blaugra

chasing waterfalls

Here I am, under the Manhattan Bridge, contemplating one of Olafur Eliasson's waterfalls on the East River.

Kristin and I visited Brooklyn almost a month ago (already!?) and I keep thinking about the waterfalls and the purpose of public art, and how art stimulates commerce, and vice-versa, and how I felt when I saw the waterfalls.

While I continue to gather some cohesive thoughts about this, here's a youtuber's experience that will put you right on the river for a minute - listen to the dialogue.

"Holla at your boy"

It's worth tuning in to Runway this season just to hear Tim Gunn say that.

Meanwhile, look at this dress:

Any college student will recognize the "textile" as Solo plastic cups.  This was my favorite creation by a cute boy named Daniel, because apparently I like all Daniels.

Watching the throwdown during the final minutes of the first episode, between the winner and Daniel, I was quietly waiting and holding my breath, while D. yelled, "CUP DRESS!  CUP DRESS!  Come on, cup dress!" 

When the coffee-filter and vacuum-bag dress won, he said, "Lame." 

It wasn't lame at all, I just didn't think it was flattering to the bust.  At least Daniel molded the cups to the feminine figure.  Both Kenley and Korto turned it out better than the winning chick.

My favorite designers:  Daniel, Kenley, Korto. 

The most annoying: Orangina (Blaine)

The funniest broad: Stellaaaaaaaaah (blend your makeup honey, please)

the hotness

I know you look to me to bring the heat.  So, here's what I'm loving this week, in our post-Dalai Lama-local-scene: 

For my ever-lengthening tresses:  Ojon  "from the remote tropical rainforest..." yeah, whatever. My stylist Jewel-Lee recommended this cream, which is the shit but smells great, and I also found this dry cleanser spray stuff, perfect for me.  You definitely need a lot of fresh air around you when you spray it, but it helps you skip a day or two of washing, without looking like you've dumped baby powder on your scalp (yes, I have.)

For my Flintstone feet - Miracle Foot Repair Cream.  Just as I saw it on TV.  And now, just like on the packaging, I have a daisy growing between my toes.  I'm not being compensated for my endorsement.  Would be nice, though.

For my butt:  Kristin gave me a pair of turquoise undies as a goof, they have the logo for "America's Next Top Model" on the ass.  They're a size XL.  The irony is not lost on me. (actually is that irony?  Dear Alanis, is it ironic...?) I love them.

For my boca: 

I have convinced myself that eating these chips is the equivalent of eating salmon.  Tastier, too!

Also, BLUEBERRIES.  Can't stop eating them.  Good thing there's a Blueberry Festival this weekend.

For my hands:  A new-to-me source of writer's cramp,   Yelp!  Thanks, Tim!

For inspiration:  The roller derby has balls. It was totally nostalgic and fun.  I have to get non-smashable glasses and then I'm all over that.

For my brain: really, I mean that -  Project Runway NEW SEASON STARTS TONITE!! 

Salty D., I have reserved the remote!

Nerve-ana

The day with the cleaning service has arrived, and I'm a nervous ... oh, I was going to say the usual "nervous wreck" but that's really getting old.  I'm not a wreck. 

I stayed up half the night, cleaning in preparation for the cleaning service. 

Not cleaningcleaning, just removing all the crap from surfaces so that the cleaner can actually clean. 

The other half of the night I spent in bed fantasizing:

First, I'm gonna pile up aalllll our junk. Then I'll call that crap hauling company with the big truck that shows up and takes anything and everything away for you.  And that truck is backing into my driveway, and two big strapping guys - wearing HOT back support belts!  yes!! - are coming to my door...and then they take away that random ice machine in the basement, the one that doesn't work but is too heavy for us to get rid of ourselves.  The old bathroom sink from 1952 that we're never going to install anywhere else! Enough office clutter recycling to pile on a pallet.  Wedding gifts of things we've never used from people we never see!  In my fantasy, there's no guilt!!  Ooooh! - our notebooks from college, just the few that we each kept.  Why did we keep those?  To prove we went to college and had that class in abnormal psychology?  When the fuck did we ever consult those notes that we wrote when we were 19 years old?  Oh, this is gettin' good!!!  Take it away, boys!

And this is how my sick mind spent the rest of the sleep time.

Now I have to let this stranger in my home and introduce her to all of our little dust rhinos and carpet tumbleweeds.

Update, dateline July 16 - Holy shit. I never thought my house could look like it does.  She even left chocolates on our pillows. I'm so happy.

good karma (i hope)

According to The Great Treatise on the Stages of the Path to Enlightenment, of which I know nothing except there's a great flow-chart visual aid about it, I am a person of small capacity. 

Therefore, I think this is really AWESOME.  A business community boosted by surge in Buddhism.  It is not totally crass commercialism, for that, you can walk the perimeter of Vatican City and see nothing but tschake shops peddling plastic St. Peters.  This is engaging new people and providing otherwise sleepy summer businesses with some economic stimulation. And while I was hating on the general public yesterday, as individuals in small doses we're pretty OK.

A monk walks into a coffeeshop...

...and even though the shop is closed for the day, we serve him some tea.

Then another monk comes by and says he needs to make some copies.  THIS IS NOT A JOKE. I know you think it is.

Because this university town doesn't have a copy place (I know, WTF) we call this guy we know at an ad agency a couple blocks away and take the monks there.  As we're walking, we're walking, people are cheering the monk.  "Namaste!"  "God Bless You!"  "Yeah!"   And he's super nice.    

Oh, and the monks thought the "Dalai Latte" was way funny.  So anyone who thinks they'd be offended, lighten up!

on the DL

At the Dalai Lama's lecture this morning, I had so many monkeys in my mind I could barely focus.  I'm not attempting to be Buddhist or even enlightened but was curious about seeing the spiritual leader of Buddhism so I can round out my religious education a little.  I've seen the head of the Catholic church, Il Papa, zooming through the piazza at the Vatican in his popemobile.  And for Judaism, well, I have my mother-in-law.

I'll talk about emptiness and happiness another time.  This is what was really going on in my mind:

9:30 am :  HOLY shit, that's the freakin' Dalai Lama.  Where's Adam Yauch?  I bet he's here somewhere. I can't believe I'm checkin' out the Dalai in the same arena where I had front row seats for Adam Ant. 

9:37 am :  Wow, this chanting bit is going on too long.

9:42 am : Chanting is done.  HHTDL said to the chanters, "Thank you. A bit long." Hey, he's funny!

9:56 am:  Oh piss it, he's speaking in Chinese.  Wait, an interpreter.  Can't hear interpreter.  OK that's better.  Even spiritual leader types have technical difficulties.

10:05 am:  What's with all these people arriving late?

10:06 am:  What's with all these people getting up and leaving?

10:07 am:  Why would you wear high heeled white mules to see the Dalai?  OK, focus.  Karma, wisdom, suffering.  OK. Let me write those words down...

10:08 am: Wow, all those monks in saffron colors are so pretty.  Those would be great colors for a dining room.

10:25 am:  Why can't people sit still?  Seriously. Why did you come if you were just going to get up to go get coffee, sit down, then get up again to go to the bathroom.  OK, focus.  COMPASSION.  Write it down. 

10:30 am:  These bleachers are cold and my sit-bones hurt.  My yoga teacher said that, "sit bones," I love that.  Maybe I should go back to yoga.

10:34 am:  I smell B.O. wafting up from smelly hippies, and the guy behind me is eating something crunchy out of a crinkly bag, and the freakin' Dalai Lama is speaking.  Didn't he have breakfast?  Geez! Has he no respect?  Seriously.  Am I taking this too seriously?

10:45 am:  HHTDL makes jokes.  This guy's hilarious.  But could he tell me to calm down?  Could he just say into the mic, "Laura, be calm?"

11:00 am:  Why do people have to wear clothes that jingle-jangle with every movement?   Plus, I'm hungry.  But I had breakfast.  Gum, where is my gum?

11:03 am:  Where is everyone going?  Arrive late, leave early?  What the hell are you all doing here if you're not going to listen?  Settle down people!   OMG I'm SO irritated!!!   Laura, settle yourself!

11:10 am:   I really feel like this treatise thing is really repetitive.  Oh, look, a girl wearing a Burberry schmata!

11:13 am:  I think one of the monks on stage is asleep. That's funny.   Wait, what was that he just said about "contaminated karma?"  Fuck. I have to get out of here. STOP CRINKLING YOUR SNACKS.  A girl just fell off her flip-flops on the stairs and sprained her ankle.  Serves you right for leaving early.  OOOH that was NOT compassionate!

11:20 am:  I really really have to get out of here.  I hate everyone and my ass hurts.

11:27 am:  Dalai's funny.  He just finished up a bit about afflictions and then he said, "OK.  Break!"

Now we're on lunch break.  THANK GOD. I can't eat lunch here.  It looks crappy and there are waaaaaay too many lines.  I have to get out of here, I can't breathe.  I can't breathe  - I CAN'T BREATHE!

I left my friend with another friend (so I didn't just bail on her) and drove away to the familiar, where I could be alone and with some iced coffee and sushi and I contemplated a cookie in the shape of a flower with orange sprinkles on it.  Next time I go to see a big spiritual honcho, remind me to pack my klonipin.

magazine addict in recovery

I used to be able to keep up with all magazines, from Cigar Aficianado to Women & Guns to Heeb to Easy Rider to Organic Gardening to Cat Fancy.

Queue up images of affluent armed Jewish women chomping on stogies while riding with their organically pampered cat.  Now I'm totally out of touch with the publishing world. 

Or so I thought.  Check out this "Test Your Typographic Awareness" and see if you can beat my score. 

(I'm a B-student through and through.) 

While you're at it, tell me about some of your favorite mags.

I still love flipping through the portable pages of the magazine, glossy ads and all.  But I've been rather simple-minded of late and have a very limited list of favorites now:

• New York (but sometimes the articles drag too long - EDIT PLEASE)
• Real Simple (a gift from a friend who wants me to simplify)
• OK! (someone has to pay the paparazzi's salaries)
• InStyle (when I really want to feel inferior in every way)

ducking balls

I just went to my first AAA-minor-league baseball game at a shiny new stadium and I am SO pumped!

Salty D. was invited to a Porch Party by one of his vendors, so we were guests at a free all-you-can-drink-and-eat shindig with lots of amusing local color.

Every move of the game is sponsored!  It was practically, like, "Up now, Toecheese Johnson, and his bat is sponsored by Sigmund's Sausage Emporium!  For the best sausage selection, see Sig!" 

Foul balls flying everywhere!  Peanut butter Monday!  Fireworks flying out of a Coke bottle!  The GUT CAM! 

I turned into Lil' Jon.  "Whaaaaat!?!"   "Aw YEEEEAAAH!!"

And then, just before the 7th inning stretch I heard the announcer say, "Blah blah blah blah the winner of a random drawing blah blahblah, congratulations, Laura        !!!" 

It was me!  Me!  "Whaaaaat!?!" 

Did I win something?  What did I win?  A FREE HOUSE CLEANING!!!  "Aw YEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"   I screamed and threw my hands in the air, waving them...

Meanwhile, Salty D. was in the loo so he missed the whole thing.  He came back and I said, "I WON I WON I WON!"  And he was more excited than I was about a free house cleaning.   

So I skipped off to see The Fairy Angel of House Cleaning and claim the precious gift.  She said, "When do you want us to clean your house?"  I was beside myself.  How about next week?   Then when I told wife-of-Dejalurker, she said that we should have an insane party beforehand to make the cleaning really worthwhile.

And then this home team with the 37-55 inaugural season actually won, despite some crap pitching by the major league d-bag with the giant eyebrows.  Then again, I'm a r**tard, I don't know shit 'bout baseball.   

"love fest"

Salty D. hadn't been to the doctor at all in at least a decade.  He finally decided to see a doctor who found his blood pressure to be as high as Cheech & Chong in that cheeba-smoking van.  I believe the nurse's words were, "Wow. I'm surprised you're not stroking out right now!"

Like any man, he told me the news in a very level-headed, practical manner: "I'm dying!!!  I hope you'll remember me fondly..."

My father-in-law, Big Salty, called and yelled in my ear, "THIS IS SERIOUS SHIT. I want you to NAG him like he's never been nagged before, he has to follow all the doctor's orders!"  I said, I could do that.  "I have faith in you." he said.

On the calendar I indicated Salty D's upcoming heart test with the abbreviated drawing-of-the-heart-with-sloppy-printing: <3 test

D. saw it and said, "What's going on this week, a love fest?"  no, your heart test.  "Oh. Your penmanship is bad."  Yeah, a love fest would be better.

He takes his pills each morning and sighs, "Time to take the death drugs.  I hope they work."

Oy vey. God give me strength.