It's Friday, after 5:00 p.m., meaning I'm currently harboring the attention span of a fruit fly. Despite the pile of work I have to get done between now and Monday, my inability to focus on anything for more than five seconds has led me to the boundless (and often pointless) task that is random googling.
Whether or not we choose to admit it--we all google. We google ourselves, our family members, our friends, our second grade enemies, that girl who sat next to us in freshman seminar, our dentists, our doctors, and, well, you get the picture. Most searches come up fruitless, unless your friend/ex-boyfriend/neighbor is famous, or has participated in some kind of event (often sports-related, like running) that posts results online. However, in recent google searches on myself, I've been very distraught to find the first link that popped up after I entered my name was an awful picture of me from my senior year at the Mount. The photo--in which I appear chubby cheeked, pencil-necked (yes, it is possible to have both chubby cheeks and a skinny neck), squinty-eyed, and frizzy-haired--was most likely taken after either a) I woke up from one of my daily afternoon naps or b) after a night out at Ott's. Or both. It's possibly the worst photo ever taken of me (subtracting all of those awkward- stage pictures from 7th, 8th, 9th...and, oh yeah, 10th and 11th grades that I've since destroyed), and it had followed me like a stray dog for the past five years or so.
I felt as though this photo was defining my google persona-- what if someone from my past looked me up and saw the photo? I could imagine them grimacing with horror---Woah, Sarah's really let herself go. Of course, this is assuming that people are as lame as I am and actually google on a regular basis. And that they'd choose to google me.
But I digress. This afternoon, seeing that I had nothing better to do (why work today when I can do everything on Sunday night?), I googled myself. And, surprise, surprise, the photo is GONE! Vanished into the internet ether. It's as though the Google Gods decided they had had enough of their silly little game of torturing me and sent the link to Google heaven (or hell). So try googling me: All you get are sub-par race results and random articles.
Now if I could only come up with a way to erase all of those boring and shoddily-written Print Solution pieces...
4.28.2006
4.27.2006
Cover Girl
Within the career of a writer, that first cover story is quite a milestone (right up there with first byline, first feature, etc.). So, I am in a bit of a celebratory mood today as my liger story--which just so happens to be featured on the cover of National Geographic KIDS' May 2006 issue--is now available for public consumption. Buy it today on the newsstand and see it for yourself! Or, if you don't want to spend the three bucks, I can send you a pdf of the piece (fah free).
And in case you were wondering, ligers really do exist. Just ask Tippi Hendren!
And in case you were wondering, ligers really do exist. Just ask Tippi Hendren!
Mark's New Look
In honor of the new season, Mark has decided (agreed?) to undergo somewhat of a wardrobe makeover. Although I think he looks great no matter what, I'm delighting in the fact that he is listenting to my subtle suggestions to eschew the jock look (baggy jeans and khakis that gather in folds around his ankles) for a more urbane and contempory style. He's even considering adding a casual blazer to his repertoire--which happens to be one of my all-time favorite menswear look!
I admit that while I am in desperate need of some fresh gear for spring, I find it ten times more fun to play Mark's stylist than to shop for myself. Perhaps Mark will redefine the style of his profession. Who says accountants have to be boring schlumps in monotone, tattered suits? If we have our way, CPA will stand for Classy, Polished, and Athletic!
This is one of the looks Mark picked out for himself. I love it! Do you?
Icy Temptations
Something about walking to work with the sun warming my face, as joggers slip past me in short-shorts and sports bras while petals from cherry blossom and dogwood trees gently float to the streets makes me yearn for the chilly, sugary, slightly bitter taste of coffee on ice. The deli next to my office makes theirs with heaping spoonfuls of sugar, so the first sip is always intensely saccharine, a bit gritty, and a jolt to my sleepy system. But I suck it down and within an hour I'm awake, alert. I crave more--but then remind myself that I just had two cavities filled and drowning my teeth in another dose of this liquid confection would make my new high-tech dentist shake his head with shame.
So I sip water instead--but it's just not the same
4.25.2006
There and Back
Back from London. And instead of kitschy souvenirs (after much hesitation, I decided against the Mind the Gap thong), I returned home with a cold--but I'm happy to be back. The trip was really fun, I met some great people and got to mingle a bit with some elite athletes. If I were a true track nerd, I'd be rattling off all of the "celebrities" I met/saw over the weekend, but since there is about a 1% chance that anyone is going to know who these people are, I'll just say it was pretty cool to breathe the same air as current world record holders and Olympic gold medalists.
The fun was amped up by the arrival of Mark on Friday. While I worked at the expo, he toured--and managed to snag us tickets to Moving Out on Saturday. (Review TK). We had some delicious meals, walked a lot, and basked in the glow of being on holiday (albeit a very short one for him). Sadly, it seems I left my cord for my camera at the hotel, so all of my pictures are locked away right now. But they'll be posted as soon as I get a replacement.
But it's great to be back. I haven't seen the sun for at least four days, so waking up to it was a wonderful welcome! And I'm happy to be able to catch up on my beloved telly--BBC just didn't do it for me.
The fun was amped up by the arrival of Mark on Friday. While I worked at the expo, he toured--and managed to snag us tickets to Moving Out on Saturday. (Review TK). We had some delicious meals, walked a lot, and basked in the glow of being on holiday (albeit a very short one for him). Sadly, it seems I left my cord for my camera at the hotel, so all of my pictures are locked away right now. But they'll be posted as soon as I get a replacement.
But it's great to be back. I haven't seen the sun for at least four days, so waking up to it was a wonderful welcome! And I'm happy to be able to catch up on my beloved telly--BBC just didn't do it for me.
4.20.2006
No Manhattans in London...
Unfortunatley, I couldn't find a British bartender who knew how to make a proper Manhattan tonight, so I had to settle with beer. But I knew Grandpop would be okay with that, too, so I dedicated a few to him tonight. Regardless, G-pop was in my thoughts throughout the day today.
Thinking of You...
Today is Grandpop's 92nd birthday. I can only imagine that "Master Philip" is whipping up a fantastic meal for him right now, and that "Maw" is baking him a cake (with buttercream frosting!), an apple pie, or maybe some of her delicious chocolate chip cookies. No matter what, I knew he's happy, but I still miss him so much. Like Bec and Karl, I'll have to drink a Manhattan, straight up, in his honor tonight!
4.19.2006
Lessons from London
Just a few quick observations...
#1: If you're with a kid in London, you have about as much chance of eating in a pub past 8:00 p.m. as a leper. No matter how cute you are (the kid, that is). *
*I discovered this after Gordon (with her 14-month-old in tow) and I were turned away from two places last night because they didn't have the "license" to serve kids. Too bad, because the baby was really looking forward to getting sloshed.
#2: Regardless of where you roam, you’ll never be lost—or decaffeinated. That’s because there are directional signs, street maps and a Starbucks on nearly every corner.
#3: As much as you look or feel like a freak doing so in other parts of the world, running with a heavy backpack is completely acceptable in London. (Well, the runners may still look like freaks, but they’re freaks with friends: I’ve seen about 10 runners trudging along with big backpacks. Still, it doesn’t look comfortable in the slightest.)
London, Day II
Things are going very well here today. The expo flew by amazingly quick, and I made it back to the hotel with plenty of time to go for a long, leisurely run. I took off from Tower Bridge and followed the Thames past London Bridge, eventually crossing over the Millenium Bridge, kept going past the London Eye, and crossed back over the river to catch a view of Big Ben and the Parliament. Then I ran through St. James Park to Buckingham Palace, then through the mall to Picadelly Circus and kept going 'til I hit Oxford Circus. Found Shelley's, the shoe store Leezie recommended, plus many other shops, and ended my run/tour there. Shelley's had some great shoes but since they were closing, I didn't have time to try anything on. I've made a mental note to return later this week. It was completely dark by then, so instead of reversing my run, I just hopped on the Tube and made my way back to Tower Hill.
Phew!
Now it's off to dinner and then back to do some work.
4.18.2006
London, Day I
I arrived into London Heathrow bright and early this morning, only to be roadblocked by a excruciatingly long line at customs (about an hour wait in all). After grabbing my luggage, exchanging my money, and hailing a cab, I checked into my hotel around 10:00 a.m. (Meaning, it was 4 a.m. for me, so I was barely functioning). I'm exhausted, but am heeding the advice of my chatty (and travel savvy) cabbie who said to "put away your bits and pieces, take a shower, and go for a walk to get some oxygen in your lungs. But no matter what--don't go to sleep." So, I'm fighting off the urge to sink my head into one of the many pillows on this king-sized bed and instead am about to jump in the shower. Then, I'll venture over to Tower Bridge (only about 20 feet away), before heading out to the Docklands for expo setup. Tonight, I will probably do a bit of work and try to get to bed early so I can catch up with the clocks over here.
A couple of photos from my room are below. Will check in later!
A couple of photos from my room are below. Will check in later!
4.17.2006
London Calling
In about 30 minutes, I'm heading to JFK airport to catch a flight across the pond to London. I'll be there all week to work at the London marathon expo, but plan to check in when I can. Mark will be joining me on Friday for the weekend, so hopefully, I'll have plenty of fun stories to report throughout the week!
Cheerio!
Cheerio!
4.16.2006
Happy Easter
As Karl mentioned on Friday, Easter this year lacked many important essentials. All day long, I longed for Grandmommy's Deviled Eggs, Philip's chocolate-dipped strawberries, and baskets full of colorful eggs for Grandpop. Mark had no sausage ring, no bowlfuls of Bruce's famous fruit salad, and no visit to Granddad's lake.
But on a day when the sun dappled cobblestone streets of the West Village sparkled with life; when people strolled--hand-in-hand and smiling--down the path hugging the Hudson River, we couldn't help but make the best of our first Easter without our families. And so after a lovely visit with Leezie, I whipped up a proper springtime dinner for us this evening. While Mark, the taxman, worked on our 2005 returns, I prepared tilapia, roasted red potatoes, macadamia nut cous cous (provided by Balducci's), and fresh asparagus sprikled with parmesan cheese. I also took a stab at deviled eggs. They weren't as good as Grandmommy's, of course, but Mark--and our doorman, Terrance, who tried a few--seemed to enjoy them!
As a whole, I think the meal went over well--we're both still alive.
Photos are below!
But on a day when the sun dappled cobblestone streets of the West Village sparkled with life; when people strolled--hand-in-hand and smiling--down the path hugging the Hudson River, we couldn't help but make the best of our first Easter without our families. And so after a lovely visit with Leezie, I whipped up a proper springtime dinner for us this evening. While Mark, the taxman, worked on our 2005 returns, I prepared tilapia, roasted red potatoes, macadamia nut cous cous (provided by Balducci's), and fresh asparagus sprikled with parmesan cheese. I also took a stab at deviled eggs. They weren't as good as Grandmommy's, of course, but Mark--and our doorman, Terrance, who tried a few--seemed to enjoy them!
As a whole, I think the meal went over well--we're both still alive.
Photos are below!
4.14.2006
Fair Play
Yesterday, I mingled with the future George (and Georgia) Costanzas of the world at the NYU Sports Management Career Fair. All dressed up in smart suits and colorful ties, the eager students approached my table one by one, resumes in hand, seeking their golden ticket into a long-lasting, lucrative career in sports marketing and management. I greeted them with a smile and a spheal: We are promoted to the sport of distance running and enhancing health and fitness for all. Our races and other fitness programs draw upwards of 300,000 runners annually. Our premier event is the ING New York City Marathon…Blah, blah, blah.
But I didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. We had no positions available, and besides, what do I know about sports management?
So I divulged details about my job, even though there wasn’t a creative soul in the room, or at least one who would be interested in pursuing a writing or design job. I watched as their eyes—brimming with hope and optimism just minutes before—slowly glazed over. I knew they really wanted to talk to the Mets rep positioned next to our table, but the line was about ten suits deep. (I can only imagine the melee that would ensue if the Yankees were there!).
Hey, even I wanted to talk to the Mets guy.
But I stayed put. I was there on the request of my manager, the person dangling a raise and bonus above my nose like a carrot on a stick. And if attending a sports management career fair where I stuck out like a fish in a desert was what I needed to do to grasp that prize, than so be it.
So I resisted the urge to jump out the window into Washington Square Park. I collected more resumes and continued to smile. And by the end of the day, I got the raise—and the bonus.*
*Let me clarify that my raise/bonus amounted to a paltry sum. There will be no splurges on furniture, handbags, shoes, or the like in the near future. But whatever, I’ll take it.
But I didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. We had no positions available, and besides, what do I know about sports management?
So I divulged details about my job, even though there wasn’t a creative soul in the room, or at least one who would be interested in pursuing a writing or design job. I watched as their eyes—brimming with hope and optimism just minutes before—slowly glazed over. I knew they really wanted to talk to the Mets rep positioned next to our table, but the line was about ten suits deep. (I can only imagine the melee that would ensue if the Yankees were there!).
Hey, even I wanted to talk to the Mets guy.
But I stayed put. I was there on the request of my manager, the person dangling a raise and bonus above my nose like a carrot on a stick. And if attending a sports management career fair where I stuck out like a fish in a desert was what I needed to do to grasp that prize, than so be it.
So I resisted the urge to jump out the window into Washington Square Park. I collected more resumes and continued to smile. And by the end of the day, I got the raise—and the bonus.*
*Let me clarify that my raise/bonus amounted to a paltry sum. There will be no splurges on furniture, handbags, shoes, or the like in the near future. But whatever, I’ll take it.
It was like, totally awesome!
It was a scene plucked right out of Footloose: Big-banged bridesmaids in lacy peach confections swing their arms and kick their legs “Carlton” style to the beat of a synthesized tune. Center stage, the bride, in a puffy white frock made of enough tulle to shroud a small country, whips out the Robot as men in teal suits and peach ties bop behind her.
Man, I love the 80’s!
And because I share a fondness for the decade with many other people, The Wedding Singer—oozing in 80’s humor, slang, and fashion faux pas'—was a hit on Tuesday night. They got everything right. From the neon-accented set to the checkerboard vans and Michael Jackson Beat It jackets, this show was like a time machine. We entered the theatre and zipped back to 1985, when you could go to Vegas and get married by Ronald Regan, Cyndi Lauper, Tina Turner, Mr. T., Immelda Marcos, or Billy Idol. (Impersonators, of course).
Throughout the show, the Jersey jokes soared, while the Jewish jokes—mostly stemming from a hilarious Bar Mitzvah scene—fell a little flat (it was the first night of Passover, after all.) The scenery was a bit reminiscent of what you’d see in Disneyland’s ‘Toon Town, which I appreciated given my recent trip, and the cast, of course, was amazing. Mark and I especially liked the lead (played by Broadway newbie) because he reminded us of an old friend. He wasn’t anything like Adam Sandler, but then again, he wasn’t supposed to be. But he was funny in his own way, and he had a better voice!
Thanks again to Speed for providing such a fun night. Although we heard later that there was an incident involving one of his friends and the vibrating bed, from where we sat, the back-stage “performance” was flawless. Or should I say it was like, totally awesome!
Man, I love the 80’s!
And because I share a fondness for the decade with many other people, The Wedding Singer—oozing in 80’s humor, slang, and fashion faux pas'—was a hit on Tuesday night. They got everything right. From the neon-accented set to the checkerboard vans and Michael Jackson Beat It jackets, this show was like a time machine. We entered the theatre and zipped back to 1985, when you could go to Vegas and get married by Ronald Regan, Cyndi Lauper, Tina Turner, Mr. T., Immelda Marcos, or Billy Idol. (Impersonators, of course).
Throughout the show, the Jersey jokes soared, while the Jewish jokes—mostly stemming from a hilarious Bar Mitzvah scene—fell a little flat (it was the first night of Passover, after all.) The scenery was a bit reminiscent of what you’d see in Disneyland’s ‘Toon Town, which I appreciated given my recent trip, and the cast, of course, was amazing. Mark and I especially liked the lead (played by Broadway newbie) because he reminded us of an old friend. He wasn’t anything like Adam Sandler, but then again, he wasn’t supposed to be. But he was funny in his own way, and he had a better voice!
Thanks again to Speed for providing such a fun night. Although we heard later that there was an incident involving one of his friends and the vibrating bed, from where we sat, the back-stage “performance” was flawless. Or should I say it was like, totally awesome!
4.12.2006
Broadway Bound
Thanks to our extremely generous, talented, and handsome brother-in-law, Speed (did I mention he's smart and funny, too?), Mark and I will be attending the brand new musical comedy The Wedding Singer tonight. Yep, as in the hilarious Adam Sandler movie from which I still proudly own the CD (circa 1998). I debated over going all-out in 80's garb for the occasion (I probably could have pulled it off: After all, leggings are back in!), but I decided in the end to leave the puffy shirt, hairspray, and acid washed micro-mini at home.
Here's the rundown of the show. I'll post my (presumably glowing) review tomorrow!
In The Wedding Singer it’s 1985 and rock-star wannabe Robbie Hart is New Jersey's favorite wedding singer. He’s the life of the party—until his own fiancée leaves him at the altar. Shot through the heart, Robbie makes every wedding he plays as disastrous as his own. Enter Julia, a winsome waitress who wins his affection. Only trouble is Julia is about to be married to a Wall Street shark, and unless Robbie can pull off the performance of the decade, the girl of his dreams will be gone forever. With a brand new score that pays loving homage to the pop songs of the 1980’s, The Wedding Singer takes us back to a time when hair was big, greed was good, collars were up, and a wedding singer just might be the coolest guy in the room.
4.11.2006
Anderson Cooper Rides the Subway
This morning, I sent gakwer stalker a great sighting I had on my way in to work, just to see if they'd post it. And sho' nuff, they did! Mine is number 8. (And I've also copied it below--however, let me be clear that it's slightly edited. A-Coop? Not in my vernacular!).
Anderson Cooper
7TH AVE AT W 28TH ST
Apr 11th, 2006 @ 9am
Rode the 1 train from 28th-59th w/A-Coop. Resplendent in a crisp black suit, white oxford shirt, and plum tie, he studiously plowed through a pile of notes. He looked up and ever-so-briefly locked those baby blues on me. His hair is like silk platinum.
4.10.2006
Home Sweet Home
Mark brought these beautiful tulips and Gerber Daisies home tonight. Flowers and Buritoville for dinner? I guess he missed me this weekend! :)
Our Day in Disney
Who says you ever have to grow up? Walt Disney certainly never thought so, and I fully agree with him! Sissy, Corinne, Chris, Brian, and I became kids again in Disneyland yesterday. See below for more pics!
A Run in Newport Beach
On Saturday morning, when New Yorkers hunkered down indoors to escape a chilly, wet day, I awoke to the glow of a fabulous California sunshine. Having a few hours to kill, I hopped into my rented wheels (a Chevy Cobalt...brought back warm and fuzzy memories of the Cavi) and took off to Newport Beach. To reach the Pacific Ocean in just 20 minutes was a blissful experience and I took full advantage of the delightful weather by going on a 50-minute run...
A gorgeous morning, just like one would imagine April in Southern California to be. Surfers dot the steel blue water, some gliding along small swells while others bob in the placid surf. My legs carry me past houses hugging the coast, their patios filled with wicker furniture; yesterday's towels lazily draped over the arms of Adirondack chairs. I focus on the smokestack, an onminous landmark before me and a jarring sight in this otherwise pristine beach town.
As I intersect streets called Seashore and Laguna, I pass fellow runners and bikers in tight packs and even tighter shirts. I cross a bridge and am surrounded by water: the ocean to my left and an inlet to my right. Signs point to Huntington Beach as the smoke stack draws closer. In Huntington, I make a left and run along the inlet, past mudflats hiding colonies of cockles and claims. Tiny birds--the size of a car key--sing from their perch atop anemic trees (does the salty air prevent trees from growing around here?) and their song keeps me going...and going...
A gorgeous morning, just like one would imagine April in Southern California to be. Surfers dot the steel blue water, some gliding along small swells while others bob in the placid surf. My legs carry me past houses hugging the coast, their patios filled with wicker furniture; yesterday's towels lazily draped over the arms of Adirondack chairs. I focus on the smokestack, an onminous landmark before me and a jarring sight in this otherwise pristine beach town.
As I intersect streets called Seashore and Laguna, I pass fellow runners and bikers in tight packs and even tighter shirts. I cross a bridge and am surrounded by water: the ocean to my left and an inlet to my right. Signs point to Huntington Beach as the smoke stack draws closer. In Huntington, I make a left and run along the inlet, past mudflats hiding colonies of cockles and claims. Tiny birds--the size of a car key--sing from their perch atop anemic trees (does the salty air prevent trees from growing around here?) and their song keeps me going...and going...
4.07.2006
I'm Going to Disneyland!
I've been waiting my whole life to say (er, write) that!
I'm off to Los Angeles (and, ultimately Anaheim) for a long weekend with Sissy, Corinne, and Chris Van D. And yes, there is a potential plan to head to Disneyland. Let's just hope I can still stomach the Matterhorn and Magic Mountain. Too bad Bec won't be able to join us--a trip to Disney just isn't complete without a tantrum over the talking Tiki Bird exhibit (they aren't just in Orlando...)!
Photos and stories to follow! Have a great weekend!
I'm off to Los Angeles (and, ultimately Anaheim) for a long weekend with Sissy, Corinne, and Chris Van D. And yes, there is a potential plan to head to Disneyland. Let's just hope I can still stomach the Matterhorn and Magic Mountain. Too bad Bec won't be able to join us--a trip to Disney just isn't complete without a tantrum over the talking Tiki Bird exhibit (they aren't just in Orlando...)!
Photos and stories to follow! Have a great weekend!
4.05.2006
786-879-6669
Over the past couple of days, I've missed two calls from the following number: 786-879-6669.
The digits did not look familiar to me, so I popped them in google to see who could be calling me in the middle of the afternoon.
The results of my search were a bit startling. Here's what I found:
786-879-6669 is the phantom in your phone. If you are a Cingular or Sprint cellular subscriber you may have already been unwittingly capped by 786-879-6669 — check your phone logs to make sure — or you may soon get hit. Thousands have been struck in the last week alone.
Some believe 786-879-6669 is one of three things:
1. A viral terrorism attack to aggravate people and disrupt the ordinary flow of phone service in response to the immigration policy debate currently going on in the American government.
2. An automated sales pitch in Spanish for a Florida timeshare.
3. A random War Dialing campaign intended to annoy you and cost you cellular air time answering the call or calling into your Voice Mail to delete the call.
People are getting calls from 786-879-6669 on cellular phones that have never been shared, publicized or given to anyone outside the immediate family.
Do not answer a call from 786-879-6669. Do not place a call to 786-879-6669.
Clearly, I hope this is just some kind of phone-spam and not "a viral terrorism attack." I never got around to adding my number on the Do Not Call list, so maybe I should expect this. But still, it's a bit spooky (and annoying). This is almost worse than the time that I received about 15 calls in one day from from women (who sounded elderly, and southern) asking for "Clara." Who knows how they all got my number, but somehow I got entangled in some sort of drama involving Clara, who I determined was very sick or missing based on her friends' voicemails ( guess they couldn't quite decipher between the "C" and the "S" on the other line--or the younger voice that was obviously void of any twang): "Clara, this is your friend Louise. We're all thinkin' and prayin' for you and want you to get betta ril' soon." I was quite pained by the fact that it was me, not Clara, who was the recipient of these calls, as it wasn't like there was any way I could track her down and pass the messages along. Eventually, the ladies stopped calling (whether that was a good or bad sign for Clara, I'll never know).
Anyway, I posted this as a warning of sorts to all you Cingular or Sprint users out there. If and when 786-879-6669 appears on your cell phone's screen, just ignore it!
The digits did not look familiar to me, so I popped them in google to see who could be calling me in the middle of the afternoon.
The results of my search were a bit startling. Here's what I found:
786-879-6669 is the phantom in your phone. If you are a Cingular or Sprint cellular subscriber you may have already been unwittingly capped by 786-879-6669 — check your phone logs to make sure — or you may soon get hit. Thousands have been struck in the last week alone.
Some believe 786-879-6669 is one of three things:
1. A viral terrorism attack to aggravate people and disrupt the ordinary flow of phone service in response to the immigration policy debate currently going on in the American government.
2. An automated sales pitch in Spanish for a Florida timeshare.
3. A random War Dialing campaign intended to annoy you and cost you cellular air time answering the call or calling into your Voice Mail to delete the call.
People are getting calls from 786-879-6669 on cellular phones that have never been shared, publicized or given to anyone outside the immediate family.
Do not answer a call from 786-879-6669. Do not place a call to 786-879-6669.
Clearly, I hope this is just some kind of phone-spam and not "a viral terrorism attack." I never got around to adding my number on the Do Not Call list, so maybe I should expect this. But still, it's a bit spooky (and annoying). This is almost worse than the time that I received about 15 calls in one day from from women (who sounded elderly, and southern) asking for "Clara." Who knows how they all got my number, but somehow I got entangled in some sort of drama involving Clara, who I determined was very sick or missing based on her friends' voicemails ( guess they couldn't quite decipher between the "C" and the "S" on the other line--or the younger voice that was obviously void of any twang): "Clara, this is your friend Louise. We're all thinkin' and prayin' for you and want you to get betta ril' soon." I was quite pained by the fact that it was me, not Clara, who was the recipient of these calls, as it wasn't like there was any way I could track her down and pass the messages along. Eventually, the ladies stopped calling (whether that was a good or bad sign for Clara, I'll never know).
Anyway, I posted this as a warning of sorts to all you Cingular or Sprint users out there. If and when 786-879-6669 appears on your cell phone's screen, just ignore it!
4.04.2006
One of Those Days...
Just one of those days. When everything seems to go awry. When you needed to be miles away from where you are now ten minutes ago and the bus driver snaps at you as you (unsuccessfully) attempt to board on a drained fare card. When others lift their heads to the sky and let the sunlight warm their smiling faces while you feel trapped, frowning, within a dense, gray cloud. The days when your brow ceases to furrow, when your anxiety is channeled into a series of deep ravines streaking across your forehead.
One of those days when bad luck pervades, when the city crushes you underneath its steel-toed boot. When not even the strains of "No day but today..." pumping into your ears can bring fresh air to your chest and light to your eyes.
I hate days like today.
(Just needed to vent. I'll return with happier thoughts...promise!)
One of those days when bad luck pervades, when the city crushes you underneath its steel-toed boot. When not even the strains of "No day but today..." pumping into your ears can bring fresh air to your chest and light to your eyes.
I hate days like today.
(Just needed to vent. I'll return with happier thoughts...promise!)
4.03.2006
Sighting...
Turns out I wasn't the only one enjoying the beautiful weather yesterday. Apparently, the papparazzi was in full-force in our nabe, snapping these shots of Sarah Jessica Parker and her adorable son, James, in front a pizza place on Hudson. I happened to see the pair--who were joined by a friend with a gorgeous golden retriever--with my own eyes as I walked to meet Leezie and my mom in Abingdon Square.
As I was walking by, James was munching on a slice as Sarah (yeah, we're close enough that I can refer to her as just "Sarah"...hey, we're neighbors after all!) gave him a sweet kiss on the head. As you can tell from the photos, SJP was dressed waaay down in non-descript jeans, a weird double T-shirt layering job, and ubiquitous bug-eye glasses. Not very Carrie Bradshaw-esque, but recognizable nonetheless!
4.02.2006
For every season...
...there is a reason to rearrange! Like the itchy sweaters, woolen pants, and suede boots that'll soon be moved from my closet to a yet-to-be determined stashing spot under the bed, our furniture was just crying out to be relocated for spring. This weekend, Mark and I flexed our muscles and created a new look for the season. Is the "spring" version of 165 Christopher Street better than seasons past? Decide for yourself: The results of our toil are below.
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