Archive for May, 2008

Cab stalking

Friday, May 30th, 2008

Here’s what bugs me: being stalked by cabs.

Does this happen to anyone else? You’re walking – along Huntington or Tremont or Mass Ave or whatever – and you’re honked at. So you turn toward the offending vehicle and see neither a truckload of toothless hillbillies (as is usually the case when I return to North Carolina for a visit) nor a waving acquaintance (as has yet to happen to me because, well, I don’t know many people who have cars); instead, you see a cab. And the cab has basically just yelled at you, saying, in cabbigian*: “HEY. GET IN.”

I suspect this may happen to me more than it does to others, because – I suspect – I spend more than my share of time walking the streets of Boston carrying something unwieldy, like a foosball table, or $80′s worth of cabbage, something that most people would put into a cab and ride beside, instead of trying to carry.

In any case, if I want a cab, I will actively try to hail a cab. Are there a lot of people out there for whom “trying to hail a cab” amounts to “walking with your head down, trying not to chip any of the players on the blue team/drop any of the cabbages”?

*That’s what we’re calling the native taxi cab language

Zero sum

Friday, May 23rd, 2008

At 11:30 on a Friday night, pausing my hurried dressing ritual to wash down a multivitamin with a swallow of vodka martini (chased, in turn, with a single dark chocolate M&M that I spy amidst the bricolage of eyeshadows littering my dresser) feels so right

(Yes, this is a succinct post; on that note, would anyone care to coach me in the art of haiku?)

$11 per pay period: a calculated risk

Friday, May 23rd, 2008

This morning, I started to fix myself a bowl of cereal, got halfway through the process of cutting up my apricots and strawberries, decided I wanted an omelet instead and abandoned the fruit, mid-cut, in a cereal bowl. But then the omelet wasn’t nearly as hearty as I’d hoped (they never are, especially when you have not eggs, fresh produce and some deliciously pungent fromage but generic brand egg beaters, frozen spinach and the end of a bag of pre-grated, part-skim mozzarella that you hope your roommate has forgotten about), so I poured cereal and milk over the abandoned fruit…and then realized that it included one yet-uncut apricot and very likely the pit of the partially cut one. Now I’m waiting for that other pit to materialize and make me sorry that I opted out of dental insurance. 

The GodBlog is my copilot

Tuesday, May 20th, 2008

In searching for amusingly non-sequitur Sex and the City-related Web sites to which to hyperlink in my most recent post, I found a nice little write up in Israeli newspaper Ha’aretz on how the cities of Jerusalem and Petach Tikva have banned advertisements for the movie because of the word “sex.”

OK, whatever. What amused me was that the reporter had referred to the show in the article’s headline and body as “Sex IN the City,” an error that – fact-checker negligence aside – really doesn’t warrant mention except that it was alongside this photo:

 

 

I shared this news with my buddy Brad Greenberg, who is the force behind the Jewish Journal of L.A.’s GodBlog, and he saw fit to post about it. Woohoo, point for Rachel the Informant! Except now I have to do my own post to take credit for it. 

 

The online article has since been fixed, but here’s proof in the form of my screenshot of the cached original version:

 

Boy, do I ever love proof.
 

Is your former governor running? Well then, you’d better go catch him.

Monday, May 19th, 2008

Earlier this evening, I was at the Four Seasons’ Bristol Lounge to meet a friend for a drink. (By the way, the image shown below, taken from the Four Seasons Web site, looks more like a library – and less like a lounge – than the place itself does.)

While waiting for my friend, I spent a few minutes in semi-proximity to former Bay State governor-slash-erstwhile Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney, while he and the missus waited for a host to appear and seat them.

I caught Mitt’s eye and smiled (’cause, you know, that’s how I roll), and I thought he looked a bit sheepish. It may well have been at being in an establishment that prides itself on impeccable service (NOT on pretension/exclusivity) and still being made to wait, while several tuxedo’d hospitality professionals collaborated to retrieve a high chair for the sheik who’d brought his newborn 47th son to cocktail hour.* That said, I sort of wonder if he feels embarrassed to be seen out and about these parts in the same way that, say, a distant runner-up for Prom Queen feels while trying to get really into “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” once the dancing has resumed.

Later, over our respective Ketel One-and-olive concoctions, I brought this up with my friend, who is considerably more worldly. His assessment was that these days, Mitt’s thinking not about everyone looking, or about what he’s going to do next, but about his 2012 presidential campaign.
…Or perhaps running for U.S. Senator, should ailing titan of Massachusetts’ equal representation Edward M. Kennedy soon cease to serve.

Really??” said I, incredulous. “How is that even remotely possible, that Mitt Romney could park himself in the seat vacated by the peerless Teddy K??” Apparently, there are two ways to consider that question, which together serve as an answer: the question of whether it’s possible, and the question of whether Mitt thinks it’s possible.

What comes to mind is a line from the Sex and the City pilot:

Samantha had the kind of deluded self-confidence that caused men like Ross Perot to run for president.

(For those of you who haven’t memorized the entire series, there is – very weirdly – a transcript of the episode to be found here.)
As I pointed out to another friend in another politics discussion on another night, I was born in 1984…which means that at the two times when Perot was running for President**, I was thinking about

1) whether I was going to get in trouble for putting an earthworm in my classmate’s lunch box; and

2) whether my mom was going to make me wear a bra at my bat mitzvah.

…the bottom line being that I don’t totally understand this reference in the first place.

Still, I get the main gist, and I now regret having failed to ask my worldlier friend whether Mitt Romney should be thought of as more or less deluded than Ross Perot.
To that end, I’m not sure that I’m politically well-versed enough to determine where that line of self-awareness is drawn and on which side various former presidential candidates have fallen. I’m loathe to contradict my homegirl Carrie Bradshaw, but it’s beginning to seem to me that an enormous proportion of runs for political office have required some amount of “deluded self-confidence” and that, moreover, many of them have proven successful.

Uh huh – check it out: what my insta-recall of all things Sex and the City failed to retrieve immediately (thank goodness for that transcript!) is that the line in question,

Samantha had the kind of deluded self-confidence that caused men like Ross Perot to run for president…
goes on to include
…and it usually got her what she wanted.

So who are we to say who is or isn’t deluded in thinking they might achieve this or that office in this or that election? But, man, do I hope Ted Kennedy gets better…

(I would have liked to end on that, but this is even more perfect: Check it out! Really!)

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*I do not mean to be offensive with this statement. I am only trying to convey that the Bristol Lounge is predominantly patronized by people with money, and that one of them brought a baby.

**Can someone weigh in on whether this should be capitalized? I’m having some trouble.

The GodBlog (from the Jewish Journal of Los Angeles)

Wednesday, May 14th, 2008

I’m bicoastal! (Sort of.)
Thanks, Brad.

The friend request: reality or…ILLUSION??

Sunday, May 11th, 2008

I just saw that I’ve received a Facebook friend request from the eponymous character in a play put on last year by my friend’s theatre company; I spent many minutes trying to figure out whether I knew her before I understood the fact that the profile was created for a fictional woman. Facebook is weird in that it confounds our conceptions of who actually exists.   

 

And now…

This is the first interesting (also the 14th) result returned by a Google query for “facebook”.

So what do we think?

Fear-mongering?  Something that too few of us keep in mind?

It kind of scares me, but tend to I scare easily in other arenas of fear

The other interesting thing is that, in ctrl + clicking around on that site in hopes of being able to download the clip for potential posting up in this piece, I discovered that the first of my two drop-down menu options – “Settings” – includes a question of “How much information can www.albumoftheday.com store on your computer?”…with a default setting of 100KB, at the visual midpoint of a scale that runs from “none” to “Unlimited.” Oh WHAT, who’s Big Brother now??

(I changed mine to “none.”)

Apple and Salmon

Sunday, May 4th, 2008

I’m visiting some friends in New York and – as one might surmise from the timestamp* on this post – I’m hitting the Big Apple a fair amount harder than I hit the Bean, generally speaking. Yes, I did just get home (back to my temporary digs, that is), but, I mean, I was in Brooklyn - borough is kind of like Medford, or wherever…that is, if you’re going out there, you’d better be committed. Haha, sorry, Medford.

Anyway, I have two insights to share regarding partying + eating (in that order) but I am not going to cheat and make them into two separate posts. Not me. Read on:

1) I didn’t actually make it “home” at all last night – stayed with the friend who hosted last night’s party, which feels shady to type but which is really not even remotely scandalous given that all I’m doing in this here city is stay with one friend or another; what I mean is that I slept in a different apartment than the one in which my luggage slept – and when I did finally get “home,” c. 10 a.m. “today” (id est,* Saturday), I hadn’t eaten in awhile and was trying to decide what ingestive course of action would most effectively stave off the looming hangover. What tipped the scales in favor of “hungry” (as triumphant over “not hungry”) was that I realized, while feeding the cat belonging to the cousin whose apartment I am presently sitting-slash-…OK so I just Googled “parasite” in an effort to find an appropriate direct verb or whatever so suggest that I’m a squatter, but I got distracted by the Wikipedia article and started to wig out a little by what I was reading, so that’ll be the end of that sentence. So yeah, I’m a squatter, and I was feeding my cousin’s cats when I realized that the dry cat food actually smelled kind of appealing…so I made myself an omelet.

2) Tonight – this morning? I’ll say “tonight” since I haven’t yet been to bed – I got home and, seriously jonesing for some drunk munchies, made short work of this slammin’ salmon I made earlier this evening as well as the mondo bowl of mango avocado salsa that was its garnish (the recipe for which I’ll post sometime if I ever see through any of these existing post categories and reward myself with an additional, “recipes” category). And then I appreciated the culinary preferences like that that allow me to have the eating habits of an obese person but not actually be one.

 

I can’t deal with the hyperlink function right now, but maybe I’ll go back and hide some Cadbury eggs among the plastice grass, so stay tuned…

 

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*Do we say that? Timestamp?

** I’m thinking of introducing some Latin up in this piece… Please vote yes or no.

Lee ‘n’ Berk

Thursday, May 1st, 2008

I’ve come to realize that any good blog features a cast of colorfully pseudonym’d characters, and thus I will present my first now…

Tonight I give you Guitar Hero, so called for his adroitness with that very instrument and also for his extremely bodacious tattoo:

Earlier tonight, I gave GH – as he shall sometimes henceforth be known – a call in anticipation of his imminent move to Los Angeles. (Yeah, I know – in addition to being totally ecologically unsustainable, L.A. just sucks. I mean, what’s with all the pressure to shop and…bleach and look perfect and stuff?? I am perfectly content – no, make that “actively happy” – to be acceptable-looking on the east coast.)

Upon fielding my call, GH promptly proposed that he take us out for drinks.
Let me tell you, such an offer is no small deal, the reason being that GH is a student at – nearly an alumnus of – Berklee College of Music…id est, he has just about the most abysmal financial prospects of anyone I know. Like, it’s understood – hackneyed, really – that “students” are “poor”…but while it’s one thing to be and/or become poor while waiting to get an MBA, it’s quite another to be and/or become poor while acquiring a bachelor’s in Music Production.

But he’s not exactly sitting on his laurels; in the not-so-many-hours since the encounter below took place, Guitar Hero has officially received his degree and is now westbound to begin some important music production internship and otherwise generally pursue his passion for music production. That’s right, Guitar Hero, you go with your bad self; produce some music!

Over drinks, I learned that GH purports to be very unsuccessful at Activision’s Guitar Hero, which is all I need to feel validated in my long-standing suspicion that the game has nothing to do with musical skill.

That’s pretty much it for the story. We drank a lot. Then we said goodbye.

Epilogue:
One time, while walking near my apartment, I overheard a Boston Duck Tour guide telling his tourists that Berklee was named for its founders, a father-and-son duo whose first names were Berk and Lee.
“It’s true,” he was insisting, and I caught the eyes of a couple of the passengers and gave them the wide-eyed, conspiratorial headshake while mouthing, “It’s not true.” I wonder whether it’s true. Anyone?