Video: Walk It Out

WALK IT OUT FOSSE

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.

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)

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.

Travel: Santa Croce

July 28th / Dusk

I 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.

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."

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)

Video: Pound

By Evan Bernard

Product: Royal Canine

Indulge me. I have to talk about my cat.

At first I thought it was the change in temperature, but then I wasn't so sure. Poor little feline was throwing up a lot. I'd wake up in the morning, and there it would be on the rug. I'd come home from work, and there it would in front of the door. I'd get ready for bed, and there it would be in the hallway. Nasty, nasty. And no, these weren't hairballs. Triple nasty.

I didn't know what to do. And I'm embarrassed to say, I haven't taken her to the vet in years. Not since she was a kitten and got all her shots. I don't know, it just didn't seem necessary. She was fine! She never left my apartment! She was the giddiest cat ever.

But this seemed serious. So I called a vet in town. They asked me how I got their number and I told them it was because the previous tenant in my apartment had left their magnet on my fridge when I moved in.

The doctor was on vacation so I got an appointment the next day with the man who was covering for her. My cat saw me take the carrying case out in the morning, and disappeared under the bed. After failed attempts at pleading, begging and bargaining on my part, I resorted to food manipulation to get her out from under there. Like a charm, she was out. And 2 seconds later, in the carrying case. Sucker.

At the doctor's office, I could feel their shame in me when I told them I hadn't brought her to the vet in years. "You know she needs to have her teeth cleaned," the doctor told me, pulling back my traumatized cat's mouth, exposing her fangs. "We'd need to clean these, and potentially pull out necessary extractions."

"I never heard of brushing a cat's teeth before," I said increduously, in the vet office of my rich suburban town.

"Do you have pet insurance?" they asked me, handing me the brochure.

"Do I have what?

After feeling my cat's intenstines with his hands, listening to her heart, and weighing her, he said that he'd need to run a battery of tests on her to see what the ailment was.

"Tests for what?"

"For anything," he said. "And I'd rather be serious about it now and tell you the worst case scenario, then let you think that everything will be fine, only to give you bad news down the road."

"Bad news like what?"

"Anything. Leukemia...." He kept the list going for a good 30 seconds. Then he printed out a list of all the tests and blood work they'd have to do. The total came to $432.

"400 dollars??" I exclaimed from my chair. My cat was pouncing all over the room, smelling the scale and the door handles and the cotton balls.

"And 32." He said. "432 dollars."

"Can't I just, change her food or something? Can't we just start with that?"

"I don't know what to tell you," he said. "If it was my cat, I would do it."

I sat there silently. I stared at the list, then at my cat, then at the list. "Maybe you should call your parents," he said.

"Maybe I need to think about this," I said.

I picked my cat up from the floor and plopped her back in the carrier. I went home. I went online and found a gourmet pet store. I drove over there a few minutes later.

I said to the man, "My cat's been throwing up. I need the best food you've got."

With barely a word, he led me to the back of the store and handed me a free sample of Royal Canine. "Best food on the market," he said.

I took it home and emptied it out for the cat. I sat with her while she smelled it. And then she started eating. And eating. And eating. And "asking" for more.

It's been over a week, and she hasn't thrown up once. She looks less gaunt. She doesn't beg for her wet food anymore.

Here's what I've learned since: There's been a rapid recall of cat and dog food across the gamut. Apparently there was some bad rice in China, and for a few months now it's been infecting pet food. Some cats and dogs have died. I have no idea if this was the problem, but the time periods match up. Bad Rice = Bad Vomit. Every item listed on the "stop feeding your pets these ingredients right now" list was in the regular store-bought food I've been buying for her.

"Junk food," the pet store owner told me with a gruff. "Cats don't need wet food. Everything she needs is in this bag.

Photographer: Alex Webb

My dad introduced me to Alex Webb. Well, actually, we got my dad the Alex Webb photography book for father's day because we had heard him talk about Webb before, which then inspired my dad to tell me all about Webb and explain to me why the gift we got him was officially the best gift ever.

But now I have an opinion of my own. I think Alex Webb is, officially, one of the best photographers ever. I know that's an adolescent way of describing my affection for his work, but girlish gushing is a sign of authenticity in my book of emotions. (Did that make sense?)

Anyway, we saw his show at a small gallery on 20th street and I had only a few minutes to swish through the halls before the event closed. It was a collection of photographs he took over many years visiting Istanbul. It was about the juxtaposition of a modernizing society within a highly religious context. And then some.I love his work because it's different. I love his work because I think a lot about cropping and whether information in an image is significant or not, and whether blurriness is a sign of life or laziness, and how emotions on a face tell a larger story than words on a page. These are issues that arise in Webb's work, and it felt like someone had plugged into my brain and produced high-quality, gorgeous images in response. I was so inspired by his images, and it will definitely affect my future work.

Webb still works in film and is just starting to venture into digital, now.

Movie: Beyond Eruv

Beyond Eruv is a documentary film about an 18-year old boy who decides to leave his Hasidic community and build a life for himself in the secular world. The film follows his struggles and roadblocks along the way.

I really appreciated this film. I was captivated by it. It's something I'll remember for a long time.

I saw it from the perspective of how we are so impacted by our upbringing and early education (or lack there of). It is a true "coming of age" story. It sheds light on how important it is for young people to receive support and structure. But too much or too little can have negative impacts on a person's life. After being raised in such a sheltered environment, and then entering a new life with virtually no guidance, can lead one to chaos.

It was as a movie about what it means to be a member of an insulated community, and what happens when one begins to question that upbringing. I feel it could have been any close knit society: Amish, Pentecostal, Hasidic. Even a gay child growing up in straight society! It doesn't matter what the community or what they preach, they all carry a similar thread of "expectation". If you don't fit into the framework of that expectation, then life will be hard for you as you struggle to find your place. It's a fact that some people who are born into that type of lifestyle don't belong in such a structured mindset. It has no baring on whether or not that society is "good" or "bad". This movie was a reminder that above all, we are all just people on quest for a sense of self.

What a fiery discussion this film raises, on so many levels. It's a film that its director, crew, and participants should be very proud of.

Watch the trailer here.

Video: Fun on youtube

Short YouTube videos you might like to see. They all made me laugh.

Chelsea Handler is hysterical. If you love Sarah Silverman, you'll love her just as much. She's dirty, witty, and smart. Here she interviews old people in a retirement home about pop culture. [Watch]


Comedian Paul Reddy (aka Brian Sack) is a clever man. This made me laugh so much, and I only wish I could see the whole film. I hear it's a half hour and available on DVD. Luckily, we get a peak of it on youtube for a few minutes. [Watch him interview a rock star]


The iphone is hitting the market this week, and commercials are everywhere. Conan O'Brien made a "mock commercial" about the new phone. It's funny. [Watch Conan]


Kyra Sedgwick talks about raising teenagers. Funny dance sequence. [Watch]



This girl is dumb. And then suddenly, John reveals how dumb she is. Watch the short movie to see what happens. [Watch]



Zach Braff does his very funny SNL opening monologue about New Jersey. [Watch]




Did you know he could sing like that?? Jack Gyllenhaal opens up with an UNforgettable SNL monologue.... Nice wig. Nice dress. Nice biceps. [Watch]


John Mayer reads the signs people are holding at his concert. Some girl gets lucky. [Watch]



A nice Jewish guy in Chicago is dating via youtube. Very funny. [Watch]

Video: Mac or PC movie

That mac guy is pretty hipster cute. But man, that PC guy can really bust a move. Who knew?

Movie: Flannel Pajamas

I had never heard of Justin Kirk or Julianne Nicholson before. But now that I've watched Flannel Pajamas, I will never forget those names. I LOVED THIS MOVIE!!

This was so beautiful, so achingly "real", such a sensitive script, such delicate acting performances. It's one of those movies that ends with a wish that these characters are really out there, living their lives, forever poetically living in the sky above New York City.

Kirk was AMAZING. So amazing. So handsome and classic. Nicholson was striking, and painfully personal. The story line made you think and question. The locations made you want to be there. The characters that surrounded them were unforgettable. What struck me most about this, is that there are warning signs everywhere about this relationship. As the viewer, you watch it, perplexed, wanting to scream out to the character, "Wait! Stop right there!" But when it comes to real relationships, it's the first 600 red flags that we usually tend to ignore. Which is what these naive people do. And ultimately, must face. Critics have written that they found that aspect annoying. I disagree. I think it's more like real life that any movie-love-story ever really successfully portrays.

You can bet I watched it two times in a row. And that in between watching it another time with the director's commentary (I was sick all weekend, what can I say?). I wish I owned this so I can watch it again.

It's the love story you were waiting for, pissed off about, yearning for, and trying to forget.

---

Director's Quotes: "[The film is] about the instant electricity between a couple on a first date and what happens over the next two years. It’s sexy, sad, comic and tragic in measures. It’s character-driven and dialogue-driven rather than story-driven — in its sensibility and style it’s a European film.”

Movie: Running On Empty

I was in my freshman dorm room, on the third floor. It was probably November 1, and Fall was setting in. It was late at night, and the window showed a black sky.

The message machine was blinking, and it was my mother's voice on the other end. "You need to call me," she said. Something sounded bad. I knew that tone.

I called home immediately, and my mother and my sister got on the line at the same time. "You need to sit down for this," my mother said.

"Why?"

"Really, sit," said my sister. So I sat.

"What happened?" I said, my heart beat quickening.

She paused. "River Phoenix died last night."

I'm sure they expected me to throw myself against my bed in convulsions, but to be honest, I was so relieved. The tension on the phone was so high I was certain they were going to tell me something had happened to my grandmother. So in that brief moment, I was at least able to tell the difference between the emotional reaction you access for the death of a loved one, and that reserved for the death of a celebrity.

However, at that time of my life, and for many years prior... many... I did love River Phoenix. I had his picture, torn out from magazines, all around my mirror. I read anything I could on him. Paparazzi then was an inch of what it is today, but I'm sure youtube would have gone crazy with cell phone footage that people would have of his death outside the Viper Room. But the famous story is that two photographers who were there actually held back from photographing him, out of respect, and tried to help instead by calling 911.

Last night I watched one of my favorite childhood movies, Running On Empty. To this day, I think this is absolutely one of the most beautiful films ever. I remember being profoundly affected by it in my teenage years. Who knew boys could be that sensitive! Movies in the 80's weren't always this character-driven, thoughtful, and quiet.

Because of this movie, I have always had a soft-spot for "Fire and Rain", the James Taylor song they all sing together in the kitchen. River acted with such tenderness and authenticity in all of his films, and especially this one. You can see his thoughts flash before his eyes, and emotions conveyed simply in the way he moves his hands. He is/was brilliant. Martha Plimpton was wonderful in this film too. They don't make young actresses like they used to.

Some things of note: The film was written by Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal's mother. I had no idea! And, it was filmed entirely in New Jersey. Who knew.

Websites: The Big Ones

These websites absolutely do not need my endorsement, so therefore I won't even include the href's. However, they continue to impress me, wow me, and encourage me to use their services. And I can't shut up about them.

Threadless.com
I've talked about them before. And since then, I finally bought one of their t-shirts. I love it! Maybe it's a little cheesy and not really appropriate for work. But guess who wore it anyway. And guess whose students said, "Hey, that's from the song 99 red balloons!"

Netflix.com
I always thought Netflix would be so much cooler if they started releasing movies online. So if I forgot to return my red envelopes before Thursday, I'd still have something to watch when I got home Saturday night and wasn't tired yet. Clearly, the company has telepathic connections to my brain, because I just found out, they took my idea! They have a big banner in corporate headquarters now that says my name with THANK YOU all around it in bubble letters. You're welcome NF. You're welcome.

Blogger.com
Wow, when I first started using blogger, things were so simple. You basically wrote, and posted. That was it. Since then they've added so much cool stuff. They just don't give up! Now they have this label thing to help you organize your posts, they provide separate links so you can see one page at a time, and they have this whole new archival system. It's great fun. I'm proud of them. I am.

Blurb.com
Oh my goodness, Blurb. Oh my goodness. This is my new addiction. Download their software and have fun making a book of your recent travels, or a wedding, or your cat. Make a little art portfolio for yourself. Import your flickr photos and put your photoblog in book form. Heck, turn your written blog into a book with one little button! Really, this thing is astonishing. And the final products are well worth the time it takes to put your project together. Though it's kind of expensive when you actually want to buy your book, it certainly is a timeless investment.

Sidestep.com
My sister introduced me to this website. She's a connoisseur of travel planning how-to's. Within minutes, I was so blown away by the user-interface of this domain. If you're a techy, an appreciator of web design, a smartie with a brain that values interactive organization, you are going to drool over this site. You'll probably buy a plane ticket just because you'll want to see what the shopping cart system is like. I love the way these pages are laid out, the way the content is organized and reveals itself to you in sections. I love it's simplicity and it's respect for the end user. I love the way it lets you refine your searches. I love the way it actually finds you great deals. Forget expedia. Use this one.


So in summary, all these websites lead me to one conclusion:
Ladies and Gentleman, we are officially living in the future.

Event: AIDS Walk 2007

Mom and Sis and I spent a Sunday afternoon volunteering for AIDS Walk 2007. We thought we were signing up for a simple stroll around Central Park, but it turned out to be a 6.5 mile walk all over the west side. We started in Central Park, then continued down the west side all the way to Riverside Park, then took a turn and came back into Central Park again. All along the way we were joined by great, passionate people, all there for the same reason: To raise awareness and money.

It was a really great day. Here are TOP 1o greatnesses, in no particular order:

1. Mom and I waited for Sis for 45 minutes, called her cell phone a million times, worried about whether we'd find her in time for the walk. Turns out, she was on the subway the whole time. And when she exited the subway, she found us immediately, in the middle of the crowd.

2 - Rumor had it, George from Gray's Anatomy was there! Where?? I don't know! I looked for him all over, tried to find the main stage, but never found him. I wanted to see George!

3 - A group of free-spirited little girls from a public school in Brooklyn (particularly, one of the last few hippie educational establishments left in our crappy system), shouting over and over and over and over again.... "What do you want? A cure for AIDS! When do we want it? NOW!"

4 - Cheerleaders!

5 - Amazing ice cream handed to us on the side of the road by volunteers.

6 - Alllllllllll the people!

7 - Never finding the team we were supposed to walk with, but running into friends at the end of the day!

8 - Walking behind a group of people led by a woman wearing a stereo system on her back, playing Motown music. Why walk when you can do the hustle?

9 - Mom willing to use the port-a-potty

10 - Finding a diner on the east side and commiserating over the loss of feeling in our legs after the long day. And taking pictures of each other across the table on our camera phones.

Life: Myspace

Reasons why I hate myspace:

1. Unless you're going to use it for blogging purposes, then why exactly are you using it?

2. myspace reminds me of our address books in the eighties. Remember how life was, before iphones and emails? Remember how you'd carry around your little address book on the last day of camp and get everyone to fill in those little squares with their info? We spent as much time picking out the perfect address book as we do our cell phones today. (Should I get the one with the Snoopy cover, or the one that has a special line for birth dates? Do I really need metric conversions on my last page? Spiral or lock-and-key combo?). And of course, you never really collected all those addresses for the purposes of actually writing (by hand!) letters to those people... We just wanted to fill the pages. We wanted to be able to say, "Oh, your last name starts with an S? Hmmm, I'm all out of room for people with S names..."

And of course, we wanted BOYS to fill in our address books, and we wanted people to SEE that we had BOYS in our address books (not that we ever intended to call them of course, it was just nice to know that the option was there). And speaking of BOYS, they really didn't have address books, did they? This was really a girl thing, wasn't it? Or, was I just never asked? Hmm.

OK, what was my point? Oh yes, that myspace reminds me of this. This pointless, ridiculous collection of names (aka "friends") that makes a myspace page scroll down, down, down....... We want to say it doesn't matter. But people, if you have a myspace page, you know it matters. I know that you know your "friend" number by heart.

3. Yeah, there's more. Anytime I'm on a friend's myspace page, or worse, a non-friend, I feel compelled to look at the comments people have left them. And it makes me feel icky. It makes me feel like I'm reading someone else's yearbook autographs. Why do people feel compelled to have "actual conversations" on the comment boxes of myspace? Seriously, why can't people just send private messages, or actual emails? Why must they leave actual between-you-and-me messages to each other, which anyone can read? The answer is, because myspace is a competition. It's a way to show people, or appear to show people, that you have more fake friends with more fake inside-jokes than anyone else. The battle of the inside joke, that's what I call it. There is no one quite as cool as the person who has a long list of artsy/indie looking people leaving public commentary like: "Last night was sooo awesome" or... "I luuuuuuvvvvv you and you r SO right about that thing u said the other day at that place we were at" or... "we r totally ON for tomorrow at you know where."

4. You know who I respect? People who actually build blogs of their own. People who actually have an interest in something, and build some sort of online ode to that interest. People who actually care about design and online community and take the time to create something to support that. The easy way out? Build a myspace page.

5. I know this is a rant. But I've got more. I find it quite irritating when people who are MY age build myspace pages for themselves, fill it with inappropriate commentary, and don't realize that when they are GOOGLED by colleagues, it WILL be found! Hello? You're a teacher! And your myspace page is able to be viewed by your students within 2 seconds of typing your name into Ask Jeeves. Which your students will do, by the way. That raunchy photo of your friend referencing your drug history.... yeah, your students can see that.

Thank you. I feel better now.

Show: The Lion King

On a pair of jolly yellow school buses, all 60+ of us drove into the city to see The Lion King on Broadway. Believe it or not, I was one of those few in the caravan who hadn't seen it yet. I was one of the few who hadn't seen it twice. And in some cases, three or four times.

I think I've outgrown Broadway. I know to some people that would be considered sacrilegious. But come on, how many rosy cheeked girls in petticoats can you watch sing to the moonlight for their prince to come? I wasn't exactly thrilled to be going to see yet another sing-along in the bright lights big city. Which, I realize, isn't very gracious of me to say, considering these tickets were a gift.

However, when the lights went out, and the first giraffes (aka: men on stilts) glided across the stage, my mouth dropped to the floor. This was a spectacular performance. It was hardly a "Broadway show"; more like a 2-hour art performance piece and we were the spectators at the gallery. The scenery was utterly memorizing. I spent most of the time trying to figure out, how did they do that??

The show is led by two children mainly, and they carry it well. If you've seen the Disney movie, you'll know the music. And it's tolerable, if not catchy. I really didn't like the movie when I saw it many years ago (also with a big group of kids). I felt like the movie was yet another mother-is-weak, father-is-strong typical Disney cartoon. And I barely like cartoons, regardless of their cliche hero/heroine story lines.

But on Broadway, it was a bit more touching. The animals, the set-design, is just spectacular. Really, spectacular.

Don't turn down tickets.

Book: The History of Love

It's ever so slightly embarrassing to be sitting across from someone (say, on a date or something) and when they ask if you've read anything good lately, you have no choice by to say, "Yes, I'm reading The History of Love." Oh, that's not exactly a loaded statement for a second date now, is it?

But this book is not like that. Not what you're thinking it's about anyhow, considering the title. Yes, it's about love. But more, the search for it, over time, over lands, over generations. It's not a love story like you'd imagine it to be. It's not a jilted affair, or a Romeo/Juliet type showdown.

The story revolves around many people, including a 14-year old girl who is trying to find the story of her name, and an old man who is trying to reconnect with his son, who may or may not know he exists. Everyone is searching for love. Everyone is working against a current that is paralleled to someone else's current, which in the end, enables them to all flow in with the tide at the exact same time. Excuse the metaphor, but it's true.

I began this book with hesitation, because the style of writing is so distinct, it's almost forced. It feels formulaic at the beginning, such "signature writing" that you can't help but wonder if the writer is more concerned that you remember her style than you do the characters.

But, like always, I kept with it. And, like always, a transition happened, and suddenly I realized I was holding in my hands more than a book; it was a true gem. It was magical. The style loosened, the voice developed, the characters became passionate, dedicated, loyal beings with a push and pull I couldn't help but immerse myself in.

It's a magical book.

Book: Eat, Pray, Love

I can't stop reading. As cliche as this sounds, it's truly become the easiest way for me to escape from things. But in a good way. When I'm reading, my mind is quiet, and I'm absorbing new words faster than I can worry about old words.

I also believe that books can come into your life at certain points in a most appropriate way. It's not like it's a psychic thing, or fortuitous premonitions. But often, quite often in fact, I'm reading a book and thinking, how in the world did this book find me at this exact moment?

As I read, Eat Pray Love, I was thinking that thought the whole time. But I'll be honest. It wasn't love at first sight. Well, I loved the cover at first sight. But the author, not so much. I was equally irritated and intrigued in the first few chapters. I was transfixed by the story line, by the things she was writing about, by the events surrounding her. But she, the actual woman living this life, was not someone I was dreaming of meeting.

I read it at the yoga retreat I was on, and there is probably no place better to read this book than on a yoga retreat. It looked as though they were handing this out at the door, because there were quite a number of women walking around with this book in one hand, and their yoga mat in the other. We should have started a book club right there and then.

I told a few people my frustrations with it. I said, "She's irritating me. She's trying to be funny when it's not necessary. She's writing whimsically about things I wish she'd be more serious about. She's making excuses for things that I don't think she should have to excuse." The women smiled and said, "Keep reading." They said, "Yeah, she has a tendency to do that. But keep reading."

They'd ask me as we passed each other in the hall, "What are you up to?"

I'd say, "We just finished Italy. And now we're flying to India."

They'd say, "Good, keep reading."

It struck me around that time, how I kept saying, "we". And I began to realize, that it felt like I was on this journey with this woman. The way she wrote about it all, made me feel like I was already traveling with her. That she and I, we, were eating pasta in Italy. We were planning our voyage to the ashram. We, were about to mediate together.

That's when I started to accept the book, and let go. And I forgave her for her shortcomings (now, what author is really perfect anyway?) and appreciated the story for what it was.

And then strange things began to happen. It was like paragraphs in the book were being written for me. To me. Names of characters and everything were identically paralleled to things happening, or things that had happened, in my life.

I read this straight for 4 days. I did nothing but read this book. The other day I was sitting at the coffee house, reading the book, and I laughed out loud. Right there. Heartily. A man walked by me a few minutes later and said, "Enjoying that book?" I smiled back, "It's amazing!" I said. "Have you read it?" He just smiled and shook his head. And I realized, he didn't even know what book I was reading. But he must have seen me laugh out loud.

I can see why some people would be agitated with this book. After I finished it (at 4am last night) I made a point to read the negative reviews first. And I get what they are saying. I really do.

But at the end of the day, who cares. This book is so full of so many things, that if there is only one thing you want to take from it, it's there. If it finds it's way into your hands, chances are, there's something in it for you. And I hope, by the end, you've found what you were looking for.

Music: Amy Winehouse

What's up with me and British hiphop/R&B girls? Whatever. I'm rolling with it, cause it's working.

People need to start talking more about Amy Winehouse. This girl is amazing. This girl is cracked out, broken in, wigged out, dressed up, too big, too little. This girl will start singing through your speakers and you won't know what to do with yourself.

She looks kind of scary. Only in her twenties, she already sings like Etta James meets Joan Jett. This album, Back To Black, begins with a bang and then continues to flip out on you every couple of songs. It's got vibe, and intensity, and you'll never forget it.

Travel: Kripalu

Seriously? Again?
Yes, again.

It's spring break, and where else can two teachers go, when they have no expandable cash flow, but very over-extended minds that need reprieve.

They go to Kripalu. And get their yoga on.

This time, as always, the trip was different. It's always different, each time I go. That's why I keep going back. Disney world, it ain't.

But here's the thing about me. For some odd reason, I don't like yoga. But I like yoga retreats. Funny, huh? I like the setting, the food, the environment. I like the intentions of the yoga mindset. I like the outfits and I like hearing people talk about the results it's had on their lives. But what I don't like? The boringness of it. I get BORED in yoga class. I get all, "how many minutes do I have to hold this and pretend I'm into this?" in yoga class. That bothers me. So I don't go to yoga. Except when I'm on retreats.

But this week, my dear friend pointed something out to me. Something along the lines of, "Why do you keep taking beginner's classes?" Huh? I don't know. 'Cause I assumed that's where I belonged, I guess.

So this week, my friend, she showed me the light. "We're taking the vigorous classes," she said. And so there I soon found myself, in a room full of intense, sweaty, upside down, inside out, hot, way into it, yoga people. Woah. Now this is where it's at.

I'm no advanced yoga person. I tried a headstand in yoga class once. Years ago. And yes, it was fun. And yes, I added it to my list of "things I've accomplished in my life just for fun". But for some reason, I didn't get the sense that I would do it again.

But this time, years later, older and wiser, I found it was SO much more fun being around people who were doing headstands again than it has been just exhaling for an hour or so, as I'd been doing in various attempt-to-like-it-one-more-time yoga classes. I got into it. I liked "vigorous". I liked this form of movement that was faster and tougher than the thoughts in my head could keep up with. In other words, I didn't have time to look at the clock; I was too busy doing a side plank for the tenth time off my left arm. I found myself balancing on limbs that aren't meant to be balanced on. I found I can bend in ways that should be illegal. And... I can hold still while doing so.

I was into this.
And so, potentially, hopefully, begins a new chapter in my life.

I'll keep you posted.

But right now, my abs are still hurting. From yoga!

Book: In Exchange For A Homeland

It's interesting, to read a book of poetry. It's such a different experience than a regular book of fiction. The path that you'll take as a reader is more unpredictable. The path that the author takes, less presumable. The whole thing could make it or break it for you in one stanza.

This book was beautiful. It's poem after poem, each one weaving together a fabulous life story. A collection of musical notes composing a song about a girl looking for her home. A home between two countries, between lovers, between parents, between her own inward voices.

It read like the fluid motion of a sigh. Breathe in, breathe out.

She is a writer who knows her words, knows where to find them, knows how to share them back with her readers. She puts them together on the page like a puzzle. First the sky, then the ground.

Music: Lily Allen

Lily Allen would not have played with me in the school yard, I'm bold enough to predict. She was probably the girl pummeling the boys in dodge ball while I hid in the corner. That is, if she decided to show up to school that day. Or managed to put down her cigarette for a moment.

But we're older now. And wiser. So we can all be friends again. And I think it's safe to say I've listened to this new album, Alright, Still, by this British hip hop star about 100 times in a row. Give or take a dozen.

This album utterly rocks. It's a dance party in my car every time I play it. I first learned about Lily during her premiere performance on Saturday Night Live. And as I listened, transfixed, I thought, "Who is this girl?"

She looks about 16, but sings like she'll kick your ass for saying that. She's pissed off at men, but takes them home nonetheless. She sings like she's whispering a lullaby, but her lyrics are raunchy as hell. She wears puffy school girl dresses, with sneakers. She's worth buying a plane ticket to London for just to see her perform.

Just go, go, go get this album. You cannot, I repeat, cannot, not trust me on this one.

Movie: Half Nelson

Brilliance upon brilliance. What a fantastic movie.

I'm normally not the first one in line for films about beautiful white people who save the underprivileged with their witty idealism and anti-conformity-themed rubrics.

But I'll make an exception with this one.

Rumor has it, Ryan Gosling feels pigeon-holed. Ever since he defrosted our hearts with his epic performance in The Notebook, people refer to him as, The Notebook guy. (Sort of like Leo's Titanic guy problem) So if Ryan took this part in the movie Half Nelson because he was trying to diffuse the glow a bit... well, he sure did succeed.

Because this is my blog, I get to talk about my favorite scene in the movie without having to worry about giving anything away. Well, it doesn't give a darn thing away, actually. But it's a beautiful moment. Ryan (the actor) is getting out of his car in the morning, on his way into the school. The camera is held tight to his face. He is gathering everything he needs for the morning: briefcase, books, thermos, lunch. He's composing himself a bit in the mirror. He sings that Sesame Street song, "1-2-3-4-5...-6-7-8-9-10...-11-12". Remember that? Then he gets out of the car. There was just something about that whole scene that I really liked. It told so much with so little. I listened to the director's commentary after, and he talked about that scene. How he gave Ryan a note to count to ten to himself, to get himself really ready for the scene, and then Ryan decided to incorporate it into the scene itself. The director said it really gave him an idea as to what type of actor Ryan was, and how he worked. I don't know, I just liked it. It was simple, and complex.

Great, great movie.
See it.
Then watch the Oscars in two weeks, and see if Ryan gets one.

Museum: MOMA

Today I visited my famous friends. We're on a first name basis now, so it was great running into Pablo, Sal, Rene, and Henri.

I find it quite thrilling to see a work of art that you've studied and discussed for so many years, live and in the flesh. I think it's titillating to see the brush strokes, the pencil lines, and the canvas staples. I like getting up real close and finding the mistakes. I like knowing that it's all real.

I like to wonder whether we make too big a deal out of things, like art, and how it comes to be that a painting is worth more than a life. I like discovering how some paintings are enormously huge, and others are surprising small.

I like seeing that one painting, you know the one, the one you always think about, the one you always speak about. I like that moment when you see it, under the lights, and the frame around it isn't gold, but quite an understated brushed metal. I like how it just sits there, quietly, smug, discreet. And crowds gather round it, pointing, staring at it solemnly.

I like wondering how art really changes the world. Does it? Is it really that significant, or do we just like the drama?

I like wondering whether the world today is in a place where it can handle newness anymore. Are people still making such bold statements? Are people still breaking ground? Or is the ground so shattered that our ears are numb to the sounds of the drills and we are jaded by the fractured cement around us. If you make something new now, it falls through the cracks, silently. But still we stand, agape, at the blue paintings that changed the world 100 years ago.

I went to the MOMA by myself, because I wanted to see what it would be like to take all this in without having to hear what anyone else thought, without having to pace myself, without having to be judged for how quickly I walk through the halls. I have ADD in museums. I am judgemental. I don't like to give anyone credit that they don't deserve. I walk briskly through 3 halls in a half hour. And then I see one painting that takes my breath away in a flash, and I will stand in front of it for 20 minutes. That's the feeling of beauty. That's what it means to dive in. I save all my energy for those moments. It's all instinct. It's thrilling. I, know what I like.

I don't know if you understand what I'm talking about. But that's OK. Here are the two new friends I brought home with me today for my own home. And no, I didn't steal them off the walls.

Movie: Music & Lyrics

I was going to begin this post by saying, "I should really start seeing some good movies" because I expected to trash this film. Expected to, because, how could I not? It's got yes please I'll take extra butter on my popcorn written all over it.

But I loved it! And I loved it because I'm in one of those moods where cupids and construction paper hearts make you go, awwww. If you're not in one of those moods, I don't suggest you watch this.

I used to be obsessed with Drew Barrymore. I remember the poignant evening it began like it was yesterday. I was maybe 12 years old, and we were all at my grandparent's house for dinner. There was a little article in the Post about Drew, and how she was about to enter rehab for a drug problem. That little article was my first exposure to pop celebrity. It was the first time the gleam became tarnished, and I was in shock. Drew? Little Drew? Little dress-up E.T. Drew? A drug addict?

After realizing we were nearly the same age (and therefore, I was certain, would have been the best of friends), I read anything I could about her. Those were pre-google days, so I was forced to get anything I could from lifestyle sections of bad newspapers. I even read her "book" (yes, I put that in quotes). My dad swears her story is the reason I never became a drug addict. I have to agree. If not for Drew, I'd be writing this from the Betty Ford clinic.

But I digress. This is an adorable, harmless little film. So shut up with your judgment, and add it to your Queue.

Movie: Just Like Heaven

The theme of this blog is, "I have to tell you." Usually that means I'm going to write about something I support. Well, today I'm going to put the whites in the color pile and mix things up a bit. Here is something I am not supporting.

Just Like Heaven.
I am not supporting this movie. It was trite, contrived, and glossy. Of course, I knew that going in. But here's a little fact you may not know. Movie producers in Hollywood have meetings once a month where they discuss my lack of will power when it comes to big-budget blondes who learn a lesson about love in the end. And then they invest millions of dollars into witty previews that I get to download in high-bandwidth formats on apple.com and feel compelled to add to my Queue. So, I caved.

The movie was so bad that I'm going to go even further off topic. I like the word Queue, and the way it's become a casual new addition to our lexicon. Here's how it works: A friend mentions a movie they saw. I tell them I haven't seen it. They say flippantly, "Oh, add it to your Queue." And right away, with one word, I know that they are referring to Netflix, and their assumption that I have already taken the time to register with that company, provide my email address, mail address, and a user name of my choice. And with that, comes a Queue that I have the ability to add to, delete from, edit, rearrange and divide into sub-categories.

This is a phenomenal word, and if not just for the fact that it employs u-e-u-e in it's spelling, I think it deserves higher accolades. I think it's time to push the envelope with Queues. I want to take personal responsibilty for expanding it's girth in conversation usage. I want a Queue for things I need to buy at the hardware store, and for people I should have called back last week. I want a Queue for things in life that I need to be more well-versed in, so that I can participate in conversations that I can schedule to arrive in my life in 3-5 days, depending on the Christmas rush.

"Have you heard about Putin's criticism of U.S. Power?"

"No, I haven't."

"Oh, it's quite aggressive. You should add it to your Queue."

"Cool, I'll do that. I have Congress curbing lobbyists right now, but I'm usually too tired at night to get into it."

"Yeah, that one is a bit overdone. But the bloopers are hilarious."

Book: The Dive From Clausen's Pier

This was a really intense book. I think I liked it. I'm not sure. It took a while to get through, but I was thoroughly intrigued by the story line and wanted to know what would happen next.

The thing was, the main character was, hmm, not entirely likable. I guess that's why I'm not sure if I can rate this book as "good" or "bad". It was, uncomfortable. Her life, during this book, was complicated. The problems she faced were unimaginable, and I'm pretty certain you could not judge her actions unless you were in her situation. As unique as it was.

But the thing is, I'm not sure what she would have done different had this specific trauma (not giving it away) hadn't happen to her. And that's the thing. It didn't really happen to her. It happened to her boyfriend. And normally, when a book tells the story of an accident that turns someone into a paraplegic, the story follows that particular person. But in this case, it didn't. It followed the person on the peripheral. It followed the one that watched it happen.

It's an interesting scenario. Imagine a relationship that is going sour, that is maybe "not meant to be". Imagine you are coming to that realization, slowly, and you are watching things crumble through your fingers. But, it's hard to face. It's hard to acknowledge. So you take your time.

And then, something bad happens. Something really bad. Something that would serve as a benchmark for any relationship. You'd see things in terms of, before "it" happened, and after "it" happened. And everyone then looks to you, to see how you'll handle this bad thing that has happened. But the truth is, things were bad before it happened. Things were already dying. But now you have to step up to the plate. Now you have to be the support system, for someone whom you really have no business supporting anymore. Because before the trauma happened, you had already left. You just hadn't said so out loud yet.

I couldn't sleep last night so I stayed up till 3 am reading, finishing this book. And I'm not entirely sure how it ended. And however it ended, I'm certain I didn't see it coming. It left me slightly bewildered.

I think I understand now why Kilroy wouldn't reveal himself to Carrie. Through out the story, you feel her frustration. You see him as potential trouble. But then it started to dawn on me, he probably knew the whole time she would leave. He probably had a sense. He probably knew that it would happen any day, at any moment.

That's the thing about this book. You never really see anything from anyone else's perspective. It's entirely Carrie's. Which makes it feel a bit selfish at times. I understand it was about her struggle, the whole way through, but I just wish she had thought about how she was impacting other people a little bit more.

I guess if a book makes you think this much, it's a good thing.