Mondays

I'm not inspired by Mondays. I enjoy weekends too much. I used to think I was a workaholic. No longer -- I have fully come to realize that work is just something you do to get paid, and that you don't have to love your job. A-little-while-ago me would have thought this was a cop out, that I should keep looking and looking for the perfect job. Present me simply doesn't think that this exists.

I wish I liked Kanye West's new album more than I do. People I really like, and whose taste in music I respect, love it. They describe it as operatic. But I don't feel it. I like the first song very much. Of course I would. There's a great piano part. And it's got a gospel choir feeling. And mad lyrics. But I don't love the rest of the album. Don't get me wrong. I like a song or two. But I don't LOVE them. I want to love things.

The count down is on before I go to India. So exciting! I love going home for the Christmas holidays. I love seeing my parents, my extended family, and my old friends. I also live well -- and by that I mean I am healthy. I go swimming. I often go to the gym with my parents. I eat good home-cooked food. I read a lot. I do silly, sentimental things like go to the neighborhood's Christmas carol sessions. I spend time with my grandmother. I'm looking forward to it all.

Christmas shopping! Oh my -- there is more to be done. But plenty has already been done. Oh online shopping, you are a friend. (But my credit card, you are an enabler and not entirely a friend. But still I justify all this by saying that generosity is key.)

Can we get much higher? So high. Yes, lyrics from the Kanye West song I was talking about earlier. Did you really think you'd escape a post without lyrics? Oh silly reader.

Tomorrow's goals. The gym. Yes, indeed. I went today. But then I ate three mini burgers, had french fries and three beers. Oh well, it was fun! FUN IS KEY, right?

I'm off to bed.

But I had more to say apparently

This post will only make sense when/ if you read the earlier post, but alas you're reading this first since it's the most recent post, and that is life. It does not always come in order.

All that stream-of-consciousness-ing that I did in the last post made me think of beautiful things that I have read or heard. Just b/c of that T.S. Elliot poem. I love "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." I've never been entirely sure why. I didn't like a lot of his work because I found it too literary and dense. Yes, poetry and literature should make one think and delve deeper, but mostly they should be beautiful, no? And accessible? But perhaps my aesthetic theory is that of a simpleton. Possible.

Other things I love that come to mind. The Bone People by Keri Hulme about three sad, depressing people who find each other and learn to (a) accept each other and then (b) love each other. Perhaps there is a (c) that they find out they cannot do without each other. Oh my, did I give it all away? Worry not, the beauty is in the writing, not so much in the plot.

Sentiment. I love sentiment. I say this having come from a friend's Christmas tree party on Friday, where we all selected the tree, then put it upright, put lights and decorations on it, and drank egg nog (and, as the night grew later, whiskey) while listening to Christmas carols. And so I like sentiment, and traditions, and that idea that people should come together and do things like dress up a tree.

I'm now at a loss for things that I love. Yikes. I thought one thing would lead to another and I'm drawing a blank. Although that is not entirely true. Things are coming to mind but I'm now beginning to second-guess myself and wonder, oh, but is that something I love or just like? For example, I'm thinking about the new album by Girl Talk, All Day. Which I don't love, but am presently enamored with, meaning that I am listening to it over and over again. There are epic, operatic moments for me (like the Creed mash up, or the U2 mash up) but there are rather mundane moments in the album, too, which means that it probably won't end up being something I love. But I like it for now.

I must get off this bed and go outside. Enough.

It's December

I can't believe that we're already in December. December is take stock month for me. I think about the year that has been. I reflect on the year that will be.

It has been a big year, all in all. The biggest thing I did was buy an apartment. Yes, in January I got serious about the process, in February I traipsed about in the winter with my broker, visiting apartment after apartment, until I found THE apartment. Which I subsequently lost to another bidder. And, accordingly, was heart-broken and devastated. And then I found THE apartment, but decided to wait around until I found THE apartment. And I can safely say now, that the apartment I have chosen, was, in fact, the one all along. But sometimes you have to go through trial and error, make some wrong decisions, find out later why they were wrong even though they seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. A bit like relationships, really.

I moved into my apartment in mid-May. Moving was chaos. Shutting down the other apartment. Starting up this apartment. I did some minor renovations. Nothing serious, but enough to leave furniture piled up in the center of the room, while walls were being painted, cabinets were being stripped, heaters were being changed. Then came the beginning of a long series of big purchases. A bed and mattress for the guest bedroom. A bookcase to put away all the boxes of books. Lamps for the living room. Lamps for the guest bedroom. Plants came. Some died. Most are alive. They are my friends -- I talk to them, and I worry about their growth and well-being.

There is still plenty to do in this apartment (not least of which is getting blinds for the guest bedroom!) but my apartment has reached a definite state of live-ability. I can live here and be happy. In fact, I am happy. I am happy on this Sunday afternoon as I watch the winter rays struggle to get to my window, just barely lighting up my room.

Of course, this year has not been just about the apartment. It has been about new friends, new people whom I have met, and have made subtle or not-so-subtle impacts on me, the way I view the world, they way in which I wish to be viewed. Yes,, this is all abstract sounding but c'est la vie. I write an abstract blog de temps en temps. Deal w/ it. And I throw in snippets of French to make this seem literary or interesting.

What do I hope for 2011? Oh, I don't know. I think I want to do more fitness stuff. Although I say this year in and year out, and truth is I'm sufficiently healthy (thank you, God!) so I'll probably just stay at the same level. I keep thinking of doing something "big" like an Olympic Triathlon or a half-marathon and maybe maybe but I'm not all that organized in my life.

I want to go out more. I'm a social being, but I've found myself becoming just a little bit more holed up in my apartment or at work over the year. Perhaps this is inevitable. It is part of growing up -- but perhaps not, I don't know. We shall see. Time shall tell, etc.

Moving on from this wishy washy stuff, I saw Harry Potter the other day. So good! so good! so good! (sung like one sings these lines in "Sweet Caroline"). I liked 98.5% of it. (I didn't like the scene where Harry and Hermione got just a wee bit steamy b/c I think it felt forced. Yes, I know the point is that they're 17 years old, so they're young adults, and their bodies are doing all sorts of strange things, but, regardless, the scene felt forced and perhaps a wee bit unnecessary. Or perhaps I am just A PRUDE.). But i liked the rest of the movie. Some beautiful scenes, and while some people have felt that the movie dragged just a wee bit, I was happy to be transported to another place and time. In fact, I would like to tele-transport in 2011. Take me places, world.

Which reminds me of that poem by . . . someone. If I had world enough and time. Oh, let me google it and then continue this post. Hang on a wee minute.

So apparently, unsurprisingly, of course, I didn't quote accurately. The words are from an Andrew Marvell poem, "http://www.bartleby.com/101/357.htmlTo his coy mistress" and the words are "HAD we but world enough, and time." Trust me to write out the plural and make this singular and all about me. But yes, if you could do anything you wanted with resources and time, what oh what would you do? I keep thinking I would go to medical school and just become a doctor but who knows if I really would do that? Sometimes we think we know how we would change our history, but forget that there was, well, perhaps not an inevitability, but at least a strong certainty or reasoning for why we made the decisions that we did. And it's good not to write out those reasons from our history b/c they make us who we are.

I babble, I babble.

Which makes me think of two things (since I'm stream of consciousness writing now, this is what happens when I sit on my bed on a sleepy, cold Sunday afternoon, with my laptop on my lap, I can't help it). The two things:
(1)) Babylon, by David Gray, one of my favorite songs, and brought to mind b/c of Babble and Babylon.
(2) The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot, b/c "I babble, I babble" makes me think of "I grow old, I grow old." Unless of course I'm mis-quoting that line, which as we have found it, is quite possible. (The line is probably "we grow old" and in typical loner fashion, I have written out the plural.

Ah, life is the plural! I must remember this.

Enough.

I can't keep up with my life

The title of this post makes my life seem far more interesting than it is. But the reality is that no matter how mundane my life might actually be, my blog life simply can't keep up. I could write up about how the D-meister popped up in NY for one night and we went for thai food in Murray Hill. I could write about how I went up to Harvard for the day to speak about the International Court of Justice. I could write about how I'm excited to go pick a Christmas tree on Friday and donate an ornament I bought in South Africa to a good friend (did I mention i went to South Africa to speak at a conference in early November?). And and and and and.

But I'm out of steam.

Good night.

The Night Hours

I never have difficulty falling asleep when I'm healthy and fine, mostly b/c I'm tuckered out, so within minutes of putting out the bedside lamp, I'm dead to the world. But when I'm sick, it's a different story. Mostly, it's the temperature keeping me up. I'm either too hot or too cold. I stick one toe, a full foot, two feet, an arm, both arms out from under the covers, and then suddenly, I'm way too cold. I cover myself again and suddenly I'm smothering in the heat that is emanating from my own body.

I'm usually too uncomfortable. Normally, I can sleep in pretty much any horizontal position. But, for example, last night -- first, I cradled my spare pillow, yes, pathetic) (but, to my defense, I have come a long way baby! I used to cradle my faithful bedside companion, my laptop. Not a smart idea.); second, I turn to the other side. Now I wonder if the pain I'm feeling in my side is a ruptured spleen, a herniated disc, a kidney about to fail, etc. I lie on my stomach. Bad idea. My neck is too stiff to lie on my stomach and tilt to one side. So I lie on my back. Now I wonder whether the lumps I feel are in my back or in the mattress? So I gingerly feel my back. No lumps, just that old enemy back fat, always present, ready to bring me down. I toss I turn, I toss I turn.

I'm usually too thirsty or I've drunk too much water I have to urinate. Luckily, my bathroom is a hop and step away from the bedroom. Does not matter. Still inconvenient. You see, when you're sick, you have to make sure you're well hydrated. So I drink cranberry juice, orange juice, pomegranate juice and coconut water, all matched with a glass of water. Which is great except I have to make trips to the bathroom umpteen times. I no longer worry about turning on the light. Let the cookie crumble how it may. (Oops, wrong metaphor, you're thinking about the other bodily function now, no, no, I'm talking about sprinkling holy water during mass). With all this urinating, and my burning body using up all my liquids, I find myself having to wake up over and over again for another glass of water. And the ever-present question each time. To fill from the faucet in the bathroom, ever so close, but oh so lukewarm. Or to go to the kitchen, where I can add ice, and have chilled water! Which cools me down. But the kitchen is so far away. Dilemmas.

I'm not a hypochondriac on a day-to-day basis. Meaning, I don't think I'm catching ailments most of the time. But when I'm sick, my mind goes places it shouldn't. For example, fever + headache + stiff neck (likely from the awkward sleeping poses) = BACTERIAL MENINGITIS OH MY I'M GOING TO DIE. (Incidentally, such thoughts do not facilitate sleeping, either).

Which brings me to the heading of this blog post. While I'm doing the afore-mentioned, the hours tick tock away. At first I see lights in the building across from me still on, and I reassure myself, thinking, well, it's OK if I'm having trouble falling asleep, it's still early.

Slowly those lights go off one by one.
Until there's just one. A night owl. That means it's 4am.

Then the morning rays start to filter through my light curtains (for normally I like the light coming into my relatively dark bedroom). This means it's dawn.

I finally fall asleep only to have some concerned friend/ relative call at a normal hour, say, 10am, to find out how I am doing, which is perfectly reasonable, but for the fact that I didn't actually fall asleep properly until 8 or so . . .

Interesting couple of days

I've been very under the weather recently, turns out to be some bad sea food that introduced some bacteria into my system. They are being repelled by antibiotics now! (Oh, immune system, but why couldn't you do it on your own? Were the scallops so powerful?!).

I become a crazy person when I am ill. I like to always be busy (which includes watching TV, of course, because I actively get into the lives of my TV characters, so I'm listening to what they're saying, sometimes I respond to them and wonder whether they can hear me). But when I'm sick that means I have to stop, rest, shut down for a while, drink a lot of liquids and moan and groan to myself.

I'm not that interesting to be around. I can only take so much of myself at any given point in time.

Mostly, I felt betrayed by my subconscious mind. You see, I've had fever-induced dreams for the last two nights. You know, the kind of dreams where everything is absolutely crazy, and it's only because your body is on fire so to speak that your mind is racing about furiously and frantically? Well, apparently I dream about sending out a bill to a client (which, incidentally, does not have to go out for about another 10 days), and I dream about a motion that I am drafting. Really? This is what I could come up with while in my fever-induced state? I dream about this stuff all the time. I was so disappointed in myself.

I also start going through the motions of thinking that I must save! save! save! so that when I am old and alone, I will be able to afford a nice assisted living facility, where people take care of you, and check on you regularly, so you don't have to start camping out in emergency rooms. And obviously by "you" I mean "me" or "I" as appropriate.

I watched a lot of TV over the last couple of days. I remembered why I loved How I Met Your Mother so much when I used to watch it in Sierra Leone with the gang. That might also because I watched at least five episodes of it this weekend (perhaps while delirious).

Is it just me or do the cashiers at Duane Reade recoil when you check out with items such as Airborne, Nyquil, Dayquil, etc.? All I wanted was a little bit of compassion and sympathy.

I'm much, much better. Although I'm still disappointed in my sorry mind. From now on, when the time calls for it, I want feverish dreams of the right kind.

I am a nutcase

And so I should go to sleep, the night being old, and the long stories being medium maximum, instead of short.

But with cake in my mouth, and coconut water by my side, all I can think of is . . .

Times goes by.

That boring theme, that boring refrain.

So I'll switch instead. To say that I am a big sap. I went to a fundraiser tonight and heard Indra Nooyi speak. She was good but not great but I appreciated her a lot for her goodness. And then Cory Booker spoke and he was great and great.

And I realized that I care oh yes I care.

Further thoughts

Quixotic scolds for not making clear the multitude/ India/ narrative point in my earlier post. Which was just that Rushdie's novels, such as Midnight's Children, are about India, and they are dense and full of competing, different stories (all strung together in a madcap way), and it was great to see his theory of fiction, which is that narratives about India should be crowded and squeezed together, in a second class train compartment.

Clear now?

I'm listening to sleepy music. The purpose of which is to put me to sleep. But it's making me contemplative. Which is bad. I'm over contemplation. Which is why I want to work out like a fiend so that I sleep sleep sleep as soon as I settle down into my bed.

Yes, I'm shallow like that.

Which reminds me of the lyrics, "You were always crazy like that" from Foolish Games by Jewel. Which I don't listen to very often, actually, but which is a song that plagues Antoine's mind from time to time. This makes for interesting chat conversations.

Ant: You stood in the rain . . . etc.
Me: [Insert mad cap story.]
Ant: You were always crazy like that.

The usual update

Far be it from me to let an entire month go by without blogging. Thus this late-night-Sunday entry when I'm already taking stock of my life, the week past, the week ahead, now translated onto blog format for your viewing and reading pleasure.

What has happened since October 20, the date of the last post? So much and so little. In many ways, I have a rhythm to my life, a routine and a regularity of things that I do. Which makes life simple, really. Days fly by.

But also so much. I went to South Africa! Yes, that was unusual, a break from the routine. Although everything is a repetition in some variation of things that have passed. Like not having electricity in the Pretoria guest house when trying to prepare for my presentation -- just like living in Sierra Leone all over again!

I don't feel like recapping the goings on. I always feel that I do them injustice. I'm too half-hearted, too hasty. Trying to capture factual details in a hurried way, not delving into them and exploring their nuances. So, instead, thoughts, highlights:

(a) I love visiting friends. Old friends were in town this past weekend, and we did the usual, epic things we do when we get together, like karaoke, eat dinners out, drink beers, sit in front of the TV, lounge, lounge, lounge and talk, talk, talk.

(b) I love traveling but traveling alone can be tedious. I enjoyed South Africa, particularly, walking along the beachfront in Durban. But then every now and then a twinge reminds you that it would be nice to share the experience with family and friends. For which I think technology. Photographs can be shared instantly by blackberry, and text messaging keeps one in touch when afar. Wow, sentimental.

(c) India is full of multitudes. I say this not from recent personal observation although I agree with the observation. Rather, I was reading an interview with Salman Rushdie regarding his upcoming novel, and he said that he wanted to convey a myriad stories in his previous novels, such that the main narrative had to push and force its way through on to the page. I thought that was a great description of a narrative technique.

(d) Cooking is important. The more I cook, the more I like doing it. I want to be the kind of person who can put tasty nourishment on the table at any time. This is important to me. Today, I had a couple of friends over for brunch. The majority left but two guests lingered while I cleaned up. They sat on the couch, drinking coffee, and exchanged news important to the other. I put all the dishes in the dishwasher, I wiped down the table, I put the leftover food in the fridge, I sorted my mail, I stripped the sheets from my bed and the guest bed for washing . . . all the while knowing that two friends were relaxing in my living room, catching up, and that made me happy. I want to provide an environment where people can be comfortable.

(e) I love music. I have heard some recent new music. Again, I'm captivated by certain songs to the typical point (typical for me) of endless repetition. Like this is the only song I can listen to on repeat over and over and over again as I go to the grocery store, as I ride up in my elevator, as I walk to work. I wonder sometimes if this kind of "obsessive" behavior is bad, and whether I should change these habits. But I never will. I don't think.

(f) I hope Christina Yang rejoins the residency program on Grey's Anatomy. Yes, I know it's not to admit that I still watch this show, but I don't care. And I identify most with Christina (even though our lives are completely different, not to mention she's a fictional TV character). And I feel sad that she won't go on to become a famous, successful heart surgeon. As I feel sad (in an abstract way, not entirely meaningful, yet not meaningless) that I won't be a surgeon.

(g) Walking the streets of Paris is wonderful. Yes, I did that, too, on my way back from South Africa to New York. I forget how beautiful Paris is. And how much I love windows. Of apartments into which I can look. It's not glimpses of private lives, really. I don't actually need to see people in the apartments. Rather, I want to see the lights. The bookshelves. The high ceilings.

(h) Point (g) meandered. From Paris and walking to glimpses into apartments. I guess that these are not self-contained points, but rather meandering, rambling points. Which is fine. I hope you agree with me.

(i)I love working out. I take that back. I don't like lifting weights. But I love physical activity and exercise. I dream about an ideal life. Which I should "actualize." It involves being in a tennis league where I am a ferocious player. And a racquetball league. It involves swimming in a clean pool (far from my present New York public pool). It involves running half-marathons (for which I registered recently; let's see if my lottery application gets accepted; the NYC triathlon was full, and my lottery application didn't succeed). I'm not sure why. I certainly wasn't a jock in high school or college. But I just love the idea and feeling of falling asleep exhausted on my bed.

(j) Enough.

Typos

I read over my blog entries after the fact, which means after they have been uploaded, and I often realize that they are laden or strewn (I couldn't decide upon which word to use, so chose both) with errors.

So be it.

Life is too short to fix inconsequential errors.

But are they inconsequential? Is deeming them so just a way to deal with the fact that I just don't care enough anymore to revise myself. (while that might be OK on a blog that no one but my dear reader(s) reads, is that OK in the real world? We must always revise ourselves. Although perhaps I mean reinvent.)

Time flew by tonight. I have had a lot of family stay with me recently. Tonight, suddenly, it was silent night.

But not for long. Loch Sess arrives soon. I await the funk.

Peggy

This post is dedicated to Peggy. Although I'm not entirely sure that she would like what I have to say about her.

I love Peggy. She's bold, ambitious, creative, and tries really, really hard to get what she wants. Which means that she tries too hard sometimes. Which can be her downfall.

(Oh, you're wondering who Peggy is? She's in Mad Men. Watch it.)

It sucks when the problem is that you try too hard. Because what are you supposed to do? Try a little less? Which goes against anything an ambitious person has been told (just give it your very best and forget the rest). How can you sit back and, say, watch things fall apart? Of course, you're going to try and try and try even if it means overwatering your plants so that the leaves turn brown, and roots start to rot, and it's all downhill for peace lily #2).

I like Peggy because she wants to succeed. She has a hunger and a drive. I used to think I had a hunger and a drive. I"m not so sure anymore. I like to think I have a hunger and a drive but that might not be the actuality. I'm mostly lazy.

Peggy goes with the flow. She got pregnant. Of her own volition? Not entirely clear. But she got pregnant. She dealt with it. And she moved on. And I support her for that.

Peggy does not use her looks to her advantage. Yes, she's female, and most men just go ga ga over a woman (particularly, in Man Men). But she's more interested in what she thinks about your work. I loved the scene in the finale episode where she finds out that no one cares that she brought in a new client that is going to save the firm because everyone is more interested that Don is going to marry his secretary. Made me think: yes, I know what you mean. No one expects me to marry anyone at work, but the point is that no one is interested in the sad tale of the person who toils and toils away in obscurity.

The Social Network

I watched The Social Network with my siblings last week. The movie was excellent. It dealt with the present phenomenon of Facebook, and it was interesting to see the web site's origins, albeit in a slightly fictionialized account. The story is built around the deposition transcripts of two lawsuits involving the primary Facebook founder, Mark Zuckerberg. The first lawsuit was brought by three individuals who alleged that he stole their idea when creating Facebook. The second lawsuit was brought by one of his co-founders who claims he was wrongly forced out of thee company. Both of those lawsuits have settled.

Not unsurprisingly, I was most interested in the lawsuits. The depositions of the principal characters showed how adversarial litigation can be. Truly, the process is not about truth-seeking. Rather, it is about entrenching one's position, highlighting the strengths of one's case, and trivializing the other side's position. I found myself wondering -- to what extent do lawyers actually affect the outcome of litigation, or is the success generally driven by the factual circumstances, something that a lawyer does not have control over when a client walks into his or her office. But then one of the junior associates in the film talked about how simple questions could persuasively skew a juror's perspective altogether, and I found myself wondering . . .

about how seeds are planted in our minds. You can neglect these seeds, and perhaps they die and rot away. But when a seed takes root, man, it grows and grows. (Quite unlike my plants, I should add. I attend to them so carefully. I prune them. I cut off the dying leaves. I give them adequate exposure to sunlight. I keep the water out overnight so that the chlorine settles. I put a few drops of plant food in the water. I talk to them. I nurture, I nurture, I give and I give and I give and right now the peace lily in my living room has decided that it simply hates me, and is withering away. By the way, this is peace lily #2. I sound like a crazy person right now.).

Where was I? Once an idea plants itself in your mind, it's really hard to let it go. To see things in a different light. How things could have been otherwise.

What does this have to do with the movie? Ah, such is the nature of my movie reviews.

Next post: The Mad Men Season Finale. If I ever have a daughter, I want her to be like Peggy.

Oh this here blog

I wish I could tell you that my real life was far more interesting than my blog life. Because I was just re-reading my last couple of blog posts and I thought, "Ick." As in boring, stop writing already, why don't you go out and do something for a change.

Last night I fell asleep on the couch at 645pm. Yes, it was a Saturday night.

In my defense, I had gone for a long run outdoors (something I never do, being more of a treadmill kind of guy, when I run that is, which isn't often). When I was almost home, I ran into Anjuna the Warrior Hero, and her room-mate, who said, oh come join us as we walk a mile or so. Which I did. Then I left them eating while I ran back home. So, as I lay on the couch, watching an SVU episode, I found myself dozing off . . .

I woke up at 9pm on Saturday night, and thought, oh my. I also realized I had fallen asleep in my sweaty, running clothes. So, I dragged myself off the couch, took a shower and contemplated dinner.

Which turned into a quick run to Gristedes before it closed. There I wandered around looking for (a) cup o' noodles, (b) Thai chili flavor chips, (c) ice-cream (I settle on Pistachio and then another tub of Hazel nut) and headed back home. Nothing screams sad and pathetic as shopping at 945pm in Gristedes for cup o' noodles, let me tell you.

It's fall. I have to pretend that the new season of TV shows is NOT my best friend and make a concerted effort to go outside and socialize with the real world. Stay tuned.

how is it possible

that I have not blogged in about three weeks? I craft blog posts in my mind, at random times, and . . . I guess I stop there.

I watched Cairo Time. I know what you're thinking, oh please not another movie review, you're not particularly insightful and you give things away for those who haven't seen the movies. But, I can't help it! I went to Egypt last month, and so I have to think and process all things Egypt. If I were more intellectual and not a lazy bum, I would read the book on the ethics behind archeology (if I would ever get around to actually ordering it on Amazon) (and, for that matter, I would order the new biography of Cleopatra. At least time is on my side for that one since it has not yet come out!). The movie was good. Great acting. Lots of moment when you were supposed to intuit what the actor/ actress was thinking, which I like. And the soundtrack is excellent. Great score, and fantastic piano parts in some songs. I fantasized immediately about buying a piano, with a tiny light above it, and then playing those songs at night right before going to sleep.

My curtains are billowing in the wind. It was a humid day, or so it seemed at least when I came home to my apartment this evening and thought that someone mixed water and heat in my apartment and left it all to saturate. But now, just past midnight, it's cool air coming in. And my curtains -- finally put up -- are billowing.

Almost in October. Time flies. The year flies by. Blog posts get thought about but do not get written. This is one of my favorite times of the year. Not just because I love fall -- I do love fall. But also because . . . yes, you're right, TV shows start again! It's viewing season. I have to line up my DVR properly (and delete old stuff stored on it -- I think I'm at 95% capacity!)

I never put my itunes on shuffle. Mostly I know exactly what I want to listen to -- often, it's the same song over and over and over and over etc. again. And over again. But right now, I was listening to the soundtrack to Cairo Time . . . and the soundtrack ended and my itunes hopped on to the next song on the list, and it's The Cranberries! Pleasant surprise.

This blog post is becoming like a diary entry. There is no theme here.
THIS IS CHAOS.

The Kids Are Alright

I liked the movie "The Kids Are Alright" with Julianne Moore and Annette Benning. Teh movie is about a lesbian couple with two children, impregnated by the same anonymous sperm donor. Except he no longer is anonymous when the children seek and find out his identity.

And then suddenly the close-knit family finds itself having to incorporate and deal with an insider.

The movie was very good for a variety of reasons. First, I never really had thought about the day to day practicalities of growing up in a household with gay parents. At one point, the daughter's friend called her a "dyke" because she was shy around boys, and the son's friend called him a "fag" because he didn't want to do something adventurous. And while this is a typical "insult" lobbied by kids against each other, it took on a particular resonance when one stepped back and realized that the daughter and son were children of gay parents. How much more did the insult hurt then? Was it particularly cruel to call someone something knowing that their parents were that very thing?

Second, at one point in the movie, one of the women falls for the anonymous sperm donor. What I found interesting was the portrayal of sex. In the beginning, the two women are having sex in a way that seemed, to me, well, very unsexy. One of the women was watching gay porn, while the other, underneath a big, heavy blanket, went down on her. You did not see any titillating body parts. Furthermore, the whole episode seemed more funny/ weird than exciting. Why was one woman completely hidden underneath a blanket. Wasn't she suffocating?!? But when that same woman -- formerly hidden under a blanket -- had sex with the man, well, va va voom. They went straight at it, they threw themselves at each other, and you just saw them rolling around doing their thing. I could not tell why the sex was portrayed so differently.

Third, how often does a lesbian cheat even temporarily on her partner with another man? This part of the story seemed to play on the theme that women go through a bisexual phase but ultimately emerge heterosexual, and what they really want ultimately is a man. Was this stereotype true in long-term, committed lesbian relationships (was there statistical backing to the stereotype)? Turns out, according to the representative lesbian friend to whom this question was posed, this happens more often than you would think! Not sure what to make of that.

Despicable Me

To my shock and horror, I realized that I forgot to write my review about Despicable Me. Which is not cool -- here you rely and depend on me for guidance on what to see, and I let you down. (Wait, you mean you don't consult this blog before you plan your social outings? What is the point of this here blog, then? Just for me to chitter chatter away to myself, instead of the whole wide world?).

Enough of blog angst (there is no lamer question than: What is the meaning behind my blog?) and on to the movie review. As usual, spoilers ahead. Because I can't discuss something without giving it all away.

I loved the movie. It's animated! It's about a villain who wants to be the most evil villain ever, but is thwarted by . . . three orphan girls. At first, he tries to use them as part of his evil plot, but then he ends up falling for them. Yes, he finds that he has a heart thumping beneath his animated costume, and so they all live happily ever after. Oh, in addition, he doesn't really succeed with his evil plot, but who cares, he has a family, and also the big bad villain he was trying to dethrone finds himself on a one-way rocket missile to the moon. Hate when that happens.

I love the idea of being as villainous as you can be. It's evil. We spend so much time trying to be good, that sometimes it's not so bad to be just a little bit naughty. So if you want to steal the moon -- oh, you fiend -- why, good sir, I say go for it. Just don't commit any war crimes, crimes against humanity or genocide along the way, OK? (We'll leave out the crime of aggression for now, I'm still not sure how it is defined. Oh all this nerd talk, it's so villainous.).

I have never been a villain. I don't think I would know how to be one, to be honest. I tend to be one of the good/ nice guys. But wait, we finish last you say? How depressingly sad.

Go watch the movie. I give it two thumbs up.

It's good to be spontaneous

Today was a rather mellow day, what with the weather being all gloomy and overcast.

But I forgot! My bookcase arrived this morning at 915am. Yes, my much-anticipated bookcase, with customized shelves, so that hopefully when all the books are unpacked, everything will line up organized . . . and beautiful.

My plan today had been to hammer out as much of this dreaded brief as possible, and then run home and spend some one-on-one time with those books organizing them about. BUT.

I decided to be spontaneous.

A work colleague asked me to join him and his father, visiting from India, for dinner. At first I thought, oh but I should work and then oh I should unpack books, but then I thought, oh if my parents were visiting from India and I asked them to join me, I would hope they would do so.

So off I went to Copper Chimney in Curry Hill, which turned out to be really delicious. Although something about the heat - it was so hot - made me not eat as much as I normally would (I would stuff my face) but still, I liked what I ate.

And then I thought, oh I should go and say good bye to the Quiglemeister, a former colleague who is taking off to Ireland per-man-ent-ly tomorrow. So off I went for a small peg of whiskey and a good bye conversation.

I'm home now, on my bed, at 1256am, wondering why the boxes are not yet unpacked.
But-- ode to spontaneity!

Neither here nor there

Sunday night is taking stock night. Of the week that passed. The week that lies ahead.

Bookcase arrives tomorrow. Am excited -- need to put away the 9 or so boxes of books that are stacked up in the bedroom. Will be the next step in being fully adjusted and settled in my new apartment. Yes, still new, to me. (The mortgage payments feel VERY new to me). A few tasks remain: (a) lighting for the living room and bedrooms (table lamps, floor lamps), (b) a desk or vanity for the guest bedroom, (c) blinds for the window in the guest bedroom, (d) my curtains in my bedroom re-hemmed to the appropriate length, (e) put away one box of stuff that goes in my desk (should have done this already, to be honest), and then (f) putting up paintings on the walls. Step by step. There is no rush.

There is no rush is what I tell myself when I am impatient.

Although this runs contrary to seize the day now, doesn't it?

Old friends were in town this weekend, bringing in tow their young child (is a 1.5 year old a baby still or now a child? Certainly seemed like her own person.) Young children are full time! There is a playground behind where I live, so we all set off to the jungle jim and the swings (too small to go on the swings by herself, so I put her on my lap and pushed off. Oh how the swings creaked.)

Rainy day today. No torrent or anything. I have spent the whole day indoors. Which is not a good thing. And now it's 10:13pm and I'm wondering whether I should just go out for a wandering stroll just to go and breathe some fresh air. I suppose I could just open my windows, too, and stick my head out.

This post is neither here nor there. I have just watched two gruesome episodes of Law and Order SVU. But I do not feel it is appropriate to talk about since my last post was about this show. I do not want you to think that Law and Order SVU is my relationship proxy (well, in particular, given the subject matter!).

Coming up soon: A movie review of The Kids Are Alright. Which really got me thinking. I suppose the movie was also about The Parents Are Alright. And The Sperm Donor Might Be A Jerk (In Disguise).

TV Dilemma

Sometimes my biggest dilemma at night is whether or not to watch another episode of TV. It's late, time to sleep, time to close your eyes so that you will be fresh and productive the next day. Open-eye time being less than 8 hours away already (yes, I am like a child, but I love proper sleep). An episode of 30 Rock is about 22 minutes or so if you get through the commercials quickly using your DVR remote control. Typically, that is justifiable. Unless you are on a 30 Rock spree, in which case those series of 22 minute episodes add up quickly. But an episode of Law and Order SVU -- now that is a different calculus altogether.

Because it is not just about the time it takes to watch an episode (say about 45 minutes?). It is also about the additional pleasure derived from watching such fantastic television late at night. That additional pleasure has to be weighed against the dismay over waking up too early in the morning, having had insufficient sleep, the subsequent cutting off the face that occurs when I shave in the morning with sleep deprivation, the blotting of the ensuing splotches, the walk to work at a hastier pace, resulting in sweat and unhappiness, the (a) turn on computer quickly, (b) put on desk fan (too hot! too hot! from the quick walk!), (c) the run to the kitchen meanwhile to get myself (i) tea -- but too hot to drink when it's so hot! so hot! and (ii) a bottle of pellegrino, sometimes (iii) another bottle of pellegrino to water the office plants depending on whether or not they look droopy. I like to think that the bubbles aerate the soil or something. Oh I am not a gardener.).

Law and Order SVU usually wins. Which is why last night I found myself surprised when I turned off the episode . . . mid-way. I wondered, "Is this what it feels like when a relationship loses novelty?" Doubts crept into my mind: "SVU, do I really love you? Like I have loved you in the past?" Maybe this is the point when a parent stops rushing out of bed every the baby cries in the room next door. As the parent thinks, "Oh, s/he'll be fine," I, too, thought, "Oh SVU, you will be on my DVR tomorrow."

I don't despair yet. No, I have faith that this was a one-off.

Putting yourself in someone else's shoes

I've been thinking about putting oneself in someone else's shoes, primarily because I've been sitting at home all day watching TV, feeling sorry for myself (see previous post about having strained/ pulled/ torn a muscle). I was thinking of, for example, my grandmother, who is largely house-bound, and how she gets bored sometimes, even though she has TV to watch, books to read, and people call and visit at home. But the universe is outside -- she largely does not get to control when people come by. So if she's bored, well, then she's bored -- she can't go out and do anything about it.

Which makes me think that growing old sounds awful. In a way, you get to see your life all around you (in the case of my grandmother, she gets to see how her life turned out, and those around her, including her grandchildren). But at the same time, you recognize that the prime (of your health, at least) is past you. And I wonder what that feels like.

For some, I think that means philosophic acceptance. That is my dad's case, for example. He enjoys growing older because he likes when people treat him nicer for being a senior citizen, and he gets to read more, instead of running around taking care of the children. But for others, it just might mean disenchantment.

I think I would be predisposed to the disenchantment route. Must work on that.

My body hurts

Probably serves me right for thinking I'm a sprightly young thing, what with all this gym going and swimming, but yesterday saw me lying in pain in my bed. Because I pulled a muscle. But apparently I didn't realize I had done so/ chose to ignore it (I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt and go with the option before the back slash) and worked out for another hour, so this was not any ordinary pull. Oh no, this felt worse, like a tear.

I tried to ignore it because that is my solution for most things in life. And, generally, that tends to work. (Oh, who am I kidding -- most of the time I'm incapable of letting sleeping dogs lie. But anyway.) But last night saw me waking up at 1am, 3am and 5am in agony. And I realized (a) I don't have a sports doctor, nor a regular doctor and (b) I don't have any aspirin at home. And I am 30 years old. This is unacceptable.

So as soon as I am able to walk again, I will take a trip to the drug store. Until then -- TV.

should I do a triathlon?

Dear readers

I use the plural because I know that I have at two readers. So dear gentle readers, in the unabashed plural, should I do an olympic-distance triathlon in about a month's time? I ask because I have to register. But it seems like such a commitment and I'm not sure about the whole running thing, not to mention the swimming thing and the biking thing. I don't even have a bike. Nor proper running shoes for that matter.

But I have been going to the gym. And doing the occasional bout of swimming (in one of New York City's public swimming pools, perhaps the subject of another blog entry).

Oh I don't know.

It has been brought to my attention

that I have been delinquent about blogging. Indeed, that is the case. My last post dates back to more than three weeks ago.

So how to summarize the last three weeks without doing so in my usual cursory and breezy way where I sort of apologize for not being more accountable to my readership of two or so and then half-heartedly go through the motions of discussing the highlights of the past few days.

Well, first things first, I promised you movie reviews. And I have seen two movies. So here goes:
(1) I saw Inception a couple of weeks ago. But I have to confess that I saw the movie late on a weekday after a long day of work, and so when the theater lights dimmed and the air conditioning kicked in, and I fully satiated myself on the gummy bears that I bought as an impulse purchase right before the movie, well, you saw me sliding lower and lower in my seat and . . . perhaps I took a cat nap.

Which in a movie about dreams does not seem all that inappropriate.

The problem, however, is that the movie is complicated. I think it's supposed to be like an onion, and you're supposed to peel off layer after layer. Which means that I had to eat raw onion skin. Yes, figure out how that metaphor works. There's meaning in there somewhere, I'm sure.

(2) I can review "Salt" more ably, given that I stayed awake. I love action movies, even though they have become simply so ludicrous. Eons ago (perhaps a month or so ago) I talked about seeing the movie with Cameron Diaz and Tom Cruise, the name of which escapes me now, and I'm so lazy I can't even bother to look it up again, oh google despite you being at my fingertips, I still have to exercise those lazy fingertips, in which the improbable happens. Well, same plot line for Salt -- the improbable, nay, the impossible happens. But that is OK. The movie has Angelina Jolie, and she really is one of a kind. I can't think of another woman who does "tough" quite like she does. I know Jennifer Garner was kind of kick-assy in the TV series Alias but there was something soft about her. In Jolie, too, but that vulnerability seems vulnerable rather than cute/ faux feminine.

I found the plot a little complicated. Which might I am dumber than your average law graduate since my two law school friends with whom I saw the movie both thought that the plot was simply silly. But I thought that it was layered. That onion peeling metaphor applies again! And there was a twist at the end, and Lord knows who I love twists, especially when it's a lemon being squeezed into my drink.

But I digress. Go watch the movie. At least (2) if not (1). Because I haven't adequately reviewed (1).

Knight and Day

From time to time, I think that I should go see things or listen to music or admire art, and then come blog about the experience so that I give off the impression that I am a cultured male. And this blog entry serves as my Man About Town type of entry in The New Yorker. Or whatever that column is called in the early pages of the magazine.

So I will do a cultured thing and give you my review of Knight and Day. Which you should watch if you are drunk, or you really don't have anything to do and you want entertainment so mindless that only you yourself are to blame for the decision at the end.

Knight and Day, starring Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz, is a fun, action-packed summer thriller, involving plenty of car chases, improbable shooting scenes with big guns (including a scene where Ms. Diaz can't figure out how to stop firing bullets at Mr. Cruise -- hint, take your finger off the trigger instead of shrieking like a banshee). There is supposed to be witty repartee and sexual tension between the two characters (after being drugged, Cameron (no longer Ms. Diaz in this blog entry) finds herself in a bikini, and is outraged at the thought that Tom has seen her naked. And she should be outraged -- note to youth, it's not cool to drug people and then strip them naked when they are unconscious. But she gets back at Tom by doing the same to him (putting him in bathing shorts, though, not bikini bottoms, the latter would have fueled the Tom is Gay tabloids to no end, no doubt. Note to young females watching the movie: If you are drugged and wake up feeling violated, well, just get back at the man who did that to you by doing the same!).

Cam and Tom do have some chemistry between them. There's a cute scene (spoiler coming up at the end of this sentence) where they flirt on board a plane, Cam goes to the restroom to freshen up, and while she's psyching herself to hit on him, he goes about killing at least six people on the plane, oh FYI there were only six people in total to begin with, including two piliots. She's all ready to plant a big smooch on his lips and then they find themselves in the midst of a crash landing . . .

Tom is remarkably jacked in the film. It's a little bit scary. I thought bodies were supposed to get softer instead of harder in one's older age? Maybe there is hope for me yet. New role model in my life!

Anyway, the movie is silly. Like really silly. And you're not supposed to believe anything that happens, you're just supposed to suspend your disbelief and move willingly and happily from a car chase in Boston to a tiny island located in the middle of nowhere (incidentally, nowhere does have some cell phone reception) to a train ride in Salzburg. But it's asking too much of you -- it's not sexy, sleek and sophisticated enough to make you want to give up your bearings altogether.

* * *
This is the first in a series of posts about summer movies. Because I intend on watching a lot of movies this summer. I want to see Despicable Me next. Just because I think the 3-D animated character in the ads looks quite adorable, and I like the name of the movie.

Mad Men Season 4

Mad Men Season 4 is starting on July 25. I can't decide whether I should drink scotch or martinis while watching the show. I think they tend to drink more of the former (at least Don Draper does) but, well, martinis are my new drink of choice, namely because one of them will go to my head and leave me flat out drunk.

Summer time

Jeezmonster decided yesterday that she would inflict havoc on my work life and entice me out of work with a bottle of wine in Central Park while listening to the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. Off we went, despite the earlier rain shower, which left the ground just a wee bit damp. Astute forest rangers that we are, we managed not to get lost, and made our way to the Great Lawn. We got there just in time for the Shanghai Orchestra members to ring a ting ting with the triangle and fall on to the piano one or two times in thundering crescendos. And then silence. For like a very long time. The kind of long time that makes you wonder if you showed up too late and have missed the entire show.

But Jeezmonster is easily distracted by the glow sticks that were being sold to the little kids. And I whiled away the time drinking the bottle of wine and eating chocolate chip cookies that were not Famous Amos and stale chips.

Turns out that there was plenty more to listen to, including excerpts from snippets of songs from West Side Story and then Bolero, which might just be the the longest song in the history of the world. Actually, Jeezmonster and I decided to be adventurous, and try to break into the coveted seating area meant for VIP pass holders. Needless to say, we were not VIP pass holders, and, in case there was any doubt, we were caught within steps of swinging ourselves over the fenced-in area. Damn capitalists.

July

And so we find ourselves in the second half of the year. I find myself in my fourth decade, I am now 30.

Turning 30 was significant. I know that age is just a number, it's a state of mind, etc. and etc. But milestones remain milestones; at the very least, they're a moment for reflecting.

Work is tremendously busy. Although even though I find myself at work late, late, late, I wonder what I have been doing there. Do you ever look back at ten or so hours and wonder, "What exactly have I been doing? I don't see anything on the page." Or the computer screen, as the case may be. I have some deadlines coming up later this week, and I just don't care. Don't get me wrong -- I went in this weekend, have been going through the motions, but . . . something is definitely lacking.

When I moved into my apartment, I told a friend, "All I want to do now is order Time, The Economist, The New Yorker, New York Magazine, and read books under a cozy lamp by my couch." And my friend reacted as follows: "All you should want to do now, as a home-owner of a two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan is go out on the town and try to get laid."

Something to consider as I trot off to bed.

Metric

We measure lives by . . . accomplishments? age? others?

I've discovered a new (to me) singer -- Metric. I like a bunch of songs. In particular, Collect Call and Give Me Sympathy. I would link but for inability to do so.

Time flies. Suddenly you haven't blogged in ages. Which is disappointing. A friend said today, why don't you become a writer? Was momentarily excited and then realized that I could barely sustain a blog. Way to jump headfirst . . . with an eggshell skull.

Lots has happened since I last blogged. New round of guests have come to Casa Caveboy. In fact, I slept on the couch for 10 days. I saw the sun come up on a variety of occasions (I think work twice and fun once). I saw time fly by, while I (a) baked pear/ chocolate cake, (b) help make blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast,(c) make roast chicken (delicious -- I love http://wwww.smittenkitchen.com); (d) etc. and (e) etc.

I would blog more but I''m asleep on my feet.


And so I get carried away.

Trying to catch up

I thought, when I logged in, that my last post was about two weeks ago, sometime in mid-May. But, it turns out that I blogged at the end of May. It just feels like longer because so much has happened over the last 10 days. I'm exhausted thinking about it.

First things first, Lulu DC S was in town last weekend over Memorial Day. You name it, we did it. And if you named (a) mattress shopping at Macy's, but then deciding to go with 1-800-Mattress b/c they had (i) free delivery and (ii) the Macy's sales representative was a jerk; (b) watching our food get cooked in front of our very eyes at the chef's table at Hearth Restaurant; (c) watching a swinger's couple put out their feelers for fun and games at Employee's Only; (d) waiting in line for about 1/2 an hour to get Grimaldi's Pizza prior to walking over the Brooklyn Bridge, and buying a huge, huge straw hat while in said line (not me, L DC S); (e) listening to live music in a divey bar (prompting the question, "But where are the young professionals?"); (f) watching the most amazing and hilarious and bizarre exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art (including (i) grinding of body parts into the soil to fertilize the crops; (ii) massaging upper female body parts to induce rain; (iii) exposing lower female body parts to the skies to stop rain; (iv) being filmed screaming until you lose your voice; (v) being filmed dancing with a bag over your head until you pass out; (vi) finding men you thought were women and women you thought were men all over the place; and on and on and on), etc., well, then, you're right!

So much fun.

Lekker *itch slap mommentje

My friend Lulu DC S is in town. Which means that tonight we went out for dinner and drinking. As in wine followed by a whiskey followed by a dirty martini (multiplied by several). (Dinner was at Le Gigot on what might be one of the most beautiful streets in the history of the world and then drinks at Little Branch, which had an awesome speakeasy feel to it).

It's late. Tomorrow is a full day. But I just wanted to say that I relived some memories from my year in Den Haag (details can be found at my old blog, which no longer exists, so details no longer can be found). But the long and short of this is Lekker *itch Slap Mommenje. Which is hilarious to me at 345am after afore-said dinner and drinks, but which probably means absolutely nothing to you.

And that's fine by me. This blog is about mystery.

Furniture shopping

I need to buy a couple of key pieces of furniture. But I want it known that I am doing my due diligence before spending money (which I don't really have it -- it all being in mortgage). So this weekend, even though I knew I was mostly settled on a bed at Room & Board, I thought I would go and review furniture stores in Brooklyn, just so that I knew for myself that I wasn't selling out to a chain brand for no particular reason.

It was an adventure. I arrived in Williamsburg only to find out that my phone deceptively did not have three bars of energy, but only one, and so I couldn't really efficiently surf the internet to find out where I was. But fortunately I stumbled across a map, and that way was able to trace myself through the various streets to find sufficient stores that didn't carry what I wanted but convinced me that my narrowing down of two possible beds was good enough, and that the additional due diligence was unnecessary. Which was good b/c while due diligence is awesome, I have a bunch of friends arriving in June to stay w/ me, and I need to be prepared.

Quiet weekends

Last night, my brother, his girlfriend and I went to Convivio for dinner (I really want to use the cool hyperlinking function but somehow that is not working on my Safari internet browser and I don't know how to fix this so I will let you google the restaurant yourself, if you are so inclined). The restaurant is tucked away in Tudor City, which makes it untucked away for me, since I live in Tudor City now. The two-minute walk there is magical (perhaps only to me, because I'm new to the area), but you get to walk over a bridge, glide past a park, and gaze out at the United Nations building and the East River, all on your way to dinner.

Dinner itself is delicious. I had the spicy salami as a starter, and man was that delicious. I sometimes forget how tasty things like bacon, salami, ham etc. are -- and I hereby resolve to eat more of them. Yes, I know they're bad for my health and I haven't joined a gym yet this year (and it's almost June) but . . . resolutions are for the second half of the year, so I have about a week left to be a pig (or at least eat one). I had a duck sausage in pasta for dinner -- also delicious.

We sat outside because I love gazing out at Tudor City Park. It's small, leafy and . . . I like to think that it's mine, even though really it's a public park and anyone can access it. But, it's round the corner from me, and way way way round the corner from most everybody else, so I'll claim ownership, quietly.

I woke up early this morning: the plan was to put on rowdy music, get dressed quickly, scarf down cereal, and run off to look at beds. Because the guest bedroom needs a bed. Specifically, arriving guests need a bed in the guest bedroom. Instead, I realized that I had watched Part 2 of the two-part Grey's Anatomy finale, so I caught up on Part 1, then decided I had to see whether I would like Part 2 more now having seen Part 1, so I re-watched Part 2 (didn't love it more, might have loved it a bit less), then watched Modern Family, realized I had missed two episodes, so watched the penultimate one, too (I have this habit of going backwards on hulu.com, something I need to fix) and now I'm blogging.

It being 1130am now. BUT: I'm going to publish this post, and then I'm going to "put on rowdy music, get dressed quickly, scarf down cereal, and run off to look at beds."

The Apartment Has Windows

but it does not (yet) have curtains.

My apartment has beautiful windows. They're big, they're covered with window panes, and the light filters in through them beautifully in the three mornings I've been in the apartment. (The windows also need to be cleaned -- the speckled pattern of sunlight on my walls might be due to streaks of crap on them).

The windows don't yet have curtains. I overlook two buildings, to my north and west sides. Those buildings likewise have big, gorgeous windows.

When I decide to dance in my living room in my shorts or walk from my bathroom to my suitcase in the morning, the bathroom being in one corner of the bedroom and the suitcase being out in the living room, I should be aware that I live in a crowded city of people.

Well hello neighbors.

I'm in the apartment

And I'm living out of boxes. It's chaotic. I'm trying to enjoy the chaos (they say live in the moment, but they didn't tell me that the moment would be oh so pig-styish).

Last night, I went out and got two heaping slices of pepperoni pizza, a bottle of Perrier and I opened the bottle of champagne that my friend/ broker had gifted me when I closed on the apartment. I sat down on my couch, put my feet up on the Sierra Leone wooden chest that I dragged with me by plane, train and automobile (strike train) from Freetown to the airport in Belgium to New York temporary housing provided by my firm to my rented New York apartment to my OWN New York apartment, opened the Time Magazine that I had bought to while away the time, and set about . . . staring at all of the boxes.

It was hot, and I didn't want to turn on the air conditioning, primarily because it was covered by plastic sheets and papers (the painters need to finish up that area). I put on my old white-shirt, of an age such that the neckline sags down to the center of my chest. I stretched out on my couch, careful not to put my feet on it, my feet being disgusting from having traipsed back and forth about my still-being-painted apartment dragging boxes about. And as I itemized the list of things I needed to do over the next few days/ weeks/ months/ years, the rest of my life, I fell asleep.

I've moved

So yesterday I fully had good intentions of coming home and cleaning up the apartment where I have been staying for the last week or so (friends who are presently in Mexico, returning today). And then at 7pm, when I hoped to be skulking my way out of the office, I found out that I had to review edits made by the partner which took until 8pm, no 9pm, no 10pm, no 11pm, no 12am, no 1am, no 2am, yes 2am yes 2am yes 2am.

So I came home at 215am. And then packed my suitcase, and cleaned the kitchen and the living room. And prepared their thank you gift nicely. And went to bed at 3am thinking . . .

I didn't have to get to my apartment to meet the movers until 10am, so I would sleep until 8am, then wake up, shower, etc., and then clean the bathroom, and slowly but surely make my way to my apartment. Only to find . . .

That the movers were at my apartment at 830am. Which meant major hustle and bustle to get there to say hello, and find the apartment in a state of chaos with plastering of walls being done, painting being done, floors being done, things being moved (including my plasma TV, my baby, my precious, my one and only, etc.).

Then back to the apartment to clean the bathroom, except . . . I had packed everything, was wearing a suit, and had to get to work (it being 1030am). So, threw my tie over my shoulder (like that was the most important piece of clothing to preserve) and set about cleaning a bathroom while not actually getting myself wet (which means one of two things: I got wet or I didn't clean the bathroom effectively).

Tonight will be my first night in the new apartment. There are boxes. Everywhere.

Skinny Black Tie

I bought a skinny black tie today. The kind Don Draper wears in Mad Men, or the image you have of folks in Hitchcock movies (you know, gray suit, white shirt, skinny black tie). I know it's a cliche, I know it's a desire to have life imitate art, or be stylish in a stylized way (that removes the stylishness, comprende?).

But I don't care.

Sometimes it's nice to live up to the image in your head.

The National

Sandra Dee got us tickets to see The National perform at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. And by tickets I mean she got us orchestra tickets in the dead center, so that when Matt Berninger decided to bodydurf in the crowd, crawling his way row by row, we got to touch him. I'm going to say that the moment was more memorable for Sandra Dee than for me, especially since she had said at the beginning of the concert, "If I could touch him, I would just die."

She didn't die. But, you know, the universe was clearly listening.

I like The National a lot. It's hard not to love classics like Fake Empire and All the Wine. The band is supposed to be indie-rock but they seem to have a busy hum in the background that I associate with groups like Postal Rock. Which means you can have guitar/ whiskey lyrics, you can have rock ballad epics, but you have a busyness that keeps the songs moving. And keeps you ticking.

I have not yet fully heard their new album, High Violet. But I loved the song Runaway. It's one of those songs I imagine I will play over and over again as I settle down into the night time routines, when I turn off the TV, make sure that the dirty dishes in the sink are covered with a little bit of water so they'll be more amenable to cleaning the following day (or week or /end), drink a glass or two of water so that I'll be hydrated in the morning, swallow the occasional vitamin pill if I remember to do so, check that the door is locked, turn off the lights . . . and the music.

Weekend in review

Oh boy, am I tired. Sometimes I love crawling into my bed on Sunday night, absolutely exhausted from the weekend. I dread the week ahead, but I'm grateful to not have a hectic Friday or Saturday night. Instead, I can take refuge in a Law and Order Special Victim's Unit episode and listen to a couple of songs on repeat before I brush my teeth and say adieu to another week.

The weeks go by quickly. This week I will be moving into my apartment on Tuesday. And when I say "my apartment," I mean the one that my bank owns.

It will be absolutely chaotic, with the movers and the painters jostling for space. On Tuesday night, I'm going to open my itunes library, uncork a bottle of champagne, and sit on my bed -- with or without sheets on depending on success at finding the box with all of the bedding -- surrounded by boxes, unpacked suitcases, half-painted walls, chaos of the order I know is romantic only in my head and not in real life, and I'm going to toast my new apartment. It is going to be an apartment of memories; that first night may as well be memorable.

Oh you ungrateful readers

Readers,

I wrote to you apologizing for not having blogged in a month, and I give you juicy updates like, Oh I happen to have moved apartments, as in bought an apartment, and am presently sanding my floors. And not a response from you in the comments.

Don't you know that I live for your comments?

Yesterday, I literally ran out of the office to get down to a beautiful brownstone in Brooklyn, where my friend had bought me tickets to a Rioja wine tasting event. You might recall my love for the white Rioja wine that I had in Baltimore, to which I would link again, but really it's only two posts down, so just scroll, won't you? The event was fun, and the purpose was threefold: catch up with friend, meet new people, enjoy wines.

Check, check and check.

After that, we went to Blue Ribbon in Park Slope, where I had delicious seafood paella. So much food. And so much seafood. With bits of chorizo tucked into every bite. Yes, delicious.

It has been a month

Sacre bleu! It has been a month since my last post. That saddens me. I had meant to be the kind of person who blogs more often.

It has been a busy month, I can promise you that. I won't bore you with the work details. I would bore myself to death, this post would abruptly come to an end with a "Zzz" and the goal of completing a new blog post would remain unfinished. So, on to other things.

I bought an apartment. Well, I technically executed a contract of sale on it more than two months ago, but it took a period of time to get from there to securing a mortgage in this tight credit market to then having my board interview (it's a cooperative society) to then finally scheduling the closing to finally getting to . . .

This stage, which is in contracting hell. As in dealing with contractors. I am having my floors polished, closets redone with shelves, cabinets removed, cabinets added, and this has caused some more repairs (kitchen wall must be plastered, baseboard moulding in the living room must be fixed). But yes, I am a homeowner.

Which feels wonderful. Although right now I'm mostly nomadic, staying with different friends.

[Side note: Am grateful to have friends who have helped me out. Thank you.]

I will blog more, I promise. But rest assured that I have been busy over the last couple of weeks. This Caveboy has been getting out of his cave. The next few monthsare going to be busy with all sorts of stuff, including (a) weddings (in June, July, August, September and October), furniture buying (looking for all sorts of things, including light fixtures -- oh job), (c) welcoming the arrival of summer (I think, not sure given recent weather) and more and more and more.

wine recommendation

I spent this past weekend in Baltimore with friends. I have more to tell you but for now I'll limit myself to just one recommendation: If you can, have a glass of the Rioja Alavesa, Ostatu (Viura, Malvasia) from 2008. I had it at Pazo -- it was delightful. I am going to buy a bottle of it in New York and drink it myself. Yes, I'm that selfish.

New Traditions Part 2

I suppose I should get to the Part 2 of this blog post and tell you about the new Easter Traditions.

Well, to be perfectly honest, this Easter 2010 was rather anomalous for my brother, sister and I were all in the same place at the same time, and what with the sister and brother-in-law having recently moved to Australia, that's unlikely to be replicated soon. But still, the day merits recollection.

But before I get to Easter Sunday, a pause on Saturday. In anticipation of my brother-in-law and sister moving to Australia on Thursday, April 8, they decided to have a sort of open house the previous Saturday whereby their friends could just drop by and say au revoir. Thinking that they probably would not have had much time to do any cooking, what with the packing! and the cleaning!, I decided to make some food.

And boy did I cook. First, I made a three-cheese-lasagne-with-sausage-beef-and-spinach. Yes, you got that right: I said three different kinds of cheese (mozarella, ricotta (well, I couldn't find ricotta in my supermarket, oddly enough, so I used some regular generic cottage cheese, which I think is more or less the same thing) and parmesan), spicy sausage, ground beef, and then about 10 ounces of spinach. That lasagne packed quite the mighty wollop and, if I dare blow my own horn (as though I have ever stopped myself before), was quite tasty!

Also, I made a pumpkin cheesescake. Yes, you got that right: think creamy deliciousness (oh, and by the way, a lot of creamy deliciousness in the form of three 8 oz. cans of cream cheese) mixed with pumpkin puree and just pinches of tasty ingredients like cinnamon, nutmeg, ground ginger, vanilla essence. Of course, the experience required me to jaunt off to Williams-Sonoma to buy an electric mixer (for I have been informed that no, one could not whip 24 oz. of cream cheese together to get the right consistency for cheesecake), which is one hell of a scary shop: there are kitchen things everywhere you look! Fortunately, I was able to ask some customer representative to point me in the direction of electric mixers. I came across, oh, say 4,580 of them, but fortunately saw a sign which said "Kitchen Aid," which I seem to recall from somewhere meant that the product was decent. And thus was my process of elimination.

Now, back to the point of this post, which was about Easter Sunday. So, my brother and his girlfriend stayed over on Saturday night rather than return to New Jersey. We all woke up on Sunday, and quickly dressed. We met my sister at Church of St. Apostle at 60th and Columbus Avenue -- it was actually very nice to attend mass with your family. I enjoy doing that at Christmas time when I am home in India. Thereafter, once the religious obligations were done, off we went to . . . Tiffinwala, down in Curry Hill at 28th Street and Lexington. Since we were done opening our hearts to the Lord, we opened our stomachs (through our open mouths) (everything seems open in this sentence, doesn't it? Rather disturbing). Anyway, we scarfed down piles of South Indian food (and when I say "scarfed" I mean "scarfed." I think my brother's girlfriend was seriously disturbed to find out that she was but half-way through her meal and the rest of us were done.

So that's what I did on Easter Sunday.

New traditions

When I was young and lived in India with my family, we typically went for Easter Mass together and then headed over to my grandmother's house for lunch. In fact, we do the same thing for Christmas (although in later years we moved to attending midnight mass instead of going for mass on the 25th morning). The routine is quite typical at my grandmother's house: we ate -- a lot -- and then we played Scrabble, slept, watched TV, chatted, and then ate leftovers for dinner. In other words, heaven: Jesus had indeed been born and had risen from the dead (as applicable to Christmas and Easter, respectively).

With regards to foods --
First, at the 11am hour or so, normally my grandmother, mother and aunt would have a "Rum 'n' Coke." As children, we typically drank Indian soft drinks (like Rasna or Tang, sometimes Thums Up, the Indian Coke) and now I might go for a beer or a glass of wine. We eat sweets, too, just to whet the appetite. I know, you're thinking it a bit odd to be eating sweets before lunch but, especially at Christmas time, we would have been waiting for weeks to bite into Christmas marzipan (Indian-style, totally different from the European "real thing") or kalkals (doughy-rolled up things that are covered in sugar) or milk sweet.
Second, at around lunch time, we normally would eat (a) roast pork, (b) chicken curry, (c) sorpatel, (d) pulau (fancy rice) and a salad (normally, this would be my aunt's contribution to the feast, the other dishes typically having been prepared by my grandmother in earlier years, and now my mother helps in more recent years). Delicious. I mean -- utterly delicious. We would have seconds and thirds, and the meal typically would linger on and on . . .
After a few games of Scrabble (intense competition between myself, my siblings and my aunt) and/or reading and/or watching TV and/or snoozing wherever one could find a spare bed or space on the couch, it would be time for the evening meal.
Quite possibly, at the 7pm hour, there might have been another round of drinks (again, rum 'n' coke for the grown-up ladies, possibly a whiskey for my dad when he used to drink) and then leftovers for dinner. And somehow the food, which had marinated in itself during the afternoon, was even tastier. Night would fall. We would sit in my grandmother's dining room, which has two windows looking out on to the terrace. The terrace lights were rarely on, so outside was very, very dark, while inside, the dining room was lit up with bright, fluorescent lights, almost too bright. We'd sit there, our elbows occasionally bumping into each other (indeed, we had to pull an extra chair to the table when the complete family was eating together (this would become two extra stools when my sister's husband accompanied her to India, although admittedly, we've only eaten together -- all eight of us -- a handful of times)).
When I was a child, I typically would fall asleep right after dinner. My dad would have to carry me to the car and then from the car up to the apartment. I remember sometimes being told, "Lift your arms straight up," and my shirt would be pulled off. Then, lying on my back, I would raise my legs, and off would come my pants. Oh, the sweet life of a child.

Which reminds me, I titled this post "New Traditions" but haven't told you anything about how I spent this past Easter Sunday. But I'll leave that for a Part 2 - this post is long enough.

Tavern on Jane

I met ReL for dinner at Tavern on Jane, a charming restaurant tucked away at the place where Chelsea merges into the West Village. The restaurant is small and cozy, and there is a room in the back which is quieter, and, as we found out, becomes extremely quiet towards the tail end of the night. Which is kind of great when you want to put your feet up on the chair at the table next to you, sip the last few sips of wine, and slowly settle into contentment.

The wine was good -- a $35/- or so bottle of Pinot Grigio, which slipped down the throat quite smoothly, without a complaint. And I ordered a big buffalo burger, with sauteed onions and bacon because I felt . . . like doing so. Yes, I know, it's April tomorrow and I should start my resolutions (go to work early! eat healthily! go to the gym (and by that I mean join a gym) but well, today's the 31st, and I couldn't be bothered.

The burger was tasty. Quite excellent, actually. And it came with home fries. Which weren't too bad -- not perfect because they just weren't crispy enough for my liking, but still decent. I would recommend going if you're in the area. I'm not sure I would go out of my way necessarily but since the location is so convenient (right by the 14th Street subway stop on 8th Avenue) that you might find yourself in the neighborhood frequently enough anyway.

Mad Men Season 3

I just ordered Mad Men Season 3. I've had my misgivings with that show (oh the mysogyny, even if a realistic portrayal of the ad/ corporate world at the time) but whatever. I'm a little obsessive and now that I've watched Seasons 1 and 2, it's time to watch the next.

I look forward.

I also need book recommendations. Because of my former resolutions (that I'm sure I've blogged about before) where I resolved to read more books, watch more movies, listen to more music, cook more food, just so that I could give the impression that I have an entertaining life. So please recommend in the comments.

Dinner at Nolita House

After the Joe's Pub concert, Pux and I stumbled down the rainy night looking for a decent bar. We came across a charming and small restaurant that happened to have wine bottle prices 1/2 off. Who could resist? Not us. So without much ado, we climbed the stairs into Nolita House.

After choosing wine (quite a simple choice - what was the cheapest wine, divide by two, is that price acceptable? Wait, $16 for a bottle of wine at a restaurant? Why yes please. Don't judge - I'm getting a mortgage shortly (knock on wood, should everything go through properly, and I don't have $ to spare!). They also had a mac and cheese special (three different kinds), so I chose that for dinner.

The food was good. Well, again I'm going to be honest ,b/c apparently that is the thing I do tonight while blogging. I'm not a huge mac and cheese fan: I know that it's comfort food for many, but perhaps not for me simply because I never really had it as a child. It's a U.S. thing for me. But it's tasty, I'll grant you that. Not exactly a sophisticated meal out -- although some would argue who needs sophistication when you've got warm cheese melted on your, hmmm, mac, but still. Tasty and I was happy and I would probably order it again, but only if it were available as a special and I got to order the different samplers (there was a lobster flavor, a popeye chicken flavor and something else, which escapes me).

A decent place -- GREAT music (a lot of the Beatles, for example). I would recommend, particularly if you are in the area.

Live music on Tuesday night

I went to Joe's Pub tonight. I like Joe's Pub but I rarely go. I tried once a couple of months ago to get impromptu tickets to some event but my spontaneity was thwarted: the concert was sold out. Ah alas and damn.

Anyway, this rainy night found me rushing there after my class at Columbia (yes, I know, all the way from the upper upper west side to the lower east side). But still I persevered. After all, $12 tickets to listen to Julia Haltigan. If you haven't heard of her before, worry not - you're still cool, neither had I. But late on a Monday night, while lying in my bed, instead of sleeping, I went on to Village Voice to figure out what was playing, and I likek what I heard.

I missed a bit of her performance (she started promptly at 7:30pm, who does that?). So that was a bit unfortunate. But I liked what I heard. She has strong, strong pipes, and she's not shy of using them. Which is great because actually when you have to belt it out, you tend to look a wee bit unattractive (you know, that whole stance thing where everything is centered at your core so you can BELT IT OUT, and that whole OPEN MOUTHED POSE where you force everything you have inside you out into the audieence). And I like people who are willing to give up vanity for their art.

Overall: an excellent performance. I hear she performs in New York quite a bit, so I'll have to follow her concert schedule.

Since I've been back

I've been carpe dieming since I've been back from Jordan. I'll skip Saturday night, even though it was fun and took me to the Meatpacking District simply because while I had a good time, it was the company and not so much the places.

So without much ado, on to Sunday night. I went to Keste Pizza, which was much hyped, as you can tell from the link. I don't know: simply put, there is something about pizza that does not get me that excited. Don't get me wrong: pepperoni pizza while stuck in the office - yes; late night gorging on pizza while stumbling home slightly intoxicated - yes; don't have time to cook anything and feeling like you've spent too much money of late, thus a cheap meal, oh look, a slice of pizza - yes. But to go to a restaurant that serves primarily pizza and then talk about how amazing it was. I don't quite buy that.

Add to this the following: (1) my general dislike of having to wait in lines (about 25 - 30 minutes on a Sunday night) and (2) the place lacked generally in atmosphere (yes, my dining companions liked it, comparing the place to a neighborhood joint where you come for a meal, but me, no I don't really want such a place. When I go out and spend money on a meal, I want atmosphere). So conclusion: good, tasty but not really worth it.

Thereafter, on to Nublu, all the way in the nether parts of Avenue C (oh those nether parts are so far, aren't they?). To see, or rather, to listen to: Red Baraat! Which was fantastic. Well, a bit loud for a small venue, but we solved the problem by stuffing napkin tissue into our ears, thereby looking like Dorkus Maximiliuses but who cares, at least our hearing is intact (and for those of us with ringing in our ears, this trumps vanity). The music was fun, peppy, energetic. Occasionally, the DJ (who played during the break period) tried to intervene with his "contributions": not so great. Something about live music mixed with his recorded music didn't jive very well. Also, one of the singers (or maybe someone else) tried to do some rap: again, not so great.

But, overall, a great night. Even taking into account that it rain was pouring when we left. We stumbled down a blind alley only to find out it was blind belatedly. Turned around, found a cab, hailed it, got into it, and many many many minutes later (this was Avenue C after all) I found myself home, cozy.

A great night out.

Jordan

I've been away for the past week in Amman, Jordan. For work. Which meant that I stayed in a lovely hotel and for four and a half consecutive days, I did not stop outside the hotel. Not even a step. Because hearing preparation took place in the hotel, then the hearing itself was in the hotel, and the couriers came to the hotel to pick up all of our materials to send back to New York.

At least The Four Seasons Hotel was very nice. So not too bad a place to be trapped indoors for consecutive days.

On the last day, though, I headed for Petra. Oh, but wait. I got along well with one of the hotel staff (who played a key role in setting up everything, and dealt well with my minor freak-out that the K80 office jet printer needed a new cartridge, the break-out room printer did not connect to our laptops and the photocopier outside the hearing room was not working extremely well), so he invited me and KD out to drinks. Which turned out to be a long night of dancing at Flow. And by long night I mean 4am.

The next morning, I got up at 730am, groggily gathered my things, checked out of the hotel, took a 3 hour ride to Petra where I proceeded to walk about 11 kilometers (at least 1/3 of which was climbing up up up and 1/3 of which was walking in sand, yes sand, the thing that is hard to walk on at the beach). But I saw glorious things. Petra truly is gorgeous. Another 3 hour ride back, I was in the hotel, gathering my belongings.

On the plane ride I discovered a potentially new addiction -- Dexter. I can't wait.

Some more live music

I went back to Le Poisson Rouge because you can't get too much of a good thing. Well, actually you can, and Pux and I left about 2/3 of the way through because the music, while good, was also getting just a bit too much. We went to see Hauschka, who is a German pianist. The first part was excellent: he played the piano accompanied by a string quartet. It was great to watch creative people just play music and be happy. Don't get me wrong: I don't naively glamorize the life of the artist. Yes, it's great to be passionate about what you do, and artists/ dancers/ musicians/ writers have it the best in this regards, but they have it the worst when it comes to living off your profession. As in making a living.

Still, nice.

After that, Pux and I took a short walk to Washington Square Park. We admired the beautiful brownstones that overlook the park. You can peer through the windows of some of these houses. They are so beautiful. Stylish and cozy at the same time. It made me wish for a brain that could could invent a patent or be a stockbroker like no other so that I could be rich and live there. Yes, which would be in direct contrast to the first paragraph of this post where I expressed appreciation for the starving artist's life.

some live music

I thought it was time to revive live music in my life. I go through phases, as you well know. So tonight I went to hear Shilpa Ray & her Happy Hookers perform at Le Poisson Rouge. She was interesting: at times, soulful and passionate, with a great, deep voice. And at other times shrieky, loud, too much. Way too much. But I liked her performance overall. I liked how she got into her music. I like how she threw caution to the wind, cliche cliche etc., and just did her own thing. One of my favourite songs by her is "Woman Sets Her Boyfriend on Fire," which you can listen to on her website, already linked. I like the extremes in her voice -- ranging from mournful, melancholy to -- angry. Ah anger.

I have found a new Norah Jones song to like. It's called Chasing Pirates: I don't know why I like this song as much as I do. Possibly b/c I had drunk two whiskeys when I listened to it first. I would love to do a strikethrough through that last sentence but unfortunately I don't' know how to do that. I guess I like the song b/c it has this upbeat, poppy backgrouund but actually the lyrics are quite mature. The singer's mind is racing from chasing heartaches. Which, as you can imagine, kind of sucks. I like the lyrics, especially, "I don't know how to slow it down." This has always been my problem. I can't take anything - job, friends, loves, life -- one step at a time. Rather, I have to hasten everything to its end, and then I lament its demise. I've thought perhaps this is best, I'm not wasting time, I'm just getting to the heart of the matter. But sometimes I wonder whether I'm prematurely killing something which, if given time -- and I suppose nurturing and patience -- would have lived long. Happily. Ever after?

so

Again I feel bad b/c time has passed and I want to blog more and I'm not sure why I'm not blogging more except it doesn't feel like I have all that much to say, so why say anything (you say it best when you say nothing at all, go the lyrics of that crappy song to which all people danced in high school, sometimes me when I decided it was worth it to slow dance with someone).
Anyway, so what's up w/ me? I saw Alice in Wonderland. OK not great. In fact, frankly disappointing. I didn't watch it in 3D and I don't know whether that would have made all the difference in the world but quite frankly I don't think that would have been the case. The movie lacked dramatic tension, was full of cliches, wasn't that aesthetically all said and done (especially given that we were in Wonderland) and the characters did not make that much sense -- I didn't understand their motivations often for why they did what they did. So kind of a waste of time.

I saw the Oscars. Well parts of thanks to work. Interesting. I suppose. Given that I have not seen most of the movies I was not in a position to evaluate or judge. I'm surprised that Sandra Bullock won Best Actress, although I say this w/o having seen the movie but just b/c I don't really think of her as a great and talented actress, more of a commercial actress. I mean, I loved Speed, which I think came out when I was in my late teens b/c the bus was about to explode if it went below a certain number of miles per hour and hey if that isn't dramatic tension than what is, but tastes change as you grow older. No?

What else? Oh I don't know what to say. I discovered an artist thanks to The Artist Formerly Known as the Loch Sess Monster - Florence and the Machines. I really liked some of her songs last week but this week I'm not so sure. Oh what am I sure about anymore?

New resolutions:
Movies
Books
Music

Which means more posts.

Music

I'm in a music state of mind. From time to time, I'll get a bee in my bonnet about finding new music. The only way I know how is to go to NPR's All Songs Considered and pitchfork.com and listen to snippets of music, see if I like anything, and then type them into itunes to see the genius recommendations (if you like this, you should like this).
I've assembled a bunch of songs today. They're not upbeat. In fact, they're kind of down in the dumps but with a little bit of optimism. Not sure if that reflects any sort of mood that I'm in. I certainly feel fine and happy and positive. But sometimes the music I listen to is more telling.
Right now:
(1) Antony and the Johnsons, Fistful of Love: The lyrics of this song are intense. It's about domestic violence. The singer likes to think that the "fistfuls of love" that he gets from time to time don't compare to the actual love that he gets most of the time from the person he loves. This song is dramatic, sad, optimistic, all at the same time. I love it.
(2) Antony and the Johnsons, For Today I am a Boy: Well, unsurprisingly, one Antony & the Johnsons song led me to another song. This song is beautiful, with weird lyrics (gender-ambiguous lyrics). But there is, to my ear, at least, something church-like about this song. The piano accompaniment is intense, and sometimes the voice is intense, amplified with repetitive, insistent, pressing chords. I'm not sure I love this song, but I like the intensity of this song.
(3) Beirut, Scenic World: This song has some nice instrumental accompaniment, which makes the song seem loud and chaotic, which I kind of like. But the singer has a morose tone to his singing, which is an odd, but sastisfying, juxtaposition. I love the lines, "When I feel alive/ I try to imagine a careless life/ A scenic world where the sunsets are all/ Breathtaking." I don't know what to make of these lines. Are these lines imagining a life less ordinary? Is life itself less ordinary (you dream of breathtaking sunsets that you don't actually view because you are fast asleep, waiting (not impatiently, but helplessly) for your alarm clock to go off to rouse you off to the day job that runs into night, when it's dark?). I don't want that to be the case. The chaos of the background stands in contrast to some of the lyrics.
(4) Norah Jones, Tell Yer Mama: I can't find a quick, legitimate link for this song, so good luck. I like this song because I heard Norah Jones sing it way back in the day at a sudden and imprompto performance. The Shakster, Sierra Leone Belle and I had no idea we were in for a Norah Jones late-night treat. This song isn't typical Norah Jones, which is, at least a lot of the time, just background music. Like when you're cooking and you want someone else in the apartment with you. This song has a beat. It has rhythm. Most importantly, there is something seductive about this song. You can imagine caressing a loved one's cheek and her, "Tell your folks thank you, for making you."
On that note, good night!

Weddings

I went to a wedding in Baltimore this past weekend. A close college friend's sister was getting married - I have known her since she was 14. How time flies - she's no 25.

I like weddings. I know, I'm probably in the minority here, for most people find weddings to be tedious, boring, ostentatious. And sometimes weddings can be those things. But at their emotional best, weddings are superb. I love watching people I love celebrate the good things in their lives.

I won't lie. I felt really soft and mushy and gooey inside when the couple exchanged their wedding vows, which they had written themselves. And when the proud father danced with his daughter (trying to stifle the tears, while she cried openly). And when the proud mother danced with her son (openly crying, while he stoically tried to remain poised). I love these things: I love inter-generational love. I love when two people fall in love. I love when people are happy. These are the things life is made up of, in my view.

I'm back in New York. I cleaned my apartment. I cooked today (tasty food, but I don't think I' cooked the chicken well enough, I've already had a run to the bathroom, oh I've changed the mood of this post and have abruptly disgusted you, correct)? Oh, I'll do that to you from time to time. Mixing the high with the low, so to speak, very postmodern of me.

I met an old friend today for a quiet drink. Actually, friend and I had had a falling out back the day, seven months ago, about something that seems trivial now, but then, understandably - and reasonably, actually - meant a lot more. But now I understand what friend was going through at the time. Sometimes you need context to make sense of the past.

I've never been one of those let go of the past people. The past is the friendship, as I'm sure you've all read on a thousand other blogs (and books, and witnessed on TV sitcoms, and seen in movies, and heard in songs galore). But whatever. I don't care how often truths circulate elsewhere. Sometimes, I like to reiterate them on this here blog .

Movies

I'm trying to watch some of the Oscar movies for no particular reason except that I feel as though 2009 passed me by cinematically, so I'm making up for some lost time. Last weekend, I watched "A Single Man" with my siblings.
I liked the movie. Actually, it reminded me of one of my favourite movies, The Hours, which I really enjoyed. As you know, I'm not good with avoiding spoilers, so if you want to watch the movie and you're worried I'm going to give something away, well, your worry is warranted. Anyway, as I was saying, I liked the movie not so much for the ploot or the content but for the mood that it created. And perhaps that is the point of "time-sensitive" movies like The Hours, which takes place over the course of hours, or A Single Man, which takes place over the course of a day. And, of course, The Hours was based on Virginia Woolf's Mrs Dalloway, which likewise took place over the course of a day. In each of these movies, special things happen on that day (various things in The Hours, some of which I recall not now, oh old age, A Single Man is about a gay man reminiscing over the death of his partner, and his anticipation of what he thinks the rest of his life will be like, and Mrs Dalloway is centered around Mrs Dalloway planning for a party that she is having).
I think Colin Firth and Julianne Moore did excellent jobs. I've heard criticisms in reviews that this movie is too "picture perfect," the criticisms being leveled at the director Tom Ford, who I believe was the creative director/ photographer or something for Gucci. And it's true - the scenes of the movie are set beautifully, with the characters perfectly dressed for whatever role they're playing at the time (Colin Firth is a handsome, middle-aged professor who always dresses professorially, Julianne Moore is a lonely socialite who dresses up for dinner, hair and everything, young male prostitutes wear James Dean types of clothes, and smoke cigarettes, and lean against cars, and have the sunlight shine in their faces, etc and etc). But that's OK because I think part of the purpose of the book is to notice the details around you, and to enjoy those details.
I also like the line where Colin Firth says that life never goes exactly as planned. Which I know is not a big revelation, and actually is quite along the lines of many cliches (such as, Life is what happened to you while you were busy making other plans) but there's that element of truth to it that I enjoyed.
I very much enjoyed the soundtrack to A Single Man - a lot of instrumental music that helps create a mood. Actually, much -- to my ears, at least -- like the soundtrack to The Hours by Philip Glass. Definitely worth a listen.