Oh UES, Why Do You Vex Me So?

Don't know what it is, but I have a very strange relationship with the UES. In the year since I've been here (gosh - already a year!) - I've only been there about 5 times. And each time - I usually get inebriated and lost... yesterday, no exception...
Met Mark at Guggenheim to catch "Family Pictures" exhibit, which really should have been called "Pedophiles Come Hither" exhibit because much of it was photography of nude young children in provocative poses. I'm all for art in its most liberal interpretation but featuring very young children who have no control over being photographed - seems, I don't know... wrong. Some of the poses I thought bordered on sexual abuse, so we quickly moved along.
The roving exhibit du jour celebrates Spanish painters - from el Greco to Picasso. We took in some pretty good pieces, and wound our way down to the main lobby. I'd never been to the Guggenheim before, but it is a striking architectural structure and and easily navigable place. I didn't feel overwhelmed by numerous rooms and wings, like most museums.
What I did feel overwhelmed by was the 3 margaritas afterwards at some lame bar called "Geronimo" - where the interior decor consisted of glow cubes and dreamcatchers. Anyway, got really tipsy pretty quick and in a foolish move, we stumbled to a bodega and bought lotto tickets. You don't understand - I was CLAMORING to buy lotto tickets, and I NEVER buy lotto tickets. You would have thought it was the only location in the entire world that sold lotto tickets - the way I was so psyched to get them. What possessed me to shell out 20-bucks for scratch 'em tickets I will never know. Random.
After leaving Mark's place after dinner, I was completely lost. I was in the UES but I felt like I was in a completely different city. It was cold and uncomfortable, too few people were around, and atmosphere was canned and stale. Total disorientation as I walked in a complete circle until I finally flagged down a cab.
At home, only got about 1 hour to sleep off weird UES romp - and then rolled into work.
ASIDES
-How long is this Bob Woodruff stuff going to play? It's on Good Morning America, World News, Nightline - I'm thoroughly exhausted from all the crying this week - and it's tarnishing my "tough girl" veneer.
-On my bizarro UES trip, I must've temporarily lost consciousness and fallen onto a fire hydrant - because a big bruise below my shoulder blade is on the move.

Daily Dish

1) Need to stop moving for a minute and pick up my room. If I went missing - and the police showed up - they'd all be in agreement: "This is definitely where the struggle occurred... and she fought incredibly hard with designer handbags and junk mail."

2) Date tonight was one of the most socially awkward events of my life, and not because of my gigantor zit. Will dish to the girls later. Preferably over a very dry, very big martini.

3) Hate, hate, hate it when you are walking the very busy sidewalks of Midtown, and a group of 4 people stops dead in front of you... like they're getting ready to lock arms and play "Red Rover, Red Rover." Seriously people, keep moving because I'm trying to protect a blowout from scaffolding and overhang drippy drips. And you don't want to test how far I'll go to protect a blowout. You really don't.

4) Love the anonymity of NYC - as heading to subway tonight, I wore a shower cap to protect my tresses from rain droplets. No one batted an eyelash - and even if they did, I could have cared less.

5) Catching Family Pictures exhibit at Guggenheim tomorrow. Will review later.

6) Brandy's back in NYC now, and all is right in the world. Will meet her tomorrow for major league catch-up session.

7) Word to the wise: If you have self tanner that's over 6 months old toss it out. This advice made possibly by someone who looks like a tangelo, that no amount of foundation or powder can correct.

8) Think I spotted a gray hair moving in on my mane. I yanked it out, performed a "stay young" ritual by screaming in outrage, and vowed never to let my roots grow in enough to spot one silver strand again. My laugh lines weren't amused.

9) Boozin' on the subway. For the 2nd time since we've been buds, Heather has greeted me on a subway train with a water bottle filled with a booze concoction to prep our nights out. It makes for a fun ride downtown - until you realize it's the exact same thing that homeless people do.

10) My handbags might have a run for their money as there's a new obsession sneaking in: watches. Watch out!

11) I love it when a guy tries to be all macho and fails - making purposeful eye contact with you before barreling up steps by taking them two-at-a-time only to fall on himself. As he tries to regroup his briefcase items, people shuffle by him with a look of pity - including me, which he sees before my leopard print heels whiz by his face. Nice one fella.

12) Not really into the hippie scum look - paying a lot of money for grungy clothes and hair products to look like you just climbed out of a garbage dumpster. I want to buy these people a one-way ticket to Seattle in the early 90s.

13) Reconsidering my launch into Maureen Dowd's "Are Men Necessary?" book. Think I might come out of it a different person - like a middle-aged single woman with 6 cats.

14) Sonya and I only have 3 personal training sessions left, which makes me sad - because there's no way I can afford another 10 sessions right now. The ol' Yoga ball and bands will have to be called in to understudy.

15) Why does Anthropologie taunt me with weekly emails? I can't afford half of the stuff in your store - yet I want to eat it all! I would unsubscribe to the weekly email service, but clearly I'm in some sort of retail self-torture phase.

An Open Plea: No Joe, Don't Go!

Doorman Joe is leaving our building Wednesday - moving to the dismal state of Maryland with his family. WHY JOE, WHY?
Who's going to wish me luck and check for lipstick on my teeth before a big date?
Who's going to give me an airplane bottle of liquor when I return from the same date - in a puddle of tears?
Who's going to let me use the lobby bathroom when a night-on-the-town means I can't hold it in until my apartment?
Who's going to give me the goods on my neighbors?
Who's going to tell me the best places to park my nonexistent car?
Who's going to be my best friend by telling me my dry cleaning has arrived?
Who's going to talk music and bands with me?
Who's going to always smile - always be upbeat - and always lend a hand?
You were so good to us Joe - I'll miss you forever!
Good luck in The Old Line State - or the Free State - or the Wrong State...

Ouch: A Craigslist Breakup

We could have been a Missed Connection. - w4m - 29 (Lower East Side)

Reply to: pers-281961245@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-02-20, 7:52PM EST


I can picture it now:
"Me: Hip, blonde, thin, tattoos. Drunk on whiskey at that shitty LES bar.
You: Took me home, allowed me to pass out rather than trying to fuck me, and woke me up Sunday morning with my favorite record and the crossword.
Where did you go?"

And, because you're not a craigslist-aholic like me, you'd never have seen it, and we'd never have seen each other again. It could have been perfect.

Except it's nearly three years later, and I'm sitting on the couch in our apartment thanking god you're not home. Why did you wait until I fell in love with you to mention that you hate cats, hate gay people, would never, ever clean up after yourself, would constantly belittle me, would make my friends feel uncomfortable for being around, and cut off all of my relationships with my guy friends? If you would have only told me you were going to quit your job and live off of me from the start, things could have ended beautifully, quietly, succinctly. Why did you let me take you to my family's place and earn the honor of the First Boyfriend My Father Has Ever Liked? Furthermore, why did you allow me to visit with your family and love them so much that they're like my own family now? WHY? Why didn't you clue me in about your addiction to electronics, which you will consistently purchase and update before paying rent or billls? How about telling me that you don't like any food that hasn't been deep fried or slathered in cheese? No? You knew that I enjoy all manner of culinary oddity and that I enjoy, once in a while, indulging in it without being told it's disgusting. Why not mention that you'd never let me eat something as simple as eel in peace?

And hey, while we're on gross, I definitely deserved a warning that once you moved in, what happens between your ass and the toilet bowl would no longer be a closely guared secret. Every time you go in there, I turn on the kitchen faucet, jack up the volume on the stereo, and/or just wander around the living room with my fingers jammed in my ears screaming "LALALALALALA", but no matter: you just wander out and recount to me exactly what happened in there. I'm 100% positive that after three years, you are still convinced that I do not fart or shit. I think this could have been a two-way street.

Lastly, why didn't you tell me that when I finally had had enough, when I finally needed to end the relationship because of all of this stuff, we would be best friends and it would be the hardest fucking thing I've ever had to do?

On the up side: If I am ever attracted to another man again (which is doubtful at this point), when he doesn't call me, instead of whining about what a great time we had and not understanding why he didn't call, I will recall you. You were perfect in every way those first few months, but three years down the line, you're agony for me. When I post that MC in the future, it will be a thank you note.

re: We could have been a Missed Connection. - w4m - 29 (Lower East Sid - 27 (Lower East Side)

Reply to: pers-282415315@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-02-21, 4:40PM EST


We could have been a Missed Connection - w4m - 29 (Lower East Side)

You: Hip, blond, thin, tattoos, passed out as soon as I got you back to my place and away from that shitty LES bar.
Me: Brown hair, thin (despite the fried food and cheese addiction), tattoos, stupidly allowed you to pass out in my apartment.
Why didn't you just go?

And, because I'm not a Craigslist-aholic like you, I never would have known that you were trying to suck me into your special place, The World Where Nothing is Ever Enough.

Except it's nearly three years later and there you are, sitting on the couch in our apartment obsessing, obsessing, obsessing over every tiny, minor detail of every sliver of every moment of every mind-numbing day we've ever spent together. God, how do you do it?
Wait, here come the questions. Oh yeah. I can feel it. Here they come.
"Why do your hate cats?"
"Why do you hate gay people?"
"Why do you never clean up after yourself?"
"Why do you belittle me?"
"Why do you enjoy making my friends uncomfortable?"
"Why did you quit your job?"
"Why don't you pay the rent?"
Why, why, why, why, why.
Well, today's your lucky day, princess. Because here come the answers.
I don't hate cats, I hate your cat. There's a difference. Actually, I like cats. But I really hate your cat.
I don't hate gay people. But I hate your brother, Richard, who just happens to be gay.
I don't clean up after myself so I can passive-aggressively punish you. Look under the couch right now, there's an empty beer can and half a sandwich. Been there since November. As have the eels under the bed. I know how you love eels. Enjoy.
By the way, in those few moments of the day when you aren't belittling me, it makes me feel stronger to belittle you, to chip away at your over-confidence and peel away the layers of self-righteous, I don't know, job-holdingness that you wallow in and lord over me.
Your friends are uncomfortable because Sean caught me fucking Allissa in the bathroom at the Thanksgiving party and then told Kelly and Gabrielle. Sean wanted to tell you right away, but Gabrielle had to come clean about when we hooked up at Radio's party in Brooklyn over the summer while you thought we were getting groceries for the cookout, and so they decided to just keep brows furrowed, as it were, and hold their liquor about it. Tense for a while, I admit. But now I enjoy it.
Why did I quit my job? Hmmm. I don't know, maybe because it sucked? What do you think? No, here goes: I quit my job to pursue my dream of living off you, being forced to beg you for just enough money for a pint or two twice a week. I'm grateful for it. Really, I am.
Of course, the downside of quitting your job and living off your soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend is the rent. Can't be paid, I'm afraid.
Until now. That's right. You heard me. Until now. I have a job. In fact, I rented my own place yesterday. Feels good. Perhaps I can loan you a bit of money? Just enough to get back on your feet again? No worries. Keep the dishes, even the electronics, which I only collected to fill the void created by living in?... no, make that living under... your world, you know, "The World Where Nothing is Ever Enough."

PS The bit about my bathroom habits was funny. But perhaps not as funny as knowing that the real reason I put on such a show of describing them to you, of bringing the matter up, was to make you feel better about your own bathroom and intestinal... difficulties. I just assumed you must be self-conscious about them. I mean, how could one not be? What's that about no good deed going unpunished?

PPS Remember that first morning when you woke up and were so happy that I was playing your favorite record? I told you that I wanted you to hear it first thing when you woke up. That was a lie. It was actually what I believe they refer to as... a coincidence. God, I hate coincidences.

Sleeping with the Enemy

You know the feeling. You've probably been there. Think back - to a wild college night, or a morning after too many silly Chardonnays. You wake up in your own bed and YOU'RE NOT ALONE. You feel a presence, and then - sheer dread sets in before you can even face whatever is sharing your bed with you.
The above scenario happened to me this morning. I sensed something with me under the sheets - even sensed what I thought was another pulse. Locked in the fetal position staring at my closet, I wondered if I should even turn around - already anticipating the shame and embarrassment of what was coming. And when I finally - FINALLY - convinced myself to investigate - I was completely disheartened at the discovery. Yep, a big stinkin' zit. And yes, it does have a heartbeat and has grown an arm.
I have a date tomorrow night! Sucks in the city.

Dead Wrong

When deciding if we're going to send a correspondent to cover these devastating tornadoes in Arkansas - the decision lies in the body count. More than 4 dead - send someone. 4 or less? Keep the correspondent planted at home base. Nice. Sometimes I hate my job.

Umm... Yeah...

I just compared my Britney blog entry to Fabrice's last blog entry - 'Macro Perspectives on Global Liquidity: How Chinese Farmers and Oil Sheiks are Subsidizing American Consumption and its Implications' - after he asked if I read it. I told him it was a great alternative to a sleeping pill. He laughed. No wonder this guy is a gazillionaire. I will make him my life coach.

Rainin' Venom!

With the ANS trainwreck getting more subdued - I'm now fully engaged in Bald Britney mayhem.

ANS & The Sunshine State

So I blinked, and it was over. Of course I'm talking about the ridiculous, the warped, the emotionally-charged hearing over ANS' body. One word: spectacle. And now it's moved from ANS: The Body to ANS: The Baby.

COMMENTARY
Living under the influence of the Weirdness Magnet

By DAVE BARRY
dbarry@MiamiHerald.com

We need to find it, dig it up, and get rid of it.

I'm talking about the South Florida Giant Underground Weirdness Magnet. It's buried around here somewhere. It has to be. How else can you explain why so many major freak-show news stories either happen, or end up, in South Florida?
O.J. Simpson, for example. Why is he here? Did anybody in South Florida ever say, ''Hey O.J.! Why don't you pack up your golf clubs, your one glove and your remaining cutlery, and come be part of our community!''? Of course not! Nobody WANTED him here. He was DRAWN here, by the Giant Underground Weirdness Magnet.
Or consider the 2000 presidential election. In the rest of the nation, voters looked at their ballots, then picked either one presidential candidate or the other. Only here did a scarily large number of voters attempt to vote for either (a) none of the presidential candidates, or (b) ALL of the presidential candidates, or in some cases both (a) AND (b), thereby screwing up the entire election and causing a Level Five Lawyer Infestation from which we have yet to fully recover. What caused so many incompetent voters to clump together into one huge clueless mass? That would be your Giant Underground Weirdness Magnet.
Another example is the Miracle Virgin Mary Grilled Cheese Sandwich. Remember? Granted, the Virgin Mary has appeared on other food items. But only in Hollywood, Fla., did she appear on a grilled-cheese sandwich that was preserved by its owner, who (Why not?) kept it on her nightstand for more than 10 years -- during which she claims it did not develop mold -- and then (this is the miracle part) she sold it on eBay to a casino for $28,000. The casino also paid $5,999 for the pan. Please do not try to tell me that this could have happened in an area that was not being bombarded with powerful weirdness rays.

ONE AMONG MANY
There are many other South Florida phenomena that can only be explained by the Giant Underground Weirdness Magnet, including the Versace slaying, the Elián González fiasco, Tim Hardaway and Donald Trump. The current example, it goes without saying, is the Anna Nicole Smith Corpse Battle and Freak-a-Palooza, now playing in Fort Lauderdale. Of COURSE it had to happen here. And of COURSE, instead of a thoughtful, dignified, decorous, mentally stable judge, we got an American Idol contestant -- sometimes sobbing like Dorothy when she had to say goodbye to the Scarecrow; sometimes firing off one-liners that he apparently thought were hilarious. Ha ha! Stop it, Judge, you Krazy Kourtroom Karacter!
No, really, Judge: stop it.
Anyway, the question is, what can we do about this? I don't mean the Anna Nicole Smith mess; that will continue metastasizing for a LONG time. Zsa Zsa Gabor -- Yes! Zsa Zsa! -- is already involved; it's only a matter of time before somehow, some way, we hear the words ``Kato Kaelin.''
No, it's too late to stop that. But maybe we can prevent this kind of thing from happening here again, by eliminating the cause of our problems. That's right: we need to get rid of the Giant Underground Weirdness Magnet. But first, we have to figure out where it is.
I think I know. I figured it out scientifically.

CENTER OF WEIRD
Here's how: I took a map of South Florida, and I marked the locations of the major weird phenomena described in this column. Then I looked at this map in a scientific manner, considering both the location of each phenomenon, and its Weirdness Quotient. And then a chill ran down my spine as I realized where the magnet would have to be buried, to cause this particular weirdness pattern.
It's under the Golden Glades Interchange.
We have no choice. To get that thing out of there, to give this community hope for a normal, or at least less-weird, future, we need to demolish the Golden Glades as soon as possible, using either dynamite or -- if the wind is right -- nuclear explosives. Then we need to dig up the Giant Underground Weirdness Magnet and send it to some place that could use more weirdness, such as Cincinnati.
You're thinking: ``But Dave, what if we follow your plan, and the weirdness magnet isn't there? Then all we will have accomplished is the total destruction of the Golden Gl ... Oh, OK, never mind.''
Exactly. So come on, South Florida: Let's do this NOW, before things get any worse. For all we know, Kato is already heading this way.

Anna Hearing: Day 3

Only this diabolical judge in the ANS hearing would blame a diabetic for passing out during today's testimony. After the Texas lawyer briefly passed out during testimony but then seemed fine and up on his feet, the judge offered him orange juice and called for a recess. But not before saying: "You should have told me you were a diabetic. I would have scheduled more breaks." Unbelievable. Yet I love it all! Grab your popcorn people, as this is the most fascinating train-wreck ever!

Foggy

You know your head is still in Dreamland when you show your work ID to your apartment doorman on your way out of the building. And you also gather he's at the end of a long overnight shift, when he nods approvingly - as if you were supposed to show him your work ID on the way out the building.

ANNA MANIA
1) The judge in the Anna Nicole body custody case is awesome... the stuff that comes out of his head is really crackin' me up. Stuff like: "It's rolling up and down like the Wild West in here" and "you want to have your goose and your gander." WHAT?! Anyway, I love listening to his grand-standing, and I love that my job lets me listen to him all day long.
2) Like a freakin' field trip - the judge, parties involved, and lawyers all gathered today to view Anna's decomposing body at the Medical Examiner's Office. yummy.
FUNNY
Shout out to Nate for a great show last night at UCB. And a big ol' Shut up to me - for telling him he was better than anyone in his troupe in front of a guy in his troupe. Nice one Allison.
CRAVIN'
It's premenstrual time, and you know what that means - CHEESE!!

Drinks?

Get the Mig Royale at Death & Co. Bar in the East Village. Guaranteed to make you laugh your day away.

Bizarro World Times 20

I should've known it was going to be a weird day when I woke up to the news that Britney Spears shaved her noggin...
MISSION BATH HOUSE
After a leisurely brunch at the Diner yesterday, Steve and I set off for the Russian/Turkish Bath house. Located in Alphabet City, we walk through the area and find it. And after gazing at the facade of this place, I should've turned right around and gone home. But we didn't. We were meeting Heather and Carey, as well as Sarah's friend, Nathan at this place - so we at least needed to wait around for them. So we climbed the stairs and went inside. Upon entering, it was like we had entered a prison or an impound lot - because the doors were grated metal, and one had a tiny window in it - leading to the unknown inside. So we waited on a small bench outside the grated door. As the troops showed up, I wanted to troop on out. To me, this place screamed "communicable diseases." After being situated so long in this dingy delapidated place, I needed a drink. So we left - rounded a corner - when Steve saw a sign that said "Drink here." So we ducked inside a place called 'Doc Holliday' which was like walking into the 3rd level of Dante's 'Inferno.' Old men were there drunk as skunks at 3pm - there was arm-wrestling, kissing, dancing, arguing, fighting and more drinking. We watched it all in horror - but couldn't resist the $3 PBR's - so we stayed... occassionally looking at each other, with one silent question continually exchanged: "Is this really happening?"
MISSION BATH HOUSE II
So we get all beery at this hole-in-the-wall weird place, and Heather again tries to lobby for the Bath House. Everyone seems in - and even though I'm really reluctant - I relent. Here we go to the bath house again, and I'm powerless to stop the stride. Once inside, we go to the counter - where old Russian or Turkish men are taking our wallets, and giving us locker room keys. The locker room is situated on the same floor with the baths situated "below" - so I robe up and head down. Now, the kicker to all this is that I'd just had a blowout the day before - and it's not wise at all to be in any kind of humidity or wetness while trying to get ultimate lifespan out of a blowout - and I'm now standing amongst dripping wet half-naked people in a grungy basement hallway with steam rooms, saunas, and pools. The "cold pool" by the way, had a film of guck on it. I looked at Steve right away and he actually said, "This is appalling. I'm appalled." I laughed at the randomness of it all and wondered which path I had chosen in my life to get me here. Heather was still excited about this place - remarking on how the incredible heat had really opened up her pores, while all Steve and I were watching germs getting up on hind legs and scampering by us. Steve, Heather, and Nathan got the platza oak leaf treatment - which consisted of laying on a wood slab in a crowded sauna while a large Turkish man thrashed them with oak leaves. While all this thrashing was happening in the underbelly of society, I went upstairs to the massage rooms to get a 30-minute swedish. Before too long, the nice Asian lady was standing on my back. The massage was okay - and before I knew it, we were all at the front counter getting our wallets back and paying for our services. It was a wild, wild adventure that I'll never do again.
DIN-DIN
After this weird day, Steve and I shower up and don our polished duds to head to the uber fancy and crazy expensive Bouley restaurant downtown. It was fantastic... the place, the food, the flowers, the service. I half-wanted Steve to propose to me because of the setting and mood, but then realized that would be a challenging future for us because he's gay. As we chatted, we secretly rejoiced in the fact that none of these waiters knew that we were in a seedy Russian/Turkish bath house only 2 hours prior. Anyway, I highly recommend Bouley, and urge all couples to get engaged there. It's THAT good, and with Bouley at the beginning - your marriage will last forever.
SOME OTHER STUFF
*I found out that Steve likes to start his day by dunking his face into a bowl of ice water, something he discovered that Paul Newman did to retain tightness in the skin and stay young. I didn't have any ice, so Steve wore cucumber eyelids both mornings he was here.
*When McDonalds says only customers get to use the bathroom - they mean it.
*When Subway restaurant says only customers can use the bathroom - they mean it.
*Amazing Race All Stars rocks. They've brought back all the hot-heads and favorites from seasons past - and I'm ready for some reality TV drama... and for someone to beat Rob and Amber!
*Why did 'Ghost Rider' win at the weekend box office? First 'Norbit' - now Nick Cage with fake hair on a flaming motorcycle? I hate it all.
*Braved the Prada store in SOHO today, and fell in love with 20 handbags. I really have a problem.

Snow Job

Just the other day, as I trodded mid-calf through a massive mound of wet snow sludge, I cursed NYC for not being able to plow roads and sidewalks speedily. Today, this comes out:
AP-NYC--Snow Shoveler Jobs,0075
City hiring snow shovelers
NEW YORK (AP) -- Need a job.
New York City is paying ten dollars an hour for snow shovelers. The city's Department of Sanitation is hiring the laborers to remove snow and ice from city sidewalks and curbs.
The pay for the temporary snow shovelers will jump to 15 dollars an hour after the first 40 hours.
People interested in working should report to a Sanitatation Department garage. Call 3-1-1 for more information.
(Copyright 2007 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)

Bill Ritter - Off to Battle!

Does anyone else have a problem, besides me, with the new WABC Bill Ritter promo... you know the one where's he's everywhere "To Give you the News That Matters Most!"? He's in Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, Jersey. My problem isn't with the concept of the promo - it's the way he's tightly marching with fists clenched through these locations - looks like he's going off to war or something. Come on Bill - loosen up!

Hair, Internal Freak Out, and Bathing

SOME STUFF:
1) Cut your hair Rapunzel, or the maintenance man will climb up it while your sleeping and take that snow shovel to your face.
2) I interface with a majority of men on a daily basis at work and today, I realize that we really do speak different languages when it comes to - well - anything. Case in point:
AB: Hey, what TV router number is the Times Square studio coming in on?
Man: I don't know - call TV-3.
AB: Shouldn't I call Newsone, as TV-3 is the White House pool - out of DC?
Man: Yes, call TV-3.
AB: But TV-3 is out of Washington - we need the Times Square studios - here in New York. We are here in New York.
Man: What's the status with David Muir at Kennedy airport?
AB: What?! (brain shift) I emailed him - haven't heard back but our edit bays are slammed - don't think we could take him in if he called to file now anyway.
Man: Okay - have we been in touch with JetBlue corporate? On the stranded passengers?
AB: Muir will likely have that in his Good Morning America package.
Man: Have we reached out to him to file?
AB: YES - I just told you I emailed him.
Man: Oh - look at the [inhouse] monitor, the stranded JetBlue passengers are at the Times Square studio - what TV router is that on?
AB: (Brain shift) I was trying to set that up - I asked you that earlier.
Man: Oh right - call Newsone for the router. And reach out to David Muir for him to file.
[[Internal AB: AHHHHHHH - SOMEONE SAVE ME!!! Please - anyone - walk into the newsroom, pick me up in a "crossing the threshold" kinda way, and cart me out of here! Am I speaking jibberish - or even jive? Am I fully alert? Is this coffee doing any good? Am I here? Where am I? Who am I? Who's on first?]]
3) Have the weekend off - which I'm fully excited about. Even more excited because DC Steve is coming into town for some fun NYC time. We are even going to try and check out the Russian/Turkish bath house - which from the look of the pictures and the menu of services on the website - mean men rejects from the 1989 movie "Gleaming the Cube" will beat us senseless with Platza Oak Leaves. www.russianturkishbaths.com
4) I'm also off on Monday and Tuesday - which means I've got some President's Day sales shopping to attend to.

Snap, Crackle, STOP!

LOUDNESS
Awoke at 5:30am - about an hour earlier than my alarm was supposed to go off this morning by one of our maintenance men scraping, and banging, and pretty much going to war with the ice outside, one floor below me. The silent sleep rage that followed involved flopping around in bed trying to throw covers and a pillow - and even my puffin coat - over my head to stop the noise. Right then and there, I vowed never to give the guy a Christmas bonus (not that I did this past holiday - but that's besides the point).
WIN WITH WEATHER
Speaking of weather, it's everywhere. Either I'm tramping through it, or hearing about it. There's a saying in the news business, especially local news: "Win With Weather!" which is really true. It's why weather is in the a-block - the first portion of a newscast - to provide the hook and tease for the c-block, where the weatherman usually does their 'extended forecast.' The audience, for the most part, predominantly watches the news for the weather anyway because it affects dress, education, work, and transportation - so it's always a safe bet to lead with weather on days like today. It's also a dream during sweeps because it's an insta-lead - can be as sensational as you want with crazy graphics and liveshots at the ol' Salt Dome. It also will usually validate buying the news station's WEATHER HUMMER (consisting of just a weather vane on the roof) which hasn't seen snow since its purchase. All around - "Win with Weather!"
VDAY
So it's Crap-entine's day, and I'm definitely feeling the solo swing in what I dub the 'Land of Downward Mood.' My friend Kenny - who hasn't dated anyone in years - even tells me he has a Valentine's blind date. What is that about?!?! I might as well finish myself off: lighting a black candle when I get home, sitting in a corner, listening to Sarah McLachlan, and journaling.
WHAT'S THIS?
So I was feeling all unloved and figuring out where I should go to get a new black candle, when an anchor walked into my edit bay and handed me a box from the mail. I notice 1-800-flowers is the sender, and suddenly I perk up. The anchor himself was so intrigued that he stayed while I opened it. He didn't really make me feel special when he added: "Hope it's not from your stalker." Thanks. Anyway, lovely suede box awaited my opening - inside, lovely truffles and an assortment of chocolate bath gels and salts. Awesome! I open the card and I immediately grin ear to ear: "Happy Valentine's Day. Chocolates are Better Than Boys! Love Heather" So very, very sweet of her. My ladies rock - best on the planet earth!

String Bean

If you're ever inclined for some ear-ringing culture, check out the New York Repertory Orchestra. I caught them Saturday night, courtesy Sarah's invitation - and they were great. Beethoven No. 8 was lively and lovely - capping a perfect evening of classical music. Hit the title for the link, as they have free shows throughout the year.

Afghanistan

Hit Ariana Afghan restaurant tonight with Alex. She had some work stuff to figure out while there and I had some Afghan wine stuff to figure out. All in all - a GREAT meal. We both had the lamb - as well as a pumpkin slice appetizer, and smiled as we caught up and regaled in the fact that we were both in such a cool city, worked at such amazing (though painful at times) jobs, with such amazing food. Afterwards, we hit Billy's Bakery for a cupcake (sorry Heather - but we clinked cupcakes in your honor!) and I walked home. Got home - watched the end of the Grammy's (Nate - when is Huck Slim's next show?) and collapsed. Great night overall. I love NYC!
**Best Quote of the Week: Sarah - I spend more money on ATM surcharges in a month than I do on tampons for a year!

They've Done it Again!

ImprovEverywhere has hit another high note, orchestrating the pantless subway ride. It, along with Even Better Than the Real Thing are now my favorite missions. Please tell me how I can start dating one of these organizers! Click the title above to hit the link.

Song Choice

AND THEY'RE OFF!
Wild day of presidential campaign blitzes by Hillary and Barack camps in NH and IA. Lots of speeches which meant lots of feeds. As we wait for these campaign events to begin (sometimes hours), it's easy to let the mind wander - watching people in the crowd, critiquing the candidate's campaign signs, etc... Today, the music that they select for these events caught my fancy.
Now we all know that candidates try to get jazzy, Rocky-esque "pump-up" music for these events, but I have to question the selection of Superfreak by Rick James at an Obama rally. Don't really know if this is appropriate music, as little children are hoisted on shoulders of parents at something billed as a family-oriented event. Then I started thinking about what would make good campaign music, and how to take these candidates into the 21st century and expose new, quality music to voters across the country. Some ideas:
1) Wake Up - Arcade Fire
2) Cellphone's Dead - Beck
3) Back Again - Boy Kills Boy
4) Strange Apparition - Beck
5) Steal the Blueprints - +/- (plus/minus)
6) War No More - Tommy Guerrero
7) This Modern Love - Bloc Party
**Hit me with more, and I'll send them along to the candidates' camps!
QUESTIONING SOCIETY
It's a sad day when "Norbit" registers as making $33.7(M) at the box office its opening weekend. What's happening to our society, especially when "Norbit" seems to be laced with African American stereotypes? Are people really laughing at this crap? What's worse - "Hannibal Rising" came in at number two.

Fashionistas

FASHION FORWARD
Julie was in town Thursday night to do a story for Swiss TV on fashion week and guess what?!? She had an extra pass and ticket for the Custo Barcelona show - so I totally went. And man, was it awesome. We were able to roam backstage amongst the models, spotted celebrities (Queer Eye's Carson and Project Runway's Jeffrey), and caught a vibrant line with a rich mix of colored patterns and different textures. Yes, a lot of it was over-the-top stuff one would never wear outside of NYC or Barca or Buenos Aires - but it was definitely cool. Click on the title to catch some snaps of the show.
MOJITOS AND MEDIA
Afterwards hit Kemia for the Mojitos and talked shop with Julie's reporter, Alex and on of her coworkers. 'Twas fun, but too late as we didn't get to sleep until 2am. Ouch but oh well.

Hello Russia!

A trend that I'm not too into are the Russian-style furry hats that it seems NYC ladies have taken a shine toward. And now it seems that celebrities are buying into this babushka look. What's the deal?

From Bad To Good

Bad day yesterday was pretty much wiped out by sleeping in until 11:30am - having exhausting but exhilarating workout - exfoliating from head to toe - 1 hour yoga session - and long, hot shower. I feel like jello I'm so relaxed! Which is great, because tomorrow I meet with personal trainer Sonya, and she's sure to have me out of a relaxed state and into pain.

A Nutty Day

We've all had 'em. We've all lived 'em. We all hate them. I'm talking about the 'bad day' - where nothing goes right, and even menial stuff goes wrong. Mine was a nasty night that turned into a disastrous day:

It all started when Sarah and I decided to escape the frigid weather and duck into an italian restaurant on the UWS last night. Coppola's was the restaurant of choice. I had the lobster ravioli (this is an important piece of information we'll get to later). Anyway, the restaurant was full - the atmosphere was nice and intimate - and Sarah was her usual fun self. Then came the delivery men. Seriously, the delivery men - hired by Coppola's - head-to-toe parka - became a bustling traffic line from the kitchen in the back of this restaurant to the front door. So every 5 minutes, one was whizzing by and opening a door leading out to a VERY COLD NYC night. I was a tightly wound wad of shivering annoyance. Sarah tried to joke with our weird waiter, and he had zero sense of humor. Overall - blah.

After dinner, I was full and cold. I came home and went to sleep. Around 2am - woke up and saw my ravioli a second time. And a third. And a fourth. My stomach was a mess, and between night sweats and teeth-brushing - I had resolved to drop any future patronage to Coppola's.

Morning came, and I got ready for work. Grabbed my purse on the way out the door, and while putting my cell phone in it - I noticed that the bag of pistachios I had put in their the previous day had erupted. So as I said, "You've got to be kidding me" under my breath, one of the nuts looked back at me and laughed. It was unbelievable - shells and green and that nut casing - about 50 of them, scattered throughout my Michael Kors wonder. I figured I'd "shuck" them when I got into work, because I was running late.

Got to Penn Station and at the turnstyle, realized I had accidentally thrown away my recently purchased unlimited Metrocard for my expired Metrocard. So I stood in a 10-person deep line, and when I finally made it to the machine - it had stopped taking credit cards. Guess what? The other one only took cash too. And then guess what? Well, the obvious conclusion that I didn't have any cash hit me. I dug into my pistachios purse, looking for any loose change or even a bill to help me get a 2-dollar card, and that meant clearing all the nuts out of my bag. I started dumping the nuts into the trash can, and people started staring. One guy cleverly said, "That's kinda nutty." I didn't laugh. At all.

So now it's on to Duane Reade for a cash machine, and yep - it's drained. Now, steam starts forming in my head, and I unwrap my scarf around my neck and face, ready for the eruption from my ears. I head back upstairs to the street, and quickly search for an ATM. I find one - get money and jump into a cab (because now I'm really late). The cab driver thinks I say "head to 165th" instead of "head to 65th" and on the Westside Highway around 79th Street - I freak out, accusing him of talking on the phone too much instead of listening to where I said I was going. And you know what? He argues with me - saying I told him 165th and St. Nick! I'm like "I would never say St. Nick - you're dead wrong." Then, out of fear that he was going to dump me on the side of the highway - next to a very cold Hudson River, I shut my mouth and sulked. We make it to work with only 2 minutes to spare.

I still haven't cleaned out all the nuts in my purse, and when I walk into the bathroom to get myself together - I find that I've somewhere dropped a glove on my way into work. But I only have about a minute to curse myself for that fact, because when I gaze in the mirror, I see that I have a clearly defined lipstick mark from the edge of my lip to mid-cheek. I get my face together, and walk into the newsroom to face the day.

Now, today was my 7th day in a row at work - so my brain is already spent. I now have to endure the Assignment Editor job, which they should really rename the Logisitical Nightmare job - because it's 8 hours of feeds and mayhem and coordinates. And with the space cadet story evolving, and a million hearings on Capitol Hill - there are too many things happening. I felt like in the middle of it all - I should have done performance art by standing on top of the Assignment desk and juggling 17 pieces of fruit while standing on one leg with one eye glued shut and a broken elbow, because that was pretty what my brain was doing all day.

Got out of work - again into sub-zero temps - miss a train by inches, get home to an envelope full of complicated tax filing information. Great - something fun to look forward to.

Me Likey, Me No Likey

TURN-ONS:
1) Man-waiter with curly hair at Tia Pol restaurant in Chelsea. He was as yummy as the food was, and I think we had a moment.
2) Billy's Bakery cupcakes. Sweet buttercream - Sweet Jesus!
3) Rob Marciano of CNN
4) Heather's Superbowl party dip. I wanted a spoon.
5) Irish accents.
TURN-OFFS:
1) Men reading Harry Potter books. Come on - not in public.
2) People throwing up on the subway.
3) People who refuse to wear deodorant - a dangerous 'trend' started by idiot Matthew McConaughey.
4) Guys who emasculate themselves by doing yoga.
5) People who spit while walking down the street.

The Laupster!

Because girls just wanna have fun - I stalked Cyndi Lauper when she was in the newsroom yesterday. Notice how she's leaning into me, a telltale sign that we're tight. Also, notice my complete lack of put-together appearance, a telltale sign that I worked a 4:30am shift that day.

EXTRA MONEY
Who wants to join me this weekend - hanging these electronic things all over the city? Got a bunch of 'em in the mail, and looks like we could get some serious cash. Who's in?
*ASIDE: Actually ashamed of my network for using the term "Terror Chowder" for this story. Lame.