Be an M&M

Let’s just say you were bored at work. Like, say, on a slow Thursday afternoon. For argument’s sake.

May I suggest you might want to check out this silly website? You can create an M&M character in your image!

To your left please find mine. No idea why I’m not wearing pants.

Signs of Spring #1

I know it's not even February yet, but you can see it coming if you look closely.

Easter candy has appeared at the end of the Valentine’s aisle in the Rite-Aid up Hudson Street. Hey, it’s never too soon to start celebrating the resurrection of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ. (And Peeps!)

Jane, ready the champagne-filled chocolate bunny.

Useless rant against celebrity privilege

I’m sorry to have to bring this up. I’d like to think this blog is above commenting on two-bit celebrities. But I am appalled at this story about Britney Spears getting a police escort the “length of a football field” to a hospital for mental evaluation. That must be nice for her. How many other impoverished and middle-income people in L.A. yesterday sorely needed to seek help for behavioral health problems? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they all could have been taken kindly by the hand to a medical facility? And was there really no better use for all those police and medical personnel at that time? I find that unlikely.

Sure, I see that she needed to be protected from the paparazzi, but this is just ridiculous. It makes me sick to see our society giving special treatment to morons who’ve screwed up their own lives just because they once sang a catchy song or had a rich daddy. Meanwhile the rest of us face the hardness of life all on our own.

That's it.

Just came back from outside where a miserable Arctic wind tearing down the canyons of SoHo burned my cheeks and pelted me with New York grime and construction dust.

Can I go back to California yet?

Something there is that doesn’t love the past

Even when I discovered in undergrad that all the cool kids were reading more avant-garde poetry, I couldn’t get over my love of Robert Frost. I memorized “The Road Not Taken” in fourth grade, as many of us did, and it remained with me to my senior year of college, when a professor who was an eminent Frost scholar helped me look anew at the stodgy old New England poet.

This is all preface to my utter disgust at the fact that some useless youths in Vermont recently desecrated a farmhouse used by Frost for more than two decades, as was reported in the Times. (Please look past the purple prose—this is Dan Barry, after all.)

Frost aside, this is a lovely place, with obvious historical value, and I can’t imagine how any kids could behave in such a manner. It’s unfathomable to me.

Photo by Ángel Franco/The New York Times

The problem with preservation

The NY Times printed a fascinating article in the Science section today about how conservationists must adapt their strategies to a world changed by global warming. Do we abandon already-preserved lands that will turn arid and inhospitable? Do we keep sustaining environments we’ve rescued so they’ll be welcoming to new species that come to live there when the old ones can’t?

It’s an interesting predicament that puts ecologists in the position of fortune-tellers. On the other hand, I wonder if this is what we get for having the hubris to think we can play God with the land, picking and choosing what to preserve and what to develop.

It’s a crazy, crazy time to be an environmentalist.

Conversations we won’t be having

“Hey, what did you do this weekend?”

“Oh, you know, threw some ice chunks across a frozen pond to watch them slide.”

“Dude, sweet!”

“Totally. They go so far. You wouldn’t believe it.”

(Please enjoy my fabulous cinematography skills in this video.)

Winter in Prospect Park is bleak.

Carolyn is a little under the weather today. This blog will be back to its regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

Scientific proof that this week was lame

Brian mentioned to me yesterday that he'd heard January 24th was the most depressing day of the year. Curious, as that date had been particularly blue for me (see below), I looked into it and found this news story corroborating it.
(http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6847012/) Huh!

Does this mean that since it's now January 26th, things can only get better from here? I choose to believe that. Hoorah!

A good sign

As a counterpoint to yesterday’s post, let me say that at least we have this:

Last week when I left work in the evenings the sky was not black, as it has been since late November, but a dark midnight blue. This week, it has even been lightening to what I’d call a cobalt. The sun is on its way back!

(Unfortunately, the Empire State Building, the highlight of my sky view from work, will be lit up plain old white for the rest of the month. Last weekend it was blue, red, blue for the Giants and then red, black, green for MLK Day. You didn’t know there was a schedule online? Yup!)

Blurry photo of ESB with Giants lighting taken by me on Friday night

January blues

Is anyone else beginning to get a little tired of winter? Is it too soon to start dreaming of long, sunny walks in green parks?

If winter and I were on a date, this would be the last part of the evening where the buzz is wearing off, I’m realizing he’s kind of a jerk, and I just wish he’d go home.

(He with his false promises of snow. … If it would snow I might like him again for a minute!)

Wednesday soapbox

I’m just going to say this: I don’t like Facebook. I don’t want to offend any of my blog’s readers who might also happen to be avid Facebook users….but holy God that site is annoying. Do I need to be updated whenever a friend of mine takes a quiz about movies? Is it at all heart-warming to receive a virtual gift in the form of a little icon? (Yesterday’s was a pile of turtles—yippee!) Every time I look at someone’s page I get so overwhelmed by the multitude of things going on that I get twitchy. Updates, info, networks, photo albums, graffiti, gifts, groups, birthdays, favorite teams—just thinking about it makes me need to lie down with a cold compress.

Maybe I’m just too old. I’m sure if I were in high school I’d think this was the greatest invention ever. Perhaps the design is simply too busy, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with the content. I don’t think so, though.

I feel like enough of an exhibitionist having a MySpace page and a blog. You all can keep your Facebook and forgive me if I don’t send you a virtual sock monkey or piece of toast. Meantime, you can contact me by sending a good old-fashioned e-mail.

Let's be clear

Latest reports state that Heath Ledger was found dead at 421 Broome St. at 3:30 p.m. today. While this apartment is one block from where I saw Mike Myers earlier this afternoon, I promise neither I nor Mr. Myers had anything to do with it.

Rest in peace, Heath.

Celebrity sighting of the week

Mike Myers, walking down Broome Street in SoHo around 1:45 p.m. today. He looked cold. I thought Canadians were used to this weather!

No, I did not stop him to say I’ve seen “So I Married an Axe Murderer” 17 times.

The Frozen North

So there was snow on the ground, but not falling, and the Chargers lost, as did the Packers. Other than that, we had a pretty good weekend with friends and family in Boston.

I’m still spaced out from a late-night Fung Wah bus journey, so please excuse any lack of wittiness here on my part (as usual), but here are some photos:

An early morning walk with Jestin and their husky puppy, Sierra, around Fresh Pond in Cambridge. It’s 11 degrees out—what a perfect day for a stroll!

Sierra is much bigger than she was in September. Here she was then, with Leslie.

Now, the brothers-in-law with the doggie.

I was really hoping for a Bambi-sprawling-on-the-ice type moment here, but Sierra’s a snow dog and too poised for that.

So is Brian, apparently.

By the way, he took an eerily similar photo on a different frozen pond in Boston last year. Weird.

Yes, it really was cold enough to necessitate the wearing of my silly fake fur hat. Shut up.

Man’s best groupie.

Later, we watched both teams we were rooting for lose in the NFL playoffs. Damn, I hate the Patriots. But! We consoled ourselves by eating many chips and catching up with Emerson friends. And no, Brian did not drink all those beers he’s holding.

In honor of MLK, we eat ice cream. Take that, cold weather! Jonathan wins for grossest concoction: an orange soda float with black cherry ice cream that melted to an alarming shade of puce.

Brian is a close second in the hedonism category, though, with peanut butter cups on mint chip. Wow. This combination has been known to make one snarl like a pirate.

It was so nice to see everyone, and to get some distance from this town. Now, back to work!

It's an MLK Friday!

I’m off to Boston. Cross your fingers for snow, and for a Chargers win.

Have a great weekend!

It's a slippery slope, my friend

Reason No. 513 why it’s difficult for me to vote Republican.

Mike Huckabee:

“I don't think that's a radical view, to say we're going to affirm marriage. I think the radical view is to say that we're going to change the definition of marriage so that it can mean two men, two women, a man and three women, a man and a child, a man and animal.”

Huckabee links gay sex to bestiality, abortion to slavery

Defensive much? Yes.

Steve Jobs can kiss my petutie.

He said this to the New York Times in reference to why the Amazon Kindle e-reader will fail:

“It doesn’t matter how good or bad the product is, the fact is that people don’t read anymore,” he said. “Forty percent of the people in the U.S. read one book or less last year. The whole conception is flawed at the top because people don’t read anymore.”

Tech people are so quick to be doomsayers for all of us Luddites still loving (and basing our livings on) the printed word. Jobs’s statement is flawed in several ways. One, he doesn’t cite the source of this “forty percent” figure. I can only assume he’s alluding to recent NEA studies that show a decline in the percentage of people reading for pleasure. Fine. But this does not substantiate a sweeping statement like “people don’t read anymore.” In my experience, habitual readers show no signs of stopping. Has he seen the piles of books at my mom’s house? Does he want to come help Brian and I organize the dozens of new books that find their way into our tiny apartment each month? People are reading, and some people are reading a lot!

Also, as a science-minded person, Jobs should recognize the advantage that an e-reader has for those needing quick, portable access to heavy textbooks and manuals. I believe that’s the biggest selling point for these devices, be they the Kindle or otherwise, and I have no idea why a tech company CEO would be discounting that.

In conclusion, Steve Jobs is wrong and books will never die. So there.

If you have oodles of time, all you readers out there, you might take a look at the New Yorker article on the topic of decreasing readership.

The New York Times interview

Photo of Steve Jobs at Macworld on Jan. 15 by Jeff Chiu/AP Photo

"I don’t care if you eat ze frites or not!"

This decal recently appeared in the windows of a new restaurant along my walk to work. And it makes me giggle each time I see it. It raises so many questions:

Do cows need hats? I don’t believe so, but then why is he wearing a beret? He’s so saucy!

Do you really want to eat a steak from a cow who has filled his body with carcinogens? I don’t think nicotine adds much flavor to your filet. How does one even hold a cigarette with a hoof?

How do you say “moo” in French?

I will continue to ponder these questions each morning with glee.

Happy Wednesday!

On the other hand…

…at least I don’t work construction.

One unfortunate man was killed yesterday (possibly decapitated) in a 42-story fall from the top of the Trump Soho building two blocks from my office. Last month another worker was sliced in half in a 47-story fall from a Midtown building. I include the gory details to highlight how gruesome these accidents were. In both cases there were prior warnings about hazardous working conditions that were ignored. Obviously, we need better safety standards, or adherence to existing standards (and policing thereof), for the ubiquitous and constant construction projects around Manhattan.

Remind me to tell you how my great-grandfather, Peter Morrisroe, almost died in a collapse during construction of the Holland Tunnel that killed several other laborers. He told his wife he had a bad feeling that day and stayed home from work. (Oh wait, I just told you.)

Some things never change. Except the Morrisroes now prefer to work indoors, where it’s presumably safer. Sadly, not everyone is so lucky.

Latest Gothamist post, with links

Photo of the site of the Trump Soho accident by Riccardo Sinti.
I would have taken a picture myself at lunch today, but I forgot my camera cable.

It does no good to compare…

…but can I be Jessa Crispin for a while? She’s 29 and spends her days running a successful literary blog, Bookslut. I wish I could hate her, but I love her voice (the authorial one, not the actual one, although I did see her in person one time and she seemed lovely).

Then there’s Cecelia Ahern, who at 26 is the creator of the popular TV show “Samantha Who?” and has published SIX NOVELS. But she’s the daughter of the Irish prime minister, so that’s cheating.

Why I’m thinking about these two:
Jessa Crispin in PW
Cecelia Ahern in EW

I never get to have any fun

I’m highly disappointed that we did not get the snowfall last night that we were promised. Ever since I was a girl I’ve considered snow to be the only good thing about this season. When it snowed in Murphys I squealed with glee while my mother grumbled about falling tree branches and slippery road conditions.

Now, snow is the only thing that enlivens these gloomy East Coast winters. But this morning, instead of a glittery coating of white, New York labors under a dark gray sky. I am jealous of Boston, which got the snowflakes that we didn’t. School closings and shoveling and trudging down unplowed roads—fun!

On the other hand, there’s a forecasted high of 72 today in Santa Barbara, where I lived for eight long, winter-free years before I moved east. That's just weird.

All I ask is for one good storm this year so I can make snow angels and clobber Repino in snow football. Is that too much, or do I have to move back to Beantown?

Update, 4:45 pm: I'm not the only one who was misled by the forecasters. Gothamist agrees.)

(Photo of snow in Boston this morning. By George Rizer/Boston Globe.)

Fun with generalities

I find that lively discussions can arise when a person ignores the complexities of an issue and takes up a ridiculously oversimplified position. On that note, let me postulate this: Male writers are less capable of portraying love in a believable manner than female writers are.

As evidence (admittedly limited, but that’s the fun!), I submit two books I read this week: In the Lake of the Woods by Tim O’Brien and The Sea by John Banville. Both are highly regarded, award-winning novels that center on romantic relationships. And in both of them the love stories left me completely cold. Of course, these are not supposed to be feel-good books, and the loves in question don’t end well. Yet if I’m to care about the death of a lover and its repercussions, shouldn’t I have been made to feel the warmth of the bond in the first place? In these instances, I just don’t buy it. O’Brien and Banville appear to have taken much more time creating elaborate structures for their novels than in building believable human connections.

Is it possible that male writers care more about technique than substance? Obviously romance is subjective, and we’re only talking about what appeals to my sensibilities. And perhaps it’s not that they can’t write real affection, but that they prefer not to. But here’s the challenge for you: can you name one great love story written by a man?

The thrilling conclusion

The saga of the vermin in our house has come to an end in, believe it or not, a peaceful resolution. Mighty Mouse somehow managed to slide off the top of our refrigerator in a plastic bowl, thereby trapping himself in said bowl between the back of the fridge and the wall. He was completely unharmed but none too happy about the situation when I found him there. With characteristic deft, Brian performed a maneuver with cardboard that extricated both mouse and bowl so we could escort the little guy outside. He has been released into the grassy wilds of Green-Wood Cemetery, and we wish him well in the rest of his mousy life.

As long as he doesn’t find his way back to our kitchen. We might not be so nice the next time around.

Tell It To My Heart

I’m too busy doing actual work this morning to put up a real post. Meantime, please go check out this mind-bogglingly great video by Taylor Dayne, whom I mentioned to some friends the other day only to be greeted with blank stares. I know some of you know this song, and if you don’t, it’s high time you were introduced. Crimped bangs! Colorful ripped denim! Unrelentingly danceable tempo!

I brought her up as example of how far stars can fall; I saw her singing at the Oxnard Strawberry Festival in about 2001. You may also recall her other late ‘80s hits: “With Every Beat of My Heart,” “Don’t Rush Me," and “Love Will Lead You Back.”

Feel free to create your own Taylor Dayne song titles, including the words “love” “heart” and “my” in any order you desire.

Does anyone have a cat I can borrow?

I’ve recently spotted an uninvited houseguest, and while mice are adorable, I’d rather not share my hard-earned vittles with the wee little beastie. If not a cat, perhaps someone has a Rube Goldberg device that would shepherd the guy into a nice, cozy hamster ball that he could then roll to the great outdoors?

Otherwise, it’s curtains for the little fellow, I’m afraid. (Sorry, Gina!)

Oh, honestly

From the NY Times this morning:

Advisers and female voters pointed to Mrs. Clinton’s emotional moment on Monday as decisive, with advisers promising that voters would see more personal touches in the days to come.

"Women finally saw a woman — perhaps a tough woman, but a woman with a gentle heart," said Elaine Marquis, a receptionist from Manchester, who had been torn between Mr. Obama and Mrs. Clinton but was leaning her way when she bared her feelings.

I find this to be a ludicrous double standard. Would Mitt Romney get a boost in the polls by crying? Is sobbing under pressure what we’re looking for from our commander in chief? It's not, and yet Hillary had to break down in stereotypical womanly fashion in order to get people to swing to her side.

I’m disgusted that many voters in New Hampshire based their decision on one tear rather than on logic, and I’m ashamed for our country that we still require this kind of behavior from a woman.

Christmaswatch ’07

What, you think we're past Christmas or something? So do I! That’s why it’s perplexing that our sales department still has up their huge, plastic, awkwardly decorated tree, just down the hall from my cube. I believe businesses have a much shorter statute of limitations on holiday decorations than residences do. I’m actually quite cheered by the twinkly lights still shining in windows on my otherwise cheerless block in Brooklyn, but something about sales holding onto the season too long is irksome. How ‘bout some Valentine’s decorations? Might as well get started on that one!

(Sorry there’s no photo. I feel the company would frown on clandestine insider picture-taking.)

Odds and Ends

A grab bag from the weekend:

* Saw I am Legend, wherein Will Smith demonstrates his stellar acting ability by reprising Jimmy Stewart’s role in Harvey, except the giant rabbit is replaced by a German shepherd named Sam. I’ve never been so moved by a man carrying on a 90-minute one-sided conversation. Also, I now see why Washington Square Park was blocked off for weeks on end last year, forcing me to walk around it. It was filled with CGI zombies and set afire, apparently.

* Watched the new American Gladiators with my friend Jane, who would really kick ass on that show. The most alarming development since the previous iteration of the series is that reality television has created a need to latch onto some trait of a competitor—be it a poor single mom or a down-on-his-luck ex-Marine—and exploit it for entertainment value. Isn’t it amusing enough to watch morons in spandex crash into each other? Do I need a sappy, B-roll background on each contestant? No, I do not.

* One more thing from Saturday’s debate. I know these guys (and Hillary) are speechifying nonstop, but I still love to catch them in little slip-ups. Here’s Bill Richardson: “If I'm elected president, I will do two things. First, I will seek immediate negotiations with the Soviet Union and other nuclear states to reduce the number of nuclear weapons.” Apparently he has a handy time machine to 1982.

* Lastly, I’d just like to send kind thoughts to Robert Repino, whose apartment was mildly destroyed in a fire over the weekend. Not from the fire itself, but from smoke damage and firefighters punching holes in walls and windows. Our couch is always open, and best of luck with the Red Cross!

Apparel for America

In lieu of comprehensive analysis of last night’s presidential primary debates in New Hampshire, I’d like to focus on a crucial and much-overlooked element: The Tie.

You know these men (and their staffers) put as much thought into their appearance as they do into their talking points. I hear Mitt Romney’s coiffure takes three special hairstyling gnomes five hours to get it just that lofty and windproof. So let’s peer a little more closely to see what messages these men were sending with their neckwear.

First, not one of the six Republican candidates was wearing red. Their ties were all shades of blue. I thought red had good, all-American associations, like “red-blooded” and “redneck.” I guess maybe it still connotes “Communist” to these fine fellows.

Now, on to the list.

Mike Huckabee: Impeccable navy tie with small polka-dots. This guy is unflappable and his debate armor fittingly had no chinks in it.

Rudy Giuliani: Fancy-schmancy, well-pressed suit with snazzy monochromatic tie. Could not have looked more New York if he tried. Of course, his flag lapel pin was meant to remind us for the Nth time that he was the savior on Sept. 11. (“9/11! Don’t forget my glory on 9/11!” it screams.)

Ron Paul: Poor Ron Paul. He often makes the most sense of anyone and they just gang up on him. With his jacket unbuttoned and a pen stuck awkwardly in a shirt pocket, he looked like a philosophy professor who accidently stumbled into this den of slicksters. The multi-colored, disco-stripe tie didn’t help matters.

Fred Thompson: A lovely tie with lavender and dark blue diagonal stripes, but the knot was too large and the whole thing was askew. I imagine some staffer haphazardly tying it for him backstage, knowing that no matter what he did, Thompson would still look like a pissed-off hound-dog.

Mitt Romney: Were those fish scales on his tie? Dancing ocean waves? I was for once so mesmerized by his neckwear that I was distracted from what a despicable schmuck he is. (I can say that because he was my governor in Massachusetts. Jerk.)

John McCain: McCain, who I wish was my great-uncle, managed to find a suit blacker than the depths of a Vietnamese POW camp. I’m serious, it was so black I looked into it and saw another dimension. Pretty light-blue tie, though, like a sunny sky. Very celestial, this John McCain. Too bad he’s too reasonable to win.

As for the Democrats, by this point in the evening I was too fed up with the petty squabbling to pay much attention. I will say that Hillary gets a special prize for not wearing blue OR red, which I thought were the only colors allowed candidates by the American people. She got all crazy on us and wore emerald green. See, she’s not about the status quo. She’s the candidate of change! Riiiight.

I have decided that January is the most difficult month to get through. Let’s look at why:

1. There’s the holiday letdown. New York was charmingly wintry in December when there were Christmas lights, the aroma of pine trees, and the joy of buying presents for people I love. Now, it’s just frigid.

2. Speaking of freezing, the average temperature in January here in the city is 31.5 degrees. This means it will be months before I can leave the house without a hat, scarf, and gloves, and it’s unlikely I’ll venture out to see something not hemmed in by walls.

3. My California trip fiercely reminded me how much of my healthy state of mind depends upon being outside and soaking up nature, which, as just mentioned, is a very distant prospect at this point. There’s nothing green to see anyway, even if I could get out.

4. February brings Valentine’s Day and the birthdays of pretty much everyone I know, so celebrations galore! January, not so much. Well, I get MLK Jr. Day off. Yippeeskip.

Alas, despairing does not help. We all need to band together to buoy each other’s moods. Some of my ideas:

1. There are a million movies I want to see right now, conveniently located in dry, warm theaters.

2. I can scrape together some money for classes—I will learn Spanish if it kills me! Plus, a Middle-Eastern dance class is a mere $12 a pop. Coined-scarf-shaking, anyone?

3. I hear tell of indoor swimming pools at Recreation Centers for cheap. I would love to be in the water again! (As long as there are no peeing, splashing children.)

4. If it actually snows, maybe I’ll let Repino drag me out for one of his infamous snow football games.

5. The new year is a lovely time to finally figure out where I am, why, and for how long. I anticipate many chilly evenings ahead to ponder these tricky questions.

See, that’s five good things to four bad things. Good wins! I feel better already.

Photo © Mike Rivera

California, here we go

We’re back on the East Coast as of last night, tired and dazed and oh-so cold! (With the wind chill, it was -3 degrees for my walk to work. California, I miss you!)

So while I’m adjusting to being back in New York, here are some photos from our days in San Francisco.

Brian and his dad against the glorious backdrop of the Bay.

A lovely evening stroll above Muir Beach with Mr. Brook Reeder…

Who falls back on tried-and-true jokes…

And points out sea monsters.

Brian is actually not posing here.

Check out a California hallmark in the background: houses clinging tenaciously to cliffs. Bet those won’t be there in 60 years.

Look at the pretty!

Ooh, it’s pretty that way, too.

We’re kings of the world!

Let me just hike down this dangerous cliff in the twilight, here.

Next day, more beach and vibrant colors at Fort Funston.

Also, more dangerous cliffs, but with a hilarious sign.

New Year’s started at Brian’s parents’ house with Brook and Brian Z. Ah, friends.

How do these two always manage to look so weird?

2008, here we come!

Thanks to everyone who made our trip home so great. I was ecstatic to be back there and pleased I could spend time with so many wonderful people. And I was outrageously sad to leave. Now, back to the grind. Sigh.