That was the title of a post I wrote yesterday. I was so excited because I changed the battery to a smoke alarm. The smoke alarm is in what many of you call the “spare room.” There’s a smoke alarm in the master bedroom, another in the hallway over the stair case and two more downstairs. It went off when I took a shower in the master bedroom.
In New York we name all of our rooms. Actually we give five names to different areas of the living room. Here’s the study (pretend there’s a picture of a desk). Here’s the dining room (see imaginary desk,) This is the library. Over there is the sitting area, and that section is the actual living room.
I was feeling very proud of myself. In New York I would have gone to the house phone, spoke to the doorman, told him it was an emergency and have the handyman come up. I do have much higher ceilings in New York.
Did I mention I’m scared of heights and equally scared of live wires? When I first opened the smoke alarm, I saw live wires and almost fell off the ladder. But I went on. I had to. The smoke alarm had stopped its long siren call and went into a one a minute high pitched sound guaranteed to drive a person crazy.
This morning I took a long shower. The smoke alarm in the computerspare room went off. I can’t imagine that steam from a shower set it off….I’m calling a handyman. The high pitched sound hasn’t happened. It might. My BFF, Lucia is convinced it’s only a matter of minutes.
I haven’t been here three weeks yet and I’m relaxed. Or as relaxed as I’m capable of being.
I had some business that occupied most of my time for the two weeks before I came here. Everything was finally finished Saturday and I was able to go to the beach, two blocks from my house, in March.
That is worth everything to me. I think I love it here.
I have been watching the complete first season of Friday Night Lights. Dillon is a small Texas town where everything revolves around football. Personally I find football to be incredibly boring, and have been to exactly one game in my life. Friday Night Lights transcends football.
I forget that I’m watching TV and feel intimately involved in each person’s life. It’s an amazing show that deserves to be renewed for a third season. The first three episodes can be slow at times but are necessary to set the stories up.
I also have the first complete first season of 30 Rock,Gone, Baby, Gone,No Country for Old Men, and four of James Spader’s best films.
I’m not watching as much TV as I had planned to. It’s so beautiful here and I feel compelled to be outside as much as possible. This particular area feels like the North Fork of Long Island but with a real ocean–can’t help it I’m from Long Island and tend to compare places to places I know. It’s very country like.
When I’m inside, it’s even fun to clean. I was running the dishwasher and washer/dryer every day but have come down to earth.
Life is good and getting better every day. I reserve the right to change that last sentence.
I was just telling somebody a story about two guys I have known. One intimitely and forever though not forever intimitely, and the other just kind of forever. Both are rather well known in their fields which I will leave as pop culture.
Then I realized, not for the first time, I have had a whole incredible life that’s never been talked about here or will be in a memoir because while I will tell good friends stories about my life as it did happen, I don’t feel comfortable talking about my true personal life–even things that happened many years ago. Courting and hence Google presents a very distorted view of my life.
Sometimes I wish that I were a very different type of person. One who would really say anything rather than giving the illusion of saying too much.
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I put my friend’s letter in about the super delegates because this is an election
unlike one I have ever seen. Here’s an oped on letting the people decide. hey even I’m too young to really remember Kennedy’s election.
I will vote Democratic as I personally believe it extremely important that a Democrat occupy the White House. I believe that Ralph Nader was the true reason Gore didn’t win.
In this current election I have seen people who were totally disenfranchised become involved. I have seen them begin to believe a bit in America as a true democracy. I find that wonderful.
Hillary is a machine candidate, (here’s Frank Rich on her) and here’s something more personal. New York made a remarkable recovery after 9/11 or did we?
Bloomberg who few people truly like but most people respect has moved as much money around as he can. I can’t afford to live in Manhattan anymore and will sell my apartment, shortly, to somebody who does have several million in “disposable” income, and access to much credit.
Is that what we want Manhattan to be? Anybody who has read this blog for any length of time knows that 9/11 changed my life and not in a good way. I don’t have warm and fuzzy feelings about how great the people were. I remember the people and I do speak in glittering generalities as being worn and not able to deal with my personal tragedy.
It was the first time in my adult life I felt out of place. Time heals and I have put my mother’s death into perspective. There should have been help for people like me. I am a licensed social worker who did offer to begin support groups for people who lost loved ones around the time of 9/11 but not in it.
The man who lives upstairs from me is a drunk, fortunately in recovery now. He had to move back to the building as he was deemed a security risk living in The Boat Basin. He fell not once but many times every night for months. I would incorporate his falls into my dreams. Every night I would dream of people falling from The Towers. They would have my mother’s face as she died from a fall. She lived in the city; I live in Manhattan.
Yet I wasn’t eligible for the free help that was given so readily to people who had a second cousin once removed die in the attacks. I can’t forget that. I can’t help but believe if we had an administration that gave a damn–and senators who cared it might have been different. Every person who lived in the city was affected yet we were the only city not to have rallies, not to have the little things that help people heal. It was everybody for herself.
Yes that began my dislike of Hillary. She could have done so much for the people of New York City. She chose not to. She should have been screaming for the promised aid to come to New York then not to Montana and finally to New York three years later.
I will vote for her if I have to but it will be reluctantly.
I’m sorry I’m playing the same old song. I don’t enjoy it. I had to totally remake myself after 9/11. It wasn’t easy and it took time. I did but the psychic scars remain.
Life is good. Yes it is. See why it’s becoming good for me personally. Though I believe Horry County SC was the one county Obama didn’t take. I will be there for the general election where I will finally have a vote that counts. In the post below I included Caroline Kennedy’s endorsement of Obama. Caroline Kennedy can say the things many of us feel with more authority simply because she is who she is. I wish I remembered more about her father’s administration and less about his death but I was young…
The post below also has Bob Herbert’s truly excellent article “Questions for the Clintons.” It’s a rare Sunday that doesn’t belong solely to Frank Rich in my house…..
This article is about the death of young icons. Baby boomers grieved when James Dean died in 1955? As the oldest baby boomer was nine, and the peak year for baby boomer’s birth was 1957, this was almost impossible. I was four and rather doubt that I ever heard of James Dean. Continue Reading »
There’s a new 3WW below this. Here’s another blog My friend lives in this building. Great Upper West Side shots–and the building has an all marble wonderful lobby. There are bad days and there are days you spend two and half hours on the phone or waiting for people at the cable company–and they exacerbate your problem but you finally figure it out.
The most adorable little girl comes up to you in Starbucks, puts her finger in your coffee, the top on and smiles at you. You have reached the point of no return and give her the look you have never given a kid. The coffee could have been hot–she could have scalded herself–but mostly you’re thinking how truly tacky it was that the mother didn’t control her behavior or make her say “I’m sorry.” Two words that go far in your life. That was the better part of your day until you saw a friend. Jonathan and his wife Wendy are adopting children in a few days. I can and can’t imagine what they’re feeling as I was adopted, and some people that my father’s letter upon adopting me is the best written thing in this blog. As much as I love my father that doesn’t make me feel great.
Jonathan began a meme about what you have done since finishing school. I finished grad school twelve years ago and uh college 20 years before that. I don’t usually do memes, especially since they all seem to involve knowledge of 80’s hair bands and other musical things. Have nothing against 80’s hair bands or what song fits whats mood–but that’s like wearing a mood ring. Changes too often. Or stays the same for a year. Continue Reading »
I should explain that I have changed the bottom of this post every day for the past six. I also wrote another post, put it up, then put it in draft as I’m having ten zillion anxiety attacks at once November 23, 2007 — Chances are you will do something outrageous today, something even your closest friends think is evidence that you have finally lost your mind. They’re wrong, of course. If anything you have finally discovered your true self and intend to follow your dream without fear and without seeking approval. Good for you.
November 24, 2007 — You need to overcome your fears and you need to overcome them quickly. For some strange reason your worries have got out of hand of late and the result is paralysis - you cannot move one way or the other. Trust that life will always support you, then make a supreme effort to get moving again
On the sidebar is a new chapter and link to a page for Colliding Worlds–the page has a summary and explanation
Ten years ago today I officially moved into this apartment.
In all that time I have never had a real conversation with the girls who live next door. Everybody calls them “the girls” and nobody has ever exchanged more than a “hello” with them.
I have tried. I’m at my best in elevators. For some reason when everybody else freezes and looks at the floor, I become positively chatty. There’s always something to talk about. I like my building rep as “best person to be stuck on the elevator with.”
I’m a weather fanatic, so….How something was wrong on the streets for about a month and I couldn’t put my finger on it until yesterday–no leaves had fallen. Men in soft Italian leather shoes love that to be noted. I can get almost anybody into a conversation, but the girls…
They listen to the news, and more news and more news. They over boil cabbage for six months a year. They burn toast badly, or don’t clean out the toaster when it needs to be. This presented a problem my first morning as I thought my friend set my apartment on fire. He didn’t.
We share pipes–my extra bathroom and their kitchen. I have had at least five rock floods, with rocks coming up my bathroom basin and shower drain. None of the building staff has ever figured out exactly what causes it. They don’t want to gross me out but they think they throw kitty litter into their kitchen sink. That is weird and rather gross.
I will never get to know the girls next door, and don’t think I’m missing much. When they do listen to music it’s always classical. Not that there’s anything wrong with that but I like rock and blues. Actually four out of the five apartments on my wing exist on a steady diet of classical. I can hear it when I’m waiting for the elevator. My friends tease me for being the trailer park trash of the wing.
I once met a wing neighbor when I was walking home from a three hour Tom Waits concert. I thought I had just had a holy experience. She thought the riot police should be called. She’s younger than I am. To have never heard of Tom Waits is beyond my belief. At least she talks to me. When speaking of her to Lucia I call her part of “the white bread family” as they’re so bland.
They do fight a lot and not just behind closed doors. Once Lucia and I were sitting on her stoop eight blocks and two avenues from here and I heard familiar voices. We looked across the street. Husband and wife sans son were going at it heavily. I guess they thought they were far enough away from the building. In New York you’re never far enough away from people you might know.
It’s an urban myth that you never run into people you know. I constantly do. During the club years, people were always stopping me: “You’re, you’re…” Most times they knew me from the club. Other times I passed as a generic soap person. I wish that I had been able to play off that but I was too shy.
People have always taken me for hard and cold. I gave off the aura of being unapproachable when I so badly wanted to be approachable. I’m older now, sort of wiser and yet still do at times.
But put me in an elevator.
I’m not a romantic. Actually maybe sadly the opposite of one. When I left a comment at Cooper’s blog defending benevolent sexism, I was really defending my using men to help me with everything to do with selling this apartment. When I bought it was an all woman thing except for the seller’s realtor. I’m bad at accepting any kind of help. I think I should do it all myself. This move has me crazed and I find myself accepting any help. I find myself obsessively making arbitrary deadlines based on nothing but a feeling that I have to get it on the market before the end of the year.
I read blogs, magazines, newspapers and various websites. It feels as if everybody thinks they’re an expert on some subject or another. If every American who claims expertise truly was, then wouldn’t this country be in better shape? Reading all this works me into a state of paralysis. I was reading a real estate site that I love as it gives real prices, days on market etc. However the comment threads are dominated by idiots. I wanted to ask real questions but didn’t see the point as I would be told to buy gold. That has nothing to do with the questions that I wanted to ask. I think we suffer from too much bad information.
I wanted to ask how monthly charges that are out of proportion with the square footage or one bedrooms on other lines affects the selling price. I wanted to ask if people have experience with strict coop boards that have never sold to a non American citizen and seem to be very arbitratory in who they let buy for a primary residence and even more arbitarary in who they let buy for a second home. Buying gold isn’t the answer to these questions. The expected downturn in bonuses might or might not play a part. Do people think that prospective buyers who were going to buy a 900K one bedroom might buy one that’s less money but in a white glove building, and the apartment will be in triple mint condition?
I thought these might be questions other people could be interested in knowing answers to. Given the comments on the threads I wouldn’t waste my time.
I’m trying to keep myself awake before going out to dinner by drinking too much coffee and singing out loud to Levon Helm. That would be good if I could actually sing. I don’t feel sorry for my neighbors. They can’t really hear unless they’re in the wing hallway, or sitting in their foyers. I truly doubt anybody is doing that. I’m the only person on the wing without a true foyer. I would be the poor neighbor, but the girls next door are renters which puts them in a whole different league.
There are only two restaurants I would break my no simple carb, no dairy rule for, and Patsy’s Pizzeria, a chain actually, is one of them. They have amazing thin crust pizza and wonderful salads. The cannolli’s are incredible. Have to resist. No, it’s Little Luce’s 17th birthday, and in her her honor….
I love my horoscope for today. My New York friendships are decades old at the least. I so love my friends who think of me as the quintessential New Yorker. That feels like a great honor as most of them are born and bred, and so are their parents who I know also.
Somebody has to be the first to leave this amazing and amazingly overpriced city. By leaving New York I will have the financial freedom to follow my dreams. Not only will I have more money from the sale of my apartment and spend less on on a townhouse but the cost of living is drastically lower.
When I read charts that show what the average babyboomer has and how well they can live, I have to factor in the Manhattan equation. Were I too move to Santa Monica, which I’m not, I would still get more for my money. So yes I’m obsessed with getting out.
Little Luce and I spent a couple of hours figuring out weird things about my Imac. She’s kind of an expert and it wasn’t just me. Wow do I feel great. And feel great about what I didn’t understand and do now.
The really rich move into 6 million dollars apartments that then require further renovation. Or buy their kids almost 7 million dollar apartments. My apartment won’t bring near a million. The journey of___steps requires three real estate appraisals. People are already giving me conflicting advice. Actually they’re all telling me to do nothing. I’m the one who thinks I have to paint and much more. My many personas are deeply conflicted. We’re into this move as we know it’s time, but we even loved Broadway on a crowded Saturday afternoon. Not enough to stay….
I can’t imagine being so desperate as to be hysterical in an airport even if I’m late for a connecting plane. On the other hand I can imagine living in a rental and feeling that my world is going to be torn from under me because the house is for sale. It’s hard for any couple with three kids to find something to buy unless they’re in the category above. I can imagined feeling unhinged because I’m from a more civilized society than the one that walks on Broadway and frequents Fairway. it’s hard to stay sane in this city even if your roots run deep here. (Ms. Gotbaum was from a more civilized society. I’m deeply rooted here.)
Here is what having a rental budget of $8,000-$10,000 a month can get you in Manhattan.
Somebody is trying to convince me that if I had just bought in the real West Village I would have been ecstatic. But almost every single straight women I know, around my age, who lived there moved already. And were the people to tell us we didn’t suffer enough on 9/11. I would have paid less for a larger apartment that would be worth a ton now. I didn’t buy there so it’s moot and I don’t need to hear it. But nobody can be quiet on the subject of Manhattan real estate.
I might begin to seriously lose my mind, just from living, breathing, and dreaming real estate. It took me a year to find this apartment. It’s perfect for somebody who loves bathrooms–two windowed ones, one large marble one with double shower stall and separate bath; one white subway tile. Oh wait, this isn’t a real estate ad…..
This blog has vowed never to be trendy, bloggy, nichey, or in anyway blog politically correct. It is the journey of a solo blogger with a few imaginary friends. Well my laptop and desktop are interactive and always named Savannah. I’m one of the few people in the building without a dog so I got me an imaginary one, Toto. Cleaner and easier.
Before this blogger journeys to a new life in a new state, she’s going to sell the furniture, but not the glass collection and Mexican pottery, so she can make a new start. Many townhouses are sold already furnished. She will ask for a credit and have the wall to wall taken out even if it’s Berber.
She wants this journey to be a total change. But she couldn’t live with another person’s furniture. Her taste is too quirky and developed. It is hard giving up the wall unit Lucia designed, but she finally can look at it and say “I will always have pictures on my screen saver.”
When she misses the hood she can always watch Law & Order–any one. She can rent some Nora Ephron movies and Music & Lyrics and just look at the scenery. Panic in Needle ParkTaxi Driver and many other movies like that.
This journey is a big one. It’s going from the known and loved though complained about to the unknown, she thinks she can love. She also pictures herself in a cabin on a lake in the Sierra Nevada’s and about 20 other places. She hopes to restrain from buying for awhile. She lives in a city that was filled with renters and is now filled with owners. She has that mentality.
This blogger only knew the Northeast Corridor, much of California, and South Florida, and thought it was America. She wants to make up for that lack. Having only lived in three boroughs–mostly Manhattan, all over the North Shore of Long Island and Cambridge, her perspective is a bit off.
This journey will change that. Sometimes complete change is the only answer. To be able to reinvent herself while being her, that’s what this journey is about.
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I guess the most amazing thing about New York is that you never know who you know who knows…. He named Talking Heads, is a great artist and much more. Know his son well, though I’m way closer in age to Jamie Daiglish. We do know some people in common through my ex.
This is a new feature that my friend Jonathan began. If you’re interested in participating check out the link The journey is the reward is a Chinese proverb I don’t believe in. Then again I’m told that patience is a virtue and someday my ship will come in. That last one makes anything sound horrid.
I’m at a crossroads and realized today that all crossroads require a deal with the devil.
I have always felt selfish for wanting. Karma was schooled into me though not in that word.
Most weeks I’m filled with the wonder of life and the wonder of the journey but this crossroad has me wanting to meet the devil and offer something of myself for the one reward I truly want.
If the journey is the reward, how come it’s taking so long?
The journey through life is amazing. I’m not denying the wonders and the beauty. I’m not denying that some of the bumps bring much excitement and some of the forks bring adventure.
But the crossroads, the true crossroads…that’s a place I have feared standing still at.
I still dare dream and maybe when I linger at the crossroads longer….
I did an interview with Jancee Dunn that is on BC.
Before there were online dating services there were personals. Around 1986, I put one in as I had broken up with my fiancee and didn’t seem to be able to meet anybody I wanted to date.
I was a bit too impressed with myself and I guess the personal reflected that. Don’t remember what I said but I got around 250 responses and only 30 were from prisoners.
It was overwhelming. The Blenderbusters read through them and we decided who I should answer.
I went on a couple of dates with a man who seemed perfect on paper. He was a certified social worker who had gone into the family business and owned a small but very upscale chain of stores
We had two decent dates. Then he went skiing. He called me from his ski trip and said he was coming home early so we could have our third date. I was big on the third date rule, unless I was overwhelmed with lust.
It was very cold and I wore a denim mini, huge sweater, black fishnet stockings with black nylon in back of the fish nets, hand painted Converse high tops and my nutria–Louisiana swamp rat–coat. My hair was big and red, I wore ear muffs as no hat fit my head or my look. I think I was going through a too much make-up stage.
It was just before the advent of multiplexes and we had to wait about an hour outdoors to see the new Woody Allen film. I can’t remember which film but do remember that it was on Second Avenue. After the film we were supposed to go to Sign of the Dove, a pricey nice restaurant.
Alan, don’t remember his name, had a cold. He should have canceled the date, but…
Not only didn’t he use a tissue, but snot was coming out of his nose for the entire time we were waiting. I kept handing him tissues, but somehow he didn’t seem to realize….
We never made it to Sign of Dove nor did he make it to my apartment. I made some lame excuse, and went home determined to never see him again.
A few days later I got a letter from him. He was “breaking up” with me. Something about me had made him up his therapy sessions from ten hours a week to fifteen.
He broke up with me? We didn’t even have a relationship, and I did the breaking up unless I forced fights something I excelled at.
I threw out all the letters. Dating from personal ads was just too much work.
I will be away for a bit more than two weeks and might or might not post again. i feel so stupid not being able to keep to a schedule when I don’t have six kids, or anything like that. Just a book I’m desperately trying to get together. It’s hard because it’s on the teenage me, and I want to be true to who I was without sounding preachy. It’s hard to dredge up the feelings without becoming immersed in them. I so envy people who can redo their blog posts for their book, but this isn’t a bloggy book.
Wake up feeling more energetic than you have in days. Tell yourself it’s good that you missed Rafe’s barbecue. Immediately get stuffed nose and begin to cough.Revise the second half of the fourth chapter. For once you haven’t waited for the Wombat to point out that it needed something. Refuse to use 60’s jargon, except for one word, on the grounds that you always hated it and never used it. Especially that word. It isn’t groovy which is not as gross a word, but not a word you would use.
Write the reunion message for your high school class’s possible reunion. If nobody else goes you know five people who will. Make it funnier than any blog post you have ever written for several reasons:you thought these people hated you in high school when in reality you were Little Miss Snot. Now you’re BFF’s. __High School has been the theme of your year. You want people to see that while you might have been the first hippie in__and the most staunch anti-war person, you do have a sense of humor. Somewhere.
Blast music so that the sounds of construction, yes on Labor Day, will be muffled. Other buildings don’t have the strict rues your coop has. They believe a great time to begin drilling is 7:30 AM on a Sunday, but in the summer when people are supposed to be away. If you’re not away on a summer Sunday, obviously you deserve to be woken up to drilling.
Have several email threads going at once.
Do your monthly Google check, down from weekly, down from daily, down from once every three hours.
Be glad that you did a post about the truly stupid picture in The Daily News You did know you would find it. You just didn’t know it would be picked up by uh several cell technology newsletters.
Get a message on your computer: batteries in mouse critically low. Look to see if mouse is dirty. It isn’t. Open desk drawer. With your new efficient system you know you will find batteries—someday. Find checks you have been looking for.
Become hysterical for a second and open other drawer to look for passport you will need Saturday having misplaced your non-drivers license. Passport is in proper place. (This is how your mind works sober and not medicated.)
Remember that the new efficient you put batteries in a bedroom drawer because you change more batteries there.
Go through all your night table drawers. Go through bedroom dresser drawers. Prepare to be defeated and actually go to Duane Reade for new batteries.
Open top desk drawer once more. The batteries are in the near left corner as they were supposed to be. Wonder if your imaginary friends have become real.
Change batteries. Remember that both positives go toward the front. For the first time in your life change mouse batteries without incident. Actually you just have never remembered before that both positives….
Wonder if being efficient is a good thing or if takes too much time.
Though it’s not hot, your apartment is stifling and your nose is even more stuffed. Attempt to clean AC coils. Wash filters and front casing.
Try to finish a further chapter in your book. Stare at screen and wish a message would come on telling you to do something.
Wonder if you want to take a walk or will be angered by all the people returning from the summer. It’s not them personally you’re angry at but last week was the first time you were in New York in years it was somewhat deserted. You found three separate reason to walk across Central Park to the Upper East Side because it was truly empty, and very beautiful from all the rain.
Decide that when you come home from North Myrtle you will prep your apartment, get it appraised and rent a condo in North Myrtle so you never have to be here to mess the apartment up during the sale. Also you won’t meet the people until the closing so you can’t tell them every perceived defect.
Wonder: will you be able to afford this? Will you be to afford not to do it?
Feel stupid about reunion notice. Then remember this is you who braves stupidity every day or two to three times a week in this blog. You used to brave stupidity in two blogs constantly. If nothing else you’re a braving stupidity writing pro. Wonder if they give awards for that. Maybe you should start one.
NO YOUR FOCUS IS NO LONGER ON BLOGGING but braving stupidity in writing everywhere else.
Call assorted friends to see if they want to do dinner. Don’t leave messages. Nobody checks missed calls anymore. Well you don’t so you missed three important ones in the last several days. And a few not so important ones. Had you checked missed calls you would have had assorted friends to do dinner with. Wonder if you will ever get over the 80’s. Does anybody else say “do dinner?”
Remind yourself to check missed calls daily. Wonder if you will remember. Put posties on desktop and laptop.
Go into bedroom to read The Secret Lives of Bees This begins a big internal debate if you should wait until you’re in South Carolina to read a book that takes place there. Then debate moving to a state known for many things you’re not known for….Then you remember–townhouses, good prices, beaches. Truly nice people.
87 minutes until The Closer Much as you love Kyra Sedgwick, and you always have, will have to wait until 9:23 to miss the commercials.
Begin to get excited about the TV stations in Myrtle Beach. Love their commercials. Love the radio stations. Time Warner Cable experiments with new things in Myrtle Beach. You have always been an early adapter. Now you can be a pioneer adapter.
Put on winter robe over summer clothes. It’s worth freezing to get rid of the allergens in the air. Wonder if you’re living a worthy life. Remember the days you talked about your imaginary friends in your blog. You might bring them back as they do play an important role in your life. Toto does bark.
I’m not a parent but a post I wrote on being adopted and being a teenage rebel won a hottest of the hot award. Would like to thank gnmparents for that honor.
Day Two. She who shall remain nameless sent it to all our friends, former friends, and their children. I stopped answering the phones for awhile because all I would hear was “He,he,he,ho-ha,” etc. Even the politically correct children couldn’t stop laughing. My own sister loved it. I just updated my will and funeral or memorial instructions so as to make sure that’s not the photo used–well it can be but not as the primary one.
I don’t think that I have ever said here that I did act in college underground films, because I have a face of a thousand expressions.
When the photo was taken, two haircuts ago, I was a year younger–it was in the beginning of July–my sister wants that known.
The last time my picture was in something official I was in some video–in my 30’s playing the older ingenue. Now it’s character time. I can live with that–really.
I just had to listen to my best friend laugh for five straight minutes. She’s sending it to everyone we ever met. She who shall remain nameless designed the wall unit. There are even pictures by me as a kid in the background, and my favorite book in Kindergarten: Westwood Ho The Wagon My Dad could recite the book from memory until his last day on earth. Not that he did. It was the first movie outside of Charlie Chaplin Films I saw in a theatre. Fess Parker was the star but I was much more interested in Karen and Cubby from The Mickey Mouse Club.
My hair looks weird–which very coincendentally I had cut the day, and dyed the day before–those are very expensive highlights that look….
This is me in 1988, and me this past winter
According to The Daily NewsI’m a cord cutter. According to me I’m an image blower. However I do have my picture in the Big T–Technorati and Blogalog, the thing that keeps putting me in communities. It is another version of the fruit cake gift. Always get jolted when I go to a blog and see my picture. No, it doesn’t belong here. Please, take it out…..
Sometimes I think if I sit here long enough a publishing company will find me. I know. I know. That’s like sitting and waiting for Prince Charming to walk through the door. I have done that and found many toads
Oh God, I look so stupid. I can’t stop looking at myself and laughing.
The photographer was truly sweet. Two great journalistic minds trying to think of something to do to show a cord cutting household.
If you like Courting link to it and let me know. I will never ask for your money for this blog. Might ask for your vote. Will ask for you to buy a certain book later. Buy Diesel’s book now. He’s funny. This blog is a labor of love and sometimes just labor. .
Lucia calls me the original “um” girl. This article explains it.
Bliss is going to meet friends in Riverside Park and sitting on new half chaise lounges at an outdoor cafe. As the afternoon turned into evening, and the sun was setting, Guy Davis began to play. With each song he became more assured and better until we were totally under his blues sway.
This isn’t were I say I used to casually run into his parents Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis in Sag Harbor back, oh ten or fifteen years ago, when Azurest in Sag Harbor was a most Black area. Though I’m White, people let me stay anyway. The Hamptons were much more fun then. Statusy and a scene but nothing like it is now. Now even Montauk is becoming part of the real Hamptons. It does break my heart. But in less time than it takes to get there I can be in North Myrtle Beach and really shouldn’t say that
I went back to take pictures but it was a perfect day so I walked the new Riverside South Park until I ran into a convention filled with people who casually stroll. No New Yorker would ever casually stroll. I became impatient and walked home.
I have long known the statistic that New Yorkers, despite our harder lives, live longer than the average American. I didn’t know it was because we walk faster until I read this article.
This part was written last Monday and put in draft. This Sunday the weather is yucky and I have a migraine. Fortunately the first half of the weekend was picture perfect except for the fire coming from downtown.
I deleted the second half of this post on the grounds that I have had a migraine since yesterday. Made worse by the incessant drilling at the penthouse next door. The school across the street has construction on Sundays, other buildings on Saturdays and we have it Monday through Friday.
I understand that for a city to prosper it must have construction, but it must have sane residents. What that article didn’t say is a main reason we walk so fast is to run from cranes, drills and other things.
It’s a damp and dreary day. I really don’t want to be forced to go to Starbucks where tourists hang out because it’s just like home, or the cupcake cafe a block further where the wifi is free but you have to buy a cupcake and I really really don’t want to face temptation in the face
No I couldn’t see the fire from here. I was sort of downtown Saturday night where it could be seen
We really don’t need more memorials to firemen
I'm Pia Savage. Just a writer with a blog title few people truly get. I suppose my destiny has taken me from the Upper West Side of Manhattan to Myrtle Beach as I barely heard of it eleven months ago. My email is Pia(dot)talks@gmail(dot)com.
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