good things really shouldn't have to end.

but they do. and by good things, I'm of course talking about the very long, lovely thanksgiving weekend. it's over...I'm home, back in NY...rainy, cold, gray NY. But, not to worry, the thankful residue has yet to wear off. I'm thankful, post thanksgiving thankful, for Michael Jackson--songs like Beat It and Never Can Say Goodbye made today's 2-hour gridlock so much more enjoyable (yes, i said "enjoyable)"). And I'm thankful that I've inherited a teensy cooking gene. I somehow dug into the culinary lobe of my brain and concocted a pretty decent mac n' cheese casserole, and candied mashed yams. go me! I'm also thankful that the mumbai attacks are over...though saddened by so many lost lives. i'm thankful, that i wrote my novel's outline and "finished" an entire chapter. And while it's true that it's not quite what I dreamed it would be, i filled some pages with a part of me, and with some work, it can only get better.

p.s. i am also thankful that some fairly-awesome person introduced me to THIS BALLAD. (you can check out the video here--it takes a long time to load--10 minutes or so--but it's worth it...i promise.)

kind of blue.

a lovely last night of laughter and liquor with shamona led to a pretty dreadful morning for moi. but, even in my feeble state, i forced myself to walk over to the morrison hotel to see the new miles davis photo exhibit. i really don't need to say it was alluring...miles wasn't classically handsome, but he was terribly photogenic. but we're talking 1960s Miles. 70s Miles was a bit frightening--the disco years were not kind to him. so, let's just focus on the 60s. he frequently had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and rarely smiled...or so say the photos. but i suppose jazz isn't the smiling kind of music. 1962, Photo by Don Hunstein

p.s. a little trivia: Miles had a small part in the movie Scrooged. He was a street musician.

p.p.s. on a completely separate note, do not see this movie. most disturbing film i've seen this year.

ooohs and ahhhs.

this is exciting, though I haven't ice-skated in over 4 years, and I was never that good anyway. to be perfectly honest, i was pretty bad.

i don't like poetry, but this woman's blog inspires the crap out of me.

and i really want this late poet's book, Scrambled Eggs & Whiskey. This weekend, the plan is to find this book...and stalwartly continue to dislike poetry. Here's a little something by Carruth that I like....

Sonnet #10

You rose from our embrace and the small light spread
like an aureole around you. The long parabola
of neck and shoulder, flank and thigh I saw
permute itself through unfolding and unlimited
minuteness in the movement of your tall tread,
the spine-root swaying, the Picasso-like éclat
of scissoring slender legs. I knew some law
of Being was at work. At one time I had said
that love bestows such values, and so it does,
but the old man in his canto was right and wise:
ubi amor ibi ocullus est.
Always I wanted to give and in wanting was
the poet. A man now, aging, I know the best
of love is not to bestow, but to recognize.

letting go...

...is a feat among a perpetual list of feats I've found so much easier to pull off as a child than as an adult. In my child's mind, not knowing the true value of what I was letting go of seemed to help with the divorce. In my adult mind...it's a constant battle of heart and head. Growing up is hard. *sigh*

Today, my head won over my heart.

I'm saying goodbye to something beautiful. Something that has both brought me unmatched joy, and has borne the weight of my baggage for several months. But as of late has begun to cause me more than a little pain.

BACK PAIN! arrgh.

Alas, I could no longer bear it. So, farewell my fabulous, maple-colored (and odored), one-of-a-kind bag. May your re-thrifting lead you to the arm of one that can love you even greater than I.

p.s. there's a doe and buck mating outside my window. well, it's more like a game of cat and mouse. (same thing I suppose.) she's hiding beneath a tree, and he's waiting patiently for her to come around.

snow!

just a couple flurries for only 5 minutes. but really beautiful.

...and speaking of snow, i love this... p.s. ...and speaking of crazy, i love this too. Three out of 4 white supremacists are pro-Obama--and some say he's "not Black enough.".

a dog named ginger.

quick, unremarkable story.

last night, angelica and i are walking home from a dinner of pork, beans, steak enchiladas (truly the anti-date, just-go-straight-to-sleep-after-eating dinner), when we spot a sweet little pooch, like this one, seemingly lost--pacing up and down the sidewalk. Can dogs pace? Perhaps it was more like "wagging up and down the sidewalk," anyway, leash around her neck--but no one on the other end of it.

Angelica and I are both immediately smitten with the precious furball...and worry that, if left there all on her own in Chinatown, she might get "abducted" (no comment). Angelica grabs the leash--and we set out to either walk up and down the street ISO the mom/dad, or take her home for the night. Before we can cook up a hasty practical plan, we hear a woman screaming, "Ginger! Ginger!" This is both symbolic and ironic. Symbolic, because I've been wanting a dog--and for that reason--have signed up to be a volunteer dog-walker--and this is quite possibly a black-and-white sign that I'm ready for my very own pup. maybe. And ironic because, well, if you know me, you'll know why. So, I'm happy to report Ginger is safe and sound--or at least she was when we returned her to her mom.

ughh...she was such a cutie pie! you know those little caramel chewy candies with the white sugary middles? that's what Ginger reminds me off. So, in honor of Ginger...I give you, one of my favorite comic clips...

two things i know for certain:

i'm breathing
i love you

i love you
i'm breathing

i've been thinking...

...perhaps I'll leave this great city. Dig my heels in somewhere. Really, more like, plant them.

i know, i've got some 'splaining to do, but i'm still thinking. Thinking so hard I cannot sleep. And so far, this feels like the right direction. My gut says "go." My head says "plan." (i'm annoyed with my head...I want it to quiet down for once...)

miriam...

...makeba. a beautiful voice, a beautiful soul. r.i.p.

i do not want to worry...

...about whether or not i am loved. i just want to love things and leave good things behind. and i don't want to talk about it.

today, i made your shirt
a mop.
and now my kitchen floor
is clean.

today's 2 learnings:
1) a pedgie
2) the process of removing a pedgie is one of my least favorite sights

So, i was at one of those outdoor thrift markets the other day, on Houston...though judging by the prices, not sure it should be called "thrift." So many good things though...vintage loveliness all around. And there among all the loveliness were two dildos. "Ugh. Who wants a pre-loved plastic penis?" says me. Maybe if it were gently used. I don't know...maybe it's good mantle art. But then again, most girls/guys are "using" a pre-loved phallis anyway, aren't we?

p.s. ever wonder what life would be life if you could always laugh all day long at yourself and at the world? i recommend seeing Happy-Go-Lucky. And another recommendation... "Naked Confessions" by Richard Prince. Prince's "Canal Zone" exhibit opened yesterday at the Gargosian Gallery, and runs through December 20.

silly little ethical quagmire.

first off...OBAMA! I had to take a few days to take it all in.

today when rachel and I went on our "it's-3-o'clock-and-i'm-dying-are-you?" coffee break, we snuck a peak inside the holiday coat drive box in the building lobby. Don't ask me what led me to peak inside...possibly just sheer curiosity or maybe comic relief--I figured I'd see lots of shoulder-padded London-Foggish oversized trenches in cobalt blues and dingy khaki. But no. instead i see a cute little well-made coffee brown leather jacket...in a size SMALL, no less. oh why oh why did i look?

at first, i thought, "that jacket's mine." followed by, "but no, it's for the poor." and again, "what poor new yorker needs a tiny leather jacket...it's not even warm!" but, alas, I couldn't do it. i'm obsessed with keeping my karma in good-standing..besides part of me thinks it's stealing--even if it's just from an over-sized box...although, another part of me thinks, "i'm poor, and my life deserves a free jacket." so i asked my friend chris...what should i do...he's pretty wise, and i think ethical for the most part...he's a finance editor...so that at least makes him more level-headed than me. he told me it's okay. "take it, but just swap it for a jacket you have at home that you don't like." I dunno...I don't really have any jackets or coats that I don't like. Ugh...woe is me. Perhaps this is one of those life-tests. Or maybe i'll call Randy Cohen. OR...I'll rationalize it the way I rationalize most things in my life...if it's meant to be, it'll be.

p.s. tomorrow i get my flu shot! yes. i'm excited. i get excited over anything that temporarily quiets my hypochondriacal tendencies. For more on the what-when-how-why of flu shots, see my smart friend Daniel's blog.

i did it.

...I did my little part to change the world. and I did not cry. In fact, this is my "I VOTED FOR BARACK OBAMA" face. p.s. now i'm off to get coffee...

i cannot contain myself.

and so i won't. tomorrow, the world will change. i'm so overwhelmed with emotion today...I really can hardly work. I might cry, but maybe I'll save that for tomorrow. Get excited people...for the last day of Bush, and the first day of Obama.

i was supposed to buy a broom today.

my apt really needs a good sweeping. But instead i lazed the morning away (yay for an extra hour) watching Degrassi. and Skyped about life/love/writing/babies/therapy/ny/london with hannah for a bit. then i went to see this in central park. but the line was too, too long...so I watched some of the ING NYC Marathoners cross the finish line...including a guy who took off his prosthetic legs right before the last 2 or 3 feet..and walked across the line on his hands (in a hand stand, no less. whew. crazy new yorkers).

Oh, but on the way, I stumbled upon a pile of discarded 1980s heels...all in a size 7 and a half. Is it Christmas already? My birthday? But then, I got them home, and tried them on and only one pair fit, and not the pair I liked. And I realized, they're all pretty ugly anyway. So, I think I'll find a more-suitable home for them...(thrift shop?)

it's nanowrimo.

national novel writing month...that's 175 pages, 50,000 words in one month. That's 5.8 pages, 1,666 words per day...and you should have started yesterday!

purr. meow.

Halloween is a big deal in NYC...and just a bit overwhelming. People are everywhere, draped in bloody gore and cleopatra makeup--or sometimes just a loin cloth--and you constantly have to doubletake to figure out if they're in costume or just their every-day freak-o-nature garb. You get my drift. Best costume of the night would have to be the home-made robots--you had to be there. Runners up include Bjork (in swan dress), the bee and the flower (they were a couple..awww), and the American Werewolf in Paris (an almost-perfect likeness).

Me on the other hand...I'm quite boring when it comes to dressing up. Every year I say "I'm gonna do something COOL...and every year, I'm either "a better version of myself" or a cat. so, here I am. ...i'm a cat. meow, purr. of course, i forgot to take pics before the party, and this was taken at about 2am...after a little too much catnip. So, I suppose I'm an alley cat. A forlorn, goth, alley cat. Smudged as it may be, I really think I could get used to the black lipstick... p.s. oooh, i forgot to plug Black Opal eye liner pencil in Licorice. It's seriously black! good stuff, and so much cheaper than that name-brand stuff. go buy it and report back.