Thanks...
In search of pecans on Thanksgiving day
...for the good stuff
- my urban family
- my family
- talking to my nephews on the phone
- musical theater
- michele's good cooking
- sweet potatoes with praline topping
- red wine
- ma Gs
- ghost stories
- getcrafty
- fuzzy yarn
- work I enjoy
- guilt-free days off
- pirates and monkeys
Gearing up to give thanks
Elevator Lady
Thanksgiving Shopping List
- sweet potatoes
- pecans
- garlic
- scallions
- butter
- milk
- dark brown sugar
- dark corn syrup
- wine, and lots of it
Rain is good for sleeping
St. Vincent's Hospital basement hatch.
I hope to take advantage of the weather. I've been operating on a sleep deficit and really need some solid shut-eye. No dreams relating to my recent therapy sessions, please. Please?
6 things to ponder on a Sunday night
Bumming around the apartment.
1. My love of the Flaming Lips
2. Where is that damn mouse?
3. My secret like of Pink
4. That I should really sweep behind my couch
5. That clean laundry is nice
6. Why am I still wearing shoes?
I'm an ostrich
Art Decoish tile at the Studio Cafe in the Film Center on 9th Ave.
Yarn makes me happy.
Here's to ducking responsibility.
Canadians are funny
Lincoln Center plaza, en route to Performing Arts Library.
Last night, I had dinner (mmm...cheese plate and veggies cooked in butter) with my dear friend Nadette at Cafe Charbon on Orchard St., and for dessert, saw one of the funniest* shows I've seen in a long time.
Trampoline Hall, performed at The Slipper Room on Stanton, is a Toronto-based lecture series, organized by novelist, Shelia Heti, and hosted by the adorably rumpled Misha Glouberman. The twist is the lecturers wax authoritative about topics for which they possess no professional expertise. Two of the three lectures on last evening's bill were entitiled "Our Animal Friends" and "The World of New York's Pedi-Cab Drivers." Question and answer periods followed each lecture.
To my great dismay, I had to leave before the third lecture, "There Are Two Types of Corgis," but I left with a heart full of joy, a little crush on Misha and another reason to move to Canada.
*I see a LOT of funny shows.
Another day at the office
Under my desk at the office - different day, different shoes.
Shuffling toward acceptance
At the Viceroy in Chelsea - look at the pretty tile.
Denial - check, anger - check, bargaining - check, depression - check, acceptance - soon.
This glorious, sunshiney day is doing a number on the grey cloud I've been hiding under for the past couple of days. This gorgeous, soft-as-butter, periwinkle wool (my hair stylist brought it back from New Zealand!) I'm knitting with is helping, too. I'm starting a baby blanket for my college friend Kathryn who had her first chillun last April. Better late never.
Other things dragging me kicking and screaming out of the post-election funk:
- my homemade pirate/monkey daily agenda
- Hedwig and the Angry Inch
- The Clash
- Billy Bragg
- the beans and rice I'm about to eat for lunch
- seeing my friends in shows this weekend
- picnic in Central Park tomorrow, no matter how cold it is
- Cornel West's "Democracy Matters"
- tonight's Margarita Odessey III - one night, 4 bars, an undetermined quantity of tequila
Sad feet have got no rhythm
On the roof of my friend Cat's building. I'm not really going to jump.
Pins and needles
On the uptown M11 bus.
From my journal...
It's a beautiful day for regime change. I voted at 6:30 this morning - there were already lines at the polls. Every person I passed entering and leaving my polling station wore a smile.
I voted Kerry/Edwards like taking cough syrup - it tastes terrible and it won't cure the cough, but it'll make me feel better for now. I held my breath and turned the lever.
The sun is rising over Spanish Harlem as I ride the bus to my election day volunteer commitment. Dawn of change? Sounds trite, but it's the sense I get.
. . .
I'm on my way to therapy and I feel oddly exhilarated. One of my surveyees was an 18-year-old first-time voter. She was with her mother and they were so happy to talk to me. Everything about their voting experience was positive and their pride shone in their eyes and smiles. When I asked the young woman "Did anyone ask if you knew how to work the [voting] machine?" she smiled and proudly said, "No, my mother showed me." Her mother beamed and said, "I vote in every election and now she can, too."
I love my country.
Shaking in my favorite red sneakers
The carpet under my desk at the office.
I'm crocheting rosettes out of cheap Red Heart acrylic at my desk today to keep from going bonkers. The impending election has me all worked up and I'm nervously flitting from one website to the next, looking for answers. Luckily, the crocheting has begun to work its calming magic and I should make it through the work day with a little scrap of sanity left.
Tomorrow, on Election Day, I will be volunteering as a poll monitor for Common Cause and then I will vote before I go to therapy where I will likely talk about how the state of the world makes me feel helpless and crippled; how angry I am that I no longer believe my vote really counts; and how sad I am that my idealism is turning into cynicism, but that I hope I can (a) salvage the integrity that I lost voting against someone instead of for someone or (b) live with the guilt of voting my conscience in such a closely contested election when the pragmatic thing would be to vote for the lesser of two evils.
Song of the Day: People Have the Power - Patti Smith
