But a more official one. [He notices Mae's silence, and tried to make a joke] How's that for a segue? I'm so suave.
Mae: Wow.
Jeremy: What's up?
Mae: Nothing, it's just. [She looks back at the women who are still laughing in the corner, oblivious to her absence]. Well, those women over there?
Jeremy: The ones who secretly want to kill the bride-to-be?
Mae: Yeah. Well. [Pause] I sort of, AM, the bride. [pause] To be. [pause] That everyone wants to kill.
Jeremy: [He looks back at the group of women. Then he looks at Mae again] No shit.
Mae: Yes, shit.
Jeremy: Well. Hmm. OK, then. [He takes a drink again] So, I don't mean to be a girl about this, but, shouldn't you be wearing one of those big shiny rings or something?
Mae: I should. But I'm, adjusting? Still. To the concept.
Jeremy: Or, maybe it's just a survival tactic.
Mae: Meaning?
Jeremy: You know, so other thirty-something single women on the streets of New York won't jump you for getting hitched before they do.
Mae: Funny. Very funny. See? You've still got it.
[Jeremy smiles and looks down at this drink, a bit shy. Mae sits silently, a bit awkwardly. She looks back at the women and sees that they're all starting to put on their coats and getting ready to leave.]
Mae: It looks like my party is over. So, I should probably...
Jeremy: Yeah! Right. Sure.
Mae: It was, it really was, a pleasure talking to you. I promise not to let my hamster shit on your face anymore.
Jeremy: That's kind. That's very kind, thank you. I appreciate it.
[Mae gets up from the stool and faces Jeremy. He faces her and they pause in front of each other. Smiling a bit.]
Mae: You know, I don't actually know your name, now that I think about it.
Jeremy: Jeremy. Jeremy Kohl.
Mae: Jeremy Kohl. Pleased to meet you. I'm Mae Gordon.
Jeremy: Pleased to meet you too, Mae Gordon.
[They shake hands, slowly. Then Mae turns quickly and walks back to her friends who are walking out the door. She stops at the door and turns back to look at Jeremy, who is still watching her. She ties the belt around her coat, smiles, waves, and walks out the door]
Story: Meet & Greet
[Ext. - Day - Woman is waiting on line at food cart on the streets of Manhattan. There are a few people ahead of her. When it reaches her turn, she seems to order the food with her eyes, as she hungrily surveys the breakfast items in the glass container. A foreign man, in his forties/fifties, is working the cart.]
Man: Yes?
Mira: Um, one bagel, sesame, with cream cheese, please. And an orange juice. Do you have a no pulp one? Yeah, that. And... Um... the muffin, that one.
Man: This one?
Mira: No, that-- that one over there.
Man: This one?
Mira: Yeah. Is that chocolate?
Man: Blueberry.
Mira: Oh. No thanks then. Just the bagel.
Man: $3.75
[He hands Mira the bagel and the orange juice. She needs to get into her bag to get her wallet but her hands are full now with a magazine she was holding, and the new food. She takes the bagel and puts it in her mouth to hold it with her teeth. With the food in her mouth, she continues talking.]
Mira: Hold on... wait, let me get it... [Her words come out garbled]. Here. [She takes out her wallet and looks inside. She has 2 single dollars. She looks through her coins, but she doesn't have enough money.] Crap.
Man: Three. Seventy five. Miss.
[Mira takes the bagel out of her mouth, and a bite comes off with it.]
Mira: I'm so sorry, I seem to be... [She chews as she talks] I'm so sorry. I have two?
Man: Yes and I need three.
Mira: Shit. Um, um. [She starts looking through her bag but nothing is there. She pulls out a metro card instead.] How 'bout this? It's good for one more ride within the hour.
Man: What good that does me? I have to stand with my cart.
Mira: I could watch your cart!
Man: And where should I go? The Statue of Liberty? I've already seen it. Two times. I took the full audio tour as well. Three dollars, lady. And 75 cents.
Mira: How about an exchange?
Man: An exchange of money, yes very good idea.
Mira: An exchange of, product! You gave me a very delicious, very tasty bagel. So I will... I will, write about you on my blog!
Man: What blog?
Mira: My blog! It's great. You'd love it. I'll write about your bagels and your whole, the whole set-up thing you got going on here. And I'll tell people, go to this food cart, on the corner of Spring and Broadway, and you'll never want to visit Dean & Delucca again.
Man: [Looks like he is considering it] How many hits you get?
Mira: What?
Man: On your blog. How many hits?
Mira: Um... I don't know. Like, I think. Well, let's see, last time I checked... Um...
Man: Lady, you have a blog and you don't track your visitors? What kind of blogger are you?
Mira: Well...
Man: Page loads? Nothing?
Mira: I do just fine for myself. Last week two people left comments for me.
Man: Two? Two comments? Clearly, you don't know how to grab your audience. You have to reel them in! Start the fire! You have Google ads?
Mira: No.
Man: Your blog is worthless to me. $3.75.
Mira: But...
[At this point a man reaches from behind Mira and hands the man the money. Mira turns around suddenly.]
James: Here you go, man.
Man: Ahh, a savior. Very nice. Now THIS, I will write about in MY blog. What strange encounters I have in this city.
Mira: You don't have to do that.
James: Someone has to. You got a line of people waiting behind you.
Mira: [Suddenly realizes] Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. And thank you. I can pay you back.
James: Or write about it, so I hear. I just felt bad, I had to do something.
Mira: I forgot to get money out. I know, embarrassing.
James: No, I mean about the blog. No Google ads? No one writes for free anymore. [To Man at cart] One coffee please. Black. With the change from the five.
[Cart man hands James his coffee and Mira her orange juice.]
Man: No milk. And no pulp.
[Mira takes her drink. She and James step away from the cart.]
James: Anyway, happy to help.
Mira: Yeah, yeah. That was, really nice. But I do want to pay you back.
James: Don't worry about it. No worries.
Mira: Oh, well thanks!
James: Yeah.
[They stand at the street corner, silently. It's awkward.]
Mira: Um, so. Have a nice day.
James: Oh, yeah, yeah. You too.
Mira: OK. [long pause]. Bye.
[She waves and he waves. They turn around and walk off in opposite directions, both smiling a bit].
Man: Yes?
Mira: Um, one bagel, sesame, with cream cheese, please. And an orange juice. Do you have a no pulp one? Yeah, that. And... Um... the muffin, that one.
Man: This one?
Mira: No, that-- that one over there.
Man: This one?
Mira: Yeah. Is that chocolate?
Man: Blueberry.
Mira: Oh. No thanks then. Just the bagel.
Man: $3.75
[He hands Mira the bagel and the orange juice. She needs to get into her bag to get her wallet but her hands are full now with a magazine she was holding, and the new food. She takes the bagel and puts it in her mouth to hold it with her teeth. With the food in her mouth, she continues talking.]
Mira: Hold on... wait, let me get it... [Her words come out garbled]. Here. [She takes out her wallet and looks inside. She has 2 single dollars. She looks through her coins, but she doesn't have enough money.] Crap.
Man: Three. Seventy five. Miss.
[Mira takes the bagel out of her mouth, and a bite comes off with it.]
Mira: I'm so sorry, I seem to be... [She chews as she talks] I'm so sorry. I have two?
Man: Yes and I need three.
Mira: Shit. Um, um. [She starts looking through her bag but nothing is there. She pulls out a metro card instead.] How 'bout this? It's good for one more ride within the hour.
Man: What good that does me? I have to stand with my cart.
Mira: I could watch your cart!
Man: And where should I go? The Statue of Liberty? I've already seen it. Two times. I took the full audio tour as well. Three dollars, lady. And 75 cents.
Mira: How about an exchange?
Man: An exchange of money, yes very good idea.
Mira: An exchange of, product! You gave me a very delicious, very tasty bagel. So I will... I will, write about you on my blog!
Man: What blog?
Mira: My blog! It's great. You'd love it. I'll write about your bagels and your whole, the whole set-up thing you got going on here. And I'll tell people, go to this food cart, on the corner of Spring and Broadway, and you'll never want to visit Dean & Delucca again.
Man: [Looks like he is considering it] How many hits you get?
Mira: What?
Man: On your blog. How many hits?
Mira: Um... I don't know. Like, I think. Well, let's see, last time I checked... Um...
Man: Lady, you have a blog and you don't track your visitors? What kind of blogger are you?
Mira: Well...
Man: Page loads? Nothing?
Mira: I do just fine for myself. Last week two people left comments for me.
Man: Two? Two comments? Clearly, you don't know how to grab your audience. You have to reel them in! Start the fire! You have Google ads?
Mira: No.
Man: Your blog is worthless to me. $3.75.
Mira: But...
[At this point a man reaches from behind Mira and hands the man the money. Mira turns around suddenly.]
James: Here you go, man.
Man: Ahh, a savior. Very nice. Now THIS, I will write about in MY blog. What strange encounters I have in this city.
Mira: You don't have to do that.
James: Someone has to. You got a line of people waiting behind you.
Mira: [Suddenly realizes] Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. And thank you. I can pay you back.
James: Or write about it, so I hear. I just felt bad, I had to do something.
Mira: I forgot to get money out. I know, embarrassing.
James: No, I mean about the blog. No Google ads? No one writes for free anymore. [To Man at cart] One coffee please. Black. With the change from the five.
[Cart man hands James his coffee and Mira her orange juice.]
Man: No milk. And no pulp.
[Mira takes her drink. She and James step away from the cart.]
James: Anyway, happy to help.
Mira: Yeah, yeah. That was, really nice. But I do want to pay you back.
James: Don't worry about it. No worries.
Mira: Oh, well thanks!
James: Yeah.
[They stand at the street corner, silently. It's awkward.]
Mira: Um, so. Have a nice day.
James: Oh, yeah, yeah. You too.
Mira: OK. [long pause]. Bye.
[She waves and he waves. They turn around and walk off in opposite directions, both smiling a bit].
Thursday, August 23, 2007
BOOK: Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close
This is a book you won't soon forget.I bought it for the plane coming home from Italy, but I couldn't finish reading it on the plane, because the book is about planes, and not in a good way.
It's also (mostly) about a 8-year old boy named Oskar who is the most interesting, most complex, most sensitive, most intelligent little boy you'll ever read about.
He lives on the Upper West Side in Manhattan, with his mother. His grandmother lives across the street. His father died in 9/11, and this book is about Oskar's mourning process, though he does not know it. You'll know it, from the perspective of an adult. You'll know it, silently, reading about his adventures, your heart breaking, knowing that the reason he is on this nonsensical journey, is because he is searching for what he has already lost forever.
I don't know how Foer does it. His writing is so detailed. Everything eventually connects in ways that you won't see coming. If you reach a point that makes you wonder why it's even in the book, that's probably the moment you should pay the closest attention. The book isn't just A BOOK. It's got pictures, pages and pages of photographs, as though the story could not be told with words alone. It plays with the page margins, the font kearning, the space between the lines. This is NOT a normal book and it is beautiful.
A few months ago I was lucky enough to hear Foer do a reading at a public event. At that point, I had never read any of his books, and didn't really have plans to. But he's a young, 30-something from Brooklyn, and he's an up-and-coming author (more like an up-and-already-arrived) and he is married to my favorite author ever, Nicole Kraus, whom I was secretly hoping would be there.
He did a reading of something he was working on, which no one had heard before, and which may or may not reach the public one day. It was so funny and brilliant and had the whole audience crying with laughter. That seemed to put his "voice" in my head, so when I began EXTREMELY LOUD & INCREDIBLY CLOSE I could "hear" how it was supposed to be read, and that made the melody of the book so much more enjoyable.
I finished it last night with tears in my eyes and a deep sigh. Another book that took my breath away.
Websites: Maps
Unless. Unless I really, really love where I am.
For example. I like Brooklyn, but I don't love it. Therefore. Therefore, I get lost every time I am there.
I love Florence. I figured out those tiny, narrow streets in no time. I don't love the Village, so I usually don't know where I am. I love the lower east side, but that love is new, so I'm just starting to get a handle on it. At one point I loved the upper west side, so I know where things are. But. I'm starting to loose my affection for that area, so I'm starting to forget where things are.
I like using "mapquest" as a verb, even though it's not usually what I mean. Mapquest was the first onling mapping website to hit the big time, to grab your eye and steal your heart, but eventually we all realized it didn't really know what it was talking about. Like an old Italian man speaking to you in his native tongue even though you couldn't understand a thing, Mapquest took you on twists and turns that were unnecessary and purely suggestions based on its need for bragging rights.
But. I'll still say to people, "Mapquest it and you'll find it."
& like I said, that's not what I mean.
My dream was to find a mapping system that let ME choose the glorious bridge I should drive over, or the dark tunnel I should drive through. LET ME TELL YOU HOW TO HELP ME, I wanted to shout from the roof tops to mapping systems everywhere.
Googlemaps heard me.
Today I learned, by accident, that after you type in an address in Googlemaps, and the map image is displayed, you can CLICK ON THE HIGHLIGHTED ROADS AND DRAG THEM AROUND THE MAP AND GOOGLEMAPS WILL READJUST ITSELF TO FIT YOUR PREROGATIVE.
This is a beautiful moment. Let's savor it.
http://maps.google.com
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Story: Letter #2
Dear Mrs.
I am writing to inform you about my pending resignation which is about to occur.
Last night your husband asked me to drive with him to the mini mart, the one with the good eggs and the bad milk, you know the one, and receive change in quarters for his one dollar bill, because he owed me $4.75 and not $5.00.
Your son, I am in love with, but it's not the same kind of love that you have for him, which is why I can leave. You love him enough to have me fill your shoes and I don't love him that much. You love him enough to feel guilt about the size of his birthday presents and concern about the cleanliness of his school uniform. You love him enough to practice your signatures on a napkin (I found them) so that his applications for everything are neat and professional looking. I do not love him that much and that is why I can leave.
I have left the things you have lent me in the back closet. I have returned the shawl with the beads on the fringes because it makes a strange noise when I walk through the aisles of Fairways buying your cheeses and deli meats. I have returned the tweezers you did not know I had. I have returned the note you left me 4 months ago, requesting that we no longer have pizza nights on Thursdays in the household as a preemptive move to curb your son's appetite for inappropriately labeled food groups. I thought you would want that for safe-keeping.
This is the part of the letter where I bring things to a close and let you know that I will be unreachable by phone, but always available by fax. This is the part in the letter where you start to sense that I am bidding à tout à l'heure.
My best to you and your family and future employees and all of your goals and aspirations of which I have not and will not be able to help you accomplish.
Until next time, or sooner,
Ms.
I am writing to inform you about my pending resignation which is about to occur.
Last night your husband asked me to drive with him to the mini mart, the one with the good eggs and the bad milk, you know the one, and receive change in quarters for his one dollar bill, because he owed me $4.75 and not $5.00.
Your son, I am in love with, but it's not the same kind of love that you have for him, which is why I can leave. You love him enough to have me fill your shoes and I don't love him that much. You love him enough to feel guilt about the size of his birthday presents and concern about the cleanliness of his school uniform. You love him enough to practice your signatures on a napkin (I found them) so that his applications for everything are neat and professional looking. I do not love him that much and that is why I can leave.
I have left the things you have lent me in the back closet. I have returned the shawl with the beads on the fringes because it makes a strange noise when I walk through the aisles of Fairways buying your cheeses and deli meats. I have returned the tweezers you did not know I had. I have returned the note you left me 4 months ago, requesting that we no longer have pizza nights on Thursdays in the household as a preemptive move to curb your son's appetite for inappropriately labeled food groups. I thought you would want that for safe-keeping.
This is the part of the letter where I bring things to a close and let you know that I will be unreachable by phone, but always available by fax. This is the part in the letter where you start to sense that I am bidding à tout à l'heure.
My best to you and your family and future employees and all of your goals and aspirations of which I have not and will not be able to help you accomplish.
Until next time, or sooner,
Ms.
Story: Letter #1
Dear You,
I got the mix tape. It wasn't what I expected, but then again, not much is nowadays. Though now that I think about it, now that I take pen to paper, I realize that you did, actually, leave me the least bit misty eyed with your rendition of Let My People Go on the didjeridoo. You knew that would get me, didn't you? You knew. You know me too well.
Ms. Finch asked about you again. She said, and I quote, "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" and then she raised her penciled eyebrow at me. She's on to us. She's also got beautiful eyebrows. But whatever. I don't care anymore. I mean, we're adults. We hire people to pay our taxes for us. We hire people to walk our dogs and do our laundry. It's about time we got something of our own to hold on to, you know? I won't fight it anymore. I know, I know, you've heard me say that before. But this time I mean it.
I was going through some old things of mine in a drawer under my bed and I came across a letter you once wrote me, but never sent, but I found anyway and stole. There was a quote that stuck out for me. It said: And I quote, "The town where I grew up has a zip code of E-I-E-I-O." I can't make this stuff up.
Did you know Valerie Harper was born today? I think that's fitting.
Until next time, or sooner
Yours.
I got the mix tape. It wasn't what I expected, but then again, not much is nowadays. Though now that I think about it, now that I take pen to paper, I realize that you did, actually, leave me the least bit misty eyed with your rendition of Let My People Go on the didjeridoo. You knew that would get me, didn't you? You knew. You know me too well.
Ms. Finch asked about you again. She said, and I quote, "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" and then she raised her penciled eyebrow at me. She's on to us. She's also got beautiful eyebrows. But whatever. I don't care anymore. I mean, we're adults. We hire people to pay our taxes for us. We hire people to walk our dogs and do our laundry. It's about time we got something of our own to hold on to, you know? I won't fight it anymore. I know, I know, you've heard me say that before. But this time I mean it.
I was going through some old things of mine in a drawer under my bed and I came across a letter you once wrote me, but never sent, but I found anyway and stole. There was a quote that stuck out for me. It said: And I quote, "The town where I grew up has a zip code of E-I-E-I-O." I can't make this stuff up.
Did you know Valerie Harper was born today? I think that's fitting.
Until next time, or sooner
Yours.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
TV: All hail the hoodie
It's the year of the dork. The era of the dweeb. The rise of the underdog. Young, self-declared heroes with a dry sense of humor and intelligent candor that you want to believe is as brilliant in real life as it is in the movies. What separates them from the popular kids on the block is their understanding that cool is fleeting, but wit is forever.
Here are the boys with whom you should have shared a lunch table with, afterall:
TV Show: CLARK AND MICHAEL
Michael Cera (left in photo) is the unbelievably lovable hero of SUPERBAD. His buddy Clark makes a (brief) appearance in the movie, but mostly he'll be known for his dorky persona in the new ABC Family show, GREEK (which stars another up and coming dork, Jacob Zachar). The two of them made a few funny movies together (10 minutes each), that CBS (weirdly enough) picked up and put on a website in a ten episode, web-only format. It's maddeningly funny and totally worth your time to watch.
Here: www.clarkandmichael.com
TV Show: Freaks & Greeks
In my opinion, this is one of the best shows to EVER be on television. It's the boy version of My So Called Life. Less mellow-dramatic, more funny, but just as endearing. It's brilliant writing with a brilliant cast and worth the DVD purchase (your welcome, Sis). It's another one of those great moments in television that was axed by the network because no one was watching it. The one-season-only program stars John Francis Daley, who, lucky for you, also makes an appearance in CLARK AND MICHAEL. Daley is another endearing dork, who has grown, like, 5 feet since Freaks & Geeks first aired, potentially threatening his dorky title.
Jonah Hill
Also a SUPERBAD front runner, this guy is clearly super smart and out of his mind. He's too funny for the page. But something tells me if he lost the weight, he'd reveal a debonair charm that would land him in a few Tiger Beats. Oh, and he also shows up in CLARK AND MICHAEL as another aspiring writer who is very unimpressed with the awkward Clark and Michael characters.
Adam Samburg
When did dorkiness become something to aspire to? Probably for boy-men like this it meant more time in the principals office than the prom. But something happened in show business. Someone finally took the memo that women already know that the Carey Grants of the world aren't the most interesting conversationalists/attentive caregivers/loyalists, after all.
Luckily, this guy is a lot older than the others in the lot, so it's not illegal to lust after him. He's got that ridiculous grin and comic timing that originally paved the road for his predecessors (Jimmy Fallon, Adam Sandler, Mike Meyers, et al). Now he's in charge, and probably will be for a long time. He shows up on the SNL set every week, in case you're wondering how he hit the big time.
John Krasinski
Oh, OK, so I get it. I get it now. The road to dorkiness begins with being the guy who falls for the girl, but doesn't know how to tell her. And probably won't until season three. Women are so done with the macho man who can walk up to a lady and woo her with a three-word sentence that includes at least one use of the word "baby". No, those days are over. Brad Pitt? He's unreachable. John Krasinki? He's the one you never even noticed. Until he got a hit TV show and you realized that stuttering and excessive blinking are sure signs of a guy with potential.
Have a nice day.
Here are the boys with whom you should have shared a lunch table with, afterall:
TV Show: CLARK AND MICHAEL
Michael Cera (left in photo) is the unbelievably lovable hero of SUPERBAD. His buddy Clark makes a (brief) appearance in the movie, but mostly he'll be known for his dorky persona in the new ABC Family show, GREEK (which stars another up and coming dork, Jacob Zachar). The two of them made a few funny movies together (10 minutes each), that CBS (weirdly enough) picked up and put on a website in a ten episode, web-only format. It's maddeningly funny and totally worth your time to watch.Here: www.clarkandmichael.com
TV Show: Freaks & Greeks
In my opinion, this is one of the best shows to EVER be on television. It's the boy version of My So Called Life. Less mellow-dramatic, more funny, but just as endearing. It's brilliant writing with a brilliant cast and worth the DVD purchase (your welcome, Sis). It's another one of those great moments in television that was axed by the network because no one was watching it. The one-season-only program stars John Francis Daley, who, lucky for you, also makes an appearance in CLARK AND MICHAEL. Daley is another endearing dork, who has grown, like, 5 feet since Freaks & Geeks first aired, potentially threatening his dorky title.Jonah Hill
Also a SUPERBAD front runner, this guy is clearly super smart and out of his mind. He's too funny for the page. But something tells me if he lost the weight, he'd reveal a debonair charm that would land him in a few Tiger Beats. Oh, and he also shows up in CLARK AND MICHAEL as another aspiring writer who is very unimpressed with the awkward Clark and Michael characters.Adam Samburg
When did dorkiness become something to aspire to? Probably for boy-men like this it meant more time in the principals office than the prom. But something happened in show business. Someone finally took the memo that women already know that the Carey Grants of the world aren't the most interesting conversationalists/attentive caregivers/loyalists, after all.Luckily, this guy is a lot older than the others in the lot, so it's not illegal to lust after him. He's got that ridiculous grin and comic timing that originally paved the road for his predecessors (Jimmy Fallon, Adam Sandler, Mike Meyers, et al). Now he's in charge, and probably will be for a long time. He shows up on the SNL set every week, in case you're wondering how he hit the big time.
John Krasinski
Oh, OK, so I get it. I get it now. The road to dorkiness begins with being the guy who falls for the girl, but doesn't know how to tell her. And probably won't until season three. Women are so done with the macho man who can walk up to a lady and woo her with a three-word sentence that includes at least one use of the word "baby". No, those days are over. Brad Pitt? He's unreachable. John Krasinki? He's the one you never even noticed. Until he got a hit TV show and you realized that stuttering and excessive blinking are sure signs of a guy with potential.Have a nice day.
Movie: Superbad
Sis and A and I saw SUPERBAD this Sunday, which was really the whole point of the originally planned, hyped-up trip to Great Adventure anyhow, to go do the water slides and say, "I can't wait till we see Superbad!" as we splash around in the water and then when the park closes, go see the movie. You know what I mean?
Every summer we go to a water park and then see a movie that begins with the word SUPER. That's what we do. It's kind of our thing. You can borrow it if you want. But we didn't make it to the park this summer. Why? Because of threatening rainstorms that would have left us cold and miserable on our big yellow rafts. And actually, we would have been wet too, which, now I realize, probably wouldn't have been the worst thing to happen at a water park.
But.
We went to the movie theater in Union Square and I used one of those computer operated machines where you stick your credit card into a slot and push a lot of buttons to get your movie ticket to pop out of a different slot. I find those machines confusing and condescending. It asked me if I would like to process my request in English or Spanish or Other and while I enjoy speaking Other from time to time I was tempted to select Spanish. But the last time I did that it made fun of my accent. What accent? I can roll my R's better than a sushi chef, thank you very much.
Sis said she's been using those machines forever. But I was like, What? Huh? Because I have not. I enjoy human interaction during the ticket purchasing process of my theatrical outings (and for your information, movie in Spanish is PELICULA). I enjoy the question 'n answer session that we engage in, the attendant and I, on either side of the glass. So close yet so far apart. I've grown accustomed to that intimate moment when I slide my credit card in-- (with a subtle but not so subtle twist of the wrist) --and under the half-circle open space on the bottom of the glass plate, into the hands of the eager but not so eager movie ticket attendant.
Where was I?
The process of finding seats in the hottest movie in town. Right. We were there early so we got the coveted recliners in exactly the best location. Then Sis had to go outside and wait for a friend and A had to go buy a tub of popcorn (because we like our popcorn consumption to resemble that of our current presidential race: arriving way too early, and yellow). So that left me alone, guarding, for my life, the three seats that we had coveted (see the beginning of this paragraph for a recap on how we got the seats).
I witnessed an incredible display of human emotion, as people, young and old, hefty and slim, rich and poor, ambitious and lackadaisical, asked me if the seats were taken. I found it incredibly difficult and challenging to answer them because each person asked the question differently and with such confidence that I felt like an idiot for not inherently understanding their facial expressions and hand gestures. Let me explain in simpler terms.
Like, one guy would spot the empty seats, look at me, nod his head quickly, point, then raise his eyebrows with a victorious smile. So I would say, "No." Then he would smile and start to leap towards them. And I would say, "No, no." And he would say, mid leap, "Those aren't free?" And I would say, "No." But I was very confused. And he would say, "No, they're free or yes, they're taken?" I nodded, "No, they are." "They are?" "They aren't."
Then another guy would come by and say, "Seats?" But this time I learned from my mistakes, and I would say, "Yes." And he would say, "Cool!" and run towards them. And I would say, "No! No!" and block them, throwing my limbs across the seats.
And then the guy would go like this. He would shoot his fists up into the air and let out this gush of wind from his mouth that sounded like "Ohhhhuughfff!" like I had just told him Yankee stadium was being torn down, or something horrible like that. I felt bad.
Finally the girls were all back, and the movie started. And let me tell you, it was HIGH LEAR EE! US.
Michael Cera is funnier than a monkey's uncle. Any movie that bases most of its jokes around penises and can still make all the females in the audience go, awwwwww, through most of it, is pure genius. We laughed ourselves into oblivion and I would definitely give it one thumb up, because if I showed you my other thumb you would be like, "What? Huh? What's up with your thumb? That's weird looking." But I'm older now, so I'm totally OK with it.
Every summer we go to a water park and then see a movie that begins with the word SUPER. That's what we do. It's kind of our thing. You can borrow it if you want. But we didn't make it to the park this summer. Why? Because of threatening rainstorms that would have left us cold and miserable on our big yellow rafts. And actually, we would have been wet too, which, now I realize, probably wouldn't have been the worst thing to happen at a water park.
But.
We went to the movie theater in Union Square and I used one of those computer operated machines where you stick your credit card into a slot and push a lot of buttons to get your movie ticket to pop out of a different slot. I find those machines confusing and condescending. It asked me if I would like to process my request in English or Spanish or Other and while I enjoy speaking Other from time to time I was tempted to select Spanish. But the last time I did that it made fun of my accent. What accent? I can roll my R's better than a sushi chef, thank you very much.
Sis said she's been using those machines forever. But I was like, What? Huh? Because I have not. I enjoy human interaction during the ticket purchasing process of my theatrical outings (and for your information, movie in Spanish is PELICULA). I enjoy the question 'n answer session that we engage in, the attendant and I, on either side of the glass. So close yet so far apart. I've grown accustomed to that intimate moment when I slide my credit card in-- (with a subtle but not so subtle twist of the wrist) --and under the half-circle open space on the bottom of the glass plate, into the hands of the eager but not so eager movie ticket attendant.
Where was I?
The process of finding seats in the hottest movie in town. Right. We were there early so we got the coveted recliners in exactly the best location. Then Sis had to go outside and wait for a friend and A had to go buy a tub of popcorn (because we like our popcorn consumption to resemble that of our current presidential race: arriving way too early, and yellow). So that left me alone, guarding, for my life, the three seats that we had coveted (see the beginning of this paragraph for a recap on how we got the seats).
I witnessed an incredible display of human emotion, as people, young and old, hefty and slim, rich and poor, ambitious and lackadaisical, asked me if the seats were taken. I found it incredibly difficult and challenging to answer them because each person asked the question differently and with such confidence that I felt like an idiot for not inherently understanding their facial expressions and hand gestures. Let me explain in simpler terms.
Like, one guy would spot the empty seats, look at me, nod his head quickly, point, then raise his eyebrows with a victorious smile. So I would say, "No." Then he would smile and start to leap towards them. And I would say, "No, no." And he would say, mid leap, "Those aren't free?" And I would say, "No." But I was very confused. And he would say, "No, they're free or yes, they're taken?" I nodded, "No, they are." "They are?" "They aren't."
Then another guy would come by and say, "Seats?" But this time I learned from my mistakes, and I would say, "Yes." And he would say, "Cool!" and run towards them. And I would say, "No! No!" and block them, throwing my limbs across the seats.
And then the guy would go like this. He would shoot his fists up into the air and let out this gush of wind from his mouth that sounded like "Ohhhhuughfff!" like I had just told him Yankee stadium was being torn down, or something horrible like that. I felt bad.
Finally the girls were all back, and the movie started. And let me tell you, it was HIGH LEAR EE! US.
Michael Cera is funnier than a monkey's uncle. Any movie that bases most of its jokes around penises and can still make all the females in the audience go, awwwwww, through most of it, is pure genius. We laughed ourselves into oblivion and I would definitely give it one thumb up, because if I showed you my other thumb you would be like, "What? Huh? What's up with your thumb? That's weird looking." But I'm older now, so I'm totally OK with it.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Movie: Broken English
First thing. I love the lower east side. I think I want to move there.
Second thing. I love Parker Posey. I'd listen to her read the phone book if she'd let me.
Tonight I caught a new movie (guess where) starring (guess who). It's called BROKEN ENGLISH.
It was so good, good, good, good, good. God, it was good.
So here's the story. A young woman, in her thirties, living in NYC, thinks she'll never find the right man. Hmm. Far fetching. Turn down the lights, start the movie, watch her story, pray for a happy ending.
Why can't all relationship movies be like this, and this? Why do some actresses even want to make movies like this? Aren't they ashamed of their selves? I don't get it. I understand that they make a lot of money, but at the end of the day... Really? Is that what it's all about?
Here's a preview of BROKEN ENGLISH, which has a fantastic trailer, without giving anything away.
Second thing. I love Parker Posey. I'd listen to her read the phone book if she'd let me.
Tonight I caught a new movie (guess where) starring (guess who). It's called BROKEN ENGLISH.
It was so good, good, good, good, good. God, it was good.
So here's the story. A young woman, in her thirties, living in NYC, thinks she'll never find the right man. Hmm. Far fetching. Turn down the lights, start the movie, watch her story, pray for a happy ending.
Why can't all relationship movies be like this, and this? Why do some actresses even want to make movies like this? Aren't they ashamed of their selves? I don't get it. I understand that they make a lot of money, but at the end of the day... Really? Is that what it's all about?
Here's a preview of BROKEN ENGLISH, which has a fantastic trailer, without giving anything away.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Movie: Puccini For Beginners
After watching the amazing movie, Flannel Pajamas, and becoming a fast, new fan of Julianne Nicholson and Justin Kirk, I was really excited to discover that they were in another movie together. This one is called, Puccini For Beginners, and it's really good! And really funny!Here's the synopsis: Two gay women break up in Brooklyn. The movie follows the "getting over it" stage of one of the gay women, who is played so well by Elizabeth Reaser (you'll recognize her from Grey's Anatomy). She
surprisingly falls for a guy, played perfectly and handsomely by Justin Kirk. Then she falls for another woman (a glassblower, played by Gretchen Mol) at the same time. Those two also happen to be a (straight) recently broken-up couple. No one realizes they are all dating each other at the same time, until of course, some key pivotal moments. What a triangle. More like some twisted sort of hexagon or something.Really funny. Really sweet. Really well edited and written. Really well acted.
And the nice thing is, if you're a netflix member, you can watch the whole movie online right now!
Click here to check it out (or at least watch the preview)
Monday, August 13, 2007
Restaurant: Aqua Al 2
My landlady waved her hand flippantly at the restaurant. It was a bit nondescript, with a wooden sign above the door. A few trees flanked either side of the entrance.
In her broken English she told me, as she rode her bike and I struggled to keep up next to her in my exhausted state, "All the Americans go here. So expensive. I don't know why. Not worth it."
Later on I realized that this little restaurant, just a few steps down the cobblestone street from my apartment, was the highest rated, most strongly encouraged restaurant in my guidebook. Then I got an email a few days later from my cousin telling me that when she was in Italy, she had one of the best meals of her life at a restaurant she insisted I check out. It was this one.
So when my sister arrived, we decided to be decadent and made reservations at this hyped-up restaurant. The entrance was on my street, but it's address matched the Via around the corner. Hence, it was called: Aqua 2. Named after via dell'Acqua.
Our reservations were for 9 pm, and we almost missed it because of a last-minute debate as to whether we should climb the Tower of Pisa. There was a crowd waiting outside the restaurant when we arrived at exactly 9 double zero, and it was obvious there was no way you were getting in without your name on the list.
Eventually we were seated at a big wooden table downstairs. It was so crowded that we had to share our table with three other people, who seemed more annoyed by the circumstances than we were. The menu was handed to us, and it was ALL in Italian. But we like a challenge.
Here's what we ate:
Sis had a first course of Fuscilli with Spinici. I had a first course of Macaroni with Gorgonzola cheese. I don't know how to describe to you how utterly unbelievable these dishes were. You could taste every single piece of seasoning, each nuance of the cheeses. We kept sharing our dishes, whispering to each other, "Oh.My.God."
For the second course I had the dish the restaurant is famous for. Steak with Blueberry Sauce. Who has ever heard of such a combination?? The ample sized chunk of meat arrived on a white plate, swimming in a dark blue sauce (yes, blueberries!) and I delightedly started cutting away. It was heavenly, out of this world, sublime, exquisite. It was a steak meal I will never, ever forget.
My sister also got a steak, but a little more of an Italian delicacy type. It was wrapped in some sort of dough, and cooked with saffron -- and you could, of course, TASTE the saffron. It was also magnificent. She loved it. Again, we kept switching dishes, repeating over and over, "Oh.My.God."
Of course, there was wine, too.
Then for dessert, our waitress suggested a "sample plate". Wow. It was a slice of cheesecake, a slice of fruit pie, and a slice of chocolate cake. My goodness. Never have we tasted cheesecake like this. Forget NY-style. Forget it. Just go with Florence-style.
The whole meal, considering all we ordered, was expensive, but not out of the park. It was around 65 euros, give or take, which is about, hmm, $90, give or take. Which for two people, having the MEAL OF THEIR LIVES, is unbelievably worth it.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Travel: Santa Croce
July 28th / DuskI am sitting in Santa Croce's piazza, my favorite church, my favorite time of day. I am drinking a coke and eating french fries and vegetarian falafel, without the falafel, because they were out of them again. A man is playing classical guitar a few benches down from me.
Before you leave someone, time is palpable. It rushes past your ears, a soft scream barely discernible above the whimpers of your goodbyes. But before you begin the, "this is the last time we will ever..." speech, before that, before you start thinking about letting go, you feel the immense power of holding on. You feel every drop of wind and every decibel of laughter. You notice every light that turns on, beacons for nightfall to come home. You notice the shadows of the day falling across your page, like the world is ready to close its book.
It feels the same way with this place, like a friend I've come to know.
People are sitting still on the benches, bathing their faces in the evening wind like a cleansing syrup. New shapes and colors stretch across the pavement, and families walk by slowly, shuffling their feet past the church that, unlike me, has seen this all a thousand times before.
No one wants to let go. And the shadows on the page become darker. The white marble on the columns begin to glisten brightly and the yellow facades on the old palace homes turn to gold. The sky unwraps itself and releases a sigh that shifts the light from gray to blue. This is the tender moment of transition between night and day. And in a breath, it is over.
There's a cue in the light that is so subtle, few but those sitting quietly on the benches would notice. The shift in the light has given us permission to transform and like a film strip suddenly catching on to its reel, the pace of the evening finds new momentum. Hopeful travelers come out of their sun-drenched slumber, ready to play on the now electrified streets. They show off their darkened arms in strapless dress, their proudest accomplishment of the day. A photograph of the sun on their skin.
The cigarettes are lit, embers burning like the street lights. The circles of friends are getting bigger, the laughter louder. The Italian rolls off their tongues like the gelato down my fingers.
The pigeons are gone so the children have nothing left to chase but each other. And so they do, shrieking with each turn they make around the big square. Space like they've never encountered. Uncluttered with toys and rules and instructions, they dance, patting against the stone with their sandals like freed creatures finally in their natural habitat. Round and around they run, until their parents, walking slowly ahead, hand in hand for the first time in years, call out to them. The children, also for the first time in years, don't need to be called twice. They respond to their names, beautifully echoed against the cupboard windows like seagulls returning to their flock, soaring over an ocean of cobblestone.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Book: Man Walks Into A Room
The very last thing my sister wanted to do during her 9 days with me in Italy was.... buy the new Harry Potter book. She knew if she waited until the last minute then she wouldn't be tempted to start reading it until she got on the plane to come home. Which is exactly what she did. She finished it before the turbo jet wheels touched the ground.I was a little envious of her voracious desire to read (sorry, inside joke) and I wanted to feel that way about a BOOK too. For the last three weeks I had been devouring the sights and sounds of this tremendous country and my mind was working at a 100 mph. The last thing I was able to do was sit quietly and look at words. But here I was at the end of the trip, and I thought, maybe I can finally concentrate on something.
So I went to a bookstore and scanned the shelves for a long time. The English section was just a few shelves, but the collection was so random I could hardly call it lacking. Everything from Shakespeare to Candace Bushwell, on just a shelf or two.
I finally chose a book called MAN WALKS INTO A ROOM, by Nicole Krauss. She also wrote THE HISTORY OF LOVE, which I've already posted about with great affection. So here was her second book, which is actually her first book, but published before we knew who she was. So chances are, as it happened with me, you would discover it second. And I need to say, THIS is the book she should have gotten famous for.
It's a short book and I stretched it out as long as I could. I read it under the gazing eyes of the statues in Piazza Signoria. I read it until 3am in my studio apartment. I read it in cafes near the Duomo.
This book was.... goodness, someone give me an adjective other than AMAZING, please. Because it was AMAZING.
After roaming through the streets of Florence for a month, I told my sister that my new greatest wish was to have the ability to time travel. You just get this sense of history in this city like no other place I've ever seen. You can feel the ghosts of a million yesterdays walking through the streets even though the city hustles and grooves with the sounds of tourists and mopeds. And yet all around, time is frozen in the soft smiles of saints and angels holding their posts on top of towering podiums and church facades. I thought about time travel constantly. It's also the theme of my other favorite book, which I've also written about.
This book is not about time travel. But close. It's about memory loss. A man looses his memory at the age of 36, and all he can recall is his life until the age of 12. This greatly affects his wife, his employer, his friends. The story follows him as he tries to unravel everything he's supposed to remember, love, and identify with, simply because everyone tells him he once did. It's riveting, powerful.
It was the perfect book to read during a trip while far, far away from home. When you travel, all your habits are left behind. It's interesting to see how quickly we aspire to find new ones, or which ones managed to slip themselves into our suitcases for the trip across the sea. It's interesting to realize there are habits you didn't even know you had, but you suddenly miss. Like, the first ten things you do when you get up in the morning. Or the path you take through your house right before you go to bed. Suddenly all those things are gone, just like the faces of family members you tearfully said goodbye to before you got on the plane. Just like the clothes you left in your closet, and the music that didn't fit on your mp3 player, and the way your neighbor slams the front door downstairs.
This book made me think about all those things, about saying goodbye and hello to things that mattered or not. About relearning your steps into bed, and finding a new pattern for yourself in the morning.
How many things do we do each day that give us comfort in their repitition? Who would you be if you suddenly forgot who you are? And if everyone around you knew what your life was like for the past 15 years, except for you, what memories would you ask them to retell you? And would questions would you decide not to ask? How much of your life would you chose to reshape based on what you were told you did, and how willing would you be to reclaim nothing at all? And would the things that would not be reclaimed, or could not be remembered, be missed?
One night we were at a party in Florence. It was wonderful, and fun and the room was filled with artists and wine. The night weather was perfect and blew through our dresses and our glasses were never empty. And then I realized, that where I was, was exactly where I would have chosen to be had I known what I was choosing. I was at this party due to a series of choices I had made regarding people I wanted to get to know, activities I took part in, places I visited. All choices, unknowingly, led to this night. As the entire life I lived before this night swept away behind me, here I was again. Surrounded by smiles I seemed to have known all my life, but could not recognize.
"That's just it!" shouted Ray. "How to be alone, to remain free, but not feel longing, not to feel imprisoned in oneself. That is what interests me."
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Travel: Italy
I'm Home!!!!
Top 10 Best Things About 1 Month in Italy
(in no particular order)
1. Piazza Signoria and all its majesty (yellow)
2. The first time you see the Duomo (pink and green)
3. The real one-and-only David (white)
4. Bruschetta (red and green)
5. The view at Cinque Terre (blue)
6. The Colloseum (brown)
7. Florence. All of it. (yellow and white and green and pink)
8. Une Due Tres Cuatro Cinque Seis Sete Otto Nove Dice
9. Red orange juice and yellow pistaccio gelatto.
10. Santa Croce (rainbow)
(...lots more posts to come)
Top 10 Best Things About 1 Month in Italy
(in no particular order)
1. Piazza Signoria and all its majesty (yellow)
2. The first time you see the Duomo (pink and green)
3. The real one-and-only David (white)
4. Bruschetta (red and green)
5. The view at Cinque Terre (blue)
6. The Colloseum (brown)
7. Florence. All of it. (yellow and white and green and pink)
8. Une Due Tres Cuatro Cinque Seis Sete Otto Nove Dice
9. Red orange juice and yellow pistaccio gelatto.
10. Santa Croce (rainbow)
(...lots more posts to come)
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