A Holiday Cheer Up

Here it is Monday, December 20, 2004: 10 days after my last post and 5 days till Christmas. I’m feeling delinquent. Christmas is slowly turning into the shopping days count down, as I pop Tums and forge head first into an agitated sea of people.

The Sea, she was angry on Sunday rocking about violently, slamming to and fro. Abby and I took turns commanding a small vessel through the canals, quickly dismissing all Target’s wares. Nothing, not even the affordable allure of the brightly colored products could keep us among the sloppy mess of bodies. Decorative tins, tension rods, make-up, Christmas lights, and candy canes later we escaped outside to safer terrain. We had to sit for a minute, reflect in the brisk air to decompress.

Off again to find holiday cheer we headed toward the Christmas tree lot. When arriving, we were again faced with too many faces and retreated to the open air. The Lot penned in trees and bodies in some horrific corral at an intersection of two busy highways. The bodies and trees fought against each other as two Russian men screamed out prices over euro-techno beats. It was loud confusion; we weren’t really sure who or what was for sale.

We found another tree lot down the street in a good old fashion parking lot. We each bought a Christmas tree from a man who resembled Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer as much as a man can and still look like a man.

Decorative tins, tension rods, make-up, Christmas lights, and candy canes and now two trees, dragging behind us, headed home.

As I raised my mighty little tree in triumph and dressed it in lights, the light rain out my window turned to snow. It finally felt like Christmas. I was happy. I fell asleep with the tree still lit and woke up like a child on Christmas morning.


RHTL Update:
For a detailed description of DC hi-jinks please refer to the following link: http://peppermint-patty.blogspot.com/. The Debutantes played a great show at the Galaxy Hut and were asked back to play at the Velvet Lounge on January 21st. (More info to follow)

The Young, The Old, The District

At an Apartment on Ludlow:
I spent the evening enjoying life as a college grad. Admittedly, I graduated too early. Not to say that my genius carried me through the course work at an accelerated pace, but that I’ve been out of college and well into my twenties much longer than our hosts, who’ve just graduated and rented their first NYC apartment. They’ve dressed their walls and floors in grown up accessories and filled the rooms with adorable conversation. I was impressed by the feel and look of the “young” apartment. And instead of feeling old, I felt young and ready for anything.

It made me think about beginning life after college and it’s evolution as graduation day sinks farther and farther into the past. Remember when your major talking points were related to life experiences you had while in college, a couple of months ago? When you put your milk crate table on the curb and took your bed down from the cinder blocks and walked awkwardly into sophistication and intelligent conversation? What intelligent conversation? It was amusing to watch people in that tween place, figuring out what sort of adult they were going to be…whether they were going to be an adult (a decision I have yet to make..)

We (Dana, Matt, Andy & I) left the apartment on Ludlow and went to Bowery Ballroom to see some bands: The Bravery and Moving Units. I was disappointed with the Moving Units stage presence. They didn’t have command over the audience who slowly slipped downstairs to the bar as they played. They are excellent musicians with a tight sound, but didn’t enrapture the New York audience there mostly to see the marketable faces of the Bravery Boys (and tight, tight jeans.)

RHTL REPORT: The Debutantes Play DC

The RHTL is headed for the District. Adventures in the Nation’s Capital include: car trips, roadside pit stops, drinking vodka, exploring the suburbs for guitar accessories and music joke books, drinking vodka, playing music (see subject line), keg parties, making it home in one piece.

My Most Important Brooklyn

Yesterday’s update list failed to include my move to Brooklyn. I moved to Fort Greene to join my friends who wisely migrated east earlier. Though I’m still living out of boxes, eating out of boxes, dreaming about boxes crushing me to death, I'm so happy! Yay Brooklyn!
Brooklyn has unabashedly welcomed me into her arms even while I fussed generously over moving pains.

These are a few of my favorite things:
I inhabit a large room called the Parlor
I live blocks away from my favorite people
The chance of early morning tea over drunken late night gossip
Sleigh riding parties in the park/ hot chocolate in the parlor
A content cat sleeping in front of a very large window
Target (A short walk away)
New bars, eats, people (but not bars eating people or eating people at bars)
Dew drops on flowers and whiskers on kittens...

(Writing lists in a chaotic life provides some semblance of order.)

RHTL REPORT:

Tonight, the RHTL is searching for an alibi…hi-jinks and debauchery are expected to ensue.

Back From the Brink

Recently, I was told by a great many (two people) that they checked this blog daily in case of updates. As you can see from my last post’s date line it has been a great while since I’ve posted. I was moved to write something today…even if just to give two sentences to two people.

It would be too complicated and too involved to pick up where I left off; pages and pages of boring daily accounts of illness, music and TV would scroll down the screen in dreadful monotony. Alas, I will report the high/ and not- so- highlights in 5 sentences or less.
1. I had Mono. (Lesson learned: Do not make out with fictitious High School boys named Kevin.)
2. I spent 3 weeks in bed. (Lesson learned: Developed life experiences through the subplots on my favorite shows.)
3. Played music/ Saw music (Lesson Learned: Rock shows can be very therapeutic.)
4. Ate too much turkey (Lesson learned: Exercises in stomach stretching is less scientific and more painful.)
5. Participated in Fallon Family holiday traditions: We cut down a beautiful tree and soon it will sit in my father's living room tall, proud and full of Christmas. I walked the equivalent of Texas shopping at the outlets with Mom. (Lesson learned: The supreme holiday joy experienced as a child is overshadowed by adult foot pain.)


RHTL (Red Headed Terror League) REPORT:

The RHTL are working toward bringing music to the masses. Movements toward RHTL DJ nights are progressing…more info to follow.

The Day After

I've been trying to blog for hours. I feel dumb and inarticulate today.

The Killers

Irving Plaza
It was a great show with an enthusiastic crowd. I was not disappointed; I was, in fact, impressed. The played my favorite song last. After the show, a well-dressed army filed into the hall and down the stairs. Dana and I detoured to the bathroom area where a tiny drunk girl was screaming at the girls in the bathroom line. “Hey! Hey! Is this some kind of line for America’s Next Top Model? Isn’t this like America’s next top model? I don’t want to alarm anyone but my friend. Him! Him! He is that guy. You know, the guy who picks America’s next top Model.”
After eluding the drunken girl’s observation, Dana and I escaped to the after party.

The Dark Room
Well....It started out fine. We got to the Dark Room early and claimed the booth near the door. The Killers filed in and sat in our oblong semi-circle booth. We looked like Dominos, line up in our white in black uniforms. The lead singer, Brandon, was really nice and introduced himself to us, because we were all sitting there. Dana and I said at the same time: "Great show!" like a good pair of choreographed redheads. It kind of all went down hill from there. I think I only had two beers...but somehow I was wasted. I talked to the lead singer later about the band James after we caught each other bouncing around to “Laid”. I declared that the love of the band was a New York thing...He reminded me he was from Vegas. Later that night I would just grab both his arms and shout “hey!” acting on a bond that did not form.

I was annoyed that no one was dancing at the after party (I think). It was the usual convention for the mutual admiration costumed hipsters gang (MACHG). Although, credit is due to the event for no guest list, no cover, and no VIP section,I would have like to see more dancing…maybe it would have slowed the even, breezy pace of my beer sipping, saving me from the piercing pain pounding in my brain.

I got home at 3:30 slept for 3 hours and ran to work with a pale interpretation of last nights make up and hair. I'm actually sleeping right now as I type.

I didn’t realize how drunk I was until Dana reminded me of events that I unconsciously glazed over in my mind. Http://peppermint-patty.blogspot.com/

I took fists full of water in the face.

Saturday night nipped the air, perfect with a crisp autumn chills. Finally it’s fall. In celebration my family participated in our yearly Halloween tradition this Saturday, the Headless Horseman Haunted Hayride in Kingston, New York. We usually go closer to October 31st, but this was the only weekend my mother could attend. My Mother, with enthusiastic, childlike exuberance literally bounces through each frightful treat. Halloween is her favorite and her enjoyment is a thrill to watch.

This year I took a friend with me. I had hoped to make it grand group affair with newly acquainted friends and old friends scaring up Kingston together, picking pumpkins and apples all the way back to the city. But alas, scheduling did not permit. Perhaps later in the month, Upstate New York has many frightful options in October. As the “new victim,” I was certain my friend’s face would be scrutinized at every alarming turn for reactions.

A tractor pulled hay pile rolled up to our line and we were beckoned on by a misshaped crow character. I did not find the crow or what the crow had to say remotely scary. In fact it was difficult to hear the laborious hayride exposition about some boogeyman scarecrow delivered in failed stand up comedy. What dribbled out of the prosthetic beak was no match for my low grumblings: “shut up, shut up, and shut up stupid crow.”

The highlight of the ride was the terrifying man with the working chainsaw that came at me like I killed his puppy. Though there was no blade, the mechanism had fast moving parts and a distinct gasoline smell. I screamed. I look forward to the rest of the ride, the corn field maze and the two haunted houses with my mother's matched enthusiam. As we were nearing the end of our hay expedition we came upon a costumed young man and a rubber chicken. Unbeknownst to me the young man had filled the rubber chicken with what must have been a gallon of water. He smacked the chicken with a rubber mallet hurling said gallon of water directly into my face. I was drenched. My friend, Brother and a couple of now grumpy strangers were covered in water. It was cold. We were cold and angry. As the hay truck pulled away from this horrible young man I saw him smirking at his wet work. As a true New Yorker I flipped him off as we rolled into the distance.

It was an unmatched feat; it takes a lot for me to flip off a high school student in a goblin costume, but there I was cold, wet, with my middle finger fully extended.

The remainder of the evening was fun and without incident.

Tonight I see The Killers with Dana.

Yay!

The Truth From a Liar

With a very close friend and Grandmother in the hospital battling serious afflictions, I turned to a vigorous foreign policy debate and beer.

I joined a crowd already gathered around the television in a Brooklyn apartment, anticipating the gems that would enviably fall from W’s lips like drool from a baby. I vigorously sipped beer. A room filled to the corners with tipsy anti-Bushers took turns commenting on their favorite Bush debatisms, i.e. spreading liberty, flip flopping, and my favorite: “it’s hard work and people are working hard, I saw them on my TV screen.” Kerry spoke well, thoughtful and well versed. In comparison, Bush was reduced to a riled up little man, angry about people on his lawn.

This morning I dragged my self into the office, cursing my sippy beer and fancying an egg and cheese sandwich. Three co-workers, with inquisitive eyes, took turns alerting me to the lack of sleep written across my face. The comments were followed by good news; I over-looked their prying. There was free breakfast in the conference room! As soon as breached the conference room B threshold, charming aromas combined in my nostrils, spreading a smile across my face. As if lit by angels, the steaming bagels, chocolate covered doughnuts, fruit, and coffee where laid out before me as if gifted by the gods. I ate a bagel with cream cheese and a chocolate covered doughnut. The day then seemed presentable.

More coffee.

Stuck in a Pile

My Blog cries in the corner throwing crumpled up post-its at me inbetween sobs.
I scream "not today, you big baby, I've got much too much work to do."

For a description of my notable weekend activities please see the Bears Will Attack link on the right hand side of the screen; follow the link to the Monday, September 27, 2004 entry; read until you recognize my name.

I promise to write tomorrow after the smoke clears from this dreadfully long pursuit in paper pushing and big man boss town appeasing.

My Blog hushes and smiles a little.

I'm in Love with Sun

I was enraptured by the way the sun painted me on the sidewalk, tall and thin like a supermodel. I swung my arms admiring the graceful beauty in the movement of such delicate limbs. I turned the corner. The tall buildings extinguished my magical light and I was stuck between talk on cell phone business suit and coffee drinking newspaper reader for the duration of my commute to the subway. They both took turns bumping into me, as it was impossible for either to walk a straight line. They never looked up.

Tonight the Debutantes play Matchless in Brooklyn. It should be an easy, laid back, super fun show in a new small venue. I’m looking forward to it and will celebrate properly by wearing tall, improper red, high-heeled boots.

The Healing Powers of a Pork Quesadilla

Today is the fall Equinox.


"On the Equinox this is the motion of the Sun through the sky for everyone on earth. Every place on earth experiences a 12 hours day twice a year on the Spring and Fall Equinox." (the stick figure represents "Everyone" on Earth. You look good in sticks.)

It is rumored that during the exact minute of the equinox an egg can literally stand straight up without assistance from a human hand. The equinox was today at 12:30pm and me without a raw egg. I tried to balance paper clips, scissors, m&m’s and other assorted office props with complete failure. The egg stipulation seems to be iron clad. With the other objects falling miserably in embarrassed defeat, and never actually seeing this experiment succeed (not even on Mr. Wizard) I confirmed it a myth. As I was mentally jotting down the free standing egg as urban legend I receive a call from my mother. She spoke with hurried excitement. She proudly declared that “Science is Marvelous!” She performed the experiment with her co-workers like children in science period and it did in fact work. The egg stood motionless for a whole minute while the Earth enjoyed the equinox. She quickly dismissed me from the call to call everyone she knew. (The Fallons, in general, tend to over react; we are a dramatic people.)

I can't wait until autumn brings me hot apple cider, pumpkin & apple picking, rust color leaf kicking, haunted hayrides and wooly sweaters. I will wait right here until they come.

XO
J.F.

The Weekend in like a Lion, out like a lamb

Friday:

Knee deep in renovation packages, the stapler jammed and photo copier quit in protest of scanning such boring and tedious material, over and over and over again. I finally completed the work given to me at a tardy hour when my boss proposed a redevelopment with the renovation package rendering the pile of collated, labeled stacks obsolete. It was 6:30 when I finally left the office to head home to the left over pasta I made the night before. I toiled over a homemade tomato sauce, laden with basil and lots and lots of garlic, and was looking forward revisiting it sooner than later. I must admit it was a success and if I could bathe all my food in it for the rest of my life I would be a happier person for it.

A neighbor kindly let me into my apartment building after an awkward time passed between us as I chanted “if got it, I’ve got it” fumbling for my keys. She gave the best of chances and then finally her desire to get into the building over powered her wanting the small victory for me; I didn’t blame her. My small bag’s interior grew as I thrusted my hand inside into each corner pulling out lip gloss, cell phone, bobby pins, wallet, book, weird magnet from Cancun I took home from work a week ago, but no keys. I threw the bag on the floor, got on my knees and ripped it open dumping the contents on the hallway floor. All the while, my starving cat screamed at me from behind the door. Panic stuck, no Keys!

Like a rational, calm person I imagined never being able to get back into the apartment, living life like a vagabond getting by on wink and smile, my cat dying from neglect and loneliness, worrying about the plans I had later that evening and not wanting to wear my work clothes to them, imaging the phone call to the ex-boyfriend who still had a set of keys he was remiss to return, seeing the look on my mother’s face with her daughter’s continued irresponsible behavior as the apartment burned down from the inside as I stood trapped outside the door. I remained on my knees, praying I missed them and if I only reached slowly back in the bag the keys would appear. No keys!

I left the bulk of my packages at the door and set out into the rest of the building for clues, signs of life. I remembered an inspection certificate in the vestibule that included the landlord’s number. Ah ha…the landlord has another set of keys. Brilliant! I placed my foot inside the apartment door and reached my body around to get a look at the Certificate. I didn’t want to get trapped out of the building completely, in case I had to spend the cold night on the hallway floor (these were not rational times.) I got the number and called Joe the landlord who promised to be at the building in a half an hour to rescue me from certain death alone on the streets, vulnerable to wild, rabid dog attacks and muggers.

I had thirty minutes to kill. I called a couple of friends to share with them the “typical Jaime” story. No one was surprised with 1.me locking my keys in the apartment, 2. my gross over reaction. I dreamed of my couch and television as I wandered the streets in pursuit of 20 minutes worth of killing time activities. I ordered Chinese food, waited, bought it, took it back to my stoop to keep me company with my book while I waited for Joe the Landlord who arrived when promised. He had kind, non-judgmental eyes and delivered a set of keys directly into my hand, as if guided by angels.

I was in! The cat was fed! We were happy! What ever happened to that kind landlord during the course of the evening I do not know; I ate Chinese food, sat in front of the television, dressed up in fishnet tights and went out dancing with Dana, Abby and the two Andys. I found I had a greater appreciation for life’s treasures, friends, dancing, music, fishnets having been homeless for a whole 30 minutes.

The Battle of 332

This is the story of the struggle between Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink and Dust Bunny of Undercouch. The prize to the victor was the throne of Apartment 332.

The year was 2004
An event so significant, it completely changed the course of 332 history. To speak of this battle without recourse to the events that came before, would be an injustice to the broom resting perilously in the corner. What makes this event so important to the Broom is the immutable fact that it was the last time any foreign power was to conquer her.

Dust Bunny of Undercouch’s men had been arriving all day in small groups. These men had fought many battles, were haggard, and leaving bits of their dusty bodies about the apartment. Despite the hardships, the troop’s morale must have been quite high. A victory over the broom boosted their confidence, but not their numbers. How many veterans of Undercouch were at the kitchen exchange? It was clear that they would have to reunite in the pass toward greasy sink to wage battle over Dirty Dishes’s men for Apartment supremacy. Dust Bunny of Undercouch knew verbal negotiations would be futile; battle was inevitable

Dust Bunny of Undercouch made the decision to fight Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink before he could consolidate. Dirty Dishes’s numbers were growing and strategically placed about the apartment. Soda glass of the Freewith Pump was stationed high on night stand hill, while soiled plate of bread crumbs crouched over coffee table plains. The location of the battle was chosen with care by Dust Bunny. Floor mat ally in the pass to the kitchen was chosen for a number of reasons:
1. It was well known in the area. 2.
2. It gave a natural advantage because of its natural visibility and it’s easy to cling to carpet surfaces. Dust Bunny’s men could hide easily in the folds.

Why Dust Bunny chose to fight Dirty Dish the next day has always been something of a mystery. If he had waited another day for his full force to arrive, including the rolling hair ball of cat, the outcome may have been totally different. He was impatient and thirsty for the oily residue of death. If he waited he would have been informed of third party troops marching North in from the outside, led by the extraordinary Duke Swift of Black & Decker “The Dust Buster.” On that very day Swift’s armies converged with the already allied General soft Soap and Earl Sponge of Four Pack Package. These three formidably forces were commissioned by the ailing Queen Broom of 332. Together they took down both Dirty Dish the Second of The Sink and Dust Bunny of Undercouch with surgical justice. There remains were not seen for days to follow until small brigades left standing collaborated and united to rise again.

If Dust Bunny of Undercouch was nothing else he was his father’s son, a patriot through and through. His father defied the queen when he refused to punish the people of Undercouch when they were abused by Dirt Dish the second of Sink or “The dust Buster”, and paid the consequences.

Fate Smiles

After a number of cheap, happy hour, frozen Margaritas at Harry's Burritos, Dana, Brian and I wandered into a shoe story. I bought boots. That's right the "fat calved Dummy" fit into a stylish pair of low boots. I was so excited! I bought them on the spot. The adrenaline made me do it! (maybe the tequilla)

Booze and Shoes

In a world of women’s competitive shoe shopping, I am a fat calved dummy.

Katie and I walked into a small room pulsing with affluent young women hoped up on champagne and mushroom tartlets, devouring eyefuls of shoes. The walls were striped in satin; at any moment I would not have been surprised if some greater power peeled the lid from the elegant shoebox we found ourselves in.

We grabbed our complimentary glass of champagne, hugging the corners of the room, scared to swim with the sharks until the bubbles did their trick. With our glasses half empty, we skimmed past the walls admiring pairs as they glittered, shined, laced, pointed and pulled at us, begging to be held, to be worn. We passed quickly commenting in hushed whispers and found the least intimidating sales man in a pink polo to grab the most intimidating pair of shoes/boots in the room. I tried on a pair of high heeled boots that would have made me feel delightfully wicked if they were able to slip past my unusually shaped calves. My calf muscle sit low on my leg, like my father's, making nearly impossible to feel delicate in boots or fit into delicate boots. I thought our kind-eyed sales man was going to cry as he rambled through a myriad of reasons the boots didn’t fit except the obvious one. I appreciated his efforts and made some self-deprecating jokes and moved on to a shorter boot, with the same devastating results.
The salesman responded: “oooooooooh, so sad.”
To which I replied: “It’s ok. I know my place.”
Truth be told, I was pleased they didn’t fit; I had a sound reason for not making a purchase that would have sent my finances in a downward spiral for a very, very long time.

Katie tried on a pair of pink satin low heeled shoes with a wide black ribbon crossed in the front. They increased the net worth of her feet like heaven wrapped packages. We wisely put the shoes back and devised our escape plan.

We looked once again around the room as the frenzy mounted boxes upon boxes. Women peeled off fancy shoes, throwing on new ones, seeing how they feel in conversation. As we looked at these women lounging in $300 dollar shoes, our pretend “fancy” was wearing thin quick. We exited and walked cross town into a two for one happy hour, where we belonged.

What would it be like to have so much money you could command a fancy shoe store?
I will never know.

RECAP

The Republican Conventions:
Stepping off an over priced, extremely long DC train ride into a inexpensive luxurious hotel room, slipping into an enormous king size bed and leaping out into the finest terry cloth robe I never bought, running into the Smithsonian, face to face with giant pre-historic sloths, sitting in stadium seating, watching the lamest T-rex 3D movie ever created, meeting new people listening to Shakespearean actors, visiting friends, driving through hurricane force rain into 5 hours of stalled traffic and a drowning Richmond of Virginia, through the outer banks of North Carolina onto the beach into two bottles of wine on to the Island of Ocrakoke and back home to a lonely cat in New York City.

The Week following the Conventions:
A display of Debutantes, a room full of celebrities, crowded and not-so crowded dance floors, Franz Ferdinand, Britpop, forcing UK Musicians to rub elbows with the like of we three: Abby, Dana and I, wedding anniversaries filled with faces from numerous stories told to me during a course of five months and Jarvis Cocker and no Jarvis Cocker, drunken affirmations, and “rude and nasty” behavior.

Yesterday:
The season finale of a Sunday night tradition with shocking and horrific discoveries and the beginning of a new school year for all of us.
I’ve resigned to abandon my laziness generally associated with my simple life tasks: debt reconciliation, laundry, cleaning the house, leaving the house. With the renewal of the school year/ television season marks the end of summer. I am pressed to make a new year’s resolution early. I’ve found that prior resolutions and desire to accomplish small goals fall quickly as cool autumn breezes chase the leaves from the trees. Adopting a semi-annual resolution program would help bolster my plans. Or…maybe I will just watch television, eat artificial cheese from a can from the couch all winter and call it a wash until the warm weather returns next year.

Currently:
It's back to the old caffeine dispenser for another shot of liquid awake.

Tomorrow:
Booze and Shoes

I am off, away, far away from the world of binary codes and html. I stepping from my office door into vacation time and planned trips abroad. I couldn’t be more excited by my well deserved time off that I plan to do it justice by filling my days well.

Friday afternoon:
I leave at three. This will be the last time I get to leave a three on a Friday until next summer. I’m already mourning its demise. As alluded to in my post yesterday, the three redheads: Abby, Dana and myself may get together to collaborate on our new musical project: a Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees influenced band (working title: Perfect Strangers.)

Friday Night:
Post laundry and packing Britpop dancing.

Saturday:
Finish The Debutantes demo and hop on a train headed to Washington where friends and a fancy hotel await my arrival. I am taking a super fast, super fancy Acela train that a friend once described as riding on butter. I will have to report on the smooth creaminess of my ride when I return. I plan to inappropriately occupy my time in the bar car and try not to morph into a business men as I will be surrounded by their droning for three long hours.

Saturday Night:
Arrive in DC, meet my friend Brian for dinner with his mom and her new husband and then off to a party hosted by his friend.

Sunday:
Wake up in fancy hotel and visit the restaurant downstairs that boasts having a large oak tree in the middle of the room. I can only hope that the urge to climb the tree does not beat down my inhabitations. I must make a mental note not to visit the tree whilst drunk on gin.

Sunday Night:
See my NYC transplant friend in Macbeth at the Shakespeare Theater. I will be attending the invited dress and feeling very important as I sit next to Kelly McGillis’s husband and Page Davis (both their spouses are in the play) while secretly hoping Kelly doesn’t show (My friend is her understudy). I will spend the night on the town with my friend in the play, which I hear in DC is an early one.

Monday – Friday
I, Brian and his green mini-van are headed to the Outer Banks to meet up with both our fathers, who are already there, separately with out knowledge of each other’s existence.

I plan to make full report when I return.

.

Summer Hours

Perfect Strangers Unite!



Playing music on Friday afternoons away from work is brilliant.

AT ROTHKO: (tonight)
Wed 25 - Two Special Performances BY Vincent Gallo
Two Special Performances In Conjunction With The Release Of His New Movie "Brown Bunny"
Vincent will be performing 2 shows w/ band mate Sean Lennon. This
rare live performance will include music from his Warp Records Release
"When”.
1st Performance Starts At 8 PM SOLD OUT!!, 2nd Performance Starts At 11 PM SOLD OUT!!

I can't help but be excited that we (The Debutantes) are playing Rothko two weeks from today.


My previous post today was very serious...I blame it on the constant Joy Division humming through my computer speakers.

Big Wig and Lots-o-Hair

I’m feeling unmotivated and uninspired today.

The right words remain trapped inside while the wrong ones wage warfare for their escape. I feel it’s best to remain with my lips firmly pressed together. I’m hoping my communication obstacles will not translate into the written word. I haven’t had an opportunity to test this fear. I will be brief. Safety is a measure best employed in these situations. This certainly is not a time to talk to loved ones or people looking for honest answers, regretting the questions. It is a time to be cryptic and mysterious, until one can best express themselves without offense.

It’s amazing how we do not escape the patterns established in early social situations, i.e. elementary-middle school. The dramas people create to satisfy desires to be apart of something bigger than them, even if fabricated. Ah the tedious office drama. The backhanded completments and lines drawn in the sand.

I have had nothing but work projects and obstacles by fellow employees all afternoon. I haven't had time to write emails or get outside in the supremely beautiful weather. Sad. My bosses are on some sort of lunch pow wow...all those figure heads eating at the same time make me nervous and hungry for chocolate.

The Healing Powers of Stir Fry

I’m old.

I used to be able to stay up till 3 am each night and get up the following morning at a decent hour.
I used to be able to spend the day at an amusement park and go out dancing that same night.
I used to be able to carry a bag of laundry home to parent’s house without injury.

I usually make it home to my Father or Mother’s house in Poughkeepsie each month. I ride the metro north with a great big sack of about a month’s laundry. This seems more logical: dragging an enormous sack miles away rather than down the block. This weekend was no different; me, the laundry and the train arrived in Poughkeepsie without incident and would appear to return without incident. I was wrong. I woke up early this morning with the worst neck pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. I couldn’t move my head to either side, making it near impossible to get to the kitchen where the relief could only be found in a large bottle of pain killers and a warm compress. I popped three pills and tried to get back to sleep. I suppose I did because I don’t think I was really climbing a mountain yoked about the neck and shoulders with stacks of hay while a pointy nosed wizard yelled and shot at me from his wand. When I woke up the second time I was in just as much pain as before. I can truly understand the saying: “Such a pain in the neck.” And…getting old, is such a pain in the neck.

Death and Glory: The Same Old Story

After a weekend of death, belated birthday parties, and uncomfortable relatives encounters I am back at work and miles away from the funeral I was semi-obligated to attend. I have an intense aversion to wakes and funerals. I find it hard to control my emotions and I am too often overwhelmed with grief. I have no strong face. My face gives to any pressure; this is why I am not a good card player.

I had the occasion to play Texas Hold 'Em at my Brother's belated birthday party on Sunday. I lost my pile of blue, red and white chips in record time and secretly replenished my pile from "the bank," the cardboard container that held the remaining chips. This method kept me in the game until the other players got wise to my trickery. It wasn't until later that evening, after I had got my hands on my brother's IPOD and created a The Cure/ The Smith's/ New Order/The Clash heavy play list, did my luck change. Doesn't seem like you perform better when you've got good music in your ears?

My father purchased a keg for the occasion and everyone was a little tipsy. It seemed strange to see my relatives drunk. The last time we had a "full" family party I was considerably younger. I probably never noticed how drunk people were then; they just seemed more fun and interested in seeing you do a back flip off the diving board twenty times. Most relatives in attendance were my great aunts, uncles and my Grandmother from Punta Gorda, home of the great hurricane disaster. They are all well into their 80's now with advice continuously rolling from their lips. For example, my Grandmother, who thought my black and white striped top was too sexy, advised me to put on a sweater; I melted in a turquoise sweater in the 85 degree heat to appease her. She is one of 11 (the Italian Catholics and their rhythm method) so there was a great number in attendance. Most of them are in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. There was a lot of identity confusion and older folks shouting inappropriate words. My great uncle called me over, he wanted to say "I want to give you some love" (as in an innocent hug) but the words came out "I want to make love to you." I made some joke about what was in his coca cola and then slinked into the house to sit out the rest of the party.

Everyone left the party early to attend my great aunt Lena's wake. Things were festive considering, festive and uncomfortable. I did eat a year's supply of onion dip in a half an hour's time; that has to be some kind of record...

I'm happy to be back in New York and longing for Saturday nights out dancing to good music.

GYM: I know that guy.

After returning from an awesome stir fry lunch with Abby, a co-worker regaled me with tales from the gym locker room. A women with an obviously expensive breast augmentation refused to put her top on while fannying about in the locker room.

I rarely frequent a gym. When I have had an occasion to enter such an establishment I have been literally bombarded with reasons to leave. My work offers free admission to the neighboring Bally’s. Under false raves by a fellow co-worker, I was convinced to lace up my sneakers and get myself to a treadmill.

Jaime’s First Time at the Gym:
I enter with a keen sense of hope and dread swirling in my stomach. I’m careful not to look any of the stretchy material wearing employees in the eye because I am told the will try to “train” you on the spot. I slinked into a dressing room past a machinery crowed room heavy with sweat and desperation. Not two seconds after breaching the doorway’s threshold, I am face to face with a supremely naked woman applying generous amounts of moisturizer to her entire body; she will remain naked throughout her entire grooming process. There, next to her, sits a suitably large towel, taunting the rest of us from inside the locker. I keep thinking “put on the towel, put on the towel, oh Jesus, just put on the towel and please do not ask me a question.” She asks me a question.

Naked lady: “Excuse me, do you know the time?” She is very polite, which for some reason shocked me, I assumed the naked a rude sort; I was obviously mistaken.

Me (eyes permanently fixed to the floor): “err...ugh…I’m not sure. Sorry.” I ran to the bank of lockers and hid behind an open locker door to begin my Junior High School routine of removing and putting on clothing with out exposing a lick of flesh. In the distance, I could hear the women pose the question two more times until a brave soul answered and was subsequently engaged in conversation. I dodge a bullet.

Feeling confident and full of vigor from minutes of “bullet” & naked people dodging I headed out in the thick air to begin what can only be called an attempt to “exercise.” I tried the treadmill. Apparently I was walking all wrong because I got the attention of many stretchy material employees with helpful advice on how to walk properly. I had tried to explain that it was something I’ve been doing for some time, 25 years to be exact, with much success. At which, point I was then shown how to walk by a very large muscled man in red, who then tried to pitch me training sessions.

My only reply was: “to learn to walk?!” He laughed and continued pitching. Words were thrown around like excessive alcohol, couch potato, not in too bad of shape, full body toning, extreme pain you would never know again (I made up the last one)… In the end he felt that my “exercise prescription” should only be 6 months two times a week and he promises to burn my ass right off my body. I politely decline and continue “walking” the only damn way I know how. This scenario similarly played out each time I tried different equipment, getting chased off as soon as I started.

I haven’t been back to the gym since and my ass is still firmly placed on my body where is belongs.

Revenge: Your Such a Dish

Recently I've been privy to an alarming amount of tales of betrayal, hurt and rejection. If the world curves and swings in a metaphysical flow, we must be in a down swing (hopefully already on our way back up.) Different people handle their pain and healing in different ways (we're all snow flakes or some trite business such as that) but revenge is the most interesting path to discuss:

A list of revenge tactics someone has actually done or wanted to do to another someone:
Unusual or extreme:

1. Filling out many tasteless, the more pornographic the better, magazine subscription cards to be sent to the person's work. (A friend of mine did this to her hateful boss who unjustly fired her.)
2. Posting naked pictures of your ex on the Internet
3. The hurtee calling the hurter's cell phone repeatedly from a pay phone leaving it off the hook (for a quarters worth) draining their minutes and padding their phone bill. (This works best when the person in question is between apartments and jobs.)
4. Making out with someone your heart's killer is currently making out with to spite him.
5. Putting gum in the individual's Disc man.
6. Discarding one sock from each of the adulterer's pairs.

The Usual:

1. Trashing personal property
2. Spreading nasty rumor
3. Going out with the best friend or relative
4. Not caring about the other person.

*List does not represent the views of the management. The management does not condone the behavior listed above. Though Management may have participated in a couple, I like to think I carry forgiveness in our heart.

Mount Olympius

10 Things I’ve learned over wine, watching the Olympics:

1. Gymnastics no longer “stick the landing,” which used to be the benchmark to their performance.
2. Gymnasts’ figures are distracting. While marveling at the short, wide shouldered, heavily glittered, pony tailed, sparkle leotarded muscles I was almost distracted from the not “sticking the landing.”
3. Olympic athletes’ are not what they were; this is exasperated by the Ancient Olympian allusions during the games’ stay in Athens, (and directly related to item 1.) I wanted to see someone jump hard on something sprained for the team.
4. The games were more exciting when the athletes peeked from behind the red curtain to battle the capitalists in a showcase of will and strength. Imagine Rocky IV if Ivan Drago was not a powerful yet arrogant Soviet fighting his own “cold war” in the ring. It would just be two beefy guys bouncing around to “Eye of the Tiger.”
5. The coaches aren’t as scary or loud.
6. The male Swimmers look like exclamation points (this observation was offered by a friend.)
7. I prefer the Winter Olympics.
8. I was even more disappointed in US loses after seeing the athlete’s inspirational short prior to the event i.e. overcome hardship to reach this moment only to fail in front of the world.
9. I outwardly laughed when a young gymnast come off the uneven bars into a mat face plant, and then felt bad about it.
10. I predominantly watched gymnastics and mourned my misspent youth and stationary lifestyle vowing to take up jogging the very next day.

Friday The 13th

Yesterday and last night were madness. I was unable to post yesterday. I'm feeling ashamed of my diligent behavior so soon after my blog's inception. Alas, to over compensate I am attempting to write the longest post I can muster on a Friday afternoon.

The Longest Post Ever

Am I a superstitious person? Well, I don’t find myself readily breaking mirrors, stepping on cracks, spilling salt, walking under ladders or spying black cat crossing my path on Friday the 13th. If there are certain unseen other world powers operating on us without or knowledge why tempt fate?

On this Friday the 13th, with a bomb scare across the street this morning, I started thinking on superstitions; this one specifically. What's its historical reference? Do we will the "unlucky" by looking for it on this particular day? I asked the World Wide Web about this World Wide Superstition…

Friday the 13th
• It is said: If 13 people sit down to dinner together, all will die within the year.
• The Turks so disliked the number 13 that it was practically expunged from their vocabulary (Brewer, 1894). Many cities do not have a 13th Street or a 13th Avenue.
• Many buildings don't have a 13th floor.
• If you have 13 letters in your name, you will have the devil's luck (Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Theodore Bundy and Albert De Salvo all have 13 letters in their names).
• There are 13 witches in a coven.
• It is said: Never change your bed on Friday; it will bring bad dreams.
• Don't start a trip on Friday or you will have misfortune.
• If you cut your nails on Friday, you cut them for sorrow.
• Ships that set sail on a Friday will have bad luck – as in the tale of H.M.S. Friday ... "One hundred years ago, the British government sought to quell once and for all the widespread superstition among seamen that setting sail on Fridays was unlucky. A special ship was commissioned, named "H.M.S. Friday." They laid her keel on a Friday, launched her on a Friday, selected her crew on a Friday and hired a man named Jim Friday to be her captain. To top it off, H.M.S. Friday embarked on her maiden voyage on a Friday, and was never seen or heard from again."

Possible origins
Ancient Egyptians: To ancient Egyptians life was the 12 stage process toward a heavenly afterlife. Therefore, the 13th stage represented death. Scholars believe that this Egyptian idea of 13 was perverted into symbol of death & fear from its original glorious, soul ascension representation

Patriarchal religions: 13 represented femininity; the women’s cycle in a year (13 x 28 = 364 days.) As the solar calendar (12 / male) triumphed over the lunar Calendar (13/ female) 13 became taboo.

Loki: The gods held a banquet excluding Loki, the evil one who attended regardless. He was the 13th guest. He raised hell and turned the affair into a blood bath. Since then it is believed that a 13 guest dinner party is unlucky (associated with death.)

The Bible: The last supper had 13 in attendance with one quest betraying him. The crucifixion was on a Friday.
Eve tempted Adam with the Apple on a Friday.

In Pagan culture, Friday was execution day.

Some thought that unlucky Friday and unlucky 13 became associated on a day of great catastrophe: The legend of the Knights of Templar

Or maybe it’s just that Unlucky Friday + Unlucky 13 = Unluckier Friday.

Some scholars suspect its essentially 20th-century media hype. We are still answering unanswerable questions with superstition.

Much congratulations if you are still reading this obsessive historical/ pseudo-philosophical rambling. I'm not sure if I feel worse or better.

In case of Terror

My place of employment has equipped each employee with the necessary tools to survive a terror attack. Each employees has received a survival kit containing the following:

• 1 liter of water,
• one flash light with appropriate batteries attached by duct tape,
• one filter mask, and
• one can of terrorist repellent.

(I've added one long toothed comb to the zip lock bag)

With such an arsenal I am no longer nervous and can go about my work day smiling and humming.

A Window into the Past

Last night the pangs of my youth struck hard at my adulthood. Warm embarrassment licked me up one side and back down the other, as when you read the pages from your childhood diary or look at pictures filled with inappropriate haircuts and clothing; the words “What was I thinking” fall effortlessly from the lips.

I, in attempts to free myself of excess and plunge head first into a minimalist lifestyle, came across printed electronic mail correspondence from two years ago.

Things that have changed in 2 years:
1. My job: I’ve left my low paying television job for a well paying day job.
2. I am obsessing and not obsessing over different people.
3. My active cast of characters in my life (my inner circle of friends.)
4. Extracurricular activity (exchanging comedy for Rock n’ Roll.)
5. I’m not so nervous about life or preoccupied by things I can’t change.

Things that have not changed in 2 years:
1. Going out too late on a school nights
2. Obsessing and not obsessing over people
3. Misplacing important articles such as wallets, passports and cell phones.
4. Trying to find peace with a minimalist lifestyle and failing.
5. I’m single

Looking in the past, marking my progress has given me a vague idea of where I’m going or, at the very least, how far (or not so far) I’ve come. It may not be the direction or distance I intended, but it makes for a good read. (Especially the something about four of us on a street corner in the wee hours of the night playing “spin the bottle” with a half broken Snapple bottle…serious discussions with a man washing the windows at a diner about volleyball…rooftop parties straight to work…guessing to what’s in a boy’s head [knowing where the relationship is never going]…knowing then the people who matter today.)

In a Small World, We Will be Giants

I have succumbed.

Pouring over pages of web text daily, I've decided it is time to author my own web log, with no great reason and time to kill.

I promise nothing.