Utterly

On a Tuesday in 2009

2009-09-22T21:09:00.002-04:00

I have a really hard time remembering what year it is. True, it doesn't help that at work we're well into the summer 2010 ballyhoo, but regardless, I've been writing '09 on memos and reminders for almost nine full months. You'd think it would've stuck at some point. Here's to remembering this impossible weeknight, the most beautiful bits from Little Sleep's-Head Sprouting Hair in the Moonlight--

3

In a restaurant once, everyone
quietly eating, you clambered up
on my lap: to all
the mouthfuls rising toward
all the mouths, at the top of your voice
you cried
your one word, caca! caca! caca!
and each spoonful
stopped, a moment, in midair, in its withering
steam.

Yes,
you cling because
I, like you, only sooner
than you, will go down
the path of vanished alphabets,
the roadlessness
to the other side of the darkness,

your arms
like the shoes left behind,
like the adjectives in the halting speech
of old men,
which once could call up the lost nouns.

4

And you yourself,
some impossible Tuesday
in the year Two Thousand and Nine, will walk out
among the black stones
of the field, in the rain,

and the stones saying
over their one word, ci-gît, ci-gît, ci-gît,

and the raindrops
hitting you on the fontanel
over and over, and you standing there
unable to let them in.

5

If one day it happens
you find yourself with someone you love
in a café at one end
of the Pont Mirabeau, at the zinc bar
where white wine stands in upward opening glasses,

and if you commit then, as we did, the error
of thinking,
one day all this will only be memory,

learn,
as you stand
at this end of the bridge which arcs,
from love, you think, into enduring love,
learn to reach deeper
into the sorrows
to come – to touch
the almost imaginary bones
under the face, to hear under the laughter
the wind crying across the black stones. Kiss
the mouth
which tells you, here,
here is the world. This mouth. This laughter. These temple bones.

The still undanced cadence of vanishing.

6

In the light the moon
sends back, I can see in your eyes

the hand that waved once
in my father's eyes, a tiny kite
wobbling far up in the twilight of his last look:

and the angel
of all mortal things lets go the string.

7

Back you go, into your crib.

The last blackbird lights up his gold wings: farewell.
Your eyes close inside your head,
in sleep. Already
in your dreams the hours begin to sing.

Little sleep's-head sprouting hair in the moonlight,
when I come back
we will go out together,
we will walk out together among
the ten thousand things,
each scratched too late with such knowledge, the wages
of dying is love.
From The Book of Nightmares by Galway Kinnell, via here.

2009-08-07T10:02:00.001-04:00

Lovely cool weather today. Accidentally got to work forty-five minutes early and went for a walk around Gramercy Park, which I despise and love in equal parts for its big iron gate and exclusivity.

On the stroll back to work caught a glimpse of a four-story tall mural of the movie poster for The Time Traveler’s Wife. Trailer makes the movie look appalling—too light and chick-litty and Claire seems needy and Rachel McAdams has barely perceptible red hair, which is everything. I’ll probably see it anyway, though, and then come back and write about how the book was heartbreaking and revelatory and the movie…

Just ate an entire pint of sugarplums in one sitting. Probably most likely will be sick later, but so worth it. Stone fruit is king at the moment. And I can’t get out of my head: Forgive me / they were delicious / so sweet / and so cold.

10 min., real quick

2009-07-28T17:24:00.003-04:00

Real quick, real quick: elevator encounters & icebox-cold plums continue to make my day.

I've had to turn the volume on my radio alarm clock to frightening levels. Summer Snoozefest 2009.

Last week Kate turned 11. She wrote me this email in 18 pt. font:

Guess what i'm afficially 11. This is so exciting im going to write to you all summer every day.

I wish she would. I got her a hot pink watch for her birthday and it's so big on her that she wears it around her bicep and flexes whenever you ask her what time it is.

Happy Birthday, E.B. White

2009-07-11T11:15:00.001-04:00

This essay is pure summer. (Via the blue hour.)

Picnicking

2009-07-11T11:09:00.002-04:00

And eavesdropping on MGMT in Prospect Park.

Mistakes

2009-05-27T21:13:00.002-04:00

-going to kickboxing class last night. I can't move my arms hardly at all today.

-not buying French Milk (by Lucy Knisley) sooner. I have to ration myself. I want to read it constantly all day, and it's making me homesick for Paris, but I am saving it for before-bedtime-only. I am also getting to sleep later than I should be as a result, but c'est la vie.

-eating three cookies after making myself a healthful dinner of pasta with sugar snap peas and avocado-tomato salad. Foiled myself again!

-wearing my hair down today. Muggy.

-fuming over my missing New York Magazine yesterday when it didn't show up on my step, silently accusing my downstairs neighbors of thieving it. (It arrived today.)

-not going to see Neko Case last month. Ughh.

-staring too long at this baby I saw in Club Monaco on Sunday. She was maybe probably somewhere around 2 (fuzzy baby hair, dimpled elbows), and she was sitting in her stroller watching a movie on her mother's iPhone, holding the little phone just so and watching the screen with undivided focus. I was flabbergasted. I stared.

-buying French Milk (even though it was on sale). I need more books like I need a hole in the head.

-friending my fifth grade boyfriend in a fit of boredom over the weekend. This hasn't technically become mistake material yet, but the potential is certainly there.

Speaking of old time friends, tomorrow I'm meeting my childhood best friend for coffee. We've been BFF since we were 2 (fuzzy baby hair, dimpled elbows). We've been friends for over twenty years. Yow!

Have good nights, all.

About time

2009-05-17T10:00:00.000-04:00

It feels like ages, doesn't it? Feels like I've been out of the country I've been away from here so long. Here's where I've been:

-work

-New Jersey

-upstate New York for a lovely potluck in the mountains

-having my first fiddle lesson

-work

-walking in Central Park

-lying to Kate about having been to a certain reading, but only for the sake of a birthday surprise!

-sipping a Honey Dove at the Dove Parlour (which makes me want to wear a feathered hat and carry a lace handkerchief)

-work

-listening to Neko Case's Middle Cyclone on a loop

-watching my fiddle teacher and her band, the Dolly Sods, play an awesome set at Pete's Candy Store under the marquee lights

-in Florida for my wee sister's college graduation, dodging lizards and eating oranges like it was my job (they were AMAZING; I brought one back for my foodie friend Allison and she wrote me an email from work: "It tastes like a flower!")

-seeing Jeffrey Eugenides interviewed at B&N for the re-release of The Virgin Suicides (what a delightful man; completely natural and kind and game for any question thrown at him; I'm jealous of the sods at Princeton who get to call him Professor)

- having my second fiddle lesson; I can now play "Twinkle, Twinkle," a few scales, and two very touch-and-go arpeggios

-reading Amy and Isabelle (highly, highly recommended, even if the only bits you read are her descriptions of the woods; plus, having read Olive Kitteridge for book club and then watched it win the Pulitzer last month, reading A&I was like reading a first draft of OK, or peeking into Elizabeth Strout's notebook of story ideas--it seemed like all the seeds for Olive were there in that first book)

-doing some long, long overdue spring cleaning

And to top off that cleaning job, I'm now going to walk to Home Depot and buy some household items, including plants. See you soon, I promise.

sleepysleepysleepynap

2009-04-11T15:02:00.005-04:00

I can't seem to stop taking pictures of sunrises/sunsets. This was the view out my window sometime last week; it looked like an extremely slow explosion was happening somewhere out over Flushing Bay.

I'm at my parents' house for Easter. (It might never stop being weird to say "my parents' house.") Last night when I got home, my dog ran to the door all wiggly to meet me with my mom right on her tail, paper towel in hand, because somehow there was a big blob of yogurt between Maggie's shoulder blades. Today the fur is standing straight up like a mohawk, or like she's really pissed. She is so awesome.

My sister's still at school, so I have to entertain myself. We used to have a tradition of sneaking out of Easter dinner early to go see a really terrible movie (this year I absolutely would have dragged her to Hannah Montana: The Movie). But everything is out of whack this year. Easter dinner is today, just me, M, & D, and I'm probably going to fall asleep on the couch watching Brideshead Revisited somewhere around 9 o'clock.

But it's totally worth it because I made carrot cake cupcakes with cream cheese frosting, and with Amy gone I can have thirds and fourths and fifths until I collapse.

(Get it? Carrot cake? Har har har har.)

April snow showers

2009-04-08T13:20:00.003-04:00

It's been snowing on-and-off all morning, which isn't utterly unusual for early April I guess, but it's certainly unwelcome. Easter is supposed to be about spring. And it's on Sunday. Get with it.

Last night two Sarahs and I went to Pacific Standard for some beer and fiction, a blue ribbon combination, let me tell you. I was about to order my silly wheat beer ("spicy with a hint of banana," said the menu) when I realized that I knew one of the guys sitting at the bar from MySpace. MySpace! (In my head I was going, Whaaaaaa?) Of course I had never met him, and of course I said nothing to him, but it felt slightly like finding a needle in a haystack, which is to say rewarding in a strange, small-world sort of way.

So that was my outing for the week. Quota met. Tonight I do laundry and buy jelly beans at CVS and cook some penne with feta and olives. It's a big night. I like Wednesdays.

Farewell March

2009-03-31T20:16:00.003-04:00

I think you are my least favorite month. I'm really not sad to see you go.

April, on the other hand, is full of potential. Full of completely lovely days like today, including walks to the Central Park subway stop with Sarah, and hot dogs devoured in the shadow of the Plaza. Utterly gorgeous day and dog.

The evening, however, has been squandered on watching this trailer over and over. He is my dream man. Even dreamier than the one on the subway last night with the paperback stuffed into the pocket of his corduroy blazer. I'm not one for hyphenated last names, but if I had to, I would be Elizabeth Byrne-Gordon-Levitt. (Like I would drop my last name, pffffffffff.)

It's supposed to rain tomorrow, but it will be rain tempered by a lunch at Thé Adoré, which I newly rediscovered and which I cannot stop thinking about utterly for one minute. I wake up in the morning and I think, Oooooh, can't wait for lunch! This has been approximately 5 days in the making. I couldn't last any longer.

It's the latest addition to my collection, a café for every day of the week:

Monday: Cupcake Café

Tuesday: 71 Irving Place

Wednesday: City Bakery

Thursday: Thé Adoré

Friday: Madeleine

For cupcakes, bagels with lox, chocolate chip cookies, baguette sandwiches, and quiches, respectively. Never claim I'm not well fed.

Pigeonholed

2009-03-28T10:17:00.003-04:00

As it turns out, there was an option e) I was the only former student there, and there were skits with rolling backpacks. Many people told me I look like my mother, which is one of those ambiguous comments like, "You cut your hair!" that I'm never sure if it's a compliment or a sort of apology.

There was a sheet cake, though, with strawberries in the middle, so it ended on a high note for sure.

And now I'm at home, and my mother has absconded with the only car, and there are three carpenters climbing all over the windows replacing sills and vents and whatnot, and I'm trapped! And Maggie is having a panic attack and panting and generally being an underfoot.

I have heaps of reading. Oof. I can't stop thinking of my dream last night: I had perfect bangs that were the perfect length and they were well behaved and lay perfectly flat and I was so completely happy. That was the whole dream.

It's the simple things in life.

Ohhh, I just want to go for a walk but there are strange men all over the outside of my house. Trapped!

Word of the day: damp

2009-03-26T20:15:00.003-04:00

I forgot my umbrella today. Word to the wise: wool does not smell pretty when it gets wet.

All these weekends away. Going home this weekend for my...4th grade teacher's retirement party...

Here's some background: I moved right after 5th grade, so she was one of the last teachers I had in that town and I loved her. (I cried on the last day of school.) At 10, you don't really do a great job of keeping in touch with people. I haven't seen any of my classmates (or my teacher) since long before puberty.

Possible outcomes of tomorrow night, in order from best to worst:

a) People remember me, elementary teachers get drunk, hilarity ensues.

b) Only my 4th grade teacher remembers me (she did invite me, after all), I am forced to sit at a table with many middle-aged women whom I do not know, and I have to drive myself home so I can't, you know, get drunk.

c) Other former classmates are there and make me feel uncomfortable and square (worst nightmare), and still, I cannot get drunk.

d) No one remembers me. There is a DJ. I'm forced to dance.

All I know is that I'm bringing her a box of assorted macaroons from Madeleine, which should cement me in everyone's memories for good.

Here's some more background: It was in her class that I first read The B.F.G., and she read parts out loud to us and she did the most galumphous voice for the him. We staged a play, and I got to play Sophie. And we also read Bridge to Terrabithia and she had a plywood castle fort in the back of the classroom where we could go read on giant pillows during free time. And we collected golden tickets for good grades and general jobs well done and then at the end of the year we had a giant class garage sale in our classroom and we paid for things with our golden tickets. I remember I bought a stuffed bunny that was very realistic looking.

I guess I don't remember that much about that year. I remember writing poetry, that was a first. We had to write anonymous poems and then tack them to the bulletin board and fill out a score card guessing who belonged to what poem. Stupid Sal LoBue told everyone which one was mine because he sat next to me and peeked, and I had to ask to go to the nurse so I could cry in private. (There was a lot of shameful crying in the 4th grade.)

Still. I'm nervous. I was heaps more charming at 10.

Stealth & Audacity

2009-03-25T14:10:00.002-04:00

Also, a list.

On my nightstand:

Oranges by John McPhee
84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff
the April issue of Harper's Bazaar which my aunt gave me after she was done with it
Otherwise by Jane Kenyon

Am currently loving:

the weather
apricot everything
my lunchtime strolls
collecting cafes, one for each day of the week

What inspires you about spring?

the fact that it's still sunny when I get off the subway after work
the small cemetery in my neighborhood that's full of headstones from the 1730s and how it's always the first place that flowers bloom

What are three constants in your day?

a cup of tea while I put on my makeup
eating an apple with my lunch
reading before bed

Three dishes you find yourself cooking over and over:

roasted red potatoes with rosemary
Irish soda bread
chickpea salad

These questions came from This Joy + Ride, which is pretty gold star if you ask me.

Minutia

2009-03-24T19:36:00.004-04:00

I've been a busy bee. This and that, this and that.

Concerns of note: yesterday I mysteriously got mosquito bites on both forearms, one shoulder, my collarbone and one knee all within a span of say, 18 minutes; my internet keeps futzing in and out; will I go to yoga tonight?

Last weekend I went to my aunt's house in Westchester. I do love that train ride:

Speaking of train ride, here is a sunset over Lancaster County as seen from the train.

Mostly everything I've been doing includes reading. Here are some excerpts from things I've recently read.

"Like Hillary she lacks taste; her consumer preferences seem to have been rendered into being by the Mall at Short Hills." --New York Magazine on Michelle Obama (3/23/09)

"Oranges float, but these [half orange, half tangerines] have so much sugar in them that if you drop one into a bucket of water it will go straight to the bottom." --Oranges by John McPhee

"And not just brilliant but inclusive and generous--he was very rarely as assholic as he had a reputation for being." --New York Magazine on Larry Summers (3/30/09)

Assholic. I can't believe I haven't used this word before. So succinct and yet so descriptive.

New

2009-03-13T14:36:00.002-04:00

Every few weeks I get an email from my aunt and it always begins: "Hey Lizzy, what's new?" I never know what to say, but I've been thinking (and I'm at a loss for what to write these days), so here's what's new--

The number of white hairs growing in the spot above my left temple, that's what's new. Mr. President, you are not alone.

I bought a pie plate. A 3.14159 plate. And fittingly enough, tomorrow (3/14) is Pi Day. Remember when we had to wear Pi Day pins in math class? It was more recently than I'd like to admit.

Every time Leah and I go to the gym (not that often, so take this with a grain of salt), we always joke about going to the diner across the street instead. We'll be waiting at the light and one of us will say something like, "I'm feeling tired. Maybe we should just go eat some pancakes." And the other person will say, "Okay," and then the light will change and we'll just walk across the street and into the lobby and push the button for the elevator that is so slow and rickety I'm fairly certain I'm going to die in it one day.

But last night, AFTER the gym, when we were good and sweaty and actually really tired, we walked across the street and sat in a booth and had short stacks and Canadian bacon (Leah) and scrambled eggs (me) and I couldn't stop saying, "This is great! Let's come here every time we go to the gym!"

It really was great.

The new background colors here are just for a change of scenery. I reserve the right to change them back at any moment, so LOOK OUT.

I went out to Lancaster this past weekend, on the train, for a dinner and a luncheon for "alumni." I hate the word "alumni." I hate the fact that my college diploma is in Latin, too. College diplomas are supposed to make you feel smart, not illiterate.

I did not, however, hate my trip to Lancaster. There was so much that I had completely forgotten about, like the braided brick sidewalks and the cheeky houses. (Pictures TK.) But mostly when I'm there I feel sort of homesick for it, which is weird and sort of meta and I end up feeling odd-man-outish in the most familiar places.

But ultimately, the visits are always good, as was this one, and I leave feeling glad to be in New York and working for direct deposit paychecks and not anymore on that incredible ledge that graduation was. Phew! Plus, I went to Market and bought two pounds (2 lbs!) of dried apricots. I am a wealthy woman.

TGIFFFFFF

2009-02-20T19:30:00.003-05:00

Good luck lighting your cigarette in this weather. I thought Chicago was the place for wind.

Despite the cold, and mostly because it's Friday, I walked up Fifth Ave. to Central Park after work. I can catch the subway there, and then the ride goes lickety-split. So I trudged up the avenue, past the giant library and its lions, past St. Patrick's Cathedral and the sculpture of Atlas across the street, past the enormous Abercrombie & Fitch that pumps its cologne out onto the street so you can smell the store from a block away, and all the way to the Plaza and that crazy Apple store that's open all hours of the day and night.

My train was waiting in the station when I got there and I happily hopped on, feeling gold star and sort of in cahoots with the city. It took me a few pages of my book to realize I had gotten on a downtown train. I undid all those dozens of blocks of walking in a matter of minutes. And my ride home was not lickety-split whatsoever.

In other news, I found my New York Magazine, which has been missing since Monday, sitting on the steps when I got home. Someone stole it, obv., but they gave it back and now I have something to read tomorrow morning with my tea and that's all that really matters.

Good night.

2009-01-28T09:09:00.000-05:00

The lovely snow I woke up to has turned to awful rain. Filled with Little-Engine-like optimism, I called the emergency hotline, but the automated voice told me, “The company is currently open for business.” Foiled again.

It’s still an office snow day—I was the first one here, which I love, because I can make my tea and sit at my desk with just my little desk lamp on, and stare out the window, and keep my toasty boots on a little bit longer, and write surreptitious blog entries while my colleagues struggle through the slush somewhere. If only my desk chair were an armchair, mmmm…

I Was Made for You - She & Him

Saturday morning bed picnic

2009-01-17T10:18:00.002-05:00

Blueberry waffles, black currant tea--my foraged breakfast from our cataclysmic kitchen. (I haven't washed dishes since Wednesday.)

News of the week: I'm getting a new baby cousin in July and am irrationally happy about it. Already picturing the tiny clothes and Eric Carle board books I will be heaping upon the poor unsuspecting kid. The last baby was three-ish years ago. Long overdue for another.

My head has been in stormy work clouds all week, but now, as it is Saturday, I can turn my full attention to the sun-streaming, Simpsons-esque clouds mounting for Tuesday. Here is the Plan:

Saturday: buy hand warmers, feet warmers, bottled water

Sunday: practice layering

Monday: depart at 11:05 for Washington, DC (the first time in history that Amtrak tickets between NY and DC have sold out)

Tuesday: shiver, jumbotron, Obamamambo in the streets with Deedi and Lauren and 4 million others

New York is freezing. I'm counting on the Capital's south-of-the-Mason-Dixon location to be warmer, but sheer gobsmacking happiness might do the trick in a pinch.

Winter Blues

2009-01-07T19:56:00.007-05:00

This week is one for the forgetting. I've been putting off doing my laundry for so long I actually had a dream about it last night. The only things with any ambition these days are my potatoes:

Finally, Paris

2008-12-22T19:55:00.031-05:00

Technically, last week was not my first trip to Paris, but I hardly remember my first time there. The official first time was in tenth grade, a whirlwind tour of London and Paris over spring break, and that's really what the kicker was. Not that we had to cram two world capitals into seven days, but that I went to Paris right after my first glimpse of London.

To this day I have no idea why I love London/England as much as I do. It's instinctual, possibly genetic. Almost everything about me--from my complexion to my intolerance for spices--is a product of the British Isles. France, however, is an entirely different experience, i.e. foreign. I think it's safe to say that what didn't appeal to me as a sixteen year-old was exactly what I found to be so enticing as a twenty-three year-old. Case in point: I came back with eleven pictures with either myself or Katja in them. I have 193 pictures of buildings and sky.

The grandness, the beautiful order and design of the city, the tiny cups of café crème, the ornate lampposts, the boys (cigarettes and all) with their Italian shoes and dark hair…I'm happy to report that I now appreciate Paris in all its stinky, European glory.

Staying with Katja made me feel more like a house guest than a tourist, and for that I'm infinitely grateful. I slept in a little nest of blankets on the floor, ate green tea-flavored yogurt and granola for breakfast, and cooked feasts of wine, cheese and alphabet tater tots with Katja in her mini-kitchen.

My initial priorities boiled down to this: croissants, wine, walking, the Louvre, chocolate.

My priorities after two days there: eat, drink, walk, stay warm, see as much art as possible. I followed through on pretty much all of the above, except staying warm on certain days.

The week was front-loaded with the big-time stuff. The first thing Katja and I did when I got there on Saturday, cross-eyed with jet lag, was walk along the river to Notre Dame, cross over to the Île St-Louis, and get glace (blackberry and pear for me, blackberry and chocolate-praline for K) and hot spiced wine. The sun was setting by the time we headed home, and already I felt like I had been there for days. It was like geographic déjà-vu.

The next day, Sunday, the city was closed. Pretty completely everything (except churches) was dark. We walked some more, ate some more, climbed up 160 steps to her bitty apartment and played rummy before bed.

Monday, we hit the big time. The Louvre.

We considered sprinting through the halls in an effort to break the world record, but neither of us were wearing the right shoes and we'd forgotten our stopwatch at the top of the winding stair. So instead we opted for four leisurely hours looking at trillions of dollars worth of art.

Is it safe to say that most people go to see the Mona Lisa? I find that sort of sad. Here is my impression of Mona: just as she looks everywhere else you see her, except surrounded by a sea of people.

Honestly, I don't understand the intrigue. All that talk about her smile when I think her hands and sleeves are the loveliest bit. I never had high hopes for Mona to begin with, but the most pleasant surprise was Winged Victory. Not only is she gigantic and gorgeous and imposing and angelic and powerful all at the same time, she's also about 2,300 years old. (I'm a sucker for things that make me feel small--the Empire State Building, biographies of great people, historic artifacts, majestic landscapes, etc. WV made me feel thimble-small.) I took about seventeen pictures of her, and Katja stood patiently by and didn't say a word.

And la-di-dah, more art, a dinner at this tiny café where they had red and white checked table clothes, two options for dinner (duck or chicken livers--we both had duck), the waitress was drunk and wearing a Santa hat, and the two stately French men sitting next to us tucked napkins into their shirts and talked casually about their mistresses and other pursuits:

Homme 1: Are you still working on your writing?

Homme 2: Yes, I continue to write in verse.

We made sure this response was repeated multiple times throughout the course of the week.

On the coldest, grayest day of the week, we trekked up to the Sacré-Coeur.

It was snowing like gangbusters and even though I knew Paris was panoramic in front of me, all I could see was the white white white of the snow and the clouds and my own breath. And then as we walked down the zig-zagging steps to the carousel, somewhere--there must've been a school nearby--hundreds of children started chanting, "Il neige! Il neige! Il neige!" ("It's snowing! It's snowing!")

The days sort of blend together, but other highlights include the Musée D'Orsay, Chez Prune (where I had the most incredible quiche, and while I realize how ridiculous that sounds, let me first tell you that it had huge slices of sausage all over the top like a piece of thick, eggy pizza) and the nearby store Mutant Mutant where I bought a purple cardigan, and all of this, minus the Musée, was right along the canal where Amélie skips stones!

Katja and I played lots of rummy, drank some bon vin recommended by an elderly man in her grocery store, and went to her figure drawing class where I drew a naked Frenchman, Pierre, in red and blue ballpoint pen at the request of Aude, the teacher, who at one point came over to check my work and yelled, "He is not that fat!" In French. It was great.

By the end of the week I was tired. Tired of walking, tired of being cold, tired of drinking so much coffee and having to use whole milk in my tea. And Katja had class from dawn till dusk, and you can only go to Shakespeare & Co. so many times before they start to think you're a kook.

I was kind of homesick for New York, to tell you the truth. I missed the grid and the confidence that comes with knowing the logic of the city, and the ability to get a coffee to go, and the ability to ask for a coffee to go and be understood. It's a lonely existence being in a city where you can't even eavesdrop on the cheeky high school girls at the table next to you because they're talking too fast.

But just when I thought I was ready to bid Paris adieu, we went to the Orangerie and there, in two oval-shaped rooms lined up end-to-end like infinity, we saw Monet's Water Lilies.

So I know Monet painted like 874 versions of the water lilies in his garden, and I even saw one in the MoMA a few summers back, but these ones are wide-angle, full-spectrum, built-in, wrap-around water lilies. I've never wanted to touch a painting so badly in my entire life. If you stare long enough, you feel like you could fall in.

And then to top off my last day in Paris, we went to Chez H'anna for what's supposed to be the best falafel in Paris. I'm no falafel fanatic, but oh sweet jesus. I could write a BOOK about that falafel.

All in all, it was a quiet, but very full week. Lots of time for thinking and reading, rummy playing and Patsy Cline listening, and even though I didn't get to see everything that I wanted to, I'm sort of glad. All the more reason to go back.

But for now, I'm eating, drinking, walking, and trying to stay warm in New York, and that's pretty great too.

Where to Begin

2008-12-18T20:26:00.000-05:00

Nine days is a long time to be in a city, let me tell you. It's a long time to be eating baguette sandwiches every day for lunch, and drinking café crèmes every morning that Katja's in class (in the most beautiful boulangerie with a painted ceiling and a picture-perfect spread of pastries and waiters in crisp white vests).

It's a long time to be walking around in the freezing cold and ducking into churches to warm up (I went in four in one day: St-Francois-Xavier, Notre Dame, St-Germain des Prés and one other I can't remember).

It's hard to know where to begin.

I've been thinking about it a lot in the last few days, trying to boil it down to an Essence of Paris, but all that's gotten me is a list of things I miss:

-the blue of the Eiffel Tower at night

-how you can see the buttcrack of "The Thinker" if you peek over the garden wall of the Rodin Museum on the blvd. des Invalides

-the men with two-day beards who roast chestnuts over fires in steel drums in stolen shopping carts on almost every corner

-how a delicious, hearty sandwich of brie, ham and butter was only 2.20 from the boulangerie by the Duroc métro stop (the one with the best, best baguettes, oh man)

-how so many little kids wear glasses, like little adults

-how open the city feels along the Seine, none of that Fifth Avenue cavern feeling, and how

-at night, you can actually see les étoiles

This weekend, as it snows and snows and (hopefully) snows, I'm going to bake like a fiend and, while the oven does its thing, I'll fill you in on the nitty-gritty details of Paris. But for now, I'll simply leave you with a declaration of love, and grapefruit (click on it to read the message).

2008-12-10T06:01:00.002-05:00

France is freezing and snowy and they have different keyboards here which I hate. But Paris is wonderful and I can't wait to tell you about it when I don't have to search for every bloody letter.

2008-12-07T17:32:00.002-05:00

Bonjour, I'm here in Katja's bitty apartment sitting on a stool by the front door in the single spot where she can nab wireless. It's uncomfortable, and I haven't done much of note yet, so this will be brief. And pictures will come later because it'll take jours upon jours for photos to load. But in the meantime.

1. My French is atrocious. I get completely deer-in-headlights whenever I have to speak and Katja does most of my bidding for me. Huge relief. But as a result--

2. My English vocabulary has gone out the window. Part of that was jetlag, but the other part is me. Yesterday I wanted to say 'apparatus' and all I could think was 'asparagus.'

3. It's very chilly and foggy and damp. You couldn't see the top of the Eiffel Tower all day today.

4. Katja lives in a studio on the eighth floor of an old building on blvd. des Invalides. It's eight flights of twenty winding stairs. Out of breath on the way up, dizzy on the way down. When we leave we leave for hours at a time because the thought of 160 stairs makes me want to throw a tantrum.

5. Her views are lovely, though. Out one window, the Sacre Coeur, and out the other the Eiffel Tower and les Invalides. Photos TK.

6. I told her: all I want to do is walk around and eat croissants and drink wine every day. So far we've walked our dogs off and drunk beaucoup de vin, but all the boulangeries were closed today, so tomorrow I will eat croissant.

A bientot, mes petites chouettes.

In Brief

2008-11-24T17:44:00.002-05:00

It is so entirely easy to become a 'workaholic.' You don't have to think of anything to do in your free time; you eat terribly and indulge your appetites; or, you completely lose your appetite and have toast for dinner and develop an eye tic; you don't have to be interesting or patient; you acquire all these privileges, like not washing dishes and hitting your snooze an for an extra gorgeous 9 minutes or so; there's downsides, sure, but you sleep very soundly.

V I C T O R Y

2008-11-14T14:17:00.003-05:00

I haven’t known what to say. I still don’t! And I don’t feel like making confessions about how weepy I was, and how for the next week I got a little teary at nearly every newspaper article or editorial I came across. I still have the New York Times from Nov. 5 sitting on my desk, and every now and then I glance over to see OBAMA written in capslock across the top because sometimes I can’t believe it really happened.

Now when I see the Obama merch. in Union Square, my up-chuck reflex doesn’t assert itself nearly at all! It’s a welcome change, believe me. I cannot wait to see the puppy, and I’m going to stay with Deedi for the inauguration (people are renting their apartments for $2,000/night on Craigslist, but she’s letting me stay in hers for FREE; the city expects 1 million (ONE MILLION) pilgrims), and I’m totally throwing a Bye-Bye Bush party, because it will feel ALMOST as good to see the back of his head as it will to see his successor raise his right hand.

You think I’m gushing now? You should’ve talked to me last Wednesday. Hoo boy.

Now that that dastardly election is over, I can turn my attention to more important things, like the holidays. It’s starting to feel more winterish than autumnal, that’s for sure. The clock tower lights up before I leave work now, and yesterday morning when I went hunting through Leah’s closet for my winter coat, I discovered that I left it in NJ for the summer. It’s been a shivery couple of days.

In these trying times, with assembly lines slowing down, the stock market doing its bipolar thing, and nary a winter coat to be seen, I have just one piece of advice to offer: whatever you do, please don't go see 'Synecdoche, New York.' Debilitatingly sad. Mesmerizing, but so sad. Completely interesting and even sometimes funny despite all the blood and pustules and ageing, but horribly, unredemptively sad. It made me want to sit in a dark room all alone and never do anything ever again. When I got out of the theater and the Knishery was closed, I almost sat down on the sidewalk and gave up. It's a heavy one.

But that was Wednesday. This is Friday, and tonight I'm meeting Sylvie, whom I haven't seen since December 2005 in Bath, England. If you feel Brooklyn quake around 7 p.m. this evening, you'll know we've reunited.

Countdown to Paris: 21 jours

2008-11-04T15:38:00.000-05:00

All I want to do is go home and watch TV.

This is Julia.

2008-11-02T10:54:00.004-05:00

I've been her baby-sitter since she was one. Now she's seven, and she's a staunch Obama supporter, even though she can't say her R's and calls him "Bawack."

We had a plan.

2008-11-01T10:46:00.003-04:00

Sort of. Leah was coming in from a business trip, Sarah was coming straight from work, and I was coming from a long-scheduled (and desperately needed) hair cut. We would meet up somewhere in the vicinity of the parade, have a drink, and watch the freaks and ghouls.

Oh god, quel nightmare. More barricades than the French Revolution, more cops than an Irish bar, more Clockwork Orange droogs than the movie, A Clockwork Orange. I ended up sitting in a cafe on Bleecker St. with a turkey wrap for nearly two hours. Never saw the parade, technically, but my hair looked really good. And I was wearing a necklace with a rhinestone-studded boom box. YAH.

It turned out fine, ended with Guinness and a subway ride across from some chick with skulls for kneepads, but the absolute highlight was finding my favorite house in Manhattan. I first found it ages ago, maybe even in high school, some random wandering day in the city, and the instant I saw it, I considered it mine. It's built behind a big old wooden gate, which makes me think there's a carriage house back there, and it's set at a 45 degree angle to the street, and it has glassed-in porches stacked one on top of the other, and lace curtains, and warm floor lamps and big leafy plants and it's whitewhitewhite, and when I saw it last night, it was like a clap of thunder, spotting someone you haven't seen in forever in a crowd of hundreds. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and thought, "It's you."

And then Sarah Palin's dead moose asked me for directions to the PATH.

And now it's November. The anti-climax of all anti-climaxes. Now it's one giant Slip 'n Slide to Christmas. But I am hopeful, and excited, and excitedly hopeful for Nov. 4, and Thnxgvng, and mostly Nov. 4. I think about it a lot. It's in three days. You know how when you were a kid, and you really wanted a snow day, you wore your pajamas inside out? I've been wearing my 'Polar Bears for Obama' t-shirt to bed every night this week. Right side out.

October, don't go!

2008-10-25T10:14:00.003-04:00

My weekend plans revolve around the kitchen: pumpkin bread, eggplant lasagna, cranberry scones. Last night I bought two baking dishes and a cookie sheet, so I can operate the oven in a more assembly-line fashion.

Tomorrow night I'm hosting book club for the premiere time. We read Dracula this month, which lends itself to a wonderful potluck: red trifle, bat-shaped cookies, pulpy-looking aubergine, red wine, Bloody Marys--basically heaps of tomato sauce and red food dye. Martha would be proud. So would Morticia.

Less than two weeks until Big Day 2008. If I think about it for too long, I get mega butterflies. Jurassic Park butterflies. I'm just so nervous. I think I will lose all faith in America if--

No. Not even considering it. Enjoy these last few days of ... (Bush?) Bake in blissful ignorance.

The trees are all thrashy and wind-whipped outside. Thank goodness my day revolves around my kitchen. My level of desire to go outside is on par with my desire to go to the gym, my desire to consider possible outcomes of the election, and my desire to read the November issue of Bazaar, which has a flag-draped Drew Barrymore on the cover. (Wha??)

The November issue of Rolling Stone, however, is thick, glossy, standard-sized, Obama-adorned, and contains the utterly best, most touching, most reverent article about David Foster Wallace that I've seen anywhere. It's a collector's issue if ever there was one.

Enjoy your Saturdays, pumpkins.

Utterly Autumn

2008-10-19T10:47:00.009-04:00

We went to Chester for Amykins birthday. Mega candy store + pumpkin patch = October

Orange juice and fever dreams

2008-10-15T10:31:00.002-04:00

I feel like bollocks, but I'm at home, so I feel a little better for that. On my second glass of orange juice, almost done with the October issue of Elle, obsessively checking my work email like some emergency might befall us and they couldn't possibly be able to save the day without me. Uggh. I hate feeling guilty for being sick.

Today, a woman I work with turns 90. Ninety! Every morning, when I see her shuffling down the hall with her green Jansport on, and her breakfast bagel in a paper bag, I never cease to be amazed. She wears Asics. She is amazing.

Ugggh.

2008-10-14T20:36:00.002-04:00

I am so sickly. If I were in England right now, I'd be utterly ill. But I'm not, thank god. I'm in my own bed, and I never want to leave, I just want my computer keeping me warm and a marathon of The Rachel Zoe Project.

I'm missing yoga right now because whenever I try to touch my toes, it feels like a big Republican elephant is sitting on my head.

Must rest up. Friday I'm meeting my fifth grade teacher for coffee. He is responsible for teaching me how to play chess, how to juggle, how to walk in a city, how to give a firm handshake, and how to use logic.

I haven't seen him since I was eleven. I would be nervous, but I've been breathing through my mouth all day and my tonsils are dry. Bye.

Mondays--not so much

2008-10-13T19:34:00.004-04:00

Today I wished so bad that my work had a nurse's office where I could lay down and snooze on a vinyl bench covered in butcher paper and not have to think about my headache or keep my eyes open anymore. That's exhausting.

I've utterly always wanted to play chess in the park, but I'm too chicken to ask.

Fridays are my favorite and my best.

2008-10-10T08:42:00.003-04:00

It feels more like June than October, and I have a blood blister on my pinky from the staple-remover, but life is grand. A grab-bag, if you will. Let's see:

-icky blood blister that makes me hold everything from the pole on the subway to my water bottle like it's a proper tea cup, pinky raised.
-ANOTHER Harry Potter nightmare that I was attacked by a giant poisonous snake. I'm not going to read too much into it. Blame it on the Equus posters everywhere.
-someone's been using my face wash and I really don't want to confront roommates about it.
-I possibly, almost quite certainly am a lactard. Soy milk in my tea is growing on me, but I still miss cheese on a daily basis.
-it's utterly black when I get up in the morning. The sky looks like it's full of UFOs, but it's really just the air traffic over LaGuardia.

+going home this wkend to see Lauren!
+my boss isn't here today, which is why I'm writing this now! It's also why I was the first one here this morning, which I love. I scooted down to the 11th floor because they have the best K-Cup selection, and our floor only has French roast and Breakfast Blend and other Zzzz coffee flavors. I swiped two Hazelnuts and two Southern Pecans, all before 9 o'clock!
+last night I put together my new desk ALL ON MY OWN, and it makes my bitty room look slightly smaller, but heaps more organized.
+found The Paris Review Interviews in the give-away box yesterday (everything's coming up Paris), and read the Ralph Ellison one on the subway ride home. Don't have it with me now to reference, but the interview was conducted in some cafe which I will most definitely visit when I am en France en Decembre.
+in the last week I saw Julia Stiles and Alicia Silverstone at close range.
+despite the personal economic tightening of my belt, due to a certain plane ticket that needs to be paid for, I have decided to treat myself to lunch today. Soup? Falafel? 'WichCraft? How can I work when I have so many decisions to make?
+Wednesday was Amy's birthday--Happy Birthday, you!

A Bushel and a Peck

2008-10-08T19:20:00.004-04:00

I told you.

2008-10-02T21:58:00.004-04:00

Okay, real quick.

2008-10-02T16:56:00.002-04:00

Before I leave work, which is momentarily, I just wanted to say hi. I just drank a grown-up juice-box of calcium-fortified orange juice and am experiencing an utterly infrequent end-of-the-day second wind.

Tonight:
library to get DRACULA for book club (more later)
pumpkin gingerbread
bakery for Mom
drinks with my friend Sarah Silberman, no not that one

More TK! Pictures if you're lucky!

Last night I had a dream

2008-09-30T19:43:00.002-04:00

that I was Harry Potter, and I woke up with my heart thudding because Voldemort was after me. From then on I slept with my back to the wall just in case anyone might try to alohomora my room. It was utterly awful; brought back repressed memories of my recurring childhood nightmare that the Joker had kidnapped me.

In other news, they're building tree houses in Madison Square Park.

France in the Pants

2008-09-29T08:56:00.003-04:00

I've been holding off telling you because I was so worried something would bungle it up, but nothing has! I'm going to visit Katja in Paris in December!

I will stay with her in her little Parisian flat, and stuff my face with brie and baguette morning, noon, and nuit. And while she's in class, I'll wander around doing my best not to speak if I can help it, which I can, except to say, "Une baguette, s'il vous plait," or "Un cafe, s'il vous plait," and then maybe "Merci" if I get what I want.

I'm really scared to pay for things. Must brush up on my counting.

December also seems like a lovely time to visit. Fewer tourists, Christmas decorations, strolling with a frothy cappuccino warming my hands...

But before I drift off into macaron wishes and pain au chocolat dreams, I've got work to do.

-practice speaking
-find my passport
-read Down and Out in Paris and London, The Flaneur, Paris to the Moon, and possibly a guidebook
-watch A bout de souffle, Amelie, The Dreamers, Last Tango in Paris, 2 Days in Paris, and maybe for the hell of it, In Bruges

I'm also really concerned about my footwear.

But mostly, whenever I see a big-bellied airplane gliding into LaGuardia (which is often) I get all shivery and excited and picture myself in a beret. Paris! France! Beret!

D.F.W.

2008-09-16T20:22:00.002-04:00

All my Publishers Weekly e-mails had mention of David Foster Wallace today. It's like everyone had to collect their breath yesterday and could finally talk about him today.

I'm rather ashamed to say I've never read anything by him, which is why it's strange to me that I feel as bad as I do, which is certainly not as bad as someone who knew him well, or someone who loved his writing, but still.

I met him once, extremely suddenly, when he came to F&M to read. His was our Big Reading of the Year, the one with the fellowship attached, and many hands in the voting ring. Tickets to the reading sold out in what had to be record time for an English department event. I volunteered to tear tickets at the door, because that guaranteed me a seat, and it also earned the Dispatch $7 an hour.

All of the posters promoting the event turned passages from his books into gorgeous, color-soaked, drippy-typewriter-fonted bits of art. If I had been more thoughtful, I would have swiped one or two from the Writers House. In any case, not one had a picture of him on it. It was all about his words.

So when the day of the reading came, and I stationed myself at the right-hand-most door to the auditorium, I stopped a man with a long, straggly ponytail and one leg of his jeans tucked into his untied boots from going in without a ticket. Cookie, the English department secretary, made it very clear to me that tickets were sold out and under no circumstances were people to be allowed in without a ticket. So I did not let him in. And when I asked for his ticket, he merely said, "Oh," and patted his shirt pocket, and turned to his friend, who produced a ticket, and then David Foster Wallace gave me a ticket to his own reading, and thanked me.

It wasn't until he got up on stage, and the lights dimmed, and hundreds of people clapped that I realized who he was, and I blushed from my collarbone to my hair in the dark.

Should the unthinkable happen

2008-09-15T21:49:00.004-04:00

here's what I propose: somehow, possibly with the help of a SWAT team, swap Sarah Palin with Tina Fey. John will never notice if you hide his glasses--plus, he's only met SP, what, four times now? The real trick will be convincing all those cynical, sharp-eyed 30 Rock fans that Liz Lemon's sudden conversion to Pentecostalism is part of the script. I'll let them worry about that.

I, meanwhilest, continue to worry about taking the subway. On Friday some nutso jumped in front of my train, and I, sitting happily in my usual seat in the front car, felt the bump and was thrown forward when the driver slammed on the breaks, and sat there with my hands over my eyes, literally, as the NYPD climbed along the outside of the train and yelled into their walkie-talkies to get the EMS, the guy's alive, he's bleeding from the head, we're going to have to bring him into the train, wait--evacuate the customers, OKAY, EVERYBODY OUT. MOVE.

When I finally made it out, the subway station was filled with firefighters in full gear, and dozens of cops, and those flat wooden stretchers with the buckles dangling. I walked the rest of the way to work, shaking like a chihuahua in January.

I've decided the middle of the train is my new best spot.

Phew.

2008-09-10T14:38:00.002-04:00

I needed to get that off my chest last night. I slept so wonderfully, too. Had dreams of hugs, and angels on guidewires, and clotheslines, and being Zooey Deschanel. It was seriously the most lovely dream I've had in ever and ages.

Today is my one year anniversary at work. My general thoughts about this are: has it really been two years since I started my last year of college? can I have my own office now? Mostly I just feel like skipping. It feels like way more of an accomplishment than it is, but I don't need your approval or agreement! I will celebrate anything! I took myself to lunch at Tablespoon and had a salami sandwich and a cranberry soda that was pink like my old bedroom, and I read Walk Two Moons, which I wish I had written.

Now I am back at my desk, eating Dove chocolates hand over fist and writing this post in the body of an email because I'm too chicken to actually 'blog' at work. Copy and paste and sign out. Bye!

Talk soft so you fall asleep,

2008-09-09T21:28:00.003-04:00

cook you dinner, but you would not eat.

Thao and the Get Down Stay Down continue to suit my every mood.

John McCain's VP pick has resulted in me not watching cable news, or The News Hour (which I pretty well love), or The Daily Show, or The Colbert Report, or completely any t.v. between the hours of six and eight a.m.

She scares the pants off me, frankly. And that's putting it quite nicely.

When I think of her square, nasal accent, I get a headache.

When I think about her trying to have books banned in Wasilla, and then firing the librarian who merely upheld the First Amendment (and stood up to the mayor, oooOOOoohh), I get flashes of V for Vendetta and worry about my Harry Potters.

When I consider what the love child of the Republican ticket would look like, I see one HUGE jaw bone, and I have a waking nightmare that I (and my medical privacy) am a gumball.

When I think about her hypothetical hope that, should her daughter be impregnated after being raped, she'd "choose life," I get downright nauseous.

When I think about her glorification of motherhood combined with her beliefs/ideals/ethics/what have you, which would effectively shoot the feminist movement, and gender equality, and any semblance of civil rights point blank in the kneecaps, I begin to plan my escape route. I also throw up.

What kind of palm-greasing would it take to stockpile birth control pills?

How long does it take for a work visa to come through?

Not that I'm planning to have an abortion anytime soon, but hypothetically, should I be raped, what is Canada's policy on abortion? Will I have to have documented proof that it was a rape? Will I have to provide a detailed description of the outfit I was wearing at the time of the rape? Will I have to take the blame?

I fully admit that my current MO is modeled off the ostrich. I am not proud; I'm scared. But because I like to sleep through the night and keep down my meals, I will continue to keep my t.v. off, and my deepest hope for Barak Obama burning burning burning.

Hurricane's a-comin'!

2008-09-05T21:46:00.002-04:00

So they say.

I went out and bought milk because that's what you do when there's a storm coming. I also bought Lipton tea bags (we've been out all week, can you believe I let it go this long?), decaf tea, and pancake mix, the just-add-water kind. Prior planning prevents poor performance.

At lunchtime today I strolled down Fifth Ave. to Books of Wonder/the Cupcake Cafe because all week I've been feeling nostalgic-like. My morning walk to the subway coincides with the parade of elementary kids in their empty-looking backpacks with their names written in thick permanent marker down the straps: Jasmine F.; Alex B.; Emanuel D.

On Tuesday they were all with cheery parents who made them stand by the fence and take first-day pictures. They looked petrified, or maybe just embarrassed. It made me feel that horrible new-thing nausea that made me cry each morning for the first two weeks or so, until I realized that my new teacher wasn't actually Miss Viola Swamp, and then I loved it. Until there was a spelling test or field day or something else to keep me up at night.

So I was thinking about the alphabet reading rug in Mrs. Sager's classroom, and the plywood Terabithia in Mrs. Bivaletz's, and I desperately wanted to be surrounded by safety scissors and thin books with large print. So I went to Books of Wonder.

I think if someone were to ask me, "What's your favorite place ever in the city?" I actually might say, "Books of Wonder the Cupcake Cafe."

Spent my entire lunch hour browsing the aisles, found the NEW CLARICE BEAN BOOK (Clarice Bean, Don't Look Now), and I bought it! Children's books are much more affordable than adult ones, you know. Put me in such a good mood that I went back after work for a cappuccino and some quality time in the ladybug chairs with my new read. As I was sitting there minding my own business, two bakers came out of the back with four gigantic trays of cupcakes that looked like huge dahlias.

They had to use my table to box them, which I didn't mind one bit because I got a FREE cupcake as a thank-you.

That place is magical.

For a short week, it's been a long one.

2008-09-04T21:11:00.010-04:00

Suffice it to say, Philadelphia was excellent, delicious and historic. A gold star start to a completely back-to-school week.

In Philadelphia: Brie was eaten, wine was drunk, one utterly incredible cat was introduced--and I am NOT a cat person, this accolade is not to be taken lightly, Panda--dancing went down, house plants went flying off banisters (by revelers who shall remain nameless), and it was all over in a whirl, before we even knew what hit us, which is the way the best things usually happen.

It's England outside.

2008-08-29T09:07:00.002-04:00

And I'm on my second cup of tea, enjoying a pumpkin cookie, slowly waking up. Stayed up way too late doing a combination of speech-watching, weather shape-making (sun, cloudy sun, rain), and Aaron Peirsol-ogling on Conan.

My roommates are off at work, so I shall take a leisurely shower and mosey into Manhattan to meet KATJA at the CUPCAKE CAFE. I can't even tell you how utterly bullseye THIS combination is. Gold star gold star.

Happy Friday, tout le monde.

The bathroom sparkles.

2008-08-28T15:46:00.003-04:00

And reeks of bleach. My nails are kind of transparent and bendy now. But the bathroom--it really does shine.

I even organized our beauty products basket under the sink. Sarah works in the beauty dept. of a women's magazine, so she brings home ridiculous potions that cost more than most of my favorite shirts. I found a jar of "skin renewal cream" that had flecks of real gold in it. I also found organic shampoo & conditioner, which I promptly claimed for myself. Excellent in theory, but now my hair smells like an herb garden.

Progress thus far:

went to the gym

cleaned the br

bought coffee NOT from the bakery but from a NEW little French cafe for $1, which is unheard of. I'm planning on frequenting frequently henceforth.

read

caught the last half-hour of Gilmore Girls

made minimal progress with my story

I wish I had a yard. It's beautiful today.

On the subway

2008-08-27T21:03:00.004-04:00

this morning, I saw a boy with two full-leg prosthetics and a Hot Wheels messenger bag. He was wearing a baseball cap that said, "JESUS is My Boss," but from the looks of it, his boss was sitting next to him, with French manicured toes and some pretty serious varicose veins.

My week is over, and I have 2.5 weekends (5 glorious days) ahead of me. Here is what I shall do:

-walk to the bakery for coffee tomorrow morning

-clean the bathroom

-finish a story I've been avoiding

- ...go to the gym...

-bake banana bread*

-possibly do my laundry

-"legal-read" 100 pgs. of a tour guide for $20/hr. (!!!)

-go to Philadelphia to see preserved physical deformities and preserved American history

(pause to watch Bill Clinton determine the fate of the Obama Campaign)

Word. Bill Clinton may have been acting like a loon the past few months, but he still has my American heart.

Fin.

*Went to Bed, Bath & Beyond today for a tin loaf pan, and on my way I found Books of Wonder, which is connected to the Cupcake Cafe, which completely equals my utter idea of heaven: a children's bookstore chock full of bric-a-brac--antique books, birthday cards, portraits depicting scenes from famous books, a dozen rows of shelves organized by reader's age--and the whole place smells like cupcakes. I'm totally taking my 100 pgs. of legal-reading for a cupcake outing on Friday. Hope I don't get penalized for icing on the pages...

We run a very tight ship.

2008-08-26T20:44:00.005-04:00

Usually. But some mornings some alarms don't go off, and some people shave their legs, and other people dance around outside the bathroom to brush their teeth before the bus gets here. (Despite the fact that we sound like school children, we are, in fact, adults.) This morning, my roommate's alarm failed to rouse her from her 'snooze,' so for the first time in almost two months, we ate breakfast together.

On the Today Show, Patrick Kennedy talked a lot of rabble about the Big O and the DNC and other initialized things, and my roommate turned to me and said, "Who's running for the Republicans?"

Sometimes I wish I could just watch the weather report and turn off the news, content with my five-day outlook, but most of the time, I'm really glad I don't. Because at critical junctures like this, I can answer the tough questions. (It's why I watch a lot of Jeopardy, too.)

Moving on.

Work was an avalanche today. I kept firing off emails too quickly and giving everyone "My bets." Didn't get to enjoy one bit of the day until 5:30, when I strolled down to Fishs Eddy to buy an utterly imperative New Jersey-shaped cookie cutter. I'm going to cut everything into New Jerseys: my PB & J, my Kraft Singles, my bar of soap, my Jell-O jigglers, my grilled cheese. It's going to be GREAT. (They had NY and CT cookie cutters, too, but pfffffff. Who lives in NY and CT?)

It's nine o'clock. The countdown to bedtime begins. New Jersey-shaped toast. Night, all.

Beautiful weather makes everything better.

2008-08-22T12:35:00.006-04:00

This has been a lucky week. I'm housesitting for my parents while they move my sister into her hurricaned apartment in FL. Having a yard is one of the serious pros of non-city living. Maggie's been following me around like if she takes her eyes off me for utterly one moment, I may spontaneously disappear. It's annoying; we're working through it.

My boss declared next Thursday and Friday officially officious office holidays (five day wkend!), and THEN he took us out for ice cream! Nothing like savoring the prospect of an extralongwkend over a root beer float from Shake Shack.

Sometimes I wish my boss were my grandpa.

I probably shouldn't admit this, but I like to go back to Xanga and read about what I was doing exactly a year ago, or two years ago, etc. I went back to 2004, and wouldn't you know, the Olympics were taking over everything then, too. This is what I wrote: Blah blah blah...like Michael Phelps in that Visa commercial....But Aaron Peirsol gets my gold medal.

I'm telling you, I've been thinking that completely same identical thought for the last two weeks.

Being home has been a time-warp vacation of sorts. I can hear the whistles from early morning preseason practices at the high school, and at night I hear the marching band drums, like a Revolutionary army on the move. (Sometimes Maggie barks at them.) The girl I used to babysit starts ninth grade this year, and she called me Tuesday with night-before jitters: "Um, hi Liz, I was just wondering, like, maybe could you, I dunno, give me an idea of what the first practice is going to be like?" I felt old.

I'm going to go hang out with her now, and grill her on Mr. Sinnott and her first week of practices, and most importantly, what she's wearing for the first day of school.

I love driving!

[written] at the office

2008-08-19T20:50:00.002-04:00

i have secret lists at the back of my to-do notebook, which is where i'm writing this now. lists of graduate schools, with pros and cons sublisted, outline-style; lists of autumn things to do in ny; lists of things i may one day use in a story.

when i leave at the end of the day, i try neatening my desk, which basically consists of piling papers--

i like sending my boss emails where the entire message is in the subject line--

and books largest to smallest, and straightening my stapler so that it's parallel to my rolodex. most days i just want to let it go to hell. today i actually did.

i leave little post-its to myself all over the space in front of my keyboard. i try to write trim and careful because 1) other people see them, & 2) i'm more inclined to do the task if it comports itself well. it's like saying 'please' to myself.

yesterday i read the most wonderful thing: 'emily dickinson would have loved the internet....i wonder if emily dickinson would have a blog, though. maybe she would be an internet recluse in addition to being a social recluse.'

i took my mom to the airport at 4.30 this morning, so now i'm going to sleep (with all the windows open, and blankets tripled up--it's so chilly out, and who knew how loud the 'burbs were? crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets.)

Roommates, I love you, but--

2008-08-09T13:22:00.003-04:00

I'm simply ten thousand times more productive when you're not here.

I woke up nice and slowly, was out of bed by 7:30, breakfasting by 8:30, writing until 10:30, at the gym by 11, sweeping and Swiffering the apt. by 12:30, and lunching by 1. I accomplished more this morning than I do most weeks. And the floors are really sparkling, I must say.

Now: shower, cafe pour travailler, and maybe later, a nap. Later, all.

It feels like fall

2008-08-08T20:55:00.002-04:00

and I couldn't be happier. All the windows are wide wide wide.

This weekend's theme: independence.

Roommates are in different states (ME, NJ), and I'm stretched out on the futon, half-heartedly watching Stephen Colbert twist Thomas Frank's arguments into jokes. (The opening of the Olympics is entirely too long; I can only enjoy so many ancient drums and painted Geisha faces. It mostly just looks like a discotheque.)

While last weekend at the beach was summer in a nutshell, I consider this afternoon a preview for Sept/Oct/Nov. Walked to the Strand; bought the book for this month's book club; sheltered in Bank of America for that crazy mid-day downpour; walked to Teany and had delightfully spicy gazpacho with mango and avocado, and a cherry scone, and did some work for some time; and in conclusion, walked to the Angelika and took in a matinee--'The Wackness,' which I think was too highly anticipated on my part. Found it more dark than comedic, like it wasn't cooked all the way through, or something. Oliva Thirlby has charismatic hotness shooting out the ends of her hair, but pretty much my favorite character was New York. It was ever so slightly perfectly matched to my encounters this afternoon.

And it was the first time I've ever come out of a movie theater knowing where I am.

I realize that sounds psychotic, but seriously--there's something about being in a dark movie theater that resets my compass, and I always walk out looking for my car keys, thinking I have to drive back from Rt. 22, no matter if I'm in New York, or Lancaster, or Bath. But today I was one hundred percent in the actual and true present. Finally.

The Bleeding Heart Show - New Pornographers

The falcon followed me home!

2008-08-06T21:27:00.004-04:00

2008-08-05T21:34:00.002-04:00

There's a falcon or some small hawk living on the ledge above my office window. I've only ever seen it flying back, and sometimes I don't notice it until the last possible moment and it seems like it just appeared, like it flew through a break in the sky.

Today I:

-used my 100% pure all natural mascara that smells like fruit.

-accidentally knocked the pyrex measuring pitcher out of the cabinet when I was reaching for the tea bags and it fell into the dish drain and SHATTERED a bowl to SMITHEREENS, which I then had to sweep up and seek out with a damp paper towel. The pyrex was fine.

-did some work.

-ate my tin-foil-wrapped lunch in the park, with my book, which I'm sad to see ending.

-read almost the entire issue of NY Magazine with Madonna's freaky face on the cover (my boss is on vacation this wk, so I borrow his mags; tomorrow it's The NY'er), and then came home to find my first issue of NY Magazine waiting for me! Belated birthday gifts are grand.

-ALSO got my first ever invitation to a wedding, meaning addressed to me and not 'the family.' It has a silver Claddagh ring and an Irish wedding blessing on it. Made me think of 'Wedding Crashers':

Seamus O'Toole.

Bobby O'Shea.

I'm ready to get drunnnnk.

The wedding is three days before my sister's 21st birthday. O, irony. What impeccable timing you have.

Good night, chickadees.

We are cultured.

2008-07-29T19:00:00.005-04:00

Amy and I went to see some art.*

*Note the photographer in red, and the shirtless hobo outside the glass doors of the Greek and Roman sculpture wing.

2008-07-28T18:38:00.002-04:00

God, I love the internets.

My hours of pointless link-jumping has led to my first ever idea for a book! (As an editor--don't be foolish; I've had utterly millions of ideas for books to write.)

I'd like to keep the cat firmly in the bag. More TK on that front.

In other news, starred AND featured review of State by State. !!!!!

I'd like to think I share a little morsel of that triumph, but mostly I'm just so happy that it turned out awesome. (Like there was completely any doubt.)

Last night Alyssa and I had a very date-esque dinner at Perry St. (which she called me in a tizzy over because she couldn't find it at first): nectarine and goat cheese salad, steamed red snapper on a bed of potato purée (too mind-blowing to simply be 'mashed'), and the grande finale, chocolate pudding topped with sweet cream and candied violets. So gold star I can't even get over it. They tasted like chocolate-covered rice krispies with just the faintest hint of something floral in there. I want a huge bowl for breakfast every morning.

Travel - Thao and the Get Down Stay Down

Siren Fest: Notes

2008-07-20T00:22:00.002-04:00

hot as balls

two grossly hip girls, one in heart-shaped sunglasses, brought their toy pups in their oversized miu miu purses and held them like babies throughout the islands set

i couldn't stop staring

a man with freckles asked to take my picture because he's doing a series of photos of my kind of sunglasses; i happily obliged

second-hand high

ran into aaron sperling and brian beer, which, along with a separate subway conversation, is why i'm listening to finch right now, ha

couldn't see a damned thing. marc stood behind me, narrating. "oh! there's four horns on stage now!"

seeing the rides stirred up my love for teacups, or scramblers, or whatever they call the spinning ride

broken social scene was broken, but very social: heat stroked drummer, voiceless lead singer, and yet utterly dancey and canadian and gold star

feist wasn't there, either

i felt old, and uncool (temp, demeanor)

i perked up when there were sliders and sweet potato fries and a large fountain soda

stay with me - finch

Yesterday, while everyone was at lunch,

2008-07-04T10:22:00.005-04:00

I took pictures out the windows.

And belatedly, Amherst/Astoria sunsets.

Happy Independence Day, all!

2008-06-24T15:40:00.003-04:00

I'm in Amherst! Site of the beautiful Amherst College, dasher of hopes, rejector of senior-in-high-school me. I walked around campus in the drizzle yesterday, admiring the view of the Berkshires (or some other mountains) and mostly still wishing I could go there, like, now, starting this fall, as a freshman, all over again. I don't know what it is about it, but somehow

Amherst : me
chocolate cake : Bruce Bogtrotter

I'm staying at UMass, though, for Juniper. It's basically Camp Nerd--each evening's reading is held in this lecture hall in the chemistry building. They decorated with beakers filled with jewel-toned water, and goggles with bright green straps, and overheads projecting folky flowers and illustrations of whatever day of the week it is.

This afternoon Charles D'Ambrosio and I ate hummus and watermelon and rehashed my workshop. The whole thing was surreal. I offered him a piece of gum afterwards, and he said yes please.

Today in class he said, "You can't just write a sad story. There's gotta be more than that. Whenever you're sad, remember there are a billion Chinese who don't give a shit."

Lunches in the park

2008-06-21T13:14:00.000-04:00

I got a new camera for my birthday!

2008-06-18T20:34:00.000-04:00

*note the air conditioner

2008-06-12T14:01:00.001-04:00

So much to tell you and so little time! Boss is at lunch. Breakdown:

Friday: Big day. Friends coming. Air-conditioner coming. All in synch. Got home to find a big box from Sears in my entry way, thought, My air-conditioner!! and then buggered off to do some laundry. Later, when Leah got home, we went down to get the giant box and I said, Wait, let's take it out of the box to carry it upstairs, might be less awkward to hold. So I tore off the tape and opened the box and inside was a LAWN MOWER. A stupid, useless, cherry-red, sodding, bleeding, good-for-nothing, flippin' LAWN MOWER where my precious air-conditioner should have been.

Hell was raised.

Saturday: Hot. Lots and lots of hot. Hot friends, hot pizza, hot seats in Yankees stadium in the hot sun, hot dresses worn to the (lovely and cool) movies, then to drinks, and great things were said, and much fun was had, foolish phone calls were made, late-night taxis were taken, but we were sweating the entire time. (Guys, I'm still so sorry about that.)

Sunday: Still hot. Cold showers. Mediocre brunch that mirrored our deflated moods. Came back to an empty apartment and felt lonelier than I have since January when my parents went to Florida and I had one-sided conversations with Maggie for a whole week. It's like we stretched it out and when I got home it didn't fit me anymore.

Monday: Woke up and found my makeup had melted over night. Said, FUCK THIS, and went home to central air-conditioning for two days.

Wednesday: Still no sign of an A-C. Made a smoothie for dinner, slept with my windows wide open.

Thursday: All my fingers and toes are crossed that it will be sitting on top of that fucking lawn mower in my entry way when I get home tonight. But first, birthday cheesecake at Junior's with friends disguised as co-workers.

2008-06-05T16:37:00.000-04:00

Every morning I walk up the steps from the subway at the base of the Flatiron Building, and it smells like piss, and I think, Someone peed down these steps last night. It's as routine as my cup of tea.

One of my dad's favorite sayings is, If you want to dance, you have to pay the fiddler. He usually recites this with a note of triumph in his voice when I complain of being tired the morning after "kicking the gong around" (another of my dad's faves). Tuesday night I saw Rilo Kiley, and I've been paying that Sheriff of Nottingham of a fiddler ever since.

I think this was the first concert that I felt like an Adult, with a capital A. Alyssa and I found a spot in the balcony quite close to the stage where shrimpy me could see. It was full of 21-and-overs, and much less dancier than down on the floor. Gold star nonetheless: pretty sure Blake was drunk, Pierre's daughter (who looked to be about 8 and was sitting directly opposite me in the other balcony) sang the "ow, ow, ow" part in "Moneymaker" with great gusto, and Jenny wore a calico onesy with cowboy boots. (As Alyssa pointed out, her outfit probably had snaps in the crotch so she could pee without completely undressing. Easy access.) I will never get tired of RK.

Last night I was supposed to see David Sedaris read, but when I got there, 75 minutes early, I had to stand at the back of a long, long line for standing room. I was standing on line to stand. So I said, F this! and I went home and made a cozy dinner of eggs and toast and flicked on The Daily Show rerun, and who was on, but David Sedaris! I felt vindicated.

Tonight: I will attempt to get an elliptical at the gym.

Tomorrow: Visitors for viztin'!

2008-06-01T19:53:00.001-04:00

I just ordered an air conditioner, and not a moment too soon. I think I've gone through three trays of ice cubes singly handedly in the last two days. My excuse for today is that I got lost in Central Park trying to find a nice reading spot in the shade. Anytime I go in there I get completely disoriented by all the dogs and joggers and bodies of water, and somehow I always end up on Central Park West across the street from the Museum of Natural History, feeling spit-out and overheated. Happened again today, and so I walked the long way--the perimeter, where there's street numbers and straight sidewalks--back to my subway stop where I collapsed on a bench.

Now I'm lying on the couch under the ceiling fan, drinking ice water and reading The Monsters of Templeton, which I never want to end.

2008-06-01T09:35:00.000-04:00

Exactly one year ago I was walking my feet off in London, lonely and sick and topping up my mobile every other day because I was calling home so often. Even now, though, I wish I could do it all over again. New York is in a class by itself, but to me, it will never be as magical as London. I've no idea why.

2008-05-31T13:08:00.000-04:00

Had my first male yoga instructor today; he played opera for us and he couldn't touch his toes. I could, though. Now I feel all floppy.

It's pouring out, and there's wonderful TV on. Shakespeare in Love, A Knights Tale on the commercials, peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich, I couldn't be more content.

Last night was wine and cheese, shared cabs, rooftop drinking games, fellow Astorians, and a feast of chocolate chip cookies. More TK.

2008-05-29T13:41:00.001-04:00

I really am doing an utterly fall-down job on this thing, huh?

Resolution: do better.

Just now I ate my lunch in the park because it's GORGEOUS, and I finished my apple and didn't want to get up to throw it out and lose my prime real estate seat in the shade, so I put it on the ground next to my foot and kept reading. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a squirrel slink under my bench, but didn't think much of it. Then bang-zoom! he scampered across the sidewalk with my apple core in his sharp little mouth! I'll probably get rabies, but he saved me a trip to the trash, so I say good outweighs the bad in this instance.

Everybody's at lunch so I can do this at my desk without minimizing the screen every 45 seconds. Feels luxurious and deviant. I wish more things in my life were luxurious and deviant.

2008-05-18T19:49:00.000-04:00

I'm reading my mom's copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which is hers from grad school. It's written all over in her tiny cursive, mostly things about Huck's morals vs. those of 'sivilization.' On the inside front cover it says, 'Colleen McGuire Byrne 10-76.' Then it says, 'Colleen Byrne,' but in my dad's handwriting. There's also two address stamps for Colleen M. Byrne, Bay 22nd St., Brooklyn. She was reading this two months after she got married, when she was 23. It'd be like me reading it this October, as a newlywed, living in Brooklyn.

Things like that make me go lightheaded.

Gold star weekend: Narnia Friday (not your mother's Narnia; ruther depressing, mostly); Lauren Saturday (cheap Italian eats, utterly decent Guinness worth writing home to Brendan about); free court-side tickets to a Liberty game today (hilariously fun, except for the six year old next to me who kicked over my soda).

I'm so sleepy, I could just fall asleep.

2008-05-06T11:10:00.001-04:00

I ran so hard I bled.

I'd feel awesome saying that if it weren't utterly true and completely painful, and if I hadn't had to take two sick days and pay $50 for a prescription ointment. I hate that word. Ointment. Ew.

So, I'm still in NP, lying about in the backyard with Maggie and drinking coffee and eating sesame breadsticks. It's rather delicious living, if it weren't for these pesky wounds.

Once I can walk like a normal person again it'll feel extremely gold star to say, "Yeah, I ran a half marathon once." And when I'm sitting comfortably for an extended period of time and I kind of forget that I have to walk like John Wayne whenever I want to get anywhere, it's completely great to think back on this weekend and our swank hotel in the ghost town of Asbury Park, and how whenever I looked over my shoulder I couldn't see the end of the line of runners, that's how many there were, and Mr. Yang buying us matching jackets, and that bacon-and-egg sandwich in that cafe on the beach, and the pure joy of that chocolate milk in the tent after the race...

But I've just washed my hair for the first time in three days (it's still too painful for me to take a shower), and the thought of wearing heels is laughable, utterly laughable, and I must take it slowly, very slowly, one trip to the kitchen at a time.

2008-04-29T18:16:00.000-04:00

People think I'm a pillow. First, on the way into work, a woman fell asleep into me, just timbered into my arm, and when we made contact she woke up and said, "SORRY," and everyone looked.

Then on the way home I sat next to this little Asian dumpling girl and she kept leaning slowwwwwly into me, and then I'd turn the page of my book, or scratch my nose, and she'd sit up real straight and eventually do it all over again.

I felt like saying, "WAKE UP, PEOPLE!"

Obama is whining about Jeremiah Wright on The News Hour right now. (I would change the channel, but I'm waiting to see Junot Díaz, Mr. Pulitzer.) I'm really, really tired of this election, and it hasn't even happened yet. At this rate I'll be so over it come November that I'll prolly stay home Tuesday night and watch 'Gilmore Girls' on DVD.

I miss my iPod.

2008-04-27T10:34:00.000-04:00

Last night after L. and I got back from the pub, we watched two episodes of 'The Tudors' and ate cake. I had dreams about showing the pope around New York, and assassination attempts in the middle of the night in front of my grandmother's house.

Tea & Sympathy; umbrella; read manuscripts; shower.

Washington, DC

2008-04-26T18:06:00.000-04:00

2008-04-26T09:43:00.000-04:00

The cake weighs fifteen pounds without baking powder, but it's genuinely delicious. Sarah and I ate some for breakfast yesterday. (I made her blow out a candle first.)

First time in a month that I've been home on a weekend. Feels utterly luxurious. Feels like spring break.

Bad news on the technology front: iPodbaby is dead. Took him to the doctor and the doctor said, "It's probably cheaper if you just buy a new one." And I said, "O-kay!" My former iPod is so old they no longer make it. The dilemma is whether to buy it now, or wait until my check for the Juniper Writers Institute clears. (Charles D'Ambrosio is worth every penny.)

Leah and I are watching The Paper, which we also watched last night, but it's so utterly brilliant we can't get enough. I can completely identify with Alex; I too have fought the good fight for grayscale.

High school + "reality" + Solo cups + copyediting = winning combination. I smell an Emmy.

2008-04-24T21:19:00.000-04:00

Jewish Apple Cake

-or-

Peeling Apples while Listening to the Appleseed Cast

Sarah's birthday is tomorrow, and when I asked her what kind of cake she wanted, I expected something like, "Chocolate with vanilla icing!" but instead she was like, "Oooh, I really love Jewish apple cake with a scoop of ice cream alongside..."

I like the way she thinks, but Jewish apple cake does not come in a box. I had to make it utterly from scratch, and when I slid it into the oven looking all pretty and full of potential, I realized that I had completely forgotten to add the baking soda. Let's hope 1 teaspoon does not a cake make.

When I was at the grocery store this afternoon, buying apples and BAKING SODA, the woman in front of me on line was nine cents short for her half gallon of milk. She was fishing around in the bottom of her bag, apologizing in a soft Irish accent, when I whipped out my trusty wallet and found that I had exactly nine cents, which I handed to the tiny Indian woman behind the register. The Irish woman said, "Oh no, I couldn't possibly--"

And I said, "It's just nine cents."

And she said, "Yes, but that's still nine cents."

And I said, "Yes, but don't worry. It's fine."

And she said, "Oh thank you so much, that's so kind. I hope you win the lotto!"

I felt like Amelie. (A little, and less technicolor.) Tomorrow I'm totally buying a lottery ticket.

2008-04-17T21:34:00.000-04:00

Some people get drunk and go to 7-11 and buy 32 oz. slushies and Cooler Ranch Doritos.

Other people get drunk and go to The Strand, telling themselves it's just to get Persuasion for book club, as if that makes it any better, and wander around the entire store, picking up Interpreter of Maladies, and The Shipping News, and The Collected Works of many, and carrying them around with two hands, in a tall stack, still looking for that damned Austen book, and it seems that they have every single other book of hers--three different editions of Pride and Prejudice, and a fucking illustrated version of Mansfield Park, but no Persuasion. None. And all the Austen books are on the tippy top shelf and this person is too short (read: scared) to climb the folding ladder, not to mention utterly dreading the clatter just to get it open, and so they tell themselves,

No. Put all the books back. If you can't get Persuasion, get nothing.

Okay, maybe just Invisible Man. You were reading about the huge undertaking of getting his second book published--thousands upon thousands of pages of notes and half-finished chapters, and complete chunks that are books unto themselves--and you haven't read it since Goldstein's class, and it's so worthy of an impulse buy...

...and in the end this person buys nothing. The guilt of having a librarian for a mother triumphs again. They will take them out of the library. Problem solved. Crisis averted once more.

2008-04-14T20:39:00.000-04:00

There's this dog groomer down the block next to The Globe Cafe, and for whatever reason it's called The Poodle Emporium. I die every time I walk by it.

I was freezing all day at work today and usually it's utterly boiling, old radiators and the 17th floor and whatnot. I unbunched my pashmina and kept it wrapped around me like some old gypsy lady all day long. I only took my hands out to type.

This weekend was even better than expected: sitting behind Cara Settipani on the bus (thinking about AP bio and sitting next to her in band), 80 degrees but breezy, old maps at Eastern Market, low-flying ducks at the Jefferson Memorial, spontaneous hot dogs, wine sippin' while patio sittin', book stores, poetry books, notebooks, tv marathons, and the first iced coffee of the season. I have some completely great pics, but they are trapped in my camera because I can't find the USB cable. Photos TK.

Tonight on the subway this woman got on at 49th Street and she had her fleece-covered baby strapped to her front like a backwards papoose. I offered her my seat, but she said no thanks, which made me think that she couldn't bend her body with a baby on the front of it like that. But then when the woman sitting next to me got up, the baby-fronted woman sat down, and I saw inside the little fuzzy hood that was resting on her shoulder and it was utterly the most perfect baby face, all cheeks and button nose, sleeping through the mess of rush hour, kneeling on his mother's lap.

2008-04-06T21:02:00.000-04:00

What a gold star day: breakfast with pals, extra cups of coffee, Lord of the Rings marathon on TNT, sharing cookies with Mags... The theme of this weekend has pretty well been food. I am utterly glutted.

And now I'm back in l'apartment, watching planes glide into LaGuardia.

I wish my life were an endless Sunday.

2008-03-31T18:08:00.000-04:00

Noncommittal weather to accompany my noncommittal mood. I need groceries, but I also "need" to go to the gym, since I'm "running" a half-marathon in approx. 37 days and have yet to run farther than 3 miles. But I also really need to check my email, and futz around online, and sit in my room and consider it. Paint it blue? Paint it green?

Elma is the youngest of the four girls who live on the first floor. She's 2, and looks like a real live Cabbage Patch Kid. She's bilingual, but also kind of nonlingual when around strangers. I hear her screaming in Montenegrin most times. Anyway, she loves me for some reason, probably because I sound like a Muppet, but she never says anything to me, no matter how many questions I ask. She just follows me around smiling. Then just now I was starting to climb the stairs with all my bags and my keys clanging when she poked her head out the door and smiled at me.

So I said, "Hello, Elma. How was your day today?"

And she just went, "Hehhhh," and kind of laughed at me.

And then I said, "Okay, well, see ya later!"

And she said, "Seea way-tuh!"

Felt like $1,000,000.

2008-03-30T12:56:00.000-04:00

Oof. I've discovered that Sunday morning is an utterly perfect time to do your laundry. However, I still hate doing it.

When I got back and hung up all my damp socks, which never fully dry, no matter how long I leave them in the drier, I made a baby pot of coffee for myself--one of those four-cup coffee pots that looks kiddie-sized. And then--I drank it all.

I didn't really mean to. I never drink more than two cups, ordinarily. But I just kept going, it's so completely good, "Eggcellent Coffee" that Leah got in her Easter basket, and now I'm utterly JAZZED about the walk Leah and I are about to have in Central Park, and totally THRILLED about how gorgeous it is out right now, and completely EXCITED out of my mind at the prospect of attending Juniper Summer Writers Institute, which I should really send in my application to, shouldn't I?

Later, later.

Oh! I forgot to tell you: the first thing I watched on our new TV set? Charlie & Lola, naturellement.

Time to go outside. Ta-ta, chickadees.

2008-03-29T17:23:00.000-04:00

I'm at home. On my bed. Using the internet. The dynamic of my apartment has completely changed, and I certainly mean for the better. The dulcet tones of the TV are coming in under the door. Fifty years of technology in one day. Now that's progress.

2008-03-20T16:52:00.000-04:00

I am clandestinely typing this in the body of an email because I have no internet at home yet. Blogging on the sly. I hate the word 'blog.'

Long story, involving shared custody of a TV, not really worth telling, but I'm going home this weekend to internet (!) and TV (!) and civilization. Ironic that living in the city has made me more removed from daily life. Ohmygod, The Daily Show. I'll get to watch The Daily Show.

Benchmark of success: I will consider myself arrived when Jon Stewart interviews me about my book and does the requisite, "My favorite part was..." to make it seem like he actually read it. (Book TK.)

This has been a week of eats. Pizza at Mama Carmella's around the corner from my apt., and--dare I say it? yes--it's better than Scotto's. And also, it makes me think of Mrs. Fink.

Then dinner last night w. Katja at Freeman's, a country farm house-type restaurant at the end of an alley whose storefront looks like a Free People/French bistro--bicycle, pots of hydrangeas and hyacinths, strings upon strings of white lights. And inside it's all rustic, white-washed, walls lined with taxidermied everything, exposed light bulbs along the ceiling, and MASHED POTATOES WITH TRUFFLE OIL, which I ate on a separate plate, with a tablespoon.

Then lunch today at La Pizza Fresca, which is so good I pretty much want to rub the pizza all over my face. Doesn't compare to Scotto's/Mama Carmella's; different beast.

Tonight will be a dinner of doggie bags.

2008-03-02T11:08:00.001-05:00

Big, belated news. Am moving to Queens! Well, half-moved, akchully. Yesterday took all my boxed belongings to my sunny residence in Astoria/Woodside (depends on who you're talking to: me, or the PO). Official launch date is Mar. 8, because paint smells bad and it's nice to have furniture to sit/sleep/eat on. Next week it'll be couch, bed, kitchen table, my great-grandmother's chest of drawers (known in our family as "Nanny's chest," which always sounded so weird to me as a little kid), etc. My room is skeletal right now; a lack of bric-a-brac. And only one pair of jeans! Eep!

New roommates makes me more nervous than any possible thing else. Friends of friends, Leah and Sarah, both my age, both work in publishing as well. Uncanny, but also nice. I imagine us venting to each other in complete and utter accord: "And toDAY I had to retransmit and entire 500-pg. manuscript because the author decided LAST MINUTE to add an entire INDEX." Eggh, I get buggered just thinking about that.

Okay, to the specs: 3rd floor of a three-fam house-ish thing, last house in a row, lots-o-windows, gorrrrrgeous kitchen, granite countertops, marble bathroom, I taxed the tiny br because a) less rent, b) better view, c) kind of kozy. So front to back: my room next to living room, kitchen off living room, down small hall to bathroom, other two brs.

I have big baking plans.

That's the news. More TK.

2008-02-05T13:09:00.000-05:00

Super Tuesday AND Mardi Gras. COINCIDENCE?!?!?!

I'm giving up voting for Lent.

This morning on the train fifty billion people in Giants jerseys stood in the aisles and tried to get off at Newark because they thought it was Hoboken. Utterly packed. Screaming babies and dads looking guilty. And then when we (finally) got off in Hoboken and they all milled about, not sure where the PATH was, someone made an announcement: "Tom Brady. Tom Brady, please report to the men's room with a mop. Tom Brady."

The entire station gaffawed.

Tonight I'm getting my hair cut, but not before I make good on the 19th Amendment.

2008-01-31T13:36:00.001-05:00

secretly writing this at work. secretly because my desk faces window, alors computer faces EVERYONE. makes me anxious, but mostly i don't care. tout le monde's at luncheroonie, and i'm sitting here having polished off my sammich of [fake] ham and [real] cheese on an english muffin. (i really have nothing to say.)

plans in the works for visit to the alma mater, post-valentine's day. why am i nervous?

called the dentiste in my old/original hometown to make an appt. for my 6 mo. cleaning which i LOVE--come out of there glowing from the compliments on my flossing, and the fluoride--and the receptionista is my 1st-5th grade bff [gab]'s mother, and she is a handful. cherry red hair, talks hind legs off tons of things. and so we set up my appt., and then she was like, 'so, how's things? emilie got engaged last month, i think for her birthday, you know, in december, and gab was like, "she's out of her mind," rabble rabble gossip...'

emilie was in playgroup with me when i was a bebe, like, only-child-bebe. haven't seen her in utterly forever--10 years? half my life?--but still freaks me out that someone i've known since our illiterate, pre-potty days is becoming legally bound to someone else.

2008-01-24T21:15:00.002-05:00

The past few days at work have sent me into an existential funk, the worst of all the funks. I get this way once a month or so.

Those are utterly awful days.

I'm trying to focus on the positive.

In other news, ran into Alexandra Delyle on the subway at 8:30 in the morning yesterday. Felt a firm, comforting hand on my shoulder and turned to see those familiar dark-rimmed glasses. Was slightly stunned (mostly because it was 8:30), but delighted, as always. Hey Alex!

Thursday is one of my tutoring nights. Julia and I work on her "high frequency words," which are basically flash cards with the basics: you, it, they, where, etc. She keeps it interesting by telling a story with the words. "FATHER, I'm down HERE, injured! My FRIEND is in the orphanage. She DOES want to come over, because I'm injured. There is NEVER any hope." It was all very Thomas Hardy. Julia of the d'Urbervilles.

You're a part-time lover and a full-time friend. The monkey on your back is the latest trend.

2008-01-22T20:29:00.000-05:00

Oh hell, January, where have you gone? You are utterly one of my least favorite months, but you're a slippery little bugger this year. Warm, and then super freezing--bizarre days in which I saw lightning strike the spike of the Empire State Building, and got trapped in Hoboken because of frozen trains, respectively--busy, and then completely, deliciously lackadaisical. If you weren't a capricorn, January, I'd swear you were a gemini comme moi.

My resolution(s) is a gradual builder, I've decided. A crescendo, if you will. The opposite of a peter-out. 2008's been good so far, actually. Got my first book to edit (practice edit, mind you--my editor boss has the final say-so), have a non-date on Saturday with my semi-friend/old editor whom I haven't seen since freshman year of college (I honestly have no idea what's going on), AND I am officially a writer.

No, I wasn't published (don't be fooled), I was rejected! By MCSWEENEYS!!! It was thrilling, in a way.

And I can't not mention it: Heath Ledger! Utterly shocking. Totally thought it was a bad rumor. Refused to believe it until it was confirmed in some furious texting betwixt myself and mini-sister. But what's with the implication of Mary-Kate? Odd.

And the death of another man who has nothing to do with HL other than my distant, slightly disturbing crushes on them both: Bobby Fischer. I instantly went out and rented 'Searching for Bobby Fischer.' Always wanted to play chess in Washington Sq. Park.

It's been quite a month.

2008-01-05T18:39:00.000-05:00

There's a security guard in the lobby at work, and he's foreign, maybe Italian. Every morning, instead of "Good morning," he says, "Mornings," to everyone that passes.

Mornings.

Short week made shorter by that freakishly cold Thursday. I couldn't believe my luck.

My train to Hoboken was not only late, it was overcrowded because trains to Penn Station were all wonky and frozen. And THEN, when we finally got to Hoboken, they were making announcements that the PATH system was suspended (apparently there was a fire--immediately made me picture a group of hobos huddled around some kettle-drum fire deep in the bowels of the PATH), and like that, !, the line for the ferry was out the station door. Literally. Hundreds of people long. I waited an hour and finally got a hold of my boss, who was just like, "Pff, go home," and I was like, "OKAY!" and so I hopped on a Gladstone train, got Dunkin' Donuts with my sister, and spent the afternoon returning an apron to William Sonoma, and writing. It was gorgeous.

Iowa caucaussesses have me all turned round. No idea who I would vote for. Hillary is like the intimidating aunt that's always pressing you about your personal life. Obama is like the class president in college who's so into it, you kind of resent him. Edwards is okay, but too shiny. (The hours of reading that've gone into this analysis really show, don't they?) Completely glad I live in NJ and don't have to think about it for another 11 months.

Tomorrow the miniature sister and I are seeing 'Juno' for the second time, first together. We've already spent many an afternoon standing around in the kitchen going, "WHOA dream big," and "Yeahhhh, I think I'm gonna nip it in the bud, because you know, I've heard pregnancy can lead to infants." And I totally bought Michael Cera and Ellen Page's version of "Anyone Else But You" off iTunes and listen to it whenever the mood strikes, which is utterly often.

I kind of completely want to be Juno's best friend.

2008-01-01T11:54:00.000-05:00

Okay. Let's do this.

Hello, 2008!

You are brand spanking new--I haven't even eaten lunch yet!--and I've decided you are mine. You are my year. 2007 was full of endings and beginnings. Too many important milestones, not enough raw fun/full-throated decision-making on my part, independent of society's/my parents' expectations, that is. 2008, it's just you and me. We shall sculpt my tiny, pristine Zen desk calendar (gift from the Yangs) into a chef d'oeuvre of events and well-rounded seasons. There will be dates! And adventures! And weekend mini-breaks! And move-in dates! And a half-marathon in May, and my 23rd birthday in June (choke, cough, sputter), and friends, friends, friends out the wazoo. 2008, together, we will make you an extravaganza.

And just like that, I'm being booted off the computer so that my father can transfer money or some such. Utterly ironic, but not at all indicative, whatsoever, of 2008, my dahling, my pumpernickel.

2007-11-18T15:18:00.001-05:00

Woke up this morning and thought it was Monday. After my heart rate returned to normal, I looked outside and it was snowing. Instantly thought of Jack Frost and the Winter Lady from The Selfish Giant, skipping around and leaving trails of ice in their wake. God, I loved that movie.

Speaking of, Dad and I saw 'Into the Wild' last night, and then we sat around brooding and long-faced and heaving great sighs every few minutes. Might be the most depressing movie I've ever seen, but chock full of a gorgeous Sam Leonard doppelgänger and rushing rivers and wild horses, and gave me that utterly rare feeling of loving the country I live in. Mostly I just wish I were in England.

This is what I wrote while I ate my sammich:

ate soup for lunch that was murderously hot, but also way good and utterly appropriate for this windy day. half the office went home early because it was too cold to work. (by half i mean 2.) my white bean/tomato soup was the perfect antidote, but it came in a styrofoam cup. using styrofoam always makes me feeling like a rotten citizen of the earth.
also, they turned on my radiator, which helps unimaginably much. it's clanging happily behind my desk and i'm scribbling in my notebook because i'm too scared to blogger at work. last month they cracked down on people who view over four hours of porn/day at work. (<4 is okay.) anyway, blogger is really the gateway to internet porn, so instead i catch up on my online reading. lucky for me, people don't generally disapprove of you reading book blogs or mcsweeney's or something when you work at a publishing co. can totally pull the 'reasearch' card on that one.
yesterday i came in early because i had huge amounts of emails to send and while waiting for the train at murray hill, i witnessed a nj transit bus get hit by the rr barricade. lots of clanging bells and prob. one hell of a scared driver until she backed up and the wooden arm fell like a take-marker on a movie set.

I've started my Christmas list. Have you?

2007-11-11T09:38:00.000-05:00

Yawwwwn, good morning.

Dad and I just fixed ourselves a full English breakfast: eggs, toast, sausage, broiled tomatoes, no mushrooms, but who really eats them for b-fast anyway?

I read I Capture the Castle this week, and pretty much since page one I've had a hankering for boiled eggs and biscuits and beans and toast. Oh--we forgot the beans. Next time, next time.

This is what I want for Christmas.

Have a lovely Sunday, friends. I'm off to do yoga in my living room.

2007-11-10T12:00:00.000-05:00

Would you believe that I actually read old Xanga entries to get myself geared up to write this thing? Pathetic. I am so out of shape.

Bought a new hair dryer this week (then promptly left it on the counter and walked away with my receipt while the poor sales clerk squeaked, "Miss! Miss, wait!") and it has an attachable diffuser (frightening apparatus--looks like a combination back massager/potato masher) and used it for the first time this morning. My hair is HUGE. Maeby Fünke up in here. Startling, but satisfying.

Speaking of, I've been gorging myself on Arrested Development this past week. I find it comforting to lose myself in the idiocy (read: fabulousness) of the Bluths when my own family is driving me utterly nutters. (I've also read a sociologist's study that people who watch upwards of 3 hrs. of TV/day think they have more friends than they actually do. Whatev.) The other night at dinner, Colleen started talking about Helen, and Kevin was all, "Yeah, she's blah blah blah," and I had no idea who they were talking about until finally (via context clues) I realized they were talking about Ruth, a woman whom I work with. And yet they knew exactly what they were talking about. It's like being around identical twins who speak some made-up language to each other. I tell ya.

In other news, I found my 5th grade journal, which I had to update weekly for writing credit (precursor to a blogggg?). It goes like this:

Dear Mr. DeLauro,

I'm very excited about chess club this afternoon. It's too bad that we had a day off on juggling club day. On Sunday I went roller-blading at a roller rink. It was so fun. The rink is pretty big. My sister went to a birthday party there, so my dad took me. When my father was a kid his grandparents owned a roller rink a cross the street from his house, so he's really, really good. I'm pretty good on roller blades.

Liz

They all end abruptly at the end of the page. "Did I tell you what I got for Christmas? [Uhp, guess you'll have to wait 'til next week.] Liz." Horrendous, bubbly cursive. Illustrations in the margins. I should really bring it to the next editorial meeting as a submission.

Had you given up on me, reader?

2007-11-03T08:22:00.001-04:00

I know, it's been so long. November already. The clock tower outside my window lights up before I leave work. Monday is my two month anniversary there--one third of the way to vacation days.

In the meantime, I've been yoga-ing and reading (just finished The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, which was good, but the whole time I couldn't stop thinking, Middlesex does this too, only better, and with a little optimism.) and tutoring (Julia is such a good little reader; she points out the intricacies of the English language as we go: "A [read: uh] or a [read: aaay], you can say it either way!" I remember having that same hang-up in first grade.) and visiting Philadelphia and driving to Chester to admire the foliage. I've been eating pumpkin in utterly every variety--last night I had pumpkin tempura. It looked like a deep-fried slice of cantaloupe and tasted like a deep-fried slice of sweet potato.

And, in true fall spirit, I got my flu shot yesterday, and now it feels like somebody gave me a dead arm. There goes my pitching career.

2007-10-15T21:34:00.001-04:00

Oh, dudes. I completely miss being in college. I miss my idyllic campus, and my absolutely minimal classroom time, and reading things I actually like (not things that people want to be published, even though they cannot use spell-check to save their lives). I miss Xanga. I miss having something to write about on Xanga. I miss Eye-Contact Boy. Right now my dad and I are watching a PBS show about tilapia mothers holding their guppy babies in their mouths when predators swim by. Doesn't really make for scintillating reading.

Exactly one year ago, I was home on fall break, making fires and sitting on the front steps with Maggie. The most exciting event of the past week was the discovery that symbols like <3 and :) are animated on gChat.

I also can't get that "1234" song out of my head. Damn that Feist.

Weekend Blog

2007-10-13T12:30:00.001-04:00

As you can tell, reader dear, I am utterly awful at updating during the week. I have far too much to do during the week, such as watch Jeopardy! and reruns of The Daily Show, and then maybe catch an episode of The Hills, or my new favorite show 30 Rock.* You see? Completely no time for writing.

From now on, expect updates only on the weekend. I promise I will save up a week's worth of silly happenings to write about.

Silly Happening #1

Thursday evening, on my way home from work, a British dad (who looked somewhat like John Oliver) sat down next to me on the subway with a lapful of three year-old on the brink of a tantrum. He utterly did not want to sit on his dad's lap, he wanted his own seat, so in protest he started screaming, "GET OFF MY BUTT! I DON'T WANT TO SHARE! GET OFF MY BUTT!" And then he ate a banana.

Every time the train rocked, his little Crocked foot would hit my knee. Finally his British father turned him a bit and whispered, "Don't kick the woman, okay?" And the little banana-covered boy looked at me and said, "That's not a woman, that's a girl."

Silly Happening #2

Almost missed my train on Wednesday, but managed to slide into a window seat at the last minute. Was all chuffed with myself until I looked across the aisle and there was Creepy Station Boy. I waved and he looked quickly at the ground, and then I looked out the window for an hour and gave my neck an awful crick.

Silly Happening #3

My dad just called me Lily. And I was all, "Lily? Who's that?" And he was all, "Jesus Christ, who knows. I'm losing my mind. Anyway, I bought some chilli--"

And he stopped.

And we both looked at each other.

And I said, "Lily--Lizzy plus chilli."

And then we fell about laughing.

October!

2007-10-02T21:05:00.001-04:00

The tenth month has gotten off to a rocky start. Monday morning I gave myself a heart attack because I realized I had not gotten my Oct. monthly train ticket yet--quick fix, Dad drove me to Summit. Fine. Then today all trains to Hoboken were suspended. (I couldn't help thinking, 'Chicken emergency?') It wasn't funny at the time. Slightly jangly nerves, Summit again. I can only imagine what tomorrow has in store for New Jersey Transit.

I've spent most of the last two days making to-do lists, and hardly anything gets crossed out. My editor/boss is in NC for some book party, so without him to assist, I just sit and read and write some emails to people with questions I generally can't answer. Utterly dull. I'm actually looking forward to my boss's return so I'll have something to bloody well do.

More lists.

Things I'm looking forward to:

-Bronte Movie
-Chris Adrian at a bar next week with Turkish Eren
-BED

2007-09-25T20:59:00.001-04:00

It may sound like a joke, but it is utterly the truth that I am covered in paper cuts. I spent 1.5 hours photocopying manuscripts today, and I have the wounds to prove it.

The mysterious boy on the train continues to make standing on a station platform a completely uncomfortable experience. He hasn't tried to talk to me again; he just hovers. I stare at the ground. No eye-contact for him.

Oh, reader! Oh, dudes! How could I have forgotten? I saw Rilo Kiley on Saturday night!

Joe, you were so right: it was a huge dance party. And her guitar strap said 'Jenny' in silver glitter, and Blake wore a bowtie, and there were huge beach ball-sized balloons filled with confetti, and they played so many awesome older songs--Ripchord, Wires and Waves, Paint's Peeling (!), I Never, Portions for Foxes, Spectacular Views--and they bloody covered Rise Up with Fists!!!, and Jenny wore a silvery, hot-pants-jumpsuit, and we all sang Happy Birthday to Blake, and then he blew out a candle in a donut hole, and Jonathan Rice fucking rocked (something I never expected to say), and he sang a duet with J.L. that was utterly lovely, and Jenny and Blake sang With Arms Outstreched and the whole entire crowd, completely everyone, sang along. I had just about mostly lost my voice by the end.

Gold star.

Today I wished I was back at school.

2007-09-18T19:52:00.000-04:00

A huge monarch butterfly flew by my 17th floor window yesterday. And again today. It looks about as substantial as a paper airplane. I know they migrate, but seriously. How high can those things go?

Tonight on the train a mysterious boy handed me a note that said, "Hi. I've seen you at the station in the morning. What's your name? I'd like to get to know you." And dunderhead me, I thought I had dropped the piece of paper, so I was all, "Oh, thanks!" and then opened it up and was like, ? And so I said hi, my name is Liz, and he said hi. And I said, do you live in New Providence? And he said, yeah, do you? And I said yeah, I grew up there, and he said, ---

And so I said, do you like it so far? And he said, yeah. ---

And so I looked out the window, and he looked straight ahead, and then he got up and walked to the door just before our stop.

It was out of a flipping Miranda July movie. All that was missing were some pink stickers and wonky background music.

Occupation

2007-09-17T21:51:00.001-04:00

Yo, dear reader. I wish I could tell you that I've been occupied with utterly fabulous things this past week, but I've mostly been primarily occupied with being completely knackered. No wonder adults seem dull. They work!

Har, har.

The job is good, and my building is wacky (they're redoing the lobbies and elevators, so some of the elevators are lined with cardboard to protect the mirrored walls--someone wrote 'graffitti' and someone else corrected it with the accurate copy-editing mark--amazing), and I've spent most of the last week on trains, ironing shirts, memorizing book contracts and reading thriller novels that, ordinarily, I would not touch with a latex-gloved hand. But it's a jaerb, and I can wear jeans, and there's free coffee, and some cute editors who actually keep pencils behind their ears.

Now every time I see a book I might want to read, I check the spine to see who published it. I hope this is not one of those 'too much of a good thing' things. Utterly unthinkable.

And now I'm tired again.

Today was my first day of work.

2007-09-10T20:20:00.001-04:00

Oy, am I tired.

There isn't much to tell you yet, except my desk looks out a window on the 17th floor and I have the perfect view of a huge clock tower. It's the best clock I've ever had. Makes me miss Big Ben, though.

Goodnight.