Have Suitcase, Will Travel

I feel that old restlessness again.

I always have a suitcase packed, and it's beckoning again.

That's all I have to say about that.

Night Walking

I had forgotten how much I enjoy being outside at night.

Walking at night, driving at night... and doing these things alone, satisfies something in me.

I haven't done these things in a long time, until recently. (I don't count walking back to my apt. from my neighborhood bar/restaurant since a half a block can hardly be called a "walk").

When I lived in Hong Kong, regular insomnia combined with jetlag from constant travel meant that I pretty much stopped sleeping. And during the wee hours of the morning, I would walk. Perhaps I was extraordinarily lucky, or perhaps Hong Kong really IS that safe, but it never felt dangerous. At 3AM, it was quiet. Streets usually packed with bustling people are peaceful at that time.

When I first moved back to NYC, I kept up that habit. But common sense and caution overrode desire and I stopped.

I've resumed my walks lately. Not at 3AM though. I pick a "safer" time. So it's not exactly the same, but it's good enough. Some might tell me that I should get a big dog to accompany me on my walks. But since I prefer to be ignored by my pets, that's not an option. Besides, if I want a high maintenance animal in my life requiring constant reassurance and attention, I'd get a man. Preferably one with access to a color copier.

Salons

ALL I think of is Beauty.

Specifically, salons and spas and shopping.

Funny when enjoyable activities become WORK.

But at any rate, I am now familiar with almost every high-end salon and spa in NYC. Most are in my company's network now.

Should anyone reading this need a recommendation, ASK ME.

I'll ask you to answer a few basic questions:

1. preferred neighborhood?
2. price point?
3. preferred ambiance?
4. where do you shop for clothing/accessories?
5. what's your style: Rock 'n Roll grunge? SOHO chic? Art-scene hip? Park Avenue? Gossip Girl?

SK thinks I should formalize this service and call it: "e-Hairmony"

High Risk Activities

 Got this email from WC last night.  I don't think any commentary is necessary.

They found a dead guy on the toilet in the men's room at work today. Had a heart attack trying to poop.

-------------------------------
Sent from my wireless Blackberry Handheld Device

Oh Happy Day!

On August 4th, 2008, I knocked over a full glass of diet coke all over my MacBook. Sparks flew (I shit you not), my computer made a dreadful sound replete with death, and it powered off.

I immediately flew into action: I flipped it onto its side, took out the battery, dried everything as best I could, and prayed.

And then I promptly made and missed multiple appointments with the Apple Genius Bar. I had had horribly depressing conversations with various people at Apple over the phone. Talk about doom and gloom. Out of pure cowardice and avoidance, it was just easier to stick my head in the sand.

So I've been using my back-up computer the last few months - an obsolete iBook with sticking keys and insufficient memory.

This morning I went on apple.com and looked at the new MacBook, and went weak in the knees. Pure, unadulterated DESIRE consumed me.

Which, of course, led me to think: now that I covet something else, it probably means my diet-coke soaked laptop should start working again.

So this morning, I dusted off the battery, inserted it into the laptop, plugged in the power, and pressed the "On" button.

Long story short, here I am, typing on my resurrected computer. All my files are intact. The battery isn't holding a charge at all (am hoping that just means I need a new battery), but everything else is behaving beautifully.

Now, if my stalker were to get me that new MacBook instead of useless pieces of expensive jewelry... I'd still ignore him but at least I'd keep it rather than continue winning Best Daughter of The Year awards from my mother.

C. Kirk

I wish that I, too, could be Galadriel.

But oh well.

I suppose it's not even that surprising.   IC told me just the other day that I often speak in ALL CAPS.

Life Aspirations

I have two:

1. By day, to write trashy novels
2. By night, to be a lounge singer

My sexless trashy novel will never see the light of day. But my second aspiration might just be achieved - at least for one evening, if SK has anything to say about it.

Mid summer, SK told me that she wants to do a cabaret night sometime in November, starring herself, VH, and me. I immediately enthused about the idea and then promptly forgot about it until she came over one evening last week for wine and girl-talk and reminded me about it.

VH, if you read this post, consider yourself reminded as well.

Since SK is appalled by my karaoke song choices, she wrote up a list of songs for me and told me in no uncertain terms that the list is non-negotiable and that I will have to learn them.

Not only does SK know music, she also knows my voice. So her choices for me are spot on. I did try to be helpful by volunteering my karaoke favorites - all of which she rejected out of hand by telling me, "what you like to sing at karaoke and what you can actually do justice to don't have much in common."

True enough.

So we sat at my little kitchen table while she searched for various songs on youtube, muttering to herself, and I sat opposite her, drinking my wine, swaying along to whatever she was playing on my computer, and pretending that my remote control was a mic.

What do we need to make this cabaret night happen? I'll make a list:

1. a pianist
2. mics/speakers/piano/assorted other equipment
3. a venue
4. a date
5. an audience

But for now, I'm off to download Whatever Lola Wants from iTunes.

B & B

Balance.

I've never been much good at it.

In the periods of time when I do achieve it, it's never because I sought it as my goal. Instead, I back into it, as an unexpected side effect of sheer obsession, and my tendency to multi-task my obsessions: work, yoga, riding, music, books.

But of late, everything has taken a backseat to work. Work has colored my every impression. I study my friends and internally assess their value to me in a work context, and categorize them into buckets: so-and-so's tastes and habits are perfectly in line with those of my ideal end-user so I should study them closely, so-and-so might be potential colleagues/partners/employees when I can afford to pay them what they are worth, so-and-so has contacts that are valuable.

But specifically, I have been obsessed with "sales" and the ability to persuade, to manipulate, to persevere, to overcome objections, to engage. I see people on the street handing out flyers and I wonder how much they get paid and, if they are attractive and personable (usually they aren't), I wonder if I should hire them. I have developed an informal and highly politically incorrect algorithm for assessing potential employees.

I have been thinking about Beauty.

SK laughingly pointed out that what was once a deeply interesting hobby of mine (spa treatments, facials, mani/pedis, hair cuts, fashion) has now become my business.

But because IC and I are too busy still to fulfill our dream of running our business from neighboring pedicure chairs, we sit around in my apt., furiously bent over our computers, often gesticulating loudly into our respective cell phones, with our hair untidily piled on our heads, faces bare of makeup, wiggling our unpedicured toes (although now we wear socks since it is getting colder), and talking about how we ARE beauty.

Occasionally, we see the humor in this.

But of late, we have realized that we need to step up. We can't just look neat and tidy and washed on the days when we have meetings. Since we work with salons and spas and exclusive boutiques, and since I spend the vast part of everyday in the above establishments, I should really have the Best Hair Ever and The Best Clothes Ever.

So, to achieve both Beauty and Balance, here I sit, typing at my computer with a mud mask on my face and deep conditioner in my hair.

Not sure if that's really the most effective way to achieve either of those goals. But hey, it's all about baby steps.