Time warp

For lunch we went to Reno's Steakhouse. I ordered a beer only to find that on a election day in this town, you cannot be served spirits until 6 pm. The waitress responded in some serious twang, "'Parently in this hick town, politicians have been known to buy people's votes with liquor." Well, I declare!

Kentucky feels like a time warp. The parts I've seen seem a throw back to what I remember growing up with in the 80s. Neighborhoods of kids, nobody all that wealthy. Bad hair. Worse fashion. A t.v. in every house, if you were lucky, anyway. And then there were some things I didn't expect perse. Trailer parks plentiful. And on the side of major highways. As though that were your front yard. And still, I'm not sure how anyone pays for anything. It's industrial, looks like mine country. The local gas station had 4 pumps out of service, and those working had no automatic cut-off mechanism. An older gentleman was pumping away until the lady in the box hollered over the system, "Sir! Your car's leakin'!" And at these gas prices...ouch!

Into the dark

The drive was so dark, the scenery obscured in the night sky. A big city far and away, the sky is like onyx, obsidian,. Beautiful and like an egg speckled only with stars. A great deal of rain joined in once we hit Pennsylvania, on through Maryland and into West Virginia. Heather is a new driver as well, equipped with a learner's permit and a bit of experience. She took the wheel in West Virginia, which turned out to be mostly pitch black dark, curvy mountain roads that only truckers use. Yikes! Well, I guess we all face tests in life.

An eleven hour drive through the night, we were zombies once we finally reached Kentucky at daybreak. The hills covered in changing leaves, the view was gorgeous. The gang we visited stay in cabins on the side of a mountain. A lake, tons of trees, and deer. That's the neighborhood. Wow. How different from my daily life.

Kentucky-bound

We left for Kentucky this evening. Heather & I in Hyundai. Ten years ago, the car maker's rep was such a joke. But apparently they're making some decent cars nowadays. For me, the tush warmers made all the difference in the Acera. Wait. Isn't that the name of the shuttle from NYC to DC? And who's in charge of car names anymore? The Escalade? It's almost a step up but not quite. The Aztec? Is it built of adobe? The Prius? Seems intrusive, no? Anyhow...leather seats in the Hyundai, fine, nice, sunroof, excellent, although chilly. But the tush warmer, now that's a feature! They're also great for pranks. Talk about putting someone in the hot seat!!

All dressed up

I just passed two guys on the street dressed up for Halloween as doctors but with name tags on their lab coats. Kind of like mechanics. Their tags didn't read Jimmy Bob or even Tony, but "orgasm donors." They had stethoscopes around their necks, and well, it didn't make sense to me. Guess I figured they'd have other instruments...and, more appropriately, no clothing at all. Or maybe chaps. Or a loin cloth or something. Just seemed kind of sterile. And I wonder. Is it like an organ donor? Once you die, all your orgasms are harvested and given unto those in dire need of them?

Me, I'm not sure what to do about Halloween. I haven't gotten into it that much since the days of side ponytails and bangle bracelets. I'd love to carve a pumpkin and may end up doing that. But as far as dressing up...anyone got any ideas?

We're only human

So Bono came into the restaurant with his daughters and wife this morning. At least I think that's who the 3 women with him were. They certainly seemed familial. They stood at the bar waiting for a table. Funny about where I work. Even Bono has to wait for a table. There's just something nice about being fair to everybody. Fine, you're a worldwide celebrity, with the power to impact millions with your influence. And yet you choose to patron a place where you're treated like everybody else. I think it says something about a person. Having all that fame, being able to go anywhere in the city, in the world, and probably have your whole meal comped, all fancy schmancy and snooty, and yet, you choose to go to a place where no one treats you any different than the struggling cellist next to you or the dominatrix on her third Bloody Mary at the bar.

I didn't recognize him at first. Offered them all coffee or juice while waiting, and then heard that all to familiar voice ask for coffee. I almost fell over but didn't let it show. He and his posse were lovely. Everyone noticed him. And yet no one said a word. New Yorkers are a trip. "Honey, look! It's Bono!" uttered under her breath. Then, "Excuse me! Can I have more coffee?" Just goes to show. We're all still people. With our own agendas, loved ones, families, eating breakfast, who take coffee with a smidge of milk.

And a shout out to one of my loved ones. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAVID! I love you my brother!

DMV

I'm not sure what's going on with me and the usual world of bureaucracy. I went to the DMV today to swap my Georgia driver's license for a NY state one. I am finally doing it...committing to New York! So I completed the necessary form, took a number, got my photo taken & eyes checked and heard my number called even before my photo was finished. I had to run to the appropriate rep so as not to be skipped. What?!? The DMV moving faster than me? Holy crap.

It almost makes me worry. I got my social security card in record time, my passport, like butter, and then the DMV, a breeze? It makes me nervous. Nervous.

And with the form I completed, I was also able to register to vote in New York. Woah. What is going on in the world?!?

My code?

I walked outside this morning and felt like I was in Buenos Aires. A gray sky, leaves on the trees turning yellow, the colors and the chill in the air felt just like Buenos Aires. I did a double take, worried that I'd been dreaming for the past few months. It's funny to think the last time I had weather like this was in B.A. in June. How quickly the mind adapts to include new experiences. I'd have thought my mind would have conjured up images of New York over the last few years, but no. It skipped to Buenos Aires. Lovely.

Maybe with a day like today, the world is telling me to get back on the road. First, the international trip down memory lane. Then, I got my passport back in the mail. It took less than a month. Woah, rehiring those who had recently retired sure is working. Or maybe the troublesome passport times for American citizens who've never been arrested who have lots of blond highlights in their hair are over! I was worried it'd be January before I got it back and that I'd have to suffer through my third winter of 2007.

Did you know that US passports are now electronic? A chip embedded in them somewhere links directly to each passport holder's info. Scary. What is this 1984? I can even scan the bar code on the last page to retrieve flight information at online airline kiosks. As though I need the feds to track my domestic flight info as well. It's strange, too, now having a bar code associated with my identity. I wonder: will airport security turn into the check-out line at Stop & Shop? "Price check on aisle 4!" It's enough to make me nostalgic for my old passport, not to mention the cool stamps that barely had enough time to dry before surrendered to the State Department. And I have a new passport number! Dag! I'd just gotten the old one memorized. Well, at least we've still got social security. Knock wood. I bet years from now we'll joke about those. "Do you remember your social security number?!?" It'll be like Name That Tune. "I can name 5 out of the 9 numbers of my SSN." "Well, I can name 6 out of the 9 numbers of my..."

Anyone for tennis?

So I waited on John McEnroe today. And one daughter, for sure. The older one may have also been, but you could definitely tell that the younger was. Daddy McEnroe has a tattoo on his arm which I never knew. I've seen him broadcasting tennis matches, if anything recently, in a suit, so I never guessed he'd be the tattoo sort. He certainly had the attitude necessary, though, to pull one off, as I recall. My co-worker wanted to take his order and, regardless of what he said, reply, "You cannot be serious!?!"

John was super pleasant with me. Just goes to show how many people each of us can be. And the different people we play in this life, whether at work on a tennis court, in a restaurant, on t.v., even as a dad.

It must be fun to be the blend of celebrity who is as equally famous as infamous.

Baker's dozen

Another reason I love New York: street fairs! Just whenever. You turn the block and all of a sudden you're aswim in roasted corn, crafts, Victoria's Secret surplus. I have to admit, I've never felt quite right about buying unmentionables on the street.

My favorite soap people are out today. Yes! Copa Soaps. Now, that's some good stuff, indeed. Here's my baker's dozen selection for winter 2007: forest, cocoa tea tree, peppermint (especially great during the holidays!), scrub, vetiver peat (the owner's all-time favorite), oatmeal, ginger carrot, and for my 13th pick, spice. All tasty, and all for me! Happy showers, Anita!

Origins

The Fiesta Parade happened today. Right past my job up Amsterdam Avenue. Guess it was somehow related to Columbus day. I think it was an all-inclusive Spanish-speakers parade. But the jury is still out, I thought. Was Columbus Spanish or Italian? Not that it's all that important, I guess. Either way, I feel kind of indebted to his adventurous spirit and/or dumb luck. And I think I may be the only one, for that matter.

I was talking to my cab driver on the way home from work. He used to drive a semi transporting stuff all over the States. He's from West Africa but has been here for 17 years and is proud of the US. He's proud to live here, to work here, to be here. Nice to hear a positive outlook. It's easy to forget what kind of life any kind of person can create here.

Good for the gander, but not this goose...

I got up at 5:30 am to make it into to the city, refuel and drop of the rental, and be at work by 9. On the LIE, Northern State Parkway, Grand Central Parkway, any of them, and I tried them all, what a nightmare! I thought that three hours alloted would surely suffice for an hour and a half trip. On the contrary, I barely made it. And I wasn't alone. I sat in traffic for the last hour and a half on packed bridges, exit lanes, side streets. Those of you who drive in to the city from wherever, I have no idea how or why you do it.

I did enjoy having a car for those few days. Out in the middle of nowhere. But coming back into the city made me realize that I cannot have one living here. I have too much stuff as it is. Why add a car to the list of things I'd like to get rid of one day?

The Long Island Mutants

I've had this theory for a couple of years now that Long Islanders are mutants. Maybe I've mentioned the theory, but it just seems to recur in my life, the point continuously being raised and then proven. As though we've moved from theory to hypothesis, experiments ongoing. I'm not sure what it is but Long Islanders are just a little different. Maybe it's a side effect of being down stream from Manhattan, I don't know. But I've been thinking about the positives lately. They could have a team called the Mutants. Maybe hockey. Or rugby. Not sure what the mascot would look like exactly...maybe part human part frog...but algae would definitely be involved.

Now here's the interesting part. Most native Long Islanders agree with my theory, fully embracing their own mutations and mutant kin. Hmm. So then I wonder. Do they think they're more evolved? Those mutations making them better equipped to deal with, say, influenza, your run-of- the-mill biohazard, even nuclear war? Something to consider.

Heather and I spent the day driving around small North Shore towns way out here on the island.We visited Duck Walk Vineyards and enjoyed a tasting of five wines. The Pinot Meunier, with a black pepper finish--spicy!--and the Blueberry Port took the cake for me. It's always nice to buy local. We had lunch at Love Lane Kitchen in Mattituck. I'm convinced that anything prepared with love is bound to be good. And was it delish. I'm not sure how much traffic the place gets but it's worth nestling in for a tasty lunch!

To close out the day, we stopped at a cemetery. On the bank of a pond, the graves look out onto the water full of ducks and swans. The air gray with fog, the scene was ripe with autumn. What a lovely place to spend an afterlife. Whether man, woman or mutant.

Eclipse

So I'm out to Riverhead to teach my friend Heather how to drive. She's 25 and wants to get a car, so she figured she'd better learn how to drive. And get a license in the mean time. So I rented a Mitsubishi Eclipse convertible. Not the greatest thing ever but pretty smooth. To my surprise, I turned a few heads in morning rush hour traffic. Perfect car to teach a friend how to drive!

Reliance

A rainstorm hit on my bike ride home. No terrential downpour but one of those storms when you can still see the sun shining, too. Where I'm from they always called it the "devil-beating-his-wife-behind-a-closed-door" kind of storm. Funny. I never really thought the devil'd be married...

And on my way home, I had to pick up Tony's bag at Cafe Mogador. Sure. He can take care of business, like I said. But I forgot to mention. There's usually some kind of crisis involved that ends up involving me. I don't know if I bring the crises or if they happen when I'm there because I'm good at handling them. Or maybe it's my own personal purgatory.

So this one involved a lost bag full of personal checks, several of which were already endorsed, two paychecks of a friend of his, a digital camera, and some other junk...anyway. It's just funny who you end up relying on. And how.

P.S. Who uses checks anymore? And carries around endorsed ones?? Anyone? Anyone?

Tonester

Tony's last night. A two-day jaunt into the city, what a smart thing. First night is your first night in town, the last night your last.

The mission for this visit: to find a sub-letter who likes cats and will give him a check for a quick couple of grand, to meet cute boys and to catch up with the crew. No, not in that order. Cute boys would are always first on the agenda. It's what brings us together!

And amazingly, he made it all happen. That's one thing I love about Tony. He makes it happen. Even if to the point of force. But then again, who could refuse that face?!?

Preferences

So I go to a breakfast spot lately to work on the net. The owner is hearing impaired. Yesterday and today we spoke in sign language. It's such a cool thing. To communicate without speaking.

And it's interesting trying to butt into a conversation among hearing impaired people. You can't exactly make the off-hand comment and leave it at that. You can't just say, "Um, excuse me." You first have to catch someone's eye, then keep it, then remember what you're going to say, then say it. May sound like to many steps to take, and I'll admit I sure stumble, but as with any language, it seems like we'd all prefer to communicate rather than not. Sometimes unspoken but heard.

Without a struggle

I overheard a girl on the subway talking to a friend today say, "I'm having a quarter life crisis. Should I just go to law school and say *@^$@# it all?" And to think that all my friends have been talking about 40 being the new 20. Apparently, we've managed to bump up the glory age a whole other decade. Granted, most of them are beautifully closer to 40 than 20...I just hope I make it to 40 when it's at its peak. With my luck, once I do get there, the hip age will have reverted back to 22 and the fashion world will have resurrected those awful multiples that were so popular in the 80s.

But then, it occurred to me. Since when is furthering your education viewed as a negative? Why is it that law school is a cop out for this twenty-something? What generations of women were denied for ages is now viewed as passe for those borne of those generations? Have we come so far only to want the lives our grandmothers and greats lived? While traveling, I washed my clothes in cement basins, by hand, with a hose or spigot, when lucky. Having done so, I no longer take for granted laundry service delivery here in the city. But I can't help but wonder whether we take for granted other bricks in the foundation laid by women before us. As generations with nothing but opportunities ripe for the taking, does it take being denied a thing for us to want it?

Hair prayer

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know I'm different. Hair effects courtesy Aveda Self Control hair product.

E.U.

This being the third, maybe fourth time I've been here, the atmosphere is decidedly less party tonight. But God bless 'em, they've got Lambrusco. In New York City. In mid-September. It's almost suspect that they'd still have it. No one can hang onto this stuff. It's just that good! It's a deep purple, sparking red wine, the color of an abyss or black hole maybe. And it's rich but effervescent. Me, oh my, I love the stuff. And am in luck.

I'm having a cheese plate here at E.U. Yes, that stands for European Union, and the food is a European blend from paella to gnocchi to foie gras. The restaurant space is oh-so-library chic, exposed brick, dark wood, stainless steel coupled with wash basins, oil lanterns and candlelight. Like Ben Franklin could walk in at any minute. Wait...maybe...William Shakepeare. Seems like the neighborhood has to catch up to a place like this. It's a little too corporate quaint for this residential neighborhood. Here's the deal. If enough people outside the neighborhood come in to it to support a place like this, I guess it could succeed regardless of the menu, atmosphere or neighborhood. I guess I'd just like to see more of a blend. Like if a Puerto Rican lady strutted in the door right now with her kids, grandkids, a niece, nephew and second husband for a meal, then I'd be happy. But it doesn't seem like E.U. has quite been accepted yet. Maybe if they'd called it S.A., served alfajores, cafe con leche, ceviche, arepas, sancocho and maybe even cuy it might work out.

And that's another thing. This place is called E.U., only everyone's speaking English. Fine. The U.K. But it seems like I should hear some German, English, and Castellano with a peppering of maybe Flemish? But, no. Maybe this restaurant is better in theory than authenticity. And I paid with my American Express card. Apparently, they don't take euros.

Visuals

My imagination has been more visual lately. Today in the tub, I painted two canvases in my mind. They're called a row of sneakers and, crap! I forgot what the other one is called. Anyway, talking to Laurent, I mentioned about people moving around in my head, as though people stroll into and out of my mind with the ease of clouds. I think that may be right. I don't think about my friends and family, they show up as visions of themselves in my brain. The actual physical person standing there talking to me. Or dancing, riding a bike, whatever the person may be doing, it's all live. And thanks to all of you who keep coming back! So good to see you!

One of the Big Cs

There was a walk in Central Park today for breat cancer. So, I wrote a poem. And I guess it's kind of silly but here it is.

Ode to Survivors
I am no one you know.
Friend or foe.
Neither a borrower nor lender.
Or even favorite bartender.

I am everyone you know.
A smile in the crowd, the girl in the show.
A sister, mother, a wife, a lover.
A woman looking to recover.


Best of luck to all of you out there surviving.

Finding the center

I reconnected with the people at the center today. I've tutored at the Andrew Glover Youth Program for almost 3 years, and I went in today to see if they needed help. Schools have all resumed schedule, so the neighborhood is quiet in the day. An hour a day, kids screaming during recess, but the streets typically empty during the day. It's nice. Feels more mine.

The night tonight is beautiful. The day was gorgeous as well. The sky covered in those fast moving clouds, the kind that make you think the world's just moving faster today. And the light over the world fades, only seconds later to find the sun's return, brilliant and bright. I spent the evening in a local garden, lying in the grass looking up at the stars. I'm not sure about anybody else, but I've always had a protector constellation. Orion. The hunter. When I was growing up, driving my yellow Beetle, I'd pop the top and see Orion in the night sky watching me make it home, all safe and in one piece. It was prominent in the sky while I was traveling, too. Nice to know someone's looking out for you in this life, guarding your steps and passage.

So then it dawned on me. We all end up in places we don't expect at the start. We're all surprised what we end up with and as. But me, I'm pretty pleased so far with me lot in life. I don't live the most traditional kind of life but I hope it's authentic. Turns out I'm nowhere as old-fashioned as I once thought. I am free in life, much freer than I felt before it seems.

9/11

I woke up to gray skies. Today is September 11th. Six years ago, the sky beautiful blue, the city changed. The attack, the terror, the horror we all remember. While I was traveling in South America, once people found out where I live, this day was the first thing they asked me about. Me personally, I was in the air from New York to Atlanta. I'd spent the night in the Newark airport in a telephone alcove, my flight cancelled the night prior, awaiting a 6:45 am departure. Off the plane clueless in Atlanta, I walked toward a Popeye's Chicken wondering why it was so packed. I mean, Popeye's is good, but it ain't that good. Turns out they had televisions airing what was happening. I couldn't believe it. I thought it was the trailer for the next Will Smith movie.

In the 5 years that I've lived in the city, I've never gone to Ground Zero on this day, and this morning watching the names being called, I decided to go. A maze of police barracades and the Financial Disrict around lunch time, I almost turned back and went home. So many people in one place, it just didn't seem worth it. And I can't say I didn't think about what would happen if there were another attack in the same spot, same day.

I was surprised to find a silent protest on the site. Seated monks beating drums with banners of Asian characters were backed by a crowd, hands raised in peace signs. Confused. They were protesting but I wasn't sure why. One of New York's Finest explained that their point seems to be that 9/11 was a conspiracy and requires further investigation. That the attack was an inside job. In the swirl of theories surrounding the attacks there may lie a legitimate, responsible party. The theories may also be ideas to which people attach themselves unable to handle the magnitude of what happened, the evil in the world. They may even be sheer political propaganda. Regardless, the protest almost seemed insulting. All of these people gathered to grieve, to honor, to remember, to pay respects, and a protest? I wondered how many participating lost a child, husband, co-worker, relative in the attack.

Ground Zero remains a work in progress to this day. It has slowly changed from a destruction to construction site, the PATH trains and subways up and running years back. As for what lies ahead, the Freedom Tower is the plan. Goldman Sachs also recently signed on to set up shop there with 13,000 some-odd employees. So, soon enough, I imagine this part of the city will be aglow in lights and luxury. There is also a memorial slated to commemorate those lives taken in both 2001 and 1993. It's a relief to see there will be a place dedicated to the those who perished, as much to honor their lives and efforts as well as to pay tribute to those they left behind who miss them day by day.

On my way home, the sky poured rain on me. I walked past a bodega cashier smoking a cig on the street. I was soaked, my shirt pretty much see-through, and he didn't glance at any other part of my body than my chest. Eww. I think that shop's run by Muslims. And it occurred to me, maybe Muslim women are covered that way for their own protection. For the first time in my life, I'd have rather been in a full burka.

HOWL, New York!

The New York Howl Festival began today in my neighborhood. A tribute to Allen Ginsberg's ground-breaking poem, the festival gathers in Tompkins Square Park every year. Writers, artists, designers, even political activists, join to rekindle the spirit that has made this neighborhood famous, or infamous, as a community culture of free thinking, creativity, even rebellious acts. Punks, drug addicts, families, trannies, fashionistas, all gather together to celebrate the festival over five days. This weekend is the kickoff, with all sorts of fun fashion shows, gallery showings and parties scheduled over the next few days.

This year, the outside gates of the park are covered in canvas with artists transforming the blank into their own unique expressions of self. Graffiti artists, still-life, collages, sculptures, there's a lot to see. I wonder if Ginsberg would be pleased. In this day and age, so few seem to go against the grain to exercise freedom of speech. Ah. A madman just passed by screeching through the park, alternating between James Brown songs and political propaganda, a cigarette in one hand, a brown bag in the other. I never knew the man, but I think Allen would feel at home now.

The food lines have been moved inside the park today, a group of Indian women serving the masses. Only today, the line isn't just people who need a square meal. They're serving everyone. For free. Looks good. Damn fast. Tents set up throughout the park, all sorts of creative types have their wares out for offer. I picked up an original gold midriff hoodie from a local designer, New York Couture. Can't wait to sport that one! It's going to be a Miss Anne meets Rocky Balboa meets Pat Benatar get up...a girl can dream anyway!

I ran into Chico on the corner, making my way around the artists setups. He seemed to be the gateway artist, bridging the "traditional" acrylics & paint brushes artists with those whose medium is spray paint. As we chatted, a guy in a pressed button-up stopped by to ask for tips on how to get an apartment in the hood. We both gave our best on how he should go about scoring his own crib. We had just been talking about the neighborhood and how no one can seem to afford to live here anymore. At least none of the creative, which Chico equated with poor. Life is funny.

Two music stages have been cranking out a mixture of punk, rockabilly and solo songwriters, each stage rallying for fans. This neighborhood is great. A variety of peoples, that family was speaking Vietnamese. There's goes some Spanish, of course, a majority here. And was that Polish? I've got to travel more. Even in my own neighborhood, though, it's possible to get a glimpse of culture from other countries. I love where I live.

A forgotten note

In case you hadn't heard, I make the world's best guacamole. Now, I'm not one to toot my own horn, at least not every day, but I have to say, my guacamole ROCKS! This year on vacation, I tweaked the recipe. Mmm. Delicious! But not quite like almonds. Sorry, folks. Inside joke I couldn't resist.

Met at the Met

I got a haircut today, do da, do da. I got a haircut today, oh, do, da, day! Yay! It's mad cute, if I don't say so myself.

So, I biked up to the Met this afternoon to meet my new friend Keri. Yes, as in, Keri...is so very. We roamed the museum, well, got lost a bunch. Even with a museum map in hand. We saw all the Renaissance stuff, some china from China, cool Revolutionary war stuff, but kept missing the Rembrandts exhibit. Through the Modern Art section, up the stairs to the contemporary stuff, I was in heaven. I have needed some culture. That inspiration felt when glimpsing a painting you've never seen before that moves you to tears. Or exploring a sculpture you've never seen, even though you may have walked past it time and again. And, sometimes, living in New York, I'm just ashamed of myself. So many wonderful musems, cool things to do and see, and, me? I hardly leave my neighbor-hood. Shame, shame, shame.

But not today. It was another glorious September day, that probably shouldn't have been spent inside. But if going to a museum, it seems a worthy sacrifice. No sacrifice at all today. I think my favorite will always be Picasso, but I adore anything that stops and makes me think. Or leaves me speechless. Or just looks cool.

There are also those pieces that seem as though a first-grader could have done them. They seem so out of place. At one point, I did ask,"What is this? Sherwin Williams?" The installation was nothing more than pastel rectangles of color hung from lightest to darkest. For a moment, I thought I was there to pick up swatches. I know, I know. Who am I to judge?

We ended the day on the rooftop garden. They sell alcohol and fun snacks, but per the fast, I did not partake. The view spans most of Central Park, full of trees, brought to an end by the towers of buildings. And, to our credit, the Rembrandts exhibit is on the map, but doesn't start until next week.

P.S. Thank you to the artists featured on this site, whether living or gone. The words are all original and the photographs, but some of the things captured therein? I haven't even got a paint brush to my name. Yet.

The M.C.

So this is Day 4 of the Master Cleanse. Some of you may have witnessed this madness in the past. Many of you may not yet have had the pleasure. It's a fast. You don't eat, but you do drink. It's a mixture of fresh lemon juice, organic maple syrup and cayenne pepper. You drink the mix every time you feel hungry for as many days as you wish, 10 being the typical minimum, 40 being the recommended maximum. The cleanse was developed by a man name Stanley Burroughs, who is renowned for his work in the field of alternative health care and research on the role of toxemia in disease. This cleanse is supposed to help detoxify the body, while providing all the necessary nutrients the body needs throughout the duration of the fast.

I personally underwent this cleanse twice last year and found the results remarkable. Weird, right? First off, the notion of not eating? Just seems absurd. But if Gandhi could do it, I figured I could at least try. Then, people most ask about cravings and the desire to eat and, well, chew even. And oddly enough, you don't have them. Normally. This time I have had a few funny cravings. Like the other day, I really wanted a Philly Cheese Steak, which I never eat. It was more specifically grease and fried foods. They say that when you do experience cravings it's because your body is ridding itself of those very things you crave. Yep. I've had some fried stuff in the last 10 months. And today, riding my bike, I smelled a charcoal grill and just about fell off my bike. Yep. I've been a meat-eater for the past 10 months, too.

When you come off the fast, you drink orange juice for a day, and the following day, homemade vegetable soup. I do love me some veggies. So wish me luck. I'm shooting for at least 10 days...

To dog or not to dog

I miss Ginger! I want my little puppy! Should I go to Ecuador and try to bring her back?!?

Can a change do you good?

I love New York in September. The humidity disappears and the skies are nothing but blue. Breezes sweep through the streets, the summer pressure cooker smells, melting asphalt, boiling garbage, steaming food carts, all wisked away to another world. The nights are fresh and cool. It's gorgeous.

So I've been thinking. I know, I know. Bad, Anne! Bad, Anne! But maybe I'm a change addict. No, not nickels and dimes, but locations, countries, ahem, jobs?? My work history is pretty solid. I'm no job-jumper. But it seems like every 5 years or so, I make a change. Whether in career, city, personality maybe even, it seems like I'm compelled to make a change. I grew up in a stable environment. My family moved once, and, yes, I went. Kicking and screaming. So maybe that's part of it. I have a need to move around because we never really did. One of my friend's families moved all the time. And she and her sisters are all homeowners. Hmm. I wonder if I'll ever have one of those I've-lived-on-this-block-for-20-years moments. Even the change of seasons makes me happy. Moving from summer to fall, I'm giddy! But what's more, could I ever be happy settled? In one place, in one career, in one personality? What is this need for change?

Ending and beginning

Up early to clean the house and head our separate ways, the sun was just coming up when I got up. There is something relieving, even hopeful in seeing the sun come up. It's particularly special seeing a new beginning on a day that seems so full of endings. Goodbye, beach. Goodbye, sand. Goodbye, pool. Goodbye, family. Goodbye, Florida. I'll miss you all. But only for a year, I hope! And soon enough, hello New York!

Lasts

Today is the last day. Vacation ending tomorrow all of us returning home, I woke up to haze. Different shades of gray as far as the eye could see. Appropriate gloom for the last day. What a shame for tanning. As luck would have it, the day brightened, the sun pushing away the clouds. Yay, beach weather!

So what did we spend the day doing? Beaching it. But today was no normal beach day. Today was beach tumbling day. The nut that I am, I took to my most impressive gymnastics moves, joined by Elise, and later Nancy. And, yes, it was caught on film. Some good blackmail material, I'm sure. My fun ended with a little yoga. Covered in sand, I think the close of my day was the warrior pose. A girl can dream...!

The last night at the beach, the frig packed and divied up, we went out for dinner. Afterward, Elise & I hit Bud & Alley's for one last night out. I was the DD, dancing & not drinking. It was nice. I enjoyed! It was so fun to see what idiots we become (Elise excluded) when drunk. We scream, fall, belch and just generally make fools of ourselves. There was also a group of swingers at the bar as well. Yikes, my friends! I'm not one to judge, but I'm not one to...well, you get the idea...

The Boathouse

Another day at the beach followed by a trip to the Boathouse. A Destin favorite, Burt and Nancy (one of the couples in the family) got engaged there. So not only is it just fun to slurp down fresh oysters, drink beer and hang with locals, but it also holds a special meaning for 2 of us in the group. It's a dive. Floating on the water. But fun, fun, fun.

Burt had planned to take Nancy on a boat to ask her to marry him but was late...missed the boat. Literally. The way he describes that day, the ring was burning a hole is his pocket the entire drive down. He got stuck in traffic, got lost (yes, Burt is a man, God bless him) and ended up late on the big day. The 2 of them had met online. They had both been married before, Burt divorced, Nancy a widow, heart-breaking, and both were separately dared by friends to put up profiles online through AOL's dating service. They'd never met, started chatting, and that's all she wrote. So, no boat ride, they headed to the Boathouse. The inside is covered in dollar bills, including Burt & Nancy's, knick-knacks, license plates, and a bra or 800. They found their dollar, still hanging on one of the rafters. Here's to happiness, Burt & Nance. You're inspiring! And thanks for sharing. The Boathouse gets a thumbs up!

P.S. Can someone dare me to join an online dating service? And all of you who have cute, single male friends, can ya dare them too!?!

Mr. Never?

So maybe I'm not supposed to love one man. You know that Prince Charming crap and all, well, I always thought it applied to me. Granted, my Prince Charming would probably have tatoos, smoke cigarettes and ride a Harley or something (sorry, Mom!), but I guess I always believed in that whole one guy, one girl thing. So happy together...not so sure anymore. Matter of fact, maybe I'm not ever even supposed to be in a relationship. I do them pretty poorly usually. Maybe I'm supposed to have a series of beautiful moments with beautiful people, and then my constants, those friends who'll always be mine. Filling my heart. I wonder. Would I be satisfied? I think I might.

Marathon

I awoke this morning about 4:30 to watch a lunar eclipse. I've slept on the sofa a few nights, including this one. I had been awakened a few times, the full moon beaming in through the sliding glass doors that link the living room to the three-quarter wrap-around deck. The last time I woke, I couldn't see a thing, as though the lack of light had pulled me from my slumber. Turns out the moon was obscured by clouds, that once passed, gave way to a glowing rose moon. Beautiful, this earth.

Today we had the annual Miller Lite marathon. Competitive beer-drinkers from Alabama, Georgia and even New York gathered on the beach at high noon to start the race. Much like usual marathons, the progression, or shall I say digression, is quite a spectacle. With the random break for ocean dips, salty snacks and refueling, the marathons are known to last well into the night. Those who do make it to the finish line, a motley and stumbling crew, much like your typical marathon runners. A sea of beer cans left in our wake, I think I placed in third this year. A Georgian took the gold, an Alabaman the silver. One quick note, the Alabama was drinking Bud Light, and could have been disqualfied. Instead, he was simply given a six-beer penalty.

P.S. Looking back on the latest entries, there has been mention of alcohol, or at least pictures, in way too many. Vacation is great, but I fear a liver needs a break.

Heaven

Planes cut scars into the blue, their exhaust forming boomerangs in the sky. Seagulls glide above the water, their bellies green from the water's reflection. Icicle green and crisp blue, this beach is heaven. Clouds float by like couples on a leisurely stroll. In the distance inland, dark rumblings of storms have passed us by each day. The land-bound covered in rain, we bob in the water and cook in the heat untouched by the storms. The wind and waves our natural barrier.

Ladies' night

We went out last night for ladies' night. What a riot! People on vacation do things I'm not sure they'd do normally in their day-to-day lives. Take Naomi. I don't know the woman or her name but chose to call her Naomi after the one from Mama's Family. Shoulder straps of her dress at her elbows, shimmying about the dance floor, at one point she lifted her ankle length dress up over her head onto a man with whom she'd been dancing. Guess that was her way of letting him know he was taken. Bless her heart. And his too. The whole bar stood agog as the couple danced, the man under her dress, the woman's undergarments out there for all to see. We ladies laughed our heads off. I guess Floridians are their own breed. Or maybe it's just beach people. Nope. Sure haven't had a Saturday night out like that in the city for a while. Well, maybe never...

Vacation!

Back on vaca, people, I'm in Florida. The Emerald Coast. The water is the color of jade, the sand snow. I've been coming to this part of Florida for 10 years, and this year the water is like crystal. We're staying in Bobby Bowden's house, Florida State's head football coach, for those of you who may not know. My father has a pretty strong opinion of him and laughed out loud when I told him that's where we'd be staying. Just an FYI, Dad, the deck is overrun with its very own horde of yellow jackets. The irony!

Did you know that Miller Lite is union made? At least the cans are. I wonder: shouldn't what's on the can reflect what's inside as much as the can itself? I think yes. So then, that's some union made beer. Just feels better knowing that big, sweaty, balding men made my beer. Really. Seems much better. Who want's to be drinking beer made made women who used to, say, do pedicures? Apple blossom beer? No frickin' thanks.

Da plane! Da plane!

I love flying. Sure, the delay can prove a bore or just inconvenient, but once in the air, what a great feeling. Soaring through clouds and blue, it's other-wordly. I guess I'm just happy when traveling. It doesn't have to be on a plane. I'm overjoyed on road trips, in a car or bus. Hell, I'll even hop on a donkey for a change of scenery! It's official. I am an addict. But only to adventure. I love the feeling of trying something new, heading to a new place, a new challenge. And I adore the whole process leading up to the trip. The clothes you pack, fitting it all in the bag, which for me is decidedly easier these days. And inevitably, you leave things behind that you wish you'd brought. But in the end, it's nothing but stuff. What's in the bag mere formalities. The real fun lies ahead in the perspective change, the sense of unknown, the beauty of seeing a new place for the first time, or rediscovering an old haunt.

I'm headed to Atlanta and tomorrow will be driving down to Florida for the annual Bockman beach week. Not only a plane ride, but also a road trip. SCORE! The family has been renting a house the last week of August on the Gulf side panhandle of Florida for the past 7 years. I've joined the crew for 3 of those years. It's Mama & Daddy Bockman, Beth, the eldest & her husband Robert, Elise, the middle sister, Rebecca, the baby, one of my best friends & coincidentally the reason I get an invite, and Nancy, one of Beth's college friends, & her husband Burt. We are the Bockman nine this year. And it's fun. Building memories with family and extended family. We eat gourmet meals and drink cocktails, sunbathe and relax.

It's interesting too, spending time with a girl family. Three sisters, a mom and the dad. My family seems to have always lived in a "man's world," Sportscenter and, well, Sportscenter. But with the girls, it's different. Refreshing and different. We discuss books and movies, and boys, of course. Dating and sex and shoes. HA! In my family shoe discussions are jokes! My dad has been known, on rare occasion, to model his most recent flip flop, but that's about the extent of it. It's just different, and I like it. It's a nice to see how the other half lives. But more than anything, it's nice to be with family.

Home

My girl Lynn and her friend Chill passed through the city today. On a whirlwind tour moving her back home to Savannah, GA, she blew in to pick up her stuff and blew right back out. She's headed to Alaska next year, after a bit of time with family and saving cash.

People ask me if I miss it. Georgia, that is. And truth be told, I don't. Not that I have anything against it, I just don't miss it. I have nostalgia, sure. Anytime I smell fresh cut grass, I am seven years old again, a towel slung around my neck, on my banana seat bike headed to swimteam practice. Humidity too takes me back to Georgia. But I don't know if Atlanta has the same sense of opportunity that New York has. The pulse. The madness. The grit. The vibrancy. Whatever you want, you can make it happen in New York. They say that home is where the heart is, which makes my home a one-room East Village studio, complete with 2 windows, a broken buzzer, a couple of lamps, a bed, a futon, a fridge and a happy heart.

Bar karma

I just walked into a bar I have frequented for several years, just about all 4 years that I have lived in my neighborhood. I spoke to the host, fine, wanted to sit at the bar and use my computer, and he told me, "Sorry. That's not possible." Interesting. I have sat at the bar and used my computer in this very place before. So, actually it is possible. Not only is it possible, it's been done on several occasions. Then, he offered me a table in the other room, in the corner, away from any signs of life, which I refused. Politely. I will not be banished for wanting to use a computer. So I started down the block and then decided, bump that. I'm going back to that bar, will speak to the bartender and do as I please. Now, don't get me wrong. I get it. Me using my computer at the bar is dorky and it's inconvenient and maybe even an imposition. But I'm not taking over the bar with my evil Apple. I'm discreet and quiet. There have been times that the bartenders have asked to check email which I offer willingly. But, this place is a Eurotrash bar. All French and snooty, only this ain't Paris, honey. It's New York. So, just to call it fair, I asked the single girl sitting next to me if she thought it was rude for people to use computers in bars. She said, "Actually, yes," and spent the next 10 minutes that it took me to finish a glass of wine texting someone out there. Hmm. So a computer is rude but a handheld version is ok? Are we all just hypocrites?

It's just that I haven't been able to write so much lately and get it out there and I just really wanted to do so. No reason to be a jerk to a girl. And plus, people sit at my bar and use computers. So what is that? If I'd put bad bar karma into the world, understandably, that's what I'd deserve in return. But no. I give good bar love, computer or no computer.

In a pinch

So I hung out with a cop yesterday. A girl cop. Damn, cops are intense. And seem to like to drink. Always. Maybe I should become a cop. Yeah. Right. It was funny, too, because it seems like it would be such a mismatch. I've always felt like a trouble-maker. Or at least trouble. So I was a little nervous, I'll say, to befriend a cop. I met her at the restaurant. She's one of our bar customers. Of course. I gotta say, I'm so glad we didn't meet at her job. Doesn't seem like arresting a friend would be mad fun. Not that I've ever been arrested. Knock wood. So, the cop's cool. Same age as me. Not putting up with any more nonsense or bull honkey. Just living her life. Gotta respect that.

There are quite a few stories that I can't wait to share from hanging out with this chick. But we'll start with Mr. PCP. As a rookie cop, just out of school, she got the night beat in Harlem. And she tells this one story about a 6'4" man on PCP who has just broken his girlfriend's jaw, and my friend has to cuff him. Apparently, of drug addicts, PCP junkies are the worst. They have superhuman strength, believe that they can do anything, jump from buildings, fly, stop cars, bullets. So this 5'6" 120 lb. rookie girl has to get him restrained and handcuffed. In the midst of this, he mentions that there's no way he's going back to jail. Great. One who already knows the drill and is opting to put up a fight. Turns out the rookie has a secret tactic. Anytime she can't get the suspect to surrender and assume the position, she pinches. On the neck, back of the arm, anywhere. With both hands. And it works. Every time. Now that's thinking on your feet.

Tragedy

Just wanted to send love and support to those affected in the earthquake that hit Peru yesterday. Scary to think I was just there a few months ago. While disasters of this sort are always tragic, from what I remember, this region of Peru relies on the land, grapes in particular for wine and pisco production, and tourism for its livelihood. Thoughts, prayers and luck to you, Peru.

Deseó enviar amor y ayuda a ésas afectadas adentro el terremoto que golpeó Perú ayer. Asustadizo para pensar que alla yo estuve solamente meses atras. Desastres de esto la clase son siempre trágica, pero si lo que yo recuerdo correctamente, esta región de Perú confía en la tierra, uvas particularmente para el vino y producción del pisco, y turismo para su sustento. Pensamientos, rezos y suerte a ti, Perú.

Enchanted extinction experiment

When I think about my life, I have tough days and freak out some, but really, I am enchanted. I live an enchanted life. Even the things I don't always want to do--insert "work" here--I tackle with philosophical determination in my mind and blazing glory in my heart.

And sometimes, in my enchanted head, I think it's my responsibility to love people. To make people feel love, accept love and know that they are loved. As they are in this life. Not that I have some inflated sense of worth, or maybe I do, as though I am the lover of the world. But those whose lives do intertwine with mine, I feel like it's important that they know they're appreciated, loved. I guess I've been thinking lately, what is all this about? I was talking with my friend Paul about how many galaxies are out there in space and it's unimaginable to think that we're the only ones out here. And then I wonder: what's the point? Are we just another species, another creature, simply breeding, living, that may one day also become extinct? Who's going to fight to save the humans? Will we be the dodo in years to come? Or maybe all those extinct species once gone regroup in the netherworld to form a whole new species. Is this all an experiment?

P.S. Looks like the credit for the dodo photo is from a CA doctor: David L. Nelson. Thanks, doc!

Outside the limits

I'm in Tuckahoe, just a 40 minute train ride north from the city, in Westchester, sitting on the steps of the Masonic Temple. You can see the glow of the city even as far out here. It's pink in the night sky. To the east and west, dark, but toward the city all lavendar. It's crazy to think how much energy a 14-mile island can produce, create. Human energy, natural energy. Heat, combustion, chaos. What if you could bottle New York City? To collapse the energy of one day and from different parts of the city. Showing different types of energy.

But those in Tuckahoe are removed from the chaos. Kids are skipping down the street, the last days of summer. People outside, hoping the days of late sunsets and crickets will last just a bit longer. That days without school will last forever. A man just walked out of Bubblemania, the laundromat, with his laundry and got into a Mercedes. I guess he had enough cash for the car, so he had to forego the washer & drier. Guess if you have a car here you don't have to mingle with the riffraff. But anyway, it's just kids. In the suburbs.

So here I am kicking it with the Masons. I wonder what it's like to be in a secret society. Looking at your brothers, or sisters all of whom keep your secrets. And you theirs. And all the cool things you plan within that community. Cookouts and fun. I'd love to create my own secret society. I wonder what I'd call it. Guess ir should be related to work or have some grounding in a job or occupation. Like the masons. To be a part of something secret and clandestine.

What's in an ette?

Cigarette, kitchenette, luncheonette? I mean, really. What's in an ette?

Me, I want the real thing. Give this hussy a kitchen. A cigar. A luncheon. Don't come at me with halfsies. I just ain't looking for none of that. I want the real deal or I don't want none of it.

M.A.S.H.

I had a dream last night that I had an army jeep. It was really fun! One of the ones without doors or windows, just that collapsable windshield. I think I fell asleep watching t.v. and M.A.S.H. must've come on. I love me some Alan Alda. Hawkeye Pierce, God bless ya! And Hot Lips Houlihan, you, too. It's funny how much of your life is made up of things that you never really liked but just couldn't have helped. I had no choice but to be a fan of countless shows, Bugs Bunny, the Muppets, M.A.S.H. And music, Elton John, all things bluegrass, heavy metal, even tomato sandwiches and G.I. Joe. It's just what was meant for me, the baby and only girl, with two big brothers and two southern parents, Virginians, to be exact. It's as though you inherit their tastes. No matter how much of a hissy fit you may try to pitch, you end up liking things that were just forced upon you, like simultaneouly watching the Braves on t.v., the sound muted and a.m. radio on in the background with the "legit" sportscaster calling the game. To this day, I'm still not sure what the big deal is with that one. But no matter how much you may have sworn against liking those things, whether it's because they remind you of family and people you love or simply because you'e grown accustomed to them, they end up a part of you. Thank the good lord they had good theme songs!

Fulfillment

Sometimes I wonder if life isn't just a series of missed opportunities. I just talked to Tony who won't be staying in Manchester, NH or returning after his month job in Kentucky. He had gotten consideration to work full time for a theatre there and then the consideration got yanked. He's ok. Not too upset but maybe confused on what he's supposed to do. He's scared that returning to New York may mean assuming bad habits again. I can identify. I really don't want to get stuck waiting tables. Is that ever anyone's dream? And is it the destiny of my generation not to live our dreams? As though we can figure them out but not pursue them? Or pursue them but never be paid or able to sustain ourselves following those dreams? It just can't be the case.

And then I think of prior generations. There are those who had no opportunities. And those who worked whatever jobs they could to live and support their families. And I feel like a complainer. Eww. Like someone with a whole lot of luxury to be able to complain. But when to we get to deem ourselves successful? When we've paid bills and been able to survive? Is that the purpose of this life? Or is it when we've fulfilled lifelong dreams regardless of bills, regardless of survival? I vote for the fulfillment of our dreams.

Let your love shine

My mom wrote me recently that traveling changes you. I'm not sure if she's speaking from her own experiences lately. She and my father moved to Singapore in February. Or if this is a touch of wisdom passed unto her. Either way, it's right on. Things I used to love just don't matter so much anymore. Shopping? Eh...who cares? Shoes? Well, ok. Maybe...but now when I see all that stuff I think back to handmade crafts, the brilliant colors and the people who made them in South America. I've never been much of a brand girl anyway. Louis Vuitton? Did you know that those bags are made of canvas? You're dropping a grand, plus or plus, on a spruced up potato sack. And for me, it'd me more special with my own initials on it. And originality? I haven't seen that much that's all that original since back in the city. I'm keeping my eyes peeled. There's just no way New York could have lost its appeal for me. It just can't!

Ah, saving grace. Love Shine. What a fun funky store in my neighborhood: Love Shine. Thank the good lord. Keep your eyes open and don't forget the small stuff, Miss Anne. Love Shine is a pop & pop shop, the front showcasing the newest fabrics and styles of bags, the tail end of the shop awash in sewing machines, materials and swatches. They have laptop cases, fun handbags in all sorts of prints and styles, diaper bags even, yes, all of Manhattan is procreating, and most recently are venturing into sundresses and clothes. Phew. My faith in New York restored!

The vortex

New York city is an adventure. I woke up around 5 am to the sound of pouring rain. Lightning, thunder and a downpour. On my way to work, I found that no trains were running uptown. No NQR, no 123, no 456. *#()_)&@#$(!*@)##! Scrambling, scrambling, brain moving like a computer over the city's transportation routes. AHA! The crosstown bus, and now I'm on a bus uptown. I was supposed to be at work as of right now.

It took 45 minutes to get to work on the M11. That makes it a 15 minute mile, more or less. Funny to think I could have walked and gotten there faster! Why didn't I ride my bike today?!?!

I don't know what it is, but it feels like New York is a vortex. Things happen here that just aren't supposed to happen. At least lately. The roads exploading from heat. And a tornado touched down in Brooklyn this morning. In another dimension, New York would be the black hole that everything and everyone gets sucked into. Were New York an animal it would eat its young. The weaker sacrificed to feed the others.

I guess that means that there is something special about New Yorkers. The survivors, having eaten our siblings a distant memory, but a memory nonetheless, not matter how far back in the brain it may be lodged. And sure, a bunch of Yankees might not seem like the greatest thing if you're, say, southern. But the whole world is represented, not just carpetbaggers. Giggle. There is a determination, a fight inside each of us. And sometimes, the city is your opponent. Traffic is your sparring partner. Then, the train. Racing to catch the express. Then other commuters your opponenets. Women in suits and heels with sneaker prints up their backs from sportsters beating them out for the one available cab on First Ave. And then stoplights, and pedestrians. The bob and weave around strollers and those clueless ones behind them strolling. Always a competition. Then, add in nature? Today I lost, or more had to concede once Mother Nature entered the competition. Subways flooded, and me, one of the few proud chumps unable to take a sick day.

The flower pot

I live downtown. In Alphabet City, almost on Avenue D. It's pretty much as far south and east as you can live on the island. And Avenue D is considered, well, rough. Me? I love it. Characters in Tompkins Square Park, gardens tucked in between buildings, graffiti a patchwork piecing together the neighborhood. But all of that is changing, I fear. Gentrification. One block away from me, the flower pot building is going up. Million dollar apartments, yes, one bedrooms for a million dollars. And the demographic they're supposedly looking for to fill the building is mine. Young (er, cough, cough...sigh), female professionals. HA! If you've got a mil to drop on an apartment, what on Earth would inspire you to move almost all the way to D? There is no Starbucks. No shopping, except for a 99 cent store. No New York Sports Club. There are laudromats, Spanish and Chinese restaurants, grocery stores and pharmacies. But it ain't luxury. And I like it. But I'm not sure the neighborhood would suffice for a person looking to spend a mil on an apartment.

After three years of living in my studio, I feel a part of the hood. I speak to people on the street, pass things I no longer use on to neighbors, accept things others no longer need. One of my neighbors just moved out and left me his air conditioner! I'm not much of a window unit girl, but, man, was it hot yesterday! My street is built of a senior facility and community housing, interspersed with what was a squatters building, a couple of churches and a Habitat for Humanity building, created to house low-income families. What was once planned diversity seems to be getting pushed out into the East River.

So here are my questions. What young prefessional drops a mil on a one bedroom? Is this an alternate reality? Are there people my age bringing in that kind of dough? I guess if you have money to throw around, why not? But the neighborhood, this part anyway, is still mostly lower income families. How do those two dynamics relate? What happens when you put the have-too-muches and the don't-have-a-lots on the same block?

And me, I can't even seem to keep a plant alive in a pot, let alone see it through to blooming with flowers! Please see dead licorice plant at right.

Memories of Manchester

What I remember most is the sound of seagulls in the Manchester sky. They're loud and there are no buildings, no skyscrapers, no traffic to drown them out. One sole seagull, gliding through the air, crying. From such a distance, it rekindles family trips to the beach in my mind. A couple of kids on a deserted shore building sandcastles. Clouds only along the horizon, thin as gauze, the sun poking through bald spots. Old home videos in black and white. 5...4...3...2...grain and gravel on film. I want to be there.

And houses in Manchester are rumored to be haunted, the local theater, too. Given that the people I've seen roaming the streets look a bit slanted, even tortured, I can only imagine that once they've pass on to the other world, their ghosts continue to haunt the streets and buildings. One night, the gang had to pull together wardrobing for a show from the costume warehouse and left me at Becca's. Her apartment is on the top floor of an old house. I walked in and shivered. The doors open to a huge staircase with a weathered wood banister. It reminded me of Norman's house in Psycho. Great. Why did my brain have to go there? I bolted up the three flights, fiddling with the key in the door, of course, and made it inside. Lights. Lights! Just find a lightswitch! Done. Maybe even the attic apartment, it was pretty hot, so I opened windows. They slid open and stayed open, weighted or counter-weighted, those kinds of windows in old houses that somehow just stay open. Even the windows freaked me out. In the city everything seems to be set to slam shut, close, lock. To keep things, people out. Or in. Protected, secured. And in the city, you just don't get attached to a building. Who wants to spend an eternity haunting a studio apartment? So, I composed myself and got some work done. Even the wind blowing into the apartment felt alive. Spirited. I keep wondering, do I need to get out of the city more? And into the country? Screen porches, rocking chairs, climbing trees. Creating a game out of pine cones and needles. Have I lost touch with the simple things in life?

Pointer

I rolled my finger up in the window of Becca's car yesterday. Yes, like an idiot. I was peeling my toenails off, cute, I know, and decided to throw them out the window. They're biodegradable, right, Dad? My left hand on the window control, my right hand out the window, I guess we hit a bump or something. And my left hand jerked up and rolled my right index finger up into the window sleeve. Not so fun. In those 3 seconds, it's like time stopped. I tried to pry my hand out first, then realized I could simply roll the window back down. Have I'm mentioned I'm an idiot sometimes? And despite my many attempts at ambidextrousness, I'm still hopelessly right-handed. The funniest part is that when we got back to the car after the day at the beach, I could see my handprints on the window, the right one slightly smeared from being pulled up with the window, the left one above it. I had apparently tried to use the force of both hands, one of which was pinned in the window already, to push the glass right out of the frame. Silly girl.

Beachness

Day at the beach, people! Yes! With Tony, Becca, Shawn, Bobby and Flaherty, the yellow lab. The vacation of my life continues.

"New Hampshire is quaint." A direct quote from Shawn, a native to New Hampshire. Tony's got some good people up here.

I think my tan makes people uncomfortable. Weird to see what happens when your skin makes people uncomfortable.

Manchester

Explosive lightning just crackled to the ground. Momentary light carved in the sky, the negatives of vericose veins cutting into the dark. Striking, inspriring. There is no rain, it's only electrical, the storm. Sharp, jagged. When I was growing up, a friend's mother was struck by lightning. Burned all over her body, even from the underwire in her bra, they said what saved her were her rubber boots. I've never feared lightning but were I out in this, I'd surely run for cover.

Twenty minutes later, the rain has begun to fall. In buckets. And huge drops. I'm on my way to Manchester, New Hampshire, on a Peter Pan bus.

Manchester, ManVegas, Manchattan, whatever you want to call it, is a trip. There's a little bit of everything. A very little bit. My friend Tony says, "It's almost big enough." Or, "It's just a bit too small." And coming out of Tony's mouth, that's especially funny to hear. He's in NH for theater. Musical theater. I've never understood it, but hey. It's all him. Getting all dressed up, dancing, singing. I saw him in a show in college. He was the spirit of this kid who committed suicide. And Todd Studebaker made him wear feathers. As though they made it ethereal and other-wordly. So here was Tony performing a contemporary dance, portraying the spirit of this tortured kid, with plastic feathers pinned to his shirt. I'm no theater expert, but really, Todd, bad idea. I'm staying with the Tonester this weekend. On a quick getaway from the city.

Dia de nacimiento

So what do you do for the first official I'm "in my 30s now" birthday? I know. Who cares? Me. So, I went out for margaritas, then to a friend's for absinthe. Woah. That sure is some crazy stuff. Illegal here--or not legally sold anyway. And you serve it with water and a sugar cube. It's a whole process. And two of those and...TKO. Anita's down for the count.

When I woke up this morning, I giggled. Just inside the door was one shoe, followed by the next. Then pants, shirt and unmentionables. Looks like I removed an article of clothing with each step. Funny, too. I was home by 10 pm! That's when my mom passes out, not ME! Uh, oh. Not sure this whole 31 thing is going to work out...

Quick shout out: happy birthday to me! Thanks all of you who called this hussy. Love ya!

Good enough

Getting behind on this, I know. Busy at work. The owner keeps trying to get me to be the GM. I'm just not having it. I told her today that I'd do it for 6 figures. She gave me the finger.

I had drinks with some friends from my old job last week. They got a kick out of the name of the restaurant. And then I mentioned the yoga pants that say "Good Enough to Eat" across the tush. Got some good jokes outta that one...

Laps

I just passed the block where I got jumped the first November I spent in the city. That would have been 2002. Six dudes jumped me and a friend as we were making the block. I had this habit of doing laps, it still comes out from time to time. I'll be out with friends drinking, enjoying, and all of the sudden, I have to leave to make a quick run around the block.

I think it's just that I have too much energy. Or ADD. It all started back in Georgia. Decatur, Georgia to be specific. Back then you could still smoke in bars, which only added to my need for a change in scenery. And it was a place called Trackside...yep, the wrong side of the tracks.

Anyway, that night on 106 and Broadway, we got jumped mid-lap. They put me in a headlock and took the $40 I had tucked in my bra. It wasn't as scary as it may seem. But getting jumped wasn't even the kicker. The real kicker for me was that I was wearing the freshest of fresh jackets. I called it my Michael Jackson jacket. It had a couple of zippers, no, not as many as his, but the jacket made me feel bad. The good kind of bad. The Michael Jackson pre-BAD. And somehow in the series of events that occurred, it got covered in blood. Angry? Nope, I was feral cat mad. It was the first time I'd worn it. An inaugural night! And to think it ended up in the garbage somewhere on Broadway.

So now, anytime I buy something new that I just adore, I wear it to the nearest bodega or bank first. Somehow, taking my suede leopard heels from Buenos Aires, or my grandmother's fur out for a dry run to the corner for powerball ticket seems to break the jinx. Knock wood. After a dry run, and only after will I even think about taking on any kind of lap anymore.

New world

I saw a t-shirt today that read, "I love immigrant New York." Now, I'm not big on t-shirts saying things, but with this one, I agree. And then I thought, isn't that redundant? All the talk about stopping illegal immigration? Aside from those native to this continent, aren't we all immigrants in some way? And a lot of those to avoid persecution, a lot to absolve debt, a lot for the belief in new opportunity? I can't help but wonder, have we lost that pioneering spirit? I know, it's never that simple. But what's the difference between a pioneer and an immigrant? Doesn't it seem like the same kind of person, to leave all you know and make a new life in a whole, new place? I guess it's just seems like we forget sometimes where most of us came from, how we ourselves ended up here.

Adventure girls

Lynn left today, folks. She's headed to hike the state of Vermont, then back to Savannah. After that, she's going to be a cook on a fishing boat in the Caribbean. And she's tying it altogether with a final few years homesteading in Alaska. And you think I'm nuts?!? I'm really going to my fellow Georgia peach. Cool girl, man. Cool, cool girl. Be careful, sister!

Solitary

It's weird but sometimes I feel more alone here, in a city covered in millions, than I did traveling South America. Alone. It's as though in places where there are tons of people, you should feel a connection. You should feel that sense of closeness, but you don't. In reality, you can feel more secluded, out of touch, untouchable. It's strange but sometimes it seems like New York is one, big island full of solitary creatures. It makes me sad to think about the people who live their lives alone. The owner of the restaurant wants me to plan Thanksgiving this year, to which I am heartily opposed, and as it turns out, the seats at the bar are even full. Single people eating alone on Thanksgiving. Sometimes I fear that will be me.

Singapore 2nd

Walking down 1st Avenue today, the girl in front of me in a black dress covered in those popular, kinda cheesy cherries starts talking about cigars she'd bought. In Singapore. Hmm. My parents live there now. Interesting. Then she mentions that she bought them, had them all wrapped up in paper, hoping customs wouldn't take them, because they were a present for some guy in her life. Apparently, his birthday is August 2nd. Nice. Thirty seconds of conversation I guess I was supposed to overhear!

A little shameless birthday self-promotion never hurt anyone...did it?

Ain't that a shame

I spent yesterday moving my stuff out of storage, my friend's into it. Blah, blah, blah. But on the way to load her stuff, we passed a streetwalker. My girl had on black patent leather 4 inch heels and a gold lamay slip dress. No undergarments, unfortunately. As we passed her she sighe, "Oh my god. My feet is killing me!" I love New York. And my neighborhood.

I'm starting a book called "The Joke's Over" by Ralph Steadman. It's an autobiography about him and Hunter S. Thompson working together back in the day. The introduction reads, "Don't write, Ralph. You'll bring shame on your family." It's a quote from his buddy, Hunter S. Thompson. Good god, can I identify. I have a certain discretion that sometimes I'd love to abandon. Guess I'll have to come up with a phantom identity! Oooooh, fun! Any suggestions out there in the world??

Sneaks and scarves

Rock n' roll karaoke last night. Fun, for sure! Arlene's Grocery brings down the house on Monday nights. Also, I bought new sneakers yesterday. Lebron James' sneaks. I don't know who he is but, apparently, everybody else does. It makes me giggle. He's supposedly the best pro player in the game right now and me, I'm unknowingly wearing his sneakers. Of course, I am on the up-and-up enough to have heard about the scandal with that NBA ref and his fixing games. Ooooh. That could get ugly.

Ok, so let's talk about the lovely people I have in my life. I have to say, I'm thrilled to share moments with a lot of them. Yesterday, I hung out with Dwayne, Ed & Sarah for a bit, then Lynn, Tiiu & her brother, Lori & Crystal. And Lucas and his "ex," too. I'm happy because I feel open and able to meet new people and like them. I used to clam up around new people. I know. The spaz, big mouth, also shy?? Never! I was a closet introvert or something. Not anymore. Phew!

I just passed a Muslim woman and her daughter walking through Tompkins both of whom were wearing head scarves. The girl was on a scooter, the mother walking behind her. Only their scarves had the Calvin Klein insignia on them. CK scarves, evidently, the material was black but the letters irridescent. It looked nice but it seemed to be a contradiction to me. Not sure I think of Islam and Calvin Klein as bedfellows. Excellent. That just changed my perception. I love it when that happens.

Nor'easter

I just left my house in a short skirt and flip flops and got pretty close to mowed down by the wind and rain. I'm not sure how nor'easter didn't register in my brain. The forecast said it. I heard it. But doesn't seem like it sank in with me until I was in the middle of it. Skirt blown up to my waist. Quick change to jeans rolled up to the knees and I'm back out.

I'm not using a journal anymore, I'm using scraps of paper. Right now, I'm writing on paper sent to me in the mail for free from the Nature Conservancy. The tag line reads, "Saving the last great places on Earth." What a motto, right? Before this paper, I used a notepad from my old job. Broadview Networks, " Making connections that make a difference." Hmm. Maybe we should get them together. "Making connections that save the last great places on Earth." Or "Saving the last great connections that make a difference?" Hmm. First one's better, right? Anyway, the Nature Conservancy paper has my name at the top. Just feels so official. I found it in my apartment somewhere, and before I go buying any new stuff, it feels like I should use up what's already there. But it's also kind of a trip because I have these papers everywhere, some dated, many not, and every couple of days I have to piece them together like a puzzle. What happened when? Where am I? And ironically enough, I then end up stuffing the scraps in a blank journal. How does that make any sense? I guess I write on scraps cuz you just never know where you're going to be when a good idea's going to hit.

The Social Security Administration is empty today. It's 3:17 pm coupled with a nor'ester, good stuff. I took a number, sat down and within 2 minutes, got called to the desk. Yippee frickin skippy. Ok, people. The SSA, then to the USPS to mail a friend a package, and I walked out at 3:43 pm. That means, in total, including walking 2 blocks and an avenue and a half, dealing with the SSA & USPS, all got taken care of in, count em, 26 minutes. Today feels like Supermarket Sweeps or something.