Exits And Entrances

A Blog Post About Blogging

2008-03-31T08:50:00.000-07:00

It's pretty remarkable to me the impact that blogs/bloggers have begun to have on our society in recent years. Bloggers are getting book deals, becoming semi-famous, and perhaps the most amazing of all, making a living off blogging (If anyone knows how to do this, please let me know). And for what? Writing their opinions and views on whatever they feel like and posting it on the internet? Anyone with a computer, even an idiot like myself, can create a blog in two minutes and suddenly they have this authority to comment on whatever they see fit, without any real consequences.

Or are there?

The internet provides perfect anonymity: one can say pretty much whatever the hell they want, however scathing, and hide behind their computer screen. Unless you give some clue to your identity, no one has to know who you are or what you really do. But, God forbid you DO give personal information, and give too much of it; well, you're going to have hell to pay.

And chances are, your name is Julia Allison.

I've never said anything about her before because there are enough items on the internet dedicated to her already, and I've never commented on any of the Gawker items about her except to say "WHY DO WE NEED ANOTHER POST ABOUT THIS GIRL?! DAMN YOU NICK DENTON, DAMN YOU!!!" See, the thing is, I don't really have a problem with her. I know I'm supposed to hate her, at least that's what everything written about her is telling me, with the exception of the recent NYTimes piece, which has been claimed by several different people to be inaccurate. Anyway, there's not much information out there about JA that isn't some diatribe about how awful she is. To be honest, some of the comments people make are shockingly harsh. I always wonder, what has this girl done to you to warrant such scathing verbal abuse? Have you ever met her in person? Then what right do you have to say anything? Oh right, you're hiding behind the protective shield of the internet.

I'll admit it, I follow her on Tumblr (aka I read her blog), and what I've noticed in reading it is that, well...I kind of like her. Maybe. A little. I could--GASP!--see us being friends, her being the kind of friend that sometimes does really stupid things that annoy me but I still love her anyway. Whether or not this is relevant, my cousin is the one responsible for her getting her job with TimeOut NY, and we have friends in common at Georgetown. Sometimes I read her blog and roll my eyes, sometimes I vehemently disagree with everything she says, and sometimes I think she's spot on in her observations and insights. But the fact is, she's a human being, with feelings like anyone else. If any of us were put under the same scrutiny she's under, I'm sure people could find our faults and expose them. If any of us put ourselves out there like she does, we could get criticized all the same. But that's just the thing--we don't.

If nothing else, Julia is a perfect lesson in what not to do on the internet. I'm aware of the saga of her and Jakob Lodwick, and I'm not taking her side over his or anything like that. To be honest, I read his blog as well and I really like the things he puts on there. He's obviously a very intelligent and creative person, and that's where my judgment ends. The fact of the matter is, who am I, or anyone else, to be commenting on either of them? I don't know these people in person. I shouldn't have any right to say anything about either of them. But because they put themselves out there on the internet, and I because I have a blog, I can.

There are times when I struggle over what I should post and what's too personal. Anything you put on the internet can, and probably will, come back to haunt you, and it's safe to say anyone with a blog won't be running for office anytime soon. There have been times when I've referenced things that JA has posted as a way to rationalize to myself something I might post. Granted, she has a lot more readers than I do and is far more in the public eye than I am (thank God). But even so, I tend to hold back. Maybe she can be comfortable about broadcasting every detail about her personal life, and bravo to her for being that brave, but I can't. And I think personally for me at least, that's a very good thing. When I first made this blog, I had every intention of being completely anonymous. That has only lasted to a certain degree, but anyone could very easily hop on over to my Tumblr, which is much more personal on a "daily-life" basis, and see what I look like, get my email address, etc. Only a very small few of my "real life" friends read my Tumblr, but I wouldn't really have a problem with them reading it, though I do like the idea of knowing exactly who is reading it. I don't think I'd want my mom to see it, but otherwise I don't really mind who does. HELLO, IT'S THE INTERNET. If you're putting it out there, it goes without saying that you're aware that anyone in the world can see it. Sometimes I think people forget that.

There are people who read this blog who I know in real life, people who I feel like I know in real life but just haven't met yet, and people who I probably will never meet, and that's fine. As for anyone else, sure. If anyone actually wants to take the time to read what I write, that's great. There's nothing very informative, and I intend to keep it that way. I don't like to write about politics, business, etc because I know there are plenty of people out there who know more about any given subject than I do. But I'm the expert on my own personal experiences, so that's what I'll stick to. That, and bitching and whining, since it happens to be my forte.

Julia is supposedly taking a "hiatus" from blogging right now, which I think is the smartest thing she can do. That's not to say she hasn't been found in other mediums, but at least its a bit of a reprieve. I actually kind of miss reading her blog, if for nothing else but the entertainment. She's brave enough to put herself out there and be honest, no matter how many times she says something she shouldn't and regrets it later. Maybe she's learned her lesson, maybe she hasn't, maybe she never will. She is guilty of nothing more than loving herself (maybe a little too much) and being determined to be succeed by whatever means, and not giving a fuck who judges her.

If nothing else, the rest of us bloggers out there can learn one thing from Julia, and whoever else Gawker chooses to crucify this year: blogging, and the internet in general, can be dangerous, and anyone can be put on the chopping block. But if you're the one that put yourself there, don't expect much sympathy.

And God dammit Nick Denton, come up with a better way to get pageclicks. Please.

Yes, I am alive

2008-03-21T19:42:00.000-07:00

Who sucks at blogging? ME. I know, I know. To be honest, I haven't even looked at my blog in so long that it wasn't even in my web history anymore. Hence why I didn't see any of the comments on my last entry until right now. Is it weird that I feel proud for getting my first anonymous, semi-rude comment? I have arrived!

Anyway, my only excuses are the following:
1. I have been in Mexico for the last week (legit)
2. I'm producing a feature documentary that's currently in development and it's kind of taking over my life. (legit)
3. I'm completely and totally back to work. (semi-legit)
4. I am too lazy to come up with complete posts and instead have become completely addicted to Tumblr. (lame)

Tomorrow, it's off to Westchester for Easter weekend. I'm going to the same house I spend Christmas Eve at, so it's sure to be a good time.

Happy spring!

Public Service Announcement

2008-03-01T00:56:00.000-08:00

Attention, gentlemen:

If you are trying to talk to/hit on a girl in a bar, the following behaviors will get you nowhere:

-Staring from across the room without making any effort to approach, but continuing to stare for the entire night.
-Grinding on the girl while she is trying to dance with her friends.
-Winking. Period.
-Putting your hands anywhere.
-Talking about your hedge fund/investment job. Sorry, nothing you can possibly say will get me interested. Save it for the second (or maybe fourth) date, when I might actually feel indebted to listen.
-Casually mentioning your Gucci loafers.
-Admitting you are from Staten Island.
-Saying you have a six pack.*

Believe it or not, every single one of these happened to me tonight. Normal guys, are you out there? Anywhere? Don't be shy!

*This one actually did not happen to be directly. Instead, the dude who was hitting on me actually had the audacity to approach one of my friends after I had escaped from him and utter the words, "Tell her I've got a six pack. Wanna see?" and then proceeded to LIFT UP HIS SHIRT AND SHOW HER.

As I'm sure you can probably deduce from this, he was the same person who admitted to growing up on Staten Island.

Also, why is it that so many guys assume that just because a girl is out at a bar, she wants to get hit on? Does it not occur to anyone that maybe I just want to go out and have fun with my friends? That perhaps I'm not trolling for men? I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU. Save your breath.

Thanks!

Love,
Case

The Oscars That Almost Weren't

2008-02-25T18:16:00.001-08:00

I'll admit it: the Oscars are one of my favorite nights of the year. It's like the Superbowl, except consistently more interesting. Of course, it's probably only interesting if you've seen any of the films that have been nominated, but that's at your own discretion. I figure that the excitement I get out of watching the awards is similar to how aspiring athletes feel when they watch the Olympics. Maybe not. Whatever.

I'm not going to recap the winners because if you didn't care enough to watch it, I don't care enough to fill you in. I will say the following:

-Amy Ryan should have won Best Supporting
-Thank GOD Juno didn't win Best Picture
-Apparently Americans aren't any good at acting anymore. (Every single acting award was given to foreigners: French, Spanish, British)
-Atonement got robbed

And most importantly...GLEN AND MARKETA WON AN OSCAR!!! Not only was their performance wonderful, but they beat out THREE vomit-inducing songs from Enchanted. And well-deserved. Dan works with them at Columbia (Records) and literally the second we all stopped screaming, his phone started ringing non-stop. I am SO PROUD of them it's unreal. If you don't own the Once soundtrack, buy it immediately.

Otherwise, most of my predictions (and everyone else's) were pretty accurate. It would have been a difficult year to be on the Academy I think, because there were a lot of really great films this year. I was a little worried that there would be a repeat of 2006, when there were four fantastic films and one abomination, and it won. (Crash, of course. Would have been more aptly named Trash. Or Trainwreck. Just saying. I'm not bitter.) In similar fashion, this year there were, once again, four great nominees and one sub-par one. When I first saw the trailer for Juno, I was really stoked for it. And when I saw it, I was...significantly underwhelmed. And I'm sorry Ellen Page, you are not acting, you are playing yourself. Not difficult.

Excuse the tangent. I am happy with the awards this year because my agency more nominations than some of the biggest agencies did, and some were victorious, so yippee for that. And despite the overall boring-ness, there were some notable moments:

-Gary Busey attacking Jennifer Garner on the red carpet
-Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill pretending to be Halle Berry and Judi Dench
-Colin Farrell and John Travolta sliding all over the stage
-Cameron Diaz proves she's blonde after all
-Marketa gets snubbed for her acceptance speech and is brought back out after the commercial break to finish it
-Martin Scorsese is allowed to give the award for Best Directing now that he's FINALLY won an Oscar
-James McAvoy. Enough said.

All in all, considering it was the 80th, I thought it was pretty tame. Especially considering the whole thing almost never even happened because of the strike. You'd think it would have been a little more celebratory. Jon Stewart was moderately funny but a little too tame, and there were a few too many montages.

And now, onto the MOST IMPORTANT THINGS...what they wore!

THE WINNERS: (in no particular order)

Jennifer Garner (in Oscar de la Renta)

Katherine Heigl (in Escada)

Keri Russell (in Nina Ricci)

Cameron Diaz (in Dior)

Amy Adams (in Proenza Schouler)

Anne Hathaway (in Marchesa)

THE LOSERS:

Ellen Page

Jennifer Hudson

Tilda Swinton

Rebecca Miller

Diablo Cody

Speaking of Diablo Cody, not only does she have a naked woman tattooed on her arm and a dress with a way-too-high slit, she also wore these:

...instead of THESE:

Yes. That's right. Homegirl wore FLATS to the OSCARS. When she could have worn STUART WEITZMAN heels that are worth $1 MILLION DOLLARS. Why? Why? WHY?! You IDIOT.

But apparently all of these faux-pas are excusable because she used to be a stripper. Oh, all right. Sure. That's fine.

Anyway.

In case you were wondering--trends this year: red dresses, and being pregnant.

In closing, here is a video of the montage of all 79 best picture winners in the past, not including last night's winner. How many have YOU seen? (My answer: 47)

I Am A Slacker, Make Poor Excuses

2008-02-24T22:04:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know I am overdue for a real post. And guess what? This isn't one either. I'm a poor excuse for a blogger, I know. The fact is, I'm better at ADD blogging like on Tumblr unless I can form enough coherent thoughts to make a relatively well-written post. Anyway, REAL POST TOMORROW. I promise.

For now, some LOLcats for your enjoyment. I don't even like cats in general (I'm much more of a dog person), but these made me laugh.

Tomorrow: Oscar recap!

Some Holiday Cheer From My Favorite Website In The Entire World

2008-02-14T09:53:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine's Day!

This Makes Me Sad

2008-02-13T23:45:00.000-08:00

Re-posted, from my Tumblr:

My uncle who lives out in Los Angeles sent me this email at 1:45am. I’m pretty sure he’s drunk. He’s been running around doing different jobs for most of his adult life and has pretty much been a drifter ever since he came back from Vietnam. He and my dad used to be so similar—he was so smart, went to Brown, on the right path, then he got drafted and when he came back, was never the same. Moved out to California and never quite found his way back. For a while, he was dating this woman named Joyce who was really wealthy and so he was pretty much living off her for a while, but he broke up with her in the fall. They bought a house in Palm Beach together and I guess they’re fighting over it now. Everyone in my family is kind of glad they broke up, because she was…pretty high maintenence. She was originally from New York, and twice a year would take trips back here. But not just a trip. She would bring an entourage of twenty friends, every night would be a huge black tie affair. One time she reserved the crystal room at Tavern On The Green…yeah. A little too nouveau-riche for my family. But she LOVED me for some reason. Maybe because I was the first one of the family she met, maybe just because I live in New York. Who knows? But I couldn’t not like her when she was always so excited to see me.

I love, love, love my uncle to death. He was always my favorite uncle as a kid because he was so funny and told great stories. I thought he was so cool because he lived in California and at one point was working in television (short lived, as they all were). But now, knowing that times are tough for him, I worry. I know my dad does too, but what can he do? He would never accept money. He’s always managed to land on his feet before, but for some reason I’m more anxious this time. Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older. I think part of the reason I feel the need to move to LA is because I could be close to him and keep an eye on him. Help him, if I have to.

I know it’s not my responsibility. But last year my mom told me that she sees so much of Charles in my brother, and as soon as she said it, I couldn’t believe I never noticed it before. They’re so alike. The broseph is already such a drifter. He’s older than me and I’ve been cleaning up his messes since I was fourteen. I fear, but I know, I may still be doing that when we’re older. I’ll be like my dad, he’ll be like Charles, if we even still manage to speak to each other when we’re older. I think maybe I feel the need to take care of my uncle because its the same way I’ve had to “take care” of my older brother.

Anyway, Broseph’s story is one for another time. Come to think of it, so is my uncle’s, because it’s long and complicated. But the email wouldn’t make any sense without some info. We’ve always been so close, and had such a bond, even though I only see him a few times a year. I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to not be aware of all the hope and expectations everyone in my family has on me, especially since the Broseph has…had some trouble finding his way, to put it lightly. There’s a lot of pressure to succeed, in addition to all the pressure I put on myself. But Charles has never had any expectations, because he always knew I would do well. I never felt any pressure from him, I just always knew he believed in me. I think he wants me to have the success he never had. And he, more than anyone else, is the one I could never let down.

I forgot he spoke French, he used to speak it to me when I was little. I should send an email back in French, he’d be thrilled.

Casey,

Voulez vous Be mon Valentine?

Qui est vous ankle…?

C’est manifique to think pour vous; quel your frustration level? As a doer & a goer, these weeks of rehab must be grande frrustro to the max, no pun intended. I have ‘slipped on ice’ many times in my career; I know the cost of foolishness. Welcome to the club; however, as you must have deduced by now, these times also allow you to step outside your calculated footprints, and engage a different lens-craft in your rueness. These new revelations may or may not have lasting power, but you can never argue with thyself they didn’t exist.

I’m sure you’re anxious to return to the tomorrow of your life & it will return as full as you imagined. Remember this parathenicies as a gift – in our self induced helter-skelter we don’t get many. I have total faith in your decisions & in your ability to see; be bold and boundless in your curiosity.

Me, I’m in a decent spot; life is a gift, $$ are becoming sparse – but attitude is forward & positive. Still vying with the Dutchess over the house – remain thinking 90-10 against any recovery, hoping guilt still has a chance. Just rec’d a V-day card quoting “Do you think we can make a fresh start… (con’t) I want us to hold on to our memories… She remains in total denial & has long become accustomed to disbelieve reality. To accord age with wisdom is a dangerous leap; people who don’t get real life early, never get it. To see is the power, not to have or hold; your vision is your greatest strength, it will always be your strongest ally - your feel is right, let it flow & grow.

Bon soir, mon amie.

Love you,

Ses Charles

Wow. The more I read it, the more I see the double meanings and second-level dialogue in so many things he says. This breaks my heart.

[Ding, ding, ding...the "this blog is getting too serious" alarm is going off...insert joke here.]

Fashion Week: Roll Your Eyes At Me All You Want

2008-02-10T11:35:00.000-08:00

I have a love-hate relationship with Fashion Week. Its easy to get caught up with everyone else who claims to hate it, usually just because they like to make snarky comments about anorexic models, socialites, gay men, and Anna Wintour. It's almost as though its the "cool" thing to do these days, so people can act as though the whole thing is soooo beneath them. I've been reading so much of this recently that I feel the need to come to its defense. Most of these people, its worth noting, have never actually attended any of the events and probably don’t have the first clue about fashion. There’s a great quote from The Devil Wears Prada that perfectly responds to all those people who act so condescendingly towards the fashion industry:

“Oh, okay, I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don’t know, that lumpy blue sweater for instance, because you’re trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don’t know is that that sweater is not just blue, it’s not turquoise, it’s not lapis, it’s actually cerulean. You’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar De La Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And I think it was Yves St. Laurent, wasn’t it, who shows cerulean military jackets? And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic casual corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you’re wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room.”

It’s funny, how in a movie that’s supposed to be a sardonic characterization of the fashion world, they actually got it spot on—-how, no matter what you wear, how much you oppose the trends, no matter where you shop, if you get your clothes from the fucking Salvation Army, at one point, anything you put on was created based on something that was sent down the runway. Granted, its not a perfect industry, and there’s a lot of fucked up things that happen within it, but keep that in mind.

That being said, there are also the people who hate fashion week because they HAVE been to the events, and they’re over it. Because every year it’s the same, and all the bullshit is the same. I know plenty of people like that, and it’s completely understandable. And for those who moan and wail about the city being taken over by models and fashionistas, I always wonder, am I missing something? Personally, I don’t notice anything different about New York, except for the fact that I know to steer clear of the Waverly Inn. And then again, there are the people who still go to all the events every year and still enjoy it just as much.

I’m somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. With the onslaught of Fashion Week every year, twice a year, I get a funny feeling in my stomach that’s a mixture of excitement and dread. Excitement because the parties can be fun, there’s always free booze, and most of all, I love to see the collections. Seeing the newest creations of designers I love gets me all giddy. What can I say? Fashion is my weakness. It’s my thing. Some people get excited for new technology, or when their favorite bands come out with new albums, or for a new film by their favorite director. It’s safe to say that I enjoy all of those, but clothes are my #1.

And then there’s the dread. Or I guess a better word would be anxiety. The ordeal of going through the party circuit can be more tedious than enjoyable in a lot of cases. It could just be me—I used to do the club scene a lot, but I got it out of my system a few years ago. When you start at 16, its bound to happen. To be honest, I don’t really understand why people do it in the first place. I’ve only ever enjoyed it—-hell, only ever partaken in it when I don’t wait in line and get VIP access. I know it sounds snobby, but why would I want to wait in line forever only to be tossed around by tons of sweaty bodies and spend twenty minutes elbowing my way to the bar only to spend another twenty minutes trying to get the bartender’s attention when I can sit comfortably or move around freely and either have drinks in front of me or served? It just seems logical, right?

I can remember writing a blog entry in London after going to Paper, and being so disillusioned with the whole thing. I was bored with the pretension, and the fakeness, and everyone just showing off how much money they have and how fabulous their lives are. The parties are all about who looks the best, who’s wearing the best clothes, who has the best table, who’s with the right people. It must be exhausting, trying so hard.

So, in order to actually enjoy Fashion Week, I take it in small doses. Making an appearance at the parties that would actually be more like fun than work. Bungalow 8 is usually a good choice because it’s small, selective, and I know the people there will treat me nicely. It was great for Zac Posen’s party in 06, and in 05 for…God, I can’t even remember whose party it was, J Mendel I think? But it was fun. I decided to stick with the ZP party again this year, also because my good friend Natasha works for Zac. This year it was at the grand opening of Mansion, a significant change from B8, most notably because Mansion is fucking HUGE. Not to mention there were several added elements of spectacle, like a contortionist, an opera singer, a gospel choir, and trapeze dancers. It was like a three ring circus in there, which was actually kind of nice because it added entertainment. The DJ wasn’t half bad either—he totally redeemed himself from playing Rihanna remixes by throwing on Justice. Moral of the story: I had a really good time.

And of course the social aspect is fun (in small doses). It’s always great to meet new people, and see familiar faces. I briefly sat with Tinsley Mortimer and Olivia Palermo, and apparently the one and only Julia Allison was there for a few minutes as well. In situations like that, I get a brief and all-too-familiar glimpse of what my life could have been like if I hadn’t run screaming in the opposite direction at every turn. Don’t get me wrong, I love where and who I came from and I know how lucky I am to have the upbringing I had, but following the same path as the kids I grew up with was not something I could bring myself to do. And if it means I would have to attend every single event during Fashion Week, then I definitely made the right choice. But really, it’s not all bad. When you scale it back to what its REALLY all about—the clothes, and celebrating all the hard work that’s gone into creating them—a little bit of excess is worth it.

And for everyone who still rolls their eyes in disgust, relax, it's over. That is, until September.

(Photos are on Flickr.)

The Writer's Strike Is Ruining My Life, Part III: The Final Edition

2008-02-07T10:49:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned on Tumblr, yesterday I went back to work. I was actually really excited to get back, only to find that one of my favorite people there had been fired because of "cutbacks", which are, as you can probably guess, the result of the strike. Some other changes have been made as well, which overall contributed to the feeling I got that this was not the same office it had been when I left. I love my job, I always have. But things have been going downhill lately, and I'm starting to wonder how much longer I want to stay.

Despite how much I do love my job, I bitch a lot about the business. It's fickle and the politics are insane. You can work your ass off, but if the wrong person doesn't like you, you're out. You sell your soul, only to end up getting chewed up and spit out. It can be awful.

I said all of that and much more in an angry tirade to a friend of mine after someone else who I really liked at work got fired a few months ago. After listening to me ranting, my friend asked me, "So why don't you do something else?"

I thought about it for a second. And then I told her, "I don't think I could do anything else."

It's true--plenty of other people I know have easy, less-stressful jobs that they enjoy in other fields. But I could never do that. I couldn't even picture myself having a normal, boring, every-day job. To be honest, it sounds horrific. I admire the people who can do it, but...I can't. No matter how miserable I may be sometimes, it's nothing compared to how miserable I'd be doing something else. And besides, for every bad day, there are so many more good ones.

As for the strike, this officially marks the end of any sympathy I had for the writers. I'm done supporting them. Like I said a long time ago, the strike won't be worth it. And it hasn't been. It's done so much more harm than good, and at this point, more people will remember it in a negative way than a positive one. And in the mean time, nothing can be done to make up for the damage that's been done.

The Worst News Ever

2008-02-03T20:31:00.000-08:00

Well, that was unexpected.

The Patriots are not supposed to lose. After an 18-0 season, going into the Superbowl playing the Giants should have been a breeze. A cakewalk. The Red Sox win the World Series another year, the Celtics have made a comeback to become one of the best teams in the league, and the Bruins…well, God love them, they try. But the Pats were a shoe-in. No sweat. The Giants SUCK. They SUCK! This WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME TOM? CAN YOU MAKE ONE GOOD THROW? OR WOULD YOU JUST RATHER STAND THERE UNTIL THEY TACKLE YOU? APPARENTLY YOU WOULD. AND BILL, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO WEAR A FUCKING RED SWEATSHIRT? WHY?!

Ahem.

There were parts of the game that felt familiar to me, but in the wrong context. As a Boston sports fan, I’ve suffered endless disappointment -- heart-wrenching, cringe-worthy, devastating disappointment at the hands of the Red Sox. The feeling of getting your hopes up, making it so far, only to have it ripped from your hands and shoved down your throat. But the Patriots are not supposed to cause this kind of disappointment. The Red Sox are the abusive boyfriend that we could never break up with, the unemployed alcoholic who kept beating the shit out of us but we could never say no to and kept coming back to. The Patriots were the nice, handsome guy who never failed to let us nurse our wounds or cry on his shoulder; who was successful and had a good job and came from a nice family. After another harsh blow by the Sox every October, we could readily turn to the reliable Pats to bring us to a happy victory in the post season. But now the tables have turned. The Red Sox have cleaned up their act and gotten their shit together. And the Patriots are the ones who got our hopes up and brought us all the way to the end, only to blindside us with a backhand blow that we never saw coming.

In the last few nailbiting minutes, I also felt the same feeling I got every time my team in high school, whether it be field hockey, basketball, or lacrosse, suddenly found ourselves down but with the possibility of a comeback with little time left. I can still vividly picture the faces and reactions of all my coaches when we would come running to the sidelines during a timeout, whether down a goal with one minute left or down five points with five minutes left. My lacrosse coach always remained calm, icily dishing out a play command, with no need to raise her voice because we were all perfectly aware of the suicides and five miler we’d be running after the game if we lost. My basketball coach would yell, emphasizing each individual word as if it would give us the extra oomph we needed to get ahead. My field hockey coach never said a word. We would all run over, and I would be the one rattling off instructions to everyone while she stood there silently, and when I finished, I’d look to her for a nod before we got back on the field. (Varsity captain, thank you very much.) My lacrosse coach at NYU was a screamer. What every situation had in common was the same heart-pounding anxiety, the same anxiety I felt while watching the final minutes of the game tonight. The only difference was that this time I couldn’t run out onto the field, completely fired up and ready to do whatever it took to win. I had to sit there, literally on the edge of my seat, Lauren’s fingernails digging into my arm, chewing my fingernails off as the final seconds ticked down. And then had to stop myself from throwing plates on the ground, smashing my mom’s crystal bowl, and stabbing a fork in my eye.

On a different, but lighter note, my mother is the only person I know who would serve salsa con queso in a Tiffany’s crystal bowl, and have quiche at a superbowl party.

My dad is now fuming in his study, probably dreading work tomorrow since he does most of his business with New York, and I am fuming on the couch, dreading going back to New York tomorrow.

At least I didn’t have to watch the game with any Giants fans.

THE BEST NEWS EVER!

2008-02-01T10:52:00.000-08:00

I CAN WALK AGAIN!!!!!!!!

NO MORE CRUTCHES!!!!!!!!

According to my surgeon, who I saw this morning.

Dear Life,

Welcome back!

Love,
Case

Welcome Aboard Oceanic Flight 815

2008-01-31T09:03:00.000-08:00

Finally…the day we’ve all been waiting for…LOST premiere day!!! For those of us who have been following the show, today has been a day we’ve been anxiously awaiting for months, after being left with our jaws hanging and minds whirling with the finale of last season, not to mention being left with questions upon questions that need to be answered. And, if you know the cruel ways of the show’s producers, most likely tonight’s premiere will only answer but a few of them, and probably raise a few more, leaving us all in suspense for yet another week. And God help me if they run out of scripts before the strike ends, I will HURT someone. LOST is pretty much all I have left at this point.

Obviously, the biggest question deals with the “flash forwards” that were revealed at the end of the finale. So now we know that yes, they made it off the island, but everything is not well. And—gasp!—Kate and Jack are not together, and even worse, she’s with someone else. Sawyer? Maybe. So whose funeral did Jack go to that Kate was so adverse to attending? In regards to the whole Jake/Kate thing, personally I think they better end up together. I was really starting to hate Jack towards the end of the season because he was acting like a grade-A douchebag (and that slut Juliet needs to back off), but I still really loved him at the end. And as much as Sawyer is smokin’ hot, it wouldn’t be right if Kate and Jack don’t end up together? Right? RIGHT?!

According to the show’s producers, they’re going to be doing more with the flash forwards this season, and that part of the season will take place off the island. Which begs the question of how they’re going to sustain it for another two seasons after this one, like they’ve planned. Apparently, they know how the story is going to end, but how can they make it last for so much longer if they get “rescued” this season? Maybe some of them will go back to the island? Or maybe some will never leave?

Other questions: If Penny wasn’t the one who sent Naomi, how is she on the monitor in the underwater station? And what the fuck is Naomi’s deal anyway? There was some hinting that she’s going to be doing more harm than good.

What’s the deal with Jakob? Personally, I think that whole thing is making the show a little too sci-fi for my liking. And what caused Locke to turn on everyone? And are we EVER going to find out what the weird black cloud monsters are?

Is Sun really going to die because she’s pregnant? What is the deal with Ben’s accomplice (Richard?) who lured him away when Ben was a child? I mean, how has that guy not aged?

Remember the couple obsessed with diamonds who ended up getting buried alive? Are they ever going to be making a comeback? Will Rousseau and her daughter stay reunited? Where have Michael and Walt been all this time? What's the deal with that weird magic room where Ben had Locke's father?

There are more, but this is making me sound kind of crazy. Let’s just say I’m excited (understatement). As anyone who watches the show knows, its like crack. I started watching it with the DVDs from Seasons 1 and 2, which was a horrible idea. I don’t think I slept for a week. You think to yourself, “Hey, I’ve got forty minutes to spare, maybe I’ll watch an episode of LOST.” Hours later, its five A.M., you’re curled in the fetal position, bloodshot eyes, weakly lifting the remote with a whisper, “Just…one…more…”

It’s bad. Dangerous, really. But if you’ve never watched the show, you gotta do it. Bite the bullet, accept the fact that you will become a hermit and not work or do anything productive for a week or two. When your friends call and ask where you are, just tell them you’re catching up on LOST.

Trust me. They’ll understand.

And while we’re on the subject, I think a moment of silence is in order for the ~~ridiculous and abominable~~ devastating killing-off of Charlie. RIP Charlie.

Something Lame, And The Most Un-Lame Thing Ever

2008-01-30T18:48:00.000-08:00

I've been slacking on the posts this week, and believe it or not, its because I've been actually kind of busy. Yeah, I know, wicked lame excuse for someone who is confined to her apartment (hence the subject). But I've been trying to get a lot of work done, and trying to readjust and work out my schedule. Tomorrow I'm going home for the weekend because I have to have yet another meeting with my surgeon. Keep your fingers crossed that he tells me I can start putting weight on my ankle. Oh, and there's the Superbowl. No big deal.

To make up for my lameness (in theory as well as literally/physically), I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you all, if you haven't been introduced already, to the wonderfulness that is Jake and Amir.

If you like The Office, or actually, if you have any sense of humor whatsoever, you will enjoy their videos. They work for Connected Ventures, which is the media company behind goldmines such as CollegeHumor and Busted Tees. Basically, these guys are hilarious. To use one of their own terms, they are "so ace". (Watch them. You'll get it.) I recently became a fan and am now addicted, and look forward to their new videos as much as I would look forward to a new episode of any of my favorite TV shows (most of which right now, do not exist, thank you WGA strike).

As hard as it is for me to pick my favorite videos, ~~two~~ four of them are below. But if you're smart, you'll bookmark their website. Seriously. Just watch them. All of them. Just do it.

Beer from Amir on Vimeo.

Costume from Amir on Vimeo.

Tomorrow: LOST predictions, questions, etc!

Getting Back Into The Scha-Wing Of Things

2008-01-25T22:22:00.000-08:00

So, obviously, I'm back in New York. And not quite sure how I feel about the situation. Hmm.

Since I've been back in the apartment, my four roommates and I have:

-cooked an exorbitant amount of food.
-managed to make the place a mess two days after the cleaning people were here.
-watched endless amounts of Arrested Development episodes.
-watched Clerks. And Clerks II. Multiple times.
-quoted Arrested Development episodes. All day, every day.
-accomplished absolutely nothing.

Productivity, onward!

Nothing Can Truly Be Said

2008-01-24T23:10:00.000-08:00

I already feel as though there has been an overload in the news on the loss of Heath Ledger, and I don’t want to go on repeating what’s already been said. So I refuse to say anything about the circumstances of his death or any of the speculation. The fact of the matter is, a very talented young man died long before his time, and the world is less of a place for it. Yes, it’s tragic that he leaves behind a young daughter who may grow up with no memory of her father, especially when her father was such a remarkable man who was loved by so many. But that’s not what’s worst to me. What is the most tragic and devastating to me is that in the future, most people won’t know him. My children will probably have no idea who Heath Ledger was, unless they study film and see Brokeback Mountain. That has always been my problem with death, and why I fear it: that someday, we’ll be gone and it will be as though we were never even here.

Those who know me know I’ve seen more of my fair share of death, and before the age of 20 I had been to more funerals than both my parents. For example: five years ago, I lost three friends in three months. One in November, one in December, one in January. It got to a point where going to funerals and going through the mourning process became just that: a process. Not that it ever made it any easier, but after a while it got to feeling like, “Oh, another funeral. Okay, here we go again.”

My friend Todd died in November of 2002 after battling cancer, and I was never the same person again after that. I can remember that night like it was yesterday, and can hardly believe it’s been five years since he’s been gone and how much has happened in that time. And it kills me that he hasn’t been able to be here for all of it, and that he won’t be here for everything that is to come in the future. Todd’s sister, who is one of my good friends, has been dating the same person for three years and is probably going to marry him. He’s a great guy and I couldn’t think of anyone better for her, but it’s hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that he never knew Todd, and I think her parents have a huge problem with it as well. I hate that the people who come into our lives from now on will never know him or what he meant to me. I have his initials tattooed on my hip, and when someone asks me what it is, it’s so hard to explain in the right way. The simple explanation “my friend died of cancer” doesn’t do him justice. A post in this blog doesn’t do him justice. Talking about him for an hour doesn’t do him justice. In the same way, I feel as though seeing the performances Heath Ledger left on film can’t possibly do justice to the talent that never got a chance to be expressed. Not that his performances weren’t great, because they were. But it’s so obvious that there was so much more there, so much untapped talent that he never got a chance to show to the rest of the world. Apparently he was starting to get interested in directing. Who knows what kind of greatness in film could have come of that?

One time during my sophomore year, my roommate got really drunk and started crying because her grandmother, who she was very close to, was sick in the hospital. In her drunken stupor, she admitted to feeling guilty about being so upset when I had been through so much more and managed to hold myself together. “How do you do it?” she asked. “How do just go on and be so strong after everything that’s happened to you?” At first, I was too surprised to respond because I was in shock. It never occurred to me, not once, that other people would actually feel ashamed of their own grief because it somehow seemed “less” than my own, which is preposterous. Luckily, not many people outside of my close friends are aware of everything. I don’t like being pitied, I do all my grieving alone, I don’t like to talk about it. But what I told her, and anyone who’s asked since then, is that it never goes away. It never gets completely better, and you can never really go back to the person you were before it happened. You face your grief, and deal with it head-on in whatever way you have to. For me, I withdraw into myself, shut everyone out, and just tackle the pain and let it, for lack of a better term, beat the shit out of me. After the worst is over, you carry it around with you always, until it fades into a dull ache. It still hurts, more so when you go back and relive what’s happened, and there’s still a void where someone you loved used to be, but you get used to it. Trying to forget anything, or get over it as quickly as possible, doesn’t work. What saddens me about Heath Ledger’s death is that I don’t want his daughter to grow up with that. I can hardly remember how it felt not to have this weight to carry around, but I know I was a very happy child and she deserves that too. Everyone has to face death sooner or later, but it’s not fair to have to face it right away. Let her be happy for a while.

It’s very weird for me to mourn for someone I never met. I’ve never felt that upset over the death of a celebrity, never cried, even when Diana died. But I bawled like a baby when I found out, and kept bursting into tears every time it came up for hours afterwards. It’s almost embarrassing how much it upset me, and it’s not something I would admit to most people. It seems ridiculous, even. But the fact that he was, no joke, someone I worshipped (no exaggeration) for a while, not to mention he looks scarily similar to a friend of mine who I also had on a pedestal for quite some time, and sort of still do. (I emailed my friend yesterday just to say hello because the whole thing is too eerie. They could be brothers.) Every girl has a major celebrity obsession at least once. Heath Ledger was mine during my adolescence and teenage years, which was a pretty tumultuous time. My cousin Adam used to work for Vanity Fair, and when they had Heath on the cover, not only did he mail me the issue while I was at summer camp, but when Heath came into the office once after the initial interview, Adam cornered him to tell him about his cousin who “loved him more than anything.” And I believe his response was “Tell her thanks.”

Although it almost feels wrong to compare his death to any of the deaths of my friends or loved ones, in some ways it feels similar. If he lived on, I’m sure somewhere down the road we would have crossed paths. But the fact is, I never knew him. On a general level, his death doesn’t affect my life at all and overall, nothing in my life will change.

But there is most certainly a void.

At A Loss

2008-01-22T14:42:00.000-08:00

Heath Ledger is dead.

I...am stunned beyond words. I don't know what to say. I desperately hope I wake up tomorrow and this will not be true.

Fun At The Grocery Store And The Garbage That Is MTV

2008-01-22T13:45:00.000-08:00

So today I went grocery shopping with my mom to get a boatload of stuff to bring back to my apartment when she drives me back to New York tomorrow, since I certainly won’t be getting to Whole Foods anytime soon. However, hobbling around a huge store on crutches: no dice. But, lucky for me and cripples and senior citizens everywhere, my friendly neighborhood superstore has a little something that helps people like myself make grocery shopping possible, and even pretty fun.

(This was right before I managed an Austin Powers-style eight point turn.) Not only can you putter around with ease, people tend to stay out of your way. But if they didn’t, it even has a horn. Badass!

******************************

I hate MTV. I hate what it does to the "youth", I hate the messages it puts out, and most of all, I hate it on more personal level after having to work A LOT with them doing shoots when I worked at a production company a few years ago. Example: we were supposed to be doing a shoot for Jay-Z. Not one single person at MTV could tell us, up until AN HOUR before the start, i.e. when the crew has already arrived, if Jay-Z was even scheduled to be there. It baffles me how it still functions as a corporation with so many incompetent idiots in charge.

That being said, I am guilty of still tuning in to watch drivel like The Hills, Real World, and the RW/RR Challenges, which are probably my favorite. And honestly, "True Life: I'm From Staten Island" is borderline genius. There, I admitted it, okay? I'm guilty of sometimes watching MTV. I'm not proud of it, but it happens.

HOWEVER. I hate. Hate, hate, hate, how they suddenly seem to be dead set on taking several relatively obscure artists that I like and turning them into commercial bullshit. I used to like Tegan and Sara, until I saw them playing on MTV while they rolled highlights from "Life of Ryan". I cringe to think of teenyboppers listening to Matt White or The Shys on their iPod shuffles, in between Hilary Duff and Fall Out Boy, another band I despise. I almost threw my remote at the TV when I was flipping through the channels and heard Graham Colton during an episode of "Newport Harbor".

On a similar note, a friend of mine just won a trip to Egypt after playing a trivia game on TRL, which I'm pretty sure he entered as a joke. I'm actually surprised he wasn't too old to play. Anyway, here's the video. The end is by far the best. Who doesn't dream of running around the TRL studio getting high fives?

On a slightly less similar note, today I made a change that is probably the smartest thing I could possibly have done with respect to iTunes: I changed my store from US to UK. I know what you’re thinking: “You IDIOT, you’re gonna pay double for everything!” First of all, it isn’t double. Songs on iTunes UK are only 0.79. Yes, it’s in pounds. But it’s not double. And obviously I’m not going it for the bargains. Rather, let’s take a look at what’s on each store’s “home” screen.

On UK: Cat Power, MGMT, Lupe Fiasco, Mika, Kaiser Chiefs, Take That (!), Thom Yorke, Amy Winehouse and Mark Ronson. A nice assortment of a bunch of my favorite artists, all right there on the home screen.

On US: Yellowcard, Timabland, Fergie, Soulja Boy, Britney Spears, Chris Brown, Taylor Swift, Lil Wayne. The Juno Soundtrack. AKA, crap. MTV vomit.

And the real kicker for me at least, is that iTunes UK gets in new songs from a lot of my favorite DJs/electronic artists like Justice, Simian Mobile Disco, New Young Pony Club, Bob Sinclar, etc, way before they come in on the US store. And so if every once in a while I have to pay a little extra, fine. A small price to pay (literally). And goddamn, Cat Power sounds better every time I listen.

And while we're at it, my favorite Justice video. It probably wouldn't even be that hard to do if you had a good editor, but it's so fun to watch!

YES!!!!!!

2008-01-20T20:03:00.000-08:00

18-0.
SUPERBOWL-BOUND!!!

Just For Fun

2008-01-19T19:21:00.000-08:00

Via Eric Lodwick.

In Which I Put My Trivial Problems In Perspective

2008-01-17T15:16:00.000-08:00

All jokes aside, there is something in the news that I need to comment on. Not the election. Not the dead pregnant marine, or the tiger attacks in San Francisco, or the downward plunge of the stock market, or the writer's strike, or...God, this country is in bad shape.

Okay kids, put your serious hats on.

In case you live under a rock, or just don't care about news that takes place outside of America (I'm not sure which is worse), there is major conflict in Kenya right now, as a result of a recent election in which President Mwai Kibaki was re-elected, and many people think the voting was rigged. To make a very complicated story short, now various tribes are killing each other in a manner of "ethnic cleansing", which is, you know, kind of the same theory that Hitler was going for. It's a lot like what happened in Rwanda, except not on the same scale. Yet. The terms "political dissent" and "conflict" have been generously applied to the situation, but they won't be applicable for much longer if this continues. "Ethnic cleansing" is only a slightly less graphic-sounding and a very short hop, skip, and jump from a little problem called "genocide".

Obviously, this is an awful situation. And maybe, if you're an asshole, you're thinking, "Who cares? Everyone in Africa is killing each other." In which case would you not only be an asshole, you'd also be wrong. There are several countries in Africa that are peaceful. AIDS may be a problem everywhere, war is not. Kenya, up until recently, happened to be one of those countries that was perfectly safe and brought in some of the largest tourism revenue in the continent. And now, it's falling apart, just like Rwanda, Uganda, Sudan, Sierra Leone, the Congo, Ethiopia and Somalia. Of Africa's 53 countries, most of them are actually at peace. Yet Africa gets such a bad reputation because of the extent of the horrific war crimes and disasters that have erupted in recent years. The last thing it needs is for another one of its countries to fall.

This situation breaks my heart. Living in Tanzania last summer, which borders Kenya to the south and is also a very peaceful country, I had a lot of friends that came from there and traveled there. I regret that I never made it there in my travels. If something like that can happen in Kenya, it can happen in Tanzania, and that would devastate me completely. TZ is more of a home country to me than England is, and I spent more time in the UK. I desperately hope and pray Kenya can resolve its issues and get back on its feet before it's destroyed entirely.

And now, shameless nostalgia.

Some of my students!

God damn, what I would give to be back there.

Watu wangu wa Kenya, nakupenda wote. Hatakuwi imani. Naona matengemano.

MacWorld 08...Does Anyone Really Care?

2008-01-15T12:33:00.000-08:00

I was debating whether or not to even do a post about this, but I've got nothing better to do and there's nothing on TV right now. So! You may not know what today is, but for nerds everywhere, it's practically a national holiday. It's the day Apple has a big convention and unveils its newest products.

The big item this year is the MacBook Air, a super-thin laptop that...well, doesn't really do anything. It's a laptop. And it's thin. Anorexically thin. Oh, and it has a touchpad, like the iPhone and iPod Touch. And...yeah, that's about it. I'm a big fan of macs and I think most of their stuff is pretty cool, even though I don't really understand most of it. However, even I can see that this thing is kind of lame. Gizmodo did a review of it, and from the information I got there, it seems like something that's cool to look at, but inherently flawed. It has no removable battery, which is a huge problem, and only one USB port. There's also no Ethernet. That wouldn't be a problem for me since I'm wireless everywhere, but not everyone is. (Yet.) Someone noted that the touchpad is less responsive than the iPhone. Oh, that's great. Your new product is less functional than your phone? And then there's the price. $1800 for that? And for a slightly bigger hard drive, $3100? Who's going to buy that other than people with money to throw away? This seems like the type of product that would be someone's second or third computer, and that price is not very conducive to that. My laptop was only slightly less expensive than $1800 and I use it for everything. Yet I feel like if someone bumped into me on the subway during a crowded commute, this thing would snap like a Necco wafer.

Yeah, it's cool looking. And as someone pointed out, it will be the cool thing to impress everyone around you at Starbucks. Someone else commented that it attracts girls, and that made me laugh. I don't know what girls he has in mind, but I don't know any attractive women that would go for a guy because he had one of these. What world are you living in, pal? Yikes. It's kind of sad, now that I think about it. Anyway! Now that everyone and their mother has an iPhone and they're not that cool anymore, I suppose this is the next new thing. Though I don't know anyone who would want one.

However, they also came out with a new iPod Touch with a bunch of new applications. Damn! Why do they do this after Christmas?

End extremely nerdy slash lame post. If my friends saw this, they'd make fun of me endlessly. Back to the TV!

Edit: I hope they weren't planning on this to help their business, considering Apple stock is down. Yikes. Coincidence that today it took a nosedive?

Why Breakups Were Easier Before The Invention of the Internet

2008-01-15T11:43:00.000-08:00

I’ve never been one of those people (read: girls) that has to cut off all possible communication with someone after a breakup. In fact, I’ve maintained friendships with almost everyone I’ve dated, the most notable exception being Runner, but not talking is really the only option otherwise we would just keep getting back together. But even so, I haven’t deleted his number from my cell phone, or de-friended him on Facebook, or taken his screen name off my buddy list. Nor have I done any of those things with anyone else I've dated. Until now.

I’d rather not get into the details of my pseudo-relationship with Mack (not his real name), but I will say that it did not end badly and we are still on good terms. Our break-up, if you could call it that, was not one of differences but of impossible circumstances. I know that I took it harder than he did, mostly because I know I was probably more into the whole thing than he was, and I’m okay with that. Looking back, I’ve realized a lot of things about him and our relationship and I know it never would have worked out anyway, even if the circumstances were different.

Anyway, the point is, I had no real reason to cut off any sort of communication with Mack. But I felt like I had to, for reasons that I can’t really explain logically. But I just didn’t want to constantly be reminded that he was there, a click away. So, the least of all drastic measures, two nights ago I deleted both his screen names from my buddy list. And I felt great. Like a weigh had been lifted. All day yesterday, I felt good about it. Until last night.

For some odd reason, his screen name had somehow ended up in the stupid AIM Bots group, the one where those computer automated things help you shop, or find movie times, or, as the newest one, Liv Greene, claims to do, provide tips on living a more environmentally friendly lifestyle. I don’t know how his name ended up there, but upon deleting it, I didn’t have to worry about it. Until his name popped up under my regular group of buddies as he signed on last night.

I’m mystified. He had never popped up under that group, and I most definitely had deleted his name from the bloody “Bots” group. I don’t understand. Either my IM service has officially become smarter than me (possible), or fate is playing a cruel joke on me.

I can’t get rid of this guy! And I’m not sure if I have the heart to delete him twice. Damn! Foiled again. Le sigh.

Update: I lied. After discovering something I would rather not have known and makes me sick to my stomach, I absolutely have the heart to delete him again.

People In Movies Are People Too

2008-01-10T20:04:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I've been slacking in posts recently. And I really have no excuse, since all I do every day is waste away on the couch with my ankle elevated, watching DVR'd Anderson Cooper broadcasts. Truth be told, it's probably better that I haven't been writing since it most likely would have been filled with bitterness over my current condition. Today in particular, I am most pathetically depressed for two reasons: one, I had to give up my tickets to tonight's Bruins game to the Broseph since I can not navigate the hockey arena on my crutches; and two, because exactly a year ago today I arrived in London, which I am still in deep withdrawal from. Now, before I dwell too much on either of those, onto something else that does not involve my f*cking ankle or the presidential election.

So, here's a story about one of the many funny encounters I've had with clients (read: semi-famous actors) at my job. This one involves a certain actor who will remain nameless. Actually, I'll call him Rob (not his real name). You've probably never heard of Rob right now, nor would you probably recognize him if you saw him. He actually lives in the same apartment building in Brooklyn as some of my friends, and they don't think they've ever seen him. However, Rob is starring in a certain action film that was produced by a very well-known television producer and is being released very soon on a very important date that those of us who have been following said film are very excited about.

Think about it. This is really a not-so-blind-item.

Anyway, before this film, Rob's resume only had a few television jobs, one as a recurring role on a show that didn't do too well. (Personally, I loved it. Whatever.) So, he came into the office somewhat frequently. He's got a lot of talent, so we tried to get him to audition for as much stuff as possible. Part of the audition process on our end involves the actor coming into the office and meeting with yours truly, who runs his sides with him and puts him on tape to send to the casting director. After filming had wrapped on said film and hype was starting to build, he came into the office a few more times. By this point, I was pretty excited about the movie and got really excited every time he came in so I could try and get some information out of him. It was so well known in my office just how excited I got that whenever he would be on the taping calendar, at least three of my co-workers would IM me to say "Rob's coming in today!! How excited are you?!" Needless to say, everyone involved in the film was under strict confidentiality agreements, so every single time I asked, the conversation went a little something like this:

"So, Rob, how's everything going?"
"Oh, you know, it's good, I went to see this really cool band last night, and--"
"So, can you tell me anything about '_________' ?"
*Pause*
"Will you give me your number?"
*Chuckle, chuckle*
"No."
"Then no."
*Pause as I reconsider*
"Seriously though, I really can't."
*I reconsider reconsidering*
"Alrighty then! Let's get you on tape, shall we?"

Et cetera. Every time. No joke. Now, that's not the funny part. The last time he came in, we had the same conversation, blah blah blah. We go into the taping room and he gets settled while I set up the camera. He's rummaging in his backpack for something. Out the corner of my eye, I see him pull out a water bottle. And with the water bottle, out falls a pair of women's pink underwear. He stuffed them back in as quickly as possible, while glancing to see if I'd noticed. Luckily for both of us, I could avert my eyes quickly enough and pretend to be focusing very closely on pressing the "ON" button on the camera. Not to mention, keeping a straight face. I did not move my eyes from the camera until he had safely zipped his backpack and stood up, and even then, his face was slightly pinkish.

We ran the audition with ease, and I forgot about it in a few minutes, mostly because he really is a very talented actor. It wasn't until afterwards that I thought about it, and I cringed for him. I think he's a bit of a ladies' man, but it still would have been incredibly embarrassing for him and painfully awkward for me if he knew that I saw him. It wasn't until much later that I realized what an idiot I had been for missing out on a golden opportunity. Instead of averting my eyes and pretending not to see, I could have easily solved my problems by simply dropping the line, "Tell me about the movie and no one will know about this."

Needless to say, I am not quick enough on my feet to think of that, and now I, like everyone else, have to wait until the movie comes out. But, when Rob becomes hugely famous in the future, I will remember that moment and chuckle to myself. And maybe tell everyone I know.

The Writer's Strike Is Ruining My Life, Part II

2008-01-07T14:05:00.001-08:00

The Golden Globes are cancelled.

How Is This Even Possible?!?

2008-01-03T17:13:00.000-08:00

I uploaded a photo of my broken ankle onto my Flickr page on January 1st. As of one minute ago, it has been viewed 826 times. Someone that I don't know has marked it as one of their "favorites".

What?!?

One Down, One To Go

2008-01-02T17:35:00.000-08:00

So today I had my first surgery of the week, the oral procedure. To be blunt, it was a royal bitch. After the novocaine wore off, and even with the help of Percocet, I wanted to stab myself in the eye or beat myself with my crutches. Not to mention spitting up blood every ten minutes and having a mouthful of gauze all day. TMI? Sorry.

Anyway, with regard to the ankle: I wish I had a better story, but it was ice. New Year's Eve, in my friend Nick's driveway. When my parents woke up the next morning to me screaming, they made the executive decision to go the doctor. I figured at worst, a sprain. So my doc does some x-rays, and guess what? It's broken. He sends me to the ER.

I hate hospitals. Hate, hate, hate them. Not just from being there myself, which was never for a good reason, but more so for being there for someone else. Nothing good comes from it, ever.

And needless to say, the entire premise of the ER is to wait. Sign in, wait to register. Register, wait for triage. Get triaged, wait to be called in for treatment. Get into a room, wait for a doctor. In my case, I didn't even get a doctor. I got some assistant, who looked at it and looked at my x-rays, and when I told her that I had pain in my upper calf, said I needed to get another x-ray, because not only had I already broken two bones, it was possible that I broke one of them in two places. Get second x-ray. Wait for someone to look at them. Wait for results. Luckily, the assistant had been wrong, and I just had the two fractures of my tibia and fibula in the ankle. Wait for an orthopedic doctor to come look at it. Wait wait wait. I have still not been given anything for the immense pain that I've been in for the last 12 hours. Finally a nurse who wasn't even treating me comes in and asks me if I want something, thank God. The assistant comes back in and says they've called in an orthopedic doctor who specializes in ankles. Wait for him to get to the hospital. Wait for him to look at my x-rays. Finally he comes in and delivers the news: I have to have surgery, or the bones won't heal correctly. Afterwards, wait for someone to bring in the splint. He sets my ankle (OWWWW), splints it, wraps it. Set up plans for surgery. Wait for a nurse to come discharge me.

So I'm having surgery on Friday. The doctor is supposed to be the best one in the hospital for this kind of surgery, but of course my dad is skeptical. He knows some members of the board, not to mention the hospitals in Boston are some of the best in the world, and he (typically) wants only the best, so I may be getting a new surgeon. The doctor says I'll be on crutches with absolutely no weight on my ankle for 3-4 weeks. After that, I'll still be on crutches but I'll be able to put some weight on it. Luckily, I'll be at home until the last week in January, but once I get back to New York, I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to function.

It's so odd to me, to be at the age where I'm starting to think about the time in the future when I'm going to have to take care of my parents (a long way off, but even so), and suddenly, this happens and I'm back to my mom completely taking care of me like a little kid. On the one hand, it can be nice. But I'm such an independent person by nature, I hate depending on other people, and I'm one of those OCD people who would rather do everything herself than someone else because I know I'll do it right, even when it means I have to do extra work. Basically, needing to ask my mom to do EVERYTHING, from getting me a glass of water, helping me in and out of the car, get clothes out of my closet, handing me something from across the room, and other inane tasks that I never thought twice about before, is already getting old. I drew the line at helping me get dressed. A girl needs to cling to some shred of dignity.

The other irony is that I posted that survey in which I noted my surprise at not going to the hospital in 07 a few short hours before the incident. Dammit!

The part that I'm most bummed about, other than how being on crutches is going to affect my job and social life, is that I'm supposed to be running a half marathon in May. I doubt that I will be recovered enough to run anytime before March. Even then, getting back into the shape I was in before the fall is going to take a while. Doubling my endurance (right now I can do about 6 miles) in two months is going to be brutal, if not impossible.

But I'm trying to think positively. It could be worse. This time last year I would have been heading off to London, and God knows what would have happened then. It will heal, and hopefully the time will pass quickly. It happened early enough in the break that I still have a lot of time at home to be lazy. And the support and sympathy I've gotten has been almost overwhelming. Friends, extended family, even friends of my parents who I don't really know. It's touching, but I would obviously trade all of it for this never to have happened.

Not to mention I've got enough prescriptions for Percocet, Vicodin, and other narcotics to numb a herd of elephants. Thank you, modern science!

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In other news, I have officially caved: I joined Flickr. I'm debating whether or not I should upgrade to a paid membership. Has anyone done this? Is it worth it? I didn't know you were limited to a certain number of photos per month, which is kind of annoying. The link to my page is on the sidebar, so add me if you're a member!

Yet Another Reason Why I Hate New Years

2008-01-01T13:45:00.001-08:00

I broke my FUCKING ankle.

And have to have surgery on it. Two days after I have my oral surgery tomorrow. Which will leave me on crutches for a minimum of a month.

My life is a JOKE.

2007: The Year In Semi-Review

2007-12-31T10:33:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of Oob.

1) Where did you begin 2007?
Some of the guys had a party at their house in Boston. I don’t actually remember what I was doing at midnight because I was already blackout by that point. But at some point I texted my boss, and my then-boyfriend, (I’ll call him Runner) who I was (not surprisingly) fighting with at the time, and asked him if we were allowed to hook up with other people. Bitch.

2) What was your status by Valentine’s Day?
Living in London.

3) Were you in school (anytime this year)?
Mhm.

4) How did you earn your money?
No comment.

5) Did you have to go to the hospital?
Good question. I think this was the first year in a while that I didn’t. But I did go for other people, once to visit, twice to the ER. And we shot most of the film in a hospital, but I don’t think that counts.

6) Did you have any encounters with the police?
Oh, sure. Nothing too serious though.

7) Where did you travel this year?
London, all around Europe, I don’t think going back and forth between Boston and New York really counts, and I guess neither does going to Westchester or Connecticut. But I did finally go visit Ashley in her hometown.

8) What did you purchase that was over $1,000?
Mac laptop! I think that’s it. Though also my rent every month.

9) Did you know anybody who got married?
Jesus, yes. Too many, for that matter. It’s freaking me out.

10) Did you know anybody who passed away?
Unfortunately. Jill’s mom, my uncle Tom, my cousin Aaron’s dad.

11) Biggest surprise?
I’m starting to realize that after always being the one to worry about my friends growing apart, I’m actually the first one to begin to distance myself. Sometimes I feel like I’ve outgrown them…and yet I could never, ever live without them. Also, finding out that my great-uncle was a spy for the CIA.

12) Did you move anywhere?
Moved to London, moved home from London, moved back to New York into one apartment over the summer, into a new apartment in August.

13) What concerts/shows did you go to?
Not enough concerts…Dispatch @ MSG, Cat Power, Mika, Dirty Pretty Things, Shoot the Messenger (Dan’s band). As for shows, I saw one in London every week, but the only one I saw in New York was opening night of Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp’s return to RENT, which was pretty sweet. The last time I saw them in those roles was 10 years ago.

14) Are you registered to vote?
Fuck yes!

15) Who did you want to win Dancing with the Stars?
Never watched it. My parents enjoy it though.

16) Where do you live now?
Manhattan.

17) Describe your birthday?
In one word—awesome.

18) What's one thing you thought you'd never do but did in 2007?
-Travel around Europe by myself on a few occasions and actually put my Spanish and Italian to good (and extremely necessary) use.
-Break it off—for good this time—with Runner and actually make it out alive. Which I did, but barely.
-Try to get my health in order. It’s a long, ongoing process.

19) What has been your favorite moment?
Far too many. Probably one of the best ones was when Andi, one of my best friends in London, purposely missed his flight home to come back and surprise me. Taking my parents to a pub on St. Patrick’s day. Wrapping the film. Watching the sunset on the beach in Sardinia. Finding out that Aaron was home from Iraq. Hanging out with Clive Owen. Any of the nights in London when we would stay out all night before going to the airport to travel and still be drunk on the plane and wake up not knowing what country we were in. Hearing Ethan dedicate a song to me on his radio show. Getting hired by my current employer. Hearing my screenplay being performed and getting praised for it. Playing soccer in the park. Any morning getting breakfast at the Curved Angel. End of the year party at Vie. Crossing the Waterloo bridge at dawn. Breaking into the private gardens. Meeting Sam Rockwell. Seeing Carl before he moved to Hawaii. Sox winning the Series again. Beth’s wedding in general. Hamptons over Labor Day weekend in general. My birthday in general. Damn, looking back, I’m pretty lucky.

20) What's something you learned about yourself?
A lot. London was one big learning experience. Also: semi-figuring out what I want to do for the rest of my life, discovering that I can produce a film, realizing I’m not going to end up with Runner and being okay with it.

21) Any new additions to your family?
Do weddings count?

22) What was your best month?
Too hard to decide. Any of the months I was in London, probably.

23) What music will you remember 2007 by?
I am the wrong person to ask this question. I could go on for hours. Let’s just say that I literally have a playlist for every month.

24) Who has been your best drinking buddy?
All my friends from home, hands down.

25) Favorite night out?
Tooooooo many.

I’m realizing that most of my answers to these questions center around London, but I was there for almost half of the year, and it was one of the best experiences I’ve had, other than living in Africa last summer. And despite some of the tragedies, and my health problems, it’s been a pretty damn good year. I really can’t complain.

I’ve been trying to figure out in the past few days if 2007 was better than 2006. It’s hard to say. In ’06, I spent time in Mexico and the summer in Africa; in ’07 I lived in London and traveled all around Europe. In ’06, I moved into an unbelievable apartment; in ’07 I moved into another fabulous apartment. (I still can’t get over how lucky I’ve been in terms of housing) We had a wedding in both years. On paper, both years seem kind of similar, but I feel like I’ve changed so, so, much in the last year.

It’s been a good year. But I think the next year is going to be even better, if not even more eventful. Bring on 2008!

In Memoriam

2007-12-27T21:32:00.000-08:00

Benazir Bhutto
1953-2007

Requiescat In Pace

Christmas In Review

2007-12-27T20:39:00.000-08:00

With the holidays and all, I know many of you in the blogosphere are taking some time off, not updating as often, etc. Never fear! Such is not the case here. I am already significantly bored at home. And after New Year's I'm having oral surgery and will be completely beached on the couch, not to mention on all sorts of drugs, which should make the posting a little more interesting.

Now that you all know what I was doing on my holidays, I can give a little review. For the record: it all went pretty much according to plan, more or less. The curling was especially entertaining, and was actually kind of fun for a little while. It actually wasn't too hard once I got the hang of it. But I see why it's referred to as a "gentleman's game"--there is little to no aerobic activity involved. Pictures will be following in due time.

In other news, I, completely unexpectedly, really cleaned up on Christmas this year. My mother forced a wishlist out of me because I'm apparently impossible to shop for (I disagree) and all my relatives were asking for one back in November, so I sent her a list with a bunch of things of which I expected to get one, maybe two. Basically all stuff that I didn't want to pay for myself. Nope! I got almost all of them. Among other things:

An iPod Touch

Canon PowerShot

Tory Burch flats

New brown riding boots

Gawker Guide to Conquering All Media (a joke from Adam...but I love it)

More of my favorite perfume...Ralph Lauren Blue

Along with a bunch of other books, CDs, gift certificates, $$$, etc. I was blown away. I wasn't expecting anything, and I felt like a kid getting all this stuff. Getting the camera AND the iPod AND the TB flats was far too much. But yay! Sometimes it's great having so many relatives.

So here's the question: now that I have a functioning, quality camera, as opposed to my shitty old one or the two shittier ones before it, I intend to use it as much as possible. And I can only have so many Facebook albums before I feel like a loser. So, I need a place to put them all...do I jump on the Flickr bandwagon? Or is there something better out there? Joining Flickr feels like such a cliche, but I hate how places like Kodak or Shutterfly require other people to sign in to view your photos. Suggestions?

Update: Approximate time at home that the Broseph and I actually got along <24 hours. Better than usual!

Ho, Ho, Ho: A Preview, Part III

2007-12-23T14:57:00.000-08:00

Christmas Day is not nearly as eventful as Christmas Eve, unfortunately. In the morning, we exchange presents with my grandmother when we wake up and then get dressed and go to my aunt Lynne and uncle Larry's house, also in Fairfield. My aunt makes punch every year, which is everyone's favorite mostly because of the large quantities of alcohol in it. We have the standard hour or two of cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, most of which is spent keeping Larry's dog, Toby, from jumping on the coffee table to eat everything.

Once dinner rolls around and everyone is finally seated, every year we do Christmas Crackers. I'm pretty sure this is a British tradition, and I don't know where one would buy them, but every year somehow they end up on the table. In case you're not familiar, they look like this:

To crack them, you reach inside both ends, and yank on a string inside. In my family, we like to make things difficult. Everyone crosses their arms at the elbow and pulls one side of their own cracker and one side of the person next to them. If this sounds like it doesn't make any sense, it's because it doesn't. And usually there's about half that don't even make a good cracking sound, but just come apart with a pathetic little ripping sound. Inside, there is some kind of cheap plastic toy meant for a five year old but not safe for a five year old because it usually involves small parts. There also might be a little slip of paper with some nonsensical joke or riddle on it, which will then be debated over for the rest of the meal. And, of course, there are the tissue-paper crowns:

Notice how happy everyone looks.

That picture is from a few years ago, and I just realized that there are a lot of people missing from the table, but I don't know why. Anyway, we're required to wear the crowns for the entire meal. Yes, wearing these ridiculous tissue contraptions is mandatory. For what purpose? Your guess is as good as mine.

After another evening of copious amounts of food, we all retire back to the living room for a little while. My mom and aunts' cousins and their father will usually stop by for dessert, and after dessert we always play some sort of game like Catch Phrase, Pictionary, Cranium, etc. We split into two teams, and every year claim it will just be some friendly holiday competition, and every year it takes about five rounds until everyone is yelling at each other, throwing things across the room, and accusing everyone of cheating. Needless to say, the game ends pretty quickly, and usually my cousins, Broseph and I will escape to the den:

Which is usually where we remain in hiding until it's time to leave and go back to my grandmother's for the night, happy to have survived another year.

This past fall, my cousin (on my Dad's side) married her long-time boyfriend and moved into his house in Connecticut, which just so happens to be a town away from Fairfield. So, this year we're completing the Christmas Marathon by celebrating with my Dad's side of the family on the 26th, which consists of my cousin and her husband and my aunt and her husband, who are coming down from Newport, Rhode Island. I'm assuming this will become a tradition, since it kills two birds with one stone. In past years, there's always been a battle over when we celebrate with them, and sometimes it doesn't happen until mid-January. It's convenient that now we can get it out of the way (which is a horrible way of putting it) on the way home back to Boston. It's also a lot better than what we did last year, which was to go straight to Newport on the way home on the 26th and do it there. And maybe I shouldn't be complaining about having Christmas and getting presents for three straight days, but it is EXHAUSTING.

This year, not only are we simply exchanging gifts and eating a meal, but we're adding a little something more into the mix, which I fear will also become a tradition: the sport of curling.

I have never played this sport, never even watched it in the Olympics, have no idea what on earth I am getting myself into. My father was trying to explain it to me over dinner last night, but instead went off on a tangent reminiscing about playing it years ago at The Country Club*. I still have no idea what to expect, but I do know that I was wrong when I thought my family could not get any more WASPy.

So, stay tuned for what's sure to be some lovely stories from that holiday experience.

*The Country Club is actually the name of a club here in Massachusetts, which happens to be the oldest country club in the US. It is not, in fact, the club that family belongs to (we belong to Brae Burn Country Club), but is the one my grandparents belonged to. And in case you were wondering, yes, all the stereotypes are true. I.E, Caddyshack.

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In other news: yes, I am home. I have spent my first full day here decorating the tree, driving around mall parking lots aimlessly, and hacking ice out of the gutters on the roof with my father. Woo suburbia! Also: the Broseph and I are getting along. A Christmas miracle!

Also--has anyone seen the Ciroc vodka commercial with P Diddy in it? Two things: first of all, the song that's playing in the video is Kanye West, which I find odd slash funny. Second, how the fuck does Ciroc become "the official vodka of New Year's Eve"? How does this get decided? Is there a vote? Does this mean if I make a commercial saying that Milwaukee's Best is the official beer of New Year's Eve, people will automatically drink it in large quantities despite the fact that it tastes like urine?

These are things that occupy my time when I don't have to go to work.

Form your own opinions:

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you think of me in the next few days and get a little chuckle knowing you're in a better place.

If You Don't Have Anything Better To Do Tonight...

2007-12-21T14:01:00.000-08:00

I know this is kind of late notice, but if you don't have any plans tonight, it's my roommate Tali's birthday and we'll be celebrating at China 1, on 4th and B, anytime after midnight. She's got some ridiculous amount of bottles of Stoli on reserve, so feel free to come and get your drink on! The more the merrier.

This Week's Rants and Raves

2007-12-21T11:47:00.000-08:00

Instead of packing for a month at home, where I am going tomorrow, I've decided to do a post of some of the things I'm loving and hating currently. First and foremost: the events of Tuesday night. I was supposed to go to the party that Model Behavior was hosting in Soho, and I invited my friend Shel to come with me. Shel's sister was in town visiting her, who I am not a huge fan of. She's two years younger than us, incredibly self centered, and an all-around ditz. Not to mention, sin of all sins, she can not handle her liquor. Shel also really wanted to go to this bar in the East Village called Angels and Kings that she and my other friend (and Shel's roommate) Julia frequent pretty often, mostly because it's owned by Pete Wentz, the "frontman" of a band I hate, Fall Out Boy. I know. They're really into that whole "emo" band scene, and I, clearly, am not. Apparently, Pete was supposed to be DJing on Tuesday night. So I agreed to go with the two of them to the bar for a little while before we went to the party. They came over to my apartment to have some drinks before we went, and by the time we got to the bar, it was about 12:15. Pete wasn't there, and ended up not even showing up, which was completely insignificant to me, but Shel and her sister were disappointed. Apparently there were also a bunch of other guys from other semi-famous bands that Shel is obsessed with. For example, some guy named Gabe from some band called Cobra Starship. Shel was practically having a panic attack, but was too shy to say anything to him. Since I have never heard of this person and wouldn't know him from any of the other wannabe-hipsters in the place, I took it upon myself to talk to him. So I approached him, told him my friend loved his band but was too shy to come up and talk to him. He introduced himself, asked me my name, and asked who my friend was. I pointed her out, and he came over a few minutes later to say hi. To his credit, he was incredibly nice, and I thanked him later for making her night. Meanwhile, Shel's idiotic sister is drunk off two weak vodka crans, has found some guy who she thought was a girl, and made out with him/her, because apparently making out with a girl does not count as cheating on your boyfriend. How does one make this mistake? Well, in such an establishment where the boys are wearing tighter jeans than me, have the body of a preteen girl, and have longer hair than I do, it could be confusing. But when she pointed out the victim to Shel and I, we both could immediately tell that she was a he. Nice one! So she is whining and moaning about what to do about her boyfriend, Shel is still not over the Gabe situation, and as it is now approaching 1:15, I am trying to get us out of there. Twenty minutes later, I have reached my limit. I'm waiting outside for the two of them after they told me fifteen minutes earlier that they were going to the bathroom and would meet me outside. I'm commiserating with the bouncer, who clearly hates his job. I barge back inside, find both of them talking to some dudes, and demand that we leave. Now. One of the dudes gives me a douchey look and says to Shel, "Your friend is kinda feisty. I like it." Even if I wasn't already thoroughly annoyed, that certainly would have done it. I grab both of them and head for the door, but suddenly the sister can't find her fucking coat. Great. We are finally in a cab and getting to the location of the party, only to find that it has ended. Shel feels really bad about the situation, but I was still really, really, pissed off that I missed a party that I later heard was a rousing success, and would have been indefinitely more fun than where I ended up instead. UGH.

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It is disgusting to me how politicians are spending more time talking shit about each other than actually making legitimate and convincing points. And their Christmas/Holiday television commercials make me want to vomit.

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Tomorrow, I'll be heading home to Boston via Amtrak. After far too many trips on the disaster that is the Fung Wah bus, and one attempt at flying via JetBlue which took a total travel time of seven hours, of which 40 minutes were actually spent in-flight, I've decided to stick with the train. I usually don't mind it because I actually enjoy traveling by train, but not during holidays, not when I have far too much luggage (and I will), and not on the Regional service (as opposed to the Acela), which is always--ALWAYS--delayed. Since I will be out of New York for a month, packing is going to be impossible. Especially with the added burden of somehow transporting the Christmas gifts I've purchased. I originally didn't want to do my Christmas shopping in the city before I got home specifically because of that reason, but no way in hell am I going near a shopping mall after I get home on December 22nd. I managed to do some of it online and have it delivered to my parents' house, but I still had to do some in-store shopping. I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to get my bags, and gifts, to Penn Station and on the train. I'm sure it will be really entertaining for those that are lucky enough to observe it.

On a similar note, it will be a mystery how I survive a month at "home" without completely losing my mind.

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And now on a lighter note, some things I think are awesome: first and foremost, the iTunes Alarm Clock. If you're someone like me who hates the sound of her alarm so much that hearing it elsewhere causes heart palpitations and a cold sweat, this will be a godsend. You can set several different alarms, for different times or different days, and set what music you want it to use. So, instead of being woken up by some awful beeping, you can awake to the sounds of whatever your musical taste prefers. It can shuffle through your entire library, or start from the beginning, or you can use a playlist. So now, I awake to G. Love and Special Sauce, get out of bed to Brendan Benson, wash my face and brush my teeth to Ari Hest and Tom Waits, and stand in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear to the sounds of Prince and Regina Spektor. And best of all, if you don't like to leave your computer up and running all night, the computer will wake itself from sleep mode when the alarm is supposed to go off. Nice!

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If you're ever in the downtown-ish area, I strongly reccomend you try Tavalon. I'm a big tea drinker, and I stumbled upon this place as it's sort of on the way during one of my commutes. It's located on 14th street between 5th and University Place, and it's actually good enough to get me to brave 14th street. Granted, the stretch of sidewalk that Tavalon is on isn't quite as bad as, say, 14th between University and Broadway, but it's still 14th street. But, the chai at Tavalon is worth it, in my opinion.

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Britney Spears' 16-year-old sister is pregnant. Christmas came early this year!

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Those that know me know that I have a serious thing for Anderson Cooper. I would say its a healthy obsession, which I'm aware is an oxymoron. I also will remain in denial about his homosexuality until I hear it from the silver fox himself. And it goes without saying that age is not an issue. I watch his broadcast every night, sometimes more than once as it's aired several times. I read his book when I was in Africa last summer and it blew my mind. Everything I was never able to explain about why I went, why I couldn't rest until I could go, and what it meant to me, he perfectly put into words. I highly recommend it to anyone, but it might not resonate as much with others as it did with me. He's one of the people I admire most, and it's no secret that I can be more attracted to someone for his mind than anything else.

But it doesn't hurt that he looks like this:

He didn't really do anything special or noteworthy this week, but if I'm doing any sort of list involving things I like, he automatically gets a spot on it. And in case you were wondering, he's 40. As far as I'm concerned, it's just a number.

Christmas is in 4 days? What?!

Ho, Ho, Ho: A Preview, Part II

2007-12-17T21:19:00.001-08:00

So after everyone has finished dinner and we're all sitting around the table, there will be a (very) brief lull in conversation, at which point someone will casually mention, "Should we do presents?" Which sets off the three kids shrieking and screaming "PRESENTS!!!!" and running around in circles. It will take a solid thirty minutes to an hour to get everyone migrated into the living room, seated, while they've delegated the duty of dispensing the presents to a younger minion (read: me). Meanwhile, the three kids are tearing open presents with reckless abandon, making as much noise as possible throughout, screaming how much they love each gift for about three seconds until they realize they have more to open and toss it aside. My mother and her sisters open their gifts and are squealing almost as loud as the kids are, and yelling to each other across the room. My dad, brother, and Uncle Larry are drinking beers in a corner. I open my presents slowly, pretending to enjoy the process until I remember that no is paying any attention. After I've opened them, I attempt to get the attention of the giver by waving frantically and mouthing "Thank you" or yelling "I LOVE IT" over the ruckus.

After everything has been opened, the kids are temporarily entertained by whatever they've been given, and the entire room is covered in wrapping paper, I breathe a temporary sigh of relief and head back to the bar. Not too soon after, someone decides it's time for dessert. Plates upon trays are brought out from somewhere and arranged on the table. At this point, Joe and my dad head out to the back porch to smoke cigars, where they are soon joined by Adam. It takes about two minutes for the discussion to turn to politics, and another minute until those of us inside can hear them yelling at each other. Joe is a Republican, and Adam is a raging liberal Democrat, and my Dad sits there and mediates the both of them, keeping quiet until he drops in a comment that neither of them can respond to. To which they acknowledge for a moment, and then start arguing again.

Meanwhile, inside, everyone else has attacked the desserts, despite the fact that everyone is moaning about how full they are and how much food there was. There is coffee and tea, but mostly everyone is still hitting the bar. Hard.

Another inexplicable tradition of Christmas that I have never been able to find a reason or origin for is the Pickle. It dates back to when my grandmother had Christmas Eve at her house, and she had all these tacky ornaments on her tree, one being a metallic pickle. Every year, she would hang slash hide the ornament on her tree somewhere, and we kids (back then my brother, cousins, and I were the "kids") had to find it. First one to find it won a big scratch ticket and got to keep whatever the prize money was. Apparently there was never any objection, much less a raised eyebrow, at the encouragement of gambling from a young age. So my grandmother would say the word, and the Broseph, Adam, Shannon, and I would scour the tree, elbowing and shoving each other out of the way trying to find it. Whoever did spot it would dive for it with a yell, wrench it off the tree in a shower of plastic pine needles (my grandmother has never had a real tree), and most likely knock the tree over before emerging, victorious. He or she would be awarded with one of those big scratch tickets, while the rest of us losers would receive consolation prizes of smaller scratch tickets. The irony would be when one of the losers would end up winning more money off the ticket than the actual winner did. I have many a happy memory of going to the 7-11 on the day after Christmas before we headed home so my Dad could redeem my $1 or $2 winnings.

So, back to the present. (Do you see what I did there? Present? Christmas? I'm so clever) Now that we "kids" are older and there is a younger bunch of kids, we do two rounds. Brooke, Jay, and Joey get a turn of their own first, and they have embraced the tradition with true dedication and violence. Then, Broseph, Adam, Lucy, Shannon, and her girlfriend, Kathy (breaking the news of a lesbian in the family to my grandmother is a story for another time), and I get our turn. Luckily, the tree at my aunt and uncle's house is huge, so we can all hunt around without killing each other. Also fortunately, we're (somewhat) past the age of wrestling each other to find it, because if the tree got knocked down, it would probably kill someone, not to mention take out a window. For the record, I never win. Ever. Last year, my father committed the sacrilege of accidently breaking the pickle. We have managed to keep this a secret from my grandmother, and as far as I know, it's been replaced.

Now, for the climax of the evening. Joe has installed a sound system in the house that has speakers in literally every room of the first floor. Someone, though it remains a mystery to me exactly who, puts music on. But not just any music. Oh no. Almost any other music would be tolerable.

Barry White's Greatest Hits.

Every.
Fucking.
Year.

We'll all be sitting around, finishing off dessert, chatting and actually enjoying each other's company now that we're drunk enough to do so (or maybe that's just me), and suddenly the first notes of "Can't Get Enough Of Your Love" will start blasting. As if on cue, my mother and her sisters and Shannon and Kathy will scream with delight and jump into action. Someone hits the lights in the kitchen and pushes furniture out of the way, and they all start dancing like idiots while singing along. Adam and I have tried every year to hide, throw away, burn, destroy, et cetera the CD, but to no avail. Either they have an unlimited supply of copies, or the fucking thing is immortal. After they've made it through all ten (yes, there are ten Barry White songs that are considered hits, I was pretty shocked myself) of the godforsaken songs, someone throws on a mix CD of 70's disco songs, and they're off again.

The whole ordeal lasts for probably an hour. By this point, all the men have fled down to the basement to watch ESPN. I attempt to creep down to join them, but am usually spotted by one of the dancing women, who grab me and drag me into the dancing circle. After I get tossed and spun around a few times, I take advantage of one opportunity and spin myself right out of the circle, full-on sprint towards the basement door, and hurl myself down the stairs before they can catch me.

I should have mentioned first that my mother and her sisters have a freakish obsession with karaoke, which explains why any activity that involves singing slash dancing around drives them wild. For my aunt Lynne and her husband Larry's anniversary a few years ago, they rented out a room at some Chinese restaurant in the Lower East Side that had its own karaoke machine. It also had a $500 alcohol minimum. One of the high points of the evening involved my mother drunk dialing one of my friends and singing karaoke to her over the phone.

Exhibit A:

My dad and brother, who weren't able to make it to that blessed event, didn't believe me until I showed them that picture. If my mother knew that it was on the internet, she'd probably have my head on a platter, but the truth needs to come out, dammit!

Anyway, after the dancing horror, the night has pretty much hit its peak. Eventually, everyone starts organizing their belongings and heading out. My family heads back to my grandmother's in Fairfield, Connecticut to retire for the night. Luckily, the majority of ridiculousness has passed, but there's still plenty to come on Christmas day...

To be continued...

And Now, Your Daily Dose of Entertainment...

2007-12-17T17:08:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of Overheard In New York:

Dude #1: Yo, check it out: this chick in the lecture I was just in -- huge tits, bro.
Dude #2: Yeah?
Dude #1: Yeah. Fucking bombs.
Dude #2: That's it? That's the story? I mean, I like tits, but there's gotta be a point to a story, man.
Dude #1, after long pause: ... Fag.

--Kimmel Center, NYU

Seven-year-old on cell: Emily, I've been trying to call you, like, three times! Are you still mad at me about... [looks around crowded bus and lowers his voice] ... you know...?

--Shuttle bus, Flushing

Guy #1: God, this girl is a terrible text messenger. Look at this -- it doesn't make any sense!
Guy #2: Yeah.
Guy #1: You love texting, though, right?
Guy #2: Yeah, and it's only gonna get worse when I get my BlackBerry. I plan to cut off voice communication altogether.

--The Burger Joint

[Ed. note: Story of my life.]

Gay barista with asymmetrically-fashioned hair: Oh, yeah, I had really fancy ear bud headphones, too... But then I dropped them in a puddle of my own vomit on the subway, so now I have cheap ones. Yeah, that sucked.

--Bushwick Ave, East Williamsburg

Tourist kid: Look! The Empire State Building!
Tourist mom: Where? I don't see it.
tourist kid: The big, pointy one!
Tourist mom: Oooh, let's take a picture!
Passerby: That's the Chrysler Building, you fucking niggers.

--Outside NYC Public Library

Happy Holidays!

Chivalry Is Dead, But Sometimes Revives Itself Briefly

2007-12-15T17:15:00.000-08:00

Thursday night, my roommates and some friends and I went out to a bar that is notorious for being the watering hole of preppy, yuppie, "young professionals" or so they are sometimes called. I know what you're thinking..."So why in God's name would you go there?" Well, because last time they had a pretty decent live band and we actually had a pretty good time.

Second time around: not so much. It wasn't nearly as crowded as it was previously, which normally would be something I'd prefer. I hate, hate, hate, overcrowded bars where you can't move or breathe and you get someone's elbow to the face or drink spilled on you every time you turn around. Especially when it's one of those crowds where, being a girl, you get looked up and down by every single dude as you're walking through the crowd just trying to find the goddamn bathroom.

So, it wasn't crowded. And it wasn't fun. We found ourselves to be somewhat bored. Out of nowhere, this pretty drunk guy stumbles over and starts asking me if he can buy me a drink, to which I (politely) decline. He is persistent. Won't leave me alone. I'm trying watch the Bruins game on the TV, and there is only so much a girl can take. At one point, I actually turn around to get back to the game, which apparently sets him off. He flips out and starts yelling obscenities at me before storming away. One of my roommates, Ganz, witnessed the entire episode and wants to go after him and punch him, but I convinced her not to. I didn't want her to get kicked out, even though I was significantly shaken up. I can honestly say that I've never been verbally assaulted by a guy just because I rejected him at a bar. It was obscene, and made me feel rather ill.

About twenty minutes later, one of my other roommates arrives with her boyfriend, Dan, who is also one of my good friends and lived with me in London. Ganz is still heated about the situation, and immediately tells them what happened. They are both horrified, and Dan decides he's going to go say something to the Asshole, who is now stumbling around the bar. I am not sure this is a good idea, because I really just wanted to forget about the whole thing, not to mention the guy is about twice Dan's size. But he's determined.

So he approaches the Asshole and taps him on the shoulder. At this point I stopped watching, but a few minutes later, the Asshole comes over to me and apologizes profusely. He offers to buy me a drink (again) to make up for it, but at this point I want nothing more to do with him, so I say no. He leaves.

I thanked Dan over and over, not simply for getting the Asshole to apologize, because frankly I didn't care, but because he was not only willing to "protect" me, if that's even the right word, but determined to do so. I'm not the type of girl that swoons when a guy opens a door for me or picks up the check, but the fact that he certainly didn't have to do it but insisted on doing it anyway really struck me. Most of my guy friends from home, who are practically family to me, probably wouldn't have done the same. Not because they don't care about me as much as Dan does, but because it simply wouldn't have occurred to them. And if it did, they would have taken the guy outside, punched him a couple times in the face, and called it a night. And probably would have gotten arrested in the process. (They are the type of guys that love to get in fights. Obnoxious.)

Moral of the story? Not sure exactly. This is not one of those "hint, hint, guys: this is what you SHOULD be doing" stories. Rather, just an instance that I was touched by and felt it deserved to be shared.

Also, this is what I get for trying to watch a hockey game at a bar. Fuck.

A Not-So-Surprising Observation

2007-12-14T00:34:00.000-08:00

For the record...

...I have not changed at all.

What a crackhead.

Ho, Ho, Ho: A Preview, Part I

2007-12-12T13:20:00.000-08:00

Since tis the season, and I will soon be returning home to Boston for the holidays, I figured now was a good a time as any to give you all a glimpse into the ridiculousfest that is Christmas with my family. If you know my family, depending on how well, you will either be completely surprised or completely understanding, and most likely laughing at me. I preface this by saying that my family, most of the time, is extremely WASPy. I could delve more into that, but I’ll save it for another time. Also, everything is 100% true. I swear, I could not make this shit up. So without further ado, an itinerary of the holiday events in store for me:

Prologue

For my entire life, we have celebrated the actual Christmas day with my mother’s side of the family, located in Connecticut. When my brother and I were little, my parents decided that it wasn’t really fair that we didn’t get to have a real Christmas morning, with the whole Santa coming down the chimney ordeal, and opening presents under our own tree in our own house. So, along with the legacy of Santa Claus, my brother and I were told that my parents had written a letter to Santa, asking him to come to our house a day early, on the 24th. Hence, we had our “Christmas Morning” technically on Christmas Eve. The fact that I fell for that is just a testament to what a bright child I was, but I do remember thinking the rest of my friends were suckers because I got all my presents a day early.

So, morning of the 24th, my parents, brother and I open presents from each other. This process has evolved from my brother and I getting up obscenely early, ravaged with excitement, and waking up our parents, to now our parents dragging us out of bed at what I deem an obscene hour when I’m on vacation, 9am. Another tradition has been that our parents would go downstairs first, and my brother and I would have to wait, eagerly sitting at the top of the stairs, for them to say they were ready. This was usually because my dad would set up the camera so he could take our picture/video when we first came down the stairs, and probably so they both could make themselves a cup of coffee. I used to think it was because they didn’t actually put out the presents until then, but one year I snuck down early and discovered that theory was false.

Believe it or not, they still make us do this. If, by some miracle, we do manage to drag ourselves out of bed on our own accord, we’re still forced to wait at the top of the stairs until our parents are “ready”. Except now, usually both of them are already down there, on their second cup of coffee, and yelling up the stairs at my brother and I to get out of bed and come down.

So, we finally make it down there and open presents. Nice, right? It used to be. A couple years ago, my mom created a system when she bought presents for us (my dad included). The system being, that they had to be opened in a certain order. So on each wrapped gift, there would be a tag with a number, and my mom would have a corresponding list that had each number and what gift it was. The original idea behind this was, I think, for when we would get one “big” present, and she would want us to save it for last, or if there were a couple gifts that were somehow related to one another. However, it kind of takes the fun out of the whole process when you’re gleefully grabbing a present to open, only to have your mother ask, “What number?!” And then scramble to put her glasses on, peer at the list, which she can barely read, and then say, “No, no, don’t open that. Open something else.”

“Uh, okay. How about…7.”
“Hmm. No, not that one either.”
“4?”
“No. Try and find 2.”

Sounds like a blast right? Chock full of merriment. So after the rousing round of gift-opening, we have breakfast together. Great. And then as we’re wrapping up, my mom will suddenly look at her watch and realize that we are incredibly behind schedule and everyone needs to get moving because we have to be in the car and on the road in no less than an hour. Which then results in my brother and I sprinting to get in the shower, and usually battling over who gets to go first. I always win because I, being female, have the burden of needing to blow-dry my hair. Victory for women everywhere!

Somewhere between an hour and a half to two hours later, we are finally packed and in the car. Broseph and I are crammed in the backseat, which should normally be a comfortable ride since my dad has a pretty nice car, but not on this occasion because we are crammed in with bags full of gifts, platters of food or some kind of dessert, and usually a plant of some kind that my mom is giving as a hostess gift to someone.

Nine times out of ten, usually right when we’re merging into traffic on the highway, my mother will suddenly gasp frantically upon realizing that she’s forgotten something that is so important we have to turn around and go back. My dad at this point is already grumbling because he was the first one ready and waiting in the car, and Broseph is grumbling because he has to sit through the ride in pants and a tie. We all have to be dressed for the evening’s festivities when we get in the car since we’re going directly to said festivities’ locale. Do not stop, do not pass Go. I, however, am completely content since I’m in my sweats. No way in hell am I sitting through a three hour car ride curled into a 2’x2’ area in tights, a dress, and heels, thank you very much. And although it means that once we get close to our destination, I have to somehow perform a miracle change and finagle myself into the outfit, it’s worth it.

So, my dad speeds home while my mom is white-knuckling the armrest, I usually am elected the one to run back inside the house and grab it since I’m wearing moveable clothing, and then we’re pulling back out of the drive for the second time. After a brief stop at Dunkin Donuts for coffee (priorities), we finally get on the highway and start the trip, at which point my brother and I promptly put on our ipods and tune out.

Chapter 1

Our destination on Christmas Eve is the home of my aunt and uncle, Tracey and Joe, who live in a palatial estate in Westchester, New York. I babysit for their three kids, my cousins, pretty often and I love going to their place because it’s so huge I get my own wing of the house, they have a pool and hot tub, and my uncle is an absolutely amazing cook. Of course, being how close in proximity they live to Manhattan, it would make a whole lot more sense every year if I just stayed in the city until the 24th, then hopped on a train, instead of schlepping all my stuff all the way home, only to turn around and come almost all the way back two days later. But, of course that would mean I would miss out on the Callahan Family Christmas Morning, so it is Not An Option.

We are always the last ones to get there, without fail. As soon as we pull out of the driveway, two of my three cousins come tearing out the front door, screaming our arrival. Joey is the youngest, at 8, Brooke is 12, and Jay is 14. Brooke, and I say this only because its true, is obsessed with me. She has told her mom, and apparently anyone who will listen, that she wants to be just like me when she gets older, because I am “perfect”. Don’t ask me how she came to that conclusion. It’s a mystery. And I don’t think I have to worry about her becoming just like me, because, at 13, she’s already prettier than me and much less of a bitch.

We make it inside, where everyone else is waiting. We make the rounds saying hello to everyone, answering the same “how was the ride?” question a million times, and when we’ve finally got our coats off, drinks in hand, and my mom is safely ensconced in the dining room creating a flower arrangement for the table centerpiece, the real fun begins.

First and foremost, there is the eating. Platters upon platters of hors d’oeuvres before we’ve even sat down for dinner. My uncle cooks everything on Christmas Eve, and its one hell of a production. Joe is this huge, Italian, hulk of a man, and like I said, he’s a fabulous cook. They redid their house a few years ago, and now have this unbelievable kitchen with two refrigerators, two ovens, and a full griddle, not to mention a full bar. He spends pretty much the entire night in the kitchen, even when the rest of us are eating dinner, and it’s almost impossible to get him to sit down at the table.

The cocktail hour is really when the most energy is required. Everyone is asking a million questions about school, and work, and the film I produced, and plans for next year, and my roommates, and New York, etc etc etc. Usually I can anticipate most of the questions beforehand and come up with acceptable answers for them before I get there so I’m adequately prepared. My cousin Adam and his girlfriend (and soon to be fiancée, we hope) Lucy, also live in the city, and they can usually be some kind of a buffer. They were actually crucial in helping me get my first apartment, when my parents didn’t want me to live somewhere without a doorman. Adam and Lucy were able to back me up in convincing them that it was completely unnecessary and most people don’t have doormen, anyway.

The cocktail hour is also, understandably, when we (okay, I) drink the most, and I constantly have to remind myself that the evening is a marathon, not a sprint. With the barrage of questions, the amount of times I take a sip of a drink just to stall an answer or fill an awkward silence would alone be enough to get me sufficiently buzzed. Luckily, I am not alone. Everyone except for my grandmother and the kids, and usually my dad, are tipsy by the time dinner rolls around. Especially my mother, all 98lbs of her, who tosses back gin and tonics and mojitos like water.

We finally sit down to dinner, which consists of seven, count ‘em, SEVEN courses. I kid you not. Including: antipasto, meatball soup, salad, ceviche, some sort of shrimp dish, manicotti, and chicken in some form, Oh, and later, there’s dessert. Luckily, I don’t eat seafood so I don’t have to participate in every course. But even so, its an obscene amount of food. After we’ve been eating hors d’oeuvres for an hour and a half. And like I said, my uncle spends most of the time in the kitchen, whether preparing for the next course, cleaning up from the previous one, making more of something, etc. Meanwhile, the rest of us are crammed around the dining room table, there’s ten different conversations flying around the room, and boy are we LOUD. Complete chaos.

You’d think that after such a big dinner, everyone would relax with coffee and maybe a platter of cookies before eventually making their ways out the door. Oh no, my friend. If only. After dinner, the night is but half over and the real entertainment is yet to come.

To be continued…

Excuses, Excuses and the Procrastination Solvent

2007-12-10T20:38:00.000-08:00

Why I Know I'm In The Right Business, Exhibit #327628:

After being thirty minutes late to meet me one afternoon, a colleague rushes in and explains, only half-apologetically, "Sorry I'm late, I was having lunch with Javier Bardem."

---------------

Meanwhile, if you, like me, are a procrastinating champ and/or if you are, also like me, someone who can not get any work done without music playing in the background, this will be your saving grace next time you need to accomplish anything work or study-related. [Courtesy of HackCollege via LifeHacker]

The Writer's Strike Is Ruining My Life, Part I

2007-12-10T19:23:00.000-08:00

Before I say anything, I feel it necessary to clarify: I AM A WRITER. My degree is in screenwriting, with a concentration in television writing. I've been writing since I could pick up a pen. I wrote my first play when I was six. (My mom and I starred in it. For the record, my dad thought it was phenomenal. It had 8 lines.) I've always identified myself as a writer, until I started identifying myself as a producer.

That being said, it's also important to note that I work and study in this business, and have been hearing about nothing but the strike for months now; even before it started and it was just a rumor, everyone was talking about it. So let's just say I know my fair share about what the issues are. And yes, I think the argument of the writers is grounded in a worthwhile cause. They deserve to get paid for their work like everyone else. It's no one's fault that none of these issues were in their contract before because no one can predict how successful new forms of media can be. Fair enough.

However. HOW-FUCKING-EVER. What are they fighting over, really? They want 2.5%. That's the number they're going for, which can be pennies to some people and millions to others. Is it fair that the same people who get pennies have to be out of work and
support their families at the risk of losing their homes, cars, children's education? At this time of year?

"Well, that's what being in a union is all about, unity through good times and bad." Alright, fair enough. But what about people who aren't in the union but are forced to be unemployed because of the strike? Like crew members? Who, for the record, don't get paid all too well either, in most cases.

And here's the kicker. When the strike is all said and done and finally a deal is reached, whenever the hell that may be, I'll let you in on a little secret. They ain't gonna get 2.5%. Studios and producers are not going to just give them what they want. So we're looking at something in the middle, like 1.25%.

1.25%.

People are out of work for months, millions of dollars are lost, some people's careers could be permanently ruined. For 1.25%.

So how is this affecting me? Well, who knows when this will all end, but I can cross that bridge when I come to it. I currently work for a talent agency, the name of which I'd rather not share. But we represent a lot of actors, big and small, as well as producers, directors, writers, authors (there's a difference), comedians, etc. And yes, business is still running because there are plenty of scripts that have already been written, in terms of film. (The film industry will most likely not feel the effects of the strike) But for all the people we cast in television, we're beginning to hit a wall. Things are getting quiet. Really quiet. And we all know what that means...less business=less money. Not good.

So before this gets any more lengthy, let me summarize why, exactly, the strike sucks. People outside of the industry don't comprehend how many people this effects.

So the writers aren't working and the producers aren't working --> crew isn't working -->actors aren't working -->agents aren't working --> agencies aren't getting a lot of business --> ME=FUCKED.

So yes, the argument of the writers is legit. But will it be worth it in the long run? Only time will tell. Personally, I think the answer is no. And in the mean time, it's making my life hell. And obviously, I am the most important person IN THE WORLD.

Finally...

2007-12-07T13:41:00.000-08:00

...something that legitimizes the use of camera phones. They've gotten a pretty bad rep because of all the horror stories about women's locker rooms, looking up women's skirts, basically becoming the average pedophile's handy-dandy tool. I'm not a fan of them myself only because I never really saw the point. I'm a BlackBerry user (and huge fan) but my previous phone had a camera, and it seemed useless to me because the quality of the pictures was so poor. Granted, the quality has improved by now, especially on the iPhone, but I still don't feel like I'm missing anything by not having one. Even despite the fact that I recently broke the screen on my camera during a bout of drunkenness, and am now camera-less for the time being. Whoops!

Anyway, this is kind of genius:

30+ Uses for Your Camera Phone
8:45 am on October 10th, 2007 by Rosario Doriott

How often do you use your camera phone to take pictures? Simple. Not enough!

Here’s a quick list of several uses for your camera phone:

1. Try taking a picture of the take-out menu at your favorite restaurant. Save paper.
2. And snap a picture of the business hours.
3. Is it your birthday coming up? Walk around the mall and take pictures of what you want. Then send your list around.
4. Is your roommate stealing your stuff? Take a picture of your belongings each time you leave your room.
5. Do you lend DVDs, CDs, or books to your friends? Take a picture of it and label it your friend’s name to remember who has what.
6. Forget saving business cards. Just snap a picture of them.
7. Take a picture of your suitcases. If they’re lost, you can show exactly what they look like.
8. When in a foreign city, take pictures of the intersection next to your hotel. If you’re drunk, show the cab driver the photo, and he’ll know to go.
9. Hell, take a picture of your hotel room number if you really lack memory skills.
10. When traveling, take a picture of your hotel’s name and even the important phone numbers. If you’re in a foreign country, it’s not 9-1-1. Take a picture of the number to remember it.
11. Forget blogging. Take a picture each day when on a trip and send the picture to your friends and family
12. Or just keep a photo journal in general!
13. See a psychology experiment? Or a job offering? Or a local show? Snap a picture to remember it.
14. See a poster for a good movie? Snap a picture, so the next time you’re at Blockbuster, you won’t have to spend time trying to remember what that movie was.
15. If you’re a blogger, writer, or journalist, take a picture of something the next time you see something you want to write about.
16. Did you just now get the highest score? Take a picture and taunt your friends.
17. If you print a lot, you’ll need new ink. Take a picture now of what kind of printer you have (the label). This will make it easier the next time you go for new ink. Just show the clerk the picture.
18. Be the paparazzi.
19. Need to remember something important on your to-do list? Take a picture to remind yourself and set it as your wallpaper.
20. Need some motivation? Set whatever gets you going as your wallpaper. Endless possibilities for this one.
21. Use your camera phone to send a map to someone who’s lost.
22. Want to send your significant other on a hunt? Send them pictures along the way.
23. Take a picture of where you parked!!!
24. If you’re in a car accident, take a picture of the scene and the other driver’s license plate.
25. Take a picture of your license plate, your car, your driver’s license, or your insurance information –in case it gets lost or stolen.
26. In the library, take a picture of reference numbers for the books you need. You don’t need a pencil!
27. Use your camera phone as a mirror.
28. Use your camera phone in class when you’re too lazy to write down what’s on the board.
29. Before going to the grocery store, take a picture of what’s on your spice rack. This way, you won’t buy a third bottle of vanilla.
30. Lose something underneath a car or underneath something else equally dirty? Take a picture of what’s underneath before you get all gross.

Courtesy of HackCollege.

My Current Favorite Distraction

2007-12-05T21:32:00.000-08:00

My colleague and fashion expert Arianna turned me on to the genius that is Polyvore. On this website, you can browse through the world's largest closet and sift through thousands of clothes, bags, shoes, accessories and jewelry, designer and otherwise, in order to create various "sets" illustrating your fashion tastes. It allows you to search through the entire database, whether by designer, color, style, etc. You can even search from specific websites--even ebay! And if there's something that isn't on there, you can upload it yourself to the server!

Although it took me a little while to get the gist of it, it's thoroughly taken over my internet browsing time at this point. I still have a few problems with it--the interface is a little iffy and sometimes doesn't work the way it should, from what I can tell there's no screening process for what items get uploaded, and it simply takes too long to scroll through some of the categories. Nonetheless, I've already spent far too much time creating a few sets.

First off, here's a little cross-section of my closent, currently:

I was thrilled to find that they had my neon Nikes and my BAPE sneakers (though not in my color), as well as my Minnetonka moccasins and lace-up boots, my Christian Louboutin pumps, my Goyard tote (but not my Marc Jacobs one, though every other MJ bag known to man was there), my vintage Chanel bag, Levis jeans, True Religion jeans, even the high-waisted jeans I got at TopShop in London! Not to mention both my fur vest and fur coat. And before anyone jumps down my throat, both my items are faux fur. They had my American Apparel leotard and skirt, but they shockingly didn't have the v-neck AA t-shirts that make up a large percentage of my wardrobe.

I also didn't delve too much into the jewelry section, mostly because I knew nothing I own would be on there. Granted, I have my fair girl's share of Tiffany's jewelry acquired throughout high school when it was the ultimate status symbol, but the jewelry I wear now is a pretty eclectic assortment of things I have gotten either in my travels (bracelets from Florence, Africa, London, Greece, etc), inherited from my mother or grandmother, or found in some vintage store here in New York.

And now just for fun, here's a rough draft of (a section of) my Shoe Wishlist:

Including Lanvin flats (at the "12:00" position), YSL MaryJanes (1:00), Tod's loafers (3:00), Chloe ankle boots (5:00), Burberry ankle boots (6:00), Christian Louboutin pumps (7:00)...and in the center: Chanel flats and the coveted Burberry Prorsum studded platforms, which can be spotted in every Fall fashion spread in every magazine, if you look closely. Of course, by the time I can afford them, at $940, they'll be out of style. But that doesn't stop me from drooling over them.

This website would have been amazingly helpful a few weeks ago, when I was coming up with my Christmas list, at my mother's insistence. I had a hard enough time coming up with a couple things my various relatives could get for me, but as I was poring through the collections on Polyvore, I--shocker!--suddenly found quite a few things I wanted.

However, discovering the site smack in the middle of the onslaught of finals is probably going to cause a problem.

Rebirthing the blog.

2007-12-04T22:51:00.000-08:00

Oh boy, here we go again. So this will from now on be my new home in cyberspace--for now at least. I decided it was best to start anew, so I ditched the old blog and created a fresh one. Because why not? And I like blogspot. The Africa blog still exists on this server (if anyone's even interested), but its pretty sparse--having limited internet access had limited my posting. Anyway, so here we are. I would have liked to keep my same old name (caseyliz) but apparently someone on Blogger is already using it, so I threw in the hyphen.

The title of this one comes from a quote in the Tom Stoppard play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. It's one of my favorite plays, and if you haven't read it, you should. Anyway, the quote is as follows:

"We do on stage things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on every exit as an entrance to something else."

I find it fitting, since the following months of my life are sure to be filled with exits and entrances and changes in general. More on that to follow. For now, I'll leave you with another quote from the play which I particularly like. Though I'm positive no one is reading this yet since I haven't given the link to anyone.

"We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except the memory of the smell of smoke and the presumption that once our eyes watered."

I feel that this is something that I've been living my life by in the past years and will continue to do so in the ones that follow. Stay tuned!