the most bizarre week i've ever had

i'll keep this brief, for there is a disco-nap to be had...

graham norton was a riot squared, what a laugh. the brits finally got something right, i mean, i'm still seething about the metric system and easyjet's crappy schedule to/from ljubljana. (although, diana did have lovely jewelry.) and i believe graham is irish now that i think about it. i'm bad with accents, see below.

and as i was getting ready to go, stepping out of the shower, i hear clomping in my hall, like big man in boots clomping, and see lights flashing in my window. great. grrrrrrrreat. a fire NOW. right inconvenient, say i. most certainly do not approve of random fire before a night out.

so, i pop my head out, see a burly, delish firefighter and ask if there is a fire. 'nah.' um, right. ok. but you're still here. and going up. and like any good new yorker, i decided i'll deal with the to-be-charred remains of the flophouse when i get back. i mean, i had tickets, graham wasn't about to wait for me (imagine.) priorities, you know. heading out, i see a non-burly and non-delish firefighter puffing on a cigarette. 'is there a fire?' 'nah, just a gas leak on four. some moron left her stove on. no big deal.' [there are six flashing, screeching trucks on my street and, as i found out, four more on the cross street. traffic was completely halted.] 'oh, gas leak. cool. so, should you be smoking, you know, like, right here?' 'should i be smoking, should you be living in a building with a gas-leak?'

i had to walk away: didn't quite know what to make of that. i mean, how DOES one retort?

and this evening, on the uncannily-empty subway ride home, i thought i'd plop into a quasi-empty seat. but, some faaaaaaaaaaabulous woman was taking up the space next to her with her (exactly what shade IS that?) green bag.
'excuse me.' [averting eye contact.]
'oh sor-ray. let me move that, won't you. is that e-nough room?'
[british? australian? americanized, whatever it is, and cleeeeearly not from the city.]
'oh it's fine. thank you.'

'sor-ray...'
'yes?'
'might you know where washington square is?'
'yes, get off at west fourth, then'
'oh there is a church there, and it's being used as a holding area for actors for a movie. st. joseph's?'
'oh yeah, 6th and washington place.'
'riiiiiiight. thank you.'

'sor-ray. what stop is west fourth from where we are now.'
'three more.'
'it's on the fourth, or the third?'
'it's the third. 23rd, fourteenth, and then west fourth.'
'riiiiiiight. oh, but what about eighth street?'
'only the broadway local stops on eighth street. this is the sixth avenue local.'
'oh. riiiiiiight. thank you.'

'sor-ray.'
'yeah.' [obvious decrescendo.]
'is my hair straight?'
'sorry?'
'i've just gotten it cut and i'm not confident it's straight.'
'it's fine. it's lovely... [this is where i did myself in.] 'so, you're auditioning?'
'no, i'm in the movie. it's starring' [i tuned out. celebs do nothing for me.] 'called [something something] phoenix.' [not really into the conversation. the hunk holding the pole, yes, the actress, not so much.]
'oh lovely. have fun.' [back to hunk.]
'yes, but it's not my career. i'm a gemologist. i'd love to work for debeers in london someday.'
[not australian. mystery solved.]
'you're a what?'
[proudly] 'gemologist.'
'so am i.'
'g.i.a.?'
'and a.g.s., too.' [trump that, sister.]
'oh, i work for [BIG BROTHER IN THE CALIFORNIA OFFICES.]'
[nicely trumped.]
'um, so do i. here.'
'you do?'
'i do.'
'do you have a card?'
[oh thank god i don't.]
'no, i'm sorry, but i don't. who is your manager?'
'nel...'
[she's not full of crap. this is getting weird.]
'what's your name? and in what department do you work?'
[stupidly told her both.]
'oh so if i call, they'll know how to connect me?'
[SHIT]
'they should.'

with that we got to west fourth, i told her to go out the other exit, and realize i need to wear all sorts of rainbow crap whenever i leave the house 'going forward' as we say at big brother.

i think i've had quite enough for one week. but my new smurf-blue adidas running sneaks arrived. i'm convinced smurf-blue makes me run faster. i'll look into this and get back to you.

brief post my foot.

my happy campaign: part four

yes, i'm a great big cheeseball, but i love texting (err, pj down under, i believe your people call it sms-ing. :-) all my friends on my cel every other friday, or so, promptly at 530 when i get out of work wishing a happy weekend. some are more chipper (read: bizarre) than others, but my little way of reconnecting with people who've fallen to the wayside. you should try this. totally part of my happy campaign.

amy vanderbilt, why won't you write from the grave?

i've had quite enough of the morons who insist on using golf umbrellas on the sidewalks. it's all in the name: GOLF umbrella. for playing GOLF. on biiiiiiiiiig GREEN pastures. and whilst it lovely that the concierges of the frou-frou-er hotels actually inflict new york natives with clueless tourists donning such, they should know better.

and why two golf umbrellas would walk side-by-side i'll never know.

so help me, i'm going to start posting pictures of stupid people being stupid. kind of like hot or not, you can all vote. 'yes, tom, she's a fucking moron.' or, 'no, tom, he's just a clueless tourist.' yes, say i, i must get on this.

and while on the subject of morons on sidewalks, why is it people weave and walk slower on cels? yes, brittany, i bumped you on purpose, sort of, because you had a phone that lit up and you were screaming about how fekkai fucked up your appointment while clutching your fake vuitton bowling bag. i was down wind to your 'perfume' for far too long. and YOU were the one weaving. you just wove into me. and i. didn't. apologize.

so there.

i think i am getting an earache and took a pre-emptive ceclor that is waaaaay expired that i keep in my travel bag should i get a random earache in a land that doesn't take united healthcare. (don't judge me.) hope i don't bite: i've got a show and a party to attend tonight. oh it's just not easy being me.

yom kippur?

while i should have been atoning my sins, on this day of atoning (though not jewish), i decided to head to another culture for dinner in the city. i love chinatown because it's cheap, lovely, yummy, and with 30,000 restaurants competing for your business, you cannot help but spend less than $10.00 per person on even the most extravagant of dinners. mancat was lovely company tonight, though the poor guy was terribly undersleeped. hope he works on that tonight: all work and no play make for a unhappy mancat. we all know what happens to tom when tom isn't properly sleepinated... same with mancat, i feel your pain, honey.

and to the canadien french guy with whom mancat works: your photos are really, really spectacular. not that i'm an expert, but hot damn. well done, my quasi-french friend. looking forward to seeing more.

---

the doctorb took off my bandages today... i love the folks at beth israel, the nicest people on the face of the earth. (do they know the folks at new york sports?) and i'm bitching that i DON'T have a scar. 'well, you will. for about three weeks. then it will go away.' 'away, like, forever?' 'sorry, tom, three weeks at best.' 'but you promised me a scar.' [and he got my name right. for the first time ever. yes, i'm allergic to codeine, and, yes, he prescribed me tylenol three, but at least he got my name right.]

eh, win some, lose some. i'm thrilled the tod bump project of 2005 has gone away. yes, tod, you and me forever, but enough already. have to head to work tomorrow and deal with both braincells of my coworkers. man alive.

oh anderson cooper, will you ever fail to amaze me?

probably not. dude, you're ok in my book. your coverage is always plus que impressive, and that you went to vietnam to study vietnamese is just, how you say, story book. your emotions are real and prevalent, and you're clearly too bright for the dolts at cnn. and if i see you walking your dogs in the city again, maybe i'll have the balls to tell you i think your reporting and research are top notch. keep it up.

my happy campaign: part three

more things that make me happy:

1. the elderly woman with the two elderly dogs on the next street. do they walk her, or does she walk them? they're in the same mindset, it would seem by their facial expressions, best friends forever, been down that stretch if street for years and years. they make me happy looking at them. her apartment is probably right out of the honeymooners.

2. red wine and popcorn. vicodin be damned (kidding, i love you, controlled substance, but the pre-existing relationship of wine and popcorn trumps your 2x every four hours.) but, vico i can take to work for a rainy day. maybe there is room for both? yet more happiness! (thursday may be fun, more valley of the dolls, tra la la te da...)

3. sleep and coffee. i've slept more in the last week than i have in the last month. and i will continue with this lovely streak when i get back from the hospital after they take off my bandages. (my grand unveiling, if you will. certainly not short of puns as of late, am i.) and coffee, you double edged sword, i love you for getting me moving (and other things, *wink wink*), but if i'm wired when i get back from the doctor, you and i will need to have a talk. and maybe a vicodin.

in keeping with my theme...

...of recovering whilst helping fund the economy, i went on a recuperation walk through soho. while i generally put soho in a class with times and herald squares, it is, unlike the other two, rather innocuous during the non-tourist season / times of the day and week. and it was lovely, but the merchandisers and marketers of some of my favorite stores like crate and barrel, express (i miss its pre-marriage name: structure), and a few others made me sad as they've seemed to have forgotten right about halloween, thanksgiving, and some other lesser holidays before it careened 0 - 60 to christmas. thankfully, urban outfitters is holding out just that much longer.

and speaking of hollowween, does your humble blogger reincarnate miss pussy willow, his mischievous southern-belle sister who visited just that one time in june, (no i will NOT post a picture here, so don't ask), or will he be chairman mao again?

the long road to recovery

during my 'recovery' yesterday, i thought it was time for some good old fashioned shopping to speed the healing a bit, and also because being hopped up on the junk, the credit cards seems to just fly out of my normally tightly-wadded wallet that much more easily. first stop, american apparel, this lovely little 'vertically integrated' t-shirt store based out of downtown los angeles seems to have taken over downtown new york as of late. the colors are lovely, models hot hot hot (i'm a sucker for good marketing), and the styles mostly very cute. but two things i just cannot get past: i'm not quite sure for whom the clothes are cut, but not me, and the prices are a TAD extreme. i'm in that odd middle-ground between barely toned (recall what brought up the tod bump project of 2005 in the first place) and runner-thin. the t-shirts are nicely cut for those still caught up in heroin-chic, or big boys who want to dress like daddy, and the prices make you want to curse kathy lee gifford for bitching and moaning a few years back about sweatshops, bla bla bla. i just want to look cute at a price that won't break the bank. must i be dependent upon the local outlets and thrift shops for such?

it would seem so.

at least there is shoes.com, my new favorite website which is proving that zappos can bite me, as can road runner sports, which used to be my favorite place to get shoes and sneaks on the cheap. no longer, as both of them seem to have become victims of the guerrilla marketing that made them who they are: as their overhead has increased dramatically (no, I do not need the quarterly running mag with which you inflict me), they've pushed their margin accordingly, so there are few bargains to be found at either anymore. but shoes.com seems to have arisen much like a slowly protruding middle finger from the fist of rage being waved from cheap bastards like myself.

and ten years into my new york tenure, i'm rediscovering lord and taylor is the anti-macy's. macy's (and bloomingdale's should you have the $) are, as many of you know, the two worst stores in all of new york city. perhaps the world, but i've not seen harrod's just yet... lord and taylor, however, seems to be a secret. tucked away in a crap part of fifth avenue, and the men's store is tucked all the way on ten. you have to really want to go there, but when you do, bargains for days, and an express elevator to get you to and fro the tenth floor. sadly, federated department stores just bought the may department stores company, so i'm sure lord and taylor will go the way of stern's, a&s, and all the other brands federated has killed over the years. rip, new friend.

i'm finding recovery is expensive. maybe i should just dope up and stick to the cartoons that mancat got for me. i am telling you, grover is just misunderstood fun, my dears. elmo doesn't cut it; grover is your money maker.

well now, that wasn't so bad

aah. out of work for five days and counting. my alien bump hurts a bit, but nothing some vicodin and a lot of sleep cannot help. in fact, i'm feeling rather tired.

i've eaten a LOT of spaghettio's and mac and cheese. life is good...