Look for me on Saturday

And then later on that night, you will find me HERE!!!

Perhaps this is a lazy blog post, but this weekend is going to be nuts and I have very little time for writing.

Day 11 - Blogger Challenge

A Philly in Albania

Today I was offered a short contract in Albania to commence on June 23rd, 2009. Just in time for me to finish our blogger challenge with a bang. And believe me, it will be a bang.

The Man in the Canoe

The amazing Miss Martha Graham Cracker wowed a packed house at L'Etage tonight--fresh from a cruise to Trinidad and Tobago and other parts unknown! Martha wasn't thrilled with me when an iPhone malfunction led me to tinker with the device during one of her fabulous numbers--chagrined, I stopped, which is why this post was a bit late going up. At any rate, here are some pics ...

And as for the man in the canoe, we were all (Martha included) instructed in how to perform a certain service. Still not sure why it's a "man," as Ned Sonstein (the drummer) astutely pointed out.

Martha performs regularly at L'Etage (at 6th and Bainbridge, above Beau Monde). Her alter-ego Dito Van Reigersburg is a member of the much-lauded Pig Iron Theatre Company, and also performed an unforgettable Hedwig and the Angry Inch with Azuka Theatre Company. You can get on Martha's email list by contacting Ned. Then, be sure to arrive early, drink a lot, and wear your most fabulous ensemble!

Easing the ER Experience

For three years, I have been an Emergency Department volunteer at Pennsylvania Hospital. And volunteering there is the closest I get to meditation every week. It is great to leaving the sitting position and get moving purposely around a cramped urban ER.

I joined the Pennsylvania Hospital team to satisfy my insatiable curiosity about medicine and after watching ER for a dozen years, I had skills to bring to the table. Not only that, I was once a nursing student and felt I might feel at home in a hospital environment.

After three years, I learned next to nothing about medicine, but I do have a general feel for the assessment and testing procedures of a hospital. I know the general course of someone's visit if they come in for chest pain, abdominal complaints or a headache. Basically, the doctors will true to rule out something serious before they send you home. Unfortunately, that means you might spend 7 hours in the ER for a stomach ache. And no, you can't eat until the test results are back. But the nice thing is you will be starving and will eat the bland turkey wrap I offer you.

I can offer a little bit of advice to those of you who may visit the ER sometime. (I am not qualified to dispense any medical advice. These are simply tips to deal with the flow in the hospital. If you have any health or medical questions, please see a licensed provider.)

Be prepared for long waits (if your problem is not emergent or urgent) during the busy times, which are the afternoons or evenings. The ER tends to be really bad the day AFTER a holiday. The Tuesday after Memorial Day was absolutely horrendous. People generally would prefer to go to the ER on workdays rather than on their days off. This is not to say that people have frivolous complaints when they come to the ER, but they often have symptoms for a few days before they come in. Whenever possible, try to see your regular doctor first to get assessed. However, your regular doctor will send you to the ER at the hint of something serious (eg. chest pain or appendicitis) so you might not be able to avoid the crowds.

Bring a friend with you when you go to the ER. They can keep you company and help you pass the time. And they can help advocate for you. Sometimes your friend can make your stay more comfortable by gently asking your nurse about things. But remember, a lot of things are in the doctor's or the lab's hands so just because your nurse is hustling doesn't mean the process will go quickly.

Sometimes it's smart to try to get your needs met from different staff. For example, a volunteer can get you a blanket, water, ice chips, and food faster than a doctor. Techs are great for helping you move in bed, get to the bathroom, and answer basic questions. Nurses are the go to people for all medical problems and urgent needs. Use the call bell (or yell out "nurse") if you want to see a nurse quickly. Often they are busy with many patients and can't check in on patient rooms unless there is a pressing medical reason for it.

Probably the most basic piece of advice is to communicate with your nurse and doctor about what is going on with you. And try to listen and ask questions when a health provider is talking with you. This sounds obvious, but sometimes it's hard to communicate clearly because there are a lot of distractions in the ER, not to mention the symptoms you are experiencing.

That is my common sense suggestions from being a volunteer in an ER.

Day 10 - Blogger Challenge

Most Creative Use for Grandmas Rosary - Bloodmilk

If vampires made jewelery, they would call it Bloodmilk and sell it under an umbrella at the Philly craft fair. The ladies behind the counter would wear dark lipstick and rosaries embedded with human teeth. The displays would hold vintage gloves, old stained black and white photos, a lace handkerchief, and an ominous black mask with a long nose, circa 1930 Carnival. If you bought a pair of shark teeth earrings, you might be inspired to wear fishnet stockings, move to northern liberties, hang out in the piazza during a full moon, and generally feel like a real bad ass.

I'll pray for you.

Everything Annoys Me

Because it's spring and everybody is out in the world, I am more irritated and annoyed by everything. For example, outside my window somebody has been idling their car for literally two hours. I think the are trying to fix the car by running it for a long time, but it still sounds awful and horrible smells are coming from it into my window. I went to go outside and nicely tell the guy to fucking stop already and that the car needs a mechanic, not him pressing on the gas pedal.

Actually my whole neighborhood annoys me because it's so loud with irritating suburban sounds. Lawn mowers, wood chippers, howling dogs, screaming children, drunk Haverford students, and the birds. The birds are the worst. Don't they know that it's night time at 4 am. Those birds think they are so cute with their chirping, but they are keeping me up. Stupid birds.

So I realize this is not my most winning blog post. I imagine that whoever is reading this will be feeling annoyed. But if any of you suggest that I am having PMS, I will set fire to your hair.

In Search of Our Own Grey Gardens

Last week I attending the opening of Grey Gardens at the Philadelphia Theatre Company's Suzanne Roberts Theatre. (The image at left is from the original documentary trailer in 1976.) The show, an interesting take on this crazy mother-daughter duo set to music that somehow combines old '40s-era glamour and Sondheim-inflected quirk ("Jerry doesn't want any sex with you!" sings Big Edie to Little Edie) ticks along without a hitch, as the projection-lit set spins madly from lush Waverly florals and Arcadian landscapes to a dilapidated kitty playground. Kim Carson as young Little Edie, Hollis Resnik as young Big Edie and old Little Edie, and Joy Franz as old Big Edie all nail their roles, playing off each other in true mother-daughter fashion. Resnik in particular elaborates Carson's earlier tics and habits into compulsive and constant motion as Little Edie. Franz's Big Edie turns on a dime from querulous cat lady to nurturing grande dame with the arrival of Jerry, a young pothead who hangs out at Grey Gardens with its aging recluses. And Carson shows us all of Little Edie's potential at the moment of its destruction--"The Girl Who Has Everything" except (thanks to her mother) a wedding ring and a life of her own.

Watching the show, I imagined one could come away with a sense of distance from these ridiculously wealthy women who lost everything, including their ability to function in the world. Instead, I found myself sympathizing with both of these women. They lived in a world of men who measured their worth as adornments--Little Edie's young cousin Jackie Bouvier reminds us throughout the show of the extent to which she perfected this role. How, then, can we wonder at the lengths the Edies would go to, to escape this masculine world? Or at the same time their desperation to be a part of it? And how far have we really come?

For myself, I sympathize with the urge to wrap oneself in the trappings of middle-class comfort: a house, a yard, a car, summer barbecues and winter vacations to warmer climes. I also recognize, having given these things up, that the trappings can be a trap, soothing one with normality and mainstream acceptability while at the same time condemning anything that veers outside the boundaries. I never lived in the Hamptons, where "they get you for wearing red on Thursdays" according to Little Edie, but I have felt the pressure that comes from familial and social expectations. It's not easy to walk away from those expectations without cutting myself off from the people who hold them.

How many of us are trapped in Grey Gardens of our own? Not even necessarily because of our gender, but because we make choices based on social pressures rather than the pressures of our own hearts? And how many of us, in choosing to ignore or flout the mainstream, become mere tangents to the workings of the world around us? For me, the Edies issue a challenge to the rest of us: live authentically, and with passion, in the world. It's a delicate balance. I'm going to try to find it.

Day 9 - Blogger Challenge

Another Manhattan

I've been in NYC for the past three days trying to rent my Union Square apartment. When I arrived in the city, the sites and smells filled me with euphoria. I love the bustling streets, the incredible array of well priced and delicious food, the shopping deals! When I lived in Manhattan, I always had somewhere important that I was going, with people I adored. But as a visitor, after a few days wandering in the city night alone, I began to feel trapped by the concrete jungle.

"It's one big shopping mall," my sister said to me over $10 salads. I told her she couldn't have the extra avocado because I wanted to pay and couldn't do a $25 lunch.

"I know," I told her. "I feel like every time I step out the door of my apartment I am spending money. A taxi, the subway, bottled water, internet access, a magazine, a homeless guy, a pair of designer shoes on sale for one-day-only."

My sister groaned the familiar actress/waitress groan heard around the city.

"Just do what I do. Don't go out. Don't leave your teeny little apartment. Don't even open the window. And if you have to leave, just look down until you get to work."

That explained a lot about my sister.

My sexy, fun and fabulous former city has paled in the reality of my financial situation. Surely I haven't forgotten how to enjoy a city without spending any money. Surely.

Accidental Artists

This little kitty was sculpted out of stone by my grandmother Mimi. She said that as she explored her medium, the cat emerged. From jagged rock came this sleek creature.

Mimi never saw herself as an artist or of having an extraordinary talent. She sculpted only because she loved it and never exhibited her work except in her condo in Longboat Key, Florida.

My grandmother is no longer alive, but I continue to be inspired by the whimsy and love contained in this piece.

This watercolor painting is how my father recorded his passion for the ocean and beaches. He would photograph them with fine brushes and shards of paint melting into each other in water splashes.

This painting is special because I remember that trip to Florida (to Longboat Key to see his parents Mimi and Pop). I am wearing a sweatshirt my boyfriend Greg gave me. Sadly, those times are gone. My father passed away from cancer in 1990, Greg became a doctor and settled in Long Island, and I am no longer the 18 year old girl I used to be.

So I consider myself lucky to have my apartment decorated by great artists who loved their creative process greatly.

parenting is the anti-blog

I wish I had time to write something fascinating, but after an evening of playing with about seven older girls and then reading a chapter and a half of Harry Potter, my boy is still not in bed. I'm past the "okay, sweetie, let's try another book" and am into the "go to bed now, sweetie, NOW" stage. So you'll have to excuse the meager post. I'll share with you a cool picture though ...

Needlework and Stimulus Plans

Happy Hour Samba Pagode Session

Tuesday, June 2, 2009, 5 - 7PM

Chris' Jazz Cafe, 1421 Sansom St., Philly, PA 19102

$6 cover

Looking for a bangin' happy hour? I could say I saw Alex Shaw when he performed with Alo Brasil at World Cafe Live but I think the word 'saw' implies passiveness. Everyone in my group of friends was dancing and bopping.

"What You Should Know But Don't"

Thursday, June 4, 2009, 5:30 - 7:30PM

PNC Bank Center, Center Hall

1600 Market St., Philly, PA 19103

FREE: Pre-registration required, Business attire

About what? The Economic Stimulus Plan... Brought to you by Innovation Philadelphia, the panel "will address important topics within the entrepreneurial community including how stimulus funds will be used for acquiring business loans, stimulate job creation, business tax incentives, and 'going green'"

Tatreez: Palestinian Women's Embroidery in Philadelphia

Friday, June 5, 2009, 6:00 - 8:00PM

Philadelphia Folklore Project, 735 S. 50th St., Philly, PA 19143

FREE 

First Friday. Again. If you're weary or wary of the traditional Old City scene or even the new FF hotness, the Piazza in NoLibs, venture to West Philly. The party: Celebrate the Philadelphia Folklore Project's 22nd birthday. The exhibit: "making and sharing traditional needlework, stitching patterns belonging to villages that no longer exist, local Palestinian women artfully sustain heritage and community through the beauty that is tatreez". 

2009 Songwriting Contest Final Show

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 4:00PM

MilkBoy Coffee, 2 E. Lancaster Ave., Ardmore, PA, 19003

$10

I've been to several Philly Songwriters events. I perennially leave them fired up with a desire to learn guitar and take voice lessons so that I might to be able to write songs and perform them and in doing so, connect. At this special annual event, the twelve finalists (out of 200 entries) will compete live. Winners will be booked at pre-eminent local music festivals like Bethlehem's Musikfest. If you are looking for a night-on-the-suburb, this would be it (4pm Sun. is sleepy time by Ardmore standards).

Sundae Grand Opening

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 3PM - 2AM?!

Octo, 221 N Columbus Blvd., Philly, PA 

RSVP for guest list

From what I've heard, this is the dance party for those who dance because they dance.

Keith Ferrazzi Keynote Event

Tuesday, June 9, 2009, 6:00 - 8:00PM

Park Hyatt, 200 S. Broad St., Philly, PA 19102

Pre-registration required

"Who's Got Your Back: The breakthrough program to build deep trusting relationships that create success - and won't let you fail". Best-selling author Keith Ferrazzi of "Never Eat Alone" is coming to Philly. If you have any latent or active desire to become a better leader/networker/-er, you might benefit from getting out and attending this.

Credit: Creative Commons photo by klynslis

Day 8 - Blogger Challenge

Top Five Prints at the Art Star Craft Bazaar

This last Saturday and Sunday, Philadelphia hosted the annual Art Star Craft Bazaar. People who sew, people who paint, people who make art out of old teeth, all descended upon Penn’s Landing for an explosive display of artistry. This was nothing like the craft fairs my Mom took me to as a kid - no macrame in sight! Just booth upon booth upon booth of pretty little things. There were so many precious finds; I decided to break them up over the next few days.

Today I am featuring my favorite prints from the day.


No. 5 - "Octopi" by Octopie Paperie

Octopie Paperie displayed this grey and soft yellow octopus with bright pink accents. Sadly, I didn't make a purchase. Because now I can't find them anywhere on the internet. Not even ETSY. Anyone out there that can help?


No. 4 - "Underwater Circus" Silkscreen by Jamie Zollars



Jamie Zollars' images nearly always feature a young female heroine facing an emotional dilemma. Indeed, most of her work could be perceived as dark. But this colorful and light piece mirrors our fair mermaids vanity. It's just pretty, colorful and makes me smile.


No. 3 - "Pork is a nice sweet meat" by Spread The Love

Okay, I can't resist bacon. This sweet image and pastel color palette will blend in well in my increasingly feminine bedroom. The delectable square card is a perfect fit for my Ribba IKEA frame. And there is not much that fits in that frame. I personally feel that every gallery should feature a "Ribba Friendly" postcard section.


No. 2 - Octopus by Popidiot

Hands down, best wearable art at the fair! These creative creatures, robots, skeletons, hula girls and monkeys adorn a variety of fitted tees in mens, womens and childrens sizes. The vintage design aesthetic gives them a warm cozy nostalgic buzz, while bringing a totally fresh dollop of hip and now. I snatched up two for my little disabled honey and I'm guessing he'll want more once he wears them out in Rittenhouse and gets a few jealous glances from the boys without cool GF's that buy wearable art. Boys and their robots.


No. 1 - "WAVEJUMPER" by Tugboat Printshop

Coolest prints ever! I wish I could buy the entire "Deep Blue Sea" series. Tugboat Printshop hand carves their design into wood blocks and uses them to create their crisp and vibrant prints. This one is by Paul Roden and Valerie Lueth.

This last photo features shows the carved wood block, and the print.

Tugboat Printshop gets my vote for the most beautiful prints of the day. And who got yours??

City of Love

My favorite block in Philadelphia right now is the 1900 block of Waverly, on the east end. A narrow street, tree-lined, the houses lining it have eight or so steps up to the front door, pressed flat against the building in an inverted "v" so that each house looks like it has a moustache. Flowers and polished wooden doors complement the homes, and children playing ball in the street often complete the charming picture. There's a house for sale on this street, but as I can barely afford my rent each month, I won't be buying there anytime soon. Still, on my walks home from the train, I try to guide my steps down this lovely little block, and I sigh as the traffic sounds fade for a moment.

What I love about Philly is that the city is full of charming blocks, quirky buildings, community gardens, and neighborly people. There's the family who let my son into their home one evening as we were walking past, because he needed to use the bathroom and their daughter overheard him say so; the elderly woman in my friend's building who gives advice and tells anyone who'll listen about her days growing up in racist North Carolina in the 30s and 40s; the man who runs my laundromat and knows everyone within a four-block radius by name; the locksmith who, though he still charged me to open up my door, offered me a receptionist job when I cried that I had no money. (Too bad I'd have needed a car to get there!) Then there's the drunk guy who hangs out on his stoop with his cat and tries to look up women's skirts, the fevered youth preaching hellfire and damnation with a bullhorn in Rittenhouse Square, the inescapable campaigners with their clipboards, and the bus drivers who keep going when you run three blocks to try to catch them. The city is full of beautiful blocks and bombed-out shells, of meticulous parks and rambunctious cottage gardens, of drag queens and society queens. I can't guarantee you won't get mugged here or berated by the homeless or cheated out of a cab by a drunk debutante. But I can guarantee that Philadelphia can blossom for you too, if you smile at it and say hello. And I promise I'll keep sharing with you the little gems I find in my daily meanderings.

Arthur Kade for a Good Cause

I've decided to piggyback on Arthur Kade's fame and push my own agenda. I sent him the following email today (Monday). I am awaiting his response...

Dear Arthur,

A few weeks ago you followed me on Twitter and that is how I learned about you. I have followed your story with great interest and am interested in following your quest for fame and celebrity. I have dreamed of being famous and am curious to see how your work pans out.

In your quest to outshine the greatest of celebrities, I realized there is something missing in your PR and self-promotion. And that is having a cause. A reason to get up in the morning other than for your self aggrandizement. I work for an AIDS organization and many of the most famous have raised money for this cause including Elizabeth Taylor, Elton John, and countless others. So I challenge you to do some philanthropic work just as the world's greatest celebrities have. As you may recall after Princess Diana died, many recalled her humanitarian efforts dealing with ridding countries of mines that were maiming children.

So if you want a legacy, I suggest you get involved in some sort of cause. In these times of economic recession, political instability, and world misery, I'm sure you could find something to sink your teeth into.

While I want to be ironic with this email, I actually am quite serious. As you rise to the top, maybe you can bring some people with you.

I'd be happy to discuss this further with you. Feel free to email me or call me on the phone.

I'm just another Philadelphian.

Sincerely (really),


Caroline Leopold
Twitter: @caroline815

Day 7 - Blogger Challenge

Art Star Craft Bazaar - Teaser

This morning I joined Peacock Feathers and friends for brunch and a stroll through the Art Star Craft Bazaar at Penn's Landing.




While it seemed like there were a lot less booths and vendors, there was still plenty to see. Like this super cool necklace from Brookadelphia. Stay tuned for a few of my favorite finds!

When I have money, art-crafters will rejoice!

I have a feeling all of us at OFP were down at Penn's Landing this weekend for the Art Star Craft Bazaar, at one point or another. I'm sure each of us had favorites--here were mine!

First prize goes to Rachel Sherman of Malagueta. Her card says "wearable art, surface design, upholstery" and she ain't kidding. The skirts and tops she designed each featured amazing modern graphic designs in stitching and layers of applique, both subtle and stunning at once, and exquisitely (and ingeniously!) fitted. The pillows displayed similar abstract topstitching and intricately pieced fabrics. There were even sweet little fabric handbags! I fell in love with a skirt that I would have bought a week ago, before Quicken informed me what my monthly expenditures have been of late ... as it was, I came ever-so-close to blowing my budget and buying at the very least a pillow. Instead, I took pictures. Sherman doesn't have an online shop yet, but maybe drop her a line at rachelsherman@hotmail.com and let her know she should!

Second place goes to the duo of Alexandra Snook of adorn natural and Edward Way of wook woodworking with their beautiful wood jewelry and furniture. Way's bamboo honeycomb shelving was the talk of the bazaar, and I absolutely adored his tiered cherry cabinet with sliding doors. And I have every intention of visiting Snook's website to buy her three-circle necklace, a cleanly modern design in ebony and sapwood. (Image courtesy of their shop at etsy.)

And third place, with special mention for what-a-great-idea!, goes to Nicole Kulp of Recycle My Dress. Got a bridesmaid's or special occasion dress that you shelled out a bunch of cash for but can't imagine ever wearing again? A dress that while lovely, simply SCREAMS "someone else is making me wear this so that I match a tablecloth"? Send it to Nicole! She'll collaborate with you to come up with alterations that will make that dress both beautiful and wearable. I gotta check my mom's closet to see if she saved any of those old prom dresses from the 80s ... or, dare I say it, my wedding dress? Oh, fun!

I managed not to buy anything at the bazaar. I did, however, just buy that necklace online. After all, the recession can't last forever, but a beautiful piece of wearable art can last a lifetime!

Ignore Mom, Talk to Strangers

Last night, I did something that some may find unusual, but for me is completely routine. I went out sans friends on a Saturday night. After my usual begging of my friends to dance with me, I was turned down. The truth is that my friends don't dance. And never will, no matter how much fun I have or the crazy stories I tell, they will never be enticed to grinding their aging asses to the latest music.

Even though I love going out dancing alone, I have adopted strategies to try to find dancing partners. Dating sites have been the most successful ways I've met dancing partners. Generally, I play it off as a platonic thing, just friends. And after they watch me dance, which is not a pretty thing, the last thing they want is a sweaty kiss from me.

My dance partner for the night was Larry, a 30 year old who had recently transplanted from Western New York. He described himself as an aging raver, which made me wonder what I am as I'm older than him. He posted an announcement looking for something to do that night. And with very little to go on except his picture and his profile which stated "I'm weird" I went for it. I invited him to the monthly Live Forever party at the Barbary. I'm ashamed to admit I've never danced at the Barbary and had been dying to go.

After vetting Larry through 1.5 hours of IM and a 20 minute phone call, we decided to meet. Larry showed up earlier than me and was in full swing when I got there. My first reaction was displeasure that he was wearing a headband, but then I realized that was the theme of the night, "Get Physical" so party organizers were handing out colorful sweatbands.

I'm glad Larry was weird because he was such a good sport about checking out a dance venue with a total stranger. And a dance venue where people were wearing nerdy gym gear and leotards. We danced a lot until he got picked up by another woman. I spent about an hour sort of dancing sort of near them before I got bored. I ended up meeting this guy Brian who was a good looking hipster and we danced through acting out Wonderwall. Miming in dance is very fun. I highly recommend it.

Sadly, I completely lost Larry, who had become a dear friend in the 3 hours that I had known him. Oh well, I thought that I'd text him another day (sadly his cell was temporarily cut off do to lack of funds. Recession is a bitch). But happily, I ran into Larry at the bus stop (we both are too poor to have cars). He thought I abandoned him, which I didn't. We hugged. And now he's my new best friend.

Emboldened by my success in talking to strangers, I chatted up a guy at the bus stop while I was saying goodnight to Larry. On the bus ride home I chatted with Sam, who is a progressive activist in Philly. So am I (sorta) and he used to live in West Philly (me too). And we share a mutual friend, so we had tons to talk about. He's an organizer for Philly for Change, a group I've wanted to join but was too shy. So I guess I'll go to their next meetup upcoming on a Wednesday. I got his number before he got off the bus.

So there you have it, I met three strangers last night. And I lived to tell the tale.

So I'm going dancing next weekend, who's with me?

Day 6 - Blogger Challenge

The Friend That Needs a Daytimer

She is always late, or cancelling at the last minute. I have to add an extra thirty minutes to an hour to my plan for the day while I wait for her to catch up. It’s as if she doesn’t start getting ready to go out the door until at least five minutes after she said she would be there. You know it’s going to happen every time, yet you keep scheduling things with her. I should probably send reminder texts three days before, the morning of, and one hour before we are supposed to hang out. But then I would be carrying the friendship, the burden of effort on my shoulders. And what kind of friendship is that?

I stop scheduling things with her and then she sees me out one day and has the nerve to say something like, “where have you been? You just kinda disappeared.”

I didn’t disappear. I stopped reaching out to you because I find you disrespectful of my time. She is likely afraid to set boundaries around her time. She struggles with the ability to make a commitment. She can’t phone in advance or ask me to meet her somewhere where I won’t be inconvenienced by her tardiness. She rarely apologizes, yawns on the phone when she giggles over her forgetfulness and tells me it will never happen again, “can we reschedule?”

The Darker Side to Growing Online Fame

Recently someone asked the question whether if the proverbial tree actually fell if it wasn't Twittered about. I responded that I'd require Twitpics to believe the tree and the forest actually existed. Now that I am following an olio of personal friends, celebrities, and local folks I wish were my friends, I feel like I am living in a reality show. And while much of it is rooted in reality, a lot of it is staged.

I've succumbed to following celebrities on Twitter. I have no interest in following Ashton Kutcher and his struggling to be still be relevant squeeze Mrs. Kutcher (that's what she calls herself on Twitter), but the Kutchers' comments about the Twitter tv show were big news. Kutcher (Ashton said this, but presumably Demi concurs) states that a Twitter show would encourage stalking.

My question is what kind of stalking? Encourage us to hang on their every tweet, view their movies, purchase their products? Twitter stalking is highly unsatisfying and is sophisticated PR. Ethan Suplee of the now cancelled Earl (He was Randy) completely sucked me into his world with his pseudo personal tweets about his sarcastic family. He posted a Twitpic of his daughter and I went for the bait. The photo was of his daughter with her hand blocking the camera. That reminded me that Twitter are not unscripted moments for the famous. I know their publicists are in on the game. (Has Entourage shown Ari Gold on Twitter yet? If not now, then soon).

My friends who Twitter often put up tantalizing pieces of information, but unless I am actually talking to them on the phone or by DM, I'm never getting invited to all the things they talk about. Sometimes it's tempting to do a pop in when somebody I've never met says, "come out tonight," but I know they aren't talking about me. They are talking to their friends and I am an eavesdropper.

But this stalking thing is a real issue. I've known people who have gotten very enthusiastic and has started following me on every possible social networking site. One time I was chatting via gchat with a guy and then signed off- an hour later then he found me on another social media site and said "I thought you were going to bed, but here you are." But as long as he doesn't start showing up at my bbq's, it's manageable. I can't make light of this issue because I know several people who have been relentlessly followed on the internet. But I think the Ashton Kutcher's of the world might have more potential stalkers, us regular people don't have fences, moats with alligators or bodyguards to protect us.

I think those of us who are active on Facebook, myspace, Twitter and other social media have developed public personas and what is really interesting is our private lives intersect with the public. There is a lot more I can talk about, but I must get ready to go out dancing. You will know my whereabouts because I already posted updates on Twitter and Facebook.

I will develop this topic in a later blog post. I appreciate comments.

The Pain of Collateral Damage

As I mentioned in yesterday's post (okay, it was just a couple hours ago, but technically yesterday), I'm getting a divorce. I instigated it, and so I feel supremely guilty even though I recognize all the very good reasons for it and the mutuality of the things-aren't-working-ness of it. But overall I recognize how this has been the best decision I could possibly have made, and I don't for a moment regret having made it. But.

Then there's my five-year-old son.

He's part of my reason for leaving (though I would never breathe those words to him), in that for two months prior to that fateful day he asked me on a near-daily basis, "Mommy, are you sad again?" I would cry uncontrollably in front of him. I would have to leave the room, but sometimes I couldn't even manage that, and one time I crumpled up on the floor and sobbed while my sweet, darling, sensitive, smart, beloved boy watched. There is no pain that can beat that, at least in my experience--knowing I'm causing him grief, knowing I can't stop myself. I was deeply depressed, and contemplated contemplating suicide. In other words, I didn't think about me doing it, I wasn't making a plan--but I could understand why someone would. The decision to end one's life no longer seemed irrational or impossible or even necessarily wrongheaded. That scared me.

So, I got a great therapist, I got on some lovely meds, and my fog cleared. I looked at my life and saw, maybe not clear as day but perhaps clear as an early morning sunrise with the mist and the dew but the promise of blue sky later on, that I had to leave. As soon as I could, I told my husband, whom I still care for and like, that I wanted a divorce. And although this has turned my world on its ear, I haven't regretted it, for myself.

But as it sinks into my son's psyche that this is the New World Order, that Mommy and Daddy aren't going to move back in together, that ahead of him stretch years of back-and-forth from my apartment to his dad's house and vice versa, that we may have dinner together or go to the occasional party together or laugh at each other's jokes but we aren't ever going to be in bed together in the morning when he wakes up and comes into the parental bedroom for a morning snuggle--as all this happens, he's feeling all the grief and anger and frustration and pain one would expect. I'm watching it happen, and I'm trying to be as understanding and loving and supportive and open to him as possible. Even so, when his little eyes just melt into tears and he says he wishes we weren't having the divorce, I feel completely helpless.

I don't have a good story arc for this post. I wish I did, I wish I had a neat beginning, middle, and end. Oh how I want that happy end! But instead all I have is a sad little boy whose bubbling laugh--the one that makes my world go all technicolor--I hear less often, whose anger gets the best of him more often, whose sense of the world and his place in it is suddenly coming unhinged. I know it'll get better. I know I can't sacrifice my own sanity and happiness for the unsustainable illusion of a happy nuclear family. But right now I just want my boy to smile.

Day 5 - Blogger Challenge

Mother Knows Best

When my firm called to tell me they were sending me to Philadelphia, I cried. I was on vacation with my mother at the Jersey Shore. She came out East after her double mastectomy to attend her brother’s wedding. It was a windy day, she clutched a straw hat over her freshly bald head and I huddled under the beach umbrella, cupping the receiver of my cell phone with my right hand. When I hung up, I did something I hadn’t done since I was a child. I placed my head in my mother’s lap and cried.

My sobs emoted frustration that I was leaving New York and anger that someone else got to make that decision for me. It wasn’t just that Manhattan moved at the pace of lightning, was a copious smorgasbord of options, limitlessly exciting and offered a never-ending supply of eclectic and interesting people. It was that after ten years roaming the world for a place to grow up, I thought I had finally found it and had already begun to plant the seeds of my future. And now I was being asked to uproot this foundation for a city I had never even wanted to visit.

“I hear it’s nice there,” My mother said, running her hands through my hair as if she were recalling what it felt like to have it.

“I don’t care if it’s nice. It’s not New York.”

“You could quit.” She suggested. And I considered it. In fact, for the next week I looked at job postings, updated my resume, and went on interviews.

When the move seemed inevitable, I recruited my glamorous New York model friend Janice to accompany me down on the Amtrak for a 4th of July scouting mission. We stepped off the train with our Lonely Planet guide, took in the Philly humidity, walked over the Schuylkill, down Market Street, past a sleazy strip club, past The Salvation Army and past the industrial high-rises. We turned right on 17th and stepped over a variety of homeless people laid out along our path like dead bodies on a battle field. The streets looked barren, entire blocks without people bustling by on their way to somewhere important. Stores were closed for the weekend. When we arrived in a vacant Rittenhouse Square, I was aghast at its small size. One quarter the size of Bryant park, 1/8th the size of Union Square where I lived in Manhattan. Janice tried to be positive.

“ Look at all the cute little shops,” she said.

“What? H&M? Zara? Anthro? Yipee. I pass two of each when I bring my laundry to the dry cleaners on 5th avenue,” I told her.

We went to Continental on Chestnut and all I could think about was how much fun we could be having in New York instead of swinging in these campy chairs at a TGIF knock-off. We tried to walk to Old City but eventually believed the locals claim that it was “too far to walk”. We went to get a room at the Raddison along Chestnut and there was an intoxicated shoeless woman arguing with the front desk staff through a bullet proof glass divider. As the confrontation escalated I let out the breath I had been holding in since the train station and asked Janice if we could just get the last train back to New York.

“Think we could make it back in time for Pomme Frites at Pastis?” she said.

I called my company the next day to tell them I couldn’t do it. They convinced me it would only be for three months. I convinced myself that it would pass quickly. I had been assigned an amazing client and would be promoted to running an entire campaign. This would be good for my career, and I could do anything for three months. Right?

It was a sweltering hot day in Philly when I unpacked my bags into a monthly rental house on Meredith Street in Fairmount. Coming from my tinsy NYC apartment, the idea of an entire house to myself was just decadent. I was amazed that for half the price of my NYC apartment, I was living in a furnished three story row house with original wood floors and beamed ceilings. Outside was a narrow cobblestone street carrying along the occasional dog walker. After I moved in all my bags and unpacked, I sat outside on a real Philly stoop like they did in all the movies I liked to watch when I was a kid growing up in Seattle. They don’t have stoops in Seattle.

I wandered down to Fairmount and found a place that sold hoagies like they ate on the Cosby Show. I devoured it, savoring the doughy bread. I wandered down a little further to an ice cream shop where I watched the girl in front of my order a water ice. I gleefully ate my first water ice while I walked back to the house. I can do anything for three months, right?

I began as a tourist. I started with the double-decker hop-on/hop-off bus. I went to the Philly Zoo, I ran up the Rocky steps, I attended First Friday’s, and bowled in Northern Liberties. I joined match.com, took service commitments at the local AA meetings, and had stuffed French Toast at Sabrina’s. I moved into a furnished room on 10th and Clinton. I participated in the Pat or Geno’s cheese steak debate, I went three months drinking only Fantes coffee. I bought t-shirts for my girlfriends on South Street, I took the ferry to Camden to see John Mayer, I attended a Teamster picnic at Penn’s landing. I went to the Philly Flower Show and attended The Franklin Institute Awards.I moved into a garden townhouse in Old City. I made friends with every shopkeeper on 3rd street. I did the Wednesday night dinner at Fork with Ellen. I began dating the bartender at Positano. I took a writing class at The University of the Arts and threw barbecues in my back yard. I ate at Franklin Fountain every night.

Around 10:00 PM, I would roll into the Franklin Fountain and chat it up with my favorite soda jerk. A few friends would meet me at the end of the counter and we would pull back the hidden seats, and dip pretzels in our ice cream while we laughed and traded stories.

Three months came and went and I stayed in Philadelphia. The job went, and I stayed in Philadelphia. Philadelphia had something New York would never be able to give me. Time. Time to get to know the people in my life. Time to enjoy and appreciate every moment. Time to develop the sort of relationships that are helping me to grow up.

I think of my mother, holding my head in her lap and scratching my back softly, saying, “Oh honey, it will be okay. It will work out. Everything happens for a reason.”

the sin that keeps on giving ...

I'm in love.

No, really. Some of you may know this already, some may not, but it's true: I'm in love, and it feels fabulous.

I'm also going through a divorce right now, so there's that.

Regardless of what you might think of the wisdom of my relationship chronology, I'm not going to talk about that. At least, not yet--there are still a lot of days left in the blogging challenge! Instead, I want to talk a little bit about that thing that goes hand in hand with love: jealousy.

I used to be a jealous person. Just ask my ex. One time while he was on a business trip I deleted all his speed dials and erased every woman's number in his phone book (this was before cell phones). Of course he had to tell his mother why he was asking for his grandmother's number ... I guess it's a good thing he remembered his mother's phone number, or he might never have spoken to his female kin again.

In the past couple of years, though, my ability to redirect my energy from jealousy into constructive conversation has been tested and honed. I won't get into all the reasons for this, but suffice it to say that the most important thing I've learned is that jealousy is instructive. It's never about the other person, but rather about you--what you need to feel safe, and what your insecurities are. The only way to get past these things is to talk about them with your partner, in a non-confrontational way, for example like this:

"I've been feeling jealous of your friendship with Svetlana. I know I'm 5'8", but I've always wanted to be taller, and so when I saw her recent spread in W and then thought about her lithe 6'1" tall body, I felt jealousy taking over. It doesn't help exactly that in addition to modeling, she holds a Classics Ph.D. from Harvard, but I recognize that my feelings about her intelligence are only a reflection of my own frustration with my graduate school experience. I hope we can talk about this, though, so that you can help me feel better about your friendship with her, and help me move past these insecurities that are bothering me right now. I'd feel much better if you occasionally invited me along when you go for drinks with her. What do you think?"

At which point the beloved, if he or she is wise, has a long and involved conversation with you that ends with both people feeling loved and valued, preferably leading to the hot steamy sex.

And now, just to put myself out there, here are my triggers:

1. Youth. I'm dating a younger man, and no matter how ridiculous it sounds to both of us when I say it out loud, I can't help but shiver at the thought of smooth skin, high perky breasts, an unlined forehead, a still-tiny little uterus, and a maddening lack of grey hairs.
2. Educational pedigrees. I've spent the past nine years on a doctorate in English literature that I still don't have, and I'm completely stalled on my dissertation. I keep hoping that will change soon ... perhaps blogging will get me back writing? At any rate, I find myself loathing anyone who has completed a Ph.D., particularly if it's in English, and most particularly if it's at Penn or some other fancy-shmancy school. Sorry to be a hater, all y'all. I know you're my sistahs, really, but just shut up about turning the diss into a book when I'm within earshot, hear me? I mean, I can only soothe myself with snarky comments about your footwear for so long.
3. The creatively employed. I don't give a rat's ass if you're the lead in the Arden's latest or running the box office for some one-shot company no one's ever heard of. If you have a job with a creative employer, and that's your JOB that pays you MONEY with which you pay your RENT, you may be my friend but I still hate you, just a teeny bit.

Now, why I would waste a moment of time worrying my guy would drop me for a 26-year-old Ph.D.- (or MFA!)-holding lighting designer is beyond me. If he reads this he'll laugh out loud. The beautiful thing about it is, having written it, I'll be laughing with him.

After all, if he's fallen head over heels for a still-married, overeducated and under-degreed, essentially unemployed 36-year-old mother of a five-year-old, then what the hell would he want with someone else? I mean, he's got me.

Sunset Fridays: Music to Start Your Weekend

<-----(Jake Henry, DJing at Vango)

It's Friday night again and the summer of dance-tastic events continue. It's unbelievable how much fun is out there. Tonight, my friend Jake Henry will be DJing at Vango starting at 10 pm where he's had a residency for over six months. Tonight is special because tonight is the coming out party for his new digital label Silk Royal Records. Jake partnered with a man from the Russian Federation to start the label. Expect the music to be close to Jake's tastes...melodic progressive house. Music I think of date dance music. The kind of stuff that's good for dancing close.

A party showcasing Jake and the tracks he loves is always special. Perhaps the friendliest DJ in Philadelphia, he has a following that include friends he's had for most of his 26 years. And his mom, Dad, and talented singer sister, who are fixtures near the DJ booth. I got pulled into the cult of Jake about a year ago when I saw him and his close friends Ali Mahmud and Jason Evan DJ at Lucky Charm. I was one of 6 people dancing instead of bellied up at the bar drinking. Jake, Ali, and Jason gave me their promos and I became an instant fan.

In October, Jake and Ali started "Sunset Fridays" where they spun in the rooftop deck of lounge Vango at 18th and Sansom. Every other week, Jake, Ali and a rotation of special guests spun melodic and tech house while people had post work cocktails and appetizers. Jake and Ali have made a name for themselves in Philadelphia and their reputation is growing in New York. Ali has become a promoter with his company Mid Atlantic Trance and has worked to get world class trance artists to perform in NY and Philly. In fact, tomorrow Ali is busy with his coup of bringing producer Mike Koglin to Love in NYC.

I recommend you checking out Sunset Fridays at Vango (116 S. 18th St.) every other Friday from 6-10. No cover and food specials until 7 pm. And be sure to look for me. I'm there about 75% of the time.

Bargain Beauties

One of my favorite things about this time of year is the abundance of plump, vibrant and inexpensive (!!) peonies. There is no flower more romantic, more lush and decadent. Their fragile blooms may only last for a few days, but as long as they remain they bring a certain joyousness to their surroundings. I mean, how can you look at this enormous cluster of peonies and not feel happy!

Peonies are at the very cheapest right now and are found most everywhere. At Floral Expressions on S. 18th Street (btw Sansom and Chestnut and shown above), a bunch can be had for $10. I stopped by today and picked up a couple stems ($2.95 each) to make this little arrangement for my entry table...

So sweet, right? Think about treating yourself to some of these beauties - they are the perfect mood lifter! 

And I hope you all have a happy weekend!

The Summer Day

The recent One Fine Philly posts about life's twists and turns (Pop Culture Casualty) and our collective stories (carrel dweller ) has me thinking about one of my favorite poems. I find this piece by Mary Oliver inspiring, especially when life seems overwhleming. Perhaps you will find some inspiration in it, too...

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

-Mary Oliver

Day 4 - Blogger Challenge