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    Dec 4, 2002

    Yesterday was another task mastering day. Among many mundane chores, I managed to pick up a security pass for tonight’s tree lighting ceremony and an oil painting that a partner in my firm gave to me. After dining on meatloaf, I settled in to watch Il Postino, an Italian film from the mid-90s. The movie made its way at an even pace, using outstanding cinematography and the universal language of love rather than Hollywood graphics and formulaic techniques. It wasn’t until the film’s last 20 minutes that I realized what a beautiful story I had just witnessed. My throat clenched so tightly I could barely breathe. Paquita was in a frenzy trying to lick my salty tears.

    So subtle yet so sublime.

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    Burn This

    Burn This featured outstanding performances by Ty Burrell, Dallas Roberts and Peter Sarsgaard and a decent turn by Elisabeth Shue. Knowing that my good friend Jim adores Ms. Shue, I was disappointed that she didn’t blow me away. Marc found her performance to be well done, but the part as she played it wasn’t as compelling as the three men’s roles. In her defense, her character is the central figure and quite complicated. At three hours long (including a fifteen minute intermission), the ending was too far away for a Tuesday night. Also, I think the underlying plot line (men who die of AIDS without their families support…just like Dwayne) got lost in the revival. Overall, I enjoyed it and it was a very well spent $16. Yep, TDF did it again by providing professional theatre on the cheap.

    Oh yeah, and Jake Gyllenhaal was there with his date, Kirsten Dunst. She was dressed very frumpily, so I took that as a sign that she was out on a casual date and didn’t expect to mingle with anyone. Because of this and the late time the play finished, we hightailed it home rather than chat with Jake. I’m sure Jake felt shunned and his ego was completely shattered. Sorry! Happy Thanksgiving!

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    Billionaire Boys Club

    I think I broke through some secret society of billionaire boys last night. My boss invited me to see boxing at his very exclusive athletic club with dinner and drinks beforehand with his long time friends. It was like members of The Firm all gathering for raucous time without the hassle of proper etiquette. Blue suits with striped ties all screaming encouragement to two young boys pummeling the shit out of each other. Not something I’ve seen before.

    After a couple of glasses of wine, I also felt the liberty to tell my boss he was behaving like a two-year-old. In my own warped way, I meant it as a compliment. He didn’t see it my warped way. I tried to explain it as such and revised it by saying he was behaving like an eight-year-old. This did not work. Great. Just in time for my annual review, bonus and the holidays but it’s not like he’s the type to hold anything over you…oh no…not him…not him at all.

  • All Blog Entries,  Comedy,  NYC

    Nov 21, 2002

    Saw my friend Mark Malkoff last night in his show “Ralph”. Ralph was pretty funny and only $5. Instead of Mark being nekkid, he was a teenager whose mother attempted to abort him fourteen times without success. Pretty sketchy humor (ba dum bump), but humor nonetheless.

    Pre-show dinner was in the Village at a popular lesbian hangout called Rubyfruit, a typical Village restaurant with it’s low lighting and cozy eccentricity. The downstairs dining area is very romantic and the service was fantastic. Dinner was scrumptious (I recommend the baked brie as a starter) although there was lots of feta and olives. We live in Greek world and we came down to the Village for feta? Oh yeah, and lots of lesbians playing bingo in the upstairs bar. A few B-13s and O-66s later a “Bingo” was called. The emcee announced, “She’s coming, she’s coming…I hope!” Those wacky women, they sure know how to make a girl blush!

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    Act I – Scene I

    Enter Jack’s office. I’m on my knees crouched on the floor behind his desk. My right arm is moving back and forth quickly and repeatedly. He is sitting in his leather chair moaning under his breath while fiddling with his mouse. Camera scans behind the desk to reveal that I am alternating between scraping and rubbing ice on flourescent blue peppermint gum which is embedded in the carpet that was put there by the sole of his shoe. He is grunting out of frustration because his computer is on the fritz since he knocked it over with his head when he bent down to remove his gum-ridden shoe.

    What did you think I was doing at work all day?

    Here’s the telephone conversation that took place regarding how things were falling apart for him:

    Jack: …And there’s gum on my shoe and on the carpet, I hit my head on my computer, spilled an entire cup of coffee on my desk and now “Michael” is laughing at me.
    Me: Why? Are your pants unzipped?

    Slam! Dial tone.

    Conversation of the Day (Already at this hour?):
    Me: Mr. SoAndSo is on my line and wants to speak with you.
    Jack: Do you mind listening to me be brilliant?

  • All Blog Entries,  Family & Life,  NYC,  Random

    Gospel of Jack 11:12

    Jack: “Do you see the words ‘Charitable Contribution’ after my name? Fu*k no!”

    Isn’t it weird how once your attention is drawn to something, it pops up everywhere? Like when you buy a car that no one seems to own and suddenly everyone and their brother has your exact make and model. Well, my “something” has been Little People.

    Not long ago I was in tears watching a *very touching* documentary on the lives of dwarves. Later it was brought to my attention that there is an apartment building in Manhattan exclusive to little people. I was highly intrigued and envisioned shortened ceilings and narrow hallways like the entryway to John Malkovich’s mind.

    Then I almost stepped on one while exiting the subway at the 49th Street stop. Hey, it’s a busy stop, man, and my peripheral vision was blocked by my monstrously sized bag from Hable Construction. Turns out this wee guy was headed towards Radio City Music Hall to audition for the annual Radio City Christmas Spectacular. I’m guessing he was out for a part as an elf because there were hundreds of other Little People swarming Rockefeller Center all day.

    There was the CSI episode dedicated to the Little People’s convention. I saw one on 50th & Broadway. I see a different one, a woman, in the Concourse nearly every day now. Somebody check the Chinese calendar…it just might be the Year of the Dwarf.

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    Fair Warning!

    I wonder how many years it would be before the average person has had sex on every possible calendar date?

    Don’t you hate it when you’re in the movie theater and someone’s cell phone rings? And doesn’t it suck when there is a baby in the theater crying and babbling and whining the whole time? And isn’t annoying when teenagers talk and giggle through the entire movie? Well, I’m here to tell you that it does. I’m also here to inform you that when all three happen during the same movie, certain people, and I’m not naming names here, have an increased likelihood of gouging Someone’s eyes out and that Someone just might be the cell phone user, the baby and/or any teenager. Fair warning!

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC,  Tex in the City

    Sliding Doors

    Those moments when you “bump” into someone take so many random choices of the universe working in such a way that your path will inevitibly cross with someone else’s. It’s mind boggling really. Yesterday on the way to Serena to settle our party business and plan for next month’s Holiday Bash, I boarded the 1/9 heading downtown.

    One stop later I heard a familiar voice say, “Nuh uh!”
    “Oh my God, Greg Gorman!” I replied disbelievingly.

    It is not so strange to think we could have run into each other. We were, after all, heading towards the same place. However, when looking at all the factors that had to have been “just so” in order for this to happen, it blows me away. I left work at the moment I did in order to board that specific train. Not only did I get on that train, but I entered the same car that Greg did and was in the same section of that car. What are the chances? You would think they were slim to none, but not in New York. Here, it happens ALL the time. Crazy!

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC

    Viva la Agua!

    Part of why I love working in Rockefeller Center is the Channel Gardens and the ice skating rink. Now that the drought in New York is officially over, the fountains for both are flowing once more. I forgot how much they add to the vibe around here—things just weren’t quite the same without them. Viva la Agua!

    Best conversation overheard today:

    Guy #1: Let’s go to lunch.
    Guy #2: Can’t. I’m going to the chiropractor.
    Guy #1: Great! Have them line up your brain with your mouth.

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    Oct 24, 2002

    I had drinks at the Rainbow Room Friday for Leslie’s birthday and let me tell you, I am po’. I felt so schlumpy and ugly in the midst of all that wealth. A cotton blend skirt from Limited sure looks cheap next to all the fine linens and polished silver and tuxedoed waitstaff. The view is breathtaking and my apple martini was $17, but as a Rockefeller Center employee I paid a mere $8.50 which is more appropriate given it’s size and strength.

    Last night I convinced my boss he needed to take us there for drinks. He thought it was a great idea and we had a fun time listening to him being him. He enjoyed himself so much, I think it might be his new regular after work spot. Yeah! I love that place even if I look like the help. I left at 7:00 and passed Harvey Keitel downstairs…he was waiting for his car. Was he on Conan last night? I then headed towards Mischiko Rehearsal Studios to meet up with the cabaret performers and killed some time talking with Greg.

    I brought up the topic of how dooce got fired for things she had written in her blog. I wondered if I’m putting myself at risk. The thing is, I love my boss. I think he’s hysterical and over-the-top and I’ll tell him so all the time. He’s very demanding, but in a good way. I love my job (dooce didn’t). I think (hope) that if he were to ever read my blog, that he wouldn’t mind being referenced since I don’t say anything on here that I have’t said to him already. So, Jack, if you’re reading this, you know I think you’re the best boss ever even if you are crazier than a goat in heat!

    Real Life New York Quote of the Day:
    “If you get paid, you represent them. That’s Jewish Law”

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    The Glass is Half Full

    I’m all for looking on the bright side of things. Like what if your name was Englebert Humperdinck? It’s better than Engledinck Humperbert.

    Early Birthday Gift
    Jack is so generous. Today at lunch he pointed at two very obese men and offered, “Which one of those two guys do you want to see naked? I’ll have it arranged for your birthday.”

    Water Cooler Convo

    I took a trip to the office water cooler and was so excited when I saw a little group chatting away. “Is this the proverbial water cooler conversation I always hear about but never partake in?!? So, did you see who got kicked off Survivor?” Turns out they were talking about the ballet. I need to switch firms. What happened to good old fashioned skirt chasing and gossip and after hours boozing? You know…the good old days!

    Another hysterical episode of Different Strokes. This one had me laughing so hard I wanted to puke! Da Dum Dum!

    181. Bulimia (01/17/86 – #811)
    Arnold suspects that Kimberly has an eating disorder when his slender sister is secretly gorging herself, but not gaining any weight. Arnold seeks Drummond’s help in confronting Kimberly with her problem and the family comes together to help her fight the eating disorder, bulimia.

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    Oct 16, 2002

    Friends had an ugly naked guy that the cast all stared at with inquisitive disgust. I thought, “How absurd!” Then I moved to New York and thought, “Hmm, it could happen.” But I had still been denied the sheer marvel of seeing a nude human in plain sight. That was until Sunday. While working at Greg’s apartment, Scott, Greg & I were distracted by the sounds of a seemingly large group shouting in approximate unison. We made our way out on to the balcony (Yes, Greg has a balcony. Yes, I secretly hate him for it.) and witnessed a large demonstration of Islams marching in protest of the negative protayal of Islams in the media. Allah bless them for it, but it still a bit scary to be an unintentional witness to someone else’s passionate protest.

    Greg’s remark “Nobody ever marches crosstown,” struck me funny for some reason. He also commented on what a stodgy neighborhood his is and that things like this never happen by his place. Hordes of inquisitive neighbors were gaping out of their windows and that’s when we saw him. In all his glory, my first Ugly Naked Guy was standing full monty with legs spread shoulder length. Greg saw him first and pointed him out to me. I stared for a few moments then shrieked, “I’ve got to get my camera!” He moved away before I could snap a pic of him. I would have loved sharing him with the world.

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    Oct 14, 2002

    I was at a bar mitzvah Saturday night at the Lighthouse at Pier 61 in the Chelsea Piers, the same place where Sam Fox, son of Michael J. Fox and Tracy Pollan, had his bar mitzvah. At yesterday’s party, Peter Gallagher, his wife Paula and their son happened to be guests as Peter’s son is friends with the bar mitzvah boy, Scott. Peter found a spot next to me in which to mingle giving me the best view of him fielding off numerous compliments and questions. It was painful to witness. He was so gracious and friendly but hardly had a chance to get a drink or nosh. A part of me felt bad for him–there was no point in which he could let his guard down. He was the only recognizable guest there, so it seemed as though all eyes were drawn to him.

    Mostly, I felt bad for his wife. At one point the DJ instructed, “All you women in da room, git out der and find yo man and git out on dat dance flo!” I could see her on her tippy toes searching for Peter with no luck, then later the two of them meandering to their table but being stopped by a woman introducing herself to Peter, so obviously awestruck at his mere presence. All the while a subtle yet distinct look of frustration on Paula’s face as she’s holding his hand, pulling him towards their table. Her reluctantly sharing him with adoring fans and him stuck in the middle of what he wants to do and what he has to do. They must have been exhausted; they left before the main course.**

    I, however, left after my coach turned into a grey minivan and my coachmen were Marc and two guys nicknamed Bluto and Slinky–so designated for some obvious and some not so obvious physical attributes. I did manage to gain a lovely henna tattoo, a box of Krispy Kremes, a bag of bagels and a beautiful floral centerpiece which I’ve dismantled into seven, yes, seven, different arrangements.

    **It was their second bar mitzvah in one day. First at the Rainbow Room in Midtown then the Chelsea Piers on the LWS. Who can blame them!

  • All Blog Entries,  Family & Life,  NYC,  Tex in the City

    Oct 5, 2002

    On the way to the Tex in the City party last night, I was in a rush and anxious to get to Serena as it was drizzling and humid and I had plenty of pre-party business awaiting my arrival. Umbrella in one hand and cell phone in the other, I was the classic picture of a New York entrepreneur. Then, woosh! Down I went. “SHIT!” I screamed without even thinking. My right hand, still clutching my cell phone, landed in a potted plant filled with damp, fresh soil. It’s what saved me from real disaster. Instantly I hopped up, unfazed, dusted off my phone and resumed talking, “You there? Sorry, just fell. Anyway, I’m on my to Serena…”It wasn’t until I recounted the story later that I thought how ridiculous I must have looked to the dozen or so witnesses to my spill. They all looked quite concerned for my well-being, but I couldn’t be bothered or slowed down in the least. ‘Tis just a flesh wound!Just where was I going in such a hurry? To a party, of course!

    Tequila was free flowing from 6:00-7:00, so the crowd came early. These three party guests (left) live in Austin and were here in NYC for a long weekend. They heard about our party and came to check it out. Excellent! Jason promised me some CDs compiled with all Texas music and even taught me how to two-step. For the record: I’m the world’s worst dancer. Oh, I can shake my groove thang alright, but when it comes to having a partner and moving in step with another human, well, that human had better be wearing some steel-toed boots.

    Prior to my dance with Jason, I had only one two-stepping experience to reference.
    Flashback to 1987 when I was a 15 year old sophomore dating football player and senior, Brad Booth. As my escort to the annual football banquet, Brad gave me the first and only corsage ever which I still possess. Dead, dried, petrified, pressed between two pages of a scrapbook, packed in a box, stuffed in various closets for 15 years, the once pink and pretty thing takes me back.

    Richland High School alumn Gary Morris was the surprise guest banquet speaker. At the time, he was Country Music’s Artist of the Year, was set to star in the Broadway version of Les Miserables and had scores of my teenage classmates drooling at his feet that were decked with the gawdiest high top sneakers. Not that I was a trendy fashionista. Oh no. No, no, no.

    So, to cap the evening off right, the announcer informed us that Gary was to select a *lucky* girl to dance with him to the sounds of his current #1 hit to which everyone present in that Texas banquet hall knew the lyrics except me. While all the older, beautiful, rich cheerleaders held their breath in anticipation of being picked, I was praying, “Please, please, please, not me, not me, not me.”By now, you know who Gary picked. Ah, yes, he chose me. Headbanging, big haired, Ozzy loving me. And I have never two-stepped since.

    (Note the orange streaks in my hair that were painted on with a color stick and Gary’s high tops. Very avant garde. Very chic. Oh, and, umm…yeah that’s my mother’s dress. Lord knows I couldn’t have gotten a new one for my first real high school dance. There’s those wacky mutton sleeves making their zillionth comeback. P.S. This is a photo circa 1987 which is not to be used for press as noted in my August 18th entry. Thank you.)

  • All Blog Entries,  Anipals,  Family & Life,  NYC,  Tex in the City

    Oct 4, 2002

    The dog is wimpering while she’s playing fetch! I kid you not. Things are falling apart. I’ve been coming home late from my day job and working till past midnight every night on who knows what. Time really does fly on this computer thingy.

    Tex in the City’s 6th party is tomorrow night and it’s the second time we’ve gotten a tequila sponsor. This time, though, it’s a Friday and the sponsor is interested in future ventures. So, let’s hope it is a smashing success. I also sold my first ad for our cabaret program. You too can advertise with Tex in the City. Just drop me an email. For a few bucks, you can get website exposure, an ad in the program and inclusion in a few emails that are sent to a database that is over 1,000 strong and growing. Yee Haw!

    Okay, enough of the sales pitch crapola. That’s all that has been running through this head of mine lately. I panicked yesterday realizing that I am supposed to know about marketing because of the parties I’ve hosted in the Caribbean for Jose Cuervo and my promotional work with Stoli, Winston, Camel, Pepsi and Lipton, blah, blah, oy vey! I do know about crowd pleasing and hosting parties and trademarks and logos and brand imaging and target marketing. I’m great at that. But I panicked nonetheless. With a cabaret production premiering in a month and rough-cut press releases staring back at me, I rushed to Barnes and Noble. Dumb. Rudy Giuliani was there so it was a mob scene, so I grabbed the first book I saw. It was a piece of crap. So, I go back today to return it and Sarah Jessica Parker and Cynthia Nixon were there so it was a mob scene. So, I’m going back tomorrow when Christy Turlington is scheduled to be there and there won’t be a mob scene. What’s with all these damn book signings? Christmas isn’t till December people!

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    Gospel of Jack 9:25

    So Jack wants a dog. A male golden retriever to be exact. I corresponded with his breeder of choice and informed him of same with my humble opinion that he get a female. His response, “I’m not sure on a dog to begin with, but if I get one it will be male ’cause I hate bitches.” Well said.

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    Sep 24, 2002

    Conversation with my boss while heading to lunch at the Brooklyn Diner.
    Me: “Mmmm, I’m gonna get a Mr. Softee for dessert.”
    Jeff: “You already have one at home. His name’s Marc.”

    Extra bonus, we got to sit in “his” booth. For those not familiar with the Diner, their practice is to put brass name plates of their best (mainly famous) customers. Here’s his:

    Trekking back to the office, I was sorely disappointed that Mr. Softee was on the fritz. “You’re killing me!” I screamed before sulking back to the office to face the rest of my day. Then Super Model called. Nothing like chatting with a super skinny gazillionaire to make you not regret having processed chemicals and lard for dessert. If only she called me during every meal.

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    Sep 23, 2002

    Fantastic seats to a Rangers v. Flyers game at Madison Square Garden, a great fight, an exciting finish, beer, nachos and extra jalepenos. What could be better? Oh yeah, the $130 ticket was free! Thanks, Jack! I take back all the bad things I said about you. I look forward to many years of dutiful service in your command.

    Between periods, the “Junior Rangers” entertained the crowd by zipping around and falling down a lot. These boys are so small, I’m surprised any parent would let their youngster play such a rough contact sport. There’s no way I would unless I invested in a very lucrative accidental death policy. “Well, Johnny, I don’t know where your helmet is. Oh, you don’t need one you little wuss, get out there and fight to win! Win dammit, win!” I could wear a team jersey and too-tight jeans, and scream profanities from the bleachers and taunt the other mothers. This hockey mom thing could be fun!!!

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    Arctic Chill? Global Warming?

    To anyone traveling to Manhattan from Queens via the N Train, this post is for you. When facing the front of the train, look out the window on your right just before you round the corner approaching the Queensboro Plaza stop. If you do, you will see in a virtually empty lot of grey gravel, a penguin. Yes, a penguin. It’s about four feet high and I suspect it is made of wood. If anyone else has seen this anomaly, please let me know. Otherwise, I fear I may be hallucinating.

    Gawd, I’m going to stab my ears with a Q-tip!
    Marc called during one of those ridiculously loud personal phone conversations I’m forced to suffer through.
    Me: You hear her?
    Marc: Yeah.
    Me: Isn’t that ridiculous?
    Marc: Yeah. Okay I’m gonna go.
    Me: No. Let’s listen to her conversation.
    Marc: I don’t want to.
    Me: Neither do I.
    Marc: You’re getting paid!
    Me: Bye.

    Blog Obsession
    I am reading an inordinate amount of blogs these days. It is so easy to get sucked into the vortex of someone else’s life. My favorites will be listed under “Links” found on the left side of this page. The latest addiction…uh, I mean addition…is “A Girl Named Bob”. It seems everyone and their brother links to her page, so why shouldn’t I? The fact is, she’s a great read. The best part is she lives in my neighborhood (Astoria), so many of her exploits involve locales within a short walk from my apartment.

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    Sep 12, 2002

    Two favorite things said to me today:

    (1) Me: “So you have people who agree with you.” Him: “They’re called Disciples, honey.”
    (2) I peed green once.

    Well, just like last year, we ended up NOT going to the Peninsula. Instead we had cocktails at The Oak Bar in the Plaza Hotel. Two round of drinks, $120; time spent with friends, priceless. Okay, so the drinks are a wee bit overpriced. Yikes! But, it is the Plaahhza after all.

    After drinks, I decided it would be best to watch a light-hearted movie rather than sit in front of the television watching depressing images. So I met Marc at the Ziegfeld Theater where we watched “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”. The Ziegfeld is a great place to see a movie. It is a massive theater decorated in art deco styling, accented in plush red velvet and amazing crystal chandeliers. The curtains are drawn over the single screen as the lights are dimmed adding to the theatrical experience that can never be matched in any giant, modern multiplex. We laughed our faces off and tried not to feel sad for at least 2 hours before heading home to our little baby Paquita Borgito Borgato Chorizo Jimenez. She makes me laugh in her innocence and simplicity. Her main worry is the location of her “buried” pig ear and her one true love is a blue squeaky ball. She’s got it good.

    Favorite thing Marc said during “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”: “So, do you think they’re gonna get married?”

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    Sep 11, 2002

    On a day of mourning and rememberance of those lost in the attacks one year ago today, I am on edge. The last few days I have had moments of deep, aching sorrow and also moments of panic and fear. I nearly broke down at the Starbucks counter yesterday just because they were giving away free red, white & blue ribbons. My throat clenched, my pulse raced and I couldn’t breath. I just had to get out of there. Fast. I just want today to be uneventful and for nothing unexpected to happen.

    So needless to say my brush with death that came just a few minutes ago was NOT welcome. I’m walking back to my office from getting a bagel at Scott’s. The path takes me by the Today Show taping where I walked alongside the building which houses Dean & Deluca. That’s when I hear a bunch of shouting, “Hey, hey, hey woah!!!” Then BAM! A huge chunk of bent metal lands about two feet from me and four other people. They all stopped and looked up to the sky to see from where this metal originated. Not me. I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast except for the one time when my friend almost stepped on the head of a rattlesnake and I ran to get help as she stood frozen in her tracks. I darted out of there like a supersonic car! Once I crossed the street, I gazed up at the building which looked the same as it ever did. No construction workers or window washers to be seen. It’s very windy today, so I’m assuming the metal came from the rooftop. I don’t know. I’m taking it as a sign to count my blessings.

    Noon
    At noon my office observed two minutes of silence. Just like the falling metal, BAM, it was there–the raw emotion. In the silence, I wept and hoped that somehow we’ll rise above the hatred and find ourselves on the other side where peace does reign. Honestly, I don’t know what I can do to truly honor those lost and the sacrifices their families have unwittingly made. Two minutes of silence certainly doesn’t seem enough, it did, however, make me put the victims and their families in the forefront of my thoughts. It was then that I realized I have not dealt with the very real emotions I have from that day. I didn’t want to have an “oh woe is me” attitude because no one close to me was killed or seriously injured, I don’t live with the horror of having been in the Towers, and I made it home safely that day. The attention belongs to those who didn’t make it home, their families and the survivors. So, I have been purposely pushing the events further and further out of my mind, intentionally avoiding news reports and images in order to evade the feelings. At what point will I face them? I don’t know that I ever truly will.

    Shopping list: Kleenex for desk. A single napkin from Emerald Planet does not make good tissue paper.

    Late Afternoon
    Lunch time I wandered around with no appetite. I got to the doors of the “Faces of Ground Zero” free exhibit that has transformed Rockefeller Center into an outdoor museum. I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. It will be here until the 23rd, so I think I will go next week. Instead, I sat in my usual spot facing 5th Avenue and watched a caravan of police cars and secret service vehicles zoom past. Too early to be President Bush, so I’m curious as to who it was deserving of such protection. Bloomberg?

    My boss came back from lunch with news that debris from the AOL Time Warner Building blew into the Trump Tower and hit and seriously injured someone. So this wind is fierce today. After work, the four of us (me, Mitch, Rich & Jeff) will trek to the Peninsula Hotel where one year ago today we all walked together in hopes of I don’t know what. The Peninsula was closed that afternoon, of course, so we parted and took our separate ways home. It took me around 3 or 4 hours for such a short walk in a black suit and high heels. I’ll never forget the lonely vulnerable feeling I had, planes flying above, knowing that I would have no where to run if a plane were to hit the bridge I was crossing so slowly. Today, I brought a change of shoes in case I have to walk home again. I hope I don’t need them.

  • All Blog Entries,  Family & Life,  NYC

    Sep 9, 2002

    “Biff” is a model citizen. He loves his wife and his job. He has two lovely daughters whom he sent to an elite NY private school. Biff is the ideal husband and father. He really is. Really. He also happens to be an avid speaker phone user and deals, on a regular basis, with supermodels. Personally, if I were rich and famous paying for Biff’s very expensive time I would insist on being taken OFF speaker phone, but hey, that’s just me and I sho ain’t R&F. Biff is all business when talking with these ladies. He is a straight-talker, a bit long-winded, but tells it like it is. No B.S.

    Biff, as straight and narrow as one can be, transforms when he talks to others about these models. Biff warps into a giddy school boy; his excitement barely contained as he makes sure to mention that there are nude photos of these models available online. Desire and delight drips from his every pore and it’s entirely beyond his control.

    What I have learned: I should invest large sums of money in any company that produces testosterone based drugs, for testosterone is potent.

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC,  Writing

    Sep 7, 2002

    Bloggers are having a party. We can all meet in person. Hmmm…not sure I’m into that. Especially after yesterday’s post. I’ve often wondered if I would recognize someone on the NYC streets as a fellow blogger and if I would approach them. It’s not as though they’re R.M. They’re just like me.

    Parallel thought: Together, Marc and I have worked with, partied with, chatted with or been in the same room with countless numbers of “celebrities” some big, some small, on the rise or on the fall. Rarely is there any true diva-type behavior. But gossip columns and websites thrive on the hopes that they’ll catch one of them on a terrifically bad day. More and more websites offer up message boards where users can submit their very own “celebrity encounter” story which increases the possibility of garnering some good dish. The thing is, celebrities are similar to my girl blogger (“GB”). We humans can create an idea of what we think a person might be like based on the media to which we are exposed. GB puts out a few months’ worth of entries and suddenly I think I know her. A bubble that is surely capable of bursting. So when Super Star is cranky and late for a meeting, Joe Schmoe is gonna be let down that Super Star didn’t have time for an autograph. Such is life.

    Imagine the disappointment when Bloggers meet each other and discover that none of us are what we had hoped. We all suck in some fashion. Some just do it better than others.

  • All Blog Entries,  Books & Publishing,  NYC

    Sep 6, 2002

    So I’m having a very enjoyable after-work dinner at Martini’s and things start getting a bit noisy. Turns out the NFL is having a tailgating celebration right around the corner–literally. Jon Bon Jovi was interrupting my conversation! When I first arrived to dine, it was not busy. That was not the case when I left…what a zoo! You could slice the energy it was so thick. Not a bad alternative to my 1st choice: The Rink Bar & Cafe. Seems the Rink was closed for a private function—the new season of HBO’s “The Soprano’s” was aired at Radio City Music Hall and the after party was held there. Guess I wasn’t invited. Hmmph!

    Today’s overheard phone call was the scheduling of a mammography and sonogram. This was conducted at volume 10 while I’m busy trying to arrange for an urgent purchase and delivery of “Above Hallowed Ground” for the new Police Museum exhibit “Stronger Than Ever”. My rep at Penguin Putnam actually heard it too. That gave us a weird pause.Words of wisdom from today’s train conductor: “Don’t go stickin’ your feet in the doors thinkin’ they’ll automatically open. If you’re the only one on the platform, it means you’re late!” Everyone had a chuckle at hearing that one.

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    Kvetching

    Shoes that make flip flop sounds should be banned from the office. Flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop flip flop. All day long. It’s water torture 21st Century style. I’m going to start confessing things that aren’t even true. “YES! It was me who finished the coffee and didn’t start a new batch! It was me! Now make it stop…pleeeeeeezzzzzze!”

    Can I just say for the record: I HATE SPEAKER PHONES! Am I yelling? Why, of course, because that’s what you do with speaker phones, you yell…everybody yells!Discretion must be a thing of the past; like the days of mutton sleeves and ascots. Seriously. Actual telephone conversations on speaker or otherwise that I shouldn’t have heard, but did:

    * I’m spotting and in the early stages of menopause…yes, I did and that medicine gave me diarrhea which is worse than the other medicine which made me constipated.
    * You say it’s not unusual for you to touch and hug your employees? Right. And you have touched and hugged *so-and-so* on numerous occasions without complaint? On these occasions was it usually with or without porn visible on your computer screen?
    * You effing *&%#@ you can’t do this to me! I am divorcing you, so you are no longer allowed to use my country club account! Sadly, I do not lie.

  • All Blog Entries,  Family & Life,  Food & Drink,  NYC

    Aug 28, 2002

    In the hopes that it is true that what comes around goes around, I returned the favor bestowed unto me as reported in my August 13, 2002 post. I moved from my usual lunchtime seat due to two MTV reporters –like omigod, they are SO young!– needing my coveted space in the Channel Gardens of Rockefeller Center. I then parked myself on the bench facing Fifth Avenue and Saks–an excellent spot for people watching. On an average day, one can spot someone of note amidst the tourists and fabulous New Yorkers. My most recent sightings have been Michael Richards looking extremely dazed and confused and Stone Phillips ever-so-politely rebuffing a female fan. Today, however, I saw a woman get crapped on by a pigeon. Her instant and involuntary reaction was to put her hand on her head and touch whatever had just landed there. Not a good idea. She stopped in her tracks and let out a small scream which caused her male companion some obvious angst. The pair stood there frozen in their tracks unable to think of exactly the best way to handle this. They had nothing with them to clean her hand and were looking for a place to go in the very, very well-trafficked area. In that instant, I dipped into my purse and whipped out a trusty Lever 2000 anti-bacterial and moisturizing wipe for her use and volunteered this note, “You may think it’s just pigeon sh*t, but that’s good luck!” I hope for her sake it’s true.

    I went to Cilantro for dinner the other night. Fabulous mussels (the sauce was out of this world) and salsa and plantains and, oh my, just everything was dee-lish. What I liked most was the corn that came with Heidi’s dish. It had been cut directly off the cob so that some kernels were still attached in perfect little rows. It reminded me of childhood summertimes when I stayed with my mom’s parents in Tulsa and my grandpa would take his knife and shave my cob for me. So deft and quick he was. I would stare intently as though he were performing delicate vegetable surgery. His corn always tasted better and always will.

    I sure picked a stewpid time to change servers.
    After much frustration, all seems to be in order. I’m still not pleased with the blog page colors and such, but—now brace yourselves, as this might come as a shock to some of you—everything can’t be perfect. ACK! I know, I know…you’re saying, “But you’re perfect, Kambri.” Alas, I am not. Don’t be upset over this news, I don’t want you to get all addicted to Xanex over this, but it is true. I am not perfect either. There. Said. Done! Now let’s get on with our lives.

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC,  Tex in the City

    Aug 23, 2002

    On Tuesday while I was busy writing about a 1963 musical, Greg was busy meeting Harriet Harris. She is an excellent actress who happens to be from Texas and seemed interested to learn about Tex in the City. Further, she was pleased to learn that she was even listed on our company’s website. These Texans are everywhere and we have great potential. I just wish we had capital in the form of millions that could set this fast rolling ball down the path of success.Why can’t I be one of those women who marry for money? Why did my parents have to be so poor that they could only give me morals and Chic jeans instead of a sense of entitlement and Gloria Vanderbelts like I wanted? Who wants stupid morals anyway?! Wisecraking earlier today, I threatened to marry a frail and decrepit billionaire a la Anna Nicole Smith but would do it better because I wouldn’t splurge my fortune on painkillers and tacky dresses. Maybe Anna’s not such a dumb bunny after all…..Naaahhh!

    Girl #1’s side of the conversation to Girl #2: “I don’t want to be greedy and take the whole kit and caboodle. I’ll settle for just the kit or maybe even the caboodle. Hell, I’m sure I’d be fine with just the caboo. Oh, forget it. Just never mind. I don’t want it. You take it. No, really, I’ll be fine. Are you sure? Really? Gee, thanks!!!!”
    Girl #1 seen scampering away with the whole kit and caboodle.

    Girl #2 mumbles to herself: “Selfish b*tch.”

    What is the lesson of today’s story?

  • All Blog Entries,  Family & Life,  NYC

    Aug 20, 2002

    Watching a free outdoor screening of “Bye, Bye Birdie” at the lovely Bryant Park, I couldn’t help but compare our pre-movie game of Uno to the battles George Washington and his troops once fought there against the Brits in 1776. The scheming and plotting, the small victories and defeats along the way surely rivaled those of our forefathers. The park was also once a potter’s field but now it is the NY Library’s books that reside six feet under….hmmm…what happened to those dead paupers’ corpses? Anyway, back to George and his men. Because of them, strangers and friends in the thousands gathered freely and peacefully to watch a giant sized Jesse Pearson bump and grind in an embarrassingly revealing gold lame’ jumpsuit. Surely Jesse fired his agent after that fiasco. Egads!

    Job Security
    If I were hunched over my desk babbling incoherently and drooling on myself I would either be fired for drug use or sued for sexual harassment depending on your sight lines and how you look at it. Either way, I’d be out of a job. Lucky for him, there is no provision in Church law to remove a Pope who works this way. I need a new career! And while I’m thinking of it, how ’bout one of those bullet-proof-glass-mobiles? Those are pretty nifty.

  • All Blog Entries,  Family & Life,  NYC

    Aug 18, 2002

    If I were to have a new career, one of my top choices would be medical detective. Words like Luminol, medicocriminal entomology, secretions, blood spatter pattern and tissue sampling really set my heart racing. Many hours have been logged watching forensic science programs and TiVo has learned my predilection for anything to do with homicide. In fact, count me out during August 26th through September 1st when Court TV hosts forensics week! Break out the Cheese Wiz, cuz it’s a Par-tay!

    What I find most disturbing about these shows is not the crime scene or autopsy pictures, but rather the photos of the victims when they were alive and well. Who says that when you’ve died a media-worthy death that you can’t have a decent press release photo? For instance, when Jennifer Stahl was killed in her apartment above the Carnegie Deli, the media ran a grainy snapshot of her with her eyes squinting, cheeks sunken and lips puckered into an “O” as she inhaled a joint. This is the same woman who performed on Broadway and was in Dirty Dancing and that’s the photo they run? Surely she has a headshot or a video clip of her dancing or at least a family member willing to preserve some shred of dignity for this woman.

    I’m going to put together an “in case of emergency, submit this to the press” package to derail the possibility that any photo circa 1987-1989 be used–except of course in the event I’m featured on an episode of “Before They Were Stars.” With hair as tall as an average dwarf and makeup you’d need a chisel to remove, I can only hope that someone would step in on my behalf and say, “Hey, she was young and it was the Eighties!”

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    Aug 16, 2002

    Females: One sure way to guarantee that you won’t get a seat on the subway–don’t shave.

    It never fails, on the rare occasion that I show stubble, I’m forced to be a straphanger and let the fuzzy wuzzy pits show. My ankles are a different issue. It does not matter how careful or slow I am or speedy and reckless I am, there is always the random, errant patch of hair around one or both of my ankles. I’m beginning to wonder if the hair down there grows at such a rapid pace that I’ll never keep up with its growth rate. Perhaps those few square inches were exposed to a strain of hexavalent chromium. Or maybe in small clusters, the hairs are uniting in some secret revolution. Soon they’ll be shouting, “Hell no, we won’t go! Hell no, we won’t go!” Damned unions!

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    Aug 14, 2002

    I love it when the train comes round the bend just as my feet touch the platform. Timing, as they say, is everything. Well, I’ve been on a lucky streak with my commute, having had impeccable timing over and over again. It has been so hot outside and after a brisk 7 minute walk in the oppresive heat, it is such a relief to know air conditioning is only seconds away. The next best thing is finding a seat because I like to write in my journal during my travels. I’ve been pretty lucky with that, too.

    This morning proved no different. I climbed the last stair just as the train was coming to a screeeeeeeching halt and quickly found the only available spot next to this young, tough-looking kid with headphones blaring some Eminem. Problem. There was a small pool of water right in the center of my seat. Bummer. Not having napkins or tissues of any kind for the first time in months, I was resigned to sitting precariously on the edge with my journal balanced on my lap. That’s when this stranger, now seatmate, stepped in on my behalf. Without saying a word, he fished around in his bag for at least a minute until he pulled out a crumpled old Dunkin Donuts napkin and wiped my seat dry and clean for me. Now THAT is what I call cool.

  • All Blog Entries,  Anipals,  NYC

    Aug 11, 2002

    Shopping in SoHo and the East Village and strolling through Tompkins Square Park yesterday, I had an “only in New York” kind of day. Tompkins Square is home to the first and one of the best dog runs in the City. It also has the added bonus of having a separate dog run for dogs under 20 pounds for which Paquita qualifies. There we saw the ho-hum average gathering of Hari Krishnas *booo-rrriiiing* and the rantings of a yet another homeless schizophrenic *yawn*. Also on view is the Public Art Fund’s installation of a large fiberglass sculpture of a dog straddling a puddle of water in which people toss change hoping that this time their wish really will come true. When making wishes, one should make sure it’s in conjunction with faux dog urine. Two bums were trying to convince the young man standing guard over the sculpture that they had accidentally dropped their change in the water. Clever–dem bums is always thinkin’. Then there was the gathering of five adult “goth” girls practicing their baton twirling. To quote Beevis & Butthead, “Uuhh-okay.”

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    Big Brother

    In this City of 8 million, it is virtually impossible not to be a voyeur. With apartments built merely feet apart, views often consist of alleyways and other apartments. When I first moved to New York, I was a bit paranoid while walking around the living room thinking I was being watched at all times. It’s a real life giant episode of Big Brother. Greg has a view of Goldie Hawn & Kurt Russell’s penthouse. Sheila’s rooftop garden peers directly into David Bowie & Iman’s deluxe apartment in the sky to reveal an amazing art collection and very expensive track lighting. I, however, have a view of Asian porn among other things. I realize that window treatments are expensive. As a renter, I have a hard time parting with my money to buy drapes and blinds for windows that I don’t own — windows are rarely the same when one moves. The young man directly across from my bedroom apparently feels the same way. Being ever resourceful, he has adhered his favorite collection of nude Asian women to his window panes. Now why didn’t I think of that?!?!

    A couple of years into my stay here, I have become fixated on the activities of my neighbors. There is…

    — The older Asian woman who uses a squeaky laundry line to hang her damp clothes (mainly t-shirts) to dry high above the alley.
    — The young hip couple who sit for hours at their table in a bare kitchen smoking and drinking coffee.
    — The large white man who showers with a shower cap (?$%&#*!) and uses a loofah religiously.
    — The young couple who used to watch adult movies but now watch strictly cartoons and sports since the addition of a baby.
    — The three generations of Indians living in a one bedroom apartment. Side note: Apparently at a certain age, Indian women are allowed to shed virtually ALL garb. Eeeww.

    So it seems that unlike shows with poor Nielsen Ratings, New Yorkers go about their business regardless of the number of viewers.

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC,  Tex in the City

    Aug 8, 2002

    Last night at the fifth successful Tex in the City party, I spoke to a recently converted New Yorker from Houston, Texas. We were having a very lively discussion about Dick Cheney and Haliburton, which segued into Enron. He said, “Enron did a Trade Center, pppfffffttt collapsed, gone.” This clever little ditty even included a hand gesture. In the same vein that “going postal” is used to describe crazy behavior, will “Trade Center” come to mean the end of something? Is an onslaught of tacky jokes soon to follow? Ohhh, I shudder at the thought.

    Tattoos. Now what, just what I ask, would possess someone to get a tattoo on their bicep of a kama sutra position? Yes, this monstrosity of a choice was spotted by yours truly on the train the other day. Egads! The horror! Three questions sprang to mind:

    (1) Why a sexual position on your arm for all the world to see?
    (2) What do you do when visiting grandmama a hot summer day?
    (3) When was the last time you attempted that position let alone accomplished it?

    Regarding item #3, this man has never pulled off this act. Ever. Impossible. His stomach protruded like he had just swallowed Pluto. There is no way he could persuade a woman to do this with him let alone maneuever her into this tricky position. If he could…well, now that I would pay money to see!

  • All Blog Entries,  Family & Life,  NYC

    Aug 5, 2002

    Speaking of freak shows, did anyone catch the Anna Nicole Show on E! last night? Woah!

    After leaving Coney Island, I was feeling pretty good about my rank in society. Compared to the average Boardwalk stroller, I am in decent physical shape, successful, well-spoken, intellegent and courteous.

    After watching the escapades of Anna, I’m not so sure these qualities make a difference as far as gaining riches is concerned. She was very obviously on some sort of drug during much of the episode. Humping inanimate objects, talking to her “breasts”, seducing the camera she called “Big Boy” and climbing into empty tubs were just a few of the ridiculous goings-on in the life of the former Guess? model. You know E! has a smash hit when they advertise the show like this: “It’s not meant to be funny, it just is” and “Entertainment, yes…educational, no.”

    I was gaping with lips curled and mouth open in pure disgust as I added it to my TiVo Season Pass. God bless America.

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC

    Aug 4, 2002

    Coney Island is synonymous with freak show. They could just charge admission as soon as you step out of the subway car because that’s when the entertainment really begins. Step right up for an abundance of anomolies to delight and amaze the curious! I was repulsed and mesmerized simultaneously at the glimpses of open wounds, piercings gone wrong, exposed gluttonous flesh, dental nightmares and bad genes reproduced at alarming rates. I winced, flinched, shivered, and shuddered; I was petrified and horrified and I never even made it to the Circus Sideshow. It seemed redundant.

    Walking home from the subway yesterday with Marc and Adam, I passed a raw chicken leg on the sidewalk. A fat, pink meaty portion melting to the concrete. I didn’t have the heart to tell him what had happened to the wing not so long ago.

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    Aug 2, 2002

    Remember my June 26th post about the whole breast-feeding movement? Well, I’m not sure what to make of this. What in the Sam Hill is all the fuss? Books, organizations, world records…I’m apparently oblivious to a key demographic in this country!

    Wednesday night I got another *free* Broadway ticket. I love it! This time it was to see the new cast of “Noises Off” with Jane Curtin and free because they needed a packed house on reviewer night. I just saw this show a few months ago when it first opened with Peter Gallagher and Patti LuPone. I’ve also seen two amateur versions of it and was also the character “Brooke Ashton/Vicki” in Ohio. Needless to say, I know this play too well–backwards & forwards, inside & out; so I found the cuts and rewrites to be a bit annoying. Most were minor and inconsequential (so why do them?), but some of them really fell flat. Ms. Curtain was great as was most of the cast, so I have to believe these changes were the cause of some dud bits rather than the talents of the actors. I wonder if the reviewers know the script well enough that they’ll comment on this. We shall see.

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC,  Random

    Jul 30, 2002

    Extreme weather conditions have a way of uniting New Yorkers. There’s nothing like thunder, lightening and raindrops the size of Jupiter to make you just laugh and say “You got me!” There’s no sense in pretending you’re a cool urban dweller when you’re busy trying to outrun a pending storm, dodging puddles and hoping a speeding taxi doesn’t splash you with infested street water.

    Today it was the heat, extreme humidity and the smells that could penetrate Ft. Knox. We unlucky travelers on the N Train found ourselves without A/C in at least three consecutive cars in both directions. Finally surrendering to the circumstances, we all became allies. Moaning, grunting, complaining, joking, even laughing as equals.

    Just look into everybody’s eyes and there’s a sense of camaraderie; a mutual understanding that says: “I feel your pain. Now get outta my way!”

  • All Blog Entries,  Anipals,  NYC

    Jul 29, 2002

    Ooooooh weeeeee! It’s hotter’n a goat’s butt in a pepper patch! It’s Cah-Razy H*O*T! Some wild animal encounters had me thinking the heat has gone to their brains. First, a wee tiny little mouse barely inching along the sidewalk. I turned back and approached it to see if it would scurry along. It didn’t. Bless his heart–I’m sure he’s dead. Second, a cute-as-a-mouse **oops** a cute-as-a-baby’s-bottom Maltese wandering along 33rd Street with his leash trailing behind him. He looked absolutely confused. Why? Well, I had just passed his master walking two pooches identical to this one.

    How this man didn’t realize he’d left one of his pack behind just baffles me. Two young men carrying their laundry loads witnessed the abandonment. I grabbed the leash and hooked it on to a metal post so the little fella wouldn’t wander into the nearby intersection his owner had just crossed. One guy went after the dog walker while the other stood guard over the dumbfounded doggie. That’s when the dog got upset. Imagine yourself hooked to a fence, your master getting further and further away and a strange man with a giant load of clothes staring back at you. I bet you’d howl and scream like this little guy did. Poor baby.

    Third, a fat black cat pouncing on top of an awning one story off the ground. Hmmm…okay…just where does he think he’s going? I hear very strange pigeon noises coming from above the awning. Not the typical coos. Ah, the cat senses easy prey, but there’s no where for the cat to go. Or, so I thought. In a flash, this cat managed to climb a fire escape ladder and the wall and was out of sight in no time. That pigeon didn’t stand a chance–Spiderman lives.

  • All Blog Entries,  Books & Publishing,  Family & Life,  NYC

    Jul 26, 2002

    Look for a six page spread about that book I mentioned back on July 13th in the upcoming September issue of Vanity Fair which hits stands August 6th. Why it’s not the August issue is beyond me. Pretty soon we’ll be getting July issues in April. How annoying. By the time my horoscope is valid, I’ve tossed the issue in the trash. Just how do those publishers think I am going to function in life without my star chart to guide and shape me? Hmmpph! I guess I’ll have to turn to fortune cookies. At least those are edible.

    Last night my boss attended the NYC premiere of Austin Powers in Goldmember. Sadly he had no good dish to share this morning. I’m sorely disappointed. After all, Verne Troyer (“Mini-Me” and noted in my June 14th entry) is Marc’s spokesperson for MicroPets. If I had gone in his place, I’m certain I could have had some MicroTales at the very least.

  • All Blog Entries,  Family & Life,  NYC

    Jul 23, 2002

    I don’t think I have an excessive amount of pet peeves, but the ones I do have seem to center around bathroom etiquette. Particularly my office bathroom. It’s becoming a fixation of mine. I’ve considered posting a sign, writing to the Managing Partner, handing out fliers…something to stop the horror I deal with each time I pay a visit to the Ladies Room and I use the term “Ladies” loosely. In no particular order, here are my peeves:

    (1) Urine on the seats. Now, ladies we are not male felines spraying our territory and marking boundaries. The idea is to urinate in the toilet. That’s IN the toilet.
    (2) Unflushed toilets. Trust me, no one–I repeat: NO ONE wants to see what you’ve expelled. I don’t care if we are in a drought, flush twice if it didn’t work the first time.
    (3) Using the stall adjacent to mine when there are other options. My office bathroom is small. Tiny actually. It seems the stalls were built when women didn’t grow taller than 5’4″ and if she did, she was in a sideshow living in rusted mobile home with Jo Jo the Dog Faced Boy. There are only three stalls. When someone is in one of the end stalls, why not allow that someone a little extra space by going to the other end stall. Don’t pop a squat next door. Please, I’m begging you!

    What a whirlwind week! Wednesday was The Full Monty; Thursday was Love, Janis; Saturday was Endpapers; and Sunday was a matinee of I’m Not Rappaport. All of them were fantastic with my favorite being The Full Monty–and since I work on the same street, it will be very easy to stalk the guys who star and get *ahem* nekkid. The best part is that I saw all four shows for a grand total of $88! Strike that. The best part was that I saw them with some of my best friends who also happen to love theater.

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    Jul 12, 2002

    I am surely being punished for enjoying myself and relaxing so much in the Caribbean. I have returned to my usual state of stress accompanied with itchy eyes, congestion, a perpetual tickle of a sneeze that sometimes comes and sometimes just teases and lingers long enough to make me squint, get teary and have an absurd look on my face. I am the homo sapien female species version of Rudolph.

    Can any one tell me if this can be attributed to the haze that blanketed NYC from the Quebec wildfires?

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC,  Random

    Jul 12, 2002

    This morning while walking to the subway, I passed a chicken bone on the sidewalk. A tiny little portion of a wing with no meat left to speak of sitting all alone on the concrete baking in the sun. How sad.

  • All Blog Entries,  Family & Life,  NYC,  Random

    Jul 10, 2002

    Some sights and sounds and such upon my return from the Cuervo Nation:

    Furniture being moved in the apartment above me as I drifted off to sleep late last night; the smell of curry mixed with the aroma of stale urine and body odor wafting through the hallway as I left for work this morning; the beads of sweat that formed on my upper lip before I had even left my building lobby; melted gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe adhering me to the pavement with every other step; the sound of donated change clinking in a coffee cup, while the owner blindly stumbled on the train silently demanding more funds; the flattened giant corpse of a cockroach stuck to the gum that is stuck to my shoe; and, finally, my desk, cluttered and demanding my attention.

    Ah, there’s no place like home!

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    July 2, 2002

    In cartoons, there is the standard gag whereby a dog, for example, envisions that a rabbit, for example, is not a rabbit, but rather a steaming hot piece of meat with an aroma so tempting it causes unconditional relfexive salivation. Today, I am the rabbit and every man I pass is the dog. New York City is some wild Pavlovian experiment gone awry. It is hot, I am showing skin, and the men have been conditioned to pant and howl. I wonder if I am more often a deep fried leg or breast. Hmmm….I wonder.

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    June 30, 2002

    What is with the word “egads”? Dictionary.com defines it as a mild exclamation. I ask, is there room in this world for a mild exclamation? After all, one is exclaming and Dictionary.com goes on to define an exclamation as “a loud calling or crying out; outcry; loud or emphatic utterance; vehement vociferation; clamor…” So, to be mild, must it be said at normal decibals or without much emotion? Then why exclaim at all? Could this oxymoron of a definition be the reason for its practical extinction from modern language? I’m going to start using it…shouting it even. The shock of it all! Perhaps I could cause a rebirth of egads and redefine its meaning entirely. After all, bell bottoms made a comeback. This proves anything is possible.

    I may not be good at much, but I’m great at two things: star and vermin spotting. Could it be that it’s because STAR spelled backward is RATS? I wonder if I was a bird of prey in a former life. Today’s sightings included Bono on 61st between Park & Madison, Anne Heche on 5th Avenue & 60th Street with her baby boy, and a dead mouse on 55th & Broadway. Oh, what does tomorrow bring?

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    June 28, 2002

    My friends and I partied like rock stars till the wee, wee, wee hours of this morning with a certain b-as-in-boy-illionaire who shall remain nameless. His best quote of the night / morning: “Kambri, when you live in my world, you can do anything you want.” Indeed, in his world, you can.

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC,  Tex in the City

    June 17, 2002

    After what I considered to be a pretty manic Monday, I headed towards my business partner and high school friend Greg’s apartment. I had only walked a block when I spotted none other than Trey Anastasio carrying a Banana Republic bag of all things. Trey and I are leading parallel lives. I know what was NOT in that bag — a sleeveless silk, off-white, cowl-necked sweater! He was walking the exact same direction as me (northwest) and I followed close behind him as we passed the premiere screening of Minority Report at the Ziegfeld Theater. It was a bit too early to see Tom Cruise or Steven Spielberg walking the red carpet, but the fans and press were ready and waiting. I was in a bit of a hurry, so I sped up the pace and passed Trey. In doing so, I told him to have a great show tomorrow. He smiled broadly, said his thanks and we parted company. I’m certain I’ll see him again in the very near future. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were at Marina Cay. He frequents the beautiful little island where I happen to live two weeks out of the year. Vive la Cuervo!

  • All Blog Entries,  NYC

    June 16, 2002

    Yesterday was some day. An early drive to the Hamptons for a birthday party only to turn around and drive into Manhattan to Lower Chelsea for a bar mitzvah at Peter White Studios. I rewarded myself today by sleeping in, cooking a great breakfast and renting The Mothman Prophecies. While scanning the IMDB entry for this movie, I notice Matt Miller in the credits. He’s what makes me only one degree from Kevin Bacon as Matt and I performed in a few plays written by the illustrious Eileen Moushey. Matt is a fine actor, so I’m sure his performance as Aide #2 is the highlight of this movie.