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?