So I'm walking to work this morning and I paused at the corner to allow a van to turn in front of me. The guy driving had the fucking New York Post perched on his steering wheel, apparently trying to read while he was driving. Hell, if there are morons like this guy creating life hazzards for me every day, I might as well overindulge in foie gras and truffle butter (and pork products) before getting squashed by one of them on my way to work.
Posts from April 2005
True friends are people who humor you by stopping by your favorite karaoke dive bar on a Monday night just because you're in the neighborhood and who, on top of that, insist that they buy you a drink because you're too busy belting out 9 to 5 and Hit Me With Your Best Shot. And they even cheer when you're done. (Thanks, Rob and David!)
As I was walking through Washington Square Park last night, I noticed these gigantic lampshades placed atop of the lamps at each corner of the park. I didn't have time to look closely, at the signs, but it appears to be some sort of art installation. I love the effect, though. From afar, they almost look like glowing mushrooms, but up close, each one has its own intricate design. Does anyone have more information about them?
* Journey. C'mon -- admit it. You like them.
I've never understood how women in the movies look so good when they cry. Sure, their eyes exude sadness, and tears may flow, but they somehow still manage to look pretty, composed, and even delicate. Not me. When I cry, it's a full-fledged disaster. My face gets splotchy and squinched up, my eyes turn beet red, my nose runs -- absolutely hideous. And once I start, it's very hard to stop. A good cry can have me going for a while, and I'm completely exhausted once it's over. The times I've cried at work are probably the worst. Back in my litigator days, a (very evil) partner made me cry once. Although I made it safely back to my office before the tears started, lord knows my puffy, red eyes were a dead giveaway to anyone who saw me after the fact. You should also know that I don't only cry when I'm sad. Oh no. That would be way too boring and predictable. I also cry when I'm angry, or even frustrated, which I've noticed sometimes has the unwanted effect of diluting my side of a particularly impassioned argument. But unfortunately, I can't really help it.
If any of those actresses want to see what a real crying jag looks like, they should give me a call. I"ll show 'em how it's done, and maybe I can even make a few extra bucks on the side.
My favorite crying photo, courtesy of Anna and James Photography.
Okay, internet. I know I'm asking a lot of you. In addition to sending good karma my way for the hunt, I'm asking another favor. If you can only handle one, however, the aforementioned good karma is MUCH more important than what I'm about to ask. I have an extra ticket to see Elvis Costello at the Beacon tonight. The ticket's a little steep: $80 -- it's in the orchestra), but I'm willing to negotiate. If you'd like to buy it from me, send me an email and tell me how much you're willing to spend.
And in other news, I ate at the bar (downstairs, not the three-star upstairs) at BLT Fish last night and thoroughly enjoyed myself (although I have to admit, I still think I prefer the fried oysters at Pearl). Several years ago, I never would have eaten alone. Now, eating by myself, particularly at the bar rather than a table, is one of my favorite pastimes. I had my New Yorker out, as did the woman next to me. We started talking, and then she asked, "are you Laren?" "Yes," I replied, stunned to be recognized by someone who looked completely unfamiliar to me. Turns out it was none other than Ms. Maccers! We chatted away about friends and acquaintances we have in common, she gave me handy tips about performing at WYSIWYG, and eventually she and her dining companion were whisked away to their table upstairs. I asked her to email me to tell me all about the meal, since it'll probably be a while before I can afford to dine up there, but for now, the bar is just fine.
But this time, not food-related (shocking!). For the first time in years, I got desperate and sent out a load of laundry instead of doing it myself. Okay, I realize this is not in the least bit luxurious for the majority of people I know, but for me, it is. They fold everything up so nicely, and even put your (folded!) socks and underwear in their own little bags. Love it.
I could totally get used to this . . .
UPDATE (4/26): So today, I'm the Salon personals "Catch of the Day." Who knows where I'll end up next. . .
Yep. That about sums up the weekend. It began slowly. I stopped at Whole Foods on the way home from work on Friday night and whipped up a Thai red curry with shrimp and veggies. Then, things ramped up a bit. The next morning, as I was washing dishes, my phone rang -- Augie, on the other end, said simply, "I just read about the best pancakes in the city. We must go get them now." So I obliged. I joined Augie and Lauren for an exceptional brunch at the Clinton Street Baking Company, featuring plenty of maple butter drizzled over light and fluffy blueberry pancakes, a divine lobster bisque, and some out-of-this-world huevos rancheros. Saturday continued later that evening with a Dine in Brooklyn dinner at Minnow with my brother and Sarah, and a late night (or early morning) nibble at the Snack Dragon taco shack (mmm . . . pork tacos).
Sunday I was awakened by the phone ringing at about 10:45. Augie. Again. "We're going to Prune." "I can't." "Why not?" "I'm broke." "I'm treating. We'll be down in 15 minutes." "Um, okay." The hour-plus wait was well worth it for what is now my favorite carbonara in the city, peppery and full of parmesan, not to mention the monte cristo and the spicy bloody marys. To top it off, my afternoon was spent drinking Cristal and caviar (thanks, Alvin!) on a terrace overlooking Washington Square Park. I rounded out the weekend with the Brazilian Muse's birthday celebration, complete with greek delicacies, an amazing cake (courtesy of La Depressionada), and, of course, cupcakes.
Thankfully, there were a few trips to the gym squeezed in there, along with some late-night dancing to burn at least a little of it off. This weekend emphasized one thing -- no matter what other random crap I have going on at the moment, my life is definitely good. Cheers.
PS -- the second society wedding I attended recently just showed up in this Sunday's NYT. Congrats Jon and Sarah!
Can some of you lovely gentlemen readers out there shed some light on this male behavior pattern? Boy meets girl. Boy and girl go out on a date, spend several hours having interesting conversations, making connections, laughing, sharing stories. Boy and girl part ways. Boy calls/emails girl the following day and says something like, "I had a great time -- are you free next week?" or "You remember we talked last night about Corner Bistro -- I've never been, do you want to go?" "Sure," says girl, and tosses out some dates in the near future. Boy disappears, never to be heard from again.
Explain this if you can, as I am completely and utterly befuddled. Any assistance would be greatly appreciated.