tgif

Maeve was telling me about getting her hair done for this wedding up in Massachusetts - "you know, crunchy paos, the usual" - and hearing the hairdresser describe the bride's coiffure as "very avanti-gaahd." ('I feel bad making fun of her, she's no nice - but she actually said 'avanti-gahhd!')

Received a b-day package from best friend Eloise today. It contained an itemized pachking list.

"Enclosed:

-1 bottle rhubarb liqeur
-1 mix CD
-1 much-promised government-issue memo pad
-1 gruckimish financial book, possible of interest to Slim"

In the accompanying note she added, "I hope the stuff is drinkable - I had a nip and it seemed okay, although I worry that the scrap of lemon peel has overpowered the delicate rhubarb flavor." Also, "Aunt Peggy just visited. Studying to become an Anglican chaplain - afraid she very much looks the part these days." Mentioned needing to come north and "claim a hideous nude painting - perhaps you recall it?"

Interestingly (or not?) enough, put up a batch of apricot brandy myself last night. Great minds?

So: Matt just asked my dad and now the cat is well and truly out of the bag. Seems to have gone okay; lots of talk from the folks about 'trusting my judgment' and then we all simultaneously seemed to realize that there was no reason anyone should. The mothers are to speak.


I called GK4 former fiance very serious and told him.

"Yeah, I know." He said. "I read your blog, you moron."

A compatriot just sent me the following link to Jon Dyer's Beard Page.

Slim is wending his way up to Westchester to ask my dad for my hand. I haven't told him, but I anticipate some parental skepticism of the gold-trading/serial-engagement/rushing-into-stuff varietal. Meanwhile, Slim's folks are already planning a trip east to meet me, have invited me on their family bike trip to Ireland next month (can't make it) and are eagerly awaiting the go-ahead to spread the word to the large, I-Cath fam.

I am feeling really cagey about spreading the word. (Besides, you know, here.) Feel I am becoming somewhat Young Hollywood in my tendency to affiance. Besides which, you know, I apparently get engaged to everyone I date. Narrowly missed being engaged to 2 men in a year, at least, as I told my friend Ella in re her mazel tov. I'll be more relaxed after he speaks to the fam. Await reports.

After Matt's mom's initial tearful response to the news, she called back, very seriously, to give Slim talking points for the man-to-man chat. She seems to feel he will fuck it up. After Matt called my dad to arrange the appt, I promptly got a puzzled call from that gentleman.

"Do you know what this is about?" he asked me. "You do! I can tell you do! Come on, tell me. I can't wait that long!"

He Dated Mingers

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/showbiz/tv/article1213769.ece#OTC-RSS&ATTR=TV

Yes, he still has the moustache.

The ring is his Harvard=Westlake class ring. It has a bucking bronco on it.

WTFUCK?!!!

matt's parents (i gather from this end) are pushing for an october wedding!!!!

oh dear oh dear!!!!

things are out of hand! matt just called his folks to inform them of the engagement! I talked to his mom, who is tearful with joy. matt planning to call my dad tomorrow to ask for my hand. meanwhile, i am still drunk.

Um

think i was just proposed to, ring, kneel et al. am kinda tipsy tho.

Hate everybody

also dogs

Dead.

Furious

It's humid, my head looks like a dandelion gone to seed (not in the awesome way), I'm super-hungry, and I think I have a staph infection. By the time you read this the infection will be raging and then I'll be stone dead.

I'm getting a yogurt.

Paper?

It seems to me that Slim and I met about a year ago. As such, given that he experienced a modest success on the gold mart this am, we are sort of recreating our first date. Which is to say, half-price wine night at Fragole. And then maybe some sexual harassment at the hands of a local bartender. Not going for total authenticity,as that would entail my thrusting a grease-stained bag of rugelach into his face so he wouldn't try to kiss me.

Weekend Report

Charlie is back from the Massachusetts wedding in which Maeve bridesmaided on Sunday. Apparently he was the only guest dressed in a mod suit (whose trousers he'd had pegged further for the occasion) and, while Maeve was seated at the Sweetheart Table, he got stuck at the "Miscellaneous" one with various random old people and a young single mom with a fussy baby. The bride and groom entered to the Rocky theme.

Buckingham, meanwhile, visited with her family on Long Island and spent some time on her dad's boat.

"What's she called?" I asked. Her response was inaudible.

"What's that?" I said.

"The Sea Cup," she replied sheepishly.

I came home to find Slim sporting the most hideous mustache. He looks like a cross between John Holmes and Harry Stein (my dad) circa 1976. Needless to say, intimate love is absolutely out of the question.

As any of my friends know, I have particular aversions to two themes:

Aliens and fake governments.

As such, I am unable to enjoy The West Wing and must recuse myself from commenting upon Indiana Jones, given the extra-terrestrial nature of the eponymous crystal skulls.

I will say: harbored some doubts about seeing said film on opening night at Court Street UA, which is notorious for raucous crowds. However, the reality was far worse than a bunch of rowdy teens and babies: seemingly everyone I've ever known from high school, college, and the professional world. Given that the bulk of the audience worke d in publishing, it was a sedate assemblage to say the least.

Last night, ran into a friend of Slim's who had hair exactly like a puff of smoke. He and his girlfriend invited us to some bbq but we were just coming from some other barbecues so instead we went home. He watched Recount with Bonecrusher and I made some deviled eggs.

I mentioned, I guess a few days ago now, that I think my relationship with my former fiance is at an end. I don't think the reason really matters, as it was probably unrealistic to think we could segue into friendship; I do think we had to try. The reasons behind this last break are far too personal to get into.

As you know, GK4 and I were together from the ages of 18-26. He saw me through mental illness, great sadnesses and most of my growing up. He was the one who had to figure out how to get my grandmother's ashes out of the plastic bag the mortuary sent. He carved our turkeys at Thanksgiving. We called each other ten times a day to report on something absurd we'd seen - a goofy outfit, a grandiose movie poster, an amusing bum. Even after we broke up, I got texts containing an image of a papier mache Sandra Day O'Connor or a jar of French jam that I'd especially liked when we lived in Paris. We had many plans for the future, and were in total accord as to how we planned to raise our children (Frances "Scotty" and Guyon "Hart" V)- to be wild eccentrics who had Swallows and Amazons-style adventures. When we retired, we planned to open a bed and breakfast in which I cooked and he cleaned and did repairs; we had all the menus written out.

You would have liked our wedding. It was to be at my parents' house, very small, with just champagne, tea sandwiches and cake. We found a lady in Katonah to make the sandwiches; the cake was on order from Sugar Sweet Sunshine, a white three-layer with Lady Baltimore filling. My dress, as I've mentioned, is stunning. The night before, we were having a party for a hundred at Freeman's (this was a few years ago, before that was lame.)

I can't convey here his intelligence, his irascibility, his complexity, or the love I feel for him - which can only be likened to that which I feel for my immediate family: deep and unconditional and ultimately indestructible. I am deeply greatful to have known him. Thanks, GK.

Sometimes it is.

Just heard a woman say to her little daughter,

"Don't ever stick your finger in anything. That's never the solution."

Slim is still in Berkeley. Says he got into a contretemps with a young man who styles himself after Che Guevara, on the validity of a sit-in to prevent the destruction of a grove of mediocre oak trees. And by contretemps, I mean that the guy said, "I respect where you're coming from, but I disagree."

Slim's sister told him, "I'm really sorry you missed my friend's thesis. " (The friend was a double-major in "Animal Communication" and dance.) "There was tumbling and backflips and everybody cried."

I mean, the haircut looked okay in Williamsburg last night, but now that I'm in the real world I think it's kinda funny. Not funny ha-ha.

BREAKING NEWS!

Gave myself a haircut last night with mixed results.

Slim's at his little sister's graduation from Berkeley, in Peace Studies. Obviously he's seeing, like, ten ex-girlfriends while he's out there but, as my Christian Scientist great-grandma Viola would have said, there is no pain in matter. So, we are philosophical.

Enjoyed splendid evening with a bohemian friend who is (I think) an artist and in any case has the most immense atelier. (I lived there last summer while she was picking grapes in Tuscany.) Her beau, she says, takes great pains to protect his bald pate from the sun (largely by means of a pork-pie hat). Nevertheless, "it's always a uniform, gleaming salmon color," she informed me. My friend Johann joined us and discoursed on his new journal of arts and politics, his latest romantic entanglement (Turkish) and, being Germanic, Fritzl, which he declared to be no shock to anyone who's read any 19th Century Austrian dramas. Other trivia gleaned from this evening: the loutish family who lives on the parlor floor might be evicted on general grounds of domestic disturbance plus a small dog. In which case, being a New Yorker, I would pounce.

Received somewhat measly birthday check from grandparents, not to sound greedy. But did have pleasant brunch at Sarabeth's.

Last night entertained GK4 and Moishe. Prepp'd requested greatest-hits menu of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans and ice cream with homemade fudge sauce.

"Where's the pecan turtle?" demanded GK4 belligerently when I produced the unadorned sundae.

This a.m., got my dad to list me for a breakfast talk by Hon. Cory Booker at the University Club. ('Poor spread,' remarked my dad, who was attired in a check shirt, loudly patterned tie, and tweed jacket.) I, myself, was wearing an especially unconvincing business costume of tweed skirt, vintage polyesther stretch blouse and artfully knotted neckerchief. Well, I was headed to the gynecologist's after, and one must compromise. ('Take off your lower clothes,' directed the nurse, so the doctor came in to find me attired in blouse, scarf, glasses and high heels.)

Disappointment

So, I saw Friday the 13: The TV Series and it sucked. As noted, all these antiques get cursed by the devil and episodes center around tracking them down and the evil hijinx that ensue. These two cousins (a lout and a priss complete with requisite douchey fiance)inherit the business and have to make odd-couple best of the situation; one assumes that incest is in their low-budg Canadian futures but my disgust was such that I don't intend to find out.

The pilot, as we discussed, centers around an evil doll, "Vita", who's adopted by Bad Seedy little Sarah Polley; various stepmothers and adults bite the dust. My main issue was the setup: the kid selects this revolting, obviously new doll (it's supposed to be antique) from amongst a wide selection of superior dolls. Even taking the devil's power into account, the choice of a doll who looks rather like Rose McGowan circa '98, dressed in a very crummy outfit, strained credulity. I mean, this veriest rube would not fall for such an obviously spurious "Victorian" on ebay.

Get Rich (?) Quick (?)

So, did I mention that Slim and I have the most awesome stunt journo idea? Had the following correspondence with friend John today:



From:petitesophisticate@gmail.com
To: Editor_John@Publishinghouse.com

Subject: Working title.

Hack: a narcissist does something gimmicky for a year.

So far all we have is,

TK: two idiots, tk and tk.

(Loosely based on "Plenty: One man, one woman and a raucous year of
local eating." Doesn't 'raucous' kind of evoke swigging cider from a
barrel or something? Unhappy choice.)"

Reply to: petitesophisticate@gmail.com
From: Editor_John@publishinghouse.com
Subject:Re: Working Title



Here are my genre titles:

Contrived: Read My Thoughts for an Arbitrary Period of Time

Blogging is Free: How I Went from Obscure Layabout to Obscure Writer in 365 Days."

Spotted

woman on the G train platform drinking coffee out of a Mason jar. Found this awesome and said so.

Working at home. Some driver leaning on a horn outside. The following sentence actually just uttered by Slim:

"Whoa. That guy is really harshing my mellow."

The Sporting Life

I have purchased an awesome old bike, christened it Flikka (she's German), and taken an inaugural ride through the bike lanes of Hudson Street to The Great Adventures of Slick Rick, beating my Volkswagen-bound friends to the Chelsea Market by fifteen minutes.

Since I can't drive, this isn't exactly reducing my carbon footprint, but it is highly picturesque. Less so was the shlep to the 8th Ave L train where, by the way, the wheelchair ramp is way too steep for any handicapped person to use without dying, and where, along with Bedford Avenue, nary a single hipster boy offered to help me get Flikka up the stairs, although I was fetchingly attired in the denim romper.

After the manicured bike lanes of the Chelsea boys, Greenpoint's potholes and teenage drivers were no picnic. Have found what seems to be a good hitching spot, though, right in front of my building. Once a signpost, it now holds only a small plywood plaque bearing a stenciled image of Jim Morrison. Which I can't imagine is official city property.

In other good news, found a really good source for bathing caps to accompany my new 'Lamour' one-piece from Urban Outfitters. While traveltrunk.com seems primarily concerned with old-style uniforms for one's domestics (there's also a creepy sexy costumes section containing what appears to be a Mormon tavern wench's getup), they have the best selection of chin-strap swim caps I've seen, and as we all know, the Petite Sophisticate is a big fan of the chin-strap swim cap, which she considers to be universally flattering. They also have those flowered, Phyllis Diller-style numbers, if that's your poison, plus some pretty glam terry cloth turbans, two of which are now wending their way to Greenpoint.

My Deck is Rad and Magical

...as a friend of Slim's in CA would say. (He actually said it about me. He's not wrong.)

Anyway, the deck: it's about 7x7'. Table, 2 chairs, various ailing herbs potted by Slim and 3 decrepit nasturtiums. I have placed a piece of Mexican-print oilcloth on the table. Also: a bird-feeder. Attempted to drink some coffee out there this a.m. Was too hot. Put some coffee grounds on the worst looking plants. That's supposed to be good, right?

Oh, I also have a citronella candle.

Cheat Sheet

I always really liked how my copy of A Girl of the Limberlost had this list of the cast of characters at the beginning (I especially remember Polly Ammon, "enjoys paying off old scores.") Stikes me that I reference a lot of folks here without context and perhaps a guide to the dramatis personae would not be out of place. Just a few recurring:

Slim: boyfriend of one year, to which I admit only reluctantly as I was very adamant that the relationship was a 'no-strings affair' for an unconvinving length of time. Went to Wesleyan, from the west coast. Kind of a stoner. Passionate about various instruments, architecture, the gold market. Lives with bunch of other stoners but usually at my place. Extremely cheap and has a tendency to space out.

GK4, former fiance: dated me from ages 18-26. We were enagaged. He went mad. Irascible, pugnacious, hypersensitive, highly eccentric. Interests include cab driving, Medieval history.

Charlie: little brother. Skinny, hipsterish dilettante. Known for sleeping, smoking, "sexy energy" and selective charisma. Lives in Red Hook with Warren and Maeve; rarely leaves the house.

Maeve: Charlie's girlfriend, bombshell, co-worker. Interests include: sweetmeats, forensic anthropology. Many in Red Hook are in love with her.

Buckingham: coworker, yoga enthusiast, vegetarian, reader of horoscopes, band frontwoman. Sounding board, Fritzl enthusiast.

...and a cast of thousands.

*Don't know what this picture is. Came up in a "Girl of the Limberlost" search

On My Shelf

Received Simon Doonan's latest, Eccentric Glamour, for my birthday. Okay, from myself. It's interspersed with profiles of the allegedly glamorous and eccentric - the usual suspects, such as Hamish Bowles, Lynn Yaeger, Isabella Blow; the arguable: Tilda Swinton, Dita von Teese; and the downright preposterous, ie Malcolm Gladwell and Lucy Liu.

Each case study fills out a questionnaire. Now I will do the same. I am not really a glamorous eccentric like my friend Eloise, who was known in college for her wardrobe of vintage suits and her crimson lipstick, but I'm at least as glamorous as gruckimish old Canadian Malcolm Gladwell. Besides, I can do whatever I want.

Profile
Serial Monogamist and perennial shopgirl Sadie Stein is a fixture on the Smith Street scene, where she is known for her wardrobe of large glasses.

What are you wearing?

Denim romper, vintage 'leaf' belt, black Minnetonka moccasins. Underthings all Princesse Tam-Tam.

When did you first realize that you might in fact be a glamorous eccentric?

When I insisted on wearing a pair of ruffled 19th century bloomers under my dresses in third grade.

Were your parents horrified?

My mother procured the bloomers. She does refer to my many pairs of big glasses as "voluntary disfigurement."

Are you prone to mood swings?

Less so when medicated.

Have you ever been mocked for any of your glamorous eccentricities?

See: the bloomers.

Have you ever wished you could trade in your life of glamorous eccentricity for one of dreary conformity?

I compromise with a life of dreary eccentricity.

When does eccentric glamour become idiocy?

When perpetrated by an idiot. Also see: the bloomers.

Who is your inspirational icon of glamorous eccentricity?

Stevie Smith.

Do men think you are hot?

Gay ones.

What is the thing that most offends your glamorously eccentric sensibilities?

Asses in leggings.

Where do you wish to be buried, and in what?

Instantly, even if they're not sure I'm really dead, before any children can see my corpse. And anything, as long as embalming fluid's not included.

(NB, like half of the 'eccentrics' say Pere Lachaise.)
-

On the Town with The Petite Sophisticate

Last night, Slim and I attended La Fille du Regiment at the Met. Almost didn't make curtain as Slim had to stash half a Vietnamese sandwich in the bushes to eat after the show.

Super production. We had the understudy tenor who, while rather stout in his lederhosen, did a terrific turn. While perhaps rather less uproarious than the audience reaction would lead one to believe, still much fun. Slim kept pointing out to me all the choristers who hit on him when he's working there.

Afterwards, sandwich duly retrieved, grabbed a dog at Gray's Papaya.

Maeve texts,

"Just got card from Moonbeam. Enclosed was my tax return."

Eloise Report

Writes best friend Eloise:

"Hope your bday was a smashing success. Currently laid up for a while following knee surgery last week to repair a torn ligament (ignominiously torn while skiing in Dec...), so best hold off on visiting until late may/june, when I'll be more mobile...

Right now I am watching soaps, sorting through the dregs of netflix (eg- Tennesse Williams' Babydoll), and getting through odd asst. reading material, namely a bunch of J.F. Powers novels (now-obscure Catholic writer big in the 50s), all about the doings of machiavellian priests . Enjoyable enough, but can't wholeheartedly recommend. Also English Eccentrics, the newish book of Mitford correspondence, and some trash New Yorker-ish New Fiction. I feel I should be taking on an ambitious and time-consuming project with so much time on my hands, (I have done an admirable amount of mending already) but I mostly end up trawling Ebay. (If there's anything particular you're searching for, put me on the case!)

In other glum news, my cousin's house burned down recently (ironically, a casualty of her husband's handiness --oil-soaked rags, you know), killing her beloved golden retriever. I must say she's taken it fairly well, for when I spoke to her, she was positively gloating about the fact that they would temporarily get to hole up in some luxury condo, where, as she told me about 3 times, Tom Brady used to live. I think she just found out that she's effectively barren too, so perhaps I'm not being very charitable.

I've a hankering for hermits--an underrated American cookie if ever there was one. I think I'll go see how we're set for molasses...

best,

E.

OMG!

Have any of you ever seen this show, Vendredi Antiques?

Me either.

It sounds like the Best Thing Ever!


"Prologue "Lewis Vendredi made a deal with the devil to sell cursed antiques. But he broke the pact, and it cost him his soul. Now, his niece Micki, and her cousin Ryan have inherited the store... and with it, the curse. Now they must get everything back. And the real terror begins."

Episode # 1
Air Date: 9\28\87
The Inheritance
Cursed Antique: Doll
Vita

This was F13's premiere episode. Micki Foster and Ryan Dallion meet for the first time at the shop (Vendredi's Antiques), which they have inherited from their uncle, Lewis Vendredi. The two cousins eventually meet Jack Marshak (in a most interesting manner). We also get a first glimpse into Micki's socialite life with her fianc'e, Lloyd.

Ryan is excited about the inheritance, and is excited about running the shop, but Micki is less than thrilled (to say the least) and is eager to sell. Her dislike of the shop is further fueled by a creepy doll-related experience that she has while trapped in The Vault (the supernatural storage facility that houses all of the cursed antiques). After a short argument about whether or not to sell, there is a cut away scene, and the next thing we see is a big blowout sale...everything must go!

They wind up selling off a lot of merchandise, including several Cursed Antiques that had been cursed by the devil. Then they discover the manifest that lists all of the cursed objects...including at least one of the objects that were sold by Micki and Ryan. Driven by a sense of purpose, Jack's information about Lewis' deal with the devil, and partly by guilt, the two set out to retrieve their very first cursed object:
the doll that terrorized Micki in The Vault. A doll that is now in the hands of a spoiled brat girl.

Fritzl Update

Am very eager to try the famous apple wine produced in Amstetten.

On My Shelf

As we all know, The Petite Sophisticate is an intellectual. Her latest reading matter? A tome called Sex Appeal in Seven Days. Some body language expert wrote it, and it chronicles the sex appeal lessons of a fictional, unsexy sad-sack named "Sally." In the course of the seven chapters, Sally learns to stand, walk, flirt and work in a sexy fashion, sometimes with the aid of creepy role-playing sessions with some other therapist named Stan.

Sally periodically says things like, "Hold on. You're telling me to be more vulnerable to attract a man? I'm just not into that," to which the author invariably responds that she is in fact siezing power and control.

I couldn't wait to put the techniques into effect. The "greater hip sway" walk, which Maeve pronounced physically impossible, has been practiced all over Nassau Avenue. I think some bums looked at me appreciatively. I've also been making a point of taking up as little space as possible when seated on the subway, and when standing have been contorting my legs in a sexy/vulnerable/approachable manner that I've found is unsustainable through the course of a whole rock show. Also inhibited in speaking the Language of the Eyes by my glasses.

Successes: a new, limp handshake; placing my hand thumb-forward when it's on my waist; removing my glasses only with the thumb and forefinger, with the rest of the fingers splayed "delicately" in the air.

Can't tell if the techniques work on Slim as I suspect he has low standards in these matters. Await reports on further field studies.

Fritzl Update

Buckingham and I have been paying a level of attention to Fritzl that my mother has deemed "unhealthy." Knew things had gone too far when, in our daily check of international news on "the fiend," we found ourselves clicking on the video, "Members of a Church Sign a Banner" in support of the family.

Great-Aunt Peg Digest

I've decided to share with you a sampling of the family emails generated by family geneologist Great-Aunt Peg, of Florida.

The heading reads, "And we think politics are rough these days!"

"Here is yet another bit of family research done by Geoffrey Woollard in Cambridgeshire, England, whose wife, Sue, is our cousin on the Denny/Sargent side. With feelings against Edson Olds for his Southern sympathies, it is no wonder the press in Ohio was so vehement against him. Now we know how Mark Olds received his appointment as land registrar (some records show that the term was spelled as "register"). First, some notes from my records as background:

Notes follow. Then Geoffrey Woollard gives us some choice bits about one "Marquis Lafayette Olds, of Minnesota Territory.

This was immediately followed by a msg headed "Correction!!!!"

"Before I hear a scream from England and elsewhere, correct my notes about "According to the Denny Genealogy, and my parenthesis that her husband was named Daniel Denny - he was Daniel DUSTIN, of course)."

And THEN:

"Margaret has really put me to shame this time: I HAD misread the report in the Cleveland paper and it SHOULD HAVE READ "REGISTER""

Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear!!!

Geoffrey (in 'the old country').

!!!!!

XXX!!! Girls Girls Girls!!!!

Something Slim's (wasted) roommate said to me on Saturday night gave me a bad feeling that he might have seen some boudoir polaroids of me. (The pix in question are, naturally, exceedingly tasteful and artistic, but not intended for public viewing.)

"There's no way Greg could have seen those polaroids of me, right?" I asked Slim on our way home that night. "'Cause when I said I was unphotogenic he said he's seen some 'extremely flattering' pictures of me, in this really insinuating way."

"Nah, there's no way," said Slim. "Oh, wait. Yeah, of course! Last week he cleaned out my desk and organized all my papers, and they were definitely in there. He told me he categorized things as "financial" and "personal." I guess those went in the latter category."

(Also in indecent exposure news: my mother tells me that the Hastings-on-Hudson public library's panel discussion, "What the Heck is a Blog?" - for my participation in which she still owes me big, by the way - is now being aired ad nauseam on the local TV station.)

GK4, on the west coast, sent me the following text:

"People in L.A. don't know how to do karaoke. I showed them. Don't think they noticed."

On the Town with the Petite Sophisticate: Birthday Edition

Saturday night, Maeve and I celelbrated our birthdays, jointly, at Sunny's in Red Hook. Many friends showed up and there were indeed tons of cakes. However, due to the fact that I was on antibiotics I wasn't drinking much and was somewhat furious and uptight all evening.

Maeve, whose actual bday it was, was resplendent in a two-tone silk romper. After the initial hiccup of her boyfriend (my brother's) spectacularly poor performance (over an hour late to pick her up, due to attendance at a bbq in NJ - remedied by a combo of canny begging/palm-greasing at Fish Camp Brooklyn) - things went as planned. The good and faithful were out in force, many who should have been there weren't and some others came for no very clear reason but were appreciated nonethelesss. The usual miasma of local musicians drifted in and out of the back room for an extended old-timey jam session. People cast envious, furious glances at our table of cakes. (NB we had choc, monkey, strawberry, coconut w. ballerinas and, from Maeve for me, a rhubarb-lemon confection covered in marzipan which, while it didn't end up resembling a kewpie's face as ambitiously planned, was excellent.) I spent a lot of time running around and making sure everyone had cake (in case people had missed the hundred or so in plain sight) and jealously guarding the cakes from other patrons, even though we had way too much and everyone had to bring huge hunks of it home.

Shouted the bluegrass guitarist at our friend Polly, apropos of nothing: "Young, drunk, and big tits! That's what I like to see!"


As the evening wore on and people started to drift away, various predatory drunks showed up. Worst one: this tall guy in a patchwork flat cap. He had a disconcerting habit of looming and swaying at very close range, then slurring stuff.

"Those are my boys," he slurred to me confidentially as I tried to watch the music. "Play that fuckin shit, motherfuckers!"

Later, he materialiazed as Maeve and I were gathering up the cakes.

"Wanna go to the pier?" He slurred at Maeve.

"No," she said politely. We continued cleaning. He loomed and swayed.

"Jus' checkin'," he said at length. "I' case you wanned'a see the...Statue a' Liberty."
.............................................................................

Due to lack of sleep, both Maeve and I were very surly today at work.

"I think...I hate Jack." I said to her at one point of an innocuous mutual acquaintance who had just waved at us from the sidewalk.

"He's ungrateful and difficult," she concurred.

"I don't know why he's so delighted with himself."

"He really does have a stoner's arrogance."

"Well put."

We then discussed our least favorite celebrity babies*, the relationship between Natalie Portman and Devendra Banhart, and asses in leggings. We were seething.


A friend texted Maeve to wish her happy birthday and apologize for missing the party.

"Fuck you" she texted back.



My friend Catherine stopped in, looking dejected. "I just went to Orchard Street Corsets and the Hasid said I was a D-cup," she told me glumly. "I guess I was in denial."

"Did you get a good bra?"

"I'm wearing it."

"Is it hideous?"

"Yeah. It's kind of vagina-colored."



*Bad name. He is technically cute.

Dirty Weather!

...as Ginger would have it.

Tim and Ginger is good, but it's no Tim and Charlotte, in which little rich girl Charlotte goes to sea with Tim and is the galley cook. (I believe she is five.) I remember especially vividly a birthday cake she decorates with a red ship.

Cake

Making lots and lots of cakes for tomorrow night's party for me and Maeve. Want it to be just like the barn raising in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.

Update

GK4, former fiance, is thinking seriously of getting a hearing aid to wear in law school. (His hearing has been deteriorating for a while now, although not, as it turns out, from shotgun fire.)

"What did he say about an ear trumpet?" I asked eagerly afte he saw the doctor, as this was something we'd discussed at length.

"Didn't seem into it," he told me reluctantly.

I said that I thought I would find a man with a hearing aid very attractive. "You know, in a law school setting," I added.

As re: kids

Maeve, whose birthday is tomorrow, reveals that she has received birthday cards from two childhood toys, Wrinkles (a dog) and Coconut (a pony.)

"I'm still expecting to hear from Rick, Moonbean and Elliott," she said.

(They are, respectively, a crocheted bear, and a duck and lamb who are siblings.)

Change of Plans

After a marathon session of watching old cartoons online last night (Slim called Gummi Bears "pussy." Whatever. He was only allowed 30 minutes of TV a week and he chose Strawberry Shorcake. And that was only 20 years ago. Even if he wasn't allowed to watch He-Man) we decided to maybe rethink our plan to dress as Burt and Linda Pugasch for Halloween and instead go as Shortcake and the Peculiar Purple Pie Man of Porcupine Peak.

Pitfalls: the SS costume is complex, esp. the hat. I have some concerns that it might be one of those cases where a ready-made costume would look better, but obviously that would also be crummy and kinda Fredericks of Hollywood. Also, somewhat inauthentic as I was not actually allowed to watch Strawberry Shortcake on grounds of commercialism, and only had brief clandestine encounters with it at friends' houses, esp. "Big Allie" Mitchell (as opposed to second cousin "Little Allie" Stein) and my neighbor Annie.

Slim also mentioned that, when consulted as a three-year-old about names for his youngest sister, he lobbied very hard for "Strawberry Shortcake." "It would have suited her, actually," he observed.


Want to find a way to work the wisdom of the Ancient Gummies in, but can't think of one.

strep

I have it. But post-doctor and some Sulfa drugs (or whatever) am getting better. Have makeup on my face, a turban on my head, and silk lounging pajamas on my hide.

Lord Tod Wadley

Slim sent me this:

http://www.wired.com/culture/lifestyle/multimedia/2007/10/gallery_tokyo_adult_expo?slide=22&slideView=2

matthew: did you see my email?
me: what, the ultimate erotic and cute weapon, Young Mr. Penis?
Yeah
matthew: yes the ultimate erotic and cute weapon, Young Mr. Penis.

Hm.

Have received approximately zero presents.

Facebook wall salutations no substitute for tangible tokens of esteem. (Slim is taking me to "Daughter of the Regiment" on Wed.)

Had good weather on the day. Brunch with the folks, back from the midwest, my mom with a badly sunburned lip. We talked - a LOT - about racial preferences.

Dinner, Slim took me to John's of 12th Street, at my request. I had: spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread.

Had a bad feeling I might get proposed to, based on nothing. (This proved to all be in my mind.)

"You're really the best thing that ever happened to me," said he.

"You're, like, top ten, too," I said nervously. "I mean, below "Butter" but above other stuff."

I was sporting a mighty fine pompadour for the occasion, which occasioned no small admiration in Williamsburg.

We moved on to Veniero's for an espresso, and planned to finish our evening at the Holiday Cocktail Lounge, but were so depressed by the awkward first date convo of the couple at the next table ("I teach high school Phys Ed and Freshman Sex Ed"; "Actually, I'm living with my parents right now...I'm saving up to buy some property.") that we called it a night pretty early.

Many Happy Returns

As of an hour and a half ago, I was 27.

A year ago, I was sad and lonely and alone. I spent my birthday with my folks at the Museum of the City of New York seeing an exhibit on the Spanish Civil War. Then we had steak at the Old Homestead and I brought Mirah as my date. I was home by 8.

Now, I have my Slim and lots of wonderful friends and not much else to show for it. Still, I can't help but feel optimistic, somehow...if nothing else, Facebook does make one feel one's birthday. You don't like to admit it, but those birthday greetings on a wall feel nice.

Tomorrow I have brunch with the family, Slim, Charlie and Maeve at Balthazar. Slim has something planned for the rest of the day, I think.



GK4, former fiance, tells me the cats killed a bird. I have a bad feeling he isn't feeding them enough. Here's hoping his date went well tonight.

(Worst nightmares ever! Think they had to do with Fritzl (Austrian incest/dungeon cat who imprisoned his daughetr 24 yrs and fathered 7 kids) as was discussing this situation with my parents shortly pre-bed.)

"Well," said my mother vaguely. (They just have access to USA Today - they're in Missouri somewhere - and not following the story at all closely enough) "Well, at least it didn't happen to you."

"Thanks a lot!" said my dad.


My dad, by the way, has surpassed all other neocon canvassers and obtained over 500 signatures on his Prop209 petition. He says positioning himself by the dive-thru of a White Castle was a masterstroke. My mother, meanwhile, got into a very vocal fight with a "smug, Prairie Home Companion-listening old liberal."

Since you are interested in my every movement: yesterday went on a hike at Kykuit (Rockefeller estate), got a malted in Tarrytown (served by what appeared to be a nine year old) and then played a laughable game of pool at a nearby bar. Spoke to GK4, former fiance, while en route to the hike. He was, per usual, simultaneously disgruntled and knowing about what we were doing (in this case, the hike.) Also seems convinced that I am having some kind of secret birthday party to which he's not invited, despite repeated assurances to the contrary.

"Let me put it this way," he said. "If I happen to stop by your house on Saturday night, will you be there with two hundred of your closest friends?"