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April 28, 2003
Papa Don't Panic
My father has recently discovered the joys of the information superhighway. Unfortunately that means he has also fallen prey to that weird subculture of the world wide web...the urban e-legend. He sent me a blanket forward that included this:
FW: YOUR CREDIT REPORT GOES PUBLIC IN JULY! REMOVE YOUR NAME ASAP !
Your Credit: Personal Information goes public Starting July 1st, 2003, the four major credit bureaus in the US (Equifax, etc.) will be allowed to release credit info, mailing addresses, phone numbers, etc., to ANYONE who requests it. If you do not want to be included in this release of your personal information, you can call 1-888-567-8688.
Once the message starts you will want option #2 (even though option #1 refers to this email, push #2) and then option #3. Be sure to listen closely, the first option is only for a two year period. Make sure you wait until they prompt for the third option, which opts you out FOREVER. You should receive their paperwork in the mail confirming the "opting out" in less than one week after making the call. PASS THIS MESSAGE ON TO ALL IN YOUR ADDRESS BOOK, FRIENDS AND FAMILY.
Now, there are elements of truth to this email. But a quick search on Urban Legend Zeitgeist showed this email is indeed a hoax.
I love sights like Urban Legend Zeitgeist. The amount of junk one gets via the internet increases exponentially day to day. It's great to have one of those places to keep everybody cool, calm and collected the next time someone gets an email promising impending doom if they don't harass all of their friends and family.
I love my Dad too. And honestly I am so excited that my father has finally embraced the 21st century, I don't mind a little spam....from him. It's kind of cute actually. I'm like the papa in this instance comforting in a condescending yet paternal way, "No daughter, it's not the bogey man. It's the idiot neighbor across the street throwing a rock through our window."
"Dad, it's just a prank. Nobody is going to steal your identity. Go back to sleep."
Posted by mermu at 09:44 PM | Comments (3)
April 27, 2003
Pasqua
About a week before Easter it suddenly dawned on me that I had no plans. Coming from a big family, the big holidays are designed if not destined to be big family affairs. There are always lots of people talking and laughing and playfully teasing each other and catching up on each others' lives. More often than not there is a rather heated debate on how idiotic Junior is or whomever happens to be making the decisions. All in good fun, things get out of hand and back in a gain and it is a loud raucious affair. Having moved so far away from family, I can't get to all of the big family events and am left to my own devices 2000 miles away from the party.
I've been pretty fortunate I have to admit. My friends Jim and Andre usually host an amazing Thanksgiving. I have gotten to the point where Turkey Day is "their holiday". And I barely miss the shenanigans occuring in Texas. I haven't quite figured out the Easter Holiday though. It's still open season for me on what I do for Easter and I was a little nonplussed.
Fortunately, Rhett, who is still a very close friend, came to my rescue. He invited me to his Aunt's house for Easter dinner. Rhett's uncle is Italian so we celebrated Easter with an Italian twist. The affair turned out to be a 10+ hour event centered around food. The really neat thing is that the "first leg" of the meal included antipasta platters of pepperoni, tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, the best damn sausage bread, ever, and a bunch of other stuff. That in itself was scrumptious. After noshing on the antipasta we started in on the ravioli with sausage, meatballs and sauce. I love pasta. Especially the good non-grocery store kind. It might be something about the sugary taste and the diabetes that runs in my family. The ravioli was so good and even more of a treat to me because I have never in my life had ravioli on Easter. It's a tradition for them. Ravioli on Easter is a given. Much like Cherries Jubilee on Christmas Eve for Cousins Matt and Court.
I was a little dismayed to discover these were only two of the courses for the Easter meal. I knew the Big Fat Gay Diet was gonna go out the window for Easter but this could get really messy. Fortunately we took a rest from the eating portion of the day and took advantage of the few hours of moderately nice weather (still chilly but sunny enought that we could pretend summer was actually on its way.) Maggie, Rhett's cousin, brought out her Easter Bunny that she had gotten 4 years ago.
I had never thought that bunnies would be very good pets. I am pretty sure I was wrong. This bunny was so cuddly and soft. He just sat on my chest quietly and let me pet him. So now I am thinking bunnies might be the perfect pets....quiet, soft, and the don't mess the carpet.
We watched a little Celebrity Trading Spaces which was great. I love that show. Most of the celebs seemed really neat and well grounded but I have definitely come to the conclusion that there is a reason that Andy's last name is "Dick".
After Trading Spaces it was time for the next leg of the meal. Rosemary Chicken, mashed potatoes and a bunch of other stuff. Then there was coffee and dessert. By 10:30 that night Rhett and I were stuffed. It was a really good time. Rhett and his Aunt have a really interesting family. I had a great time getting to know them. And hey, my mom and sister didn't get to play with a bunny at their Easter feast!
Posted by mermu at 11:29 AM | Comments (2)
April 25, 2003
Prayers for a Song
Tonight while vegging out in front of the TV, I happened to catch the tags for the local news on NBC. A young aspiring actress was shot in the face by her jealous ex-boyfriend who then fatally shot himself. Sad news at anytime to be sure, but then they showed her picture and name. She is a recent Yale grad and her career was just beginning to take off. Lyric Benson was the waitress who waited on me and my partners the weekend we got together to write our Tex in the City operating agreement. She fed us pizza after a long day and picked our brain a bit about New York City, starting a production company and the like. We were awestruck over her impending graduation from the mecca of acting schools. She was jazzed about moving to New York and making her way in the big city. She and the aforementioned boyfriend came to one of our events at Serena. There is even a picture of the two of them...in better days. So now the ex is dead and Lyric is critical. If you get a moment, say a prayer of well wishes and healing for her.
Nobody deserves what she got.
Lyric died on Friday morning. Just to clear up any confusion..she was not the same Lyric Benson fathered by Robby. There was a picture of Lyric and Bobby in the NY Post on Saturday. What can one say about events like this? Not much that would salve the wounds of those left behind. Yet still we try to come up with that something; that little nugget of wisdom that might for a fleeting second make the pain less full. In the end when things like this happen, things so utterly void of reason and hope, I have an overwhelming urge to panic. To do nothing but run back and forth like Chicken Little.
"The sky is falling."
The sky is falling.
Posted by mermu at 12:29 AM | Comments (13)
April 23, 2003
What It Takes To Be A Man
I passed by a Pizza Hut the other day. Seeing the familiar red roof shaped like a three-dimensional trapezoid immediately brought back memories of my years growing up in Graham, Tx. My Dad used to work at the local Pizza Hut there. He may have been a manager; he may have been the guy behind the counter. I don't really know for sure as I was less than 5 years old. One day he and I drove to his 'Hut so that he could do or get a few things. I remember listening to Olivia Newton John on the way there and singing along. "Please Mister Please. Don't play B17. It was our song it was his song but it's oh-ooo-oh-ver." Olivia and I could sang, I tell you. Riding in the brown ventura and fore-going the 8-track for the good ole radio.
Once we got to the restaurant, I had to wait for my Dad to finish his tasks. I remember being really excited that I had permission to sit in a chair just outside the office so I could watch the man making the pizzas. Roll out the dough. Toss them up and catch them still in one piece. It was amazing to my five-year old self, this raw talent that the pizzamaker exuded. I asked my Dad if he knew how to make the pizzas. He said he did but he wouldn't have time on this day as he had to finish his many tasks in the office. I think he was a manager and only the pizzaguys were lucky enough to get to make the pizzas. At this moment in all of my less-than-five-year-old wisdom I knew what it took to be a real man. A real man could roll out the dough into a huge, thin, perfect circle, toss it high in the air so it would spiral around and around and then catch it so that it would lay flat and perfect on the counter. At that moment, I thought of what a really amazing man my dad was because he could make a pizza like that too.
My dad could also make a mean vanilla shake. My sister and I used to beg him to make them all the time but they were treats. No one can make a vanilla shake like my dad. Not even me. I tried to recreate the recipe recently and I am quite sure I am missing a key ingredient.
When I was five, finding the honor in men was so much more simple than it has proved to be a quarter of a century later. Dads inevitably fall of the impossible pedestals that little girls build for them, especially in the teenage years. Those little girls are left to wonder what does it really take to make a man. A girl dates, experiments with different walks of men, tries them on like winter coats. Will this one keep me warm or does it just look stylish? Is it a better coat because I spent more? I like to think of myself as someone who appreciates the basic unsung qualities in a man; honesty, loyalty, sense of humor, ethics but sometimes that all gets to be too much to worry about. Some days I just think it would be okay to find a man who just knows how to toss a good pizza.
Posted by mermu at 10:43 PM | Comments (3)
April 19, 2003
Karma Curse
I will never be a snob. I know this because of my Karmic Curse. It doesn't matter how successful I become or how good I may look squeezed into whatever "fashion event" I manage to pour myself into, I will never get too big for my britches because God won't let me. I am the girl who wins the Oscar in the perfect dress and trips on the stairs or has a piece of toilet paper stuck in her shoe.
This is a somewhat comforting thought. I don't ever want to depend on money or affluence. I don't ever want to think these things are important. Sure I'd like to have them; but I never want to need them. So it's mostly a good thing, this "down to earth" karma. Occasionally, it's a real pain in my ass. Okay, everytime this karma is in action it's a pain in the ass but I comfort myself by thinking, "Whew! That was a close one. I was almost burgeois.
Case and point. Rhett and I are riding our bicycles in New York. Once around Central Park and we are on the way back to the bike path next to the Hudson River. On the way to the bike path, we cycle along the upper west side and Amsterdam avenue. It is on this idyllic ride one of the few sunny days yet this Spring that I realize I will never really have the storybook New York life. I'm enjoying the ride and watching all of the beautiful apartment buildings as I pass. I'm thinking how much I would enjoy living in this area; it's one of the streets that still feel like a neighborhood. I decide that I could actually live there and still be a real person specifically because of this karma rule. I was feeling pretty good about myself. Pretty confident with the way my life seemed to be working. I begin to think of something else and before I know it Rhett and I are back on the bike path. We decide we are going to continue our ride to Chelsea but first we'll stop and sit on the stone ledge next to the path. We sit. We chat. I smell something funny, but can't figure out what it is. We chat some more, enjoy the weather. We get up for the next leg of our journey and Rhett and I discover that I have sat in something noxious, something foul. Somebody's "recycled" SpaghettiOs. It was disgusting. Bleh!!! That was the end of that ride, a really cool sweatshirt given to me by my brother I had tied around my waste and a perfect example of my Karma Curse in action. Yep. A pain in my ass.
I have noticed that I have a friend who is similarly afflicted. His karma has to do with criticism. He seems cursed to be a victim of his own criticisms...karmically speaking. He at one point made somewhat of a stink about my problem with promptness. It's true. I am habitually 10-20 minutes late but that is another story. Not three weeks later he found himself in the position of being an hour and a half late for a gathering that couldn't start without him. Hello Pot? This is Kettle. In a more recent example, said friend was very frustrated about an item that he was waiting for. He had no control over the acquiring of the item and it was taking some time which was understandably frustrating to him. After doing his best to help the item materialize to no avail and many mutterings about wishing he had just done it himself he finally got the item in question in his hot little hands...and lost it the very same night. Again, his Karmic Curse working over time. I wonder if he realizes it's this Karmic Curse keeping him in check. It sucks to be right and make a stink about it because when you are even a little bit wrong, the circumstance makes it seem really wrong. It sucks to dream about the fairy book life, see other people who were meant for it, have a taste of it, and then sit in somebody elses purgation.
I wonder if everybody has their very own Karmic Curse. Do you have one? What is it? Come on, make me feel better......
Posted by mermu at 10:40 PM | Comments (3)
Clinton Era Taste on a Bush era Budget
There's no use in trying to pretend anymore. Try as we in New York City might to buck up and keep on keeping on, there is no denying that since a certain Connectican came into a very prominent office by way of Texas we in Gotham have been hurtin' for the high life. (What do you call a person from Connecticut? Connecticutian, Connecticutese, Connecticutish?? Just checked google..It's Connecticutian.)
Now it's easy to reminisce about those days of Clintonian milk and honey when a New Yorker could splurge on a two or three hundred dollar dinner and not worry about how they were gonna put shoes on the kids or pay for the exorbitant and rising costs of healthcare. (There's another tirade about idiots who listened to large Insurance Industry lobbies back in the day, but I will bypass that.) Never one to be in denial (at least openly) I chose to reminisce no more. I have searched high and low in this city and in some cases accidently tripped over some of the best kept secrets where one can feel pampered and immersed in the good ole days when unemployment was down, and there was someone in the Oval Office who actually knew a little something about governing. One of these hidden gems, too precious to pour over even in the pages of this little known blog will stay secret. I'll tease you about the details but no names over the net. So here it is: the start of my list of places where one can experience Clintonian era tastes on a Bush era Budget.
The Cupping Room Cafe.
When Rhett showed me this place late last year I immediately fell in love with it. After a long walk from Midtown to Soho we stopped in for a scrumptious brunch. The atmosphere takes you back to a Golden time of eras past. This is the sort of place where famous writers would have taken tea between writing sessions for the very novels that made them famous. The food is incredibly tasty. The service is relaxed and leisurely but the place feels so comfortable that you barely notice, much less care. When the city weighs you down, all it takes is a jaunt to Soho. Step into this idyllic room and the stress of whatever you're feeling immediately evaporates. The true secret of this place is the three course dinner on Monday and Tuesday nights. It's a Prix-Fixe and at $15.95 it is a steal. They don't skimp on the quality either. The night Rhett and I went I had Salmon and I think Rhett had the Penne Pasta. In any case, it would be a great deal at twice the price. The night we went we had a couple glasses of wine, coffee, the three-course dinner, the ambience of a quaint and inviting restaurant, and each other's company for under $60....and that included the tip.
An Undisclosed Location
This next place is really special. It's run by what appears to be a husband and wife who have been married for years. The place is about as big as a Texas closet and is filled with the souvenirs of a life lived owning and building a restaurant. It's in midtown and is billed as an Italian place but I had lamb chops. Rhett, always a sucker for a good pasta dish, had the ravioli. Neither of us were disappointed. We took advantage of the Prix-Fixe menu which included most if not everything they served. The Mrs. even sent a little appetizer of a samosa-like appetizer gratis. Although in Midtown which is notoriously expensive for all of the tourists, Undisclosed Location was just as inexpensive, if not more so, as Cupping Room. Rhett and I were on our way to the theatre that night. After mentioning this to Mrs. Restaurant Owner (who was also our waitress), she managed to supply a leisurely dinner in very short order. We even had time for coffee and the decadent desserts included in our prix-fixe package (Tiramisu for Rhett, Homemade Apple Pie for me.) It was a lovely experience in a place made beautiful by its longevity and timelessness. But I'm not telling you what it's called. Although I have left some cheeky clues.
So there you have it. Two oases in a desert of recession. I'll keep looking and keep reporting the best of the best.
Posted by mermu at 09:50 PM | Comments (3)
April 06, 2003
Blue.
Last night I went to see Susan Tedeschi with my friend Catherine at Irving Plaza. A still-cold and bleak night and a full day after my big discovery, it was a perfect night for singing and hearing the blues. Catherine proved to be the perfect companion. I met her through my cousin Debbie. This night was the first night we actually got to know each other one on one. That's always different than when meeting people in front of "The Fam". When we started talking about men and sex and the like I have to admit there was a part of me that was thinking, "Oh my God, she'll tell my cousin and then my cousin will know that I date. Or worse." Irrational I know but I have a very large and caring family and no matter how old I get, I'll always be younger than my cousin and she will always feel maternal about me. I get it. I feel the same way about my younger cousins. But back to the blues...
I have forgotten how much I love the blues. I have friends who really don't understand the blues. One such friend has said, "The way my life is going, if I listened to the blues, I'd kill myself." He doesn't get it. The Blues are all about feeling your pain, savoring it, really, and then releasing it. "Right on Sister." "That's exactly how it feels, yes. Yes." "That is it. That's what happened." They say misery loves company and what they say is true. With the Blues a singer, the band and every member of the audience can feel your pain. You feel their pain too. It's so much easier to shoulder the burden of someone else's sorrow. And then this Collective Sadness is soaked up by the music. Little droplets of water sorrow rising through the air and the dust in the colored lights to be soaked up by soundwaves for all the while you are standing there listening to the blues. And eventually you realize you survived it. Or you will. And when you do survive it, still you know you gotta right, you own the right to sing the blues.
For the record, I can not extol the virtues of Susan Tedeschi enough. She was amazing. It was so cool to see such a talented woman get it all so right. If you like the blues at all, I promise you won't regret getting her new CD. She does a cover of Bob Dylan's Don't Think Twice, It's Allright" to which I alluded in the previous entry. While no song fits any situation, there are elements and nuances that helped me find a little solace in a new cross I chose to bear.
As for that friend who doesn't understand the draw of The Blues, well I guess there's no music that means the same for everybody. I'm not a huge fan of ThugRap but it must rock somebody's world. Still, I can't help wonder if the ills that plague him wouldn't seem a little less hard to bear if he let in a little of The Blues.
Posted by mermu at 11:22 PM | Comments (1)
Frankly My Dear.....
Alas, Rhett and I are no longer an item, or dating or romantically entangled. Nope, he's not even in the corral or part of the herd. We are still friends and we still have grand plans plotting our great business adventure (It's destined to be an empire really) and I honestly can't imagine not having him as a friend in my life but whatever it was that was magic and romance seems to have faded like a gentle fog that suddenly expires. Feelings still linger, but I am pretty sure this is the best course. We had quite an interesting weekend wherein I discovered our metaphors were unalterably mixed. The truth is I am no Scarlett... or Vivien Leigh for that matter. Dark hair, luminescent blue eyes, empirically attractive, genteel, bitchy, and well-versed in the games that men and women play yet swear otherwise. A woman who seems to have moxy because she eats a few carrots. I have to admit it was fun to traipse about Tara wearing a dress of drapery and pretend it suited me. But sooner or later, the time comes to stop playing dress up.
I'm no Scarlett.
More like Slue Foot Sue, I ride broncos that are way too big for me and hold on until we ride up to the moon. I get into scrapes all the time and have the medals to commemorate the occasions; three stitches for trying to climb the fence on the slide in the park when I was five, three scratches on my leg because I couldn't stop playing with a sweet, overzealous and very strong dog just last week. The greatest pleasures for me lie in an honest hello, and the sure knowledge that my love could see me at my worst and still find the beauty. How on earth could I keep myself trapped in a dress likes Scarlet's? All those hoops would never do when trying to tame Widowmaker.
I don't know. Maybe the real problem was that Rhett could never be Pecos Bill. The real adventure know lies within this question: Can Rhett and Sue remain good friends and partners after their brief interlude? I suppose we'll all have to tune in to find out.
As to whether or not Rhett should sweat my discovery, "Don't Think Twice, It's Allright".
Posted by mermu at 08:33 PM | Comments (3)
April 04, 2003
Have you seen Joe?
I got the most interesting commment. It's kind of weird...as if the me from the past saved a surprise for the me of the now. And this kkane was just saving it for me. Just goes to show how nothing is linear. Except a line maybe. I have no idea who this person is...but I am intrigued...Auntie Leah?
So Joe...If you're out there. How has the last year treated you?
Posted by mermu at 12:29 AM | Comments (2)