three...two...one...

As I contemplate the changing of the years, it is hard not to be overcome with regrets of 2009, soon to be cemented in history. I tell myself: the "year" is an arbitrary demarcation of time. The discontinuity between 12/31 and 1/1 is totally illusory. Right? Yes. Yes.

And then I realized: THIS is why people drink on New Year's Eve.

Mass Migration

In honor of holiday travel season, The Daily Beast ranks the nations best and worst airports. I don't really fly enough to persuasively agree or disagree with their findings, but their survey did give me a chance to reflect on my recent docking history. For example, Atlanta's Hartfield-Jackson comes in 25th out of 27, better than Miami, Newark, and...well, that's it. The survey, obviously, does not take into account the deliciousness of Atlanta Bread Company. Philadelphia comes in near the bottom, too, ranking 23rd, but--and I feel I must be misunderstanding something here--it places 2nd (best?) for amenities. Unless "amenities" is code for "soft pretzels," I'm not quite sure what they're referring to here. It was nice to see Detroit make the top 5, beating out many otherwise-more evolved cities. Unfortunately, the Detroit airport may be best used to get oneself out of Detroit.

Brace Yourself

Chicago appears to be full of boutique dental offices with punny names. A fraction of the options within walking distance: Sugarfix, Brushin' on Belmont, Always There Dental Care, In Smyle.

Best in Show

Until Bo Obama wins Westminster, I'm unimpressed.





(not to discredit Obama's achievement--just pointing out there are more frontiers to conquer)

NYU '13

When Gossip Girl took place in high school, I loved it. Now that they're at NYU, I feel strangely threatened.

Pantine Pro-V

I am taking an on-camera commercial acting class. A lot of the course time is spent watching and critiquing ourselves on film. I am learning a lot. The main lesson I have learned thus far is that I need a haircut.

Beauty School Drop Out

Tomorrow night, a friend from college is having a party. He is wonderful. Part of me would very much like to go. The other part of me would rather die.

Daddy's Girl

attn: Elizabeth Wurtzel: "Sylvia Plath with an ego," while perhaps accurate, is not a compliment*


*better yet: "way less talented Sylvia Plath with an ego"

Dead Soles

Unexpectedly, gold ballet flats were the most practical shoes I owned.

Catch-212

I'm thinking very seriously about leaving New York. I'm not one of those people who is in the throes of a passionate love affair with the city: it's cold and status-conscious and mean; the pace condones, if not encourages, jerkiness; groceries and food and rent and movies seem to cost what they're worth, times two. I hate it here. And yet, there is a problem with every other American metropolis: it's not New York.

Me, Myself, and Mnouchkine

I saw Ariane Mnouchkine's Les Ephemeres at Lincoln Center Armory last week. After four years coerced into singing her endless praises, part of me was hoping for a let down (she's not that great). No luck. It was amazing.

I went alone. It ought to be liberating to go to something so decadent alone; instead, it was profoundly lonely. Still, there's something to be said for being freed from the obligations of companionship: it's nice not to care whether or not it was good for you, too.

Fresh Fruits and Vegetables

Conventional wisdom says that you shouldn't go grocery shopping when you're hungry. A sensible adage that ought to prevent impulse purchasing. However, there is something more dangerous than shopping while hungry: shopping with a craving. This is how, for example, I ended up with a refrigerator stuffed with nothing but fruit. And in the freezer? fruit-flavored Popsicles. I'm hungry.

Cheers!

I know it's gauche (despite its brief comeback the summer of 2008), but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it:

I really like rosé.

[the fast and the] FURIOUS

Premise One: I am concerned that my super thinks my lease is up August 1. He has apparently been giving out the key to brokers so they can begin showing the apartment. A month early. With no warning. I am very angry. And very nervous we're going to have to whip out the contract in order to prove we get to stay here (granted the privilege?) of staying here UNTIL THE END OF THE LEASE. Which, with our super, will definitely be a pleasure.

Premise Two: Starting now, I need to keep this place immaculate. For two months. I am...not really...an immaculate person.

Conclusion: I hate Rapid Realty. I hate my super (nothing new here). Increasingly, I hate my apartment, which is over-priced--if only we'd known better--and tiny and poorly designed and at least 30 degrees overheated year-round. I have to keep reminding myself that this does not mean I hate New York.

The Pursuit of Happiness

I am a big fan of secular holidays, but Thanksgiving is stressful and Valentine's Day is fraught. The 4th of July and Groundhog's Day, however, are reasons to celebrate.

Today's events did raise one question: if you know you are plunging into the thick of a huge crowd--say, for example, the masses watching fireworks by the river--why would you bring your GIGANTIC dog?

This Too Shall Pass

If I lived in a basement apartment, it would be less hot. If I lived in a basement apartment, I'd have few windows and no light. Two ineffective fans per single room later, I'd be willing to live in a cave.

Gilded Lilies

On the subway yesterday, it hit me: I am beginning to resent middle-aged women. I know this is the height of misogyny. [The sense of disgust of older women is so deeply entrenched in Hollywood that even when the role is specifically for an older woman, no one wants to see an actual older woman on screen, writes Hadley Freeman in The Guardian.]. Still, I can't help it.

In my defense, my feelings don't extend to all ladies of a certain age: it's a special breed of women I keep encountering who are unwilling to cede their now-faded youth to the young. They are the Gertrude-aged actresses auditioning for Juliet. They are the aggressive shoppers fighting high school girls for ironically acid-washed jeans at Top Shop.

Despite it being an almost-constant hindrance, my youth is allegedly one of the few things I have going for me. Can't they let me have even that?

He Does WHAT and Lives WHERE?

Everyone knows there are two topics of conversation at parties in New York: Where do you live and what do you do? I didn't realize, though, that there are apparently also only two topics of conversation between friends: Where other people live and what other people do.

The Sidewalks of New York

The weather is [mostly] warm; the sky is [often] sunny. This can only mean one thing: the street canvassers have come out of hiding. They are everywhere, and they are coming for you. I will cross the street. I will talk on my phone. Once I was walking through Union Square sobbing. But there is no obstacle too large for the canvasser. They will find you, they will block your path, they will follow you down the street. I have never been physically attacked, though I feel it coming.

And the thing is, I have canvassed. I, of all people, should have sympathy for my fellow soldiers doomed to a life of liberal causes. I should have sympathy, but I don't. My bleeding heart has turned to ice. Common manners no longer apply. It is a matter of survival--one must escape or risk the consequences.

I <3 My Cat

Lesson from house-sitting: if you live in a studio apartment and you have two cats, the cats never. go. away. Ever. You have one room. They have one room. Unfortunately, it is the same room. Goodbye privacy, goodbye productivity, hello Fancy Feast.

Crash

Sometimes when I am walking in midtown, I find myself an obstacle in someone else's trajectory: unless one of us steps aside, we will crash. When I first moved here, I was always the one to move. Then I got angry. Why do I have to be the one to move. I began to mow past people in my path. Sometimes they moved. Mostly, I bumped into them. What, you expect me to move? I always move. You should move!

Then I realized everybody else probably thinks the same thing.

Paper v Plastic

Easy grocery shopping is the best argument for the suburbs yet.

A Syllogism

If you are not in college and you are not tipsy, then you are rudely awakened: Top Ramen really isn't very good.

Old Dog, New Tricks

In other news, I am trying to train myself out of the apparently outdated habit of double spacing between sentences. These were the parting words of my former editor, and as we enter a new year and a new administration, it seems a perfect time to enact new typographical habits.

Update 7/1/09: Success.

Audition Technique

I do not understand showing up to an audition dressed for clubbing. At my first NYC audition, I showed up wearing dance pants and a fitted t-shirt. I thought it'd be important to be able to move. Wrong. Apparently it is more important to be femme. Heels. Skirts. Stockings. This was shocking to me. So heels, skirts, stockings it is. But must I really vamp it up with leggings and a low cut sweater that debatably functions as a dress and high heeled boots? Because I can do that. Or after a trip to H&M, I could do that. But are you serious?

Red/Green Colorblind

I think more coffee shops should give some kind of discount for getting their coffee in a mug rather than a paper cup. Think's mugs are equivalent to a medium paper cup. The cost: exactly the same. I wish they'd charge for a small rather than coerce the in-store drinker to spend more, but I understand. These are tough times. Still, couldn't there be a tiny discount in the interest of environmentalism? 10 cents off, save the polar bears.