More Exciting News

Not only do I have online, but a functioning computer that goes with it. You know what that means? I can post when ever I want. NO more frost bite in the Third North Computer Lab. Now I am my own creation station. I can pound away at home at two a.m. in my underwear eating a pb sandwich. Now live, all the time... I will definately make room for new and interesting confessions.

Miramax

I am officially a PR intern for Miramax!! I am so excited! I was offered the job on the spot. Whoa, finally my hard work has started to pay off! I start next week

Anarchist Attack

I was watching the news last night and every person talking about the protest was labeled to be an anarchist. So you can be an anarchist and protest the president. But when you do, you cease to be a protester toward a cause and can only be classified by your anarchist roots.

I just feel that everyone out there should know, that the boy next door is here to protest. New York isn't filled with anarchist and radicals. They are just people trying to prove a point and organize towards a cause. And that cause is a radical cause that needs radical displays of hurt. The consequences of Bush's first term can be seen every day in New York. When stores are closing, you can't find a job, and your best friends at war, many American's shake their head in shame. What has this country become?

The other thing that I noticed was that none of the people interviewed for the news looked like your regular next door neighbor. I can tell you know, the majority of peopel I have seen protesting where just your average Joe with a sign and a poster. I have seen some very radical displays. I have seen people who seem to belong only in this environment of mayhem, but that is expected. I feel that the news representation of the protesters is an extremist portrayal that my actually increase Bush's chances in office. When people in small time Ohio see these crazy protesters and can't relate to them, they are pushed closer to Bush and his "protection" and "values" campaign.

I think that the news should stop trying so hard to be unbiased. If they let real people at the protest take about their real feelings towards our current president, I think it would equal out the images of chaos and unorganized protest. Everything in New York is under control. The Republicans are protected and the protesters are happy and peaceful. That is my unbiased truth. As much as I am annoyed by this whole event, I hate to see it slaughtered by the news.

Warehouse of London Closing Out

I needed a skirt or maybe n new top for my interview today. After trying the Gap and Express yesterday, I realized that there was nothing I liked at these corporate power houses. When I did see something tolerable, it was not worth the money that they wanted me to pay for it. So again, defeated but not surprised, I decided that it was the perfect time to go to my favorite shop in Lower Manhattan. The store on 8th St btw Broadway and University always has a stunning window display. The cloths are on the nicer side, sort of Banana meets Urban meets Express, but the prices are reasonable and you are actually getting the quality and style that you pay for.

I walk east on 8th and see a paper sign taped to the brick wall next to the store. 11 days till closing! I can't believe it. I have been shopping at this store for 3 years. They can't close on me. After shopping for an hour of so and picking the cream of the crop at 30% off, I asked the cashier why they were closing. She told me that the rent on that particular store is insane. So when the NYU student leave in the summer and for Christmas break, the store takes such a fall in business that they can't afford the location. I am majorly bummed out. The location was by far my favorite part. I could store in on my lunch break or between classes to pick something up for a date. But, not any more.

The good news is that they are still going to be in SOHO. So next time, I am having a fun but business casual crisis, I will not be out of luck.

Internship

I have been looking for an internship every day for the past two months. I feel like I moderately qualified for almost any job. I have always been a go getter, on the creative side and highly organized. I am passionate about everything I do. I love life and even more success. But lately, I have been my internship status has been a little hard to swallow. I have received minimal responses to the hundreds upon hundreds of resumes that I have sent out. I'm asking these companies to let me work for free. And they apparently have so many other people throwing themselves at the feet of their company, willing to do slave labor, get paper cuts, fight with the fax machines, all so that they can try to put their two cents in, that there is no need to respond to any one who is not incredibly dedicated and over-qualified. I do have an interview tomorrow. My first one and its a big one. I don't want to say anything about it yet, in afraid that talking about it to much will give me bad karma.

Any way, I think if I had to go-fer any where, I would want it to be a place like this. I hope that they see the potential that sits dormant in me, waiting for a chance to surface and penetrate. I have worked hard to get where I am. I have worked in film, magazine, and waiting tables all for this moment. My time to break free and have the opportunity to make a difference at a "brand name" company. Even if that difference is being the best gosh darn filer that they have ever seen, I will cherish every moment of it. One day, I want to go some where. i have never wanted to be famous, just happy. And at this moment in my life, I feel that a "go and get 'em tiger" kind of job at a big film, pr, entertainment, magazine, or web publishing company would be my first step to being there.

The problem is, I don't really know what is best for me. I tend to lean more to entertainment and PR but, writing is my passion. I enjoyed interning at the magazine. I made a lot of progress and the magazine has professionally covered major ground while I was there and after I left. It was an exciting thing to be involved in. Not only did I get to meet really interesting and inspiring people, but when the final project came out, the new issue, I could flip through and know that I found that photo or I transcribed that interview.

I just don't know...cheers... here's to my future.

Beat Bush

They stand on every corner looking young and innocent. Clipboard in hand, the "Beat Bush" sticker can be seen from half a block away. I first bumped into a "Beat Bush" collector four or five months ago west of campus. They are the greenpeace, the international childrens foundation, the people who are supporting a cause who have spent days in training on the proper tactits of raping and pillaging the city streets. "Would you like to save a life today", "Do you have a minute for greenpeace", "Would you like to Beat Bush"? As a matter of fact, I would. I would like to help you and all your causes. But, now, I walk coldly past anyone with a clip board. I have stopped and listen to what you had to say before. I have used up all of my minutes. I know where your websites are.

Actually, I do have allot of respect for people who are willing to repeat the same five words all day, get snubbed by almost every passerby, and fight to grab some ones attention. It is a really difficult job especially, if it's for a good cause. But ever since my roommate for last semester was offered a street side promotions job, I have known that these people "donating their time" for a cause are not only getting paid near or close to $10 an hour, but they also get a cut of the donations they take.

Yesterday, after all the "Beat Bush" harassments, months of staring straight ahead and plowing down the street, past the clipboards and the matching t-shirt, for every block, on every corner, everywhere I go, some one asked me, "Would you like to help elect John Kerry today." Same story different tune. What I'm interested in is why did they give up the "Beat Bush" campaign? Is it because of the convention? I was talking to my roomate and she said that all the one man, independent, curb-side donation "stations" have been asking her to "support Kerry" too. Which, is my reason #2 for why I believe that this convention is turning my world upside down. The change of pattern, the irregularity of something as small as these curb-side fixtures has thrown me for a loop. This is only the beginning.

I am almost interested on how tommorow, the first day of the convention, is going to work out. But, I am going to be watching from afar. Real far. Possibly downtown or Jersey.

Convention Turning World Upside Down

I went into a coffee shop across the street from my bank. When the iced beverage hit the humid morning air, sweat from the caffine and cream dripped down my hand. I realized that napkins were nessecary to not only now, but when I walked outside because I am sweating just as much as the coffee. As I turned around, I saw a 60ish man wearing a wodden barrel. He was standing in his skivvies, strapped into a barrel, holding an anti-Bush sign. Not that i thought this was particuallarly odd. I have seen much weirder in this part of Manhattan.

But, for what ever reason, this old man really pissed me off. I don't think it was him, but what he was doing. Taking over me city. Getting in my way. I can't get a napkin because this geezer and his barrel are in my way.

These feeling of anger are definately and over reaction and I recognize this. But, at the end of the day, I can't walk two feet without seeing some chaos related to the convention.

NYU starts school next week and the freshman were thrown into these riots like rabbits to the wolves. Upper classman can't move in because of the expected riots in Union Square. Students from abroad schedules their tickets back to class months ago, and now they are being harassed and delayed at the airport. Just to get to school and be harassed and delayed by police trying to get to their dorm. When they get to their dorm, there is more harassment and delays on account of every person who works at the dorm had been subject to harassment and delays all day long and now they have no sympathy for anyone.

In the months before the convention, most New Yorkers were warning me to just get out. Anyone who doesn't have to be here this week, flock to the burbs of the beach. Me and my silly mind thought, I'm not going to let this bother me. Nothing this convention brings will effect me drastically. Honestly, I believe that to be true. Still, a day before the convention, I don't think I am going to be threatened or harmed in any way by protests or the sea of supporters or protesters. But, when there are people sleeping on the grass of the church yard near my house, I can't walk ten feet without seeing an anti-bush t-shirt, pin, banner, sign, sicker, man in a barrel, I want them to get the heck out of my city.

I support the anti- Bush cause. I think that there needs to be a grand display of opposition towards Bush and his campaign. But not in my city. Please leave. Make your grand display some where else. The streets of New York of crowded and bazaar enough without a political cause.

Common Grammer mistakes

Today as we were wrapping up our weekly update, my dad said something that needs to be addressed. He mentioned that he reads my posts for time to time. This made me proud of the work I have been doing, of how much I pump out my life stories and donate them to the written word. My dad has always said that I have a way with words. A way of "really pulling you into the story" that I am writing.

But today, he was concerned about the lack of editing in my writing. He said that sometimes he will be reading a post, feel involved, and then get ejected via a basic grammar mistake. Someone and anybody is one word not two. Too means also or as well. Often, I will use a word twice in one sentence. Before I went to the store before.

I am aware of these mistakes. I don't promote them and I know that I frequently make common grammar mistakes. But, I don't always have the time to edit. I would much rather post and get my ideas out there. Then on a day when I am consumed with writers block, I can go back to old posts and adjust.

It is hard to edit your own writing. Like my dad said, "you are always three words ahead of what is actually written on the page." Because you wrote it, you think you know the words that are there but, obviously the proper approach to editing.

I just thought I would throw this commentary out there. I write for myself, for practice. I hope that people read my writing and take with them the nuggets of human experience that I post. But, I do make mistakes. My posts are unedited. If I were to pass in my weblog for a class, I would definitely have to pull out my MLA handbook and do some serious copy editing.

My Unconventional Lakeside Campground

"Bob.... bob... the phones' for you it's your daughta' " I hear multiple voices bickering. "Get Bob" "It says Robert Williams... It's Felicia, get Bob." Memee, I say, hello how are you. And the next thing I know, my dad is on the line.

My parents went to visit my grandparents in New Hampshire this weekend. I love my grandparents’ house almost as much as I adore them, but not quite. Their house sits on a lake in the valley of pine covered mountains. It was built by hand. I don't quite remember whose, but I do know that the men in my family, grandfather included, built it before I was born.

I used to go up to "camp" every summer for a week. I don't know who started calling their house "the camp". But, other than being in the middle of the woods, 45 minutes from any store, their house was not like any camping trip I have ever been on. The three-story country house was equipped with all the modern amenities. Beds, running water, a screen house, satellite, computers, internet, cars, bikes, boats, and more recently a hot tub. They did have a camper in the backyard for a while. It was the pop-up kind that you tow behind you car, or as in their case, truck, or SUV. And there was a circular brick well, that had been cemented over, in the middle of their front lawn. These things reminded me of a "camp". Piles of wood stacked in the basement, a dock that turned left into an L-shape, pond scum. My younger cousins and I used to rake up pond scum. We would scrap the soft sand with garden rakes trying to pull pounds and pounds of dark green sludge from the bottom of "our beach". When we weren't raking or swimming, we would go out in the canoe or be shipped off to Camp Morgan.

Camp Morgan is their local summer camp. I used to attend for just long enough to make a few friends and then say goodbye to them. I was always a good swimmer so I used to love taking my swim test on the first day. There was one part of the Red Cross multi-part test were you had to hold your breath under water for 30 seconds. I used to try to scare the lifeguards by sitting at the bottom of the lake and holding my breath for minutes at a time. Once, a lifeguard jumped in to the frigid, 68 to 70 degree water to pull me up from the bottom. I would laugh and they would get angry, but in the end, I always got my deep water pass. It wasn't really a pass, more like permission to swim the 250 ft. out to the floating wood dock. As a whole, there wasn't much to do at Camp Morgan besides swim to the square dock, where we would fight with all the boys and try to push them off. Otherwise, you were limited to capture the flag, four square, and volleyball. Such games have potential. They can be fun when played in numbers. But, without deep water access you would be for own competitor. Thus, making you, the epitome of "lame" or anti-cool at age 13.

I haven't been up to the "camp" in four or five summers. Once I started working and trying to save money for my life after college, I "didn't have time", "couldn't get the time off" or "had to take this complete inconvenient shift mid-week" Thus, ruining my efforts to attend camp.

When I called this morning, my family was in the middle of breakfast. I was do jealous. My grandfather makes the best eggs and potatoes. He adds tones of salt, grease, and bbq sauce, but not enough to feel your arteries clogging with every bite. Not wanting to disrupt the savory goodness, I told my dad I would call back.

"Hello Flea" my Pepee belts out with his usual sarcastic wit and enthusiasm. My grandfather has always been the only person I allowed to call me Flea. I was not a bug that bites you and your sleep. I did not leave an insatiable, uncontrollable itch for anyone but my grandfather.

I talked to my father for a half an hour of so. Ever since I left for college, its been the common understanding that he puts me through college (Though I do have a few loans and work enough to support a New York life style). So I must call him once a week to "check in". I hated this at first. I never wanted to call because my dad put so much stress and unneeded pressure on my future. Actually, most of this was in my head. I knew that he wanted me to be success for and he only got on my case about stuff to "keep me in line". But, I was having a hard time keeping afloat.

The adjustment to NYC life was hard. Especially since I had been living here for no more than three weeks, when the skyline crumbled half a mile from my dorm. So now, three years later, I actually accept his commentary and converse with him. Rather than listening, hanging up the phone, and freaking out, I will logically and "professionally" speak about my plans for my uncertain future.

I miss my grandparents and the "camp". It makes me sad, knowing that in this "uncertain future" it will be a long time before I regain the luxury of summers on Lake Ashlot.

The Name of Discrimination

I was raised in a completely Anglo-Saxon, majority Catholic city, where my name was as white as any other name. Exotic maybe. I have always liked my name, which means happiness in Spanish. I think it suits me well. As a natural impulse, I tend to be happy and try to make others happy. But since I moved the New York Area, I have come to realize that my name isn't just exotic, it is "black". Williams, is a very American last name. I'm told it was brought here by the British and in number, it is up there with Smith in popularity. But, it is also a commonly African American last name. In sports, there are a ton of African American players with the name Williams plastered across their backs. But the last name isn't the problem, when you combine my first name with my last, I am automatically assumed to be African American. I actually had a cashier at my favorite clothing store that shared the same name as me. Felicia M Williams. Happy, helpful, and "black". At the airport, the dark-skinned teller didn't believe my name was Felicia Williams and asked me for two forms of ID.

Yesterday, I went on an interview for an internship. I walked off of the subway to go to the brown house, that doubled as an office, on 135th Street. It was sunny and humid when I picked up the subway a half an hour ago and now I find myself walking into the hazy afternoon, in an unfamiliar place, lacking the comfort of sunlight. I am the only white person for miles. I can feel it. I see how every one is looking at me. I am dressed nice: jeans, dress shoes, a sports coat. So not only am I the only white person, but I am the only person dressed in more than comfortable day cloths, submitting to the Manhattan trends.

I have been in circumstances where I was the only Anglo person before. I have walked around Queens and parts of Brooklyn, where I was the minority. But, this time, I felt threatened. It occurred to me that the only reason why I was going on this interview could be because the entertainment company assumed that I was "black". What happens when I walk in, little miss whitey catholic in my shiny white leather pumps. People are always surprised when they met me after seeing me only on paper. But, normally, I am in the racial majority.

I don't know how I feel about what happened yesterday. I never went to the interview. After walking 5 blocks, I just wanted to not be there. I couldn't call them and be like, "I'm sorry I will not be able to attend my interview today on account of being stared at and harassed by a few men on the street". "I don't feel safe in this neighborhood." "I don't want to see the shock in your eyes when I walk in." So I just walked beck to the subway, back downtown, to the comfort of my East Village home.

Some one told me a few years back, that I should legally change my name for business reasons. They thought that my name was deceptive and that I might miss out on job opportunities based on assumption. Not just the assumption that I was black, but that I only got into NYU because of my heritage and not my hard work.

The worst part about this whole name stereotype is that I am one. This isn't a common occurrence. I don't know any one else who has ever been in this sort of situation, and I don't know what the logical or professional answer.

Egyptian Cotton

With a busy self-driven mind strapped to my head, I value sleep. Lots of it. I will work a 16 hour day knowing that in the end I will sleep. There are no complaints about work because I know no matter what, the second I cease to push buttons or cram numbers, my bed will be waiting for me. As always, I slip between the sheets and pass out, phone in hand. I don't actually like sleeping with my phone, nor am i talking to any one and drift off mid-word.

I live by the alarm clock function on my Motorola. After setting my alarm, my body turns off. A little picture of a clock pops up next to the early morning hour that I have to rise. At the indication that I will be woken up the next morning, my eyes droop and my body becomes limp. The hand was holding the cell phone drops to the lavender bed sheets. My mental connection cuts off and I am dead to the world.

Yesterday, I was walking home from one of the NYU dorms uptown. My friends an RA at 26th street, so I walk down 1st ave on my way home. At about 16th street I passed a Payless shoe. I was so tempted to go in but I have plenty of shoes and I know it. But, next store there was a house decorating store that had sheets on sale. I needed dark sheets because mine are to light and they make my room look to prissy and girly. Plus, the overhead lamp reflects a hospital like glow off of the white cotton blend, which makes my room look like a mess regardless of how clean it is.

I love cotton, the purer the cotton the better. In this out-dated, under-priced decorating store, I started looking through the blends but when I was a big display of separates for $8 each, I dug in. After tearing through entire bind, causing chaos in the store, a Jamacian sounding clerk came over to monitor me. I didn't want his help and he knew it. But, he also didn't know why I was so frantically looking for the best thread count, rich dark colors, and a basic standard of pure cotton. I found multiple %100 cotton, egytian, 250+ thread count sheets. Orgasmic.

Now I think I'm gonig to need more than a cell phone alarm to get me out of bed. I might have to upgrade to a fog horn.

Great White Runner

Article from Salon.com

In the land of the gods, the Acropolis towering above, Jeremy Wariner sprints into history -- and racial stereotypes vanish in a flash.

- - - - - - - - - - - -
By Gary Kamiya

Aug. 24, 2004 | ATHENS -- I want to be Jeremy Wariner! I saw him smoke the competition in the 400 semis on Saturday night, and the dude was so cool with his mini-goat and his shades and long thoroughbred body and his impassive face, and mainly he was so damn fast, that I kept checking him out with the binoculars to see if he really was white. I know, we're not supposed to notice this, and if we do we're certainly not supposed to say anything, but ... come on. As a mongrel racial type myself who could shut down just about everybody of any color in my high school over 60 yards, I never had any truck with the idea that it's somehow indecorous or objectionable to notice that race matters in sports. The subject is so loaded in a bad way most of the time, it's nice to have a few subjects that you can just drop on the table with an innocent, loud thud.

According to the dictates of racial politeness -- as witnessed by this thread from a runner's forum -- pulling for a member of one racial group, particularly if it's your own, is evidence of racism. That may sometimes be true, but it doesn't have to be. Race isn't a zero-sum game, and the best way to be restore some innocence and sanity to it is to allow there to be some places where you don't have to take it so damn seriously. So I'm all for bringing back the Great White Hope. Let a thousand pale-skinned, non-possession wide receivers blossom!

click here for more


I thought this article was funny and well written. As a former runner myself, I have always felt that I could never "win" as a white female. But, I guess I was being racist about my own abilities. And honestly it was hard not to be. When 9 out of ten times, I would lose to runners with darker skin than my own. It was easy to on my inferiority to my genes. Thank you Jeremy for proving that some times you just have to train harder.

Free Public Peeing

The most important NYC map you will ever see
OK, maybe I exaggerated. Then again, maybe not.

Thank You Captain Willard at PBR Street Gang for this post.

In which, Willard included a link to the map off all the free public restrooms in Manhattan. I think i have only been to a hand full NYC public bathroom. Twice I went at a kiddie park with children in tow (I used to be a nanny). And I think I have been to a public bathroom in Central Park. Which, I remember as a painful twenty minute walk from where I was sitting reading a book.

Sometimes you just have to go. As a woman, I can't just pee on the street. Not that I encourage men to do so, or that it is legal or anything, but women can't exactly get away with it. Often, I am outraged that I have to buy a coffee in order to use the bathroom. Coffee eventually leads to having to find another bathroom and being a "customer" at another shop with a bathroom. With the cheapest thing on the menu usually being liquids, I think they have us beat. I don't think it is a ploy against any one, but it just doesn't seem fair. Restaurants sell more because I have a stubborn bladder.

Any way, check out the link to the NYC free bathroom list and to Willard's post (for a link to another, less complete, free bathroom list).

Riding a Hog called Honda

I sat nervously, helmet strapped, behind my waiter. Well, he is not my waiter right now, but he was last night and almost every night. At 11 pm after closing the resturant, I swing by Around the Clock on 9th Street for a cup of Joe. Gavin works possibly more than I do so he is always "my" waiter. After a day of serving the curry craving population, I sit with my coffee and try to stop the tape recorder that has been running in my head for hours. "Welcome to Cafe Spice. My name is Felicia and I will be your server this evening." starts to muffle down to an actual conversation, still involving food, but usually with a little more personality. Gaven and I first met a few months ago when I went in to "the clock" for lunch. I had the most horrible waitress. Usually, I chalk bad service up to the server having a bad day.

But this woman was just horrible. There is no denying it. She smudged a large ash mark over all of waitering kind. No coffee refills, no water, I had to ask some one to get her so I could put in my food order. A twenty minute lunch turned into two hours. And I, was just about ready to forfeit her right to a tip.

Not many people know it, but servers make NO money. Well, it can be a decent amount but that depends on how good your are and how knowledgeable customers are to a servers lack of a pay check. For the past three months, each of my checks have come back void. A server makes between $1.55 and $4 and hour and the government takes all of it in taxes. When you charge a tip to credit card, the government taxes you on the full amount. But, 33 percent of my tips go to bussers, runners, bar so often, I am taxed on far more than I make. The result, NO paycheck.

Servers live on tips. And a NYC news flash: One should tip 15 percent as standard, for mediocre blaze service. Anything more than below average should get 18%. If you felt like your server was helpful, humble, and goes out of his/her way to make you comfortable, 20%.

So, just this once, I made an exception. I tipped 10%. I am the 20-25% type so 10% means you did a piss pour job and I think you should be punished. And in her case, the punishment was not just a bad tip. I also wrote a nice little note on my check slip ( all check slips are given to managers). Not only would she know that her service was horrible, but her superiors would be forced to keep her on her toes.

Gaven fits into this story because he was working the section next to ours and when our server went missing for twenty minutes plus, he would take care of us. We gave him $5 and wrote on the note that he deserves a promotion.

After three straight nights of visting Gaven at the Clock, yesterday afternoon, He took me and Hill (my roommate from last semester, the hostess at my restaurant, and over all one of my better friends) for a loop around the city. I have never been on a motorcycle before. They always seemed exciting but, I just never knew any one who rode one. I felt the power between my legs and I knew I was in total control. Even as a back seat rider, I had a sensation of being agile and mobile. The wind blew past at 45 miles an hour and the FDR flew by miles at a time. Riding a motorcycle isn't scary, it's freeing. As you float down the freeway on your hog, your heart pounds because at any second you could be cut off and go flying under these cars. But, most likely, things will be fine. Its just as dangerous to be flying solo as it is to be protected by all that chrome.

I officially want my own. I hate driving a car, its so mundane and claustrophobic. But the wind and weather always changes. No two bike rides are the same. You don't have to depend on the subway, which is never dependable when you need it to be. Gas prices cut in half because you don't use nearly as much as a car would. Not now, but some day, I hope to ride my very own hog.

Seattle Wrap UP

Recently I took a trip to Seattle, where everything is beautiful, open and uninhabited. I found that every where I looked, there was texture and realism. It was nothing like New York, but I think I loved that there is a space so different(Seattle) from the place that every one goes to be different (New York).

On my second day in Seattle, after meeting my boyfriends fam. and sleeping in the house that he has always called home, he rowed us out to a beach on the sound. I tried to row but, I have always been a canoe kind of girl. I just didn't quite get the hang of rowing. Luckily, my boyfriend did because on the way back to the dock, not only were we against the current, but against the wind.

The nation's northwest is an infinite amount of space sprawling out and growing flat single story houses. The shore wraps around its coast and several island sit on the Sound. The air is crisp and the water is cold. But overall, the area is peaceful. I liked the water. It was solitary and inviting.



On the East coast, beaches are crowded. But of course, you would never know this if you have never left. The person to beach ratio makes a hot summer day seem like a concert. The summer heat yeilds hours of traffic in order to arrive at your closest coastal gathering. you are lucky to go to the beach, stick yuor arms out parallel to the ground and not hit any one. I sat all day on the Pudet Sound and saw a total of three people. And at that, I saw them for about a second each. Beach that seemed to strech for miles, was all mine. I could run, catwheel, roll and there wasn't any one there to criticize me. Well, except Stew. But, he would have a laugh at my expense regardless of what I was doing.

Being in Seattle, I had to top this tourist spot. Not only did it's view scan the entire seattle skyline, but there was a Starbucks Coffee at its summit. I was advised to no eat at the skyline cafe by the woman who sat next to me on the plane. I'm actually glad that I didn't eat at this hot spot. The view was breath taking but I value the quality of my food far more than the scenery. Instead, I ate at Earth and Ocean in Seattle's Waldorff Hotel. The food was rich and filling. They even made carrot cake taste like gold.

I spent the greater part of the day hiking up Cady Ridge. I haven't been camping in years so on my 3rd day in WA I went hiking and car camping. I realized at the summit of the mountain, that I need to hike toward something. Either a breathtaking ledge of a lake. When I got to the top of the mountain, picking wild blueberries on the way, it flattened out to an inner trail far from the mountains edge. It was the most anti-climatic view for a three mile hike. I took this picture on the way back down.

Running with Scissors

I found myself to be in a reading slump. After starting On the Road, unable to endure through his return to New York from the west coast, I had discontinued my summer reading frenzy. Almost two months after I put down my last book, I realized that I was tired of reading about the same five celebrities on the cover of every brightly printed page. At the airport, after two beers and a stomach full of nervous lead, I decided to pic up another book. Maybe I just wasn't ready for Jack. Reading this book was in a way my own artistic journey. I started in Lowell came to New York and I haven't quite achieved his level of momentum and flexibility.

I liked the cover. The orange tinted photograph of a boy with a box over his head intrigued me. Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs was a new adventure. Augusten, the author and the main character, lived a life that I never thought possible. The book details a life with out rules; where normalcy is a state of wandering and infestation. The prepubescent life of a boy in a broken home, started as a some what routine journey of a boy who was ignored by his parents. It seems horrible to say that one being ignored is routine. But, I feel that at the heart of all independent personalities, there is a link to feelings of parental abandonment.

Though Augusten started at the beginning, before hormones with wed parents, he wrote conversation in such a realistic way that I felt like I was watching tv. The writing as a whole was phenomenal. I not only found myself laughing out loud, but reading passages to my boyfriend. I finished the book in four day. In the end, every character in the book including the writer/narrator seemed to be on the edge of insanity. But Augusten's words keep him sane. His presentation of himself as a victim of a mad society, made his own intruquicacies seem justified. And I thought to myself, writing involves living amongst the most bizarre circumstances and finding your own sanity in the written word.

This New York Times bestseller is a must read. I must warn, there are a few sexually graphic chapters. I can't wait to read Dry, the sequel to find out what happened to Borrough's post teen.

Cacio e pepe

This new Italian spot on Second Ave. (btw 11th and 12th) had great food and inviting service. I went out to eat and sat by myself because most of my friends were missing or out of town. But, my waiter talked to me about school and what not. I decided that I enjoy going out and grabbing a bit by myself. I find it relaxing and freeing. I don't need some one else at the table in order to enjoy my food. Some times your server can be the most pleasant and mood changing company. I sat by the window, shopping bag in hand, and read a few article that I had over looked in my two most recient magazine reads. I have heard amazing things about the pasta. But, I took a chance. I decided to be a little adventurous and my mind failed me. I wouldn't recommend the Cornish hen, which was my choice of the evening. The meat was tender but, there was very little of it and you really had to pick and gnaw to get the good stuff. I find this sort of eating to be improper at such a nice little resturant. Frankly, I would perfer not to eat in such a manner outside the confines of my own home.

A man sitting at the table behind me ordered a dish of home made pasta that was served in the middle of a big block of Romagnano cheese. As the hot pasta warmed the cheese, it was scrapped off and piled on top the steaming helping of fresh lightly oiled and seasoned pasta. I will definately give this place another try. It had a nice atmosphere and entrees were on the less expensive side (ranging from $10 to $17 dollars). But next time, I think I'm going to opt for the pasta.

I love Seattle

I can't believe that I am going back to New York already. Flight leaves at Midnight which will get me in to New York at 8ish tommorow morning. Why does nature have to be so serine and peaceful? I almost don't want to go back to my normal NY life. But, I have lots of pics. and prose to post when I get home. So I must go.

Mr. Lucky

Yesterday, in anticipation for a six hour flight to Seattle, I stopped at the airport bar. My stomach was cartwheeling into next week and my mind could barely keep up with the pace. A well-dressed black man with a slight stutter, offered me the only empty seat at the bar. I accepted his invite and he bought me a beer. The charcoal skinned man was drinking kentucky straight bourbon whiskey out of a plastic cup. And I, was guzzling my beer straight from the bottle. "Mr. Lucky is what they call me." I perched expressionless and cross-legged on my bar stool. The fit phillipeno bartender brought me another bottle. I really shouldn't have had another bottle but me and "Mr. Lucky" were switching notes on Manhattan real estate and offering vague life histories. My mind glazed over as he preached his military past, twenty-something years in the armed forces. He didn't look like a military man to me, I would have guessed him to be a bouncer of a banker. "I won the Quick pick in the lotto in the same night," he said. To win the lotto twice in a life time is lucky enough but, in one night. I was amazed. This man really is Mr.Lucky. After serving his country, having eight kids, and retiring in his early 40's, he sits at an airport bar waiting for his "ladyfriend". Who, after she drops of her 13 year-old daughter flying to Vages, will accompany him to New York for a night of lounging and boozing with Al Sharpton's campaign manager. Thanks for the beers, Mr. Lucky. I, as the bearer of my own personal little black rain cloud, hope some of your luck rubbed off.

Sleeping in Seattle

I am currently taking a vacation in Seattle, WA. Relaxation is hard for those who have no loafing ethic. For the next few days, I will be attempting to mix sleep with a semi-active entertainmant schedule. As to not drive myself crazy, i.e. mixing my New york life with the potential for bordem, my posts are going to be few an infrequent till Saturday. When I will return to my little island, there will be plenty to say about my summer slumber party.

Rings and torch were Hitler's creations, not Greeks

Sunday August 15 2004 00:00 IST
AP/ATHENS:

The most beloved emblems of the Modern Olympics have a decidedly dark past.

The torch relay, which culminated in Friday's ceremonial lighting of the Flame at the Olympic Stadium, was a creation of Adolf Hitler, who tried to turn the 1936 Berlin Games into a celebration of the Third Reich.

And it was Hitler's Nazi propaganda machine that popularised the five interlocking rings as the symbol of the Games.

Today, both are universally recognised icons of the Olympics. But historians say neither had much, if anything, to do with the Games born centuries ago in ancient Olympia.

"The torch relay is so ingrained in the modern choreography that most people today assume it was a revival of a Pagan tradition - unaware that it was actually concocted for Hitler's Games in Berlin," author Tony Perrottet writes in a new book, The Naked Olympics.

More Story from NEWindpress.com

Opening Night in Athens

Last Night, I stayed in and watched the entire display of Greecian pride and accomplishment in the dedication to the 28th modern Olympic games. Some may say that this choreographed display of art in culture was the World's Most Ambitious Opening Ceremony but, I think it was a wonderfully executed show that celebrated the true home of the Olympics.

The ceremony started with a centaur, a mythalogical creature that was resurected in life-like detail, walking across the flooded infield. The red half-horse, half-man galloped to the center and threw a arrow or light to ignite the olympic symbol(five linked rings) into a firey glow.

Next, a boy in a paper toy boat, sailed across the giant pool to meet the Olympic officials.

After the Greek flag was raised, a lazer light spectacular started the
opening ceremony that included giant statues and acrobats. I thought the suspension of art and the unfolding of broken pieces into the stadium sky was like a dance in itself. I spent half of the show wondering how many people and how much planing must have gone into each second of the program.

The strangest addition to the show, however, was Bjork, the Icelandic singer. She wore a dress that unfolded to cover all 10,000 athletes and the entire march of nations. I think the concept of her fabric covering the "world" and mending it together under one piece of cloth was beautiful. But was it necessary for that fabric to be her dress? And the song she sang was rather ambiguous and uninspiring. Bjork added sensation to a show that had already stolen the stage with its history and culture.

Though the Olympics is a competition shared by the world, I think that the Summer Games belong in Greece. It is thier birthplace and their resurection. The year 2004 is a celebration of the Games, that bring the athletes of the world together, and the country that founded that such a honorable competition.

Monkey Royale

I have probably walked past this coffee shop ten thousand times and never actually looked inside. There is usually a Vespa parked in front with a sign that says OPEN taped to the front. The scaffolding blocks light into the shop, which minimizes the lure that the fooseball table by the window may create. But, that is only the vision of a passerby. If you have ever actually taken the time to go into the shop, its exterior view changes to project the possibilities of warmth inside. The color sheme is bright and playful. There are signs posted everywhere asking customers to enjoy their food and leave their daily stress and baggage at the door. Have fun, play fooseball, eat a sandwich, and take a minute to not care.

Three of the best features of the Monkey, besides the food, is an electric train suspended over the coffee counter, the fooseball table, and a pinball machine. I also liked the monkey wallpaper and the photo book of all of the Monkey's canine customers.

Food worth mention: Homemade OJ (amazing!! can be bought by the glass of by the shot. I would recomment a shot. It's just enough to get a taste and a strong dose of Vitimin C), the Monkey Royale (their signature sandwich: nutella, banana, and peanut butter served melted and toasty), muffins (there was a blueberry corn muffin that looked delicious. I was way to full even consider one after the sandwich but, I would still have to recommend a try), the coffee (strong, not to bitter, full of flavor!)

A.N. Headwear

I was walking on Orchard Street, which is my new favorite place to stroll on my days off, when I came across the cutest hat shop. All the the hat were old fashion, which is in fashion. I saw one in the window that reminded me of something that Robin Hood would where if he lived on the lower east side. I walked in and looked at some of the wool, suede, and straw hats. In the back corner, I found the one on display. I tried it on and it looked surprisingly flattering on me. I'm not really good with hats. They tend to draw to much attention toward or away from my eyes and flush out my already pale skin.

Even more interesting than the hats was the man, late 60, with a strong greek accent who ran the store. I asked him if he made the hats and he told me that he would find them at hat warehouses or hat stores. He tried to find hats that people pushed away and didn't care about. And now decades later, he makes his business off of these unwanted hats. Aris, he called himself, though Aristotle is his real name. "Greek names are to long as I'm sure you now so I made it shorter for America" he told me. Aris came to American when he was seventeen, has a son and daughter who is a decade older than me, and has worked at this hat shop for 35 year.

When I bought this hat, and one other, he was telling me that the hat in the window is one of the few he has left. Apperently some guy came in, bought a few dozen, which was a few less then what Aris had, and sold them on ebay for double his price. Smart business move, but I would hope that you would give this strong business man sume credit. At least give head to his store for finding these hats in the first place.

Morton Williams

I read in last weeks Time Out that NYU owns the Morton Williams supermarket on Laguardia and there is potential threat to the future of this market. I am personally outraged that there could even be discussion of the future of the few grocery markets that we have in the area. I have to walk an average of two avenues and 4 blocks to get to any supermarket, which doesn't seem like that much of a trek. But when you are carrying three plus bags of groceries home, it seems like miles. I hope that the locals who are organizing to landmark this supermarket succeed.

Lebowski Fest Here I come

I got some one to cover my diner shift and called a friend in from Jersey. This Saturday night I will be in Queens at Cozy Bowl paying my tribute to the Big Lebowski. Tickets are bought and paid for. To all those to cool for booze and bowling shoes, picture and postings are on their way.

Five Rose Vaca

Five Rose Pizza, which is two stores down from Something Sweet, went on vacation for two weeks. Why are all the essential eateries near my apartment on summer sieta? Maybe, it is time for me to take a vacation too.

Yesterdays postings

I tried to post yesterday but lost a long entry after I didn't copy and paste it to word. Thats the one thing that I hate about digital publishing. If the system is down and you don't have back up, hitting the publish post button can be deadly. Here's a few highlights from my would be post from yesterday.

Tarallucci e vino (1st ave and 10th St)- I adore their sandwiches, which is unfortunate because there are only a few choices when you don't eat pork. Yesterday, I stopped in for a Terra (chicken, olive spread, and arugula) on a cabiatta roll and an iced coffee. I sat outside for table service with a newly purchased New York Magazine. I was reading an article about a middle eastern man that a $125,000 plus tab at Score, a NYC strip club, and is now sueing them for taking advantage of his unlimited credit. I thought the part about his wife, a UN ambassador who is now disgraced in her country for her husbands high rolling, was very interesting. I skimmed through the last two hundred words as my sandwich waited in front of me. The combination of flavors was perfect. The roll was fresh and hot and T e V doesn't use dressing or mayo. Instead, I had a healthy portion of extra virgin olive oil that blended tastefully with the black olive spread. The small sidewalk setting was also quite pleasing. The midday sun was bright and the air was crisp. It was the kind of weather that makes me feel guilty for always being indoors. Which was my excuse for going to T e V tonight for dinner. This time I chose the Stella, tuna and artichoke hearts, and brought along a friend. Never a disappointment.

Funky fashionable Earrings for $1.75

Flash back to my New York nanny days- I used to nanny part time in the West Village. I loved the three year old girl. She was so complicated and seemed to know more three year old should. But, I learned a lot from her and she from me. Nina has passion and knows what she likes. Puzzles; I would do four or five puzzles a day with her. Candy Land; once she called Mr. Plumpy a fat ass and I almost died. Dinosaurs; she has this orange plastic dinosaur who she named Krokey and she insisted on bringing every where. I really miss hanging out with her. Thats what it was to her hanging out. I was her friend and I would come play. Her mother mentioned me coming by one day a week to help out with Nina. I really hope it happens because I think she is an amazing little girl and her younger brother just as much potential. I think it may be their parenting. Both parents are great with the kids and have so much to experience at life. Some times I would talk to the mother about problems at school and what to do with my future, and she would give me the most level headed advise. They don't seem like your typical New York family but then again, nothing in New York is typical.

Handmade leather bags

Joseph Hanna on Greenwich Ave at 10th street. The unique colors and foldings of leather make this store a must visit, must purchase. All of the bags are made in the store. You can custom order any bag in another color, with or without a pocket, or any other imaginable desire. I bought two bags and both were personally engraved with my name at no charge. The store also offered an open invitation to polish my bags every month as part of my initial cost. The craftmenship and upkeep of each piece was important to this small leather store. The leather is soft and the hand craftmanship makes each piece worth the every penny. Not that i really have the pennies to spend. I am almost at my shopping limit. Which is why I am glad that I chose the more classic, though energetic, pieces.

Standing in the store overwhelmed by the smell of brand-new leather, I stood scrolling the possibilities of what I could wear either purse with. And the result is that both seem to go with almost everything that I wear. With my fall line almost complete, I hope that these bags prove as the center pieces that I expect them to be.

Click here to see more of Joseph Hanna'sHand bags

Photoblog

Check out my New Photo blog!!

Finally a day off

After 11 straight days(and 13 shifts) at the resturant, I slept. Not quite. Today's postings will be dedicated to the splender of consumption and relaxation.

CIA Asks Bush to Discontinue Blog

WASHINGTON, DC—In the interest of national security, President Bush has been asked to stop posting entries on his three-month-old personal web log, acting CIA director John E. McLaughlin said Monday.

According to McLaughlin, several recent entries on PrezGeorgeW. typepad.com have compromised military operations, while other posts may have seriously undercut the PR efforts of White House press secretary Scott McClellan.

A July 24 posting read, "Just got back from a lunch with Colin and Adil Moussa (one of Prince Saud al-Faisal's guys). Colin wants the Saudis to send some troops to Najaf—so some of the soldiers are Arab, I guess. This Moussa guy sure wears a lot of jewelry. A golden chain, a golden ring with his initials or something, and some other sparkling stuff—kinda effeminate. Anyway, best of luck in Iraq, Iyad."

McLaughlin, normally hesitant to express public disapproval of the president, said the blog was "ill-advised."

"I would hate for the president to inadvertently put American soldiers at risk," McLaughlin said. "We work hard to maintain the integrity of state secrets. When we see the president posting details of troop movements, international counter-terrorism negotiations, and even the nuclear launch codes, as he did on Monday, we have to step up and say something."

Bush said he could not understand McLaughlin's anger, characterizing his blog as a "personal thing written for friends and family or whoever" and therefore "none of the CIA's business."

click here for more of this article from The Onion



I don't know how I feel about this. I'm sitting on the fence, looking both ways, and not particularly agreeing with either side. I think that Bush does have the right to have a blog and right freely on it. I think it would be interesting to read about the daily life events and thoughts of the president. A blog provides a portrait of life, a life that only you lead. Because of that, personal satisfaction and self-worth can be found in between the lines of single spaced text. But, on the other hand, blogging is also a self promotion. It is a way of giving you a voice and to hope to be heard. When you are the president of the United States, you have a very strong voice. It is the voice of an entire nation. Bush, in his role as president, needs to protect those who have elected him and not be so selfish as to leak potentially dangerous information. I understand why he might want to blog but I also understand that the Secret Service has a job to do and the security or the nation and the president may be at risk.

Thanks DoubleTrouble for the lead on this one!

More on Lebowski Fest

The article in the NYTimes

A cult gives its members license to feel superior to the rest of the universe, and so does a cult movie: it confers hipness on those who grok what the mainstream audience can't. Joel and Ethan Coen's 1998 hyperintellectual stoner noir bowling comedy "The Big Lebowski," starring Jeff Bridges as Jeff (The Dude) Lebowski, has the requisite exclusivity of a cult classic: it bombed at the box office; it was met with shrugs by many critics who had arguably overpraised the Coen brothers' Academy Award-winning "Fargo" (1996); and it has amassed an obsessive following on cable and video and by word of mouth. Nowadays, quoting its intricate, absurdist, often riotously profane dialogue earns you coolness points in widely disparate circles. Some would even say that the cult of "The Big Lebowski" is going mainstream.

It has a rolling national convention, for starters: the Lebowski Fest, which in June attracted 4,000 followers in Louisville, Ky., and on Friday arrives in New York City. For two days, Lebowski fans (referred to as Achievers) will dress up as their favorite character (or prop, like a severed toe), dig some far-out rock bands at the Knitting Factory, bowl in far-out Queens, imbibe White Russians (and maybe less licit substances) and spend a lot of time shouting lines at one another like:

"This aggression will not stand, man."

"You're entering a world of pain."

"You want a toe? I can get you a toe. Believe me, there are ways, Dude. You don't want to know about it, believe me. Hell, I can get you a toe by 3 o'clock this afternoon, with nail polish."

All clogged up!

I hate being sick. Even more I hate being sick in the summer. To all my fans, sorry that my postings are getting a little sluggish. The trouble is that with a lungs filled with flem, I'm not getting out of my apartment much. The heat is insufferable when you all stuffed up so, I'm staying in bed till I get better. Any way, I do have a few things that I have wanted to post, but have't been able to. I'm going to have to give an abreviated run down (due to my delayed responses on the topics, my usual descriptiveness need not apply).

Teany's- Moby's vegan tea shop. I withdraw my prior ill sentiment. I'm still not a fan of their strawberry rhubarb pie, but when I was shopping for fabric on orchard street, I needed a place to pee and teany was that place. I sat down and ordered some fruit infused green tea and a scone with cream and jam. It was a nice little recluse. A toddler, one years old but to tiny to fit into big boy cloths, was smiling and clapping at me. He monkey-climbed over my newly purchased fabrics to steal my scone, which I wasn't willing to share. There was also a table playing Uno. They seemed to be regulars and I enjoyed how comfortable they felt in this coffee shop. It reminded me of the Witches Brew. It's a coffee shop I used to practically live at when I dated this guy in Long Island. I'm now a fan of teany's I cant wait to go back. Buy the way, I read in time out that they are now selling bottles of their brew in dean and Deluca and other select stores. Moving on up Moby, keep moving on up.

Pulled fabric- On my escapades on Orchard Street, I found this really great cloth warehouse (on allen one block west of orchard). I needed a rather extreme color. Green, not to matalic, not to dark, not lime, but still bright. My plan was to stretch the cloth over a canvas that was taking up space in my apartment because I have not had time to paint lately. My apartment is leaf green, lavender, and kacki, so it is really important that the colors are the exact shade. Any way, I found the perfect fabric for my "painting" and also found really interesting textures of kacki to make pillows out of. I'm hand sewing so I'll take a picture when their done.

Rothman's

(Men's warehouse store on Union Square East and 17th) is having an amazing sale on Men's shirts. Ben Sherman in my favorite men's brand. Not to casual but not to fancy. These shirts can go either way, and are city sleek to boot. I stopped at Rothman's because I needed to get a gift for some one. I was actually looking for a belt but walked out with four short sleeve shirts (total savings: over $100). The customer service was also exceptional. If I ever need to buy a men's shirt again. I will give this store another try.

Shei Hand bag designer- I had the most wonderful and embarrassing experience at the resturant the other day. A gentleman at one of my tables was quite the kidder. I spent a good portion of the meal entertaining myself by talking to him. He was a very nice man who broke the ice by saying I have a nice "chest" ( which is apparently British humor for he likes my necklance). Regardless, he was nice to talked to and later tried to convince the stunning woman across from him that she should hire me as an intern. The two of them were designers and I being into design of all sorts seemed like a good fit for him. It was interesting. Nothing came out of it. But, I do like her line of handbags so it is worth a mention.

Havana Central- I love food from the Spanish culture. One of my good friends in High school was from Peru and the food that her mother cooked was beyond my palets recognition. Other than home cooked Spanish food, I have only eatten Mexican. I think Mexican is over rated but then again most of the Mexican I find here is extremely Americanized. But, Havana Central was different. The meat was tender and the rice wasn't greasy. There was a crowd at the bar watching a soccer game. I felt that this was a real deal Spanish resturant. The plates were on the moderately expensive side. I paid $18 dollars for chicken and ribs (which of course came with rice and beans). But, the portions were rather large and it was worth every penny. On Sundays, Havana has an all you can eat buffet for $18. Which might be the perfect cure for a hung-over, hungry Sunday morning.


Lebowski Fest

I read in Time Out that there is a dedication tour to this amazing Coen brother's film. There is supposed to be a themed party at a Bowling Ally in Queens. I am so down. I love to bowl (last time I went to Chelsea Peirs I got a turkey and my friends were so mad at me for claiming to be an "ok Bowler", which I normally am). I just need to get more info.

Otherwise, I'm in recoop. I can't wait to get over this cold because I feel an infatuation to crappy cable starting to form. For a city dweller, one must avoid such an addiction at all costs.

Not so Sweet

My favorite and most accessible coffee and pastry shop is closing for a month. Something Sweet on the corner of 1st Ave and 11th Street will be closed from August 9th through September 8th. How am I going to get my morning fix? I certainly will not stop at Vinnero's (which is right next door). I have grown a fondness toward my mom and pop coffee shop. When I first moved into the area, I made a point out of stopping at this small corner store instead of the tourist infested Vinnero's. Not that I don't love the "world famous" cheese cake. I am personally a huge fan of the individual size with the fresh black berries on top. But, I always see this small plump Italian grandmother hobbling around this corner store. I have so much admiration for this woman who is far past retirement, speaks broken English, and works a longer work day than I do.

I made up my own story about her to justify her hard work. My theory is that her and her husband opened this shop a long time ago. She worked there with him and there was some thing so great about this now blaze shop that the two of them created. It was an atmosphere of hope and acceptance. Every day when I get my coffee, I am greeted with a warm hello, some chat about the weather, and a goodbye that isn't quite complete, because they know I will be back again the next day to repeat the same routine.

About a month ago, I was having a horrible day. I was on the verge of tears as I walked around on a cold rainy morning. Why I was so upset, I can't quite recall. I think it had something to do with a guy. Anyway, a middle aged man with a loud penetrating voice who is always there in the mornings till 11ish (when the old woman comes) gave me what he called his "medicine" also known as a chocolate truffle button. I don't like chocolate. I never have, in fact I think I might even hate it. But I walked to the bank drinking my coffee and eating this sugary ball of fudge, and I did feel better. Not that this small cookie had any medicinal powers, but knowing that this stranger that I see every day actually cares enough about my day that he wanted to try to make it better, meant something. It warmed me up and made me feel better.

I'm sure there is much more justice I could do to this little store. It is a central part of my morning routine and I look forward to knowing that I will start my day of if not smiling, at least content. I fear the month ahead. I don't want to find another coffee shop. But, I am happy that this little Italian grandmother will finally have a few days of rest.

Scuba Gramps

Last night after work, I went out to New Jersey to visit my parents and my grandparents. My grandfather, a small but passionate man in his early sixties, has recently became overwhelmingly enthused by scuba diving. Yes scuba diving. And what is even stranger than a Scuba Diving Grandfather is one that lives in New Hampshire where there is little to no visibility in the frigid water.

But, I love my grandpa (who I call peppe)and he does have some interesting stories. Last night, he was telling me about this bass who follows him and my uncle around at one particular drop. Apperently, my uncle, who likes to poach anything that moves, has figured out the proper way to hog tie a lobster on the bottom of the ocean. But, the law (which law I'm not to sure. I'm assuming it's a Fish and Game law or a New Hmpshire State law) only allows you to take lobsters whose backs are a certain length. And once captured, you not only need measure the lobster, but also have to check their underbelly to ensure that its not a female with eggs. All this with magnifying googles that pay no justice to the claws clapping in your face.

"Those little buggers run fast" said my Pepee with a hearty chuckle.

This means of catching "a bit to eat" seems a little extreme for my taste. Personally, I'm going to stick to Red Lobster for all my crustacious needs. I don't think I'd be able to eat anything I caught with my own hands. But then again, the only wild life I see in this city are the rats and people walking their dogs.

Clemen was my Idol when I was his son's age... now look. He never should have left Boston!

Colo. - Houston Astros (news) pitcher Roger Clemens was asked to leave a youth baseball game over the weekend for arguing a close call that went against his son's team.

Clemens was at the game Saturday watching his son, Kacy, compete in a 10-and-under game organized by Triple Crown Sports when Clemens contested a call at second base that went against the Katy Cowboys.

He spit sunflower seeds at an umpire's leg and was asked to leave, said Jim Carpenter, a field supervisor with Triple Crown.

"I supported the umpire's decision and he (Clemens) respectfully left," Carpenter told the Craig Daily Press.

Katy lost the game to the Bakersfield Curve, 11-5.

Triple Crown Sports features a franchise system aimed at pitting top teams from across the country against each other.

Clemens' agent, Randall Hendricks, did not immediately return a call Monday. Clemens has racked up 322 wins and 4,240 strikeouts in his 21-year major league career.

Monkey Bites

..and gets more press than punishment. I read in two newspapers today that a monkey bit a small child in a Brooklyn supermarket. The monkey was the property of a disabled man who used the monkey for a hand around the house. Through it is illegal to have a monkey in the city, monkeys that sort your medicine are ok. What made me really angry is the NY Post and Daily News referred to the monkey by named, thus humanizing it and making me feel bad for the monkey. I wouldn't want to be pent up with this guy and his dog all day while there is a jungle out there waiting for me. I definately wouldn't want to be named Darla. Poor Monkey!

Another point of concern is that one of the article gave doubts as to whether the man was disabled. I looked up the exact ailment, which was not in either newspaper to find that Steven Seidler, the owner of the monkey, suffers from emphysema and poor circulation and uses a wheelchair to get around. How does emphysema qualify as a disability? A disease yes, one usually caused by years of decades of smoking. When I think of a person suffering from a disability, there is usually an accident or a birth defect involved. How this man and his monkey were not punished more severely bewilders me. But then again, I'm not at risk of being attacked by it. I feel nothing but sympathy for the boy who was attacked and concern for children in the future. It is exciting to see monkeys. A child has less restrain for excitement and curiosity. So regardless of whether of not this child provoced this close cousin to man is unimportant. A "disabled" man should have to restrain his monkey, if even allowed to have one at all.

Drug Induced Panic Attack

NY Times

Researchers at the University of Munich repeated the experiment 70 times: a healthy volunteer would receive a chemical injection, then be left alone to ride out an artificially induced panic attack.

From the next room, doctors watched the volunteer's restlessness via video camera, measured the quickening pulse and rise in blood pressure, and used an intercom to question the person about his or her feelings of impending doom. The attacks typically lasted 5 to 10 minutes.

Each volunteer was put through the same test a few days later, but this time most of them first received an experimental anti-anxiety drug. The drug quelled anxiety well enough in those experiments last year that its developer, the Swiss pharmaceutical company Novartis, gained the confidence to conduct large clinical trials.

The company's approach is part of a trend in the pharmaceutical industry. Drug researchers are conducting small, fast, relatively inexpensive tests on people to get a quick gauge of a drug's promise before committing to full-scale clinical trials that may involve hundreds of patients, millions of dollars and many years of study. Often called experimental medicine, the approach is meant to reduce the huge costs of drug development and speed the most promising treatments into the marketplace.

In the past, many of the tests might have been done only on animals. That might seem to raise ethical concerns, but the people who regulate and monitor drug experiments say that no problems have risen so far. And scientists and industry executives, while acknowledging the potential for ethical issues, say that experiments on people are more reliable, because animal tests often fail to accurately predict whether a drug will work on people.

How can you sit there and watch some one have an attack that you caused? These are people who may be severely affected by these tests later in life. Then, where will the researchers be; on a island watching their Swiss bank account grow. I know that undergoing these tests are voluntary but, I want to know who these subjects are. Were they tempted to do this as a last resort, because they needed the money? If so, I feel that their temporary state puts them in no place to make such judgments that may affect their mental and physical health permanently.

Maggots make medical comeback

Aug. 2, 2004 | WASHINGTON (AP) -- Think of these wriggly little creatures not as, well, gross, but as miniature surgeons: Maggots are making a medical comeback, cleaning out wounds that just won't heal.

Wound-care clinics around the country are giving maggots a try on some of their sickest patients after high-tech treatments fail.

It's a therapy quietly championed since the early 1990s by a California physician who's earned the nickname Dr. Maggot. But Dr. Ronald Sherman's maggots are getting more attention since, in January, they became the first live animals to win Food and Drug Administration approval -- as a medical device to clean out wounds.

A medical device? They remove the dead tissue that impedes healing "mechanically," FDA determined. It's called chewing.

Please treat me with some worms please. The article said that this treatment takes allot of convincing for its patients. I don't know how willing I would be to do something like let maggots live inside me for a few days. I think that mentally I would feel like I had died. Maggots remind me of death and erosion of the body. But actually, I would be literally be "eatten alive". If these stump eroding worms have real hollistic purposes, I say yeah to Dr. Maggot for healing those who have tried everything else.

The Kerry Movie

On 7/29 MSNBC played excerpts of the movie on John Kerry's life that was played at the convention on the same night. What is with making movies about Presidents past or present any way. I never watch them, I don't read their books. I recognize that they are people with an interesting story to tell, but making a movies is a little glamorous, not to mention expensive, way of getting the story out there. Plus, I feel that the analytical and controversials are left out of these films. Not that, I would know. Maybe I should sit down and watch one or at least shut up for the sake of ignorance, here is what some political bloggers had to say:

As Told by Talk Left from the convention

Kerry seems very relaxed in the clips we've seen. This is the first time we've been able to watch any tv during the day. Right now they are doing a segment on the history of the acceptance speech...talk about a time filler!

As Told by Billmon at The Whiskey Bar "Free thinking in a dirty glass"

I don't know how effective the bio flick will be as a campaign tool - especially since the network whores decided to completely ignore it. I'm guessing it won't do as much for Kerry as one of the director's previous movies did for Arnold Schwarzenegger.

But after watching the section on Kerry's tour of duty in Vietnam, and listening to the testimony of the man whose life he saved under fire, I'm wondering if the conservative attack dogs will still have the stones to speak of Kerry's "so-called" heroics in Vietnam.

On the other hand, the handling of Kerry's personal life was pretty awkward - we went from the birth of his daughters to his marriage to Theresa Heinz, without a mention of Kerry's first wife. She, apparently, has become an unperson.

Are we really so close to the dark ages that a politician running for president can't even mention his ex-wife?

Obviously, the Republicans aren't in a position to make much hay out of the fact that Kerry got a divorce (Two words: Ronald Reagan. Two more: Newt Gingrich) But, given their rather desperate attempts to pump up the fundamentalist vote, I wouldn't be surprised if the Bush-Cheney brain trust eventually tries to do it through the back door, by throwing a spotlight on the first Mrs. Kerry.

Billmon also had a really interesting and informative post about the Kerry Speech at the Dem. Convention. I enjoyed the read.

Free iPods for Duke Students

College says popular MP3 music players will be used to download lectures and books as well as songs.
July 21, 2004: 1:49 PM EDT

NEW YORK (CNN/Money)

- Duke University will give Apple iPods to its incoming freshmen, with school officials saying the popular MP3 music players can be used for educational purposes as well as entertainment.

The school has set up a Web site modeled on Apple's iTunes music site that will allow students to download recorded lectures, audio books, language lessons and other course content.

The students can also use the site to purchase music, the North Carolina university said in a statement.

The iPods will also come preloaded with freshman orientation material and the academic calendar.

"We're approaching this as an experiment, one we hope will motivate our faculty and students to think creatively about using digital audio content and a mobile computing environment to advance educational goals in the same way that iPods and similar devices have had such a big impact on music distribution," Tracy Futhey, vice president for information technology at Duke, said in the statement.

I am completely jealous. I think it is am amazing idea to promote artistic thought and encourage the student body to preform academically and artistly through these handheld devises. NYU is to self serving and promoting to pull such a stunt.

It's like learning to ride a Bike (or like Bush falling from it)

CRAWFORD, Texas (AP)

Running hurt his knees. Swimming cramped his style. So President Bush took up mountain biking, a sport that gets him outdoors, pumps up his heart rate and, every so often, sends him crashing to the ground.

Bush offered a glimpse of his new pastime to an Associated Press reporter Monday, roaming the dirt roads and far-flung pastures of his 1,600-acre ranch. About halfway through, he sailed over the handlebars during a dangerous descent, but dusted himself off, picked up his $3,100 bicycle and kept riding.

Bush, who was wearing a helmet and a mouth guard, escaped injury other than a small cut on his knee. But he conceded he was a little shaken up, riding tentatively as he descended the rest of the downhill.

Crashing is a routine part of mountain biking, a sport in which riders roll over loose dirt, rocks and other obstacles. Nevertheless, the president said, it's easier on his body than jogging, which was grinding his knees.

I have been riding a mountain bike all of my life and have only once fallen (when a car hit my back tire). I tried to rationalize this inablility of our president, maybe he's getting older and his coordination doesn't work they way it should. Then I realized, I have a friend whose mom mountain bike forty miles a day to work and then delivers babys for twenty seven hours and rides home. She doesn't fall from exhaustion. She lives in Seattle where the mountians form steep climbs. Texas is flat. Who the heck is running our country? But, here is the best part, this didn't happen once but TWICE in the past three months.

Bush falls on bike ride

President suffers minor scrapes during jaunt on his ranch
From Dana Bash
CNN Washington Bureau
Saturday, May 22, 2004 Posted: 10:51 PM EDT (0251 GMT)

CRAWFORD, Texas (CNN) -- President Bush fell off his bicycle Saturday while riding on his ranch, according to White House spokesman Trent Duffy.

Bush, who was accompanied on his bike ride by his doctor, Richard Tubb, a military agent and a member of the Secret Service, fell about 16 miles into a 17-mile ride.

Bush suffered minor abrasions to his chin, upper lip, nose, right hand and both knees, but was able to ride back home, Duffy said.

Tubb treated the president at the scene. Bush was wearing a helmet and a mouth guard when he fell, Duffy said.

Reporters were told not to be surprised if the president is bandaged next time he appears in public.

He's definately not a cripple, can it be that he's just that dumb? How can he make important public speeches and be taken seriously with bicycle wounds?

Double Trouble

Yesterday, I worked a double at the restaurant. It wasn't just any double though, it was a Sunday lunch through almost close double. I was the first and only person on the floor for six and a half hours and then I had to work through the lack of a rush till 10 pm with out a break. Not that I'm complaining. It wouldn't have been that bad if I wasn't horrible exhausted from having an emotional and sleepless night on Saturday. But, I had worked myself literally to tears before I could clam down. I was sat with a table of two approximately two minutes before I was cut, which is always the way it happens. So I decided to take another two top that came in with them.

As the last of my other tables (meaning one, who had paid there check and was still sitting there) were getting up. I joyfully made recommendations and chatted about this and that with my last two tables. At table twenty (which in the Cafe Spice world means the booth closest to the kitchen) a late twentish male and female sat down and asked my all about my fine knowledge of Indian Cuisine, which I offered to them sincerely. In the booth next to them, two men (ages unknown, they seemed young enough but I couldn't tell) actually took the time to talk to me. This seems funny to say, but as a waitress you spend all day talking to people but no one really ever talks back. It is all about the food and you as the communicator for the restaurant are their only resource. One gentleman was from England and he was telling me about the gym in his hotel and how he drives a Scooter, while me and his friend compared notes on Boston transportation and subways in New York. It was the best way I could have ended my day. These two tables made me feel alive again and reminded me of why I chose to wait tables.

Trattoria Dell'Arte

I went to this restaurant last year after the US Open Men's Final. The intern/Photo editor at the magazine I used to work for lost some tickets that the mag. got us for Urinetown so he asked me if I'd want to go to the Open with him and his parents. I have never seen live competitive tennis. This was apparently a big game that was impossible to get tickets for, so I accepted his offer. For lunch we went to a lovely restaurant inside the stadium and for diner we went to Trattoria'del'Arte.

Apparently his parents (from California) were regulars there or had some sort of recognizable importance because our waiter brought us a bottle of champagne on the house. The food was amazing, a little expensive for a college girl, but I wasn't paying. I ordered a pizza, which I wasn't too fond of, but that’s what you get for ordering pizza at a place this exquisite. As we were leaving, I filled out a when's your birthday card with my name and other info. and almost a year later I receive a card good for a $35 entree.

Friday night, two days before the card expired, I dolled myself up and met a friend for diner. We were sat right a way at a small table that was lined up with ten or so other tables with little room to get in or out. Our waiter actually pulled the table out to let me in. I ordered a half a bottle of Pinot Noir, an excellent choice because its not to heavy or sweet, and the Antipasto bar as an appetizer. As my friend and I were waiting for the main course to arrive, I table for six climbed into the table next to us. A cold, wet jolt of water permeated my butt and torso. I stood up, with little room, from the puddle of water that had just been poured over me. When the new guests knocked my ice cold water on to my already cold air conditioned body, my waiter ran over to help me clean myself off. It was really livid about being Shamoo splashed in my new dry clean only dress. But, I did have to sit next to the culprit for the remainder of my meal, so I accepted the waiters advise that it is good luck in Europe to have such a thing happen. I smiled at the table and continued my meal as if nothing had happened, which under the circumstance was the best way to handle the situation.

I ordered the Filetto di Manzo (Filet Mignion with portabella, chalets, and potatoes in a Brunello sauce). The steak was so tender that my fork glided through it as I cut with out my knife. The dark heavy sauce that soaked into to the steak was sweat and rich, but not overwhelmingly so. I savored each bit and ignored being wet. I think that this steak is on my top five list of best meals in my life.

The table for two, a middle age woman and her daughter who were off to a show, left and the waiter cautiously greeted a new couple and sat them at the table adjacent to mine. Whom, as it turns out, was from the same small town in PA as the six top on my other side. The gentleman at the new table said to my date, "I think it's even more extraordinary to bump into people from your own town than it is Rosie O'Donnell". My date agreed and found the comments rather cryptic, that is, until we realized that Rosie O'Donnell was sitting two tables to our left.

For my birthday, and the water spill, they brought me chocolate cheese cake with fresh cream and strawberries on top with a sparkler. What appeared to be the entire staff of the restaurant came to sing to me. As always, my face turned an obvious shade of crimson and my eyes welled-up with tears. I was so embarrassed that I was laughing away my air supply.

The table of six took pictures for me and said they would send them to my e-mail. By the conclusion of the diner, I was friendly with both the tables next to me, falling in and out of conversation with them between my dessert and coffee. Overall, I had an amazing evening. My only wish is that I could afford to go there more often.

Weekend Posting

No matter how hard I try... I never find time, nor do I have the brain power, on the weekends to plop myself down in front of the computer. SO The weekend run down and analasis will be told early week. Sorry for the delay.