It wasn't all that windy....

This is the lady at the Costco- which is where Syd took me on the way home from the airport. I didn't realize it but EVERY day is a cocktail party there... with tiny snacks around every corner- all that is lacking are little black dresses- they wear hairnets instead.

While my trip to Chicago is now a fait accompli, I still have a little blog-worthy treasure trove of memories- a LITTLE one as I left my camera battery in a bag of stuff I dragged home from my last day at the Enormous Fabulous Paper Store and was limited to whatever charge remained on the camera. I had lost hope of finding it after I called 'Neff and e-mailed Nancy asking them to send it along (P.S. guys, the message here I FOUND it, thanks anyhow. Sorry to bug you) I also called Radio Shack and asked if THEY had a camera battery charger for a Panasonic DMC-FX50. The zombie who managed to crawl (by the sound of him half dead and over broken glass) to the phone. "We have a UNIVERSAL charger" he moaned. Now, I have been fooled by this term before- this SHOULD mean it fits every camera in the universe, right? WRONG. It reminds me of a joke my friend Naeem tells in proper British Raj clipped English- her brown eyes wide she asks "What is the difference between a bitch and a slut?" when you shrug she replies " A slut will sleep with ANYONE, a BITCH will sleep with ANYONE BUT YOU." The camera charger- and the term "universal" guarantees that this charger will fit EVERY CAMERA BATTERY in the known universe as well as several UNIDISCOVERED galaxies full- just not yours. To top it off- it will look EXACTLY like it would fit yours, if you ALSO buy the "universal adaptor" which will do everything except make grape snowcones, oh, and it will absolutely NOT charge your camera's batteries. Though it may be the exact size that your battery will become irretrievably STUCK in. When you bring it back, the exhausted adolescent managing the counter will muster up the unmitigated GALL to say a.) DID you buy this here? (yes, from you, TWO hours ago!) b.) This won't fit YOUR battery (thanks Sweetpea- that's my battery STUCK in there NOW) c.) You can't return it because you've USED it. This is where I explain to someone with the attention span of a goldfish that while it HAS been used to raise my blood pressure to dangerous levels it hasn't actually charged ANYTHING- no charge- no use- right Spanky? Eventually I would get the charger returned- but I have a revenge departure line. I look into the glazed eyes of a being who thinks this is a sweet ride because he can play video games until his eyes cross and piss off lots of people his parent's age and get PAID to do so. As I leave I say- "Sugarlump? Hang onto this job with BOTH hands- at fifty it will be the only thing between you and being unemployed living in your parent's basement in a ratty barcalounger with a vicious hobby of picking your nose and eating it." Oops- off track again. Where was I? Oh yeah-Chicago...

Henry (Syd's husband and a really nice guy for someone who slices up dead people parts for a living...the PARTS are always dead- not always so the people) Lucas and Jasper insisted we go to breakfast at their favorite breakfast place- there was much oooing and ahhhing over the bacon (which was quite good) but the BIG thing- the really, really big thing was




The apple pancake- modelled by Lucas- for a sense of scale. Lucas is in the 7th grade- so, well- it was really BIG. Lucas is the size of a seventh grader- you do the math.



Syd let me play in her Miata- "Little Red" I wanted to try driving it but as she explained the care and feeding of a manual transmission I realized I would need; aside from a driver's licence- an extra FOOT, this will need to wait. Though car-wise as we stepped out of the Pancake House I saw the car for me- sort of.



Right shape and very cool- PRETTY noticeable. I thought as a new driver I should be as VISIBLE as possible. I have written to Volkswagon to ask if the bug comes in Safety Cone Orange- I may also ask Michael to make me some oversized plastic band-aids to stick all over it- as a warning to other drivers.



This is my new best friend- Meeko the Keeshond. The price of undying loyalty and affection ( and not a MOMENT'S privacy ANYWHERE- try and get out of the shower when your bathmat has a big FURBALL lying on it)? One tiny piece of cheese. I threw it to her on a whim my first day there and now- with Labor Day and the Jerry Lewis Telethon approaching the "You'll Never Walk Alone" song seemed particularly meaningful...






Gratuitous pretty pictures...



Really cool Art Deco Architecture on Michigan Avenue



The Gehry Bandshell in Millenium Park



My FAVORITE thing- The Bean. It's not ACTUALLY a bean- I looked it up, it is "Cloud Gate is British artist Anish Kapoor's first public outdoor work installed in the United States. The 110-ton elliptical sculpture is forged of a seamless series of highly polished stainless steel plates, which reflect the city's famous skyline and the clouds above. A 12-foot-high arch provides a "gate" to the concave chamber beneath the sculpture, inviting visitors to touch its mirror-like surface and see their image reflected back from a variety of perspectives. Inspired by liquid mercury, the sculpture is among the largest of its kind in the world, measuring 66-feet long by 33-feet high.

It looked like a giant chrome kidney bean to me. I LOVED it. It must be hell to Windex it...



I am the orange speck under the bean...

And I ate one of their famous hot dogs. It was on a seeded poppy roll, had yellow mustard, lots of sweet pickle relish, "sport" peppers (these are hot- the sport is PANTING) a pickle spear and a slice of fresh tomato (also onions but I passed on that). The dog itself- a really good natural casing all beef dog is BURIED under all of this and though I kept the mustard and relish, I ditched the rest and ate the pickle spear separately. After this transgression I may not be allowed in Chicago again. But if I can make it through the airport and buy another hot dog- it's pretty much a lock Meeko will be meeting me there and she'll take me home.

"Home", to clarify, is where good friends/family like Syd, Henry, Nikki, Lucas, Jasper (and Meeko) are. Thanks for the visit you guys.

Nic- YOUR post is yet to come :) X

The Personal Shopper

The shoes in question...

No one knows better how to curb the (ahem) less than corporate (read here "good girl gone bad") aspects of me than my best friend Syd. I am visiting Syd here in Hinsdale, IL, which is about 40 minutes outside Chicago. It's pretty here, but a little crowded- the issue being there are lots of HUGE houses here on little bitty lots. And EVERYONE is an individual- and jockeying for the Miss Unconventiality prize for architecture. Here you have gigantic faux Tudor cottages sharing space with medieval manses lacking only in moats. Buildings so ugly they would make a gargoyle jump. Pity the time for sieges and pillaging has passed.

And speaking of jump. I was sitting out on the patio having an illicit smoke out of my god-daughter Nikki's eyeshot when a noise made me, and Miko the Keeshound jump- I squeaked and she barked and we both ran for the door- the screen door which has a broken latch. It is the familial bone of contention as to WHOSE job it is to fix it and how complicated the repair will be- The husband point of view: duct tape. Wife point of view: nothing short of a home-makeover will solve this issue. I just wanted IN. Somehow between Miko and I we managed with a combination of paws and claws to get the door open and let it slam shut behind us. WHAT was that noise- the kids looked up from the TV, actually it was more of an eye flick- "What noise?" they said-rather dispassionately I thought- considering it sounded a great deal like the soundtrack for a horror movie. Just then Syd came to the patio door- "WHAT IS THAT??" "What?" Syd's ears being somewhat desensitized from living with children for the past 14 years. "THAT" I said- whispering in case whatever it was could hear me
That SCREECHING." as the sound crested and receded outside. She looked at me as if my head had fallen off but my lips were still moving. "Cicadas" she smirked. "Mel- you need to get outSIDE more."

So we went to the mall. Men watch sporting events or TV and are social that way. Women shop. It is similar to the male bonding ritual in that like men do not need to actually PLAY baseball (or basketball, football badminton or whatever flimsy excuse for a sporting event allows them 3 hours of female-free time and all the chicken wings they can consume) I find women do not ACTUALLY need to make a purchase while shopping- maybe a latte- all the looking can make you thirsty. Sometimes we eat- but only if not clothing shopping where one of those incredibly large pretzels can be the difference between

I am a GODDESS

and

I am a COW

. If shoe shopping- we may eat.

Here in the middle of the country I was not anticipating any cutting edge trends but I was looking for an essential- the perfect black pump; the Holy Grail of Shoes- comfortable- yet sexy- a little toe cleavage- but not TOO much, the right heel 2 3/4"- 3" not enough to hurt me- but seen with the right skirt- to encourage the opposite sex to say "ouch"- not too shiny or too matte- a mid-thickness heel being thick enough to support me for the day without causing shooting pains in my lower back but not so thick as to remind one of say...pillars supporting the facade of the NY Public Library. Most important; to give the impression that you are both WITHIN fashion boundaries yet free from gravity's constraints. Oh and somewhere under $300 would be nice. And we only had this afternoon to shop- Syd's kids get home at 3...

We left the house at ten a.m.- while I am on vacation I move at a pace that makes folks in assisted living say "HEY get a MOVE on" I relax with great enthusiasm- the opposite of a Porsche I go 100 mph to inert VERY quickly. But we went to a big enormous shoe emporium here... and there were many many choices- black pump wise. I eliminated everything with a peek toe (at least in black...more on this later) Syd asked "What heel height?" I replied- "Sensible- 2 3/4"- 3"..no more" Syd gave me a look that let me know we each defined "sensible" somewhat differently. I came across a beautiful pair of Elie Tahari slingbacks with a fairly lethal pointy toe- You can wear slingbacks with PANTS she said. I mentioned Mr. L's prohibition on heels/slingbacks and that he worked for Huge Mega Big Corporation a really long time- very smart- EXPERT even... Syd made a noise similar to the one used to cheer in the Bronx. "Mega Big Huge Corporation is run by GUYS- what do guys know about shoes?" she said hip AND eyebrow cocked. "They know enough to chase them when a curvy calf and skirt are piled on top..." I opined. She just laughed- "get the shoes" I asked her to get me a half size larger- "That longer toe will just make you look like a b**ch" she said. I looked at her- and the issue is? As far as I am concerned- BONUS! Bitchy at work means never having to say- "Do you take cream and sugar?" All good.
The perfect pair of black pumps (ok nigh-perfect, ideally the perfect pump will be delivered by Lancelot- or Manolo Blahnik on a white charger)presented themselves- had a 3 1/2" heel with a 1/2" platform thereby restoring the height/balance ratio to 3" and a round toe- very kind to feet.

Added to the pile are a pair of shoes which will give Mr. L. shivers- (insert excuses here) I NEEDED brown shoes- They were 30% off and they looked HOT. Andtheyhaveaslingbackandatinypeektoe- It's like ripping a band-aid off- say it fast- hurts less. I also had the temerity to try on a pair of blue and white striped strappy sky scraper high-heeled sandals- Syd came over and squealed (in the bad way) "Nononono" she chanted- "You KNOW they aren't corporate" . "I know, I said but they're so CUTE" I said pivoting on them and almost falling. She said "They look like 40's slut." Then she saw the look on my face and back pedalled- "Not a slut IN HER 40's, but a slut FROM the 1940's"! she smiled. Yeah Syd that sounds WAY better.

So the moral of this story is ALWAYS take a friend with you shoe shopping- no one can abuse you like those who love you.

Currently Travelling...

I am in the middle of the country... boinging here and there...

and occasionally checking in on www.frozenreality.co.uk

:) X

The Goodbye Girl

As I'd mentioned the days have been packed with a free meal every 3 hours or so, whether I need to eat or not. Thursday morning found me at the Time Warner Center for a beautiful bon voyage breakfast




Jen's necklace

When I arrived at the office I pulled a few things together but mostly spent time packing up my stuff and sniffling (dust, you know). Judy called me into the lunchroom for a quick meeting and...



Surprise- Goodbye Party.



Rendering me speechless would normally require a blow to the head- in this case... the amount of care and time taken from family and home to pull this together for ME... I have written about what it means to me to cook for someone- I do not even have words for how I feel when someone cooks for me. But I couldn't speak. Except to say "Thank you" quietly. It was pretty much all I could do.





My plate- Tortilla pie by Velia, Rice and Peas by Judy, Guacamole by Vanessa, and Curried Goat by Hedley- Yummy but anonymous Potato Salad, I ate twice trying to figure out who made it- may have to try once more...



Me with Neff and Nancy- our spirits buoyed by a load of carbs.


And I walked downtown after work, meeting Gab at Amy's Bread, when I saw this..


And all I could think was- it ends... and it's also just beginning.... and it's gonna be a heck of a ride!

:)X

This just in...

As things wind down at work I have been getting taken to breakfast lunch and dinner for the past week by an endless stream of wonderful well-wishers. The result of this bacchanal is an excess of sleepiness (and some weepiness) brought on by reminiscing and an excess of carbs. To battle off the doldrums, if not the calories, I took a look at the news online. When not laughing I was also vaguely alarmed. My comments are in italics.

Seniors staying Frisky into 70's and 80's

Sex with a partner in the previous year was reported by 73 percent of people ages 57 to 64; 53 percent of those ages 64 to 75, and 26 percent of people 75 to 85. Of those who were active, most said they did it two to three times a month or more.

GRANDPARENTS getting frisky- with more success than me- this was not as amusing as it was at 1st glance...

Woman Sets fire to husband's penis

MOSCOW (Reuters) - A woman set fire to her ex-husband's penis as he sat naked watching television and drinking vodka, Moscow police said Wednesday.

The attack climaxed three years of acrimonious enforced co-habitation.

A rather unfortunate use of the word "climax" I thought

Belching moose add to global warming

A grown moose belches out methane gas equivalent to 2,100 kilograms (4,630 pounds) of carbon dioxide a year, contributing to global warming, Norwegian researchers said Wednesday. That is more than twice the amount of CO2 emitted on a round-trip flight across the Atlantic Ocean from Oslo to the Chilean capital Santiago, according to Scandinavian Airlines.

Rudeness kills- don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Somewhere a polar bear is stranded on an ice floe because Moose (Meese? Mooses?) can't handle their legumes.

British dwarf's penis gets stuck to hoover

A dwarf performer at the Edinburgh fringe festival had to be rushed to hospital after his penis got stuck to a vacuum cleaner during an act that went horribly awry.

Several questions here- but in the interest of good taste I will keep it short (oh no!) An act that went "horribly awry"? What was the scenario had it gone well? The hoover and the dwarf marry? A "happy ending"?

Atlanta considers banning baggy pants

Baggy pants that show boxer shorts or thongs would be illegal under a proposed amendment to Atlanta's indecency laws. The amendment states that sagging pants are an "epidemic" that is becoming a "major concern" around the country. The proposed ordinance would also bar women from showing the strap of a thong beneath their pants. They would also be prohibited from wearing jogging bras in public or show a bra strap.

The proposed ordinance states that "the indecent exposure of his or her undergarments" would be unlawful in a public place. It would go in the same portion of the city code that outlaws sex in public and the exposure or fondling of genitals.

OK a.) If the alternative were no underwear at all how would the powers that be in Atlanta feel? Remember the absolute horror when women burned their bras (ok the WOMEN were horrified- men were offering Zippos)? I personally would prefer seeing a jogging bra in full view than a big girl running past threatening to give herself 2 black eyes.

X.)With this ordinance you have virtually insured that Madonna (and all the wanna-be's that followed her) will never visit Atlanta (hmmm have possibly discovered true intent of this particular bit of law).

lobster.) The BIG question- WHO is it harming? A flash of bra strap, coyly pulled up has ever been a flirtatious little move on the part of women EVERYWHERE. I think Thomas Jefferson would be horrified to hear that government had invaded this level of any citizen's life- and would be tickled to death if Sally Hemmings flashed him a bit of thong... In this light, I believe that requiring people to cover up to this extent is not only wrong...

It's darned unpatriotic!

:) X

Tickle Me Emo...Walking in the East Village

Ephemera sometimes drifts into a slightly dusky spaces. I have been wandering these streets ever since I could squeeze out of my basement bedroom window after my mom was asleep. Running to listen to bands now long gone in clubs that are now no more than the subject of ironic hipster t-shirts. Gentrification has firmly settled into the area yet somehow the grittiness and the darkness prevails over oil based coats of graffiti-proof paint. The light of a patchouli scented candle has been replaced by the glow of an Apple laptop. Emo supplants punk as the outcry of smooth pink flesh in the dispair of questing for a firm place to stand and something to believe in- or be disappointed with. I can still hear Debbie Harry singing as I walk along the streets...


Ooh baby, I hear how you spend night-time:
Wrapped like candy in a pure blue neon glow.
Fade away and radiate.
Fade away and radiate.

Ooh baby, watchful lines vibrate
soft in brainwave time.
Silver pictures move so slow.
Golden tubes faintly glow.

Electric faces seem to merge.
Hidden voices mock your words.
Fade away and radiate.
Fade away and radiate.









Beams become my dream.
My dream is on the screen.
The beams become my dream.
My dream is on the screen.

:) X

The End of a Paper Trail....

This is my 100th blogpost. (No applause please and for God's sake quit throwing paperclips!) I thought to myself, "Self...should be big, should be interesting... and maybe have a dog in it.." I couldn't find a dog. But this may be of interest-
I am leaving the big fantastic paper store after ten years.

For me this is huge. Aside from my relationship with my step mother, and my ex-husband, oh and my therapist (sorry Marc) I haven't had too many relationships (Syd, Mirm, Gab and Julie- you guys too) that lasted this long. Life in the big city can be, transient. It moves fast and change becomes a part of - well, waking up in the morning- as in am I a cowboy? a prepster? Emily the Strange? This makes for big piles of clothing in the middle of the floor and begs the question each evening "Who DID this??" And then the startling realization "Oh wait, I live alone." all the while checking to see if the cat grew thumbs (nope).

A wide range of things brought on the change- small company- big dreams. Large money hopes- small budget. And the nagging feeling that in this particular wading pool, I'd pretty much outlived most of the other fish. And without stretching for another aquatic metaphor- I'd done all the stuff I set out to do- and the wows were coming less and less.

So I sent out a resume and .. got a terrific new job on the very first interview. I know, I know- I maybe shoulda waited, maybe shoulda looked some more, but trust me- this one was a keeper and aside from an office space which makes every small room joke seem like an understatement (hunchbacked mice- key in lock breaks window- take your pick) it's pretty much tailor made for me. Like the suits I had to have altered because the stores don't think any woman is under 5'9"- if anyone has ANY suggestions for how to use 4 sets of 5" pant cuffs let me know- I saved them. And the new job is with ... well I'll save it a bit but I did have to look up what Horology meant- now you will too.

It's hard- really hard leaving the world of paper. A friend said I got real comfortable here and I did- it's nice to know whether it was NASA or the Princess of Thailand asking- as long as it was paper related- I had an answer. Nice to feel safe that way. And the challenges- when I came here I could not talk in front of groups of people- AT ALL. I had to hold a chair back when I spoke before the staff I was hired to supervise- so they wouldn't see me trembling head to foot- though I guess they heard it in my voice but- they were strangers then and perhaps thought I was channelling Kate Hepburn. Over the years here I had surgery to correct an eyelid droop that kept me from looking directly at people and I started to really connect, I was good at what I was doing and that gave me confidence. I loved what I was doing and what I was doing it with- the paper- the stationery- all the beautiful things that enriched MY life- like letter writing, crafting, gift wrapping or sending cards- I could help other people do that- and that was great. Then they set me loose in the world of marketing and pr for the company- I knew NOTHING about marketing- I was an ART major for Pete's sake- do I need to draw you a picture (I can you know..)? Take a crack at it they said- they'd fired my predecessor for wearing her pj's to work- how much worse could I do? I might mention that at this point in my career I was determined to dress to excess and wore a series of terribly short skirts to work- much to the chagrin of one of the older women on staff- a woman who I might mention had suffered from chronic depression brought on when they dropped a house on her sister. I once wandered into one of the fabulous paper store's retail locations on my day off in a particularly miniature kilt and tights and the aforementioned Witch of the Upper East Side spied me- she walked up to me and sneered "You have a hole in your tights, Miss" I said "I know". "Would you like me to tell you where..?" she asked evilly. I turned to her and said, smiling- "Listen, what I do with MY hole on MY day off is MY business." (unsaid ending- "so go kiss a flying monkey, sista.") She turned on one pointed black shoe and left in a huff of brimstone and liniment. Well- after being caught by last minute film crews once or thrice in less than... shall we say, TRADITIONAL business attire- I learned to keep a black turtleneck and slacks, if not ON, then at least handy.

And go on camera I did. MSNBC, CNN, Martha Stewart radio- talking to groups of 80, 100 people.. somewhere along the way I sort of GOT that this was just me talking to one person- all in a big bunch. And it became fun. I once bet a friend that I could get the press to say that the new colors for Christmas that year were Kiwi and Magenta (that's what we were showing- go figure). I did (I think it was "People Style Watch"...) And lo and behold it actually was (more avocado than kiwi but-it was a hoot nonetheless) I was listed as an style expert along with one of the fellows from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy- boy, was I proud. And it was all fun. And somewhere along the way, with all the people who actually listened to me- took me seriously- I grew up. And I believed it- just a little- not that I was any real expert or artiste-but that here in my tiny niche- I'd carved out a little space that was uniquely mine-and when Diane Sawyer needed an origami bunny- I hooked her up. And it never stopped being fun, until I realized it was too easy. Short of hemline was ok- but short of challenges... not so much fun.

So I looked outside- and there was a whole world of new things I could get to be good at- and learn- and achieve. And the ephemera gods handed me a doozy. And though I will miss EVERYONE at the fantastic paper store, I won't forget what I learned- or any of them. I couldn't have done it without all of you to practice on.

So the new gig starts in September.

My new boss e-mailed to let me know my business cards are ready, as well as e-mail, Treo, Laptop, and phone extension- which he says puts me two weeks ahead of the usual new hire. He ain't seen nothin yet...

:) X

Go-Lightly on my Blanket! A Night at The Elevated Acre with Truman

Paul Varjak: And I always heard people in New York never get to know their neighbors.

Had Breakfast at Tiffany's beautiful hero, Paul Varjak, made it to Manhattan a mere 46 years later he would have seen that New Yorkers actually get to know their neighbors in a whole new way these days. The free, outdoor movie. My friend 'Neff has an incredible nose for sniffing out free stuff in Manhattan- whether its free latte day at Dunkin doughnuts or a knitting class at Bryant Park- 'Neff has the scoop. So when she asked me if I wanted to go to the movies I already had an idea it would be free ride with all the perks and it was.



I baked a dozen chocolate chip pecan cookies that morning (I had a batch of dough stashed in the refrigerator in case of an outbreak of guests or...just such an emergency) and headed into work. I thought about the great style of Holly Golightly
Truman Capote's fragile/fierce heroine. I lamented to myself the loss of her style and grace in these casual times but decided to set myself a 10 minute challenge- I stood on the corner of 7th Avenue and 34th Street- smack in front of Macy's with my camera and determine whether in black and white if Holly's style still lived.













OK- this lady was more Billy Holiday, than Holly Golightly...but fabulous deserves homage.







The movie started at 8 at a plaza on the East River near Water Street in a little park called the Elevated Acre- an amphitheater- type space with a central patch of astro-turf surrounded by cement seating. 'Neff's friend Natalie had staked out 2 bed sheets worth of space and sprawled across it to save our spot. I wandered around snapping more photos of the denizens of free culture- similar folks to the Shakespeare in the Park crowd but a bit more on the downtown hipster side- the type of folks that never go above 14th Street. Despite a lack of access to the loftier sections of Fifth Avenue, style was far from lacking.









I can't resist squinching my toes in grass- even plastic grass.



As I said- 'Neff knows all the best spots- and the fact that they give out free popcorn and bottled water.









As the sun set, the movie began and we settled in for what felt a great deal like a huge slumber party as people sprawled yawned and watched a really big movie on a very small but serene spot in the normally bustling city. No one talked- aside from a person or two who, from personal necessity left their own blankets to hop as best they could from one stranger's nest to the next ( Sorry, m 'scuse me, oops...) the movie played with less interruption than one would expect at the Cineplex with a $7 bucket of popcorn and an $11 ticket. And we got to know our neighbors a little. Bonus. :) X