From Kathy
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
women want what?
So I was watching an episode of Greek (yes, Greek -- I'm home sick with a cold, give me a break. Besides, my college didn't have sororities so I have to live vicariously) today and was confronted with what may have been the most disturbing commercial I've ever seen, for a new prescription drug by the ever so pleasingly pretty name of Latisse.
Before I go further, let me just say that when a friend of mine recently mentioned vibrating mascara I thought she was joking. I mean seriously, vibrating mascara? I can't even handle the stationary kind.
Let me also just relate here a joke, or a story, a much loved story, of mine. An old boyfriend had a roommate, once upon a time, who was very wealthy. This roommate's family owned half of Singapore, or so the story goes, and said boyfriend was quite smitten with this family's wealth. One night the roommate was taken out for dinner by a friend of his who was exponentially more wealthy than he, and this meal was one to go down in the history books. The bottle of wine alone was over $1000. The old boyfriend was telling this story, with a certain gluttonous glee, to my Arielle a few years back and Arielle, never one to mince words, blurted out, "Shit, for $1000 that bottle had better vibrate!"
This became a sort of catch-phrase between us, an acceptable expletive evocative of an uncomfortable mixture of envy and disgust in the face of decadence and waste.
I was shocked to learn of these vibrating mascaras last week, but I was even more shocked today to learn of Latisse which, as it turns out, is a prescription medication that one applies to one's eyelashes in order to make them grow fuller, richer, darker, more luxuriously feminine I suppose. Never mind that you'd best not miss the mark or you'll end up with hair growing out of your eyeballs, or that this allegedly benign drug can turn blue eyes brown, or that during pregnancy "this medication should be used only when clearly needed." ( It's cosmetic, at least if the commercial is to be believed, so when is it ever "clearly needed"?)
Okay I'm done. It's late, and past this girl's bed time. But please just put me out of my misery if I ever get so worked up about appearances (barring some unforeseen calamity such as the need for facial reconstruction from accident or burn or something equally as horrible) as to start using this stuff.
I mean, really. Just think of all the world's troubles these people could solve if they just put their minds to that sort of thing rather than to vibrating mascara and magic-grow eyelash balm.
Before I go further, let me just say that when a friend of mine recently mentioned vibrating mascara I thought she was joking. I mean seriously, vibrating mascara? I can't even handle the stationary kind.
Let me also just relate here a joke, or a story, a much loved story, of mine. An old boyfriend had a roommate, once upon a time, who was very wealthy. This roommate's family owned half of Singapore, or so the story goes, and said boyfriend was quite smitten with this family's wealth. One night the roommate was taken out for dinner by a friend of his who was exponentially more wealthy than he, and this meal was one to go down in the history books. The bottle of wine alone was over $1000. The old boyfriend was telling this story, with a certain gluttonous glee, to my Arielle a few years back and Arielle, never one to mince words, blurted out, "Shit, for $1000 that bottle had better vibrate!"
This became a sort of catch-phrase between us, an acceptable expletive evocative of an uncomfortable mixture of envy and disgust in the face of decadence and waste.
I was shocked to learn of these vibrating mascaras last week, but I was even more shocked today to learn of Latisse which, as it turns out, is a prescription medication that one applies to one's eyelashes in order to make them grow fuller, richer, darker, more luxuriously feminine I suppose. Never mind that you'd best not miss the mark or you'll end up with hair growing out of your eyeballs, or that this allegedly benign drug can turn blue eyes brown, or that during pregnancy "this medication should be used only when clearly needed." ( It's cosmetic, at least if the commercial is to be believed, so when is it ever "clearly needed"?)
Okay I'm done. It's late, and past this girl's bed time. But please just put me out of my misery if I ever get so worked up about appearances (barring some unforeseen calamity such as the need for facial reconstruction from accident or burn or something equally as horrible) as to start using this stuff.
I mean, really. Just think of all the world's troubles these people could solve if they just put their minds to that sort of thing rather than to vibrating mascara and magic-grow eyelash balm.
Monday, September 21, 2009
little worlds
This evening, tonight, is the first evening I will have spent alone since Thursday, September 10th (not that anyone's counting or anything).
Friday the 11th was hectic, rainy, and sore-throated, working all day and then heading down to Philadelphia, checking in to the Sofitel, meeting up with Mom & Paul, Uncle Jim & Aunt Sharon & Bookstore Patti for snacks and drinks, then on to the pre-wedding party in an industrial loft-space in a somewhat sketchy part of Philadelphia, and then a long walk home in the drizzle after getting carded and found wanting of proof of age at a bar nearby, thankfully accompanied by Evan and Kristine rather than being abandoned to my own devices at one in the morning.
Not much sleep ensued that weekend, despite free-flowing alcohol over the next 48 hours and a friend's offer of Ambien. Saturday the 12th, an odd mixture of dashing around and waiting -- whether running to the hair salon to have my hair 'styled' in five minutes flat and then waiting for the more fully-fashioned ladies, or going for the minimalist make-up 'do and then waiting for Billie, that sexy young vixen, and Shanna, my new sister-in-law, looking radiantly porcelain-skinned and sweetly old-fashioned in her grandmother's wedding gown and antique necklace. Sunday the 13th, early-morning coffee in the hotel lobby with the early-risers, a beautiful walk along Walnut Street across the Schuylkill River to a late-morning post-wedding brunch, and then the drive back to New York City late that afternoon.
Cousin Dirk came back with me from Philadelphia that day, joining me for an evening of Chinese take-out and The Lords of Dogtown and then the commute down to Columbia the next morning. Friend Evan surfaced at my place that night and finally left this morning.
I say finally only because I have spent so much time on my own these past few years, and have settled so comfortably in to this solitude in ways I had not thought possible, that I can't imagine not having lots and lots of time alone.
I was somewhat anxious about having Evan come visit me in part because the last time he was here, back in spring of 2000, he was visiting my brother, and my brother and I inhabit New York in such different ways. Nathan is a true New Yorker, partaking in everything that the city has to offer -- museums, shows, restaurants, stores. Nathan teases me sometimes about my uncanny ability to reduce New York City to a small town, but he's right. I have my routines, my routes, my favorite places to which I return again and again and again. I know Sally at my grocery store, Ahn who lives down the hall and runs the little market across the street, the cashier lady at my bagel shop, my coffee stand men and my deli men. I love my neighborhood, tucked away in the northern wilds of Manhattan, and am often content to spend whole weekends within blocks of my home. I love my friends, and look forward to weekly dinners with Nick and Dan and Lauren, impromptu weekend brunches or lunches or walks to the Inwood farmers' market with neighbors Erica and Freddy and Jessica and Andrew.
I wasn't expecting a houseguest to fit in so smoothly, and I'd forgotten how nice it can be to have someone to go home to in the evening, have a bowl of oatmeal with before heading out to work in the morning. And Evan seemed to enjoy partaking in this little life I've created here in the big city, meeting me for dinners after work in Morningside Heights, walking up to Inwood through Fort Tryon Park to buy vegetables and apples and cheese at the market, standing by patiently while I snapped pictures of my bridge, helping me put my new desk together, teaching me how to make yogurt, spending evenings chopping and roasting and reading and eating and going to bed by 10 or 11 and getting up by 7.
It was odd saying goodbye to him this morning, as I dashed around brushing my teeth and looking for socks and my cellphone and a bag of cough drops, and unexpectedly sad. He said he liked my world, and this in turn meant the world to me.
Friday the 11th was hectic, rainy, and sore-throated, working all day and then heading down to Philadelphia, checking in to the Sofitel, meeting up with Mom & Paul, Uncle Jim & Aunt Sharon & Bookstore Patti for snacks and drinks, then on to the pre-wedding party in an industrial loft-space in a somewhat sketchy part of Philadelphia, and then a long walk home in the drizzle after getting carded and found wanting of proof of age at a bar nearby, thankfully accompanied by Evan and Kristine rather than being abandoned to my own devices at one in the morning.
Not much sleep ensued that weekend, despite free-flowing alcohol over the next 48 hours and a friend's offer of Ambien. Saturday the 12th, an odd mixture of dashing around and waiting -- whether running to the hair salon to have my hair 'styled' in five minutes flat and then waiting for the more fully-fashioned ladies, or going for the minimalist make-up 'do and then waiting for Billie, that sexy young vixen, and Shanna, my new sister-in-law, looking radiantly porcelain-skinned and sweetly old-fashioned in her grandmother's wedding gown and antique necklace. Sunday the 13th, early-morning coffee in the hotel lobby with the early-risers, a beautiful walk along Walnut Street across the Schuylkill River to a late-morning post-wedding brunch, and then the drive back to New York City late that afternoon.
Cousin Dirk came back with me from Philadelphia that day, joining me for an evening of Chinese take-out and The Lords of Dogtown and then the commute down to Columbia the next morning. Friend Evan surfaced at my place that night and finally left this morning.
I say finally only because I have spent so much time on my own these past few years, and have settled so comfortably in to this solitude in ways I had not thought possible, that I can't imagine not having lots and lots of time alone.
I was somewhat anxious about having Evan come visit me in part because the last time he was here, back in spring of 2000, he was visiting my brother, and my brother and I inhabit New York in such different ways. Nathan is a true New Yorker, partaking in everything that the city has to offer -- museums, shows, restaurants, stores. Nathan teases me sometimes about my uncanny ability to reduce New York City to a small town, but he's right. I have my routines, my routes, my favorite places to which I return again and again and again. I know Sally at my grocery store, Ahn who lives down the hall and runs the little market across the street, the cashier lady at my bagel shop, my coffee stand men and my deli men. I love my neighborhood, tucked away in the northern wilds of Manhattan, and am often content to spend whole weekends within blocks of my home. I love my friends, and look forward to weekly dinners with Nick and Dan and Lauren, impromptu weekend brunches or lunches or walks to the Inwood farmers' market with neighbors Erica and Freddy and Jessica and Andrew.
I wasn't expecting a houseguest to fit in so smoothly, and I'd forgotten how nice it can be to have someone to go home to in the evening, have a bowl of oatmeal with before heading out to work in the morning. And Evan seemed to enjoy partaking in this little life I've created here in the big city, meeting me for dinners after work in Morningside Heights, walking up to Inwood through Fort Tryon Park to buy vegetables and apples and cheese at the market, standing by patiently while I snapped pictures of my bridge, helping me put my new desk together, teaching me how to make yogurt, spending evenings chopping and roasting and reading and eating and going to bed by 10 or 11 and getting up by 7.
It was odd saying goodbye to him this morning, as I dashed around brushing my teeth and looking for socks and my cellphone and a bag of cough drops, and unexpectedly sad. He said he liked my world, and this in turn meant the world to me.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
eating with evan
Roasted eggplant with fresh parsley; julienned beets with blue cheese; white rice with pinches of cayenne, salt, black pepper & a bit of olive oilEnchiladas filled with poblano pepper, onion, and soft white cheese from the farmers' market; tomatillo salsa with jalapeno; refried beans
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
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