[from Jessica]

1. Harry Potter.
I’ve never read any of the books. I saw one of the movies because Goober dragged me to it. I had no idea what was going on in the movie and thus did not have a very good time. This is a cultural phenomenon that I’m starting to dislike out of spite, I freely admit.

2. Chocolate, Coffee & Beer.
I eat chocolate sometimes, have a beer occasionally and never drink coffee. I could go the rest of my life without these things and not think twice about it.

3. Singing “American Pie” at Jake Ivory’s.
I really really hate this. Really.

4. Red Sox Fans.
I was going to write “Boston Red Sox,” but I really don’t have anything against the team. (Except maybe that whole history-of-racism thing.) It’s the fans that drive me crazy. And before you suggest that I’m only bitter because my team got crushed in the 2004 World Series, it’s not true. Ask my friends. I’ve disliked them for a long time, and the World Series just made it worse. I was supposed to be happy for them and I just couldn't do it. They need to learn a few things about sportsmanship, in my opinion.

5. Live Music.
I do enjoy concerts sometimes, like the opera in Central Park or watching Dave Matthews from a luxury box, but I’ve never been one to seek out bands I like to see them live. In college I went to some concerts with a friend that shared the same taste, but otherwise, I’ve never really gotten into it. I’m not against it, it’s just not something I’m passionate about.

Honorable Mention: Honesty As Antisocial Behavior.

[I’m not passing this on to anyone, but do it if you want.]

“I got some new underwear yesterday,” I said.
“Oh yeah?” he asked.
“One pair says ‘I ♥ Ashton’ on the bottom.”
“I saw him the other day.”
“What?”
“At the premiere party.”

He has to stop saying stuff like this. Not only does the idea of him and Ashton in the same room turn me on a great great deal, but my story about talking to Bob Saget at the Tribeca Film Festival seems infinitely less cool now. It was borderline cool to begin with.

I was sitting across from Crystal, a gorgeous actress I’d just met who was telling me about the two commercials she’d just shot. I’m a huge goober and get excited to hear stories like that. I asked her whether I’d ever see the commercials.

“Well,” she said, “one will just be in the Midwest and the South.”
“Oh really? I’m from the Midwest. What was it for?”
“Steak ‘n’ Shake.”

I lost my cool, and told her how much I love Steak ‘n’ Shake cheese fries.

Next to me, another new friend was telling a story about a hot trip to a nude beach last summer. Some of my friends had gone along, and I’d heard their stories. But I hadn’t heard this guy’s version of it before.

When he finished, he started to talk about heading there this summer. He put his arm around my neck and said, “And I’m guessing I won’t be seeing you there.”

He was right, but I resented that I was so easy to figure out. I don’t even know this guy.

Later, I asked him, “What made you say that I wouldn’t go to a nude beach?”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve been noticing you, watching how you act with people.” He said one thing he’s learned as a world-traveling photojournalist is how to size people up quickly. He said he could tell I’m not a naked person.

Again, he was right. And again I resented it. How can a girl be mysterious if he’s got me pegged so fast? Blast!

The Artist was listening to him tell me why I wouldn’t go to a nude beach.

“Yeah,” she conceded, “but you never know with C.”

And my mysteriousness was restored.

The nurse, a petite Asian girl with freckles and a tattoo on her arm, took my blood pressure. Twice.

“One-ten over 60,” she said.
“Is that good?”
“That’s very good. I want to take your pulse again.”

I sat up straight and she put her hand on my chest

“I was only off by two.” She changed her note from 48 to 50.
“Is that good?”
“It’s great. Do you work out?”
“I do now!” I told her about quitting smoking and hitting the gym.

When the doctor came in later, she said, “You self-diagnosed yourself correctly.”
“It was just a guess. I’m not a doctor, so I didn’t want to presume I knew what I was talking about.”

Out on the street, I sent Katherine a text message. She’d been holding my hand [virtually] over the last hour or so as I texted her from the waiting room. Doctors make me nervous, and Katherine’s messages like “Ur fine sweetie” were making me feel better. I’m still amazed that I can turn to this woman, who is practically a stranger, with such personal things like doctor visits.

I texted Katherine that I had been right about what I had, and it wasn’t some incurable jungle disease.

“Isn’t it funny to be happy about that? Lol”

My daily newsletter [for work] is a neat little combination of truth and fiction. This blurb from last week, though, is true.

Despite being an adventurous person in other areas of my life, I am not very brave in the kitchen (But I'm not as bad as my younger brother, who is the pickiest eater I've ever met). With the encouragement of my "foodie" friends, I've tried Indian food and sushi, both of which I love now! I think it's time I start broadening my culinary horizons.

And even though that’s all on the up-and-up, I don’t always act on everything I write in that little rag. But this time, I figured I should. Because I do want to be a more adventurous eater.

I could go on and on about why I’m a picky eater, but it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that I’m ready to let go of whatever was holding me back and dive into some new stuff.

How’s it going so far?

I used to equate sushi with special occasions (probably because the first few times I had were on birthdays), but that’s hooey. So I had sushi twice last week, and tried different rolls that I’d ever had before. They weren’t that exciting, but a step in the right direction. Next up for sushi: the scary-looking ones.

Sunday when I went to my friend’s parents' place, his mom served lunch. I was too shy to say, “What is that?” I felt it would be rude, so I just ate! I don’t even know what it was! I still don’t know! It was little crispy things with chickpeas and some other stuff, served cold with yogurt or something poured over it. Reminded me of breakfast cereal, but it wasn’t sweet. But it was good and I ate all of it. I ate both kinds of bread too, one of which was spicy. That felt like a big deal to me, eating a bunch of stuff when I didn’t know what it was.

Even yesterday, I didn’t have much time for lunch, so I went to the deli around the corner. But I ordered a different kind of sandwich than I’d ever gotten from there before.

And last night, we had Thai in Brooklyn. I’ve never eaten much Thai, but I told my dinner date that I was in the mood to try new things, so I was in. I told her that I’d love recommendations.

“Have you ever had mussels?” she asked me.
“No!” I said. “Bring ‘em on!”

I thought about it for a minute and said, “Wait, are they raw?”
“No,” she said. “They’ll be cooked.”
“Oh OK. You know what though? It doesn’t matter! Even if they were raw, I’d say yes to that too!”

And they were yum!

It may not seem like a big deal to you, but this is pretty exciting for me. It’s just another thing in a rapidly growing list of goals and accomplishments for 2005. (I should make an actual list. This is turning out to be quite a year for me!)

If you want to help me with this one, just invite me to dinner. ;)

I woke up this morning and my first thought was, “I have the most amazing story to post on my blog today!” It was about how last night Jude Law and I were laying together in a hammock and he stroked my hair while singing Irish lullabies to me.

I was very disappointed to realize that it didn’t happen. And even more disappointed that that’s the best my dream-imagination could do. Cuddling and lullabies? We weren’t even naked!

If it has to be one way or the other, though, I’m glad my real life is spicier than my dreams.

“Would it be stupid if I wore a sari to your wedding?” I asked.

We were having drinks at a bar I hadn’t been to in years. Last time I was here, I was poor and didn’t drink, but the friend I was with got herself pretty sloshed. I was glad to be sober and keeping an eye on her. And that the bar was not far from her apartment.

But now I have a little cash, so I had a few drinks this time. Some Boston friends were in town, working on wedding plans. They’re having two ceremonies: an Indian wedding here in New York and a “whitey” wedding in Boston. The groom’s mother is taking the reins on the Indian wedding.

“No, that wouldn’t be stupid,” the groom said.
“Really?”
“I asked a friend and she said, ‘And with your nose ring, you’ll fit right in!’”
“Hahah! Yeah! That would be awesome!”

He isn’t known for caring much about his Indian roots. Years ago, when I asked him about his parents’ religion, he didn’t know which kind of Hindus they were, and said, “Yeah, that one sounds familiar,” when I gave him a list. When I told him I was moving to Jackson Heights (“Little India”), he said, “Why would you want to live there?”

“My mom would love that,” he said about the sari.
“Awesome. I’ll just go down the street and look at some.”
“No! Don’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Well, you will get ripped off. But anyway, my mom is going to India! They’re so cheap there! She’ll get you one.”

We argued for a few minutes, because that sounded like a lot to ask of his mom.

“Look, my mom would be so excited that you want to wear a sari to the wedding. All you have to do is get her to measure you. You can do it when we come to town Memorial Day weekend. Or tomorrow.”
“I have no plans tomorrow!”

The next day, I took the railroad out to their place and my friend picked me up at the train. As we drove back to his parents’ place, he told me about the location they’ve chosen for the wedding. He gushed about it (The skylights! The waterfalls!) and told me about the dessert spread they’re getting, which will include a chocolate fountain. Hearing him talk about it made me happy.

“You’re getting excited?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, flashing that big gorgeous smile of his. “I am.”

Yay!

After a yummy Indian lunch, my friend’s mom took me into the guest room. She delicately measured my shoulders, my back, my bust.

“How long do you want sari blouse?” she asked. “Shorter, more of your”—she motioned around her own tummy—“will show.”
“Definitely on the longer side then!”

She measured my waist and my legs. She handed me a magazine of Indian fashions and I showed her what colors I liked the most (turquoise, but almost any shade of blue or pink would be cool). I trust her to pick out something nice. I don’t know anything about these things.

“You have email address?” she asked.
“Yes,” I told her that her son knew how to get in touch with me.
“Good good. When I’m there, I will take pictures and email you so you can pick what you like.”

I hadn’t even thought of that! Wow! Hooray!

Related
*An Indian engagement ceremony

I was slumped on the couch of my office’s lobby, facing the elevators. This building has some of the slowest elevators I’ve ever known. It’s made only more frustrating because I work on the second floor, and there are no stairs* to zip down to the lobby. We have to wait for the elevator.

I saw Sexy Steve through the glass doors, and I perked up out of my elevator annoyance. He’s a huggy kind of guy, and after my hug, he sat down on the couch with me.

I’d asked him how his weekend was, and he launched into a rant.

“Rappers are babies.”
“Rappers are babies?” It sounds much better when he says it in his British accent.
“Complete babies. And they get shot over the stupidest stuff.”

He’s an engineer and producer, and he spent all weekend in the studio, as usual. He told me a funny story about 6’4” 240lb. rapper who had gotten all prissy on him.

“Can I come by your studio sometime?”
“Of course!”
“I don’t have any other friends in the music industry and I’ve never seen a real studio before.”
“Yeah, we’ll go sometime. I’ll treat you to your own private session,” he said with a funny cheeky look. “Probably would have been best if the elevator hadn’t just opened just then,” he said as five or six people stared at us.

*There are stairs in case of a fire, but that's the only time they're supposed to be used.

I was zoned out on the subway, looking at the skyline through sunglasses, when someone tapped my hand.

“Hey!” I said, leaping out of my seat.

My cranky (and yet somehow still lovable) coworker had just gotten on the train, but I did a double-take before I recognized him. He was wearing a suit and tie, which was quite a change from the jeans-and-a-tshirt I was used to seeing in the office everyday.

“Wow! Look at you! Hi!” I blurted.
“I just saw you yesterday.”
“Ugh, I know. So where are you going?”
“This is stupid. I’m just on this train for one stop. It takes me three trains to get to her place.”
“Oh.”
“Whatever. It saves me half an hour not to go through Manhattan.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to a wedding.”
“Ah!”
“Where are you going?”
“Um.” I looked down at the big red box sticking out of the pink canvas bag I picked up on my H&M spree with Brady the other day. “I’m going to, uh, play a board game.”
“A board game?”
“Yeah, a board game.”
“Dungeons and Dragons?”
“No! I was just telling my friend this morning that it’s much more like Risk than Dungeons and Dragons.”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever yourself!” I pouted and sat back down in my seat. We laughed.
“Is it inside or outside?”
“Inside.”
“It’s such a nice day out.”
“You know-!”
“Are these people normal?”
“Yes!”
Pause.
“Well,” I went on. “Mostly normal. There’s one guy who’s pretty nerdy. Like, fat, greasy, big glasses. He’s like who you’d expect at something like this. Totally shy, mid-30s. But he’s nice. Everyone else is normal.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he said. We said a few words about Textpattern, and then *poof* he was gone. And I zoned right back out again.

I'm thinking about starting a new web site.

I want to buy a new domain. But I need a name.
I'll work on that.

(OR I could just use the domain I already have ...!)

Looking for Inspiration

*joshuaink.com
Beautiful!

*Textpattern
A new content management system?
[ A site built with Textpattern | A review of Textpattern ]

*TotalChoice Hosting
My current host. Looking for even cheaper if I can find it.

Links and suggestions welcome!

Reorder Tabs in Firefox
Before I started using Firefox, I browsed with Netcaptor. One feature of Netcaptor that I liked that I couldn't do with Firefox was being able to drag and reorder my tabs. Hot blog Lifehacker has made my day: an extenstion that'll let me do just that. (Have I mentioned I love Firefox? Yes, I have.)

Best Outdoor Spaces on LES
Anytime you want to go to The Porch, let me know.

Tribeca Film Festival
I got most of the way through the TFF Guide last night. I put stars next to the movies I think I might want to see. The guide is now full of stars, but it'll be good to hang onto because I can catch some of them when they come out on DVD. I don't know if they're any good, but here are some of the films that caught my eye.

*Mad, Hot Ballroom "Spellbound with music"

*Rize "Director [David] LaChapelle captures the heart- pounding world of krumping"

*Neo Ned "What about an Aryan Brother who falls for a black woman who thinks she's Adolf Hitler after their meeting in a mental institution?"

*Satellite "The eccentric charm of Amelie, though with a harder New York edge"

*Adam & Steve I see the name Parker Posey, and I have to see it

If you know anything about these or know of films to recommend, let me know!

Blogs I Love Lately
*Kill the Goat
*Mixed Tapes
*why was daddy kissing that man in the park?
*Joe.My.God
[I've mentioned those last two before, but I can't recommend them enough.]

What's Going On?
Emma is dating, Daniella bought a house, Ironpants is getting married, Chiba will stop posting, Thwacksplat is all moved in, Clif had puppies, TiTo is writing a song, and Katherine is finally getting around to telling us about her Australia trip. Everyone up to speed?

Linkblogs
I need to make a del.icio.us account. I think it'll be better than this, and Dan tells me that there's a extension that'll let me blog to del.icio.us from Bloglines. And after that: Flickr. One thing at a time.

I put my foot in my mouth, then tried to stuff the other one in there. And then I shoved in a few socks and boots to finish off the job.

In the last few weeks, I’ve found myself apologizing a lot more than normal, and I feel just rotten. I hate to make people feel bad, and it just tears me up inside. (Last week, someone called me a bitch and told me they hope I get cancer.)

I have a tendency to over-apologize for things, but I don’t even know what else to do to make things better most of the time. I also don't always believe people when they say things are OK. I've known people in my life who do that, say one thing but hold back what they really feel. I hate that; it's a waste of time. We can get to the bottom of things much more quickly if we just deal with it now.

One friend said that all she needs to know is what I’m going to do to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

My gaffes weren’t all that bad in the grand scheme of things. I’ve been wronged before, and I’ve forgiven friends. Life will go on.

And I’ll take some kind of sensitivity training. Do they have that at the Learning Annex?

I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again.

*UPDATE I feel better already. I was just having a rough morning, I guess. But I'm glad I wrote it out anyway. Made me feel better just to get it out.

Hey, it’s C, just calling to say hi, catch up. Give me a call if you want, or I’ll just talk to you online tomorrow. Love ya!

“Thanks a lot,” he said.
“Hi! Thanks for what?”
“You made my phone ring during class!”
“Hahah! That sounds like your problem, not mine.”
“Someone else’s phone had rang just before that, too! And I thought, ‘Hm, my phone is on, but no one ever calls me.’ So I left it on.”
“Hahah! That’s awesome. I love that I had a hand in embarrassing you in front of everyone. And all I was doing was waiting for a bus.”
“So I’m calling to yell at you.”
“Hee.”

It was a Monday. I was at work, cranking out email newsletters and chatting with my friends online. I clicked my Site Meter bookmark. A Picture of Me has always gotten about 100-200 visitors per day, but on this day, I already had several hundred. That’s not right. I refreshed, and a few dozen more visitors registered on the meter. What’s going on?

Quick click to see my referrers.

Gawker? Like Gawker Gawker? Has a link to me? What the …

Bad Trend Alert: Cuddle Parties

Oh no.

Today we spotted the story of a single 20-something New York City girl bravely encountering what must be the most horrifying new trend: cuddle parties. Seriously. Invented by a man who calls himself REiD Mihalko (no, seriously), at cuddle parties people get together and, obviously, cuddle -- they set "boundaries" and they do "safe roleplaying" and then they "cuddle." Let's do some healthy roleplaying of our own:

Your friend says: "I'm hosting a cuddle party. Will you come?"
You say: "Go fuck yourself, you ridiculous California-damaged ninny."

Your friend says: "I wish you wouldn't be so judgmental and hostile. Cuddle parties are about sharing and intimacy!"
You say: Nothing, because hopefully you'll never speak to them again.

Well, at least he called me brave.

By the end of the day, this blog had over 3,000 visitors. Some people get that every day, but it was a big deal to me. In my four years of blogging, it was my biggest day ever. Still is.


A few months later, my office smoking buddy and I plopped our sunglasses onto our faces as we stepped outside for a cigarette. I grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her down the block.

“We have to go to the newsstand.”

We scanned the rows of magazines.

“What are we looking for?” she asked me.
“People magazine. The one with Siegfried and Roy on the cover.”
“Here it is.”
“I think it's on page 44 or something.”

Flip flip flip went the glossy pages in the sunshine.

“Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Look at her!”

There she was: a picture of my girl Brady taking up about half the page.


And a few months after that, I was lazing on my couch, watching television past my bedtime, a rerun of Bill Maher.

New Rule: Cuddling is for girls.

Did he just say … cuddling?

The latest rage in New York is "cuddle parties," where grown men and women put on pajamas and just cuddle. Pardon me while I throw up. Participants say it's not about sex, it's about intimacy. No, it's about sex. You're just so neurotic and emasculated that you've decided to skip the screwing entirely and go right to the boring part afterwards. The only time a man should say, "I need a hug," is if he's choking.

Ummm … did my friends just get made fun of on HBO?


And just this weekend, we were hanging out at the bar. The weather was so nice they had opened the front windows, and there was a nice breeze coming through.

“This is C,” he said, introducing me to the two women that were sitting next to me. He told them I was amazing or incredible or something like that. I’m not sure. I am sure I rolled my eyes.

“This woman,” he continued, “is single-handedly responsible for the media that Cuddle Party has gotten in the last year.” He went on to tell a story about how he'd gotten an early morning phone call from a soldier in Iraq who had seen Cuddle Party on CNN was interested in attending a party when he came back to the U.S.

Whoa.

Later he said, “I like introducing you like that.” (And he does. All the time.) It is a funny factoid.

I giggled and he pulled me into—what else?—a hug.

More
*Not the Unexpected I Expected
*Go to a Cuddle Party, and tell 'em C sent ya

UPDATE:
*Cuddle Party in Marie Claire
*Cuddle Party on CSI:NY
*Cuddle Party on Montel Williams

Whenever I try to back up and think What would cheer me up right now?, kittens usually spring to mind.

Can't go wrong with kittens.



P.S. Happy birthday, Petitdov!

*[E] You Trying to Catch Flies?
My submission to Chiba's SubText.

*In loving memory
As if we weren't going through enough, Jeff Harrell has a hellish week as he watched his good furry friend Nelson slip away.

*BlogDaddy (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4)
Another gripping story from Joe.My.God.

I've never been much of a fan of Japanese art (ancient or modern), but this poster caught my eye on the subway this morning.



This picture doesn't look cool at all -- you probably can't even tell what it is -- but I really liked it.

Turns out, the Times has a story today about the artist Takashi Murakami and the Japan Society show that the poster I saw was advertising.

But I can't seem to find any reproduction of the artwork I saw on the poster, which is what I really loved. I'd even consider buying a print of it.

If you're familiar with this artist and this work specifically, I'd love to know more about it.

I could probably just go to the exhibit to find out, huh?

More Subway Art
*Redbird in Air (I've always loved this one)
*SubText: Stations

It’s April 1. I have to call A today.

She answers the phone saying, “Happy April Fools Day.”

She’s on to me. I would hope so, after … oh God, eight years of practical jokes. It’s a challenge to keep topping myself, but I think I’m gonna get her with this one.

“Hi there!” I say. “Guess what! I have BIG NEWS!”
“You think I’m going to believe anything you say today?”
“Well, that is up to you, but I do have BIG NEWS to tell you!”
“OK. Try me.”

I tell her my “big news.”

She takes a long pause.

“Shut up,” she finally said. “You’re lying.”
“I am not lying,” I say, laughing to myself because this is such a fun prank and I’m so glad I thought of it.
“OK then. Tell me how far you’ve worked out this story of yours.”

I offer some details about my “big news.” It’s not hard to come up with what to say. I let myself get a little swept up.

She pauses again.

She asks for more. I tell her more.

“Nope, sorry, I’m not going to buy it. Not today. Come on, if it was really true, you would have told me before now.”
“Ah, but what if I knew you wouldn’t buy it, so I purposely decided to wait and tell you today because I knew I could mess with your head.”

More pausing.

“You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t have revealed your joke already.” We’d only been on the phone for a few minutes.

“Wouldn’t I? This joke is all about your reaction, which I couldn’t plan for, so I didn’t know how this one was going to go.”
“So how did you think I was going to react?”
“I really didn’t know. But it’s true, so it doesn’t really matter whether you believe me or not.”

She’s speechless yet again.

“I’m about to lose you because I’m going underground,” she said and she asked for one more detail. I answer her question.

“Shut. Up.”

“Call me later!” I say.

The line cut out.

Right now, A is somewhere beneath Boston, trying to wrap her mind around what I just said.

I’ve done it again. Muwhahahah!