And deleted the whole post by accident or not. Here’s a tribute to Dan Fogelberg. He doesn’t know this but I had him one Constant Comment, Cointreau, pot filled year. Dan Fogelberg had a voice that could sooth a weary soul and a way of playing that was sheer beauty. Guitar and piano mostly, and I think some other instruments. He died on 12/16–forgot to put that in as i’m truly crazed from paint fumes, floor fumes and construction dust.

I am the least crazy for comments blogger alive. if your blog is selling something, written in “English isn’t my fourth language but I will tell bloggers how to blog,” your comments will be deleted. It’s week eight of my apartment renovation and I had some friends, big in contracting but don’t live here, confirm some mistakes. I have to be super nice in real life. In my blog….

I haven’t been great at commenting or reading new blogs or new to me this year. I could say it’s because of the turmoil in my life and that’s true but I’m moving as I want to seriously write. New York is too pricey and has too many distractions. Honestly, and I don’t mean this in a bad way so does blogging. Maybe when I move I will find the time for everything.

I probably began listening to him as I thought he was beautiful but I stayed for the music. I did begin to find him boring, earnest–uh, I can relate. There were times I couldn’t stand to listen to him and wondered why I ever did. I went to punk clubs when I listened to him the most. I guess he was the perfect antecedent. I was also very into Noel Coward and Cole Porter. Today’s been the first time in years I have listened to him. Yes he was “soft” rock but he wasn’t Hall & Oates, two people I could never work up any nostalgia for. (See the advert for their concert or one of them at The Beacon everyday, and wonder “why, why would anybody pay? Yet I know people who would…They’re not friends of mine.)

I don’t associate him with any particular male in my life. He was somebody to listen to between the relationships. I just spent several tears of joy and sorrow hours listening and watching his vids. I put in two but really couldn’t decide. Here’s the page.+

I never put in tribute vids but this fits. “Old Tennessee” is one of my favorite songs. His voice was never purer.

auld lang syne, Dan. This is a Dan Fogelberg type of New Years Eve song. It fits my leaving New York mindframe.

I wish you all hope, happiness, good times, prosperity and most of all health in 2008.

I hope the Democratic party stops being a party of wimps and gets its act together for I know some very jaded teenagers who have stopped believing in anything. To not believe in a great future, I can’t imagine that. I was one hell of a melodramatic teenager but in my heart I believed in this country. In their hearts they don’t and ain’t nothing I can say can change that. I feel the same fears but am too old not to believe in a better tomorrow

Wow. I haven’t put my apartment on the market yet and am half suffering from seller’s remorse. At Nancy’s Wine shop, I told the owner, I assume Nancy, that I was leaving. She didn’t leave, when her company moved, as she’s single, childless and doesn’t drive. Duh. Can I make this work? And I went to the fair at Intermediate School and bought rather famous jams made from honeycombs in the Bronx for friends who will be in tomorrow. I didn’t go into look for a secondhand coat or talk to Sarita who makes incredible glasses as I have too much to do. I don’t even like fairs, but I love this one. It’s at West 77th and Columbus and open every Sunday-

Stumble it!

I think we’re over the hump, apartment renovation wise. Yes I have a living room!! And bedroom. I mean they look habitable and decluttered. Had a useless kitchen cabinet. Nobody could figure out the problem. Change of knobs and screws and a few other minor things, and yes I have a kitchen cabinet!

There’s a new 3WW below this. This post has become about Marty TankleffNew York State has begun an investigation. It boggles the mind that with all the evidence they have against another person and none against Marty the DA’s office probably wants him to accept a plea bargain My father died around the time of Marty’s appeal. That was almost seventeen years ago. My parents were in awe of Marty’s aunt and uncle and their relentless work to have Marty freed. They were friends.

This case happened in Suffolk County, Long Island in a rich, supposedly sophisticated community

As soon as the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Tankleff were found, Martin Tankleff accused his father’s embittered business partner, Jerard Steuerman, of being involved. Mr. Tankleff and his supporters have complained for years that the police never investigated Mr. Steuerman as a suspect even though he owed Seymour Tankleff $500,000, was in the house the night of the attacks, left suicide notes a week later, changed his appearance and fled to California under an assumed name.

Continue Reading »

Stumble it!

It’s week six of the renovation and I have totally officially lost my mind. it’s easy to say don’t sweat the small stuff but when your home isn’t really your home, and you kind of wish you had sold “as is” which wasn’t shabby…..Well shabby chic, flood ridden and I’m the proud owner of at least seven deodorants. Every time I go away even for a weekend I forget I have one in all possible places. I support all toiletry industries especially skin care. Roz Chast had a cartoon about a tea drawer. I didn’t know she had visited me. I’m going to go from too much to just enough. But I have no idea what that means

MizzyB is back and a lot has happened in her life. Back in San Francisco and taking it over. She’s one of my best blogging friends for many reasons. See for yourself.

These are true first drafts. So true I forgot had chapter fourteen written. It’s on the sidebar. Today was the first day I could focus. I don’t want to give away the story but Nell is struggling to come out.
Here’s a page
with all prior chapters, and a summary.
A deserted mine shaft made into a state of the art home, West Virginia, 2030
Here’s 3WW’s new address.

- Nell struggled to be heard. If she could only let Justin know that she was there under Ella and Cornelia. Ella was too easy to fall into and Cornelia too dominating. She knew she wasn’t a DSM-XA diagnose for Disassociated Personality Disorder or any diagnose for Hallucinogenic or Medicated Disorders. No she was a new diagnose for implanted brain and ear chips with hallucinogenic and medicated affect.

Nell felt humiliated and scared. “Seems like your head is in the clouds…now when I come to see you you’re sitting in the light…Many is the night I stayed awake and cried….missing all the things we dreamed of….” Damn why were old country songs going through her head? She needed to become the dominant personality and all she could do was sing songs in her head while Ella or Cornelia came out. Now she began seeing Dream Girls in vivid colors “I’m not living without you…I’m not walking out…I’m not going to leave you…I’m telling you….you’re the best man…yes you are….you’re gonna love me.” Justin did love her. She knew that but maybe she was singing this song to ensure that he heard. Other lyrics came riveting through her head “The greater the love the more I want you…loving you…the sweetest….” “Don’t let us get sick, don’t let us get old….let us be brave…the moon has a face…and causes the ripples in time…I’m lucky to be here with somebody I like…make us be brave, let us be together tonight…” “It’s lonely as hell…put me in chains…I can make love or disappear…for my next trick I need a volunteer. But it’s lonely up here when the tricks have been played….” Damn Warren Zevon, why did he have a lyric for everything? Nell was going to take over. It was her frigging body. Her mind, well, some of it, but it belonged to her. The others were going to take over eventually. Probably sooner. She couldn’t let that happen.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Ella didn’t like being alone in the room. Pictures were floating through her mind. Pictures of people and things she didn’t understand. She wished the voices in her head would go away. If she could catch the pretty lights coming down, the pictures and voices would go away. But she couldn’t make the light stay in her hands. Her doll wasn’t helping her. Bad dolls should die. Bad girls should die. Ella was a bad girl. Good girls wore pretty clothes and had people. Good girls had dolls who felt soft and could find the prince and princess so that Ella could go to the palace. Ella wanted to wear a pink dress and something sparkly in her hair. Music was playing. Ella screamed so that somebody would turn it off, but nobody would. Bad Ella, bad.
•••••••••••••••••••••
Cornelia woke up. Why was she wearing a flannel night gown? What was this ludicrous doll doing next to her? She had vague memories of somebody named Ella and somebody named Nell. Had they all been at a party together? No they had been in this room. A threesome with two other women? Where was the pool boy? She wanted him more than she had ever waned Del. The pool boy’s tight body and dark blond looks made her want as she had never thought possible. Sure it was just sex but sex was everything. Cornelia believed that her mother had schooled her in the art of seduction. She didn’t remember nor did she want to. Memories were useless traps to settle stupid curiosities. Cornelia didn’t think she had ever been curious. The moment is what counts.

Damn she felt hung-over. Damn her head was on fire. Cornelia tried to get up. She fell back onto the contoured foam mattress. Most mattresses adhered perfectly to your body. This one acted as a confining cell. When she tried to get up, it would pull her back in. Cornelia remembered reading that these mattresses were now used for everybody from from infants to geriatrics. Did she read? Reading was so 1999.

Things like this had never interested Cornelia. She was much more interested in gossip. Fortunately the lead articles on the paper/zine’s were all gossip. Damn she had to get out of this bed. She wanted a f–king shower. One that was hotter than hell and massaged every ounce of her body.

Nadia walked into the room. She spoke to Cornelia as a mother would speak to a baby. Wasn’t this woman some kind of servant?
Can you get me some Advil/Percodan Insta?

Nadia looked at Nell/Ella/C with a combination of contempt and lust. Though she had no frigging idea what this personality was. Justin and she had a screaming match. Justin, who seemed so weak so easily manipulated had threatened to kill both her and Ilya if she didn’t give them the formula. The formula was in their heads. She would never let Ilya die, but she wanted Ella more than anything she could possibly imagine. In an ideal world her brother would live and she would have both Rachel and Ella but this wasn’t an ideal world. No Justin didn’t dare kill Ilya, she had told him that they both had half the formula and Ilya would never talk to anybody but her about this or anything of substance.

Lady I asked you for API. You’re supposed to do my biding. You’re just a f–king servant. Get me that pool boy, and out of this bed. I want to change into something more me. We pay you to do what I want. Del will have your head when he finds out you’re standing there not working. Our servants work for their money.

Nadia now felt just contempt for all Americans. So accustomed to getting their way though the USA hadn’t been a major player in years. Delusional they all were. This person was just the end result. Yet she lusted after her more than Ella. She could have fun with this person. Though aware that cameras and scanners were on her, Nadia went into the bathroom, took off her bra, wet it and a substance came out that she put into a glass then filled it with ginger raspberry fizz. They would never find the real source. Nobody could ever tell it really came from her body pores. She took two capsules of API. Funny how this personality wanted just what she added to her secret solution. Cornelia, that was her name. She heard Justin mention it to Ona. Ona might be a brilliant therapist and Justin could threaten to kill whoever he wanted to, but as long as they didn’t know where the source came from, she, Nadia was the winner.

Here Miss Cornelia, your fizz and API. It will make you feel great. Guaranteed.
Nadia hated the slight perk slight humble she put into her voice. She had put in just enough to keep Cornelia out. Cornelia had a feisty look so different from Ella or even Nell. She could see a bit of Nell struggling to take over. In her dreams. Ella would be good when she needed a submissive. She supposed she could have Nell when she need a fighter but she had a feeling Cornelia could fight her if she played it right.

Wow this made me feel better as soon as it went down. Thanks. Hey, would you know if Amy Winehouse was released from the camp for renegade rock stars? I hear her daughter is wilder than she was. Del claims nobody is as wild as I am. Will you help me get out of this bed? I don’t get why I can’t get out myself. I know wild went out with the Spear sisters but trouble is so much fun.

Did I have a fever? Can you prepare the shower. I feel sweaty and really hate that feeling except…well, you’re not the person I want to confess my soul to. Find the pool boy after you prepare the shower. Oh, and get out my red silk string bikini, its wrapper, and mules.

You are a demanding bitch, Nadia thought, but you’ll find your proper place soon enough.
Yes, Miss Cornelia, I will help you with everything you asked. First let me help you out of bed.

She put one arm on Cornelia’s shoulder, and tickled the sole of her left foot with the other. Before Cornelia could react, she was touching her body all over. She placed her mouth in Cornelia’s left ear and went on from there. Cornelia fought her just enough for Nadia to come. Then she focused on pleasuring Cornelia. When Cornelia could speak, she said:
Is this why you’re my servant? I don’t remember what Del said you are. Memory isn’t my strong suit. I guess it doesn’t matter if you don’t do everything I ask immediately.
Oh I’m not your servant Cornelia. You have it backwards. You’re mine, all mine. You exist to please me. You do what I say when I say to do it, do you understand?
Cornelia smiled a more radiant smile than she had ever seen on anybody:
Yes, I’m yours, all yours.

Just then the locked door unlocked. Before Nadia could do or say anything, Justin stunned her.

Colliding Worlds is basically being written for me by me during a very disruptive time in my life. Though my friends, my merry band of doormen, handyman, and super are doing everything they can to make it wonderful. Well most doormen; in the spirit of the season I won’t discuss how one doorman made me cry as he thought my tip wasn’t big enough. I’m not a crier or a screamer but I was living without Internet access, a stove, oven and microwave. Note which one is first. That’s also because my stero isn’t hooked up, I somehow packed my Ipod….

I want to thank Bone and Doug who independently of each other insisted that I go through with this. As did Cooper in her OTN way. She wrote, I think, her most wonderful post which will serve as inspiration for a future post. Dari and everybody else who truly likes this, I thank you.

Stumble it!

There is a page I’m too lazy to link to. I accidentally posted chapter fifteen for a second. I can’t belive I forgot I didn’t post this. The proceeding two chapters are more “fun.”
West Virginia, 2030
Cornelia, no Nell, no…felt herself fading back into a state she couldn’t describe to herself or anybody else. The confusion was going to end soon. She wasn’t going to care who she was or what she felt. She tried to make herself stay alert, and kept guzzling ginger raspberry fizzes. Somehow they made her feel more like herself. Nell was somebody else. The man was wrong. She could never remember his name as he was meaningless. He looked and spoke like a prince, but Cornelia knew better. She was Cornelia, par-tay girl supreme. Par-tay, last heard sometime in the second Bush admin, was enjoying a comeback as things seemed to do every 25 years. She knew this because…no, no more thinking, Cornelia hated to think. Cornelia loved to live for the moment. She should look for her mini-bikini and go to the hotel pool, but the haze, the haze was overcoming her.

Ella wanted her doll. Her doll would keep her safe in the big room. The bed was too hard. This wasn’t her room. It wasn’t her room. It wasn’t a nice room. It didn’t have lights coming down in pretty colors. It didn’t have angels to keep her safe. She wanted the woman to come and hold her. The woman did something nice to her body. The woman said she was better than a prince. She said that Ella didn’t have to understand anything. She was good the way she was.
••••••••••••••••

Justin was talking to Ona who had flown into the mine shaft. They were analyzing the tapes of his encounter with Nell. He hated this. It should be private. It shouldn’t have happened at all. It was good that Denny was in restraints in the mine prison as Justin wanted to kill him with his bare hands. People who thought Justin non-violent were mistaken. He had killed for the ISB and for Nell, he would kill anybody. Ona’s voice brought him back to the present:
Justin, I know this is hard but you have to accept reality. She might never be Nell again.
I won’t accept that.
There might be organic brain damage. It might be PTSD. It might be many things. We won’t know until we can rid her brain of the filter the USB put in, and do a laser MRI. Understanding the components of the filter is taking longer than we thought. Nadia seems to have access to formulas nobody can imagine We have called people off vacation, off other assignments, we’re working round the clock. You know we will do anything for Nell, and for you.
You said 72 hours.
We thought so, but it’s much more difficult than anybody had anticipated. If you can get Nadia to talk…If not let her be in the room alone with Nell. We can monitor everything. If we can see what she’s putting into Nell’s body, we can analyze the components. But Justin, how did you not find it?
We gave her a full body search and scanned her insides. We went over the room in New York microscopically. We only found the formula The ISC was giving her and you’ve analyzed that.
••••••••••••••••••

Justin couldn’t accept defeat. He went to the basement which had both a prison and a large room mean to put a person at a certain amount of ease. It had every amenity but there were no windows, faux or real, and metal doors which opened or closed by an iris and finger scan. Rachel was talking to Nadia. Max was sitting in the back of the room with his stun gun, and miniature new model Uzi out. Justin thought Rachel was the second most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Rachel had grown up in the house next to his. Denny and Del had lived in the house on the other side of hers. They had been oblivious of her beauty until all their friends would try to be set up with her. Justin had only been interested in Nell. He wondered if there had been something in the water in Miller’s View that made beautiful girls. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. Justin switched to professional mode and listened to Rachel:
The strange thing Nadia is that after all this I still love you. There’s something strong and different about you. I told you everything as I truly believed if you knew you would help us.
Help you? Why? Why should I help any American?
We trusted you. When we found out about Yuri we understood that you would do anything to save and help him. That’s a good trait, Nadia. But to use Nell for your own objectives….
I didn’t know if I could trust you. I love you too. And I love Ella. Yes, Ella. The ISB’s formula messed her up so much, she will never be Nell again. I only helped her reach peace.
Then tell us what you have been injecting her with. Show us…
No, not until I know Yuri’s safe. I know a place you can send him and Carol. Then maybe…
That’s good you care about Carol, but no Nadia. We can’t get Yuri here for several days. He’s being treated for a staph infection at The ISB Center. He will survive, but he can’t be moved.
A staph infection? They’re getting deadlier. He’ll die.
No, Nadia, it’s under control. The USC found him and injected him with one. They were going to torture him for the formula. But we had people there..
I can’t believe you.
Let me show you.

Max pressed a button and a large screen came down. Seconds later they saw Yuri in his hospital bed.
He looks so sick. All those boils. He’s going to die.
Speak to him Nadia. We found somebody who speaks ancient Greek but Yuri won’t answer.

The spoke for five minutes in ancient Greek. Nadia seemed less agitated but still angry at the end of the call.
He says he’s feeling better. He says the ISB was going to kill him. But look at him. You heard his voice. He’s like a little boy. I must be sent to take care of him. Only I know how.

Rachel tossed her dark curly hair away from her eyes:
That’s impossible. Help us Nadia and we’ll help you.
Oh are you going to tell me that you love me and want to take me away from everything?
The sad thing is I do.
Justin interrupted:
Nadia go to Nell’s room. She’s asking for you.
And you will have monitors and scans on me? No way.
We’ll turn them off.
I’m supposed to believe you? Nadia’s face turned red. Justin thought her the most unattractive woman and the woman who might hold the key to Nell’s future.
Yes Nadia, you’re supposed to believe me.

Stumble it!

Chapter fourteen of Colliding Worlds is on the sidebar and in a page. Chapter fifteen will be up on Wednesday with or without the words.

It’s been a long time since we have had a talk with ourselves. We have been eating too many forbidden foods like pasta made from regular flour. We have been encamped at Lucia’s.

Yes and we were the perfect guest. When we asked Lucia if we snored as we had a headache and felt sinusy she said:
No, of course not. You farted all night.

No we snored. But just a bit. We made Lucia snore like us.

Lucia lives just off Broadway and we kind of live on Riverside, but we slept much better than we do here as it’s quieter. Hard to believe but Lucia can turn her heat off so the windows don’t have to be opened and closed all night. We get steam pipe bursts. And we live across from a school, a little private school where all the kids are well behaved unlike the largest middle school in the city we lived across from in Riverdale. We have to make sure that we don’t live near a school.

Uh, you’re saying something negative about your street and you never know who is going to read this. You don’t want to say anything bad about your apartment.

It’s yours also. And we’ve been saying bad things for over three years. But we have the nicest neighbors who we really should have taken the time to know before.

It takes from five to ten years to get to know the neighbors in Manhattan unless you have kids or a dog. We decided not to have either just to be friendly with people

But we’re just getting to know our neighbor who is a doctor and works with people with HIV. Our kind of person. And she’s so friendly, and we like each other so much. She gets our humor. Actually most people do in person, we just put it on hiatus. We went through a long spell of working with old people who complained and would compare them to our mommy. She never complained to the general public, doctors, nurses etc, just me and Elka. The etc. were usually social workers. OK she would tell social workers that her daughter was one and much more knowledgeable and brilliant. Really endeared them to us. But we miss our mommy and for some reason our father. Not that we didn’t love him much. Father’s died. Mommy’s lived.

We, all of us, want them to tell us we’re doing the right thing. Though mommy refused to believe that Greenpoint was cool. She grew up there and it was the last place she wanted to believe people really wanted to live in. Our father grew up in East Harlem and always thought it was cool. Back in his day. Please never let me grow into a person who can’t think a neighborhood can go up or down.

This isn’t the post to get all teary and miss dead parents in.
Why not? We have always wrote multi tasked posts.
The new generation of bloggers don’t get them
So?
We just said we didn’t want to get set in our ways.
But we don’t want to please. That’s not why we write.
Maybe you. I’m a recovering link whore.
You’ve been many kind of whores. Link whore was the tamest.
No it wasn’t. Oh let’s stop this. It’s almost Christmas Eve day where we get to listen to Christmas music all day and night.
We used to never say such things publicly. Back to the post….

Our apartment’s becoming beautiful again. But the floor guys forgot to put the cable back on–and did something so that the microwave and stove can’t be used though the circuit breaker looks fine.

We can live with disorder in the house now that we realized our mind is like jumbled knotted frayed wires. And we don’t know how to unjumble, unknot, unfray. That’s why we hire people. That’s why we’re leaving our really good life. So we’ll always have money to hire people.

Though our first day back in North Myrtle the TV and stereo didn’t work. First thing we checked as we have our priorities. Love to watch Horry County TV stations. Love living in a place called Horry County. It’s got that great Ho in the name. It wasn’t the circuit breakers, so we ran out and ran into Jerry in his pick up truck with “licensed” this that and everything. We offered to pay him. He wouldn’t take our money.

We don’t drive for the sake of humanity and refused to take cabs most places as we like to walk even in 90+ degrees. Especially in very hot weather. But we would have to take cabs sometimes, when we were dodging Jerry. Each time they would lower their prices. Not that we don’t like Jerry, we just didn’t want to be dependent on him or….

We think this is going to be a good move but we’re so obsessed and yesterday in the disorder thought we lost our passport and checkbook. We were crazed basically because we’ve been eating white food and things with sugar. Too much socialization. People keep telling us we’re going to be bored as we’re such social animals. OK, animal. We like solitude also and really miss it. We need solitude to refuel and rejuvenate. We’re not ashamed of that.

We feel strange. We wish we had allowed ourselves to be really happy before. Happiness is a choice. We figured that out last year or the year before and now we’re reading a book What Happy People Know that’s the first self help book we have ever loved. Though we have to say we have come to most of our thoughts on our own.

Ho Ho Ho–know how cheap that is but couldn’t resist. And a Merry Christmas to all.

Stumble it!

3WW
has moved.

I’m tired of me. Lately blogging has me crazed. I don’t feel very bloggy. I was reading a blog where somebody idolized a famous blogger and writer I casually know. I don’t mean to sound bitter as I’m not, but it’s kind of like idolizing a pop idol though one who lets you into her life, or the life she wants shown–good bad whatever. I am jaded.

I’m writing fiction as I enjoy it. I’m emotionally fatigued which is a lot worse than physically fatigued. It’s not depression. It’s the beginning of understanding that I have made real life changes, and wishing that I had wise people to guide me. But I have only me, my many personalities and my myriad of friends who all are in shock but think it’s right.

I know Colliding Worlds isn’t mainstream fiction. I’m not a mainstream type of person and am doing this entire apartment renovation as my taste is so out there–Thinking about the things that weren’t up to code or looked beautiful but I quickly found out were cheap makes me sick so….My first major purchase, before the wall unit, was a would have been $400 faucet had I bought it in Gracious Home. Oddly enough people still admire its incredible lines. It has a rim of black that picks up the granite.

The old faucet fell off when I was living there a month. It looked beautiful. This is ten times prettier and way stronger. It won’t fall apart. As long as they don’t try to hook up a dish washer. Well I didn’t know. Thought everybody had dishwashers after they turned 40.

It’s amazing to spend so much money and not live the American dream. It’s my turn to have space, amenities and pay way less.

I’m having a hard time focusing right now. This is one of the days I hate the tip everybody in the building. I changed tip numbers etc so much that I left one envelope blank. He came up and started screaming at a doorman who has become a friend. I hope I didn’t start World War Three or get anybody fired. I feel horrible. Doormen gossip. A lot.

I won’t miss the greed in New York but I sure understand it. Though other cities have surpassed New York in expense, Manhattan is still the most expensive. My neighbors keep telling me “we think about it all the time, can’t believe you’re actually doing it.

My friend Carol who I refound through the personal development blogroll left the Village for Santa Cruz

New York Magazine has reasons to love New York. They’re all valid especially the doormen one, but uh, does everybody either live in a fringe hood in an outer borough or make hundreds of thousands a year?

Anyway this move is taking all my psychic energy I don’t know if I should put in my novel, put it in password protected posts or email it to people who are interested.

I don’t want people who really don’t want to comment to feel compelled to.

I’m doing what New Yorkers do when they feel overwhelmed and unsure of everything. I’m going to the movies. It beats drinking or drugs which at other times in my life…. I already took the long walk……

The movie was sold out. I went to Barnes & Noble and bought some books, including one on happiness, What Happy People Know as I’m into that, Atonement as I want to read it before seeing the movie and some true life murders. They’re my biggest guilty pleasure, but I have strict rules. Can never have heard of the murder, can’t be written at a Third Grade level, and I know I have some other rules.

The best true life murder selection can be found in a book store on the boardwalk at Venice Beach. Once I was going to move there. Now it’s South Carolina–but there’s always Amazon and there is a Barnes & Noble in Myrtle Beach, and an interesting “second hand” book store in a strip mall in North Myrtle. I’m going to be one with my inner strip mall. I did grow up near one and hated it. However there are actual streets, and I will be able to travel often.

It’s becoming scarier as the time grows closer.

Stumble it!

I might or might not be back after the holidays. I will always remember 2007 as the year I shook up my life completely–the floor will be sanded Thursday which means I will be out of my apartment for a week. I don’t do well in situations like this. Can’t find my phone charger, they’re not universal and don’t seem to be made for my phone anymore.

After the sanding, the regrouting of the small bathroom, the new cabinet under the kitchen sink, the buffing of the floors and a myriad of other little things, I actually have to go through my things. Decide what I can leave out, what might be stolen during open houses, decide what I’m going to take and what I’m going to leave behind

It’s harder to give up books I grew up with than new ones, I am discovering. I have a huge CD collection and have to make that big decision: Ipods with docking stations or in the wall stereo system.

This is all assuming Manhattan still has a housing market I take nothing for granted. I have friends who had apartments that were smaller than mine and weren’t in as good condition before my renovation. They made absurdly large sums of money. I don’t expect to, though it’s relative of course.
I want to get into the spirit of the season and do at times. Other times I feel like the homeless woman with great teeth. I shouldn’t joke about that, but I’m going through a renovation so that what was done to me when I bought won’t happen to other people. It won’t look beautiful on the outside and warp inside…It won’t

I know we’re not supposed to sweat the small stuff but this is my life…..

Fortunately I have the world’s best friend, Lucia, who loves having company over. Little Luce and I are going to Ellis Island next week and pretend that we’re tourists from a country with money by making up our own language. I can always outlast her at stuff like that but she’s a high school senior now so….

I love having company but need at least two bedrooms for over night company

I don’t know if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life or am doing something great. I’m not the 22 year old who could go to Cambridge for the weekend, meet the people who lived next door to my sister, and come back to New York two years later

I can’t even get any work done. Tomorrow I’m going to the Museum of Natural History, a movie and a party. I really just want to stay in bed with the covers over my head but….

Stumble it!

There’s a new form of comment spam. Pingbacks to blogs that aren’t real blogs as they have no contact person etc., and some do have ads that you want to end up in spam. If they continue I will close pingbacks as I’m not in this for number of comments
I am so glad that I’m not of the Facebook generation. I love making new friends, on line or in person. And in person has that thrill of garnering new information about person, face to face. I might anger some people by saying this but I have had lots of experience in both worlds, and there’s nothing like that thrill of discovering somebody is going to be your new best friend. While that can happen in email. IM, and “social networks,” it’s harder to trust the initial encounters. You’re missing that pivotal eye contact moment. I’m not saying it can’t happen online as it had happened for me. It takes longer, and I’m just a big believer in eye contact. I might be able to learn more about a person online quicker. I have had problems “reading” their intent and personalities and have never had that problem in real life except with possible lovers and love’s a whole different thing.
Speaking the language of IM doesn’t guarantee getting your message across. My best friend Lucia always says: Email knows no nuances.” Of course Saturday we worked on matching laptops across the table from each other and she shot me a two word email that had me in hysterics: Shut up. But we have to know each other to reach that point…
Most of us aren’t thirteen anymore and don’t think we’re prey for online bullies. Nathaniel West wrote Miss Lonely Hearts in the 30’s. There has always been a market for lonely people and always will. Online accessibility makes it easier. Having 500 Facebook “friends” doesn’t guarantee immunity from this but might make it easier for many reasons.
I love this online world. I’m a student by instinct and would love to go back to school to study urban anthropology with an emphasis on people in urban communities communicating through the Internet. I’m the first to admit that it can easily be done as I chose to do it. But I was going through seven oral surgeries and chose not to be seen publicly during much of it, and chose for the first time in my life to be reclusive. I had to spend the past two years reclaiming my life, and that’s what this post is really about. I didn’t have to be reclusive. I always looked normal except for the two days right after each surgery. I used it as an excuse not to be out and about, ran out of excuses and…

This article shows how crucial to intellect “exercsing both the brain and the body is. And the people who do best do things with other people. New Yorker’s live on average seven years longer. Studies have shown it’s because we walk so fast. But maybe all those encounters each day, even the annoying ones, help also. I know where ever I end up I will force myself to be in peoples faces each day.
Bone’s mother’s mini stroke this weekend brought out all my fears It also showed me the power of love and being connected. That’s a lesson I don’t ever want to forget, she says as she waits for the sanders, contractors and myriad of other people who control her life these days.

December 16, 2007 Relationships will be high on your agenda over the next seven days and with Jupiter, planet of good fortune, moving into the partnership area of your chart on Tuesday you will benefit in ways you had not expected from people who think you can do no wrong. That’s just about everyone.

Wow!
I feel so blessed so loved and so cared for. This weekend I saw many people from many parts of my life. Last night many people were at a party who had only previously met at one of my parties.

I make fun of It’s A Wonderful Life because a friend, no longer on this earth, used to make me watch it incessantly. Last night on East 65th Street off Madison I felt like George Bailey being loved by a community. If I had any doubts I was doing the wrong thing I don’t anymore. Just for all the parties people are making for me.

Today I went to a holiday “obligation party” that wasn’t. I’m sure I bitched about it last year. This year it was wonderful. I spoke to people I barely knew and ended up with invitations to home near Myrtle Beach.

There was a DJ last night and people danced as if it were 1977 as that’s when the music was from, and that was the year many of us first met.

It’s easy for me to find the words to describe life’s disappointments. To find the words to describe the embarrassment of riches that is my life right now, that’s hard.

How do you describe “bliss” without sounding maudlin, sentimental or full of yourself?

How do you say “my cup is overflowing,” but I’m leaving as I know my friends will always be here for me, and will come down, and I’m about to embark an adventure with new people, most I haven’t met yet?

I came to Manhattan, 32 years ago, on January 3rd, a young foolish unformed girl. Fortunately I had friends and would soon meet many more wonderful people. My mini-loft on East 63rd off Fifth was a pink party palace. I loved everything about my parties from the preparation–they were always on Saturday night so I could take Friday off to cook and clean to the party to the clean up.

I over analyzed everything. But I was many people in one and I never let anything come between me and a good party. There was never high drama at my party. I did everything in advance, had tons of drinks, ice and more food waiting to be put in the archway so whoever was in the kitchen could do it as I mingled.

My parties were the one place I didn’t let my perfectionist streak ruin. I had a theory that if you enough soft pink light, scented candles, food and drink, nobody would notice the little imperfections. Parties were the one thing I was totally confident in. I would invite 40-60 people and tell them to bring a friend. They would bring friends. Once an entire South American dance troupe came. I knew who the core group would be. I never knew who else would come. There was a lot of wonder in that. Nothing bad ever happened. Only good things.

Last night people talked about my parties. I was introduced to the few people I didn’t know as the girl who had the legendary parties.

I think today most people care too much about the food being perfect, the guest list being perfect. How to be the perfect host or hostess. Good food is important. Being a “foodie” takes the fun away. People become scared they won’t live up to the foodie host’s expectations. A host’s only expectations should be that people enjoy themselves.

Parties were the one time I could suspend my disbelief. I would plan everything. But once the first group of guests came I would say, OK, you can take over for awhile. People love to be needed. People love to have something to do with their hands. People love easy conversation and if you invite a mix of people the conversation flows. I would put out the music and let other people play it. I hung large garbage bags all over so there never was garbage around. People knew the garbage room, such as it was, was across from my apartment and would take the bags there before they flowed over. I would have more garbage bags at the ready.

Some of my parties lasted until after the sun came out. Others would end in time to go to after hour clubs.

Yes, I loved hearing that I was the girl who threw legendary parties. I’m older now and don’t have the energy or the want to throw parties that go on until dawn. But I remember going to New Years Eve parties in college that went on until dawn in townhouses in Manhattan. The hosts were my age now.

It was a different world. I can take some of that world with me. We pride ourselves in our repulsiveness of excess, and our love of sobriety. I had one drink last night. True it was the largest glass of good wine I have ever poured myself, and when I realized what I had done, ran to the food room to soak up the carbs. I could smell the pot and at one time would have found it.

But when I come as a guest I bring the girl who threw the parties and who knows what it takes for the host and all the guests to have a good time. I had forgotten for awhile. I looked around the room and almost cried for a second when I thought of all the time I have lost this past decade to writing.

I’m not planning on giving up writing up. Just giving it some perspective. Yesterday I arranged something that might lead to a new and possibly lucrative career. If nothing else it will be fun, and bring people together. In real life, not virtually.

I’m a real life kind of girl. I’m my best in large groups though no longer the girl people invites because of my young youthful vigor and looks. Actually I had a love/hate relationship with that. I loved being good looking. Only an idiot would hate that. But I always wondered if I was invited places because of my looks. It was horrible to be 25 and be given a job I didn’t feel qualified for because my look added something.

Now I realize that it wasn’t just my look but me. Again I feel the lack of words. How do I say many girls were pretty, but to have that spark that makes people want to give you things is rare, without sounding full of myself? I don’t feel badly that I didn’t understand that then. That’s youth at its best and worst.

It’s what you take from your youth to your middle years and above that marks you for life. I always knew that but didn’t really understand how to make the transformation. Now I see how easy it is. I can take the best of myself and throw out the rest. That’s true editing.

I feel overwhelmed with love, happiness, bliss and more. Last night somebody said he has never seen me not smiling. I resisted the “this is the 100K+ smile,” line.

Two or three years ago I finally understood a person makes the decision to be happy or miserable. I chose then to be happy. It wasn’t always easy and it didn’t come without cost. But every single one of my relationships has become richer.

You could say that I’m lucky. I had the raw materials to work with. I have resources. Not endless resources but more than many. I can’t downplay that one. When I was in my 20’s or 30’s you could have called me spoiled and I wouldn’t have disagreed. I never lived “rich.” At the job I met many of my friends I dressed a bit better, but I was that type of girl. I had the apartment off Fifth but only paid $50 a month more than most people I knew. I took more and “father paid” for vacations. Today that would be normal. Then I was embarrassed and downplayed it all.

I was an appreciative daughter. I wish I had yelled how much I appreciated it from the top of my lungs, but I know my parents understood. They were happy I occasionally consented to go with them. Fortunately they loved to go away without my sister and I. My sister and I, so different in many ways, would travel together once every few years. During the day we would go off and meet for dinner. Invariably we ordered the same entree, very different from what our parents would pick..

My sister threw great parties also. Just different from mine. We came from a family of people who loved to throw wonderful parties. I don’t know how young we were when we served our first hor dourve. I’m the biggest drinker in the family, or the only one who has stayed in bed with hang overs. We’re more just “I love a great party” than drinkers. People would find my father so much fun they would think he would be even more fun with a few drinks. He would fall asleep.

I’m in my 50’s and honestly believe the best is yet to be. I have spent the past few years planning, and hopefully will soon reap the rewards.

Most people I know who sold their apartments didn’t have as nice an apartment as mine. Most didn’t renovate and made a bundle. I’m renovating because I promised myself I would never put a less than perfect apartment on the market. I understand that’s obsessive. But this apartment reflects me and I come with obsessions. I come with too many suitcases and much too much stuff.

This is the hump week. The floors will be sanded, the little bathroom regrouted. After that the marble and granite will be buffed. The under the sink cabinet I didn’t know was rotting because I couldn’t see it–nobody really could until inspected will be replaced. Then a ton of small stuff will be done.

I have to decide what to take when I go in January and what to take when I sell. I plan on a light load. I will bring myself, some furniture, a lot of glass, Mexican pottery, books, Cd’s, some clothes, my computers, my portfolios–writing and financial, and not much more.

I bring myself, the girl who threw the legendary parties, and yes I’m psyched. Life is so good I can’t imagine it getting much better. I’m scared to say more. I’m scared to post this. It feels more exposing than all the truly bad things I have said about myself.

One thing I will say. I chose to talk about the people in my life, both “real life” and bloggers more in the abstract than concretely. It’s me I will talk about. I can judge myself. I can judge groups and politicians, but I can’t put people I know through scrutiny. That’s not who I am or what this blog is about. My friends love me more for that, and I do love to be loved.

Stumble it!

We’re entering week four. I’m usually very disciplined about writing, and haven’t been blocked since I discovered blogging. However I’m totally unfocused and crazed. Today I met one of my oldest friends at the Dean & Deluca in The Village. I think 2007 was a theme year for me. Reconciliation with my past and myself. Think it’s great to leave on a high note. I do think I had one too many coffee’s this week–never knew there was such a thing, and might turn into a tea drinker

Week three of the renovation–the apartment should be painted by the end of the week. Has a lot of molding and beamed ceilings. Next Monday and Tuesday is the sanding. The cabinet under the very adorable kitchen sink has to be replaced, and a zillion other things. The weather is yucky.
Went to a lecture last night with a friend on “how to sell your home.” Keyword being “home.” This is Manhattan. The lecturer gave examples of selling a coop his way. But no coop, that has to go through a board, can be sold in a month. It’s almost physically impossible.
The building staff has bets on how quickly my apartment will go. My doorman Fernando told me this morning he would have lost his mind in the first week. I’m beginning to hate Starbucks, but it’s near my house. I have lost my mind. In a good way

-Here’s a page with the prior chapters. I write the chapters in advance and add the words. They are true first drafts.

-West Virginia 2030
Cornelia needed a drink, cigarette, joint anything. What kind of hotel didn’t have a minibar, and a silver monogrammed RJ Reynolds smokeless-joint holder? The clothes were truly gross. This couldn’t be her room. She found a cherry red rayonette night gown and put it on with matching mules. Cornelia quickly and expertly put on makeup

She didn’t need the matching robe. Cornelia admired herself in the three way mirror in the dressing room. Skinny, so skinny. The night gown was a bit too big. She would never buy something that didn’t totally cling to her body. Her hair felt soft from the minerals in the swimming pool. Once swimming pools didn’t have skin softeners. She should take a shower but wasn’t in the mood. She tried to open the suite door and go to the hotel lobby.

Why couldn’t she open the door? She needed air badly. Cornelia opened the patio door and breathed in the fresh air, not realizing she was in a converted mine shaft. She sat on a chaise, watched the sun go down and thought that the pink sky meant tomorrow was going to be hot. She had to get to the ocean beach, but first she needed to relax. Stars there were so many stars.

“But I want it to be hot and sunny.’ Cornelia pouted to nobody in particular. One of Justin’s people was monitoring the room. She changed the enhanced holograms to “day” “tropical.” Soon Cornelia forgot that it had just been night. She took her nightgown off and was just wearing cherry thongs. People no longer got sunburned though most people still wore sunblock. Cornelia thought that very silly, a needless pretentious homage to an old world.

Cornelia looked in the solar operated mini-fridge next to the chaise. She had never seen one stocked solely with healthy energy, or calmness drinks before. Not an alcoholic drink or a Coke Freer to be found. She took a ginger raspberry fizz energy drink, and laid down on the chaise.

Cornelia tried to remember where she and Del had come to the hotel from. Why did her memory feel like swiss on cream cheese? Not that she had ever tried that….She didn’t seem to be able to hold onto a thought. Oh right, they must have come from….hadn’t it been a rainy day? They must have been in a traffic jam and the cars headlights had beamed rays of light on them. No, that was wrong. Stop thinking Cornelia. Del told her she didn’t have specific memories because she had been in an accident. No she was supposed to live for the here and now. She was specially chosen to brighten rooms and peoples lives. She smiled at that thought then pouted Brightness was good, but there was another kind. She was intelligent, very intelligent, wasn’t she? Stop thinking, Cornelia.

Thinking is the enemy of the elite, wasn’t it? She began to dance to hip hop playing in her brain. In a few minutes she forgot about Del.
*************
Justin, the ISB Behavioral Division head, Ona, and several behavioral specialists were having a virtual meeting. Justin was obviously agitated and kept walking with his back to the video cams. Ona told him to relax.
How can I relax when we don’t know what’s happening?
We’re analyzing the scans of the chip in Nell’s brain. It takes longer to do than with the real thing. The USC seems to have invented a virtual filter that covers the cerebral cortex and most of the brain. The actual brain scans….
How the f–k. How can they be so far ahead of us? They’re not just closing in on us; they’re taking over.
They’re not. You know we’ve been experimenting with brain filters. Give us 72 hours….
What if we don’t have 72 hours?
Justin, this is all new technology. Five years ago we never could have analyzed brains from video cam images. You have to talk to Nell. At this point every thing’s iffy. We don’t know if this is a psychotic break, organic brain damage or just a hallucination. You’re the person closest to her. Go along with the fantasy. Use Nadia if you have to. You might even have to use Del or Denny.
Del’s a gibbering idiot. Denny’s crazy and I wouldn’t sic Nadia on Bin Laden.
Justin, you have to work with what you have. The USC’s been perfecting mind control but we have more sophisticated equipment and better people. You were able to stun them all using stuns we perfected almost overnight from their prototype. Nell’s an intuitive, the best in the world. We have to believe that the real Nell is still there. She’s never lost a fight and isn’t going to now….
She’s been subjected to so much. Maybe this was the final indignity.
If you enter her world as it is now, you might be able to bring her back to her real self.
Might isn’t good enough.
It’s all we have.
••••••••••••••••••••
Justin unlocked the door to Nell’s suite. He saw her on the patio dancing to music only she heard. His heart was broken. Justin, the ultimate professional didn’t know if he could talk to her. He walked out to the patio. She turned around. Nell played with makeup for different occasions. She could look preppy, glamorous and everything in between. Cornelia’s eyes were rimmed with too much black. The black mascara was in clumps Her cherry lipstick exactly matched the nightgown, and thongs. She had put blush and the lipstick in round circles on her cheekbones. Nell would have used the cherry lipstick as a base toning it down with two or three other colors.
When they were younger Nell had pointed out women who wore blush in round circles. She said that was a give away for certain types of schizophrenics. He loved to watch Nell play with makeup. She could do it for hours and make herself look like all types of women.
It was one of the games they played. Nell, the wanton slut was one of his favorite characters, but this wasn’t Nell, anybody.
You, pool boy, did you bring cigarettes? A joint, some drinks?
He had taken a pack of Nadia’s cigarettes. Fortunately they had brought several cartons to the house. He handed her a cigarette.
You going to light it or just stand there, poolboy?
Oh of course.
She inhaled as if she were smoking a joint. He wanted to tell her to stop. She looked as if she were going to pass out. He helped her onto the chaise.
Are you alright?
Dizzy. Very dizzy, but….She felt her lips and ran into the room to a mirror.
What the hell? Why do I have this gross makeup on? Where are my clothes?
No, I’m not Nell. You know that. I’m–oh it doesn’t matter. Let me get this off.

She walked into the bathroom, and began taking the makeup off with cream.
Can you get me a robe?
He got the matching one.
No, something warmer. I’m freezing, and can’t believe I’m standing here talking to you, somebody I barely know dressed like this.
Who am I?
What an absurdly dumb question. You know who you are.
No I mean to you.
You know what you mean to me. We’re two strangers who meet once a year solely to have sex. Names are meaningless to us. So let’s have sex. The meter’s running.
No Nell that’s a game we play. We play many games like that. I’m Justin, your husband. You’re Nell….
Stop it, you’re making my head hurt. Truthfully I’m nobody and everybody. I have nor past nor a future. I exist to please you. Isn’t that what you want me to say?

Barren of makeup with a dusty rose chenille bathrobe, Nell looked young, and would have been beautiful if her expression hadn’t been both blank and scared.
Nell lets sit on the couch and talk.
I don’t want to sit on the couch and I have nothing to say to you. I’m not Nell and I have no idea who you are.
I’m Justin, your….
You keep saying that but if you were you would have my favorite music playing. You’d have my favorite food and this room would be decorated for me. I’m Cornelia, I am. You want me to forget that. You’re a cruel man, playing with my head.

He quickly ordered Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.”
Too easy. Every woman loves that song.
He ordered “Ophelia,” “What a Wonderful World” and ten other songs.
You love 20th Century rock, blues, some jazz. Your favorite foods are lobster rolls, spinach sauteed in garlic, almost any kind of salad, especially Ceasar, and flourless chocolate cake made with the darkest chocolate and almost no sugar. Never regular lobster and the spinach has to be sauteed in olive oil. I’ll order them for you.
You will? You do know about me but anybody can find out that kind of information. Anybody can find out anything.
She stared at him as if she were looking at him for the first time and taking him all in.
You have a kind face. I feel, I feel as if I should know you? OK, do I always say “as if” instead of “like?”
Yes, actually you do.
And you find that endearing. It’s quaint like the 20th century pre-myutube American accents I can do.
Blanche DuBois. A Streetcar….They both said that at once and burst out laughing. She lit a cigarette and took a drag.
The cigarette, it’s making me dizzy. How do people smoke?
They get used to the carbon….
I know that. It was a rhetorical question. Are you always so literal? Is the food coming. I’m hungry, I think. I think that I’m not sure of anything. You say you’re Justin and I’m Nell. I don’t feel like a Nell and I don’t know you. Wouldn’t I feel something if we were married? Something more than my body craving yours? Nice people don’t say things like that. I’m not a nice person.
You’re not always the nicest person, but you’re the best person I know. Let me try to explain.
He told her a brief version of everything that had happened.
That’s crazy. If it were a book, nobody would read it. Hard copy or downloaded. You write books don’t you? Strange futuristic novels that everybody reads. Why should I believe anything you say to me? You lie for a living.

Justin didn’t know what to say. This was beyond him. All he could say was:
You know I write books.
Lucky guess. You look like somebody who would write sci fi books. I said you were successful to make you feel good.

The food had come. She bit into the lobster roll and spit it out.
You were wrong. I thought you were right I wanted to believe you, but I don’t like this. I don’t think I like food at all. I’m tired. I want that woman.
What woman?
You know, the woman who was going to help me find my prince. The woman who could help me see the light that had pretty angels. My doll. Do you have my doll. I need to talk to her.
Nell, I explained….
Who’s Nell? I’m Ella. I’m a princess, and the woman takes care of me. You’re a man. Men don’t know how to take care of princesses who are looking for angels.
Why are you here? Can you get the woman? I need her body.

She guzzled two more raspberry ginger fizzes. They had the antidote in them, but Justin knew the antidote was probably ten steps beyond whatever Nadia had put in the meds. In an hour Nell had gone from being Cornelia to somebody with a vague similiarity to Nell to Ella.

Stumble it!

I had to go to Time Warner Cable, the company not the mall this morning. My remote had seen its last show. Everybody knows the address is 123 East 29th Street, but I wrote it down and inverted the three and nine. Sort of on purpose as I used to work on East 28th Street off Madison and watched it go from a bit middle class to welfare hotel horrible.

My fiancee and I, one I hardly ever talk about, would stay after work–he made his own hours, take some pot from his pot drawer, sit on the fire escape–this wasn’t a high class office though the company had pretensions of being one and watch the world. Little kids would run onto cars at midnight. It was scary to see things go so out of control.

I managed large legal projects but the do gooder in me was returning and within a few years I would work for SSI as I felt so much part of the problem.

I loved New York passionately in the 80’s, but you couldn’t give a loft on Fifth and 18th Street away. I knew a clothing manufacturer that tried and ended up walking away from their lease. The East 20’s were a thing of gore.

We would go to a Spanish restaurant down the block, Mesa de Espana, that looked like New York as I imagine it was in the 40’s and 50’s. It still looks the same. My fiancee had much money. It was strange to work in that gross office–my father offered to pay me to quit after my parents came over–and yet live a life looking at the street scene and going to great restaurants five nights a week. The many computers in our office would all be lit and it was so beautiful in its weird industrial tenement beauty. The building’s still there. Not even power cleaned.

Couldn’t find Time Warner Cable on East 29th Street or East 23rd Street. Saw many white washed buildings, but somehow the neighborhood still looked a bit derelict. Felt like a homing pigeon circling a six block radius. Called information:
Time Warner Cable, what’s that?
I restrained from all the obvious come-backs which was every line I could think of.
Oh I see, it’s a cable company. 123 East 29th Street.

Only once again it wasn’t there. I went into the optician next door and asked. I speak flawless English. It’s a trick I picked up from having been born here. I could tell the opticians were American but somehow they decided to shrug.
I’m sorry. I don’t speak shrugs.
On the next block and to the left.

Sow I walked up to the next block and turned to the street on the left. Wasn’t there. Asked a Fed Ex man. He gave me the exact street address and said it was the next block uptown or to the right.

I was nervous about exchanging remotes. I have never had a pleasant experience with Time Warner Cable but had no need to call them in the past two or more years. I expected an inquisition.

The person at the door asked why I was there. I explained.
“just get on the payment line, please and you can exchange your remote.”
One minute later a man took my remote, threw it somewhere and gave me a new one. Apparently all the early DVR adapters remotes have gone at once.

Then I spent the day trying to write at Starbucks but people kept interrupting and wanted to know if Mac laptops are really better.

I came home to a pleasant mess. My apartment really will be on the market by the beginning of the new year. Found out people in my building are talking. They expect it to go faster than the other apartments on the market or that have been on the market this past year. It’s a beautiful little apartment and they’re applying the same reasoning I am. People who were going to spend a fortune on a one bedroom will spend less than a fortune but more than….on my showered with love and building help three rooms, though we’re all still searching for the third room.

I have to remember that all that goes wrong with the world, my remote, or even my coop isn’t always my fault. It feels so strange to be reaching the almost there stage.

I’m leaving my world and that does feel weird, but I think I’m already coming back for a Levon Helm concert at The Beacon. My sister hopes it’s still my apartment so she can stay over. Living two blocks from The Beacon is something I will always remember with much fondness. Nothing like leaving a concert and not have to even think about getting home.

Stumble it!