Extremely Perishable

Remembering Frenemies

2007-10-12T23:36:00.001-04:00

Oh, I've had more than a few.

Bitches, bisexuals, boys who can't take a hint.

Some days I'd rather forget. But the memories, I guess, are what make us human.

New York Social

2007-10-01T23:32:00.000-04:00

I want to find new hangouts. I'm so sick of going to the same 2 or 3 bars, over and over and over. I need variety. My girlfriends, evidently, do not.

First of all, how in the hell am I supposed to meet people worth my time at these fratboy/sleazeball hole-in-the-wall dives that I go to?

Secondly, how in the hell can I escape these fratboys and sleazeballs who try to pick me up (by talking drunken gibberish and breathing their last meals in my face) if I show up at the place they call their home-away-from-beer-can-infested-home every single weekend? Stupid, isn't it?

This is not copasetic.

I need dudes who got game ... and hygiene. And I need to relax and party someplace where the barstool doesn't stick to my jeans, the pool table isn't soiled and the playlist doesn't loop back after 20 minutes. I mean, damn! I heard that Mika joint 4 times already! Let it go!

So please, good people of New York City, where oh where is there a good night out? And don't say China Club or Marquee or Webster Hall. I don't get down like that. Anywhere that has seen 10 or more of Lindsay Lohan's East Coast coke-fueled night-rampages is off limits and anywhere that is 1% NY, 1% L.I. (you qualify as a separate world) and 98% Jersey, well ... you know what I'ma say. (It starts with "hell.") I'm even game for Brooklyn.

Yes. The center of the hipster universe.

Give me something different, unique, underground, gritty, delicious, weird or wonderful. Just give me anything but your average pub in the E.V. or mega club in Chelsea. How hard could it be in this city ... honestly?

Help a girl out.

Love-sick Stalker

2007-09-24T01:23:00.000-04:00

Someone I know used to abuse the ill-gotten knowledge that I was totally (and, in hindsight, inexplicably) head-over-heels infatuated with him. He did this for months.

I've never felt smaller, younger, more exposed than I did when I was in the same room as him, trying not to breathe for fear of giving myself away -- though I came to the realization that he, in fact, already knew my secret. He ended up milking the situation -- not for all it was worth -- but enough to make me feel like a total fool. It was like he could strip me bare with just a word or a look. Every time. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

That's when it started to turn. He wasn't trying to, but he gave me a reason to fall out of love. And, since then, all his little ploys for attention and admiration seem pathetic and cheap.

Too little too late.

It's funny because he'll never understand how I felt. It used to hurt so much. It used to be torture. To be near him and not be able to be WITH him was the most exquisite pain I had ever experienced. For such a long time, I thrived on being on the wrong end of unrequited love. I tried to move on by staying far away from him but, in the end, I'd always punish myself by showing up at the places where I knew he'd be. And I would beat myself up about it because, not only had I been reduced to a love-sick stalker, but the object of my stalkerish ways was covertly mocking me and, less than covertly, rejecting my sorry ass.

The pain is gone now.

His tactlessness, his lack of maturity and kindness ... they killed the feelings I once had for him. But now he senses the difference. He senses that I'm over him and now he's trying to find ways to push me back under.

He touches me too much now, makes inferences and then takes them back. I can see him testing the waters, wondering if he can stir up those old feelings.

I wonder if he can sense just how disgusted I am by it. Does he see that I wipe off the kiss on my cheek?

Funny how he kissed no one else.

You had your chance, man. I'm wise enough not to worship you anymore. Fuck the hell off.

Mama's the Gun

2007-09-16T01:05:00.000-04:00

Been a while. Been fighting with the woman who gave birth to me. But, like I told her when I was 10, I never asked to be born, so why does she hold it against me?

Truth in Scar Tissue

2007-06-28T02:34:00.000-04:00

I used to think, if I ever have a kid ... I want a boy.

Did I see it as a chance to tip the scale back? Build a man up instead of watching him get torn down? Is it because I hate myself -- the fact that I'm female? Is it because I always wanted something from men that I could never get? And when they gave it ... it was unwanted ... and wrong.

I know I'm fucked up. I don't know why I've gone in this direction. If someone else had been rejected and abused and had her heart removed by the men in her life, maybe she'd come out of it, salvage herself, regrow what disappeared. But I can't. Most of the time I feel like a fake -- like I'm walking around pretending not to be broken when the truth is I'm so messed up, it's almost the only thing that keeps me alive.

So maybe it is to build a man up ... so that he won't tear a woman down someday. A peace offering to the male god who would hate to see me happy. Wish I could kiss some of them into the grave. And I know that's unhealthy.

Oh, come on. I'm just being dramatic. It's 4 in the morning.

But it's scary how good I am at it, right?

The Relapse: Gyllenhaalic

2007-04-22T19:47:00.000-04:00

It was my mother who saw him. My mother doesn't even know his name. My mother only recognized him because she had seen his face on the cover of US Weekly, next to Reese Witherspoon. My mother thought his name was Lyndonhaal.

HER: "That was Lyndonhaal. We just passed him."

We were on the upper-eastside.

ME: "Who's that? I don't know who that is."

HER: "Yes you do, you do ... Lyndonhaal. Lyndonhaal! You know!"

ME: "What?!"

HER: "You know, dating Reese Witherspoon."

I stop dead in my tracks.

ME: "Gyllenhaal?! You saw JAKE GYLLENHAAL!"

HER: "Yeah. Him."

She said that last line with such calm and reserve.

Of course, by the time we had pinned down exactly who it was that she had seen and that it was NOT in fact somebody named Lyndon Hall and rather one of my favorite whiteboys of all time, Jake Hotness Gyllenhaal, the dude was long gone up Lexington Avenue.

But at least I know he's back in New York.

Back Like E. V. E., Radar and Herpes

2007-04-10T00:43:00.000-04:00

Now that the readership of this blog has hopefully dwindled down to 1 from its maximum of 3, I might actually start posting again.

Although my posts about masturbation and love triangles might have to disappear for good like the Titanic, my virginity and acid-wash jeans.

Hiatus

2006-05-21T23:52:00.000-04:00

Extremely Perishable is going on hiatus for an indefinite period of time. Peace.

Vodka in my Veins

2006-05-09T18:42:00.000-04:00

Last night I had alcohol for the first time in 6 weeks. Naturally it didn't go well. I went to the Tribeca wrap party at Aer, met up with a few friends and danced until closing. Then I headed over to a bar in the Village and continued my fun binge until it became clear that if I had one more drink, I'd be sleeping on the bar room floor.

Needless to say, I woke up this morning feeling BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAHG.

I've spent the entire day trying to move veeeery sloooowly. Wonderful.

The Joke that Won't Die

2006-05-08T00:41:00.000-04:00

Petty Little Man

2006-05-07T11:13:00.000-04:00

Things are winding down ... finally. I find myself on the precipice of one of the most pivotal summers of my life. Will I languish for three months like last summer or will I hustle and do what I need to do?

Having said that, my efforts at hustling turned into a nightmare last semester, when I ended up interning for one of the most inappropriate, petty, unprofessional men in Manhattan. I worked in this guy's office for three months, trying desperately to meet unrealistic demands and stay in tune with a 'statement of purpose' that changed daily. I was alerted, this week, to the fact that I had supposedly contributed nothing to his project and, as a result, he would feel "uncomfortable" giving me a reference. I didn't mind so much about his decision -- that was his prerogative. I just hate the fact that his explanation was chock full of lies.

If I ever see that man again, it will take all my power to stop myself from ripping him a new one.

Chris Evans is a NYC Virgin

2006-04-25T18:58:00.000-04:00

In New York, celebrities come out in the sun. And they always flock to the same 3 places: SoHo, MPD and the West Village. If you see one anywhere else, they're either doing TRL, a movie premiere/shoot, Heath Ledger (a la Michelle W.) or lunch at the De Niro apartment. This is a rule, not an opinion.

Today I saw rookie celeb Chris Evans strolling up West Broadway. Chris Evans = the cocky fireball, Johnny Storm, in Fantastic Four. (B minus celeb, max.) I was sitting on a storefront stoop talking to one of the Ithaca kids on my cell phone and I see him strolling along in the typical Soho uniform: dark sunglasses, air of entitlement. Okay, I apologize; he wasn't strolling so much as strutting. And it was the type of strut that couldn't be natural. It was a little too slow and reminded me of when white kids try to imitate hip-hoppers.

This is an obvious sign that Evans is a novice when it comes to being a manhattan scenester. Maybe that's the way they do it in LA, but, in New York, we do naturalism ... or, at least, we fake it. Celebrities in New York generally move around in public as if they are "normal." They draw attention to themselves only in NOT drawing attention to themselves, and New Yorkers generally leave them alone. I could see the comic book think bubble coming out of Chris's head. It said, "LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!"

I smiled at him and he didn't smile back. That was the only New York thing about him.

4,636 Plus One

2006-04-23T13:15:00.000-04:00

Every gay man in Manhattan was at Marc Jacobs, yesterday. There was a denim sale -- 60% off all jeans and jackets. As you can imagine, things got a little nasty: "A Marc by Marc pant leg poked my eye out!"

Anyway ... I was across the street getting doped up on cupcakes. I have to line my frame with enough fat to get me through the winter. And, by "winter," I mean "finals." And, by "finals," I obviously mean "the worst week of my collegiate life."

In other news -- I found myself missing my brother this weekend. Usually I try to forget he exists because it's easier, that way, to deal with the fact that he has forgotten that I exist. But it wasn't happening yesterday. I called him and had a one-sided conversation with him. Halfway through, he gets up to answer the door at his apartment and I hear people come in, I hear talking, laughter ... Cutting to the chase: he never came back to pick up the phone. He left me waiting on the other end of the line; all I could do was hang up.

This is now the 4,637th time that he has made me feel like a chump.

Many more to come, I'm sure.

Jake Attack!

2006-04-20T17:54:00.000-04:00

Jake is back in town! I am fully aware that my obsession with him is reaching epic and ridiculous proportions, but fear not -- I limit it to the internet.

(Although, if I knew where he lived ...)

P.S.
I have always been a big supporter of facial hair but there are times when enough is enough. I'm not down with handle bars or the woodsman look. No Santa Claus. Let that be a lesson to you, J.

Abort the Babies, Ladies

2006-04-20T00:04:00.000-04:00

"Why?," I ask myself. "Why do girls do this?" And I'm talking about the baby-voice thing. That thing, that a person I live with does all the time, that makes me want to vomit. That thing that many a fine man has been subjected to by a girlfriend who doesn't know any better--by an asshole who embarrasses all real women.

To me this is one of the most disgusting ways imaginable of endearing yourself to someone--a boyfriend, anyone. It involves mimicking the vocal quality of a mewling four year-old girl. It conjures up images of diapers and drool and sticky fingers--all the nastiness of infancy. And when a 20 year-old person (or older) drops into the baby-talk, it also conjures up images of mental asylums, old folks homes and mental retardation facilities, where there are actually a lot of older people who can't wipe their own asses or feed themselves, whose minds have either degenerated into nothingness or never developed properly in the first place. Only there would you find a 20 year-old who has an honest excuse for the inability to speak like he or she passed first grade.

Essentially, when I hear the baby-voice, many negative references are rolled into one. The high-pitched, nasal, whining sound only makes matters worse ... That sound, and the possibility that the boyfriend, who's on the receiving end of all this, might be getting off on it, is highly disturbing.

The grossness is truly endless.

Why do girls do it? Who teaches them? Every time I hear a girl--a WOMAN--squealing like an infant, I have to grit my teeth and stifle the pain. I honestly don't understand why people think it's cute to start talking like a little kid. It's not sexy. It's not empowering. It's NOT cute. It makes you look like a fool and if I was your man, I know I'd be running for the hills.

Love and Basket Cases

2006-04-08T14:05:00.000-04:00

Best New Show:

VH1's Can't Get a Date - HERE

AND ...

Here, JK Rowling sounds off on the stick people:

Being thin. Probably not a subject that you ever expected to read about on this website, but my recent trip to London got me thinking...

It started in the car on the way to Leavesden film studios. I whiled away part of the journey reading a magazine that featured several glossy photographs of a very young woman who is either seriously ill or suffering from an eating disorder (which is, of course, the same thing); anyway, there is no other explanation for the shape of her body. She can talk about eating absolutely loads, being terribly busy and having the world's fastest metabolism until her tongue drops off (hooray! Another couple of ounces gone!), but her concave stomach, protruding ribs and stick-like arms tell a different story. This girl needs help, but, the world being what it is, they're sticking her on magazine covers instead. All this passed through my mind as I read the interview, then I threw the horrible thing aside.

But blow me down if the subject of girls and thinness didn't crop up shortly after I got out of the car. I was talking to one of the actors and, somehow or other, we got onto the subject of a girl he knows (not any of the Potter actresses – somebody from his life beyond the films) who had been dubbed 'fat' by certain charming classmates. (Could they possibly be jealous that she knows the boy in question? Surely not!)

'But,' said the actor, in honest perplexity, 'she is really not fat.'

'"Fat" is usually the first insult a girl throws at another girl when she wants to hurt her,' I said; I could remember it happening when I was at school, and witnessing it among the teenagers I used to teach. Nevertheless, I could see that to him, a well-adjusted male, it was utterly bizarre behaviour, like yelling 'thicko!' at Stephen Hawking.

His bemusement at this everyday feature of female existence reminded me how strange and sick the 'fat' insult is. I mean, is 'fat' really the worst thing a human being can be? Is 'fat' worse than 'vindictive', 'jealous', 'shallow', 'vain', 'boring' or 'cruel'? Not to me; but then, you might retort, what do I know about the pressure to be skinny? I'm not in the business of being judged on my looks, what with being a writer and earning my living by using my brain...

I went to the British Book Awards that evening. After the award ceremony I bumped into a woman I hadn't seen for nearly three years. The first thing she said to me? 'You've lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw you!'

'Well,' I said, slightly nonplussed, 'the last time you saw me I'd just had a baby.'

What I felt like saying was, 'I've produced my third child and my sixth novel since I last saw you. Aren't either of those things more important, more interesting, than my size?' But no – my waist looked smaller! Forget the kid and the book: finally, something to celebrate!

So the issue of size and women was (ha, ha) weighing on my mind as I flew home to Edinburgh the next day. Once up in the air, I opened a newspaper and my eyes fell, immediately, on an article about the pop star Pink.

Her latest single, 'Stupid Girls', is the antidote-anthem for everything I had been thinking about women and thinness. 'Stupid Girls' satirises the talking toothpicks held up to girls as role models: those celebrities whose greatest achievement is un-chipped nail polish, whose only aspiration seems to be getting photographed in a different outfit nine times a day, whose only function in the world appears to be supporting the trade in overpriced handbags and rat-sized dogs.

Maybe all this seems funny, or trivial, but it's really not. It's about what girls want to be, what they're told they should be, and how they feel about who they are. I've got two daughters who will have to make their way in this skinny-obsessed world, and it worries me, because I don't want them to be empty-headed, self-obsessed, emaciated clones; I'd rather they were independent, interesting, idealistic, kind, opinionated, original, funny – a thousand things, before 'thin'. And frankly, I'd rather they didn't give a gust of stinking chihuahua flatulence whether the woman standing next to them has fleshier knees than they do. Let my girls be Hermiones, rather than Pansy Parkinsons. Let them never be Stupid Girls. Rant over.

Bringing Out the Zen

2006-04-06T00:06:00.000-04:00

I'm having an intellectual love affair with this bitch I met in one of my classes last year. We are so creepy together. We're like ...

Well, I don't know what we're like. Mind is shot. Can't come up with something witty.

Anyway, point is we have fun together. We're mind-blowingly cool with each other. This results in moments that are way too zen for me to believe. For instance, on Tuesday, we're sitting in a movie theatre and I say to her, randomly, "maybe I die every night and am born every morning." Then she says, "Maybe every time I look at you, you look brand new."

WTF? See what I mean? We're creepy.

I don't even know where it comes from.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt is Officially Pimp

2006-04-05T17:06:00.000-04:00

It's been a while. I've been hiding under mountains of work.

Just thought I'd share this with the world: Joe Gordon Levitt Corners the Razis

Brokeback Was Robbed!

2006-03-05T23:57:00.000-05:00

The Academy never fails to disappoint.

Weekend Update

2006-03-04T15:40:00.000-05:00

I seem to have an endless capacity for embarrassing myself. When will it end?

In other news, my mom's birthday is today and I have gotten her nothing. I can just about get away with it because I bought her silk pajamas for xmas and they were $160. (Of course, I bought them on the credit card that she pays for ... but that's beside the point.) I need to get a paying gig. No more of this for credit bullshit.

It's a Free Country

2006-02-27T17:45:00.000-05:00

... I can post endless pictures of my celebrity obsession if I want to, fuck you very much.

I want it on record that even if this guy picks it and eats it - I would still pick him and ... be very politically incorrect with him - hands down, no question.

Are we grossed out enough for the day?

And the Love Mail Goes To

2006-02-14T01:00:00.000-05:00

Erika Pena ... because this girl is possibly the most real, unselfish woman I know. And I feel the halo effect.

Happy fuckin V-day girl.

Friends and Films

2006-02-04T00:23:00.000-05:00

God, what a fucked up week. I've been so tired and over-worked. I intern at a start-up magazine and the experience has been pretty flat thus far. It's early in the school year and I can already feel myself doing things half-assed. i'm losing in some battles I really thought I'd win. And nothing gets replaced. When you lose, you lose. Nothing fills that ...

I really thank God for my friend Z. She's been such a safe haven over the past few months. She's grounding and inspiring at the same time. And I know she's going through some tough situations right now - but she still has the generosity to be fully present, when I need to talk. This is a woman who listens with her whole body, not just with her ears.

We didn't exactly come to blows, but I've been beefing with a good friend of mine back in Ithaca. The problem is that she unknowingly uses people to make herself feel good. She's a game-player, a diva ... insecure - but won't admit it. Maybe doesn't recognize. I tried to confront her 2 weeks ago and she backed off from it. Most likely turned it into MY problem.

Anyway ...

to distract from this, I saw my first celeb sighting of 2006 - the first in months! Ben Stiller was shooting a scene for a film (Night at the Museum) on West Broadway and Broome. It was a pretty cool experience because only half of the street was shut off to pedestrians. They let us stand and watch, as long as we weren't making noise or taking pictures.

After about 6 or 7 minutes I turned, considering whether or not I should head off, and I saw Keri Russell of Felicity fame, hustling down the street. She scowled at me. It was wonderful.

The Best Intentions

2006-01-15T23:32:00.000-05:00

The new year always makes you feel.

You feel sad. You feel happy. You feel vulnerable. You feel resilient. You feel lost. You feel grounded. You feel new. You feel, you feel, you feel ... and you're constantly trying to evaluate those feelings, because everyone will tell you that the new year is the best time to reorganize your life and figure out your emotions - and change.

But what if I don't know how to feel? What to feel? How do I change when I don't even know what's wrong? Or what if the problems are totally out of my control?

This is what I think about, while I'm refusing to make resolutions. At this point, I may not know what I feel but I do know what I think - and that is that I don't like the New Years Resolution. They always get broken. All I can do is try to live each second of life with the best intentions. Push through the bullshit.

and there's so much of it. Cause people are strange. Even the ones you think you know.

And The Love Mail Goes To

2005-12-21T21:20:00.000-05:00

I love him like Bacardi loves Cola.

Jake you are my boy, for life. Kirsten is a dunce.

And if you ask ... I will say yes.

Holidays Are for Heathens

2005-12-11T23:46:00.000-05:00

I really don't like Christmas.

They dug it up from its grave so early this year that even its historically nauseating effect on me wore off before Thanksgiving was over. I feel as if it's come and gone. I keep waiting for them to dismantle the Union Square holiday market and take down the garlands in the store windows. Everybody else must be crazy, must be suffering from some kind of amnesia - and all the while my father text messages me with his shirt size.

Christmas is a waste of time. Especially now, when I have to study for finals. This year it's not so much that I harbor an extremely bad will towards it ... I just feel like it gets in the way. It's just fucking distracting. I can't figure out why people are so drawn to it. It has no richness. It's completely disposable. Cheap.

It has me wasting time on it still. By blogging about it when I could be nose-deep in Richard II and drowning in Spanish grammar.

Other Weekend Madness

2005-12-04T18:14:00.000-05:00

Includes the following:

I hung out with a good friend in Alphabet City yesterday. We ended up at the Life Cafe, on the northern end of Tompkins Square Park, eating vegetarian chilli and talking about how much love fucking hurts. It's a strange exhilirating experience to talk with someone for hours and hear your soul reverberate in theirs. We're different people and we do have different opinions about certain things but we somehow are always on the same mental plane.

Went to Duvet with a current roommate and her girls. As usual, I arrived half an hour after the club stopped admitting people for free. I had to wait in line for an hour and when I got to the front the big man in charge, a cat named Alex, turned up his nose at me and turned his back.

Alex, a six foot five, 35 year-old black man - and a queen - posing in A/X and Prada, a fedora, pulled low, and tinted shades. Did I mention the pointy-toed crocodile shoes?

Very snooty, very self-important, very rude. The club was pretty but the full of Gotti boys, rolling ten deep. The music was shitty as hell. I've been to less trendy clubs and had a better time. Thus - I left after an hour and forty-five minutes and walked home in the snow.

I Saw Hilary Duff and Joel Madden

2005-11-08T19:44:00.000-05:00

I was trying to think of another title for this post but, what the fuck, this one will do. Let's be upfront about it. I bet those of you who have been long-term readers were wondering when I'd post another celebrity sighting. (Fuck Gawker Stalker.)

By the way, it's my birthday. And by the way, I also saw the short woman from SNL, but who cares?

Basically, I was sitting in the Starbucks on Union Square North, having a conversation with my mom about the future and my career plans and the fact that my brother still smokes like a Jamaican chimney, when I kind of realised that the dude standing behind me was none-other than Joel Madden from Good Charlotte.

Wewerethisclose.

Now ... I'm not really into the make-up on guys look but I thought to myself, while I double-taked, that he was a pretty handsome guy. Legitimately. Then I hear my mom, in the distance, saying, "look at that tiny little dog."

A dead giveaway.

Joel Madden doesn't own a tiny little dog. Hilary Duff does.

So of course, I discretely peer around Madden, as he sits down at the table next to mine, and I glimpse the blonde hair the aura of pop-starness and the tiny-ass dog. It was her. She was on her cell phone, doing what I do sometimes when I don't want to talk to any of the plebians around me - killing time. They had a big black bouncer-man with them too. I kind of felt for the guy. What must it be like to babysit these people, get their coffee for them, converse with the little people, telling them to move their chairs or get out of the way or not to take pictures?

My mom was fucking classic. She kept talking loudly about the dog and the Duffster: "She's too thin! She's waaay too thin! Turn and look! Look now, while she's looking away! Go on! Look at her!" I'm all: "Mom! I've seen her in the magazines, I don't have to look at her! Stop saying that. You're being ig-nant right now! Stop!"

I'm really against being the typical fan, going up and making useless small talk with these people. You know they don't give a shit. I don't want to be thought of as "that random girl who talked to us in Starbucks." Cause that's all we are to them. It's all we're allowed to be. At the same time ... I'm fucking kicking myself right now. I actually LIKE the Duffster. From what I know of her, she's a sweet girl. I'm not a huge fan of her work but I did shell out to see her last film. And Joel Madden? Eh ... he's cute. I should've said something. I should've been the dumb-ass fan. What did I have to lose, apart from my inflated sense of pride?

Not-so-sober Statements

2005-10-31T23:06:00.000-05:00

I am coming off of a 2 day hangover.

I have only just realised this.

The smell of alcohol makes my insides go funny.

Blackjack

2005-10-30T13:57:00.000-05:00

I'm so young. I should feel no pressure. I should feel no anxiety. That's what older people say. They look back at their lives and they look at us 20-somethings - they see kids who can't appreciate how "easy" their lives are - our simple, naive concerns are funny.

But it's all relative. Of course you can laugh at us, given that you've already been through it. You turned out all right. You more or less made it in the world. That doesn't always happen though. I'm coming up in a different world. I'm approaching my 21st birthday and, although it's nothing like turning 40, it symbolizes something heavy and it scares the shit out of me. Now, all of a sudden, I have to be an ADULT. I have to start participating in the economy and thinking about things that I never thought I'd have to think about. I feel like I'm stumbling into a new adolescence. I feel like my 20s are going to become the baddest muthafucking hangover I've ever had. My 20s are going to either make or break me.

Then there's these people getting married before graduating undergrad. They add to the problem. They're getting married, and I don't even know what the word "married" means. (I'm conjuring iron bars, an electric fence, the evilness exhibited by my parents for 18 years, while they tried to figure out why they didn't like each other ...) Is this something that I'm supposed to think about? Is this what being an adult means?

20 was weird because it dawned on me that I'd been alive for two decades. But 21 ... 21 is the beginning of it all. No more fucking around. At 21 you're faced with the reality of things: you are no longer a child and you're at the bottom of the food-chain in a big-ass world. No other thought is more sobering than this one, at this point in my life.

Familiar Faces

2005-10-12T01:20:00.000-04:00

I recently saw the movie The Squid and the Whale, which was a highly discomforting film because it reminds me of my family (in areas), when my parents separated and then divorced. In the end it was a good film, but God!; Some shitty little boys run the show for about 90 minutes. A cool discovery was that I knew one of the cast members. I went to high school with this girl: (Not Laura, the one on the right.)

Cool, huh? That's Halley Feiffer. She'll be around for a while, I think.

Comments on Models

2005-10-09T16:14:00.000-04:00

I just want to make a brief comment on the response to the Keenyah post:

It's interesting that "Sister" mentioned Keenyah's father. "Interesting," as in, "totally out of left field," as in, "what the hell are you talking about?," as in "HUH?"

Read it again; I never said anything about anyone's pops. Also read it again and realize that I'm just joking. I love Keenyah more than life itself - I would drop out of college, get a job at McDonald's and become the lesbian mother to her beautiful, monosyllabic children, if she asked me to. My love for her is that strong.

Pride and Prejudice

2005-10-01T19:37:00.000-04:00

I'll be the first one to admit it. I was totally wrong about Keira Knightley.

In interviews that I've seen or read in magazines, she's come across as just a little bit arrogant and just a little bit caught up in the image of herself. But last week I had the opportunity of talking to her at the Pride and Prejudice junket. And, yes, my eyes have been opened.

She strikes me as just ... cool. She reminds me of a couple of my good friends from high school - totally down ass. When she walked into the room, she wasn't the diva-in-training that I've come to expect in young Hollywood ingenues. She was just like any other girl. Beautiful ... but just like any other girl. I also noticed that the clipped English accent that we hear in most of her films was non-existent. She's got that loose London dialect that reminds me of when I used to live there. It's great. She's funny as hell too and loves to talk. LOVES to talk. Even the film's director said she can't keep her mouth shut.

I also got to chat briefly with the other actors in the piece, including Jena Malone. A good film-major friend of mine has had an on-going obsession with her since she was 13. When I told her that I had interviewed her for 45 minutes, I received a burst eardrum for my trouble.

It was a good weekend ... since then ... work, work and more work.

And the Love Mail Goes To

2005-09-29T00:39:00.000-04:00

Not your average, run-of-the-mill, hipster, Hollywood white-boy.

I am in love/lust with Eric Foreman aka Topher Grace. He looks soooo good in facial hair. Like, damn good.

I know, I know.
Shut your pie hole.

She Gets Dramatic for Fun

2005-09-26T12:32:00.000-04:00

I'm gonna try not to get all dramatic but you know me ... or at least, by now, you have a sense of me. Normalcy doesn't come easily. I was walking back up Mercer, after getting my morning coffee at Balthazar, and I randomly started ruminating on the idea of drowning myself. No ... not seriously. But more seriously than the average person. Does that make sense? The name of the blog is "Extremely Perishable," in case you hadn't noticed. What did you think it meant?

I guess I could blame Gwyneth Paltrow for this latest bout of self-annihilation day dreaming. I finally saw "Sylvia," which, as you know, narrates the life and death of Sylvia Plath, poet extraordinaire and put-upon wife and mother. In it she talks about how she once tried to drown herself in the sea.

Ahah.

Yeah.

Moving on to more lively discussion - I cannot wait until the weekend; my ex-roommate , crazy slip of a girl, is returning from Ithaca for the weekend. Also I am attending a press junket on Saturday for the movie version of "Pride & Prejudice." Yes, Keira Fucking Knightly will be staring down the barrel of my metaphorical gun. The pen is mightier than the sword. In this case, Microsoft Word and a Dell Latitude D800 are mightier than the sword. I'll let you know how pretty she is.

Break My Bank, My Dreams and My Spirit

2005-09-14T22:25:00.000-04:00

I have so much work. SO MUCH WORK. These are the perks of a college education. I know all those 9 to 5ers out there groan and say "this kid doesn't know what she's talking about." But I would like to point out that at least you get paid for your sweat and toil. If the New York school could start paying me, well ... that would be nice.

My only reason for wasting your time, tonight, is to tell you that I saw an advanced screening of Thumbsucker and it was an extremely funny, poignant, truthful movie. Not too hip. Not commercial. Just a good simple movie that respects the viewer and tells a good story.

I got to ask the director a question at the Q&A - a general "how did Vince Vaugn get involved in this?" type of question. Another woman spoke up and asked the director for advice for anyone who was thinking of becoming a filmmaker, to which he basically responded with the general "work yourself to death and hustle for your money cause you will be a poor bastard for the first 10 years" type of answer.

To which I responded, inwardly, with a hearty "Fuck."

Chowing Down on Second

2005-09-12T11:54:00.000-04:00

Deborah and I went to Hip Hop Chow on Saturday night. The restaurant is so cool. I'm almost sorry I'm no longer living in Cooper Square - I would've gone there every night. It's classic Soul Food complimented by delicious Cantonese staples. I was STUFFED after consuming a Ceasar Salad, Pork Belly, Cheesy Grits, Smothered Pork Chop and Baked Yams. I was content for the rest of the night.

On top of the food, the interior design was great. They also rotate the artwork of various New York artists. Deborah's son has his artwork up for the rest of the month and then they'll replace it with new pieces.

Keenyah Take a Hint?

2005-09-08T20:22:00.000-04:00

McDonald's is a place for people from all climbs - many different walks of life. It is the epicenter of the popular universe. In McDonald's life is as uncomplicated and fat saturated as the dollar menu, and nobody, not the businessman, not the tattoo artist from Brooklyn, not the coked up New York School kid, minds. We're all the same. But one species of human that you should never expect to be parking her bony behind in there, chowing down on some extra crispy fries, is the bona fide supermodel. God bless Keenyah Hill though, cause that ain't her.

The girl that anyone who watched cycle four of America's Next Top Model loves to hate was in McDonalds, not ten minutes ago. I could indeed go into the contents of her meal but what's the point? As Tyra's show indicated, time and time again, the model-in-training loves some fried food. One week, Tyra's panel of modeling "experts" told Miss Hill, in no uncertain terms, that she was getting a little porky. Okay ... a lot porky, but that's Janice Dickinson talking, not me.

Today, however, it seemed that Keenyah was more in the mood for posing than stuffing her pretty face. She must've stayed in the restaurant for about two minutes. That's 90 seconds of waiting for someone to recognize her and 30 seconds of smiling meekly while two women snapped her photo on a digital camera. Thank God I didn't have mine with me, else I might've been swayed too. Incidentally, I heard those two women gossiping. They said something along the lines of:

"She looked better on TV."

"It's because of the airbrushing."

Long story short - I said hi to the girl on her way out.

"Excuse me, you're a model, right?"

"Yeah."

"From TV, right?"

"Yeah."

"America's Next Top Model?"

"Yeah."

"Are you still working?"

"Yeah."

"Good job."

"Thanks."

GOOD GOD WOMAN! EXPAND YOUR VOCABULARY! I've never seen someone that verbally challenged. Then again, maybe being coy is part of a model's job; Don't say too much in public because they might find out what a bitch you are.

Well, I guess we'll never know. Keenyah Hill is somewhere in New York, lugging a suitcase around, blue baseball cap pulled low, weave flying in the wind.

Katrina and the Federally Backed Fraud

2005-09-05T11:26:00.000-04:00

The world is really messed up right now. New Orleans is crazy. And just in case you didn't know ... you should NOT be donating to the Red Cross. Only a sliver of your money will be going directly towards relief. The Red Cross has a history of withholding funds.

Months after September 11th, the Red Cross had only disbursed $154 million of the whopping $564 million in global donations it had been given. It should be obvious to anyone that this is not the way donations should be used in a crisis.

In 1989, after the Sanfrancisco earthquake disaster, the Red Cross also withheld 80% of the $50 million donated and pocketed it.

Katrina SCAM sites include:
www.katrinahelp.com
www.katrinacleanup.com
www.katrinarelief.com

Do NOT donate to the sites listed above.

For the moment, I'm not sure where the best place to put your money is. I'll post links as soon as I find out. You can do your own research and find smaller charities close to the New Orleans area. Your dollars will, most likely, go to the people who need it.

Although, I gotta say, FEMA is running the show now in Louisiana. I just hope that they're not being dicks about smaller aid operations.

An Eye For the Pretty Things

2005-09-01T11:11:00.000-04:00

Cameron Crowe's website for Elizabethtown is one of the best movie websites I've come across in a long time. The soundtrack is prolific and stunning. One of my favorite parts is the blog written by Kirsten Dunst's character Claire: Claire's America. She writes:

So, to that end, - this, in all its cyberglory - is my attempt to make a difference. Welcome to My America - a place I'd like to believe is worth going through eyes wide open on the way to "there." My America, a land of wonder, of sparkle and glory, of hope, dreams, opportunity, county fairs, iron bridges, elephant ears, dog trots and old book stores that smell of other people's lives ... There are so many things that make life worth living. So many little, wonderful things ... the way a song hangs in the air, something you buy at a drugstore that changes everything, a movie you can't forget, a moment that lasts forever, the taste of some delicious bite on your tongue, a certain stretch of road. And that stuff is just the tip of the iceberg ... Maybe in all of this, there's some bridge between people to be built - people I'll never see, just like the places, on the maps, I'll never get to.

Yes, the world is on fire.

Yes, New Orleans is gone.

But life is still happening, second by second by second. And it's all right to be in love with it.

See for yourself.

New Hood, Same City

2005-08-31T20:06:00.000-04:00

I woke up in Union Square this morning.

In my apartment in Union Square.

It was kind of weird ... but nice. The living situation is very Rear Window. I can see into the apartments across the courtyard. I don't think anyone can resist looking. I can also see a lot of beautiful, dark, city rooftops. The perks of being on the 11th floor.

I'm loving it.

Today I traipsed all over the Village doing the required shopping - outfitting my apartment etc. Also stopped by Washington Square to see part of the CBGB concert, which was off the hook. It is so hot outside that all I think about when I'm walking down the street is stripping down and getting into an ice cold shower.

Park and Drive

2005-08-26T20:48:00.000-04:00

While my contemporaries were learning how to drive, I was sweating the thought of it. I stayed away from it for a long time. Several years.

At long last ... I now have my driver's license. I passed my road test.

Thank you Staten Island.

Lurk and Play

2005-08-26T01:12:00.000-04:00

What has Ralph been doing these past few weeks, you ask. Perhaps she has forgotten all about the blog.

Never.

Let me give you a quick rundown, minus the icky bits. I went to SPICE MARKET! The experience ranked highly. Gorgeous, delicious food, and spicy (naturally) ... just the way I love it. I also bought my first digital camera. (Okay, fine, I didn't buy it. I just picked it out.) Remind me to thank anyone who works for Casio, because this thing is glorious. In addition to all the play, I spent 5 days training for some work - a job that I was never even going to get. Pour quoi? Because they can't afford to take on another employee. They knew this from the start and neglected to inform me until after I had completed 5 late-night, 9-hour shifts.

So now I'm just lazing around, chomping at the bit to get back to school, where I will inevitably start to miss the days of "freedom" I spent at home. This summer has been a complete wild card for me. I don't know what it is. I spent $800 in 2 days this week. Soho fucking kills me. I clearly need a little LESS of the so-called freedom. But, you know what, a job would be nice. I've got a few days to play with before I have to start the hustle again.

Fridays Are Good, Bad and Ugly

2005-08-06T16:17:00.000-04:00

Did the Ruby Foos thing with my girl and a kid I haven't seen in 2 years. It's interesting to see how people change (or don't). It was fun seeing him and all but he's become even more judgemental than he was in high-school. He ended up reminding me of all the stuff I didn't like, all the people I could've lived without.

I can't wait to get back to the square.

Still ... Running on Empty

2005-08-03T23:59:00.000-04:00

Oops. According to the GIF calendar, thursday is also a full day of fasting. Damn it.

Running on an Empty Stomach

2005-08-03T23:38:00.000-04:00

I saw her again, yesterday. Her: flawless. Me: starstruck. (I am so weird. Who freaks over blogger sightings?)

I'm also coming to the end of my 3 day fast for GIF. I cannot wait to get started on more impacting GIF stuff. I've tried contacting kids at the New York school who I know are interested in working on the Darfur situation too. The other thing I cannot wait for: the chance to eat something. Anything. Having said that, fasting has been easier than I had previously anticipated, but I do feel the effects of it - less energy etc., and I'm a girl who loves her food.

I have plans for a Friday night get-together with the best friend at Ruby Foo's Midtown and there will most definitely be pieces chocolate cake devoured. That's what Fridays are all about, right?

EXP: Weekend Update

2005-08-01T03:09:00.000-04:00

I've been living small this weekend. I have nothing major that I want to report. There's been a little mess and drama but all I really want to say is that I soaked a cigarette pack in water yesterday and threw it away.

I also have two suggestions music-wise - Kate Earl and Esthero. E is my girl. I just got turned on to Kate Earl. She's a little too folksy for me but you gotta love "When You're Older." That, to me, is a beautiful song ... like crystal clear water.

This is a Filipino womanchild from Alaska. It really can't get anymore pretty, non? (I mean, other than the gorgeous redheaded Canadian.) In other news - I cut my hair and people are in an uproar about it. The words "I don't want your ponytail to be a short stubby ponytail," DID come out of my mother's mouth. My best friend laughed. So, in true Ralph fashion, I've decided that another 2 inches are coming off.

She Can't Lay Off the Mole Sauce

2005-07-21T02:51:00.000-04:00

I ended up not getting the Republic gig, so I'm rolling on, looking in other places. It was just one of many things I had to just deal with this past week. In hindsight, I feel like I've been inhabitting a strangely surreal space for the past couple of days. With so many small things dominating my thoughts from moment to moment and the constant juggling of other people's egos. I'm drained. And then there's the fact that I went out drinking with my mother and her hair stylist, yesterday. Or was it the day before? (I didn't drink at all though. Craziness!)

Yeah ... I went out and "partied" with the woman who gave birth to me. Little did I know that she had already had one and a half glasses of wine previous to the pomegranate margaritas she slurped at the bar at Rosa Mexicano. Had I known, maybe the night would've run a little differently. Maybe we could've avoided the loud, obnoxious proclamations that we had been scammed on the guacamole. And maybe I wouldn't have had to sit through a conversation which consisted mainly of mom extolling the merits of oral sex.

On the upside, I did have a great time with her and the food was great. The mole sauce ... the grilled chicken and black beans ... the cheese cake. It was delicious. So delicious that when I woke up this morning my body giggled with pleasure at having held onto the pounds.

I better get my sports bra back on ... asuming it still fits.

Tasting the Edge of Summer

2005-07-17T16:52:00.000-04:00

I've been lounging for a couple of weeks and haven't been into New York City at all. I decided to put an end to this behavior on Friday, which turned out to be a sweltering day. 72 my ass. I found out recently that I will be living in Union square, come September. This, of course, makes me really, really happy. So, naturally, I had to go down there and check out the neighborhood. I chill in Union Square frequently, but it's somehow different when you live there - or when you know you're going to live there. I walked around, stopped in at the Barnes & Noble to see what all the fuss was about (Harry Potter Release Party - four floors of mayhem), and managed to swing an interview on Monday with the management at Republic.

Speaking of hot NYC restaurants ... I made a reservation at Spice Market for 8/12! I love to eat out, though I can rarely afford it. I can't stand the pretentiousness of a lot of places in Manhattan, but I seriously appreciate a beautiful, creative ambiance and great menus. I've been wanting to try Spice Market for a minute. My mouth is already watering. I can't wait until August.

Rise and Shine

2005-07-12T13:13:00.000-04:00

Oh God, I've really been putting off blogging over the past couple of weeks. I'm sure I was not missed but I always have a guilty feeling whenever I go for long periods, without checking in.

Since my last foray into online depression ... London happened, horrific storms happened, Luther Vandross happened, Lil' Kim happened, The Fantastic Four and Tom Cruise happened, Ben and Jen happened, world peace did not happen and Bush said something stupid ... again. (I think that happens at least 48 times per day, though, on average.) And, in the midst of all this, I can't say that I remember what was going on in my own head. The events of my personal life have been blurry lately - no this was not alcohol induced. I think I'm awake now. Pretty sure I'm sober.

Welcome back.

The Referral

2005-06-26T02:46:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I cut all the bull and get really vulnerable for a second. Lord knows I try to avoid it. Occasionally though, I grow weary of trying to protect myself.

Been hanging out with my mother, and tonight she was pretty down. It usually takes a lot for this to happen because she's a constant generator of optimism. She usually makes enough for herself and the rest of the family. (I did not inherit this trait.) She began to talk to me, unprovoked, about her marriage (or ex-marriage) to my father. She was blaming herself for the things that went wrong and then apologized for ruining my life. She thinks I'm showing symptoms of having never had parents who were kind to each other. Then she recommended that I go see a psychologist.

Whatever. This is not a new thing for me. This is strike number 2 for the summer.

I could've spewed a lot of the soundbites that parents like to hear from their kids, the ones that reassure them that there really is nothing wrong, it's all in your head, the ones I've used for twenty odd years ... but instead I just looked at her and said, "Yes, there's something there. There's stuff going on. But it's been there for a while. I can handle it. At this point, I don't think I would know what to do without it."

It would seem as if the right thing to do would be to go to the psychologist. But, other than the fact that the visit is more to ease my mother's conscience than mine, another fact remains - I was telling the truth; in a way, I think I need to feel downtrodden. It's like it defines me. I wouldn't know what to do with happiness. Anyway, Sigmund Freud often expressed (more eloquently and scientifically than I will do here) the view that psychology should be used to make people feel okay about being miserable. If this is the case, I don't need therapy. I've got that one in the bag.

Peace in Certain Things

2005-06-22T22:51:00.000-04:00

I often think of things to write, on the subway. In fact, my mind is at its most imaginitive when it's whizzing beneath the surface of the 5 boroughs. Provided it's not rush hour, I'm pretty peaceful and I have space and time to dream and reflect. Most of all to reflect.

Today I was on the 1, going downtown, thinking about how glad I am to be out of Ithaca and back in my city. I think returning to Gotham saved my life. Being able to finish up my university training at the New York school has saved my career. Not that an Ivy league name couldn'tve done things ... it's just that that Ivy league institution was stifling the hell out of me. I had given up on myself. I was content to wander aimlessly and then fall off the Earth. I had no dreams. None. They wasted away.

Right now, though, I'm dreaming even bigger and more dangerously than I ever have. More than I ever did as a child. Don't get me wrong - it's not all rainbows and sunbeams. I mean, life is shitty. But you find peace in certain things.

Hearts On Fire

2005-06-21T19:35:00.000-04:00

I finally snagged some time to see Howl's Moving Castle. It was so rich and beautiful that words can't accurately describe it. The score, the visuals ... everything about it.

I only wish I had been able to view it in its original Japanese format because I'm willing to bet a few lines of dialogue were tweaked for American audiences. Billy Crystal's voice did not excite, but Miyazaki's hand overshadows any Disney produced flaws.

All I can say is that this film is gorgeous.

Self Esteem: Trashed

2005-06-20T01:39:00.000-04:00

In general this was one of those "garbage disposal" weekends. I filled myself with junk. Other people filled me with junk. I just ended up feeling gross and depressed - - myself again.

I went to a graduation dinner on Saturday because my little God-sister just graduated from high school. I wore Spanx under my dress to reduce the whole bulging-stomach thing. I felt kind of like a sausage. And I started to think, "Shit, I'm already doing this and I haven't even hit 30."

The more serious damage to my psyche, however, happened later that night, in the car with my brother. I decided to go with him to a party in Connecticut, which was a terrible mistake. I could feel the dread of being stranded in the boondocks creeping up on me as soon as I got into the car. About half way through the journey, my parents called Jay, on his cell phone, to do their usual "Where are you? What are you doing?" routine, which promptly got him upset, leading to a raging tirade directed at me for not having my cell phone on (because then he could've more easily sicked them on me). But his ranting got completely out of control. There I am, sitting there, after having finished taking my mother's call, and my brother's angrily berating me, over and over ... ABOUT A DAMN PHONE.

My brother and I have had problems for a long time. Most of our lives. I try to avoid making him angry but he has a personality that likes to dominate and force all others into submission. I think he specifically likes treating me like dirt. So, no sooner had I told my brother to stop lecturing me and yelling at me, than he began to yell at me even louder (something along the lines of, "Shut the fuck up") and slammed the brakes on, which sent us skidding into the night.

And despite my womanist desire (or even my right as a decent human being) to defend myself, I ended up fading into silence for the rest of the night.

I don't even try to confront him anymore. I actually feel rotten, to my core, about the way the men in my family respond to me, and women in general. But there is nothing that I, as a girl, can do about it. It makes me feel shitty, as someone who wants so much to change the world, that my closest blood relative is so good at making me feel worthless.

On top of it all, I was roped into seeing that Heather Locklear movie instead of Howl. Depressing.

The Little-known Birdman

2005-06-14T09:57:00.000-04:00

Unbeknownst to many, Christian Bale is not only starring in Batman Begins but also voices the title character in Miyazaki's new animated wonder Howl's Moving Castle.

I am looking forward to being able to see the Japanese language version of the film but, for now, I am bursting at the seams to see the English version which just landed in theatres. I adore Miyazaki's creations and, although this film isn't a Miyazaki original, I know it will be mesmerizing.

Live From Ext 212

2005-06-13T22:59:00.000-04:00

I found myself a little star struck today when I was crossing Broadway, in SoHo, and saw my second favorite blogger, in the whole world, walk past me, in the opposite direction. I found myself wanting to shout out, "Cia!" But that would've been completely embarrassing, given that she has no clue who I am.

I've been reading Cia's blog for about two years now and I've become a fan of her writing. It's not just that she is such a meticulous and hilariously compulsive chef/foodie/amateur food critic, or that she has informally reviewed just about every 5-star joint in Manhattan, or even that she and I have similar tastes in music, or that she's the type of person I could imagine playing a bit part in Sex And The City.

No. I think what I like about Cia is a hint of abashed humor and innocence that suffuses many of her posts - whether it's an alpha characteristic, or not - it's still there. And it makes every post of her's seem intriguingly personal ... because you really get a sense of that shadow personality. There's a sensitivity and lyrical delicacy to her writing, you feel like you're eaves dropping on the private conversations of a young girl, - even if that young girl is the type who routinely disparages the fois gras at Zagat rated restaurants.

You Asked For Mr Anderson

2005-06-05T22:38:00.000-04:00

For at least one inquiring mind, the news, that Keanu Reeves is indeed hanging out around New York City with a hot blonde, will not be well received. I'm guessing people will start telling me when this celebrity sighting gossip gets old. But I have to say ... I never get tired of stumbling upon stars in the real world, as they go about their business. It reminds me that they are actually alive and that they're the same as us lowly normal folk (but with fatter wallets). And, as demonstrated by aforementioned Keanu fan, I think most people want to know the intimate details of super-star lives.

Keanu Reeves was having a late lunch at Da Silvano Cantinetta in Greenwich Village - a restaurant he has been known to frequent whenever he is in New York. Paparazzi were sitting outside, on a bench, for at least 15 minutes, waiting for him to finish his meal and come out. It was actually kind of freaky. I honestly give famous people props for living under the lens and not going crazy. These photogs sat and smoked cigarettes and chatted. They wouldn't tell me who was inside (as if they have any shred of ethics they work under), but, soon enough, Keanu showed his mug.

He had that signature patchy beard thing going on and really ruffled hair. Looked good. Dressed in a black shirt and a black suit. Pretty typical for Keanu. He was in a good mood - self-deprecating smile. But the interesting thing was the lady he was toting. Those dark lens, fucking huge Jackie-Os totally obscured her identity (worst fashion trend EVER) but it could've been Reeves' ex-girl - Amanda De Cadenet. All I know is that this woman had blindingly blonde locks and was your standard issue Hollywood it girl. I've been told that Reeves is dating Lynn Collins, a co-star in his next film. I don't think this was her though. Collins has brown hair.

Look out for these pictures. I've scanned the internet, searching for them, and nothing has turned up. This is week old news, though. If the pictures eventually surface, remember - you heard it here first. Extremely Perishable is your temporary online gossip rag.

The Darth Side of Hayden

2005-06-02T00:40:00.000-04:00

Today I saw Keanu Reeves walking down the street. Just thought I'd mention that briefly.

Ahem ... to the point ... is it wrong for me to have an irrational attraction to Hayden Christensen/Darth Vader? A discussion of the recently released Star Wars: Episode 3 was overdue, but I never thought I'd get around to it in the form of Hayden worship. Sorry. I guess I'm having a bad week.

The fact is, when I first saw Christensen, I was unamused, unattracted, in general - unconcerned. He just seemed like one of many spindly, so-called golden boys. But, somehow, over the last few years, the allure of the dark side transformed a run-of-the-mill pretty-boy into a guy who could charm the pants off of anyone with just a smirk -- no light-sabre necessary. And yet, I can only attribute my new found fandom to one thing: It has to be the Vader effect.

There's something incredibly mysterious, sexy and deep about the 2005 version of Hayden Christensen. He seems a little bit ... bad. And that's kind of hot. So hot, you want to get under that calm surface and get some of the badness for yourself. There must be a really dangerous, intensely fierce person underneath all that smoldering seriousness and decorum, you tell yourself. I mean, just look at him. Watch the film. It looks like he's hiding something that only Padme knows.

Seriously ... Natalie gets all the fun.

Scratching the Grafenberg Itch

2005-05-28T23:58:00.000-04:00

God, I hope nobody I know reads this. Of course, the decision to publicize embarrassing personal information is up to my descretion, so I can only blame myself. But, right now, despite my better judgment, I'll go ahead and be my own worst enemy: It is just simply too tragicly funny that I haven't had an orgasm during sex. On top of that, I haven't had sex in so long that I can't even bring myself to write down when the last time was. It's gonna hurt my eyes too much to see it.

So let's get this straight: I've had orgasms. Never with anyone else helping. Haven't been with anyone else in ... a while.

Despite what many people think, not everyone derives body-trembling, glass-breaking pleasure from stimulating the clitoris. (I will so regret this post later.) I myself need serious pressure on my G-spot. This was THE most awesome discovery of my teenage years. I found my G-spot when I was around 18 years old (not for lack of trying). And I've been able to use that knowledge to somewhat great effect since then. Notice I said "somewhat." This is because one thing I've realised is that masturbation is no substitute for a man who really knows what he's doing. But more than that - a guy who you want to stick around after all is said and done and the macking is over.

I haven't been with either type of guy.

This kind of sucks because every time I fall back, breathless, ALONE, I end up thinking about how maybe someone else could've done it better, when I should be enjoying the radical orgasm I just gave myself. And, for the record, it's a lot of work hitting the spot from that angle.

And the Hate Mail Goes To

2005-05-23T23:58:00.000-04:00

I'm thinking of making this a monthly or even weekly event here, at Extremely Perishable. Cause, quite frankly, there are a lot of people who make me hot as hell - in a bad way.

Is it just me or is Tom Cruise an asshole who needs to get the crap kicked out of him?

Right you are. Asshole. Crap. Kicked out of him.

I love how we're always on the same page.

Heigl is the Cure For Walking

2005-05-17T16:33:00.000-04:00

On Sunday I had the pleasure and pain of participating in New york City's 20th Aids Walk. I signed up a week and a half in advance, raised $200 and walked the damn thing - 10K ... approximately 6 miles.

It was a great event. I recommend it to everyone. when else will you be forced to walk the length of Central park and then some? Tried to get my mother to go, but you know she wasn't into that much exercise. So it was just me and another 45,000 strangers beating the pavement. I'm sure a few of my friends were there but I only bumped into one acquaintance ... Tabitha, a girl I had known in high school. She's about to graduate and our conversation ended with me smiling knowingly and whispering, "service hours?" She chuckled nervously.

"Yup."

I did find some New York school grad students, as well as a couple of undergrads, and I interviewed them for an insane freelance piece I'm doing. But I lost them in order to head over to the main stage that they set up every year, next to Central Park's Sheep Meadow, where the celebrity guests and event planners talk about AIDs and civic responsibility and other great stuff that makes you feel energized, even if only for a moment.

So we walked and we raised 5.8 million. Cool, but not yet enough. I think 2006 will top it.

Legs fucking killed, the next day.

But things got good around 7 PM when I saw Katherine Heigl standing on the curb at Columbus Circle. I walked right up to her (buzzed, just from seeing her) and we chatted for about 30 seconds before the light changed.

That woman is just beautiful.

She doesn't make the list, but she still warrants fangirlish swooning. I'm telling you - she has these little freckles on her nose ... too kawaii for words.

Let Chieko Baisho Rock the Mic

2005-05-04T02:52:00.000-04:00

As part of my continuing effort to avoid studying for finals, let me just say that I cannot wait for the next Hayao Miyazaki film to come out:

Hauru no Ugoku Shiro, also known as ...

Howl's Moving Castle

Yeah. Disney appropriated this Studio Ghibli production, once again. I hope they don't fuck up the english language dubbing like they did with Spirited Away.

(Not that I will ever watch the dubbed version of a foreign language film, when subtitles are available - but it's the principle.)

And, once again ... the Japanese site is 10 times better than the US one. I remember a similar thing happening with Kill Bill.

I should just go live in Japan already. I guess Tokyo is the closest thing to New York.

The One About How Hot Jake Gyllenhaal Is

2005-05-01T22:14:00.000-04:00

Don't get me wrong; my personal life is still as fucked as all hell. But, thinking journalistically, it's better to stick with the more newsworthy stuff, right now ... the stuff that really isn't fit to print but, nonetheless, makes Janice Min lightheaded. Jake Gyllenhaal, in fact, can make any girl lightheaded. This is a first-hand account, people. I speak from experience.

I saw him, about an hour ago, while cruising the streets of SoHo ... which is funny because I have a running joke with a few of my friends that one of us will eventually bump into him outside of the Apple Store. Somewhat mundane and whimsical events conspired to result in me being in SoHo, however. I was not in front of the Apple Store, at the time. Jake Gyllenhaal, iPods and blog entries were very far from my fucking mind. (I shouldn't even be doing this right now.) So there.

I was coming up Greene from late-nite grocery shopping at the Natural Deli and I was waiting at the corner, on Houston, for the light to change. One block over, I see a group of random people, fucking around. One guy (yeah, it was Jake), in a blue hoodie darts out into the street, leaving his buddies behind and starts laughing. They're all weirded out on the curb - they didn't want to cross until the light changed, despite the fact that no cars were coming. Jake, still alive, proved his point. Pedestrians rule this town.

3 seconds later, the others followed him.

I had already hit the middle of Houston around the same time he did and still didn't know who was lurking under that blue hood.

Then we all got to the other side of the street, directly in front of the Angelika. I started to head east on Houston, while Jake and his crew started to head west and, for two seconds, the boy is right up on me.

Someone over at Gawker once described Jake as "dripping hottitude." This is a disgusting understatement.

He is fucking sex on legs.

And guess what ... I checked out who he was with, before they legged it over to the West Village, and Kirsten Dunst was nowhere in sight.

It's open season, girls.

Scales Tipped

2005-04-24T22:07:00.000-04:00

If you want shiny happy shit to read - click away now.

I'm angry.

I don't know how long the anger will last but I can't see the edge of it right now. It's all encompassing.

I discovered, recently, that someone I love - a recovering drug addict - started selling cocaine three months ago. This kid has put me through shit for years and I had to somehow take it and somehow focus on my life while he was destroying his. These recent months have been slightly sour because I began to realise that, to some extent, the kid can't change. I felt torn between caring about him, and all the bad memories, the lies, the constant trials, the pain he causes everyone around him. The way he poisons things.

The last time I saw him, we fought and he told me that I don't know how to live my life.

This is a guy who sells cocaine to other recovering addicts and lies about it.

Oh God. He lies all the time now.

And I'm so angry that I want to kill. I just want to hurt someone. I just want to inflict as much pain on someone else as I possibly can so that I can exorcise the bitterness I feel.

My college life seems meaningless to me right now.

When People Slowly Disappear

2005-04-17T23:06:00.001-04:00

The problems I've had with my parents, the problems they've had with each other and the problems they've had with themselves have become more complex and more entangled in my personal life than they should be. Their fourth quarter divorce, which I should not be involved in, has been finding its way to me. I hear about it all the time. One parent speaks badly of another. They both turn around and act like there isn't a storm going on outside. They tell me it's all in my head, as cars and trees fly past the window.

Or at least that's how it feels.

I was on the phone with my mom today and, after I hung up, I had to hold back tears. I can't have a simple conversation with her anymore. (And it's about much more than the fact that I don't like talking to people on the phone.) I keep thinking about how she used to be and how I don't see or hear half of that woman in her now. Like life has just worn her down and put someone in her place who can't fill the space that is left. It makes me sad to think about what is gone and it makes me sad to be on the phone with a woman who is passive and silent on the other end of the line, who no longer has much to say, who amits that her fridge is empty and has been like that for days. I don't know who she is. But the more serious problem is that neither does she.

I'd need another 4 posts to mourn my father. But I don't want to go there.

Our parents screw with us. Sometimes it's obvious and other times it's accidental, but, at a certain point, their personal dramas surface inside our own. Suddenly we can't escape and can't stop the demise of the people who were always supposed to be there, who were supposed to be able to survive anything. And it's scary ... I can't do anything to help them

The Salt Still Tastes As Strong

2005-04-17T02:39:00.000-04:00

I got an email from a friend, the other day, who lives abroad, and it became clear that she still hangs out with a group of women who I do not like. I was trying to think of a euphemism, but one didn't come; I just don't like them. In fact, one of them inspires a petty hatred, which I should have disgarded long ago ... say in high school ... but haven't because I didn't have the chance to get closure on the bad relationship - I never got to tell the bitch exactly what I thought of her (flat) ass.

And it's kind of too late to do that shit, now that 4 years have passed.

Here's the bottom line. I got treated badly, back in the day. I thought it came along with the territory - me being an imaginative, layered personality, inherently different and a little too ashamed of this fact. Looking back, however, I'm just disgusted. These girls ended up throwing me away. I remember moments when they made me feel like I didn't even exist. There were other times when I felt like the court jester. I just never seemed to matter to them. They patronized me. They laughed at me. They fucked with my head.

And I didn't call them on it.

Big mistake.

Now, I can't stand hearing from my good friend, when she talks about them. Now, the thought of visiting annoys me, because I know I'll be forced to associate with these kids whom I don't like.

I thought college might help to disperse these girls and dissolve some of the friendships. But, once again - WRONG. "Guess what ... I went and had lunch with X, Y and Z, today! weeeee!" I paraphrase. Lunch is cosy. Lunch is familiar. Lunch is I-love-you-you-rock-you-are-my-girl-for-life.

Somebody hand me the loaded gun.

It feels like betrayal. Knowing they're out there lunching and talking about fucking Plato or whatever. But it's not. And I know that.

It's just what happens when your friends are friends with your enemies.

A Home at the End of the World

2005-04-13T12:30:00.000-04:00

The New York School fucked me over on housing for next year. I'm going to be living in Kips Bay.

KIPS BAY!

I'm not happy about this. I can't afford to freak out about it though. There are too many other things going on in life and I have no control over this situation. It can't be changed. And if it can't be changed, it's not worth my time crying about it.

Living in Kips Bay ain't the end of the world. Just the end of life in the East Village.

Strange Love

2005-04-11T01:01:00.000-04:00

Over the past couple of weeks people have asked me, "why do you love New York so much?" And I can't give them the answer. Because anyone who loves New York as much as I do would already know ... this is a love that you can't put into a few sentences. Anyone who loves New York as much as I do, who could ever conceivably understand any attempt at an answer, would never ask the question in the first place.

I went to Washington D.C. this weekend to visit family and be there for the Cherry Blossom Festival. And I contemplated what my life would be like there, if that is where my career takes me. I decided that I could make peace with it, if I had to. I thought about the things I could grow to love just as much as, or more than, the aspects of New York that have always had a hold on me. D. C. is pretty cool. I like it. It's a different part of the world. I thought to myself , "I could get used to this place."

But, on my trip back, as the New York City skyline rose up into view, the bus rolling along the Jersey shore, I knew.

I'm hooked. It's hopeless. This city has got me.

It's a strange love.

Those Games We Play

2005-04-02T22:04:00.000-05:00

This could've been about my food issues. You could've read all about how I've spent the past 3 days stuffing my face with cheese cake and burritos and how that pisses me off. But as I was writing that one ... I got distracted.

Now, I could be wrong but I get the feeling that one of my friends likes me, and by "likes me" I mean in more than a friendly way. I started to notice him acting strangely around me - looking at me or sometimes not looking at me, in general being more polite than he needs to be, when I'm around. Ya'll know what I'm talking about. So I'm in the middle of my rant about the food issue and then I start to hear lip smacking and sucking and shit.

The boy is outside MY door, straddling his GIRLFRIEND, making out with her. In plain fucking view.

"O no you did not."

I'm laughing because, if this is supposed to make me jealous, it's not working. True - I don't want to witness this, it's kind of pissing me off, but this is more because I can see through it and I know it's a ploy for my attention. In no way do I wanna hit that. Not my type. I like mine a little more thugged out.

I guess he started to become self-concious about his little stageshow cause I hear his girl asking him what's wrong and, seconds later, they move the party somewhere else. Good thing too, cause I was about to slam the door on them. Those games are meant for high school. If he would just talk to me and tell me what's up we could all relax.

William and Denzel

2005-03-29T23:53:00.000-05:00

I forgot to tell all about my meeting with Denzel Washington.

Those are the only 2 words I need to say, right? And now I've got your attention.

I'll admit, maybe it wasn't really a meeting. It was however a moment, during which Oscar winning Denzel Washington looked me in the eye and spoke to me and me alone. He said, "I don't understand a word they're saying." Then he smiled and signed my playbill for Julius Caesar. He was talkin bout a group of women. (Yes, black women...don't make me say it again.) Who were screaming and throwing papers at him, OVER HIS CAR, for him to sign. O...and I also gotta add - he got an eyeful of some woman's chest that day.

Will Sadler of Shawshank fame was there too. But who gives a shit really? He only played the title role of Caesar. And it's not like he's a fucking amazing actor who's been acting for over 25 years or anything.

Nah.

Watch Ralph Sweat Him

2005-03-28T16:50:00.000-05:00

Let's just cut to the chase:

I met a guy, at Coldstone on Astor Place, who just knocked me the fuck out. I mean...damn. When you've resigned yourself to the fact that no boys are gonna meet your standards and suddenly some kid appears and he's everything you thought you'd never get your hands on...

I love how he had no idea what dirty thoughts were going on inside my head. (And there were plenty.)

He works there and he apologized to me for not being cheerful because he hadn't had more than 6 hours sleep in the past 2 days. And there I was...just looking at him. And looking. And looking. I asked him a bunch of questions - trying to get him to crack a smile, but he didn't. There's time to work on that though - especially as I now know which days and shifts he works! O no...I'm definitely not past stalking this one. Do you know how specific I am when it comes to men?

When it comes to hot boys...fuck 'em. There's nothing special about them. Most of them are ignorant and disrespectful and have no real grasp of what women are looking for. But this guy...

This guy had a cool personality. He was very real, didn't try to front, didn't talk to me like I was some video ho. None of the stuff these boys usually spit at me.

He happened to be hot on top of that. The physical aspect of this kid is merely the icing on the cake.

And I really really really want a peice of that cake.

Ima get it too.

Give me time to work on it.

It Comes Around

2005-03-21T00:55:00.000-05:00

Spring Break was much needed. I went away for a few days and then came back to New Yawk - because you know I missed the gray skies and the piss-like rain.

Spring, they call it.

I'm not feelin this. I want an end to this gross, dribbling part of the season. I want it soon. I hope it's as short as this post.

Drink Up Baby Down

2005-03-01T21:44:00.000-05:00

Bare with me now please - because, as I write this, I am walking the thin line between being tipsy and awkwardly frank, weirdly passionate and completely uncouth.

But I just used the word "uncouth" so I think it's gonna be okay.

This is what happens when you, lowly undergrad, attend a prestigious lecture and sample more than three glasses of wine at the post-show reception. The guest lecturer in question? Pete Hamill. Yeah...like...Pete Hamill, Pete Hamill. It's okay if you don't know him. But you should. Especially if you're a New Yorker.

So it's like this: I'm standing in this fantastic space holding my notebook and second glass of wine (white, pinot grigio, I'm guessing about $7) and I'm marveling at the impossibly small hor' doeuvres. A peice of toast - one inch by one inch in dimension with a tiny dot of "tomatoes" on it: the so-called bruschetta. I am not liking this. Nevertheless, I am waiting around and finally I see that Hamill has entered, He begins to sign his $20 books. Of course I bought a damn book. How could I resist it, being an aspiring writer and all. Plus I read A Drinking Life last summer. The guy was fresh in my head and owns words in such a way that every one of them, skillfully tripping onto his page, should be placed among his personal possessions...for an age.

I stepped up to the neat table and the man greeted me. I had been fretting about the idea that he would smell wine on my breath (he wrote a memoir about how alcohol almost ruined his life) and invalidate me but I soon realised that he hardly cared.

Still coherent and intelligent enough to form complex ideas, was I.

Haha...anyway - It was amazing.

He signed the book and spoke to me of the promise, romance and truth in his New York and when I asked him about how he reconciled the good with the bad, he was very honest and tried not to build a thesis statement. Unhappily for him, when a guy is that good with words and, more importantly, that good at applying the intense emotions, training and experience that lie behind them...you're gonna come away with a sparkling quotation that seems as if it will change your world.

Hamill left me with the confident knowledge of why New York City is so great. New York represents purpose or, at the very least, the hope upon hope that we can one day attain it.

I can't try to pretend that it means much to anyone else. But I wish that you could've been there with me, to have that experience.

The Test for the Teenage Boy

2005-02-25T00:23:00.000-05:00

I'd forgotten what little boys were like. One of my roommates brought her little brother to the apartment today and we were all surprised. He could almost pass for 18 I thought - she asked me to guess how old he was - and I said 19 just to be safe.

The kid had recently turned 14.

But later, after witnessing his reaction to the words "Salma Hayek" (eyes rolled back into his head, spastic bouncing, loud slurping sounds), I knew it was true. The method is fool proof.

Salma Hayek, by the way, may or may not be one of three.

You Make Me Wanna...

2005-02-22T01:00:00.000-05:00

I think I know what Ashlee Simpson meant by the term she coined in her most recent song. And trust me - I wouldn't go to her for an expressive term unless it was something as unintelligible as that one. Because...I can't put the feelings I've been having lately into words.

Whiney drives me INSANE. I never knew that a person could be this deceptively stupid. But lo and behold...there she is. This is the person who's mouth is always hanging slightly open, who speaks with a baby voice on the phone, who asks simple-minded questions one, two, three times over. This is the person you most want to bitch-slap. This is the person who makes you want to drill holes into your own brain or bring a glock home one day and wait until she's asleep and...

And that's all I'm sayin.

City of Stars

2005-02-11T14:19:00.000-05:00

While it wasn't quite as hot as seeing Drea Matteo at CBGB's, I did run into Anne Hathaway from the Princess Diaries at the corner of Broadway and Waverly on thursday. I didn't have time to stop and chat cause I was late for class, but it was an experience worthy of a mention.

She's a pretty girl. You can't deny that. She's like Belle from Disney's Beauty and the Beast - nevertheless there are about 100 other girls on campus who fit into that same category. Thus, I wasn't exactly bowled over when I saw her. For one - she was in street clothes, not a couture gown and secondly, I was a little fixated on how thin she looked. I hope she hasn't been hanging out with the wrong Olsen twin. Speaking of which - I wonder if I'm ever going to see those pesky little Full House imps. Maybe I've already seen them and I just didn't know it. Magazines have been showing them dressed like bums lately. Only in New York. The rich girls rock rags, while the ghetto girls rock riches. Uptown is downtown and downtown is up.

By the way, I cried after seeing Robert DeNiro's American Express commercial, during the trailers at the movies, last night. I'm not kidding. Perhaps only New Yorkers will appreciate that fact. Or perhaps not.

Monologue on Dress Rehearsal Pt. 2

2005-02-09T16:40:00.000-05:00

Forgetting the ode to Raisin in the Sun that was my last post, let's linger on the fact that I can always live vicariously through the aspiring actors on HBO's new show "Unscripted." I Fucking love HBO.

"Unscripted" is off the hook. I used to watch "Entourage" which is about a young actor who has already had his big break, how he and his close group of friends deal with his new found fame and how they help him navigate through life in Hollywood, riding on his coat tails. Season one finished a while back and before that, I watched "The IT Factor," a Bravo reality series which documented the lives of 8 struggling actors in New York (first season) and 9 struggling actors in Los Angeles (second season). You see a theme here. I love watching shows about actors. All of these shows were great but they are eclipsed, in terms of creativity, by this new show.

"Unscripted" is part reality, part fiction. It follows three main cast members, young LA actors, as well as their friends, lovers and acting instructors. Simple right? The characters are, however, essentially real - what I mean is, The actor, Bryan Greenfield, plays the character "Bryan Greenfield" and most of the auditions we see in each episode are real life auditions. (Most, not all.) The show is entirely unscripted. Everything is improvised. There are no rehearsals and no reshoots. The "writers" simply get together in a room with the actors and producers, discuss real life Hollywood stories, put together a basic story arc and decide the issues they want to cover for an episode.

Oh and did I mention that George Clooney is executive producing? Ain't that some shit?

All this can be disregarded. The show basically kicks ass. Supposedly some people find it depressing because it reveals the constant rejection and failure that actors face daily. But fuck that. People are ignorant about the industry. Serious aspiring actors have been wise to this shit for a long time and it doesn't depress them as much as motivate them to find work and do what they have to do. If I felt okay about taking that chance myself...maybe I'd be out there waiting tables and going up for audition, after audition, after audition. For now, though, I'll watch it on TV like the slob that I am. "Unscripted" gets 5 stars and my undying groupie love.

Monologue on Dress Rehearsal

2005-02-08T15:53:00.000-05:00

I tried to be really discrete on my last blog because people knew who I was. I currently exist in semi-anonymity on Extremely Perishable. And I like it that way. Nevertheless, on the dead blog, I occasionally posted on the subject of an unfulfilled dream or corrosive desire that caused me a fair amount of anxiety. I never said what it was but I discussed how crazy it made me feel. I was in the closet. And it did make me feel crazy.

It might not seem like the admission of wanting to be a professional actor should be difficult...but it is. For me. And probably many others.

Firstly, my family - i.e. my parents - tend to only validate the status quo. Telling my father, for example, that my career goal is to become an actor would be embarrassing, perhaps even shameful. Secondly and more importantly, the majority of actors in the United States are unemployed. I fear what any other person who is already on the cusp of being broke fears. I fear the low quality of life and financial instability that a life in theatre arts pretty much promises. I fear falling through the cracks of society if I pursue that type of career. I mean, I'm already in debt...Student loans, people. Many of them.

So this dream dries up. Except...it's still there. I feel it most of the time. I break my life down, almost automatically, into camera shots and script lines and conflict. It's a natural, spontaneous drive. (As a side note - I still have high aspirations in the field of journalism. But these are muted in comparison to theatre and film.)

Some people would suggest that I go for it. I have one life and I can't live it with half of myself longing to be somewhere else. This is the final performance, they say, not the dress rehearsal. It's too easy to use that rhetoric though. Let's get real. I've learned, over the few short years I've been alive - you can't do everything you want. Some things must be sacrificed for the sake of others. And for me it's this unrealistic fantasy that money doesn't matter and that nobody will care if I 'waste' my college tuition.

Four Letter Word

2005-02-07T01:15:00.000-05:00

I just realized that Valentine's Day arrives in seven days.

I hate it.

It's the one day when we are supposed to celebrate love and I myself don't harbor anything but hatred for it. It's not because I'm not in love. It's because of the forced nature of the celebration. It's because stupid people think they can get away with saying "I love you" or doing something compassionate only once a year. It's because it is the second most commercialized day of the the year and it's because people pretend it's about love when it's really about two other things, which seem to eclipse the four letter word every single time you turn around: sex and money.

My grandmother used to say "sex and money!" instead of "cheese" when somebody took a photo of her. Who knew that wisdom could come from such an awkward display of senior sexuality? Grandma was basically pointing out the two most important things in modern civilization. Those two things are what keep the species alive AND YET...with all the crime and inequality that money propagates as well as HIV spread through sexual contact (the number one killer of black women by the way) - maybe money and sex are in fact killing us - not keeping us alive.

But I digress...

Valentine's Day is supposed to be about love. And it ain't. It's about the above. I've made my point with that. The other thing that I can't deal with is the gruesome displays of "love" that we are forced to watch and/or emulate for 24+ hours. "O...you bought me a bear holding a pink heart that says 'I luv U' on it. It was on sale at the Hallmark store for $7.99." Wow. It must be true then! I can't wait for the cheap-ass wedding!

And finally...

Women, on Valentine's Day - they let themselves be bought. Women get too many jollies out of requesting stuff from their husbands, fiancees, boyfriends, just because it's the national day of love. What separates you from being glorified hookers ladies? "If you love me...you'll buy me that necklace for Valentine's Day." Translation: "If you want sex tonite...hand over the bling."

My advice for the day is this: hit it all you want but use a condom and instead of spending money on chocolates, which are just gonna go to your girl's thighs anyway, why don't you spend some compassionate dollars on the relief effort in Asia, after the Tsunami. Help for those in need...now that's love.

Fuckacino

2005-01-30T21:19:00.000-05:00

I was at the Starbucks at Astor with Whiney the Pooh and Mr. Brazil, when Brazil pointed out to me how sexual a Frappacino is. He wanted a huge, milky, caramel-drizzled Frappacino, with whipped cream on top, which he described as sex in a plastic cup. Witness...the "Fuckacino."

After that, I started to notice other things and it is undeniably true; Starbucks sells sex. Everything in there is sexual. Everyone is sipping and licking and sucking on something - poking their straws or their tongues through openings, gulping down mouthfuls of hot liquid. Behind the coffee bar the employees are squeezing bottles of thick, sweet coffee toppings and the chocolate oozes and then spurts out of the end. Or sometimes you'll see them trying to clean the coffee makers. They grasp the steel nozzels in their hands and rub them up and down, up and down, over and over.

It's all sex. Everywhere you turn. You just have to decide.

Do you want your's tall or grande?

My Skin is Tight

2005-01-28T23:46:00.000-05:00

So I stuffed myself at French Roast tonight. This will inevitably ruin the good thing I had goin on with my body. For some reason, I've lost weight and kept it off - this is despite the fact that I'm not training 2 hours a day, 6 days a week anymore! I was heavier when I was working out. There seems to be something wrong with that. Girls tend not to gain muscle weight, but maybe I am the anomaly. Fuckin weird.

Anyway...that went to hell. Chocolate Pecan Pie.

Those of you who live with roommates have probably, at some point, felt like you missed being able to sleep naked. I do. I really wanted to, last week. But it was inappropriate. It's just a luxury that you take for granted, when you have your own room. I have a feeling that my suitemates wouldn't give a shit if they got an eyeful. But Whiney...well...the word "puritan" comes to mind.

Introspection 101

2005-01-28T03:15:00.000-05:00

(Please remember that I read Freud before I wrote this.) I ask myself more and more frequently - why can't you figure out the boundaries between yourself and everyone else? I'm fully aware - sometimes I don't know where my edges are. A lot of the time, I feel like the boundary is too close to me and then, other times, I feel like the boundary is too far out. It is never the same.

The fact is...even though I have moved back to New York...I'm still at the stage in my life where my anxieties are all about the future - or, more specifically, the aimless way in which I'm stumbling into the future. I feel better about where I am in the present but I'm still messed up about what direction I'm taking. I used to do things that would distract me from that - I could ignore shit by working myself to death and falling into a numb routine. But being here, in a new situation, after having dropped my career in collegiate sports, the Ivy rep and switching majors at the last possible junction - it all seems to come together. And it spells out one thing.

Get your shit together, Ralph. It's time to step out.

All That OMFUG

2005-01-26T23:14:00.000-05:00

Who did I see at CBGB's tonight?

Drea fucking De Matteo.

Yes...Drea from "the Sopranos." Drea from NBC's "Joey." Drea from "Deuces Wild." Drea fucking De Matteo. She is one of only 3 women I would consider going gay for. (Angelina is in there of course.) It was a pretty chill night - I had a ton of work but my roommate convinced me (very easily) to dump it and go down there. Shooter Jennings was headlining and we got in free because we came for the first set. As we were walking in, I kind of noticed this woman, but didn't make anything of it - until I got inside and turned back and saw that it was Drea walking in behind me. This would be my third celebrity sighting in New York. The second was Mos Def, outside the Whitney, 3 weeks ago. The first was Nas and Kelis in Barnes & Noble at 66, on the second floor, art section.

I guess Drea is dating Shooter - cause she was kissing him at the bar, after his band was done playing. I was thinking how fucked up it must be to be famous. I could've been a paparazzo, taken pictures of her and sold them to Us Weekly where they'd show up with a stupid column about how she was spotted canoodling. Regardless - people eventually started to realize that there was a celebrity in the house and in between sets they all swarmed around her. I've never seen such rabid ass-kissing go down. It caused me actual physical pain. I just sat back and appreciated Ms De Matteo from 10 feet away. It's all good. I was at CBGB's, we had good music and I was hanging out with rock stars and a leading lady....gormandizing.

The Days

2005-01-25T01:41:00.000-05:00

It's days like these when I really regret not having enough money to buy a tricked out digital camera. Everyone has cool pictures of New York City snowed over, glistening, rolling in the whiteness of the snow drifts - except for me. The urban landscape is amazing right now. But I can't record it.

It's surreal. I feel like I live in Russia...or the Ukraine. (I live on the edge of a Ukrainian neighborhood by the way...go figure.)

Anyway - NY* is treating me all right. I'm still slightly stunned by the number of small-town, small-minded, weird people I seem to run into though...even though this school is distinctively diverse and "city." There were these two fuckers sitting behind me today in my film lecture who started debating the merits of "The Green Mile," refering to Michael Clarke Duncan's character as "the magical negro." And two days ago...some weed-head, bean-pole white boy from the boondocks said to me "maybe it was the milkman," when my geneology came up AGAIN in yet another UNNECESSARY conversation. WTF.

I'm kind of sick of the dumb shit. It's all been said and done before. I'm disappointed by the fact that people are still unable to grasp simple biological concepts and don't know when to keep quiet or keep their ignorance to themselves. People are just straight up rude. They talk stupid, without thinking. I'm not surprised by it anymore...but O am I disappointed.

Current reading list:
Plato - the Republic
Four Plays by Aristophanes
Civilization and its Discontents by Freud
Kierkegaard - one big-ass book
3 big-ass books about Disney (the "evil entertainment conglomerate" + Walt)
The New Oxford Annotated Bible
Saint Augustine's Confessions.

And there's a lot more where that came from.

A Whine Tour of New York

2005-01-17T22:59:00.000-05:00

Classes start tomorrow, down here in lower Manhattan. I don't know that it has registered in my mind yet - the fact that I'm not going back to Ithaca. It might be because I'm so used to my life shifting and morphing every 2 years.

My new dorm is apartment style. My roommate has never spent significant time in the city, never taken the subway, never been to a bar and never paid 9 dollars for dinner at a restaurant. (She thinks that's expensive.) She's simultaneously in awe of and freaked out by New York. In addition...she is freaked out by how "intellectual" NYU/Columbia/city kids are. We met a kid who reads poetry in his free time and she can't stop talking about it. She's whining about it on the phone to one of her friends - right now.

I - as a person who loves and embraces all of New York, including all of its great culturally and intellectually attuned city kids - hate her fucking whining. The girl whines constantly. It's only one semester though...I'll get ear plugs. Either that or there's gonna be a smack-down, some time around march.

The Morning After

2004-12-26T02:25:00.000-05:00

(The Holy Day)
My parents hooked me up, this year. My dad got me one of those mini iPod things. Now...I know for a fact that this is mainly because he was getting my brother one and he wanted to be fair and even with the gifting...but still. I can't believe he got me one. I'm damn lucky. That's love and big-time generosity. The fam doesn't have a whole lot of extra money to blow on random stuff.

No doubt - I'm thankful for my gifts this year but, as I said before, I'm not real high on Christmas anymore. It should rightly be about religion. I don't like being consumed with presents and who-got-what and how-many-of-this, how-much-of-that and what-do-I-get-this-person? The most enjoyable parts of the celebration for me were getting a couple of calls from my girlfriends, having people enjoy the cake I baked, watching Joduh rip music and watching "When Harry Met Sally" with my grandfather. It almost felt like a regular day...something I've never experienced before. And there were very few arguments.

I could go for a good Christmas screw, tho. Bring out the mistletoe and some hot boys. (Laughable concept, I know.) Will the Village help this situation? Fuck...I'm not gonna get my hopes up. 2 years ago...been there. Truthfully tho - I like to joke about getting zero nookie but it's not a real anxiety - not something that greatly disturbs my peace of mind. It just makes my body go crazy. I need to get my shit together in other parts of life and focus on the upcoming changes. I'm going into 2005 blindfolded again.

I'm looking forward to spending some time in this city by myself. God bless New York, the troops, the people I psycho-love and Audrey, who is very sick and far too close to going home.

The Minimalist

2004-12-24T04:48:00.000-05:00

I'm so tired. More stuff to do tomorrow. All I want to do is sleep. For 24 hours. But I can't.

The Worst Season of All

2004-12-19T01:45:00.000-05:00

I've come to the conclusion that Christmas, in general, sucks. I understand the religious aspect of it and have a lot of respect and reverence for that...but the rest of the holiday celebration is an unholy piece of shit. It all seems so fake to me. It's sad that we've been building this fake holiday up for years and years. It's a trashy holiday. We've cheapened it by making it shiny and sparkly and peddling the shit out of it on street corners and in claustrophobic department stores. Everyone buys into it. My mom...the biggest Christmas sucker of all - she buys into it. She's the one who actually, physically swoons when she hears Christmas songs. She thinks that if things aren't right the rest of the year...they're sure to come together on December 25th!

Yeah, well...this year, on December 25th, a few boys and girls, will probably be blown up in Iraq. Christmas Spirit? Eh...forgive me if I don't give a shit. I'll celebrate the birth of Jesus and I will pray for this flaming shit-ball of a planet to get better - but I'm not gonna play cute with the relatives and run around buying every bright, glowing thing I see in a store window or wear stupid holiday clothes and act like a fool. It's just not me. I'm over it. I'm over the commercial blitz and the consumer feasting. I just don't like Christmas anymore. And while we're at it...Fuck Hanukkah too.

Excedrine Is My Friend

2004-12-14T17:24:00.000-05:00

Damn. I've had a fucked up two weeks.

I've never spilled so many emotions on myself before...or on other people. No dignity anymore. I've been thinking crazily too. I can't explain it.

So I'm transferring out and after Christmas dries up - I'm at a new college, doing the fucking thing all over again. Do I take an extra painkiller or not? Yes - that has a hidden meaning. And I don't mean killing myself, dunce.

To answer some questions I've had lately:

Ralph is not the name on my birth certificate. It is, however, in more ways than one - an accurate representation of who I am. "Ralph" is a person I "met" as a child and I feel like we share the same soul. Deep huh? Well, whatever.

I added comment just because. If I get a lot of shit...I'll turn it off.

The Leaving Time

2004-12-07T02:23:00.000-05:00

First of all I have to mention that I'm a little pissed that I can't change the color of this new template.

In other news - I got into that college in NY. This is big. BIG big. I don't really know how to feel about it or how to approach telling people around me that I'm not coming back here next semester - that I'm going somewhere else.

I've also been so sure of my desire to get out of here and I've struggled for it for so long that now that the opportunity is here - I don't know what to do with it. Except take it. Maybe in another situation I would feel excited. But my life has been a continual chain of comings and goings, false starts and successive runnings of the gauntlet - I can't remember the last time things were easy - when I wasn't in the middle of some huge transition. I'm always up in the air...my life with me. I'm not naive about this move. I expect it to be hard.

But, damn it...at least I'll be in the City of New York. That alone, makes me feel "alright."

Happy Lessons

2004-12-02T13:06:00.000-05:00

I just completed my theatre course. We had our last class today - our final showcase of the scenes we had been working on. And now...release. After you've done it, struggled, forced your way through it, done what's necessary to nail your part and you finish - you end up missing it. It's over. There's nothing like the end of a show and there's nothing else out there like performing. Like acting. It is a genuine art. It's demanding and maddening and so worthwhile. It blows my mind.

I came out of the theatre arts center and I couldn't stop smiling. And at the same time I felt a great loss. I love it. I love my acting instructor. I can't believe I've been able to have people like that in my life - even superficially. I loved every second of the class and I'm going to keep going with it, if and when I can.

Thank you Laurence Drozd.

I Told You I Had Issues

2004-11-29T02:00:00.000-05:00

There are times when I see myself as such and asshole...for having negative thoughts and pitying myself and closing myself off - getting angry. Maybe everyone has an inner asshole. Or maybe that's just me trying to rationalize mine.

People don't trust me sometimes when I say this - but I'm an angry person. Not outwardly. Angry on the inside. I've been this way for, well...a long time. I remember feeling angry a lot as a kid. I'm angry right now. It doesn't matter why. It's just there. I'm just really good at covering it and keeping it down and letting other emotions come through. I'm not hiding a personality. I'm not walking around pretending to be something I'm not - but I am covering the less pretty parts of myself. And fuck...it's for everyone else's good. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. People see me as a laid back person. I am. Laid back. But I also have an undertow of crazy fucked-up-ness that really wants to get out and rage.

These last few weeks have been kind of miserable in some ways. I try to wake up every day and feel happy about being alive...here, but I just feel sick. I don't feel like I'm doing anything or learning anything. I feel like I'm wasting my time and, up until recently, I thought that had everything to do with being out here in the boondocks. Lately I've been wondering if it's just me. I'm plateauing as an athelete - which makes me angry. I'm sick of classes. I'm sick of being chill. Sometimes I just want to beat people up.

See. There's the asshole.

The Princess Diaries

2004-11-21T17:33:00.000-05:00

I had an experience last night which made me realize how important it is for a man to respect a woman. I've never been into the whole "treat me like your queen" shit but there are a lot of men out there whose natural tendencies are towards treating women like tools for sex - like dolls - like we don't have any dignity. And women have become to used to this role. Even I, miss neo-womanist, have become used to this role. I caught myself - I just thought, "hold up...what the fuck am I doing? why am I tryin to please this boy...I don't even know him - I'm not gonna give a shit about him when I sober up." So I just stopped.

So. If there were a man who wanted to treat me like a princess, even though that stuff makes me feel weird, I wouldn't say no to it.

This Contains Adult Content

2004-11-15T01:29:00.000-05:00

I don't mind saying this. I am seriously sexually frustrated right now.

I want a boyfriend...but more importantly, I need somebody to have fun with, not necessarily with the extra stuff that comes with a relationship. If I met someone who I actually wanted to be serious with - that would be great. But given my track record...this is not likely to happen soon. Naturally, I want to find that person who lights me up. Subconsciously I think everyone is looking for that but, I mean, come on... I've gotten to the point where my father (who used to threaten to bat boys away with a club) seems to be encouraging me to 'put myself out there.' And you know what - I'm not even embarrassed by it. The fact that I am single is such a given now. It's expected. Nobody cares and I don't even care. But my body does. Seriously. The basic instinct in me wants...what it wants. That's something I can't ignore.

I'm not the most simple girl out there but I'm not crazy. I'm not difficult, unbearable to be around. I don't have three heads. SO WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? Why is everyone else in a relationship or hooking up 24/7, while I get nothing...if I'm lucky - mild flirtation.

And this mild flirtation? It's always with the guys who are already dating someone. A guy at work flirts with me pretty obviously but...girlfriend. (Not that I would hit that if he were single - but it's the principle!) Then there's the infamous older guy who I spent much of last year dying over. Of course, he had a girlfriend and of course he flirted with me and made me crazy. (His name is Ben and I hate him now. Fuck it if he sees this. I'm past giving a shit.)

I guess I'm just sick of living without relief. It's not just me being stupid and whiny about not having a boyfriend because I want to be like everybody else or because I think being alone is bad. I've enjoyed being alone. I've had the freedom to be completely selfish and learn things about myself without worrying about somebody else who is connected to me. There are wonderful, invaluable aspects of being alone that I am grateful for, but it is time for me to be learning about how to share myself with another person - something I've never done before. I also (and, for real, this is the more immediate concern) need someone, who I'm actually attracted to, who can help me with my physical cravings...otherwise I'm gonna explode.

Yeah. I'm "horny." That's a stupid word for it, but so what? That's what I am. I'm also tired. So for now...I'm gonna go to bed and fantasize about all the sex that I'm not having right now.

Things That Just Don't Make Sense

2004-11-08T20:58:00.000-05:00

The list - in order of importance:

Bush winning the 2004 presidential election.

The fact that, right now...it is snowing. (Damn this place.)

That the editors of the Sun messed up another one of my articles.

Thin girls ruling the world.

Buzz Rodell. Buzz Rodell does not make sense.

That it's my birthday and I'm still alive.

The Ring 2

That the majority of Americans are dumb-ass people. (Though, maybe this should be at the top.)

The Darkest Day of the Year

2004-11-03T23:16:00.000-05:00

I'm at a loss.

Where are we going? And why am I in this handbasket?

I won't be able to talk about this for several days.

Tuesdays Never Were Any Good

2004-11-02T22:00:00.000-05:00

It was a strange-ass day. That's all that can really be said.

As usual it was raining piss this morning and the sky was gray. I walked down the theatre arts building with the talkative, just-a-little-too-cheery-for-her-own-good friend. On the way there, I caught sight of two girls whom I kicked to the curb last year (touchy subject which I don't want to talk about). I almost missed them because I was kinda looking at my feet as we were moving along and my friend was talking, and it was lightly raining and, well- I was trying to shield myself from the noise and the world assaulting my senses...know what I mean. But I'm walking and I eventually see them when they're right up on me. Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-bitch. They obviously saw me long before I saw them and awkwardly averted their eyes at the last moment. It was funny. I don't see them much anymore. Good for all three of us.

About an hour ago, downstairs, in the blackbox there was a group of people rehearsing the most painful rendition of Oedipus Rex that I have ever witnessed. I'm so lucky to be in an acting course with students who are so talented. I'd hate to be among these guys. (I guess this is why they made us audition to get in - to weed out the unaccomplished.) Acting isn't easy but I feel personally insulted, for some reason, when I see people fucking up a good play. They were messing with Oedipus! It was dull, dull, dull, dull. These kids were speaking their lines like robots. Nobody had any character - I mean that in a literal sense. They didn't invest anything in the lines. They just blurted them out, prettily.

Sophocles isn't pretty. People make the same mistake with Shakespeare. The story is about a man whose parents leave him on a mountain to die, he grows up, has sex with his own mother, murders his father and then plucks his own eyes out of their sockets. It's not a pretty play. It deserves actors who can mine the darkness. Yet, as I stopped there and watched these kids with their pretty acting all I could do was squirm. They were messing up Sophocles, damnit! It just made me mad. I can't help it. I walked away gritting my teeth and shaking my head. It's been a long day and there's nothing to inspire me.

Today was, of course, voting day and I was ready to go...all except for the fact that they didn't send me my absentee ballot. I went to the polling place anyway thinking that they might be able to give me a provisional ballot or something like that. I mean - that makes sense to me. That way, I don't get deprived because of a shitty system.

The woman there said I couldn't vote. Period.

Obviously this pissed me off and it's pissing me off even more now because, after getting home, I heard them say on the news that people whose ballots didn't come in the mail were able to vote through other emergency means - provisional ballots. O...and the other thing that pisses me off is that Bush is ahead.

It's typical though, that the people here manning the polls don't know what the fuck they're doing. None of them could've given me the right information because this place is so out of the loop.

This brings to my thrice-weekly affirmation - I gotta get out of this place.

Living in a Cave

2004-10-29T19:43:00.000-04:00

I am living like a slob. I've been living like a slob for the past 2 weeks. O...and personal hygiene?...it's hanging on by a thread. I work out every day...and when I get home I have a mountain of things to do...you can't blame me for that.

I need this weekend so badly. Yeah...I need to take a fucking shower but it's mainly about the sleep and being able to just chill - not have to run around. The thing is...the weekends go by so fast now. Tomorrow I'm working the football game for 4 hours, which really makes me wanna kill somebody, but I can't get out of it. And I have a pretty vicious math paper that needs to be finished by Sunday night. I am not going into next week tired again.

I've been moody lately. Technically, I'm always moody but I mean more so than usual. And I haven't spoken to the viper in a minute. She's away this weekend too. I told myself I wouldn't speak to her until I sent in my transfer app. Anyway. Good thing. At least this proves to her that I did the shit without her and I'm capable of making my own decisions without stooping to her level of spin. And if I get in...that'll be even better.

At this point, for the sake of my sanity - I gotta get in.

Out of Left Field

2004-10-29T02:16:00.000-04:00

(Fiction or Fact?)
Quite honestly I don't know what to write. I'm real tired, real upset. I've been procrastinating all night with Ifilm viral video. Can't focus on papers. I can't focus on anything or anyone.

I know I'm being mean to people. I just don't care. I can't. I don't care that somebody feels they "need" me. I didn't ask for it to be that way. I put in very little effort. I showed very little interest. All I did was be humane...nice - the way it should be. But apparently this is enough to lead to some deep bond between two people - the type of deep bond which ends up being one-sided. A "The other day you tried to get my attention by screaming a nickname which was never sanctioned by me and you wondered why I didn't turn around" - type of deep bond. I even said, when you asked, that I don't answer to that name because it's not mine, regardless of whether you "gave it to [me]" or not. And then...I couldn't believe it...you said again "but we gave it to you!" - like a child. You remind me of a little kid sometimes.

It's not my job to look after you. I'm not gonna play your games where you try to subtly get my attention. Quit parading yourself around me and pouting about how I don't make time for you. There's a reason for that.

I'm going to leave you very soon and I don't feel bad about it. I wish I did.

The Bitch Can't Rock

2004-10-25T23:56:00.000-04:00

I would like to point out that it is not Ashlee Simpson's fault that she sucks at singing. Blame it on the parents.

I hear a lot of people are getting upset over the discovery that the girl lip-syncs. Why? Of course she lip-syncs! She has a shitty voice. If you didn't realize that before...then I just don't know what to tell you.

In other news...the war between Ralph and Mother continues.

Oh...and I've done my obligatory crying for the day.