PT Cruiser

Yesterday I was walking to my car when I noticed a PT Cruiser headed in my direction. I slowed my pace because I always find the drivers of said vehicle to be very peculiar. The man driving this unusual car had his windows down and was basically hanging out of it, which can mean one thing - he is a pervert.

You know those kind of men, they usually drive white vans, but occasionally step out in a non-industrial ride. They don't seem to have any place to go - they just follow the wind in order to find women walking so they can yell strange things at them.

I wondered what this PT Crusin' degenerate had to say to me. I made it onto the curb. I walked with my head straight. He leaned further out of his window. Just as he was out of my view, he exclaimed, "Nice toes!"

Nice toes? Really?

I mean, they are nice and currently painted cherry red, so I get it; however, I was wearing a spandex-like dress and thought he would scream about my derriere. Nope. I got a foot-freak and I've never understood foot fetishes.

The.End.

Another Poem-A-Day from Poets.org

Renewal [Excerpt] by Chris Abani I set you free that night, father. When you came back in that yellow Volkswagen, in that dream. I made a boat of honor for you. Woven of poems and words and not words. I set it on the ocean. Father Obuna said to me, a gift is freely given and a gift is freely returned. It has taken me thirty years to understand this. Yemenya has your heart now. May she be merciful. May she love you. The wound bleeds no more. Which is to say, what I have desired is like salt left out all night and gone. This is not a lamentation, damn it. This is a love song. This is a love song. Like reggae—it all falls on the off beat. If there is a way, it is here. They say you cannot say this in a poem. That you cannot say, love, and mean anything. That you cannot say, soul, and approach heaven. But the sun is no fool, I tell you. It will rise for nothing else.

True Blood Snafu?

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm Vampire Eric

For the three seconds during True Blood that I wasn't fantasizing about Eric Northman, I picked up on something strange. An oversight, perhaps? Here goes...

How come "V" makes its users experience euphoria when they take it recreationally, but when "V" is used to heal, it speeds recovery without causing hallucinations?

Moreover, how come that cocky football player becomes a super-athlete due to "V", rather than lying in a field with a pseudo-hippie like Jason Stackhouse did?

This is all very confusing and I need an explanation before I begin feeling like the people behind True Blood are trying to pull a fast one on me. Once I feel like I'm being had, I'm out! I can only be glamoured by the hot men of True Blood for so long before I start introducing my brain to the show. It's been three seasons and I'm starting to get used to impossibly good looking guys.

Has anyone out there read the Sookie Stackhouse novels and knows the answer? Was anyone paying attention to detail rather than getting lost in Jason's eyes and Eric's chest? Not me! Give me answers.

The Real McCoy

Lauren Knaffo's Blog-Inducing Shoulder Nipple

The Persistent Shoulder Nipple

"I have the worst case of shoulder nipple right now." - Lauren Knaffo via text message 8.27.10 @ 9:15am

If you don't think you know what shoulder nipple is, you're wrong. You may even be experiencing it right now. Look down at your left shoulder. Anything? Look down at your right shoulder. How about now?

Well, you may be in the clear because you're sleeveless, but if it were winter, I'd bet a lot more of you would have it - the little protrusion in your garment caused by cheap hangers and/or a careless hanging job.

The trouble with shoulder nipple is that it's hard to remove. If you have enough time to re-wash the item, you're in the clear for sure; if you have some time, steaming or ironing might lessen the bulge; but if you leave the house without realizing the bump, you're in trouble - no amount of smoothing will help you. Shoulder nipples are resilient.

I beseech all of you to scan your closets for delicate fabrics on chintzy hangers at your earliest convenience.

No one is going to mistake your shoulder nipple for Jiminy Cricket.

An Actual Shoulder Nipple

Lots of Shoulder Nipples on Me

Or You Could Buy This

An Open Letter to J. Crew

Dear J. Crew,

Seeing Adam Brody and Josh Duhamel in the September issue made my year.  

Love,

Helen

The Day-Dreamer's Only Enemy

I come from a long line of day-dreamers. The kind of people who stare hard and long at just about anything, their eyes widening and narrowing, but never blinking. I've heard tell of the type of day-dreamers my ancestors were. Some known to hold an object with their eyes for days or weeks, but never months - not even my people are capable of that kind of asceticism. It is rumored that my great-grandfather once sat on a bench in a train station and fixated on a sign until it fell apart.

Our only known enemies are those-who-snap-their-fingers-at-us. Those people who like disturbing our stares and get pleasure out of breaking our commune with stillness. Those people whose snaps sound like horses' shoes on pavement - a once beautiful, rhythmic noise that now bodes for my people and me a distress unlike any other.

Who are you who joyfully kill my daydream and why do you do it and would you stop?

Hunny

“If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.” - from Winnie the Pooh

Dad, Me, & Winnie @ Disney World in what looks like the late 80's

As a kid, I loved Winnie the Pooh. I have many keepsakes that bear (bear, get it?) his likeness and many memories of the cartoon itself. Even after Pooh got the OK in the adult world via books like The Tao of Pooh and The Te of Piglet, I never aimed to figure out what is was I loved about it all. Life is like that, you go on the feeling you get, not the explanation you later create. 


Today is a day for explanations. 


When it comes down to it, Winnie the Pooh is a simple story about the wilderness and the creatures which inhabit it. Though the animals are of different species, they seem more civilized and good than the unknown beings in the woods. I guess it's like humans, still animals, but conditioned. Now these animals, Pooh, Piglet, Tigger, Rabbit, Owl, Eeyore, etc. are all exactly who they are...all the time. Pooh will be hungry for "hunny" and do any hapless thing to get it; Piglet will be scared and timid; Rabbit will be busy and bossy and slightly mean, etc. I think the key is predictability. None of the characters do anything out of their ordinary. How comforting that must be to know that the people in your life won't go and shock you? Or is it? I guess if your friends, family, and loved ones are all evolved and you like them, you would cherish their static personalities, but if they needed to do a little growing-up, these unchanging temperaments might but a hamper on your day or world. I think it's the principle of knowing what you're getting. We all know someone who constantly puts his foot in his mouth, but you knew that, so it's acceptable. You were prepared. 


When you know what your getting, what you get isn't so unsettling. 

The Best Kind of Daily E-Mail

Poets.org e-mails me a Poem-a-Day. You should register because you never know what you'll get. I thought today's poem, which follows here, was pretty spectacular. Such a simple notion twisted upon itself... Sawdust by Sharon Bryan Why not lindendust, hackberry, hemlock, live oak, maple, why name the remains after the blade, not what it cut— only now do I see that the air is full of small sharp stars pinwheeling through every living thing that gets in their way. Here's a link to Poets.org

Photographs That Kill

Wandering around might lead you nowhere, or to this photograph.

Sparky and Cowboy, Shereville, Indiana, 1965-66 from the portfolio Danny Lyon (1979)

A Rant is a Rant is a Rant

"The things we admire in men, kindness and generosity, openness, honesty, understanding and feeling are the concomitants of failure in our system. And those traits we detest, sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness, meanness, egotism and self-interest are the traits of success. And while men admire the quality of the first they love the produce of the second." - from John Steinbeck's Cannery Row


If Netflix makes good on their promise, I should receive season two of "Mad Men" today and that's not what I want.

You see, I hate Mad Men. The men, not the show. It's hard to watch their philandering and pompousness and then respect any male creature. It's actually nauseating to see the double-lives lead by these ad executives -  to see them conduct affairs with so many women and then go home to their sad, pretty wives.

Then I realize that this is television and not all successful men are abominable - although I can't really think of any at the present. How does this happen? I need a bulleted list:

• Men who crave money and power are, by nature, assholes. 
• Men who are good at smooth-talking their clients are also good at lying to their families.
• Once a man gets a taste of money and power, there is no saving his goodness.
• A man's work becomes him.
• Wealthy and powerful men feel they deserve to see their whims fulfilled. 
• Wait, wait, wait

...I know plenty of unemployed or underemployed guys who act this way too. Were they once successful? Are they the offspring of the aforementioned douche?

I guess what I want to know is, can a man be successful in the eyes of the States and be highly regarded by the citizens of it? Can one be a powerhouse in the boardroom without being egomaniacal?

Do nice guys really finish last if they don't put the nice-guy-schtick on the shelf from 9 - 5? That's not fair. We're cultivating shit.

Mind-Freak Daydream of Sorts

After Danny left for work this morning, Rita and I fell back asleep. I woke up suddenly, feeling slightly confused and panicked and, out of instinct, I reached down towards my feet to make sure lovely Rita was with me. After I located the fur-ball, I started searching the bed for my son.

I.do.not.have.a.son.

I remember thinking that my son should be in the bed and if he wasn't, where was he? I sat up and thought perhaps he was in the living room watching TV. My next contemplation was that he was too young to operate the television on his own and it was not safe for him to be unattended. Then I directed my anger at Danny for allowing our child to go it alone.

Then I realized this was a mind-freak daydream of sorts.

What does it all mean?

Poem

Electric Stairs

Ascending the escalator,

In search of a replacement

Blender, or food processor, or some combination

Of the two, 

You said how much you enjoy buying things

For our home. 

Never satisfied, I asked why

When I should have expressed gratitude;

However, my probing tongue summoned

A more quenching response than

Your original love proclamation. 

“We can tell our kids we’ve had

This or that for 20 years.”

To hear such stunning promises

On stairs that move for you. 

Platonic Beer Goggles

(The picture at left was taken by yours truly on a fine day in Fort Greene Park when I was dangerously hungover and waiting for a friend, who shall remain nameless, to emerge from the nearby hospital where he/she was being treated for hitting a cab.)

It's before 9AM and already I've accomplished more than I usually do in an entire day. I've changed the sheets, made the bed, done laundry, vacuumed, wiped down all countertops, and organized the work stuff that has been in the trunk of my car since the last day of school.

Now I blog, but about what?

I know! Let me ruminate on how weird I am when I drink.

In the dark (or light?) days of going drinking five to seven nights a week, I sought to accumulate friends. Mornings after a "good night out" I heard echoes of myself saying things not at all unlike, "I'm not just saying this because I'm drunk, but you're such an ahhhhhhhmahhhhhhzing person and tomorrow we should really do something fun, like go pumpkin picking." Oh. Yeah. First of all, if not for facebook, I would not know ANYTHING about the aforementioned schmuck and the only way I'd be able to locate said person's number would be to do an alphabetical search by bar name in my phone. Moreover, I'm going to be hungover tomorrow, so the only thing I'm going to want to do is watch TBS and eat a Kimchi noodle bowl at around 7PM. Puhlease.

Drinking makes me like crappy people, which is why I should drink when I'm in a large crowd.

A Poem I Wrote Today

BRUISES

The Chinese craftsman who makes a vase in what they call eggshell porcelain can give it a lovely shape, ornament it with a beautiful design, stain it a ravishing colour, and give it a perfect glaze, but from its very nature he can't make it anything but fragile.

- W.S. MAUGHAM

I don't know why I did it.

I actually took the time to paint that peach into an apple.

I know exactly why I did it,

But you wound up taking the false fruit to work with you in your lunchbox.

If you knew your apple for what it was,

A peach and not an apple,

You'd have been more careful with its placement, I'm sure.

At lunchtime your apple was all bruised and all wrong,

But you enjoyed the unexpected taste.

You came home with flowers for me,

And you and I talked about how much we love surprises.

The Epigraph

There are many ways to choose the next book you're going to read. Some people reread cherished books; others take recommendations from friends, family, The New York Times, or Oprah; people pick books based on authors, titles, covers, but I make my selection based on the epigraph.

Now I can't be sure if the epigraph is upon what the book is based, or if it's what the book becomes in the end. Either way, it is how the author feels about what they've written and how they seek to partner it up with something - a quote, a verse, a refrain - that already exists.

I'm a quote hunter, so I thrive on interrelation. I like hearing something and being able to connect it to something else I've heard. This may, in the end, be a useless skill or past-time, but it creates symmetry in my world and symmetry, like balance, is best.

Right now, my epigraph would be this:

Five Roses in the Morning
MARCH 16, 2003

On TV the showbiz of war,
so I turn it off
wishing I could turn it off,
and glance at the five white roses
in front of the mirror on the mantel,
looking like ten.
That they were purchased out of love
and are not bloody red
won't change a goddammned thing ---
goddamned things, it seems, multiplying
everyday. Last night
the roses numbered six, but she chose
to wear one in her hair
and she was more beautiful
because she believed she was.
It changed the night, a little.
For us, I mean.

-Stephen Dunn

The Abysmal Fitted Bed Sheet

Yesterday I set out to do the impossible: perfectly fold a fitted bed sheet. Doing so required more concentration than peeing in a rough ocean, but I was met with success. Here's documentation for all you non-believers:

The ChallengeThe PinchWowie!Success!

A Piece of My Mind

In a world where Aerosmith fans exist and Whoppi Goldberg has been a wife, how do I stand a chance at anything?

That.Is.All.

Arcade Fire & Anxiety Attacks

At twenty-five, I have a bevy of neuroses and maladies that are commonly reserved for the elderly or criminally insane. Going into Manhattan exacerbates all these charming characteristics and though I can get to the city with ease, navigate its streets, and nimbly pass through crowds, I hate it. The smells make me sick, the people make me nervous, and the heat rising from the streets cause me dizziness; however, going to eat at Le Pain Quotidian, shaking Matt Pinfield's hand, and witnessing musical greats, Arcade Fire, was worth the exhaustion.

The opening band for Spoon was interesting. I say this because I have no idea who they were - I was trying to figure out how to insert earplugs because the Jay-Z show at MSG gave me vertigo, or so my boyfriend says. Nonetheless, I was dizzy for weeks after that show and I just couldn't risk it.

Spoon was interesting too. They were interesting because the pseudo-hippie-chick next to me was talking about her psychic and moving in that trite way hippies did in earlier decades. Get some new moves, girl. I was still trying to figure out my earplugs, too. I also kept taking "bathroom breaks" to get away from the noise and crowd when Danny's absolutely lovely best friend, whom I'd met minutes earlier, found me clutching the wall of the corridor near the food court. No joke. I tried to play it cool, but there's no way you can at that point.

Then I had a beer and I was feeling better because it was a Heineken Light. We all went back to our seats and Arcade Fire came on. There were 17,000 band members and each one was equally awesome. They were freaking electric and before I knew it, I was singing and dancing and having the time of my life with my fantastic boyfriend at his first MSG concert!

From Arcade Fire I got the feeling that they loved their music, their art, each other, and performing. Their energy was so contagious and, paired with their talent, they put on one of the best shows I've ever seen - not to toot my own horn, but I've seen a lot of good shows from legendary artists and they trumped nearly all of them.

Thanks you Canada for Arcade Fire and Ryan Reynolds. For reals.

Click here to watch a video of Arcade Fire playing with David Bowie!

Bejtiques: Our New Business Venture

(Above: sanded, painted, and reupholstered gossip bench)

I've been buying antique furniture and vintage clothing at the rate of a hoarder lately so I decided to invite a trusty, creative friend to help refinish a gossip bench I recently purchased. It was so fun working with Lauren Knaffo and the result, especially because it was our first shot, was so fantastic that Lauren put her graphic design expertise to good use and created business cards for our budding antique refurbishing venture: Bejtiques.

Got any old nightstands, dressers, coffee tables that need a new look? We'll do it up for you!

E-mail us @ Bejtiques@gmail.com.

Surely

The following quote was in Danny's fortune cookie: "You cannot discover new oceans unless you are willing to lose sight of the shore."

That tiny scrap of paper made its way onto our refrigerator and so I read it with great frequency and I think about its implications in my life. Here I will substitute "shore" with its homonym "sure" because I am sure they mean one and the same thing.

How many times have I given up on a sure thing and what has been the result? It would make me dizzy to calculate all the times I've just jumped without looking. All the times I just quit. All the times I infuriated my dad because I should have seen it through until the end and fulfilled my obligation. You see, I don't have much allegiance to things that bother me. Unless my withdrawal will hurt someone, it doesn't take much for me to walk on out.

I've walked out on multiple jobs - once because this girl was a stupid bitch and I wanted to prove a point, another time was two weeks ago, when I didn't return from lunch...ever. I just can't stand wasting my time with stupid ideas or mean people even if it brings me financial security.

I've walked out of many budding and some bloomed relationships because the security I felt made me feel sick, not safe. I couldn't live on the beach with Nice Guy because what lay beyond my field of view had a stronger magnetic force than the sand upon which I stood.

I left the first college I attended and dropped courses at other schools on a whim. Since graduation I've pretended not the notice education positions in the New York Times. All along I've let friendships die, too.

For none of this do I feel any guilt or remorse. I abandoned the shore a million times so that I could finally become sure and trusting of myself.

Irrational Fear Number One

“I have six locks on my door all in a row. When I go out, I lock every other one. I figure no matter how long somebody stands there picking the locks, they are always locking three.” -Elayne Boosler

Have you ever found yourself in an unknown bathroom trying to figure out the lock, hoping that you would solve the puzzle before you peed your pants?

I have and I will again.

It seems to me that architects, homeowners, whomever, are not crippled, like I am, by the fear of someone walking in on them mid-stream. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that 50% of my urinations are done with one arm outstretched towards the door and the other ready to pull up my pants. This even happens in my own condo. It's horrible.

Let me tell you about a few places where the locks are particularly bothersome:

1- MY CONDO: What appears to be a simple lock on the doorknob is actually a trap - the door opens whenever it wants. You may say, "Helen, you live with your boyfriend, what's the big deal?" To that I say, "My mom told me that I should never pee in front of my boyfriend because she never peed in front of my dad and they have been married for over thirty-five years."

If keeping the door closed is a recipe for a successful relationship, the door stays shut!

2- DANNY'S PARENTS' HOUSE: Would you believe the doorknob is on backwards? Not only am I afraid of being bombarded, I'm afraid of being locked in. Double-whammy.

3- JEN HUGHES' CHILDHOOD HOME: In this case, the bathroom also houses the washer/dryer, which means high traffic and trouble since the lock is like nothing I've ever seen. I figured it out after fifteen or so years, but the former years were trying.

4- BEACH/MOVIE THEATERS: We've got shiny floors and a population of women that cannot aim nor flush. Once you find a suitable stall, you know it's not going to lock therefore you do the arm-extend.

5- MY NIGHTMARE: In this recurring nightmare, I have to pee and I can only go in a unisex bathroom without doors. To make matters worse, the bathroom I have to use is raised like a real throne. Do I go for it? I can't remember...