Saturday night preview

If you're like me, you're such a weird, panicky paranoiac, you like to be told in as much detail as possible what to expect before, say, a dance party (that for whatever reason you MUST to go to, otherwise you'd stay home, of course). My fears are sometimes irrational ("What if they aren't serving party-sized mini knishes from Yonah Schimmel's?") and sometimes understandable ("Humans from Earth really bum me out sometimes.").

One way I control this complicated emotional maelstrom I often go through is by throwing my own dance parties. This way, I can serve mini knishes, invite people who don't bum me out, and post a video on my blog that gives an accurate visual* of what the festivities will be like. In this way, I hope to comfort my guests while also ramping up the excitement for the upcoming event. If you're on the fence (you paranoiac!) about going, watch the below video and THEN decide.


*This is not an aurally accurate video though, as, with all due respect to

the O-Jays and their big hit, "Love Train" is not on Saturday's play list.

My sisters, the little version

Before I arrived on the scene, my older sisters Erica (left) and Brook (right) were supah tight buds who'd wake up early to sneak around, try on hats and jewelry, and play in cardboard boxes like a couple cats before my parents woke up.

I'd thought of me and my siblings as a crew of four for so long, it was funny when I finally realized there was actually a sliver of time when these two were on their own, before my brother and I starting harshing their mellow. (Wait. What? Earth spun on its axis and the moon and stars hung in the sky long before I was born? No way!)

Erica was obviously a burgeoning fashionista/stylist and enjoyed choosing maturity-enhancing baubles for Brook, when in fact Brook had little interest in whether her necklace matched her earrings, deriving much more amusement from her secret world takeover plans. Credit for the cool matching pajamas goes to my mom and her sewing prowess.

But see? Soon, I came along and took the p.j.'s right off their backs. As I said, harsh.

Slushy attempts at snow frivolity

Out tromping in the snowy, icy wonderland yesterday, I immediately noticed this pint-sized snowman in front of Cremebebe (a shop with cringingly high-priced, trendy clothing for kids, but it's both a small business owned by charming people and a lot of their stuff is homemade and awesome, so they won me over a long time ago). Note its penny eyes and buttons and pipe cleaner arms and expression!



When I got home, P had emailed me this pic. Is this guy putting the finishing touches on his creation, or is he a pedestrian who stopped to greet the icy little woofball?

Either way, it's quite life-affirming to see these examples of how people embraced the storm, despite mysteries like what the heck was the big deal anyway. My friend Spike deduced that Bloomby closed schools before a flake had touched down on Hizzoner's big dome because he's a businessman, and closing it all down saved money. Which means that mayors before him, even the Chief Creep of all Creeps Ghouliani, were more community minded than Bloomby. Whoa, man.

You burrowing marmot, you

Famous groundhog Phil saw his shadow yesterday, which means six more weeks of winter. I don't mind this, as my fashion sense has always leaned toward the layered look. I'm also not surprised, as the world itself has struck me as a downright chilly, if not bitterly cold, place to reside lately.

For instance. Even though I was very careful about fitting that pair of corduroys with piping I made for myself, I still didn't get the waistband right. (I also had to use a dark-green Sharpie to obscure places I didn't use enough piping and its bright white synthetic interior ended up poking out. So humbling!)

Another rotten occurrence is the rapid disappearance of pomegranates from groceries everywhere, an event that happened abruptly, and was a shock to the passionate, nightly pomegranate consumer I'd become. At the street stand in Chinatown where a mountain of the famous red, leathery skinned berries could always be found now sits a pile of almost frighteningly large grapefruits. (Citrus fruits are in season right now according to P, to those of you who care. And I know, technically, pomegranate season ended last month, as I mentioned a few posts ago. But still.)

Lastly, I intended to finish a solid first draft of a 2-character play I've been working on for the past 6 months by February 1st, but a certain scene thinks otherwise, apparently. Thanks a lot, scene. (I know, I should be happy I've come this far in only 6 months, a short period of time for a freak like myself who is more accustomed to the leisurely/harrowing pace of 2-5 years.)

But even before Groundhog Day, I started to wonder if I was entering a newly dark and cold phase of my life. Then P emailed me this picture of a bittern determinedly walking forward, despite all his inevitable and inconsequential, yet-still-troubling-anyway troubles. He's going to get where he's going despite everything, dammit!



Sort of like that famous character of R. Crumb's, who just keeps on truckin'.



Thanks mirror lake, R. Crumb, and especially P, the dastardly handsome and brilliant man I am so lucky to have in my life, and so grateful to.

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