The bravest are surely those

Liana Banana is in the hospital. It's nothing unexpected, just that her MS has flared up and her new doctor won't let her take the IV steroids at home like the old doc did. So for a few days, she's stuck with on the old folks ward of the hospital. Luckily, she downloaded Sonic the Hedghog to her cell phone. She writes about going into the hospital on her own blog. Specifically, she talks about her fear of staying in the hospital, and what it represents in terms of her disease.

She mentions in passing that she is not brave and this got me thinking in general about what bravery really is. I don't think bravery is the absence of hissy fits, the absence of crying, or freaking out. No, to me bravery is doing all of those things, and then doing the scary thing anyway. My mom was always scared of flying. She would start having a slow build panic meltdown a few days before we would fly, and it would culminate at take off, where she would sit in her seat, eyes tightly shut, forcing herself not to streak off the plane. The alternative would have been to never go to Morocco or Turkey or Russia or Ireland - she could have done that. Lord knows she loved Canada enough that she never had to get on a plane to take a trip. But she sucked it up and did it because she wanted to see those places.

Liana, unlike my mother, doesn't have a fun trip to look forward to when she gets through the scary part of being in the hospital. She has to deal with all the crap that goes along with being in IV 'roids. And on top of all that, she has the memory of what life was like before all this. And even though it would be understandable if she went to bed and pulled the covers over her head, with a smidge of cajoling from her family and her boyfriend, she came out and did what had to be done.

Thucydides said, "The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it." Liana, I am very proud of you, not only for having the clearest vision of what lies ahead, but for going out to meet it as best and with as much grace and dignity as you can. That is bravery.

The Great Costco Race

This Saturday is Kate's bridal shower, which I am technically hosting, though really her mom is the host since it's at her house. Anyway, one of my many tasks for this week was to head over to Costco and purchase some food/cake for the event.

I share a Costco membership with Wendy. When we signed up, we tried to convince them to give us two cards (we told them we were domestic partners) but they wouldn't since we couldn't prove we lived at the same address (serves us right, I guess, for trying to take advantage of Costco's DP policy). Anyhoo, since Wend is the one with the Amex, the membership is in her name and every few months we make the expedition together.

Well, this happens to be a busy work travel month for Wendy, and today was the day we set aside for the trip so I could get the precious, precious Costco cake. I got to Wendy's around 7:30 and we ate dinner, figuring that Costco closed around 9 or 9:30. In a moment of fear, I called Costco to find out what time they closed. The verdict? 8:30. It was currently 8:10.

I have jaw pain, probably because I have been unintentionally clenching my jaw when stressed, annoyed, etc. A pain shot through my jaw at the moment of realization that I would not be getting Kate her Costco cake. Costco cake was the one freakin' thing she had requested and I had fucked it up. And because Costco employees always check the photo on the membership card, and other than the fact that we are both pasty pale, Wendy and I look nothing alike, I could not just take the card and go tomorrow.

Wendy dragged me out the door - "We'll make it! We'll get the cake!" "Nooo, they won't even let us in the door." After being stuck behind the slowest SUV ever, Wendy in her little Geo Prism, honking her horn(!), and speeding to Costco, we did make it through the door. We ran to the back of the store, grabbed the cake, and then Wendy overheard an employee say that while they close the front door at 8:30, they allow people inside to continue shopping for awhile. Woohoo!

It certainly wasn't the relaxed shopping expedition we had planned, but I got a bunch of stuff for the shower, and Wendy got her 36 pack of Mountain Dew (23 cents a can!). We checked out and rolled our giant car through the door. "If you don't mind, I'd like to drive a little slower on the way home," she remarked. "Yes, please."

Bittersweet, Opening Day

It's opening day for baseball and I am so very happy. I won't harp about how much I love baseball or the Yankees right now, or how baseball signifies spring and summer and for me, represents everything good and pure about our country. I will say, though, that the Yanks had a 7-run second inning against Oakland. Hopefully they can keep it up.

It does feel a little bittersweet, only because as I danced around my living room clapping and cheering for A-Rod's grand slam, I thought about how my mom would have stayed up late to watch the game, would have been doing the same thing, and would probably have called to cheer with me.

So I can think of no better tribute to her than an excellent Yankees season. Go Yanks!

Screw You, Jet Blue

Victory is mine! Got a letter today from Bank of America regarding the malfunctioning ATM - "the credit is permanent and we consider this dispute resolved." Because I was right and they were wrong! This does not cue evil laughter - after all the crap, I'm just relieved that it's a resolved.

But this reminds me of a story. This past weekend I went with my dad to have brunch with friends of his and my mom from college. Jeanie and Dave live on Riverside Drive and they are both scientists. Jeanie is very involved in tenants's rights in the neighborhood, and so everyone knows her and calls out to her when we walk down the street. It's fun, and a little old-fashioned, to see such a stereotypical neighborhood reaction in Manhattan. There isn't enough of that today.

Anyway, Jeanie and Dave's son, Tim, was over and the two of us set to work trying to convince Marj, one of my mom and dad's other friends, that she should fight a traffic ticket that she got. Tim told a story about how he fought Jet Blue and won.

Back during the blizzard in February, Tim got stranded in Austin, Texas. He spent an hour and a half on the phone (on hold, naturally) with Jet Blue, finally got put through to a person, and was promptly disconnected. When he finally got to talk to a person, they told him that the earliest they could fly him out would be two days thence. This would not do - Tim had work and needed to get back to NY. Jet Blue said they couldn't help him, so he bought (for an arm and a leg) a one way trip on Southwest. When he returned to NY, he called Jet Blue and asked them to pay for his ticket. They refused. "All right then," Tim said, "then you should know that I am going to start a blog. And every day on that blog I am going to trash Jet Blue. I'll collect stories about you."

What did this get him? His ticket promptly paid. The power of the blog, people.

I hate you and I don't even know you

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I don't even know you, but I hate you. I hope all the bad things in life happen to you and nobody else. " --Dave Chappelle as Silky Johnson in the Player Haters' Ball sketch

On Tuesday I attempted to withdraw money from one of my bank's ATMs and the fucker shut down on me. Spit out my card, but no cash. Still, the money was shown as being withdrawn from my account. I know in the grand scheme of things, $60 is not a big deal. But right now, that's a lot of money to me. Money is tight for me and I had calculated very carefully how much money I could withdraw.

Obviously, I called the bank, they assured me everything would be fine. Liars! All was not fine, and after another phone call, I was again told everything would be fine. Another lie! Today, I got to deal with two rude bank employees, one of whom told me I would have to go to the bank with the offending ATM to work this out.

Suffice it to say, I was upset. I thought a lot about my mom, what she would say to me in this situation, and I was fully focusing all my concentration on a) not losing it with the bank employees and b) not falling into an endless hole of self-pity and why-me-ness.

Most women, at some point in their lives, will be patronizingly told to "smile!" by a male whom she does not know. It happens to me at least once a year and every time it does, I stare dumbfounded before awkwardly laughing. I have always wanted to have some sort of snappy, witty comeback to said douchebags.

Today, as I grumped my way towards the bank, the sun shining, birds singing, spring clearly arrived at last, focusing all my power on not screaming or bursting into tears, a man walked past me and said, "Smile!" Did he really just say that to me? To me??? I turned and yelled over my shoulder, "Fuck you!" and kept walking. Witty, no. But I think it got my point across. (Matlock later suggested, and I like this, "Why, are you going to take a fucking picture?")

At the bank, the nice lady told me that she couldn't understand why the customer service people on the phone had sent me here - after all, she just winds up calling them. I filed a claim for my $60 with her help. I am entirely lacking in any confidence that I will get my money back and fully expect to have to call the bank another four or five times before they refuse to correct the problem.

I wish I could keep my money under my mattress. And I sure hope that the next time some dude tells me to smile, I will tell him where to go.

The Writ is the Writ

This week the Supreme Court heard oral arguments on whether or not the Bush administration may allow trials before military commissions, and whether or not the Court had any jurisdiction over the matter following legislation which stripped the courts of any power over the issue.

To narrow it for you, let me explain that Osama bin Laden's former driver will be tried before a military commission. If he is convicted of conspiracy, of which he is accused (and which is not considered a charge under the Geneva Convention), he will have a right of appeal to.... the President of the United States. Not a court. In other words, this is about the suspension of habeas corpus. People, this is some serious shit. Don't delude yourself into thinking that it doesn't effect you just because this is about "enemy combatants." Don't think for a second that the military doesn't accidentally pick up poor shmucks in the wrong place at the wrong time in Afghanistan, who have been sitting in Gitmo for years without being brought before a court.

Luckily, Justice Souter is on the case. The Times quoted him when he got pissy with Solicitor General Clement: "The writ is the writ. There are not two writs of habeas corpus, for some cases and for other cases. The rights that may be asserted, the rights that may be vindicated, will vary with the circumstances, but jurisdiction over habeas corpus is jurisdiction over habeas corpus." You tell him, Souter!

Here's what really gets me. In a piece that Morning Edition did the day of the arguments, one attorney for the government said that hey, in the 1800s, enemy combatants didn't have some of the rights they have now. So shouldn't they just be happy with what they have? Well, gosh, we used to have black people as slaves in the 1800s and they got their freedom. Then they had to get all uppity and demand civil rights. It's shameful that a government attorney would make the "they've got it better now than they did one hundred years ago" argument.

Morning Edition's Nina Totenberg covered the oral arguments, and there are a lot of good sound clips. Check it out. Proving that he has a losing argument, Clement tries to invoke 9/11. Infuriating.

Tyra Banks continues to kill my brain cells

This evening I went over to Anhabelle's house to visit his highness, Benjamino, eat corn dogs and tater tots, and of course, watch one of the white trashier shows on television (to accompany the whiskey tango buffet Anh prepared) - America's Next Top Model. Class. ee.

I should also add that we drank Hawaiian Punch (delicious) and ate jello with waaaay too much cool whip for dessert.

In any event, Mr. Ben is definitely outgrowing his Baby Pterodactyl ways - he chatters a lot and enjoys giggling, especially when he gets some of Aunt Megs' hair in his tight little grasp. We had fun.

Back to ANTM. To the right is Danielle, otherwise known as Anh's and my current favorite. This picture is from last week, but Danielle continues to win me over with her Arkansas accent, funny comments, and let's face it, the girl is hella photogenic. Go Danielle! Mostly, though, I think that Anh and I were delighted that Gina, with her nasally, on-the-verge-of-tears voice finally got the boot this week. Good riddance. Now we can all go back to hating on Jade.

You're out of luck in the soup department

Last night Wendy and I watched a repeat of Scrubs from right before Turk and Carla's wedding. JD goes to visit Tara Reid and finds out that she is dating the dude who played the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld. But the guy won't say the line, so JD tries to trick him into it.

JD: What was that line that he always said? You're out of luck in the soup department?
Soup Nazi: No soup for you!
JD: Ha! I knew it!

My friends, I am so out of luck in the soup department.

My co-worker K and I made reservations two months ago for Per Se. Our turn had finally come - this Saturday was to be the day. The only small problem? Our reservation was for 4 and we were down to 2. No biggie, right? Wrong! Per Se will not allow any change to the reservation. Downsizing to 2 people is the same as cancellation. Mad dashes to find two additional people have proved fruitless.

So I am sorry to say - no soup for us, or any other Thomas Keller goodies for that matter. Perhaps another time. I'm sorry I won't have an insanely long blog post for you on by ridiculously expensive meal.

Build Me Up Bartlecup

Saturday turned into a busy day, filled with at least one first.

I headed into New York to see my friend Marc for the first time in two and a half years. Marc moved to Poland several years ago to teach English, and he hasn't been back in quite awhile. On one of his last day's in the US, we were able to get together, but the Wild Lily Tea Room, where we were supposed to meet was closed for a private event. Boo. So instead we wound up at the a french cafe called Le Gamin on 9th Ave. We each had a very nice vat of cafe au lait and I had the nutella crepe as a snack. We talked for quite awhile, as you can imagine. Marc headed back to Poland today, but come September he will be in London for a year, getting a masters degree in linguistics.

Anyway, in the evening, I met up with Kate and Bart who joined me in New York to celebrate Pablo's birthday. We were supposed to hit Hasaki on East 9th Street, one of my favorite sushi places of all time, but by the time we got there - an hour wait. Curse you New York, and your late diners!

So we wound up at Cucina di Pesce, which is an Italian place on 4th Street and 2nd Ave. I used to frequent this neighborhood when I was in college and had a subscription to the New York Theater Workshop, but I haven't been to Cucina in about five years. Cucina was as solid and reasonably priced as ever, and we only had about a ten minute wait for a table. Plus, we got to sit in the back garden room under the giant skylight - lots of atmoshphere. The downside - the service was abyssmal.

We walked a couple of blocks south and made our way into Second on Second, which is a karaoke bar. Paul was already several sheets to the wind, but Kate and Bart did attempt to catch up to him. I have never sang at a karaoke place before - not even in a private room. So color me surprised that Bart was able to convince me to do a duet with him (I voted for "Gin & Juice," but Bartles chose "Build me up Buttercup.").

When it comes to our dearest friends' significant others, I feel it is only fair to hope for something simple - that our friend will choose someone who makes them happy, treats them well, and around whom they are themselves. I've had plenty of friends who dated jerks, plenty of friends who turned into someone else around a boyfriend or girlfriend. Kate, with her sense of humor and general quirkiness, would suddenly become demure and "normal" around the boy she dated before Bart. So I was always happy that Kate acted as crazy around Bart as she does around me, that he always has her back, and that they make each other happy. That is the base. If you happen to really like your friend's boyfriend on top of that? Gravy. So I consider myself emminently lucky that Bart is such a good friend of mine now. And that must be why I felt no shame bouncing around in front of a bar filled with strangers, howling "Why do you build me up, buttercup, baby just to let me down?!?!" alongside Bartles.

It was no Snoop D-O-Double G, but it was a pretty good preliminary outing int he karaoke world.

So here's the premise. There are snakes. On a plane!

On Thursday's edition of All Things Considered, Robert Siegel and Melissa Block devoted a good five minutes to mocking the forthcoming film Snakes on a Plane. Snakes features Samuel L. Jackson as an FBI agent escorting a witness onto a plane, and there winds up being... snakes on the plane. I highly recommend listening to the piece - it's here.

Nothing with the word "bomb" in it

As you may recall, last weekend I spent the day in New York and did some quality research for Kate's par-tay. The evening before I did all this research I received a drunken phone call from Kate. One can detect said drunkeness immediately, as Kate loses all volume control. "Megan!!!" she screamed into the phone. "Mmm, are you out at happy hour or something?" "No! Why?" "You sound like you're having a good night." "Well.... I've had some whiskey. Bart and I have to go to a party!!!! I don't want to!!!"

Kate's had a rough month - having to deal with me every single day, which can range from fine to completely thankless, lots of wedding stress, a stolen car, sick friends, and the usual family and work stuff. And also, Kate has known my mom since she was a little girl. Sometimes I forget that people other than me, my dad and my sister lost my mom, until Wendy starts crying about something I say or Kate gets choked up. I know it makes Kate sad that my mother won't be at her wedding, as originally planned. I know it would make her sad too, Kate.

Anyway, I digress. I called Kate on Saturday to see how she was doing and give her the update on my research. Poor Katie-poo was very hung over. I won't tell you how many she had, but apparently her night went down hill once someone at the party busted out Irish car bombs. Irish car bombs are Kate kryptonite. She is powerless. Actually, she's powerless with any drink that has the word "bomb" in the title. "You can't pass out at your bachelorette party!" I said, unhelpfully. "I don't want tooooooo," she wailed. "No car bombs!" I said. "Ohhhh." This went back and forth until it was agreed that Kate must drink a gallon of water throughout the day of the party and that there would be no sake bombs and no Irish car bombs. Nothing with the word "bomb" in it.

I have heard disappointed rumblings since then from other revelers. "Tough!" I say. This is why I am the fascistic Maid of Honor. Hyper drunk Kate with no volume control? She is welcome, neigh, necessary, at the party. But too many car bombs Kate will have to sit this one out. The Bachelorette Party Dictator has spoken.

Time to Woman Up

Or, "I read the Times so you don't have to" part XIV.

Great Sunday Times today. First things first, I always enjoy the Modern Love column (oddly placed in the Sunday Style section, but whatever). Today's was no exception - a touching piece about motherhood and having to go it alone. Despite the fact that Asha Bandele is coming from a situation that I can't really relate to (married to man serving time for murder, struggling to make it as a writer, and becoming a single mom) she speaks about universal themes of fear, loneliness, failure and love. Well done.

Also in the female department, an insightful piece on why there are so few women partners at big law firms (hint: it's not just because of children).

Moving on, my man Barack Obama killed at the Gridiron Dinner this past week. The Times has an analysis of the treacherous slope an up-and-comer must travel.

And be still my heart, a great piece on NPR and the $230 million endowment they received from the McDonald's founder's widow. You know, I don't usually like to see pictures of my NPR people because I'm usually disappointed (Bob Edwards looks like, as Anhabelle once said, "a child molester"). That being said, Steve Inskeep is dreamy (even though he's not featured in this article) and Nine Totenberg (who is featured) looks just like she sounds.

Poor Care Bear

My friend Carol is one of my few friends who is entirely independent of any friend group, and since I didn't let her know about my mom, and no one else knew to call her, she didn't know and took my comment about stopping the blog last week seriously. I thought a lot of stuff the first week after I lost my mom, including, but not limited to, quitting my job, getting a tattoo, running off to Africa, and moving to New York. Sorry, C$, for the scare. I'm not quitting the blog.

Carol and I hit Taro tonight for dinner - it was her first time and she had the shrimp in walnut sauce at my goading. It was great, as usual, though the coconut creme brulee was disappointing and I think next time I'll return to the deep friend banana cheesecake (awesome).

Anyway, I'm still thinking about getting a tattoo. Suggestions are welcome, though I've already had the Steve-O thumbs up on your back idea tossed at me and that's a negatory.

Last comment - Eric Asimov from The Times has started a blog called "The Pour" and it's all about drinking wine, beer and spirits. As Ernestine Anderson would say, "my kind of man." Check it out.

Rage Against the Dying of the Light

I contemplated not cheapening my pain by talking about this in a blog. So I decided not to say anything unless I could really do her justice.

Dylan Thomas wrote "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night" as a tribute to his father, who was dying. I didn't get to ponder losing my mother. She was just gone. And I have nothing dramatic to say - our last conversation was the night before she died and it was pleasant, nondescript and ended with the typical "Love you, Mommy," "Love you, Meggie."

My mother memorized poetry. On a cold, cloudy and windy night like this, she would have quoted "The Highwayman" and said, "The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas." She was the kind of woman who read Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy to her kids when they were eight-years old because she thought it was a lot more interesting than any children's book. She knew all the words to the operas Tosca and Aida (in Italian, naturally). And anytime you went up in a bet with her about some esoteric historical fact, you had to be ready to lose. Because you would.

Of course, she was also the woman who called me from her vacation last September to discuss the latest Harry Potter book. "I don't think Snape is really evil," she said in her cute little voice. She cried at Extreme Home Makeover. She was the greatest judge of human character that I will ever know. And everyone who met her loved her. She once got a card from a co-worker that read, "Merry Christmas to the woman who embodies the Christmas spirit year round." That was my mother.

I cannot halt the dying of the light, I can only stop my own loss of memory. I missed my chance to write a beautiful poem encouraging my mother to fight mortality, so I must settle for remembering and chronicling what I can. There are days when I hold my head in my hands and am crushed with how much I miss her. But I am how she made me. So I breathe in and out, get up, and go on.

It's bigger than hip hop

Saturday I spent the day in Brookaleen and Manhattan - brunching with Philly et al. and investigating for Kate's party. In the evening, Jeeves and I went to see Dave Chappelle's Block Party. Incidentally, Rajeev, the lucky bastard, is currently in Austin at the South by Southwest Music Festival. Ah, the life of a student. Anyway, back to the movie.

Block Party chronicles Dave's attempt to throw one great concert in Bed Stuy back in the fall of 2004. He got The Roots, Erykah Badu, Mos Def (Kate and I continue to fight over whose boyfriend Mos is - I'm afraid I must insist he's mine), Talib Kweli, Kanye West, Common, Dead Prez, Jill Scott and the Fugees(!) together and threw one kick ass party in front of the Broken Angel. The film, directed by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind's Michael Gondry follows Dave as he recruits people from his hometown in Ohio to attend the concert and sets about throwing a great party.

I, of course love love love Dave Chappelle and have mourned the loss of Chappelle's Show like all fans. And not surprisingly, I loved Block Party. Kate actually saw it the same night and lamented that she would have liked more funny and less music. I understand that complaint, but I don't think Dave was trying to make a funny movie. That being said, there are plenty of funny moments. But I think the heart of the film is about music, which any fan of Chappelle's Show knows is very important to Dave. And it also addresses the democratic importance and political nature of rap - just look at the lineup. Even Kanye West with "Jesus Walks" tends to rap about subjects that aren't a part of the 50 Cent and The Game milieu of rap that's popular today. At one point in the film Dave laments that you'll never hear Dead Prez on the radio, and he proceeds to quote their lyrics. The film then cuts to DP's performance (which was incendiary and one of my favorites of the movie), and indeed, their lyrics are dead on with the theme, and more advanced than anything you'll hear on the radio:

"I'm sick of that fake thug, r & b, rap scenario all day on the radio/ Same scenes in the video, monotonous material, y’all don’t hear me though/These record labels sling our tapes like dope/ You can be next in line, and signed, and still be writing rhymes and broke/ You would rather have a Lexus, or justice, a dream or some substance? A Beamer, a necklace or freedom?"

Most of the critics agree with me on the quality - 93% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Highlights for me, other than every moment that Dave was being Dave, were the DP aforementioned performance, Erykah Badu, and The Roots. Of course, there's also a lot of Mos Def, and that doesn't hurt either. Entertainment Weekly, which gave it an "A," stated: "The buzz comes from the music, which has a loose, burning joy that's rare to behold in a live rap performance, and also from Chappelle's wicked prankster's glee, which spreads through the movie like a happy virus."

Ah, if only Wu Tang could have been there.

"It looks like a baboon's ass exploded on her rear end!"

Anhabelle kindly invited me over to to watch the season finale of Project Runway last night with little Benjamino, or Baby Pterodactyl as I call him (who actually slept in his swing for most of time). As always, Anh was a wonderful host and this was no exception - cheese dip, tostitos, spinach/artichoke dip, corn dogs and chicken wings. And tivo'ed America's Next Top Model. She rules.

Let me just say what Anhabelle, Dave and I all thought: Santino was robbed! Yeah, I said it. Santino, the great big Rasputin-look-alike jerk, won me over. His designs were sophisticated and beautiful. Daniel Vosovic, who has impressed me in the last few episodes as a giant douche OR a big turd sandwich (take your pick), created a completely ho-hum line which was allegely inspired by Japan and the military (saw the military influence, but where was the Japan???). Also, his model tripped over her ugly brown dress because Daniel doesn't know what the hell he is doing when it comes to hems.

Chloe, my previous favorite, was a mixed bag. Some of her dresses were straight outta 1986 Dynasty, but several of her outfits were beautiful, and perfectly sewn and fitted as ever. I especially liked the dress her model Grace wore.

Anyway, Santino is mos def headed for bigger and better things in the fashion world. Santino, your designs remind me of Max Azria, with a little Miguelina and Narcisco Rodriguez thrown in, and I can pay no higher compliment. In the mean time, Heidi Klum is still the hottest mom ever, and I still wish that Anh had befriended Tim Gunn when he bumped into her at Sephora, because I bet he'd be a lot of fun at a dinner party. Can't wait till next season. In the meantime, this Sunday I'll have The Sopranos to keep me warm.

An Irishman and a Hawaiian walk into a grocery store.....

I thought about quitting the blog last week. But then the Times had two great articles in one day from the Dining Section and I felt it would be wrong not to share.

Trader Joe's, aka best "grocery" store ever, is opening its first Manhattan store on St. Patrick's Day. It's located in Union Square. So the Times wrote a very nice piece about the "Polynesian-themed" chain which got started in Cali back in the '70s.

And to follow that up, there's a taste test review of Irish whiskeys, just in time for March 17th. I can attest that the Knappogue Castle is quite good.

Boo-Urns

Despite my sensible decision to stay in last night, watch Murderball and clean my kitchen, I succumbed to temptation when Pablo called and beckoned me to Manhattan. I can't really think of anyone in my life who can call me, say, "hey, all my friends ditched me tonight, you want to hang out?" and I will respond, "Oh, sure."

Anyway, Pabs tempted me a with a promise of trying out a place for Kate's bachelorette party - you may recall that I mentioned the MetroCafe last weekend, which was disappointing and therefore nixed for the party. We did, however, receive Kate's consent to have dinner at Benihana, so we opted to try that out last night.

Problem: Paul called at the appointed meeting time (for once I was the semi-late one): there was no Benihana at the address we had looked up. I picked Paul up and we decided to head down to Reade Street to a hibachi place we had found online. Long story short - we walked the length of Reade - no hibachi. Meltdown ensued.

"Goddamn it! Why can't we find a freakin' restaurant for this thing? Do you know how many restaurants are in this fucking city? Millions! Why can't we find one damn restaurant?" Also, it was very cold outside and cold makes me cranky.

"Well, fuck it. Let's take her to Dunkin' Donuts for her party," Paul suggested.

We temporarily gave up on the hibachi quest and grabbed dinner at the Reade Street Pub. I had a blue cheese bacon burger and we split some "loaded fries." The fries give the cheese fries at ESPN Zone a run for their money. Also, it's fun to draw on the paper table clothes.

For those of you keeping score - this is the third outing I have been on to find a restaurant for Kate's bachelorette party. This party, much like the doll in Tree House of Horror number whatever, is cursed.

How 'bout Jazz? You like Jazz? I like Jazz!

On my ride in the citay on Saturday night to meet Paul, I wound up discovering a big band/jazz program on WNYC. Big Band Sounds apparently airs every Saturday night at 8pm and I have to say, it was a lot of fun to hear Benny Goodman's "Life Goes to a Party" on the radio. I haven't listened to swing in awhile - when I've been in the mood for jazz lately, I've been wearing out my Dinah Washington (Dinah's "Backwater Blues" rendition is an all-time favorite) and Ernestine Anderson CDs.

Anyway, the last song I got to hear was the original version of "Stormy Weather" (yes, Ethel Waters sang the first version that became famous, but the first recorded version was performed by Harold Arlen, the co-writer of the song and it was really interesting to hear him sing it).

And yes, the title is from The Simpsons.

More Friends! More Allies!

I think maybe this week will be Simpsons Appreciation Week for me and all titles will thusly be Simpsons related.

I oversubscribed myself this weekend and now I am tired, have a grouchy cat, messy apartment, and lot of work ahead of me. Still, it was a fun weekend.

Friday night, Philly and Emily kindly let me crash at their pad, which meant that I could stay out with them till 5am at Don Hill's, because apparently I think I'm a rock star. My body strongly disagreed. It especially disagreed when I left Brooklyn at 10:30 in the morning and forced myself to run errands and do work.

Saturday night I was back in New York, this time trying out the MetroCafe with Pablo as a potential spot for Kate's bachelorette party. Our original choice, Kitchen & Cocktails, apparently closed last November. We nixed MetroCafe, but had fun doing what we always do - quoting the Simpsons and questioning the sexuality of every male in the room.

Sunday afternoon was spent at Hunan Cottage, aka best Chinese food in Northern New Jersey, with Sis and her family.

Me: Tell me a story.
Connor: Once upon a time there was a square, and he was ugly and he was proud. The end.
Me: That's... a... great story.
Sis: It's from Sponge Bob.

Everything is from Sponge Bob. And on the rare occasions that it's not and I guess Sponge Bob, Connor rolls his eyes, looks at me and says, "No, Megan, that's from the Backyardigans." Duh, Megan.

Sunday night was poker back in Brookaleen and I won! Mwahahaha! Winning made me cheery, so I tagged along with Phil and the usual suspects to Avalon. To say that Avalon is not my "scene" would a) be an understatement and b) presupposes that I have a scene outside of sitting in my kitchen, drinking tea, reading the Times and listening to NPR. Oh well, we'll chock this up to experience and a few good jokes.

Today was spent sojourning about New Jersey visiting with various peeps, including Lynn and her new dog, Fenway. And because I love her and Kevin, I forgive them for being BoSox fans.

And now I need a three day weekend to recuperate from this weekend. But instead I'll go to bed early and hope 8 hours of sleep will restore me to sanity.

Brokeback Belleville

Liana, always the dutiful wife, came to visit me this week and brought me chocolates (the box had a picture of a train and said "Choo-choo-choose me!" I swear.) and a pez dispenser and a card. Liana always gets me the sweetest and funniest cards - usually cards that start out with "To My Wife" or something of that nature. And even though this year, Liana had a real live Valentine boy, she didn't forget about her wife.

When I was in law school, the ideal that friends ought to be your cheerleaders in life came to me in large part from Liana. I'm wracked with enough self-doubt on a daily basis that what I really needed during law school (which just exacerbates insecurities, self-doubt, and any bad habit that you may have) was someone spurring me on, reminding me after rejection letters, or endless studying, that I could do it.

During the summer of the bar exam, I became "crazy" (according to, well, everyone who talked to me for more than five minutes at a time). I didn't drink, I went to bed at 11 sharp every night, and I stopped watching TV (except for the World Series of Poker on ESPN and an occasional Yankee game). I was obsessed with the bar exam. And when I would walk through the living room of our fabulous Belleville apartment to get some water, I would occasionally pause to see what Law & Order episode Liana was watching. "Uh uh!" she would say to me if I stood for too long, and point me to my room. "Study!" Liana's backing made it even more appropriate that she is the person who got to call me and tell me I had passed when the mail arrived with the results.

I think roommates always have a larger impact on us than we suspect at the time, though I like to think that I'm usually aware of it as it happens. Regardless, I suppose I don't tend to consider the impact I have on a roommate. Liana called me at work the other day.

Liana: Pam was going through my cosmetics case and she was making fun of all my fancy pants makeup. Then she found the Nars eyeshadow.
Me: Mmmm. Nars.
Liana: And I explained, 'Oh, that's Megan. She got me into the good stuff when we....' and Pam said, "When you two were living in Brokeback Belleville?"

Yes, Pam. It was Brokeback Belleville. And I miss it.

Did I mention that I loved Wallace & Gromit?

I did? Well, I am again.

Your guess is as good as mine

Oral arguments will be held in the New Jersey Supreme Court for Lewis v. Harris, the gay marriage case, on February 15th. Philly's judge wrote the dissent when it was in the Appellate Division.

You can listen to a story about the whole case here, or you can actually watch the oral arguments in the webcam here.

I could really see it going either way.

Happy Crapentine's Day

Or Venereal Disease Day, which Pablo and I used to call it after seeing a sign at a busstop advertising a "V-D Day" party. Morons.

I don't like Valentine's Day. I have never liked it. I think it's cheap, gimmicky and designed to make everyone feel badly about themselves. Couples wind up getting stressed and being disappointed and single people wind up feeling lonely or bitter or both.

I know that's not true for everyone - some couples have great Valentine's Days and plenty of single people have their own traditions. And I didn't even always write this day off as a total loss. I always took the opportunity to make a fuss over my family and friends. After all, isn't this holiday supposed to be about love? Why should romantic love get all the attention?

Well, I feel like it's an uphill battle now. First, isn't every day "couple's day"? Isn't life as a couple much easier in many respects? Where's the day celebrating the quiet troopers who have to drop off and pick up their own dry cleaning or be their own designated driver or go solo to that movie they really want to see?

For the couples out there - do take time and remember what it was like to slog through this day and give your single friends a pat on the back. And for the singletons - good job. If you can go 364 days not being bitter and grumpy, I think it's okay if you take this day as your own.

It is what it is

When I was 21, I spent a bad summer at home, and in an attempt figure out why I was such a mess, I turned to some self-help books. Lucky for me, aside from the books, I had a Kate, who threw herself whole-heartedly into my self-improvement by reading the books and making it a mutual summer of development.

One of the books was, in retrospect, dopey in its simplicity, but for two neurotic college girls who had never been told this stuff, it was pretty helpful. The book taught a lot about living in the present moment, compassion for the less than worthy, and perhaps most importantly for us, to limit how much you let your thoughts run away from you. As the writer had pointed out, sometimes a person starts out with a simple thought, like, "gee, I can't believe I just spilled sauce on my favorite sweater" and by the end of a half hour, your thought-process has exploded the entire situation into "My life sucks, nothing good will ever happen." Okay, that's a drastic scenario. But it's true that if I'm not conscious and conscientious of my thought processes, I can take a mild negative scenario and explode it into epic proportions.

I almost never do anything like that anymore, thanks to seven years of practice. The importance of living in the moment, the knowledge that I am in complete control of myself, and can therefore effect how I behave in nearly every situation, that in many respects any problem that I have which is rooted in myself can be solved through my own thoughts and actions - this is liberating information that I learned that summer. It took years to really apply it all, but I have been doing it on a consistent basis since that time.

So it was with some sadness that I have found myself slipping into the trap of wishing that things were other than they are. In an episode of the Simpsons, Homer forces Bart to join his grease collecting business and Bart says, "But I'm supposed to be in school!" Homer responds, "Sounds like someone's got a case of the 'sposed ta's.'" I had a serious case of the sposed ta's.

I felt adrift, lost and uncertain of what to do, while at the same time, intractably focused on what I thought my life was "supposed" to be like at this point. Where was I going? This was a disaster - for such a planner to feel so clueless and dissatisfied. I allowed a modicum of obsession on the sposed ta's, before I threw up my hands and sighed, "It is what it is." I am unhappy with it, but it is what it is. So let's get to work on fixing what's within my control. But it's hard to fix it when you aren't even sure what you ought to be doing.

After tossing the problem on the back-burner (another suggestion from the aforementioned dopey self-help book - it basically means that you stew the problem without bringing it into focus at the front of your thoughts.... this advice also works very well on tricky crossword puzzle clues), I had a little lightbulb moment in the shower this morning, of all places. It's a babystep in the right direction.

And in the meantime, I have my little action plan, my cat, my hobbies, and the other small things in life that distract from the sposed ta's. It is what it is. So now I can get to work. And the next time I fall off my mental health horse and roll about in the neurotic muck, I'll get to do it all over again.

I'm just crackers about cheese

When I was in college, my roommate for the most significant amount of time, Janet, was a Wallace and Gromit enthusiast. She asked if I had ever seen W & G before, but the truth was, outside of The Young Ones and Ab Fab, my knowledge of things British was limited.

Anyway, she was always promising to get a Wallace and Gromit video for us to watch, but it never panned out. Regardless, I knew of her affection, and so I was especially pleased when Wallace & Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit came out last fall to such rave reviews. My sister took Connor to see it, and they both enjoyed it - granted, my nephew's thumbs up is suspect in my book since he loves Thomas the Tank Engine and Home on the Range.

Annnyway, I had the opportunity to watch Were-Rabbit this weekend, and consider me a W & G convert. It has become entirely clear to me why Janet is such a fan. Nevermind that Gromit, the dog, is very adorable and that the humor is clever and the claymation so good, it almost doesn't seem like clay. I think if I had seen a W & G episode while Janet and I lived together, I would have noticed some parallels. Janet and Gromit are the thoughtful, patient and silent ones, while Wallace and I are the rambling, dopey, cheese-lovers. Yes, Wallace is "just crackers about cheese," as he repeats oft.

The Times pointed out when Were-Rabbit opened that the creators of the series imbue Gromit with so many facial expressions that you never really notice that he does not speak. But I think my favorite thing about the movie were the little claymation bunnies. So cute! I have a soft spot for bunnies. And cheese, just like Wallace.

Too High, Can't Come Down

I'll admit I'm late to the Ipod bandwagon. I don't live in New York, I really like NPR, I'm comfortable with silence and I didn't have $200. But last year, in what may be the coolest thank you gift ever, P & E gave me an Ipod shuffle. Phil used to harass me endlessly to set it up, but all I had was my old laptop, which was not compatible with Itunes. So I waited.

New computer, return to the gym and lost discman - so I have finally set up the Ipod shuffle for exercise purposes. And it completely rules - it's the best exercise mix ever! I am so very pleased with it thus far.

I will admit that it is Dandy Warhols heavy, and while I always think of the Basement Jaxx as great running music, the Dandys have been, well, my favorite band for so long, that I suppose they transcend such a description. I listen to them when I'm happy, sad, cranky, or just the usual even-keel.

I saw the Dandys in September at CBGB for the CMJ Music Fest (thanks to Phil for the ticket, naturally). I had wanted to see the Dandys for quite a while, but solo concerts is the last frontier of aloneness that I have not undertaken. In other words, till I met Phil, I didn't know any other Dandy fans. Aside from the fact that it was awesome to see a show at CBs, a first for me, the Dandys were great, and the rather picky Avi (who saw Weezer with us back in May) declared his undying love for Zia. And who can blame him really? She's not hot, but she's pretty fucking cool.

Anyway, I digress. My point is that all this Dandys love, a special resurgence of which I have had in the last year, was made deeper when I watched DiG! in the fall. DiG! is a documentary made over seven years of following the Dandy Warhols and crazy-ass Anton Newcombe of the Brian Jonestown Massacre. Aside from being a great exposition on creativity, music and fame, it's also got undercurrents about friendship and addiction. I liked it so much, I recommended it to Kate and Bart, whom I thought would appreciate the pathos. And they did! Not only that, but I think I have converted them to Dandy fans. I'm making them a mix of my personal favorite Dandy Warhols songs ("Hard on for Jesus," anyone? "Down Like Disco"?), but Bart very nearly went out and bought the albums himself. I've never converted anyone to a band that I love - this may be a first for me. If it works out, I'll have Kate and Bart with me the next time the Dandys play.

Until then, I've got them on my Ipod shuffe spurring me to run my little heart out.

The quiet tragedy of a missed chance

Roxey and I went to see Brokeback Mountain last weekend, and as you may recall from my Golden Globes quips, I was not particularly excited. I was really worried that it would be melodramatic and manipulative - the two inexcusable devices of moviemaking. I am pleased to report it was neither.

Just like all the critics said, beautifully acted, directed, shot, written. It's got the whole package and I feel confident saying it'll probably take home best pic this year. And not undeservedly so. Did I like it more that Good Night, and Good Luck? No. Crash? Yes, probably. And I haven't seen Munich or Capote yet, so I can't comment on those, though I'm hoping to cram them in. I do have to agree that 2005 was a great year for movies. Even the popular fodder of 40 Year Old Virgin (Anhabelle and I don't really have any original jokes with each other anymore, it's pretty much all stolen from Steve Carrell and Paul Rudd) was good fluff.

Anyway, back to the lesson at hand. I won't go into a recital of the film, and I know a few of my four readers have not seen the pic yet, so I won't ruin it. But by now you know that Ennis (Heath Ledger, who despite annoying the crap out of me as a human being, is actually an apt actor) and Jack (Jakey Gyllenhal, still cute as a button) are cowboys in the midwest, circa 1960s. They meet, get it on, fall in love. And then the real world complicates everything. The film is never pandering, never beats you over the head with its "message," and is never ever manipulative. I say this because, while, yes, Roxey was a weepy basket case, I only teared up a teense. There were multiple opportunities for Ang Lee to go over the top, pop on the soaring music and make me cry. But he eased back from that. The story was tragic the way everyday life is tragic. And we all muddle through.

The part that hit me the most was a moment where, sitting on the banks of a lake by the mountain, Jack pitches an idea of running off together, which Ennis, always practical, shoots down for legitimate reasons. I knew at that moment, there would never be fulfillment for either of them. As the movie progresses, you see moments where both characters realize that they missed their chance to be together, to be happy. And it is deeply sad, without being maudlin.

Ang Lee likes the theme of missed chances, of deeply loving and never having. It's why he can so beautifully relate to Marianne and Elinor in Sense and Sensibility, and more importantly, why he made me ball my eyes out in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, even though the beautiful Michelle Yeoh and Chow Yun Fat express very little of their emotions verbally. He does that again in Brokeback, and shame on me for thinking such an auteur would be manipulative.

Staying in bed

Grey's Anatomy is my current guilty pleasure. Last week, following the Super Bowl, they aired a super duper, ratings stunt, exciting episode. Despite the hype, I still enjoyed it. The protaganist, Meredith, starts out the episode refusing to get out of bed. Her best friend comes to drag her out. As Meredith explains her predicament, she moans, "I need something to happen. I need a sign, some hope, something to spur me on. And in the absence of that, I need to stay in bed and feel like I might die today."

Well, I couldn't stay in bed physically, but I was definitely there mentally. I'm taking a moment, pausing, if you will, to collect my thoughts before I press on. It hasn't been the best week of my life, certainly. Or really, the best month. But that's okay. I'm getting out of bed and pressing forward. You have my apologies for the lapse in blogging.

And if you're looking for a guilty pleasure, Grey's is on Sunday nights.

Colonic is the Watchword

This post is not for the faint of heart. Consider yourself warned.

Sometimes, for shits and giggles (yes, that's on purpose), another co-worker and Ie njoy yanking the chain of a third co-worker. In the process of inventing an elaborate story about how he was obsessed with losing weight and exercise, my co-worker found this article in The Guardian about a reporter who takes an enema holiday in Thailand. The reporter takes the trip and has to write a first-hand account about his seven day fast and the many enemas he endures for a cleansing of his large intestine.

The shit that comes out of these people - terrifying. In one instance, a man dislodges a marble that he had swallowed as a child 22 years earlier. If this is all true - color me creeeeped out. I had no idea that so much undigested food could stay in your system.

Anyway, I forwarded the article onto Kate, whom I knew would get a kick out of it. And indeed she did. So much so, that she decided to do her own cleansing fruit fast (without the icky enemas). She has promised to give me hourly updates as she begins the fast.

Meanwhile, Dr. Weil says it's all hooey. He points out that because the entire lining of the colon sloughs off every day and regenerates, the idea of toxic residue buildup is impossible.

Your HBO Update

The good news first. HBO has already decided to renew Deadwood for a fourth season. For those of you keeping score at home - the third season hasn't even aired yet. Now the bad news. The third season won't be airing until June. Originally the plan was to put it on after The Sopranos, but the execs at Hobo decided they'd rather give a bump to their new series Big Love, about a polygamist and his three wives.

But hey, at least The Sopranos will be back soon.

Speaking of polygamists, this weekend's installment of This American Life was about what it means to be a woman. One of the chapters dealt with a Mormon woman who is in a polygamous marriage (her hubby has seven other wives) and part of her pro-polygamous marriage thoughts is based on ideals of feminism. It was actually a really interesting argument and I thought a lot of what she had to say was totally reasonable. What I really liked about her - she said she didn't think polygamy could work for most people. When I read Under the Banner of Heaven last year, I was disturbed by how polygamy is forced onto so many people in the fundamentalist Mormon movement. That was anything but this woman's opinion. Anyway, between that piece, and The Hens, it was a very enjoyable hour of TAL.

I don't need civil liberties cause I'm the President

I caught this driving home from work - it's a piece that All Things Considered did on the President's speech regarding domestic "surveillance" (read: spying) at Kansas State University. What struck me was how he phrased it. He said "I'm mindful of your civil liberties, so I had all kinds of lawyers review it." "Your civil liberties." Aren't they "your" civil liberties too, Mr. Pres? Also, having "all kinds of lawyers" review your plan doesn't make me feel better. Why? Because I am a lawyer and do you know what lawyers like to do best? We like to find loopholes so our clients can do what they want within the "confines" of the law. It's our thing. Is lawyers reviewing your shitty plans kind of like when Alberto Gonzalez reviewed the torture plan to figure out a way around the Geneva Convention? Yeah, not comforted. Thanks for the effort.

Lazy Saturday

For the first time since before Christmas, I had the opportunity this past Saturday to listen to This American Life and Car Talk. And let me say that TAL was pretty fantastic. Occasionally the theme they use to unify all the stories doesn't necessarily work. But here it di. The theme? My Big Break.

The first part, regarding a comedian couple who gets their break on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964 is both comical and surprising. The second part about the guys who made a mint by creating the "Yankees Suck" t-shirt that all of Boston wears, and then go off to make a difference in Iraq, naturally had me in tears. And the final piece about the little boy who gets a chance to please his mom and get rid of his abusive father is both laugh-out-loud funny and poignant.

Oh, This American Life. How I missed you. And Ira Glass? You are so my NPR boyfriend.

Shochu, is it really you?

As I've mentioned before on this blog, my girl Kate is getting married soon. As her maid of honor, it is my duty to throw her the ultimate in shindigs - the bachelorette party. The evening promises to be fun, and I have started to look into restaurants. The problem? It's not always easy to find a place in NY where even picky eaters can find something, that is big enough to a group of 12 or 15, that is reasonably priced, and has quality food. On top of that, Kate would really like a Japanese restaurant.

So, last week, Jim gamely agreed to join me as I tested out Megu on Thomas Street. About two months ago, Jim and I had dinner at a place he had heard about from a co-clerk called Yakitori Totto. YT is a Japanese grill and the food is really solid. Unfortunately, it's also rather small and they don't take reservations, so I didn't think that would work for Kate's party. At YT, I tried shochu for the first time - shochu is a distilled Japanese liquor. I didn't think much of it. But my evening at Megu got off to a hopeful start when I decided to give it another go with their "shochu smash." Yummy. It was a very nice drink - definitely tasted the shochu, but as the bartender told me, the restaurant infuses all its own shochu with different fruits.

Jim met me at the bar, and after a drink, we went to our table. The downstairs dining room is very large, has a beautiful lighting scheme, and a reflecting pool in the center of the room with a large ice sculpture of the Buddha. Rose petals are scattered on the surface of the pool and an enormous bell inscribed with Japanese print hangs over the Buddha.

Our reservation was for 7pm and the dining room was only half full. By the time we left, it was closer to capacity. We sat and admired the room for a few minutes before our waiter came over to talk with us. The waitstaff at Megu all wear suits and could easily pass as Maitre d's. Regardless, our waiter was tremendously knowledgeable about the voluminous (and I do mean voluminous) menu, had no problem making recommendations when we asked for his opinion, and was generally attentive and pleasant. As he suggested, Jim and I opted to order several dishes and share them.

We split a spicy salmon belly roll and a kebob of kobe beef in garlic sauce to start. The roll was served with fresh wasobi. And by fresh, I mean the waiter walked over with the wasabi root and a grinding stone and mashed us up some wasabi. I've never had wasabi that fresh before, and let me assure you - it was entirely different and better than the tube. Big surprise. Next up came the shrimp in a kanzuri cream sauce. That was pretty darn spicy and had a more Thai kick to it.

Next up - I ordered one piece of uni (sea urchin) because that's Kate's favorite and I had better made damn sure that the uni is good, and Jim had a piece of mackeral.

Jim: What does it taste like?
Me: Tastes like the sea. Yours?
Jim: Tastes like I went down to the sea and licked the wharf. In a good way.

Suffice it to say - all of the fish tasted very fresh.

Following that came the Bara Scatter Sushi. And that was my one complaint regarding the food. While I liked the scatter sushi, I was not prepared for what it was. According to our waiter, in Japan, not everyone knows how to make sushi, or has the money for the fish. So, they will buy a variety of fish cut it up into small pieces and mix it up in a large bowl of rice. And that's what we got. It was actually quite yummy, and it was really a rather large serving. Jim and I kept hoovering it down, but it took quite awhile to get through it all.

None of this stopped us from ordering dessert - a sweet little chocolate gateau filled with chocolate cream, strawberries, and Japanese bean, with a side of green tea ice cream. It was definitely the highlight of the meal for me. After stuffing ourselves, we sipped some coffee and people-watched.

Me: Seems to me that a lot of the people here are Euro....
Jim: Say it. Say it!
Me: trashy.
Jim: I would say that it serves a varied European clientele looking to make a splash and Japanese businessmen accompanied by their.... dates.
Me: Awww come on, say it!
Jim: Well, I'll just say that the most expensive thing here is not on the menu.

Jim and I spent the rest of the time doing what we always do - chatting and amiably arguing over completely random and diverse topics, including, but not limited to, how the Chinese characterize the spiciness of food, the area of the brain that is stimulated by cute animals and children, and Rudolph Guiliani.

So, in summation, Megu is really quite trendy, had a beautiful space, attentive staff, good food, and good people watching. But for the cost, I'm not sure the food is quite as strong as it should be. While we left quite stuffed, our wallets were certainly lighter. I feel confident in saying that I will not daydream about any of the dishes at Megu the way I daydream of the grilled chicken livers from Yakitori Totto (seriously. un. believable.) So the end decision is not to have Kate's bachelorette party there and I am, sadly, back to the drawing board. It's too bad - the space would have been perfect and while it was crowded and bustling, I never had any trouble hearing Jim. The miracle of acoustics.

Recommendations are always welcome.

Retirement Home for Assassins

When I was in law school, Wendy talked me into joining a book club. Seemed like a bit of a mistake, I mean, I barely had time to read all the cases I was assigned. But a book a month on top of that? It wound up being a great thing for me. Aside from enforced interaction with non-lawyers (just plain good for the soul), it also introduced me to two of my favorite books - The Life of Pi and The Red Tent.

Anyway, we used to meet close to Union Square. I haven't spent too much time in that area since book club. But on Saturday night, Wendy and I headed into Union Square to see The Matador - it's limited release and it's only playing at two theaters in Manhattan right now. The film was soldout for the time that we planned on, so we opted to have some dinner and catch a later showing.

After hemming and hawing over what type of food we wanted, we finally headed towards Friend of a Farmer on Irving Place. FoF is a little country type of restaurant, which I had been told years ago by Willis served a great brunch. Unfortunately, the line for the brunch is always out the door and down the block. I lack that kind of patience, so I've never eaten there.

Dinner, as it turns out, is also a pleasant meal to partake at FoF. Wendy got her steak, and I had a nice piece of salmon, off the specials. And to Wendy's delight, they had apple cider. I, naturally, had some wine.

The decor is cute - the Times called it precious, and not in a complimentary sort of way. But fuck the Times. I swear, we can't all eat at Per Se or Le Bernardin every damn day. Anyway, the decor is like a little country home. And as long as the food is solid, what's so bad about that?

Wendy: The decor here looks good for you.
Me: Are you suggesting that I look better in very dim lighting?
Wendy: Yes.
Me: Thanks.
Wendy: Also, the rose wallpaper goes well with your coloring.

I think I speak for both of us when I say that the highlight was dessert. We both ordered the warm fudge brownie, but I had mine a la mode. Wendy does not approve of a la mode - she feels it compromises the integrity of the chocolate. I like a little vanilla to cut the sweetness of the chocolate. Anyway, the brownies were ginormous, warm, and had big chocolate chunks in them. Delicious.

After dinner, we headed down to the movie theater and saw The Matador, which stars Pierce Brosnan (Wendy's boyfriend if he were twenty years younger) and Greg Kinnear. The premise is that Pierce is an aging assassin who suffers from panic attacks and Greg is a down-on-his-luck businessman. The two strike up a conversation at a bar and it goes from there. It was funny and quirky and I'm giving it a thumbs up. It's nice to see Pierce send up his James Bond persona. And there are a few priceless lines. As Pierce says at one point, "I look like a Bangkok hooker on a Sunday morning after the navy's left town." Well, I hope I never have to use that line personally, because all the dim lighting in Friend of a Farmer probably couldn't cover that up.

Wendy and I haven't spent time together in New York in quite awhile, so it was fun to get outside the confines of Jersey with her. Not that I have any desire to replace The Village Coffee Shop, but it's fun to try new things. Especially when the new thing involves a large chocolatey brownie.

The Fried Sweats

Jeeves, this one goes out to you, for getting on my case about posting about fried twinkies.

Thursday night was poker night, but this one differed - we all headed out to Brooklyn Heights because Philly graciously offered to host us in his newish home. You may recall that I have mentioned Phil and his lady friend's new home - which has a killer view of the lower Manhattan skyline.

Poker was the usual jovial event - I finished down a couple of bucks on the night, had a couple of great wins, a couple of bad beats, and I'm pretty sure Gordy was the big winner, though Philly did win the tournament. The view from Phil's bay window continues to be killer. And I got the best parking spot in all of BH - right in front of Phil's apartment building. In my life, I will probably never again get such an awesome parking spot anywhere. I did consider leaving my car there for the rest of my life and just walking back to Jersey.

Anyway, when we're at Gordo's we usually order dinner from Two Boots or Wogie's. From Sharif's there's Blondie's. Phil pulled out the menu selection, and we all agreed on The Chip Shop - a British fish & chips restaurant. And as usual, everyone turned into a starving Irish kid and we ordered too much food. Sharif and I both ordered the cheddar cheese and onion croquettes with chips. Jeeves and Mike had the fish and chips, Phil and Gordy both got chicken curry. On top of that, we ordered a chip butty (basically fries on buttered bread), deep fried macaroni and cheese, deep fried Reese's peanut butter cups and deep fried twinkies.

Kids, there is such a thing as too much fried food. I didn't order the fish and chips because I feel I'm ruined for the dish since I went to Ireland. But the cheddar croquettes were not what I expected - they really were just a piece of fried cheddar cheese.... and I did not detect any onions in the mix. As for the deep fried mac and cheese, well, it was a large ball of fried mac and cheese. Not sure how else to describe it. I don't think I would order it again. Rajeev and Mike gave the thumbs up to their fish and chips, though we thought for quite awhile that the restaurant had not given us vinegar or tartar sauce. No tartar sauce for fish and chips? Icky, in my opinion. It turns out the bag with the condiments was left sitting next to the front door. I blame Phil.

Phil and Gordo's chicken curry looked really good and they both enjoyed their meal. But the piece de resistance was the fried dessert. The peanut butter cups were nice, but Sharif and Rajeev made the right choice with the deep fried twinkies. I'm not normally a fan of the twinkie, but when it's deep fried, served with some confectioner's sugar and a strawberry compote? Un. Believable. I'm going to be dreaming about that twinkie till the next time I get to have one.

After the meal, we went back to cards, and our problems began. When I was in law school, the guys used to talk about a phenomenon called "the meat sweats." It occured after a trip to White Castle or a dinner of rodezio at Iberia. Barbeque is also a perveyor of the meat sweats - I've had some serious meat sweats after dinner at Indigo Smoke. Well, I'm here to tell you there is such a thing as the fried sweats. I think we all felt pretty queasy after the meal - duh, I mean the paper the food was wrapped on was soaked through with grease.

I don't care. That twinkie was worth it.

Go Banana!

Because she is a fan, dear friend, and has given me and my blog multiple shout-outs in the last week, I would be remiss if I did not mention that Liana Banana has started her own blog called Carwash Blows. Carwash is her term for multiple sclerosis, as she explains comically.

She also reminded me that Nikka Costa rules. So I'm listening to a little "Like a Feather" right now. And like me and the Banana, Nikka is in the redhead club. Go us!

Sorry, George

So last night was the Golden Globes. As with most awards shows, I was disappointed, though I do have to say that the Globes sticks to its time period and doesn't bog you down with too many painful moments.

I'll begin with a disclaimer - I have not seen Brokeback Mountain and therefore cannot comment on whether it should or should not have won. But I felt strangely sad about Good Night, and Good Luck getting shut out. I shouldn't say strangely - I really enjoyed the film when I saw it and it's stuck with me since then. But it's a sincerely American movie - I am not entirely sure how much the foreign press would appreciate its commentary on patriotism, dissent and bravery. That being said, it was one of the best movies I saw last year and I hope it at least gets a few Oscar nods. Good job, George Clooney.

I was pleased that Rachel Weisz won for best supporting actress in The Constant Gardener - in many ways she is that films emotional core and Ralph Fiennes turn would not have been nearly as poignant with another actress in the role.

As for TV, well, Lauren will totally hate me for saying this because she loooves Hugh Laurie, but I was pulling for Ian McShane, aka Al Swearengen, naturally, and in the alternative, Wentworth Miller. But I was happy about Lost winning for best drama. But why wasn't Deadwood nominated? Deadwood is sooo ignored. It pisses me off.

So that pretty much sums up my thoughts on the Globes, though now I have a major urge to see Walk the Line. For some reason, despite all the awards, I'm still not in any rush to see Brokeback - maybe because it looks like a weep fest, and I'm looking for more complex emotions than just "Isn't it sad? They love each other but they can't be together! Why, cruel world, why???? Can't you just accept them?" I know, I'm a horrible mean bitch. Next on my list, though, is Munich.

Enemy to None

This morning, Marketplace Morning Report did a little piece on Benjamin Franklin, and reminded me that today is Benjy's 300th birthday. I love Benjamin Franklin and the piece on him was chock full of interesting facts about him. Marketplace reminded me that, aside from a scientist, patriot, and intellect, he was also a businessman. Franklin and Alexander Hamilton were the only two signers of the Declaration of Independence who were born poor. And by the age of 40, Franklin had made enough money in the printing business to retire and pursue his myriad of interests.

For more information on Ben, I recommend the Marketplace piece, or you can read about him in his wikipedia article right here. Trust me, I love Thomas Jefferson, but I really think Franklin deserves a monument in DC - he represents all that is great about the founding of our country.

"Be civil to all; sociable to many; familiar with few; friend to one; enemy to none. " --Ben Franklin

I Read the Times So You Don't Have To

Before our sojourn into the very cold night, Pablo and I were supposed to meet up at Mustang Sally's on 7th Ave. Sally's is a good place to watch a game - they have a giant projection screen and a great number of flat screen TV's to boot. Plus, the owner and almost the entire staff are from Ireland, and it's always fun to be served a Murphy's stout by an Irishman. And watching part of the Pats/Broncos game was enjoyable, even though I didn't really care about the outcome.

Anyway, while waiting for Paul, I read the Escapes section of the Times, which had been left on the bar. Apparently Portland is the microbrewery capitol of the world. I seem to recall Philly saying something about this after his trip there this summer, but I can't remember. I recommend you check out the article - it's informative and makes me want to go to Oregon.

And today, I brunched with Lynn - she and her hubby had a fire going, and they made me pancakes, eggs, and bacon. The final piece that made me drop down on my knees and ask to be their adopted kitchen gnome? They let me sit around and read their paper. The Sunday Times had an entire Oscars section. Nicholas Kristof had an interesting op-ed piece about the status of women in India, but you can only read it online if you're a Times Select member. And for Jersey diners, Cafe Monet in Millburn sounds intriguing....

When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong

Last night I braved the wind and rain to hang out with Pablo in NYC. We wound up over at a bar called Dusk where the Upright Citizens Brigade, where Pablo is a member of various classes and groups, was having a fundraiser. Dusk was good for two purposes - people watching and the jukebox. No, the jukebox was not an mp3 player like at Hi-Fi, but for a plain ole jukebox, it had an interesting selection. I was tickled when Paul and I walked in the door and Basement Jaxx's "Romeo" was playing.

Anyway, here's a quick story about the people-watching. After making fun of a girl who bore a strange resemblance to Nicole Richie, I noticed a woman who was wearing slouchy boots like these, except in beige. I hate those types of boots - they look very 1986 to me. And of course, she had her jeans tucked into them. In my opinion - not hot.

When Paul went to fetch drinks, Slouchy Boots Woman was sitting at the bar, drinking a Rolling Rock.

Pablo: Can I have a screw driver and a glass of water, please?
Slouchy Boots: That's the best drink order I've heard all night. (turns to her friend) This guy is keepin' it real.
Pablo: Ummm, okay. Thanks?

When Pablo repeated the story, all I could say was "What?!?!" I couldn't believe someone would actually say that. And what's so special about a screw driver and a glass of water?

I love my irrational thought processes.

There were rumblings this week that despite my new computer (which I loooove.... see how I'm blogging on a weekend???) I was being a bad blogger. It's true, Anhabelle has much more faitfully updated Ben's blog than I have mine. I have several excuses/reasons - 1) work sucked this week, and as such, I did not read anything interesting, nor did I have any interesting thoughts. Seriously. 2) I had a head cold. So all I did when I got home was eat and watch TV. I even skipped poker this week. 3) Updating a blog is a lot of work, and it's not fun work when you find yourself in situation 1.

And finally, I had PMS. Need I say more? During a few days a month, I will irrationally twist everything and I'm too busy being paranoid to do much else.

So, since I did nothing good this week, I'll give you a quick rundown of what TV I watched:

Scrubs is finally back on and on Tuesdays at 9pm there is a back-t0-back chunk. Despite my sore abdomen (from all the coughing) I laughed my ass off. Wednesday - Lost. Pablo thinks Lost sucks this season, but I think it's been gaining in momentum in the last 4 episodes. Unfortunately, I forgot about Project Runway, but no worries because it was repeated on Thursday! Seriously, could Santino possibly be more evil? And has anyone else noticed the resemblence to Rasputin? Also on Thursday, I watched My Name is Earl (I have a soft spot for Jason Lee and Jaime Pressly, who knew she was so funny?) and was treated to a seriously malicious and funny guest spot by Jon Favreau. For those not in the know, Jon directed Elf and Zathura, and starred in (and wrote) Swingers.

And last night I finally got around to watching my Netflix arrival - The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Not quite as touching or as seamless as Royal Tennenbaums, but fantastical, well-acted, funny, and interesting in its own right.

See? I told you my week was boring.

Before I forget, I saw Match Point last weekend - it was excellent and I'll have more thoughts to post tomorrow.

I wish I were the food critic.

New York Magazine jsut came out with its top 101 restaurants. The only two restaurants to get five stars? Le Bernardin and Masa. Number three? Per Se, where co-worker K and I have decided to completely splurge and eat at the end of March. Number six is Babbo, which as you will recall, I loved. Though, I do agree it's four-stars, not five.

They chose Aquavit as number 9. I ate there during restaurant week with Anhabelle, Gena, et al., and I'm on the fence. The thing is, an upscale restaurant isn't going to bring its "A" game during restaurant week. I thought Aquavit was interesting, but frankly, I think my dad's Swedish meatballs were better. and if my dad's cooking beats your restaurant, you have no business in the top 10.

FYI - Nobu has dropped down to number 40. Ouch.

Anyhoo, Jim and I are hitting Megu this week as an experiment - I'm supposed to try it out and see if it's a good spot for Kate's bachelorette party. See how I suffer for my best girl?

Excuse me, but I think I just died a little inside.

Matlock was updating his resume this week and he asked me how I would describe what we do. I paused and thought about it for a moment before answering: "Destroying the world, one development at a time." He laughed and I laughed, but I was only half in jest.

Despite the name of this blog, I prefer to not talk about work, mainly because a) it sucks; and b) it's probably not such a good idea - I'm pretty sure the powers that be would not like it. That being said, I will explain that the work I mostly do revolves around land development. Not everyone there does that.

The truth of the matter is, I don't hate being a lawyer. I actually kind of like it. But I do rather hate being a firm lawyer and I know I can't do it for the rest of my life. Anyway, the point of this post was to talk about homogenization blahbetty blah, and not how I want to spend the next 30 years.

At the end of December, one of my favorite bars in NYC closed - The Blind Tiger was old and divey, with an impressive selection of beer (cask ale!) and whiskey. The BT closed, not because it wasn't well-known or well-subscribed, but because the landlord opted not to renew their lease - he's turning the upper floors of the building into luxury condos and is opting to let a Marc Jacobs store open up where the BT once was. Awesome.

The 2nd Avenue Deli, which I honestly have never been too, also recently shut down after the landlord jacked the rent. I can't say whether it's a loss or not, but it was there for 50 years and there's something to be said for the character that a mainstay adds.

Meanwhile, out here in Jersey, it's just more townhouses and strip malls. I was driving down Franklin Ave the other day and noticed a giant luxury townhouse complex going up across from the golf course in Belleville. In Long Branch, the local government wants to take away the modest houses and let a developer role into town.

One of my bosses remarked to another attorney that he had driven across several states with his family over the summer and noticed that towns were looking more and more alike - the housing, the chains, so on and so forth. I've never been a super anti-gentrification person. I can see its pros, honestly. But the homogenization - I just can't stomach it.

The Irreplaceable One That Got Away

Last summer, while home one steamy night, I watched Before Sunrise, which was on cable. Before Sunrise starred Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy and two early twenty-somethings who meet on a train and spend one perfect night together, walking the streets of Vienna.

The movie came out in 1995, when I was a depressed and cranky teen. I thought Ethan Hawke was disgusting and greasy and I was annoyed by attractive women like Julie Delpy. So I never saw it. Then in 2004, the sequel, Before Sunset, came out to rave reviews. But since I had never seen the original, and I still found Ethan Hawke greasy and disgusting (plus, I love Uma Thurman and he done her wrong!) so I skipped it.

Well, after the trip to Vienna, I was intrigued. And indeed, in terms of capturing the beauty of a European city, it definitely does the trick. But more than that, it really captured the essence of what a typical man and woman in their early 20's thinks about life and love. First, it converted me to a total Julie Delpy fan. She's beguiling. And second, even though I still think Ethan Hawke is icky, I think his acting in the film is quite good.

So tonight, I was tickled to catch Before Sunset on cable. And I do believe I liked it even more than the original, probably because of my age and because it's more bittersweet. You know I'm a bittersweet junkie.

The first thing one must accept about these films is that they are very talky. If two people walking through a beautiful city and talking about life (Vienna in the first, Paris in the second) is enough to send you into a coma, skip it. Much of the dialogue was improvised by Delpy and Hawke, who really inhabit these character. Delpy's Celine is so lovely, human, nutty and honest, and Hawke's Jesse is so funny, silly, cynical, and heart-broken. It's nice to see these characters, 9 years later, as Jesse has become more hopeful and less cynical, and Celine has become more self-protective and less naive. I think both these actors have a love for their character, and that's imbued in the portrayal.

At one point, Celine explains to Jesse that she rarely gets involved with men anymore because it hurts too much when the relationship ends - she misses people for longer. Why? Because she remembers the little details about them. She says, "You can never replace anyone because everyone is made up of such beautiful specific details." At some point in these two movies, one of the characters will say something that completely hits the nail on the head for you specifically. That line was it for me.

Anyway, if you've got an hour and a half to kill, I recommend the dark chocolatey sweetness of Before Sunset.

Why won't God smite Pat? Please?

Will someone please tell Pat Robertson to shut the fuck up? Seriously. The Hugo Chavez quote was silly and gave me a chuckle, but this is out-of-hand. Does he think that everyone who falls ill is being punished by God? So.... I guess that means Ronald Reagan was being smote when he got Alzheimer's?

What comes before Part-B? Part-A.

I’m off to DC tomorrow for a New year’s Eve celebration with my favorite affianced couple – Kate and Bart(les). We are going to Equinox for dinner – I’m pumped! Not so pumped for the drive down – you may recall that I have had bad times driving to DC in the past. So wish me luck!

Everyone – Happy New Year.

Dude, you got a Dell

My new computer has finally arrived! You would not believe the epic battle I engaged in with UPS to get my little mits on my computer, the bastards. It’s not set up yet, but I hope to have it running by next week. Seriously, the UPS debacle was like out of a commercial for poor customer service or something. Truly heinous.

Anyway, blogging should be more regular once I have that puppy all set up and I can blog from the comfort of my own home.

It reminds me of vacation

Last night I met up with Janet on the Isle of Manhatts for some dinner. Jan is down from Vermont – on vacation from teaching the kiddies. We had sushi at Taste of Tokyo on 13th Street – the yellow tail was fan-freakin’-tastic and the age tofu was also quite good.

Janet brought me some pictures from our journey to Vienna – hers were of course a great deal more artistic and interesting than my touristy shots, but that’s to be expected. Anyway, there’s a shot that Janet took of me looking perplexed while reading one of the travel guides. I know why I make that face – it’s because I’m reading something and I don’t agree with it. Janet said I make that face a lot. She wasn’t kidding – in her collection of photos, there are at least four of me sporting that expression.

She also gave me a copy of what is now my absolute favorite picture of myself. I generally hate hate hate pictures of me. But this one is in black and white, me sitting in a courtyard in Grinzing, listening to the accordion and violinist who were playing. I look so happy. And when I see that picture, I remember exactly how I felt at that moment – relaxed, peaceful, and light. Thanks for the photo, Jan.

After dinner, we went for a walk and Janet was drawn to the smell of a soap store called Sabon. Check out their stuff – I bought the coconut vanilla body butter and it’s pretty great. The smell of coconuts reminds me of vacation. Maybe not a Viennese vacation, but a vacation nonetheless.

Snack Attack

This is courtesy of Kate. We both saw The Chronicles of Narnia this week. I thought it was eh, but Kate loved it. I know, serious role reversal here.

But we both agree, this is effing hysterical. Check it out.

Figgy Pudding

Work has been ca-razy, kids. So, my apologies for the lack of postage. The AWESOME news is, though, that with the year end bonus I got from my job, I was finally able to buy a new computer, which should be arriving any day. That ought to make posting a heck of a lot easier. Hooray!

As many of you know, my family is not religious. That being said, we have always celebrated Christmas. This year will be no different, though I have to say that it's so much more fun now that we have munchkins in the family. Cooper is too little to really appreciate it, but Connor gets very excited about Santa.

Years ago, my love of the holiday seaon was restored by apartment-mate Jerusha's infectious enthusiasm for all things yule. As you may know, the second, (or is it third?) verse of We Wish You a Merry Christmas talks about eating "figgy pudding." Since I didn't know the rest of the words in the verse, I would just dance around the apartment singing "Figgy pudding figgy pudding figgy puuuuuddding, figgy figgy pudding" to the music. Ever patient Janet would finally sigh, "Meg, please. Sing something else."

Even Elana, my all-things-Jewish guru who would light the Hanukkah candles in our apartment, got seriously into the Christmas music. I recently saw Good Night, and Good Luck, and when someone quips that Murrow's buddy Fred Friendly is Jewish, Murrow retorts, "Well, don't tell Fred that. He loves Christmas." It reminded me of Elana.

This is all just a way of saying that, whatever holiday you celebrate, if any, I hope it's an especially happy one. It's been a big year in the world, and in my own little personal world. Not only will this be Cooper's first Christmas, but Anhabelle and her Dave welcomed a little baby boy - Ben - this month. He has a blog. Check it. It's not only his first Hanukkah and Christmas, it's his first month. Devon the Duchess of Devonshire, who may recall my ear-splitting "figgy pudding" refrains welcomed her son Noah this month too. P & E's little girl Rebecca will be celebrating her first Christmas. And it's Kate and Bart's last Christmas where they aren't married.

In other news, Philly is off to Belgium and Engulund this week. Poker buddy Rajeev finished his first semester of law school. Lauren and Janet are both home for a brief respite.

And as for me, I am off to my folks to drink coffee, read the paper, and do my mother's bidding.

I wish you all a wonderful weekend, and lots of hugs and kisses.

She Loved You Rotten

I was very pleased today to see that one of my favorite movies this year, The Constant Gardener, was nominated for a Golden Globe for best picture. Also, the incandescent Rachel Weisz got a nod for supporting actress. Sadly, Ralph Fiennes, one of my all-time favorite actors, was snubbed. As usual.

The Times has a great piece today on Ralph, talking about why he is perpetually snubbed despite his gifts. As they say: "The essence of his acting is to play off the tension between his characters' restraint and his genuine movie star ability to hold the screen. That subtle balance may be great for a film but it is hardly an awards-winning gambit."

True, true. Ralph completely stole the show in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - and that was not an easy task. I can't think of any other actor in the world who could pull off Voldemort - the mythical personification of evil - without becoming a complete caricature or being weighed down by the makeup. I mean, Peter Jackson had it easy on that count in Lord of the Rings - Sauron never fully materializes and the Dark Riders don't require great acting.

As for The Constant Gardener, besides having a very important message about the pharmaceutical industry and super powers' treatment of impoverished Africa, it is also largely about Quayle's struggle against what he has always been - a person who follows the rules - and his need to be more like his deceased wife, to throw caution to the wind and learn the truth. And it's also about losing the truest of loves, and finding out more about them after they're gone, which is always bittersweet. We watch Quayle struggle with his fear that his wife was disappointed in him, his fears that she was unfaithful. But the film never beats you over the head with this. It's not an easy part to play and in certain scenes, Ralph shows more in one facial expression than most actors will convey in their entire lives.

So, Ralph, sorry you got snubbed, but I will continue to follow you to the movie theater.

Priori Incantatem

Anhabelle and I saw Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (opening weekend, natch). And Anhabelle, proving once again that she is the Pregnant Wonder Woman, didn’t go to the bathroom once! She rules.

Enough time has elapsed since I saw it that I don’t want to give an entire review. But I do want to say that the final act was un-friggin’-believable. It completely captured the spirit of the book. I was enthralled and terrified, which is amazing considering that I knew how it ended.

The Harry Potter books hold a special place in my heart, as you may recall from all my blathering about the 6th book this past summer. There is something terribly special about seeing those books brought to life, particularly when they are done well. The final confrontation in the graveyard? Exactly as I imagined it. The Times remarked that Ralph Fiennes was born to play the role of Voldemort and they are so right. He was perfect.

It’s hard for me to know whether non-readers of the series would enjoy the movie, but if you are a reader of the series, you must see it. And in case you were wondering, yes, Cedric Diggory is very handsome, yes I feel more than a little dirty for thinking so, but at least he’s over 18.