24 hours of Philadelphia Magic!

Lakshmi is an enabler. Not in the sense of making people live lives of debauchery or abuse their wives, but in the sense of carpe diem. Lakshmi takes people who are unhappily responsible and dutiful and makes them do things that they secretly want to do but do not for fiscal or chronological reasons. After the RRI I had 48 hours before Laura Terry was set to come into town, I had a major paper left to write, and I had to clean my apartment and organize everything for the summer. Then Lakshmi calls up and is all "oh, I need help moving" and I'm like "really?" and she's like "well kind of" and i'm like "papers!" and she's like "mike sherman" so I decide that the chance of hanging with Laks and MikeS is too great a gift to pass up, so I tell them I'll catch the train to Philly after my Satire dinner on Tuesday. Then I had to call Laura (which was a terrifying prospect, as Laura is a very jealous god) and tell her I wouldn't be there on Tuesday, I would be in Philly helping a friend move and could she please please please pick up the keys to my apartment from my cousin and not get mad at me. Well, she did get mad at me. We sent several heated emails back and forth. But I stood firm, as only a person being supported by an enabler can do.

The Satire Dinner took place in a huge Portuguese steak house in Newark--my entire History of Satire class was there with my professor Jack Lynch, an adorable 18th century british literature scholar who once famously referred to Boswell as a "starfucker." Afterwards, Lynch and I hoped on the NJIT and spent the time talking about what it's like to be raised as a professional nomad. Apparently, he had a better time of it than I did, which I attribute to him going to international schools full of other professional nomads, whereas I went to school after school of people who had been in the same town their whole life and hoped to live in their particular state forever.

The trip to Philly was easier than I thought--it cost about the same as the Chinatown bus, only it had no roaches. Laks and MikeS picked me up at the 33rd street station where I hopped in, demanded they take me to the nearest 7-11 for caffeine, and then freaked poor Lakshmi out by tossing in a slim jim. Seriously, those are an amazing snack food. Totally underrated. Afterwards we went to a diner and i continued the onslaught of oh-my-gosh-i'm-writing-a-paper-and-i'm-so-freaked-out-i-must-have-stimulants bingeing by ordering mozzarella sticks, which by the way was a huge mistake, as it was the last time i went to that diner. i don't know, what can i say, i'm one for second chances.

There was lots of porch smoking at Lakshmi's house, then we tried looking for good trash TV, only to be cruelly disappointed. We all slept in the living room junior-high-sleepover style. Mike couldn't sleep, no doubt due to the EXTREME sexual tension of lying in such close proximity to such hot women. Or maybe because I kicked him in the face when I was asleep. You know, either/or.

The next day Laks and I let Mike Sherman enjoy his slumber, and we snuck out for coffee and muffins. I started flirting egregiously with the guy behind the counter at the coffee shop, as I always do whenever i'm either a) dating or b) around friends. we picked up some "Jew food" (my words) for mike--bagel and cream cheese--and headed back home. Homeboy was still out, so I tried placing the bagel by his head, then i tried talking to him, then hitting him, finally tickling him. Mike got mad, but it was a kind of adorable mad, because he kept wrapping himself in sheets (to keep himself "decent") while fighting us off, all the time yelling "unclean, unclean!" at us. We only got him up witch promises of porch-time smoking, which I have documented for your viewing pleasure:

Because Laks and I are overintellectaul alpha females, there had to be a "plan" or the day would be wasted. It was decided that the tenative "plan" would be education-food-shopping-food-home; it was a flexible schedule, but the one unmovable item was the learning activity. Because we're geeks. Shut up, you totally love it.

We drove over to Eastern State Penitentiary, a creepy abandoned prison near(ish) Lakshmi's house. Not to be nauseaus, I know I've been gloating over my friends a lot, but I love that I make the kinds of friends who enjoy getting the audio tour and sitting through the lecture on Quaker influences on Pennsylvania prisons.

Picture time!

After the Penitantiary, we needed food, dangit, because revisiting the sites of pain and horror builds up such an appetite. We drove to South Street, where Lakshmi promised us the best pizza ever. We parked the car and walked a few blocks passed a theatre with BEN GIBBARD TONIGHT on the marquee, and I remarked how sad it was that death cab had fallen from grace in the hipster world, but neither Laks or MikeS (i like that nickname, it's like posh n' becks) agreed that it was much of a tragedy. The pizza joint was a hole in the wall, and we were pretty annoyed by the lack of seating, so we ate it on the street gutter-punk style (it was delicious, by the way), then ducked into the bar next door to get afternoon cerveza. I was predisposed to like the bar because there was a giant fake shark on the wall with a fake arm in its mouth, and the bartender comped my coke (which was absolutely awful). But as we sat in the heat, arguing with Mike about video games (Mike: video games are the future of art. Lakshmi and Mary: We hate gamers, therefore videogames are the future of increasing levels of douchebaggery), I look out, people watching, and say suddenly "Isn't that Ben Gibbard?"

Lakshmi: dude, no way.

Me: No, I think that's him. He has a show tonight

[take my camera out, take photo. Ben Gibbard catches me, looks at me quizzically]

Mike: [at the top of his lungs] Hey look it's Elvis Costello!

Lakshmi and Me: *insane laughter*

Ben Gibbard: [looks down, crushed]

We then wandered around South Street, going in and out of stores, getting ice cream, running into the same people over and over. Mike and I made Lakshmi try on short shorts (apparently this seasons "hot new style") to prove to her that yes, she did indeed have the legs to wear short shorts. And oh my gosh, yes she does. I was wicked jealous.

In lieu of how hot Lakshmi looked, I decided a cheesesteak would totally make me feel better. I've had bad luck with cheesesteak. It doesn't make sense to me: it has meat, carbs, onions, and cheese. It sounds like the perfect meal. And the one or two times I've had one, I've hated it. So I figure look, I'm in Philadelphia, the cheesesteaks here have GOT to be good, right? And you know what? They're not. We went to a little shop in the basement of the shopping complex and it totally looked the part of a great cheesesteak place. And guess what? The cheesesteak was awful. I am inclined to now believe that all cheeseteaks are awful. But I gave it my best shot, and no one can fault me for it.

Tired and bloated with cheese, we all rolled home and hung out on the back porch until it was time to take me to the trainstation. Mike stayed at home to catch up on his Russian BECAUSE HE'S AWESOME. Lakshmi gave me a ride to the station, a big hug, and made me promise to come visit her in Chicago. And I will, because I can't have any fun without my enabler.

Red Rockets Come to New York (May 1-May 6ish)

I have to be very politick in describing this period of time, as the subject of my sister, her boyfriend, and her band are lightening rods in my home at the moment. I will avoid presenting the situation in it’s worse possible light, and strive for only objectivity, with the minimum of personal opinion.

In an effort to keep this entry upbeat, I will start off by saying that the week of the Red Rockets Invasion (or RRI, as it will hencetofor be referred) was a great week for me. My friend Marsha works as one of Takashi Murakami’s assistants, and invited me to a gallery opening of his new collection. I showed up late and underdressed, but Diana and Marsha, two of the most patient and lovely things in the world, waited by the elevator for me, and made me feel comfortable anyway, despite my awful clothing. We dodged in and out of models and photographers and got ridiculously close to the canvases so Marsha could explain to me about the pigmentation and the artistry that went into what essentially looked from a distance as very poppy, laser-jet prints, but were in fact canvases lacquered and painted with microscopic brushes over and over to leave no evidence of human hands. We took awful touristy photos in front of some of the spacier canvases and were shot bemused and/or disgusted looks by the more sophisticated and carb-aware members of the crowd.

Murakami’s new collection—well parts, anyway—is quite sinister. Here’s a good example:

Up close, this looks extraordinary. Far away, it looks like a JPEG file. Though since it is on my blog, I guess it is a JPEG file. Whatever. It’s not important. The important thing was that the show was great, even if I was completely out of my element, and afterwards the three of us got food and talked about Chinese landladies, friends-with-benefits, and the danger in taking on a partner when one is trying to launch a fashion line. I’m not sure when this happened—I’m fairly certain it happened April 30 or May 1st. I then spent the next few days feverishly trying to finish one of my papers before the RRI. The paper was on the conservativization effect of Africa on early 20th century British masculinity. I love how papers in graduate school always sound more glamorous and complicated then they really are.

The RRI happened Friday May 4th. I had finished my British Literature paper and had then feverishly cleaned my apartment in the 4 hours I had left until the band was set to arrive. At 8pm, the arrival time, the apartment was clean, but no band. My sister (22 years old) calls at 8:30 to tell me they are in Jersey getting gas, and that she will be driving into NYC because neither her 26-year-old gutter punk drummer nor her 30-year-old Tennessee boyfriend can handle the stress of big city driving. She asks me to locate some parking garages near my house. I send them to her.

(l-r: Joey, Ethan, Margaret)

The band arrives at my house around 11:30. My sister had tried to drive down Time Square on a Saturday night, and the experience was one of the worst she had ever witnessed. The van was not, as I had expected, a minivan or a suburban, but a huge RV van, and thus was kicked out of the majority of the parking garages I had given her. My sister thought the situation was funny, but it soured her bandmates. They came in and did not look at me, but sat down and started complaining to Margaret and to each other that New York was overrated, and that they didn’t see why anyone would want to live here, and how they couldn’t wait to go and never come back. The drummer (Ethan) mentioned that a friend of a friend was Djing at some bar on the LES and wanted to go. I remarked that we could go, but that it would probably take 30min-45 min to get down there. Joey (guitarist) said that my calculations were wrong, it wasn’t that far, and I pointed out it took 10 minutes to walk to the subway from my house, 2-8 minutes to catch a train, 15-20min to get to the lower east side, then an additional 5-15 minutes to walk to wherever we were going. I pointed out it wasn’t a problem, but one has to budget at least 30 minutes transportation time when going south of Houston Street. Joey declared that, should that be the case, 30 minutes was too long a trip, and he was tired, and didn’t want to go out. I told Ethan if his bandmates were tired I’d be happy to give him precise directions, but he told me not to bother, as he didn’t have any money to buy alcohol with anyways.

Margaret wanted to go out and see something, however, and after much pleading, her boyfriend finally decided that they could all go out for pizza. Ethan had mentioned he had wanted to try New York Cheesecake to see if it was better in New York than any other cheesecake, and I offered to take him to Junior’s in time square. He shrugged, and joey said pizza sounded better, so we went to Ray’s on 8th avenue. We ordered, and I sat down to talk to Ethan:
Me: So how’s the tour going?
Ethan: Ok
Me: How was the last show? Margaret said the organizer ran off with your money
Ethan: Yeah. Whatever.
Me: Has it been hard traveling with my sister and joey?
Ethan: What is that supposed to mean?
Me: It just means it’s sometimes weird when two people are dating, to tag around
Ethan: whatever. They’ve been fine.

When everyone sat down I told them how I’d been trying to get people to go to the show, and who told me they might come. I mentioned Francesco and Arthur:

(Francesco)

Margaret: Seriously?
Joey: Those guys are such douchebags
Me: Why? I mean, they try a little hard I guess, but I think deep down their ok guys
Joey: Dude, their such poseurs.
Me: Well, ok. My friend Patricia said she’d show up. She’s from church. She’s amazing
Joey: Is she cool?
Me: Yeah, she’s cool. I met her out here. She’s originally from SoCal
Joey: How can she be cool if she’s from SoCal?
Margaret: I hate people from SoCal.
Me: trust me, she’s amazing. She moved out of there as soon as she could. Who else…Lisa said she’d be there
[collective grown]
Margaret: Dude! How could you invite her!
Me: What? I liked her!
Jpey: She’s crazy. I can’t stand her?
Me: Well, what does she do that’s crazy?
Joey: Dude, she lies about everyone.
Margaret: She made up stories about me and told all my friends
Joey: Yeah, she’s nuts. She tries way too hard
Me: isn’t that sad, though? Shouldn’t you feel sorry for her rather than hating her?
Joey: She purposefully tries to destroy people. She’s terrible
Margaret: I guess I see your point, and I do feel sorry for her, but I can’t forgive the things she said…

(Arthur)

We head out, and I ask Ethan if he wanted cheesecake. He said no, he wanted to go home and watch the south parks I had tivoed. I asked Margaret what she wanted to do, and Joey said he wanted to go home too, so Margaret said she wanted to go home. She asked me to wake her up early tomorrow if I planned on doing anything.

(joey)

So Saturday morning I wake Margaret up early and take her for bagels. I started walking on the wrong street and ended up taking her to the one on 14th street instead of the one over by Chelsea. I bought bagels and ginger ale for the band, and a piece of cheesecake for Ethan. Then on the way back we passed some stores, and I bought her a shirt, then took her to HM and bought her some more stuff. It was a lot of money, but she’s my sister, and I care about her, and I like buying her stuff, so it didn’t seem like a big deal.

(Street art in Brooklyn; apparently overrated)

We ended up back at the apartment around 1230. Joey was annoyed that she had been gone so long, as they had a show in Brooklyn at 3. I asked him if he wanted to do anything, any shopping or sightseeing, and he said no, he hadn’t’ wanted to do anything, he just hated it when Margaret disappeared on him. I gave him his new york bagel, and he took it and sat on the futon and started eating immediately, switching back and forth from Law and Order to CSI. I gave Ethan his cheesecake, which he ate, only to declare it “wasn’t anything special” but when he saw the look on my face said “Thanks, by the way.” That was—and I’m not being negative, just stating fact—the only thanks I got from either of the guys during the whole RRI.

(hipsters in front of record store, site of RR's first gig)

I asked Joey what time the band was set to go on because I had friends coming, and he said he thought they’d be on at least first or second, and the show started at 3. We took the train out to Williamsburg only to discover the show was not even close to being set up. I asked for a firmer time schedule, which Margaret and Joey declared to be impossible. Francesco and Patricia showed up at 330, and I had to explain to them that Joey didn’t know when the band was going on, and they could go home if they wanted, but I thanked them for coming, since neither Joey or Ethan would talk to them. Francesco asked me if I wanted to go to the park to hang out, so we all went and sat down, and he asked Margaret all sorts of questions about the band, and the tour, and her time in Italy. He also apologized for not remembering her, as apparently they had met a few times before.

(Hanging out down by the park)

Afterwards Francesco asked if we wanted to swing by and see Arthur, who couldn’t go to the show because he was pulling extra hours at American Apparel. We walked over, and Arthur gave Margaret a big hug and offered her a discount on anything in the store.

(my sister and arthur)

We went back over at 530 and the band wasn’t any closer to knowing when they were going on. Margaret asked Joey to ask, and he came back and told Margaret to tell me that they were second to last. I asked Margaret if there was anyway they could switch, as my friends couldn’t stay around forever, but he said no, he didn’t want to ask another band to switch, and why was it such a big deal? Lisa came around this time, and Joey and Ethan ran into the record store, so Margaret had to talk to her and the three friends she had brought. Patricia and Francesco were hungry, so we went for lunch, and then they CAME BACK and waited ANOTHER HOUR until Margaret’s band came on. Francesco didn’t even like punk music—he listened to the show outside (something Joey later commented on)—but he stayed until the whole set was done. Patricia did too. They both had evening commitments, so they said goodbye around 8, telling Margaret “good job” as her band stood watching them go.

(Red Rockets at Fallout Records. Supposedly said record store is mafia owned)

I have to say, I was a bit embarrassed, but at the same time, really impressed with both Francesco and Patricia. They were real troopers.

Margaret desperately wanted to get John’s pizza, but Joey didn’t want to go because he wanted to see the next band. I argued that we could get it to go and meet them in queens-they could hitch a ride with another band, but joey said that wouldn’t work because he wanted to talk to some people afterwards and maybe sell some merch, so instead why didn’t we just go get the van and pick him up at 10? I keep my mouth shut, and Margaret agrees to the plan, which would have worked had the L train not been delayed an HOUR. So we get into manhattan by 9, have to swing by some other pizza place and get food, go back, change, and pick up the van (Margaret had lost the ticket) and print off directions from Brooklyn to queens. By the time we get to the record store to pick Joey and Ethan up, it’s 10, and we’re greeted with “what the hell Margaret? Where the fuck have you been?” I was a bit shocked, as this guy is a returned missionary. He then grabs Ethan, they jump in the car, and I offer ethan the front seat with directions. He looks at them and says to Margaret. “Take Franklin.”
“Right or left?”
“Right. You’ve missed it Margaret! What the hell!”
“Which way do I go ethan?”
“I don’t know! Get back to Franklin!”
“Which way is franklin from here?”
“How the fuck should I know? Get your sister up here”
So I have to climb into the front seat and tell Margaret very calmly where to turn, as she’s incredibly angry. I hear Joey on the phone, confirming with the club we’re going to that none of the bands have taken the stage. He then gets off the phone:
Joey: Where were you?
Margaret: The L train was late an hour
Joey: You didn’t have to stop and get pizza Margaret
Margaret: I thought you might be hungry
Joey: It’s because of your stupid pizza we’re late
Margaret: Can we please not talk about this right now? I’m driving
Joey: I TOLD you we had to be there by 10
Margaret: You said I had to be at the record store at 10
Joey: [yelling]You didn’t listen to me!
Margaret: Can you SHUT UP I’M TRYING TO DRIVE
Joey: What the hell Margaret, you shouldn’t have stopped for pizza
Margaret: [in tears, screaming] I’M SORRY, SHUT UP!

(joey)

Joey then continues in a quieter voice to tell her all the ways they’ve ruined the gig and the night. I then try and change the subject because I’m really scared at how violent and passive-aggressive joey is being. “Brooke called and told me she’s already at the gig?”
Margaret: [says something sarcastic]
Joey: [heavily sarcastic] Is she as cool as Francesco?
Margaret then asked why I didn’t bring my graduate school friends, or more people, to which I said [brattily] “because my friends are classy people and classy people go to work on Saturday.” This was only partly true. But it did send Ethan and Joey off, attacking me (rightfully so, I guess) for thinking I was better than they were. When we got to the club, I admitted the reason why I didn’t have more friends is because, simply, I don’t really have that many in new york. And then I burst into tears. And then Margaret burst into tears. And Joey and Ethan ignored us, and unload the stuff.

(The Creek gig)

Brooke made me order ice cream, and the waiter gave it to me for free, as I looked so pathetic. But I went in and when they went on stage, I cheered and took pictures, and talked to their fans afterwards. And Brooke was right there with me, a real trooper (Red Rockets were last, and the show which was supposed to start at 10 didn’t end until midnight). We dropped her off, and on the way home she tried to talk to joey:

Brooke: So how do you like New York?
Joey: I can’t wait until I can leave tomorrow
Brooke: But new york is great! All the architecture, there’s always something to do
Joey: I find modern architecture really boring?
Brooke: Really? Well what kind of art do you like?
Joey: I hate almost all kinds of art. Except Dada. I dig that.
Brooke: Ok…Well, what do you like?
Joey: I like Jazz
Brooke: Jazz is cool
Joey: I know


Joey also let us know in that conversation that he hated Brooklyn, liked Chicago, thought Sarah Silverman was overrated (Margaret and I were talking about how funny we thought her show was), hated her show, and thought most stand up comedy wasn’t funny at all.

Joey and Margaret had no inclination to go to church with me on Sunday, so I let them sleep in. I came home and Margaret had left me $40 for the parking garage (which I had paid for), and the guys had folded up my sheets and put all the trash in one bag. It was a very sweet gesture.

Memorial Day weekend was the best ever!

Friday, I left work in the early afternoon and walked all the way from Adams and Canal to Lawrence and Ashland.

Here is a Google Map of that walk. Of course, my route was considerably less direct than google's suggestion. Along the way, I saw many fascinating things, including a homeless man with a shopping cart full of PVC pipes, and a lush, beautiful garden in front of a dilapidated house on a blighted stretch of Larabee St. At North and Ashland, a man asked me out for coffee. (I politely declined). My feet were a massacre of blisters by the time I made it all the way to Ravenswood, but I didn't care, really. I drove my car back to my house and read for a while.

Later in the evening, Mark and I cooked quesedillas with peppers, beans and cheese. We danced to The Arcade Fire in my kitchen and drank wine on my back porch. I think we also played cards, but I've blocked out the memory because Mark won. The horror.

Saturday morning, Mark and I cooked some huevos and made coffee. I caught up with a few of my ladyfriends, Gina and Laura, in the afternoon and walked around Logan Square a lot, despite the rain. Then I thought about how much l admire all of my ladyfriends, and how if they formed a gang together they would take over the world in a matter of weeks. I played some guitar and talked to my mom later on.

Mark took me to see Philip Jeck that evening. His music sounded like being born. I really loved it. We stopped in at Cleo's where we found a free buffet before crashing at my house with the breeze blowing over us through open windows.

Sunday was epic. Mark and I woke up a little late and went to Jewel. When we returned, we cooked some excellent and complicated huevos rancheros (we even bought a fresh tomatillo!) and stirred up some spicy bloody marys. We read the paper and lounged around for a while before embarking on a Logan Square bar crawl. But before hitting the first bar, we found a park with some swings. I went as high as I could, aiming my toes for the trees.

Thanks to Mark's meticulous planning and research, we did a pretty good job testing out the unexplored dives and local hangouts. Some highlights were Nelly's Saloon, a Romanian social club where the bartender told us about his adventures riding a bicycle 750 kilometers across Romania and playing guitar at the top of a mountain; and Clyde's, a dive that reminded me of Binghamton. The bartender at Clyde's was wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt shirt emblazoned with an airbrushed picture of a wolf. Priceless.

We meant to keep ridin' dirty when we got back to my house, but instead we passed out on the couch together at 9:30 or 10 p.m. It was pretty awesome.

Monday, I woke up surprisingly hangover free. We played cards again. I won this time. We ate some diner food down the street and then I finally reconnected with Lakshmi. Laks and I trolled around Wicker Park, catching up and talking about our summer plans. I bought a flowy, Joanna Newsom-ish skirt. Lakshmi bought one of the cutest t-shirts I have ever seen. We tried to look at guitars, but music-go-round was closed.

I finally did some laundry and then started to feel delirious with sleepiness. So I did what any sane girl would do—I made some rice and beans and peppers and onions with lots of black pepper and invited Mark over. We started to play a grudge match of rummy, but eventually the tiredness won out and we conked.

I’m watching the first season of “24” to see what all the hype is about. I have to say, it’s pretty lame. I’m not just being reactionary: I feel like I’m being asked to suspend too much disbelief. Jack Bower decides in the first hour to shoot some high ranking CIA college in the leg because he “’thinks he might have information” pertaining to an assassination. It’s not as if this is in the heat of battle, or as if he’s exhausted his other resources. That sort of action would place a normal civilian in jail, and I can’t pretend that he can do all of these irrational acts of violence and at the end of the day the bureau’s going to be smiling because he got the job done or whatever. And all the agents are thin and attractive whereas in real life government employees are slovenly and corpulent, and all the equipment is high tech but only works efficiently at times it’s convenient for the plot, etc. The characters act in ways their characters would never act…I don’t know. It’s poorly written, I guess that’s what I’m saying.

I’m back in Dallas, which means any and all solitary internet pursuits are at a minimum. I apologize, as I so often do, for my radio silence. I do need to catch you up on mah laife, though.

Benjamin’s Birthday (April 21-28ish)


I will preface this section by reminding you once again that I have the best friends in the whole world. They’re smart, funny, kind, and ridiculously good to me. They’re polite, good company, and great guests. It wasn’t really until this party that I realized how incredibly lucky I am to have the friends that I do.



Mary South and Benjamin flew in Saturday the 20th for Benjamin’s birthday on the 27th. I think. I’m a bit fuzzy about the dates give or take some time. We spent much of the first few days shopping, eating, and chilling out with Mary’s friend Louis. After church on Sunday Mary South walked around the city while Benjamin and I went to Brooklyn with our friends Arthur and Patricia. We went to a fabulous Greek restaurant and got some cake at a local bakery. It was a gorgeous, lazy, yellow-filtered Sunday where everything moves as if underwater.



(Yes, I know we look ridiculous. This is to be expected when your friends work at American Apparel. Guy to my right is Francesco. Guy with mustache is Arthur.)

Monday Arthur invited us to do karaoke at Capote’s, some dive bar over in Williamsburg with $5 drink-and-pizza deals. The South and I wanted to go to some burlesque, but we ended up falling into a delicious Chipotle burrito, and thus we were too late. The club was right next to Arthur’s work, where Benji was hanging out, so we dropped by Arthur’s American Apparel store on N6th street (I think?) and hung out before heading to the bar. The South had been taking singing lessons and wanted to show her skills. Benjamin also got up and did an awesome rendition of “Psycho Killer.” I’d say my favorite act was our friend Francesco, who got up and did a crowd-participation-heavy version of Tiffany’s “I think We’re Alone Now” (Who originally did that? Was it Tommy James and the Shondells or the Loving Spoonful?) No matter. Everyone was dancing--it was all quite hipster and cute.

(This is Patricia, by the way, ready and willing to help, scout's honor)

The next day Benji, the South, and I went out with Mary’s old friend Louis. The South wanted to see the Chinatown/Little Italy area, so I took her to Grimbaldi’s. It’s a coal oven pizza place near mulberry and prince street, and I figured it’d be nice to mix it up a bit. We walked around, went to get some dessert around St. Mark’s place, forced the boys to go into a goth shop with us. I think the night was ended watching the South Park “300” parody (which, if you haven’t seen, was Persians vs. Lesbians and hilarious.


Benji and I took the South to Katz deli before splitting off. Benji went out with his friends, and I took Mary South to a dessert bar for cheesecake and boy-talk. Then we went up to Queens and watched Fellini’s “Nights of Cambria.” It was one of those movies like Hotel Rwanda that just wrecks you to the point where you can’t speak about it.


(Mary South, Katie, Lakshmi, Benji, Mike S.)

Mike Sherman and Lakshmi drove up from Jersey on Friday to help with party pre-planning, because again, amazing friends. Since we figured Mike was still in withdrawl from the glorious cuisine of the Eastern Bloc, we took him to Uncle Vanya’s, a brasserie Serge once told me has a reputation as the only authentic Soviet restaurant in Manhattan. Not Russian, Soviet. The South, Lakshmi, Mike, Benji and I crowded in on some rickety, sticky table, the waitress was rude and lazy, it took 2 hours to get our food and bill. In short, exactly what we had hoped. Benji ordered something called the Pickled Platter. I will leave it to your imagination. Katie Jeffries (sp?) popped in towards the end and accompanied us grocery shopping.


(Grant and Travis being awkward at Brroklyn Brewery)

That evening Lakshmi took us to the Brooklyn Brewery to meet up with Grant and his friend Travis. The South and I ducked out for pizza. I am so over this ugly hipster thing I can’t even tell you. All the guys looked like lumberjacks. At least in the nineties guys had the decency to sport stubble when they were trying to look employed.


(Mary South and Benji order pizza)

So finally, Wet Hot American Summer, Saturday, April 28. The theme of this party was in part based on the movie, in part based on my friend Jackie’s excitement of “Afternoon drinking, just like the old college days!” Only Benji, myself, Lakshmi, Mike Sherman, and my friend Patricia bothered to show up in costume, so the 5 of us looked liked deranged camp councilors amid a sea of parents. My decorations included a nametag station, a Chinese staircase station, and macaroni necklace station which of course no one did, but it still created a nice ambiance. We had an entire spread of food, which we grilled up on the reliable George Forman.


(I could devote an entire 10 page post to how much I love these two)

All things considered my friends got on remarkably well with each other, considering there were three generations of schooling elbowing each other. High School: Aaron Flynn took the Chinatown bus from Boston, and he hung out with Angela. College: Lakshmi and Mike, Katie and Mary, Louis and Grant. Graduate School was a meager turnout, but I didn’t feel too bad about the situation being as a) it was raining, and b) it was finals week. But Shana and Michael did show up with their friend Ray, and some smattering of kids from church showed up as well.



What amazed me is that people showed up and stayed. Like, they stayed a really long time. The party was supposed to end at 8, and it didn’t really start breaking up until 11. They stayed despite the fact we had to move the party indoors after a crazy neighbor complained about fire codes and rooftop parties. They stayed despite the fact that there was a huge mix of people—they stayed and they met each other, and they got along, and phone numbers and emails were exchanged. They stayed and sang happy birthday to Benjamin, even though most were meeting him for the first time. Gosh, my friends are so rad.


(Angela and the Flynn)

After everyone left, Aaron’s RISD friends Marsha and Diana came over to hang out with Aaron. Diana and Angela, both into fashion, got on like a house on fire, spurring a lively conversation about the perils of dating in the Asian community which, it turns out, is just as scary as dating in the Mormon community. It seems to be no matter where you go, closed-community dating always produces the same results: exceptional women fighting for the attention of average men. I’m not quite sure why that is.



So yes, overall, an exceptional birthday experience. I think Benjamin enjoyed himself tolerably. We spent most of Sunday night tangled up in a heap on the futon talking, and he seemed the most relaxed and happy I’d seen him since we met. And I can give all the credit to my friends. You are all of you brilliant stars.

It's been far too long since anyone posted.

here are some belated easter photos to keep things moving along:

Look at my belly!

I'm watching a "Cold-Case-Files"-ish show about Palm Beach, and one of the guys they're interviewing is wearing a suit and tie from the waist up, and short khaki shorts from the waist down. I can see his blonde leg hair sparkling in the lights. It'd be one thing if the suit was khaki too, or linen, but it isn't: it's dark navy blue, a starchy white shirt, a pink silk tie, pocket hankerchief. I think maybe the producers must have told him that they'd shoot him from the waist up, and then for spite they made the shot wider. You can't see anyone else's legs in any of the rest of the interviews"

I'm packing up. I'm still writing papers, so I still can't post. But enjoy these photos of my time in Philadelphia with Lakshmi and Mike Sherman. Yes, that is Ben Gibbard in one of the photos. I'll explain later.

OMG I love the new Mary Timony.

from my brother's facebook:


Event Info

Name:
END OF THE WORLD PARTY 2012
Tagline:
ALL HUMANS INVITED! GET DRUNK!
Host:
Jesus Christ, Lord Krishna, Quatzequatel, Hack
Type:
Party - Night of Mayhem

Time and Place
Start Time:
Thursday, December 20, 2007 at 12:00am
End Time:
Friday, December 21, 2007 at 12:00am
Location:
The Pine Lounge
Street:
65 Rotary Ave
City/Town:
Binghamton, NY

View Map
Description
It is common knowledge that the world as we know it will come to a violent, disastrous end on December 21, 2012. Instead of cowering in fear of the inevitable, come celebrate humanity's insignificant achievements at the birth place of human civilization: The Pine Lounge in Binghamton, NY. Remember: this event is in 2012; NOT 2007. (Unfortunately, Facebook doesn't allow for early party planning.) Let's make our last party our best and biggest party. Invite everyone you know, even if you hate them!

In another hour or so, I will be 25. In Britain, I am already 25, because it is 3:25am over here. But since I was born in Park Ridge, I feel that I can't really consider myself 25 until half 10 Chicago time. So I have another hour to go.

I also have to go to work tomorrow. It is a Bank Holiday Monday, but I have been assigned to work on yet another "special project", and consequently am not allowed to have the day off, as my presence at work is mandatory. Earlier this evening, when I called my in-charge (and was already drunk, of course) to ask what I'm meant to be doing tomorrow, I was instructed to bring "coloured pens" with me to work.

Why the fuck am I working horrible hours under horrible stress at a horrible job if my work is going to involve coloured pens?!? What kind of important, meaningful work involves coloured pens?!? That's why I don't feel the least bit irresponsible for having gone on a bit of a bender tonight. They knew that it was my birthday, and they refused to let me take the Bank Holiday off. I was always going to go out boozing tonight, so it's entirely their fault if I'm worthless tomorrow.

Also, I don't want to be 25. It is too old! On paper, I have accomplished much in my 25 years of life. However, in actuality, I have accomplished next to nothing. And paper accomplishments can't cuddle. The older I get, the larger my wardrobe, and the more worthless I feel. I'm outgrowing boozing, but I don't have anything meaningful to replace it with. My most meaningful relationship at present involves my couch, in that I tend to collapse into it when I get home from work at a ridiculous hour, and don't move from the couch until I get up to go to bed, a few hours later.

*shrug* Coloured fucking pens. People go to uni hoping to land a job like this, and whatever the hell I'm doing tomorrow involves coloured pens. I'm jealous of anyone who wakes up in the morning with a sense of purpose; and I'm jealous of anyone who wakes up in the morning and isn't alone. I never wake-up with either.

I've been annoying everyone on myspace and facebook with this, but whatever. I'm a good sister, and I'm fulfilling my sisterly obligations:

My sister's band, the Red Rockets, is coming to the Northeast on tour. New York, on Saturday May 5th, and Boston Sunday May 6th. Please go see her if you can. I'm posting the info as to the shows this weekend, but if you want to see the entire schedule (for those of you who live in/near Charlottesville and Dallas, two cities they will also be visiting) go to the band's website

New York

FIRST SHOW: IN STORE GIG W/ GRAVE BLANKETS
WHEN: Saturday May 5. _3:00P_ @Passout Records
WHERE: 131 Grand Street, Between Bedford & Berry, Williamsburg Brooklyn
COST: Free
DIRECTIONS: Take the L train heading to Brooklyn / Rockaway Pkwy. Get off at Bedford Avenue. Exit near intersection of N 7th St and Bedford Ave. Start out going West on Bedford Ave towards N 6th St. Turn right onto Grand St

SECOND SHOW: CLUB GIG WITH THE GRAVE BLANKETS
WHEN: Saturday, May 5. _8:00P_@ The Creek and The Cave
WHERE: 10-93 Jackson Ave, Long Island City (Queens)
COST: FREE (?)
DIRECTIONS:
1) Take the 7 to Vernon/Jackson (one stop from Grand Central). Exit onto Jackson Ave. Walk one block north to 49th Ave.
2) Take the E or V to 23 St/Ely Ave. Exit onto 44th to Jackson Ave. Walk five blocks south on Jackson to 49th Ave.
3) Take the G to 21 St/Van Alst. Exit onto Jackson Ave. Walk 3 blocks south (away from Citibank building) to 49th Ave.

NOTE: The Creek and Cave is having a theatre event called "To the Teeth" the same night. That is not the show you want. You want punk rock. Which is free.

Boston

Concert Gig with Grave Blankets and the Black Clouds
WHEN: May, 6 2007 _8pm_@Abby Lounge
WHERE: 3 Beacon St Somerville, MA
Directions: Near the Cross Street of Beacon and Hampshire

Please come! My sister is amazing, and this is her first tour, and I know it would mean a lot if she had The People out supporting her.

Love, Mary

Seriously, I'm going to be sick.

I remember Anne had a friend who was all hot for "the Godfather." She thought it was the best movie ever, and one night insisted that we watch it. Maybe Anne was into it, I can't remember--but what I do remember is sitting in agony, bored out of my mind, annoyed by the insistant tone of "meaningfulness." My assessment of course has no validity--I was bored, I'm pretty sure I wanted to make out with Mark but he had blown me off for band practice or something, so I wasn't in the mood for it. I think Anne and I eventually turned it off once the chick left and watched Yuvgeny Pluschenko skate some championship. Ever since, I can't muster up the energy to watch the movie.

Which is why I was so incredibly delighted when I say Family Guy last night. The joy of Family Guy has largly been obliterated by the South Park episode which callously displayed its formula which--once revealed in the cold light of day--made Family Guy seem childish somehow. Well, more so than usual, anyway. So I haven't really watched it. I'm glad I found it, though, because I would have missed out on this exchange:

Peter: Since we’re all going to die, there’s one more secret I feel I have to share with you. I did not care for "The Godfather."
Lois: What!
Peter: Did not care for "The Godfather."
Lois: Uh!
Chris: How can you even say that dad?
Peter: Didn’t like, did not like it.
Lois: Peter, it’s so good, it’s like the perfect movie.
Peter: This is what everyone always says, whenever someone says…
Chris: Robert De Niro, Al Pacino…
Peter: I…
Chris: You never see… ROBERT DUVALL!
Peter: Fine, fine actor, did not like the movie.
Brian: Why not?
Peter: Did not… couldn’t get into it.
Lois: Explain yourself, what didn’t you like about it?
Peter: It insists upon itself, Lois.
Lois: What?
Peter: It insists upon itself.
Lois: What does that even mean?
Chris: Cause it has a valid point to make, it’s insistent!
Peter: Cause it takes forever getting in, and you spend, you spend like six and a half hours, and then, you - I can’t even get through, I haven’t even seen the ending.
Chris: You’ve never seen the ending?
Stewie: Ah, how can you say you don’t like it if you haven’t even given it a chance?
Lois: I agree with Stewie, it’s not really fair.
Chris: Outrageous.
Peter: I’ve tried on three separate occasions to get through it, and I get to the scene where all the guys are sitting around on the easy chairs…
Lois: Yes, it’s a great scene, I love that scene.
Peter: It’s not a great scene, I have no idea what they’re talking about, it’s like their speaking a different language. That’s where I lose interest and fade away.
Chris: They’re speaking Italian!
Lois: The language they’re speaking is the language of subtly, something you don’t understand.
Peter: I love "The Money Pit." That is my answer to that statement.

I also love "the Money Pit", incidentally

Look, i'm not going to apologize for finding this funny, ok? Yes, the 300 parodies are old, yes I have the sense of humor of a 13-year-old boy. Don't judge me. You don't know me. I don't care I do what I want.

The beautiful and talented Laura Terry--who I went to school with and who is coming to see me next week--has finally finished her online website BRAVESAILOR. I highly encourage you to go and observe the amazingness. Steer on over to "Quaternity"--it's a graphic novel I helped edit. You can actually buy it at comic book stores! Why are all of my friends so talented! My mind is blown!

Oh, there are also retarded 3am videos of my friends on youtube. Because that's what it's for, dangit