Thursday, June 6, 2013

image

This film is important.


I recall, growing up, my Mother telling me that we were the most apathetic generation she had ever seen. "Iraq is your Vietnam," she'd said. "Why aren't you in the streets?"


Because we protest in different ways, I argued. 

We write Op Eds.

And blog posts.

And seethe silently about our governments robbing us of our freedoms and destroying the human rights of civilians in countries we wrongfully invade.

This film reminded me of just how grossly inadequate our reactions have been to public evidence that our nascent democracy has already crumbled.

It reminded me that my mother is right; We should be in the motherfucking streets.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013




This article on the cognitive dissonance women experience between their animalistic urges and the social conventions of dating is top notch.

 Even female rats have it figured out more than us, you guys.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Reading through these archives is tripping my shit out

I hadn't come back to the blog in a very, very long time before today, and reading back through these posts I am frankly amazed - not that I committed all of these stories to print (boy am I glad I did- for memory is a cruel thing that fails on me more these days than ever) but that I ever stopped writing. I think somewhere along the way I thought that I should be living my life instead of writing about it. But reading back through all of these posts makes it abundantly clear that writing to me was living, and that I've been holding my breath for too long. So where does one begin? Much like catching up with an old friend, sometimes the gulf between you lies so vast that you're better off discussing the veal ("it's really pretty chewy isn't it?" " this place has gone downhill") The more imperative question might be, has anything really changed? I've been thinking about that a lot because my life doesn't seem to bear the same markers of change that those of my peers do. Droves of friends have left New York, many others may as well have (e.g. They got married and moved uptown, or they got knocked up or moved to Greenwich and spend their days redoing their kitchens and retiling their pools). I've graduated from business school, survived two horrendous years at Goldman (I can say that now because I've collected and spent my last checks from the squid from up on high)- and left to work for a startup that admittedly i kind of adore. But in many ways, my life looks the same. In the important ways that it shouldn't, I suppose, it still does. And the question I ask myself is whether I have consciously or unconsciously made the choices I have to avoid adulthood; and if I've made so many crucial decisions unconsciously, am I even as autonomous as I think I am? Or am I enslaved to my next whim, wherever I might get it? These are the questions I ask myself as I live this last year of my 20's. or at least on this rainy day on which a new friend sent me a post from his own blog, and i was so jealous of his ability to write what was in his mind that i immediately came back here to calm my nerves and remind myself that one day, not too long ago (though trust me, long enough)- i too had a way with the written word and it was the best part of my day to open this page and commit a memory to it. I've got endless stories to tell you, dear reader, of the amusing sort. SO many. And deep within me, there is a real fear that I've lost my ability to stand back and just have a lay at people and situations like I used to, with familiarity and ease. But I look back and read these tales of my misspent youth, from the vantage point of my misspent older age, and yearn to make these tales whole too. With love, girl

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

And back to our regular bitchy commentary...

Hey you! You loud mouthed, utterly unbearable, 31 year old child that I had the misfortune of attending business school with. What was up with your Facebook status today?

Ohhhh, don't play coy, you know the one. This one:

"Been having an email dialogue with the NYT society pages editor as he laments personnel changes that will likely prevent the paper from covering our wedding. This is definitely a first--and truly a sad state of journalism! #Imissnewspapers"

Can I be honest with you?

First of all, bitch, you aren't fooling anyone with your "email dialogue". Dialogue connotes back and forth. You likely received a stock email that was meant to let your over sensitive JAP ass down as lightly as they could without incurring a law suit from your overly-eager-to-please ugly ass fiance and all of your overbearing parents.

Point #2: Personnel changes? The New York Times Wedding Pages are a fucking institution. That shit isn't going anywhere and neither are the poor journalists who write it to get their foot in the door to the Style section. Next time you get married (and honey, there will be a next time, because you are likely to kill # 1 with tinnitus) try not to couch your disappointment in faux concern for the state of print. That motherfucking section isn't going anywhere.

Point #3: You posting this as your status is an embarrassment to society. It's bad enough that you got rejected for an announcement in The Wedding Low Season (e.g. JANUARY) but your making sad excuses for it on Facebook is unacceptable. If you had an inkling of self respect you would have gotten married in June; at least then you could chalk up your failure to the fact that only Rockefellers and really impressive Gays get printed up then. Alternatively, you could have insulted the whole institution to begin with- and on the off chance you did get chosen (but honey, who are we kidding here?) you could have played the pliant bride with a simple "It was really important to the poor shmuck who signed up to stick it to me for life."

Point infinity: I am sorry that the definitive cultural arbiter of our time didn't deem you attractive, well-educated, well-bred or just downright interesting enough to get your dumb picture with aligning eyebrows printed in the Sunday paper atop your resume and the fact that your mom is in a garden club, but relax.

Because here we are. You, with your appalling status update, and me, with my first good fucking thing to write for this blog in years.

So to you I say, Mazel Tov! I hope you and Dodo are very happy together.

Monday, December 26, 2011

Things I am thankful for

Bellinis at Cipriani & Whisper walls in Grand Central,
Strolls up 5th & photos of one another beneath the Rock Center Tree.,
Sampling enough coffees to give ourselves coronaries,
strolling Christmas Markets in Central Park,
settling in for Sunsets at Stone Rose,
and eating bad Chinese.

That was Day 1.

The second day was Christmas.
I baked a cake. He brought Rugelach and jelly donuts,
we cocktailed all afternoon,
and danced our way down to Cafe Noir.
Our numbers doubled, and over pitchers of punch we laughed and laughed.
Onto the Standard, and our ranks tripled,
over Kirs and burgers and games of ping pong,
there were stolen kisses and face slaps,
not betwixt who you would think,
lots and lots of arm wrestling
and old faces that I long to see all year.

There was a stop at the Jane,
so packed for Christmas night that our jaws dropped
(there were more odd balls like us than we'd realized in New York)
and finally a late night stop for Chicken Tikka and bread.
Holy fuck this is spicy! He joked
as I stole the last piece.

I was apprehensive about Christmas weekend here.
Would I be lonely?
Without glowing fir trees and christmas carols
family and obligations to be jolly?

But it was amazing.
and I realize more as I grow older,
that it isn't just a cliche:
friends ARE the family that we choose,
and they are fucking delightful.

I am grateful for many things this year-
my big, boisterous family,
my amazing Dad- who melts my heart with every call,
and Mom, the smartest woman I've ever known,
my siblings, who are the biggest blessing in my world
and their children; they are angels in our midst.

But when I can't go home,
when work calls and flights are steep
and I say, fuck it, I can survive a weekend alone-
(maybe that's what I need after a year of tomfoolery)
It is really nice to know that I don't have to.

And beyond that?

That the adventures will continue.

Monday, December 19, 2011



This cracked my shit UP.

I am a proud American about 10% of the time. The other 90% I am justified in my belief that we are all dumb dumbs.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Things I have done since my last post: Dressed as Frida for Halloween, as promised.

Things that also happened: my being subsequently tracked down and asked out on a date by a dreadfully smug "90's era Andre Aggasi" whom I recall having met for about 15 seconds before giving up on the whole clusterfuck of a WASP party in toto.

The man was impressed enough with my costume choice to inquire after my email and ask me out but, regrettably, and rather embarrassingly, not impressed enough to muster any semblance of personality on each of our three dates (yes, I went back for more. Perhaps that makes me a masochist. More likely, it makes me a realist who knows that I'm too godamn old to not give these weirdos a fighting chance, hot though they may be and well shy of 30 though I may be). Nary a kiss ensued between us over the course of those 3 dates and innumerable emails, and my curiosity propelled me further on. When, after our 3rd date, he walked me to within a block of my apartment and not a step further, I gave up on him entirely. A girlfriend in London, experiencing a similar storyline down to the lack of kiss, nicknamed both of them the Icebergs. "Girl," she'd relay, "we are too spicy for these icebergs. We are practically melting them." Perhaps we are. But then that's the oldest excuse in the book isn't it? We are too spicy? Too good? Too amusing? Too qualified? Too accomplished, too with it, too culturally aware, too well read, too good at our too impressive careers, too loyal, too forthright, not enough of a pushover- for anyone to approach a semblance of a future with us, let alone a 4th date?

There have been others as well. The men who stand you up repeatedly and the men who call everyday for plans only hours away. How many times am I left wondering about the former, not wanting to appear remotely eager by, god-forbid, actually getting in touch and asking. And to the latter how many times must I write "Unfortunately I have plans, thanks for thinking of me- I do hope we get together soon!" before it is saved as a template on my goddamn phone?

It is pathetic.

I realize that this is stupid as all hell to harp on. The world is up in flames. That I even take the time to write about this stuff really makes me question whether I am a selfish and awful person who lacks perspective.

But then, I would venture that truly awful people don't question whether they are.

At any rate, I am tired of the whole runaround. All of the dinners and parties and networking events and gallery openings and museum galas and long days at the office and even longer days spent pondering where my life is going- the push and pull of life in New York, at most times fucking amazing, is depressing the holy hell out of me.

And hearing "It's the Most Wonderful Tiiiiiime, of the Year" every time that I leave the house, is not making it better.