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.
