Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Brofessional Bromanship

Work is nuts. Writing is nuts. Nuts 4 nuts! (Those are the candied nuts they sell in Times Square. Has anyone who isn't wearing a fanny pack ever bought these? Like you're walking and it hits could really, really go for some sweet crusty nuts on a hot summer's day? Note: fanny pack are back and I will be wearing on in Central America--preferably gold and neon and yes, it will be filled with hot, hot, crustnuts.)

That's why my post has devolved into this: A recap of the signatures that have gone on recently in a string of emails, which I can not keep up with:

Let's hang out, signed, Brosefista.

Okay, signed, Broseiden, God of the Brocean.

How's Sunday, Brobama, long lost bro of presumptive Democratic nominee

Sounds good, Bromo Sapien, first bro to walk upright and have bropposable thumbs.

Nice brethrenology. I'll think of a place, Brophius, Matrix star.

Yours is better, Macbook Bro, the tool for the brofessional.

Yes, I still think this is funny. Help me win and post your most hilarious "bro"!

Thursday, April 24, 2008

The Amazing Technicolor Toilet

If I told you that six years ago when I visited Japan, and spent some time prancing around in seizure-inducing flash-bulbs, buying insane clothes that said things in silver-spatter English like "Peace Love For Remind" and that the toilets, oh the toilets had lights, choreographed shooting sprays and played music, would you have believed me?

Well now there's something to prove this jewel of the East*: this fabulosity.

*Korean in this case.

**PS. And boys, stop telling girls bidets are just for women washing their thingies, by the way. That's not even the primary purpose, I've been told! It's for, you know, the *chocolate star*. That's right. Yours. It needs washing. Oh, like you can come up with a better name for it!

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Spring Anthem

Dear K,

We're moving away from winter white. But not Fleet Foxes Winter White Hymnal.

You're welcome,
The Spring Anthem Committee

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Some Day...

There will be a debate about whether I am hot or not, and not whether my yet-to-be-finished novel is...

Monday, April 21, 2008

Brush with the best

A brush with greatness at Daniel, the venerable Upper East Side institution marked by ostentatious floral arrangements, a fleet of servers, and, in my opinion, the best food (Daniel Boulud is a living legend) in all of my life.

Prix fixe, a few drinks and tip nets out at $360—that’s still-beating beef cheek terrine, to-die-for amuse bouche (asparagus cream, a bright clean scoop of lobster, parmesan crisps), succulent roasted squab, black truffle reduction, crispy rosemary, duo of quail, the little legs in the crispiest, cutest little interpretation of fried chicken, a warm chocolate soufflé, brownie, goat cheese ice cream and mango, warm, tableside Madelines dusted with confectioner’s sugar. Chamomile tea and coffee, and, in the warm glow of the elite, Clive Owen, without his wife, intently staring at my dinner companion (a boy) and then later me, far too long, mesmerizing us both.

It was the only time this year I’ve worn tinted lip-stain and had a manicure and even though we were out-aged, between us, by at least ten years, and walked off our meal in our dress shoes, and danced ironically in the beat-up bar next to my apartment clasping warm beers, it was an adult evening, and it was beautiful.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Quote of the Day

“Your heart is my piñata.”

-Chuck Palahniuk

Wednesday, April 16, 2008


This is the true story of one apartment fight...

In one corner, a super light sleeper, in the other, one that makes a cling-clang-clong sounding breakfast before the super light sleeper wants to wake up.

In one corner, thin walls, in another, a too-loud boyfriend who really wants to share a song he just got on his ipod.

In one corner, an early meeting, in the other, a late-night work dinner.

No one in our apartment can sleep.

No one can live their lives normally by eating or coming and going when they want.

Showdown to unfold tonight, with me and one roommate in the middle, and two others at opposing ends. Emails have been flying back and forth. Is it entirely selfish to be so grateful that no one seems to be mad at me, despite the fact that I am the loudest person on the planet? Score!

Will let you know how it all nets out. I hope—noise machines! I’ve always wanted one. Thought I have hilariously unfounded fears of turning it on “Spring Rain” and waking up having wet the bed…

Monday, April 14, 2008

Friend, Has it Been Five Years?

I should have felt weird, entirely weird, about descending upon my green velvet alma mater this weekend, with the rest of the oldies, for our five year reunion. But I didn’t. I’m just that immature and wistful.


The Beirut tourney in which I had to drink all of the cups, and I mean all of them, since my partner has sworn off drinking. That made for a lovely four PM, let me tell you.

Walking through the new buildings, scaring the studying kids in the airy new atrium by shout-whispering “When I was your age, Pluto was a planet.” And “This is your future. Look at it! Looook at iiiit! That’s right. You too can grow up to be a jerk. Stop crying, crybaby!”

Shrimp, grits, and vodka sweet tea, but mostly, the waiter who served them, the Chapel Hill hipster with a huge tattoo of North Carolina on his forearm with a big heart in the middle. Cool now, weird in three years.

Finally being told that the saying is “Never the twain shall meet.” Not, as previously thought and spoken, “Never the ‘tween shall meet.”

Having the reaction to, “I write for some magazines”, which, while no one could care less about in New York, is astonishing and creative in a sea of real estate developers and law school students and elicits beaming smiles, sincere follow-ups and gazing off into the tobacco factories with, “I wish I could do that.”

Cantina. Even if it took two hours both nights.

The string orchestra in the gardens and all that champagne.

The marble port-a-pottys and their brass fixtures.

Laughing hysterically about 60% of the time, seeing the new crop build a slip-and-slide party, drinking in the tents.

Lemur tour and the friend I made on it, who, now that I mention it, looked like a lemur and proceeded to follow me around the rest of the day as if I had lemur food in my pocket.

Rebuffing a former lacrosse player’s advances with, “Too soon,” and a college senior’s advances with, “Too old.”

Lowlights: The following conversation: “Are you still dating REDACTED? No?” (Pause). “That’s too bad. REDACTED was so awesome! Wow. Remember how awesome REDACTED was? Man, just the coolest kid. So awesome. Wait, so why aren’t you dating why aren’t you dating REDACTED?”

That second bowl of queso spicy goodness/badness, the legendary fake cheese that the Mexican place on campus serves, which changes its taste and consistency with each passing hour. Sometimes it’s really thin, sometime there’s skin, and all times it’s dotted with red flecks, not of this world I assure you, to indicate that it’s “caliente”. Note, if you ever find yourself in the divine situation of eating this earthly manifestation of heaven and hell, consider walking the 100 yards to McDonald’s to procure fries to then place into the shallow bowl of queso and then let soak for four minutes before eating with a fork. Vomit, then repeat.

Good ole Durham sun, and the sweet, sweet mom burn I got on my chest.

Eight hours of sleep in two days and coming back to the cold, to a pile of edits and a little bit of a heavier step…

I don’t care how stupid and dorky it makes me, I loved college
and I am glad for every minute of it…

Thursday, April 10, 2008

!!! (Chk Chk Chk)

Since interviewing one of these guys, I cannot stop watching this video. I kind of love it.

Something to think about...

"It's possible to think of culture as art, literature and music - it's more realistic to think of culture as the commercial messages that surround us. It's more accurate to think of culture as the machinery hidden behind the gleaming facade of commerce. It's more honest to think of culture as the process that makes you desire things. The culture industry is, simply put, every commercial message you've ever received, whether it's an ad, an alligator on a polo shirt or a signature on a pair of jeans. And until you recognize its symptoms - such as people buying a t-shirt with a logo on it, effectively paying to become an advertisement - you can't get out of it."

Scott Pucket, "How Much Did You Pay For Your Identity?: The Big Business of Selling Individuality to Kids."

I'm very thoughtful today. Though this article asserts something about one of my employers that I don't think is entirely true, the rest is pretty interesting...

Borrowed inspiration...

"I suppose at one time in my life I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell."

-The Secret History, my favorite book since seventh grade, which I am browsing today to get inspiration to finish my own...

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Ganked Hilarity

These guys rant better than I do.

On hipsters.

On Diet Dr. Pepper.

And my personal favorite, marathons.

Just kidding, that was a link back to my favorite unbelievable story of yesterday. Here's the real marathons.

Monday, April 07, 2008

Quote of the Day

It's a sin to be tired.

-Kate Moss

(And upon my utterance of this exact phrase to my co-workers, to explain why I had stayed out after our party until 3:30 on a Thursday night, having my first Pop Burger and being told of the legend of their seventies porn, Friday when I ventured out into no-man's land, okay, Jersey, to see my friend, Saturday night when I did the gruntwork for a restaurant review and then went to an oddly fun Gatsby-themed party in the nether-reaches of Manhattan and Sunday when I stared at a wall instead of sleeping--they both said, in some form of unison--"Of course she said that, she had a line of coke to keep her awake," Can't we all just enjoy a quote for once? How about, instead, I'll sleep when I'm dead. Or, as it seems when I try to write my novel, I'll write when I'm dead...)

Also, this...

Thursday, April 03, 2008

You call this a job?

I'm loving my work these days (sigh, of course, it's temporary). But, I just had cause to crack open a copy of "The Dictionary of American Slang". Hilarity ensues. How could it not, when, on the cover of said book it states "Everything from 'awesome' to 'zorch'!" Note to self: start using "zorch". As much as possible.

So I just opened the book randomly, and here is a random sampling of what I saw:

FUCK LIKE A MINK: v phr 1930, To copulate regularly and vigorously. SAID ONLY OF WOMEN.

FUCK YOU: interj by 1940s. An exclamation of very strong defiance and contempt: Fuck you, friend, if that's your attitude.

Also included: herky-jerky, fudge one's pants, hell-for-leather, in the dumper, meat rack, potzer, pardon me for living, patootie, and boozery.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Calling all Gluttons!

I just got my first assignment to review a restaurant for an illustrious magazine (have been eating my way through the magazine world for a bit already, but never an actual, bonafide review of a place, paid for and all)!

First thought--woo hoo!

Second thought--gulp.

What do you like to read about restaurants and meals? What are your favorite places to read them?

I want to make it snappy, exciting, interesting, mouth-watering. But most of all, a little different. Of course my style is an unending, mildly poetic longing in everything...can I do that or is it just going to be obnoxious? Or is, for lack of a better phrase, food porn best when we extend it out and infuse it into the entire dining experience?

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

I haven't...

I haven’t:

Done my taxes, made my bed, planned my outfit for this evening’s dinner, tomorrow’s heavily photographed party

Written back more than one editor about more than one freelance position

Organized all my trip photos, called back my aunt, worked out since Saturday

Mapped out my calendar, bought groceries in a week, thrown out that magazine I’m not going to read, folded my socks

Finished the presentation, explained the article, brainstormed the novel

Planned those drinks, polished that table, bought that prescription plan, painted those toenails

Bought new music, caught up on shows, framed my drawings, made plans that don’t involve obligation for the next month…

I have:

Just ordered one small salad and one big cookie, one life to live and peace of mind…