Insomnia

Role Model

2011-09-10T20:01:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine just became my hero.

She was in love with a man for a long time. At times, he seemed to love her, too. I suppose that says it all, doesn't it - both the joy and the heartbreak of it.

They finally parted ways and she's now with a new man. It's new and tentative, but promising.

But she found out just the other day that her former lover (still someone she's more than a bit in love with - because after all, when it's real, love doesn't just turn off, like a faucet) is back with his ex and that the former "ex" is now expecting his child.

What's worse? They all work together at the same company.

What did my friend do?

She called her former lover to congratulate him, and she sent flowers to the mother-to-be.

And then she drank a bottle of vodka.

My friend, when it seemed impossible to be, was GRACIOUS. And that is when it's most necessary, isn't it - precisely when it's most difficult.

I strive for graciousness, but I still haven't quite gotten the hang of it. When it's most difficult, I don't take the high road.

Kudos to the new man in her life, as well. She called him and in the middle of a work day, he dropped everything that came to her office to rescue her and anesthetize her with hugs.

He didn't act out in jealousy and insecurity. He was simply there for her, and he was kind and generous when it couldn't have been easy for him to comfort his woman crying over another man.

It's given me much to think about, something to aspire to, something to look for.

Enough Already

2011-06-06T12:42:00.000-04:00

Dear stalker,

LEAVE ME ALONE.

Cheers,

C-Belle

So Very Good

2011-06-01T11:23:00.002-04:00

"When you’re sad you need to hear your sorrow structured into sound." — Susanna Kaysen

On Balance

2011-05-22T10:10:00.000-04:00

Rolled out the yoga mat this morning and things proceeded relatively smoothly until the balance poses. I kept toppling over even during "tree." Am now considering taking up Aikido since my body apparently can't do anything but roll around on the floor. Might as well play up to apparent strengths, yes?

SK and I were talking about hobbies - specifically, that we (or perhaps just I?) might need a new one.

Gay SW and I have decided to write an illustrated book for adults. Which I know sounds like porn. But that's not what we're thinking. We are thinking of a book on "dating" with illustrations a la Edward Gorey. Since we don't want to be tied to splitting any potential revenues with the illustrator (we are being highly optimistic), our plan is to hire some young budding artist (Gay SW is convinced he can find one easily) and pay him/her in beer and pizza to do our drawings for us, with no mention of a book. We'll simply pass ourselves off as a crazy couple who just want bizarre pictures of ourselves for our own unspecified use.

This should not be a difficult role for us to play.

I like this idea. And I adore Gay SW, so this will be a fun excuse to talk/email/visit frequently as we enable each other in our shared delusion that this will make us both wealthy.

And yet, I'm still considering a hobby that would leverage my new rolling-on-the-floor talent...

Never Forgiving The Unforgivable

2011-05-22T09:42:00.001-04:00

In a valiant attempt to procrastinate packing for a business trip, I've been reading through my blog this morning - specifically, the entries from January 2008.

Over 3 years later, I am chagrined to note that not much has changed - I am still musing on topic of forgiveness. But maybe there has been some change... I reread this post from January 4th, 2008 (see below) and I realized that I had missed something very important from my reading of A Thousand Acres. True, Rose had stayed strong in not forgiving the unforgivable, but look at her life. She died alone and unhappy, and in her own words: "a failure." Forgiveness is not a gift we grant to others, but to ourselves. Trite, I know. But it's often all too easy to get lost in the maze of our own rationalizations to remember the fundamentals.

More Than Words Can Wield The Matter

As far as New Year's resolutions go, on the top of my list is to floss everyday. I also toyed around with the idea of forgiveness - forgiving myself and others.

Then I remember Jane Smiley's A Thousand Acres. When Rose is dying, she tells her older sister Ginny, that by any measure, she (Rose) is the failure of the family - dying, widowed, despised, in debt. But that despite all those outward signs of failure, she did succeed at something very important - she succeeded at staying strong and never forgiving the unforgivable.

I have a strong appreciation for the myriad shades of gray and I believe that truth remains truth even when altered by differing perspectives. I draw my lines in the sand and am happy to rub them away and re-draw them based on new understandings and sympathies.

But sometimes, you have to carve those lines into stone, and never waver. Because what's on the other side is simply not acceptable.

Forgiveness

2011-03-16T12:35:00.002-04:00

"To forgive is divine."

So they say.

But how does one do it?

Does it require an apology first? The apology makes things easier, certainly. But it's not just that apology makes it "easier" to forgive: the apology, sincerely given, demonstrates an ability to exercise empathy, an ability to feel remorse, a capacity for self-examination, and also a not-insignificant level of bravery because, after all, forgiveness isn't always guaranteed.

But at a minimum, an apology demonstrates that the person offering it sees at least certain things the same way you do. For example, the person who loses their temper and over-reacts.... without an apology, can you be sure that they actually realize that perhaps they crossed a line? They may not; they might actually believe they were justified because, hell, they were angry!

And what does that mean, if you draw it out to its logical conclusion? It pretty much ensures that the "mistake" will be repeated. We all do things regularly that we know we "shouldn't", and some of us end up apologizing again and again. So the apology is certainly not the end-all-and-be-all. But without even the recognition that something was "wrong" in the first place... Isn't that a GUARANTEE that it will be repeated? And repeatedly?

The apology might be yet another tool, not that dissimilar from gossip, to establish and confirm certain social norms. As a society, we gossip about the latest socialite who shoplifts or racks up DUIs because in today's scattered world, these are the people we all have in common, and in our bitchy commentary about her, we're drawing or reaffirming the lines between what is socially acceptable, and what it not.

I think apology does the same thing of drawing that line and affirming the placement of that line. This is acceptable, this is not.

But unlike gossip (unless YOU happen to be the socialite in question), apology is highly personal, and therefore more risky and difficult. It's something very few of us do well. We offer lame apologies that only aggravate the situation: "sorry if you were bothered by that" or "sorry but what you did to me was worse" or "sorry but I was actually justified." And some of us, even when truly sorry, find it impossible to ever say the words at all.

Actually, I wonder about that last bit. IS that true? Can a person feel remorse yet find it impossible to articulate it? I feel that it must be possible. But given the general lack of telepathy, how do we know if the silence hides an unspoken remorse (and affirmation of certain shared norms) or reveals a lack of it? And just taking it on faith that remorse and acknowledgment of a mistake does exist, seems foolish. Because there are people (I'd like to think, a minority) who do define "right" and "wrong" based on their own feelings and convenience and therefore, rarely, if ever, acknowledge their own mistakes. I should know, I've dated many of them.

Here's another cliche: "Actions speak louder than words." True enough. It's a cliched saying for a reason. Ultimately, modified actions and behavior say MUCH more than apologies, especially if the apologies just need to be repeated time and time again because the same mistakes are repeated time and time again. But ideally, it's both, right?

But this post isn't about apologies, it's about forgiveness.

Forgiveness is easier to give in the abstract, at a distance. For example, do I "forgive" the sociopathic alcoholic stalker? Sure. I don't much think of him, but I don't wish him ill, I no longer carry any anger or annoyance towards him, I hope he gets his life together one day. I forgive him. But again, that's an easy thing to say after so much time and distance. It's easier to say AT a distance. Do I forgive him enough to want to be his friend? Hell no. Thankfully, other than the random email a few times a year that I ignore, he leaves me alone, and I can abstractly say that I forgive.

There are different degrees of forgiveness. It's the forgiveness that is up-close and personal that I am talking about here.

I suppose it's decision we all have to make for ourselves, on a case by case basis. We take our "emotional temperatures" and decide what we want, or can do. And no matter what we find, not beat ourselves up for it.

All The World's A Stage

2011-02-12T09:34:00.000-05:00

We all play certain roles in our lives. We figure out what our parts are and what the requirements are for playing those roles successfully.   I think this happens in almost every aspect of our lives, but especially in our professional lives, because those of us for whom our work is important, spend more of our waking hours working than doing anything else.

For example, the person deeply afraid of public speaking can learn to become good at it, with enough focused effort. The shy person can learn to put on a different persona in order to be effective in the spotlight and can become better and better at it.    And different circumstances and different audiences can require assuming different roles with different "rules of interaction." We play a certain role with customers, yet another with employees, yet another with employers, etc.    Even in our personal lives, there might be certain kinds of relationships in which the specific rules of interaction are clear in our minds - especially in those relationships where compartmentalization is easy, maybe even preferred.   And of course, it helps when the respective roles and appropriate rules of interaction are equally understood and accepted by everyone involved - then there's less room for misunderstanding and confusion and becomes almost like reading from the same clearly defined script.

But then there are some circumstances and interactions that involve emotional vulnerability.   This is a different beast altogether. Because in that context, there is no "role" to assume. There are no clearly defined "rules of interaction" to follow when we are emotionally naked in front of another person. Some of us are simply horrible at this, or we have been too hurt to trust, so we revert to what we are accustomed to and we try to impose compartmentalization anyway, or we try to apply a certain set of rules of interaction even though it isn't appropriate in that context, or is a set of rules that the other person doesn't understand or doesn't want to accept.

I think this explains how some people can be highly inconsistent across the different aspects of their lives - how someone who might be good at being a friend, might be horrible at being a romantic partner. Or how some of us who are rockstars professionally, can be complete disasters when it comes to our personal lives. Or how someone who is a great parent, might be a less than ideal spouse, etc. We all make choices about which roles we are willing to work hard at until we succeed at playing them. The context is critically important.   So it's actually impossible to say that we truly know another person, especially if we've only ever seen him/her in certain contexts, if we've only ever seen him/her playing certain roles. Change the context, and you might be very surprised by that person you once thought you knew so well.

Old Age

2011-02-04T21:14:00.001-05:00

Another birthday, another word momentarily "lost" if not for the help of google.

I forgot the word "autopsy" the other day. Given how addicted I am to crime shows such as NCIS and Bones, it is completely bewildering.

More bewildering, I remembered that "necropsy" refers to the post-mortem dissection of non-human bodies (animals, not aliens). I had a vague idea that the word I was trying to remember might rhyme with necropsy, but that didn't help. I had to turn to google.

Thank god for google. Something has to counteract the effects of amyloid plaque that is commonly thought to cause Alzheimer's.

Jeesh - when writing that above sentence, "amyloid plaque" leaped up easily and effortlessly from the murky mess that is my brain. Yet "Alzheimer's" required some concentration to catch.

*sigh*

Letters

2010-04-03T14:23:00.003-04:00

Spring cleaning at my parent's house this weekend. I've bravely decided to tackle my own closet and my purging efforts have been stalled by a discovery:a box of old letters. There's no organization, just old letters that I must have just thrown into this box years and years and years ago.

I found this one dated August 19th, 1987:

Dear Clara,

Wow! Two letters in two days. When I wrote the letter yesterday I wanted to send you a few poems I wrote. If you like them maybe you can set one to music like we talked about a while ago. I can't wait to hear you play the piano in W* Hall again. That was real fun trying to fall asleep to your original works. Ha Ha. Please change any part of the poems if you'd like. Remember you promised to do this if I decided on (UNNAMED COLLEGE). I'll see you soon.

Love,

some kid from California

It took me a while, but I remember who "some kid from California" is... No specifics, because he's too easy to google. But the memory is sweet.

On to the next letter.

Lost and Found

2010-03-30T12:35:00.010-04:00

When looking for something lost, the place to start the search is where you think you saw it last. My go-to repository for lost things is usually my fridge. Nine times out of ten, my remote control is found on the eye-level shelf, next to a jar of capers.

But what if you lost it so long ago that "where-did-I-see-it-last?" is not a viable search strategy? Then it's a no holds barred search. It's process of elimination. Not here, not here, not there, oh maybe - no, not there.

And what if what you lost is pretty big... such as, say, yourself?

What does process of elimination look like in this context?. I am not like this person. I am COMPLETELY different from her. And THAT person? Ugh. NOTHING in common. I would NEVER make the choices she made.

Not so long ago, I once wrote a post in this blog (in relation to the movie Lost in Translation):

"And I firmly believe it's demonstrable of a fundamental failing in one's character to see only what is alien on the surface instead of what is familiar beneath."

This is an apology sent up to cyberspace, for the discernible lack of generosity and graciousness on my part toward certain people who only peripherally walked in my world.

A Belated Answer

2010-03-29T20:40:00.007-04:00

I was asked a question by someone who should have known me quite well - someone who, for a period of time, read my blog daily.

I was talking about the latest winner of the Newbury award (for young adult literature). For those of you not familiar with it, some of The Best Books Ever, have won the Newbury medal:

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle
From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg
The High King by Lloyd Alexander
Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien
The Grey King by Susan Cooper

I was talking about these beloved books and how my dream, one day, was to try to write one myself. Not an award winner, of course. Just a story, if only to please only myself.

And I was asked: "Oh. Are you a writer?"

This was no stranger who asked this.

I retreated into my glass of wine at the question. Almost frozen by the lack of seeing that the question revealed. I didn't answer at the time. But I will now. And I will WRITE it.

Yes. I am a writer.

I may not be published, I may never be. Hell, I may not even be any good. But anyone who knows me even the smallest, tiniest bit, anyone who has read this blog, anyone who has ever listened to me for any length of time, should know the answer to that question.

Yes, I am a writer.

Counterpoint

2010-03-28T16:38:00.010-04:00

There are some things you only see and hear clearly in those moments when you are alone. And only recently have I had enough solitude to look and listen. And the result? After many many months of silence, I feel as though I have something to write again in my terribly neglected blog.

Is it the most interesting topic? Probably not. But what I am grateful for is that I can finally listen to myself again, and instead of hearing only inchoate noise, I can hear an actual idea, and for the first time in a long time, I feel the desire to explore it.

I have been thinking of baroque music, specifically, of counterpoint.

Most generally, counterpoint is multiple lines of music each of which are different and independent but sound "good" when played together.

When music students study "species counterpoint", there are myriad rules to follow - specifics of how melodies are resolved and so forth. It's an exercise involving highly defined structures. And one of the most overarching "rules" is that the focus is on the individual melodies and the interaction among them rather than on the harmonies produced when played simultaneously.

But when independent melodies are played at the same time, it's inevitable that multiple notes will sound simultaneously. And those are chords, vertical elements - harmony. It's impossible to write simultaneous lines without producing harmony; it's impossible to write harmonies without producing a horizontal "melody." Finding a good balance between the two dimensions (vertical and horizontal) is one of the hardest things to do when writing counterpoint.

Put it this way, it's hard enough to write ONE beautiful melody. Now imagine writing multiple beautiful melodies that all sound good when played altogether.

This is one of the many reasons Bach is so brilliant. His counterpoint doesn't merely find a good balance between the harmonies and the melodies - it is a profound synthesis of the two dimensions. The individual melodic lines remain beautiful and complex and fascinating, and yet all together, the harmonics are rich and produce a beautiful "line" in and of themselves.

I can't help but think of how this could be applied to personal relationships. It's all too easy for one melody to dominate, and the other melody to get simplified to the point where it becomes mere harmonic "back up". And that can be beautiful too. But it's not counterpoint. The beauty of counterpoint lies in the interaction of independent melodies, each beautiful and worthy in its own right. Counterpoint requires discipline, adherence to a myriad of complicated rules, and... grace. But I hope, not the genius of Bach.

The Garden, by Louise Gluck

2009-10-07T07:33:00.001-04:00

I couldn't do it again,
I can hardly bear to look at it -

in the garden, in light rain
the young couple planting
a row of peas, as though
no one has ever done this before,
the great difficulties have never as yet
been faced and solved -

They cannot see themselves,
in fresh dirt, starting up
without perspective,
the hills behind them pale green, clouded with flowers-

She wants to stop;
he wants to get to the end,
to stay with the thing -

Look at her, touching his cheek
to make a truce, her fingers
cool with spring rain;
in thin grass, bursts of purple crocus-

even here, even at the beginning of love,
her hand leaving his face makes
an image of departure

and they think
they are free to overlook
this sadness.

Hills and Boulders

2009-09-17T07:38:00.002-04:00

I feel like Sisyphus. It's deeply wearying to constantly go uphill.

Farewell

2009-06-26T11:11:00.003-04:00

Yesterday was shocking - both Farrah Fawcett AND Michael Jackson?

Death makes us look back. So here's something from 1985...

I'd write more, but MomVee already did it, and better than I could.

Exit stage left, moon walking.

Nouveau Cabaret

2009-06-17T13:13:00.006-04:00

The Last Cigarette (me, SK and the fabulous FM) will perform again at Veloce Club on Thursday, July 9th. Sorry folks, it's already sold out.

But why Deep Purple's "Smoke On The Water", you ask?

Simple. FT, who owns Veloce Club, has requested it. Mostly I think for the sheer hilarity of watching us try to sing it.

Now try to imagine a breathy sex kitten version of it. OR, to compound the ridiculousness, a cappella? I know. Who WOULDN'T want to see that?!?

Press

2009-06-02T12:19:00.008-04:00

Our first "press" mention - in Makeup Loves Me. Obviously, I think she is brilliant and insightful.

If you haven't bought a Luxe Now gift card for someone in NYC (such as ME, for example), hurry up and do so.

Genius

2009-05-29T14:44:00.001-04:00

Mirrors

2009-05-22T14:47:00.005-04:00

There has been discussion buzzing around the girl-talk circles.

We all value certain things about ourselves. Sometimes those things are not even necessarily "positive." And we all want to be valued for those things.

"A" values her independence, her force of will, her biting wit, and her formidable strength.

"B" values her "evil brain," her ridiculousness, and her inability to conform even when she is trying really hard to.

"C" values her beauty and sophistication, her unwavering ambition, and her commitment to following through.

"D" values her discipline and talent, demonstrated in the various things she has worked hard to do well.

So what happens when they perceive that they are valued by others for entirely different things... or for things that only represent the tiniest bit of what they are? Or for illusions? Or for traits that almost ANY other woman can embody?

There's a question I can't stand when asked in the context of relationships: "WHY do you love me?" I wholeheartedly dislike being asked that. And I rarely ask it. Seems to me that's the sort of thing that is best volunteered, not solicited.

But sometimes you want to know if you are SEEN. And doubt, while it can dissipate over time, can also grow until it blocks all else. The Girls have all been recounting various relationships that have ended because this particular doubt couldn't be tamed. The sociopathic alcoholic stalker - well, that may not be the best example because he is a sociopathic alcoholic - claimed to love me. But what he "loved" was my appearance and my attention. Everything else was actually a flaw or value neutral in his perspective. All that I am (all that we ALL are), and what he valued was that he thought I was "pretty"? The Fabulous SL has doubts because her man's ex is someone for whom she has no respect. I know what you are thinking, why worry about his ex, for god's sake, get over it. Give him a break, haven't we all slummed at one point or another? But I understand how she feels, I get it. If he once valued this woman, what does that say about what he values, in general, and specifically, what does that say about what he sees and values in SL?

But then...

Sometimes it can't be articulated. Sometimes it's more about timing and "readiness" than about the specific personalities involved. And that's ok, isn't it? At the end of the day, love, like all emotion, is not always rational.

And I suppose that's one reason why we all need multiple people in our lives - whether ourselves, our friends, colleagues, family, lovers. Every person is a mirror of sorts and reflects back different things.

Maybe that's enough - that in the aggregate of the mirrors in your life, your reflection is complete.

Mental Masturbation

2009-04-29T13:51:00.005-04:00

Earlier this year I was obsessed with opening lines of a novel. And since obsession, like misery, loves company, I dragged others into the abyss with the following email chain:

--------------------------------------------------

From: C-Belle
Subject: Favorite Opening Lines Of A Novel

Because this topic has been on my mind lately, I brought up the
subject at every meeting I had today. Who knew that salon owners were
so well-read?

This is what I got:

"Dr. Weiss, at forty, knew that her life had been ruined by
literature." (Anita Brookner)

"All children, except one, grow up." (Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie)

"All this happened, more or less." (The salon owner couldn't remember
the book, but I googled it right then and there - LOVE my new
blackberry: Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut)

My personal favorite:

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-
ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate
to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta." (Lolita, Nabokov)

Yours?

--------------------------------------------------

From: SK
Subject: Favorite Opening Lines Of A Novel

"Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were." (Gone with the Wind - Margaret Mitchell)

"The beet is the most intense of vegetables." (Jitterbug Perfume - Tom Robbins)

"The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel." (Neuromancer - William Gibson)

--------------------------------------------------

From: MM
Subject: Favorite Opening Lines Of A Novel

"I had a farm in Africa." (Out of Africa, Karen Blixen, aka Isaac Dinesen)

But I liked Lolita a lot, too.

Also "When you wet the bed, first it is warm, then it cold..." (Ulysses, James Joyce)

"I married for the first time at 37." (Sex and the Single Girl, Helen Gurley Brown)

It's a pain in the ass waiting around for someone to kill you." (Roger Zelazny, Sign of the Unicorn)

Not the most brilliant or literary sci-fi fantasy ever, but a great opening line.
Anyone for "Arma virumque cano...." ??????

--------------------------------------------------

From: Gorgeous Hunk O'Man (JF)
Subject: RE: Favorite Opening Lines Of A Novel

"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." (Stephen King, The Gunslinger).

Though typically not a fan of the writer of our nation's fast food version of horror, I find this book spare, compelling, and rather disturbing. Interestingly enough, he wrote it in his early days at the peak of his alcohol abuse, which may be another reason I like it so.

--------------------------------------------------

From: JR
Subject: RE: Favorite Opening Lines Of A Novel

"Call me Ishmael."

Given my company .... could it be another?

--------------------------------------------------

The email exchange then drifted to favorite closing lines, and novels with a "novel within a novel structure," etc. And since my every contribution involved Nabokov's Lolita in some way, MM finally asked me what my obsession with that book was.

I blame The Police and Mr. M, my 6th grade English teacher.

After crushing on Sting, and listening obsessively to "Don't Stand So Close To Me", I went up to Mr. M after class one day and asked him:

"that Police song has the lyric: 'just like that, old man in, that book by Nabokov.' What book?"

And Mr. M whipped out a copy of Lolita (he just happened to have one handy) and pressed it into my hands in a way that would have made me intensely uncomfortable had I already read it.

But it all makes sense now. No wonder I believe love affairs should be difficult, socially unacceptable, and result in someone dying.

Commercial Message

2009-04-28T17:12:00.009-04:00

So I've been quiet on the blogging front of late.

IC and I have *finally* launched Luxe Now. Check it out to see what we have been toiling over the last many months. Also, if you are so inclined, go HERE, to our facebook page and become a fan! Do it for me. NOW. Oops, I meant, PLEASE. Rats, I always confuse those two words.

Occasional Ray of Perversity

2009-04-14T12:20:00.004-04:00

Ergo and I were discussing our blogs this morning - a topic that we revisit on a fairly regular basis: do our blogs reveal the kind of people we are? Since we know each other both on and offline, we seemed to be the best people to answer this question for each other.

me: "Your REAL quirkiness comes out a bit, here and there..."

Ergo: with yours, "an occasional ray of perversity shines through. but you are very subtle. it's your spy geisha thing"

I suppose the big takeaway is that I see Ergo as quirky, and she sees me as perverse.

True enough.

Tests

2009-04-13T22:24:00.001-04:00

I spoke to a friend tonight, one whom I haven't talked to in a very long time. But we were friends when we were young and absolutely fearless.

And my heart is breaking for her.

I can't write what happened.

What do you do when something happens to break you so thoroughly that you feel you can't even move, can't even breathe? That you don't even recognize yourself anymore?

She doesn't know how to put the pieces back together.

When I was living in Beijing, I was home one night, watching TV. I can't remember the name of the show...

One of the characters was a woman whose husband had left her. She was raging with anger and grief, and wondering why, with her heart broken, she was still alive. Don't you need a whole, functioning heart to live? And despite the betrayal and hate, she still wanted him. But not with her heart, which was broken. Not even with her mind, because she knew that there was no going back. She still wanted him with her legs, her arms, her breasts, her hips, her groin, her hands, her lips. As if her body parts were mindless animals which only knew need and desire and were completely outside her control.

And the worst part of it is, that only describes one part of what my friend is feeling. The other part is... worse.

She needed me to talk about certain things. She needed me to remember and to be back in that place, with her, now.

And so I did.

We all think we are strong. But we never really know, not unless we're tested.

I'm think I'm failing this test. Because while I did what she needed, I desperately wish that I had never answered my phone.

Scent Obsession

2009-04-08T08:16:00.012-04:00

A few days ago, MM, who works with perfume, sent me an ad for a newish fragrance (released Autumn 2008) that she thought was "conceptually and olfactorily right up (my) alley."

MM has a great nose - she can identify most perfumes instantly (and understands both their composition and dry-down), she has great taste, and she is an insightful and generous reader of personality.

So I am happy to take her advice, scent unsmelled, and perhaps I'll finally get around to placing an order for the stuff one day soon. It doesn't hurt that a few months ago, when I wasn't obsessing about Chanel 19, I was obsessing about amber and vetiver and leather.

But, obsessions change. Especially perfume obsessions, especially according to the weather.

While it seems like Persephone is still with Hades, I am fairly confident that warm weather will eventually arrive. And with the prospect of summer, quite predictably, I turn back to Shiseido's White Rose. I don't particularly care for rose, as a scent. Or even as a flower. But I smelled it the last time I was in Tokyo, loved it, and in a fit of insanity, decided NOT to buy it.

To add insult to injury, it's pretty much impossible to find in the US. It will have to wait until I am back in Asia.

So until the day I find myself in the Ginza district of Tokyo, it's Chanel 19.

WARNING: Music Geekiness Ahead

2009-04-07T22:59:00.002-04:00

Have been singing "Night And Day" - not just singing it, but really trying to figure it out. So I've been listening to it far more carefully that I normally would.

It's unusual for a song of that era. It's longer, for one. Instead of the typical four 8-bar sections, if is divided into 6 sections of 8 bars - with an ABABCB structure (instead of the more typical AABA).

This song has an unusual chord progression as well. And all sorts of lovely crunchy chords such as major sevenths built on the flattened sixth of the key, resolving to dominant sevenths. My favorite part starts with a chord built on the augmented fourth of the key, and descends by semitones before hitting the supertonic minor seventh. Gorgeous.

The only reason I can somewhat do justice to this song is that the vocal melody is a bit unusual - the melody is incredibly simple, with all the notes hovering around the SAME note for the most part, with all the lovely chords meandering about underneath.

After an early dinner with BM (during which we had the first celebrity sighting of 2009 - Dan Ackroyd), I came home and went directly to my piano. It was a lovely evening.

Of course, the most noteworthy part of it was that BM and I both choose to detox and NOT drink tonight.

While I am rather proud of that, I will admit that as I type this, I am sipping a bone dry white, and still humming.

A Bad Influence

2009-04-07T08:38:00.002-04:00

I did yoga this morning after a long yoga-drought.

My mat seemed to mock me. Poses that were once effortless were grueling and there was a moment when I thought I would rest in child's pose. But I kept pushing through, and finally my head left the game. And when that happened, muscle memory kicked in... and something else. For the first time ever, with no expectations of success, and in possibly the worst shape of my life, I hit and held "crow" for a full 3 breaths.

Of course once I realized what I was doing, I started THINKING again, and immediately pitched forward and landed on the top of my head.

But that doesn't diminish the feeling of success.

Game Theory

2009-04-06T12:56:00.027-04:00

Talking about relationships lately... triggered by the most common trigger for such conversations - the dissolution of one.

But amongst my group, the angle of that conversation that has been most consistent across the last many years is not "why didn't he love ME," but rather, "why didn't I love him? Am I too selfish or unrealistic or cold?"

During the most recent conversation on this topic, I expounded on my take on it - which revolves around relative power distribution.

But first, more background. This particular variation of the relationship discussion involves throwing away men who are decent and kind and trustworthy - GOOD men without commitment issues or heavy emotional baggage or other "major" flaws.

Of course, the answer might be as simple as "we didn't love them." But what lies beneath that rather facile explanation?

Since I only remember 40% of what people (including myself) say, it comes as no surprise that I need my friends to recount certain conversations to me. SK and IC have both independently reminded me that they once asked me if I loved my ex-husband. Apparently, I answered, "No, but I trust him."

Putting aside the possible explanation that we are a cold-hearted bunch incapable of loving, why did we not appreciate what we had or could have? Optimistically, I choose to believe that we just haven't yet met the "right" men. But specifically, men whose opinions we care about, men for whom we will make the continued effort to make happy, men we respect. (At the end of the day, what we choose to respect, TRULY respect, is highly personal and sometimes inexplicable. )

But to drill deeper, it comes down to power, specifically in the inequality of it. With most of my past relationships, there was no equality vis-a-vis power. I held all of it. And that never held my interest for long. According to SK, witnessing my marriage was like "watching a mountain lion trying to date a stuffed animal."

So if a balance of power is important, desirable, even... that opens up another can of worms.

To quote SK again: "that's when relationships get scary."

Scientific Advancements

2009-04-02T09:21:00.003-04:00

I had a revelation of sorts last night. But then, 3AM is the hour of revelatory moments.

The problem with revelations is that MANY are necessary before they "stick."

But I've had this particular revelation for years now. There's a time for velcro and a time for teflon.

Lost at Whole Foods

2009-04-01T09:26:00.001-04:00

Exactly a year ago, giving into the traditions of the date, I wrote Breaking The Fast. Which was quickly followed by Gotcha! when people called, IM'd, and emailed me to express their opinions.

Apparently, the joke's on me, 'cause I found myself lost and confused at Whole Foods just the other day, saved only by WC who coached me over the phone on 1. how to identify a mango and 2. how to pick a ripe one.

Looking From A Window Above

2009-03-27T19:12:00.007-04:00

I have been looking out at the NYC skyline quite a bit lately. That's not a view you can get in Manhattan unless you are on a high floor - and my 6 story prewar walk-up building just doesn't provide that perspective.

I mentioned this to SK who informed me that I look out the window ALL the time, even in my apt where the view is just the street outside.

Apparently I like looking out windows. Regardless of the view.

I just wish I had a tail and whiskers to twitch. I'm sure that would enhance my enjoyment of it.

On Truth

2009-03-27T12:32:00.008-04:00

The Blind Man and the Elephant

It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant~(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation~Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side, ~ At once began to bawl:
"God bless me! but the Elephant ~ Is very like a wall!"

The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, "Ho! what have we here?
So very round and smooth and sharp? ~ To me 'tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant ~ Is very like a spear!"

The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands, ~ Thus boldly up and spake:
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant ~ Is very like a snake!"

The Fourth reached out an eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
"What most this wondrous beast is like ~ Is mighty plain," quoth her;
"'Tis clear enough the Elephant ~ Is very like a tree!"

The Fifth who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: "E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most; ~ Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant ~ Is very like a fan!"

The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail ~ That fell within his scope,
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant ~ Is very like a rope!

And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion ~ Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right ~ And all were in the wrong!

-------------------------------------------------

I prefer to think that each was right. Most things you try to understand are far more complex than an elephant - like people, for example, and standing back to view at a distance doesn't help.

Depending on the time of day, the situation, or the observer, the truth of a thing changes. Or, more accurately, a different truth might be revealed. Especially when standing close enough to touch.

Speed

2009-03-26T06:47:00.004-04:00

Got home last night drunk and cranky.

I slept for a couple hours and woke to Bach's Two Part Inventions speeding through my mind. In particular, one of Glenn Gould's recordings where he flew through them at such a pace that I was actually stressed out listening. I remember after listening to that particular rendition, I practiced them at that same breakneck tempo and when my piano teacher heard me, her comment to me was: "Why are you trying to get them over with so quickly? It won't make the lesson end any sooner."

But I digress.

When I woke up a few hours ago, I played them. Started nice and slow, then sped up, then sped up some more, then sped up a lot more.

I remember what made me cranky. But for the life of me, I can't figure out WHY it did so. When others are inexplicably cranky, I assume that there is another, perhaps completely unrelated, explanation for it. I could spend time trying to figure out that underlying reason for myself. Or I could just go back to playing Bach WAY too fast and lose myself in speed.

ISO Ilse Sass

2009-03-23T19:53:00.004-04:00

January 2008, after catching the ending of Fame on television, I googled my voice teacher and found an obituary for her. Ilse Sass passed away on November 18th, 1992. She died at Roosevelt Hospital, after a long career of teaching at Julliard and Manhattan School of Music and the Henry Street Settlement. There was no mention of services or where they were held.

I recently spoke of her, and now feel compelled to try to track down some trace of her. I've called each of the places above looking for someone who might remember her... specifically, I'd like to find out where she is buried, because I'd like to go and pay my respects.

I've had no luck, but I'll keep trying.

She was survived only by her sister, Leine Seligmann. But given their ages when I knew them, it is likely they are both gone now. They had no children, apparently left no web trail (other than Ilse Sass showing up on random websites for the movie Fame, in which she played a small role), and I'm at a loss as to how to find her, or them.

But if they were buried rather than cremated, it was probably in NYC. I've even tried calling some funeral homes in NYC, but I've gotten nowhere.

I'm hoping that someone who knows something about Ilse Sass will stumble upon my blog and contact me.

Anyone?

In Third Person

2009-03-23T10:42:00.013-04:00

BTW, had my nightmare again last night. The same one. And out of the pantheon of violent, gory dreams that my subconscious dishes out on a regular basis, it's the only one that truly seems like a nightmare. But happily, the frequency of this particular dream has slowed dramatically over the years.

I know what the impetus was. A play. It was an intellectually interesting enough exercise about love, desire, violence, loss, and, in a rather "meta" kind of way, about the creative (often tortured) act of writing. The focus on one theme in particular was designed to be deliberately uncomfortable and provocative. I understand all that. I told SK about it and she was surprised that I hadn't just walked out. I had told her that I had wanted to. But as soon as I said the words, I realized they weren't true. I could have, had I wanted to. And I would have, had I wanted to. But this was "art" and was intended to provoke laughter, derision, titillation, sympathy, and discomfort. And that it succeeded in doing those things, was a good thing, from the perspective of all of those involved in putting it on stage.

And hell, putting certain things under the glare of stage lights, can give you back the power of choice - to turn away, to walk out, or to look directly at it. And regardless of what choice you make, it's YOURS to make.

But nonetheless, I expected the nightmare and am only surprised that it came a few days late.

Two interesting observations:

1. It faded immediately upon my waking.

2. It was blurry, and in third person. As if I were watching events unrelated to me unfold from behind a filmy curtain. Or as if someone had smeared vaseline on the camera lens.

Of course, when I told IC about my nightmare last night, her only comment was: "don't sociopaths think of themselves in third person?"

Thanks, IC.

Sometimes a Cigar is Just a Cigar

2009-03-20T13:02:00.001-04:00

At dinner last night, we talked about dreams.

Specifically, the BEST dream we had ever had.

MM told us of her recurring dream - involving nudity, being tied to a chair, and a man feeding her souffles.

I described one of my vampire dreams.

But that's not my best dream. Like MM, my best dream is also a recurring dream. And it's one that I haven't had since summer of 1993.

Something bad happened that summer, so it comes as no surprise to me that the dream stopped then. It centered around a house, MY house, although not one that I've ever seen in real life... a house filled with pianos and books and with a magical attic.

The last time I had this dream, the building was the same. But I got the sense that it was no longer MINE. It had that sad, neglected feel that houses have when they are not lived in. And it was empty - all my beloved pianos and books were gone. There was dust inches deep everywhere. And the attic was merely... an attic.

But I choose not to dwell on that last installment of the dream. Or on the fact that I don't dream that particular dream anymore.

Because it was good while it lasted.

Pairings

2009-03-20T05:00:00.000-04:00

Dialing, texting, emailing, blogging... there are many activities that can (but certainly not SHOULD) be paired with drinking.

But what about drinking and kissing?

In my now epic trashy novel (which I've been writing off and on for the last 7 years and which will NEVER see the light of day) I have documented dozens of Best First Kiss stories from anyone and everyone willing to share theirs. Not someone's FIRST kiss, but a BEST first kiss with a particular person. The stories range from comical to tragic, but there are two major thematic elements that emerge: alcohol and stairwells. Makes sense, yes? A lowering of inhibitions coupled with a sense of urgency to plant one on someone before he/she leaves.

SL in Beijing is very affectionate when she's had one or two or twelve too many. But on those occasions, she has her friends looking out for her, and while we don't necessarily prevent her from showering affection on the random guy sitting at the other end of the bar, we make sure that nothing TOO untoward happens. She just always looks so HAPPY when she hits that groove.

Of course, one doesn't always have the entourage along as a safety net. And often that pairing of drinking and kissing can be yucky, or just plain silly, or forgettable, or embarrassing, or worse.

And then sometimes, it can be lovely.

"With Bacchus and Venus we'll ever combine,
For drinking and kissing are pleasures divine."

-old English ballad

Playing Hooky

2009-03-19T09:48:00.004-04:00

FT emailed me yesterday morning with some of the loveliest words that can be communicated over email: "Want to go to a wine tasting at the Museum of Natural History this afternoon?"

Drowning in work, but with my priorities clear in my mind, I readily accepted.

So masquerading as an employee of Bar Carrera, I spent a couple hours sipping Spanish wines and revealing my intruder status by swallowing.

B and J were also there - but they were working - tasting wines, taking notes, asking questions about pricing and distribution and so forth. I pestered them mercilessly, "why do I LOATHE this one?" and "ooh, this is lovely! Ask the guy to pour me more..."

I spent much of my time looking over B's shoulder to read his notes: "full bodied, spicy finish, easy to drink" or "super clean, minerally." When I read that last one, I exclaimed, "ooh, I want to try that one!" B looked at me with disgust and informed me that it was what was already in my glass.

I did try to helpful though and B would send me off to find table number 32 or 59 because he wanted to try those wines. (We were all given little books with all the wines represented at the tasting and guides specifying at which tables they could be found).

Occasionally FT would have me taste something:

"What do you taste?"

"Black licorice."

"And this one?"

"hmm.... is it... lemon?"

At one point, something red was poured into my glass. "Just pretend it's blood," FT advised.

But when I wasn't happily annoying FT and B, I wandered around the room on my own and studied the people around me. Perhaps it was because I was already a little buzzed, but it seemed to me that there was an extraordinary number of interesting faces - so much so that I wished I had my camera, or, not for the first time, that I could draw.

Craggy faces, smooth faces, some deeply lined and expressive, others studiously blank.

At one point, I had to stop and ask myself, "are the faces here really that much more varied and/or interesting than what I would see ANYWHERE?"

And then I understood. Regardless of the faces, the focus and intent and gestures were all the same. Hold out your glass, swirl the wine around, hold it to your nose and breathe deeply, take some into your mouth, swish it through your teeth and over your tongue, find a silver toned bucket to spit it out, and then take notes.

In more typical circumstances where you have free flowing wine and a large crowd of people, there are so many emotions and differing intents: lust, stress, relaxation, impatience, insecurity, sadness, expansiveness, excitement...

But in that room, there was remarkable uniformity of intent. And so the faces stood out.

Or perhaps I was just thrown by the fact that everyone was SOBER.

Text Me

2009-03-18T07:53:00.007-04:00

Spoke with the fabulous MM in Beijing earlier this morning over skype.

The situation is bleak in Beijing - expats are being called back to their home countries and Centro, my favorite bar there, has been booked almost daily with farewell parties.

Beijing has already changed, and possibly beyond my recognition.

It's already been three years since I was last there - I've been gone for almost longer than I lived there. And I miss it.

I was asked recently if I've ever missed someone so much that it hurt. I'm sure I have. I may choose not to remember it, or to rationalize the emotion as stemming from something else entirely, but I can't possibly be a stranger to that feeling. Can I?

However, it occurs to me that my most important "love affairs," have been with the cities I have called home.

NYC MM, once asked me if I miss talking to my ex-husband. Specifically, when going about my day and something funny or noteworthy happens, do I still reach for my phone to send him a text message? If I read something in the news that might interest him, is my first instinct still to forward it to him? If I see a funny sign on the street, do I take a picture of it and still think to forward it to him?

The answer is "no." MM asked me that question because she's a strong communicator that way - she's a big fan of the interesting or relevant or funny little tidbit quickly sent via text or email to entertain, to share, to show that she's thinking of you. In some ways, I am, too, but to be frank, the husband was not high on the list of people I would think to share such things with. (Which, no doubt, helps explain the "ex" part of the equation).

And the things that catch my eye are almost always about my physical surroundings - about the city I live in. And the appropriate audience for those little tidbits is... the city itself. Can you text a city?

"Love what you've done with this park."

"What happened to that whole building? WTF were you thinking?!?"

"Remember the last time I walked down this street? The sun angled in exactly the same way and all the feral cats who were sunning themselves on that low wall mewled at me in unison as I walked by..."

"I kissed a lovely boy while standing RIGHT HERE. What was his name again? Oh yes, that's right."

Wo xiang ni.

Encore

2009-03-17T15:58:00.007-04:00

I went on a blind date when I first returned to NYC, set up by my cousin. The date lasted all of 45 minutes, which I felt to be the minimum amount of time I could spend without appearing rude. He was (and still is), my cousin's good friend, so my usual exit strategies weren't possible.

Within the first five minutes, even before I was halfway through my first drink, he asked: "Have you ever been in love?"

Oh please.

The question is perfectly appropriate after certain milestones have been reached - namely, physical nakedness and/or emotional intimacy. But NOT within five minutes of "Hello, my name is..."

SK and I were rehearsing last night, trying to figure out what to sing as an encore. We won't have time to practice our encore song with our pianist, so our options are limited to what could work a cappella, preferably in close harmony. And we rejected song after song. But of course, the more wine we drank, the more that certain bad ideas seemed like good ones to us.

And as we howled with laughter at our renditions of "More Than Words" and "Only You," I was thinking of a conversation she and I had about the songs we had chosen to sing for our first show.

Jazz standards, as with most songs of any genre, are about love.

But with the typical jazz standard, the topic of love isn't treated with irony or subversiveness. It's all about unadulterated love and longing:

"I get misty just holding your hand"
"You'll never know how slow the moments go 'til you are near"
"You make me smile with my heart"

SK and I exclaimed during an early rehearsal before that first show: "Who the fucks feels this way?!?"

Actually, it was more SK wondering that. I was too busy trying to learn the melodies and memorize the damn words to reflect on their meaning. And it wasn't just SK who understood the kinds of songs we were singing... FT, in a conversation prior to that first show, when I informed him that I was planning to break The Fast, had one thing to say to me: "As long as it's AFTER the show. You'll sing these songs better if you aren't getting any."

But I digress, in a way. There is such emphasis on love, on being in love, and on potentially being hurt and having your heart broken.

I have yet to hear a jazz standard about the thing that weighs most heavily on me: the guilt of hurting another.

I don't know why that's so hard to understand. It's the simplest thing in the world, from my perspective. I've been hurt, I've cried over break ups and rejection, but I also got over that pain in a blink of an eye. What took YEARS to get over, was guilt.

The question for me isn't: "have you ever been in love?" The answer might be yes, it might be no, that seems almost irrelevant to me.

Because the thing that most frightens me, is betraying the obligations that are incurred when you are loved.

Someone should write a song about THAT.

Is That What The Kids Are Calling It These Days?

2009-03-16T20:49:00.002-04:00

me: "And then he pulled a marinating whole chicken out of the fridge."

SK: "Is that a euphemism for something?"

SCUBA Certified

2009-03-16T16:37:00.007-04:00

Imagine this scenario:

You are skipping merrily towards a bridge. A huge sign warns you: "Danger, upcoming bridge is structurally unsound and you will most likely be plummeted into the river below."

What do you do?

Of course, the smart thing is to change course and find another bridge to cross.

But what if bridges are far and few between and you've had enough of your side of the river?

And what if, despite your dislike of getting your hair wet and messing up your clothes and makeup, and despite your tendency to bruise easily, you are actually a strong enough swimmer to guarantee that you won't drown?

And what if you have a history of jumping off all sorts of perfectly sound bridges in the past simply because you've changed your mind about getting to the other side?

So then what?

Pause to don full scuba gear, and THEN proceed?

You Are Who You Spend Time With

2009-03-13T10:42:00.012-04:00

While I appreciate directness, I can't abide rudeness. Even when that rudeness is unintentional. People use that as an excuse frequently - "it was unintentional", "I was distracted", "I was thinking about something else." I have used that excuse myself so I am not completely unsympathetic. But I don't let myself off the hook for unintentional slights so easily.

An unintentional slight doesn't rank terribly high on the list of social sins; it's certainly not as meaningful as an intentional slight. But the excuse, "I just didn't think" is not an excuse, it's the problem.

And I know that even unintentional slights can hurt, especially when they come from a friend. I delivered a big one myself to a good friend a few months ago - and was immediately overwhelmed with remorse when it was brought to my attention. But it served a good function - it reminded me of the importance of THINKING about the impact that even throwaway phrases can have - even to good friends who know you well enough that they can apply that knowledge as a lens to help understand that a slight was not the intent.

That kind of "rudeness" can also be deeply embarrassing when delivered from one friend to another, in particular, a new friend.

Because then it says something about yourself, too. Because for better or for worse, we are all defined, in part, by our friends. Who do we choose to surround ourselves with? Who do we talk to and share ideas with, and in doing so, define our norms of social behavior?

Every time a friend starts seeing a man, for example, one of the first questions I ask her is, "what are his friends like?" Not liking his friends, tells you something about the man himself. As does liking them.

I can't remember where I got this quote, but I'll paraphrase: "The man can fool you, but the man's friends cannot."

The sociopathic alcoholic ex had no friends. He only had employees whose sole function was to flatter and enable. He was estranged from his family. Constantly suing your supposed loved ones over various estates and trust funds will have that effect. In his family, death was an excuse to hire lawyers and sue your relatives. And my every interaction with him revealed his utter lack of people in his life who were honest and caring enough to support AND challenge him. Because sometimes we ALL need a friend to say to us: "I love you but WTF. You are acting like an ass."

For someone who is widely acknowledged as a professional flirt (with both men and women), I have a VERY small circle of true friends for whom I would do anything. New people in my life usually have to stay on the periphery for quite some time before I let them in. This is nothing new. SK still jokes about when we were in college and I refused to talk to her for an entire semester before deciding that I was ready to be her friend. And even then, WC (my roommate at the time) knew of my decision before SK did. If I recall correctly, WC and I were having dinner one night when I announced to her that I had watched SK long enough and was ready to befriend her. WC merely nodded and asked if we had any vodka left.

While I had to alter my habits when I moved to Asia, moving back to NY was a regression in some ways - in that I didn't have to make an effort to get to know new people. IC, SK, and WC (each of whom I have known for 20+ years) are all here. MM has become a very good friend since my return, but we've known each other and have been friendly ever since college. BM is a new friend, but one that came well vetted and vouched for by IC and her husband. KK is a phone call and short train ride away. Gorgeous Hunk O'Man (JF), assuming he isn't in a meeting or on a plane, is ever and immediately accessible via text or email. And as far as truly "new" friends go, I'd known FT for a couple years before our acquaintance shifted into friendship (noteworthy since he is the only straight, single man to be firmly counted in that inner circle).

I didn't know how I would wrap up this post, but I just got off the phone with JF, and after I summarized what I'd already written, he wrapped it up as follows:

"a) Baby, I love you BECAUSE of your deep-seated trust issues. b) We all have friends who embarrass us and piss us off. Without them, who would we make fun of? c) And yes, you are definitely more fabulous because I am your friend - if you weren't a gay man trapped in the body of a woman before we met, you certainly are NOW."

That's not the direction I had vaguely in mind when I started writing this, but it's good enough.

Synchronicity

2009-03-11T11:04:00.004-04:00

Just the other day, I was listening to Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 "New World"... it was in a context in which I didn't expect to hear it, and I didn't recognize it immediately. Embarrassingly, I incorrectly identified the opening chords as Barber's Adagio.

But with music school on the brain, this morning I checked out the performance schedule for the pre-college division of my former music school. And what did I discover? On March 7th, the Manhattan School of Music Symphony Orchestra performed that very same piece. This is the very same orchestra (albeit with a completely new set of student musicians) whose performance of this piece was my introduction to it.

I'm not sorry I missed it (well maybe just a little). Rather, I'm pleased that at about the same time that I was listening to it (give or take 12 hours), it was being performed and heard by many.

But it strengthens my resolve to trek to MSM one Saturday soon before the spring semester ends. I don't think any of my former teachers are still there, but as it says in my profile:

"I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods."

I may not have lived there, but I did grow up there.

Bach Break

2009-03-11T00:33:00.002-04:00

Taking a break from Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu to spend a little time with Bach's Fantasia in C Minor.

I am endlessly in awe of Bach. How is it that even with such a comparatively easy piece, everything gets swept way, leaving only the music.

Death by Boot Butter

2009-03-10T12:33:00.014-04:00

The life of a road warrior is surreal.

It becomes distressingly easy to forget what city you are in, and all hotel rooms look the same.

Certainly all hotel bars look the same.

And it's isolating. Even when I was married, the only person who ALWAYS knew where I was, was my assistant. And he or she would be the only person I would speak to for days at a time (not counting the people I was trying to con into buying whatever I happened to be selling).

But I was a road warrior back in the day when cell phones were the size of refrigerators and blackberries were just a fantasy.

It's still isolating now, but at least you have a steady stream of emails and texts (preferably from friends, not colleagues) to help you feel at least somewhat connected.

I used to talk to Gorgeous Hunk O' Man (JF) once a month or so. But now that he's taken a new position (a road warrior position), I'm hearing from him almost everyday. And I reply back, as instantly as I can. Entertainment is sorely needed, and he's a friend in great need of it. There's a reason most of the road warriors I know are raging alcoholics. JF is currently in Tulsa, considering ending it all. Not that I blame him. Tulsa? *shudder*

JF: I'm in Tulsa for three days and thinking of shooting myself repeatedly. I mean a) Oral Fucking Roberts University is here and b) there is something in my bathroom called BOOT BUTTER. Jesus God.

me: Boot Butter? Stick it in your bag RIGHT NOW. And don't shoot yourself, darling. Not in Tulsa. You should go gently into that good night while in a bathtub in Paris, an empty fifth of vodka rolling on the bathroom floor and a drugged out hooker on the bed. On second thought... I think that's been done. OK, will fly down to meet you and we can shoot each other.

JF: It's in my bag. Trust. And I'll give the front desk your name so they'll give you a room key. Every fag should go out with his hag.

me: I'm imagining the news coverage when they discover our bodies:
"Two unusually attractive people were found shot to death in a hotel room in downtown Tulsa. Initial findings suggest that they shot each other while fighting over a container of Boot Butter."

JF: I live for you, I really do.

And I have no idea why this has suddenly popped into my head: I REALLY need to visit my music school one Saturday. And soon. I'm feeling terribly nostalgic for the days before I realized that I could drink like a 250lb man, and when all that mattered was my love affair with a piano. Any piano. As long as it was in tune.

But first, I have to give JF some more attention. He's now wondering if he should rub boot butter onto his face and asking if it's possible that boot butter could become the new La Mer. And oh - he's planning our joint funeral. Mozart's Requiem Mass and something about hiring professional mourners to wail theatrically.

*sigh*

Being Known

2009-03-09T15:47:00.017-04:00

I feel like I've had many similar conversations of late - all revolving around whether someone who thinks he knows me actually does, or if I even want to be known and understood, or why I seem to put up such filters and barriers to prevent that from happening.

One of those conversations was with FT who accused me of being a romantic. I took offense and asked, "Why would you say that about me?!?"

His reply was: "Have you READ your blog?"

Smart ass.

I recounted that conversation to SK who agreed with FT, but she did say that any romantic leanings I might demonstrate are quirky and atypical.

That made me feel better. But if I am honest with myself, I think Gorgeous Hunk O'Man (JF) has it right. He and I are as soft and mushy and typical as anyone else. We just REALLY dislike exposing our soft underbellies and go to ridiculous lengths to avoid doing so.

Last night, JF and I mocked each other mercilessly to great mutual entertainment before we pointed out that this basically precludes any and all meaningful romantic relationships in our lives and that we'd most likely end up in a fake marriage to each other, taking turns hitting on the pool boy and raising cats. Unless we can get some insanely wealthy, sexually confused tycoon keep both of us in the style to which we would really like to be accustomed.

That cheered us up until I pointed out that such a man is bound to be wildly unattractive, old, and might even smell bad.

So then it came back to the fake marriage, pool boy, and cats...

Which plummeted us back into despair and on opposite coasts we opened up bottles of wine and proceeded to drink together while on the phone, toasting to our respective neuroses.

Halfway through our bottles of wine, JF did say to me, "Lover, you know, you could actually TRY to open up to men who aren't gay."

I believe I sighed deeply in response.

And then he tried again:

JF: "Baby, don't get me wrong. I love the fact that you are incapable of talking about your feelings. But then, I've known you forever and I am fairly certain you have them. So you don't have to volunteer information. How about just answering questions? Maybe "yes/no" questions? Multiple choice?"

me: "Oh good grief. I just tried that. I broke down so badly I ended up not even being able to answer whether or not I wanted to go get something to eat."

JF: "Let me guess. You either ran for the hills and demanded a divorce - oh wait, you've already done that - so I guess you went to plan B and got naked and threw your legs over your ears to avoid answering?"

Smart ass.

JF: "But did you end up getting something to eat?"

me: "er... yes."

JF: "Good for you. If he knew you at all, he'd realize that was as good as having his baby. And would probably run away screaming."

me: "Fuck you."

JF: "In your wildest dreams."

me: "I have better things to dream about, you homo."

JF: "I love you, too."

The Fall of the Wall

2009-03-08T22:39:00.018-04:00

"How do you keep the experience?"

- from Six Degrees of Separation

Louise Kittredge, played by Stockard Channing, asks this question near the end of the movie, as she recounts the story of the imposter, Paul, played by Will Smith, and how he affected their lives. How do you keep the experience without turning it into an anecdote, an amusing story to dine out on? Especially if that experience meant something and had impact.

That's something I've considered often. For something to be categorized as An Experience, there needs to be something affecting about it. Maybe even profound and/or passionate - regardless of whether the passion is positive or negative. Human nature is resilient. We get over things, whether sooner or later. Assuming a certain degree of emotional health, we move on. I've always considered that to be both a blessing and a tragedy. The blessing part is obvious. But even if it is negative passion - let's say, a broken heart - shouldn't that be REMEMBERED? If it meant that much once, shouldn't it be more than just a bloodless memory?

But the point of this post isn't to muse on how to keep An Experience, but rather, how to have them in the first place.

I wrote a few months ago that the walls I had put up several years back are still up. They are now thinner and more transparent, but still there - and in a way that goes far beyond sensible caution.

But in order to have "Experiences", the walls need to come down.

Anyone have a sledgehammer?

Secrets

2009-03-06T10:00:00.006-05:00

What happens when a "secret" is revealed?

I'm not the best communicator - I keep my secrets close. Actually, that's bullshit. I'm remarkably free WRITING them. It's SPEAKING them that gives me pause.

I've written before that perhaps I shouldn't be so guarded. I understand why I am, especially following the events of the last few years, but at some point, I should get over that.

In an old post, I wrote about finding a letter I had written when I was 16 years old, addressed to my "26 year old self." Inspired by that, in 2005, while sitting in a cafe in Beijing, I wrote another letter, this time addressed to my "45 year old self."

I won't go into the specifics, but I wrote that while I hoped I was "happy," what I hoped for more was that I could look back on the choices that I had made and judge them to be brave.

SK says I am too "meta" for my own good, and I know that I am most comfortable living in my head... so even as I wrote about bravery, I was conflicted. Sometimes bravery is just stupid. Sometimes cowardice is just smart.

But while it's easy to get lost in the mental masturbatory maze of trying to sort out the existential definitions of bravery and cowardice, that's not the paradigm that feels right to me.

In the middle of the night, as I continued working on Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu in C# Minor, I realized that my approach to this piece is actually the "right" paradigm for this current line of thinking.

Focusing on a single measure at a time is all well and good. (and in the case of this particular piece, necessary). It can be overwhelming to think of the piece as a whole at this stage (at least for me). But there's always the moment when all the individual measures have to be linked together as phrases, and those linked together as movements, and those linked together as the entire piece.

And approaching the piece as a whole can change the approach to a single measure. You realize that the dynamics or tempo need to be altered to suit what came before and will follow after. And sometimes an unexpected melody is revealed - the "secret" of the piece.

Now for the dash of reality and common sense: If I just spent time actually listening to a recording of the entire damn thing rather than just endlessly repeating a single measure at a time, that would be obvious from day 1. Not a secret at all.

So that's my ridiculously long winded way of saying... perhaps these "secrets" I hold so close, are not secrets at all. Instead, just a means of procrastination, of creating distance before I have to face the big picture. Is that bravery or cowardice? Stupidity or just practicality?

I'm not making sense to even myself anymore. So I think I'll just listen to my second crush, Vladimir Ashkenazy, play the damn thing. From beginning to end.

THIS is Love

2009-03-05T14:56:00.004-05:00

After the horrible incident last night, I swapped emails with my gay boyfriend. As if I needed more reasons to love him.....

---------------------------------------------------

From: Gorgeous Hunk O' Man (JF)
Sent: Thursday, March 05, 2009 10:30 AM
To: C-Belle

Wow. I mean. What the fuck? See, the problem is you are so
beautiful that men get insane when you're not interested.
Especially drunk men. You need a big, hunky homo to escort
you to various places. I clearly need to move to NYC, stat.

---------------------------------------------------

From: C-Belle
Sent: Thursday, March 05, 2009 10:58 AM
To: Gorgeous Hunk O' Man (JF)

Lover, you got me all weepy.

Move to NYC. Or find me another big hunky homo here who is willing to share your hag.

---------------------------------------------------

From: Gorgeous Hunk O' Man (JF)
Sent: Thursday, March 05, 2009 11:01 AM
To: C-Belle

NOBODY shares my hag.

Retreat

2009-03-05T02:25:00.002-05:00

Sometimes things get too close.

I had a bad night tonight; which reminded me of a far worse night.

And I know guilt should be the last thing I feel. Funny, when rage is what you WISH for.

Cougar Barbie

2009-03-04T17:03:00.002-05:00

From MM...

I'm DYING. And wondering if I should be concerned that "cougar" has entered into our everyday conversation the way that it has...

Zen and Chopin

2009-03-02T13:02:00.007-05:00

I have been laboring in a state of self-imposed isolation of late, emerging only rarely to remind myself that there is indeed an off-line world.

The only reason I haven't gone completely insane while locked up in my apartment is this:

Chopin's Fanstasie Impromptu in C# Minor

(Wait through the long pause at the beginning)

As always, my first reaction is sadness and frustration that a piece I used to KILL when I was a child is now completely beyond my skills. Because this is such a technically demanding piece, I can't just fake my way through the entire piece. I need to relearn it much the same way that I learned it in the first place: endlessly repeating single measures at a time until my fingers, hands, wrists and arms cooperate. (Thank goodness for my digital piano and earphones, or I'd have been kicked out of my apt a long time ago).

And it's precisely because the piece is so insanely difficult, that I am able to practice it at all. If it were any easier, I'd fake my way through it a few times until I deem it "good enough" (although, not "good" by any measure) and move on with my life.

But "good enough" is NOT enough for this piece. For a very simple reason: in order to play it AT ALL, you have to know it almost perfectly. This piece doesn't lend itself to being faked.

And so it's a single measure at a time. Thinking about playing the piece as a whole would leave me utterly discouraged at the impossibility of the feat. This is the only piece I've ever played that HURTS me to play. My wrists and forearms ache from it, and I am reminded of one performance long ago when I had played it with a bad cut on one fingertip - the scab opened and I bled freely on the keys. (Yes, I know, disgusting - but it was perhaps the only time my piano teacher was truly proud of me [albeit being a little grossed out at the same time]).

It makes me happy that I am still capable of this kind of focus. Or perhaps I should say that I am happy that I am again capable of this kind of focus. I'm not fantasizing about the goal of being able to play the whole piece. There's no big picture in mind. It's just me and a single measure, alone in that one moment.

Perfect Printed on a Baby Doll Tee

2009-02-17T19:09:00.003-05:00

From SW:

Players

2009-02-17T17:26:00.009-05:00

What is your checklist for seduction?

The Girls and I have been discussing this topic at length lately - but not OUR checklists, rather, men's checklists for seducing women. Actually, not men in general, but male PLAYERS, specifically. (A topic inspired by the activities of certain men we have encountered lately). And although transparency of motivation and deliberateness might diminish the impact a great deal, certain things are effective enough so that a commonly repeated phrase in our debriefing sessions has been: "can you imagine how well that would work on less jaded, less obnoxious women?"

Proactively asking questions about her work and adeptly feigning interest in the answers
Complimenting her before, during, and after sex
Using her name during sex (this is particularly impressive - because who knows what can come out of your mouth during sex? Once I called a guy "Espy" - the name of the bitchy Siamese cat I grew up with. I loved that damn cat, but I didn't LOVE her. But you get my point. This is why use of proper names [assuming usage of the correct proper name] is particularly impressive and is demonstrative of great effort on the utterer's part).
Liberal use of emoticons in emails and text messages

No doubt the full list is much longer, and I'll add to it across the coming weeks after further debriefings. But now that I've written even this much, I feel compelled to compare my own actions to this list:

I rarely remember to ask questions of men, much less pay attention to their answers
If I'm with them, isn't that compliment enough?
NEVER NEVER NEVER use proper names during sex. Terrified that "Espy" will pop out of my mouth again, and that's just WEIRD
I have a love-hate relationship with emoticons. Actually, it's just hate-hate. Although, they are useful when you want to communicate: "I've heard you, but what you've said is not worth a real response, but I don't want to be a bitch about it, so here's a smiley face."

To be honest about it, my checklist for seduction begins and ends with showering. Perhaps that is all that is necessary? Or perhaps the brevity of my checklist goes a long way to explaining quite a bit.

Happy Valentines Day...

2009-02-14T10:13:00.000-05:00

... I give you my vagina.

There's not really any more I can add to this. Except to bring attention to my favorite line:

"sprouting from their asses like a bouquet of ferns"

The Secret of Scent

2009-02-10T07:25:00.008-05:00

I'm not referring to the Luca Turin book here, although I have read and enjoyed it.

I have been thinking of scents and pheromones and perfume and, of course, men.

But first off, I need to address something I read not that long ago. (Or did I see it on TV?) Someone made the off-hand comment that because a woman was wearing perfume, she must have been on her way to a date. (It must have been a man responsible for that bit of dialogue).

I wear perfume as much for myself as for an audience. Even when I sit at home alone, with no plans to interact with the outside world, it is not unusual for me to spray a touch of whatever perfume I am in the mood for on my wrists and neck.

I almost always catch a faint suggestion of Chanel's Cristalle from IC, even when the plan for that day includes nothing beyond the two of us sitting at our respective computers.

I have no doubt that there are some women who wear perfume for one reason only - to attract. But there are many others who see perfume as an almost necessary part of dressing themselves for the day.

OK, now that I have gotten that off my chest, I can continue...

I am not a big fan of the single-note scents. While intellectually, I appreciate their purity and focus, I prefer a scent with richer layers. Chanel 19, for example, is, in my mind, at its best after the top notes dissipate, and the scent begins its dry-down to reveal the heart and base.

My go-to scent, Hermes Eau des Merveilles, makes me happiest HOURS after I've applied it - when the citrus and lily top notes have been replaced with amber, tobacco, even a hint of chocolate, and marine notes.

This is why I almost always choose the EDP version of a scent, rather than the lighter EDT (although that depends on the specific scent). EDTs are the formulation you carry around in your purse to reapply at regular intervals - they don't have as much staying power, but the sparkly top notes are even more sparkly. EDPs not only have a higher percentage of the essential perfume oils, the change in formulation can (and usually does) affect the overall scent - usually by putting more emphasis on the middle and base notes.

And of course, scents sit differently on different people. Chanel 19 is the only "green" fragrance I have ever been able to wear. A typical green usually turns almost sour on my skin, while it is mockingly lovely and bright and fresh on others. Chanel's Sycomore, which is perhaps the cleanest vetiver scent I know, is austere and elegant on my friends who have gone perfume shopping with me. On me, suddenly the vetiver competes heavily with sandalwood, smoke, and burning woods. (And no, Robespierre, it's not because I happen to be smoking at the time).

How does this relate to men?

SK and I had a conversation years ago about "sparkly" people. Some people are sparkly. Some are not. Non-sparkly does not mean boring. Just as sparkly does not mean shallow. And, according to how SK and I defined our use of the term, it does not have anything necessarily to do with physical attractiveness - some of the most beautiful people I know, are decidedly non-sparkly. But with some people, their sparkly top notes... well...SPARKLE.

Others, you know for years, and then somehow, one day, without actually being fully aware of it, you catch the scent of the dry-down to the heart and base... and then perception shifts.

Of course, by "people," SK and I were really talking about men. (putting aside a separate conversation in which I posited that women are people. Gay men are people. Cats are people. Straight men are dogs.)

I am attracted to sparkly people. My girlfriends (both those with ovaries and those without) are all sparkly. Yet, the men I have dated, the man I married then later divorced, have all been non-sparkly.

I was thinking about a friend of mine who makes a great distinction between his friends and his lovers. I've rolled my eyes at this many a time. But it occurs to me that perhaps I make a similar distinction.

The people I love, the people I fully plan on having in my life for the long haul, are my friends. Not even the man I married was ever in that category. For a perfume to ALWAYS have a prominent place on my dresser, the top notes need to be sparkly, the dry down has to linger, the layers need to be many and to unfold reliably, yet always interestingly.

Other scents, I don't even bother to buy. No matter how besotted I might be with them for a time. Why bother to buy unless you LOVE it and you've tested it thoroughly, especially when Sephora is so generous with their samples vials? (I don't drink milk so I'm not going to bother with the cow and milk thing). And besides, should you buy it and then it later turns sour on you, or you change your mind, it seems a waste to throw it away. And as much as you try to give away a half used bottle of perfume to all your friends, no one wants to take it off your hands.

It seems obvious what direction this post should take: perhaps I shouldn't have such double standards, or that I shouldn't categorize so ruthlessly. But I'm not going to go there.

Perfume is art. And all art, should be difficult and beautiful. Art requires commitment. And I'd rather wear the fruits of someone else's commitment while sitting on the sofa with my laptop and Hellraiser playing in the background on TV.

Rescue

2009-02-02T17:13:00.004-05:00

Recently, someone told me, "I will not try to change you. I will not try to rescue you."

This surprised me. Do I seem like someone ripe for changing or "rescuing"? I am acutely aware of the new areas of stress in my life, as are my closest friends, but I have never been one to talk too much about the things that weigh heavily on me. Talking about stress, for me, only augments it.

So to much of the outside world, I should appear to be terribly carefree. And even when that's only an illusion, it should be a relatively consistent and believable illusion.

But to be fair, I don't think that comment was made with any serious intent or conviction. It was one of those throwaway phrases that people put out there from time to time.

But my real takeaway from this is that there are people out there who do want to be "rescued."

I don't need rescuing.

But I am apparently waiting for something. I don't know what though...

29? AGAIN?

2009-01-29T15:06:00.003-05:00

Received this yesterday from AN:

My Wordle

2009-01-29T13:14:00.005-05:00

Copying Joe Shlabotnik, I've created a "wordle." Rather than take the time to write my own description, here's Joe's:

Okay, this is cool. Enter your LiveJournal URL (or any blog URL, or any text) into Wordle and it'll create a "word cloud". That is, an image of the most commonly used words, where the larger the font, the more often the word is used. The colors, fonts, and orientation are infinitely customizable, too.

Mine's a little fuzzy here. But the largest words (which I apparently use the most, or most recently) are: "Much", "Booth", "Perfume", "Friends", "Birthday".

I was surprised to see that "men" and "sex" were in much smaller fonts.

Hmmm.

Birthday Present

2009-01-29T07:12:00.008-05:00

At about 4 AM, I was with FT in Chinatown, getting some much needed food. We were in a booth, sitting across from each other. Three guys came in and sat in the booth behind me. Apparently, one guy had his arm draped over the top of the booth, in my space.

FT switched seats with me and proceeded to pick a fight with them. "You're insulting my girl," he said. Presumably because that sounds more dramatic than, "You might start to annoy my platonic friend with whom I drink copiously and play pool occasionally and for whom this does NOT count as her birthday dinner because I still owe her that."

At that point, they all looked at me briefly. Of course, far from looking insulted, I was sitting there giggling uncontrollably. I did try to compose my features into something resembling "I'm so insulted" but I failed and kept laughing merrily.

FT got them to leave with their tails between their legs and the waiters came by to apologize to us. I tried to speak to the waiters, but all I was able to say in Chinese was, "They were bad men. Very bad."

It was so much fun I wanted to pick fights with more people, but that wasn't in the cards.

Happy Birthday To Me!

2009-01-28T10:28:00.002-05:00

Today is my birthday.

It's a little ridiculous how much I enjoy my birthday.

Festivities should last approximately two weeks, I've decided. Although, I suppose it all depends on how long I can milk the good will of my friends and family.

Birthday festivities will be launched this evening. No doubt, there will be embarrassing pictures posted in various public forums.

Important Things

2009-01-26T18:49:00.001-05:00

Email received from AM today:

"I'm heading up north in the morning for work for a couple of days, so will call you from the road. Sex -- what is that and how can I get me some?? Now that I'm done with the apt search, I can focus on the important things, like whoring. May decorate my new place in 'bordello' style and charge at the door..."

That's my girl.

Education for Straight Men

2009-01-18T18:05:00.004-05:00

A man recently smelled my perfume and said to me: "Chanel 19?"

I was stunned into complete stillness.

Afterwards I told all my friends about it and we were in total agreement. That is HOT.

Is this what straight men have to do these days? Lurk about at Sephora or the lower level of Bergdorf's to get a crash course in expensive perfume?

Possibly.

Where Do You Keep Your List?

2009-01-14T12:12:00.005-05:00

According to one designer, you should keep your list on a pillowcase. THIS pillowcase, aptly named the "Everyone I've Slept With" pillowcase.

Hand your new "friend" a sharpie, and you are good to go.

But those of us who have not yet dropped $50 to own this piece of bedding ourselves, where do we keep our lists? That was a question posed by the girls as we discussed the pros and cons of displaying such an item on our beds.

In journals? In your calendar? Frequently scribbled on the backs of cocktail napkins?

But then the conversation shifted... do you REMEMBER all the names?

And what's worse? Remembering the person, but not his name? Or remembering the name and nothing about the person?

What's more important? "A rose by any other name..." And yet names do seem to matter.

What would be more important to YOU? For someone to remember your name, or instead, the color of your hair, the smell of your perfume?

Hmmm... off to scribble my list on the back of a napkin.

'Tis A Gift To Be Simple

2009-01-11T11:46:00.005-05:00

What does one listen to on a lazy Sunday morning? RL is listening to heavy metal, to drown out the 80s classic rock favored by her roommate. I am listening to Histoire Du Tango - Café 1930, a duet for classical guitar and violin, composed by Astor Piazzolla.

IC, who is more of a classical music purist than I am, pronounced it "pretty" and a bit "showtune." I understand why she says that... some passages are... well... over accessible. Which I suppose is code for "showtune." But hey, I LIKE showtunes.

When I have time, I'm going to continue my classical guitar lessons. Because this is my dream: to play this piece. IC (who studied violin during music school) has reluctantly told me that she will play the violin part if I can't find anyone else to do it.

It reminds me less of showtunes than it does IC. And yet I agree with IC, it's not purely classical. Actually, it reminds me of the movie music written by Ennio Morricone. No one can doubt Morricone's mastery and genius. But his is definitely music that is written to be evocative of images. Perhaps I'm biased by the fact that I always hear his pieces accompanied by a movie. But I think it's more than that. His pacing and phrasing is not always what you'd expect to hear in music that was meant to be consumed with your eyes closed. He is clearly following a different pattern; he's clearly following, clearly anticipating, some other action than that internally driven by the structure of the music itself. And it's inevitable that the images that come to mind are not the secret stories you tell yourself when listening to a piece of music, but the images carefully orchestrated by others.

Yes, the classical music purist in me can't help but be dismissive of that. But the bigger part of me simply enjoys that it is so pretty.

Guy's Night Out Debrief

2009-01-10T02:00:00.002-05:00

Martinis, Cigars, Cuban Sandwiches: all happy things.

WC had her first cigar ever - a Havana Honey, tasting strongly of vanilla. She asked me to start it for her, and spent the evening holding it uncertainly. Her cigar kept going out, so we informed her she had to suck harder.

At one point, she was convinced that it was out. I reassured her it wasn't.

"Can you tell because you can see it light up at the tip?" she asked me.

"No, the give-away is the fact that I can't see your face behind the cloud of smoke you are exhaling," I replied.

At the end of the evening we were drunk, bloated from too much food, and dizzy from cigar smoke.

Is this what boys do when they are together? We mused about that for a while. It seemed rather... boring. So then we thought that perhaps we were missing something and tried to figure out what that was. WC turned to me and asked, "want me to buy you a lap dance?"

Was that the missing ingredient?

On Lying

2009-01-05T18:58:00.003-05:00

Why do people lie?

In my experience, there are two major reasons:

1. To make themselves more attractive:

"I donate time and money to various charitable organizations"
"I'm not married"
"I love you too"

2. To avoid trouble for themselves:

"No, I don't find him/her remotely attractive"
"You don't look fat in that"
"I did not steal that, how dare you accuse me"
"It wasn't my fault, it was fill-in-the-blank-other-person who should be blamed"
"I love you too"

Yes, there are the lies told not for personal gain, but out of sheer maliciousness in an effort to hurt someone else. But frankly, I think that happens far less frequently than the first two reasons I outlined. It takes a special person to go to such effort and not have any personal agenda at stake.

And then some people lie for camouflage or out of habit. The lies are small and meaningless and provide no advantage, and in situations where the truth would have served the same purpose.

Some people lie to themselves as well. And then it becomes hard to blame them for "lying" when they actually believe it to be the truth, at least during the moment that the lie is delivered.

I don't believe that liars are liars throughout. The same people who comfortably and regularly lie about one thing have strong feelings against lying about another.

But the trick is to figure out where those lines are drawn.

I'm a world class liar.

Trust me.

I DO Rather Like The Outfit...

2009-01-05T14:53:00.002-05:00

Your result for The Pop Culture Archetype Personality Test...

The Assassin

Ninja, Robot, Zombie, Clown

Assassins make excellent military commanders, as their aggressive, direct personalities and sense of charm make them good leaders. They like to plan and plot, and though they have a tendency to exaggerate when describing large projects they know what needs to be done. Decisive to a fault, they are resolute and insensitive when it comes to others, and will send people off to perform whatever tasks are needed (even if it means their deaths). Argumentative when challenged, they are not to be trifled with, their unequivocating demeanor giving them a knack for debate and improvisation.

Not surprisingly, assassins often drift into Sadistic behaviors, becoming cruel, demeaning and aggressive in their need to dominate others. They will threaten violence, lie, publicly humiliate people, and dole out unfair and harsh discipline on others, while taking pleasure in this psychological and physical suffering. When they can they seek to control the freedom of others, through direct bondage or fear, and they are fascinated by violence, weapons, torture and the martial arts.

Well-known assassin types include Richard Nixon, General Norman Schwarzkopf, Harrison Ford, Sigourney Weaver and Steve Jobs.

Take The Pop Culture Archetype Personality Test at HelloQuizzy

Drunk Wisdom

2009-01-05T10:39:00.001-05:00

Well into our second bottle of wine, WC whipped this out and laid it on the table:

Without pain, there is no joy. If you remove the pain, neutral becomes the pain. It is true. I am profound in my drunkenness.

Why Women Never Have Any Change

2009-01-03T15:55:00.003-05:00

Guys Night Out

2009-01-02T13:38:00.004-05:00

Girls Night In has turned into Guys Night Out.

The Girls will slip into our favorite over-priced heels and head over to Club Macanudo for an evening of steak, scotch, and cigars.

I must remember to stop by the sports equipment store for some ping pong balls so we can play with our balls during the evening.

2009, The Year Of The Ox

2009-01-01T11:21:00.002-05:00

Don't ask me what that means. All I know is that the year of the Ox will supposedly be a good one for those of us born in the year of the Rooster.

I kicked off 2008 with a fast - no solid food, no booze, no cigs for 2 weeks. And that fasting set the theme for the entire year.

So for 2009? Is this to be the year of... excess?

The mind boggles at the thought.

While choosing a new year's resolution, I did (and still do) think that I lost my mind. Alone in my apartment one evening recently, ruminating on the viability of my resolution, I remarked aloud, "I think I've lost my mind." And to entertain myself, I checked to see if my mind were perhaps in my fridge, where most of the lost things in my apartment end up. I didn't find my mind in there, but I did find my remote control, tucked away behind the dijon mustard and the half full jar of capers.

But I have no doubt that wherever my mind is, it is boggling.

The Holiday Spirit

2008-12-22T22:56:00.004-05:00

WC emailed me from the train:

"A homeless man on my train just gave some change to another homeless man."

She just called me to discuss. We wept.

But now we are both thinking that the two of them were in cahoots.

I feel played. I don't like it.

The Asian Brook3 Burk3

2008-12-22T17:13:00.009-05:00

Ahem.

Had a meeting with other day with the CEO/Founder of a potential client/partner company.

Halfway through, he told me that I looked like an Asian Ally McBeal. I could only spit up my wine.

I chose to ignore that as best I could, and in my follow up email, kept to the business at hand and summed up what we discussed and clarified our timeline for execution. In his reply email, he threw in:

"BTW, I take it back. You’re more like a cross between an Asian Ally McBeal and Brook3 Burk3."

So of course, I had to google Brook3 Burk3.

I can't even include a picture of her because while my blog is not exactly family friendly, it's also not THAT kind of blog.

For those of you who are not male, Brook3 Burk3 is a former Frederick's of Hollywood and Venus Swimwear model. And, needless to say, I look NOTHING like her. The least of our differences is a very significant cup size divide.

I have two choices. Either suggest that he wear glasses, or marry him. Actually, there is a third option, which is what I will pursue - to leverage his apparent lack of judgment into negotiating more favorable business terms.

Off now to gallivant around my apartment in REALLY skanky lingerie.

--------------------------------------------

* I find myself forced to revise this post and spell her name using "3" instead of "e" because of all the hits I was getting in just a few hours from, no doubt, overly appreciative men googling for her. In contrast, no one stumbled upon my blog because they were searching for poor Ally.

Happy Holidays!

2008-12-22T12:25:00.002-05:00

The Best Holiday Card Ever, from KF's company.

Mysterious, magical, and perfect.

And yes, the little girl in it looks suspiciously like E, KF's daughter!

Smack Talk

2008-12-21T10:49:00.002-05:00

I talk a lot of smack. A LOT.

People do.

It's entertaining. There can be comedy in extreme characterizations. There can also be truth.

In the past, I never worried or wondered if my bullshit talk was taken seriously. I think I just had great faith that somehow, people just KNEW what was sincere and what was exaggerated or even entirely made up for comic value in that moment, to further the momentum of a particular conversation.

But lately I've started wondering about it.

Mostly because I've made a few observations:

1. People seem to be engaging in that kind of talk less now
2. I, despite my own tendencies, am taking people more at their word. If they say it, they must mean it

My friends would tell me that my tendency to sometimes engage in that kind of patter is a defense mechanism on my part, to keep at arm's length people who don't already know me well enough to filter the unreal from the real. Perhaps it is.

But I wonder if it is a "habit" I should break. Because the world seem to be spinning faster lately, and I certainly can't be the only one who makes snap judgments. And besides, sometimes, just sometimes, there are people you want closer.

Happy About The Holidays

2008-12-19T17:11:00.001-05:00

I received this email recently from a friend of mine:

"For some reason this holiday season feels so much more stressful and melancholy than last. I could kick scrooge's ass right now."

The holidays do have a tendency to bring that out.

But for me?

Before I can answer that question, I think I need to look back on my most recent Christmases...

Christmas 2005: Rather than returning to Beijing after my trip to Bhutan with WC, I had escaped for some alone-time to the Banyan Tree Spa in Bangkok.

Christmas 2006: I was with my parents, which was lovely, but the Sociopathic Alcoholic had apparently set a timer to remind himself to send me nasty emails and text messages every hour accusing me of being with other men. Perhaps in a couple lifetimes from now I'll look back on it and be flattered at his estimation of my man-attracting skills.

Christmas 2007: I was with my parents, but this time, my email and phone were wonderfully silent.

Christmas 2008: I will be with my parents, and will bring home two "strays": MG and EA, who will join us for Christmas Eve dinner.

I feel good about the holidays this year. In fact, I think I feel VERY good about it.

Call Me Mountain

2008-12-17T09:00:00.010-05:00

SL arrives today!!!

I've arranged for a car to pick her up from the airport, have been working since 3AM so I can finish up by the time she arrives, will clean my apartment in a bit, and then hit Whole Foods to stock up on supplies. A quick peek inside my fridge revealed only lemons and condiments.

So, to tally up my visitors from Asia this year:

GC from Beijing in April
MM from Tokyo in May
EH from Beijing in June
MB from Hong Kong In July
LW from Hong Kong in September
HM from Tokyo in September
FC from Beijing in November
SL from Hong Kong in December
KF and her husband from Beijing in December

2008 was the year Asia came to me. I think that makes me the mountain.

Another Gig

2008-12-16T17:40:00.003-05:00

Time to pick up another consulting gig. As much as I am fully absorbed in my internet marketing business with IC, I feel this urge to keep my primary professional edge sharp. And as much as this might say horrible things about me, I LIKE working, and I especially like what I've been doing for the last 10+ years. I'm good at it. And I've developed it to a point where I am at the top of my field. Granted, it's a highly specialized (i.e. small) field, but hey, it's not size that matters. At least that's what they say.

And I *may* have picked up yet another gig. FT, in a demonstration of incomprehensible generosity, has offered us the opportunity to sing at one of his bars once a month. I suppose this means that SK and I had better make a lot more friends in a hurry so we can guarantee audiences.

FT and I had an idle conversation which has made me revisit a question that consumed me when I was living in Beijing. Now keep in mind this conversation was conducted after I had consumed EASILY two bottles of wine, so my memories may not be reflective of reality. But in this case, as Tobias Wolff wrote, "memory tells its own story."

I will tell anyone who asks (and many who don't), that one of my aspirations in life is to be a lounge singer. Yes, there is comedic value in that. But there's also a great measure of truth.

So this is my question: What are you willing to do, to live out a dream?

Of course, performing once a month requires no sacrifice from me. It can be relegated to the realm of pure fun and fantasy. And besides, no one is knocking down my door asking me to give up my day job. But it makes me wonder... if one day I were offered my dream, or a path that could lead me there, would I take it?

I had struggled with the idea of moving to Beijing. I had to leave behind a life that I loved. And I found that of all the things that I had to struggle with most, one of the toughest was my loss of identity as a successful, working professional.

During the months in between my occasional consulting assignments, I scheduled my free time as if it were work, so as to invest it with more meaning. And the question that I learned to hate the most was: "So, what do you do?"

How important is my professional identity to me? According to my experiences in Beijing, the answer is: VERY.

When I lived there and was in between assignments, I spent my time playing: getting certified as a yoga instructor, studying martial arts, learning to jump fences on a horse. And I loved it.

But... I never felt quite comfortable in my skin when I was just playing.

What happens when passions become merely hobbies? And when hobbies become things you get around to doing only when and if you have time? Is that a necessary part of growing up? Or is it something to mourn, to fight against?

It broke my heart to give up my dream of being a professional musician - to realize at 17, that I was not good enough at the thing that I loved best (music) to have it become nothing more than a hobby. (Of course, it was evident by the time that I was 14 that I had peaked and was no longer the new hot thing on the classical piano front. But let's not go there).

It's only rational to make choices based on opportunity and ability (and if you're lucky, interest) and to focus - which necessarily means closing certain doors. And focus is required to achieve any meaningful measure of competency. It's a kind of reinvention. And reinvention is a good thing. Look at Madonna. But have I reinvented myself so thoroughly that I can now dismiss, so easily, what I LOVE?

Prior to the debut of our lounge act, SK and I spent hours freaking out: "Oh good god, we apparently can't sing at all"; "what made us think that this was a good idea?"; "why did we pick songs with so many words?!?"; "We're never going to be allowed to set foot in any of FT's bars ever again."

JN, who has known me all my life, talked me down off the ledge during one of my moments of sheer panic, and reminded me of something: that throughout all the years (ahem, DECADES) that we have known each other, there was one activity that remained constant, and was always instigated by me: sitting at my piano and singing together.

I'm not going to resolve this in this post. In fact, I'm not even sure what needs to be resolved and I suspect this entire post was just verbal diarrhea.

So I'll leave it at this: if this opportunity does indeed materialize, then once a month, I will put on a fabulous dress and REVEL in doing what I apparently love best: singing in public. Maybe it's only a very little turn in life, but, to quote Tobias Wolff again:

"It's these little turns in life that are so important... If you change the direction of your life by a little degree, years later you're going to end up in a very different direction than if you hadn't."

And who knows, perhaps one day, I might have this conversation:

Random Person: "So, what do you do?"

Me: "I'm a lounge singer. And in my spare time, I revolutionize internet marketing."

"I'm Irresistible, You Fool"

2008-12-15T18:30:00.015-05:00

Gorgeous Hunk O' Man (JF) got dumped by his boyfriend over the weekend.

I'm stunned.

He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen naked. (Not what you are thinking. Unless you are thinking that when we lived in the same city and on evenings when he'd take me out dancing to some gay club, I'd go to his apt to pick him up and he was always running late so I'd sit on the toilet seat and keep him company and chat with him while he showered and preened).

He is also brilliant. And funny. And successful. And beautifully mannered. And sharply (but never meanly) witty. And is a clever writer and conversationalist. Sure, yes, he's also terrified of commitment and emotionally unavailable, but I mean really, who isn't?

I have to admit, while I am stunned, it is oddly comforting. If even Gorgeous Hunk O' Man (JF) can be dumped, then it's not so wildly mindblowing that the rest of us can be, apparently, all too resistible.

The Demise of Dating

2008-12-15T15:51:00.002-05:00

I had posed a question many months ago when I was busy with my online dating experiment.

"With most endeavors, having a clearly identified goal is necessary, or at the very least, helpful in achieving that goal. But with dating..., can being "goal-oriented" hinder rather than help?"

Very rarely do I get the tingles for someone upon first meeting them. It usually requires a long, drawn-out process of getting to know them within a context where there is no romantic/sexual expectation. Hence, I don't like getting hit on. I don't like pushy. I will run if chased (or hurl myself out of a still moving taxi). This also explains my preference for being the aggressor. For me, repeated exposure to a particular someone within a NON romantic/sexual context is usually necessary for me to develop the tingles. And I have great respect for the tingles; I rarely ignore their call, and their call is absolutely required.

So goal oriented dating simply doesn't work for me. A few "dates" to get to know each other, under the expectation of a possible future relationship (of whatever kind), are not sufficient to provide me with nearly enough data points. I require vast data points before I can even begin to feel TRULY interested in a person. And the vast majority of men out there (unless I meet them in a context of work or friendship) simply do not have the patience to play out that game. Especially in NYC, where there's far easier prey out there.

But then I stumbled upon this article in the NYTimes. "Dating is dated. Hooking up is here to stay."

According to the Op-Ed Columnist, Charles Blow:

It turns out that everything is the opposite of what I remember. Under the old model, you dated a few times and, if you really liked the person, you might consider having sex. Under the new model, you hook up a few times and, if you really like the person, you might consider going on a date.

Oh good grief. Unless I want to raise cats for the rest of my life, I think I might need to entirely change how I operate.

Weirdly Reassuring

2008-12-14T17:09:00.004-05:00

From WC:

"I was at the Supreme Ct today. Met Chief Justice Roberts and Justice Kennedy. This seems so wrong to say, but the Chief Justice is kinda hot."

Not Happy

2008-12-12T18:34:00.006-05:00

I find myself forced to contact the Sociopathic Alcoholic Stalker Ex.

Business. Money owed.

And I hate it.

It is not yet resolved. Most likely he will react in his typical way.

Which means lawyers will most likely have to get involved. Fortunately, all legal argument (and written contract) is on my side. I just hate having any contact at all with him.

I think I may have, again, irrationally given him the opportunity to demonstrate that he is incapable of rationality. I should have hired a lawyer to contact him from the start.

To quote WC: "I am not happy."

Ouch

2008-12-11T12:52:00.001-05:00

Onions

2008-12-10T14:56:00.019-05:00

IC and I launched our Girly-VIP-Shopping-Email business last week. Thank you, thank you, thank you very much.

And the vast majority of the items that we highlighted for purchase/consideration were hand selected by yours truly. The whole email business should be renamed: "Stuff C-Belle Covets."

I commented to CL the other day that if anyone should ever wonder what to get me as a present, they only have to go to our website.

So CL summed it up like this:

People can go to your business website to figure out what to buy for you. And if they want to figure out what you are thinking, they can go to your blog. So really, when you actually start dating someone again some day, you guys never have to actually TALK. Unless he wants to talk about himself, in which case, you wouldn't really be paying attention anyway. So you guys can just have sex all the time.

I blinked a few times at the last part of that. He's quite the joker, that CL.

But it got me thinking about a topic I've thought and written about before. Can someone really figure out another by reading their blog?

The answer is a resounding "no." At least in the case of my blog.

My blog is highly misleading. I write about numerous topics that appear personal. But my treatment of those topics is necessarily superficial and overly simplified - there's just not that much real estate in a typical, bite-sized post.

My thoughts/hopes/fears/dreams that are truly vulnerable and hence, secret, are recorded not on my blog, but in my little black moleskine journal that never strays too far from my side. And for every blog entry, there are multiple entries in my private journal.

But CL is still essentially correct. ONLY my moleskine is privy to the layers of the onion that have not been polished and prettified for public consumption.

I suppose this is one of the reasons my gay boyfriend, Gorgeous Hunk O' Man (JF), and I get along so well. We know that there's all manner of vulnerability hidden away under our respective glossy surfaces. So we treat those glossy surfaces with care, and we don't make the mistake of thinking that the hardness extends all the way down. And we never ask each other for access to the mushy soft bits. Not out of indifference. Rather, out of protectiveness for the other.

It sounds like the opposite of intimacy. I have this particular dynamic only with him - where intimacy is expressed by... well... avoidance. And it's because we actually DO know each other - at least well enough to recognize ourselves in the other.

Because sometimes kindness and affection are demonstrated not by peeling the layers back, but by mutual admiration for and gentle treatment of what has been carefully buffed, and a complicit agreement to ignore the rest.

Some Morning Humor

2008-12-10T10:00:00.003-05:00

Courtesy of DS:

Greatly Deserved Recognition

2008-12-10T04:30:00.002-05:00

SL just texted me on her way from Hong Kong to Singapore. Why was she headed to Singapore on a Wednesday afternoon (her time)?

Because she has been nominated for Best Anchor at the Asia TV Awards!

And since she is a public figure, I think I can safely use her full name.

Susan Li, Bloomberg Anchor, (and my dear friend), is AMAZING.

She moved to Beijing in the fall of 2003 with one objective: to cover the Beijing Olympics. And she did so this summer.

Love it when a plan comes together!

Congratulations, darling, and can't wait for your visit next week!

Small Victories

2008-12-09T23:58:00.003-05:00

Finally home after a long day of back-to-back meetings.

The bright spot is that I experimented with posting blog entries from my blackberry earlier this evening, during dinner with some friends. I had written that post, Closing Doors, a couple weeks ago and had saved the draft on my berry.

I feel that I've won a small technological victory.

So it's with no small measure of satisfaction that I sit at my computer right now, with a freshly poured glass of wine.

And perhaps tonight, I might actually sleep.

Closing Doors

2008-12-09T19:22:00.004-05:00

My sociopathic, alcoholic, stalker-ex contacted me again. He suffered a tragedy. And despite myself, I felt sorry for him. But before expressing my condolences, I read through a few of the typically irrational, frustrating email exchanges I had had with him when we were together. (I rarely delete emails, of any kind - you never know when you need to look something up).

And re-reading them made my blood pressure rise.

A quick checklist of his better attributes:

1. incapable of practicing or demonstrating empathy
2. incapable of EVER apologizing - instead, he preferred to go on the attack when he knew he was in the wrong, or, to blame it on a stomach ache and then demand sympathy
3. unrelentingly manipulative
4. astonishingly irrational

And I am now ANGRY.

Mean what you say, say what you mean. And suit your actions to your words. And when you fuck up, if you care about making it right, try to do so.

I'm tired of the bullshit.

He did do a number on me. It's impossible to go through this world completely unaffected by the people around you, so I'm not beating myself up about it. All I can do is recognize the impact, minimize what I can, and accept what I can't.

I've made a decision about something I've been thinking about it. (Not the issue of whether or not to express my condolences, I did so already, but made clear that it wasn't an invitation for further contact).

I made up my mind about something else. Because this life is too short. And while I do love to dance, I have never been fond of playing games.

Sometimes, there's something intensely satisfying in metaphorically slamming a door shut. (Especially since I can never bring myself to do that in real life - I can thank (blame?) my mother for that.)

The Zen of Naming Cocktails

2008-12-08T16:12:00.004-05:00

FT, at his Bar Veloce in Soho, has two cocktails on the menu: Patience and Fortitude.

Of the two, I prefer Fortitude. Which maps astonishingly well with real life.

According to Webster:

Patience: an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay.

Fortitude: mental and emotional strength in facing difficulty, adversity, danger, or temptation courageously.

Once in a thing, once on a path, execution (regardless of the difficulty) seems overwhelmingly easier than waiting to trigger in the first place.

Difficulty, I can handle. Restlessness gets the better of me, every time.

A Tiara Kind Of Day

2008-12-07T10:30:00.009-05:00

Woke up blue this morning.

Usually, watching a horror movie, while wearing a tiara, is the antidote. But I found myself, inexplicably, watching Under The Tuscan Sky.

Not sure why I'm in such a sappy mood.

I don't like it.

WC and I met for drinks yesterday afternoon. And I've realized something... we almost always end up crying. It wasn't always this way. It's only the last few years that we've turned into weepy drunks, when drinking together. But then... it's not surprising, is it. Can't live a life without encountering reasons to cry. And we've seen each other through many of them; their memories never do fully fade. Apparently, they emerge on quiet weekend afternoons, when WC and I are sitting on neighboring bar stools, sharing a bottle of a dry white.

"Unthinkably good things can happen, even late in the game."

- from Under The Tuscan Sky

The cynic in me wants to throw up a little in my mouth.

And yet... isn't that what we all hope for? Even the most cynical of us. Even me.

2 Girls, 4 Computers

2008-12-06T14:08:00.007-05:00

IC and I have been churning out new products with lightning speed.

If we had had a spare moment to question our ability to get certain things done within our specified deadlines, we would have given up before even starting.

But since we didn't have that time, we just pushed on.

There are certain advantages to having known each other since we were 12. Added to that, are the advantages of spending 8 hours a day, 5 days a week together in the same room.

Because when the shit hits the fan and we need to accomplish in a single day what should take WEEKS by any sane measure, we manage to communicate quickly, efficiently, effectively, in a kind of shorthand that is incomprehensible to anybody else.

"The dedicated merchant page, that link, pissing me off. Now or later?"
"Yes."
"Got it."
"And the...?"
"First yes, second no"
"OK."

Imagine that all day long.

It's ASTONISHING that what we've produced makes ANY sense at all.

Shellfish Is An Abomination

2008-12-05T08:12:00.001-05:00

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

Is bad that I now have a crush on Doogie?

The Long Con

2008-12-03T16:09:00.011-05:00

The long con is an elaborately set up confidence game, where an entire false world is set up, the mark is pulled in SLOWLY, and eventually stripped of his/her assets.

In certain aspects of my life, I AM capable of pursuing long term strategies where the fruits won't ripen for a very very long time. I can demonstrate patience. I believe (within reason) that the ends justify the means. I am flexible enough to choose tactics that reflect, sometimes even anticipate, shifts in the wind.

But that's just in certain aspects of my life.

And in my personal life?

Well, I've never done it in my personal life. Just because someone has never done something before, doesn't mean that they can't. Of course, the reverse is equally true.

But I DO enjoy the mere idea of it.

Postpartum Depression

2008-12-01T21:56:00.006-05:00

Giving birth is hard.

IC and I just reached a major milestone for our business.

The last few days in particular have been brutal. But we did it, more or less.

We were too exhausted to be in a celebratory mood. However, we did go to the corner bodega for smokes and a cheap bottle of wine. We turned to each other in the harsh light of the bodega, and if we had had the energy for it, we would have gasped and stepped back. Yes, we looked like we had gone through a war.

Back at my apartment, we toasted each other tiredly and drank and smoked while tracking open rates and click-throughs and fun stuff like that.

IC claimed that this was harder than actually giving birth for real. I must remember to tell N that, once he is old enough for a conversation.

But my terrifying thought? We'll have to do this over and over again, once every two weeks. Note to self, must hire more people. IC and started this entire venture with the goal of running our business while sitting in neighboring pedicure chairs. And we're both entirely irritated that we're not there yet.

So I'm irritated, exhausted, hungry, slightly drunk, and.... and at least two other negative adjectives but I can't get my brain to work at the moment.

But it's done.

Off now to finish the wine.

Bloodthirst

2008-11-30T02:56:00.011-05:00

WC and I intended to see a horror movie tonight. But it didn't turn out to be one. Twilight turned out to be... sweet, funny, a complete tear jerker, saved from our derision only because there was one gratifyingly violent scene in which body parts were torn apart and ultimately burned.

Different scenes got to us. For WC, it was the scene where the boy (a vampire) lifted his girl (a human) over the stairs because she had a cast on her ankle (a result of the violent scene I just referred to).

For me... it was when they danced. She didn't know how to dance. He lifted her and placed her feet on his. Perhaps it's because I am a daddy's girl myself. That is how I danced for years, balancing on my father's feet.

I turned to look at WC and we were both weepy. Although the wine that we smuggled in and drank out of paper coffee cups might have contributed to that.

WC's commentary as we walked out of the theater: "That movie was so sweet I'm now mad at J (her bf)."

But that isn't what I'm thinking about now. I'm thinking about... vengeance, violence, justice - the old testament kind. I'm thinking of the scene where the vampire tore apart the person who tried to hurt his girl.

It's completely unfair of me, it's completely irrational. I know it. But... even though I would have been furious at the suggestion that I couldn't protect myself, I never forgave the person who chose to be a f*cking poodle when I had told him what had happened, instead of personifying protective fury beyond imagining.

Memory Tells Its Own Story

2008-11-29T09:19:00.013-05:00

It's a Beijing sky today.

Cognitive dissonance - I look up at the sky and then look down at street level and am surprised to see street signs and billboards that I can read.

But today, it's not a longing kind of nostalgia, not exactly. It feels more like a... happy secret, that I still remember. Because one day, I know I won't. Those reminders and connections will require ever increasing effort to reach.

Ergo wrote a post on the movie, My Blueberry Nights, and in her review, she wrote that "It transmits frequencies - love, lostness, connection, uncertainty, strength, desire, floating, seeking, loss, alienation, buoyancy, the curious intimacy that you can only share with strangers."

This reminds me of a conversation I had with her recently on the known versus the unknown.

A cursory look at my history and preferences might suggest that I'm addicted to what's new. But that's not how I'm wired at all. I like to KNOW. And I will go to great lengths to hold myself apart until I feel that I do, at least enough. New people and places might interest me, but only in the most superficial of ways. It's knowledge of a thing, person, or place that turns me on.

Every once in a while, I think I should work to change that. Because every once in a while, I read something that resonates with me, like Ergo's words, "the curious intimacy that you can only share with strangers."

But that's not today.

Today, I'm thinking that I need to visit Beijing and Hong Kong before they change beyond my recognition. Before I change beyond their recognition. Both those cities, particularly Beijing, have changed, according to my friends who live there. They tell me that I wouldn't recognize it anymore.

I want to see those changes. Like catching up with a friend you haven't seen in many many years. But despite any pleasure in the "changes," you still look for what's known, for what you remember.

I need to visit before everything actually does change. Because when intimacy and knowledge have been hard fought to win, their loss feels that much greater.

Wo Gaosu Ni Zhenme Zuo

2008-11-27T09:14:00.005-05:00

Restlessness hit hard again. I have associated the holidays with passport necessary trips for some time now. Just doesn't seem right when "going home" involves only Metro North.

Since PC and I have gotten back in touch, we've exchanged the kind of long rambling emails necessary to catch up on a couple of years of lost contact.

He asked about my life, and in my reply, I asked if it were possible to still feel like an expat, even when back in the country and city of one's childhood.

The cliche will tell us that "you can never go home again," but my objective isn't to indulge in a navel gazing retrospective about nostalgia and growing apart.

Because the reality is, I DO feel like I am home. And that is the problem. I don't feel like an expat anymore.

There are myriad triumphant moments as an expat. As an expat, even something as simple as successfully taking a taxi, or bargaining at a local market, or asking for directions can result in such a high. And as the conversations and interactions become more complex, the feeling of triumph becomes that much greater.

And it's rare that I congratulate myself after getting out of a taxi in NYC.

Although, now that I think about it... perhaps I SHOULD meet Grabby Cabby Guy for a drink. Getting out of THAT taxi would certainly be cause for celebration.

"Vacation, All I Ever Wanted..."

2008-11-26T12:42:00.004-05:00

The holidays are a crazy time in the world of salons and spas and exclusive boutiques. But I'm in the mood for a vacation. I doubt I'll be able to carve out time for one, but a girl can dream, yes?

Because I need some quiet time. Just me.

I broke the dam, so to speak, on vacationing alone several years ago. And to be sure, going on holiday with someone whose company you enjoy is a unique pleasure. But holiday-compatibility is a difficult thing to find.

I spent YEARS vacationing according to someone else's preferences. I didn't regret it then and I don't regret it now. The trips were always fabulous, I always enjoyed myself. There's no "woe is me" driving this post. I always had the option to state my preferences but at the end of the day, I'm easy. Fun can always be had, no matter the place, the venue, the activity. And there can be pleasure in compromise, because it's the shared experience that matters most in that context.

But what a different thing it was to plan everything myself without having to consult another's preferences.

I've never believed it was important to share hobbies with friends or lovers. Mostly because my hobbies don't really lend themselves to being shared: yoga, horseback riding, reading, playing my piano. But holidays are different.

And sometimes it's the most important thing in the world to give yourself permission to be selfish, from time to time.

Me and WC

2008-11-22T09:16:00.009-05:00

I've identified my limit: 40 hours without sleep. And then what happens? I hit The Wall.

Actually, it's more of a line which I cross to enter into "not fit for human company" land.

But the worst thing is, even after 40 hours of exhaustion, I slept 4 hours, and then I was done. Not refreshed, not well rested, just... awake.

So I did some work and decided to see what was on TV at 9AM on a Saturday morning. The answer? Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion.

WC and I saw this together and we giggled and howled our way through it.

We were never THAT stupid, but to be honest, we weren't that far off. But that hardly matters. It's the commonality of the experiences that matters.

I think I'll call her now and tell her it's on TV.